Miles Wallingford / Sequel to "Afloat and Ashore"

by James Fenimore Cooper

Our conversation lasted a long time. At length Lucy joined in it, when I thought it wisest to leave the old tar in the hands of one so well fitted by nature and education to be the instrument, under the providence of God, of bringing him to a more healthful view of his condition. I had the ship to take care of, and this was a good excuse for not interfering much with what passed between the dying man and her who might almost be termed his ministering angel. I overheard many of their conferences, and was present at some of their prayers, as were my sons and daughters; being thus enabled to understand the progress that was made, and the character of the whole procedure.

It was an admirable sight, truly, to see that still lovely woman, using all the persuasion of her gentle rhetoric, all the eloquence of her warm feelings and just mind, devoting herself for days and days, to the labour of leading such a spirit as that of Marble's to entertain just and humble view's of his own relation to the Creator and his Son, the Saviour of men. I will not say that complete success crowned the pious efforts of the single-hearted woman it was my blessed fortune to call my wife: this, perhaps, was not to be expected. It required a power exceeding hers to guide the human heart at seventy, after a seaman's life, to a full repentance of its sins; but, by the grace of God, so much seemed to be accomplished, as to give us all reason to hope that the seed had taken root, and that the plant might grow under the guidance of that Spirit in whose likeness the most lowly of the race has been created.

The passage was long, but very tranquil, and there was ample time for all that has been related. The ship was still to the eastward of the Grand Banks, when Marble ceased to converse much; though it is evident his thoughts were intently musing. He fell away fast, and I began to look forward to his final departure, as an event that might occur at any hour. He did not seem to suffer, but his hold of life gradually gave way, and the spirit was about to take its departure, purely on account of the decayed condition of the earthly tenement in which it had so long dwelt, as the stork finally deserts the tottering chimney.

About a week after this change, my son Miles came to me on deck, and informed me his dear mother desired to see me in the cabin. On going below, I was met by Lucy, with a face that denoted how solemn she felt was the character of the intelligence she had to communicate.

"The moment is at hand, dear Miles," she said.--"Our old friend is about to be called away."

I felt a pang at this speech, though I had long expected the result. Many of the earlier and more adventurous years of my life passed rapidly in review before me, and I found the image of the dying man blended with nearly all. Whatever may have been his peculiarities, to me he had always been true. From the hour when I first shipped, as a runaway boy, on board the John, down to that hour, Moses Marble had proved himself a firm and disinterested friend to Miles Wallingford.

"Is he conscious?" I asked, anxiously. "When I last saw him, I thought his mind wandered a little."

"Perhaps it did; but he is now more collected, if not entirely so. There is reason to think he has at length felt some of the influence of the Redeemer's sacrifice. For the last week, the proofs of this have been increasing."

No more passed between Lucy and me, on the subject, at that time; but I entered the cabin in which the cot of Marble had been slung. It was a spacious, airy room, for a ship; one that had been expressly fitted by my orders, for the convenience of Lucy and her two daughters, but which those dear, self-denying creatures had early and cheerfully given up to the possession of their old friend.

As yet, I have not particularly spoken of these two girls, the eldest of whom was named Grace, and the youngest Lucy. At that time, the first was just fifteen, while her sister was two years younger. By a singular coincidence, Grace resembled the women of my family most; while the latter, the dear, ingenuous, frank, pretty little thing, had so much likeness to her mother, when at the same time of life, that I often caught her in my arms, and kissed her, as she uttered some honest sentiment, or laughed joyously and melodiously, as had been the practice of her who bore her, twenty years before. On those occasions, Lucy would smile, and sometimes a slight blush would suffuse her face; for I could see she well understood the impulse which would so suddenly carry me off to the days of my boyhood and boyish affection.