The Real America in Romance, Volume 10 | Page 8

capable of feeling thrilled with emotion as that
song swelled forth, "Like the sound of many waters, echoing among the
hills and mountains." The service proceeded. The hoary-haired orator
talked of God, of eternity, of a judgment to come and all that is
impressive beyond. He spoke of his experiences and toils, his travels,
his persecutions and triumphs, and how many he had seen in hope, in
peace and triumph gathered to their fathers. When he spoke of the short
space that remained for him, his only regret was that he could no longer
proclaim, in the silence of death, the unsearchable riches and mercies of
his crucified Redeemer.
No wonder, as the speaker paused to dash the gathering moisture from
his own eye, his audience was dissolved in tears, or uttered
exclamations of penitence. Many who prided themselves on an
estimation of a higher intellect and a nobler insensibility than the crowd
caught the infection, and wept, while the others, "who came to mock
remained to pray."

In due time a schoolhouse was erected on the banks of the creek a mile
away from the house of Albert Stevens. Fernando was sent with the
older children. Mrs. Creswell the teacher had no end of trouble with the
little fellow, whose ideas of liberty were inconsistent with discipline,
and who insisted on reclining on the floor instead of sitting on a bench.
He became hungry and despite the fact that his preceptress had
forbidden "talking out loud" declared that he wanted something to eat.
"Wait a bit," answered the teacher. "We will have recess by and by."
"Is recess something to eat?" he asked.
This question produced a titter, and the insubordinate youngster was
again told he must not talk. After awhile he became accustomed to
school and liked it. He grew older and learned his letters. It was a
tedious task, the most difficult of which was to distinguish "N" from
"U," but he finally mastered them, and his education, he supposed, was
complete. After two or three years, he learned to read. His father on one
of his journeys to town brought to their forest home some excellent
books, with bright, beautiful pictures. He was now nine years old, and
could read with some difficulty. One of his books was a story about a
man being wrecked on an island, and having saved a black man named
Friday from death by savages. Fernando never tired of this wonderful
book, and, in his eagerness for the adventures of Robinson Crusoe,
learned to read well without knowing it.
From reading one book, he came to read others, and lofty, ambitious
thoughts took possession of his soul. His mind, uncontaminated or
dwarfed by the sins of civilization, early began to reach out for high
and noble ideas.
His father had been a captain in the continental army, and had travelled
all over the Atlantic States during the war for independence. He told his
children many stories of those dark days and sought early to instil in
their young minds a love for their country, urging them ever to sustain
its honor and its flag.
Fernando Stevens, even early in childhood, became a patriot. He could

be nothing more nor less than a patriot and lover of freedom with such
training, and growing up in such an atmosphere. With the bitter wrongs
of George III. rankling in his heart, he came to despise all forms of
monarchy, and to hate "redcoats." The cruelties of Cornwallis, Tarleton,
Rawdon, Tryon and Butler were still in the minds of the people, and the
boy, as he gazed on his father's sword hanging on the cabin wall, often
declared he would some day take it and avenge the wrongs done in
years gone by.
Years passed on, and Fernando, in his quiet home in the West, grew to
be a strong, healthy lad, with a constantly expanding mind.
CHAPTER II.
MORGIANNA.
It was early on the morning of June 13, 1796, just twenty years after the
Declaration of Independence, that Captain Felix Lane, of the good ship
Ocean Star, was on his voyage from Rio to Baltimore with a cargo of
coffee. The morning was specially bright, and the captain, as brave a
man as ever paced a quarter deck, was in the best of spirits, for he
expected soon to be home. He had no wife and children to greet him on
his return, for Lane was a bachelor. He had served on board a privateer
during the War of the Revolution and had done as much damage as any
man on salt water to English merchantmen. Like most brave men,
Captain Lane had a generous soul, a kind heart, and there was not a
man aboard his vessel who would not have died for him. He