and ten times as much, for a few days of life.
Harry, I once was taught to say my prayers, but I have not said them for
long years, and curses, oaths, and foul language have come out of my
lips instead. I want to have time to pray, and to recollect what I was
taught as a boy." I tried to cheer him up, as I called it, but alas, I
too had forgotten to say my prayers, and had been living without God in
the world, and though I did not curse and swear, my heart was capable of
doing that and many other things that were bad, and so I could offer the
poor fellow no real consolation. I persuaded him to drink the contents
of the cup; but I saw as I put it to his lips that he could with
difficulty get the liquid down his throat.

"You have had a hard life of it, Bob, and perhaps God will take that
into consideration," I said, making use of one of the false notions
Satan suggests to the mind of seamen as well as to others. Bob knew it
to be false.

"That won't undo all the bad things I have been guilty of; it won't
unsay all the blasphemies and obscene words which have flowed from my
lips," he gasped out.

"Then try to pray as you used to do," I said, "I will try and pray with
you, but I am a bad hand at that I am afraid."

"Oh, I can't pray now, it's too late! too late!" he exclaimed in a low
despairing voice, as he sank back on his pillow, turning his fast
glazing eye away from me. He had been delirious for some time before
then, but his senses had lately been restored. He seemed instinctively
to feel that I could offer him none of the consolation he needed.

While I was still standing by the side of his bunk, one of the mates
came forward to see how the sick were getting on. He spoke a few words
to try and comfort the dying man. They had no more effect than mine, he
only groaned out, "It's too late! too late! too late!" His voice
rapidly grew weaker--there was a slight convulsive struggle; the mate
lifted his hand, it fell down by his side.

"Poor Bob has gone," he said, "there will be more following before long,
I fear. If I was the captain I would get out of this river without
waiting for a full cargo, or we shall not have hands enough left to take
the vessel home."

This scene made a deep impression on me; too late! too late! continued
sounding in my ears. What if I were to be brought to utter the same
expression? Where was poor Bob now? I tried not to think of the
matter, but still those fearful words "