The Cumbermede was ploughing her way merrily under a favoring breeze;
her home run was half made, and everything had prospered as if
Captain Carter were making his first voyage under a propitious star.
His dream was realized at last, and he stood commander on his own
quarter-deck. And commander he was indeed; every one on board found
that out very speedily, for Carter had aimed at perfection from the
day he shipped as a raw hand, and the eight years of holding fast to
his motto hadn’t made him less devoted to it. Perfect order, perfect
discipline, perfect action, nothing less was accepted; but somehow,
instead of the thankless working, like wooden things, that most of them
had always found a sailor’s life to mean, every one sprang to his duty
with a will, and the ropes were pulled to a merry tune, instead of the
unearthly guttural groan that served just as well to keep the time on
many a ship.
Almost all were new hands this voyage. Penfield had disappeared long
ago, and only the first mate and one of the crew had ever seen the
vessel before. But that one stood by like one of her own timbers,
“long-limbed Jake.” His name had been on the ship’s papers ever since
the voyage when Carter had transferred him to his own watch, and
restless as sailors are, always believing the last vessel they sail in
the worst that ever ploughed the sea, no departing ship’s company could
ever tempt him away with them. He reappeared as regularly as repairs
were made and cargo entered, and his only restless times were before
Carter came aboard; as soon as his voice was heard, all right, and Jake
was himself again, and the best man in the ship’s crew, all officers
agreed.
It was rather hard times for Jake, this voyage. It seemed to him life
would never be anything again, now that Carter no longer had the watch.
But the something, Jake couldn’t have told what, that reached his
heart, and kindled a spark of life there, with that first “Belay there,
my hearty!” had kept its hold ever since, and did not need many words
to help it. The “Take care of yourself, Jake, and there’s a berth for
you next voyage if you want it,” as Carter went ashore, and the “On
hand again, my man?--that’s all right,” as he came aboard for another
voyage, set Jake about his business with a new glow, and the spark grew
brighter, and the bit of life warmer, as every trip went on. He had
been restless, this time, dreading lest he shouldn’t get his greeting
now that Carter came as captain. But there it was, just the same, and
with the same hearty tone and friendly look, and with that and his
pride in seeing him take command, Jake had enough to live on, though
the distance was doubled between them, and orders could never come
direct from him again; he should hear his voice at any rate, and could
watch for his coming on deck. What it had all been to Jake, Carter
could never know, for he couldn’t know all the deadly blackness that
had filled his heart that night of Penfield’s watch; and he couldn’t
see all the thoughts and memories that crowded the murderous hatred
out, as Jake lay in his bunk that night, sobbing like a baby.
They had come back so many times since, that it seemed as if the very
bunk would know them.
“It may be true after all,” they began that night, “it may be true
after all, what she always taught me, that I’ve got a soul of my own,
and the One that made it cares what becomes of it. If He cares for me,
mayhap it would be a pity not to care for myself. I might even think of
what the old woman at home is always saying, and wonder if it could
be true. I can remember the day when it did seem as if I was something
more than a dog, and it’s not so many years aback, either; but I’ve
been told I wasn’t, till I began to think other folks were right. It’s
a hard feeling, though, and goes against a man, if he is a man. And he
wouldn’t have looked at me like that if he hadn’t thought I was one!”
It was the same thing over and over many a night, only stronger and
clearer as time went on, until Jake’s thoughts ventured a little
farther still.
“And if it should be true, that there’s a man in me after all, mayhap
there’s something in more of what she had to say. She said the One that
made me was looking for something from me; but if he is, he sees plain
enough I’ve made a poor cruise of it so far. I’m a good many points
out of my course, there’s no mistake about that; the only question is
how I’m to get back again. She used to say he’d help me; that he died
to bring my reckoning right, and he was ready to head me towards port
again. Maybe it’s true. I wouldn’t have believed it once, but they say
he’s better than the best of us, and if he’s got more the heart of a
man in him than the mate has, he must be ready to lend a hand. Maybe
he could bring me to my bearings again, if he’d take the wheel; and
I’d set my sails square to the wind, if he would, for it comes rough
on a man when he really believes he might make port, and knows he’s
drifting on the rocks. And as for anything he wants of me, if there’s
more pleasure in bearing a hand or shifting a course for him than there
is for the mate, I should draw my pay in advance a hundred times over.”
Out from that dark, comfortless bunk, out from that heart so lately
full of bitterness and revenge, went the first upreachings of faith and
loyalty towards Him who was waiting and watching for them--the first
faint “ay, ay, sir,” to orders that were to save him from going down a
wreck. Jake did not know they were the first yielding to whispers he
would never listen to before; but the Whisperer knew and cherished them
as only He knows how to do. And many a night, as the voyages went on,
He drew nearer and said more; and as Jake listened, the lonely heart
reached out more strongly towards the Voice, and fell nearer and nearer
into its course, the homeward track of a soul that God has called.