Up the ladder;

by Madeline Leslie

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Here we will leave him, while we give a brief account of the youth named Frank, who first introduced him on board the Josephine; and who, notwithstanding Alfred's disgrace, took every opportunity to prove to him that he was his real friend.

Frank, or Francis Greyson, was the son of a gentleman residing near the large city which was the birthplace of Alfred. He was rather a sickly boy, and caused his parents great anxiety lest he should never live to reach maturity. His mother had a brother who was a seaman, a noble, Christian man, an ornament to the profession he had chosen. When on shore this gentleman made his home with his sister. It was not strange, therefore, that, hearing his uncle's lively descriptions of the sea, and having constantly before his view—hung as it was between the front windows of his mother's parlor—a picture of the Sea-shell, the vessel which his uncle commanded, that he should conceive a desire to accompany him on a voyage.

To this Mrs. Greyson at first absolutely refused her consent, but finally yielded to her brother's solicitations, and the advice of their family physician that a voyage round the world would do more for the strong physical development of the boy than a whole case of medicine.

I have not space to describe any of the incidents of the voyage, except one which occurred near its close. It is enough for our present purpose to say that Frank shipped as cabin-boy, without pay, and therefore was not subjected to the hard work required of Alfred. By his prompt and cheerful obedience to orders, and his readiness to lend a hand to any one in need of his services, he rendered himself a favorite with all on board. From the captain in his office to the boy-of-all-work, each one was pleased with the opportunity to do Frank a kind turn.

Every morning and evening when the weather would admit, all hands, except those absolutely necessary for steering the ship, were called together to hear the beautiful service of the Episcopal Church; and often during the day the noble boy might be seen relieving the tedious watch of the sailor by reading to him the word of God.

On the Sea-shell, an oath or impure word was punished as severely as any other breach of the rules of the ship, and the captain had more than once appealed to the sailors, by their affection for the beautiful boy, who was the pride of the whole crew, to help him keep his promise to his sister. This was, that Frank, by the blessing of God, should be returned to her as pure in heart and life as he left her. There was not an honest tar on board but would have felt the blush of shame burn his rough cheek to have Frank hear from his lips a word that could defile his ear.

The voyage had been a successful one, and already the seamen began to feel the breezes of home fan their cheeks, when on a dark and tempestuous night, the awful cry of "Ship ahoy! right upon us!" sounded loud and fearful through the roaring of the tempest. The shock came so suddenly that before the officers could give any orders the bowsprit passed over the bulwarks, tearing through shrouds and rigging. The vessel had parted, and the ship's company were either clinging to the broken pieces of their vessel or thrown into the water. Fortunately for them aid was soon at hand. The ship Josephine, which had been the cause of this dreadful disaster, threw over buoys, her coops and ropes, and let down boats, to rescue the poor drowning sailors; but as they were so near home, they, of course, preferred being taken on board other boats, which carried them to vessels lying in the harbor, from which they safely reached the shore.

The noise and tumult in both vessels was beyond description. In the midst of all the horror and confusion caused by this dreadful accident, nothing distressed the captain more than the loss of his nephew. Uniformly calm and self-possessed, he seemed now almost beside himself with fear and grief as one company after another reached the ship, and no one could give the least information with regard to Frank. He tried to realize the truth of what his mates and others told him so hopefully, that probably Frank had been picked up by some other vessel, but there was a heart-sinking fear which predominated above all other emotions, and that was, that his lovely boy lay at the bottom of the sea.

How should he ever dare to convey to the mother such sorrowful tidings? How could he meet her anxious inquiries, "Oh, where is my son?"