Part 14 (2/2)

Sir William had been born poor, in Maine, and had made his great fortune by an adventure on the sea.

The story of Sindbad the Sailor was hardly more than a match for his, with its realities.

He was one of a family of twenty-six children; he had been taught to read and write when nearly grown up; had come to Boston as an adventurer, and had found a friend in a comely and sympathetic widow, who helped to educate him, and to whom he used to say:

”All in good time we will come to live in the brick house in the Faire Green Lane.”

A Boston boy like young Franklin, among the pots and kettles of life, could not help recalling what this poor sailor lad had done for himself when he saw the brick house looming over the bowery lane.

The candle shop at the Blue Ball, that general place for story-telling by winter fires, when it was warm there and the winds were cold outside, often heard this story, and such stories as the Winthrop Silver Cup, which may still be seen; of lively Anne Pollard, who was the first to leap on sh.o.r.e here from the first boat load of pioneers as it came near the sh.o.r.e at the North End, when the hills were covered with blueberries; of old ”sea dogs” and wonderful s.h.i.+ps, like Sir Francis Drake and the Golden Hynde, or ”Sir Francis and his s.h.i.+pload of gold,”

which s.h.i.+p returned to England one day with chests of gold, but not with Sir Francis, whose body had been left in many fathoms of sea! Ben listened to these tales with wonder, with Jenny by his side, leaning on him.

What was the story of Sir William Phipps, that so haunted the minds of Boston boys and caused their pulses to beat and the sea fever to rise?

It was known in England as well as in America; it was a wonder tale over the sea, for it was a.s.sociated with t.i.tled names. Uncle Ben knew it well, and told it picturesquely, with much moralizing.

Let us suppose it to be a cold winter's night, when the winds are abroad and the clouds fly over the moon. Josiah Franklin has played his violin, the family have sung ”Martyrs”; the fire is falling down, and ”people are going to meetin',” as a running of sparks among the soot was called, when such a thing happened in the back of the chimney.

Little Ben's imagination is hungry, and he asks for the twice-told tale of Sir William. He would be another Sir William himself some day.

By the dying coals Uncle Ben tells the story. What a story it was! No wonder that it made an inexperienced boy want to go to sea, and especially such boys as led an uneventful life in the ropewalk or in the candle shop!

Uncle Ben first told the incident of Sir William's promise to the widow who took him to her home when he was poor, that she should live in the brick house; and then he pictured the young sailor's wonderful voyages to fulfill this promise. He called the sailor the ”Treasure-finder.”

Let us snuggle down by the fire on this cold night in Boston town, beside little Ben and Jenny, and listen to the story.

Uncle Ben, mayhap, shakes his snuffbox, and says:

”That boy dreamed dreams in the daytime, but he was an honest man.”

Uncle Ben rang these words like a bell in his story.

”He was an honest man; but a man in this world must save or be a slave, and young William's mind went sailing far away from the New England coast, and a-sailing went he. What did he find? Wonders! Listen, and I will tell you.

”William Phips, or Phipps, went to the Spanish Main, and he began to hear a very marvelous story there. The sailors loitering in the ports loved to tell the legend of a certain Spanish treasure s.h.i.+p that had gone down in a storm, and they imagined themselves finding it and becoming rich. The legend seized upon the fancy of William the sailor and entered his dreams. It was only a vague fancy at first, but in the twilight of one burning day a cool island of palms appeared, and as it faded away a sailor who stood watching it said to him:

”'There is a sunken reef off this coast somewhere; we are steering for it, and I have been told that it was on that reef that the Spanish treasure s.h.i.+p went down. They say that s.h.i.+p had millions of gold on board. I wonder if anybody will ever find her?'

”William, the sailor, started. Why might not he find her?--William was an honest man.

”It was early evening at sea. The shadows of night fell on the Bahama Islands. The sea and the heavens seemed to mingle. The stars were in the water; the heavens were there. A stranger on the planet could not have told which was the sea and which was the sky.

”The sails were limp. There was a silence around. The s.h.i.+p seemed to move through some region of s.p.a.ce. William Phipps sat by himself on the deck and dreamed. Many people dream, but it is of no use to dream unless you _do_.

”He seemed to see her again who had been the good angel of his life; he saw the gabled house in the bowery lane, and two faces looking out of the same window over Boston town.--William was honest.

”He dreamed that he himself was the captain of a s.h.i.+p. He saw himself in England, in the presence of the king. He is master of an expedition now, in his sea dream. He finds the sunken treasure s.h.i.+p. He is made rich by it, and he returns to Boston and buys the gabled house in the cool green lane by the sea. An honest man was Sir William. He was not _Sir_ William then.

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