CHAPTER V.

THE VOYAGE.

"NOW help me lift him on to the other bed, where he will be more comfortable, Eric." And Sister Martin directed the lad how to hold the patient, and he carefully followed her directions, so as not to disturb the sick man more than was necessary.

"Now the medicine. You can give him that, Eric, if I pour it out." And the bottle was carried to where there was a little more light, for only a few stray beams could penetrate the gloom here.

Eric gave the medicine and supplied the man with drink, and then followed Sister Martin to another bedside, while a woman was set to wash out the dirty clothes that had been taken from the patients.

They had only been a few days at sea, but sickness had broken out among the convicts, as it frequently did on these voyages. The Methodist sister, however, was prepared for this, and had brought a stock of old clothes and a little chest of medicines, with a good supply of soap, needles and cottons, which she could teach the women to use in the course of the long voyage; for, if winds were contrary, this was greatly prolonged over the ordinary period of eight or ten weeks.

Sickness, if not too severe in type, was rather a help to the work this good woman had set herself to accomplish among these unfortunate people, for it subdued the men, and often awoke in them, and in the women, too, latent good qualities, hitherto unsuspected even by themselves; and to keep alive these sparks of true humanity when once awakened, to make these stepping stones to higher things, was the object of her teaching.

For this, she held classes among the women, to teach them how to patch and mend the clothes she had brought with her, and thus evoke their helpfulness on their own behalf and sympathy with their fellow convicts, who were to benefit by this.

The men were set to patch the boots and shoes with odd bits of leather she had brought among her stores, and all were taught the duty of cleanliness and the use of soap and water.

Then, when the daily tasks of washing, scrubbing and sewing were over, she would gather round her all who cared to listen, and tell them of the love of God their Father in heaven, who had sent His Son into this world of sin and pain, that He might know just what human pain and sorrow were, and so be able to help and sympathise with all who sought Him.

"For us, for you and me, my friends, did the Lord Jesus suffer such trials and sorrows, and such a cruel death that we might have life—might learn to know and love and serve Him, and so be made sharers in His life and love. This alone can lift us out of the power of sin and the love of sin. I need not tell you who have suffered so sorely, that sin ever leads to misery, and that to escape from misery, sin must be given up. I know some of you will say this is impossible, and in your own strength it is, but God is ready to help you in the struggle against its power, if you will only seek His help.

"To many of you, this is a fresh start in life. Old companions are left behind, and old temptations too, and in the new country to which you are going, a new life may be lived—a life whose secret spring is hidden from the world, hidden with God, but by prayer and constant looking to Him a spring of joy and help for every time of need."

This was how the Methodist sister talked to the broken-down men and women among whom she had come to live. At first, some of them might suspect and despise her, because of the prejudice that was everywhere felt against Methodists by those who did not know them.

Even Eric was not free from this at first; but as day after day passed, and they learned to know this Methodist better, all were willing to own that she was a good woman, while many thought of her as an angel of God, as indeed she was; for by her life, as well as by her words, she taught that God is love.

From the time she asked Eric to help her give out the bread among the convicts, he had been her helper in everything she had done or tried to do for the benefit of the rest. At first, he did not like the notion of her being a Methodist; but he got over this when he found that she said very little about Mr. Wesley, but spoke as his mother used to do, and was just as eager to help these men and women as he used to be with his horses, or the creatures in the forest whenever that was possible.

He had never thought men and women could be as interesting as the horses were to him, but under Sister Martin, he was learning to help these now, and to love the work too.

It did not matter to him how menial, how difficult, or how tedious the task might be, if Sister Martin wanted it done, Eric was willing to do it. One of the men in the company was a shoemaker, and for his kindness to him while he was ill, he was willing to teach Eric something of his trade, but he would show no one else, and so Eric had to learn how to patch and cobble at the old shoes, that he might show one or two others who were anxious to learn.

It was a busy life he lived here, for every minute of it was employed from early morning until he went to bed at night, and but for the dread he felt at the idea of being a slave, it would have been happier than any time he had spent since his mother's death.

But like a black cloud obscuring the distant horizon, there was ever present to his mind the thought, "I shall soon be a slave, be the property of some man who may have the right to bid me do things I may not think it right to do." And when this thought took possession of him, he would sometimes look over the side of the vessel, and wish that by some accident he might fall overboard and be drowned. If only this could happen, there would be an end of all his trouble and perplexity, and he would soon see his beloved mother once more.

But braver thoughts generally succeeded these despairing moods; for one day he told his friend what he had been thinking of when she found him gazing into the water.

"But how would you meet God, my boy?" asked Sister Martin, looking into his troubled, truthful eyes. "If you gently slipped in and sank like a stone before your work was done, could you expect your Father in heaven to meet you with the welcoming words, 'Well done, good and faithful servant?' Would you be a faithful servant, if you wilfully threw away the life God has given to be used in His service? What that service may be you cannot tell, but you can be patient and wait for the unfolding of God's providence towards you. That is your duty, my boy; we are each asked to live a day at a time the life of little children.

"When your mother lived, you knew you could depend upon her to do the best thing possible for you, and so in like manner should you depend upon God now to arrange your life day by day. The way may be rough; it is a rough and thorny path you have been called to tread, the night for you has been long and dark; but there is an old saying, that it is darkest just before the dawn, and so I think you may fairly hope your dawn is at hand, though we may not see it yet."

In this way did the good woman encourage the lad to hope and trust in the Friend who though invisible, is none the less mighty to help, mighty to save; and so Eric resisted more and more these depressing thoughts, which he found by experience always unfitted him for the duty that lay nearest to him, whatever it might be.

It was well for him that his life was a busy one, that Sister Martin always had something she needed to be done, either for herself or for her poor people. To do anything for the personal comfort of the woman who had given up her life to bring a little brightness and hope into theirs, was a delight to Eric, and he undertook to keep her little cabin clean, and attend upon her whenever and wherever he could lighten her labour, as well as help any of the rest in performing the tasks of work they were set to do.

His life as one of their own number could not but tell upon those who were trying to profit by the instruction of Sister Martin. Here was this lad giving his help ungrudgingly to every one who needed it, and yet he had no better prospect in life than they had, though he might have deserved a better fate.

Some of them were beggars pure and simple. Work had been hard to get at first, and then by degrees they had dropped into a life of begging, in preference to seeking work. Others had gone a step further, and added stealing to the beggary, but they knew that this lad had been deprived of his liberty before he had the chance of finding employment, merely because he happened to be a stranger, as was his mother before him.

So it was a mingled feeling of respect and pity that they felt for Eric. They had each had some chance in life that they had either lost or thrown away; but this lad had been worse off than they were, for he had not been allowed even this small grace.

That every man should have his chance in life was one of the few things they all believed in, and that their hearts could be touched on behalf of Eric on this account, proved that they were not so sunk in selfishness as their miserable condition would lead one to think.

At last one of the leaders among the men ventured to speak to the captain about this matter. "Some of us can muster a shilling or two, sir, and we thought that if it could be managed that he should be sold cheap, why, we might buy his liberty for him, and let him have his chance in life, as every man has a right to expect. Some of us have had it, and thrown it away, but this chap hasn't; he is but a boy, and if the price wasn't fixed too high, we might manage it, with Sister Martin's help."

The captain looked at the man in surprise. Of course he knew Eric well enough, from seeing him about the ship, and also from the Methodist sister's report of him; but this was such an unheard-of request that he could not reply to the man without taking time to consider what he should say about it.

Later in the day, he contrived to draw Sister Martin aside, and tell her of the man's request.

"What do you think of it?" he asked.

"That my work has borne fruit far sooner than I expected," she replied, with a tremble in her voice. "These people, I know, have a little money secreted among them; but it is their most precious possession, the one thing they hold to, as affording them hope of escape from bondage by-and-by. You and I know how vain this hope is; but as money will purchase almost anything in England, how can they know it is of little use to them here? But that they are willing to give up this most precious possession for the sake of another, proves that God is at work among them; and so, if you can do this for—for us, I would say, for I should like to help in buying the boy's freedom—I think you would be doing a lasting benefit to those who give, as well as to the lad who will receive this great gift."

"Well, I will look over the list of the prisoners and their probable value, that was given to me. You see I shall have to give an account of how I have disposed of each of these convicts, and the authorities will expect to receive enough to cover the cost of their transportation. You understand that, Sister Martin, of course?"

"Yes, certainly; you are bound to deal faithfully with the authorities as well as with us, and you know I would not ask you to do otherwise."

"Then you know this lad cannot return to England, at least not for some years—not until he has earned such means that he can present himself as a colonist, and no longer as a returned English beggar. The law is very strict about this, I can tell you; and I should find myself in a fine scrape if the boy went back in another ship soon, and by any means fell into the hands of the justices again, as he probably would do."

"I think all danger of that may be prevented, even though the boy is free. I have some friends in Boston who would doubtless be glad to employ the boy, and I think he may be trusted, especially when he knows that he would get his friends into trouble if he attempted to return home."

"Very well, then, I will see if I can fix the price for him within the means of those who are to find the money to buy his liberty. But remember, he must be made to understand that he is only free to dispose of his labour here in the colony, and by no means to return to England."

"I will make that clear to him, do not fear. I shall not speak to him about the matter yet. How much longer will our voyage last, do you think?" she added, as she turned to walk back to the other end of the vessel.

"Not more than a week. It has been a tedious one this time; and if it had not been for you and your influence over these people, it might have been much more uncomfortable for me and my men. I shall not forget this item in considering the price to be fixed on for the lad," added the captain, as he courteously shook hands with his passenger.

There was quite a little stir and bustle among the convicts concerning their important secret. Of course there were some surly and soured enough to shun all share in the little enterprise, but these were in the minority, and by far the larger number gave what they could towards making up the necessary sum; and those who did not possess a single penny they could bestow, gave earnest sympathy, for all had learned to love the lad who thought of every one's convenience and comfort before his own.

Even the sullen and surly were willing to admit that Eric was different from other lads they had known, but they did not hesitate to say they thought him a fool for running about after other people, when he might be taking it easy most of the time.

"I shall have to work by-and-by, and so will he, I expect, if he lives long enough. Precious little rest is likely to come to my share, or his either; and so I say he is a fool for not taking it when he can get it," concluded one worthy.

Another was of opinion that Eric had set his heart on getting his liberty somehow, and had hit upon the plan of running after Sister Martin as the best way of doing it. These grumblers, however, were not numerous in the company. Most of them had learned to appreciate the boy's kindness from personal experience of it, and only longed for the time when he might know that he at least was not to be a slave.

It had been arranged that Eric should not be told of his good fortune until they came within sight of Boston Harbour; indeed, the captain kept them waiting a day or two before stating the price he would require for him. It was very moderate—well within the amount they were able to collect, by the aid of what Sister Martin contributed. She, of course, was to be his nominal owner, and in her name the bill was made out; so that before the vessel went into American waters, Eric had been disposed of to the satisfaction of everybody on board.

It was thought best to tell him who was his owner, and by what means he had thus been set free, before the bustle of landing commenced; and so, as soon as the distant town came in sight, Eric was told that he had already been sold by the captain, so that the ordeal he had been dreading all through the voyage would be spared him, though no one else among his companions could expect the same favour.

The lad's surprise and gratitude when he heard how this had been effected, and from whom the plan had first originated, was very touching. He could only express his thanks in sobs and tears at first, when told of what had happened. It was as though a great burden had been rolled away; but it was hard to believe that these poor people, who were themselves to be sold as slaves, should have given well-nigh all they possessed that he might escape the terrible doom awaiting them.

"I don't deserve it," he said, as he went round to one and another, tendering them his personal thanks, and telling them how great the boon was they had been able to bestow. "It is not the work I mind," he said; "I will work harder for being free; and if ever I can help any of you who have so greatly helped me, do not fear but I will do it."

He was too much overcome to say many words, but every one knew that they had won a friend in Eric, and one they were never likely to be ashamed of, whether they met him again or not.

They did not contemplate with such utter dismay the prospect before them as they had at first. Sister Martin had dispelled some of the dread they had naturally felt about it. She had given them hope that life might at least be no worse than the one they had left behind, and for some of them at least, the future held possibilities hitherto undreamed of. That God the Father in heaven cared for them, and would provide for them, was a thought that lay warm in more than one heart now, who until they met this Methodist sister, never used the name but to take it in vain.

Now they had learned to lift their hands in prayer, and to look up to this God and Father as a Friend who cared for them, even as these servants of His had proved that they did; for thus had they learned to interpret the lives of Eric and Sister Martin.