“And what might his name be, if he’s still alive, as I hope?”
“Thank you, he’s still alive, or was three months ago, when I left home, God bless him, and his name is Philip Adams!”
The effect upon the carpenter was electrical. He smote his thigh with great violence and shouted—“Boys, thishyer fine specimen of a boy is the son of the finest specimen of a man that ever trod God Almighty’s earth. Nine months I was shipmates with him in the ole Canton, and if ever a man was tried by a lot of ornery scalawags, he was. He could a broke any one of ’em in pieces with his fingers; he was as much above ’em at any kind o’ work as he was in strength an’ good looks, yet that mis’ble gang used to chip him, poke fun at him, play tricks on him, until I used to feel as if I could a killed ’em myself, and I warn’t much better than they was. But never once did anybody hear an angry word or a bad word of any kind outer his mouth, never once did he miss a chance of doin’ even the worst of his tormentors a good turn, and never once did anybody have real cause of complaint about his work or anything that he did. And when he left the ship to go home because his agreed time was up, I never see such a carryin’ on, you’d a thought everybody on board had lost father and mother and all their other relations. Young man”—solemnly—“if you’re only one quarter as good a man as your father was, the ship is entirely blessed by having ye aboard, and I’m honoured at bein’ able to shake ye by the hand.”
There was a momentary pause as “Chips” sank down on his chest again, and C. B.’s eyes glistened with heavenly pride at the honour paid to that dear father whom he so fondly loved. Then he said—
“My dear dad is all you say of him, and all I am or ever likely to be that’s any good I owe to him and mother. But he is a very quiet man, especially about himself, and so we knew little of what he had gone through. I understand it better now since I have been whaling myself. I thank you with all my heart for what you have said about him, it has done me more good than you can possibly imagine.”
There was rather an awkward pause after this, as if the other members of the half deck hardly knew what to do with such a prodigy as they now believed they had got in their midst. But the carpenter came to the rescue by saying—
“Looky here, youngster, your father had a very tuneful voice of his own, and although he didn’t talk much he would sing by the hour, all about God and heaven and the like, and my! but it made me feel right good. D’ye happen to take after him in that?”
C. B. flushed a little and replied—
“Since I’ve been to sea I’ve never sung a note except humming to myself. But I used to sing at home a good deal, and I’ll be very glad to try if you like. I only sing hymns, though.”
“That’s quite good,” hastily answered the carpenter, “your father didn’t sing anything else either, an’ I don’t suppose any of us will know the difference. We’re all more or less heathen, you know.”