I suppose my readers are about tired with following our heroes on their
little voyages; but as this is to be the last they will make in the old
skiff, and as it is connected with some interesting circumstances
regarding our friend Sam, we must go with them once again.
It was but a short period after the scene of trial through which Sam and
his family were called to pass. A pleasant sail they had made to the
fort that morning; their stock of goods had been disposed of, their
empty baskets stowed away, and they were just on the point of casting
off for their return, when Peter appeared, coming through the gate of
the castle. As soon as he passed the sentinel, he hobbled along towards
them as fast as crutches would let him.
'Hulloa; 'vast, there, my hearties.'
The boys readily stopped, and waited his approach.
'Here, you Sam, jist come here, follow me.'
Sam was utterly at a loss as to what was to pay now; but as Peter turned
short about, and was making his way back again, as though he expected of
course his summons to be obeyed, Sam had no alternative but to jump
ashore and hasten after him, and he had much ado to get up with the old
man before he entered the gate. Peter hobbled along through the hall at
the entrance, then turned to the right, and, by a narrow door, entered a
dark passage, saying nothing all the while, only turning his head back
occasionally to see that Sam was following; then up a broad stairs, into
a long gallery studded with doors. Into one of these Peter entered, and,
waiting until Sam passed in, shut it.
'Now, my hearty, see what I've got for you. Take off them old duds o'
your'n, jist as fast as you can.' Sam being somewhat in amaze, was
looking at the queer little room, with the hammock hung up at one side
of it, wondering how Peter ever contrived to stow himself away in it; in
the meantime Peter was busy untying a large bundle, and taking out
sundry articles.
'Here, you sonny, jist put these on, and see how they'll fit;' holding
up at the same time a pair of blue broadcloth pantaloons. 'But what are
you about? why don't you doff your jacket and trousers? You ain't a goin
to put these on over, are you?'
'Oh, no, sir: but you don't mean to have me put on such fine things as
these?'
'And why not? didn't my lady git 'em 'spressly for you? and didn't she
take me along with her, purpose to pick out a true sailor's rig? So off
with the old riggin', it's stood long enough.'
'Did _she_ get them? Oh, she is very good. I am sure I don't deserve--'
'_Don't deserve!_ Yes, you do _deserve_; so down with your dumbfounded
perverseness, for once, and do as you are bid.'
Sam was indeed confounded, but he could not do otherwise than put them
on. A better fit could not have been, and the suit was complete
throughout. Blue roundabout, and trousers to match, of good broadcloth,
finer than anything Sam had ever felt of before. Suspenders of blue and
white, all finely figured; blue check shirt, with a large flowing
collar, around the edge of which and down the bosom ran an ornament of
white. Vest there was none, as Peter said 'it was of no mortal use.'
Never was a father prouder of a son, than was Peter, when the whole rig
was on. He turned Sam round to all points of the compass; examined him,
as he said, ''fore and aft.' The shoes were the only articles Peter did
not fancy.
'Pumps is the only things fit to go on a sailor's foot, but my lady
reasoned me out of it. They're good taut under-strappers, no doubt, and
they'll do you a deal of service; but they spoil the looks, and there
ain't no shuffle in 'em. But howsomever, perhaps as you're along shore
now, they'll do you a good turn. But, do you hear? never put your foot
on a ship's deck in such clumpers as them.'
'Oh dear! how good they are to me.'
'Good? to be sure they're good. But mind, my hearty, _there's One
above_'--and Peter pointed his finger upward, as he said this--'who has
made the wind shift round for you so fair and square; mind _that_, and
don't think it's all luck that's made such big folks kind to you. You're
but a youngster now, and can't be 'spected to understand how all these
things are brought about; but an old sailor like me, that has sailed in
all weathers, has seen things that will make a man feel that there is
_One_ at the helm can steer for him when he can't do nothing for
himself.'
Sam looked at the old man with fixed attention, and drank in every word,
his eyes sparkling with the deep emotion they aroused within him. He
thought Peter no longer a poor maimed sailor, but some being from a
better world, who had put on for a time a rough and forbidding garb.
'And now, my hearty, see here.' And Peter began to pull out sundry other
articles of dress.
'That there rig you've got on ain't for storms, nor everyday sarvice; a
man wants something tight and tidy for Sundays, and sich like--but
here's your real stuff to brave all weathers in. This will stand you for
rough and tumble and all sorts of work. These trousers is the regular
duck; jist feel 'em, Sam. They're stiff like, I know, but you'll soon
make 'em limber; and this here jacket is the jinivine blue nanking;
there's no tear about it that I'll warrant you.'
Sam had given up in amazement at the multitude of good things showered
upon him. He knew not whether to laugh or cry--he did a little of
both--it was so good, so far above any thing he had been thinking of;
the feeling which came over him, and which we all, in our youthful days,
have experienced when clad in a new suit, was so _very new_ to him, that
he was oppressed by it; and as Peter held up the duck trousers and the
blue nankeen coat, he proceeded to unrobe himself, thinking he was
required to try them on too.
'Now, what is the lad about?--Hands off; let alone. Ain't you going
right down to show my lady what a spanking fit it is? So we'll jist
bundle these up with the old duds, and you'll take 'em along--you hear?
and let 'em lay in the boat till you git home.'
Sam would have made some objections, if he dared; but Peter took things
in his own hands, and seemed to feel that, for once, at least, he must
be minded: so rolling the whole together, and tying them in a very
knowing manner,
'Now come along, my hearty,' he stumped it out of the room, and through
the gallery, and down the stairs, and laying the bundle in the hall,
crossed to the apartment where Sam had formerly been introduced to the
presence of Mrs. Morris; and before he had time to reflect or make
opposition, Peter was knocking at the door.
A very pleasant smile and exclamation of delight, on the part of Mrs.
Morris, greeted Sam as he entered.
'Why, Peter!--who would have thought they could have fitted so well; and
how very apropos they look. A sailor boy, he is now--is he not, Peter?'
'All but the shoes, please you, madam.' And Peter, not having his hat
on, touched his queue.
'Oh, well; I think master Sam will be much pleased with the shoes,
especially as he is on shore now. But let him come here--give me the
neckerchief, Susie.'
Susie walked to the table, and brought the little parcel and placed it
in her mother's hand.
'Here is a present from Susie; she has hemmed it herself, and I suppose
ought to honor you by tying it on; but as she is a little bashful about
it, I must do it for her.'
Sam was too much confounded to make any opposition; but his flushed
countenance told how he felt.
'I suppose I cannot put it on after true sailor fashion, but I believe
it must have a single tie, and hang loose, in this style. Will that do,
Peter?'
'That's the thing, madam.'
'What shall I ever do for you, ma'am, you are so good to me?'
'Oh, perhaps you will do a great deal for us yet; and you know, my dear
boy, that we are under obligations to you we cannot soon get rid of.'
'I am sure, ma'am'--and Sam looked intently at Mrs. Morris, his whole
countenance beaming with honest emotion--'I don't know what I have done
that you should say so. If you mean my trying to save Miss Susan, why I
am sure, ma'am, if I had not done it, I wouldn't be fit to live. I would
do it again, if I knew I should die for it; I am sure I would, and so
would any one.'
Mrs. Morris could not repress the starting tear, nor could she make an
immediate reply. Sam's whole demeanor took her by surprise--she did not
expect such a burst of genuine gallantry.
'God bless you, my good fellow! you have a noble heart, and will make a
proud station for yourself, yet; but keep in mind, that _the path to
honor lies through difficulties and dangers_.'
As she said this, her hand was smoothing down the dark curls which lay,
in all their natural carelessness, around Sam's fine forehead.
'But, Peter, only think! we have forgotten the hat--what a pity!'
Peter made no reply, otherwise than by handling his queue, and rolling
his quid from one side of his mouth to the other.
'How could you let me forget it, Peter?'
'Oh, ma'am, don't think of it; you have given me too many things
already.'
'Please, my lady, he'll do well enough, for all that. If my lady has no
further orders, I must go.'
'Nothing further, Peter.'
Sam made the best bow he could, both to Mrs. Morris and to Susie; and
Susie ventured, for the first time, as Sam made his obeisance to her, to
say, very gently indeed, 'Good by.' It was not much beyond a whisper,
but Sam heard it. Whenever the scene in that room came up before
him--and it kept presenting itself very often--he loved to dwell on that
part of it. Susie would be before him with her pretty smile, and those
words, so soft, 'Good by,' would ring and ring in his ears.
To say that Jim was astonished at the change in Sam's appearance, as he
came from the fort and took his station in the boat, would describe but
a very little of what Jim really did feel. He was amazed--he was
pleased--no, he was delighted. He loved Sam like a brother; and when he
heard from Sam's own lips what had been done for him,
'They are the best people, Sam, I ever knew. But what will they say at
home? I wonder what Ned will do? You must take care, or he will pull you
down in the dirt. Clothes _do_ make some difference, don't they?'
'Stop, my hearties.'
The boys looked back.
'Just come ashore here,' beckoning to Sam. 'You see my lady forgot about
the hat, but, thinks I, there's a chance for me now; so I stops in
slyly, and rummaging the old wallet, found enough stowage there to get
this little shiner: so try it on, sonny, try it on.'
'But you shouldn't do so: I am--'
'No you ain't; so try it on.' And suiting the action to the word, he
displaced Sam's little old tarred hat, and mounted a new one, all
glistening with its bright polish.
'That's the rig, now; it don't sit quite ship-shape as it ought, but it
will work to the head, and it will keep the rain out, I'll warrant
_that_. But I can't stop here, for the Major's boots must be cleaned; so
a good passage to you, my hearties.'
With that he bore away for the fort in quick time, paying no kind of
heed to all Sam said about thanks.
'I tell you, Sam Oakum, I should not know you if I met you in the road.
Nobody will know you; Ned won't know you, see if he does.'
'I don't hardly know myself, Jim, I feel so queer.'
The wonder which Sam's appearance excited on their return was full as
great as Jim had anticipated. On reaching the shore, Ned and Jowler
stood ready to receive them. Ned stepped up to Jim, who had jumped
ashore, and was carrying the little stone anchor out as far as the rope
would reach, and whispered,
'Who's that? Where's Sam?' Then Sam walked deliberately from the stern,
and jumped ashore. Jowler set up a bark at him, and Ned fixed his eye
upon him in some doubt until Sam smiled. He then commenced a retrograde
movement, increasing the distance between him and Sam, and going round
and round him, eyeing him from head to foot; while Jowler kept by his
side, barking as he followed Ned round the circle. Ned knew _Sam_; he
was _sure_ he did, and so did _Jowler_, as soon as Sam spoke to him, and
began to sneeze and wriggle himself about, and to manifest great shame
that he had made such a mistake. Ned was too much surprised this time;
it sobered him. He knew it was _Sam_, his old playmate; but _such_ a
change! How had it come about? He felt a kind of diffidence in
approaching him; he almost wished for the old patched clothes and the
little flat hat; but that feeling was only momentary, a flash through
the mind. The neat trim of the clothes, the improved appearance of Sam's
whole exterior, really delighted him; and instead of flying off into
some extravagances, he took Sam's hand, and shaking it with all his
might,
'Did Major Morris give you this suit, Sam?'
'No, it was the lady.'
'She _is_ a lady. I should think you would love her, Sam, very much.
Ain't they nice, though, Jim? Just look at this shirt collar and the
bosom, and this handkerchief round his neck, and the hat and shoes. Oh,
Sam, I am so glad you need not wear the old clothes any more;--_do_,
won't you come and let mother see you and Ellen, just to see what they
will say.'
'But he will want to go home, first, Ned, and show himself there.'
'I will come up this evening, right after supper.'
And again they separated for their different homes, and Sam hastened,
with his bundle under his arm, hardly able to keep from a run, he was so
anxious to see how they would feel.
They were at supper as Sam entered. His mother dropped her knife and
fork and jumped up from the table; her hands were raised, and her whole
countenance expressive of the most pleasant surprise.
'Why, Sam! where _did_ you get these from? Oh, how nice! do father, look
at him.'
Mr. Oakum had pushed his chair, and a smile passed over his
weather-beaten countenance as he looked at Sam; and his heart blessed
God for him. He was pleased, indeed, and almost proud to perceive what a
fine-looking boy he was, but he knew his worth as few could know it. He
could not speak, but he felt of the clothes and smiled, and then wiped
the tears that would come in spite of every effort to keep them back. He
felt that there was something more than good luck in all this. Sam was
already reaping the fruits of the promise, 'Thy days shall be long in
the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.'