A PERILOUS VOYAGE.
In this way, unexpected and tragical, arrived our chance of escape.
We walked to Carlisle Bay by way of the sea-shore, so that we might
be met by none, and in order that the bloodhounds (if they should
use them) in the morning might be thrown off the track. On the march
that stout and lusty wench who carried one end of the bed neither
called for a halt nor complained of the burden she carried all the
way. It was nigh unto midnight when we arrived at the creek in which
the boat lay sunk. This was within a stone's throw of John Nuthall's
cottage, where were bestowed the mast, sails, oars, and gear, with
such provisions as he had gotten together for the voyage. The man
was sleeping when Barnaby called him, but he quickly got up, and
in less than an hour we had the boat hauled out of the water, the
provisions hastily thrown in, the mast stepped, our sick man and the
women placed in the bows, the stern and middle of the boat being
encumbered with our provisions, we had pushed down the muddy and
stinking creek, we had hoisted sail, and we were stealing silently
out of Carlisle Bay under a light breeze. Three or four ships were
lying in the bay; but either there was no watch kept aboard, or
(which is more probable) it was no one's business to hail a small
sail-boat going out, probably for fishing at dawn. Besides, the
night was so dark that we may very well have escaped notice. However
that might be, in a quarter of an hour we were well out at sea,
beyond the reach of the guns of Carlisle Bay, no longer visible
to the ships in port, and without any fear of being seen until
daybreak. The wind, which sometimes drops altogether in the night,
still continued favourable, though very light.
'My lads,' said Barnaby presently, drawing a long breath, 'I verily
believe that we have given them the slip this time. In the morning
they may go forth, if they please, with their bloodhounds to hunt
for us. Let them hunt. If any inquiry is made for us at the Bridge,
no boat will be missing, and so no suspicion will be awakened. They
will then, I suppose, search for us among the caves and ravines of
which I have heard, where there are hiding-places in plenty, but
no water to drink, so that the poor devils who run away and seek a
refuge there are speedily forced to come out for water, and so are
caught or shot down. Well, they will hunt a long time before they
find us. This boat makes a little water, but I think not much. If
she proves watertight, and the breeze holds, by daylight we should
be well to the south of the island. Courage, therefore! All will be
well yet! How goes Robin?'
He was lying as easily as we could manage for him--one rug over him
and another under him. Alice sat on one side of him, and the woman
they called Deb on the other. Then, because the boat sometimes
shipped a little water when she dipped in the waves, Barnaby rigged
a tarpaulin round the bows to prevent this; and (but this was not
till next day) over the tarpaulin he made, out of a rug and a spare
spar, a low tilt which, unless the weather grew bad, should shelter
those three by night from dew and spray, and by day from the sun
overhead and the glare and heat of the water.
'Deb,' he said softly, 'art afraid?'
'No, sir--not while my mistress is here.' (Meaning Alice.)
'If we are taken, we shall all be flogged well nigh unto death, and
very likely hanged as well.'
'I am not afraid, sir.'
'We may spring a leak,' said Barnaby, 'and so go all to the bottom
and be devoured. Art not afraid to die?'
'No, sir--not if I may hold my mistress by the hand, so that she may
take me whither she goeth herself.'
'Good,' said Barnaby. 'As for me, I expect I shall have to go alone
or with John Nuthall here. Well, there will be a goodly company of
us. Go to sleep, my girl! In the morning we will serve around the
first ration, with perhaps, if all be well, a dram of cordial.'
In the dim light of the stars I watched all night the three figures
in the bow. Robin lay white and motionless; Alice sat, covered with
her hood, bending over him; and Deb, from whose head her coif had
fallen, lay, head on arm, sound asleep. She had no fear, any more
than a common soldier has when he goes into action, because he
trusts his captain.
Thus began our voyage: in an open boat twenty feet long, with a
company of three sound men, two women, and a sick man. For arms, in
case we needed them, we had none at all. If any ship crossed our
track and should call upon us to surrender we could not deny that we
were escaped convicts, because the dress of all but one proclaimed
the fact. Who, in such a climate, would choose to wear a coarse
shirt and canvas breeches, with a Monmouth cap, except it was a
servant or a slave who had no choice, but must take what is given
him?
But we should not surrender, come what might. If we could neither
fight nor fly, we could sink. Said Barnaby, in the dead of night,
whispering in my ear, 'Lad, 'tis agreed between us, we will have
that clear; sooner than be taken, we will scuttle the ship, and so
sink all together. If 'tis accounted murder, the blame shall lie
between us.'
A little before daybreak the breeze freshened, and the waves began
to rise; but not so high as to threaten the boat, which proved,
indeed, a most gallant little craft, dancing over the waters as
if she enjoyed being driven by the breeze. Some boats, as sailors
will tell you (being always apt to compare these craft with living
creatures), come thus, frolic and sprightly, from their makers'
hands; while others, built of the same material and on the same
lines, are, on the contrary, and always remain, heavy and lumpish;
just as some children are lively and gay, while others, born of the
same parents, are dull and morose.
Then the sun rose, seeming to leap out of the water, a most glorious
ball of fire, which instantly warmed the cool air and began to
burn and scorch our hands and faces. In these hot latitudes one
understands what the ancients meant when they spoke of the dreadful
Sun-God, who both gives and destroys life, and is so beneficial
and yet so terrible. We, who live in a cold country, are sometimes
greatly comforted by the sun, but are never burned; we feel his
warmth, but understand not his power.
Then Barnaby began to gaze curiously all round the horizon. We had
no glass or telescope; but his eyes were to him as good as any
telescope is to most men.
'Thank the Lord!' he said, drawing breath (it was rare for Barnaby
thus openly to give praise), 'there is no sail in sight. To be sure,
we have the day before us. But yet'--here he began to talk as some
men use when they desire to place before their own minds clearly
the position of affairs. 'Very well, then--Barbadoes laying thirty
miles and more nor'-east by north--vessels bound for the island
from Bristol commonly sailing round the north--very well, then--we
are out of their track. Yet--then again--some are driven south by
stress of weather. Ay, there is our danger. Yet again, if one should
see us, would she bear down upon us? I greatly doubt it. The wind
will continue--that is pretty sure. If they were to discover that
we had gone by boat, would they sail after us? Why, what boat could
they send? And whither would they steer? And what boat have they
that can sail faster than this little craft? Yet we are pretty low
down in the water. Humphrey, lad'--he turned upon me his broad and
sunburnt face, full of cheerfulness--'we are not within many hours
of scuttling yet. A tight boat, a fair wind, a smooth sea--let us
hope for the best! How goes Robin?'
There was no change in Robin, either for better or for worse.
'Sis,' said Barnaby; 'art sleeping still, Sis? Wake up, and let
us eat and drink, and be jolly! What! Alice, I say! Why--we have
escaped! We are far away at sea! Let us laugh and sing. If there
were room in this cockle, I would dance also!'
She lifted her head, and threw back her hood. Ah! what a mournful
face was there!
'Oh, brother!' she said, 'canst thou laugh and sing? Hast thou
forgotten last night?'
'Why, no,' he replied. 'One must not forget last night, because it
was the night of our escape. All else, I own, I can forget. Let it
not stick in thy gizzard, my dear, that the man frightened thee.
Rejoice rather that he thus afforded me a chance of giving him a
taste of his own cold iron.'
'Nay, brother,' she said, shaking her head; then she looked round
her. 'We are a long way from the land,' she said. 'When will they
send out a ship to bring us back?'
'Why, d'ye see,' Barnaby replied, 'give us twelve hours more, and
they may send out all their fleet, if they have one, and sail the
wide world round for us, and yet not capture us. And now let us
overhaul the provisions, and examine the ship's stores.' Alice
pulled her hood down again, and said no more. The woman they called
Deb was now wide awake, and staring about her with the greatest
satisfaction.
'Come, John Nuthall,' Barnaby went on, 'we are hungry and thirsty.
Where is the list I made for thee? Thou art our purser, our
supercargo, our cook, and our steward; thou art also bo's'n and
carpenter, and half the crew. Where is my list, I say? Give it me,
and we will examine our stores. Look up, Sis; never cry over what
is done and over. What? A villain hath received a lesson, and thou
hangest thy head therefor? Look up, I say. There is now hope for
all; thou shalt merrily dance at my wedding yet.'
Then he read the list, and examined each parcel or box with great
care.
'A hundred and a half of bread, a soft cheese, plantains, a keg of
water (nine gallons), six bottles of Canary (not one broken), a
compass, a half-hour glass, a spare rug ('tis over Robin's legs),
flint and steel, a bit of tarpaulin, a hatchet and hammer, a saw,
some nails, a spar or two, a coil of rope and yarn, a lump of
tobacco (we can chew it, though I would rather put it into a pipe),
candles--faugh! they are run together in a lump; they will serve to
caulk something presently.'
We had, in fact, no light during our voyage, but the tallow proved
useful when--I think it was the next day--the boat started a leak.
This was all our store. 'Twas not much for six people, but Barnaby
hoped that the voyage would be short. If he should be disappointed,
who would not put up with short rations for a day or two for the
sake of freedom?
'And now,' he said, when everything was stowed according to his
mind, 'we will have breakfast. Our provisions are no great things;
but, after the accursed loblollie, a bit of bread and cheese will be
a feast.'
A feast indeed it was, and our captain gratified us further by
opening a flask of Canary, which raised all our hearts. Strange
that men should be able to recover their spirits, which should be
independent of the creature comforts, by a dram of wine. As for
Barnaby, I thought he would have kissed the bottle.
'It is now three months and more,' he said, 'that we have had
nothing save a sup of kill-devil fresh from the still, and now we
are mercifully permitted to taste again a glass of Canary. 'Tis too
much!' he sighed, drinking his ration. 'Well, we have but a few
bottles, and the voyage may be longer than we hope; therefore we
must go upon short allowance. But fear not, Sis; there shall always
be enough for Robin, poor lad.'
He then proceeded to tell us what he intended, and whither he would
steer.
'We have no chart,' he said. 'What then? I can draw one as good as
they are made to steer by in these seas.' He could not draw one,
because he had no paper or pencil; but he carved one with the point
of his knife on the seat, and marked out our course upon it day
by day. 'See,' he said, 'here is Barbadoes. Our course all night
hath been sou'-west. She now makes five knots an hour. It is now
eight, I take it; and we must therefore be about forty miles from
Barbadoes. To-morrow morning we should make the Grenadilloes, which
are a hundred and fifty miles from Carlisle Bay. Hark ye! There may
be a Bristol vessel sailing from Great Grenada to Barbadoes, or
the other way. That would be the devil. But such ships are rare,
and there is no trade between the two islands. Well, we shall give
Grenada as wide a berth as may be.' Here he considered a little.
'Therefore, 'twill be our wiser plan to bear more to the south. Once
south of Grenada, I take it, there will be no more danger. Off the
main of South America the sea is covered with islands. They are No
Man's Land; inhabitants have they none; navigators, for the most
part, know them not; English, French, and Spanish ships come never
to these islands. My purpose, therefore, is to put in at Great
Margaritos or Tortuga for rest and fresh water, and so presently
make the Dutch island of Curaçao.'
'And after that?'
'Then, my lad, we shall take ship to some country where a sailor
may get a berth and a physician may find patients. It must be to
Holland first; but, never fear, we shall get back to England some
time; and perhaps fight another battle with a different tale to tell
afterwards.'
As the day advanced, the coast of Barbadoes continually receded,
until, before sunset, the island lay like a purple cloud low down in
the horizon. The north-east breeze blew steadily, but the sun caused
a most dreadful heat in the air, and our eyes smarted from the glare
of the water and the spray that was blown upon us. It was at this
time that Barnaby constructed the tilt of which I have spoken. The
sea lay spread out round us in a broad circle, of which we were the
centre, and the cloudless blue sky lay over us like unto a roof laid
there for us alone. It is only in a ship one doth feel thus alone,
in the centre of creation; even as if there were nothing but the sea
around, the sky above, and our boat in the centre. Thus must the
Patriarch Noah have felt when his ark floated upon the vast face
of the water, and even the tops of the high hills were hidden and
covered over. All day Barnaby scanned the horizon anxiously; but
there came into sight no sail or ship whatever. To us, who sometimes
see the vessels lying in a crowded port, and hear how they bring
argosies from every land, it seems as if every part of the ocean
must be covered with sails driving before the wind from whatever
quarter it may blow. But he who considers the 'Mappa Mundi' will
presently discover that there are vast expanses of sea where never
a sail is seen, unless it be the fugitive sail of the pirate or the
bark canoe of the native. We were now nearing such a lonely sea or
part of the ocean. Barnaby knew, what these planters did not, how to
steer across the unknown water to a port of safety beyond.
At midday our captain served out another drink of water, and to
Robin I gave a sop of bread in Canary, which he seemed to suck up
and to swallow with readiness.
In such a voyage, where there is nothing to do but to keep the ship
on her course and to watch the horizon for a strange sail, one
speedily falls into silence, and sits many hours without speech;
sometimes falling asleep, lulled by the ripple of the water as the
boat flies through it.
I have said nothing about the man John Nuthall. He was a plain,
honest-looking man, and we found him throughout all this business
faithful, brave, and patient, obedient to Barnaby, and of an even
temper and contented with his share. That he had formerly been a
thief in his native country cannot be denied, but I hope that we
shall not refuse to any man the right of repentance.
Barnaby divided the crew--namely, himself, John Nuthall, and
me--into three watches of eight hours each, of which each man kept
two at a stretch. Thus, beginning the day at noon, which was the
only time we knew for certain, Barnaby would himself (but this was
after the first two days) lie down and sleep till sunset or a little
later. Then John Nuthall lay down and took his turn of sleep till
Barnaby thought it was two o'clock in the morning, when he woke him
and I took his place. But for the first day or two Barnaby slept not
at all, and the whole of the voyage he slept as a good watch-dog
sleeps--namely, with one eye open.
At sunset he gave out another pannikin of cold water to each of us,
a ration of bread and cheese, and a dram of wine. Then he commanded
John Nuthall to lie down and sleep, while I took the tiller and he
himself held the ropes. Then the night fell once more upon us.
Presently, while we sat there in silence, Alice rose up from her
seat and came aft and sat down beside me.
'Humphrey,' she whispered, 'think you that he is truly dead?' She
was speaking, not of Robin, but of the Master.
'I know not, my dear.'
'I can think of nothing but of that man's sudden end, and of what
may happen to us. Say something to comfort me, Humphrey! You always
had some good word to say, like manna for refreshment. My soul is
low in the dust--I cannot even pray.'
'Why, my dear?' What could I say? ''Tis true that the man was struck
down, and that suddenly. And yet----'
'To think that my brother--that Barnaby--should have killed him!'
'Why,' said Barnaby, 'if some one had to kill him, why not I as well
as another? What odds who killed him?'
'Oh!' she said, 'that a man should be called away at such a moment,
when his brain was reeling with wine and wicked thoughts!'
'He was not dead,' I told her (though I knew very well what would
be the end), 'when we came away. Many a man recovers who hath had
a sword-thrust through the body. He may now be on the mend--who
can tell?' Yet I knew, I say, very well how it must have ended.
'Consider, my dear: he tempted the wrath of God, if any man ever
did. If he is destroyed, on his own head be it--not on ours. If he
recover, he will have had a lesson which will serve him for the
rest of his life. If he doth not recover, he may have time left
him for something of repentance and of prayer. Why, Alice, if we
get safely to our port we ought to consider the punishment of this
sinner (which was in self-defence, as one may truly say) the very
means granted by Providence for our own escape. How else should we
have got away? How else should we have resolved to venture all, even
to carrying Robin with us?' All this, I repeat, I said to encourage
her, because, if I know aught of wounds, a man bleeding inwardly
of a sword-thrust through his vitals would have short time for the
collecting of his thoughts or the repentance of his sins, being as
truly cut off in the midst of them as if he had been struck down by
a thunderbolt. A man may groan and writhe under the dreadful torture
of such a wound, but there is little room for meditation or for
repentance.
Then I asked her if she was in fear as to the event of the voyage.
'I fear nothing,' she told me, 'but to be captured and taken back
to the place whence we came, there to be put in prison and flogged.
That is my only fear. Humphrey, we have suffered so much that this
last shame would be too great for me to bear. Oh! to be tied up
before all the men, and flogged like the black women--'twould kill
me, Humphrey!'
'Alice,' I said very earnestly, 'art thou, indeed, brave enough to
endure death itself rather than this last barbarity?'
'Oh! Death!--death!' she cried, clasping her hands. 'What is death
to me, who have lost everything?'
'Nay, but consider, my dear. To die at sea--it means to sink down
under the cold water out of the light of day; to be choked for want
of air; perhaps to be devoured quick by sharks; to lie at the bottom
of the water, the seaweed growing over your bones; to be rolled
about by the troubled waves----'
'Humphrey, these are old wives' tales. Why, if it had been lawful
I would have killed myself long ago. But I must not lose heaven as
well as earth. A brief pang it is to die, and then to be happy for
ever. What do I care whether the seaweed covers my bones, or the
cold clay? Oh, Humphrey, Humphrey, why should I care any longer to
live?'
'My dear,' I said, 'if we escape in safety there may yet be
happiness in store. No man knoweth the future.' She shook her head.
'Happiness,' I told her, 'doth not commonly come to man in the way
which he most desires and prays. For, if he doth obtain the thing
for which he hath so ardently prayed, he presently finds that the
thing bringeth not the joy he so much expected. Or it comes too
late, as is the case often with honours and wealth, when one foot
is already in the grave. I mean, my dear, that we must not despair
because the thing which most we desired is taken from us. Perhaps
we ought not to desire anything at all, except what the Lord shall
provide. But that is a hard saying, and if men desired nothing it
is certain they would no longer work.' I talked thus at length to
divert her mind from her troubles. 'To thee, poor child,' I said,
'have been given afflictions many and great--the loss of godly
parents, a husband whom thou must avoid, and the deprivation of
earthly love. Yet, since thou art so brave, Alice, I will tell
thee--I thought not to tell thee anything of this----'
'What, Humphrey? What?'
'Briefly, Alice, thou shalt not be taken alive.'
'How--unless you kill me?'
'We are agreed, my dear--Barnaby and I--that if we cannot escape
any boats which may pursue us the boat shall be sunk, and so we
shall all drown together. Indeed, Alice, I confess that I am not
myself so much in love with life as to return to that captivity and
intolerable oppression from which we have gotten away. Therefore, be
assured, we will all drown rather than go back.'
'Oh!' she sighed, but with relief, 'now shall I fear nothing. I
have not lost everything, since I have thee still--and Barnaby.
Alas! my head has been so full of what Madam said--that we should
be certainly caught, and all of us flogged. To be flogged!
Who would not rather die?'--she shivered and trembled. 'To be
flogged!--Humphrey, I could not bear the shame!' She trembled and
shivered as she repeated this confession of fear.
'Fear not, my dear,' I said; 'there are those on the boat who love
thee too well to suffer that extreme of barbarity. Put that fear out
of thy mind. Think only that we may have to die, but that we shall
not be taken. To die, indeed, is very likely our fate: for we have
but a quarter of an inch of frail wood between us and the seas. If
a storm should arise, we fill with water and go down; if the wind
should drop we should be becalmed, and so perish miserably of hunger
and thirst; if Barnaby steer not aright----'
'Humphrey,' said Barnaby, 'fill not her innocent head with rubbish.
'Tis not the time of tornadoes, and there will be no storm. The wind
at this season never drops, therefore we shall not lie becalmed. And
as for my steering aright, why, with a compass--am I a lubber?'
'Brother,' she said, 'if I am not to be flogged, the rest concerns
me little. Let us say no more about it. I am now easy in my mind.
Robin sleeps, Humphrey. He hath slept since the sun went down, and
this afternoon he looked as if he knew me. Also, he took the bread
sopped in Canary eagerly, as if he relished it.'
'These seas,' said Barnaby, 'are full of sharks.'
I knew not what he meant, because we were speaking of Robin.
'Sharks have got their senses, as well as humans,' he went on.
Still I understood him not.
'When a man on board a ship is going to die, the sharks find it out,
and they follow that ship until he does die and is flung overboard.
Then they devour his body and go away, unless there is more to
follow. I have looked for sharks, and there are none following the
boat; wherefore, though I am not a doctor, I am sure that Robin will
not die.'
'I know not at all,' I said, 'how that may be. There are many things
believed by sailors which are superstitions--fond beliefs nourished
by the continual presence of perils. On the other hand, the senses
of man are notoriously as far below those of creatures as his
intellect is above them (yet a skilful man may read the premonition
of death in a sick man's face). Therefore I know not but a shark may
have a sense, like unto the eye of a hawk or the scent of a hound,
with which to sniff the approach of death afar off. Let us comfort
ourselves, Alice, with Barnaby's assurance.'
''Tis a well proved and tried thing,' said Barnaby; 'and sailors,
let me tell thee, Master Doctor, have no superstitions or idle
beliefs.'
'Well, that may be. As to Robin's disease, I can pronounce nothing
upon it. Nay, had I the whole library of Padua to consult, I could
learn nothing that would help me. First, the mind falls into a
languishing and spiritless condition. That causeth the body to lie
open to attacks of any disease which may be threatening. Then, the
body, being ill at ease, works upon the mind, and causes it to
wander beyond control. So that the soul, which is bound up with body
and mind, cannot show herself or manifest her will. It is the will
which shows the presence of the soul: the will which governs body
and mind alike. But if I know aught of disease, if a change comes
upon Robin it will either swiftly cure or swiftly kill.'
'Humphrey,' she whispered, 'if he recover, how shall I meet his
face? How shall I reply when he asks me concerning my faith?'
'My dear, he knows all. 'Twas that knowledge, the pity of it,
and the madness of it, believe me, which threw him into so low a
condition.'
'I have looked daily for reproaches in thy kind eyes, Humphrey. I
have found none, truly. But from Robin--oh! I dare not think of
meeting those eyes of his.'
'Reproach thee will he never, Alice. Sorrow and love, I doubt not,
will lie in his eyes all his life. What thou hast done was for him
and for thy father and thy brother and for all of us. But, oh! the
pity--and the villainy! Fear not to meet the poor lad's eyes, Alice.'
'I long to see the light of reason in those dear eyes--and yet I
fear. Humphrey, I am married; but against my will. I am a wife, and
yet no wife; I am resolved that, come what may, I will never, never
go to my husband. And I love my Robin still--oh!' she sobbed, 'I
love my Robin still!'
'If we die,' I told her, 'you shall go down with your arm round his
neck, and so you shall die together.'
Then we sat silent a while.
'My dear,' I said, 'lie down and take some sleep.'
'I cannot sleep, Humphrey, for the peace of mind which hath fallen
me upon. If Robin now come to his senses again I shall not fear him.
And the night, it is so peaceful--so cool and so peaceful;' the
wind had dropped, till there was barely enough to fill the sail,
and only enough way on the boat to make a soft murmur of the water
along her sides. 'The sea is so smooth; the sky is so bright and so
full of stars. Can there be, anywhere, a peace like this? Alas! if
we could sail still upon a silent and peaceful ocean! But we must
land somewhere. There will be men, and where there are men there
is wickedness, with drink and wrath and evil passions--such as we
have left behind us. Humphrey--oh! my brother Humphrey!--it would be
sweet if the boat would sink beneath us now, and so, with Robin's
hand in mine, we could all go together to the happy land, where
there is neither marrying nor giving in marriage.'
From beneath the tilt there came a voice--I verily believe it was
an answer sent straight from heaven to comfort this poor faithful
soul. 'Alice'--it was the voice of Robin, in his right mind at last.
'Alice,' he said, 'we will continue to love each other, yet without
sin.'
'Oh, Robin! Robin!' she moved quickly to his side and fell upon her
knees. 'Robin, thou wilt recover?'
'Stay!' I interposed. 'Robin will first have a cup of cordial.'
'I have been sleeping,' he said; 'I know not what hath happened.
We are in a boat, it seems, and on the open sea. Unless I am still
dreaming, we are slaves to a planter in Barbadoes! And this is
Alice--who was in England! And I know not what it means.'
'You have been ill, Robin,' I told him. 'You have been nigh unto
death. Many things have happened of which we will speak, but
not now. Alice is at your side, and Barnaby is navigating the
boat. Drink this cup of wine--so--sleep now; and in the morning,
if it please Heaven, you shall be so strong that you shall hear
everything. Ask no more questions, but sleep. Give him your hand,
Alice.'
She obeyed me, sitting at his side and taking his hand in hers, and
so continued for the rest of the night, Robin sleeping peacefully.
In a word, he was restored. The fresh sea-breeze brought him back to
life and reason; and, though he was still weak, he was now as sound
in his mind as any man could desire to be. And in the morning we
told him all that had been done, whereat he marvelled.
Alice might love him still. That was most true, yet between them
stood her husband. Why, there was another man in the boat who also
loved a girl he could never wed. His passion, I swear, was full of
constancy, tenderness, and patience. Would Robin be as patient?
When the day broke again we were still sailing over a lonely sea,
with never a sail in sight, and never a sign of land.
And now Robin was sitting up, his face pale, and his hands thin. But
the light of reason was in his eyes, and on his lips such a smile of
tenderness as we were wont to see there in the days of old.
'Said I not,' cried Barnaby, 'that he would recover? Trust the
sharks for common-sense. And again an open sea, with never a sail in
sight. Praise the Lord, therefore!'
But Alice, when the sun rose above the waves, threw back her hood
and burst forth into singing:--
O Lord, how glorious is Thy grace,
And wondrous large Thy love!
At such a dreadful time and place,
To such as faithful prove.
The tears came into my eyes only to see the change that had fallen
upon her gracious, smiling countenance. It was not, truly, the sweet
and happy face that we remembered before her troubles fell upon her,
but that face graver with the knowledge of evil and of pain. And now
it was like unto such a face as one may see in many an altar-piece
in Italy, glorified with gratitude and love.
Then the woman called Deb fell to weeping and blubbering for very
joy that her mistress looked happy again. 'Twas a faithful, loving
creature.
'Humphrey,' said Alice, 'forgive me that I murmured. Things that
are done cannot be undone. Robin is restored to us. With three such
brothers, who should not be content to live? I hope, now, that we
shall get safely to our port; but if we die, we shall die contented
in each other's arms. Going through the Vale of Misery,' she added
softly, 'we will use it as a well.'