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, and 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 kingdom 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.