The Crew of the Water Wagtail Part 3

"Have you, indeed?--in a book! That's a rare and not altogether a safe possession now-a-days."

"You speak the sober truth, Master Trench," returned Paul, putting his hand into a breast-pocket and drawing forth the packet which contained the fragment of the Gospel of John. "Persecution because of our beliefs is waxing hotter and hotter just now in unfortunate England. However, we run no risk of being roasted alive in Newfoundland for reading G.o.d's blessed Word--see, there it is. A portion of the Gospel of John in ma.n.u.script, copied from the English translation of good Master Wycliffe."

"A good and true man, I've heard say," responded the skipper, as he turned over the leaves of the precious doc.u.ment with a species of solemn wonder, for it was the first time he had either seen or handled a portion of the Bible. "Pity that such a friend of the people should not have lived to the age o' that ancient fellow--what's his name--Thoosle, something or other?"

"Methuselah," said Paul; "you're right there, Master Trench. What might not a good man like Wycliffe have accomplished if he had been permitted to live and teach and fight for the truth for nine hundred and sixty-nine years?"

"You don't mean to say he lived as long as that?" exclaimed the boy, looking up from his pots and pans.

"Indeed I do."

"Well, well! he must have been little better than a live mummy by the end of that time!" replied Oliver, resuming his interest in his pots and pans.

"But how came you to know about all that Master Paul, if this is all the Scripture you've had?" asked Trench.

"My mother was deeply learned in the Scriptures," answered Paul, "and she taught me diligently from my boyhood. The way she came to be so learned is curious. I will tell you how it came about, while we are doing justice to Oliver's cookery."

"You must know, Master Trench," continued Paul, after the first demands of appet.i.te had been appeased, "that my dear mother was a true Christian from her youth. Her father was converted to Christ by one of that n.o.ble band of missionaries who were trained by the great Wycliffe, and whom he sent throughout England to preach the Gospel to the poor, carrying in their hands ma.n.u.script portions of that Gospel, translated by Wycliffe into plain English. You see, that curious invention of the German, John Gutenberg--I mean printing by movable types--was not known at that time, and even now, although half a century has pa.s.sed since the Bible was printed abroad in Latin, no one with means and the power to do it has yet arisen to print an English Bible, but the day is not far distant when that work shall be done, I venture to prophesy, though I make no pretence to be among the prophets!

"Well, as I was going to say, the missionary was a h.o.a.ry old man when he preached the sermon that turned my grandfather from darkness to light.

My grandfather was just fifteen years old at that time. Ten years later the same missionary came to grandfather's house, worn out with years and labours, and died there, leaving all his treasure to his host. That treasure was a small portion of the New Testament in English, copied from Wycliffe's own translation. You may be sure that my grandfather valued the legacy very highly. When he died he left it to my mother.

About that time my mother married and went to live on the banks of the Severn. Not far from our farm there dwelt a family of the name of Hutchins. The father had changed his name and taken refuge there during the recent civil wars. This family possessed a Latin Bible, and the head of it was well acquainted with its contents. It was through him that my mother became well acquainted with the Old as well as the New Testament, and thus it was that I also came in course of time to know about Methuselah, and a good many more characters about whom I may perhaps tell you one of these days."

"So, then, this is the ma.n.u.script the old missionary carried about, is it?" said Trench, fingering the fragment tenderly.

"Ay, and a good translation it is, I have been told by one whom most people would think too young to be a judge. You must know that this Mr Hutchins has a son named William, who is considerably younger than I am, but he is such a clever, precocious fellow, that before he left home for college I used to find him a most interesting companion. Indeed, I owe to him much of what little I have learned, for he is a wonderful linguist, being able to read Hebrew and Greek about as easily as Latin or English. He is at Oxford now--at least he was there when I last heard of him. Moreover, it was through the Hutchins' family, in a roundabout way, that _your_ mother, Olly, came to learn to write such letters as you have got so carefully stowed away there in your breast-pocket."

"Good luck to the Hutchins' family then, say I," returned Olly, "for I'm glad to be able to read, though, on account of the scarcity and dearness of ma.n.u.scripts, I don't have the chance of makin' much use of my knowledge. But you puzzle me, Paul. It was poor Lucy Wentworth who used to live with us, and who died only last year, that taught me to read, and I never heard her mention the name of Hutchins. Did you, father?"

"No, I never did, Olly. She said she had lived with a family named Tyndale before she came to us, poor thing! She was an amazin' clever girl to teach, and made your mother good at it in a wonderful short time. She tried me too, but it was of no use, I was too tough an' old!"

"Just so, Master Trench," rejoined Paul. "Hutchins' real name was Tyndale, and he had resumed the name before Lucy Wentworth went to live with the family. So, you see, Olly, you are indebted, in a roundabout way, as I said, to the Tyndales for your mother's letter. William will make his mark pretty deeply on the generation, I think, if G.o.d spares him."

Little did Paul Burns think, when he made this prophetic speech by the camp-fire on that distant isle of the sea, that, even while he spoke William Tyndale was laying the foundation of that minute knowledge of the Greek and Hebrew languages, which afterwards enabled him to give the Bible to England in her own tongue, and that so ably translated, that, after numerous revisions by the most capable of scholars, large portions of his work remain unaltered at the present day.

The night was far spent, and the other members of the camp had been long buried in slumber before Paul and Trench and Oliver could tear themselves away from the ma.n.u.script Gospel of John. The latter two, who knew comparatively little of its contents, were at first impressed chiefly with the fact that they were examining that rare and costly article--a book, and a forbidden book, too, for the reading of which many a man and woman had been burned to death in times past--but they became still more deeply impressed as Paul went on reading and commenting and pointing out the value of the Book as G.o.d's own "Word" to fallen man.

"Here is a promise to rest upon," said Paul, as he finally closed the book and repeated the verse from memory, "Jesus said, If ye continue in my word, then are ye my disciples indeed; and ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free."

"Ay, that's it, Paul--_free_! We're all slaves, more or less, to something or other. What we all want is to be _free_," said Master Trench, as he drew his blanket round him, pillowed his head on his cloak, and went to sleep.

Silently Paul and Oliver followed his example, the fires died out, and in a few minutes the slumbering camp was shrouded in the mantle of night.

Energetic action was the order of the next day, for those s.h.i.+pwrecked mariners knew well enough that nothing but hard and steady labour could enable them to live on an apparently desolate island.

By daybreak most of the crew had scattered themselves along the sh.o.r.es, or over the interior, to spy out the land. About two hours later they began to drop into camp as hungry as hawks, each carrying the result of his researches in his arms or on his shoulders.

"Well done, Squill!" said Paul, who chanced to be first back in camp, with a huge sail bundled up on his shoulder, and who, just then, was busy blowing up his fire; "got another barrel of pork, eh?"

"It's myself as doesn't know, sur," answered Squill, "and it wasn't me as found it, but Jim Heron there. I only helped to sling it on the pole, and shoulder an end. It's aither pork or gunpowther, so if it ain't good for a blow out it'll be good for a blow up, anyhow."

"Did you see little Oliver anywhere?" asked Paul.

"Ay, sur, I saw him on the sh.o.r.e, bringing up what seemed to me the s.h.i.+p's bowsprit--anyhow, a spar o' some sort, about as big as he could haul along."

"Just so," returned Paul, with a laugh, "a ridge-pole for our tent.

He's a smart boy, little Olly."

"Sure he's all that, sur, and more. Here he comes, blowin' like a porpoise."

Sure enough, Oliver appeared at the moment, dragging a heavy spar behind him. Several of the men appeared at the same time, staggering through the bushes, with various loads of wreckage, which they flung down, and noisily began discussing their experiences as they lighted the fires and prepared breakfast.

"Here comes Little Stubbs," cried Jim Heron. "What fortune, comrade?"

"Good fortune, though my load is the lightest yet brought in."

He flung down a small piece of wood with an air of satisfaction.

"Why, it's only a boat's rudder!" said Oliver.

"Ay, so it is, and the boat lies where I picked it up, but it was too heavy to bring into camp without your a.s.sistance, boy. And the best of it is that it's not much damaged. Very little repair will make her fit for sea again."

This was indeed a find of immense importance, and the a.s.sembled party discussed the event in all its bearings till their mouths were partially stopped by pork and pancakes.

In the midst of this they were interrupted by the arrival of Big Swinton, George Blazer, and Grummidge with another find, which afterwards cost them much trouble and regret--namely, a couple of young lads, natives, whom they led into camp with their wrists tightly bound behind their backs.

CHAPTER FOUR.

STRANGE VISITORS--DARK PLOTS--AND EVIL PURPOSES.

The youths who had been captured were simple savages, with very little clothing, and with an expression of considerable alarm on their faces.

As was afterwards learned, they had been coasting along the sh.o.r.e of the large neighbouring island in a canoe; had observed the strange fires in the night-time, and had crossed over the channel to see what could be the cause thereof. On reaching the highest part of the island they discovered some of the sailors, and turned to fly to their canoe, but Blazer had observed them, their retreat was cut off, and they were captured--not without a severe struggle, however, in which they were very roughly handled.

Big Swinton, still smarting under the bruises and bites he had received in the scuffle, dragged them forward, and demanded angrily what was to be done to them.

"What have they done?" asked Trench.

"Done!--why, they have kicked and bitten like wildcats, and I doubt not have come over here to see what they can steal. In my opinion a thief deserves keel-hauling at the very least."

Master Trench's mouth expanded into a very broad smile as he looked round the group of men. "D'ye hear that, lads, what _Master_ Swinton thinks ought to be done to _thieves_?"

The men broke into a loud laugh, for even the most obtuse among them could not fail to perceive the humour of the skipper's look and question.

"You have nothing more to do wi' the matter, Trench, than any one else has," returned Swinton. "I claim these lads as my prisoners, and I'll do with them what I please. No man is master now. Might is right on this island!"

The words had scarcely been uttered when Big Swinton felt his right shoulder grasped as if in a vice, and next moment he was flung violently to the ground, while Paul Burns stood over him with a huge piece of wood in his hand, and a half-stern, half-smiling look on his countenance.