The Young Trawler, Robert Michael Ballantyne [e novels to read .txt] 📗

he not said, `I will never leave thee?' Isn't it a fine thing, Peter, to think that, whatever happens, the Lord is here to guard us from evil?"

"Ay, Jim, an' to take us home when the time comes."

"`Which is far better,'" responded Jim.

"You'll not get away to-night," remarked Peter as he gazed out upon the sea. "It's goin' to fall calm."

"No matter. I can wait."

"What say ye, lad, to a hymn?" said Peter.

"I'm your man," replied Jim, with a laugh, "I thought it wouldn't be long before Singin' Peter would want to raise his pipe."

"He can't help it, d'ee see," returned Peter, answering the laugh with a smile; "if I didn't sing I'd blow up. It's my safety-valve, Jim, an' I like to blow off steam when I gets alongside o' like-minded men."

"We're all like-minded here. Fetch my accordion," said Jim, turning to one of his men.

In a few minutes a lively hymn was raised in lusty tones which rolled far and wide over the slumbering sea. Then these like-minded men offered up several prayers, and it was observed that Jim Frost was peculiarly earnest that night. Of course they had some more hymns, for as the calm was by that time complete, and it was not possible for any sailing vessel to quit the fleet, there was no occasion to hurry. Indeed there is no saying how long these iron-framed fishermen would have kept it up, if it had not been for a slight fog which warned the visitors to depart.

As the night advanced the fog thickened, so that it was not possible to see more than fifty yards around any of the fishing-smacks.

Now it is probably known to most people that the greatest danger to which those who do business on the sea are exposed is during fog.

When all around is calm and peaceful; when the sound of voices comes with muffled sound over the smooth water; when the eye sees nothing save a ghostly white horizon all round close at hand; when almost the only sound that breaks on the ear is the gentle lapping of the sea, or the quiet creak of plank and spar, as the vessel slowly lifts and falls on the gentle swell, and when landsmen perchance feel most secure--then it is that the dark cloud of danger lowers most heavily, though perhaps unrecognised, over the mariner, and stirs him to anxious watchfulness, when apparently in profoundest repose.

Jim Frost knew well the dangers of the situation, but he had been long accustomed to face all the dangers peculiar to his calling on the deep without flinching--strong in the confidence of his well-tried courage and seamanship, and stronger still in his trust in Him who holds the water in the hollow of His hand. Many a time had he been becalmed in fog on the North Sea. He knew what to do, kept the fog-horn blowing, and took all the steps for safety that were possible in the circumstances.

But, somehow, the young fisherman did not feel his usual easy-going indifference on that particular night, though his trust in God was not less strong. He felt no fear, indeed, but a solemn sobriety of spirit had taken the place of his wonted cheery temperament, and, instead of singing in lively tones as he paced the deck, he hummed airs of a slow pathetic kind in a soft undertone.

It is often said that men receive mysterious intimations, sometimes, of impending disaster. It may be so. We cannot tell. Certainly it seemed as if Jim Frost had received some such intimation that night.

"I can't understand it, Evan," he said to his mate when the latter came on deck a little after midnight to relieve him. "A feeling as if something was going to happen has taken possession of me, and I can't shake it off. You know I'm not the man to fancy danger when there's none."

Evan--a youth whom he had been the means of rescuing when about to fall, under great temptation--replied that perhaps want of sleep was the cause.

"You know," he said, "men become little better than babbies when they goes long without sleep, an' you've not had much of late. What with that tearin' o' the net an' the gale that's just gone, an' that book, you know--"

"Ah!" interrupted Jim, "you mustn't lay the blame on the book, Evan. I haven't bin sittin' up _very_ late at it; though I confess I'm uncommon fond o' readin'. Besides, it's a good book, more likely to quiet a man's mind than to rouse it. How we ever got on without readin' before that mission-ship came to us, is more than I can understand! Why, it seems to have lifted me into a new world."

"That's so. I'm fond o' readin' myself," said Evan, who, although not quite so enthusiastic or intellectual as his friend, appreciated very highly the library-bags which had been recently sent to the fleet.

"But the strange thing is," said Jim, returning to the subject of his impressions--"the strange thing is, that my mind is not runnin' on danger or damaged gear, or books, or gales, but on my dear wife at home. I've bin thinkin' of Nancy in a way that I don't remember to have done before, an' the face of my darlin' Lucy, wi' her black eyes an' rosy cheeks so like her mother, is never absent from my eyes for a moment."

"Want o' sleep," said the practical Evan. "You'd better turn in an' have a good spell as long as the calm lasts."

"You remember the patch o' green in front o' my cottage in Gorleston?" asked Jim, paying no attention to his mate's advice.

"Yes," answered Evan.

"Well, when I was sittin' for'ard there, not half-an-hour since, I seed my Nancy a-sittin' on that green as plain as I see you, sewin' away at somethin', an' Lucy playin' at her knee. They was so real-like that I couldn't help sayin' `Nancy!' an' I do assure you that she stopped sewin' an' turned her head a-one side for a moment as if she was listenin'. An' it was all so real-like too."

"You was dreamin'; that was all," said the unromantic Evan.

"No, mate. I wasn't dreamin'," returned Jim. "I was as wide awake as I am at this moment for I was lookin' out all round just as keen as if I had not bin thinkin' about home at all."

"Well, you'd as well go below an' dream about 'em now if you can," suggested Evan, "an' I'll keep a sharp look-out."

"No, lad, I can't. I'm not a bit sleepy."

As Jim said this he turned and went to the bow of the smack.

At that moment the muffled sound of a steamer's paddles was heard. Probably the fog had something to do with the peculiarity of the sound, for next moment a fog-whistle sounded its harsh tone close at hand, and a dark towering shadow seemed to rush down upon the _Sparrow_.

Even if there had been a breeze there would have been no time to steer clear of the danger. As it was, the little vessel lay quite helpless on the sea, Evan shouted down the companion for the men to turn out for their lives. The man at the bow sounded the fog-horn loud and long. At the same instant Jim Frost's voice rang out strong and clear a warning cry. It was answered from above. There were sudden screams and cries. The fog-whistle shrieked. Engines were reversed. "Hard a-port!" was shouted. Steam was blown off, and, amid confusion and turmoil indescribable, an ocean steamer struck the little _Sparrow_ amidships, and fairly rammed her into the sea.

It could scarcely be said that there was a crash. The one was too heavy and the other too light for that. The smack lay over almost gracefully, as if submitting humbly to her inevitable doom. There was one great cry, and next moment she was rolling beneath the keel of the monster that had so ruthlessly run her down.

Not far off--so near indeed that those on board almost saw the catastrophe--lay the _Evening Star_. They of course heard the cries and the confusion, and knew only too well what had occurred.

To order out the boat was the work of an instant. With powerful strokes Joe, Spivin, Trevor, and Gunter, caused it to leap to the rescue. On reaching the spot they discovered and saved the mate. He was found clinging to an oar, but all the others had disappeared. The steamer which had done the deed had lowered a boat, and diligent search was made in all directions round the spot where the fatal collision had occurred. No other living soul, however, was found. Only a few broken spars and the upturned boat of the smack remained to tell where Jim Frost, and the rest of his like-minded men, had exchanged the garb of toil for the garments of glory!

As a matter of course this event made a profound impression for a time on board of the _Evening Star_ and of such vessels as were near enough next morning to be informed of the sad news. A large portion of the fleet, however, was for some time unaware of what had taken place, and some of the masters and crews, who were averse to what they styled "psalm-singin' and prayin'," did not seem to be much affected by the loss.

Whether grieved or indifferent however, the work of the fleet had to be done. Whether fishermen live or die, sink or swim, the inexorable demand of Billingsgate for fish must be met! Accordingly, next day about noon, a fresh breeze having sprung up, and a carrier-steamer being there ready for her load, the same lively scene which we have described in a previous chapter was re-enacted, and after the smacks were discharged they all went off as formerly in the same direction, like a shoal of herrings, to new fishing-grounds.

When they had got well away to the eastward and were beating up against a stiff northerly breeze, David Bright who stood near the helm of the _Evening Star_, said to his son in a peculiarly low voice--

"Now, Billy, you go below an' fetch me a glass of grog."

Billy went below as desired, but very unwillingly, for he well knew his father's varying moods, and recognised in the peculiar tone in which the order was given, a species of despondency--almost amounting to despair-- which not unfrequently ushered in some of his worst fits of intemperance.

"Your fadder's in de blues to-day," said Zulu, as he toiled over his cooking apparatus in the little cabin; "when he spok like dat, he goes in for heavy drink."

"I know that well enough," returned Billy, almost angrily.

"Why you no try him wid a 'speriment?" asked the cook, wrinkling up his nose and displaying his tremendous gums.

"For any sake don't open your mouth like that, Zulu, but tell me what you mean by a 'speriment," said the boy.

"How kin I tell what's a 'speriment if I'm not to open my mout'?"

"Shut up, you nigger! an' talk sense."

"Der you go agin, Billy. How kin I talk sense if I'm to shut up? Don't you know