Page:The White Slave, or Memoirs of a Fugitive.djvu/250

 lay my hands upon. But I did not think it prudent to attempt to carry into execution, this piece of experimental instruction, of which the Virginians stand so much in need.

My cruising adventures, chases, and escapes would fill a volume; — but they are little to my present purpose. Suffice it to say, that while the war lasted I kept the seas; and when it ended, most reluctantly I left them. My share in the prizes we had taken, rendered me wealthy, — at least what the moderation of my wishes made me esteem so. But what was to supply the ever varying stimulus and excitement, which till now, had sustained me, and prevented my mind from preying on itself, and poisoning my peace with bitter recollections? The images of my wife, my child, and of the friend to whom I owed so much, often, on my voyages, flitted mournfully across my mind but the cry of 'Sail ahead' would call off my thoughts, and dissipate my incipient melancholy in the bustle of action. But now that I was on shore, homeless, alone, a stranger, with nothing to occupy my mind, — the thoughts of those dear sufferers haunted me continually. The very first thing I did, was to look up a trusty agent whom I might send in search of them. Such an one I found. I gave him all the information which might promote the object of his mission I allowed him an unlimited credit on my banker; and stimulated his zeal by a handsome advance, and the promise of a still larger reward, if he succeeded in the object of his mission.

He sailed for America by the first opportunity; and I consoled myself with the hope that his search would be successful. In the mean time, to have some occupation that might keep off anxious doubts and troublesome anxieties, I applied myself to study. When a child, I had a fondness for reading, and an ardent love of knowledge. This love of knowledge, the accursed discipline of servitude had stifled and kept under, but had not totally extinguished. I was astonished to find it still so strong. Having once turned my attention that way, my mind drank in all sorts of information, as the thirsty earth imbibes the rain. I might rather be said to devour books, than to read them. I scarcely gave myself time to sleep. No sooner had I