A wonderfully picturesque appearance did these shipwrecked mariners
present that night when, under the shelter of the shrubbery that crowned
their small island, they kindled several camp-fires, and busied
themselves in preparing supper.
As there was no law in the island--and our skipper, having lost his
ship, forbore to assert any right to command--every one naturally did
what seemed right in his own eyes.
As yet there had arisen no bone of contention among them. Of food they
had secured enough for at least a few days. Fire they had procured by
means of flint, steel, and tinder. A clear spring furnished them with
water, and ships' buckets washed ashore enabled them to convey the same
to their encampment. Fortunately, no rum-kegs had been found, so that
evil passions were not stirred up, and, on the whole, the first night on
the island was spent in a fair degree of harmony--considering the
character of the men.
Those who had been kindred souls on board ship naturally drew together
on shore, and kindled their several fires apart. Thus it came to pass
that the skipper and his son, the two mates, and Paul Burns found
themselves assembled round the same fire.
But the two mates, it is right to add, were only sympathetic in a small
degree, because of their former position as officers, and their recent
imprisonment together. In reality they were men of no principle and of
weak character, whose tendency was always to throw in their lot with the
winning side. Being a little uncertain as to which was the winning side
that night, they had the wisdom to keep their own counsel.
Oliver presided over the culinary department.
"You see, I'm rather fond of cookin'," he said, apologetically, "that's
why I take it in hand."
"Ah, that comes of his bein' a good boy to his mother," said Master
Trench in explanation, and with a nod of approval. "Olly was always
ready to lend her a helpin' hand in the house at anything that had to be
done, which has made him a Jack-of-all-trades--cookin' among the rest,
as you see."
"A pity that the means of displaying his powers are so limited," said
Paul, who busied himself in levelling the ground beside the fire for
their beds.
"Limited!" exclaimed Trench, "you are hard to please, Master Paul; I
have lived on worse food than salt pork and pancakes."
"If so, father," said Oliver, as he deftly tossed one of the cakes into
the air and neatly caught it on its other side in the pan, "you must
either have had the pork without the pancakes or the pancakes without
the pork."
"Nay, Master Shallowpate, I had neither."
"What! did you live on nothing?"
"On nothing better than boiled sheepskin--and it was uncommon tough as
well as tasteless; but it is wonderful what men will eat when they're
starving."
"I think, father," returned the boy, as he tossed and deftly caught the
cake again, "that it is more wonderful what men will eat when they're
_not_ starving! Of all the abominations that mortal man ever put
between his grinders, I think the worst is that vile stuff--"
He was interrupted by a sudden outbreak of wrath at the fire next to
theirs, where Big Swinton, Grummidge, and several others were engaged,
like themselves, in preparing supper.
"There will be trouble in the camp before long, I see plainly enough,"
remarked Paul, looking in the direction of the disputants. "These two
men, Swinton and Grummidge, are too well-matched in body and mind and
self-will to live at peace, and I foresee that they will dispute your
right to command."
"They won't do that, Paul," returned Trench quietly, "for I have already
given up a right which I no longer possess. When the _Water Wagtail_
went on the rocks, my reign came to an end. For the future we have no
need to concern ourselves. The man with the most powerful will and the
strongest mind will naturally come to the top--and that's how it
_should_ be. I think that all the troubles of mankind arise from our
interfering with the laws of Nature."
"Agreed, heartily," replied Paul, "only I would prefer to call them the
laws of God. By the way, Master Trench, I have not yet told you that I
have in my possession some of these same laws in a book."
"Have you, indeed?--in a book! That's a rare and not altogether a safe
possession now-a-days."
"You speak the sober truth, Master Trench," returned Paul, putting his
hand into a breast-pocket and drawing forth the packet which contained
the fragment of the Gospel of John. "Persecution because of our beliefs
is waxing hotter and hotter just now in unfortunate England. However,
we run no risk of being roasted alive in Newfoundland for reading God's
blessed Word--see, there it is. A portion of the Gospel of John in
manuscript, copied from the English translation of good Master
Wycliffe."
"A good and true man, I've heard say," responded the skipper, as he
turned over the leaves of the precious document with a species of solemn
wonder, for it was the first time he had either seen or handled a
portion of the Bible. "Pity that such a friend of the people should not
have lived to the age o' that ancient fellow--what's his name--Thoosle,
something or other?"
"Methuselah," said Paul; "you're right there, Master Trench. What might
not a good man like Wycliffe have accomplished if he had been permitted
to live and teach and fight for the truth for nine hundred and
sixty-nine years?"
"You don't mean to say he lived as long as that?" exclaimed the boy,
looking up from his pots and pans.
"Indeed I do."
"Well, well! he must have been little better than a live mummy by the
end of that time!" replied Oliver, resuming his interest in his pots and
pans.
"But how came you to know about all that Master Paul, if this is all the
Scripture you've had?" asked Trench.
"My mother was deeply learned in the Scriptures," answered Paul, "and
she taught me diligently from my boyhood. The way she came to be so
learned is curious. I will tell you how it came about, while we are
doing justice to Oliver's cookery."
"You must know, Master Trench," continued Paul, after the first demands
of appetite had been appeased, "that my dear mother was a true Christian
from her youth. Her father was converted to Christ by one of that noble
band of missionaries who were trained by the great Wycliffe, and whom he
sent throughout England to preach the Gospel to the poor, carrying in
their hands manuscript portions of that Gospel, translated by Wycliffe
into plain English. You see, that curious invention of the German, John
Gutenberg--I mean printing by movable types--was not known at that time,
and even now, although half a century has passed since the Bible was
printed abroad in Latin, no one with means and the power to do it has
yet arisen to print an English Bible, but the day is not far distant
when that work shall be done, I venture to prophesy, though I make no
pretence to be among the prophets!
"Well, as I was going to say, the missionary was a hoary old man when he
preached the sermon that turned my grandfather from darkness to light.
My grandfather was just fifteen years old at that time. Ten years later
the same missionary came to grandfather's house, worn out with years and
labours, and died there, leaving all his treasure to his host. That
treasure was a small portion of the New Testament in English, copied
from Wycliffe's own translation. You may be sure that my grandfather
valued the legacy very highly. When he died he left it to my mother.
About that time my mother married and went to live on the banks of the
Severn. Not far from our farm there dwelt a family of the name of
Hutchins. The father had changed his name and taken refuge there during
the recent civil wars. This family possessed a Latin Bible, and the
head of it was well acquainted with its contents. It was through him
that my mother became well acquainted with the Old as well as the New
Testament, and thus it was that I also came in course of time to know
about Methuselah, and a good many more characters about whom I may
perhaps tell you one of these days."
"So, then, this is the manuscript the old missionary carried about, is
it?" said Trench, fingering the fragment tenderly.
"Ay, and a good translation it is, I have been told by one whom most
people would think too young to be a judge. You must know that this Mr
Hutchins has a son named William, who is considerably younger than I am,
but he is such a clever, precocious fellow, that before he left home for
college I used to find him a most interesting companion. Indeed, I owe
to him much of what little I have learned, for he is a wonderful
linguist, being able to read Hebrew and Greek about as easily as Latin
or English. He is at Oxford now--at least he was there when I last
heard of him. Moreover, it was through the Hutchins' family, in a
roundabout way, that _your_ mother, Olly, came to learn to write such
letters as you have got so carefully stowed away there in your
breast-pocket."
"Good luck to the Hutchins' family then, say I," returned Olly, "for I'm
glad to be able to read, though, on account of the scarcity and dearness
of manuscripts, I don't have the chance of makin' much use of my
knowledge. But you puzzle me, Paul. It was poor Lucy Wentworth who
used to live with us, and who died only last year, that taught me to
read, and I never heard her mention the name of Hutchins. Did you,
father?"
"No, I never did, Olly. She said she had lived with a family named
Tyndale before she came to us, poor thing! She was an amazin' clever
girl to teach, and made your mother good at it in a wonderful short
time. She tried me too, but it was of no use, I was too tough an' old!"
"Just so, Master Trench," rejoined Paul. "Hutchins' real name was
Tyndale, and he had resumed the name before Lucy Wentworth went to live
with the family. So, you see, Olly, you are indebted, in a roundabout
way, as I said, to the Tyndales for your mother's letter. William will
make his mark pretty deeply on the generation, I think, if God spares
him."
Little did Paul Burns think, when he made this prophetic speech by the
camp-fire on that distant isle of the sea, that, even while he spoke
William Tyndale was laying the foundation of that minute knowledge of
the Greek and Hebrew languages, which afterwards enabled him to give the
Bible to England in her own tongue, and that so ably translated, that,
after numerous revisions by the most capable of scholars, large portions
of his work remain unaltered at the present day.
The night was far spent, and the other members of the camp had been long
buried in slumber before Paul and Trench and Oliver could tear
themselves away from the manuscript Gospel of John. The latter two, who
knew comparatively little of its contents, were at first impressed
chiefly with the fact that they were examining that rare and costly
article--a book, and a forbidden book, too, for the reading of which
many a man and woman had been burned to death in times past--but they
became still more deeply impressed as Paul went on reading and
commenting and pointing out the value of the Book as God's own "Word" to
fallen man.
"Here is a promise to rest upon," said Paul, as he finally closed the
book and repeated the verse from memory, "Jesus said, If ye continue in
my word, then are ye my disciples indeed; and ye shall know the truth,
and the truth shall make you free."
"Ay, that's it, Paul--_free_! We're all slaves, more or less, to
something or other. What we all want is to be _free_," said Master
Trench, as he drew his blanket round him, pillowed his head on his
cloak, and went to sleep.
Silently Paul and Oliver followed his example, the fires died out, and
in a few minutes the slumbering camp was shrouded in the mantle of
night.
Energetic action was the order of the next day, for those shipwrecked
mariners knew well enough that nothing but hard and steady labour could
enable them to live on an apparently desolate island.
By daybreak most of the crew had scattered themselves along the shores,
or over the interior, to spy out the land. About two hours later they
began to drop into camp as hungry as hawks, each carrying the result of
his researches in his arms or on his shoulders.
"Well done, Squill!" said Paul, who chanced to be first back in camp,
with a huge sail bundled up on his shoulder, and who, just then, was
busy blowing up his fire; "got another barrel of pork, eh?"
"It's myself as doesn't know, sur," answered Squill, "and it wasn't me
as found it, but Jim Heron there. I only helped to sling it on the
pole, and shoulder an end. It's aither pork or gunpowther, so if it
ain't good for a blow out it'll be good for a blow up, anyhow."
"Did you see little Oliver anywhere?" asked Paul.
"Ay, sur, I saw him on the shore, bringing up what seemed to me the
ship's bowsprit--anyhow, a spar o' some sort, about as big as he could
haul along."
"Just so," returned Paul, with a laugh, "a ridge-pole for our tent.
He's a smart boy, little Olly."
"Sure he's all that, sur, and more. Here he comes, blowin' like a
porpoise."
Sure enough, Oliver appeared at the moment, dragging a heavy spar behind
him. Several of the men appeared at the same time, staggering through
the bushes, with various loads of wreckage, which they flung down, and
noisily began discussing their experiences as they lighted the fires and
prepared breakfast.
"Here comes Little Stubbs," cried Jim Heron. "What fortune, comrade?"
"Good fortune, though my load is the lightest yet brought in."
He flung down a small piece of wood with an air of satisfaction.
"Why, it's only a boat's rudder!" said Oliver.
"Ay, so it is, and the boat lies where I picked it up, but it was too
heavy to bring into camp without your assistance, boy. And the best of
it is that it's not much damaged. Very little repair will make her fit
for sea again."
This was indeed a find of immense importance, and the assembled party
discussed the event in all its bearings till their mouths were partially
stopped by pork and pancakes.
In the midst of this they were interrupted by the arrival of Big
Swinton, George Blazer, and Grummidge with another find, which
afterwards cost them much trouble and regret--namely, a couple of young
lads, natives, whom they led into camp with their wrists tightly bound
behind their backs.