There came a day, not very long after the events narrated in the
previous chapter, when a grand wedding took place in Yarmouth.
But it was not meant to be a grand one, by any means. Quite the
contrary. The parties principally concerned were modest, retiring, and
courted privacy. But the more they courted privacy, the more did that
condition--like a coy maiden--fly away from them.
The name of the bride was Ruth, and the name of the bridegroom began,--
as Captain Bream was fond of saying--with a Dee.
Neither bride nor groom had anything particular to do with the sea, yet
that wedding might have easily been mistaken for a fisherman's wedding--
as well as a semi-public one, so numerous were the salts--young and
old--who attended it; some with invitation, and others without. You
see, the ceremony being performed in the old parish church, any one who
chose had a right to be there and look on.
The reason of this nautical character of the wedding was not far to
seek, for had not the bridegroom--whose name began with a Dee--risked
his life in rescuing from the deep a Bright--we might almost say the
brightest--young life belonging to the fishing fleets of the North Sea?
And was not the lovely bride one of the best and staunchest friends of
the fisherman? And was she not mixed up, somehow, with the history of
that good old sea-captain--if not actually a relation of his--who
preached so powerfully, and who laboured so earnestly to turn seamen
from darkness to light? And had not the wedding been expressly delayed
until the period of one of the smacks' return to port, so that six
fishermen--namely, Joe Davidson, Ned Spivin, Luke Trevor, John Gunter,
Billy Bright, and Zulu--might be invited guests? Besides these, there
were the skipper and crew of the gospel-ship which was also in port at
that time; and other fishermen guests there were, known by such names as
Mann, White, Snow, Johnston, Goodchild, Brown, Bowers, Tooke, Rogers,
Snell, Moore, Roberts, and many more--all good men and true--who formed
part of that great population of 12,000 which is always afloat on the
North Sea.
Besides these guests, and a host of others who were attracted by the
unusual interest displayed in this wedding, there were several people
with whom we may claim some slight acquaintance,--such as Miss Jessie
Seaward and her sister, who wept much with joy, and laughed not a little
at being so foolish as to cry, and Liffie Lee, who was roused with
excitement to the condition of a half-tamed wildcat, but was so dressed
up and brushed down and washed out that her best friend might have
failed to recognise her. But if we go on, we shall never have done--for
the whole of Yarmouth seemed to be there--high and low, rich and poor!
Of course Mrs Dotropy was also there, grand, confused, sententious as
ever, amiable, and unable to command her feelings--in a state, so to
speak, of melting magnificence. And a great many "swell" people--as
Billy styled them--came down from London, for Mrs Dotropy, to their
disgust, had positively refused to have the wedding in the West End
mansion, for reasons best known to herself.
You should have heard the cheer that followed the happy couple when they
finally left the church and drove away! We do not refer to the cheering
of the multitude; that, though very well in its way, was a mere
mosquito-squeak to the deep-toned deafening, reverberating shout of an
enthusiasm--born upon the sea, fed on the bread and water of life,
strengthened alike by the breezes of success and the gales of
adversity--which burst in hurricane violence from the leathern lungs and
throats of the North Sea fishermen! We leave it, reader, to your
imagination.
There was no wedding breakfast proper, for the happy pair left Yarmouth
immediately after the knot was tied, but there was a small select party
which drove off in a series of cabs to a feast prepared in a certain
cottage not far from the town. This party was composed chiefly of
fishermen and their wives and children. It was headed by Captain Bream
and his sister Mrs Bright. In the same carriage were Mrs Dotropy, the
Miss Seawards, and Mrs Joe Davidson and her baby. It was a big
old-fashioned carriage capable of holding six inside, and Billy Bright
"swarmed" upon the dickey.
Arrived at the cottage, which had a fine lawn in front and commanded a
splendid view of the sea, Captain Bream got down, took up a position at
the garden-gate, and, shaking hands with each guest as he or she
entered, bade him or her welcome to "Short Blue Cottage!"
"'Tis a pleasant anchorage," he said to the sisters Seaward as they
passed in, "very pleasant at the end of life's voyage. Praise the Lord
who gave it me! Show them the way, Nellie; they'll know it better
before long. You'll find gooseberry bushes in the back garden, an' the
theological library in the starboard attic. Their own berths are on the
ground-floor."
You may be sure that with such a host the guests were not long in making
themselves at home.
Captain Bream had not invited the party merely to a wedding feast. It
was the season of fruits and flowers, and he had set his heart on his
friends making a day of it. Accordingly, he had made elaborate
preparations for enjoyment. With that practical sagacity which
frequently distinguishes the nautical mind, he had provided bowls and
quoits for the men; battledore and shuttlecock for the younger women;
football and cricket and hoops, with some incomprehensible Eastern games
for the children, and a large field at the side of the cottage afforded
room for all without much chance of collision.
The feast was, of course, a strictly temperance one, and we need
scarcely say it was all the more enjoyable on that account.
"You see, my friends," said the host, referring to this in one of his
brief speeches, "as long as it may please God to leave me at anchor in
this snug port, I'll never let a drop o' strong drink enter my doors,
except in the form of physic, and even then I'll have the bottle
labelled `poison--to be taken under doctor's prescription.' So, my
lads--my friends, I mean, beggin' the ladies' pardon--you'll have to
drink this toast, and all the other toasts, in lemonade, ginger beer,
soda water, seltzer, zoedone, tea, coffee, or cold water, all of which
wholesome beverages have been supplied in overflowing abundance to this
fallen world, and are to be found represented on this table."
"Hear! hear!" from John Gunter, and it was wonderful to hear the
improvement in the tone of Gunter's voice since he had left off strong
drink. His old foe, but now fast friend, Luke Trevor, who sat beside
him, echoed the "hear! hear!" with such enthusiasm that all the others
burst into a laugh, and ended in a hearty cheer.
"Now, fill up--fill up, lads," continued the captain. "Let it be a
bumper, whatever tipple you may choose. If our drink is better than it
used to be, our cups ought not to be less full--and my toast is worthy
of all honour. I drink to the success and prosperity, temporal and
spiritual, of the North Sea Trawlers,"--there was a symptom of a
gathering cheer at this point, but the captain checked it with a raised
finger, "especially to that particular fleet which goes by the name of
the `_Short Blue_!'"
The pent-up storm burst forth now with unrestrained vehemence, insomuch
that three little ragged boys who had climbed on the low garden wall to
watch proceedings, fell off backwards as if shot by the mere sound!
Observing this, and being near them, Mrs Bright rose, quietly leaned
over the wall, and emptied a basket of strawberries on their heads by
way of consolation.
We cannot afford space for the captain's speech in full. Suffice it to
say that he renewed his former promise to re-visit the fleet and spend
some time among the fishermen as often as he could manage to do so, and
wound up by coupling the name of Joe Davidson, skipper of the _Evening
Star_, with the toast.
Whereupon, up started Joe with flashing eyes; (intense enthusiasm
overcoming sailor-like modesty;) and delivered a speech in which words
seemed to tumble out of him anyhow and everyhow--longwise, shortwise,
askew, and upside-down--without much reference to grammar, but with a
powerful tendency in the direction of common sense. We have not space
for this speech either, but we give the concluding words:
"I tell 'ee wot it is, boys. Cap'n Bream has drunk prosperity to the
_Short Blue_, an' so have we, for we love it, but there's another _Short
Blue_--"
A perfect storm of cheering broke forth at this point and drowned Joe
altogether. It would probably have blown over the three ragged boys a
second time, but they were getting used to such fire, and, besides, were
engaged with strawberries.
"There's another _Short Blue_," resumed Joe, when the squall was over,
"which my missis an' me was talkin' about this very day, when our
blessed babby fell slap out o' bed an' set up such a howl--"
Joe could get no further, because of the terrific peals of laughter
which his words, coupled with the pathetic sincerity of his expression,
drew forth. Again and again he tried to speak, but his innocent look
and his mighty shoulders, and tender voice, with the thoughts of that
"blessed babby," were too much for his mates, so that he was obliged to
finish off by shouting in a voice of thunder--"Let's drink success to
SHORT BLUE COTTAGE!" and, with a toss of his hand in the true North
Sea-salute style, sat down in a tempest of applause.
"Yes," as an Irish fisherman remarked, "it was a great day intoirely,"
that day at _Short Blue Cottage_, and as no description can do it full
justice, we will turn to other matters--remarking, however, before
quitting the subject, that we do not tell the reader the exact spot
where the cottage is situated, as publicity on this point might subject
our modest captain to much inconvenience!
"Billy," said Captain Bream one day, a few months after the wedding-day
just described, "come with me to the Theological Library; I want to have
a chat with 'ee, lad."
Billy followed his new-found uncle, and sat down opposite to him.
"Now, lad, the time has come when you and I must have it out. You're
fond o' hard work, I'm told."
"Well, uncle, I won't say as I'm exactly fond of it, but I don't object
to it."
"So far good," returned the captain. "Well, you know I'm your uncle,
an' I've got a goodish lot of tin, an' I'm goin' to leave the most of it
to your mother--for she's the only relation I have on earth,--but you
needn't expect that I'm goin' to leave it to _you_ after her."
"I never said as I _did_ expect that, uncle," said Billy with such a
straightforward look of simplicity that the captain burst into one of
his thundering laughs.
"Good, my boy," he said, in a more confidential tone. "Well, then, this
is how the matter stands. I've long held the opinion that those who
_can_ work _should_ work, and that all or nearly all the cash that
people have to spare should be given or left to those who _can't_ work--
such as poor invalids--specially women--and those who have come to grief
one way or another, and lost the use o' their limbs."
"Right you are, uncle," said Billy with strong emphasis.
"Glad you agree so heartily, boy. Well, that bein' so, I mean to leave
the interest of all that I have to your dear mother as long as she
lives--except a legacy to the Miss Seawards and some other poor folk
that I know of. Meanwhile, they have agreed, as long as I live, to stay
wi' me here in this cottage, as my librarians and assistants in the
matter of Theology. I had a tough job to get 'em to agree, but I
managed it at last. So you see, Billy, I don't mean to leave you a
sixpence."
"Well, uncle," said Billy with a quiet look, "I don't care a brass
farden!"
Again the captain laughed. "But," he continued, "I'm very fond o' you,
Billy, an' there's no reason why I shouldn't help you, to help yourself.
So, if you're willin', I'll send you to the best of schools, and after
that to college, an' give you the best of education,--in short, make a
man of you, an' put you in the way of makin' your fortune."
Captain Bream looked steadily into the fair boy's handsome face as he
made this glowing statement; but, somewhat to his disappointment, he got
no responsive glance from Billy. On the contrary, the boy became graver
and graver, and at last his mind seemed lost in meditation while his
gaze was fixed on the floor.
"What think ye, lad?" demanded the captain.
Billy seemed to awake as from a dream, and then, looking and speaking
more like a man than he had ever done before, he said--
"It is kind of you, uncle--very kind--but my dear dad once said _he_
would make a man of me, and he _did_! I'll do my best to larn as much
as ever I can o' this world's larnin', but I'll never leave the sea."
"Now, my boy," said the captain, "think well before you decide. You
could do far more good if you were a highly educated man, you know."
"Right you _may_ be, uncle, an' I don't despise edication, by no means,
but some folk are born to it, and others ain't. Besides, good of the
best kind can be done without _much_ edication, when the heart's right
an' the will strong, as I've seed before now on the North Sea."
"I'm sorry you look at it this way, Billy, for I don't see that I can do
much for you if you determine to remain a fisherman."
"Oh! yes, you can, uncle," cried Billy, rising up in his eagerness and
shaking back his curly hair. "You can do this. You can take the money
you intended to waste on my schoolin', an' send out books an' tracts and
medicines, an' all sorts o' things to the fishin' fleets. An' if you're
awful rich--as you seem to be by the way you talk--you can give some
thousands o' pounds an' fit out two or three more smacks as you did the
noo _Evenin' Star_, an' hand 'em over to the Mission to become
gospel-ships to the fleets that have got none yet. That's the way to do
good wi' your coppers. As for me--my daddy was a fisherman and my
mother was a fisherman's wife, and I'm a fisherman to the back-bone.
What my father was before me, I mean to be after him, so, God
permittin', I'll sail wi' Joe Davidson till I'm old enough to take
command o' the _Evenin' Star_; and then I'll stick through thick an'
thin to the North Sea, and live and die a fisherman of the _Short
Blue_!"
Billy Bright's determination was unalterable, so Captain Bream fell in
with it, and heartily set about that part of the work which his nephew
had recommended to him.
Whether he and Billy will remain of the same mind to the end, the future
alone can show--we cannot tell; but this we--you and I, Reader--can do
if we will--we can sympathise with our enthusiastic young Trawler, and
do what in us lies to soften the hard lot of the fisherman, by aiding
those whose life-work it is to fish for souls of men, and to toil summer
and winter, in the midst of life and death, tempest and cold, to rescue
the perishing on the North Sea.