Bonnie harebells, bonnie harebells,Ring, oh, ring!Ring across the listening twilightWhile the fairies sing.Bonnie harebells, bonnie harebells,My love greet!Let her hear you ringing softlyAt her very feet.Bonnie harebells, bonnie harebells,Sound out clear;Tell a little, watching maidenI am very near.Bonnie harebells, bonnie harebells,Ring, oh, ring!All the world with silence overWaits listening.
Bonnie harebells, bonnie harebells,Ring, oh, ring!Ring across the listening twilightWhile the fairies sing.
Bonnie harebells, bonnie harebells,My love greet!Let her hear you ringing softlyAt her very feet.
Bonnie harebells, bonnie harebells,Sound out clear;Tell a little, watching maidenI am very near.
Bonnie harebells, bonnie harebells,Ring, oh, ring!All the world with silence overWaits listening.
The worship of "the almighty dollar" is of no recent origin, provided it be the case that the dollar is represented in gold. This worship forms no specialcultusin the religions of the world. It is a survival from prehistoric times, and is intimately connected with the earliest forms of nature-worship. The estimate in which gold has been held has always been out of all proportion to its utility, its scarcity, or the difficulty of mining it. There have been times when civilized man had a comparatively far more abundant supply of gold than he has at present, but this circumstance did not avail to depreciate the metal. There were long ages of an incipient civilization, during which gold flooded the markets of the world as compared with iron, but this did not affect the relations between the nobler and the baser article of merchandise. Gold was all the time held at a valuation far above what it would have received from its importance to mankind in the useful arts. It was prized as amber was prized, and the two substances were devoted to quite similar uses. They were employed for the decoration of temples and shrines, and were worn for personal ornament. But the wearing of such ornament had its origin in sentiments which may be regarded as strictly religious. Beads and rings were originally amulets to protect the wearer against invisible inimical powers, as they were talismans to confer upon their possessor supernatural gifts. We can get no distinct view back of this custom in time, but we may feel well assured that when gold had acquired such use, nature-worship had advanced far into the stage of symbolism. It was not the metal itself that was the object of worship. That object gold typified and figured to the devout mind.
To discover what property it was that gave this metal its early preference, it will be necessary to trace the survival of similar views and feelings farther than we have ourselves consciously prolonged them. It is to be observed that among the Turks and other Oriental people, amber and yellow gems like the topaz, still enjoy a pre-eminence in popular favor. These substances are still supposed to possess magical power always beneficent. Among the Chinese, yellow is both sacred and it is associated with the dignityof imperial rank. Yellow is the color of the royal standard, and a yellow sash distinguishes a member of the royal family. Robes of state are of the same color. And this appropriation of yellow to certain sacred or governmental uses is not confined to China. It is common through the East. The farther back we trace the idea of special sacredness in color, the more exclusively do we see this confined to yellow. This was long saved from vulgar uses and associations. It had a significance to the ancients, such as it does not have to us. There was a fitness in their decorating the temples and the statues of the gods with gold, and silver, and ivory, and amber, and gems. These offerings symbolized light, and light stood for the happier destinies of man,—for the milder and gentler influences which lead to good; while darkness typified malignant powers of evil. There was the same distinction conceived of between life and death. White victims were offered to the gods of Olympus, while for sacrifice to the gods of the under-world black victims were selected.
Gold shines with the brightest and the warmest glow of any of the metals, and its brilliancy and lustre are not tarnished by corrosion. To the Oriental fancy it typified the genial light of day. To the fire-worshipper it was a fit emblem of his faith. Fire was originally sacred, perhaps, only as the representative of the sun; and this luminary was later spiritualized in the idea of Apollo. Gold was sacred as far as this worship was spread, from India to the North of Europe, and the great demand for it for sacred uses gave the metal much of its preciousness in the markets of the world. It was worn by the living and was buried with the dead; so that if humanity had not refined its conception of the divine, it would have come to be the case at length that every particle of gold in the soil would have had mortal ashes sleeping beside it.
Gold and silver were rendered sacred and precious in early times by being devoted to purposes of worship. The temples were the safe places of deposit, and in these were hoarded the treasures of the world. Partly from this circumstance it became the case that when gold and silver were first coined, the temples were the mints, and the earliest mint-masters were the priests. Naturally, the devices stamped upon the coins issued under such auspices would be sacred emblems. We find them such from whatever source they came. There was sound policy in thiscourse, as well as good reason for it. If coins were to circulate among people who had previously been accustomed to paying out and receiving the precious metals by actual weight, it was necessary to have the value of these pieces certified to in the most solemn manner. To this end the effigies of the gods, together with the tokens of their attributes and sacred offices, were stamped upon the coin. If we could trace coinage to its earliest use, perhaps to its origin, among the people who lived about the Ægean Sea, it would not be unreasonable to expect to find that at first gold coin was issued under the patronage of Apollo, that silver bore the stamp of Zeus, and that copper coins were dedicated to Aphrodite, as the nearest representative among Greek divinities of that Phoenician goddess who presided over trade in the ports and markets of the East. But among the coins that remain—and some of these are shown to be of early date, they are so rude in execution—we do not find this distinction kept. It is certain that at an early period the emblems of the several divinities were mixed, apparently with a view to giving a more weighty sanction to the stamp impressed upon the coin.
The earlier Greek coins were struck by hand. A single die was employed in the process, so that an impression of device or of legend appeared only on one side. The other side bore an indent which is known as the punch-mark. This mark is commonly a square figure divided into four smaller squares by lines resembling somewhat a right cross. It is the indent of the spike in the anvil on which the ball of metal was laid when being struck. Later, the coins were made thinner, and were struck with double dies. From that time both sides of the coin received an impression. The upper side continued to show the greatest care. As this side always bore the head of the god under whose auspices the coin was to be issued, it was called the obverse or face of the piece. The opposite side was the reverse. So long as coins continued to be struck by hand, there was no fixed relative position for the two impressions. Coins were always printed as though they were turned horizontally from left to right. They still continue to be so printed, and we go on in the practice of speaking of the reverse of coins, even when we are discussing those of our own coinage; but the fact is that ever since American coins were stamped in the mint the impressions on the twosides bear a certain fixed relation. In passing from the obverse of our coins to the examination of the opposite side, we do this by inverting the piece. That side would then properly be called the inverse of the coin, and it would, with equal propriety be printed directly beneath its obverse.
The shape of early coins is by no means uniform. There is one peculiarity of the coins of Bœotia and Macedonia, as well as of many colonies of these states, which is worthy of some attention. It may indicate how it came about that the round disk is now the prevailing form. The coins of these two Greek states in particular were for a long period concavo-convex disks, the convex side being in all instances the obverse. It has been suggested, by way of accounting for this form, that it secured a more perfect impression of the upper die, which always struck the obverse. It may be the case that a better impression was gained on that side, but an examination will show that the designer and engraver spared nothing of art or of skill upon the reverses. These are executed with a care and vigor equal to that of the obverse, and are struck with equal success. The concave shape preserved the reverse from wear, and made it an object for both artist and artisan to put good work on this side. It is more in accordance with the Greek way of looking at things, to account for this shape on other ground than that of expediency. It is more likely than otherwise, that this form is emblematic. The ancient buckler was of this form. Of such a figure was the escutcheon of these states. Bœotia adopted for hers the shield of Herakles, and Macedonia that of Ares. What tends strongly to confirm this view, that the buckler was the model for the coin, is the fact that for a long time Macedonian coins were finished upon the obverse, in imitation of the national shield. This is to be seen in the decoration of the border, even on coins that were struck long after Macedonia had become a Roman province. May it not be the case that the buckler served as model for the circular disk?
As Greek coins were issued under the sanction of some god, it was natural that they should go out from his temple bearing his effigy and the symbols of his worship. Apollo succeeded to the early worship paid the sun and fire. He was the god of light and beauty. In his honor gold coins should originally have been struck, and they should bear his emblems. It will be of service tosee what some of these were. This god was, on the whole, beneficent, as the influences of the sun are kindly, but he inflicted plagues by shooting his poisoned arrows among the people, just as the heat of the sun engenders deadly fevers. We have retained a trace of the old feeling, as our language betrays where consciousness utterly fails. We attribute certain sudden attacks of illness tosunstroke. That word "stroke" brings vividly before us the smiting of the Greek camp on the plain before Troy. Representing the sun, as Apollo did, the head of this god often appears radiated upon coins, particularly upon the coins of Rhodes. This was as the poets were wont to describe him. Catullus alludes to his flashing eyes,—"radiantibus oculis." Tibullus speaks of him as this youth having his temples bound with sacred laurel—"hic juvenis casta redimitus tempora lauro" The use of the laurel was reserved to this god, and in times of primitive Greek and Roman piety it was allowed to men only whose successful general would celebrate a triumph. The palm-branch is also connected with the worship of this god, in allusion to the sacred palm-tree under which Leta gave birth to him and to Artemis. The rays, the laurel, and the palm are the symbols of Apollo upon our coins. Other nations have employed the bow, the lyre, and the tripod, with many more equally familiar symbols.
The coinage of silver belonged peculiarly to Zeus, the god of the thunderbolt. The question arises at once, Was there fancied a resemblance between the whiteness of this metal and dazzling brightness of the flash of lightning? However that question may be answered, there remains the fact that the thunderbolt was a symbol of the power of Zeus, and its figure uniformly accompanied the effigy of the god. Ovid speaks of Zeus as of one whose hand is armed with three-forked fires,—
"Cui deutra trisulcesIgnibus armata est."
"Cui deutra trisulcesIgnibus armata est."
It is worth while to give this emblem some little study. It is represented under three varieties of one general form. We first find it a bundle of flames wreathed closely together in the form of a double cone. It is then a token of peace. Zeus is always seated when bearing this, and it is held downward. Under its second form the thunderbolt consists of a similar double cone, only it is elongated and pointed. This cone is crossed obliquely by twozigzag flashes of lightning, terminating at either end in arrow-points. Later forms of this symbol have the forward end the same, but the other end is wrought into an ornamental and somewhat arborescent head. This form with the lightning flashes is always borne uplifted, and by the god standing in readiness to hurl the bolt. This is the form we are to look for in connection with the worship of Zeus. The third form is of rare occurrence in literature and art.
Another emblem of the Olympian god, more familiar even than the thunderbolt, is the eagle. Æschylus calls this bird "the winged hound of Zeus." This conception of the poet ruled in art as well as in literature. It was the popular idea of divine vengeance following and punishing guilt that sought concealment. Open impiety drew down upon the offender's head the flashing thunderbolt. A comparative examination of a few coins will help towards interpreting this symbolism. For this purpose the coins of Elis will serve best. Here was Olympia, with its famous temple of Zeus, and here were celebrated the great national Olympian games in honor of the god. Certainly if any part of Greece was more sacred to Zeus than the rest, that part was Elis. Its coins are covered with his symbols. Three types of about 371b.c.form a group of especial interest. The first of these has, obverse, an eagle tearing a ram, on a shield; reverse, a thunderbolt. Second, obverse, an eagle tearing a serpent; reverse, a thunderbolt. Third, obverse, an eagle tearing a hare; reverse, a winged thunderbolt. Here the identity is sufficiently close to bring these examples under one description. They seem to commemorate the just punishment of some enemies of Elis, or, possibly, the deserved penalty for some wrong done Zeus himself. It would not be easy at this late day to make sure what people or persons may have been indicated by the ram, the serpent, and the hare. The obverse in each case tells the story of the event so far as we can read the story, and the reverse invariably confirms the tenor and spirit of the same. This harmony between the two sides of the coin may be traced throughout ancient coinage, proving that it was of a medallic character. Other coins of Elis are of a peaceful character, and it is of interest to see how the emblems are managed upon these. One has, obverse, head of eagle; reverse, thunderbolt within a wreath. Another, obverse, head of Hera; reverse,eagle standing in wreath. A third, obverse, head of Olympia; reverse, eagle within olive-wreath. It will be observed that the reverse does not in these instances bear the symbols as before, upon an open field, but the field is now enclosed by a wreath. The import of this seems to have been about the same as that of the drawn sword and the sheathed sword in modern heraldic designs. Still other examples will show not only the harmony between obverse and reverse, but how coins were dedicated to more than one divinity. This practice was at first more common in the colonies than in the metropolitan cities. A coin of Crotona of about 479b.c.has, obverse, eagle perched on the cornice of a temple; reverse, tripod and olive-spray. It would seem likely that this piece was first dedicated to Zeus, and next to Apollo. Zeus often holds the eagle on his hand as falcons were held in the days of hawking, and he is then called the eagle-holder (exetophoros). When so represented, the god is commonly seated as at peace; but there is one coin of Messene which shows him holding the bird while he is standing and thundering. Later coins show combinations which are particularly interesting in connection with the symbolism of our own coins. One of the best of these is a Macedonian coin of the time of Perseus—obverse, head of Perseus; reverse, an eagle on a thunderbolt, within a wreath of oak. In connection with this example should be examined a Roman gold coin of about 269b.c.—obverse, head of Mars; reverse, an eagle holding in its talons a thunderbolt. This type of reverse has been pretty closely copied by designers for our mint.
The coins of Athens may have furnished the original for the olive-wreath so common on American coins. They were issued under the auspices of Athene, and bore upon the obverse the head of the goddess. The reverse regularly bore the owl and the olive-bough. These coins were familiarly called owls, just as we speak of eagles in our currency, and just as the English talked of angels and crosses in the time of Elizabeth. Aristophanes jocosely calls the Athenian pieces owls of Laurium, in allusion to the gold mines there, in which they were hatched.
It would be of interest to trace these heraldic devices through the intervening ages, and along the devious ways by which they have come down to the present. This task would lead one far afield in history. In the hasty glance just now given to the coinsof Greece, we have found material that will help to an understanding of what is impressed upon the coins of our own country. There would be no less of propriety and pertinence in asking what significance these symbols have brought to us from the time they were struck in faith and in awe by the very shrines of the gods in the temples of Greece. We may say that these symbols have no significance for us; but centuries hence, when the beginnings of our government are no longer a memory with the people, historians will relate with what instructive readiness the founders of our government, finding these colonies free and independent states, turned to the colonies and states of Greece for a model upon which to mould a nation; and they will find in early American coinage full confirmation of this view. The very same influence was manifested in the architecture of America for the first half of this century, as many a public edifice, and even private houses, sufficiently prove.
Before examining any particular coin, it may be worth the while to notice a few of the more prominent features of our American types. The most striking of all is the absence of portrait heads. There is good reason for this. The theory of our government is, that it is but the collective will of the people. Again, since the invention of printing, there is longer reason in giving coins a medallic character. This function of coinage has been perpetuated in Germany. ASieges-Thalerwas struck after the Franco-Prussian War of 1870. There were a few portrait heads of Washington upon coins struck under his administration; but the practice ended there. It is said that the head upon some of our later coins is a portrait. If so, its American type is not recognizable. The head, whenever it appears upon the obverse of our coins, is Greek in outline and expression. This is so strongly the character of the features, that even where an attempt has been made to secure a distinctly American type, as in the case of the three-dollar gold coin of 1854, the cast of features is still Greek. Some slight modification is made by accessories, such as the circlet of feathers about the head. The obverse of the gold dollar of the same date bears what is described as the head of a beautiful Indian; but the features are Greek, and the hair is waving, unlike any ever seen among savages.
In descriptions of American coins, the eagle, which appears sooften and so prominent, is commonly spoken of as the American eagle. If one will take the trouble to compare this figure in every position in which it is displayed upon our coins, with the effigy of "the winged hound of Zeus," so common on the coins of Greece, he will find the identity complete. The only difference will be that the old hand-struck coins show the vigor of original work, as compared with that of a copy.
Another familiar symbol on American coins is the bundle of arrows held in one talon or the other of the eagle. On a few of our earlier coins the number of these arrows was four or six, or even more; but commonly there have been three, and now they are uniformly of that number. They are arranged at a pretty definite angle. The two obliquely transverse ones are in position and in form precisely like the two flashes of lightning across the thunderbolt of Zeus, only the zigzag lines have been straightened into arrow-shafts. It seems highly probable that the point of the bolt between the two flashes itself developed into the middle arrow, and thus makes up the traditional number three. The fact that the thunderbolt is found in the talons of the eagle so often, upon both Greek and Roman coins, makes the supposition a likely one.
Regarding the laurel and the olive, it need only be said that the branch of itself symbolizes the presence of the divinity, to which the tree is sacred, or it typifies some attribute or the exercise of some divine office. As an illustration, Apollo is often shown using the laurel-bough to sprinkle the people with purifying waters. But when boughs or leaves are twined into a wreath, it is commonly to denote worship paid to the divinity, or in its name; for in worshipping the gods, wreaths of the proper material were placed upon their statues in the sacred places, and it was a regular industry in Greek towns to twine wreaths for this very use. This import of the wreath is called to mind by observing that the legend on the reverse of the three-dollar gold coin of 1854 is surrounded by a wreath of the leaves of the tobacco-plant and cereals.
The obverse and the reverse of coins have always been read together, as a whole. This rule was never more clearly exemplified than in striking the old colonial shillings of Massachusetts, where the legend of the obverse—"Massachusetts in"—was completed by turning the coin over and reading on the reverse the rest of the sentence—"New England."
It remains now to look at a few examples of our national coinage. The eagle of 1795 bears upon its obverse a head of Liberty, wearing a rather high Phrygian cap. This cap, and the wand upon which it is more commonly raised, are the symbols of this goddess. They are familiar enough in Roman art and literature, if not in our own. The reverse of the coin bears an eagle with expanded wings, holding in its beak a laurel-wreath, and grasping a palm-branch with both talons. From what has already been said in regard to the significance of these emblems to an earlier generation of men, this inscription, as a whole, may be construed somewhat like this: Liberty, through the power of Zeus, has secured victory, and through the same helping power she now offers worship to the genius of prophetic inspiration. With some such thought of his country would an old Greek have scanned this coin when he bartered his soul for its possession. In the coinage of 1838, this coin bears on its reverse an eagle with a shield—which, by the way, is Roman—on its breast, and having its wings uplifted. This eagle holds in its left talon three arrows, and in its right an olive-branch.
The double eagle of 1850 bears on its obverse a head of Liberty. The face is shown in profile, and the features are of pure Greek type. The fillet about the head is such as was worn by the ancient priests. This circumstance serves to connect our coinage with the earliest issues made from the temples, under direction of the priests. The reverse of the coin has a small eagle, nearly hidden by the shield upon its breast. Its left talon holds three arrows, and its right an olive-branch. The distinctive mark of this reverse is the arc of diverging rays of the sun above the head of the eagle. This arc is found with peculiar appropriateness upon a gold coin, since it is a symbol of the old sun-worship, or of Apollo, under whose auspices gold coins were originally issued. Its occurrence here, moreover, emphasizes that total disregard for the fitness of things which appears on the reverse of the half-eagle of 1796, where clouds are seen above the eagle's head.
The silver coins of our currency have much in common with the gold. Such parts of the designs upon these as are like what has been found upon the gold coins will call for no further remark. The reverse of the dollar of 1798 is noticeable for this; that the eagle grasps in his right talon a bundle of four arrows instead ofthree, as on later coins. From 1836 a pretty nearly uniform pattern has prevailed for the dollar and its subdivisions. The obverse shows a female figure seated. The face is of a pronounced Greek type. The drapery is Greek, with one trifling variation,—the fastening of the dress is shown upon the right shoulder. The ancient fashion of this garment put the fastening only upon the left shoulder. Upon these coins the cap of Liberty is not worn upon the head, but it is displayed upon a wand held in the left hand. The right hand of the figure rests on shield and scroll. The reverse shows an eagle with wings expanded as if about to fly. The shield covers its breast. Unlike the eagle of the earlier coins, it is with the right talon now that it grasps the olive-branch, and the left holds three arrows. The quarter-dollar of 1853 has the space above the eagle on the reverse filled with diverging rays. Apollo might not, perhaps, take it as a compliment to be asked to sanction much of our later silver coinage.
The five-cent nickel coin of 1866 introduced some novel features upon its reverse. The shield is most prominent, and it is overhung by branches of olive. Above the shield appears for the first time on our national coinage the cross. Soon after this coin was first issued, a query was made in the "American Historical Magazine" as to the significance of this symbol in the place it occupied. The query elicited from some official connected with the mint a reply to the effect that the cross had not the slightest significance. The reply carried with it a confession rather humiliating to make or to admit. Something better than that ought to be said for a symbol that has figured in all the heraldic decorations of religion and chivalry. It might have been said that in colonial times, so early as 1661, coins were struck in Maryland, the reverse of which bore a shield, and that this was surmounted by a crown and a cross. But the strangest thing about this cross on the nickel coin is that it happens to be of a very unusual pattern. It is the cross of the Order of Calatrava, a military order of Spain, instituted in 1158, and continuing a very honorable existence down to the present day. When worn as a decoration embroidered upon the left breast of the coat, it is a red cross fancifully worked into some resemblance to thefleur-de-lis. Of the minor coins no special mention need be made. They present nothing unlike what occurs upon those already examined and described.
The brief study here made of this subject is barely sufficient to indicate a mode of interpretation which can be applied to all that is emblematic upon our coins. So far it has nearly all been found thoroughly Greek in its origin and character. It is proper that it should be so, for our life, in all the activities through which money is kept in circulation, is more nearly Greek than it is anything else. This is nothing we need blush to own. Original genius like that of Goethe may shape its course, as the poet advised, without looking to the past; but the less gifted will often turn back to watch the line along which progress has hitherto been made, and they will find the strongest reliance in keeping steadily upon the same course.
In the passage of Port Hudson by Admiral Farragut, on the night of the 14th of March, 1863, out of a fleet of eight vessels which attempted to run the batteries, only the two foremost ones, the "Hartford" and the "Albatross," succeeded in doing so. The "Hartford" was a regular steam sloop-of-war, which the admiral had chosen for his flag-ship; while the "Albatross" was a rather small propeller which had been purchased by the navy department, officered, manned, and put in as complete fighting trim as her proportions would admit of. These two vessels, lashed together, with the "Albatross" on the port side, headed the procession up the Mississippi River. Each of the three other large vessels which followed had a smaller one lashed to her port side. The object of this was that, in case either of the large vessels got aground, her companion of less draught might pull her off. It proved to be a most fortunate precaution; for while under the severest fire the "Hartford" grounded, and was doubtless saved from total destruction by the strenuous exertions of her little consort. This the admiral stated to be his conviction at the time.
The relative positions of the two vessels were such that the "Albatross" could only work her bow gun, and with the exception of plunging shots from the upper batteries, the men who served here were the most exposed to the enemy's fire.
Charley Reck was sponger of the parrot-gun on the forecastle, and fully realized the danger and responsibility of his position. He was a well-built, noble-looking young Frenchman, but could understand and speak English quite well. His intelligence, activity, and good temper, made him a general favorite on board, and attracted the notice of the captain, who appointed him his steward and gave him many privileges, allowing him time for reading and correspondence, of which he was exceedingly fond.
Down the river at Plaquemine, there was an excellent bakery kept by an old Frenchman and his three beautiful daughters. For a long time during the preparations for an advance up the river, we had frequently come to anchor opposite this little town, and never omitted to supply ourselves with fresh bread from this bakery, and enjoy a friendly chat with the three charming sisters. They were very affable, and there was an artlessness about them, combined with self-respect, which was very fascinating. In his daily visits to supply the captain's larder, and probably in part on account of like nationality, Charley Reck lost his heart. Louise, the youngest daughter, and the most beautiful of the three, captured it completely. Theirs was a sincere and honest attachment, and the sequel discloses how tender must have been their parting when the order came to proceed up the river, and face the uncertain issues of mortal combat.
On the 14th of March, early in the morning, we were at the head of Prophet's Island, a short distance below Port Hudson, and there the vessels of the fleet, one after another, assembled. Then came the order to be in readiness to run the batteries at a given signal at night. I had never been under fire, and my bump of curiosity probably saved me on this occasion from much of the anxiety which otherwise I might have felt, but the unusual seriousness which seemed to pervade the whole ship's company during that day did not escape my notice, and was, in some degree, contagious.
The officers, when not on duty, kept mostly in their staterooms, and there was no hilarity among the men.
In the captain's storeroom there was a nook where Charley Reck was in the habit of spending his leisure moments, and during that afternoon he had been closeted there longer than was his wont. Just before sunset he came out, and approaching me with thecustomary salute, he handed me a neat little package, and said, "Doctor, when you go down the river, will you please give this to Louise?" Not understanding him, I replied, "Are you going to leave us, Charley; aren't you going to stick by the ship?"
Very sadly he answered, "This is my last day; I shall die to-night!" I tried to rally him by saying, "Nonsense! you are just as likely to come out all right as any of the rest of us!" But he only replied, "Please take it, Doctor; I am sponger of that gun, and I shall do my duty; but I shall be killed to-night!" Then I took the package and locked it in my desk, thinking as I did so that I would return it to him on the morrow, and have a good laugh at his expense.
The story of that fearful night has long since been published, and I shall not attempt to repeat it, further than relates to the subject of this sketch. I had arranged the ward-room for my "cock-pit," and in the midst of the awful conflict I heard a voice call down the companion-way, "Doctor, here's a man with his arm shot off!" and I shouted back, "Bring him down, quick!"
We laid him on the table, unconscious. His right arm was shattered midway between the shoulder and elbow. I thought he had fainted from loss of blood, but the next moment I saw plainly enough that he was dead.
A shell had exploded near him, and sent a large fragment clear through his lungs and heart, killing him instantly.
I looked in his calm, white face. It was Charley Reck.
When we were safely at anchor, out of reach of the guns, I thought of the package for Louise which he had left in my care. It was not sealed, but simply tied, and the captain said, in view of the relation which he and Charley had sustained to each other, he would take the responsibility of opening it, and ascertaining its contents before it should be delivered. There was an ambrotype of the sweet young girl, and a letter written in French, breathing all the devotion of a true and faithful heart. The following is a correct translation of its closing sentences: "Good by, Louise! My darling! My own one! When this reaches you, I shall be in the grave, but we shall meet again, and love each other forever. Adieu, my love! I kiss you for the last time!" On the glass, covering the picture, was plainly visible the print of his ardent lips, so soon to be chilled in death.
There were hair-breadth escapes on board the "Albatross" that night, but not another man was killed or wounded.
Many will regard this singular presentiment and its literal fulfilment as merely a remarkable coincidence. I have stated only the simple facts in the case, as they occurred under my own observation; and to me, at least, they furnish additional evidence that "there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in our philosophy."
Lucy Keyes was the daughter of Robert Keyes, who lived in the town of Princeton, in Massachusetts, about the year 1755. At the age of two and a half or three years, she disappeared one night at sunset, and was never afterwards heard of by her parents. Her father spent the greater part of his life in a fruitless search for her among the various tribes of Indians; and her mother lost her reason in the contemplation of the unknown fate which had befallen her little daughter. This is an account of the little girl's disappearance, and the elucidation of a mystery which, for three-quarters of a century, baffled all search. The story is derived from traditions in the neighborhood, from allusions to Lucy in the local histories, and from the dying statement of a chief actor in the tragedy.
The fourth settler in the town was Robert Keyes. It is well known that our ancestors had frequent trouble with the Indians, and that white people were stolen, to be either put to death or returned to their friends for a ransom. Lancaster had been burned seventy-five years before, and Mrs. Rowlandson, the minister's wife, was carried into captivity. She was taken to New Hampshire, and after wandering with her captors thirty days or more, she was returned to the foot of Mount Wachusett; and on a rock near the shore of Wachusett Lake,where the chiefs held their councils, she was purchased of her captors by John Hoar, an ancestor of the distinguished Senator Hoar, for thirty dollars in silver, together with some trinkets and provisions. King Philip himself was present, and opposed the release of Mrs. Rowlandson; but even his influence did not overcome the cupidity of the petty chief who held her. From this circumstance the rock is known as Redemption Rock. It has been purchased by Senator Hoar, and its southern face now bears an appropriate inscription to commemorate the release, and the courage and diplomacy of John Hoar.
The Inscription."Upon this rock, May 2d, 1676, was made the agreement for the ransom of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson of Lancaster, between the Indians and John Hoar of Concord."King Philip was with the Indians, but refused his consent."
The Inscription.
"Upon this rock, May 2d, 1676, was made the agreement for the ransom of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson of Lancaster, between the Indians and John Hoar of Concord.
"King Philip was with the Indians, but refused his consent."
It was on Pine Hill, a mile or two south of this rock, and at the eastern base of the mountain, that Robert Keyes cut down the forest, and made a home for his little family. The spot is picturesque and sightly. To the north, and seen through the clearing, nestles Lake Wachusett among its woody banks; while far in the horizon are seen the New Hampshire hills, and beyond, the blue summits of the White Mountains; to the east the landscape stretches away, diversified with lake and valley and woody slope, till it is lost to sight in the dimly distant line of the misty ocean; to the south is the dome-like knoll of Pine Hill covered with evergreen trees; and on the west rises the steep acclivity of Mount Wachusett, while between these two may be seen the hills, twenty miles away, that divide the waters of the Connecticut from the streams that supply the Nashua and the Merrimac.
On a sunny afternoon in summer Mr. Keyes and his boys were in the field some distance from the house, picking up logs and burning them with the stumps and brush, to enlarge the farm. Around the house were fields of corn and flax and waving grain. The cows and sheep were browsing in the edge of the woods. Mrs. Keyes was spinning flax in front of the cabin door, seated on a low, home-made stool upon the hard and smoothly swept ground. Within, the neatly kept log cabin had a rough floor strewn with white sand. On one side of the single large room there was asettee stuffed with shavings of birch-bark; and a cat lay curled up and dozing in the sun, which streamed in through the open lattice that took the place of a window. Around the room were the rough tables and the benches which used to serve as furniture in such primitive dwellings. Shelves and cupboards were fastened upon the wall. Dried apples and pumpkins, pieces of venison and smoked ham, hung upon poles at the top of the room. The wide fireplace and large, open chimney stood at one side. The embers smouldered between the great andirons, ready to be kindled for preparing the evening meal. Aloft, and reached by a ladder that rested against an opening, was the chamber where the family used to sleep. This was the happy home of Robert Keyes, where comfort and busy contentment reigned.
On the afternoon in question two older daughters were at play with little Lucy under the trellis of hop-vines that shaded their mother from the sun. Those were not the days of carpets or of painted floors. Neat housewives would sprinkle the boards with clean white sand; and this, under the tread of feet, would scour the wood and then be swept away. The brooms were made by stripping the sapling birch and tying these strips in a bundle over the end of the stick, or by tying cedar or hemlock boughs at the end of a pointed handle. Housekeepers were unacquainted with boughten brushes and corn-brooms and sweeping-machines.
At their mother's call the two older girls started with a bucket to go to the shore of the lake to fetch some sand for the floor. Little Lucy, thus left alone, soon tired of her play, and wandered away among the vines and the corn around the door, till she came to the path that led to the lake. She followed her sisters a long way behind them, and was never again seen by her friends.
Soon the sun had disappeared behind the summit of the mountain, and the deepening shadows were beginning to creep towards the cabin. The mother had put away her spinning-wheel, and the smoke was curling up from out the wide-mouthed chimney, in preparation of her supper. The farmer and his sons had left the field and gone to a little blacksmith shop a few rods down the hill, where he had mended a broken buck-scythe. The two girls had joined them there; and now they all came trooping together to the house. The boys and their father were washing their hands and faces from the sweat of the forge and the burnt logs. The mother was busy with her cooking. The girls had put away thebucket of sand and gone out to play, when they missed Lucy, and began to search for her among the hills of corn. Not finding her, they came back to the log cabin and told their mother. She thought the little girl must be near, and sent the sisters to look again, while she arranged the wooden plates and the pewter dippers and the iron knives and wooden spoons upon the table. The girls soon came back without finding Lucy, but the mother even then supposed that she had fallen asleep, overcome by her play and the heat of the sun. She stepped to the door and called loudly for Lucy; and the family sat down to supper, expecting her every minute to walk in. She did not come; and hastily finishing their meal, they all went to search the farm. Not finding Lucy, they became thoroughly alarmed.
Adjoining Mr. Keyes' farm, and between it and the foot of the mountain, was the clearing of a Mr. Littlejohn. He had no family. His farm was but little cultivated, and his cabin had not the air of home and comfort which Mrs. Keyes had put into hers. He was a hunter also, and he had a brace or two of dogs. Bearskins were tacked to the walls of his hut, to dry; and deer-horns, and fox-skins still further showed the hunter. This man was of a morose and hermit-like nature. There was a mystery about his early history; he had come from the old world, where he had mingled in affairs of state, and whence he had fled. Little children were afraid of him. He was quarrelsome, too; and before this time he had claimed a part of Mr. Keyes' land. As the two farmers could not agree upon the boundary line, they had called in two of their neighbors, and a surveyor from Lancaster, to fix the boundary. These had decided in favor of Mr. Keyes. The two neighbors had very little to do with each other after that; and the hermit became still more unsocial and morose. But in his distress Mr. Keyes called upon this man for help, and Mr. Littlejohn appeared to enter heartily into the search. The frequency of captures by the Indians, at once led to the suspicion that they had stolen Lucy. Mr. Littlejohn, as a hunter, assumed direction of the searching party. He sent the father and boys to follow the path towards the lake, the mother and daughters to go down the hill towards the east, while he went to the south and up the mountain. All hunted fast and far till late in the evening, when the gathering darkness had settled on the woods and hills; and then they turned their weary steps homeward. About this time all themembers of the Keyes family saw the light of a huge bonfire, northwesterly from their house, and turned their steps towards the spot; for this was a signal that the lost was found. On reaching the place, however, they found Mr. Littlejohn, but no Lucy. He said that the darkness prevented further search that night, and he had lighted the fire, in order if possible, to attract the attention of the child, and also to bring together all the inhabitants around, to institute a more thorough search in the morning.
Afterwards others came in; and when they heard the story, one of them proposed to give a shoe or an apron of Lucy's to one of the dogs and let him follow the scent. But Mr. Littlejohn said this would not do, for the dogs were fierce and used to hunting for prey only. They would tear the little girl in pieces if they were to find her. And Mrs. Keyes would not consent to have the dogs set on the track. Another proposed to hunt with torches. With this plan all fell in; and the party, now swelled to ten or fifteen, were divided into squads and sent to hunt, each in a different direction. All night they kept up the search. They called aloud for Lucy again and again, and in all directions; they scoured the woods for miles around; they hunted on the shore of the lake for the tracks of little feet. Behind rocks and trees, under logs and clumps of bushes, they peered; but no trace was to be seen—nothing but darkness and gloomy night. Now and then the hoot of an owl would be mistaken for a child's cry, and hope would momentarily rise in the breast of a hunter only to fall as the sound became more distinct. And thus the night dragged on. When morning came, the various squads of hunters came back to the houses all with the same story of failure. They were weary with wakefulness and the heavy tramp. After a hasty meal they carefully searched the ground within two or three miles of the house. The whole day was spent in this; and at nightfall the party came back to the desolate house without hope. The mother, almost frantic, called for Lucy, and nothing but the echoes gave answer. One by one the neighbors went to their own homes and cares. The conviction forced itself upon the minds of all, that Lucy had been captured by the Indians. Mr. Keyes and his boys hunted in the woods for days afterwards, till the only hope that Lucy was alive lay in her being captured. Otherwise she must have died from exposure or starvation.
Sorrow and desolation now surrounded the cabin of Mr. Keyes.The sanded floor remained unswept; the trellis was broken by the wind; the vines hung straggling; the smooth, spacious front of the door was cluttered; the mewing cat gave voice to the general gloom. Mrs. Keyes could not forget her grief. All day she worked listlessly; and as the shadows from the mountain crept towards the cottage, she would stand in the doorway, and call, "Lucy, Lucy." For years the echoes daily sent back that sunset cry.
A few months after the loss of little Lucy, a hunter returned from the region of Lake George. On hearing the story, he reported that a white child had been seen in that neighborhood with a tribe of Indians; and the rumor reached the ears of Mr. Keyes. The autumn leaves had put on their dying robes of yellow and crimson and gold when, leaving the rest of his harvest to be gathered by his sons, he went to Lake George. After great risks, and many a hair-breadth escape, he found a captive maiden; but she was many years older than Lucy, and she knew only the life of the Indians. He reached his home late in the winter. In the spring a friendly Indian reported that a white girl was held captive by a tribe on the St. Lawrence; and again Mr. Keyes started in pursuit. Six months or more he spent in the search; but when he found the tribe and their captive, it was a black-eyed little girl that he saw; but Lucy's eyes were blue, and he travelled home. With each new rumor of a captive child among the Indian tribes in Maine or Connecticut, in New York or Canada, Mr. Keyes would start again on one of those sad pilgrimages; and he always came back disappointed and alone. Mr. Littlejohn had now left his farm, and it was occupied by strangers.
Meantime, the boys had grown to be men. They no longer had any sympathy with the fruitless search. They made homes for themselves in the now farther remote frontier. And the girls had grown to womanhood and married. Old, and poor, and alone,—for his wife had died, and long ago ceased her plaintive evening call for her long-lost little Lucy,—Mr. Keyes petitioned the "Great and General Court" for the grant of a tract of public land which lay near his home. In this petition, now to be found in the archives of the State, he sets forth that he is poor in consequence of the prolonged search for his daughter, and too feeble to maintain himself.