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A DREAM OF THE NORTH SEA
by
JAMES RUNCIMAN
Author of _Past and Present_, _Among the North Sea Trawlers_,
_Skippers and Shellbacks_, etc.
London:
James Nisbet and Co.,
21, Berners Street, W.
1889
DEDICATION
To the Queen.
MADAM,
This book is dedicated to Your Majesty with the respectful admiration of
one who is proud to have been associated with an effort to make the
world more hopeful and beautiful for men who not long ago knew little
hope and felt no beauty.
In the wild weather, when the struggle for life never slackens from hour
to hour on the trawling grounds, the great work of the Mission to Deep
Sea Fishermen, like some mighty Pharos, sheds light on the troubled
darkness, and brave men, in hundreds, are thankful for its wise care and
steady helpfulness.
Perhaps, of all the tribe of writers, I know most minutely the scope and
significance of that Mission--"as well for the body as the soul"--of
which Your Majesty is the Patron; and it is my earnest conviction that
no event in your brilliant and beneficent reign could well be appraised
at a higher value than the despatch of Hospital Cruisers to the
smacksmen, which your gracious and practical sympathy has done so much
to bring about.
Permit me to subscribe myself,
MADAM,
Your Majesty's most humble,
obedient Servant,
JAMES RUNCIMAN.
KINGSTON-ON-THAMES,
May 1, 1889.
PREFACE.
One of the greatest of English classics--great by reason of his creative
power, simplicity, and pathos--has built the superstructure of his
famous allegory upon the slender foundations of a dream. But just as the
immortal work of John Bunyan had a very real support in truths and
influences of the highest power and the deepest meaning, so the pages
which record Mr. Runciman's "Dream of the North Sea," have an actual, a
realistic, and a tragic import in the daily toil, sufferings, and
hardships of the Deep Sea Trawlers. Moreover, the blessed work of
healing the bodies, cheering the minds, and enlightening the souls of
these storm-beaten labourers is not altogether a dream, for the extended
operations which are now undertaken by the Mission to Deep Sea Fishermen
furnish material for one of the brightest and most interesting records
of present-day beneficence. But so much remains to be done, so great are
the trials and the sorrows that still brood on the lone North Sea, that
Mr. Runciman's dream in vivid story and deft literary art, goes forth
with a strong appeal to every thoughtful reader. The greatness of the
work yet to be undertaken may to some extent be conceived from the
marvellous results which have already been accomplished. I have
elsewhere said that to this issue many persons have contributed, from
the Queen on the throne down to the humble and pious smacksman in the
North Sea, but that, so far as human skill and genius can achieve a
conspicuous success in any human and benevolent enterprise, it has
fallen to the lot of the Founder of the Mission to Deep Sea Fishermen to
accomplish such a success. No one can now write or think or "dream" of
the trawlers on the German Ocean, without referring, and referring
again, to Mr. E.J. Mather, either _in propria persona_, or--as the
author of "Waverley" might have said--in the guise of some _Eidolon_
suited to a Vision of the North Sea. This leads me to explain that
though it had been originally announced that the introductory notice to
this book would be from the pen of Mr. Mather, that gentleman, in view
of the apparent references to himself throughout the tale, shrank from
the task, with the result that the honour and the privilege have fallen
upon me. I close by expressing a hope that Mr. Runciman's dream of the
future may, when it reaches its accomplishment, add fresh lustre to a
work which was begun by Mr. Mather in courage and in hope, and by him
carried to a unique success.
ALEXANDER GORDON.
CONTENTS.
BOOK I.
I. THE DREAMER
II. THE BREEZE
III. THE SECOND GALE
IV. A NEAR THING
V. AFTER THE STORMS
VI. THE MISSION HALL
BOOK II.
I. JANUARY IN THE NORTH SEA
II. A CRUCIAL TEST
III. THE PLOTTER
IV. THE DENOUEMENT
APPENDIX A
APPENDIX B
* * * * *
BOOK I.
CHAPTER I.
THE DREAMER.
So many of my dreams have come true, that I sometimes incline to believe
that dreams are in reality the only truths. I fancy this dream, at any
rate, will be fulfilled.
* * * * *
A hard gale rushed over a torn sea, and the drift was swept so that the
moon was obscured with every fresh gust. High overhead a clear, steely
sky was flecked here and there with fleecy white, and, ever and again,
the moon slipped her mantle of cloud from her rounded shoulder, and
looked around her with large, calm glances. But there was an
evil-looking sky away to the eastward, and the black wreaths 'of cloud
crept steadily upward, obscuring little by little the fair, glittering
sky. The swift waves gathered volume, and soon their hollows were like
great Panpipes through which the gale blew with many doleful sounds.
Everything to be seen on sea or sky promised a wild night, and the
powerful schooner yacht which was charging along over the running seas
was already reefed down closely. Light bursts of spray came aboard aft
like flying whip-lashes, and the man at the wheel stolidly shook his
head as the jets cut him. Right forward a slight sea sometimes came over
with a crash, but the vessel was in no trouble, and she looked as if she
could hold her own in a much worse breeze. I believe that only poets and
landsmen are fond of bad weather; and the steersman occasionally threw a
demure, quizzical glance at a young girl who was hanging on by one hand
to the companion hatch. The wind had heightened her colour, and the
chance gleams of the moon showed the girl's face as a flash of warm
brightness in the chill dreariness of the night. It was a strange place
and strange weather for a young lady to be out in, for the autumn was
far advanced, and the deadly gales might be expected at any time; but
this young person was in no way discomposed. There was something almost
weird in the sight of that glowing young face, placid amid the fitful
drifts; the screaming gusts caught at tiny stray curls of her dark hair;
the vessel advanced with short plunges, and the flashing broad stream
went past with that eerie moan which always makes me think of dire
things. The girl looked quietly forward, and it seemed as if her spirit
was unmoved by the tumult. She looked almost stern, for her broad brows
were a little bent, but her mouth was firm and kindly, and her very
impassivity gave sign of even temper. I do not like the miniature style
of portrait-painting, so I shall not catalogue the features of this girl
in the orthodox fashion. She would have drawn your eye in any crowd,
for she had that look of slight abstraction which always marks those who
are used at intervals to forget material things; and the composed mouth
and rather square chin hinted at a certain capacity for practical
affairs. The storm stirred her blood, and she murmured at last, "Terrors
take hold on him as waters; a tempest stealeth him away in the night.
The east wind carrieth him away, and he departeth; and as a storm
hurleth him out of his place."
I would have ventured to tell you a good deal about that young lady's
character, had I never heard her speak another word. The association,
the choice of words, the sombre music of the old English--all were
enough to show the bent of her mind.
At last she turned, and said, "When do you think we shall sight them?"
The man at the wheel shouted, "Somewheres towards midnight, Miss. We're
a-goin' through it middling smart, and we can always draw on them."
Then the girl went below into the warm glow of the saloon. A
sweet-faced lady smiled softly, and said, "Is it poetry to-night, or a
new scheme for regenerating everything?" The tone was caressing and
half-admiring, and the younger lady's still smile in reply was like a
revelation; it showed that she accepted banter, but was too serious to
return it. Marion Dearsley and her aunt, Mrs. Walton, understood each
other: the matron pretended to laugh at her niece's gravity, but the
genuine relation between the pair was that of profound mutual confidence
and fondness.
The soft gleam of the lamps showed a very pleasant group in the roomy,
comfortable saloon. A stout, black-bearded man lounged carelessly on a
sofa, supporting himself with one huge hand as the vessel kicked
awkwardly. He looked as if he had been born with a smile, and every line
of his great face was disposed so as to express vast contentment and
good-humour. You could not call him finely bred, but when he observed,
in terrific bass tones, "Hah! Miss Dearsley, you have gazed on the
what's-his-name; you love the storm; you find it fahscinating--oh!
fahscinating; ah! fahscinating! I like an ignoble cabin and a pipe, but
the what's-his-name is fahscinating--ah! fahscinating." His infectious
good-humour was better than any graces. Then his pride in his phrases
was very fine to behold, and he regarded his repetition of his sonorous
adjective as quite an original thing in the way of pure rhetoric. Tom
Lennard was by inheritance a merchant, by choice a philanthropist; he
was naturally religious, but he could not help regarding his
philanthropic work as a great frolic, and he often scandalized reformers
of a more serious disposition. The excellent Joseph Naylor, who was
never seen to smile, and who was popularly supposed to sleep in his
black frock-coat and high stock, once met Tom on a platform. When Tom
was introduced to the prim, beneficent Joseph his enthusiasm overcame
him; he brought his colossal paw down on Mr. Naylor's shoulder so that
the poor man showed signs of shutting up like a concertina inside the
frock-coat; he squeezed Joseph's hand so fervently that the poor victim
looked like a dentist's patient, and Thomas roared like an amiable Bull
of Bashan, "Bah! Aw'm glad to see this day, sir. To think we should meet
at last! Ah! fahscinating!--oh! fahscinating."
Mr. Naylor bore the shock like a true philosopher, but at home that
evening he mildly observed, "My dear, our new ally, Mr. Lennard, is most
friendly, most cordial, quite impressively cordial; but do you know I
should not like to sign a cheque just now. His cordiality has had
distinct effect on my joints, and I wish really that his left hand were
lighter. Social intercourse can only be carried on with difficulty when
you feel as if a large sack had fallen on you from the third floor of a
warehouse."
The good Joseph always drew back with a timid air of maidenly modesty
when Tom approached him, and I quite sympathize with this bashfulness.
It has never been my fortune to exchange courtesies with a large and
healthy polar bear, so I cannot describe the operation, but I should
imagine that Tom's salute would aid one's imagination.
This delightful rough diamond called on Miss Dearsley to choose the lee
side, and then he addressed himself to a superb young fellow who was
leaning against the wainscot, and easily following the pitching of the
ship. "Look here, Ferrier, you can't find one bigot in this ship's
company, but we've all had a lot of experience, and we find that
religion's your only blasting-powder to break up the ugly old rocks that
we used to steer among. We find that we must have a clear passage; we
fix our charge. Whoof! there you are; good sailing-room;
bee-yootiful--oh! fahscinating."
"I quite follow you, and I sympathize with you so far as I am concerned
personally; but when Fullerton persuaded me to come out I only thought
of the physical condition of your people, and that is why I asked for
Mr. Blair's yacht so that I might have a genuine, fair show. You see, I
fear I am wanting in imagination, and the sight of physical pain touches
me so directly, that I never can spare a very great deal of sympathy
for that obscure sort of pain that I cannot see; I'm hand and glove with
you, of course, and I shall go through with the affair to the finish;
but you must doctor the souls, and let me attend to the bodies for the
present."
The speaker was a powerful, broad fellow, with a kind of military
carriage; his tall forehead was crossed by soft lines of tranquil
thought, and he had the unmistakable look of the true student. Lewis
Ferrier came south to Cambridge after he had done well at Edinburgh. He
might have been Senior Wrangler had he chosen, but he read everything
that he should not have read, and he was beaten slightly by a typical
examinee of the orthodox school. Still, every one knew that Ferrier was
the finest mathematician of his year, and there was much muttering and
whispering in academic corners when he decided at last to go in for
medicine. He said, "I want something practical," and that was all the
explanation he ever gave to account for his queer change. He took a
brilliant medical degree, and he decided to accept a professorship of
Biology before attempting to practise. His reasons for being out on the
North Sea in an autumn gale will come out by degrees.
A gentle-looking man stepped up to Ferrier and laid a white hand on his
arm. "We shall never interfere with you in the least degree, my dear
Ferrier. We'll take such help as you can give. We need all we can get.
When you are fairly in the thick of our work you will perhaps understand
that we have vital need of religion to keep us up at all. You can't tell
what an appalling piece of work there is before us; but I give you my
word that if religion were not a vital part of my being, if I did not
believe that God is watching every action and leading us in our blind
struggles, I should faint at my task; I should long for extinction,
though only cowards seek it of their own accord."
A quiet, short man broke in here. He had sat smiling softly as the talk
went on. His face was gently humorous, and all the signs of a placid
and pure life were there. This smiling philosopher said, "That's right,
Fullerton. Ferrier's like my old mare used to be in the days when she
was a little peacocky and fiery--she always wanted to rush her journeys.
She steps soberly now. We'll teach him something before we've done with
him. You know, my dear boy, you must understand that the greater number
of these men are, well--uncultivated, do you understand. They're not so
squalid, perhaps, as Lapps or Esquimaux, but they're mostly as dense.
We've fought hard for a long time, and we're making some headway; but we
can do little, and if we could not get at our men by religion we
couldn't manage at all. I've brought you into a queer country, and you
must be prepared for a pretty set of surprises. My sister and my niece
have been out before, and I persuaded Mrs. Walton and Miss Dearsley to
take a turn. As soon as my people have got over their troubles we'll all
make a dead set at you, you audacious young materialist that you are."
Then John Blair smiled gently once more, and there was a certain pride
visible as his sad eyes twinkled on his young favourite.
This company of kind folks were all of the sort called evangelical, and
they were bound on a strange errand, the like of which had brought one
of the men out to sea many times before. The yacht was now chasing one
of the great North Sea trawling fleets, and Fullerton's idea was to let
the gallant young doctor see something of the wild work that goes on
among the fishing-boats when the weather is ugly.
The dark, solemn young lady sat very still while the men talked, and her
face had that air of intense attention which is so impressive when it is
not simulated. I think she was a spiritual relative of Joan of Arc and
Madame Roland. It seems dreadful to say so, but I am not sure that she
would not have played Charlotte Corday's part had occasion arisen. In
low, full tones she asked, "Did no one ever work among the fishers
before Mr. Fullerton found them out?" "No one, except the fellows who
sold vile spirits, my dear," said Blair.
"Not a single surgeon?"
"Not one. That's why we decided to kidnap Ferrier. We want to give him a
proper school of surgery to practise in--genuine raw material, and
plenty of it, and you must help us to keep him in order. Fancy his
trying to convert us; he'll try to convert you next, if you don't mind!"
The girl paid no heed to the banter. She went on as if in a reverie.
"It is enough to bring a judgment on a nation, all the idle women and
idle men. Mamma told me that a brewer's wife paid two thousand pounds
for flowers in one month. Why cannot you speak to women?"
"We mustn't blame the poor ladies," said Fullerton: "how could they
know? Plenty of people told them about Timbuctoo, and Jerusalem, and
Madagascar, and North and South America, but this region's just a trifle
out of the way. A lady may easily sign a cheque or pack a missionary's
medicine-chest, but she could not come out here among dangers and filth
and discomfort, and the men ashore are not much pluckier. No; in my
experience of English people I've always found them lavish with their
help, only you must let them know what to help. There's the point."
"And you've begun, dear Mr. Fullerton, have you not?"
"Yes; but the end is far off. We were so late--so late in beginning, and
I must pass away, and my place will know me no more; and many and many
another will pass away. Oh, yes! we shall travel from gulf to gulf; but
I think, sometimes, that my soul will be here on the wild nights. I must
be near my men--my poor men!--and I'll meet them when their voyage is
over."
The enthusiast spoke solemnly, and his queer diction somehow was not
unbecoming or grotesque. I suppose George Fox and Savonarola did not use
quite the ordinary language of their day and generation.
The doctor listened with a kind look on his strong face, and when the
dark young girl quietly whispered "Amen!" our professor quite simply
repeated the word.
Tom Lennard had been going through a most complicated series of
acrobatic movements, and he now broke in--
"Ah! Harry Fullerton, if you're not an angel, you're pretty near one.
Ah! that eloquence is of the most--the most--a kind of--ah!
fahscinating--oh-h-h! fahscinating! But I believe this vessel has a
personal spite against me, or else the sea's rising."
"It is, indeed," said Mr. Blair, who had peeped out from the companion.
"We're actually running up to the fleet, and the rocket has gone up for
them to haul trawls. It looks very bad, very bad. You're not frightened,
Mrs. Walton, I hope?"
The reserved, silent lady said--
"Oh, no! Marion and I seem to take kindly to bad weather. I believe if
she could wear a sou'-wester she would hang on to the rigging. It's her
combative instinct. But I do hope there is no danger for the poor
fishermen?"
Mr. Blair very quietly said--
"If their vessels were like ours there would be no fear. We haven't an
unsound rope or block, but many of the smacks are shockingly ill-found,
and one rope or spar may cost a crew their lives if it's faulty. The
glass has gone down badly, and we are in for a gale, and a heavy one.
But my ship would be quite comfortable in the Bay of Biscay."
A trampling on deck sounded. "See if the ladies can look from the
companion," said Tom Lennard. "The sight should be splendid. You and I
must shove on oilskins, Blair and see if we can keep our legs."
This was almost the end of the night's conversation. Those good
mission-folks, as has been seen, contrived to get on without saying
either clever things or bitter things, and persons who possess the
higher intellect may fancy that this was a sign of a poor spirit.
Perhaps; and yet I have read somewhere that the poor in spirit may not
fare so very badly in the long run.