“Hold your tongue, you black nigger,” returned Vi’let from the easy-chair; “aint ye ’shamed yeself? ’sturbing madam and all the good family with your clamor. If I was master I would soon clear the house of you all.”
During this colloquy, or rather monologue, John, starting up, made but two steps over the stairs and soon reappeared with lights. Mr. Fayerweather then took up the prayer-book which, with the large bible, lay on the table in the inner chamber, and asked his young friend if he would read prayers, his own broken voice sufficiently showing himself unequal to the office. Mr. Wendell, with a little hesitation took the book, turned over a few leaves, while the household all assembled kneeling in the chamber; when, amidst the roar of the storm without, his voice was soon heard, in tones solemn and low, like some spirit of peace rebuking the angry elements. He read with deep feeling a part of the evening service, with prayers for the midst of a storm. This act of submission and trust in Him who rules the tempest and makes the whirlwinds to obey, calmed the spirits and elevated the thoughts of the little assembly. Madam soon fell into a gentle slumber, and Vi’let’s nasal organs gave tokens that she had followed her mistress’s example. Flora and Peter ditto.
The storm at length somewhat abated, but Mr. Fayerweather resumed his walk. After a while he stopped suddenly for a moment, and then exclaiming,
“The Almighty be praised! there’s George’s voice,” and ran down stairs, followed by John, Mr. Wendell and Amy.
Loud and rough voices, but in high good-humor, with shouts of laughter, were now heard rapidly approaching the house. They all opened the front-door together, and in crowded Captain Seaward, Captain Bob Stimpson and the two lads. Captain Seaward said—
“Here, Mr. Fayerweather, I’ve brought George home t’ye, safe and sound.”
Captain Bob Stimpson, in order to draw the attention of the company to himself, cleared his throat with a humph, in which were harmoniously blended the German guttural and the French nasal, and striking his huge cane on the floor, added—“And if there’s another two such lads in the whole province of Massachusetts Bay, I am not Captain Robert Stimpson!—why, they saved the vessel and the lives of us all.”
Here Captain Seaward chimed in.
“D’ye see, Mr. Fayerweather, the gale was sich a one as not many of us had often been out in afore; and at one time when it blew so strong as to threaten to capsize the vessel, one of the ropes got loose, and it was needful for somebody to go aloft and make it fast without loss of time, or the vessel would have gone to pot in less than no time. Not a lubber of a sailor would stir, but they all stood staring at each other like so many sculpens. Brayton’s stout-hearted enough, but he’s lame, and Stimpson here and I are both old and clumsy”—Captain Bob Stimpson fetched a grunt—“but we were going to try what our old carcases could do, when them ’ere two lads pushed afore us, and were up the shrouds in a twinkling and fastened the rope. The vessel was saved, but she was so much strained that we were obliged to put back for repairs, and for Brayton to get some better hands. So, now we’ll shake hands and bid ye good-night.”
Mr. Fayerweather tried hard to prevail on the two sea-worthies to stay and eat supper; but Captain Seaward excused himself, alleging that his “old woman would be skeared about them;” his friend, Stimpson, adding—