IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 ^1^ IIM S: '^ Ilia I.I MS IK U ' mis. Photographic Sciences Corporation // 1.25 1.4 LL6_ — ^ ^ 6" ► 'CN* .V ^^"^ 23 WEST MAtN STREET WEBSTER, NY. 14S80 (716) 872-4503 S' CIHM/ICMH Microfiche Series. CIHM/ICMH Collection de microfiches. Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques Technical and Bibliographic Notes/Notes techniques et bibliographiques The Institute has attempted to obtain the best original copy available for filming. Features of this copy which may be bibliographically unique, which may alter any of the images in the reproduction, or which may significantly change the usual method of filming, are checked below. D D D D D D D D D D D Coloured covers/ Couverture do couleur Covers damaged/ Couverture endommagie Covers restored and/or laminated/ Couverture restaur^e et/ou pelliculie Cover title missing/ Le titre de couverture manque Coloured maps/ Cartes giographiques en couleur Coloured ink (i.e. other than blue or black)/ Encre de couleur (i.e. autre que bleue ou noire) Coloured plates and/or illustrations/ Planches et/ou illustrations en couleur Bound with other material/ Relii avec d'autres documents Tight binding may cause shadows or distortion along interior margin/ La re liure serrie peut causer da I'ombre ou de la distorsion le long de la marge int6rieure Blank leaves added during restoration may appear within the text. Whenever possible, these have been omitted from filming/ II se peut que certaines pages blanches ajoutdes lors d'une restauration apparaissent dans le texte. mais, lorsque cela 6tait possible, ces pages n'ont pas iti filmies. Additional comments:/ Commentaires suppldmentaires; L'Institut a microfilm* le meilleur exemplaire qu'il lui a At* possible de se procurer. Les details de cet exemplaire qui sont peut-dtre uniques du point de vue bibliographique, qui peuvent modifier une image reproduite, ou qui peuvent exiger une modification dans la mithode normale de filmage sont indiqu^s ci-dessous. □ Coloured pages/ Pages de couleur □ Pages damaged/ Pages endommagdes Pages restored and/or laminated/ I I Pages restauries et/ou pelliculdes S Pages discoioured, stained or foxed/ Pages ddcolor^es, tacheties ou piqu^es □Pages detached/ Pages ditachies EShowthrough/ Transparence D Transparence Quality of prir Quality inigale de I'impression Includes supplementary materii Comprend du materiel supplimentaire r~l Quality of print varies/ r^ Includes supplementary material/ □ Only edition available/ Seule Edition disponible Pages wholly or partially obscured by errata slips, tissues, etc., have been refilmed to ensure the best possible image/ Les pages totalement ou partieilement obscurcies par un feuillet d'errata. une pelure, etc., ont M filmdes d nouveau de fagon i obtenir la meilleure image possible. This item is filmed at the reduction ratio checked below/ Ce document est film* au taux de reduction indiqu* ci-dessous. 10X 14X 18X 22X 26X 30X J ^■^"^ ^')^ 1fiX 20X 24X 28X 32X The copy filmed here has been reproduced thanks to the generosity of: Seminary of Quebec Library The images appearing here are the best quality possible considering the condition and legibility of the original copy and in keeping with the filming contract spectrications. Original copies in printed paper covers are filmed beginning with the front cover and ending on the last page with a printed or illustrated impres- sion, or the back cover when appropriate. Ail other original copies are filmed beginning on the first page with a printed or illustrated Impres- sion, and ending on the last page with a printed or illustrated impression. The last recorded frame on each microfiche shall contain the symbol — ♦► (meaning "CON- TINUED"), or the symbol V (meaning "END"), whichever applies. Maps, plates, charts, etc.. may be filmed at different reduction ratios. Those too lai ge to be entirely included in one exposure are filmed beginning In the upper left hand corner, left to right and top to bottom, as many frames as required. The following diagrams illustrate the method: L'exempiaire film* fut reproduit grAce it la g6n«rosit6 de: Siminaire da Quebec Bibliothique Les images suivantes ont 6t6 reproduites avec le plus grand soln. compte tenu de la condition at de la nettet* de rexemplaire film*, et en conformity avec les conditions du contrat de filmage. Les exemplaires originaux dont la couverture en papier est imprimie sont filmAs en commenpant par le premier plat et en terminant soit par la dernlAre page qui comporte une empreinte d'impression ou d'illustration. soit par le second plat, selon le cas. Tous les autres exemplaires originaux sont filmis en commen^ant par la pramiAre page qui comporte une empreinte d'impression ou d'illustration et en terminant par la dernlAre page qui comporte une telle empreinte. Un des symboles suivants apparaUra sur la dernlAre image de cheque microfiche, selon le cas: le symbole — *• signifie "A SUIVRE", le symbole V signifie "FIN". Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent dtre filmto A des taux de reduction diffirents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour Atre reproduit en un seul cllchi. 11 est film* A pertir de I'angle supArieur gauche, de gauche * droite, et de haut en bas. en prenant le nombre d'images ntcessa're. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mithode. 32X 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 AN AUTHOR'S ADVENTURES -i Jf AUTHOR'S ADVENTURES OR PERSONAL REMINISCENCES , IN BOOK-MAKING BY R. M. BALLANTYNE AUTHOR OF «'THE WALRUS HUNTKHS;" "tHB tlOHTHOUSE j" "XHB OORAI. WLANn;" "thK IRON HOHSB," ETC. KTO. LIBRARY I M J LONDON JAMES NISBET & CO., LIMITED 21 BERNERS STREET lAU rights reserved] ft-T 2 nw*) 2 9 5 7 4 CONTENTS. CHAP. ,^„ I. — INTBODVOTOBT, • • . t . , , 1 n.— UFB IN THB BKLL ROCK UGHTHOUSB, , , ,19 ni.— NIGHTS WITH THB FIBB BBIOASX, • ... 41 IV.— A WAB OF MXBOT, ^ v.— SXSOXNT INTO THB 00BNI8B MINX8, ... 74 YI.— THB LAND OV THB VIKING8, 95 •••••♦# VII. —THB BUBOLABS AND THB PAB80N, , , , ,114 Vni. — JIM OBBBLT, THB NOBTU SBA SKIFPXB» . , , 136 IX.— A NOBTHXBN WAIF jgj X.— HOW TO MAKB THB BBST OF LOT : FBOM A TOUKO man's STANDPOINT, • .... 171 XI.— rOBGIVB AND FOBGBT : A LIFBBOAT 8T0BT, . . 184 xu.— "besoctbthbpbbishino," . . . , , 199 Hn.— A KNOTTY QUBSTION, ^ 208 XIV. — TWO BBMARKABLB DBBAMS, . . , , , 223 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES AND INCIDENTS IN BOOK-MAKING CHAPTER I. niTHODircTOBr. BooKMAKTO is mixed up, more or Ie«,, with d.fficult.ea It i3 sometimes disappointing; often amusmg; occasionaUy lucrative; frequently et peMive, and always interesting-at lea^t to the Of course I do not refer to that sort of book- making which IS connected with the too prevalent and ^sgmceM practice of gambling, but to the For over eight-and-thirty years I have had the pleasure of making such books and of gather^ns the material for them in many and distant"^!;!' JJunng that period a considerable number of the juvenile public have accepted me as one of th^ d PERSONAL REMINISCEI'TCES AND guides in the world of Fiction, and through many scenes in the wildest and most out-of-the-way regions of our wonderful world. Surely, then, it is not presumptuous in me to suppose — at least to hope— that a rambling account of some of the curious incidences 'wHich^. have oc- curred, now and then, in corinectipn with my book- makings will interest the young people o| the |iresent day. Indeed I entertain a hope that some even of the old boys and girls who condescended to follow me in 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 which no man can work " may not be far off. Before it is too late, and while yet the flame of the lamp burns with sufficient clearness, I would fain have a personal chat with those for whom, by God's blessing, I have been permitted to cater so long. But fear not, dear reader, that I shall inflict on you a complete autobiography. It is only the great ones of the earth who are entitled to claim attention to the record of birth and parentage and school-days, etc. To trace my ancestry back through " the Conqueror " to Adam, would be pre- sumptuous as well as impossible. Nevertheless, foi I I INCIDENTS IN BOOK-MAKINO 3 the sake of aspirants to literaiy fame, it may be worth while to tell here how one of the rank and file of the moderately successful Brotherhood was led to Authorship as a profession and how he loUowed it out. I say "led" advisedly, because I made no effort whatever to adopt this line of life, and never even dreamed of it as a possibility until I was over twenty-eight years of age. I^t me commence, then, by at once taking a header into the middle of that period when God —all unknown to, and unrecognised by, myself— was furnishing me with some of the material and weapons for the future battle of life. One day my dear father was reading in the newspapers some account of the discoveries of Dease and Simpson in the neighbourhood of the famous North-west Passage. Looking at me over his spectacles with the perplexed air of a man who has an idle son of sixteen to start in the race of life, he said— "How would you like to go into the service of the Hudson's Bay Company and 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, II 4 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES AND ' which regards difficulties with consummate presump- tion and profound inexperience. If the discovery of the North-pole had been suggested, or the South- pole, or any other terrestrial pole that happened to exist at the time, I was quite ready to "rush in** where even a Franklin might "fear to tread" ! This incident was but a slight one, yet it was the little hinge on which turned 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 was high up in the service of the Hudson's Bay Fur Company. Through him I became a clerk in the service with a salary of £20 for the first year. Having been bom without a silver spoon in my mouth, I re- garded this as an adequate, though not a princely, provision. In due time I found myself in the heart of that vast North American wilderness which is variously known as Eupert's Land, The Territories of the Hudson's Bay Company, and tlie Great Nor'^vest, many hundreds of miles north of the outmost verge of Canadian civilisation. I am not learned in the matter of statistics, but if a rough guess may U allowed, I should say that the population of some of the regions in which I and my few fellow-clerks vegetated might have ! INCIDENTS IK BOOK-HAKmo S been about fifty to'the hundred «,uare miles-witl. uninhabited regions around. Of course we had no Ubmies, magazines, or newspapers out there. In- deed we had ahnost no books at all. only a stray ffle or two of American newspapers, one of whil made me acquainted with some of the works of D^kens and of I^ver. While in those northern wilds I also met-as with dear old friends-some stray cop^ea of Chamiersf, Mvnburgh Journal, and ii^e Pmny Magazine. We had a mail twice in the year-once by the Hudson's Bay ship in summer, and once thL^ he trackless wUdemess by sledge and snow-sh^e m wmter. It will easily be understood that sur! roundings of such a nature did not suggest or encourage a literaiy career. My comradefand I spent the greater part of our time in fur-trading with the Bed Indians; doing a little office-work! ^din much canoemg, boating, fishing, shooting wishing, and skylarking. It was a « joSy » life no doubt, while it htsted, but not elevatin. i We did not drink. Happily there°vas nothing alcoholic to be had out there for love or money But we smoked, more or less consumedly, morning noon, and night Before breakfast the smokh^ K-an ; after supper it went on ; far into the night It continued. Some of «, even went to sleep ^th 6 PERSONAL IlEMINISCENCES AND the pipes in our mouths and dropped them on our pillows. Being of such an immature age, I laboured under the not uncommon delusion that to smoke looked manly, and therefore did my best to accommodate myself to my surroundings, but I failed signally, having been gifted with a blessed incapacity for tobacco-smoking. This afflicted me somewhat at the time, but ever since I have been unmistakably thankful. But this is wandering. To return. With a winter of eight months' duration and temperature sometimes at 50 below zero of Fahren- heit, little to do and nothing particular to think of, time occasionally hung heavy on our hands. With a view to lighten it a little, I began to write long and elaborate letters to a loving mother whom I had left behind me in Scotland. The fact that these letters could be despatched only twice in the year was immaterial Whenever I felt a touch of home-sickness, and at frequent intervals, I got out my sheet of the largest-sized narrow-ruled imperial paper — I think it was called "imperial" — and entered into spiritual intercourse with "Home." To this long-letter writing I attribute whatever small amount of facility in composition I may have acquired. Yet not the faintest idea of story- writing crossed the clear sky of my unliterary / i INCIDENTS IN BOOK-MAKINa 1 imagination. I am not conscious of having had, at that time, a love for writing in any form — very much the reverse ! Of course I passed through a highly romantic period of life — most youths do so — and while in that condition I made a desperate attempt to tackle a poem. Most youths do that also! The first two lines ran thus : — " Close by the shorea of Hudson's Bay, Where Arctic winters — stern and grey — " I must have gloated long over this couplet, for it was indelibly stamped upon my memory, and is as fresh to-day as when the lines were penned. This my first literary effort was carried to some- where about the middle of the first canto. It stuck there— I am thankful to say— and, like the smoking, never went further. Eupert's Land, at that time, was little known and very seldom visited by outsiders. During several yearti I wandered to and fro in it, meeting with a few savages, fewer white men— servants of the Company— -and becoming acquainted with modes of life and thought in what has been aptly styled "The Great Lone Land." Hearing so seldom from or of the outside world, things pertaining to it grew dim and shadowy, and began to lose interest. In these circumstances, if it had not been that I 'N a PERSONAL REMINISCENCES AND knew full well my mother's soul was ready to receive any amount of out-pourings of which I was capable, I should have almost forgotten how to use the pen. It was in circumstances such as I have described that I began my first book, but it was not a story- book, and I had no idea that it would ever become a printed book at aR It was merely a free-and- easy record of personal adventure and every-day life, written, like aU else that I penned, solely for the uncritical eye of that long-suffering and too indulgent mother ! I had reached the advanced age of twenty-two at the time, and had been sent to take charge of an outpost, on the uninhabited northern shores of the gulf of St Lawrence, named Seven Islands. It was a dreary, desolate, little-known spot, at that time. The gulf, just opposite the establishment, was about fifty miles broad. The ships which passed up and down it were invisible, not only on account of distance, but because of seven islands at the mouth of the bay coming between them and the outpost. My next neighbour, in command of a similar post up the gulf, was, if I remember rightly, about seventy miles distant. The nearest house down the gulf was about eighty miles off, and behind us lay the virgin forests, with svvan.ps' I •1 i I INC3IDENTS IN BOOK-MAKING 9 lakes, prairies, and mountains, stretching away with- out break right across the continent to the Pacific Ocean. The outpost-^which, in virtue of a ship's carron- ado and a flagstaff, was occasionally styled a " fort" —consisted of four wooden buildings. One of these —the largest, with a verandah— was the Residency. There was an offshoot in rear which served as a kitchen. The other houses were a store for goods wherewith to carry on trade with the Indians, a stable, and a workshop. The whole population of the establishment — indeed of the surrounding district — consisted* of myself and one man— also a horse ! The horse occupied the stable, I dwelt in the Residency, the rest of the population lived in the kitclien. There were, indeed, otlier five men belonging to the establishment, but these did not affect its desola- tion, for they were away netting salmon at a river about twenty miles distant at the time I write of. My "Friday"— who was a French-Canadian— being cook, as well as man-of-all-work, found a little occupation in attending to the duties of his office, but the unfortunate Governor had nothing whatever to do except await the arrival of Indians, who were not due at that time. The horse was a bad one, without a saddle, and in possession of a ■% !l 10 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES AND pronounced backbone. My "Friday" was not sociable. I had no books, no newspapers, no magazines or literature of any kind, no game to shoot, no boat wherewith to prosecute fishing in the bay, and no prospect of seeing any one to speak to for weeks, if not months, to come. But I had pen and ink, and, by great good fortune, was in pos- session of a blank paper book fully an inch thick. When, two or three years after, a printer- cousin, seeing the MS., offered to print it, and the well- known Blackwood, of Edinbuigh, seeing the book, offered to publish it— and did publish it—my ambition was still so absolutely asleep that I did not again put pen to paper in that way for eight years thereafter, although I might have been en- couraged thereto by the fact that this first book named Hudson's ^ay— besides being a commercial success, received favourable notice from the press. It was not until the year 1854 that my literary path was opened up. At that time I was a partner in the late publishing firm of Thomas Constable and Co. of Edinburgh. Happening one day to meet with the late William Nelson, publisher, I was asked by him how I should like the idea of taking to literature as a profession. My answer I forget. It must have been vague, for I had never thought of the subject at all. INCIDENTS IN BOOK-MAKING 11 "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 I would 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 Snowjlakes and Sunbeams; or, The Young Fur-traders. Afterwards the first part of the title was dropped, and the book is now known as The Young Fur-traders. From that 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 the achieving of this position, and I hope that it is not presumptuous in me to think — and to derive much comfort from the thought— that God led me into the particular path along which I have walked for so many years. The scene of my first story was naturally laid in those backwoods with which I was familiar, and the story itself was founded on the adventures and experiences of my companions and myself. When a second book was required of me, I stuck to the same regions, but changed the locality. IS WWSOKAL BKMINISCltKOES AMD !li WWe castmg about in my mind for a suitable subject, I happened to meet with an old retired Nor-weater" who had spent an adventurous life m Buperts Land. Among other duties he had been sent to establish an outpost of the Hudson's Bay Company at Ungava Bay. one of the most dreary parts of a desolate region. On hearing what I wanted, he sat down and wrote a lo.,g narrative of his proceedings there, which he placed at my disposal, and thus furnished me with the founda- tion of Ungam, a tale of Eskimo- Land. But now I had reached the end of my tether and when a third story was wanted I was com- pelled to seek new fields of adventure in the books of travellere. Eegarding the Southern seas as the most romantic part of the world-after the back- woods l-I mentally and spiritually plunged into ttose warm watera, and the dive resulted in The Coral Island. It now began to be borne in upon me that there was somethiug not quite satisfacto^r in describing expatiating on, and energising in, regions which one has never seen. For one thing, it was needful to be always carefully on the watch to avoid faUing into nustakes geographical, topographical, natural-historical, and otherwise. For instance, despite the utmost care of which I INCIDENTS IN BOOK-MAKINO 13 was capable, while studying up for m C 89 PEBSONAL BEMINISCENCES AND looked up and saw the hole at the top like a large white star. At the foot I looked up again, the star was gone, and I felt that we were at last in a region where (from the time of creation) sunlight had never shone. Down, down, ever dovmwards, was the uppermost idea in my mind for some time after that. Other thoughts there were, of course, but that one of never-ending descent outweighed them all for a time. As we got lower the tempera- ture increased; then perspiration broke out. Never having practised on the treadmill, my muscles ere long began to feel the unwonted exercise, and I thought to myself, " If you are in this state so soon, what wiU you be when you get to the bottom, and how will you get up again ? " At this point we reached the foot of another ladder, and Captain Jan said, "We'll walk a bit in the level here and then go down the pump shaft." The change of posture and action in the level we had now entered was agreeable, but the path was not a good one. It was an old, low, and irregular level, with a rugged floor fuU of holes with water in them, and with projections in the roof that rendered frequent stooping necessary. The difficulty of one's progress in such places is that, while you are looking out for your head, you stumble into the holes, and when the holes claim attention you run INCIDENTS IN BOOK-MAKINa 83 your head against tho roof; but thanks to the miner's hat, no evil follows. We were now in a region of profound silmie ! When we paused for a minute to rest, it felt as if the silence of the tomb itself had surrounded us— for not the faintest echo reached us from the world above, and the miners at work below us were still far down out of ear-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 ? " I asked, 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 of winzes everywhere 1 " The possibility of anything happening to Captain Jan, and my light getting blown out occurred to me, but I said nothing. When we had walked a quarter of a mile in this level, we came to the point where it entered the pump shaft. The shaft itself was narrow— about 8 or 10 feet in diameter— but everything in it was ponderous and gigantic. The engine that drove the pump was 70 horse power; the pump-rod was a succession of wooden beams, each like the ridge-pole of a house, jointed together— a rugged affair, with iron bolts, and nuts \ 84 PEBSONAL REMINISCENCES AND and projections at the joints. In this shaft the kibbles were worked. These kibbles are iron buckets by which ore is conveyed to the surface. Two are worked together 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 in passing, but they are prevented from damaging the pump-rod by a wooden partition. Between this partition and the pump was the ladder we had now to descend, with just space for a man to pass. Captain Jan got upon it, and as he did so the pump went u^ (a sweep of 10 or 12 feet) with a deep watery gurgle, as if a giant were being throttled. As I got upon the ladder the pump came down with another gurgle, close to my shoulder in passing. To avoid this I kept close to the planks on the other side, but at that moment I heard a noise as if of distant thunder. *' It 's only the kibbles," said Captain Jan. Up came one and down went the other, passing each other with a dire crash, not far from where we stood, and causing me to shrink into the smallest possible space. "There's no danger," said the Captain encouragingly, " if you only keep cool and hold on." Water was coursing freely down the shaft and spirting over us in fine spray, so that, ere INCroENTS IN BOOK-MAKINa 86 long, we were as wet and dirty as any miner in Botallack. At last we reached the 1 20 fathom level, 720 feet from "grass." Here the Captain told me men were at work not far off, and he wished to visit them. "Would I wait where I was until he returned ? " " What I " said I, "wait in a draughty level with an extinguish- able candle close to the main shaft, with 30 or 40 miles of levels around, and no end of winzes? No, no, Captain Jan, go on ; I '11 stick to you now through thick and thin like your own shadow 1" With one of his benignant smiles the captain resumed his progress. In a few minutes I heard the clink of hammers, and, soon after, came to a smgular cavern. It was a place where the lode had been very wide and rich. 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 were lost in obscurity. We walked through it in mid-air, as it were, supported on cross beams with planks laid thereon. Beyond this we came to a spot where a number of miners were at work in various places and positions. One, a big, broad-shouldered man named Dan, was seated on a wooden box hammering at the rock with tremendous energy. With him Captain Jan conversed a few minutes on the appearance of the 86 PERSONAL BEMINISOENCES AKD lode, and then whispered to me, " A good specimen of a man that, sir, and he 's got an uncommon laige family,"— then, turning to the man — " I say, Dan, you've got a biggish family, haven't you?" "Iss, a'w iss, Cap'n Jan, I've a braave lot o' child'ii." " 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, found this 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 be in another chamber^ which was brilliantly lighted with their candles. Jim, stripped naked to the waist, stood on the end of a plank, hammering violently. Looking up into his curious burrow. Captain Jan shouted—" 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 's eleven of 'em gone dead. Seven of 'em did come in three years and a half — three doubles and a single — but there 's only eight of 'em alive now I " INCIDENTS IN BOOK-MAKINa 87 I afterwards found that, although this man and his brother were exceptions, the miners generaUy had very large families. While we were talking, a number of shots were heard going ofif in various directions. This was explained by Captain Jan. AU the forenoon the mmers employ their time in boring and chaining the blast- holes. About mid-day they fire them and then hasten to a clear part of the mine to eat luncheon and smoke their pipes while the gun- powder smoke clears away. This it does very slowly, taking sometimes more than an hour to clear sufficiently so as to let the men resume work. Immediately after the shots were heard, the men began to assemble. They emerged from the gloom on aU sides like red hobgoblins— wet and perspir- ing. Some walked out of darkness from either end of the level; some stalked out from diverging levels ; others slid, feet first, from holes in the roof and sides, and some rose, head foremost, from yawn- ing gulfs in the floor. They all saluted Captain Jan as they came up, and each stuck his candle against the wall and sat down on a heap of wet rubbish, to lunch. Some had Cornish pasty, and others a species of heavy cake— so heavy that the fact of their being able to carry it at all said much for their digestive organs-but most of them ate mmmmmmmm 'i 88 PERSONAL ItEMlNtSOtSNGES AKD plain bread, aud all of them drank water which had been carried down from the realms of light in little canteens. Frugal though the fare was, it sufficed to brace them for the rest of the day's work. After a short talk with these men Captain Jan and I continued our descent of the ladders — down we went, ever downwards, until at last we reached the very bottom of that part of the mine — 1230 feet below the surface. Here we found only two men at work, with whom Captain Jan conversed for a time while we rested, and then proceeded to ascend " to grass " by the same ladder-ways. If I felt that the descent was like never getting to the 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 the bottomunder the sea. At another time Captain Jan took me to that sub- marine cavern where, as I have said, no sound ever reaches the ear from the world above. There is, however, a level close under the sea where the roar of Ocean is distinctly heard. It is in a part of Botallack Mine named Wheal Cock. It was very rich in copper ore, and the miners worked at the roof of it so vigorously, that they began to fear it would give way. One of them, therefore, in '< ^■■ mCIDENTS IN BOOK-MAKINO it order to ascertain what thickness of solid rock still lay between them and the sea, bored a small hole upwards, and advanced about three feet or so before the water rushed in. Of course they had a wooden plug ready and stopped up the hole. But, as it was dangerous to cut away any more of the roof, they were finally obliged unwillingly to forsake that part of the mine. This occurred some thirty years before my visit, yet when I went to see the place, I found the wooden plug still hard and fast in thb hole and quite immoveable. As I stood and listened I could well understand the anxiety of the miners, for at the upward rush of each wave, I could hear the rattle of the boulders overhead, like monster cannon balls, and a repetition of the thunder when the waves retreated. On our way up the ladders we stopped several times to rest At such times Captain Jan related various anecdotes illustrative of mining life. ''This is a place," said he, on one occasion, " which reminds me of a man who was always ready to go in for dangerous work. His name was Old Maggot. 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 II '^^i^SSSSSEQI 90 PERSOKAL BEMINISCEKCES AND I m nature's own pair of snuffers— the finger and thumb — and proceeded as follows : — " Some time ago the miners in Botallack came to an old deserted mine that was full of water— this is what miners call a 'house of water: The ore there was rich, but the men were afraid to work it lest thej should come suddenly on the old mine and break a hole through to it— in other words * hole to that house of waier: They stopped working at last, and no one seemed willing to run the risk of driving the hole and letting out the water. In this diffi- culty they appealed to Old Maggot, who at once agreed to do it The old mine was about three quarters of a mile back from the sea-shore, but at that time it could only be got at by entering the adit level from the shore. It was through this level that the water would have to escape. At the mouth of it a number of men assembled to see Old Maggot go in. In he went, alone, with a bunch of candles, and, as he walked along, he stuck a lighted candle every here and there against the wall to light him out, — ^for he expected to have to run for it "When he came to the place, the water was spirting out everywhere. But Old Maggot didn't mind. He grasped his hammer and borer and .began. The work was done sooner than he had M J i D INCIDENTS IN BOOK-MAKINQ 91 M J i expected! Suddenly the rock gave way and the water burst upon him, putting out his candle and turning him heels over head. He jumped up and tried to run, but the flood rose on him, carried him oflf his legs, swept him right through the level, and hurled him through the adit-mouth at last, upon the sea-shore 1 He was stunned a little, but soon recovered, and, beyond a few bruises and a wetting, was nothing the worse of his adventura " TJuit" said Captain Jan, pointing to the rock beside us, "was the place where Old Maggot holed to the house of water, and this was the level through which he was washed and through part of which I will now conduct 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 arrested by the sound of voices singing in the far distance above us. The music was slow and solemn. Coming as it did so unex- pectedly in such a strange place, it sounded quite magical and inexpressibly sweet "Miners descending to work," said my guide, as we listened. The air was familiar to me, and, as it grew louder and louder, I recognised that beautiful tune called "French," to which we are accustomed to sing the 121st Psahn, « I to the hills i 92 PERSONAL RKMINISCENOES AND wai lift mine eyes." Gradually the men came down to us. We stood on one side. As they passed they ceased singing and nodded to Captain Jan. There were five or six stout fellows and a boy. The latter was as active as his companions, and his treble voice mingled tunefully with theirs as they continued the descent, and resumed the psalm, keeping time to the slow measured tread of their steps. We watched until their lights dis- appeared, and then resumed our upward way, while the sweet strains grew fainter and fainter, until they were gradually lost in the depths below! The pleasant memory of that psalm stUl remained with me, when I emerged from the ladder-shaft of BotaUack mine, ark?— after having been five hours underground— once more drank in (with a new and intensified power of appreciation) the fresh air of heaven and the blessed influences of green fields and sunshine. To many a weird and curious part of the great mine did the obliging Captain Jan lead me, but perhaps the most interesting part was the lowest depth under the sea, to which my wife accom- panied us. This part is reached by the Boscawen shaft, a sloping one which the men descend in an iron car or gig. The car is let down and hauled up by an iron rope. Once this rope broke, the I > INCIDENTS IN BOOK-MAKING 98 car flew to the bottom, was dashed against the rock, and all the men-eight in number-were killed In 1866 the Prince and Princess of Wales descended this shaft, and Captain Jan was their amiable, not to say eccentric, guide. The Captain was particularly enthusiastic in praise of the Princess. He said that she was a « fine intelligent young lady ; that she asked no end of questions would not rest untU she understood everything,' and afterwards undertook to explain it aU to her less-informed companions." A somewhat amusing incident occurred while they were under- ground. When about to begin his duty as guide it suddenly flashed across the mind of poor Captain Jan that, in the excitement of the occasion, he had forgotten to take gloves with him. He wL about to lead the Princess by the hand over the rugged floors of the levels. To offer to do so without gloves was not to be thought of. To procure gloves 200 fathoms below the sea was impossible. To borrow from the Prince or the Duke of Suther- land, who were of the party, was out of the question. What was he to 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, thus covered, held it out to the ■11 1 -I 91 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES AND Princess. She, innocently supposing that the r^per was held up to be looked at, attempted to read. This compelled Captain Jan to explain himself, whereupon she burst into a hearty fit of laughter, and, flinging away the paper, took the ungloved hand of the loyal but bashful miner. w * he to lia of he INCIDENTS IN BOOK-MAKING 96 CHAPTER VL THE LAND OF THE VIKINGS. To this romantic land of mountain and flood I paid four visits at various times. These were meant as holiday and fishing rambles, but were also utilised to gather material for future books. Norway, as every one knows, was the land of the ancient Vikings-those grand old rascally free- booters—whose indomitable pluck carried they« in their open galleys ^ittle better than big boats) aU round the coasts of Europe, across the unknown sea to Iceland, and even to the shores of America itself, before the other nations dreamed of such a continent, and long before Columbus was born ; who possessed a Uterature long before we did ; 4hose blood we Britons carry in our veins; and from whom we have inherited many of our best laws, much of our nautical enterprise, and not a little of our mischief and pugnacity. Norway, too, is the land where Liberty once 96 PERSONAL EEMINISCENCES AND round refuge in distress,— that much abused god- dess, whom, since the fall of Adam and Eve, License has been endeavouring to defame, and Tyranny to murder, but who is still alive and kicking— ay, and will continue to kick and flourish in spite of all her enemies ! Liberty found a home, and a rough welcome, strange to say, among those pagans of the North, at a time when she was banished from every other spot, even from the 80-called Christian states in Europe. No wonder that that grand old country with its towering snow-clad mountains, its mighty fiords, its lonesome glens and its historical memories should be styled "gamU Norge" (old Norway— as we speak of old England) with feelings of affection by its energetic and now peaceful inhabitants. I was privileged to go to Norway as one of a yachting party. There were twelve of us altogether, three ladies, three gentlemen, and a crew of six 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 a rough passage over, and were very sick, sailors included ! except the captain, an old Scotch highlander who may bo described as a compound of obstinacy and guttapercha. It took us four days to cross. We studied the Norse language till we became sea-sick, INClDBNlB ts fiOOK-iUKWa JJ Wished for land tiU we got well, then resumed the stady of Norse untU we sighted the outlying islands aud finely cast anchor in the quaint old city and port of Beigen. ' Now, it is weU to admit at once that some of as were poor linguists ; but it is only just to add that we could not be expected to learn much of any language in four days during intervals of internid derangement! However, it is curious to observe how very small an amount of Norse wiU suffice for ordmarir traveUeis-especially for Scotchmen. The Damsh lang^, ^^ ^^^ vernacular tongue of Norway «"d there is a strong affinity between Danish (or Norse) and broad Scotch. Eoughly speaking I should say that a mixture of three words of Norse to two of broad Scotch, with a powerful emphasis and a strong infusion of impudence, will carry you^m the Na.e to the North Cape in perfect Bergen is a most interesting city, and our party had many smaU adventures in it, which, however, I wiU not touch on hew. But one scene-the fish- market— must not be passed over. There must certainly be something in the atmo- sphere of a fish-market which tends to caU forth the menta and physical energies of mankind (perhaps I should rather say otmmanhirul). and which caUs a !l .[■ 93 PEBSOKAL BEMINlSCDNCES AND forth a tremendous flow of abusive language. Bil- lingsgate is notorious, but I think that the Bergen fish-market beats it hollow. One or two phases of the national character are there displayed in per- fection. It is the Billingsgate of Norvray — the spot where Norse females are roused to a pitch of frenzy that is not equalled, I believe, in any other country. There are one or two peculiarities about the Bergen market, too, which are noteworthy, and which account in some degree for the frantic excitement that reigns there. The sellers of the fish, in the first place, are not women but men. The pier and fleet of boats beside it constitute the market-place. The fishermen row their cargoes of fish direct from the sea to the pier, and there transact sales. There is a stout iron railing along the edge of that pier — a most needful safeguard — over which the servant girls of the town lean and look down at 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. Bar- gains, of course, are not easily made, and it is in attempting to make these that all the hubbub occurs. The noise is all on the women's side. The men, secure in their floating position, and certain of ultimate success, pay very little attention INCIDENTS IN BOOK-MAKINO 99 thezr fist,, snapping their finge«. and flourishing ones-of every colour in the rainbow, chiefly pink ^l sky-bhe, for Bergen is celebrated as being the most ramy city in Europe. * The shouting of the girls is not only a safety valve to their feelings, but is absolutely" nec^" ui order to attract tie attention of the men ^ 16 or 20 of them usually scream at once, it is on^ she who screams loudest and flourishes her umbrella most vigorously that can obtain a hearing. The calm unruffled demeanour of the men is ^ much a ^f^^ture in the scene as is the frenzy of the whf "I'"^ T °^ "^ '""' ^ ^''^ " fi«'>«™'«' there who was the most interesting specimen of cool ^udence I ever encountered. He wore a Zl coat knee-breeches, white worsted stockings, Z on his head of long yeUow hair a red niJht-Z ^b a tall hat on top of all. When I disctef^ 1™ he was looking up with a grave sarc^hV e«„n into the flushed countem^Tof ^S Wu -eyed lass who had just eagerly offered him ^ «V (seven skillings) for a lot of fish. I^ waa about 3id., the skilling being Jd. The ^ r.. 100 PERSONAL KEMINISCENCES ANU U \ had declined by look, not by tongue, and the girl began to grow angry. " Haere du, fiskmaii " (hear you, fisherman), she cried, " vil da har ott^ skillings ? " (will you have eight skillings ?) The fisherman turned away and gazed out to sea. The girl grew crimson in 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 near his naked toes, and began to bale out the boat. The girl now seemed to become furious. Her blue eyes flashed like those of a tiger. She gasped for breath, while her cotton umbrella flashed over the fisherman's head like a pink meteor. . Had that umbrella been only a foot longer the tall black hat would have come to grief undoubtedly. Suddenly she paused, and in a tone of the deepest solemnity, said — ** Hsere du, fiskman, vil du har ti (ten) skillings?" 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 both hands into his coat pockets, turned his back on the entire market, and began to whistle. INCIDENTS IN BOOK-MAKINa 101 This was too much ! It was past female endur- ance! The girl turned round, scattered the by- standers right and left, and fled as if she had resolved then and there to dash out her brains on the first post she met, and so have done with men and fish for ever. But she was not done with them yet! The spell was still upon her. Ere she had got a dozen yards away she paused, stood one moment in uncertainty, and then rushing back forced her way to the old position, and shouted in a tone that might have moved the hearts even of the dead fish — "Fiskman, her^ du, vil du hav tolve ?" "Tolve" (or twelve) skillings was apparently not quite the sum he meant to take ; but he could hold out no longer-he wavered-and the instant man wavers, woman's victory is gained ! Smiling benignly he handed up the fish to the girl, and held out his baling dish for the money. The storm was over I The girl walked off in triumph with her fish, not a trace of her late excitement visible, the pink cotton umbrella tucked under her arm, and her face beaming with the consciousness of having conquered a ^^Jiskman" in fair and open fight ! Steamers ply regularly between the north and south of Norway in summer, and an excursion in 102 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES AND one of these is very enjoyable, not only on account of the scenery, but because of the opportunity afforded of making the acquaintance of the people. I once made a voyage in one of those steamers from the Nordfjord to Bergen, and one thing struck me very particularly on that occasion, namely, the quietness that seemed to be cultivated by the people as if it were a virtue. I do not mean to say that the passengers and crew were taciturn — far from it. They bustled about actively ; they were quite sociable and talkative, but no voice was ever raised to a loud pitch. Even the captain gave his orders in a quiet tone. Whether this quietness of demeanour is peculiar to Norwegian steamers in general, or was a feature of this steamer in particular, I am not prepared to say. I can only state the fact of the prevailing quietude on that particular occasion without pretending to explain it. The state of quiescence culminated at the dinner- table, for there the silence was total ! I never saw anything like it ! When we had all assembled in the cabin, at the almost whispered invitation of the steward, and had stood for a few minutes looking benign and expectant, but not talking, the captain entered, bowed to the company, was bowed to by the company, motioned us to our seats, whispered " ver so goot" and sat down. INCIDENTS IN BOOK-MAKINO 103 Now this phrase "ver so goot " merits particular notice. It is an expression that seems to me capable of extension and distension. It is a flexible, comfortable, jovial, rollicking expression. To give a perfect translation of it is not easy ; but I cannot think of a better way of conveying its mean- ing, than by saying that it is a compound of the phrases— "be so good," "by your leave," "what's your will," "bless your heart, "all serene," and " that *s your sort ! " The first of these, " be so good," is the literal trans- lation—the others are the superinduced sentiments, resulting from the tone and manner in which it is said. You may rely on it, that, when a Norwegian offers you anything and says ver so goot, he means you well and hopes you will make yourself com- fortable. Well, there was no carving at that dinner. The dishes were handed round by waiters. First we had very thin rice soup with wine and raisins in it —the eating of which seemed to me like spoil- ing one's dinner with a bad pudding. This finished, the plates were removed. "Mw," thought £ " surely some one will converse with his neighbour during this interval." No ! not a lip moved ! I looked at my right and left-hand men ; I thought, for a moment, of venturing out upon the unknown f 104 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES AND deep of a foreign tongue, and cleared my throat for that purpose, but every eye was on me in an instant ; and the soimd of my own voice, even in that familiar process, was so appalling that I said nothing! I looked at a pretty girl opposite me. I felt certain that the youth beside her was about to speak—he looked as if he meant to, but he didn't In a few minutes the next course came on. This was a dish like bread-pudding, minus currants and raisins ; it looked like a sweet dish, but it turned out to be salt,— and pure melted butter, without any admixture of flour or water, was handed round as sauce. After this came veal and beef cutlets, which were eaten with cranberry jam, pickles, and potatoes. Fourth and last came a course of cold sponge-cake, with almonds and raisins stewed over it, so that, when we had eaten the cake as a sort of cold pudding, we slid, natur- ally and pleasantly, into dessert, without the delay of a change of plates. There was no remaining to drink at that dinner. When the last knife and fork were laid down, we all rose simultaneously, and then a general process of bowing ensued. In regard to this proceeding I have never been able to arrive at a clear understanding, as to what was actually done or intended to be done, but my ' INCIDENTS U BOOK-MAKINO 105 impression is, that each bowed to the other, and all bowed to the captain ; then the captain bowed to each individually and to all collectively, after which a comprehensive bow was made by everybody to all the rest all round— and then we went on deck to smoke. As each guest passed out, he or she said to the captain, " tak fw madr which is a manner and custom, and means " thanks for meat:* With the exception of these three words, not a single syllable, to the best of my belief, was uttered by any one during the whole course of that meal ! Of course the gentlemen of our party performed many wonderful exploits in fishing, for sea-trout and salmon abound in Norway, and the river beds are very rugged. In that land fishing cannot be styled the "gentle art." It is a tearing, wearing, rasping style of work. An account of the catching of one fish will prove this. One morning I had gone oflF to fish by myself, with a Norwegian youth to gaff and carry the fish. Coming to a sort of weir, with a deep pool above and a riotous rapid below, I put on a salmon fly and cast into the pool. At once a fish rose and was hooked. It was not a big one— only 12 lbs. or thereabouts—but quite big enough to break rod and line if not played respectfully. IE 106 PERSONAL REMINISCENCES AND For some time, a3 is usual with salmon, he rushed about the pool, leaped out of the water, and bored up stream. Then he took to going down stream steadily. Now this was awkward, for when a fish of even that size resolves to go down stream, nothing can stop him. My efiforts were directed to turning him before he reached the rapid, for, once into that, I should be compelled to follow him or break the line — perhaps the rod also. At last he reached the head of the rapid. I put on a heavy strain. The rod bent like a hoop and finally began to crack, so I was compelled to let 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 the shore owing to the dense bushes which overhung the stream. But the fish was now in t^f^ rapid and was forced down by the foaming . ater. Being very unwilling to break the line or lose the fish, I went slowly into the rapid until the water reached the top of my long wading boots— another step and it was over them, but that salmon would not— inuo .^d could not— stop. The water filled my boo s at once, and felt very cold at first, but soon became warm, and each boot was converted into a warmish bath, in which the legs felt reasonably comfortable. INCIDENTS IN BOOK-MAKING 107 I was reckless now, and went on, step by step, until I was up to the waist, tliou to the arm-pits! and then I spread out one arm and swam off whUe with the other I held up the rod. The rapid was strong but deep, so that nothitKT obstructed me till I reached the lower end, when a rock caught my legs and threw me into a horizontal position, with the rod flat on the water. I was thrown against the bank, where my Norwegian boy was standing mouth open, eyes blazing, and hand extended to help me out. When I stood panting on the bank, I found that the fish was still on and still inclined to descend but I found that I could not follow, for my leers' were heavy as lead— the boots being full of wate°r To take the latter off in a hurry and empty them was impossible. To think of losing the 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 the air, and the water ran like a deluge out at the back of my neck t Much relieved, I resumed the rod, but now I found that the fish had taken to sulking. This sulking is very perplexing, for the fish bores Its nose into some deep spot below a stone, and refuses to budge. Pulling him this way and that way had no effect. Jerking him was useless. Even 108 PERSONAL EEMINISCENCES AND throwing stones at him was of no avail. I know not how long he kept me there, but at last 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 show symptoms of giving way. Just then it struck me that as there were several posts of an old weir in the middle of the stream, he must have twisted the line round one of these, broken himself off, and left me attached to it ! I made up my mind therefore to wade out to the old weir, and unwind the line, and gave the rod to the boy to hold while I did so. The water was deep. It took me nearly up to the neck before I reached the shallow just above the posts, but, being thoroughly wet, that did not matter. On reaching the post, and unwinding the line, I found to my surprise that the fish was still there. At first I thought of letting go the line, and leaving the boy to play him; "but," thought I, "the boy will be sure to lose him," so I held on to the line, and played it with my hands. 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 he wriggled violently, so that it was difficult to wade ashore with him. In this . . INCIDENTS IN BOOK-MAKINO 109 difficulty I took him to a place where the shoal in the middle of 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 water rippled pleasantly over my face. The whole of this operation took me upwards of two hours. It will be seen, therefore, that fishing in Norway, as I have said, cannot be called the "gentle art." One extremely interesting excursion that we made was to a place named the Ess^ Fjord. The natives here were very hospitable and kind. Besides that, they were fat ! It would almost seem as if fat and good-humour were invariably united; for nearly all the natives of the Ess^ Fjord were good- humoured and stout ! The language at this place perplexed me not a little. Nevertheless the old proverb, "where there's a will there's a way," held good, for the way in which I conversed with the natives of that region was astounding even to myself. One bluff, good-humoured fellow took me off to sec his house and family. I may as well admit, here, that I am not a good Unguist, and usually left 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 own resources. 110 PEHSONAL RKMINISCENOES AND Well, I began by stringing together all the Norse I knew (which wasn't much), and en- deavoured to look as if I knew a great deal more. But I soon found that the list of sentences, which I had learned from MuiTay's Handbook, did not avail much in a lengthened conversation. My speech quickly degenerated into sounds that were almost unintelligible to either my new friend or myself! and I terminated at last in a mixture of bad Norse and broad Scotch. I have already re- marked on the strong family-likeness between Norse and broad Scotch. Here are a few specimens. They call a cow a coo ! A house is a Jioose, 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 ain dram ? scarcely needs trans- lation— wiU you take a dram! and the usual answer to that question is equally clear and em- phatic—" Ya, jeg vil tak ain dram ! " One day our pilot saw the boat of a fisherman (or fiskman) not far off. He knew we 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 will call it her "smook barn"— her pretty bairn— swooZ; being the Norse word for "pretty," and lam for child; INCIDENTS IN BOOK-MAKmO 111 and it is a curious fact, worthy of particular note, that all the mothers in Norway think their bairns Bmook— very smook ! and they never hesitate to tell you so—why, I cannot imagine, unless it be that if you were not told you would not be likely to find it out for yourself. Despite our difficulty of communication, my fat friend and I soon became very amicable and talka- tive. He told me no end of stories, of which I did not comprehend a sentence, but looked as if I did— smiled, nodded my head, and said "ya, ya,"— to which he always replied "ya, ya,"— waving his arms, and slapping his breast, and rolling his eyes, as he bustled along beside me towards his dwelling. The house was perched on a rock close to the water's edge. Here my host found another subject to expatiate 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 this infant. He went quite into ecstasies about it J now gazing at it with looks of pensive admiration ; anon, starting and looking at me as if to say, " Did you ever, in all your life, see such a heautiful cherub V* The man's enthusiasm was really catching— I began to feel quite a fatherly interest in the cherub myself. SI I \ I 113 PERSONAL BEMINISCENCES AND " Oh !" he cried, in rapture, " det er smook bam!" " Ya, ya," said I, " megit smook " (very pretty) — although I must confess that smoked bairn would have been nearer the mark, for it was as brown as a red-herring. I spent an agreeable, though I must confess mentally confused, afternoon with this gentleman, who (when he succeeded in tearing himself away from that much-loved and megit smook barn) introduced me to his two sisters, who were stout and good-humoured like himself. They treated me to a cup of excellent coffee, and to a good deal more of incomprehensible conversation. Al- together, the natives of the Ess^ Fjord made a deep impression on us, and we parted from their grand and gloomy but hospitable shores with much regret I had hoped, good reader, to have jotted down some more of my personal reminiscences of travel — in Algiers, the "Pirate City," at the Cape of Good Hope, and elsewhere — but bad health is not to be denied, and I £nd that 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 nfcaDBNTs m book-makino hs briefly that in aU my writings I have always tried -how far successfully I know not-to advance the cause of Truth and Eight, and to induce my readers to put theu trust in the love of God our Saviour, for this life as weU as the life to come. B 114 THE BDRGLARS AND THE PARSON CHAPTER VII. THE BURGLARS AND THE PARSON. A COUNTRY mansion in the south of England. The sun rising over a laurel-hedge, flooding the ivy-covered walls with light, and blazing in at the large bay-window of the dining-room. " Take my word for it, Robin, if ever this 'ouse is broke into, it will be by the dinin'-room winder." So spake the gardener of the mansion — ^which was also the parsonage — to his young assistant as they passed one morning in front of the window in question. " For why ? " he continued ; " the win- der is low, an' the catches ain't overstrong, an* there's no bells on the shutters, an' it lies handy to the wall o' the back lane." To this Robin made no response, for Robin was young and phlegmatic. He was also strong. The gardener, Simon by name, was not one of the prophets— though in regard to the weather nd. the tbe use lom lich t as r in fin- an' ndy was e of .ther THE BraOLAES AND THB PARSON 116 and morals he considered himself one-hut if anv person had chanced to overhear the conversation o two „,en seated in a neighbouring public-house that mormng. that person would have inclined to ^je^the gardener credit for some sort of second to lol \7 f ""'' '°*"'''"^ "'"«• "!'-« bin up to look at the 'ouse, an' the dinin'-room winder 'U be as easy to open as a door on the latch. I had a good look at it." -i naa a "Tou are the man for cheek an' pluck," growled «^e other man. over his beer, with a gllce of admiration at his comrade. "How ever did you manage it, Dick ?" ' "The usual way, in course. Corned it soft over ae o„sema:d ; said I was a gardener in search of a job an would she mind tellin' me whei« the head- m front o the ouse five minutes before. • I don't she but he s m the front garden at this minute. K you goes round, you '11 find him.' • Hall right, my dear says I ; an' away I goes right round U the dimn'-room winder, where I stops an' looi about, hke as if I was awful anxious to find some! l>ody. In coorse I glanced in, an' saw the fastenin's. 116 THE BUEii^S A.ND THE PARSON They couldn't keep otit a babby ! Sideboard all right at the t'other end, with a lookin'- glass over it —to help folk, I fancy, to see what they look like w'en they're a-eatin' their wittles. Anyhow, it helped me to see the gardener comin' up one o' the side walks; so I wheels about double quick, au* looked pleased to see him. " ' Hallo I ' cries he. "*I was lookin' for you,' says I, quite easy like. " * Did you expect to find me in the dinin'-room?* says he. i " * 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 lika ' What d 'ee want wi' me ? ' " ' I wants a job,' says I. « * Are you a gardener ? * he axed. u i Yes— leastwise,' says I, * I 've worked a goodish bit in gardings in my time, 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.' THE BUSOLAHS AND THE PAESON 117 - • Do it ? • says he. Now look 'ere. you be off as fast as your legs can take you, or I '11 set the 'ouse- dog at 'ee.' "Wen he said that, Bill, I do assure you, lad that my experience in the ring seemed to fly int(! my knuckles, an' it was as much as ever I could do to keep my left off his nob and my right out of his breadbasket But I restrained myself. If there '8 one thing I 'm proud of. Bill, it 's the wirtue self-restraint in the way o' business. I wheeled about, held up my nose, an' walked off wi' the air of a dock. You see, I didn't want for to have no more words wi' the gardener,-for why? because 1 d seen all I wanted to see-d'ee see ? But there was one-no, two-things I saw which it was as weU I did see." " An' what was they ? " asked Bia " 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 -sometmies men, sometimes women, sometimes babbies, an' mosUy with no clo'es on to speak Of ." "^ "Oh I I know; but / caU 'em statoos. Fire away, Dick ; what see'd you about the statoos ?" "Why, I see'd that they wasn't made in the 118 THE BUKQLAllS AND TUB PABSON 9^ usual way of stone or chalk, but of iron. I have heerd say that sodgers long ago used to fight in them sort o' dresses, though I don't believe it my- self. Anyhow, there they was, the two of *em, one on each side of the winder, that stiff that they could stand without nobody inside of 'em, an' one of 'era with a big thing on his shoulder, as if he wor ready to smash somebody over the head. I thought to my- self, if you an' me. Bill, had come on *em unbeknown like, we'd ha* got such a start as might have caused us to make a noise. But I hadn't time to think much, for it was just then I got sight o' the gardener." "Now my plan is," continued Dick, swigging off his beer, and lowering his voice to a still more confidential tone, as he looked cautiously round, "my plan is to hang about here till dark, then take to the nearest plantation, an' wait till the moon goes down, which will be about two o'clock i* the mornin' — when it will be about time for us to go 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 to overhear the muttered conversation of the plotters, and the box in which they sat was too remote from the bar to permit of , THE BURGLAKS AKD THE PAKSON Hd their words being overheard, but there was a broken pane of glass in a window at their elbow, with a seat outside immediately below it. Just before the burglars entered the house they had observed this seat, and noticed that no one was on it; but they failed to note that a small, sleepy-headed pot-boy lay at full length underneath it, basking in the sun- shine and meditating on nothing—that is, nothing in particular. At first little Pat paid no attention to the mono- tonous voices that growled softly over Ms head, but one or two words that he caught induced him to open his eyes very wide, rise softly from his lair and sit down on the seat, cock one ear intelligently upward, and remain so absolutely motionless that Dick, had he seen him, might have mistaken him 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 legs could go. The liev. Theophilus Stronghand was a younger son of a family so old that those families which " came over with the Conqueror " were mere moderns in comparison. Its origin, indeed, is lost in those mists of antiquity which have already swallowed I M 120 THE BURGLARS AKD tHE PARSON I up BO many millions of the human race, and soem destined to go on swallowing, with ever-increasing appetito, to the end of time. The Stronghands were great warriors — of course. They could hardly have developed into a family otherwise. The Kev, Theophilns, however, was a man of peace. We do not say this to his 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 the church as natur- ally as a duck draws to the water, and did not by any means 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 this theory into practice with con- siderable success. Perhaps no one put this theory to the test more severely or frequently than his only son Harry. War had been that young gentleman's chief joy in life from the cradle. He began by shaking his fat fists at the Universe in general. War-to-the-knife with nurse was the chronic condition of a stormy childhood. Intermittent warfare with his only sister Emmie chequered the sky of his early boy- hood, and a decided tendency to disobey wrung the soul of his poor mother, and was the cause of no THE BURGIAIW AND THE PABSON ISl little anxiety to his father; while mischief, pure and simple for its own sake, was the cherished ob- ject of his life. Nevertheless, Harry Stronghand was a lovable boy, and love was the only power that could sway him. The lad grew better as he grew older. Love be- gan to gain the day, and peace began— slowly at first — to descend on the parsonage ; but the desire for mischief— which the boy named "fun"— had not been quite dislodged at the time we write of. As Harry had reached the age of fifteen, feared nothing, and was quick-witted and ingenious, his occasional devices not only got him into frequent hot water, but were the source of some amusement to his people — and he still pretty well ruled his easy-going father and the house generally with a rod of iron. It was to Harry Stronghand that little Pat directed his steps, after overhearing the conversa- tion which we have related. Pat knew that the son of the parsonage was a hero, and, in his opinion, the most intelligent member of the family, and the best fitted to cope with the facts which he had to reveal. He met the object of his search on the road. "Plaze yer honour," said Pat— who was an Irishman, and therefore " honoured " everybody— I 122 THE BURGLARS AND THE PARSON "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 Hany, with a smile and raised eyebrows. "That's just what I do, yer honour. I heard *em reel off the whole plan." Hereupon the boy related all that he knew to the youth, who leaned against a gate and nodded his curly head approvingly until the story was finished. "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 fnr you— and, look heie, Pat, if you keep dark up- on the matter till after breakfast to-morrow and don't open your lips to a living soul about it, I 'U give you half a crown." " Thank yer honour." "Kow mind— no hints to the police ; no remarks to your master. Be dumb, in fact, from this mo- ment, else I won't give you a penny." " Sure I 've forgot all about it already, sir," said the boy, with a wink so expressive that Harry felt his word to be as good as his bond, and went back to the parsonage laughing. Arrived there, he went in search of his sister, but found that she was out. i I •I THE BTJBGLARS AND THE PAESOK 123 "Just as well." he muttered, descending to the dinag-room with his hands 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 a confidant of her in so deUcate a matter. J^o I U do It all alone. But how to do it? That 13 the question. ShaU I invite the aid of the police? Perish the thought! ShaU 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 at the time, with the statters on either hand of him. They were complete suits of armour-one repre- eenting a knight in plate armour, the other a Crusader in chain maU. Both had been in the family since two of the Stronghand warriors had followed E,chard of the lion Heart to the East As the eldest brother of the Eeverend Theophilus was in India, the second was on the deep, and the lawyer was dead, the iron shells of the ancient warriors had naturally found a resting-place in the pai^onage, along with several family portraite, which seemed to show that the males of the race were prone to look very stern, and to stand in the neighbourhood of pillars and red curtains in very dark weather, while the females were addicted <» i 124 THE BURGLARS AND THE PARSON n old lace, scant clothing, and benign smiles. One of the warriors stood contemplatively leaning on his sword. The other rested a heavy mace on his shoulder, as if he still retained a faint hope that something might turn up to justify his striking yet one more blow. " What would you advise, old man ? " said Harry, glancing up at the Crusader with the mace. The question was put gravely, for, ever since he could walk or do anything, the boy had amused him- self by putting free-and-easy questions to the suits of armour, or defying them to mortal combat. As he was true to ancient friendships, he had acquired the habit of giving the warriors an occasional nod or word of recognition long after he had ceased to play with them. "Shades of my ancestors!" exclaimed Harry with sudden animation, gazing earnestly at the Crusader on hia 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 the morning ? " " Well, it will puzzle you to do that to-night, my son ; but you may if you have a good reason." " My reason is that I have a problem — a very • ;^ I THE BDEGLARS AND THE PAESON 136 curious problem— to work out, and as I positively shan't be able to sleep until I Ve done it, I may 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 unex- pected calls on my time have prevented the pre- paration of a sermon about which I have had much anxious thought of late." "Indeed, father!" remarked the son, in a sym- pathetic tone, on observing that the Reverend Theophilus passed his hand somewhat wearily over his brow. « What may be your text ? " "'Be gentle, showing meekness to all men,*'* answered the worthy man, with an abstracted far- away look, as if he were wrestling in anticipation with the seventh head. " WeU, good-night, father, and please don't think it necessary to come in upon me to see how I am getting on. I never can work out a difficult problem if there is a chance of interruption." " All right, my son—good-night." " H'm," thought Harry, as he returned to the diuing-room in a meditative mood; "I am afraid, daddy, that you'll find it hard to be gentle to sorr^ men to-night ! However, we shall see." Tanging the bell, he stood with his back to the fire, gazing at the ceiling. The summons wag 126 THE BURGLARS AND THE PARSON answered by the gardener, who also performed the . 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 either you or Eobin to sit up for me/' "Very well, sir." "And," continued the youth, with an air o^ off- hand gravity, " I shall be obliged to sit up working well into the morning, so you may have a cup of strong coffee ready for me. Wait until I ring for it— perhaps about two in the morning. I shall sit in the dining-room, but don't bring it until 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 on his commands. He returned, therefore, to the kitchen, told the cook of the order he had received to sit up and take Master Harry's coffee to him when he should ring, and made arrangements with Eobin to sit up and help him to enliven his vigil with a game of draughts. Having thus made his arrangements, Harry Stronghand went out to enjoy a walk. He was a tremendous walker— thought nothing of twenty or thirty miles, and rather preferred to walk at night ( i THE BURGLAKS AND THE PARSON 127 than during the day, especially when moon and stars were shining. Perhaps it was a dash of poetry 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 and resumed his game with Robin. A small fire was burning in the dining-room grate, the flickering flames of which leaped up occasionally, illuminated the frowning ancestors on the walls, and gleamed on the armour of the ancient knight and the Crusader. Walking up to the latter, Harry looked at him sternly ; but as he looked, his mouth relaxed into a peculiar smile, and displayed his magnificent teeth as far back as the molars. Then he went to the window, saw that the fastenings were right, and drew down the blinds. He did not think it need- ful to close the shutters, but he drew a thick heavy curtain across the opening of the bay-window, so as to shut it off" efifectually from the rest of the room. This curtain was so arranged that the iron sentinels 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 Cru- sader and mounted behind him on the low pedestal on which he stood. Unfastening his chain-mail 128 THE BURGLAKS AND THE PARSON armour at the back, he opened him up, so to speak, and wont in. The suit fitted him fairly well, for Harry was a tall, strapping youth for his years, and when he looked out at the aperture of the headpiece and smiled grimly, he seemed by no means a degenerate warrior. Eeturning to the fireplace, he sat down in an easy chair and buried himself in a favourite author. One o'clock struck. Harry glanced up, nodded pleasantly, as if on familiar terms with Time, and resumed his author. The timepiece chimed the quarters. This was convenient. It prevented anxious watchfulness. The half-hour chimed. Harry did not move. Then the three-quarters rang out in silvery tones. Thereupon Harry arose, shut up his author, blew out his light, drew back the heavy curtains, and, returning to the arm-chair sat down to listen in comparative darkness. The moon by that time had set, and darkness profound had settled down upon that part of the universe. The embers in the grate were just sufficient 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 THB BUBOLABS AND THB fAKSOK 129 at the moment something veiy like Harry's ghost flitted across the room and entered into the warrior. Again the sound was heard, more decidedly than before. It was foUowed by a sharp click as the jneffloient catch was forced back. Then the sash began to rise, softly, slowly-an eighth of an inch at a tune, during this process Harry remained inwible and inactive; Paterfamilias in the study addressed himself to the sixth head of his discourse and the gardener with his sateUite hung in silent meditation over the draught-board in the kitchen After the sash stopped rising, the centre blind was moved gently to one side, and the head of Dick appeared with a furtive expression on the counten- ance. For a few seconds his eyes roved around without much apparent purpose; then, as they tT '""T"'"* *" '^^ ^ ^SK a gleam of anteUigence shot from them; the rugged head turned to one side; the coarse mouth turned etiU mhin, was running down the Yare before a stifif breeze, and Jim himself had commenced the most moment-' ous, and, in one sense, disastrous voyage of his life. As he stood at the tiller, guiding his vessel with consummate skill out into the darkening waters, his heart felt like lead. He would have given aU he possessed to recall the past hour, to have once again the opportunity of bidding NeUie 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 to undo 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 " Botney Gut " at that time, but our fisherman had been told that it was fishing at another part named the « Silverpits." It blew hard from the norVest, 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 eye^ 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 IB 1422 JIM GREELY, THE NORTH SEA SKIPPER and the nature of the bottom, etc., enabled him at any time to make for, and surely find, any of the submarine banks. But fleets, though distinguished by a name, have no "local habitation." They may be on the "Dogger Bank" to-day, on the "Swarto Bank" or the " Great Silverpits " to-morrow. With hundreds of miles of open sea around, and neither milestone nor finger-post to direct, a lost fleet is not unlike a lost needle in a haystack. Fortunately Jim discovered a brother smacksman looking, like himself, for his own fleet. Being to windward the brother ran down to him. " What cheer 1 Have ee seen anything o* the Eed Cross Fleet?" roared the 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. He soon found the fleet a crowd of smacks, all heading in the same direction, with their huge trawling nets down and bending over before what was styled a good "fishing-breeze." It requires a stifif breeze to haul a heavy net, with its forty or fifty feet beam and oth^r gear, over the rough bottom of the North Sea. With a slight » I Jim gkeely, the north sea skipper Us breeze and the net down 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 into line. It was a rough grey day with a little snow falUng, which whitened all the ropes and covered the decks with slush. Greely's crew had become demoralised, like their skipper. There were five men and a fair-haired boy. All could drink and swear except the boy. Charlie was the only son of his mother, and she was a good woman, besides being a widow. Charlie was the smack's cook. " Gj.ub 's ready," cried the boy, putting his head up the hatchway after the gear was down. He did not name the meal. Smacksmen have a way of taking food irregularly at aU or any hours, when circumstances permit, and are easy about the name so long as they get it, and plenty of it. A breakfast at mid-day after a night of hardest toU might be regarded indifferently as a luncheon or an early dinner. Black Whistler, the mate, who stood at the helm, pronounced a curse upon the weather by way of reply to Charlie's summons. " You should rather bless the ladies on shore that sent you them wursted mittens an* 'elmet, you ungrateful dog," returned the boy with a 144 JIM GREELY, THE NOKTH SEA SKIPPER broad grin, 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 was early 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 every muscle strained to the utmost— was the result of the admiral's order. Bitter cold; driving snow; cutting flashes of salt spray, and dark as Erebus save for the light of a lantern lashed to the mast. Tramp, tramp° tramp, the seemingly everlasting round went on, with the clank of heavy sea-boots and the rustle of hard oUskins, and the sound of labouring breath as accompaniment; while the endless cable came slowly up from the " vasty deep." But everything comes to an end, even on the Korth Sea ! At last the great beam appears and is secured. With a sigh of relief the capstan bars are thrown down, and the men vary their toil by clawing up the net with scarred and benumbed fingers. It is heavy work, causes much heaving and gasping, and at times seems ahnost too much for all hands to manage. Again Black Whistler pronounces a malediction iai OBEELV, tBB KOBTH BU SKIPPEB I46 on things iu general, and is mockingly reminded by the boy^ook that he ought to bless the people « Bends hxm wursted cuffs to save his wrists from Bea-blisters. "Seems to me we've got a hold of a bit o' Noahs ark," growled one of the hands, as some- tkmg black and big begins to appear. He IS partially right, for a bit of an old wreck is found to have been captured with a ton or so of fisL When this IS disengaged the net comes in more easUy, and the fish are dropped like a sUver cataract on the wet deck. One might imagine that there was rest for the fishermen now. Far from it. The fish had to be Jf T T^^^^ ""d «>« superfluous portions cut off-and packed in boxes for the London market The grey hght of a bleak winter morning dawned Wore fte work was finished. During the operation tte third hand. lively Dick, ran a fish-bone deeply It was noon before the trunks, or fish-boxes. were packed. Then the little boat had to be Uunched over the side, loaded with fish, and ferried to one of aie steamers which ply dafly and regularly between Billingsgate and the fl^ts. Href men jumped wu, it and pushed off_a mere cockle-sheU 146 JIM GREELT, THE NORTH SEA SEIFPEB on a heaving flood, now dancing on a wave-crest, now lost to view in a water-valley. "What's that?" said Whistler, as they piilled 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 steamer was by that time frowning over them. It was dangerous work they had to do. The steamer rolled heavily in the rough sea. The boat, among a dozen other boats, was soon attached to her by a strong rope. Men had to be athletes and acrobats in order to pass their fish-boxes from the leaping and plunging boats to the deck of the rolling steamer. The shouting and noise and bumping were tremendous. An awkward heave occasionally sent a box into the sea amid oaths and laughter. Jim's cargo was put safely on board, and the boat was about to cast off when a heavier lurch than usual caused Black Whistler to stagger. To save himself from plunging overboard he laid both hands on the gunwale of the boat — a dangerous thing to do at any time when alongside of a vessel Before he could recover himself the boat went LOADING THE STEAMER. JIM GEEELT, THE NORTH SEA SKIPPEB 147 crashing against the steamer's iron side and the fisher- man's hands were crushed. He feU back into the boat almost fainting with agony. No cry escaped him, however. Lively Dick saw the blood streaming and while his mate shoved off the boat he wrapped a piece of canvas in a rough-and-ready fashion round 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 noo mission-ship does hospital work afloat, and that they'll keep you aboard of her and lend us one o' their hands tUl you're fit for work again ? " Whether poor Whistler beHeved, or understood or was comforted by this we cannot say, for he made no reply and appeared to be almost overcome with pain. On reaching the Dolphin a signal of distress was made to the floating hospital, which at once bore down to them. The injured man was transferred to it, and there, in the pleasant ainr cabin. Black Whistler made acquaintence with men who were anxious to cure his soul as well as his body. Up to this time he had resolutely declined to visit the mission-ships, but now, when a skilled medical man tenderly dressed his terrible wounds 148 JIM GREELY, THE NORTH SEA SKIPPER and a sympathetic skipper led him to a berth and supplied him with some warm coffee, telling him that he would be free to remain there without charge as long as was needed, and that meanwhile one of the mission hands would take his place in the Dolphin till he was able to resume work, his opinion of mission-ships and work underwent modi- fication, and he began to think that mission crews were not such a bad lot after all. Meanwhile Skipper Greely, leaving his man in the Queen Victoria, returned to his smack accom- panied by George King, the new hand. King's position was by no means an enviable one, for he found himself thus suddenly in the midst of a set of men who had no sympathy with him in religious matters, and whose ordinary habits and conversation rendered remonstrance almost unavoidable. Unwilling to render himself obnoxi- ous at first, the man resolved to try the effect of music on his new shipmates. He happened to possess a beautiful tenor voice, and the first night — a calm bright one — while taking his turn at the helm, he sang in a soft sweet voice one after another of those hymns which Mr. Sankey has rendered so popular. He began with "Come to the Saviour, make no delay," and the first efifect on his mates, moat of whom were ^ ^'low, was to arouse JIM GBEELY, THE NORTH SEA SKIPPEB 149 a feeling of contempt. But they could not resist the sweetness of the voice. In a few minutes they were perfectly silent, and listening with a species of fascination—each being wafted, both by words and music, to scenes on shore and to times when his spirit had not been so demoralised by sin. Greely, in particular, was transported back to the sunny home in Yarmouth, and to the days of first- love, before the demon had gained the mastery and clouded the sunshine. As the night wore on, a fog settled down over the North Sea, and the smacks of the Short Blue fleet began to blow their fog-horns, while the crews became more on the alert and kept a bright look- out. Suddenly, and without warning, a dull beating sound was heard by the look-out on the Dolphin. Next moment a dark object Hke a phantom ship loomed out of the fog, and a wild cry arose as the men saw the bows of a huge ocean steamer coming apparently straight at them. The smack was absolutely helpless, without steering way. For an instant there was shouting on board the steamer, and she fell off slightly as she rushed into the small circle of the Dolphin's light. A tremendous crash followed, but the change of direction had been sufficient to prevent a fatal coUision. Another m I 160 mt GREELY, THE NORTH SEA SKIPPER moment and the great steamer was gone, while the little smack rocked violently from the blow as well as from the swell left in the steamer's wake. This was but the beginning of a night of disaster. Skipper Greely and his men had scarcely recovered from the surprise of this incident when the fog lifted and quickly cleared away, revealing the Short Blue fleet floating all round with flapping sails, but it was observed also that a very dark cloud rested on the north-western horizon. Soon a stiffish breeze sprang up, and the scattered fleet drew together, lay on the same tack, and followed the lead of their admiral, to whom they looked for the signal to shoot the trawls. But instead of giving this order the admiral signalled to " lay-to." Being disgusted as well as surprised that their leader was not going to fish, Jim Greely, being also exhausted by long watching, went below and turned in to have a sleep. He had not been long asleep when fair-haired Charlie name to tell him that Lively Dick, who acted &% mate in "Whistler's absence, wanted him on deck. He ran up at once. " Looks like dirty weather, skipper," said Dick, pointing to windward. "Eight you are, lad/* said Jim, and called all hands to close-reef. This being done and everything made snug, the JIM GREELY, THE NORTH SEA SKIPPER 161 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 on them, but did not think it worth while to call the skipper. It broke on them with a clap like thunder, but the good Dolphin stood the shock well, and Dick was congratulating himself when he saw a sea coming towards them, but sufficiently astern, he thought, to clear them. He was 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 first ineffectual efforts to get out of his berth, for the water, which poured down the hatchway, washed gear, tackles, turpentine- tins, paint-pots, and nearly everything moveable from the iron locker on the weather-side down to leeward, and blocked up the openings. Making another effort he cleared all this away, and sprang out 0/ the berth, which was half full of water. Pitchy darkness enshrouded him, for the water had put out the lights as well as the fire. Just then the vessel righted a little. "Are you all right on deck?" shouted Jim, as he scrambled up the hatchway. " All right, as far as I can see," answered Dick, 152 JM GBEELY, THE NORTH SEA SKIPPER "Hold on, I 've a bottle o' matches in my bunk," cried the skipper, returning to the flooded cabin. Fortunately the matches were dry; a light was struck, and a candle and lamp lighted. The scene revealed was not re-assuring. The water in the cabin was knee-deep. A flare, made of a woollen scarf soaked in paraffin, was lighted on deck, and showed that the mainsail had been split, the boat hopelessly damaged, and part of the lee bulwarks broken. The mast also was leaning aft, the fore- stay having been carried away. A few minutes later Lively Dick went tumbling down into the cabin all of a heap, to avoid the mast as it went crashing over the side in such a way as to prevent the nse of the pumps, and carrying the mizzen- mast along with it, " Go to work with buckets, boys, or she '11 sink," shouted the skipper, himself setting the example for the ballast had shifted and the danger was' great Meanwhile George King seized an axe and cut away the rigging that held on to the wrecked masts, and fair-haired Charlie laboured like a hero to clear the pumps. The rays of the cabin lights did not reach the deck, so that much of the work had to be done in what may be styled darkness visible, while the little vessel kicked about like a wild thing in the raging sea, and the torn canvas f t ,t JIM GBEELY, THB NORTH SEA SKIPPBR 158 flapped With a horrible noise. PitUess wind, laden with sleet, howled over them as if thirsting im- patiently for the fishermen's Kves. At last^they succeeded in clearing the pumps, and worked them with untiring energy for hours, but could not teU how many, for the thick end of a marline-spike had been driven through the clock-face and stopped it It was still dark when they managed to rig up a jury-mast on the stump of the old one and hoist a shred of sail. George King was ordered to the tiller. As he passed Greely he said in a cheerful voice, "Trust in the Lord, skipper, He can bring us out 0* 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, while the othera dived into the cabin. When that sea had passed they found no one at the tUler. Poor King had been washed overboard. Nothing whatever could be done for him, even if he had been seen, but the greedy sea had swaUowed him, and he was taken to swell with his tuneful voice the company of those who sin- 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 f I 164 JIM GKEELY, THE NORTH SEA SKirPER now a mere wreck, liable to drift on shore if the gale should continue long, Jim let down an anchor, after removing its stock so that it might drag on the bottom and retard the drifting while it kept the vessel's head to the sea. A watch was then set, and the rest of the crew went below to wait and wish for daybreak ! It was a dreary vigil under appalling circumstances, for although the smack had not actually sprung a leak there was always the danger of another sea overwhelming and altogether sinking her. Her crew sat there for hours utterly helpless and liter- ally facing death. Fortunately their matches had escaped the water, so that they were able to kindle a fire in the stove and obtain a little warmth as well as make a pot of tea and eat some of their sea-soaked biscuit. It is wonderful how man can accommodate himself to circumstances. No sooner had the crew in this wreck felt the stimulating warmth of the hot tea than they began to spin yarns ! not indeed of a fanciful kind — they were too much solemnised for that — but yarns of their experience of gales 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 the time. We was Vi^ i 4' J JIM GREELY, THE NORTH SEA SKIPPER 155 workin* wi' the Short Blues on the Dogger, when a tremendous squall struck us, an' it began to snow that thick we could scarce see the end o' the jib- boom. Well, the gale came on in real arnest before long, so we had to lay-to all that night. When it came day we got some sail set and I went below to have a hot pot o' tea when the 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 dismasted craft. We shoved the tiller hard a-starboard and swung round as if we was on a swivel, goin' crash through the rackage alongside an' sliavin' her by a hair. We could just see through the snow one of her hands choppin' away at the riggin', and made out that her name was the Henry and Thomas" " An' did ye see nothin* more of *er arter that ? " asked the boy Charlie with 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 of the mission-ships was close alongside. Every one ran on deck to hail her, for they stood much in need of assistance, two of their water- casks having been stove in and everything in the hold turned topsy-turvy— beef, potatoes, flour, all mixed up in horrible confusion. Just then ' I m 156 JIM GEBELY, THB NORTH SEA SKIPPER another sea came on board, and the crew had to dive again to the cabin for safety. That sea carried away the boat and the rest of the starboard bul- warks, besides starting a plank, and letting the water in at a rate which the pumps could not keep down. Quickly the mission-ship loomed up out of the grey snow-cloud and ran past, "You '11 want help ! " shouted the mission skipper. "Ay, we do," shouted Jim Greely in reply. " We 're sinkin', and our boat's gone." An arm thrown up indicated that the words were understood. A few minutes later and the crew of the Dolphin saw the mission crew launching their little boat With such a sea running the venture was perilous in the extreme, but when the mission skipper said '* Who *11 go ? " he had no lack of volunteers. The boat was manned at once, and the crew of the Dolphin were rescued a few minutes before the Dolphin herself went head-foremost to the bottom. Just as they got safely on deck the mission-ship herself shipped a heavy sea, which washed several of the men into the lee scuppers. They jumped up immediately— some with " Thank God" on their lips, others with a laugh— but Jamea Greely did not rise. He lay stunned and rolling about in the water. It was found on raising him that his right leg was broken at the thigh. J V ■ t J . JIM ORFELY, THE NORTH SEA SKIPPER 157 When Jim recovered consciousness he did not complain. He was a man of stern mould, and neither groaned nor spoke; but he was not the less impressed with the kindness and apparent ekiU with which the mission skipper treated him. Having received a certain amount of surgical traming, the skipper— although unlearned and a fisherman— knew weU how to put the leg in spUnts and otherwise to treat the patient. "It's pretty bad, I fear," he said soothinaly observing that Jim's lips were compressed, Ld that beads of perspiration were standing on his brow. Jim did not reply, but smiled grimly and nodded for the rolling of the ship caused him increasing agony as the injured parts began to inflame. " I 'm not very good at this sort o' work," said the mission skipper modestly, " but thank God the new hospital-ship is cruisin' wi' the Short Blue just now. I saw her only yesterday, so we 'U put you aboard of her and there you '11 find a regular Bhore-goin' surgeon, up to everything, and with aU the gimcracks and arrangements of a reg'lar shore- goin' hospital. They Ve got a new contrivance too —a sort o' patent stretcher, invented by a Mr. Dark 0' the head office in London— which '11 take 168 JIM GREELY, THE NORTH SEA SKIPPER you out 0* the boat into the ship -without movin' a bone or muscle, so keep your mind easy, skipper, for you '11 be aboard the t^f! ten?. Victoria before many hours go by." Poor Greely appreciated the statement about the stretcher more than all the rest that was said, for he was keenly alive to the difficulty of pussing a broken -boned man out of a little boat into a smack or steamer in a heavy sea, having often had to do it The mission skipper was right, for early the next day Jim was strapped to a wonderful frame and passed into the hospital-ship without shake or shock, and his comrades were retained in the mission smack until they could be sent on shore. Greely and his men learned many lessons which they never afterwards forgot on board of the Queen Victoria — the foundation lesson being that they were lost sinners and that Jesus Christ came " to seek and to save the lost." Slowly, and at first unwillingly, Skipper Greely took the great truths in. Several weeks passed, and he began to move about with some of his wonted energy. Much to his surprise he found himself one morning signing the temperance pledge-books, persuaded thereto by the skipper of the Queen Victoria. Still more to his surprise he found him- J JIM OBEELT, THE NORTH SEA SEIPPEB 169 . self one Sunday afternoon listening, with unwonted tears in his eyes, to some of his mates as they told their spiritual experiences to an assembly of some hundred or so of weather-beaten fishermen. Before quitting that vessel he discovered that he pos- sessed a powerful and tuneful voice, admirably adapted for singing hymns, and that he was capable of publicly stating the fact that he was an unworthy sinner saved by grace. When at last he returned ashore and unex- pectedly entered the Yarmouth home, Nellie could scarcely believe her senses, so great was the change. " Jim ! " she cried, with opening eyes and beating heart, " you 're like your old self again." "Thank God," said Jim, clasping her in his strong arms. But he could say no more for some time. Then he turned suddenly on curly-headed Jimmie, who had been fiercely embracing one of his enormous sea-boots, and began an incoherent con- versation and a riotous romp with that juvenile fisherman. A brighter sunshine than had ever been there before enlightened that Yarmouth 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 of brother fishermen began m Hi i 160 JIM GBKBLT, tllS KOfilTU SEA SKlPFEft to think as Jim Qreely thought and feel as he felt His house also became the centre, or headquarters, of an informal association got up for the purpose of introducing warmth and sunshine into poor homes in all weathers, and there were frequently such large meetings of the members of that association that it taxed Nellie's ingenuity to supply seats and itow them all away. She managed it, however; for, as Jim was wont to remark, "Nellie had ft powerful intellec' for her size." Among the frequenters of this Yarmouth home were several of the men who had once been staunch supporters of the Green Dragon, and of these the most enthusiastic, perhaps, if not the most noisy, were Black Whistler, Lively Dick, and fair-haired Charlie, A NORTHERN WAIF 161 ( It OHAPTEE IX A NORTHERN WAIP. If a waif is a lost wanderer, then little Poosk was a decided waif, for he had gone very much astray indeed in the North American backwoods. It was a serious matter for an Indian chUd of six years of age to become a waif in the dead of winter, with four feet of snow covering the entire wilderness, and the thermometer far below zero. Yes, little Poosk was lost. His Indian mother, when she tied up his little 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 the mission- house. The feast will be a very grand one— oh! sitch a good one! Better than the feast we have when the geese and ducks come back in 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 L ii : I 162 A NORTHERN WAIF been implied in these words had the mother meant his moral tracks. But she did not: she referred to his snow-shoe tracks, which would serve as a sure guide to tho mission-house, if closely followed. Poosk had promised to obey orders, of course, as readily as if he had been a civilised white boy, and with equal readiness had forgotten his promise when the first temptation came. That temptation had come in the form of a wood-partridge, in chase of which, with the spirit of a true son of the forest, Poosk had bolted, and soon left his father's tracks far behind him. Thus it came to pass that in the pursuit of game, our little savage became a " waif and stray." Had he been older, he would doubtless have returned on his own 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 round towards it as he advanced. Poosk was uncommonly small for his age — hence his name, which, in the Oree language, means Iwdf, He came at the tail-end of a very large family. Being remarkably small from the first, he was regarded as the extreme tip of that tail His father styled him "kaXf a child— Poosk. But his lack of size was counterbalanced by great physical activity and sharp intelligence. Wrapped in his warm deerskin coat, which was lined with flannel, and A NORTHERN WAIF 163 edged with fur, and secured with a scarlet belt, with his little legs in ornamented leggings, his little feet in new moccasins, and shod with little snow- shoes not more than twenty-four inches long by eight broad~hi3 father's being five feet by fiftee°n inches, —and his Httle hands in leather mittens of the bag-and-thumb order, Poosk went over the snow at an amazing rate for his size, but failed to rejoin his father's track. Suddenly he stopped, and a pucker on his brow betrayed anxiety. Compressing his little Ups, h ) looked round him with an expression of serious c etermination in his large brown eyes. Was he not in his native wilds ? Was he not the son of a noted brave ? Was he going to submit to the disgrace of losing his way; and, what was much worse, losing his feast ? Certainly not ! With stern resolve on every lineament of his infantile visage he changed his direction, and pushed on. We need scarcely add that he soon stopped again ; resolved and re-resolved to succeed; and changed his direction again and again tiU he became utterly bewildered, and, finally, sitting down on the trunk of a fallen tree, shut his eyes, opened his little mouth, and howled. It was sad, but it was natural that at so early a period of lif3 the stoicism of the savage should be overcome by the weakness of the child. Finding after a while that howling resulted in I'j I 164 A NORTHERN WAIF nothing 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 hira fiat a white rabbit on its hind legs, and, from its expression, evidently filled with astonishment equal to his own. The spirit of the hunter arose, and that of the child vanished, as little 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 of the snow- encumbered forest. On a point of rocks which jutted out into a frozen lake, stood a small church with a small spire, small porch, and diminutive windows. The pastor 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 alongside of it served as a school-house and meeting-hall. In this little building the man of God, assisted by a Eed Indian convert, taught the Eed Men of the wilderness the way of life through Jesus Christ, besides giving them a little elementary and in- dustrial education suited to their peculiar circum- A NOETHBBK WAUT ijg Stances ; and here, on the day of which we write, he had prepared the sumptuous feast to which reference has just been made. The pastor's wife and daughter had prepared it There were venison pies and ptarmigan pasties; there were roasts of fowls, and roasts of rabbits, and stews of many aungs which we wiU not venture to describe besides puddings of meat, and puddings of ricft and puddings of plums; also tea and coffee to wash it all down. There was no strong drink Strong health and appetite were deemed sufficient to give zest to the proceedings. The company was remarkably savage to look at, but wonderfaUy civUised in conduct, for the influence of Christian love was there, and that influence is the same everywhere, leathern garments clothed the men • curtailed petticoats adorned the women ; both wore leggings and moccasins. The boys and girls were simUarly costumed, aad aU 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 he briefly asked God's blessing ou the feast. Then, when expectation had reached Its utmost point, there was a murmur. Where was tte smallest mite of all the guests ? Nobody knew Poosk's mother said she had sent him off hours a^o I ill 16$ A NORTHERN WAIF and had thought that he must be there. Poosk's father — a very tall man, with remarkably long legs, — ^hearing this, crossed the room in three strides, put on his five-feet by fifteen-inch snow-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 waifs mother set to work with undiminished appetite. Meanwhile the waif himself went farther and farther ast. 7— swayed alternately by the spirit of the stoic and the spirit of the little child. But little Poosk was made of sterling stuff, and the two spirits had a hard battle in him for the mastery that wintry afternoon. His chase of the rpbbit was brought to an abrupt conclusion by a twig which caught one of his snow-shoes, tripped him up, and sent him headlong into the snow. When snow averages four feet in depth it affords great scope for ineffec- tual floundering. The snow-shoes kept his feet near the surface, and the depth prevented his little arms from reaching solia ground. When at last he recovered his perpendicular, his hair, eyes, nose, ears, sleeves, and mittens were stuffed with snow ; and the child-spirit began to whimper, but the stoic sprang on him md quickly crushed him down. Drawing his little body up with a look of deter- A NOETHEBN WAIF 167 mination, and wiping away the tears which had already begun to freeze on his eyelashes, our little hero stepped out more vigorously than ever, in the full beUef that every yard carried him nearer home, though in reaUty he was straying farther and farther from his father's track. WeU was it for little Poosk that day that his hope of reaching home did not depend on his own feeble efforts. Already the father was traversing the wilderness in search of his lost lamb, though the lamb knew it not. But Poosk's disasters were not yet over. Al- though brave at heart and, for his years, sturdy of frame, he could not withstand the tremendous cold peculiar to those regions of ice and snow; and ere long the fatal lethargy that is often induced by extreme frost began to tell. The first symptom was that Poosk ceased to feel the cold as much as he had felt it some time before. Then a drowsy sensation crept over him, and he 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 m front of him, its upper edge concealed by v^reaths of snow He fell otc- it, turning a somersault as he went down, and alighted safely in a snow-bed at the bottom. Tlie shock revived him, but it also fl 168 A NORTHERN WAIF quelled the stoic in his breast. Rising with diffi- culty, he wrinkled up his brown visage, and once again took to howling. Half an hoar later his father, steadily following up the little track in the snow, reached the spot and heard the howls. A smile lit up his swarthy features, and there was a gleam of satisfaction in his 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 the opening of his eyes. Another moment, and his father had him in his strong arms, turned him upside down, felt him over quietly, shook him a little, ascertained that no bones were broken, put him on his broad shoulders, and carried him straight back to the Mission Hall, where the feasters were in full swing — having apparently quite forgotten the little "waif and stray." Forth American Indians, as is well known, are not demonstrative. There was no shout of joy when the lost one appeared. Even his mother took no further 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 to stuff him, which she was by that time at leisure to do, having just finished stuffing herself. The father, stalking sedately to a seat at another table, A NORTHERN WAIF 1«« proceeded to make up for lost time. He was marvellously successful in his efforts. He was one of those Indian braves who are equal to any emergency. Although near the end of the feast and with only d^ris left to manipulate, he managed to refresh himself to his entire satisfaction before the tables were cleared. The feast of reason which followed was marked by one outstanding and important failure. The pastor had trained the Indian boys and girls of his school to sing several hymns, and repeat several pieces in prose and verse. Our waif, besides being the smallest boy, possessed the sweetest voice in the school. He was down on the programme for a hymn — a solo. Having fallen sound asleep after being stuffed, it was found difficult to awake him when his turn came. By dint of shaking, however, his mother roused him up and set him on his legs on a table, where he was steadied a little by the pastor's wife, and gently bid to begin, by the pastor's daughter. Poosk was very fond of the pastor's daughter. He would have done anything for her. He opened his large eyes, from which a sleepy gleam of intelli- gence flashed. He opened his little mouth, from which rolled the sweetest of little voices. The i "!| f 170 A NOETHERN WAIF Indians, who had been purposely kept in ignorance of this musical treat, were ablaze with surprise and expectation; but the sound died away, the mouth remained open, and the eyes shut suddenly as Poosk fell oyer like a ninepin, sound asleep, into the arms of the pastor's daughter. Nothing more was to be got out of him that day. Even the boisterous laugh which greeted his break- down failed to rouse him; and finally our Northern Waif was carried home, and put to bed beside a splendid fire in a warm robe of rabbit skins. te d h k B HOW TO MAKE THE BEST OP LIFE 171 CHAPTER X HOW TO MAKE THE BEST OP UfE : PKOM A YOUNG man's STANDPOINT. of patl^ that have to be trod, of work that haa to Pouring continually into it there are millions of human beings who are capable of being fitted to Ml those mches. to traverse those paths, and to do tha work. ^I venture a step further and assert that every human being, without exception, who amves at the years of maturity must, in the nature of things, have a particular niche and path and work appoints! for him ; and just in proportion as a man finds out his exact work, and waJks in or s rays from his peculiar path, will be the success of h« hfe. He may miss his aim altogether, and hia life turn out a faUure, because of his self-will or perhaps, his mistaken notions; and there are few Bights more depressing than that of a round younc III 172 HOW TO MAKE THE BEST OF LIFE man rushing into a square hole, except that of a square young man trying to wriggle himself into a round hole. What the world wants is " the right man in the right place." What each man wants is to find Lis right place. But the fact that man may, and often does, make a wrong choice, that he may try to traverse the wrong path, to accomplish the wrong work, and do many things in the wrong way, is a clear proof that his course in life is not arbitrarily fixed, that he has been left to the freedom of his own will, and may therefore fall short of the best, though he may be fortunate enough to attain the good or the better. Hence devolves upon every one the responsibility of putting and finding an answer to the question — How shall I make the best of life ? And let me say here in passing that I venture to address young men on this subject, not because I conceive myself to be gifted with superior wisdom, but because, being an old man, I stand on the heights and vantage ground of Experience, and looking back, can see the rocks and shoals and quicksands in life's ocean, which have damaged and well-nigh wrecked myself. I would not only try my hand as a pilot to guide, but as, in some sense, a buoy or beacon to warn from dangers that are not only unseen but unsuspected. HOW TO MAKE THE BEST OP UFB 173 Every young man of ordinary common sense wiU at least aim at what he believes to be best in life, and the question will naturaUy arise— What ^ best? If a youth's chief idea of felicity is to " have a good time ;» to enjoy himself to the utmost- to cram as much of sport, fun, and adventure into his early manhood as possible, with a happy-go-lucky indifference as to the future, he is not yet in a frame of mind to consider our question at all. 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," whUe we consider a subject that is no trifling matter. What, then, is best ? I reply-So to Hve and work that we shall do the highest good of which we are capable to the world, and, in the doing thereof, achieve the highest possible happiness t^ ourselves, and to those with whom we are connected. In the end, to leave the world better than 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 buHding on any other, or to neglect a foundation altogether, is to soUcit and en^'sure disaster. But supposing, young man, that you agree with If n '■: ^ i •I IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) /. ^ o h :/. t/i 1.0 I.I 1.25 1.8 JJ. 116 /?/^ Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY. M580 (716) 872-4503 \ 4? « '9>^ 6^ '<^,t » p I 174 HOW TO MAKE THE BEST OF LIFE me in this ; are fully alive to the importance o! the question, and are desirous of obtaining all the light you can on it, then I would, with all the earnestness of which I am capable, urge you to begin on this sure foundation by asking God 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 mil bring it to pass." Without this beginning there is, there can be, no possibility of real success, no hope of reaching the best. With it there 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 prayer in all his plans of life should be — " Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do V* Many people think that they have put up that peMtion and got no answer, when the answer is obviously before their eyes. It seems to me that God's answers are always indicative, and not very difficult to understand. An anxious father says — ^if he does not also pray —"What shall I train my boy to be?" God, through the medium of common sense, replies. Watch your son, observe his tastes, and especially his powers, and train him accordingly. His capacities, whatever they are, were given to him by his Maker for the express purpose of being developed. If you HOW TO MAKE THIB BEST OF LIFE 175 don't develop them, you neglect a clear indication unless, indeed, it be held that 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 less reasonable than most of His own creatures ! If a lad has a strong liking for some particular sort of work or pursuit, and displays great aptitude for It, there is no need of an audible voice to tell what should be his path in life. Contrariwise strong disUke, coupled with incapacity, indicates the path to be avoided with equal precision. ^ Of course, liking and disliking are not a sufficient indication, for both may be based upon partial igno- wnce. The sea, as a profession, is a case in point. How many thousands of lads have an intense liking for the idea of a sailor's Ufe! But the liking is not for the sea; it is for some romantic notion of the sea ; and the romancer's aptitude for a sea life must at first be taken for granted while his experience is nil He dreams, probably, of majestic storms, op heavenly calms, of coral islands, and palm groves and foreign lands and peoples. If veiy imaginative,' he will mdulge in Malay pirates and wrecks, and lifeboats, and desert islands, on which he wHl always land safely, and commence a second edition of Eobmson Crusoe. But he will scarcely think i 176 HOW TO MAKE THE BEST OF LIFE till bitter experience compels him, of veiy long watches in dirty unromantic weather, of holy- stoning the decks, scraping down the masts, and clearing out the coal-hole. Happily for our navy and the merchant service there are plenty of lads who go through all this and stick to it, their lov« of the ocean is triumphant — but there are a few exceptions I On the other hand, liking and fitness may be discovered by experience. I know a man who, from childhood, took pleasure in construction and invention. At the age of nine he made a real steam engine which " could go " with steam, and which was small enough to be carried in liis pocket. He was encouraged to follow the providential indication, went through all the drudgery of workshops, and is now a successful engineer. Of course, there are thousands of lads whose paths are not so clearly marked out; but does it not seem reasonable to expect that, with prayer for guidance, and thoughtful consideration on the part of the boy's parents, as well as of the boy himself, the best path in life may be discovered for each ? No doubt there are many difficulties in the way; as when parents are too ambitious, or when sons are obstinate and self-willed, or when both are antagonistic to each other. If, as is not infrequently HOW TO MAKE TflE BEST OlT LIPB 177 the case, a youth has no particular taste for any profession, and shows no very obvious capacity for anything, is it not a pretty strong indication that he was meant to tread one of the many subordinate paths of life and be happy therein? All men cannot be generals. Some must be content to rub shoulders with the rank and file. If a lad is fit only to dig in a coal pit or sweep the streets, he is as surely intended to foUow these honourable call- ings as is the captain who has charge of an ocean steamer to foUow the sea. And even in the selection of these lowly occupations the path is divinolv indicated, while the free-wiU is left to the influence of common sense, so that the robust youth with powerful frame and sinews will probably select the pit, and the comparatively deHcate man will prefer the crossintt. I repeat, to say that any creature was called into being for no purpose at aU, is to question the wisdom of the Almighty. Even if a babe makes its ap- pearance on this terrestrial scene, and wails out its brief career in a single day, it was sent here for a special purpose, else it would not have K^en sent, and that purpose must have been fully accomi>lished,' else it would not have died. To my mind this is an exceedingly cheering v:ew of things, for it encourages the beUef that howevtx Ilhi; 178 HOW TO MAKE THE BEST OF LUTK poor or feeble may have been our efforts to Uve a good life, these efforts cannot have been made in vain, even although they may fall very far short of the •' best." And there is also this very hopeful consideration to comfort us, that the race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, that wisdom sometimes proceeds out of the mouths of babes, and that "we little know what great things from little things may rise." To be sure, that cuts both ways, for, what some- times are called « little sins " may result in tremen- dous evil, but, equally, efforts that seem insignificant may be the cause of great and unexpected blessmg. If, then, as I sincerely believe, every living being has 1 special work to do-or, rather, has a variety of appropriate paths in any one of which he may walk with more or less advantage to himself and his fellow-men— it behoves every young man to find out what path is the best one for him, and to walk in it vigorously. Fatalism is folly. NoonebeHeves in it. At least no one in this country acts upon it. When I say that every being has a special work to do, I don't mean that it has been decreed exactly what each man has to do. Were this so, he would have to do it, nolem volens, and there would be no such thing as responsibility-for it would be gi'oss injustice to hold a man responsible for that which flow TO MAKE THK BEST Oif UVE 179 he could by no means prevent or accomplish. That which has really been decreed is-that man shall have free-will and be allowed to exercise that free- wiU in the conduct of his afiairs. It is a most mysterious gift, but there it is-an unquestionable fact-and it must be taken into account in aU our reasoning. There is a confusion here into which men are sometimes liable to faa Man's will is absolutely free, but his action is not so. He may wiU just as he pleases, but all experience tells us that he may not do just as he pleases. Whether his mtentions be good or bad, they are frequently and effectively interfered with, but his will— never Seeing, then, that there is a best way for every one, and that there are sundrjr common sense methods by which the path may be discovered, it may be well to consider for a moment whether there are not some obstacles which stand in the way of a young man's success in life, not only because they are providentially allowed to He there, but becaase the young man himself either carelessly or unwittingly has planted them in his own path Selfishness is one of those obstacles. And by selfishness I do not mean that gross form of it which secures for the man who gives way to it a bad name, but those subtle phases of it which may possibly H aUied with much that is good, amiable I 'yi I 180 HOW TO MAKK THE BEST OH LiM and attractive. It is not unfrequently the con- sequence of that thoughtlessness which results in evil not less than does want of heart. Talking too much about oneself and one's own affairs, and being too Uttle interested in the affairs of others, is one aspect of the selfishness to which I refer. Some men, the moment they meet you, begin to talk energetically about what they have been domg, or thinking, or about what they are going to do, and if you encourage them they will go on talking in the same strain, totally forgetting that ym may chance to be interested in other things. Such men, if they begin young, and are not checked, soon degenerate into "bores," and no bore, however well-meaning or even religious, ever succeeded in making the best of life. The cure for this is to be found— as usual— in the Scripturf^ : « Wherewithal shall a young man cleanse his way ? by taking heed thereto according to thy word." And what says the word? " Look not (only) on your own things, but upon the things of others." I have a friend who was the confidant of a large number of his kindred and of many other people besides. It was said of him that everybody went to him for sympathy and advice. I can well believe it, for he never spoke about himself at all that I cL remember. He was not unusually wise or HOW TO MAKE THE BEST OF LIFB 181 snperlatively clever, but he had " a heart at leisure from itself to soothe and sympathise." The con- sequence was that, in spite of a good many faults, he was greatly beloved. And it is certain, reader^ that to gain the affection of your fellow-men is onj of the surest steps in the direction of success in life. To be too much concerned in conversation about yourself, your affairs and your opinions wHl prove to be a mighty obstruction in your way. Perhaps one of the best methods of fighting against this tendency is to resolve, when meeting with friends, iMver to begin with self, but alimys with them! But it is hard to crucify self I This mode of procedure, be it observed, would not be a hypo- critical exhibition of interest where none was felt, but an honest attempt to snub self by deliberately putting your friends* interests before your own. It is probable that we are not sufficiently alive to the influence of comparatively insignificant matters on success in life. lUegible handwriting, for instance, may go far to retard or arrest a youth's success. It sometimes interferes with friendly intercourse. I once had a friend whose writing was so illegible, and the cause of so much worry in mere decipherment, that I was constrained to give up epistolary correspondence with him altogether. There can be little doubt that many a would-be ■■1 I 182 HOW TO MAKE THE BEST OF IITE author fails of success because of the illegibility of his penmanship, for it is impossible that an editor or publisher can form a fair estimate of the character or value of MS. which he has much difficulty in reading. There is one thing which men are prone to do, and which it would be well that they should not do, and that is, "naU their colours to the mast" in early youth. The world is a school. We are ever learning— or ought to be— and, in some cases, «* never coming to a knowledge of the truth 1" Is not this partly owing to that fatal habit of nailing the colours ? I do not for a moment advocate the holding of opinions loosely. On the contrary, whether a man be young or old, whenever he gets hold of what he believes to be true, he ought to grasp it tenaciously and with a firm grip, but he should never " nail " it Being fallible, man is liable to more or less of error ; and, therefore, ought to hold himself open to correction— ay, even to conversion. New or stronger light may convince him that he has been wrong— and if a man will not change when he is convinced, or " fully persuaded in his own mind," he has no chance of finding out how to make the best of life, either from a young, or middle-aged, or old man's standpoint Why, new or stronger light— if he would let it illumine HOW TO MAKE THE BEST OP UFE 183 him— might even convince him that his opinion was not only true, but involved much greater and grander truths than he supposed. It is difficult to go more minutely into details, even if it were advisable to do so. I may fittingly conclude by saying that the sum of all that might be written is comprehended in the statement that obedience 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 is enlightened,, there is one— a duplex truth— which lies at the foundation of everything. It is unchangeable. Without it all other facts would be valueless, and I would re- commend every man, woman, and child to nail it to the mast without hesitation, namely — "God is love," and " Love is the fulfilling of the law." 184 FOBQIYE AND FORQIT I CHAPTER XI. POEaiVB AND FORGET : A LIFEBOAT STORY. I I Old Captain Bolter said he would never forgive Jo Grain — never. And what Captain Bolter said he meant : for he was a strong and self-willed man. There can be no doubt that the Captain had some ground of complaint against Grain : for he had been insulted by him grossly — at least so he thought. It happened thus : — Joseph Grain was a young fisherman, and the handsomest, tallest, strongest, and most active among the youths of the little seaport town in which he dwelt He was also one of the lifeboat's crew, and many a time had his strong hand been extended in the midst of surging sea and shrieking tempest to save the perishing. Moreover, he was of a frank, generous disposition ; was loved by most of his comrades ; envied by a few ; hated by none. But with all his fine qualities young Grain had a great and serious fault — he was rather fond of FOBOIYS AND FOBOST 185 strong drink. It must not, however, be supposed that he was a drunkard, in the ordinary sense at least of that term. No, he was never seen to stagger homeward, or to look idiotic : but, being gifted with a robust frame and finely-strung nerves, a very smaM quantity of alcohol sufficed to rouse within him the spirit of combativeness, inducing him sometimes to say and do things which after- wards could not be easily unsaid or undone, however much he might repent. One afternoon Grain and some of his mates were sauntering towards the little lighthouse that stood at the end of their pier. It was an old-fashioned stone pier, with a dividing wall or parapet down the middle of it. As they walked along, some of the younger men began to question Jo about a rumour that had recently been spread abroad. "Come, now, Jo," said one, named Blunt, "don't try to deceive us ; you can't deny that you 're after Cappen Bolter's little gaL" " WeU, I won't deny it," repHed Jo, with sudden energy and somewhat forced 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 the town than Mary Bolter, an' the man that would be ashamed to own his fondness for her don't deserve to have her." 186 f ORQIVE AND FORGBT ** That *8 true," sa^d a young fisherman, named Guy, with a nod of approval — " though there may be two opinions as to which is the sweetest lass in all the town ! " '* I tell 'ee what, Jo," remarked a stem and rather cross-grained bachelor, named Grime, "you may save yourself the trouble of givin' chase to that little craft, for although old Bolter ain't much to boast of— bein' nothin' more than the skipper of a small coastin' craft — he thinks hisself far too big a man to give his darter to a fisherman." ** Does he ? " ex;claimed Grain, with vehemence, and then suddenly checked himself. " Ay, that does he/' returned Grime, with some- thing of a sneer in his tone. It chanced that Jo Grain had been to the public- house that day, and the sneer, which at other times would have been passed over with indifference, stung him — coupled as it was with a slur on his lowly position. 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 the girl's willin' to have me I '11 wed her in spite o' the old grampus." Now, unhappily for Jo Grain, the " old grampus " chanced at that very time to be sunning himself, and enjoying his pipe on the other side of the pier- wall, FORGIVE AND FORGET 187 and heard distinctly what Jo said. Moreover, there was some truth in what Grime had said about the old skipper looking down on the young fisherman's position: so that, although he could not deny that Jo was a first-rate man, and knew that Mary was fond of him, he had hitherto felt a strong disin- clination to allow his darling and only child to wed, as he considered it, beneath her. When, therefore, the speech above quoted broke harshly on his ears, the matter became finally settled in his mind. He dropped his pipe, set his heel on it, and ground it to powder. He also ground his teeth, and, turning round with a snort, worthy of the creature to which he had been compared, sailed wildly homewards Next day Jo Grain chanced to meet him in the street, and held out his hand as usual; but the captain, thrusting both hands deep into his trousers 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. 188 F0B6IVE AND F0B6ET "Forgive me, Captain Bolter" he said respect- fully : " forgive me, and try to 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, nor forget it." With that he turned away and left Jo Grain to meditate on the folly of indulging in a stimulant which robbed him of his self- control But youth is very hopeful. Jo did not quite believe in the Captain's sincerity. He comforted himself with the thought that t^me would soften the old man's feelings, and meanwhile he would continue to court Mary when 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, as had been his custom previously, during his frequent ab- sences from home, he took her to sea with him, and left Jo with an extra supply of food for meditation. Poor Jo struggled hard under this his first severe trial, but struggled in his own strength and failed. Instead of casting away the gle^^s which had already done him so much damage, he madly took to it as a solace to his secret grief. Yet Jo took good care that his comrades, should see no outward trace of that grief tOEGIVE AND TOEOBT 189 He was not, however, suffered to remain long under the baleful influence of drink. Soon after the departure of Captain Bolter, a missionary visited the little seaport to preach salvation from sin through Jesus Christ, and, being a man of prayer and faith, his mission was very successful. Among the many sins against which he warned the people, he laid particular stress on that of drunkenness. This was long before the days of the Blue Ribbon movement : but the spirit of that movement was there, though the particular title had not yet arisen. The missionary preached Christ the Saviour of sinners, and Temperance as one of the fruits of salvation. Many of the rough fishermen were converted— bowed their heads and wills, and ceased to resist God. Among them was Joseph Grain. There was not, indeed, a remarkably great out- ward change in Jo after this : for he had always been an amiable, hearty, sweet-tempered fellow: but there was, nevertheless, a radical change ; for whereas in time past he had acted to please him- self, he now acted to please his Lord. To natural enthusiasm, which had previously made him the hero of the town, was now superadded the enthusi- asm of a soldier of the Cross : and when lifeboat duty called him, as in days gone by, to hold out his hand to the perishing, even while in the act of ido tOBGlYE AKD f O&GET saving their bodies he prayed that the result might be salvation to their souls. Tou may be sure that Jo did not forget Mary : but his thoughts about her were wonderfully changed: for in this afifair of the heart despair had given place to trust and submission. Time passed by, and one night in the dreary month of November the storm-fiend was let loose on the shores of England. All round the coast the crews of our lifeboats assembled at pier-heads and other points of vantage to watch the enemy and prepare for action. Among othei's Jo Grain and his comrades assembled at their post of duty. It was an awful night — such as, happily, does not often visit our shores. Thick darkness seemed to brood over land and sea. Only the robust and hardy dared to show face to the keen, withering blast, which was laden with sleet. Sometimes a gleam of lightning woi^ld dart through the raging elements; occasionally the murky clouds rolled off the sky for a short time, allowing the moon to render darkness hideously visible. Tormented foam came in from the sea in riven masses, and the hoarse roaring of the breakers played a bass accompaniment to the yelling blast, which dashed gravel and sand, as well as sleet, in the faces of those who had coumge enough to brave it. 1 I JrOSGIYB AND FOKOBT 191 " There— wasn't that a light?'* cried the cox- swain of the lifeboat, as he cowered under the shelter of the pier-wall and gazed seaward with difficulty. " Ay," reponded Blunt, who was bowman of the boat ; * there it goes again." " And a rocket I " shouted Jo Grain, starting up. "No mistake now," cried the coxswain. "Look alive, lads 1 " He ran as he spoke to the spot where the lifeboat lay ready under the shelter of the pier, but Jo was on board before him. Almost simultaneously did a dozen strong and fearless men leap into the noble craft and don their cork lifebelts. A few seconds sufficed. Every man knew well his place and his duty. The short, powerful oars were shipped. " Give way ! " cried the coxswain. There was no cheer — no onlooker to encourage. Silently the strong backs were bent, and the lively boat shot away towards the entrance of the harbour like a " thing of life." No descripJion can adequately convey to lands- men the work tc be done and the conditions under which it was performed. On passing the shelter of the pier-head the boat and her crew were met not only by the tumultuous surging of cross seas, but by a blast which caught the somewhat high bow ! I ■aM 19d FORQIVB AND FORGBt and almost whirled them into the air ; while in its now unbroken force the cold blast seemed to wither up the powers of the men. Then, in the dark dis- tance, an unusually huge billow was seen rushing down on them. To meet it straight as an arrow and with all possible speed was essential. Failure here — and the boat, turning side on, would have been rolled over and swept back into the harbour, if not wrecked against the breakwater. « 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 oars were ready to snap ; for they knew that the billow must be cut through if they were to reach the open sea ; but it was so high that the bow of the boat was lifted up, and for one instant it seemed as if she were to be hurled backward right over the stern. The impulse given, however, was sufficient. The crest of the wave was cut, and next moment the bow fell for- ward, plunging deep into the trough of the sea. At the same time a cross-wave leaped right over the boat and filled it to the gunwales. This initial danger past, it was little the men cared for their drenching. As little did the boat mind the water, which she instantly expelled through ths discharging tubes in her floor. But the toil now began. In the teeth of tide and tempest ■i Iff III ! - THE LIFEBOAT. FORGIVE AND FORGET 193 they had to puU with might and main; advancing foot by foot, sometimes only inch by inch. No rest- no breathing time; nothing but continuous tearing at the oars, if progress was to be made, while the spray enveloped them perpetually, and at frequent intervals the "solid" water, plunging inboard, almost swept the heroes from their seats. But if the raging sea through which the lifeboat struggled was dreadful, much more terrible was the turmoU on the outlying sands where the wreck was bemg gradually dashed to pieces. There the mad billows held high revelry. Eushing in from all sides, twisted and turned in their courses by the battered shoals, they met not far from the wreck with the shock of opposing armies, and clouds of foam sprang upward in dire, indescribable con- fusion. The vessel in distress was a small brig. She had been Kfted Uke a plaything by the waves, and hurled high on the sand, where, although now un- able to L-ft her up, they rolled her to and fro with extreme violence. Eocket after rocket had been sent up, until the drenching seas had rendered the firing of them impossible. The foremast had already gone by the board, carrying most of the crew with it. On the cross-trees of the mainmast only two remained— a man and a woman, who could barely 194 FORGIVE USD FOEaET maintain tlieir hold as the battered craft swayed from side to side. " The end comes at last, darling Mary," said the man, as he gasped the woman tightly with one arm and the mast with the other. " Ko, father—not yet," gasped the woman ; " see —the lifeboat I I felt sure that God would send it." On came the gallant little craft. There was just light enough to enable those on the wreck to see dimly her white and blue sides as she laboured through the foam towards them. " They have missed us, father ; they don't see us 1 " cried the girl. The blast blew her long hair about, adding wild- ness to the look of alarm which 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 let go, 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 their efforts at the oars, for wind and waves were now in their favour, though they still dashed and tossed and buffeted them. Soon they were nearly alongside, and the man on FOBaiVB AND FOROBT 195 the cross-trees was heard to shout : but his words could not be made out What could it be that caused Jo Grain's heart to beat against his strong ribs with the force of a sledge-hammer and his eyes to blaze with excite- ment, as he turned on his thwart and crouched like a tiger ready to spring ? There was tremendous danger in drawing near : for, at one moment, the boat rushed up on a sea as if about to plunge through the rigging of the vessel, and the next she was down in a seething caldron, with the black hull looming over her. It was observed that the two figures aloft, which could barely be seen against the dark sky, were struggling with some difficulty. They had lashed themselves to the mast, and their benumbed fingers could not undo the fastenings. "Haul off!" shouted the coxswain, as the boat was hurled with such force towards 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 sprang with all his might, and fell into the rigging of the wreck. A few seconds later and he was on the cross-trees, knife in hand, and the lashings were cut. At the same moment a rending crash was heard, 196 FORGIVE AND FORGET and again the stentorian voice of the coxswain waa heard shouting to the men. The lifeboat was pulled off just in time to escape from the mainmast as it fell, burying its cross-trees and all its tangled gearing in the sea. The bowman and young Guy leaned over the side, and at the risk of their lives grasped at a drowning man. They caught him, and Captain Bolter was dragged into the boat insensible. A moment later and a hand was seen to rise in the midst of the wreckage. Guy knew it well. He grasped it and held on. A few seconds more and Jo Grain, with blood pouring down his face, from a deep cut in his head, was raised to the gunwale. " 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, uninjured though insensible. To haul up to the anchor was a slow process and laborious, but it was done 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 another that of " the sweetest lass in all the town," in spite of young Guy's difference of opinion ? rOROIVB AND POROEt 197 It was grey dawn when the lifeboat returned to port under sail, with a small flag flying in token of success, and it would have done your heart good, reader, to have seen the faces of the crowds that lined the pier, and heard the ringing cheers that greeted the gallr-afc rescuers as they brought the rescued sa t^ to .laud. Six hours kfter that Captain Bolter sat at the beds'L of Jo Grain. "YouVe been hard hit, Jo, I fear," he said kindly. "Yes, rather hard, but the doctor says I '11 be all right in a week or two ; and it 's little 1 11 care about it. Captain, if you '11 only agree to forgive and forget." The Captain seized Jo's hand and tried to speak, but could not. After an 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 young Guy, still objecting to the title, was groom's-man. ^^ '^0," said Captain Bolter that day, at parting, "I 've forgiven you long ago, but I can't forget; for you said the truth that time. I was an old grampus, or a fool, if you like, and I 'm not much better now. However, good-bye, dear boy, and taJce care 198 FOKGIVE AND FORGET of her, for there's not another like her in all England." "Except one," murmured young Guy, as he squeezed his friend's hand and quietly attached an old slipper to their cab as they drove away. There- after he swaggered off to a certain familiar cottage to talk over the wedding with one whom Ae con- sidered the sweetest lass in all the town. "rescue the tERISHINQ** 199 OHAPTEE XII. "RESCUE THE PERISHING." Proverbial philosophy asserts that the iron should be struck when it is hot. I sympathise with proverbial philosophy in this case, but that teacher says nothing whatever about striking the iron when it is cold ; and experience — at least that of black- smiths — goes to prove that cold iron may be struck till heat is evolved, and, once heated, who knows what intensity of incandescence may be attained ? I will try it. My hammer may not be a large one. A sledge-hammer it certainly is not. Such as it is I wield it under the impulse of great heat within me, and will direct my blows at the presumably cold iron around. I say presumably, — because if you, good reader, have not been subjected to the same influences with myself you cannot reasonably be expected to be even warm — much less white-hot. The cause of all this heat was Dr. Barnardo's splendid meeting held recently in the Pioyal Albert Hall. I came home from that meeting incandescent 200 "RESCUE THE PERISHING '* — throwing off sparks of enthusiasm, and eagerly- clutching at every cold or lukewarm creature that came in my way with a view to expend 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, rising tier above tier, until in dim distance the pigmy throng seems soaring up into the very heavens, is a tremendous, a solemn, a heart- stirring sight, suggestive— I write with rever- ence — of the Judgment Day. And when such an assembly is convened for the purpose of considering matters of 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 little hammering to rouse it to the fiercest glow. It was no ordinary gathering this — no mere "annual meeting" of a grand society. It was indeed that, but a great deal more. There was a "noble chairman," of course, and an address, and several speeches by eminent men; but I should suppose that one- half of the audience could not well see the features of the speakers or hear their words, • These were relatively insignificant matters. "KESCUE THE PERISHING** 201 The business of the evening was to present to the people a great Object Lesson, and the only figure on the platform that bulked large — at least in my esteem— was that of Dr. Barnardo himself, and a magical master of the ceremonies did the doctor prove himself to be. Being unable to induce the " West End** to visit the "East End," he had simply cut several enormous slices out of the slums and set them down in the Eoyal Albert Hall for inspection. The display was set forth interestingly and with emphasis, insomuch that things almost spoke for themselves,andwhereintheyfailed todo so the Doctor supplemented in a satisfactorily sonorous voice. One of the slum- slices was a large one. It consisted of thirteen hundred children — boys and girls — in bright, light, smart dresses, who clustered on the orchestra and around the great organ like flowers in June. Looking at their clean, wholesome faces, neat attire, and orderly demeanour, I thought " Is it possible that these are the sweepings of the streets ? " The question was tellingly answered later on; but here it may be stated that this beautiful band of 1300 was only a slice— a sample —of the Doctor's large family, which at present numbers nearly 3600.^ 1 It now (1893) numbers nearly 5000. 202 "RESCUE THE PERISHING** It was grand to hear them sing! The great organ itself had to sing small beside them, for wood and metal can never hope to equal the living human voice, even though it be but a voice from the sluma Not only hymns but humorous songs they sang, and heroic. A telling effect was pro- duced while singing one of the latter by the sudden display of 1300 Union Jacks, each the size of a 'kerchief, which the singers waved in time to the chorus. It seemed as though a stiff breeze had swept over the flower-bed and kissed the national flag in passing. Another surprise of this kind was given during the stirring song of The Fire Brigade, when 1300 bits of gold and silver paper, waved to and fro, seemed to fill the orchestra with flashing fire. But much of this was for show, to tickle our eyes and ears and prepare the 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 of the hall in front of the orchestra. On it were several mysterious objects covered with sheets. At a signal — a whistle — given by the Doctor, 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 "rescue the perishing" 203 carpenters' benches, saws, haiumers, wood — ^in short, all the appliances with which they carry on the various trades at their "Home" in the East End. In a few seconds, as if by magic, the platform was a workshop in full swing— hammering, sawing, chiselling, wood-chopping, clattering, and indescrib- able din, which was enhanced, but not drowned, by the applause of the astonished audience. The little fellows worked as though life depended on their activity, for the space, it seemed to me, of half a minute. Then the shrill whistle sounded again, and the work ceased, as if the springs of life had been suddenly cut off. Dead silence ensued ; each worker remaining in the attitude in which he had been petrified— a group of artisan statuary in colour! The Doctor was thus enabled quietly to explain that the display represented only a very few of the trades taught and carried on by his rescued boys at Stepney Causeway. At another signal the splendidly drilled young fellows scampered off, carrying not only their tools, but their benches, tables, stools, and even debris along with them, and, disappearing in less than a couple of minutes, left not a chip or shaving behind. It would take a good many pages of close writing to give anything like a detailed account of all that '1 !'■ r i 204 "RESCUE THE PERISHINQ" ■in! I saw. I must pass over much in order to emphasise one or two very telling incidents. The Doctor presented a sample of all his wares. One of these was a very touching sample — namely, a band of cripples, who made their way slowly on crutches down the passage to the platform — for it is one of the noteworthy points in this Mission that no destitute boy is turned away, whether he be well or ill, crippled or sound. So, also, there was a small procession of neat, pleasant-looking nurses, each leading one or more mites of forsaken humanity from " Babies' Castle." But it seemed to me that the kernel of the nut had been reached, and the foundation of the God- like Mission laid bare for our inspection, when the raw material was led forth. We had got accustomed by that time to turn an expectant gaze at a far distant door when the Doctor's voice ceased or his whistle sounded. Presently a solitary nurse with the neat familiar white cap and apron appeared at the door leading two little creatures by the hand. A hush — a distinct though indescribable sensation — as of profound pity and pathos, — passed over the vast assembly as a little boy and girl direct from the slums were led forward. The nurse had to walk slowly to accommodate her pace to theirs. Half naked, ragged, dirty, unkempt, bereft of their "RESCUE THE PERISHING " 205 natural guardians, or forsaken by them— helpless, yet left to help themselves almost before they could walk! Forward they came to the central platform, casting timid, wondering glances around at the mighty host of well-to-do beings, not one of whom, perhaps, ever knew what it is to hunger for a whole day and lie down at night with a door-step for a pillow. Oh, it was pitiful I the Doctor advanced to these forlorn ones and took them by the hands with inexpressible tenderness, and then, facing the assembly, broke the silence and pre- sented the human material which it was, under God, his mission in life to rescue. Then turning abruptly to the flower-bed in the orchestra, he signalled with his finger. A flower that might well have been styled a rosebud — a neat little girl in pink with a natty straw hat tripped lightly down and stood on the platform be- side the poor waifs. Looking up once more to the entranced audience and pointing to the children, the Doctor said — " Such as these are, she was but a few months ago, and such as she is now they will soon become, with God's blessing." I may not quote the words correctly, but that is my recollection of the substance. The Doctor was not content, however, to show 1 im Ul S06 "RESCUE THE PERISHING** US the foundation and progress of his work. He showed us the work, as it were, completed, in the form of a band of sturdy young men in their working costume, ready to start as rescued, trained, useful, earnest labourers for the fields of 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 by presenting a band of men and women — "old boys and girls" — who had been tested by rough contact with the world and its temptations, and had come off victorious "by keeping their situations with credit" for periods varying from one to nine years — kept by the power of Christ I When I saw the little waifs and looked up at the bands of happy children before me, and thought of the thousands more in the " Homes," and of the multitudes which have passed through these Homes in years gone by ; the gladness and the great boon to humanity which must have resulted, and of the terrible crime and degradation that might have been — my heart offered tlie prayer, which at that moment my voice could not have uttered — " God bless and prosper Dr. Barnardo and his work ! " I hear a voice from the " Back of Beyont," or some such far off locality — a timid voice, perhaps that of a juvenile who knows little, and can scarce "RESCUE THE PERIBUING '* 207 be expected to care much, about London— asking "Who is Dr. Bamardo?" For the sake of that innocent one I reply that he is a Scavenger— the chief of London Scavengers ! He and his subordinates sweep np the human rubbish of the slums and shoot it into a receptacle at 18 Stepney Causeway, where they manipulate and wash it, and subject it to a variety of processes which result, with God's blessing, in the recovery of innumerable jewels of inestimable value. I say inestimable, because men have not yet found a method of fixing the exact value of human souls and rescued lives. The "rubbish" which is gathered consists of destitute children. The Assistant Sca- vengers are men and women who love and serve the Lord Jesus Christ. w 208 A KNOTTY QUESTION CHAPTER XTII. A KNOTTY QUESTION. «ToM Blunt," said Richard Sharp, " I deny your premises, condemn your reasoning as illogical, and reject your conclusions with scorn ! " The youth who made this remark with very considerable assurance and emphasis was a student His fellow-student received it with an air of bland good-nature. "Dick," said he, "your oratory is rotund, and if it were convincing might be impressive ; but it fails to some extent in consequence of a certain 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 human disputation and render it abortive." « With all my heart, Tom," said the other, draw- ing close to the fire, placing one foot against the mantelpiece, as being a comfortable, though not A KNOTTY QUESTIOit ^Od elegant posture, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair, and placing his hands in that position— with aU the finger tips touching each other-which seems, from the universal practice of civilised society, to assist mental elucidation. " I am quite prepared. Come on ! " "Stay; while my mind is working I like to have my hands employed. I will proceed with my monkey while we talk," said Blunt, taking up a walking-stick, the head of which he had carved into the semblance of a monkey. "Sweet creaturel" he added, kissing the object of his afifection, and holding it out at arm's-length. " Silent companion of my soUtary rambles, and patient auditor of my most secret aspirations, you are becoming quite a work of art. A few more touches of the knife, and something like perfection shall have been attained ! look here, Dick, when I turn it towards the Ught —so— isn't there a beauty about the contour 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 did not sit down to discuss fine art " "True, Richard, true ; but there is a power in the consideration of fine art, which, when judici- ously interpolated in the affairs of life, tends to 1 1 H i 210 A KNOTTY QUESTION ! soften the asperities, to round away, as it were, the niggedness of human intercourse, and produce a tranqumity of mind which is eminently conducive to—to — don't you see ? " "No, I don't seel" " Then," continued Blunt, applying his knife to one of the monkey's eyes, " there arises the question —how far is this intellectual blindness the result of incapacity of intellectual vision, or of averted gaze, or of the wilful shutting of the intellectual eyelids?" "Well, well, Tom, let that question alone for the present. Lot us come to the point, for I wish to have my mind cleared up on the subject. You hold that gambling is wrong-essentiaUy 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 is not gambling. What I understand by gambling is bet- ting on games— or on any thing— and the playing of games for the purpose of winning money, or anything that possesses value, great or small. Such gambling I hold to be wrong— essentially, moraUy, absolutely wrong, without one particle of right or good in it whatever." As he spoke Blunt became slightly more earnest in tone, and less devoted to the monkey. "Well, now, Tom, do you know I don't see that." ill A KNOTTY QUESTION 211 "If you did see it, my dear fellow," returned Blunt, resuming his airy tone, " our discussion of the subject would be useless." "WeU, then, I can't see it to be wrong. Here are you and I. We want to have a game of billiards. It is uninteresting to play even billiards for nothing ; but we each have a little money, and choose to risk a small sum. Our object is not gain, therefore we play for merely 6d. points. We both agree to risk that sum. If I lose, all right. If you lose, 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 may make a perfectly fair division of spoil ; but the fairness of the division does not make their conduct fair or right. Neither of them is entitled to divide their gaius at all. Their agreeing to do so does not make it fair." "Agreed, Tom, as regards thieves; but you and I are not thieves. We propose to act with that which is our own. We mutually agree to run the risk of loss, and to take our chanc3 of gain. We have a right to do as we choose with our own. Is not that fair?" " You pour out so many fallacies and half truths, Dick, that it is not easy to answer you right off. i: i Si ass 212 A KNOTTY QUESTION Morally and politically you are wrong. Politically a man is not entitled to do what he chooses with his own. There are Umitations. For instance, a man owns a house. Abstractly, he is entitled to bum it down if he chooses. But if his house abuts upon mine, he may not set it on fire if he chooses, because in so doing he would set fire to my house also, which is very much beyond his right. Then " « Oh, man, I understand all that," said Sharp quickly. " Of course a man may put what he Ukes in his garden, but with such-like limitations as that he shall not set up a Umekiln to chcke his neigh- hours, or a piggery to breed disease ; but gambling does nothing like that" « Does it not 1 " exclaimed Blunt " Does it not ruin hundreds of men, turning them into sots and paupers, whereby the ruined gamblers become un- able to pay their fair share of taxation ; and, in addition, lay on the shoulders 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 main- tained." « But suppose he is not ruined-that he manages, by gambling, to support himself ? " 13, 'i Sli A KNOTTY QUESTION 213 "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 or happiness of the world, and, on the other hand, whatever he gains is a matter of direct loss and sorrow to others without any tangible equivalent It is not so with the orator or the musician. Though their products 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 by the memory of what has been, and the hopes are aroused in anticipation of what may yet be in the future. As regards the orator, the lessons inculcated may be a lasting gain and pleasure, and source of wide- spread benefit through Hfe. To a great extent this may also be said of the musician when words are wedded to music. Who has not heard of souls being delivered from spiritual darkness and brought into spiritual light by means of song ?— a benefit which will last through eternity as well as tima Even the man of wealth who lives on the interest of his possessions is not necessarily a drone in the human hive. He may, by wise and careful use of his wealth, greatly increase the world's riches. By the mere management of it he may fill up his days 214 A KNOTTY QUESTION mth useful and happy employment, and by devot- incT it and himself to God he may so influence the world for good that men shall bless him while he Uves and mourn him profoundly when he dies. But what fraction of good is done by the gambler in all the wide world?" « Much the same that is accomplished by the others," put in Sharp at this point. "The orator gives pleasure to those who are fond of recitation or declamation ; the musician pleases those ^ho are fond of sweet sounds, and the gambler gives pleasure to men who are fond of the excitement of play. Besides, by paying his way he gives benefit to all whom he employs. He rents a house, he buys furniture, he eats food, all of which brings profit to house-owners, cabinet-makers, butchers, bakers, etc., and is good done to the world by the gambler." « Nay, friend Eichard, not by the gambler, but by the money which the gambler spends." « Isn't that much the same thing 1 " «' By no means. The money— or its equivalent —is created by some one else. The gambler merely passes it on. If he had never been born the same money would have been there for some one else to spend. The labour of the gambler has not added one penny to it. He brought nothing into the world, and has added nothing to the world's pUe, A KNOTTY QUESTION ^15 though he has managed to consume a good deal of its produce. Is there not something very mean and contemptible in this state of being ? On the other hand the orator has spent laborious days and exerted much brain-power before he made himself capable of pleasing and benefiting his fellows. The musician has gone through exhausting drudgery and practice before being fit to thrill or instruct by means of his sweet sounds, and the man of wealth has had to be educated up to the point of using his possessions to profitable account — so that his fields shall grow heavier crops than they did when he began his work ; his tenants shall be better housed than they were at first, and shall lead healthier and happier lives to the great moral and material advantage of the community. Nearly all the other members of the hive produce, or help to produce, some sort of equivalent for the money they obtain. Even those who produce what is bad have still something to show for their money, and that some- thing, bad though it be in one form, may be decidedly good in another form, or if put to another use. The gambler alone — except, perhaps, the absolute idler — enjoys the unenviable position of a thorough, out-and-out, unmitigated drone. He does absolutely nothing, except produce unhealthy excitement in himself and his fellows! He has ' ll mm 216 A KNOTTY QUESTION nothing whatever to show for the money he has obtained except * risk/ and that can hardly be styled a commodity." " I beg pardon," interrupted Sharp, " the gambler produces skill; and there can be no doubt that hundreds of men derive as much pleasure from an exhibition of skill with the billiard-cue as others derive from an exhibition of skill with the flute or violin." " You forget, Dick, my boy, that skill with the billiard-cue is not gambling. What I condemn as being morally and politically wrong is betting on games and staking anything upon the issue of tnem. Gamblers are, if I may say so, a set of living pockets which circulate money about amongst themselves, one pocket gaining neither more nor less than what another pocket loses." "But you are now talking of professional gamblers, Tom. Of course I don'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 laying myself 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 a thief ! But come, old man, I won't call you bad names, I know you don't A KNOTTY QUESTION 217 look at this matter as I do, and therefore I don't think that you are either mean or contemptihle. Nevertheless, we must bear in mind that honour- able, upright men may sometimes be reasoned into false beliefs, so that 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 to correction." Laying the monkey down on the table at this point and looking earnestly at his friend, Tom Blunt continued — " Let me ask a question, Dick. Is it for the sake of getting money that you gamble ? " "Certainly not," returned his friend, with a slight touch of indignation. "You know that I iMver play for high stakes, and with penny or sixpenny points you know it is impossible for me either to win or lose any sum that would be worth a moment's consideration. The game is 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 that which adds interest, for it is so trifling." " I 'm not so sure of that, Dick. You have heard gambling talked of as a disease," MM 218 A. KNOTTY QUESTION "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 necessarily a miser." « Yet the two have some symptoms of this moral disease in common. The miser is sometimes rich, nevertheless the covetous spirit is so strong in him that he gloats over a sixpence, has profound interest in gaining it, and mourns over it if lost. You, being well off, with a rich and liberal father, yet declare that the interest of a game is much de- creased 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." Kichard Sharp burst into a laugh at this, a good-humoured laugh in which there was more of amusement than annoyance. "Tom, Tom," he said, "how your notions about gambling seem to blind you to the true character of your friends ! Did you ever see me gloating over gold, or hoarding sixpences, or going stealthily in A KNOTTY QUESTION ^19 the dead of night to secret places for the purpose of counting over my wealth ? Have I not rather, on the contrary, got credit among my friends for being somewhat of a spendthrift ? But go on, old fellow, what more have you to say 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. What a 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 see him. Men never do. No doubt monkeys are the same. Well now," continued Blunt, again laying down the stick, and becoming serious, "try if you can see the matter in this light. Two gamblers meet. Not blacklegs, observe, but respectable men, who never- theless bet much, and play high, and keep ' books,* etc. One is rich, the other poor. Each wishes ardently to gain money from his friend. This is a somewhat low, unmanly wish, to begin with ; but let it pass. The poor one has a wife 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, how- ever, does not like work. He prefers to take his chance at gambling ; it is easier, he thinks, and it r'l ' ""maw RiM 220 A KNOTTY QUESTION H r is certainly, in a way, more exciting than work. Our rich gambler has no need to work, but he also likes excitement, and he loves money. Neither of these men would 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 to stake 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 be unfair and wrong, of course; but their agreement gets rid of the difficulty. It has not altered the conditiom, observe. Neither of them 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 be defrauded. Does the agreement make wrong right V* "I think it does, because the gamblers have a right to make what agreement they please, as it is entirely between themselves." "Hold there, Dick. Suppose that the poor man loses. Is it then between themselves ? Does not the rich gambler walk away with the money that was due to the poor one's butcher, baker, brewer, etc. ? ** « But the rich one did not know that It is not his fault" "That does not fiee the poor gambler from the dishonourable act of risking money which was : A ID OTTt QUESTION 221 not his own; and do you really think that if the rich one did know it he would return the money? I think not. The history of gambling does not point to many, if any, such cases of self- sacrifice. The truth is that selfishness in its meanest form is at the bottom of all gambling; though many gamblers may not quite see the fact I want your money. I am too proud to ask it. I dare not demand it I cannot cajole you out of it I will not rob you. You are precisely in the same mind that I am. Come, let us resort to a trick, let us make an arrangement whereby one of as at least shall gain his sneaking, nefarious, unjust end, and we will, anyhow, have the excitement of leaving to chance which of us is to be the lucky maa Chance and luck ! Dick Sharp, there is no such condition as chance or luck. It is as surely fixed in the mind of God which gambler is to gain and 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 in surprise. "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?" i '1 223 A KNOTTY QTJESTIOlf " You don't seem to see that, among other fixtures, it was fixed that free will should be given to man, and with it the right as well as the power to fix many things for himself, also the responsibility. Without free will we could have had no responsi- bility. The mere fact that God of course knew what each man would will, did not alter the fixed arrangement that man has been left perfectly free to will as he pleases. I do not say that man is free to (fo as he pleases. Sometimes the doing is per- mitted; sometimes it is interfered with— never the willing. That is always and for ever free. Gamblers use their free wills, often to their own great damage and ruin ; just as good men use their free wills to their great advantage and happiness. In both cases they make 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* " TWO BEMARKABLE DREAMS S28 CHAPTEE XIV. TWO BEMABKABLE DBEAM& Some natures are better than others. There can be no question about that Some dispositions are bom moderately sweet, others are born slightly sour. If you doubt the fact, reader, go study Nature, or get you to an argumentative friend and dispute the point. We refuse flatly to enter into a discussion of the subject. Look at that little boy sleeping there under the railway arch in the East End of London— not the boy with the black hair and the hook nose and the square under-jaw, but the one with the curly head, the extremely dirty face, and the dimpled chin, on the tip of whose snub nose the rising sun shines with a power that causes it to resemble a glowing carbuncle on a visage stiU 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 not been sweetened 224 TWO KEMARtCAftLE bUEAMfl by training. He has had no training— at least none from man or woman with a view to his good. He has no settled principles of any kind, good or bad. All his actions are the result of impulse based on mere animal propensity, but, like every other human being, he has a conscience. At the time of his in- troduction to the reader his conscience is, like himself, asleep, and it has not as yet been much enlightened. His name is Stumpy, but he was never christened. Critical minds will object here that a boy would not be permitted to sleep under a railway arch, and that London houses would effectually prevent the rising sun from entering such a place. To which we reply that the arch in question was a semi- suburban arch ; that it was the last (or the first) of a series of arches, an insignificant arch under which nothing ever ran except stray cats and rats, and that it spanned a morsel 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 his eyelids. This appeared to suggest pleasant dreams, for the boy smiled like a dirty-faced angel. He r TWO BEMABKABLK DREAMS 325 evon gave vent to an imbecUe laugh, and thou awoke. Stumpy's eyes were huge and blue. The opening of them was like the revealing of unfathomable sky through clouds of roseate hue 1 They sparkled with a light all their own in addition to that of the sun for there was in them a gleam of mischief as their owner poked his companion in the ribs and then tugged his hair. "I say, you let me alone!" growled the com- panion, turning uneasily on his hard couch. " I say, you get up," answered Stumpy, giving the companion a pinch on the tender part of his arm. " Come, look alive, Howlet. I sees a railway porter and a bobby." Owlet, whose nose had suggested his name, had been regardless of the poke, the tug, and the pinch but^ was aUve to the hint. He at once came to the sitting posture on hearing the dreaded name of " bobby," and rubbed his eyes. On seeing that there was neither policeman nor guard near, he uttered an uncomplimentary remark and was about to lie down again, but was arrested by the animated expression of his comrade's face and the heaving of his shoulders. " Why, what ever is the matter with you ? " he demanded. "Are you goin' to bust yourself wi' 226 TWO REMARKABLE DBEAMS larfin', by way of gettin' a happetite for the break- fast that you haint no prospect of?" To this Stumpy replied by pulling from his trousers pocket four shining pennies, which he held out with an air of triumph. « Oh ! " exclaimed Owlet ; and then being unable to find words sufficiently expressive, he rubbed the place where the front of his waistcoat would have been if he had possessed one. "Yes," said Stumpy, regarding the coppers with a pensive air, I've slep' with you all night in my 'and, an' my *and in my pocket, an' my knees doubled up to my chin to make all snug, an' now I'm gomg to have a 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 wam't. What was it, then ? " The boy's eyes sparkled again, and for some moments a half-suppressed chuckling 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 and maginstrates, an' wittles, an' when other fellows tells about 'em they 're so I I TWO BEllARKABLII DBBAMS 227 l^g-winded an- prosy. But I had a dream toa What was yours?" wlf* ^^""^ ■''""•* a bobby," returned hie fnend. See, here it ie, an' I won't be long-winded or prosy, Howlet, so don't growl and spoil your happetite for that 'ere breakfast that 's a-comin' I dreamed-let me see, was it in Piccadilly-n; it 2 Oxford Street, close by Eegent Street, where aU the swells go to promynade, you know. WeU I Til ^,'^7°' """'^^ ' "''"' "'"' «° the length o my httle toe without seein' a bobby I but this b^by was a stunner. Tou never see'd sitch a feller. No^ that he was b,g, or fiewe. but he had a nose just two-foot-s« long. I know for certain, for I 'm a good judge 0' size, besides, I went straight up to him, as bold a, brass, and axed him how loL it C an he to d me without winkin'. The strange thing about ,t ^ that I wasn't a bit surprised at L nose Wery odd, an.'t it, eh, Howlet, that people neve >s surpr^ed at anything they sees in dreams? I do bheve, now, if I was to see a man takin' a walk of a wternoon with his head in his coat-tail pocket 1 d take it quite as a matter of course two-foot-six inches long I feels a most unaccount- aMe and astonishin' gush of indignation come over me. What It was at I don't know no mow nor the 228 TWO REMAKKABliE DBBMJS man in the moon. PYaps it was the sudden thought of aU the troubles that bobbies has brought on me ftom the day I was bom tUl now. Anyhow, I was took awful bad. My buzzum felt fit to bust. I knowed that I must do somethin' to him or die ; so I seized that bobby by the nose, and hauled him flat down on his breast. He was so took with surprise that he never made any struggle, but gived vent to a most awful howl. My joy at havin' so easily floored my natural enemy was such that I replied with a Cherokee yeU. Then I gave his nose a pull up so strong that it well-nigh broke his neck an set hL straight on his pins again ! Oh 1 Howlet, you can't think what a joUy dream it was. To do it aU SO GSSV liOO I « Well, what happened arter that ? " asked Owlet -NotUn' happened after that," returned Stumpy, with a somewhat sad expression on his usually glee- ful visage. " It -s a wery strange thing, Howlet, that dreams inwariably wanishes away just at the most interestin- p'int. Did you ever notice that? "Notice it! I should think I did. Why the dream that I had w'en I was layin' alongside o' you was o' that sort exactly. It was aU about wittles, too, an' it's made me that 'ungry I feels like a ravagin' wolf." . "Come along, then, Howlet. an' you an me will will TWO EEMABKABLE DREAMS 229 ravage sometliin' wi' them browns o' mine. We 01 ave a good breakfast, though it should be our last an' I'll stand treat" " You 're a trump. Stumpy ; an' 1 11 tell you mv dream as we goes along." " HaU right-but mind you don't come prosy over me. I can't stand it no more nor yourself." II You mind Dick Wilkin, don't you ? " " What— the young man from the country as I've seed standin' at the dock gates day after day for weeks without getting took on ? " « That 's him," continued Owkt, with a nod, as he shoved his hand into his trousers pockets "He brought a wife and five kids from the country with him-thinkin' to better hisself in London. Ha ! a sweet little town for a cove as is 'ard up to better hisself m-ho yes, certinglyl" remarked the pre- cocious boy in a tone of profound sarcasm. "Well," he continued, "Dick Wilkin came to better hisself, an' he set about it by rentin' a sinde room in Cherubs Court-a fine saloobrious spot, as you know, not far from the Tower. He 'ad a few bobs when he came, and bought a few sticks o' furniture, but I don't need for to ieU ycm. Stumpy that the most o' that soon went up the spout, and the Wilkms was redooced to beggary-waried off an' on with an odd job at the docks. It was when they 230 TWO REMARKABLE DREAMS first corned to town that I was down wi' that fever, or 'flenzy, or somethink o' that sort. The streets bein* my usual 'abitation, I 'ad no place in partiKler to go to, an' by good luck, when I gave in, I lay down at the WUkins' door. ! but I was bad-that bad that it seemed as if I should be cleared out o my mortal carcase entirely " « MuUigrumps ? " inquired his sympathetic fnend. « No no. Nothin' o' that sort, but a kind of hot all-overishness, wi' pains that hut you can't understand it, Stumpy, if you 've never 'ad it." « 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'. As I was sayin', I fell down at their door, an' they took me in, and Mrs. Wilkin nussed me for weeks till I got better. Oh, she s a rare nuss is Mrs. Wilkin. An' when I began to get better the kids all took to me. I don't know when I would have left them, but when times be- came bad, an' Dick couldn't git work, and Mrs. W. and the kids began to grow thin, I thought it was time for me to look out for myself, an' not remain a burden on 'em no longer. I know'd they wouldn't let me away without a rumpus, so I just gave 'em the slip, and that's 'ow I came to be on the streets again, an' feU in wi' you. Stumpy." TWO REMAEKABLB DEKAMS 231 "*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's shop and stole a lot o' sasengers j then to a baker's and stole a loaf the 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 the bobbies seemed to think I was stealin ' ! Another coorious thing was that I 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 I got 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 less than five minutes 'ad a smokin' dinner on 232 TWO REMARKABLE DREAMS i the table, that "would 'ave busted an alderman. In course the Wilkina axed no questions. Father, mother, five kids, and self all drew in our chairs, and sot down ** " What fun I" exclaimed Stumpy. " Ay, but you spoilt the fun, for it was just at that time you shoved your 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, that would *ave bin somethink to re- member." "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 St. Paul's, or the Moniment? I should think so I " " Come along, then, and let 's pay 'em a wisit." They were not long in finding the place — a dirty court at the farther end of a dark passage. Owlet led the way to the top of a rickety stair, and knocked at one of the doors which opened on the landing. No answer was returned, but after a second application of the knuckles, accompanied by a touch of the toe, a growling voice was heard, then a sound of some one getting violently out of J! L TWO BEMAHEABLB LBEAMS 233 bed, a heavy tread on the floor, and the door was flung open. "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 dees, mother, else we wouldn't ax for 'em. Wereabouts is the cellar ?" « Foot o' this stair." Descending to the regions below, the two boys groped their way along an underground 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 much affection as if he had been her own child. In- 284 TWO KEMABKABLS DBEAMS stantly there arose a shout of juvenile joy, and Stumpy could see, in the semi-darkness, that four little creatures were helping their mother to over- whelm his friend, while a fifth— a biggish girl— was prevented from joining them by the necessity that lay on her to take care of the baby. When the greetings were over, the sad condition of the family was soon explained, and a single glance round sufficed to show that they had reached the lowest state of destitution. It was a back room rather than a cellar, but the dirty pane of thick glass neat the roof admitted only enough of light to make its wretchedness visible. A rickety table, two broken chairs, and a bedstead without a bottom was all the furniture left, and the grate was empty. We've been obleeged to pawn everything," said Mrs. Wilkin, with difficulty suppressing a sob, " and I need hardly tell you why," she added, with a glance at the children, who were living skeletons. The baby was perhaps the saddest object there, for it was so thin and weak that it had not strength to cry— though the faces which it frequently made were obviously the result of an efibrt to do so. Much interested in the scene, young Stumpy stood admiring it patronisingly for a little, but when he heard the poor woman tell of their desper- TWO REMABKABLE DBBAMS 236 ate struggle to merely keep themselves aHve, his feelings were touched, and when he learned that not a bite of food had passed their lips since the previous morning, a sudden impulse swelled his Uttle breast. He clutched his four pennies tightly ; glanced quickly round ; observed an empty basket in a corner; caught it up, and left the place hurriedly. He had scarcely gone when the father of the family entered. The expression of his face and his whole bearing and aspect told eloquently of 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 man himself was too much cut up to lake notice of the return of his friend Owlet, except by a slight nod of recognition. Meanwhile Stumpy ran along several streets in quest of food. He had not far to run in such a locality. At a very small grocer's shop he pur- chased one halfpenny worth of tea and put it in his basket. To this he added one farthing's worth of milk, which the amiable milkman let him have in a small phial on promise of its being re- turned. Two farthings more procured a small 236 TWO BEMARKABLE DBEAMS I supply of coal, which he wrapped in two cabbage leaves. Then he looked about for a baker. One penny farthing of his fund having been spent, it behoved him to consider that the staff of life must be secured in preference to luxuries. At this point the boy's nose told him of a most delicious smell which pervaded the air. He stood still for a moment and sniffed eagerly. "Ah, ain*t it prime? I'vejisb 'ad some,** said another much smaller and very 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 one o'clock toifard'ns ! " Our hero waited for no more. He dashed round the corner, and found a place where the Salvation Army was dispensing farthing and halfpenny break- fasts to a crowd of the hungriest and raggedest creatures he had ever seen, though his personal experience of London destitution was extensive. " Here you are," said a smiling damsel in a poke bonnet. " I see you 're in a hurry ; how much do you want ? " " 'Ow much for a f ard'n ? " asked Stumpy, with the caution natural to a man of limited means. / TWO REMARKABLE DREAMS 237 A small bowl full of steaming soup was placed before him and a hunk of bread. " 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 'ave eleven fard'n's worth right away. There 's a big family awaitin' for it an' they 're all starving 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 rate at which the soup was being ladled out convinced him that if he were to return for a jug there would not be much left for him. Observing his difficulty, the attendant said that she would lend him a jug if he would promise to bnng it back. "Are you an honest boy?" she asked, 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 you fall and break it." Our hero was not long in returning to the dreary cellar, with the eleven basins of soup and eleven hunks of bread-aU of which, with the previously purchased luxuries, he spread out on the rickety 238 TWO REMARKABLE DREAMS table, to the unutterable amazement and joy of the Wilkin family. Need we say that it waa a glorious feast ? As there were only two chairs, the table was lifted inside of the bottomless bed, and some of the young people sat down on the frame-work thereof on one side and some on the other side, while Mrs. Wilkin and her husband occupied the places of honour at the head and foot. There was not much conversa- tion at first. Hunger was too exacting, but in a short time tongues began to wag. Then the fire was lighted, and the kettle boiled, and the halfpenny- worth of tea 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 to sleep on sister's shoulder instead. When it was all over poor Mrs. Wilkin made an attempt to " return thanks " for the meal, but broke down and sobbed her gratitude. Reader, this is no fancy sketch. It is founded on terrible fact, and gives but a faint idea of the wretehedness and poverty that prevail in London — even the London of to-day ! Printed by T. and A. Combtablk, Printers to Hia Mi^esty, at the Bdinborgb University Press, LIST OF WORKS i<5 t BT Mr. R. M. BALLANTYNE. rntha of life which Vrl V ♦ ^ ^ °5^"'"* *"<^ » knowledge of many Scid of iitiAt"5;°»-!KLrK;r^ **^ *°^ •"'^°' '^ ^" -^^-S LargtOr(yum%vo. 2», M. Fully iUuaroUtd, THE WALRUS HUNTERS. A Talb o» Esquimaux Land ERLING THE BOLD. A TalB of NoBSK SlSA-KlNOS. "A capital tale of the Norae Sea.King8."_7'.-;n«*. CHARLIE TO THE RESCUE. A Tale GIT the Sua and the Rockies. . In 'Charlie to the Resona' Mr n»ii ^ stitnency-which is now T wf I'nP ''n'^l? i"PP^^«» »»" con- sufficiency of battles sieves *K ^ weW-satisfiea one-with a B;hose liv^s are thr^M by XL InVr'^ °' ^^ ^"''°' admirably reproduced. It ia a cap'lui a^y »-^^^^^^^ """^ BLOWN TO BITS' BLUE LIGHTS: Or. Hoi Wobk ,n thk Sotoak. A Ta« of Soli,™ L™ 3 List of Works by Mr. B. M. Bdlanty ne— continued. Large Crown Svo. 2a. 6d. Fvlly illuatrated. THE YOUNG TRAWLER. A Story of Lutb and Death and Rescue in thi North Sea. "Few men have laboured so steadfastly in their geneijtion to RIVERS OF ICE. A Tale Illustrative of Alpine Adventure and Glacjier Action. "A tale brimful of interest and stirring adventure. "-Gia«firou> Eeraid. THE FLOATING LIGHT OF THE GOODWIN SANDS. "The tale will be especially interesting to adventure-loving boys."— i?ccorci. THE BUFFALO RUNNERS. A Tale of the Red River Plains. "Mr Ballantyne tells an admirable story of 'the struggle for FIGHTING THE FLAMES. A Tale of the Fire-Brioadb. "Many a schoolboy will find \«- «ttri\e^" *^^^^^ •Fichtine the Flames,' and assure his little sisters y"" °""r,r~ empSha? Mr. BalWtyne is ' a stumiing good story-teller. - tion to Hityne, ademy. Glasgow HE re-loving aggie for its of the legraph. perusal of 1 suitable »ller.'"— THE NORSEMEN IN THE WEST- THE SETTLER AND THE SAVAGE UNDER THE WAVES- the practice and peril of divin* in 31!!* * f^ory meant to illustrate BLACK IVORY A Tale of ADvraT„,, «0Ha Tm Si^tem «, E„, , « "y of them could pSj'3:!l;:.»^!!t^»^-to.7 of S^t„ THE FUGITIVES: .^•""«PPly« comic elCe^'f'jj;!*?'*^""-! a ~Uor iSUen i^^ Y ir^ife, h^im^^ ^^iy^-^''^^ Larg^OrournSvo. 2.. W. Fvlly iaustr WaTEB, TWICE BOUGHT. A Tat» « ^ * A Tale OF THE Obegon Gold Fields. THE MADMAN AND THE PIRATE PHILOSOPHER MCK. A Tai. o, ^ Sohtheh. Se^ THE RED MAN'S REVENGE. MY DOGGIE AND I. SIX MONTHS AT THE CAPE A ii«, AN AUTHOR'S ADVENTURFQ.n. «_« BATTLES WITH THE SEA- Or tt AND THE Rocket. ^ ^^^' ^'* ^^«s of the Lueboai THE CORAL ISLAND. A TAi. OF THE PA<^e OCA.. THE GOLDEN DREAM. A Tale of the B_.., II \ MB. R. M, BALiANTYNE-S MI8CELLAKY OF ENTERTAINING AND INSTRUCTIVE TALES. with lUuBtratlo ns. 18. ea ch. Th. Atl,«u«m »y.:-" There J" "SJ''Saf^h'hr?.^ i^opted in tS^f»"J. S'S.riXnSrU a m«. of W. SSction should posse- •■»>«'■» '"'"J^'L^JS^^th .« th. ordmary musk-oxen. be«s, wdmses, •*«•• ^8g^", ^, connected nar«. Inddent. of an Ar"?" ™/»8^TI!Jk'hS be.rdone. and that the tiTO, w. must admit that a good »«« "^,^ ,^„„ Jhe hooks are author deserves the gratitude ">' *h°^ '?, ^ jj dasses." especially designed, anS atao of yonng jo' pl« ol au cias 1. Fighting the Whales, or, Doings and Danger, on a Fishing » Av^"t the Wilderness, or. Life «n..g the Red Indi«» . p.-in^ern^-^^c^i'-r"'^"^ I rk-sf t\n;'Se^^^':^i.aeringWiUinth. , Jm» For^,«. Wandering WiU-.Adv«.tur.stoBonth , Ovtrt" Rooky MounUlns, or. W«idering WiU to th. ,. sJ^*by*:SfeboSror. A Tale .. Wreck «idB»c.on t. The'Sl^bal islands, or. Captain Cook'. Adventure, in the South Seas. , .xt. ■«•»««« S rBSSe^rt^e-Br^n^fS^- »d ..nci.. 14 TheM"" Tale of the Western Wademes* IB. The Story of the Rock. 16. Wrecked but not Ruined. 47 The Thorogood Family. :^; WF^*»«J°"' A Tale of the North Sea. -i' t, > -^ • ; 7" y ^ .-V SSajL NG way of aa been *A amall I of fair uimaux, ordinary tdnarra- that the ooks are , Fishing , Indians • rill in the B in Sonth 11 in the Rescue on entares in id Fanoiea