At the Black Rocks

  XII.

  _ON WHICH SIDE VICTORY?_

  "Well, how goes the temperance fight, Dave?" asked Dick one day.

  "We are pushing it. We have organized our society, and are going tohold meetings."

  "The fight," as Dick called it, was conducted on the principles ofpeace; but if peaceable it was not sleepy. A series of meetings ofvarious kinds had been carefully planned, and of these one was a youngpeople's meeting. All the exercises, like speaking and singing, were tobe conducted by Shipton's youth. Bart expected to have a humble part inthis meeting, and say a few Scripture verses bearing on the sin ofliquor-drinking. His father was at home, and Bart did wish that in someway he could be persuaded to go to this meeting. There did not seem tobe much prospect of his attendance. One day he received a mortifyingcheck to his course. Having drunk up all his money at the public-house,he was roughly turned out of doors. This time he realized the disgraceof his situation; and the next morning, to granny's astonishment, he didnot visit the saloon. To her still greater surprise, he did not leavethe house all day. He even sawed and cut some wood for the fire. Thiswas deservedly ranked as a wonder in the history of the man. When Bartreturned at night his father was upstairs, "lying down," grannyreported.

  "Ain't that queer, granny?" whispered Bart.

  "I haven't known anything like it, Bartie. He's been cuttin' more woodthis afternoon. P'raps he is sick."

  Not sick, but mortified and penniless. To such people publicity is notattractive.

  "I don't know what it is," said granny, "but Miss Perkins says she hearnthere has been trouble down in the saloon."

  Miss Perkins was a gossip with a news-bag that seemed to have the depthand roominess of the Atlantic.

  "Awful place, ain't it, granny, where they sell rum?"

  Granny turned on him--turned quickly, fiercely.

  "Bartholomew!"

  She rarely addressed him that way. When she did she meant somethingserious. Bart's timorous face shrank before her sharp, fierce gaze.

  "Bartholomew, I want you to promise never to sell rum. Put your hand onthis Bible!"

  "Oh, I--I never will sell."

  "And you won't drink it? Promise!"

  "Never!"

  It was like Hamilcar of Carthage taking his son Hannibal to the altar,and there making him swear eternal hatred to Rome. Then Bart wentsoftly out of the room.

  Into some refuge he desired to steal, tell God that he, Little Mew, wasweak; that he wanted to be taken care of; that he did wish to get helpsomehow for his father--help to be better--and he wanted to remembergranny. Up over the steep, narrow, worn stairway he stole into hislittle bedroom, that, small and humble, had yet been a precious refugeto him, and his bed had been a boat bearing him away across waters offorgetfulness of poverty and hunger to the restful isle of dreams. Ifhe could only forget now! He could pray, and if prayer does not makeforgetful it makes restful. He leaned against his bed and told all histrouble to God--told him of his desire for his father, how much hewished God would make his father a new heart; how he wanted help forhimself, that he might be kind and patient. It was touching to hear hisboyish outcries, as kneeling he pleaded for one so weak, so lost, as hisfather. Then he went downstairs again. The moment his feet were heardon the stairs, Bart's father, who had been lying in the dark on the sideof the bed nearest to the wall, arose, sighed, and went down also. Bartwas standing in the little entry leading to the kitchen.

  "Bart--I--want to be--" The father stopped.

  It was not so much anything he said, for he said nothing definite, butit was his tone that encouraged Bart, and he listened eagerly.

  "I want to be a good father to you, Bart; God knows I do."

  What? Bart had never heard such language before from this parent withagitated voice and frame. Bart caught instantly at a hope that had justbegun to take shape. Would his father go to the temperance meeting withhim?

  "Father, your ship, they say, won't sail to-morrow; and if it don't,will you go to the temperance meeting with me to-morrow night?"

  "Bartholomew, if my ship don't sail, then I will go with you."

  He turned and went upstairs again.

  "O Bart," exclaimed granny, "let us pray that God will keep the windsoff shore and not let Thomas's ship get to sea!"

  The next day the winds still were unfavourable, and Bart and grannylooked at one another with happier faces than they had been carryingever since Thomas Trafton's return.

  "Granny, the wind is not fair yet," Bart would exclaim, after eying thevane on the nearest church steeple. Granny would then take her turn,and go out, her apron thrown over her head, and watch the vane. At lastthey could say, "The ship won't go to-night."

  When ever before had that vane been watched to see if it indicated awind that would keep Thomas Trafton at home?

  "Hear me say my verses once more," Bart whispered to his grandmother;and assured that his contribution to the evening's exercises was inreadiness, he went with his father to the temperance meeting. Bart'splace was among the speakers, and they filled several pews, theirbright, hopeful faces lifted above the railings of the pews like flowersabove the garden-bed. Bart's father was in the rear of the church. Bartwas afraid to leave him at that distant, unguarded point; but he hadpromised Bart faithfully to stay, and not go out. Was ever anyattendant at a meeting in a more discouraged, helpless mood than ThomasTrafton? He had been thinking, somewhat as he was accustomed to thinkwhen off at sea and away from temptation, that never again would hetouch liquor; but could he keep his resolution if he made one? He feltburdened with a weighty desire, burdened with a sense of shame, burdenedwith a conviction of weakness, burdened every way and always.

  The meeting began. Mr. James Tolman conducted it, but only to call thenames of those participating in it. The recitations were varied.Several had quite pretentious speeches, and others gave only a modestextract from some appeal in poetry or prose. There were those whosimply had Bible verses, and in this section Bart Trafton had a place.His verses were on the sin of intemperance. When his turn was reachedhe came to the platform quite readily, and then turned toward theaudience. He looked once, saw great, bewildering rows of faces, and allhis courage left him. He could not look again at those hundreds ofstaring eyes. He dropped his head, blushed, and every idea he had takenwith him to the platform seemed hopelessly to have left him. Likebirds, those verses had flown away, and how could he possibly call themback from that sudden flight? However, he did catch one bird. He couldthink of one word--"Wine!" He resolved to begin with that. A decoybird will sometimes bring a flock about it, and if he said that one wordhe might think of the others. "Wine--" he screamed. Then he waited forthe rest of the flock. He shrieked again, "Wine!" Once more,"W-w-wine!"

  People were now smiling to see that timorous, blushing, stammering ladon the platform, and some of the children broke out into an embarrassingtitter. Bart, turned in helpless confusion to Mr. Tolman.

  "Forgot it," he whispered,

  "Say something," said Mr. Tolman, in an encouraging tone.

  Something? What would it, could it be? Bart gave one timid glance atthe tittering, gaping rows before him, and feeling that he must saysomething, gave the first words that came into his mind. Annie Fletcherhad taught them to him. Bart's voice was sharp and high, and it piercedall the space between Thomas Trafton and the platform, and the fatherplainly heard the boy.

  "'Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will giveyou rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek andlowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke iseasy, and my burden is light.'"

  Some of the people wondered what that had to do with intemperance.Thomas Trafton did not wonder. He heard nothing else. He did not noticewhether Bart stayed on the platform or left it; he did not notice whofollowed Bart; he heard only those verses. The pew was an old one, andwhen improvements had been made in th
e church, this pew was not touched,but, being so far away from notice, was left undisturbed in all its oddand antique furnishings. Thomas Trafton never forgot the exact placewhere he sat and heard through his son's voice this short gospel thatcame down from God's lofty throne of love. He would in later days cometo this old pew and gladly occupy it and recall this night of thetemperance meeting. He would hear again the invitation given in hisboy's piercing voice, and again would be repeated, though not asvividly, his experience that night; for he had an experience. It seemedto him as if while sitting there burdened and weary, yet willing,longing to find relief, One came to him,--One who had in his brow theprint of thorns, and in his side the mark of a spear, and in his feetthe scar of driven nails. Thomas Trafton met his Saviour there, andinto peace and strength came the soul of the once drunkard.

  Not long after this the west wind blew, its strong wings beating fastand sweeping Thomas Trafton's vessel far away to sea. Very few knew ofhis surrender to God, which brought a victory over his appetite. Theminister of the church, Mr. Potter, knew, and Dave Fletcher knew.