Frank Oldfield Part 14

"Merryweather, how are you, my friend?" he cried, coming up and shaking the captain warmly by the hand.

"Ah, Thomson, is that you?" said the other, returning the grasp. "I was very sorry indeed to hear of your misfortune."

"A bad business--a shocking business," said his friend, shaking his head despondingly. "Not a spar saved. Three poor fellows drowned. And all my papers and goods gone to the bottom."

"Yes, I heard something of it, and I was truly grieved. How did it happen?"

"Why, I'll tell you how it was. I don't know what it is, Merryweather, but you're a very lucky fellow. Some men seem born to luck: it hasn't been so with me. It's all gone wrong ever since I left Australia. We'd fair weather and a good run till we were fairly round the Horn; but one forenoon the gla.s.s began to fall, and I saw there was heavy weather coming. After a bit it came on to blow a regular gale. The sea got up in no time, and I had to order all hands up to reef topsails. We were rather short-handed, for I could hardly get men when I started, for love or money. Well, would you believe it?--half a dozen of the fellows were below so drunk that they couldn't stand."

"Ah, I feared," said Captain Merryweather, "that the drink had something to do with your troubles. But how did they manage to get so tipsy?"

"Oh, they contrived to get at one of the spirit-casks. They bored a hole in it with a gimlet, and sucked the rum out through a straw. There was nothing for it but to send up the steward, and Jim, my cabin-boy, along with the others who were on deck. But poor Jim was but a clumsy hand at it; and as they were lying out on the yard, the poor fellow lost his hold, and was gone in a moment. I never caught one look at him after he fell. Ay, but that wasn't all. About a week after, I was wanting the steward one morning to fetch me something out of the lazarette; so I called him over and over again. He came at last, but so tipsy that I could make nothing of him; and I had to start him off to the steerage, and take on another man in his place. He'd been helping himself to the spirits. It was very vexing, you'll allow; for he was quite a handy chap, and I got on very poorly afterwards without him. I don't know how you manage, but you seem always to get steady men."

"Yes," said Captain Merryweather; "because I neither take the drink myself nor have it on board."

"Ay, but I can never get on without my gla.s.s of grog," said the other.

"Then I'm afraid you'll never get your men to do without it. There's nothing like example--'example's better than precept.'"

"I believe you're right. But you haven't heard the end of my misfortunes, nor the worst either. It was a little foggy as we were getting into the Channel, and I'd given, of course, strict orders to keep a good look-out; so two of our sharpest fellows went forward when it began to get dark, and I had a steady man at the wheel. I'd been on deck myself a good many hours; so I just turned in to get a wink of sleep, leaving the first mate in charge. I don't know how long I'd slept, for I was very weary, when all in a moment there came a dreadful crash, and I knew we were run into. I was out and on deck like a shot; but the sea was pouring in like a mill-stream, and I'd only just time to see the men all safe in the _Condor_--the ship that ran into us--and get on board myself, before the poor _Elizabeth_ went down head foremost.

It's very strange. I hadn't been off the deck ten minutes, and that was the first time I'd gone below for the last sixteen hours. It's just like my luck. The captain of the _Condor_ says we were to blame; and our first mate says their men were to blame. I can't tell how it was.

It was rather thick at the time; but we ought to have seen one another's lights. Some one sung out on the other ship; but it was too late then, and our two poor fellows who were forward looking out were both lost.

It's very strange; don't you think so?"

"It's very sad," replied the other; "and I'm heartily sorry for it.

It's a bad job anyhow; and yet, to tell you the honest truth, I'm not so very much surprised, for I suspect that the drink was at the bottom of it."

"No, no; you're quite mistaken there. I never saw either the mate or the man at the wheel, or any of the men who were then on deck, drunk, or anything like it, during the whole voyage."

"That may be," said the other; "but I did not say it was drunkenness, but the drink, that I thought was at the bottom of it. The men may have been the worse for drink without being drunk."

"I don't understand you."

"No, I see you don't; that's the worst of it. Very few people do see it, or understand it; but it's true. A man's the worse for drink when he's taken so much as makes him less fit to do his work, whatever it may be. You'll think it rather strange, perhaps, in me to say so; but I _do_ say it, because I believe it, that more accidents arise from the drink than from drunkenness, or from moderate drinking, as it is called, than from drunkenness."

"How so?"

"Why, thus. A man may take just enough to confuse him, or to make him careless, or to destroy his coolness and self-possession, without being in the least drunk; or he may have taken enough to make him drowsy, and so unfit to do work that wants special attention and watchfulness."

"I see what you mean," said the other.

"Perhaps you'd all been drinking an extra gla.s.s when you found yourselves so near home."

"Why, yes. To tell you the truth, we had all of us a little more than usual that night; and yet I'll defy any man to say that we were not all perfectly sober."

"But yet, in my way of looking at it," said Captain Merryweather, "you were the worse for liquor, because less able to have your wits about you. And that's surely a very serious thing to look at for ourselves, and our employers too; for if we've taken just enough to make us less up to our work, we're the worse for drink, though no man can say we're drunk. Take my advice, Thomson, and keep clear of the grog altogether, and then you'll find your luck come back again. You'll find it better for head, heart, and pocket, take my word for it."

"I believe you're right. I'll think of what you've said," was the reply; and they parted.

"Jacob, my lad," said Captain Merryweather, as they walked along, "did you hear what Captain Thomson said?"

"Ay, captain; and what you said too. And I'm sure you spoke nothing but the real truth."

"Well, you just mark that, Jacob. There are scores of accidents and crimes from drunkenness, and they get known, and talked about, and punished; but there are hundreds which come from moderate drinking, or from the drink itself, which are never traced. Ships run foul of one another, trains come into collision, houses get set on fire; and the drink is at the bottom of most of it, I believe, because people get put off their balance, and ain't themselves, and so get careless, or confused, or excited, and then mischief follows. And yet no one can say they're drunk; and where are you to draw the line? A man's the worse for drink long before he's anything like intoxicated; for it is in the very nature of the drink to fly at once to a man's brain. Ah, give me the man or lad, Jacob, that takes none. His head is clear, his hand's steady, his eye is quick. He's sure not to have taken too much, because he has taken none at all.--But here we are. There lies my good ship, the barque _Sabrina_. You shall come on board with me at once, and see your quarters."

CHAPTER TEN.

OUTWARD BOUND.

Six weeks had elapsed since the barque _Sabrina_ had left the port of Liverpool. She was stealing along swiftly before a seven knot breeze on the quarter, with studding-sails set. It was intensely hot, for they had crossed the line only a few days since. Captain Merryweather had proved himself all that a captain should be--a thorough sailor, equal to any emergency; a firm but considerate commander; an interesting and lively companion, ever evenly cheerful, and watchful to make all around him comfortable and happy. Hubert Oliphant was full of spirits--happy himself, and anxious to make others the same; a keen observer of every natural phenomenon, and admirer of the varied beauties of ocean and sky; and, better still, with a heart ready to feel the bounty and love of G.o.d in everything bright, lovely, and grand. Poor Frank had become less sad; but his sorrow still lay heavy on his spirits. Yet there was hope for him to cling to; and he was rejoicing in the subduing of his evil habit, which was thus far broken through by his forced abstinence.

Alas! he did not realise that a smouldering fire and an extinct one are very different things. He was sanguine and self-confident; he fancied that his resolution had gained in firmness, whereas it had only rested quiet, no test or strain having been applied to it; and, worst of all, he did not feel the need of seeking in prayer that grace from above which would have given strength to his weakness and nerve to his good resolves. And yet who could see him and not love him? There was a bright, reckless generosity in every look, word, and movement, which took the affections by storm, and chained the judgment. Jacob Poole had become his devoted admirer. Day by day, as he pa.s.sed near him, and saw his sunny smile and heard his animated words, the young cabin-boy seemed more and more drawn to him by a sort of fascination. Jacob was very happy. The captain was a most kind and indulgent master, and he felt it a privilege to do his very best to please him. But his greatest happiness was to listen--when he could do so without neglecting his duty--to the conversations between Frank, Hubert, and the captain, as they sat at meals round the cuddy-table, or occasionally when in fair weather they stood together on the p.o.o.p-deck; and it was Frank's voice and words that had a special charm for him. Frank saw it partly, and often took occasion to have some talk with Jacob in his own cheery way; and so bound the boy still closer to him.

It was six weeks, as we have said, since the _Sabrina_ left Liverpool.

The day was drawing to a close; in a little while the daylight would melt suddenly into night. Not a cloud was in the sky: a fiery glow, mingled with crimson, lit up the sea and heavens for a while, and, speedily fading away, dissolved, through a faint airy glimmer of palest yellow, into clear moonlight. How lovely was the calm!--a calm that rested not only on the sea, but also on the spirits of the voyagers, as the vessel slipped through the waters, gently bending over every now and then as the wind slightly freshened, and almost dipping her studding- sail boom into the sea, which glittered in one long pathway of quivering moonbeams, while every little wave, as far as the eye could reach, threw up a crest of silver. The captain stood near the binnacle. He was giving a lesson in steering to Jacob Poole, who felt very proud at taking his place at the wheel for the first time, and grasped the spokes with a firm hand, keeping his eye steadily on the compa.s.s. Frank and Hubert stood near, enjoying the lovely evening, and watching Captain Merryweather and the boy.

"Steady, my lad, steady," said the captain; "keep her head just south and by east. A firm hand, a steady eye, and a sound heart; there's no good without them."

"You'll soon make a good sailor of him, captain," said Hubert.

"Ay, I hope so," was the reply. "He's got the best guarantee for the firm hand and the steady eye in his total abstinence; and I hope he has the sound heart too."

"You look, captain, as if total abstinence had thriven with you. Have you always been a total abstainer?" asked Frank.

A shade of deep sadness came over the captain's face as he answered,--

"No, Mr Oldfield; but it's many years now since I was driven into it."

"Driven!" exclaimed Frank, laughing; "you do not look a likely subject to be driven into anything."

"Ay, sir; but there are two sorts of driving--body-driving and heart- driving. Mine was heart-driving."

"I should very much like to hear how it was that you were driven into becoming an abstainer," said Hubert; "if it will not be asking too much."

"Not at all, sir; and perhaps it may do you all good to hear it, though it's a very sad story.--Steady, Jacob, steady; keep her full.--It may help to keep you firm when you get to Australia. You'll find plenty of drinking traps there."

"I'm not afraid," said Frank. "But by all means let us have your story.

We are all attention."

Hubert sighed; he wished that Frank were not so confident.

"Ay," said the captain, gazing dreamily across the water; "I think I see her now--my poor dear mother. She was a good mother to me. That's one of G.o.d's best gifts in this rough world of ours, Mr Oliphant. I've known many a man--and I'm one of them--that's owed everything to a good mother. Well, my poor mother was a sailor's wife; a better sailor, they say, than my father never stepped a plank. He'd one fault, however, when she married him, and only one; so folks like to put it. That fault was, that he took too much grog aboard; but only now and then. So my poor mother smiled when it was talked about in courting time, and they were married. My father was the owner of a small coasting-vessel, and of course was often away from home for weeks and sometimes for months together. A sister and myself were the only children; she was two years the oldest. My father used to be very fond of his children when he came home, and would bring us some present or other in his pocket, and a new gown, or cap, or bonnet for my mother. Yet somehow--I could hardly understand it then--she was oftener in tears than in smiles when he stayed ash.o.r.e. I know how it was now: he'd learned to love the drink more and more; and she, poor thing, had got her eyes opened to the sin and misery it was bringing with it. He was often away at nights now.

We children saw but little of him; and yet, when he _was_ at home and sober, a kinder father, a better husband, a n.o.bler-looking man wasn't to be seen anywhere. Well, you may be sure things didn't mend as time went on. My mother had hard work to make the stores hold out, for her allowance grew less as we children grew bigger. Only one good thing came of all this: when all this trouble blew on my poor mother like a hurricane, she shortened sail, and ran before the gale right into the heavenly port; or, as you'll understand me better, she took her sins and her cares to her Saviour, and found peace there. At last my sister grew up into a fine young woman, and I into a stout, healthy lad.--Steady, Jacob, steady; mind your helm.--My father didn't improve with age. He was not sober as often as he used to be; indeed, when he was on sh.o.r.e he was very rarely sober, and when he did stay an hour or two at home he was cross and snappish. His fine temper and manly bearing were gone; for the drink, you may be sure, leaves its mark upon its slaves. Just as it is with a man who has often been put in irons for bad conduct; you'd know him by his walk even when he's at liberty--he's not like a man that has always been free. Ah, my poor mother! it was hard times for her. She talked to my father, but he only swore at her. I shall never forget his first oath to her; it seemed to crush the light out of her heart. However bad he'd been before, he had always been gentle to _her_. But he was getting past that. She tried again to reason with him when he was sober. He was sulky at first; then he flew into a pa.s.sion. And once he struck her. Yes; and _I_ saw it, and I couldn't bear it. I was flying at him like a tiger, when my dear mother flung her arms round me, and chained me to the spot. My father never forgot that. He seemed from that day to have lost all love for me; and I must own that I had little left for him. My mother loved him still, and so did my sister; but they left off talking to him about his drunkenness.

It was of no use; they prayed for him instead.--Steady, Jacob; luff a bit, my lad; luff you can."

"And did this make you an abstainer?" asked Hubert.

"No, sir; so far from it, that I was just beginning to like my grog when I could get it. I didn't see the evil of the drink then; I didn't see how the habit keeps winding its little cords round and round a man, till what begins as thin as a log-line, becomes in the end as thick as a hawser. My mother trembled for me, I knew; I saw her look at me with tears in her eyes many a time, when I came home talkative and excited, though not exactly tipsy. I could see she was sick at heart. But I hadn't learned my lesson yet; I was to have a terrible teacher.