The Young Trawler by R. M. Ballantyne (e book reader .TXT) 📕

Pleasant and heart-stirring is the sensation of returning health to one who has sailed for many weeks in the “Doldrums” of Disease, weathered Point Danger, crossed the Line of Weakness, and begun to steer with favouring gales over the smooth sea of Convalescence.

So thought Captain Bream one lovely summer day, some time after the events just narrated, as he sat on the bridge of a swift steamer which cut like a fish through the glassy waves of the North Sea.

It was one of Hewett and Company’s carriers, bound for the Short Blue fleet. Over three hundred miles was the total run; she had already made the greater part of it. The exact position of the ever-moving fleet was uncertain. Nevertheless, her experienced captain was almost certain—as if by a sort of instinct—to hit the spot where the smacks lay ready with their trunks of fish to feed the insatiable maw of Billingsgate.

Captain Bream’s cheeks were not so hollow as they had been when we last saw him. Neither were they so pale. His eyes, too, had come a considerable way out of the caves into which they had retreated, and the wolfish glare in the presence of food was exchanged for a look of calm serenity. His coat, instead of hanging on him like a shirt on a handspike, had begun to show indications of muscle covering the bones, and his vest no longer flapped against him like the topsail of a Dutchman in a dead calm. Altogether, there was a healthy look about the old man which gave the impression that he had been into dock, and had a thorough overhaul.

Enough of weakness remained, however, to induce a feeling of blessed restfulness in his entire being. The once strong and energetic man had been brought to the novel condition of being quite willing to leave the responsibility of the world on other shoulders, and to enjoy the hitherto unknown luxury of doing nothing at all. So thoroughly had he abandoned himself in this respect, that he did not even care to speak, but was satisfied to listen to others, or to gaze at the horizon in happy contemplation, or to pour on all around looks of calm benignity.

“How do you feel to-day, sir?” asked the mate of the steamer, as he came on the bridge.

“My strongest feeling,” said Captain Bream, “is one of thankfulness to God that I am so well.”

“A good feelin’ that doesn’t always come as strong as it ought to, or as one would wish; does it, sir?” said the mate.

“That’s true,” answered the captain, “but when a man, after bein’ so low that he seems to be bound for the next world, finds the tide risin’ again, the feelin’ is apt to come stronger, d’ee see? D’you expect to make the fleet to-day?”

“Yes, sir, we should make it in the evenin’ if the admiral has stuck to his plans.”

The captain became silent again, but after a few minutes, fearing that the mate might think him unsociable, he said—

“I suppose the admiral is always chosen as being one of the best men of the fleet?”

“That’s the idea, sir, and the one chosen usually is one of the best, though of course mistakes are sometimes made. The present admiral is a first-rate man—a thorough-going fisherman, well acquainted with all the shoals, and a Christian into the bargain.”

“Ah, I suppose that is an advantage to the fleet in many respects,” said the captain, brightening up, on finding the mate sympathetic on that point.

“It is for the advantage of the fleet in all respects, sir. I have known an ungodly admiral, on a Sunday, when they couldn’t fish, an’ the weather was just right for heavin’-to an’ going aboard the mission smack for service—I’ve known him keep the fleet movin’ the whole day, for nothin’ at all but spite. Of course that didn’t put any one in a good humour, an’ you know, sir, men always work better when they’re in good spirits.”

“Ay, well do I know that,” said the captain, “for I’ve had a good deal to do wi’ men in my time, and I have always found that Christian sailors as a rule are worth more than unbelievers, just because they work with a will—as the Bible puts it, ‘unto the Lord and not unto men.’ You’ve heard of General Havelock, no doubt?”

“Oh yes, sir, you mean the Indian general who used to look after the souls of his men?”

“That’s the man,” returned the captain. “Well, I’ve been told that on one occasion when the commander-in-chief sent for some soldiers for special duty, and found that most of ’em were drunk, he turned an’ said, ‘Send me some of Havelock’s saints: they can be depended on!’ I’m not sure if I’ve got the story rightly, but, anyhow, that’s what he said.”

“Ay, sir, I sometimes think it wonderful,” said the mate, “that unbelievers don’t themselves see that the love of God in a man’s heart makes him a better and safer servant in all respects—according to the Word, ‘Godliness is profitable to the life that now is, as well as that which is to come.’ There’s the fleet at last, sir!”

While speaking, the mate had been scanning the horizon with his glass, which he immediately handed to the captain, who rose at once and saw the line of the Short Blue like little dots on the horizon. The dots soon grew larger; then they assumed the form of vessels, and in a short time the carrying-steamer was amongst them, making straight for the admiral, whose smack was distinguishable by his flag.

“What is the admiral’s name?” asked the captain as they advanced.

“Davidson—Joe Davidson; one of the brightest young fellows I ever knew,” answered the captain of the steamer, who came on the bridge at that moment, “and a true Christian. He is master of the Evening Star.”

“Why, I thought that was the name of a smack that was wrecked some time ago near Yarmouth—at least so my friends there wrote me,” said Captain Bream with sudden interest; and well might he feel interest in the new Evening Star, for it was himself who had given the thousand pounds to purchase her, at Ruth Dotropy’s request, but he had not been told that her skipper, Joe Davidson, had been made admiral of the fleet.

“So it was the Evening Star, sir, that was wrecked, but some open-handed gentleman in London bought a new smack for widow Bright and she called it by the same name, an’ the young man, who had been mate with her husband, she has made skipper till her son Billy is old enough to take charge of her. The strangest thing is, that all the old crew have stuck together, and the smack is now one of the best managed in the fleet. Joe wouldn’t have been made admiral if that wasn’t so.”

To this, and a great deal more, the captain listened with great joy and thankfulness, without, however, giving a hint as to his own part in the matter. Originally he had given the thousand pounds to please Ruth, and he had been at that time glad to think that the gift was to benefit a deserving and unfortunate widow. It was not a little satisfactory, therefore, to hear that his gift had been so well bestowed; that it had even become the admiral’s vessel, and that he was about to have the opportunity of boarding the new Evening Star and himself inspecting its crew.

“Tell me a little more about this Evening Star,” he said to the captain of the steamer. “I have sometimes heard of her from a lady friend of mine, who takes a great interest in her owner, but I was so ill at the time she wrote that I couldn’t pay much attention to anything.”

Thus invited the captain proceeded to tell all he knew about David Bright and his wife, and Billy, and Luke Trevor, Spivin, Gunter, Zulu, the wreck, the launch of the new smack, etcetera,—much of which was quite new to Captain Bream, and all of which was of course deeply interesting to him.

While these two were conversing the fleet gradually thickened around them, for a light breeze, which seemed to have sprung up for the very purpose, enabled them to close in. Some of the smacks were close at hand; others more distant. To those within hail, the captain and mate of the steamer gave the customary salute and toss of the fist in the air as they passed.

“There’s the admiral,” said the captain, “two points off the port bow.”

“An’ the gospel-ship close alongside,” said the mate. “Don’t you see the M.D.S.F. flag? Trust Joe for bein’ near to her when he can manage it. Here they come, fast an’ thick. There’s the Fern, I’d know her a mile off, an’ the Martin, an’ Rover, Coquette, Truant! What cheer, boys!”

“Is that the Cherub or the Andax abeam of us?” asked the captain.

“It’s neither. It’s the Guide, or the Boy Jim, or the Retriever—not quite sure which.”

“Now, Captain Bream, shall we put you on board the mission-ship at once,