[Illustration: THE YOUNG NAVIGATORS.]
HURRAH FOR NEW ENGLAND!
OR
THE VIRGINIA BOY'S VACATION.
BY THE AUTHOR OF
"THE BOY OF SPIRIT" "WHEN ARE WE HAPPIEST?" ETC.
CONTENTS
LETTER I. THE DOCTOR'S PRESCRIPTION II. FITTING OUT FOR THE CRUISE III.
OUR MESSMATES IV. TALK ABOUT GREAT MEN V. OLD JACK VI. VISIT TO THE
CUNARD STEAMER VII. MOODY DICK'S SISTER LOUISA VIII. DAVID'S GLIMPSE OF
NOBILITY IX. BOSTON LIONS
HURRAH FOR NEW ENGLAND!
LETTER I.
THE DOCTOR'S PRESCRIPTION.
FROM PIDGIE TO HIS COUSIN BENNIE.
Marblehead, July 1st, 1846.
Do you remember, my dear cousin, how scornfully we used to look at
"little crooked Massachusetts," as we called it, on the map, while
comparing the other States with good old Virginia? I don't believe that
we ever even noticed such a town in it as Marblehead; and yet here I am,
in that very place; and though I love our noble State as well as ever, I
am beginning to think that there are some other places in the world fit
to live in. I don't mean, though, that I have the smallest inclination
to take up my abode in this town, but I should like to have you see it,
for it is the funniest place you can imagine. The old, queer-looking
houses seem to be placed cornerwise on the most crooked of streets, all
up hill and down, and winding around so that I begin to think they have
lost themselves and will come to a stop, when out they start, from
behind some red or green house which they had run around just for fun.
Then there are _heaps_, as we Southerners say, of droll little children
running about, some of them quite nicely dressed, with no servant to
take care of them; and yesterday, on the rocks that look out upon the
ocean, I met a little boy who could scarcely walk tottling along beside
one but little older, as independent and happy as if he might not at any
time fall and hit his little white head against one of the sharp stones.
They say that some of our most distinguished Congressmen, and even our
United States Senators, have been brought up in this way, and though I
don't see how these boys can ever learn to be polished gentlemen when
they mix with all sorts of children, yet some of them are as
intelligent as if they had done nothing but read all their lives, and as
brave as their sailor fathers.
Yesterday a fishing-vessel came in, which had been out for several
months, and I spied a little fellow clambering down a ladder, placed up
to one of the tall chimneys, as fast as he could go, and then, starting
out the door like lightning, he was by the water-side before the boat
touched the shore, and his mother was not far behind him.
But how I am carried away by what is around me! I forget that you don't
even know how I came to be here, and while I am writing are perhaps
wondering all the time if I am not playing a trick upon you, after all,
and dating from some place where I never expect to be. But I am in real
earnest, Bennie, and will try and tell you, as soberly as I can, how I
happen to be here.
You remember, the day that Uncle Bob brought the horse home for me to
ride to Benevenue, he said something about Master Clarendon's not being
able to ride Charlie much of late, so that I would find him rather gay.
When I got to the place, I found every thing in confusion, and Dr.
Medway talking very earnestly with brother Clarendon, who was looking
quite thin, and not at all pleased.
"I should think a voyage to Europe would be quite as beneficial," he
said, turning to the Doctor, with his proudest air, as soon as he had
greeted me.
"No," replied Dr. Medway, smiling at his displeased manner; "you must
have work, Sir,--hard work, and hard fare. It would do you no more good
to take a luxurious trip in a steamer, than to remain quietly in your
fashionable lodgings at Baltimore. Your dyspepsia, Sir, can be best
cured by your taking a cruise in a Yankee fishing-smack, bound for the
Banks of Newfoundland."
"Then I shall die," said Clarendon; "and I had almost as lief, as to be
cooped up in a dirty fishing-smack with vulgar sailors, half-starved
with their miserable fare."
"It will do you good in more ways than one," observed Dr. Medway; and
he gave mother a significant look. "We poor Virginians think it
impossible to exist except in a certain way; but you are a young man of
sense, in spite of your prejudices, and will be very much benefited by a
little more familiar intercourse with your fellow-men."
As I stood by, listening to this conversation, I was not surprised at
Clarendon's reluctance to follow Dr. Medway's advice, but much more
astonished when, after arguing the point half an hour longer, he called
for Sukey,--his old mammy, you know,--and told her to have every thing
in readiness for him to leave the next day.
As soon as the Doctor was gone, Clarendon began to see more plainly than
ever the disagreeabilities of the scheme to which he had consented; but
he was too proud to give it up after his word had been pledged.
"I wish I could find somebody to accompany me on this horrid excursion,"
he exclaimed. "Miss Sukey! there's no use putting in my guitar-music. A
pretty figure I should cut, strumming away on that, upon the dirty deck
of a Down East schooner! I can't have the face to ask any friend to
accompany me. O ho! it's a desperate case!"
All at once, as if a sudden idea had struck him, while pacing the room
impatiently, he turned to me:--"What say you, Pidgie, to spending the
holidays on this fishing excursion?"
You may be sure that I was ready enough to accept the proposal, for you
know I have always been crazy to go on the water, and like seeing new
places above every thing.
"Indeed, and double indeed, brother, I would rather go to the Banks with
you, than to see Queen Victoria herself. I'll run and ask 'ma directly
if she can spare me, and if she will, I won't even unpack my valise, but
shall be all ready to start in the morning."
So saying, I darted into 'ma's chamber, and she declares that my eyes
were almost dancing out of my head for joy, when I told her of the
proposal. At first she hesitated, for it was a trial to her to part with
me so soon again; but you know Clarendon is the pride of her heart, and
for his sake she at last gave her consent. Sister Nannie was grieved at
having both her brothers taken from her, but she is a little woman, and
always ready to make sacrifices for others; so she sat down very quietly
to looking over some of Clarendon's clothes, and though a tear now and
then rolled down her cheek, she would look up from her work with quite a
pleasant smile.
Before I had time to realize what had taken place, I was perched up in
the carriage with Clarendon, and in five minutes more had taken leave of
every thing at home but Uncle Jack, who was driving us to the cars, in
which we were to start for Baltimore.
You have heard so much of New York and Boston, that I cannot, probably,
tell you any thing new about them, though, to be sure, when there, I
felt as if the half had not been told me. All the streets and houses
look so nice and comfortable in the New England towns, that I cannot
imagine where the poor people live. At the hotel in New York, when I
rang the bell, such a nice-looking young gentleman came to our door,
that I thought he was a fellow-boarder who had made a mistake in the
room. I asked him, very politely, if he would have the kindness to tell
me where any servants were to be found, as they did not answer the bell.
He stared at this request, and then answered, quite proudly,--"I wait on
gentlemen, my young friend; but we are all free men here."
I cannot get used to this new state of affairs, and should be quite out
of patience, having to do so many things for myself, if brother
Clarendon did not keep me laughing all the while with his perfect fits
of despair. But he is calling to me to stop writing, for, since here in
Marblehead they won't let him have any peace in sleeping till eleven
o'clock, he insists on going to bed with the chickens, or he shall die
for want of rest.
Love to all, men, women, and children, horses and dogs, from your
affectionate cousin,
PIDGIE BEVERLEY.
LETTER II.
FITTING OUT FOR THE CRUISE.
TO BENNIE ALLERTON AT BELLISLE.
Marblehead, July 3d, 1846.
DEAR BENNIE,--Just now I heard a rolling of small wheels, and then the
barking of a dog. Forgetting where I was, I thought of you and Watch,
and walked to the window actually expecting to see you, with Watch in
his new harness, drawing the little wagon. I only saw a strange boy,
rolling a wheelbarrow along, with a great Newfoundland dog at his side,
which I should have bought for you if I could have sent it back to
Virginia. But, after all, you would not have liked it as well as Watch,
and I am sure that I don't know of a fault he has, but chasing chickens
and every thing else on the road, besides barking all night when the
moon shines.
I always liked moonlight nights, but never knew half how glorious they
were till now. Last evening, Clarendon said, it was too ridiculous for
him to be going to bed when it was so beautiful; so he called to me to
take a stroll with him on a cliff, not far from the house, which
commands a magnificent prospect of the sea. I snatched up my cap in a
moment, delighted at the proposition, and ran along at his side, as I
always have to do, to keep up with his long, fast strides.
Even brother's melancholy countenance grew animated as he gazed on the
scene before us. A bright sheet of water separated the peak on which we
were standing from another rocky ledge, connected with the main land by
a narrow strip, called Marblehead Neck, that looked like a wall
inclosing the quiet bay. Behind us lay the town, with its strange, wild
confusion of roofs and spires, and to the south we could descry Nahant
and Boston, with Cape Cod stretching out beyond them, along the
horizon. My eyes, however, did not rest on the land, but turned to the
broad ocean, which lay beyond the light-house, that stood up like a
spectre in the moonlight, and I thought I could spy here and there a
sail among the many which I had seen that afternoon scattered over the
waves.
Clarendon sat down on one of the rocks, and his love of the beautiful
overcame, at that moment, his dislike to praising any thing in which he
has no personal interest. "This is magnificent," he said, and commenced
repeating with enthusiasm Byron's address to the ocean,--
"Roll on, thou dark blue ocean! roll," &c.
At the sound of his fine, manly voice, a boy about my age started up
from a rock near him, and listened to the lines with the most profound
attention. When they were concluded, he remarked with a modest yet
independent air,--"That certainly is very fine, Sir; but we have poets
of our own that can match it."
Clarendon at first frowned at what he deemed the height of
impertinence; but as he looked on the boy's broad, open forehead, and
frank, sweet mouth, in which the white teeth glittered as he spoke, his
haughty manner vanished, and he replied quite civilly,--"So you know
something about poetry, my little lad."
"To be sure, Sir," replied David Cobb, for such I afterwards found to be
his name. "How could a boy be two years at the Boston High School and
not know something about it? But I knew Drake's Address to the Flag, and
Pierpont's Pilgrim Fathers, and Percival's New England, when I was not
more than ten years old."
"Percival's New England!" said Clarendon, quite contemptuously. "Pray,
what could a poet say about such a puny subject as this Yankee land of
yours?"
"Do you not know that poem?" asked David; and we could see, by the
moonlight, that there was something very like indignation at such
ignorance in his fine dark eyes.
"Hear it, then, and see if you do not call it poetry."
If you could only have seen him, Bennie, as he stood on the cliff, with
his rough, sailor-like hat in hand, and the breeze lifting his dark hair
from his broad forehead, while, looking with absolute fondness on the
scene around him, he repeated,--
"Hail to the land whereon we tread,
Our fondest boast!
The sepulchre of mighty dead,
The truest hearts that ever bled,
Who sleep on glory's brightest bed,
A fearless host;
No slave is here;--our unchained feet
Walk freely, as the waves that beat
Our coast.
"Our fathers crossed the ocean's wave
To seek this shore;
They left behind the coward slave
To welter in his living grave;
With hearts unbent, and spirits brave,
They sternly bore
Such toils as meaner souls had quelled;
But souls like these such toils impelled
To soar.
"Hail to the morn when first they stood
On Bunker's height,
And, fearless, stemmed the invading flood,
And wrote our dearest rights in blood,
And mowed in ranks the hireling brood,
In desperate fight!
O, 'twas a proud, exulting day,
For e'en our fallen fortunes lay
In light!
"There is no other land like thee,
No dearer shore;
Thou art the shelter of the free;
The home, the port, of liberty
Thou hast been, and shall for ever be,
Till time is o'er.
Ere I forget to think upon
My land, shall mother curse the son
She bore.
"Thou art the firm, unshaken rock
On which we rest;
And, rising from thy hardy stock,
Thy sons the tyrant's power shall mock,
And slavery's galling chains unlock,
And free the oppressed;
All who the wreath of freedom twine
Beneath the shadow of their vine
Are blest.
"We love thy rude and rocky shore,
And here we stand.
Let foreign navies hasten o'er,
And on our heads their fury pour,
And peal their cannon's loudest roar,
And storm our land;
They still shall find our lives are given
To die for home,--and leant on heaven
Our hand."
Did you think that a real Yankee could be so proud of living out of
Virginia? I am sure those we have seen appear to be half ashamed of
their country,--and to be sure it is not as good as ours; but I could
not help liking this boy's warm, honest love of his native soil. Even
Clarendon admired it, and, when he had done repeating his favorite
lines, handed him a silver dollar, saying,--"There! buy yourself a book
of just such poetry, if you choose, and if you can find any in praise of
the Old Dominion, read it for my sake."
I knew that brother meant to do a gracious thing; but still there was
something about David's appearance which would have made me afraid to
give him money, and I was not surprised at the indignant flush which
rose to his cheek, or the scornful way in which he threw the poor dollar
over the rock into the sea.
"I am Captain Cobb's son, Sir," he said very proudly, "and must tell
you, that, though a New England boy is not ashamed of earning money in
any honest way, he never takes it as a gift from strangers. I should
have pocketed your silver with great pleasure if I had sold you its
worth in fish, or taken you out in the skiff for a day's excursion; but
my mother would scorn me if I had taken alms like a beggar-boy."
I never saw Clarendon more confused than he was at this speech; yet he
has so much pride himself, that he could not help liking the boy's
honest love of independence. His curiosity was so much excited, that he
prolonged the conversation, and discovered that David was the son of the
captain of the Go-Ahead, the very schooner in which we are to sail
to-morrow for Newfoundland. It will he the fourth of July, and the
sailors were at first averse to going out upon that day, but concluded
to celebrate it on shore in the morning, and depart in the afternoon.
David is going to accompany his father on the trip, having studied a
little too hard at school, and it being the custom here to intersperse
study with seasons of labor.
"You see," he said, "that I am rigged already sailor-fashion"; and he
pointed to his wide trousers, round jacket, and tarpaulin.
"O brother! can't I have just such clothes?" I asked. "They would be so
comfortable, and I should have no fears of hurting them, as I should
these I have on."
"You got yours for economy, did you not, boy?" said brother to David.
"Not altogether, Sir. They are the only ones proper for fishing. Of
course, if you are going to work, you will get some of the same kind;
for that finery of yours would be very much out of place."
Finery! Could you have heard David's tone of contempt, and seen his
glance at brother's last Paris suit, you would have laughed as I did.
I think Clarendon is getting more patient already; for a few weeks since
nothing could have saved a boy from a flogging that had dared to give
him such a glance; but his good-sense is getting uppermost. "Well,
Master David," he said, good-humoredly, "since you don't like our
clothes, you must come to-morrow to our lodgings, and show Pidgie and
myself where to get such beautiful ones as yours."
This morning, before we had half done breakfast, I heard a bright,
pleasant voice asking of our host, in a free and easy way,--"Captain
Peck, is there considerable of a pretending chap here who's going out
fishing in our craft to-day? When the salt water has washed some of his
airs out of him he'll be good for something; and his brother ain't so
bad now."
You should have seen Clarendon taking as much of a glance at himself in
the little wooden-framed looking-glass, opposite the breakfast-table, as
the size of it would allow, when he heard this qualified compliment.
"A pretty way, that, of speaking of Clarendon Beverley!" he exclaimed,
almost fiercely. "These Yankees have no respect for any thing on earth,
but their own boorish selves."
"But he is only a little boy, about thirteen or fourteen, brother," I
said, coaxingly; "and that's his way of praising." For I did not want to
lose our new acquaintance. "He can show us where to get our clothes,
just as well as if he had better manners."
The scene at the little shop where we went for our new clothes was
comical, even to me, though I am used to brother's ways; so I could not
wonder that some sailors at the door laughed out.
"I would like some coarse jackets and trousers for this lad and myself,"
he said. "Of course, we do not need any different under-clothes."
"That shirt of yours," said the shopman, pointing to the ribbon binding
of a fine silk shirt, which had slipped below brother's beautiful linen
wristband, "would be terribly uncomfortable when it was wringing wet,
and soon spoiled by sailor's washing. Nobody of any sense would think of
going to sea in such things as those."
Poor Clarendon! the thought of those red-flannel shirts was near killing
him; for they were just like those our negroes wear, and so were the
duck trousers. When, at last, he was persuaded to have them sent home,
and put them on for trial, they did seem most ludicrously unsuitable. I
never saw him, however, look so handsome in my life; for his tarpaulin
is mighty becoming to his pale, dark face, and those jet moustaches of
his, when he has not time to tend them and keep every hair in place,
will be quite fierce. He looked as solemn when he got his sea-rig on, as
if he was about preaching a sermon.
O, that reminds me that I have not told you of our visit to old Father
Taylor's church in Boston! His text was,--"He that cometh unto me shall
never thirst." And every word of the sermon was just suited to the plain
tars whom he was addressing. He baptized some children more touchingly
than any one I ever saw. Their mother was the widow of a sailor, who had
been lost on a late cruise, and sat beside the altar alone with two
little boys, the youngest an infant in her arms. As the old father took
it from her and kissed it, a tear of sympathy with the bereaved parent
actually fell from his kind eye, on the little, round cheek; and I shall
never forget the manner in which, after the rite was performed, he
replaced it in her arms, saying,--"Go back to your mother's bosom, and
may you never be a thorn there."
Captain Peck, our host,--and a worthy man he is, who was himself a
sailor till he was washed overboard and lost his health,--has just come
in to say that it is time for "our chest," as he calls brother's
portmanteau, to be on board; so I must say good by. My next will
probably be sent from some port, into which we may run for a few hours.
Yours, ever,
PIDGIE.
LETTER III.
OUR MESSMATES.
FROM PIDGIE TO HIS COUSIN BENNIE.
Bay of Fundy, July 9th, 1846.
O Bennie, how I wish you were here! You used to enjoy so much skulling
around that little pond of Mr. Mason's in his flat boat, what would you
do to be bounding over the water as we are now? I am sitting
Turk-fashion on the deck-floor, leaning against the mast, and, as you
see, writing with a pencil, being afraid to use my inkstand, lest some
stray wave should give it a capsize. There comes one now, that has
washed our floor for us, and it needed it badly enough; nor do I mind
the wetting, for I am bare-footed and my duck trousers always expect it.
We have been five days now upon the water, and since we have thrown
overboard the good things that Clarendon laid in for the voyage, and
taken to sailor's fare, we have no more of that horrid sea-sickness.
Hard biscuit and water are just as good as any thing else, if you only
get used to it, and the fish which we caught this morning are delicious.
We came upon a fine shoal of them, and for several hours had nothing to
do but pull them in, one after another, as fast as we could put our
hooks down. I got hold of a very big fellow, myself, but he was nearer
drawing me out of the schooner than I him into it, till David Cobb came
to the rescue, and gave such a tug at the line, that he was soon
floundering about on the deck. I never knew what an apt comparison "like
a fish out of water" is, till I saw him flapping round.
If you only knew David I am sure you would like him. He is as different
as can be from our Virginia boys, and yet we are excellent friends. I
thought at first that he did not know any thing, when I found out that
he had never even heard the names of some of our most distinguished
families, and I suspect he despised me in his heart because I was so
ignorant about the old Pilgrim Fathers.
We have many an argument about New England and the Old Dominion, but
keep our tempers pretty well, and each of us finds a great deal to boast
of. There is one thing I can say which really troubles him, for he can't
deny that it is a great honor to the State, and that is, that General
Washington was born and brought up and died in Virginia. O, how he
glories even that Washington was an American, and what would he not give
if he could claim him for his dear Massachusetts! I used to think that
the Yankees were all cold-hearted and never got excited about any thing;
but David looks as if his soul was all on fire when he speaks of the
Father of his Country, and he drinks in every word I can tell him of
Mount Vernon. He has made me tell him over as much as three times all
the stories grandfather told us of the time when he belonged to
Washington's military family, and what he said to grandmother when they
were both children.
There goes Clarendon, staggering up and down the deck from sea-sickness.
He will not take enough of the sailor's fare to do him any good, and the
wry faces which he makes over a few mouthfuls are pitiful. Before he
could get the sails shifted, I am sure the wind would change, and though
the crew try to be polite, they can't help laughing to see what an
awkward hand he is at doing any thing. There goes the "Heave ho!" which
sounds so delightfully to me.
There is one man who has just come up from below that interests me so
much that I can't help watching him all the time he's in sight. The
first time I saw him was the day we came on board. The schooner had
dropped down a mile or two, and Captain Peck, our worthy host at
Marblehead, came out in a little boat to bring some of Clarendon's
clothes, which had been left by accident. He is a clever fellow, for
though Clarendon was not half civil to him, he was always polite in his
way, and his frank, well-meaning civility so won upon brother, that when
they parted he apologized for his rudeness, and told the Captain that he
had shown himself the most of a gentleman of the two.
Beside brother's extra trappings, Captain Peck brought a package of
books, which Captain Cobb looked at with surprise, and asked, with an
oath, who they were for. O Bennie! I should enjoy myself a great deal
more if two or three of the sailors did not swear so dreadfully; but I
hope when they have read those books they will stop using such wicked
words; for what should they be but Bibles, sent on board by the Seamen's
Friend Society.
"Let us throw them overboard," said "Brown Tom," a coarse, red-featured
man, who is more fond of grog than reading.
"Pshaw! Tom, don't talk of treating a lady's present in that way,"
exclaimed Captain Peck, who, after his fashion, has a great respect both
for religion and womankind, and his own wife in particular.
"O, if that's the case," remarked a melancholy looking man, who had not
before spoken, "let us stow them away somewhere; for women always mean
well, and perhaps it would be better for us if we followed their
advice."
I thought he sighed as he said this, and I wondered what made him so
unhappy.
"Well done for Moody Dick! he's sailing under new colors. Who would have
thought of his hoisting a petticoat for a flag?" said Blunt Harry, an
old, fat seaman, who is esteemed the wit of the crew.
"Not I," replied Brown Tom; "but if the giver of these books has a
pretty face of her own, they are worth keeping; if not, I don't care for
any of her lumber."
"Well, that she has," said Captain Peck, warmly; "you'll have to go
round the world again before you find a sweeter face than Miss Louisa
Colman's. She begged me to bring them on board, and ask each sailor to
accept a copy for his own use."
"I'll take one for myself, and thank ye, too, for mine was left by
mistake at the tavern, there," observed Old Jack, a quiet man, who had
just come on deck. So saying, he took up the largest of the Bibles with
an air of reverence, quite in contrast with his usual bold, careless
manner, adding, as he saw the name of the donors on the
fly-leaf,--"Bless the Seamen's Friend Society and Miss Colman, too, if
she's like the rest of the dear ladies who take such an interest in us
poor wanderers of the deep."
As the name of Miss Colman was mentioned, the face of Moody Dick met my
eye, and never did I see such powerful emotion as his toil-worn features
betrayed. His eyes, which are of that pale blue peculiar to mariners,
were filled with tears, and, unable to control his feelings, he turned
suddenly round towards the water; but his distress was evident from the
agonized writhing of every limb and muscle.
The sailors, rough and coarse as they are, had too much real feeling to
remark upon this surprising change, and in a few moments it seemed
forgotten in the excitement of finally setting sail. When I next saw
him, Dick's features were hard and stony as ever; but last night, when
almost every one was asleep, I saw him bring out the Bible of which he
had quietly taken possession, and I noticed that he had sewed a coarse
covering over it, and held it as if it were made of gold.
When you and I, Bennie, used to kneel down so regularly, and say our
prayers every night, I did not think that the same act would ever
require a stronger effort of moral courage than any thing I have ever
done. The first night we were out, after reading a chapter, as we always
do at home, before getting into my little berth, I knelt down, without
even thinking that there was any body on board who would not do the
same thing. I was so taken up with the duty I was performing, that I did
not notice if others were looking at me; for if ever I felt the need of
the protection of God, it is now. The land is so full of things that men
have made, and they are so busy all around you, that it does not seem
half so much as if it were God's own world as the ocean, where every
object, except the little vessel you are in, is of his creation. As I
looked up and saw all the universe he had made, and round on the broad
waters, and thought how soon, with one wave, they could sweep us out of
existence, I felt the need of prayer more than ever before, and I cannot
now imagine how those men could sleep, without first asking God to take
care of them. I am afraid, though, that some of the sailors don't even
believe that there is such a being, and they say his awful name without
any fear, and ask him to curse each other every few moments, as if they
had never heard what a dreadful thing it is to be under the displeasure
of the Almighty.
When I got up from my knees, I heard a loud laugh from "Blunt Harry,"
who called out to Clarendon,--"Why don't you rock that baby to sleep,
now he has said his prayers, and then say your own and turn in?"
Clarendon would have made some angry reply, but he has found out that
there is no use in getting in a passion, for the men consider him on a
perfect level with themselves, and will say what they choose to him.
"Let the boy alone," interposed Moody Dick. "I only wish I could say my
prayers this night with the same childlike confidence."
"No, don't mind them, my fine fellow," said Old Jack, the same man who
had spoken so warmly of the Seamen's Friend Society, and he gave me a
rough tap on the shoulder, which even my coarse shirt did not prevent
from stinging. "They all envy you, for I used to talk just as they do,
and when at the worst I would have changed places with any body who had
a fair chance of landing in heaven."
While this conversation was going on, Clarendon bit his lips with
displeasure, and the next day he told me that I might as well say my
prayers after I got into my berth. I was surprised that my proud
brother, who scorns the idea of being influenced by the opinion of any
one, should want to have me ashamed of worshipping God before those whom
he pretends to despise. Though I love him dearly, I did not follow his
advice, and when the second night I did the same thing, no one laughed
at me.
The next day, David Cobb shook hands heartily with me, and said I ought
to have been a Yankee boy; for though he had not been brought up to say
his prayers himself, if he had, there was not that man living who should
laugh him out of it. I shall try and persuade David to do right himself,
as well as to approve it in others, for I remember mother's
saying,--"Even a boy has his share of influence, and it is a talent for
which he must account."
I will tell you more about Old Jack and Moody Dick when I next feel
like writing. I do not know when I shall have a chance to send a letter,
but I shall try and have one ready all the while. Give my love to all
the children, and don't forget to remember me to the servants,
especially old Aunt Molly.
Your absent but loving cousin,
PIDGIE.
LETTER IV.
TALK ABOUT GREAT MEN.
FROM PIDGIE TO BENNIE.
Banks of Newfoundland, July 15th, 1846.
I begin to feel, dear Bennie, very much as if I should like to hear from
you, and sometimes I am a little homesick, when I think how pleasantly
Bellisle is looking, and how happy you all must be. Then what would I
not give for your pet bookcase with its treasures, the nice Rollo books
and Marco Paul's adventures, and dear old Robinson Crusoe! I am tired,
too, of looking at men, and fairly long to see some one who will remind
me of mother, or my sweet sister Nannie, or of the "Queen of
Flowers,"--you know who I mean.
I suspect that brother Clarendon has something of the same feeling, for
yesterday I saw him take a miniature out of what I had always thought
before was a watch-case, and it was such a pretty face that I don't
wonder that he sighed when he looked at it.
But in spite of sighing and groaning, and hard fare and hard work,
Clarendon is getting better very fast, and some of the sailors, who at
first laughed at his affectation, are beginning to have a profound
respect for him, and he in his turn seems to look much more benevolently
upon mankind in general, and to be able to interest himself in the rough
characters around him. I think he cut the greatest figure washing out
his red-flannel shirt yesterday, and he laughed himself at the idea of
some of his fashionable friends catching a glimpse of him while thus
employed.
I do not like Captain Cobb much, though he is very shrewd, and sometimes
tells David and me such funny stories; but he seems to have no
principle, and has brought up David to think that if he can ever be a
great man it is no matter whether he is a good one.
Yesterday, David and I were having one of our long talks, for we pass a
great deal of time in chatting when the weather is not favorable for
fishing, and I think we shall soon know pretty well the history of each
other's lives. He was telling me about the Latin High School in Boston,
and, from what he says of it, I am sure if a boy don't learn there it
must be his own fault.
One day we were discussing our favorite characters in history, just as
you and I used to do at Bellisle, and David was very much amused when I
told him that those I most admired were Aristides, St. Paul, and General
Washington. His favorites are Alexander the Great, Napoleon Bonaparte,
and Washington. So we agree about one of them, but differ widely as to
the other two. David absolutely laughed when I mentioned St. Paul with
Aristides, and seemed to think that I only named him because I had been
taught that it was right to do so. I asked if he had ever read the life
of Paul with attention, and this question appeared to amuse him still
more; and then he told me he had been through the Book of Acts in Sunday
school, and had learned several chapters in it by heart; but for all
that he had never thought of St. Paul as a hero.
I asked him what made a hero,--if it was not courage in the time of
danger.
"Yes," he said, "but it must be in action, not in words."
I reminded him then of some of the Grecian orators, who made themselves
immortal by their speeches, when their country was in danger, and asked
if their words were not considered heroic.
This question puzzled him a little, and he was not willing to own that
it was a similar case, but I defied him to find a Greek or Roman who had
hazarded his life more freely for the good of others than St. Paul. Then
I turned to the chapter containing Paul's speech before Agrippa, and
asked him where he could match its eloquence. Then I read over the
account of the sufferings of this brave Apostle, and demanded of David
whether any other man could give a catalogue of so many and great evils
so manfully borne. Finally, we reviewed the story of Paul's shipwreck at
Melita, and David was forced to avow that my hero showed a calmness and
self-possession in that hour of danger which few mariners display.
If I only had had you to help me argue the point, I should have made him
own that Paul was very far superior to Alexander the Great.
You must not think, from what I say of David, that New England boys are
not as piously brought up as the Virginians; for I believe the
generality of them are much better instructed; but you know we have had
peculiar advantages, and David has been but little at home with his
mother, and his father cannot teach him what he does not himself know.
David will be a good man one of these days, and would be better now if
he had not the idea that there was something manly in being wicked. I am
so glad that I was not brought up to think the same, for I begin to see
how true it is, that, the older we grow, the more difficult it is for us
to change our course.
There is poor Moody Dick! I really believe he would like to be a better
man. They say that he is not more than twenty-five, but I thought that
he was over thirty, for his face is wrinkled already, and there are gray
hairs around his temples.
Yesterday, David and I were talking about our sisters. I told him all
about Nannie, and that I thought she was the prettiest girl in the whole
State of Virginia, and that was saying a great deal for her.
He allowed that this might be true, but he had a sister of his own who
was a match for her, and began describing her quite like a poet, and
then quoted some pretty lines from a piece addressed to a sister, by
Mr. Everett, I believe.
The words seemed to touch Moody Dick, who was pacing the deck near us,
for he stopped and listened to them with that same distressed expression
of countenance which I had noticed before, and when they were finished
he said, half unconsciously,--"A sister! I have a sister. There is none
like her."
"Have you seen her lately?" I asked. "It must be hard to be so much away
from her."
"I have not seen her for many years; but what is that to you?" he
replied, almost angrily.
My question might have been injudicious, and I immediately made an
apology for it, which appeased Dick. He walked up and down the deck two
or three times, as if debating some point in his own mind, and then,
returning, said, in a very sad tone,--"My life has been a useless one,
but I wish to make what is left of some service to others. You two boys
are still young, and may be saved from the errors into which I have
fallen. Come with me to the end of the vessel, where there are no
listeners, and I will tell you the story of my life, and you will then
know better how to appreciate a sister's love than you have ever done
before."
You may imagine that we accepted this invitation very readily, but just
as I was seated Clarendon called to me to come quickly to him, for he
was very ill; so I had to jump up and run away.
I found that brother had only an attack of pain in his chest, which
proceeds from his dyspepsia; but it alarmed him very much, and when it
was over, I saw that Dick was reading his Bible by the dim light of the
only lantern on board, and as I knew it would do him good, I did not
disturb him again that night. I am really anxious to know more about his
sister, and why he staid away from her so long.
I don't think that it would be pleasant to go to sea for a business, on
the whole. I used to imagine that a sailor's life must be one of the
happiest in the world; but now I see it has very great trials. I am so
glad that the people on land are beginning to feel an interest in those
on the water; for they sacrifice much to procure for them the comforts
and luxuries of foreign lands.
I expect, Bennie, that you will be half asleep before you have done
reading this letter, for I was a little homesick when I began it, and
that makes any one stupid. Brown Tom saw that I looked, as he said,
"rather watery," and, by way of cheering me, he told me, if that black
cloud in the northeast was coming over us, I would have something worse
than home-sickness before night.
It does look rather like a squall, and I am not ashamed to own that I
should very much prefer to be in my little snug chamber at Bellisle, out
of the reach of harm.
Tell Corty that I have taken a sketch of a schooner, that has kept near
us for the last twenty-four hours, which is just like the one I am in;
and when she sees it I hope, with a little explanation, that she will
know as much about one as I do, though she has never seen any kind of
craft but a canal-boat, and I don't think they are worthy to be named
with any thing but Noah's ark. O, how I want to see you all! I never
will leave home again. Remember me to every thing I love, as your
affectionate cousin,
PIDGIE.
LETTER V.
OLD JACK.
FROM PIDGIE TO BENNIE.
Banks of Newfoundland, July 16th, 1846.
Little did you think, dear Bennie, while sleeping last night quietly at
Bellisle, that your poor cousin Pidgie was in danger of being drowned.
But so it was. The storm, of which Brown Tom had warned me, came on with
tremendous force, and our poor little schooner was tossed about like a
feather on the angry waves. I was so sick, however, from the roughness
of the sea, that I feared little, and realized less, of our critical
situation.
Clarendon says that Captain Cobb showed himself a brave man, and David
was more active than the oldest of the sailors. As for brother himself,
he did wonders. Old Jack told me this morning, that, when we came on
hoard, he thought Clarendon was such a good-for-nothing that his life
was scarcely worth saving; but there was not a man on board who showed
more presence of mind and energetic courage. He really looks better this
morning for his exertions.
Sick as I felt last night, there was one thing struck me forcibly, and
that was, that those who had sworn the loudest, and appeared the boldest
in wickedness since we started, were most frightened, and prayed most
heartily to that Being whose existence they were before hardly willing
to acknowledge. I can give you no better description of the scene than
is found in the Psalm, which is so often quoted by those who are at sea;
for the ship did indeed "reel to and fro like a drunken man."
Old Jack was perfectly composed. And well he may be; for he says that he
always thinks in a storm that he may arrive shortly at a better port
than he otherwise could reach in many years. He has been telling us this
morning how he came at this happy state of mind, and several of the
sailors were made serious enough, by the perils of last night, to listen
patiently to his story, and perhaps you may do the same.
Before it was considered possible for a sea-faring man to be perfectly
temperate, Jack took more than his share of grog; and, when on shore,
spent all his time in dissipation. Luckily, he had no wife to be made
miserable by his errors, though perhaps a good woman might have had an
excellent influence on him. As he had no home of his own, his time when
in port was spent at some miserable tavern by the water-side, where he
could meet the crews of vessels from all quarters of the world, and join
with them in folly and vice.
Two years ago, he had returned from a long voyage to the East Indies,
and landed at New York. One Sunday evening, when staggering along by the
docks and looking at the different ships, trying to meet with some of
his old messmates, he noticed what seemed to him a most curious-looking
vessel, and called out to a sailor near him,--"What in the name of sense
is that odd-looking craft, without sail or steam, good for?"
"Have you never before seen the floating chapel?" asked the trim-looking
tar whom he accosted. "Come aboard, and you will be never the worse.
It's a church, man! Don't stare your eyes out, but walk inside and hear
good plain doctrine."
"No, no," replied Jack; "I can't be pressed into that service. I am in
no rig either for going into such a concern; and, besides, it's ten long
years since I have been inside a church, and I should act so strangely
that they would throw me overboard. There's never a word in the gabbling
one hears at such places that I can understand."
"But this preaching is meant for sailors," continued Jack's new
acquaintance, "and there is nobody else there; so you will be rigged as
well as any of the congregation. Come along! let's board her right off."
Jack had a great deal of curiosity, and, after a little more parley,
consented to go into the floating chapel. I wish I could repeat to you
the sermon which he heard there, with the simple eloquence with which he
delivered it to us. The text was,--"The sea shall give up its dead." The
clergyman imagined the millions who should rise, on this momentous
occasion, from the recesses of the vast ocean, and as he pictured the
probable characters of many who should then come forth to judgment, and
their unfitness to stand before that holy tribunal, Jack felt as if he
were describing some of his own friends whom he had seen ingulfed by the
waters. When thus summoned, as they must be, before long, to appear,
with the same tempers and dispositions which they had displayed in life,
would they be found prepared for a heaven of purity? Then came a vivid
picture of the perils of a sailor's life, and the probability that its
termination might be equally sudden. The sermon closed with an earnest
exhortation to each one then present to live every moment in such a
state, that, if death should surprise them, they might rise again to
life eternal; and Jack, as he listened to the concluding words, felt as
if the warning were the last which would ever fall on his ears. He might
have soon banished the seriousness occasioned by this visit to the
chapel, among his jovial companions, had he not met with a loss, which
he now considers a most providential occurrence.
On returning to his boarding-house, Jack went to his room, and, on going
to his chest, found to his dismay that it had been opened during his
absence, and all that remained of his wages for the last cruise stolen.
He rushed down to the landlord in great distress, but obtained little
satisfaction; and there was something in his manner which made the poor
sailor think that he had known of the theft. Jack left the house in
despair, not knowing which way to turn, when he met the same sailor who
had induced him to go to church, and who now offered to show him a more
comfortable lodging-place.
"Don't talk to me of lodging!" Jack exclaimed. "I have not a penny in
the world, and must ship myself in the first vessel that goes."
Jack's companion, with seaman-like generosity, offered him half of all
he owned in the world, and was certain, that, if he would go to the
Sailor's Home, he would find friends who would assist him in recovering
his stolen treasure. Jack allowed himself to be led by his companion,
and soon reached the comfortable building which had been erected by one
of those benevolent associations which are an honor to the Northern
cities.
The poor wanderer felt a greater sense of comfort than he had
experienced for years, as he entered a pleasant little chamber in this
truly homelike abode. When he had made the acquaintance of the
kind-hearted landlady, he found her willing to let him remain, even
after he had told her of his destitute condition; and she promised that
every effort should be made to restore to him his hard earnings.
On going back to his snug quarters, after this conversation, there was
something like thankfulness to the Giver of all good in Jack's heart. By
his bedside he found a Bible, a volume which he had not seen since the
one his mother gave him was lost, five years before, when he was wrecked
upon the coast of Africa. He thought of the sermon which he had heard
that afternoon, and took up the book to look for the text,--"The sea
shall give up its dead." The first words upon which his eye fell
were,--"For this my son was lost and is found." The beautiful story of
the Prodigal Son, as he had heard it in childhood, came full into his
mind, and he remembered how often he had read it at his mother's knee.
The tears rolled down his cheek, as, sitting down beside the little pine
table, he read again that touching picture of God's love for his
wandering children; and when he came to the confession of the penitent
son, it burst forth from his own heart.
From that hour Jack has been a changed man. Some of the benevolent
persons in the city of New York, who have the welfare of mariners so
much at heart, procured him a new situation, favorable to his
improvement in character; and the next ship in which he sailed was
commanded by a pious captain, who was a good friend to every man on
board. When he returned from this cruise, he felt too old for another
long voyage, and for the future was going to try and content himself
with being out for two or three months on expeditions like that in which
he is at present engaged.
Perhaps, dear Bennie, I have tired you by repeating this long story,
which cannot be as interesting to you as it was to me from Jack's own
lips, in the morning after a night of such excitement, with the sailors
standing around, listening attentively to every word of it. Even brother
Clarendon was touched by the earnest exhortations to them with which the
narrative closed; and it seems as if being out of society had made him
more serious than he ever was before. He laughs at me now very often,
and says I was cut out for a Methodist preacher; but on Sunday he did
not read any of the novels he brought with him, and though that does not
seem a proof of much goodness, yet in him it shows improvement. If he
should get his health, and become a pious man, what a comfort he would
be to 'ma; for she thinks he is almost perfect now.
We have just "come to" in a fine shoal of mackerel, so I must quit
writing and go to fishing; for David and I have a great strife which
will catch the most on the voyage.
Love, as usual, to every body, from yours,
PIDGIE.
LETTER VI.
VISIT TO THE CUNARD STEAMER.
FROM PIDGIE TO BENNIE.
Nowhere in particular, July 22d.