CHAPTER I
THE MOTHER'S PRAYER
"God grant that it may never happen, Paul; God grant that England maynever be invaded, that her foes may never land upon our shores."
And the lips of Mrs. Percival moved in silent prayer. Paul regarded theloved face of his mother for a minute or two thoughtfully, as though hewere longing to put to her many questions, but dared not. At length hesaid, breaking the silence:
"Did father ever speak of it?"
It was one of the greatest griefs of Paul's life that he had never knownhis father. He had been a captain in the Navy, but was unfortunately cutoff in the prime of his career by a brave attempt to save the life of aman who had flung himself overboard. The man was saved, but CaptainPercival was drowned, leaving a widow and son to lament his loss. Paulat that time was only a year old, so that it was not till the years wenton he understood the greatness of his loss. Often and often his thoughtsturned to the father who had been snatched from him by a sudden anduntimely death, especially when he saw the boys of his school who werefortunate enough to possess both parents; but often as his thoughts wentto his father, he rarely spoke of him to his mother. He could see thatthe pain and sorrow of his death were still with her--that the awfulmoment when the news came of that sudden, swift catastrophe had writtenitself upon her heart and memory in writing which would never beeffaced.
Paul did not find out all that he had become to his mother till sometime after his father's death--not, in fact, till his first term atschool had ended. He had never been away from home so long before, andhe never forgot how she pressed him to her, and with what tenderearnestness she said, "Ah, dear, you do not know how I have missed you."
That same night, when she had thought him fast asleep, she entered hisroom, looked long and earnestly in his face by the light of a candle,and then stole gently out. And that Sunday, when he went to the oldchurch with her, he felt her hand steal into his as the vicar read theLitany; and the pressure of her hand waxed closer as the vicar's voicesounded through the church: "From lightning and tempest; from plague,pestilence, and famine; from battle and murder, and from sudden death."Then rose the fervent response from the congregation, "Good Lord,deliver us." And none prayed it more fervently than the widow as sheknelt by the side of her son.
It was not only that Mrs. Percival had lost her husband at sea, but shehad lost a brother, a promising young lieutenant in the Navy, while onactive service in China; and Paul's grandfather had lost his life manyyears back while fighting under Nelson at Copenhagen. It is little to bewondered at, therefore, that Mrs. Percival rarely spoke about the sea toPaul. She feared its fascination; she was anxious to keep his thoughtsfrom it. He was all that was now left to her, and she had no wish thathe should go into the service in which the lives of three near and dearrelatives had been sacrificed.
"Yes, your father sometimes spoke of it," Mrs. Percival answered. "Hisfather--that is to say, your grandfather--lived in the time when therewas such a great scare about wicked Napoleon invading England; but thatis long ago, and it was all ended by Nelson's last great victory atTrafalgar. Ah, Paul, these scares and wars are terrible. I sometimesthink that it must be monsters ruling the world rather than men. If theprayers of mothers and wives and orphans could only be heard, I am surethat war, and the danger of war, would soon be over. But why are youworrying about an invasion?"
"Well, Great Britain has a good many enemies, you know, mother, andpeople are talking about a possible invasion. Besides, I've got to writesomething about it next term, and it won't do for the son of a captainto make a mess of it altogether."
"Write something?" questioned Mrs. Percival, turning pale. Ah, theterrible fascination of the sea! Was it going to claim her son as it hadclaimed her husband? "How is that?"
"A prize has been offered for the best paper on 'The Invasion of GreatBritain.' I may as well have a cut in."
"By all means, Paul; but for my sake--for my sake"--placing her handupon his shoulder--"don't think too much about the sea."
She leant forward and kissed him; then went hurriedly from the room.Paul knew that it was his duty to do as his mother told him, but hefound it very hard. He was a stalwart lad of fifteen, with the blood oftwo generations of seamen in his veins, so that it seemed as though hisvery blood were part of the brine of the ocean.
He stood by the window, looking from the old Manor House in which helived to the road. Presently he saw Job Brice, who did odd jobs aboutthe house and garden, walking across the grounds to the paddock. Job hadbeen a seaman in the Navy at the same time as his father, and for thatreason had been given employment, to add to his pension, at the ManorHouse; but he rarely spoke about his seafaring life to our hero. Paulsuspected that this, in a large measure, was due to his mother, forwhenever Job did speak, he always dwelt on the most unattractive side ofa sailor's life.
So soon as Paul caught sight of Job, he seized his cap, and went afterhim. He came up with him just as he had entered the paddock.
"I say, Brice, I've just been talking to mother about father. I don'tlike to question her too much, for I can see it gives her pain."
"Quite right, Master Paul; it does give her pain," said Job, turning hisscarred, weather-beaten face to the boy; "and it's very good of you tothink of her. It ain't all boys who're so thoughtful of their mother."
"Oh, don't butter me, Brice, for I'm long chalks from deserving it. Butperhaps you wouldn't mind answering me a question I could never quitemake out. I've heard that father died in saving another man. And that isall I do know, for mother never speaks of it, and I can't keep boringher with questions. How did it happen?"
"Well, no one knows exactly. So far as could be made out, somepirate--some furrin sneak--got into his cabin while we were in port, andgot at his private despatches. He was imprisoned in the hold by thecaptain's orders. The next day we were to make for Gibraltar, where thespy was to be tried by court-martial. The next night was a dirty one--norain to speak of, but dark and blustery. While it was at its height, theprisoner in the hold managed to escape, and jumped overboard. Yourfather was one of the first to see him, and leapt after him. He reachedthe poor wretch and held him till the boat put out; then a fiercer gustof wind came, and they were separated. The spy was swept in thedirection of the boat. Your father was swept away from it. The spy wascaught up and dragged into it. Your father was never seen again. He'dsaved the spy's life at the expense of his own. There wasn't a man onboard the ship but esteemed--yes, loved your father. He was one of thebest skippers that ever walked a deck. What we felt afterwards, MasterPaul, can't be described. We felt just sick that he'd gone, and thatthat sneaking, shivering furrin rascal had been saved. Some of the boyswould ha' lynched him, I think, only that he looked purty sick at thattime hisself, and they knew a court-martial was awaitin' him atGibraltar. Well, he were taken to Gib."
"And what happened?" asked the lad, as the old salt paused.
"What happened? Why, he got clean off!" cried the old salt indignantly."There was little or no evidence agen him. The one who knew all abouthim, and what he'd been up to, was your father, and--and----"
Job Brice came to a dead stop as the back of his big, rough hand wentacross his eyes.
"My father had gone to the bottom! Yes, yes, I understand it all!" saidPaul in a choking voice. "So they were obliged to release the man, andhe got off scot-free?"
"You've just guessed it, Master Paul! It makes me blood boil when Ithink of it!"
Then he ended up, as he always did: "Ah, it's a dog's life, is the sea!Don't you ever think of the sea, Master Paul!"
Paul knew from what quarter the final moral, with which Job invariablyfavoured him, came. Usually he smiled; but there was no smile on hisface now. He could understand his mother's feelings as he had neverunderstood them before. He could understand why she so rarely spoke ofthat time--why she never referred to his father's death.
"You can't remember the man's name, I suppose?"
"No, I can't remember that," answered Job, rubb
ing his headthoughtfully, "'cept that it was a foreign one--Zuker, I think it was,or some such name as that. Don't think no more about it. Thinking aboutit don't do no good."
"Poor, poor father!" said Paul, as he turned once more towards thehouse. "He must have been a brave man. Oh, that I could have seen him,and known him, so that I might be able to remember him as he was inlife, instead of carrying about a dead image in my heart!"
Still, it was a comfort to know that his father had been loved by thoseunder him--that he had died a brave death. Better, far better, to die abrave death than to live on in shame and infamy, as the man had probablylived whom his father had saved.
And yet this mean, despicable spy might have turned over a new leaf fromthe day his father had sacrificed his life to save him. He might havebegun a new and nobler life. If so, the sacrifice had not been in vain.
The Hero of Garside School Page 2
