Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1886-11-20
PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT
WITH THE ACTHoRl
DAVID MATSON,
A STORY OF NEW ENGLAND LIFE:
By JOHN 9. WHITTIER.
copyright, lsss. nv the Author

II SOhN W. w
Copyright, 1856. by the AuthorI
Who of my young friends have read the sor-
rowfnl story of .Enoch Arden,' SO sweetly and
simply told by the great English poet? 1t Is
the story OF man who went to sea, leaving be-
hind a sweet young wife and little daughter.
He was cast away desert island, where he
remained several years, when he was discov-
cred and taken OF by passing vessel. Coming
back to his native town, he found his wife mar.
rled 10 an ola piaymate-a good man, rich and
honored, and with whom she was living happily.
The poor man, unwilling to cause her pain an d
perpleXity, resolved not to make himself known
to her, and lived and died alone. The poem
has reminded me of a 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. can assure my readers that in its
main particulars ii is a true tale.
One bright summer morning, not more than
fourscore years ago, David Matson, with his
young wife and his two healthy. barefooted
boys, stood on the bank OF the river near their
dwelling. They were waiting for Pelatiah Cur
tbs TO come round 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 cheertully;
but, had you been near enough, you could have
seen tears in Anna Matsons blue eyes, for she
loved her husband, and knew there was always
danger on the sea. And David's bluff, CHEEKY
voice trembled Il little now and then, for the
honest sailor loved his sunny home on the
Merrinlack, with the dear wife and her pretty
boys. But presently the wherry came along
side, and David was just stepping into il. when
he turned back TO kiss his wife and children
once more.
..In with you, man." said Pelatiah Curtis
There is no time for kissing and such tooleries
when the tide serves
And SO they parted. Anna and the boys went
back TO their home. and David 10 the Port,
whence me sailed OF in THE Lively Turtle"
And months passed, autumn followed summer,
and winter the autumn, ana then spring came,
and anon it was summer on the river side, and
he did not come back. And another year
passed. and then the ola sailors and fishermen
shook their heads solemniy, and said that "Tne
Lively Turtle was a lost ship, and would never
come BACK TO port. And poor Anna had her
bombazine gown dyed black, and her straw
bonnet trimmed in mourning ribbons, and
thenceiorward she was known only as the
Widow Malson.
And how was it all this time with David,
| himself?
Now you must know that the Mohammedan
people OF Aigiers and Tripod, ana Mogadore
and Salee, on the Barbary coast, had been for
long time in the habit of fitting out galieys
and armed boats to seize upon the merchant
vessels OF Christian nations and make slaves OF
their crews aud passengers, just men calling
themselves Christians In America were sendin.
vessels to Africa 10 catch black slaves Tor their
plantations. THE Lively Turtle" Tell into the
hands of enc Oh these sea robbers, and the crew
were taken 10 AlglerS and sold in the mark ct
place as slaves, poor David Matson among the
rest.
When a boy he had had learned the trade of
ShiD-cafpenter with his father the Merri-
mack; and now he set TO work in the dock
yards. His MASTER who was naturally kind
man, did not oyerwork him. Re had daily his
three leaves OF bread, and when his clothing
was worn out, its place was supplied by the
coarse cloth OF wool aud camei's nair woven by
the Berber woIscn. Three hours before sunset
he was released from work, and Friday, which
is the MohaIGmedan sabbath, was a day of en-
tire rest. once year, at the season called
Ra!nadan, lie was left at leisure for q 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-
mack, and OF his good Anna and the boys He
wondered whether they yet lived, what they
thought of him, ana what they were doing The
hope Of ever seeing them again grew fainter
and fainter, aud at last nearly died out, and ne
resigned himself To his late as slave Tor Lille.
But one day handsome middie-aged gentle
man, in The dress OF one Of ms own countrymeu,
attended by great officer OF the Dey entered
the shIi,-yard, and called up before him the
American captives. The stranger was none
other than joel Barlow, commissioner OF
the United States to procure the Liberation OF
slaves belonging TO that government. He tool,
the men by tne hand as they came up, and tod
them that they were Tree. As you night expect,
the poor fellows were very grateful; some
laughed. some wept Ior joy, some shouted and
sang, and threw up their caps. while others.
with David Matsoil among Them, knelt down
on the CHIPS and thanked God for the great de-
HVerance.
missioner, wiping his eyes. Il must keep The
Impression OF 1t for my Columbiad, and
drawing out his tablet. he proceeded to write
on the spot an apUstrophe TO Freedom, winch
afterwards found place in his great epic.
David Matson hau saveJ a little money dur
ing his captivity, by odd jobs OF work on holt
days. He got passage TO Malaga, where he
bought nice shawl tor his Vile aud "a watch
FOR each OF his Logs. He then went to the quay,
where an 3Ahierlcan shIp was lying just ready
10 sail for Boston.
Almost the first man he saw on board was
Pelatiah Curtis. who had rowed him down 10
the port seven years before. He found that his
Old neighbor did not know him, SO changed
was he with his long beard and Moorish dress:
whereupon, without telling his name, he be-
gan 10 put questions about his Old home, and
finally asked him ii he hnew Mrs. AIatson.
Il rather think L do said Pelatiah; "she's
"Your wife," cried the other. 'She is mine
before God and man. l am David MaIson,
anu she Is the mother OF my children"
And mine, too" said Peiai iah. 81 lett her
with Il baby in her arms. LII you are David
MatSon, your right 20 her is outiawed; at any
her up
'God is great!' said poor David Matson, un-
consciously repeating the familiar words OF
her, bat 1 shall never see her again. Give
these, with my blessing, 10 the good woman
and the boys" and he handed over, with
sigh. The little bundle containing the gifts Tor
his wife and children.
He shook hands with his rival! "Pelatiab,"
he said, looking back as he lett the ship, "be
Kind to Anna and my boys
"Ay, ay, sir! responded the sailor in a care
less tone. He watched the poor man passing
slowly up the narrow street until out of sight.
Its a hard case Tor old DaNiu,' he safe, help
ing himself TO a fresh cud OF tobacco; but m
glad Eve seen the last OF him.
When teiatiah Curtis reached home he told
Anna the story Oh her husband and Laid his gifts
in her lap: She did not shrek nor faint, ior she
was healthy woman, with strong nerves; but
she stole away by herself and wept bitterly.
She lived many years after but could never he
persuaded to wear the pretty shawl which the
husband OF her youth lad sent as his farewell
gift. There is, however, tradition thai, in ac-
cordance with her dying wish. it was wrapped
about her poor old shoulders ia the coffin and
buried with her.
The little old bull's-eye 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.