The boy still hesitated, when the brutal Prescott, who was a stranger to the lad, roared out,
"Give us a song, you little rebel, or I'll give you a dozen lashes."
This cruel salutation was innocently met most severely by the child, when, encouraged by kind words from the Admiral, he sang, with a sweet voice and modest manner, the following ballad, composed by a sailor of Newport:
"Twas on a dark and stormy night—
The wind and waves did roar—
Bold Barton then, with twenty men,
Went down upon the shore.
"And in a whale-boat they set off
To Rhode Island fair,
To catch a redcoat General
Who then resided there.
"Through British fleets and guard-boats strong
They held their dangerous way,
Till they arrived unto their port,
And then did not delay.
"A tawny son of Afric's race
Them through the ravine led,
And entering then the Overing house,
They found him in his bed.
"But to get in they had no means
Except poor Cuffee's head,
Who beat the door down, then rushed in,
And seized him in his bed.
"Stop! let me put my clothing on!"
The General then did pray;
'Your clothing, massa, I will take;
For dress we can not stay.'
"Then through rye stubble him they led,
With shoes and clothing none,
And placed him in their boat quite snug,
And from the shore were gone.
"Soon the alarm was sounded loud:
'The Yankees they have come,
And stolen Prescott from his bed,
And him have carried hum.'
"The drums were beat, sky-rockets flew,
The soldiers shouldered arms,
And marched around the grounds they knew,
Filled with most dire alarms.
"But through the fleet with muffled oars
They held their devious way,
And landed him on 'Gansett shores,
Where Britons held no sway.
"When unto land the captors came,
Where rescue there was none,
'A bold push this,' the General cried;
'Of prisoners I am one.'"
The boy was frequently interrupted by roars of laughter at Prescott's expense, which strengthened the child's nerves and voice; and when he had concluded his song, "I thought," wrote a gentleman who was present, "the deck would go through with the stamping." General Prescott joined heartily in the merriment produced by the song, and thrusting his hand into his pocket, he pulled out a coin, and handed it to the boy, saying,
"Here, you young dog, is a guinea for you."
The boy was set at liberty the next morning, and sent ashore.
CLIMBING A MOUNTAIN THREE MILES HIGH.
The ice-bound peak of the Alps known as the Matterhorn, situated between Switzerland and Italy, forty miles northeast of Mont Blanc, and twelve miles west of Monte Rosa, towers skyward nearly 15,000 feet, presenting an appearance imposing beyond description. The peak rises abruptly, by a series of cliffs which may properly be termed precipices, a clear 5000 feet above the glaciers which surround its base. There seemed to the superstitious natives in the surrounding valleys to be a line drawn around it, up to which one might go, but no farther. Within that invisible line good and evil spirits were supposed to exist. They spoke of a ruined city on its summit wherein the spirits dwelt; and if you laughed, they gravely shook their heads, told you to look yourself to see the castles and the walls, and warned you against a rash approach, lest the infuriate demons from their impregnable heights should hurl down vengeance for your audacity.