Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration: THE PRODIGAL'S RETURN.]
[Illustration]
WAITING FOR SAILING ORDERS.
FISHER-LIFE AT THE LAND'S END.
BY
MRS. GEORGE GLADSTONE
AUTHOR OF "NORWEGIAN STORIES," "FIRESIDE STORIES," ETC.
[Illustration]
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY
56, PATERNOSTER ROW; 65, ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD;
AND 164, PICCADILLY.
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PREFACE.
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SOME weeks have elapsed since the author of this little story was
separated by death from a dear and honoured mother, to whom she
submitted all her literary work, on whose criticism she relied, and in
whose judgment she placed implicit confidence. "Waiting for Sailing
Orders" was the last story which passed under her aged mother's review;
the title had a special charm for the latter, who knew not how soon her
summons would come, but always kept her lamp trimmed, and was prepared
to meet her Lord, at whatever hour He sent His summons.
Her children were standing round her death-bed, wondering if
consciousness yet remained, and how long the spirit would linger
ere it fled to the mansions of the blest, when she said, in such
clear and distinct tones that all in the room could hear, "I am
waiting,—waiting,—waiting, for my sailing orders to come."
Three days later her sailing orders came, and the sweet smile which
lingered in death made those who were left behind rejoice in the midst
of tears, because it seemed to speak of the joy and bliss into which
the spirit entered when the "waiting" was over and a long eternity in
view.
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CONTENTS.
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CHAPTER
I. MACKEREL FISHING
II. THE GREAT SORROW
III. THE OLD TAR
IV. THE LAND'S END
V. GRANDFATHER'S TALES
VI. ST. MICHAEL'S MOUNT
VII. WILLY'S BIRTHDAY
VIII. MIDSUMMER EVE
IX. PILCHARD FISHING
X. THE STORM
XI. SAILING ORDERS
WAITING FOR SAILING ORDERS.
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CHAPTER I.
MACKEREL FISHING.
[Illustration] THE fishing village of Newlyn, which stretches about a
mile along the west shore of Mount's Bay, in Cornwall, presented a busy
scene one morning in April of the year 1862. The mackerel season had
just begun, and some of the boats came in heavily laden.
"What's the take?" asked an old woman of a sailor.
"A thousand downwards," was the reply, which meant that the number of
mackerel in each boat varied from that number to one hundred, fifty,
twenty, ten, five or not one.
In Mount's Bay the boats are large, and among the safest and best craft
to be found on any fishing coast. They each carry a crew of seven men,
who share equally in the profits, after a certain portion has been set
aside for the use of the vessel and the nets.
The "Mary Ann," which brought in the thousand mackerel, belonged
to John Trevan. He was a man much respected in Newlyn, for all
his dealings were fair and upright. He had for partners six other
fishermen, of whom he was the captain, and who deferred to him at all
times, placing the most implicit confidence in his judgment.
As the ship's boat containing John Trevan and his mates came near the
shore, the agents of several London fish-dealers waded through the
water to bid for the finest mackerel. The bargain was soon concluded to
the satisfaction of all parties; then the fish were thrown into baskets
and carried on to the sands, where they were turned into a tub of
water, washed, packed neatly in the same baskets, and carried away in
carts to the railway. The hake, cod, conger eels, a few soles, and some
very small mackerel that remained, the crew divided with their captain.
Mrs. Trevan was awaiting the arrival of her husband with her basket.
Every Cornish woman owns a basket of some sort: those carried by the
fish-women are called "cowels," and are supported on the back by a band
passed round the forehead.
"We've had splendid sport, Philippa," said John Trevan to his wife,
"and there's a fine lot for home use. Let's have a conger pie for
to-morrow. I'll be in to dinner; but we must hang our nets to dry
first, and clean up a bit. The boat's off again at six. I can afford to
take my holiday to-morrow cheerfully, after my good fortune of to-day."
"Yes, John, and if only we can have fine weather like this, you'll
enjoy it," answered Mrs. Trevan.
"We must work hard all the afternoon, for the nets have got sadly
broken. Father will have more than he can do, a boat ran clean through
one of mine."
Philippa Trevan gathered up her share of fish, and placing it in her
basket, walked slowly up the narrow road from the sands, towards
Street-an-Nowan, or New Street, close to which she lived.
Newlyn is the principal fishing station in Mount's Bay. It is divided
into two parts, which can only communicate, the one with the other,
by the sands, unless you go far into the country, over the high hill
which leads to the church-town of Paul. In ordinary tides the sea comes
nearly up to the stepping-stones, but sometimes it dashes against the
cliff, and renders the shore too dangerous to be crossed, even in a
boat. The houses are irregularly built, and the streets are narrow,
ill-paved, and in many parts run along the top of the sea wall, with no
protection from the waves except what is afforded by a strong open iron
railing.
Mrs. Trevan turned up narrow Rag-stone pathway before she reached the
end of New Street, and mounted four steps which led into a comfortable
sitting-room in a whitewashed cottage. The small door to the right
opened into the best parlour, at the back were the kitchen and
grandfather's bedroom, and overhead three more rooms.
An old man, a very old man, with snowy hair, sat in his arm-chair
reading out of a large printed Bible; and in spite of the difference of
years, his features were so like Mrs. Trevan's, there was no difficulty
in recognising the relationship of father and daughter which existed
between the two.
"You're soon home, Philippa," he said; "have you good news?"
"Very good, father; John has taken a thousand mackerel, and sold them
well. He says there will be more work than you can do to mend the nets."
"I'll try my best, Philippa. We expect to mend them up every day. The
Lord Jesus isn't here with his disciples. I'd just read these words
when I heard your footstep: 'Simon Peter went up, and drew the net to
land full of great fishes, an hundred and fifty and three: and for all
there were so many, yet was not the net broken.'"
"No, He isn't walking in our midst as in those times, father," said
Mrs. Trevan, "but he's just as near to us in spirit as he was then. I
never see John start without commending him to God in Christ. I think
as I grow older my Saviour seems to come nearer. But for his living
presence in my heart, I could not go about my daily work as cheerfully
as I do. Remember my boy, my first-born, and the awful uncertainty
about him. Oh, father, I try hard to think of what my Saviour suffered
on the cross for me, so as to get strength to endure my own sorrow with
a lighter heart."
"Poor Philippa," answered the old man, tenderly. "Be of good courage.
God will hear our prayers. I'm on the mountain-top of my pilgrimage,
very soon I shall be running fast down the other side, entering into
the dark valley and shadow of death; but I believe I shall see the lad
before my sailing orders come."
"You've such strong faith, father. Mine is dimmed sometimes with
waiting and longing; but only dimmed for the moment, for through all
my bitterness of spirit, I remember that my Heavenly Father loves
and cares for my poor misguided son. But here come the children from
school."
Mrs. Trevan had just time to take up her basket and go hurriedly into
the kitchen, drying her tears, when Dorothy and Judith, her twin
daughters, entered, and coming up to their grandfather, kissed him
affectionately. The old man returned their caresses, for he loved these
girls next to, if not as well as his own daughter. He lived over past
days with them, for they never wearied of hearing of the perils by land
and sea, which had overtaken him during his long life.
Dorothy and Judith would complete their thirteenth year on the morrow.
They closely resembled one another in features, but were unlike in
disposition; for while Dorothy was high-spirited and quick-tempered,
Judith was mild, tractable, and quiet. Their figures were upright and
well-formed; they had bright jet black eyes, and long curling hair,
fresh complexions, and frank open faces. They wore the gipsy hats
made of beaver which are now out of date, short light-coloured print
dresses, dark-blue knitted stockings of their own making, and strong
leather boots.
"Have you done well at school this morning?" asked their grandfather.
"Yes, very well," answered Dorothy. "I did my sums so quickly that
teacher said she was pleased for me to have a holiday to-morrow. She
remembered that we spent our birthday at the Land's End last year
with great-uncle Thomas Nance. You know Judith is always good at her
lessons, grandfather."
"That's right, Dorothy," answered Captain Nance, for so the old man
was called. "Do try, there's a good girl, to deserve the praise you've
just bestowed on your sister. Let Judith be able to say of you, 'She is
always good at her lessons.'"
"I do try, grandfather, to be attentive, but I can't always be the
same. Judith hasn't such a nasty temper as I have to worry her."
"There's one cure for it; we may all go to the Great Physician, my
little girl. How you will enjoy yourself, Dorothy, when to-morrow
comes! I didn't think I should live to go with you again; I shall
be fourscore years and ten if God spares my life until the 9th of
November."
"That is a long, long time compared with our thirteen years," said
Dorothy.
"It is a long time to have lived, my dear. I shan't be much more tossed
on the billows, for the storm of life will soon be over, and my poor
old weather-beaten bark will be safely landed on that happy shore where
the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest."
"But, grandfather, what shall we do without you?" asked Judith, laying
her soft cheek on the old man's. "We are so happy together."
"So we are, dearie, but it's not the happiness of yonder world. Don't
want to keep me here, little one; you must try and be very glad when
the old tar has his sailing orders."
"Come, children," called their mother, "lay the table for dinner. I
have plenty to do to make ready for your birthday trip to-morrow."
Dorothy and Judith were soon busy in household matters, and we will
leave them so engaged while we give a short account of the family to
which we have introduced our reader.