When the steamer left the fleet the wind was beginning to moderate, and
all eyes were turned as usual towards the admiral's smack to observe his
movements.
The fishing vessels were still crowded together, running to and fro, out
and in, without definite purpose, plunging over the heaving swells--some
of them visible on the crests, others half hidden in the hollows--and
behaving generally like living creatures that were impatiently awaiting
the signal to begin a race.
While in this position two smacks came so near to the _Evening Star_, on
opposite sides, that they seemed bent on running her down. David Bright
did not concern himself, however. He knew they were well able to take
care of themselves. They both sheered off to avoid him, but after doing
so, ran rather near to each other.
"One o' them b'longs to the Swab," said Billy.
"Ay," said Joe, "if he hadn't swabbed up too much liquor this morning,
he wouldn't steer like that. Why, he _will_ foul her!"
As he spoke the Swab's bowsprit passed just inside one of the ropes of
the other vessel, and was snapped off as if it had been a pipe-stem.
"Sarves him right," growled Gunter.
"It's a pity all the same," said Trevor. "If we all got what we
deserve, we'd be in a worse case than we are to-day mayhap."
"Come, now, Gunter," said Joe, "don't look so cross. We'll have a
chance this arternoon, I see, to bear away for the mission-ship, an' git
somethin' for your shins, and a bandage for Spivin's cut, as well as
some cuffs for them that wants 'em."
Captain Bright did not like visiting the mission-ship, having no
sympathy with her work, but as she happened to be not far distant at the
time, and he was in want of surgical assistance, he had no reasonable
ground for objecting.
By this time the admiral had signalled to steer to the nor'-east, and
the fleet was soon racing to windward, all on the same tack. Gradually
the _Evening Star_ overhauled the mission-ship, but before she had quite
overtaken her, the wind, which had been failing, fell to a dead calm.
The distance between the two vessels, however, not being great, the boat
was launched, and the skipper, Luke Trevor, Gunter and Billy went off in
her.
The mission vessel, to which reference has more than once been made, is
a fishing-smack in the service of the Mission to Deep-Sea Fishermen, and
serves the purpose of a floating church, a dispensary, a temperance halt
and a library to a portion of the North Sea fleet. It fills a peculiar
as well as a very important position, which requires explanation.
Only a few years ago a visitor to the North Sea fleet observed, with
much concern, that hundreds of the men and boys who manned it were
living godless as well as toilsome lives, with no one--at least in
winter--to care for their souls. At the same time he noted that the
Dutch _copers_, or floating grog-shops, were regularly appointed to
supply the fleets with cheap and bad spirits, and stuck to them through
fair-weather and foul, in summer and winter, enduring hardship and
encountering danger and great risk in pursuit of their evil calling. Up
to that time a few lay missionaries and Bible-readers had occasionally
gone to visit the fleets in the summer-time, [see Appendix], but the
visitor of whom we write felt that there was a screw loose here, and
reasoned with himself somewhat thus:--
"Shall the devil have his mission-ships, whose crews are not afraid to
face the winter gales, and shall the servants of the Lord be mere
fair-weather Christians, carrying their blessed and all-important
message of love and peace to these hard-working and almost forsaken men
only during a summer-trip to the North Sea? If fish _must_ be caught,
and the lives of fathers, husbands, brothers, and sons be not only
risked but lost for the purpose, has not the Master got men who are
ready to say, `The glorious Gospel _must_ be carried to these men, and
we will hoist our flag on the North Sea summer and winter, so as to be a
constant witness there for our God and His Christ?'"
For thirty years before, it has been said, a very few earnest Christians
among the fishermen of the fleet had been praying that some such
thoughts might be put into the hearts of men who had the power to render
help.
We venture to observe in passing that, perchance, those praying
fishermen were not so "few" as appearances might lead us to suppose, for
God has His "hidden ones" everywhere, and some of these may have been at
the throne of grace long prior to the "thirty years" here mentioned.
Let not the reader object to turn aside a few minutes to consider how
greatly help was needed--forty-six weeks or so on the sea in all
weathers all the year round, broken by a week at a time--or about six or
seven weeks altogether--on shore with wife and family; the rest, hard
unvarying toil and exposure, with nothing to do during the brief
intervals of leisure--nothing to read, nothing new to think of, no
church to raise the mind to the Creator, and distinguish the Sabbath
from the week-day, and no social intercourse of a natural kind, (for a
society of men only is not natural), to elevate them above the lower
animals, and with only drinking and gambling left to degrade them below
these creatures; and this for forty or fifty years of their lives, with,
in too many cases, neither hope nor thought beyond!
At last the fishermen's prayers were answered, the thoughts of the
visitor bore fruit, and, convinced that he was being led by God, he
began to move in the matter with prayer and energy. The result was that
in the year 1881 he received the unsolicited offer of a smack which
should be at his entire disposal for mission purposes, but should
endeavour to sustain herself, if possible, by fishing like the rest of
the fleet. The vessel was accepted. A Christian skipper and fisherman,
named Budd, and a like-minded crew, were put into her; she was fitted
out with an extra cabin, with cupboards for a library and other
conveniences. The hold was arranged with a view to being converted into
a chapel on Sundays, and it was decided that, in order to keep it clear
on such days, the trawl should not be let down on Saturday nights; a
large medicine-chest--which was afterwards reported to be "one of the
greatest blessings in the fleet,"--was put on board; the captain made a
colporteur of the Bible Society, agent for the Shipwrecked Mariners'
Society and of the Church of England Temperance Society. The Religious
Tract Society, and various publishers, made a grant of books to form the
nucleus of a free lending library; the National Lifeboat Institution
presented an aneroid barometer, and Messrs. Hewett and Company made a
present of the insurance premium of 50 pounds. Thus furnished and
armed, as aforesaid, as a Mission Church, Temperance Hall, Circulating
Library, and Dispensary, the little craft one day sailed in amongst the
smacks of the "Short Blue" fleet, amid the boisterous greetings of the
crews, and took up her position under the name of the _Ensign_, with a
great twenty-feet Mission-flag flying at the main-mast-head.
This, then was the style of vessel towards which the boat of the
_Evening Star_ was now being pulled over a superficially smooth but
still heaving sea. The boat was not alone. Other smacks, the masters
of which as well as some of the men were professed Christians, had
availed themselves of the opportunity to visit the mission smack, while
not a few had come, like the master of the _Evening Star_, to procure
medicine and books, so that when David Bright drew near he observed the
deck to be pretty well crowded, while a long tail of boats floated
astern, and more were seen coming over the waves to the rendezvous.
It was no solemn meeting that. Shore-going folk, who are too apt to
connect religious gatherings with Sunday clothes, subdued voices, and
long faces, would have had their ideas changed if they had seen it. Men
of the roughest cast, mentally and physically, were there, in heavy
boots and dirty garments, laughing and chatting, and greeting one
another; some of the younger among them sky-larking in a mild way--that
is, giving an occasional poke in the ribs that would have been an
average blow to a "land-lubber," or a tip to a hat which sent it on the
deck, or a slap on the back like a pistol-shot. There seemed to be "no
humbug," as the saying goes, among these men; no pretence, and all was
kindly good-fellowship, for those who were on the Lord's side showed
it--if need were, said it--while those who were not, felt perhaps, that
they were in a minority and kept quiet.
"Come along, Joe, what cheer!"
"Here you are, Bill--how goes it, my hearty!"
"All well, praise the Lord."
"Ay, hasn't He sent us fine weather at the right time? just to let us
have a comfortable meetin'!"
"That's so, Dick, the Master does all things well."
"What cheer! Johnson, I'm glad to see _you_ here. The boy has got some
cocoa for'ard--have some?"
"Thank 'ee, I will."
Such were some of the expressions heartily uttered, which flew about as
friend met friend on the mission deck.
"I say, Harry," cried one, "was it you that lost your bowsprit this
mornin'?"
"No, it was the Swab," said Harry, "but we lost our net and all the gear
last night."
"That was unfort'nit," remarked a friend in a tone of sympathy, which
attracted the attention of some of those who stood near.
"Ah! lads," said the master of the mission-ship, "that was a small
matter compared with the loss suffered by poor Daniel Rodger. Did you
hear of it?"
"Yes, yes," said some. "No," said another. "I thought I saw his flag
half-mast this mornin', but was too fur off to make sure."
Most of the men crowded round the master of the smack, while, in deep
sad tones, he told how the son of Daniel Rodger had, during the night,
been swept overboard by a heavy sea and drowned before the boat could be
launched to rescue him. "But," continued the speaker in a cheerful
voice, "the dear boy was a follower of Jesus, and he is now with Him."
When this was said, "Praise the Lord!" and "Thank God!" broke from
several of the men in tones of unmistakable sincerity.
It was at this point that the boat of the _Evening Star_ ranged
alongside. The master of the mission smack went to the side and held
out his hand, which David Bright grasped with his right, grappling the
smack's rail at the same time with his left, and vaulted inboard with a
hearty salutation. As heartily was it returned, especially by the
unbelievers on board, who, perchance, regarded him as a welcome
accession to their numbers!
Billy, Gunter, and the others tumbled on to the deck in the usual
indescribable manner, and the former, making fast the long painter,
added the _Evening Star's_ boat to the lengthening flotilla astern.
"Your man seems to be hurt," said the master of the mission smack--whom
we may well style the missionary--"not badly, I hope. You're limpin' a
bit."
"Oh! nothin' to speak of," growled Gunter, "on'y a bit o' skin knocked
off."
"We'll put that all right soon," returned the missionary, shaking hands
with the other members of the crew. "But p'r'aps you'd like to go below
with us, first. We're goin' to hold a little service. It'll be more
comfortable under hatches than on deck."
"No, thank 'ee," replied Gunter with decision. "I'll wait till yer
done."
"P'r'aps _you_ would like to come?" said the missionary to the captain.
"Well, I--I may as well as not," said David with some hesitation.
"Come along then, lads," and the genial sailor-missionary led the way to
the capacious hold, which had been swept clean, and some dozens of
fish-boxes set up on end in rows. These, besides being handy, formed
excellent seats to men who were not much used to arm-chairs.
In a few seconds the little church on the Ocean Wilderness was nearly
full of earnest, thoughtful men, for these fishermen were charmingly
natural as well as enthusiastic. They did not assume solemn
expressions, but all thought of sky-larking or levity seemed to have
vanished as they entered the hold, and earnestness almost necessarily
involves gravity.
With eager expectation they gazed at their leader while he gave out a
hymn.
"You'll find little books on the table here, those of you who haven't
got 'em," he said, pointing to a little pile of red-covered booklets at
his side. "We'll sing the 272nd.
"`Sing them over again to me,
Wonderful words of life!'"
Really, reader, it is not easy to convey in words the effect of the
singing of that congregation! Nothing that we on land are accustomed to
can compare with it. In the first place, the volume of sound was
tremendous, for these men seemed to have been gifted with leathern lungs
and brazen throats. Many of the voices were tuneful as well as
powerful. One or two, indeed, were little better than cracked
tea-kettles, but the good voices effectually drowned the cracked
kettles. Moreover, there was deep enthusiasm in many of the hearts
present, and the hold was small. We leave the rest to the reader's
imagination, but we are bound to say that it had a thrilling effect.
And they were sorry, too, when the hymn was finished. This was obvious,
for when one of the singers began the last verse over again the others
joined him with alacrity and sang it straight through. Even Gunter and
those like-minded men who had remained on deck were moved by the fervour
of the singing.
Then the sailor-missionary offered a prayer, as simple as it was
straightforward and short, after which a chapter was read, and another
hymn sung. Then came the discourse, founded on the words, "Whosoever
will."
"There you have it, lads--clear as the sun at noonday--free as the
rolling sea. The worst drunkard and swearer in the Short Blue comes
under that `whosoever'--ay, the worst man in the world, for Jesus is
able and willing to save to the uttermost." ("Praise God!" ejaculated
one of the earnest listeners fervently.)
But fear not, reader, we have no intention of treating you to a
semi-nautical sermon. Whether you be Christian or not, our desire is
simply to paint for you a true picture of life on the North Sea as we
have seen it, and, as it were unwise to omit the deepest shadows from a
picture, so would it be inexcusable to leave out the highest lights--
even although you should fail to recognise them as such.
The discourse was not long, but the earnestness of the preacher was very
real. The effect on his audience was varied. Most of them sympathised
deeply, and seemed to listen as much with eyes as ears. A few, who had
not come there for religious purposes, wore somewhat cynical, even
scornful, expressions at first, but these were partially subdued by the
manner of the speaker as he reasoned of spiritual things and the world
to come.
On deck, Gunter and those who had stayed with him became curious to know
what the "preachin' skipper" was saying, and drew near to the
fore-hatch, up which the tones of his strong voice travelled. Gradually
they bent their heads down and lay at full-length on the deck listening
intently to every word. They noted, also, the frequent ejaculations of
assent, and the aspirations of hope that escaped from the audience.
Not one, but two or three hymns were sung after the discourse was over,
and one after another of the fishermen prayed. They were very loath to
break up, but, a breeze having arisen, it became necessary that they
should depart, so they came on deck at last, and an animated scene of
receiving and exchanging books, magazines, tracts, and pamphlets ensued.
Then, also, Gunter got some salve for his shins, Ned Spivin had his cut
hand dressed and plastered. Cuffs were supplied to those whose wrists
had been damaged, and gratuitous advice was given generally to all to
give up drink.
"An' don't let the moderate drinkers deceive you lads," said the
skipper, "as they're apt to do--an' no wonder, for they deceive
themselves. Moderate drinkin' may be good, for all I know, for old folk
an' sick folk, but it's _not_ good for young and healthy men. They
don't need stimulants, an' if they take what they don't need they're
sure to suffer for it. There's a terrible _line_ in drinkin', an' if
you once cross that line, your case is all but hopeless. I once knew a
man who crossed it, and when that man began to drink he used to say that
he did it in `moderation,' an' he went on in `moderation,' an' the evil
was so slow in workin' that he never yet knew when he crossed the line,
an' he died at last of what he called moderate drinkin'. They all begin
in moderation, but some of 'em go on to the ruin of body, soul, an'
spirit, rather than give up their moderation! Come now, lads, I want
one or two o' you young fellows to sign the temperance pledge. It can't
cost you much to do it just now, but if you grow up drinkers you may
reach a point--I don't know where that point lies--to come back from
which will cost you something like the tearing of your souls out o' your
bodies. You'll come, won't you?"
"Yes, I'll go," said a bright young fisherman with a frame like Hercules
and a face almost as soft as that of a girl.
"That's right! Come down."
"And I've brought two o' my boys," said a burly man with a cast-iron
sort of face, who had been himself an abstainer for many years.
While the master of the mission smack was producing the materials for
signing the pledge in the cabin, he took occasion to explain that the
signing was only a help towards the great end of temperance; that
nothing but conversion to God, and constant trust in the living Saviour,
could make man or woman safe.
"It's not hard to understand," he said, looking the youths earnestly in
the eyes. "See here, suppose an unbeliever determines to get the better
of his besettin' sin. He's man enough to strive well for a time. At
last he begins to grow a little weary o' the battle--it _is_ so awful
hard. Better almost to die an' be done with it, he sometimes thinks.
Then comes a day when his temptation is ten times more than he is able
to bear. He throws up the sponge; he has done his best an' failed, so
away he goes like the sow that was washed to his wallowing in the mire.
But he has _not_ done his best. He has _not_ gone to his Maker; an'
surely the maker of a machine is the best judge o' how to mend it. Now,
when a believer in Jesus comes to the same point o' temptation he falls
on his knees an' cries for help; an' he gets it too, for faithful is He
that has promised to help those who call upon Him in trouble. Many a
man has fallen on his knees as weak as a baby, and risen up as strong as
a giant."
"Here," said a voice close to the speaker's elbow, "here, hand me the
pen, an' I'll sign the pledge."
"What, _you_, Billy Bright!" said the missionary, smiling at the
precocious manliness of the little fellow. "Does your father want you
to do it?"
"Oh! you never mind what my father wants. He leaves me pretty much to
do as I please--except smoke, and as he won't let me do that. I mean to
spite him by refusin' to drink when he wants me to."
"But I'm afraid, Billy," returned the missionary, laughing, "that that's
not quite the spirit in which to sign the pledge."
"Did I say it was, old boy!" retorted Billy, seizing the pen, dabbing it
into the ink, and signing his name in a wild straggling sort of way,
ending with a huge round blot.
"There, that'll do instead of a full stop," he said, thrusting his
little hands into his pockets as he swaggered out of the cabin and went
on deck.
"He'll make a rare good man, or an awful bad 'un, that," said the
missionary skipper, casting a kindly look after the boy.
Soon afterwards the boats left the mission smack, and her crew began to
bustle about, making preparation to let down the gear whenever the
Admiral should give the signal.
"We carry two sorts of trawl-nets, Andrew," said the captain to his
mate, who was like-minded in all respects, "and I think we have caught
some men to-day with one of 'em--praise the Lord!"
"Yes, praise the Lord!" said the mate, and apparently deeming this, as
it was, a sufficient reply, he went about his work in silence.
The breeze freshened. The shades of night gathered; the Admiral gave
his signal; the nets were shot and the Short Blue fleet sailed away into
the deepening darkness of the wild North Sea.
Note. Since that day additional vessels have been attached to the
Mission-fleet, which now, 1886, consists of five smacks--and will
probably, ere long, number many more--all earning their own maintenance
while serving the Mission cause. But these do by no means meet the
requirements of the various North Sea fleets. There are still in those
fleets thousands of men and boys who derive no benefit from the Mission
vessels already sent out, because they belong to fleets to which
Mission-ships have not yet been attached; and it is the earnest prayer
of those engaged in the good work that liberal-minded Christians may
send funds to enable them not only to carry on, but to extend, their
operations in this interesting field of labour.