Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1874-02-25
The Cooks Boy.
GENUINE BRAVERY WELL REWARDED

hLNAlNi hMAN fN1 Will INV MAhNEHs
Our ship was lying in Gibraltar harbor.
The day had been remarkably pleasant
one, and hundreds of people from the shore
had been on board to examie our specimen
of Uncle Sans naval architecture. After
the hammocks had been "piped down.
knot Of old oceans hardy sons collected be.
meath the topgallant forecastle, which place
was their regular forum" Old Ben. Mil
Ter, our second boatswain's mate, had been
quite sober and thoughtful during the lat.
ter part Of the afternoon; and upon being
asked the occasion of it, he said that he
had seen something that brought to his mind
a thrilling circumstance of by-gone days
We knew there was yarn on the tapis !;
and collecting about the old mate, we
awaited its delivery. lie knocked the ashes
from his pipe, put it in his pocket, and then
charging his mouth with a generous piece of
tobacco, he commenced and thisis the yarn
he spun:
1t is now fifteen years ago that was
a foremast hand on board the old ship
9 Hunter. She was from New York, and
bound to India. A man by the name of
Adams Warren, who was one Of the owners,
had taken passage, aud with him we're his
wife and daughter. The latter was one Of
the sweetest, prettiest little creatures |
ever saw, only about twelve years old, and
as blithe as lark. They called her Judith.
Oh, it would have done your souls good to
have seen her skipping about the deck =
now hiding in a coil Of rigging now pull.
ing at some rope, aud then clapping her lit
tie dimpled hands as she repeated the or
ders of the captain. Her merry laugh ran
through the ship like the notes Of our own
native robin, and the sun seemed to envy
her brightness Her father was one OF
your business men-a right down dollar
hunter. who didn't seem to care for much
else than the purchase and sale of his cargo;
and as long as his child was well and happy
he seemed to take but little notice Of her
though must say, he was kind hearted
man when you could bring it out. Judith's
mother was one Of your city aristocracy--
a proud, overbearirg woman, who seemed
to think there was nobody of any conse
quence only herself.
I'VE had boy on board named Luke
Winship, only fourteen years old, who had
been put into the galley to help the cook
He was noble little fellow, though W,
hadn't then exactly found it out.
"One evening, after we had entered tn,
southern tropics, Luke was sitting upon {
spar that was lashed against the galley, anc
Judith Warren came along and sat dowr
by his side,
"' What makes ycu look SO sober, Luke ?
she asked, in silvery tone of real kindness
al was thinking, Miss Judith, returned
the cooks boy; and as be spoke, he gazec
into the face of the girl as though she wa
one whom he could almost worship.
&c Don't call me miss. don't like it
Luke. But tell me what you were think
ing about. If | ever have troubles, it al
ways does me good to tell them to somebody
Now tell me yours
"'lt couldn't interest you, Judith, t,
hear the story of poor boy like me-
a. Oh, yes, il could = the little girl cried
clapping her hands together with mucl
earnestness. You were thinking of you
father aud mother
" Alas have none.
90 No parents
wNo!'
"'Then you were thinking of you
brothers and sisters.
"' have no relations on earth, Judith !!
As Luke said this, he drew his greas
! sleeve across his eyes to wipe away tn
drops that were springing forth.
} 1.-THE little girl gazed into Luke's fac
; with look OF pity and sorrow that SCENE
} to make her tender heart bleed.
! go Tell me your story. Come, do SD
, said and she laid her hand so affection
= ately upon the boys arm, and looked $
kindly at him, that he began to weep agar
"' 1t is but short story-a few word
! will tell it ALL Luke returned, as b
struggled like a. giant to keep back hi
a emotions. My mother died when | wa
D only four years old, and before my fathe
q had taken the mourning weed from his hal
he, too, was laid in the cold grave. The
were both of them kind parents; and afte
my father was buried, | sat upon his gray
all night long aud cried. o Judith, yo
' don't know what it is to lose father @
b mother but to lose them both Yes, 20
q, know something how you would feel.
the morning they came and took me ava
: from the little churchyard aud man wh
y lived near the cottage my father had hirec
gave me some breakfast.
y q" My parents were very poor and a
ter the funeral expenses were paid ther
was not cent left. knew Of no reli
tions, knew not that | had one on eartI
. and | was sent to the almshouse There
stayed till was nine years old, and durin
= that time ! suffered more than words ca
y ever tell. II wasn't bodily suffering for
: had enough to eat and drink, and cloth'
u enough to wear but il was the suderin
7 of the heart. went to school part of til
. year but wasn't like the other schoo
boys. was a poor-house child, and the
shuDned me. II they had done no MOI
than this, should have been content bl
= they tainted me with my misfortune, al
q made light Of my orphanage. If they ha
q known what pain their words gave me,
i don't believe they would have spoken then
a but they knew not my feelings, and VII
| should they2 They had never sufiert
e like me, and they realized nothing of ii
i crushed spirit that was battling against III
h cold cruelty of their sneers.'
Il "' Poor Luke = murmured Judith; ar
when the boy looked into her face, he four
n that she was weeping.
H "At length, he continued, after he ha
!, wiped his eyes, an old farmer took n
! from the almshouse, and set me at wor
K upon his farm. At first felt Thankful
/ but soon found that was worse of thH
.s before; for was i'll treated, and had
n work like dog. The farmers wife was
hard.heartcd woman, and she often beat m
That was worse than all the rest, for | neve
It deserved it, nor did openly complain.
e stayed with the man over four years; bl
% matters grew worse and worse, and oltS
% when went up to my little bed in the ga
- Al l. 4 IL Il