He has been telling us this
morning how he came at this happy state of mind, and several of the
sailors were made serious enough, by the perils of last night, to listen
patiently to his story, and perhaps you may do the same.
Before it was considered possible for a sea-faring man to be perfectly
temperate, Jack took more than his share of grog; and, when on shore,
spent all his time in dissipation. Luckily, he had no wife to be made
miserable by his errors, though perhaps a good woman might have had an
excellent influence on him. As he had no home of his own, his time when
in port was spent at some miserable tavern by the water-side, where he
could meet the crews of vessels from all quarters of the world, and join
with them in folly and vice.
Two years ago, he had returned from a long voyage to the East Indies,
and landed at New York. One Sunday evening, when staggering along by the
docks and looking at the different ships, trying to meet with some of
his old messmates, he noticed what seemed to him a most curious-looking
vessel, and called out to a sailor near him,--"What in the name of sense
is that odd-looking craft, without sail or steam, good for?"
"Have you never before seen the floating chapel?" asked the trim-looking
tar whom he accosted. "Come aboard, and you will be never the worse.
It's a church, man! Don't stare your eyes out, but walk inside and hear
good plain doctrine.
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