The Twa Miss Dawsons

by Margaret M. Robertson

After a time he grew strong and cheerful and did his part for the general entertainment, chatting and chaffing—singing songs and spinning yarns, and winning the good-will of every man and boy on board. Nor did he lose his time altogether, as far as self-improvement was concerned. He read every book on board, and at leisure times gave himself to the reading of mathematics and the study of navigation with his friend, and had done it to some purpose, his friend declared.

They reached the Arctic seas in good time, and had there met with more than the usual success, so that they had good hope of getting home to Portie before the year was over. But after that heavy storms had overtaken them, and they had driven before the wind many days and nights without a glimpse of sun or star, and so had drifted far out of their course. They had taken shelter at last in an unknown bay and had lain ice bound for many months.

Here sore sickness fell on Captain Horne, against which—being a man strong and brave and patient—he struggled long, only to yield at last, and take to his berth helpless, and for a time, hopeless. A good man, a true Christian—(“ane o’ your kind, Miss Jean,” said the sailor),—he had yet fallen into utter despondency, out of which, strangely enough, the foolish lad who had wandered so far from home, and from the right way, had helped him.

When he came to this part of the story, the mate rose and took two or three turns up and down the room again; then he came and stood beside Miss Jean’s chair, saying softly,—

“Sometime, Miss Jean, when Geordie comes home, ye must ask him about it. I could never tell you all he was to the sick man in those days. No son ever served a father more faithfully. No mother ever nursed, cared for, and comforted a sick child with more entire forgetfulness of self. Whiles he read to him out of the Bible, and out of other books, and whiles he talked to him and told him things that he had heard—from his mother, I dare say, and from you, Miss Jean, and whiles—once at least in my hearing—he prayed with him, because in the darkness that had fallen on him the old man couldna pray for himself I mind that night well.”

There was a long pause after this, and then he went on; “Geordie will tell you all about it better than I could do. A good while before the end, light came back to the captain—and, oh! the brightness of it! and the peace that fell on him! The good book says ‘It is more blessed to give than to receive,’ and that was the way with Geordie. For as much good as came to our captain through him, there came more to himself; and it came to him first.

“You are one of those, Miss Jean, who believe in a change of nature,—coming from darkness to light—from ‘the power of Satan onto God.’ Well, I would have said that Geordie needed that change less than most folk, but it was like that with him. Even I, who saw few faults in him before, could see the difference afterward. But it canna be spoken about, and it is more than time that I were away.”

However he sat down again for a moment on the other side of the table where he had been sitting before, and went on to tell, how after a few bright days, the captain died, and they buried him in the sea.

At last they got away from the ice, and were beginning to count the days, before they might hope to see the harbour of Portie, when they fell in with the ship in distress, and this ended in Tam Saugster being sent to take her to her port, and in George going also, to help Tam to withstand his foe. For the “John Seaton” was a temperance ship, and Tam had tasted nothing stronger than tea or coffee since he lost sight of Portie harbour.

“He had sailed with us, just to give himself another chance, he said, and, poor lad, he had gone far the wrong gait—and he was another man; a fine fellow truly, when he was out of the way of temptation. And whiles I have thought it was for Tam’s sake, more even than for the sake of the Yankee ship and its crew, that George was so fain to go. It cost him much no’ to come home with us, for he had come to a clearer sight of—two or three things,—he told me. But I think he made a sort of thank-offering of himself for the time, and even if I could have hindered him, I could hardly have found it in my heart to do it. And he is sure to come soon.”