THE PARTED SHIP.
"God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in time of
trouble."
THE City of Calcutta is situated on the Hoogly river, which is
a branch of the Ganges, navigable to ships of the largest size.
The Dolphin was a merchant ship, and was laden with ice and
provisions, which the captain wished to exchange for leather,
saltpetre, and other heavy commodities. The crew were required
to remain and assist in unloading the vessel; but, after this had
been accomplished, they were allowed to wander about the city,
provided they returned to the vessel at the expiration of forty-eight
hours.
Alfred was not slow to avail himself of this privilege. He visited
the part of the city occupied by the English, and was delighted
to see the elegant houses, many of them like palaces. These, he
found, were not built in rows, or blocks, as in cities at home,
but stood apart, at some distance from each other, on account of
the intense heat. They were built with high, airy apartments and
flat roofs, and surrounded with verandahs.
From this part of the city he went to what is called the Black town,
occupied by the natives. This presented a striking contrast with the
former. The houses, which are formed of mud, bamboo, or straw mats,
stand upon narrow and crooked streets, interspersed with small
gardens and tanks of water.
Here, I am sorry to say, he was led by his companions into all
species of low dissipation. In this way, day after day was passed,
until the captain announced the time of sailing. His conduct had been
such since his arrival in port that no suspicion was entertained
of his wish to desert. Now was his chance to do so, if ever. The next
time he went out he put on a double suit of clothes, and carfully
securing the small sum of money which remained from his wages,
he took his final leave of the vessel. On several occasions he had
purposely separated himself, for a short time, from his companions,
that they might not suspect him of wishing to do so eventually.
But now, as soon as an opportunity occurred, he ran away and secreted
himself, trembling with fear, until he thought the vessel must have
sailed. Here in a strange laud, unable to comprehend a word of the
language, he suffered so much that he almost wished he had returned
home with the ship. But when he came forth from his concealment, and
ventured to ask if the vessel was still in port, he was too late.
The Dolphin had sailed. Now he returned to the haunts of vice which
had attracted him when he first came to the city, where, in pandering
to his wicked passions, he soon spent every copper he had in the
world, and when night came on he found himself homeless and
penniless. Many times in the course of the next week did the words
of Harrison, so long forgotten, come to his mind, "the wages of sin
is death." Many times he thought he should starve, and probably would
have done so had it not been for the kindness of sailors whom he
accidentally met.
One day when he was so extremely reduced by want that he could
scarcely stand, he tried to crawl along toward the port of Calcutta,
and endeavor to find a vessel ready to sail for America. "I may as
well die in one place as another," he said to himself, "and I shall
certainly die if I remain here."
At length, when he had nearly reached the shipping, he was accosted
in his native tongue by a youth near his own age.
"You look ill, my poor follow; what is the matter?"
"I am dying of hunger," replied Alfred, feebly.
"Come with me, then; I think we can soon cure him. Don't you think
so?" turning to his companion. "Here, let me help you;" and placing
a strong arm around the emaciated, boy, he led him on to the side of
a vessel lying at the harbor. After requesting him to wait a minute,
he darted away, and soon returned with a fine fresh cocoa nut, which
he gave the famishing youth. He seemed to the poor forsaken boy like
an angel of mercy. He had often in his distress fallen asleep
to dream that tempting fruit, such as he now held in his hand,
was placed within his reach, but he had not strength to take it.
Now he feared he should awake and find this also but a dream.
Feeling greatly revived by this seasonable supply of food, he readily
consented to accompany his new friend to the captain of the vessel,
and endeavor to obtain a berth in the barque, which was named
Josephine.
Though he had been so long on board ship; yet here everything seemed
new and strange. The youth, who was called Frank, approached the
captain with the ease, vivacity, and confidence of a child; while in
return the gentleman appeared to feel for him the affection of a
father. Leaving Alfred standing near the forecastle, Frank went on
to tell his tale, and interest the officer in the distressed youth.
"Bring him here," said the gentleman, with a smile; "I'm afraid your
warm heart has led you away, as usual, on some wild-goose chase."
Frank obeyed, and summoned Alfred aft.
Sad to relate, the wicked boy commenced this new acquaintance by a
false tale. He said that he had been sick ever since he was in port,
so sick that he could not reach the vessel; that the captain sent one
of the crew the day before they sailed, to say that they were ready
for sea, and that as he was so unwell he had better remain on shore
for another ship. Since that time, which he alleged was some months
previous to this, he had not been able to work enough to obtain food
sufficient to restore him to health, though his fever had long ago
left him.
The marks of vice were too visible in the countenance of Alfred
for Captain Monroe to mistake his real character; but he saw
no reason to doubt the story of the lad, and, after ascertaining
from him that he knew something of the business of a sailor,
he promoted him from the duties of a boy to those of an ordinary
seaman.
This is one who, from want of sufficient age or strength or
experience, or all of these, is not competent to perform all the
duties of an able seaman, and therefore receives less wages. He is
expected to be well acquainted with all the rigging of a ship, to be
able to steer under ordinary circumstances, to furl a top-gallant
sail, or a royal, which is a light sail next above it. It is commonly
expected that he should be able to make spun-yarn, formed by twisting
two or three rope yarns together, and sennet, a braid plaited
together of ropes or spun-yarn; that he should understand the art
of splicing ropes, forming the rigging, and making a great variety
of knots commonly termed sailors' knots.
Alfred, as we have seen, had never tried to fit himself for the
performance of these duties, though his former captain had
recommended him to do so if he wished to be promoted. Indeed, he had
determined never to go another voyage, so that he had not been at sea
many hours before the mate reported him entirely unfit for a seaman,
and, therefore, degraded him to the rank of what is termed
a green hand.
* * * * * * *
Here we will leave him, while we give a brief account of the youth
named Frank, who first introduced him on board the Josephine; and
who, notwithstanding Alfred's disgrace, took every opportunity
to prove to him that he was his real friend.
Frank, or Francis Greyson, was the son of a gentleman residing
near the large city which was the birthplace of Alfred. He was rather
a sickly boy, and caused his parents great anxiety lest he should
never live to reach maturity. His mother had a brother who was
a seaman, a noble, Christian man, an ornament to the profession
he had chosen. When on shore this gentleman made his home with his
sister. It was not strange, therefore, that, hearing his uncle's
lively descriptions of the sea, and having constantly before his
view—hung as it was between the front windows of his mother's parlor—
a picture of the Sea-shell, the vessel which his uncle commanded,
that he should conceive a desire to accompany him on a voyage.
To this Mrs. Greyson at first absolutely refused her consent,
but finally yielded to her brother's solicitations, and the advice
of their family physician that a voyage round the world would do more
for the strong physical development of the boy than a whole case
of medicine.
I have not space to describe any of the incidents of the voyage,
except one which occurred near its close. It is enough for our
present purpose to say that Frank shipped as cabin-boy, without pay,
and therefore was not subjected to the hard work required of Alfred.
By his prompt and cheerful obedience to orders, and his readiness
to lend a hand to any one in need of his services, he rendered
himself a favorite with all on board. From the captain in his office
to the boy-of-all-work, each one was pleased with the opportunity
to do Frank a kind turn.
Every morning and evening when the weather would admit, all hands,
except those absolutely necessary for steering the ship, were called
together to hear the beautiful service of the Episcopal Church; and
often during the day the noble boy might be seen relieving the
tedious watch of the sailor by reading to him the word of God.
On the Sea-shell, an oath or impure word was punished as severely
as any other breach of the rules of the ship, and the captain had
more than once appealed to the sailors, by their affection for the
beautiful boy, who was the pride of the whole crew, to help him keep
his promise to his sister. This was, that Frank, by the blessing
of God, should be returned to her as pure in heart and life as he
left her. There was not an honest tar on board but would have felt
the blush of shame burn his rough cheek to have Frank hear from his
lips a word that could defile his ear.
The voyage had been a successful one, and already the seamen began
to feel the breezes of home fan their cheeks, when on a dark and
tempestuous night, the awful cry of "Ship ahoy! right upon us!"
sounded loud and fearful through the roaring of the tempest.
The shock came so suddenly that before the officers could give any
orders the bowsprit passed over the bulwarks, tearing through shrouds
and rigging. The vessel had parted, and the ship's company were
either clinging to the broken pieces of their vessel or thrown into
the water. Fortunately for them aid was soon at hand. The ship
Josephine, which had been the cause of this dreadful disaster, threw
over buoys, her coops and ropes, and let down boats, to rescue
the poor drowning sailors; but as they were so near home, they,
of course, preferred being taken on board other boats, which carried
them to vessels lying in the harbor, from which they safely reached
the shore.
The noise and tumult in both vessels was beyond description. In the
midst of all the horror and confusion caused by this dreadful
accident, nothing distressed the captain more than the loss of his
nephew. Uniformly calm and self-possessed, he seemed now almost
beside himself with fear and grief as one company after another
reached the ship, and no one could give the least information with
regard to Frank. He tried to realize the truth of what his mates and
others told him so hopefully, that probably Frank had been picked up
by some other vessel, but there was a heart-sinking fear which
predominated above all other emotions, and that was, that his lovely
boy lay at the bottom of the sea.
How should he ever dare to convey to the mother such sorrowful
tidings? How could he meet her anxious inquiries, "Oh, where is
my son?"
He reached the shore, no longer hailed with delight as his native
soil. He forgot that in one moment the savings of his lifetime had
been engulphed by the treacherous waves. Ho forgot everything in his
wild searchings for his boy; and at last was forced to carry bitter,
bitter sorrow and anguish to the hearts waiting with buoyant
expectation for the coming of their loved ones.
In the mean time Frank was not dead. When he felt the terrible crash
which rent the vessel asunder, with one bound he sprang from the
parted ship on board the Josephine, which caused the fatal
catastrophe.
It was not until the sun was several hours high that Captain Monroe,
who commanded the vessel bound to Calcutta, discovered a boy leaning
over the side of the ship, weeping bitterly.
He approached him quickly, inquiring, "What is the matter, my lad;
and how did you come on board the Josephine?"
Frank narrated his wonderful escape from the parted vessel, and was
then led on to give an account of himself and the bitter
disappointment he had experienced in being obliged to go to sea again
without visiting his parents.
"They will think I am dead!" exclaimed the boy, in a passion
of grief; "and my uncle, if he is alive, will blame himself that he
persuaded mother to let me go with him."
"What is your uncle's name?" asked the sympathizing captain.
"His name is James Taylor. The commander of the vessel."
"Ah! why, he is one of my dearest friends!"
"Do you think he was drowned?"
"Oh no! he was picked up and carried on shore."
Frank began to cry again.
"It is a misfortune, certainly," said the good mans his eyes becoming
dewy with sympathizing tears; "but we will try to make it as easy
for you as we can. In the first place, you must write a letter
to your parents, which I will enclose in one to my owners, that it
may be delivered with due caution, and have them ready for the first
vessel we meet. I am sorry to say, though, it is an uncommon
circumstance to speak vessels in the latitude to which we are going;
and therefore you must not be disappointed if we do not have
an opportunity to send home until near the end of our voyage."
This proved to be the case; but in the mean time Frank, with the
natural buoyancy of youth, had recovered his spirits, and had
rendered himself almost as much beloved on board the Josephine
as during his former voyage. With the captain his influence
was almost unbounded. He regarded the sad catastrophe which had
brought him in close proximity to such a youth as one of the greatest
blessings of his life. He had been blessed with a pious mother,
and he had a praying wife; but the influence of worldly cares
had gradually dissipated whatever seriousness he might once have had,
though he still entertained a great respect for religion.
The first thing that particularly interested him in Frank was
observing the soothing effect which prayer had upon him. During
the early part of the voyage, the boy would often give way to bursts
of irrepressible sorrow that he could not have seen his parents and
sister before going again on so long a voyage. In vain his friend
tried to soothe him by promises of presents they would purchase
in Calcutta for the absent ones; his tears would flow like a river.
At length he would go into his little cabin, next to the captain's,
and pour out his griefs before his sympathizing Saviour. In a few
minutes he would return, with a calm, serious air, certainly, but
with his sorrow quite subdued.
On one occasion, Captain Monroe, curious to know the secret of such
an influence, followed the boy and listened at the door of his room.
It was a touching picture: the child upon his knees, wrestling with
his heavenly Father for more submission to his holy will, for the
cheerful acquiescence in his lot, which should prove him to be
following the example of him who drank, without murmuring, the cup
of sorrow to the dregs; for grace to live so humbly that all who saw
him might be won to his Saviour; for the dear ones who were mourning
his loss at home. The officer also appeared, wiping the fast-flowing
tears, at the half-open door.
Frank was not slow to notice the change in the captain's deportment;
and his sorrow for himself decreased as he began to plead with God
for a blessing upon his friend.
Nor was it long before the answer came. One day Captain Monroe called
Frank into his cabin and said, "I have found out why you were
subjected to so bitter a disappointment. God sent you to me, as a
means of leading me to a knowledge of my Saviour's love."
"I was sure," answered the boy, in his simple, trusting manner, "that
God did it for the best; and that was why I tried so hard to say,
'Thy will be done.'"