Outward Bound.
Six weeks had elapsed since the barque Sabrina had left the port of Liverpool. She was stealing along swiftly before a seven knot breeze on the quarter, with studding-sails set. It was intensely hot, for they had crossed the line only a few days since. Captain Merryweather had proved himself all that a captain should be—a thorough sailor, equal to any emergency; a firm but considerate commander; an interesting and lively companion, ever evenly cheerful, and watchful to make all around him comfortable and happy. Hubert Oliphant was full of spirits—happy himself, and anxious to make others the same; a keen observer of every natural phenomenon, and admirer of the varied beauties of ocean and sky; and, better still, with a heart ready to feel the bounty and love of God in everything bright, lovely, and grand. Poor Frank had become less sad; but his sorrow still lay heavy on his spirits. Yet there was hope for him to cling to; and he was rejoicing in the subduing of his evil habit, which was thus far broken through by his forced abstinence. Alas! he did not realise that a smouldering fire and an extinct one are very different things. He was sanguine and self-confident; he fancied that his resolution had gained in firmness, whereas it had only rested quiet, no test or strain having been applied to it; and, worst of all, he did not feel the need of seeking in prayer that grace from above which would have given strength to his weakness and nerve to his good resolves. And yet who could see him and not love him? There was a bright, reckless generosity in every look, word, and movement, which took the affections by storm, and chained the judgment. Jacob Poole had become his devoted admirer. Day by day, as he passed near him, and saw his sunny smile and heard his animated words, the young cabin-boy seemed more and more drawn to him by a sort of fascination. Jacob was very happy. The captain was a most kind and indulgent master, and he felt it a privilege to do his very best to please him. But his greatest happiness was to listen—when he could do so without neglecting his duty—to the conversations between Frank, Hubert, and the captain, as they sat at meals round the cuddy-table, or occasionally when in fair weather they stood together on the poop-deck; and it was Frank’s voice and words that had a special charm for him. Frank saw it partly, and often took occasion to have some talk with Jacob in his own cheery way; and so bound the boy still closer to him.
It was six weeks, as we have said, since the Sabrina left Liverpool. The day was drawing to a close; in a little while the daylight would melt suddenly into night. Not a cloud was in the sky: a fiery glow, mingled with crimson, lit up the sea and heavens for a while, and, speedily fading away, dissolved, through a faint airy glimmer of palest yellow, into clear moonlight. How lovely was the calm!—a calm that rested not only on the sea, but also on the spirits of the voyagers, as the vessel slipped through the waters, gently bending over every now and then as the wind slightly freshened, and almost dipping her studding-sail boom into the sea, which glittered in one long pathway of quivering moonbeams, while every little wave, as far as the eye could reach, threw up a crest of silver. The captain stood near the binnacle. He was giving a lesson in steering to Jacob Poole, who felt very proud at taking his place at the wheel for the first time, and grasped the spokes with a firm hand, keeping his eye steadily on the compass. Frank and Hubert stood near, enjoying the lovely evening, and watching Captain Merryweather and the boy.
“Steady, my lad, steady,” said the captain; “keep her head just south and by east. A firm hand, a steady eye, and a sound heart; there’s no good without them.”
“You’ll soon make a good sailor of him, captain,” said Hubert.
“Ay, I hope so,” was the reply. “He’s got the best guarantee for the firm hand and the steady eye in his total abstinence; and I hope he has the sound heart too.”
“You look, captain, as if total abstinence had thriven with you. Have you always been a total abstainer?” asked Frank.
A shade of deep sadness came over the captain’s face as he answered,—
“No, Mr Oldfield; but it’s many years now since I was driven into it.”
“Driven!” exclaimed Frank, laughing; “you do not look a likely subject to be driven into anything.”