Chapter Twelve.Captain Bream develops a Capacity for Scheming.At dinner that day Captain Bream paused in the act of conveying a whole potato to his mouth on the end of his fork, and said—“Miss Seaward, I’m going to leave you—”“Leave us!” cried Kate, interrupting him with a look of consternation, for she and Jessie had both become so fond of the amiable seaman, with the frame of Goliath and the heart of Samuel, that they were now as much afraid of losing, as they had formerly been of possessing him. “Leave us, captain!”“Only for a time, Miss Kate—only for a time,” he replied, hastily, as he checked the power of further utterance with the potato. “Only for a time,” he repeated, on recovering the power. “You see, I’ve got a little bit of business to transact down at Yarmouth, and it will take me a good while to do it. Some weeks at the least—perhaps some months—but there’s no help for it, for the thingmustbe done.”The captain said this with so much decision, that Kate could scarcely forbear laughing as she said—“Dear me, it must be very important business since you seem so determined about it. Is there anything or any one likely to oppose you in transacting the business?”“Well, not exactly at present,” returned the captain blandly, “but there are two obstinate friends of mine who, I have been told, would oppose me pretty stoutly if I was to tell ’em all the truth about it.”“Is there any necessity,” asked Jessie, “for telling these obstinate friends anything about the business at all?”“Well, yes,” replied the captain with a chuckle that almost brought on a choking fit; “I can’t well avoid tellin’ them somethin’ about it, for they’ve a right to know, but—”“Wouldn’t it save you all trouble, then,” broke in Kate, seeing his hesitation, “to tell them just as much of the business as they were entitled to know, and no more.”“That’s just the very thing I mean to do,” replied the captain, bursting into a laugh so deep and thunderous that the small domestic, Liffie Lee, entered the room abruptly to ask if anything was wanted, but in reality to find out what all the fun was about. Having been dismissed with a caution not to intrude again till rung for, the captain helped himself to an enormous slice of beef; earnestly, but unsuccessfully, pressed the sisters to “go in for more and grow fat,” and then continued his discourse.“You must know, ladies, that I have taken to studyin’ a good deal in my old age. Another potato—thank ’ee.”“Yes, we have observed that,” said Kate. “May I ask what is the nature of your studies—navigation?”“Navigation!” shouted the captain with another laugh so rich and racy that poor Liffie Lee almost entered in defiance of orders; “no, Miss Kate, it ain’t navigation! I’ve bin pretty well grounded in that subject for the last forty years. No, my studynowis theology.”“Theology!” exclaimed the sisters in surprise.“Yes, theology. Is it so strange, then, that a man drawin’ near the close of life should wish to be more particular than when he was young in tryin’ to find out all he can about his Maker?” returned the captain gravely.“Forgive us,” said Jessie, hastening to explain; “it is not that. If you had said you had taken to reading the Bible carefully and systematically, we would not have been surprised, but it—it was—your talking so quietly about theology that made us—”“Yes, yes, I see,” interrupted the good-natured seaman; “well, itisreading the Word of God that I mean. You see, I regard the Bible as my class-book, my book o’ logarithms, chart compass, rudder, etcetera, all rolled into one. Now, I don’t mind tellin’ you a secret. When I first went to sea I was a very wild harum-scarum young fellow, an’ havin’ some sort of influence over my mates, I did ’em a deal of damage and led ’em astray. Well, when the Lord in His great mercy saved my soul, I could not forget this, and although I knew I was forgiven, my heart was grieved to think of the mischief I had done. I felt as if I would give anything in life to undo it if I could. As this was not possible, however, I bethought me that the next best thing would be to do as much good as I could to the class that I had damaged, so, when I came home and left the sea for good, I used to go down about the docks and give away Bibles and Testaments to the sailors. Then I got to say a word or two to ’em now and then about their souls but I soon found that there are professed unbelievers among the tars, an’ they put questions that puzzled me at times, so I took to readin’ the Bible with a view to answering objectors an’ bein’ able to give a reason of the hope that is in me—to studyin’, in fact, what I call theology. But I ain’t above takin’ help,” continued the captain with a modest look, “from ordinary good books when I come across ’em—my chief difficulty bein’, to find out what are the best books to consult, and this has led me sometimes to think of buyin’ up all the theological books I can lay hands on, an’ glancin’ ’em all through so as to make notes of such as seemed worth readin’ with care. The labour however seems so great, that up to now I’ve bin kept back, but I’ve had a talk with a friend to-day which has decided me, so I’ll go off to Yarmouth to-morrow an’ buy a whole lot o’ theological books—a regular library in fact—and set to work to read up. But there’s one thing I would like, which would save me an enormous amount o’ labour, if I could get it.”“What is that?” asked the sisters, eagerly, and in the same breath, for they had become quite interested in their friend’s aspirations.“I would like,” said the captain, slowly, and fixing his eyes on his plate, for he was now beginning to scheme, “I would like to find some one—a clever boy perhaps, though a girl would be preferable—who would take the trouble off my hands of glancin’ through the books first, an’ makin’ notes of their contents for me, so as to prevent my wastin’ time on those that are worthless.”“I fear,” said Jessie, “that few boys or girls would be capable of such work, for it would require not only intelligence but a considerable amount of scriptural knowledge.”The captain heaved a deep sigh. “Yes,” he said, shaking his head slowly, “you’re right, and I’m afraid I’ll have to get some grown-up person to help me, but that won’t be easy. And then, d’ee know, I don’t feel as if I could git on in such investigations with a stranger.”“What a pity,” said Kate, “that you could not bring the books here, and thenIcould help you, for although I do not pretend to be deeply learned in scriptural knowledge, I daresay I know enough for your purpose; but why not get the books in London? Is there any necessity for buying them in Yarmouth?”Poor Captain Bream was so unused to scheming, that he had made no preparation for such a question, and felt much confused. He could give no good reason for making his purchase in Yarmouth, and nothing would have induced him to tell a falsehood.“Well, really,” he said, after a few moments’ hesitation, “there are circumstances sometimes in a man’s life which render it difficult for him to explain things, but—but Ihavea reason for wishin’ to buy this library in Yarmouth, an’ it seems to me a good one. Besides, I’ve got a likin’ for sea-air, bein’ my native air, so to speak, and I’ve no doubt that theology would come more easy to me if I was in a snug little room facin’ the sea, where I could see the blue waters dancin’, an’ the shipping go by, an’ the youngsters playin’ on the sands. Yes, itmustbe done at Yarmouth. London would never do; it’s too hot an’ stuffy. Not that I care for that, but then you might—ah—that is—I mean to say—you might agree with me on this point if you were there. But why,” he added with fresh animation as he saw the way opening up before him, “why, Miss Kate, since you are so kind as to say you’d like to help me, why might you not take a run down to Yarmouth with me, an’ help me there?”“Because,” answered Kate, laughing, “I could not very well leave my sister alone.”“Of course not—quite right, but there’s no need for that; she could come too, and it would do you both much good, not to speak o’ theimmenseadvantage to me! I do assure you I’d feel well-nigh as helpless as an infant, if left to tackle this business alone.”From this point there began a regular skirmish between the captain and the sisters; the one trying to convince the others that it would be doing him a favour for which he could never find words to thank them, and the others endeavouring to show by every sort of argument that the thing was utterly unpossible, that the captain little knew what a burden he proposed to take on his shoulders, and that there was no use whatever in talking about it.But Captain Bream was a man of resolution. He stuck to his point and pleaded his own cause so powerfully that the sisters began to waver.“But think,” urged Kate, who did the most of the fighting, “you forget Liffie Lee. She is no longer a mere visitor for an hour or two of a morning, as she used to be, but a regular hired servant and we could not leave her behind.”“I know that. It was my coming that made you hire her; and, now I think of it, I’ve a right to claim at least part of her, so she can come too, an’ we’ll lock up the house an’ get Mr Green-grocer to look after it—air it now and then. Come, just make up your minds. Only think, how beautiful the blue sea will be just now, an’ the sunny skies, an’ the yellow sands—I declare it makes me long to go. An’ then you’ll see that pretty boy you’ve taken such a fancy to—what’s ’is name?”“Billy Bright,” said Kate.“Just so—Billy Bright—though I can’t say that I’m over fond o’ pretty little boys. They’re too often soft an’—”“But I tell you he’s as bold as a lion, and wise as a man, and tough as—as—”“As a beefsteak,” said the captain; “yes, yes, I know all that, and I’m quite prepared to believe that he is an exception. Well, now, it’s agreed to—is it?”But the sisters did not at once give in. They fought on with true feminine courage until the captain tried the effect of deep dejection and innocent submission, when their tender hearts could stand out no longer, and, hauling down their colours, they finally agreed to become librarians and accompany their lodger to Yarmouth.Then the captain left them to report the victory to his commodore, Ruth Dotropy.“I never had such a battle in my life!” he said to that scheming young creature. “They didn’t give in till they’d fired off every shot in their locker. Trafalgar and the Nile were nothin’ to it.”“But do you really mean to say,” asked Ruth, who could hardly speak at first for laughing, “that you intend to buy all these theological books and set the sisters to work?”“To be sure I do. You didn’t suppose that I was goin’ to tell a parcel o’ lies to help out your schemes, my dear? It has been for some months past simmerin’ in my brain that I ought to go through a small course of education in that line. And all you have done for me is to make me go in for it somewhat sooner, and a little heavier than I had intended in the way of books. And there’s no doubt I’ll study better at the sea-side than in London. Besides, I shall have the fishermen to try the effects of my studies on, and you may be sure I won’t let the poor things work too hard at the books.”“I’ll trust you for that,” said Ruth.Now, while these little plans were being arranged, an event was pending in the North Sea fleet which merits particular notice.
At dinner that day Captain Bream paused in the act of conveying a whole potato to his mouth on the end of his fork, and said—
“Miss Seaward, I’m going to leave you—”
“Leave us!” cried Kate, interrupting him with a look of consternation, for she and Jessie had both become so fond of the amiable seaman, with the frame of Goliath and the heart of Samuel, that they were now as much afraid of losing, as they had formerly been of possessing him. “Leave us, captain!”
“Only for a time, Miss Kate—only for a time,” he replied, hastily, as he checked the power of further utterance with the potato. “Only for a time,” he repeated, on recovering the power. “You see, I’ve got a little bit of business to transact down at Yarmouth, and it will take me a good while to do it. Some weeks at the least—perhaps some months—but there’s no help for it, for the thingmustbe done.”
The captain said this with so much decision, that Kate could scarcely forbear laughing as she said—
“Dear me, it must be very important business since you seem so determined about it. Is there anything or any one likely to oppose you in transacting the business?”
“Well, not exactly at present,” returned the captain blandly, “but there are two obstinate friends of mine who, I have been told, would oppose me pretty stoutly if I was to tell ’em all the truth about it.”
“Is there any necessity,” asked Jessie, “for telling these obstinate friends anything about the business at all?”
“Well, yes,” replied the captain with a chuckle that almost brought on a choking fit; “I can’t well avoid tellin’ them somethin’ about it, for they’ve a right to know, but—”
“Wouldn’t it save you all trouble, then,” broke in Kate, seeing his hesitation, “to tell them just as much of the business as they were entitled to know, and no more.”
“That’s just the very thing I mean to do,” replied the captain, bursting into a laugh so deep and thunderous that the small domestic, Liffie Lee, entered the room abruptly to ask if anything was wanted, but in reality to find out what all the fun was about. Having been dismissed with a caution not to intrude again till rung for, the captain helped himself to an enormous slice of beef; earnestly, but unsuccessfully, pressed the sisters to “go in for more and grow fat,” and then continued his discourse.
“You must know, ladies, that I have taken to studyin’ a good deal in my old age. Another potato—thank ’ee.”
“Yes, we have observed that,” said Kate. “May I ask what is the nature of your studies—navigation?”
“Navigation!” shouted the captain with another laugh so rich and racy that poor Liffie Lee almost entered in defiance of orders; “no, Miss Kate, it ain’t navigation! I’ve bin pretty well grounded in that subject for the last forty years. No, my studynowis theology.”
“Theology!” exclaimed the sisters in surprise.
“Yes, theology. Is it so strange, then, that a man drawin’ near the close of life should wish to be more particular than when he was young in tryin’ to find out all he can about his Maker?” returned the captain gravely.
“Forgive us,” said Jessie, hastening to explain; “it is not that. If you had said you had taken to reading the Bible carefully and systematically, we would not have been surprised, but it—it was—your talking so quietly about theology that made us—”
“Yes, yes, I see,” interrupted the good-natured seaman; “well, itisreading the Word of God that I mean. You see, I regard the Bible as my class-book, my book o’ logarithms, chart compass, rudder, etcetera, all rolled into one. Now, I don’t mind tellin’ you a secret. When I first went to sea I was a very wild harum-scarum young fellow, an’ havin’ some sort of influence over my mates, I did ’em a deal of damage and led ’em astray. Well, when the Lord in His great mercy saved my soul, I could not forget this, and although I knew I was forgiven, my heart was grieved to think of the mischief I had done. I felt as if I would give anything in life to undo it if I could. As this was not possible, however, I bethought me that the next best thing would be to do as much good as I could to the class that I had damaged, so, when I came home and left the sea for good, I used to go down about the docks and give away Bibles and Testaments to the sailors. Then I got to say a word or two to ’em now and then about their souls but I soon found that there are professed unbelievers among the tars, an’ they put questions that puzzled me at times, so I took to readin’ the Bible with a view to answering objectors an’ bein’ able to give a reason of the hope that is in me—to studyin’, in fact, what I call theology. But I ain’t above takin’ help,” continued the captain with a modest look, “from ordinary good books when I come across ’em—my chief difficulty bein’, to find out what are the best books to consult, and this has led me sometimes to think of buyin’ up all the theological books I can lay hands on, an’ glancin’ ’em all through so as to make notes of such as seemed worth readin’ with care. The labour however seems so great, that up to now I’ve bin kept back, but I’ve had a talk with a friend to-day which has decided me, so I’ll go off to Yarmouth to-morrow an’ buy a whole lot o’ theological books—a regular library in fact—and set to work to read up. But there’s one thing I would like, which would save me an enormous amount o’ labour, if I could get it.”
“What is that?” asked the sisters, eagerly, and in the same breath, for they had become quite interested in their friend’s aspirations.
“I would like,” said the captain, slowly, and fixing his eyes on his plate, for he was now beginning to scheme, “I would like to find some one—a clever boy perhaps, though a girl would be preferable—who would take the trouble off my hands of glancin’ through the books first, an’ makin’ notes of their contents for me, so as to prevent my wastin’ time on those that are worthless.”
“I fear,” said Jessie, “that few boys or girls would be capable of such work, for it would require not only intelligence but a considerable amount of scriptural knowledge.”
The captain heaved a deep sigh. “Yes,” he said, shaking his head slowly, “you’re right, and I’m afraid I’ll have to get some grown-up person to help me, but that won’t be easy. And then, d’ee know, I don’t feel as if I could git on in such investigations with a stranger.”
“What a pity,” said Kate, “that you could not bring the books here, and thenIcould help you, for although I do not pretend to be deeply learned in scriptural knowledge, I daresay I know enough for your purpose; but why not get the books in London? Is there any necessity for buying them in Yarmouth?”
Poor Captain Bream was so unused to scheming, that he had made no preparation for such a question, and felt much confused. He could give no good reason for making his purchase in Yarmouth, and nothing would have induced him to tell a falsehood.
“Well, really,” he said, after a few moments’ hesitation, “there are circumstances sometimes in a man’s life which render it difficult for him to explain things, but—but Ihavea reason for wishin’ to buy this library in Yarmouth, an’ it seems to me a good one. Besides, I’ve got a likin’ for sea-air, bein’ my native air, so to speak, and I’ve no doubt that theology would come more easy to me if I was in a snug little room facin’ the sea, where I could see the blue waters dancin’, an’ the shipping go by, an’ the youngsters playin’ on the sands. Yes, itmustbe done at Yarmouth. London would never do; it’s too hot an’ stuffy. Not that I care for that, but then you might—ah—that is—I mean to say—you might agree with me on this point if you were there. But why,” he added with fresh animation as he saw the way opening up before him, “why, Miss Kate, since you are so kind as to say you’d like to help me, why might you not take a run down to Yarmouth with me, an’ help me there?”
“Because,” answered Kate, laughing, “I could not very well leave my sister alone.”
“Of course not—quite right, but there’s no need for that; she could come too, and it would do you both much good, not to speak o’ theimmenseadvantage to me! I do assure you I’d feel well-nigh as helpless as an infant, if left to tackle this business alone.”
From this point there began a regular skirmish between the captain and the sisters; the one trying to convince the others that it would be doing him a favour for which he could never find words to thank them, and the others endeavouring to show by every sort of argument that the thing was utterly unpossible, that the captain little knew what a burden he proposed to take on his shoulders, and that there was no use whatever in talking about it.
But Captain Bream was a man of resolution. He stuck to his point and pleaded his own cause so powerfully that the sisters began to waver.
“But think,” urged Kate, who did the most of the fighting, “you forget Liffie Lee. She is no longer a mere visitor for an hour or two of a morning, as she used to be, but a regular hired servant and we could not leave her behind.”
“I know that. It was my coming that made you hire her; and, now I think of it, I’ve a right to claim at least part of her, so she can come too, an’ we’ll lock up the house an’ get Mr Green-grocer to look after it—air it now and then. Come, just make up your minds. Only think, how beautiful the blue sea will be just now, an’ the sunny skies, an’ the yellow sands—I declare it makes me long to go. An’ then you’ll see that pretty boy you’ve taken such a fancy to—what’s ’is name?”
“Billy Bright,” said Kate.
“Just so—Billy Bright—though I can’t say that I’m over fond o’ pretty little boys. They’re too often soft an’—”
“But I tell you he’s as bold as a lion, and wise as a man, and tough as—as—”
“As a beefsteak,” said the captain; “yes, yes, I know all that, and I’m quite prepared to believe that he is an exception. Well, now, it’s agreed to—is it?”
But the sisters did not at once give in. They fought on with true feminine courage until the captain tried the effect of deep dejection and innocent submission, when their tender hearts could stand out no longer, and, hauling down their colours, they finally agreed to become librarians and accompany their lodger to Yarmouth.
Then the captain left them to report the victory to his commodore, Ruth Dotropy.
“I never had such a battle in my life!” he said to that scheming young creature. “They didn’t give in till they’d fired off every shot in their locker. Trafalgar and the Nile were nothin’ to it.”
“But do you really mean to say,” asked Ruth, who could hardly speak at first for laughing, “that you intend to buy all these theological books and set the sisters to work?”
“To be sure I do. You didn’t suppose that I was goin’ to tell a parcel o’ lies to help out your schemes, my dear? It has been for some months past simmerin’ in my brain that I ought to go through a small course of education in that line. And all you have done for me is to make me go in for it somewhat sooner, and a little heavier than I had intended in the way of books. And there’s no doubt I’ll study better at the sea-side than in London. Besides, I shall have the fishermen to try the effects of my studies on, and you may be sure I won’t let the poor things work too hard at the books.”
“I’ll trust you for that,” said Ruth.
Now, while these little plans were being arranged, an event was pending in the North Sea fleet which merits particular notice.
Chapter Thirteen.Run down in a Fog—Captain Bream acts surprisingly.One day a fishing-smack was on the eve of quitting the Short Blue fleet for its little holiday of a week in port. It was theSparrow, of which Jim Frost was master. A flag was flying to indicate its intention, and invite letters, etcetera, for home, if any of the crews should feel disposed to send them.Several boats put off from their respective smacks in reply to the signal. One of these belonged to Singing Peter.“Glad to see you, Peter,” said Jim Frost as the former leaped on theSparrow’sdeck.“Same to you, lad. I wish you a pleasant spell ashore, and may the Master be with you,” returned Peter.“The Master is sure to be with me,” replied Frost, “for has he not said, ‘I will never leave thee?’ Isn’t it a fine thing, Peter, to think that, whatever happens, the Lord is here to guard us from evil?”“Ay, Jim, an’ to take us home when the time comes.”“‘Which is far better,’” responded Jim.“You’ll not get away to-night,” remarked Peter as he gazed out upon the sea. “It’s goin’ to fall calm.”“No matter. I can wait.”“What say ye, lad, to a hymn?” said Peter.“I’m your man,” replied Jim, with a laugh, “I thought it wouldn’t be long before Singin’ Peter would want to raise his pipe.”“He can’t help it, d’ee see,” returned Peter, answering the laugh with a smile; “if I didn’t sing I’d blow up. It’s my safety-valve, Jim, an’ I like to blow off steam when I gets alongside o’ like-minded men.”“We’re all like-minded here. Fetch my accordion,” said Jim, turning to one of his men.In a few minutes a lively hymn was raised in lusty tones which rolled far and wide over the slumbering sea. Then these like-minded men offered up several prayers, and it was observed that Jim Frost was peculiarly earnest that night. Of course they had some more hymns, for as the calm was by that time complete, and it was not possible for any sailing vessel to quit the fleet, there was no occasion to hurry. Indeed there is no saying how long these iron-framed fishermen would have kept it up, if it had not been for a slight fog which warned the visitors to depart.As the night advanced the fog thickened, so that it was not possible to see more than fifty yards around any of the fishing-smacks.Now it is probably known to most people that the greatest danger to which those who do business on the sea are exposed is during fog.When all around is calm and peaceful; when the sound of voices comes with muffled sound over the smooth water; when the eye sees nothing save a ghostly white horizon all round close at hand; when almost the only sound that breaks on the ear is the gentle lapping of the sea, or the quiet creak of plank and spar, as the vessel slowly lifts and falls on the gentle swell, and when landsmen perchance feel most secure—then it is that the dark cloud of danger lowers most heavily, though perhaps unrecognised, over the mariner, and stirs him to anxious watchfulness, when apparently in profoundest repose.Jim Frost knew well the dangers of the situation, but he had been long accustomed to face all the dangers peculiar to his calling on the deep without flinching—strong in the confidence of his well-tried courage and seamanship, and stronger still in his trust in Him who holds the water in the hollow of His hand. Many a time had he been becalmed in fog on the North Sea. He knew what to do, kept the fog-horn blowing, and took all the steps for safety that were possible in the circumstances.But, somehow, the young fisherman did not feel his usual easy-going indifference on that particular night, though his trust in God was not less strong. He felt no fear, indeed, but a solemn sobriety of spirit had taken the place of his wonted cheery temperament, and, instead of singing in lively tones as he paced the deck, he hummed airs of a slow pathetic kind in a soft undertone.It is often said that men receive mysterious intimations, sometimes, of impending disaster. It may be so. We cannot tell. Certainly it seemed as if Jim Frost had received some such intimation that night.“I can’t understand it, Evan,” he said to his mate when the latter came on deck a little after midnight to relieve him. “A feeling as if something was going to happen has taken possession of me, and I can’t shake it off. You know I’m not the man to fancy danger when there’s none.”Evan—a youth whom he had been the means of rescuing when about to fall, under great temptation—replied that perhaps want of sleep was the cause.“You know,” he said, “men become little better than babbies when they goes long without sleep, an’ you’ve not had much of late. What with that tearin’ o’ the net an’ the gale that’s just gone, an’ that book, you know—”“Ah!” interrupted Jim, “you mustn’t lay the blame on the book, Evan. I haven’t bin sittin’ upverylate at it; though I confess I’m uncommon fond o’ readin’. Besides, it’s a good book, more likely to quiet a man’s mind than to rouse it. How we ever got on without readin’ before that mission-ship came to us, is more than I can understand! Why, it seems to have lifted me into a new world.”“That’s so. I’m fond o’ readin’ myself,” said Evan, who, although not quite so enthusiastic or intellectual as his friend, appreciated very highly the library-bags which had been recently sent to the fleet.“But the strange thing is,” said Jim, returning to the subject of his impressions—“the strange thing is, that my mind is not runnin’ on danger or damaged gear, or books, or gales, but on my dear wife at home. I’ve bin thinkin’ of Nancy in a way that I don’t remember to have done before, an’ the face of my darlin’ Lucy, wi’ her black eyes an’ rosy cheeks so like her mother, is never absent from my eyes for a moment.”“Want o’ sleep,” said the practical Evan. “You’d better turn in an’ have a good spell as long as the calm lasts.”“You remember the patch o’ green in front o’ my cottage in Gorleston?” asked Jim, paying no attention to his mate’s advice.“Yes,” answered Evan.“Well, when I was sittin’ for’ard there, not half-an-hour since, I seed my Nancy a-sittin’ on that green as plain as I see you, sewin’ away at somethin’, an’ Lucy playin’ at her knee. They was so real-like that I couldn’t help sayin’ ‘Nancy!’ an’ I do assure you that she stopped sewin’ an’ turned her head a-one side for a moment as if she was listenin’. An’ it was all so real-like too.”“You was dreamin’; that was all,” said the unromantic Evan.“No, mate. I wasn’t dreamin’,” returned Jim. “I was as wide awake as I am at this moment for I was lookin’ out all round just as keen as if I had not bin thinkin’ about home at all.”“Well, you’d as well go below an’ dream about ’em now if you can,” suggested Evan, “an’ I’ll keep a sharp look-out.”“No, lad, I can’t. I’m not a bit sleepy.”As Jim said this he turned and went to the bow of the smack.At that moment the muffled sound of a steamer’s paddles was heard. Probably the fog had something to do with the peculiarity of the sound, for next moment a fog-whistle sounded its harsh tone close at hand, and a dark towering shadow seemed to rush down upon theSparrow.Even if there had been a breeze there would have been no time to steer clear of the danger. As it was, the little vessel lay quite helpless on the sea, Evan shouted down the companion for the men to turn out for their lives. The man at the bow sounded the fog-horn loud and long. At the same instant Jim Frost’s voice rang out strong and clear a warning cry. It was answered from above. There were sudden screams and cries. The fog-whistle shrieked. Engines were reversed. “Hard a-port!” was shouted. Steam was blown off, and, amid confusion and turmoil indescribable, an ocean steamer struck the littleSparrowamidships, and fairly rammed her into the sea.It could scarcely be said that there was a crash. The one was too heavy and the other too light for that. The smack lay over almost gracefully, as if submitting humbly to her inevitable doom. There was one great cry, and next moment she was rolling beneath the keel of the monster that had so ruthlessly run her down.Not far off—so near indeed that those on board almost saw the catastrophe—lay theEvening Star. They of course heard the cries and the confusion, and knew only too well what had occurred.To order out the boat was the work of an instant. With powerful strokes Joe, Spivin, Trevor, and Gunter, caused it to leap to the rescue. On reaching the spot they discovered and saved the mate. He was found clinging to an oar, but all the others had disappeared. The steamer which had done the deed had lowered a boat, and diligent search was made in all directions round the spot where the fatal collision had occurred. No other living soul, however, was found. Only a few broken spars and the upturned boat of the smack remained to tell where Jim Frost, and the rest of his like-minded men, had exchanged the garb of toil for the garments of glory!As a matter of course this event made a profound impression for a time on board of theEvening Starand of such vessels as were near enough next morning to be informed of the sad news. A large portion of the fleet, however, was for some time unaware of what had taken place, and some of the masters and crews who were averse to what they styled “psalm-singin’ and prayin’,” did not seem to be much affected by the loss.Whether grieved or indifferent however, the work of the fleet had to be done. Whether fishermen live or die, sink or swim, the inexorable demand of Billingsgate for fish must be met! Accordingly, next day about noon, a fresh breeze having sprung up, and a carrier-steamer being there ready for her load, the same lively scene which we have described in a previous chapter was re-enacted, and after the smacks were discharged they all went off as formerly in the same direction, like a shoal of herrings, to new fishing-grounds.When they had got well away to the eastward and were beating up against a stiff northerly breeze, David Bright who stood near the helm of theEvening Star, said to his son in a peculiarly low voice—“Now, Billy, you go below an’ fetch me a glass of grog.”Billy went below as desired, but very unwillingly, for he well knew his father’s varying moods, and recognised in the peculiar tone in which the order was given, a species of despondency—almost amounting to despair—which not unfrequently ushered in some of his worst fits of intemperance.“Your fadder’s in de blues to-day,” said Zulu, as he toiled over his cooking apparatus in the little cabin; “when he spok like dat, he goes in for heavy drink.”“I know that well enough,” returned Billy, almost angrily.“Why you no try him wid a ’speriment?” asked the cook, wrinkling up his nose and displaying his tremendous gums.“For any sake don’t open your mouth like that, Zulu, but tell me what you mean by a ’speriment,” said the boy.“How kin I tell what’s a ’speriment if I’m not to open my mout’?”“Shut up, you nigger! an’ talk sense.”“Der you go agin, Billy. How kin I talk sense if I’m to shut up? Don’t you know what a ’speriment is? Why it’s—it’s—just a ’speriment you know—a dodge.”“If you mean a dodge, why don’t you say a dodge?” retorted Billy; “well, what is your dodge? look alive, for daddy’ll be shoutin’ for his grog in a minute.”“You jus’ listen,” said the cook, in a hoarse whisper, as he opened his enormous eyes to their widest, “you jus’ take a wine-glass—de big ’un as your fadder be fond of—an’ put in ’im two teaspoonfuls o’ vinegar, one tablespoonful o’ parafine hoil, one leetle pinch o’ pepper, an’ one big pinch ob salt with a leetle mustard, an’ give ’im dat. Your fadder never take time to smell him’s grog—always toss ’im off quick.”“Yes, an’ then he’d toss the wine-glass into my face an’ kick me round the deck afterwards, if not overboard,” said Billy, with a look of contempt. “No, Zulu, I don’t like your ’speriment, but you’ve put a notion into my head, for even when a fool speaks a wise man may learn—”“Yes, I often tink dat,” said the cook, interrupting, with a look of innocence. “You quite right, so speak away, Billy, an’ I’ll learn.”“You fetch me the wine-glass,” said the boy, sharply.Zulu obeyed.“Now, fill it up with water—so, an’ put in a little brown sugar to give it colour. That’s enough, stir him up. Not bad rum—tolookat. I’ll try father wi’ that.”Accordingly, our little hero went on deck and handed the glass to his father—retreating a step or two, promptly yet quietly, after doing so.As Zulu had said, David Bright did not waste time in smelling his liquor. He emptied the glass at one gulp, and then gazed at his son with closed lips and gradually widening eyes.“It’s only sugar and water, daddy,” said Billy, uncertain whether to laugh or look grave.For a few moments the skipper was speechless. Then his face flushed, and he said in a voice of thunder, “Go below an’ fetch up the keg.”There was no disobeyingthatorder! The poor boy leaped down the ladder and seized the rum-keg.“Your ’speriment might have been better after all, Zulu,” he whispered as he passed up again, and stood before his father.What may have passed in the mind of that father during the brief interval we cannot tell, but he still stood with the empty wine-glass in his hand and a fierce expression on his face.To Billy’s surprise, however, instead of seizing the keg and filling out a bumper, he said sternly—“See here,” and tossed the wine-glass into the sea. “Now lad,” he added, in a quiet voice, “throw that keg after it.”The poor boy looked at his sire with wondering eyes, and hesitated.“Overboard with it!” said David Bright in a voice of decision.With a mingling of wild amazement, glee, and good-will, Billy, exerting all his strength, hurled the rum-keg into the air, and it fell with a heavy splash upon the sea.“There, Billy,” said David, placing his hand gently on the boy’s head, “you go below and say your prayers, an’ if ye don’t know how to pray, get Luke Trevor to teach you, an’ don’t forget to thank God that your old father’s bin an’ done it at last.”We are not informed how far Billy complied with these remarkable orders, but certain we are that David Bright did not taste a drop of strong drink during the remainder of that voyage. Whether he tasted it afterwards at all must be left for this chronicle to tell at the proper time and place.At present it is necessary that we should return to Yarmouth, where Captain Bream, in pursuance of his deep-laid schemes, entered a bookseller’s shop and made a sweeping demand for theological literature.“What particular work do you require, sir?” asked the surprised and somewhat amused bookseller.“I don’t know that I want any one in particular,” said the captain, “I want pretty well all that have bin published up to this date. You know the names of ’em all, I suppose?”“Indeed no, sir,” answered the man with a look of uncertainty. “Theological works are very numerous, and some of them very expensive. Perhaps if—”“Now, look here. I’ve got neither time nor inclination to get upon the subject just now,” said the captain. “You just set your clerk to work to make out a list o’ the principal works o’ the kind you’ve got on hand, an’ I’ll come back in the evenin’ to see about it. Never mind the price. I won’t stick at that—nor yet the quality. Anything that throws light on religion will do.”“But, sir,” said the shopman, “some of the theological works of the present day are supposed—at least by the orthodox—to throw darkness instead of light on religion.”“All right,” returned the captain, “throw ’em all in. I don’t expect divines to agree any more than doctors. Besides, I’ve got a chart to steer by, called the Bible, that’ll keep me clear o’ rocks an’ shoals. You make your mind easy, an’ do as I bid you. Get the books together by six o’clock this evening, an’ the account made out, for I always pay cash down. Good-day.”Leaving the bookseller to employ himself with this astounding “order,” Captain Bream next went to that part of the town which faces the sea-beach, and knocked at the door of a house in the window of which was a ticket with “lodgings” inscribed on it.“Let me see your rooms, my good girl,” said the captain to the little maid who opened the door.The little maid looked up at the captain with some surprise and no little hesitancy. She evidently feared either that the rooms would not be suitable for the applicant or that the applicant would not be suitable for the rooms. She admitted him, however, and, leading him up-stairs, ushered him into the parlour of the establishment.“Splendid!” exclaimed the captain on beholding the large window, from which there was seen a glorious view of the sea, so near that the ships passing through the deep water close to the beach seemed as if they were trying which of them could sail nearest to land without grounding.“Splendid!” he repeated with immense satisfaction as he turned from the view to the room itself; “now this is what I call fortunate. The very thing—sofa for Miss Jessie—easy-chair for Miss Kate—rocking chair for both of ’em. Nothin’ quite suitable for me, (looking round), but that’s not difficult to remedy. Glass over the chimney to see their pretty faces in, and what have we here—a press?”“No, sir,” said the little maid, pushing open the door, “a small room off this one, sir.”“Glorious!” shouted the captain, entering and striking the top of the door-way with his head in doing so. “Nothing could be better. This is the theological library! Just the thing—good-sized window, same view, small table, and—well, I declare! if there ain’temptybookshelves!”“Very sorry, sir,” said the little maid, hastening to apologise; “we have no books, but they’ll be handy for any books you may bring to the sea-side with you, sir, or for any little knick-knacks and odds and ends.”“Yes, yes, my good girl. I’ll fetch a few theological odds and ends to-night that’ll p’r’aps fill ’em up. By the way, you’ve a bedroom, I hope?”He looked anxious, and the maid, who seemed inclined to laugh, said that of course they had, a nice airy bedroom on the same floor on the other side of the passage—also commanding the sea.The captain’s face beamed again.“And now, my girl—but, by the way, I shall want another bedroom. Have you—”“I’m sorry to say that we have not. The rest of the house is quite full.”Captain Bream’s face again became anxious. “That’s bad,” he said; “of course I can get one out o’ the house, but it would be inconvenient.”“Thereisa hattic, sir,” said the maid, “but it is ’igh up, and so very small, that I fear—”“Let me see the attic,” said the captain, promptly.The maid conducted him up another flight of steps to a room, or rather closet, which did not appear to be more than five feet broad and barely six feet long; including the storm-window, it might have been perhaps seven feet long. It was situated in a sort of angle, so that from the window you could have a view of a piece of slate roof, and two crooked chimney pots with a slice of the sea between them. As there was much traffic on the sea off that coast, the slice referred to frequently exhibited a ship or a boat for a few seconds.“My study!” murmured the captain, looking round on the bare walls, and the wooden chair, and a low bedstead which constituted the furniture. “Not much room for the intellect to expand here. However, I’ve seen worse.”“We consider it a very good hattic, sir,” said the little maid, somewhat hurt by the last remark.“I meant no offence, my dear,” said the captain, with one of his blandest smiles, “only the berthisrather small, d’ee see, for a man of my size. It is first-rate as far as it goes, but if it went a little further—in the direction of the sea, you know—it might give me a little more room to kick about my legs. But it’ll do. It’ll do. I’ll take all the rooms, so you’ll consider them engaged.”“But you haven’t asked the price of ’em yet sir,” said the little maid.“I don’t care tuppence about the price, my dear. Are you the landlady?”“La! no, sir,” replied the girl, laughing outright as they returned to the parlour.“Well then, you send the landlady to me, and I’ll soon settle matters.”When the landlady appeared, the captain was as good as his word. He at once agreed to her terms, as well as her stipulations, and paid the first week’s rent in advance on the spot.“Now,” said he, on leaving, “I’ll come back this evening with a lot of books. To-morrow forenoon, the ladies for whom the rooms are taken will arrive, please God, and you will have everything ready and in apple-pie order for ’em. I’ll see about grub afterwards, but in the meantime you may give orders to have sent in to-morrow a lot o’ fresh eggs and milk and cream—lots of cream—and fresh butter and tea and coffee an’ suchlike. But I needn’t do more than give a wink to a lady of your experience.”With this last gallant remark Captain Bream left the lodging and strolled down to the sea-beach.
One day a fishing-smack was on the eve of quitting the Short Blue fleet for its little holiday of a week in port. It was theSparrow, of which Jim Frost was master. A flag was flying to indicate its intention, and invite letters, etcetera, for home, if any of the crews should feel disposed to send them.
Several boats put off from their respective smacks in reply to the signal. One of these belonged to Singing Peter.
“Glad to see you, Peter,” said Jim Frost as the former leaped on theSparrow’sdeck.
“Same to you, lad. I wish you a pleasant spell ashore, and may the Master be with you,” returned Peter.
“The Master is sure to be with me,” replied Frost, “for has he not said, ‘I will never leave thee?’ Isn’t it a fine thing, Peter, to think that, whatever happens, the Lord is here to guard us from evil?”
“Ay, Jim, an’ to take us home when the time comes.”
“‘Which is far better,’” responded Jim.
“You’ll not get away to-night,” remarked Peter as he gazed out upon the sea. “It’s goin’ to fall calm.”
“No matter. I can wait.”
“What say ye, lad, to a hymn?” said Peter.
“I’m your man,” replied Jim, with a laugh, “I thought it wouldn’t be long before Singin’ Peter would want to raise his pipe.”
“He can’t help it, d’ee see,” returned Peter, answering the laugh with a smile; “if I didn’t sing I’d blow up. It’s my safety-valve, Jim, an’ I like to blow off steam when I gets alongside o’ like-minded men.”
“We’re all like-minded here. Fetch my accordion,” said Jim, turning to one of his men.
In a few minutes a lively hymn was raised in lusty tones which rolled far and wide over the slumbering sea. Then these like-minded men offered up several prayers, and it was observed that Jim Frost was peculiarly earnest that night. Of course they had some more hymns, for as the calm was by that time complete, and it was not possible for any sailing vessel to quit the fleet, there was no occasion to hurry. Indeed there is no saying how long these iron-framed fishermen would have kept it up, if it had not been for a slight fog which warned the visitors to depart.
As the night advanced the fog thickened, so that it was not possible to see more than fifty yards around any of the fishing-smacks.
Now it is probably known to most people that the greatest danger to which those who do business on the sea are exposed is during fog.
When all around is calm and peaceful; when the sound of voices comes with muffled sound over the smooth water; when the eye sees nothing save a ghostly white horizon all round close at hand; when almost the only sound that breaks on the ear is the gentle lapping of the sea, or the quiet creak of plank and spar, as the vessel slowly lifts and falls on the gentle swell, and when landsmen perchance feel most secure—then it is that the dark cloud of danger lowers most heavily, though perhaps unrecognised, over the mariner, and stirs him to anxious watchfulness, when apparently in profoundest repose.
Jim Frost knew well the dangers of the situation, but he had been long accustomed to face all the dangers peculiar to his calling on the deep without flinching—strong in the confidence of his well-tried courage and seamanship, and stronger still in his trust in Him who holds the water in the hollow of His hand. Many a time had he been becalmed in fog on the North Sea. He knew what to do, kept the fog-horn blowing, and took all the steps for safety that were possible in the circumstances.
But, somehow, the young fisherman did not feel his usual easy-going indifference on that particular night, though his trust in God was not less strong. He felt no fear, indeed, but a solemn sobriety of spirit had taken the place of his wonted cheery temperament, and, instead of singing in lively tones as he paced the deck, he hummed airs of a slow pathetic kind in a soft undertone.
It is often said that men receive mysterious intimations, sometimes, of impending disaster. It may be so. We cannot tell. Certainly it seemed as if Jim Frost had received some such intimation that night.
“I can’t understand it, Evan,” he said to his mate when the latter came on deck a little after midnight to relieve him. “A feeling as if something was going to happen has taken possession of me, and I can’t shake it off. You know I’m not the man to fancy danger when there’s none.”
Evan—a youth whom he had been the means of rescuing when about to fall, under great temptation—replied that perhaps want of sleep was the cause.
“You know,” he said, “men become little better than babbies when they goes long without sleep, an’ you’ve not had much of late. What with that tearin’ o’ the net an’ the gale that’s just gone, an’ that book, you know—”
“Ah!” interrupted Jim, “you mustn’t lay the blame on the book, Evan. I haven’t bin sittin’ upverylate at it; though I confess I’m uncommon fond o’ readin’. Besides, it’s a good book, more likely to quiet a man’s mind than to rouse it. How we ever got on without readin’ before that mission-ship came to us, is more than I can understand! Why, it seems to have lifted me into a new world.”
“That’s so. I’m fond o’ readin’ myself,” said Evan, who, although not quite so enthusiastic or intellectual as his friend, appreciated very highly the library-bags which had been recently sent to the fleet.
“But the strange thing is,” said Jim, returning to the subject of his impressions—“the strange thing is, that my mind is not runnin’ on danger or damaged gear, or books, or gales, but on my dear wife at home. I’ve bin thinkin’ of Nancy in a way that I don’t remember to have done before, an’ the face of my darlin’ Lucy, wi’ her black eyes an’ rosy cheeks so like her mother, is never absent from my eyes for a moment.”
“Want o’ sleep,” said the practical Evan. “You’d better turn in an’ have a good spell as long as the calm lasts.”
“You remember the patch o’ green in front o’ my cottage in Gorleston?” asked Jim, paying no attention to his mate’s advice.
“Yes,” answered Evan.
“Well, when I was sittin’ for’ard there, not half-an-hour since, I seed my Nancy a-sittin’ on that green as plain as I see you, sewin’ away at somethin’, an’ Lucy playin’ at her knee. They was so real-like that I couldn’t help sayin’ ‘Nancy!’ an’ I do assure you that she stopped sewin’ an’ turned her head a-one side for a moment as if she was listenin’. An’ it was all so real-like too.”
“You was dreamin’; that was all,” said the unromantic Evan.
“No, mate. I wasn’t dreamin’,” returned Jim. “I was as wide awake as I am at this moment for I was lookin’ out all round just as keen as if I had not bin thinkin’ about home at all.”
“Well, you’d as well go below an’ dream about ’em now if you can,” suggested Evan, “an’ I’ll keep a sharp look-out.”
“No, lad, I can’t. I’m not a bit sleepy.”
As Jim said this he turned and went to the bow of the smack.
At that moment the muffled sound of a steamer’s paddles was heard. Probably the fog had something to do with the peculiarity of the sound, for next moment a fog-whistle sounded its harsh tone close at hand, and a dark towering shadow seemed to rush down upon theSparrow.
Even if there had been a breeze there would have been no time to steer clear of the danger. As it was, the little vessel lay quite helpless on the sea, Evan shouted down the companion for the men to turn out for their lives. The man at the bow sounded the fog-horn loud and long. At the same instant Jim Frost’s voice rang out strong and clear a warning cry. It was answered from above. There were sudden screams and cries. The fog-whistle shrieked. Engines were reversed. “Hard a-port!” was shouted. Steam was blown off, and, amid confusion and turmoil indescribable, an ocean steamer struck the littleSparrowamidships, and fairly rammed her into the sea.
It could scarcely be said that there was a crash. The one was too heavy and the other too light for that. The smack lay over almost gracefully, as if submitting humbly to her inevitable doom. There was one great cry, and next moment she was rolling beneath the keel of the monster that had so ruthlessly run her down.
Not far off—so near indeed that those on board almost saw the catastrophe—lay theEvening Star. They of course heard the cries and the confusion, and knew only too well what had occurred.
To order out the boat was the work of an instant. With powerful strokes Joe, Spivin, Trevor, and Gunter, caused it to leap to the rescue. On reaching the spot they discovered and saved the mate. He was found clinging to an oar, but all the others had disappeared. The steamer which had done the deed had lowered a boat, and diligent search was made in all directions round the spot where the fatal collision had occurred. No other living soul, however, was found. Only a few broken spars and the upturned boat of the smack remained to tell where Jim Frost, and the rest of his like-minded men, had exchanged the garb of toil for the garments of glory!
As a matter of course this event made a profound impression for a time on board of theEvening Starand of such vessels as were near enough next morning to be informed of the sad news. A large portion of the fleet, however, was for some time unaware of what had taken place, and some of the masters and crews who were averse to what they styled “psalm-singin’ and prayin’,” did not seem to be much affected by the loss.
Whether grieved or indifferent however, the work of the fleet had to be done. Whether fishermen live or die, sink or swim, the inexorable demand of Billingsgate for fish must be met! Accordingly, next day about noon, a fresh breeze having sprung up, and a carrier-steamer being there ready for her load, the same lively scene which we have described in a previous chapter was re-enacted, and after the smacks were discharged they all went off as formerly in the same direction, like a shoal of herrings, to new fishing-grounds.
When they had got well away to the eastward and were beating up against a stiff northerly breeze, David Bright who stood near the helm of theEvening Star, said to his son in a peculiarly low voice—
“Now, Billy, you go below an’ fetch me a glass of grog.”
Billy went below as desired, but very unwillingly, for he well knew his father’s varying moods, and recognised in the peculiar tone in which the order was given, a species of despondency—almost amounting to despair—which not unfrequently ushered in some of his worst fits of intemperance.
“Your fadder’s in de blues to-day,” said Zulu, as he toiled over his cooking apparatus in the little cabin; “when he spok like dat, he goes in for heavy drink.”
“I know that well enough,” returned Billy, almost angrily.
“Why you no try him wid a ’speriment?” asked the cook, wrinkling up his nose and displaying his tremendous gums.
“For any sake don’t open your mouth like that, Zulu, but tell me what you mean by a ’speriment,” said the boy.
“How kin I tell what’s a ’speriment if I’m not to open my mout’?”
“Shut up, you nigger! an’ talk sense.”
“Der you go agin, Billy. How kin I talk sense if I’m to shut up? Don’t you know what a ’speriment is? Why it’s—it’s—just a ’speriment you know—a dodge.”
“If you mean a dodge, why don’t you say a dodge?” retorted Billy; “well, what is your dodge? look alive, for daddy’ll be shoutin’ for his grog in a minute.”
“You jus’ listen,” said the cook, in a hoarse whisper, as he opened his enormous eyes to their widest, “you jus’ take a wine-glass—de big ’un as your fadder be fond of—an’ put in ’im two teaspoonfuls o’ vinegar, one tablespoonful o’ parafine hoil, one leetle pinch o’ pepper, an’ one big pinch ob salt with a leetle mustard, an’ give ’im dat. Your fadder never take time to smell him’s grog—always toss ’im off quick.”
“Yes, an’ then he’d toss the wine-glass into my face an’ kick me round the deck afterwards, if not overboard,” said Billy, with a look of contempt. “No, Zulu, I don’t like your ’speriment, but you’ve put a notion into my head, for even when a fool speaks a wise man may learn—”
“Yes, I often tink dat,” said the cook, interrupting, with a look of innocence. “You quite right, so speak away, Billy, an’ I’ll learn.”
“You fetch me the wine-glass,” said the boy, sharply.
Zulu obeyed.
“Now, fill it up with water—so, an’ put in a little brown sugar to give it colour. That’s enough, stir him up. Not bad rum—tolookat. I’ll try father wi’ that.”
Accordingly, our little hero went on deck and handed the glass to his father—retreating a step or two, promptly yet quietly, after doing so.
As Zulu had said, David Bright did not waste time in smelling his liquor. He emptied the glass at one gulp, and then gazed at his son with closed lips and gradually widening eyes.
“It’s only sugar and water, daddy,” said Billy, uncertain whether to laugh or look grave.
For a few moments the skipper was speechless. Then his face flushed, and he said in a voice of thunder, “Go below an’ fetch up the keg.”
There was no disobeyingthatorder! The poor boy leaped down the ladder and seized the rum-keg.
“Your ’speriment might have been better after all, Zulu,” he whispered as he passed up again, and stood before his father.
What may have passed in the mind of that father during the brief interval we cannot tell, but he still stood with the empty wine-glass in his hand and a fierce expression on his face.
To Billy’s surprise, however, instead of seizing the keg and filling out a bumper, he said sternly—“See here,” and tossed the wine-glass into the sea. “Now lad,” he added, in a quiet voice, “throw that keg after it.”
The poor boy looked at his sire with wondering eyes, and hesitated.
“Overboard with it!” said David Bright in a voice of decision.
With a mingling of wild amazement, glee, and good-will, Billy, exerting all his strength, hurled the rum-keg into the air, and it fell with a heavy splash upon the sea.
“There, Billy,” said David, placing his hand gently on the boy’s head, “you go below and say your prayers, an’ if ye don’t know how to pray, get Luke Trevor to teach you, an’ don’t forget to thank God that your old father’s bin an’ done it at last.”
We are not informed how far Billy complied with these remarkable orders, but certain we are that David Bright did not taste a drop of strong drink during the remainder of that voyage. Whether he tasted it afterwards at all must be left for this chronicle to tell at the proper time and place.
At present it is necessary that we should return to Yarmouth, where Captain Bream, in pursuance of his deep-laid schemes, entered a bookseller’s shop and made a sweeping demand for theological literature.
“What particular work do you require, sir?” asked the surprised and somewhat amused bookseller.
“I don’t know that I want any one in particular,” said the captain, “I want pretty well all that have bin published up to this date. You know the names of ’em all, I suppose?”
“Indeed no, sir,” answered the man with a look of uncertainty. “Theological works are very numerous, and some of them very expensive. Perhaps if—”
“Now, look here. I’ve got neither time nor inclination to get upon the subject just now,” said the captain. “You just set your clerk to work to make out a list o’ the principal works o’ the kind you’ve got on hand, an’ I’ll come back in the evenin’ to see about it. Never mind the price. I won’t stick at that—nor yet the quality. Anything that throws light on religion will do.”
“But, sir,” said the shopman, “some of the theological works of the present day are supposed—at least by the orthodox—to throw darkness instead of light on religion.”
“All right,” returned the captain, “throw ’em all in. I don’t expect divines to agree any more than doctors. Besides, I’ve got a chart to steer by, called the Bible, that’ll keep me clear o’ rocks an’ shoals. You make your mind easy, an’ do as I bid you. Get the books together by six o’clock this evening, an’ the account made out, for I always pay cash down. Good-day.”
Leaving the bookseller to employ himself with this astounding “order,” Captain Bream next went to that part of the town which faces the sea-beach, and knocked at the door of a house in the window of which was a ticket with “lodgings” inscribed on it.
“Let me see your rooms, my good girl,” said the captain to the little maid who opened the door.
The little maid looked up at the captain with some surprise and no little hesitancy. She evidently feared either that the rooms would not be suitable for the applicant or that the applicant would not be suitable for the rooms. She admitted him, however, and, leading him up-stairs, ushered him into the parlour of the establishment.
“Splendid!” exclaimed the captain on beholding the large window, from which there was seen a glorious view of the sea, so near that the ships passing through the deep water close to the beach seemed as if they were trying which of them could sail nearest to land without grounding.
“Splendid!” he repeated with immense satisfaction as he turned from the view to the room itself; “now this is what I call fortunate. The very thing—sofa for Miss Jessie—easy-chair for Miss Kate—rocking chair for both of ’em. Nothin’ quite suitable for me, (looking round), but that’s not difficult to remedy. Glass over the chimney to see their pretty faces in, and what have we here—a press?”
“No, sir,” said the little maid, pushing open the door, “a small room off this one, sir.”
“Glorious!” shouted the captain, entering and striking the top of the door-way with his head in doing so. “Nothing could be better. This is the theological library! Just the thing—good-sized window, same view, small table, and—well, I declare! if there ain’temptybookshelves!”
“Very sorry, sir,” said the little maid, hastening to apologise; “we have no books, but they’ll be handy for any books you may bring to the sea-side with you, sir, or for any little knick-knacks and odds and ends.”
“Yes, yes, my good girl. I’ll fetch a few theological odds and ends to-night that’ll p’r’aps fill ’em up. By the way, you’ve a bedroom, I hope?”
He looked anxious, and the maid, who seemed inclined to laugh, said that of course they had, a nice airy bedroom on the same floor on the other side of the passage—also commanding the sea.
The captain’s face beamed again.
“And now, my girl—but, by the way, I shall want another bedroom. Have you—”
“I’m sorry to say that we have not. The rest of the house is quite full.”
Captain Bream’s face again became anxious. “That’s bad,” he said; “of course I can get one out o’ the house, but it would be inconvenient.”
“Thereisa hattic, sir,” said the maid, “but it is ’igh up, and so very small, that I fear—”
“Let me see the attic,” said the captain, promptly.
The maid conducted him up another flight of steps to a room, or rather closet, which did not appear to be more than five feet broad and barely six feet long; including the storm-window, it might have been perhaps seven feet long. It was situated in a sort of angle, so that from the window you could have a view of a piece of slate roof, and two crooked chimney pots with a slice of the sea between them. As there was much traffic on the sea off that coast, the slice referred to frequently exhibited a ship or a boat for a few seconds.
“My study!” murmured the captain, looking round on the bare walls, and the wooden chair, and a low bedstead which constituted the furniture. “Not much room for the intellect to expand here. However, I’ve seen worse.”
“We consider it a very good hattic, sir,” said the little maid, somewhat hurt by the last remark.
“I meant no offence, my dear,” said the captain, with one of his blandest smiles, “only the berthisrather small, d’ee see, for a man of my size. It is first-rate as far as it goes, but if it went a little further—in the direction of the sea, you know—it might give me a little more room to kick about my legs. But it’ll do. It’ll do. I’ll take all the rooms, so you’ll consider them engaged.”
“But you haven’t asked the price of ’em yet sir,” said the little maid.
“I don’t care tuppence about the price, my dear. Are you the landlady?”
“La! no, sir,” replied the girl, laughing outright as they returned to the parlour.
“Well then, you send the landlady to me, and I’ll soon settle matters.”
When the landlady appeared, the captain was as good as his word. He at once agreed to her terms, as well as her stipulations, and paid the first week’s rent in advance on the spot.
“Now,” said he, on leaving, “I’ll come back this evening with a lot of books. To-morrow forenoon, the ladies for whom the rooms are taken will arrive, please God, and you will have everything ready and in apple-pie order for ’em. I’ll see about grub afterwards, but in the meantime you may give orders to have sent in to-morrow a lot o’ fresh eggs and milk and cream—lots of cream—and fresh butter and tea and coffee an’ suchlike. But I needn’t do more than give a wink to a lady of your experience.”
With this last gallant remark Captain Bream left the lodging and strolled down to the sea-beach.
Chapter Fourteen.Ruth’s Hopes as to her Plot brighten a little.“Mother,” said Ruth one day to her dignified parent, “shall you be soon free of engagements?”“Yes, probably by the end of next week. Why do you ask?”“Because I am longing to get away to Yarmouth. I had a letter from dear Kate Seaward to-day. They have been a week in their lodging now, and are enjoying it immensely. Here is the letter. Let me read a bit of it to you. She says: ‘You have no idea how much we are charmed with this place. It is a perfect paradise! Perhaps part of our feeling of delight is due to the great change from our smoky little residence in London, but you would not wonder at my enthusiasm if you saw the sweet little window beside which I am writing, and the splendid sea—like a great field of clear glass, which spreads away on all sides to the horizon. Oh! I do love the sea—to look at, I mean. You must not suppose, dear, that I have any love left when I amonit. Oh no! The memory of my last crossing of the Channel—that dreadful British Channel—is as fresh as if it had happened yesterday—the heaving of the steamer and the howling of the wind, the staggering of the passengers, and the expression of their faces, to say nothing of their colour. And then the sensations! Appalling is a mild word. It is not appropriate. If I might coin a word, horrific seems more suitable. But words utterly fail when deep and powerful sensations are concerned. I do assure you, Ruth, that I was absolutely indifferent as to what should become of me that dreadful day as I lay extended flat on my back on one of the saloon sofas. And when that nurse with the baby was forced by a lurch of the ship to sit down on me, I do believe that I could have thanked her if she had crushed me out of existence. Yes, I hate the sea as a place of residence, but I love it as an object to be looked at, especially when it is calm and glittering, as it now is, in the early morning sun.“Talking of the early morning reminds me of good Captain Bream, who is one of the most singular and incomprehensible creatures I ever met with. He is an early riser—not that that makes him singular—but instead of going out to walk he remains up in his pigeon-hole of a room studying theology! And such a miscellaneous collection of books he has got on all sorts of religious controversy! He say he wants to be able to meet the objections of unbelievers whom he sometimes encounters when preaching to sailors. Jessie and I have heard him preach to a number of sailors and fishermen assembled in an old boat-shed, and you have no idea, Ruth, how delightful it is to hear him.Sodifferent from what one expected, and so very unlike the preaching of many men. I have often wondered why it is that some men—sensible men, too, in other matters—should think it necessary to talk in a sing-song, or whiny voice, with a pathetic drawl, or through their noses, when they have to speak on religious subjects! I once heard an indignant clergyman say that he thought it was a device of the devil to turn sacred things into ridicule, but I cannot agree with that. It seems to me that men are often too ready to saddle Satan with evil devices which they ought to fix on their own stupid shoulders. Captain Bream simplytalkswhen he preaches; just as if he were talking on any business matter of great importance, and he does it so nicely, too, and so earnestly, like a father talking to his children. Many of the rough-looking fishermen were quite melted, and after the meeting a good many of them remained behind to talk with him privately. Jessie and I are convinced that he is doing a great and good work here. But he is a most eccentric man, and seems a good deal perplexed by his theological studies. The other day Jessie ventured to question him about these, and he became quite energetic as he said:—“‘I tell ’ee what it is, ladies, when I go cruisin’ out and in among these theological volumes until I lose my reckoning altogether an’ git among shoals an’ quicksands that I never so much as heard of before, I just lay hold o’ the cable that’s made fast to my sheet-anchor, and I haul in on that. Here is the sheet-anchor, he said, pulling his little Bible from his pocket, the Word of God. That’s it. When I feel how ignorant an’ stoopid an’ unlearned I am, I just keep haulin’ on the cable till I come to some such word as this, “Not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit, saith the Lord,” an’ so I’m comforted, an’ my mind’s made easy, for, after all we may think and say and read, itmustcome to this—“Let every man be fully persuaded in his own mind.” Every man must work out his own theology for himself, accordin’ to that Word, and I’ve worked it out so far by God’s blessin’, that Jesus Christ—the God—man—is my foundation, the Holy Spirit is my guide, and salvation from sin is my aim and end—not only for myself but for my fellow-sinners.“‘But I must not go on quoting the Captain’s sayings and eccentric doings, else I shall never stop.“‘When are you and your mother coming down? I cannot tell how much we long to have you with us to share in our enjoyment of this charming place. And the fisher-people are so interesting too. I don’t wonder you took such a fancy to them. Of course we have not had time to make acquaintance with many of them yet. And Jessie has become so engrossed with the Captain’s theological books that I can’t tear her away from them. At first she began to inspect their contents with a view to tabulate them and help the captain, but she gets so deep in them that she forgets time altogether, and I have often found her, after having been several hours in the library, sitting there poring over a huge volume without having made a single note or jotting! The captain is quite facetious about it, and said yesterday that if she didn’t work a little harder he’d have to dismiss her from the service an’ ship a new hand. Then he dragged us both out for a long walk on the beach. We cannot resist him. Nobody can. Andsuchcream as we have!—more like thin butter than cream. And such quantities of it too, for he declares he is very fond of it, and must always have plenty on hand. But I cannot help thinking it is for our sakes he has it, for although he talks much about it and makes great demonstration and noise when he drinks it, he does not really consume much—and you know it must be drunk by somebody, else it would spoil. Oh! we are having, as the captain himself says, a remarkably jolly time of it here, and only want you to make our happiness complete. But with all his fun and energy and cheerfulness, I cannot avoid noticing that dear Captain Bream is frequently very pensive and absent. I cannot help thinking sometimes that he is the victim of some secret sorrow.’”At this point Ruth looked up in her mother’s face and burst into a fit of hilarious laughter.“Only think, mother,” she said, “of great big, stout, jolly old Captain Bream having a secret sorrow!”“My dear,” said Mrs Dotropy in a reproachful tone, “you are too flippant in your references to stout old people. You should remember that even the stoutest of them may once have been thin. And it is not impossible that Captain Bream may still be suffering from unrequited affection, or—”Again Ruth burst into silvery laughter, but checked it and apologised.“I can’t help it mother. It does seem so funny to think of Captain Bream having ever been thin, or with hair on his head, or suffering from disappointed love. I wonder that it does not occur to Kate that the good man is perhaps suffering because of the sorrows of others. It would be much more like his generous and unselfish nature. But now, mother, may I write to Kate and tell her to expect us next week?”“Yes, I think you may. But why are you in such haste, child?”“Because I’m burning to clear up that little mystery that I told you of—if indeed it is a mystery, and not a mere fancy.”Ruth sighed as if her spirit were slightly troubled. “Really, child, you have quite raised my curiosity about that mystery as you call it. Why will you not confide in me?”“Because I may be all wrong, and when I find out that I’m right—if I find out that I’m right—then you shall know all about it.”“And there’s that chest, too, that the captain sent here for us to take care of when he left town,” continued Mrs Dotropy, “you make quite a mystery about that too, for I see that you know something about it. If I had not perfect confidence in your heart, child, I should feel quite anxious, for it is the first time in your life that you have concealed anything from me.”“Thank you, mother, for trusting my heart,” said Ruth, putting an arm round the dignified lady’s neck and kissing her.“That’s all very well, Ruth, but I do not put so much trust in your head.”“I’m sorry for that, Mother, but meantime my head says that while it would be wrong in me to keep any secret about myself from you, I have no right to reveal the secrets of others. But about this chest—has the banker sent for it yet?”“No, not yet but I expect some one from the bank every minute, (she consulted a small jewelled watch), and it is probable that our young friend Mr Dalton himself may come.”“Mr Dalton!” exclaimed Ruth, with a sudden flush that might have indicated pleasure or annoyance. Mrs Dotropy, however, did not observe the flush, but continued—“The chest seems miraculously heavy. I told James to put it into the store-room, but he could not lift it, although he is a strong man, and had to get the butler’s assistance.”At that moment the conversation was interrupted by the door being thrown open, and Mr Dalton was announced.He was a young man of handsome face and figure, with dark eyes, short curly hair, and a pleasing address.Apologising for not being more punctual in calling for the chest, he explained that pressing-business had detained him.“Of course, of course,” said Mrs Dotropy, with the familiarity of an old friend—for such she was to the youth—“you men of business always carry about that cloak of pressing-business to cover your sins and shortcomings with.”“Nay, you are unjust,” said the young man, “I appeal to Miss Ruth. Did I not say to Captain Bream that I might perhaps have difficulty in getting away at the hour named, as it was a business hour, and, the transaction being of a friendly and private nature—”“My dear sir,” interrupted Mrs Dotropy, “if it is private, pray do not make it public.”“Has not Miss Ruth, then, told you—”He stopped and looked from one lady to the other.“Miss Ruth,” said that young lady, flushing deeply, “is supposed to know nothing whatever about your transactions with Captain Bream. Shall I go and tell James to carry the box down-stairs, mother?”Mrs Dotropy gave permission, and Ruth retired. A few minutes later, young Dalton drove away with the captain’s chest of gold.A week after that the mother and daughter drove away from the same door to the railway station, and in process of time found themselves one pleasant afternoon at Yarmouth, in the little parlour with the window that commanded the gorgeous view of the sea, taking tea with the captain himself and his friends Jessie and Kate Seaward.A lodging had been secured quite close to their own by the Dotropys.“Now,” said Ruth to Jessie that evening in private, with flushed cheeks and eager eyes, “I shall be able to carry out my little plot, and see whether I am right, now that I have at last got Captain Bream down to Yarmouth.”“What little plot?” asked Jessie.“I may not tell you yet,” said Ruth with a laugh. “I shall let you know all about it soon.”But Ruth was wrong. There was destined to be a slip ’twixt the cup and her sweet lip just then, for that same evening Captain Bream received a telegram from London, which induced him to leave Yarmouth hastily to see a friend, he said, and keep an old-standing engagement. He promised, however, to be back in two or three days at furthest.
“Mother,” said Ruth one day to her dignified parent, “shall you be soon free of engagements?”
“Yes, probably by the end of next week. Why do you ask?”
“Because I am longing to get away to Yarmouth. I had a letter from dear Kate Seaward to-day. They have been a week in their lodging now, and are enjoying it immensely. Here is the letter. Let me read a bit of it to you. She says: ‘You have no idea how much we are charmed with this place. It is a perfect paradise! Perhaps part of our feeling of delight is due to the great change from our smoky little residence in London, but you would not wonder at my enthusiasm if you saw the sweet little window beside which I am writing, and the splendid sea—like a great field of clear glass, which spreads away on all sides to the horizon. Oh! I do love the sea—to look at, I mean. You must not suppose, dear, that I have any love left when I amonit. Oh no! The memory of my last crossing of the Channel—that dreadful British Channel—is as fresh as if it had happened yesterday—the heaving of the steamer and the howling of the wind, the staggering of the passengers, and the expression of their faces, to say nothing of their colour. And then the sensations! Appalling is a mild word. It is not appropriate. If I might coin a word, horrific seems more suitable. But words utterly fail when deep and powerful sensations are concerned. I do assure you, Ruth, that I was absolutely indifferent as to what should become of me that dreadful day as I lay extended flat on my back on one of the saloon sofas. And when that nurse with the baby was forced by a lurch of the ship to sit down on me, I do believe that I could have thanked her if she had crushed me out of existence. Yes, I hate the sea as a place of residence, but I love it as an object to be looked at, especially when it is calm and glittering, as it now is, in the early morning sun.
“Talking of the early morning reminds me of good Captain Bream, who is one of the most singular and incomprehensible creatures I ever met with. He is an early riser—not that that makes him singular—but instead of going out to walk he remains up in his pigeon-hole of a room studying theology! And such a miscellaneous collection of books he has got on all sorts of religious controversy! He say he wants to be able to meet the objections of unbelievers whom he sometimes encounters when preaching to sailors. Jessie and I have heard him preach to a number of sailors and fishermen assembled in an old boat-shed, and you have no idea, Ruth, how delightful it is to hear him.Sodifferent from what one expected, and so very unlike the preaching of many men. I have often wondered why it is that some men—sensible men, too, in other matters—should think it necessary to talk in a sing-song, or whiny voice, with a pathetic drawl, or through their noses, when they have to speak on religious subjects! I once heard an indignant clergyman say that he thought it was a device of the devil to turn sacred things into ridicule, but I cannot agree with that. It seems to me that men are often too ready to saddle Satan with evil devices which they ought to fix on their own stupid shoulders. Captain Bream simplytalkswhen he preaches; just as if he were talking on any business matter of great importance, and he does it so nicely, too, and so earnestly, like a father talking to his children. Many of the rough-looking fishermen were quite melted, and after the meeting a good many of them remained behind to talk with him privately. Jessie and I are convinced that he is doing a great and good work here. But he is a most eccentric man, and seems a good deal perplexed by his theological studies. The other day Jessie ventured to question him about these, and he became quite energetic as he said:—
“‘I tell ’ee what it is, ladies, when I go cruisin’ out and in among these theological volumes until I lose my reckoning altogether an’ git among shoals an’ quicksands that I never so much as heard of before, I just lay hold o’ the cable that’s made fast to my sheet-anchor, and I haul in on that. Here is the sheet-anchor, he said, pulling his little Bible from his pocket, the Word of God. That’s it. When I feel how ignorant an’ stoopid an’ unlearned I am, I just keep haulin’ on the cable till I come to some such word as this, “Not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit, saith the Lord,” an’ so I’m comforted, an’ my mind’s made easy, for, after all we may think and say and read, itmustcome to this—“Let every man be fully persuaded in his own mind.” Every man must work out his own theology for himself, accordin’ to that Word, and I’ve worked it out so far by God’s blessin’, that Jesus Christ—the God—man—is my foundation, the Holy Spirit is my guide, and salvation from sin is my aim and end—not only for myself but for my fellow-sinners.
“‘But I must not go on quoting the Captain’s sayings and eccentric doings, else I shall never stop.
“‘When are you and your mother coming down? I cannot tell how much we long to have you with us to share in our enjoyment of this charming place. And the fisher-people are so interesting too. I don’t wonder you took such a fancy to them. Of course we have not had time to make acquaintance with many of them yet. And Jessie has become so engrossed with the Captain’s theological books that I can’t tear her away from them. At first she began to inspect their contents with a view to tabulate them and help the captain, but she gets so deep in them that she forgets time altogether, and I have often found her, after having been several hours in the library, sitting there poring over a huge volume without having made a single note or jotting! The captain is quite facetious about it, and said yesterday that if she didn’t work a little harder he’d have to dismiss her from the service an’ ship a new hand. Then he dragged us both out for a long walk on the beach. We cannot resist him. Nobody can. Andsuchcream as we have!—more like thin butter than cream. And such quantities of it too, for he declares he is very fond of it, and must always have plenty on hand. But I cannot help thinking it is for our sakes he has it, for although he talks much about it and makes great demonstration and noise when he drinks it, he does not really consume much—and you know it must be drunk by somebody, else it would spoil. Oh! we are having, as the captain himself says, a remarkably jolly time of it here, and only want you to make our happiness complete. But with all his fun and energy and cheerfulness, I cannot avoid noticing that dear Captain Bream is frequently very pensive and absent. I cannot help thinking sometimes that he is the victim of some secret sorrow.’”
At this point Ruth looked up in her mother’s face and burst into a fit of hilarious laughter.
“Only think, mother,” she said, “of great big, stout, jolly old Captain Bream having a secret sorrow!”
“My dear,” said Mrs Dotropy in a reproachful tone, “you are too flippant in your references to stout old people. You should remember that even the stoutest of them may once have been thin. And it is not impossible that Captain Bream may still be suffering from unrequited affection, or—”
Again Ruth burst into silvery laughter, but checked it and apologised.
“I can’t help it mother. It does seem so funny to think of Captain Bream having ever been thin, or with hair on his head, or suffering from disappointed love. I wonder that it does not occur to Kate that the good man is perhaps suffering because of the sorrows of others. It would be much more like his generous and unselfish nature. But now, mother, may I write to Kate and tell her to expect us next week?”
“Yes, I think you may. But why are you in such haste, child?”
“Because I’m burning to clear up that little mystery that I told you of—if indeed it is a mystery, and not a mere fancy.”
Ruth sighed as if her spirit were slightly troubled. “Really, child, you have quite raised my curiosity about that mystery as you call it. Why will you not confide in me?”
“Because I may be all wrong, and when I find out that I’m right—if I find out that I’m right—then you shall know all about it.”
“And there’s that chest, too, that the captain sent here for us to take care of when he left town,” continued Mrs Dotropy, “you make quite a mystery about that too, for I see that you know something about it. If I had not perfect confidence in your heart, child, I should feel quite anxious, for it is the first time in your life that you have concealed anything from me.”
“Thank you, mother, for trusting my heart,” said Ruth, putting an arm round the dignified lady’s neck and kissing her.
“That’s all very well, Ruth, but I do not put so much trust in your head.”
“I’m sorry for that, Mother, but meantime my head says that while it would be wrong in me to keep any secret about myself from you, I have no right to reveal the secrets of others. But about this chest—has the banker sent for it yet?”
“No, not yet but I expect some one from the bank every minute, (she consulted a small jewelled watch), and it is probable that our young friend Mr Dalton himself may come.”
“Mr Dalton!” exclaimed Ruth, with a sudden flush that might have indicated pleasure or annoyance. Mrs Dotropy, however, did not observe the flush, but continued—
“The chest seems miraculously heavy. I told James to put it into the store-room, but he could not lift it, although he is a strong man, and had to get the butler’s assistance.”
At that moment the conversation was interrupted by the door being thrown open, and Mr Dalton was announced.
He was a young man of handsome face and figure, with dark eyes, short curly hair, and a pleasing address.
Apologising for not being more punctual in calling for the chest, he explained that pressing-business had detained him.
“Of course, of course,” said Mrs Dotropy, with the familiarity of an old friend—for such she was to the youth—“you men of business always carry about that cloak of pressing-business to cover your sins and shortcomings with.”
“Nay, you are unjust,” said the young man, “I appeal to Miss Ruth. Did I not say to Captain Bream that I might perhaps have difficulty in getting away at the hour named, as it was a business hour, and, the transaction being of a friendly and private nature—”
“My dear sir,” interrupted Mrs Dotropy, “if it is private, pray do not make it public.”
“Has not Miss Ruth, then, told you—”
He stopped and looked from one lady to the other.
“Miss Ruth,” said that young lady, flushing deeply, “is supposed to know nothing whatever about your transactions with Captain Bream. Shall I go and tell James to carry the box down-stairs, mother?”
Mrs Dotropy gave permission, and Ruth retired. A few minutes later, young Dalton drove away with the captain’s chest of gold.
A week after that the mother and daughter drove away from the same door to the railway station, and in process of time found themselves one pleasant afternoon at Yarmouth, in the little parlour with the window that commanded the gorgeous view of the sea, taking tea with the captain himself and his friends Jessie and Kate Seaward.
A lodging had been secured quite close to their own by the Dotropys.
“Now,” said Ruth to Jessie that evening in private, with flushed cheeks and eager eyes, “I shall be able to carry out my little plot, and see whether I am right, now that I have at last got Captain Bream down to Yarmouth.”
“What little plot?” asked Jessie.
“I may not tell you yet,” said Ruth with a laugh. “I shall let you know all about it soon.”
But Ruth was wrong. There was destined to be a slip ’twixt the cup and her sweet lip just then, for that same evening Captain Bream received a telegram from London, which induced him to leave Yarmouth hastily to see a friend, he said, and keep an old-standing engagement. He promised, however, to be back in two or three days at furthest.
Chapter Fifteen.A Cloud comes over Ruth’s Hopes, and dims their Brightness.To prevent the reader supposing that there is any deep-laid scheme or profound mystery with which we mean to torment him during the course of our tale, we may as well say at once that the little plot, which Ruth had in view, and which began to grow quite into a romance the longer she pondered it, was neither more nor less than to bring Captain Bream and Mrs David Bright face to face.Ruth had what we may style a constructive mind. Give her a few rough materials, and straight-way she would build a castle with them. If she had not enough of material, she immediately invented more, and thus continued her castle-building. Being highly imaginative and romantic, her structures were sometimes amazing edifices, at which orthodox architects might have turned up their noses—and with some reason, too, for poor little Ruth’s castles were built frequently on bad foundations, and sometimes even in the air, so that they too often fell in splendid ruins at her feet!It would not be just however, to say that none of Ruth’s buildings stood firm. Occasionally she built upon a good foundation. Now and then she made a straight shot and hit the mark. For instance, the little edifice of cuffs and comforters to the North Sea trawlers survived, and remains to the present day a monument of usefulness, (which few monuments are), and of well-placed philanthropy. It may not, perhaps, be just to say that Ruth actually laid the foundation—conceived the first idea—of that good work, but she was at all events among the first builders, became an active overseer, and did much of the work with her own hands. Still, as we have said, too many of Ruth’s castles came to the ground, and the poor thing was so well used to the sight of falling material that she had at last begun to be quite expert in detecting the first symptoms of dissolution, and often regarded them with despairing anxiety. It was so with her when Captain Bream was summoned so suddenly away from Yarmouth.Eagerly, anxiously, had she planned to get him down to that town for the purpose of confronting him with Mrs David Bright—the reason being that, from various things the captain had said to her at different times, and from various remarks that Mrs Bright had made on sundry occasions, she felt convinced that the North Sea fisherman’s wife was none other than Captain Bream’s long-lost sister!It would be well-nigh impossible, as well as useless, to investigate the process of reasoning and the chain of investigation by which she came to this conclusion, but having once laid the foundation, she began to build on it with her wonted enthusiasm, and with a hopefulness that partial failure could not destroy.The captain’s departure, just when she hoped to put the copestone on her little edifice was a severe blow, for it compelled her to shut up her hopes and fears in her own breast, and, being of a sympathetic nature, that was difficult. But Ruth was a wise little woman as well as sympathetic. She had sense enough to know that it might be a tremendous disappointment to Captain Bream, if, after having had his hopes raised, it were discovered that Mrs Bright wasnothis sister. Ruth had therefore made up her mind not to give the slightest hint to him, or to any one else, about her hopes, until the matter could be settled by bringing the two together, when, of course, they would at once recognise each other.Although damped somewhat by this unlooked-for interruption to her little schemes, she did not allow her efforts to flag.“I see,” she said one day, on entering the theological library, where Jessie, having laid down a worsted cuff which she had been knitting, was deep in Leslie’sShort and Easy method with the Deists, and Kate, having dropped a worsted comforter, had lost herself in Chalmers’sAstronomical Discourses. “I see you are both busy, so I won’t disturb you. I only looked in to say that I’m going out for an hour or two.”“We are never too busy, darling,” said Jessie, “to countyourvisits an interruption. Would you like us to walk with you?”“N–no. Not just now. The fact is, I am going out on a little private expedition,” said Ruth, pursing her mouth till it resembled a cherry.“Oh! about that little plot?” asked Jessie, laughing. Ruth nodded and joined in the laugh, but would not commit herself in words.“Now, don’t work too hard, Kate,” she cried with an arch look as she turned to leave.“It is harder work than you suppose, Miss Impudence,” said Kate; “what with cuffs and contradictions, comforters and confusion, worsted helmets and worse theology, my brain seems to be getting into what the captain calls a sort of semi-theological lop-scowse that quite unfits me for anything. Go away, you naughty girl, and carry out your dark plots, whatever they are.”Ruth ran off laughing, and soon found herself at the door of Mrs Bright’s humble dwelling.Now, Mrs Bright, although very fond of her fair young visitor, had begun, as we have seen, to grow rather puzzled and suspicious as to her frequent inquiries into her past history.“You told me, I think, that your maiden name was Bream,” said Ruth, after a few remarks about the weather and the prospects of theShort Bluefleet, etcetera.“Yes, Miss Ruth,” answered Mrs Bright; but the answer was so short and her tone so peculiar that poor scheming little Ruth was quelled at once. She did not even dare to say another word on the subject nearest her heart at the time, and hastily, if not awkwardly, changed the subject to little Billy.Here indeed she had touched a theme in regard to which Mrs Bright was always ready to respond.“Ah! heisa good boy, is Billy,” she said, “an uncommonly good boy—though he is not perfect by any means. And he’s a little too fond of fighting. But, after all, it’s not for its own sake he likes it, dear boy! It’s only when there’s a good reason for it that he takes to it. Did I ever tell you about his kicking a boy bigger than himself into the sea off the end of the pier?”“No, you never told me that.”“Well, this is how it was. There’s a small girl named Lilly Brass—a sweet little tot of four years old or thereabouts, and Billy’s very fond of her. Lilly has a brother named Tommy, who’s as full of mischief as an egg is full of meat, and he has a trick of getting on the edge of the pier near where they live, and tryin’ to walk on it and encouraging Lilly to follow him. The boy had been often warned not to do it, but he didn’t mind, and my Billy grew very angry about it.“‘I don’t care about little Brass himself mother,’ said Billy to me one day; ‘he may tumble in an’ be drownded if he likes, but I’m afeared for little Lilly, for she likes to do what he does.’“So, one day Billy saw Tommy Brass at his old tricks, with Lilly looking on, quite delighted, and what did my boy do, think ye? He went up to Brass, who was bigger and older than himself, and gave him such a hearty kick that it sent him right off into the sea. The poor boy could not swim a stroke, and the water was deep, so my Billy, who can swim like a fish, jumped in after him and helped to get him safe ashore. Tommy Brass was none the worse; so, after wringing the water out of his clothes, he went up to Billy and gave him a slap in the face. Billy is not a boastful boy. He does not speak much when he’s roused; but he pulled off his coat and gave Brass such a thump on the nose that he knocked him flat on the sand. Up he jumped, however, in a moment and went at Billy furiously, but he had no chance. My boy was too active for him. He jumped a’ one side, struck out his leg, and let him tumble over it, giving him a punch on the head as he went past that helped to send his nose deeper into the sand. At last he beat him entirely, and then, as he was puttin’ on his jacket again, he said—‘Tommy Brass, it ain’t so much on account o’ that slap you gave me, that I’ve licked you, but because you ’ticed Lilly into danger. And, you mark what I say: every time I catch you walkin’ on that there pier-edge, orhearof you doin’ of it, I’ll give you a lickin’.’“Tommy Brass has never walked on that pier-edge since,” concluded Mrs Bright, “but I’m sorry to say that ever since that day Lilly Brass has refused to have a word to say to Billy, and when asked why, she says, ‘’cause he sowsed an’ whacked my brudder Tommy!’”Thus did Mrs Bright entertain her visitor with comment and anecdote about Billy until she felt at last constrained to leave without having recovered courage to broach again the subject which had brought her to the fisherman’s home.That same afternoon Mrs Bright paid a friendly visit to the wife of her husband’s mate.“I can’t think whatever Miss Ruth Dotropy is so curious about me for, she’s bin at me again,” said Mrs Bright to Mrs Davidson, who was busy with her needle on some part of the costume of her “blessed babby,” which lay, like an angel, in its little crib behind the door.“P’r’aps it’s all along of her bein’ so interested in you,” replied pretty Mrs Davidson. “She asks me many odd questions at times about myself, and my dear Joe, and the babby—though I admit she don’t inquire much about my past life.”“Well, that’s not surprising,” said Mrs Bright with a laugh, as she sat down on a stool to have a chat. “You see, Maggie, you haven’t got much of a past life to inquire about, and Joe is such a good man that you’ve no call to be suspecting anything; but it wasn’t always so with my dear David. I wouldn’t say it even to you, Maggie, if it wasn’t that everybody in Yarmouth knows it—my David drinks hard sometimes, and although I know he’s as true as gold to me, an’ never broke the laws of the land, everybody won’t believe that, you know, and the dear manmightfall under suspicion.”“But you don’t suppose, if he did,” said Mrs Davidson, with a look of surprise, “that Miss Ruth would go about actin’ the part of a detective, do you?”“Well, no, I don’t,” replied her friend, looking somewhat puzzled. “All the same itismysterious why she should go on as she’s bin doin’, asking me what my maiden name was, and who my relations were, and if I ever had any brothers, and when and where I first met wi’ David. But whatever her reasons may be I’m resolved that she’ll get nothing more out of me.”“Of course,” returned Maggie, “you must do as you think right in that matter. All I can say is, I would tell Miss Ruth all that was inmymind without any fear that she’d abuse my confidence.”“Ah! Maggie, I might say that too if my mind and conscience were as clear as yours. But they’re not. It is true I have long ago brought my sins to Jesus and had them washed away in His precious blood. And I never cease to pray for my dear David, but—but—”“Don’t you fear, Nell,” said Mrs Davidson, earnestly, and in a tone of encouragement. “Your prayer is sure to be answered.”“Oh! Maggie, I try to believe it—indeed I do. But when I see David go down to that—that public-house, and come up the worse o’ liquor, an’ sometimes little Billy with him with a cigar in his sweet little mouth an’ the smell o’ drink on him, my heart fails me, for you know what anawfulsnare that drink is, once it gets the upper hand—and—”Poor Mrs Bright fairly broke down at this point for a few seconds; and no wonder, for, not even to her most confidential and sympathetic friend could she tell of the terrible change for the worse that came over her husband when the accursed fire-water burned in his veins.“Nell,” said Maggie, laying her work in her lap and taking her friend’s hand. “Don’t give way like that. God would never ask us to pray for one another, if He didn’t mean to answer us. Would He, now?”“That’s true, Maggie, that’s true,” said Mrs Bright, much comforted. “I never thought of that before. You’re young, but you’re wise, dear. Of course, the good Lord will never mock us, and if there’s anything I have asked for of late, it has been the salvation of David and Billy. What was it, Maggie, that made your Joe first turn his thoughts to the Lord?”“It was one of his mates. You remember when he sailed wi’ that good man, Singin’ Peter? Well, Peter used often to speak to him about his soul to no purpose; but that fine man, Luke Trevor, who also sailed wi’ Singin’ Peter at the time, had a long talk with Joe one night, an’ the Holy Spirit made use of his words, for Joe broke down an’ gave in. They’re both wi’ your David and Billy now, so you may be sure they won’t throw away the chance they have of speakin’ to ’em.”“God grant them success!” murmured Mrs Bright, earnestly.“Amen!” responded the younger woman. “But, Nell, you haven’t told me yet what you think o’ the Miss Seawards.”“Think? I think that next to Miss Ruth they are the sweetest ladies I ever met,” returned Mrs Bright with enthusiasm. “They are so modest and humble, that when they are putting themselves about to serve you, they almost make you feel that you’re doing them a favour. Don’t you remember only last week when they came to see poor Jake’s boy that was nearly drowned, and insisted on sitting up with him all night—first one and then the other taking her turn till daylight, because Mrs Jake was dead-drunk and not able for anything.”“Remember it?” exclaimed Maggie, “I should think I does, and the awful way Mrs Jake swore at them afore she rightly understood what was wrong.”“Well, did you hear what Mrs Jake said in the afternoon of that same day?”“No—except that she was more civil to ’em, so I was told.”“Civil! yes, she was more civil indeed. She’d got quite sober by the afternoon, and the neighbours told her how near the boy was to death, and that the doctor said if it hadn’t been for the wise and prompt measures taken by the Miss Seawards before he arrived, he didn’t believe the boy would have lived—when they told her that, she said nothing. When the Miss Seawards came back in the afternoon, they tapped so gently at the door that you would have thought they were beggars who expected a scolding, an’ when Mrs Jake cried out gruffly in her man-like voice, ‘Who’s that?’ they replied as softly as if they had been doing some mischief, ‘May we come in?’ ‘May you come in?’ shouted Mrs Jake, so that you might have heard her half way down the street, as she flung the door wide open, ‘may angels from heaven come in? yes, youmaycome in!’ an’ with that she seized the younger one round the neck an’ fairly hugged her, for you see Mrs Jake has strong feelin’s, an’ is very fond of her boy, an’ then she went flop down on a chair, threw her apron over her head, and howled. I can call it by no other name.”“The poor ladies were almost scared, and didn’t seem rightly to know how to take it, and Miss Kate—the younger one you know—had her pretty new summer dress awfully crushed by the squeeze, as well as dirtied, for Mrs Jake had been washin’, besides cleaning up a bit just before they arrived.”“Well, I never!” exclaimed Maggie in great admiration. “I always thought there was a soft spot in Mrs Jake’s heart, if only a body could find it out.”“My dear,” said Mrs Bright, impressively, “there’s a soft spot I believe in everybody’s heart, though in some hearts it’s pretty well choked up an’ overlaid—”At that moment a bursting yell from the crib behind the door went straight to the soft spot in Mrs Davidson’s heart, and sank deeply into it.“That blessed babby!” she cried, leaping up in such haste that her work went into the grate, in which, however, there was happily no fire.“Oh! my darling! you’re Joe to the back-bone—though youarea girl—all bounce, an’ bang, an’ tenderness!”Seizing the infant in her strong arms she gave it a hug which ought to have produced another yell, but the little one was tough, besides which, she was used to it, and said nothing. The calm did not last long, however. Little Mag, as she was called, felt that her interior somewhere was somehow in want of something, and took the usual way to publish the fact.After that, conversation became impossible. A storm had burst upon the friends which increased rapidly, so Mrs Bright rose to say good-bye in the midst of a squall which ought to have blown her through the door-way or out at the window into the street. She was not irritated, however. As she left the house followed by the squall, which was soon moderated to a stiffish breeze by distance, the sound called up reminiscences of little Billy, and she smiled as she thought of the unvarying continuity of human affairs—the gush of infant memories, and the squalls of other days.
To prevent the reader supposing that there is any deep-laid scheme or profound mystery with which we mean to torment him during the course of our tale, we may as well say at once that the little plot, which Ruth had in view, and which began to grow quite into a romance the longer she pondered it, was neither more nor less than to bring Captain Bream and Mrs David Bright face to face.
Ruth had what we may style a constructive mind. Give her a few rough materials, and straight-way she would build a castle with them. If she had not enough of material, she immediately invented more, and thus continued her castle-building. Being highly imaginative and romantic, her structures were sometimes amazing edifices, at which orthodox architects might have turned up their noses—and with some reason, too, for poor little Ruth’s castles were built frequently on bad foundations, and sometimes even in the air, so that they too often fell in splendid ruins at her feet!
It would not be just however, to say that none of Ruth’s buildings stood firm. Occasionally she built upon a good foundation. Now and then she made a straight shot and hit the mark. For instance, the little edifice of cuffs and comforters to the North Sea trawlers survived, and remains to the present day a monument of usefulness, (which few monuments are), and of well-placed philanthropy. It may not, perhaps, be just to say that Ruth actually laid the foundation—conceived the first idea—of that good work, but she was at all events among the first builders, became an active overseer, and did much of the work with her own hands. Still, as we have said, too many of Ruth’s castles came to the ground, and the poor thing was so well used to the sight of falling material that she had at last begun to be quite expert in detecting the first symptoms of dissolution, and often regarded them with despairing anxiety. It was so with her when Captain Bream was summoned so suddenly away from Yarmouth.
Eagerly, anxiously, had she planned to get him down to that town for the purpose of confronting him with Mrs David Bright—the reason being that, from various things the captain had said to her at different times, and from various remarks that Mrs Bright had made on sundry occasions, she felt convinced that the North Sea fisherman’s wife was none other than Captain Bream’s long-lost sister!
It would be well-nigh impossible, as well as useless, to investigate the process of reasoning and the chain of investigation by which she came to this conclusion, but having once laid the foundation, she began to build on it with her wonted enthusiasm, and with a hopefulness that partial failure could not destroy.
The captain’s departure, just when she hoped to put the copestone on her little edifice was a severe blow, for it compelled her to shut up her hopes and fears in her own breast, and, being of a sympathetic nature, that was difficult. But Ruth was a wise little woman as well as sympathetic. She had sense enough to know that it might be a tremendous disappointment to Captain Bream, if, after having had his hopes raised, it were discovered that Mrs Bright wasnothis sister. Ruth had therefore made up her mind not to give the slightest hint to him, or to any one else, about her hopes, until the matter could be settled by bringing the two together, when, of course, they would at once recognise each other.
Although damped somewhat by this unlooked-for interruption to her little schemes, she did not allow her efforts to flag.
“I see,” she said one day, on entering the theological library, where Jessie, having laid down a worsted cuff which she had been knitting, was deep in Leslie’sShort and Easy method with the Deists, and Kate, having dropped a worsted comforter, had lost herself in Chalmers’sAstronomical Discourses. “I see you are both busy, so I won’t disturb you. I only looked in to say that I’m going out for an hour or two.”
“We are never too busy, darling,” said Jessie, “to countyourvisits an interruption. Would you like us to walk with you?”
“N–no. Not just now. The fact is, I am going out on a little private expedition,” said Ruth, pursing her mouth till it resembled a cherry.
“Oh! about that little plot?” asked Jessie, laughing. Ruth nodded and joined in the laugh, but would not commit herself in words.
“Now, don’t work too hard, Kate,” she cried with an arch look as she turned to leave.
“It is harder work than you suppose, Miss Impudence,” said Kate; “what with cuffs and contradictions, comforters and confusion, worsted helmets and worse theology, my brain seems to be getting into what the captain calls a sort of semi-theological lop-scowse that quite unfits me for anything. Go away, you naughty girl, and carry out your dark plots, whatever they are.”
Ruth ran off laughing, and soon found herself at the door of Mrs Bright’s humble dwelling.
Now, Mrs Bright, although very fond of her fair young visitor, had begun, as we have seen, to grow rather puzzled and suspicious as to her frequent inquiries into her past history.
“You told me, I think, that your maiden name was Bream,” said Ruth, after a few remarks about the weather and the prospects of theShort Bluefleet, etcetera.
“Yes, Miss Ruth,” answered Mrs Bright; but the answer was so short and her tone so peculiar that poor scheming little Ruth was quelled at once. She did not even dare to say another word on the subject nearest her heart at the time, and hastily, if not awkwardly, changed the subject to little Billy.
Here indeed she had touched a theme in regard to which Mrs Bright was always ready to respond.
“Ah! heisa good boy, is Billy,” she said, “an uncommonly good boy—though he is not perfect by any means. And he’s a little too fond of fighting. But, after all, it’s not for its own sake he likes it, dear boy! It’s only when there’s a good reason for it that he takes to it. Did I ever tell you about his kicking a boy bigger than himself into the sea off the end of the pier?”
“No, you never told me that.”
“Well, this is how it was. There’s a small girl named Lilly Brass—a sweet little tot of four years old or thereabouts, and Billy’s very fond of her. Lilly has a brother named Tommy, who’s as full of mischief as an egg is full of meat, and he has a trick of getting on the edge of the pier near where they live, and tryin’ to walk on it and encouraging Lilly to follow him. The boy had been often warned not to do it, but he didn’t mind, and my Billy grew very angry about it.
“‘I don’t care about little Brass himself mother,’ said Billy to me one day; ‘he may tumble in an’ be drownded if he likes, but I’m afeared for little Lilly, for she likes to do what he does.’
“So, one day Billy saw Tommy Brass at his old tricks, with Lilly looking on, quite delighted, and what did my boy do, think ye? He went up to Brass, who was bigger and older than himself, and gave him such a hearty kick that it sent him right off into the sea. The poor boy could not swim a stroke, and the water was deep, so my Billy, who can swim like a fish, jumped in after him and helped to get him safe ashore. Tommy Brass was none the worse; so, after wringing the water out of his clothes, he went up to Billy and gave him a slap in the face. Billy is not a boastful boy. He does not speak much when he’s roused; but he pulled off his coat and gave Brass such a thump on the nose that he knocked him flat on the sand. Up he jumped, however, in a moment and went at Billy furiously, but he had no chance. My boy was too active for him. He jumped a’ one side, struck out his leg, and let him tumble over it, giving him a punch on the head as he went past that helped to send his nose deeper into the sand. At last he beat him entirely, and then, as he was puttin’ on his jacket again, he said—‘Tommy Brass, it ain’t so much on account o’ that slap you gave me, that I’ve licked you, but because you ’ticed Lilly into danger. And, you mark what I say: every time I catch you walkin’ on that there pier-edge, orhearof you doin’ of it, I’ll give you a lickin’.’
“Tommy Brass has never walked on that pier-edge since,” concluded Mrs Bright, “but I’m sorry to say that ever since that day Lilly Brass has refused to have a word to say to Billy, and when asked why, she says, ‘’cause he sowsed an’ whacked my brudder Tommy!’”
Thus did Mrs Bright entertain her visitor with comment and anecdote about Billy until she felt at last constrained to leave without having recovered courage to broach again the subject which had brought her to the fisherman’s home.
That same afternoon Mrs Bright paid a friendly visit to the wife of her husband’s mate.
“I can’t think whatever Miss Ruth Dotropy is so curious about me for, she’s bin at me again,” said Mrs Bright to Mrs Davidson, who was busy with her needle on some part of the costume of her “blessed babby,” which lay, like an angel, in its little crib behind the door.
“P’r’aps it’s all along of her bein’ so interested in you,” replied pretty Mrs Davidson. “She asks me many odd questions at times about myself, and my dear Joe, and the babby—though I admit she don’t inquire much about my past life.”
“Well, that’s not surprising,” said Mrs Bright with a laugh, as she sat down on a stool to have a chat. “You see, Maggie, you haven’t got much of a past life to inquire about, and Joe is such a good man that you’ve no call to be suspecting anything; but it wasn’t always so with my dear David. I wouldn’t say it even to you, Maggie, if it wasn’t that everybody in Yarmouth knows it—my David drinks hard sometimes, and although I know he’s as true as gold to me, an’ never broke the laws of the land, everybody won’t believe that, you know, and the dear manmightfall under suspicion.”
“But you don’t suppose, if he did,” said Mrs Davidson, with a look of surprise, “that Miss Ruth would go about actin’ the part of a detective, do you?”
“Well, no, I don’t,” replied her friend, looking somewhat puzzled. “All the same itismysterious why she should go on as she’s bin doin’, asking me what my maiden name was, and who my relations were, and if I ever had any brothers, and when and where I first met wi’ David. But whatever her reasons may be I’m resolved that she’ll get nothing more out of me.”
“Of course,” returned Maggie, “you must do as you think right in that matter. All I can say is, I would tell Miss Ruth all that was inmymind without any fear that she’d abuse my confidence.”
“Ah! Maggie, I might say that too if my mind and conscience were as clear as yours. But they’re not. It is true I have long ago brought my sins to Jesus and had them washed away in His precious blood. And I never cease to pray for my dear David, but—but—”
“Don’t you fear, Nell,” said Mrs Davidson, earnestly, and in a tone of encouragement. “Your prayer is sure to be answered.”
“Oh! Maggie, I try to believe it—indeed I do. But when I see David go down to that—that public-house, and come up the worse o’ liquor, an’ sometimes little Billy with him with a cigar in his sweet little mouth an’ the smell o’ drink on him, my heart fails me, for you know what anawfulsnare that drink is, once it gets the upper hand—and—”
Poor Mrs Bright fairly broke down at this point for a few seconds; and no wonder, for, not even to her most confidential and sympathetic friend could she tell of the terrible change for the worse that came over her husband when the accursed fire-water burned in his veins.
“Nell,” said Maggie, laying her work in her lap and taking her friend’s hand. “Don’t give way like that. God would never ask us to pray for one another, if He didn’t mean to answer us. Would He, now?”
“That’s true, Maggie, that’s true,” said Mrs Bright, much comforted. “I never thought of that before. You’re young, but you’re wise, dear. Of course, the good Lord will never mock us, and if there’s anything I have asked for of late, it has been the salvation of David and Billy. What was it, Maggie, that made your Joe first turn his thoughts to the Lord?”
“It was one of his mates. You remember when he sailed wi’ that good man, Singin’ Peter? Well, Peter used often to speak to him about his soul to no purpose; but that fine man, Luke Trevor, who also sailed wi’ Singin’ Peter at the time, had a long talk with Joe one night, an’ the Holy Spirit made use of his words, for Joe broke down an’ gave in. They’re both wi’ your David and Billy now, so you may be sure they won’t throw away the chance they have of speakin’ to ’em.”
“God grant them success!” murmured Mrs Bright, earnestly.
“Amen!” responded the younger woman. “But, Nell, you haven’t told me yet what you think o’ the Miss Seawards.”
“Think? I think that next to Miss Ruth they are the sweetest ladies I ever met,” returned Mrs Bright with enthusiasm. “They are so modest and humble, that when they are putting themselves about to serve you, they almost make you feel that you’re doing them a favour. Don’t you remember only last week when they came to see poor Jake’s boy that was nearly drowned, and insisted on sitting up with him all night—first one and then the other taking her turn till daylight, because Mrs Jake was dead-drunk and not able for anything.”
“Remember it?” exclaimed Maggie, “I should think I does, and the awful way Mrs Jake swore at them afore she rightly understood what was wrong.”
“Well, did you hear what Mrs Jake said in the afternoon of that same day?”
“No—except that she was more civil to ’em, so I was told.”
“Civil! yes, she was more civil indeed. She’d got quite sober by the afternoon, and the neighbours told her how near the boy was to death, and that the doctor said if it hadn’t been for the wise and prompt measures taken by the Miss Seawards before he arrived, he didn’t believe the boy would have lived—when they told her that, she said nothing. When the Miss Seawards came back in the afternoon, they tapped so gently at the door that you would have thought they were beggars who expected a scolding, an’ when Mrs Jake cried out gruffly in her man-like voice, ‘Who’s that?’ they replied as softly as if they had been doing some mischief, ‘May we come in?’ ‘May you come in?’ shouted Mrs Jake, so that you might have heard her half way down the street, as she flung the door wide open, ‘may angels from heaven come in? yes, youmaycome in!’ an’ with that she seized the younger one round the neck an’ fairly hugged her, for you see Mrs Jake has strong feelin’s, an’ is very fond of her boy, an’ then she went flop down on a chair, threw her apron over her head, and howled. I can call it by no other name.”
“The poor ladies were almost scared, and didn’t seem rightly to know how to take it, and Miss Kate—the younger one you know—had her pretty new summer dress awfully crushed by the squeeze, as well as dirtied, for Mrs Jake had been washin’, besides cleaning up a bit just before they arrived.”
“Well, I never!” exclaimed Maggie in great admiration. “I always thought there was a soft spot in Mrs Jake’s heart, if only a body could find it out.”
“My dear,” said Mrs Bright, impressively, “there’s a soft spot I believe in everybody’s heart, though in some hearts it’s pretty well choked up an’ overlaid—”
At that moment a bursting yell from the crib behind the door went straight to the soft spot in Mrs Davidson’s heart, and sank deeply into it.
“That blessed babby!” she cried, leaping up in such haste that her work went into the grate, in which, however, there was happily no fire.
“Oh! my darling! you’re Joe to the back-bone—though youarea girl—all bounce, an’ bang, an’ tenderness!”
Seizing the infant in her strong arms she gave it a hug which ought to have produced another yell, but the little one was tough, besides which, she was used to it, and said nothing. The calm did not last long, however. Little Mag, as she was called, felt that her interior somewhere was somehow in want of something, and took the usual way to publish the fact.
After that, conversation became impossible. A storm had burst upon the friends which increased rapidly, so Mrs Bright rose to say good-bye in the midst of a squall which ought to have blown her through the door-way or out at the window into the street. She was not irritated, however. As she left the house followed by the squall, which was soon moderated to a stiffish breeze by distance, the sound called up reminiscences of little Billy, and she smiled as she thought of the unvarying continuity of human affairs—the gush of infant memories, and the squalls of other days.