The Lively Poll: A Tale of the North Sea by R. M. Ballantyne (best book clubs .TXT) 📖

“You’ve heard, in course, that the Lively Poll is at the bottom of the North Sea?” said Pat.

Mrs Mooney set down her cup with a sigh and a sudden expression of woe mingled with reproof, while she remarked that there was no occasion to be lighthearted on such a subject.

“That’s all you know,” retorted Pat. “Of course we was told the moment we came alongside the wharf this mornin’, that somebody had bin blowin’ half a gale o’ lies about it, but Stephen Lockley ain’t drownded, not he, an’ don’t mean to be for some time. He was aboard of the Sunbeam at the time his wessel went down an’ all the rest of ’em, except poor Jay an’ Hawkson, an’ we’ve brought ’em all ashore. You see we got so damaged in a gale that came on to blow the wery next day that we’ve bin forced to run here for repairs. Skipper Lockley’s away up at this here minit to see his wife—leastwise, he’s waitin’ outside till one o’ the parsons goes and breaks the noos to her. The skipper didn’t see no occasion for that, an’ said he could break the noos to her hisself, but the parson said he didn’t know what the consikences might be, so Stephen he gave in, an’—. Now, old girl, if you keep openin’ of your mouth an’ eyes at that rate you’ll git lockjaw, an’ never be able to go to sleep no more.”

There was, indeed, some ground for the boy’s remark, for his “noos” had evidently overwhelmed Mrs Mooney—chiefly with joy, on account of her friend Mrs Lockley, to whom, even when “in liquor”, she was tenderly attached. She continued to gaze speechless at Pat, who took advantage of the opportunity to do a little private business on his own account.

Taking a little bit of blue ribbon with a pin attached to it from his pocket, he coolly fixed it on Mrs Mooney’s breast.

“There,” said he gravely, “I promised Bob that I’d make as many conwerts as I could, so I’ve conwerted you!”

Utterly regardless of her conversion, Mrs Mooney suddenly sprang from her seat and made for the door.

“Hallo, old gal! where away now!” cried the boy, seizing her skirt and following her out, being unable to stop her.

“I’m a-goin’ to tell Eve, an’ won’t she be glad, for she was awful fond o’ Lockley!”

“All right, I’m with ’ee. Cut along.”

“Mother!” exclaimed Eve, when the poor woman stood before her with eager excitement flushing her face to a ruddy purple. “Have you really put on the blue ribbon?”

The poor child’s thin pretty little race flushed with hope for a moment.

“Oh, it ain’t that, dear,” said Mrs Mooney, “but Lockley ain’t drownded arter all! He’s—he’s—”

Here Pat Stiver broke in, and began to explain to the bewildered girl. He was yet in the midst of his “noos,” when the door was flung open, and Mrs Lockley hurried in.

“Forgive me, Mrs Mooney,” she cried, grasping her friend’s hand, “I shouldn’t have spoke to you as I did, but my heart was very sore. Oh, it is breakin’!”

She sat down, covered her face with both hands, and sobbed violently. Her friends stood speechless and helpless. It was obvious that she must have left her house to make this apology before the clergyman who was to break the news had reached it. Before any one could summon courage to speak, a quick step was heard outside, and Lockley himself entered. He had been waiting near at hand for the clergyman to summon him, when he caught sight of his wife entering the hut.

Mrs Lockley sprang up—one glance, a wild shriek, but not of despair—and she would have fallen to the ground had not her husband’s strong arms been around her.

It is believed that joy seldom or never kills. At all events it did not kill on this occasion, for Mrs Lockley and her husband were seen that same evening enjoying the hospitality of Mrs Martin, while their little one was being fondled on the knees of the old granny, who pointed through the attic window, and tried to arouse the child’s interest in the great sea.

When Mrs Mooney succeeded in turning her attention to the blue ribbon on her breast, she laughed heartily at the idea of such a decoration—much to the sorrow of Eve, who had prayed for many a day, not that her mother might put on that honourable badge, but that she might be brought to the Saviour, in whom are included all things good and true and strong. Nevertheless, it is to be noted that Mrs Mooney did not put the blue ribbon off. She went next day to have a laugh over it with Mrs Lockley. But the fisherman’s wife would not laugh. She had found that while sorrow and suffering may drive one to despair in regard to God and self and all terrestrial things, joy frequently softens.

Surely it is the “goodness of God that leadeth to repentance.” This life, as it were, from the dead proved to be life from death to herself, and she talked and prayed with her drunken friend until that friend gave her soul to Jesus, and received the Spirit of power by which she was enabled to “hold the fort,”—to adopt and keep the pledge of which her ribbon was but the emblem.

Although we have now described the end of the Lively Poll, it must not be supposed that the crew of that ill-fated smack was dispersed and swallowed up among the fishing fleets of the North Sea. On the contrary, though separated for the time, they came together again,—ay, and held together for many a long day thereafter. And this is how it came about.

One morning, a considerable time after the events we have just narrated, Stephen Lockley invited his old comrades to meet him in the Gorleston coffee-tavern, and, over a rousing cup of “hot, with,” delivered to them the following oration:

“Friends and former messmates. I ain’t much of a speaker, so you’ll excuse my goin’ to the pint direct. A noble lady with lots o’ tin an’ a warm heart has presented a smack all complete to our Deep-Sea Fishermen Institootion. It cost, I’m told, about 2000 pounds, and will be ready to start as a Gospel ship next week. For no reason that I knows on, ’xcept that it’s the Lord’s will, they’ve appointed me skipper, with directions to choose my own crew. So, lads, I’ve got you here to ask if you’re willin’ to ship with me.”

“I’m willin’, of course,” cried Pat Stiver eagerly, “an so’s Bob Lumpy. I’ll answer for him!”

There was a general laugh at this, but Bob Lumsden, who was present, chose to answer for himself, and said he was heartily willing. So said David Duffy, and so also said Joe Stubley.

“I on’y wish,” added the latter, “that Jim Freeman was free to j’ine, but Fred Martin’s not likely to let him go, for he’s uncommon fond of him.”

“He’s doin’ good work for the Master where he is,” returned Lockley, “and we’ll manage to catch as true and able a man among the North Sea fleets afore long. There’s as good fish in the sea, you know, as ever came out of it. Our mission smack is to be called the Welcome.”

“At this rate,” observed Dick Martin, who was one of the party, “we’ll soon have a mission ship to every fleet in the North Sea; that’ll please our Director, won’t it?”

“Ay, it will,” said Lockley. “All the same, I heard the Director say only the other day, he wished people would remember that the mission needed funds to keep the smacks a-goin’ as well as to build an’ launch ’em. Howsever, we’ve no need to fear, for when the Master sends the men and the work He’s sure to find the means.”

Two weeks after the date on which this harmonious meeting was held, a new vessel, laden with spiritual treasure, unfurled her sails, shook out her MDSF ensign, and, amid the good wishes, silent prayers, and ringing cheers of sympathetic friends on shore, went forth as a beacon of love and light and hope to irradiate the toilers on the dark North Sea.

Among those cheering and praying ones were Mrs Mooney—a brand plucked from the burning—and fragile Eve, with her weak, thin, helpless body and her robust heart, chosen to do herculean and gladiator service of sympathy and rescue in the Master’s cause. And you may be sure that blooming Isa Martin was there, and her friend Martha Lockley; Manx Bradley, the Admiral, who, with other fishermen, chanced to be having their spell on shore at that time, was also there. Even old Granny Martin was there, in a sense, for she could see from her attic the great blue flag as it fluttered in the breeze, and she called her unfailing—and no longer ailing daughter to come to the window and look at it and wish it God-speed; after which she turned her old eyes again to their wonted resting-place, where the great sea rolled its crested breakers beyond the sands.

It remains but to add that the Welcome was received by the fleet to which she was sent with an enthusiasm which fully justified her name, and that her crew found her thenceforth, both as to her sea-going qualities and the nature of her blessed work, a marvellous improvement on their former home, the Lively Poll.

Note. The Office of the Mission to Deep-Sea Fishermen is 181 Queen Victoria Street, London, EC, at the date of publication of this book.