you the nice long letters I had written. Though we had been nearly three
weeks from home, we had not stopped at any port, or spoken a single
vessel. Yesterday evening, Clarendon was amusing himself with a
spy-glass which he brought with him, and David and I were wondering
whether it could make something out of nothing,--for there was no land
in sight, or any thing else to spy at, that we could perceive. Brother's
eyes, however, were better than ours; for he saw a speck in the
distance, which he found to be a vessel of large size, and he called
the captain to take a look at it. Captain Cobb pronounced it forthwith,
from its peculiar form and the day of the month, to be one of the
British steamers, which had got a little to the north, on its way to
Halifax. He soon found that his conjectures were right; and as she
appeared to be at rest, and the wind was fair, we made towards her with
all possible speed.
It is a marvel to me how such a great, unwieldy thing can float on the
water, especially as there is so much iron about it. After all, I like
our old fishing-smack better than being within continual hearing of that
monstrous engine; and then the smell of smoke and steam would, I am
sure, take away my appetite, so that I could not even enjoy one of their
splendid dinners.
But you have no idea, Bennie, what elegant style every thing is in on
board these steamers. Two or three turns on the long, shining deck would
be quite a morning walk, and the immense dining-room appears larger
still, from the mirrors on every side. I had heard so much of the
state-rooms, that I expected more than was reasonable; and when I saw
them, the idea of passing night after night in such little closets was
not agreeable. The pantry presented a beautiful assortment of glass and
china; but every tumbler and cup had to be fastened to the wall by
hooks, or, in case of rough weather, there would be fatal smashing. The
castors, too, looked so droll, suspended over the table like hanging
lamps!
The ladies appeared quite as much at home in their delightful saloons as
in the most luxurious apartments in the city, and few Virginian
drawing-rooms could make such a display of Wilton carpets, velvet
lounges, and splendid mirrors.
These steamers must be nice things for women and children, for it cannot
seem at all as if they were at sea when the weather is pleasant, and
they are so used to spending their time in reading and working that it
does not much matter where they are, if they keep on with these
occupations. I suppose these ladies would have been miserable on such an
old schooner as ours,--and some of the men, too, who looked almost as
effeminate. I think Clarendon himself would very much prefer one of
these nice little state-rooms, where he could make his toilet so
comfortably, to his straw-bed in the old Go-Ahead. I am sure a dinner on
board the steamer would be much more to his taste than biscuit and
water, even with such nice fish as we caught this morning for a relish.
He pulled up a whole barrel full of them himself, and that gave him a
most excellent appetite.
At first, Clarendon declared that he could not go on board the steamer
in his sailor rigging; but he had no other with him, and at length the
desire to see what he called "civilized people" once more carried him
over. You should have seen some pretty ladies, who were sitting in the
dining-room, stare at him.
"That is a remarkably genteel-looking man for one in his condition,"
remarked the oldest of the group. "What kind of a vessel did he come
from?"
"I heard one of the gentlemen say, as it approached us, that it was a
Yankee fishing-smack," observed her daughter.
"He walks about as if he had been quite used to elegance," observed a
third, "and does not stare around like that plump little fellow beside
him, who is too fair to have been long on the water."
You may be sure that "the plump little fellow who stared about" was your
cousin Pidgie, for David never looks astonished at any thing, and has so
often visited all kinds of vessels that he is quite at home in any of
them. He was able to explain all the machinery to brother and myself,
pointing out the improvements which have been recently made in steam
navigation with a clearness that I never could equal. I don't believe,
though, that Clarendon heard a word of this explanation; for the remarks
of the ladies in the dining-room had reached his ear, and he was
terribly discomfited at being taken for a Down East fisherman.
David really seems to have more independence than my proud brother, for
he don't care what people take him for, so there is nothing disgraceful
about it, and verily believes that there is not a situation in the world
which he could not do honor to, or make honorable.
Captain Cobb did not go on board himself, but deputed David to deliver a
message to the captain about some fish, and no man could have discharged
his commission with more quiet indifference. You could see at a glance
that the son of the owner of the fishing-smack Go-Ahead considered
himself quite equal to the captain of the royal steamer.
"Have you had good luck in fishing this season, my fine fellow?" said an
English gentleman to Clarendon, who was standing with his back towards
him.
I would have liked to have seen brother's face at being thus addressed;
for I knew that there was a pint, at least, of the best old Virginia
blood in his cheeks and forehead. The moment that he turned round, there
was something in his air which showed the man of the world his mistake.
"I beg your pardon, Sir," he said quickly. "Your dress made me mistake
you for one of the sailors; but I see from your complexion that you have
not been long on the sea."
Clarendon received the apology very graciously, and now became
interested in conversing with the stranger. Before parting with the
acquaintance made thus unceremoniously, they had exchanged names,--for
cards they had none at hand,--and the English gentleman partly promised
to visit Clarendon Beverley at his own plantation of Altamac, which
brother is to superintend on his return home.
There was a young Italian girl on board, as nurse to one of the ladies,
who reminded me of a poor little fellow that recently died at Boston.
David told me about him, and said that his face was the saddest that he
ever saw. He earned a scanty support in a strange land by exhibiting
two little white mice, which he carried in a small wooden cage hung
around his neck. He offered to show them without asking for money, and
when they ran up and down his arms, and over his hands, he would look
upon them with the most mournful affection, as if they were the only
friends he had on earth. Every one who saw him longed to know his
history; but he could speak but little English, and shrank from the
notice of strangers. He was taken sick and carried to the Massachusetts
Hospital, where his gentleness won him many friends. But they could not
stop the progress of his disease, or comfort his poor, lonely heart. The
night before he died, no one near him could sleep for his piteous
moaning and sad cries,--"I am afraid to die; I want my mother."
O Bennie! if we had seen this poor little fellow, so unprotected and
sorrowful, with no means of support but exhibiting those poor little
white mice, we should, I am sure, have felt that we could not be too
thankful for all the comforts of our dear home. Yet, when I heard this
story, the contrast with my own favored lot did not at first make me
happier; for I began to realize how many miserable beings there are in
the world, whose suffering we cannot relieve, and may never know. I
could not eat a mouthful that day, for thinking of the melancholy little
Italian boy. I wonder if that was his sister on board the steamer! How
could his mother let him go so far away from her? Perhaps, though, she
was starving at home, and had heard of America as a land of plenty.
I don't think that I shall ever want to go abroad myself; for they say
that in foreign countries one sees so many poor, miserable children; and
that would make me so unhappy that I should not enjoy any thing. I said
so to David; but he talks like a young philosopher. He seems to have a
way of keeping himself from feeling badly about others, though he has a
very good heart, and, if he gave way to it, could make himself as
unhappy about others as I sometimes do. He says he could enjoy looking
at St. Peter's quite as much if there were a few beggars around it. I
was sure, for my part, that I could take no pleasure in looking at the
most beautiful building, if I saw any one who was suffering at the same
time.
Clarendon laughed when he heard me make this remark, and said that I was
too chicken-hearted for a boy, and ought to have been a girl. He need
not smile at me, for he feels himself more quickly than the
New-Englanders, though, after they have weighed any case of suffering in
their own minds, they would do quite as much to relieve it. I can never
think them cold-hearted, after visiting Boston and seeing their
hospitals and schools. While I was there, there was a tremendous fire in
the neighbourhood, by which a great many poor people lost their all. But
the intelligence was hardly received before thousands of dollars were
subscribed for their relief. They certainly have a great deal of real
feeling and generosity, and if they would only express a little more of
it in manner and words, every body would allow them to be, what I know
they are, the kindest people in the world, always excepting the dear old
Virginians. They speak, act, think, and feel just as they ought to do.
You will perceive, from this last remark, that I am not turning traitor
to the Old Dominion. We have been so successful in our fishing that I
hope ere long to see it once more; and, till then, shall remain
affectionately yours,
PIDGIE BEVERLEY.
LETTER VII.
MOODY DICK'S SISTER LOUISA.
FROM PIDGIE TO BENNIE.
Schooner Go-Ahead, August 1st, 1846.
You will think from my last letters, dear Bennie, that I have lost all
interest in Moody Dick; and to be sure I did forget his story in the
excitement of our visit to the Cunard steamer.
The evening after that great event was so pleasant, that David and I,
who in general are great sleepy-heads, had no desire to rest; perhaps
from having seen so much that was new during the day. The sailors are
too used to such visits to think any thing about them; and, besides,
they are a mighty independent set of men, and care as little for the
world as the world for them. Clarendon sat on one end of the schooner
reading some English papers by the moonlight, which was intensely
bright, while at the other end Brown Tom and some of his friends were
regaling themselves with a smoke and a long yarn. I had not seen Dick
since morning to notice him, but could not help observing him now, as he
walked about with the air of a man who is trying to free himself from
some melancholy thought. I did not interrupt him, when he passed the
place where I was sitting with David, but two or three times he halted
as he came by us. My Yankee friend was giving me a lively description of
a clam-bake at Swampscot, in return for a picture I had drawn of life on
a plantation in Virginia; but though it was most amusing, I could not
help pitying Dick. By and by he stopped near us, and stood looking
earnestly at something which he had taken from his bosom. A sudden wave
struck the vessel, which gave it a tilt, and in preserving his footing
Dick dropped a small locket on the edge of the deck, which David caught
fast as it was slipping into the water.
As he handed the trinket to its owner, I could not help seeing that it
held the miniature of a lovely child, not more than four years old. The
hair was very light, and curled so sweetly, that the eyes were like Lily
Carrol's, only a little sadder; but the mouth seemed as ready to smile
as hers always is. The face was not at all like Dick's, but yet it
reminded me of what his might have been when a child.
"O, how beautiful!" I exclaimed involuntarily, as David placed it in
Dick's hand.
"Do you think so?" he asked, earnestly. "Look again at this merry face,
and tell me if it ever ought to have been saddened by sorrow."
"But, you know, 'by the sorrow of the countenance the heart is made
better,'" I replied, wishing to soothe the grief which he evidently
felt, as he held the miniature for me to look at it again.
"Better!" repeated Dick, sternly. "There could not be a better heart
than my sweet sister Louisa always had. That picture gives only a faint
idea of her lovely face, for it represents its least pleasing
expression, and she had not then reached the height of her beauty. Yet
it is very like," he added, gazing sadly upon it. "Even now I seem to
hear those rosy lips utter their first sweet lisp,--'Dear brother.'"
"No wonder that you loved her, if she was even prettier than this!" I
exclaimed; "for I could lay down my life for such a sister."
"I did not love her," he answered, to our great surprise. "You are
astonished at the confession; but I am not sure that, affectionate as
you boys both seem, you either of you know what true love is. I was
proud of Louisa. When she was an infant I liked to hear her praises; and
as she grew more and more beautiful, and began to pour out the first
woman feelings of her guileless heart upon me, I received them with
gratitude, and really believed she was, what I called her, 'my heart's
treasure.'"
"Then why do you say that you did not love her?" I inquired,
hesitatingly.
"Because years have convinced me," he replied, "that I was even then,
what I have ever since been, one mass of selfishness. I never gave up a
single wish for her pleasure, or made one effort to add to her
happiness. Never say, my boys, that you love any one, till you find your
own will giving way to the desire to please them, and that you can
cheerfully renounce your most cherished plans for their sake."
As he said this, Bennie, I asked myself whether it could be true that I
did not even love my mother, and tried to think whether I had ever made
the least sacrifice of my will to her comfort. O, how many acts recurred
to my mind of selfish imposition upon her yielding gentleness! I am
afraid that we boys all take the kindness of our parents too much as a
matter of course, and do not often enough question ourselves whether we
are making any return for their love.
But I am getting to scribble away my own thoughts quite too freely. Yet
it is only a year since I could think of no other commencement to a
letter than "As this is composition day, I thought that I would write to
you."
As Dick thus spake of his own want of consideration for the feelings of
his little sister, he became exceedingly agitated and was unable to
proceed. Clarendon, who had finished reading his papers, came to the
side of the boat where we were sitting, and told me that he was going to
turn in, and that it was quite time for me to be asleep too. I was very
reluctant to go, but when brother was out of hearing, Dick said,--"It is
as well. I find I have not self-command enough to go over the sad story
of my own folly. If you will give me a pencil and some paper, to-morrow
I will write such portions of it as I think may interest or be of
service to you. Do not criticize the expressions, for it is many years
since I have done any thing of the kind, and the life I have led has
about destroyed all traces of my early education."
Of course, David and I were obliged to accept this promise in lieu of
the evening's entertainment which we had expected, and marched off to
our berths.
The next day we came upon a fine shoal of mackerel; so every one was
busy, and it was not till nearly a week afterwards that Dick handed us
two closely-written sheets of paper, with a caution not to show them to
any one else. David and I read them with much interest, and I copied
them to send to you. Here they are, and you must take care that I have
them safe on my return.
CONTINUATION OF DICK'S STORY.
"It was not from pride that I was unable to go on with the history of my
own early years; but I find that I had not the fortitude to bear the sad
recollection of my own selfishness and ingratitude. My little sister's
image rose before me with such sweetness and purity that I could not
utter another word.
"I will pass over the years of my infantine tyranny till, when at the
age of fourteen, I became possessed with a strong desire to be sent to a
public school. My father was sitting in his large arm-chair, in the
porch, after tea, when I made this request, which, at first, he refused
to grant.
"'I shall never be any thing but a baby,' I exclaimed angrily, 'brought
up with nobody but a mere child, and that a girl, too, for my playmate.
Do send me where I can make a man, and be a match for other boys of my
age.'
"My old father looked very sadly at this outbreak of passion, but did
not reprove my disrespectful tone. 'Where do you wish to go?' he asked,
soothingly. 'Can you find any one who will love you better than your
sweet little sister and I do? She would be very unhappy if I were to
send her dear brother away.'
"'And so,' I said, 'I must be tied to Miss Louisa's apron-string all my
life, for fear the little baby will cry for me! If my interest is always
to lend to her pleasure, I might as well give up all hope of ever being
any thing now.'
"At this moment, Louisa, who sat swinging on the garden gate, fanning
her fair cheek with the little round hat which she had just been
trimming with roses, caught the sound of my angry voice; and never did a
cloud more quickly obscure the sweet star of evening than the shadow
fell on her young face. She dropped her hat beside her on the grass, and
the ever-ready tear rose to her dark hazel eye; but she dashed it away,
knowing that I was always angry with her instead of myself when I made
her weep. She left her seat, and, coming up the walk with a timid air,
stole to my father's side and whispered,--'O, don't cross Richard,
father! If he wants to go away from us, let him. He will be happier
where there are boys of his own age.'
"'And what will you do, my sweet pet?' asked my father, fondly, as he
drew her to his knee. 'Will you stay alone with your old father, and try
and comfort him.'
"'O, yes indeed!' she answered earnestly, as she threw her arms around
his neck and kissed him. 'We shall get along so nicely together, and be
so happy when we have pleasant letters from Dick, telling us how he is
improving in every thing.'
"Hers was love; for she cared nothing for her own loneliness in
comparison with the gratification of my wishes.
"So I left our quiet country home, with all its holy influences, for the
turmoil and heartlessness of a large school, where I soon became the
ringleader in all sorts of mischief. Before long, accounts of my evil
doing reached my father; but Louisa, incredulous of evil, as the pure
ever are, persuaded him that her brother had been misunderstood, and not
treated with sufficient gentleness. 'His spirit has been imprudently
roused,' she said, 'and that makes him perverse and forgetful of his
better self. But all will soon be well again.'
"By being more cunning in my wicked exploits, I contrived to hide them
from my teacher, and consequently was allowed to remain at school for
several years, till considered ready to enter college. During this time
I had made very short visits at home, and almost dreaded the long
vacation before entering the Sophomore class at Harvard University.
"It is possible that in some respects I might have improved in
appearance during my residence at school; but evil tempers and evil
habits will leave their traces on the countenance, and my excellent
parent sighed as he looked upon the hardened face of his only son.
Louisa, also, found something unpleasant in the change, but said that no
alteration would have pleased her which made me differ from the dear
little brother with whom she had passed so many happy hours. I could not
say the same of her; for, though my baby sister had seemed perfect, the
tall girl of fifteen, who stood at the garden gate to welcome me, was
lovelier still. The responsibility of presiding over her father's
household and her anxiety for me had infused a shade of thoughtfulness
into her otherwise lively countenance, which might have made it seem too
full of care for one so young, had not the sweeter Christian principle
changed it to an expression of quiet peacefulness.
"When I told of my school follies at home, Louisa would sometimes sigh;
and then I would be angry at what I named her 'daring to dictate to me.'
But I never could frighten her into approving what was wrong. I was not
happy in her society, for much of my time of late years had been spent
in a manner of which she could not fail to disapprove, and her whole
life was at variance with mine. I do believe, now, in spite of her
unwearied affection, that it was a relief to her when the vacation was
over, and she had no longer the annoying presence of her wicked, wayward
brother.
"Sometimes Louisa would allude to the way in which we had been
educated, entirely unconscious that I not only had given up all
religious observances, but even dared to make them a matter of sport. I
was half ashamed, and quite as much provoked, when at parting she handed
me a book of 'Private Devotions,' with a mark, worked in her own hair,
at a prayer for absent friends.
"'You had better keep this book for yourself, little Methodist,' I
exclaimed, trying to laugh off my vexation. 'Students have no need of
such text-books, I can tell you.'
"'But students need the protection of an Almighty Creator,' she replied,
seriously, 'and their absent friends, also, are only safe under his
keeping. I always pray for you, my dear brother, as our mother taught me
to do; and I had hoped that you had not given up the petition for your
sister which you also used to say at her knee.'
"This remark brought before me the image of our departed mother, as she
looked the last time I remembered to have seen her, seated in an easy
chair which she rivalled in whiteness, so mild and calm, with the little
curly head of my baby-sister in her lap, while she dictated to her the
simple form of prayer,--'God bless my dear brother!'
"As the stage-coach rolled away from my father's door, I could not
banish the vision called up by Louisa's parting words, and I then
resolved to try and become what my mother would have wished. Vain
resolution! Six weeks saw me immersed in all the dissipation that the
city afforded, and in three months I had an empty purse, enfeebled
health, and a hardness of heart which would have taken some men years to
acquire.
"To pay my 'honorable debts,' as I called my gambling ones, I wrote to
Louisa, requesting her to ask my father to send me a fresh supply of
money. She sent me a moderate sum in a purse of her own knitting, which
she playfully observed, 'would not part with its treasures unless they
were to be worthily employed.'
"The funds so easily obtained were soon scattered to the winds, and I
sent a repetition of my former request to Louisa, couched in the most
affectionate language, adding many words of endearment, without once
thinking of the meanness of thus employing her affection to pander to my
own selfish gratification.
"But I was mistaken in Louisa! While she thought that she could benefit
me, there was no limit to her kindness; but her principles were too firm
for weak indulgence. She replied to my demand kindly, but decidedly. Her
conscience would not allow her to impose on the generosity of our
excellent parent, and to take from him that which was necessary for the
comfort of his old age, for the sake of indulging me in my vicious
pursuits. She begged me to give him an honest statement of my affairs,
and to assure him of my resolution to renounce the follies in which I
had become thus entangled, cautioning me against endeavouring to warp
his judgment by expressions of affection, while my whole conduct showed
such utter disregard of his happiness.
"These were the first words of severity which I had ever heard from
Louisa, and only her devotion to our father could have called them
forth. I was in a perfect rage at the receipt of her letter, and
determined to do something which should make my sister repent of her
boldness.
"That night my effects were all packed up, excepting a few valuables, of
which I disposed at any price, to pay off my debts to my reckless
companions, and the next day saw me on my way to New York.
"When I arrived at that city, I wrote a few lines to Louisa, but not a
word to my father. I remember them as plainly as if they were now before
me, for they haunted me for years. These were the cruel words with which
I took leave of the sweetest of human beings:--'Since you think, Miss
Louisa, that my father is too poor to support me, I will no longer tax
his kindness. I can take care of myself, and be free from your
reproaches. I am going to sea in the first vessel that sails from this
port. I care not where it is bound, so that it bears me away from those
that once loved me, but who have now cast me off from them for ever.'