



Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




Little Peter, the Ship Boy, by W.H.G. Kingston.
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Peter's mother lies dying in the first chapter, and gives him her own
Bible.  Peter's father had already died at sea, and the only family
income had been what Peter earned looking after a farmer's sheep.  After
the death the little house had to be sold to settle debts, leaving
virtually nothing.  Peter decides to go to sea, and makes his way to a
nearby port, where, against advice, he takes a place as a ship's boy in
a coasting brig carrying cargoes of coals.  The Captain is very unkind
to him, as are most of the rest of the crew, but Peter is buoyed up
only by his Bible which he contrives to carry with him at all times.  In
a gale the brig starts to sink and the Captain and crew abandon her in
the ship's boat, leaving Peter on board as he had been sent below to get
food for the crew, and was forgotten.  However, the sinking brig grounds
inside the tail of a bank, where she is sheltered from the gale.  After
a couple of days he is seen and rescued by the crew of the "Primrose",
where he is taken on, again as a ship's boy.

One of the crew is a grumpy old man called Simon Hixon.  After a long
time Peter and Simon become more friendly.  There is an accident and the
vessel is cast up on a rock fairly near an island.  The Captain is
injured as he had been the last to leave the sinking vessel.

Eventually there is a rescue by a passing ship, and life begins to go
uphill for Peter after that.  We won't spoil the story for you, but it
is a very well told tale, written not long before Kingston's death, at
the very height of his powers.

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LITTLE PETER, THE SHIP BOY, BY W.H.G. KINGSTON.


CHAPTER ONE.

PETER'S HOME AND FRIENDS.

"Are you better, mother, to-day?" asked little Peter, as he went up to
the bed on which Widow Gray lay, in a small chamber of their humble
abode.

"I trust so, my boy," she answered, in a doubtful tone, as she gazed
fondly on the ruddy, broad, honest face of her only child, and put aside
the mass of light hair which clustered curling over his brow, to imprint
on it a loving kiss.  "I tried to get up to help Betsy when she came to
tidy the house, but did not feel strong enough; and the doctor, who
looked in soon after, said I had better stay quiet, and gave me some
stuff which I trust may do me good.  Betsy kindly stopped and put
everything to rights, but since she went I have felt lonely, and have
been longing for you to come home."

Betsy was an old woman who lived nearly half a mile off, on the
hill-side.  She had known Mary Gray from her childhood, and came every
day, without fee or reward, to assist her during the grievous illness
from which she had long been suffering, while little Peter was away
tending Farmer Ashton's sheep on the neighbouring downs.

Widow Gray's cottage stood towards the bottom on the sloping side of
some lofty downs, which extended far away east and west, as well as a
considerable distance southward towards the ocean, which was, as the
crow flies, about ten miles off from the highest point above it.  The
hill formed one side of a valley, through which flowed a sparkling
stream bordered by trees, with here and there scattered about the
cottages of the hamlet of Springvale.  Far away at the lower end rose
amid the trees the slender spire of the little church.  On the other
side of the valley was a further succession of open downs, crossed only
by a single road a considerable distance, off, so that a more secluded
nook than Springvale could not be found for many a mile round.

The widow's cottage gave signs of decay, though it was evident that such
attempts as required no expense had been made to keep it in repair.  The
holes in the roof had been stuffed full of furze and grass, kept down by
heavy stones from being blown off by the wind; the broken panes in the
windows were replaced by pieces of board or stout paper; and rough
stakes filled up the spaces where the once neat palings had given way.
Each foot of the small garden was cultivated, though clearly by an
unscientific hand.  Indeed, little Peter was the sole labourer, he
devoting to it every moment he could spare from attendance on his sick
parent after his return from his daily work, patching up many a rent in
the cottage produced by weather and time.

Peter, indeed, did his very utmost to support his mother, by working
early and late--not a moment was he idle; but do all he could he often
was unable to gain enough to find food for her and for himself, though
he was content with a dry crust and a draught from the bright spring
which bubbled out of the hill-side.  The little cottage and garden was
her own, left to her by her father, Simon Field, a hard-working man, who
by temperate habits and industry had been enabled to purchase the ground
and to build the cottage, though that, to be sure, was put up chiefly by
his own hands.  Simon Field, however, was more than an industrious man,
he was a pious and enlightened Christian, and had brought up his
children in the truth as it is in Christ Jesus.  Mary, the youngest
daughter, had gone to service, and had obtained a situation in the house
of a lately married couple, of whom Simon had heard a good report, and
felt confident that she would be treated with Christian kindness and
consideration.  One by one, Simon Field's wife and children were taken
from him, and when Mary's kind mistress also died, she returned home to
live with her father.

Just at that time Jack Gray, a fine, open-hearted and open-handed
sailor, came to the hamlet, where his widowed mother lived.  He made
love to Mary Field, and won her heart, unhappily before she had
ascertained his principles and character.  To her simple mind, ignorant
as she was of the world, he appeared all that she could desire.  As he
attended church with her, and behaved with propriety and apparent
devotion, she supposed him to be religious, and before he went away to
rejoin his ship she promised, with her father's permission, to be his
wife on his return.

Soon afterwards Simon Field, who had for some time been ailing, followed
his wife and children to the grave, and Mary became the owner of the
little cottage with its acre of ground.  Though she had many suitors,
she remained faithful to Jack Gray.  Nearly three years had passed away
before he returned.  She then fulfilled her promise and married him, but
before long she could not help confessing to herself that he had changed
for the worse.  Instead of being the quiet, well-behaved young seaman he
had before appeared, he was noisy and boisterous, and more than once got
into a broil at the public-house in the hamlet; still, as he was kind
and affectionate to her, her love in no way diminished.  He laughingly
replied to her when she entreated him to be more circumspect in his
conduct:

"Why, old girl, I am quiet as a lamb compared to what I am afloat.  They
call me on board `roaring Jack Gray,' and roar I can, I tell you, when I
am doing duty as boatswain's mate."

Jack Gray, who would not look for employment on shore, in spite of
Mary's entreaties that he would do so, determined when the greater part
of his pay and his prize-money had been expended, again to go afloat.

Mary's home was certainly quieter when he was gone, though she would
willingly have detained him.  She had, however, enough to occupy her in
looking after her new-born child, little Peter, who, when his father
next came home from sea, had grown into a fine, sturdy boy.

The navy was at this time reduced, and "roaring Jack Gray," who soon
grew tired of a life on shore, had to seek for employment in the
merchant service.  All Mary could hear of him was that he had gone away
on a long voyage to foreign parts.  The news at length came that the
ship he had sailed in had been lost, and that all the crew had perished.
For some time she lived on in hopes that her husband had escaped, and
might some day return.  Not without difficulty was she at length
persuaded by her friends that she was really a widow.

While her husband was in the navy, she had received a portion of his
pay--now she had to depend entirely on her own exertions for the support
of herself and little Peter.  On her child she devoted all her care and
attention, and brought him up faithfully in the nurture and admonition
of the Lord, and when he did wrong corrected him carefully and wisely.
She had taught him especially to love the Book of books, and at an early
age little Peter could read fluently and well.  When she fell ill he
repaid her loving care with the most tender devotion.

"Mother, shall I read to you?" he asked, as he took his accustomed seat
by her side.

"Do, my boy," she answered, taking a small strongly-bound Bible,
carefully secured in a leathern case, from under her pillow.  "I have
been trying to do so, but my eyes are dim, and I could not see the
print; but, praised be God, I can remember parts, and I have been
repeating to myself our merciful Father's blessed promises to us His
children."

"That's true, mother," said Peter, opening the book at the third chapter
of Saint John's Gospel.

"`God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that
whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.
For God sent not His Son into the world to condemn the world; but that
the world through Him might be saved;'" and Peter read on to the end of
the chapter.

"Shall I read more, mother?" he asked.

"Read, read," she whispered, "for it will soon be too dark."

At length Peter could see to read no more, and closing the book, he put
it carefully back into the case.

"Keep it, my child," said his mother, solemnly; "cherish it, and never
part with it while you live.  Put it in your breast-pocket now; I would
like to see it there, next to your heart, where I pray its truths may
find a firm lodgment.  It was a gift to me from my dear young mistress
on her deathbed.  She had intended it for her own child, and she charged
me, should I ever have one, to instruct him from his earliest days in
its glorious truths.  Peter, I have done so, not trusting in my own
strength and knowledge, but with earnest prayer that those truths may be
imparted to you.  And oh, Peter, while you take care of the book, make
it a lamp to your feet and a light to your path.  Read it with prayer,
seeking the aid of God's Holy Spirit to instruct you in its truths, and
you will not read in vain."

Mrs Gray spoke with solemn earnestness, and Peter promised to follow
her counsels, uttering a petition to Heaven at the same time that he
might have grace to do so.

"Peter," she continued, "I am soon to be taken from you, but I die in
peace, for I know that God has heard my prayers, and will watch over you
and guard you from evil, and support and comfort you, but do you
yourself seek comfort and guidance from Him, and you will not be left
destitute."

She was silent for some minutes.

"Peter," she said, drawing him closer to her and speaking in a low
voice, "I grieve to part from you, but I grieve more when I think of
your poor father.  God knows how earnestly I have prayed for him, and I
cannot even now believe that he was taken out of the world still
ignorant of God's love and free pardon to all who believe in His Son.  I
have often dreamed that he has come to me, looking just as he was when
he went away, only paler and more careworn; he seemed to ask me to fetch
him from some far-off land whence he could not escape.  It may have been
but an empty dream working on my fancy, and yet I cannot believe that it
was so.  Oh, what joy it would bring to my heart could I know that he
loved the Saviour, and that he is yet alive and the door of mercy still
open."

Peter's heart was too full of sorrow to let him speak.  The waning light
prevented him from clearly distinguishing his mother's countenance, but
there seemed to be a strange brightness in her eye as she spoke with
failing voice, and the hopes her dying words expressed were imparted to
him.

"Bless you, my boy, bless you!" she murmured, in a scarcely audible
voice.

His hand was in hers, she pressed it as she spoke, and tried to draw him
nearer to her heart.  He leant over her, and put his other arm under her
head; gradually he felt her hand relax its loving grasp, but many
minutes passed before the fear came over him that her spirit had fled.

"Mother, mother!" he earnestly cried; "speak to me."

There was no answer.  He had never been with death before, but he knew
too well that she was indeed gone from him.

He sat there long with his face on the bedclothes, too much overwhelmed
with grief to move.  He longed to go and call Betsy, yet he could not
bear to leave his mother's body.  Soon, however, a step was heard, and
the old woman herself entered the room.

There was still light sufficient to enable her to see at a glance what
had occurred.  She stepped up, and closing her dead friend's eyes,
gently led little Peter into the outer room.  She had brought a couple
of candles with her, purposing to spend the night at the cottage if she
was required, and lighting them, she left one with Peter, bidding him
sit down while she took up the other.

"When you feel sleepy, my boy, go to bed; the rest will do you good.
I'll stay with your mother; it will be nothing strange to me.  I have
had so many I loved taken from me, that I am accustomed to watch by the
bodies of those who, I hope, went where I am sure she is gone.  It's a
blessed thing to know that she is happy in heaven; let that comfort you,
Peter, and don't take on so, boy."

Saying this, she returned to Mrs Gray's room.

Peter's head sunk on the table--he wept sorely and long.  As he bent
down, he felt the book his mother had just given him, which he had
placed in his bosom.  He took it out and began to read it.  Promise
after promise beamed forth from its sacred pages on his young soul,
lighted by God's Holy Spirit, for he took God at His word, and was
comforted.  After awhile he crept up the ladder to his little attic
room, as Betsy had desired him, and was soon fast asleep.

He awoke at daybreak, not forgetting his duty to Farmer Ashton's sheep,
and when he got down-stairs he found his kind old friend waiting for him
with a crust of bread and a bit of cheese.

"You must not disappoint the farmer," she said; "I'll do all that's
wanted for your poor mother."

"I hadn't forgot the sheep," said Peter; "but, Betsy, may I see her?  I
could not go without!"

Betsy led him into the room.  His mother's face looked so calm and
peaceable, just like an angel, he thought; he almost fancied she was
asleep.

"Now go," said Betsy, after he had gazed at her for some moments.  "The
red streaks are already in the sky."

Peter lingered for a moment, then recollecting his duty, hurried down
the hill to Mr Ashton's farm.

His mother's funeral took place a few days afterwards, he and Betsy and
two or three other friends being the mourners.

He found to his dismay that he could not return to live at the cottage.
He had had thoughts of taking up his abode there all by himself.  During
Mrs Gray's illness debts had accumulated, and creditors claimed the
little property, which had to be sold, and when his mother's funeral
expenses had been paid, four or five pounds only remained as the young
orphan's inheritance.

Betsy took him to her cottage, where he shared the bed of one of her
grandchildren, and he continued as before to tend Farmer Ashton's sheep.

Often, as the motherless boy sat watching his flock on the sunny downs,
he cast his eyes towards the distant blue sea, and wondered what strange
lands might be beyond.  The thought of his father would then come across
his mind.  His imagination pictured him still living in those far away
unknown regions.  What if he could find him and tell him the glorious
gospel news!  He should be obeying his mother's most earnest wishes.  He
knew but little of geography; he had read of Palestine and Egypt, and
other distant countries, but he had a very indefinite idea as to where
they were situated, and as to the rest of the globe, it was, although
not quite a blank, yet filled up by his own vivid imagination with
strange lands, in which wonders of all sorts existed.

Day after day, as he gazed in the same direction, his desire to visit
those wondrous regions increased, till he resolved to go on board a
ship, and sail forth over the ocean to visit them.

Little Peter was in earnest in all things; his faith was earnest, his
speech was earnest; truthfulness beamed from his eyes, he was in earnest
in whatever he was about.  Farmer Ashton discovered this by the way he
looked after his sheep.  Peter knew every one of them, and reported the
least sign of disease--not a sore foot escaped his vigilant eye.  The
farmer offered to increase his wages if he would stop, when Peter told
him he wished to leave his service and go to sea, and was very angry
when, though thanking him kindly, he said that he had made up his mind
on the matter and meant to go.  The farmer warned him that he would have
to endure all sorts of dangers and disasters, and was a fool for his
pains.  Betsy also had used every argument to dissuade him from his
purpose, but nothing could change it.  When she found that all she could
say had no effect, she gave him the money she had charge of, and
assisted him in getting ready some clothes that he might set forth in a
respectable manner to the neighbouring port to which the carrier, who
passed through the hamlet once a week, undertook to convey him.



CHAPTER TWO.

A START IN LIFE.

The carrier's cart stopped on a height above the little town of Oldport.
Peter gazed with wonder and admiration on the wide ocean spread out
before him, now bright and shining under a blue sky and light summer
breeze.  It surpassed his utmost expectations--a beautiful highway it
seemed to those distant regions he had longed to visit, and he fancied
that there could be no impediment in his course till he could reach
them.

As soon as the carrier had deposited him and his bundle at the inn close
to the harbour, he set out to walk along the quay, and looked at the
vessels whose tall masts rose in a long row above it.  As he had never
before seen a vessel, he was unable to judge of their size; to his eyes
they seemed mighty ships, capable of battling with the wildest waves
which could ever rage across the bosom of the deep.  They were in
reality colliers or other small coasters, as no vessels of any size
could enter the harbour.  He was ready to go on board the first which
would receive him.

Peter had never had any playmates or young companions.  He had lived
alone with his mother, who had taught him to read, and trained him in
the love and fear of God.  The Bible was almost the only book he knew.
He was, in consequence, grave beyond his years.  The few neighbours used
to laugh at him as "an odd, old-fashioned little fellow," as, indeed, he
was; but everybody respected and trusted him.

He walked up and down the quay once or twice before he could make up his
mind what to do.  At last he determined to address a sailor-looking man
who was leaning against a stout post round which two or three hawsers
from the neighbouring vessels were secured.

"Is one of those ships there yours?" asked Peter, in a hesitating tone.

"Why do you want to know, my lad?" inquired the seaman.

"Because I want to go and be a sailor in one of them," said Peter.

"Then take my advice, and give up wanting," said the seaman.  "Better by
half remain on shore, and tend sheep and cattle, as I have a notion you
have been doing.  None of the vessels are mine; I am only mate in the
_John and Mary_, yonder," pointing to a schooner which lay alongside the
quay.  "We have got a boy, and I would not have a hand in taking any
youngster away from home unless he knew more about what he would have to
go through than I suspect you do.  Now go back, lad, whence you came,"
continued the mate, folding his arms and puffing away at the pipe he had
in his mouth.

One or two other sailors laughed at him or roughly turned aside without
deigning to answer.

At last he reached a two-masted vessel, in reality a brig, somewhat
larger than the rest, but her deck was black with coal-dust, and
everything about her had a dark, grimy look.  A rough, black-bearded,
strongly-built man, better dressed than some of those he had spoken to,
was stepping on shore by the plank which formed a communication between
the vessel and the quay.  Peter guessed rightly that he was the captain.
Beginning to feel that his hope of going to sea was less likely to be
accomplished than he had expected, he determined, with a feeling
somewhat akin to desperation, to address him, though the expression of
his countenance was far from encouraging.

"Do you want a boy on board your ship, sir?" he said, touching his hat,
as his mother had taught him to do when addressing his betters.

"What, run away from home?" asked the man, stopping, and looking down
upon him.

"I have no home, sir," answered Peter.

"What, no father and mother?"

"No, sir," said Peter.  "Mother is dead, and father, they say, is dead,
too."

"Then you will do for me.  As it happens, I do want a boy.  Here, Jim,"
he said, turning round, and addressing a sailor as rough-looking as he
was himself, but much dirtier, who appeared at the companion-hatch;
"here's a lad for you.  You had better keep an eye on him, as maybe he
will change his mind, and run off again.  Go aboard, boy," he added,
turning to Peter, "Jim will look after you, and show you what you have
got to do."

The captain went into the town, and old Jim, who proved to be the mate,
took charge of Peter.

Old Jim asked him several questions.  The answers which Peter gave
appeared to satisfy him.

Peter inquired the captain's name.

"Captain Hawkes; and our brig is the _Polly_," answered Jim.  "You won't
find a finer craft between this and `No man's land,' if you know where
that is."

Peter saw that she was the largest vessel in the harbour, and so readily
believed what the mate said.

The old man asked him if he was hungry, and Peter acknowledging; that
such was the case, he took him down into the cabin, and after giving him
some bread and ham, offered him a tumbler of rum and water.  Peter, who
had never tasted spirits, said he would rather not take the rum, whereon
old Jim laughed at him and drank it himself.

"We shall all get under weigh with the evening tide if the wind holds
fair, for it's off the land you see, and will take us out of the
harbour," he observed.  "You had better lie down till then on the locker
and get some sleep, for may be you will find your first night at sea
rather strange to you."

"Where is the vessel going to?" asked Peter, who fully expected to be
told that it was to the Holy Land, or India, or some of the few other
distant countries of which he had heard.

"We are bound to Newcastle first to take in coals, and it's more than I
can tell you where we shall go after that."

"Is Newcastle in a far-off country?" asked Peter.

"It's a good bit from here," said old Jim; "and if you want to be a
sailor, you will have a fair chance of learning before the voyage is
out, and so take my advice and don't trouble yourself about the matter.
Do as I tell you, just lie down--you would have slept all the sounder if
you had taken the grog, though."

Old Jim was afraid, perhaps, that Peter would get talking to the rest of
the crew, and hear something about Captain Hawkes which might induce him
to go on shore again, the last boy having run from the ship, though
shoeless and penniless, rather than endure the treatment he had
received.

Peter, not suspecting old Jim's motive, sat down on the locker in the
cabin.  Not feeling disposed to sleep he took up his Bible, as he had
been accustomed to do when tending sheep on the Springvale downs, and
began to read.  Old Jim gazed at him with open eyes.  To see a
ship's-boy reading a book, and that book the Bible, as he guessed it to
be, was entirely out of his experience.  "He must be a curious chap," he
said to himself; "I don't know that he will suit us, after all; but then
he will soon get all that knocked out of him I have a notion."

Peter, who never failed to pray that God's Holy Spirit would enlighten
his mind when he read the Bible, was so completely absorbed in perusing
the sacred page, that he did not observe old Jim's glances, nor hear his
muttered words.  At length, feeling his eyes heavy, he closed the book
and replaced it in his bosom.  Then he lay down, as he had been advised,
on the locker, and was soon fast asleep.  The fatigue he had gone
through, and the heat of the cabin, made him sleep soundly, and he did
not hear the noise of the men's feet on deck as the warps were cast off,
or their "yeo! yeo! yeos!" as they hoisted the sails.

The captain, who came into the cabin to deposit his papers and several
articles he had brought on board, did not rouse him up, and the _Polly_
gliding smoothly out of the harbour, was some distance from the land
before he awoke.

The sun, a bright ball of fire setting the heavens all ablaze, was
sinking into the ocean astern when Peter made his way on deck; the coast
with its sandy bays, rocky cliffs, and lofty headlands, their western
sides tinged with a ruddy glow appearing on the left, while the calm
ocean of an almost purple tint with a golden hue cast across it,
stretched away to the right.

Peter felt its beauty and majestic tranquillity far more than he could
have found words to express.  The dark sails, the dirty deck, the
begrimed countenances and slovenly dress of the crew contrasted with the
purity of the sky and ocean all around.

The captain and old Jim his mate were standing aft, speaking to each
other.  They were apparently talking about him, for they cast their
glances towards where he stood looking round and uncertain what to do.

He was aroused by the captain shouting to him: "You are one of the
sleeping order, youngster, I see; you have had a long snooze; you will
have to keep your eyes open in future.  What is your name?"

"Peter Gray, sir," answered the boy.

"Peter is enough for us," said the captain.  "Now go forward; your berth
is in the forepeak, you will understand; and Jim and the cook will find
you work enough.  You don't expect to be idle?"

"No, sir," said Peter, "I came to learn to be a sailor."

"They will teach you, and fast enough, too, with a rope's-end if you
don't look sharp about you," said the captain, with a laugh, "and soon
make you dip your hands in the tar-bucket and swash-tub.  Have you got
any working duds with you?"

"I don't know what duds mean, sir," answered Peter.

"Not know what duds mean, and you a sailor's son, as you tell me?
Clothes, to be sure," cried the captain, laughing again.

"I have got another suit for Sundays, when I go to church, sir,"
answered Peter.

The captain and old Jim laughed in chorus at the reply.

"We have no Sundays aboard here, and don't carry church steeples at our
mast-heads," cried the former, again laughing at his own wit as he
considered it.

He and his mate were in a merry mood, for they had just had one
successful voyage, and as the weather was fine they hoped to make
another.  The captain himself had taken a parting-glass or two with his
friends on shore.  So little Peter found him and his mate in their best
humour.

"Do you hear, boy?" cried the captain, seeing that Peter did not move;
"go forward and see what they have got for you to do."

Peter did not know where forward was, but observing the direction in
which the captain was looking, supposed it to be at the other end of the
ship.

"I left my bundle down-stairs there, sir; shall I take it with me?" he
asked.

Again the captain and mate laughed.  Of course they felt their
superiority to the poor ignorant little shepherd-boy.

"We have no down-stairs here, no more than we have Sundays; but your
bundle is not to stop in my cabin, I should think.  Get it and take it
with you."

Peter, having got his bundle from below, went forward, accompanied by
old Jim.

"Now, lads," said the latter to the four unkempt beings who formed the
crew of the _Polly_, "here is a boy for you, and just see he don't go
overboard or run away; the skipper is tired of getting lads to do your
work."

The men looked at little Peter and grinned.  "Now, boy," said old Jim,
turning to Peter, "come below and I'll show you your berth.  You must
keep your eyes wide open, or may be you will not see it."

The mate descended through a small hatchway by an upright ladder into a
dark place, where Peter, as he was bid, followed him.  He could hear the
mate's voice, but could not distinguish him in the gloom, which at first
appeared impenetrable.

"Come here," cried the mate.  "What, are you blind?"

Peter was stretching out his hands trying to grope his way.  By degrees
a glimmer of light which came down the hatchway enabled him to
distinguish old Jim, and as his eyes became more accustomed to the
gloom, he discovered that he was in a triangular-shaped place, with
shelves on either side which formed the bunks or standing bed-places of
the crew, the heel of the bowsprit making a division in the fore part.
Some chests were on the floor, and thick coats, sou'-westers, with
numerous other articles, were hung up against the bulk-heads, which
formed the third side of the forepeak.

"That's your berth," said old Jim, pointing to the foremost
sleeping-place in the bow of the vessel.  "The boy who has gone has left
his blankets, so you will have the use of them.  And mind when you are
called you turn out pretty quick; we cannot have laggards aboard the
_Polly_."

"Thank you, sir," said Peter, depositing his bundle in the dark,
close-smelling bunk.  "I am accustomed to be afoot by daybreak, to look
after Farmer Ashton's sheep."

"You will have something different from sheep to look after; and night
and day at sea are the same.  All hands don't turn in and sleep till the
sun is up, or the ship would be apt to lose her way."

A laugh at the mate's wit from some of the other men who had followed
them into the forepeak, was heard out of the darkness.  When the mate
was gone, they gathered round Peter and began to amuse themselves at his
expense.  He, however, took their jeers quietly, not attempting to
reply; indeed, as he did not clearly understand their meaning, the jokes
generally fell harmless.  Finding at length that they could not irritate
him, they told him to go on deck to help Bill.  Bill was the man who did
duty as cook.  Peter found him in the caboose; he was as black and grimy
as a <DW64>, with grease and coal-dust.

"They told me you wanted me, Bill," said Peter.

"Yes," growled Bill, "clean out those pots and wash up the dishes and
plates in that tub.  Here is some hot water for you."

Peter performed the work to the cook's satisfaction.  He gave him some
bread and a piece of bacon for his supper, as he had eaten nothing since
the afternoon.

Peter was standing watching the moon, whose full orb as it rose in the
sky shed a silvery light over the ocean, a spectacle novel and beautiful
to him, when old Jim, in a gruff voice, told him to go and turn in.
Though he would infinitely have preferred remaining on deck, he did as
he was bid.

He did not omit, before he took off his clothes, to kneel down and pray
for protection for himself and all on board.  No one saw the young boy
in the attitude of prayer, or he would not have escaped interruption,
but Peter knew that God saw him and heard him.  Young and humble as he
was, and unpromising as were the manners of those among whom he had been
thrown, he felt no fear.  His mind was at rest.  He climbed into his
berth and was soon asleep.



CHAPTER THREE.

PERILS AT SEA.

The _Polly_ had made good progress on her voyage, the North Foreland had
been rounded, and with a fair breeze under all sail she was running to
the north.  There were numerous other colliers, brigs and schooners and
vessels of all sizes, scattered far and wide over the sea, some close at
hand, others mere specks, their loftier canvas just rising above the
clearly-defined horizon.

Poor Peter had had a hard life of it, ordered about by every one on
board, often receiving an undeserved cuff and kick, or finding the end
of a rope laid sharply across his shoulders when he did not understand
an order which he had never before heard issued.  His clothes and face
and hands were now almost as dirty as those of his companions, although
he did his best to keep them clean, but he had received a rope's-ending
from the cook for taking fresh water for the purpose of washing himself,
and he found that the salt water had little effect on his skin.  But he
did not complain.  He had a source of comfort within him of which those
around knew nothing.  What grieved him most was the fearful language he
heard hourly uttered, God's holy name profaned, foul oaths, and obscene
conversation.  Whenever he could he endeavoured to escape from it.  He
either tried to get on deck when his shipmates were below, or below when
they were on deck--to get anywhere where they were not.  Still, so
persistent are depraved human beings under the influence of Satan, in
showing their enmity to those who love God, and to God Himself, that
they often followed him with their ribald shouts, and kept him forcibly
down among them.

Alas! this is no uncommon scene on board, not only many a collier, but
many a proud ship that sails over the ocean.  Still, Peter had not read
his Bible in vain.  Influenced by God's Holy Spirit, he knew that he
must return good for evil.  Now and then, when a retort rose to his
lips, he sought for grace to repress it, and he either remained silent
or gave a mild reply.  He persevered, too, in reading his Bible.  Often
when the lantern was lit in the forepeak, and the watch below were
asleep, he would rise from his berth, and by its pale light sit on a
chest beneath it and read from the sacred page, although he could with
difficulty make out the words.  At other times he would stow himself
away forward, and opening his beloved book, draw comfort and consolation
from it till he was summoned to some duty by one of his task-masters.
Two or three times he had stolen aloft unnoticed by those on deck, and
read uninterruptedly for an hour or more, but the mate at length
discovering him, called him down.

"I told you we don't allow idlers aboard," exclaimed old Jim, bestowing
several cuts with a rope's-end on his shoulders.  "Don't let me ever
catch you again with your book aloft doing nothing, or overboard it
goes; we don't want psalm-singers or Bible-readers among us.  Remember
my words."

Peter trembled with alarm for the safety of his book.  The mate might
put his threat into execution, and what could he do to prevent it?  Yet
he would fight hard before he would give it up, of that he was
determined.  At the same time he knew that he must obey orders, and he
dare not again venture aloft to read.  Even if he read on deck, he might
run the risk of losing his book.  Yet read he must.  He asked for
guidance and direction from above.  The fear which had thus been aroused
of losing his Bible made him consider how he could still better secure
it.  Hitherto he had carried it inside his shirt, with his waistcoat
buttoned over it.  He now determined to make a canvas case and sling it
round his neck.  One of the men had some canvas for mending his clothes.
Peter purchased a piece, together with some twine, with one of the few
shillings he had in his pocket, and borrowed a sail needle from the
mate, who lent it, not knowing the object it was for.  Peter had watched
the men at work, and by perseverance manufactured a case to his
satisfaction, with a canvas strap to go round his neck.  He could now
carry his Bible night and day, and if summoned suddenly on deck, he
would still have it with him, and should it enter the head of one of his
shipmates to try and take it from his bunk while he was on deck, he
would be disappointed.  Peter now felt far more content than heretofore
about the safety of his Bible.  He had frequently to go into the
captain's cabin to carry his meals from the caboose and to clean it out.
Generally Captain Hawkes took no notice of him, but one day, being in a
facetious humour, he exclaimed, "Well, boy, have you got through your
book yet?"

"No, sir," said Peter, "I don't expect to do so for a long time to
come."

"Look sharp, then," said the captain; "you will never be a sailor till
you have."

"I am afraid, sir, then, I never will become a sailor," said Peter,
quietly.

"How so?" asked Captain Hawkes.

"Because I shall wish to read the book till the last day of my life.  I
want to read it to know how to live, and just as much to know how to
die."

"We can live very well without it, I have a notion," said the captain;
"but as to dying, that may be a different matter."

"Beg pardon, sir," said Peter, "but I have been taught that it is one
and the same thing.  If you like, sir, I'll read to you all about it
from the book."

"No, no; I want none of your Bible reading," answered the captain.

"But, sir," said Peter, feeling a bold spirit rise within him, "if the
ship was to go down, and we all were drowned, and had to stand before
God, how those who had the words, `Depart, ye accursed, into everlasting
fire, prepared for the devil and his angels,' spoken to them would wish
that they had listened to God's word, and been prepared to meet Him as
their Judge."

"Get out of the cabin, you little canting hypocrite," exclaimed the
captain, fiercely, for God's words uttered by the young boy had struck
home to his conscience; but he "loved darkness rather than light,
because his deeds were evil," and he sought to avoid the light.

Peter went on deck with a feeling of deep sorrow at his heart that the
captain would not listen.  He wished, however, that he had spoken to him
rather of God's love to sinners than of his threatenings.  "The mention
of that great love might have touched his heart," he thought; "I will
tell him of it another time."

He often tried when he could speak alone to any of the men to get them
to allow him to read from his book; but he was told to keep it to
himself, no one on board wanted it.  He hoped, however, to succeed by
perseverance; and perhaps when they found that he was becoming a smart
and active sailor, and could lay out on the yards and reef and steer as
well as any of them, they would be more ready to listen.  He did his
utmost, therefore, to learn his duty as a seaman.  Old Jim began to
treat him with less harshness than at first, and in his rough way gave
him instruction in the art he wished to acquire; he taught him to box
the compass and to steer, and even explained why various manoeuvres were
performed.  Still, when Peter began to speak about the Bible, or
anything contained in it, he either turned a deaf ear or angrily told
him to mind his own business.

The Tyne was at last reached, and Peter's wonder was excited by the
large city he saw stretching up the hill, and the numerous other towns
and villages which lined the banks of that important river, but still
more by the numberless vessels taking in their cargoes of coal, shot
down into their holds from the cliffs above them.  Much as he wished it
he was not allowed to go on shore, the captain suspecting that, like his
predecessors, he might not return.  Though he had harder work than ever,
yet, having fewer task-masters, he was less ill-treated than before.

The _Polly_ having received her cargo, again put to sea, bound, Peter
heard, for the Thames.

Hitherto the weather had been fine, and he had escaped sea-sickness and
wet clothes.  A few nights after leaving the Tyne it came on to blow
hard, with the wind right ahead, and the _Polly_ began to tumble about
in a way which made Peter feel very miserable.  Sometimes, though under
close-reefed topsails, she heeled down so much that he could scarcely
stand on the wet slippery deck, and he fancied that she would go over
altogether.  The dark green seas, with their foaming crests, rolled up
on either hand, and frequently broke on board in showers of spray, as
the brig ploughed her way amid them: now she rose to the top of a
mountain billow; now she plunged down on the opposite side, with her
bowsprit almost under water, and now the sea struck her and made her
frame quiver fore and aft.  The scene was a terrible one to look at--how
different from that Peter had witnessed the first day he had been at
sea!--still he did not fear; he knew that the same Almighty hand who
guarded him then protected him now, but he did feel that he might at any
moment be summoned into the presence of One he had loved on earth, and
who would, he knew, welcome him in heaven, not on account of any merit
of his own, but because he took Him at His word and trusted His Son,
whom He had sent to save sinners.

The men, and even the captain and mate, were more silent than usual,
though when they did speak they gave utterance to the same oaths which
had so often issued out of their mouths.

It was trying work on deck, and when Peter's watch was over, wet and
weary he was glad to go below; but when he lay down in his narrow berth,
the fearful blows which struck again and again on the bows of the ship
prevented him from sleeping.  When he did at last drop off he was
quickly aroused by another blow, heavier than the former, which made him
fancy that the brig must have struck a rock; but on she again went,
battling her way across the stormy ocean.

The gale was increasing.  At night, when he had again to go on deck, the
seas, though not so clearly visible as during the day, appeared much
higher, and threatened every instant to roll down upon the deck and
sweep every one off it.  The fore-hatch was battened down, the crew
collected aft.  When day dawned their faces looked pale and anxious, and
even Captain Hawkes and old Jim seemed to wish that the gale was over.
Peter heard the mate report to the captain that he had sounded the well,
and feared that the brig had sprung a leak.  The pumps were rigged, and
the crew set to work on them.  The quantity of clear water which came up
left no doubt about the matter.  The men grumbled and swore, but worked
away.  Peter was ordered to take his spell, and even old Jim and the
captain took theirs.  All day long they worked away, and at night also.
No fire could be lighted in the caboose, for the seas broke so heavily
over the bows of the ship that they dashed in upon the fore-hatchway.
Such provisions as could be eaten without cooking were their only fare.
Peter wished to read the Bible to his shipmates, but the spray broke
over them in such dense showers that the leaves would have been wetted
through in an instant.  He could recollect, however, many portions, and
great was the comfort they gave him.  When he ventured to repeat them
aloud to those crouched down under the bulwarks near him, they told him
to be silent; it was not the time, with a gale blowing, to trouble them
with his notions.

"But where should we be if the brig does go down?" he asked, for he saw
the too great probability of that event occurring to make him hesitate
about speaking.

The men told him to hold his tongue and not trouble them.  Numbers do
the same when warned of danger not more imminent than that which
threatened the brig's crew.

"Spell ho!" was the cry, and Peter and those he had spoken to took their
places at the pumps.

Another day came to an end.  During the next night the water gained so
much on the pumps that Captain Hawkes resolved to head the brig in for
the land in the hopes of making some sheltering port.  Whereabouts he
was he could not exactly tell.  Again and again the well was sounded.
The night was pitchy dark, the wind blew harder than ever, and the
foam-topped seas raged round the hapless brig.  The men laboured at the
pumps, the captain and mate working as hard as the rest, for they all
knew that their lives depended on their exertions.

Hour after hour passed by.  Day was approaching.  The captain thought
that they must be nearing the land.  The men at length cried out that
they could work no more without food.  Peter was sent down to get it.
He crept about in the dark searching in the lockers for what could be
found.  He felt the water above his knees, but he was so wet that he did
not heed it; it was his duty to get the food, he would not return
without it.  He fancied that he heard loud cries and shouting on deck,
though the howling and whistling of the wind and the roar of the sea
almost drowned all other sounds.  Presently he was sensible that the
vessel had received a heavy blow.  Another and another followed.  He had
found the food he was sent for, and was making his way with a heavy load
up the companion ladder, when a sudden heave of the vessel threw it over
him, and he fell to the bottom.  He was stunned with the fall and lay
insensible for awhile--how long he could not tell--but he recovered
after some time, and the ladder being jerked back into its place, he
scrambled up on deck.  He saw no one.  On looking over the side he
discovered the boat, with the captain and crew, pulling away a few
fathoms off.  He shouted to them, entreating to be taken in.  Old Jim
cried out in return:

"We will come for you."  But either they found it impossible to return,
or feared that the boat would be stove in in making the attempt.  Peter
supposed truly that they had quitted the brig, believing that she would
immediately sink.  At that moment another sea struck her, and lifting
her up, she once more glided on.  Fearing that she would again ground,
and that the next sea might sweep over her deck, he sprang to the main
rigging and climbed up into the top.  Scarcely had he left the deck when
the water rushed completely over it.  The brig, pressed by the sails
still set, glided slowly on.  Lower and lower she sank; as she did so,
Peter climbed up to the topmast-head, and there he clung.  He did his
utmost to escape death, though he was prepared to meet it.  He caught
sight for a moment of the boat tossing amid the mass of foaming waters;
when he again looked in the direction he had last seen her, she was
nowhere visible.

In a little while he became conscious that the brig had ceased to sink.

In the east, towards where the faint streaks of returning day appeared
in the sky, the sea tumbled and tossed as wildly as before, but where
the masts of the brig rose above the surface the water was comparatively
calm.  The vessel had indeed driven first on the tail or extreme point
of a bank, and then being forced over it, had drifted inside it some
little distance before she had gone down, being then protected from the
fury of the waves by the bank itself.  All Peter knew, however, was that
he was clinging to the mast-head of a sunken vessel, that a storm raged
around him, and no human aid was at hand.  He had no food, for he had
lost that when thrown from the ladder, and it was some time since he had
eaten; but he had saved his Bible, and he knew that his Father in heaven
would take care of him.



CHAPTER FOUR.

ON BOARD THE PRIMROSE.

As day dawned Peter looked out for the boat, earnestly hoping that the
captain and crew had escaped destruction.  It was nowhere to be seen.
Here and there he caught sight of a dark sail just rising above the
horizon, while in the west he could just distinguish a line of low
coast.

How solitary and wretched he would have felt, how ready to give way to
despair, had he not known that, all alone as he was, God his Father was
watching over him.

He had thus clung on for some time to the mast, when he became aware
that the wind had greatly moderated; the waves no longer clashed so
savagely over the sand-bank as before.  Gradually the sea became calmer
and calmer; the clouds cleared away; the bright sun shone forth and
dried his wet clothes.  He felt hungry, but his strength did not desert
him.  He descended to the cross-trees, now above water, and seating
himself, searched in his pocket and discovered two biscuits which he had
put into them when in the cabin and had forgotten.  He ate one of the
biscuits and felt revived, and then finding that there was no danger of
falling off, he drew forth his beloved Bible and read.  How full of
comfort and assurance it was to him who read with an eye of faith!
There was no one to disturb him now.  Alas! where were those who had
been wont to interrupt him?  What would they now have given to have
trusted to that book, and obeyed its precepts?  Peter did not, however,
allow such a thought to enter his mind.  He only hoped that they had
escaped, and were making their way to the land; not a particle of bad
feeling was in his heart against those who had so ill-treated him.

He read and read on till, feeling a drowsiness come over him, he
restored the book to its case, and then once more climbed up the mast to
look round in the hopes of seeing some vessel or boat approaching.

The sun had completely dried his clothes, and warmed him.  A soft air
blew off the land.  He knew well that vessels would generally give the
sands a wide berth.  "Still, if God thinks fit to send me help He will
direct some craft this way," he said to himself.  "Perhaps some
fishing-boats will be passing, or Captain Hawkes may send out to learn
what has become of the brig."

As he looked northward, he saw afar off a large ship under all sail
standing to the south.  Whether or not she was inside or outside the
shoals he could not tell.  She came on but slowly, for the wind was
light.  He judged, however, that she would not pass at any great
distance from where he was.  How beautiful she looked, with her spread
of white canvas shining in the sun.  Nearer and nearer she came.  He was
convinced at last that she was outside the shoals.

"Those on board will scarcely notice the thin masts of the brig above
the water," he thought; "still God will turn their eyes this way if He
thinks fit."

Let no one suppose, that little Peter placed a presumptuous confidence
in God's protecting care of a young boy like himself.  He had read that
not a sparrow falls to the ground but He knows it; that the hairs of our
heads are all numbered, and he well knew that he should be offending his
kind Father if he doubted His words.  What strength and fearlessness did
this simple faith give him.

The proud ship glided on, her canvas swelling to the breeze; it seemed
that she would quickly run past him.  He could almost distinguish the
people on her deck.  He shouted, fancying that his feeble voice would be
borne over the water towards her.  Presently he saw the hitherto full
canvas flap against the masts; her courses, and her topsails, and
topgallant sails hung down uselessly; the breeze which had hitherto
fanned his cheeks died away.

The ship was almost abreast of him, but rather to the southward, so that
those on her deck saw the rays of the sun striking directly on the
brig's masts.  Without thinking of this, however, he took off his hat
and waved it again and again.  The ship appeared to be drifting in
towards the bank.  How eagerly he watched her.  Presently he saw a boat
lowered from her quarter; several people jumped in, and with rapid
strokes pulled towards him.  The tide had again risen, and scarcely a
ripple was observed on the bank.  The boat crossed it, and an
encouraging cheer reached his ears; he waved his hat in return, and
descending the rigging stood ready to step into the boat as soon as she
came.

"Glad to rescue you, my lad," said the officer, who was steering.  "How
long have you been on the mast?  What's become of your shipmates?"

"Since last night," answered Peter; "and I hope they have reached the
shore in the boat."

"I should think if they have deserted you, you would wish rather that
they had gone to the bottom as they deserve," said the officer.

"We should wish harm to no one, and do good to our enemies," answered
Peter.

"Very good," said the officer, "though the other is most natural.  But
how were you left behind?"

"I was in the cabin getting up provisions for them, when, as the brig
appeared to be going down, they, I suppose, shoved off in the boat and
forgot me."

"Scoundrels!  I can only hope their boat was swamped," exclaimed the
officer.  "But give way, lads; the ship is closer in to the bank than is
altogether pleasant, and we shall have to tow her head off if the breeze
does not spring up again."

The boat was quickly alongside, and Peter soon found himself on the deck
of a ship larger than he had ever before seen.  He looked round with
astonishment and admiration.  Every one was busy in lowering the boats
to tow the ship away from the dangerous proximity to the bank.  Peter
was, therefore, for some time left alone.  The breeze, however, soon
again returning, filled the sails, and the boats were hoisted in.

The captain, a fine-looking young man, with a frank countenance, then
called Peter aft, and put to him nearly the same questions the mate had
asked.

"How came you to escape, my lad?  You don't even look much the worse for
your adventure."

"God took care of me, sir," answered Peter, simply.

The captain smiled.  "Well, I suppose it's something to fancy that," he
observed.

"But I know it, sir," said Peter firmly.

The captain cast a somewhat astonished glance at him.  "Well, lad, you
must be hungry and sleepy; the steward will give you some food, and find
you a berth forward.  If we have an opportunity, we will put you on
shore, that you may return to your friends."

"I have no friends on shore, sir," answered Peter, "and I want to go to
sea."

"Then do you wish to remain on board?" asked the captain.

"Yes, sir, please; I wish to visit foreign lands."

"Very well, you will have the chance with us, and I'll enter you as one
of the ship's boys," said the captain.  "Below there!" he shouted, and
the steward, a black man, appeared.  "Give this lad some food, and find
him a berth, Emery," said the captain, in a good-natured tone.  Turning
aft he said to himself, "There is stuff in that lad, though he has
evidently been brought up among the Methodists."

The black steward took Peter into his pantry, and having given him a
good meal, pressing him to eat as much as he wanted, led him forward.
On the way he told him the ship was the _Primrose_, of 600 tons, bound
out to the Mauritius, and that afterwards she was to visit other places
in the Eastern Seas.  Entering the seamen's berth, he pointed to one of
the standing bed-places on the side, and told him he might turn in and
go to sleep as long as he liked.  Little Peter, who had never before
seen a black man, and fancied that all such were savages, was much
surprised to hear him speak English and address him in so kind a manner.

"Thank you," said Peter, "I do feel very sleepy, and am glad to go to
bed."

Before Peter took off his clothes, however, he knelt down, and from the
bottom of his heart returned thanks to God for having preserved his life
and brought him on board so fine a ship.

If Peter was surprised at the appearance of a black man, much more
astonished was the latter at seeing the boy in the attitude of prayer.
He stood a moment at the door gazing at him.

"What! the little chap pray and not afraid of being seen!" he muttered
to himself; "that beats anything I ever heard; I can't make it out."
Yet Emery did not feel angry at what he had seen; but as he went aft to
attend to his duties, he kept muttering, "Dat is strange; he not afraid;
can't make it out."

He was soon afterwards sound asleep, when the men, with a fellow-feeling
for what he had gone through, took care not to arouse him, and he slept
till breakfast time the next day.

Peter found a considerable difference between the crew of the _Primrose_
and that of the _Polly_.  They were generally a hearty, merry set; but,
alas! he soon heard oaths and curses coming out of the lips of most of
them.  Some, too, were morose and ill-tempered and discontented with
their lot, and all seemed utterly indifferent about their souls.

Peter, however, was treated kindly, though of course he had to perform
the usual duties of a ship's-boy, shared by the two other lads somewhat
older than himself, apprentices on board.

The first day he got into the berth when no one was there, and was able
to read his Bible without interruption for nearly an hour.  He was
thinking that it was time to go out lest he should be wanted, when a
tall handsome lad entered the berth.

"What! young chap!" exclaimed the latter, "are you a book-worm?  I used
to be fond of reading tales and adventures; let us have a look at the
story you have got hold of."

"It's no story, it's all true," answered Peter; "it is God's word."

"Is that your style of reading?  I have no fancy for it, though each man
to his taste, I say," observed the youth.

"You would find it a very interesting book, though, Owen Bell," said
Peter, who had heard the youth's name.  "I never get tired of it, but I
read it whenever I can; for it's only by reading it that we can know how
to obey Christ, and be prepared to live with Him in heaven."

"Oh, but I have to live down here and knock about at sea," answered Owen
Bell, with a careless laugh.  "It will be time enough when I become an
old chap, like Simon Hixon, to think about matters of that sort."

"Who is Simon Hixon?" asked Peter.

"The oldest man on board.  You might have heard him growling away and
swearing at the cook, after dinner to-day, because the soup was not
thick enough," answered Bell.

"Does Simon Hixon read the Bible?" asked Peter.

"Not he.  You had better just try and persuade him to do so, or to
listen to you, for I doubt if he can spell his own name," said Bell.

"Perhaps when he was young he might have said that he would begin to
read the Bible when he was old, and you see he has not begun yet,"
observed Peter.

"No, because he is such a sulky, swearing old ruffian.  If he had been a
decent sort of fellow, I dare say he would have begun, if he had
intended to do so, just like my father, who used to read the Bible to
the day of his death," remarked the lad.

"But if Simon had begun to read the Bible when he was young, he would
not have become such as you say he now is," observed Peter.  "Jesus
Christ would have changed Simon Hixon's heart, and then he could not
have become a sulky, swearing old ruffian."

"You are too deep for me," said Bell, with a forced laugh.  "I never
quarrel with anybody, and don't want to quarrel with you; but let me
advise you not to go on talking in that sort of way to the other chaps
aboard; you won't hear the end of it if you do.  The cook was shouting
for you as I came along the deck; just hide away your Bible and go and
see what he wants."

Peter put his Bible into its case.

"You will let me read it to you sometimes, Owen?" he said, as he went
out of the berth.

"Well, I don't mind if I have a spell of it some Sunday," said Bell,
with apparent carelessness.  "It would put me in mind of old times at
home; but I should not like to be seen reading it on a week-day.  I have
no fancy to be called a Methodist, as you will be if you are found out."

Peter, going to the caboose, asked the cook what he wanted, and was told
to clean the pots and pans.  He set to work with right good will.

"You have done it handsomely, boy," observed the cook, when he had
finished.  "I have not had my pans so bright for many a day."

The _Primrose_ had a fine run down Channel.  On her passage a sudden
squall struck her; the watch on deck flew aloft to shorten sail.  Peter,
who was aft, lay out on the mizen top-gallant-sail yard, and taking the
weather earring, succeeded, with Owen Bell and two others, in handling
the fluttering sail.  As he reached the deck the captain called to him.

"You did that smartly, youngster; it's not the first time I have
observed you.  I'll keep my eye on you.  Go on as you have begun, and
you will make a famous seaman."

"I thank you, sir," said Peter, touching his hat as he went forward.

"I didn't expect it from a psalm-singer," observed the captain to the
first-mate with his usual good-natured laugh.

"There is no harm in the lad for all that," was the answer.

Peter, however, had his trials.  Being placed in a watch, he had to turn
in and out with his watch-mates.  The first night, as usual, he knelt
down to say his prayers.  He hadn't been long on his knees, before he
was interrupted by a suppressed titter, which soon broke into a peal of
laughter from all hands, and several shoes came flying about him.  He
knelt on, however, trying to keep his thoughts calm, and his heart
lifted up to God.

"Well, that young chap does sleep soundly," cried one; "wake him up,
Bill."

"Hilloa, Peter! are you acting parson?" cried Bill, one of the wildest
of the crew.

Peter made no reply, and endeavoured, though it was a hard task, to
continue his prayers.  Similar jeers and questions were now showered on
him from all sides.

"Oh, my Father in heaven," he mentally ejaculated, "help me to continue
to pray and soften the hearts of my shipmates towards me and towards
themselves.  May they see what a fearful state they are in when thus
obeying Satan, and strangers to Thee."

The men and boys, who, prompted by them, had been the worst, were silent
for some minutes, and Peter had nearly finished his prayers, when a
fresh volley of all sorts of articles was hove at him.  Still he
persevered.  Now his tormentors burst forth afresh with ribald jests and
shouts of laughter.

"If he stands all that he will stand anything," growled out old Simon
Hixon, who, though not taking so active a part as the rest, had
encouraged them in their conduct.

Peter at length rose from his knees without saying a word, took off his
clothes, and turned into his berth.  Although he never lay down without
commending himself to God, he did not kneel down before turning in after
the middle watch was over, and it was not till the second night he again
went to bed during the first watch.  The same conduct as before was
pursued towards him, but although he received two or three severe blows
he persevered.

"Well, for my part, I shall be ashamed to try him any more," he heard
Owen Bell exclaim as he rose from his knees.  "Peter, you are a brave
little chap, and if you had followed my advice this would not have come
upon you," said Owen, addressing him.

"You meant it kindly," answered Peter; "but as God gives me everything,
and takes care of me, I am sure it is my duty to thank Him night and
morning for all His benefits, and to ask Him to continue them to me.  I
would rather not have the things hove at my head, but you know it would
not be right for me to put God aside for fear of what any of you may
choose to do."

When on another night two or three began the same sort of work, the rest
cried out and told them to let the little psalm-singer alone; even old
Hixon held his tongue, and from that time forward Peter was allowed to
say his prayers in peace.



CHAPTER FIVE.

STRENGTH IN WEAKNESS.

When little Peter read his Bible on a Sunday while other men were
mending their clothes, or sleeping, or amusing themselves with old
newspapers or story books, he was generally allowed to do so in peace,
but he wished to study it on week-days, as well, convinced that it was
intended to guide him in every affair of life.  On each occasion that he
was found doing so, however, he was sure to be interrupted.  The other
boys would play him all sorts of tricks, and the men would send him to
perform some work or other, and if they could think of nothing else,
would despatch him with a pretended message to the man at the helm.
Simon Hixon was his greatest foe, and frequently as Peter passed gave
him a blow with a rope's-end.

One day as Peter was quietly reading his Bible in the berth, Hixon swore
that if he found him again at it, he would throw the book overboard.

"It would be a great shame to do that," answered Peter, "and I hope you
won't try.  God would, I am sure, not allow you to go unpunished."

"You see, youngster, if I am not as good as my word," growled Hixon.

Peter prayed that the old seaman's hard heart might be softened, and
that he might be prevented committing such a crime.

"I don't think if you read the book you would wish to destroy it," said
Peter.  "It is full of such beautiful things, that you would like to
read them over and over again if you were once to begin."

"I can't read, so there's little chance of that," said Hixon.

"But will you let me read them to you?" asked Peter.  "I shall be very
glad to do that."

"What! when I have told you that I would heave the book overboard if I
found you reading it?" said the old man.

"That makes no difference," said Peter, "only just listen to one or
two."

"Not I.  I don't want to hear your yarns," said Hixon, turning away.

Peter went on reading, and the old man did not further interfere with
him.

The ship sailed on.  When she was crossing the line the usual ceremonies
were performed.  Peter heard what was to take place, and, fearing that
his Bible would get wet, hid it away carefully.  He felt very anxious,
however, lest any one should suspect what he had done, and look for it.
He and the other young seamen who had not before crossed the line, were
ducked, and had all sorts of tricks played on them by Neptune and his
attendants.  Peter took everything in good part, though he was nearly
drowning in a sail triced up on deck and filled with water, when Owen
Bell jumped in and pulled him out.  He made his escape as soon as the
amusements were over, and hurried to the berth to look for his book.  To
his great joy he found it safe, and immediately hung it again round his
neck.

Some more weeks passed away.  Hitherto Owen Bell, even on a Sunday, had
always made some excuse for not reading with Peter.  At length one hot
Sunday, when the ship was becalmed in the tropics, and even Owen felt no
inclination for sky-larking, Peter got him to sit down while most of the
crew were asleep, or occupied in some of the few shady spots they could
find.  Peter, opening the book, read the account of the visit of
Nicodemus to the Lord.

"He was a learned and important man, and yet you see he wanted to be
taught, and the Lord did teach him.  He showed him he was a sinner by
nature, as all of us are, and that he must become a new creature."

"I cannot understand how he could become that of his own accord," said
Bell.  "It's hard to tell a man to do what he cannot."

"The Lord never did that," said Peter, "when He told him that he `must
be born again.'  He showed him clearly how it must be brought about.
You remember what He said about the Israelites when bitten by serpents
in the wilderness, and how they were cured immediately they looked on
the brazen serpent, taking Moses at his word when he told them to do so.
So if we only take God at His word, and look to Jesus on the cross
suffering for and bearing our sins, we shall be forgiven, and through
the power of the Holy Spirit be born again.  What I am sure God wants us
to do is to take Him at His word, to believe that He will do whatever He
says; and Jesus Himself tells us that he that believeth on the Son hath
everlasting life."

"What an old-fashioned little chap you are," said Owen, laughing.  "You
talk like a book."

"It seems all very clear to me, and I wish that it did to you, Bell."

"Well, the truth is, that I have been such a bad fellow, and have so
many sins to answer for, that I don't fancy when God comes to count them
up He can pardon me.  Even when I seemed most careless and full of
jokes, I have often had my heart pressed down with the recollection of
all the bad things I have done."

"But Jesus tells us in another place that `He came not to call the
righteous, but sinners to repentance,' and when He says, `God so loved
the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth
in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life,' He means by
`whosoever,' everybody, good people and bad people."

"But do you think if I was to try and please God and serve Him He would
pardon me?" asked Bell.

"He doesn't say that," said Peter.  "He promises to forgive only those
who trust in Jesus Christ, because Jesus was punished instead of them,
and if one person was punished instead of another He will not punish
that other; it would be unjust to do that.  Oh, Bell, why don't you take
God at His word, and believe on Jesus, and then you would be able to
obey Him and serve Him, because He will send you the Holy Spirit to help
you as He has promised?"

Much more to the same effect the young boy urged on his friend, while he
read numerous portions of Scripture to him to prove his words.

The boys were now called off to their duty on board, and the
conversation was interrupted.  Owen seemed very quiet and serious; but
he had no opportunity of speaking to Peter for some days.  At last, when
they were alone together again he said to him:

"I am sure you are right, Peter; I never before understood that Jesus
died instead of me on account of my sins, and therefore if I believe on
Him I shall be helped to overcome my sins, and shall not be punished for
them, but shall go to heaven, and live with Him in happiness; I see it,
and believe it now.  The Bible is no new book to me, Peter, I have heard
it read often and often at home, and have read it myself too, though I
could not understand its meaning."

After this, Owen Bell took every opportunity of reading with Peter, and
as he was as strong as a man, and respected by the crew, no one
interrupted them.

One evening they had been reading together, when Owen turned suddenly to
Peter, and said:

"Do you think if I was to die to-night I should go to be with Jesus?"

"I know you would, for I am sure you believe on Him."

"That I do, with all my heart and soul," exclaimed Owen Bell.  "And I
wish that I could serve Him and make known His love to others.  I feel
it myself, and I have been trying to speak to Emery about it, and though
he is little better than a heathen, he said he should like to know more
about one so good and kind as Jesus must be who died to save others; and
Bill, the cook, was ready to listen.  I think, Peter, if you offered to
read to them they would let you, and tell them all about the love of
Jesus, as you told me, and I cannot but fancy that they would trust to
Him as I have done.  It will be a hard matter to get at the captain and
mates; but I should not despair of them if they were to hear of the
glorious things which the Gospel contains."

Peter often afterwards recollected this conversation with Owen Bell.

That night he was aroused from his sleep by the cry of "All hands
shorten sail!"

The men rushed on deck half-clothed, for they knew the summons admitted
of no delay.  In an instant they were flying aloft.  A heavy squall had
struck the ship, and she was heeling over, her masts bending like willow
wands and threatening to go every instant.  The sheets were let fly, but
before the sails could be furled there came a crash, and the
fore-topmast with its yard, to which several of the crew were clinging,
was carried away.  Their cries were heard as they struggled in the
foaming waters under the lee, but no help could be rendered them.  Away
the ship flew.  Every effort was made to clear the wreck and to furl the
sails.  Some time passed before it could be done.  The gale continued to
increase.

The captain stood back over the spot in the hopes of picking up some who
might have clung to the spars.  The names were called over.  Among those
who did not answer was Owen Bell.

"Poor fellow," said several.

"A fine young lad," said the captain, "I hope we may pick him up."

Peter hoped so too; but he did not mourn for his friend as his shipmates
did, for he was sure that if Owen Bell was drowned he had gone to be
with the Master, who, though lately found, he had been brought truly to
love.

The search was vain, the ship wore round and continued her course.
Peter missed Owen Bell greatly.  The rest of the men treated him, for
his friend's sake, perhaps, with less unkindness than before, and a more
subdued tone was perceptible among them; even the captain and mates
seemed to feel for the loss of the men, and fewer oaths were heard than
usual.

Peter found an opportunity of speaking to Emery, the <DW64>.  "That just
what Owen Bell say," answered the steward; "If Jesus die for me, and
love me, I ought to love Him."

"Yes," observed Peter, "but not only that; you must believe that He died
to take away your sins, and that your sins are taken away; that God
looks upon you as free from sin, and will receive you into heaven when
you die."

"How can that be?" asked the black.

"Because God says it," answered Peter; "what He says must be true."

"In that book you read?" asked the black.

"Yes, that book contains God's messages and promises to man.  It is
through this alone, and the leading of the Holy Spirit, that we know
anything about God.  Without that we should be worshipping blocks of
stone, just as Owen Bell was telling me the other day your countrymen
do."

"Yes, and many other people in the world, and in the countries we are
going to," observed Emery.  "But I can't stop to listen longer; another
day you tell me more of this."

Peter gladly promised that he would do so.

To his surprise one evening, after he had cleaned up the pots and pans,
the cook asked him to come and sit in the caboose, and begged him to
read a chapter or two in the Bible.  Peter did so, and explained it to
the best of his power, and frequently after that he spent an hour in the
evening in the same way.

The ship had now rounded the Cape of Good Hope.  The wind was fair, the
weather continued fine.  Peter had determined to try again to get Hixon
to let him read to him.  It seemed so sad that an old man should
continue to refuse listening to God's message of love.  One Sunday he
found him sitting by himself, as he usually did, stitching away on the
sleeve of a jacket.  Peter sat down near him and began to read to
himself.  Hixon eyed him, but not with that angry look which he
generally cast when Peter was reading.

"Would you like to hear some of it while you are at your work?" asked
Peter at length.

"Well, boy, as you are a good sort of chap after all, and axes me so
often, I don't mind hearing one of your yarns out of your book; though I
don't see how it can do me much good," he replied, after a little time.

This was all Peter wanted.  He read the parable of the "Pharisee and
Publican."

"Which of them do you like the best?" asked Peter.

"Can't say I care for that proud chap who thought himself better than
anybody else.  I like t'other more, a good deal."

"Because he says, `Lord, be merciful to me a sinner'?" asked Peter.

"Ay," said Hixon, bending down his head.  He had for some time ceased to
ply his needle.

"Then do you know how God says He alone will be merciful?"  Peter asked.

"No, 'cept to them as be sorry for what they have done bad, and try to
do better."

"Oh, no, no!  God does not say that; Satan is always trying to make
people believe it, because he well knows that if people try to make
themselves better, trusting only in their own strength, they will fail.
God says that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in
Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.  By faith ye are
saved."  And Peter, in his own simple way, went on to explain that Jesus
Christ, by dying on the cross for our sins, has become our Saviour, and
that if men will lovingly trust to Him, God will not punish them, but,
on the contrary, will look on them as possessed of the righteousness of
Christ.

"That's wonderful," exclaimed old Hixon, after Peter had explained the
truth in several ways to make him understand it.  "I can hardly believe
it; and yet I suppose if one chap deserved a thrashing from me, and a
bigger one said, `Thrash me instead,' and I did thrash him, and well
too, I could not thrash the little one also."

Hixon continued silent for awhile and said nothing.  He was evidently in
deep thought, as though perplexed with something he was trying to make
out, but could not understand.

"But I suppose a chap must not go and do what he likes after that?" said
old Hixon at length, eagerly fixing his eyes on Peter.

"No.  If he really loves Jesus, which he must do when he knows that
Jesus suffered so much for his sake, and saved him from hell, he will
try and be like Him and serve Him, and turn away from and hate his
sins," was Peter's answer.

"For my part, I don't feel as how I could ever be good, and give up
swearing, and getting in a rage, or drunk, too, if the liquor came in my
way.  I could only cry out--loud enough, too, like the man you were
reading about--`Lord, be merciful to me a sinner!' and I don't think God
would hear such a wicked chap as I have been," muttered the old man.

"The Bible says that Jesus Christ came into the world to save the worst
of people as well as the best; `I came not to call the righteous, but
sinners to repentance.'  These are the words of Jesus Himself.  God
promises to hear all who come to Him.  He says, `Knock, and it shall be
opened unto you; seek, and ye shall find.'"

"I will try and ask Him for what He knows I want," said the old man.
"And, Peter, just do you pray for me, and if you see me growing sulky,
come and speak to me those words you spoke just now, `Jesus loves you.'
I don't think I could stand hearing that and go on fighting against Him
as I have been so long doing--though it's wonderful! very wonderful!"

Peter did not fail to do as Hixon asked him.  He seldom had occasion to
repeat the blessed announcement.  The old man got into the habit of
saying to himself whenever he found his anger rising, "Jesus loves me,
Jesus loves me," and his ill-feelings were subdued.

How blessed would be the result if all who read this, and many more,
too, were to act like that rough old sailor.



CHAPTER SIX.

SAVED FROM THE WRECK.

With the exception of the gale spoken of in the last chapter, the
_Primrose_ had enjoyed fine weather for the greater part of the passage.
But dark, heavy clouds now rolled across the sky; the wind blew
fiercely, and the seas rose up in mountainous billows, such as Peter had
never before beheld.  The wind, however, was fair, and with her
after-sails furled, and closely-reefed topsails only set, the ship flew
on before it.  As Peter stood on deck he watched sea after sea rolling
up astern and threatening to break on board, but with a loud roar, just
as they reached her, their foaming summits came hissing down, and she
glided up the side of a huge billow ahead.  For an instant she seemed to
hang on the top of the watery ridge, and then slid down into another
valley, up the opposite side of which she climbed as before.

She had thus run for some distance when the wind dropped, and she lay
rolling in the trough of the still heavy sea.  The sky overhead was dark
and lowering, a drizzling rain fell, and the air was oppressive.  The
captain and officers looked anxious.  They had cause to be so, for
suddenly the wind again rose, now blowing from one quarter, now from
another, and all hands were kept on deck ready to brace round the yards
as might be required.  For several days no observation had been taken,
and old Hixon told Peter that he feared the ship had been driven
considerably out of her course.

"Will the captain soon be able to get an observation to steer the right
way?" asked Peter.

"If the sky clears he may, but I have known it to remain like this for
days and weeks together, and though Captain Hauslar is as good a seamen
as I should wish to sail with, he may be out in his reckoning, and there
are some ugly rocks and shoals to the eastward, which on a dark night it
is a hard matter to see till one is right upon them," answered old
Hixon.

After the ship had been knocking about for some days, the wind again
came fair, though somewhat strong, and the captain, anxious to make up
for the long delay, and hoping to escape all dangers, with the ship
under moderate canvas steered to the eastward, ordering a bright
look-out to be kept.  The middle watch had been called, and the fresh
look-outs, rubbing their eyes, had just gone to their posts.  It was
Hixon's turn at the wheel.  Peter, who was in the same watch, followed
him aft, for the old man had undertaken to give him lessons in steering.
As he stood by his side he frequently quoted passages of Scripture from
his Bible, and sometimes, by the light of the binnacle lamp, he referred
to the book, and read long portions.

Hixon having just received the course from the man he relieved had taken
hold of the spokes, when there came a sharp cry from the look-out
forward, of "Breakers ahead!" followed quickly by "Land! land!"

"Down with the helm!" shouted the officer of the watch.  "All hands on
deck; brace up the yards!"

Almost before the ship's course could be altered, a fearful blow was
felt, which made the masts quiver and the ship tremble from stem to
stern--another and another followed.  The sea dashed up wildly over her,
throwing her on her beam ends; then came a fearful crash, and the tall
masts fell over her side towards the dark rocks which rose close to her.
The captain and all below had rushed on deck.  Awakened suddenly out of
their sleep they stood aghast, expecting instant death.  Some seemed to
have lost their senses and cried wildly for help.  The captain took his
post by the companion-hatch, gazing around and considering what orders
to issue.

Hixon, when he found that all hope of the ship moving off the rock was
gone, quitted the helm, and seizing Peter dragged him to the weather
bulwarks.  The next instant loud shrieks were heard.  A tremendous sea
washing across the deck had carried several of the crew overboard,
sweeping some away as it receded, and dashing others against the rocks.
The stern, which had been driven furthest in, afforded the most secure
place.  The captain shouted to the crew to come aft; some heard him, but
the roaring of the breakers drowned his voice.  Sea after sea struck the
devoted ship, and the crashing sound which followed each blow showed
that she was breaking up.  Still the darkness was so great, and so
fiercely did the waters rage between the ship and the shore, that
destruction appeared to await any who might attempt to reach it.
Already the stern of the ship was quivering under the blows of the
fierce seas.

"Hold on where you are, Peter," said Hixon; "I will try if there's any
way of getting on shore."

"But you may be washed off," said Peter.

"My life is worth little," said the old man, "I am not afraid to die
now, and I may, if I succeed, help to save others."

Fastening a rope round his waist which he secured to a ring-bolt in the
deck, he struggled to the side of the ship nearest the shore.  Peter
could no longer distinguish him.

The captain was standing still, undecided what to do, with the
third-mate and five or six seamen who had succeeded in getting aft, when
old Hixon was seen making his way along the deck from amid the mass of
wreck which cumbered it.

"The foot of the mainmast still hangs to the ship and the head rests on
a rock," he said; "what is beyond I cannot tell, it may be water or it
may be land, but the sea does not break over it; it is our only chance
if we can manage to reach it."

"Well, lads, we had better follow old Hixon's advice," said the captain.
"Those who wish it can go."

The mate and the other men hung back.

"Come, Peter," said Hixon, "you and I will set the example then.  To my
mind the ship won't hold together many minutes longer; and if we
succeed, as I think we shall, they will follow if there's time.  I'll go
sir," he cried to the captain, and grasping Peter, he led him along,
holding on to the rope.  They reached the mast, when Peter, keeping
close to his companion, scrambled up it.  Alone he felt that he might
have been unable to succeed, but supported by his old friend he made his
way along the mast, which all the time was swayed up and down by the
movement of the ship.  He feared lest it should be hurled from its
position, and the rest might be unable to escape by it.

They gained a rugged rock of some extent, but the water washed round
them and the spray occasionally flew over their heads.  They were still
at a distance from the mainland, but for the moment safer than on board
the ship.  They shouted as loud as they could to induce the rest to
follow them.  Every instant they feared that the mast would give way.
Again and again they shouted.  At last they caught sight of some one
moving along the mast.  He reached them, and it proved to be Emery, the
black steward.

"Are the rest coming?" asked Peter eagerly.

"Hope so; captain tell us to come first," was the answer; and soon
afterwards Bill the cook made his way to the rock.  They all shouted
together to give notice of their safe passage.  At length several seamen
were seen creeping along the mast, one after the other, as fast as they
could move.

"The ship is breaking up fast!" said one of them; "and if the skipper
don't make haste he will be lost."

"Oh, I wish you had all come at once!" cried Peter.  "I'll go back and
hasten him."

"No, no, boy; you will lose your life if you do!" said Hixon.  "It's his
own fault if he delays."

"That is no reason why we should not try to get him to come," said
Peter.

"You are right, boy," cried Hixon, "but if any one goes, I'll go."

Hixon was just getting on the mast, when he exclaimed that the skipper
and mate were coming along it.  At that moment the end of the mast began
to rise.  Hixon threw himself off it.

"Stand clear of the rigging," cried several voices.  The mast moved more
rapidly, the end lifting up in the air, then with a crash came down on
the rock, against which it was at once violently dashed by a sea which
broke over the wreck.  One of the poor fellows who had escaped was
dragged off into the seething waters.

"The captain is gone," cried several voices.

"I see a man close at hand," said Peter.  "Will any one pass a rope
round my waist?  I am sure I could clutch him."

There were several ropes scattered about the rock.  Old Hixon did not
hear Peter, but two or three of the other men did.  One of them fastened
a rope as he requested.  While they held on, Peter sprung off from the
rock into the water close to where the person he saw was floating.  He
clutched him tightly.  The next sea which came roaring up would have
clashed him against the rock, and his burden must have been torn from
him had not his companions, roused by the example set by the young boy,
whom they had been in the habit of laughing at, rushed forward and
dragged them both up together.

"It is the captain," cried one.  "But I am afraid he is gone," exclaimed
another.

"No!  I trust he is still alive," said Peter, sitting down by the
captain's side, and taking his head on his lap.  "He is breathing; he
will come to, I hope."

Peter rubbed the captain's chest while the steward and Bill moved his
arms gently up and down.  He uttered a groan; it showed that he was in
pain, and had been injured against the rocks, but it was an encouraging
sign.  They persevered, and at length the captain spoke in a low voice,
asking where he was.

"You are safe on a rock," answered Emery.  "We shall know better when
sun rise."

Just then a voice was heard at no great distance, shouting.

Hixon hailed in return, "Where are you?"

"On an island of some sort," was the answer.  "Many more saved?"

Hixon replied that the captain and ten men had escaped.

Although the channel between the rock and the land might be deep, with
the help of a man on the latter, if a rope could be passed to him, they
might all cross in safety.

They waited anxiously till daylight.  The wind had gone down by that
time, and the sea was much calmer.  A rocky island of some height rose
before them, but as the sea rushed in and out in the intervening space,
even a good swimmer might have hesitated to cross.

The larger portion of their gallant ship had disappeared, but the
afterpart still remained entire.

Several lengths of rope were cut from the rigging of the mainmast, which
had been thrown back on the rock.  They were eager to get across, for
they had no food and no water on the rock.  Several attempts were made
to heave a rope to the man on the island, but in vain, the distance was
too great.  At length a short piece of a spar was fastened to the end of
the signal halyards.  How eagerly it was watched, as it floated now in
one direction, now in another; gradually it drew out the line; it was
hoped that it might be drifted by some surge towards the man, who was
eagerly on the watch to catch it.

"We must not despair," said Peter to Hixon, who had come to see how the
captain was getting on.  "If we pray that God will send the spar to
shore He is certain to hear us, and He will do it if He thinks fit."

"What you say is true, I know," observed the old man; and together they
knelt and prayed that a way to serve them might be found.

The captain, who had returned to consciousness, looked at them with
astonishment, but said nothing.  In a short time a shout came from the
men who held the line on the inner side of the rock that the spar had
reached the shore, and that Tom had hold of it.  A stronger rope was
soon hauled across, and then one which could bear the weight of two or
three people at a time, if necessary.  That was secured between the rock
and the mainland.  First one man made his way along it, then another and
another, and all were going, with the exception of Emery and Bill, who,
with Peter and old Hixon, stayed by the captain.  The latter, seeing
this, cried out, "Shame, lads; would you desert the captain when he is
unable to help himself?"  The men, however, did not heed him: they were
eager to get hold of a cask of provisions which, with another of water,
Tom told them had been thrown up on the island.  The news made even
Emery and Bill inclined to go.

"Go, if you wish it," said the captain; "only come back and bring me
some water, for I am fearfully thirsty."

This made the men no longer hesitate.  Peter sat still.

"Are you not going?" asked the captain.

"I could not leave you, sir, while you are suffering," said Peter.

"But you want food and water as much as they do," said the captain.

"They will bring it to me, sir," answered Peter.

Notwithstanding what the captain said, neither Peter nor old Hixon would
leave him.  The latter was busily hauling pieces of planking and rope.
Having collected enough for his purpose, he set to work to manufacture a
cradle sufficiently large to contain the captain.  Having arranged his
plan he shouted to the other men to come and assist him.  Two only,
however, responded, Bill and the black; the remainder were wandering
along the shore, looking out for whatever might be washed up.  The black
set the example.  Bill followed him back to the rock, but they brought
only a small piece of salted tongue and some biscuits, almost soaked
through, but no water.  The captain could only taste a very little, but
there was enough to satisfy Hixon's and Peter's appetites.  In vain the
poor captain cried out for water--nothing had been found to carry it in.

"The more reason we should make haste with the cradle," observed Hixon.

It was at length placed on the rope, with a line attached, which Bill
carried across.  Peter volunteered to go in it, and safely passed over.
It was then hauled back, and the captain was drawn across.  Hixon and
the black followed.  By this time the rest of the men had disappeared.
The captain was soon sufficiently revived by the water which had been
obtained to look about him.  He told his companions that he believed
they were on one of the many wild rocky islets which exist in that part
of the ocean, and that they must carefully husband the water, as
possibly no spring might be found.

As the captain wished to ascertain whether his surmises were correct,
Peter volunteered to climb to the summit of the height above them.  It
was fatiguing and very dangerous work, but he succeeded at length.  On
looking around him, he found that they were nearly at one end of a rocky
island, which extended for three or four miles to the eastward.  Not a
tree, or scarcely a shrub, was to be seen.  In every direction all was
desolation and barrenness.  He returned, not without difficulty.

"I thought I was right," said the captain.  "You must do your best, my
men, to collect all you can from the wreck; we shall need it; and, Gray,
I have a word to say to you.  You saved my life, I am told; if we ever
get away from this, I will prove your friend."

"I only did my duty, sir," said Peter.  "I thought I could save you, and
God helped me."

"You seem to have great trust in God."

"Yes, sir," said Peter.  "He is a very present help in time of trouble,
and we all have reason to trust Him."

"I have never done so before," whispered the captain; "but I will try in
future."

In the meantime the other three men were collecting fragments of sails
and spars, pieces of rope, and several things which formed part of the
cargo, a bale of cloth and another of clothing--the latter was
especially acceptable to all the party, who, with the exception of Hixon
and Peter, had little on when they left the ship; but of still greater
value was a cask of biscuits, another of herrings, and a few pieces of
pork.  What the rest of the crew might have discovered they could not
tell.

As the captain could not move, a hut was built of the pieces of sail and
spars, and a bed having been made up beneath it with some dry grass and
a piece of canvas for the captain to lie on, he and his companions
prepared to pass the first night of their sojourn on the desolate rock.



CHAPTER SEVEN.

LIFE ON THE ROCK.

When morning broke the gale had entirely ceased, but no part of the ship
hung together, and all hope of obtaining any provisions from her, except
such as might be washed up on the shore, was lost.  The captain's
condition also caused his companions much anxiety; he was suffering
greatly, and appeared to be weaker than on the previous day.  They had
breakfasted on a small portion of biscuit and tongue, but their scanty
supply of water was almost exhausted at their first meal.  Peter gave
the captain the larger part of his share, and having drunk a little
himself, entreated that the remainder might be reserved for him, as he
complained greatly of thirst.

None of the rest of the crew had returned.  Peter offered to stay by the
captain if the three other men would go in search of them, and ascertain
whether any water was to be found.

"If we are to live we must do so," said Hixon; "come along, mates; I
know Peter will look after the captain," and they set off.

After Peter had moistened the captain's lips, and made his bed as
comfortable as he could, he said, "Shall I read to you, sir?"

"What have you got to read?  How can you have any books here?" asked the
captain.

Peter drew his Bible out of the canvas slung round his neck, and showed
it to the captain.  The cover, of course, was drenched with sea-water,
but the inside was quite dry.

"Yes, you may," was the answer; "when a man is sick as I am it is a good
book to listen to, and I am fit for nothing else."

Peter made no reply, but began to read.  He came to the account of
Lazarus and the rich man.

"What does Abraham's bosom mean?" asked the captain.

"Heaven, sir," answered Peter; "it must be a glorious place, for Christ
has gone before to prepare it for those who love Him."

"I hope when I die I shall go there," murmured the captain, more to
himself than Peter; "I have not been a bad man, or done much harm to any
one, and have tried to do my duty, and have never got drunk at sea; and
I hope I have done some good in my time, so I should think God would let
me into heaven."

Peter prayed that he might give a right answer.  "God says, sir, in His
book, that `there is none that doeth good, no, not one,' and that `He
gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not
perish, but have everlasting life.'  The rich man we have been reading
about does not seem to have done much harm, and very likely he thought
himself pretty good, and yet he went to hell."

"Then how is a man ever to get to heaven?" asked the captain, somewhat
petulantly.

"God says, `Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved.'
He wants us to take Him at His word.  He tells us that our own good
deeds are as filthy rags, and that we must trust to the sacrifice of
Christ, to His blood shed for us; and thus we shall be clothed with His
righteousness, with His pure and spotless robe; and so God will not look
upon our iniquities, because He has accepted Christ's punishment instead
of what we deserved, and we shall therefore not be punished."

Thus Peter continued to place the loving Gospel before his captain.  The
latter listened, often asking some more questions.  At last he put his
hands before his eyes, and murmured, "It's wonderful that a mere boy
should know all this, and be able to explain it so clearly.  It's true;
yes, I am sure of that."

"Let us pray, sir, that God's Holy Spirit will bring it home to your
heart," said Peter, as if the remark had been made to him.  "God has
said we shall not ask in vain."

The captain's eye brightened; a new hope, new thoughts and feelings,
rose in his bosom.

Peter again turned to his book.  He read many portions, the captain
appearing in no way wearied.

He was so employed when a shout reached their ears, and Peter, going out
of the tent, saw old Hixon making his way down the rocks.  He brought
his sou'-wester full of water.

"Praised be God, we have found a spring two miles off.  There was
nothing else to bring it in but this," he said, offering the water to
the captain and Peter.  "The rest of the men collected near it, but when
I told them that they ought to come and help to carry you up the hill,
captain, they said they were free now, and didn't acknowledge any man's
authority."

"I should have thought, Hixon, from what I know of you, that you would
have been among them," observed the captain.

"So I should, sir, a few weeks ago, but Peter there, out of his Bible,
showed me what a sinner I was, and how I must love Jesus Christ and obey
Him, and I know He would not have left any man to perish, and so, sir,
as long as you live--and I hope we shall escape from this rock--I will
not leave you."

"Thank you, Hixon," said the captain; "I am sure you speak the truth.
But what has become of Emery and Bill?"

"They said they would stop and have some food, and then come back and
try and get you up to the spring, which is a warmer and pleasanter place
than this."

In a short time the other men appeared, but the captain felt so much
pain when they attempted to move him, that he begged them to let him
remain where he was.

"I am afraid, sir, they will soon have eaten up all their provisions,
and then they will be coming down to get what we have collected,"
observed Bill.  "Perhaps, if you are among them, you might persuade them
to put themselves on an allowance."

The captain sent a message by Hixon, but the men only laughed at him,
and replied that a ship was sure soon to appear, and take them off,
though they took no pains to make their situation known.  The captain,
however, told Hixon and the rest to form a flag-staff out of the spars
which had been cast ashore, and to erect it on the highest point with a
piece of the cloth which they had found, as a flag.  They did so.

Day after day passed by, and though one or the other was constantly on
the look-out, no distant sail met their anxious gaze.

Peter was thankful that the captain appeared to be slowly recovering his
strength, though still unable to move.  By husbanding their provisions,
the little party on the shore hoped to support existence for some weeks
to come.

When Hixon arrived one day with their usual supply of water, he brought
word that the rest of the crew had deserted the spring and were nowhere
to be seen.  He thought probably that they had gone down to the shore to
try and catch fish, or collect mussels, or anything that might have been
thrown up.  He and his companions were searching about for the same
object, that they might eke out the diminishing store of their more
nutritive food, and give the captain a larger supply.  Peter, when not
thus employed, read to the captain, as also to the other men, and Bill
and the black were well pleased to listen, as were the captain and
Hixon.  Indeed, the light of God's blessed truth shone on the small
shipwrecked party, and shed on them its warmth and healing influence.
It never occurred to young Peter to pride himself that the light shone
from the lamp he carried within him.

The weather had again changed, and instead of a balmy breeze and
sunshine, a fierce gale was blowing, and heavy showers came down upon
their heads.

They were sitting beneath the shelter of their tent, while Peter was
reading to them, when voices were heard, and several of the crew
appeared.  They looked wretched, and nearly starved.

"Hilloa!" cried one of them, seeing the cask of provisions near the
entrance of the hut.  "What, have you still got food?  We thought that
you must be as badly off as we are."

The rest came up, and though the captain, with his friends,
expostulated, and promised to give the men a small portion, they took
possession of more than half of the remaining provisions.  With the
supply of food they had thus obtained, they returned to their former
camp near the spring.  The captain was deeply grieved.

"It would have killed me with rage a short time ago, but I feel more
sorry for them now; and I am afraid the food will only prolong their
lives a day or two, while the want of it may shorten ours."

As was to be expected, in a couple of days they returned for more.  Bill
proposed fighting as he saw them coming, rather than give it up.

"It would only make matters worse," observed the captain, "as they would
be sure to overpower us.  We must trust that God will find some way for
our escape."

The captain told Bill to give to each of them the same rations which
they allowed for themselves, though it was not more than just sufficient
to support life.  Each day they came for their allowance, but still did
not offer to assist in removing the captain.  Hixon and the rest were
very indignant.

The captain, however, quieted them, and insisted upon the provisions
being equally shared amongst all the survivors from the shipwrecked
crew.

At length, although their allowance had been still further reduced, no
biscuits nor meat remained.  A few herrings and some cabbages which had
been washed up, and were wellnigh rotten, were the only articles of food
they still had.  Bill, however, came back with some birds' eggs and he
thought that soon more might be obtained should the weather clear, and
the birds visit the island in greater numbers.

Peter had, with the rest, taken his turn in watching by the flag-staff.
He was casting his eyes around when they fell on the sails of a vessel
just rising above the horizon.  He watched her eagerly--she was drawing
near.  He ran down the hill to give the joyful intelligence to his
friends.  They quickly returned with him, the captain telling them to
leave him alone, as he felt quite well enough to remain by himself.
Each man carried a bundle of drift-wood, some dry grass, or branches
from the numerous low bushes they found in sheltered spots, to assist in
lighting a beacon, should the vessel not draw near till nightfall.  A
tinder-box had enabled the other party to obtain a light.  Bill went for
it.  When he told them of the ship being seen, they would not believe
him.

"Get up and have a look at her," he answered.

One of them did so.  On being convinced, some showed their satisfaction
by leaping about and shouting, others growled out that she would not
come near the land, but none thought of praying that she might be
directed towards them, or showed any gratitude at the prospect of
deliverance.

On came the ship, but as she neared the island the shades of evening
concealed her from sight.  The beacon was immediately lighted, but they
had to remain all night in the uncertainty whether it had been seen.

How anxiously they waited for the return of morning, and how eagerly
they cast their straining eyes in the direction she had last appeared as
daylight broke on the world of waters.  As the light increased, she was
seen standing for the island.  A shout rose from their throats, but they
themselves were startled by the hollowness of the sound.

The wind had been increasing.  As she drew near, it raged furiously, and
a heavy surf beat everywhere on the shore.  With sinking hearts, they
saw the ship haul her wind, and again stand off the dangerous rock.

"We are deserted," cried several voices, and loud complaints were made
of the stranger's indifference to their sufferings.  They watched till
she was lost to sight, and most of them declared she would not return.

"If he is a Christian man I am sure he will," said Peter, who had been
sent up by the captain to ascertain how things stood.  He returned with
his report.

"Don't be down-hearted, sir; God, you know, will take care of us.  And
even if that ship sails away, He can send another," said Peter.

The flag was kept flying all day, and the beacon fire lighted again at
night.

A few herrings and some almost rotten cabbages now alone remained;
starvation threatened to overtake the shipwrecked mariners.  Most of the
crew gave way to despair.  One or two had become almost delirious from
hunger and talked of rushing into the sea and drowning themselves.

"If you do, mates, you will go into the presence of God Almighty with
another great sin unrepented of on your heads, besides those you have
already committed," said old Hixon.  "Let us pray to God to help and
deliver us; we have no other hope."

His words had great effect among his late shipmates; for some time they
were far more orderly and quiet than they had been hitherto.

Another day passed and the gale continued blowing furiously, and the
stranger did not re-appear.  Again they were on the look-out.  At
daybreak she was not to be seen; the wind, however, had abated.  As the
day drew on, Peter, who was on the look-out, caught sight of a small
speck in the south-east; it grew larger and larger.

"The ship; the ship!" he shouted out.  The cry was taken up by those
scattered about on the rock, and passed on from one to the other.  They
hurried away along the island in the direction she was seen.  Peter
waited till he was sure there could be no mistake, and then hastened
down to the captain, feeling that the good news would cheer him up.
Bill and the black steward were on the opposite shore collecting
mussels.  Hixon stood gazing at the stranger for some minutes, and then
said to himself, "I had better go too, or maybe they will not tell of
the captain and the rest."

As he neared the further end of the rock he found the ship hove-to and a
boat approaching the shore.  On reaching the little bay into which the
boat had put, he found that the starving people had tumbled into her,
and that she had already shoved off.  He shouted loudly.  The boat put
back.  The captain of the ship, who had himself come in the boat with
provisions and water, having heard his account, expressed his
indignation at the men who would have allowed their shipmates to be left
behind.  They replied that they were afraid it would come on to blow
again, and that the ship might be driven off and they left behind.

"I would not desert them if I had to remain a week or a month more,"
answered the captain, ordering two of his crew to accompany him, and to
bring a boat-sail with two spars.

"It's some miles from here, sir," observed Hixon.

"Never mind; if it were ten miles we will bring your sick captain with
us," was the reply.

The men told Hixon that their ship was the _Myrtle_, bound out to New
South Wales, and their captain's name was Barrow.

It was nearly dark when Captain Barrow reached the hut, and was
thankfully welcomed by poor Captain Hauslar.

"I am afraid that for my sake you will expose your ship to risk,"
observed the latter during their conversation.

"Do not trouble yourself about that, my friend; my first-mate is an
excellent seamen, and my crew obedient and trustworthy.  It's too dark
to go aboard to-night; we will start to-morrow, if, as I trust, you can
bear the journey after a night's rest and some food."

The fire was quickly lighted, and a meal prepared such as the
shipwrecked party had not partaken of for many a day.

"I will join you and your people in offering thanksgiving to God for His
many mercies," said Captain Barrow.  "You, I trust, acknowledge Him in
all your ways?"

"I did not till lately," was the answer.  And then Captain Hauslar told
him that he was indebted to young Peter for being brought to the truth.

"I should like to have that boy with me, then," observed Captain Barrow.
"One youngster like that can exert a wonderful influence for good among
a crew.  I frequently get rough characters, and it takes long before
they can be brought into order.  Every assistance is of value."

The journey to the boat was performed the next morning, Captain Barrow
assisting in carrying his brother commander.  Although the wind blew
heavily, the ship was reached in safety, and she was once more put on
her course.



CHAPTER EIGHT.

PETER RISES IN THE WORLD.

Captain Hauslar expressed his astonishment at the good order which
prevailed on board the _Myrtle_.

"I have several old hands who have sailed with me for years," observed
her captain; "but many of the rest were rough enough when they joined.
However, by firmness and gentleness, and treating them as fellow-beings
with immortal souls, they now cheerfully do their duty, and many have
been brought to know Christ and serve Him."

Every morning and evening, when the weather permitted it, prayers were
read; the men were allowed certain hours in the week for mending their
clothes, and no work was permitted on Sundays except what was absolutely
necessary; Captain Barrow, however, took care it should not be spent in
idleness.  Those who could not read were taught, and books were provided
for those who could make use of them.

"Every ship that sails on the ocean might be like mine," observed
Captain Barrow.

"Yes," was Captain Hauslar's answer, "if every master was a Christian.
Missionaries may benefit the men partially, but until the masters and
officers set them a good example I fear that they will remain much as
they are."

Captain Barrow spoke frequently to Peter and old Hixon, and when the
ship reached Sydney he invited them to remain on board and return with
him.  Both Bill and Emery also gladly entered among her crew, while
Captain Hauslar took a passage back in her to England.

After this Peter made several voyages in the _Myrtle_; Captain Barrow
gave him instruction in navigation, for which he showed so much
aptitude, that after one or two voyages he was appointed third-mate, and
on the next he was raised a step higher.

He had not got over his idea that his father was still alive, but where
to seek for him was the question.  He earnestly prayed that he might be
led to find his father if he were yet alive, and he told Captain Barrow
what he was so anxious about.

"There are few coasts from which a man cannot escape, except perhaps
from some of the rocks in the Indian seas, or from the islands in the
Pacific, which are rarely visited," observed Captain Barrow.  "I would
help you if I could, though I should be sorry to part from you.  I would
advise you, if you still hold to your idea, to get a berth on board a
ship making a roving voyage among the islands in those seas, and you
might make inquiries at every place you touch at.  You can but do your
best, and if it is God's will you should find him, He, depend on it,
will lead you."

However, Peter made another voyage with Captain Barrow.  His first-mate
having got the command of a ship, Peter obtained his berth.  His Bible
had ever been his constant companion, and he had not failed to make good
use of it.

The _Myrtle_ had just returned home.  She required extensive repairs,
and as many months would pass before she would be ready for sea, Captain
Barrow told Peter that he could obtain for him the command of a vessel
bound out to the Mediterranean.  He was about to accept the offer when
he heard that a ship, the _Edgar_, was to sail to the Pacific, with the
master of which Captain Barrow was acquainted.  The master, Captain
Sandford, having no first-mate, gladly agreed, when he heard Peter
Gray's character, to give him the berth.

"I am thankful to have my first-officer a Christian," he said; "for I
have too often been defeated in my attempts to bring my crew to the
truth by the indifference or hostility of my mates.  Three of my men
have sailed with me for years, and I can trust them; but the rest are of
the ordinary stamp, though I have hopes that by our example and
exhortations they may be brought in the way they should go.  Ah, Mr
Gray, Christians enjoy a happiness and freedom from anxiety which no
others possess.  I leave my family, knowing that, as His dear children,
they are under God's protection, and they, while I am tossing about on
the ocean, are supported by the same faith, being sure that if I am
called hence we shall meet again in heaven.  When I part from my beloved
wife and daughter I can always remind them of that, and the truth cheers
all our hearts."

The _Edgar_ had a fine run down Channel, and there was so much to do in
getting things in order, that there was little time for conversation.

The second-mate, Tom Berge, had never sailed with Captain Sandford
before.  He was a bold, hardy seaman of the rough-and-ready school, and
seemed much astonished at the customs of his new captain.

"Our skipper is a good sort of man," he observed to Peter one day, "but
I don't like so much praying and preaching.  I cannot help fancying
something is going to happen."

"We want a great many things, and it seems reasonable to me that we
should pray for them to God, who gives us everything."

"But you don't mean to say that He hears such prayers as rough chaps
like me and others aboard here could say?"

"I am sure He hears the prayers of the youngest as well as the oldest of
sailors as well as of landsmen," said Peter.  "Jesus Christ says He came
`not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance;' and also God
says, `The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin;' so of course
He will listen to the roughest sinner who turns to Him."

"Would He hear my prayers now?" asked the second-mate.

"If you turn from your sins and seek Him, certainly," answered Peter;
"for He has said, `Seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be
opened unto you,' and that was said to all."

At length Berge not only consented to let Peter read the Bible to him,
but gladly accepted a copy of which the captain made him a present, and,
becoming a diligent reader himself, before the _Edgar_ rounded Cape
Horn, could say, "I rejoice in the blood of my risen Saviour."

There is no part of the ocean in which storms are more frequent or more
terrible than off Cape Horn.  Just as the _Edgar_ sighted the Cape, she
encountered a heavy gale, the seas rising in mountain billows around
her.

There was on board a young lad in whom Berge had from the first taken
great interest, and who had lately been brought to know Christ.  As the
gale was seen approaching, the order was given to close reef the
topsails, and the lad, with others, flew aloft.  He was on the lee
yard-arm.  The wind struck the ship with unexpected fury.  As she heeled
over, he lost his hold and fell into the foaming waters.  He was a good
swimmer, and struck out boldly.

"He must be saved!" cried Berge.  "Who will go with me?" and, running to
the falls, prepared to lower a boat.

Captain Sandford, though seeing the danger, was unwilling to stop him.
While the rest hung back, the four Christian men who have been spoken of
sprang to the assistance of the mate, and the ship being brought to the
wind, the boat was lowered.  Now she rose to the top of a foaming
billow, and now she was lost to sight.  Boldly she made her way towards
where the youth was struggling in the waves.  Just then a dark squall
with tremendous force struck the ship, and a heavy sea washed over her.
She escaped damage; but when the squall cleared away, the boat was
nowhere to be seen!  In vain those on board waited her return.

"They have been summoned hence," said the captain; "God's will be done,
they were all prepared to meet Him.  For that let us be thankful."

For several days the ship heeled to and fro, till the wind, coming fair,
she once more stood on her course, and entered the bright waters of the
Pacific.

Peter observed that the captain felt greatly the loss of the brave mate
and his companions.  His health had been for some time failing.

One morning, when the lofty Andes had just appeared in sight, he
summoned his first-mate to his bedside.

"Gray," he said, "I feel that I shall not live out the day.  I should
first wish to see all the crew, and then I would have a word with you."

The men came, one after the other, and the captain spoke affectionately
and earnestly to each, urging them to seek the Saviour while He might be
found, and recommending them to listen to the first-mate, who would
explain the truth to them.

"Gray," he said, when they had left him, "I must ask you to visit my
wife and daughter when you get home, and bear my last message of love to
them.  Take this letter and deliver it, if you can, with your own hands.
Send them the property I leave on board; I know that I can trust you;
with things of this world I have nothing more to do.  And now read some
of God's word and pray with me."

Peter remained with the captain till the last, and with sincere sorrow
closed his eyes.

Next day the ship entered the harbour of Valparaiso, where the captain
was attended to his grave by most of his own crew and those of several
other English merchantmen in harbour.

Peter had much felt the want of Christian sympathy in his sorrow.  Among
those who had attended the funeral of his late captain, he observed a
tall fine-looking man with grey hair.  A second glance convinced him
that he was his old captain, Mr Hauslar.

"What, Gray?" exclaimed the latter, when Peter spoke to him.  "I
remember you now.  Come on board with me; my ship lies close to yours."

Peter had the satisfaction of finding that his former friend continued a
faithful believer.  Delightful to both was the conversation they had
together.

The next day Captain Hauslar accompanied Peter to the agents, and from
his recommendation they directed him to take command of the _Edgar_.  A
young Christian man, whose ship had been lost, but the crew rescued by
Captain Hauslar, was appointed to serve as second-mate, and came
accompanied by four South Sea Islanders, who were considered good
seamen.

While the _Edgar_ was getting in her stores Peter enjoyed the company of
his friend, and with renewed spirits and hopes he sailed on his voyage.

The beautiful island of Otaheite and several others were visited.  He
then, according to his order, sailed northward, to call at the Sandwich
Islands, thence to proceed to Japan and through the Indian Seas round
the Cape of Good Hope homewards.

Calm as the Pacific is at times, fearful gales sweep across it.  To one
of these the _Edgar_ was exposed for several days, and Peter had to
exert all his skill and seamanship to preserve his ship.  He did his
best, and putting his trust in God, sought His protection.  The gale had
driven the ship considerably out of her course.  For some days no
observation could be taken; an anxious look-out was kept, for coral
reefs and islands were near at hand, and with little warning the ship
might be driven on one of them.

The night was unusually dark.  Peter and his mates had never left the
deck.  Just as morning was about to break a cry was heard of "Land! on
the lee bow!"  The ship was put about, and scarcely had she come round
when breakers were seen rising in a foaming wall astern.



CHAPTER NINE.

A STRANGE DISCOVERY.

As the day dawned an island, covered with the richest vegetation,
appeared rising to a considerable height, with a calm lagoon between it
and the circling reef.  A tempting passage was also seen leading from
the stormy ocean into the lagoon.

One of the natives coming aft said that he knew it well.  It was his
native island, and he offered to pilot in the ship.  Should the gale
increase, the danger of attempting to beat off that lee shore would be
great.  Peter therefore at once accepted the offer.  The _Edgar_ was
headed in for the lagoon.  The foaming breakers roared upon either side
as she shot between them, and in another minute she was gliding calmly
over the smooth water of the lagoon.  Piloted by the native in a short
time she brought up in a beautiful bay, where she might ride securely.

Scarcely had she dropped her anchor when several canoes paddled
alongside.  The native hailed one of them, and the people in her came on
board.  They were soon affectionately greeting him, while the rest of
the crew were engaged in buying fruits and vegetables and various
articles which the others had brought.

In a short time he came aft to Captain Gray.  The information he gave
was satisfactory.  When he had left the island the people had been
heathens, and he had expected to find them in the same condition.  Two
native catechists had, however, been for some time among them, and an
English missionary had a few months before arrived, whose house was
situated on the shores of another bay at a little distance; he had been
sent for, and would probably, ere long, be on board.  Peter, knowing the
treacherous character borne by many of the South Sea Islanders, had
resolved not to allow his crew to go on shore, or permit more than a few
natives at a time on board; he had now, however, no fears for the safety
of his ship.

Peter was in his cabin, when a message was brought him that a canoe was
coming off, with a white man in her.

"He must be the missionary," he said, and hurried on deck to welcome
him.  The canoe came alongside, and an old man in a seaman's dress, with
white hair streaming from under his hat, stepped on board.  Peter,
shaking him by the hand, inquired whether he was the missionary he was
led to expect would pay him a visit.

"Oh, no, sir! he is a very different sort of man to me; I only wish I
was him," was the answer.  "He will be here soon, I doubt not.  I came
aboard to ask whether the ship was homeward bound, and you would let me
work my passage in her; I have got some strength left in my old arms
yet."

"I'll gladly give you a passage, my man," said Peter, "if you desire to
return to England.  Have you been long out in these parts?"

"Ay, sir, many a year--I forget how many, for I lost all count of time
when I lived among the savages, but I reckon it carefully now since I
have been brought to my right mind by Mr Wilson, the missionary you
have heard tell of."

"I should have thought that at your age you would have been content to
remain with him and lend him a helping hand," answered Peter, trying to
restrain hopes and feelings rising in his breast which he feared might
be disappointed.  "The assistance of a Christian white man would be of
great value to him."

"That maybe, sir," answered the old man, "but there are those at home I
long to see again.  I left them years ago, and was shipwrecked upon
these islands.  For some time I had no chance of escaping.  Living among
the savages here, I grew to live as they lived, and forgot my home and
friends.  Since I have learned to love God I have been longing to see my
family again, but I have not been able to get back, for I have been away
on the other side of the island each time a ship has touched here.  If
you had left a wife and a little boy at home as I have, you would wish
to get back to set your eyes again on them, and hold them in your arms."

"A wife and a little boy!" exclaimed Peter, unable longer to restrain
his eagerness to learn who the old man was.  "Tell me their names, and
where they lived."

"It was at a place, maybe, you have not been to nor heard of either,
seeing it's of no great size," answered the old man; "it's called
Springvale, and is not far from the little town of Oldport; and my name
is Gray, sir, at your service."

"Gray!" exclaimed Peter, taking the old man's hand, and scarcely able to
speak.  "Come into my cabin, I wish to tell you more about your wife and
son."

Peter had no longer any doubt that his long-lost father stood before
him, but he was unwilling to make himself known in sight of his crew,
fearing also the effect the announcement would have on the old man.

Conducting the old sailor, whose countenance wore an expression of
astonishment, down into the cabin, he closed the door, and placing him
respectfully on a sofa, still holding his hand, sat himself down by his
side.

"You were telling me," he said, "that you have learned the truth, and
you know, therefore, God's love and mercy, and that He orders all things
for the best.  You have been very many years from home, and must be
aware that though your son when you saw him last was a little boy, he
must now be a grown man; your wife, too, would be an old woman.  Have
you ever thought of the hardships and trials to which she would probably
have been exposed, left all alone to struggle with the hard world, and
still having to go through them?  But suppose God in His mercy had taken
her to Himself, and you knew that she had been spending all these years
in happiness unspeakable, would you not have cause to rejoice?"

The old sailor gazed at the young captain, scarcely able to comprehend
him clearly.

"God is very merciful; He loves me, though I am a sinner, and orders all
for the best.  I know that is what Mr Wilson says, and he speaks the
truth, for he turned me from little better than a savage into a
Christian man," answered the old sailor.

As he spoke his eyes fell on Peter's Bible, which lay on the table with
the leathern case beside it.

"What are you driving at, sir?" he exclaimed in an agitated tone.  "I
remember that book, as if I had seen it but yesterday; it was my wife's.
Do you know her? tell me, tell me."

Peter placed his arm so that the old man's head might rest on it.  "My
name is Gray, sir," he said.  "That book was indeed your wife's, my
mother's, and I am very sure that I am your son."

"You Peter, my little boy?" exclaimed the old man, gazing in his
countenance.  "You captain of this ship, and I have found you after
these long years!  God be praised!  And your mother, tell me about her."

"I tried to prepare you, sir, for what I have to say," said Peter.  "She
has been among the blessed for many years, and her last prayer on earth
was that I might find you that you might be brought to know the Saviour
in whom she trusted."

"God's will be done!  God's will be done!" murmured the old man, letting
his head fall on his son's shoulder.  "He knows what is best.  In His
mercy He took her; and I all the time living like a savage, but He found
me--He found me; and He has sent you, and all through His love, to tell
me about her.  I began to fear that she might be poor and suffering, and
you living a hard life, or sent maybe to the workhouse, but He orders
all things for the best.  Praise His name!"

The old man could say no more.  His feelings overcoming him, he bent his
head and wept like a child.

No one would have recognised the once "roaring Jack Gray," and for some
time the wild, half-clad savage, in the now venerable-looking old
Christian man, who sat at supper with the young captain and the
missionary who had now arrived.

"I fear that I shall lose your assistance, friend Gray," said Mr
Wilson, "though I rejoice that you have found your son."

"I have been casting the matter in my mind, sir," answered the old
sailor, "and asking God to direct me, and, now she has gone whom I
longed to see, and my son in His mercy has been sent to me, I am very
sure that He does not want me to go away from this place.  I should be a
stranger in England, of no use to any one, and a burden to my son, and
here you tell me that I am of help to you among the natives, and I think
I am, as I can speak their language, and tell them about the love and
mercy of God, who found them out as He found me out, and has sent His
blessed Gospel of peace to them."

"I am very sure Captain Gray will agree with me that, although he may
wish to have you with him to look after you in your old age, you are
more certain to enjoy happiness here, knowing that you are of use to
your fellow-creatures, than you would be in returning to the land you
have so long left."

"I do not wish to bias my father," said Peter, "and I am very sure that,
seeking direction from God, he will be directed aright."

"It is settled then, my son," said the old sailor, looking up, "I'll
remain with Mr Wilson, and help him.  I can say with old Israel, about
whom he was reading to me the other day, when he saw Joseph, `Now let me
die since I have seen thy face, because thou art yet alive.'"

Peter agreed that his father was right in the resolution he had come to.

The first-mate, and several of the crew who had visited old Mr Gray in
his hut, begged that they might be allowed to put up a more comfortable
dwelling for him.  Peter thankfully accepted their offer, and several of
the natives, finding what they proposed doing, gave their assistance.
In a short time a neat cottage was erected in the shelter of a cocoanut
grove, with a verandah in front and a garden fenced in on one side.
Peter had also the satisfaction of taking on shore some clothing and a
number of articles which he thought might be of use to his father, as
well as a store of provisions such as were likely to keep in that
climate.

"Peter, you are over-generous to me," said the old man, when the gifts
arrived, "I never did anything for you."

"You must consider them as God's gifts; if He had not bestowed them on
me I could not have offered them to you," answered Peter.

"I see, I see," said the old man; "He orders all for the best, praise
His name."

Peter paid several visits to Mr Wilson, who, with his wife, had now
been nearly a year on the island.  He disclaimed any part in the
conversion of the old sailor, that having been brought about by the
instrumentality of the two native catechists who had preceded him.  By
that time a large number of the inhabitants of that part of the island
had burned their idols, and become nominal Christians, while a very
considerable portion were communicants, and evidently endeavouring to
walk in the footsteps of the Master they professed to serve.

"There is still, however, a wide field for our labours," observed Mr
Wilson, "for which I trust your father will be spared many years with
me."

Stormy weather, and the necessity of refitting and making certain
repairs which the _Edgar_ required, and for which the sheltered harbour
afforded peculiar facilities, kept her there for upwards of a fortnight;
when parting from his father, Peter proceeded on his voyage to England.

The _Edgar_ arrived in safety in England.  Peter had made a successful
voyage, and found himself the possessor of more money than he had ever
expected to receive.

As soon as the ship was safe in dock, and he had performed all the
duties required of him, he left her in charge of the first-mate and
proceeded to pay the promised visit to his late captain's widow and
daughter.  He found them living in a neat little cottage near London.
Mrs Sandford had heard of her husband's death, and cordially welcomed
Captain Gray.  She was anxious to receive an account of the last days of
his life, which he alone could afford.

"He died as he lived, trusting to the all-sufficient merits of Jesus
Christ his Saviour," said Peter; "it is a blessed thing, Mrs Sandford,
that God's promises are sure, and that those who thus die are taken to
be with Him."

"Indeed it is, Captain Gray; I know that I shall meet my dear husband in
His glorious presence, and my daughter enjoys the same certain hope.
That confidence has taken away the sting of grief which we should
otherwise have felt.  It was he who led us to the truth, and constantly
charged us to be prepared for what has occurred: he, indeed, seemed to
be aware that he should be taken during one of his voyages, yet none the
less did he trust in God that all would be well."

Mrs Sandford, after some further conversation, asked whether he
intended going home or taking up his residence in London while he
remained on shore, "because," she added, "as our means are limited, I
purpose taking lodgers, if such offer as I should be willing to
receive."

"I have no home," said Peter, and he gave her an outline of his history;
"if, therefore, you can accommodate me I shall be very glad to remain
here."

Soon after this, Mrs Sandford's daughter Susan entered the room.  She
was a pleasing, quiet, gentle girl, and appeared fully to share her
mother's faith; and when Peter had talked with her for some time, he
felt sure from the remarks she made that she was a true and earnest
Christian.  Peter had thought and read a good deal.  Captain Sandford
had left a well-selected library on board.  His knowledge had become
greatly enlarged, without in any way having his simple faith weakened.
The little shepherd-boy was now the thoughtful, intelligent, and
gentlemanly man, not possessed, perhaps, of the polish which mixing in
the great world gives, but that far more enduring refinement which
constant communion with Christ affords.  Worldly people, though
acknowledging the benefit of Christianity, know not its true source, and
are surprised to find Christ's humble disciples so free from coarseness,
and so gentle and courteous in their manners.

Susan had been taught in the same school.

Several weeks passed away.  Peter came to the conclusion that he should
wish to marry no other woman than Susan Sandford.  Perhaps Susan had
discovered this, for he was not a person who could well hide his
feelings; at all events he ventured to tell her so, and she promised to
become his wife.  He would gladly have married before going to sea, but
Mrs Sandford, who was a prudent woman, insisted on his waiting till he
had returned from his next voyage.

That voyage was a long one, for the owners again sent the _Edgar_ into
the Pacific.  Peter was able to pay a visit to his father, whom he found
labouring with devoted zeal as a catechist among the natives, and
submitting humbly to the directions he received from Mr Wilson, the
missionary.  The old man was delighted to hear of his son's intended
marriage, and begged him if he could to bring out his wife to see him.

"The utmost desire of my heart will then be fulfilled," he exclaimed;
"and, oh! how loving has God been to me by bringing me in His great
mercy out of darkness into His glorious light!  Every day I live I
wonder more and more; and, Peter, it is my belief I shall go on
wondering through all eternity, because I am sure we shall never
understand the love and mercy of Jesus, the author and finisher of our
faith, in all its fulness."

Peter willingly promised to do as the old man wished.  Had he still been
the rough ignorant sailor Jack Gray once was, he might have felt an
unwillingness to introduce his wife to him, even though he was his
father; but now how different was the case when he was to bring her to
the venerable Christian, patriarchal in appearance, and mild in manners,
so gentle and loving to all around!  It was a pleasure to see the
natives come up and speak to him, they all evidently holding him in
great respect.

Again the _Edgar_ had a prosperous voyage, and Peter having yet further
increased his means of supporting a wife, Mrs Sandford no longer
hesitated to allow her daughter to marry.  She had a further reason; her
own health was failing, and before the _Edgar_ was ready for sea Susan
lost her mother.

When Peter proposed that his wife should accompany him, she gladly
consented, and as the natives among whom his father lived had promised
to collect a large quantity of cocoanut oil to ship on board the
_Edgar_, Peter was once more able to visit the island.

He was told on his arrival that his father was ill.

The old man's eyes brightened up at the sight of his sweet-looking
daughter-in-law and son.  He blessed them both, and entreated that they
would spend the evening at his house.  He spoke cheerfully, and with
great thankfulness, of the progress of the Gospel in the island.  Peter
hoped that he might yet be spared to spend many more years in his useful
labours among the dark-skinned natives.

The following day, however, a relapse occurred, and holding his daughter
with one hand, his head resting on his son's arm, and his faithful
friend Mr Wilson and the two catechists standing by, the old sailor
breathed his last--a heavenly smile resting on the face of the once
"roaring Jack Gray."

Peter made many voyages accompanied by his loving wife, and by foresight
and prudence having realised a little independence, added to what her
father had left Susan, he was able to purchase the plot of ground on
which his mother's cottage stood with several acres around.  Here having
built a neat house, he settled down, and making his Bible a light to his
path and a lamp to his feet, his abode was truly as a light set on a
hill, he and his family proving a blessing to all around.






End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The History of Little Peter, the Ship
Boy, by W.H.G. Kingston

*** 