Personal Reminiscences in Book Making - Robert Michael Ballantyne (free ebook novel .TXT) 📗

buried her startled head in the bed-clothes, and quaked. Emmie sprang out of bed and huddled on her clothes, under the impression that fire-engines were at work. The Reverend Theophilus leaped up, seized the study poker and a lamp, and rushed towards the dining-room. Overturning the draught-board, Simon grasped a rolling-pin, Robin the tongs, and both made for the same place. They all collided at the door, burst it open, and advanced to the scene of war.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The burglars humbly obeyed.

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

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

But, to Harry's intense disgust, his father put no brimstone into it at all. On the contrary, without availing himself of heads or subdivisions, he pointed out in a few plain words the evil of their course, and the only method of escaping from that evil. Then he told them that penal servitude for many years was their due according to the law of the land.

"Now," said he, in conclusion, "you are both of you young and strong men who may yet do good service and honest work in the land. I have no desire to ruin your lives. Penal servitude might do so. Forgiveness may save you--therefore I forgive you! There is the open window. You are at liberty to go."

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

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

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


CHAPTER EIGHT.


JIM GREELY, THE NORTH SEA SKIPPER.

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

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

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

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

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

And, truly, the greengrocer was not far wrong, for the wild North Sea does a good deal of howling, off and on, during the year, to say nothing of whistling and shrieking and other boisterous practices when the winter gales are high.

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

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

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

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

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

It was the first time that Nellie had spoken roughly to him. He made no answer at first. He was angry. The Green Dragon had begun to demoralise him, and the reproof which ought to have melted only hardened him.

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

A glare of drunken anger shot fiercely from the fisherman's eyes. No word did he utter. Turning on his heel, he strode out of the house and shut the door after him with cannon-shot violence.

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

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

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

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

Meanwhile James Greely's smack, the _Dolphin_, was running down the Yare before a stiff breeze, and Jim himself had commenced the most momentous, 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 all he possessed to recall the past hour, to have once again the opportunity of bidding Nellie 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 nor'west, with much snow, so that Jim took a long time to reach his destination. But no "Short Blue" fleet was to be seen at the Silverpits.

To the eyes of ordinary men the North Sea is a uniform expanse of water, calm or raging as the case may be. Not so to the deep-sea trawler. Jim's