The Young Trawler by Robert Michael Ballantyne (classic novels txt) 📕

with all hands, though she was as tight a craft as any in the fleet, and her captain was a first-rate seaman, besides bein' steady."

"Ay, but then, you see," said Billy, "she was took by three heavy seas one arter the other, and no vessel, you know, could stand that."

"No, not even the _Evening Star_ if she was took that fashion, an' we never know when it's goin' to happen. I suspect, Billy, that the psalm-singers, as Gunter calls 'em, has the best of it. They work as well as any men in the fleet--sometimes I think better--an' then they're always in such a jolly state o' mind! If good luck comes, they praise God for it, an' if bad luck comes they praise God that it's no worse. Whatever turns up they appear to be in a thankful state o' mind, and that seems to me a deal better than growlin', swearin', and grumblin', as so many of us do at what we can't change. What d'ee think, Billy?"

"Well, to tell 'ee the truth, Luke, I don't think about it at all-- anyhow, I've never thought about it till to-night."

"But it's worth thinkin' about, Billy?"

"That's true," returned the boy, who was of a naturally straightforward disposition, and never feared to express his opinions freely.

Just then a sea rose on the weather quarter, threatening, apparently, to fall inboard. So many waves had done the same thing before, that no one seemed to regard it much; but the experienced eye of the skipper noticed a difference, and he had barely time to give a warning shout when the wave rushed over the side like a mighty river, and swept the deck from stem to stern. Many loose articles were swept away and lost, and the boat which lay on the deck alongside of the mast, had a narrow escape. Billy and his friend Luke, being well under the lee of the bulwarks, escaped the full force of the deluge, but Ned Spivin, who steered, was all but torn from his position, though he clung with all his strength to the tiller and the rope that held it fast. The skipper was under the partial shelter of the mizzenmast, and clung to the belaying-pins. John Gunter was the only one who came to grief. He was dashed with great violence to leeward, but held on to the shrouds for his life. The mate was below at the moment and so was Zulu, whose howl coming from the cabin, coupled with a hiss of water in the fire, told that he had suffered from the shock.

The immense body of water that filled the main-sail threw the vessel for a short time nearly on her beam-ends--a position that may be better understood when we say that it converts one of the sides of the vessel into the floor, the other side into the ceiling, and the floor and deck respectively into upright walls!

Fortunately the little smack got rid of the water in a few seconds, arose slowly, and appeared to shake herself like a duck rising out of the sea. Sail had already been reduced to the utmost; nevertheless, the wind was so strong that for three hours afterwards the crew never caught sight of the lee-bulwarks, so buried were they in foam as the _Evening Star_ leaned over and rushed madly on her course.

Towards morning the wind moderated a little, and then the crew gazed anxiously around on the heaving grey waves, for well did they know that such a squall could not pass over the North Sea without claiming its victims.

"It blowed that 'ard at one time," said Ned Spivin to Joe Davidson, "that I expected to see the main-mast tore out of 'er."

"I'm afeard for the _Rainbow_," said Joe. "She's nothin' better than a old bunch o' boards."

"Sometimes them old things hold out longer than we expect," returned Ned.

He was right. When the losses of that night came to be reckoned up, several good vessels were discovered to be missing, but the rotten old _Rainbow_ still remained undestroyed though not unscathed, and a sad sight met the eyes of the men of the fleet when daylight revealed the fact that some of the smacks had their flags flying half-mast, indicating that many men had been washed overboard and lost during the night.

As the day advanced, the weather improved, and the fishermen began to look anxiously out for the steamer which was to convey their fish to market, but none was to be seen. Although a number of steamers run between Billingsgate and the Short Blue fleet, it sometimes happens that they do not manage to find the fleet at once, and occasionally a day or more is lost in searching for it--to the damage of the fish if the weather be warm. It seemed as if a delay of this kind, had happened on the occasion of which we write; the admiral therefore signalled to let down the nets for a day haul.

While this was being done, a vessel was seen to join the fleet from the westward.

"That's Singin' Peter," said David Bright to his mate. "I'd know his rig at any distance."

"So it is. P'raps he's got letters for us."

Singing Peter was one of the many fishermen who had been brought to a knowledge of Jesus Christ and saved from his sins. Wild and careless before conversion, he afterwards became an enthusiastic follower of the Lamb of God, and was so fond of singing hymns in His praise that he became known in the fleet by the sobriquet of Singing Peter. His beaming face and wholly changed life bore testimony to what the Holy Spirit had wrought in him.

Peter had been home to Gorleston on his week of holiday, and had now returned to the fleet for his eight weeks' fishing-cruise, carrying a flag to show that he had just arrived, bringing letters and clothes, etcetera, for some of the crews.

"I used to think Peter warn't a bad feller," said David Bright, as the new arrival drew near; "he was always good company, an' ready for his glass, but now he's taken to singin' psalms, I can make nothin' of 'im."

"There's them in the fleet that like him better since he took to that," said Luke Trevor.

"It may be so, lad, but that's not accordin' to _my_ taste," retorted the skipper.

David was, however, by no means a surly fellow. When Peter's vessel came within hail, he held up his hand and shouted--

"What cheer! what cheer, Peter!" as heartily as possible.

Singing Peter held up his hand in reply, and waved it as he shouted back--

"What cheer! All well, praise the Lord!"

"D'ye hear that Billy?" said Luke, in a low voice. "_He_ never forgets to praise the Lord."

When the vessels drew nearer, Peter again waved his hand, and shouted--

"I've got letters for 'ee."

"All right my hearty! I'll send for 'em."

In less than five minutes the boat of the _Evening Star_ was launched over the side, stern-foremost, and she had scarce got fairly afloat on the dancing waves when Joe and Luke "swarmed" into her, had the oars out and were sweeping off so as to intercept Peter's vessel They soon reached her, received a packet wrapped up in a bit of newspaper, and quickly returned.

The packet contained two letters--one for the skipper, the other for the mate--from their respective wives.

"Joe," said the skipper, when he had perused his letter, "come down below. I want to speak to 'ee."

"That's just what I was goin' to say to yourself, for the letter from my missis says somethin' that consarns you."

When master and mate were alone together in the cabin, each read to the other his letter.

"My missis," said the skipper, unfolding his letter and regarding it with a puzzled expression, "although she's had a pretty good edication, has paid little attention to her pot-hooks--but this is how it runs-- pretty near. `Dear old man,' (she's always been an affectionate woman, Joe, though I do treat her badly when I'm in liquor), `I hope you are having a good time of it and that darling Billy likes the sea, and is a good boy. My reason for writing just now is to tell you about that dear sweet creature, Miss Ruth Dotropy. She has been down at Yarmouth again on a visit, and of course she has been over to see me and Mrs Davidson, in _such_ a lovely blue--' (ah! well, Joe, there's no need to read you that bit; it's all about dress--as if dress could make Miss Ruth better or worse! But women's minds will run on ribbons an' suchlike. Well, after yawin' about for a bit, she comes back to the pint, an' steers a straight course again. She goes on, after a blot or two that I can't make nothin' of), `You'll be surprised to hear, David, that she's been making some particular inquiries about you and me; which I don't understand at all, and looking as if she knew a deal more than she cared to tell. She's been asking Mrs Davidson too about it, and what puzzles me most is--' There's another aggrawatin' blot here, Joe, so that I can't make out what puzzles her. Look here. Can you spell it out?"

Joe tried, but shook his head.

"It's a puzzler to _her_," he said, "an' she's took good care to make it a puzzler to everybody else, but go on."

"There's nothin' else to go on wi', Joe, for after steerin' past the blot, she runs foul o' Miss Ruth's dress again, and the only thing worth mentionin' is a post-script, where she says, `I think there's something wrong, dear David, and I wish you was here.' That's all."

"Now, that is strange, for my missis writes about the wery same thing," said Joe, "only she seems to have gone in for a little more confusion an' blots than your missis, an' that blessed little babby of ours is always gittin' in the way, so she can't help runnin' foul of it, but that same puzzler crops up every now an' then. See, here's what she writes:--

"`Darlin' Joe,' (a touch more affectionate than yours--eh! skipper?) `if our dear darlin' babby will let me, I'm a-goin' to write you a letter-- there, I know'd she wouldn't. She's bin and capsized the wash-tub, though, as you know, she can't walk yet, but she rolls about most awful, Joe, just what you say the _Evening Star_ does in a gale on the North Sea. An' she's got most dreadful heels--oh! you've no idear! Whativer they comes down upon goes--' There's a big blot here," said Joe, with a puzzled look, "`goes--whativer they comes down upon goes--' No, I can't make it out."

"`Goes to sticks an' stivers,' p'raps," said the skipper.

"No, my Maggie never uses words like that," said Joe with decision.

"`Goes all to smash,' then," suggested the skipper.

"No, nor it ain't that; my Maggie's too soft-tongued for that."

"Well, you know, things must go somewhere, or somehow, Joe, when such a pair o' heels comes down on 'em--but steer clear o' the blot and the babby, an' see what comes next."

"`Well,'" continued Joe, reading on, "`I was goin' to tell you, when babby