"Who are you?" said an officer, who saw him come over the side.

"An Englishman, and one of the few survivors of the ill-fated ship which blew up just now," he answered. "Well-nigh a thousand men who walked her decks in health and strength this morning are now in eternity."

"You are indeed fortunate in escaping then," said the Dutch officer, "and though we must consider you a prisoner, you will be treated with due courtesy on board this ship. I see that you are wounded, and badly it seems to me, so that you must be forthwith put under the surgeon's care."

Wenlock thanked him, and supported by a couple of men was carried below. After this he knew nothing of what happened to him, for scarcely had he been placed on a bed than he fainted. When he came to consciousness he found the surgeon ready to administer some medicine, soon after which he fell asleep, nor did he awake again till daylight. He inquired eagerly what had occurred.

"You must not talk much," said the surgeon; "but this I will tell you, that we have had a very fierce engagement, and lost three of our stoutest ships; while, if the truth is known, you English have not been less sufferers. Depend on it, altogether between us, four or five thousand people have been killed: a sensible employment for human beings. Heu! while we,—a free Protestant people,—were fighting for liberty, you English were beguiled by your own traitorous sovereign, bribed by the King of France, to attack us."

The surgeon, Nicholas Van Erk, notwithstanding his remarks, treated Wenlock with the greatest kindness. They however gave him ample material for thought. In a short time the Dutch fleet arrived off the coast of Holland, and the injured ships proceeded to the chief naval ports to undergo repair. The Marten Harptez, the ship on board which Wenlock had found refuge, proceeded to Rotterdam.

"You are a prisoner, but I have got leave to receive you at my house," said Mynheer Van Erk; "and as I have a good many sick men to look after, I do not purpose again going to sea. In truth, fighting may be a very satisfactory amusement to people without brains; but I am a philosopher, and have seen enough of it to be satisfied that it is a most detestable occupation."

Wenlock found himself conveyed to a comfortable mansion in Rotterdam overlooking a canal; indeed, what houses do not overlook canals in that city? He was very weak, for his wound had been severe,—more severe than he had supposed; and he was surprised that he should have been enabled to undergo so much exertion as he had done. Van Erk, indeed, told him that had he remained much longer in the water, he would probably have fainted from loss of blood, and been drowned.

"As you may become a wise man and enjoy life, being young, that would have been a pity," observed the philosopher; "but it depends how you spend the future whether you should or should not be justly congratulated on your escape."

The doctor's wife and only daughter,—the fair Frowline Gretchen,— formed the only members of the surgeon's household, with their serving maid Barbara. They, fortunately for Wenlock, were not philosophers, but turned their attention to household affairs, and watched over him with the greatest care. He, poor fellow, felt very sad and forlorn. For many days he could only think with deep grief of the untimely loss of his brave father. In time, however, he began to meditate a little also about himself. All his prospects appeared blighted. The friends who might have spoken of his brave conduct in the fight were dead. He had hoped to obtain wealth, and to return and marry Mary Mead. He had not a groat remaining in the world. Never in his life before had he been so downhearted Gretchen observed his melancholy.

"You should not thus grieve for being a prisoner," she observed; "many brave men have been so, and the time will come when you will be set at liberty."

Wenlock then told her how he had lost his father, and how his own hopes of advancement had been blighted. "Have you no one then who cares for you?" she asked, in a tone of sympathy; "no one in your native land to whom you desire to return?"

"Yes," said Wenlock; and he then told her of his engagement to the fair Quakeress.

"Ah! I am not surprised at that," observed the Dutch girl, with a sigh. After this, though as kind as usual, Wenlock observed that she was somewhat more distant in her manner to him than she had been at first.

Considering that he was a prisoner, his time passed very pleasantly. Having given his word to the authorities and to his host that he would not attempt to escape, he was allowed to go about that picturesque town as much as he pleased. Month after month the war continued, and he remained a prisoner. His affection, however, for Mary Mead had rather increased by absence than diminished; and fearing that she might forget him, he at length wrote her a letter, entreating her to remain faithful, and promising, as soon as he should be able, to return to England and follow any course she might advise. In vain he waited for an answer to this letter; week after week passed by, and none came.

"She has forgotten you," said Gretchen one day, observing him look very sad.

Wenlock started! He was thinking the same thing. "I know not," he answered; "I have heard that women are fickle."

"I did not say that," observed Gretchen; "but if you chose to disregard the wishes of one you professed to love, I am not surprised that she should at length have dismissed you from her thoughts. I do not say she has, but it is possible."

Wenlock had for some time felt ashamed of being idle; for though his host might have received payment for his support from the government, yet that, he was sure, could not be sufficient to cover the expense to which he was put. He expressed his wishes to his kind host.

"A very sensible remark," observed the surgeon, "and as you have now recovered from your wound, and regained your strength, it is proper that you should be employed. I have a brother, a merchant, trading with Surinam. He may possibly give you employment. You speak several languages, and write a good hand. You will, I doubt not, soon be ranked among his principal clerks, if you have a good knowledge of accounts."

"If he will try me, I will do my best," answered Wenlock.

The next day he was installed as a clerk in the office of Peter Van Erk, one of the principal merchants in the city. Wenlock had an aptitude for business of which he had not been aware. He took a positive pleasure in his work, and soon attracted the observation of his quick-sighted employer.

The kind surgeon was highly pleased. "You do credit to my recommendation, Christison," he observed; "you will soon win the confidence of my brother, and will then be on the fair way to making your fortune."

Time passed by. Wenlock made himself so useful that in a short time his employer agreed to pay him a handsome salary. When peace was declared, therefore, he felt that it would be folly to return to England, where he had no home and no one from whom he had a right to demand assistance. He had forfeited William Mead's regard by acting contrary to his advice, while from Lord Ossory he might possibly fail to receive further patronage. He had heard enough of the fickleness of those in authority, and he did not expect to be better treated than others. He therefore continued to work away steadily as a merchant's clerk in the house of Van Erk and Company, of Rotterdam.



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

"Come with my mother and me to a meeting to which we are going this evening!" said Gretchen, when Wenlock returned home at a somewhat earlier hour than usual, for he still lived at the house of the kind surgeon. "Some Englishmen arrived yesterday in Rotterdam, and they are about to address the public on some important religious matters. They are said to be very earnest and devoted people, and one of them speaks Dutch perfectly. Their names I cannot remember. Those short, curious, English names quickly escape my memory."

Wenlock at once agreed to Gretchen's request; indeed he had no longer the heart to refuse her anything she asked. It might have been just possible that, had he learned that the fair Mary had forgotten him and accepted another suitor, he would have had no great difficulty in consoling himself. Yet it was not so at present. He always treated Gretchen with kindness and respect, but was fully convinced in his own mind that he never allowed a warmer feeling to enter his bosom. The large public hall in which meetings of the sort were generally held was nearly filled by the time the Van Erk party arrived. They, however, were shown to seats near the platform whence the speakers were to address the people. Many more persons crowded in, till the hall was quite full. Just then five gentlemen appeared on the platform, advancing with slow and dignified steps. A curious and very mixed feeling agitated Wenlock's heart when among them he recognised Master William Penn, and his father's old friend, Captain Mead. The thought of his father rushed into his mind, and a tear filled his eye. He thought, however, also of Mary, and he longed to ask her father about her; yet, at that moment, to do so was impossible. As the speakers appeared, the whole hall was hushed in silence. At length William Penn offered up a prayer in Dutch. He then introduced a tall thin, careworn man, as George Fox, who addressed the people in English, Penn interpreting as he spoke. He urged on them in forcible language to adopt the principles which the Friends had accepted, and many were moved to tears while he spoke. William Mead then came forward, but said little. Another Englishman, Robert Barclay, then addressed the assemblage. He was followed by Penn himself; who, in calm yet forcible language, placed the simple truths of the gospel before his hearers. Wenlock's feelings were greatly moved. His reason too was convinced. He had had a severe lesson. He had declined to accept those principles, and sought for worldly honour and distinction instead. The result had been the loss of his beloved father, he himself escaping with life almost by a miracle. "Those are old friends I little expected to meet again," said Wenlock to Gretchen and her mother. "I must speak to them now, lest they leave the city to-morrow and I may miss them."

As the assembly broke up, the speakers descended into the body of the hall, and Wenlock found himself standing before William Penn and Captain Mead. Neither of them knew him, though they looked at him kindly, having observed the deep attention with which he had listened to their discourses. "I am afraid, Master Mead, I am forgotten," said Wenlock, feeling that he must speak at last. The Quaker started, and examined his countenance narrowly. "What!" he exclaimed, "art thou the son of my ancient comrade? Verily I thought that he and thou were long since numbered with the dead. How is it, young man? Has thy father escaped also?"

"Alas! no," said Wenlock; and he gave a brief account of his father's death.

"And hast thou been content to pass so long a time without communicating with thy old friends?" said Mead, in a reproachful tone.

"No, indeed. I wrote to Mistress Mary," said Wenlock; "but she replied not to my letter."

"My daughter received no letter from thee, young man," said Mead; "and I will not deny that she grieved at the thought of thy loss."

"O Master Mead, I wish that I had written oftener, till one of my letters had reached you or her," exclaimed Wenlock; "but I thought that she had discarded me."

"I see; I see! And thou wast too proud to run the risk of being chid further for thy youthful folly," said the Quaker.

"You are right, I confess," answered Wenlock. "But tell me, how is she? Where is she? Would I could once more see her and explain my conduct."

"Perchance thou mayst see her sooner than thou dost expect," said Mead. "Come to-morrow morning to the house where we lodge, and we will talk further of this matter."

"What! is she in Rotterdam?" exclaimed Wenlock, in a voice trembling with agitation.

"She accompanied us thus far on our journey; but I know not whether she will go farther. I must not let thee see her, however, to-night, as, believing thee dead, it might perchance somewhat agitate her; for I do not deny, Wenlock, that thou wast once dear to us all. But whether thou canst sufficiently explain thy conduct since thou didst part from us, to regain thy lost place in our regard, I cannot now determine."

"Oh, I trust I can," exclaimed Wenlock, all his affection for Mary reviving immediately at the thought of again meeting her.

William Penn received the young man very kindly, and then for some minutes spoke to him with deep seriousness of his past life. "Thou canst not serve God and Mammon, Friend Wenlock," he said. "Thou didst attempt to do so, and Mammon left thee struggling for thy life on the ocean. More on that matter I need not say."

Wenlock, on reaching home, found that his friends had been deeply impressed by the addresses they had heard. They were also much surprised to find that two of the speakers were known to him.

"Indeed, one of them," he said, "is a very old friend; and should he invite me to accompany him to England, I should wish to do so."

"What! and leave us all here, not to return?" said Gretchen.

"It is right that I should tell the truth at once," thought Wenlock. He did so.

"And is this English girl very, very pretty," asked Gretchen; and her voice trembled slightly.

"I thought her so when we parted; and amiable, and right-minded, and pious I know she is."

"Ah!" said Gretchen, "I should like to see her while she remains in this city."

The next morning Wenlock set out to pay his promised visit to his Quaker friends. Master Mead met him at the door of the house.

"Come in; Mary will see thee," he said; and taking him upstairs, he led him into a room, at the farther end of which a young lady was seated with a book before her. She rose as her father and their visitor entered, and gave an inquiring glance at Wenlock, apparently at first scarcely knowing him. Another look assured her who it was, but no smile lighted up her countenance. She advanced, however, and held out her hand. "Thou art welcome, Master Christison," she said; "and I rejoice to find that thou didst escape the sad fate we heard had overtaken thee. And yet, was it kind to leave old friends who were interested in thee, albeit thou didst differ from them in opinion, without knowing of thy existence?" Her voice, which had hitherto remained firm, began to tremble.

"Oh, no, no, Mary!" exclaimed Wenlock. "I cannot blame myself too much. Yet I did write; but I ought to have written again and again, till I heard from you. I should have known that the risk of a letter miscarrying was very great."

"Yea; verily thou ought to have put more confidence in us," said Mary.

Then Wenlock again blamed himself, and Mary showed herself before long inclined to be more lenient than her manner had at first led him to hope she might prove.

Penn and his party remained for some days at Rotterdam, holding numerous meetings. Many among the most educated of the inhabitants,—officers of the government, merchants, and others,—came to hear them preach; while many of the principal houses of the place were thrown open to them. Among other converts was Wenlock's employer, Mynheer Van Erk, as was also his kind friend the surgeon and his family. Gretchen and Mary met frequently. "You have not over praised the English maiden," said the former to Wenlock. "I hope you will be fortunate in regaining her regard; for it is clear to me that you still look on her with affection."

Penn, with three of his companions, proceeded on their tour through Holland and part of Germany, gaining many proselytes to their opinions. Mead, who had some mercantile transactions at Rotterdam, remained in that city. After they were concluded he prepared to return home. Wenlock wished to accompany him. "No, my young friend," he answered, "I cannot allow thee to quit thy present employer without due notice. Should he wish to dispense with thy services, I will receive thee when thou dost come to me." Wenlock had now openly professed himself to be a Quaker. Perchance, Master Mead, who had no lack of worldly wisdom, desired to try the young man's constancy, both as to his love and his religion; for, in both, people are very apt to deceive themselves, mistaking enthusiasm and momentary excitement for well grounded principle. As winter approached, Penn and his party returned to Rotterdam, and sailed for England.



CHAPTER TWELVE.

The beams of the evening sun were streaming through a deep bay window of the country house of Worminghurst, in Sussex, on the heads of two men seated at a large oak writing table in a room which, lined as it was with bookcases, showed that it was devoted to study.

The heads of both of them betokened high intellect, traces of care and thought being especially discernible on the countenance of the elder,— that lofty intellect to be quenched, ere a few short years were over, by the executioner's axe,—a deed as cruel and unjust as any caused by the cowardice and tyranny of a monarch.

The table was covered with parchments, papers, books, and writing materials. Both were holding pens in their hands, now and then making note from the documents before them, at other times stopping and addressing each other. The younger man was William Penn, who, lately having obtained a grant of a large tract of country on the American continent, was now engaged in drawing up a constitution for its government, assisted by the elder,—the enlightened patriot and philosopher, Sidney.

"See! such a constitution as this for Carolina will not suit a free people such as will be our colonists!" said the former, pointing to a document before him, "albeit it emanated from the brain of John Locke. Here we have a king, though with the title of palatine, with a whole court and two orders of nobility. Laws to prevent estates accumulating or diminishing. The children of leet men to be leet men for ever, while every free man is to have power over his negro slaves. Truly, society will thus be bound hand and foot. All political rights to be taken from the cultivators of the soil. Trial by jury virtually set aside. The Church of England to be alone the true and orthodox, and to be supported out of the coffers of the State."

"In truth, no," said Sidney. "John Locke has not emancipated himself from his admiration of the feudal system. Let this be our principle,— that those whose lives, properties, and liberties are most concerned in the administration of the laws shall be the people to form them. Let there be two bodies to be elected by the people,—a council and an assembly. Let the council consist of seventy-two persons, to be chosen by universal suffrage, for three years, twenty-four of them retiring every year, their places to be supplied by new election. Let the members of the assembly be elected annually, and all votes taken by ballot. The suffrage to be universal. Let it have the privilege of making out the list of persons to be named as justices and sheriffs, and let the governor be bound to select one half of those thus recommended. Now we must consider numerous provisional laws relating to liberty of conscience, provision for the poor, choice of civil officers, and so on, which can be in force until accepted by the council. We shall thus, dear friend, I trust, have secured freedom of thought, the sacredness of person and property, popular control over all powers of the state; and we will leave our new democracy to develop itself in accordance with its own genius, unencumbered with useless formalities and laws."

"Yes; I trust that the simplicity of our constitution will secure its permanence," said Sidney. "I will take the papers home with me to Penshurst, and there maturely consider over all the points."

Left alone, William Penn might have been seen lifting up his hands in earnest prayer to heaven that his noble scheme might prosper. He was interrupted by a knock at the door, and a servant announced a visitor. In another minute a young man entered the room with modest air and in sober costume.

"Who art thou?" said Penn, looking up.

"Wenlock Christison," answered the visitor. "I came at the desire of Friend Mead."

"Yea; I wish to see thee, young friend," said Penn; "but when thou earnest into the room I did not at first recognise thee. Thou art somewhat changed, I may say, for the better. Sit down, and I will tell thee what I require. Look at this map of the American continent. See this magnificent river,—the Delaware, entering the Atlantic between Cape Henlopen and Cape May. See those other fine rivers,—the Susquehannah, the Ohio, and the Alleghany. Here is a country but a little less than the size of England; its surface covered with a rich vegetable loam capable of the highest cultivation, and of producing wheat, barley, rye, Indian corn, hemp, oats, flax. Here too are mighty forests supplying woods of every kind, abounding too in wild game and venison, equal to any in England. The rivers are full of fish, oysters, and crabs in abundance. On the coast the most luscious fruits grow wild, while the flowers of the forest are superior in beauty to any found in our native land. A few settlers from Sweden are already there, and some Hollanders. The native red men have hitherto proved friendly; and I trust by treating them kindly, with due regard to their just rights, we may ever remain on brotherly terms with them. They are mere wanderers over the land, build no cities, nor permanently cultivate the ground. I trust before to-morrow's sun has set, unless I am deceived, to obtain a grant of this territory, in lieu of a debt owing by the government to my father of nearly 15,000 pounds. I wish forthwith to despatch a vessel with certain commissioners authorised to purchase lands from the natives; and as Friend Mead has spoken favourably of thee, it is my wish to send thee with them. Wilt thou accept my offer? I will tell thee, if thou wilt, more particularly of thy duties."

Wenlock's heart somewhat sunk within him at this proposal. He had been hoping to make Mary Mead his wife; yet he was sure her father would not allow her to go forth into a new settlement, and to undergo all the incidental risks and hardships. How long a time might pass before he could return, he could not tell. Of one thing only he felt sure, that she would be faithful to him.

Some time had passed since he left Rotterdam, his friend Van Erk having given him permission to go over to England to enter the employment of William Mead. He had, since then, been living in his family, enjoying an almost daily intercourse with Mary; not yet, however, having obtained a position to enable him to marry her. Her father had resolved to put his patience and constancy to the test. Here, however, was a trial he had not expected; and when Penn had sent for him, he had, with the sanguine spirit of youth, hoped that it was to receive some appointment which would enable him to realise the wishes of his heart. Still the offer was a flattering one, and he felt that it would be unwise in him to decline it. He therefore, in suitable language, accepted the offer.

"Stay here then," said Penn, "as I have abundance of work for thee for some days to come, and I will then more fully explain to thee my wishes."

While Penn was still speaking, a messenger arrived from London. He brought a summons for him to attend a council at Whitehall, a note from a friend at court informing him that it was to settle the matter of the colony. He hastened up to London. In the council chamber were already assembled his majesty's privy councillors, and at the farther end of the room was the king himself, hat on head. William Penn, not the least conspicuous among them for his height and manly bearing, advanced up the room in his usual dignified manner; but neither did he doff his hat nor bend his knee before the king's majesty, although he has come in the hope of obtaining an object among the dearest to his heart.

"I have come at thy desire, and thank thee for the invitation," said Penn, standing before the king.

"Verily thou art welcome," said the monarch, with a smile on his lips; at the same time removing his hat and placing it by his side.

"Friend Charles, why dost thou not keep on thy hat?" said Penn with perfect gravity; at the same time making no attempt to remove his own.

"Ha! ha! ha! knowest thou not, Friend William, that it is the custom of this place for only one person to remain covered at a time?" answered the king, laughing heartily. "To business, however, my lords," he added. "And what name hast thou fixed on for this new province, Master Penn?"

"As it is a somewhat mountainous country, I would have it called New Wales," answered the Quaker.

Here Master Secretary Blathwayte, who was a Welshman, interposed; in reality objecting to have the country of a sect to which he was no friend called after his native land.

"Well then, as it hath many noble forests, let it be called Sylvania," said Penn.

"Nay, nay; but I have a better name still," exclaimed the king. "We will call it Pennsylvania, in honour of your worthy father,—the great admiral. The forest land of Penn, that shall be it; and my word shall be as the law of the Medes and Persians."

At this the courtiers laughed, not, perchance, considering the king's word of much value. However, the name was thus fixed, the patent being then and there issued under the king's inspection.

With the charter in his possession, Penn returned home to make the final arrangements with Sidney for the great work he had undertaken. The document was written on a roll of parchment. At the head of the first sheet there is a well-executed portrait of Charles the Second, while the borders are handsomely emblazoned with heraldic devices. Great had been the opposition made to Penn's receiving this grant. Sidney had come back to Worminghurst.

"God hath given it to me in the face of the world," exclaimed Penn, as the friends met. "He will bless and make it the seed of a nation."

Truly has that prediction been fulfilled.



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

Two fine vessels lay in mid stream a little way below London, with sails loosened, ready to take their departure. The wind was light, and they were waiting for the turn of the tide. Many boats surrounded them, and numerous visitors still thronged their decks. On board one of them was William Mead and his family.

Wenlock Christison held Mary's hand as her father was about to lead her to the side of the vessel, to descend into the boat.

"Thou wilt be supported, Wenlock, if thou dost look whence support can alone be gained," said Mary; "and my father has promised that when thou dost return he will no longer withhold me from thee. What more can I say? Thou dost know my love, and I have faith in thee."

"Thanks, Mary, for those words," said Wenlock. "I trust I may do my duty, and soon return to thee."

Thus the young Quaker and his betrothed parted. The other visitors quitted the good ship Amity, and her consort the John Sarah, which now, with sails sheeted home, slowly glided down the Thames. They made but slight progress, however, as they had frequently to come to an anchor before they altogether got clear of the river. They then proceeded once more without interruption until they reached Plymouth Sound. Here they took in more provisions. On board the Amity also there came a passenger, who announced himself as Master Jonas Ford, the son of the factor of the Irish estates of Mr William Penn. He brought a letter. He was a Quaker, his figure slight, his cheeks smooth. His dress, his language, and manners were equally correct. Yet Wenlock did not feel attracted towards him. Jonas Ford, however, seemed determined to obtain his friendship, and from the first attached himself especially to him.

"Hast ever crossed the ocean before, young sir?" said honest Richard Dinan, captain of the Amity, addressing Wenlock. "You seem to have a pair of sea legs of your own."

"Yea, verily, friend. I served on board a man-of-war, and saw no little service," answered Wenlock.

"Then how didst thou quit it? It is an honest calling, to my mind," observed the captain.

"Why, by being blown up and left floating alone on the water. Verily I thought that was a sufficient sign to me no longer to engage in carnal warfare."

"Oh, ay, I see. You have joined friend Penn. Well, well, each man to his taste. However, I guessed you had served at sea directly I saw you walking the deck."

After this, Captain Dinan paid considerable attention to Wenlock,—much more so, indeed, than he did to Jonas Ford. Altogether there were about twenty passengers on board the Amity, with a crew of forty men. She also carried guns, to be able to defend herself against Algerine rovers, or West Indian pirates, of whom there were not a few roving those seas at that time. Prince Rupert and his brother had made piracy somewhat fashionable during the days of the Commonwealth, and there were not wanting a few lawless spirits to follow their example.

For some time the voyage continued prosperous, though, as the wind was light, the progress of the two emigrant ships was but slow. One day Wenlock had gone forward, when a seaman, whose furrowed countenance, thickly covered with scars and grey locks, showing the hard service he had gone through during a long life, addressed him.

"I know your name, Master Christison," he said, "for I served under a man who I think was your father. It was many years ago; but yet I remember his looks and tone of voice, as you remind me of him. He saved my life, and did more than save my life, for he prevented me from becoming a hardened ruffian like many of my companions." On this the old seaman ran on, and gave him many accounts of his father, to which Wenlock listened with deep interest. "Well, sir," said the old man, "whenever you have time to listen to a yarn, if I happen to be below, just send for old Bill Rullock." Wenlock promised the old man that he would not fail to come and talk to him, hoping indeed, as in duty bound, to put the truth before him.

The two ships were now about ten days' sail from the American continent. Wenlock was walking the deck with Captain Dinan, most of the other passengers having gone to their cabins, for the sea was somewhat high, and the wind had increased. Dark clouds also were rising in the north-west, and driving rapidly across the sky.

"I do not altogether like the look of the weather," observed the captain. "I see Captain Smith is shortening sail; we must do the same:" and he forthwith summoned the crew to perform that operation.

Scarcely were the men off the yards, when the wind, as if suddenly let loose, struck the ship with terrific fury, throwing her on her beam ends. Many of the passengers cried out for fear, thinking that she was going down. Among those who exhibited the greatest terror was Jonas Ford, who wrung his hands, bitterly repenting that he had ever come to sea. The captain issued his orders in a clear voice, which the crew readily obeyed, Wenlock giving his assistance.

"Cut away the mizen mast," cried the captain.

A glittering axe soon descended on the stout mast, while the active crew cleared the shrouds and all the other ropes, the mast falling clear of the ship into the foaming ocean. Still she lay helpless in the trough of the sea.

"The mainmast must go," cried the captain.

That too was cut away. The ship instantly felt the relief, and now rising to an even keel, she flew before the furious gale. Those on board had been so taken up with their own dangerous condition, that no one thought of looking out for their consort.

When, however, the most imminent danger was over, Wenlock cast his eye in the direction in which she had last been seen. In vain he looked out on either side; no sail was visible. Others also now began to make inquiries for the John Sarah. Many had friends on board. Too probably, struck by the furious blast, she had gone down. Sad were the forebodings of all as to her fate. Such might have been theirs. Human nature is sadly selfish, and many were rather inclined to congratulate themselves on their escape, than to mourn for the supposed fate of their countrymen.

On, on flew the Amity towards the south, far away from the Delaware, from the land to which she was bound. The dark foam-crested seas rose up on every side, hissing and roaring, and threatening to overwhelm her. Still the brave captain kept up his courage, and endeavoured to keep up that of those on board.

"We must get jury-masts up," he said, "when the storm abates; and plying to the north, endeavour to regain the ground we have lost."

"Verily we had a fierce gale, friend Christison," said Ford, coming up to Wenlock when the weather once more moderated. "Didst not thou fear greatly?"

"No," answered Wenlock; "though it seemed to me that the ship might probably go down."

"Ah! truly, I felt very brave too," said Ford.

"You took an odd way of showing it," answered Wenlock, who had observed the abject fear into which his companion had been thrown.

"Ah! yea, I might have somewhat trembled, but that was more for the thought of others than for myself," said Ford. "And now tell me, when dost thou think we shall arrive at our destination?"

"That is more than any one on board can say," said Wenlock; "but we must do all that men can do, and leave the rest to Him who rules the sea!"

All hands were now engaged in getting the ship to rights. Scarcely however had jury-masts been set up, than signs of another storm appeared in the sky.

"I like not the look of the weather," observed the captain. "Christison, your eyes are sharp; is that a sail away to the north-east?"

"Yes, verily," answered Wenlock.

"Can it be our consort?"

"No; she would not appear in that quarter. She is a stranger, and seems to be coming rapidly on towards us," observed Wenlock, after watching her for little time. "A tall ship too, I suspect."

Captain Dinan had hoped before this to haul up to the wind, but the increasing gale made this impossible. As, however, he was going out of his course, he only carried as much sail as necessity required. The stranger therefore came quickly up with the Amity. The captain now began to eye her very narrowly.

"I like not her looks," he observed. "She is a war ship, and yet shows no colours."

The captain asked his officers their opinion. They agreed with him. Bill Rullock, who was a man of experience, was called aft.

"I have little doubt about it," he observed. "That craft's a pirate, and we must keep clear of her if we would escape having to walk the plank or getting our throats cut." Nearer and nearer drew the stranger.

"Rather than surrender we must fight to the last," observed the sturdy captain. "Christison, Ford, which will you all do, gentlemen?" he asked, addressing the passengers.

"Verily, I will go below and hide myself," said Ford. "It becometh not one of my creed to engage in mortal combat."

"If you order me to work a gun, I will do so," answered Wenlock. "Albeit peace is excellent and blessed, and warfare is accursed, yet I cannot see that it would be my duty to allow others to fight for the defence of my life which I will not defend myself; or, for lack of fighting, to allow myself or those who look to men to protect them,—the women and children on board,—to be destroyed by outlawed ruffians such as are probably those on board yonder ship."



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

As soon as the captain of the Amity was convinced of the character of the stranger, he set all the sail the ship would carry, yet hoping to escape from her. Looking to windward however, he saw that they had an enemy to contend with, as much to be dreaded, in their crippled condition, as the pirate ship. His experienced eye told him that another hurricane was about to break. Part of the crew, and most of the passengers also, were standing at the guns, the remainder of the crew being required to work the sails. The courage showed by all on board gave the captain hopes of being able to beat off the enemy. On came the tall ship. As Wenlock watched her, he could not help perceiving that she was of overpowering force.

"Stand by to shorten sail," cried the captain. His eye had been fixed on a dark cloud, which came flying like some messenger of destruction across the sky.

"You must be smart, lads," cried old Bill Rullock, "if you have no fancy for being sent to Davy Jones's locker before you are many minutes older." The old man set an example by his activity.

Nearer and nearer drew the pirate, for such, there was no doubt, was the character of the stranger. A bright flash issued from her bows, and a shot came bounding over the water towards the Amity. On this Captain Dinan ordered the English flag to be hoisted. Scarcely had it flown out when another shot followed. Still, neither hit the ship. As the first flash was seen, Jonas Ford was observed to dive below.

"Our friend is as good as his word," observed the captain, laughing. "If any others wish to follow his example, let them go at once, for we may have warm work ere long. To my mind, though I am a plain man, a person should so live as not to fear the lightning's flash, nor the foeman's shot, nor the raging ocean either; and then, whether in tempest or battle, he will be able to do his duty like a man, knowing that there is One above who will look after him, and, if He thinks fit, carry him through all dangers."

Shot after shot followed. Now one went through the ship's sails; now one passed on one side, now on the other; but none did any material harm. Still, Captain Dinan gave no order to fire in return. Thus for some time the ships continued to sail on, the pirate gradually drawing nearer. At length she yawed and let fly her whole broadside. Several shots struck the Amity, two poor fellows being killed, and a third wounded. The faces of many of the passengers, on this grew pale, yet they stood firmly at their quarters. And now, once more, the pirate kept on her coarse. Still Captain Dinan would not fire.

"Christison," said the captain, "we have someone who knows better how to fight for us than we do ourselves. See! if the pirate attempts that manoeuvre again, he will pay dearly for it."

So eagerly, it seemed, were the pirates watching their expected prize, that they had not observed the rapid approach of the dark cloud. Once more the pirate yawed. At that instant a loud roar was heard, and the hurricane broke over the two ships. The flashes of the guns were seen, but none of the shots struck the Amity; all were buried in the ocean. Over went the tall ship, her masts level with the ocean. The crew of the Amity, at a signal from their captain, had lowered most of their sails; and now away she flew, leaving the pirate ship apparently on the point of sinking beneath the waves. They were seen leaping and roaring round her; but even had those on board the Amity desired to render their fellow-creatures assistance, they would have had no power to do so. The hurricane increased in fury, and often it seemed as if the Amity herself would go down. Tossed and buffeted by the seas, the water poured in through many a leak. The pumps were manned, and all the passengers were summoned to work them. Some, however, complained of sickness, and retired to their berths. Among them was Jonas Ford.

"Nay, though our friend finds it against his conscience to fight, he shall, at all events, labour at the pumps," exclaimed the captain, ordering three of the seamen to fetch him up. "Will you go also, Master Christison? Perchance you can persuade him more easily; but I can take no refusal."

After searching for some time, Ford was found concealed in the hold, into which he had crawled. The water, however, coming in, had somewhat frightened him, and he was just creeping out of his concealment. Not unwillingly, Wenlock brought him on deck, and assigned him a place at one of the pumps. There he was compelled to labour. Once he attempted to escape below, but Bill Rullock caught sight of him, and quickly brought him back; and he was kept labouring, uttering moans and groans at his hard fate. All night long the ship ran on. Another day and another night followed, and yet the wind blew furiously as ever, and with difficulty could she be kept afloat. While the gale continued there was no hope of getting at the leaks. Many of the seamen and some of the officers began to look grave.

"Depend upon it our time has come," said the second mate to Wenlock. "I have had enough of the world, and have been knocked about in it so roughly, that I care but little."

"Our times, we are told, are in God's hands," answered Wenlock, calmly.

Wenlock, who had been taking his spell at the pumps, walked aft.

"We are in the latitude of the West India Islands," observed the captain. "Any hour we may make land, and a bright look-out must be kept for it."

Experienced seamen were aloft straining their eyes ahead and on either bow. At length a voice came from the foretopmast-head, "Land! land!"

"Where away?" cried the captain.

"On the starboard bow," was the answer.

"What does it look like?"

"A low land with tall trees," replied the seaman from aloft.

Two of the mates went up to look at it. They gave the same description. The captain examined his chart.

"Bill Rullock says he has been there," observed the first mate.

Bill Rullock was sent for.

"Do you know anything of the land ahead?" asked the captain.

"I think I do, sir," was the answer; "and that craft which chased us the other day knew it too, I have an idea. To my mind, she also would have been looking in there before long; but if she has gone to the bottom there is no fear of that, and we shall find shelter and wood and water and plenty of turtle, and the means of repairing our ship."

"Is there a harbour there, then?" asked the captain.

"As good a one as you can desire, sir," said Bill; "and if it please you, I can take the ship in."

As the crew were nearly worn out with pumping, and the water, notwithstanding, still gained on the ship, the captain determined to take the Amity into the harbour of which Bill Rullock spoke. The ship was therefore kept away for the island, Bill Rullock taking charge of her as pilot. He at once showed by his calm manner and the steady course he steered that he knew well what he was about. As the ship drew nearer the island, it appeared to be larger and higher than was at first supposed, and covered with cocoa-nut and other trees. Rounding a point, a narrow opening appeared. The ship's head was directed toward it, and, guided by the old seaman, she passed safely through it, though it seemed as if an active man could have leaped on shore from either side. So clear, too, was the water, that the bottom could be seen below the ship's keel. The order to "furl sails" was given, and the ship came to an anchor in a broad lagoon, where she could lie secure from the fiercest hurricanes of those regions. On one side was a sandy beach, where the old sailor assured the captain the ship could be placed on shore with safety, when her damages might be examined. The trees came close down to the water's edge, and among them were seen several huts, and ruins of huts, showing that the spot had at one time been inhabited, but no persons appeared. Hauled up on shore, too, were several boats, one or two in good repair, but the others considerably damaged. Broken anchors, spars, pieces of cable, and other ship's gear lay scattered about, confirming the account given by old Rullock. As there was no time to be lost, the passengers immediately went on shore, and they and the crew set to work to land their goods as well as the cargo, that the ship, being lightened, might be hauled up for repair. The ruined huts were repaired, and others were built, so as to afford shelter to the passengers while this operation was going on. Every one worked with a will, with the exception of two or three, Jonas Ford being one of them. He grumbled greatly at having the voyage thus prolonged, and not ceasing to blame the captain for the ship having failed to reach the Delaware at the time expected. From a slight elevation near the harbour, a view of the whole sea on that side of the island could be obtained. Old Rullock had not been quite easy since their arrival. He had found evident traces of a late visit of persons to the island, and he confided to Wenlock his fears that should the vessel which had chased them have escaped, she might possibly come into that harbour to repair damages.

One morning, soon after daybreak, and before the men were called to their work, Rullock came hurrying into the village. Wenlock was the first person he met.

"It is as I feared," he said. "I have just made out a tall ship standing towards the island. Come and see her, and then let us ask the captain to decide what he will do. I advise that we should bring the guns down to the mouth of the harbour and defend it to the last. If those are the people I fear, they will give us no quarter; and if we yield, it will be only to have our throats cut, or to be thrown to the sharks."

On reaching the look-out place, Wenlock saw the ship of which the old seaman spoke. She was yet a long way off, and, as far as he could judge, was very like the vessel that had chased them.

The whole party were quickly astir. The captain determined to follow the old sailor's advice, and even the Quakers among the passengers agreed that they had no resource but to defend themselves, should the stranger prove to be the pirate they dreaded. As she approached the island, she must have discovered the English flag flying from the Amity's masthead; for instantly her own dark symbol was run up, and a shot was fired from her side, as if in defiance.

Happily, the wind, which had been light, prevented her from entering the harbour. As she passed by, however, the number of guns seen from her sides showed that she would be a formidable antagonist, and that she could scarcely be prevented, with a favourable breeze, from entering the harbour. The whole of the morning the party were kept in anxious expectation of what would occur, the pirate being seen to tack every now and then to keep her position off the land. At length a breeze from the sea set in, and once more she was seen approaching the harbour. Nearer and nearer she drew. All eyes were kept turned towards the dreaded object. In a brief time they might all be engaged in a deadly struggle, while the fate of the poor women and children was dreadful to contemplate. The captain and several of his officers were collected on the mound, watching the progress of the pirate.

"See, sir! see!" exclaimed Wenlock. "What say you to that?" and he pointed towards the sails of a lofty ship which at that instant appeared rounding a distant point of the island.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

The pirate had descried the stranger; for now her yards were seen to be braced up, and instead of standing towards the island, she tacked and stood again out to sea, her pirate flag still flying from her peak. As the stranger drew nearer, she was seen to be a much larger ship. Wenlock at once declared her to be a man-of-war; and this was soon seen to be the case, by the pennants and ensigns she hoisted. And now she was observed to be making more sail, and standing towards the pirate, which was evidently endeavouring to escape. The latter, however, in a short time, either considering escape impossible, or confiding in her own strength, again tacked, and stood boldly towards the man-of-war. Nearer and nearer they drew to each other. It was evident, from the pirate keeping her flag flying, that she intended to fight to the last. She was the first to fire, discharging her whole broadside at the man-of-war. The latter fired not a shot in return, but stood on, gradually shortening sail. Then suddenly luffing up, she crossed the bows of the pirate. As she did so, before the other could keep away, she fired her whole broadside, raking the pirate's decks fore and aft. The latter, again keeping away, fired in return, but little damage seemed to be done. The crew of the Amity set up a loud shout as they saw the success of their friends. And now the combatants, shrouded in smoke, stood away from the land, the rapid sound of their guns showing the desperation with which they were fighting. Those on shore watched them anxiously. Many a prayer was offered up for the success of the royal cruiser. Their own safety, indeed, depended on it. Farther and farther the combatants receded from the shore, till it was difficult to distinguish one from the other. Now they were shrouded with smoke, now the wind blew it away, and they were seen, still standing on, exchanging shots. Now at length they appeared locked in a close embrace. Then a dense mass of smoke was seen to ascend from their midst, followed by flames, and the loud sound of an explosion; but which was the sufferer it was impossible to discover, or whether both were involved in the same ruin. How earnestly, how anxiously they were watched from the shore! Now, at length, once more they were seen returning towards the island; but one was leading, the other apparently being towed astern. Which was the conqueror? was the question. On they came, nearer and nearer. Some declared that the pirate was the leading ship, and seemed ready to give way to despair.

"No, friends, no," exclaimed the captain. "I can assure you that yonder tall ship, although her spars and rigging are somewhat shattered by the fight, is the royal cruiser."

That he was right was soon made evident. Captain Dinan now ordered the boats to be got ready, and he, with Bill Rullock, accompanied by Wenlock and one of his mates, went out in order to assist in piloting in the king's ship. The latter shortened sail to allow the boat to come alongside. The deck showed the fierce combat in which she had been engaged. The bulwarks were shattered; the decks ploughed up, and stained with blood; and numbers of the crew were going about with their heads and limbs bound up with handkerchiefs, while several bodies lay stretched out on the deck, a flag hastily thrown over them, partly concealing their forms. On one side stood a wretched group, their arms lashed behind them with ropes, and stripped to the waist, covered with smoke and blood. They were some of the survivors, it was evident, of the pirate crew. Captain Dinan, accompanied by Wenlock went aft to speak to the captain. The countenance of the latter, a fine, dignified-looking man, Wenlock at once recognised. He advanced towards him. He started when he saw Wenlock.

"Why, my friend!" he exclaimed, "I little expected ever to see you again!"

"Nor I you, Sir Richard. I thought you had perished on the fatal day when the Royal James blew up."

"No; thanks to you, my life was spared; for after we were parted, I was picked up by an English boat."

Sir Richard Haddock informed Wenlock that he had come out as commodore to the American station. His ship was the Leopard, of fifty-four guns.

"The pirates fought well," he observed; "and as many perished in attempting to blow up the ship, we shall have but few to hand over to the executioner when we arrive in Virginia, whither I am now bound."

As both ships, after the action, required a good deal of repair, the commodore accepted Captain Dinan's offer of piloting him into the harbour. It was a trial to Wenlock to find himself once more among his former associates; for he had met several of the officers of the Leopard when serving under Lord Ossory. They, however, treated his opinions with respect. In truth, thanks to the courage and talents exhibited by William Penn, the character of the sect had been raised considerably in the opinion of the public of late; albeit, there were many who were ready to ridicule and persecute them on occasion. Happily, too, there was no time for idleness, as officers and crew were engaged from sunrise to sunset in repairing the damaged ships.

One day, old Rullock came up to Wenlock, who had gone alone a little distance from the village.

"I do not know what you think of that young gentleman, Master Ford," said Rullock; "but I have an idea that he is a rogue in grain, and a fool into the bargain, as many rogues are. He was so frightened in the hurricane that he does not want to go to sea again. I heard him talking the other day with three or four passengers and several of the crew about a plan he had proposed to remain behind. They have a notion that if they were to set the Amity on fire before we get the cargo on board, the captain would only be too glad to leave those who might wish to stay behind; he going off in the Leopard, or the pirate ship. Master Ford thinks, as the chief part of the stores would be left behind, they would have the advantage of them. They have induced three or four silly young women to promise to remain with them. Of course, the plan of burning the ship is a secret. Soon after I heard the precious plan, they invited me to join them; because, knowing that I had been an evil-doer, they thought I should have no scruple about the matter."

Wenlock, on hearing this, immediately sought the captain.

"It would be very easy to prevent these plans being carried out," he said; "but what to do with Ford and his companions is more difficult."

The captain took the matter very coolly.

"We will just pick out Master Ford and three or four of the ringleaders, and clap them into limbo, and depend upon it they will not further attempt to carry out their plan," he observed.

This was done forthwith by a party of soldiers from the ship of war, for whom Wenlock had applied to Sir Richard Haddock. No further time was now lost in getting the cargo on board. Ford and his companions had been kept in durance vile in a hut by themselves, and a guard placed over them. Sir Richard and Captain Dinan, and some other officers, visited them together.

"Now, my friends," said the captain, "you have your choice. If you desire to remain here, you are welcome to do so, but neither stores nor provisions can we afford you. Otherwise, you will return on board the ship, and, when we arrive in Pennsylvania, the matter will be submitted to the proper authorities."

As Ford's companions were three of the greatest ruffians among the crew, he, dreading to be left with them, entreated that he might be allowed to return on board. They, however, wished to remain.

"No, no!" said the captain. "We did not give you your choice. You are good seamen, and are wanted to work the ship. You were misled by this silly young man, and therefore will return on board with us."

The three ships were at length in a condition for sea. The pirates' ship was sent out first, navigated by some of the officers and crew of the Leopard. The Amity followed, the king's ship coming last, and the wind being favourable, all three steered a course for Virginia; the Amity afterwards to continue her voyage to the Delaware.



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

The good ship Amity was sailing up the magnificent stream of the Delaware. Her progress, however, was not without impediment, as huge masses of ice came floating down, lately broken up by the warm sun of the early spring.

"There's your future home, my friends," said the captain, pointing to the left side of the coast; "but it will take us some time before we can reach the spot where our friends have settled. On the right we have West New Jersey, where, owing to Master William Penn, a new free colony was settled some time ago; but that is but a small portion of the territory compared with Pennsylvania. I went out as mate in the Kent, commanded by Captain Gregory Marlow. We carried out the first settlers and the commissioners. They were nearly all Quakers, and a very good sort of people they were. I remember, just as we sailed from the Thames, the king coming alongside, and nothing would satisfy him but that he must come on board; whereupon he gave us his blessing. Whether it was of much value or not, it is not for me to say; but whether or not, we reached port in safety. Several other ships followed. The commissioners bought land of the natives, and established friendly relations with them; and if you were to go on shore there now, you would find as prosperous a community as any in the world." The new settlers, on hearing this account, looked with greater interest on the far distant shores of the land to which the captain pointed. On either side tall forests rose up,—a thick barrier to the country beyond.

"Ay, friends," continued the captain, "it is a fine land, but you will have many a tall tree to cut down before you can grow wheat and barley out of it; and for those who love work, there is work enough before them, not only for them, but for their children, and children's children after them, and no fear of the country being too thickly peopled."

At length, on a point of land an opening in the forest was seen, with numerous log huts and other buildings of more pretensions below the tall trees. It was the town of Newcastle, lately established. However, as the wind was favourable, and the captain was anxious to reach his destination, he declined staying there, but sailed on farther up the river. Each reach of the stream presented some fresh views, greatly by their beauty delighting the new comers. At length, two vessels were seen moored off a town on the west bank, which the captain informed them was the Swedish settlement of Upland. All eyes were directed towards them. As they approached, the captain declared his belief that one of them was the John Sarah, and in a short time the Amity came to anchor close to her. She had fortunately, when the hurricane came on, by furling her sails in time, escaped injury, and had thus been able to haul up, and gain the mouth of the Delaware. On proceeding up the stream, however, she and the Bristol Factor, the other ship, had been frozen up where they now were. There was a pleasant meeting of friends, and all going on shore, offered up their thanks to Heaven together, for their safe arrival and preservation from so many dangers. The village off which the Amity had brought up had been built by a number of Friends, who had arrived in the country several years before. The site they had chosen was a good one, and many believed that it would be the future capital of the colony. The scene was very wild, albeit highly picturesque. Many of the inhabitants of the new settlement, unable to build houses, had dug caves in the banks of the river, in which they had taken up their abodes, roofing over the front part with pieces of timber and boughs. From early dawn till sunset the woodman's axe was at work felling the tall trees. At night these were piled up, with the branches and lighter wood beneath; huge fires being kindled as the most rapid way of disposing of them. Primitive ploughs were at work between the stumps of the trees, turning up the ground for receiving grain, both of wheat and Indian corn, while the spade was also wielded by those preparing gardens. Many languages were heard spoken, while the costumes of the settlers were still more varied. The dusky forms of the Indians also were to be seen collected round the settlers, with their painted faces, their feathered head-dresses, and costumes of skin ornamented with thread of various colours. Numerous sawpits had been formed, and sawyers were at work preparing planks for the buildings. Already many houses had been run up, with high gables, gaily ornamented with paint and rough carving; for the Swedish settlers had been there already nearly forty years. The somewhat romantic notions entertained by Wenlock and his younger fellow passengers were rather rudely dissipated on their arrival. The work of settling he soon found was a plain matter-of-fact business, requiring constant and persevering labour. Some of the settlers remained at the town, others proceeded farther up the river to a spot near the confluence of the two rivers Schuylkill and Delaware. Wenlock, however, resolved to wait the arrival of Colonel Markham, who had gone out as chief agent and commissioner for his cousin, the governor, some months before. He was now, with his staff, some distance off, surveying the province. Although not a Quaker, he was greatly trusted by William Penn, as a man of dauntless courage, talent, and perseverance. Soon after landing, old Bill Rullock came up to Wenlock. "I have a favour to ask," he said. "I have knocked about at sea all my life till I am weary of it. I heard your addresses and those of others on board, and I have made up my mind to turn Quaker. I want you, therefore, to get my discharge from the captain. I could run from the ship, of course, but that would not be a good way of beginning my new career; so if I cannot leave with a proper discharge, I must go to sea again. If it is God's will that my old carcase should become food for fishes, I must submit to it; but I have truly a great fancy for ending my days in these green woods." Wenlock promised to make interest with Captain Dinan.

"I shall be sorry to lose him," answered the captain; "but he deserves a reward for the service he rendered us, and it would be hard to take him off again to sea against his will. Here is his discharge, and his pay up to the present time."

The old seaman was highly delighted when Wenlock told him that he was free.

"And, now, another favour I have to ask is, that I may stick fast by you. I have still got plenty of work in me, and I should like to serve you as long as I live. There is another person, however, I should not like to serve, and that is Jonas Ford."

Ford had behaved so cunningly during the voyage from the West Indies, that he had considerably lessened the suspicions against him. He had assured Captain Dinan that he had no thoughts of committing the crime of which he had been accused; that the words he had uttered, overheard by Rullock, had reference to an entirely different matter. As Rullock, indeed, was the only witness against him, and as even the other accused persons did not criminate him, the captain came to the determination of proceeding no further in the business. He was, therefore, set at liberty, and landed with the other passengers. His companions were also liberated, as they had committed no overt act, and there was no evidence against them. Ford, who had all along protested his innocence, tried to worm his way into the confidence of Wenlock, and always volunteered to accompany him whenever he made any excursions into the interior. Wenlock, in spite of the young man's professions, disliked him more and more. Still he could not altogether get rid of him. With the aid of old Rullock, Wenlock had built a hut for himself in the neighbourhood of Upland, and he purposed awaiting there the arrival of Colonel Markham. Hearing, however, at length, that the colonel was within the distance of five days' march, though he had had but little experience in traversing the American forests, he yet—by noting the appearance of the bark on the trees, by the aid of the sun during the day, and by certain marks which the surveyors had made—believed that he should have no great difficulty in reaching the colonel's camp. Rullock, of course, wished to attend him.

"No, my friend," he answered; "you stay at home and take care of the house. I am strong, and well accustomed to exercise; but, depend upon it, you would knock up with the fatigue."

The old man was at length obliged to acknowledge that Wenlock was right, and to submit. Two or three of the old settlers advised him to take a guide, pointing out the difficulties of traversing the forest; but he, confident in his own knowledge, persisted in his determination. Staff in hand, with knapsack on his back, he set forth. It did occur to him, perhaps, that he should be more at his ease had he possessed a brace of pistols or a musket; but his profession prohibited their use as a means of defence, and he declined accepting some arms from a friendly Swede, who offered them. The weather was fine, and he had learned the art of camping out. Starting early, he marched on bravely all day, believing himself to be in the right course. Once or twice he stopped to rest, and then again proceeded on. At night, collecting a supply of birch-bark, as he had seen the Indians do, he built himself a wigwam. Abundance of fuel was at hand, and, lighting his fire, he cooked some provisions he had brought with him. After this, commending himself to the care of Heaven, he lay down in his wigwam, and was soon fast asleep. The following day he journeyed on in like manner. Clouds, however, obscured the sky, and more than once he doubted whether he was continuing in the right direction. The third day came, and he pushed onwards, but before he encamped at night, he felt sure that he must have diverged greatly from the right path. Still believing that he might recover it the following day, he lay down to rest. His provisions, however, ran somewhat short; indeed, he had miscalculated the amount he should require. At length the fifth day came: his food was expended, and he had to confess that he had entirely lost his path. The whole day he wandered on, endeavouring to regain it. At last he got into what appeared an Indian path. He followed it up, but in the end found that it only led to a spot where an encampment had once stood—now deserted. He had been suffering greatly from thirst, even more than from hunger. To stay still might seal his fate. Onward, therefore, he pushed. At length, however, from want of food and water, his strength failed him. His sight grew dim, and, fainting, he fell on the ground. How long he had lain there he knew not, when he heard a strange, deep-toned, sonorous voice. Languidly he opened his eyes, and saw standing over him a tall Indian, of dignified appearance and full costume of paint and feathers.

"Who are you?" asked Wenlock, dreamily.

"I am Taminent, chief sachem of the red men of this country," answered the Indian, who, stooping down as he spoke, raised him in his arms.



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

The Indian chief, applying a leathern bottle to Wenlock's mouth, poured some water down his throat. It greatly revived him.

"I see white skin want food," said the chief. Saying this, he produced a cake of Indian corn, which Wenlock eagerly devoured.

"Now, come; I will take you with me," said Taminent, in more perfect English than Wenlock had expected to hear; and, supporting him in his arms, the chief led him along a path into which they quickly entered. After going some distance, an open space amid the trees appeared, and within it a collection of tall birch-bark wigwams of a conical shape. A number of women were seated in front of the huts, while children were playing about. On one side, the ground had been turned up, evidently for the reception of Indian corn or other seed, while stretched between poles were the skins of animals, the bodies of others being hung up over fires to dry in the smoke. As soon as the chief was seen, the women rose from their seats, and a number of men came out of the tents to welcome him. He introduced Wenlock in a few words, which the latter did not understand.

"Come," said the chief, "wigwam ready. You rest;" and leading him to an unoccupied hut, he pointed to the interior, the floor of which was covered with a number of handsomely-woven mats. On one side was a pile of small twigs and leaves. This was spread out, and a mat placed on the top of it. The chief then made signs to Wenlock that he should rest there. He seemed well-pleased when Wenlock threw himself down on the couch.

"There; you rest," he said. "No harm come to white skin;" and, covering him with a mat, he retired, drawing a curtain across the entrance of the wigwam. Wenlock slept soundly for some hours, feeling perfectly secure under the protection of the chief. On awaking, he found that it was already dark, but the sounds of voices outside the wigwam showed him that the Indians had not yet retired to rest. On drawing aside the curtain, he saw several fires lighted, over which women were presiding with pots and spits, on which birds and small animals were being cooked. Close to the entrance a warrior was seated on a mat, as if keeping guard. No sooner did he observe Wenlock, than he rose up and ran off, apparently to inform the chief that his guest was awake. Taminent soon after appeared, and invited Wenlock to take his seat on the ground. Immediately several women came up with various dishes of roast and boiled food, with cakes of maize. Pure water, poured from a skin bottle, was their only beverage. Happily the fire-water had not yet been introduced among the red men,—that fearful poison which has destroyed thousands and tens of thousands of their race. While the chief and his guest were seated at their repast, an Indian came up to them, and addressed the former, who, in return, apparently gave some directions. Wenlock observed the Indians employed in making a couple of rough litters, with which a party of them started away. In a short time they returned, bearing between them a couple of persons, who were brought up and placed near the fire. Wenlock at once recognised the features of Ford, while in the other man he discovered one of the seamen of the Amity, who had been connected with Ford's plot to burn the ship. They were both in an exhausted state; indeed, it seemed to Wenlock that Ford especially could scarcely recover. He at once suspected that they had been by some means lost in the forest, and were suffering from exhaustion, as he had been. The Indian chief, taking upon himself the office of doctor, poured some water down their throats, and then gave them a small quantity of food. Both somewhat revived. The seaman, indeed, in a short time was able to sit up. To Wenlock's questions, however, as to how he had come into that condition, he would make no reply, except saying, while he pointed to his companion—

"He took me; he will tell you all about it. I came as his servant, and a pretty mess he led me into."

Wenlock then begged that Ford might be placed on the couch he had occupied, feeling sure that perfect rest was what he most of all now required. He explained to the chief, also, that a little food at a time was more likely to restore him than a large quantity taken at once. The two men were accordingly carried into the wigwam, while some of the Indians brought in a further supply of leaves and mats, to make a bed for Wenlock. The chief then signified to him that three squaws would sit up and prepare food, that he might give it to his countrymen as he thought fit. Night was drawing on, when the loud barking of dogs announced that some stranger was approaching the camp.

"Hallo! I am glad I have found some living men at last," exclaimed a voice which Wenlock thought sounded very like that of old Rullock. "I pray thee, friends, call in your beasts, or maybe they will be taking a mouthful out of my legs, seeing that there is but little covering to them—thanks to the bushes. Hallo! I say, friends, red men!"

The Indians, who had lain down in their wigwams, now got up, and hurried forth to meet the newcomer, followed by Wenlock, who had no longer any doubt as to who he was. A torch, lighted at one of the fires, which were not yet extinguished, was carried by one of the Indians, who at the same time, called in the dogs. Its light fell on Wenlock's countenance. The old man started.

"Hurrah!" he exclaimed. "Verily, I am truly glad to see thee alive and well, friend Christison. I have a long yarn to spin into thine ear, but it is as well that our red friends shall not hear it. They might not hold the white skins in quite as much respect as they now do."

"Thou art right, friend Rullock. Hold thy peace about it now," said Wenlock. "I am glad to see thee, and thou wilt receive a hearty welcome from our red brothers in this encampment. There are two white men also here;" and Wenlock told him the way in which Jonas Ford and his companion had been brought into the camp.

"Ah, verily! the scoundrels would only have got their deserts if they had been left in the woods," answered the old sailor, who did his best to speak in Quaker fashion, but did not always succeed. "Hark thee, friend Christison. Those two villains had formed a plot to follow thee; and if they had found thee alone and unprepared, to have put thee to death."

"Impossible!" answered Wenlock. "Ford is a weak, cowardly young man; but I do not think that he would be willingly guilty of such a crime."

"I tell thee, I overheard them plotting to murder thee!" persisted the old man. "I had thoughts of getting some one as my companion to go after them, but as you had gone, and they were just setting out, I thought I might be too late; so taking my well-tried musket, and trusting that my old legs would carry me as well as their young ones, I set out in their track, hoping to come up with them before they could overtake you."

"I thank thee heartily, friend Rullock; but they are fellow-creatures, and I will try to soften Ford's heart by heaping 'coals of fire upon his head.' They will see you, and guess what your coming means; but we will say nothing about it, and only for prudence sake keep an eye on their proceedings. When you see them both almost on the point of death, you will feel inclined to have compassion on them."

"I shall be inclined to think that a certain person, who is nameless, has been baulked of his prey," answered the old sailor. "However, it's not for me to lay hands on them, villains though they are; but I hope that thou wilt bring them up before. Colonel Markham, or Master Penn when he comes out."

"That would not be the best way of heaping coals of fire on their heads," answered Wenlock. "No, no; if they had evil intentions against me, they have been frustrated; and God will look after me in future, as He has done heretofore."

The chief, who was among those risen, received the old sailor with great kindness, and ordering some food to be prepared for him, told him that he was to consider himself a brother, and rest assured that he would be treated as such as long as he chose to remain with them.

Rullock, having gone through a good deal of fatigue, soon fell asleep after his supper, and left Wenlock the chief charge of attending to the other two white men. By the morning, Ford was considerably better. His companion, who was still stronger, wished to persuade him to return to the settlement, but it was very evident that he would be unable to perform such a journey.

"Be at rest, friends," said Wenlock to them. "Whatever might have been the cause of thy coming out into the forest, be not anxious about it. I will treat thee as if thou wert my dearest brother. More, surely, thou canst not desire."

"O Christison, I am very different from thee," answered Ford, for a moment some better feeling rising in his bosom. Cowardice, however, and want of confidence in others, made him very quickly add: "I harbour no ill-will against any man. I had been anxious to see something of the country, and finding that thou hadst started, I wished to join thee. Thou canst not suppose that I should ever harbour any other feeling than affection and regard for thee."

The day was drawing on, and most of the Indians had gone forth to hunt, or to tend some cultivated ground in another part of the forest, when a messenger arrived, bringing the information to Taminent, that the white chief was coming to his camp. On hearing this, Taminent and the principal men retired to their wigwams, and in a short time came forth dressed in full Indian costume, with feathers in their hair, their cheeks painted, and their dress ornamented with a variety of devices.

Wenlock had not seen Colonel Markham before leaving England, but fortunately had with him his letter of introduction. In a short time a fine, dignified-looking man, in military undress, attended by several persons, was seen through an open glade of the forest approaching the encampment. He advanced with free and easy steps, and saluted Taminent, who received him in a dignified manner. As soon as the first ceremonies were over, Wenlock presented his letter.

"I am truly glad to see you," said Colonel Markham, "and I trust your patron and my good cousin will soon arrive and take the command of the colony."

"It is reported in Upland and the other settlements that his ship is on the way, and will soon be here," said Wenlock.

"I am glad to hear it," said the colonel; "and indeed, I am on my way back, hoping to meet him. But, tell me, who is that pale young man and the two seamen I have observed in the camp."

"They were endeavouring to make their way through the forest, and lost it, as I did," answered Wenlock.

"He speaks truly," said Ford, who crawled up to where the colonel and Wenlock were standing. "I wished to join my friend, that I might, without delay, receive my directions from thee, Colonel Markham," said Ford, "and well-nigh lost my life in the service of my fellow-creatures."

"Well; I doubt not, when Governor Penn arrives due attention will be paid to the merits of all men in the colony," said the colonel. "For my own part, I do not interfere in such matters."

Colonel Markham having spent the remainder of the day at the camp, and rested there during the night, the Englishmen sleeping as securely as if they were in their own country, the whole party set forth for the settlements.



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

Bristol was in those days the chief commercial city of England next to London. It was the centre, too, of a district where large quantities of woollen cloths were manufactured, which were sent forth to foreign lands by the numerous vessels which traded to its port. In a large room belonging to one of the principal merchants in the city, a number of persons were collected. At the head of a long table sat William Penn, while on either side of him were several friends,—Claypole, Moore, Philip Ford, and many others. They were engaged in organising a mercantile company, to which was given the name of the "Free Society of Traders" in Pennsylvania. William Penn, the governor of the new colony, was addressing them.

"I have secured, friends, a number of persons skilful in the manufacture of wool, who have agreed to go forth to our new colony from the valley of Stroud. From the banks of the Rhine, also, many persons conversant with the best modes of cultivating the vine have promised to emigrate."

"We need not fear, then, for the success of our holy enterprise," observed Philip Ford; "and I am ready to embark all my worldly possessions. I have already sent out my beloved son Jonas, a youth of fair promise, and what thing more precious could I stake on the success of our undertaking."

William Penn having made all his arrangements with the new company, giving them very great facilities, returned to London. Here he made preparation for his own departure. It was grievous to him to leave his children and his beloved wife. He hoped, however, in a short time to come back and return with them to the land of his adoption. There was a great stir in the Quaker world, for not only farmers and artisans, but many persons of wealth and education were preparing to take part in the enterprise.

Among the first ships which sailed after the departure of the Amity, and those which have before been spoken of, was one, the Concord, on board which William Mead and his family, with several friends, set sail for the New World. William Penn saw his old friend off, his prayers going with him, and hoping himself to follow in a short time.

In the autumn of the year 1683, a large vessel might have been seen floating on the waters of the Thames. She was the Welcome. Surrounding her were a number of boats which had brought off passengers, while her decks were loaded with bales and packages of every possible description, which the crew were engaged in stowing below. On the deck, also, had been built up sheds for horses and pens for sheep, as also for goats to afford milk, and pigs and poultry in large quantities for provision. Already nearly a hundred persons were collected on board, besides the crew. The signal was given, and the Welcome got under weigh to proceed down the Thames. Once more she brought up in the Downs, off Deal. The 1st of September broke bright and clear. Her flags were flying out gaily to the breeze, her white canvas hung to the yards, when a large boat, followed by several smaller ones, came off from the shore, and the young and energetic preacher of the gospel, the governor of a vast province, the originator of the grandest scheme of colonisation ever yet formed, ascended the side of the Welcome which was to bear him to the shores of the New World. Prayers ascended from the deck of the proud ship as her anchor was once more lifted, and she proceeded on her voyage to the west. All seemed fair and smiling, and all that forethought and care could arrange had been provided for the passengers. Few who saw William Penn at that moment would have supposed, however, that he was a man of indomitable energy and courage. Downcast and sad, he gazed on the shores of the land he was leaving, which, notwithstanding his general philanthropy, contained those he loved best on earth, where all his tender affections were centred. The Isle of Wight was soon passed. The Land's End faded in the distance, and the stout ship stood across the Atlantic. William Penn soon recovered his energy and spirits, and the captain promised a speedy and prosperous voyage. The governor was walking the deck, talking earnestly with his friend Pearson, a man of large mind and generous heart, when the captain came to them.

"I fear, friends," he said, "that one of our passengers is not long for this world. She has been unwell since she came on board at Deal. Her lips are blue, and dark marks cover her countenance."

The governor and his friend instantly went below; a young girl of some twelve years old lay on her bed in one of the close cabins.

"I fear me much it is the small-pox," said Pearson. "Yet it would be well if we could avoid alarming the other passengers."

The news, however, soon spread, and, alas! so did the disease. Before the next day closed in, the young girl had breathed her last, and her body was committed to the sea. By that time signs of the fearful disorder had appeared on four other persons. The governor, Pearson, and others went about the ship, urging the passengers to air and fumigate their cabins, beseeching them also not to lose courage, and fearlessly visiting those who were already attacked. The sun rose, and ere it sunk again into the ocean, death had claimed two other victims. All this time no sign of alarm was perceptible on the countenance of the governor. He set a noble example to his companions, as, indeed, did his friend Pearson. Perseveringly they went about at all hours of the night and day, attending to the sick, speaking words of comfort to them, and pointing to a Saviour who died to save them; and urging them to put their trust in Him, so that they might not fear, even should they be summoned from the world. It was a time to try all. Some who had appeared weak and nervous before, now exhibited courage and confidence in God's protecting mercy; while others, who had seemed bold and fearless, trembled lest they should be overtaken by the fell disease. Young and old, however, were attacked alike. Day after day one of their number was summoned away, and before the shores of America appeared in sight, thirty-one had fallen victims to the disease. With the change of climate its virulence appeared to cease, and when the Welcome sailed up the Delaware, all were convalescent who had escaped its ravages.

The tall ship came to an anchor before Newcastle, and numbers of boats came on to welcome the passengers. Loud shouts arose from the shore when it was known that the long-looked-for governor had arrived. He had lived too long in the world not to be well aware of the importance of appearing to advantage among strangers. He, accompanied by Pearson and the principal friends who had been companions in his voyage, landed in the ship's barge, with flags flying and all the party dressed in their best. He himself appeared in a plain though becoming costume, being distinguished among his companions by his tall and graceful figure, and the blue silk scarf which he wore across his shoulders. It was on the 27th of October, a day memorable in the annals of the colony. As he stepped on shore, old and young of his motley colonists, habited in the costumes of their different nations, crowded forth from their quaint old Dutch and Flemish houses to the shore to meet him. Swedes and Germans— the original settlers—Dutchmen with pipe in mouth, a scattering, albeit, of Scotch everywhere to be found, and English and Welsh in greater numbers. As the party leaving the stately ship reached the land, the crowd on shore opened, and two persons, remarkable for their appearance, with numerous attendants, advanced to the landing-place. One was Colonel Markham, known by his soldier-like bearing, and the handsome uniform of the British army which he still wore. Near him was Wenlock Christison, and Jonas Ford also, who took care to appear among the first in the group. On the other side, a tall figure, his war plumes waving in the breeze, his dress richly ornamented with feathers, his countenance marked with paints of various hue appeared. He was Taminent, the chief of the country, accompanied by a number of his followers of the tribe of Leni-Lenape. With earnest words of congratulation the governor was welcomed to the land of his adoption by the chief, while Colonel Markham briefly described how far he had carried out his employer's wishes. He had selected a site for the governor's residence, on the Delaware, a few miles below the Falls of Fenton, having purchased the land from the chiefs, who claimed it as their own. He had also laid out the grounds and commenced the building, to which he had given the name of Pennsbury. Then turning to the chief, he said:

"And our brother will bear witness that happily no dispute has taken place between the white men and the natives, while not a drop of blood of either has been shed."

"And while Taminent and his descendants live they will pray the Great Spirit to watch over the white men who have come to their land, and to guard them from all harm," said the chief, taking the governor's hand.



CHAPTER NINETEEN.

As soon as Wenlock could approach the governor, he inquired for his friends, the Meads.

"Have you not seen them?" exclaimed Penn. "Surely the Concord, in which they sailed, left England nearly three months ago, and they should have been here for some time already."

"The Concord has not arrived," answered Wenlock, and his heart sunk within him.

Every inquiry was made, but none of the vessels which had arrived of late had heard of the Concord. Wenlock had been hoping that they might have come out, and almost expected to see them on board the Welcome. He was now almost in despair. "I grieve for thee, young man," said the governor; "for I know thy love for my old friend's daughter. I grieve also myself at his loss, if lost he is."

Wenlock was unable to speak in reply.

"The only remedy I can advise for thee, is active employment of body and mind, and the reading of the best of books," added the governor, with a look of compassion at the young man.

Wenlock endeavoured, as far as he could, to follow the advice of his friend. The governor now proceeded up the river, touching on his way at Upland. The inhabitants of the place came out to receive him with delight, a tall pine, which had been allowed to stand when its neighbours were cut away, marking the spot where he went on shore. Turning to Pearson, who had so nobly supported him in his arduous labours among the sick daring the voyage: "What wilt thou, friend, that I should call this place?" he asked.

"Chester, an' it please thee," answered Pearson. "It is my native city, and the affection I bear for it will never be effaced. Yet I might transfer some slight portion to this town."

"Chester, therefore, let it be henceforth called," answered Penn.

While the governor was stopping at the house of Mr Wade, Wenlock went to visit old Rullock, and to see his own humble abode. He found a large party of Dutch emigrants in the town, who had arrived the day before. Among them he recognised a face he knew. Yes, he was certain. It was that of Dr Van Erk.

"Yes, I am indeed myself!" exclaimed the doctor, shaking Wenlock warmly by the hand. "Not knowing by what tyranny we might next be oppressed at home, I resolved to quit the shores of the Old World, and to seek refuge in the New; and my brother agreeing with me, we have come over with our wives and families. He will carry on mercantile pursuits,—and, by the by, he will be glad, I doubt not, to give you employment,—and I shall follow my own profession. My wife and children will, I am sure, be very glad to see you, but as yet we can show you very little hospitality. But you look somewhat sad, my young friend. Tell me what has occurred?"

Wenlock told him the cause of his sadness.

"Well, we will give you all the consolation in our power."

Wenlock felt much pleased at meeting his old friends, and was amply employed, for some time, in obtaining accommodation for them. Every day vessels were arriving with passengers and cargoes, but not one of them brought any account of the Concord. His Dutch friends, however, did their utmost to console Wenlock. He thanked them, but yet found his thoughts more than ever going back to Mary. He would have been well-pleased if Ford had kept out of his way, but that person managed to introduce himself to the Van Erks, and he felt sure he was meditating mischief of some sort. The governor then proposed that he should go on a mission on state affairs to Boston, hoping that the change of life and scene might benefit him. Wenlock having received his instructions, accordingly went on board the Amity, which vessel, having been thoroughly repaired, was engaged for the purpose.

"But I cannot part from you," exclaimed old Bill Rullock. "I did not think to go to sea again, but if the captain will let me work my passage there and back, I will go along with you."

No arguments would induce the old man to give up his purpose, and Wenlock was not sorry to have so faithful a companion. Rounding Cape May, the Amity sailed along the shores of New Jersey, steering to the north, keeping in sight of land till she came off Long Island, forming one side of the magnificent harbour of the New York Bay. Then she stood on, through Massachusetts Bay till the long established city of Boston was reached. Wenlock had expected to meet with kindness and sympathy from the descendants of those who had been driven for conscience' sake to seek a home in the New World. However, even by those to whom he had letters he was received with coldness, and he heard remarks made about Quakers generally, and himself especially, which somewhat tried his temper. His name, too, seemed especially to excite anger among the citizens. At length he was summoned to appear before the governor of the state.

"Know you not, young man, that we allow no persons of your persuasion to remain in our state?" exclaimed the governor. "There was one, of your name too, banished not long since; and some who have ventured to return, have of necessity been put to death, as breakers of the law and rebels against the state."

"Verily, I knew not that such was the case," answered Wenlock; "and when I have performed my business here, I am ready to take my departure. I have never been here before, and truly I should be glad to hear of one of my name, hoping that he might prove a relative; for at present I know not any one to whom I am kith and kin."

"Stand aside, young man, and bring forth the prisoner, with whose trial we will proceed," exclaimed the governor, casting a frowning glance at Wenlock.

The governor was proceeding to condemn the prisoner, when a loud voice was heard, exclaiming, "Pronounce not judgment." Wenlock started, and looked towards the speaker. He almost fancied that he saw his father standing before him.

"Who are you, who thus dares to interrupt the court?" exclaimed the governor.

"I am Wenlock Christison," was the answer. "I come to prevent you from condemning the innocent."

"Then thou art my uncle!" exclaimed Wenlock, hurrying towards him. "I know thee by thy likeness to my father."

"And, verily, I know thee," exclaimed the old man. "And what is thy name?"

"Thine own," answered Wenlock.

"Carry them both off to prison. They will hang together well," exclaimed the governor.

In spite of Wenlock's protestations that he had been sent in the character of an envoy by the governor of the new state, he and his uncle were committed to prison. The old man, however, seemed but little concerned at this.

"We shall be set at liberty ere long, nephew," he said; "and I rejoice greatly to have at length found thee, and more than all, that thou hast embraced the true and perfect way of life."

Bill Rullock, on hearing what had occurred, was very indignant, and, almost forgetting that he himself had become a Quaker, was about to attempt forcibly to liberate his friend.

The governor kept Wenlock shut up, but seemed doubtful about proceeding with him. His uncle was, however, brought up day after day, refusing to acknowledge himself guilty, warning his persecutors of the punishment which was soon to overtake them. Old Rullock employed himself in making interest with various people in the place, to obtain the liberation of his friend, warning them that though Master William Penn might not take vengeance on them, there was a certain Colonel Markham, who would be influenced by no such scruples. The result was, that not only young Wenlock, but old Christison, was set at liberty.

"Nephew, I have wealth," exclaimed his uncle, "and I rejoice to find one who will inherit it. However, of one thing I am resolved, not to spend it among this people. The account thou dost give me of the new colony has made me resolve to go and end my days there; and we will together leave in the vessel that brought thee hither, as soon as she is ready to sail."

Although the Friends were no longer persecuted at Boston, as may be supposed, it was not a pleasant city for them to reside in. A considerable number, therefore, set sail on board the Amity, which had a prosperous voyage to the Delaware.



CHAPTER TWENTY.

We left the Amity sailing up the Delaware. During her absence, a number of vessels had arrived both from England and from Dutch and German ports, and it pleasant to those interested in the welfare of the colony to see them land their passengers and cargoes, the former often collected in picturesque spots on the banks, under the shelter of white tents, yellow wigwams, dark brown log huts, and sometime green arbours of boughs. Off Chester a shattered weather-beaten bark was seen at anchor. Here also the Amity came to an anchor, although news was brought on board that the governor had already selected the site of his capital on the point of land at the junction of the Delaware and the Schuylkill. Wenlock turned his eyes towards the shattered vessel, and naturally inquired who she was.

"Oh, she is the long lost Concord!" was the answer.

Wild agitation filled his bosom as he heard these words, but it was succeeded by fear.

"What have become of the passengers, then?" he asked.

"Some of them died, but others arrived in her. She was cast away on an island, and only with great difficulty was at length got off."

"But where are they?" asked Wenlock.

"Most of them are at Chester, though some have gone off to the new city," was the answer.

Unable to obtain any further information, Wenlock jumped into the first boat returning on shore. He bethought him that he would at once go to his friend, Dr Van Erk, who would be more likely than any one else to give him information. He inquired for his house. Wealth will do much. While others were lodged in huts, the doctor had already secured a comfortable residence for his family. Wenlock hurried towards it, but before he reached it he met the doctor. After they had greeted each other, he told him of whom he was in search.

"Come, my young friend, and perhaps we may find them." The doctor took his arm and led him along till they reached a somewhat highly-pointed but very neat cottage.

"There, whom do you see there?" he asked, pointing through the window. There were four ladies, two old ones and two young. One of them was Gretchen. She was close to the window, so he saw her first; but beyond her,—yes, there was no doubt about it, there sat Mary Mead. They were engaged in their work, so they did not see him.

"Stay," said the doctor, "I forgot. A certain friend of yours has been telling them that you are dead; that he has had news of it; and it might agitate them somewhat, if you were to appear suddenly. I will go in and prepare them." Wenlock stood outside, hid by the porch. He heard first Master Mead's rich voice utter a note of surprise, and then several female voices. He thought he could distinguish Mary's. It was very low, though. Master Mead was the first to come out and welcome him, and in a few seconds he was in the presence of Mary and Gretchen and the two old ladies.

"My dear sister, I am so thankful," exclaimed Gretchen, bestowing a kiss on Mary, "that he has been restored to you." Whatever doubt Master Mead had before, as to bestowing his daughter on Wenlock, it was set at rest by the appearance of the elder Wenlock Christison, who very speedily satisfied all prudential scruples, by informing the worthy father of his intentions regarding his nephew.