Chapter Twenty Eight.Out with the Short Blue again.Pleasant and heart-stirring is the sensation of returning health to one who has sailed for many weeks in the “Doldrums” of Disease, weathered Point Danger, crossed the Line of Weakness, and begun to steer with favouring gales over the smooth sea of Convalescence.So thought Captain Bream one lovely summer day, some time after the events just narrated, as he sat on the bridge of a swift steamer which cut like a fish through the glassy waves of the North Sea.It was one of Hewett and Company’s carriers, bound for the Short Blue fleet. Over three hundred miles was the total run; she had already made the greater part of it. The exact position of the ever-moving fleet was uncertain. Nevertheless, her experienced captain was almost certain—as if by a sort of instinct—to hit the spot where the smacks lay ready with their trunks of fish to feed the insatiable maw of Billingsgate.Captain Bream’s cheeks were not so hollow as they had been when we last saw him. Neither were they so pale. His eyes, too, had come a considerable way out of the caves into which they had retreated, and the wolfish glare in the presence of food was exchanged for a look of calm serenity. His coat, instead of hanging on him like a shirt on a handspike, had begun to show indications of muscle covering the bones, and his vest no longer flapped against him like the topsail of a Dutchman in a dead calm. Altogether, there was a healthy look about the old man which gave the impression that he had been into dock, and had a thorough overhaul.Enough of weakness remained, however, to induce a feeling of blessed restfulness in his entire being. The once strong and energetic man had been brought to the novel condition of being quite willing to leave the responsibility of the world on other shoulders, and to enjoy the hitherto unknown luxury of doing nothing at all. So thoroughly had he abandoned himself in this respect, that he did not even care to speak, but was satisfied to listen to others, or to gaze at the horizon in happy contemplation, or to pour on all around looks of calm benignity.“How do you feel to-day, sir?” asked the mate of the steamer, as he came on the bridge.“My strongest feeling,” said Captain Bream, “is one of thankfulness to God that I am so well.”“A good feelin’ that doesn’t always come as strong as it ought to, or as one would wish; does it, sir?” said the mate.“That’s true,” answered the captain, “but when a man, after bein’ so low that he seems to be bound for the next world, finds the tide risin’ again, the feelin’ is apt to come stronger, d’ee see? D’you expect to make the fleet to-day?”“Yes, sir, we should make it in the evenin’ if the admiral has stuck to his plans.”The captain became silent again, but after a few minutes, fearing that the mate might think him unsociable, he said—“I suppose the admiral is always chosen as being one of the best men of the fleet?”“That’s the idea, sir, and the one chosen usuallyisone of the best, though of course mistakes are sometimes made. The present admiral is a first-rate man—a thorough-going fisherman, well acquainted with all the shoals, and a Christian into the bargain.”“Ah, I suppose that is an advantage to the fleet in many respects,” said the captain, brightening up, on finding the mate sympathetic on that point.“It is for the advantage of the fleet inallrespects, sir. I have known an ungodly admiral, on a Sunday, when they couldn’t fish, an’ the weather was just right for heavin’-to an’ going aboard the mission smack for service—I’ve known him keep the fleet movin’ the whole day, for nothin’ at all but spite. Of course that didn’t put any one in a good humour, an’ you know, sir, men always work better when they’re in good spirits.”“Ay, well do I know that,” said the captain, “for I’ve had a good deal to do wi’ men in my time, and I have always found that Christian sailors as a rule are worth more than unbelievers, just because they work with a will—as the Bible puts it, ‘unto the Lord and not unto men.’ You’ve heard of General Havelock, no doubt?”“Oh yes, sir, you mean the Indian general who used to look after the souls of his men?”“That’s the man,” returned the captain. “Well, I’ve been told that on one occasion when the commander-in-chief sent for some soldiers for special duty, and found that most of ’em were drunk, he turned an’ said, ‘Send me some of Havelock’s saints: they can be depended on!’ I’m not sure if I’ve got the story rightly, but, anyhow, that’s what he said.”“Ay, sir, I sometimes think it wonderful,” said the mate, “that unbelievers don’t themselves see that the love of God in a man’s heart makes him a better and safer servant in all respects—according to the Word, ‘Godliness is profitable to the life that now is, as well as that which is to come.’ There’s the fleet at last, sir!”While speaking, the mate had been scanning the horizon with his glass, which he immediately handed to the captain, who rose at once and saw the line of the Short Blue like little dots on the horizon. The dots soon grew larger; then they assumed the form of vessels, and in a short time the carrying-steamer was amongst them, making straight for the admiral, whose smack was distinguishable by his flag.“What is the admiral’s name?” asked the captain as they advanced.“Davidson—Joe Davidson; one of the brightest young fellows I ever knew,” answered the captain of the steamer, who came on the bridge at that moment, “and a true Christian. He is master of theEvening Star.”“Why, I thought that was the name of a smack that was wrecked some time ago near Yarmouth—at least so my friends there wrote me,” said Captain Bream with sudden interest; and well might he feel interest in the newEvening Star, for it was himself who had given the thousand pounds to purchase her, at Ruth Dotropy’s request, but he had not been told that her skipper, Joe Davidson, had been made admiral of the fleet.“So itwastheEvening Star, sir, that was wrecked, but some open-handed gentleman in London bought a new smack for widow Bright and she called it by the same name, an’ the young man, who had been mate with her husband, she has made skipper till her son Billy is old enough to take charge of her. The strangest thing is, that all the old crew have stuck together, and the smack is now one of the best managed in the fleet. Joe wouldn’t have been made admiral if that wasn’t so.”To this, and a great deal more, the captain listened with great joy and thankfulness, without, however, giving a hint as to his own part in the matter. Originally he had given the thousand pounds to please Ruth, and he had been at that time glad to think that the gift was to benefit a deserving and unfortunate widow. It was not a little satisfactory, therefore, to hear that his gift had been so well bestowed; that it had even become the admiral’s vessel, and that he was about to have the opportunity of boarding the newEvening Starand himself inspecting its crew.“Tell me a little more about thisEvening Star,” he said to the captain of the steamer. “I have sometimes heard of her from a lady friend of mine, who takes a great interest in her owner, but I was so ill at the time she wrote that I couldn’t pay much attention to anything.”Thus invited the captain proceeded to tell all he knew about David Bright and his wife, and Billy, and Luke Trevor, Spivin, Gunter, Zulu, the wreck, the launch of the new smack, etcetera,—much of which was quite new to Captain Bream, and all of which was of course deeply interesting to him.While these two were conversing the fleet gradually thickened around them, for a light breeze, which seemed to have sprung up for the very purpose, enabled them to close in. Some of the smacks were close at hand; others more distant. To those within hail, the captain and mate of the steamer gave the customary salute and toss of the fist in the air as they passed.“There’s the admiral,” said the captain, “two points off the port bow.”“An’ the gospel-ship close alongside,” said the mate. “Don’t you see the M.D.S.F. flag? Trust Joe for bein’ near to her when he can manage it. Here they come, fast an’ thick. There’s theFern, I’d know her a mile off, an’ theMartin, an’Rover,Coquette,Truant! What cheer, boys!”“Is that theCherubor theAndaxabeam of us?” asked the captain.“It’s neither. It’s theGuide, or theBoy Jim, or theRetriever—not quite sure which.”“Now, Captain Bream, shall we put you on board the mission-ship at once, or will you wait to see us boarded for empty trunks?”“I’ll wait,” returned Captain Bream.Soon the steamer hove-to, not far from the admiral’s vessel. The smacks came crowding round like bees round a hive, each one lowering a boat when near enough.And once again was enacted a scene similar in many respects to that which we have described in a previous chapter, with this difference, that the scramble now was partly for the purpose of obtaining empty boxes. Another steamer had taken off most of their fish early that day, and the one just arrived meant to wait for the fish of the next morning.It chanced that a good many of the rougher men of the fleet came on board that evening, so that Captain Bream, whose recent experiences had led him half to expect that all the North Sea fishermen were amiable lions, had his mind sadly but effectively disabused of that false idea. The steamer’s deck soon swarmed with some four hundred of the roughest and most boisterous men he had ever seen, and the air was filled with coarse and profane language, while a tendency to fight was exhibited by several of them.“They’re a rough lot, sir,” said the mate as he leant on the rail of the bridge, gazing down on the animated scene, “but they were a rougher lot before the gospel-ship came out to stay among them, and some of the brightest Christians now in the fleet were as bad as the worst you see down there.”“Ay, Jesus came to save thelost, and the worst,” said the captain in a low tone—“praise to His name!”As soon as the trunks had been received, the admiral bore away to windward, and the fleet began to follow and make preparation for the night’s fishing; for the fish which were destined so soon to smoke on London tables were at that moment gambolling at the bottom of the sea!“We must run down to the mission smack, and put you aboard at once, sir,” said the mate, “for she follows the admiral—though she does not fish on Saturday nights, so that the hold may be clear of fish and ready for service on Sundays.”Captain Bream was ready.“They know you are coming, I suppose?”“Yes, they expect me.”In a few minutes the steamer was close to the mission-ship, and soon after, the powerful arms of its hospitable skipper and mate were extended to help the expected invalid out of the boat which had been sent for him.“We’re makin’ things all snug for the night,” said the skipper, as he led his guest into the little cabin, “an’ when we’re done we shall have tea; but if you’d like it sooner—”“No, no, skipper, I’ll wait. Though I’m just come from the shore, you don’t take me for an impatient land-lubber, do you? Go, finish your work, and I’ll rest a bit. I’ve been ill, you see, an’ can’t stand as much as I used to,” he added apologetically.When left alone, Captain Bream’s mode of resting himself was to go down on his knees and thank God for having brought him to so congenial a resting-place on the world of waters, and to pray that he might be made use of to His glory while there.How that prayer was answered we shall see.
Pleasant and heart-stirring is the sensation of returning health to one who has sailed for many weeks in the “Doldrums” of Disease, weathered Point Danger, crossed the Line of Weakness, and begun to steer with favouring gales over the smooth sea of Convalescence.
So thought Captain Bream one lovely summer day, some time after the events just narrated, as he sat on the bridge of a swift steamer which cut like a fish through the glassy waves of the North Sea.
It was one of Hewett and Company’s carriers, bound for the Short Blue fleet. Over three hundred miles was the total run; she had already made the greater part of it. The exact position of the ever-moving fleet was uncertain. Nevertheless, her experienced captain was almost certain—as if by a sort of instinct—to hit the spot where the smacks lay ready with their trunks of fish to feed the insatiable maw of Billingsgate.
Captain Bream’s cheeks were not so hollow as they had been when we last saw him. Neither were they so pale. His eyes, too, had come a considerable way out of the caves into which they had retreated, and the wolfish glare in the presence of food was exchanged for a look of calm serenity. His coat, instead of hanging on him like a shirt on a handspike, had begun to show indications of muscle covering the bones, and his vest no longer flapped against him like the topsail of a Dutchman in a dead calm. Altogether, there was a healthy look about the old man which gave the impression that he had been into dock, and had a thorough overhaul.
Enough of weakness remained, however, to induce a feeling of blessed restfulness in his entire being. The once strong and energetic man had been brought to the novel condition of being quite willing to leave the responsibility of the world on other shoulders, and to enjoy the hitherto unknown luxury of doing nothing at all. So thoroughly had he abandoned himself in this respect, that he did not even care to speak, but was satisfied to listen to others, or to gaze at the horizon in happy contemplation, or to pour on all around looks of calm benignity.
“How do you feel to-day, sir?” asked the mate of the steamer, as he came on the bridge.
“My strongest feeling,” said Captain Bream, “is one of thankfulness to God that I am so well.”
“A good feelin’ that doesn’t always come as strong as it ought to, or as one would wish; does it, sir?” said the mate.
“That’s true,” answered the captain, “but when a man, after bein’ so low that he seems to be bound for the next world, finds the tide risin’ again, the feelin’ is apt to come stronger, d’ee see? D’you expect to make the fleet to-day?”
“Yes, sir, we should make it in the evenin’ if the admiral has stuck to his plans.”
The captain became silent again, but after a few minutes, fearing that the mate might think him unsociable, he said—
“I suppose the admiral is always chosen as being one of the best men of the fleet?”
“That’s the idea, sir, and the one chosen usuallyisone of the best, though of course mistakes are sometimes made. The present admiral is a first-rate man—a thorough-going fisherman, well acquainted with all the shoals, and a Christian into the bargain.”
“Ah, I suppose that is an advantage to the fleet in many respects,” said the captain, brightening up, on finding the mate sympathetic on that point.
“It is for the advantage of the fleet inallrespects, sir. I have known an ungodly admiral, on a Sunday, when they couldn’t fish, an’ the weather was just right for heavin’-to an’ going aboard the mission smack for service—I’ve known him keep the fleet movin’ the whole day, for nothin’ at all but spite. Of course that didn’t put any one in a good humour, an’ you know, sir, men always work better when they’re in good spirits.”
“Ay, well do I know that,” said the captain, “for I’ve had a good deal to do wi’ men in my time, and I have always found that Christian sailors as a rule are worth more than unbelievers, just because they work with a will—as the Bible puts it, ‘unto the Lord and not unto men.’ You’ve heard of General Havelock, no doubt?”
“Oh yes, sir, you mean the Indian general who used to look after the souls of his men?”
“That’s the man,” returned the captain. “Well, I’ve been told that on one occasion when the commander-in-chief sent for some soldiers for special duty, and found that most of ’em were drunk, he turned an’ said, ‘Send me some of Havelock’s saints: they can be depended on!’ I’m not sure if I’ve got the story rightly, but, anyhow, that’s what he said.”
“Ay, sir, I sometimes think it wonderful,” said the mate, “that unbelievers don’t themselves see that the love of God in a man’s heart makes him a better and safer servant in all respects—according to the Word, ‘Godliness is profitable to the life that now is, as well as that which is to come.’ There’s the fleet at last, sir!”
While speaking, the mate had been scanning the horizon with his glass, which he immediately handed to the captain, who rose at once and saw the line of the Short Blue like little dots on the horizon. The dots soon grew larger; then they assumed the form of vessels, and in a short time the carrying-steamer was amongst them, making straight for the admiral, whose smack was distinguishable by his flag.
“What is the admiral’s name?” asked the captain as they advanced.
“Davidson—Joe Davidson; one of the brightest young fellows I ever knew,” answered the captain of the steamer, who came on the bridge at that moment, “and a true Christian. He is master of theEvening Star.”
“Why, I thought that was the name of a smack that was wrecked some time ago near Yarmouth—at least so my friends there wrote me,” said Captain Bream with sudden interest; and well might he feel interest in the newEvening Star, for it was himself who had given the thousand pounds to purchase her, at Ruth Dotropy’s request, but he had not been told that her skipper, Joe Davidson, had been made admiral of the fleet.
“So itwastheEvening Star, sir, that was wrecked, but some open-handed gentleman in London bought a new smack for widow Bright and she called it by the same name, an’ the young man, who had been mate with her husband, she has made skipper till her son Billy is old enough to take charge of her. The strangest thing is, that all the old crew have stuck together, and the smack is now one of the best managed in the fleet. Joe wouldn’t have been made admiral if that wasn’t so.”
To this, and a great deal more, the captain listened with great joy and thankfulness, without, however, giving a hint as to his own part in the matter. Originally he had given the thousand pounds to please Ruth, and he had been at that time glad to think that the gift was to benefit a deserving and unfortunate widow. It was not a little satisfactory, therefore, to hear that his gift had been so well bestowed; that it had even become the admiral’s vessel, and that he was about to have the opportunity of boarding the newEvening Starand himself inspecting its crew.
“Tell me a little more about thisEvening Star,” he said to the captain of the steamer. “I have sometimes heard of her from a lady friend of mine, who takes a great interest in her owner, but I was so ill at the time she wrote that I couldn’t pay much attention to anything.”
Thus invited the captain proceeded to tell all he knew about David Bright and his wife, and Billy, and Luke Trevor, Spivin, Gunter, Zulu, the wreck, the launch of the new smack, etcetera,—much of which was quite new to Captain Bream, and all of which was of course deeply interesting to him.
While these two were conversing the fleet gradually thickened around them, for a light breeze, which seemed to have sprung up for the very purpose, enabled them to close in. Some of the smacks were close at hand; others more distant. To those within hail, the captain and mate of the steamer gave the customary salute and toss of the fist in the air as they passed.
“There’s the admiral,” said the captain, “two points off the port bow.”
“An’ the gospel-ship close alongside,” said the mate. “Don’t you see the M.D.S.F. flag? Trust Joe for bein’ near to her when he can manage it. Here they come, fast an’ thick. There’s theFern, I’d know her a mile off, an’ theMartin, an’Rover,Coquette,Truant! What cheer, boys!”
“Is that theCherubor theAndaxabeam of us?” asked the captain.
“It’s neither. It’s theGuide, or theBoy Jim, or theRetriever—not quite sure which.”
“Now, Captain Bream, shall we put you on board the mission-ship at once, or will you wait to see us boarded for empty trunks?”
“I’ll wait,” returned Captain Bream.
Soon the steamer hove-to, not far from the admiral’s vessel. The smacks came crowding round like bees round a hive, each one lowering a boat when near enough.
And once again was enacted a scene similar in many respects to that which we have described in a previous chapter, with this difference, that the scramble now was partly for the purpose of obtaining empty boxes. Another steamer had taken off most of their fish early that day, and the one just arrived meant to wait for the fish of the next morning.
It chanced that a good many of the rougher men of the fleet came on board that evening, so that Captain Bream, whose recent experiences had led him half to expect that all the North Sea fishermen were amiable lions, had his mind sadly but effectively disabused of that false idea. The steamer’s deck soon swarmed with some four hundred of the roughest and most boisterous men he had ever seen, and the air was filled with coarse and profane language, while a tendency to fight was exhibited by several of them.
“They’re a rough lot, sir,” said the mate as he leant on the rail of the bridge, gazing down on the animated scene, “but they were a rougher lot before the gospel-ship came out to stay among them, and some of the brightest Christians now in the fleet were as bad as the worst you see down there.”
“Ay, Jesus came to save thelost, and the worst,” said the captain in a low tone—“praise to His name!”
As soon as the trunks had been received, the admiral bore away to windward, and the fleet began to follow and make preparation for the night’s fishing; for the fish which were destined so soon to smoke on London tables were at that moment gambolling at the bottom of the sea!
“We must run down to the mission smack, and put you aboard at once, sir,” said the mate, “for she follows the admiral—though she does not fish on Saturday nights, so that the hold may be clear of fish and ready for service on Sundays.”
Captain Bream was ready.
“They know you are coming, I suppose?”
“Yes, they expect me.”
In a few minutes the steamer was close to the mission-ship, and soon after, the powerful arms of its hospitable skipper and mate were extended to help the expected invalid out of the boat which had been sent for him.
“We’re makin’ things all snug for the night,” said the skipper, as he led his guest into the little cabin, “an’ when we’re done we shall have tea; but if you’d like it sooner—”
“No, no, skipper, I’ll wait. Though I’m just come from the shore, you don’t take me for an impatient land-lubber, do you? Go, finish your work, and I’ll rest a bit. I’ve been ill, you see, an’ can’t stand as much as I used to,” he added apologetically.
When left alone, Captain Bream’s mode of resting himself was to go down on his knees and thank God for having brought him to so congenial a resting-place on the world of waters, and to pray that he might be made use of to His glory while there.
How that prayer was answered we shall see.
Chapter Twenty Nine.Another Fight and—Victory!It is interesting to observe the curious, and oftentimes unlikely, ways in which the guilt of man is brought to light, and the truth of that word demonstrated—“Be sure your sin shall find you out.”Although John Gunter’s heart was softened at the time of his old skipper’s death, it was by no means changed, so that, after a brief space, it became harder than ever, and the man who had been melted—to some extent washed—returned, ere long, with increased devotion to his wallowing in the mire. This made him so disagreeable to his old comrades, that they became anxious to get rid of him, but Joe Davidson, whose disposition was very hopeful, hesitated; and the widow, having a kindly feeling towards the man because he had sailed with her husband, did not wish him to be dismissed.Thus it came to pass that when Captain Bream joined the Short Blue fleet he was still a member of the crew of the newEvening Star.The day following that on which the captain arrived was Sunday, and, as usual, the smacks whose skippers had become followers of the Lord Jesus began to draw towards the mission-ship with their Bethel-flags flying. Among them was the new admiral—Joe of theEvening Star. His vessel was pointed out, of course, to the captain as she approached. We need scarcely say that he looked at her with unusual interest, and was glad when her boat was lowered to row part of her crew to the service about to be held in the hold of the gospel-ship.It was natural that Captain Bream should be much taken with the simple cheery manners of the admiral, as he stepped aboard and shook hands all round. It was equally natural that he should take some interest, also, in John Gunter, for was it not obvious that that worthy was a fine specimen of the gruff, half-savage, raw material which he had gone out there to work upon?“Why did you not bring Billy, Joe?” asked the skipper of the mission vessel.“Well, you know, we had to leave some one to look after the smack, an’ I left Luke Trevor, as he said he’d prefer to come to evenin’ service, an’ Billy said he’d like to stay with Luke.”By this time a number of boats had put their rough-clad crews on the deck, and already a fair congregation was mustered. Shaking of hands, salutations, question and reply, were going briskly on all round, with here and there a little mild chaffing, and occasionally a hearty laugh, while now and then the fervent “thank God” and “praise the Lord” revealed the spirits of the speakers.“You mentioned the name of Billy just now,” said Captain Bream, drawing Joe Davidson aside. “Is he a man or a boy?”“He’s a boy, sir, though he don’t like to be reminded o’ the fact,” said Joe with a laugh. “He’s the son of our skipper who was drowned—an’ a good boy he is, though larky a bit. But that don’t do him no harm, bless ye.”“I wonder,” returned the captain, “if he is the boy some lady friends of mine are so fond of, who was sent up to London some time ago to—”“That’s him, sir,” interrupted Joe; “it was Billy as was sent to Lun’on; by the wish of a Miss Ruth Pont-rap-me, or some such name. I never can remember it rightly, but she’s awful fond o’ the fisher-folks.”“Ah, I know Miss Ruth Dotropy also,” said the captain. “Strange that I should find this Billy that they’re all so fond of in the newEvening Star. I must pay your smack a visit soon, Davidson, for I have a particular interest in her.”“I’ll be proud to see you aboard her, sir,” returned Joe. “Won’t you come after service? The calm will last a good while, I think.”“Well, perhaps I may.”The conversation was interrupted here by a general move to the vessel’s hold, where the usual arrangements had been made—a table for a pulpit and fish-boxes for seats.“Do you feel well enough to speak to us to-day, Captain Bream?” asked the skipper of the mission-ship.“Oh yes, I’ll be happy to do so. The trip out has begun to work wonders already,” said the captain.Now, the truth of that proverb, “One man may take a horse to the water, but ten men can’t make him drink,” is very often illustrated in the course of human affairs. You may even treat a donkey in the same way, and the result will be similar.Joe Davidson had brought John Gunter to the mission-ship in the earnest hope that he would drink at the gospel fountain, but, after having got him there, Joe found that, so far from drinking, Gunter would not even go down to the services at all. On this occasion he said that he preferred to remain on deck, and smoke his pipe.Unknown to all the world, save himself, John Gunter was at that time in a peculiarly unhappy state of mind. His condition was outwardly manifested in the form of additional surliness.“You’re like a bear with a sore head,” Spivin had said to him when in the boat on the way to the service.“More like a black-face baboon wid de cholera,” said Zulu.Invulnerable alike to chaff and to earnest advice, Gunter sat on the fore-hatch smoking, while psalms of praise were rising from the hold.Now, it was the little silver watch which caused all this trouble to Gunter. Bad as the man was, he had never been an absolute thief until the night on which he had robbed Ruth Dotropy. The horror depicted in her pretty, innocent face when he stopped her had left an impression on his mind which neither recklessness nor drink could remove, and thankfully would he have returned the watch if he had known the young lady’s name or residence. Moreover, he was so inexperienced and timid in this new line of life, that he did not know how to turn the watch into cash with safety, and had no place in which to conceal it. On the very day about which we write, seeing the Coper not far off, the unhappy man had thrust the watch into his trousers pocket with the intention of bartering it with the Dutchman for rum, if he should get the chance. Small chance indeed, with Joe Davidson for his skipper! but there is no accounting for the freaks of the guilty.The watch was now metaphorically burning a hole in Gunter’s pocket, and, that pocket being somewhat similar in many respects to the pockets of average schoolboys, Ruth’s pretty little watch lay in company with a few coppers, a bit of twine, a broken clasp-knife, two buttons, a short pipe, a crumpled tract of the Mission to Deep-Sea Fishermen, and a half-finished quid of tobacco.But although John Gunter would not drink of his own free-will, he could not easily avoid the water of life that came rushing to him up the hatchway and filled his ears. It came to him first, as we have said, in song; and the words of the hymn, “Sinner, list to the loving call,” passed not only his outer and inner ear, but dropped into his soul and disturbed him.Then he got a surprise when Captain Bream’s voice resounded through the hold,—there was something so very deep and metallic about it, yet so tender and musical. But the greatest surprise of all came when the captain, without a word of preface or statement as to where his text was to be found, looked his expectant audience earnestly in the face, and said slowly, “Thou shalt not steal.”Poor Captain Bream! nothing was further from his thoughts than the idea that any one listening to him was actually a thief! but he had made up his mind to press home, with the Spirit’s blessing, the great truth that the man who refuses to accept salvation in Jesus Christ robs God of the love and honour that are His due; robs his wife and children and fellow-men of the good example and Christian service which he was fitted and intended to exert, and robs himself, so to speak, of Eternal Life.The captain’s arguments had much weight in the hold, but they had no weight on deck. Many of his shafts of reason were permitted to pierce the tough frames of the rugged men before him, and lodge with good influence in tender hearts, but they all fell pointless on the deck above. It was the pure unadulterated Word of God, “without note or comment,” that was destined that day to penetrate the iron heart of John Gunter, and sink down into his soul. “Thou shalt not steal!” That was all of the sermon that Gunter heard; the rest fell on deaf ears, for these words continued to burn into his very soul. Influenced by the new and deep feelings that had been aroused in him, he pulled the watch from his pocket with the intention of hurling it into the sea, but the thought that he would still deserve to be called athiefcaused him to hesitate.“Hallo! Gunter, what pretty little thing is that you’ve got?”The words were uttered by Dick Herring of theWhite Cloud, who, being like-minded with John, had remained on deck like him to smoke and lounge.“You’ve got no business wi’ that,” growled Gunter, as he closed his hand on the watch, and thrust it back into his pocket.“I didn’t say I had, mate,” retorted Herring, with a puff of contempt, which at the same time emptied his mouth and his spirit.Herring said no more; but when the service was over, and the men were chatting about the deck, he quietly mentioned what he had seen, and some of the waggish among the crew came up to Gunter and asked him, with significant looks and laughs, what time o’ day it was.At first Gunter replied in his wonted surly manner; but at last, feeling that the best way would be to put a bold face on the matter, he said with an off-hand laugh—“Herring thinks he’s made a wonderful discovery, but surely there’s nothing very strange in a man buyin’ a little watch for his sweetheart.”“You don’t mean to say thatyouhave a sweetheart do you?” said a youth of about seventeen, who had a tendency to be what is styled cheeky.Gunter turned on him with contempt. “Well, now,” he replied, “if I had a smooth baby-face like yours I wouldnotsay as I had, but bein’ a man, you see, I may ventur’ to say that I have.”“Come, Gunter, you’re too hard on ’im,” cried Spivin; “I don’t believe you’ve bought a watch for her at all; at least if you have, it must be a pewter one.”Thus taunted, Gunter resolved to carry out the bold line of action. “What d’ee call that?” he cried, pulling out the watch and holding it up to view.Captain Bream chanced to be an amused witness of this little scene, but his expression changed to one of amazement when he beheld the peculiar and unmistakable watch which, years before, he had given to Ruth Dotropy’s father. Recovering himself quickly he stepped forward.“A very pretty little thing,” he said, “and looks uncommonly like silver. Let me see it.”He held out his hand, and Gunter gave it to him without the slightest suspicion, of course, that he knew anything about it. “Yes, undoubtedly it is silver, and a very curious style of article too,” continued the captain in a low off-hand tone. “You’ve no objection to my taking it to the cabin to look at it more carefully?”Of course Gunter had no objection, though a sensation of uneasiness arose within him, especially when Captain Bream asked him to go below with him, and whispered to Joe Davidson in a low tone, as he passed him, to shut the cabin skylight.No sooner were they below, with the cabin-door shut, than the captain looked steadily in the man’s face, and said—“Gunter, you stole this watch from a young lady in Yarmouth.”An electric shock could not have more effectually stunned the convicted fisherman. He gazed at the captain in speechless surprise. Then his fists clenched, a rush of blood came to his face, and a fierce oath rose to his white lips as he prepared to deny the charge.“Stop!” said the captain, impressively, and there was nothing of severity or indignation in his voice or look. “Don’t commit yourself, Gunter. See, I place the watch on this table. If you bought it to give to your sweetheart, take it up. If you stole it from a pretty young lady in one of the rows of Yarmouth some months ago, and would now wish me to restore it to her—for I know her and the watch well—let it lie.”Gunter looked at the captain, then at the watch, and hesitated. Then his head drooped, and in a low voice he said—“I am guilty, sir.”Without a word more, Captain Bream laid his hand on the poor man’s shoulder and pressed it. Gunter knew well what was meant. He went down on his knees. The captain kneeled beside him, and in a deep, intensely earnest voice, claimed forgiveness of the sin that had been confessed, and prayed that the sinner’s soul might be there and then cleansed in the precious blood of Jesus.John Gunter was completely broken down; tears rolled over his cheeks, and it required all his great physical strength to enable him to keep down the sobs that well-nigh choked him.Fishermen of the North Sea are tough. Their eyes are not easily made to swell or look red by salt water, whether it come from the ocean without or the mightier ocean within. When Gunter had risen from his knees and wiped his eyes with the end of a comforter, which had probably been worked under the superintendence of Ruth herself; there were no signs of emotion left—only a subdued look in his weatherworn face.“I give myself up, sir,” he said, “to suffer what punishment is due.”“No punishment is due, my man. Jesus has borne all the punishment due to you and me. In regard to man, you have restored that which you took away, and well do I know that the young lady—like her Master—forgives freely. I will return the watch to her. You can go back to your comrades—nobody shall ever hear more about this. If they chaff you, or question you, just say nothing, and smile at them.”“But—but, sir,” said Gunter, moving uneasily.“I ain’t used to smilin’. I—I’ve bin so used to look gruff that—”“Look gruff, then, my man,” interrupted the captain, himself unable to repress a smile. “If you’re not gruff in your heart, it won’t matter much what you look like. Just look gruff, an’ keep your mouth shut, and they’ll soon let you alone.”Acting on this advice, John Gunter returned to his mates looking gruffer, if possible, and more taciturn than ever, but radically changed, from that hour, in soul and spirit.
It is interesting to observe the curious, and oftentimes unlikely, ways in which the guilt of man is brought to light, and the truth of that word demonstrated—“Be sure your sin shall find you out.”
Although John Gunter’s heart was softened at the time of his old skipper’s death, it was by no means changed, so that, after a brief space, it became harder than ever, and the man who had been melted—to some extent washed—returned, ere long, with increased devotion to his wallowing in the mire. This made him so disagreeable to his old comrades, that they became anxious to get rid of him, but Joe Davidson, whose disposition was very hopeful, hesitated; and the widow, having a kindly feeling towards the man because he had sailed with her husband, did not wish him to be dismissed.
Thus it came to pass that when Captain Bream joined the Short Blue fleet he was still a member of the crew of the newEvening Star.
The day following that on which the captain arrived was Sunday, and, as usual, the smacks whose skippers had become followers of the Lord Jesus began to draw towards the mission-ship with their Bethel-flags flying. Among them was the new admiral—Joe of theEvening Star. His vessel was pointed out, of course, to the captain as she approached. We need scarcely say that he looked at her with unusual interest, and was glad when her boat was lowered to row part of her crew to the service about to be held in the hold of the gospel-ship.
It was natural that Captain Bream should be much taken with the simple cheery manners of the admiral, as he stepped aboard and shook hands all round. It was equally natural that he should take some interest, also, in John Gunter, for was it not obvious that that worthy was a fine specimen of the gruff, half-savage, raw material which he had gone out there to work upon?
“Why did you not bring Billy, Joe?” asked the skipper of the mission vessel.
“Well, you know, we had to leave some one to look after the smack, an’ I left Luke Trevor, as he said he’d prefer to come to evenin’ service, an’ Billy said he’d like to stay with Luke.”
By this time a number of boats had put their rough-clad crews on the deck, and already a fair congregation was mustered. Shaking of hands, salutations, question and reply, were going briskly on all round, with here and there a little mild chaffing, and occasionally a hearty laugh, while now and then the fervent “thank God” and “praise the Lord” revealed the spirits of the speakers.
“You mentioned the name of Billy just now,” said Captain Bream, drawing Joe Davidson aside. “Is he a man or a boy?”
“He’s a boy, sir, though he don’t like to be reminded o’ the fact,” said Joe with a laugh. “He’s the son of our skipper who was drowned—an’ a good boy he is, though larky a bit. But that don’t do him no harm, bless ye.”
“I wonder,” returned the captain, “if he is the boy some lady friends of mine are so fond of, who was sent up to London some time ago to—”
“That’s him, sir,” interrupted Joe; “it was Billy as was sent to Lun’on; by the wish of a Miss Ruth Pont-rap-me, or some such name. I never can remember it rightly, but she’s awful fond o’ the fisher-folks.”
“Ah, I know Miss Ruth Dotropy also,” said the captain. “Strange that I should find this Billy that they’re all so fond of in the newEvening Star. I must pay your smack a visit soon, Davidson, for I have a particular interest in her.”
“I’ll be proud to see you aboard her, sir,” returned Joe. “Won’t you come after service? The calm will last a good while, I think.”
“Well, perhaps I may.”
The conversation was interrupted here by a general move to the vessel’s hold, where the usual arrangements had been made—a table for a pulpit and fish-boxes for seats.
“Do you feel well enough to speak to us to-day, Captain Bream?” asked the skipper of the mission-ship.
“Oh yes, I’ll be happy to do so. The trip out has begun to work wonders already,” said the captain.
Now, the truth of that proverb, “One man may take a horse to the water, but ten men can’t make him drink,” is very often illustrated in the course of human affairs. You may even treat a donkey in the same way, and the result will be similar.
Joe Davidson had brought John Gunter to the mission-ship in the earnest hope that he would drink at the gospel fountain, but, after having got him there, Joe found that, so far from drinking, Gunter would not even go down to the services at all. On this occasion he said that he preferred to remain on deck, and smoke his pipe.
Unknown to all the world, save himself, John Gunter was at that time in a peculiarly unhappy state of mind. His condition was outwardly manifested in the form of additional surliness.
“You’re like a bear with a sore head,” Spivin had said to him when in the boat on the way to the service.
“More like a black-face baboon wid de cholera,” said Zulu.
Invulnerable alike to chaff and to earnest advice, Gunter sat on the fore-hatch smoking, while psalms of praise were rising from the hold.
Now, it was the little silver watch which caused all this trouble to Gunter. Bad as the man was, he had never been an absolute thief until the night on which he had robbed Ruth Dotropy. The horror depicted in her pretty, innocent face when he stopped her had left an impression on his mind which neither recklessness nor drink could remove, and thankfully would he have returned the watch if he had known the young lady’s name or residence. Moreover, he was so inexperienced and timid in this new line of life, that he did not know how to turn the watch into cash with safety, and had no place in which to conceal it. On the very day about which we write, seeing the Coper not far off, the unhappy man had thrust the watch into his trousers pocket with the intention of bartering it with the Dutchman for rum, if he should get the chance. Small chance indeed, with Joe Davidson for his skipper! but there is no accounting for the freaks of the guilty.
The watch was now metaphorically burning a hole in Gunter’s pocket, and, that pocket being somewhat similar in many respects to the pockets of average schoolboys, Ruth’s pretty little watch lay in company with a few coppers, a bit of twine, a broken clasp-knife, two buttons, a short pipe, a crumpled tract of the Mission to Deep-Sea Fishermen, and a half-finished quid of tobacco.
But although John Gunter would not drink of his own free-will, he could not easily avoid the water of life that came rushing to him up the hatchway and filled his ears. It came to him first, as we have said, in song; and the words of the hymn, “Sinner, list to the loving call,” passed not only his outer and inner ear, but dropped into his soul and disturbed him.
Then he got a surprise when Captain Bream’s voice resounded through the hold,—there was something so very deep and metallic about it, yet so tender and musical. But the greatest surprise of all came when the captain, without a word of preface or statement as to where his text was to be found, looked his expectant audience earnestly in the face, and said slowly, “Thou shalt not steal.”
Poor Captain Bream! nothing was further from his thoughts than the idea that any one listening to him was actually a thief! but he had made up his mind to press home, with the Spirit’s blessing, the great truth that the man who refuses to accept salvation in Jesus Christ robs God of the love and honour that are His due; robs his wife and children and fellow-men of the good example and Christian service which he was fitted and intended to exert, and robs himself, so to speak, of Eternal Life.
The captain’s arguments had much weight in the hold, but they had no weight on deck. Many of his shafts of reason were permitted to pierce the tough frames of the rugged men before him, and lodge with good influence in tender hearts, but they all fell pointless on the deck above. It was the pure unadulterated Word of God, “without note or comment,” that was destined that day to penetrate the iron heart of John Gunter, and sink down into his soul. “Thou shalt not steal!” That was all of the sermon that Gunter heard; the rest fell on deaf ears, for these words continued to burn into his very soul. Influenced by the new and deep feelings that had been aroused in him, he pulled the watch from his pocket with the intention of hurling it into the sea, but the thought that he would still deserve to be called athiefcaused him to hesitate.
“Hallo! Gunter, what pretty little thing is that you’ve got?”
The words were uttered by Dick Herring of theWhite Cloud, who, being like-minded with John, had remained on deck like him to smoke and lounge.
“You’ve got no business wi’ that,” growled Gunter, as he closed his hand on the watch, and thrust it back into his pocket.
“I didn’t say I had, mate,” retorted Herring, with a puff of contempt, which at the same time emptied his mouth and his spirit.
Herring said no more; but when the service was over, and the men were chatting about the deck, he quietly mentioned what he had seen, and some of the waggish among the crew came up to Gunter and asked him, with significant looks and laughs, what time o’ day it was.
At first Gunter replied in his wonted surly manner; but at last, feeling that the best way would be to put a bold face on the matter, he said with an off-hand laugh—
“Herring thinks he’s made a wonderful discovery, but surely there’s nothing very strange in a man buyin’ a little watch for his sweetheart.”
“You don’t mean to say thatyouhave a sweetheart do you?” said a youth of about seventeen, who had a tendency to be what is styled cheeky.
Gunter turned on him with contempt. “Well, now,” he replied, “if I had a smooth baby-face like yours I wouldnotsay as I had, but bein’ a man, you see, I may ventur’ to say that I have.”
“Come, Gunter, you’re too hard on ’im,” cried Spivin; “I don’t believe you’ve bought a watch for her at all; at least if you have, it must be a pewter one.”
Thus taunted, Gunter resolved to carry out the bold line of action. “What d’ee call that?” he cried, pulling out the watch and holding it up to view.
Captain Bream chanced to be an amused witness of this little scene, but his expression changed to one of amazement when he beheld the peculiar and unmistakable watch which, years before, he had given to Ruth Dotropy’s father. Recovering himself quickly he stepped forward.
“A very pretty little thing,” he said, “and looks uncommonly like silver. Let me see it.”
He held out his hand, and Gunter gave it to him without the slightest suspicion, of course, that he knew anything about it. “Yes, undoubtedly it is silver, and a very curious style of article too,” continued the captain in a low off-hand tone. “You’ve no objection to my taking it to the cabin to look at it more carefully?”
Of course Gunter had no objection, though a sensation of uneasiness arose within him, especially when Captain Bream asked him to go below with him, and whispered to Joe Davidson in a low tone, as he passed him, to shut the cabin skylight.
No sooner were they below, with the cabin-door shut, than the captain looked steadily in the man’s face, and said—
“Gunter, you stole this watch from a young lady in Yarmouth.”
An electric shock could not have more effectually stunned the convicted fisherman. He gazed at the captain in speechless surprise. Then his fists clenched, a rush of blood came to his face, and a fierce oath rose to his white lips as he prepared to deny the charge.
“Stop!” said the captain, impressively, and there was nothing of severity or indignation in his voice or look. “Don’t commit yourself, Gunter. See, I place the watch on this table. If you bought it to give to your sweetheart, take it up. If you stole it from a pretty young lady in one of the rows of Yarmouth some months ago, and would now wish me to restore it to her—for I know her and the watch well—let it lie.”
Gunter looked at the captain, then at the watch, and hesitated. Then his head drooped, and in a low voice he said—
“I am guilty, sir.”
Without a word more, Captain Bream laid his hand on the poor man’s shoulder and pressed it. Gunter knew well what was meant. He went down on his knees. The captain kneeled beside him, and in a deep, intensely earnest voice, claimed forgiveness of the sin that had been confessed, and prayed that the sinner’s soul might be there and then cleansed in the precious blood of Jesus.
John Gunter was completely broken down; tears rolled over his cheeks, and it required all his great physical strength to enable him to keep down the sobs that well-nigh choked him.
Fishermen of the North Sea are tough. Their eyes are not easily made to swell or look red by salt water, whether it come from the ocean without or the mightier ocean within. When Gunter had risen from his knees and wiped his eyes with the end of a comforter, which had probably been worked under the superintendence of Ruth herself; there were no signs of emotion left—only a subdued look in his weatherworn face.
“I give myself up, sir,” he said, “to suffer what punishment is due.”
“No punishment is due, my man. Jesus has borne all the punishment due to you and me. In regard to man, you have restored that which you took away, and well do I know that the young lady—like her Master—forgives freely. I will return the watch to her. You can go back to your comrades—nobody shall ever hear more about this. If they chaff you, or question you, just say nothing, and smile at them.”
“But—but, sir,” said Gunter, moving uneasily.
“I ain’t used to smilin’. I—I’ve bin so used to look gruff that—”
“Look gruff, then, my man,” interrupted the captain, himself unable to repress a smile. “If you’re not gruff in your heart, it won’t matter much what you look like. Just look gruff, an’ keep your mouth shut, and they’ll soon let you alone.”
Acting on this advice, John Gunter returned to his mates looking gruffer, if possible, and more taciturn than ever, but radically changed, from that hour, in soul and spirit.
Chapter Thirty.The Climax Reached at last.As the calm weather continued in the afternoon, Joe Davidson tried to persuade Captain Bream to pay theEvening Stara visit, but the latter felt that the excitement and exertion of preaching to such earnest and thirsting men had been more severe than he had expected. He therefore excused himself, saying that he would lie down in his bunk for a short time, so as to be ready for the evening service.It was arranged that the skipper of the mission smack should conduct that service, and he was to call the captain when they were ready to begin. When the time came, however, it was found that the exhausted invalid was so sound asleep that they did not like to disturb him.But although Captain Bream was a heavy sleeper and addicted to sonorous snoring, there were some things in nature through which even he could not slumber; and one of these things proved to be a hymn as sung by the fishermen of the North Sea!When, therefore, the Lifeboat hymn burst forth in tones that no cathedral organ ever equalled, and shook the timbers of the mission-ship from stem to stern, the captain turned round, yawned, and opened his eyes wide, and when the singers came to—“Leave the poor old stranded wreck, and pull for the shore,”he leaped out of his bunk with tremendous energy.Pulling his garments into order, running his fingers through his hair, and trying to look as if he had not been asleep, he slipped quietly into the hold and sat down on a box behind the speaker, where he could see the earnest faces of the rugged congregation brought into strong relief by the light that streamed down the open hatchway.What the preacher said, or what his subject was, Captain Bream never knew, for, before he could bring his mind to bear on it, his eyes fell on an object which seemed to stop the very pulsations of his heart, while his face grew pale. Fortunately he was himself in the deep shadow of the deck, and could not be easily observed.Yet the object which created such a powerful sensation in the captain’s breast was not in itself calculated to cause amazement or alarm, for it was nothing more than a pretty-faced, curly-haired fisher-boy, who, with lips parted and his bright eyes gazing intently, was listening to the preacher with all his powers. Need we say that it was our friend Billy Bright, and that in his fair face Captain Bream thought, or rather felt, that he recognised the features of his long-lost sister?With a strong effort the captain restrained his feelings and tried to listen, but in vain. Not only were his eyes riveted on the young face before him, but his whole being seemed to be absorbed by it. The necessity of keeping still, however, gave him time to make up his mind as to how he should act, so that when the service was brought to a close, he appeared on deck without a trace of his late excitement visible.“What lad is this?” he asked, going up to Joe, who was standing close to Billy.“This,” said Joe, laying his hand kindly on the boy’s shoulder, “is Billy Bright, son of the late owner of the oldEvenin’ Star.”“What!” exclaimed the captain, unable to repress his surprise, “son of the widow who owns the newEvening Star? then that proves that your mothermustbe alive?”“Incourseshe is!” returned Billy, with a look of astonishment.“Come down to the cabin with me, Billy,” said the captain, with increasing excitement. “I want to have a chat with you about your mother.”Our little hero, although surprised, at once complied with the invitation, taking the opportunity, however, to wink at Zulu in passing, and whisper his belief that the old gen’l’man was mad.Setting Billy on a locker in front of him, Captain Bream began at once.“Is your mother alive, Billy,—tut, of course she’s alive; I mean, is she well—in good health?”Billy became still more convinced that Captain Bream was mad, but answered that his mother was well, and that she had never been ill in her life to the best of his knowledge.While speaking, Billy glanced round the cabin in some anxiety as to how he should escape if the madman should proceed to violence. He made up his mind that if the worst should come to the worst, he would dive under the table, get between the old gentleman’s legs, trip him up, and bolt up the companion before he could regain his feet. Relieved by the feeling that his mind was made up, he waited for more.“Billy,” resumed the captain, after a long gaze at the boy’s features, “is your mother like you?”“I should think not,” replied Billy with some indignation. “She’s a woman, you know, an’ I’m a—a—man.”“Yes—of course,” murmured the captain to himself, “there can be no doubt about it—none whatever—every gesture—every look!”Then aloud: “What was her name, my boy?”“Her name, sir? why, her name’s Bright, of course.”“Yes, yes, but I mean her maiden name.”Billy was puzzled. “If you mean the name my father used to call ’er,” he said, “it was Nell.”“Ah! that’s it—nearly, at least. Nellie she used to be known by. Yes, yes, but that’s not what I want to know. Can you tell me what her name was before she was married?”“Well now, thatisodd,” answered Billy, “I’ve bin pumped somethink in this way before, though nuffin’ good came of it as I knows on. No, Idon’tknow what she was called afore she was married.”“Did you ever hear of the name of Bream?” asked the captain anxiously.“Oh yes, I’ve heerd o’ that name,” said the boy, promptly. “There’s a fish called bream, you know.”It soon became evident to poor Captain Bream that nothing of importance was to be learned from Billy, he therefore made up his mind at once as to how he should act. Feeling that, with such a possibility unsettled, he would be utterly unfit for his duties with the fleet, he resolved to go straight to Yarmouth.“What is your mother’s address?” he asked.Billy gave it him.“Now my boy, I happen to be much interested in your mother, so I’m goin’ to Yarmouth on purpose to see her.”“It’s wery good o’ you, sir, an’ if you takes your turn ashore afore we do, just give mother my respec’s an’ say I’m all alive and kickin’.”“I will, my boy,” said the Captain, patting Billy on the head and actually stooping to kiss his forehead affectionately, after which he gave him leave to return on deck.“I don’ know how it is,” said Billy to Zulu afterwards, “but I’ve took a likin’ for that old man, an’ at the same time a queer sort o’ fear of ’im; I can’t git it out o’ my noddle that he’s goin’ to Yarmouth to inweigle my mother to marry him!”Zulu showed all his teeth and gums, shut his eyes, gave way to a burst of laughter, and said, “Nonsense!”“It may be nonsense,” retorted Billy, “but if I thought he really meant it, I would run my head butt into his breadbasket, an’ drive ’im overboard.”Explaining to the surprised and rather disappointed skipper of the mission vessel that an unexpected turn of affairs required his immediate presence in Yarmouth, the captain asked what means there were of getting to land.“One of our fleet, theRainbow, starts to-morrow morning, sir,” was the reply; “so you can go without loss of time. But I hope we shall see you again.”“Oh yes, please God, I shall come off again—you may depend on that, for I’ve taken a great fancy to the men of the Short Blue, although I’ve been so short a time with them—moreover, I owe service as well as gratitude to the Mission for sending me here.”Accordingly next morning he set sail with a fair wind, and in due course found himself on shore. He went straight to the old abode of Mrs Dotropy, and, to his great satisfaction, found Ruth there. He also found young Dalton, which was not quite so much to his satisfaction, but Ruth soon put his mind at rest by saying—“Oh! Captain Bream, I’msoglad to have this unexpected visit, because, for months and months past I have wanted you to go with me to visit a particular place in Yarmouth, and you have always slipped through my fingers; but I’m determined that you shan’t escape again.”“That’s odd, my dear,” returned the captain, “because my object in coming here is to takeyouto a certain place in Yarmouth, and, although I have not had the opportunity of letting you slip through my fingers, I’ve no doubt you’d do so if you were tempted away by a bait that begins with a D.”“How dare you, sir!” said Ruth, blushing, laughing, and frowning all at once—“but no. Even D will fail in this instance—for my business is urgent.”“Well, Miss Ruth, my business is urgent also. The question therefore remains, which piece of business is to be gone aboutfirst.”“How can you be so ungallant? Are not a lady’s wishes to be considered before those of a gentleman? Come, sir, are you ready to go?Iam quite ready, and fortunately D, to whom you dared to refer just now, has gone to the post with a letter.”Although extremely anxious to have his mind set at rest, Captain Bream gave in with his accustomed good-nature, and went out with Ruth to settleherbusiness first.Rejoiced to have her little schemes at last so nearly brought to an issue, the eager girl hurried through the town till she came to one of its narrow Rows.“Well, my dear,” said the captain, “it is at all events a piece of good luck that so far you have ledmein the very direction I desired to lead you.”“Indeed? Well, that is odd. But after all,” returned Ruth with a sudden feeling of depression, “itmayturn out to be a wild-goose chase.”“Whatmay turn out to be a wild-goose chase?”“This—this fancy—this hope of mine, but you shall know directly—come.”Ruth was almost running by this time, and the captain, being still far from strong, found it difficult to keep up with her.“This way, down here,” she cried, turning a corner.“What,thisway?” exclaimed the captain in amazement.“Yes, why not?” said Ruth, reflecting some of his surprise as she looked up in his face.“Why—why, because this is the very Row I wanted to bring you to!”“Thatisstrange—but—but never mind just now; you’ll explain afterwards. Come along.”Poor Ruth was too much excited to attend to any other business but that on which her heart was set just then; and fear lest her latest castle should prove to have no foundations and should fall like so many others in ruins at her feet, caused her to tremble.“Here is the door,” she said at last, coming to a sudden halt before widow Bright’s dwelling, and pressing both hands on her palpitating heart to keep it still.“Wonders will never cease!” exclaimed the captain. “This is the very door to which I intended to bringyou.”Ruth turned her large blue eyes on her friend with a look that made them larger and, if possible, bluer than ever. She suddenly began to feel as deep an interest in the captain’s business as in her own.“Thisdoor?” she said, pointing to it emphatically.“Yes,thatdoor. Widow Bright lives there, don’t she?”“Yes—oh! yes,” said Ruth, squeezing her heart tighter.“Well, I’ve come here to search for a long-lost sister.”“Oh!” gasped Ruth.But she got no time to gasp anything more, for the impatient captain had pushed the door open without knocking, and stood in the middle of the widow’s kitchen.Mrs Bright was up to the elbows in soap-suds at the moment, busy with some of the absent Billy’s garments. Beside her sat Mrs Joe Davidson, endeavouring to remove, with butter, a quantity of tar with which the “blessed babby” had recently besmeared herself.They all looked up at the visitors, but all remained speechless, as if suddenly paralysed, for the expression on our big captain’s face was wonderful, as well as indescribable. Mrs Bright opened her eyes to their widest, also her mouth, and dropped the Billy-garments. Mrs Davidson’s buttery hands became motionless; so did the “babby’s” tarry visage. For three seconds this lasted. Then the captain said, in the deepest bass notes he ever reached—“Sister Nellie!”A wild scream from Mrs Bright was the reply, as she sprang at Captain Bream, seized him in her arms, and covered the back of his neck with soap-suds.The castle was destined to stand, after all! Ruth’s joy overflowed. She glanced hurriedly round for some object on which to expend it. There was nothing but the “blessed babby”—and that was covered with tar; but genuine feeling does not stick at trifles. Ruth caught up the filthy little creature, pressed it to her bounding heart, wept and laughed, and covered it with passionate kisses to such an extent that her own fair face became thoroughly besmeared, and it cost Mrs Joe an additional half hour’s labour to get her clean, besides an enormous expenditure of butter—though that was selling at the time at the high figure of 1 shilling 6 pence a pound!
As the calm weather continued in the afternoon, Joe Davidson tried to persuade Captain Bream to pay theEvening Stara visit, but the latter felt that the excitement and exertion of preaching to such earnest and thirsting men had been more severe than he had expected. He therefore excused himself, saying that he would lie down in his bunk for a short time, so as to be ready for the evening service.
It was arranged that the skipper of the mission smack should conduct that service, and he was to call the captain when they were ready to begin. When the time came, however, it was found that the exhausted invalid was so sound asleep that they did not like to disturb him.
But although Captain Bream was a heavy sleeper and addicted to sonorous snoring, there were some things in nature through which even he could not slumber; and one of these things proved to be a hymn as sung by the fishermen of the North Sea!
When, therefore, the Lifeboat hymn burst forth in tones that no cathedral organ ever equalled, and shook the timbers of the mission-ship from stem to stern, the captain turned round, yawned, and opened his eyes wide, and when the singers came to—
“Leave the poor old stranded wreck, and pull for the shore,”
“Leave the poor old stranded wreck, and pull for the shore,”
he leaped out of his bunk with tremendous energy.
Pulling his garments into order, running his fingers through his hair, and trying to look as if he had not been asleep, he slipped quietly into the hold and sat down on a box behind the speaker, where he could see the earnest faces of the rugged congregation brought into strong relief by the light that streamed down the open hatchway.
What the preacher said, or what his subject was, Captain Bream never knew, for, before he could bring his mind to bear on it, his eyes fell on an object which seemed to stop the very pulsations of his heart, while his face grew pale. Fortunately he was himself in the deep shadow of the deck, and could not be easily observed.
Yet the object which created such a powerful sensation in the captain’s breast was not in itself calculated to cause amazement or alarm, for it was nothing more than a pretty-faced, curly-haired fisher-boy, who, with lips parted and his bright eyes gazing intently, was listening to the preacher with all his powers. Need we say that it was our friend Billy Bright, and that in his fair face Captain Bream thought, or rather felt, that he recognised the features of his long-lost sister?
With a strong effort the captain restrained his feelings and tried to listen, but in vain. Not only were his eyes riveted on the young face before him, but his whole being seemed to be absorbed by it. The necessity of keeping still, however, gave him time to make up his mind as to how he should act, so that when the service was brought to a close, he appeared on deck without a trace of his late excitement visible.
“What lad is this?” he asked, going up to Joe, who was standing close to Billy.
“This,” said Joe, laying his hand kindly on the boy’s shoulder, “is Billy Bright, son of the late owner of the oldEvenin’ Star.”
“What!” exclaimed the captain, unable to repress his surprise, “son of the widow who owns the newEvening Star? then that proves that your mothermustbe alive?”
“Incourseshe is!” returned Billy, with a look of astonishment.
“Come down to the cabin with me, Billy,” said the captain, with increasing excitement. “I want to have a chat with you about your mother.”
Our little hero, although surprised, at once complied with the invitation, taking the opportunity, however, to wink at Zulu in passing, and whisper his belief that the old gen’l’man was mad.
Setting Billy on a locker in front of him, Captain Bream began at once.
“Is your mother alive, Billy,—tut, of course she’s alive; I mean, is she well—in good health?”
Billy became still more convinced that Captain Bream was mad, but answered that his mother was well, and that she had never been ill in her life to the best of his knowledge.
While speaking, Billy glanced round the cabin in some anxiety as to how he should escape if the madman should proceed to violence. He made up his mind that if the worst should come to the worst, he would dive under the table, get between the old gentleman’s legs, trip him up, and bolt up the companion before he could regain his feet. Relieved by the feeling that his mind was made up, he waited for more.
“Billy,” resumed the captain, after a long gaze at the boy’s features, “is your mother like you?”
“I should think not,” replied Billy with some indignation. “She’s a woman, you know, an’ I’m a—a—man.”
“Yes—of course,” murmured the captain to himself, “there can be no doubt about it—none whatever—every gesture—every look!”
Then aloud: “What was her name, my boy?”
“Her name, sir? why, her name’s Bright, of course.”
“Yes, yes, but I mean her maiden name.”
Billy was puzzled. “If you mean the name my father used to call ’er,” he said, “it was Nell.”
“Ah! that’s it—nearly, at least. Nellie she used to be known by. Yes, yes, but that’s not what I want to know. Can you tell me what her name was before she was married?”
“Well now, thatisodd,” answered Billy, “I’ve bin pumped somethink in this way before, though nuffin’ good came of it as I knows on. No, Idon’tknow what she was called afore she was married.”
“Did you ever hear of the name of Bream?” asked the captain anxiously.
“Oh yes, I’ve heerd o’ that name,” said the boy, promptly. “There’s a fish called bream, you know.”
It soon became evident to poor Captain Bream that nothing of importance was to be learned from Billy, he therefore made up his mind at once as to how he should act. Feeling that, with such a possibility unsettled, he would be utterly unfit for his duties with the fleet, he resolved to go straight to Yarmouth.
“What is your mother’s address?” he asked.
Billy gave it him.
“Now my boy, I happen to be much interested in your mother, so I’m goin’ to Yarmouth on purpose to see her.”
“It’s wery good o’ you, sir, an’ if you takes your turn ashore afore we do, just give mother my respec’s an’ say I’m all alive and kickin’.”
“I will, my boy,” said the Captain, patting Billy on the head and actually stooping to kiss his forehead affectionately, after which he gave him leave to return on deck.
“I don’ know how it is,” said Billy to Zulu afterwards, “but I’ve took a likin’ for that old man, an’ at the same time a queer sort o’ fear of ’im; I can’t git it out o’ my noddle that he’s goin’ to Yarmouth to inweigle my mother to marry him!”
Zulu showed all his teeth and gums, shut his eyes, gave way to a burst of laughter, and said, “Nonsense!”
“It may be nonsense,” retorted Billy, “but if I thought he really meant it, I would run my head butt into his breadbasket, an’ drive ’im overboard.”
Explaining to the surprised and rather disappointed skipper of the mission vessel that an unexpected turn of affairs required his immediate presence in Yarmouth, the captain asked what means there were of getting to land.
“One of our fleet, theRainbow, starts to-morrow morning, sir,” was the reply; “so you can go without loss of time. But I hope we shall see you again.”
“Oh yes, please God, I shall come off again—you may depend on that, for I’ve taken a great fancy to the men of the Short Blue, although I’ve been so short a time with them—moreover, I owe service as well as gratitude to the Mission for sending me here.”
Accordingly next morning he set sail with a fair wind, and in due course found himself on shore. He went straight to the old abode of Mrs Dotropy, and, to his great satisfaction, found Ruth there. He also found young Dalton, which was not quite so much to his satisfaction, but Ruth soon put his mind at rest by saying—
“Oh! Captain Bream, I’msoglad to have this unexpected visit, because, for months and months past I have wanted you to go with me to visit a particular place in Yarmouth, and you have always slipped through my fingers; but I’m determined that you shan’t escape again.”
“That’s odd, my dear,” returned the captain, “because my object in coming here is to takeyouto a certain place in Yarmouth, and, although I have not had the opportunity of letting you slip through my fingers, I’ve no doubt you’d do so if you were tempted away by a bait that begins with a D.”
“How dare you, sir!” said Ruth, blushing, laughing, and frowning all at once—“but no. Even D will fail in this instance—for my business is urgent.”
“Well, Miss Ruth, my business is urgent also. The question therefore remains, which piece of business is to be gone aboutfirst.”
“How can you be so ungallant? Are not a lady’s wishes to be considered before those of a gentleman? Come, sir, are you ready to go?Iam quite ready, and fortunately D, to whom you dared to refer just now, has gone to the post with a letter.”
Although extremely anxious to have his mind set at rest, Captain Bream gave in with his accustomed good-nature, and went out with Ruth to settleherbusiness first.
Rejoiced to have her little schemes at last so nearly brought to an issue, the eager girl hurried through the town till she came to one of its narrow Rows.
“Well, my dear,” said the captain, “it is at all events a piece of good luck that so far you have ledmein the very direction I desired to lead you.”
“Indeed? Well, that is odd. But after all,” returned Ruth with a sudden feeling of depression, “itmayturn out to be a wild-goose chase.”
“Whatmay turn out to be a wild-goose chase?”
“This—this fancy—this hope of mine, but you shall know directly—come.”
Ruth was almost running by this time, and the captain, being still far from strong, found it difficult to keep up with her.
“This way, down here,” she cried, turning a corner.
“What,thisway?” exclaimed the captain in amazement.
“Yes, why not?” said Ruth, reflecting some of his surprise as she looked up in his face.
“Why—why, because this is the very Row I wanted to bring you to!”
“Thatisstrange—but—but never mind just now; you’ll explain afterwards. Come along.”
Poor Ruth was too much excited to attend to any other business but that on which her heart was set just then; and fear lest her latest castle should prove to have no foundations and should fall like so many others in ruins at her feet, caused her to tremble.
“Here is the door,” she said at last, coming to a sudden halt before widow Bright’s dwelling, and pressing both hands on her palpitating heart to keep it still.
“Wonders will never cease!” exclaimed the captain. “This is the very door to which I intended to bringyou.”
Ruth turned her large blue eyes on her friend with a look that made them larger and, if possible, bluer than ever. She suddenly began to feel as deep an interest in the captain’s business as in her own.
“Thisdoor?” she said, pointing to it emphatically.
“Yes,thatdoor. Widow Bright lives there, don’t she?”
“Yes—oh! yes,” said Ruth, squeezing her heart tighter.
“Well, I’ve come here to search for a long-lost sister.”
“Oh!” gasped Ruth.
But she got no time to gasp anything more, for the impatient captain had pushed the door open without knocking, and stood in the middle of the widow’s kitchen.
Mrs Bright was up to the elbows in soap-suds at the moment, busy with some of the absent Billy’s garments. Beside her sat Mrs Joe Davidson, endeavouring to remove, with butter, a quantity of tar with which the “blessed babby” had recently besmeared herself.
They all looked up at the visitors, but all remained speechless, as if suddenly paralysed, for the expression on our big captain’s face was wonderful, as well as indescribable. Mrs Bright opened her eyes to their widest, also her mouth, and dropped the Billy-garments. Mrs Davidson’s buttery hands became motionless; so did the “babby’s” tarry visage. For three seconds this lasted. Then the captain said, in the deepest bass notes he ever reached—
“Sister Nellie!”
A wild scream from Mrs Bright was the reply, as she sprang at Captain Bream, seized him in her arms, and covered the back of his neck with soap-suds.
The castle was destined to stand, after all! Ruth’s joy overflowed. She glanced hurriedly round for some object on which to expend it. There was nothing but the “blessed babby”—and that was covered with tar; but genuine feeling does not stick at trifles. Ruth caught up the filthy little creature, pressed it to her bounding heart, wept and laughed, and covered it with passionate kisses to such an extent that her own fair face became thoroughly besmeared, and it cost Mrs Joe an additional half hour’s labour to get her clean, besides an enormous expenditure of butter—though that was selling at the time at the high figure of 1 shilling 6 pence a pound!
Chapter Thirty One.The Last.There came a day, not very long after the events narrated in the previous chapter, when a grand wedding took place in Yarmouth.But it was not meant to be a grand one, by any means. Quite the contrary. The parties principally concerned were modest, retiring, and courted privacy. But the more they courted privacy, the more did that condition—like a coy maiden—fly away from them.The name of the bride was Ruth, and the name of the bridegroom began,—as Captain Bream was fond of saying—with a Dee.Neither bride nor groom had anything particular to do with the sea, yet that wedding might have easily been mistaken for a fisherman’s wedding—as well as a semi-public one, so numerous were the salts—young and old—who attended it; some with invitation, and others without. You see, the ceremony being performed in the old parish church, any one who chose had a right to be there and look on.The reason of this nautical character of the wedding was not far to seek, for had not the bridegroom—whose name began with a Dee—risked his life in rescuing from the deep a Bright—we might almost say the brightest—young life belonging to the fishing fleets of the North Sea? And was not the lovely bride one of the best and staunchest friends of the fisherman? And was she not mixed up, somehow, with the history of that good old sea-captain—if not actually a relation of his—who preached so powerfully, and who laboured so earnestly to turn seamen from darkness to light? And had not the wedding been expressly delayed until the period of one of the smacks’ return to port, so that six fishermen—namely, Joe Davidson, Ned Spivin, Luke Trevor, John Gunter, Billy Bright, and Zulu—might be invited guests? Besides these, there were the skipper and crew of the gospel-ship which was also in port at that time; and other fishermen guests there were, known by such names as Mann, White, Snow, Johnston, Goodchild, Brown, Bowers, Tooke, Rogers, Snell, Moore, Roberts, and many more—all good men and true—who formed part of that great population of 12,000 which is always afloat on the North Sea.Besides these guests, and a host of others who were attracted by the unusual interest displayed in this wedding, there were several people with whom we may claim some slight acquaintance,—such as Miss Jessie Seaward and her sister, who wept much with joy, and laughed not a little at being so foolish as to cry, and Liffie Lee, who was roused with excitement to the condition of a half-tamed wildcat, but was so dressed up and brushed down and washed out that her best friend might have failed to recognise her. But if we go on, we shall never have done—for the whole of Yarmouth seemed to be there—high and low, rich and poor! Of course Mrs Dotropy was also there, grand, confused, sententious as ever, amiable, and unable to command her feelings—in a state, so to speak, of melting magnificence. And a great many “swell” people—as Billy styled them—came down from London, for Mrs Dotropy, to their disgust, had positively refused to have the wedding in the West End mansion, for reasons best known to herself.You should have heard the cheer that followed the happy couple when they finally left the church and drove away! We do not refer to the cheering of the multitude; that, though very well in its way, was a mere mosquito-squeak to the deep-toned deafening, reverberating shout of an enthusiasm—born upon the sea, fed on the bread and water of life, strengthened alike by the breezes of success and the gales of adversity—which burst in hurricane violence from the leathern lungs and throats of the North Sea fishermen! We leave it, reader, to your imagination.There was no wedding breakfast proper, for the happy pair left Yarmouth immediately after the knot was tied, but there was a small select party which drove off in a series of cabs to a feast prepared in a certain cottage not far from the town. This party was composed chiefly of fishermen and their wives and children. It was headed by Captain Bream and his sister Mrs Bright. In the same carriage were Mrs Dotropy, the Miss Seawards, and Mrs Joe Davidson and her baby. It was a big old-fashioned carriage capable of holding six inside, and Billy Bright “swarmed” upon the dickey.Arrived at the cottage, which had a fine lawn in front and commanded a splendid view of the sea, Captain Bream got down, took up a position at the garden-gate, and, shaking hands with each guest as he or she entered, bade him or her welcome to “Short Blue Cottage!”“’Tis a pleasant anchorage,” he said to the sisters Seaward as they passed in, “very pleasant at the end of life’s voyage. Praise the Lord who gave it me! Show them the way, Nellie; they’ll know it better before long. You’ll find gooseberry bushes in the back garden, an’ the theological library in the starboard attic. Their own berths are on the ground-floor.”You may be sure that with such a host the guests were not long in making themselves at home.Captain Bream had not invited the party merely to a wedding feast. It was the season of fruits and flowers, and he had set his heart on his friends making a day of it. Accordingly, he had made elaborate preparations for enjoyment. With that practical sagacity which frequently distinguishes the nautical mind, he had provided bowls and quoits for the men; battledore and shuttlecock for the younger women; football and cricket and hoops, with some incomprehensible Eastern games for the children, and a large field at the side of the cottage afforded room for all without much chance of collision.The feast was, of course, a strictly temperance one, and we need scarcely say it was all the more enjoyable on that account.“You see, my friends,” said the host, referring to this in one of his brief speeches, “as long as it may please God to leave me at anchor in this snug port, I’ll never let a drop o’ strong drink enter my doors, except in the form of physic, and even then I’ll have the bottle labelled ‘poison—to be taken under doctor’s prescription.’ So, my lads—my friends, I mean, beggin’ the ladies’ pardon—you’ll have to drink this toast, and all the other toasts, in lemonade, ginger beer, soda water, seltzer, zoedone, tea, coffee, or cold water, all of which wholesome beverages have been supplied in overflowing abundance to this fallen world, and are to be found represented on this table.”“Hear! hear!” from John Gunter, and it was wonderful to hear the improvement in the tone of Gunter’s voice since he had left off strong drink. His old foe, but now fast friend, Luke Trevor, who sat beside him, echoed the “hear! hear!” with such enthusiasm that all the others burst into a laugh, and ended in a hearty cheer.“Now, fill up—fill up, lads,” continued the captain. “Let it be a bumper, whatever tipple you may choose. If our drink is better than it used to be, our cups ought not to be less full—and my toast is worthy of all honour. I drink to the success and prosperity, temporal and spiritual, of the North Sea Trawlers,”—there was a symptom of a gathering cheer at this point, but the captain checked it with a raised finger, “especially to that particular fleet which goes by the name of the ‘Short Blue!’”The pent-up storm burst forth now with unrestrained vehemence, insomuch that three little ragged boys who had climbed on the low garden wall to watch proceedings, fell off backwards as if shot by the mere sound!Observing this, and being near them, Mrs Bright rose, quietly leaned over the wall, and emptied a basket of strawberries on their heads by way of consolation.We cannot afford space for the captain’s speech in full. Suffice it to say that he renewed his former promise to re-visit the fleet and spend some time among the fishermen as often as he could manage to do so, and wound up by coupling the name of Joe Davidson, skipper of theEvening Star, with the toast.Whereupon, up started Joe with flashing eyes; (intense enthusiasm overcoming sailor-like modesty;) and delivered a speech in which words seemed to tumble out of him anyhow and everyhow—longwise, shortwise, askew, and upside-down—without much reference to grammar, but with a powerful tendency in the direction of common sense. We have not space for this speech either, but we give the concluding words:“I tell ’ee wot it is, boys. Cap’n Bream has drunk prosperity to theShort Blue, an’ so have we, for we love it, but there’s anotherShort Blue—”A perfect storm of cheering broke forth at this point and drowned Joe altogether. It would probably have blown over the three ragged boys a second time, but they were getting used to such fire, and, besides, were engaged with strawberries.“There’s anotherShort Blue,” resumed Joe, when the squall was over, “which my missis an’ me was talkin’ about this very day, when our blessed babby fell slap out o’ bed an’ set up such a howl—”Joe could get no further, because of the terrific peals of laughter which his words, coupled with the pathetic sincerity of his expression, drew forth. Again and again he tried to speak, but his innocent look and his mighty shoulders, and tender voice, with the thoughts of that “blessed babby,” were too much for his mates, so that he was obliged to finish off by shouting in a voice of thunder—“Let’s drink success toShort Blue Cottage!” and, with a toss of his hand in the true North Sea-salute style, sat down in a tempest of applause.“Yes,” as an Irish fisherman remarked, “it was a great day intoirely,” that day atShort Blue Cottage, and as no description can do it full justice, we will turn to other matters—remarking, however, before quitting the subject, that we do not tell the reader the exact spot where the cottage is situated, as publicity on this point might subject our modest captain to much inconvenience!“Billy,” said Captain Bream one day, a few months after the wedding-day just described, “come with me to the Theological Library; I want to have a chat with ’ee, lad.”Billy followed his new-found uncle, and sat down opposite to him.“Now, lad, the time has come when you and I must have it out. You’re fond o’ hard work, I’m told.”“Well, uncle, I won’t say as I’m exactly fond of it, but I don’t object to it.”“So far good,” returned the captain. “Well, you know I’m your uncle, an’ I’ve got a goodish lot of tin, an’ I’m goin’ to leave the most of it to your mother—for she’s the only relation I have on earth,—but you needn’t expect that I’m goin’ to leave it toyouafter her.”“I never said as Ididexpect that, uncle,” said Billy with such a straightforward look of simplicity that the captain burst into one of his thundering laughs.“Good, my boy,” he said, in a more confidential tone. “Well, then, this is how the matter stands. I’ve long held the opinion that those whocanworkshouldwork, and that all or nearly all the cash that people have to spare should be given or left to those whocan’twork—such as poor invalids—specially women—and those who have come to grief one way or another, and lost the use o’ their limbs.”“Right you are, uncle,” said Billy with strong emphasis.“Glad you agree so heartily, boy. Well, that bein’ so, I mean to leave the interest of all that I have to your dear mother as long as she lives—except a legacy to the Miss Seawards and some other poor folk that I know of. Meanwhile, they have agreed, as long as I live, to stay wi’ me here in this cottage, as my librarians and assistants in the matter of Theology. I had a tough job to get ’em to agree, but I managed it at last. So you see, Billy, I don’t mean to leave you a sixpence.”“Well, uncle,” said Billy with a quiet look, “I don’t care a brass farden!”Again the captain laughed. “But,” he continued, “I’m very fond o’ you, Billy, an’ there’s no reason why I shouldn’t help you, to help yourself. So, if you’re willin’, I’ll send you to the best of schools, and after that to college, an’ give you the best of education,—in short, make a man of you, an’ put you in the way of makin’ your fortune.”Captain Bream looked steadily into the fair boy’s handsome face as he made this glowing statement; but, somewhat to his disappointment, he got no responsive glance from Billy. On the contrary, the boy became graver and graver, and at last his mind seemed lost in meditation while his gaze was fixed on the floor.“What think ye, lad?” demanded the captain.Billy seemed to awake as from a dream, and then, looking and speaking more like a man than he had ever done before, he said—“It is kind of you, uncle—very kind—but my dear dad once saidhewould make a man of me, and hedid! I’ll do my best to larn as much as ever I can o’ this world’s larnin’, but I’ll never leave the sea.”“Now, my boy,” said the captain, “think well before you decide. You could do far more good if you were a highly educated man, you know.”“Right youmaybe, uncle, an’ I don’t despise edication, by no means, but some folk are born to it, and others ain’t. Besides, good of the best kind can be done withoutmuchedication, when the heart’s right an’ the will strong, as I’ve seed before now on the North Sea.”“I’m sorry you look at it this way, Billy, for I don’t see that I can do much for you if you determine to remain a fisherman.”“Oh! yes, you can, uncle,” cried Billy, rising up in his eagerness and shaking back his curly hair. “You can do this. You can take the money you intended to waste on my schoolin’, an’ send out books an’ tracts and medicines, an’ all sorts o’ things to the fishin’ fleets. An’ if you’re awful rich—as you seem to be by the way you talk—you can give some thousands o’ pounds an’ fit out two or three more smacks as you did the nooEvenin’ Star, an’ hand ’em over to the Mission to become gospel-ships to the fleets that have got none yet. That’s the way to do good wi’ your coppers. As for me—my daddy was a fisherman and my mother was a fisherman’s wife, and I’m a fisherman to the back-bone. What my father was before me, I mean to be after him, so, God permittin’, I’ll sail wi’ Joe Davidson till I’m old enough to take command o’ theEvenin’ Star; and then I’ll stick through thick an’ thin to the North Sea, and live and die a fisherman of theShort Blue!”Billy Bright’s determination was unalterable, so Captain Bream fell in with it, and heartily set about that part of the work which his nephew had recommended to him.Whether he and Billy will remain of the same mind to the end, the future alone can show—we cannot tell; but this we—you and I, Reader—can do if we will—we can sympathise with our enthusiastic young Trawler, and do what in us lies to soften the hard lot of the fisherman, by aiding those whose life-work it is to fish for souls of men, and to toil summer and winter, in the midst of life and death, tempest and cold, to rescue the perishing on the North Sea.
There came a day, not very long after the events narrated in the previous chapter, when a grand wedding took place in Yarmouth.
But it was not meant to be a grand one, by any means. Quite the contrary. The parties principally concerned were modest, retiring, and courted privacy. But the more they courted privacy, the more did that condition—like a coy maiden—fly away from them.
The name of the bride was Ruth, and the name of the bridegroom began,—as Captain Bream was fond of saying—with a Dee.
Neither bride nor groom had anything particular to do with the sea, yet that wedding might have easily been mistaken for a fisherman’s wedding—as well as a semi-public one, so numerous were the salts—young and old—who attended it; some with invitation, and others without. You see, the ceremony being performed in the old parish church, any one who chose had a right to be there and look on.
The reason of this nautical character of the wedding was not far to seek, for had not the bridegroom—whose name began with a Dee—risked his life in rescuing from the deep a Bright—we might almost say the brightest—young life belonging to the fishing fleets of the North Sea? And was not the lovely bride one of the best and staunchest friends of the fisherman? And was she not mixed up, somehow, with the history of that good old sea-captain—if not actually a relation of his—who preached so powerfully, and who laboured so earnestly to turn seamen from darkness to light? And had not the wedding been expressly delayed until the period of one of the smacks’ return to port, so that six fishermen—namely, Joe Davidson, Ned Spivin, Luke Trevor, John Gunter, Billy Bright, and Zulu—might be invited guests? Besides these, there were the skipper and crew of the gospel-ship which was also in port at that time; and other fishermen guests there were, known by such names as Mann, White, Snow, Johnston, Goodchild, Brown, Bowers, Tooke, Rogers, Snell, Moore, Roberts, and many more—all good men and true—who formed part of that great population of 12,000 which is always afloat on the North Sea.
Besides these guests, and a host of others who were attracted by the unusual interest displayed in this wedding, there were several people with whom we may claim some slight acquaintance,—such as Miss Jessie Seaward and her sister, who wept much with joy, and laughed not a little at being so foolish as to cry, and Liffie Lee, who was roused with excitement to the condition of a half-tamed wildcat, but was so dressed up and brushed down and washed out that her best friend might have failed to recognise her. But if we go on, we shall never have done—for the whole of Yarmouth seemed to be there—high and low, rich and poor! Of course Mrs Dotropy was also there, grand, confused, sententious as ever, amiable, and unable to command her feelings—in a state, so to speak, of melting magnificence. And a great many “swell” people—as Billy styled them—came down from London, for Mrs Dotropy, to their disgust, had positively refused to have the wedding in the West End mansion, for reasons best known to herself.
You should have heard the cheer that followed the happy couple when they finally left the church and drove away! We do not refer to the cheering of the multitude; that, though very well in its way, was a mere mosquito-squeak to the deep-toned deafening, reverberating shout of an enthusiasm—born upon the sea, fed on the bread and water of life, strengthened alike by the breezes of success and the gales of adversity—which burst in hurricane violence from the leathern lungs and throats of the North Sea fishermen! We leave it, reader, to your imagination.
There was no wedding breakfast proper, for the happy pair left Yarmouth immediately after the knot was tied, but there was a small select party which drove off in a series of cabs to a feast prepared in a certain cottage not far from the town. This party was composed chiefly of fishermen and their wives and children. It was headed by Captain Bream and his sister Mrs Bright. In the same carriage were Mrs Dotropy, the Miss Seawards, and Mrs Joe Davidson and her baby. It was a big old-fashioned carriage capable of holding six inside, and Billy Bright “swarmed” upon the dickey.
Arrived at the cottage, which had a fine lawn in front and commanded a splendid view of the sea, Captain Bream got down, took up a position at the garden-gate, and, shaking hands with each guest as he or she entered, bade him or her welcome to “Short Blue Cottage!”
“’Tis a pleasant anchorage,” he said to the sisters Seaward as they passed in, “very pleasant at the end of life’s voyage. Praise the Lord who gave it me! Show them the way, Nellie; they’ll know it better before long. You’ll find gooseberry bushes in the back garden, an’ the theological library in the starboard attic. Their own berths are on the ground-floor.”
You may be sure that with such a host the guests were not long in making themselves at home.
Captain Bream had not invited the party merely to a wedding feast. It was the season of fruits and flowers, and he had set his heart on his friends making a day of it. Accordingly, he had made elaborate preparations for enjoyment. With that practical sagacity which frequently distinguishes the nautical mind, he had provided bowls and quoits for the men; battledore and shuttlecock for the younger women; football and cricket and hoops, with some incomprehensible Eastern games for the children, and a large field at the side of the cottage afforded room for all without much chance of collision.
The feast was, of course, a strictly temperance one, and we need scarcely say it was all the more enjoyable on that account.
“You see, my friends,” said the host, referring to this in one of his brief speeches, “as long as it may please God to leave me at anchor in this snug port, I’ll never let a drop o’ strong drink enter my doors, except in the form of physic, and even then I’ll have the bottle labelled ‘poison—to be taken under doctor’s prescription.’ So, my lads—my friends, I mean, beggin’ the ladies’ pardon—you’ll have to drink this toast, and all the other toasts, in lemonade, ginger beer, soda water, seltzer, zoedone, tea, coffee, or cold water, all of which wholesome beverages have been supplied in overflowing abundance to this fallen world, and are to be found represented on this table.”
“Hear! hear!” from John Gunter, and it was wonderful to hear the improvement in the tone of Gunter’s voice since he had left off strong drink. His old foe, but now fast friend, Luke Trevor, who sat beside him, echoed the “hear! hear!” with such enthusiasm that all the others burst into a laugh, and ended in a hearty cheer.
“Now, fill up—fill up, lads,” continued the captain. “Let it be a bumper, whatever tipple you may choose. If our drink is better than it used to be, our cups ought not to be less full—and my toast is worthy of all honour. I drink to the success and prosperity, temporal and spiritual, of the North Sea Trawlers,”—there was a symptom of a gathering cheer at this point, but the captain checked it with a raised finger, “especially to that particular fleet which goes by the name of the ‘Short Blue!’”
The pent-up storm burst forth now with unrestrained vehemence, insomuch that three little ragged boys who had climbed on the low garden wall to watch proceedings, fell off backwards as if shot by the mere sound!
Observing this, and being near them, Mrs Bright rose, quietly leaned over the wall, and emptied a basket of strawberries on their heads by way of consolation.
We cannot afford space for the captain’s speech in full. Suffice it to say that he renewed his former promise to re-visit the fleet and spend some time among the fishermen as often as he could manage to do so, and wound up by coupling the name of Joe Davidson, skipper of theEvening Star, with the toast.
Whereupon, up started Joe with flashing eyes; (intense enthusiasm overcoming sailor-like modesty;) and delivered a speech in which words seemed to tumble out of him anyhow and everyhow—longwise, shortwise, askew, and upside-down—without much reference to grammar, but with a powerful tendency in the direction of common sense. We have not space for this speech either, but we give the concluding words:
“I tell ’ee wot it is, boys. Cap’n Bream has drunk prosperity to theShort Blue, an’ so have we, for we love it, but there’s anotherShort Blue—”
A perfect storm of cheering broke forth at this point and drowned Joe altogether. It would probably have blown over the three ragged boys a second time, but they were getting used to such fire, and, besides, were engaged with strawberries.
“There’s anotherShort Blue,” resumed Joe, when the squall was over, “which my missis an’ me was talkin’ about this very day, when our blessed babby fell slap out o’ bed an’ set up such a howl—”
Joe could get no further, because of the terrific peals of laughter which his words, coupled with the pathetic sincerity of his expression, drew forth. Again and again he tried to speak, but his innocent look and his mighty shoulders, and tender voice, with the thoughts of that “blessed babby,” were too much for his mates, so that he was obliged to finish off by shouting in a voice of thunder—“Let’s drink success toShort Blue Cottage!” and, with a toss of his hand in the true North Sea-salute style, sat down in a tempest of applause.
“Yes,” as an Irish fisherman remarked, “it was a great day intoirely,” that day atShort Blue Cottage, and as no description can do it full justice, we will turn to other matters—remarking, however, before quitting the subject, that we do not tell the reader the exact spot where the cottage is situated, as publicity on this point might subject our modest captain to much inconvenience!
“Billy,” said Captain Bream one day, a few months after the wedding-day just described, “come with me to the Theological Library; I want to have a chat with ’ee, lad.”
Billy followed his new-found uncle, and sat down opposite to him.
“Now, lad, the time has come when you and I must have it out. You’re fond o’ hard work, I’m told.”
“Well, uncle, I won’t say as I’m exactly fond of it, but I don’t object to it.”
“So far good,” returned the captain. “Well, you know I’m your uncle, an’ I’ve got a goodish lot of tin, an’ I’m goin’ to leave the most of it to your mother—for she’s the only relation I have on earth,—but you needn’t expect that I’m goin’ to leave it toyouafter her.”
“I never said as Ididexpect that, uncle,” said Billy with such a straightforward look of simplicity that the captain burst into one of his thundering laughs.
“Good, my boy,” he said, in a more confidential tone. “Well, then, this is how the matter stands. I’ve long held the opinion that those whocanworkshouldwork, and that all or nearly all the cash that people have to spare should be given or left to those whocan’twork—such as poor invalids—specially women—and those who have come to grief one way or another, and lost the use o’ their limbs.”
“Right you are, uncle,” said Billy with strong emphasis.
“Glad you agree so heartily, boy. Well, that bein’ so, I mean to leave the interest of all that I have to your dear mother as long as she lives—except a legacy to the Miss Seawards and some other poor folk that I know of. Meanwhile, they have agreed, as long as I live, to stay wi’ me here in this cottage, as my librarians and assistants in the matter of Theology. I had a tough job to get ’em to agree, but I managed it at last. So you see, Billy, I don’t mean to leave you a sixpence.”
“Well, uncle,” said Billy with a quiet look, “I don’t care a brass farden!”
Again the captain laughed. “But,” he continued, “I’m very fond o’ you, Billy, an’ there’s no reason why I shouldn’t help you, to help yourself. So, if you’re willin’, I’ll send you to the best of schools, and after that to college, an’ give you the best of education,—in short, make a man of you, an’ put you in the way of makin’ your fortune.”
Captain Bream looked steadily into the fair boy’s handsome face as he made this glowing statement; but, somewhat to his disappointment, he got no responsive glance from Billy. On the contrary, the boy became graver and graver, and at last his mind seemed lost in meditation while his gaze was fixed on the floor.
“What think ye, lad?” demanded the captain.
Billy seemed to awake as from a dream, and then, looking and speaking more like a man than he had ever done before, he said—
“It is kind of you, uncle—very kind—but my dear dad once saidhewould make a man of me, and hedid! I’ll do my best to larn as much as ever I can o’ this world’s larnin’, but I’ll never leave the sea.”
“Now, my boy,” said the captain, “think well before you decide. You could do far more good if you were a highly educated man, you know.”
“Right youmaybe, uncle, an’ I don’t despise edication, by no means, but some folk are born to it, and others ain’t. Besides, good of the best kind can be done withoutmuchedication, when the heart’s right an’ the will strong, as I’ve seed before now on the North Sea.”
“I’m sorry you look at it this way, Billy, for I don’t see that I can do much for you if you determine to remain a fisherman.”
“Oh! yes, you can, uncle,” cried Billy, rising up in his eagerness and shaking back his curly hair. “You can do this. You can take the money you intended to waste on my schoolin’, an’ send out books an’ tracts and medicines, an’ all sorts o’ things to the fishin’ fleets. An’ if you’re awful rich—as you seem to be by the way you talk—you can give some thousands o’ pounds an’ fit out two or three more smacks as you did the nooEvenin’ Star, an’ hand ’em over to the Mission to become gospel-ships to the fleets that have got none yet. That’s the way to do good wi’ your coppers. As for me—my daddy was a fisherman and my mother was a fisherman’s wife, and I’m a fisherman to the back-bone. What my father was before me, I mean to be after him, so, God permittin’, I’ll sail wi’ Joe Davidson till I’m old enough to take command o’ theEvenin’ Star; and then I’ll stick through thick an’ thin to the North Sea, and live and die a fisherman of theShort Blue!”
Billy Bright’s determination was unalterable, so Captain Bream fell in with it, and heartily set about that part of the work which his nephew had recommended to him.
Whether he and Billy will remain of the same mind to the end, the future alone can show—we cannot tell; but this we—you and I, Reader—can do if we will—we can sympathise with our enthusiastic young Trawler, and do what in us lies to soften the hard lot of the fisherman, by aiding those whose life-work it is to fish for souls of men, and to toil summer and winter, in the midst of life and death, tempest and cold, to rescue the perishing on the North Sea.