When Nellie Sumner married James Greely--the strapping skipper of a
Yarmouth fishing-smack--there was not a prettier girl in all the town,
at least so said, or thought, most of the men and many of the women who
dwelt near her. Of course there were differences of opinion on the
point, but there was no doubt whatever about it in the mind of James
Greely, who was overwhelmed with astonishment, as well as joy, at what
he styled his "luck in catching such a splendid wife."
And there was good ground for his strong feeling, for Nellie was neat,
tidy, and good-humoured, as well as good-looking, and she made Jim's
home as neat and tidy as herself.
"There's always sunshine inside o' my house," said Greely to his mates
once, "no matter what sort o' weather there may be outside."
Ere long a squall struck that house--a squall that moved the feelings of
our fisherman more deeply than the fiercest gale he had ever faced on
the wild North Sea, for it was the squall of a juvenile Jim! From that
date the fisherman was wont to remark, with a quiet smile of
satisfaction, that he had got moonlight now, as well as sunshine, in the
Yarmouth home.
The only matter that distressed the family at first was that the father
saw so little of his lightsome home; for, his calling being that of a
deep-sea smacksman, or trawler, by far the greater part of our
fisherman's rugged life was spent on the restless ocean. Two months at
sea and eight days ashore was the unvarying routine of Jim's life,
summer and winter, all the year round. That is to say, about fifty days
on shore out of the year, and three hundred and fifteen days on what the
cockney greengrocer living next door to Jim styled the "'owlin' deep."
And, truly, the greengrocer was not far wrong, for the wild North Sea
does a good deal of howling, off and on, during the year, to say nothing
of whistling and shrieking and other boisterous practices when the
winter gales are high.
But a cloud began to descend, very gradually at first, on James Greely's
dwelling, for a demon--a very familiar one on the North Sea--had been
twining his arms for a considerable time round the stalwart fisherman.
At the time of Jim's marriage those mission-ships of the Dutch--and, we
may add, of the devil--named _copers_, or floating grog-shops, were
plying their deadly traffic in strong drink full swing among the
trawlers of the North Sea. Through God's blessing the mission-ships of
the Cross have now nearly driven the _copers_ off the sea, but at the
time we write of the Dutchmen had it all their own way, and many a
splendid man, whom toil, cold, hardship, and fierce conflict with the
elements could not subdue, was laid low by the poisonous spirits of the
_coper_. Greely went to the _copers_ at first to buy tobacco, but,
being a hearty, sociable fellow, he had no objection to take an
occasional friendly dram. Gradually, imperceptibly, he became enslaved.
He did not give way at once. He was too much of a man for that. Many
a deadly battle had he with the demon--known only to himself and God--
but as he fought in his own strength, of course he failed; failed again
and again, until he finally gave way to despair.
Poor Nellie was quick to note the change, and tried, with a brave heart
at first but a sinking heart at last, to save him, but without success.
The eight days which used to be spent in the sunny home came at last to
be spent in the Green Dragon public-house; and in course of time Nellie
was taught by bitter experience that if her husband, on his periodical
return from the sea, went straight from the smack to the public-house,
it was little that she would see of him during his spell on shore. Even
curly-headed juvenile Jimmie--his father's pride--ceased to overcome the
counter-attraction of strong drink.
Is it to be wondered at that Nellie lost some of her old
characteristics--that, the wages being spent on drink, she found it hard
to provide the mere necessaries of life for herself and her boy, and
that she finally gave up the struggle to keep either person or house as
neat and orderly as of yore, while a haggard look and lines of care
began to spoil the beauty of her countenance? Or is it a matter for
surprise that her temper began to give way under the strain?
"You are ruining yourself and killing me," said the sorely-tried wife
one evening--the last evening of a spell on shore--as Jim staggered into
the once sunny home to bid his wife good-bye.
It was the first time that Nellie had spoken roughly to him. He made no
answer at first. He was angry. The Green Dragon had begun to
demoralise him, and the reproof which ought to have melted only hardened
him.
"The last of the coals are gone," continued the wife with bitterness in
her tone, "and there's scarcely enough of bread in the house for a good
supper to Jimmie. You should be ashamed of yourself, Jim."
A glare of drunken anger shot fiercely from the fisherman's eyes. No
word did he utter. Turning on his heel, he strode out of the house and
shut the door after him with cannon-shot violence.
"O Jim--stop Jim!" burst from timid Nellie. "I'll never--"
She ceased abruptly, for the terrified Jimmie was clinging to her
skirts, and her husband was beyond the reach of her voice. Falling on
her knees, she prayed to God passionately for pardon. It was their
first quarrel. She ended by throwing herself on her bed and bursting
into a fit of sobbing that not only horrified but astounded little Jim.
To see his mother sobbing wildly while he was quiet and grave was a
complete inversion of all his former experiences. As if to carry out
the spirit of the situation, he proceeded to act the part of comforter
by stroking his mother's brown hair with his fat little hand until the
burst of grief subsided.
"Dare, you's dood now, muzzer. Tiss me!" he said.
Nellie flung her arms round the child and kissed him fervently.
Meanwhile James Greely's smack, the _Dolphin_, was running down the Yare
before a stiff breeze, and Jim himself had commenced the most momentous,
and, in one sense, disastrous voyage of his life. As he stood at the
tiller, guiding his vessel with consummate skill out into the darkening
waters, his heart felt like lead. He would have given all he possessed
to recall the past hour, to have once again the opportunity of bidding
Nellie good-bye as he had been wont to do in the days that were gone.
But it was too late. Wishes and repentance, he knew, avail nothing to
undo a deed that is done.
Jim toiled with that branch of the North Sea fleets which is named the
"Short Blue." It was trawling at a part of the North Sea called "Botney
Gut" at that time, but our fisherman had been told that it was fishing
at another part named the "Silverpits." It blew hard from the nor'west,
with much snow, so that Jim took a long time to reach his destination.
But no "Short Blue" fleet was to be seen at the Silverpits.
To the eyes of ordinary men the North Sea is a uniform expanse of water,
calm or raging as the case may be. Not so to the deep-sea trawler.
Jim's intimate knowledge of localities, his sounding-lead and the nature
of the bottom, etcetera, enabled him at any time to make for, and surely
find, any of the submarine banks. But fleets, though distinguished by a
name, have no "local habitation." They may be on the "Dogger Bank"
to-day, on the "Swarte Bank" or the "Great Silverpits" to-morrow. With
hundreds of miles of open sea around, and neither milestone nor
finger-post to direct, a lost fleet is not unlike a lost needle in a
haystack. Fortunately Jim discovered a brother smacksman looking, like
himself, for his own fleet. Being to windward the brother ran down to
him.
"What cheer O! Have 'ee seen anything o' the Red Cross Fleet?" roared
the skipper, with the power of a brazen trumpet.
"No," shouted Jim, in similar tones. "I'm lookin' for the Short Blue."
"I passed it yesterday, bearin' away for Botney Gut."
"'Bout ship" went Jim, and away with a stiff breeze on his quarter. He
soon found the fleet--a crowd of smacks, all heading in the same
direction, with their huge trawling nets down and bending over before
what was styled a good "fishing-breeze." It requires a stiff breeze to
haul a heavy net, with its forty or fifty feet beam and other gear, over
the rough bottom of the North Sea. With a slight breeze and the net
down a smack would be simply anchored by the stern to her own gear.
Down went Jim's net, and, like a well-drilled fisherman, he fell into
line. It was a rough grey day with a little snow falling, which
whitened all the ropes and covered the decks with slush.
Greely's crew had become demoralised, like their skipper. There were
five men and a fair-haired boy. All could drink and swear except the
boy. Charlie was the only son of his mother, and she was a good woman,
besides being a widow. Charlie was the smack's cook.
"Grub's ready," cried the boy, putting his head up the hatchway after
the gear was down.
He did not name the meal. Smacksmen have a way of taking food
irregularly at all or any hours, when circumstances permit, and are easy
about the name so long as they get it, and plenty of it. A breakfast at
mid-day after a night of hardest toil might be regarded indifferently as
a luncheon or an early dinner.
Black Whistler, the mate, who stood at the helm, pronounced a curse upon
the weather by way of reply to Charlie's summons.
"You should rather bless the ladies on shore that sent you them wursted
mittens an' 'elmet, you ungrateful dog," returned the boy with a broad
grin, for he and Whistler were on familiar terms.
The man growled something inaudible, while his mates went below to feed.
Each North Sea trawling fleet acts unitedly under an "admiral." It was
early morning when the signal was given by rocket to haul up the nets.
Between two and three hours at the capstan--slow, heavy toil, with every
muscle strained to the utmost--was the result of the admiral's order.
Bitter cold; driving snow; cutting flashes of salt spray, and dark as
Erebus save for the light of a lantern lashed to the mast. Tramp,
tramp, tramp, the seemingly everlasting round went on, with the clank of
heavy sea-boots and the rustle of hard oil-skins, and the sound of
labouring breath as accompaniment; while the endless cable came slowly
up from the "vasty deep."
But everything comes to an end, even on the North Sea! At last the
great beam appears and is secured. With a sigh of relief the capstan
bars are thrown down, and the men vary their toil by clawing up the net
with scarred and benumbed fingers. It is heavy work, causes much
heaving and gasping, and at times seems almost too much for all hands to
manage.
Again Black Whistler pronounces a malediction on things in general, and
is mockingly reminded by the boy-cook that he ought to bless the people
as sends him wursted cuffs to save his wrists from sea-blisters.
"Seems to me we've got a hold of a bit o' Noah's ark," growled one of
the hands, as something black and big begins to appear.
He is partially right, for a bit of an old wreck is found to have been
captured with a ton or so of fish. When this is disengaged the net
comes in more easily, and the fish are dropped like a silver cataract on
the wet deck.
One might imagine that there was rest for the fishermen now. Far from
it. The fish had to be "cleaned"--i.e. gutted and the superfluous
portions cut off and packed in boxes for the London market. The grey
light of a bleak winter morning dawned before the work was finished.
During the operation the third hand, Lively Dick, ran a fish-bone deeply
into his hand, and laid a foundation for future trouble.
It was noon before the trunks, or fish-boxes, were packed. Then the
little boat had to be launched over the side, loaded with fish, and
ferried to one of the steamers which ply daily and regularly between
Billingsgate and the fleets. Three men jumped into it and pushed off--a
mere cockle-shell on a heaving flood, now dancing on a wave-crest, now
lost to view in a water-valley.
"What's that?" said Whistler, as they pulled towards the steamer.
"Looks bigger than the or'nary mission-ships."
"Why, that must be the noo hospital-ship, the _Queen Victoria_,"
answered Lively Dick, glancing over his shoulder at a large vessel,
smack-rigged, which loomed up through the haze to leeward.
They had no time for further remark, for the great side of the steamer
was by that time frowning over them. It was dangerous work they had to
do. The steamer rolled heavily in the rough sea. The boat, among a
dozen other boats, was soon attached to her by a strong rope. Men had
to be athletes and acrobats in order to pass their fish-boxes from the
leaping and plunging boats to the deck of the rolling steamer. The
shouting and noise and bumping were tremendous. An awkward heave
occasionally sent a box into the sea amid oaths and laughter. Jim's
cargo was put safely on board, and the boat was about to cast off when a
heavier lurch than usual caused Black Whistler to stagger. To save
himself from plunging overboard he laid both hands on the gunwale of the
boat--a dangerous thing to do at any time when alongside of a vessel.
Before he could recover himself the boat went crashing against the
steamer's iron side and the fisherman's hands were crushed. He fell
back into the boat almost fainting with agony. No cry escaped him,
however. Lively Dick saw the blood streaming, and while his mate shoved
off the boat he wrapped a piece of canvas in a rough-and-ready fashion
round the quivering hands.
"I'm done for this trip," groaned Whistler, "for this means go ashore--
weeks in hospital--wages stopped, and wife and chicks starving."
"Never a bit, mate," said Dick; "didn't you know that the noo
mission-ship does hospital work afloat and that they'll keep you aboard
of her, and lend us one o' their hands till you're fit for work again?"
Whether poor Whistler believed, or understood, or was comforted by this
we cannot say, for he made no reply and appeared to be almost overcome
with pain. On reaching the _Dolphin_ a signal of distress was made to
the floating hospital, which at once bore down to them. The injured man
was transferred to it, and there, in the pleasant airy cabin, Black
Whistler made acquaintance with men who were anxious to cure his soul as
well as his body. Up to this time he had resolutely declined to visit
the mission-ships, but now, when a skilled medical man tenderly dressed
his terrible wounds and a sympathetic skipper led him to a berth and
supplied him with some warm coffee, telling him that he would be free to
remain there without charge as long as was needed, and that meanwhile
one of the mission hands would take his place in the _Dolphin_ till he
was able to resume work, his opinion of mission-ships and work underwent
modification, and he began to think that mission crews were not such a
bad lot after all.
Meanwhile Skipper Greely, leaving his man in the _Queen Victoria_,
returned to his smack accompanied by George King, the new hand.
King's position was by no means an enviable one, for he found himself
thus suddenly in the midst of a set of men who had no sympathy with him
in religious matters, and whose ordinary habits and conversation
rendered remonstrance almost unavoidable. Unwilling to render himself
obnoxious at first, the man resolved to try the effect of music on his
new shipmates. He happened to possess a beautiful tenor voice, and the
first night--a calm bright one--while taking his turn at the helm, he
sang in a soft sweet voice one after another of those hymns which Mr
Sankey has rendered so popular. He began with "Come to the Saviour,
make no delay," and the first effect on his mates, most of whom were
below, was to arouse a feeling of contempt. But they could not resist
the sweetness of the voice. In a few minutes they were perfectly
silent, and listening with a species of fascination--each being wafted,
both by words and music, to scenes on shore and to times when his spirit
had not been so demoralised by sin.
Greely, in particular, was transported back to the sunny home in
Yarmouth, and to the days of first-love, before the _demon_ had gained
the mastery and clouded the sunshine.
As the night wore on, a fog settled down over the North Sea, and the
smacks of the Short Blue fleet began to blow their fog-horns, while the
crews became more on the alert and kept a bright look-out.
Suddenly, and without warning, a dull beating sound was heard by the
look-out on the _Dolphin_. Next moment a dark object like a phantom
ship loomed out of the fog, and a wild cry arose as the men saw the bows
of a huge ocean steamer coming apparently straight at them. The smack
was absolutely helpless, without steering way. For an instant there was
shouting on board the steamer, and she fell off slightly as she rushed
into the small circle of the _Dolphin's_ light. A tremendous crash
followed, but the change of direction had been sufficient to prevent a
fatal collision. Another moment and the great steamer was gone, while
the little smack rocked violently from the blow as well as from the
swell left in the steamer's wake.
This was but the beginning of a night of disaster. Skipper Greely and
his men had scarcely recovered from the surprise of this incident when
the fog lifted and quickly cleared away, revealing the Short Blue fleet
floating all round with flapping sails, but it was observed also that a
very dark cloud rested on the north-western horizon. Soon a stiffish
breeze sprang up, and the scattered fleet drew together, lay on the same
tack, and followed the lead of their admiral, to whom they looked for
the signal to shoot the trawls. But instead of giving this order the
admiral signalled to "lay-to."
Being disgusted as well as surprised that their leader was not going to
fish, Jim Greely, being also exhausted by long watching, went below and
turned in to have a sleep. He had not been long asleep when fair-haired
Charlie came to tell him that Lively Dick, who acted as mate in
Whistler's absence, wanted him on deck. He ran up at once.
"Looks like dirty weather, skipper," said Dick, pointing to windward.
"Right you are, lad," said Jim, and called all hands to close-reef.
This being done and everything made snug, the skipper again turned in,
with orders to call him if things should get worse.
Soon after, Dick, who was at the helm, saw a squall bearing down on
them, but did not think it worth while to call the skipper. It broke on
them with a clap like thunder, but the good _Dolphin_ stood the shock
well, and Dick was congratulating himself when he saw a sea coming
towards them, but sufficiently astern, he thought, to clear them. He
was wrong. It broke aboard, right into the mainsail, cleared the deck,
and hove the smack on her beam-ends.
This effectually aroused the skipper, who made desperate but at first
ineffectual efforts to get out of his berth, for the water, which poured
down the hatchway, washed gear, tackles, turpentine-tins, paint-pots,
and nearly everything moveable from the iron locker on the weather-side
down to leeward, and blocked up the openings. Making another effort he
cleared all this away, and sprang out of the berth, which was half full
of water. Pitchy darkness enshrouded him, for the water had put out the
lights as well as the fire. Just then the vessel righted a little.
"Are you all right on deck?" shouted Jim, as he scrambled up the
hatchway.
"All right, as far as I can see," answered Dick.
"Hold on, I've a bottle o' matches in my bunk," cried the skipper,
returning to the flooded cabin. Fortunately the matches were dry; a
light was struck, and a candle and lamp lighted. The scene revealed was
not re-assuring. The water in the cabin was knee-deep. A flare, made
of a woollen scarf soaked in paraffin, was lighted on deck, and showed
that the mainsail had been split, the boat hopelessly damaged, and part
of the lee bulwarks broken. The mast also was leaning aft, the forestay
having been carried away. A few minutes later Lively Dick went tumbling
down into the cabin all of a heap, to avoid the mast as it went crashing
over the side in such a way as to prevent the use of the pumps, and
carrying the mizzenmast along with it.
"Go to work with buckets, boys, or she'll sink," shouted the skipper,
himself setting the example, for the ballast had shifted and the danger
was great. Meanwhile George King seized an axe and cut away the rigging
that held on to the wrecked masts, and fair-haired Charlie laboured like
a hero to clear the pumps. The rays of the cabin lights did not reach
the deck, so that much of the work had to be done in what may be styled
darkness visible, while the little vessel kicked about like a wild thing
in the raging sea, and the torn canvas flapped with a horrible noise.
Pitiless wind, laden with sleet, howled over them as if thirsting
impatiently for the fishermen's lives. At last they succeeded in
clearing the pumps, and worked them with untiring energy for hours, but
could not tell how many, for the thick end of a marline-spike had been
driven through the clock-face and stopped it.
It was still dark when they managed to rig up a jury-mast on the stump
of the old one and hoist a shred of sail. George King was ordered to
the tiller. As he passed Greely he said in a cheerful voice, "Trust in
the Lord, skipper, He can bring us out o' worse than this."
It might have been half an hour later when another sea swept the deck.
Jim took shelter under the stump of the mast and held on for dear life.
Charlie got inside the coil of the derrick-fall and so was saved, while
the others dived into the cabin. When that sea had passed they found no
one at the tiller. Poor King had been washed overboard. Nothing
whatever could be done for him, even if he had been seen, but the greedy
sea had swallowed him, and he was taken to swell with his tuneful voice
the company of those who sing on high the praises of redeeming love.
The sea which swept him into eternity also carried away the jury-mast,
and as the smack was now a mere wreck, liable to drift on shore if the
gale should continue long, Jim let down an anchor, after removing its
stock so that it might drag on the bottom and retard the drifting while
it kept the vessel's head to the sea.
A watch was then set, and the rest of the crew went below to wait and
wish for daybreak! It was a dreary vigil under appalling circumstances,
for although the smack had not actually sprung a leak there was always
the danger of another sea overwhelming and altogether sinking her. Her
crew sat there for hours utterly helpless and literally facing death.
Fortunately their matches had escaped the water, so that they were able
to kindle a fire in the stove and obtain a little warmth as well as make
a pot of tea and eat some of their sea-soaked biscuit.
It is wonderful how man can accommodate himself to circumstances. No
sooner had the crew in this wreck felt the stimulating warmth of the hot
tea than they began to spin yarns! not indeed of a fanciful kind--they
were too much solemnised for that--but yarns of their experience of
gales in former times.
"It minds me o' this wery night last year," said Lively Dick,
endeavouring to light his damp pipe. "I was mate o' the _Beauty_ at the
time. We was workin' wi' the Short Blues on the Dogger, when a
tremendous squall struck us, an' it began to snow that thick we could
scarce see the end o' the jib-boom. Well, the gale came on in real
arnest before long, so we had to lay-to all that night. When it came
day we got some sail set and I went below to have a hot pot o' tea when
the skipper suddenly sang out `Jump up here, Dick!' an' I did jump up,
double quick, to find that we was a'most runnin' slap into a dismasted
craft. We shoved the tiller hard a-starboard and swung round as if we
was on a swivel, goin' crash through the rackage alongside an' shavin'
her by a hair. We could just see through the snow one of her hands
choppin' away at the riggin', and made out that her name was the _Henry
and Thomas_."
"An' did ye see nothin' more of 'er arter that?" asked the boy Charlie
with an eager look.
"Nothin' more. She was never heard of arter that mornin'."
While the men were thus talking, the watch on deck shouted that one of
the mission-ships was close alongside. Every one ran on deck to hail
her, for they stood much in need of assistance, two of their water-casks
having been stove in and everything in the hold turned topsy-turvy--
beef, potatoes, flour, all mixed up in horrible confusion. Just then
another sea came on board, and the crew had to dive again to the cabin
for safety. That sea carried away the boat and the rest of the
starboard bulwarks, besides starting a plank, and letting the water in
at a rate which the pumps could not keep down.
Quickly the mission-ship loomed up out of the grey snow-cloud and ran
past.
"You'll want help!" shouted the mission skipper.
"Ay, we do," shouted Jim Greely in reply. "We're sinkin', and our
boat's gone."
An arm thrown up indicated that the words were understood. A few
minutes later and the crew of the _Dolphin_ saw the mission crew
launching their little boat. With, such a sea running the venture was
perilous in the extreme, but when the mission skipper said "Who'll go?"
he had no lack of volunteers. The boat was manned at once, and the crew
of the _Dolphin_ were rescued a few minutes before the _Dolphin_ herself
went head-foremost to the bottom. Just as they got safely on deck the
mission-ship herself shipped a heavy sea, which washed several of the
men into the lee scuppers. They jumped up immediately--some with "Thank
God" on their lips, others with a laugh--but James Greely did not rise.
He lay stunned and rolling about in the water. It was found on raising
him that his right leg was broken at the thigh.
When Jim recovered consciousness he did not complain. He was a man of
stern mould, and neither groaned nor spoke; but he was not the less
impressed with the kindness and apparent skill with which the mission
skipper treated him.
Having received a certain amount of surgical training, the skipper--
although unlearned and a fisherman--knew well how to put the leg in
splints and otherwise to treat the patient.
"It's pretty bad, I fear," he said soothingly, observing that Jim's lips
were compressed, and that beads of perspiration were standing on his
brow.
Jim did not reply, but smiled grimly and nodded, for the rolling of the
ship caused him increasing agony as the injured parts began to inflame.
"I'm not very good at this sort o' work," said the mission skipper
modestly, "but thank God the new hospital-ship is cruisin' wi' the Short
Blue just now. I saw her only yesterday, so we'll put you aboard of her
and there you'll find a reg'lar shore-goin' surgeon, up to everything,
and with all the gimcracks and arrangements of a reg'lar shore-goin'
hospital. They've got a new contrivance too--a sort o' patent
stretcher, invented by a Mr Dark o' the head office in London--which'll
take you out o' the boat into the ship without movin' a bone or muscle,
so keep your mind easy, skipper, for you'll be aboard the _Queen
Victoria_ before many hours go by."
Poor Greely appreciated the statement about the stretcher more than all
the rest that was said, for he was keenly alive to the difficulty of
passing a broken-boned man out of a little boat into a smack or steamer
in a heavy sea, having often had to do it.
The mission skipper was right, for early the next day Jim was strapped
to a wonderful frame and passed into the hospital-ship without shake or
shock, and his comrades were retained in the mission smack until they
could be sent on shore. Greely and his men learned many lessons which
they never afterwards forgot on board of the _Queen Victoria_--the
foundation lesson being that they were lost sinners and that Jesus
Christ came "to seek and to save the lost."
Slowly, and at first unwillingly, Skipper Greely took the great truths
in. Several weeks passed, and he began to move about with some of his
wonted energy. Much to his surprise he found himself one morning
signing the temperance pledge-books, persuaded thereto by the skipper of
the _Queen Victoria_. Still more to his surprise he found himself one
Sunday afternoon listening, with unwonted tears in his eyes, to some of
his mates as they told their spiritual experiences to an assembly of
some hundred or so of weather-beaten fishermen. Before quitting that
vessel he discovered that he possessed a powerful and tuneful voice,
admirably adapted for singing hymns, and that he was capable of publicly
stating the fact that he was an unworthy sinner saved by grace.
When at last he returned ashore and unexpectedly entered the Yarmouth
home, Nellie could scarcely believe her senses, so great was the change.
"Jim!" she cried, with opening eyes and beating heart, "you're like your
old self again."
"Thank God," said Jim, clasping her in his strong arms. But he could
say no more for some time. Then he turned suddenly on curly-headed
Jimmie, who had been fiercely embracing one of his enormous sea-boots,
and began an incoherent conversation and a riotous romp with that
juvenile fisherman.
A brighter sunshine than had ever been there before enlightened that
Yarmouth home, for God had entered it and the hearts of its occupants.
Example is well-known to be infectious. In course of time a number of
brother fishermen began to think as Jim Greely thought and feel as he
felt. His house also became the centre, or headquarters, of an informal
association got up for the purpose of introducing warmth and sunshine
into poor homes in all weathers, and there were frequently such large
meetings of the members of that association that it taxed Nellie's
ingenuity to supply seats and stow them all away. She managed it,
however; for, as Jim was wont to remark, "Nellie had a powerful
intellec' for her size."
Among the frequenters of this Yarmouth home were several of the men who
had once been staunch supporters of the Green Dragon, and of these the
most enthusiastic, perhaps, if not the most noisy, were Black Whistler,
Lively Dick, and fair-haired Charlie.