Part 10 (1/2)
I forget what was said after George finished this homely, but practical and excellent children's sermon; but I can remember that Aleck's face looked somewhat lighter; the words seemed to have touched some inner chord, and to have met _his_ troubles more than they did _mine_. _My_ load, on the contrary, lay all the more heavily on my conscience; as I realized that I was entirely shut out from such consolations as George tried to offer, so that I became _more_ rather than _less_ gloomy.
The old man resumed the thread of conversation soon again.
”It seems strange now,” he said, ”to think how we're grieving over this bit of a toy s.h.i.+p, and then to think of how one's felt seeing, as I did once, a good s.h.i.+p with her crew, men and boys, clinging to the rigging, and going down before your eyes, and you not able to help them, though they kept a-screeching out and a-calling to you all the while.”
”Couldn't you do anything?” we both exclaimed, our interest now fully awakened; ”did you try to help them?”
”Oh yes, sir,” George answered, and I could see the tears standing in his eyes; ”G.o.d be praised, we didn't see 'em go down without doing what we could for them; and I'm glad to think of it, though my life didn't seem worth the having for many a long day afterward.”
”Oh, why?” asked Aleck, eagerly; and I, in spite of our being upon terms of not speaking, caught myself whispering to him, ”Don't you know?--Ralph's father was drowned.”
But George went on, with his eyes fixed on the water, as if the great sea which had swallowed up his dead were a book, and he were reading from it.
”His father”--and with a turn of the head he indicated Ralph--”was with me; he was but four-and-twenty, and as handsome as handsome; a young fellow such as there was not many to be seen like him; and he was a good son--a good son to his mother and to me--and a child of G.o.d, too, Heaven be praised! 'Father,' says he, 'we must try to save them;' and, with the sound of those poor creatures' cries ringing in my ears, I dared not say no, though the odds were fearful against us, and I was careful over _him_, though I'd not have minded for myself. Well, sir, two others joined us, and we succeeded in getting off; but just before we reached the sinking vessel, a heavy sea struck us, and in a moment we were all struggling in the water. I thought I heard Ralph--_he_ was Ralph too--I thought I heard him just say, 'G.o.d have mercy on my poor Betsey!'--she as you know, Master Willie--and then I knew nothing until I woke up in a room where some kind people were rubbing me with hot flannels, and offering me hot stuff to drink. So soon as I could speak, 'Where's Ralph?' I says, looking round for him; and then I saw in their faces how it was; and they came round me, treating me quite tenderly like a child, though they were rough sailors. And one of 'em, a G.o.d-fearing man, who had spoken a bit to us many a time when we'd no parson, was put forward by them, and he comes and whispers to me, 'You'll see him again, George, when the sea shall give up its dead. You'll meet before the throne of G.o.d and of the Lamb.' Well, sir, I was but a poor frail mortal, and my senses left me again, and I was long of coming round. But ever since then, as I look at the wide water, I seem to hear a voice saying, the sea shall give up its dead, and we'll meet some day before the throne of G.o.d and of the Lamb. Yes; I'm not afraid of the open Book for him, poor boy, for long afore that day I knew he'd taken his sailing orders under the Great Captain. 'Father,' he's said to me, 'I know Jesus Christ has _died_ for me; I must _live_ for him.' And when the poor body was washed ash.o.r.e, there was his little Testament in his pocket, all dripping with the sea water. I dried it, and found it could still be read, and even some of his marks; there's not another thing I prize so much.”
Old George took the little unsightly-looking volume from his pocket, and gave it reverently to us to look at, and Aleck and I bent over it together, and deciphered on the t.i.tle-page, in crooked lines of round handwriting, the name, _Ralph Groves_--_his book_; and underneath was a verse of a hymn, evidently remembered and not copied, which must have been one of those sung amongst the Methodists on that part of the coast where, as George told me, Ralph used to attend their meetings.
”Lord Jesus, be my constant Guide, Then when the word is given, Bid death's dark stream its waves divide, And land me safe in heaven.”
”You see, young gentlemen,” resumed George, when we had given him back the little book, ”things which seem hard to bear--ay, and _are_ hard to bear now--are but little things after all, and will be as nothing in that day when all wrong words and tempers will seem great things, far greater than we sometimes think.”
Aleck and I had listened with full hearts to Groves's touching account of his son's death, and it was in a subdued quiet manner that we rose up from our meal and settled ourselves again in the boat. There was evidently an inward struggle going on in my cousin's mind, and I almost feared that he was going to ask my pardon, which I should have disliked, knowing myself to be so much the most in the wrong. It was quite a relief to find that in this I was mistaken; he only remained, as before, very silent; and I, too, was silent, and found myself, with eyes fixed on the water, thinking of George's son, and of the opened Book, and wondering concerning the things written therein, and whether all that had happened this day would be found there; whilst old George's words seemed to repeat themselves over in my mind, and I kept saying to myself, ”The loss of the s.h.i.+p will be a very little thing then, whilst all wrong words and tempers will seem greater than we think.”
We had not resumed our search very long, when Aleck declared that he saw something white in the distance which he thought was the little vessel.
We all eagerly turned our eyes in the direction indicated, and although no one felt very sure that we had at last discovered the object of our search, there was sufficient uncertainty to make us eager in pursuit. We had to tack frequently, but at last reached the little white thing which inspired our hopes, and, alas! discovered that it was only a whitened branch of a tree washed out from sh.o.r.e, on which the wet leaves glistened and shone in the afternoon sun. It was a fresh disappointment to us all, and the time our chase had occupied prevented the possibility of any further research. Even as it was, we were quite late in reaching the Cove, and found that my father had been on the watch for us with his telescope, and had been greatly perplexed by the erratic character of our movements.
Of course he was instantly told the tragical history of our day. Aleck, whose sorrow had been renewed by our fruitless search, did not hesitate to lay emphasis upon the fact that I had been left alone at the Cove; and I was quite startled by the quick abrupt manner in which my father turned round to me and said,--
”Willie, did you meddle with the s.h.i.+p or the rope whilst Aleck was away?”
But, thankful that the inquiry took this form, I was able to answer unhesitatingly,--
”No, papa, I did not touch the boat once, or the rope either, this morning, and it's very, very wrong of Aleck to say that I did.”
Whilst Aleck, the dark angry look flas.h.i.+ng once again from his eyes, exclaimed,--
”I know he hated my having the yacht; I'm sure he wanted me to lose it.”
Mr. Gordon, although as much shocked at this outburst as George had been, was not disposed to treat the matter quite as he had done.
That both of us were guilty of wrong temper there could be no doubt, but he saw also that there was still something to be cleared up; and instead of quenching the subject by telling us we had both behaved badly, and deserved to be unhappy, as is the self-indulgent custom of many grown-up people in the matter of children's quarrels, he forbade any further recrimination, and after dinner was over, calmly and quietly inquired into every particular of our story, with as much care as if he had been on his magistrate's bench in court, and this were a case of great importance; first questioning Aleck, and then myself.
As my examination drew to a close, however, Aleck once again burst in with the determined a.s.sertion that I knew more than I had said.
My mother, who was present, was indignant at his persistency, saying that in all my life I had never told a lie, and it was unpardonable thus to speak of me; whilst my father simply said, ”Since you are not able to conduct yourself with propriety, Aleck, you must go to bed.” And my cousin left the room accordingly, whilst I was subjected to the moral torture of a further cross-examination; from which, however, strong in the distinct a.s.sertion that I had not touched either rope or boat, I came off clear.
One step, indeed, my father gained, in the course of his inquiry, towards the truth. In answer to one of his questions, I used the p.r.o.noun _we_.