or cap, or bonnet for my mother. Yet somehow--I could hardly
understand it then--she was oftener in tears than in smiles when he
stayed ashore. I know how it was now: he'd learned to love the drink
more and more; and she, poor thing, had got her eyes opened to the sin
and misery it was bringing with it. He was often away at nights now.
We children saw but little of him; and yet, when he _was_ at home and
sober, a kinder father, a better husband, a nobler-looking man wasn't to
be seen anywhere. Well, you may be sure things didn't mend as time went
on. My mother had hard work to make the stores hold out, for her
allowance grew less as we children grew bigger. Only one good thing
came of all this: when all this trouble blew on my poor mother like a
hurricane, she shortened sail, and ran before the gale right into the
heavenly port; or, as you'll understand me better, she took her sins and
her cares to her Saviour, and found peace there. At last my sister grew
up into a fine young woman, and I into a stout, healthy lad.--Steady,
Jacob, steady; mind your helm.--My father didn't improve with age. He
was not sober as often as he used to be; indeed, when he was on shore he
was very rarely sober, and when he did stay an hour or two at home he
was cross and snappish. His fine temper and manly bearing were gone;
for the drink, you may be sure, leaves its mark upon its slaves. Just
as it is with a man who has often been put in irons for bad conduct;
you'd know him by his walk even when he's at liberty--he's not like a
man that has always been free. Ah, my poor mother! it was hard times
for her. She talked to my father, but he only swore at her. I shall
never forget his first oath to her; it seemed to crush the light out of
her heart. However bad he'd been before, he had always been gentle to
_her_. But he was getting past that. She tried again to reason with
him when he was sober. He was sulky at first; then he flew into a
passion. And once he struck her. Yes; and _I_ saw it, and I couldn't
bear it. I was flying at him like a tiger, when my dear mother flung
her arms round me, and chained me to the spot. My father never forgot
that. He seemed from that day to have lost all love for me; and I must
own that I had little left for him. My mother loved him still, and so
did my sister; but they left off talking to him about his drunkenness.
It was of no use; they prayed for him instead.--Steady, Jacob; luff a
bit, my