About the time that Captain Bream was slowly recovering from the fever
by which he had been stricken down, a disaster occurred out on the North
Sea, in connection with the Short Blue, which told powerfully on some of
the men of that fleet. This was nothing less than the wreck of the
_Evening Star_.
The weather looked very unsettled the morning on which David Bright's
turn came about to quit the fleet and sail for port. He had flown the
usual flag to intimate his readiness to convey letters, etcetera, on
shore, and had also, with a new feeling of pride, run up his Bethel-Flag
to show his true colours, as he said, and to intimate his willingness to
join with Christian friends in a parting hymn and prayer.
Some had availed themselves of the opportunity, and, just before
starting, the _Evening Star_ ran close to the mission smack.
"Lower the boat, Billy," said the skipper to his son as they sat in the
cabin.
"Ay, ay, daddy."
There was a kindliness now in the tone of David Bright's voice when he
spoke to Billy that drew out the heart of that urchin as it had never
been drawn out before, save by his mother's soft voice, and which
produced a corresponding sweetness in the tones of the boy--for "love
begets love."
The mission skipper received his visitor with unwonted heartiness.
"I pray the Lord to give you a good time on shore, David," he said, as
they went down to the cabin, where some of the other skippers were
having a chat and a cup of coffee.
"He'll do that," said David. "He did it last time. My dear missis
could scarce believe her ears when I told her I was converted, or her
eyes when she saw the Bethel-flag and the temperance pledge."
"Praise the Lord!" exclaimed two or three of those present, with deep
sincerity, as David thus referred to his changed condition.
"I can't bide with 'ee, lads," said David, "for time's up, but before
startin' I _would_ like to have a little prayer with 'ee, an' a hymn to
the Master's praise."
We need not say that they were all ready to comply. After concluding,
they saw him into his boat, and bade him God-speed in many a homely but
hearty phrase.
"Good-bye, skipper; fare ye well, Billy; the Lord be with 'ee, Joe."
John Gunter was not omitted in the salutations, and his surly spirit was
a little, though not much, softened as he replied.
"Fare ye well, mates," shouted David, as he once more stood on his own
deck, and let his vessel fall away. A toss of the hand followed the
salutation. Little Billy echoed the sentiment and the toss, and in a
few minutes the _Evening Star_ was making her way out of the fleet and
heading westward.
The night which followed was wild, and the wind variable. Next day the
sun did not show itself at all till evening, and the wind blew dead
against them. At sunset, red and lurid gleams in the west, and leaden
darkness in the east, betokened at the best unsteady weather.
Little did these bold mariners, however, regard such signs--not that
they were reckless, but years of experience had accustomed them to think
lightly of danger--to face and overcome it with equanimity. In addition
to his native coolness, David Bright had now the mighty _power_ of
humble trust in God to sustain him.
It still blew hard when they drew near to land, but the wind had changed
its direction, blowing more on the shore, and increasing at last to a
gale which lined the whole coast with breakers. Before the _Evening
Star_ could find refuge in port, night had again descended.
Unfortunately it was one of the darkest nights of the season,
accompanied with such blinding sleet that it became a difficult matter
to distinguish the guiding lights.
"A dirty night, Billy," said David Bright, who himself held the tiller.
"Ay, father, it'll be all the pleasanter when we get home."
"True, lad; the same may be said of the heavenly home when the gales of
life are over. D'ee see the light, boy?"
"No, father, not quite sure. Either it's not very clear, or the sleet
an' spray blinds me."
"`Let the lower lights be burning,'" murmured the skipper, as a
tremendous wave, which seemed about to burst over them, rushed beneath
the stern, raising it high in the air. "You see the meanin' o' that
line o' the hymn now, Billy, though you didn't when your dear mother
taught it you. Bless her heart, her patience and prayers ha' done it
all."
For some minutes after this there was silence. The men of the _Evening
Star_ were holding on to shroud or belaying-pin, finding shelter as best
they could, and looking out anxiously for the "lower lights."
"There'll be some hands missin', I doubt, in the Short Blue fleet
to-morrow, father," remarked Billy, with a solemn look.
"Likely enough; God have mercy on 'em," returned Bright. "It wasn't a
much stiffer gale than this, not many years gone by, when twenty-seven
smacks foundered, and a hundred and eighty souls were called to stand
before their Maker."
As David spoke a sullen roar of breaking water was heard on the port
bow. They had been slightly misled, either by their uncertainty as to
the position of the true lights, or by some false lights on shore. At
all events, whatever the cause, they were at that moment driving towards
one of the dangerous sand-banks in the neighbourhood of Yarmouth. The
course of the smack was instantly changed, but it was too late. Almost
before an order could be given she struck heavily, her main-mast went
over the side, carrying part of the mizzen along with it. At the same
time a wave broke just astern, and rushed over the deck, though happily
not with its full force.
Even in that moment of disaster the bold fishermen did not quail. With
their utmost energy indeed, but without confusion, they sprang to the
boat which, although lifted, had not been washed away. Accustomed to
launch it in all weathers, they got it into the water, and, almost
mechanically, Ned Spivin and Gunter tumbled into it, while Joe Davidson
held on to the painter. Billy Bright was about to follow, but looking
back shouted, "Come along, father!" David, however, paid no attention
to him. He still stood firmly at the tiller guiding the wreck, which
having been lifted off, or over the part of the sand on which she had
struck, was again plunging madly onward.
A few moments and one of those overwhelming seas which even the
inexperienced perceive to be irresistible, roared after the disabled
vessel. As it reached her she struck again. The billow made a clean
sweep over her. Everything was carried away. The boat was overturned,
the stout painter snapped, and the crew left struggling in the water.
But what of the people on shore when this terrible scene was being
enacted? They were not entirely ignorant of it. Through driving sleet
and spray they had seen in the thick darkness something that looked like
a vessel in distress. Soon the spectral object was seen to advance more
distinctly out of the gloom. Well did the fishermen know what that
meant, and, procuring ropes, they hastened to the rescue, while spray,
foam, sand, and even small pebbles, were swept up by the wild hurricane
and dashed in their faces.
Among the fishermen was a young man whose long ulster and cap told that
he was a landsman, yet his strength, and his energy, were apparently
equal to that of the men with whom he ran. He carried a coil of thin
rope in his left hand. With the right he partly shielded his eyes.
"They'll be certain to strike here," cried one of the fishermen, whose
voice was drowned in the gale, but whose action caused the others to
halt.
He was right. The vessel was seen to strike quite close, for the water
was comparatively deep.
"She's gone," exclaimed the young man already referred to, as the vessel
was seen to be overwhelmed.
He flung off his top-coat as he spoke, and, making one end of the small
line fast round his waist, ran knee-deep into the water. Some of the
fishermen acted in a somewhat similar fashion, for they knew well that
struggling men would soon be on the shore.
They had not to wait long, for the crew of the _Evening Star_ were young
and strong, and struggled powerfully for their lives. In a few minutes
the glaring eyes of Zulu appeared, and the young man of the ulster made
a dash, caught him by the hair, and held on. It seemed as if the angry
sea would drag both men back into its maw, but the men on the beach held
on to the rope, and they were dragged safely to land.
A cheer on right and left told that others were being rescued. Then it
became known who the wrecked ones were.
"It's the _Evening Star_!" exclaimed one.
"Poor David!" said another.