"Was that your boat that went down?" shouted Groggy Fox of the
_Cormorant_, as he sailed past the _Fairy_, after the carrying-steamer
had left, and the numerous fishing-smacks were gradually falling into
order for another attack on the finny hosts of the sea.
They were almost too far apart for the reply to be heard, and possibly
Bryce's state of mind prevented his raising his voice sufficiently, but
it was believed that the answer was "Yes."
"Poor fellows!" muttered Fox, who was a man of tender feelings, although
apt to feel more for himself than for any one else.
"I think Dick Martin was in the boat," said the mate of the _Cormorant_,
who stood beside his skipper. "I saw them when they shoved off, and
though it was a longish distance, I could make him out by his size, an'
the fur cap he wore."
"Well, the world won't lose much if he's gone," returned Fox; "he was a
bad lot."
It did not occur to the skipper at that time that he himself was nearly,
if not quite, as bad a "lot." But bad men are proverbially blind to
their own faults.
"He was a cross-grained fellow," returned the mate, "specially when in
liquor, but I never heard no worse of 'im than that."
"Didn't you?" said Fox; "didn't you hear what they said of 'im at
Gorleston?--that he tried to do his sister out of a lot o' money as was
left her by some cove or other in furrin parts. An' some folk are quite
sure that it was him as stole the little savin's o' that poor widdy,
Mrs Mooney, though they can't just prove it agin him. Ah, he is a bad
lot, an' no mistake. But I may say that o' the whole bilin' o' the
Martins. Look at Fred, now."
"Well, wot of him?" asked the mate, in a somewhat gruff tone.
"What of him!" repeated the skipper, "ain't he a hypocrite, with his
smooth tongue an' his sly ways, as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth,
an' now--where is he?"
"Well, _where_ is he!" demanded the mate, with increasing gruffness.
"Why, in course nobody knows where he is," retorted the skipper; "that's
where it is. No sooner does he get a small windfall--leastwise, his
mother gets it--than he cuts the trawlers, an' all his old friends
without so much as sayin' `Good-bye,' an' goes off to Lunnon or
somewheres, to set up for a gentleman, I suppose."
"I don't believe nothin' o' the sort," returned the mate indignantly.
"Fred Martin may be smooth-tongued and shy if you like, but he's no
hypercrite--"
"Hallo! there's that mission ship on the lee bow," cried Fox,
interrupting his mate, and going over to the lee side of the smack,
whence he could see the vessel with the great blue flag clearly. "Port
your helm," he added in a deep growl to the man who steered. "I'll give
her a wide berth."
"If she was the _coper_ you'd steer the other way," remarked the mate,
with a laugh.
"In course I would," retorted Fox, "for there I'd find cheap baccy and
brandy."
"Ay, bad brandy," said the mate; "but, skipper, you can get baccy
cheaper aboard the mission ships now than aboard the _coper_."
"What! at a shillin' a pound?"
"Ay, at a shillin' a pound."
"I don't believe it."
"But it's a fact," returned the mate firmly, "for Simon Brooks, as was
in the Short-Blue fleet last week, told me it's a noo regulation--
they've started the sale o' baccy in the Gospel ships, just to keep us
from going to the _copers_."
"That'll not keep _me_ from going to the _copers_," said Groggy Fox,
with an oath.
"Nor me," said his mate, with a laugh; "but, skipper, as we are pretty
nigh out o' baccy just now, an' as the mission ship is near us, an' the
breeze down, I don't see no reason why we shouldn't go aboard an' see
whether the reports be true. We go to buy baccy, you know, an' we're
not bound to buy everything the shop has to sell! We don't want their
religion, an' they can't force it down our throats whether we will or
no."
Groggy Fox vented a loud laugh at the bare supposition of such treatment
of his throat, admitted that his mate was right, and gave orders to
launch the boat. In a few minutes they were rowing over the still
heaving but now somewhat calmer sea, for the wind had fallen suddenly,
and the smacks lay knocking about at no great distance from each other.
It was evident from the bustle on board many of them, and the launching
of boats over their bulwarks, that not a few of the men intended to take
advantage of this unexpected visit of a mission vessel. No doubt their
motives were various. Probably some went, like the men of the
_Cormorant_, merely for baccy; some for medicine; others, perhaps, out
of curiosity; while a few, no doubt, went with more or less of desire
after the "good tidings," which they were aware had been carried to
several of the other fleets that laboured on the same fishing-grounds.
Whatever the reasons, it was evident that a goodly number of men were
making for the vessel with the great blue flag. Some had already
reached her; more were on their way. The _Cormorant's_ boat was among
the last to arrive.
"What does MDSF stand for?" asked Skipper Fox, as they drew near.
"Mission to Deep-Sea Fishermen," answered the mate, whose knowledge on
this and other points of the Mission were due to his intercourse with
his friend Simon Brooks of the Short-Blue. "But it means more than
that," he continued. "When we are close enough to make 'em out, you'll
see little letters _above_ the MDSF which make the words I've just told
you, an' there are little letters _below_ the MDSF which make the words
Mighty Deliverer, Saviour, Friend."
"Ay! That's a clever dodge," observed Groggy Fox, who, it need hardly
be said, was more impressed with the ingenuity of the device than with
the grand truth conveyed.
"But I say, mate, they seems to be uncommonly lively aboard of her."
This was obviously the case, for by that time the boat of the
_Cormorant_ had come so near to the vessel that they could not only
perceive the actions of those on board, but could hear their voices.
The curiosity of Skipper Fox and his men was greatly roused, for they
felt convinced that the mere visit of a passing mission ship did not
fully account for the vigorous hand-shakings of those on the deck, and
the hearty hailing of newcomers, and the enthusiastic cheers of some at
least of the little boats' crews as they pulled alongside.
"Seems to me as if they've all gone mad," remarked Groggy Fox, with a
sarcastic grin.
"I would say they was all drunk, or half-seas over," observed the mate,
"if it was a _coper_, but in a Gospel ship that's impossible, 'cause
they're teetotal, you know. Isn't that the boat o' the Admiral that's
pullin' alongside just now, skipper?"
"Looks like it, mate. Ay, an' that's Stephen Lockley of the _Lively
Poll_ close astarn of 'im--an' ain't they kickin' up a rumpus now!"
Fox was right, for when the two little boats referred to ranged
alongside of the vessel, and the men scrambled up the side on to her
deck, there was an amount of greeting, and hand-shaking, and exclaiming
in joyful surprise, which threw all previous exhibitions in that way
quite into the shade, and culminated in a mighty cheer, the power of
which soft people with shore-going throats and lungs and imaginations
cannot hope to emulate or comprehend!
The cheer was mildly repeated with mingled laughter when the crowd on
deck turned to observe the arrival of the _Cormorant's_ boat.
"Why, it's the skipper o' the _Ironclad_!" exclaimed a voice. "No, it's
not. It's the skipper o' the _Cormorant_," cried another.
"What cheer? what cheer, Groggy Fox?" cried a third, as the boat swooped
alongside, and several strong arms were extended. "Who'd have looked
for _you_ here? There ain't no schnapps."
"All right, mates," replied Fox, with an apologetic smile, as he
alighted on the deck and looked round; "I've come for _baccy_."
A short laugh greeted this reply, but it was instantly checked, for at
the moment Fred Martin stepped forward, grasped the skipper's horny
hand, and shook it warmly, as well as powerfully, for Fred was a
muscular man, and had fully recovered his strength.
"You've come to the right shop for baccy," he said; "I've got plenty o'
that, besides many other things much better. I bid you heartily welcome
on board of the _Sunbeam_ in the name of the Lord!"
For a few seconds the skipper of the _Cormorant_ could not utter a word.
He gazed at Fred Martin with his mouth partially, and his eyes wide,
open. The thought that he was thus cordially received by the very man
whose character he had so lately and so ungenerously traduced had
something, perhaps, to do with his silence.
"A-are--are _you_ the skipper o' this here wessel!" he stammered.
"Ay, through God's goodness I am."
"A _mission_ wessel!" said Fox, his amazement not a whit abated as he
looked round.
"Just so, a Gospel ship," answered Fred, giving the skipper another
shake of the hand.
"You didn't mistake it for a _coper_, did 'ee?" asked David Duffy, who
was one of the visitors.
The laugh which followed this question drowned Groggy Fox's reply.
"And you'll be glad to hear," said Fred, still addressing Fox, "that the
_Sunbeam_ is a new mission ship, and has been appointed to do service
for God in _this_ fleet and no other; so you'll always be able to have
books and baccy, mitts, helmets, comforters, medicines, and, best of
all, Bibles and advice for body and soul, free gratis when you want
'em."
"But where's the doctor to give out the medicines," asked Fox, who began
to moderate his gaze as he recovered self-possession.
"Well, mate," answered Fred, with a bashful air, "I am doctor as well as
skipper. Indeed, I'm parson too--a sort of Jack-of-all-trades! I'm not
full fledged of course, but on the principle, I fancy, that `half a loaf
is better than no bread,' I've been sent here after goin' through a
short course o' trainin' in surgery--also in divinity; something like
city missionaries and Scripture-readers; not that trainin', much or
little, would fit any man for the great work unless he had the love of
the Master in his heart. But I trust I have that."
"You have, Fred, thank God!" said the Admiral of the fleet.
"And now, Skipper Fox," continued Fred facetiously, "as I'm a sort of
doctor, you must allow me to prescribe something for your complaint.
Here, boy," he added, hailing one of his crew, "fetch Skipper Fox a
draught o' that physic--the brown stuff that you keep in the kettle."
"Ay, ay, sir," answered a youthful voice, and in another minute Pat
Stiver forced his way through the crowd, bearing in his hand a large cup
or bowl of coffee.
"It's not exactly the tipple I'm used to," said Fox, accepting the cup
with a grin, and wisely resolving to make the best of circumstances, all
the more readily that he observed other visitors had been, or still
were, enjoying the same beverage. "Howsever, it's not to be expected
that sick men shall have their physic exactly to their likin', so I
thank 'ee all the same, Dr Martin!"
This reply was received with much approval, and the character of Groggy
Fox immediately experienced a considerable rise in the estimation of his
comrades of the fleet.
Attention was drawn from him just then by the approach of another boat.
"There is some genuine surgeon's work coming to you in that boat, Fred,
if I mistake not," remarked Stephen Lockley, as he stood beside his old
friend.
"Hasn't that man in the stern got his head tied up?"
"Looks like it."
"By the way, what of your uncle, Dick Martin?" asked the Admiral. "It
was you that picked him up, wasn't it?"
This reference to the sad event which had occurred that morning
solemnised the fishermen assembled on the _Sunbeam's_ deck, and they
stood listening with sympathetic expressions as Fred narrated what he
had seen of the catastrophe, and told that his uncle was evidently
nothing the worse of it, and was lying asleep in the cabin, where
everything had been done for his recovery and comfort.
In the boat which soon came alongside was a fisherman who had met with a
bad accident some days before. A block tackle from aloft had fallen on
his head and cut it severely. His mates had bound it up in
rough-and-ready fashion; but the wound had bled freely, and the clotted
blood still hung about his hair. Latterly the wound had festered, and
gave him agonising pain. His comrades being utterly ignorant as to the
proper treatment, could do nothing for him. Indeed, the only effectual
thing that could be done was to send the poor man home. This sudden and
unexpected appearance of one of the mission ships was therefore hailed
as a godsend, for it was well-known that these vessels contained
medicines, and it was believed that their skippers were more or less
instructed in the healing art. In this belief they were right; for in
addition to the well-appointed medicine-chest, each vessel has a skipper
who undergoes a certain amount of instruction, and possesses a practical
and plain book of directions specially prepared under the supervision of
the Board of Trade for the use of captains at sea.
One can imagine, therefore, what a relief it was to this poor wounded
man to be taken down into the cabin and have his head at last attended
to by one who "knew what he was about." The operation of dressing was
watched with the deepest interest and curiosity by the fishermen
assembled there, for it was their first experience of the value, even in
temporal matters, of a Gospel ship. Their ears were open, too, as well
as their eyes, and they listened with much interest to Fred Martin as he
tried, after a silent prayer for the Holy Spirit's influence, to turn
his first operation to spiritual account in his Master's interest.
"Tell me if I hurt you," he said, observing that his patient winced a
little when he was removing the bandage.
"Go on," said the man quietly. "I ain't a babby to mind a touch of
pain."
The cabin being too small to hold them all, some of the visitors
clustered round the open skylight, and gazed eagerly down, while a few
who could not find a point of vantage contented themselves with
listening. Even Dick Martin was an observer at that operation, for,
having been roused by the bustle around him, he raised himself on an
elbow, and looking down from his berth, could both hear and see.
"There now," said Fred Martin, when at last the bandage was removed and
the festering mass laid bare. "Hand the scissors, Pat."
Pat Stiver, who was assistant-surgeon on that occasion, promptly handed
his chief the desired instrument, and stood by for further orders.
"I'll soon relieve you," continued Fred, removing the clotted hair,
etcetera, in a few seconds, and applying a cleansing lotion. "I cut it
off, you see, just as the Great Physician cuts away our sins, and washes
us clean in the fountain of His own blood. You feel better already,
don't you?"
"There's no doubt about that," replied the patient looking up with a
great sigh of relief that told far more than words could convey.
We will not record all that was said and done upon that occasion. Let
it suffice to say that the man's wound was put in a fair way of recovery
without the expense and prolonged suffering of a trip home.
Thereafter, as a breeze was beginning to blow which bid fair to become a
"fishing breeze," it became necessary for the visitors to leave in
haste, but not before a few books, tracts, and worsted mittens had been
distributed, with an earnest invitation from the skipper of the
_Sunbeam_ to every one to repeat the visit whenever calm weather should
permit, and especially on Sundays, when regular services would be held
on deck or in the hold.
On this occasion Bob Lumpy and Pat Stiver had met and joined hands in
great delight, not unmingled with surprise.
"Well, who'd ever have expected to find _you_ here?" said Bob.
"Ah, who indeed?" echoed Pat. "The fact is, I came to be near _you_,
Bob."
"But how did it happen? Who got you the sitivation? Look alive! Don't
be long-winded, I see they're gittin' our boat ready."
"This is 'ow it was, Bob. I was shovin' Eve about the roads in the
bath-chair, as you know I've bin doin' ever since I entered your
service, w'en a gen'lem'n come up and axed all about us. `Would ye like
a sitivation among the North Sea fishermen?' says he. `The very
ticket,' says I. `Come to Lun'on to-night, then,' says he.
`Unpossible,' says I, fit to bu'st wi' disappointment; `'cos I must
first shove Miss Eve home, an' git hold of a noo shover to take my
place.' `All right,' says he, laughin'; `come when you can. Here's my
address.' So away I goes; got a trustworthy, promisin' young feller as
I've know'd a long time to engage for Miss Eve, an' off to Lun'on, an'--
here I am!"
"Time's up," cried the Admiral at this point, shaking hands with Fred
Martin; while Bob Lumsden sprang from the side of his little friend, and
there was a general move towards the boats.
"Good-bye, mate," said Skipper Fox, holding out his hand.
"Stop, friends," cried Fred, in a loud voice; "that's not the way we
part on board o' the _Sunbeam_."
Taking off his hat and looking up,--a sign that all understood, for they
immediately uncovered and bowed their heads,--the missionary skipper, in
a few brief but earnest words, asked for a blessing on the work which he
had been privileged that day to begin, that Satan might be foiled, and
the name of Jesus be made precious among the fishermen of the North Sea.
Thereafter the boats scattered towards their various smacks, their crews
rejoicing in this latest addition to the fleet. Even Groggy Fox gave it
as his opinion that there might be worse things after all in the world
than "mission wessels!"