Charlie to the Rescue by R. M. Ballantyne (great book club books txt) 📖

When the soldiers were safely away Hunky Ben returned to the cave and brought Leather down.

Charlie Brooke’s love for his old school-fellow and playmate seemed to become a new passion, now that the wreck of life and limb presented by Shank had awakened within him the sensation of profound pity. And Shank’s admiration for and devotion to Charlie increased tenfold now that the terrible barrier of self had been so greatly eliminated from his own nature, and a new spirit put within him.

By slow degrees, and bit by bit, each came to know and understand the other under the influence of new lights and feelings. But their thoughts about themselves, and their joy at meeting in such peculiar circumstances, had to be repressed to some extent in the presence of their common friend Ralph Ritson—alias Buck Tom—for Charlie knew him only as an old school-fellow, though to Leather he had been a friend and chum ever since they had landed in the New World.

The scout, during the first interval of leisure on the previous day, had extracted the ball without much difficulty from Buck’s chest, through which it had passed, and was found lying close under the skin at his back. The relief thus afforded, and rest obtained under the influence of some medicine administered by Captain Wilmot, had brightened the poor fellow up to some extent; and Leather, seeing him look so much better on his return, began to entertain some hopes of his recovery.

Buck himself had no such hope; but, being a man of strong will, he refused to let it be seen in his demeanour that he thought his case to be hopeless. Yet he did not act from bravado, or the slightest tincture of that spirit which resolves to “die game.” The approach of death had indeed torn away the veil and permitted him to see himself in his true colours, but he did not at that time see Jesus to be the Saviour of even “the chief of sinners.” Therefore his hopelessness took the form of silent submission to the inevitable.

Of course Charlie Brooke spoke to him more than once of the love of God in Christ, and of the dying thief who had looked to Jesus on the cross and was saved, but Buck only shook his head. One afternoon in particular Charlie tried hard to remove the poor man’s perplexities.

“It’s all very well, Brooke,” said Buck Tom, “and very kind of you to interest yourself in me, but the love of God and the salvation of Christ are not for me. You don’t know what a sinner I have been, a rebel all my life—all my life, mark you. I would count it mean to come whining for pardon now that the game is up. I deserve hell—or whatever sort o’ punishment is due—an’ I’m willing to take it.”

“Ralph Ritson,” said Brooke impressively, “you are a far greater sinner than you think or admit.”

“Perhaps I am,” returned the outlaw sadly, and with a slight expression of surprise. “Perhaps I am,” he repeated. “Indeed I admit that you are right, but—but your saying so is a somewhat strange way to comfort a dying man. Is it not?”

“I am not trying to comfort you. I am trying, by God’s grace, to convince you. You tell me that you have been a rebel all your days?”

“Yes; I admit it.”

“There are still, it may be, a few days yet to run, and you are determined, it seems, to spend these in rebellion too—up to the very end!”

“Nay, I do not say that. Have I not said that I submit to whatever punishment is due? Surely that is not rebellion. I can do nothing now to make up for a mis-spent life, so I am willing to accept the consequences. Is not that submission to God—at least as far as lies in my power?”

“No; it is not submission. Bear with me when I say it is rebellion, still deeper rebellion than ever. God says to you, ‘You have destroyed yourself but in me is your help.’ He says, ‘Though your sins be as scarlet they shall be white as snow.’ He says, ‘Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and you shall be saved,’ and assures you that ‘whoever will’ may come to Him, and that no one who comes shall be cast out—yet in the face of all that you tell me that the love of God and the salvation of Christ are not for you! Ralph, my friend, you think that if you had a chance of living your life over again you would do better and so deserve salvation. That is exactly what God tells us we cannot do, and then He tells us that He Himself, in Jesus Christ, has provided salvation from sin for us, offers it as a free unmerited gift; and immediately we dive to the deepest depth of sin by deliberately refusing this deliverance from sin unless we can somehow manage to deserve it.”

“I cannot see it,” said the wounded man thoughtfully.

“Only God Himself, by His Holy Spirit, can enable you to see it,” said his companion; and then, in a low earnest voice, with eyes closed and his hand on his friend’s arm, he prayed that the outlaw might be “born again.”

Charlie Brooke was not one of those who make long prayers, either “for a pretence” or otherwise. Buck Tom smiled slightly when his friend stopped at the end of this one sentence.

“Your prayer is not long-winded, anyhow!” he said.

“True, Ralph, but it is comprehensive. It requires a good deal of expounding and explaining to make man understand what we say or think. The Almighty needs none of that. Indeed He does not need even the asking but He bids us ask, and that is enough for me. I have seen enough of life to understand the value of unquestioning obedience whether one comprehends the reason of an order or not.”

“Ay,” returned Buck quickly, “when he who gives the order has a right to command.”

“That is so much a matter of course,” rejoined Charlie, “that I would not think of referring to it while conversing with an intelligent man. By the way—which name would you like to be called, by Ralph or Buck?”

“It matters little to me,” returned the outlaw languidly, “and it won’t matter to anybody long. I should prefer ‘Ralph,’ for it is not associated with so much evil as the other, but you know our circumstances are peculiar just now, so, all things considered, I had better remain Buck Tom to the end of the chapter. I’ll answer to whichever name comes first when the roll is called in the next world.”

The conversation was interrupted at this point by the entrance of Hunky Ben bearing a deer on his lusty shoulders. He was followed by Dick Darvall.

“There,” said the former, throwing the carcass on the floor, “I told ye I wouldn’t be long o’ bringin’ in somethin’ for the pot.”

“Ay, an’ the way he shot it too,” said the seaman, laying aside his rifle, “would have made even a monkey stare with astonishment. Has Leather come back, by the way? I see’d him goin’ full sail through the woods when I went out this mornin’.”

“He has not yet returned,” said Charlie. “When I relieved him and sat down to watch by our friend here, he said he felt so much better and stronger that he would take his gun and see if he couldn’t find something for the pot. I advised him not to trust his feelings too much, and not to go far, but—ah, here he comes to answer for himself.”

As he spoke a step was heard outside, and next moment Shank entered, carrying a brace of rabbits which he flung down, and then threw himself on a couch in a state of considerable exhaustion.

“There,” said he, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. “They’ve cost me more trouble than they’re worth, for I’m quite done up. I had no idea I had become so weak in the legs. Ralph, my dear fellow,” he added, forgetting himself for the moment as he rose and went to his friend’s side, “I have more sympathy with you, now that I have found out the extent of my own weakness. Do you feel better!”

“Yes, old boy—much—much better.”

“That’s all right. I’m convinced that—hallo! why, who shot the deer!”

“Hunky Ben has beat you,” said Charlie.

“Beat Leather!” exclaimed Darvall, “why, he beats all creation. I never see’d anything like it since I went to sea.”

“Since you came ashore, you should say. But come, Dick,” said Charlie, “let’s hear about this wonderful shooting. I’m sure it will amuse Buck—unless he’s too wearied to listen.”

“Let him talk,” said the invalid. “I like to hear him.”

Thus exhorted and encouraged the seaman recounted his day’s experience.

“Well, you must know, messmates,” said he, “that I set sail alone this mornin’, havin’ in my pocket the small compass I always carry about me—also my bearin’s before startin’, so as I shouldn’t go lost in the woods—though that wouldn’t be likely in such an narrow inlet as this Traitor’s Trap, to say nothin’ o’ the landmarks alow and aloft of all sorts. I carried a Winchester with me, because, not bein’ what you may call a crack shot, I thought it would give me