Part 6 (1/2)
”Silence,” shouted Derry Duck in a tone of command. ”Go on, boy.”
Blair resumed. ”I am on board the 'Molly,' Captain Knox, an American privateer, safe and sound, in full health and fair spirits, thanks to the good G.o.d who has watched over me. It would be a long story to tell you how I came here; that I will reserve till we meet. When the British commander found he could not _make_ me pilot him into Fairport, he put for the open sea, and there we took the gale. A real tear-away it was, and raked the old s.h.i.+p well-nigh clean from stem to stern; but they rigged her up again, and had her skimming the seas like a duck before two days were over. I had to leave Hal Hutchings on board of her; they claimed him for an English subject. It was like losing my eyes to part with him.
”I never thought to see such danger as has fallen to my lot since I kissed you good-by, dear mother; but my heart has never failed me. G.o.d has sustained me in every hour of trial, and I trust him for all that is before me, be it danger or temptation or death. He is all-powerful. In his strength I shall come off conqueror. He spread this smiling sky above me. He measured these limitless waters in the hollow of his hand.
He can, he will, keep me from all evil; and if death shall be my portion, he will take me, all unworthy as I am, to his kingdom of glory, for the sake of our crucified Redeemer.”
Blair Robertson had the rare gifts of voice and manner which ever exercise an influence more powerful than force of argument or elegance of style. What he said went home to the hearts of his hearers. As he uttered the deep feelings of his soul, his rude listeners were awed into silence. He paused, and there was a moment of deathlike stillness.
It was interrupted by Brimstone, who uttered an oath in coa.r.s.e bravado, as he exclaimed that he for one would hear no more such stuff, fit only for milk-sop landlubbers and silly women.
”Read no more, my boy,” said Deny Duck soberly. ”You cast your pearls before swine.”
Blair turned a quick look upon the mate as he said, ”You then know something of Scripture, and can make a right use of it. I believe I have found a friend.”
”You have, you have,” said Derry Duck, grasping the offered hand of the stripling in a gripe that would have made him wince with pain but for the bounding joy of his heart.
Derry Duck was called away at that moment by a summons from the captain, and Blair, unmolested, closed his letter and dropped it in the mail-bag.
Prayer for the mate of the Molly was in the heart of Blair, even as his hands were busy with the melting wax, or loosing the rude entrance to the post-office on the sea.
CHAPTER XIII.
TEMPTATION.
Derry Duck was no mean ally. The strength of his arm, and his position as second in command, gave him great influence on board the Molly. There were traditions of the power of his bare fist to deal death with a single blow--traditions which won for him an odd kind of respect, and insured for him the obedience he never failed to exact. Derry having avowed himself the friend of Blair Robertson, it was well understood that there must be an end to the peculiar persecutions to which the boy had been subjected. He could not of course escape such rough usage of word and act as the crew had for each other, but he was to be no longer their chosen b.u.t.t and scape-goat.
Blair felt at once the advantage of having so powerful ”a friend at court,” and he eagerly seized upon the favorable turn in affairs to carry out his new plans and wishes for his a.s.sociates. It had struck him that there was but one way to avoid having his ears pained and his soul polluted by the conversation that was the entertainment of the mess. He must do his share of the talking, and so adapt it to his own taste and principles. The lion's share Blair determined it should be, and that without unfairness, as he had to make up for lost time. Once a.s.sured that Brimstone's unwashed hand was not to be placed over his mouth if he attempted to speak, and the cry, ”Shut up, Mum,” raised by his companions, Blair's tongue was set loose.
We have said that Blair was by no means averse to hearing his own voice; and much as his guiding motives and aims had changed, the Blair on board the Molly was still the same human being that he was in Joe Robertson's little parlor in Fairport. Never did city belle strive more earnestly to make her conversation attractive to her hearers, than did our young patriot, actuated by a motive which is in comparison with hers as the sunlight to the glow-worm's uncertain ray.
Blair had songs to sing and speeches to make. He had wild stories of the struggles of the early settlers of Maine, caught long ago from the lips of gray-haired men and treasured in the boy's heart, that had little reckoned the coming use for these h.o.a.rded wonders. The captains who had shared the services of the pilot of Fairport had filled his willing ears with tales of their adventures in every sea and on every coast, and the fond father had garnered these marvellous legends to tell to his little listener at home, till the child's eyes glowed bright as he panted to taste of peril, and do and dare amid the stormy waves.
Now indeed came a time of peril to Blair. With secret delight he found he had a power to charm and move even the rough band who gathered round him to catch every word of the glowing narratives he poured forth from his crowded storehouse. There is something within us all which prompts us to adapt our conversation to the taste and capacity of our companions. A kindly inclination it may be, and yet it is full of danger. He who may dare to be ”all things to all men,” must, like St.
Paul, have set his feet on the rock Christ Jesus, and be exalted by the continual remembrance of the ”cloud of witnesses” in the heavenly kingdom, and the fixed, all-searching glance of the pure eye of G.o.d, reading the inmost soul.
Insensibly Blair inclined to use the language in which his hearers couched their own thoughts. As we speak baby-talk to the infant, and broken English to the Frenchman, he unconsciously dealt in expressions adapted to the wild eager faces that looked into his. Here had surely been a temptation that would have dragged the young speaker down to the pit which the great adversary had made ready for him, but for the strong Deliverer who walked amid the flames of fire with the three faithful ”children” of old.
Blair saw his danger, and met it not in his own strength. Whether he sat down at table, or mingled in the groups on deck, or shared the watch of a companion, by a determined and prayerful effort he strove to keep in his mind the presence of ”One like unto the Son of man.” To him that face, unsullied by taint of sin or shame, was in the midst of the weather-beaten, guilt-marked countenances of the crew of the Molly. He who ”turned and looked on Peter” was asking his young servant in a tender, appealing glance, ”Will you blaspheme my name? Will you offend Him in whose eyes the heavens are not pure, and who chargeth even his angels with folly?”
A deep ”No; so help me G.o.d,” was the full response of the whole being of Blair Robertson. He would watch his tongue and guard his lips by the continual prayer which should stir in his heart in the midst of speech, song, or tale of wild adventure.
When the young sailor had taught his listeners gladly to hear when he would give them pleasure, he by degrees gave full utterance to the natural language and interests of his heart. They learned to love to listen even when he poured forth in his peculiarly melodious voice some majestic mariner's hymn, or told in thrilling tones how some G.o.d-fearing seaman had stood at the helm of a burning s.h.i.+p and headed her to land, until he pa.s.sed from amid the devouring flames to the glory of the kingdom of heaven. They heard and could not but admire the story of the unselfish Christian captain, who saw himself left alone on the sinking s.h.i.+p, but would not crowd the already overloaded boats with his manly form. He preferred to meet his doom in the path of duty, and on the deck where G.o.d had placed him go down to the depths of the sea, sure that his Saviour would there receive him and give him an abundant entrance into heaven.
Thus in his own way Blair was laboring for the welfare of his s.h.i.+pmates, ever praying that some good seed might be blessed by the Lord of the vineyard, and spring up unto eternal life.
CHAPTER XIV.
DERRY DUCK.