Chapter 3

"Captain Merwin," said Millicent, in turn looking grave, "the past year I have lived in an atmosphere of treachery and revenge; the minds of those with whom I have been associated were filled with anything but Christian thoughts. Unkindness and ill-feeling have found a fertile soil upon which to thrive in their hearts; but deep in my own I ever kept a spot green, where the plant of gratitude could again grow should the occasion offer. It did offer. The seeds were sown by a kind and generous hand; the plant grew quickly, and to-day it blossomed in full. Deeply grateful for what you have done for me, I beg you to accept its flowers." And, with tears in her eyes, she held toward him a small exquisitely selected bunch of fragrant white azalias.

Taking the blossoms tenderly he lifted them to his lips. "What a pretty idea! Who but you would have thought of rewarding a common deed of kindness so sweetly? I shall cherish these flowers, they are so like you. Did you really pick them for me?"

"Yes, and selected them out of many. It was all I had. If ever I can reward you better tell me, for I would willingly do you any favor to pay the debt of gratitude I owe you. I assure you I feel my obligation deeply," said Millicent, blushing.

"There is a reward you could give me now; but I scarcely dare ask it, for I know it to be more than I deserve." And the captain gazed at Millicent with a look that brought a bright blush to the young girl's cheek.

"Perhaps it is not," she replied, hesitatingly. "I don't think I understand you."

"Well, then, Millicent,--may I call you that?--the drawing-room term of Miss does not suit our simple life here." And, as she nodded assent, he continued, "Will you answer a question, even a hard one?"

"I will try."

"Tell me, then, if ever in the heart where the plant of gratitude grew another far sweeter flower has grown?"

"That of friendship do you mean?"

"Yes; the plant might be called friendship, but its blossom is love. Ah, Millicent! may I not take the fairest of these sweet flowers, and, placing it in the centre, call it love surrounded by gratitude? Then would my nosegay be perfect indeed."

Millicent looked, beyond the ardent gaze of the captain, into the lake, and made no reply.

"Throwing off the language of flowers, and all language but that of simple truth, the reward I desire above all on earth is yourself. I know my request is a bold one, and I ought, I suppose, not to make it for months, if ever. But come it must, and to-night my heart has forced it to my lips."

"It is very sudden," Millicent answered, faintly.

"I know that, but, after all, most deep feelings are sudden. In the savages, with whom you have been associated, have you not seen hate and other strong passions develop in a moment? Why, then, should not love, in a more appropriate soil, spring to life? It certainly has taken deep root in my heart. Give me some answer, Millicent, if it be but that of hope deferred. Can you ever love me?"

"What if I do now?" said Millicent, demurely.

"Do you really, Millicent? Then I am the proudest, happiest man alive," said Merwin. And, possessing himself of both her hands, kissed them vehemently.

"I trust I am doing right, Captain Merwin; I am almost sure I love you."

"Thank you, dearest, thank you, for your sweet words. Your reward for them shall be my life devoted to your service." And he drew her to him and kissed her lips.

"You deserve a whole life of thanks, Captain Merwin"--

"Call me Harold."

"--for releasing me from such a captivity, Harold, and, lastly, from death, or worse than death." And weeping, she threw her arms about his neck and buried her head on his shoulder.

"My brave darling, I hope and believe your troubles are at an end. I only wonder your strength has survived the hardships of such a life as yours has been the past year."

"Think of how much has happened in the last short weeks!"

"True, ours has been a courtship in which the bitter and the sweet have been equally mingled, but now the peace complete is coning love, for King Philip is dead and the war is over."

THE PICTURE.

BY MARY D. BRINE.

It was only a simple picture, The simplest, perhaps, of all The many and costly paintings That hung on the parlor wall; But it held my gaze the longest, And it touched my inmost heart With a pathos in which the others Held neither place nor part.

It showed me a lonely hill-side, Where the light of the day had fled, And the clouds of an angry twilight Were gathering overhead; And under the deepening shadows, Tired and sore afraid, A sheep and her lamb were grieving, Far from the sheepfold strayed.

Only a simple picture; But oh, how full of truth, Which silently spoke from the canvas Its lesson of age and youth! For are we not sheep, sore needing The safety of Christ's own fold? And do we not often wander Far from his loving hold,

Heedless of where we are straying Till the light of day has fled, And perchance a storm is gathering With the shadow of night o'erhead? My little one came beside me, And climbed to my waiting knee, And lifted her gaze to the picture, Which told its story to me.

"Tell me about it, mamma; Why does the sheep wait there?"-- So I told my own wee lammie (So tender, and sweet, and fair), How the poor white sheep had wandered Far from its fold away, And was tired, and sad, and lonely, And afraid, at the close of day.

"But the _lamb_ couldn't help it, mamma, 'Cause its _mother_ led it, you see."-- Oh! there was another lesson Brought silently home to me: We mothers, who love our babies, Guarding them day and night,-- Are we always careful to lead them In ways that are best and right?

I gathered my darling closer, With an earnest unspoken prayer, That the tender Shepherd above us Would help me with special care To lead my little lamb onward Thro' pastures prepared by him, That naught could harm or afflict us When the light of our day grew dim.

And I know he will graciously answer, And, though come storms and cold, He will gather his own in safety Within one blessed fold. And my baby still talks of the picture, And pities the lamb so white, Which was led by its careless mother Out into the dark, cold night.

NEW BEDFORD.

BY HERBERT L. ALDRICH.

No visitor to the shore of Buzzard's Bay has really done his duty, or shown due respect to the inhabitants, who has not learned to say in one breath, and without a break or hesitation,--

Nashawena, Pesquinese, Cuttyhunk and Penekese, Naushon, Nonamesset, Onkatonka and Wepecket.

These are the names of the islands along the south entrance to the bay which Bartholomew Gosnold, the English navigator, named for his queen the Elizabeth Islands when he entered the bay in 1602. Fortunately his attempt to substitute his own English names for these of the Indians was futile. When Gosnold landed at Cuttyhunk in the early summer of that year he found it densely wooded and abounding in game. To-day there is hardly a tree there. In the west part of this island is a pond of fresh water, in the waters of which is a considerable island, and it was on this that these adventurers built the first habitation in this section of New England of which there is any authentic account. There they were, in a sense, safe from the Indians and from wild animals.

When Gosnold prepared to return to England in his vessel, the "Concord," with a cargo of native products, such as sassafras, cedar, etc., those who had planned to remain and settle returned with him, fearing that they might not share in the expected profits. But they could not take back with them the cellar to the house they had built, and what little vestige of the hole that still remains in that island within an island is to-day pointed out as the spot where the first white settler's house was built hereabouts. Unfortunately for the picturesqueness and poetry of this historic incident, modern civilization has utilized the island as a hen-yard, and the historic cellar as a chicken-roost.

The real history of Southern Massachusetts began in June, 1664, when the General Court of the Plymouth Colony passed an order that "all that tracte of land called and known by the name of Acushena,[1] Ponogansett, and Coaksett, is allowed by the court to bee a townshipe, and said towne bee henceforth ... called and knowne by the name of Dartmouth." In November, 1652, Wamsutta and his father, Massasoit, had signed a deed conveying to William Bradford, Capt. Standish, Thomas Southworth, John Winslow, John Cooke, and their associates all the land lying three miles eastward from a river called the Coshenegg to Acoaksett, to a flat rock on the western side of the said harbor, the conveyance including all that land from the sea upward "so high that the English may not be annoyed by the hunting of the Indians, in any sort, of their cattle." The price paid for this tract was, thirty yards of cloth, eight moose-skins, fifteen axes, fifteen hoes, fifteen pairs of breeches, eight blankets, two kettles, one cloak, two pounds wampum, eight pairs stockings, eight pairs shoes, one iron pot, and ten shillings in other commodities. This immense tract had twenty miles of sea-coast, not to mention harbors, etc., and represents, besides the present township of Dartmouth, New Bedford, Fairhaven, Westport, and Acushnet.[2]

[1] In the old records this name is variously spelled Acushena, Accushnutt, Cushnet, Acushnett, Acushnet, etc. The spelling now always used is Acushnet. Apponegansett was often spelled without the initial A.

[2] The original township of Dartmouth was owned by thirty-six proprietors at the time of its settlement. This old proprietorship was a _quasi_ corporation, which existed for 170 years. It conveyed all the lands sold until at last nothing remained. Its meetings were then mere formalities, and they finally died for lack of attendance.

In a brief article it is impossible to give more than the cream of the whole story of the growth and existence of this settlement. It experienced the vicissitudes of Indian depredations and wars. In the King Philip war it was nearly obliterated, only the little settlement of Apponegansett surviving. But at the return of peace the settlers took up their old avocations, and gradually, but surely, made the old town of Dartmouth. The story of nearly every other outlying settlement in those days is the story of this one, so that all that concerns us are the historical events peculiar to this.

These early inhabitants combined tilling the soil and extracting the wealth of the sea, only, however, as shore fishermen, and an occasional off-shore whaling voyage in small boats. One event in early history shows that the people were possessed of something more than the traditional courage and bold seamanship for which southern Massachusetts was ever famed, and shows a spiritual courage as well as that deliberate manly determination to overcome all physical obstacles to existence with which the early settlers were permeated.

This was the dispute between the General Court at Plymouth and the town authorities regarding a settled minister. A good two-thirds of the people were Friends, and one of their number provided for their spiritual wants without compensation. Those remaining were mostly Baptists, who also had among them a _quasi_ minister who acted as pastor. But the General Court at Plymouth wanted the settlers to have _their_ kind of a minister; so in 1671 they ordered the settlers to raise £15 by taxation "to help towards the support of such as may dispense the word of God." But as the settlers were satisfied with their own ministers they refused to obey the order. Fortunately they were far away from the court. Then about that time King Philip's war broke out, and absorbed the whole attention of the court; although time enough was found to warn the people that the calamity of war was due to the "lack of a dispenser of the word of God" among them. But no sooner had the war ended than the old dispute was taken up just where it was left off. The court pleaded and persuaded, then commanded, and finally threatened; but year after year the colonists continued doing as they pleased, regardless of the court. Finally, in 1722, as a last resort, the court ingeniously combined the provincial and ministerial tax, £181 12s. in all, with the intention of providing a minister by that means. The town called a meeting, and, after promptly voting the provincial tax of £81 12s., as promptly refused to raise the extra £100, which they recognized as the ministerial tax in a new garb. Such defiance led to the arrest of the selectmen, and they were imprisoned at Taunton. This thoroughly aroused the town. A meeting was immediately held, and £700 was unanimously voted to support the selectmen. This enormous sum for those days was used partly to support the selectmen and their families, but mostly to send an embassy to England to seek redress from the King and his council. In this the colonists were successful, for not only were the selectmen ordered released from prison, but the province of Massachusetts Bay was ordered to remit the obnoxious taxes which it had in vain tried for thirty-one years to collect. It was not until about this time that what is now New Bedford was settled. Joseph Russell had been practically the sole inhabitant. He was succeeded by his twin sons John and Joseph. The latter lived near the heart of the site of the present city, and is regarded as its real founder. For some time vessels of all classes had fitted out in the Apponegansett river, but he sent his from the Acushnet. His merchantmen sailed all over the seas. At the same time he fitted out whaling vessels. These whalers were small sloops and schooners, which only went off-shore, captured a whale or two, then returned to try out the oil. In connection with this business Mr. Russell had built try works, and he started a sperm-oil factory. The infant whaling industry began about 1760 to attract a boat-builder, then a carpenter, a blacksmith, and so on until gradually there became quite a little settlement. Larger vessels were built, voyages were extended to some two or three weeks, and sometimes to as many months, the seas being scoured from Newfoundland to Virginia for whales.

The year 1765 was an eventful one, as it brought Joseph Rotch, a man of means and experience, from Nantucket,--or Sherburn as it was called up to 1790,--to carry on the whaling business here; and his vessels, together with those of other new-comers, materially increased the size of the little fleet sailing from the Acushnet river. The settlement had now become quite a little village, and needed a distinctive name, as it had always been regarded as a part of the village of Acushnet; so it was christened Bedford, and in after years the New was added to distinguish it from the Bedford near Boston.

Being deeper, broader, and a safer harbor than the Apponegansett, the Acushnet river gradually absorbed most of the fleet that had sailed from there, so that the little fleet of a few vessels in 1765 had become one of fifty vessels in 1773. Among these vessels was one owned by Mr. Rotch,--the "Dartmouth,"--which will be remembered as long as the American republic stands, for it was this vessel that took the tea to Boston which was thrown overboard at the time of the famous Tea Party in 1773.

But the Revolution put a stop to a continuance of this marvellous growth, and during the following eight years in the struggle for liberty, decay, fire, and the English did fatal destruction to the vessels in Buzzard's Bay. Mr. Rotch returned to his off-shore island home, taking his vessels with him, and one or two other merchants followed his example and moved away. What vessels remained after these desertions were moored along the wharves. But the people did not settle down in idleness to wait for the war to be over. While the women were working for the soldiers, in providing them clothing, etc., the men young and old proved that their sea-training in the catching of whales was invaluable in manning the little navy of the colonies. With such men behind him, John Paul Jones scoured the ocean and even defied the English in their own harbors, and the little navy became a powerful and dangerous foe to the proud mistress of the seas. Not the least destructive vessels of the brave American navy were the whaling vessels from Buzzard's Bay made over into men-of-war. The frequent and astonishing victories of these vessels caused many valuable prizes to be brought into the bay, and the natural consequence was the raid of Major Gen. Gray, accompanied by the ill-fated Andre, on the fourth day of September, and the day following, in 1778, by which nearly the whole town of Bedford was laid in ashes and property to the value of over half a million of dollars destroyed, together with seventy vessels, including eight large ships with their cargoes, and four privateers.

At the first whisperings of peace, Capt. Moores, of the good ship "Bedford," with a cargo of oil, set sail for London, and first displayed to the defeated English, in their great metropolis, the stars and stripes of the infant republic of the western world. This promptness of Capt. Moores is a fair sample of the manner in which the village of Bedford grasped the return of peace and rushed into its former industries. The greater part of the village had been rebuilt; the vessels that survived the war--most of them as men-of-war--were refitted, and whaling and commerce resumed, although it was years before whaling fairly got on its feet again. This was owing to the lack of a market for oil, as England and France had passed laws practically prohibiting its importation. Some merchants were forced to live in French or English territory and sail under those flags, in order to pursue whaling with any profit.

In 1787 the General Court of Massachusetts incorporated the town of New Bedford, and in 1847 it became a city. The census of 1790 reported a population of 3,313 in the new town. But there was nothing at this time to cause the town to grow, nor was there until 1804, when, through the intercessions of William Rotch, Sr., Great Britain remitted her alien duty on oil. From that year New Bedford began to assume her distinctive character as the whaling port preëminent of the world. The stock in trade to begin with was no meagre one, as it consisted of fifty-nine vessels of 19,146 tons' burden, about thirty of them being brigs and ships employed in the merchant service with Europe, South America, and the West Indies. This fleet suffered terribly from the impressment of seamen, then the embargo, and finally by the second war with England, during which many vessels were captured. This over, the place began in earnest its distinctive career.

A few words as to the history of whaling in America. Capt. John Smith makes mention of catching a few whales on some of his voyages, and it is known that the Indians had quite a passion for hunting the whale, or _powdawe_ as they called it. The Montauk Indians regarded the fin or tail of a whale as a rare sacrifice to their deity. As the early settlers began to spread throughout New England, it became quite an industry along the sea-shore to hunt stranded whales for their oil and blubber. This naturally led to hunting them in their native element, and the industry extended along Cape Cod and Long Island, and, about 1672, was introduced on the islands of Nantucket and Martha's Vineyard. About fifty years later the brave Nantucket seamen began whaling in large boats, and within the following twenty-five years Nantucket had direct communication with England in her ships. These brave early mariners were the first who understood and made use of the Gulf Stream, and by them it was explained to the English admiralty. At the opening of the Revolution there were one hundred and fifty vessels that sailed from Nantucket; but at the close of the war one hundred and thirty-four of these had been captured and fifteen more wrecked. The war also cost this island twelve hundred sailors, and was the making of two hundred and two widows and three hundred and forty-two orphans.

In the year 1815 there sailed from Nantucket fifty whalers, while only ten sailed from New Bedford. But the New Bedford fleet increased rapidly year by year, reaching the climax in 1852, when two hundred and seventy-eight sailed. From that date there has been an almost uninterrupted decline in the whaling industry. Nantucket's decline began many years earlier. In 1860 she had only very few vessels left, and in 1872 her last whaler, the bark "Oak," was sold. In 1835 whaling was at its height, the whole fleet of the United States consisting of six hundred and seventy-eight ships and barks, thirty-five brigs, and twenty-two schooners, valued at twenty-one millions of dollars; while the foreign fleet consisted of only two hundred and thirty vessels of various kinds. From the off-shore fishing as practised in the early days of the industry, voyages had extended to all parts of the Atlantic, and before the opening of the nineteenth century a considerable fleet was cruising in the Pacific Ocean. By 1820 these voyages had extended to Japan, and in 1836 they reached what is known as the Kodiak Grounds. In 1848 the wonderful field in the Arctic, by way of Behring's Strait, was discovered by bark "Superior." Three years later two hundred and fifty vessels took advantage of the "Superior's" discovery and entered the same grounds. The largest catch in these grounds was in 1852, when two hundred and seventy-eight vessels got three hundred and seventy-three thousand, four hundred and fifty barrels of oil. Since then there has been a very great decline; the Arctic fleet of 1876 consisting of only twenty vessels, which caught five thousand, two hundred and fifty barrels of oil. The fleet of 1885 consisted of forty-one vessels, more than half hailing from New Bedford; but four of the fleet were lost.