"Haul on here, sir, with us. God be praised, he took his rope over with
him. Haul, for the Lord's sake! Now! now!"
Ferrier lashed at his work in a fury of effort: a sea sent him on his
knees, and yet he lay back against the inrush of water, and hauled with
all the weight of body and arms.
"Haul, my men! A good life is at the end of that line. Haul! the ice
may congeal his pulses before you get at him! Haul! oh, haul!"
The skipper sprang to the grating abaft the wheel.
"Here he is. Glory be to God! Are you right, sir?"
No answer.
"My God! are you sure, skipper?"
"Sure. Look!"
Ferrier saw an object like a mass of sea-weed, but the night was so
pitchy that no outline could he made out.
"Who durst try to pass a line under his arms?"
"Hand here, skipper; I will."
"Oh, Lewis! Keep nerve and eye steady. The graves are twenty fathoms
below."
Lennard was inert, and no one could tell how he held on until he was
flung on the deck.
"Lend us that binnacle lamp, Jim. Turn it on him."
Then it was seen that Tom might have been hauled up without putting
Ferrier in peril, for the rope was twice coiled under his arms and
loosely knotted in front; he had taken that precaution after seeing Bob
fall. Moreover, strange to say, his teeth were locked in the rope, for
he had laid hold with the last effort of despair.
The wind volleyed; the darkness remained impenetrable, and every sea
that came was a Niagara; yet the gallant smack stood to it, and Tom
Lennard slumbered after the breath came back to him. His ribs had stood
the strain of that rope, but he had really been semi-strangled, and he
was marked with two lurid, extravasated bands round his chest. He never
spoke before falling asleep; he only pressed Ferrier's hand and pointed,
with a smile, upward.
"If it goes on like this, sir, there won't be many of us left by the
morning."
"No, skipper. I hope the men will secure themselves like us. Mr.
Lennard had a near thing. He has a jaw like a walrus, or his teeth must
have gone."
So, in fitful whispers, the grim scraps of talk went on while the blare
of the trumpets of the Night was loosened over the sea.
"Look--over the port-side, there. It's beginning."
Ferrier could make out nothing until the skipper gave him the exact line
to look on. Then he saw a Something that seemed to wallow darkly on a
dark tumble of criss-cross seas.
"He's bottom up, sir. If we'd been running and gone into him, we should
have been at rest soon."
"How beautifully we are behaving, skipper. I suppose there's no chance
of our going like that?"
"Not without something hits our rudder. We seem to have got away from
the track now. While you were below, you see, I got her mainsail in,
and that strip of sail has no more pull than a three-cloth jib. Please
God, we may get through. If anything happens to my mainmast I shall
give in--but it's a good spar."
Ferrier's mind went wandering with a sort of boding fierceness; he
framed dramatic pictures of all that was passing in the chaotic ruin of
shattered seas that rushed and seethed around. He had often spoken of
the gigantic forces of Nature, but the words had been like algebraic
formulae; now he saw the reality, and his rebellious mind was humbled.
"To-morrow, or next day, I shall have to see the misery that this
causes. But why should I talk of misery? The word implies a complaint.
A hundred smacksmen die tonight. Pitiful! But if this hurricane and
all the lesser breezes did not blow, then millions would die who live
now in healthy air. If the sea were not lashed up and oxygenated, we
should have a stagnant pest-hole like an old rotten fishpond all round
the world. England would be like Sierra Leone, and there would soon be
no human race. Who talks of kindness and goodness in face of a scene
like this? We know nothing. The hundred fishermen die, and the
unpoisoned millions live. We are shadows; we have not a single right.
If I die to-night, I shall have been spent by an Almighty Power that has
used me. Will He cast me to nothingness after I have fulfilled my
purpose? Never. There is not a gust of this wind that does not move
truly according to eternal law; there can be no injustice, for no one
can judge the Judge. If I suffer the petty pang of Death while a great
purpose is being wrought out, I have no more reason to complain than if
I were a child sharply pushed out of the way to let a fire-engine pass.
The great Purpose is everything, and I am but an instrument--just as
this hurricane is an instrument. I shall be humble and do the work next
my hand, and I will never question God any more. If a man can reckon
his own individuality as anything after seeing this sight, he is a human
failure; he is an abortion that should be wiped out. And now I'll try to
pray."
So in sharp, short steps the scholar's thought strode on, and the sombre
storming of the gale made an awful accompaniment to the pigmy's
strenuous musings. Ferrier's destiny was being settled in that
cataclysm, had he only known it; his pride was smitten, and he was ready
to "receive the kingdom of God as a little child," to begin to learn on
a level with the darkened fishermen whom he had gently patronized. As
soon as he had resolved that night on Self-abnegation, as soon as the
lightning conviction of his own insignificance had flashed through him,
he humbly but "boldly" came "to the Throne of Grace." Like every one
else who thus draws near to God through the Saviour's merit, he learned
what it is to "obtain mercy"; a brooding calm took possession of his
purified soul, and he was born again into a world where pride, egotism,
angry revolt, and despair are unknown.
There would be no good in prolonging the story of this wrestle; there
was a certain sameness in every phase, though the dangers seemed to
change with such protean swiftness. For three days it lasted, and on the
third day Tom Lennard, Ferrier, the patients, and the crew, were far
more interested in the steward's efforts to boil coffee than they were
in the arrowy flight of the snow-masses or the menace of towering seas.
Ferrier attended his men, and varied that employment by chatting with
Lennard, who was now able to sit up. Tom was much shaken and very
solemn; he did not like talking of his late ordeal.
"Lewis, my dear friend, I have looked on the Eternal Majesty, and now
death has no more terror for me. He will hide me in the shadow of His
wings. I have seen what was known to them of old time; I knew when the
gun seemed to go off inside my head, and I could feel nothing more, I
knew that I should live: and that was the last light I saw in this world
until you saved me--God bless you! We won't ever speak of it again."
Thus spoke Tom, with a fluency and correctness of diction which
surprised himself. And he has never dilated on his mishap throughout his
life so far.
It is not uncommon--that same awe-stricken reticence. This writer knows
a man, a great scholar, a specimen of the best aristocratic class, a man
fitted to charm both men and women. Long ago, he and two others slid
two thousand feet down an Alpine slope. For two days and two nights the
living man rested on a glacier--tied to the dead. "Oh! wretched man that
I am, who shall deliver me from the body of this death!" My subject
knows all about this; he has gazed on the Unutterable, and he has never
mentioned his soul-piercing experience to any creature. There are more
things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
* * * * *
The worst of the ordeal was over; the snow ceased, the hurricane fined
off, and only the turbulent water rushing in discoloured mountains under
the last impetus of the wind--only that cruel water persisted in
violence. It seemed as if for days the sea were sentient, and could not
forget its long torture. Then came a griping frost and a hard sky, with
slight breeze and a quiet sea.
Oh, the marks of ruin and annihilation! The sea was strewn with
wreckage; masses of timber swung around in loose rafts; vessels, bottom
up, passed the smack from day to day; the fleet was dispersed, and only
a few battered and ragged vessels could be seen rolling here and there
in disorganized isolation. "Goodness knows when we shall ever see our
people again, sir. We can't do nothin'; I'll keep a sharp look-out all
through daylight, and we'll pick them up if we can, but I fancy most of
them have run for home or the Humber. Before we settle to work again I
was thinking of a little thanksgiving service. We're saved for some
good purpose, sir, and it's only fit we should say a word humbly to our
blessed Father in heaven."
And all on board met in the simple North Sea fashion, and even the
patients had their say. Only Tom Lennard remained impenetrably silent;
he knew too much; he was a past-master in the mystery of mysteries. The
people used to say in Ravenna, "Behold, there is the man who has been in
hell," when they saw the awful face of Dante; poor, loose-brained Tom
Lennard had also seen that which may not be made known.
"There's some on 'em right ahead, skipper, I think. Joe Questor's
there, I know. He hasn't lost his new mainsail. See 'em, skipper?"
A few dark grey shadows like slim poles were all that Ferrier could see;
but the man was right, and when the deft fingers--those miraculous
fingers--of the seaman had set the mizen right, the smack was sailed
with every stitch on, until she buried herself in the sulky, slow bulges
of the ground swell. Ferrier said, "You see, skipper, it's better to
risk carrying away something, than to have some poor smashed customer
waiting helpless." And the skipper cracked on with every rag he could
show until, on a searing frosty morning, he shot in among the dismal
remains of the gallant fleet.
Ferrier's vessel would have pleased certain lovers of the picturesque if
they had studied her appearance, but she was in a dreadful state from
the prosaic seaman's point of view. Every wave had been laid under
tribute by the frost, and a solid hillock had gathered forward; the
anchor was covered in like a candied fruit; the boat was entirely
concealed by a hard white mass; while as for the ropes--they cannot be
described fittingly. Would any one imagine that a half-inch rope could
be made the centre of a column of ice three inches in diameter? Would
any one imagine that a small block could be the nucleus of a lump as
large as a pumpkin? From, stem to stern the vessel was caked in glossy
ice, and from her gaffs and booms hung huge icicles like the stalagmites
of the Dropping Cave. All the other smacks were in the same plight, and
it was quite clear that no fishing could be done for awhile, because
every set of trawl-gear was banked in by a slippery, heavy rock.
There was something dismal and forlorn in the sound of the salutations
as Ferrier ran past each vessel; the men were in low spirits despite
their deliverance, for there was damage visible in almost every craft,
and, moreover, the shadow of Death was there. When Lewis came alongside
of the Admiral he sang out "What cheer?" and the answer came, "Very bad.
We shall be a fortnight before we get them together."
"Do you think many are lost?"
"I knows of seven gone down, but there may be more for all I know. Some
that ran for home would get nabbed on the Winterton or the Scrowby."
"Up with our flag, skipper, and see about the boat." Ferrier knew that
his task would soon be upon him, and he helped like a Titan, with axe
and pick, to clear away the ice. A spell of two hours' labour, and the
expenditure of dozens of kettles of hot water, freed the boat, and she
was put out, regardless of the chance of losing her. (By the way, the
men care very little about a boat's being swamped so long as the painter
holds. I have seen three go under astern of one vessel during the
delivery of fish. The little incident only caused laughter.)
The chapter of casualties was enough to curdle the blood of any one but
a doctor--a doctor with perfect nerve and training. All kinds of
violent exertions had been used to save the vessels, and men had toiled
with sacks sewn round their boots to avoid slipping on a glassy surface
which froze like a mirror whenever it was exposed for a few seconds to
the air between the onrushes of successive waves. Ferrier carried his
life in his hand for three days as he went from vessel to vessel; the
sea was unpleasant; the risk involved in springing over icy bulwarks on
to slippery decks was miserable, and the most awkward operations had to
be performed at times when it needed dexterity merely to keep a footing.
One man had the calf of his leg taken clean away by a topmast which came
down like a falling spear; the frost had caught the desperate wound
before Ferrier came on the scene, and the poor mortal was near his last.
The young man saw that the leg must go; he had never ventured to think
of such a contingency as this, and his strained nerve well-nigh failed
him. A grim little conversation took place in the cabin between the
skipper, the doctor, and the patient. I let the talk explain itself, so
that people may understand that Ferrier's proposed hospital was not
demanded by a mere faddist. The man was stretched on a moderately clean
tablecloth laid on the small open space in the close dog-hutch below; a
dull pallor appeared to shine from _underneath_, and glimmered through
the bronze of the skin. He was sorely failed, poor fellow. The skipper
stood there--dirty, unkempt, grim, compassionate. Ferrier put away a
bucket full of stained muslin rags (he had tried his best to save the
limb), and then he said softly, "Now, my son, I think I can save you;
but you must take a risk. We can't send you home; I can't take you with
me until we get a turn of smooth water; if I leave you as you are, there
is no hope. Do you consent to have the leg taken off?"
"Better chance it, Frank, my boy. I dursn't face your old woman if I go
home without you."
"Will it give me a chance? Can I stand the pain?"
"You'll have no pain. You'll never know, and it all depends upon
_afterwards_."
"I stand or fall with you, doctor. I have some little toebiters at home
I don't want to leave yet."
"Very good. Now, skipper, stand by him till I come back; I have some
things to bring."
Two wild journeys had to be risked, but the doctor's luck held, and he
once more came on that glassy deck. Sharply and decisively he made his
preparations. "Have you nerve enough to assist me, skipper?"
"I'll be as game as I can, doctor."
"Then kneel here, and take this elastic bag in your hand; turn this rose
right over my hands as I work, and keep the spray steadily spirting on
the place. You understand? Now, Frank, my man, when I put this over
your face, take a deep breath."
* * * * *
Ferrier was pale when Frank asked "Where am I?" He waved the skipper
aside, and set himself to comfort the brave man who had returned from
the death-in-life of chloroform.
"Bear down on our people and let my men take the boat back. I'm going
to stop all night with you, skipper."
"Well, of all the----well, there sir, it you ain't. Lord! what me and
Frank'll have to tell them if we gets home! Why, it's a story to last
ten year, this 'ere. And on this here bank, in a smack!"
"Never mind that, old fellow. Get my men out of danger."
The extraordinary--almost violent--hospitality of the skipper; his
lavishness in the matter of the fisherman's second luxury--sugar; his
laughing admiration, were very amusing. He would not sleep, but he
watched fondly over doctor and patient.
Ferrier was fortified now against certain insect plagues which once
afflicted him, and the brilliant professor laid his head on an old cork
fender and slept like an infant. He did not return until next evening;
he went without books, tobacco, alcohol, and conversation, and he never
had an afterthought about his own privations.
Frank seemed so cool and easy when his saviour left him, that Ferrier
determined to give him a last word of hope.
"Good-bye, my man. No liquor of any sort. You'll get well now. Bear
up for four days more, because I must have you near me; then either
you'll run home with me, or I'll order your skipper to take you."
Nothing that the Middle Ages ever devised could equal that suffering
seaman's unavoidable tortures during the next few days. He should have
been on a soft couch; he was on a malodorous plank. He should have been
still; he was only kept from rolling over and over by pads of old
netting stuffed under him on each side. Luxury was denied him; and the
necessities of life were scarce indeed.
Poor Frank! his sternly-tender surgeon did not desert him, and he was at
last sent away in his own smack. He lived to be an attendant in a
certain institution which I shall not yet name.
After much sleepless labour, which grew more and more intense as the
stragglers found their way up, Ferrier summarized his work and his
failures. He had treated frostbite--one case necessitating amputation;
he had cases of sea-ulcers; cracks in the hand. Stop! The outsider may
ask why a cracked hand should need to be treated by a skilled surgeon.
Well, it happens that the fishermen's cracked hands have gaps across the
inside bends of the fingers which reach the bone. The man goes to sleep
with hands clenched; as soon as he can open them the skin and flesh
part, and then you see bone and tendon laid bare for salt, or grit, or
any other irritant to act upon. I have seen good fellows drawing their
breath with sharp, whistling sounds of pain, as they worked at the net
with those gaping sores on their gnarled paws. One such crack would send
me demented, I know; but our men bear it all with rude philosophy.
Ferrier learned how to dress these ugly sores with compresses surrounded
by oiled silk. Men could then go about odd jobs without pain, and some
of them told the surgeon that it was like heaven.
Well, there were half a score smashed fingers, a few severe bruises,
several poisoned hands, a crushed foot, and many minor ailments caused
by the incessant cold, hunger, and labour. Ten men should have been
sent home; one died at sea; ten more might have saved their berths if
they could have had a week of rest and proper treatment.
My hero was downcast, but his depression only gave edge and vigour to
his resolution in the end. He had learned the efficacy of prayer
now--prayer to a loving and all-powerful Father; and he always had an
assured sense of protection and comfort when he had told his plain tale
and released his heart. I, the writer, should have smiled at him in
those days, but I am not so sure that I could smile with confidence now.
Lennard stuck to his favourite with helpful gallantry, and became so
skilled a nurse that Ferrier was always content to leave him in charge.
Both men tried to cheer each other; both were sick for home, and there
is no use in disguising the fact. When Ferrier one day came across the
simple lines--
"Perhaps the selfsame song has found a path
To the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn,"
he came near to imitating Ruth. He knew his duty well enough, but the
affections and the spirit are strong. Then the almost ceaseless bad
weather, and the many squalid conditions of life, were wearing to body
and soul.
An abominable day broke soon after Frank had sailed for home, and a sea
got up which threatened to shake the spars out of our smack. Half a
gale blew; then a whole gale; then a semi-hurricane, and at last all the
ships had to take in the fourth reef in the mainsail. The two Samaritans
were squatting on the floor in the cabin (after they had nailed canvas
strips across the sides of the berths to prevent the patients from
falling out), for no muscular power on earth could have enabled its
possessor to keep his place on a high seat in that maddening jump. It
was enough to jerk the pipe from one's mouth. The deck was all the time
in a smother of half-frozen slush, and the seas were so wall-sided that
the said slush fell in great plumps from side to side with a force which
plucked the men off their legs several times. Again and again it
appeared as if the smack must fall off the sides of the steep seas, as
the long screw colliers sometimes do in the Bay of Biscay when the three
crossing drifts meet. It was a heartbreaking day, and, at the very
worst, a smack bore down as if he meant to come right into the Mission
vessel. Sweeping under the lee and stopping his vessel, the smack's
skipper hailed. "Got the doctor on board?" Down went the newcomer into
the trough, leaving just a glimpse of his truck. Up again with a
rolling wave.
"Yes. What's up?"
"We've got a man dying here, and not one of my white-livered hounds will
go in the small boat."
"Can't you persuade them?"
"No. They'll forfeit their voyage first."
"Edge away from us, and I'll see."
By this time the two smacks were almost in collision, but they went
clear. The skipper went below and stated the case. Ferrier listened
grimly.
"What do you think, skipper?"
"Your life's precious, sir. You've come to be like the apple of my eye;
I'd rather die myself than you should go."
"Are your men game enough?"
"I'm going myself if you go. If I die I shall be in my Master's
service."
"Is it so very bad?"
"Very."
"What's our chance?"
"Ten to one against us ever coming back."
"It's long odds. Shove the boat out."
"Stop a bit, sir. Don't smile at an old man. Let's put it before the
Lord. I never found that fail. Come, sir, and I'll pray for you."
"All cant," do you say, reader? Maybe, my friend, but I wish you and I
could only have the heart that the words came from. The skipper bared
his good grey head, and prayed aloud.
"Lord, Thou knowest we are asked to risk our lives. We are in Thine
hands, and our lives are nothing. Say, shall we go? We shall know in
our hearts directly if you tell us. Spare us, if it be Thy will; if not,
still Thy will be done. We are all ready."
After a pause the skipper said, "We'll do it, sir. Shove on your
life-jacket. I'll take two life-buoys."