Public-domain ebook
by Anonymous
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Public-domain ebook sourced from Project Gutenberg #68050.
The opening · free to read
If our young readers will take a map of Europe, and look to the west, they will see a broad wide sea called the Baltic, stretching northward and separating the countries of Norway and Sweden from Russia. To the east of this sea is a gulf, called the Gulf of Finland, and at the extremity of that gulf, at the mouth of the river Neva, stands the city of St. Petersburg, the capital of Russia in Europe.
St. Petersburg is at the present time a populous and beautiful city. It contains so many splendid buildings, that it is sometimes called a city of palaces, but about the beginning of the eighteenth century (which is a hundred and fifty years ago,) the ground on which it stands was an immense bog, or marsh, surrounded by dreary forests. The only persons who dwelt on the then desolate spot were some fishermen who built a few little cabins near the water’s edge; but as the river at certain seasons of the year frequently overflowed its banks, and the cabins were sometimes washed away, even these few little tenements were often deserted.
I dare say most of our young readers have heard or read of Peter the Great, the celebrated Emperor, or Czar of Russia. He built the city of St. Petersburg, and called it after his own name; but of that we shall speak hereafter, at present we have to do with a humble individual, named Michael Kopt, who lived in one of the cabins we have spoken of.
Michael’s father was a Swede, and could read and write, and was therefore far in advance of the ignorant Russian serfs, among whom he lived. Having been carried prisoner to Russia, during one of the numerous wars between the Russians and Swedes, he had been compelled to obtain his living as a fisherman. He taught his son Michael all that he had himself learned, and also brought him up to his trade. When Michael became a man, he married a young woman, the daughter of one of the same craft; they were very poor, but they lived happily together, for Margaret was thrifty and affectionate, and Michael steady, sober and industrious. During the fishing season, Michael applied himself very diligently to his business, and with his wife’s assistance, dried and salted the greater part of the fish which he caught, then, when the floods were expected, they removed to a village some miles distant, and lived on the produce of their joint labour.
One season Michael and his wife remained in the fishing-hut, a few weeks later than usual, on account of the fineness of the weather, and there being no signs of the floods. However, on the day before that fixed for their departure, a violent storm suddenly arose, and it was evident that the cabins were in danger of being swept away, either by the strong gale which blew from the sea, or by the water. Terrified by the prospect, the two or three fishermen who had been their companions hurried off, even in the midst of the storm, hoping to reach a place of safety, before the floods overtook them; and Michael and Margaret were preparing to follow their example, when they were startled by hearing the firing of guns as from a ship in distress. The fisherman and his wife looked at each other in deep concern, but neither spake. What could they do to assist the unhappy mariners, and the delay of one hour might be death to themselves.
‘Shall we go Margaret?’ Michael at length broke the silence by saying.
‘Can we help those poor creatures?’ she asked.
‘We cannot do anything to save the ship,’ he replied, ‘but we may perhaps be of some service should any of the people be thrown upon the strand.’
‘Then we will stop awhile, and trust to God’s protecting care,’ she nobly rejoined; and as she spoke, she laid down the little bundle of clothes which she had hastily put together, intending to carry with them.
Michael now ran to the front window of the cottage, with the idea of getting a view of the vessel in distress, but he only reached the spot in time to see her go down. The wind had driven her with violence against a rock, which had made a large opening in her keel, through which the water rushed so fast, that all attempts to check it proved vain, and she sunk almost instantly to the bottom.
‘All are lost!’ exclaimed Margaret, who had followed her husband, and was now standing behind him with her hands clasped together, and her eyes raised toward heaven in an attitude of prayer.
‘Nay, dear Madgy, it is possible that some poor creature may be drifted on the shore,’ cried Michael; ‘I will at all events go and see.’
Margaret’s heart quailed with fear, lest her husband’s life should fall a sacrifice to his humanity; but she could not oppose his generous resolve, so she suffered him to go without a word of remonstrance.
As soon as he left the door, she fell on her knees and prayed that he might be protected in his perilous enterprise.
She arose in a more composed state of mind, and then sat down to await her husband’s return. Her patience was not long tried, he came in shortly after, bearing in his arms a wicker-basket bound up in a sheet of oil-cloth. The poor woman’s first words were an exclamation of thankfulness for his safe return; she next eagerly inquired what he had brought with him.
‘I have brought thee a child, Madgy, what say you to that?’ cried the fisherman looking at her with a smile.
‘A child!’ she repeated.
‘Yes, a brave boy. I found him in one of the holes in the rock.’
‘Is he alive?’ asked Margaret, drawing back the oil-cloth that she might get a sight of the babe.
‘Alive, yes; the urchin seemed to be quite enjoying his new home.’
‘Don’t jest, dear Michael,’ cried Margaret; ‘the mother of this poor little creature has most likely found a watery grave.’
‘True, but you will be a mother to him, won’t you?’
‘Aye, that I will,’ responded the kind-hearted woman, catching the child in her arms, and folding him to her bosom. ‘Aye, that I will, Miche, I’ll carry him myself, if you will take the baggage. But is this poor babe the only creature who has escaped?’
‘I have reason to believe so,’ returned the fisherman; ‘but I could not remain longer on the shore, the water flowed in so fast. We must haste now, dear Madgy, or we shall be too late.’
Margaret wanted not a second bidding, but after having hastily wrapped the babe in a bear’s skin, she and her husband quitted the hut.
Michael and Margaret had, as our young readers may suppose, a very unpleasant and perilous journey over boggy land, in the midst of a violent storm too. The charge of an infant of three or four months old, of course added to their cares and difficulties; but both the fisherman and his wife had stout hearts which would not soon sink under dangers; and the Russians are naturally a hardy people. Their winter abode was the cottage in which Margaret had spent her childhood and early youth, which was still occupied by her parents, they were therefore sure of a hearty and affectionate welcome when their journey was over. The old people had been very anxious about them, fearing from their long stay, that some evil had overtaken them, so the present meeting was every way delightful.
‘We have brought some live-stock with us, mother,’ said Michael, smiling and looking significantly at his wife’s mother.
‘Live stock,’ repeated the dame, ‘why, what have you got?’
Margaret here took off the bearskin covering and displayed her little charge to view.
‘What, a baby!’ cried the old woman in a tone of amazement.
Wet and weary as the travellers were, it was not a time to keep up a jest, otherwise Michael would have let the old people guess for a while, before he told them in what way the little foundling had been thrown upon their protection, as it was, he explained all in a sentence, and then begged that they would let him have something to eat.
Margaret felt more disposed for taking rest than for sharing in the meal, so she and her mother retired together into one of the sleeping-rooms, taking the infant with them.
The storm subsided in the course of the night, but no effort could be made to rescue the shipwrecked people, even should any of them have drifted to the shore, for the river had by this time so far overflowed its banks, that the path the fisherman and his wife had so recently trodden, was not now to be seen. As there appeared but little probability that the child would ever be claimed, Michael and his wife resolved on adopting him, and treating him in every respect as if he were their own. The little fellow seemed very well satisfied with his new friends. He smiled and cooed at Margaret, in return for her caresses, and tried to imitate Michael’s loud ringing laugh. With Margaret’s mother too, he was an especial favourite, and even the old man was much pleased with this addition to their family.
The matter to be decided on next was, what name the little stranger should bear. Margaret was reminded by his wicker-cradle and the perils of his infancy of Moses in his ark of bulrushes, on the banks of the Egyptian river. She could not help thinking, she said, that a mother’s tender hand had fastened him so securely in his little bed, and that a mother’s prayers had saved him from a watery grave, and she proposed that he should be called by the name of Moses. However, when the swaddling-clothes in which he had been found were closely examined, an almost indistinct mark was found on one of them, which after some little difficulty, was discovered to be Gerald. It was therefore determined to call him by that name.
Ten years glided away and very little change took place in the fisherman’s family, excepting that the infant foundling grew up, by degrees, into a fine intelligent boy. In the long nights of the Russian winter, unless there is some kind of mental employment, time passes very wearily. Michael had so far profited by his father’s instructions, as to be able to impart the elements of useful knowledge to Gerald, who was both an apt and eager scholar. His natural intelligence had thus been quickened, and his thirst for knowledge increased by the humble but useful instructions of his kind foster father. While they used to sit round the large warm stove, when they had read from the Bible or some other of the one or two books, which Michael inherited from his father, Michael would then relate incidents in the history of Sweden, or talk about the great protestant reformers--or the learned men his father had known or heard of at Upsal, his native city. Gerald was never tired of hearing about these things, and the thoughts that came into his mind when Michael talked about the famous university of Upsal, where so many people passed their time in acquiring or imparting knowledge were quite exciting, and he could not help hoping that something or other might occur that would place him in the way of acquiring more knowledge than he was likely to obtain in the hut of a poor fisherman, dearly as he loved his kind benefactors. Gerald was a good and grateful child, and desirous of doing all he could to assist those generous friends who had acted the part of parents to him. Even when quite a little boy, he tried to help his father, as he called him, in his craft. He was very fond too, of his good mother, as he called Margaret, and you may be sure they loved him very dearly.
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