THE VOYAGE.
"NOW help me lift him on to the other bed, where he will be more
comfortable, Eric." And Sister Martin directed the lad how to hold the
patient, and he carefully followed her directions, so as not to disturb
the sick man more than was necessary.
"Now the medicine. You can give him that, Eric, if I pour it out." And
the bottle was carried to where there was a little more light, for only
a few stray beams could penetrate the gloom here.
Eric gave the medicine and supplied the man with drink, and then
followed Sister Martin to another bedside, while a woman was set to
wash out the dirty clothes that had been taken from the patients.
They had only been a few days at sea, but sickness had broken out among
the convicts, as it frequently did on these voyages. The Methodist
sister, however, was prepared for this, and had brought a stock of
old clothes and a little chest of medicines, with a good supply of
soap, needles and cottons, which she could teach the women to use in
the course of the long voyage; for, if winds were contrary, this was
greatly prolonged over the ordinary period of eight or ten weeks.
Sickness, if not too severe in type, was rather a help to the work
this good woman had set herself to accomplish among these unfortunate
people, for it subdued the men, and often awoke in them, and in the
women, too, latent good qualities, hitherto unsuspected even by
themselves; and to keep alive these sparks of true humanity when once
awakened, to make these stepping stones to higher things, was the
object of her teaching.
For this, she held classes among the women, to teach them how to
patch and mend the clothes she had brought with her, and thus evoke
their helpfulness on their own behalf and sympathy with their fellow
convicts, who were to benefit by this.
The men were set to patch the boots and shoes with odd bits of leather
she had brought among her stores, and all were taught the duty of
cleanliness and the use of soap and water.
Then, when the daily tasks of washing, scrubbing and sewing were over,
she would gather round her all who cared to listen, and tell them of
the love of God their Father in heaven, who had sent His Son into this
world of sin and pain, that He might know just what human pain and
sorrow were, and so be able to help and sympathise with all who sought
Him.
"For us, for you and me, my friends, did the Lord Jesus suffer
such trials and sorrows, and such a cruel death that we might have
life—might learn to know and love and serve Him, and so be made sharers
in His life and love. This alone can lift us out of the power of sin
and the love of sin. I need not tell you who have suffered so sorely,
that sin ever leads to misery, and that to escape from misery, sin must
be given up. I know some of you will say this is impossible, and in
your own strength it is, but God is ready to help you in the struggle
against its power, if you will only seek His help.
"To many of you, this is a fresh start in life. Old companions are left
behind, and old temptations too, and in the new country to which you
are going, a new life may be lived—a life whose secret spring is hidden
from the world, hidden with God, but by prayer and constant looking to
Him a spring of joy and help for every time of need."
This was how the Methodist sister talked to the broken-down men and
women among whom she had come to live. At first, some of them might
suspect and despise her, because of the prejudice that was everywhere
felt against Methodists by those who did not know them.
Even Eric was not free from this at first; but as day after day passed,
and they learned to know this Methodist better, all were willing to own
that she was a good woman, while many thought of her as an angel of
God, as indeed she was; for by her life, as well as by her words, she
taught that God is love.
From the time she asked Eric to help her give out the bread among the
convicts, he had been her helper in everything she had done or tried to
do for the benefit of the rest. At first, he did not like the notion of
her being a Methodist; but he got over this when he found that she said
very little about Mr. Wesley, but spoke as his mother used to do, and
was just as eager to help these men and women as he used to be with his
horses, or the creatures in the forest whenever that was possible.
He had never thought men and women could be as interesting as the
horses were to him, but under Sister Martin, he was learning to help
these now, and to love the work too.
It did not matter to him how menial, how difficult, or how tedious the
task might be, if Sister Martin wanted it done, Eric was willing to do
it. One of the men in the company was a shoemaker, and for his kindness
to him while he was ill, he was willing to teach Eric something of his
trade, but he would show no one else, and so Eric had to learn how to
patch and cobble at the old shoes, that he might show one or two others
who were anxious to learn.
It was a busy life he lived here, for every minute of it was employed
from early morning until he went to bed at night, and but for the dread
he felt at the idea of being a slave, it would have been happier than
any time he had spent since his mother's death.
But like a black cloud obscuring the distant horizon, there was ever
present to his mind the thought, "I shall soon be a slave, be the
property of some man who may have the right to bid me do things I may
not think it right to do." And when this thought took possession of
him, he would sometimes look over the side of the vessel, and wish that
by some accident he might fall overboard and be drowned. If only this
could happen, there would be an end of all his trouble and perplexity,
and he would soon see his beloved mother once more.
But braver thoughts generally succeeded these despairing moods; for one
day he told his friend what he had been thinking of when she found him
gazing into the water.
"But how would you meet God, my boy?" asked Sister Martin, looking into
his troubled, truthful eyes. "If you gently slipped in and sank like a
stone before your work was done, could you expect your Father in heaven
to meet you with the welcoming words, 'Well done, good and faithful
servant?' Would you be a faithful servant, if you wilfully threw away
the life God has given to be used in His service? What that service may
be you cannot tell, but you can be patient and wait for the unfolding
of God's providence towards you. That is your duty, my boy; we are each
asked to live a day at a time the life of little children.
"When your mother lived, you knew you could depend upon her to do the
best thing possible for you, and so in like manner should you depend
upon God now to arrange your life day by day. The way may be rough; it
is a rough and thorny path you have been called to tread, the night
for you has been long and dark; but there is an old saying, that it is
darkest just before the dawn, and so I think you may fairly hope your
dawn is at hand, though we may not see it yet."
In this way did the good woman encourage the lad to hope and trust
in the Friend who though invisible, is none the less mighty to help,
mighty to save; and so Eric resisted more and more these depressing
thoughts, which he found by experience always unfitted him for the duty
that lay nearest to him, whatever it might be.
It was well for him that his life was a busy one, that Sister Martin
always had something she needed to be done, either for herself or for
her poor people. To do anything for the personal comfort of the woman
who had given up her life to bring a little brightness and hope into
theirs, was a delight to Eric, and he undertook to keep her little
cabin clean, and attend upon her whenever and wherever he could lighten
her labour, as well as help any of the rest in performing the tasks of
work they were set to do.
His life as one of their own number could not but tell upon those who
were trying to profit by the instruction of Sister Martin. Here was
this lad giving his help ungrudgingly to every one who needed it, and
yet he had no better prospect in life than they had, though he might
have deserved a better fate.
Some of them were beggars pure and simple. Work had been hard to get at
first, and then by degrees they had dropped into a life of begging, in
preference to seeking work. Others had gone a step further, and added
stealing to the beggary, but they knew that this lad had been deprived
of his liberty before he had the chance of finding employment, merely
because he happened to be a stranger, as was his mother before him.
So it was a mingled feeling of respect and pity that they felt for
Eric. They had each had some chance in life that they had either lost
or thrown away; but this lad had been worse off than they were, for he
had not been allowed even this small grace.
That every man should have his chance in life was one of the few
things they all believed in, and that their hearts could be touched on
behalf of Eric on this account, proved that they were not so sunk in
selfishness as their miserable condition would lead one to think.
At last one of the leaders among the men ventured to speak to the
captain about this matter. "Some of us can muster a shilling or two,
sir, and we thought that if it could be managed that he should be sold
cheap, why, we might buy his liberty for him, and let him have his
chance in life, as every man has a right to expect. Some of us have
had it, and thrown it away, but this chap hasn't; he is but a boy, and
if the price wasn't fixed too high, we might manage it, with Sister
Martin's help."
The captain looked at the man in surprise. Of course he knew Eric well
enough, from seeing him about the ship, and also from the Methodist
sister's report of him; but this was such an unheard-of request that
he could not reply to the man without taking time to consider what he
should say about it.
Later in the day, he contrived to draw Sister Martin aside, and tell
her of the man's request.
"What do you think of it?" he asked.
"That my work has borne fruit far sooner than I expected," she replied,
with a tremble in her voice. "These people, I know, have a little
money secreted among them; but it is their most precious possession,
the one thing they hold to, as affording them hope of escape from
bondage by-and-by. You and I know how vain this hope is; but as money
will purchase almost anything in England, how can they know it is of
little use to them here? But that they are willing to give up this most
precious possession for the sake of another, proves that God is at work
among them; and so, if you can do this for—for us, I would say, for I
should like to help in buying the boy's freedom—I think you would be
doing a lasting benefit to those who give, as well as to the lad who
will receive this great gift."
"Well, I will look over the list of the prisoners and their probable
value, that was given to me. You see I shall have to give an account of
how I have disposed of each of these convicts, and the authorities will
expect to receive enough to cover the cost of their transportation. You
understand that, Sister Martin, of course?"
"Yes, certainly; you are bound to deal faithfully with the authorities
as well as with us, and you know I would not ask you to do otherwise."
"Then you know this lad cannot return to England, at least not for some
years—not until he has earned such means that he can present himself as
a colonist, and no longer as a returned English beggar. The law is very
strict about this, I can tell you; and I should find myself in a fine
scrape if the boy went back in another ship soon, and by any means fell
into the hands of the justices again, as he probably would do."
"I think all danger of that may be prevented, even though the boy is
free. I have some friends in Boston who would doubtless be glad to
employ the boy, and I think he may be trusted, especially when he knows
that he would get his friends into trouble if he attempted to return
home."
"Very well, then, I will see if I can fix the price for him within
the means of those who are to find the money to buy his liberty. But
remember, he must be made to understand that he is only free to dispose
of his labour here in the colony, and by no means to return to England."
"I will make that clear to him, do not fear. I shall not speak to him
about the matter yet. How much longer will our voyage last, do you
think?" she added, as she turned to walk back to the other end of the
vessel.
"Not more than a week. It has been a tedious one this time; and if it
had not been for you and your influence over these people, it might
have been much more uncomfortable for me and my men. I shall not forget
this item in considering the price to be fixed on for the lad," added
the captain, as he courteously shook hands with his passenger.
There was quite a little stir and bustle among the convicts concerning
their important secret. Of course there were some surly and soured
enough to shun all share in the little enterprise, but these were in
the minority, and by far the larger number gave what they could towards
making up the necessary sum; and those who did not possess a single
penny they could bestow, gave earnest sympathy, for all had learned to
love the lad who thought of every one's convenience and comfort before
his own.
Even the sullen and surly were willing to admit that Eric was different
from other lads they had known, but they did not hesitate to say they
thought him a fool for running about after other people, when he might
be taking it easy most of the time.
"I shall have to work by-and-by, and so will he, I expect, if he lives
long enough. Precious little rest is likely to come to my share, or his
either; and so I say he is a fool for not taking it when he can get
it," concluded one worthy.
Another was of opinion that Eric had set his heart on getting his
liberty somehow, and had hit upon the plan of running after Sister
Martin as the best way of doing it. These grumblers, however, were not
numerous in the company. Most of them had learned to appreciate the
boy's kindness from personal experience of it, and only longed for the
time when he might know that he at least was not to be a slave.
It had been arranged that Eric should not be told of his good fortune
until they came within sight of Boston Harbour; indeed, the captain
kept them waiting a day or two before stating the price he would
require for him. It was very moderate—well within the amount they were
able to collect, by the aid of what Sister Martin contributed. She, of
course, was to be his nominal owner, and in her name the bill was made
out; so that before the vessel went into American waters, Eric had been
disposed of to the satisfaction of everybody on board.
It was thought best to tell him who was his owner, and by what means
he had thus been set free, before the bustle of landing commenced; and
so, as soon as the distant town came in sight, Eric was told that he
had already been sold by the captain, so that the ordeal he had been
dreading all through the voyage would be spared him, though no one else
among his companions could expect the same favour.
The lad's surprise and gratitude when he heard how this had been
effected, and from whom the plan had first originated, was very
touching. He could only express his thanks in sobs and tears at first,
when told of what had happened. It was as though a great burden had
been rolled away; but it was hard to believe that these poor people,
who were themselves to be sold as slaves, should have given well-nigh
all they possessed that he might escape the terrible doom awaiting them.
"I don't deserve it," he said, as he went round to one and another,
tendering them his personal thanks, and telling them how great the boon
was they had been able to bestow. "It is not the work I mind," he said;
"I will work harder for being free; and if ever I can help any of you
who have so greatly helped me, do not fear but I will do it."
He was too much overcome to say many words, but every one knew that
they had won a friend in Eric, and one they were never likely to be
ashamed of, whether they met him again or not.
They did not contemplate with such utter dismay the prospect before
them as they had at first. Sister Martin had dispelled some of the
dread they had naturally felt about it. She had given them hope that
life might at least be no worse than the one they had left behind,
and for some of them at least, the future held possibilities hitherto
undreamed of. That God the Father in heaven cared for them, and would
provide for them, was a thought that lay warm in more than one heart
now, who until they met this Methodist sister, never used the name but
to take it in vain.
Now they had learned to lift their hands in prayer, and to look up
to this God and Father as a Friend who cared for them, even as these
servants of His had proved that they did; for thus had they learned to
interpret the lives of Eric and Sister Martin.