reached the parting point--a clump of trees on an eminence that
overlooked a long stretch of undulating park-like region. Here they
dismounted to shake hands and say farewell. Little was said at the
time, but moistened eyes and the long grasp of hard muscular hands told
something of feelings to which the lips could give no utterance.
The party could see that knoll for miles after leaving it, and whenever
Polly reined up and looked back, she saw the sturdy forms of Baldwin
Burr and Jacob Buckley waving a kerchief or a hat, standing side by side
and gazing after them. At last they appeared like mere specks on the
landscape, and the knoll itself finally faded from their view.
At San Francisco they found their vessel, the _Rainbow_, a large
full-rigged ship, ready for sea. Embarking with their boxes of
gold-dust they bade farewell to the golden shore, where so many young
and vigorous men have landed in hopeful enthusiasm, to meet, too often,
with disappointment, if not with death.
Our friends, being among the fortunate few, left it with joy.
The _Rainbow_ shook out her sails to a favouring breeze, and, sweeping
out upon the great Pacific, was soon bowling along the western coast of
South America, in the direction of Cape Horn.
CHAPTER TEN.
CHANGE OF SCENE AND FORTUNE.
The fair wind that swept the good ship _Rainbow_ away from California's
golden shores carried her quickly into a fresh and purer atmosphere,
moral as well as physical. It seemed to most, if not all, of the
gold-finders as if their brains had been cleared of golden cobwebs.
They felt like convalescents from whom a low fever had suddenly
departed, leaving them subdued, restful, calm, and happy.
"It's more like a dream than a reality," observed Ben Trench one day, as
he and Polly sat on the after part of the vessel, gazing out upon the
tranquil sea.
"What seems like a dream?" asked Philosopher Jack, coming aft at the
moment with Watty Wilkins, and sitting down beside them.
"Our recent life in California," replied Ben. "There was such constant
bustle and toil, and restless, feverish activity, both of mind and body;
and now everything is so calm and peaceful, and we are so delightfully
idle. I can hardly persuade myself that it is not all a dream."
"Perhaps it is," said Philosopher Jack. "There are men, you know, who
hold that everything is a dream; that matter is a mere fancy or
conception, and that there is nothing real or actually in existence but
mind."
"Bah!" exclaimed Watty with contempt; "what would these philosophers say
if matter, in the shape of a fist, were to hit them on their ridiculous
noses?"
"They'd say that they only imagined a fist and fancied a blow, I
suppose," returned Jack.
"And would they say that the pain and the blood were imagination also?"
"I suppose they would."
"But what if I were to come on them slily behind and hit them on their
pates before they had a chance to see or to exert their terribly real
and powerful minds?" demanded Watty.
"You must ask one of themselves, Watty, for I don't know much about
their views; indeed, I'm not sure that I have represented them
correctly, though it's very likely I have, for there is no species of
nonsense under the sun that men have not been found to hold and defend
with more or less vigour."
"Would you not call that a proof of the Creator's intention that man
should exercise the investigative powers of his mind?" asked Ben.
"I would call it a proof of man's depravity," said Wilkins.
"What does Polly think?" asked Jack, with an amused look at the child,
whose fair brow wore an anxious little frown as she tried to understand.
"I think it's a proof of both," replied Polly, with a blush and a laugh;
"we have got the power to think and speak and reason, and we are
sometimes very naughty."
"Well said, Polly; we must call _you_ the philosopher in future," cried
Watty. "But Jack," he added, with a perplexed air, "it seems to me that
we live in such a world of confusion, both as to the limited amount of
our knowledge, and the extent of our differences of opinion, while
presumptuous incapacity attempts to teach us on the one hand, and
designing iniquity, or pure prejudice, seeks to mislead us on the other,
and misconception of one's meaning and motives all round makes such a
muddle of the whole that--that--it seems to me the search after truth is
almost hopeless, at least to ordinary minds."
"I admit it to be a great difficulty," replied Jack, "but it is by no
means hopeless. We must not forget that the world is well supplied with
extraordinary minds to keep the ordinary minds right."
"True, but when the extraordinary minds differ, what are the poor
ordinary ones to do?" asked Watty.
"Use their brains, Watty, use their brains," said Captain Samson, who
had come aft, and been listening to the conversation. "Your brains,
whether good or bad, were given to be used, not to be sold. The power
to reason is a gift that is not bestowed only on extraordinary minds.
The unlearned are sometimes better reasoners than the learned, though,
of course, they haven't got so many tools to work with. Still, they are
sufficiently furnished with all that's needful to run the race that is
set before them. God has given to every man--civilised and savage--a
brain to think with, a heart to feel with, a frame to work with, a
conscience to guide him, and a world, with all its wonderful stores, in
which to do what he will. Conscience--which, I think, is well named the
voice of God in man--tells him to do _right_, and forbids him to do
_wrong_; his heart glows with a certain degree of pleasure when he does
well, and sinks, more or less, when he does ill; his reason tells him,
more or less correctly, _what_ is right, and _what_ is wrong. The Word
of God is the great chart given to enlighten our understandings and
guide us heavenward. As my reason tells me to go to my charts for safe
direction at sea, so every man's reason will tell him to go to God's
revealed Word, when he believes he has got it. There he will find that
Jesus Christ is the centre of the Word, the sum and substance of it,
that he cannot believe in or accept the Saviour except by the power of
the Holy Spirit. He will also find the blessed truth that God has
promised the Spirit to those who simply `ask' for Him. There is no
difficulty in all this. The great and numberless difficulties by which
we are undoubtedly surrounded are difficulties of detail, which we may
be more or less successful in solving, according to our powers of mind,
coupled with our submission to the revealed will of God. To some extent
we fail and get into trouble because we lazily, or carelessly, let other
men think for us, instead of making use of other men's thoughts to help
us to think for ourselves. Depend upon it, Watty, we won't be able to
justify ourselves at the judgment day by saying that things were too
deep for us, that things seemed to be in such a muddle that it was of no
use trying to clear 'em up. Why, what would you say of the mainspring
of a watch if it were suddenly to exclaim, `I'll give up trying! Here
am I--so powerful and energetic, and so well able to spin round--
checked, and hindered, and harassed by wheels and pinions and levers,
some going this way, and some going that way, all at sixes and sevens,
and all for no good end that I can see, buried as I am in this dark hole
and scarcely allowed to move at all?' Would it be right or reasonable
to charge the watchmaker with having made the watch in vain, or made it
wrong? Of this I at least am convinced, that God is _perfect_, and that
all things are working towards a _good_ end, God's sovereignty, our
mysterious free-will and personal responsibility being among these `all
things.'"
While Captain Samson was discoursing on these important subjects, the
look-out on the forecastle reported a sail on the weather-bow.
"She's a whaler, I do believe, and her boats are after a sperm whale,"
said Simon O'Rook, who stood by the mizzen shrouds looking intently at
her through his double glass. Simon, being now a rich man, had not only
taken a cabin passage, but had bought for himself one of the best
binocular telescopes to be had in San Francisco.
It was soon seen that O'Rook was right for the whale rose to blow, and
swam towards the _Rainbow_, while the boats of the whaler immediately
followed in pursuit.
Great was the excitement on board the _Rainbow_ as the men clustered on
the forecastle, or ran up the rigging, to watch the chase, while the
officers and passengers got out their telescopes.
"Come here, Polly," cried Jack; "look through my glass. It's a rare
chance you've got of seeing what men have to go through in order to send
oil to market."
Polly at once accepted the invitation. Jack assisted her to mount on
the top of the capstan, and arranged the glass.
"There she blows!" shouted one of the men who had been an old whaler;
"there she breaches!"
As he spoke the whale rose about three miles to windward of them, not
far from the boat that led the chase. The men in the boat were seen to
bend to their oars, as Captain Samson said, "with a will." Another
moment and the harpooneer stood up in the bow. The spectators were too
far off to see the weapon used, but they could perceive the man's
action, and there was no possibility of mistake as to the result, when
the tail of the enormous creature was suddenly flourished in the air,
and came down on the sea like a clap of distant thunder.
"Oh! oh!!" shrieked the horrified Polly, "the boat is gone!"
But the boat was not gone. It had been quickly backed out of danger
when the harpoon was thrown, and reappeared when the cataract of spray
sent up had dispersed.
"He's pouring water on the rope now," said Jack, in a low excited voice,
"to prevent its catching fire as it runs out. They're fast to the
fish."
"Yes, I see," exclaimed Polly, squeezing her right eye against the glass
and shutting the other with her hand.
But in a few minutes there was no need for telescopes, as the whale came
straight towards the _Rainbow_, dragging the boat after it, while the
other boats followed as fast as the men could pull. The whale-ship
steered in the same direction, but there was scarcely wind enough to
fill her top-sails.
Suddenly the leviathan came to the surface for breath, not far off, and
sent up a grand spout of water on the _Rainbow's_ starboard bows. The
boat pulled quickly up, and another harpoon was sent deep into the
whale's side. It dived immediately, and, turning at an angle, darted
off in an other direction. This time the excited onlookers could hear
the cheer given by the whalers as the second "iron" was fixed, and
replied to it with enthusiasm. Soon the boat was carried far away, and
the telescopes became again necessary, but ere long the fish turned, and
once more made for the ship. It could not have been more than five
hundred yards distant when it came to the surface for the third time,
and the harpooneer was distinctly seen to drive a lance deep into its
side, from which fountains of blood flowed. He had struck its "life,"
as whalemen express it, and the whale soon went into its dying
struggles, in the course of which it hit the boat, stove in its side,
and overturned it.
There was a cry of consternation on board the _Rainbow_ at this.
Instantly the order was given to lower the boats. Philosopher Jack and
O'Rook sprang to obey, by an irresistible impulse, as if they had been
part of the ship's crew. In a few seconds two boats were rowing at full
speed to the rescue, while the boats belonging to the whale-ship--still
far distant--made for the scene of disaster.
Ere long the rescue party had the great satisfaction of picking up the
wrecked whalers, and found that not a man among them had received
greater injury than a bruise or two and a ducking. Their boat, however,
was completely destroyed. They were therefore taken on board the
_Rainbow_, while the whaler's boats came up and secured their prize.
That night, while the stars twinkled at their own reflections in the
sleeping sea, the crew of the whale-ship had a "gam" on board the
_Rainbow_.
A "gam," good reader, may be described as a "small tea-party" on the
sea. But it differs in many respects from such gatherings on shore,
inasmuch as the revellers are not "a few friends", male and female, but
are usually absolute strangers to each other, and of the male sex only.
But the circumstances of their meeting--on the lone ocean, far from home
and friends--have a marvellous effect in opening up the fountains of the
human heart. The men and officers fraternised at once. The whalers
were chiefly American, the Rainbowers principally English, with a slight
mixture of Irish and Scotch. They all spoke the same language; that was
enough. Soon after the arrival of their guests, powerful friendships
were formed. While tea, or rather supper, was being discussed, these
were cemented; and, when pipes were lit, confidences of the most
touching nature were interchanged. Anecdotes and stories naturally
followed the confidences, broke up the separate parties, and drew the
company more together. The union was finally and effectually
concentrated by one of the whalers' crew making a demand for a song.
"Come, O'Rook," cried one of the _Rainbow_ men, "let's have `The poor
little pig wi' the purple nose.'"
O'Rook began at once, and sang with such fervour and pathos, that his
auditors became quite uproarious in their admiration. But when the
Irishman called on the whalers for a ditty, a fine-looking youth sang a
song of the "Homeward Bound," in a voice so sweet and true, that the
spirit of the men was changed, and many a moistened eye told that deep
chords of sympathy had been touched.
"Can you play the fiddle?" asked one of the men of O'Rook, when the song
was finished.
"Sure it's myself can do that same," he replied, with a modest air,
which drew forth a peal of laughter. When the fiddle was produced and
O'Rook struck up reels, and strathspeys, and hornpipes, with a precision
of touch and time and perfection of tune that was far above the average
of amateurs, the joy of the party could no longer find vent through eye
and mouth. They were forced to open the safety-valves of heel and toe.
For this purpose the quarter-deck was cleared, and flags were festooned
round it; the officers joined, and Polly Samson was placed on the
capstan, like the presiding angel of the scene.
Ah! reader, if you have not been for many months on the ocean, or in the
lone wilderness, without seeing a new face, or hearing a sweet sound, or
feeling the power of female influence, you cannot fully appreciate what
we describe. There was no drink save coffee and tea at that feast. The
_Rainbow_ was a temperance ship. But the men required no spirits. Each
one had more than sufficient within himself. The presence of Polly,
too, had a powerful effect. Every man there saw his own particular
Polly or Susan or Nancy in her pretty laughing face and sparkling eyes.
"Your men are powerful fellows," said the captain of the _Rainbow_ to
the captain of the whaler; "I've no doubt they'll be quite game for work
to-morrow, though they should keep it up all night."
"They certainly would," replied the latter, "if called on to do duty;
but they won't be required to work to-morrow, for we keep the Sabbath on
board of our ship as a duty we owe to God, and we find that we are great
gainers in health and strength, while we are no losers of fish by doing
so."
"Ha! the great Captain Scoresby tried that before you, and said that he
found keeping the Sabbath to be good both for body and soul," said the
captain of the _Rainbow_.
"I know he did," replied the other, "and I am trying to follow in
Scoresby's wake."
It was pretty late in the evening before the whalers could tear
themselves away, and when at last they did so, they expressed a
unanimous opinion that it had been the most successful gam they had ever
had in their lives.
Not long after parting company from the whale-ship the _Rainbow_ sailed
into the cold and variable regions south of Cape Horn. Here they
experienced what the men styled "very dirty weather." The skies were
seldom blue, and the decks were never dry, while it became necessary to
keep the stove burning constantly in the cabin, and the berth-ports
almost always shut.
The effect of all this on poor Ben Trench was to injure his health
severely. His cough increased, and it soon became evident that his
complaint, which at first had only threatened to grow worse, had now
become chronic and serious.
"Watty," he said one day, while his friend sat beside his cot reading to
him, "it's of no use shutting one's eyes to facts. I fear that I am now
hopelessly ill, and that I shall never see father or mother or Susan
again in this world."
"O Ben! don't speak like that," said Watty, laying down the book, and
gently taking his friend's thin hand in both of his. "You mustn't do
it. It will only make you worse. When we get out of this horrible
region into the trade winds and the sunshine near the Line, you'll be a
new man. Come now, cheer up, Ben, and don't let your good little nurse
see you with such a sad face."
Polly's step was heard at the moment. She entered with a bowl of soup.
"Here, Ben, this will do you good," she said, handing him the bowl.
"The cook says it's the stuff to stick to your ribs. There now, I can't
stop to give it you, for father wants me, but you're all right when
Watty's by. Are you better?"
"Well, not much," replied Ben with a smile; "but I'm always the better
of seeing your little face. Don't be long of returning, Poll."
When she had left, Ben drank the soup, and then lay down with a sigh.
"It may be that the warm latitudes will do me good, Watty," he said,
"but I don't feel as if they would. Still I'm resigned to God's will,
though it seems sad to die so young, and just when I've come to know my
dear Redeemer, and might, perhaps, have done some little work for Him.
It seems so strange to be saved and not allowed time to _do_ anything."
"You _have_ done something," returned his friend with an earnest look;
"if I have really turned to Jesus at all, it has been through your
influence, Ben, and I'm sure that Jack would say the same of himself;
and if he and I are spared to do any good work for our Lord, it will be
all owing to you."
"Not to me, Watty, not to me," rejoined Ben, with a glad look; "but if
God's holy Spirit has used me as an instrument in this, I shall have
cause to praise Him for it throughout eternity. Oh! is it not strange
that in a region where there is so little godliness, and while we were
in the eager pursuit of gold, our eyes should have been opened to see
and appreciate the true gold? But now, Watty," he added in a lower
tone, "I want to ask you to do me a favour. I want you to go yourself
to our house, without delay, and break it to mother."
He paused. Watty laid his face in the bedclothes, and wept silently.
"They are very fond of you," continued Ben, "and I should not like them
to hear of it from any one but you. Be very tender to Susan, Watty.
Poor Susan, she will need comfort, and you know how to direct her."
For some time Ben Trench continued talking, and then fell into a quiet
slumber, in which his friend left him, while Polly watched by his side.
The warm latitudes did no good to the invalid. On the contrary, he
suffered much from the heat, and became visibly weaker.
At last the shores of Old England drew nigh. A few days more and they
should sight land. They sought to cheer him with this, but there was no
answering sparkle in Ben's eyes.
"Yes," he said, faintly, "I shall see them all again, but not _here_."
Ben was dying when the _Rainbow_ approached the British Channel. The
whole of the previous day a stiff gale had blown, and this had not much
abated when night drew on. Liverpool was their port, and the captain
carried on full sail--more than the good ship could well bear. It is
not known whether he felt so sure of his course that he did not think it
necessary to shorten sail on nearing the Land's End, or that he was
anxious, at all hazards, to reach port before Ben Trench should die, but
he held on recklessly, and, in the dead of night, ran the _Rainbow_
straight against the high cliffs not far from the Cornish town of Saint
Just.
The wreck of the ship was complete in a few seconds. All her masts went
over the side, and the waves overwhelmed her. She would have gone down
in deep water if she had not been dashed between two rocks and held
there. Time was thus given for one of the boats to be got out, but
utter confusion reigned, for the captain had disappeared. No wonder
that several of the men leaped into her, crying, "Every man for
himself," and endeavoured to cast off.
"Have you got Polly?" cried Jack, as he dimly saw a figure staggering
through the turmoil of wind and whirling spray.
"All safe!" gasped Captain Samson.
Jack instantly jumped into the boat and found O'Rook struggling to
prevent one of the men from cutting the hawser. Jack knocked the man
down, and, hauling the boat close alongside, shouted, "Jump, Captain,
jump!" The captain did so at the right moment, and alighted safely,
though with great violence. Just then Watty Wilkins was seen striving
to lift Ben Trench over the bulwark of the ship. It was impossible to
render him assistance, though Jack tried to do so, for at the moment a
towering billow fell on the deck and tore the invalid from his grasp.
With a shriek of despair Watty fell back into the sea, but was caught by
one of the men and hauled into the boat which was then cut adrift. It
was not a moment too soon, for the next wave dashed their ship to
pieces.
As it was impossible to effect a landing among perpendicular cliffs
which were lashed by roaring breakers, they were obliged to push out to
sea, where they rowed till daylight, and succeeded in reaching Penzance
harbour.
Leaving the others to report the news, Jack and Wilkins started off
along the coast to the scene of the wreck. They found the spot, but not
a vestige was to be seen of what had so long been their home, save a few
broken spars, here and there far down in the clefts of inaccessible
rocks. A fisherman, however, told them that several bodies had been
thrown into a little bay, and were then lying in a shed near the spot.
Hastening thither, they found five lying side by side. Among them were
those of poor Ben Trench and the captain of the ship--the one strong,
stalwart and still ruddy in the face, the other attenuated and ghastly,
as might have been expected of one who had, as it were, died a double
death.
We will not dwell on the terrible scene. While Jack and Captain Samson
remained to attend to the dead, Wilkins set off, without delay, to be
first, if possible, in breaking the sad news to his friend's family,
according to promise.
In regard to the wreck, it is sufficient to say that she, with all her
precious freight was scattered on the rugged coasts of Cornwall, and our
adventurers stood once more on their native shores without even the
means of paying their travelling expenses home. They did not like to
speak of their invested wealth, fearing that their statements might be
disbelieved. They therefore stood literally in the position of beggars.
In this extremity they found the hospitable men of Cornwall to be
friends indeed and full of sympathy.
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
RETURN OF THE WANDERER.
Great was the anxiety of Edwin Jack as he walked, with light foot and
fluttering heart, over the Border hills and drew near to the old home.
He had not heard from his father for nearly a year. Were they all well?
had they struggled out of their difficulties with the funds he had sent
them. Was there no empty chair? Such and similar thoughts hurried
through his mind as he went along, until he was forced to run for
relief. There was a rocky ridge of land in front of him. From the top
of this he knew the cottage could be seen. Panting with exertion when
he gained the top, he sat down on a mass of rock and gazed at the old
place till tears disturbed his vision. There it stood as of yore--no
change in the general aspect of things, though there did seem one or two
improvements about the cottage. But he did not gaze long. Starting up
again he hurried on.
At last he stood in the midst of the old home-circle--all well, and,
thank God, not one absent!