ARCHIBALD HUGHSON, A YOUNG SHETLAND LAD, HAVING A STRONG DESIRE TO GO TO
SEA, AND HIS MOTHER WITHHOLDING HER CONSENT, DETERMINES TO RUN FROM
HOME.--HE IS TREACHEROUSLY ASSISTED BY MAX INKSTER, A WICKED SAILOR, WHO
SUCCEEDS IN GETTING HIM STOWED AWAY ON BOARD THE "KATE," A GREENLAND
WHALER.
"Where are you going, Archy?" asked Maggie Hughson, as she ran after her
brother, who was stealing away from the house, evidently not wishing to
be intercepted.
The young Hughson's home stood high up on the slope of a hill on the
small island of Bressay, one of the Shetland group. Hence the eye
ranged over the northern ocean, while to the eastward appeared the isle
of Noss, with the rocky Holm of Noss beyond, the abode of numberless
sea-fowl, and to be reached by a rope-way cradle over a broad chasm of
fearful depth. The house, roofed with stone, and strongly-built, as it
needed to be to withstand the fierce gales blowing over that wild sea,
was surrounded by patches of cultivated ground, without trench or bank,
or a tree to be seen far or near.
Archy stopped when he heard his sister's voice; for, though headstrong
and obstinate, he loved her more than any other human being.
"I am going over to Lerwick to see Max Inkster," he answered, looking
back at her. "The `Kate' sails to-morrow, and I promised him a visit
before he goes."
"Oh, surely you don't forget that our mother told you she wished you
would not have anything to say to that man!" exclaimed Maggie. "He is
bad in many ways, and he can only do you harm."
"I am not going to be led by any one," answered Archy. "I like to hear
his tales of the sea, and his adventures when chasing the whale, or
hunting white bears, and those sort of things away in Greenland, and
perhaps some day I may go to sea myself, and I want to know what sort of
a life I am likely to lead. I am not going to be kept digging potatoes,
and tending cattle and sheep all my life."
"Oh Archy! don't think of it," said Maggie. "It would break our
mother's heart to have you go. You know that our father was lost at
sea, and so was uncle Magnus, and many other relations and friends. God
will bless you, and you will be far happier, if, in obedience to her,
you give up your wild notions and stay at home."
"I am not going to be dictated to, Maggie, by mother or you," exclaimed
Archy. "Max is a fine fellow, notwithstanding what you say. He is
expecting me, and I am not going to break my engagement; so, good-bye,
Maggie. Go back home, and look after mother--that's your duty, which
you are so fond of talking about."
Maggie, finding that her arguments were of no avail, returned home, as
she could not venture longer to leave her mother, who was ill in bed.
Archy took his way till he was out of sight of the house, and then from
beneath a large stone, he pulled out a bundle, which he slung at the end
of a stick over his shoulder, and proceeded across the island till he
came to the shore of the sound which divides it from the mainland.
Several large black high-sided ships lay at anchor, with numerous boats
hanging to the davits, and mostly barque-rigged. They were whalers,
belonging to Hull and other English and Scotch ports, on their way to
Baffin Bay, or the shores of Greenland.
Archy found a boat just about to cross the sound to Lerwick, and, asking
for a passage, he jumped in. On landing, he made his way to the house
where Max Inkster lodged. The door was open. Archy walked in. Max was
alone in a little room on one side of the passage; he was smoking, and a
bottle and glass were on the table.
"Glad to see you, lad," he said. "Sit down. I doubted that you would
come."
"Why?" asked Archy.
"I thought your mother and sister would advise you to keep away from a
fellow like me," answered Max, looking hard at his young guest. He was
a strongly-built broad-shouldered man, with an unpleasant expression in
his weather-beaten countenance.
"My mother is ill, and did not know I was coming, and I am not going to
be dictated to by Maggie," said Archy.
"That's the right spirit, boy," said Max. "If they suspect what you
intend doing, they will take good care to prevent you."
"I don't intend to let them know," replied Archy. "But I wish mother
was not ill. I am half inclined to stop at home till next season, and
then I'll do what I choose, whatever they may say."
"I see how it is," observed Max, with a sneer on his lips. "You are
beginning to think we lead too hard a life for you, and you would rather
be looking after the cows, and being at the beck and call of mistress
Maggie. I thought you had more spirit. You are afraid--that's the
truth of it."
"No one shall say I am afraid," exclaimed Archy. "I have asked several
captains to take me, but they refused without my mother's leave, and
that she won't give, just because my father and uncle Magnus were lost
at sea, and so she has taken it into her head that I shall be lost also.
If you can help me to go in the `Kate,' I am ready. There's my bundle
of clothes."
"No great stock for a voyage to the Arctic Seas; but we must rig you out
when you get on board," observed Max, taking up Archy's bundle, and
stowing it away in a large seaman's bag which stood in the corner of the
room. "You will have to keep pretty close till we are well clear of the
land, or the captain will be for putting you on shore again. Here, take
a glass of grog, it will help to keep up your courage." Max mixed a
strong glass of whisky and water, and pushed it across the table to
Archy.
Archy's scruples soon vanished. He now only thought of the adventures
he hoped to meet with among the icebergs.
Max had gained his object. From a quarrel which had occurred years
before, he had long harboured an ill-feeling towards the Hughson's; and,
for the purpose of thwarting and annoying Mrs Hughson, he was ready to
encourage Archy in his disobedience to her. When once a person yields
to the suggestions of Satan, he knows not into what crimes he may be
hurried. Those who associate with unprincipled people run a fearful
risk of being led astray by them. Archy, notwithstanding his mother's
warnings, had persisted in visiting Max Inkster, for the sake of hearing
his long yarns of nautical adventure, and he would at first have been
excessively indignant had he been told that he was likely, in
consequence, to be led into any further act of disobedience.
"Did any one see you come in here?" asked Max. "No; Nanny Clousta was
out, and no one was passing at the time," answered Archy.
"Well, then, stay quiet here till dark, and I'll take you on board, and
stow you away in the hold," said Max. "You must remain there till I
give you a signal to come out; but, remember, that you are not to tell
the captain or any one else that I had a hand in helping you. Just say
that you slipped on board in a shore boat, and hid yourself of your own
accord. You will promise me that?"
Archy had not been in the habit of telling falsehoods; but he had
already made one step in the downward course, and though he hesitated,
he at last said, "I promise. I needn't tell that I knew who took me on
board, and I can find my own way below, so there's no necessity to
mention your name."
"That's it," said Max. "You will want some food, though. Here, just
fill your pockets with this bread and cheese." He took some from a
cupboard. "And here is a flask of whisky and water. You may have to
lie hid for a couple of days, or more, may be; so you must manage your
provisions accordingly."
Max went out, and Archy fell asleep, with his head on the table. It was
late at night before his evil councillor returned.
"Rouse up, boy," he whispered. "It's time we were aboard. I have got a
man to take us off, and he will think you belong to the ship. Here,
shoulder my bag, and come along."
Max placed his heavy sea-bag on his young companion's shoulder. Archy
staggered on under it till he reached the boat. The boatman, who had
been paid before, pulled away, and they were soon alongside the whaler.
Max clambered up the side, and hoisted his bag by a rope after him.
Archy followed. The officer of the watch was aft, and as the crew and
their friends were constantly coming and going, no notice was taken of
them. Max took up his bag, and as he passed up the main hatchway, which
was open, having ascertained that there was no one below, he made a sign
to Archy to slip down the ladder.
"I'll be with you in a few minutes," he whispered. "No one is likely to
go there at this hour."
Archy did as he was bid, and felt his way in the dark, till he found
himself among the empty casks in the hold, which were stowed ready for
use. There were certain spaces between the tiers which would afford him
room to hide himself away. Into one of these he crept, and lay down
waiting for Max. He fancied that where he was he should not be seen by
anyone moving about the hold, unless expressly looking for him. He
thought that Max was a long time in coming, and perhaps would not come
at all. On the return of daylight, which would stream down through the
open hatchway, should he not be discovered? he thought. The crew would
certainly be at work at an early hour, and he might not have time to
find a more secure hiding-place. Then he would have to undergo the
annoyance and disgrace of being put on shore, and severely reprimanded
by the captain, a very severe man, he had been told. At last he heard
some one moving, and presently a light fell on his eyes. He was afraid
to stir, almost to breathe, lest he should be discovered.
"Well, if I had not come you would have been hauled out to a certainty
in the morning," said Max, who had only just then been able to pay him
his promised visit. "You must come down lower than this. Here, keep
after me. Now crawl in there, and don't come out till you hear three
blows, which I'll give on the casks above your head. You will know by
the movement of the ship when we have been at sea a couple of days or
so. There; now you have got your will. Here's your bundle; it will
serve as a pillow, and, remember, don't take any notice of me. I am
your friend, but I am not a man who chooses to be trifled with." Saying
this, Max, putting out the lantern, crept away, and Archy was left in
solitude and total darkness. The liquor his evil councillor had given
him made him sleepy, so he could not think. Otherwise his conscience
might have been aroused, and he might have recollected his poor mother
lying on a bed of sickness, and his affectionate sister watching for his
return. Satan knows that he has his victims secure when they are in
that condition.
Archy Hughson was at length awakened by the loud tramp of the crew on
deck, the boats being hoisted in, the anchor hove up. He could hear the
ripple of the water against the sides of the ship. The "Kate" was under
way, but she was not yet even out of Bressay Sound. The hours passed
by. He began to grow very weary of his imprisonment, and to long for
the expected signal from Max, even though he should soon afterwards have
to face the captain, and perhaps be punished for having concealed
himself on board. As he thought of this, he began to wish he had waited
till he had overcome his mother's objections, and been able to go sea,
like other lads, with a proper outfit. Now and then a better feeling,
akin to remorse, stole over him, when he thought of the sorrow and
anxiety his absence must cause his mother, who, though over-indulgent,
had ever been affectionate and kind to him. Still he did not perceive
the wickedness of his own heart, or the cruel ingratitude of which he
had been guilty. "She should have let me go, it's her own fault," he
repeated, hardening himself. "It's too late now to draw back. I should
look very foolish if I was to be set on shore on Unst, and have to find
my way home by myself."
Unst is the most northern of the Shetland Islands, and Archy guessed
that by that time the "Kate" was not far off it.
He had little appetite to eat the food he had brought, but he soon drank
up the contents of the flask. The mixture was somewhat strong, and sent
him off to sleep again. Once more Satan had him at an advantage, for
even then, had he gone to the captain, he would have been sent on shore,
and retrieved his fault by returning home and relieving his mother's
anxiety. Undo it he could not; for a sin, once committed, can never by
man's power be undone, never forgiven. All sin is committed against
God--the slightest evil thought, the slightest departure from truth, is
sin against God's pure and holy law, and He alone can forgive sin. He
forgives it only according to the one way He has appointed. He blots it
out altogether from remembrance. That way is through faith in the
perfect and complete atonement of Jesus Christ, whose blood, shed for
man, "cleanseth from all sin." There is no other way. He accepts no
other recompense for sin. There is no undoing a sin, no making amends.
All sins, from such as those which men call the smallest to the
greatest, are registered, to be brought up in judgment against the
sinner, and the all-cleansing blood of Jesus can alone blot them out.
Man, as a proof of his living faith in Christ's atonement,--of his
sorrow for sins committed,--of his hatred of sin, of his repentance,--
will, of necessity, do all he can to make amends to his fellow-man for
the wrong he has done him; he will restore what he has taken; he will
explain the truth where he has spoken falsely; he will be kind and
gentle to those he has treated harshly; he will give to those of his
substance, or forward their interests whom he has injured in any way.
But all this cannot blot out one letter in the eternal register of
accusations to be brought against him at the day of judgment. Oh! that
people did but know this, and would remember that when they sin they sin
not only against their fellow-man, but against the all-pure, all-holy
God, who can by no means overlook iniquity; in whose sight even the
heavens are unclean, without whose knowledge not a sparrow falls to the
ground, and by whom the very hairs of our head are numbered.