THE NORTH SEA FLEET--SUNDAY AT THE FISHING GROUND--THE MISSIONARY
SERVICE--THE GALE--A MISHAP TO THE SEA-GULL AND HER CAPTAIN--A CRASH--
THE CAPTAIN'S DEATH--ALL LOST BUT TWO BOYS--DOING ONE'S DUTY--MORNING--
ALONE WITH A DEAD MAN--BREAKFAST--TO THE PUMPS--SAVED AT LAST.
A fleet of a hundred vessels or more lay together, dotting the surface
of the German Ocean, or North Sea, as it is more generally called,
upwards of 300 miles from the English shore. They were mostly luggers,
of from sixty to eighty tons; each with a crew of from seven to nine
men. These vessels formed a part of the North Sea fishing fleet,
chiefly belonging to Great Yarmouth and the adjacent ports, engaged in
trawling for turbot, soles, brill, and other flat fish, for the supply
of the London market.
They had been out there for nearly three weeks, their wants being
supplied, and the fish they had caught being taken away from them by
several large cutters, which came out from Yarmouth laden with ice, in
which the fish were packed, and thus conveyed to the Thames, or to the
nearest railway terminus--thence to be transported to London, and
dispersed by similar means all over the country. It was Sunday: some of
the vessels had their sails set and their trawls down, their crews in
their dirty week-day dresses standing ready to haul them on board.
Other vessels, which had drawn close together, had their sails furled,
their anchors down, and their trawl-nets hung up in the rigging to dry.
A flag was flying at the mainmast-head on board two of them. The device
was a figure with wings, and an open book with golden leaves in its
hand, on a blue ground, and underneath, the words "Missions to Seamen."
These two vessels were somewhat apart, and boats from the others were
pulling towards them. On board one of the other vessels--the
_Sea-gull_--the crew were collected on deck, in their clean clothing,
maybe not so neat and new as they might have worn on shore, however.
The boat was alongside; the captain came on deck.
"Well, lads, who'll go with me to worship God with our
fellow-Christians?" he asked.
"What's come over the old man, of late?" growled out one of the
roughest-looking of the crew. "We used to do very well without all this
praying and preaching; and I don't see what good it'll do us."
One or two laughed: but no one answered.
"You'll go, father," said a young lad, Robby Starling, addressing
another of the men. "You can't tell what beautiful things are said; and
then there's praying and singing; it does one's heart good to hear them
sing. Come, father; come."
"It's time to shove off, lads," said the old captain, looking round to
see who would go.
Robby again pleaded with his father, who at length stepped into the boat
with two other men, his son, another lad, and the captain.
The weather was calm and fine, so that it allowed of an awning to be
stretched over the deck, under which seats were arranged for the
accommodation of thirty or forty persons. The sailor missionary, who
acted as mate of the missionary fishing-vessel, after appropriate
prayers had been offered up and psalms sung, urged his hearers, in a
loving manner, to accept the gracious offer of salvation while there was
yet time.
All were impressed with this address; no one more so than Rob Starling's
father and the other men from the _Sea-gull_. Before leaving the vessel
the elder Starling went to the missionary, begged him for his prayers,
told him how heartily sorry he was for all his sins, and yet that he was
sure his loving Saviour would wash them all away.
Notwithstanding the calmness of the morning, there had been indications
all day of a change of weather; and just as the sun went down, the
admiral (for so the most experienced captain of the fleet elected to
that post is called) hoisted the signal for the vessels to return to
port. As the fleet had a week or more to remain out, he had been
unwilling to make the signal, though it might have been better had he
done so earlier; but even the most experienced are at times mistaken as
to the weather at sea.
Those who had been trawling all day hauled their trawls on board; and
those which had been brought up, lifted their anchors, and all made sail
together.
Before midnight a fierce gale was blowing from the westward, shifting
now from the south-west, now from the north-west, and creating a heavy
cross-sea. The fishing-vessels took different directions. Some stood
to the north, some towards the south, endeavouring, as best they could,
to beat up against the gale; but they were quickly dispersed here and
there, so that the seamen on board the _Sea-gull_, with which we have to
do, when they looked out into the gloom around, could not discover a
single sail near them. Dark seas, with white, foaming crests, rose up
on every side, threatening to fall over on the deck of the little
vessel, and send her to the bottom. Now she rose to the summit of one
of them now she sunk down into the deep trough between them; tumbling
and pitching as if the sport of their fury. The lightning flashed
vividly; the wind howled in the rigging; the waves roared, and ever and
anon struck the vessel as if about to batter in her sides, sending the
spray flying over her deck, wetting the crew (who stood holding on to
the bulwarks or rigging) through and through.
There was a loud crash, followed by a groan: the mizen yard had parted,
and, falling, had struck the old master, Captain Snow, to the deck. His
men raised him up; he could not speak. He was carried below, where his
injuries could be looked to.
"Robby, my son, do you and Bill Cuffe go below, and look after the old
man; this is not a night for boys like you to be on deck," said the
elder Starling, who now took the command.
The boys gladly obeyed. Bill Cuffe proposed turning into their berths
to go to sleep; but Robby said, "No! we were told to look after the
captain."
The men, by a sickly light of a lantern, examined the captain's hurts,
as he lay in his berth, but though they could not discover that any limb
was broken, they soon saw that he was beyond their skill. They had,
too, to hurry on deck to help repair the damage to the rigging. Soon
after, Robby and Bill Cuffe heard the men on deck battening down the
hatches; it was a sign that things were becoming even more serious than
at first. The bulkheads below creaked; the seas thumped and thumped
against the sides, and the _Sea-gull_ tumbled and pitched about in every
conceivable manner.
"What's going to happen? ain't we all going to the bottom?" asked Bill.
"What shall we do, Robby?"
"Do our duty, Bill, whatever happens, as the missionary told us this
morning; and pray to God to take care of us all aboard here," answered
Robby. "We've now to try to help the captain; I think I hear him
speaking."
The boys went to the captain's side. He had returned to consciousness.
"What's happened, boy?" he asked: "I can't move hand or foot." Robby
told him. "God's will be done," he murmured. "Your father'll do his
best--he's a good seaman. He went to service with us this morning. I
wish all had gone."
While he was speaking, the vessel received a more furious blow; then
there was a rushing noise of water overhead, followed by loud crashes
and a few faint shrieks, and then the vessel seemed to bound upwards,
and no other sound was heard but that of the seas which washed against
the sides. The boys clung to each other in terror; something dreadful
had happened, they had been long enough at sea to know that. They
dreaded to ask each other; yet what could those shrieks mean? There
were no sound of footsteps on deck; the movement of the vessel was
different; she no longer went ahead, but lay tossed about by the sea.
"Boys, are you prepared to meet your God?" asked the captain, in a deep
tone, making an effort to speak. "Pray with me." The boys went to him
and knelt by his side. He tried in vain to lift up his hands. They
repeated the solemn words he uttered. His speech grew fainter and
fainter, then ceased altogether. A few faint groans followed, then
there was an ominous silence. Robby held the lantern to the old man's
face. The eyes were open, but all expression had gone.
"Speak, Captain Snow; speak, Mr Snow--oh! do--do!" cried the boy.
"He's gone--the captain's dead, Bill," he said, sadly, after waiting for
some time and getting no answer. "How sorry father and the rest will
be!"
The boys had not even then realised what had happened on deck. Again
the lugger was wildly tossed about. Another heavy blow was followed by
a rush of water below. It seemed to come in forward. They could stand
the suspense no longer, but rushing up the companion-ladder, with their
united strength they forced back the hatch, and looked out. Better had
it been for them, poor boys, had they remained in ignorance till
daylight of what had happened.
The masts were gone; the boat was gone; the bulwarks were gone; and not
a human being remained on deck. The sea had swept it clear, with the
exception of the companion-hatch, which was low and unusually strong.
To this they owed their preservation. Had it been carried away, the
vessel must soon have filled; as it was, the fore-hatch had lifted, and
allowed the water to pour down. Should it be carried away, the vessel
would very probably go down. Mechanically drawing over the hatch again,
they returned into the cabin, and sat down, sobbing and wringing their
hands.
"Perhaps they're gone away in the boat," suggested Bill Cuffe.
Hobby for an instant checked his tears, but immediately saw the
improbability of this. "Oh, no, no! They're all gone! they're all
gone!" he repeated again and again. "No one but us two and the dead
captain aboard the craft."
"What shall we do, then?" asked Bill, after a long silence.
Hobby looked at his companion earnestly before speaking. "Trust in God,
and do our duty," he said, at length.
"Yes, but what is our duty, Robby?"
"I don't see that we can do much, as yet," answered Robby, "but trust in
God, and pray to Him. Yes, I've heard say that when people die, their
friends go and shut their eyes: the captain's are open; let's go and do
that for him."
Together they went back to the body, and while Bill held the lantern,
Robby reverently closed the eyes of the dead man.
The _Sea-gull_ continued tumbling about as before, now tossed to the top
of one curling wave, now to that of another; while every now and then a
fresh rush of water down the fore-hatch made the two boys dread more
than ever that she would ere long go to the bottom. They dared not go
on deck to see how matters stood, because they knew that if they did
they most probably would be swept off it; so they sat down on the floor
of the little cabin, and held on by the leg of the table, wishing that
daylight would come and the storm cease.
The night seemed a very long one; so, indeed, it was. Wearied out, they
at length both slept. How long, they could not tell, but a sudden lurch
threw them against the side of the vessel, and they awoke, but with
their senses confused, and neither of them able to recollect clearly
what had occurred. The light in their lantern had burnt out, and they
were in total darkness.