“My beloved ones, let us in accordance with our valued custom commend our brother Christmas Bounty Adams to our loving Father. He goes out from us for a time into a world where we have heard that the name of God is lightly esteemed, where the worship of God is performed at stated intervals, but the life that has God for its centre and circumference is known to and lived by but a very few. But our God is able to keep our dear brother as he kept Philip his father, and we send him away full of confidence that he will live so as to show every one with whom he comes in contact that he is a Christ’s man and that it is a good and pleasant thing to be so. Now let us sing our favourite hymn, ‘O God of Bethel, by whose Hand.’”
The two captains turned pale under their tan, and their frames trembled with emotion as the glorious burst of human melody, unaided by any instrument, rose upon the still air. Never had they imagined anything like it, nor could they hardly believe their eyes when they saw the tears streaming down nearly every face. And when at last the sweet strains ceased, it seemed as if a certain beauty had suddenly left the world. Then the grand old leader’s voice arose in tenderest, most intimate intercourse with their Friend and Father. Nothing of the stereotyped, pumped-up oration, utterly misnamed prayer, so often heard in pseudo prayer meetings, but the close confidence of beloved children with a Father whose love was known and proved hourly throughout life. When he had finished, Philip stood up in touching simplicity and blessed God for his son’s strength and beauty and good life, held him up in his spiritual arms as it were, and gave him to the Father as Abraham did Isaac. Grace followed in an even deeper, sweeter strain, and then as her voice faltered and died away, as if at a preconcerted signal, all the gathering broke out in the majestic strains of St. Ann’s to “O God, our help in ages past,” followed immediately by the Old Hundredth.
The two captains were close together all the time, but neither spoke, hardly breathed, so impressed were they by the simple yet tremendous scene. When all was over, Captain Taber said sententiously—
“This just lays over all my experience. I’ve been to camp meetin’s before now and they begun quiet enough, but before they got far there was mor’en half of ’em just crazy, jumping mad, howlin’ and screechin’ like ’sif they was possessed with devils, as the Scripture says. But these folks seems full of earnestness, yet quiet and reverent all the time.”
“Yes,” responded the British captain, “though I’ve never been to a camp meeting, I’ve been to some other meetings in England where the behaviour of the folks has made me blush all over my body. And then again I’ve been to other meetings where everything was so formal and perfunctory that I could not think that any of them believed what they were saying or what they were hearing.”
Just then the old patriarch came up and claimed his guest, the British captain, but the latter said that he must rejoin his ship at once if the stuff was ready that he had purchased. He was amazed to find that during his stay ashore one heavy boatload had already been taken aboard, inquiring as he did so if his two passengers were ready and he would see them put on board. They were brought along helpless to hurt anybody, but using their foul tongues to their full power. The captain had serious thoughts of gagging them, but exercised his patience, remembering that once in the cells on board of his ship they might curse themselves dumb and hurt nobody’s ears.
So he departed, never to forget that visit and never to be forgotten by the people whom he had relieved, and in an hour’s time the Thetis turned on her heel and sped seaward on her way to Sydney. Then came C. B.’s turn. All his farewells were said, his exceedingly scanty wardrobe was packed in a mat, and all being snugly stowed in the whaleship’s boat, he, at the captain’s request, took the steer oar, while willing, loving hands ran the boat out on the crest of a departing roller and, the oars being handled with the usual skill, she shot out into the smooth beyond, amidst a chorus of farewells rapidly growing fainter as she receded.
Reaching the ship the ample load of fresh provisions was taken aboard with the usual smartness, and the boat hoisted into her place, while the new-comer gazed with keenest interest as the sails were trimmed and the ship filled away. For it must be remembered that for all his skill in handling a boat, whether under sail or oars, and his many visits to vessels, he had hitherto never been on board one of them while she was being handled, and consequently the whole business was of the newest and strangest to him. And here I must say that in all my conversations with landsmen about the sea life, I have ever found it one of the hardest tasks to explain that even the most experienced sailors, upon first going on board ship, have some considerable difficulty in becoming acquainted with her details. To the untrained eye she may look precisely the same as the ship our sailor has just left, but to the man who has to find in the blackest depth of night the gear about the deck by means of which the sails high over head are worked, there are certain to be many acute differences leading to much blundering and botherment until he gets used to them.
But this is very technical and needs much more space than can be spared to elucidate it properly, and even then I doubt very much whether the result would be considered worth while. So I fall back upon the fact that C. B., grand fellow as he undoubtedly was, stood and looked at what was going on, as the Eliza Adams’ yards were trimmed for standing off to sea, with a sense of utter bewilderment, which went far to dispel the admiration that his fine physique had excited among the crew in the morning—especially among his fellows, the other harponeers, who were all Portuguese, all full of enthusiasm for their business as well as of skill in carrying it on, but absolutely destitute of the finer feelings of humanity, ruthless and cruel beyond belief, and only restrained from excesses among their boats’ crews while on a whale by a wholesome respect for the strong man who ruled them.
These men bore no good will towards C. B. as a stranger and an interloper, and besides, they were jealous of the favour with which the skipper regarded him. Therefore, when he exhibited his ignorance of the handling of the ship, they were unrestrained in their jeering at him, and used their coarse limited English to its full extent in letting him see how they regarded him. But he only looked at them thoughtfully and wondered why they thus spoke to him, seeing that he had not offended them in any way as far as he could tell. And then the ship being fairly on her course for the south-east the mate, Mr. Winsloe, came to him and said—