in the mission boat on the thames—the damping of the body cannot damp the ardent spirit.
next morning captain bream accompanied the lay-missionary to gravesend, where they took a boat and put off to the emigrant ship.
great was the captain’s satisfaction to find that his companion had been a sailor, and could talk to him—in nautical language too—about seafaring matters and distant climes.
“it is a good work in which you are engaged,” he said; “are you going to preach to ’em?”
“no, only to distribute testaments, tracts, and good books—though i may preach if i get the chance. my work lies chiefly among emigrants and boat and barge men, but i also do a good deal among regular sailors.”
“ah! that’s the work that i’m fond of,” said the captain, with enthusiasm. “of course i don’t mean to say that the soul of a sailor is of more value than that of any other man, but i lean to sailors naturally, havin’ been among ’em the greater part of my life. i’ve done a little myself in the way of preachin’ to ’em.”
“have you?” exclaimed the missionary, with a pleased look.
and from this point the two men went off into a confidential and animated talk about their varied experiences on the sea of spiritual work on which they had both been launched, while the boatman—an old and evidently sympathetic man—pulled them to the vessel which lay at some distance from the place of embarkation.
while the two friends—for such they had become by that time—were chatting thus with each other, a little accident was in store for captain bream, which not only disarranged his plans, but afterwards considerably affected his career.
having reached the age of sixty years, our captain was not quite as active in body as he had once been. he was, however, quite as active in heart and mind, besides having much of the fire of youth still burning in him. hence he was apt at times to forget his body in the impulsive buoyancy of his spirit. an instance of this forgetfulness occurred that day. the missionary paid a passing visit to a vessel on their way to the emigrant ship. having run alongside, captain bream put his foot on the first step of the ladder, with intent to mount the vessel’s side.
“have a care, sir,” said the old boatman, who was assisting him with some anxiety.
it may be that the captain’s too youthful spirit spurned assistance, or that he had miscalculated the powers of his too ancient body, for at the moment his foot slipped while as yet his hold of the man-ropes was not secure, and he fell with a lion-like roar that might have shamed the stoutest king of the african forests.
it was not a cry of fear, still less was it a shout for help. it seemed rather like an effervescing roar of indignant surprise.
the boatman held up his arms to catch the unfortunate man, but his strength availed nothing against such a weight. he was hurled into the bottom of the boat for his pains, and the captain went into the water feet first as deep as the waist. here, however, the disaster was checked, for his strong arms caught the boat and held on.
the missionary, meanwhile, sprang forward and laid hold of him, while his man rose with wonderful agility and lent his aid.
“heave—ahoy!” cried the missionary, grasping a waist-band.
“yo, heave, ho!” shouted the boatman, seizing a leg. another moment and the captain was safe in the bottom of the boat, which by that time was floating quietly down the thames!
great was the regret expressed by the missionary at this unfortunate event, and loud was the laughter with which it was treated by the captain himself, on being re-seated in the stern sheets.
“we must go ashore and get a change of dry clothes for you, sir.”
“not a bit of it,” cried the captain. “row back to the ship; i’ll mount that ladder yet. if i didn’t i’d keep dreaming of my discomfiture for a twelve-month to come.” they ran alongside the vessel a second time, and went up the side in safety.
but, arrived on deck, the skipper, who happened to be a hospitable man and friendly to the missionary, insisted on having captain bream down into his cabin.
“now you’ll put on a suit of my clothes,” he said, “till your own are dry.”
the captain would not hear of it.
“just let me wring my own out,” he said, “and i’ll be all right.”
“have a glass of wine then, or brandy?”
“impossible; thank’ee, i’m an abstainer.”
“but you need it to prevent catching cold, you know. take it as physic.”
“physic!” exclaimed the captain. “i never took physic in my life, and i won’t begin wi’ the nasty stuff now. thank’ee all the same.”
“some coffee, then? i’ve got it all ready.”
“ay—that’s better—if you’re sure you’ve got it handy.”
while the captain and the skipper were discussing the coffee, the wet garments were sent to the galley and partially dried. meanwhile the missionary made the most of his opportunity among the men. by the time he had finished his visit, the captain’s nether garments were partially dried, so they continued their voyage to the emigrant ship. when they reached her the poor captain’s interest in other people’s affairs had begun to fail, for his anxiety about his long-lost sister increased, as the probability of finding her at last became greater.
