CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
NIGHT ON THE REEF--OUR SALT TUTE'S SERMON.
Our "salt tute" had gone through many a storm at sea; had once escaped,the only soul saved out of fifty-three, from a foundered bark, andendured five days' suffering, without bread or water, on a raft. But,as I heard him tell Mr Clare afterwards, he had never undergone anexperience more painful than those two or three hours of gale in ourlittle cutter. It was his affection for us boys; the reflection that hehad proposed the pleasure sail, and the terrible sense ofresponsibility: those together had tried the old man's heart, head, andnerves, as they had never been tried before.
Among the exciting events of that night, one circumstance impressed mewith astonishment, though it was but small matter perhaps for a boy tohave noticed at such a time. It was that the Captain several timesexpressed himself in terms of piety, and even ejaculated that prayerwhen our safety was secured. We had sometimes heard him swear beforethat, and had always noticed, in contrast to Mr Clare, his indifferenceto any religious service or subject; indeed, the only emotion we hadever seen him display with regard to such matters was on the occasion ofMr Clare's address after the combat between Drake and Alfred.
It was eight o'clock when we landed on our little rocky island ofdeliverance. Boatswain's Reef was, as its name described, only half anacre in extent--a jagged, stony reef, raised but a few yards at itshighest point above high-tide mark.
Very cold, somewhat anxious, and much exhausted, we found in a fewmoments the only shelter it afforded--a level place of sand and seagrass, about six yards square, defended on the south-west by a miniaturecliff. There a lot of seaweed had accumulated, and the driftings ofmany gales collected. Several barrel staves, a large worm-eaten ship'sknee, part of a vessel's stern, with all but the letters "Conq"obliterated, (the name had probably been _Conqueror_, conquered now, asAlfred observed, by old ocean); and many pieces and splinters of spar.The Captain made the discovery with us, and immediately suggested thatwe should shelter ourselves there and light a fire.
"Thanks, boys, to the necessities of my pipe, I always have a tinder-boxin my pockets. Perhaps there are some not wet. Here, hunt for them;I'll throw off my pea-jacket, for I must go to work and try to savesomething from the poor _Youth_--our grub at least. I want you to staywhere you are, out of the storm, and to get a good fire going. It maypossibly show them on the cape that we are safe."
"O Captain!" exclaimed Walter, "do let me help you. I don't want to sithere and do nothing but build a fire whilst you are at work and perhapsin danger."
"Come along, then, as you are the biggest and strongest--come along,"replied the Captain, and away they hurried to where our good old boatwas groaning on the beach and pounding against rocks with every beat ofthe sea.
She had been driven up too far to get off easily, but with a big hole inher bows it seemed probable that she would go to pieces before morning.
The sky was black everywhere. The roar of wind and waves wastremendous. The spray dashed in sheets, at every blow of the sea, overour spot of defence, so that it was difficult to start a fire. We weresuccessful, though, and its light showed the figures of the Captain andWalter, by the stranded boat, climbing on board through the froth of thesurf; pitched up and down as she tossed and bumped; getting down thetattered sail and hauling it ashore; jumping on the beach again withcoils of rope; saving all that could be saved. And then, the tidehaving risen high, both together left her for the last time, bearing, atmuch risk, the anchor with them, which they fastened in a cleft of therocks, that when our dear old boat--the home of many and many a finetime--did break up, something might be left of her.
We could not hear their voices, but saw the gestures for us to come andhelp, and in a few minutes we were all engaged carrying the rescuedremnants up to our safe place.
Ugly helped. First he dragged a coil of rope and laid it beside thecliff; then he got hold of a loaf of bread which had dropped from amongthe other provisions, and carried that with some trouble but much pride.
In the storm and darkness, only fitfully broken by the firelight, we ateour supper under what shelter the low cliff afforded. Our boyishspirits were much subdued and awed by the peril we had passed throughand the sombre scene about us.
The meal being finished, we made some preparations for the night,fastening the sail, by the weight of large stones laid on one edge ofit, to the top of the rock, and then bringing its other edge, the boomside, to the ground and steadying it there with pegs. In that way weconstructed a kind of tent, in which we piled a bedding and covering ofdry seaweed.
The Captain stood by the fire, smoking his pipe and watching ourarrangements. When they were completed, and we boys, gratified with oursuccess, began to declare our situation "rather jolly," he interruptedus somewhat abruptly in this way:--
"You chaps always say your prayers before you sleep, I dare say. If so,you'll not forget them to-night--will you?"
"No, sir," we answered.
"Young shipmates, you remember how Mr Clare talked to you one day inthe _Clear the Track_--eh? Well, then, for the first time in nigh fortyyears--think of that, nigh _forty_ years--I said my prayers, the onlyones I ever said, that my--mo--ther taught me; and somehow they came soclear to me that I felt like as if my--mo--ther was kneeling beside me.I ran away to sea, like the young fool that I was, when I was elevenyears old. It was going on four years before I came back to my oldhome. I had forgotten my prayers. I tried hard to remember them, too,_then_, and some of the Scripture stories and lessons my--mo--ther usedto teach me; for she was--gone."
His voice did not tremble, but he spoke very slowly, as if he wanted tospeak out to us, and yet wished to do it without betraying the deepfeeling that the events of the evening had intensified. Each timebefore he spoke the words "my mother," he took the pipe from his mouthand hesitated a moment, as if to steady himself. Somehow the oldCaptain's voice was softer, I thought, than I had ever heard it before--it may have been fatigue and the noises of the storm that made it soundso. His face, too, looked to me as if it had lost its hard lines androughness--perhaps the firelight caused that to seem so. And thosebold, sharp eyes of his were as gentle as my little sister Aggie's. Hecontinued:--
"Hard times a youngster often has at sea, not in all ships, but in many,I tell you, and bad companions on every side. No gentle looks or kindwords, but knocks and oaths. No time to read, and all that; hardly achance to think. Well, I was a bad one, and worse when I went backagain, and had my--mo--ther no longer to love me, and no one anywhere inthe world to care a button for Rowly," (his Christian name was Roland)."I was a pretty reckless, hearty, devil-me-care fellow, I tell you. Icould rough it and fight my way with the strongest, and never thoughtfurther ahead than the moment I was living in. So, for thirty years andmore I knocked about the world, coming scot-free through a thousanddangers. Yes, and I got ahead all the time and prospered, thinkingmighty well of myself, my _good luck_, clear head, and tough arm. Inever thought of God. I don't know but that I had almost forgotten thatthere was a God; at any rate, if I thought of Him, it was with doubt andindifference. Yet, boys, in all that time, `He cared for me, upheld me,_blessed me_.'"
His words grew hurried and thick, his head was turned so I could not seehis face, and the old black pipe had fallen from his fingers to theground. Ugly walked around and snuffed at it in amazement. But theCaptain went on:--
"Now I feel it all--_how_ I _feel_ it--since I heard Mr Clare that day.Nearly forty years deaf, but I hear God's voice within me _now_, louderand louder every day; and what has He done for us to-day? How He hasspoken! Ah! boys, you'll never be the old sinner I have been.`Remember _thy_ Creator in the days of thy youth.' Part of the onlyhymn I can remember, of my mother's, has come again and again to my earto-night--that--
"`God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform; He plants His footsteps in the sea, And rides upon the storm.'
"I forget the rest, except--
"`Trust H
im for His grace: Behind a frowning Providence He hides a smiling face.'
"Boys! turn in now. I am on watch, and shall keep the fire going. Turnin, I tell you."
With those last words to finish his talk and order us to bed, his voiceregained its sailor-like strength and roughness, but it melted again ashe added--
"My dear old boys, we shall all pray to-night, eh? and from wiser andbetter hearts. _Thank God_!"
The last things I was conscious of that night were the whistling of thewind and the roaring of the waves, and the snapping and fizzing of thered embers, thus telling their stories to the storm of the brave shipsof which they once formed parts.