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

his companion proceeded, and then himself went to work.

Of course, during all this time, he had not for an instant forgotten the main object of his journey. On the contrary, much of the absence of mind to which we have referred was caused by the intense manner, in which he scanned the innumerable faces that passed to and fro before him. He now went round eagerly distributing his gifts, though not so much impressed with the importance of the work as he would certainly have been had his mind been less pre-occupied. It was observed, however, that the captain offered his parcels and Testaments only to women, a circumstance which caused a wag from Erin to exclaim--

"Hallo! old gentleman, don't ye think the boys has got sowls as well as the faimales?"

This was of course taken in good part by the captain, who at once corrected the mistake. But after going twice round the deck, and drawing forth many humorous as well as caustic remarks as to his size and general appearance, he was forced to the conclusion that his sister was not there. The lower regions still remained, however.

Descending to these with some hope and a dozen Testaments, he found that the place was so littered with luggage, passengers, and children, that it was extremely difficult to move. To make the confusion worse, nearly the whole space between decks had been fitted up with extra berths--here for the married, there for the unmarried--so that very little room indeed was left for passage, and exceedingly little light entered.

But Captain Bream was not affected by such matters. He was accustomed to them, and his eyesight was good. He was bent on one object, which he pursued with quiet, unflagging perseverance--namely, that of gazing earnestly into the face of every woman in the ship.

So eager was the poor man about it that he forgot to offer the last armful of Testaments which he had undertaken to distribute, and simply went from berth to berth staring at the females. He would undoubtedly have been considered mad if it had not been that the women were too much taken up with their own affairs, to think much about any one with whom they had nothing to do.

One distracting, and also disheartening, part of the process was, that, owing to the general activity on board, he came again and again to the same faces in different parts of the vessel, but he so frequently missed seeing others that hope was kept alive by the constant turning up of new faces. Alas! none of them bore any resemblance to that for which he sought so earnestly!

At last he returned to the place where his friend was preaching. By that time, however, the crowd was so great that he could not enter. Turning aside, therefore, into an open berth, with a feeling of weariness and depression creeping over his mind and body, he was about to sit down on a box, when a female voice at the other end of the berth demanded to know what he wanted.

Hope was a powerful element in Captain Bream's nature. He rose quickly and stopped to gaze attentively into a female face, but it was so dark where she sat on a low box that he could hardly see her, and took a step forward.

"Well, Mr Imprence, I hope as you'll know me again," said the woman, whose face was fiery red, and whose nature was furious. "What _do_ you want here?"

The captain sighed profoundly. _That_ was obviously not his sister! Then a confused feeling of incapacity to give a good reason for being there came over him. Suddenly he recollected the Testaments.

"Have one?" he said eagerly, as he offered one of the little black books.

"Have what?"

"A Testament."

"No, I won't have a Testament, I'm a Catholic," said the woman as she looked sternly up.

Captain Bream was considering how he might best suggest that the Word of God was addressed to all mankind, when a thought seemed to strike the woman.

"Are you the cap'n?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied absently, and with some degree of truth.

"Then it's my opinion, cap'n, an' I tell it you to your face, that you ought to be ashamed of yourself to put honest men an' wimen in places like this--neither light, nor hair, nor nothink in the way of hornament to--"

"Captain Bream! are you there, sir?" cried the voice of his friend the missionary at that moment down the companion-hatch.

"Ay, ay, I'm here."

"I've found her at last, sir."

The captain incontinently dropped the dozen Testaments into the woman's lap and went up the companion-ladder like a tree-squirrel.

"This way, sir. She's sittin' abaft the funnel."

In a few seconds Captain Bream and his companion stood before a pretty-faced, fair-haired woman with soft gentle eyes, which suddenly opened with surprise as the two men hurried forward and came to a halt in front of her. The captain looked anxiously at his friend.

"Is this the--" he stopped.

"Yes, that's her," said the missionary with a nod. The captain turned slowly on his heel, and an irrepressible groan burst from him as he walked away.

There was no need for the disappointed missionary to ask if he had been mistaken. One look had sufficed for the captain.

Sadly they returned to the shore, and there the missionary, being near his house, invited Captain Bream to go home with him and have a cup of tea.

"It will revive you, my dear sir," he said, as the captain stood in silence at his side with his head bowed down. "The disappointment must indeed be great. Don't give up hope, however. But your clothes are wet still. No wonder you shiver, having gone about so long in damp garments. Come away."

Captain Bream yielded in silence. He not only went and had a cup of his hospitable friends's tea, but he afterwards accepted the offer of one of his beds, where he went into a high fever, from which he did not recover for many weary weeks.


CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.


THE WRECK OF THE EVENING STAR.

About the time that Captain Bream was slowly recovering from the fever by which he had been stricken down, a disaster occurred out on the North Sea, in connection with the Short Blue, which told powerfully on some of the men of that fleet. This was nothing less than the wreck of the _Evening Star_.

The weather looked very unsettled the morning on which David Bright's turn came about to quit the fleet and sail for port. He had flown the usual flag to intimate his readiness to convey letters, etcetera, on shore, and had also, with a new feeling of pride, run up his Bethel-Flag to show his true colours, as he said, and to intimate his willingness to join with Christian friends in a parting hymn and prayer.

Some had availed themselves of the opportunity, and, just before starting, the _Evening Star_ ran close to the mission smack.

"Lower the boat, Billy," said the skipper to his son as they sat in the cabin.

"Ay, ay, daddy."

There was a kindliness now in the tone of David Bright's voice when he spoke to Billy that drew out the heart of that urchin as it had never been drawn out before, save by his mother's soft voice, and which produced a corresponding sweetness in the tones of the boy--for "love begets love."

The mission skipper received his visitor with unwonted heartiness.

"I pray the Lord to give you a good time on shore, David," he said, as they went down to the cabin, where some of the other skippers were having a chat and a cup of coffee.

"He'll do that," said David. "He did it last time. My dear missis could scarce believe her ears when I told her I was converted, or her eyes when she saw the Bethel-flag and the temperance pledge."

"Praise the Lord!" exclaimed two or three of those present, with deep sincerity, as David thus referred to his changed condition.

"I can't bide with 'ee, lads," said David, "for time's up, but before startin' I _would_ like to have a little prayer with 'ee, an' a hymn to the Master's praise."

We need not say that they were all ready to comply. After concluding, they saw him into his boat, and bade him God-speed in many a homely but hearty phrase.

"Good-bye, skipper; fare ye well, Billy; the Lord be with 'ee, Joe."

John Gunter was not omitted in the salutations, and his surly spirit was a little, though not much, softened as he replied.

"Fare ye well, mates," shouted David, as he once more stood on his own deck, and let his vessel fall away. A toss of the hand followed the salutation. Little Billy echoed the sentiment and the toss, and in a few minutes the _Evening Star_ was making her way out of the fleet and heading westward.

The night which followed was wild, and the wind variable. Next day the sun did not show itself at all till evening, and the wind blew dead against them. At sunset, red and lurid gleams in the west, and leaden darkness in the east, betokened at the best unsteady weather.

Little did these bold mariners, however, regard such signs--not that they were reckless, but years of experience had accustomed them to think lightly of danger--to face and overcome it with equanimity. In addition to his native coolness, David Bright had now the mighty _power_ of humble trust in God to sustain him.

It still blew hard when they drew near to land, but the wind had changed its direction, blowing more on the shore, and increasing at last to a gale which lined the whole coast with breakers. Before the _Evening Star_ could find refuge in port, night had again descended. Unfortunately it was one of the darkest nights of the season, accompanied with such blinding sleet that it became a difficult matter to distinguish the guiding lights.

"A dirty night, Billy," said David Bright, who himself held the tiller.

"Ay, father, it'll be all the pleasanter when we get home."

"True, lad; the same may be said of the heavenly home when the gales of life are over. D'ee see the light, boy?"

"No, father, not quite sure. Either it's not very clear, or the sleet an' spray blinds me."

"`Let the lower lights be burning,'" murmured the skipper, as a tremendous wave, which seemed about to burst over them, rushed beneath the stern, raising it high in the air. "You see the meanin' o' that line o' the hymn now, Billy, though you didn't when your dear mother taught it you. Bless her heart, her patience and prayers ha' done it all."

For some minutes after this there was silence. The men of the _Evening Star_ were holding on to shroud or belaying-pin, finding shelter as best they could, and looking out anxiously for the "lower lights."

"There'll be some hands missin', I doubt, in the Short Blue fleet to-morrow, father," remarked Billy, with a solemn look.

"Likely enough; God have mercy on 'em," returned Bright. "It wasn't a much stiffer gale than this, not many years gone by,