iting there for
Pelatiah Curtis to come round the Point with his wherry, and take the
husband and father to the Port, a few miles below. The Lively Turtle was
about to sail on a voyage to Spain, and David was to go in her as mate.
They stood there in the level morning sunshine talking cheerfully; but
had you been near enough, you could have seen tears in Anna Matson's
blue eyes, for she loved her husband, and knew there was always danger
on the sea. And David's bluff, cheery voice trembled a little now and
then, for the honest sailor loved his snug home on the Merrimack, with
the dear wife and her pretty boys. But presently the wherry came
alongside, and David was just stepping into it, when he turned back to
kiss his wife and children once more.

"In with you, man," said Pelatiah Curtis. "There's no time for kissing
and such fooleries when the tide serves."

And so they parted. Anna and the boys went back to their home, and David
to the Port, whence he sailed off in the Lively Turtle. And months
passed, autumn followed the summer, and winter the autumn, and then
spring came, and anon it was summer on the river-side, and he did not
come back. And another year passed, and then the old sailors and
fishermen shook their heads solemnly, and said that the Lively Turtle
was a lost ship, and would never come back to port. And poor Anna had
her bombazine gown dyed black, and her straw bonnet trimmed in mourning
ribbons, and thenceforth she was known only as the Widow Matson.

And how was it all this time with David himself?

Now you must know that the Mohammedan people of Algiers and Tripoli, and
Mogadore and Sallee, on the Barbary coast, had for a long time been in
the habit of fitting out galleys and armed boats to seize upon the
merchant-vessels of Christian nations, and make slaves of their crews
and passengers, just as men calling themselves Christians in America
were sending vessels to Africa to catch black slaves for their
plantations. The Lively Turtle fell into the hands of one of these
roving sea-robbers, and the crew were taken to Algiers, and sold in the
market-place as slaves, poor David Matson among the rest.

When a boy he had learned the trade of a ship-carpenter with his father
on the Merrimack; and now he was set at work in the dock-yards. His
master, who was naturally a kind man, did not overwork him. He had daily
his three loaves of bread, and when his clothing was worn out, its place
was supplied by th