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TheBoyPatriot

EdwardSylvesterEllis

ThecharacterofBlairRobertson,theFairportboy,willnothavebeensketchedinvain,ifitpromptoneyoungAmericantosuchaheartyservingofGodaswillmakehimablessingtoourdearnativeland.Wehavelaidthesceneofourstoryfiftyyearsago,butwetrustthatits

lessonswillbenonethelessappropriatetothepresent

day.

CHAPTERI.FAIRPORT

WereyoueveronthecoastofMaine? If so, youknowhowthe rocky shores stretch out

now and then clear into theocean,andfretthesaltwavestilltheyareallinafoam.OldOcean is not to be so set atdefianceandhavehisrightfulterritory wrung from him,without taking his revengeafterhisown fashion.Farupinto the land he sends hisarms, and crooks and bendsandmakes his way amid therocks,andfinally fallsasleepin some quiet harbor, where

the tall pines stand by theshoretosinghimalullaby.

In just such a spot as thisthe town we shall callFairportwasbuilt.Axeinonehand and Bible in the other,stern settlers here found ahome. Strong hard-featuredsons, and fair rosy-cheekeddaughtersmadegladtherudecabins that were soonscatteredalongtheshore.Theaxe was plied in the woods,

andtheneedlebythefireside,and yet grim Poverty wasever shaking her fist in theveryfacesofthesettlers,andwhisperingsadthingsofwhatthe uncertain future mighthaveinstoreforthem.

Cheerily they bore thehardshipsofthepresenthour,andadeaf ear they turned toall such whispers. Yet thosesettlersweresensible,matter-of-factmen; and itwas soon

plain to them, that healthfulaswerethebreezesthatmadeso rosy the cheeks of theirdaughters, Fairport was nottheverybestsiteintheworldforasettlement,atleastifitspeopleweretodependonthethinandrockysoilwonfromthe forest, which scarcelyproducedthebarenecessariesoflife.

Was Fairport given up indespair? No, no. Her settlers

were not the men to be sodauntedandfoiled.Ifthelandwasunkindly,theycouldtaketothewater;andsotheydid,to a man. Some were off tothe Newfoundland Banks,tossingaboutthecodfish,andpilingthemupintostacksthatweremoreprofitablethananyhay of their own raising.Some were on board swiftvessels,doingagoodshareofthe carrying trade between

theWest Indiesand theNewEngland cities. Some wereseeking the whale far in thenorthern seas; while others,less enterprising, werecontent to fish nearer homefor all sorts of eatabledwellers in the sea, fromhalibuttoherring.

Nowanewdayhadbegunfor Fairport. The originalcabins began to tower in theair or encroach on the

submissive gardens, asbuilding after building wasadded by the prosperousowners.Miniaturevillas,witha wealth of useless piazzas,appearedintheneighborhoodof the town, and substantialwharvesborderedonesideofthe quiet harbor, and gave awelcome to the shipping thatseemed to grow and clustertherelikethetreesofaforest.

Fairport had passed the

struggles of its early youthwhen our story begins,thoughthereweregray-hairedcitizensyetwithinitsborderswhocould tellhow thebearshad once looked in at theircabinwindows,andthepine-treeshad stood thick inwhatwas now the main street oftherisingtown.

CHAPTERII.

THEYOUNGORATOR

TheboysofFairportwereanamphibious set, who couldlive on land truly, but werehappiest when in or near thewater.Tofishandswim,row,trim the sail, and guide therudder, wereaccomplishments they allcould boast. A bold, hardy,merry set theywere; and butfor the schoolmaster’s rodand the teaching of theirpious mothers, might have

been as ignorant as oystersand merciless as the sharks.Master Penrose had whippedinto most of them theelements of a plain Englisheducation,andgentlemothershad power to soften and rulethese rough boys, whenperhaps a stronger handwouldhavefailed.

Master Penrose alwaysgave a full holiday onSaturday. Then the wharves

were sure to swarmwith themischievous little chaps, alleager to carry out somefavorite plan for amusement,inwhicholdOceanwassureto be engaged as a play-fellow. Poor indeed was thelad who had not a fish-hookandlinewithwhichtotryhisskill. The very youngest hadhis tiny boat to be launched,while his elders wereplanning sailing-parties, or

jumping and leaping in thewaterlikesomanydolphins.

Boysliketohavealeader,some one they look up to assuperior to the rest, andcapable of deciding knottyquestions, and“goingahead”in all times of doubt anddifficulty. Blair Robertsonoccupied thispositionamongtheyoungstersofFairport.Hehad lawfully won this placeamong his fellows and

“achieved greatness,” bybeing the best scholar at theacademy, as well as theboldest swimmer, mostskilful fisherman, and mostexperienced sailor among allthe boys for miles along thecoast. It was BlairRobertson’s boast that hebelonged to the nineteenthcentury,andgrewoldwithit.It was doubtful whether thebold lad considered this age

ofprogressashonoredbyhisplaying his part in its drama,or whether he claimed areflected glory, as havingbeenbornattheverydawnofthat century which promisedso much for the throngingmillionsofourworld.

Be that as it may, JoeRobertson the pilot andMargarethiswiferejoiced,intheyear1800,overtheirfirstandonlychild.Thirteenyears

hadsweptby,and thehonestcouplewerenowasproudofthatbrave,strongboyastheyhad been of their baby, andwithbetterreason.

Troubloustimeshadcomeupon their native land. Warhad been declared withEngland. All Fairport wasablaze at the idea ofAmerican seamen beingforced to serve on Englishships, and of decks whose

timbergrewinthefreeforestsof Maine or North Carolina,being trodden by theunscrupulous feet of Britishofficerswith insolent search-warrantsintheirhands.

Blair Robertson had hisown views on these subjects—views which we find himgiving forth to his devotedfollowersonesunnySaturdayafternoon.

Blair was mounted on a

sugar hogshead which stoodin front of one of thewarehouses on the wharf.From this place of eminencehe looked down on aconstantly increasing crowdof youthful listeners. A halfhour before, a row of littlelegs had been hanging overthe side of the wharf, whiletheirownerswereintentuponcertain corks and lines thatdanced or quivered amid the

waves below. Now the lineswere made fast to stone andlog, while the smallfishermen stood agape tolistentothefluentorator.

This was but the nucleusofthegatheringcrowd.Everyboywhocameneartheeagercirclemust of course stop tofind out what was going on;anditwaswithnolittlepridethat Blair beheld the dozensoffacessoonupturnedtohis.

Blair might haveremembered that if there hadbeen but a dead dog in thecentre of the group, therewould have been an equalgathering and pushing toknow the cause of themeeting;buthe,likemanyanolder speaker,waswilling toattribute to his eloquencewhat might have had even ahumblercause.

“Our rights invaded; a

man’s ship no longer hiscastle; the free Americanforcedtoforsakehisstarsandstripes!ThefootoftheBritonpollutes our decks. Histyrannical arm takes captiveour fathers, and dooms themto a servitude of which theworld knows no equal. Shallwe submit? We will notsubmit. We have protested.Wehave declaredwar to thedeath.HasFairportavoicein

thismatter?Where are thosewhom we love best? Wherebutuponthewidesea,apreyto our remorseless enemy.Where is your father, andyours,andyours,andmine?”saidBlair,makinghisappealpersonal as he pointed to thesailors’ sons. “This insolencemust be checked. We mustrebuke the proud Briton onthe very scene of hisabominations. We must

triumph over him on thetossing ocean, and teach himthat America, not Britannia,rules the waves. Would thatweallstoodonsomestaunchship, to do battle with ouryoung right-arms. Thenshould Englishmen cringebefore us; then would wedoom to sudden destructiontheir boasted admirals andflimsy fleets. Downwith theEnglish! down with the

English!”Blair stamped

emphatically on his hollowthrone,untilitrangagain.

“Downwith theEnglish!”echoed the crowd in a burstofenthusiasm.

At this moment a short,stout lad came round aneighboring corner. On hisarmhecarrieda largebasketofcleanlinen,withwhichhenow tried to elbow his way

throughthecrowd.“An English boy! Shame

that he should show his faceamong us,” said Blair in hisexcitement.

“We’llgivehima tasteofsaltwater,” said twoor threeof the oldest boys as theyseizedthestrangerroughlybythe shoulders. “We’ll teachhimtomendhismanners.”

“Stop, stop, boys. Givehimfairplay,”shoutedBlair;

but Blair was no longer theobjectofattention.

The English boy, in spiteof his struggles, was hurriedto theedgeof thewharf,andpushed relentlessly over thebrink.

A thorough ducking tohim,andthescatteringofhisprecious basket of clothes,wasallthattheyoungrascalsintended.To theirhorror, thestranger sank like a heavy

load—rose, and then sankagain.

“He can’t swim; he can’tswim. He’ll be drowned!”burst from the lips of thespectators. All wereparalyzedwithfear.

Blair had forced his waythrough the crowd, andreachedtheedgeofthewharfin time to see the pale,agonized face of the Englishboy,asheforthesecondtime

rosetothesurface.Inanothermoment Blair was divingwhere, far in the deepwater,the pale face had vanishedfromsight.

There was a moment ofbreathless silence, then adeafening cheer, as Blairreappearedwiththedrowningboyinhisarms.

There were hands enoughoutstretched to aid him inlaying his burden on the

shore. “Help me carry him,boys, straight to our house.Motherwillknowwhattodoforhim,”saidBlair,speakingveryquickly.

It was but a few stepsdown a neighboring street toJoe Robertson’s pleasanthome.

Blairdidnotfeartotakeinthedrippingboyand layhimonhismother’s best bed.Heknewthatmother’sjoywasto

minister to thedistressedandsuccortheunfortunate.

The water was soonpouring from the mouth,nose, and ears of theunconsciouslad.Thenhewasrubbed and wrapped roundwith hot flannels,whileMrs.Robertson’s own handsforcedhislungstowork,untilthey again took their naturalmovement.

Not a word was asked as

to how the accident hadhappened, until, out ofdanger, the rescued boy wasinasweetsleep.

The eager crowdwhohadfollowedBlairandhischargehadvanished,andthemothersatalonewithherson.Blair’sdripping garments had beenexchanged for another suit,but in the midst of the lateconfusion his mother’s eyehad silently and gratefully

marked upon him the signsthat to him the English boyowedhislife.

“You saved him, my son.God be thanked. I may wellbeproudofmyboy,”saidthemotherearnestlyandfondly.

A sudden flush of shamecrimsonedthecheeksofBlairRobertson. “Oh, mother, itwas all my fault,” heexclaimed. “If hehaddied—Oh, if he had died, that pale

struggling face would havehaunted me to my grave. Ihad been making one of myspeeches to the boys, and itpleasedmetoseehowIcouldrousethem.Ihadjustshouted‘DownwiththeEnglish!’andmade them join me, whenpoor Hal came round thecorner. Nobody would havenoticed him if I had goneright on; but I pointed himout,andangryastheywere,I

could not stop them beforetheyhad thrownhiminto thewater.Theythoughthecouldswim, Idare say;but Iknewhecouldn’t.Oh,mother,whatI suffered, thinking hemightdrown before I could reachhim.Buthe’s safenow.Youthink he’ll get well, don’tyou,mother?”

“Yes,mychild,”saidMrs.Robertson, trembling withdeep feeling. “God’s mercy

has been great to you, myboy.Mayyoulearnthisdayasolemn lesson. You have apowerful influence over yourcompanions. You know it,andIamafraidithasonlyfedyourpride,notpromptedyouto usefulness. Is it real lovefor your country that leadsyoutothesespeeches;orisita desire to see how you canrouse the passions of yourlisteners, and force them to

do your bidding? For everytalent we must give anaccount, and surely for nonemore strictly than the powerto prompt men to good orevil. I believe you love yourcountry, my boy. You loveour dear country, or I wouldblush toownyouasmyson.ButIfearyouhaveasyetbutapoor ideawhat it is tobeatruepatriot.”

“A true patriot, mother? I

think I know what thatmeans. One who loves hiscountry,andwouldcheerfullydie for her,” said Blair withenthusiasm.

“You might even loveyour country anddie forher,and yet be no true patriot,”said themother. “Youmightbeherdisgrace,andthecauseof her afflictions, while youshed for her your heart’sblood.”

“I don’t understand you,”saidtheboythoughtfully.

“Perhaps Korah and hiscompany thought themselvespatriots when they rebelledagainst the power of Mosesand Aaron. They doubtlessmovedthepeoplebycunningspeeches about their ownshort-lived honor; yet theybrought destruction onthemselvesandaplagueuponIsrael.There is nothingmore

plain in theBible thanGod’sgreat regard to therighteousness or wickednessof individual men. Supposethat therehadbeenfoundtenrighteousmen in Sodom, forwhose sake that wicked citywould have been spared itsawful doom. Humble andobscure they might havebeen; but would not they,who brought such a blessingdown on the neighborhood

where they dwelt, be worthyof the name of patriots? Myson,ifyouwerewillingtolaydown your life for yourcountry, and yet were guiltyof the foul sin of swearing,and taught all around you toblaspheme,wouldyounotbelaying up wrath against yournative land, though youfoughtwiththebraveryofanAlexander? These are timesto think on these things, my

boy, if we really love ourcountry. No man liveth untohimself. His home, his state,his country is in a degreeblessedorcursedforhissake.Dear Blair, you cannot be atrue patriot without God’sgrace to help you rule yourheart, guard your lips, andpurifyyourlife.Mayyouthisdaybegin,foryourownsakeas well as for that of yourcountry, to serve the God of

ourfathers.Hehasmercifullyspared you the bitter self-reproach towhich youmighthave been doomed. Go inrepentance to his footstool,and he will abundantlypardon. Resolvehenceforwardtowalkhumblybefore him, trusting in hisgrace and striving to do hiswill, andyoushall count thisday themostblessedofyourlife.”

Mrs. Robertson put herarmroundthetall,strongboyatherside.Heyieldedtohertouch, as if he had been alittle child. Side by side theyknelt, while the motherpoured out such a prayer ascanonlyflowfromthelipsofa Christian mother pleadingforheronlyson.

BlairRobertson spent thatlong Saturday evening aloneinhisroom.Thatwasindeed

tobethebeginningofdaystohim.Hewasnolongertobeaself-willed seeker of his ownpleasure and honor. He was“bought with a price,” andwas henceforward to be aservantoftheKingofkings.

CHAPTERIII.

THEENGLISHBOY

No loving friends came toinquire after the fate of HalHutchings, the English boy.Hisefforts to savehisbasketof clean linen had been asvain as his struggles to freehimselffromthehandsofhispersecutors. The garmentsthat had been starched andironed with such scrupulouscarewere scattered along thewharf,andtrampledunderthefeetof the thoughtlessyoung

mob. The old washerwomanon whose errand Hal hadbeen sent forth, was tooindignant at the destructionwhich had befallen herhandiwork,togiveonekindlythought to the poor boywhohad so honorably striven tospareherthemisfortuneoverwhich she lamented sodolorously. Her Sundaythoughts strayed far morefrequently to the dingy,

stained garments soaking inherbackkitchen, than toHalHutchings, quietly lying inMrs. Robertson’s bestbedroom.

“Iwondernoonecomestoinquire after him. Has he nofriends, Blair?” said Mrs.Robertson as evening wasdrawingon.

“I dare say not, mother. Ineversawhimwithanybody.He does errands round town,

andhasbeensleepingatMrs.McKinstry’s, thewasherwoman’s. He didn’ttakehismeals there, I know,forI’veseenhimeatingbreadand cheese in some cornerjust when other folks weresitting down to dinner. Theycall him ‘Hal the Englishboy;’ but I guess nobodyknowsmuchabouthim.”

“A stranger in a strangeland,” said Mrs. Robertson

thoughtfully; and then sherose up and went into theroom where Hal was stilllying.

Blair took up his Bible.How precious that Bibleseemed to him now—thelightforhisfeet,thelampforhis path. With reverence heturned the sacred pages untilhefoundthefifty-firstpsalm,which he read with solemnearnestness, making its

humble petitions truly hisown.

While Blair was thusemployed, Mrs. Robertsonwastalkinginherownkindlywaytothestranger.

“So you are an Englishboy, Hal,” she said. “Thatwillnotkeepmefromlovingyou, for you know the Biblesays we must ‘love ourenemies;’ but I don’t believeyou are such a very

dangerous enemy, after all.”Her pleasant smile was likesunshine to the heart of thelonely boy, and his reservemeltedawaybeforeit.

“I’m Hinglish, because Iwas born in Hingland,” saidtheboy.“Icouldn’thelpthat;and I couldn’t blame myfather and mother for itneither, for I never knowedthem. I’ve been an orphanalways.ButI’manAmerican,

because I chose this for mycountry, and I worked mypassage over here, and Ihaven’t begged fromanybody.”

“I’m glad you want to bean American,” said Mrs.Robertson gently; “it is agreat privilege. But there issomething more to do foreveryboywhowantstobeanAmerican citizen, than justlanding in this country and

earning his own living, andthenbyandbyvotingforourrulers.”

Hal opened his large paleblue eyes in confusedexpectation,andwassilent.

Mrs. Robertson was noteasily discouraged, and shewenton.“Youwouldthinkitvery rude, Hal, if I were toinvite a poor stranger to myhouse to dinner, and heshould jumpand laughwhile

I was asking God’s blessingbefore eating; and then tosstheplatesabout,breakingmydishesandscatteringthefoodover my clean floor. Youwouldthinktheleasthecoulddowould be to be civil, andkeep the rules of my housewhilehewasinit.”

“Suchachapasthatoughttohave thedoorshowedhimright straight,” said Halwarmly.

“Well, my boy, this iswhat I mean: When wewelcomestrangerstoourfreecountry, which our fathersfought for and gave theirbloodtowin,weexpectthosestrangers to fall in with ourways, and not disturb thepeace and order of thepleasant home they havecometo.Isnotthatright?”

“Yes, ma’am; and Ihaven’t disturbed anybody’s

peace nor order,” said Halwithanotherblanklookoftheblueeyes.

“No, and I do not believeyou everwill; but I havenotdoneyet.Afreepeople,tobea safe people, must be aChristian people. Are you aChristian boy, Hal?” Thequestionwasaskedwithdeepseriousness.

“I a’n’t a heathen,” saidHalinsurprise.

“No,youdon’tbowdowntoawooden idol, orworshipsnakes and bulls, as someheathen people do. But areyoutryingtoserveGodinallyou think and do and say?Have you asked him toforgive you all your sins, forthesakeofhisdearSon;anddo you believe he hasforgiven you, and taken youtobehisowndearchild?”

“I never had anybody talk

to me so before,” said Halwith a confused look; “but Itakeit,Ia’n’twhatyoucallaChristian.”

“I dare say you do notunderstand me very well,”said Mrs. Robertson. “Godcanmakethesethingsplaintoyou. Close your eyes, and Iwillkneeldownhereandaskhimtoteachyoutoknowandlovehisholywill.”

Hal had been at church

many times in his life, andlooked curiously on at thewhole proceeding, as at a“show.” Now for the firsttimeheheardprayermadeforhim, forpoorHalHutchings,to the great God of heaven.He gathered but little of theburden of the prayer; yet hisfirst remark after Mrs.Robertson resumed her seatbeside him was a proof thatheappreciatedthesincerityof

herinterestinhim.“You are very kind,

ma’am,” he said. “I’d like tobesuchanAmericanasyou.Itake it you are the best sort,not like them boys on thewharf.”

“Thoseboysareverysorryfor their mischief by thistime,” said Mrs. Robertson.“My own son would gladlydoanythingforyou.Hesayshenevershall forgetwhathe

sufferedwhenhethoughtyoumight be drowned inconsequenceofhis folly.ButIthinkhehaslearnedalessonhe will never forget. He hasseenhowfarwronghemightgo if he followed his ownfoolish ways. I trust he willhereafter be a faithful,humblechildofGod.”

“He pulled me out of thewater,” said Hal warmly.“He’s true grit. I’d go to the

deathforhim.”“He will be very glad to

have you for a faithfulfriend,” saidMrs.Robertson;“butlook,youmustnotteachhim any thing bad, or tempthim to do wrong. He is myonly child, and my dearestwish is to see him a noble,pure,Christianman.”

“I wont teach him any’armas Iknows tobe’arm,”saidHal,puttingouthishand

toratifythebargain.Itwasarough,hardhand,

but Mrs. Robertson took itkindlyassheanswered,“Godhelp you to keep yourpromise, Hal;” and so theirinterviewclosed.

When Monday morningcame,HalHutchingswas upanddressedalmostasearlyasMrs. Robertson herself. Intothe kitchen he walked,hearingthegoodlady’svoice

in that direction. “I’m goingnow,” he said, “and I justlooked in to bid you good-by.”

“Stop and take breakfastwithus,wontyou,Hal?Youshallnotgoawayhungry.”

Some crisp cakes ofcodfish and potatoes weregettingthelastcoatofbrownin a frying-pan over the fire,and a huge loaf of Boston“brown bread” was on the

tablenearathand.“Iwouldn’tmindasliceof

that bread and one of themcakes,ifyouwouldletmesitdownhereandeat’em,”saidHal.

Mrs. Robertsonunderstood the boy’sunwillingness to take a mealwith strangers who had beenraised in habits of greaterrefinement thanhisown.Shekindly made a place for him

where he was, and he soonrendered it evident thatbashfulness had not takenaway his appetite. “I don’twant you to leave us,” saidMrs. Robertson. “I shouldlike to have you stay hereuntil we can find somethingforyoutodo.Iwanttoteachyou to be a good Christianboy, the right kind of anAmerican.”

“I don’t want to be

beholden to anybody,” saidHalwithdecision. “Iworkedmy way over, and I haven’tbeggedapennysinceIcame.I don’t mean to, unless I’mstarving.Mrs.McKinstryhaslet me her little room. I’vepaidforitforthismonth,andI don’t mean to lose mymoney. But I like yourteaching, ma’am. It takesholdofmedifferentfromanythingIeverheardbefore.”

“Come in on Sundayevenings then, Hal. I amalways at home then, and Ishould love dearly to teachyou, and help you to be agood boy. Will you come?”saidMrs.Robertson.

“I will, ma’am, I will,”said Hal; andmaking a rudeattemptatabow,hetookhisleave.

CHAPTERIV.THE

PATRIOT’SWORK

Mrs. Robertson and her sonwere sitting at their pleasantbreakfast-tabletogether.

“Blair,” said the mother,“you want to be a patriot.Hereissomeworkforyoutodoforyourcountry.WemusttrytomakeagoodAmericancitizenoutofHal,andagoodChristian at the same time.The poor fellow is deeplygrateful to you, and youwillhave a powerful influence

overhim.”“Ican’tbear theEnglish,”

said Blair warmly. “I don’tlike any foreigners, for thatmatter. It don’t seem to methey are the right stuff tomake American citizens outof. Give me the native-bornYankee,freeandindependentfrom his cradle upwards.That’smywayofthinking.”

Blairstoodupashespoke,and waved his knife in a

manner more emphatic thanelegant.Aspeech,oneofhisfavorite speeches, seemedimminent. Blair did love tohearhimselftalk.

“My son, our question inlife is not what we like, butwhatisduty. I think the lawsof the kingdom of heavenshould be the guide to everylover of his country. Thevoice of our Saviour is,‘Come unto me, all ye that

labor and are heavy-laden,andIwillgiveyourest.’‘TheSpirit and the bride say,Come; and let him thatheareth say, Come.’ Everytrue Christian echoes thesayingofSt.Paul,‘IwouldtoGod that not only thou, butalsoallthathearmethisday,were both almost andaltogether such as I am,except these bonds.’ So itshouldbewitheveryfavored

citizenofourhappyland.Weshould welcome theoppressedofeveryclime,andstrive to make them worthypartakers of the blessingsweenjoy. I do not like to hearyou say you hate any nation.Weareallofoneblood,madeinGod’simage.”

“Dearmother,” saidBlair,“youareright;youarealwaysright.HowthankfulIoughttobe to have such a guide, and

such a help in keeping mynewresolutions.Iwant todomydutyevenwhenitishardforme.Youshall seewhatafriendIwillbetoHal.Imeanto go out as soon as I havedone breakfast, and see if Icanlookhimupsomesteadywork.IheardOldJocksayonSaturday he wanted a strongboy to help him handle hisnets. I’ll try to get the placeforHal.”

Blairwasasprompttoactas to plan. A half hour afterbreakfast was over he wasstandingby thecottageofanold fisherman and knockingforadmittance.

It took all Blair’s powersof persuasion to induce Jockto have any thing to dowithwhat he called a “furriner.”The case seemed well-nighlost,whenBlairmountedonachair, and made a small

speechinhisbeststyleforthebenefit of his single auditor.Whether won over by itslogic or through a sense ofthehonorthusconferreduponhim, Jock agreed to Blair’sproposition.

“The first speech I evermade to any purpose,”thought Blair, as he walkedrapidly along the shore,wending his way to Mrs.McKinstry’sdwelling.

Hal had locked himselfinto his “castle,” as the onlywayinwhichhecouldescapethe merciless scolding of hisvoluble hostess. She seemedtoconsidereverystainontheinjuredgarmentsablotontheshield of the English boywhich no apologies couldexcuse or efface. Hal fairlyfled before the enemy; andonce safe in his own room,whistled so lustily as to

drownallsoundoftherailingfromwithout.

It was an unusually busydaywithMrs.McKinstry, orit is doubtful whether shewouldhaveallowedeventhisclose to the skirmish, for shehad a taste for suchencounters. Blair howeverheard the dripping andswashingofwater in therearofthehouseashewentupthenarrow stairway. The wide

cap-border of Mrs.McKinstry was fanningbackwards and forwards, asshe bent with a regularmotionover the tub inwhichher redarmswere immersed.ShegaveonelookatBlairashe went up to her lodger’sroom,butdidnotcondescendeventoexchangewatchwordswithhim.

InanswertoBlair’sknockwas returned a resolute

“Who’sthere?”The reply set Hal’s mind

at ease, and the visitor waspromptly admitted. Blairstated his business at once,but to his surprise he metwithablankrefusalfromHal.He would not fall in withsuchaplan,nothe.Hewouldkeep out of the water whilethere was any land left tostandon.Hehadhadenoughof plumping to the bottom,

and coming up, ears singing,throat choking, and soulalmost scared out of him.Betteracrumbofbreadandamorselofcheese,thanfatnessand plenty earned in such away.

It was hard for Blair tounderstand the nervous fearofdrowningwhichhadtakenpossession of poor Hal.Fairport boys could swimalmost as soon as they could

walk. They knew nothing ofthe helpless feeling of onewhohasthegreatdeepunderhim, and is powerless tostruggleinitswaves.

But a few short daysbefore, Blair would havepronounced Hal a coward,and left him in disdain.Nowhestoodsilentforamoment,baffled and puzzled. “I’llteach you to swim, Hal,” hesaid at length. “We’ll try in

shallow water first, whereyou couldn’t drown, unlessyou wish to drown yourself.Itiseasy—justaseasyasanything, ifyouonlyknowhow.I’llcomeforyouafterschoolthisevening,andwe’llgoupthe creek, where the boyswont be about. I shouldn’twonderifyouweretotaketoitlikeafish.”

The English boy lookedinto Blair’s frank pleasant

face, and the doggedexpression passed from hisown.HetookBlair’shandashe said, “I’ll try. You shallseewhatyoucanmakeoutofme.”

Before many weeks wereover, Hal Hutchings was asgood a swimmer as half theboysinFairport.OldJocknolonger waded into the deepwater to set his nets or pushhis boat ashore. He declared

that Hal had scared therheumatismout of his bones,anditwasnot likelytomakebold to come back, if thingswent on as they seemed topromise.

CHAPTERV.

BLAIR’SCOMPANY

BlairRobertsonhadlonghadafamousmilitarycompanyofhis own, called the FairportGuard.Aguardagainst whathad never been publiclystated; and as they had nowritten constitution for theirassociation, posterity mustever remain in ignorance onthis point. Up and down thestreetsofFairportitwastheirdelight to parade on aSaturday afternoon, to the

infinite amusement of thesmall girls who atemolassescandy and looked at theimposingarray.

The breaking out of thewar infused a new militaryspirit into all the youngstersontheAtlanticcoast,andtheFairport Guard came in fortheir share of this growingenthusiasm. Cocks’ tailfeathers and broomstickswere suddenly in great

requisition for the increasingrankandfile,andtheofficersbore themselves with addeddignity, and gave out theirorders with an earnestnesswhich proved that theyappreciated the work theywereimitating.

When itwas rumored thatBlair Robertson had becomeacommunicant in thechurchto which his motherbelonged,therewasageneral

groan among his oldfollowersandadherents.Herewasanend,intheirminds,totheFairportGuard,andeveryotherspeciesof fun inwhichBlair had been so long aleaderandabettor.

Blair was at first inclinedto shrink from his oldcompanions; but as the rightspirit grew and strengthenedwithin him, he mingledamong them more freely,

actuatedby thedesire towinnewcitizensfor thekingdomof heaven, and to guide hiswild associates into suchpaths as wouldmake them ablessingtotheirnativeland.

Blair’shearthadbeenlikerich ground, in which hismother had been sowing,sowing, sowing good seed,prayerfully waiting until itshould spring up and takeroot tohisownsalvationand

thegloryofGod.Thathappytimehadcome.Allthewordsof counsel, all the pureteaching thathadbeenstoredin his mind, seemed nowwarmed into life, and everrising up to prompt him togood and guard him fromevil.Happyaretheboyswhohavesuchamother.

AseriesofrainySaturdayshadpostponedthequestionastowhethertheFairportGuard

should parade as usual underthe command of their longhonored captain. A brightsunny holiday came at last,and Blair’s decision on thispoint must now be declared.Longandprayerfullytheboyhad considered the subject,and his conclusionwas fixedandunalterable.

The change in Blair’sprinciples and feelings hadnot alienated him from his

formercompanions.Eachoneof them had now for him anewvalue.Theyweretohimwandering children of hisheavenly Father, whom helonged to bring back to thatFather’s house. The wildestandmost erring among themcalled forth his most tenderinterest, as farthest from thekingdomofheavenandinthemost danger of utterdestruction.

Blair’s loveofhiscountrytoo had been but deepenedand increased by his laterealization of the allegiancehe himself owed to theKingofkings.Hisnativelandwasnow tohimadearportionofthe great vineyard on whichhe desired the especialblessing of God. He moredeeply appreciated the factthatevery trueChristianmanis indeed an element of

wholesome life andprosperity to theneighborhood and land inwhichhedwells.Theboysofthe present daywere soon tobethemenonwhomthestatemust rely for power andpermanency. With a truepatriot’s zeal, Blair resolvedtodoallinhispowertobringthe boys of Fairport to besuchChristianmen aswouldbeablessingintheirdayand

generation. These thoughtshad gone far to fix hisdecisionwithreferencetotheFairportGuard.

It was with a burst ofenthusiastic applause that thelittle company saw Blairappearuponthepublicsquarein his well-known uniform.His three-cornered hat ofblack pasteboard wassurmounted by a long blackfeather, and fastened under

his chin by a fine leatherstrap, the strap beingbordered by a ferocious pairof whiskers, to afford whichthe “black sheep” of someneighboring flock hadevidently suffered. Hisgrandfather’scoat,whichhadbeen worn at Bunker Hill,enveloped his slender form,and increased the imposingeffect of his tall figure uponthemindsofhissubordinates.

“Three cheers for CaptainRobertson! Three cheers forBlair!” shouted the boys astheirleaderapproached.

Thecheersrungoutontheair somewhat feebly, thoughthat was owing to theweakness of the throats thatraised them, rather than toanywantofgoodwill,andsoBlairunderstoodit.

“Now give us a speechbefore we fall into rank,”

called out one of thecompany.

“That is just what Imeantodo, ifyouwillall listen tome,” said the captain in hismostdignifiedmanner.

The stumpof a fallen treeserved toelevateour speakeron this occasion, as it hasmany an older orator incircumstances no moreinterestingtohishearersthanwere thepresent to the eager

groupoflisteners.Blair had another purpose

nowthantohearhimselftalk.The short pause whichpreceded his openingsentence was not merely foreffect. In those few secondsBlairwasaskingaidfromhisheavenly Father so to speakthat he might have power tomove his hearers and guidethemaright.

“Boys,”hebegan,“boys,I

want to be your captain. Idon’t want to give up theFairportGuard.Wehavehadmany a good time together,andIloveyouall;yes,everyone. Our marching anddrilling has hitherto beenplay,butnowweoughttobeinearnest.Weshouldprepareto be really a guard to ournative town. At anymomentthe British may land on ourshores, and threaten the lives

of those who are dearest tous. We must be able toprotect our mothers andsisters if the evil day comes.We must learn the use offirearms. This musket didduty at Bunker Hill. Everyyoungpatriotheremustlearntouseitwell.Induetimewemust each have our musket,andmakeitcarrytrue,ifneedbe,totheheartoftheenemy.But,boys,ifwearetobereal

defenders of our native land,wemustbeworthyofsuchanhonor.Iamwilling,Iwanttobe your captain; but hear therules I propose for ourcompany: We are to be atemperance band; no drop ofthe cup that intoxicatesmustpass our lips. No profanewordmust sullyour tongues.The name of theGod of ourfathers must be honoredamong us. Any member of

this company who shall befound guilty of a lie, a theft,or bullying the weak anddefenceless, shall be cast outby common vote. We willstrive to be a credit to ourbeloved home—trueAmerican citizens, who maydaretoaskGodtoblessthemin all their undertakings andprosperall theydo.Boys,doyou agree to theseregulations? If so, I shall

rejoice to be your captain. Ifnot,Imustsadlybidadieutothe Fairport Guard, and withthis time-honored musket inmy hand, stand alone on thethreshold ofmy home in thehour of danger, trusting inGod and in the strength ofthissingleright-arm.”

As Blair concluded, hegrounded his musket, andstood silently awaiting thereplyofhiscompanions.

There was a moment ofhesitation; then one of theolder boys, the first-lieutenant, stepped forwardandsilentlyplacedhimselfatthe side of his youngcommander. In true martialstyle the whole companyfollowed,arrayingthemselvesaroundtheirleader.

“Weagree!Weagree!Weagree to every thing!”shoutedoneandall.

“MayGodhelpustokeepto our compact,” said Blair.Then, after a short pause, headded, “Let me propose toyou a new member for ourcompany—my friend HalHutchings, who, born onEnglish soil, is yet a trueAmerican at heart. Let all infavor of his admission sayAye.”

Hal had been striving togivehimselfamilitaryairby

appearing in his red flannelshirt and trousers, while OldJock’s red night-cap wasperched above the yellowcurlsoftheboy.Ashisnamewas mentioned, he raised tohis shoulder a borrowedcrutchwhichservedhimforamusket, as if to signify hisreadinessformartialduty.

“The English boy! AdmittheEnglishboy!”saidseveralvoices; but a hearty “Aye,

aye” from two or threeprominent members of thecompany decided thequestion in Hal’s favor, andhe was admitted at once bygeneralconsent.

Forming now in regularranks, the Fairport Guardwentthroughtheirusualdrill,and then set off in acreditable march, to let thecitizens have a view of theirdoughtydefenders.

CHAPTERVI.

APILOT

It is strange that the moon

generally has all the blamefor fickleness, when the sunquite as often hides his facewithout sufficient warning.The Fairport Guard hadhardlymadethecircuitofthetown, before the late smilingsky was overcast by darkhurrying clouds, and theweatherwise began to predictacomingstorm,whichwastobe“nojokeonseaorland.”

Luckless members of the

Fairport Guard who had nothad the precaution to tie ontheirhead-gear,mightbeseenbreaking rank and runningindecorously in variousdirectionsinpursuitofhatorcap, while the skirts of thecaptain’s time-honored coatflapped in the wind, like thesignalofashipindistress.

It was in the endeavor tocomplete their usual tour, bypassing along thewharf, that

this military body wassubjected to this attack fromoldBoreas.Worseconfusion,however, soon broke up allorder among them. A groupofmenonthewharfhadbeenfor some time looking at ashipnearingtheharbor.Theycould notmake her out, theysaid. She was a stranger inthosewaters,andyetboretheAmericanflag.Sheseemedaman-of-war, and was

evidently signalling for apilot.

Fairport harbor, smoothand safe as it was, cradledamongtheoverhangingcliffs,had a guard at its entrancewhichnostrangermightdefy.Itsdeepnarrowchannelwentwindingamonghiddenrocks,and woe betide the keel thatventured a dozen yards fromitsappointedpath.

For thirty years Joe

Robertson had been the pilotof Fairport, and was as wellknown to the frequenters ofthat harbor as was the tallspire whichwas the pride ofthe town. The sound of warhad, however, roused withinhimthespiritofhis fatherofRevolutionary memory. Hedeclaredhewouldnothaveitsaid that Joe Robertson wascontenttoplaydoor-keepertothe harbor of Fairport, while

brave men were sheddingtheirbloodforthecountry,asdear tohimas to them.Joe’senthusiasmwascontagious.Itspread through all Fairport,and there was hardly a manwho could bear arms on seaorlandwhowasnotoffathiscountry’sbidding.

OldJock,whohadhadonelegbittenoffbyashark,menwho had been crippled by afall from mainmast or yard,

and sickly sailors, worn outby the fevers of southernports, were left at home tokeep company with the fewtrue landsmen, the shopmenofthetown.

OldJockhadbeencontentto serve as pilot since thedepartureof Joe,andwellheknew the channel; but heseemed to have grown lazy,or particularly careful ofhimself, since Hal had come

under his roof. Now hepositivelyrefusedtogotothevessel in the offing. Heplainly expressed his doubtsastowhatkindofacraftshewas, and moreover declaredthat such a squall as wascoming up was “not to berisked by any man in hissenses, even if that old shipwenttothebottomwitheverysoulinher.”

Blair listened intently to

this conversation. Too manytimeshadhebeen to and frowith his father in his pilot’sduty not to know well thedangerous channel. Everycrook and turn in it was asfamiliar to him as thewindings of the little path inhis mother’s flower-garden.The boy stood erect withgrowing determination as thespeakerswenton.

“Shemakes for the shore.

She’llsurelyrunontherocksif a pilot don’t go to her. IfJoe Robertson were onlyhere. What business had aman of his age going off tothewar, insteadof staying tolook after the harbor of hisowntown?”

“Hehaslefthissontotakehisplace,”saidBlairquickly.“Iknowthechannel.Iamnotafraid.Iwilljustspeaktomymother,andthenI’moff.”

Inafewhurriedwordstheson told his design to themother who understood himso well. “May I go?” headded; “I know you will notrefuse.”

The mother’s eyes filledwith tears as she spoke. “Iwill not keep you, my nobleboy. God bless and watchover you.The trueChristian,likehisMaster, takeshis lifeinhishand,andgoesforthat

the call of duty. The truepatriot will risk all for hisdear countrymen. Go. Myprayers shall be around youlikeaguard.”

WhenBlairreturnedtothewharf itwaswithhismotherat his side. The little pilot-boathadbeenmadeready.Ashe jumped into it, anotherfigure quickly followed him.ItwasHalHutchings.“Imustgo with you,” he said with

determination.“Icanmanagea boat. I sha’n’t be in theway. I couldn’t stand it towait on the shore. May-betwoofuswillbeneeded.”

BlairgaveHalonecordialgrasp of the hand, thenhoisted his bit of a sail, andsoonoverthewildwavesthetwo boys took their coursetogether.

“God help that BlairRobertson.Hehasthemaking

of the right kindof aman inhim,”exclaimedabystander.

“He’s our captain, Blairis,” said one of the youngestmembers of the FairportGuard.

“Whowouldhave thoughtof Hal’s making such aventure?” said Old Jock.“He’s a little skeary aboutwater yet.But I believe he’ddie for Blair Robertson.Whatever takes hold of that

Hal Hutchings takes himstrong.”

Themother’seyefollowedthe little boat as it wentdancing over the waves, buther heart was uplifted insilentprayer.

CHAPTERVII.NO!

The pilot-boat was nearing

thestrangevessel,whenBlairsuddenly exclaimed, “I seeBritish uniforms on board.Wehavebeentrickedbythatflagfalselydisplayed.ItisanEnglish man-of-war. Putabout. We’ll pilot no suchvesselintoFairport.”

Quick as thought the littleboathad turned its head, andwas making towards theshore.Themovementwasnotunperceived on board the

man-of-war, and its causewas at once understood. Aboat, manned by a dozenstrongrowers,hadbeenmadereadyforsuchanemergency.Theywere quickly in pursuitof the retreating pilot. Theygainedrapidlyupontheboys,and were soon alongside,commanding Blair tosurrender,whilehalf adozenmuskets were aimed at thebravelads.

“Fire!Doyourworst!Iamnot afraid to die!” sprang tothe lips of Blair Robertson;buthethoughtofhismother,and was silent. He had norightsotothrowawaythelifeofheronlyson.

“Surrender, or we shallfire,”wasagainrepeated.

“A couple of unarmedboys, decoyed within yourreach, would be a worthymark for your treacherous

British muskets,” said Blairboldly. “Iwould dare you tofire, but there are those athomewhowouldmissustoomuch.Dowhatyouwillwithus;weareyourprisoners.”

The British tars handledtheir captives withoutceremony, and hurried thematonceonboard theman-of-war and presented thembefore its impatientcommander.

Notalittlesurprisedatthegrotesque appearance of theprisoners, he exclaimed inastonishment,“Whoandwhatareyou?”

“I am a Yankee boy, thecaptain of the FairportGuard,” said Blair frankly.“Wehadbeenparading,whenyour signal for a pilot calledmetoosuddenlyawayformetohave time to layaside thisdress, this coat which my

grandfather wore at BunkerHill.”

A strong emphasis waslaid on the last word of thesentence.

“You young rascal!”exclaimed the commander.“AndwhoisthisTom-foolofacompanion?”

“Itismyfriend,andoneofour company. He would notseemeriskingmylifeonthewater while he stood on the

shore. Would that we hadmany such ‘Tom-fools,’withbrave,strongheartslikehis.”

AsBlairspoke,hetookoffhis official cap and left hisnoble youngheadbare.Withanother movement theprecious coat was thrownoverhisarm,andthestriplingstood inhis school-boydressbefore the Englishcommander, who exclaimed,“A pretty pilot, you. Who

sentyouonthismaderrand?”“My father has been for

thirty years the pilot ofFairport. He is now absentfighting for his countryagainst her oppressors. Iknow the channel well. Noone of our few remainingmenwouldventurehislifeinsuch a sea for an unknownvessel,andsoIcame.Iknewit would be certain death foryoutotrytoenterthatharbor

withoutapilot.”“Thendoyourduty,young

malapert.There isno time tobe lost. We’ll run up theBritish flag, and go into portunderfaircolors.”

The commander gave thenecessary orders to have thelast suggestion carried out,and the sailors were prompttodohisbidding.

Blair stood perfectly still,while a look of stern

determination sat on hisyoungface.“Iwillneverpilotenemies to the shores of ourland. You can shoot me, butyou cannot force me to actthetraitor.”

The boy spoke resolutely.TheEnglishcommandereyedhim for a moment, and thensaidquickly,

“Shooting is too good foryou,youngdare-devil.Thatisquickwork,soonover.There

are other means of bringingyoutoterms.”

The commander held inhis hand a thick pamphlet inwhich he had been reading.Hemadeitintoafirmscroll,andplaceditupontheedgeoftherailingnearwhichhewasstanding.Thenturningtooneofthesailors,hesaid,“Here,let me see you cut thatthrough with your knife. Bequick.”

The man drew the longknife from his belt, andwithone sweeping stroke severedthe thick scroll. One partwentflutteringthroughtheairand dropped in the angrywaters, while the other wasfirmly held by thecommander.

“Putyoungmaster’sright-hand in the same place, andwewillseeitfoodforfishes.Or will he choose to do his

duty, and keep his preciousfivefingersforfutureuse?”

The words had hardlypassed from the lips of theBritish officer, when Blairlaid his hand calmly on therailing,andexclaimed,“Now,God helping me, you maytearmelimbfromlimb,andIwill be true to my countryandmyhome.”

“It’snouse.He’llkeephisword. You can’t force ’im,”

shouted Hal Hutchings, thetears coursing down hischeeks.

The wild winds sweptthrough the rigging, and thestorm came on with suddenviolence.

This was no time forcontention with such a spiritas Blair had displayed, andthe captain at once gaveorders to make for the opensea,wherehemightthemore

safely abide the approachingtempest.TheFairportchannelhad been strewn with toomany wrecks to be venturedwithoutacarefulpilot,andofthat the English captain hadbeenfullywarned.

BlairandHalwerehastilythrust below, while rapidpreparations were made tomeet the coming hour ofdanger.

CHAPTERVIII.

THESTORM

Theplace inwhichBlairand

his companion foundthemselves was a smallstronglybuiltcloset,usedasa“lock-up” for refractorysailors. A single bull’s-eyeadmitted a mere glimmer oflightforawhile,butthatsoondiedawayinutterdarknessasthe night came rapidly on. Itwas well for the boys thatthey knew something ofocean’s rough rocking. Aland-lubber would have had

all the miseries of sea-sicknessadded to thehorrorsofthatdrearydungeon.

A new exaltation of spirithad come over Blair.Difficulties and dangersseemed as nothing to himwhile in thepathofduty.Hefeared neither the ragingelements nor the power ofangry enemies. He had thepromise that those who trustinGodshallneverbemoved,

and in this strong refuge hewassafe.

NotsowithpoorHal.Thedread of death had seizedhim, and absorbed all otherthoughts. He could not butthink of the horrors intowhichheshouldbeplungedifhe suddenly found a waterygrave. Prayer seemedimpossible for him, as in akind of agonized waiting hemet everyplungeand reelof

thestorm-tossedship.Ah,thetimeofperilisnot

the best time to make one’speace with God.When heartandfleshfail,thesoulshrinksin dismay before its comingdoom.Even thewild prayersfor deliverance which mayburstfromtheaffrightedsoul,what will they avail at thejudgment?Are they the criesofthecontriteheartmourningfor its sins against a holy,

loving, and beneficentheavenly Father? Are theynot rather but as the shrieksof the criminal who sees noescape from his meritedretribution?Alasforhimwhopostpones his day ofrepentance till face to facewith the king of terrors. It ishe only who is strong in hisgreat Deliverer who can seethat icy beckoning hand, andamid the shrinking of human

nature find himself calm inthe strength which only Godsupplies.Iftheagoniesorthestupor of the sick-bed unfitthe soul to seek peace withGod in the dying hour, evenso does the anguish of suchfear as now bowed poor Haltotheearth.

As the English ladcrouched in his terror, Blairknelt at his side and prayedearnestly forhimto thatGod

who seemed to the youngChristianbut themoresurelyathand, for the tokensofhispower thatmade thatmightyship quiver like a leaf in theautumnwind.

Worn out with the excessof his own strong emotion,Halatlengthsankintoadeepslumber, and rolled andtossed with the vessel like alifelessthing.Blairfearedthepoorboyhadactuallydiedof

terror;buthesoonconvincedhimself that there was yetmotion in that heart whichhadthrobbedsotrulyforhim.

There was no sleep forBlair during that long wildnight. In the intensity of hisexcitement,his thoughts flewthrough his mind with avividnessandaswiftnessthatmadehimalmost feel thathewas tastinganewandhigherkind of existence. Spiritual

thingswereas real tohimashisownidentity,andtheGodinwhomhetrustedseemedathis side as a familiar friend.Of his mother too he couldthinkwithout a tear. Hewassure that if left childless, shewould be comforted andsustained and gently ledalong her lonely pathway.Hadhenotbeenfulfillingheroft-repeated counsel, to fearnothing but sin? Had he not

vindicated that love of hisnative land, which she hadtaught him should be next tohis allegiance to God? Shemight never know his fate.Yetshewouldmournforhimas for one who died in hiseffort to fulfil the duties ofhis absent father, and riskedhis own life to save thehuman freightofa ship fromwreckandsuredestruction.

Daylight brought but a

feeble glimmer to Blair’sdark prison-house, yet hewelcomed it as theassuranceofdawn—dawnwhichiseverwelcome to the watcher,though itmayusher in adayofdoubledanger.

CHAPTERIX.

AREWARD

Halwasstillinthedeepsleep

into which he had fallen,when the bolts of their placeof confinement werewithdrawn. Blair’s clearbrighteyes looked full in theface of the Englishcommander, who now stoodbeforehim.

“Give me your hand, myboy,”said thecaptain.“Icanrespect bravery wherever Ifind it. I honor you for yourdeterminedcourage.Tellme,

who taught you so to loveyourcountry?”

Blair’s hand still hung athissideasheanswered,“Mymother, sir; the best ofmothers. She would ratherhave me die in the rightcause,thanliveatraitor.”

“You will not give meyour hand? Perhaps I do notdeserve it; but it was notcrueltywhichpromptedmetoactasIdidlastevening.Ifelt

our danger, and scrupled notto use any means whichshould bring you to terms.Your constancy triumphed. Iknew that no threats couldforce sucha spirit.You shallnot lose your reward, in theknowledgeoftheserviceyouhave done your home andyourkindred.Myorderswereto get into the harbor ofFairport,totakepossessionofthe naval stores there

belonging to privateersmen,and then to reduce the towntoashes.”

For the first time Blair’seyesfilledwithtears,andhischest swelled with strongemotion as he exclaimed,“ThankGod,Ihavebeenableto be useful to my countryand my home. This will fillmy mother’s heart with joy.ToherIoweallinmethatisworthyofpraise.”

“I believe I can trust you,my lad,” said the captain. “Iwould notwillingly havemyname go out as one whowould maim and torture abrave lad.My desperation ismy excuse for my expedientoflastevening.Iwantyoutopromise to keep that scene asecret. You may perchancesomedayhaveyourownsinsto cover. I have beenreckoned brave and

honorable, and I would nothavemy fairname tarnished.Willyoupromise?”

“I forgive you from myheart. I promise,” said Blair,franklyextendinghishand.

“Such a mother as yourscan be trusted,” said theEnglish commander, warmlygrasping the offered hand.“Shemustknowhowhersondid her honor in his hour ofdanger.Tellherthestory,but

letherkeepit toherself.Thetrue patriot, my boy, iswilling to suffer for hiscountry, though he win nogloryfromhissufferings.Areyou equal to such asacrifice?”

“IownI should like tobeknown as onewho had donesomething for his nativeland,” saidBlair; “but itwilldomegood,andmakemethepurer patriot, I trust, to have

only my mother’s praise, ifweevermeetagain.”

“You shall be released atthe earliest opportunity; butthis your companion muststaywithus.Iwishhewasofthe stuff that you are. Wewould make a British tar ofhim,whowoulddoushonor.His tongue tells the story ofhis birth, even if we coulddoubt the witness of hisSaxoneyesandhair.”

“He chose to be anAmerican. He worked hiswaytoahomewithus,andtous he ought to belong,” saidBlairboldly.

“He is English,unnaturalizedofcourse,asheisunderage.Hebelongstousby all law. I wish hewere abetterprey,”saidthecaptain.

“You do Hal Hutchingsinjustice.A truer heart neverthrobbed. Timid as he is, he

venturedwithme in theboatbecausehewouldnotseemego alone. Let him once lovehis duty as he lovesme, andthere will be no post ofdanger from which he willshrink.”

Blair’s eyes flashed andhischeekglowedashespoke.

“He shall be kindly caredfor.Wewillmakethebestofwhat is inhim.Youarebothfreetogoyourwayonboard

the ship. There is no chanceofescapewherewenoware.You will see how our goodvessel has suffered by thestorm. Yet she weathered itbravely.You shall have foodhere presently, and then youare at large, prisoners onparole.”

With these words thecaptaintookhisleave.

Blair’sfirstimpulse,whenleft alone, was to throw

himself on his knees besidehis sleeping companion.From the depths of his hearthe thankedGod for enablinghim to be firm to his duty;and earnestly he prayed thathemight bemade humble inthemidstof thehonorwhichhad been allowed him. Forhis dear mother too rose afervent prayer that shemightbe kept in the hollow of herMaker’s hand during the

absenceofherson,whomshehad striven to train as aChristian patriot, whosewatchwords are ever, “Godandmynativeland.”

CHAPTERX.

ANEWDECK

TheBritishvesselhadindeed

sufferedmuchdamage in thefearful storm. The crashingand wrenching that had sooverwhelmed poor Hal withterror, had been thedestruction of mast and yardand bulwark. Yet, thoughsorely dismantled, the goodshipwasabletokeepbravelyonherway.

ShehadbeenseveraldaysheadingforthedistantshoresofEngland,aloneonthewide

ocean, which like a sulkychild bore the marks of itslate outburst of passion longafter the sky above was allsmilesandsunshine.

The appearance of threesails along the far horizoncaught the captain’s waryeye. That they wereAmericans he did not doubt—privateers, against whichsingly he could havewon aneasy victory; but disabled as

hisvesselnowwas,hecouldnot dare to copewith such atrio.

They gained rapidly uponhim.Hisresolutionwastakenatonce.Hewroteafewlineshastily, sealed them, andsummoned Blair to his side.“Myboy,”hesaid,“Iwanttosend you on a dangerousmission. Dare you trustyourselfinyourboatuponthesea,chafingas itstill isfrom

the late storm? I want amessenger to send to yondercraft so swiftly nearing us.Dare you go? Your courageshallsetyoufree.”

“Iwillgo.Godwillwatchoverme,andbringmesafetomy mother,” said Blairpromptly.

A few words ofaffectionatepartingwithHal,and then Blair was again afree boy, the sky above and

the friendly waters below.Friendly they seemed to himas he sped over the wavestowardstheflagofhisnativeland.He did not look behindhim to see that the Stars andStripes were waving abovethe British vessel, run upwhen she was called on toshow her colors. He did notnote thefact that thedeckonwhichhehadlatelystoodwasfast passing from sightwhile

hehastedonhiserrand.Twooftheprivateerskept

up their chase of thesuspicious craft, while theother hove to, to receive themessage which had beensignalized as in the hands ofthe boy in the fastapproachingboat.

Blair stepped freely andgladly when he was oncemore among his own dearcountrymen,anditwaswitha

beaming face that hepresented his sealed note tothecaptainofthe“Molly.”

The note was as follows:“We send you herewith anAmericanboy,bychanceourprisoner. We trust that thegainingofsuchanadditiontoyour crewwillmake amendsfor the loss of the Britishproperty which this delaygivesusachancetocarryoffinsafety.”

The captain of the Mollyread these few words at aglance; then stamping hisfoot, he exclaimed, “Youyoung villain! American ornoAmerican,youshallsufferfor this sneaking trick.We’llsend you back again out ofthe mouth of our guns, orhalf-way at least. It is notworthourwhiletofollowthatmiserable cheat. Those goodships will take him before

many hours are over.Yankees know a British hullifAmericancolorsare flyingoverher.”

Blair looked withastonishmentwhere, far overthe waters, the British man-of-warwasfadingfromsight.

“It is a shabby trick,but Iwas no party to it,” heexclaimed. “I would soonerlose my right hand than liftone finger against my

countrymen. I am anAmerican.IamthesonofoldJoe Robertson, the pilot ofFairport. Perhaps you knowhim. If you do, you will besure that one of his bloodwould never do dishonor totheStarsandStripes.”

Captain Knox of theprivateer Molly had neverheard of Joe Robertson; buthis knowledge of the worldmade him see truth and

innocence in the face of theboy. Blair’s words came tooquickly, and his voice waspitched too high for Englishbirth, and that the bluntcaptainmarkedatonce.

“Nomatterwhoyouareorwhereyoucamefrom,ifyouare all right as to the Starsand Stripes,” said CaptainKnox. “We don’t ask toomany questions here as towhat folks have been before

they come aboard theMolly.If you can obey orders andhandlearope,thisistheplaceforyoutomakeyourfortune.Go aft, and Derry Duck ourfirst-matewillfindsomethingfor you to do in short order.He knows how to take thestiffness out of a fellow’sbones.”

Thus dismissed, Blairmingled among the sailors attheotherendofthevessel,by

no means a welcome guest.Muttered curses fell on hisears,andmorethanonevoicewas heard to say, “He oughtto be sunk forty fathoms insalt water, with a hundredweightofleadathisheels.”

CHAPTERXI.

“MUM”

CaptainKnoxdid not set off

inpursuitoftheBritishvesselfrom which Blair had sounexpectedly escaped. Ouryoungsailorsoonlearnedthatthe“Molly”wasonthelook-out for richer prey, in theshape of an East Indiaman,whose costly cargo wasexpectedtoproveagoldmineforcaptainandcrew.

The loveofadventureandthe lust for gold seemeduppermost in the minds of

Blair’snewcompanions.TheFairport boywas not long indiscovering that there wasabout as little Christianpatriotism on board theMolly, as there is verdure inSahara.Inthefreedomofthemess-table, the lateachievements of the crewwere the occasion ofmany a“yarn,” and ofmany a fiercediscussionastowhohadbeentheboldestandmostreckless

in the excitement of attackandvictory. Itwas plain thatthe crew of the Molly werelittle better than a den ofthieves, their whole thoughtbeingofplunder, theirwholeambitionthewinningofgold.Blairblushedforthehonorofhiscountry,tofindsuchmenamongheravoweddefenders.Oaths and obscenity madeeven more hateful the roughnarratives in which each

strove to prove himselfmorehardenedandabandonedthanthe last speaker. Blair’s soulrecoiledwithhorror fromthetaint of such companionship;yet for him there was noescape. Among these coarserovers he was forced to eatand sleep, to live and labor,whilemanyweekswentby.

Theyoungestonboard,hewas at the beck and call ofthese rough men, who made

his body as weary of doingtheir bidding as his soul oftheirwordsofwickedness.Adeep, hearty hatred of thecrew of the Molly tookpossession of BlairRobertson.Hewondered thata benevolent Providenceshould have placed aChristianboy in themidstofthe pollution of suchassociates, and subject to themartyrdom of hearing their

daily talk. A cold andhaughty silence was Blair’sdefenceagainsttheirscoldingand their railing. With afeeling of conscioussuperiority he moved amongthem, desiring their praiseeven less than theirpersecution.

The names of the crew ofthe Molly were asunattractive as theirappearance and manners.

These soubriquets spoke notof pious parents who hadgiven their children to God,with a Christian namewhichthey trusted would beregistered in heaven. Theytold rather of lawless lives,and a past which must beburied in oblivion oracknowledged with shameand perhaps fear. “Fighting-cock,” “Torpedo,”“Brimstone,” and “the

Slasher,” were among theleaders who dubbed Blairwith the title of “Mum,” andso saluted him on alloccasions. Blair had a veryconsiderablesenseofhisowndignity,andwasbynomeanspleased with this style ofaddress. Yet he showed hisresentment by increasedtaciturnity rather than bywords. Captain Knox andDerry Duck soon found out

that Blair Robertson was nouseless addition to the crew,and promptly gave him hisshare in the watch and inother duties which hisstrengthwouldpermit.

The hours of the watchwere to Blair the mostagreeablehenowenjoyed.Inthe silent night, with the seabelow and the sentinel starsoverhead,hecouldcommunewithGod,undisturbedby the

wickednessofman.Blair had not been a day

on board the Molly, whenTorpedo, a fiery youngSpaniard, spied him readinghis pocket-Testament in aquiet part of the ship. Thebookwas snatchedawayandflung triumphantly into thewater, while TorpedoexclaimedinbadEnglishthatBlair should follow it if hetried to force any of his

canting notions on the freecrew of the privateer. Wellwas it forBlair thathismindwas storedwith chapter afterchapter of the preciousvolume, which wouldotherwise have been to himnow a sealed book. Itsurprised him to see howmuch of the Scriptures hecould by a strong effortrecall, and most consolingand cheering to him were

those words of peace andpower.

In one of these lonelywatches, Blair’s thoughtsturned to his presentcompanions with his usualloathing. Suddenly therecame to him the image ofthese roughbadmen in theirdaysofbabyhood,ereyetthisevil world had found its fullresponse in the evil withintheir poor human hearts. He

couldfancythelovingeyeofGod on those little ones,following them along theirdrearypathway, andgrievingas thicker grew the crust ofsinoverallthathadbeenpureand childlike, and more andmore dark their comingdoom. Blair realized for thefirsttimetheloveofGod,thepure andholyGod, for thosewicked transgressors of hislaw. “Yes,” he thought, “it

was while we were yetsinnersChristdiedforus.Hecamenottocalltherighteous,but sinners to repentance.Hatefulasmusthavebeen toHim the atmosphere of guiltanddegradation in this lowerworld, he left his Father’sthrone and came to seek andto save thatwhichwas lost.”Ah, how unlike the ministryof the Son of man had beenBlair’s proud, self-exalting,

unloving demeanor. Perhapsmercy for those poorabandoned men had sent aChristianboytodwellamongthem and show forth theimage of his Master. Withdeep shame Blair saw howunchristian had been histhoughtsandactstowardshisuncongenial associates. Hadhe not cherished the veryspirit of the Pharisee, “Standby thyself; I am holier than

thou?” Blair thought of hisproud and hasty temper andof the many sins of hisboyhood, andmeekly ownedthatbutforthelovinghandofGod which had hedged himroundagainsttemptation,andplanted him in the garden oftheLord,hemighthavebeeneven worse than these wildroversofthesea.Earnestlyheprayed that he might so liveandloveonboardtheMolly,

that at least a faint imagemight be given of the greatExample, who endured thecontradiction of sinners, andfor theirsakeswaswilling tosufferevenuntodeath.

Shame and indignationthat suchmenshouldprofessto be defenders of theAmerican flag had hithertobeen a chill to the patriotismof Blair Robertson. Now thethoughtstruckhim,that ifhe

could but win one of thesehardysailorstobeaChristianservant of his country, anhonortotheflagunderwhichhesailed,notinvainwouldayoung patriot have enduredthe trials and temptations ofthe “Molly.” “But,” thoughtBlair, “what am I, single-handed, against so many?How can I hope to bring ablessingbytheprayersofmyone heart, be it ever so

devoted?” He rememberedthat the prayer of the patriotMoses saved thehostsof thechildren of Israel from utterdestruction at the hand oftheir offended God. At theprayer of Paul, the Ruler oftheseasgavehimnotonlyhisown life, but the lives of allthat were with him in theship. “I cannot,” he said tohimself,“hope toprevail likethesesaintsofold,atleastnot

for my own sake; but thenameofJesusisall-powerful.I will plead it for the poorwanderersaboutme,andGodwill in due time, I trust,prosperandblessmyefforts.”

CHAPTERXII.

THEFIRSTEFFORT

“I’ve brokenmy jack-knife,”said the yellow-headed,yellow-facedtarwhorejoicedin the nickname ofBrimstone. The speech wasaccompanied by an oath thatchilled thevery soulofBlairRobertson; but it was themorning after the watchwhich had so changed hisviews towards his wildassociates, and he at onceseized the opportunity to

beginhisnewlineofconduct.Blair had a large many-

bladedSheffieldknife,whichhad been a present to hisfather from an Englishcaptain. For several years itwas hoarded as a specialtreasure, and then on aChristmas-day found its wayinto the pocket of the onlyson.Blairknewtheworthandtemperofeveryblade,anditsfit and appointed use. Not a

boy in Fairport had such aknife, as had beenacknowledged on all hands.Hehadbesidesoften thoughtofitasnobadweaponincaseof an attack from any of thefighting crew of the Molly.“Tostickaman,”wasintheirestimation no uncommonoccurrence, judging from thetales of their adventures,whichtheydelightedtotell.

“Take my knife, wont

you? It is a first-rate one,”said Blair, handing over histreasure as freely as if thesacrifice had cost him noeffort.

Brimstone opened hisround cat-like eyes insurprise; and then droppingthe knife into the depths ofhis pocket, said, “Green,green!Youexpectedtomakea trade with me, I suppose.You can’t come it. I never

swap.”“I meant to make you a

present of it.You seemed soput out about your knife’sbreaking,” said Blairpleasantly. “A fellow doeshate to break his knife. AnEnglish captain gave that tomy father five years ago. Ithassixblades.”

Brimstone took the knifeout of his pocket andexamined it slowly, opening

blade afterbladewith the airofaconnoisseur.

“I say, youngster, it’s afirst-ratearticle.Youmeantaswap,now;ownup.Whatdidyoumean toaskme for it, ifI’dbeeninthehumor?”

“There is onlyone thing Ishould like to ask of you,”beganBlair.

“Ha,ha!Iknewyoumeanta swap,” said Brimstone.“There’snoharminmakinga

cleanbreastofit.”“Iwantedtoaskyounotto

swear those horrible oaths. ItremblelestGod,whosegreatname you blaspheme, shouldsmite you dead with thosecurses on your lips,” saidBlairearnestly.

Brimstone had the longblade of the knife open. HegaveanangrythrustatBlair,which the lad skilfullyavoided, but without a

shadow of fear in his fineface. “None of that talk,”exclaimed Brimstone. “Wesaywhatwepleaseandwhenwe please on board theMolly.Mum’stherightwordfor you.We want no parsonjustoutofpetticoatshere.”

Blairwalkedquietlyaway.His preciousknifewasgone,and he had perhaps butirritated and made moreunfriendly one of the very

men whom he so longed toinfluence for good. He hadleft himself without anydefensive weapon amongmen who reckoned humanlife as of trifling value. YetBlairwasnotdiscouraged.Hehad made a beginning; andthough roughly received, itwas an effort put forth in aChristianspirit,andcouldnotbelost.Withapetitioninhisheart for the rough sailor he

hadjustquitted,Blairwenttoa quiet part of the ship towrite a few lines to hismother. It seemed to him itwould be a comfort to fancyhimself in communicationwith her, though the lettermight never fall under herdear eyes. Yet that was notimpossible.Therewereletterswaiting already on board,until they could be sent bysome homeward-bound craft.

Thelittlemail-bagmightfindatimelyandtrustybearer.

Blair had nearly filled thesheet before him,unconsciousofanyobservers.The vessel lay becalmed,scarcelymoving on the quietwaters,andthemenhadbeenstretched lazily about, orleisurely mending sails, orwashingtheirclothingintruesailors’fashion.DrawnonbyBrimstone’s beckoning

finger, a group had silentlygathered round Blair, readyfor any wild frolic at theboy’s expense which theirsummoner might have in hisunscrupulousbrain.

Just as Blair put thesignature to his letter, thepaper was snatched from hishand by some one frombehind.

“Now hear, worshipfulshipmates,” said Brimstone,

making as if he would readtheletteraloud.

“You don’t know youralphabet,” said Derry Duckcontemptuously. “I am thescholardforyou;butIchooseto let the writer do his ownreading. Here, Mum, let ushavethebenefitofyourlong-tailed letter in plain English,stopsputinallright.”

Blair’s eyes flashed for amoment, but the next he put

outhishandfortheletter,andsaid pleasantly, “Do youreally want to know how aYankee boy writes home tohis mother? Well, then, I’llreadeverywordout,justasitiswritten.”

The tonesofBlair’s voicewereclearandfirmashereadasfollows:

“Dear Mother—I alwaysthought I loved you, but Inever half knew what you

were tomebefore. I thinkofyoubyday,anddreamofyoubynight.”

“I should think he waswriting to his sweetheart,”saidBrimstonewith a coarselaugh.

“Silence,” shouted DerryDuck in a tone of command.“Goon,boy.”

Blair resumed. “I am onboard the ‘Molly,’ CaptainKnox,anAmericanprivateer,

safeandsound, in fullhealthand fair spirits, thanks to thegood God who has watchedover me. It would be a longstory to tell you how I camehere;thatIwillreservetillwemeet. When the Britishcommander found he couldnot make me pilot him intoFairport, he put for the opensea, and there we took thegale.Arealtear-awayitwas,and raked the old ship well-

nighcleanfromstemtostern;but they riggedherup again,and had her skimming theseas like a duck before twodayswereover.IhadtoleaveHal Hutchings on board ofher; they claimed him for anEnglish subject. It was likelosing my eyes to part withhim.

“I never thought to seesuch danger as has fallen tomy lot since I kissed you

good-by,dearmother;butmyheart has never failed me.God has sustained me ineveryhouroftrial,andItrusthimforall that isbeforeme,be it danger or temptation ordeath. He is all-powerful. Inhis strength I shall come offconqueror. He spread thissmiling sky above me. Hemeasured these limitlesswaters in the hollow of hishand. He can, he will, keep

mefromallevil;andifdeathshall be my portion, he willtake me, all unworthy as Iam, to his kingdomof glory,for the sake of our crucifiedRedeemer.”

Blair Robertson had theraregiftsofvoiceandmannerwhich ever exercise aninfluencemorepowerfulthanforceofargumentoreleganceof style. What he said wenthome to the hearts of his

hearers. As he uttered thedeep feelings of his soul, hisrudelistenerswereawedintosilence.Hepaused,and therewas a moment of deathlikestillness.

It was interrupted byBrimstone, who uttered anoath incoarsebravado,asheexclaimed that he for onewould hear no more suchstuff, fit only for milk-soplandlubbersandsillywomen.

“Read nomore,my boy,”said Derry Duck soberly.“You cast your pearls beforeswine.”

Blair turned a quick lookupon the mate as he said,“You then know somethingofScripture, and canmake arightuseofit.IbelieveIhavefoundafriend.”

“You have, you have,”saidDerryDuck,graspingtheoffered hand of the stripling

in a gripe that would havemade him wince with painbut for the bounding joy ofhisheart.

Derry Duck was calledaway at that moment by asummons from the captain,andBlair,unmolested,closedhisletteranddroppeditinthemail-bag.Prayerforthemateof theMollywasin theheartof Blair, even as his handswere busy with the melting

wax, or loosing the rudeentrancetothepost-officeonthesea.

CHAPTERXIII.

TEMPTATION

Derry Duck was no mean

ally.Thestrengthofhisarm,andhisposition as second incommand, gave him greatinfluenceonboardtheMolly.There were traditions of thepowerofhisbare fist todealdeath with a single blow—traditionswhichwonforhiman odd kind of respect, andinsuredforhimtheobediencehe never failed to exact.DerryhavingavowedhimselfthefriendofBlairRobertson,

it was well understood thatthere must be an end to thepeculiar persecutions towhich the boy had beensubjected. He could not ofcourse escape such roughusageofword and act as thecrew had for each other, buthewas to be no longer theirchosenbuttandscape-goat.

Blair felt at once theadvantage of having sopowerful “a friend at court,”

and he eagerly seized uponthefavorableturninaffairstocarry out his new plans andwishes for his associates. Ithadstruckhimthattherewasbut oneway to avoid havinghis ears pained and his soulpolluted by the conversationthatwas theentertainmentofthe mess. He must do hisshare of the talking, and soadapt it to his own taste andprinciples. The lion’s share

Blairdetermineditshouldbe,and that without unfairness,ashehadtomakeupforlosttime. Once assured thatBrimstone’s unwashed handwasnottobeplacedoverhismouth if he attempted tospeak, and the cry, “Shutup,Mum,” raised by hiscompanions, Blair’s tonguewassetloose.

We have said that Blairwas by no means averse to

hearing his own voice; andmuch as his guidingmotivesand aims had changed, theBlaironboardtheMollywasstill the same human beingthat he was in JoeRobertson’s little parlor inFairport.Neverdidcitybellestrivemoreearnestlytomakeher conversation attractive toher hearers, than did ouryoung patriot, actuated by amotive which is in

comparison with hers as thesunlight to the glow-worm’suncertainray.

Blairhadsongstosingandspeeches to make. He hadwild stories of the strugglesoftheearlysettlersofMaine,caughtlongagofromthelipsof gray-haired men andtreasured in the boy’s heart,that had little reckoned thecominguseforthesehoardedwonders. The captains who

hadsharedtheservicesofthepilotofFairporthadfilledhiswillingearswithtalesoftheiradventures in every sea andon every coast, and the fondfather had garnered thesemarvellous legends to tell tohis little listener at home, tillthechild’seyesglowedbrightashepanted to tasteofperil,and do and dare amid thestormywaves.

Now indeed came a time

of peril to Blair.With secretdelight he found he had apower to charm and moveeven the rough band whogathered round him to catchevery word of the glowingnarratives he poured forthfromhiscrowdedstorehouse.There is somethingwithinusallwhichpromptsustoadaptour conversation to the tasteand capacity of ourcompanions. A kindly

inclinationitmaybe,andyetit is full of danger. He whomaydare to be “all things toallmen,”must, likeSt.Paul,have set his feet on the rockChrist Jesus, and be exaltedby the continualremembranceofthe“cloudofwitnesses” in the heavenlykingdom, and the fixed, all-searching glance of the pureeye of God, reading theinmostsoul.

InsensiblyBlairinclinedtousethelanguageinwhichhishearers couched their ownthoughts.Aswe speak baby-talk to the infant, andbrokenEnglishtotheFrenchman,heunconsciously dealt inexpressions adapted to thewild eager faces that lookedintohis.Herehadsurelybeena temptation thatwouldhavedragged the young speakerdown to the pit which the

great adversary had madeready for him, but for thestrongDelivererwhowalkedamid the flames of fire withthe three faithful “children”ofold.

Blair saw his danger, andmetitnotinhisownstrength.Whetherhesatdownattable,or mingled in the groups ondeck,orsharedthewatchofacompanion, by a determinedandprayerfulefforthestrove

to keep in his mind thepresence of “One like untotheSonofman.”Tohimthatface,unsulliedbytaintofsinorshame,wasinthemidstofthe weather-beaten, guilt-marked countenances of thecrew of the Molly. He who“turnedand lookedonPeter”wasaskinghisyoungservantinatender,appealingglance,“Will you blaspheme myname? Will you offend Him

inwhoseeyestheheavensarenot pure, and who chargethevenhisangelswithfolly?”

A deep “No; so help meGod,” was the full responseof the whole being of BlairRobertson. He would watchhis tongue andguardhis lipsbythecontinualprayerwhichshould stir inhisheart in themidstofspeech,song,ortaleofwildadventure.

Whentheyoungsailorhad

taught his listeners gladly tohear when he would givethempleasure, hebydegreesgave full utterance to thenaturallanguageandinterestsof his heart. They learned tolove to listen even when hepouredforth inhispeculiarlymelodious voice somemajestic mariner’s hymn, ortold in thrilling tones howsome God-fearing seamanhad stood at the helm of a

burning ship and headed herto land, until he passed fromamidthedevouringflamestothe glory of the kingdom ofheaven.Theyheardandcouldnot but admire the story ofthe unselfish Christiancaptain,whosawhimself leftaloneonthesinkingship,butwould not crowd the alreadyoverloaded boats with hismanly form. He preferred tomeethisdoom in thepathof

duty, and on the deckwhereGodhadplacedhimgodownto thedepthsof the sea, surethat his Saviour would therereceive him and give him anabundant entrance intoheaven.

ThusinhisownwayBlairwas laboring for the welfareofhisshipmates,everprayingthatsomegoodseedmightbeblessed by the Lord of thevineyard, and spring up unto

eternallife.

CHAPTERXIV.

DERRYDUCK

Derry Duck having

vouchsafed his protection totheyoungstranger,foratimesought no further intimacywith him. He might be seenoccasionally among thegroupswhowerewontoheara song or a story fromBlair,buthewasapt to leave thesescenes suddenly, as if forsomecallofdutyorstirredbysomequickandpainfulthrustoffeeling.

CaptainKnoxwasastern,

moody man, who had verylittle direct intercourse withhis crew. Derry Duck wasmade his medium ofcommunication on everyordinary occasion. Thecaptain was the only persononboardwhokeptastockofwriting materials, and fromhim,throughDerry,Blairandthe other sailors obtainedsuch articles on the rareoccasionswhen theywere in

demand.Therewasnotmuchtaste or time for literaryeffortsonboardtheMolly.

A pleasant evening hadcollected all the sailors ondeck,andBlairhadtakentheopportunitytoretirebelowtospend some time in recallingScripture to his mind, whichwas now his substitute forreading in the holy book.Hewas roused from hismeditations by the entrance

of Derry Duck, with aninkstand in one hand and asheet of paper in the other.Blair rose as the mate cametowards him, supposing thewriting materials were to beleft in his charge for someshipmate.

“Sit down, boy,” saidDerry in his quick way, “sitdown; I want you to dosomethingforme.”

“I should be right glad to

doany thingIcouldforyou.You have been a real friendto me,” said Blair warmly.”Youcan’tthinkhowmuchIthankyouforit.”

Derry sat down and laidthe paper on the table beforehim.Thenthetwowereforamoment silent. Blair and his“friend” formed a strangecontrasttoeachother.

The slender stripling, tallfor his years, was yet in the

blossom of his youth. Hisface, which was so like hisloving mother’s, would havebeen effeminate, but for thesavor of old Joe Robertsonthe pilot, which told in themarked nose and strong chinoftheboy,buthadnopartinhis great, clear, soul-lit eyes,or the flexible lines of hischangingmouth. Thatmouthwas now parted as if hewould say more, but waited

for some word or sign fromhiscompanion.

Derry Duck was a verybundle of time-worn, storm-triedmusclesandsinews.Theknots on his bare arms werelike knobs of oak; and hisgreat brawny hand that laythere on the white paper,looked likeapowerful livingthing, having almost anidentityandwillofitsown.

Derry’s body and whole

development to his thighswere those of a tall, stalwartman; but his lower limbswereshortandsturdy,endingin great flat feet which wereasmuchathomeinthewateras on the rolling deck, oramidthedizzyrigging.Thesepeculiarities had given himthe name by which he wasknown—originally “DaringDuck,” but by degreescontracted into the “Derry

Duck” which Blair hadcaughtfromthesailors.

It was hard to realize thatthe mate of the Molly hadever been an infant, whosetender cheek had beenpressed to that of a lovingmother. And yet it was truethat a Christian mother hadonce hailed that hardenedman as a gift from God tonurse for him. His lips hadbeen taught to pray, and his

youngfootstepsguidedtothehouseofGod.

Time had made sadchanges in him since then.His skin was now as toughand well-tanned as hisleathern belt, in which hungmanyacuriousimplementofwarandpeace,aperfecttool-shop for the boarder’s wildwork, or the seaman’s craft.Inthatstrong,hardfacetherewas a tale of a life of

exposure, a lawless life,which had well-nigh givenover to the evil one the soulwhichGodmeantforhimself.

“I want you to write aletter for me,” said Derry,looking cautiously about himandthengoingon,“alettertomy little daughter.Hush; nota word of this to any of themen. When it is done, youmust put it inside of one ofyour love-letters to your

mother. They mustn’t getwind of it. They are not fiteven to know I have such achild, much less to see her.Besecret!CanItrustyou,myboy?”

“I’llwriteforyouwithallmy heart,” said Blair inastonishment; “and of courseI wont name it if you don’twishme to;no,not toa soulonboard.But I shallhave totell my mother, or she wont

know what to do with theletter.”

“Justaskhertomailitforone of your shipmates. Thatwill be enough,” said Derryquickly.“‘Leastsaid,soonestmended.’Ihavemyreasons.Iknow which way the windblows,andhowtowardoffasou’-wester.”

“What shall I say?” saidBlair, taking up the pen, andreaching for the paper.

Derry’s hand lay on it, a“paperweight” that did notmove itself off at Blair’smotion.

“You see,” began thesailor, “you see I’ve got alittle daughter, not so old asyou are by a year or two. Idaresayyouthinkshe’smadeofcoarsestufflikeme,fitforthe rough and tumble of life.No such thing. Her hand iswhite as a sail on a summer

sea,andherlittleroundcheekis so soft, Oh, so soft, thatwhen it snugs up to mine itseems as if an angel wastouchingme,andIfeelasifIwasn’t fit for such as her tolove and fondle. Yet sheloves me; she loves her olddad.Shedon’tcallmeDerryDuck, not she. She don’tknow any thing about DerryDuck,andwhathedoeswhenhe’s off on the sea. I don’t

mean she ever shall. I’drather die first, gnawed topiecesbyahungryshark.Hermother lefther tome,a littletwo-year-oldthing,aclinginglittlecreaturethatwouldsnugin my arms and go to sleep,whetherIwasdrunkorsober.Ikilledhermother—sentherto the better country beforehertime.Ididn’tlaymyhandto her; I wasn’t bad enoughfor that. But my ways took

the pink out of her cheeks,andmade her pine away andjust go out of my sight likethe wake of a passing ship.Where she had been, thereshewasnot.Ilovedher,boy,and these eyes cried; thesegreat hands would havewillingly been worn to thebone with hard work, if thatcouldhaverestoredherlife.Idon’t drink any more. I’vequit that. I haven’t toucheda

dropsinceshedied.Itooktothesea.ImadeupmymindIwouldn’t kill the little tenderthingshe leftme.She shouldnever die for knowing howbadherfatherwas.ItookthelittlemoneyIhad,andboughta real gentleman’s suit ofclothes. Then I went to aministerIknewabout,inafarawaytown,wheremy—nevermind where the child’smother came from—and I

asked him and his wife totake care of the little thing,fora sorrowfulman thatwasgoing off on the sea, andwouldpaywellforwhattheydid. I knew it wasn’t themoneythatwouldmakethemlay their hand to the work;buttheyhadnothingtospare,andIdidn’tmeantoleaveherto charity. I wanted herbrought up to be like hermother,inwaysthatwouldn’t

end where I’m going. Theytook her, and there she is.Nobody can see her withoutloving her, such a little,dainty, winning, clinging,pretty thing, nine years havemade out of the toddlin’creatureIputoutofmyarms,thatachedafterher till Iwasclear out of sight of land.Don’t thinkImissseeingherwhen I’m ashore. Don’t Ileave Derry Duck aboard

ship, and put on mylandsman’s clothes, and rideup to the door where she is,with my pocket full ofmoney. She don’t lack forany thing, I warrant you.She’s dressed like a rose, allin pink and green,with littleribbons fluttering like herlittleheartwhen she seesmecoming. She’s learning too.Why,sheknowsmostenoughto teach the queen, the child

does. And then she’s somodest and asks mequestions,asifIcouldtellherevery thing. I always have acold or a headache orsomething, and can’t saymuchwhen I’m there. Ikeepstill, and take my fill oflooking at her, and huggingher close to this old toughheart. I wouldn’t let out anoathbeforeher.I’dratherseetheMollygotothebottomin

fairweather.I’mscantofmytalk, lest I should letout thatmy way of thinking isdifferent from hers. Iwouldn’thaveherprettyblueeyes turn away from me, sosorrowful, yet so loving, justas her mother’s used to. Icouldn’t bear that. She lovesme, that littlepurething, thatsays its prayers night andmorning, and asks God tobless its father on the sea.

She’s my angel. Mayhapthose little prayers will getheard some day, and ablessingwillcometomeandmake me a different man.OnlytheAlmightycouldturnDerry Duck into a father fitfor that child’s eyes to lookon.Myheartyearnsafterherwhen I’m far away, but Idon’t let her write to me. Iwouldn’t have suchmenas Ilive with know where my

flower hides its little head. Iwouldn’t have her run achance of seeing any bodywho knowsDerryDuck, andmight tell her of his wildways.Itwouldbreakherlittleheart, it would. I can’t writeto her; not but what I wasscholardsomewhat,longago;but these hands have hadotherworktodothanholdingapenandmaking letters thata wise little girl like her

would think all right. Icouldn’teitherputintowordsjust what I want to say. Ita’n’tmuch that I would say,neither, but a kind of lettingouthowIsetalltheworldbyher,andwanthertobejustsomuch better than other folksas I am worse. Somethingwould slip in that shouldn’t,if I was to try; I know therewould.Butyoucanwrite forme. You would know just

how to put it. She says sheyearns after me when I’mgone,andwouldbesofullofjoy if she could once have aletterfromme,allherown,toreadover andoverwhen shecan’t throw her arms roundmy neck and put her littleloving facecloseup tomine.Will you write for me, boy,somethingforthedeargirltoreadover,andthinktherightkind of a father is talking to

her, a man she wouldn’t beashamed of before thecompanyhermotherkeepsupthere?”

The last words werespoken reverently, andformed a strange contrast tomuch that had gone before.We have omitted the oathsand rough expletives withwhich Derry interlarded hisspeech. There is the taint ofsin even in the repetition of

suchlanguage.Blair Robertson had

listened with a throbbingheart and tearful eye to thesailor’s story. It seemed tohim that God had not quitecast off onewho had such atender care for the happinessand purity of his child. Blairgently laid his slender handon Derry’s brawny fingers,and looked up earnestly intohis face as he said, “Why

can’t you be just such afather,Derry?”

Derrylaughedasorrowful,derisive laugh, and then saidalmost fiercely, “You don’tknowme, lad. It would chillyourverybloodtoknowwhatI’ve done, and where I’vebeen. There are spots on methat nothing can wash out.I’ve grown into it, boy. It’smy life. I’m hard and tough,soul and body. There’s no

makingmeover. I’m spoiledinthegrain.Itellyouit’stoolate.Ia’n’tafatherforhertoknow. I can’t be made intoone. That a’n’t what I camehere to talk about. Will youwrite my letter, that’s thequestion?”

“Certainly Iwillwrite foryou in theway that seems tome the best. But, Derry,‘thereisafountainopenedforsinandalluncleanness.’‘The

blood of Jesus Christcleansethus fromall sin.’ ‘Ifany man be in Christ Jesus,he is a new creature; oldthings have passed away.’‘With God all things arepossible.’ ‘Christ Jesus cameinto the world to savesinners.’ ‘Though your sinsbe as scarlet, they shall bewhite as snow; though theyberedlikecrimson,theyshallbeaswool.’”

As Blair spoke thesewords, he fixed his earnesteyeson the sailor’s face,andseemed pleading for his verysoul.

“Thereisalookaboutyoulike her, like her up there,”saidDerry, almost trembling.“I see her face in the darknightwhenI’monthewatch,andhereyesspeaktomejustas yours do—Oh, sopleading.Hush!There’ssome

one coming. Write the letteras if itwasoneofyourown.They wont hector you now.I’ve taught ’em bettermanners. Let me see ’emtouchahairofyourhead,andI’llfinish’emquick.”

AsDerryspoke,hegaveathrust with his clenched fistas at an imaginary enemy.Theeyesthathadlatelybeensoftened into tenderness hadtheir old fierce twinkle, and

his hard features settled intotheir fixed expression ofdetermineddaring.

Themengaveplace asheforced his way up thehatchway. On he went,stampingalongthedeckasifhe ground an enemy beneathhisheelateverystep.

CHAPTERXV.

ALETTER

Blair would gladly have

chosen another time andplace for the composition ofthe difficult letter he wascalledontowrite,buthefeltcompelled to fulfil hispromise at once. The menpassedbyhiminsilence,savethe single remark ofBrimstone, “Givemy love toyoursweetmother,”deliveredinaninsultingtone,andwitha laugh more repulsive thanthehissofasnake.

Blairglancedanxiously inthedirectionwhereDerryhaddisappeared,almostfearingtosee that clenched handcoming forth to do itsthreatened work ofvengeance. But Derry wasalready far away, andBrimstone joined his mess-mates without receiving awordorsignofrebuke.

Blair tookuphispenwithasilentprayerthatitmightbe

guided by Him withoutwhose aid vain are the mosteloquent words of the wisestcounsellor. His letter was asfollows:

“Dear —— I don’t knowyourname,butyourfather ismy friend, and of course Ifeel interested in you for hissake. He has been very kindto me, and it is a greatpleasure to me to do anything for him. He has been

talking to me of you, andwhilehehasgoneondeckhewants me to write to you.How he loves you. You arethebrightspot tohimin life,his oasis in thedesert of thiswearyworld.When he is faroutonthewidesea,yourfacecomes up before him, andmakes the loneliest place ahome.He loves to think thatyou pray for him. He feelsthat he needs your prayers.

Happy are the fathers who,plunged in earthly cares onseaandland,havechildrentofold their hands and lift theirhearts in prayer for them.Thisisallyoucandoforyourabsent father. Though youcould give him crowns andkingdoms,wealth and honor,they would not be worth asmuchasoneearnest,faithful,importunate prayer in Jesus’name. That name is all-

powerful, and must prevail.Your father calls you his‘little flower.’ He wants hislittle flower to be pure andmodest and simple, like thelily, which all may considerandseeinitthehandiworkofGod. Only God, who madethis beautiful world, canpurify and cleanse our soulsand help us to walk in hisholy ways. I know that youhave been taught all this by

the kind friends who havewatched over you frominfancy. Your father wantsyoutogivegoodheedtotheircounsel, and ever watch andpray and struggle againsttemptation. No blow couldfallonhimsosoreastoknowhis littledarlingwaswalkingin the wrong path. May younever so grieve his fondheart. Again I must tell you,thoughyouhavereaditinhis

repeated caresses, how yourfatherlovesyou.Mayyoubetohimthatbestoftreasures,aprayerful, pious daughter, isthesincerewishof

“Yourfather’sfriend,“BlairRobertson.”Blair foldedhis letter,and

thenaddressingafewlinestohis mother, he inclosed thetwoinasingleenvelope,andsought out Derry for furtherdirections. Derry was pacing

up and down the deck,making the boards ring withhisheavytread.

“Shall I read you what Ihave written?” said Blair,laying his hand on Derry’sshoulder.

Derry started as if in adream; but recollectinghimself, he said quickly,“Yes, yes. Here, here in themoonlight.Noonewill listenhere.”

The lightof thefullmoonfell on the open letter, andBlair read it withoutdifficulty.

“That’s it, that’s it. Everywordofittrue,”saidDerryina voice trembling withfeeling. “It would kill me tothinkofhergoingwrong.Butshewont.Herwayisup,andmine is down, down, down.Givemetheletter;I’llputtheright name on it. You don’t

mindmyseeingwhatgoestoyourmother. That’s nomorethan fair. I tell you I don’tlike folks toknowwheremyflower hides. I’ll see it intothe bag, andmind you don’tbreathe a word of this.Mind!”

Derry’s finger was raisedinathreateningattitudeashespoke, and he stopped afterhe had moved some stepsaway to give again to Blair

this sign of silence andsecrecy.

Blairlingeredondeck,notto enjoy the calm moonlightwhich so lovingly crownedand silvered the crests of thewaves. His eyes were liftedupward, but not to gaze onthe deep blue of the moonlitsky. To the great Creator,without whom was not anything made that was made,Blair was pouring out the

earnestpetitionsofhislovingheart.ForDerryandhislittledaughter prayed the youngChristian, as they only canpraywho believe the blessedwords, “If ye shall ask anything in my name, I will doit.”

CHAPTERXVI.

AMARVEL

Weeks flew by while the

Molly was cruising about,waiting andwatching for theexpected East Indiaman. Theprivateer,meanwhile,wasnotlosing time. Several smallmerchantvesselscameinherway,andsubmittedwithoutablow to the argument of hercompelling pair of guns.These vessels were eitherstripped of their cargo andthenburnt,orelsesentwithafewsailorsastheirprizecrew

to some American port. Thecapture of the Britishmerchant ships kept theMolly supplied with thenecessaries for her continuedcruise, and served besides tocalm the impatience of themen, whowere beginning tocomplain of their captain’spertinacious clinging to thehope of taking the EastIndiaman, which mightalreadybe safelyharbored in

English waters. There hadbeen dark nights and foggydaysinwhichshemightwellhave passed them, so theyreasoned. But Derry Ducksaidtherewasnomovingthecaptain,andgrumblerswoulddobestto“keeptheirtonguesbetween their teeth.” Themail-bag of the Molly hadgone home on board one ofthe captured vessels, and itwas a pleasant thought to

Blair that his dear motherwould soon feel almost as ifsheheardthevoiceofhersonat her side. Derry’s littledaughter too would receiveher letter, and Blair tried topicture her joy as she heldthistreasureinherhands.

Derrymoved about in hisusual way, but was inclinedtoavoidBlairsince thenightwhen he had given the boyhis confidence. Blair often

found it hard to believe thatthosegentle,tendertoneshadcome from Derry’s greatclosely shut mouth, and thatthose snapping eyes hadsoftenedalmosttotearsashespokeofhisdarlingchild.

Sunday on board theMolly was precisely likeother days, as far as themovements and occupationsof the men were concerned.To Blair there was ever a

more solemn stillness overthesea,andamoreimposinggrandeur in the wide canopyof the overhanging sky. Onegreat temple it seemed tohim, the sunlit waves itsshining floor, the firmamentits arching roof, and theunseen angels the countlessworshippers, singing, “Praiseand glory and honor be untothenameofGodmosthigh.”In this adoring song Blair

heartilyjoined,andhelongedand prayed for the time tocome when on every white-winged ship there should begathered the servants of theLordof sabaoth, rejoicing tocall upon his holy name andgive him glory for all hiswondrousworks.

Absorbedinsuchthoughtsas these, Blair was leaningover the side of the ship oneSundaymorning. Suddenly a

strongvoice close at his sidespoke with deep earnestnessthewords,“BlesstheLord,Omysoul;andallthatiswithinme,blesshisholyname.”

Blair turned inastonishment, and sawDerryDuck close at his side.Tearswere coursing down thoseroughcheeks, and thealmostblinded eyes were liftedreverently upward, andsilently spoke the same

language as the song ofpraise.

Blair’s heart bounded. Hecouldnotbedeceived.OneofGod’sgreatmiraclesofgracehad beenwrought. The devilhad been cast out, and theransomedwasgivingGodtheglory.Itmustbeso.

Blair seized the hand ofhis companion, and lookinginto his face, said quickly,“Oh,Derry,areyou really in

earnest?”“Bless the Lord, my soul,

andforgetnotallhisbenefits:who forgiveth all thineiniquities;whohealethallthydiseases; who redeemeth thylife from destruction; whocrowneth thee with loving-kindness and tendermercies,’” continued Derrywithdeep feeling. “He foundme dead in trespasses andsins;hehasgivenmenewlife

in Christ Jesus. Praise andhonoruntohisholyname.”

TearsrushedtotheeyesofBlair Robertson. A fervent“Thank God!” was all hecould utter. Blair’s wholebeing did indeed “magnifythe Lord” at this wonderfulevidenceofhispower.Curseshad been changed to praises.The blaspheming lips hadbeen touched by theSaviour’s hand, and taught

the language of the childrenof God. His young servantcouldnotbut“standinawe,”and own the might and thewonderfulmercyof theKingofkings.

Derry was the first tobreak the solemn silence.“Those words never left me:‘Though your sins be asscarlet,theyshallbewhiteassnow;thoughtheyberedlikecrimson, they shall be as

wool,’” he said. “They stuckto me, and rang in my earsandsearchedeverynookandcranny of my wicked heart.Often I had longed to be aChristian man for the littledear’s sake, if not for myown; but I said to myself,‘No,DerryDuck,youareallpitch, you can’t be madewhite;’ and Satan helped meto hold on to that way ofthinking.Yourscripturegave

thelieagainandagaintothat.It seemed to say to me, Youchoose blackness anddamnation, when God asksyou to wash and be clean.What I’ve suffered theseweeks, no soul out ofperdition can tell. The devilclungtome.Hewouldnotletmego.Heclaimedmeforhisown.He told over tomemydark,hiddensins,andtauntedmethat Ihadgone toofar to

gobacknow.Hehissedinmyear that no power couldcleanseandsavesuchasme.Then came up the words,‘With God all things arepossible,’ ‘Though your sinsbe as scarlet, they shall bewhiteas snow.’ ‘Christ Jesuscame into the world to savesinners.’ And he has savedme. I amHis. He has givenmeamouth topraisehim.OBlair, think of his wonderful

mercy, to take poor wickedDerryDuckintothekingdomofheaven.”

The boy’s heart throbbedand swelled with joy andpraise. What was thechangingofwatertowine,orthecalmingofthestormysea,compared to this marvellousmiracle wrought in a livinghuman soul? “He to whommuch is forgiven, lovethmuch,” said our blessed

Saviour; and in Derry thistruthwasabundantlyverified.TheChristwhosebloodcouldwash suchashe,wasaLordfor whom he was willing tosuffer even unto death. Themercy that could stoop toransom such a transgressor,claimed an affection beforewhichpoorDerry’sdeeplovefor his earthly darling paled,asthethingsoftimefadeintoinsignificance before the

thingsofeternity.Blairhadlongedtoseehis

rude shipmates forsakingtheir sins; hehadprayedandwrestled in prayer for them.Yet now, when he saw thework begun before his eyes,he felt the faithlessness ofthoseveryprayers,andknewthat they could havewon nofulfilment, but for themeritsof the great Intercessor inwhose name they had ever

beenoffered.“Whyshoulditbethought

a thing incredible toyou thatGod should raise the dead?”This question of the apostlecomes with power to theChristians of our own day.Do you really believe itpossible for God to raise tonewness of life the dead intrespasses and sins? There isno soul so hardened that itcannotbemeltedtopenitence

by the touch of the mightySpirit of God. Let thisthought make us fervent,importunate,instantinprayerfor the souls that are atdeath’s door and hasting todestruction.

Can any thing but thepowerofGodmakethemoralman, once proud of his ownuprightness, humble as thelittle child, leaning only onthe cross of Christ for

salvation?Hewhoworksthiswonder can do yet more.What are the sins and self-will of the human heart, incomparisonwiththemightofthe majesty of Jehovah? Hewho laid the strongfoundations of the earth, andled forth the marshalledmillions of the stars in theirwonderful order, can mouldandfashionthesoulofmanathis will. Let us not stand

doubting, timid, and faint-hearted, discouraged by thefoul sins which blot andefface in man the fair imageof his Maker. Let us rather“comeboldlytothethroneofgrace,”andpleadthroughthegreat Intercessor for everywandererfromtherightpath,and specially andperseveringly for those dearones of our own households,who, like the prodigal, have

left the Father’s house, to bein misery and want in sin’sfarforeignland.

CHAPTERXVII.THE

CONFLICT

Eachkindaffectionnaturegives

Religionmakesmorebright,Assunshineonthelandscapefalls,

Andbeautifieswithlight.

The patriot had hithertobeen sleeping in the heart ofDerryDuck;butnowhewasto awake like a “strong manarmed.” There is not onekindly, pleasant, honorable

feeling, but is strengthenedandennobledbythetouchofdivinegrace.Noronlyso:hewho finds himself suddenlyalivetohisallegiancetoGod,has at the same time hisvision cleared to see aroundhim a thousand hithertounknown or neglected ties,whichbindhimtohisfellow-men. In a whisper ofconscience,heistaughtthat

Heisthefaithfulpatriot,WhokeepshisMaker’slaws;

NorwilltheservantofhisLord

Forsakehiscountry’scause.

Among the sins of whichDerry Duck was calleddeeply to repent, was thedishonor which he hadbroughtonhisownChristianland, in many a port where

his wild deeds had left theirguilty trace. What had hedone for the glory ofChristian America? Bravelyhehadfoughtunderherflag;but it had been throughrecklessdaring,orathirstforgold. Not for a nobleprinciple, not for thedefenceof home and kindred, altarand hearth-stone, had heraisedhisstrongrightarm.

BlairRobertsonrejoicedto

see the spirit of truepatriotism awaking in thebosom of the hardy sailor.Thehigh-souledboyhadnowa sharer in his enthusiasticlove of his country, anddevotion to her cause. Theyjoined their labors at once toimprove the defenders of theflag, who were theirshipmates,andyetadisgraceto their native land. Blairwent on in his own peculiar

way; while Derry at onceannounced his position as aChristian mate, who wouldsuffer no profanity in hishearing, and would see thecrew of theMolly engage innodeedsonthehighseas,notsanctioned by the letters ofmarque which were theirwarrantfortheirblowsstruckagainstthecommonfoe.

Someoutwardchangehadbeen produced in themenof

the privateer, when allthoughts were suddenlyturned intoanewchannel.Afast sailing Americanmerchant ship informedCaptain Knox that theexpected East Indiaman wasnot more than half a daybehindher.

All was at once stir andbustle from stem to stern ofthe Molly. The sturdy littlecraft was like the bristling

porcupine, ready andimpatientforaction,whenthemasts of the East Indiamanslowly rose above thehorizon. The privateer gavechase at once, and rapidlyneared its prey. The guns oftheMollygave thesignal forsurrender. The British flagwentdown,andDerryDuck,with a strong party ofboarders was sent at once toseizethevaluableprize.

Ready to pounce on theirdefencelessvictims,theeagersailors climbed the sides ofthe huge vessel and stoodupon its deck, cutlass andpistol in hand. Suddenly thehatchwayswerethrownopen,andabandofBritishsoldierssprang forth with a fiercebattle-cry.DerryDuckrushedamong them with desperatevalor, and was heartilyseconded by his fearless

followers.From the deck of the

Molly, Captain Knox couldseethetrapintowhichhehadfallen. He could not use hiswell-loaded guns withoutdestruction to his own men.He could only sendreinforcements to their smallband, and quietly see thebattle fought hand to hand,which a few cannon ballswould have settled in a

moment.Several skilful British

marksmen were firing at thefew who remained on theapproaching privateer, whenCaptain Knox ordered Blairaloft.

Blair obeyed without amoment’s hesitation, andspedupwardas if in thegleeofboyhood’splay.Yetintheheart of the young patriottherewasprayerforhissoul,

should it be set free in thathour of danger; there wasburningloveforhiscountry’scause.TheeyeofDerryDuckfellontheisolatedgroupwhohad been firing at theprivateer. He saw a well-known form climbing to thedizzy masthead, while theshotwere flying aroundhim.Derry rushed in among themwithhisaxe inhishand,andwaving it around his head

scattered them like leavesbefore the wind. He stayedlongenough to see thatBlairhad not dropped like awounded bird among theriggingoftheMolly.

Slowly, very slowly, theboy made his way to thedeck, then sank down faintand bleeding. A bullet hadentered his side; yet he hadbeen so ready for the strokethatithadnotthrownhimoff

hisguard.Althoughweakandgiddy, he had made his waydown his narrow pathway,and reported his duty done.Eventhehardycaptaingaveapitying glance at the braveboyashewasbornebelowbythe sailors. Yet this was notime for such thoughts in themind of Captain Knox. ThereinforcementfromtheMollywereon thedeckof theEastIndiaman. He could hear the

heartycheerofDerryDuckashe placed himself at theirhead, and rushed upon thebraveBritons.

Derry’s impetuous chargewastoomuchforthesoldiers,many of them enfeebled bythe climate of India, andgoinghometorecruitintheirnativebreezes.OverthedecksweptDerryandhisbandlikea fierce hurricane, whichnaughtcanstayorwithstand.

A shout of victory went upfrom the Molly, a shoutwhich Derry’s excited mensentbackover thewater inadeafening reply. The EastIndiamanwaswon; her crewwereprisoners;hercargo theprizeoftheMolly.

Where was BlairRobertson amid the generaltriumph? This was DerryDuck’s first question, as hisreturningfootstepsagain trod

thedeckoftheprivateer.Alone in the deserted

cabin,Derry foundwhatwasmore precious to him nowthanhis share in thegloryorthespoilsoftherecentfight.

The rough sailor askednoquestions of the fainting lad.Tearing open Blair’sgarments, he found at oncethe wound, and with readyskillandunwaveringfirmnesshis sharp knife did the

surgeon’s duty. The bulletwas forced out by Derry’shard fingers, and his roughhandstiedthebandagewithatouching attempt attenderness. Blair uttered nomurmur. His lips movedgently, but they whisperedonly words befitting thesinner passing into thepresenceofhisGod.

Derry caught the lowwhisper, and understood its

meaning. “I can’t let yougo.What! going? Oh my lad!”and Derry Duck’s hard,blood-marked face wassuddenlywetwithtears.

CHAPTERXVIII.WAGES

The East Indiaman was too

importantaprizetobetrustedto any other than the skilfulsailor and brave officer,DerryDuck.Hewas at onceorderedtopreparetotakeherinto an American port, withalldueformalities.

Derry’s sea-chestcontained more than hisscanty wardrobe, his goldengains during this long cruisewere garnered there. Yet hetrusted it to the hands of

unscrupulous men, while hisown arms found a morewelcomeburden.Tenderlyasa mother bears her sleepinginfant, Derry clasped aslender figure to his roughbosom, and would suffer noone to give him aid in hisoffice of love. There was agentle pulsation in the heartso near to his. There was agrowing warmth in the formwhichwas soprecious to the

mateoftheMolly.Blair was still alive, and

Derrywouldallownodutytointerfere with the sacredprivilege of caring for thewounded youth, and bearinghim home, living or dead, tohismother.

On a couch of Indianluxury Derry laid theprostrate figure of BlairRobertson, and as he turnedtoleavethecabin,thefaceof

the once hardened tar wassoftened into womanlygentleness as he said, “Godhelp him, and bring him to,soundandwell.”

The excessive faintnessand exhaustionof thewoundhad indeed seemed to Blairlike the lingering, reluctantpartingofsoulandbody;andhe might well have adoptedthe words of that hymn,honored by the murmured

breathings of many a dyingsaint:

“Whatisthisabsorbsmequite,

Stealsmysenses,shutsmysight,

Drownsmyspirit,drawsmybreath?

Tellme,mysoul,canthisbedeath?

Theworldrecedes,itdisappears:

Heavenopensonmyeyes,myears

Withsoundsseraphicring:Lend,lendyourwings:Imount,Ifly;

Ograve,whereisthyvictory!

Odeath,whereisthysting!”

The curtain whichseparates this lower worldfromthegloriesoftheunseenbliss above, had grown thin

and almost transparent to theeyes of the Christian boy,thus brought to the gates ofdeath.Near,veryneartohimseemed the face of theSaviourwhohadoflatebeenhis realized and belovedcompanion. It was as themother bows down to hersuffering child, that thisglimpseofthedearRedeemerwas made so plain to theweakened, prostrate boy. He

was still in the flesh, and toknow weary waiting andsuffering, ere health shouldonce more send the gladblood bounding along hisveins.

Yet there was work forBlairRobertsononhiscouchof pain, work to do for hisheavenly Master. Blair wasnottheonlysuffereronboardtheprize.

Often during the

homeward voyage, a setteewas placed beside the softcouch which Derry hadappropriated to Blair’sespecialuse.Theoccupantofthe settee was a huge,muscular, repulsive youngman, whose yellow hair layuncombed on his pillow,while his pale, freckle-marked face was distortedwith pain, rage, and thetorture of a rebellious spirit,

when sorely smitten by thehandofGod.

Many of Brimstone’sfierce shipmates had beenhurried into eternity in themidst of the struggle on thedeck of the East Indiaman.Blair’s coarse tormentor,however, had escaped withhis life, but with one leg sowounded and bruised that itwas promptly cut off, as theonly way of preventing

ultimate death. Brimstoneground his teeth and sworefearful imprecations at eachmovement that remindedhimofhisloss.ItwasinvainthatDerrybadehimbequiet,andrather thank God that timewas left him for repentance.In Brimstone’s hardenedheartthereseemednoresting-place for good seed, no soilprepared for the heavenlyplant.

His only relief was inforgetfulness of hismisfortune, when he waswiled from thoughts ofhimself by one of Blair’sstirring tales of adventure, orballads of the olden time.Blair would weary out hislittle strength for the benefitof his companion, and yetwin not one word of thanksforhiskindlyendeavors.Yethe persevered, evermingling

in his stories and songswhispersoftheonlysourceofcomfort for the afflicted, theonly balm for the sufferingsoul.

Brimstone’s wild andwicked life had poisoned thevery sources and flow of hislife’sblood.Hiswasnofleshtoheal, like thatofahealthychild.

While Blair was dailymaking long strides towards

health, fierce pains andburning inflammation seizedonBrimstone’s stunted limb.Then no voice could soothehim, no words of comfortreach his ear.He chafed andtosseduponhisnarrowcouchlike a wounded beast of theforest, and finally refused tosuffer any hand to dress ortouchtheafflictedpart.

Painceasedatlast,theendwas near. Death would soon

claim the loathsome body,and bring the polluted soulbefore the judgment-bar.Blair gently told the suffererthe awful truth, yet not fromthe lips of the lad would hebelieve such anannouncement. It was notuntil Derry’s bluntconfirmation made sure thefearful tidings, that thedyingman would believe that hestoodonthebrinkofeternity.

Wedrawthecurtainonthehorrors of the scenes thatfollowed.Mayitneverbethereader’s lot to hear thedesperate cries of a ruinedsoulabouttomeetitsGod.

The transgressor must eatofthefruitofhischoice,andsink into the pit towardswhich his face has beenresolutely set. The wages ofsinisdeath.

Vainwerethepleadingsof

Blair, and the rougherurgency of Derry, calling onthedyingmantolifthiseyesto the cross of Christ, trust,andbesaved.

With a fearful howl ofanguish the condemned soultook its flight; while hiscompanions, awe-struck,prayed God to spare themsuchadoom.

On the dark waters thebody of Brimstone was cast,

to be seen no more until itshouldriseatthelastday,wefear, to the resurrection ofdamnation.

Lost seemed the labors ofBlair Robertson for the goodofhisworthlessshipmate;butno prayerful effort for theholy cause is vain. Blair hadother listeners than theear towhichhespoke.Unconsciousofallaroundhim,hehadbutstriventotouchandupliftthe

soul of the dying man. Thegroup of sailors gatheredround the departing wretchwould soon be scattered farandwide on the rolling seas,thousands of miles from thehomeofBlairRobertson,andthe solemn truths he hadspoken might spring up intheir hearts and bear fruituntoeternallife.

CHAPTERXIX.HOME

A light fall of snow had

clothed all Fairport in white,and whispered in the ears oflingering birds that they hadbetter be off for the “sunnysouth,” ere old winter hadfairly begun his icy reign.Cold and dark, thewaters ofthe harbor lay encircled bythe pure and glistening land.Cheerful wood fires werewarming many a hearth-stone, while wives andmothers thought of their

absent ones on the sea, andhopedandprayednochillingstormmight be rending theirsailsandperillingthelivessoprecious to home and nativeland.

Mrs. Robertson hadsuffered from many anxiousthoughts since the departureof her brave son. But herswasnota timidora repiningspirit.Sheknewthatthesameeyewatchedoverhimonsea

as on land; and the almightyarmcouldprotecthimaswellupon the deep waters, as inthe shelter of his mother’sfireside.

Fairport glasses hadplainlyseentheBritishcolorsmountedby thevesselwhichhad borne away the youngpilot. The mother’s heartthrobbed as she mentallypictured the determinedpatriotismofherdarling son.

Not merely a fancy and apicturethatsceneremained.

The two privateers whichhad given chase to thedismantledBritishvesselhadan easy victory, and soonbroughthertriumphantlyintoBoston harbor. HalHutching’s story won himliberty at once. The Englishboyhadnosoonersetfootonland, than he turned his facein the direction of Fairport.

Way-worn and foot-sore hewas,whenheknockedatlastat Mrs. Robertson’s door.Warmth and welcome, loveand gratitude awaited himwithin. It was his privilegefirst to tell the mother hownobly her son had bornehimself in the hour of trial,and with what calmness hehad faced thekingof terrors.Poor Hal by turns wept andglowed with enthusiasm, as

he dwelt on the praise of hisfriend, while the mother’sheart welled with deepthankfulness at the mercywhich had so spared andhonoredherboy.

Many and many a timewas Hal Hutchings forced totell overhis story to auditorsof all ages and conditions.TheFairportGuard, formallyassembled, demanded theright of a relation especially

for them. Every young heartbeat high, and every eyeflashedwithkindlingprideintheir brave commander, andeach one resolved to be, likehim, an honor to his homeand country. Like Lycurgus,their leader had given hislaws, then left his followerstobe faithfuluntilhis return.Anew they pledgedthemselvestokeeptheirpurecode,andstrive tobeabody

which Blair Robertson thepatriotwouldnotbeashamedtocommand.

Hal Hutchings meeklyborethereflectedhonorsthatwere thrust upon him, andwell understood that it washis connection with theabsent Fairport boy whichmade him such an object ofinterest.Halhoweverdidnotobject to the golden gainswhich resulted from his new

position. Everybody wasready to give him “a job”now,andhisoldclothesweresoonexchangedfornewones,bought with his own moneyandadaptedtohisowntaste.

Not a day passed that didnotseeHalHutchingsatMrs.Robertson’s door, to lendhisstrongarmandwillingfeettodo for her some littlekindness,atruelaboroflove.When the Sabbath was

wearing away, Hal might beseenmovinghiscoarsefingerslowlyalongthesacredpage,readingholywords, towhichMrs. Robertson from time totime added her voice ofexplanation or gentlepersuasivecounsel.

So the chilling weeks ofautumn passed at Fairport,and now the first snow wasushering in November’sdreary rule. A strong

landward breeze was rollingthewavesoneafteranotherasin amerry chase towards theshore, while the FairportGuard were gathered on thewharf, valiantly fighting abattle with snowballs. Theappearanceofashipenteringthe harbor soon called theattention of the combatantsawayfromthe“charge,rally,and charge again,” in whichthey had just been engaged.

Men muffled in greatcoatscame out of the neighboringstores and offices, andshivered in the cold wind asthey bent their eyes on thestranger ship, for so at oncetheypronouncedher.

“Britishbuild and rigging,but the right colors flying.She knows the channel. See,shemakesitaswellasifshehadJoeRobertsonhimselfonboard. There now, don’t she

comeup theharbor as if thiswasherhome, and sheknewjust where she was going tocastanchor?”

Remarks like thesedropped from the lips of theeagerwatchers:

“I shouldn’t wonder if itwasourcaptaincomingfromforeign parts,” said a smallmember of the FairportGuard. “He’s took that shipaslikelyasnot,andiscoming

homeinher.”“Pshaw,child,”burstfrom

severallisteners.“I wish we did know

where that boy is,” saidanother speaker. “He’s acredit to this place, that’scertain.”

“He’s an honor toAmerica,” said HalHutchings, who was nowallowed to give his views onall occasions.Hal’s facewas

bentforward,andhiseyewasfixed on a slender lad whowas anxiously lookingtowards the shore. “It’s him,it’shim; it’sBlair, I tellyou.It’s him,” shouted Hal,throwing his cap in the air,and giving three leaps thatwould have astounded acatamount.

Hal Hutchings fought hisway to theprivilegeofbeingthefirsttograspBlair’shand,

as he stepped ashore; thenthere was a perfect rush ofhandsandacheerfromyoungandold thatDerryDucksaidwasthepleasantestmusicthateverheheard.

“Where is she? Where’smy mother, Hal?” said Blairassoonashecouldspeak.

“Hearty, hearty, and justlike an angel as she alwayswas,” said Hal vociferously.Theboy’sjoyseemedtohave

made him almost besidehimself. “She don’t knowyou’rehere,shedon’t.I’llbeofftotellher.”

“No,Hal, no. I’ll be therein a minute myself,” saidBlair, moving off at amarvellous pace for a boywho had been wounded solately.

The Fairport Guard fellinto rank and followed theircommander, while a motly

crowdbroughtuptherear.Blairstoodonthefamiliar

door-step.Helaidhishandonthe lock, and paused for asecond to calm his swellingemotions, in which gratitudeto God was even strongerthan the deep love for hismother.

Quietly sat Mrs.Robertson, plying the needleatherfireside,whenthedoorgently opened, and her son

stoodbeforeher.Thatwasamomentofjoy

too deep for description.While the mother and sonwere clasped in a longembrace, Hal could not helphaving his share of theinterview by crying out,“He’s come home! Be n’t itsplendid? He’s come! Dear,dear,Ishallburst.”

“You dear good fellow,”said Blair, throwing his arm

overHal’s shoulder, “you’vebeenacomforttomymother,Iknow.”

“That he has,” said Mrs.Robertson. “It was he whotold me how your noblecourage saved your nativetown and the very home ofyourmotherfromtheflames.IthankGodforsuchason.”

“Then I did what youwould have wished, mother.Your praise is my precious

reward,” said Blair withaffectionatesimplicity.

“Godhassustainedyou inthepathofduty,andbroughtyou in safety to your homeandyourmother.Letusthankhim for all his mercies, myson. Hal is no stranger toprayer now; he will gladlyjoinus.”

Itwas indeed thevoiceoftrue thanksgiving which rosefromthosegratefulhearts.He

who has contrived joys forthe meanest of his creatures,doubtless takes a purepleasure in the happinesswhichhegives tohis chosenones even here; and rejoicesto know that it is but theforeshadowingof that eternaldelight in store for themwhere parting shall be nomore.

CHAPTERXX.

SACREDJOY

Sweetly the Sabbath bells

sounded in the ear of BlairRobertson.Whata joyitwasto be once more at home,oncemore inhisnative land.How delightful the thoughtthat prayer had already goneup from many family altars,and already Christ’s littleones were gathering to betaught of him and sing hispraise. To dwell among theungodly is indeed a bittertrial. The society of the

unprincipled had been toBlair like a dark cloudovershadowing his pathway;and it was a new delight tohim to be once more amongthe people of God. What ablessing it seemed to him tobe a dweller in the land oflight and liberty, where thefree worshippers might prayand praise without let orhinderance from ungodlymen.

Fullofsuchgladthoughts,hewalkedtowardsthechurchso endeared to him bymanyhallowed associations. Hismother was at his side, andhis kind townsmen on everyhand were giving him theircordial greeting, while thelittle children looked at himwith curious wonder, as thebrave boy whom even theirfathers“delightedtohonor.”

OnceinthehouseofGod,

all other thoughts werehushed in the mind of Blair,by the remembrance of thepresence into which he wasnow ushered. Itwas a joy tohimtojoininheartfeltprayer,andpraisewith somany truechildrenofGod,andtostandamong his brethren who likehimcouldsayfromtheheart,“I believe in the Lord JesusChrist.”

A deep, strong voice near

him made the youngworshipper aware of thepresenceofDerryDuckinthesolemn assembly, joiningwith his whole heart in thehymn of praise. Ah, menmight heap honor upon theyoung patriot, and applaudhis courage in the hour ofdanger, and welcome wastheir cordial tribute;but theirloudest acclamations had notpower towake in the soulof

Blair Robertson such deep,grateful joy as the sight ofthat ransomed sailor,broughthometotheFather’shouse.

Everyword of the servicehad its meaning to DerryDuck.Heconfessedanewthesins of his burdened heart,and accepted once more thefree forgiveness found inChrist Jesus. He called onGod as his Father, andseemed to be professing

before men and angels thefaithforwhichhewaswillingtodie.

The clergyman gave forththe simple notice, “A persondesires to return thanks for asafe return from sea.” AlleyesweresuddenlybentuponBlairwith lovingpride.Verydeep and true was thethanksgiving of the Fairportcongregationforthereturnoftheirbravedeliverer;butwho

shall tell what passed in themother’s heart, or in that ofherrejoicingson?

CHAPTERXXI.

CONCLUSION

Itwas invain thatBlair tried

to persuade Derry Duck toseehismother,andacceptherthanksforhiskindnesstoherwoundedboy.Derrydeclaredthathewouldhearnothanks,theoddswereallontheotherside.Andas forsittingdownin a Christian woman’sparlor, and making himselfeasy there, he wasn’t fit forthat. A forgiven sinner hebelieved he was, and couldbowinthehouseofGodwith

his fellow-men;buthewasabeginner in the ways ofgodliness, too much taintedwith hismiserable past to beright company for thosewhohadnevergone so far astray.Besides, he pleaded, he hadhis little flower tosee, inherownlittlenook.Itwouldbeashame to him to set his footonanyotherthresholdbeforehehadspoken toher.Toherhisfirstsparehoursbelonged.

Derry returned from hisvisit to his child with hisheart more than ever full oflove to his darling. She hadreceived his letter, andrejoiced over it with greatjoy, declaring that not atreasureshepossessedwassoprecious. Derry had allowedhimself but the usual shortinterview,ever trembling lesthe should mar her delight inher father by some

knowledgeofthewildlifehehadled.Yet,whenhelaidhishand on her head at parting,he could not resist speakingthe fervent “God bless you,darling,” which stirred at hisheart.

Shehadclaspedandkissedhis hand with a suddengladness, as if such wordsfromhimwerebothajoyanda surprise. He waited for noquestions,buthurriedaway.

“When the war is over,you will come home andsettle down with your littlehousekeeper, and lether takecare of you. How glad thatwill make her,” said Blairpersuasively.

“I shall never be fitcompanyforher,”saidDerryfirmly; “I know it, my boy.True, I’m a changed man. ItrustI’mforgivenforthesakeof the Crucified. But I’ve a

pitwithin that needs purgingthriceover.Amanlikemeisnot made into a saint in aminute, though he may readhis pardon clear. ‘Followinghard after,’ shall be mymotto;‘followingontoknowtheLord.’ I’mnot theone tosit down at the chimney-sidewith a creature like her. No,Blair, I tell you no. Lookhere,myboy.Here’smypathofduty.I’veaGodtoglorify,

I’ve a country to serve.Rough sailors wont think ofmywaysasshewould.IfI’mlikearockinwhatIknowisright,andGodwillhelpme,Icando’emgood.Icansetuptherightbanneramong’em.Icanmaketheforecastlepraisethegreatandholyname.Itisfor this Imean towork. It isfor this Imean tobe a sailornow. There’s not a port I’veever set foot in, but I’ve

shamed a Christian landthere. I mean to put in toeveryportwhereI’veshowedmyface,andletthemseeI’vechanged my colors. WhereI’vedoneevil,thereImeantotry to do good. I can’t wipeoutbygones.Theyarewrittenin the book up there. Butthere’s One in white robeswill stand for me before hisFather’s throne. I’llwork forHimwhile there’s life inme;

andwhenIdie,Ihopeitwillbegivingpraise andglory tohis name. I want to do mycountry credit too. It’s noshining thing, to get in thepapers, that I expect to do;butjustapatientservingGod,that brings honor to the landwhere a man was born. Youwill pray for me, I know,when I’m off on the water;and if I die—your motherknowsthename—she’llgoto

my little darling, and tell herhowherfatherlovedher,andhopes to livewith her in thekingdomofheaven.Ishallbefittositdownwithheratthatmarriage-feast. I shall haveonthe‘whiterobes,’andpoorDerryDuckwillhavea‘newname,’ by which the angelswill call him, and his littledarlingwillnotblush tohearit.Ishalllivewithherthere.”Derry dashed the tears from

his eyes as he spoke, but hefirmlyrepeated,“Here,Imustlabor alone, and struggle togrow like theMaster. There,noneshalllayanythingtothecharge of God’s elect; and Iand my pretty one will joinwith her mother in singinground the throne. Good-by,myboy.Godblessyou.Youhave sent out a Christiansailor toworkforhimon theseas. You have sent out a

lover of his country to striveto do her honor in his closeton his knees, at his duty inthefight,andinhishammockwhen they drop him into thedeepsea.”

Derry wrung the hand ofthe young patriot, and thenmoved away with quickuncertain steps. A lonelyman,yetnotalone,therewasa comfort and joy in therough sailor’s heart. His life

of labor was to be a gladvoyage to a better country,whoseharborlightswouldbeeverleadinghimonward,andwhose shining shore wouldever glisten for him in thecertain future beyond thegrave.

The young patriot hadindeed been blessed inwinning such a devotedservanttotheMaster’scause,andsuchaChristiansailor to

maintain the honor of hisnativeland.

TherewasmoresuchworkforBlairRobertson,andforithesteadilylabored.

Peace came with itsilluminations and festivities.The swordwas laid aside onsea and land,yetBlairmightstillbeservingthecountryhesodearlyloved.Hisexample,his fireside talk, and hisglowing words in the

assemblies of his people,might ever cast their weightin the right balance. Theoutcasts and the immigrantwerestilltobesotrainedandennobledas tomake themfitcitizensofourfreeandhappyland. Above all, by hisprayers and his holy living,he might call down on hishome and country such ablessingaseverencompassesthe dwelling of him who

feareththeLord.To be such a patriot was

the aim of Blair Robertson.Would that there were manyso to live and labor. Thenmight we be sure of victoryover all our enemies, and ofthe abounding blessings oflastingpeace.

Originallypublishedin1863

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