The Nursery, No. 109, January, 1876, Vol. XIX. | Page 7

than an hour; but, in those days, we used to go by a sailing-packet;
and it was sometimes a whole day's journey.
Well, in our family there was a French boy, named Bernard Trainier.
His mother was not living. His father lived in Toulon, France. At that
time, France, under the great Napoleon, was continually at war, and all
her young men were forced into the army. I suppose it was to save
Bernard from this fate, that he was sent to America. Mr. Trainier was
acquainted with a French gentleman, Mr. Duprez, who then lived in
Boston; and, through him, Bernard was placed in my father's care to be
educated.
Well, he was a bright, pleasant boy. He soon learned to speak English;
and I and my sisters and brothers became very fond of him. He would
have been very happy, but for one thing. He longed to see his little
brother John, whom he had parted with at Toulon.
One day, to his great delight, Bernard received a letter from his father,
telling him that John was also to be sent to America, and that he would
take passage from Marseilles by the first vessel bound for Boston.
[Illustration]
At that time there were no steamships and no regular packets from
Europe. The only way of coming was by a merchant-vessel. So Bernard,
who was looking and longing for the arrival of his brother, did not
think it strange when six weeks passed away without bringing him. But
when two months passed, and he did not appear, poor Bernard began to
be anxious. Four months, five months, six months, passed. Nothing was
heard of John. Not a word came from Mr. Trainier. More than a year
passed away, and still there was no news. Bernard was in despair.
One August day (it must have been, I think, in the year 1805), when my
father had occasion to visit Boston, he took Bernard with him; and,
while there, went with him to call on Mr. Duprez, from whom they
hoped to hear some good news.
But there was no comfort for poor Bernard in what Mr. Duprez had to

tell. He had learned from friends in Toulon that Mr. Trainier, soon after
sending his youngest son to America, had gone to St. Domingo to look
after some estates. St. Domingo was then in a state of insurrection. The
slaves had risen against their masters. When last heard from, Mr.
Trainier had been taken prisoner, and it was feared that he had been put
to death. As to John Trainier, all that could be learned was that he had
been put on board a vessel bound from Marseilles to Boston, but the
name of the vessel or what had become of her nobody knew.
You may imagine the distress of Bernard at hearing this, and how sad
my father was when he took the poor boy's hand to return with him to
Hingham. The packet station was at the head of Long Wharf. They
reached it long before the vessel was ready to sail: so, to pass away the
time, they walked slowly down the wharf,--my father still holding
Bernard by the hand. They stopped a few minutes at the end of the
wharf, then walked back again.
They had got about half way up the wharf when they heard a shout
behind them. They looked around. The voice seemed to come from the
water side. As they looked, a boy about eleven years old, dressed in
rough sailor-clothes, jumped ashore from a brig at the wharf, and came
running towards them, calling, "Bernard! Bernard!" again and again.
Bernard stood a moment as if amazed; then, suddenly letting go of my
father's hand, he gave a cry of joy, sprang forward and caught the little
sailor in his arms. It was his brother John.
Here grandma stopped. There was silence a few minutes. Then the
questions began to come thick and fast. "Where had John been all this
time?" "And why didn't he get to Boston before?"
"Well," said grandma, "I must tell that in a few words; for my story is
getting long."
The captain of the brig had promised Mr. Trainier that he would see the
little boy safely landed at the house of Mr. Duprez in Boston. But the
captain was a bad man. Instead of treating John as a passenger, he
forced him to do duty as a cabin-boy.

Then, instead of going to Boston, the brig went to New York, and from
there on a long voyage to some foreign port. At last she had come to
Boston; but the captain had no idea of letting John go even then. He
meant to carry him away again, and would have done so but for the
accidental meeting