“Ah, I have learned many a lesson I did not know in my youth, from this book here, Jack,” said he, pointing to the book by his side, which was the Bible. “I now know in whom to trust; and had I known Him in the days of my youth, how much grief and shame I might have avoided! Mercifully, God has by His grace taught me to see my own errors; and I have endeavoured to remedy them as far as I have been able, in the way I have brought up my son. I have taught him what I learned from this book: ‘Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth.’”
I was very much struck by the way my old captain, I may say the once pirate, spoke; and I afterwards learned that he had not failed to instil into his son the better principles he had imbibed. Still I am bound to say that he was an exception to the general rule; for, as far as my experience goes, men who grow careless of their duty to God and indifferent to religion, continue through life increasing in hardness of heart and conscience, without a thought of the past or a fear for the future—truly, living as if they had no souls to care for, as if there were no God who rules the world. Dreadful is their end! Therefore I say to all my readers: Never put off for a single hour—for a single minute—repentance and a diligent searching for newness of life. You know not what an hour, what a minute may bring forth. You may be suddenly summoned to die, and there may be no time for repentance.
Among other questions, Captain Helfrich kindly inquired for my old friend Peter Poplar. How ashamed I felt of my own ingratitude, my heartlessness, when I could not tell him! No one I had met could tell me whether he still survived, or whether he had fallen among the thousands of brave men who had died that England might be free. I promised to make further inquiries before I sailed, and, should I fail to hear of him, to set out on my return from my proposed voyage with the express purpose of discovering him.
That visit to my old captain is one of the few things performed of my own accord on which I can look back with satisfaction. The next day I sailed for Liverpool.
Many strange and curious coincidences have occurred to me during my life. Two days before the Drake was ready for sea, having failed to gain any tidings of Peter, I was standing on the quay—work being over—in the evening, with my hands in my pockets, just taking a look at my future home, when I observed a boat-load of men landing from a sloop which had lately brought up in the river. By their cut I knew that they were men-of-war’s men. Several of them I saw had been wounded, and, judging by their shattered frames, pretty severely handled. One was a tall thin man. The sleeve on his right side hung looped up to a button, and he leaned over on the opposite side, as if to balance himself. I looked eagerly in his face, for I doubted not I knew his figure. It was Peter Poplar himself! I sprung eagerly forward. Captain Helfrich’s appearance had made me feel old, but Peter’s weather-beaten countenance and grizzly hair reminded me that my own manhood must be waning. For a moment I do not think he knew me. He had thought me dead—killed by the French fishermen, or murdered in prison. At all events he had heard nothing of me from the moment I was carried off in the fishing-boat. How kindly and warmly he shook my hand with his remaining one!
“I’ve lost a flipper, Jack, you see,” said he, sticking out his stump. “I never mind. It was for the sake of Old England; and I have got a pension, and there’s Greenwich ready for me when I like to bear up for it. There’s still stuff in me, and if I had been wanted, I’d have kept afloat; but as I’m not wanted, I’m going to have a look at some of my kith and kin, on whom I haven’t set eyes since the war began. Many of them are gone, I fear. So do you, Jack, come along with me. They will give you a welcome, I know.”
I told him how sorry I was that I could not go, as I had entered aboard the whaler; but I spent the evening with him, and all the next day; and he came and had a look at the Drake, and Captain Carr was very glad to see him, and told him that he wished he had him even now with him. I cannot say how much this meeting with my old friend again lightened my heart; still I felt ashamed that I should have been in a trader, and away from one who had been more to me than a father, while he was nobly fighting the battles of our country. He had bravely served from ship to ship through the whole of the war. He, however, did not utter a word of blame. He only found fault with himself.
“I told you once, Jack,” said he, “that I ought to have been a master, had it not been for my own ignorance, instead of before the mast; and having missed that, had I not continued too idle to learn, I might have got a boatswain’s warrant. I tell you this because, though you are no longer a youngster, you have many years before you, I hope, and may still get the learning which books alone can give you, and without which you must ever remain before the mast.”
I need not say that he made me promise to find him out on my return. I shall never forget the kindly, fatherly glance the old man gave me as he looked down from the top of the coach which was to take him on his way to the home he had so long left.
The Drake, ready for sea, had hauled out into the stream. She might at once have been known as a South-Sea whaler by the height she was out of the water, and by the boats which hung from their davits around her, painted white, light though strongly-built, with their stems and sterns sharp alike, and with a slight curve in their keels—each from about twenty-six to nearly thirty feet in length. Although she had provisions enough on board—casks of beef, and pork, and bread, (meaning biscuit), and flour, and suet, and raisins, and rum, and lime-juice, and other antiscorbutics—to last us for nearly four years, they were not sufficient to bring her much down in the water, as she was built to carry many hundred barrels of oil, which we hoped to collect before our return. I may as well here describe the fittings of a whale-boat. In the after-part is an upright rounded post, called the loggerhead, by which to secure the end of the harpoon-line; and in the bows is a groove through which it runs out. It is furnished with two lines, each of which is coiled away in a tub ready for use. It has four harpoons; three or more lances; several small flags, called “whifts,” to stick into the dead whale, by which it may be recognised at a distance when it may be necessary to chase another; and two or more “drogues,” four-sided pieces of board to be attached to the end of the whale-line when it is hove overboard, and which, being dragged with its surface against the water, impedes the progress of the whale. Besides these things, each boat is supplied with a case in which are stowed several necessary articles, the most important being a lantern and tinder-box—the lantern to be used as a signal when caught out at night—a compass, and perhaps a small cooking-apparatus. A whale-boat, when going in chase, has a crew of six men: one is called the headsman, the other the boat-steerer. The headsman has the command of the boat. He is either the captain, or one of his mates, or one of the most experienced hands on board. The Drake was a strongly-built, well-found ship, and as the greater number of the crew were experienced hands, and we had confidence in our captain, we had every prospect of a satisfactory voyage. The crew are not paid wages, but share in proportion to their rank or rating, according to the undertaking. Provisions are, however, supplied them, so that although a man may, as sometimes happens, make very little all the time he is out, he cannot lose. Still, want of success falls very heavily on the married men who have families to support.