Terry's Trials and Triumphs

"It's a big place this, isn't it, Terry?" said the captain as they stood at an intersection of two streets, and looking north, south, east, and west, saw the long lines of lights go twinkling 'off as far as the eye could reach. "All the same, I believe I'd rather live in Halifax; wouldn't you?"

"That I would," responded Terry promptly. "I'd be afraid of gettin' lost here all the time. Sure, there must be a sight of people here. It's not much chance a poor chap like me 'ud have wid such a crowd."

Now that Terry's ambition had been so thoroughly aroused, he already began to realize what the stress of competition meant, and it was clear enough to him that the bigger the city the more there were ready to fill every opening. Miss Drummond's encouraging statement about her grandfather had taken deep hold upon the boy's mind, and there were times when he was bold enough to indulge in day-dreams having a similar fulfilment.

"I guess you'd stand as good a chance of holding your way as the most of boys, Terry," said Captain Afleck, giving him a kindly pat on the head. "You've got lots of grit in ye, and that's the sort of thing that counts in these big places. But what's that? There's mischief going on down there. Come, let's see what's up."

They were by this time on their way back to the railway station, and were just crossing a narrow dark side street, when there came to them through the stillness of the night a muffled cry for help, followed by the sound of heavy blows.

Captain Afleck carried a stout stick, and grasping this firmly, he sped down the street in the direction whence the sounds had come, Terry keeping close at his heels.

In the very narrowest and darkest part of the street they almost fell over a group of three men, one being prostrate on the ground, while the other two bent over him, evidently engaged in rifling his pockets.

Shouting "Take that, you rascal!" the brawny captain struck one of the highwaymen a sounding whack across the shoulders with his stick, and the next instant tumbled the other over with his left fist. The astounded scoundrels as soon as they recovered themselves made off at full speed; and when assured of their departure, Captain Afleck turned his attention to the victim of their violence.

It was too dark at that spot to make out the extent of his injuries, so, with Terry's aid, he was dragged towards a lamp-post.

They had just placed him upon some steps, and were endeavouring to loosen his neckcloth, for he was quite insensible, when there suddenly appeared two big policemen, who made haste to arrest them with great show of zeal.

Neither protests nor explanations were of any avail. A respectable citizen returning quietly home had been brutally assaulted in the public street. The captain and Terry had been caught red-handed (as a matter of fact they did both have blood upon their hands, got from the wound on the poor man's head, which was badly cut), and they must answer for it at the police court in the morning.

Other policemen were whistled for, and the still insensible man was sent to hospital in a cab, while his two unlucky rescuers were marched off to the station-house, where they spent a miserable night in separate cells.

Not only that night but the whole of the next day were they kept in confinement, the injuries of the "respectable citizen" being too severe to permit of his appearing in court; and it was not until the following day that they were brought up for examination.

Terry went before the police magistrate with quaking knees and beating heart. Not that any sense of guilt filled him with fear, but because his whole past experience in Halifax had been such as to make the minions of the law objects of terror to him; and now that he was in their clutches in a foreign land, his lively imagination conceived all sorts of dire consequences in spite of his big companion's attempts at comfort.

Captain Afleck, on the other hand, was in a state of furious indignation. The moment he got a chance to open his mouth he intended to give the American authorities a piece of his mind, and threaten them with the vengeance of the British nation for committing so unwarrantable an indignity upon one of its honest and loyal members.

A number of cases had precedence of theirs, and they watched the proceedings with very different feelings – Terry wondering, as he heard sentence after sentence pronounced by the magistrate in his hard, dry, monotonous voice, what penalty would be theirs if he and the captain could not clear themselves; while the captain, nursing his wrath to keep it warm, gave vent to a succession of wrathful grunts as he saw the succession of miserable, unwashed, demoralized creatures with whom he was for the time associated.

At length the rest of the docket had been cleared, and their case was called. It had been left to the last because of its being the most serious on the list for the day. Just as the captain and Terry were being arraigned, there appeared in court a middle-aged man, whose carefully-bandaged head, pale countenance, and general air of weakness betokened him to be the victim of the assault.

As the two prisoners stood up to answer to their names and the charge made against them by Policeman No. 399, it was evident that their appearance created a good deal of surprise. They certainly did not look at all like the ordinary criminals. The case promised to be one of special interest, and the spectators adjusted themselves so as to see and hear to the best advantage.

But if they expected an interesting hour of it they were doomed to be disappointed; for no sooner had the injured man raised his eyes to look at the accused of having waylaid him than he gave a start, and the colour mounted to his pallid face.

"These are not the men," he exclaimed. "There's some mistake. The men that assaulted me were short and stout, and they were both men – not a man and a boy."

His words created a decided sensation. The countenance of the zealous bluecoats who had effected the arrest, and expected praise for their efficient performance, grew suddenly long while the magistrate turned upon them a look of stern inquiry, saying, —

"What's the meaning of this? Have you been making some serious blunder?"

Captain Afleck now had his opportunity, and he used it gloriously, pouring forth the vials of his wrath as he told his story, until at last the magistrate, entirely satisfied, stopped the stream of his eloquence with uplifted hand, and proceeded to say, in a tone that showed genuine feeling, —

"You have been the victims of a very unfortunate blunder, for which I wish it were in my power to make some reparation. As it is, all I can do is to express my profound regret, and to put you at once at liberty."

Amid a buzz of applause the captain and Terry made their way out into the street, the boy hardly able to restrain his impulse to leap and shout for joy, but the man still grumbling and growling at the aggravation he had been so undeservedly compelled to endure.

Once more in the open air, Terry's first thought was to get away as fast as possible.

"Let us be off to the station," he cried. "Mebbe there's a train goin' soon."

This made the captain think of the railway passes, and he thrust his hand into the pocket where he kept his wallet. The pocket was empty! He tried the other pockets, but they were in the same condition! The passes and the remainder of his money were gone, stolen by some clever pickpocket that very morning perchance. He turned upon Terry a face full of consternation.

"I've been robbed, Terry," said he hoarsely. "We can't go to Boston to-day; I've lost the passes, and all my money too."

CHAPTER IX

FROM FRIEND TO FRIEND

Terry's face when he heard Captain Afleck's startling news was verily a study. The joy which the moment before had irradiated it vanished like a flash, and in its place came a look of blank despair that would have touched a heart of stone.

"Whirra, whirra!" he moaned, shaking his head dolefully; "and what's to be done now? We can't walk all that way, can we?"

In spite of his mental distress the big seaman burst out into a laugh.

"Walk all the way, Terry!" he cried; "not a bit of us. If I can't manage better than that, you can put me down for a first-class booby."

At this moment a hand was laid gently on his shoulder, and turning round he found at his side the gentleman who had been unintentionally the cause of their mishap.

"Pardon my addressing you," said he courteously, "but I am really very much grieved that you should have been put to so much inconvenience on my account. Won't you do me the favour to come home with me to lunch? My carriage is waiting for me."

For a moment Captain Afleck hesitated. Then, seeing that the invitation was sincere, and feeling glad to find a friend in his time of need, he looked at Terry, saying, "Shall we go with the gentleman, Terry?"

Terry nodded a vigorous assent. So the invitation was accepted, and presently they were rolling up Fifth Avenue in a luxurious carriage, wondering what good fortune awaited them.

The carriage stopped at a handsome residence, into which they followed their host, and being shown by a servant into a dressing-room, were enabled to make their toilet before going to lunch.

Mr. Travers had no family, and they were therefore spared the ordeal of facing female society, while his genial manner soon put them both so entirely at their ease, that almost unconsciously they told him their whole story, since the collision in Boston Harbour. Nor did their confidence stop there; for Terry, his heart responding to the old man's kindly interest, was moved to go further back, and tell his own history, from the time he saved Miss Drummond's life.

"Oh, ho!" exclaimed Mr. Travers when he had finished – "Mr. Drummond, of Drummond and Brown. I know him well. We've had business relations these many years. Now, Terry, my lad, I want to say that I believe you fully, and that this very night I will take upon myself to write to Mr. Drummond and say so; and when you go back to Halifax you'll find him ready to receive your explanations, and to take you back into his office."

How Terry's heart leaped at this, and with what boyish ardour he expressed his gratitude! Halifax seemed very near now, and it was brought still nearer when Mr. Travers proceeded: —

"As to your getting home, of course you will allow me to provide for that – nothing else would be fair, and it will perhaps in some measure make amends for what you have had to endure."

So the upshot of it was, that when the captain and Terry bade good-bye to their new-found friend, the former had sufficient funds to pay all expenses of the homeward journey, and with light hearts they made their way to the station.

Once more in the train, and speeding towards Boston, they lolled about on the cushion of the car in great good-humour.

"Well, Terry, my son," said the captain, bestowing upon him a look of mingled affection and admiration, "you do have the greatest luck of any fellow I ever saw. I give you credit for the whole of it, seein' that I've never had much of it myself. No matter what sort of a scrape we get into, out we come again smiling, and not a bit the worse. If your luck holds, you'll be a great man some day, Terry, and no mistake."

Terry laughed, and curled up still more comfortably on the crimson cushion.

"Faith, you make me proud, captain," he responded. "But where do you come in yourself? Sure, it 'ud be no easy job to say where I'd be this very minute if you'd not looked after me."

Much pleased in his turn, Captain Afleck leaned over and twitched Terry's ear in a not ungentle fashion.

"I guess you can take pretty good care of yourself, my hearty," said he. "Some fine day you'll be one of the bosses at Long Wharf, wearing a big gold chain, and fine black suit, and a tall shiny hat, while, if I'm alive, I'll be nothing better than I am now, glad if I can knock out a living with my schooner – if I ever get another one."

"No you won't, captain," cried Terry, springing up with eyes shining with emotion; "nothing of the kind. If ever I do get to be one of the bosses, you shall be captain of the best ship the firm owns, and go round the world in her, if you like."

Captain Afleck gave the boy a tender smile as he took hold of his hand.

"I know you mean every word of it, Terry; and, who knows, perhaps some of it may come true some day."

And so they whiled away the time as the swift train sped northward. Shortly after nightfall Terry went to sleep, and the captain, growing weary of the confinement of the car, took advantage of a lengthy stoppage at a junction to get out and stretch his legs. There were trains on both sides of the platform, and it fell out that the mariner, little used to land travel, presently lost his bearings, with the result that, hearing the shout, "All aboard," and seeing a train move off, he jumped on to the rear car, thinking it was all right.

Not until he had passed through to the next car did he discover that he was mistaken. But by that time the train had gathered such speed that to jump off was to risk life, so with a groan of, "Oh, but I'm the dunderhead. How is poor Terry to get along now?" he threw himself into a seat to wait for the conductor, from whom he might learn how soon he could leave this train and set off in pursuit of the right one.

When the conductor did appear the captain was dismayed to find that he was flying off due west in the direction of Chicago, instead of due north in the direction of Boston, and that it would not be possible for him to retrace his way until the following morning, while the train which carried Terry would reach Boston that very night.

"Well, it's no use crying over spilt milk," soliloquized Captain Afleck on receiving this information. "I must only make the best of it for myself; but poor little Terry, who's to look after him? and he hasn't a copper in his pocket."

It was some little time after the train had moved off without the captain before Terry awoke. When he did, and looked about him for his companion, his first thought was, —

"Oh, he's gone into one of the other cars," and he gave himself no concern.

Presently, however, beginning to feel lonely, he thought he'd go in search of him, and accordingly he went through the four passenger cars, looking eagerly for the stalwart sailor.

Discovering no signs of him, he grew anxious, and questioned the brakesman. But he could tell him nothing; and all the conductor knew was that a man answering to Terry's description had been out on the platform at the junction walking up and down while the train stopped.

"Do you think he's fallen under the cars, and been killed?" exclaimed Terry, his eyes enlarged to their utmost extent at the awful notion.

"Not much," responded the conductor curtly. "Guess he went to get a drink in the restaurant, and let the train go off without him. You needn't worry. He'll be along by the express."

This explanation, albeit not altogether satisfactory to Terry, for he knew the captain was practically a teetotaller, nevertheless served, in lieu of a better one, to allay his apprehensions somewhat; and, having inquired when the express would be along, he went back to his seat, determined not to let the other passengers see how deep was his distress.

For, in spite of the conductor's suggestion, he could not dismiss from his mind the idea of some harm having befallen his kind friend, and he worried far more over this than he did over the fact of his being without money to pay his way when he did arrive in Boston.

It was within two hours of midnight when the train rolled into the station, and Terry, tumbling out on the platform, looked about him with blinking eyes of bewilderment.

"Faith, it's a lost dog I am now, and no mistake," he said, gazing around at the confusing crowds of people, the hurrying officials, the shouting hack-drivers, and all the other elements of confusion at a great railroad terminus. "I'd like mighty well to know what to do now, seein' I've never a copper in my pocket, and don't know a blessed soul in the place."

In the hope of finding Captain Afleck, he waited until the express train came in of which the conductor had spoken. But there was no sign of the strayed sailor; and realizing that there was nothing to be gained by hanging about the station, Terry went out into the streets, a waif in a fuller sense than ever before in his life.

Yet his brave bright spirit refused to be overwhelmed. The night was fine and warm; the streets were bright, and lined with fine buildings. If the policemen would only let him alone, he would make a shift to get through the night somehow, and trust to obtaining help from some quarter in the morning.

So he strolled along through street after street, entertaining himself with comments upon the people and buildings he passed, and keeping a sharp eye open for any place that might promise a quiet haven for the night.

In this way he came to a cross-street between two important thoroughfares, and turning into it, he knew not why, he was brought to an open door, whence issued sounds of singing.

He loved music of every kind, and this singing was so sweet and fervent that it drew him little by little further inside the door, until, almost before he knew it, he found himself in a bright attractive hall, set with chairs, and nearly filled by a gathering of men and women, singing heartily a gospel song, the like of; which he had never heard before.

There was something so genial in the atmosphere of the place that the homeless boy resolved to stay if he would be permitted, and so taking a seat in the nearest corner he gave himself up to the enjoyment of the music.

Soon a young man espied him and came towards him. Was he going to turn him out? Poor Terry's heart sank, and he felt his face becoming crimson. But his fears were all unfounded. Instead of asking him to leave, the young man held out his hand, saying with a cordial smile, —

"You're very welcome, my boy. Come up nearer; and here's a hymn-book to sing from."

Terry would have preferred his corner, but he felt it would be ungracious to refuse so kind an invitation, and he therefore followed obediently till he was assigned a seat not far from the desk, at which stood a venerable man with long white beard, whose countenance seemed to radiate tenderness and sympathy.

When the singing ended, the leader began to speak. His theme was the love of Christ for sinners, and he spoke with rare simplicity and winning force. Terry listened with every faculty attent. It was all strangely new to him. What little religious instruction he had got in the Roman Catholic Church was in no way a preparation for this earnest, direct, personal gospel, which not only took a strong hold upon his heart, but seemed to arouse some sort of response there, as though it were awakening faculties which had been hitherto dormant.

The speaker evidently observed the boy's rapt attention, for he turned upon him many a look of loving appeal, that made Terry feel as though he were looking right down into his heart and reading all that was there.

Yet, strange to say, Terry had no disposition to resent this. So spell-bound was he that he could hardly have resisted any command the old man might have laid upon him; and when, at the close of his address, the leader invited all who wished to learn more about the Saviour to remain for a little while after the meeting had been dismissed, Terry was among those who stayed in their seats.

Not only so, but when this after-meeting came to an end Terry still lingered, partly because he was loath to go out again into the strange streets, which offered him no refuge for the night, and partly because he wanted to hear something more about this Jesus, who seemed so different from the only Son of Mary of whom he had any knowledge.

The venerable leader, the moment he was disengaged, went up to Terry, and laying his hand kindly on his head, said in a tone of great tenderness, —

"Well, my dear boy, I am very glad to see you here; and do you love Jesus too?"

The full purport of this question Terry hardly grasped, and not knowing what answer to make he hung his head in silence, whereupon the leader added gently, —

"Never mind answering that question just now. Come with me. I'm going home, and you can tell me all your story there."

Completely won by the gracious charm of his manner, Terry lifted his head, and looking up gratefully into the noble countenance bending over him, said, —

"Indeed, sir, I'm glad you've asked me, for it's without a place to sleep in I am this night."

"You shall be all right with me, then," was the cordial response. "Let us go now, and you can tell me about yourself as we walk along."

Passing on through the now deserted streets, Terry told his new-found friend much of the story of his life, his narration being listened to with deep sympathy and interest. As they stopped at the door of a comfortable-looking house the old gentleman said, —

"Providence has put you in my way, my boy, and it will be my joy to assist you to the best of my ability. Here is my home. You shall share it until the way opens for you to continue your journey."

A beautiful old lady gave them both a warm welcome and a bountiful supper, to which Terry did full justice, for he had been fasting since mid-day.

Then his host told him something of the place where they had met. It was a midnight mission carried on by himself, at his own expense, for the benefit of fallen humanity. This was his life-work, and he rejoiced in it, because of the many opportunities it afforded him of being both a temporal and a spiritual helper to the victims of vice or of misfortune. Terry felt irresistibly drawn towards Mr. Sargent and his wife, whose hearts so overflowed with love; and when they proposed that he should stay with them for a few days, in order that he might try to find Captain Afleck, he gladly assented.

Thus it came about that he was with these kind good people for the remainder of the week, looking about the streets and wharves for the captain in the day-time, attending the mission meetings at night, and all the time being more and more deeply influenced by the beautiful piety of his friends.

Recognizing how much Terry had to learn of the very essentials of religion, Mr. Sargent took abundant pains to make the matter clear to the Irish boy, whose warm heart readily responded to the argument from the infinite love of the Father, and he had his reward in finding his pupil laying hold upon the truth with a grasp that would not be readily shaken.

Each day the attachment between them deepened, until Mr. Sargent began to wish that he might keep Terry altogether; he discovered in him such possibilities of good.

But, sincerely grateful as he was, Terry's anxiety to get back to Halifax grew keener every day. He seemed so near now, and there were vessels sailing every day, on one of which he could without difficulty obtain a passage.

Of Captain Afleck no trace could be found. As a matter of fact, he, too, on reaching Boston had spent some time hunting for Terry; but being unsuccessful, concluded that Terry had gone on to Halifax, and accordingly gave up the search until he should hear from that place.

It had just been arranged that Terry should take the train for Halifax one afternoon, when, in the morning, walking along Tremont Street, he caught sight of a familiar face over the way, and darting across the street he cried delightedly, —

"Mr. Hobart! is it yourself?"

CHAPTER X

REINSTATED

The gentleman whom Terry had thus startlingly accosted looked with surprised inquiry for a moment upon the boy; then a bright smile of joyful recognition breaking over his face, he caught him by both shoulders, and shook him playfully, exclaiming, —

"Why, you young rascal! where on earth have you sprung from? How glad I am to see you! Where have you been all this while?"

Mr. Hobart's tone was so thoroughly cordial that Terry for a moment wondered whether he understood why he had run away; but as he hesitated in uncertainty as to where to begin to answer the questions showered upon him, the other went on, —

"Did you clear out because you were afraid you'd be suspected of stealing that wharfage money?"

Terry had only time to nod before Mr. Hobart continued, —