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 pleasantly, "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."
[Illustration:]
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.