It was at the close of a sultry day in June, that the passenger vessel, ‘Star of the North,’ coasted the island of Martinique on her way to Barbadoes. The sea was calm as a summer lake, and an ominous stillness reigned in the surrounding atmosphere that made the words of a song, trolled out by a free, manly voice from the forecastle, distinctly heard in every part of the vessel,—
‘Wherever you be, by land or sea,
Why, set your heart at rest;
For you may be sure, come kill or cure
Whatever is, is best!’
‘Don’t believe it,’ grumbled an old seaman, who was seated on a coil of rope mending a sail. ‘I wish I’d had the ordering of my own life, any way. I’d have soon seen if it was best for me to be situated as I am at this here present!’
He was a fine old man, with rugged but well-cut features and muscular limbs. He had a clear blue eye, and silvery locks that showed he had been a handsome fellow in his day; but something or other had put him out of love with life, and his habitual mood was one of discontent. A passenger, who was pacing the quarter-deck, with a thoughtful countenance, turned at the old sailor’s words and confronted the speaker.
‘Don’t you believe in a Providence that overrules all our actions, Williams?’ he demanded abruptly.
‘Oh yes, Mr Egerton, I believe in Providence fast enough; but when I see want and misery and injustice on every side of me, I cannot help thinking as our actions might be ruled a little straighter for us.’