The new Northwest. [volume] (Portland, Or.) 1871-1887, 1874-05-29
NUMBER IL.

of Fairport, diseharging salt from Cadiz,
and peopled with storytelling sailors
who had sailed all the seas over and
knew the most delightful yarns ever
spun; of these Dave Booden was consum-
mate. He had been a foremast hand
sin the time of the embargo when the
British fleets blOckaded the entire coast
of New England. His tales were blood
curdling; and many is the night when
we bows staid SO late listening to the
latest version of the story Of his blow
ing us the Arethusa, that we were sent
supperless to bed. The Arethusa was a
British sloop-of-war blockading CascO
Bay. Dave, who, by the way, always
spoke of that period as stthe time of dim
/ bargo," was a prisoner OF war on board,
having been captured from a fishing
pinkey and kept as pilot. BY hurrah-
ing for King George and otherwise pre-
tending to be good Tory, he gained the
confidence of the crew; aud one night,
while laying at anchor off Diamond
Head, he fixed lighted fuse under the
| powder magazine, slipped through an
open port-hole to boat that was tow
/ ing astern, and so made off, padding
with his shoes for want of oars.
"When that ere ship blowed up" said
the truthful Dave, 81 was nigh onto ten
miles and a-half away. But she shook
the air so, that wuz blowed clean out o.
| that yawl jest straight. My cap went up
three feet higher nor did, and went
up about nine feet inter the air. NVhat
air you sniggerin at ?" Dave would an
grily demand of one boy who never
would believe this part of the story.
"When lit agen, jest sot right in the
yawl on the very same thOrt that I was
a-sittin' on afOre; and my cap was on
my head, tew. Fact, boys, and We may
Just ask yer old gran'ther eff it ANTI
Gran'ther Perkins, who commanded the
American volunteers in the time of the
embargo, had been dead ten years or
more. Dawes storytelling had no for
tifying witnesses.
Once in a while-toO often, alas =
news would come in a roundabout way,
of a Fairport vessel lost at sea. Perhaps
one of the survivors would, after many
thrilling adventures, reach us, and be-
come the sad hero of the town. Some
times fishing vessel would sail for the
Banks, and never be heard of more.
We boys would sit under the lee of the
rocks, and fancy that one of the flirting
sails that glided along the blue line of
the sea and sky, was the missing vessel;
then, as she melted away, we would fall
TO inventing stories of the woeful wreck,
and whisper to each other, how the men,
some of whom we knew, had starved on
/ the raft as they fioated on the waves,
until they ate each other, or struggled
against their fate until they perished
miserably in the waters. When night
/ fell, and the full moon swan up the sky,
we used to see Marin Morey sitting on
Fish Hawk Crag, looking wistfully out
TO sea. Sol AIoTey, as brave a lad as
ever splita Goldfish, ,becalmed on Georges
Banks, had sent word by passing ves-
sci that the Two Brothers, in which he
sailed, would be in port by the full of
the moon. The moon fulled and waned,
and waXed and waned again, but the
Two Brothers never came. Soils mother
watched and waited, and waited and
watched, on Fish Hawks Crag for many
moons and many years. When the
young moon hung pale in the sunset
sky, she said, ''Sol will be here soOn."
! Whenit grew smaller, and disappeared
/ from the heavens at night, she went
about her work, and said never a word
about Sol or the Two Brothers; but we
boys knew when the moon was full, for
we saw Marin MOrey on the crag, hope
/ fully turning her faded face to the sea,
watching for the CLEAN of the sail that
came 10 more.
Considering what risks are run by
I boys about the sea-shore, it seems
strange that no more of them are swal-
lowed by the waves. Perhaps the re-
morseless sea, as poets call it, has a saw
age pity for the small children who
/ play about its edges. Certain, kind
Providence watches over the lives of
the little folk, who snatch i fearful Joy
| from the rush and tumult of the sea.
Many a time we tumbled of the
wharves, or upset in sail-bOats, or were
snatched Off the rocks by the hungry
/ breakers; yet not one of all my play
mates ever met his death thereby
They were spared to be killed by flying
railroad train, a falling roof-slate, an
Alpine avalanche, or stray bullet in
the trenches before Petersburg. Once
little crowd of us, caught on a bare
reef of rock by the rising tide, and cut
/ off from shore, We're driven from point
to point, until huddled on Otter Rock,
which was usually covered at high
water. We sobbed and screamed in
vain for help, while the mocking waves
crept higher and higher. We faced
death, then, every one of us. a few
/ inches of slippery rock stood between us
and the end of the beautiful world
/ that smiled around us. The tide crept
on and on, stood still, and sunk away
| inch by inch until we were free! We
crawled along the weedy reef, and
hushed and half-tearful, told our tale.
The tides at that season, were not so
high as usual. But to us ii seemed
miracle. Perhaps it was.