Little Miss Joy

by Emma Marshall

CHAPTER IX.

ON THE WIDE, WIDE SEA.

The boat was drifting off, and every minute seemed to put a further distance from the place where the Galatea had struck the rock and perished. At this time the fury of the storm had abated, and a rift in the clouds showed the moon in its last quarter floating like a boat on its back in a silvery sea. The pale rays shed a flickering light upon the waters, and there was a lull. Behind them rose a low black mass, with the points of the masts showing where the Galatea, had gone down. No other object was visible, and Colley covered his face with his hands.

"I don't believe there's one of 'em saved," he said; "I don't indeed. The boats were swamped, and this is the only one that righted. But, boy, I don't know where we are, nor where we are drifting."

"Are we going home?" said a little voice from the bottom of the boat. "I want to get home with mother."

"Ay, my lad; but I expect we must all three give up an earthly home, and turn our thoughts to a heavenly one."

When morning dawned they were far out on the trackless waters, and not a sail in eight. Jack, at Colley's bidding, tied his shirt to the oar, in the hopes that, fluttering in the breeze, it might attract the notice of some passing vessels. But although several sail were seen on the horizon, none seemed to come across the track of the little lonely boat. The scorching sun of noon beat on their unprotected heads, and poor little Peter cried and moaned with a pain in his head. Hunger too, and thirst, began to be unbearable; and Colley had some difficulty in preventing Jack from drinking the sea-water, and giving it to little Peter.

"Don't you do it, boy; it will drive you mad, and you will repent it if you touch it."

Towards evening the air became cooler, and Peter, pulling at Jack's trousers, said—

"There is something hard under my head, and Toby is sniffing at it."

Oh, how untold was the thankfulness with which Colley pulled out a canvas bag of sea biscuits, which had been stowed away under one of the seats, with a stone jar in which was a little rum!

"Thank the Lord, you won't starve, you young ones; there's enough to keep you alive."

"Enough to keep us all alive!" Jack said; "and I shan't touch a crumb unless you eat the same quantity as I do."

The boy lying at their feet had already set his teeth into a biscuit like a hungry dog, and was putting his mouth to the stone bottle.

"Gently, now, gently," Colley said, trying to take the bottle away from the child. But he did not succeed till he had swallowed a considerable quantity, and lay in a kind of stupor.

Another night closed in, and the stillness and darkness were acceptable after the burning heat of noon. At day-dawn Jack saw a ship. Surely it was coming nearer and nearer. He stood up and called "Ahoy!" with all his might, and poor Toby whined and barked. Colley, awakened from a light dose, stood up also, and joined in the cry. But, alas! there was no answer, and the white sails, glistening in the level rays of the rising sun, vanished like a bird taking flight.

"It is no use hoping for help," Jack said, sinking down. "I say, Colley, are we to go on floating over the wide sea for ever?"

"Nay, lad, nay; it won't be for ever. Please the Lord, He'll put an end to these long watches in His own time."

"Colley," Jack said, "do you think I am being punished for my sins? I ran away in a fit of temper, and I know how my mother is waiting and watching for me, as she did for my father, and she will watch and wait in vain. Oh, Colley, do you think God is very angry, and that this is my punishment—to die out here, with no one to care, no one to——" Jack broke down, and hid his face on his sleeveless arms, for his blue jersey was fluttering in the morning breeze.

"Boy," Colley said, "it is just this: You wanted your own way, and you were let to take it. You have made your own punishment; but as to God's anger—well, if you turn your heart to Him in Christ's name, He won't send you empty away. He will speak peace for His dear Son's sake, whether He lets you go back to you poor mother, or whether He takes you through the Valley of Death to His kingdom in heaven."

"Colley," Jack said vehemently, "I don't want to die. I want to live, and show my mother I am sorry."

"We can't choose, boy, we can't choose; and we are just in God's hands, and must be quiet."

But, oh! through that long day of heat and oppression it was hard to be quiet. The poor child moaned, and was rapidly becoming insensible. Jack's lips were so sore and chapped he could not bite the hard biscuit; and though Colley soaked his in a few drops of rum, he felt sick at the smell and taste of the spirits, and when offered a morsel, he turned away, saying—

"It reminds me of Skinner. I hate the smell."

The great waste of waters, of varied opal hues, in the clear depths of which the forms of many sea creatures could be seen darting hither and thither—how desolate it was!

Above, snowy gulls flew and floated now and again on the waves. One came so near that Colley seized it and took it into the boat. It looked up with wondering eyes, and Colley said—

"You poor stupid thing! You have come to your death;" and then he wrung the bird's neck, saying, "If the worst comes to the worst, we must eat it raw."

"I would sooner die," Jack said wearily. "I begin to wish to die, Colley. Yesterday I wanted to live, but I don't feel to care now, and I believe that poor little darling is going."

"Help me to lift him up—lift him up," Colley said; and between them, feeble as they both were, the old man and the boy, they managed to get the poor child's head to rest on Colley's knees.

Towards evening the child opened his eyes. "Mother," he said, "I'm coming." Then he smiled, and Jack said, "He is better."

But Colley shook his head. "No; but he will be better soon;" and then he said a few words of prayer, and bid Jack think of some hymn his mother had taught him.

Jack tried to summon a verse from his confused brain, and the one little Miss Joy had often said came to his lips, and he repeated in a low voice, quavering with weakness and emotion—

"Jesus, lover of my soul,
Let me to Thy bosom fly,
While the nearer waters roll,
While the tempest still is high:

"Hide me, O my Saviour, hide,
Till the storm of life is past;
Safe into the haven guide,
Oh, receive my soul at last!

"Other refuge have I none,
Hangs my helpless soul on Thee;
Leave, ah! leave me not alone,
Still support and comfort——"

"Oh! Colley," Jack said, breaking off, "look!" The little boy's eyes were wide open, gazing upwards. Then a smile, a sweet smile, a shudder as if in answer to a welcome, and the spirit of the child had fled!

Colley bowed his head weeping.

"A pretty little lad!" he said, "his mother's pride aboard ship. Well, well, she is waiting for him, and God's will be done."

When the shadows crept over the blue expanse that night, Colley lifted the child's body tenderly in his arms, and said to Jack—

"Kiss him for his mother, boy. He is saved from the death which, unless God send help, lies before you and me—the death of starvation. You are young, but I am an old man; for all sailors are old at fifty, and few see sixty. I shall go next."

"Oh, Colley, Colley, do not leave me all alone!"

Colley shook his head.

"Again I say, Let God's will be done. I wish—I wish I had a memory for a text of Scripture to say before I bury this child; for we must bury him, and now. You've been at school, you say, up to the time you ran away. Can't you say the words of Scripture which you have learned? You must know a lot."

Poor Jack rubbed his head and tried to collect his thoughts, but in vain.

"It's what the Lord said to Mary when her brother Lazarus died. Ah, I've got it now!"

and Colley slowly and solemnly repeated, "I am the Resurrection and the Life; he that liveth and believeth on Me shall never die."

Then the old sailor clasped his weather-beaten hands over the child's lifeless form, and with tears running down his rugged cheeks he said: "O heavenly Father, Thou hast called this child from pain and suffering. In Thy mercy send for me next; but let poor Jack live to go back to his mother. For Christ Jesus' sake."

Then tenderly and gently the little form slipped over the side of the boat; there was a sudden splash, a rippling sound, and all was still—so still, except for the mysterious murmur which always sounds like whispers from another world at nightfall on the sea.

Again the sun rose, and again the silent sea was flooded with the rays of the sun. The inhabitants of the little boat were too weak now to speak much. Even Toby could scarcely wag his tail, but lay with his head on his paws, gazing up to his master's face, questioning as to what it meant—this faintness and weakness which seemed to be creeping over him.

The dead gull lay untouched. There was not strength left to eat it, even if there had been inclination.

Jack still grasped the oar, and still the poor blue jersey fluttered in the breeze. But Colley lay at the bottom of the boat, breathing heavily, though his eyes were open, and his rough weather-beaten hands folded as if in prayer.

They had drifted far out in the Atlantic, but not in the direct line hitherto of the many steamers which continually cross the great dividing waters which lie between the Old World and the New.

Jack had ample time for thought, as the long weary hours went by. But a stupor was fast creeping over him, and everything became dreamlike and unreal. Even the images of his mother and Joy, which had been so vivid, grew taint and indistinct, and he was scarcely conscious, when a loud "Ahoy!" fell on his ear.

He started up, and there, at last, was a boat alongside of theirs.

"Wake up, boy!" said a cheery voice. "What's happened, eh?"

"Oh, Colley, Colley!" Jack cried, "we are saved, we are saved!" And then from excess of joy and emotion he fell prone upon the prostrate figure of the old sailor.

"A man, a boy, and a dog," said one of the boat's crew.

"Half-starved, I declare! Look alive, mates, and let's get 'em aboard our ship as quick as may be. I told you this object we saw was a craft of some sort, though you were so slow to believe me. A happy thing for these poor creatures I got the boat lowered."

In another quarter of an hour two pairs of sturdy arms were pulling the boat and those in it to the good ship Claudia, bound for the islands of the Southern Seas.