CHAPTER VIII.
MOONLIGHT CONVERSATION BY THE BROOK.
WALTER well deserved the praise lavished upon him by Ned. He hadlittle resemblance to his brother Joe, or indeed any other memberof the family, except in size. He was of large frame; Joe had greatsquare jaws, high cheek bones, his hair coarse and bristling, andhis joints large,—he was what is termed, in common parlance,double-jointed,—and, though exceeding agile, was loose-limbed, andsomewhat awkward in his movements.
Walter, on the other hand, was compactly built, graceful in all hismovements; fair complexion, regular features, fine hair, that curledupon the least exertion, and something in the expression of his facethat inspired confidence and attracted at once; though full of humor,he possessed not a particle of Joe’s fondness for practical jokes.Every whit as resolute and fond of rough sports as any of his race,he had what none of the rest possessed—imagination and sentiment; hewas thoughtful, reflective, and a vein of almost feminine delicacy ranthrough his whole nature.
All that Joe thought of, when he looked upon a noble maple, was, howmuch potash it would make, whether a keel-piece could be got out of it;or upon a majestic pine, how many boards it would scale.
But Walter looked upon them with other eyes; the murmur of the streamsand the glance of the river through the green foliage appealed tosusceptibilities that did not exist in the breast of the other. Inall other respects he was Griffin to the backbone. He was a universalfavorite; all the boys loved Walter Griffin, and he loved them inreturn. He loved John Rhines, Fred Williams, and Uncle Isaac, butCharlie Bell was his ideal of perfection, and, though so much hissenior, seemed nearer than all the rest. The thoughtful tenderness ofCharlie’s nature touched an answering chord in that of Walter; he foundsomething there, he could not find among his mates.
Charlie, trading with Fred, and owning a portion of the goods, wasoften in the store, and brought a good deal in contact with Walter;they naturally grew together.
When he found Charlie was going to be married, he told John he was realsorry, because he knew he shouldn’t see so much of him, and he wasafraid he wouldn’t love him so much. But he soon found, to his greatgratification, that “the more angels in the heart, the more room.”
No sooner was Charlie married than he bought a pew in themeeting-house, and asked Walter to sit with him (as Mr. Griffin had alarge family, and their pew was always crowded), and frequently invitedhim to tea; he soon began to feel at home there, and found that he sawa great deal more of Charlie than when he was obliged to go on to ElmIsland to see him, or met him occasionally at the store.
Charlie’s religion was not something put upon him like lacker uponmetal, but it was a part of him, as much so as the very blood in thechambers of his heart, or the pulse in his veins; it made him happy,and it was an instinct with him to communicate that which so blessedhimself to those he loved. It was not a task; he could not help it.‘Twas just as much a part of his nature, as to press the hand or kissthe lips of those he loved.
The period occupied by our narrative was long before the era of Sabbathschools, notwithstanding young people by no means grew up, in the daysof our fathers, without religious instruction, and that of the mostsubstantial kind; since _parents then_ discharged, in respect to theirchildren, the duties which are now but too often surrendered to Sabbathschool teachers, and the material for mission schools, now so abundant,did not then exist.
Parson Goodhue was accustomed, once a month, to assemble all thechildren, as also the older boys and girls, in the school-house onSaturday afternoon, and to put them the questions contained in theWestminster Catechism, previously committed to memory.
Walter Griffin had made all his preparations for going to sea, as agreen hand, in the Casco, with Isaac Murch; the ship was ready to sailMonday, for Cadiz. Walter having attended the catechising for the lasttime, when he saw all his schoolmates, and received a parting blessingfrom the good minister, started up to Pleasant Cove, to take leave ofCharlie, whom he met coming from the barn, where he had been tying uphis oxen.
“Good evening, Mr. Bell.”
“Good evening, Walter. I was afraid you would go away without coming tosee me.”
“I couldn’t think of that, sir; I came up to the school-house, and thenkept on.”
“Then you are all dressed for Sabbath, and I shan’t let you go fromhere to-night; stop right here, and go to meeting with us in themorning.”
“I fear I shall hinder you, sir.”
“Not a whit. Uncle Isaac has been helping me break up, and has justgone from here; we’ve done work enough for one day. I’m going to cleanup and rest; come, go in; supper is about ready.”
Walter assisted Charlie to milk, and do his chores, and as the twilightcame on, they sat down together beneath a tree near the edge of a bank,where the brook met the waters of the bay.
It was a most picturesque, lovely spot, one that Charlie dearlyloved, and to which he never took any one who he knew was incapableof appreciating it; he didn’t like to have his chosen spots like anunfenced common, for everybody and everything to trample on.
It was a warm evening, the first of September; the season had beenmoist and shady; not a leaf gave token of decay. Just above them theysaw the white foam of the water, as it fell in broken wreaths of foamover the precipice, and caught again the gleam of it through theleaves, as with tranquil current it met the waters of the bay, rollingwith a low ripple upon the white sand of the beach.
They sat with their backs against a large oak that grew double, forkingjust above their heads, and thus, being rather flat than round, offereda convenient rest.
“Walter,” said Charlie, putting his arm around the boy, and drawing hishead on to his breast, “how do you like this spot?”
“I think it is most beautiful. I could sit here all night and listen tothat waterfall, and watch the moonbeams glancing on the water.”
“The first time I ever saw this place, I came here alone, on very muchsuch a night as this. I loved it then, and have loved it more and moreever since. I shall miss you very much, Walter; only think how manySabbath days we’ve sat side by side in meeting; I hope there’s somegood come of it all. Walter, do you ever pray?”
There was no reply, but a tear fell on Charlie’s hand; at length hesaid, “No, sir; I never did.”
“But you say the Lord’s Prayer?”
“No, sir.”
“Didn’t your mother learn you to say it when a child?”
“No, sir; there ain’t any goodness in our folks; we are a hard, roughset; ain’t like other people; only think about wrestling, shooting, andfalling timber. When Joe became religious, he wanted to have prayersSabbath night; but father wouldn’t hear to it. Now he’s got a house ofhis own, he can do as he likes.”
“But you are not a rough, thoughtless boy, Walter; you are a gentle,loving boy, and you think; all the Griffin there is in you, is on theoutside; you love the woods, flowers, the waters, and this beautifulspot touches you, just as it does me.”
Walter made no reply, but pressed Charlie’s hand.
“And you love me?”
“I do, Mr. Bell, with all my heart and soul.”
“Then how can you help loving God, who made everything and everybodythat you love and admire?”
“I know I ought.”
“Perhaps you don’t like to have me talk to you in this way.”
“Yes, sir, I do; I could hear you talk forever.”
“Walter, I don’t believe there was ever a boy in the world had morefriends than you have.”
“That is just what I was thinking myself, this very afternoon, when allthe boys and girls came round me at the catechising, and seemed sorryto have me go away.”
“Don’t you think you owe a good deal to your Maker? and ought you notto tell him so?”
“Yes, sir, I know I ought to; but I can’t.”
“You could ask me to speak to the captain, and get you a chance to goin the Casco.”
“O, sir, you, Mr. Rhine
s, and Uncle Isaac are so good, I don’t feelafraid to ask you anything.”
“God is better.”
“But he seems a great way off.”
“He would seem near if you would go to him, and try to get acquainted.Besides, he has spoken first, and asked you to come.”
“I’m afraid you will think I am a very rude boy.”
“You are like all boys, and all the rest of us, before we begin tothink of better things. Now, Walter, there’s just one thing I want youto do.”
“What is that, sir?”
“You know I have been on the ocean somewhat, and know what it is to bethere, and how sailor men feel, although you will soon know much moreabout the matter than I do. There is no time, as you will soon learn,when a sailor man spends his time so well as in the middle watch of apleasant night, when it is fair weather and moderate—everything goingalong smooth. It is then, if a man has any conscience, it wakes up;if he has had good bringing up, and good instructions, they come tohis mind; it is then his thoughts are homeward bound, and he thinks ofparents, brothers, sisters, and all he loves best on earth. Then hetravels over the whole ground, from childhood clear along. You’ll findit so.”
“I expect I shall spend many an hour in that way, and then I shallthink of you and all your kindness to me.”
“It isn’t kindness, Walter; it is more than that. I have enjoyed it asmuch as you. There are some beautiful nights at sea, as well as darkand dismal ones. There will be nights just like this, when the moonwill glance on the long swell just as it now does on the little rippleon that beach, and the stars will seem like so many eyes looking downupon you, and the royal will look in the shadow as if it reached thesky.”
“I know I shall enjoy such nights, and wish them longer.”
“They make up for a good many rough ones, and you can live them overmany times. Well, when such a night comes, I want you, as you look onthe moon and stars, to remember that as the same moon is shining on me,looking down on this little brook, and into the cove, so the same goodheavenly Father is over us both; that then I shall look at that moon,and think of you; this little nook, the trees, and all we’ve said toone another here will travel out on the ocean to meet you; then perhapsyou may think, I wonder if some good friend is not thinking of andpraying for me; ought I not to do something for myself?”
“I thank you for all these pleasant thoughts. I never thought of suchthings before. It is not the way Parson Goodhue talks to us aboutreligion.”
“Well, he is a wise man. I can only talk in a simple way, as it comesto me, and out of my heart.”
“But you don’t talk to me like as anybody else does. Captain Rhinesoften gives me good advice, and so does Uncle Isaac, about notdrinking, and getting into bad company, or being profane, and aboutsaving my money. But you don’t, somehow, seem to give me advice, orever mention those things. I like to have them take notice of me, andalways thank them; but when you talk _with_ me,—for you don’t seem totalk _at_ me,—I want to put my arms right round your neck.”
“Don’t spoil a good mind, Walter.” And the boy actually embraced him.“People have different ways of looking at the same thing,” continuedCharlie; “you wouldn’t want all your friends to be just alike—wouldyou?”
“No, indeed, sir, any more than I would want all the flowers to be ofone form and color, or all the birds to look alike and sing the samesong.”
“Well, if you only love Him who made and gave you everything half aswell as you love me, who have done, and can do, very little for you,all these other matters will take care of themselves.”
“Please talk some more, sir.”
“It is time to go. We’ve been here a great while. They will all bea-bed.”
“O, sir, we haven’t been here but a little while.”
“How long do you think?”
“Half an hour.”
“We’ve been here an hour and a half; I know by the tide. It was highwater when we sat down here. You see that white rock just breaking thewater?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, when that rock is fairly out, it is two hours ebb. Walter, whatmakes you so bent upon going to sea? You might do well on a farm. Fredwould, in the course of another year, take you in as partner. If youwant money, I will lend it to you. Then you can be at home among yourfriends. Is it because you think you can make money faster?”
“No, sir; I don’t think money is everything. There’s Isaac Murch, asstraightforward, kind-hearted a fellow as ever lived,—as smart a manas was ever wrapped up in skin; but he thinks money is everything.He’ll give, too, especially to a good cause; but it comes hard. He’llgo through a deal to get a dollar. I mean to have a good living,—Ithink that’s for every one who strives for it,—and earn my wages,wherever I am. I don’t believe in wasting, or any of your low stuff,but I had rather have friends who love me for my own sake, good health,enjoy myself, and have others enjoy themselves with me, than all themoney in the world.”
“Money won’t buy happiness, Walter.”
“You know, sir, you were saying just now that you hoped you shouldn’thave to grind your broad-axe again for six years; you did so long toturn over some of this wild land, plant an orchard, have grain, fruitand flowers, and cattle in the pastures.”
“Yes, and I felt more than I said.”
“But haven’t you made pretty much all the property you have out of thesea?”
“Yes.”
“Yet you want to work on the land.”
“Because I love to. I love to work with tools, but I want some time toplant and sow, and see things grow, whether I make anything or not;it’s my nature.”
“So it’s my nature to go to sea. I wish you could see all the boatsFlour (I mean Peterson) has made and rigged for me. I wouldn’t care ifthere was only land enough to build wharves to tie vessels up, to cleanand grave their bottoms, and all the rest was water.”
“But it is a hard life, and rude company. You are a quiet, thoughtfulboy, and as affectionate as a woman.”
“There’s a hard streak in all us Griffins; so I suppose there must bein me.”
This was the boy Ned Gates was so much attached to, and helped do hiswork at the tan-yard, and respecting whom Mrs. Gates said he was toogood to go to sea (this good lady seeming to think it best to have onlybad men at sea).
Naturally adapted to sea life, he was already (but little more than aboy) acting as second mate, and, by his keenness of perception, was thefirst to discern the whereabouts of the enemy.
To say that Walter and Ned were intimate, and enjoyed themselvestogether, would be superfluous. They were fortunately in the samewatch, slept in the same berth, and became more attached to each otherevery day. Ned was smart and ambitious, but light. He always aspiredto furl the royal, which he could do well enough, when it was dry, atany rate, by furling the yard-arms first; but when it was wet, and agale of wind, it was rather more than a match for him. At such times,Walter, who knew the ambition and grit of his little shipmate, and wasunwilling to mortify him before the crew, would wait till he saw thesail blow away from him once or twice, and then run up and help him.
Ned was very desirous of raising a cue, and even had dim visions of abeard. He sported a concern about three inches in length, and whichvery much resembled the appendage of a Suffolk pig. It was so shortthat Walter, who combed and dressed it for him when the rest of thewatch were asleep, found it very difficult to make the eel-skin stayon, even with a clove hitch, and, to Ned’s great indignation, suggestedthat he should put some tar on it, in order to make the string stick.Walter, on the other hand, boasted a cue nearly a foot in length, andthe rudiments of a beard.
Whenever he shaved (which luxury he sometimes indulged in, by thesolicitations of Ned, on Sunday morning in port, when the rest wereashore, to avoid disparaging remarks), Ned sat looking at him with thegreatest reverence, and indulging in visions of the future, although,as yet, his lip was guiltless even of down.
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