The Republican journal., 1876-04-06
David Matson,
BY JOHN G. WHITTIER.

/ OasAu NAItsoA
BY JOHN G. WHITTIER.
Who Of my Young friends have read the sor-
rowtul story OF " Enoch Arden,' SO sweetly
told by the great English poet: 1t is the story
OF man who went to sea, leaving behind him
sweet young wife, and little daughter. He
was cast away on a desert island, where he re-
! manned several years, when he was discovered,
and taken Oft by passing vessel. Coming back
| to his native town, he found his wife married
| to an old plavmate-a good man, rich and hon
! ored. with whom she was living happily. The
| poor man. unwilling TO cause her pain and per-
| pleXity, resolved not to make himself known
10 her, and lived and died alone. The poem
has reminded me of very similar story of my
| own New England neighborhood, which |
often heard, and which l will try to tell, not in
poetry like Alfred Tennyson's, but In my own
! poor prose. L can assure my readers that, in
lt> main particulars it is true tale
| One bright, summer morning. more than
| three-score years ago, David Matson, with his
! Yong wife, and his two healthy, barcfooted
| boys stood on the bank of the river, near their
dwelling. They were waiting there for Pela-
| tah Curtis to come round the Point with his
wherry, and take the husband and father to the
port, few miles below The Lively Turtle
was about to sail on voyage 10 Spain, and
David was to 90 in her as mate They stood
there in the level, morning sunshine, talking
| cheerfuly; but had you been near enough,
| you could have seen tears in Anna Matson'S
! blue eyes, for she loved her husband, and
| knew there was always danger on sea And
| DHvid's bluff, CHEEKY voice, trembied little.
now and then. for the honest sailor loved his
| snug home on the Merrimack, with the dear
wife and her pretty boys. But presently the
wherry came alongside and David was Just
| ste 2ping into it. when he turned back TO ks
his wife and children once more.
! In with you, man." said Pelatiah Curtis,
there's no time for kissingS and such tooleries
when the tide serves i"
And SO they parted. Anna and The boys
went back to their home. ana David TO the
| port, whence he sailed oft in the Lively Turtle.
| And months passed; autumn followed sum
mer and winter the autumn; and then spring
came; anon, it was summer on the riverside,
and he did not come back And another year
passed, and then the old sailors and fishermen
| shook their heads solemnly. and said the Live
ly Turtle was a lost shin and would never come
back to port. And poor Anna had her b0mba-
zine gown dyed black, and her straw bonnet
trimmed in mourning ribbons, and henceforth
she was known only as the widow Mat>on.
And how was it all thi, time with Day id
himself:
Now You must know that the Mahommedan
people of AIgierS and Trip0li and Mogadore
and Sallee, on the Barbary coast. had for !,
| long time been in the habit Of fitting out gal
| leys and armed boats TO seize uron merchant
| vessels OF Christian nations. and make slave,
| OF their crews and passengers, lust men call
! ing themselves Christians in America, We're
sending vessels to Africa to catch black slaves
for their plantations. The Lively Turtle fell
into the hands of one of these rowing search
bers. and the crew were taken to \ lgierS and
sold III the market-place as slaves, and poor
David Mats0n among the resi-.
When il boy he had learned the trade Of Ship
carpenter with hi, father, on the Merrimack
and now he was set at work in the dock-yard.
His master. who was naturally a kind man,
did not oYerw0rk him. lie had daily his three,
| loaves of bread, and when his clothing WAS
worn out It's place was supplied by the coarse
wool Of cloth worn by the Berber women.
| Three hours before sunset lie was released
from work, and Friday. which is the Mahonl-
medan Sabbath was day Of entire rest
| Once a day. at the season called Ramadan, he
was left at leisure for Il whole week. 50 time
went on-days, weeks, months and wears. His
dark hair became gray. He still dreamed OF
! his old home on the Merrmack and Of his
| good Anna and the boys. He wondered whetl-
er they yet lived, and what they We're doing.
The hope OF ever seeing them again grew faint
| er. and at last nearly died out; and he resigned
| himself to his fate as a slave for life.
But one day handsome, midde-aged gentle
man, in the dress of one of his countrvmen, at
tended by great officer of the day. entered the
ship-yard, and called up before him the Ameri-
! can captives. The stranger was none other
thtn Joel Barlow. commissioner of the United
| States to procure the liberation Of slaves be-
| longing TO that government. lie took the men
| by the hand as they came up. and told them
they We're free. As YOU might expect. the
| poor fellows were very grateful: some wppt
| for Joy, some shouted and sang and threw N,
| their caps, while others, with David Matson
among them, knelt down, and thanked God for
| the great deliverance.
This is q very affecting scene" said the
/ commissioner, wiping his eyes, Il must Keep
the impression OF it for my 'Colilmbiad,'" and
| drawing out his tablets he proceeded to write
on the spot an apostrophe TO Freedom, which
! afterwards found Il place in his great epic:
: David Matson had saved little money Dur
| ing his captivity, by odd jobs and work on holi-
| days. He got - passage to Malaga, where he
| bought nice shawl for his wife and a watch
| for each OF his boys. He then Went to the quay
| where the American Ship was Just ready l.,
| sail for Boston.
Almost the first man he saw on board was
| lelatlah Curtis, who had rowed him down to
| the port seven wears before. He found that
| his old neighbor did not know him, so changed
| he was with his long beard and Moorish dress,
| Whereupop, without telling his name, he began
TO put questions about his old home and finally
asked him if he knew Mrs. Matson.
II rather think do" said pelatiah, ''shc',
my Wife"
Your wife - cried the other, ''She's mine,
before God and man. | am David Matson,
and she is the mother of my children"
And mine too said Pelatiah, Il left her
! with baby in her arms If YOU are David
/
rate, she is mine, and am not the man to give
| her up"
"'God is great -" said poor David Matson,
unconscously repeating the familiar words of
| Moslem submission. His will be done [
| loyed her, but shall never see her again. Give
| these, with my blessing, to the good women
| and the boys" and he handed over, with a sigh
the little bundle containing the gifts for his wife
| and children.
| He shook hands with his rival .Pelatiah, y
he said, looking back as he left the ship, ..be
kind to Anna and my boys
"Ay, ay, sir =" responded the sailor in a
careless tone. He watched the poor man pass
ing slowly up the narrow street until out of
| sight ITS a hard case for old David" he
said, helping himself to fresh cu,i of tobacco,
| but I'm glad Eve seen the last Of him.
| Pelatlah Curtis reached home he told Anna
! the story of her husband. and laid his Gifts in
her lap. She did not shrek or faint, for she
was healthy woman, with strong nerves; but
she stole away by herself and wept bitterly.
She lived many years after, but could never be
| persuaded to wear the pretty shawl which the
| husband of her youth and sent is his farewell
| gilt. There Is, however, a tradition that in ac-
| cordance with her diving wish, ii was wrapped
about her poor shoulders in the coffin, and bur
led with her.
The little. old bull's-eve watch, which is still
| IN the possession of one of her grandchildren, Is
now all that remains to tell of David MatSon
the lost man.
a long interview between Judge Tur-