66 the ship. It can't be so long, however; the light duck scarcely draws, and the courses and topsails hang like lead. There goes the cross-jack yard," he continued, as the crash of splintered wood was heard upon the quarter-deck. The lanterns at the peak and jib-boom end would have distinguished us from the Esmeralda, if Cochrane had not hoisted them as soon as we did." 66 "By heavens! though, there goes his peak light," cried his companion, as a shot severed the rope. The lantern fell over into the sea, floated a moment, and was extinguished. A better aim on the part of the Spanish gunners, or the gradual approach of the vessel within the range of some of the cannon of the fortress, made the situation of the ship more perilous than it had yet been, and three or four balls almost grazed the heads of the fore-top men. Still both spar and sail were uninjured, and the only effect of the shot was to hush the whispered conversation which had been hitherto maintained. The silence was at last interrupted by an interjectional whistle from the Virginian, as a shot went through the sail immediately above him. 66 This firing will deaden the wind until canvass nor duck will hold it: and the Scotchman hangs on our quarter, determined that, if he sinks, so shall we." "Don't whistle for the wind, mister," said an old sailor in a superstitious tone; "it never comes when it is called, and we want it too much to anger it." "That whistle brought it, though," cried the other. "The Esmeralda's courses draw, and our heavy sails begin to feel it; we'll walk yet, if the puff holds." The communication was accompanied with a visible change in the spirits of the seamen, as the sail, after one or two heaves, swelled steadily before the wind. The progress of the vessel, however, was still slow, although the danger every moment decreased, and it was upwards of an hour before the shot of the fortress fell short. Daylight by this time began to dawn, and showed the sullen batteries, surmounted by a heavy dun cloud, and frowning over a bay which they had so fruitlessly attempted to guard. The Macedonian cast anchor far beyond their reach, and the Esmeralda, uninjured, and in gallant style, moved to the island of San Lorenzo. During this eventful night, the captain of the American frigate had been detained in Lima, and at sun-rise of the second day after the fight, the launch and gig were ordered down to Chorillos to meet him, and to receive on board such Americans as feared the consequences of remaining in the city during the first moments of excitement which would follow the intelligence of the capture of the Esmeralda. The gig was commanded by our friend the Virginian, and after a long and heavy pull, he found himself beneath the high and rugged cliffs of Chorillos. Here the boats remained without the surf, while the Indians, wading through it, brought the passengers on board. "All aboard" had been already cried, and the oars were in the row-locks to return, when the appearance of a troop of San Martin's cavalry on shore, and their loud shouts and earnest beckonings, delayed their departure. As the sailors rested on their oars, an officer, who appeared to be the commander of the soldiers, came hurrying to the beach, bearing on his arm a female, whose horse he had been seen to guide as his troops came full gallop on. He gave her to the huge Indian who offered his assistance, and followed him into the surf. A short and low conversation was held between San Martin's officer and the American commander. The former then returned to the shore, and the latter gave his rapid orders to proceed to Callao. By evening the party were again in their frigate, and a knot was soon seen to assemble round the young Virginian, as on the preceding evening. He seemed to be urging a doubtful point with peculiar energy. "How did I know them? Why, did'nt I see him plain enough in the room, and did'nt I hear his plan of getting her to Valparaiso? The captain ordered me to the launch, but not before I saw her face. No, reefers, no! True love got the weather-gauge of the old don, her father, in Lima, and kept it at Chorillos." "Bame, Sweet Bome." BY MISS SARAH ROBERTS. My own dear home! how sweetly fall And gentle tones I hear. And summer with its sunshine hours And winter with its world of bliss Husband and children gather'd there, Knowing no bliss beyond those smiles My own dear home! 'tis a sweet spot, So pleasant to the eye; The traveler pauses on his way, Its beauties to descry. And asks what hand of taste and skill Arrang'd our garden fair, And train'd the roses and the vines With such exquisite care. A noble river rolleth by, And from my window here, The white sail and the boatman's oar My own dear home-ah, happy me! My boys come bounding in from school, Kitty and gentle Lizzie, too, Are shouting mother's name. Oh, may I make their home to them An emblem of their heavenly home,— A place of peace and rest! My own dear home--'tis woman's part To beautify and bless, And make the little world of home The abode of happiness. By sympathy and patient love, The perfect wife to be; And far above all other gems, To wear humility. |