The Elk County advocate. [volume] (Ridgway, Pa.) 1868-1883, 1876-03-16
DAVID MATSON.
John q. whittier Tells an Enoch Arden
Story In Prose.

Who OF my young friends have read
the sorrowful story of "Enoch Arden"
SO sweetly and simply told by the great
English poet It is the story of man
who went to sea, leaving behind q 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 passing
vessel. Coming back to his native town,
he found his wife married to On old
playmate-a good man, rich and honor
ed, 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 remind
ed me of very similar story of my own
New England neighborhood, which /
will try to tell, not in poetry, like Alfred
Tennyson's, but in my own poor prose. 1
can assure my readers that, in its main
particulars, it is true tale.
One bright summer morning, more
than three score years ago, David Mat
son, with Eis young wife, and his two
healthy, barefooted boys, stood on the
bank of the river near their dwelling.
They were waiting there for Pelatiah
| Curtis to come round the point with his
whetry and take the husband aud
father to the port q few miles below.
| The Lively Turtle was about to sail on O
voyage to Spain, and David was going
as her mate. They stood there in the
level, morning sunshine talking cheer
| fully, but had you been near enough
you could have seeh tears in Anna Mat
sons blue eyes, for she loved her bus
| band, aud knew there was always danger
on the sea. And David's bluff, CHEEKY
voice trembled little now and then,
for the honest sailor loved his snug
home on the Merrimack, with the dear
wife and her pretty boys. But present
ly the wherry came along, and David was
Just stepping into it when he turned
back to kiss his wife and children once
more.
"Iu with you, man," said Pelatiah
| Curtis. "There's no time for kissing
and such fooleries when the tide serves" /"
| And so they parted. Anna and the
boys went back to their home, and Da-
vid to the port, whence he sailed off in
the Lively Turtle. And months passed I;
autumn followed summer, and winter
the autumn and then spring came,
anon, it was summer on the river side,
and he did not come back. And an
other 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
to port. And poor Anna had her
bombazine gown dyed in black, and her
straw bonnet trimmed in mourning
ribbons, and henceforth she was only
known as the Widow Matson.
And how was it all this time with Da-
vid himself?
Now you must know that the Moham-
metlan people of Algiers or Tripoli, and
Magadore and Sallee, on the Barbary
coast, had for long time been in the
habit f fitting out galleys and armed
boats to seize upon merchant vessels of
Christian nations. and make slaves of
their crews and passengers. 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 lace as slaves, poor David
Matson among the rest.
When boy he had learned the trade
of shipcarpenter with his father, on the
Merrimack, and now he was set at work
in the dockyards His master, who was
naturally kind man, did not overwork
him. He had daily his three loaves OF
bread, and when his clothing was worn
ont, its place was supplied by the coarse
cloth of wool and camel's hair, woven by
the Berber women. Three hou,s before
sunset he was released from work, and
Friday, which is the Mohammed Sab
bath, is day OF entire rest.
Once a year, at the season called
Ramaden, lie was left at leisure for 6
whole week. So time went on-days
weeks, months, and years. His darl
hair became gray. He still dreamed ot
his old home on the Merrimacl1, and o
his good Anna and the boys. He won
dered whether they yet lived, what the,
= were doing. The hope of ever seeing
them again grew fainter and fainter, ant
at last nearly died out; and he resigned
himself to his fate as a slave for life.
But one day handsome, middle-aget
gentleman, in the dress of one of hi
own countrymen, attended by grea
officer of the law, entered the shipyard
and called up before him the American
captives. The stranger was none othe
than Joel Barlow, commissioner of tn
q United States to procure liberation G
slaves belonging to that government
He took the men by the hand as the
came up, and told them they were free
AS you might expect, the poor fellow
were very grateful; some laughed, som
wept for Joy, some shouted and san
and threw up their caps, while Others
a with David Matson among them, knel
= :. down ON the chips AMI thanked God fo
;, the great deliverance.
David Matson had saved littl
= money during his captivity, Ivy odd jot
3 and work on holidays. He got passag
= to Malaga, where he bought a mic
q shawl for his wife and watch for eac
. " of his little boys. He then went to I'll
:, quay, where an American ship WI
o lying, just ready to sail for Boston.
q Almost the first man he saw on boar
\ was Pelatiah Curtis, who had rowed hi
!, down to the port seven years befor
. He found that his old neighbor did n,
know him, so changed was he with h
long beard and Moorish dress, wher
! upon, without telling his name, he b
q gan to put questions about his O
" home, and finally asked him if he kne
= Mrs. Matson.
q 81 rather think do" said Pelatia
~ "She's my wife,"
y "Your wife" cried the other; "she
.. a. mine before God and man. am Dav
= Matson, and she is the mother of n
:, children"
7 "And mine, too /" said Pelatiah. g
- left her with babe in her arms. II "
A. a. are David Matson, your right to her
Ia outlawed; at any rate, she is mine, al