The Trawlers, A Tale Of The North Sea
by
THE NORTH SEA FLEET–SUNDAY AT THE FISHING GROUND–THE MISSIONARY SERVICE–THE GALE–A MISHAP TO THE SEA-GULL AND HER CAPTAIN–A CRASH– THE CAPTAIN’S DEATH–ALL LOST BUT TWO BOYS–DOING ONE’S DUTY–MORNING– ALONE WITH A DEAD MAN–BREAKFAST–TO THE PUMPS–SAVED AT LAST.
A fleet of a hundred vessels or more lay together, dotting the surface of the German Ocean, or North Sea, as it is more generally called, upwards of 300 miles from the English shore. They were mostly luggers, of from sixty to eighty tons; each with a crew of from seven to nine men. These vessels formed a part of the North Sea fishing fleet, chiefly belonging to Great Yarmouth and the adjacent ports, engaged in trawling for turbot, soles, brill, and other flat fish, for the supply of the London market.
They had been out there for nearly three weeks, their wants being supplied, and the fish they had caught being taken away from them by several large cutters, which came out from Yarmouth laden with ice, in which the fish were packed, and thus conveyed to the Thames, or to the nearest railway terminus–thence to be transported to London, and dispersed by similar means all over the country. It was Sunday: some of the vessels had their sails set and their trawls down, their crews in their dirty week-day dresses standing ready to haul them on board. Other vessels, which had drawn close together, had their sails furled, their anchors down, and their trawl-nets hung up in the rigging to dry. A flag was flying at the mainmast-head on board two of them. The device was a figure with wings, and an open book with golden leaves in its hand, on a blue ground, and underneath, the words “Missions to Seamen.” These two vessels were somewhat apart, and boats from the others were pulling towards them. On board one of the other vessels–the Sea-gull–the crew were collected on deck, in their clean clothing, maybe not so neat and new as they might have worn on shore, however. The boat was alongside; the captain came on deck.
“Well, lads, who’ll go with me to worship God with our fellow-Christians?” he asked.
“What’s come over the old man, of late?” growled out one of the roughest-looking of the crew. “We used to do very well without all this praying and preaching; and I don’t see what good it’ll do us.”
One or two laughed: but no one answered.
“You’ll go, father,” said a young lad, Robby Starling, addressing another of the men. “You can’t tell what beautiful things are said; and then there’s praying and singing; it does one’s heart good to hear them sing. Come, father; come.”
“It’s time to shove off, lads,” said the old captain, looking round to see who would go.
Robby again pleaded with his father, who at length stepped into the boat with two other men, his son, another lad, and the captain.
The weather was calm and fine, so that it allowed of an awning to be stretched over the deck, under which seats were arranged for the accommodation of thirty or forty persons. The sailor missionary, who acted as mate of the missionary fishing-vessel, after appropriate prayers had been offered up and psalms sung, urged his hearers, in a loving manner, to accept the gracious offer of salvation while there was yet time.
All were impressed with this address; no one more so than Rob Starling’s father and the other men from the Sea-gull. Before leaving the vessel the elder Starling went to the missionary, begged him for his prayers, told him how heartily sorry he was for all his sins, and yet that he was sure his loving Saviour would wash them all away.
Notwithstanding the calmness of the morning, there had been indications all day of a change of weather; and just as the sun went down, the admiral (for so the most experienced captain of the fleet elected to that post is called) hoisted the signal for the vessels to return to port. As the fleet had a week or more to remain out, he had been unwilling to make the signal, though it might have been better had he done so earlier; but even the most experienced are at times mistaken as to the weather at sea.