“‘For God’s sake, Nick!’ says he, ‘swear it, an’ ease my way t’ hell.’
“‘I swear!’ says I.
“‘Then,’ says he, ‘you turn the screws on the owner o’ that there ship. The writin’ is all you needs. You make a gentleman o’ my lad, God bless un! accordin’ 334 t’ the wishes of his mother. Give un the best they is in Newf’un’land. Nothin’ too good in all the world for Dannie. You bear in mind, Nick,’ says he, ‘that I’m roastin’ in hell,’ says he, ‘payin’ for his education!’”
My uncle’s hand approached the low table, but was in impatience withdrawn; and the old man looked away––northward: to the place, far distant, where the sea still washed the Devil’s Teeth.
“I’ve bore it in mind,” he muttered.
Ay! and much more than that: the wreck of his own great soul upon my need had clouded twenty years of life with blackest terror of the unending pains of perdition.
“’Tis a lovely evening, Dannie,” he sighed. “’Tis so still an’ kind an’ beautiful. I’ve often ’lowed, in weather like this, with the sea at peace an’ a red sky givin’ promise o’ mercy for yet one day,” said he, “that I’d like t’ live forever––jus’ live t’ fish an’ be an’ hope.”
“I wisht ye might!” I cried.
“An’ t’ watch ye grow, Dannie,” said he, turning suddenly upon me, his voice fallen low and tremulous with affectionate feeling and pride. “Life,” says he, so earnestly that I was made meek by the confession, “held nothin’ at all for me but the Christian hope o’ heaven until ye came; an’ then, when I got ye, ’twas filled full o’ mortal, unselfish, better aims. I’ve loved ye well, lad, in my own delight,” says he. “I’ve loved ye in a wishful way,” he repeated, “quite well.”
I was humble in this presence....