When this deliverance was effected by a thunderbolt from heaven, his saving sense of humour and the agitated springs of his sympathy forbade a purely personal application.  But twenty years later he might have reflected upon the opportune cause of his departure from St. Croix as one of the ironies of the world’s history; for an Island was devastated, men were ruined, scores were killed, that one man might reach his proper sphere of usefulness.

VIII

Early in August, 1772, Mr. Cruger sent him on a business tour to several of the neighbouring Islands, including the great entrepot of the West Indies,—­St. Thomas.  Despite the season, the prospect of no wind for days at a time, or winds in which no craft could live, Alexander trembled with delight at the idea of visiting the bustling brilliant versatile town of Charlotte Amalie, in whose harbour there were sometimes one hundred and eighty ships, where one might meet in a day men of every clime, and whose beauty was as famous as her wealth and importance.  How often Alexander had stared at the blue line of the hills above her!  Forty miles away, within the range of his vision, was a bit of the great world, the very pivot of maritime trade, and one cause and another had prevented him from so much as putting his foot on a sloop whose sails were spread.

As soon as the details of his tour were settled he rode out to the plantations to take leave of his relatives.  Mrs. Mitchell, who barred the hurricane windows every time, the wind rose between July and November, and sat with the barometer in her hand when the palms began to bend, wept a torrent and implored him to abstain from the madness of going to sea at that time of the year.  Her distress was so acute and real that Alexander, who loved her, forgot his exultation and would have renounced the trip, had he not given his word to Mr. Cruger.

“I’ll be careful, and I’ll ride out the day after I return,” he said, arranging his aunt on the sofa with her smelling-bottle, an office he had performed many times.  “You know the first wind of the hurricane is a delight to the sailor, and we never shall be far from land.  I’m in command, and I’ll promise you to make for shore at the first sign of danger.  Then I shall be as safe as here.”

His aunt sighed for fully a minute.  “If I only could believe that you would be careful about anything.  But you are quite a big boy now, almost sixteen, and ought to be old enough to take care of yourself.”

“If I could persuade you that I am not quite a failure at keeping the breath in my body we both should be happier.  However, I vow not to set sail from any island if a hurricane is forming, and to make for port every time the wind freshens.”

“Listen for that terrible roar in the southeast, and take my barometer—­Heaven knows what barometers are made for; there are not three on the Island.  I shall drive in to church every Sunday and besiege Heaven with my supplications.”