The new Northwest. [volume] (Portland, Or.) 1871-1887, 1875-11-26
David Matson.
BY JOHN C. WHITTIER.

Who of my young friends have read
the sOrrOwful story of "EnOch Arden"
so sweetly and simply told by the great
English poet? 1t is the story of a man
who went to sea, leaving behind a sweet
young wife and little daughter. He
was cast away on desert island, where
he remained several years, when he was
discovered and taken off by a passing
vessel. Coming back to his native
town, he found his wife married to an
old playmate-a good man, rich and
honOred, with whom she was living
happily. The poor man, unwilling to
cause her pain and perplexity, resolved
not to make himself known to her, and
lived and died alone. The poem has
reminded me of very similar story of
my own New England neighbOrhood,
which [ have often heard, and which |
will try to tell, not in poetry, like Alfred
Tennyson's, but in my own poor prose.
eau assure my readers that, in it's
main particulars, it is true tale:
One bright summer morning, more
than three score years ago, David Mat
son, with his young wife and two
healthy, bare-foOted boys, stood on the
bank of the river, near their dwelling.
They were waiting there for Pelatiah
Curtis to come around the Point with
his wherry, and take the husband and
father to the port, a few miles below.
The "Lively Turtle'' was about to sail
on voyage to Spain, and David was to
go in her as mate. They stood there in
the level, morning sunshine, talking
cheerfully; but had you been near
enough, you could have seen tears in
Anna Matsonis blue eyes, for she loved
bor hnShonH. and kpauy fharo xuaS oil
WAYS danger on the sea. And David's
bluff, CHEEKY voice trembled little now
and then, for the honest sailor loved his
home on the Merrimac, with his dear
wife and her pretty boys. But utpresently
the wherry came alongside, and David
was just stepping into it, when he
turned back to kiss his wife and chill
dren once more.
"In with you, man." said Pelatiah
Curtis. '"There's 10 time for kissing
and toolery when the tide serves"
And so they parted. Anna and the
boys went back to their home, and
David to the port, whence he sailed off
in the "Lively Turtle" And months
passed; autumn followed the summer,
and winter the autumn; and then
spring came; anon, it was summer on
| the riverside, and he did not come
back. Another year passed, and then
the old sailors and fishermen shook
their heads solemnly, and said the
"Lively Turtle" was a lost ship, and
would never come back into port. And
poor Anna had her bombazine gown
| dyed black, and her straw bonnet
trimmed in mourning ribbons, and
thenceforth she was known only as the
widow Matson.
And how was it all this time with
| David himself?
| Now you must know that the Mo-
hammedan people of Algiers and Trip
oil, MOgadore and Sallee, on the Bar
barry coast, had for long time been in
the habit of fitting out galleys and
armed boats to seize upon merchant
vessels of Christian nations, and make
slaves of their crews and passengers,
just as men calling themselves Chris
tians, in America, were sending vessels
to Africa to catch black slaves for their
plantations. The "Lively Turtle" fell
into the hands of one of these rowing
sea robbers, and the crew was taken to
| Algiers and sold in the market-place as
slaves, poor David Matson among the
rest.
When boy, he had learned the trade
of ship-carpenter with his father, on the
Merrimac, and now he was set at work
in the dock-yards. His master, who
was naturally kind man, did not over
work him. He had daily his three
loaves of bread, and when his clothing
was worn out, its place was supplied by
the coarse cloth of wool and camePs
hair woven by the Berber women.
Three hours before sunset he was re-
leased from work, and Friday, which is
the Mohammaden Sabbath, was a day
of entire rest. Once year, at the sea-
son called Ramaden, he was left at leis-
ure for whole week. So time went on
days, weeks, months, and years. His
dark hair became gray. He still
dreamed of his old home on the Merri-
mac, apd his good Anna and the boys.
He wondered whether they yet lived,
and what they thought of him, and
what they were doing. The hope OF
ever seeing them again grew fainter and
fainter, and at last nearly died out; and