R. M. Ballantyne
The Young Trawler
Chapter One.
Introduces Deep-Sea Fishermen And their Families
On a certain breezy morning in Octobernot many years agoa wilderness of foam rioted wildly over those dangerous sands which lie off the port of Yarmouth, where the Evening Star, fishing-smack, was getting ready for sea.
In one of the narrow lanes or Rows peculiar to that town, the skipper of the smack stood at his own door, grumbling. He was a broad burly man, a little past the prime of life, but prematurely aged by hard work and hard living.
Hes always out o the way when hes wanted, an always in the way when hes not wanted, said the skipper angrily to his wife, of whom he was at the moment taking, as one of his mates remarked, a tender farewell.
Dont be hard on him, David, pleaded the wife, tearfully, as she looked up in her husbands face.
Hes only a bit thoughtless; and I shouldnt wonder if he was already down at the smack.
If hes not, returned the fisherman with a frown, as he clenched his huge right handand a hard and horny hand it was, from constant grappling with ropes, oars, hand-spikes, and the likeif hes not, Ill
He stopped abruptly, as he looked down at his wifes eyes, and the frown faded. No wonder, for that wifes eyes were soft and gentle, and her face was fair and very attractive as well as refined in expression, though not particularly pretty.
Well, old girl, come, I wont be hard on im. Now Im off,good-day. And with that the fisherman stooped to kiss his wife, who returned the salute with interest. At the same time she thrust a packet into his hand.
Whats this, Nell?
A Testament, Davidfrom me. It will do your soul good if you will read it. And the tract wrapped round it is from a lady.
The frown returned to the mans face as he growled What lady?
The lady with the curious name, who was down here last summer for sea-bathing; dont you remember Miss Ruth Dotropy? It is a temperance tract.
David Bright made a motion as though he were about to fling the parcel away, but he thought better of it, and thrust it into the capacious pocket of his rough coat. The brow cleared again as he left his wife, who called after him, Dont be hard on Billy, David; remember hes our only oneand hes not bad, just a little thoughtless.
Never fear, Nell, Ill make a man of him.
Lighting a large pipe as he spoke, the skipper of the Evening Star nodded farewell, and sauntered away.
In another of the narrow lanes of Yarmouth another fisherman stood at his own door, also taking leave of his wife. This man was the matejust engagedof David Brights vessel, and very different in some respects from the skipper, being tall, handsome, fresh and youngnot more than twenty-fouras well as powerful of build. His wife, a good-looking young woman, with their first-born in her arms, had bidden him good-bye.
We will not trouble the reader with more of their parting conversation than the last few words.
Now, Maggie, dear, whatever you do, take care o that blessed babby.
Trust me for that, Joe, said Maggie, imprinting a kiss of considerable violence and fervour on the said baby, which gazed at its motheras it gazed at everythingin blank amazement.
An dont forget to see Miss Ruth, if you can, or send a message to her, about that matter.
Ill not forget, Joe.
The mate of the Evening Star bestowed a parting kiss of extreme gentleness on the wondering infant, and hastened away.
He had not proceeded far when he encountered a creature which filled his heart with laughter. Indeed Joe Davidsons heart was easily filled with emotions of every kind, for he was an unusually sympathetic fellow, and rather fond of a joke.
The creature referred to was a small boy of thirteen years of age or thereabouts, with a pretty little face, a Grecian little nose, a rose-bud of a mouth, curly fair hair, bright blue eyes, and a light handsome frame, which, however, was a smart, active, and wiry frame. He was made to look as large and solid as possible by means of the rough costume of a fisherman, and there was a bold look in the blue eyes which told of a strong will. What amused Joe Davidson most, however, was the tremendous swagger in the creatures gait and the imperturbable gravity with which he smoked a cigar! The little fellow was so deeply absorbed in thought as he passed the mate that he did not raise his eyes from the ground. An irresistible impulse seized on Joe. He stooped, and gently plucked the cigar from the boys mouth.
Instantly the creature doubled his little fists, and, without taking the trouble to look so high as his adversarys face, rushed at his legs, which he began to kick and pommel furiously.
As the legs were cased in heavy sea-boots he failed to make any impression on them, and, after a few moments of exhausting effort, he stepped back so as to get a full look at his foe.
What dee mean by that, Joe Davidson, you fathom of impudence? he demanded, with flushed face and flashing eyes.
Only that I wants a light, answered the mate, pulling out his pipe, and applying the cigar to it.
Humph! returned the boy, mollified, and at the same time tickled, by the obvious pretence; you might have axed leave first, I think.
So I might. I ax parding now, returned Joe, handing back the cigar; good-day, Billy.
The little boy, gazed after the fisherman in speechless admiration, for the cool quiet manner in which the thing had been done had, as he said, taken the wind completely out of his sails, and prevented his usually ready reply.
Replacing the cigar in the rose-bud, he went puffing along till he reached the house of David Bright, which he entered.
Your fathers gone, Billy, said Mrs Bright. Haste ye after him, else youll catch it. Oh! do give up smokin, dear boy. Good-bye. God keep you, my darling.
She caught the little fellow in a hasty embrace.
Hold on, mother, youll bust me! cried Billy, returning the embrace, however, with affectionate vigour. An if Im late, daddy will sail without me. Let go!
He shouted the last words as if the reference had been to the anchor of the Evening Star. His mother laughed as she released him, and he ran down to the quay with none of his late dignity remaining. He knew his fathers temper well, and was fearful of being left behind.
He was just in time. The little smack was almost under weigh as he tumbled, rather than jumped, on board. Ere long she was out beyond the breakers that marked the shoals, and running to the eastward under a stiff breeze.
This was little Billys first trip to sea in his fathers fishing-smack, and he went not as a passenger but as a hand. It is probable that there never sailed out of Yarmouth a lad who was prouder of his position than little Billy of the Evening Star. He was rigged from top to toe in a brand-new suit of what we may style nautical garments. His thin little body was made to appear of twice its natural bulk by a broad-shouldered pilot-cloth coat, under which was a thick guernsey. He was almost extinguished by a large yellow sou-wester, and all but swallowed up by a pair of sea-boots that reached to his hips. These boots, indeed, seemed so capacious as to induce the belief that if he did not take care the part of his body that still remained outside of them might fall inside and disappear.