Watertown republican. [volume] (Watertown, Wis.) 1860-1906, 1873-01-29
a vessel comes up from the south

the bowling of the bears, and the
crashing Of the ice as the vessel wades
and labors through it. He is very
much afraid, for he is but child;
yet he keeps his hardships and his
fears to himself. He knows the rough
sailors would but laugh at them.
He watches and watches; he is in a
wonderful and beautiful region-in
color most splendid, but desoiate and
inhospitable. Every day the sun
gets little higher, and the vessel
sails yet further to the north. At
last she rides at anchor in the very bay
that we have spoken of, and shortly
the sailors push off a boat. The cap
tain has given them leave to land: they
are going ashore to shoot ptarmigans,
and they call the little cabin-boy to
come with them. They are a noisy,
reckless set Of men, but they had not
landed long before they begin to walk
silently, and look at one another; they
watch their footsteps with care, for, at
intervals not very wide apart, q piece
of fur raiment, OR a lock of Wornan's
hair, stands out from the snow. The
sailors press up into the country, first
setting up a flagstaff on the hill TO guide
them back, and then telling the little
cabin boy to play near it, while they
hunt and shoot ptarmigans. -.
He is afraid to be alone, and does
not care to play he wanders about
and climbs among the cliffs, taking
care to keep the ship in view At last
he finds crevice in a snow wall he
knows it must be the wall of hut,
and he widens it and creeps in. A red
sunbeam follows him, and lies along
the floor; there are white ashes on the
cold hearth, and scattered around it
lie weapons and garments, rude har-
ness, and cooking utensils.
Everything is frozen he
looks round-there is raised
place IN one corner covered
with skins Of animals; something lies
upon them, it is carefully folded, all
but the face and the small dimpled
hands, for, alas he sees that it Is q
little dead child frozen to death among
it's furs; it had fallen to sleep when
the fire was bright-when it went out,
the baby died. The little plump
cheek looks just, the boy thinks. as it
must have done in life; quiet smile
seems to hover about its lips, and IN
the half-light he thinks, as lie moves,
the baby features change. The little
cabin boy turns away; he feels the
tears rise into his eyes but suddenly
he starts and looks quickly round
can it be that he has heard the child
move No, he sees that it IS
certainly dead, but something begins
to sing; lie looks nearer, and Nesting
among the thick folds Of fur, which
cover the baby's breast, sits little bird
yes, a living bird. She sits and
broods over her SNOWY white eggs, for
she has built her nest and made it
warm and soft, she has sung the lula
by of the sleeping child, and her little
cnes will chirp and fiutter close to
those needless ears and silent lips.
The Snowflake is wise; she Is not
afraid lest the baby-hand should be
lifted up to disturb her callow young ;
and she sits and watches with her
bright eyes, while the little cabin boy
stands near her. She turns her head
with restless, uneasy movement; but
she does not Use from her nest, though
he strokes her with his finger, and
when he turns away he hears again her
soft low song. A sad fate for this little
two-years old child but these are the
miseries of war. -i s.rE '-s'ssAs5
The little oabin-boy came home to
England, and one day met him as I
walked about mile from home. He
was come to see his grandmother. and
carried a bundle, tied in red hand
kerchief, in one hand a little tame
white bird sat on his shoulder, he was
whistling to it as he ran along, and
when he stopped, full of Joy at seeing
US, it hoped down on to his hand.
He pulled out clasp-knife g You
see, I've took care OF it, " he said, s1nil-
ing Eyou said when you gave it to
me that [ should lose 1t directly, but l
haven't ...
"And what have YOU got in your
handkerchief ~ inquired
E'Oh, miss, it's nest and some cur
osities ;" and SO saying, he united it,
and I saw some shells, some beautiful
pieces of spar, and the nest he had
spoken of. This is my bird, he con-
tinued e used to feed her, and she
flew aboard and followed me home. I
can make her sing when | choose"
" Make her sing now, then, said [
and he strOked the bird and whistled
to it, whereupon it futtered its wings,
and flew round and round him, after
ing succession of clear thrilling notes;
then he called it back to his hand, took
leave of us, and ran on to his grand
mothers cottage.
A few days afterwards he told me.
this story. He was asweet little gentle
boy, and it had surprised us al that he
should be so bent on going to sea he.
was scarcely thirteen years old.
When he had told me how tho little
child lay with her pretty hands folded
on Der breast, he said
6 reckon, miss, they were all heath
ems"
6 Yes, certainly they were. . s.-. T..
6 l did not know what her name was,
of course, he continued, SO Invented
one-I mean / chose one for her, and
cut it on q piece of wood that [ got out
of the brig-and | made her little
grave y
| asked him what name he chose for
her, and he said
Gone that I like, because Of q pic
ture in my Pilgrims Progress, my IA
vorite picture of Mercy knocking at the
door. She thinks, You know, III the
story, that they WON'T open it for her,
but they do.
:" And what did you mean by giving
her that name?"
81 can't tell yuu exactly, cut the
words as we'll as ] could, and put up
the wood at her head to be like little
grave stone"
land what we've the words?"
"The very words, Mercy. He
opened the door There were some
things scatteIed about in the hut that
thought, perhaps, we're idols; most
likely no one had taught those people
the things that we know. And, beside,
this was a little young; it never could
have said any prayers to them. I often
went and fed the bird after had NOV
ed her nest. and she got quite tame, so
[ brought her on board; her Young
ones flew away when they were fedged;
out she stops with me-" /
,vo11yoI tcuorJc hopoo owl - A.