Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 429 — page 2: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

4J/ eee ee of elms, while about it isa village graveyard where crumbling under the touch of the finger of time, are a number of old moss-grown tomb- stones, some bearing date back two centuries, Not far from the old school-house, the ocean beats continually upon the sandy beach, and its roar can be distinctly heard in winter, when the doors of the school-house are closed, and the crackling of the blazing logs upon the hearth, mingle with the sounding sca, There, four-score years ago, Dominic Silas Finn was the presiding. genius over the little institu- tion of learning, and the scholars, boys and gir!s alike, feared himas they did the spooks that were said to haunt the little rraveyard by night. They had an awe of him too, because he dared to live alone in the upper half story of the school- house, which was nearly half a mile away from any other habitation, and he seemed not to dread the graves that surrounded him. In the two rooms. that comprised the up-stairs of the school-house, Silas Finn lived alone, doing his own cooking and household work, and upon cold winter mornings he was wont to be in his chair, smiling grimly at the scholars who were late. From whence Silas Finn had come no one knew, other than that one night of storm a wreck had come ashore and he was the sole survivor. He had been cast up by the sea, and the friendly dwellers had kindly cared for him. He said that he was an Englishman, and was coming to America to settle; but his all had been lost with the ship, and he was coutent to settle down there and make an honest living if he could. There was that about him that showed he was a man of education, and, 2s a schoolmaster was just then wanted, he was installed as Dominie in the Elm Grove school. For long years he had held the position, seeing his scholars grow up and many about him pass away, and other children come to take their place, In the village there was a young widow with an only child, a boy. The father of the youth had been a successful sea-captain, and had laid up a snug little sum, along with his little farm and comfortable home near the village. But one day he sailed for other seas, and no word was ever heard of him or his ship after- werd. His widow, for he was believed dead, was young, scarcely thirty, very pretty and greatly admired by the country beaux, who had as a rival schoolmaster Silas Finn. As far as he could Silas Finn made love to pretty widow Dare, and her son, Duncan, was i ia received with a smile, came he early or ate. Now Duncan, in his fourteenth year was a handsome lad, with broad shoulders, wiry form, and a face full of intelligence and resolution. He idolized his mother, and yet, not wi h- ing her to marry Silas Finn, made that worthy’s life at times very uncomfortable. Than Duncan Finn, it was said by old sea- farers that no better sailor for his years lived, and he was generally popular, though a little too fond of mischief, some thought, and old gossips predicted that he would come to no good end, He could ride a horse like an Indian, row a boat all day without tiring, throw a harpoon, swim like a fish, and as a rifle-shot many old hunters had to yield to him, With his books he was further advanced than any other scholar in school, though some were several years his senior. One pleasant afternoon Duncan remained af- ter school. His face was pale, and he evidently had some- thing upon his mind, The other scholars departed, and when he was alone with Dominie Finn, he walked up to him boldly and stood awaiting to be asked his errand, Now Silas Finn was by no means a handsome man, “ Ho had a clean-shaven face, with twinkling eyes set far back in his head, his hair was worn long, and his mouth was cruel in expression. .{e had been known to smile while he whipped his scholars until the blood came after each blow. His form was raw-boned and tall, yet he was possessed of great power, and his fifty years had not taken frem him any of his vigor. ‘Well, Dunean, what can I do for you?” he asked, in a kindly voice, which he always used to the boy, since he had been devoting himself to Mrs. Dare. ‘* Schoolmaster, my mother says that you ask- ed her to marry you? said Duncan, choking Duncan Daro, the B slightly, and his face paling and flushing by turns. ‘* Yes, Duncan, I did ask your mother to be- come my wife, for I love her. ‘*She is a comely lady, and not yet thirty- three, so our ages are not against it, as [ am but fifty, and your father has now been dead over twelve years.” ‘** I do not believe my father to be dead, sir,” was the cool reply. ** Well, Jad, you are the only one who enter- tains that beliet, and your mother told me your silly idea that your itather would some cay come back.” . ** I believe it, sir.” _ ‘**Nonsen e, he has been at the bottom cf the sea for twelve long years, anui have asked your mother to marry me.” ‘* And her answer, sir?” ‘* That she respected me, and believed that I would make her a good husband, and be as a father to you. ‘* LT invested the gold I had with me, when I came here nearly twenty years ago, and it has turned out well, so that [am not poor in this worlda’s goods, and all considered, I believe that the match will prove a happy one, Dun- can.” ‘* T can never consent to it, sir,” came in quick, firm, words. | The schoolmaster’s eyes glittered fiercely, but he said, blandly: ‘* Duncan, your mother was foolish enough to say that she would not care to marry without your consent; but I hope you are not going to try and cause ill-will between you and I.” ‘*Schoolmaster, I have never liked you, al- though you have been kind to me. ‘‘Ever since the day I interfered when you were whipping pretty little Jessie Hampton, I have not felt the same toward you, in spite of your kind treatment tome, for I knew Jessie was not to blame for the joke played upon you by the other girls. ‘* She urged against it, and yet would not tell on them, and she suffered for it. ‘*'You have been gocd with me on my moth- er’s account; but I know how you regard me, and I never wish tu see you my step-father, but more on account of my mother than myself, while also, as I told you, I do not believe my fa- ther is dead.” Silas Finn sat like one struck dumb, as the boy had his say, and it seemed an effort for him to contain himself, after Duncan had finished speaking, A. moment he sat in silence, his eyes blazing fire, and then he said, in a voice hoarse with passion: ‘* Boy, you may hate me all you wish; but I shall be your step-father, my word that I will, and then woe unto you! Dunean Dare.” ‘* You nover will marry my mother, sir, if I can help it.” was the reply, and Duncan Dare turned to leave the school-room, when he saw a form standing just outside the door. He knew him as Barney Bolls, an old bachelor miser, who was the dominie’s most intimate { riend, and who had been his rival also for the hand of pretty widow Dare. But receiving his dismissal from the widow, Barney Bolls had still kept up his friendship for Dominie Silas, though he had never spoken again to the woman he had wished to make his wife. ‘What, threatening your schoolmaster, you young scapegrace?” cried Barney Bolls as he stepped into the school-room. ** Yes, and I'd threaten you, you old fossil, if you had dared say you would marry my mother in spite of me,” and Duncan Dare walked to- ward the door, The two men glanced at each other, and Bar- ney Bolls called out: ‘Dominie, shall I catch and hold him, while you thrash him?” ‘‘No, let him go to-day; but his time will come,” answered Silas Finn with a wicked look. ‘* And your time will come, Dominie Finn,” was the answer that Dunean Dare threw back at the teacher as he went out of the door, his whole frame quivering with emotion, CHAPTER II, DUNCAN DARE’S OATH. Tue house of the widow Dare was situated about a mile from the school-house, and was as cosey an abode as could be found anywhere. It was surrounded by half a hundred acres, the fields were tilled, the pastures were dotted with cattle and sheep, and the house was snugly built and comfortable. The widow was a very handsome woman, loy- ing her only child, Duncan, with an affection \ oy Itefugee. ee that knew no bounds, and seemingly she hat held not a thought in the world, that was not for her brave handsome boy. Her husband, Captain Dare had, like the dom- inie, come ashore on Long Island in a storm. His vessel had been wrecked, and he had near- ly iost his life, but was saved from death by the courage of the young girl who afterward be- came his wife. Her father was the captain of a whaler, and the wife and daughter had several times given up the little farm-house to cruise with him. On one voyage, the mother had been lost at sea, swept overboard in a gale, and the husband and father would not take his daughter with him again, Living at the farm alone, with only the faith- ful farm-hands, Mary Dent, for such was her maiden name, had her sail-boat, which she sailed to perfection, and her surf-skiff, in which she was often wont to go out through the breakers, ! Thus it was, that one night of storm, she went to the beach, when the deep boom of a gun told her a vessel was in distress. There had a large crowd gathered there from the village, and all eyes were turned upon the flashes off upon the sea, where & Cannon was ap- pealing loudly for help from the shore. lt came from a vessel seen upon the outer bar, and that the sea was beating the wreck to pieces, there could be no doubt. In vain did Mary Dent appeal to the fisher- men to go to the succor of those on the vessel, for they would not stir, one and all saying it was impossible for a boat to live in that wild sea. Turning away, Mary Dent went to the inlet, not far distant, and soon a cry arose, as her light surf-skiff was seen bounding out through the white breakers. She held on her way, firmly, surely, riding on the tops of the crested waves, yet steadily keep- ing her course, In vain did the crowd on the beach implore her to come back, for she heeded not their cries. At length she disappeared, and all believed her lost; but no, she was too far off from the shore to be seen in those mad waters, and she safely reached the wreck that was foundering to pieces. It appeared to be a vessel-of-war, and her commandcr, a young and handsome English- man, was badly hurt by being thrown against the bulwarks by a wave. The crew, had many of them been washed overboard, and seemed strangely depleted in numbers for a war-vessel; but they were loyal to their commander, and against his urging placed him in the surf-skiff along with four o their number, two of whom were to return in the light scurf-boat for others, for their own boats had been stove to pieces or lost. In safety the brave girl reached the beach, and willing hands rushed forward to aid the shipwrecked men, while, shamed by the pluck of Mary Dent, the crew of the large life-boat started to the rescue, and the remainder of those on the wreck were taken off. But the breakers hurled the life-boat bottom- up, and with safety at hand several more of the unortunate crew from the wreck were lost. The young captain, by Mary Dent’s direc- tion, was carried to her home, not far distant, while his crew were cared for elsewhere. Several days after, the wrecked mariners went over to the Dent farm and held an inter- . view with their captain, after which they went to the nearest port and departed, going no one knew whither. It was said that the wrecked vessel was an English ship-of-war, and so she proved as such, for the wreckage showed that she had been a cruiser; but the men had had little to say of themselves, and the curious gossips had to de- pend upon the young captain for further infor- mation. : As he got better he gave his name as David Dare, his nationality English, his rank captain, his vessel a cruiser. As soon as he was able to be about he depart- ed for New York, and the gossips expected to see him no more, But some months after he returned as com- mander of a good vessel, a whaler, and Mary Dent became his wife. Such is the history of Duncan Dare’s parents and, strangely like his father, the youth would not believe that his father was dead, and hoped against hope that some day he would re- turn. A portrait in the farm-house parlor showed David Dare in all the strength of manhood and manly beauty, and as Duncan gazed at it he micbooks co , § co Se) eee ae ere a m ~ io a —_