"Wouldn't I like to be in that boat, boys!" said Ellis. "Don't she come dancing on the waves!"
"She's pulling towards us," said Atwater. "I believe they're coming aboard."
"O, Atwater!" cried Frank, as the boat drew near. "There's a face there I know! One you know, too!" And he clapped his hands with joy; for it was a face he had seen in Boston, and he felt that it came with news from home.
The rare brightness kindled in Atwater's eyes as he gazed, and remembered. The boat came alongside, and hailed the schooner. And a man in the bow, as it rose upon a wave, seizing hold of the ladder of tarred rope, stepped quickly upon it, and came on board, cordially received by Captain Edney, who appeared to have been expecting him.
"It's the minister that married Atwater!" the rumor ran round among the troops. "What's his name, Frank?"
"His name's Egglestone," said Frank, his heart swelling with anxiety to speak with him.
The minister had come on a mission of Christian love to the soldiers of the expedition; and having, the day before, sent word to Captain Edney of his arrival, he had in return received an invitation to visit the schooner and preach to the men this Sunday morning.
A previous announcement that religious services would probably be held on board, had excited little interest; the troops surmising that the chaplain of the regiment, who had never been with them enough to win their hearts or awaken their attention, was to rejoin them, and preach one of his formal discourses.
But far different was the feeling when it was known that the "man that married Atwater" was to conduct the exercises. Then the soldiers remembered that they were New Englanders; and that here also God's Sabbath shed its silent influence, far though they were from the rude hills and rocky shores of home.
'Tis curious how a little leaven of memory will sometimes work in the heart. Here was half a regiment of men, who had come to fight the battles of their country. As with one accord they had left the amenities of peaceful life behind them, and assumed the rugged manners of war. Of late they had seemed almost oblivious of the fact that God, and Christian worship, and Christian rules of life were still in existence. But to-day they were reminded. To-day the child was awakened--the child that had known the wholesome New England nurture, that had sat on mother's knee, and had its earliest thought tuned to the music of Sunday bells; the child that lay hidden in the deep heart of every man of them, the same lived again, and looked forth from the eyes, and smiled once more in the softened visage of the man. And the man was carried back, far from these strange scenes, far from the relentless iron front of war, across alien lands, and over stormy seas,--carried back by the child yearning within,--to the old door yard, the village trees, the family fireside, the family pew, and the hushed congregation.