Where was Blair Robertson amid the general triumph? This was DerryDuck's first question, as his returning footsteps again trod the deck ofthe privateer.
Alone in the deserted cabin, Derry found what was more precious to himnow than his share in the glory or the spoils of the recent fight.
The rough sailor asked no questions of the fainting lad. Tearing openBlair's garments, he found at once the wound, and with ready skill andunwavering firmness his sharp knife did the surgeon's duty. The bulletwas forced out by Derry's hard fingers, and his rough hands tied thebandage with a touching attempt at tenderness. Blair uttered no murmur.His lips moved gently, but they whispered only words befitting thesinner passing into the presence of his God.
Derry caught the low whisper, and understood its meaning. "I can't letyou go. What! going? Oh my lad!" and Derry Duck's hard, blood-markedface was suddenly wet with tears.
CHAPTER XVIII.
WAGES.
The East Indiaman was too important a prize to be trusted to any otherthan the skilful sailor and brave officer, Derry Duck. He was at onceordered to prepare to take her into an American port, with all dueformalities.
Derry's sea-chest contained more than his scanty wardrobe, his goldengains during this long cruise were garnered there. Yet he trusted it tothe hands of unscrupulous men, while his own arms found a more welcomeburden. Tenderly as a mother bears her sleeping infant, Derry clasped aslender figure to his rough bosom, and would suffer no one to give himaid in his office of love. There was a gentle pulsation in the heart sonear to his. There was a growing warmth in the form which was soprecious to the mate of the Molly.
Blair was still alive, and Derry would allow no duty to interfere withthe sacred privilege of caring for the wounded youth, and bearing himhome, living or dead, to his mother.
On a couch of Indian luxury Derry laid the prostrate figure of BlairRobertson, and as he turned to leave the cabin, the face of the oncehardened tar was softened into womanly gentleness as he said, "God helphim, and bring him to, sound and well."
The excessive faintness and exhaustion of the wound had indeed seemed toBlair like the lingering, reluctant parting of soul and body; and hemight well have adopted the words of that hymn, honored by the murmuredbreathings of many a dying saint:
"What is this absorbs me quite, Steals my senses, shuts my sight, Drowns my spirit, draws my breath? Tell me, my soul, can this be death? The world recedes, it disappears: Heaven opens on my eyes, my ears With sounds seraphic ring: Lend, lend your wings: I mount, I fly; O grave, where is thy victory! O death, where is thy sting!"
The curtain which separates this lower world from the glories of theunseen bliss above, had grown thin and almost transparent to the eyes ofthe Christian boy, thus brought to the gates of death. Near, very nearto him seemed the face of the Saviour who had of late been his realizedand beloved companion. It was as the mother bows down to her sufferingchild, that this glimpse of the dear Redeemer was made so plain to theweakened, prostrate boy. He was still in the flesh, and to know wearywaiting and suffering, ere health should once more send the glad bloodbounding along his veins.
Yet there was work for Blair Robertson on his couch of pain, work to dofor his heavenly Master. Blair was not the only sufferer on board theprize.
Often during the homeward voyage, a settee was placed beside the softcouch which Derry had appropriated to Blair's especial use. The occupantof the settee was a huge, muscular, repulsive young man, whose yellowhair lay uncombed on his pillow, while his pale, freckle-marked facewas distorted with pain, rage, and the torture of a rebellious spirit,when sorely smitten by the hand of God.
Many of Brimstone's fierce shipmates had been hurried into eternity inthe midst of the struggle on the deck of the East Indiaman. Blair'scoarse tormentor, however, had escaped with his life, but with one legso wounded and bruised that it was promptly cut off, as the only way ofpreventing ultimate death. Brimstone ground his teeth and swore fearfulimprecations at each movement that reminded him of his loss. It was invain that Derry bade him be quiet, and rather thank God that time wasleft him for repentance. In Brimstone's hardened heart there seemed noresting-place for good seed, no soil prepared for the heavenly plant.
His only relief was in forgetfulness of his misfortune, when he waswiled from thoughts of himself by one of Blair's stirring tales ofadventure, or ballads of the olden time. Blair would weary out hislittle strength for the benefit of his companion, and yet win not oneword of thanks for his kindly endeavors. Yet he persevered, evermingling in his stories and songs whispers of the only source ofcomfort for the afflicted, the only balm for the suffering soul.
Brimstone's wild and wicked life had poisoned the very sources and flowof his life's blood. His was no flesh to heal, like that of a healthychild.
While Blair was daily making long strides towards health, fierce painsand burning inflammation seized on Brimstone's stunted limb. Then novoice could soothe him, no words of comfort reach his ear. He chafed andtossed upon his narrow couch like a wounded beast of the forest, andfinally refused to suffer any hand to dress or touch the afflicted part.
Pain ceased at last, the end was near. Death would soon claim theloathsome body, and bring the polluted soul before the judgment-bar.Blair gently told the sufferer the awful truth, yet not from the lips ofthe lad would he believe such an announcement. It was not until Derry'sblunt confirmation made sure the fearful tidings, that the dying manwould believe that he stood on the brink of eternity.
We draw the curtain on the horrors of the scenes that followed. May itnever be the reader's lot to hear the desperate cries of a ruined soulabout to meet its God.
The transgressor must eat of the fruit of his choice, and sink into thepit towards which his face has been resolutely set. The _wages_ of sinis death.
Vain were the pleadings of Blair, and the rougher urgency of Derry,calling on the dying man to lift his eyes to the cross of Christ, trust,and be saved.
With a fearful howl of anguish the condemned soul took its flight; whilehis companions, awe-struck, prayed God to spare them such a doom.
On the dark waters the body of Brimstone was cast, to be seen no moreuntil it should rise at the last day, we fear, to the resurrection ofdamnation.
Lost seemed the labors of Blair Robertson for the good of his worthlessshipmate; but no prayerful effort for the holy cause is vain. Blair hadother listeners than the ear to which he spoke. Unconscious of allaround him, he had but striven to touch and uplift the soul of the dyingman. The group of sailors gathered round the departing wretch would soonbe scattered far and wide on the rolling seas, thousands of miles fromthe home of Blair Robertson, and the solemn truths he had spoken mightspring up in their hearts and bear fruit unto eternal life.
CHAPTER XIX.
HOME.
A light fall of snow had clothed all Fairport in white, and whispered inthe ears of lingering birds that they had better be off for the "sunnysouth," ere old winter had fairly begun his icy reign. Cold and dark,the waters of the harbor lay encircled by the pure and glistening land.Cheerful wood fires were warming many a hearth-stone, while wives andmothers thought of their absent ones on the sea, and hoped and prayed nochilling storm might be rending their sails and perilling the lives soprecious to home and native land.
Mrs. Robertson had suffered from many anxious thoughts since thedeparture of her brave son. But hers was not a timid or a repiningspirit. She knew that the same eye watched over him on sea as on land;and the almighty arm could protect him as well upon the deep waters, asin the shelter of his mother's fireside.
Fairport glasses had plainly seen the British colors mounted by thevessel which had borne away the young pilot. The mother's heart throbbedas she mentally pictured the determined patriotism of her darling son.Not merely a fancy and a picture that scene remained.
The two privateers which had given chase to the dismantled Britishvessel had an easy victory, and soon brought her triumphantly intoBoston harbor. Hal Hutching's
story won him liberty at once. The Englishboy had no sooner set foot on land, than he turned his face in thedirection of Fairport. Way-worn and foot-sore he was, when he knocked atlast at Mrs. Robertson's door. Warmth and welcome, love and gratitudeawaited him within. It was his privilege first to tell the mother hownobly her son had borne himself in the hour of trial, and with whatcalmness he had faced the king of terrors. Poor Hal by turns wept andglowed with enthusiasm, as he dwelt on the praise of his friend, whilethe mother's heart welled with deep thankfulness at the mercy which hadso spared and honored her boy.
Many and many a time was Hal Hutchings forced to tell over his story toauditors of all ages and conditions. The Fairport Guard, formallyassembled, demanded the right of a relation especially for them. Everyyoung heart beat high, and every eye flashed with kindling pride intheir brave commander, and each one resolved to be, like him, an honorto his home and country. Like Lycurgus, their leader had given his laws,then left his followers to be faithful until his return. Anew theypledged themselves to keep their pure code, and strive to be a bodywhich Blair Robertson the patriot would not be ashamed to command.
Hal Hutchings meekly bore the reflected honors that were thrust uponhim, and well understood that it was his connection with the absentFairport boy which made him such an object of interest. Hal however didnot object to the golden gains which resulted from his new position.Everybody was ready to give him "a job" now, and his old clothes weresoon exchanged for new ones, bought with his own money and adapted tohis own taste.
Not a day passed that did not see Hal Hutchings at Mrs. Robertson'sdoor, to lend his strong arm and willing feet to do for her some littlekindness, a true labor of love. When the Sabbath was wearing away, Halmight be seen moving his coarse finger slowly along the sacred page,reading holy words, to which Mrs. Robertson from time to time added hervoice of explanation or gentle persuasive counsel.
So the chilling weeks of autumn passed at Fairport, and now the firstsnow was ushering in November's dreary rule. A strong landward breezewas rolling the waves one after another as in a merry chase towards theshore, while the Fairport Guard were gathered on the wharf, valiantlyfighting a battle with snowballs. The appearance of a ship entering theharbor soon called the attention of the combatants away from the"charge, rally, and charge again," in which they had just been engaged.Men muffled in greatcoats came out of the neighboring stores andoffices, and shivered in the cold wind as they bent their eyes on thestranger ship, for so at once they pronounced her.
"British build and rigging, but the right colors flying. She knows thechannel. See, she makes it as well as if she had Joe Robertson himselfon board. There now, don't she come up the harbor as if this was herhome, and she knew just where she was going to cast anchor?"
Remarks like these dropped from the lips of the eager watchers:
"I shouldn't wonder if it was our captain coming from foreign parts,"said a small member of the Fairport Guard. "He's took that ship aslikely as not, and is coming home in her."
"Pshaw, child," burst from several listeners.
"I wish we did know where that boy is," said another speaker. "He's acredit to this place, that's certain."
"He's an honor to America," said Hal Hutchings, who was now allowed togive his views on all occasions. Hal's face was bent forward, and hiseye was fixed on a slender lad who was anxiously looking towards theshore. "It's him, it's him; it's Blair, I tell you. It's him," shoutedHal, throwing his cap in the air, and giving three leaps that would haveastounded a catamount.
Hal Hutchings fought his way to the privilege of being the first tograsp Blair's hand, as he stepped ashore; then there was a perfect rushof hands and a cheer from young and old that Derry Duck said was thepleasantest music that ever he heard.
"Where is she? Where's my mother, Hal?" said Blair as soon as he couldspeak.
"Hearty, hearty, and just like an angel as she always was," said Halvociferously. The boy's joy seemed to have made him almost besidehimself. "She don't know you're here, she don't. I'll be off to tellher."
"No, Hal, no. I'll be there in a minute myself," said Blair, moving offat a marvellous pace for a boy who had been wounded so lately.
The Fairport Guard fell into rank and followed their commander, while amotly crowd brought up the rear.
Blair stood on the familiar door-step. He laid his hand on the lock, andpaused for a second to calm his swelling emotions, in which gratitude toGod was even stronger than the deep love for his mother.
Quietly sat Mrs. Robertson, plying the needle at her fireside, when thedoor gently opened, and her son stood before her.
That was a moment of joy too deep for description. While the mother andson were clasped in a long embrace, Hal could not help having his shareof the interview by crying out, "He's come home! Be n't it splendid?He's come! Dear, dear, I shall burst."
"You dear good fellow," said Blair, throwing his arm over Hal'sshoulder, "you've been a comfort to my mother, I know."
"That he has," said Mrs. Robertson. "It was he who told me how yournoble courage saved your native town and the very home of your motherfrom the flames. I thank God for such a son."
"Then I did what you would have wished, mother. Your praise is myprecious reward," said Blair with affectionate simplicity.
"God has sustained you in the path of duty, and brought you in safety toyour home and your mother. Let us thank him for all his mercies, myson. Hal is no stranger to prayer now; he will gladly join us."
It was indeed the voice of true thanksgiving which rose from thosegrateful hearts. He who has contrived joys for the meanest of hiscreatures, doubtless takes a pure pleasure in the happiness which hegives to his chosen ones even here; and rejoices to know that it is butthe foreshadowing of that eternal delight in store for them whereparting shall be no more.
CHAPTER XX.
SACRED JOY.
Sweetly the Sabbath bells sounded in the ear of Blair Robertson. What ajoy it was to be once more at home, once more in his native land. Howdelightful the thought that prayer had already gone up from many familyaltars, and already Christ's little ones were gathering to be taught ofhim and sing his praise. To dwell among the ungodly is indeed a bittertrial. The society of the unprincipled had been to Blair like a darkcloud overshadowing his pathway; and it was a new delight to him to beonce more among the people of God. What a blessing it seemed to him tobe a dweller in the land of light and liberty, where the freeworshippers might pray and praise without let or hinderance fromungodly men.
Full of such glad thoughts, he walked towards the church so endeared tohim by many hallowed associations. His mother was at his side, and hiskind townsmen on every hand were giving him their cordial greeting,while the little children looked at him with curious wonder, as thebrave boy whom even their fathers "delighted to honor."
Once in the house of God, all other thoughts were hushed in the mind ofBlair, by the remembrance of the presence into which he was now ushered.It was a joy to him to join in heartfelt prayer, and praise with so manytrue children of God, and to stand among his brethren who like him couldsay from the heart, "I believe in the Lord Jesus Christ."
A deep, strong voice near him made the young worshipper aware of thepresence of Derry Duck in the solemn assembly, joining with his wholeheart in the hymn of praise. Ah, men might heap honor upon the youngpatriot, and applaud his courage in the hour of danger, and welcome wastheir cordial tribute; but their loudest acclamations had not power towake in the soul of Blair Robertson such deep, grateful joy as the sightof that ransomed sailor, brought home to the Father's house.
Every word of the service had its meaning to Derry Duck. He confessedanew the sins of his burdened heart, and accepted once more the freeforgiveness found in Christ Jesus. He called on God as his Father, andseemed to be professing before men and angels the faith for which he waswilling to die.
The clergyman gave forth the simple notice, "A person desires to returnthanks for a safe return from sea." All eyes were suddenly bent uponBl
air with loving pride. Very deep and true was the thanksgiving of theFairport congregation for the return of their brave deliverer; but whoshall tell what passed in the mother's heart, or in that of herrejoicing son?
CHAPTER XXI.
CONCLUSION.
It was in vain that Blair tried to persuade Derry Duck to see hismother, and accept her thanks for his kindness to her wounded boy. Derrydeclared that he would hear no thanks, the odds were all on the otherside. And as for sitting down in a Christian woman's parlor, and makinghimself easy there, he wasn't fit for that. A forgiven sinner hebelieved he was, and could bow in the house of God with his fellow-men;but he was a beginner in the ways of godliness, too much tainted withhis miserable past to be right company for those who had never gone sofar astray. Besides, he pleaded, he had his little flower to see, in herown little nook. It would be a shame to him to set his foot on anyother threshold before he had spoken to her. To her his first sparehours belonged.
Derry returned from his visit to his child with his heart more than everfull of love to his darling. She had received his letter, and rejoicedover it with great joy, declaring that not a treasure she possessed wasso precious. Derry had allowed himself but the usual short interview,ever trembling lest he should mar her delight in her father by someknowledge of the wild life he had led. Yet, when he laid his hand on herhead at parting, he could not resist speaking the fervent "God blessyou, darling," which stirred at his heart.