AND LAST
It may well be wondered why in the much-abused name of common-sense the
mariners on board the _Grampus_ did not, seeing the hopelessness of
saving their vessel, make for the boats and leave her. But it must be
remembered that, apart from the fact that they were nearly all mixed
up in that horrible compost of savagery, there were really only three
of them who had any clearness of head remaining. These three, whom I
have already named, were busy preparing the starboard quarter boat
for leaving when suddenly there burst upon them, like a flood, a mob
of natives, and before they had time to draw their weapons they were
overpowered, and another dark deed was consummated. As so often has
happened in South Sea Island story, the innocent suffered equally with
the guilty--indeed, more, for one guilty man escaped for a time. Off in
the dark Reuben waited, all his nerves raw with anxiety for those who
would never come. What to do he did not know, for light and graceful as
a whaleboat is when she has her full complement of men on board, she is
cumbrous as a barge to be handled by one man at any time without sail;
and when to that one man’s task is added the hampering of darkness
and ignorance of the way he should go, the hill of difficulty becomes
well-nigh insurmountable.
Reuben stood with his feet upon the two cleats, made and fastened for
the purpose of raising the steersman’s body, one on each side of the
stern-sheets, staring with smarting eyes into the smoky, flame-stabbed
darkness where the ship lay. Occasionally a great spurt of blood-red
fire lit up sea, shore, and sky, and made him tremble for fear of
discovery; then a wild chorus of yells and shrieks chilled his blood
as he pictured mentally the scene being enacted on board. Strangely
enough, he had quite forgotten his own peril, had forgotten how many
were the native canoes, how impossible it would be for him to propel
that heavy boat one quarter as fast as those amphibious natives could
swim after him if once they realised his departure. Ah! The boat sagged
heavily to one side, and in over the bluff of the bow climbed a dark
figure, gasping as if its chest was being rent asunder. Reuben sprang
forward, and found it was the skipper. The two men stared at each other
for a moment; then the skipper gurgled out, ‘Oars, pull for life; all
dead but me.’ And as he spoke he seized an oar and began to pull.
Reuben said no word, but took another, and with the long, splendid
stroke of the whaler they propelled the beautiful craft silently
seaward, passing the headland safely and unobserved. A light breeze was
blowing, and no sooner were they clear of the head than the skipper
said, his native gruffness asserting itself even in that terrible hour,
‘Come, lend a hand ’n’ git th’ mast up. She’ll go twice as fast under
sail. Git a move on ye.’ It was a heavy task for two men, one of whom
was evidently fighting hard against overpowering weakness, but Reuben’s
great strength again stood him in good stead, and before ten minutes
had elapsed the big sail was bellying bravely forward, and the boat,
heading out into the night, was gently bowing to the incoming Pacific
swell, seeming eager to escape from those awful shores.
Captain Da Silva took the steer-oar, and with something of his old
skill laid the boat on the direct course for the nearest reef-opening,
steering by the white curdlings on the reef-tops around, which showed
up most conspicuously against the dark of the night. Astern the
_Grampus_, now one vast flame, filled the sky with a lurid glare, and
the smoke of her burning came floating over the heads of the fugitives
in a long grey cloud. For a space of about half an hour not a word was
spoken by either of the men. Then suddenly the skipper said sharply,
‘Who’s this?’ pointing to the motionless figure lying in the stern
sheets at his feet as if he had only just seen it.
‘It’s yewr wife, Cap’n,’ answered Rube in the most matter-of-fact
manner possible.
‘How ’d she kem here?’ demanded the skipper again.
‘I brought her, sir,’ replied Rube, without the slightest change of
voice.
‘Oh, yew did, eh?’ said the skipper faintly. And then stooping and
letting go his hold of the oar, he laid his hand upon the unconscious
woman and said, ‘’R y’ all right, Pris? I’m drefful sorry t’ have brung
ye t’ this; but I kain’t do nothin’ f’r y’ naow. I’m mighty sick man
myself.’ And with that word he fell forward in a heap fainting.
This brought Rube aft on the jump, but it was well for him that
Priscilla had been roused from her curious stupor and was able to
attend to her husband, as the steering of the boat demanded all one
man’s attention now.
They were nearing the reef passage, and the swell meeting them was
causing the boat to leap as she surmounted its crests, and demanding a
very steady hand at the steer-oar to keep her bow on to it. Besides,
the channel was barely five boats’ lengths wide, and the foam of the
incoming breakers almost obscured it at times. Still Rube steered
seaward with a steady hand, and presently with a sigh of relief he saw
the gallant craft shoot out from between those walls of white on to the
dark, free ocean beyond. Then he was about to try and ship the rudder,
which always hangs alongside, when he heard her voice saying:
‘Would you please look at the Captain? I think he has fainted, or
something, and his clothes are all sticky, as well as wet.’
Rube answered thickly, ‘Certainly, ma’am, only yew must ’scuse me if I
divide my ’tention between him and the boat. She wants a good deal of
steering just now, an’ we kain’t afford to linger about here, in case
we ain’t far enough from that awful place by sun-up.’
Then Rube stooped down and peered into the skipper’s face, feeling all
over his body at the same time and noting the sticky feeling of which
she spoke. But he knew no more of what it was than she, and as he had
no light he could not investigate. And so he gave all his attention to
the navigation of the boat away from those dangerous shores while yet
the land wind held, knowing full well that it would die away before
dawn and the sea breeze come with the sun. Then if he were not well off
the land he would run great risk of being caught by the natives, whose
blood thirst would by this time be unassuageable.
Priscilla, only conscious apparently of one fact, that her husband
needed her ministrations, was doing her best under those sadly hampered
conditions to give them. That she was tossing about on the open sea in
a small boat with only her unconscious husband and one sailor to keep
her company did not seem to impress her at all. And yet it would be
grievous if anyone reading her story should think of her scornfully as
having degenerated under her terrible trials into something very much
resembling an imbecile. Oh, no; really her present state of mind had
been reached through a series of shocks that would have driven a weaker
woman to death or madness, but in her case had providentially resulted
in a sort of calm acceptance, without any apparent surprise, of
whatever strange experiences should befall her. Mechanically she bathed
her husband’s face with her handkerchief dipped in the water overside,
and, warned by his stertorous breathing, she loosed his neckband and
managed to raise his head on to her lap. And thus she sat quietly
enduring the cramping of her limbs, accepting the sharp pains shooting
through her body as inevitable, and making no sound.
A hush stole over the dark sea as the wind died away, broken only
by the heavy occasional flap of the now useless sail. Without a
word Reuben shipped the steer-oar and stepped lightly forward. In a
minute or two he had tightly furled the sail and taken an extra pull
at the backstays and stay, after deciding that owing to his being
single-handed and not sure of his power to elevate it again he must
take the risk of being seen through leaving the mast standing. He
did not realise how far the swift boat had glided under the gentle
stress of the light land breeze during those past hours of darkness.
With almost hungry eagerness he waited for the dawn, noted the first
faint blush as of surprise tinting the eastern sky, watched with
growing feelings of worship tremulous threads of delicate colour
running searchingly into the sombre concave of the departing night,
saw the flood of palest golden light appear, and then springing into
its midst ablaze with glory, majesty, and life, the sun. And the
land out of sight. His head sank upon his bosom, and he thanked God
for deliverance. Yet, having done so, he could not help a sinking
at his heart as he looked aft at those two crouching forms--one so
inexpressibly precious to him, the other a sacred charge because--well,
because of right and truth and honour. He knew that upon him, under
God, depended their lives, although he did not then know how far gone
the skipper was. And just one little moan escaped him as he thought how
ill-provided they were for a long cruise in those unfrequented seas.
Then hope revived again as he felt, because of his ignorance, that
he could not sail far in any direction without making land, and land
meant food and water, and (but that he did not trouble about) savages,
cannibals made, if possible, worse than they were by nature by the
utter villainy of white men far more culpable than they.
Then, treading softly as a cat, he stepped over the thwarts aft again,
and as he did so Priscilla lifted her wan face to his, saying calmly:
‘Are we safe from pursuit?’
Rube nodded: he could not trust himself to speak.
‘Then, will you see what you can do for Captain Da Silva. I--I am
afraid he is badly injured.’
With one glance at the boat fore and aft and a satisfied noting of the
little darkness on the water which betokened the coming breeze, Rube
obeyed, and stooped to the Captain’s side. As soon as he did so he
saw to his horror that the stickiness they had both felt during the
darkness was blood; the skipper had been wounded in many places, and
his blood, aided by the salt water, had congealed upon him and stopped
its own flow, or he would have been dead long before.
‘Ma’am,’ said Rube unsteadily, ‘I’ll dew my best fur the Cap’n, but, as
yew k’n see, that isn’t much. He’s badly cut, an’ I daren’t interfere
with his hurts ’cause at present they’ve stopped bleedin’, and if I
tech him an’ start ’em agen I mayn’t be able to stanch th’ flow then.
Pity I got nothin’ t’ give him but a little soak biscuit an’ water.
P’raps you’ll take a little yewrself, ma’am, at the same time t’ keep
up yewr strength and courage.’
The ghost of a smile flickered for a second about her white lips, and
she said simply, ‘Thank you. You are very kind. What shall I call you?’
He answered shortly, with a tightening at the heart, ‘My name’s Rube,
ma’am--at least, that’s what I get usually. Call me thet, if ye don’t
mind.’
And then he busied himself with the preparation of the simple meal,
measuring crumb and drop as if each represented so many minutes of
life, and deciding that, as for himself, he could go a much longer
time yet before encroaching upon the small stock which must suffice for
them all. The breeze freshening, he set the sail again, and, hauling
the boat’s head as near the wind as she would lie, found that she would
make about E.N.E. on the starboard tack--by guess, that is, for there
was no compass in the boat. And this course he chose, not because he
knew whither it would lead them, but because he saw that it was taking
them well away from those accursed isles, of whose very name and
whereabouts he was ignorant. And having got the boat so easily trimmed
that by lashing the tiller at a certain angle she would steer herself,
coming up and falling off just as if a hand was at the helm, he turned
his attention again to the skipper and his wife, finding that the
former had returned to a reasonable appreciation of his surroundings
and was quietly taking the biscuit pap from Priscilla’s fingers. His
filmy eyes lighted upon Reuben, and he said in low but clear tones:
‘Ah! yew never gut thet floggin’ I promised ye. Wall, I doan’ know as
I’m sorry thet yew missed it. I guess I ben a pretty hard case ever
sence I gut a chance t’ be, ’n’ I don’t believe I ever ben sorry fur
anything I ever done befo’. I felt mad, but not sorry--no, never. ’N’
I thought I’d go some day jest like that. ’N’ now I kain’t. Pris’
(turning to his wife with sudden energy), ‘I want yew t’ fergive
me--I’ve done y’ a power of harm. I ben an awful brute t’ ye. Wut I
ben t’ th’ men don’ matter--that’s wut they’re aboard fur--but yew ben
good t’ me, ’n’ I ben a devil t’ yew. Naow I’m a-dyin’, ’n’ I don’ care
a plunk fer thet, but I’d like y’ t’ know I’m sorry fur wut I done t’
ye. Ez fur this galoot, I don’t know who he is er wut he is, ’n’ ef I
a-hed my way with him he’d a-hed a pretty tough time, but I do b’lieve
he ain’t half bad. Kiender soft mebbe fur all he’s so big an’ hefty,
but I think he’ll put ye through in shape. An’----’ But then the
voice suddenly melted into a few unintelligible sounds, and again the
skipper’s head sank on to his wife’s lap and he was silent in another
swoon. Rube looked at him helplessly for a moment, then, reflecting
that the best thing for him would be to concentrate his mind upon the
only thing he could do--viz., the handling of the boat--he stepped
thoughtfully back to the tiller, and cast his eye first over the boat
herself, then all around. She was going sweetly along, unguided, like a
creature of intelligence, and as if she needed no human intervention,
so, satisfied of this, Rube busied himself in making everything within
her as neat and ship-shape as possible. Having done all he could at
this, he counted their treasured biscuit, felt the weight of the water
supply, and looked inquiringly at Priscilla, holding up the little
wooden beaker or piggin with one hand and pointing to the keg with the
other. But Priscilla, moistening her parched lips as well as she could,
shook her head, giving a meaning glance at the little bucket wherein he
had soaked the biscuit of which she and the Captain had been partaking,
to show him that there was still some left.
Just as Rube was wondering what he could do next for her comfort, and
his own satisfaction, there was a commotion in the water alongside, and
with a series of sharp taps against the sides and bottom of the boat,
half-a-dozen large flying-fish fell into her in their hurried rush
upwards from the onslaught of a big albacore, which went sweeping past
with one of their late comrades thwartwise in his mouth. In a moment
Rube had gathered the welcome little wanderers together and hidden them
all out of the sun’s rays but one. This he cleaned with the utmost
delicacy and filleted, cutting the fillets into dainty narrow strips.
With half-a-dozen of them balanced on his knife-blade, he approached
Priscilla, who had been watching him languidly, saying, ‘Here, ma’am,
is suthin’ that’ll dew yew and the skipper both good. It’s cool and
moist, an’ ef yew shet yew eyes fur a minit yew’ll be surprised haow
easy yew can take it. Thousan’s of people prefer it this way t’ cooked.
’N’ I’ll dry some fur ye then, only it ain’t so good fur ye because
of its makin’ y’ thirsty, an’ water’s none too plentiful.’ With
utmost docility she roused herself, took the tender looking strips,
and put one of them to her husband’s cracked lips. His mouth opened
mechanically and his jaws moved, but he had no power to swallow, and
his breath began to come and go laboriously. Putting one hand under his
head, she beckoned Rube with the other, whispering, ‘Is he dying? Can’t
you _do_ anything for him?’
With a fervent petition for aid to do the right thing, for wisdom to
see it, Rube stepped to her side and took the Captain’s weight off
Priscilla’s arm upon his own. There was, even to a man with as little
experience of death as Rube’s, but scanty room to doubt that Captain
Da Silva was going to his account. And then, incredible as it may seem
to most of us, this simple-minded Christian man, forgetting all else
but the pitiable plight of the sufferer before him, actually burst
suddenly into earnest prayer that he might be spared--if only for a
little while--spared to repent of the evil done and intended. But as
he prayed he was conscious of something, he knew not what, driving into
his mind the certainty that his prayer was not to be granted. That
Ramon Da Silva had done all the direct ill he was to be allowed to do.
Rube’s voice ceased, the skipper’s eyes opened, glazed and fixed, his
lower jaw dropped heavily, and he was dead. Catching Priscilla’s eyes
fixed earnestly upon his face, Reuben said solemnly, ‘He’s dead, ma’am,
and the rest is with God.’ ‘May God have mercy upon him now,’ she
replied.
Until the evening scarcely another word was spoken by either of them,
both busy with their own thoughts. But just before sunset, Rube said
questioningly, ‘We kain’t do no good, and may do much harm, by keeping
the body any longer: d’ you mind my offering up a prayer an’ committin’
it to th’ deep?’ She answered humbly, ‘Do what you think is right--I am
willing. God knows I have every confidence in you.’ So Rube sank upon
his knees on the thwart, and with bowed head commended the dead man to
the mercy of the Merciful. Then he rose, and with a sudden heave of his
great shoulders, lifted the piece of clay; there was a sullen splash,
an eddy, and all that was mortal of Ramon Da Silva had disappeared for
ever from human sight.
With an unutterable sense of relief Reuben turned to the business of
living, and bringing forth his little store of filleted fish and a
handful of broken biscuits gently pressed Priscilla to eat. She at once
commenced to try, only stipulating that he should also take something,
for she felt sure that, since the catastrophe, at any rate, he had not
broken his fast. He gravely acceded to her wish and began to eat, but
had only taken two or three mouthfuls when he laid down the morsel he
was conveying to his lips, put both hands to his face, and, his huge
body shaken as with ague, burst into a tempest of sobs. Priscilla
watched him in awe-stricken silence, until she, too, moved beyond
bearing by such a passion in this quiet, self-possessed man, began to
weep. But as soon as she did, Rube, by a tremendous effort, regained
command of himself and began in tenderest fashion to speak such
comforting words to her as his close acquaintance with the Source of
all comfort had given him possession of. But be it noted, neither his
consolation nor Priscilla’s distress had any reference to their present
desperate condition whatever. That apparently gave them no uneasiness.
These tears of Priscilla’s were due to reaction, to self-pity perhaps
a little, but principally were an evidence of the passing away of an
awful bondage. Such tears as a prisoner might shed on first emerging
from a loathsome captivity in an underground dungeon into the blessed
light of Heaven--free.
There is no need to enlarge upon the cause of Rube’s breakdown: if it
be not palpable, it would be futile to explain.
Now he was torn with a raging conflict between his desires and his
fears. Would Priscilla, after all, love him? Dare he make himself known
without appearing to take any unmanly advantage of her helplessness,
her utter need of some strong arm upon which to lean, whether she loved
its owner or not so long as he was kind? Foolish--oh, yes, but quite
natural where such faithful love as Rube’s reigns in a man’s heart,
allied with such a distrust of self as he possessed. So he sat speaking
to Priscilla such things as he found best to say with this backlash
of harassing thoughts occupying one corner of his brain, and causing
his eyes to shine with almost audible intensity. And presently lifting
her head Priscilla’s gaze met his. For a moment she stared spellbound,
then gasped, ‘Rube, it’s _you_, it’s YOU. O God, how good You are to
me!’ And she bent towards him. All his fears were forgotten now, all
his delicate self-tormenting diffidences vanished like breath-mist from
a diamond, and he took her to his broad breast as a mother takes her
infant, yearningly, hungrily.
The boat sailed on steadily into the blankness of the horizon, hunger
and thirst, and dreadful outlook all forgotten, and in that happy hour
each lived a lifetime of perfect joy, feeling that, come what might,
the price to pay would not be grudged by them. Then, with a sigh of
perfect content, they released one another, and Rube, feeling as if
the strength of ten lay in his great frame, the wisdom of a dozen old
sea-captains had accumulated in his brain, set about preparing for the
night. He felt ready to wrestle with death itself for her as Jacob did
with the angel, and with no more fear. And she followed him with her
eyes as he busied himself about the boat and made ready their tiny
meal. It was so sweet to feel once more the presence of unselfish love
ready to do and dare all things for her. If the prospect of that wide
sea-plain and their utter loneliness upon it, and the knowledge of
their want of food, did for a moment give her a chilly feeling as of
the approach of darkness, it was only momentary: one glance again at
his bright, brave, calm face dispelled it, and brought instead the glow
of perfect happiness--that is, as nearly perfect as a spirit clothed
with flesh can feel.
They took their evening morsel of food, and uttered their evening
prayers sitting hand in hand like little children, and with as little
care or fear for the future as babes would have; they saw the bright
sky darken into the violet of the night, while the gentle breeze held
steadily and the boat still swept quietly forward to the east. Rube
made Priscilla as comfortable as possible, sacrificing the jib’s
usefulness for the night in order to protect her from the drenching
dew, and as she laid her head down upon his coat rolled up for a
pillow she gave a happy little sigh, murmured, ‘Thank you, dear,’ put
up her face to be kissed as a tired child would out of its cot, and
went instantly to sleep. Rube, noting this with intense satisfaction,
composed himself upon the little deck aft, where he could look down
upon Priscilla’s form, cast off the tiller, and, sitting with it
under his arm, steered the boat steadily by the wind, still making,
as nearly as he could judge by the stars, about a N.E. course. So
through the night he sat, and dozed and woke alternately, never finding
any alteration in the pose of that recumbent figure beneath him,
never needing to do aught but just sit still and commune with his own
thoughts. Strangely enough, do what he would he could not feel any
apprehension for the future. Again and again he endeavoured to depict
Priscilla and himself dying of hunger and thirst under the great solemn
eye of heaven. Again and again he recalled his experiences in the
_Xiphias_’ boat when all the bitterness of such a death was actually
undergone, and the survivors were literally haled back from the dark
entry of the grave. But no answering tremor came. Not even when he
thought of his father and mother, those waiting, lonely figures sitting
by their cosy but quiet fireside praying for him. Ah--that was it. The
effectual, fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much, and whether
he (and _she_) were to live or die, the peace which they were enjoying
was undoubtedly due to that stream of real prayer ascending continually
from the Eddy Homestead for the wanderers on unknown seas.
Therefore, in the morning, as daylight filled the sky, he faced the
waking Priscilla with a countenance scarcely less bright. He drew her
a bucket of water from overside, and recommended a sluicing of hands,
and face, and neck, telling her that for the next half-hour it would
be necessary for him to seat himself upon the bow and look steadfastly
ahead in case in that clear dawn-light some vessel should be visible.
And when such a toilet as she was able to make was completed, a word
from her would bring him aft on the jump supposing his vigil were not
over. She smiled gratefully, appreciatively; and met him presently,
when in response to her call he came leaping aft, with a face so bright
and rosy in spite of its thinness that an involuntary exclamation of
wonder and admiration burst from him. Then they sat down to their
frugal breakfast of water and biscuit--the fish was now too stale to
eat, unless they were much more ravenous than at present--and for sauce
they had reminiscences, all that Rube could remember on both sides of
the blank, and all that she _would_ recall of the doings of her dead
husband. Then Rube, interesting Priscilla greatly, produced a hook
and line which he had found stowed away in the ‘eyes’ of the boat.
Carefully mounting a strongly smelling flying fish upon the hook, he
trolled it astern, and in a few minutes succeeded in flinging into the
boat a beautiful coryphena, or dolphin as the sailor calls it, of over
ten pounds in weight. A portion of its flesh was cut off, and preserved
for bait, a portion was carefully prepared for the next meal--they did
not mind raw fish now--and the rest cleansed, and cut in strips, was
laid in the sun to dry. And then they thanked God, ate another meal,
and took courage.
On the fourth morning, although they had caught plenty of fish--for in
those prolific seas the deep-sea denizens swarm--they drank their last
drop of water. They had husbanded it carefully, and as at the outset
there was but little over a gallon, it had lasted well. But even now
they did not feel dismayed. Amid their terrible surroundings they were
quite, or nearly quite, happy. That same strange assurance enjoyed by
Rube had communicated itself to Priscilla, and together they discussed
their meeting with the dear old people, and all the wonderments that
people so entirely ignorant of what had been happening since their
departure might naturally be supposed to entertain. They caught a
skip-jack that day, a kind of vivacious mackerel, weighing about five
pounds, and almost gaily munched its juicy flesh, which was so grateful
to their already parching mouths.
Then, at the close of day, as usual--it seemed as if they had been thus
associated for a lifetime--they prayed, kissed each other good-night,
and Priscilla went to sleep, while Rube, as usual, sat erect and dozed.
He was suddenly awakened by a great glare of light which dazzled him,
proceeding from he knew not where. Next moment a clear voice sounded
across the blackness following upon the blaze: ‘Boat ahoy!’ ‘Hallo,’
replied the deep tones of Rube. And then he saw the towering form of
a ship, her green light glaring down at him as if in judicial inquiry
just overhead. In fact, so close that only by putting his tiller hard
over and bringing his boat up in the wind he escaped running into
her with a crash. A side ladder was lowered, a couple of agile men
glided down ropes into the boat, and in less than ten minutes Rube and
Priscilla stood upon the deck of H.M.S. _Alcestis_, surveying ship, to
whose splendid lookout they owed their rescue, and whose crew they had
provided with a babblement of talk that was already surging throughout
the remotest corners of the ship.
A cabin was immediately found for Priscilla, and the wardroom
attendants could not sufficiently show their zeal and readiness
to anticipate her every want. Rube, brought before a charming
young-looking officer, was interrogated as to the how and why of this
miraculous appearance in mid-Pacific in a boat, at night with one
woman, but not before he had been offered and had refused a glass of
grog and a cigar, and had accepted instead a plate of soup on the
condition that some was first given to Priscilla.
So Reuben told his tale to the Captain of the man-o’-war, and whether
the sentry at the door had his ear to the keyhole all the while or
not I don’t know, but certain it is that almost as soon as Reuben
retired for the rest of the night to a comfortable berth, having first
visited Priscilla’s cabin and found her supremely happy, his story
was the common property of the ship’s company, and he could have
had any one of them shed blood, their own or another’s, for him. Of
that, of course, there was no need, but anyone who knows the British
man-o’-warsman, officer or seaman, needs not to be told that on arrival
at Honolulu the paymaster of the _Alcestis_ handed over to Reuben a sum
of money sufficient for all reasonable expenses and fare to Vermont.
Among those _reasonable_ expenses was included the cost of a wedding
at the English church, to which over one hundred of the _Alcestis’_
crew invited themselves, and made those proceedings vibrate with
their own enthusiasm. I regret to say, though, that after escorting
the newly wedded pair on board the mail steamer bound to ’Frisco, and
cheering themselves hoarse as she departed, several of those gallant
blue-jackets were found so full of spirits, animal and vegetable, that
it became necessary for the preservation of the public peace to put
them under lock and key, with serious results to themselves.
Reuben and his adoring wife had no more adventures. They were the
heroes of the passengers and crew of the _Golden Gate_, and they had
much ado to dodge the wily reporters in the Queen City of the West.
Nor were they able to prevent the appearance of their histories (with
such extraordinary verbal embellishments as the said reporters deemed
it necessary to add) in the flamboyant local newspapers. But in due
time they found themselves travelling together the quiet moss-grown
paths between Boston and the home farm, and arriving at the door of
the Eddy Homestead to be received as the latest and best gifts of a
loving God to the faithful old couple who had never wavered in the
long waiting for them, nor doubted that they would come. Also it seems
an anti-climax to record their settling down to a happy, useful, and
loving life in the old farm of Priscilla’s youth, kept in readiness for
them by Rube’s father against the day of their return.
It was somewhat of a wrench for them to be compelled to make a journey
to New Bedford and depose to the circumstances in which the _Grampus_
was lost, and there always remained a sense of something incomplete in
Reuben’s mind about the early days of his departure from New Bedford,
and the intervening months before awaking on board the _Grampus_. But
these ripples made no impression upon the steady flow of their stream
of happiness. Brother Will came to see them from Chicago, portly and
full of dollar-talk, being almost a millionaire, and departed West
again, feeling that there was, after all, something which even dollars
could not buy, and that Rube and his sister possessed the chief of
those things.
Here let us leave the much-tried pair, nestling under the wing of the
Loving Father, whose watchful care had been over them through all their
perils, being serenely carried onwards to a golden sunset.
_Spottiswoode & Co. Ltd., Printers, New-street Square, London._
WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR.
WITH CHRIST AT SEA
A RELIGIOUS AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
Fifth Edition. Crown 8vo. cloth, 6_s._
‘There is not a dull page in the whole narrative.’--TIMES.
‘Those who are acquainted with Mr. Bullen’s work will know that he
cannot fail to compel the attention of his readers. He writes with a
sincerity and a simplicity which lend a great charm to all he does....
He has much to say of the conditions of the service in which he spent
many years, and most of what he tells us is extremely interesting.
Moreover, to those who love the sea the book is worth reading for
its description of the varied moods, the storm and stress, the calm
benignity, the delicate play of the ocean on which this religious life
is spent.’--DAILY TELEGRAPH.
‘Mr. Bullen has told the story of his inner life of faith as it grew
amid the very real hardships and temptations of his life at sea. And
by doing so, we do not doubt that he will have given to many men
and boys the best help a fellow-man can give in their own struggle
with like circumstance. Had he kept his book back for posthumous
publication, he would probably have considerably lessened, as well as
postponed, the good it is calculated to do, for the help to be got out
of a biography is very much increased by the contemporaneousness of
the experiences it records.’--SPECTATOR.
‘We count this one of the most daring books ever printed--a book
in which a very powerful writer has risked a great reputation for
Christ’s sake. It is quite as fascinating as the book that made him,
only in another kind of way. For simple verity, for power to make the
thing live before readers, few autobiographies have the power of this.
We could not put it down until we were through with it, and as we were
going through we could not command our tears. The book will do a world
of good; and, we say again, the witness is a very brave one, manfully
borne.’--METHODIST TIMES.
‘As a human document nothing more interesting of its kind has appeared
for many years.... No one can doubt on reading this book that Mr.
Bullen has lived his religion. There is so little to be gained by
professing to be a Christian at sea that a man who does profess to be
a Christian probably is a Christian. If his rule is made applicable to
the author of this book the present writer records his impression for
what it is worth, that Mr. Bullen is one who has lived the Life, and
that his account of it is interesting and manly.’--DAILY CHRONICLE.
‘One of the most popular books that he has written.... Mr. Bullen, as
usual, writes with considerable charm, and will once again elicit the
sympathy and admiration of all who peruse his pages.’--WESTMINSTER
GAZETTE.
THE APOSTLES OF THE SOUTH-EAST
Second Edition. Crown 8vo. cloth, 6_s._
‘The story is touching and impressive, and fully establishes what we
believe to be the real point about which Mr. Bullen is zealous--that
there are no actually Godless corners anywhere in the world, simply
because though men may forget God, God does not forget men, and in
some way or other witness is borne to the truth of the spiritual
life in the darkest times, and the most seemingly abandoned
places.’--SPECTATOR.
‘One of the most beautiful religious stories ever written. Mr.
Bullen’s incomparable knowledge of the details of the sailor’s life is
displayed as wonderfully as in his earliest books.’--BRITISH WEEKLY.
‘An inspiring book, and charmingly written.’--METHODIST RECORDER.
‘The whole tone of the book is healthy, inspirational, and
hopeful.’--METHODIST TIMES.
‘A story as interesting as any that could be written.’--DAILY NEWS.
‘A remarkable book, interesting in the extreme to really religious
readers as giving a view--accurate, the writer protests--of a phase of
London life very little known and hardly ever realised by middle-or
upper-class people.’--RECORD.
‘No one knows better how to make his characters picturesque, and yet
actually faithful to nature, than does Mr. Bullen, and these humble
Christians of the slums of Rotherhithe are wonderfully life-like. “The
Apostles of the South-East” have been drawn from real life, and are
sketched with all that vigour and fidelity that are so characteristic
of the writer.’--ROCK.
WITH CHRIST IN SAILORTOWN
With Illustrations. Fcp. 8vo. cloth, 1_s._ 6_d._
‘It stands apart from books of a similar kind, not only because of
the writer’s unique experience of the sailor’s life, but because of
the high literary gifts which he can bring to his task; and it will
help the public to know more than they do of an excellent work which
appeals, above all, to Englishmen.’--LITERATURE.
‘Never has the pathetic side of sailor life been more vividly
presented.’--BIRMINGHAM DAILY GAZETTE.
‘We congratulate the author without reserve upon the judicious
and generous use which he has made of his remarkable ability and
popularity.’--MANCHESTER GUARDIAN.
‘Everybody should buy it, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest
it, and do all in his power to forward the amelioration and
Christianisation of our merchant seamen, which implies the creation of
an adequate Royal Naval Reserve.’--QUEEN.
‘It is written with sympathy and vivacity; and is full of inimitable
touches which throw into relief the manly sympathy and moral courage
of the writer, as well as the peculiar needs of the poor fellows of
whom he writes at once so wisely and so well.’--LEEDS MERCURY.
London: HODDER & STOUGHTON, 27 Paternoster Row, E.C.
* * * * * *
Transcriber's note:
A number of typographical errors have been corrected silently.
Books by the Same Author added to Table of Contents.