Pleasant and heart-stirring is the sensation of returning health to one
who has sailed for many weeks in the "Doldrums" of Disease, weathered
Point Danger, crossed the Line of Weakness, and begun to steer with
favouring gales over the smooth sea of Convalescence.
So thought Captain Bream one lovely summer day, some time after the
events just narrated, as he sat on the bridge of a swift steamer which
cut like a fish through the glassy waves of the North Sea.
It was one of Hewett and Company's carriers, bound for the Short Blue
fleet. Over three hundred miles was the total run; she had already made
the greater part of it. The exact position of the ever-moving fleet was
uncertain. Nevertheless, her experienced captain was almost certain--as
if by a sort of instinct--to hit the spot where the smacks lay ready
with their trunks of fish to feed the insatiable maw of Billingsgate.
Captain Bream's cheeks were not so hollow as they had been when we last
saw him. Neither were they so pale. His eyes, too, had come a
considerable way out of the caves into which they had retreated, and the
wolfish glare in the presence of food was exchanged for a look of calm
serenity. His coat, instead of hanging on him like a shirt on a
handspike, had begun to show indications of muscle covering the bones,
and his vest no longer flapped against him like the topsail of a
Dutchman in a dead calm. Altogether, there was a healthy look about the
old man which gave the impression that he had been into dock, and had a
thorough overhaul.
Enough of weakness remained, however, to induce a feeling of blessed
restfulness in his entire being. The once strong and energetic man had
been brought to the novel condition of being quite willing to leave the
responsibility of the world on other shoulders, and to enjoy the
hitherto unknown luxury of doing nothing at all. So thoroughly had he
abandoned himself in this respect, that he did not even care to speak,
but was satisfied to listen to others, or to gaze at the horizon in
happy contemplation, or to pour on all around looks of calm benignity.
"How do you feel to-day, sir?" asked the mate of the steamer, as he came
on the bridge.
"My strongest feeling," said Captain Bream, "is one of thankfulness to
God that I am so well."
"A good feelin' that doesn't always come as strong as it ought to, or as
one would wish; does it, sir?" said the mate.
"That's true," answered the captain, "but when a man, after bein' so low
that he seems to be bound for the next world, finds the tide risin'
again, the feelin' is apt to come stronger, d'ee see? D'you expect to
make the fleet to-day?"
"Yes, sir, we should make it in the evenin' if the admiral has stuck to
his plans."
The captain became silent again, but after a few minutes, fearing that
the mate might think him unsociable, he said--
"I suppose the admiral is always chosen as being one of the best men of
the fleet?"
"That's the idea, sir, and the one chosen usually _is_ one of the best,
though of course mistakes are sometimes made. The present admiral is a
first-rate man--a thorough-going fisherman, well acquainted with all the
shoals, and a Christian into the bargain."
"Ah, I suppose that is an advantage to the fleet in many respects," said
the captain, brightening up, on finding the mate sympathetic on that
point.
"It is for the advantage of the fleet in _all_ respects, sir. I have
known an ungodly admiral, on a Sunday, when they couldn't fish, an' the
weather was just right for heavin'-to an' going aboard the mission smack
for service--I've known him keep the fleet movin' the whole day, for
nothin' at all but spite. Of course that didn't put any one in a good
humour, an' you know, sir, men always work better when they're in good
spirits."
"Ay, well do I know that," said the captain, "for I've had a good deal
to do wi' men in my time, and I have always found that Christian sailors
as a rule are worth more than unbelievers, just because they work with a
will--as the Bible puts it, `unto the Lord and not unto men.' You've
heard of General Havelock, no doubt?"
"Oh yes, sir, you mean the Indian general who used to look after the
souls of his men?"
"That's the man," returned the captain. "Well, I've been told that on
one occasion when the commander-in-chief sent for some soldiers for
special duty, and found that most of 'em were drunk, he turned an' said,
`Send me some of Havelock's saints: they can be depended on!' I'm not
sure if I've got the story rightly, but, anyhow, that's what he said."
"Ay, sir, I sometimes think it wonderful," said the mate, "that
unbelievers don't themselves see that the love of God in a man's heart
makes him a better and safer servant in all respects--according to the
Word, `Godliness is profitable to the life that now is, as well as that
which is to come.' There's the fleet at last, sir!"
While speaking, the mate had been scanning the horizon with his glass,
which he immediately handed to the captain, who rose at once and saw the
line of the Short Blue like little dots on the horizon. The dots soon
grew larger; then they assumed the form of vessels, and in a short time
the carrying-steamer was amongst them, making straight for the admiral,
whose smack was distinguishable by his flag.
"What is the admiral's name?" asked the captain as they advanced.
"Davidson--Joe Davidson; one of the brightest young fellows I ever
knew," answered the captain of the steamer, who came on the bridge at
that moment, "and a true Christian. He is master of the _Evening
Star_."
"Why, I thought that was the name of a smack that was wrecked some time
ago near Yarmouth--at least so my friends there wrote me," said Captain
Bream with sudden interest; and well might he feel interest in the new
_Evening Star_, for it was himself who had given the thousand pounds to
purchase her, at Ruth Dotropy's request, but he had not been told that
her skipper, Joe Davidson, had been made admiral of the fleet.
"So it _was_ the _Evening Star_, sir, that was wrecked, but some
open-handed gentleman in London bought a new smack for widow Bright and
she called it by the same name, an' the young man, who had been mate
with her husband, she has made skipper till her son Billy is old enough
to take charge of her. The strangest thing is, that all the old crew
have stuck together, and the smack is now one of the best managed in the
fleet. Joe wouldn't have been made admiral if that wasn't so."
To this, and a great deal more, the captain listened with great joy and
thankfulness, without, however, giving a hint as to his own part in the
matter. Originally he had given the thousand pounds to please Ruth, and
he had been at that time glad to think that the gift was to benefit a
deserving and unfortunate widow. It was not a little satisfactory,
therefore, to hear that his gift had been so well bestowed; that it had
even become the admiral's vessel, and that he was about to have the
opportunity of boarding the new _Evening Star_ and himself inspecting
its crew.
"Tell me a little more about this _Evening Star_," he said to the
captain of the steamer. "I have sometimes heard of her from a lady
friend of mine, who takes a great interest in her owner, but I was so
ill at the time she wrote that I couldn't pay much attention to
anything."
Thus invited the captain proceeded to tell all he knew about David
Bright and his wife, and Billy, and Luke Trevor, Spivin, Gunter, Zulu,
the wreck, the launch of the new smack, etcetera,--much of which was
quite new to Captain Bream, and all of which was of course deeply
interesting to him.
While these two were conversing the fleet gradually thickened around
them, for a light breeze, which seemed to have sprung up for the very
purpose, enabled them to close in. Some of the smacks were close at
hand; others more distant. To those within hail, the captain and mate
of the steamer gave the customary salute and toss of the fist in the air
as they passed.
"There's the admiral," said the captain, "two points off the port bow."
"An' the gospel-ship close alongside," said the mate. "Don't you see
the M.D.S.F. flag? Trust Joe for bein' near to her when he can manage
it. Here they come, fast an' thick. There's the _Fern_, I'd know her a
mile off, an' the _Martin_, an' _Rover_, _Coquette_, _Truant_! What
cheer, boys!"
"Is that the _Cherub_ or the _Andax_ abeam of us?" asked the captain.
"It's neither. It's the _Guide_, or the _Boy Jim_, or the _Retriever_--
not quite sure which."
"Now, Captain Bream, shall we put you on board the mission-ship at once,
or will you wait to see us boarded for empty trunks?"
"I'll wait," returned Captain Bream.
Soon the steamer hove-to, not far from the admiral's vessel. The smacks
came crowding round like bees round a hive, each one lowering a boat
when near enough.
And once again was enacted a scene similar in many respects to that
which we have described in a previous chapter, with this difference,
that the scramble now was partly for the purpose of obtaining empty
boxes. Another steamer had taken off most of their fish early that day,
and the one just arrived meant to wait for the fish of the next morning.
It chanced that a good many of the rougher men of the fleet came on
board that evening, so that Captain Bream, whose recent experiences had
led him half to expect that all the North Sea fishermen were amiable
lions, had his mind sadly but effectively disabused of that false idea.
The steamer's deck soon swarmed with some four hundred of the roughest
and most boisterous men he had ever seen, and the air was filled with
coarse and profane language, while a tendency to fight was exhibited by
several of them.
"They're a rough lot, sir," said the mate as he leant on the rail of the
bridge, gazing down on the animated scene, "but they were a rougher lot
before the gospel-ship came out to stay among them, and some of the
brightest Christians now in the fleet were as bad as the worst you see
down there."
"Ay, Jesus came to save the _lost_, and the worst," said the captain in
a low tone--"praise to His name!"
As soon as the trunks had been received, the admiral bore away to
windward, and the fleet began to follow and make preparation for the
night's fishing; for the fish which were destined so soon to smoke on
London tables were at that moment gambolling at the bottom of the sea!
"We must run down to the mission smack, and put you aboard at once,
sir," said the mate, "for she follows the admiral--though she does not
fish on Saturday nights, so that the hold may be clear of fish and ready
for service on Sundays."
Captain Bream was ready.
"They know you are coming, I suppose?"
"Yes, they expect me."
In a few minutes the steamer was close to the mission-ship, and soon
after, the powerful arms of its hospitable skipper and mate were
extended to help the expected invalid out of the boat which had been
sent for him.
"We're makin' things all snug for the night," said the skipper, as he
led his guest into the little cabin, "an' when we're done we shall have
tea; but if you'd like it sooner--"
"No, no, skipper, I'll wait. Though I'm just come from the shore, you
don't take me for an impatient land-lubber, do you? Go, finish your
work, and I'll rest a bit. I've been ill, you see, an' can't stand as
much as I used to," he added apologetically.
When left alone, Captain Bream's mode of resting himself was to go down
on his knees and thank God for having brought him to so congenial a
resting-place on the world of waters, and to pray that he might be made
use of to His glory while there.
How that prayer was answered we shall see.