Part 4 (1/2)

”Why, _he_ can't kitch hold on it; it's only a dog,” observed d.i.c.k Moy.

All uncertainty on this point was cleared away, by a loud wail to which the poor animal gave vent, as it sc.r.a.ped along the s.h.i.+p's hull, vainly endeavouring to prevent itself from being carried past by the tide.

By this time they were joined by the mate and the rest of the crew, who had heard the unwonted sounds and hurried on deck. Each man was eagerly suggesting a method of rescue, or attempting to carry one into effect, by means of a noose or otherwise, when Mr Welton, senior, observed that Mr Welton, junior, was hastily tying a rope round his waist.

”Hallo! Jim,” he cried, ”surely you don't mean to risk your life for a dog?”

”There's no risk about it, father. Why should I leave a poor dog to drown when it will only cost a ducking at the worst? You know I can swim like a cork, and I ain't easily cooled down.”

”You shan't do it if I can prevent,” cried the mate, rus.h.i.+ng at his reckless son.

But Jim was too nimble for him. He ran to the stern of the vessel, leaped on the bulwarks, flung the end of the coil of rope among the men, and shouting, ”Hold on taut, boys!” sprang into the sea.

The men did ”hold on” most powerfully; they did more, they hauled upon the rope, hand over hand, to a ”Yo-heave-ho!” from Jerry MacGowl, which put to shame the roaring gale, and finally hauled Jim Welton on board with a magnificent Newfoundland dog in his arms, an event which was greeted with three enthusiastic cheers!

CHAPTER FOUR.

A NEW CHARACTER INTRODUCED.

The gale was a short-lived one. On the following morning the wind had decreased to a moderate breeze, and before night the sea had gone down sufficiently to allow the boat of Mr Jones's sloop to come alongside of the floating light.

Before Jim Welton bade his friends good-bye, he managed to have an earnest and private talk with each of them. Although he had never been connected with the Gull, he had frequently met with the men of that vessel, and, being one of those large-hearted sympathetic men who somehow worm themselves into the affection and confidence of most of their friends and comrades, he had something particular to say to each, either in reference to wives and families on sh.o.r.e, or to other members of that distracting section of the human family which, according to Mr Welton senior, lay at the foundation of all mischief.

But young Welton did not confine himself to temporal matters. It has already been hinted that he had for some time been in the habit of attending prayer-meetings, but the truth was that he had recently been led by a sailor's missionary to read the Bible, and the precious Word of G.o.d had been so blessed to his soul, that he had seen his own lost condition by nature, and had also seen, and joyfully accepted, Jesus Christ as his all-sufficient Saviour. He had come to ”know the truth,”

and ”the truth had set him free;” free, not only from spiritual death and the power of sin, but free from that unmanly shame which, alas! too often prevents Christians from taking a bold stand on the Lord's side.

The young sailor had, no doubt, had severe inward conflicts, which were known only to G.o.d and himself, but he had been delivered and strengthened, for he was not ashamed of Christ in the presence of his old comrades, and he sought by all the means in his power to draw them to the same blessed Saviour.

”Well, good-bye, Jim,” said Mr Welton, senior, as his son moved towards the gangway, when the boat came alongside, ”all I've got to say to 'ee, lad, is, that you're on dangerous ground, and you have no right to shove yourself in the way of temptation.”

”But I don't _shove_ myself, father; I think I am led in that way. I may be wrong, perhaps, but such is my belief.”

”You'll not forget that message to my mother,” whispered a sickly-looking seaman, whose strong-boned frame appeared to be somewhat attenuated by disease.

”I'll not forget, Rainer. It's likely that we shall be in Yarmouth in a couple of days, and you may depend upon my looking up the old woman as soon after I get ash.o.r.e as possible.”

”Hallo! hi!” shouted a voice from below, ”wot's all the hurry?” cried d.i.c.k Moy, stumbling hastily up on deck while in the act of closing a letter which bore evidence of having been completed under difficulties, for its form was irregular, and its back was blotted. ”Here you are, putt that in the post at Yarmouth, will 'ee, like a good fellow?”

”Why, you've forgotten the address,” exclaimed Jim Welton in affected surprise.

”No, I 'aven't. There it is hall right on the back.”

”What, that blot?”

”Ay, that's wot stands for Mrs Moy,” said d.i.c.k, with a good-natured smile.

”Sure now,” observed Jerry MacGowl, looking earnestly at the letter, ”it do seem to me, for all the world, as if a cat had drawed his tail across it after stumblin' over a ink-bottle.”

”Don't Mrs Moy live in Ramsgate?” inquired Jim Welton.