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

when twenty-seven smacks foundered, and a hundred and eighty souls were called to stand before their Maker."

As David spoke a sullen roar of breaking water was heard on the port bow. They had been slightly misled, either by their uncertainty as to the position of the true lights, or by some false lights on shore. At all events, whatever the cause, they were at that moment driving towards one of the dangerous sand-banks in the neighbourhood of Yarmouth. The course of the smack was instantly changed, but it was too late. Almost before an order could be given she struck heavily, her main-mast went over the side, carrying part of the mizzen along with it. At the same time a wave broke just astern, and rushed over the deck, though happily not with its full force.

Even in that moment of disaster the bold fishermen did not quail. With their utmost energy indeed, but without confusion, they sprang to the boat which, although lifted, had not been washed away. Accustomed to launch it in all weathers, they got it into the water, and, almost mechanically, Ned Spivin and Gunter tumbled into it, while Joe Davidson held on to the painter. Billy Bright was about to follow, but looking back shouted, "Come along, father!" David, however, paid no attention to him. He still stood firmly at the tiller guiding the wreck, which having been lifted off, or over the part of the sand on which she had struck, was again plunging madly onward.

A few moments and one of those overwhelming seas which even the inexperienced perceive to be irresistible, roared after the disabled vessel. As it reached her she struck again. The billow made a clean sweep over her. Everything was carried away. The boat was overturned, the stout painter snapped, and the crew left struggling in the water.

But what of the people on shore when this terrible scene was being enacted? They were not entirely ignorant of it. Through driving sleet and spray they had seen in the thick darkness something that looked like a vessel in distress. Soon the spectral object was seen to advance more distinctly out of the gloom. Well did the fishermen know what that meant, and, procuring ropes, they hastened to the rescue, while spray, foam, sand, and even small pebbles, were swept up by the wild hurricane and dashed in their faces.

Among the fishermen was a young man whose long ulster and cap told that he was a landsman, yet his strength, and his energy, were apparently equal to that of the men with whom he ran. He carried a coil of thin rope in his left hand. With the right he partly shielded his eyes.

"They'll be certain to strike here," cried one of the fishermen, whose voice was drowned in the gale, but whose action caused the others to halt.

He was right. The vessel was seen to strike quite close, for the water was comparatively deep.

"She's gone," exclaimed the young man already referred to, as the vessel was seen to be overwhelmed.

He flung off his top-coat as he spoke, and, making one end of the small line fast round his waist, ran knee-deep into the water. Some of the fishermen acted in a somewhat similar fashion, for they knew well that struggling men would soon be on the shore.

They had not to wait long, for the crew of the _Evening Star_ were young and strong, and struggled powerfully for their lives. In a few minutes the glaring eyes of Zulu appeared, and the young man of the ulster made a dash, caught him by the hair, and held on. It seemed as if the angry sea would drag both men back into its maw, but the men on the beach held on to the rope, and they were dragged safely to land.

A cheer on right and left told that others were being rescued. Then it became known who the wrecked ones were.

"It's the _Evening Star_!" exclaimed one.

"Poor David!" said another.

Then the cry was raised, "Have 'ee got little Billy?"

"Ay, here he comes!" shouted a strange voice.

It was that of the youth of the ulster, who now stood waist-deep eagerly stretching out his hands, towards an object with which the wild waves seemed to sport lovingly. It was indeed little Billy, his eyes closed, his face white, and his curly yellow hair tossing in the foam, but he made no effort to save himself; evidently the force of the sea and perhaps the cold had been too much for his slight frame to bear.

Twice did the young man make a grasp and miss him. To go deeper in would have perhaps insured his own destruction. The third time he succeeded in catching the boy's hair; the men on shore hauled them in, and soon little Billy lay on the beach surrounded by anxious fishermen.

"Come, mates," said one, in a deep voice, "let's carry him to his mother."

"Not so," said the young man who had rescued Billy, and who had only lain still for a moment where he had fallen to recover breath. "Let him lie. Undo his necktie, one of you."

While he spoke he was busy making a tight roll of his own coat which he immediately placed under the shoulders of Billy, and proceeded at once to attempt to restore breathing by one of the methods of resuscitating the drowned.

The fishermen assisted him, some hopefully, some doubtfully, a few with looks of disbelief in the process. The youth persevered, however, with unflagging patience, well knowing that half-drowned people have been restored after nearly an hour of labour.

"Who is he?" inquired one fisherman of another, referring to the stranger.

"Don't you know him, mate?" asked the other in surprise.

"No, I've just come ashore, you know."

"That's Mr Dalton, the young banker, as takes such a lift o' the temp'rance coffee-taverns an' Blue-Ribbon movement."

"He's comin'-to, sir!" exclaimed a voice eagerly.

This had reference to little Billy, whose eyelids had been seen to quiver, and who presently heaved a sigh.

"Fetch my coat," said Dalton. "He will indeed be restored, thank God."

The big ulster was brought. Billy was carefully wrapped up in it, and one of the stoutest among his fisher friends lifted him in his arms and bore him off to his mother.

"Have all the others been rescued?" inquired Dalton, eagerly, when Billy had been carried away.

No one could answer the question. All knew that some of the _Evening Star's_ crew had been saved, but they could not say how many.

"They've bin taken to the Sailor's Home, sir," said one man.

"Then run up like a good fellow and ask if _all_ are safe," said Dalton. "Meanwhile I will remain here and search the beach lest there should be more to rescue."

Turning again to the foaming sea the young banker proceeded slowly along the shore some distance, when he observed the body of a man being rolled up on the sand and dragged back by each returning wave. Rushing forward he caught it, and, with the aid of the fishermen, carried it beyond the reach of the hungry waves. But these waves had already done their worst. Dalton applied the proper means for restoration, but without success, and again the fishermen began to look gravely at each other and shake their heads.

"Poor woman!" they murmured, but said no more. Their feelings were too deep for speech as they mourned for one who was by that time a widow, though she knew it not.

At that moment some of the men came running down from the town--one, a tall, strong figure, ahead of them. It was Joe Davidson. He had been more exhausted than some of the others on being rescued, and had been led to the Sailor's Home in a scarcely conscious condition. When they began to reckon up the saved, and found that only one was missing, Joe's life seemed to return with a bound. Breaking from those who sought to restrain him he ran down to the beach.

He knelt beside the drowned fisherman with a wild expression in his eyes as he laid hold of something that partly covered the drowned man. It was his own Bethel-flag which David Bright had twisted round his body! Joe sprang up and clasped his hands as if to restrain them from violent action.

"Oh, David!" he said, and stopped suddenly, while the wild look left his eyes and something like a smile crossed his features. "Can it be true that ye've gone so soon to the Better Land?"

The words gathered in force as they were uttered, and it was with a great cry of grief that he shouted, "Oh, David, David! my brother!" and fell back heavily on the sand.


CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.


BILLY AND HIS FATHER RETURN HOME.

Who can describe the strange mingling of grateful joy with bitter anguish that almost burst the heart of David Bright's widow on that terrible night!

She was singing one of the "Songs of Zion," and busy with household cares, preparing for the expected return of her husband and her son, when they carried Billy in.

It might be supposed that she would be anxious on such a stormy night but if the wives of North Sea fishermen were to give way to fears with every gale that blew, they would be filled with overwhelming anxiety nearly all the year round.

When the knock at the door came at last the song ceased, and when the stout fisherman entered with his burden, and a fair curl, escaping from the folds of the ulster, told what that burden was, the colour fled from the poor woman's cheeks, and a sinking of the heart under a great dread almost overcame her.

"He's all right, missus," said the man, quickly.

"Thank God?" gasped Mrs Bright. "Are--are the rest safe?"

"I b'lieve they are. Some of 'em are, I know."

Obliged to be content, for the moment, with the amount of relief conveyed by these words, she had Billy laid on a bed, and bustled about actively rubbing him dry, wrapping him in blankets, applying hot bottles and otherwise restoring him; for as yet the poor boy showed only slight symptoms of returning vitality.

While thus engaged the door burst open, and Maggie Davidson rushed in.

"Oh, Nell!" she exclaimed, "what has happened--is it true--Billy!--dead? No; thank God for that, but--but--the _Evening Star_ must be wrecked! Are the rest safe? Is Joe--"

The excited young wife stopped and gasped with anxiety.

"The Lord has been merciful in sending me my Billy," returned Mrs Bright, with forced calmness, "but I know nothing more."

Turning at once, Maggie rushed wildly from the house intending to make straight for the shore. But she had not gone far when a crowd of men appeared coming towards her. Foremost among these was her own husband!

With a sharp cry of joy she rushed forward and threw herself into his ready arms.

"Oh! praise the Lord," she said; but as she spoke the appearance of her husband's face alarmed her. Glancing hastily at the crowd behind, she cast a frightened look up at Joe's face.

"Who is