The Boy Patriot, Edward Sylvester Ellis [best books to read for self improvement .TXT] 📗

"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 associates, 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 hoarded 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 temper96 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's97 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 God, whose great name you blaspheme, should smite you dead with those curses on your lips," said Blair earnestly.98

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 petition in his99 heart for the rough sailor he had just quitted, Blair went to a quiet part of the ship 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 washing their clothing in true sailors' fashion. Drawn on by Brimstone's beckoning finger, a group had silently gathered round Blair, ready for any wild frolic at the boy's expense100 which their summoner might have in his unscrupulous brain.

Just as Blair put the signature to his letter, the paper was snatched from his hand by some one from behind.

"Now hear, worshipful shipmates," 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."

101

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 coarse laugh.

"Silence," shouted Derry Duck in a tone of command. "Go on, boy."

Blair resumed. "I am on board the 'Molly,' Captain Knox, an American privateer, safe and sound, in full health and fair spirits, thanks to the good God who has watched over me. It would be a long story to tell you how I came here; that I will reserve till we meet. When the British commander found he could not make me pilot him into Fairport, he put for the open sea, and there we took the gale. A real tear-away it was, and102 raked the old ship well-nigh clean from stem to stern; but they rigged her up again, and had her skimming the seas like a duck before two days were over. I had to leave Hal Hutchings on board of her; they claimed him for an English subject. It was like losing my eyes to part with him.

"I never thought to see such danger as has fallen to my lot since I kissed you good-by, dear mother; but my heart has never failed me. God has sustained me in every hour of trial, and I trust him for all that is before me, be it danger or temptation or death. He is all-powerful. In his strength I shall come off conqueror. He spread this smiling sky above me. He measured these limitless waters in the hollow of his hand. He can, he will, keep me from all evil; and if death shall be my portion, he will take me, all unworthy as I am, to his king103dom of glory, for the sake of our crucified Redeemer."

Blair Robertson had the rare gifts of voice and manner which ever exercise an influence more powerful than force of argument or elegance of style. What he said went home to the hearts of his hearers. As he uttered the deep feelings of his soul, his rude listeners were awed into silence. He paused, and there was a moment of deathlike stillness.

It was interrupted by Brimstone, who uttered an oath in coarse bravado, as he exclaimed that he for one would hear no more such stuff, fit only for milk-sop landlubbers and silly women.

"Read no more, my boy," said Deny Duck soberly. "You cast your pearls before swine."

Blair turned a quick look upon the mate as he said, "You then know something of Scripture, and can make a right104 use of it. I believe I have found a friend."

"You have, you have," said Derry Duck, grasping the offered hand of the stripling in a gripe that would have made him wince with pain but for the bounding joy of his heart.

Derry Duck was called away at that moment by a summons from the captain, and Blair, unmolested, closed his letter and dropped it in the mail-bag. Prayer for the mate of the Molly was in the heart of Blair, even as his hands were busy with the melting wax, or loosing the rude entrance to the post-office on the sea.

105 CHAPTER XIII. TEMPTATION.

Derry Duck was no mean ally. The strength of his arm, and his position as second in command, gave him great influence on board the Molly. There were traditions of the power of his bare fist to deal death with a single blow—traditions which won for him an odd kind of respect, and insured for him the obedience he never failed to exact. Derry having avowed himself the friend of Blair Robertson, it was well understood that there must be an end to the peculiar persecutions to which the boy had been subjected. He could not of course escape such rough usage of word and act as the crew had for each other, but he was to be no longer their chosen butt and scape-goat.106

Blair felt at once the advantage of having so powerful "a friend at court," and he eagerly seized upon the favorable turn in affairs to carry out his new plans and wishes for his associates. It had struck him that there was but one way to avoid having his ears pained and his soul polluted by the conversation that was the entertainment of the mess. He must do his share of the talking, and so adapt it to his own taste and principles. The lion's share Blair determined it should be, and that without unfairness, as he had to make up for lost time. Once assured that Brimstone's unwashed hand was not to be placed over his mouth if he attempted to speak, and the cry, "Shut up, Mum," raised by his companions, Blair's tongue was set loose.

We have said that Blair was by no means averse to hearing his own voice; and much as his guiding motives and107 aims had changed, the Blair on board the Molly was still the same human being that he was in Joe Robertson's little parlor in Fairport. Never did city belle strive more earnestly to make her conversation attractive to her hearers, than did our young patriot, actuated by a motive which is in comparison with hers as the sunlight to the glow-worm's uncertain ray.

Blair had songs to sing and speeches to make. He had wild stories of the struggles of the early settlers of Maine, caught long ago from the lips of gray-haired