The Edward S. Ellis Megapack

by Edward S. Ellis

  The hours of the watch were to Blair the most agreeable he now enjoyed. In the silent night, with the sea below and the sentinel stars overhead, he could commune with God, undisturbed by the wickedness of man.

  Blair had not been a day on board the Molly, when Torpedo, a fiery young Spaniard, spied him reading his pocket-Testament in a quiet part of the ship. The book was snatched away and flung triumphantly into the water, while Torpedo exclaimed in bad English that Blair should follow it if he tried to force any of his canting notions on the free crew of the privateer. Well was it for Blair that his mind was stored with chapter after chapter of the precious volume, which would otherwise have been to him now a sealed book. It surprised him to see how much of the Scriptures he could by a strong effort recall, and most consoling and cheering to him were those words of peace and power.

  In one of these lonely watches, Blair’s thoughts turned to his present companions with his usual loathing. Suddenly there came to him the image of these rough bad men in their days of babyhood, ere yet this evil world had found its full response in the evil within their poor human hearts. He could fancy the loving eye of God on those little ones, following them along their dreary pathway, and grieving as thicker grew the crust of sin over all that had been pure and childlike, and more and more dark their coming doom. Blair realized for the first time the love of God, the pure and holy God, for those wicked transgressors of his law. “Yes,” he thought, “it was while we were yet sinners Christ died for us. He came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance. Hateful as must have been to Him the atmosphere of guilt and degradation in this lower world, he left his Father’s throne and came to seek and to save that which was lost.” Ah, how unlike the ministry of the Son of man had been Blair’s proud, self-exalting, unloving demeanor. Perhaps mercy for those poor abandoned men had sent a Christian boy to dwell among them and show forth the image of his Master. With deep shame Blair saw how unchristian had been his thoughts and acts towards his uncongenial associates. Had he not cherished the very spirit of the Pharisee, “Stand by thyself; I am holier than thou?” Blair thought of his proud and hasty temper and of the many sins of his boyhood, and meekly owned that but for the loving hand of God which had hedged him round against temptation, and planted him in the garden of the Lord, he might have been even worse than these wild rovers of the sea. Earnestly he prayed that he might so live and love on board the Molly, that at least a faint image might be given of the great Example, who endured the contradiction of sinners, and for their sakes was willing to suffer even unto death.

  Shame and indignation that such men should profess to be defenders of the American flag had hitherto been a chill to the patriotism of Blair Robertson. Now the thought struck him, that if he could but win one of these hardy sailors to be a Christian servant of his country, an honor to the flag under which he sailed, not in vain would a young patriot have endured the trials and temptations of the “Molly.” “But,” thought Blair, “what am I, single-handed, against so many? How can I hope to bring a blessing by the prayers of my one heart, be it ever so devoted?” He remembered that the prayer of the patriot Moses saved the hosts of the children of Israel from utter destruction at the hand of their offended God. At the prayer of Paul, the Ruler of the seas gave him not only his own life, but the lives of all that were with him in the ship. “I cannot,” he said to himself, “hope to prevail like these saints of old, at least not for my own sake; but the name of Jesus is all-powerful. I will plead it for the poor wanderers about me, and God will in due time, I trust, prosper and bless my efforts.”

  CHAPTER XII

  The First Effort

  “I’ve broken my jack-knife,” said the yellow-headed, yellow-faced tar who rejoiced in the nickname of Brimstone. The speech was accompanied by an oath that chilled the very soul of Blair Robertson; but it was the morning after the watch which had so changed his views towards his wild associates, and he at once seized the opportunity to begin his new line of conduct.

  Blair had a large many-bladed Sheffield knife, which had been a present to his father from an English captain. For several years it was hoarded as a special treasure, and then on a Christmas-day found its way into the pocket of the only son. Blair knew the worth and temper of every blade, and its fit and appointed use. Not a boy in Fairport had such a knife, as had been acknowledged on all hands. He had besides often thought of it as no bad weapon in case of an attack from any of the fighting crew of the Molly. “To stick a man,” was in their estimation no uncommon occurrence, judging from the tales of their adventures, which they delighted to tell.

  “Take my knife, wont you? It is a first-rate one,” said Blair, handing over his treasure as freely as if the sacrifice had cost him no effort.

  Brimstone opened his round cat-like eyes in surprise; and then dropping the knife into the depths of his pocket, said, “Green, green! You expected to make a trade with me, I suppose. You can’t come it. I never swap.”

  “I meant to make you a present of it. You seemed so put out about your knife’s breaking,” said Blair pleasantly. “A fellow does hate to break his knife. An English captain gave that to my father five years ago. It has six blades.”

  Brimstone took the knife out of his pocket and examined it slowly, opening blade after blade with the air of a connoisseur.

  “I say, youngster, it’s a first-rate article. You meant a swap, now; own up. What did you mean to ask me for it, if I’d been in the humor?”

  “There is only one thing I should like to ask of you,” began Blair.

  “Ha, ha! I knew you meant a swap,” said Brimstone. “There’s no harm in making a clean breast of it.”

  “I wanted to ask you not to swear those horrible oaths. I tremble lest God, whose great name you blaspheme, should smite you dead with those curses on your lips,” said Blair earnestly.

  Brimstone had the long blade of the knife open. He gave an angry thrust at Blair, which the lad skilfully avoided, but without a shadow of fear in his fine face. “None of that talk,” exclaimed Brimstone. “We say what we please and when we please on board the Molly. Mum’s the right word for you. We want no parson just out of petticoats here.”

  Blair walked quietly away. His precious knife was gone, and he had perhaps but irritated and made more unfriendly one of the very men whom he so longed to influence for good. He had left himself without any defensive weapon among men who reckoned human life as of trifling value. Yet Blair was not discouraged. He had made a beginning; and though roughly received, it was an effort put forth in a Christian spirit, and could not be lost. With a petition in his heart for the rough sailor he had just quitted, Blair went to a quiet part of the ship to write a few lines to his mother. It seemed to him it would be a comfort to fancy himself in communication with her, though the letter might never fall under her dear eyes. Yet that was not impossible. There were letters waiting already on board, until they could be sent by some homeward-bound craft. The little mail-bag might find a timely and trusty bearer.

  Blair had nearly filled the sheet before him, unconscious of any observers. The vessel lay becalmed, scarcely moving on the quiet waters, and the men had been stretched lazily about, or leisurely mending sails, or washing their clothing in true sailors’ fashion. Drawn on by Brimstone’s beckoning finger, a group had silently gathered round Blair, ready for any wild frolic at the boy’s expense which their summoner might have in his unscrupulous brain.

  Just as Blair put the signature to his letter, the paper was snatched from his hand by some one from behind.

  “Now hear, worshipful shipmates,” said Brimstone, making as if he would read the letter aloud.

  “You don’t know your alphabet,” said Derry Duck contemptuously. “I am the scholard for you; but I choose to let the writer do his own reading. Here, Mum, let us have the benefit of your long-tailed letter in plain English, stops put in all right.”

  Blair’s eyes flashed for a moment, but the next he put out his hand for the letter, and said pleas
antly, “Do you really want to know how a Yankee boy writes home to his mother? Well, then, I’ll read every word out, just as it is written.”

  The tones of Blair’s voice were clear and firm as he read as follows:

  “Dear Mother—I always thought I loved you, but I never half knew what you were to me before. I think of you by day, and dream of you by night.”

  “I should think he was writing to his sweetheart,” said Brimstone with a coarse laugh.

  “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 God 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 ship 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. God 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 coarse 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 butt 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 associates. 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 assured 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 hoarded 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 God, 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 God,” 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 God-fearing seaman had stood at the helm of a burning ship and headed her to land, until he passed 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 ship, 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 God 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 shipmates, 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

  Derry Duck having vouchsafed his protection to the young stranger, for a time sought no further intimacy with him. He might be seen occasionally among the groups who were won to hear a song or a story from Blair, but he was apt to leave these scenes suddenly, as if for some call of duty or stirred by some quick and painful thrust of feeling.

  Captain Knox was a stern, moody man, who had very little direct intercourse with his crew. Derry Duck was made his medium of communication on every ordinary occasion. The captain was the only person on board who kept a stock of writing materials, and from him, through Derry, Blair and the other sailors obtained such articles on the rare occasions when they were in demand. There was not much taste or time for literary efforts on board the Molly.

  A pleasant evening had collected all the sailors on deck, and Blair had taken the opportunity to retire below to spend some time in recalling Scripture to his mind, which was now his substitute for reading in the holy book. He was roused from his meditations by the entrance of Derry Duck, with an inkstand in one hand and a sheet of paper in the other. Blair rose as the mate came towards him, supposing the writing materials were to be left in his charge for some shipmate.

  “Sit down, boy,” said Derry in his quick way, “sit down; I want you to do something for me.”

  “I should be right glad to do any thing I could for you. You have been a real friend to me,” said Blair warmly. “You can’t think how much I thank you for it.”