Mary Liddiard | Page 8

when we were assembled to worship God as usual, in the cabin, how my father lifted up his voice in prayer, that the heart of the chief might be moved to restore the little Christian damsel to those who would bring her "up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord," and that she might be saved from the fearful fate the old man intended for her. God never fails to listen to the prayers of believers.
The next morning, as we anxiously turned our eyes towards the shore, the chief's canoe was seen coming off.
"Our prayer has been answered," exclaimed my father, who was watching it through a spy-glass. "There is a child by his side."
The sailors sprang into the rigging, and every one on board eagerly watched the approach of the canoe. It was soon alongside, and the little girl we had been looking for was handed up on deck, followed by the old chief. She was dressed in a clean white frock, and her hair was neatly braided, and ornamented with flowers and feathers; but she looked thin and ill, and sadly scared. When my mother approached the gangway she flew towards her, and threw herself into her arms, as if she was sure that she should find in her a loving friend.
"Mamma! mamma!" she exclaimed; but she could utter no other words; and had it not been for those sounds we should have supposed that she had lost the power of speech. My mother could not restrain her tears, as she held the forlorn little creature to her heart.
Such was the way in which we met with little Maud.
Nothing would induce her to leave my mother while the old chief remained on board; and although he and his people might have treated her kindly, they certainly had not won her love.
Having received the promised reward, to which the captain added a few other articles, the chief prepared to take his departure, evidently very well satisfied with the transaction. The captain, however, warned him, that should he venture to attack another vessel he would not escape a severe punishment; but that if he would promise to behave well towards white people in future, they would come and trade with him, and bring him a greater blessing than he could at present comprehend. The captain said this, because he hoped that some day he might be able to convey a missionary to the place, that he might spread the blessings of the gospel among the heathen inhabitants.
After the ship was refitted we put to sea, but she was some time engaged in catching whales, so that our voyage was a very long one. The little girl who had been rescued from the savages was utterly unable to explain anything that had happened to her.
Weeks passed away, and not a word did she utter, and my father and mother began to fear that the hardships she had gone through had deprived her of her senses. For a long time she could not be induced to leave my mother's side, and seemed to mistrust every one else. If separated from her, even for a few moments, she would run back again, and seizing her gown, glance up with an imploring look, as if begging to be protected from some imaginary danger--she would not even trust herself with me, and seemed to fancy that I might hurt her. Possibly she might have been ill-treated by the native children, and was unable to distinguish the difference. Gentle and careful treatment, however, had its due effect on her, and her fears were gradually allayed.
At length one day she, of her own accord, took my hand, and looking into my face said, "Girl not hurt poor Maud." These were the first words we had heard her utter. Until then also we were ignorant of her name.
Putting my arms round her neck I kissed her, and answered, "No indeed I will not hurt you, but I will treat you as a dear sister, and love you very very much."
A faint smile passed over her countenance, as if she comprehended my answer. After that she would remain contentedly with me--still her mind, for some time longer, continued apparently in the same state as at first. My father and mother, however, felt sure that her senses would ultimately be restored. They were not mistaken; but even when she had begun to speak, she made no allusion to the circumstances of the massacre, or her life among the natives, and we forbore to ask her any questions.
When at last we landed here, her alarm at seeing the natives was very great, and my father was afraid that it would cause her mind to relapse into its former state. By doing all we could to re-assure and cheer her, no