Change of Scene and Fortune.  
The fair wind that swept the good ship Rainbow away from California’s golden shores carried her quickly into a fresh and purer atmosphere, moral as well as physical. It seemed to most, if not all, of the gold-finders as if their brains had been cleared of golden cobwebs. They felt like convalescents from whom a low fever had suddenly departed, leaving them subdued, restful, calm, and happy.
 
“It’s more like a dream than a reality,” observed Ben Trench one day, as he and Polly sat on the after part of the vessel, gazing out upon the tranquil sea.
 
“What seems like a dream?” asked Philosopher Jack, coming aft at the moment with Watty Wilkins, and sitting down beside them.
 
“Our recent life in California,” replied Ben. “There was such constant bustle and toil, and restless, feverish activity, both of mind and body; and now everything is so calm and peaceful, and we are so delightfully idle. I can hardly persuade myself that it is not all a dream.”
 
“Perhaps it is,” said Philosopher Jack. “There are men, you know, who hold that everything is a dream; that matter is a mere fancy or conception, and that there is nothing real or actually in existence but mind.”
 
“Bah!” exclaimed Watty with contempt; “what would these philosophers say if matter, in the shape of a fist, were to hit them on their ridiculous noses?”
 
“They’d say that they only imagined a fist and fancied a blow, I suppose,” returned Jack.
 
“And would they say that the pain and the blood were imagination also?”
 
“I suppose they would.”
 
“But what if I were to come on them slily behind and hit them on their pates before they had a chance to see or to exert their terribly real and powerful minds?” demanded Watty.
 
“You must ask one of themselves, Watty, for I don’t know much about their views; indeed, I’m not sure that I have represented them correctly, though it’s very likely I have, for there is no species of nonsense under the sun that men have not been found to hold and defend with more or less vigour.”
 
“Would you not call that a proof of the Creator’s intention that man should exercise the investigative powers of his mind?” asked Ben.
 
“I would call it a proof of man’s depravity,” said Wilkins.
 
“What does Polly think?” asked Jack, with an amused look at the child, whose fair brow wore an anxious little frown as she tried to understand.
 
“I think it’s a proof of both,” replied Polly, with a blush and a laugh; “we have got the power to think and speak and reason, and we are sometimes very naughty.”
 
“Well said, Polly; we must call you the philosopher in future,” cried Watty. “But Jack,” he added, with a perplexed air, “it seems to me that we live in such a world of confusion, both as to the limited amount of our knowledge, and the extent of our differences of opinion, while presumptuous incapacity attempts to teach us on the one hand, and designing iniquity, or pure prejudice, seeks to mislead us on the other, and misconception of one’s meaning and motives all round makes such a muddle of the whole that—that—it seems to me the search after truth is almost hopeless, at least to ordinary minds.”
 
“I admit it to be a great difficulty,” replied Jack, “but it is by no means hopeless. We must not forget that the world is well supplied with extraordinary minds to keep the ordinary minds right.”
 
“True, but when the extraordinary minds differ, what are the poor ordinary ones to do?” asked Watty.
 
“Use their brains, Watty, use their brains,” said Captain Samson, who had come aft, and been listening to the conversation. “Your brains, whether good or bad, were given to be used, not to be sold. The power to reason is a gift that is not bestowed only on extraordinary minds. The unlearned are sometimes better reasoners than the learned, though, of course, they haven’t got so many tools to work with. Still, they are sufficiently furnished with all that’s needful to run the race that is set before them. God has given to every man—civilised and savage—a brain to think with, a heart to feel with, a frame to work with, a conscience to guide him, and a world, with all its wonderful stores, in which to do what he will. Conscience—which, I think, is well named the voice of God in man—tells him to do right, and forbids him to do wrong; his heart glows with a certain degree of pleasure when he does well, and sinks, more or less, when he does ill; his reason tells him, more or less correctly, what is right, and what is wrong. The Word of God is the great chart given to enlighten our understandings and guide us heavenward. As my reason tells me to go to my charts for safe direction at sea, so every man’s reason will tell him to go to God’s revealed Word, when he believes he has got it. There he will find that Jesus Christ is the centre of the Word, the sum and substance of it, that he cannot believe in or accept the Saviour except by the power of the Holy Spirit. He will also find the blessed truth that God has promised the Spirit to those who simply ‘ask’ for Him. There is no difficulty in all this. The great and numberless difficulties by which we are undoubtedly surrounded are difficulties of detail, which we may be more or less successful in solving, according to our powers of mind, coupled with our submission to the revealed will of God. To some extent we fail and get into trouble because we lazily, or carelessly, let other men think for us, instead of making use of other men’s thoughts to help us to think for ourselves. Depend upon it, Watty, we won’t be able to justify ourselves at the judgment day by saying that things were too deep for us, that things seemed to be in such a muddle that it was of no use trying to clear ’em up. Why, what would you say of the mainspring of a watch if it were suddenly to exclaim, ‘I’ll give up trying! Here am I—so powerful and energetic, and so well able to spin round—checked, and hindered, and harassed by wheels and pinions and levers, some going this way, and some going that way, all at sixes and sevens, and all for no good end that I can see, buried as I am in this dark hole and scarcely allowed to move at all?’ Would it be right or reasonable to charge the watchmaker with having made the watch in vain, or made it wrong? Of this I at least am convinced, that God is perfect, and that all things are working towards a good end, God’s sovereignty, our mysterious free-will and personal responsibility being among these ‘all things.’”
 
While Captain Samson was discoursing on these important subjects, the look-out on the forecastle reported a sail on the weather-bow.
 
“She’s a whaler, I do believe, and her boats are after a sperm whale,” said Simon O’Rook, who stood by the mizzen shrouds looking intently at her through his double glass. Simon, being now a rich man, had not only taken a cabin passage, but had bought for himself one of the best binocular telescopes to be had in San Francisco.
 
It was soon seen that O’Rook was right for the whale rose to blow, and swam towards the Rainbow, while the boats of the whaler immediately followed in pursuit.
 
Great was the excitement on board the Rainbow as the men clustered on the forecastle, or ran up the rigging, to watch the chase, while the officers and passengers got out their telescopes.
 
“Come here, Polly,” cried Jack; “look through my glass. It’s a rare chance you’ve got of seeing what men have to go through in order to send oil to market.”
 
Polly at once accepted the invitation. Jack assisted her to mount on the top of the capstan, and arranged the glass.
 
“There she blows!” shouted one of the men who had been an old whaler; “there she breaches!”
 
As he spoke the whale rose about three miles to windward of them, not far from the boat that led the chase. The men in the boat were seen to bend to their oars, as Captain Samson said, “with a will.” Another moment and the harpooneer stood up in the bow. The spectators were too far off to see the weapon used, but they could perceive the man’s action, and there was no possibility of mistake as to the result, when the tail of the enormous creature was suddenly flourished in the air, and came down on the sea like a clap of distant thunder.
 
“Oh! oh!!” shrieked the horrified Polly, “the boat is gone!”
 
But the boat was not gone. It had been quickly backed out of danger when the harpoon was thrown, and reappeared when the cataract of spray sent up had dispersed.
 
“He’s pouring water on the rope now,” said Jack, in a low excited voice, “to prevent its catching fire as it runs out. They’re fast to the fish.”
 
“Yes, I see,” exclaimed Polly, squeezing her right eye against the glass and shutting the other with her hand.
 
But in a few minutes there was no need for telescopes, as the whale came straight towards the Rainbow, dragging the boat after it, while the other boats followed as fast as the men could pull. The whale-ship steered in the same direction, but there was scarcely wind enough to fill her top-sails.
 
Suddenly the leviathan came to the surface for breath, not far off, and sent up a grand spout of water on the Rainbow’s starboard bows. The boat pulled quickly up, and another harpoon was sent deep into the whale’s side. It dived immediately, and, turning at an angle, darted off in an other direction. This time the excited onlookers could hear the cheer given by the whalers as the second “iron” was fixed, and replied to it with enthusiasm. Soon the boat was carried far away, and the telescopes became again necessary, but ere long the fish turned, and once more made for the ship. It could not have been more than five hundred yards distant when it came to the surface for the third time, and the harpooneer was distinctly seen to drive a lance deep into its side, from which fountains of blood flowed. He had struck its “life,” as whalemen express it, and the whale soon went into its dying struggles, in the course of which it hit the boat, stove in its side, and overturned it.
 
There was a cry of consternation on board the Rainbow at this. Instantly the order was given to lower the boats. Philosopher Jack and O’Rook sprang to obey, by an irresistible impulse, as if they had been part of the ship’s crew. In a few seconds two boats were rowing at full speed to the rescue, while the boats belonging to the whale-ship—still far distant—made for the scene of disaster.
 
Ere long the rescue party had the great satisfaction of picking up the wrecked whalers, and found that not a man among them had received greater injury than a bruise or two and a ducking. Their boat, however, was completely destroyed. They were therefore taken on board the Rainbow, while the whaler’s boats came up and secured their prize.
 
That night, while the stars twinkled at their own reflections in the sleeping sea, the crew of the whale-ship had a “gam” on board the Rainbow.
 
A “gam,” good reader, may be described as a “small tea-party” on the sea. But it differs in many respects from such gatherings on shore, inasmuch as the revellers are not............