OUR MESSMATES.

From Pidgie to his cousin Bennie.

Bay of Fundy, July 9th, 1846.

O Bennie, how I wish you were here! You used to enjoy so much skulling around that little pond of Mr. Mason’s in his flat boat, what would you do to be bounding over the water as we are now? I am sitting Turk-fashion on the deck-floor, leaning against the mast, and, as you see, writing with a pencil, being afraid to use my inkstand, lest some stray wave should give it a capsize. There comes one now, that has washed our floor for us, and it needed it badly enough; nor do I mind the wetting, for I am bare-footed and my duck trousers always expect it. We have been five days now upon the water, and since we have thrown overboard the good things that Clarendon laid in for the voyage, and taken to sailor’s fare, we have no more of that horrid sea-sickness. Hard biscuit and water are just as good as any thing else, if you only get used to it, and the fish which we caught this morning are delicious. We came upon a fine shoal of them, and for several hours had nothing to do but pull them in, one after another, as fast as we could put our hooks down. I got hold of a very big fellow, myself, but he was nearer drawing me out of the schooner than I him into it, till David Cobb came to the rescue, and gave such a tug at the line, that he was soon floundering about on the deck. I never knew what an apt comparison “like a fish out of water” is, till I saw him flapping round.

If you only knew David I am sure you would like him. He is as different as can be from our Virginia boys, and yet we are excellent friends. I thought at first that he did not know any thing, when I found out that he had never even heard the names of some of our most distinguished families, and I suspect he despised me in his heart because I was so ignorant about the old Pilgrim Fathers.

We have many an argument about New England and the Old Dominion, but keep our tempers pretty well, and each of us finds a great deal to boast of. There is one thing I can say which really troubles him, for he can’t deny that it is a great honor to the State, and that is, that General Washington was born and brought up and died in Virginia. O, how he glories even that Washington was an American, and what would he not give if he could claim him for his dear Massachusetts! I used to think that the Yankees were all cold-hearted and never got excited about any thing; but David looks as if his soul was all on fire when he speaks of the Father of his Country, and he drinks in every word I can tell him of Mount Vernon. He has made me tell him over as much as three times all the stories grandfather told us of the time when he belonged to Washington’s military family, and what he said to grandmother when they were both children.

There goes Clarendon, staggering up and down the deck from sea-sickness. He will not take enough of the sailor’s fare to do him any good, and the wry faces which he makes over a few mouthfuls are pitiful. Before he could get the sails shifted, I am sure the wind would change, and though the crew try to be polite, they can’t help laughing to see what an awkward hand he is at doing any thing. There goes the “Heave ho!” which sounds so delightfully to me.

There is one man who has just come up from below that interests me so much that I can’t help watching him all the time he’s in sight. The first time I saw him was the day we came on board. The schooner had dropped down a mile or two, and Captain Peck, our worthy host at Marblehead, came out in a little boat to bring some of Clarendon’s clothes, which had been left by accident. He is a clever fellow, for though Clarendon was not half civil to him, he was always polite in his way, and his frank, well-meaning civility so won upon brother, that when they parted he apologized for his rudeness, and told the Captain that he had shown himself the most of a gentleman of the two.

Beside brother’s extra trappings, Captain Peck brought a package of books, which Captain Cobb looked at with surprise, and asked, with an oath, who they were for. O Bennie! I should enjoy myself a great deal more if two or three of the sailors did not swear so dreadfully; but I hope when they have read those books they will stop using such wicked words; for what should they be but Bibles, sent on board by the Seamen’s Friend Society.

“Let us throw them overboard,” said “Brown Tom,” a coarse, red-featured man, who is more fond of grog than reading.

“Pshaw! Tom, don’t talk of treating a lady’s present in that way,” exclaimed Captain Peck, who, after his fashion, has a great respect both for religion and womankind, and his own wife in particular.

“O, if that’s the case,” remarked a melancholy looking man, who had not before spoken, “let us stow them away somewhere; for women always mean well, and perhaps it would be better for us if we followed their advice.”

I thought he sighed as he said this, and I wondered what made him so unhappy.

“Well done for Moody Dick! he’s sailing under new colors. Who would have thought of his hoisting a petticoat for a flag?” said Blunt Harry, an old, fat seaman, who is esteemed the wit of the crew.

“Not I,” replied Brown Tom; “but if the giver of these books has a pretty face of her own, they are worth keeping; if not, I don’t care for any of her lumber.”

“Well, that she has,” said Captain Peck, warmly; “you’ll have to go round the world again before you find a sweeter face than Miss Louisa Colman’s. She begged me to bring them on board, and ask each sailor to accept a copy for his own use.”

“I’ll take one for myself, and thank ye, too, for mine was left by mistake at the tavern, there,” observed Old Jack, a quiet man, who had just come on deck. So saying, he took up the largest of the Bibles with an air of reverence, quite in contrast with his usual bold, careless manner, adding, as he saw the name of the donors on the fly-leaf, “Bless the Seamen’s Friend Society and Miss Colman, too, if she’s like the rest of the dear ladies who take such an interest in us poor wanderers of the deep.”

As the name of Miss Colman was mentioned, the face of Moody Dick met my eye, and never did I see such powerful emotion as his toil-worn features betrayed. His eyes, which are of that pale blue peculiar to mariners, were filled with tears, and, unable to control his feelings, he turned suddenly round towards the water; but his distress was evident from the agonized writhing of every limb and muscle.

The sailors, rough and coarse as they are, had too much real feeling to remark upon this surprising change, and in a few moments it seemed forgotten in the excitement of finally setting sail. When I next saw him, Dick’s features were hard and stony as ever; but last night, when almost every one was asleep, I saw him bring out the Bible of which he had quietly taken possession, and I noticed that he had sewed a coarse covering over it, and held it as if it were made of gold.

When you and I, Bennie, used to kneel down so regularly, and say our prayers every night, I did not think that the same act would ever require a stronger effort of moral courage than any thing I have ever done. The first night we were out, after reading a chapter, as we always do at home, before getting into my little berth, I knelt down, without even thinking that there was any body on board who would not do the same thing. I was so taken up with the duty I was performing, that I did not notice if others were looking at me; for if ever I felt the need of the protection of God, it is now. The land is so full of things that men have made, and they are so busy all around you, that it does not seem half so much as if it were God’s own world as the ocean, where every object, except the little vessel you are in, is of his creation. As I looked up and saw all the universe he had made, and round on the broad waters, and thought how soon, with one wave, they could sweep us out of existence, I felt the need of prayer more than ever before, and I cannot now imagine how those men could sleep, without first asking God to take care of them. I am afraid, though, that some of the sailors don’t even believe that there is such a being, and they say his awful name without any fear, and ask him to curse each other every few moments, as if they had never heard what a dreadful thing it is to be under the displeasure of the Almighty.

When I got up from my knees, I heard a loud laugh from “Blunt Harry,” who called out to Clarendon, “Why don’t you rock that baby to sleep, now he has said his prayers, and then say your own and turn in?”

Clarendon would have made some angry reply, but he has found out that there is no use in getting in a passion, for the men consider him on a perfect level with themselves, and will say what they choose to him.

“Let the boy alone,” interposed Moody Dick. “I only wish I could say my prayers this night with the same childlike confidence.”

“No, don’t mind them, my fine fellow,” said Old Jack, the same man who had spoken so warmly of the Seamen’s Friend Society, and he gave me a rough tap on the shoulder, which even my coarse shirt did not prevent from stinging. “They all envy you, for I used to talk just as they do, and when at the worst I would have changed places with any body who had a fair chance of landing in heaven.”

While this conversation was going on, Clarendon bit his lips with displeasure, and the next day he told me that I might as well say my prayers after I got into my berth. I was surprised that my proud brother, who scorns the idea of being influenced by the opinion of any one, should want to have me ashamed of worshipping God before those whom he pretends to despise. Though I love him dearly, I did not follow his advice, and when the second night I did the same thing, no one laughed at me.

The next day, David Cobb shook hands heartily with me, and said I ought to have been a Yankee boy; for though he had not been brought up to say his prayers himself, if he had, there was not that man living who should laugh him out of it. I shall try and persuade David to do right himself, as well as to approve it in others, for I remember mother’s saying, “Even a boy has his share of influence, and it is a talent for which he must account.”

I will tell you more about Old Jack and Moody Dick when I next feel like writing. I do not know when I shall have a chance to send a letter, but I shall try and have one ready all the while. Give my love to all the children, and don’t forget to remember me to the servants, especially old Aunt Molly.

Your absent but loving cousin,

Pidgie.