Of course, he had not grown up so far without having brothers and sisters—two of each had been added on to the family circle, all of them fine children capable of keeping up the credit of the island people. But we have no concern with them further than to note their arrival, and to record the fact that, as they grew old enough to realize things, they all adored their eldest brother, who, for some reason or another which they could not understand, was looked up to as possessing some mysterious blessing from on high beyond that accorded to any one else. They knew, however, that he was totally unconscious of this. He went on his happy care-free way, full of gay life, full of fun and harmless mischief, but also full of love for all around him.
It was now that he had his first real adventure. As I have said, he was sixteen years of age, and, as was usual among the island people, he was as big and strong as a full-grown man, though, of course, not with so much stamina. He was a constant companion to his father, who was now a mighty man indeed, at the meridian of a life that had been so well spent and so peaceful that all his powers were in perfection. C. B. was never tired of admiring his father’s huge proportions, as, with only a pair of breeches on cut off at the mid-thigh, they swam or fished together. To C. B. his father was indeed a king of men, strong, wise and kind; and he was overjoyed to be near him, to feel his superiority, and to hope some day, if God willed, to be like him. They were companions in everything now that C. B.’s studies had finished, and the elder man felt his youth renewed as he watched his son springing to whatever work was in hand, felt indeed that he was signally blessed and was very happy.
So it came to pass that one morning, as soon as the first gorgeous heralding of the dawn had overspread the sky, Philip and C. B. arose from their several mats (bedsteads, bedding and all the paraphernalia of our bedrooms being unknown and therefore unwanted), and after a loving kiss and a blessing from mother Grace, who was still beautiful and always abundantly happy, they strode down to the shore for the commencement of a day’s fishing. It was the season when a special kind of fish greatly liked by the islanders came inshore near enough to be caught in large numbers with hook and line. It was always an occasion of great activity among the men, not that they depended upon the fishing, but because it afforded a large quantity of pleasant food, and they always attacked the opportunity eagerly.
So when Philip and his son reached the boat-house all hands requisite for manning the boats were there, and after the usual hearty greetings and the indispensable word of prayer, without which no enterprise was ever undertaken, were over, all sprang to the work, fairly hurling the vessels into the foaming surf, and in a few minutes the two vessels, doubly manned, were in the smooth water beyond the rollers, and to the accompaniment of happy song were making their way seaward to the fishing grounds.
The beauty of the day was not more marked than usual in such a lovely climate, but to any one who was accustomed to the grey cold mornings of our northern home it would have called forth ecstasies of admiration. For as the golden sun rose majestically from the horizon all nature was flooded with glory, an added wealth of beauty that made even those most accustomed to it catch their breath. The sea was like a sheet of shot-silk whereof every movement exhibited a wonderful play of different colours and shades in endless variety, while the diversity of hill, dale and beach ashore, unable to compete with all this glowing series of tints, yet showed a splendour of illuminated contour flecked with passing cloud shadows that held the eye enchanted with its beauty.
Every member of the boats’ crews noted this loveliness, revelled in it, and since there was no need for silence as in the chase of the whale, discussed it in such terms of affection as their limited vocabulary could command. Said John Young—
“Seems to me that the gold and jewellery of the New Jerusalem John writes about wouldn’t please me like this. If God’s going to make a new heaven and a new earth, I’d like to live on the new earth if it’s going to be like this. But I can’t imagine Him making it any better.”
“Ah,” responded Walter McCoy, “that’s because you’ve never been away from here, one of the most favoured spots on His footstool. Now I’ve been down south of New Zealand in the winter, an’ when the great gales blow, a sea gets up that’s like a ravening host of wild beasts. Snow and sleet strike you like whips, and the cold searches the very marrow of your bones. Then I thought of our dear island home, and prayed God to take me back there quick or let me die.”
Philip chimed in, with one of his beautiful smiles mantling his strong face, “Walter, my boy, that was because you let your body dictate to your soul. I know, and when I was up the Behring Sea I hid away one night when the call came to work. I had all the man frozen out of me. And as I laid in the stinking corner I felt the bitterest pang of shame I have ever known. Something said to me, ‘You’re a fine-weather man, and your trust in God only works when you are comfortable.’ I tell you, boys, that hit me worse than ever the mate’s boot would have done if he had caught me. But I thank God that He gave me courage to rush out of my hole as if I had been flung out, and do the work that fell to my share. And the lesson has lasted all my life.”
At that moment the leader in the other boat cried loudly, “Here we are, boys; ship oars and out lines. There’s a splendid lot of fish, thank God.”