The Boy Patriot Part 5

A few words of affectionate parting with Hal, and then Blair was again a free boy, the sky above and the friendly waters below. Friendly they seemed to him as he sped over the waves towards the flag of his native land. He did not look behind him to see that the Stars and Stripes were waving above the British vessel, run up when she was called on to show her colors. He did not note the fact that the deck on which he had lately stood was fast pa.s.sing from sight while he hasted on his errand.

Two of the privateers kept up their chase of the suspicious craft, while the other hove to, to receive the message which had been signalized as in the hands of the boy in the fast approaching boat.

Blair stepped freely and gladly when he was once more among his own dear countrymen, and it was with a beaming face that he presented his sealed note to the captain of the "Molly."

The note was as follows: "We send you herewith an American boy, by chance our prisoner. We trust that the gaining of such an addition to your crew will make amends for the loss of the British property which this delay gives us a chance to carry off in safety."

The captain of the Molly read these few words at a glance; then stamping his foot, he exclaimed, "You young villain! American or no American, you shall suffer for this sneaking trick. We'll send you back again out of the mouth of our guns, or half-way at least. It is not worth our while to follow that miserable cheat. Those good s.h.i.+ps will take him before many hours are over. Yankees know a British hull if American colors are flying over her."

Blair looked with astonishment where, far over the waters, the British man-of-war was fading from sight.

"It is a shabby trick, but I was no party to it," he exclaimed. "I would sooner lose my right hand than lift one finger against my countrymen. I am an American. I am the son of old Joe Robertson, the pilot of Fairport. Perhaps you know him. If you do, you will be sure that one of his blood would never do dishonor to the Stars and Stripes."

Captain Knox of the privateer Molly had never heard of Joe Robertson; but his knowledge of the world made him see truth and innocence in the face of the boy. Blair's words came too quickly, and his voice was pitched too high for English birth, and that the blunt captain marked at once.

"No matter who you are or where you came from, if you are all right as to the Stars and Stripes," said Captain Knox. "We don't ask too many questions here as to what folks have been before they come aboard the Molly. If you can obey orders and handle a rope, this is the place for you to make your fortune. Go aft, and Derry Duck our first-mate will find something for you to do in short order. He knows how to take the stiffness out of a fellow's bones."

Thus dismissed, Blair mingled among the sailors at the other end of the vessel, by no means a welcome guest. Muttered curses fell on his ears, and more than one voice was heard to say, "He ought to be sunk forty fathoms in salt water, with a hundred weight of lead at his heels."

CHAPTER XI.

"MUM."

Captain Knox did not set off in pursuit of the British vessel from which Blair had so unexpectedly escaped. Our young sailor soon learned that the "Molly" was on the look-out for richer prey, in the shape of an East Indiaman, whose costly cargo was expected to prove a gold mine for captain and crew.

The love of adventure and the l.u.s.t for gold seemed uppermost in the minds of Blair's new companions. The Fairport boy was not long in discovering that there was about as little Christian patriotism on board the Molly, as there is verdure in Sahara. In the freedom of the mess-table, the late achievements of the crew were the occasion of many a "yarn," and of many a fierce discussion as to who had been the boldest and most reckless in the excitement of attack and victory. It was plain that the crew of the Molly were little better than a den of thieves, their whole thought being of plunder, their whole ambition the winning of gold. Blair blushed for the honor of his country, to find such men among her avowed defenders. Oaths and obscenity made even more hateful the rough narratives in which each strove to prove himself more hardened and abandoned than the last speaker. Blair's soul recoiled with horror from the taint of such companions.h.i.+p; yet for him there was no escape.

Among these coa.r.s.e rovers he was forced to eat and sleep, to live and labor, while many weeks went by.

The youngest on board, he was at the beck and call of these rough men, who made his body as weary of doing their bidding as his soul of their words of wickedness. A deep, hearty hatred of the crew of the Molly took possession of Blair Robertson. He wondered that a benevolent Providence should have placed a Christian boy in the midst of the pollution of such a.s.sociates, and subject to the martyrdom of hearing their daily talk. A cold and haughty silence was Blair's defence against their scolding and their railing. With a feeling of conscious superiority he moved among them, desiring their praise even less than their persecution.

The names of the crew of the Molly were as unattractive as their appearance and manners. These soubriquets spoke not of pious parents who had given their children to G.o.d, with a Christian name which they trusted would be registered in heaven. They told rather of lawless lives, and a past which must be buried in oblivion or acknowledged with shame and perhaps fear. "Fighting-c.o.c.k," "Torpedo," "Brimstone," and "the Slasher," were among the leaders who dubbed Blair with the t.i.tle of "Mum," and so saluted him on all occasions. Blair had a very considerable sense of his own dignity, and was by no means pleased with this style of address. Yet he showed his resentment by increased taciturnity rather than by words. Captain Knox and Derry Duck soon found out that Blair Robertson was no useless addition to the crew, and promptly gave him his share in the watch and in other duties which his strength would permit.

The hours of the watch were to Blair the most agreeable he now enjoyed.

In the silent night, with the sea below and the sentinel stars overhead, he could commune with G.o.d, undisturbed by the wickedness of man.

Blair had not been a day on board the Molly, when Torpedo, a fiery young Spaniard, spied him reading his pocket-Testament in a quiet part of the s.h.i.+p. The book was s.n.a.t.c.hed away and flung triumphantly into the water, while Torpedo exclaimed in bad English that Blair should follow it if he tried to force any of his canting notions on the free crew of the privateer. Well was it for Blair that his mind was stored with chapter after chapter of the precious volume, which would otherwise have been to him now a sealed book. It surprised him to see how much of the Scriptures he could by a strong effort recall, and most consoling and cheering to him were those words of peace and power.

In one of these lonely watches, Blair's thoughts turned to his present companions with his usual loathing. Suddenly there came to him the image of these rough bad men in their days of babyhood, ere yet this evil world had found its full response in the evil within their poor human hearts. He could fancy the loving eye of G.o.d on those little ones, following them along their dreary pathway, and grieving as thicker grew the crust of sin over all that had been pure and childlike, and more and more dark their coming doom. Blair realized for the first time the love of G.o.d, the pure and holy G.o.d, for those wicked transgressors of his law. "Yes," he thought, "it was while we were yet sinners Christ died for us. He came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.

Hateful as must have been to Him the atmosphere of guilt and degradation in this lower world, he left his Father's throne and came to seek and to save that which was lost." Ah, how unlike the ministry of the Son of man had been Blair's proud, self-exalting, unloving demeanor. Perhaps mercy for those poor abandoned men had sent a Christian boy to dwell among them and show forth the image of his Master. With deep shame Blair saw how unchristian had been his thoughts and acts towards his uncongenial a.s.sociates. Had he not cherished the very spirit of the Pharisee, "Stand by thyself; I am holier than thou?" Blair thought of his proud and hasty temper and of the many sins of his boyhood, and meekly owned that but for the loving hand of G.o.d which had hedged him round against temptation, and planted him in the garden of the Lord, he might have been even worse than these wild rovers of the sea. Earnestly he prayed that he might so live and love on board the Molly, that at least a faint image might be given of the great Example, who endured the contradiction of sinners, and for their sakes was willing to suffer even unto death.

Shame and indignation that such men should profess to be defenders of the American flag had hitherto been a chill to the patriotism of Blair Robertson. Now the thought struck him, that if he could but win one of these hardy sailors to be a Christian servant of his country, an honor to the flag under which he sailed, not in vain would a young patriot have endured the trials and temptations of the "Molly." "But," thought Blair, "what am I, single-handed, against so many? How can I hope to bring a blessing by the prayers of my one heart, be it ever so devoted?"

He remembered that the prayer of the patriot Moses saved the hosts of the children of Israel from utter destruction at the hand of their offended G.o.d. At the prayer of Paul, the Ruler of the seas gave him not only his own life, but the lives of all that were with him in the s.h.i.+p.

"I cannot," he said to himself, "hope to prevail like these saints of old, at least not for my own sake; but the name of Jesus is all-powerful. I will plead it for the poor wanderers about me, and G.o.d will in due time, I trust, prosper and bless my efforts."

CHAPTER XII.

THE FIRST EFFORT.

"I've broken my jack-knife," said the yellow-headed, yellow-faced tar who rejoiced in the nickname of Brimstone. The speech was accompanied by an oath that chilled the very soul of Blair Robertson; but it was the morning after the watch which had so changed his views towards his wild a.s.sociates, and he at once seized the opportunity to begin his new line of conduct.

Blair had a large many-bladed Sheffield knife, which had been a present to his father from an English captain. For several years it was h.o.a.rded as a special treasure, and then on a Christmas-day found its way into the pocket of the only son. Blair knew the worth and temper of every blade, and its fit and appointed use. Not a boy in Fairport had such a knife, as had been acknowledged on all hands. He had besides often thought of it as no bad weapon in case of an attack from any of the fighting crew of the Molly. "To stick a man," was in their estimation no uncommon occurrence, judging from the tales of their adventures, which they delighted to tell.

"Take my knife, wont you? It is a first-rate one," said Blair, handing over his treasure as freely as if the sacrifice had cost him no effort.

Brimstone opened his round cat-like eyes in surprise; and then dropping the knife into the depths of his pocket, said, "Green, green! You expected to make a trade with me, I suppose. You can't come it. I never swap."

"I meant to make you a present of it. You seemed so put out about your knife's breaking," said Blair pleasantly. "A fellow does hate to break his knife. An English captain gave that to my father five years ago. It has six blades."

Brimstone took the knife out of his pocket and examined it slowly, opening blade after blade with the air of a connoisseur.

"I say, youngster, it's a first-rate article. You meant a swap, now; own up. What did you mean to ask me for it, if I'd been in the humor?"

"There is only one thing I should like to ask of you," began Blair.

"Ha, ha! I knew you meant a swap," said Brimstone. "There's no harm in making a clean breast of it."

"I wanted to ask you not to swear those horrible oaths. I tremble lest G.o.d, whose great name you blaspheme, should smite you dead with those curses on your lips," said Blair earnestly.

Brimstone had the long blade of the knife open. He gave an angry thrust at Blair, which the lad skilfully avoided, but without a shadow of fear in his fine face. "None of that talk," exclaimed Brimstone. "We say _what_ we please and _when_ we please on board the Molly. Mum's the right word for you. We want no parson just out of petticoats here."

Blair walked quietly away. His precious knife was gone, and he had perhaps but irritated and made more unfriendly one of the very men whom he so longed to influence for good. He had left himself without any defensive weapon among men who reckoned human life as of trifling value.

Yet Blair was not discouraged. He had made a beginning; and though roughly received, it was an effort put forth in a Christian spirit, and could not be lost. With a pet.i.tion in his heart for the rough sailor he had just quitted, Blair went to a quiet part of the s.h.i.+p to write a few lines to his mother. It seemed to him it would be a comfort to fancy himself in communication with her, though the letter might never fall under her dear eyes. Yet that was not impossible. There were letters waiting already on board, until they could be sent by some homeward-bound craft. The little mail-bag might find a timely and trusty bearer.

Blair had nearly filled the sheet before him, unconscious of any observers. The vessel lay becalmed, scarcely moving on the quiet waters, and the men had been stretched lazily about, or leisurely mending sails, or was.h.i.+ng their clothing in true sailors' fas.h.i.+on. Drawn on by Brimstone's beckoning finger, a group had silently gathered round Blair, ready for any wild frolic at the boy's expense which their summoner might have in his unscrupulous brain.

Just as Blair put the signature to his letter, the paper was s.n.a.t.c.hed from his hand by some one from behind.

"Now hear, wors.h.i.+pful s.h.i.+pmates," said Brimstone, making as if he would read the letter aloud.

"You don't know your alphabet," said Derry Duck contemptuously. "I am the scholard for you; but I choose to let the writer do his own reading.

Here, Mum, let us have the benefit of your long-tailed letter in plain English, stops put in all right."

Blair's eyes flashed for a moment, but the next he put out his hand for the letter, and said pleasantly, "Do you really want to know how a Yankee boy writes home to his mother? Well, then, I'll read every word out, just as it is written."

[Ill.u.s.tration:]

The tones of Blair's voice were clear and firm as he read as follows:

"DEAR MOTHER--I always thought I loved you, but I never half knew what you were to me before. I think of you by day, and dream of you by night."

"I should think he was writing to his sweetheart," said Brimstone with a coa.r.s.e laugh.