Pearl: an ocean waif

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Class, F 7-3

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Preface

For the following narrative, prefatory remarks must be brief, for to follow the fortunes of our heroine from the time Captain Barton found her drifting alone upon the boundless ocean — of his and his wife’s loving care oL her through her tender years — her betrothal — the strategic forces employed to urge her into a journey leading across the “Great American Desert” with a train of Mormons bound for Salt Lake City, in the year 1855 — her capture by a Ute brave, and the many subsequent events, one must peruse every page; hence, a prolix introduction would be superfluous.

Pearl: an Ocean H^ai/.

Chapter I

The principal characters, or at least a number of them, who will figure prominently in this story, may in this chapter be introduced as briefly as possible.

First, the Raymond family: Colonel Israel Raymond; his wife, Anna Harrington Raymond; their only son, Frank, and their niece. Miss Kate Harrington, who was a member of the Raymond family during many months of each year.

The Raymonds were wealthy, and consequently influential; and having 'descended from the aristocratic Raymonds and Harringtons of England, continued the English style of living to a great degree, and adhered to the conservative ideas of their ancestors, although the members of this family were of American birth.

Raymond Park was the pride of the country in which it was located. Its large stone mansion, its woodlands, well stocked with game, its orchards, its finely cultivated fields, and its broad acres of meadow lands, where grazed the finest stock and horses that the country could boast of for many miles around, if described would interest the reader, but as it is not expedient to detail the beautiful and perfect appointments of Raymond Park, that set it aristocratically apart from all other homes and estates in the vicinity, it were better, perhaps, to proceed with the introduction of individuals.

Second: Captain John Barton, owner of the good ship “Sterling;” his wife Melicent, and Pearl, a lovely young woman, who addressed Captain Barton as “Uncle John,” and his wife as “Aunt Milley.” This young woman’s parentage was unknown. Captain Barton had picked her up on the wide ocean when she was an infant, while homeward bound from a voyage to Europe.

The Bartons made no aristocratic pretensions, but truly were, and were classed with the' best citizens of the locality in which they lived.

Their unpretentious but comfortable cottage, surrounded with orchards, fields and meadows, indicated thrift and plenty. Although Captain Barton seldom tended them himself, he entrusted the superintendence of the farm to his energetic wife. Raymond Park and the Barton farm were fully two miles apart, located in Massachusetts, and nearly fifty miles from Boston.

This introduction over, we will proceed with the narrative.

Captain John Barton had been many days from home, fitting up his vessel for a long and perilous voyage, and now that everything was in “ship-shape,” as he termed it, the cargo and everything needful on board, he had returned home to bid his beloved wife and their darling Pearl good-bye.

•He noticed that she was absent, but asked no questions in regard to this, as he had much to say to his wife before starting away upon a year’s voyage. The pale face and trembling lips of his wife, when he announced his intentions of starting on the following morning, warned him that he had a task before him to reconcile her to his long absence.

After their early tea they sat upon the rustic chairs that were arranged invitingly upon the porch to enjoy the balmy spring evening. When he took his wife’s hand and entreated her to sing just one song for him on this, his last evening home— their favorite song while they were youthful lovers. He repeated the first verse:

“A song of love, an humble song of love.

Yet Caught and sang by angel choirs above;

Love is the keynote to all earthly bliss.

Imported from a fairer world than this.”

Mrs. Barton sang to please her husband, her sweet soprano blending harmoniously with his full, deep bass, but one verse was all. With quivering lips she turned to him and murmured, “Oh John, I cannot sing, for my heart is too sad.” “Well,” he replied, “Never mind then; we will talk, for I have much to say to you, Milley, before I start upon this voyage.’.’

She interrupted him by saying: “Positively, I do not believe I can live an entire year without knowing how you are getting along. And you know it will be a chance if you ever have an opportunity of sending a letter to me.” Her voice trembled; she hesitated a moment, then added:

“So please don’t go. You wrote me in the letter I received three days ago that you could sell the Sterling and cargo at a good price, and I have been hoping that you would sell it before you came home, and be done with this seafaring life altogether. Do sell it, John, and stay at home with me. If I could go with you it would be different, but you know that I cannot go. I would be sick during the entire voyage, and I dread even the sight of the treacherous old ocean. I know that you love me, John, and it seems to me if you could comprehend all that I suffer during one storm — and oh there will be so many — while you are away that you would never think of taking another voyage, however short, let alone this one, that will take you through or into unknown perils.” This was said while tears rained down her comely cheeks, and with a voice so pitiful in its pleading tone that Captain Barton could not prevent the tears from filling his own eyes, but he knew that he must take this voyage, and he tried to comfort her. This he did by saying: “Dear Milley, if you will consent to me taking this one voyage I promise you that when I return I will sell the Sterling and never sail again. And now, my darling, listen to me, for you know that I can and do foretell many things truly. I know that I must take this voyage, and that it will be the most prosperous of any that I have ever taken, even more so than that one on which I found our precious little Pearl. Let’s see, that was eighteen years ago, and my luck goes by nines and sevens, and that was the greatest good luck of my life, except, my dear, when you became my wife, and that was twenty-one years ago. Three times seven are twenty-one. So, my precious Milley, I will have double good luck this year. Ah, I see that you are smiling and I am glad, for now you will say that I may go.” “But I am only smiling at your rhyme, dear John, and do not want you to go at all,” responded his wife. “Don’t you remember how you opposed me in taking that voyage, and how I promised you the richest present if you would only consent? And Milley, do consider what a happiness that girl has been to us, and so much company for you when I am away. Then, too, the dear child might have been devoured by sharks or starved to death upon the broad ocean if I had not taken that voyage. Where is she now?” asked Captain Barton. “Out riding with Frank Raymond,” responded Mrs. Barton. “Frank

Raymond?” “Yes, John, and he has proposed marriage to her.” “He has?” questioned Captain Barton, “and has she accepted?” “No, John, she is so sensitive in regard to her parentage that she does not accept.” “Well,” responded Captain Barton, “that would be a splendid match, for Frank is a capital young man, but then not any too good for our darling.” “No, not any too good,” responded Mrs. Barton.

The subject of the voyage was again resumed by Captain Barton. “I have been obliged to use nearly all our ready money in fitting up the Sterling and in laying in her cargo, as well as plenty of provisions to last a year, but next month our lawyer will send you the interest money due upon the loan I made to Mr. Benson, and that interest comes due quarterly, so I think you and Pearl will not need for ready money.” “No,” responded Mrs. Barton, “we will have plenty. If I had nothing aside from our finances to trouble me I would be a happy woman.” He interrupted her by asking: “Milley, dear, you will consent to this voyage? I am sure you will, for you know that I am always lucky. Then I am certain that if it was not the will of God that I should go I would not feel as I do about it, so if God is for me, who can stand against me?”

Mrs. Barton’s lips trembled as she replied: “My dear John, I consent. You are so hopeful that I must be hopeful too, and then I do know that you have truthfully foretold many things, so I will try to be brave and pray for your safe return; but I dread to think how cowardly and lonely I will be when you are away.” “Then don’t think of it, my darling, but let us plan for the future. I am sure that we will have money enough when I return to buy Raymond Park, if the old colonel would sell it.” He continued to talk in the most hopeful strain until after the shades of evening surrounded them. When Bruno, their dog, came trotting up and pushed his cold nose against his master’s hand, seemingly to assure him of his presence, he stroked the dog’s silken coat and asked: “Yes, Bruno, but where is Pearl?” Soon a silvery laugh told them that she was near, and up from the gate walked two dark forms, barely lighted by the feeble rays of a new moon.

Mrs. Barton arose, remarking: “Doubtless Frank is coming in to bid you good-bye.” She went indoors and lighted a lamp. Frank was invited into the cozy sitting room, where all assembled, even to faithful old Bruno, who seemed to consider his presence indispensable.

After the greeting between Captain Barton and Frank, and the latter had proudly asserted that “Starlight,” the pony he had been training for Pearl to ride, had behaved splendidly and that they had enjoyed the evening’s canter exceedingly, the conversation reverted to the proposed voyage, and Frank asked: “Do you indeed sail to-morrow. Captain Barton?” “Yes,” he responded. “To California and around Cape Horn.” And when do you expect to return?” asked Frank. Captain Barton replied: “Perhaps in a year from now, and possibly later.”

After conversing some moments upon the probable perils of such a voyage, Frank remarked: “I suppose I will be obliged to take another trip to London perhaps before you return, captain. That business in regard to our ancestral estate is not quite settled, and as father dislikes the ocean so badly, I am to act as proxy.” “I don’t blame him for disliking the ocean,” interposed Mrs. Barton. And now for the first time since entering the sitting room and greeting her uncle. Pearl spoke: “I really love the ocean, and like wonderfully well to take short trips with Uncle John, and am quite certain that I should enjoy a prolonged voyage vastly. I do not understand how any one can dislike the grand old ocean so terribly as Aunt Milley does.”-

“Oh!” said Captain Barton, “No wonder you love the ocean, for you are one of its pearls, you know.” She smiled and blushed slightly, then raising her blue eyes, encountered a look of intense love and admiration from Frank’s dark ones, a deep blush overspread her lovely face. Captain Barton noticed this, and continued: “Do you know that it was eighteen years ago that I brought you home?”

A sad expression stole over her lovely face as she replied: “Yes, Uncle John, and I wonder who I really

am? This question worries me.” “Oh, my dear child, I have told you that you are a f)earl cast up from the depths of the grand old ocean,” he cheerily replied. “There was no ship in sight, the ocean extended from horizon to horizon. I had taken my glass to see if there was a speck of familiar land in sight, when I saw you bobbing along upon the waves, seemingly a bit of drift of some kind. It was some time before I could determine that the drift was a little child, and when I did a boat was lowered in a hurry. I took you in myself, and was proud and thankful, too, when I found you were alive and unharmed, although nearly starved. We had a cow on shipboard and your hunger was soon satisfied. Black Washington and his wife Hannah were my cooks, so I handed you over to her, and tenderly she cared for you until we reached home. In dressing you she found a golden chain wound twice around your baby neck, with a locket. This we could never open. You were well wrapped in silken shawls and oil silk, with a life-preserver securely fastened around the precious little bundle. I had promised your Aunt Milley a beautiful present, and you were the crowning present I brought to her, although I had bought a beautiful India shawl before I found you.” Frank asked to see the locket and shawls. Pearl arose, went into her room and brought the chain and locket to him. He turned the locket over and over to ascertain if there was the least indication of a spring by which it could be opened, but could find none. The workmanship of both locket and chain indicated foreign manufacture. A diamond on one side and a ruby upon the other, with the purest gold, indicated its worth. She then handed him the silken shawls. When through examining these he handed them back to her and remarked: “You often wonder who and what you are. From these articles we must infer that your parentage was none other than the nobility of your native land, wherever that was. Then you have proven yourself to be the most precious girl on earth; and Captain Barton, as you are going so soon, to be gone no one knows how long or whether you will ever return again, I wish your consent now to Pearl’s and my marriage. I had not thought to ask you so soon, as we cannot be married for a year or so, but I, or we, want to be sure of your consent and blessing; also the consent and blessing of Mrs. Barton, who has been a true mother to her, do we not. Pearl?” She blushed deeply, and softly murmured, “Yes, we do.’‘

Captain Barton arose, took Frank by the hand, and said : “Frank, you have asked in a manly way for our darling, so you have our consent and blessings, too, has he’ not, Milley?” “Yes, truly he has,” responded Mrs. Barton. It was with a tremulous voice that she had spoken, but it soon strengthened to an even yet anxious tone, as she added. “How do your father and mother feel in regard to your preference for our Pearl, or have you spoken to them about it?” Frank replied: “I have spoken to my mother, but have said nothing to my father as yet in regard to my preference, and, too, I have never been able to gain Pearl’s consent until this evening, her main objection being that no one knows who she is. We all know that she is beautiful and good; this is sufficient for me, and of course will be sufficient for my parents also.”

“Excuse me, Frank,” said Mrs. Barton, “but I would like to know how your mother regards your probable union with her.” '

Frank did not respond immediately, but finally replied: “My mother did not appear to give my confidence any particular thought, further than by this remark: ‘Probably Pearl will not consent to marry any one until her parentage can be ascertained.’ ” “Which seems to be an impossibility,” responded Mrs. Barton. Captain Barton added: “We do not like to have our Pearl marry into a family that would not welcome her on account of not being able to know her parentage and ancestral history. No, no, Frank, that would never do; but perhaps your parents will love her for her own precious self, and because you, their only son, have chosen her for your wife. I hope so at least.” “I think there is no danger of them not loving her,” returned Frank, as he looked fondly toward Pearl, whose shapely white hand was raised to her eyes. The conversation troubled her, as this question of her parentage always did. Frank arose, took her hand from her eyes, and looked into them inquiringly, saying: “Pearl, my own, you will not permit the inevitable to stand in the way of our happiness? You have at last consented to be my wife. Your guardians, or foster parents, have also consented, and so let the matter rest as it is. I am more than satisfied, and no one else need worry.”

The clouds by this time veiled the young moon, and a threatening shower rendered it necessary for Frank to start home immediately, so with kind wishes to Captain Barton for his success and safe return, then a hearty hand-clasp and a good-night to Mrs. Barton, he with Pearl went out upon the porch, where he bade her an impressive and loving good-night, with an assurance that he would be with her on the following evening, then walked hurriedly down to the gate, mounted his horse and hastened away in the gathering darkness.

The thunder storm was rapidly approaching. Flash followed flash of vivid lightning in quick succession and peals of thunder told that the storm was near. Pearl stood where Frank had left her, his warm kisses still upon her rosy lips and upon her fair, broad brow. She stood and watched the gathering' storm, her heart full of love for her bethrothed; and yet there seemed to be something like a shadow, something intangible to be sure. This intangible something rendered the future dark and impenetrable. The approaching storm suited her present mood. She had always loved the lightning’s flash and thunder’s roar, since her earliest recollection, •but this evening was the one evening to be set apart from all others in her life.

The gathering clouds approached with a majesty seldom equaled. The lightning’s blinding flashes and the thunder’s sullen or deafening roar seemed to her like armed aerial forces moving onward to battle, the flashes and thunder like the discharge of artillery as the forces approached the imperceptible foe. She loved the sight and sounds. It seemed grand to her. And now the question arose for the first time, “Why do I love a scene like this? Did my father love the sounds and sights of battle?” Who can answer these questions? And was this grand array of the elements arranged to warn or arm her against the indescribable something that seemed to be near, to cloud her life and happiness? The rain poured down in torrents before she could gain her own consent to re-enter the cottage. She felt sure that her lover had reached his home in safety, as his horses were very fleet and he a fearless rider. The storm had been many moments gathering thus giving him ample time to outride it.

She bade her foster parents good-night. They both kissed her tenderly and wished her happiness in Frank Raymond’s love. She then entered her room, for well she knew that Uncle John and Aunt Milley would not be through talking before midnight, and perhaps no sleep would seal their eyes during this, his last night at home. She mused upon the long voyage that he would take to California, the land of gold, and away around Cape Horn. “Oh, dear,” she sighed; “Uncle John to be gone a whole year, and perhaps longer; and Frank going away to England; it is this, and only this, that brings this cloud and terrible depression upon me at times, both to be away for a year at least. No wonder I feel depressed,” she murmured to herself. Then she took the locket and chain and examined them closely, also the silken shawls that had been wrapped about her baby form when Uncle John had found her, a wee waif, upon the boundless ocean. She thought of all the care and kindness this worthy couple had bestowed upon her ever since. She knew that they loved her as fondly as they could have loved a daughter of their own, had they been blessed with one, for they had given her every advantage of education, including music, drawing and painting. These thoughts were flitting through her mind, and in this train of thoughts came the recollection of a day fully two years’ before, when she was out upon the hillside sketching the Raymond mansion in the distance and the lovely peaceful scenery that lay in the foreground, when Frank Raymond came quietly to her side, and in glancing up she encountered a look of admiration beaming upon her from his dark, expressive eyes; also she remembered the tone of his voice begging pardon for intruding; then a moment later his request to see the sketch. As these thoughts arose in her mind a blush, not of shame, but of pure love and happiness, overspread her beautiful face, for this certainly was the commencement of a friendship that had grown into the love that now held them bethrothed. She loved to think how flnely he appeared that day, dressed in his hunting suit, with cap in hand, begging pardon for his intrusion. He had insisted on having the sketch when it was completed. She remembered how perfectly she had flnished this, and how beautifully he had framed it, and how proudly he had placed it in the flnest light to be had upon the walls of his parents’ sitting room, and there It now rested, an acknowledged gem of art.* She thought of how she was improving in her art, and knew that Frank’s appreciation of her work was her flnest inspiration. Then she glanced down to her left hand, that was resting upon the table, and noticed the brilliancy of the diamond that blazed up from their engagement ring that Frank had slipped upon her Anger in the early twilight of that very evening. A rose tinge suffused her face as she raised her hand and touched her lips to the brilliant. Frank, the great, noble, dark-eyed Frank Raymond, loved her, the little Ocean

Waif, and how could she be sufficiently thankful for this glorious love? Then the question arose in her mind as to why he had not chosen his queenly cousin, Kate Harrington, for his wife instead of herself? This seemed to puzzle her, for Kate always deferred to him in everything and seemed unmistakably fond of him. Such thoughts, and others, thronged her brain. While preparing for slumber she unbound her hair and stood by the mirror brushing it preparatory to braiding it loosely for the night. Her hair, that in its golden glory was almost a wonder to all who looked upon it. She saw herself in the mirror with its rippling splendor falling like a mantle about her sylph-like form. For a moment she looked and did not wonder because Frank loved and admired her. And yet she was not vain. A feeling of gladness thrilled her young heart as she looked at the image of herself reflected in the mirror, and murmured: “Yes, I am truly beautiful, but I never have thought of this until now. I certainly appear beautiful to Frank or he would not have chosen m'e above all others for his wife.”

The morning dawned all too soon for Mrs. Barton, as her husband must start early to be on time to embark on shipboard for the dreaded voyage.

As Captain Barton folded his wife to his heart for the last time he said: “Now, Milley, remember that I will bring you untold wealth, or something that will make you happier than you have ever been in all your life. I do not say this only to soothe your grief in this parting. I truly feel that it is God’s will I should go; so be brave, my precious wife, and trust in God.” “Bring your own dear self back to me; this is all I ask,” sobbed Mrs. Barton.

He bade Pearl good-bye; the carriage stood in waiting and he hurried away to catch the early train to Boston, for in Boston harbor his staunch ship Sterling awaited her captain to set sail for the untried voyage.

CHAPTER 11.

After Frank bade his affianced good-night he hurried down to his horses, mounted Black Prince, led Starlight, and hastened homeward amid lightning flashes and peals of thunder. He had hoped to outride the storm, but could not, for it broke upon him in all its drenching fury just before he reached his own gate. As soon as he could give the horses into black Sam’s care he hastened into the house, going through the kitchen and up the back stairs to his room, telling Aunt Hannah, the colored cook, as he passed through to bring him a cup of tea, for he was drenched through and through, and to tell his parents, if they were still up, that he had returned safely. “Yes, Mr. Prank, I’ll do dat, an trus’ to yo’ ole Ant Hanner to fix yo somfin hoter ’en tea, foh you needs it; yose sutenly mos drown.” This she said as she bustled about preparing a drink much warmer than tea for him; also a dainty little luncheon, for she gussed that her “favite boy,” as she often called Frank, had not been to tea. She took the hot drink up to him as soon as it was prepared, then brought up his tea and lunch, saying as she entered his room with the tray containing it: “De fokes in de pariah wos worryin’ considble ’bout yo, Mr. Frank, but I’se tole ’em, an’ deys gon to baid.” “Thank you; that is right. Aunt Hannah,” responded Frank, who now in a suit of warm, dry clothes felt quite himself again, and after drinking the cup of hot tea, he turned to Aunt Hannah and asked: “By the way, Aunt Hannah, do you know that Captain Barton sets sail to-morrow morning for California — the land of gold?” “No! dus he?” “Yes, he will start from home early to-morrow morning to be gone perhaps a whole year.” “Clar roun’ de Hon?” “Yes, Aunt Hannah.” “He’s a mighty fine man, am Cap’n Barton, an’ if my ole man wus ’live I spect he wud be sailin’ wif him as his cook. He use to go heaps o’ times wif him; him an’ me wuz on boa’d his ship when he pick’d up dat golen hai’d little girl uv them; poh chile but she wuz mos strav’d.” said Aunt Hannah. Frank now looked up at her with an unusual light in his fine dark eyes and said: “Aunt Hannah, I had just as well tell you now as any time; that little golden haired girl will he my wife some day.” “Well, pon my soul dat am good news, Mr. Frank. I’se glad oh dat, cos she’s so lubly an’ sweet; den my ’pinion alius wus dat she am a bon princess. Oh! de fine an lubly close she did hab on! an’ all wrap in silken shalls so fine an’ rich! Yais, she am a bon princess, I’se shuah,” said Aunt Hannah. “Do you think so?” responded Frank. “Yais I dus, an’ yo’ bofe hab yo’ ole Ant Hanner’s bes’ wishes foh yo’ hapnes’ foheber,” responded Aunt Hannah. “Thank you. Aunt Hannah. I am certain that you are in earnest.” As she took the tray down stairs her dark face fairly beamed with the joy this news had given her, for of all the white children she had ever cared for, Frank and Pearl were her favorites.

The storm raged until late in the night. Prank’s thoughts would not permit him to sleep for many hours; he was indeed too happy to sleep, now that he had gained Pearl’s promise to become his wife, and that she had given up hoping she could ever ascertain whom her parents were. He smiled as he thought how firmly Aunt Hannah believed that Pearl was a “born princess,” and refiected that this was indeed possible. Yet what did he care, so that she would some day be his own sweet wife? And now that she had promised, he was happy.

The mgrning dawned bright and beautiful. Frank was up betimes and out to enjoy a morning’s walk before breakfast. When he met his parents and Cousin Kate at the breakfast table they greeted him with a cheery “Good morning,” his mother and Kate inquiring about his being out in the storm of last evening. His father seemed preoccupied for awhile, but finally looked up and asked: “Did you take cold?” “No,” responded Prank, “and had I taken cold Aunt Hannah brought me a drink that would have set me all right had I been drowned for an hour.” “Well,” remarked his father, at the same time raising his kindly blue eyes to Prank’s dark ones, “I received a letter this morning from our attorney in London; and from this I learn that one of us must go right away, or about one week from now will be soon enough; and as I do not like an ocean trip, perhaps you had better go.” “Yes,” fesponded Prank, “of course I will go. Your aversion to the ocean seems strange to me as I love a life on the ocean wave.” Frank had intended to announce his engagement to Pearl this morning, but this conversation with his father, and the hurried plans that ensued in regard to the trip, also other matters of great interest, mostly pertaining to the stock and farm, filled every moment of time while they were at breakfast, after which the day was occupied making suitable arrangements until evening. Then there seemed to be a lull in the day’s work and an opportunity for Frank to speak of the subject now dearest to his heart. His father was resting, his mother knitting and his Cousin Kate embroidering some silken fabric.