"I should think he was writing to his sweetheart," said Brimstone with acoarse laugh.
"Silence," shouted Derry Duck in a tone of command. "Go on, boy."
Blair resumed. "I am on board the 'Molly,' Captain Knox, an Americanprivateer, safe and sound, in full health and fair spirits, thanks tothe good God who has watched over me. It would be a long story to tellyou how I came here; that I will reserve till we meet. When the Britishcommander found he could not _make_ me pilot him into Fairport, he putfor 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 theyrigged her up again, and had her skimming the seas like a duck beforetwo days were over. I had to leave Hal Hutchings on board of her; theyclaimed him for an English subject. It was like losing my eyes to partwith him.
"I never thought to see such danger as has fallen to my lot since Ikissed you good-by, dear mother; but my heart has never failed me. Godhas sustained me in every hour of trial, and I trust him for all that isbefore me, be it danger or temptation or death. He is all-powerful. Inhis strength I shall come off conqueror. He spread this smiling skyabove 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 myportion, he will take me, all unworthy as I am, to his kingdom ofglory, for the sake of our crucified Redeemer."
Blair Robertson had the rare gifts of voice and manner which everexercise an influence more powerful than force of argument or eleganceof style. What he said went home to the hearts of his hearers. As heuttered the deep feelings of his soul, his rude listeners were awed intosilence. 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 onlyfor milk-sop landlubbers and silly women.
"Read no more, my boy," said Deny Duck soberly. "You cast your pearlsbefore swine."
Blair turned a quick look upon the mate as he said, "You then knowsomething of Scripture, and can make a right use of it. I believe Ihave found a friend."
"You have, you have," said Derry Duck, grasping the offered hand of thestripling in a gripe that would have made him wince with pain but forthe 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 hishands were busy with the melting wax, or loosing the rude entrance tothe post-office on the sea.
CHAPTER XIII.
TEMPTATION.
Derry Duck was no mean ally. The strength of his arm, and his positionas second in command, gave him great influence on board the Molly. Therewere traditions of the power of his bare fist to deal death with asingle blow--traditions which won for him an odd kind of respect, andinsured for him the obedience he never failed to exact. Derry havingavowed himself the friend of Blair Robertson, it was well understoodthat there must be an end to the peculiar persecutions to which the boyhad been subjected. He could not of course escape such rough usage ofword and act as the crew had for each other, but he was to be no longertheir chosen butt and scape-goat.
Blair felt at once the advantage of having so powerful "a friend atcourt," and he eagerly seized upon the favorable turn in affairs tocarry out his new plans and wishes for his associates. It had struck himthat there was but one way to avoid having his ears pained and his soulpolluted by the conversation that was the entertainment of the mess. Hemust do his share of the talking, and so adapt it to his own taste andprinciples. The lion's share Blair determined it should be, and thatwithout unfairness, as he had to make up for lost time. Once assuredthat Brimstone's unwashed hand was not to be placed over his mouth if heattempted to speak, and the cry, "Shut up, Mum," raised by hiscompanions, 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 onboard the Molly was still the same human being that he was in JoeRobertson's little parlor in Fairport. Never did city belle strive moreearnestly to make her conversation attractive to her hearers, than didour young patriot, actuated by a motive which is in comparison with hersas the sunlight to the glow-worm's uncertain ray.
Blair had songs to sing and speeches to make. He had wild stories of thestruggles of the early settlers of Maine, caught long ago from the lipsof gray-haired men and treasured in the boy's heart, that had littlereckoned the coming use for these hoarded wonders. The captains who hadshared the services of the pilot of Fairport had filled his willing earswith tales of their adventures in every sea and on every coast, and thefond father had garnered these marvellous legends to tell to his littlelistener at home, till the child's eyes glowed bright as he panted totaste of peril, and do and dare amid the stormy waves.
Now indeed came a time of peril to Blair. With secret delight he foundhe had a power to charm and move even the rough band who gathered roundhim to catch every word of the glowing narratives he poured forth fromhis crowded storehouse. There is something within us all which promptsus to adapt our conversation to the taste and capacity of ourcompanions. A kindly inclination it may be, and yet it is full ofdanger. 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 thecontinual remembrance of the "cloud of witnesses" in the heavenlykingdom, 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 hearerscouched their own thoughts. As we speak baby-talk to the infant, andbroken English to the Frenchman, he unconsciously dealt in expressionsadapted to the wild eager faces that looked into his. Here had surelybeen a temptation that would have dragged the young speaker down to thepit which the great adversary had made ready for him, but for the strongDeliverer 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 satdown at table, or mingled in the groups on deck, or shared the watch ofa companion, by a determined and prayerful effort he strove to keep inhis mind the presence of "One like unto the Son of man." To him thatface, unsullied by taint of sin or shame, was in the midst of theweather-beaten, guilt-marked countenances of the crew of the Molly. Hewho "turned and looked on Peter" was asking his young servant in atender, appealing glance, "Will you blaspheme my name? Will you offendHim in whose eyes the heavens are not pure, and who chargeth even hisangels with folly?"
A deep "No; so help me God," was the full response of the whole being ofBlair Robertson. He would watch his tongue and guard his lips by thecontinual 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 hewould give them pleasure, he by degrees gave full utterance to thenatural language and interests of his heart. They learned to love tolisten even when he poured forth in his peculiarly melodious voice somemajestic mariner's hymn, or told in thrilling tones how some God-fearingseaman 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 thekingdom of heaven. They heard and could not but admire the story of theunselfish Christian captain, who saw himself left alone on the sinkingship, but would not crowd the already overloaded boats with his manlyform. He preferred to meet his doom in the path of duty, and on the deckwhere God had placed him go down to the depths of the sea, sure that hisSaviour would there receive him and give him an abundant entrance intoheaven.
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 thevineyard, and spring up unto eternal life.
CHAPTER XIV.
DERRY DUCK.
Derry Duck having vouchsafed his protection to the young stranger, for atime sought no further intimacy with hi
m. He might be seen occasionallyamong the groups who were won to hear a song or a story from Blair, buthe was apt to leave these scenes suddenly, as if for some call of dutyor stirred by some quick and painful thrust of feeling.
Captain Knox was a stern, moody man, who had very little directintercourse with his crew. Derry Duck was made his medium ofcommunication on every ordinary occasion. The captain was the onlyperson on board who kept a stock of writing materials, and from him,through Derry, Blair and the other sailors obtained such articles onthe rare occasions when they were in demand. There was not much taste ortime for literary efforts on board the Molly.
A pleasant evening had collected all the sailors on deck, and Blair hadtaken the opportunity to retire below to spend some time in recallingScripture to his mind, which was now his substitute for reading in theholy book. He was roused from his meditations by the entrance of DerryDuck, 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 materialswere to be left in his charge for some shipmate.
"Sit down, boy," said Derry in his quick way, "sit down; I want you todo something for me."
"I should be right glad to do any thing I could for you. You have been areal friend to me," said Blair warmly. "You can't think how much Ithank you for it."
Derry sat down and laid the paper on the table before him. Then the twowere for a moment silent. Blair and his "friend" formed a strangecontrast to each other.
The slender stripling, tall for his years, was yet in the blossom of hisyouth. His face, which was so like his loving mother's, would have beeneffeminate, but for the savor of old Joe Robertson the pilot, which toldin the marked nose and strong chin of the boy, but had no part in hisgreat, clear, soul-lit eyes, or the flexible lines of his changingmouth. That mouth was now parted as if he would say more, but waited forsome word or sign from his companion.
Deny Duck was a very bundle of time-worn, storm-tried muscles andsinews. The knots on his bare arms were like knobs of oak; and hisgreat brawny hand that lay there on the white paper, looked like apowerful living thing, having almost an identity and will of its own.
Derry's body and whole development to his thighs were those of a tall,stalwart man; but his lower limbs were short and sturdy, ending in greatflat feet which were as much at home in the water as on the rollingdeck, or amid the dizzy rigging. These peculiarities had given him thename by which he was known--originally "Daring Duck," but by degreescontracted into the "Derry Duck" which Blair had caught from thesailors.
It was hard to realize that the mate of the Molly had ever been aninfant, whose tender cheek had been pressed to that of a loving mother.And yet it was true that a Christian mother had once hailed thathardened man as a gift from God to nurse for him. His lips had beentaught to pray, and his young footsteps guided to the house of God.
Time had made sad changes in him since then. His skin was now as toughand well-tanned as his leathern belt, in which hung many a curiousimplement of war and peace, a perfect tool-shop for the boarder's wildwork, or the seaman's craft. In that strong, hard face there was a taleof a life of exposure, a lawless life, which had well-nigh given over tothe evil one the soul which God meant for himself.
"I want you to write a letter for me," said Derry, looking cautiouslyabout him and then going on, "a letter to my little daughter. Hush; nota word of this to any of the men. When it is done, you must put itinside of one of your love-letters to your mother. They mustn't getwind of it. They are not fit even to know I have such a child, much lessto see her. Be secret! Can I trust you, my boy?"
"I'll write for you with all my heart," said Blair in astonishment; "andof course I wont name it if you don't wish me to; no, not to a soul onboard. But I shall have to tell my mother, or she wont know what to dowith the letter."
"Just ask her to mail it for one of your shipmates. That will beenough," said Derry quickly. "'Least said, soonest mended.' I have myreasons. I know which way the wind blows, and how to ward off asou'-wester."
"What shall I say?" said Blair, taking up the pen, and reaching for thepaper. Derry's hand lay on it, a "paperweight" that did not move itselfoff at Blair's motion.
"You see," began the sailor, "you see I've got a little daughter, notso old as you are by a year or two. I dare say you think she's made ofcoarse stuff like me, fit for the rough and tumble of life. No suchthing. Her hand is white as a sail on a summer sea, and her little roundcheek is so soft, Oh, so soft, that when it snugs up to mine it seems asif an angel was touching me, and I feel as if I wasn't fit for such asher to love and fondle. Yet she loves me; she loves her old dad. Shedon't call me Derry Duck, not she. She don't know any thing about DerryDuck, and what he does when he 's off on the sea. I don't mean she evershall. I'd rather die first, gnawed to pieces by a hungry shark. Hermother left her to me, a little two-year-old thing, a clinging littlecreature that would snug in my arms and go to sleep, whether I was drunkor sober. I killed her mother--sent her to the better country beforeher time. I didn't lay my hand to her; I wasn't bad enough for that.But my ways took the pink out of her cheeks, and made her pine away andjust go out of my sight like the wake of a passing ship. Where she hadbeen, there she was not. I loved her, boy, and these eyes cried; thesegreat hands would have willingly been worn to the bone with hard work,if that could have restored her life. I don't drink any more. I've quitthat. I haven't touched a drop since she died. I took to the sea. I madeup my mind I wouldn't kill the little tender thing she left me. _She_should never die for knowing how bad her father was. I took the littlemoney I had, and bought a real gentleman's suit of clothes. Then I wentto a minister I knew about, in a far away town, where my--never mindwhere the child's mother came from--and I asked him and his wife to takecare of the little thing, for a sorrowful man that was going off on thesea, and would pay well for what they did. I knew it wasn't the moneythat would make them lay their hand to the work; but they had nothing tospare, and I didn't mean to leave her to charity. I wanted her broughtup to be like her mother, in ways that wouldn't end where I'm going.They took her, and there she is. Nobody can see her without loving her,such a little, dainty, winning, clinging, pretty thing, nine years havemade out of the toddlin' creature I put out of my arms, that ached afterher till I was clear out of sight of land. Don't think I miss seeing herwhen I'm ashore. Don't I leave Derry Duck aboard ship, and put on mylandsman's clothes, and ride up to the door where she is, with my pocketfull of money. She don't lack for any thing, I warrant you. She'sdressed like a rose, all in pink and green, with little ribbonsfluttering like her little heart when she sees me coming. She's learningtoo. Why, she knows most enough to teach the queen, the child does. Andthen she's so modest and asks me questions, as if I could tell her everything. I always have a cold or a headache or something, and can't saymuch when I'm there. I keep still, and take my fill of looking at her,and hugging her close to this old tough heart. I wouldn't let out anoath before her. I'd rather see the Molly go to the bottom in fairweather. I'm scant of my talk, lest I should let out that my way ofthinking is different from hers. I wouldn't have her pretty blue eyesturn away from me, so sorrowful, yet so loving, just as her mother'sused to. I couldn't bear that. She loves me, that little pure thing,that says its prayers night and morning, and asks God to bless itsfather on the sea. She's my angel. Mayhap those little prayers will getheard some day, and a blessing will come to me and make me a differentman. Only the Almighty could turn Derry Duck into a father fit for thatchild's eyes to look on. My heart yearns after her when I'm far away,but I don't let her write to me. I wouldn't have such men as I live withknow where my flower hides its little head. I wouldn't have her run achance of seeing any body who knows Derry Duck, and might tell her ofhis wild ways. It would break her little heart, it would. I can't writeto her; not but what I was scholard somewhat, long ago; but these handshave had other work to do than holding a pen and making letters that awise little girl like her would think all right. I couldn't either putinto words just what I want to
say. It a'n't much that I would say,neither, but a kind of letting out how I set all the world by her, andwant her to be just so much better than other folks as I am worse.Something would slip in that shouldn't, if I was to try; I know therewould. But you can write for me. You would know just how to put it. Shesays she yearns after me when I'm gone, and would be so full of joy ifshe could once have a letter from me, all her own, to read over and overwhen she can't throw her arms round my neck and put her little lovingface close up to mine. Will you write for me, boy, something for thedear girl to read over, and think the right kind of a father is talkingto her, a man she wouldn't be ashamed of before the company her motherkeeps _up there_?"
The last words were spoken reverently, and formed a strange contrast tomuch that had gone before. We have omitted the oaths and roughexpletives with which Derry interlarded his speech. There is the taintof sin even in the repetition of such language.
Blair Robertson had listened with a throbbing heart and tearful eye tothe sailor's story. It seemed to him that God had not quite cast off onewho had such a tender care for the happiness and purity of his child.Blair gently laid his slender hand on Derry's brawny fingers, and lookedup earnestly into his face as he said, "Why can't you be just such afather, Derry?"
Derry laughed a sorrowful, derisive laugh, and then said almostfiercely, "You don't know me, lad. It would chill your very blood toknow what I've done, and where I've been. There are spots on me thatnothing can wash out. I've grown into it, boy. It's my life. I'm hardand tough, soul and body. There's no making me over. I'm spoiled in thegrain. I tell you it's too late. I a'n't a father for her to know. Ican't be made into one. That a'n't what I came here to talk about. Willyou write my letter, that's the question?"