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

Mrs Bright with a laugh, as she sat down on a stool to have a chat. "You see, Maggie, you haven't got much of a past life to inquire about, and Joe is such a good man that you've no call to be suspecting anything; but it wasn't always so with my dear David. I wouldn't say it even to you, Maggie, if it wasn't that everybody in Yarmouth knows it--my David drinks hard sometimes, and although I know he's as true as gold to me, an' never broke the laws of the land, everybody won't believe that, you know, and the dear man _might_ fall under suspicion."

"But you don't suppose, if he did," said Mrs Davidson, with a look of surprise, "that Miss Ruth would go about actin' the part of a detective, do you?"

"Well, no, I don't," replied her friend, looking somewhat puzzled. "All the same it _is_ mysterious why she should go on as she's bin doin', asking me what my maiden name was, and who my relations were, and if I ever had any brothers, and when and where I first met wi' David. But whatever her reasons may be I'm resolved that she'll get nothing more out of me."

"Of course," returned Maggie, "you must do as you think right in that matter. All I can say is, I would tell Miss Ruth all that was in _my_ mind without any fear that she'd abuse my confidence."

"Ah! Maggie, I might say that too if my mind and conscience were as clear as yours. But they're not. It is true I have long ago brought my sins to Jesus and had them washed away in His precious blood. And I never cease to pray for my dear David, but--but--"

"Don't you fear, Nell," said Mrs Davidson, earnestly, and in a tone of encouragement. "Your prayer is sure to be answered."

"Oh! Maggie, I try to believe it--indeed I do. But when I see David go down to that--that public-house, and come up the worse o' liquor, an' sometimes little Billy with him with a cigar in his sweet little mouth an' the smell o' drink on him, my heart fails me, for you know what an _awful_ snare that drink is, once it gets the upper hand--and--"

Poor Mrs Bright fairly broke down at this point for a few seconds; and no wonder, for, not even to her most confidential and sympathetic friend could she tell of the terrible change for the worse that came over her husband when the accursed fire-water burned in his veins.

"Nell," said Maggie, laying her work in her lap and taking her friend's hand. "Don't give way like that. God would never ask us to pray for one another, if He didn't mean to answer us. Would He, now?"

"That's true, Maggie, that's true," said Mrs Bright, much comforted. "I never thought of that before. You're young, but you're wise, dear. Of course, the good Lord will never mock us, and if there's anything I have asked for of late, it has been the salvation of David and Billy. What was it, Maggie, that made your Joe first turn his thoughts to the Lord?"

"It was one of his mates. You remember when he sailed wi' that good man, Singin' Peter? Well, Peter used often to speak to him about his soul to no purpose; but that fine man, Luke Trevor, who also sailed wi' Singin' Peter at the time, had a long talk with Joe one night, an' the Holy Spirit made use of his words, for Joe broke down an' gave in. They're both wi' your David and Billy now, so you may be sure they won't throw away the chance they have of speakin' to 'em."

"God grant them success!" murmured Mrs Bright, earnestly.

"Amen!" responded the younger woman. "But, Nell, you haven't told me yet what you think o' the Miss Seawards."

"Think? I think that next to Miss Ruth they are the sweetest ladies I ever met," returned Mrs Bright with enthusiasm. "They are so modest and humble, that when they are putting themselves about to serve you, they almost make you feel that you're doing them a favour. Don't you remember only last week when they came to see poor Jake's boy that was nearly drowned, and insisted on sitting up with him all night--first one and then the other taking her turn till daylight, because Mrs Jake was dead-drunk and not able for anything."

"Remember it?" exclaimed Maggie, "I should think I does, and the awful way Mrs Jake swore at them afore she rightly understood what was wrong."

"Well, did you hear what Mrs Jake said in the afternoon of that same day?"

"No--except that she was more civil to 'em, so I was told."

"Civil! yes, she was more civil indeed. She'd got quite sober by the afternoon, and the neighbours told her how near the boy was to death, and that the doctor said if it hadn't been for the wise and prompt measures taken by the Miss Seawards before he arrived, he didn't believe the boy would have lived--when they told her that, she said nothing. When the Miss Seawards came back in the afternoon, they tapped so gently at the door that you would have thought they were beggars who expected a scolding, an' when Mrs Jake cried out gruffly in her man-like voice, `Who's that?' they replied as softly as if they had been doing some mischief, `May we come in?' `May you come in?' shouted Mrs Jake, so that you might have heard her half way down the street, as she flung the door wide open, `may angels from heaven come in? yes, you _may_ come in!' an' with that she seized the younger one round the neck an' fairly hugged her, for you see Mrs Jake has strong feelin's, an' is very fond of her boy, an' then she went flop down on a chair, threw her apron over her head, and howled. I can call it by no other name."

"The poor ladies were almost scared, and didn't seem rightly to know how to take it, and Miss Kate--the younger one you know--had her pretty new summer dress awfully crushed by the squeeze, as well as dirtied, for Mrs Jake had been washin', besides cleaning up a bit just before they arrived."

"Well, I never!" exclaimed Maggie in great admiration. "I always thought there was a soft spot in Mrs Jake's heart, if only a body could find it out."

"My dear," said Mrs Bright, impressively, "there's a soft spot I believe in everybody's heart, though in some hearts it's pretty well choked up an' overlaid--"

At that moment a bursting yell from the crib behind the door went straight to the soft spot in Mrs Davidson's heart, and sank deeply into it.

"That blessed babby!" she cried, leaping up in such haste that her work went into the grate, in which, however, there was happily no fire.

"Oh! my darling! you're Joe to the back-bone--though you _are_ a girl-- all bounce, an' bang, an' tenderness!"

Seizing the infant in her strong arms she gave it a hug which ought to have produced another yell, but the little one was tough, besides which, she was used to it, and said nothing. The calm did not last long, however. Little Mag, as she was called, felt that her interior somewhere was somehow in want of something, and took the usual way to publish the fact.

After that, conversation became impossible. A storm had burst upon the friends which increased rapidly, so Mrs Bright rose to say good-bye in the midst of a squall which ought to have blown her through the door-way or out at the window into the street. She was not irritated, however. As she left the house followed by the squall, which was soon moderated to a stiffish breeze by distance, the sound called up reminiscences of little Billy, and she smiled as she thought of the unvarying continuity of human affairs--the gush of infant memories, and the squalls of other days.


CHAPTER SIXTEEN.


TEMPTATION ON THE DEEP.

Let us return once more to the North Sea.

It was drawing towards the close of another fishing period, and the crew of the _Evening Star_ were beginning to think of the pleasures of their week on shore when, one afternoon, their vessel found herself becalmed near to the Dutch man-trap--the vessel laden with that greatest of the world's curses--strong drink.

It is usual, we believe, in ordinary warfare, that, on the eve of a great battle, there should be preparations and indications, more or less obvious, of the coming fight; but it is not always so in spiritual warfare. Sometimes the hardest and most important battles of the Great War are fought on unselected ground, the assault having been delivered unexpectedly and when the soul was off its guard, or, perchance, when it was presuming on fancied security, and relying on its own might instead of the strength of the Lord. So it was at this time with David Bright, skipper of the _Evening Star_.

Who would have thought, as he sat that day on the rail of his little vessel, calmly looking out to the horizon in anticipation of a good fishing-breeze, that the mighty forces of Good and Evil were mustering unseen for a tremendous conflict, on which, perchance, the angels were permitted to look down with interest, and that the battle-field was to be the soul of that rugged fisherman of the North Sea! He knew not, little dreamed of, what was pending; but the Captain of his salvation knew it all.

There was but one entrance to that battle-field--the gate of man's Free-will. Through that portal the powers of darkness must enter if they gained admittance at all. Elsewhere the walls were high as heaven, deeper than hell, for, except at this point, the fortress was impregnable.

Yet, although David Bright knew not the power nor the number of the mighty forces that were marshalling, he was not entirely ignorant of the war that was going on. There had been some skirmishing already, in front of the gate, in which he had come off victorious. The demon Habit had assaulted him more than once, and had pressed him sore; for a terrible thirst--such, it is said, as only confirmed drunkards understand--had more than once tormented him. When the first attack was made, the sturdy fisherman stood quietly on his deck with hands in pockets and eyes on the horizon, looking as if nothing were going on, and he smiled grimly as he muttered to himself rather than to the demon: "Lucky for me that I made Billy heave it overboard!"

"Oh! but," said the demon, "you were a weak fool when you did that. There's the Coper alongside now; go, get another keg. It is cheap, and you can just take a little drop to relieve that desperate craving. Come, now, be a man, and show that you have powers of self-restraint. You have always boasted of the strength of your will, haven't you? Show it now."

"Ay, an' prove the strength of my will," replied David, with another grim smile, "by givin' in to _your_ will. No, devil! I _am_ a fool, but not quite such a fool as that comes to."

The demon fell back at that and left him.

On the