The Young Trawler by R. M. Ballantyne (i read books txt) 📖

One day a fishing-smack was on the eve of quitting the Short Blue fleet for its little holiday of a week in port. It was the Sparrow, of which Jim Frost was master. A flag was flying to indicate its intention, and invite letters, etcetera, for home, if any of the crews should feel disposed to send them.

Several boats put off from their respective smacks in reply to the signal. One of these belonged to Singing Peter.

“Glad to see you, Peter,” said Jim Frost as the former leaped on the Sparrow’s deck.

“Same to you, lad. I wish you a pleasant spell ashore, and may the Master be with you,” returned Peter.

“The Master is sure to be with me,” replied Frost, “for has 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’