John Brown, the Sailor. Every Arab that's saved from the street, In the haunts of vice, was saved from the streets! 73 The Day of Rest. "THE JOHN BROWN, THE SAILOR. T. P. WILSON, M.A. HE Diggings" had not long broken out when, on New Year's Day, 1853, I left the shores of South Australia in a trim little vessel carrying as valuable a cargo in gold, copper, and wool as had ever left the port of Adelaide. Sailors were scarcely to be had, for nearly all the able-bodied men were off at the Melbourne gold-fields; so that our captain had to pay down each seaman's wages to him in hard cash before he would go on board. Thirty pounds and rations were demanded for the run home to England. We had not got far on our way, when I had a visit from John Brown, one of our sailors. He looked his name every theh of him-John Brown he was, neither more nor less, a oat, jolly looking, good-tempered Englishman. John's interview with me was of a private nature in my own cabin. Without any needless prefacing he pulled out of his pocket a brass tobacco-box, and handed it to me. Rather a strange errand to come on, especially as I was no smoker; but the box, I found, had something in it heavier and better than tobacco; it was quite filled with bright sovereigns, thirty in number, his wages for the voyage to England. "Your reverence," said John, "I want you to take care of this for me-I've got an old mother at home, and I want to take it to her, and it'll be safer with you than with me, till we get home." 74 John Brown, the Sailor. I was very much pleased to find John B own such a good son; so I took his box and stowed it away carefully under my mattress. A month had passed away, and we were stealing quietly through the Indian Ocean. It was the dead of the night, and deep sleep had fallen on all but the watchers, when, suddenly, there was a confused noise heard in the cuddy, and then the terrible cry, "The ship's on fire, get up every one!" As I and mine were hurrying on our clothes, scarce knowing what to think, or how to act, John Brown suddenly made his appearance in my cabin, and asked for his tobacco-box. "Your reverence," he said, "there's no knowing if we shall live to get to land, and, anyways, we mayn't all on us meet again, so I've come, if you please, to ask for my money back again." Of course I gave it him, and saw and heard no more about it till, after long days and nights of peril and toil, we all, through God's mercy, were landed safely on the lovely shores of the Mauritius. And what had been happening meanwhile to vessel, passengers, and crew? For five nights and four days the ladies, the children, and the married men had been towing astern of their vessel in the long boat, till it was sure that the fire, which was burning all the time, could be kept sufficiently under. For four more days the vessel held on her course to the Mauritius, pumps continually pouring water into the hold, where lay the ignited materials, and then pumping it back again, black as ink, into the sea. Day and night went on the clank, clank of the pumps without ceasing, passengers taking their turn at them, as well as the sailors. Every one worked well, and every one worked as a Total Abstainer, and that too under a tropical sun, which at times made the melted pitch bubble out from the seams of the deck. Were the sailors abstainers by choice? No, they could not help themselves. Gladly would some of them have broken into the spirit room, but the smoke below was too stifling; so they had to do the work, with all its extra strain of body and mind, on John Brown, the Sailor. 75 tea, soup, mutton, and biscuit, and not a man fell ill or flagged, and all were saved. And now to go back to John Brown, teetotal Brown he had been for the last few days, and had landed in the Mauritius, safe in body, and in pocket. I was standing in the inner courtyard of the quaint old "Hotel Masse," under a wide-spreading Banyan tree, when sailor John came up to me, and put his tobacco box again into my hands. "I should like you, your reverence," said he, "to keep what there is in the box till we go on board again, I aint forgot my poor old mother, and don't mean to." I opened the box, and counted the money before him, there were only fifteen sovereigns now. He had no need, of course, to spend scarcely anything, for the ship kept him while he was on shore. It was not hard, however, to see which way the money was going. John had the taint of the drink in his breath, and its flush in his face; still I took charge of his fifteen sovereigns, begging him at the same time not to squander his wages on sin and folly. But it was all of no avail. A few days afterwards I met him in the streets-he wanted five pounds; I remonstrated with him, but he would have it. Then again a few days later I encountered him as he was sauntering on the wharf half-seas-over, he wanted six pounds, and must have it whether or no; and very soon after he came for the other four. And where had it all gone? Most, if not all, into the publican's till. And what was John, or his poor old mother the better for the publican's goods? Nothing the better, but, alas! a great deal the worse. John Brown did not come home with us when we again set sail— the last I saw of him was in prison, where we left him behind to complete his sentence for drunken insubordination. Poor John Brown! and poor old mother! Surely, to say the least of it, that is perilous stuff which can turn a kind-hearted son into a selfish degraded beast, and rob a poor old widowed mother of what that son's loving heart fully meant to give her! 76 The Two Streams. THE UNFINISHED PRAYER. OW I lay "NO C. C. 'repeat it, darling' "Lay me," lisped the tiny lips Of my daughter, kneeling, bending O'er her folded finger tips. "Down to sleep"- -"To sleep," she murmured, And the curly head bent low; "I pray the Lord," I gently added, "Pray the Lord,"—the sound came faintly: But the dewy eyes half opened, When I clasped her to my breast, And the dear voice softly whispered, 66 'Mamma, God knows all the rest." THE TWO STREAMS. UPON a leafy mountain height Two streams came gushing forth, Beside the one green rushes grew, Nearing Home. The one went sparkling cheerily And spread around life, health, and peace, The other was the stream of death, And whoso stooped to drink therein The stream which gave such joy to all The VINEYARD sent the other forth They both have flowed for countless years One spreading grief and wickedness, NEARING HOME. M. A. WHITFIELD. AIL onward, mariner, winds are at rest, Fair skies before thee, a calm ocean's breast; Storms that have gather'd are far in the rear, Endeth thy voyage, the haven is near. Sail onward, mariner-Pilot on board- Only by Him canst thou ever be brought Near to the haven now, dangers and fears Then when thy sails are reef'd, reef'd evermore, Joyfully proving, in that blessed day, Perfect His love has been, guiding thy way. 77 |