“And the thoughts of youth are long long thoughts.”
When I reached home my mother was very pleased at my success, and that night we had a long talk.
“My boy,” she said, “you are about to enter life’s battle on your own account, and your future will largely depend on yourself. You have no earthly father to give you wise counsel and advice; I have had to be, as far as I have been able, father and mother to you and the girls. You are starting with a bright prospect, but remember always that God sees you at all times, never do anything you would be ashamed for Him to see. You have chosen, and I have chosen for you, a sailor’s life; take Lord Nelson as your pattern, the greatest sailor, and one of the best Christians who ever lived, and all will be well. Do your work, however hard it may seem, not only for man but for God, then nothing can really harm you. Keep from the drink and bad companions. Never be ashamed of your Bible, your prayers, or your God. Let us kneel together and ask God’s blessing on your new life, for without that it is useless to expect either health or prosperity. I shall look for your letters you may be sure, and will do my best to let you have some in return.” We knelt in prayer, and oft-times in later years the memory of that hour came back to me with renewed help and comfort.
The following morning, after saying good-bye to my mother and sisters, and hearing, just as I was leaving the house, that the body of Harry Law had been found, which rather upset us all, I joined the “Bertie.” She was a strongly built wooden barque of 1,500 tons, and was in splendid condition. She was a perfect picture; all her yards to the royals were crossed, the white lines of her sails harbour-stowed, and each bunt tied up in fine style, all her running rigging was rove, the red ensign languidly shook at the peak, while the blue Peter lay, for want of air to expand it, like a streak of blue paint down the fore-royal mast. I felt my heart swell with pride as I went on board and realised that at last I was on the deck of a ship and that I was one of the crew who were to help to take her across the ocean.
The first mate, Mr. McLean, “Old Barnacle” the sailors called him, came forward and asked me what I wanted and seemed not ill-pleased at my answer. He was a rough, hard-looking Glasgow man; he had commanded several ships in his time, but the terrible curse of drink had pulled him down like a good many before him. He had lost one ship and berth after berth, until he was glad to take a first officer’s place. Once at sea, and out of reach of the liquor, a better seaman could not be found, and beneath that rough exterior a kind and loving heart beat.
The second mate, Mr. Weeler, was a splendid specimen of the British seaman. Trained on the “Worcester,” that noble institution on the Thames, from which so many of our gallant seamen have made their start, he had just obtained his chief-mate’s certificate. He was a good friend to me, and to any boy who came under his charge, an honest, upright, good-living man. Our crew were mostly Scandinavians, and a quiet, hard-working lot of men.
We sailed out from Liverpool that day, the 1st of July, 1870. As soon as Captain Crosbie came on board preparations were made for leaving the dock. It was a beautiful day, the sun shone brightly overhead, the river Mersey lay calm and peaceful, leading out into the great unknown sea beyond, everything was new and strange to me, and never shall I forget the feelings that came over me as we left the docks behind us. As I watched the sailors jumping to obey orders to let this or that rope or sail go, I wondered how long it would take me to learn them all, and how proud I was to answer to the call, “here boy, lend a hand,” and did my best to be a help instead of a hindrance whilst we were getting clear of the channel.
On the first day out I was seasick and felt pretty bad, when the chief officer came along and saw me leaning against the ship’s side.
“Hello,” he said in his gruff way, “looking for New York, boy; had your dinner?”
“No, sir, only I feel queer and don’t want any dinner.”