The Torn Bible; Or, Hubert's Best Friend

by Alice Somerton

Their first night at sea came on: how calm and beautiful it was! there was scarcely a ripple upon the ocean; the bright stars in the high vault of heaven looked down like so many gentle friends upon the eyes that gazed up at them, and the pale moonbeams lighted up the pathway for those wanderers on the waters. Hubert was not happy; many, many times he fancied he could hear his mother speaking to him, and he would have given much if he had only written to her. It was then he again remembered his Bible, and the promise to read it, which promise he now determined to perform, and as soon as he could conveniently go to his cabin, he did so, opened his chest, and took out the book, intending to read.

"How small it is," he thought, "and how pretty!" Then he turned over leaf by leaf; he knew not where to begin: he could remember nothing at all about it, and it ended in his putting it back in his chest and going to his bed. Sleep soon silenced every thought, no letter was written home, not a word of the Bible was read, promise and resolutions had passed away with his sorrow, and Hubert little thought, as he silenced the monitor within, how hard it would be to return to the duty he was neglecting.

The ship had now been a fortnight at sea; it had passed through the Bay of Biscay, and was off the coast of Portugal, when the soldiers were informed that in about an hour a vessel would pass very near to them; and, as the sea was calm, a boat would leave in forty minutes to carry letters for England to the passing ship.

"Forty minutes," said Hubert aloud, and apparently pleased, for he hurried off, as many more did, to avail themselves of the opportunity of writing home. Forty minutes, however, was too long a time for Hubert, and he returned again to the deck, to seek a companion and inquire what he intended to do, before he sat down to write himself. Thoughts of neglected duty and unkindness to his parents had frequently disturbed Hubert's mind; try as he would to sweep every remembrance of his disobedience away, the thought would come that he had not done right; but, instead of sorrowing and making an effort to repair the ill he had done, he tried to persuade himself that he was cowardly in giving way to his feelings; so he endeavoured to smother the rising affection that stole upon him during the first few days he was upon the sea, and the result was that he became more reckless than ever.

"Letters ready?" all at once startled Hubert, as he stood talking to his companion upon the deck: there was the man with the bag collecting them, and his was not written. The bag was sealed, the boat was pushed off, the last chance, probably for months, was gone, and, as he began to hum a tune, he walked away to the other end of the ship. He looked over the side, and a momentary feeling of vexation came over him as he saw the little boat carrying its treasure, its bag of home letters; but he was learning now to defy his conscience, and sang louder the snatch of song that rushed to his aid, and seemed to be all he wanted to throw back the better feelings of his heart.

Many weeks had passed since that noble vessel left England; its white sails were still spread in the breeze, and it was wafted on over the sea. Hubert had tried very hard to forget all about his home; the recollections of it were not pleasant, they were too accusing for him to indulge in; there was a holiness about it which ill-accorded with the life he was leading, and the effort he continually made to suppress every thought of it frequently caused him to fall deeper into sin.

One night, when in the height of glee in the mess-room, when songs were being sung, and the giddy laugh rang out upon the silent waters, and Hubert was joining fully in the mirth of his comrades, he suddenly remembered that he had in his chest a book of sea-songs, and hastened away to get it. He knew pretty well where to put his hand upon it; so, when he reached his cabin, he never thought of lighting his little lamp, but knelt down beside his chest in the dark. It was scarcely the work of a minute; his chest was re-locked, and he skipped away back to the mess-room; his hand was upon the door, when all at once his eye fell upon the book he had brought; it was not the one he had intended to bring—it was not the song-book, but the Bible. He started when he saw what he had; and how was it that a sudden chill sped like lightning over him? How was it that on that sultry night he felt so cold? His hand trembled, his heart beat quickly, but the tempter was by his side, and he gave utterance to many an evil thought as he turned back to change that unwelcome treasure.

The Bible was exchanged for the song-book, and Hubert was again with his comrades, where he became more riotous than before, and was nearly the last to retire to rest.

There was silence once more in the ship, for it was midnight, and all except the few who kept the night-watch were sleeping. Hubert had perhaps fallen asleep as soon as any of his companions, but his rest was short, for he started up in alarm. He tried to remember what it was that had disturbed him, but could not. He looked around to see if either of his comrades were moving, but their deep, heavy breathing told him they slept; and then he lay down again in his own berth. There, in that still hour, as he listened to the soft wind passing through the rigging, and the slow measured tread of the sentinels on deck, he all at once thought of his English home, thought of his broken faith with his mother, thought of his Bible.

"It is no use," he said aloud, "I cannot alter it now; how I wish I had but just written home! fool that I was not to do so; and that book, how I wish she had never given it to me; it will make me a coward: in fact it does; I never go to my chest, but there it is; I'll burn it—I'll throw it away; how I wish I had never had it!" and he struck the side of his berth with his clenched fist as he spoke.