Chapter XIV: The Parted Ship

"God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in time of trouble."

THE City of Calcutta is situated on the Hoogly river, which is a branch of the Ganges, navigable to ships of the largest size. The Dolphin was a merchant ship, and was laden with ice and provisions, which the captain wished to exchange for leather, saltpetre, and other heavy commodities. The crew were required to remain and assist in unloading the vessel; but, after this had been accomplished, they were allowed to wander about the city, provided they returned to the vessel at the expiration of forty-eight hours.

Alfred was not slow to avail himself of this privilege. He visited the part of the city occupied by the English, and was delighted to see the elegant houses, many of them like palaces. These, he found, were not built in rows, or blocks, as in cities at home, but stood apart, at some distance from each other, on account of the intense heat. They were built with high, airy apartments and flat roofs, and surrounded with verandahs.

From this part of the city he went to what is called the Black town, occupied by the natives. This presented a striking contrast with the former. The houses, which are formed of mud, bamboo, or straw mats, stand upon narrow and crooked streets, interspersed with small gardens and tanks of water.

Here, I am sorry to say, he was led by his companions into all species of low dissipation. In this way, day after day was passed, until the captain announced the time of sailing. His conduct had been such since his arrival in port that no suspicion was entertained of his wish to desert. Now was his chance to do so, if ever. The next time he went out he put on a double suit of clothes, and carfully securing the small sum of money which remained from his wages, he took his final leave of the vessel. On several occasions he had purposely separated himself, for a short time, from his companions, that they might not suspect him of wishing to do so eventually. But now, as soon as an opportunity occurred, he ran away and secreted himself, trembling with fear, until he thought the vessel must have sailed. Here in a strange laud, unable to comprehend a word of the language, he suffered so much that he almost wished he had returned home with the ship. But when he came forth from his concealment, and ventured to ask if the vessel was still in port, he was too late. The Dolphin had sailed. Now he returned to the haunts of vice which had attracted him when he first came to the city, where, in pandering to his wicked passions, he soon spent every copper he had in the world, and when night came on he found himself homeless and penniless. Many times in the course of the next week did the words of Harrison, so long forgotten, come to his mind, "the wages of sin is death." Many times he thought he should starve, and probably would have done so had it not been for the kindness of sailors whom he accidentally met.

One day when he was so extremely reduced by want that he could scarcely stand, he tried to crawl along toward the port of Calcutta, and endeavor to find a vessel ready to sail for America. "I may as well die in one place as another," he said to himself, "and I shall certainly die if I remain here."

At length, when he had nearly reached the shipping, he was accosted in his native tongue by a youth near his own age.

"You look ill, my poor follow; what is the matter?"

"I am dying of hunger," replied Alfred, feebly.

"Come with me, then; I think we can soon cure him. Don't you think so?" turning to his companion. "Here, let me help you;" and placing a strong arm around the emaciated, boy, he led him on to the side of a vessel lying at the harbor. After requesting him to wait a minute, he darted away, and soon returned with a fine fresh cocoa nut, which he gave the famishing youth. He seemed to the poor forsaken boy like an angel of mercy. He had often in his distress fallen asleep to dream that tempting fruit, such as he now held in his hand, was placed within his reach, but he had not strength to take it. Now he feared he should awake and find this also but a dream.

Feeling greatly revived by this seasonable supply of food, he readily consented to accompany his new friend to the captain of the vessel, and endeavor to obtain a berth in the barque, which was named Josephine.

Though he had been so long on board ship; yet here everything seemed new and strange. The youth, who was called Frank, approached the captain with the ease, vivacity, and confidence of a child; while in return the gentleman appeared to feel for him the affection of a father. Leaving Alfred standing near the forecastle, Frank went on to tell his tale, and interest the officer in the distressed youth.

"Bring him here," said the gentleman, with a smile; "I'm afraid your warm heart has led you away, as usual, on some wild-goose chase."

Frank obeyed, and summoned Alfred aft.

Sad to relate, the wicked boy commenced this new acquaintance by a false tale. He said that he had been sick ever since he was in port, so sick that he could not reach the vessel; that the captain sent one of the crew the day before they sailed, to say that they were ready for sea, and that as he was so unwell he had better remain on shore for another ship. Since that time, which he alleged was some months previous to this, he had not been able to work enough to obtain food sufficient to restore him to health, though his fever had long ago left him.

The marks of vice were too visible in the countenance of Alfred for Captain Monroe to mistake his real character; but he saw no reason to doubt the story of the lad, and, after ascertaining from him that he knew something of the business of a sailor, he promoted him from the duties of a boy to those of an ordinary seaman.

This is one who, from want of sufficient age or strength or experience, or all of these, is not competent to perform all the duties of an able seaman, and therefore receives less wages. He is expected to be well acquainted with all the rigging of a ship, to be able to steer under ordinary circumstances, to furl a top-gallant sail, or a royal, which is a light sail next above it. It is commonly expected that he should be able to make spun-yarn, formed by twisting two or three rope yarns together, and sennet, a braid plaited together of ropes or spun-yarn; that he should understand the art of splicing ropes, forming the rigging, and making a great variety of knots commonly termed sailors' knots.

Alfred, as we have seen, had never tried to fit himself for the performance of these duties, though his former captain had recommended him to do so if he wished to be promoted. Indeed, he had determined never to go another voyage, so that he had not been at sea many hours before the mate reported him entirely unfit for a seaman, and, therefore, degraded him to the rank of what is termed a green hand.

* * * * * * *

Here we will leave him, while we give a brief account of the youth named Frank, who first introduced him on board the Josephine; and who, notwithstanding Alfred's disgrace, took every opportunity to prove to him that he was his real friend.

Frank, or Francis Greyson, was the son of a gentleman residing near the large city which was the birthplace of Alfred. He was rather a sickly boy, and caused his parents great anxiety lest he should never live to reach maturity. His mother had a brother who was a seaman, a noble, Christian man, an ornament to the profession he had chosen. When on shore this gentleman made his home with his sister. It was not strange, therefore, that, hearing his uncle's lively descriptions of the sea, and having constantly before his view—hung as it was between the front windows of his mother's parlor— a picture of the Sea-shell, the vessel which his uncle commanded, that he should conceive a desire to accompany him on a voyage.

To this Mrs. Greyson at first absolutely refused her consent, but finally yielded to her brother's solicitations, and the advice of their family physician that a voyage round the world would do more for the strong physical development of the boy than a whole case of medicine.

I have not space to describe any of the incidents of the voyage, except one which occurred near its close. It is enough for our present purpose to say that Frank shipped as cabin-boy, without pay, and therefore was not subjected to the hard work required of Alfred. By his prompt and cheerful obedience to orders, and his readiness to lend a hand to any one in need of his services, he rendered himself a favorite with all on board. From the captain in his office to the boy-of-all-work, each one was pleased with the opportunity to do Frank a kind turn.

Every morning and evening when the weather would admit, all hands, except those absolutely necessary for steering the ship, were called together to hear the beautiful service of the Episcopal Church; and often during the day the noble boy might be seen relieving the tedious watch of the sailor by reading to him the word of God.

On the Sea-shell, an oath or impure word was punished as severely as any other breach of the rules of the ship, and the captain had more than once appealed to the sailors, by their affection for the beautiful boy, who was the pride of the whole crew, to help him keep his promise to his sister. This was, that Frank, by the blessing of God, should be returned to her as pure in heart and life as he left her. There was not an honest tar on board but would have felt the blush of shame burn his rough cheek to have Frank hear from his lips a word that could defile his ear.

The voyage had been a successful one, and already the seamen began to feel the breezes of home fan their cheeks, when on a dark and tempestuous night, the awful cry of "Ship ahoy! right upon us!" sounded loud and fearful through the roaring of the tempest. The shock came so suddenly that before the officers could give any orders the bowsprit passed over the bulwarks, tearing through shrouds and rigging. The vessel had parted, and the ship's company were either clinging to the broken pieces of their vessel or thrown into the water. Fortunately for them aid was soon at hand. The ship Josephine, which had been the cause of this dreadful disaster, threw over buoys, her coops and ropes, and let down boats, to rescue the poor drowning sailors; but as they were so near home, they, of course, preferred being taken on board other boats, which carried them to vessels lying in the harbor, from which they safely reached the shore.

The noise and tumult in both vessels was beyond description. In the midst of all the horror and confusion caused by this dreadful accident, nothing distressed the captain more than the loss of his nephew. Uniformly calm and self-possessed, he seemed now almost beside himself with fear and grief as one company after another reached the ship, and no one could give the least information with regard to Frank. He tried to realize the truth of what his mates and others told him so hopefully, that probably Frank had been picked up by some other vessel, but there was a heart-sinking fear which predominated above all other emotions, and that was, that his lovely boy lay at the bottom of the sea.

How should he ever dare to convey to the mother such sorrowful tidings? How could he meet her anxious inquiries, "Oh, where is my son?"

He reached the shore, no longer hailed with delight as his native soil. He forgot that in one moment the savings of his lifetime had been engulphed by the treacherous waves. Ho forgot everything in his wild searchings for his boy; and at last was forced to carry bitter, bitter sorrow and anguish to the hearts waiting with buoyant expectation for the coming of their loved ones.

In the mean time Frank was not dead. When he felt the terrible crash which rent the vessel asunder, with one bound he sprang from the parted ship on board the Josephine, which caused the fatal catastrophe.

It was not until the sun was several hours high that Captain Monroe, who commanded the vessel bound to Calcutta, discovered a boy leaning over the side of the ship, weeping bitterly.

He approached him quickly, inquiring, "What is the matter, my lad; and how did you come on board the Josephine?"

Frank narrated his wonderful escape from the parted vessel, and was then led on to give an account of himself and the bitter disappointment he had experienced in being obliged to go to sea again without visiting his parents.

"They will think I am dead!" exclaimed the boy, in a passion of grief; "and my uncle, if he is alive, will blame himself that he persuaded mother to let me go with him."

"What is your uncle's name?" asked the sympathizing captain.

"His name is James Taylor. The commander of the vessel."

"Ah! why, he is one of my dearest friends!"

"Do you think he was drowned?"

"Oh no! he was picked up and carried on shore."

Frank began to cry again.

"It is a misfortune, certainly," said the good mans his eyes becoming dewy with sympathizing tears; "but we will try to make it as easy for you as we can. In the first place, you must write a letter to your parents, which I will enclose in one to my owners, that it may be delivered with due caution, and have them ready for the first vessel we meet. I am sorry to say, though, it is an uncommon circumstance to speak vessels in the latitude to which we are going; and therefore you must not be disappointed if we do not have an opportunity to send home until near the end of our voyage." This proved to be the case; but in the mean time Frank, with the natural buoyancy of youth, had recovered his spirits, and had rendered himself almost as much beloved on board the Josephine as during his former voyage. With the captain his influence was almost unbounded. He regarded the sad catastrophe which had brought him in close proximity to such a youth as one of the greatest blessings of his life. He had been blessed with a pious mother, and he had a praying wife; but the influence of worldly cares had gradually dissipated whatever seriousness he might once have had, though he still entertained a great respect for religion.

The first thing that particularly interested him in Frank was observing the soothing effect which prayer had upon him. During the early part of the voyage, the boy would often give way to bursts of irrepressible sorrow that he could not have seen his parents and sister before going again on so long a voyage. In vain his friend tried to soothe him by promises of presents they would purchase in Calcutta for the absent ones; his tears would flow like a river. At length he would go into his little cabin, next to the captain's, and pour out his griefs before his sympathizing Saviour. In a few minutes he would return, with a calm, serious air, certainly, but with his sorrow quite subdued.

On one occasion, Captain Monroe, curious to know the secret of such an influence, followed the boy and listened at the door of his room.

It was a touching picture: the child upon his knees, wrestling with his heavenly Father for more submission to his holy will, for the cheerful acquiescence in his lot, which should prove him to be following the example of him who drank, without murmuring, the cup of sorrow to the dregs; for grace to live so humbly that all who saw him might be won to his Saviour; for the dear ones who were mourning his loss at home. The officer also appeared, wiping the fast-flowing tears, at the half-open door.

Frank was not slow to notice the change in the captain's deportment; and his sorrow for himself decreased as he began to plead with God for a blessing upon his friend.

Nor was it long before the answer came. One day Captain Monroe called Frank into his cabin and said, "I have found out why you were subjected to so bitter a disappointment. God sent you to me, as a means of leading me to a knowledge of my Saviour's love."

"I was sure," answered the boy, in his simple, trusting manner, "that God did it for the best; and that was why I tried so hard to say, 'Thy will be done.'"