Philosopher Jack | Page 8

rope's-end when he entered the cabin.
"Youngster," said the captain, sternly, "I sent for you to tell you of a fact that came to my knowledge just before we left port. Your father told me that, being unwilling to disappoint you in your desires, he had managed to get a situation of some sort for you on board a well-known line of ocean steamers, and he only waited to get the thing fairly settled before letting you know about it. There, you may go for'ed and think what you have lost by running away."
Without a word of reply Watty left the cabin. His day's work had just been completed. He turned into his hammock, and, laying his head on his pillow, quietly wept himself to sleep.
"Ain't you rather hard on the poor boy, father?" said Polly, who had witnessed the interview.
"Not so hard as you think, little woman," answered the captain, stroking the child's head with his great hand; "that little rascal has committed a great sin. He has set out on the tracks of the prodigal son you've often read about, an' he's not sufficiently impressed with his guilt. When I get him into a proper frame o' mind I'll not be so hard on him. Now, Polly, go putt your doll to bed, and don't criticise your father."
Polly seized the huge whiskers of her sire, and giving him an unsolicited "nor'-wester," which was duly returned, went off to her little cot.
We do not mean to trouble the reader with all the incidents of a prolonged voyage to southern latitudes, during which Philosopher Jack formed a strong friendship with Ben Trench and Watty Wilkins; continued his instruction of the amiable and unfathomable Baldwin Burr, and became a general favourite with the crew of the Lively Poll. Suffice it to say that all went well, and the good ship sailed along under favouring breezes without mishap of any kind until she reached that great ocean whose unknown waters circle round the Southern Pole.
Here, however, good fortune forsook them, and contrary-gales baffling the Lively Poll drove her out of her course, while tumbling billows buffeted her severely.
One night a dead calm prevailed. The air became hot, clouds rose rapidly over the sky, and the barometer--that faithful friend of the mariner--fell unusually low.
"How dreadfully dark it is getting," said Polly, in a low, half-frightened tone to Baldwin Burr, who was at the wheel.
"We're going to have a night of it, my dear," replied the seaman.
If he had said that the winds and waves were going to "have a night of it" Baldwin Burr would have been more strictly correct. He had scarcely uttered the words when the captain gave orders to close-reef the top-sails. Our philosopher, springing aloft with his comrades, was out on the top-sail yard in a few seconds. Scarcely had the sails been reefed when the gale burst upon the ship, and almost laid her flat upon the foaming sea. At first the very violence of the wind kept the waves down, but they gradually rose until the ship was tossed on their crests and engulfed in their hollows like a cork. As the force of the gale increased sail was further reduced, until nothing but a mere rag was left and even this at last was split and blown to ribbons. Inky clouds soon obscured the sky, and, as night descended on the wild scene, the darkness became so intense that nothing could be seen except the pale gleam of foaming billows as they flashed past over the bulwarks. In the midst of the turmoil there came a blinding flash of lightning, followed instantly by a terrible crash of thunder. This was succeeded by a sound of rending which was not the result of elemental strife.
"Foremast gone, sir," cried one of the men, staggering aft.
Seizing an axe, the captain sprang forward. Edwin Jack followed. They found the ship's-carpenter already at work cutting the shrouds and other ropes that held the wreck of the mast. As flashes of lightning followed in quick succession they revealed a scene of ruin on the forepart of the vessel, with the tall figure of Edwin as he stood on the bulwarks wielding an axe. At last the wreck was cleared, but the seas were now bursting over the decks and sweeping away everything not made fast. Among other things the long-boat was carried away, and ere long all the other boats were torn from their fastenings or destroyed. It was a fearful night. Even the most reckless among the sailors were overawed by such a display of the terrors of God. At such times scoffers are wont to become tremblers, and those who "trust in God" find Him "a very present help in trouble."
The gale was as short-lived as it was fierce. By the