Personal Reminiscences of Book Making, by R. M. Ballantyne(1825-1894). 

________________________________________________________________________

He was educated at the Edinburgh Academy, and in 1841 he became a clerkwith the Hudson Bay Company, working at the Red River Settlement inNorthen Canada until 1847, arriving back in Edinburgh in 1848. Theletters he had written home were very amusing in their description ofbackwoods life, and his family publishing connections suggested that heshould construct a book based on these letters. Three of his mostenduring books were written over the next decade, "The Young FurTraders", "Ungava", "The Hudson Bay Company", and were based on hisexperiences with the H. B. C. In this period he also wrote "The Coralisland" and "Martin Rattler", both of these taking place in places nevervisited by Ballantyne. Having been chided for small mistakes he made inthese books, he resolved always to visit the places he wrote about. With these books he became known as a great master of literatureintended for teenagers. He researched the Cornish Mines, the LondonFire Brigade, the Postal Service, the Railways, the laying down ofsubmarine telegraph cables, the construction of light-houses, thelight-ship service, the life-boat service, South Africa, Norway, theNorth Sea fishing fleet, ballooning, deep-sea diving, Algiers, and manymore, experiencing the lives of the men and women in these settings byliving with them for weeks and months at a time, and he lived as theylived. 

He was a very true-to-life author, depicting the often squalid scenes heencountered with great care and attention to detail. His young readerslooked forward eagerly to his next books, and through the 1860s and1870s there was a flow of books from his pen, sometimes four in a year, all very good reading. The rate of production diminished in the lastten or fifteen years of his life, but the quality never failed. 

He published over ninety books under his own name, and a few books forvery young children under the pseudonym "Comus". 

For today's taste his books are perhaps a little too religious, and whatwe would nowadays call "pi". In part that was the way people wrote inthose days, but more important was the fact that in his days at the RedRiver Settlement, in the wilds of Canada, he had been a littledissolute, and he did not want his young readers to be unmindful of howthey ought to behave, as he felt he had been. 

Some of his books were quite short, little over 100 pages. These booksformed a series intended for the children of poorer parents, having lesspocket-money. These books are particularly well-written and researched, because he wanted that readership to get the very best possible fortheir money. They were published as six series, three books in eachseries. 

In this book of personal reminiscences, the author, hearing in thedistance the Grim Reaper, is at his most pi. The first few chaptersdescribe the effort he had to make to gain the background information heneeded to write the books, but suddenly he tells us that he doesn't feelat all well, that his time may well be near, and he fills out the bookwith half-a- dozen short stories, all very moralist, but still well upto his usual quality of output. 

Re-created as an e-Text by Nick Hodson, August 2003. 

________________________________________________________________________

PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF BOOK MAKING, BY R. M. BALLANTYNE. 

CHAPTER ONE. 

INCIDENTS IN BOOK MAKING--INTRODUCTORY. 

Book making is mixed up, more or less, with difficulties. It issometimes disappointing; often amusing; occasionally lucrative;frequently expensive, and always interesting--at least to the maker. 

Of course I do not refer to that sort of book making which is connectedwith the too prevalent and disgraceful practice of gambling, but to themaking of literary books--especially story-books for the young. 

For over eight-and-thirty years I have had the pleasure of making suchbooks and of gathering the material for them in many and distant lands. 

During that period a considerable number of the juvenile public haveaccepted me as one of their guides in the world of Fiction, and throughmany scenes in the wildest and most out-of-the-way regions of ourwonderful world. 

Surely, then, it is not presumptuous in me to suppose--at least tohope--that a rambling account of some of the curious incidents whichhave occurred, now and then, in connection with my book making, willinterest the young people of the present day. Indeed I entertain a hopethat some even of the old boys and girls who condescended to follow mein the days gone by may perchance derive some amusement, if not profit, from a perusal of these reminiscences. 

The shadows of life are lengthening, and, for me, that night, "in whichno man can work, " may not be far off. Before it is too late, and whileyet the flame of the lamp burns with sufficient clearness, I would fainhave a personal chat with those for whom, by God's blessing, I have beenpermitted to cater so long. 

But fear not, dear reader, that I shall inflict on you a completeautobiography. It is only the great ones of the earth who are entitledto claim attention to the record of birth and parentage and school-days, etcetera. To trace my ancestry back through "the Conquerors" to Adam, would be presumptuous as well as impossible. Nevertheless, for the sakeof aspirants to literary fame, it may be worth while to tell here howone of the rank and file of the moderately successful Brotherhood wasled to Authorship as a profession and how he followed it out. 

I say "led" advisedly, because I made no effort whatever to adopt thisline of life, and never even dreamed of it as a possibility until I wasover twenty-eight years of age. 

Let me commence, then, by at once taking a header into the middle ofthat period when God--all unknown to, and unrecognised by, myself--wasfurnishing me with some of the material and weapons for the futurebattle of life. 

One day my dear father was reading in the newspapers some account of thediscoveries of Dease and Simpson in the neighbourhood of the famousNorth-west Passage. Looking at me over his spectacles with theperplexed air of a man who has an idle son of sixteen to start in therace of life, he said--

"How would you like to go into the service of the Hudson's Bay Companyand discover the North-west Passage?"--or words to that effect. 

"All right, father, " said I--or something of that sort. 

I was at that age, and in that frame of mind, which regards difficultieswith consummate presumption and profound inexperience. If the discoveryof the North-pole had been suggested, or the South-pole, or any otherterrestrial pole that happened to exist at the time, I was quite readyto "rush in" where even a Franklin might "fear to tread!"

This incident was but a slight one, yet it was the little hinge on whichturned my future career. 

We had a relation--I won't say what, because distant relationships, especially if complicated, are utterly beyond my mental grasp--who washigh up in the service of the Hudson's Bay Fur Company. Through Iain Ibecame a clerk in the service with a salary of 20 pounds for the firstyear. Having been born without a silver spoon in my mouth, I regardedthis as an adequate, though not a princely, provision. 

In due time I found myself in the heart of that vast North Americanwilderness which is variously known as Rupert's Land, the Territories ofthe Hudson's Bay Company, and the Great Nor'west, many hundreds of milesnorth of the outmost verge of Canadian civilisation. 

I am not learned in the matter of statistics, but if a rough guess maybe allowed, I should say that the population of some of the regions inwhich I and my few fellow-clerks vegetated might have been about fiftyto the hundred square miles--with uninhabited regions around. Of coursewe had no libraries, magazines, or newspapers out there. Indeed we hadalmost no books at all, only a stray file or two of American newspapers, one of which made me acquainted with some of the works of Dickens and ofLever. While in those northern wilds I also met--as with dear oldfriends--some stray copies of _Chambers's Edinburgh Journal_, and the_Penny Magazine_. 

We had a mail twice in the year--once by the Hudson's Bay ship insummer, and once through the trackless wilderness by sledge andsnow-shoe in winter. It will easily be understood that surroundings ofsuch a nature did not suggest or encourage a literary career. Mycomrades and I spent the greater part of our time in fur-trading withthe Red Indians; doing a little office-work, and in much canoeing, boating, fishing, shooting, wishing, and skylarking. It was a "jolly"life, no doubt, while it lasted, but not elevating!

We did not drink. Happily there was nothing alcoholic to be had outthere for love or money. But we smoked, more or less consumedly, morning, noon, and night. Before breakfast the smoking began; aftersupper it went on; far into the night it continued. Some of us evenwent to sleep with the pipes in our mouths and dropped them on ourpillows. Being of such an immature age, I laboured under the notuncommon delusion that to smoke looked manly, and therefore did my bestto accommodate myself to my surroundings, but I failed signally, havingbeen gifted with a blessed incapacity for tobacco-smoking. Thisafflicted me somewhat at the time, but ever since I have beenunmistakably thankful. 

But this is wandering. To return. 

With a winter of eight months' duration and temperature sometimes at 50below zero of Fahrenheit, little to do and nothing particular to thinkof, time occasionally hung heavy on our hands. With a view to lightenit a little, I began to write long and elaborate letters to a lovingmother whom I had left behind me in Scotland. The fact that theseletters could be despatched only twice in the year was immaterial. Whenever I felt a touch of home-sickness, and at frequent intervals, Igot out my sheet of the largest-sized narrow-ruled imperial paper--Ithink it was called "imperial"--and entered into spiritual intercoursewith "Home. " To this long-letter writing I attribute whatever smallamount of facility in composition I may have acquired. Yet not thefaintest idea of story-writing crossed the clear sky of my unliteraryimagination. I am not conscious of having had, at that time, a love forwriting in any form--very much the reverse!

Of course I passed through a highly romantic period of life--most youthsdo so--and while in that condition I made a desperate attempt to tacklea poem. Most youths do that also! The first two lines ran thus:--

 "Close by the shores of Hudson's Bay, Where Arctic winters--stern and grey--"

I must have gloated long over this couplet, for it was indelibly stampedupon my memory, and is as fresh to-day as when the lines were penned. This my first literary effort was carried to somewhere about the middleof the first canto. It stuck there--I am thankful to say--and, like thesmoking, never went further. 

Rupert's Land, at that time, was little known and very seldom visited byoutsiders. During several years I wandered to and fro in it, meetingwith a few savages, fewer white men--servants of the Company--andbecoming acquainted with modes of life and thought in what has beenaptly styled "The Great Lone Land. " Hearing so seldom from or of theoutside world, things pertaining to it grew dim and shadowy, and beganto lose interest. In these circumstances, if it had not been that Iknew full well my mother's soul was ready to receive any amount ofout-pourings of which I was capable, I should have almost forgotten howto use the pen. 

It was in circumstances such as I have described that I began my firstbook, but it was not a story-book, and I had no idea that it would everbecome a printed book at all. It was merely a free-and-easy record ofpersonal adventure and every-day life, written, like all else that Ipenned, solely for the uncritical eye of that long-suffering and tooindulgent mother!

I had reached the advanced age of twenty-two at the time, and had beensent to take charge of an outpost, on the uninhabited northern shores ofthe gulf of Saint Lawrence, named Seven Islands. It was a dreary, desolate, little-known spot, at that time. The gulf, just opposite theestablishment, was about fifty miles broad. The ships which passed upand down it were invisible, not only on account of distance, but becauseof seven islands at the mouth of the bay coming between them and theoutpost. My next neighbour, in command of a similar post up the gulf, was, if I remember rightly, about seventy miles distant. The nearesthouse down the gulf was about eighty miles off, and behind us lay thevirgin forests, with swamps, lakes, prairies, and mountains, stretchingaway without break right across the continent to the Pacific Ocean. 

The outpost--which, in virtue of a ship's carronade and a flagstaff, wasoccasionally styled a "fort"--consisted of four wooden buildings. Oneof these--the largest, with a verandah--was the Residency. There was anoffshoot in rear which served as a kitchen. The other houses were astore for goods wherewith to carry on trade with the Indians, a stable, and a workshop. The whole population of the establishment--indeed ofthe surrounding district--consisted of myself and one man--also a horse!The horse occupied the stable, I dwelt in the Residency, the rest ofthe population lived in the kitchen. 

There were, indeed, other five men belonging to the establishment, butthese did not affect its desolation, for they were away netting salmonat a river about twenty miles distant at the time I write of. 

My "Friday"--who was a French-Canadian--being cook, as well asman-of-all-work, found a little occupation in attending to the duties ofhis office, but the unfortunate Governor had nothing whatever to doexcept await the arrival of Indians, who were not due at that time. Thehorse was a bad one, without a saddle, and in possession of a pronouncedbackbone. My "Friday" was not sociable. I had no books, no newspapers, no magazines or literature of any kind, no game to shoot, no boatwherewith to prosecute fishing in the bay, and no prospect of seeing anyone to speak to for weeks, if not months, to come. But I had pen andink, and, by great good fortune, was in possession of a blank paper bookfully an inch thick. 

When, two or three years after, a printer-cousin, seeing the manuscript, offered to print it, and the well-known Blackwood, of Edinburgh, seeingthe book, offered to publish it--and did publish it--my ambition wasstill so absolutely asleep that I did not again put pen to paper in_that_ way for eight years thereafter, although I might have beenencouraged thereto by the fact that this first book--named _Hudson'sBay_--besides being a commercial success, received favourable noticefrom the press. 

It was not until the year 1854 that my literary path was opened up. Atthat time I was a partner in the late publishing firm of ThomasConstable and Company of Edinburgh. Happening one day to meet with thelate William Nelson, publisher, I was asked by him how I should like theidea of taking to literature as a profession. My answer I forget. Itmust have been vague, for I had never thought of the subject at all. 

"Well, " said he, "what would you think of trying to write a story?"

Somewhat amused, I replied that I did not know what to think, but Iwould try if he wished me to do so. 

"Do so, " said he, "and go to work at once, "--or words to that effect. 

I went to work at once, and wrote my first story, or work of fiction. It was published in 1855 under the name of _Snowflakes and Sunbeams; or, The Young Fur-traders_. Afterwards the first part of the title wasdropped, and the book is now known as _The Young Fur-traders_. Fromthat day to this I have lived by making story-books for young folk. 

From what I have said it will be seen that I have never aimed at theachieving of this position, and I hope that it is not presumptuous in meto think--and to derive much comfort from the thought--that God led meinto the particular path along which I have walked for so many years. 

The scene of my first story was naturally laid in those backwoods withwhich I was familiar, and the story itself was founded on the adventuresand experiences of my companions and myself. When a second book wasrequired of me, I stuck to the same regions, but changed the locality. While casting about in my mind for a suitable subject, I happened tomeet with an old, retired "Nor'wester" who had spent an adventurous lifein Rupert's Land. Among other duties he had been sent to establish anoutpost of the Hudson's Bay Company at Ungava Bay, one of the mostdreary parts of a desolate region. On hearing what I wanted, he satdown and wrote a long narrative of his proceedings there, which heplaced at my disposal, and thus furnished me with the foundation of_Ungava, a tale of Eskimo-Land_. 

But now I had reached the end of my tether, and when a third story waswanted I was compelled to seek new fields of adventure in the books oftravellers. Regarding the Southern seas as the most romantic part ofthe world--after the backwoods!--I mentally and spiritually plunged intothose warm waters, and the dive resulted in _The Coral Island_. 

It now began to be borne in upon me that there was something not quitesatisfactory in describing, expatiating on, and energising in, regionswhich one has never seen. For one thing, it was needful to be alwayscarefully on the watch to avoid falling into mistakes geographical, topographical, natural-historical, and otherwise. 

For instance, despite the utmost care of which I was capable, whilestudying up for _The Coral Island_, I fell into a blunder throughignorance in regard to a familiar fruit. I was under the impressionthat cocoa-nuts grew on their trees in the same form as that in whichthey are usually presented to us in grocers' windows--namely, about thesize of a large fist with three spots, suggestive of a monkey's face, atone end. Learning from trustworthy books that at a certain stage ofdevelopment the nut contains a delicious beverage like lemonade, I sentone of my heroes up a tree for a nut, through the shell of which hebored a hole with a penknife and drank the "lemonade"! It was not tilllong after the story was published that my own brother--who had voyagedin Southern seas--wrote to draw my attention to the fact that thecocoa-nut is nearly as large as a man's head, and its outer husk over aninch thick, so that no ordinary penknife could bore to its interior! Ofcourse I should have known this, and, perhaps, should be ashamed of myignorance--but, somehow, I'm not!

I admit that this was a slip, but such, and other slips, hardly justifythe remark that some people have not hesitated to make, namely, that Ihave a tendency to draw the long bow. I feel almost sensitive on thispoint, for I have always laboured to be true to fact, and to nature, even in my wildest flights of fancy. 

This reminds me of the remark made to myself once by a lady in referenceto this same _Coral Island_. "There is one thing, Mr Ballantyne, " shesaid, "which I really find it hard to believe. You make one of yourthree boys dive into a clear pool, go to the bottom, and then, turningon his back, look up and wink and laugh at the other two. "

"No, no, Peterkin did not `_laugh_, '" said I remonstratively. 

"Well, then, you make him smile. "

"Ah, that is true, but there is a vast difference between laughing andsmiling under water. But is it not singular that you should doubt theonly incident in the story which I personally verified? I happened tobe in lodgings at the seaside while writing that story, and, afterpenning the passage you refer to, I went down to the shore, pulled offmy clothes, dived to the bottom, turned on my back, and, looking up, Ismiled and winked. "

The lady laughed, but I have never been quite sure, from the tone ofthat laugh, whether it was a laugh of conviction or of unbelief. It isnot improbable that my fair friend's mental constitution may have beensomewhat similar to that of the old woman who declined to believe hersailor-grandson when he told her he had seen flying-fish, but at oncerecognised his veracity when he said he had seen the remains ofPharaoh's chariot-wheels on the shores of the Red Sea. 

Recognising, then, the difficulties of my position, I formed theresolution always to visit--when possible--the scenes in which mystories were laid, converse with the people who, under modification, were to form the _dramatis personae_ of the tales, and, generally, toobtain information in each case, as far as lay in my power, from thefountain-head. 

Thus, when about to begin _The Lifeboat_, I went to Ramsgate, and, forsome time, was hand and glove with Jarman, the heroic coxswain of theRamsgate boat, a lion-like as well as lion-hearted man, who rescuedhundreds of lives from the fatal Goodwin Sands during his career. Inlike manner, when getting up information for _The Lighthouse_, Iobtained permission from the Commissioners of Northern Lights to visitthe Bell Rock Lighthouse, where I hobnobbed with the three keepers ofthat celebrated pillar-in-the-sea for three weeks, and read Stevenson'sgraphic account of the building of the structure in the library, orvisitor's room, just under the lantern. I was absolutely a prisonerthere during those three weeks, for boats seldom visited the rock, andit need scarcely be said that ships kept well out of our way. By goodfortune there came on a pretty stiff gale at the time, and Stevenson'sthrilling narrative was read to the tune of whistling winds and roaringseas, many of which sent the spray right up to the lantern and causedthe building, more than once, to quiver to its foundation. 

In order to do justice to _Fighting the Flames_ I careered through thestreets of London on fire-engines, clad in a pea-jacket and a blackleather helmet of the Salvage Corps;--this, to enable me to pass thecordon of police without question--though not without recognition, aswas made apparent to me on one occasion at a fire by a firemanwhispering confidentially, "I know what _you_ are, sir, you're ahamitoor!"

"Right you are, " said I, and moved away in order to change the subject. 

It was a glorious experience, by the way, this galloping on fire-enginesthrough the crowded streets. It had in it much of the excitement of thechase--possibly that of war--with the noble end in view of saving, instead of destroying, life! Such tearing along at headlong speed; suchwild roaring of the firemen to clear the way; such frantic dashing asideof cabs, carts, 'buses, and pedestrians; such reckless courage on thepart of the men, and volcanic spoutings on the part of the fires! But Imust not linger. The memory of it is too enticing. _Deep Down_ took meto Cornwall, where, over two hundred fathoms beneath the green turf, andmore than half-a-mile out under the bed of the sea, I saw the sturdyminers at work winning copper and tin from the solid rock, and acquiredsome knowledge of their life, sufferings, and toils. 

In the land of the Vikings I shot ptarmigan, caught salmon, and gatheredmaterial for _Erling the Bold_. A winter in Algiers made me familiarwith the _Pirate City_. I enjoyed a fortnight with the heartyinhabitants of the Gull Lightship off the Goodwin Sands, from whichresulted _The Floating Light_; and went to the Cape of Good Hope, and upinto the interior of the Colony, to spy out the land and holdintercourse with _The Settler and the Savage_--although I am bound toconfess that, with regard to the latter, I talked to him only with mineeyes. I also went afloat for a short time with the fishermen of theNorth Sea, in order to be able to do justice to _The Young Trawler_. 

To arrive still closer at the truth, and to avoid errors, I have alwaysendeavoured to submit my proof-sheets, when possible, to experts and menwho knew the subject well. Thus, Captain Shaw, late Chief of the LondonFire Brigade, kindly read the proofs of _Fighting the Flames_, andprevented my getting off the rails in matters of detail, and Sir ArthurBlackwood, financial secretary to the General Post Office, obliginglydid me the same favour in regard to _Post Haste_. 

In conclusion, there are some things that I shrink from flaunting in theeyes of the public. Personal religion is one of these. Nevertheless, there are a few words which I feel constrained to write before closingthis chapter. 

During all the six years that I spent in Rupert's Land I was "withoutGod. " He was around me and within me, guarding me, bestowing upon methe physical and mental health by which alone I could fully enjoy a lifein the wilderness, and furnishing me with much of the material that wasto serve as my stock-in-trade during my subsequent career; yet--Iconfess it with shame--I did not recognise or think of, or care for, Him. It was not until after I had returned home that He opened my eyesto see myself a lost soul, and Jesus Christ--"God with us"--anall-sufficient Redeemer, able and willing to save me from sin, as He isto save all sinners--even the chief. 

More than this I will not say. Less I could not say, without beingunfaithful to my Creator. 

CHAPTER TWO. 

LIFE IN THE BELL ROCK LIGHTHOUSE. 

One of my most interesting experiences in hunting up materials for bookswas at the Bell Rock Lighthouse; interesting because of the novelty ofthe situation, the pleasant intercourse with the keepers, and thegrandeur of the subjects brought under my observation. 

The lighthouses of this kingdom present, in their construction, aremarkable evidence of the capacity of man to overcome almostinsurmountable difficulties, and his marvellous power of adapting meansto ends. They also stand forth as a grand army of sentinels, who, withunobtrusive regularity, open their brilliant eyes on the great deep, night after night--from year to year--from age to age, and gaze--Argus-like--all around our shores, to guard our shipping from thedangers of the sea, perhaps I should rather say from the dangers of thecoast, for it must be well-known to most people that the sailor regards"blue water" as his safe and native home, and that it is only when heenters the green and shallow waters of the coast that a measure ofanxiety overclouds his free-and-easy spirit. 

It is when he draws near to port that the chief dangers of his careersurround him, and it is then that the lighthouse is watched foranxiously, and hailed with satisfaction. 

These observations scarce need confirmatory proof. Of all the vessels, great and small, that annually seek and leave our ports, a largeproportion meet their doom, and, despite all our lighthouses, beacons, and buoys, lay their timbers and cargoes in fragments, on our shores. This is a significant fact, for if those lost ships be--as they are--amere fraction of our commerce, how great must be the fleet, how vast thewealth, that our lighthouses guide safely into port every year? If allour coast-lights were to be extinguished for only a single night, theloss of property and life would be terrible beyond conception. But suchan event can never happen, for our coast-lights arise each evening atsunset with the regularity of the sun himself. Like the stars, theyburst out when darkness begins to brood upon land and sea like them, too, their action and aspect are varied. Some, at great heights, inexposed places, blaze bright and steady like stars of the firstmagnitude. Others, in the form of revolving lights, twinkle like thelesser stars--now veiling, now flashing forth their beams. 

One set of lights shine ruby-red like Mars; another set are white, likeVenus; while those on our pier-heads and at our harbour mouths aregreen; and, in one or two instances, if not more, they shine, (by meansof reflecting prisms), with borrowed light like the moon; but all--whether revolving or fixed, large or small, red or white or green--beamforth, like good angels, offering welcome and guidance to the marinerapproaching from beyond seas; with God-like impartiality shedding theirradiance on friend and foe, and encircling--as with a chaplet of livingdiamonds, rubies, and emeralds--our highly favoured little islands ofthe sea. 

Lighthouses may be divided into _two_ classes, namely, those which standon cliffs, and elsewhere, somewhat above the influence of the waves, andthose built on outlying rocks which are barely visible at high tide, orinvisible altogether except at low-water. The North and South Forelandlights in Kent, the Girdleness in Aberdeenshire, and Inchkeith in theForth, are examples of the former. The Eddystone, Bell Rock, andSkerryvore, are well-known examples of the latter, also the Wolf Rockoff the Land's End. 

In one of the latter--namely the Bell Rock--I obtained permission, agood many years ago, from the Commissioners of Northern Lights, to spenda fortnight for literary purposes--to be imprisoned, in fact, for thatperiod. 

This lighthouse combines within itself more or less of the elements ofall lighthouses. The principles on which it was built are much the samewith those of Skerryvore. It is founded on a tidal rock, is exposed tothe full "fetch" and fury of an open sea, and it has stood for thegreater part of a century exposed to inconceivable and constantlyrecurring violence of wind and wave--not, indeed, unshaken, butaltogether undamaged. 

The Bell Rock lies on the east of Scotland, off the mouths of the Forthand Tay, 12 miles from the Forfarshire coast, which is the nearest land. Its foundation is always under water except for an hour or two atlow-tide. At high tides there are about 12 or 16 feet of water abovethe highest ledge of the Bell Rock, which consists of a series ofsandstone ridges. These, at ordinary low-tides, are uncovered to theextent of between 100 and 200 yards. At neap tides the rock shows onlya few black teeth with sea-weed gums above the surface. 

There is a boat which attends upon this lighthouse. On the occasion ofmy visit I left Arbroath in it one morning before daybreak and reachedthe Rock about dawn. We cast anchor on arriving--not being able toland, for as yet there _was_ no land! The lighthouse rose out of thesea like a bulrush out of a pond! No foundation rock was visible, andthe water played about the tower in a fashion that would have knockedour boat to pieces had we ventured to approach the entrance-door. 

In a short time the crest of the rock began to show above the foam. There was little or no wind, but the ordinary swell of the calm oceanrolled in upon these rocks, and burst upon them in such a way that thetower seemed to rise out of a caldron of boiling milk. At last we sawthe three keepers moving amid the surges. They walked on an ironplatform, which, being light and open, and only a few feet above thewaves, was nearly invisible. 

When the tide was near its lowest ebb, so that there was a piece ofsmooth water under the lee of the rock, we hoisted out our little "twin"boat. This was a curious contrivance, being simply a small boat cutacross amidships, so as to form two parts which fitted into each otherlike saucers, and were thus rendered small enough to be easily carriedin the larger boat. When about to be used, the twins are put into thewater and their sterns brought together and screwed tight. Thus onelittle boat, sharp at each end, is formed. 

Embarking in this we rowed between tangle-covered ridges up to thewrought-iron landing-place. The keepers looked surprised as we drewnear. It was evident that visitors were not "common objects of theshore" out there!

There were three keepers. One, the chief, was very tall, dark, andthin; of grave temperament and sedate mien. Another was a florid, hearty young fellow, full of fire and energy. The third was a stout, short, thick-set man, with placidity and good-humour enthroned on hisfat countenance. He was a first-rate man. I shall call him Stout; hiscomrade, Young. The chief may appropriately be named Long. 

There was no time for more than a hurried introduction at first, for thefresh water-casks and fortnightly allowance of fresh provisions had tobe hoisted into the tower, the empty casks got out, and the boatreloaded and despatched, before the tide--already rising--shouldtransform the little harbour into a wild whirlpool. In little more thanan hour the boat was gone, and I proceeded to make myself at home withmy new friends. 

Probably every one knows that the Bell Rock is the Inch Cape Rock, immortalised by Southey in his poem of "Sir Ralph the Rover, " in whichhe tells how that, in the olden time--

 "The Abbot of Aberbrothock Had placed a bell on the Inch Cape Rock. On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung And over the waves its warning rung. "

A pirate named "Sir Ralph the Rover" came there one day and cut away thebell in a wicked frolic. Long years after, returning with a rich cargoof ill-gotten wealth, retributive justice overtook Sir Ralph, caused hisvessel to strike on the Inch Cape Rock--for want of the warning bellwhich he had cut away--and sent him and his belongings to the bottom. 

Whether this legend be true or not, there is no doubt that the Rock hadbeen so dangerous to shipping, that seamen often avoided the firths ofForth and Tay in bad weather for fear of it, and many captains, in theiranxiety to keep clear of it, ran their vessels in the neighbouringcoasts and perished. 

Another proof that numerous wrecks took place there lay in the fact thatthe fishermen were wont to visit the rock after every gale, for thepurpose of gathering wreckage. It was resolved, therefore, about thebeginning of this century, to erect a lighthouse on the Inchcape Rock, and to Mr Robert Stevenson, Engineer at that time to the Board ofNorthern Lights, was assigned the task of building it. He began thework in August 1807, and finished it in February 1811. 

I began my sojourn in the Bell Rock Lighthouse with breakfast. Onascending to the kitchen I found Stout preparing it. Mr Long, thechief, offered, with delicate hospitality, to carry my meals up to thelibrary, so that I might feast in dignified solitude, but I declined thehonour, preferring to fraternise with the men in the kitchen. Breakfastover, they showed me through the tower--pointed out and explainedeverything--especially the lantern and the library--in which last Iafterwards read Mr Stevenson's interesting volume on the building ofthe Bell Rock; a book which has been most appropriately styled the_Robinson Crusoe_ of Engineering literature. 

On returning to the entrance-door, I found that there was now _no land_!The tide had risen. The lighthouse was a mere pillar in the sea. "Water, water everywhere"--nothing else visible save the distant coastof Forfarshire like a faint blue line on the horizon. But in theevening the tide again fell, and, the moment the rock was uncovered, wedescended. Then Mr Long showed me the various points of interest aboutthe rock, and Stout volunteered anecdotes connected with these, andYoung corroborated and expounded everything with intense enthusiasm. Evidently Young rejoiced in the rare opportunity my visit afforded himof breaking the monotony of life on the Bell Rock. He was like a cagedbird, and on one occasion expressed his sentiments very forcibly bysaying to me, "Oh, sir, I sometimes wish I could jump up and never comedoon!" As for Long and Stout, they had got used to lighthouses andmonotony. The placid countenance of each was a sure index of theprofound tranquillity within!

Small though it was, the rock was a very world in itself to theresidents--crowded with "ports, " and "wharves" and "ledges, " which hadreference to the building-time. There were "Sir Ralph the Rover'sledge, " and "the Abbot's ledge, " and "the Engineer's ledge, " and"Cunningham's ledge, " and "the Smith's ledge, " etcetera. Then therewere "Port Stevenson, " and "Port Boyle, " and "Port Hamilton, " and manyothers--each port being a mere hole capable of holding a boat or two. Besides which there were "tracks, " leading to these ports--such as"Wilson's track, " and "Macurich's track, " and "Gloag's track. " And thenthere were "Hope's Wharf, " and "Rae's Wharf, " and "Watt's Reach, " and"Scoresby Point, " while, among numerous outlying groups of rocklets, there were the "Royal Burghs, " the "Crown Lawyers, " and the "MaritimeSheriffs"--each and all teeming with interesting associations to thosewho know the Story of the Rock, --_all_ comprehended within an area of afew hundred yards--the whole affair being wiped entirely and regularlyoff the face of nature by every rising tide. 

Close beside Rae's Wharf, on which we stood, Mr Long showed me theholes in which had been fixed the ends of the great beams of the beacon. The beacon was a point of considerable interest to me. If you had seenthe rock as I saw it, reader, in a storm, with the water boiling allover and round it for more than a mile, like seething milk--and if youhad reflected that the _first_ beacon built there was carried away in agale, you would have entertained very exalted ideas of the courage ofthe men who built the Bell Rock lighthouse. 

While the tower was building, Mr Stevenson and his men were exposed formany days and nights in this beacon--this erection of timber-beams, witha mere pigeon-house on the top of it for a dwelling. Before the beaconwas built, the men lived in the _Pharos_ floating light; a vessel whichwas moored not far from the Rock. Every day--weather permitting--theyrowed to the rock, landed, and worked for _one, two_, or _three_ hours, when they were drowned out, so to speak, and obliged to return to theirfloating home. Sometimes the landing was easy. More frequently it wasdifficult. Occasionally it was impossible. When a landing wasaccomplished, they used to set to work without delay. There was no timeto lose. Some bored holes in the rock for hold-fasts; others, with pickand chisel, cut out the foundation-pit. Then the courses began to belaid. On each occasion of landing the smith had to set up his bellows, light his fire, and work in hot haste; because his whole shop, exceptthe anvil, had to be taken down, and carried away every tide!Frequently, in fine weather, this enterprising son of Vulcan might havebeen seen toiling with his head enveloped in volumes of smoke andsparks, and his feet in the water, which gradually rose to his anklesand knees until, with a sudden "hiss, " it extinguished his fire andended his labours for the day. Then he was forced to pack up hisbellows and tools, and decamp with the rest of the men. 

Sometimes they wrought in calm, sometimes in storm; always, more orless, in water. Three hours was considered a fair day's work. Whenthey had the good fortune to work "double tides" in a day, they madefive, or five-and-a-half, hours; but this was of rare occurrence. 

"You see that mark there, sir, on Smith's Ledge?" said Mr Long to meone day, "that was the place where the forge stood; and the ledgebeyond, with the old bit of iron on it, is the `_Last Hope_, ' where MrStevenson and his men were so nearly lost. " Then he went on to tell methe following incident, as illustrating one of the many narrow escapesmade by the builders. 

One day, soon after the men had commenced work, it began to blow hard, and the crew of the boat belonging to the attending vessel, named the"Smeaton, " fearing that her moorings might be insufficient, went off toexamine them. This was wrong. The workmen on the rock weresufficiently numerous to completely fill three boats. For one of theseto leave the rock was to run a great risk, as the event proved. Almostas soon as they reached the "Smeaton, " her cables parted and she wentadrift, carrying the boat with her away to leeward, and although sailwas instantly made, they found it impossible to regain the rock againstwind and tide. Mr Stevenson observed this with the deepest anxiety, but the men, (busy as bees about the rock), were not aware of it atfirst. 

The situation was terrible. There were thirty-two men left on a rockwhich would in a short time be overflowed to a depth of twelve orfifteen feet by a stormy sea, and only two boats in which to removethem. These two boats, if loaded to the gunwales, could have held onlya few more than the half of them. 

While the sound of the numerous hammers and the ring of the anvil wereheard, the situation did not appear so hopeless; but soon the men at thelowest part of the foundation were driven from work by the rising tide;then the forge-fire was extinguished, and the men generally began tomake towards their respective boats for their jackets and dry socks. When it was discovered that one of the three boats was gone not a wordwas uttered, but the men looked at each other in evident perplexity. They seemed to realise their position at once. 

In a few minutes some of that band must inevitably be left to perish, for the absent boat and vessel were seen drifting farther and fartheraway to leeward. Mr Stevenson knew that in such a case, where life anddeath were in the balance, a desperate struggle among the men forprecedence would be certain. Indeed he afterwards learned that thepickmen had resolved to stick by their boat against all hazards. Whilethey were thus gazing in silence at each other and at the distantvessel, their enterprising leader had been casting about in his mind asto the best method of at least attempting the deliverance of his men, and he finally turned round to propose, as a forlorn hope, that allhands should strip off their upper clothing, that every unnecessaryarticle should be removed from the boats, that a specified number shouldget into each, and that the remainder should hang on by the gunwales, and thus be dragged through the water while they were rowed cautiouslytowards the "Smeaton"! But when he tried to speak his mouth was soparched that his tongue refused utterance! and then he discovered, (ashe says himself), "that saliva is as necessary to speech as the tongueitself!" Turning to a pool, he moistened his lips with sea-water, andfound immediate relief. He was again about to speak when some oneshouted "a boat! a boat!" and, sure enough, a large boat was seenthrough the haze making towards the rock. This timely visitor was JamesSpink, the Bell Rock pilot, who had come off express from Arbroath withletters. His visit was altogether an unusual one, and his trulyprovidential appearance unquestionably prevented loss of life on thatcritical occasion. This is one specimen--selected from innumerableinstances of danger and risk--which may give one some idea of what isencountered by those who build such lighthouses as the Bell Rock. 

Our rambles on the rock were necessarily of short duration. We used tostand in the doorway watching the retreating waves, and, the moment therails were uncovered, we hurried down the ladder--all of us bent ongetting as much exercise as possible on land! We marched in singlefile, up and down the narrow rails, until the rock was uncovered--thenwe rambled over the slippery ledges. 

Sometimes we had one hour--sometimes two, or even three hours, accordingto the state of the tides. Then the returning waves drove us graduallyfrom the rocks to the rails, from the rails to the ladder--and so backinto the lighthouse. 

Among other things that impressed me deeply was the grandeur of thewaves at the Bell Rock. 

One enjoys an opportunity there of studying the form and colour of oceanbillows which cannot be obtained on any ordinary shore, because, thewater being deep alongside the Rock, these waves come up to it in alltheir unbroken magnificence. I tried to paint them, but found itdifficult, owing to the fact that, like refractory children, they wouldnot stand still to be painted! It was not only in stormy weather thatthese waves arose. I have seen them during a dead calm, when the seawas like undulating glass. No doubt the cause of them was a gale insome distant part of the sea--inducing a heavy ground-swell; but, be thecause what it might, these majestic rollers often came in without abreath of air to help them, and with the sun glittering on theirlight-green crystal sides. Their advance seemed slow and solemn amidthe deep silence, which made them all the more impressive. The rise ofeach wave was so gradual that you could not tell where it began in thedistant sea. As it drew near, it took definite form and swelledupwards, and at last came on like a wall of glass--probably ten ortwelve feet high--so high, at all events, that I felt as if looking upat it from my position on the low rock. When close at hand its greenedge lipped over and became fringed with white--then it bent forwardwith a profound obeisance to the Bell Rock and broke the silence with agrand reverberating roar, as it fell in a ruin of foam and rushed up tomy very feet!

When those waves began to paint the canvas with their own spray andchange the oil into a water-colour, I was constrained to retire to thelighthouse, where Mr Long, (a deeply interested student), watched me asI continued my studies from the doorway. 

Mr Long had an inquiring mind and closely observed all that went onaround him. Among other things, he introduced me to a friend of his, aspecies of fish which he called a "_Paddle_. "

Stout called it a sucker, in virtue of an arrangement on its breastwhereby it could fasten itself to a rock and hold on. This fish dweltin Port Hamilton, near Sir Ralph the Rover's ledge, and could be visitedat low-tide. He happened to be engaged at that time in watching hiswife's spawn, and could not be induced to let go his hold of the rock onany account! Mr Long pulled at him pretty forcibly once or twice, butwith no effect, and the fish did not seem in the least alarmed! WhileMr Paddle did duty in the nursery, Mrs Paddle roamed the sea at large. Apparently women's rights have made some progress in that quarter! Itwas supposed by Stout that she took the night-watches. Mr Younginclined to the opinion that she attended to the commissariat--was outmarketing in fact, and brought food to her husband. All that I can sayon the matter is, that I visited the family frequently, and always sawthe father "on duty, " but only once found Mrs Paddle at home! Thetameness of this kind of fish is very remarkable. One day I saw a largeone in a pool which actually allowed me to put my hand under him andlift him gently out! Suddenly it occurred to me that I might paint him!The palette chanced to be at hand, so I began at once. In about twominutes the paddle gave a flop of discomfort as he lay on the rock; Itherefore put him into a small pool for a minute or so to let him, breathe, then took him out and had a second sitting, after which he hadanother rest and a little refreshment in the pool. Thus in about tenminutes, I had his portrait, and put him back into his native element. 

I am inclined to think that this is the only fish in the sea that hashad his portrait taken and returned to tell the tale to his admiring, perhaps unbelieving, friends!

Of course one of the most interesting points in the lighthouse was thelantern. I frequently sat in it at night with the man on duty, whoexpounded the lighting apparatus to me, or "spun yarns. "

The fifth day of my sojourn on the Bell Rock was marked by an event ofgreat interest, --the arrival of a fishing-boat with letters andnewspapers. I had begun by that time to feel some degree of longing tohear something about the outer world, though I had not felt lonely byany means--my companions were too pleasant to admit of that. Our littleworld contained a large amount of talent! Mr Long had a magnificentbass voice and made good use of it. Then, Young played the violin, (notso badly), and sang tenor--not quite so well; besides which he playedthe accordion. His instrument, however, was not perfect. One of thebass notes would not sound, and one of the treble notes could not by anymeans be silenced! Between the two, some damage was done to theharmony; but we were not particular. As to Stout--he could neither singnor play, but he was a _splendid_ listener! and the sight of hisgood-humoured face, smiling through clouds of tobacco smoke as he sat bythe kitchen fire, was of itself sufficient to encourage us. 

But Stout could do more than listen and admire. He was cook to theestablishment during my visit. The men took this duty by turns--eachfor a fortnight--and Stout excelled the others. It was he who knew howto extract sweet music from the tea-kettle and the frying-pan! ButStout's forte was buttered toast! He was quite an adept at theformation of this luxury. If I remember rightly, it was an entire loafthat Stout cut up and toasted each morning for breakfast. He knewnothing of delicate treatment. Every slice was an inch thick at theleast! It was quite a study to see him go to work. He never sawed withthe knife. Having a powerful hand and arm, one sweep of the bladesufficed for one slice, and he cut up the whole loaf before beginning totoast. Then, he always had the fire well prepared. You never sawalternate stripes of black and white on Stout's toast; and he laid onthe butter as he might have laid tar on the side of a ship, thick andheavy. He never scraped it off one part to put it on another--and henever picked the lumps out of the holes. Truly, Stout was quite agenius in this matter. 

The fisherman who brought off our letters could not have landed if theweather had not been fine. Poor fellow! after I left, he lost his boatin consequence of being on too familiar terms with the Bell Rock. Hewas in the habit of fishing near the rock, and occasionally ran in atlow-water to smoke a pipe with the keepers. One morning he stayed toolong. The large green billows which had been falling with solemn boomon the outlying rocks began to lip over into the pool where his boatlay--Port Stevenson. Embarking in haste with his comrade he pushed off. Just then there came a tremendous wave, the crest of which toppled overSmith's Ledge, fell into the boat, and sank it like a stone. The menwere saved by the keepers, but their boat was totally destroyed. Theynever saw a fragment of it again. What a commentary this was on theinnumerable wrecks that have taken place on the Inch Cape Rock in daysgone by!

Sometimes, on a dark stormy night, I used to try to realise something ofthis. Turning my back on the lighthouse I tried to forget it, andimagine what must have been the feelings of those who had actually stoodthere and been driven inch by inch to the higher ledges, with thecertain knowledge that their doom was fixed, and without the comfort andassurance that, behind them, stood a strong tower of refuge from thestorm!

I was fortunate, during my stay, in having experience of every varietyof weather--from a dead calm to a regular gale. It was towards the endof my visit that the gale came on, and it lasted two days. No languagecan convey an adequate idea of the sublimity of the scene and the senseof power in the seething waves that waged furious war over the Rockduring the height of that gale. The spray rose above the kitchenwindows, (70 feet on the tower), in such solid masses as to darken theroom in passing, and twice during the storm we were struck by waves withsuch force as to shake the tower to its foundation. 

This storm delayed the "Relief boat" a day. Next day, however, itsucceeded in getting alongside--and at length, after a most agreeableand interesting sojourn of two weeks, I parted from the hospitablekeepers with sincere regret and bade adieu to a lighthouse which is notonly a monument of engineering skill, but a source of safety to theshipping, and of confidence to the mariners frequenting these waters. 

In former days men shunned the dreaded neighbourhood of the Inch CapeRock with anxious care. Now, they look out for that:--

 "Ruddy gem of changeful light Bound on the dusky brow of night, --"

And _make for it_ with perfect safety. In time past human lives, andnoble ships, and costly merchandise were lost on the Bell Rock everyyear. Now, disaster to shipping there is not even dreamed of; and oneof the most notable proofs of the value of the lighthouse, (and, indirectly, of all other lighthouses), lies in the fact, that not asingle wreck has occurred on the Bell Rock since that auspicious eveningin 1811 when the sturdy pillar opened its eyes for the first time, andthrew its bright beams far and wide over the North Sea. 

CHAPTER THREE. 

NIGHTS WITH THE FIRE BRIGADE. 

There are few lives, we should think, more trying or more full ofcurious adventure and thrilling incident than that of a London fireman. 

He must always be on the alert. No hour of the day or night can he evercount on as being his own, unless on those occasions when he obtainsleave of absence, which I suppose are not frequent. If he does notabsolutely sleep in his clothes, he sleeps beside them--arranged in sucha way that he can jump into them at a moment's notice. 

When the summons comes there must be no preliminary yawning; no softtransition from the land of dreams to the world of reality. He jumpsinto his boots which stand invitingly ready, pulls on his trousers, buttons his braces while descending to the street, and must bebrass-helmeted on the engine and away like a fiery dragon-gone-madwithin three minutes of "the call, " or thereabouts, if he is to escape afine. 

Moreover, the London fireman must be prepared to face death at anymoment. When the call comes he never knows whether he is turning out tosomething not much more serious than "a chimney, " or to one of thosedevastating conflagrations on the river-side in which many thousandpounds worth of property are swept away, and his life may go along withthem. Far more frequently than the soldier or sailor is he liable to beordered on a duty which shall turn out to be a forlorn hope, and notless pluckily does he obey. 

There is no respite for him. The field which the London Brigade coversis so vast that the liability to be sent into action is continuous--chiefly, of course, at night. At one moment he may be calmly polishingup the "brasses" of his engine, or skylarking with his comrades, orsedately reading a book, or snoozing in bed, and the next he may bebattling fiercely with the flames. Unlike the lifeboat heroes, who maysleep when the world of waters is calm, he must be ever on the watch;for his enemy is a lurking foe--like the Red Indian who pounces on youwhen you least expect him, and does not utter his warwhoop until hedeems his victory secure. The little spark smoulders while the firemanon guard, booted and belted, keeps watch at his station. It creepswhile he waits, and not until its energies have gained considerableforce does it burst forth with a grand roar and bid him fierce defiance. 

Even when conquered in one quarter it often leaps up in another, so thatthe fireman sometimes returns from the field twice or thrice in the samenight to find that the enemy is in force elsewhere and that the fightmust be resumed. 

In the spring of 1867 I went to London to gather material for my book_Fighting the Flames_, and was kindly permitted by Captain Shaw--thenChief of the Fire Brigade--to spend a couple of weeks at one of theprincipal west-end stations, and accompany the men to fires. 

My first experience was somewhat stirring. 

My plan was to go to the station late in the evening and remain up allnight with the men on guard waiting for fires. 

One day, in the afternoon, when it was growing dusk, and before I hadmade my first visit to the station, a broad-shouldered jovial-lookingfellow in blue coat, belted, and with a sailor's cap, called on me andasked if I should like to "see a 'ouse as 'ad bin blowed up with gas. "

Of course I was only too glad to follow him. He conducted me to anelegant mansion in Bayswater, and chatted pleasantly as we went along insomewhat nautical tones, for he had been a man-of-war's man. His namewas Flaxmore. 

I may remark here that the men of the London brigade were, and stillare, I believe, chosen from among seamen. 

"You see, sir, " said Flaxmore, in explanation of this fact, "sailors arefound to be most suitable for the brigade because they're accustomed tostrict discipline, --to turn out suddenly at all hours, in all weathers, and to climbing in dangerous circumstances. "

Arrived at the mansion, we found that the outside looked all rightexcept that most of the windows were broken. The interior, however, presented a sad and curious appearance. The house had been recentlydone up in the most expensive style, and its gilded cornices, paintedpilasters and other ornaments, with the lath and plaster of walls andceilings had been blown into the rooms in dire confusion. 

"Bin a pretty considerable smash here, sir, " said Flaxmore, with agenial smile on his broad countenance. I admitted the fact, and askedhow it happened. 

"Well, sir, you see, " said he, "there was an 'orrid smell of gas in the'ouse, an' the missus she sent for a gas man to find out where it was, and, _would_ _you believe it_, sir, they went to look for it _with acandle_! Sure enough they found it too, in a small cupboard. The gashad been escapin', it had, but couldn't git out o' that there cupboard, 'cause the door was a tight fit, so it had made its way all over the'ouse between the lath and plaster and the walls. As soon as ever itcaught light, sir, it blowed the whole place into smash--as you see. Itblowed the gas man flat on his back; (an' sarved him right!) it blowedthe missus through the doorway, an' it blowed the cook--(as was on thelandin' outside)--right down the kitchen stairs, it did;--but there wasnone of 'em much hurt, sir, they wasn't, beyond a bruise or two!"

After examining this house, Flaxmore proposed that I should go and seehis engine. He was proud of his engine, evidently, and spoke of it as aman might speak of his wife!

On our way to the station the driver of a passing 'bus called out--

"Fireman, there's a fire in New Bond Street. "

One word Flaxmore exchanged with the driver, and then, turning to me, said, "Come on, sir, I'll give you a ride!"

Off we went at a run, and burst into the station. "Get her out, Jim, "cried Flaxmore, (_her_ being the engine). Jim, the man on duty, put onhis helmet without saying a word, and hauled out the fire-engine, whilea comrade ran for the horses, and another called up the men. In fiveminutes more I was seated beside seven men in blue uniforms and brasshelmets, dashing through the streets of London at full gallop!

Now, those who have never seen a London fire-engine go to a fire have noconception of what it is--much less have they any conception of what itis to ride on the engine! To those accustomed to it, no doubt, it maybe tame enough--I cannot tell; but to those who mount an engine for thefirst time and dash through the crowded thoroughfares at a wild tearinggallop; it is probably the most exciting drive conceivable. It beatssteeplechasing! It feels like driving to destruction--so desperate andreckless is it. And yet, it is not reckless in the strict sense of thatword; for there is a stern need-be in the case. Every moment, (not tomention minutes or hours), is of the utmost importance in the progressof a fire, for when it gets the mastery and bursts into flames itflashes to its work, and completes it quickly. At such times one momentwasted may involve the loss of thousands of pounds, ay, and of humanlives also. This is well-known to those whose profession it is to fightthe flames. Hence the union of apparent mad desperation, with cool, quiet self-possession in their proceedings. When firemen can work insilence they do so. No unnecessary word is uttered, no voice isneedlessly raised; but, when occasion requires it, their course is atumultuous rush, amid a storm of shouting and gesticulation!

So was it on the present occasion. Had the fire been distant, theywould have had to commence their gallop somewhat leisurely, for fear ofbreaking down the horses; but it was not far off--not much more than acouple of miles--so they dashed round the corner of their own street andswept into the Edgeware Road at full speed. 

Here the noise of our progress began, for the great thoroughfare wascrowded with vehicles and pedestrians. 

To pass through such a crowd without coming into collision with anythingrequired not only dexterous driving, but rendered it necessary that twoof the men on the engine should stand up and shout incessantly as wewhirled along, clearing everything out of our way. 

The men seemed to shout with the memory of the boatswain strong uponthem, for their tones were pitched in the deepest and gruffest bass-key. Sometimes there was a lull for a moment, as a comparatively clear spaceof 100 yards or so lay before us; then their voices rose like theroaring of the gale as a stupid or deaf cabman got in our way, or aplethoric 'bus threatened to interrupt our furious career. The crossstreets were the points where the chief difficulties met us. There cab-and van-drivers turned into or crossed the great thoroughfare, allignorant of the thunderbolt that was rushing on like a fiery meteor, with its lanterns casting a glare of light before, and the helmets ofthe stern charioteers flashing back the rays from street-lamps andwindows. At the corner of one of the streets the crowd of vehicles wasso great that the driver of the engine began to tighten his reins, whileFlaxmore and his comrades raised a furious roar. Cabs, 'buses, andpedestrians scattered right and left in a marvellous manner; the driverslackened his reins, cracked his whip, and the horses stretched outagain. 

"There, it shows a light, " observed Flaxmore, as we tore along OxfordStreet. At that moment a stupid cabman blocked up the way. There was aterrific shout from all the firemen, at once! but the man did not hear. Our driver attempted both to pull up and to turn aside; the first wasimpossible, the latter he did so effectively that he not only clearedthe cab but made straight at a lamp-post on the other side! A crashseemed inevitable, but Flaxmore, observing the danger, seized the reinnext to him and swung the horses round. We flew past, just shaving thelamp-post, and in three minutes more pulled up at a house which wasblazing in the upper floors. Three engines were already at work on it. Flaxmore and his men at once entered the burning house, which by thattime was nearly gutted. I stood outside looking on, but soon becameanxious to know what was doing inside, and attempted to enter. Apoliceman stopped me, but at that moment Flaxmore came out like ahalf-drowned rat, his face streaked with brick-dust and charcoal. Seeing what I wanted he led me into the house, and immediately I foundmyself in a hot shower-bath which did not improve my coat or hat! Atthe same time I stepped up to the ankles in hot water! Tons of waterwere being poured on the house by three powerful engines, and this, inpassing through so much heated material had become comfortably warm. The first thing I saw on entering was a foaming cataract! This was thestaircase, down which the water rushed, breaking over masses of fallenbrickwork and debris, with a noise like a goodly Highland burn! Up thiswe waded, but could get no further than the room above, as the upperstair had fallen in. I was about to descend in order to try to reachthe roof by some other way, when a fireman caught me by the collar, exclaiming--"Hold on, sir!" He thought the staircase was about to fall. "Bolt now, sir, " he added, releasing me. I bolted, and was out in thestreet in a moment, where I found that some of the firemen who had firstarrived, and were much exhausted, were being served with a glass ofbrandy. If there were any case in which a teetotaller might bejustified in taking spirits, it would be, I think, when exhausted bytoiling for hours amid the heat and smoke and danger of a fire--nevertheless I found that several of the firemen there wereteetotallers. 

There was a shout of laughter at this moment, occasioned by one of thefiremen having accidentally turned the _branch_ or delivery pipe full onthe faces of the crowd and drenched some of them. This was followed bya loud cheer when another fireman was seen to have clambered to the roofwhence he could apply the water with better effect. At last theirefforts were crowned with success. Before midnight the fire wasextinguished, and we drove back to the Paddington Station at a moreleisurely pace. Thus ended my first experience of a London fire. 

Accidents, as may be easily believed, are of frequent occurrence. 

Accidents. 

There were between forty to fifty a year. In 1865 they were asfollows:--

+=========================+==+|Cuts and Lacerated Wounds|12|+-------------------------+--+|Contusions |15|+-------------------------+--+|Fractures | 2|+-------------------------+--+|Sprains | 9|+-------------------------+--+|Burns and Scalds | 3|+-------------------------+--+|Injury to Eyes | 5|+-------------------------+--+| |46|+=========================+==+

My friend Flaxmore himself met with an accident not long afterwards. Heslipped off the roof of a house and fell on his back from a height ofabout fifteen feet. Being a heavy man, the fall told severely on him. 

For about two weeks I went almost every evening to the Regent StreetStation and spent the night with the men, in the hope of accompanyingthem to fires. The "lobby"--as the watch room of the station wasnamed--was a small one, round the walls of which the brass helmets andhatchets of the men were hung. Here, each night, two men slept on twotrestle-beds. They were fully equipped, with the exception of theirhelmets. Their comrades slept at their own homes, which were within afew yards of the station. The furniture of the "lobby" was scanty--adesk, a bookcase, two chairs, a clock, an alarm-bell, and fourtelegraphic instruments comprised it all. These last formed part of anetwork of telegraphs which extended from the central station to nearlyall the other stations in London. By means of the telegraph a "call" isgiven--i. E. A fire is announced to the firemen all over London, if needbe, in a very few minutes. Those who are nearest to the scene ofconflagration hasten to it at once with their engines, while eachoutlying or distant station sends forward a man on foot. These men, coming up one by one, relieve those who have first hastened to the fire. 

"Calls, " however, are not always sent by telegraph. Sometimes a furiousring comes to the alarm-bell, and a man or a boy rushes in shouting"_fire_!" with all his might. People are generally much excited in suchcircumstances, --sometimes half mad. In one case a man came with a"call" in such perturbation of mind that he could not tell where thefire was at all for nearly five minutes! On another occasion two menrushed in with a call at the same moment, and both were stutterers. Myown opinion is that one stuttered by nature and the other fromagitation. Be that as it may, they were both half mad with excitement. 

"F-f-f-fire!" roared one. 

"F-f-f-fire!" yelled the other. 

"Where away?" asked a fireman as he quietly buckled his belt and put onhis helmet. 

"B-B-Brompton!"--"B-B-Bayswater!" burst from them both at the samemoment. Then one cried, "I--I s-s-say Brompton, " and the other shouted, "I--I s-say Bayswater. "

"What street?" asked the fireman. 

"W-W-Walton Street, " cried one. 

"N-No--P-P-orchester Terrace, " roared the other, and at the word theWalton Street man hit the Porchester Terrace man between the eyes andknocked him down. A regular scuffle ensued, in the midst of which thefiremen got out two engines--and, before the stutterers were separated, went off full swing, one to Brompton, the other to Bayswater, and foundthat, as they had guessed, there were in reality two fires!

One night's experience in the "lobby" will give a specimen of thefireman's work. I had spent the greater part of the night there withoutanything turning up. About three in the morning the two men on duty laydown on their trestle-beds to sleep, and I sat at the desk reading thereports of recent fires. The place was very quiet--the sounds of thegreat city were hushed--the night was calm, and nothing was heard butthe soft breathing of the sleepers and the ticking of the clock as I satthere waiting for a fire. I often looked at the telegraph needles and, (I am half ashamed to say it), longed for them to move and give us "acall. " At last, when I had begun to despair, the sharp little telegraphbell rang. Up I started in some excitement--up started one of thesleepers too, quite as quickly as I did, but without any excitementwhatever--he was accustomed to alarms! Reading the telegraph withsleepy eyes he said, with a yawn, "it's only a stop for a chimbley. " Helay down again to sleep, and I sat down again to read and wait. Soonafter the foreman came down-stairs to have a smoke and a chat. Amongthe many anecdotes which he told me was one which had a little of thehorrible in it. He said he was once called to a fire in a cemetery, where workmen had been employed in filling some of the vaults withsawdust and closing them up. They had been smoking down there and hadset fire to the sawdust, which set light to the coffins, and when thefiremen arrived these were burning fiercely, and the stench and smokewere almost overpowering--nevertheless one of the men ran down the stairof the vaults, but slipped his foot and fell. Next moment he rushed upwith a face like a ghost, having fallen, he said, between two coffins!Quickly recovering from his fright he again descended with his comrades, and they soon managed to extinguish the fire. 

The foreman went off to bed after relating this pleasant little incidentand left me to meditate on it. Presently a sound of distant wheelsstruck my ear. On they came at a rattling pace. In a few minutes a cabdashed round the corner and drew up sharply at the door, which wasseverely kicked, while the bell was rung furiously. Up jumped thesleepers again and in rushed a cabman, backed by a policeman, with theusual shout of "fire. " Then followed "question brief and quickreply"--"a fire in Great Portland Street close at hand. "

"Get her out, Bill, " was the order. Bill darted to the engine-shed andknocked up the driver in passing. He got out the horses while the otherman ran from house to house of the neighbouring firemen giving a_double_ ring to their bells. Before the engine was horsed one andanother and another of the men darted into the station, donned hishelmet, and buckled on his axe; then they all sprang to their places, the whip cracked, and off we went at full gallop only eight minutesafter the alarm-bell rang. We spun through the streets like a rocketwith a tail of sparks behind us, for the fire of the engine had beenlighted before starting. 

On reaching the fire it was found to be only smouldering in the basementof the house, and the men of another engine were swarming through theplace searching for the seat of it. I went in with our men, and thefirst thing I saw was a coffin lying ready for use! The foreman led medown into a vaulted cellar, and here, strange to say, I found myself inthe midst of coffins! It seemed like the realisation of the story I hadjust heard. There were not fewer than thirty of them on the floor andranged round the walls. Happily, however, they were not tenanted. Infact the fire had occurred in an undertaker's workshop, and, in lookingthrough the premises, I came upon several coffins laid out ready forimmediate use. Two of these impressed me much. They lay side by side. One was of plain black wood--a pauper's coffin evidently. The other wascovered with fine cloth and gilt ornaments, and lined with padded whitesatin! I was making some moral reflections on the curious differencebetween the last resting-place of the rich man and the poor, when I wasinterrupted by the firemen who had discovered the fire and put it out, so we jumped on the engine once more, and galloped back to the station. Most of the men went off immediately to bed; the engine was housed; thehorses were stabled; the men on guard hung up their helmets and lay downagain on their trestle-beds; the foreman bade me "good-night, " and I wasleft once more in a silence that was broken only by the deep breathingof the sleepers and the ticking of the clock--scarcely able to believethat the stirring events of the previous hour were other than a vividdream. 

All over London, at short distances apart, fire-escapes may be seenrearing their tall heads in recesses and corners formed by the angles inchurches or other public buildings. Each night these are brought out tothe streets, where they stand in readiness for instant use. 

At the present time the escapes are in charge of the Fire Brigade. WhenI visited the firemen they were under direction of the Royal Society forthe Protection of Life from Fire, and in charge of Conductors, who satin sentry-boxes beside the escapes every night, summer and winter, readyfor action. 

These conductors were clad like the firemen--except that their helmetswere made of black leather instead of brass. They were not verydifferent from other mortals to look at, but they were picked men--everyone--bold as lions; true as steel; ready each night, at a moment'snotice, to place their lives in jeopardy in order to rescue theirfellow-creatures from the flames. Of course they were paid for thework, but the pay was small when we consider that it was the price ofindomitable courage, tremendous energy, great strength of limb, anduntiring perseverance in the face of appalling danger. 

Here is a specimen of the way in which the escapes were worked. 

On the night of the 2nd March 1866, the premises of a blockmaker namedGeorge Milne caught fire. The flames spread with great rapidity, arousing Milne and his family, which consisted of his wife and sevenchildren. All these sought refuge in the attics. At first Milnethought he could have saved himself, but with so many little childrenround him he found himself utterly helpless. Not far from the spot, Henry Douglas, a fire-escape conductor, sat in his sentry-box, reading abook, perchance, or meditating, mayhap, on the wife and little onesslumbering snugly at home, while he kept watch over the sleeping city. Soon the shout of fire reached his ears. At once his cloth-cap wasexchanged for the black helmet, and, in a few seconds, the escape wasflying along the streets, pushed by the willing hands of policemen andpassers-by. The answer to the summons was very prompt on this occasion, but the fire was burning fiercely when Conductor Douglas arrived, andthe whole of the lower part of the house was so enveloped in flames andsmoke that the windows could not be seen at all. Douglas thereforepitched his escape, at a venture, on what he _thought_ would bring himto the second-floor windows, and up he went amid the cheers of theon-lookers. Entering a window, he tried to search the room, (and thecheers were hushed while the excited multitude gazed and listened withbreathless anxiety--for they knew that the man was in a position ofimminent danger). In a few moments he re-appeared on the escape, halfsuffocated. He had heard screams in the room above, and at once threwup the fly-ladder, by which he ascended to the parapet below the atticrooms. Here he discovered Milne and his family grouped together inhelpless despair. We may conceive the gush of hope that must havethrilled their breasts when Conductor Douglas leaped through the smokeinto the midst of them; but we can neither describe nor conceive, (unless we have heard it in similar circumstances), the _tone_ of thedeafening cheers that greeted the brave man when he re-appeared on theladders, and, (with the aid of a policeman named John Pead), bore thewhole family, one by one, in safety to the ground! For this deedConductor Douglas received the silver medal of the Society, and Pead, the policeman, received a written testimonial and a sovereign. Subsequently, in consequence of Conductor Douglas's serious illness, --resulting from his efforts on this occasion--the Society voted him agratuity of 5 pounds beyond his sick allowance to mark their strongapprobation of his conduct. Now in this case it is obvious that but forthe fire-escape, the blockmaker and his family must have perished. 

Here is another case. I quote the conductor's own account of it, asgiven in the Fire Escape Society's annual report. The conductor's namewas Shaw. He writes:--

 "Upon my arrival from Aldersgate Street Station, the fire had gained strong hold upon the lower portion of the building, and the smoke issuing therefrom was so dense and suffocating as to render all escape by the staircase quite impossible. Hearing cries for help from the upper part of the house, I placed my Fire Escape, ascended to the third floor, whence I rescued four persons--viz. Mrs Ferguson, her two children, and a lodger named Gibson. They were all leaning against the window-sill, almost overcome. I carried each down the Escape, (a height of nearly fifty feet), in perfect safety; and afterwards entered the back part of the premises, and took five young children from a yard where they were exposed to great danger from the fire. "

There was a man in the London Brigade who deserves special notice--viz. Conductor Samuel Wood. Wood had been many years in the service, andhad, in the course of his career, saved no fewer than 168 lives. 

On one occasion he was called to a fire in Church Lane. He found a MrNathan in the first-floor unable to descend the staircase, as the groundfloor was in flames. He unshipped his first-floor ladder, and, with theassistance of a policeman, brought Mr Nathan down. Being informed thatthere was a servant girl in the kitchen, Wood took his crowbar, wrenchedup the grating, and brought the young woman out in safety. Now this Igive as a somewhat ordinary case. It involved danger; but not so muchas to warrant the bestowal of the silver medal. Nevertheless, Wood andthe policeman were awarded a written testimonial and a sum of money. 

I have had some correspondence with Conductor Wood, whose broad breastwas covered with medals and clasps won in the service of the F. E. Society. At one fire he rushed up the escape before it was properlypitched, and caught in his arms a man named Middleton as he was in theact of jumping from a window. 

At another time, on arriving at a fire, he found that the family thoughtall had escaped, "but, " wrote the conductor to me, "they soon missed theold grandmother. --I immediately broke the shop door open and passedthrough to the first-floor landing, where I discovered the old ladylying insensible. I placed her on my back, and crawled back to thedoor, and I am happy to say she is alive now and doing well!"

So risky was a conductor's work that sometimes he had to be rescued byothers--as the following extract will illustrate. It is from one of theSociety's reports:--

 "CASE 10, 620. 

 "Awarded to James Griffin, Inspector of the K Division of Police, the Society's Silver Medal, for the intrepid and valuable assistance rendered to Fire Escape Conductor Rickell at a Fire at the `Rose and Crown' public-house, Bridge Street, at one o'clock on the morning of February 1st, when, but for his assistance there is little doubt that the Conductor would have perished. On the arrival of Conductor Rickell with the Mile End Fire Escape, not being satisfied that all the inmates had escaped, the Conductor entered the house, the upper part of which was burning fiercely; the Conductor not being seen for some time, the Inspector called to him, and, not receiving an answer, entered the house and ascended the stairs, and saw the Conductor lying on the floor quite insensible. With some difficulty the Inspector reached him, and, dragging him down the staircase, carried him into the air, where he gradually recovered. "

While attending fires in London, I wore one of the black leather helmetsof the Salvage Corps. This had the double effect of protecting my headfrom falling bricks, and enabling me to pass the cordon of policeunquestioned. 

After a night of it I was wont to return home about dawn, as few firesoccur after that. On these occasions I felt deeply grateful to thekeepers of small coffee-stalls, who, wheeling their entire shop andstock-in-trade in a barrow, supplied early workmen with cups of hotcoffee at a halfpenny a piece, and slices of bread and butter for thesame modest sum. At such times I came to know that "man wants butlittle here below, " if he only gets it hot and substantial. 

Fire is such an important subject, and an element that any one may becalled on so suddenly and unexpectedly to face, that, at the risk ofbeing deemed presumptuous, I will, for a few minutes, turn aside fromthese reminiscences to put a few plain questions to my reader. 

Has it ever occurred to you to think what you would do if your housetook fire at night? Do you know of any other mode of exit from yourhouse than by the front or back doors and the staircase? Have you arope at home which would support a man's weight, and extend from anupper window to the ground? Nothing easier than to get and keep such arope. A few shillings would purchase it. Do you know how you wouldattempt to throw water on the walls of one of your rooms, if it were onfire near the ceiling? A tea-cup would be of no use! A sauce-pan wouldnot be much better. As for buckets or basins, the strongest man couldnot heave such weights of water to the ceiling with any precision oreffect. But there are garden hand-pumps in every seedsman's shop withwhich a man could deluge his property with the greatest ease. 

Do you know how to tie two blankets or sheets together, so that the knotshall not slip? Your life may one day depend on such a simple piece ofknowledge. 

Still further, do you know that in retreating from room to room before afire you should shut doors and windows behind you to prevent the supplyof air which feeds the flames? Are you aware that by creeping on yourhands and knees, and keeping your head close to the ground, you canmanage to breathe in a room where the smoke would suffocate you if youstood up?--also, that a wet sponge or handkerchief held over the mouthand nose will enable you to breathe with less difficulty in the midst ofsmoke?--Do you know that many persons, especially children, lose theirlives by being forgotten by the inmates of a house in cases of fire, andthat, if a fire came to you, you ought to see to it that every member ofyour household is present to take advantage of any means of escape thatmay be sent to you?

These subjects deserve to be considered thoughtfully by every one, especially by heads of families--not only for their own sakes, but forthe sake of those whom God has committed to their care. For supposethat, (despite the improbability of such an event), your dwelling really_did_ catch fire, how inconceivable would be the bitterness added toyour despair, if, in the midst of gathering smoke and flames--with deathstaring you in the face, and rescue all but hopeless--you were compelledto feel that you and yours might have escaped the impending danger ifyou had only bestowed on fire-prevention, fire-extinction, andfire-escape a very little forethought and consideration. 

CHAPTER FOUR. 

A WAR OF MERCY. 

There is a great war in which the British Nation is at all timesengaged. 

No bright seasons of peace mark the course of this war. Year by year itis waged unceasingly, though not at all times with the same fury, noralways with the same results. 

Sometimes, as in ordinary warfare, there are minor skirmishes in whichmany a deed of heroism is done, though not recorded, and there arepitched battles in which all our resources are called into action, andthe papers teem with the news of the defeats, disasters, and victoriesof the great fight. 

This war costs us hundreds of lives, thousands of ships, and millions ofmoney every year. Our undying and unconquerable enemy is the storm, andour great engines of war with which, through the blessing of God, we areenabled to fight more or less successfully against the foe, are theLifeboat and the Rocket. 

These engines, and the brave men who work them, are our sentinels of thecoast. When the storm is brewing; when grey clouds lower, and mutteringthunder comes rolling over the sea, men with hard hands and bronzedfaces, clad in oilskin coats and sou'westers, saunter down to our quaysand headlands, all round the kingdom. These are the Lifeboat crews onthe look-out. The enemy is moving, and the sentinels are being posted--or, rather, they are posting themselves--for the night, for all thefighting men in this great war are volunteers. They need no drilling toprepare them for the field; no bugle or drum to sound the charge. Theirdrum is the rattling thunder, their trumpet the roaring storm. Theybegan to train for this warfare when they were not so tall as theirfathers' boots, and there are no awkward squads among them now. Theirorganisation is rough and ready, like themselves, and simple too. Theheavens call them to action; the coxswain grasps the helm; the men seizethe oars; the word is given, and the rest is straightforward fighting--over everything, through everything, in the teeth of everything, untilthe victory is gained, and rescued men and women and children are landedin safety on our shores. 

In the winter of 1863 my enthusiasm in the Lifeboat cause was aroused bythe reading in the papers of that wonderful achievement of the famousRamsgate Lifeboat, which, on a terrible night in that year, foughtagainst the storm for sixteen hours, and rescued a hundred and twentysouls from death. 

A strange fatality attaches to me somehow--namely, that whenever I havean attack of enthusiasm, a book is the result!

Immediately after reading this episode in the great war, I called on theSecretary of the Royal National Lifeboat Institution, who kindly gave meminute information as to the working of his Society, and lent me itsjournals. 

Then I took train to the coast of Deal, and spent a considerable part ofthe succeeding weeks in the company of Isaac Jarman--at that time thecoxswain of the Ramsgate Lifeboat, and the chief hero in many a gallantfight with the sea. 

The splendid craft which he commanded was one of the self-righting, insubmergible boats of the Institution. Jarman's opinion of her wasexpressed in the words "she's parfect, sir, and if you tried to improveher you'd only spile her. " From him I obtained much information, andmany a yarn about his experiences on the famous and fatal Goodwin Sands, which, if recorded, would fill a volume. Indeed a volume has alreadybeen written about them, and other deeds of daring on those Sands, byone of the clergymen of Ramsgate. 

I also saw the captain of the steam-tug that attends upon that boat. Hetook me on board his vessel and showed me the gold and silver medals hehad received from his own nation, and from the monarchs of foreignlands, for rescuing human lives. I chatted with the men of Deal whoseprofession it is to work in the storm, and succour ships in distress, and who have little to do but lounge on the beach and spin yarns whenthe weather is fine. I also listened to the thrilling yarns of Jarmanuntil I felt a strong desire to go off with him to a wreck. This, however, was not possible. No amateur is allowed to go off in theRamsgate boat on any pretext whatever, but the restriction is not soabsolute in regard to the steamer which attends on her. I obtainedleave to go out in this tug, which always lies with her fires banked upready to take the Lifeboat off to the sands, if her services should berequired. Jarman promised to rouse me if a summons should come. As incases of rescue from fire, speed is all-important. I slept for severalnights with my clothes on--boots and all--at the hotel nearest to theharbour. But it was not to be. Night after night continuedexasperatingly calm. 

No gale would arise or wreck occur. This was trying, as I lay there, wakeful and hopeful, with plenty of time to study the perplexingquestion whether it is legitimate, under any circumstance, to wish for awreck or a fire!

When patience was worn out I gave it up in despair. 

At another time, however, I had an opportunity of seeing the Lifeboat inaction. It was when I was spending a couple of weeks on board of the"Gull" Lightship, which lies between Ramsgate and the Goodwins. 

A "dirty" day had culminated in a tempestuous night. The watch on deck, clad in drenched oil-skins, was tramping overhead, rendering my reposefitful. Suddenly he opened the skylight, and shouted that the SouthsandHead Lightship was firing, and sending up rockets. As this meant awreck on the sands we all rushed on deck, and saw the flare of atar-barrel in the far distance. Already our watch was loading, andfiring our signal-gun, and sending up rockets for the purpose of callingoff the Ramsgate Lifeboat. It chanced that the Broadstairs boatobserved the signals first, and, not long after, she flew past us undersail, making for the wreck. 

A little later we saw the signal-light of the Ramsgate tug, loomingthrough the mist like the great eye of the storm-fiend. She rangedclose up, in order to ask whereaway the wreck was. Being answered, shesheared off, and as she did so, the Lifeboat, towing astern, came fullinto view. It seemed as if she had no crew, save only one man--doubtless my friend Jarman--holding the steering lines; but, on closerinspection, we could see the men crouching down, like a mass of oilskincoats and sou'westers. In a few minutes they were out of sight, and wesaw them no more, but afterwards heard that the wrecked crew had beenrescued and landed at Deal. 

In this manner I obtained information sufficient to enable me to write_The Lifeboat: a Tale of our Coast Heroes_, and _The Floating Light ofthe Goodwin Sands_. 

A curious coincidence occurred when I was engaged with the Lifeboatstory, which merits notice. 

Being much impressed with the value of the Lifeboat service to thenation, I took to lecturing as well as writing on this subject. Onenight, while in Edinburgh in the spring of 1866, a deputation of workingmen, some of whom had become deeply interested in Lifeboat work, askedme to re-deliver my lecture. I willingly agreed to do so, and theresult was that the working men of Edinburgh resolved to raise 400pounds among themselves, and present a boat to the Institution. Theyset to work energetically; appointed a Committee, which met once a week;divided the city into districts; canvassed all the principal trades andworkshops, and, before the year was out, had almost raised the necessaryfunds. 

In the end, the boat was ordered and paid for, and sent to Edinburgh tobe exhibited. It was drawn by six magnificent horses through theprincipal streets of the city, with a real lifeboat crew on board, intheir sou'westers and cork life-belts. Then it was launched in SaintMargaret's Loch, at the foot of Arthur's Seat, where it was upset--withgreat difficulty, by means of a large erection with blocks and ropes--inorder to show its self-righting and self-emptying qualities to thethousands of spectators who crowded the hill-sides. 

At this time the good people of Glasgow had been smitten with a desireto present a lifeboat to the Institution, and, in order to create aninterest in the movement, asked the loan of the Edinburgh boat forexhibition. The boat was sent, and placed on view in a conspicuous partof the city. 

Among the thousands who paid it a visit was a lady who took her littleboy to see it, and who dropped a contribution into the box, which stoodinvitingly alongside. That lady was the wife of a sea-captain, who losthis ship on the coast of Wigton, where the Edinburgh boat was stationed, and whose life was saved by that identical boat. And not only so, butthe rescue was accomplished on the anniversary of the very day on whichhis wife had put her contribution into the collecting-box!

Sixteen lives were saved by it at that time, and, not long afterwards, fourteen more people were rescued by it from the insatiable sea; so thatthe working men of Edinburgh have reason to be thankful for the successwhich has attended them in their effort to "rescue the perishing. "

Moreover, some time afterwards, the ladies of Edinburgh--smitten withzeal for the cause of suffering humanity, and for the honour of their"own romantic town"--put their pretty, if not lusty, shoulders to thewheel, raised a thousand pounds, and endowed the boat, so that, withGod's blessing, it will remain in all time coming on that exposed coast, ready for action in the good cause. 

CHAPTER FIVE. 

DESCENT INTO THE CORNISH MINES. 

From Lighthouses, Lifeboats, and Fire-brigades into the tin and coppermines of Cornwall is a rather violent leap, but by no means anunpleasant one. 

In the year 1868 I took this leap when desirous of obtaining materialfor _Deep Down: a Tale of the Cornish Mines_. 

For three months my wife and I stayed in the town of Saint Just, closeto the Land's End, during which time I visited some of the principalmines in Cornwall; associated with the managers, "captains, " and miners, and tried my best to become acquainted with the circumstances of thepeople. 

The Cornish tin trade is very old. In times so remote that historicallight is dim, the Phoenicians came in their galleys to trade with themen of Cornwall for tin. 

Herodotus, (writing 450 years B. C. ) mentions the tin islands of Britainunder the name of the _Cassiterides_ and Diodorus Siculus, (writingabout half a century B. C. ), says:

"The inhabitants of that extremity of Britain which is called Bolerion, excel in hospitality, and also, by their intercourse with foreignmerchants, they are civilised in their mode of life. These prepare thetin, working very skilfully the earth which produces it. "

There is said to be ground for believing that Cornish tin was used inthe construction of the temple of Jerusalem. At the present time themen of Cornwall are to be found toiling, as did their forefathers in thedays of old, deep down in the bowels of the earth--and even out underthe bed of the sea--in quest of tin. 

"Tin, Copper, and Fish" is one of the standing toasts in Cornwall, andin these three words lie the head, backbone, and tail of the county, thesources of its wealth, and the objects of its energies. 

As my visit, however, was paid chiefly for the purpose of investigatingthe mines, I will not touch on fish here. Having obtained introductionto the managers of Botallack--the most famous of the Cornish Mines--Iwas led through miles of subterranean tunnels and to depths profound, bythe obliging, amiable, and anecdotal Captain Jan--one of the "Captains"or overseers of the mine. 

He was quite an original, this Captain Jan; a man who knew the fortymiles of underground workings in Botallack as well, I suppose, as apostman knows his beat; a man who dived into the bowels of the earthwith the vigour and confidence of a mole and the simple-minded serenityof a seraph. 

The land at this part of Cornwall is not picturesque, except at thesea-cliffs, which rise somewhere about three hundred feet sheer out ofdeep water, where there is usually no strip of beach to break the rushof the great Atlantic billows that grind the rocks incessantly. 

The most prominent objects elsewhere are masses of debris; huge piecesof worn-out machinery; tall chimneys and old engine-houses, with bigungainly beams, or "bobs, " projecting from them. These "bobs" areattached to pumps which work continually to keep the mines dry. Theymove up and down very slowly, with a pause between each stroke, as ifthey were seriously considering whether it was worth while continuingthe dreary work any longer, and could not make up their minds on thepoint. Their slow motions, however, give evidence of life and toilbelow the surface. Other "bobs" standing idle tell of disappointedhopes and broken fortunes. There are not a few such landmarks at theLand's End--stern monitors, warning wild and wicked speculators tobeware. 

One day--it might have been night as far as our gloomy surroundingsindicated--Captain Jan and I were stumbling along one of the levels ofBotallack, I know not how many fathoms down. We wore miners' hats witha candle stuck in front of each by means of a piece of clay. The hatswere thicker than a fireman's helmet, though by no means as elegant. You might have plunged upon them head first without causing a dint. 

Captain Jan stopped beside some fallen rocks. We had been walking formore than an hour in these subterranean labyrinths and felt inclined torest. 

"You were asking about the word _wheal_, " said the captain, sticking hiscandle against the wall of the level and sitting down on a ledge, "it dosignify a mine, as Wheal Frances, Wheal Owles, Wheal Edwards, and thelike. When Cornishmen do see a London Company start a mine on a grandscale, with a deal of fuss and superficial show, and an imposing staffof directors, etcetera, while, down in the mine itself, where the realwork ought to be done, perhaps only two men and a boy are known to be atwork, they shake their heads and button up their pockets; perhaps theycall the affair wheal _Do-em_, and when that mine stops, (becomes whatwe call a `knacked bal') it may be styled wheal _Donem_!"

A traveller chanced to pass a water-wheel not long ago, near Saint Just. 

"What's that?" he said to a miner who sat smoking his pipe beside it. 

"That, sur? why, that's a pump, that is. "

"What does it pump?" asked the traveller. 

"Pump, sur?" replied the man with a grim smile, "why, et do pump goldout o' the Londoners!"

There have been too many wheal _Do-ems_ in Cornwall. 

Botallack mine is not, I need scarcely say, a wheal Do-em. It is agrand old mine--grand because its beginning is enveloped in the mists ofantiquity; because it affords now, and has afforded for ages back, sustenance to hundreds of miners and their families, besides enrichingthe country; because its situation on the wild cliffs is unusuallypicturesque, and because its dark shafts and levels not only descend toan immense depth below the surface, but extend far out under the bottomof the sea. Its engine-houses and machinery are perched upon the edgeof a steep cliff, and scattered over its face and down among its darkchasms in places where one would imagine that only a sea-gull would dareto venture. 

Underground there exists a vast region of shafts and levels, ortunnels--mostly low, narrow, and crooked places--in which men have tostoop and walk with caution, and where they work by candlelight--aregion which is measured to the inch, and has all its parts mapped outand named as carefully as are the fields above. Some idea of the extentof this mine may be gathered from the fact that it is 245 fathoms, (1470feet), deep, and that all the levels put together form an amount ofcutting through almost solid granite equal to nearly 40 miles in extent. The deepest part of the mine is that which lies under the bottom of thesea, three-quarters of a mile from the shore; and, strange to say, thatis also the _driest_ part of the mine. The Great Eastern would finddepth of water sufficient to permit of her anchoring and floatingsecurely in places where miners are at work, blowing up the solid rock, 1470 feet below her keel--a depth so profound that the wildest wavesthat ever burst upon the shore, or the loudest thunder that everreverberated among the cliffs, could not send down the faintest echo ofa sound. 

The ladder-way by which the men descend to their work is 1230 feet deep. It takes half an hour to descend and an hour to climb to the surface. 

It was a bright morning in May when I walked over from Saint Just withCaptain Jan to pay my first underground visit to Botallack. 

Arrayed in the red-stained canvas coat and trousers of the mine, with acandle stuck in the front of our very strong hats and three spare oneseach hung at our breasts, we proceeded to the ladder-way. This was asmall platform with a hole in it just big enough to admit a man, out ofwhich projected the head of a strong ladder. Before descending CaptainJan glanced down the hole and listened to a distant, regular, clickingsound--like the ticking of a clock. "A man coming up, " said he, "we'llwait a minute. "

I looked down, and, in the profound abyss, saw the twinkling of, apparently, a little star. The steady click of the miner's nailed shoeson the iron rounds of the ladder continued, and the star advanced, until, by its feeble light I saw the hat to which it was attached. Presently a man emerged from the hole, and raising himself erect, gavevent to a long, deep-drawn sigh. It was, I may say, a suggestive sigh, for there was a sense of intense relief conveyed by it. The man hadjust completed an hour of steady, continuous climbing up the ladders, after eight hours of night-work in impure atmosphere, and the firstgreat draught of the fresh air of heaven must have seemed like nectar tohis soul! His red garments were soaking, perspiration streamed fromevery pore in his body, and washed the red earth in streaks down hispale countenance. Although pale, however, the miner was strong and inthe prime of life. Chills and bad air, (the two great demons of themines), had not yet smitten his sturdy frame with "miner's complaint. "He looked tired, but not exhausted, and bestowed a grave glance on meand a quiet nod on Captain Jan as he walked away to change his dress inthe drying-house. My contemplation of the retiring miner wasinterrupted by Captain Jan saying--"I'll go first, sir, to catch you ifyou should fall. " This remark reminded me of many stories I had heardof men "falling away from the ladders;" of beams breaking and lettingthem tumble into awful gulfs; of stones giving way and coming down theshafts like grape or cannon-shot, and the like. However, I stepped onthe ladder and prepared to follow my guide into the regions ofunchanging night! A few fathoms' descent brought us into twilight andto a small platform on which the foot of the first ladder rested. Through a hole in this the head of the second ladder appeared. 

Here we lighted the candles, for the next ladder--a longer one, 50 feetor so--would have landed us in midnight darkness. Half way down it, Ilooked up and saw the hole at the top like a large white star. At thefoot I looked up again, the star was gone, and I felt that we were atlast in a region where, (from the time of creation), sunlight had nevershone. Down, down, ever _downwards_, was the uppermost idea in my mindfor some time after that. Other thoughts there were, of course, butthat one of never-ending descent outweighed them all for a time. As wegot lower the temperature increased; then perspiration broke out. Neverhaving practised on the treadmill, my muscles ere long began to feel theunwonted exercise, and I thought to myself, "If you are in this state sosoon, what will you be when you get to the bottom, and how will you getup again?"

At this point we reached the foot of another ladder, and Captain Jansaid, "We'll walk a bit in the level here and then go down thepump-shaft. " The change of posture and action in the level we had nowentered was agreeable, but the path was not a good one. It was an old, low, and irregular level, with a rugged floor full of holes with waterin them, and with projections in the roof that rendered frequentstooping necessary. The difficulty of one's progress in such places isthat, while you are looking out for your head, you stumble into theholes, and when the holes claim attention you run your head against theroof; but, thanks to the miner's hat, no evil follows. 

We were now in a region of profound _silence_! When we paused for aminute to rest, it felt as if the silence of the tomb itself hadsurrounded us--for not the faintest echo reached us from the worldabove, and the miners at work below us were still far down out ofear-shot. In a few seconds we came to a yawning hole in the path, bridged by a single plank. Captain Jan crossed. "How deep is it?" Iasked, preparing to follow. "About 60 feet, " said he, "it's a winze, and goes down to the next level!"

I held my breath and crossed with caution. 

"Are there many winzes, Captain Jan?"

"Yes, dozens of 'em. There are nigh 40 miles of levels and lots ofwinzes everywhere!"

The possibility of anything happening to Captain Jan, and my lightgetting blown out occurred to me, but I said nothing. When we hadwalked a quarter of a mile in this level, we came to the point where itentered the pump-shaft. The shaft itself was narrow--about 8 or 10 feetin diameter--but everything in it was ponderous and gigantic. Theengine that drove the pump was 70 horse power; the pump-rod was asuccession of wooden beams, each like the ridge-pole of a house, jointedtogether--a rugged affair, with iron bolts, and nuts, and projections atthe joints. In this shaft the kibbles were worked. These kibbles areiron buckets by which ore is conveyed to the surface. Two are workedtogether by a chain--one going up full while the other comes down empty. Both are free to clatter about the shaft and bang against each other inpassing, but they are prevented from damaging the pump-rod by a woodenpartition. Between this partition and the pump was the ladder we hadnow to descend, with just space for a man to pass. 

Captain Jan got upon it, and as he did so the pump went up, (a sweep of10 or 12 feet), with a deep watery gurgle, as if a giant were beingthrottled. As I got upon the ladder the pump came down with anothergurgle, close to my shoulder in passing. To avoid this I kept close tothe planks on the other side, but at that moment I heard a noise as ifof distant thunder. "It's only the kibbles, " said Captain Jan. 

Up came one and down went the other, passing each other with a direcrash, not far from where we stood, and causing me to shrink into thesmallest possible space. "There's no danger, " said the Captainencouragingly, "if you only keep cool and hold on. " Water was coursingfreely down the shaft and spirting over us in fine spray, so that, erelong, we were as wet and dirty as any miner in Botallack. At last wereached the 120 fathom level, 720 feet from "grass. "

Here the Captain told me men were at work not far off and he wished tovisit them. "Would I wait where I was until he returned?"

"What!" said I, "wait in a draughty level with an extinguishable candleclose to the main shaft, with 30 or 40 miles of levels around, and noend of winzes? No, no, Captain Jan, go on; I'll stick to you _now_through thick and thin like your own shadow!"

With one of his benignant smiles the captain resumed his progress. In afew minutes I heard the clink of hammers, and, soon after, came to asingular cavern. It was a place where the lode had been very wide andrich. Years before it had been all cut away from level to level, leaving a void space so high and deep that the rays of our candles werelost in obscurity. We walked through it in mid-air, as it were, supported on cross beams with planks laid thereon. Beyond this we cameto a spot where a number of miners were at work in various places andpositions. 

One, a big, broad-shouldered man named Dan, was seated on a wooden boxhammering at the rock with tremendous energy. With him Captain Janconversed a few minutes on the appearance of the lode, and thenwhispered to me, "A good specimen of a man that, sir, and he's got anuncommon large family, "--then, turning to the man--"I say, Dan, you'vegot a biggish family, haven't you?"

"Iss, a'w iss, Cap'n Jan, I've a braave lot o' child'n. "

"How many have you had altogether, Dan?"

"I've had seventeen, sur, but ten of 'em's gone dead--only seven left. My brother Jim, though, he's had more than me. "

After a few more words we left this man, and, in another place, foundthis brother Jim, working in the roof of the level with several others. They had cut so high up in a slanting direction that they appeared to bein another chamber, which was brilliantly lighted with their candles. Jim, stripped naked to the waist, stood on the end of a plank, hammeringviolently. Looking up into his curious burrow, Captain Janshouted--"Hallo! Jim!"

"Hallo, Captain Jan. "

"Here's a gentleman wants to know how many children you've had. "

"How many child'n, say 'ee? Why, I've had nineteen, sur, but there'seleven of 'em gone dead. Seven of 'em did come in three years and ahalf--_three doubles and a single_--but there's only eight of 'em alivenow!"

I afterwards found that, although this man and his brother wereexceptions, the miners generally had very large families. 

While we were talking, a number of shots were heard going off in variousdirections. This was explained by Captain Jan. All the forenoon theminers employ their time in boring and charging the blast-holes. Aboutmid-day they fire them and then hasten to a clear part of the mine toeat luncheon and smoke their pipes while the gunpowder smoke clearsaway. This it does very slowly, taking sometimes more than an hour toclear sufficiently so as to let the men resume work. 

Immediately after the shots were heard, the men began to assemble. Theyemerged from the gloom on all sides like red hobgoblins--wet andperspiring. Some walked out of darkness from either end of the level;some stalked out from diverging levels; others slid, feet first, fromholes in the roof and sides, and some rose, head-foremost, from yawninggulfs in the floor. They all saluted Captain Jan as they came up, andeach stuck his candle against the wall and sat down on a heap of wetrubbish, to lunch. Some had Cornish pasty, and others a species ofheavy cake--so heavy that the fact of their being able to carry it atall said much for their digestive organs--but most of them ate plainbread, and all of them drank water which had been carried down from therealms of light in little canteens. Frugal though the fare was, itsufficed to brace them for the rest of the day's work. 

After a short talk with these men Captain Jan and I continued ourdescent of the ladders--down we went, ever downwards, until at last wereached the very bottom of that part of the mine--1230 feet below thesurface. 

Here we found only two men at work, with whom Captain Jan conversed fora time while we rested, and then proceeded to ascend "to grass" by thesame ladder-ways. If I felt that the descent was like never getting tothe bottom, much more did the ascent seem like never getting to the top!

I may remark here that the bottom which we had reached was not thebottom under the sea. At another time Captain Jan took me to thatsubmarine cavern where, as I have said, no sound ever reaches the earfrom the world above. There is, however, a level close under the seawhere the roar of Ocean is distinctly heard. It is in a part ofBotallack Mine named Wheal Cock. It was very rich in copper ore, andthe miners worked at the roof of it so vigorously, that they began tofear it would give way. One of them, therefore, in order to ascertainwhat thickness of solid rock still lay between them and the sea, bored asmall hole upwards, and advanced about three feet or so before the waterrushed in. Of course they had a wooden plug ready and stopped up thehole. But, as it was dangerous to cut away any more of the roof, theywere finally obliged unwillingly to forsake that part of the mine. 

This occurred some thirty years before my visit, yet when I went to seethe place, I found the wooden plug still hard and fast in the hole andquite immoveable. As I stood and listened I could well understand theanxiety of the miners, for at the upward rush of each wave, I could hearthe rattle of the boulders overhead, like monster cannon balls, and arepetition of the thunder when the waves retreated. 

On our way up the ladders we stopped several times to rest. At suchtimes Captain Jan related various anecdotes illustrative of mining life. 

"This is a place, " said he, on one occasion, "which reminds me of a manwho was always ready to go in for dangerous work. His name was OldMaggot. He was not really old, but he had a son named after himself, and his friends had to distinguish him from the young Maggot. "

So saying, Captain Jan trimmed his candle with nature's own pair ofsnuffers--the finger and thumb--and proceeded as follows:

"Some time ago the miners in Botallack came to an old deserted mine thatwas full of water--this is what miners call a `_house of water_. ' Theore there was rich, but the men were afraid to work it lest they shouldcome suddenly on the old mine and break a hole through to it--in otherwords `_hole to that house of water_. ' They stopped working at last, and no one seemed willing to run the risk of driving the hole andletting out the water. In this difficulty they appealed to Old Maggot, who at once agreed to do it. The old mine was about three-quarters of amile back from the sea-shore, but at that time it could only be got atby entering the _adit_ level from the shore. It was through this levelthat the water would have to escape. At the mouth of it a number of menassembled to see Old Maggot go in. In he went, alone, with a bunch ofcandles, and, as he walked along, he stuck a lighted candle every hereand there against the wall to light him out, --for he expected to have torun for it. 

"When he came to the place, the water was spirting out everywhere. ButOld Maggot didn't mind. He grasped his hammer and borer and began. Thework was done sooner than he had expected! Suddenly the rock gave wayand the water burst upon him, putting out his candle and turning himheels over head. He jumped up and tried to run, but the flood rose onhim, carried him off his legs, swept him right through the level, andhurled him through the adit-mouth at last, upon the sea-shore! He wasstunned a little, but soon recovered, and, beyond a few bruises and awetting, was nothing the worse of his adventure. 

"_That_, " said Captain Jan, pointing to the rock beside us, "was theplace where Old Maggot holed to the house of water, and _this_ was thelevel through which he was washed and through part of which I will nowconduct you. "

Accordingly, we traversed the level, and, coming to another shaft, continued our upward progress. 

While we were slowly toiling up, step by step, we were suddenly arrestedby the sound of voices singing in the far distance above us. The musicwas slow and solemn. Coming as it did so unexpectedly in such a strangeplace, it sounded quite magical and inexpressibly sweet. 

"Miners descending to work, " said my guide, as we listened. The air wasfamiliar to me, and, as it grew louder and louder, I recognised thatbeautiful tune called "French, " to which we are accustomed to sing the121st Psalm, "I to the hills will lift mine eyes. " Gradually the mencame down to us. We stood on one side. As they passed they ceasedsinging and nodded to Captain Jan. There were five or six stout fellowsand a boy. The latter was as active as his companions, and his treblevoice mingled tunefully with theirs as they continued the descent, andresumed the psalm, keeping time to the slow measured tread of theirsteps. We watched until their lights disappeared, and then resumed ourupward way, while the sweet strains grew fainter and fainter, until theywere gradually lost in the depths below. The pleasant memory of thatpsalm still remained with me, when I emerged from the ladder-shaft ofBotallack mine, and--after having been five hours underground--once moredrank in, (with a new and intensified power of appreciation), the freshair of heaven and the blessed influences of green fields and sunshine. 

To many a weird and curious part of the great mine did the obligingCaptain Jan lead me, but perhaps the most interesting part was thelowest depth under the sea, to which my wife accompanied us. This partis reached by the Boscawen shaft, a sloping one which the men descend inan iron car or gig. The car is let down and hauled up by an iron rope. Once this rope broke, the car flew to the bottom, was dashed against therock, and all the men--eight in number--were killed. 

In 1865 the Prince and Princess of Wales descended this shaft, andCaptain Jan was their amiable, not to say eccentric, guide. The Captainwas particularly enthusiastic in praise of the Princess. He said thatshe was a "fine intelligent young lady; that she asked no end ofquestions, would not rest until she understood everything, andafterwards undertook to explain it all to her less-informed companions. "A somewhat amusing incident occurred while they were underground. 

When about to begin his duty as guide it suddenly flashed across themind of poor Captain Jan that, in the excitement of the occasion, he hadforgotten to take gloves with him. He was about to lead the Princess bythe hand over the rugged floors of the levels. To offer to do sowithout gloves was not to be thought of. To procure gloves 200 fathomsbelow the sea was impossible. To borrow from the Prince or the Duke ofSutherland, who were of the party, was out of the question. What was heto do? Suddenly he remembered that he had a newspaper in his pocket. In desperation he wrapped his right hand in a piece of this, and, thuscovered, held it out to the Princess. She, innocently supposing thatthe paper was held up to be looked at, attempted to read. Thiscompelled Captain Jan to explain himself, whereupon she burst into ahearty fit of laughter, and, flinging away the paper, took the unglovedhand of the loyal but bashful miner. 

CHAPTER SIX. 

THE LAND OF THE VIKINGS. 

To this romantic land of mountain and flood I paid four visits atvarious times. These were meant as holiday and fishing rambles, butwere also utilised to gather material for future books. 

Norway, as every one knows, was the land of the ancient Vikings--thosegrand old rascally freebooters--whose indomitable pluck carried them intheir open galleys, (little better than big boats), all round the coastsof Europe, across the unknown sea to Iceland, and even to the shores ofAmerica itself, before the other nations dreamed of such a continent, and long before Columbus was born; who possessed a literature longbefore we did; whose blood we Britons carry in our veins; and from whomwe have inherited many of our best laws, much of our nauticalenterprise, and not a little of our mischief and pugnacity. 

Norway, too, is the land where Liberty once found refuge in distress, --that much abused goddess, whom, since the fall of Adam and Eve, Licensehas been endeavouring to defame, and Tyranny to murder, but who is stillalive and kicking--ay, and will continue to kick and flourish in spiteof all her enemies! Liberty found a home, and a rough welcome, strangeto say, among those pagans of the North, at a time when she was banishedfrom every other spot, even from the so-called Christian states inEurope. 

No wonder that that grand old country with its towering snow-cladmountains, its mighty fords, its lonesome glens and its historicalmemories should be styled "_gamle Norge_" (old Norway--as we speak ofold England), with feelings of affection by its energetic and nowpeaceful inhabitants. 

I was privileged to go to Norway as one of a yachting party. There weretwelve of us altogether, three ladies, three gentlemen, and a crew ofsix sailors. Our object was to see the land and take what of amusement, discomfort, or otherwise might chance to come in our way. We had arough passage over, and were very sick, sailors included! except thecaptain, an old Scotch highlander who may be described as a compound ofobstinacy and gutta-percha. It took us four days to cross. We studiedthe Norse language till we became sea-sick, wished for land till we gotwell, then resumed the study of Norse until we sighted the outlyingislands and finally cast anchor in the quaint old city and port ofBergen. 

Now, it is well to admit at once that some of us were poor linguists;but it is only just to add that we could not be expected to learn muchof any language in four days during intervals of internal derangement!However, it is curious to observe how very small an amount of Norse willsuffice for ordinary travellers--especially for Scotchmen. The Danishlanguage is the vernacular tongue of Norway and there is a strongaffinity between Danish, (or Norse), and broad Scotch. Roughlyspeaking, I should say that a mixture of three words of Norse to two ofbroad Scotch, with a powerful emphasis and a strong infusion ofimpudence, will carry you from the Naze to the North Cape in perfectcomfort. 

Bergen is a most interesting city, and our party had many smalladventures in it, which, however, I will not touch on here. But onescene--the fish-market--must not be passed over. 

There must certainly be something in the atmosphere of a fish-marketwhich tends to call forth the mental and physical energies of mankind, (perhaps I should rather say of _womankind_), and which calls forth atremendous flow of abusive language. Billingsgate is notorious, but Ithink that the Bergen fish-market beats it hollow. One or two phases ofthe national character are there displayed in perfection. It is theBillingsgate of Norway--the spot where Norse females are roused to apitch of frenzy that is not equalled, I believe, in any other country. 

There are one or two peculiarities about the Bergen market, too, whichare noteworthy, and which account in some degree for the franticexcitement that reigns there. The sellers of the fish, in the firstplace, are not women but men. The pier and fleet of boats beside itconstitute the market-place. The fishermen row their cargoes of fishdirect from the sea to the pier, and there transact sales. There is astout iron railing along the edge of that pier--a most needfulsafeguard--over which the servant girls of the town lean and look downat the fishermen, who look up at them with a calm serio-comic"don't-you-wish-you-may-get-it" expression that is deeply impressive. Bargains, of course, are not easily made, and it is in attempting tomake these that all the hubbub occurs. The noise is all on the women'sside. The men, secure in their floating position, and certain ofultimate success, pay very little attention to the flaxen-haired, blue-eyed damsels who shout at them like maniacs, waving their arms, shaking their fists, snapping their fingers, and flourishing theirumbrellas! They all carry umbrellas--cotton ones--of every colour inthe rainbow, chiefly pink and sky-blue, for Bergen is celebrated asbeing the most rainy city in Europe. 

The shouting of the girls is not only a safety-valve to their feelings, but is absolutely necessary in order to attract the attention of themen. As 15 or 20 of them usually scream at once, it is only she whoscreams loudest and flourishes her umbrella most vigorously that canobtain a hearing. The calm unruffled demeanour of the men is as much afeature in the scene as is the frenzy of the women. 

During one of my visits I saw a fisherman there who was the mostinteresting specimen of cool impudence I ever encountered. He wore ablue coat, knee-breeches, white worsted stockings, and on his head oflong yellow hair a red night-cap with a tall hat on top of all. When Idiscovered him he was looking up with a grave sarcastic expression intothe flushed countenance of a stout, blue-eyed lass who had just eagerlyoffered him _syv skillings_ (seven skillings), for a lot of fish. Thatwas about 3 and a half pence, the skilling being half a penny. The manhad declined by look, not by tongue, and the girl began to grow angry. 

"Haere du, fiskman, " (hear you, fisherman), she cried, "vil du har otteskillings?" (will you have eight skillings?)

The fisherman turned away and gazed out to sea. The girl grew crimsonin the face at this. 

"Fiskman, fiskman!" she cried, "vil du har _ni_ (nine) skillings?"

The fisherman kicked out of the way a lobster that was crawling too nearhis naked toes, and began to bale out the boat. The girl now seemed tobecome furious. Her blue eyes flashed like those of a tiger. Shegasped for breath, while her cotton umbrella flashed over thefisherman's head like a pink meteor. Had that umbrella been only a footlonger the tall black hat would have come to grief undoubtedly. Suddenly she paused, and in a tone of the deepest solemnity, said--

"Haere du, fiskman, vil du har ti (ten) shillings?"

The rock of Gibraltar is not more unyielding than was that "fiskman. "He took off his hat, removed his night-cap, smoothed his yellow hair, and wiped his forehead; then, replacing the cap and hat, he thrust bothhands into his coat pockets, turned his back on the entire market, andbegan to whistle. 

This was too much! It was past female endurance! The girl turnedround, scattered the bystanders right and left, and fled as if she hadresolved then and there to dash out her brains on the first post shemet, and so have done with men and fish for ever. But she was not donewith them yet! The spell was still upon her. Ere she had got a dozenyards away she paused, stood one moment in uncertainty, and then rushingback forced her way to the old position, and shouted in a tone thatmight have moved the hearts even of the dead fish--

"Fiskman, here du, vil du hav tolve?"

"Tolve" (or twelve) skillings was apparently not quite the sum he meantto take; but he could hold out no longer--he wavered--and the instantman wavers, woman's victory is gained! Smiling benignly he handed upthe fish to the girl, and held out his baling dish for the money. 

The storm was over! The girl walked off in triumph with her fish, not atrace of her late excitement visible, the pink cotton umbrella tuckedunder her arm, and her face beaming with the consciousness of havingconquered a "_fiskman_" in fair and open fight!

Steamers ply regularly between the north and south of Norway in summer, and an excursion in one of these is very enjoyable, not only on accountof the scenery, but because of the opportunity afforded of making theacquaintance of the people. I once made a voyage in one of thosesteamers from the Nordfjord to Bergen, and one thing struck me veryparticularly on that occasion, namely, the _quietness_ that seemed to becultivated by the people as if it were a virtue. I do not mean to saythat the passengers and crew were taciturn--far from it. They bustledabout actively; they were quite sociable and talkative, but no voice wasever raised to a loud pitch. Even the captain gave his orders in aquiet tone. Whether this quietness of demeanour is peculiar toNorwegian steamers in general, or was a feature of this steamer inparticular, I am not prepared to say. I can only state the fact of theprevailing quietude on that particular occasion without pretending toexplain it. 

The state of quiescence culminated at the dinner-table, for there thesilence was total! I never saw anything like it! When we had allassembled in the cabin, at the almost whispered invitation of thesteward, and had stood for a few minutes looking benign and expectant, but not talking, the captain entered, bowed to the company, was bowed toby the company, motioned us to our seats, whispered "_ver so goot_, " andsat down. 

Now this phrase "_ver so goot_" merits particular notice. It is anexpression that seems to me capable of extension and distension. It isa flexible, comfortable, jovial, rollicking expression. To give aperfect translation of it is not easy; but I cannot think of a betterway of conveying its meaning, than by saying that it is a compound ofthe phrases--"be so good, " "by your leave, " "what's your will, " "blessyour heart, " "all serene, " and "that's your sort!"

The first of these, "be so good, " is the literal translation--the othersare the super-induced sentiments, resulting from the tone and manner inwhich it is said. You may rely on it, that, when a Norwegian offers youanything and says _ver so goot_, he means you well and hopes you willmake yourself comfortable. 

Well, there was no carving at that dinner. The dishes were handed roundby waiters. First we had very thin rice soup with wine and raisins init--the eating of which seemed to me like spoiling one's dinner with abad pudding. This finished, the plates were removed. "_Now_, " thoughtI, "surely some one will converse with his neighbour during thisinterval. " No! not a lip moved! I looked at my right and left-handmen; I thought, for a moment, of venturing out upon the unknown deep ofa foreign tongue, and cleared my throat for that purpose, but every eyewas on me in an instant; and the sound of my own voice, even in thatfamiliar process, was so appalling that I said nothing! I looked at apretty girl opposite me. I felt certain that the youth beside her wasabout to speak--he looked as if he meant to, but he didn't. In a fewminutes the next course came on. This was a dish like bread-pudding, minus currants and raisins; it looked like a sweet dish, but it turnedout to be salt, --and pure melted butter, without any admixture of flouror water, was handed round as sauce. After this came veal and beefcutlets, which were eaten with cranberry jam, pickles, and potatoes. Fourth and last came a course of cold sponge-cake, with almonds andraisins stewed over it, so that, when we had eaten the cake as a sort ofcold pudding, we slid, naturally and pleasantly, into dessert, withoutthe delay of a change of plates. 

There was no remaining to drink at that dinner. When the last knife andfork were laid down, we all rose simultaneously, and then a generalprocess of bowing ensued. 

In regard to this proceeding I have never been able to arrive at a clearunderstanding, as to what was actually done or intended to be done, butmy impression is, that each bowed to the other, and all bowed to thecaptain; then the captain bowed to each individually and to allcollectively, after which a comprehensive bow was made by everybody toall the rest all round--and then we went on deck to smoke. As eachguest passed out, he or she said to the captain, "_tak for mad_, " whichis a manner and custom, and means "_thanks for meat_. " With theexception of these three words, not a single syllable, to the best of mybelief, was uttered by any one during the whole course of that meal!

Of course the gentlemen of our party performed many wonderful exploitsin fishing, for sea-trout and salmon abound in Norway, and the riverbeds are very rugged. 

In that land fishing cannot be styled the "gentle art. " It is atearing, wearing, rasping style of work. An account of the catching ofone fish will prove this. 

One morning I had gone off to fish by myself, with a Norwegian youth togaff and carry the fish. Coming to a sort of weir, with a deep poolabove and a riotous rapid below, I put on a salmon fly and cast into thepool. At once a fish rose and was hooked. It was not a big one--only12 pounds or thereabouts--but quite big enough to break rod and line ifnot played respectfully. 

For some time, as is usual with salmon, he rushed about the pool, leapedout of the water, and bored up stream. Then he took to going downstream steadily. Now this was awkward, for when a fish of even thatsize resolves to go down stream, nothing can stop him. My efforts weredirected to turning him before he reached the rapid, for, once intothat, I should be compelled to follow him or break the line--perhaps therod also. 

At last he reached the head of the rapid. I put on a heavy strain. Therod bent like a hoop and finally began to crack, so I was compelled tolet him go. 

At the lower end of the pool there was a sort of dam, along which I ran, but soon came to the end of it, where it was impossible to reach theshore owing to the dense bushes which overhung the stream. But the fishwas now in the rapid and was forced down by the foaming water. Beingvery unwilling to break the line or lose the fish, I went slowly intothe rapid until the water reached the top of my long wading boots--another step and it was over them, but that salmon would not--indeedcould not--stop. The water filled my boots at once, and felt very coldat first, but soon became warm, and each boot was converted into awarmish bath, in which the legs felt reasonably comfortable. 

I was reckless now, and went on, step by step, until I was up to thewaist, then to the arm-pits, and then I spread out one arm and swam offwhile with the other I held up the rod. 

The rapid was strong but deep, so that nothing obstructed me till Ireached the lower end, when a rock caught my legs and threw me into ahorizontal position, with the rod flat on the water. I was thrownagainst the bank, where my Norwegian boy was standing mouth open, eyesblazing, and hand extended to help me out. 

When I stood panting on the bank, I found that the fish was still on andstill inclined to descend, but I found that I could not follow, for mylegs were heavy as lead--the boots being full of water. To take thelatter off in a hurry and empty them was impossible. To think of losingthe fish after all was maddening. Suddenly a happy thought struck me. Handing the rod to the boy I lay down on my back, cocked my legs in theair, and the water ran like a deluge out at the back of my neck! Muchrelieved, I resumed the rod, but now I found that the fish had taken tosulking. 

This sulking is very perplexing, for the fish bores its nose into somedeep spot below a stone, and refuses to budge. Pulling him this way andthat way had no effect. Jerking him was useless. Even throwing stonesat him was of no avail. I know not how long he kept me there, but atlast I lost patience, and resolved to force him out, or break the line. But the line was so good and strong that it caused the rod to showsymptoms of giving way. 

Just then it struck me that as there were several posts of an old weirin the middle of the stream, he must have twisted the line round one ofthese, broken himself off and left me attached to it! I made up my mindtherefore to wade out to the old weir, and unwind the line, and gave therod to the boy to hold while I did so. 

The water was deep. It took me nearly up to the neck before I reachedthe shallow just above the posts, but, being thoroughly wet, that didnot matter. 

On reaching the post, and unwinding the line, I found to my surprisethat the fish was still there. At first I thought of letting go theline, and leaving the boy to play him; "but, " thought I, "the boy willbe sure to lose him, " so I held on to the line, and played it with myhands. Gradually the fish was tired out. I drew him slowly to my side, and gaffed him in four feet of water. 

Even then I was not sure of him, for when I got him under one arm hewriggled violently, so that it was difficult to wade ashore with him. In this difficulty I took him to a place where the shoal in the middleof the stream was about three inches deep. There I lay down on him, picked up a stone and hammered his head with it, while the purling waterrippled pleasantly over my face. 

The whole of this operation took me upwards of two hours. It will beseen, therefore, that fishing in Norway, as I have said, cannot becalled "the gentle art. "

One extremely interesting excursion that we made was to a place namedthe Esse Fjord. The natives here were very hospitable and kind. Besides that, they were fat! It would almost seem as if fat andgood-humour were invariably united; for nearly all the natives of theEsse Fjord were good-humoured and stout!

The language at this place perplexed me not a little. Nevertheless theold proverb, "where there's a will there's a way, " held good, for theway in which I conversed with the natives of that region was astoundingeven to myself. 

One bluff, good-humoured fellow took me off to see his house and family. I may as well admit, here, that I am not a good linguist, and usuallyleft our ladies to do the talking! But on this occasion I found myself, for the first time, alone with a Norwegian! fairly left to my ownresources. 

Well, I began by stringing together all the Norse I knew, (which wasn'tmuch), and endeavoured to look as if I knew a great deal more. But Isoon found that the list of sentences, which I had learned from Murray's_Handbook_, did not avail much in a lengthened conversation. My speechquickly degenerated into sounds that were almost unintelligible toeither my new friend or myself! and I terminated at last in a mixture ofbad Norse and broad Scotch. I have already remarked on the strongfamily-likeness between Norse and broad Scotch. Here are a fewspecimens. 

They call a cow a _coo_! A house is a _hoose_, and a mouse is a_moose_! _Gaae til land_, is go to land, or go ashore. _Tak ain stole_is take a stool, or sit down. Vil du tak am dram? scarcely needstranslation--will you take a dram! and the usual answer to that questionis equally clear and emphatic--"Ya, jeg vil tak am dram!" One day ourpilot saw the boat of a fisherman, (or fiskman), not far off. He knewwe wanted fish, so, putting his hands to his mouth, he shouted "Fiskman!har du fisk to sell?" If you talk of bathing, they will advise you to"dook oonder;" and should a mother present her baby to you, she willcall it her "smook barn"--her pretty bairn--smook being the Norse wordfor "pretty, " and _barn_ for child; and it is a curious fact, worthy ofparticular note, that all the mothers in Norway think their bairnssmook--very smook! and they never hesitate to tell you so--why, I cannotimagine, unless it be that if you were not told you would not be likelyto find it out for yourself. 

Despite our difficulty of communication, my fat friend and I soon becamevery amicable and talkative. He told me no end of stories, of which Idid not comprehend a sentence, but looked as if I did--smiled, nodded myhead, and said "ya, ya, "--to which he always replied "ya, ya, "--wavinghis arms, and slapping his breast, and rolling his eyes, as he bustledalong beside me towards his dwelling. The house was perched on a rockclose to the water's edge. Here my host found another subject toexpatiate upon and dance round, in the shape of his own baby, a soft, smooth, little imitation of himself, which lay sleeping in its crib, like a small cupid. The man was evidently extremely fond of thisinfant. He went quite into ecstasies about it; now gazing at it withlooks of pensive admiration; anon, starting and looking at me as if tosay, "_Did you ever, in all your life, see such a beautiful cherub_?"The man's enthusiasm was really catching--I began to feel quite afatherly interest in the cherub myself. 

"Oh!" he cried, in rapture, "det er smook barn!"

"Ya, ya, " said I, "megit smook, " (very pretty)--although I must confessthat _smoked_ bairn would have been nearer the mark, for it was as brownas a red-herring. 

I spent an agreeable, though I must confess mentally confused, afternoonwith this gentleman, who, (when he succeeded in tearing himself awayfrom that much-loved and megit smook barn), introduced me to his twosisters, who were stout and good-humoured like himself. They treated meto a cup of excellent coffee, and to a good deal more ofincomprehensible conversation. Altogether, the natives of the EsseFjord made a deep impression on us, and we parted from their grand andgloomy but hospitable shores with much regret. 

I had hoped, good reader, to have jotted down some more of my personalreminiscences of travel--in Algiers, the "Pirate City, " at the Cape ofGood Hope, and elsewhere--but bad health is not to be denied, and I findthat I must hold my hand. 

Perchance this may be no misfortune, for possibly the "garrulity of age"is descending on me!

Before closing this sketch, however, I would say briefly, that in all mywritings I have always tried--how far successfully I know not--toadvance the cause of Truth and Light, and to induce my readers to puttheir trust in the love of God our Saviour, for this life as well as thelife to come. 

CHAPTER SEVEN. 

THE BURGLARS AND THE PARSON. 

A Country mansion in the south of England. The sun rising over alaurel-hedge, flooding the ivy-covered walls with light, and blazing inat the large bay-window of the dining-room. 

"Take my word for it, Robin, if ever this 'ouse is broke into, it willbe by the dinin'-room winder. "

So spake the gardener of the mansion--which was also the parsonage--tohis young assistant as they passed one morning in front of the window inquestion. "For why?" he continued; "the winder is low, an' the catchesain't overstrong, an there's no bells on the shutters, an' it lies handyto the wall o' the back lane. "

To this Robin made no response, for Robin was young and phlegmatic. Hewas also strong. 

The gardener, Simon by name, was not one of the prophets--though inregard to the weather and morals he considered himself one--but if anyperson had chanced to overhear the conversation of two men seated in aneighbouring public-house that morning, that person would have inclinedto give the gardener credit for some sort of second sight. 

"Bill, " growled one of the said men, over his beer, in a low, almostinaudible tone, "I've bin up to look at the 'ouse, an' the dinin'-roomwinder'll be as easy to open as a door on the latch. I had a good lookat it. "

"You are the man for cheek an' pluck, " growled the other man, over hisbeer, with a glance of admiration at his comrade. "How ever did youmanage it, Dick?"

"The usual way, in course. Comed it soft over the 'ousemaid; said I wasa gardener in search of a job, an' would she mind tellin' me where thehead-gardener was? You see, Bill, I had twigged him in front o' the'ouse five minutes before. `I don't know as he's got any odd jobs togive 'ee, ' says she; `but he's in the front garden at this minute. Ifyou goes round, you'll find him. ' `Hall right, my dear, ' says I; an'away I goes right round past the dinin'-room winder, where I stops an'looks about, like as if I was awful anxious to find somebody. In coorseI glanced in, an' saw the fastenin's. 

"They couldn't keep out a babby! Sideboard all right at the t'otherend, with a lookin'-glass over it--to help folk, I fancy, to see whatthey look like w'en they're a-eatin' their wittles. Anyhow, it helpedme to see the gardener comin' up one o' the side walks; so I wheelsabout double quick, an' looked pleased to see him. 

"`Hallo!' cries he. 

"`I was lookin' for you, ' says I, quite easy like. 

"`Did you expect to find me in the dinin'-room?' says he. 

"`Not just that, ' says I, `but it's nat'ral for a feller to look at a'andsome room w'en he chances to pass it. '

"`Ah, ' says he, in a sort o' way as I didn't quite like. `What d'eewant wi' me?'

"`I wants a job, ' says I. 

"`Are you a gardener?' he axed. 

"`Yes--leastwise, ' says I, `I've worked a goodish bit in gardings in mytime, an' can turn my 'and to a'most anythink. '

"`Oh, ' says he. `Look 'ere, my man, what d'ee call that there tree?'He p'inted to one close alongside. 

"`That?' says I. `Well, it--it looks uncommon like a happle. '

"`Do it?' says he. `Now look 'ere, you be off as fast as your legs cantake you, or I'll set the 'ousedog at 'ee. '

"W'en he said that, Bill, I do assure you, lad, that my experience inthe ring seemed to fly into my knuckles, an' it was as much as ever Icould do to keep my left off his nob and my right out of hisbreadbasket. But I restrained myself. If there's one thing I'm proudof, Bill, it's the wirtue o' self-restraint in the way o' business. Iwheeled about, held up my nose, an' walked off wi' the air of a dook. You see, I didn't want for to have no more words wi' the gardener, --forwhy? because I'd seen all I wanted to see--d'ee see? But there wasone--no, two--things I saw which it was as well I did see. "

"An' what was they?" asked Bill. 

"Two statters. "

"An' what are statters?"

"Man alive I don't ye know? It's them things that they make out o'stone, an' marable, an' chalk--sometimes men, sometimes women, sometimesbabbies, an' mostly with no clo'es on to speak of--"

"Oh! I know; but _I_ call 'em statoos. Fire away, Dick; what see'd youabout the statoos?"

"Why, I see'd that they wasn't made in the usual way of stone or chalk, but of iron. I have heerd say that sodgers long ago used to fight inthem sort o' dresses, though I don't believe it myself. Anyhow, therethey was, the two of 'em, one on each side of the winder, that stiffthat they could stand without nobody inside of 'em, an' one of 'em witha big thing on his shoulder, as if he wor ready to smash somebody overthe head. I thought to myself if you an' me, Bill, had come on 'emunbeknown like, we'd ha' got such a start as might have caused us tomake a noise. But I hadn't time to think much, for it was just then Igot sight o' the gardener. "

"Now my plan is, " continued Dick, swigging off his beer, and loweringhis voice to a still more confidential tone, as he looked cautiouslyround, "my plan is to hang about here till dark, then take to thenearest plantation, an' wait till the moon goes down, which will beabout two o'clock i' the mornin'--when it will be about time for us togo in and win. "

"All right, " said Bill, who was not loquacious. 

But Bill was mistaken, for it was all wrong. 

There was indeed no one in the public at that early hour of the day tooverhear the muttered conversation of the plotters, and the box in whichthey sat was too remote from the bar to permit of their words beingoverheard, but there was a broken pane of glass in a window at theirelbow, with a seat outside immediately below it. Just before theburglars entered the house they had observed this seat, and noticed thatno one was on it; but they failed to note that a small, sleepy-headedpot-boy lay at full length underneath it, basking in the sunshine andmeditating on nothing--that is, nothing in particular. 

At first little Pat paid no attention to the monotonous voices thatgrowled softly over his head, but one or two words that he caughtinduced him to open his eyes very wide, rise softly from his lair andsit down on the seat, cock one ear intelligently upward, and remain soabsolutely motionless that Dick, had he seen him, might have mistakenhim for a very perfect human "statter. "

When little Pat thought that he had heard enough, he slid off the seat, crawled close along the side of the house, doubled round the corner, rose up, and ran off towards the parsonage as fast as his little legscould go. 

The Reverend Theophilus Stronghand was a younger son of a family so oldthat those families which "came over with the Conqueror" were meremoderns in comparison. Its origin, indeed, is lost in those mists ofantiquity which have already swallowed up so many millions of the humanrace, and seem destined to go on swallowing, with ever-increasingappetite, to the end of time. The Stronghands were great warriors--ofcourse. They could hardly have developed into a family otherwise. TheReverend Theophilus, however, was a man of peace. We do not say this tohis disparagement. He was by no means a degenerate son of the family. Physically he was powerful, broad and tall, and his courage was high;but spiritually he was gentle, and in manner urbane. He drew to thechurch as naturally as a duck draws to the water, and did not by anymeans grudge to his elder brothers the army, the navy, and the Bar. 

One of his pet theories was, to overcome by love, and he carried thistheory into practice with considerable success. 

Perhaps no one put this theory to the test more severely or frequentlythan his only son Harry. War had been that young gentleman's chief joyin life from the cradle. He began by shaking his fat fists at theUniverse in general. War-to-the-knife with nurse was the chroniccondition of a stormy childhood. Intermittent warfare with his onlysister Emmie chequered the sky of his early boyhood, and a decidedtendency to disobey wrung the soul of his poor mother, and was the causeof no little anxiety to his father; while mischief, pure and simple forits own sake, was the cherished object of his life. Nevertheless, HarryStronghand was a lovable boy, and love was the only power that couldsway him. 

The lad grew better as he grew older. Love began to gain the day, andpeace began--slowly at first--to descend on the parsonage; but thedesire for mischief--which the boy named "fun"--had not been quitedislodged at the time we write of. As Harry had reached the age offifteen, feared nothing, and was quick-witted and ingenious, hisoccasional devices not only got him into frequent hot water, but werethe source of some amusement to his people--and he still pretty wellruled his easy-going father and the house generally with a rod of iron. 

It was to Harry Stronghand that little Pat directed his steps, afteroverhearing the conversation which we have related. Pat knew that theson of the parsonage was a hero, and, in his opinion, the mostintelligent member of the family, and the best fitted to cope with thefacts which he had to reveal. He met the object of his search on theroad. 

"Plaze yer honour, " said Pat--who was an Irishman, and therefore"honoured" everybody--"there's two tramps at the public as is plottin'to break into your house i' the mornin'. "

"You don't mean it, do you?" returned Harry, with a smile and raisedeyebrows. 

"That's just what I do, yer honour. I heard 'em reel off the wholeplan. "

Hereupon the boy related all that he knew to the youth, who leanedagainst a gate and nodded his curly head approvingly until the story wasfinished. 

"You've not mentioned this to any one, have you, Pat?"

"Niver a sowl but yersilf, sir. "

"You're a sensible boy, Pat. Here's a shilling for you--and, look here, Pat, if you keep dark upon the matter till after breakfast to-morrow anddon't open your lips to a living soul about it, I'll give you half acrown. "

"Thank yer honour. "

"Now mind--no hints to the police; no remarks to your master. Be dumb, in fact, from this moment, else I won't give you a penny. "

"Sure I've forgot all about it already, sir, " said the boy, with a winkso expressive that Harry felt his word to be as good as his bond, andwent back to the parsonage laughing. 

Arrived there, he went in search of his sister, but found that she wasout. 

"Just as well, " he muttered, descending to the dining-room with hishands deep in his pockets, a pleased expression on his handsome mouth, and a stern frown on his brows. "It would not be safe to make aconfidant of her in so delicate a matter. No, I'll do it all alone. But how to do it? That is the question. Shall I invite the aid of thepolice? Perish the thought! Shall I consult the Pater? Better not. The dear, self-devoted man might take it out of my hands altogether. "

Harry paused in profound meditation. He was standing near the window atthe time, with the "statters" on either hand of him. 

They were complete suits of armour--one representing a knight in platearmour, the other a Crusader in chain-mail. Both had been in the familysince two of the Stronghand warriors had followed Richard of the LionHeart to the East. As the eldest brother of the Reverend Theophilus wasin India, the second was on the deep, and the lawyer was dead, the ironshells of the ancient warriors had naturally found a resting-place inthe parsonage, along with several family portraits, which seemed to showthat the males of the race were prone to look very stern, and to standin the neighbourhood of pillars and red curtains in very dark weather, while the females were addicted to old lace, scant clothing, and benignsmiles. One of the warriors stood contemplatively leaning on his sword. The other rested a heavy mace on his shoulder, as if he still retaineda faint hope that something might turn up to justify his striking yetone more blow. 

"What would you advise, old man?" said Harry, glancing up at theCrusader with the mace. 

The question was put gravely, for, ever since he could walk or doanything, the boy had amused himself by putting free-and-easy questionsto the suits of armour, or defying them to mortal combat. As he wastrue to ancient friendships, he had acquired the habit of giving thewarriors an occasional nod or word of recognition long after he hadceased to play with them. 

"Shades of my ancestors!" exclaimed Harry with sudden animation, gazingearnestly at the Crusader on his right, "the very thing! I'll do it. "

That evening, after tea, he went to his father's study. 

"May I sit up in the dining-room to-night, father, till two in themorning?"

"Well, it will puzzle you to do that to-night, my son; but you may ifyou have a good reason. "

"My reason is that I have a problem--a very curious problem--to workout, and as I positively shan't be able to sleep until I've done it, Imay just as well sit up as not. "

"Do as you please, Harry; I shall probably be up till that hour myself--if not later--for unexpected calls on my time have prevented thepreparation of a sermon about which I have had much anxious thought oflate. "

"Indeed, father!" remarked the son, in a sympathetic tone, on observingthat the Reverend Theophilus passed his hand somewhat wearily over hisbrow. "What may be your text?"

"`Be gentle, showing meekness to all men, '" answered the worthy man, with an abstracted faraway look, as if he were wrestling in anticipationwith the seventh head. 

"Well, good-night, father, and please don't think it necessary to comein upon me to see how I am getting on. I never can work out a difficultproblem if there is a chance of interruption. "

"All right, my son--good-night. "

"H'm, " thought Harry, as he returned to the dining-room in a meditativemood; "I am afraid, daddy, that you'll find it hard to be gentle to_some_ men to-night! However, we shall see. "

Ringing the bell, he stood with his back to the fire, gazing at theceiling. The summons was answered by the gardener, who also performedthe functions of footman and man-of-all-work at the parsonage. 

"Simon, I am going out, and may not be home till late. I want eitheryou or Robin to sit up for me. "

"Very well, sir. "

"And, " continued the youth, with an air of offhand gravity, "I shall beobliged to sit up working well into the morning, so you may have a cupof strong coffee ready for me. Wait until I ring for it--perhaps abouttwo in the morning. I shall sit in the dining-room, but don't bring ituntil I ring. Mind that, for I can't stand interruption--as you know. "

"Yes, sir. "

Simon knew his imperious young master too well to make any comment onhis commands. He returned, therefore, to the kitchen, told the cook ofthe order he had received to sit up and take Master Harry's coffee tohim when he should ring, and made arrangements with Robin to sit up andhelp him to enliven his vigil with a game of draughts. 

Having thus made his arrangements, Harry Stronghand went out to enjoy awalk. He was a tremendous walker--thought nothing of twenty or thirtymiles, and rather preferred to walk at night than during the day, especially when moon and stars were shining. Perhaps it was a dash ofpoetry in his nature that induced this preference. 

About midnight he returned, went straight to the dining-room, and, entering, shut the door, while Simon retired to his own regions andresumed his game with Robin. 

A small fire was burning in the dining-room grate, the flickering flamesof which leaped up occasionally, illuminated the frowning ancestors onthe walls, and gleamed on the armour of the ancient knight and theCrusader. 

Walking up to the latter, Harry looked at him sternly; but as he looked, his mouth relaxed into a peculiar smile, and displayed his magnificentteeth as far back as the molars. Then he went to the window, saw thatthe fastenings were right, and drew down the blinds. He did not thinkit needful to close the shutters, but he drew a thick heavy curtainacross the opening of the bay-window, so as to shut it off effectuallyfrom the rest of the room. This curtain was so arranged that the ironsentinels were not covered by it, but were left in the room, as it were, to mount guard over the curtain. 

This done, the youth turned again to the Crusader and mounted behind himon the low pedestal on which he stood. Unfastening his chain-mailarmour at the back, he opened him up, so to speak, and went in. Thesuit fitted him fairly well, for Harry was a tall, strapping youth forhis years, and when he looked out at the aperture of the headpiece andsmiled grimly, he seemed by no means a degenerate warrior. 

Returning to the fireplace, he sat down in an easy chair and buriedhimself in a favourite author. 

One o'clock struck. Harry glanced up, nodded pleasantly, as if onfamiliar terms with Time, and resumed his author. The timepiece chimedthe quarters. This was convenient. It prevented anxious watchfulness. The half-hour chimed. Harry did not move. Then the three-quarters rangout in silvery tones. Thereupon Harry arose, shut up his author, blewout his light, drew back the heavy curtains, and, returning to thearm-chair sat down to listen in comparative darkness. 

The moon by that time had set and darkness profound had settled downupon that part of the universe. The embers in the grate were justsufficient to render objects in the room barely visible and ghost-like. 

Presently there was the slightest imaginable sound near the bay-window. It might have been the Crusader's ghost, but that was not likely, for atthe moment something very like Harry's ghost flitted across the room andentered into the warrior. 

Again the sound was heard, more decidedly than before. It was followedby a sharp click as the inefficient catch was forced back. Then thesash began to rise, softly, slowly--an eighth of an inch at a time. During this process Harry remained invisible and inactive; Paterfamiliasin the study addressed himself to the sixth head of his discourse, andthe gardener with his satellite hung in silent meditation over thedraught-board in the kitchen. 

After the sash stopped rising, the centre blind was moved gently to oneside, and the head of Dick appeared with a furtive expression on thecountenance. For a few seconds his eyes roved around without muchapparent purpose; then, as they became accustomed to the dim light, agleam of intelligence shot from them; the rugged head turned to oneside; the coarse mouth turned still more to one side in its effort toaddress some one behind, and, in a whisper that would have been hoarsehad it been loud enough, Dick said--

"Hall right, Bill. We won't need matches. Keep clear o' the stattersin passin'. "

As he spoke, Dick's hobnailed boot appeared, his corduroy leg followed, and next moment he stood in the room with a menacing look and attitudeand a short thick bludgeon in his knuckly hand. Bill quickly stoodbeside him. After another cautious look round, the two advanced withextreme care--each step so carefully taken that the hobnails fell likerose-leaves on the carpet. Feeling that the "coast was clear, " Dickadvanced with more confidence, until he stood between the ancientwarriors, whose pedestals raised them considerably above his head. 

At that moment there was a sharp click, as of an iron hinge. Dick'sheart seemed to leap into his throat. Before he could swallow it, theiron mace of the Crusader descended with stunning violence on his crown. 

Well was it for the misguided man that morning that he happened to havepurchased a new and strong billycock the day before, else would thatmace have sent him--as it had sent many a Saracen of old--to his longhome. The blow effectually spoilt the billycock, however, and stretchedits owner insensible on the floor. 

The other burglar was too close behind his comrade to permit of a secondblow being struck. The lively Crusader, however, sprang upon him, threwhis mailed arms round his neck, and held him fast. 

And now began a combat of wondrous ferocity and rare conditions. Thecombatants were unequally matched, for the man was huge and muscular, while the youth was undeveloped and slender, but what the latter lackedin brute force was counterbalanced by the weight of his armour, hisyouthful agility, and his indomitable pluck. By a deft movement of hislegs he caused Bill to come down on his back, and fell upon him with allhis weight plus that of the Crusader. Annoyed at this, and desperatelyanxious to escape before the house should be alarmed, Bill delivered aroundabout blow with his practised fist that ought to have driven in theskull of his opponent, but it only scarified the man's knuckles on theCrusader's helmet. He tried another on the ribs, but the folds ofchain-mail rendered that abortive. Then the burglar essayedstrangulation, but there again the folds of mail foiled him. Duringthese unavailing efforts the unconscious Dick came in for a fewaccidental raps and squeezes as he lay prone beside them. 

Meanwhile, the Crusader adopted the plan of masterly inactivity, bysimply holding on tight and doing nothing. He did not shout for help, because, being bull-doggish in his nature, he preferred to fight insilent ferocity. Exasperated as well as worn by this method, Billbecame reckless, and made several wild plunges to regain his feet. Hedid not succeed, but he managed to come against the pedestal of theknight in mail with great violence. The iron warrior lost his balance, toppled over, and came down on the combatants with a hideous crash, suggestive of coal-scuttles and fire-irons. 

Sleep, sermons, and draughts could no longer enchain! Mrs Stronghandawoke, buried her startled head in the bed-clothes, and quaked. Emmiesprang out of bed and huddled on her clothes, under the impression thatfire-engines were at work. The Reverend Theophilus leaped up, seizedthe study poker and a lamp, and rushed towards the dining-room. Overturning the draught-board, Simon grasped a rolling-pin, Robin thetongs, and both made for the same place. They all collided at the door, burst it open, and advanced to the scene of war. 

It was a strange scene! Bill and the Crusader, still struggling, weregiving the remains of the other knight a lively time of it, and Dick, just beginning to recover, was sitting with a dazed look in a sea ofiron debris. 

"That's right; hit him hard, father!" cried Harry, trying to look round. 

"No, don't, sir, " cried the burglar; "I gives in. "

"Let my son--let the Crusa--let _him_ go, then, " said the Reverendgentleman, raising his poker. 

"I can't, sir, 'cause he won't let _me_ go. "

"All right, I'll let you go now, " said Harry, unclasping his arms andrising with a long-drawn sigh. "Now you. Come to the light and let'shave a look at you. "

So saying, the lad thrust his mailed hand into the burglar'sneckerchief, and assisted by the Reverend Theophilus, led his captive tothe light which had been put on the table. The gardener and Robin didthe same with Dick. For one moment it seemed as if the two menmeditated a rush for freedom, for they both glanced at the still openwindow, but the stalwart Simon with the rolling-pin and the sturdy Robinwith the tongs stood between them and that mode of exit, while theCrusader with his mace and huge Mr Stronghand with the study pokerstood on either side of them. They thought better of it. "Bring twochairs here, " said the clergyman, in a gentle yet decided tone. 

Robin and Harry obeyed--the latter wondering what "the governor wasgoing to be up to. "

"Sit down, " said the clergyman, quietly and with much solemnity. 

The burglars humbly obeyed. 

"Now, my men, I am going to preach you a sermon. "

"That's right, father, " interrupted Harry, in gleeful surprise. "Giveit 'em hot. Don't spare them. Put plenty of brimstone into it. "

But, to Harry's intense disgust, his father put no brimstone into it atall. On the contrary, without availing himself of heads orsubdivisions, he pointed out in a few plain words the evil of theircourse, and the only method of escaping from that evil. Then he toldthem that penal servitude for many years was their due according to thelaw of the land. 

"Now, " said he, in conclusion, "you are both of you young and strong menwho may yet do good service and honest work in the land. I have nodesire to ruin your lives. Penal servitude might do so. Forgivenessmay save you--therefore I forgive you! There is the open window. Youare at liberty to go. "

The burglars had been gazing at their reprover with wide-open eyes. They now turned and gazed at each other with half-open mouths; then theyagain turned to the clergyman as if in doubt, but with a benignant smilehe again pointed to the open window. 

They rose like men in a dream, went softly across the room, steppedhumbly out, and melted into darkness. 

The parson's conduct may not have been in accordance with law, but itwas eminently successful, for it is recorded that those burglars laidthat sermon seriously to heart--at all events, they never again brokeinto that parsonage, and never again was there occasion for Harry tocall in the services of the ancient knight or the Crusader. 

CHAPTER EIGHT. 

JIM GREELY, THE NORTH SEA SKIPPER. 

When Nellie Sumner married James Greely--the strapping skipper of aYarmouth fishing-smack--there was not a prettier girl in all the town, at least so said, or thought, most of the men and many of the women whodwelt near her. Of course there were differences of opinion on thepoint, but there was no doubt whatever about it in the mind of JamesGreely, who was overwhelmed with astonishment, as well as joy, at whathe styled his "luck in catching such a splendid wife. "

And there was good ground for his strong feeling, for Nellie was neat, tidy, and good-humoured, as well as good-looking, and she made Jim'shome as neat and tidy as herself. 

"There's always sunshine inside o' my house, " said Greely to his matesonce, "no matter what sort o' weather there may be outside. "

Ere long a squall struck that house--a squall that moved the feelings ofour fisherman more deeply than the fiercest gale he had ever faced onthe wild North Sea, for it was the squall of a juvenile Jim! From thatdate the fisherman was wont to remark, with a quiet smile ofsatisfaction, that he had got moonlight now, as well as sunshine, in theYarmouth home. 

The only matter that distressed the family at first was that the fathersaw so little of his lightsome home; for, his calling being that of adeep-sea smacksman, or trawler, by far the greater part of ourfisherman's rugged life was spent on the restless ocean. Two months atsea and eight days ashore was the unvarying routine of Jim's life, summer and winter, all the year round. That is to say, about fifty dayson shore out of the year, and three hundred and fifteen days on what thecockney greengrocer living next door to Jim styled the "'owlin' deep. "

And, truly, the greengrocer was not far wrong, for the wild North Seadoes a good deal of howling, off and on, during the year, to say nothingof whistling and shrieking and other boisterous practices when thewinter gales are high. 

But a cloud began to descend, very gradually at first, on James Greely'sdwelling, for a demon--a very familiar one on the North Sea--had beentwining his arms for a considerable time round the stalwart fisherman. 

At the time of Jim's marriage those mission-ships of the Dutch--and, wemay add, of the devil--named _copers_, or floating grog-shops, wereplying their deadly traffic in strong drink full swing among thetrawlers of the North Sea. Through God's blessing the mission-ships ofthe Cross have now nearly driven the _copers_ off the sea, but at thetime we write of the Dutchmen had it all their own way, and many asplendid man, whom toil, cold, hardship, and fierce conflict with theelements could not subdue, was laid low by the poisonous spirits of the_coper_. Greely went to the _copers_ at first to buy tobacco, but, being a hearty, sociable fellow, he had no objection to take anoccasional friendly dram. Gradually, imperceptibly, he became enslaved. He did not give way at once. He was too much of a man for that. Manya deadly battle had he with the demon--known only to himself and God--but as he fought in his own strength, of course he failed; failed againand again, until he finally gave way to despair. 

Poor Nellie was quick to note the change, and tried, with a brave heartat first but a sinking heart at last, to save him, but without success. The eight days which used to be spent in the sunny home came at last tobe spent in the Green Dragon public-house; and in course of time Nelliewas taught by bitter experience that if her husband, on his periodicalreturn from the sea, went straight from the smack to the public-house, it was little that she would see of him during his spell on shore. Evencurly-headed juvenile Jimmie--his father's pride--ceased to overcome thecounter-attraction of strong drink. 

Is it to be wondered at that Nellie lost some of her oldcharacteristics--that, the wages being spent on drink, she found it hardto provide the mere necessaries of life for herself and her boy, andthat she finally gave up the struggle to keep either person or house asneat and orderly as of yore, while a haggard look and lines of carebegan to spoil the beauty of her countenance? Or is it a matter forsurprise that her temper began to give way under the strain?

"You are ruining yourself and killing me, " said the sorely-tried wifeone evening--the last evening of a spell on shore--as Jim staggered intothe once sunny home to bid his wife good-bye. 

It was the first time that Nellie had spoken roughly to him. He made noanswer at first. He was angry. The Green Dragon had begun todemoralise him, and the reproof which ought to have melted only hardenedhim. 

"The last of the coals are gone, " continued the wife with bitterness inher tone, "and there's scarcely enough of bread in the house for a goodsupper to Jimmie. You should be ashamed of yourself, Jim. "

A glare of drunken anger shot fiercely from the fisherman's eyes. Noword did he utter. Turning on his heel, he strode out of the house andshut the door after him with cannon-shot violence. 

"O Jim--stop Jim!" burst from timid Nellie. "I'll never--"

She ceased abruptly, for the terrified Jimmie was clinging to herskirts, and her husband was beyond the reach of her voice. Falling onher knees, she prayed to God passionately for pardon. It was theirfirst quarrel. She ended by throwing herself on her bed and burstinginto a fit of sobbing that not only horrified but astounded little Jim. To see his mother sobbing wildly while he was quiet and grave was acomplete inversion of all his former experiences. As if to carry outthe spirit of the situation, he proceeded to act the part of comforterby stroking his mother's brown hair with his fat little hand until theburst of grief subsided. 

"Dare, you's dood now, muzzer. Tiss me!" he said. 

Nellie flung her arms round the child and kissed him fervently. 

Meanwhile James Greely's smack, the _Dolphin_, was running down the Yarebefore a stiff breeze, and Jim himself had commenced the most momentous, and, in one sense, disastrous voyage of his life. As he stood at thetiller, guiding his vessel with consummate skill out into the darkeningwaters, his heart felt like lead. He would have given all he possessedto recall the past hour, to have once again the opportunity of biddingNellie good-bye as he had been wont to do in the days that were gone. But it was too late. Wishes and repentance, he knew, avail nothing toundo a deed that is done. 

Jim toiled with that branch of the North Sea fleets which is named the"Short Blue. " It was trawling at a part of the North Sea called "BotneyGut" at that time, but our fisherman had been told that it was fishingat another part named the "Silverpits. " It blew hard from the nor'west, with much snow, so that Jim took a long time to reach his destination. But no "Short Blue" fleet was to be seen at the Silverpits. 

To the eyes of ordinary men the North Sea is a uniform expanse of water, calm or raging as the case may be. Not so to the deep-sea trawler. Jim's intimate knowledge of localities, his sounding-lead and the natureof the bottom, etcetera, enabled him at any time to make for, and surelyfind, any of the submarine banks. But fleets, though distinguished by aname, have no "local habitation. " They may be on the "Dogger Bank"to-day, on the "Swarte Bank" or the "Great Silverpits" to-morrow. Withhundreds of miles of open sea around, and neither milestone norfinger-post to direct, a lost fleet is not unlike a lost needle in ahaystack. Fortunately Jim discovered a brother smacksman looking, likehimself, for his own fleet. Being to windward the brother ran down tohim. 

"What cheer O! Have 'ee seen anything o' the Red Cross Fleet?" roaredthe skipper, with the power of a brazen trumpet. 

"No, " shouted Jim, in similar tones. "I'm lookin' for the Short Blue. "

"I passed it yesterday, bearin' away for Botney Gut. "

"'Bout ship" went Jim, and away with a stiff breeze on his quarter. Hesoon found the fleet--a crowd of smacks, all heading in the samedirection, with their huge trawling nets down and bending over beforewhat was styled a good "fishing-breeze. " It requires a stiff breeze tohaul a heavy net, with its forty or fifty feet beam and other gear, overthe rough bottom of the North Sea. With a slight breeze and the netdown a smack would be simply anchored by the stern to her own gear. 

Down went Jim's net, and, like a well-drilled fisherman, he fell intoline. It was a rough grey day with a little snow falling, whichwhitened all the ropes and covered the decks with slush. 

Greely's crew had become demoralised, like their skipper. There werefive men and a fair-haired boy. All could drink and swear except theboy. Charlie was the only son of his mother, and she was a good woman, besides being a widow. Charlie was the smack's cook. 

"Grub's ready, " cried the boy, putting his head up the hatchway afterthe gear was down. 

He did not name the meal. Smacksmen have a way of taking foodirregularly at all or any hours, when circumstances permit, and are easyabout the name so long as they get it, and plenty of it. A breakfast atmid-day after a night of hardest toil might be regarded indifferently asa luncheon or an early dinner. 

Black Whistler, the mate, who stood at the helm, pronounced a curse uponthe weather by way of reply to Charlie's summons. 

"You should rather bless the ladies on shore that sent you them wurstedmittens an' 'elmet, you ungrateful dog, " returned the boy with a broadgrin, for he and Whistler were on familiar terms. 

The man growled something inaudible, while his mates went below to feed. 

Each North Sea trawling fleet acts unitedly under an "admiral. " It wasearly morning when the signal was given by rocket to haul up the nets. Between two and three hours at the capstan--slow, heavy toil, with everymuscle strained to the utmost--was the result of the admiral's order. Bitter cold; driving snow; cutting flashes of salt spray, and dark asErebus save for the light of a lantern lashed to the mast. Tramp, tramp, tramp, the seemingly everlasting round went on, with the clank ofheavy sea-boots and the rustle of hard oil-skins, and the sound oflabouring breath as accompaniment; while the endless cable came slowlyup from the "vasty deep. "

But everything comes to an end, even on the North Sea! At last thegreat beam appears and is secured. With a sigh of relief the capstanbars are thrown down, and the men vary their toil by clawing up the netwith scarred and benumbed fingers. It is heavy work, causes muchheaving and gasping, and at times seems almost too much for all hands tomanage. 

Again Black Whistler pronounces a malediction on things in general, andis mockingly reminded by the boy-cook that he ought to bless the peopleas sends him wursted cuffs to save his wrists from sea-blisters. 

"Seems to me we've got a hold of a bit o' Noah's ark, " growled one ofthe hands, as something black and big begins to appear. 

He is partially right, for a bit of an old wreck is found to have beencaptured with a ton or so of fish. When this is disengaged the netcomes in more easily, and the fish are dropped like a silver cataract onthe wet deck. 

One might imagine that there was rest for the fishermen now. Far fromit. The fish had to be "cleaned"--i. E. Gutted and the superfluousportions cut off and packed in boxes for the London market. The greylight of a bleak winter morning dawned before the work was finished. During the operation the third hand, Lively Dick, ran a fish-bone deeplyinto his hand, and laid a foundation for future trouble. 

It was noon before the trunks, or fish-boxes, were packed. Then thelittle boat had to be launched over the side, loaded with fish, andferried to one of the steamers which ply daily and regularly betweenBillingsgate and the fleets. Three men jumped into it and pushed off--amere cockle-shell on a heaving flood, now dancing on a wave-crest, nowlost to view in a water-valley. 

"What's that?" said Whistler, as they pulled towards the steamer. "Looks bigger than the or'nary mission-ships. "

"Why, that must be the noo hospital-ship, the _Queen Victoria_, "answered Lively Dick, glancing over his shoulder at a large vessel, smack-rigged, which loomed up through the haze to leeward. 

They had no time for further remark, for the great side of the steamerwas by that time frowning over them. It was dangerous work they had todo. The steamer rolled heavily in the rough sea. The boat, among adozen other boats, was soon attached to her by a strong rope. Men hadto be athletes and acrobats in order to pass their fish-boxes from theleaping and plunging boats to the deck of the rolling steamer. Theshouting and noise and bumping were tremendous. An awkward heaveoccasionally sent a box into the sea amid oaths and laughter. Jim'scargo was put safely on board, and the boat was about to cast off when aheavier lurch than usual caused Black Whistler to stagger. To savehimself from plunging overboard he laid both hands on the gunwale of theboat--a dangerous thing to do at any time when alongside of a vessel. Before he could recover himself the boat went crashing against thesteamer's iron side and the fisherman's hands were crushed. He fellback into the boat almost fainting with agony. No cry escaped him, however. Lively Dick saw the blood streaming, and while his mate shovedoff the boat he wrapped a piece of canvas in a rough-and-ready fashionround the quivering hands. 

"I'm done for this trip, " groaned Whistler, "for this means go ashore--weeks in hospital--wages stopped, and wife and chicks starving. "

"Never a bit, mate, " said Dick; "didn't you know that the noomission-ship does hospital work afloat and that they'll keep you aboardof her, and lend us one o' their hands till you're fit for work again?"

Whether poor Whistler believed, or understood, or was comforted by thiswe cannot say, for he made no reply and appeared to be almost overcomewith pain. On reaching the _Dolphin_ a signal of distress was made tothe floating hospital, which at once bore down to them. The injured manwas transferred to it, and there, in the pleasant airy cabin, BlackWhistler made acquaintance with men who were anxious to cure his soul aswell as his body. Up to this time he had resolutely declined to visitthe mission-ships, but now, when a skilled medical man tenderly dressedhis terrible wounds and a sympathetic skipper led him to a berth andsupplied him with some warm coffee, telling him that he would be free toremain there without charge as long as was needed, and that meanwhileone of the mission hands would take his place in the _Dolphin_ till hewas able to resume work, his opinion of mission-ships and work underwentmodification, and he began to think that mission crews were not such abad lot after all. 

Meanwhile Skipper Greely, leaving his man in the _Queen Victoria_, returned to his smack accompanied by George King, the new hand. 

King's position was by no means an enviable one, for he found himselfthus suddenly in the midst of a set of men who had no sympathy with himin religious matters, and whose ordinary habits and conversationrendered remonstrance almost unavoidable. Unwilling to render himselfobnoxious at first, the man resolved to try the effect of music on hisnew shipmates. He happened to possess a beautiful tenor voice, and thefirst night--a calm bright one--while taking his turn at the helm, hesang in a soft sweet voice one after another of those hymns which MrSankey has rendered so popular. He began with "Come to the Saviour, make no delay, " and the first effect on his mates, most of whom werebelow, was to arouse a feeling of contempt. But they could not resistthe sweetness of the voice. In a few minutes they were perfectlysilent, and listening with a species of fascination--each being wafted, both by words and music, to scenes on shore and to times when his spirithad not been so demoralised by sin. 

Greely, in particular, was transported back to the sunny home inYarmouth, and to the days of first-love, before the _demon_ had gainedthe mastery and clouded the sunshine. 

As the night wore on, a fog settled down over the North Sea, and thesmacks of the Short Blue fleet began to blow their fog-horns, while thecrews became more on the alert and kept a bright look-out. 

Suddenly, and without warning, a dull beating sound was heard by thelook-out on the _Dolphin_. Next moment a dark object like a phantomship loomed out of the fog, and a wild cry arose as the men saw the bowsof a huge ocean steamer coming apparently straight at them. The smackwas absolutely helpless, without steering way. For an instant there wasshouting on board the steamer, and she fell off slightly as she rushedinto the small circle of the _Dolphin's_ light. A tremendous crashfollowed, but the change of direction had been sufficient to prevent afatal collision. Another moment and the great steamer was gone, whilethe little smack rocked violently from the blow as well as from theswell left in the steamer's wake. 

This was but the beginning of a night of disaster. Skipper Greely andhis men had scarcely recovered from the surprise of this incident whenthe fog lifted and quickly cleared away, revealing the Short Blue fleetfloating all round with flapping sails, but it was observed also that avery dark cloud rested on the north-western horizon. Soon a stiffishbreeze sprang up, and the scattered fleet drew together, lay on the sametack, and followed the lead of their admiral, to whom they looked forthe signal to shoot the trawls. But instead of giving this order theadmiral signalled to "lay-to. "

Being disgusted as well as surprised that their leader was not going tofish, Jim Greely, being also exhausted by long watching, went below andturned in to have a sleep. He had not been long asleep when fair-hairedCharlie came to tell him that Lively Dick, who acted as mate inWhistler's absence, wanted him on deck. He ran up at once. 

"Looks like dirty weather, skipper, " said Dick, pointing to windward. 

"Right you are, lad, " said Jim, and called all hands to close-reef. 

This being done and everything made snug, the skipper again turned in, with orders to call him if things should get worse. 

Soon after, Dick, who was at the helm, saw a squall bearing down onthem, but did not think it worth while to call the skipper. It broke onthem with a clap like thunder, but the good _Dolphin_ stood the shockwell, and Dick was congratulating himself when he saw a sea comingtowards them, but sufficiently astern, he thought, to clear them. Hewas wrong. It broke aboard, right into the mainsail, cleared the deck, and hove the smack on her beam-ends. 

This effectually aroused the skipper, who made desperate but at firstineffectual efforts to get out of his berth, for the water, which poureddown the hatchway, washed gear, tackles, turpentine-tins, paint-pots, and nearly everything moveable from the iron locker on the weather-sidedown to leeward, and blocked up the openings. Making another effort hecleared all this away, and sprang out of the berth, which was half fullof water. Pitchy darkness enshrouded him, for the water had put out thelights as well as the fire. Just then the vessel righted a little. 

"Are you all right on deck?" shouted Jim, as he scrambled up thehatchway. 

"All right, as far as I can see, " answered Dick. 

"Hold on, I've a bottle o' matches in my bunk, " cried the skipper, returning to the flooded cabin. Fortunately the matches were dry; alight was struck, and a candle and lamp lighted. The scene revealed wasnot re-assuring. The water in the cabin was knee-deep. A flare, madeof a woollen scarf soaked in paraffin, was lighted on deck, and showedthat the mainsail had been split, the boat hopelessly damaged, and partof the lee bulwarks broken. The mast also was leaning aft, the forestayhaving been carried away. A few minutes later Lively Dick went tumblingdown into the cabin all of a heap, to avoid the mast as it went crashingover the side in such a way as to prevent the use of the pumps, andcarrying the mizzenmast along with it. 

"Go to work with buckets, boys, or she'll sink, " shouted the skipper, himself setting the example, for the ballast had shifted and the dangerwas great. Meanwhile George King seized an axe and cut away the riggingthat held on to the wrecked masts, and fair-haired Charlie laboured likea hero to clear the pumps. The rays of the cabin lights did not reachthe deck, so that much of the work had to be done in what may be styleddarkness visible, while the little vessel kicked about like a wild thingin the raging sea, and the torn canvas flapped with a horrible noise. Pitiless wind, laden with sleet, howled over them as if thirstingimpatiently for the fishermen's lives. At last they succeeded inclearing the pumps, and worked them with untiring energy for hours, butcould not tell how many, for the thick end of a marline-spike had beendriven through the clock-face and stopped it. 

It was still dark when they managed to rig up a jury-mast on the stumpof the old one and hoist a shred of sail. George King was ordered tothe tiller. As he passed Greely he said in a cheerful voice, "Trust inthe Lord, skipper, He can bring us out o' worse than this. "

It might have been half an hour later when another sea swept the deck. Jim took shelter under the stump of the mast and held on for dear life. Charlie got inside the coil of the derrick-fall and so was saved, whilethe others dived into the cabin. When that sea had passed they found noone at the tiller. Poor King had been washed overboard. Nothingwhatever could be done for him, even if he had been seen, but the greedysea had swallowed him, and he was taken to swell with his tuneful voicethe company of those who sing on high the praises of redeeming love. 

The sea which swept him into eternity also carried away the jury-mast, and as the smack was now a mere wreck, liable to drift on shore if thegale should continue long, Jim let down an anchor, after removing itsstock so that it might drag on the bottom and retard the drifting whileit kept the vessel's head to the sea. 

A watch was then set, and the rest of the crew went below to wait andwish for daybreak! It was a dreary vigil under appalling circumstances, for although the smack had not actually sprung a leak there was alwaysthe danger of another sea overwhelming and altogether sinking her. Hercrew sat there for hours utterly helpless and literally facing death. Fortunately their matches had escaped the water, so that they were ableto kindle a fire in the stove and obtain a little warmth as well as makea pot of tea and eat some of their sea-soaked biscuit. 

It is wonderful how man can accommodate himself to circumstances. Nosooner had the crew in this wreck felt the stimulating warmth of the hottea than they began to spin yarns! not indeed of a fanciful kind--theywere too much solemnised for that--but yarns of their experience ofgales in former times. 

"It minds me o' this wery night last year, " said Lively Dick, endeavouring to light his damp pipe. "I was mate o' the _Beauty_ at thetime. We was workin' wi' the Short Blues on the Dogger, when atremendous squall struck us, an' it began to snow that thick we couldscarce see the end o' the jib-boom. Well, the gale came on in realarnest before long, so we had to lay-to all that night. When it cameday we got some sail set and I went below to have a hot pot o' tea whenthe skipper suddenly sang out `Jump up here, Dick!' an' I did jump up, double quick, to find that we was a'most runnin' slap into a dismastedcraft. We shoved the tiller hard a-starboard and swung round as if wewas on a swivel, goin' crash through the rackage alongside an' shavin'her by a hair. We could just see through the snow one of her handschoppin' away at the riggin', and made out that her name was the _Henryand Thomas_. "

"An' did ye see nothin' more of 'er arter that?" asked the boy Charliewith an eager look. 

"Nothin' more. She was never heard of arter that mornin'. "

While the men were thus talking, the watch on deck shouted that one ofthe mission-ships was close alongside. Every one ran on deck to hailher, for they stood much in need of assistance, two of their water-caskshaving been stove in and everything in the hold turned topsy-turvy--beef, potatoes, flour, all mixed up in horrible confusion. Just thenanother sea came on board, and the crew had to dive again to the cabinfor safety. That sea carried away the boat and the rest of thestarboard bulwarks, besides starting a plank, and letting the water inat a rate which the pumps could not keep down. 

Quickly the mission-ship loomed up out of the grey snow-cloud and ranpast. 

"You'll want help!" shouted the mission skipper. 

"Ay, we do, " shouted Jim Greely in reply. "We're sinkin', and ourboat's gone. "

An arm thrown up indicated that the words were understood. A fewminutes later and the crew of the _Dolphin_ saw the mission crewlaunching their little boat. With, such a sea running the venture wasperilous in the extreme, but when the mission skipper said "Who'll go?"he had no lack of volunteers. The boat was manned at once, and the crewof the _Dolphin_ were rescued a few minutes before the _Dolphin_ herselfwent head-foremost to the bottom. Just as they got safely on deck themission-ship herself shipped a heavy sea, which washed several of themen into the lee scuppers. They jumped up immediately--some with "ThankGod" on their lips, others with a laugh--but James Greely did not rise. He lay stunned and rolling about in the water. It was found on raisinghim that his right leg was broken at the thigh. 

When Jim recovered consciousness he did not complain. He was a man ofstern mould, and neither groaned nor spoke; but he was not the lessimpressed with the kindness and apparent skill with which the missionskipper treated him. 

Having received a certain amount of surgical training, the skipper--although unlearned and a fisherman--knew well how to put the leg insplints and otherwise to treat the patient. 

"It's pretty bad, I fear, " he said soothingly, observing that Jim's lipswere compressed, and that beads of perspiration were standing on hisbrow. 

Jim did not reply, but smiled grimly and nodded, for the rolling of theship caused him increasing agony as the injured parts began to inflame. 

"I'm not very good at this sort o' work, " said the mission skippermodestly, "but thank God the new hospital-ship is cruisin' wi' the ShortBlue just now. I saw her only yesterday, so we'll put you aboard of herand there you'll find a reg'lar shore-goin' surgeon, up to everything, and with all the gimcracks and arrangements of a reg'lar shore-goin'hospital. They've got a new contrivance too--a sort o' patentstretcher, invented by a Mr Dark o' the head office in London--which'lltake you out o' the boat into the ship without movin' a bone or muscle, so keep your mind easy, skipper, for you'll be aboard the _QueenVictoria_ before many hours go by. "

Poor Greely appreciated the statement about the stretcher more than allthe rest that was said, for he was keenly alive to the difficulty ofpassing a broken-boned man out of a little boat into a smack or steamerin a heavy sea, having often had to do it. 

The mission skipper was right, for early the next day Jim was strappedto a wonderful frame and passed into the hospital-ship without shake orshock, and his comrades were retained in the mission smack until theycould be sent on shore. Greely and his men learned many lessons whichthey never afterwards forgot on board of the _Queen Victoria_--thefoundation lesson being that they were lost sinners and that JesusChrist came "to seek and to save the lost. "

Slowly, and at first unwillingly, Skipper Greely took the great truthsin. Several weeks passed, and he began to move about with some of hiswonted energy. Much to his surprise he found himself one morningsigning the temperance pledge-books, persuaded thereto by the skipper ofthe _Queen Victoria_. Still more to his surprise he found himself oneSunday afternoon listening, with unwonted tears in his eyes, to some ofhis mates as they told their spiritual experiences to an assembly ofsome hundred or so of weather-beaten fishermen. Before quitting thatvessel he discovered that he possessed a powerful and tuneful voice, admirably adapted for singing hymns, and that he was capable of publiclystating the fact that he was an unworthy sinner saved by grace. 

When at last he returned ashore and unexpectedly entered the Yarmouthhome, Nellie could scarcely believe her senses, so great was the change. 

"Jim!" she cried, with opening eyes and beating heart, "you're like yourold self again. "

"Thank God, " said Jim, clasping her in his strong arms. But he couldsay no more for some time. Then he turned suddenly on curly-headedJimmie, who had been fiercely embracing one of his enormous sea-boots, and began an incoherent conversation and a riotous romp with thatjuvenile fisherman. 

A brighter sunshine than had ever been there before enlightened thatYarmouth home, for God had entered it and the hearts of its occupants. 

Example is well-known to be infectious. In course of time a number ofbrother fishermen began to think as Jim Greely thought and feel as hefelt. His house also became the centre, or headquarters, of an informalassociation got up for the purpose of introducing warmth and sunshineinto poor homes in all weathers, and there were frequently such largemeetings of the members of that association that it taxed Nellie'singenuity to supply seats and stow them all away. She managed it, however; for, as Jim was wont to remark, "Nellie had a powerfulintellec' for her size. "

Among the frequenters of this Yarmouth home were several of the men whohad once been staunch supporters of the Green Dragon, and of these themost enthusiastic, perhaps, if not the most noisy, were Black Whistler, Lively Dick, and fair-haired Charlie. 

CHAPTER NINE. 

A NORTHERN WAIF. 

If a waif is a lost wanderer, then little Poosk was a decided waif forhe had gone very much astray indeed in the North American backwoods. Itwas a serious matter for an Indian child of six years of age to become awaif in the dead of winter, with four feet of snow covering the entirewilderness, and the thermometer far below zero. 

Yes, little Poosk was lost. His Indian mother, when she tied up hislittle head in a fur cap with ear-pieces, had said to him that morning--and it was a New Year's Day morning--"Poosk, you go straight to themission-house. The feast will be a very grand one--oh! _such_ a goodone! Better than the feast we have when the geese and ducks come backin spring. Go straight; don't wander; follow in your father's tracks, and you can't go wrong. "

Ah! what a compliment to father would have been implied in these wordshad the mother meant his moral tracks. But she did not: she referred tohis snow-shoe tracks, which would serve as a sure guide to themission-house, if closely followed. Poosk had promised to obey orders, of course, as readily as if he had been a civilised white boy, and withequal readiness had forgotten his promise when the first temptationcame. That temptation had come in the form of a wood-partridge, inchase of which, with the spirit of a true son of the forest, Poosk hadbolted, and soon left his father's tracks far behind him. Thus it cameto pass that in the pursuit of game, our little savage became a "waifand stray. " Had he been older, he would doubtless have returned on hisown little track to the spot where he had left that of his father; but, being so young, he fancied that he could reach it by bending roundtowards it as he advanced. 

Poosk was uncommonly small for his age--hence his name, which, in theCree language, means _half_. He came at the tail-end of a very largefamily. Being remarkably small from the first, he was regarded as theextreme tip of that tail. His father styled him _half_ a child--Poosk. But his lack of size was counterbalanced by great physical activity andsharp intelligence. Wrapped in his warm deerskin coat, which was linedwith flannel, and edged with fur, and secured with a scarlet belt, withhis little legs in ornamented leggings, his little feet in newmoccasins, and shod with little snowshoes not more than twenty-fourinches long by eight broad--his father's being five-feet by fifteeninches, --and his little hands in leather mittens of the bag-and-thumborder, Poosk went over the snow at an amazing rate for his size, butfailed to rejoin his father's track. Suddenly he stopped, and a puckeron his brow betrayed anxiety. Compressing his little lips, he lookedround him with an expression of serious determination in his large browneyes. Was he not in his native wilds? Was he not the son of a notedbrave? Was _he_ going to submit to the disgrace of losing his way; and, what was much worse, losing his feast? Certainly not! With sternresolve on every lineament of his infantile visage he changed hisdirection, and pushed on. We need scarcely add that he soon stoppedagain; resolved and re-resolved to succeed, and changed his directionagain and again till he became utterly bewildered, and, finally, sittingdown on the trunk of a fallen tree, shut his eyes, opened his littlemouth, and howled. It was sad, but it was natural that at so early aperiod of life the stoicism of the savage should be overcome by theweakness of the child. Finding after a while that howling resulted innothing but noise, Poosk suddenly shut his mouth, and opened his eyes. There seemed to be some intimate connection between the two operations. Perhaps there was. The opening of the eyes went on to the uttermost, and then became a fixed glare, for, right in front of him sat a whiterabbit on its hind legs, and, from its expression, evidently filled withastonishment equal to his own. 

The spirit of the hunter arose, and that of the child vanished, aslittle Poosk sprang up and gave chase. Of course the rabbit "sloped, "and in a few minutes both pursued and pursuer were lost in the depths ofthe snow-encumbered forest. 

On a point of rocks which jutted out into a frozen lake, stood a smallchurch with a small spire, small porch, and diminutive windows. Thepastor of that church dwelt close to it in a wooden house or log cabin, which possessed only one window and a door. A much larger hut alongsideof it served as a school-house and meeting-hall. In this littlebuilding the man of God, assisted by a Red Indian convert, taught theRed Men of the wilderness the way of life through Jesus Christ, besidesgiving them a little elementary and industrial education suited to theirpeculiar circumstances; and here, on the day of which we write, he hadprepared the sumptuous feast to which reference has just been made. Thepastor's wife and daughter had prepared it. There were venison pies andptarmigan pasties; there were roasts of fowls, and roasts of rabbits, and stews of many things which we will not venture to describe, besidespuddings of meat, and puddings of rice, and puddings of plums; also teaand coffee to wash it all down. There was no strong drink. Stronghealth and appetite were deemed sufficient to give zest to theproceedings. The company was remarkably savage to look at, butwonderfully civilised in conduct, for the influence of Christian lovewas there, and that influence is the same everywhere. Leathern garmentsclothed the men; curtailed petticoats adorned the women; both woreleggings and moccasins. The boys and girls were similarly costumed, andall had brilliant teeth, brown faces, glittering eyes, lank black hair, and a look of eager expectancy. 

The pastor went to the head of the table, and silence ensued while hebriefly asked God's blessing on the feast. Then, when expectation hadreached its utmost point, there was a murmur. Where was the smallestmite of all the guests? Nobody knew. Poosk's mother said she had senthim off hours ago, and had thought that he must be there. Poosk'sfather--a very tall man, with remarkably long legs, --hearing this, crossed the room in three strides, put on his five-feet by fifteen-inchsnow-shoes and went off into the forest at express speed. 

Anxiety is not an easily-roused condition in the North American Indian. The feast began, despite the absence of our waif; and the waif's motherset to work with undiminished appetite. Meanwhile the waif himself wentfarther and farther astray--swayed alternately by the spirit of thestoic and the spirit of the little child. But little Poosk was made ofsterling stuff, and the two spirits had a hard battle in him for themastery that wintry afternoon. His chase of the rabbit was brought toan abrupt conclusion by a twig which caught one of his snow-shoes, tripped him up, and sent him headlong into the snow. When snow averagesfour feet in depth it affords great scope for ineffectual floundering. The snow-shoes kept his feet near the surface, and the depth preventedhis little arms from reaching solid ground. When at last he recoveredhis perpendicular, his hair, eyes, nose, ears, sleeves, and mittens werestuffed with snow; and the child-spirit began to whimper, but the stoicsprang on him and quickly crushed him down. 

Drawing his little body up with a look of determination, and wiping awaythe tears which had already begun to freeze on his eyelashes, our littlehero stepped out more vigorously than ever, in the full belief thatevery yard carried him nearer home, though in reality he was strayingfarther and farther from his father's track. Well was it for littlePoosk that day that his hope of reaching home did not depend on his ownfeeble efforts. Already the father was traversing the wilderness insearch of his lost lamb, though the lamb knew it not. 

But Poosk's disasters were not yet over. Although brave at heart and, for his years, sturdy of frame, he could not withstand the tremendouscold peculiar to those regions of ice and snow; and ere long the fatallethargy that is often induced by extreme frost began to tell. Thefirst symptom was that Poosk ceased to feel the cold as much as he hadfelt it some time before. Then a drowsy sensation crept over him, andhe looked about for a convenient spot on which to sit down and rest. Alas for the little savage if he had given way at that time!Fortunately a small precipice was close in front of him, its upper edgeconcealed by wreaths of snow. He fell over it, turning a somersault ashe went down, and alighted safely in a snow-bed at the bottom. Theshock revived him, but it also quelled the stoic in his breast. Risingwith difficulty, he wrinkled up his brown visage, and once again took tohowling. Half an hour later his father, steadily following up thelittle track in the snow, reached the spot and heard the howls. A smilelit up his swarthy features, and there was a gleam of satisfaction inhis black eyes as he descended to the spot where the child stood. 

Sudden calm after a storm followed the shutting of Poosk's mouth and theopening of his eyes. Another moment, and his father had him in hisstrong arms, turned him upside down, felt him over quietly, shook him alittle, ascertained that no bones were broken, put him on his broadshoulders, and carried him straight back to the Mission Hall, where thefeasters were in full swing--having apparently quite forgotten thelittle "waif and stray. "

North American Indians, as is well-known, are not demonstrative. Therewas no shout of joy when the lost one appeared. Even his mother took nofurther notice of him than to make room for him on the form beside her. She was a practical mother. Instead of fondling him she proceeded tostuff him, which she was by that time at leisure to do, having justfinished stuffing herself. The father, stalking sedately to a seat atanother table, proceeded to make up for lost time. He was marvellouslysuccessful in his efforts. He was one of those Indian braves who areequal to any emergency. 

Although near the end of the feast and with only _debris_ left tomanipulate, he managed to refresh himself to his entire satisfactionbefore the tables were cleared. 

The feast of reason which followed was marked by one outstanding andimportant failure. The pastor had trained the Indian boys and girls ofhis school to sing several hymns, and repeat several pieces in prose andverse. Our waif, besides being the smallest boy, possessed the sweetestvoice in the school. He was down on the programme for a hymn--a solo. Having fallen sound asleep after being stuffed, it was found difficultto awake him when his turn came. By dint of shaking, however, hismother roused him up and set him on his legs on a table, where he wassteadied a little by the pastor's wife, and gently bid to begin, by thepastor's daughter. 

Poosk was very fond of the pastor's daughter. He would have doneanything for her. He opened his large eyes, from which a sleepy gleamof intelligence flashed. He opened his little mouth, from which rolledthe sweetest of little voices. The Indians, who had been purposely keptin ignorance of this musical treat, were ablaze with surprise andexpectation; but the sound died away, the mouth remained open, and theeyes shut suddenly as Poosk fell over like a ninepin, sound asleep, intothe arms of the pastor's daughter. 

Nothing more was to be got out of him that day. Even the boisterouslaugh which greeted his breakdown failed to rouse him; and finally ourNorthern Waif was carried home, and put to bed beside a splendid fire ina warm robe of rabbit skins. 

CHAPTER TEN. 

HOW TO MAKE THE BEST OF LIFE: FROM A YOUNG MAN'S STANDPOINT. 

This world is full of niches that have to be filled, of paths that haveto be trod, of work that has to be done. 

Pouring continually into it there are millions of human beings who arecapable of being fitted to fill those niches, to traverse those paths, and to do that work. I venture a step further and assert that everyhuman being, without exception, who arrives at the years of maturitymust, in the nature of things, have a particular niche and path and workappointed for him; and just in proportion as a man finds out his exactwork, and walks in or strays from his peculiar path, will be the successof his life. He may miss his aim altogether, and his life turn out afailure, because of his self-will, or, perhaps, his mistaken notions;and there are few sights more depressing than that of a round young manrushing into a square hole, except that of a square young man trying towriggle himself into a round hole. What the world wants is "the rightman in the right place. " What each man wants is to find his rightplace. 

But the fact that man may, and often does, make a wrong choice, that hemay try to traverse the wrong path, to accomplish the wrong work, and domany things in the wrong way, is a clear proof that his course in lifeis not arbitrarily fixed, that he has been left to the freedom of hisown will, and may therefore fall short of the _best_, though he may befortunate enough to attain the good or the better. Hence devolves uponevery one the responsibility of putting and finding an answer to thequestion--How shall I make the best of life?

And let me say here in passing that I venture to address young men onthis subject, not because I conceive myself to be gifted with superiorwisdom, but because, being an old man, I stand on the heights andvantage ground of Experience, and looking back, can see the rocks andshoals and quicksands in life's ocean, which have damaged and well-nighwrecked myself. I would not only try my hand as a pilot to guide, butas, in some sense, a buoy or beacon to warn from dangers that are notonly unseen but unsuspected. 

Every young man of ordinary common sense will at least aim at what hebelieves to be best in life, and the question will naturally arise--What_is_ best?

If a youth's chief idea of felicity is to "have a good time;" to enjoyhimself to the utmost; to cram as much of sport, fun, and adventure intohis early manhood as possible, with a happy-go-lucky indifference as tothe future, he is not yet in a frame of mind to consider our question atall. I feel disposed to say to him--in paraphrase--"be serious, man, or, if ye can't be serious, be as serious as ye can, " while we considera subject that is no trifling matter. 

What, then, _is_ best? I reply--So to live and work that we shall dothe highest good of which we are capable to the world, and, in the doingthereof, achieve the highest possible happiness to ourselves, and tothose with whom we are connected. In the end, to leave the world betterthan we found it. 

Now, there is only one foundation on which such a life can be reared, and that foundation is God. 

To attempt the building on any other, or to neglect a foundationaltogether, is to solicit and ensure disaster. 

But supposing, young man, that you agree with me in this; are fullyalive to the importance of the question, and are desirous of obtainingall the light you can on it, then I would, with all the earnestness ofwhich I am capable, urge you to begin on this sure foundation by askingGod to guide you and open up your way. "Ask, and ye shall receive;seek, and ye shall find. " "Commit thy way unto the Lord, and He willbring it to pass. " Without this beginning there is, there can be, nopossibility of real success, no hope of reaching the best. With itthere may still be partial mistake--owing to sin and liability to err--but there can be no such thing as absolute failure. Man's first prayerin all his plans of life should be--"Lord, what wilt Thou have me todo?"

Many people think that they have put up that petition and got no answer, when the answer is obviously before their eyes. It seems to me thatGod's answers are always indicative, and not very difficult tounderstand. 

An anxious father says--if he does not also pray--"What shall I train myboy to be?" God, through the medium of common sense, replies, Watchyour son, observe his tastes, and especially his powers, and train himaccordingly. His capacities, whatever they are, were given to him byhis Maker for the express purpose of being developed. If you don'tdevelop them, you neglect a clear indication, unless, indeed, it be heldthat men were made in some haphazard way for no definite purpose at all;but this would be equivalent to making out the Creator to be lessreasonable than most of His own creatures!

If a lad has a strong liking for some particular sort of work orpursuit, and displays great aptitude for it, there is no need of anaudible voice to tell what should be his path in life. Contrariwise, strong dislike, coupled with incapacity, indicates the path to beavoided with equal precision. 

Of course, liking and disliking are not a sufficient indication, forboth may be based upon partial ignorance. The sea, as a profession, isa case in point. How many thousands of lads have an intense liking forthe idea of a sailor's life! But the liking is not for the sea; it isfor some romantic notion of the sea; and the romancer's aptitude for asea life must at first be taken for granted while his experience is_nil_. He dreams, probably, of majestic storms, or heavenly calms, ofcoral islands, and palm groves, and foreign lands and peoples. If veryimaginative, he will indulge in Malay pirates and wrecks, and lifeboats, and desert islands, on which he will always land safely, and commence asecond edition of Robinson Crusoe. But he will scarcely think, tillbitter experience compels him, of very long watches in dirty unromanticweather, of holy-stoning the decks, scraping down the masts, andclearing out the coal-hole. Happily for our navy and the merchantservice there are plenty of lads who go through all this and stick toit, their love of the ocean is triumphant--but there are a fewexceptions!

On the other hand, liking and fitness may be discovered by experience. I know a man who, from childhood, took pleasure in construction andinvention. At the age of nine he made a real steam engine which "couldgo" with steam, and which was small enough to be carried in his pocket. He was encouraged to follow the providential indication, went throughall the drudgery of workshops, and is now a successful engineer. 

Of course, there are thousands of lads whose paths are not so clearlymarked out; but does it not seem reasonable to expect that, with prayerfor guidance, and thoughtful consideration on the part of the boy'sparents, as well as of the boy himself, the best path in life may bediscovered for each?

No doubt there are many difficulties in the way; as when parents are tooambitious, or when sons are obstinate and self-willed, or when both areantagonistic to each other. If, as is not infrequently the case, ayouth has no particular taste for any profession, and shows no veryobvious capacity for anything, is it not a pretty strong indication thathe was meant to tread one of the many subordinate paths of life and behappy therein? All men cannot be generals. Some must be content to rubshoulders with the rank and file. If a lad is fit only to dig in a coalpit or sweep the streets, he is as surely intended to follow thesehonourable callings as is the captain who has charge of an ocean steamerto follow the _sea_. And even in the selection of these lowlyoccupations the path is divinely indicated, while the free-will is leftto the influence of common sense, so that the robust youth with powerfulframe and sinews will probably select the pit, and the comparativelydelicate man will prefer the crossing. 

I repeat, to say that any creature was called into being for no purposeat all, is to question the wisdom of the Almighty. Even if a babe makesits appearance on this terrestrial scene, and wails out its brief careerin a single day, it was sent here for a special purpose, else it wouldnot have been sent, and that purpose must have been fully accomplished, else it would not have died. 

To my mind this is an exceedingly cheering view of things, for itencourages the belief that however poor or feeble may have been ourefforts to live a good life, these efforts cannot have been made invain, even although they may fall very far short of the "best. " Andthere is also this very hopeful consideration to comfort us, that therace is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, thatwisdom sometimes proceeds out of the mouths of babes, and that "welittle know what great things from little things may rise. "

To be sure, that cuts both ways, for, what sometimes are called "littlesins" may result in tremendous evil, but, equally, efforts that seeminsignificant may be the cause of great and unexpected blessing. 

If, then, as I sincerely believe, every living being has a special workto do--or, rather, has a variety of appropriate paths in any one ofwhich he may walk with more or less advantage to himself and hisfellow-men--it behoves every young man to find out what path is the bestone for him, and to walk in it vigorously. Fatalism is folly. No onebelieves in it. At least no one in this country acts upon it. When Isay that every being has a special work to do, I don't mean that it hasbeen decreed _exactly_ what each man has to do. Were this so, he wouldhave to do it, _nolens volens_, and there would be no such thing asresponsibility--for it would be gross injustice to hold a manresponsible for that which he could by no means prevent or accomplish. That which has really been decreed is that man shall have free-will andbe allowed to exercise that free-will in the conduct of his affairs. Itis a most mysterious gift, but there it is--an unquestionable fact--andit must be taken into account in all our reasoning. There is aconfusion here into which men are sometimes liable to fall. Man's willis absolutely free, but his action is not so. He may will just as hepleases, but all experience tells us that he may not do just as hepleases. Whether his intentions be good or bad, they are frequently andeffectively interfered with, but his will--never. 

Seeing, then, that there is a best way for every one, and that there aresundry common sense methods by which the path may be discovered, it maybe well to consider for a moment whether there are not some obstacleswhich stand in the way of a young man's success in life, not onlybecause they are providentially allowed to lie there, but because theyoung man himself either carelessly or unwittingly has planted them inhis own path. 

Selfishness is one of those obstacles. And by selfishness I do not meanthat gross form of it which secures for the man who gives way to it abad name, but those subtle phases of it which may possibly be alliedwith much that is good, amiable, and attractive. It is not unfrequentlythe consequence of that thoughtlessness which results in evil not lessthan does want of heart. 

Talking too much about oneself and one's own affairs, and being toolittle interested in the affairs of others, is one aspect of theselfishness to which I refer. Some men, the moment they meet you, beginto talk energetically about what they have been doing, or thinking, orabout what they are going to do, and if you encourage them they will goon talking in the same strain, totally forgetting that _you_ may chanceto be interested in other things. Such men, if they begin young, andare not checked, soon degenerate into "bores, " and no bore, howeverwell-meaning or even religious, ever succeeded in making the best oflife. The cure for this is to be found--as usual--in the Scripture:"Wherewithal shall a young man cleanse his way? by taking heed theretoaccording to thy word. " And what says the word? "Look not (only) onyour own things, but upon the things of others. "

I have a friend who was the confidant of a large number of his kindredand of many other people besides. It was said of him that everybodywent to him for sympathy and advice. I can well believe it, for henever spoke about himself at all that I can remember. He was notunusually wise or superlatively clever, but he had "a heart at leisurefrom itself to soothe and sympathise. " The consequence was that, inspite of a good many faults, he was greatly beloved. And it is certain, reader, that to gain the affection of your fellow-men is one of thesurest steps in the direction of success in life. To be too muchconcerned in conversation about yourself, your affairs and your opinionswill prove to be a mighty obstruction in your way. Perhaps one of thebest methods of fighting against this tendency is to resolve, whenmeeting with friends, _never_ to begin with self, but _always_ withthem. But it is hard to crucify self! This mode of procedure, be itobserved, would not be a hypocritical exhibition of interest where nonewas felt, but an honest attempt to snub self by deliberately puttingyour friends' interests before your own. 

It is probable that we are not sufficiently alive to the influence ofcomparatively insignificant matters on success in life. Illegiblehandwriting, for instance, may go far to retard or arrest a youth'ssuccess. It sometimes interferes with friendly intercourse. I once hada friend whose writing was so illegible, and the cause of so much worryin mere decipherment, that I was constrained to give up epistolarycorrespondence with him altogether. There can be little doubt that manya would-be author fails of success because of the illegibility of hispenmanship, for it is impossible that an editor or publisher can form afair estimate of the character or value of a manuscript which he hasmuch difficulty in reading. 

There is one thing which men are prone to do, and which it would be wellthat they should not do, and that is, "nail their colours to the mast"in early youth. The world is a school. We are ever learning--or oughtto be--and, in some cases, "never coming to a knowledge of the truth!"Is not this partly owing to that fatal habit of nailing the colours? Ido not for a moment advocate the holding of opinions loosely. On thecontrary, whether a man be young or old, whenever he gets hold of whathe believes to be true, he ought to grasp it tenaciously and with a firmgrip, but he should never "nail" it. Being fallible, man is liable tomore or less of error; and, therefore, ought to hold himself open tocorrection--ay, even to conversion. New or stronger light may convincehim that he has been wrong--and if a man will not change when he isconvinced, or "fully persuaded in his own mind, " he has no chance offinding out how to make the best of life, either from a young, ormiddle-aged, or old man's standpoint. Why, new or stronger light--if hewould let it illumine him--might even convince him that his opinion wasnot only true, but involved much greater and grander truths than hesupposed. It is difficult to go more minutely into details, even if itwere advisable to do so. I may fittingly conclude by saying that thesum of all that might be written is comprehended in the statement thatobedience to God in all things is the sure and only road to success. 

Of all the bright and glorious truths with which our fallen world isenlightened, there is one--a duplex truth--which lies at the foundationof everything. It is unchangeable. Without it all other facts would bevalueless, and I would recommend every man, woman, and child to nail itto the mast without hesitation, namely--"God is love, " and "Love is thefulfilling of the law. "

CHAPTER ELEVEN. 

FORGIVE AND FORGET: A LIFEBOAT STORY. 

Old Captain Bolter said he would never forgive Jo Grain--never. Andwhat Captain Bolter said he meant: for he was a strong and self-willedman. 

There can be no doubt that the Captain had some ground of complaintagainst Grain: for he had been insulted by him grossly--at least so hethought. It happened thus:--

Joseph Grain was a young fisherman, and the handsomest, tallest, strongest, and most active among the youths of the little seaport townin which he dwelt. He was also one of the lifeboat's crew, and many atime had his strong hand been extended in the midst of surging sea andshrieking tempest to save the perishing. Moreover, he was of a frank, generous disposition; was loved by most of his comrades; envied by afew; hated by none. 

But with all his fine qualities young Grain had a great and seriousfault--he was rather fond of strong drink. It must not, however, besupposed that he was a drunkard, in the ordinary sense at least of thatterm. No, he was never seen to stagger homeward, or to look idiotic:but, being gifted with a robust frame and finely-strung nerves, a verysmall quantity of alcohol sufficed to rouse within him the spirit ofcombativeness, inducing him sometimes to say and do things whichafterwards could not be easily unsaid or undone, however much he mightrepent. 

One afternoon Grain and some of his mates were sauntering towards thelittle lighthouse that stood at the end of their pier. It was anold-fashioned stone pier, with a dividing wall or parapet down themiddle of it. As they walked along, some of the younger men began toquestion Jo about a rumour that had recently been spread abroad. 

"Come, now, Jo, " said one, named Blunt, "don't try to deceive us; youcan't deny that you're after Cappen Bolter's little gal. "

"Well, I _won't_ deny it, " replied Jo, with sudden energy and somewhatforced gaiety, while the blood mounted to his bronzed cheeks: "moreover, I don't care who knows it, for there's not a sweeter lass in all thetown than Mary Bolter, an' the man that would be ashamed to own hisfondness for her don't deserve to have her. "

"That's true, " said a young fisherman, named Guy, with a nod ofapproval--"though there may be two opinions as to which is the sweetestlass in all the town!"

"I tell 'ee what, Jo, " remarked a stern and rather cross-grainedbachelor, named Grime, "you may save yourself the trouble of givin'chase to that little craft, for although old Bolter ain't much to boastof--bein' nothin' more than the skipper of a small coastin' craft--hethinks hisself far too big a man to give his darter to a fisherman. "

"Does he?" exclaimed Grain, with vehemence, and then suddenly checkedhimself. 

"Ay, that does he, " returned Grime, with something of a sneer in histone. 

It chanced that Jo Grain had been to the public-house that day, and thesneer, which at other times would have been passed over withindifference, stung him--coupled as it was with a slur on his lowlyposition. He looked fiercely at Grime, and said, in a loud, angry tone:"It's a matter of moonshine to me what Bolter thinks of himself. If thegirl's willin' to have me I'll wed her in spite o' the old grampus. "

Now, unhappily for Jo Grain, the "old grampus" chanced at that very timeto be sunning himself, and enjoying his pipe on the other side of thepier-wall, and heard distinctly what Jo said. Moreover, there was sometruth in what Grime had said about the old skipper looking down on theyoung fisherman's position: so that, although he could not deny that Jowas a first-rate man, and knew that Mary was fond of him, he hadhitherto felt a strong disinclination to allow his darling and onlychild to wed, as he considered it beneath her. When, therefore, thespeech above quoted broke harshly on his ears, the matter became finallysettled in his mind. He dropped his pipe, set his heel on it, andground it to powder. He also ground his teeth, and, turning round witha snort, worthy of the creature to which he had been compared, sailedwildly homewards. 

Next day Jo Grain chanced to meet him in the street, and held out hishand as usual; but the captain, thrusting both hands deep into histrousers pockets, looked the young man firmly in the face--

"No, Grain, " he said sternly. "I've done with _you_!"

"Why so, Captain Bolter?" asked Jo, in great surprise. 

"Because, " hissed the Captain, as his wrath rose, "an _old grampus_don't choose to have anything more to do with a _young puppy_!"

Instantly his reckless speech of the day before flashed into Jo's mind. 

"Forgive me, Captain Bolter, " he said respectfully: "forgive me, and tryto forget it--I didn't mean it, believe me--I--I wasn't quite myself, sir, when--"

"No!" interrupted the Captain fiercely; "I'll never forgive you, norforget it. "

With that he turned away and left Jo Grain to meditate on the folly ofindulging in a stimulant which robbed him of his self-control. Butyouth is very hopeful. Jo did not quite believe in the Captain'ssincerity. He comforted himself with the thought that time would softenthe old man's feelings, and meanwhile he would continue to court Marywhen opportunity offered. 

The Captain, however, soon proved that he was thoroughly in earnest:for, instead of leaving his daughter under the care of a maiden aunt, ashad been his custom previously, during his frequent absences from home, he took her to sea with him, and left Jo with an extra supply of foodfor meditation. 

Poor Jo struggled hard under this his first severe trial, but struggledin his own strength and failed. Instead of casting away the glass whichhad already done him so much damage, he madly took to it as a solace tohis secret grief. Yet Jo took good care that his comrades should see nooutward trace of that grief. 

He was not, however, suffered to remain long under the baleful influenceof drink. Soon after the departure of Captain Bolter, a missionaryvisited the little seaport to preach salvation from sin through JesusChrist, and, being a man of prayer and faith, his mission was verysuccessful. Among the many sins against which he warned the people, helaid particular stress on that of drunkenness. 

This was long before the days of the Blue Ribbon movement: but thespirit of that movement was there, though the particular title had notyet arisen. The missionary preached Christ the Saviour of sinners, andTemperance as one of the fruits of salvation. Many of the roughfishermen were converted--bowed their heads and wills, and ceased toresist God. Among them was Joseph Grain. 

There was not, indeed, a remarkably great outward change in Jo afterthis: for he had always been an amiable, hearty, sweet-tempered fellow:but there was, nevertheless, a radical change; for whereas in time pasthe had acted to please himself, he now acted to please his Lord. Tonatural enthusiasm, which had previously made him the hero of the town, was now superadded the enthusiasm of a soldier of the Cross: and whenlifeboat duty called him, as in days gone by, to hold out his hand tothe perishing, even while in the act of saving their bodies he prayedthat the result might be salvation to their souls. 

You may be sure that Jo did not forget Mary: but his thoughts about herwere wonderfully changed: for in this affair of the heart despair hadgiven place to trust and submission. 

Time passed by, and one night in the dreary month of November thestorm-fiend was let loose on the shores of England. All round the coastthe crews of our lifeboats assembled at pier-heads and other points ofvantage to watch the enemy and prepare for action. Among others JoGrain and his comrades assembled at their post of duty. 

It was an awful night--such as, happily, does not often visit ourshores. Thick darkness seemed to brood over land and sea. Only therobust and hardy dared to show face to the keen, withering blast, whichwas laden with sleet. Sometimes a gleam of lightning would dart throughthe raging elements; occasionally the murky clouds rolled off the skyfor a short time, allowing the moon to render darkness hideouslyvisible. Tormented foam came in from the sea in riven masses, and thehoarse roaring of the breakers played a bass accompaniment to theyelling blast, which dashed gravel and sand, as well as sleet, in thefaces of those who had courage enough to brave it. 

"There--wasn't that a light?" cried the coxswain of the lifeboat, as hecowered under the shelter of the pier-wall and gazed seaward withdifficulty. 

"Ay, " responded Blunt, who was bowman of the boat; "there it goesagain. "

"And a rocket!" shouted Jo Grain, starting up. 

"No mistake now, " cried the coxswain. "Look alive, lads!"

He ran as he spoke to the spot where the lifeboat lay ready under theshelter of the pier, but Jo was on board before him. Almostsimultaneously did a dozen strong and fearless men leap into the noblecraft and don their cork life-belts. A few seconds sufficed. Every manknew well his place and his duty. The short, powerful oars wereshipped. 

"Give way!" cried the coxswain. 

There was no cheer--no onlooker to encourage. Silently the strong backswere bent, and the lively boat shot away towards the entrance of theharbour like a "thing of life. "

No description can adequately convey to landsmen the work to be done andthe conditions under which it was performed. On passing the shelter ofthe pier-head the boat and her crew were met not only by the tumultuoussurging of cross seas, but by a blast which caught the somewhat high bowand almost whirled them into the air; while in its now unbroken forcethe cold blast seemed to wither up the powers of the men. Then, in thedark distance, an unusually huge billow was seen rushing down on them. To meet it straight as an arrow and with all possible speed wasessential. Failure here--and the boat, turning side on, would have beenrolled over and swept back into the harbour, if not wrecked against thebreakwater. 

The coxswain strained at the steering oar as a man strains for life. The billow was fairly met. The men also strained till the stout oarswere ready to snap; for they knew that the billow must be cut through ifthey were to reach the open sea; but it was so high that the bow of theboat was lifted up, and for one instant it seemed as if she were to behurled backward right over the stern. The impulse given, however, wassufficient. The crest of the wave was cut, and next moment the bow fellforward, plunging deep into the trough of the sea. At the same time across-wave leaped right over the boat and filled it to the gunwales. 

This initial danger past, it was little the men cared for theirdrenching. As little did the boat mind the water, which she instantlyexpelled through the discharging tubes in her floor. But the toil nowbegan. In the teeth of tide and tempest they had to pull with might andmain; advancing foot by foot, sometimes only inch by inch. No rest; nobreathing time; nothing but continuous tearing at the oars, if progresswas to be made, while the spray enveloped them perpetually, and atfrequent intervals the "solid" water, plunging inboard, almost swept theheroes from their seats. 

But if the raging sea through which the lifeboat struggled was dreadful, much more terrible was the turmoil on the outlying sands where the wreckwas being gradually dashed to pieces. There the mad billows held highrevelry. Rushing in from all sides, twisted and turned in their coursesby the battered shoals, they met not far from, the wreck with the shockof opposing armies, and clouds of foam sprang upward in dire, indescribable confusion. 

The vessel in distress was a small brig. She had been lifted like aplaything by the waves, and hurled high on the sand, where, although nowunable to lift her up, they rolled her to and fro with extreme violence. Rocket after rocket had been sent up, until the drenching seas hadrendered the firing of them impossible. The foremast had already goneby the board, carrying most of the crew with it. On the cross-trees ofthe mainmast only two remained--a man and a woman, who could barelymaintain their hold as the battered craft swayed from side to side. 

"The end comes at last, darling Mary, " said the man, as he grasped thewoman tightly with one arm and the mast with the other. 

"No, father--not yet, " gasped the woman; "see--the lifeboat! I feltsure that God would send it. "

On came the gallant little craft. There was just light enough to enablethose on the wreck to see dimly her white and blue sides as she labouredthrough the foam towards them. 

"They have missed us, father; they don't see us!" cried the girl. 

The blast blew her long hair about, adding wildness to the look of alarmwhich she cast on the man while speaking. 

"Nay, darling, it's all right. They've only pulled a bit to wind'ard. Keep on praying, Mary. "

When well to windward of the wreck the anchor of the lifeboat was letgo, and they began to drop down towards the vessel by the cable. Then, for the first time, the men could draw a long breath and relax theirefforts at the oars, for wind and waves were now in their favour, thoughthey still dashed and tossed and buffeted them. 

Soon they were nearly alongside, and the man on the cross-trees washeard to shout, but his words could not be made out. 

What could it be that caused Jo Grain's heart to beat against his strongribs with the force of a sledge-hammer and his eyes to blaze withexcitement, as he turned on his thwart and crouched like a tiger readyto spring?

There was tremendous danger in drawing near: for, at one moment, theboat rushed up on a sea as if about to plunge through the rigging of thevessel, and the next she was down in a seething caldron, with the blackhull looming over her. It was observed that the two figures aloft, which could barely be seen against the dark sky, were struggling withsome difficulty. They had lashed themselves to the mast, and theirbenumbed fingers could not undo the fastenings. 

"Haul off!" shouted the coxswain, as the boat was hurled with such forcetowards the vessel's hull that destruction seemed imminent. 

"No, hold on!" roared Jo Grain. 

The men obeyed their coxswain, but as the boat heaved upwards Jo sprangwith all his might, and fell into the rigging of the wreck. A fewseconds later and he was on the cross-trees, knife in hand, and thelashings were cut. 

At the same moment a rending crash was heard, and again the stentorianvoice of the coxswain was heard shouting to the men. The lifeboat waspulled off just in time to escape from the mainmast as it fell, buryingits cross-trees and all its tangled gearing in the sea. 

The bowman and young Guy leaned over the side, and at the risk of theirlives grasped at a drowning man. They caught him, and Captain Bolterwas dragged into the boat insensible. A moment later and a hand wasseen to rise in the midst of the wreckage. Guy knew it well. Hegrasped it and held on. A few seconds more and Jo Grain, with bloodpouring down his face, from a deep cut in his head, was raised to thegunwale. 

"Have a care, " he gasped faintly. 

His right arm encircled an inanimate form. Both were dragged on board, and then it was seen that the form was that of Mary Bolter, uninjuredthough insensible. 

To haul up to the anchor was a slow process and laborious, but it wasdone cheerily, for the hearts of the men were aglow with satisfaction. Three lives saved! It was what Blunt styled a grand haul. Not many, indeed: but was not one that of a loved comrade, and was not anotherthat of "the sweetest lass in all the town, " in spite of young Guy'sdifference of opinion?

It was grey dawn when the lifeboat returned to port under sail, with asmall flag flying in token of success, and it would have done your heartgood, reader, to have seen the faces of the crowds that lined the pier, and heard the ringing cheers that greeted the gallant rescuers as theybrought the rescued safe to land. 

Six hours after that Captain Bolter sat at the bedside of Jo Grain. 

"You've been hard hit, Jo, I fear, " he said kindly. 

"Yes, rather hard, but the doctor says I'll be all right in a week ortwo; and it's little I'll care about it, Captain, if you'll only agreeto forgive and forget. "

The Captain seized Jo's hand and tried to speak, but could not. Afteran abortive effort he turned away with a grunt and left the room. 

Six months after that, Joseph Grain, transformed into a coast-guardsman, led "the sweetest lass in all the town" to the village church, and youngGuy, still objecting to the title, was groom's-man. 

"Jo, " said Captain Bolter that day, at parting, "I've forgiven you longago, but I _can't_ forget; for you said the truth that time. I _was_ anold grampus, or a fool, if you like, and I'm not much better now. However, good-bye, dear boy, and take care of her, for there's notanother like her in all England. "

"Except one, " murmured young Guy, as he squeezed his friend's hand andquietly attached an old slipper to their cab as they drove away. Thereafter he swaggered off to a certain familiar cottage to talk overthe wedding with one whom _he_ considered the sweetest lass in all thetown. 

CHAPTER TWELVE. 

"RESCUE THE PERISHING. "

Proverbial philosophy asserts that the iron should be struck when it ishot. I sympathise with proverbial philosophy in this case, but thatteacher says nothing whatever about striking the iron when it is cold;and experience--at least that of blacksmiths--goes to prove that coldiron may be struck till heat is evolved, and, once heated, who knowswhat intensity of incandescence may be attained?

I will try it. My hammer may not be a large one. A sledge-hammer itcertainly is not. Such as it is I wield it under the impulse of greatheat within me, and will direct my blows at the presumably cold ironaround. I say presumably, --because if you, good reader, have not beensubjected to the same influences with myself you cannot reasonably beexpected to be even warm--much less white-hot. 

The cause of all this heat was Dr Barnardo's splendid meeting heldrecently in the Royal Albert Hall. I came home from that meetingincandescent--throwing off sparks of enthusiasm, and eagerly clutchingat every cold or lukewarm creature that came in my way with a view toexpend on it some of my surplus heat!

The great Albert Hall filled is enough of itself to arouse enthusiasm, whatever the object of the gathering may be. Ten thousand human beings, more or less, swarming on the floor, clustering on the walls, risingtier above tier, until in dim distance the pigmy throng seems soaring upinto the very heavens, is a tremendous, a solemn, a heart-stirringsight, suggestive--I write with reverence--of the Judgment Day. Andwhen such an assembly is convened for the purpose of considering mattersof urgent importance, matters affecting the well-being of multitudes, matters of life and death which call for instant and vigorous action, then the enthusiasm is naturally intensified and needs but littlehammering to rouse it to the fiercest glow. 

It was no ordinary gathering this--no mere "annual meeting" of a grandsociety. It was indeed that, but a great deal more. There was a "noblechairman, " of course, and an address, and several speeches by eminentmen; but I should suppose that one-half of the audience could not wellsee the features of the speakers or hear their words. These wererelatively insignificant matters. 

The business of the evening was to present to the people a great ObjectLesson, and the only figure on the platform that bulked large--at leastin my esteem--was that of Dr Barnardo himself, and a magical master ofthe ceremonies did the doctor prove himself to be. 

Being unable to induce the "West End" to visit the "East End, " he hadsimply cut several enormous slices out of the slums and set them down inthe Royal Albert Hall for inspection. 

The display was set forth interestingly and with emphasis, insomuch thatthings almost spoke for themselves, and wherein they failed to do so theDoctor supplemented in a satisfactorily sonorous voice. 

One of the slum-slices was a large one. It consisted of thirteenhundred children--boys and girls--in bright, light, smart dresses, whoclustered on the orchestra and around the great organ, like flowers inJune. Looking at their clean, wholesome faces, neat attire, and orderlydemeanour, I thought, "Is it possible that these are the sweepings ofthe streets?" The question was tellingly answered later on; but here itmay be stated that this beautiful band of 1300 was only a slice--asample--of the Doctor's large family, which at present numbers nearly3500. (It now, in 1893, numbers nearly 5000. )

It was grand to hear them sing! The great organ itself had to singsmall beside them, for wood and metal can never hope to equal the livinghuman voice, even though it be but a voice from the slums. Not onlyhymns but humorous songs they sang, and heroic. A telling effect wasproduced while singing one of the latter by the sudden display of 1300Union Jacks, each the size of a 'kerchief, which the singers waved intime to the chorus. It seemed as though a stiff breeze had swept overthe flower-bed and kissed the national flag in passing. 

Another surprise of this kind was given during the stirring song of _TheFire Brigade_, when 1300 bits of gold and silver paper, waved to andfro, seemed to fill the orchestra with flashing fire. 

But much of this was for show, to tickle our eyes and ears and preparethe way, as it were, for the grave and stern realities yet to come. 

There was a mighty platform covered with crimson cloth in the centre ofthe hall in front of the orchestra. On it were several mysteriousobjects covered with sheets. At a signal--a whistle--given by theDoctor, a band of sturdy boys, clad in their work-a-day uniform, scampered down the central passage of the hall, jumped on the platform, flung off the sheets, and discovered carpenters' benches, saws, hammers, wood--in short, all the appliances with which they carry on the varioustrades at their "Home" in the East End. In a few seconds, as if bymagic, the platform was a workshop in full swing--hammering, sawing, chiselling, wood-chopping, clattering, and indescribable din, which wasenhanced, but not drowned, by the applause of the astonished audience. The little fellows worked as though life depended on their activity, forthe space, it seemed to me, of half a minute. Then the shrill whistlesounded again, and the work ceased, as if the springs of life had beensuddenly cut off. Dead silence ensued; each worker remaining in theattitude in which he had been petrified--a group of artisan statuary incolour!

The Doctor was thus enabled quietly to explain that the displayrepresented only a very few of the trades taught and carried on by hisrescued boys at Stepney Causeway. 

At another signal the splendidly drilled young fellows scampered off, carrying not only their tools, but their benches, tables, stools, andeven debris along with them, and, disappearing in less than a couple ofminutes, left not a chip or shaving behind. 

It would take a good many pages of close writing to give anything like adetailed account of all that I saw. I must pass over much in order toemphasise one or two very telling incidents. The Doctor presented asample of all his wares. One of these was a very touching sample--namely, a band of cripples, who made their way slowly on crutches downthe passage to the platform--for it is one of the noteworthy points inthis Mission that no destitute boy is turned away, whether he be well orill, crippled or sound. So, also, there was a small procession of neat, pleasant-looking nurses, each leading one or more mites of forsakenhumanity from "Babies' Castle. "

But it seemed to me that the kernel of the nut had been reached, and thefoundation of the God-like Mission laid bare for our inspection, whenthe raw material was led forth. We had got accustomed by that time toturn an expectant gaze at a far distant door when the Doctor's voiceceased or his whistle sounded. Presently a solitary nurse with the neatfamiliar white cap and apron appeared at the door leading two littlecreatures by the hand. A hush--a distinct though indescribablesensation--as of profound pity and pathos, --passed over the vastassembly as a little boy and girl direct from the slums were ledforward. The nurse had to walk slowly to accommodate her pace totheirs. Half naked, ragged, dirty, unkempt, bereft of their naturalguardians, or forsaken by them--helpless, yet left to help themselvesalmost before they could walk! Forward they came to the centralplatform, casting timid, wondering glances around at the mighty host ofwell-to-do beings, not one of whom, perhaps, ever knew what it is tohunger for a whole day and lie down at night with a door-step for apillow. Oh, it was pitiful! the Doctor advanced to these forlorn onesand took them by the hands with inexpressible tenderness, and then, facing the assembly, broke the silence and presented the human materialwhich it was, under God, his mission in life to rescue. 

Then turning abruptly to the flower-bed in the orchestra, he signalledwith his finger. A flower that might well have been styled a rosebud--aneat little girl in pink with a natty straw hat--tripped lightly downand stood on the platform beside the poor waifs. Looking up once moreto the entranced audience and pointing to the children, the Doctorsaid--

"Such as these are, she was but a few months ago, and such as she is nowthey will soon become, with God's blessing. "

I may not quote the words correctly, but that is my recollection of thesubstance. 

The Doctor was not content, however, to show us the foundation andprogress of his work. He showed us the work, as it were, completed, inthe form of a band of sturdy young men in their working costume, readyto start as rescued, trained, useful, earnest labourers for the fieldsof Manitoba--young men who all had once been lost waifs and strays. 

Still further, he, as it were, put the copestone on his glorious work bypresenting a band of men and women--"old boys and girls"--who had beentested by rough contact with the world and its temptations, and had comeoff victorious "by keeping their situations with credit" for periodsvarying from one to nine years--kept by the power of Christ!

When I saw the little waifs and looked up at the bands of happy childrenbefore me, and thought of the thousands more in the "Homes, " and of themultitudes which have passed through these Homes in years gone by; thegladness and the great boon to humanity which must have resulted, and ofthe terrible crime and degradation that might have been--my heartoffered the prayer, which at that moment my voice could not haveuttered--"God bless and prosper Dr Barnardo and his work!"

I hear a voice from the "Back of Beyont, " or some such far offlocality--a timid voice, perhaps that of a juvenile who knows little, and can scarce be expected to care much, about London--asking "Who isDr Barnardo?"

For the sake of that innocent one I reply that he is a Scavenger--thechief of London Scavengers! He and his subordinates sweep up the humanrubbish of the slums and shoot it into a receptacle at 18 StepneyCauseway, where they manipulate and wash it, and subject it to a varietyof processes which result, with God's blessing, in the recovery ofinnumerable jewels of inestimable value. I say inestimable, because menhave not yet found a method of fixing the exact value of human souls andrescued lives. The "rubbish" which is gathered consists of destitutechildren. The Assistant Scavengers are men and women who love and servethe Lord Jesus Christ. 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN. 

A KNOTTY QUESTION. 

"Tom Blunt, " said Richard Sharp, "I deny your premises, condemn yourreasoning as illogical, and reject your conclusions with scorn!"

The youth who made this remark with very considerable assurance andemphasis was a student. His fellow-student received it with an air ofbland good-nature. 

"Dick, " said he, "your oratory is rotund, and if it were convincingmight be impressive; but it fails to some extent in consequence of acertain smack of self-assertion which is unphilosophical. Suppose, now, that we have this matter out in a calm, dispassionate manner, without`tooth, ' or egotism, or prejudice, which tend so powerfully to mar humandisputation and render it abortive. "

"With all my heart, Tom, " said the other, drawing close to the fire, placing one foot against the mantelpiece, as being a comfortable, thoughnot elegant posture, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair, andplacing his hands in that position--with all the finger tips touchingeach other--which seems, from the universal practice of civilisedsociety, to assist mental elucidation. "I am quite prepared. Come on!"

"Stay; while my mind is working I like to have my hands employed. Iwill proceed with my monkey while we talk, " said Blunt, taking up awalking-stick, the head of which he had carved into the semblance of amonkey. "Sweet creature!" he added, kissing the object of hisaffection, and holding it out at arm's-length. "Silent companion of mysolitary rambles, and patient auditor of my most secret aspirations, youare becoming quite a work of art. A few more touches of the knife, andsomething like perfection shall have been attained! Look here, Dick, when I turn it towards the light--so--isn't there a beauty about thecontour of that upper lip and nose which--"

"Don't be a fool, Tom, " interrupted his friend, somewhat impatiently;"you seem to me to be growing more and more imbecile every day. We didnot sit down to discuss fine art--"

"True, Richard, true; but there is a power in the consideration of fineart, which, when judiciously interpolated in the affairs of life, tendsto soften the asperities, to round away, as it were, the ruggedness ofhuman intercourse, and produce a tranquillity of mind which is eminentlyconducive to--to--don't you see?"

"No, I don't see!"

"Then, " continued Blunt, applying his knife to one of the monkey's eyes, "there arises the question--how far is this intellectual blindness theresult of incapacity of intellectual vision, or of averted gaze, or ofthe wilful shutting of the intellectual eyelids?"

"Well, well, Tom, let that question alone for the present. Let us cometo the point, for I wish to have my mind cleared up on the subject. Youhold that gambling is wrong--essentially wrong. "

"I do; but let us not have a misunderstanding at the very beginning, "said Blunt. "By gambling I do not mean the playing of games. That isnot gambling. What I understand by gambling is betting on games--or onanything--and the playing of games for the purpose of winning money, oranything that possesses value, great or small. Such gambling I hold tobe wrong--essentially, morally, absolutely wrong, without one particleof right or good in it whatever. "

As he spoke Blunt became slightly more earnest in tone, and less devotedto the monkey. 

"Well, now, Tom, do you know I don't see that. "

"If you did see it, my dear fellow, " returned Blunt, resuming his airytone, "our discussion of the subject would be useless. "

"Well, then, I _can't_ see it to be wrong. Here are you and I. We wantto have a game of billiards. It is uninteresting to play even billiardsfor nothing; but we each have a little money, and choose to risk a smallsum. Our object is not gain, therefore we play for merely sixpennypoints. We both agree to risk that sum. If I lose, all right. If youlose, all right. That's fair, isn't it?"

"No; it is undoubtedly equal, but not necessarily fair. Fair means`free from blemish, ' `pure, ' in other words, right. Two thieves maymake a perfectly fair division of spoil; but the fairness of thedivision does not make their conduct fair or right. Neither of them isentitled to divide their gains at all. Their agreeing to do so does notmake it fair. "

"Agreed, Tom, as regards thieves; but you and I are not thieves. Wepropose to act with that which is our own. We mutually agree to run therisk of loss, and to take our chance of gain. We have a right to do aswe choose with our own. Is not that fair?"

"You pour out so many fallacies and half truths, Dick, that it is noteasy to answer you right off. "

"Morally and politically you are wrong. Politically a man is notentitled to do what he chooses with his own. There are limitations. For instance, a man owns a house. Abstractly, he is entitled to burn itdown if he chooses. But if his house abuts upon mine, he may not set iton fire if he chooses, because in so doing he would set fire to my housealso, which is very much beyond his right. Then--"

"Oh, man, I understand all that, " said Sharp quickly. "Of course a manmay put what he likes in his garden, but with such-like limitations asthat he shall not set up a limekiln to choke his neighbours, or apiggery to breed disease; but gambling does nothing like that. "

"Does it not?" exclaimed Blunt. "Does it not ruin hundreds of men, turning them into sots and paupers, whereby the ruined gamblers becomeunable to pay their fair share of taxation; and, in addition, lay on theshoulders of respectable people the unfair burden of supporting them, and perhaps their families?"

"But what if the gambler has no family?"

"There still remains his ruined self to be maintained. "

"But suppose he is not ruined--that he manages, by gambling, to supporthimself?"

"In that case he still remains guilty of two mean and contemptible acts. On the one hand he produces nothing whatever to increase the wealth orhappiness of the world, and, on the other hand, whatever he gains is amatter of direct loss and sorrow to others without any tangibleequivalent. It is not so with the orator or the musician. Though theirproducts are not indeed tangible they are distinctly real and valuable. During the hour of action the orator charms the ear, eye, and intellect. So does the musician. When the hour is past the heart is gladdened bythe memory of what has been, and the hopes are aroused in anticipationof what may yet be in the future. As regards the orator, the lessonsinculcated may be a lasting gain and pleasure, and source of widespreadbenefit through life. To a great extent this may also be said of themusician when words are wedded to music. Who has not heard of soulsbeing delivered from spiritual darkness and brought into spiritual lightby means of song?--a benefit which will last through eternity as well astime. Even the man of wealth who lives on the interest of hispossessions is not necessarily a drone in the human hive. He may, bywise and careful use of his wealth, greatly increase the world's riches. By the mere management of it he may fill up his days with useful andhappy employment, and by devoting it and himself to God he may soinfluence the world for good that men shall bless him while he lives andmourn him profoundly when he dies. But what fraction of good is done bythe gambler in all the wide world?"

"Much the same that is accomplished by the others, " put in Sharp at thispoint. "The orator gives pleasure to those who are fond of recitationor declamation; the musician pleases those who are fond of sweet sounds, and the gambler gives pleasure to men who are fond of the excitement ofplay. Besides, by paying his way he gives benefit to all whom heemploys. He rents a house, he buys furniture, he eats food, all ofwhich brings profit to house-owners, cabinet-makers, butchers, bakers, etcetera, and is good done to the world by the gambler. "

"Nay, friend Richard, not by the gambler, but by the money which thegambler spends. "

"Isn't that much the same thing?"

"By no means. The money--or its equivalent--is created by some oneelse. The gambler merely passes it on. If he had never been born thesame money would have been there for some one else to spend. The labourof the gambler has not added one penny to it. He brought nothing intothe world, and has added nothing to the world's pile, though he hasmanaged to consume a good deal of its produce. Is there not somethingvery mean and contemptible in this state of being? On the other handthe orator has spent laborious days and exerted much brain-power beforehe made himself capable of pleasing and benefiting his fellows. Themusician has gone through exhausting drudgery and practice before beingfit to thrill or instruct by means of his sweet sounds, and the man ofwealth has had to be educated up to the point of using his possessionsto profitable account--so that his fields shall grow heavier crops thanthey did when he began his work; his tenants shall be better housed thanthey were at first, and shall lead healthier and happier lives to thegreat moral and material advantage of the community. Nearly all theother members of the hive produce, or help to produce, some sort ofequivalent for the money they obtain. Even those who produce what isbad have still _something_ to show for their money, and that something, bad though it be in one form, may be decidedly good in another form, orif put to another use. The gambler alone--except, perhaps, the absoluteidler--enjoys the unenviable position of a thorough, out-and-out, unmitigated drone. He does absolutely _nothing_, except produceunhealthy excitement in himself and his fellows! He has nothingwhatever to show for the money he has obtained except `risk, ' and thatcan hardly be styled a commodity. "

"I beg pardon, " interrupted Sharp, "the gambler produces skill; andthere can be no doubt that hundreds of men derive as much pleasure froman exhibition of skill with the billiard-cue as others derive from anexhibition of skill with the flute or violin. "

"You forget, Dick, my boy, that skill with the billiard-cue is notgambling. What I condemn as being morally and politically wrong isbetting on games and staking anything upon the issue of them. Gamblersare, if I may say so, a set of living pockets which circulate moneyabout amongst themselves, one pocket gaining neither more nor less thanwhat another pocket loses. "

"But you are now talking of professional gamblers, Tom. Of course Idon't defend these. What I do defend is my right to play, now and then, for sixpenny, or say shilling, or even half-crown points, without layingmyself open to the charge of having been guilty of what you term a mean, dishonourable, unjust, contemptible act. "

"In other words, you wish to steal now and then without being called athief! But come, old man, I won't call you bad names. I know you don'tlook at this matter as I do, and therefore I don't think that you areeither mean or contemptible. Nevertheless, we must bear in mind thathonourable, upright men may sometimes be reasoned into false beliefs, sothat for a time they may fail to see the evil of that which they uphold. I am not infallible. If my reasoning is false, I stand open tocorrection. "

Laying the monkey down on the table at this point and looking earnestlyat his friend, Tom Blunt continued--

"Let me ask a question, Dick. Is it for the sake of getting money thatyou gamble?"

"Certainly not, " returned his friend, with a slight touch ofindignation. "You know that I _never_ play for high stakes, and withpenny or sixpenny points you know it is impossible for me either to winor lose any sum that would be worth a moment's consideration. The gameis all that I care for. "

"If so, why do you lose interest in the game when there are no stakes?"

"Oh--well, it's hard to say; but the value of the stake cannot be thatwhich adds interest, for it is so trifling. "

"I'm not so sure of that, Dick. You have heard gambling talked of as adisease. "

"Yes, but I don't believe it is. "

"Do you believe that a miser is a morally diseased man?"

"Well, perhaps he is, " returned Sharp; "but a gambler is not necessarilya miser. "

"Yet the two have some symptoms of this moral disease in common. Themiser is sometimes rich, nevertheless the covetous spirit is so strongin him that he gloats over a sixpence, has profound interest in gainingit, and mourns over it if lost. You, being well off with a rich andliberal father, yet declare that the interest of a game is muchdecreased if there are no stakes on it. "

"The cases are not parallel. "

"I did not say they were, but you must admit--indeed you have admitted--that you have one symptom of this disease in common with the miser. "

"What disease?"

"The love of money. "

Richard Sharp burst into a laugh at this, a good-humoured laugh in whichthere was more of amusement than annoyance. 

"Tom, Tom, " he said, "how your notions about gambling seem to blind youto the true character of your friends! Did you ever see me gloatingover gold, or hoarding sixpences, or going stealthily in the dead ofnight to secret places for the purpose of counting over my wealth? HaveI not rather, on the contrary, got credit among my friends for beingsomewhat of a spendthrift? But go on, old fellow, what more have you tosay against gambling--for you have not yet convinced me?"

"Hold on a bit. Let me pare off just a morsel of my monkey's nose--there, that's about as near perfection as is possible in a monkey. Whata pity that he has not life enough to see his beautiful face in a glass!But perhaps it's as well, for he would never see himself as others seehim. Men never do. No doubt monkeys are the same. Well now, "continued Blunt, again laying down the stick, and becoming serious, "tryif you can see the matter in this light. Two gamblers meet. Notblacklegs, observe, but respectable men, who nevertheless bet much, andplay high, and keep `books, ' etcetera. One is rich, the other poor. Each wishes ardently to gain money from his friend. This is a somewhatlow, unmanly wish, to begin with; but let it pass. The poor one has awife and family to keep, and debts to pay. Many thousands of men, ay, and women, are in the same condition, and work hard to pay their debts. Our poor gambler, however, does not like work. He prefers to take hischance at gambling; it is easier, he thinks, and it is certainly, in away, more exciting than work. Our rich gambler has no need to work, buthe also likes excitement, and he loves money. Neither of these menwould condescend for one moment to ask a gift of money from the other, yet each is so keen to obtain his friend's money that they agree tostake it on a chance, or on the issue of a contest. For one to _take_the money from the other, who does not wish to part with it, would beunfair and wrong, of course; but their agreement gets rid of thedifficulty. It has not altered the _conditions_, observe. Neither ofthem wishes to give up his money, but an arrangement has been come to, in virtue of which one consents to be a defrauder, and the other to bedefrauded. Does the agreement make wrong right?"

"I think it does, because the gamblers have a right to make whatagreement they please, as it is between themselves. "

"Hold there, Dick. Suppose that the poor man loses. Is it then betweenthemselves? Does not the rich gambler walk away with the money that wasdue to the poor one's butcher, baker, brewer, etcetera?"

"But the rich one did not know that. It is not his fault. "

"That does not free the poor gambler from the dishonourable act ofrisking money which was not his own; and do you really think that if therich one did know it he would return the money? I think not. Thehistory of gambling does not point to many, if any, such cases ofself-sacrifice. The truth is that selfishness in its meanest form is atthe bottom of all gambling, though many gamblers may not quite see thefact. I want your money. I am too proud to ask it. I dare not demandit. I cannot cajole you out of it. I will not rob you. You areprecisely in the same mind that I am. Come, let us resort to a trick, let us make an arrangement whereby one of us at least shall gain hissneaking, nefarious, unjust end, and we will, anyhow, have theexcitement of leaving to chance which of us is to be the lucky man. Chance and luck! Dick Sharp, there is no such condition as chance orluck. It is as surely fixed in the mind of God which gambler is to gainand which to lose as it is that the morrow shall follow to-day. "

"My dear Blunt, I had no idea you were such a fatalist, " said Sharp insurprise. 

"I am not a fatalist in the sense you mean, " returned his friend. "Everything has been fixed from the beginning. "

"Is not that fatalism of the most pronounced nature, Tom?"

"You don't seem to see that, among other fixtures, it was fixed thatfree-will should be given to man, and with it the right as well as thepower to fix many things for himself, also the responsibility. Withoutfree-will we could have had no responsibility. The mere fact that Godof course _knew_ what each man would will, did not alter the fixedarrangement that man has been left perfectly free to will as he pleases. I do not say that man is free to _do_ as he pleases. Sometimes thedoing is permitted; sometimes it is interfered with--never the willing. That is always and for ever free. Gamblers use their free-wills, oftento their own great damage and ruin; just as good men use theirfree-wills to their great advantage and happiness. In both cases theymake free use of the free-wills that have been bestowed on them. "

"Then I suppose that you consider gambling, even to the smallest extent, to be sin?"

"I do. "

"Under which of the ten commandments does it fall?"

"`Thou shalt not covet. '"

CHAPTER FOURTEEN. 

TWO REMARKABLE DREAMS. 

Some natures are better than others. There can be no question aboutthat. Some dispositions are born moderately sweet, others are bornslightly sour. If you doubt the fact, reader, go study Nature, or getyou to an argumentative friend and dispute the point. We refuse flatlyto enter into a discussion of the subject. 

Look at that little boy sleeping there under the railway arch in theEast End of London--not the boy with the black hair and the hook noseand the square under-jaw, but the one with the curly head, the extremelydirty face, and the dimpled chin, on the tip of whose snub nose therising sun shines with a power that causes it to resemble a glowingcarbuncle on a visage still lying in shadow. 

That little boy's disposition is sweet. You can see it in every line, in every curve, in every dimple of his dirty little face. He has notbeen sweetened by training, he has had no training--at least none fromman or woman with a view to his good. He has no settled principles ofany kind, good or bad. All his actions are the result of impulse basedon mere animal propensity, but, like every other human being, he has aconscience. At the time of his introduction to the reader hisconscience is, like himself, asleep, and it has not as yet been muchenlightened. His name is Stumpy, but he was never christened. 

Critical minds will object here that a boy would not be permitted tosleep under a railway arch, and that London houses would effectuallyprevent the rising sun from entering such a place. To which we replythat the arch in question was a semi-suburban arch; that it was thelast, (or the first), of a series of arches, an insignificant arch underwhich nothing ever ran except stray cats and rats, and that it spanned amorsel of waste ground which gave upon a shabby street running due east, up which, every fine morning, the rising sun gushed in a flood of glory. 

Each fleeting moment increased the light on Stumpy's upturned nose, until it tipped the dimpled chin and cheeks and at last kissed hiseyelids. This appeared to suggest pleasant dreams, for the boy smiledlike a dirty-faced angel. He even gave vent to an imbecile laugh, andthen awoke. 

Stumpy's eyes were huge and blue. The opening of them was like therevealing of unfathomable sky through clouds of roseate hue! Theysparkled with a light all their own in addition to that of the sun, forthere was in them a gleam of mischief as their owner poked his companionin the ribs and then tugged his hair. 

"I say, you let me alone!" growled the companion, turning uneasily onhis hard couch. 

"I say, you get up, " answered Stumpy, giving the companion a pinch onthe tender part of his arm. "Come, look alive, Howlet. I sees arailway porter and a bobby. "

Owlet, whose nose had suggested his name, had been regardless of thepoke, the tug, and the pinch, but was alive to the hint. He at oncecame to the sitting posture on hearing the dreaded name of "bobby, " andrubbed his eyes. On seeing that there was neither policeman nor guardnear, he uttered an uncomplimentary remark and was about to lie downagain, but was arrested by the animated expression of his comrade's faceand the heaving of his shoulders. 

"Why, what ever is the matter with you?" he demanded. "Are you goin' tobust yourself wi' larfin', by way of gettin' a happetite for thebreakfast that you hain't no prospect of?"

To this Stumpy replied by pulling from his trousers pocket four shiningpennies, which he held out with an air of triumph. 

"Oh!" exclaimed Owlet; and then being unable to find words sufficientlyexpressive, he rubbed the place where the front of his waistcoat wouldhave been if he had possessed one. 

"Yes, " said Stumpy, regarding the coppers with a pensive air, "I'veslep' with you all night in my 'and, an' my 'and in my pocket, an' myknees doubled up to my chin to make all snug, an' now I'm going to havea tuck in--a blow out--a buster--a--"

He paused abruptly, and looking with a gleeful air at his companion, said--

"But that wasn't what I was laughin' at. "

"Well, I suppose it warn't. What was it, then?"

The boy's eyes sparkled again, and for some moments a half-suppressedchuckling prevented speech. 

"It was a dream, " he said at last. 

"A dream!" exclaimed Owlet contemptuously. 

"I hate dreams. When I dreams 'em they're always about bobbies andmaginstrates, an' wittles, an' when other fellows tells about 'emthey're so long-winded an' prosy. But I had a dream too. What wasyours?"

"My dream was about a bobby, " returned his friend. "See, here it is, an' I won't be long-winded or prosy, Howlet, so don't growl and spoilyour happetite for that 'ere breakfast that's a-comin'. I dreamed--letme see, was it in Piccadilly--no, it was Oxford Street, close by RegentStreet, where all the swells go to promynade, you know. Well, I sees abobby--of course I never can go the length my little toe without seein'a bobby! but this bobby was a stunner. You never see'd sitch a feller. Not that he was big, or fierce, but he had a nose just two-foot-sixlong. I know for certain, for I'm a good judge o' size, besides, I wentstraight up to him, as bold as brass, and axed him how long it was, an'he told me without winkin'. The strange thing about it is that I wasn'ta bit surprised at his nose. Wery odd, ain't it, eh, Howlet, thatpeople never is surprised at anything they sees in dreams? I dob'lieve, now, if I was to see a man takin' a walk of a' arternoon withhis head in his coat-tail pocket I'd take it quite as a matter ofcourse. 

"Well, w'en that bobby had told me his nose was two-foot-six inches longI feels a most unaccountable and astonishin' gush of indignation comeover me. What it was at I don't know no more nor the man in the moon. P'r'aps it was the sudden thought of all the troubles that bobbies hasbrought on me from the day I was born till now. Anyhow, I was tookawful bad. My buzzum felt fit to bust. I knowed that I must dosomethin' to him or die; so I seized that bobby by the nose, and hauledhim flat down on his breast. He was so took with surprise that he nevermade any struggle, but gived vent to a most awful howl. My joy athavin' so easily floored my natural enemy was such that I replied with aCherokee yell. Then I gave his nose a pull up so strong that itwell-nigh broke his neck an' set him straight on his pins again! Oh!Howlet, you can't think what a jolly dream it was. To do it all soeasy, too!"

"Well, what happened arter that?" asked Owlet. 

"Nothin' happened after that, " returned Stumpy, with a somewhat sadexpression on his usually gleeful visage. "It's a wery strange thing, Howlet, that dreams inwariably wanishes away just at the mostinterestin' p'int. Did you ever notice that?"

"Notice it! I should think I did. Why the dream that I had w'en I waslayin' alongside o' you was o' that sort exactly. It was all aboutwittles, too, an' it's made me that 'ungry I feels like a ravagin'wolf. "

"Come along, then, Howlet, an' you an' me will ravage somethin' wi' thembrowns o' mine. We'll 'ave a good breakfast, though it should be ourlast, an' I'll stand treat. "

"You're a trump, Stumpy; an' I'll tell you _my_ dream as we goes along. "

"Hall right--but mind you don't come prosy over me. I can't stand it nomore nor yourself. "

"You mind Dick Wilkin, don't you?"

"What--the young man from the country as I've see'd standin' at the dockgates day after day for weeks without getting took on?"

"That's him, " continued Owlet, with a nod, as he shoved his hand intohis trousers pockets. "He brought a wife and five kids from the countrywith him--thinkin' to better hisself in London. Ha! a sweet little townfor a cove as is 'ard up to better hisself in--ho yes, certingly!"remarked the precocious boy in a tone of profound sarcasm. 

"Well, " he continued, "Dick Wilkin came to better hisself an' he setabout it by rentin' a single room in Cherubs Court--a fine saloobriousspot, as you know, not far from the Tower. He 'ad a few bobs when hecame, and bought a few sticks o' furniture, but I don't need for to tell_you_, Stumpy, that the most o' that soon went up the spout, and theWilkins was redooced to beggary--waried off an' on with an odd job atthe docks. It was when they first comed to town that I was down wi'that fever, or 'flenzy, or somethink o' that sort. The streets bein' myusual 'abitation, I 'ad no place in partikler to go to, an' by goodluck, when I gave in, I lay down at the Wilkins' door. O! but I _was_bad--that bad that it seemed as if I should be cleared out o' my mortalcarcase entirely--"

"Mulligrumps?" inquired his sympathetic friend. 

"No, no. Nothin' o' that sort, but a kind of hot all-overishness, wi'pains that--but you can't understand it, Stumpy, if you've never 'adit. "

"Then I don't want to understand it. But what has all this to do wi'your dream?"

"Everythink to do with it, 'cause it was about them I was dreamin'. AsI was sayin', I fell down at their door, an' they took me in, and MrsWilkin nussed me for weeks till I got better. Oh, she's a rare nuss isMrs Wilkin. An' when I began to get better the kids all took to me. Idon't know when I would have left them, but when times became bad, an'Dick couldn't git work, and Mrs Wilkin and the kids began to grow thin, I thought it was time for me to look out for myself, an' not remain aburden on 'em no longer. I know'd they wouldn't let me away without arumpus, so I just gave 'em the slip, and that's 'ow I came to be on thestreets again, an' fell in wi' you, Stumpy. "

"'Ave you never seen 'em since?"

"Never. "

"You ungrateful wagibone!"

"What was the use o' my goin' to see 'em w'en I 'ad nothin' to give'em?" returned Owlet in an apologetic tone. 

"You might 'ave given 'em the benefit of your adwice if you 'ad nothin'else. But what did you dream about 'em?"

"I dreamt that they was all starvin'--which ain't unlikely to be true--an' I was so cut up about it, that I went straight off to a butcher'sshop and stole a lot o' sasengers; then to a baker's and stole a loafthe size of a wheel-barrer; then to a grocer's and stole tea an' sugar;an' the strange thing was that neither the people o' the shops nor thebobbies seemed to think I was stealin'! Another coorious thing was thatI carried all the things in my pockets--stuffed 'em in quite easy, though there was 'arf a sack o' coals among 'em!"

"Always the way in dreams, " remarked his friend philosophically. 

"Yes--ain't it jolly convenient?" continued the other. "Well, w'en Igot to the 'ouse I set to work, made a rousin' fire, put on the kettle, cooked the wittles as if I'd bin born and bred in a 'otel, and in lessthan five minutes 'ad a smokin' dinner on the table, that would 'avebusted an alderman. In course the Wilkins axed no questions. Father, mother, five kids, and self all drew in our chairs, and sot down--"

"What fun!" exclaimed Stumpy. 

"Ay, but you spoilt the fun, for it was just at that time you shovedyour fist into my ribs, and woke me before one of us could get a bite o'that grub into our mouths. If we'd even 'ad time to smell it, thatwould 'ave bin somethink to remember. "

"Howlet, " said the other impressively, "d'ye think the Wilkins is livin'in the same place still?"

"As like as not. "

"Could you find it again?"

"Could I find Saint Paul's, or the Moniment? I should think so!"

"Come along, then, and let's pay 'em a wisit. "

They were not long in finding the place--a dirty court at the fartherend of a dark passage. 

Owlet led the way to the top of a rickety stair, and knocked at one ofthe doors which opened on the landing. No answer was returned, butafter a second application of the knuckles, accompanied by a touch ofthe toe, a growling voice was heard, then a sound of some one gettingviolently out of bed, a heavy tread on the floor, and the door was flungopen. 

"What d'ee want?" demanded a fierce, half-drunken man. 

"Please, sir, does the Wilkins stop here?"

"No, they don't, " and the door was shut with a bang. 

"Sweet creature!" observed Stumpy as they turned disappointed away. 

"Wonder if his mother 'as any more like 'im?" said Owlet. 

"They've 'ad to change to the cellar, " said a famished-looking woman, putting her head out of a door on the same landing. "D'ye want 'em?"

"In course we does, mother, else we wouldn't ax for 'em. W'ereabouts isthe cellar?"

"Foot o' this stair. "

Descending to the regions below, the two boys groped their way along anunderground passage till they came to a door. It was opened by a woman, who timidly demanded what they wanted. 

"It's me, Missis Wilkin. 'Ave you forgotten Howlet?"

With an exclamation of surprise and joy the woman flung the door wide, seized Owlet, dragged him into the room, and embraced him with as muchaffection as if he had been her own child. Instantly there arose ashout of juvenile joy, and Stumpy could see, in the semi-darkness, thatfour little creatures were helping their mother to overwhelm his friend, while a fifth--a biggish girl--was prevented from joining them by thenecessity that lay on her to take care of the baby. 

When the greetings were over, the sad condition of the family was soonexplained, and a single glance round sufficed to show that they hadreached the lowest state of destitution. It was a back room rather thana cellar, but the dirty pane of thick glass near the roof admitted onlyenough of light to make its wretchedness visible. A rickety table, twobroken chairs, and a bedstead without a bottom was all the furnitureleft, and the grate was empty. 

"We've been obleeged to pawn everything, " said Mrs Wilkin, withdifficulty suppressing a sob, "and I need hardly tell you why, " sheadded, with a glance at the children, who were living skeletons. 

The baby was perhaps the saddest object there, for it was so thin andweak that it had not strength to cry--though the faces which itfrequently made were obviously the result of an effort to do so. 

Much interested in the scene, young Stumpy stood admiring itpatronisingly for a little, but when he heard the poor woman tell oftheir desperate struggle to merely keep themselves alive, his feelingswere touched, and when he learned that not a bite of food had passedtheir lips since the previous morning, a sudden impulse swelled hislittle breast. He clutched his four pennies tightly; glanced quicklyround; observed an empty basket in a corner; caught it up, and left theplace hurriedly. 

He had scarcely gone when the father of the family entered. Theexpression of his face and his whole bearing and aspect told eloquentlyof disappointment as he sat down with a heavy sigh. 

"Stumped again, " he said; "only a few hands took on. "

The words sounded as a death-knell to the famishing family, and the manhimself was too much cut up to take notice of the return of his friendOwlet, except by a slight nod of recognition. 

Meanwhile Stumpy ran along several streets in quest of food. He had notfar to run in such a locality. At a very small grocer's shop hepurchased one halfpenny worth of tea and put it in his basket. To thishe added one farthing's worth of milk, which the amiable milkman let himhave in a small phial, on promise of its being returned. Two farthingsmore procured a small supply of coal, which he wrapped in two cabbageleaves. Then he looked about for a baker. One penny farthing of hisfund having been spent, it behoved him to consider that the staff oflife must be secured in preference to luxuries. 

At this point the boy's nose told him of a most delicious smell whichpervaded the air. He stood still for a moment and sniffed eagerly. 

"Ah, ain't it prime? I've jist 'ad some, " said another much smaller andvery ragged street-boy who had noticed the sniff. 

"What ever is it?" demanded Stumpy. 

"Pea-soup, " answered the other. 

"Where?"

"Right round the corner. Look alive, they're shovellin' it out like oneo'clock for _fard'ns_!"

Our hero waited for no more. He dashed round the corner, and found aplace where the Salvation Army was dispensing farthing and halfpennybreakfasts to a crowd of the hungriest and raggedest creatures he hadever seen, though his personal experience of London destitution wasextensive. 

"Here you are, " said a smiling damsel in a poke bonnet. "I see you'rein a hurry; how much do you want?"

"'Ow much for a fard'n?" asked Stumpy, with the caution natural to a manof limited means. 

A small bowl full of steaming soup was placed before him and a hunk ofbread. 

"For _one_ fard'n?" inquired the boy in surprise. 

"For one farthing, " replied the presiding angel in the poke bonnet. 

"Here, young 'ooman, " said Stumpy, setting down his basket, "let me 'aveeleven fard'n's worth right away. There's a big family awaitin' for itan' they're all starvin', so do make haste. "

"But, dear boy, you've brought nothing to carry the soup in. "

Stumpy's visage fell. The basket could not serve him here, and the rateat which the soup was being ladled out convinced him that if he were toreturn for a jug there would not be much left for him. 

Observing his difficulty, the attendant said that she would lend him ajug if he would promise to bring it back. "Are you an honest boy?" sheasked, with an amused look. 

"About as honest as most kids o' the same sort. "

"Well, I'll trust you--and, mind, God sees you. There, now, don't youfall and break it. "

Our hero was not long in returning to the dreary cellar, with the elevenbasins of soup and eleven hunks of bread--all of which, with thepreviously purchased luxuries, he spread out on the rickety table, tothe unutterable amazement and joy of the Wilkin family. 

Need we say that it was a glorious feast? As there were only twochairs, the table was lifted inside of the bottomless bed, and some ofthe young people sat down on the frame thereof on one side, and some onthe other side, while Mrs Wilkin and her husband occupied the places ofhonour at the head and foot. There was not much conversation at first. Hunger was too exacting, but in a short time tongues began to wag. Thenthe fire was lighted, and the kettle boiled, and the half-pennyworth oftea infused, and thus the sumptuous meal was agreeably washed down. Even the baby began--to recover under the genial influence of warm food, and made faces indicative of a wish to crow--but it failed, and went tosleep on sister's shoulder instead. When it was all over poor MrsWilkin made an attempt to "return thanks" for the meal, but broke downand sobbed her gratitude. 

Reader, this is no fancy sketch. It is founded on terrible fact, andgives but a faint idea of the wretchedness and poverty that prevail inLondon--even the London of _to-day_!

THE END.