We have it on the highest authority that it is better to go to the house
of mourning than to the house of feasting. This fallen world does not
readily believe that, but then the world is notoriously slow to believe
the truth, and also rather apt to believe what is false. It was long
before even the learned world could be got to believe that the world
itself moves round the sun. Indeed it is more than probable that more
than half the world does not believe that yet. On the other hand, much
of it very likely believes still that the world is flat. A savage of
the prairie would almost certainly entertain that fallacy, while a
savage of the mountains would perhaps laugh him to scorn, yet neither
would admit that it was a globe.
So, mankind is very unwilling to accept the truth that it is better to
give than to receive, though such is certainly the case if there be
truth in holy writ.
John Gunter had been much impressed, and not a little softened, by the
recent catastrophe of the shipwreck and of his skipper's death, but he
had not yet been subdued to the point of believing that it would be
better to spend an hour with widow Bright than to spend it in the
public-house, even though his shipmate Joe Davidson did his best to
persuade him of that truth.
"Come," said Joe, as a last appeal, "come, John, what'll our shipmates
think of 'ee if you never go near the poor thing to offer her a word o'
comfort?"
"_I_ can't comfort nobody," replied Gunter with a surly heave of his
shoulder.
"Yes, you can," said Joe, earnestly; "why, the very sight o' you bein'
there, out o' respect to David, would do her poor heart good."
The idea of anybody deriving comfort from a sight of _him_ so tickled
Gunter that he only replied with a sarcastic laugh, nevertheless he
followed his mate sulkily and, as it were, under protest.
On entering the humble dwelling they found Spivin, Trevor, and Zulu
already there. Mrs Bright arose with tearful eyes to welcome the new
guests. Billy rose with her. He had scarcely left his mother's side
for more than a few minutes since the dark night of the wreck, though
several days had elapsed.
It was a great era in the life of the fisher-boy--a new departure. It
had brought him for the first time in his young life into personal
contact as it were, with the dark side of life, and had made an
indelible impression on his soul. It did not indeed abate the sprightly
activity of his mind or body, but it sobered his spirit and, in one day,
made him more of a man than several years of ordinary life could have
accomplished. The most visible result was a manly consideration of, and
a womanly tenderness towards, his mother, which went a long way to calm
Mrs Bright's first outbreak of sorrow.
These rough fishermen--rough only in outward appearance--had their own
method of comforting the widow. They did not attempt anything like
direct consolation, however, but they sat beside her and chatted in
quiet undertones--through which there ran an unmistakable sound of
sympathy. Their talk was about incidents and events of a pleasant or
cheering kind in their several experiences. And occasionally, though
not often, they referred to the absent David when anything particularly
favourable to him could be said.
"We've got good news, Joe," said Billy, when the former was seated.
"Ay, Billy, I'm glad o' that. What may the good news be?"
"Another `_Evening Star_' has been raised up to us by the Lord," said
Mrs Bright, "but oh! it will never shine like the first one to _me_!"
The poor woman could go no further, so Billy again took up the story.
"You know," he said, "that our kind friend Miss Ruth Dotropy has been
greatly taken up about us since father went--went home, and it seems
that she's bin writin' to Lun'on about us, tellin' all about the wreck,
an' about our mistake in goin' to sea, last trip, without bein'
inspected, which lost us the insurance-money. An' there's a rich friend
o' hers as has sent her a thousand pound to buy mother another smack!"
"You _don't_ say that's true, Billy!" exclaimed Joe, with a look of
surprise.
"That's just what I do say, Joe. The smack is already bought, and is to
be fitted out at once, an' mother has made _you_ her skipper, Joe, an'
the rest have all agreed to go--Zulu as cook--and Gunter too. Won't
you, John?"
The boy, who was somewhat excited by the news he had to tell, frankly
held out his hand to Gunter, and that worthy, grasping it with an
unwonted display of frankness on his part growled--"I'm with 'ee, lad."
"Yes, it's all arranged," resumed Billy, "and we'll not be long o' being
ready for sea, so you won't be left to starve, mother--"
Up to this point the poor boy had held on with his wonted vivacity, but
he stopped suddenly. The corners of his mouth began to twitch, and,
laying his head on his mother's bosom, he sobbed aloud.
It did the widow good to comfort him. The fishermen had an instinctive
perception that their wisest course lay in taking no notice, and
continuing their low-voiced intercourse.
"Well, now," said Joe, "I have read in story-books of folk bein' as
lib'ral sometimes as to give a thousand pounds, but I never thought I'd
live to see 'em do it."
"Why, Joe, where have your eyes and ears bin?" said Luke Trevor. "Don't
you know it was a lib'ral gentleman, if not two, or p'raps three, as
lent the _Ensign_, our first gospel-ship, to the Mission?"
"That's true, Luke; I forgot that when I spoke, an' there's more
gospel-smacks comin', I'm told, presented in the same way by lib'ral
folk."
"It's my belief," said Luke, with emphasis, at the same time striking
his right knee with his hand, "it's my belief that afore long we'll have
a gospel-ship for every fleet on the North Sea."
"Right you are, boy," said Joe, "an' the sooner the better. Moreover,
I've heard say that there's a talk about sellin' baccy on board of the
mission-ships _cheaper_ than what they do aboard o' the copers. Did any
of 'ee hear o' that?"
"I heard somethin' about it," answered Luke, "but it's too good news to
be true. If they do, it'll drive the copers off the sea."
"Of course it will. That's just what they're a-goin' to do it for, I
suppose."
Reader, the mode of dealing with the abominable "coper" traffic referred
to by these men has at last happily been adopted, and the final blow has
been dealt by the simple expedient of underselling the floating
grog-shops in the article of tobacco. Very considerable trouble and
expense have to be incurred by the mission, however, for the tobacco has
to be fetched from a foreign port; but the result amply repays the cost
for the men naturally prefer paying only 1 shilling per pound on board
the mission-ship, to paying 1 shilling 6 pence on board the "coper."
The smacksman's advantages in this respect may be better understood when
we say that on shore he has to pay 4 shillings per pound for tobacco.
But his greatest advantage of all--that for which the plan has been
adopted--is his being kept away from the vessel where, while purchasing
tobacco, he is tempted to buy poisonous spirits. Of course the
anti-smoker is entitled to say "it were better that the smacksman should
be saved from tobacco as well as drink!" But of two evils it is wise to
choose the less. Tobacco at 1 shilling 6 pence procured in the "coper,"
with, to some, its irresistible temptation to get drunk on vile spirits,
is a greater evil than the procuring of the same weed at 1 shilling in a
vessel all whose surroundings and internal arrangements are conducive to
the benefit of soul and body.
"D'ye mind the old _Swan_, boys?" asked an elderly man--a former friend
of David Bright who had dropped in with his mite of genuine sympathy.
"What, the first gospel-ship as was sent afloat some thirty years ago?
It would be hard to remember what existed before I was born!"
"Well, you've heard of her, anyhow. She was lent by the Admiralty for
the work in the year eighteen hundred and something, not to go out like
the _Ensign_ to the North Sea fleets, but to cruise about an' visit in
the Thames. I was in the _Swan_ myself for a few months when I was a
young fellow, and we had grand times aboard of that wessel. It seemed
to me like a sort o' home to the sailors that they'd make for arter
their woyages was over. Once, I reklect, we had a evenin' service, an'
as several ships had come in from furrin parts that mornin' we had the
_Swan_ chock-full o' noo hands; but bless you, though they was noo to us
they warn't noo to each other. They had many of 'em met aboard the
_Swan_ years before. Some of 'em hadn't met for seven and ten year, and
sich a shakin' o' hands there was, an' recognisin' of each other!--I
thought we'd never get the service begun. Many of 'em was Christian
men, and felt like brothers, you see."
"Did many of the masters an' mates come to the services in those days?"
asked Joe Davidson.
"Ay, a-many of 'em. W'y, I've seed lots o' both masters an' mates
wolunteerin' to indoose their men to come w'en some of 'em warn't
willin'--takin' their own boats, too, to the neighbourin' ships an'
bringin' off the men as wanted to, w'en the _Swan's_ bell was a-ringin'
for service. I heard one man say he hadn't bin to a place o' worship
for ten year, an' if he'd know'd what the _Swan_ was like he'd ha' bin
to her sooner.
"I mind meetin' wery unexpected with a friend at that time," continued
the old fisherman, who saw that his audience was interested in his talk,
and that the mind of poor Mrs Bright was being drawn from her great
sorrow for a little. "I hadn't met 'im for eight or ten years.
"`Hallo! Abel,' says I, `is that you?'
"`That's me,' says he, ketchin' hold o' my grapnel, an' givin' it a
shake that a'most unshipped the shoulder. `Leastwise it's all that's
left o' me.'
"`What d'ee mean?' says I.
"`I mean,' says he, `that I've just lost my wessel on the Gunfleet
sands, but, thank God, I haven't lost my life, nor none o' my men,
though it was a close shave.'
"`How did it happen, Abel?' says I.
"Says he, `It happened pretty much in the usual way. A gale, wi' sleet
that thick we could hardly see the end o' the jib-boom. The moment we
struck I know'd it was all over wi' the old wessel, but I didn't see my
way to go under without a struggle, so we made a desp'rit attemp' to git
out the boats, but a sea saved us the trouble, for it swept 'em all away
before we got at 'em, as if they'd bin on'y chips o' wood. Then, as if
to mock us, another sea pitched us higher on the sands, so as the decks
wasn't washed by every wave quite so bad, but we knew that wouldn't last
for the tide was makin' fast, so I calls the crew together, an' says I,
"Now, lads, I've often prayed with you an' for you. In a few minutes
we'll have to take to the riggin', an' you know what the end o' that's
likely to be. Before doin' so, I'll pray again, for nothin' is
impossible to the Lord, an' it may be His will to spare us yet a while."
Well, I prayed. Then we took to the riggin' to wait for death--or
rescue. An' sure enough, after we had bin six hours there, an' was all
but frozen, a fishin'-smack came past and took us off.'"
"Now, mates," said Joe Davidson, after they had chatted thus in subdued
tones for some time, "it do seem to me that as most of us are of one
mind here, and we are, so to speak, of one fisher-family, it might do
Mrs Bright good if we was to have a bit of the Word together, and a
prayer or two."
As every one agreed to this either heartily or by silence, a Bible was
produced, and Joe,--being mate of the late _Evening Star_, and therefore
a sort of natural head of the family--read the portion where God
promises to be a Husband to the widow, and a Father to the fatherless.
Then they all knelt while he prayed in simple language for comfort and a
blessing to the mourning household. He was followed with a very few but
intensely earnest words by Luke. Even John Gunter put up an
unpremeditated prayer in the words, "God help us!" uttered in a choking
voice, and the old fisherman followed them all with a deep "Amen."
After that they shook hands tenderly with the widow and Billy, and went
out silently from the house of mourning.