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tidings. The weather, at the time of the wrecking of the Antelope vessel, belonging to Captain Barry, had been particularly calm, and this circumstance, joined with others of a still more suspicious nature, led to the appalling supposition that the ship had been purposely foundered by some of the crew. Madame Barry no sooner became convinced of the truth of this report, than she sold off her few possessions and entered a convent of Quebec, Upper Town. Pitying the forlorn condition of Jane Anderson, whose father she supposed had perished with the captain, Madame would have taken the friendless girl into the convent with her, and would have provided for her education and maintenance there, until she was grown to a more advanced age. But her kindly intentions were frustrated, by the sudden disappearance of the object for whose benefit they were exerted. Jane was wandering in the extensive garden adjoining Madame Barry’s residence, when her father and Toby Haverstraw appeared on the path before her, just within the gate. She would have screamed for joy, but was prevented by the former, who immediately took her to the St. Lawrence river, and placed her in a small boat, which, rowed by Toby and another sailor, quickly reached a long, but lightly-framed ship, that Jane had never seen before. Upon this vessel she heard her father hailed as “Captain.” instead of “Mate,” the latter office being now assigned to Toby Haverstraw. Before she had done wondering at this and other strange alterations, for which she could not account, and of which she received no explanation, Leonard Anderson directed the “Vulture" to be set forward up the St. Lawrence, toward the great Lakes of
Upper Canada.-It was done;—and the Pirate (for such was Anderson now) continued navigating on these inland seas, his daughter living in his cabin, until the period of the opening of our story, when Jane had left the ship under circumstances of peculiar terror, and had fled for refuge to the wilderness. At the eve of her second day's journey, being exhausted, she lay down by a settlement and slept. She had walked during those two days from a river connected with the Ottawa, a distance of thirty or forty miles, but had now, though she knew it not, reached the place of her destination. She was roused about midnight by the noise of a North American rattle-snake, one of which had coiled itself under some dwarf bank-pines almost close by the felled tree on which she had pillowed her head. She arose immediately; but found her joints so stiff and painful that she could scarcely stand. Now, indeed, her heart sank fearfully; she stood moveless for a considerable time, hardly daring to breathe, but yet all the time endeavouring to call up sufficient of that emergetic courage, which was native in her heart, to resist the influences of her dreadful situation | Presently, while a clammy dew overspread her face and her hands, while she appeared under the starry sky, and amid the dusky foliage, as a fixed and rigid figure of marble, the cautious dash of the paddle of a canoe came upon her ear as the most welcome sound ever heard beneath heaven. She turned her head in the direction from whence the sound had come, and beheld a scene of the most picturesque description :-an oval basin of calm clear water from the lake lay stretched out in front of numerous log-houses and cabins, which were backed by lofty pines, firs, and
cedars; its banks were formed of high and wild green slopes, thickly bordered with bank-pines, juniper shrubs, and other small trees, such as flourish principally in low, well-watered districts. The dark surface of the water mirrored these around its edges, while in the centre the twinkling orbs above were reflected with all their solemn beauty. But the eye of the girl gazed not at any of those parts of the picture—neither did she take any notice of the bold ridge of rocky hills which ran by the settlement on the right, exhibiting a lofty mass of shade, and an outline of positive grandeur—nor did she observe on the left, an abrupt and deep ravine, which descended from the level land;—but her eye was strained through the allpervading gloom, on perhaps a dozen bright red lights, which were burning near together—sometimes stationary, sometimes moving—a few inches above the surface of the water. She knew they were formed of blazing pineknots, placed in iron baskets at the heads of fishing-boats; and thus she was aware that succour was nigh. “Ah!” she cried, trembling and weeping with ex“citement, “I shall yet be safe I have reached the settlement whereto I was directed. In a few minutes— only a few minutes—I shall have made the fishers hear me, and then I need fear no more ” She endeavoured to call aloud, but her voice was weak and hoarse, with the heavy cold she had caught by sleeping on the damp ground. Having walked with pain and difficulty to that part of the bank nearest the lights, and farthest from the dangerous rattle-snake which she had espied, she again strove to attract the attention of the fishers; but failing, sat down close to the water and wept aloud, drooping her head on her knees, and clasping her hands over it.