The man at the wheel shouted, "Somewheres towards midnight, Miss. We're
a-goin' through it middling smart, and we can always draw on them."
Then the girl went below into the warm glow of the saloon. A
sweet-faced lady smiled softly, and said, "Is it poetry to-night, or a
new scheme for regenerating everything?" The tone was caressing and
half-admiring, and the younger lady's still smile in reply was like a
revelation; it showed that she accepted banter, but was too serious to
return it. Marion Dearsley and her aunt, Mrs. Walton, understood each
other: the matron pretended to laugh at her niece's gravity, but the
genuine relation between the pair was that of profound mutual confidence
and fondness.
The soft gleam of the lamps showed a very pleasant group in the roomy,
comfortable saloon. A stout, black-bearded man lounged carelessly on a
sofa, supporting himself with one huge hand as the vessel kicked
awkwardly. He looked as if he had been born with a smile, and every line
of his great face was disposed so as to express vast contentment and
good-humour. You could not call him finely bred, but when he observed,
in terrific bass tones, "Hah! Miss Dearsley, you have gazed on the
what's-his-name; you love the storm; you find it fahscinating--oh!
fahscinating; ah! fahscinating! I like an ignoble cabin and a pipe, but
the what's-his-name is fahscinating--ah! fahscinating." His infectious
good-humour was better than any graces. Then his pride in his phrases
was very fine to behold, and he regarded his repetition of his sonorous
adjective as quite an original thing in the way of pure rhetoric. Tom
Lennard was by inheritance a merchant, by choice a philanthropist; he
was naturally religious, but he could not help regarding his
philanthropic work as a great frolic, and he often scandalized reformers
of a more serious disposition. The excellent Joseph Naylor, who was
never seen to smile, and who was popularly supposed to sleep in his
black frock-coat and high stock, once met Tom on a platform. When Tom
was introduced to the prim, beneficent Joseph his enthusiasm overcame
him; he brought his colossal paw down on Mr. Naylor's shoulder so that
the poor man showed signs of shutting up like a concertina inside the
frock-coat; he squeezed Joseph's hand so fervently that the poor victim
looked like a dentist's patient, and Thomas roared like an amiable Bull
of Bashan, "Bah! Aw'm glad to see this day, sir. To think we should
meet at last! Ah! fahscinating!--oh! fahscinating."
Mr. Naylor bore the shock like a true philosopher, but at home that
evening he mildly observed, "My dear, our new ally, Mr. Lennard, is most
friendly, most cordial, quite impressively cordial; but do you know I
should not like to sign a cheque just now. His cordiality has had
distinct effect on my joints, and I wish really that his left hand were
lighter. Social intercourse can only be carried on with difficulty when
you feel as if a large sack had fallen on you from the third floor of a
warehouse."
The good Joseph always drew back with a timid air of maidenly modesty
when Tom approached him, and I quite sympathize with this bashfulness.
It has never been my fortune to exchange courtesies with a large and
healthy polar bear, so I cannot describe the operation, but I should
imagine that Tom's salute would aid one's imagination.
This delightful rough diamond called on Miss Dearsley to choose the lee
side, and then he addressed himself to a superb young fellow who was
leaning against the wainscot, and easily following the pitching of the
ship. "Look here, Ferrier, you can't find one bigot in this ship's
company, but we've all had a lot of experience, and we find that
religion's your only blasting-powder to break up the ugly old rocks that
we used to steer among. We find that we must have a clear passage; we
fix our charge. Whoof! there you are; good sailing-room;
bee-yootiful--oh! fahscinating."
"I quite follow you, and I sympathize with you so far as I am concerned
personally; but when Fullerton persuaded me to come out I only thought
of the physical condition of your people, and that is why I asked for
Mr. Blair's yacht so that I might have a genuine, fair show. You see, I
fear I am wanting in imagination, and the sight of physical pain touches
me so directly, that I never can spare a very great deal of sympathy for
that obscure sort of pain that I cannot see; I'm hand and glove with
you, of course, and I shall go through with the affair to the finish;
but you must doctor the souls, and let me attend to the bodies for the
present."
The speaker was a powerful, broad fellow, with a kind of military
carriage; his tall forehead was crossed by soft lines of tranquil
thought, and he had the unmistakable look of the true student. Lewis
Ferrier came south to Cambridge after he had done well at Edinburgh. He
might have been Senior Wrangler had he chosen, but he read everything
that he should not have read, and he was beaten slightly by a typical
examinee of the orthodox school. Still, every one knew that Ferrier was
the finest mathematician of his year, and there was much muttering and
whispering in academic corners when he decided at last to go in for
medicine. He said, "I want something practical," and that was all the
explanation he ever gave to account for his queer change. He took a
brilliant medical degree, and he decided to accept a professorship of
Biology before attempting to practise. His reasons for being out on the
North Sea in an autumn gale will come out by degrees.
A gentle-looking man stepped up to Ferrier and laid a white hand on his
arm. "We shall never interfere with you in the least degree, my dear
Ferrier. We'll take such help as you can give. We need all we can get.
When you are fairly in the thick of our work you will perhaps understand
that we have vital need of religion to keep us up at all. You can't
tell what an appalling piece of work there is before us; but I give you
my word that if religion were not a vital part of my being, if I did not
believe that God is watching every action and leading us in our blind
struggles, I should faint at my task; I should long for extinction,
though only cowards seek it of their own accord."
A quiet, short man broke in here. He had sat smiling softly as the talk
went on. His face was gently humorous, and all the signs of a placid
and pure life were there. This smiling philosopher said, "That's right,
Fullerton. Ferrier's like my old mare used to be in the days when she
was a little peacocky and fiery--she always wanted to rush her journeys.
She steps soberly now. We'll teach him something before we've done with
him. You know, my dear boy, you must understand that the greater number
of these men are, well--uncultivated, do you understand. They're not so
squalid, perhaps, as Lapps or Esquimaux, but they're mostly as dense.
We've fought hard for a long time, and we're making some headway; but we
can do little, and if we could not get at our men by religion we
couldn't manage at all. I've brought you into a queer country, and you
must be prepared for a pretty set of surprises. My sister and my niece
have been out before, and I persuaded Mrs. Walton and Miss Dearsley to
take a turn. As soon as my people have got over their troubles we'll
all make a dead set at you, you audacious young materialist that you
are." Then John Blair smiled gently once more, and there was a certain
pride visible as his sad eyes twinkled on his young favourite.
This company of kind folks were all of the sort called evangelical, and
they were bound on a strange errand, the like of which had brought one
of the men out to sea many times before. The yacht was now chasing one
of the great North Sea trawling fleets, and Fullerton's idea was to let
the gallant young doctor see something of the wild work that goes on
among the fishing-boats when the weather is ugly.
The dark, solemn young lady sat very still while the men talked, and her
face had that air of intense attention which is so impressive when it is
not simulated. I think she was a spiritual relative of Joan of Arc and
Madame Roland. It seems dreadful to say so, but I am not sure that she
would not have played Charlotte Corday's part had occasion arisen. In
low, full tones she asked, "Did no one ever work among the fishers
before Mr. Fullerton found them out?"
"No one, except the fellows who sold vile spirits, my dear," said Blair.
"Not a single surgeon?"
"Not one. That's why we decided to kidnap Ferrier. We want to give him
a proper school of surgery to practise in--genuine raw material, and
plenty of it, and you must help us to keep him in order. Fancy his
trying to convert us; he'll try to convert you next, if you don't mind!"
The girl paid no heed to the banter. She went on as if in a reverie.
"It is enough to bring a judgment on a nation, all the idle women and
idle men. Mamma told me that a brewer's wife paid two thousand pounds
for flowers in one month. Why cannot you speak to women?"
"We mustn't blame the poor ladies," said Fullerton: "how could they
know? Plenty of people told them about Timbuctoo, and Jerusalem, and
Madagascar, and North and South America, but this region's just a trifle
out of the way. A lady may easily sign a cheque or pack a missionary's
medicine-chest, but she could not come out here among dangers and filth
and discomfort, and the men ashore are not much pluckier. No; in my
experience of English people I've always found them lavish with their
help, only you must let them know what to help. There's the point."
"And you've begun, dear Mr. Fullerton, have you not?"
"Yes; but the end is far off. We were so late--so late in beginning,
and I must pass away, and my place will know me no more; and many and
many another will pass away. Oh, yes! we shall travel from gulf to gulf;
but I think, sometimes, that my soul will be here on the wild nights. I
must be near my men--my poor men!--and I'll meet them when their voyage
is over."
The enthusiast spoke solemnly, and his queer diction somehow was not
unbecoming or grotesque. I suppose George Fox and Savonarola did not
use quite the ordinary language of their day and generation.
The doctor listened with a kind look on his strong face, and when the
dark young girl quietly whispered "Amen!" our professor quite simply
repeated the word.
Tom Lennard had been going through a most complicated series of
acrobatic movements, and he now broke in--
"Ah! Harry Fullerton, if you're not an angel, you're pretty near one.
Ah! that eloquence is of the most--the most--a kind of--ah!
fahscinating--oh-h-h! fahscinating! But I believe this vessel has a
personal spite against me, or else the sea's rising."
"It is, indeed," said Mr. Blair, who had peeped out from the companion.
"We're actually running up to the fleet, and the rocket has gone up for
them to haul trawls. It looks very bad, very bad. You're not
frightened, Mrs. Walton, I hope?"