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 I 
 
 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAN 
 
 A STORY GF OUT- PORT METHODISM 
 IN NEWFOUNDLAND, 
 
 BY THE 
 
 REV. GEORGE J. BOND. 
 
 LONDON : 
 CHARLES H. KELLY, 2, CASTLE ST., CITY RD., E.G.; 
 
 AND 66, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C, 
 
DAYMAN, CHRISTY AND LILLY, LTD.. 
 
 PRINTERS, 
 
 HATTON WORKS, 113. FARRINGDON ROAOt 
 
 AND 20. 22. ST. BRIDE ST.. E.O. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 CHAP. 
 
 I. FROM DEATH UNTO LIFE • . • • 9 
 
 II. THE MAN ...••••• 35 
 
 III. HIS SURROUNDINGS ..•••40 
 
 IV. AN ITINERANT'S LETTER . . • • 4^ 
 
 V. THE SEALS ARE IN 
 
 VL BLOWN OFF 
 
 VII. "AT EVENING TIME IT SHALL BE LIGHT '* . 83 
 
 VIII. THE REVIVAL 9^ 
 
 IX. TIMES OF REFRESHING ^^^ 
 
 X. UNCLE TOMMY WEIGHS ANCHOR . . • 10/ 
 
 XI. SKIPPER GEOFvGE HOLDS SERVICE ABOARD I15 
 
 57 
 68 
 
SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 FROM DEATH UNTO LIFE. 
 
 "The ice was here, the ice was there, 
 The ice was all around; 
 It cracked and growled, and roared and howled 
 Like voices in a swound." 
 
 Coleridge, " Ancient Mari'ney."' 
 
 " Alone, alone, all, all alone ; 
 Alone, on a wide, wide sea." 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 "A FINE night for the sealers, Skipper 
 
 -^^- George." 
 
 ** Ay, Sir, it is a fine night, sure enough ; and 
 we'll have the wind a little more off before morn- 
 
10^^^ SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAN, - 
 
 ing, Fm thinking, and that'll be all the better for 
 ^em, too." 
 
 It was indeed a glorious night. Overhead 
 the stars shone and sparkled through the clear, 
 frosty air, paling towards the east, under the 
 brilliancy of the full moon, which^ already high in 
 the heavens, threw its soft light over all the land- 
 scape. There was little wind, just an occasional 
 soft breeze, which lifted the light snow from the 
 hillsides and sent it eddying, as if in play, along 
 their slopes. From where the speakers stood, the 
 scene was picturesque indeed. Below them, in the 
 valley, nestled the quiet fishing village, its white 
 houses and snowy roofs gleaming in the moon- 
 light ; around it swept an amphitheatre of hills, 
 while out to seaward, far as the eye could reach, 
 tossed the unresting waters of the bay, rippling in 
 myriad silvery wavelets, as the moonbeams fell 
 upon them. Over all brooded the quiet of the 
 night, unbroken save by the baying of a dog in the 
 village below, or the rustle of the snow-gusts along 
 the icy reaches of the hills. Ethereal indeed is our 
 snowy northern landscape, a fairy land, unreal, 
 unearthly in its glowing splendour, when the moon 
 sails queenly through the cloudless winter sky. 
 
 For some moments the two stood* gazing in 
 
FROM DEATH UNTO LIFE. n 
 
 silence out over the sea, and then the one who 
 had been addressed as '' Skipper George " turned 
 to his companion and said, " I often come up 
 here on moonlight nights, Sir, especially at this 
 time o* the year. It reminds me of a night 
 twenty 3'ears agone, and a wonderful night in my 
 life, sure enough. Maybe you*d like to hear the 
 story. Sir." 
 
 '' I should indeed," said the other ; " I should 
 like it very much." 
 
 *' Well, Sir, to begin at the beginning, I must 
 tell you that in those days I was a wild slip of a 
 young fellow, delighting in all kinds of fun and 
 frolic; a regular ringleader in all the mischief 
 carried on in the harbour. There was a sight 
 of drinking in those times, but I was pretty 
 steady as regards the liquor, though at weddings 
 and such like I could take a stiff horn or two. 
 I was utterly careless and reckless, though, in 
 other ways, good-natured enough when unpro- 
 voked, but as good as the next man when my 
 blood was up. I ran into danger for the very 
 excitement of it, and was never happier than 
 when I was in some mad scrape or other. I 
 bore the name of being the greatest runner in 
 the harbour, and the most venturesome in a 
 
12 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAN -^ 
 
 boat. Many's the time I went out fishing when 
 it wasn't fit for any boat to face the weather, 
 and my poor mother would be in terror often 
 about me, for this is a very squally place when 
 the wind is any way oif-shore. Of course, like 
 all the young gaffers of that time, I was a keen 
 seal-hunter. Not a winter passed but I was at 
 the ice, and being well known for a willing and 
 active chap, I never had any trouble in getting a 
 berth. Them were the days before the steamers 
 were used, Sir^ and every harbour of any size had 
 vessels going out. Yes, Sir, many a man earned 
 a winter^s diet then that finds it hard to get one 
 now, for I suppose twenty men got a chance of 
 a berth then where one gets it now, since the 
 steamers have done away nearly with sailing 
 vessels at the ice. Why, I mind. Sir, when there 
 were as many sailing craft going sealing out of 
 one of the large harbours as now go from the 
 whole island. They may say what they like 
 about the steamers, but 'tis my opinion they're 
 ruining the seal-fishing with their second trips, 
 killing off the old breeding seals ; and whatever a 
 few of the merchants have made by 'em, I know 
 there was more, yes, far more, made by the poor 
 people when sealing ships went out and berths 
 
FROM DEATH UNTO LIFE. 13 
 
 were plenty. But I'm oft my course, Sir ; I must 
 go on with my story. 
 
 '^ Well, twenty years ago this very spring, 1 
 got a berth on a fine brig, called the Hunter^ out 
 of Twillingate. There were over a hundred of us, 
 all told, and a wild, hard crew we were, mostly. 
 There were few of us sober the night we left 
 harbour, and until the rum got oft*, there was 
 many a row and scuffle on board, I can tell you. 
 I don't think I was ever with a worse lot of men, 
 and I've seen some rowdies in my time. There 
 was one man aboard, however, that was different 
 from the rest of us. He belonged somewhere to 
 the south'ard, near Bonavista, I think, and was a 
 stranger to most of us — -Tom Williams was his 
 name. We had great sport out of poor Tom, in 
 our own way, especially at first. He didn't drink ; 
 he didn't smoke ; he didn't swear ; and we 
 wondered what kind of a man he was, anyhow. 
 He said his prayers regular before he turned in, 
 and when he got up, and often besides, and he had 
 his Bible with him, and read it as regular as he 
 prayed. Well, Sir, I'm ashamed to say it, but he 
 was the only man aboard that ship that bent his 
 knees to God, or used His namr, except in 
 oath. 
 
14 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAN, 
 
 '' Many's the time, at first, Fve seen a boot or a 
 cap flung at him, as he knelt down by his bunk. 
 But he bore it all patiently, never flinched for a 
 moment in saying and doing what he thought 
 right ; check ^d us fifty times a day for swearing, 
 though he got plenty of abuse for his pains ; and 
 was as cheerful and ready to do a good turn as if 
 we treated him well. Fve seen him sitting on his 
 bunk reading his Bible on a Sunday, Sir, with the 
 men playing cards and skylarking all around him. 
 But he gained on us, somehow, and we hadn't 
 been many days out before we knocked off" the 
 most of our tormenting and became a little more 
 civilised ourselves. There are many like him at 
 the ice nowadays, Sir, but there weren't many at 
 that time, at least not up our way. There was 
 one thing that made us ail respect him, I remember. 
 He was a powerful man, and a match for any of 
 us I expect ; but all our jeers and fun-making at 
 him never brought a spark of temper to his eye, or 
 a cross word from his lips, though some tried 
 again and again to get up a quarrel with him. 
 
 " One day, though, a great big bully of a fellow 
 called Bowman, whom none of us liked, was 
 tormenting a poor, little weakly man of the crew 
 — I fofpfet the name — and at last the little man 
 
Prom death unto life, 15 
 
 gave him a saucy answer. Bowman struck him 
 and the other struck back, and there was a scuffle, 
 — a very short one, though, for in a minute the 
 little chap was on his back on the deck. But the 
 bully, not content with knocking him down 
 fairly, began kicking him after he was down. Tom 
 Williams came up to the hatch at that moment, 
 and just as the big brute raised his foot to give 
 the fallen man a vicious kick, Tom ran towards 
 him, and catching him by the collar, shook him, 
 like I've seen a dog shake a rat, his eyes fairly 
 flashing. Bowman, who was really as cowardly 
 as he was big; jerked himself clear of Tom's grip, 
 and sneaked away, the whole crov/d laughing at 
 him ; while Tom went to his work as unmoved as 
 if nothing had happened. There were no boots 
 flung at him after that, Sir ; we felt he was a man, 
 and respected his religion, though we had little or 
 none ourselves. 
 
 ''It was a poor time for the sealers that 
 spring. We got out of harbour all right; but 
 we hadn't been long out when the wind chopped 
 round to the north-east and blew a perfect g^le, 
 jamming the ice right in on the la'iid. I ought to 
 tell you, Sir, perhaps, that the best time for sealers 
 is when there is just enough out-winds to keep 
 
l6 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMANr^r ^ - 
 
 the ice together, but not driving it together too 
 tight for the vessels to get through it. Well, it 
 w^as a poor spring, as I said, for that ; it blew so 
 hard and so constantly, from the north and north- 
 east, that the ice was well to the south'ard, and 
 the northern bays were all jammed up full. We 
 were more fortunate than many, though ; for we 
 were far enough out before the gale came on to 
 get well on the outside of the edge of the ice ; 
 and, though caught for a while, as soon as the 
 wind came off, we got clear. We crept along 
 slowly for several days, picking up a scattered 
 seal here and there, but not many. You see the 
 ice was so packed together that we couldn't get 
 through it, and had just to keep on the outer 
 edge. The captain was in a great state of anger 
 and anxiety, for the Hunter was a new ship, and 
 it was his first voyage in her ; and to come home 
 with a clean hold is a hard thing to look forward 
 to in any case, but particularly at such a time. 
 It was getting well on in the season, too, and that 
 made it all the worse for us. At length, one 
 Saturday — I mind it well — we had got a little 
 further in than usual, and were heading through 
 a lake of water, with a light breeze behind us 
 blowing as it is now— just a capful— -when some 
 
FROM DEATH UNTO LIFE, 17 
 
 of the men, who had been sent out over the ice 
 ahead, came up with heavy tows of seals — in 
 prime order they were, too — and told us there 
 were plenty, millions of 'em they said, just two or 
 three miles ahead, and a clear lead of water all 
 the way. In ten minutes there was hardly a man 
 left aboard— just enough, then, to work the ship ; 
 every other was after the seals, hot-foot. We 
 hauled over five hundred to the ship that evening, 
 and left a couple of hundred more, panned, which 
 we hadn't time to take with us. It was Saturday 
 night, as I said, and late in the day when we 
 struck the seals, and that was good work for the 
 time we were at it. 
 
 " Next morning, as soon as it was day, the 
 order was given, ' All hands on the ice,' and we 
 scrambled up. The ship had by this time got 
 right in among 'em ; and it was a wonderful sight 
 w^e saw when we went on deck. There they 
 w^ere all around us, as far as you could see,, 
 thousands upon thousands of 'em — and in prime 
 order, too — the ice fairly black with 'em, and you 
 could hear 'em crying, for all the world like 
 young children. I never saw such a sight again 
 but once, and I've been now going to the ice for 
 twenty-five years, off and on. 
 
1 8 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAN. 
 
 '^ ' Now, boys/ says the capta^'n, ^there's 
 your chance. You have *em ail to yourselves ; 
 and if you work as hard as you did yesterday, 
 you'll do a good day^s work. The better the day 
 the better the deed, you know. Off you go 
 now.' 
 
 ^' No second word was needed. The men were 
 over the side, and on the ice, almost before the 
 order was given. I went down to get my knife 
 out of my bunk, and I passed Tom Williams just 
 going on deck as I went down. I noticed he had 
 made no preparation for going on the ice, and the 
 captain noticed it, too. 
 
 " ' Hello, WilHams,' he says, ' not on the ice 
 yet. Why, you were one of the smartest 
 yesterday ; not sick, are you ? ' 
 
 ^' ' No, Sir,' says Tom, ' Fm not sick, but I'm 
 not going on the ice to-day. 'Tis Sunday.' 
 
 " ' Sunday, you hypocrite,* roars the captain ; 
 ' we have no Sundays at the ice. Over that rail, 
 and do your duty. I'm master of this ship.' 
 
 '* ' I cannot go, Sir.' 
 
 '' ' I say you shall go, you Methodist hound. 
 Obey orders at once, or I'll make you.' 
 
 '* ^ Captain Barnes,' says Tom, quite steady 
 and slow, 'you didn't have to threaten me 
 
FROM DEATH UNTO LIFE, i<) 
 
 yesterday, as you know ; and you won't have to 
 threaten me to-morrow% But to-day my Master 
 tells me to keep His day holy, ?.nd I must obey 
 Him rather than you.' 
 
 '* For a moment I thought the captain was 
 going to strike him ; he raised his fist, and his 
 face was full of rage. Tom never moved, only 
 looked steadily at him, and he dropped his hrnd 
 and went aft without another word, while Tom 
 went quietly below. 
 
 " Well, Sir, the rest of us worked all day, and 
 we were pretty tired when night came. Bright 
 and early next morning we were off again. Tom 
 Williams and myself were the first two on the ice, 
 and, as it happened, we were together most of the 
 day. How that man w^orked ! Fresher than any 
 of us, from his Sunday's rest, he seemed deter- 
 mined to show that it wasn't laziness, anyhow, 
 that had kept him aboard the day before. I'm 
 certain he did most as much that da}/' as any two 
 of the crew, and we all worked hard, for the sky 
 was thickening up and looking ugly to the 
 south'ard, and we knew a stiff breeze from that 
 point would soon scatter the ice, and we'd lose 
 our chance. Well, just after dinner time, it 
 began to get pretty thick and overcast, with every 
 
20 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAN, —y 
 
 now and then a smart snow-dwie ; and the 
 captain told the men to keep together as much 
 as they could, and not go too far from the 
 ship. 
 
 " It happened that I had killed and sculped 
 several seals in the morning, a good distance 
 away from the vessel, and I said to myself, 
 ' Fm not coming aboard without them seals, blow 
 high or low/ So off I went, found my seals, 
 laced up as heavy a tow of *em as I thought I 
 could haul, and started for the ship. When I 
 came to face the wind, I found how it had 
 freshened while I was going with it. I hadn't 
 minded it when it was in my back, but going 
 against it was another matter. The snow-dwies, 
 too, had made the ice sticky, and the hauling was 
 very heavy and dead. However, I pressed on, 
 for I knew my course well enough, till, all at once, 
 I came to an open channel of water, just narrow 
 enough to get across. The ice was separating ! I 
 remember now the fright it gave me, as I thought 
 of the distance I had to go, but I held on to my 
 tow of seals, and pressed ahead. The wind was 
 dead against me, and I was pretty well tired and 
 leary, as we say, but it was life or death Vvith 
 me. I hadn't gone far when Tcame to another 
 
FROM DEATH UNTO LIFE. 2i 
 
 big channel. I saw at once it was too wide for me 
 to cross^ do my best. What was I to do ? I 
 dropped my hauling rope, and ran along the edge, 
 a good bit, to see if I could find a narrow place, 
 but no, it got wider and wider in that direction. 
 Back I came again on my tracks to try the other 
 direction, only to find it worse and worse. The 
 full thought of my position struck me like a blow. 
 I was lost. Between me and the ship w^as that 
 wide channel, and, for all I knew, there were 
 other channels even it I could cross this one. 
 But that itself was impossible. It was fright- 
 ful. Darkness was coming on, the wand had 
 freshened to a gale, and the big snowflakes were 
 blinding me as I looked or tried to look to wind- 
 ward. The ice too was breaking up fast ; all 
 around I could hear the cracking and groaning of 
 the big pans, as tl:e edges ground one on another, 
 with the swell of the sea. I was lost. There 
 wasn't one chance in ten thousand that I should 
 ever see land again. I should perish unseen, 
 unhelped, alone in the storm and darkness. 
 Reckless as I was, and thoughtless, I was horri- 
 fied when I realised my awful situation. 
 
 " For some time I felt stunned like. I couldn't 
 believe it, couldn't feel it to be true. I thought I 
 
22 SKIPPER GEORGE NET MAM. ^^- 
 
 heard the niv'^n's voices close to me, and shouted 
 for help again and again. I couldn't believe my- 
 self near death, and I so well and hearty and 
 strong. And then it came over me that there 
 was no hope for me. I thought of the rest of the 
 crew getting back to the ship and I not missed at 
 first, and then some one saying : * Where's George 
 Netman?* and one man saying, 'I've not seen 
 him,' and another, ^I've not seen him,' and then 
 the men being called on deck, and questioned by 
 the captain, and guns fired, so that if I was in 
 sound of the ship I might hear them and know 
 where she was ; and then their giving up hope as 
 night came on and the ice broke up, and saying : 
 ' Poor fellow, he's gone,' and talking about me, 
 and pitying me, and wondering how they'd break 
 the news to the old people ; it all came up to me, 
 and I sobbed like a child. 
 
 " Men say, Sir, that when a man is drowning 
 all his life comes back to him like a flash ; and I 
 can well believe it, for all my life came back to me : 
 the times when I was a young fellow ; my father 
 and mother and my home life ; the scrapes I used 
 to get into ; the many times I had felt I was 
 wrong. It was wonderful. Things that I had 
 forgotten for years — actions, words, even thoughts 
 
FROM DEATH UNTO LIFE, 23 
 
 — came up as fresh as if all had happened just a 
 day ago. I felt as if Almighty God was pointing 
 out to me all the sins and foolishness of my life, 
 and I saw then, as I had never seen before, what 
 a fool I had been. I thought particularly of my 
 poor mother, how she had prayed for me and 
 talked to me many a time, and how little I had 
 thought of it. I was a good son, in a kind of way, 
 always treated her well, and loved her, too, for I 
 couldn't help it : but I felt now how ill I had 
 served her, and she so anxious for me to be a 
 Christian. ^Ah, George,' she had often said to 
 me, ^ you'll think different some day, my child/ 
 and I remembered her words. Now, I should 
 never see her again, poor old soul, never see her 
 again in this world, and in the next — well, we 
 should be separated for ever. ' God have mercy 
 on me ! ' I cried ; and the only answer seemed to 
 be the groaning of the ice-pans, the howling of the 
 wind, and the beating of the snow-drift on my 
 bare head as I lifted it up in my agony of prayer, 
 O the hopelessness and loneliness of that moment ! 
 Still, I could not lie down and die, the love of life 
 was keen in me yet, and to keep myself alive I 
 must move. And so I staggered 00, the wind 
 fairly howHng, and the thick snow beating against 
 
24 SKIPPER GEORGE NETAIAiV, 
 
 me, afraid to venture far lest I should fall into 
 some opening, and not daring to keep still lest I 
 should perish with cold. So the hours passed, I 
 hardly know how ; and I kept up my tramp to and 
 fro. Suddenly I heard a sound to windward of 
 me above the roaring of the w^ind — the sound of a 
 hymn. ' Surely,' I said to myself, ' I'm getting 
 mad ; the end is coming before I thought.' Still 
 it came through the wind and snow, a tune 
 famihar to me, and with words I'd often heard 
 my mother singing : 
 
 " * All my trust on Thee is stayed, 
 All my help from Thee I bring ; 
 Cover my defenceless head 
 
 With the shadow of Thy wing.' 
 
 *' Of a sudden it flashed upon me what it was. 
 It was Tom Williams' voice plain enough now, 
 and I remembered that he had been with me all 
 the morning, and now I knew that he had come 
 back for his seals, and got lost like myself. 
 Runniner in the direction of the sound, I shouted : 
 ' Tom, Tom Williams I ' There was no answer, 
 only the fierce beating of the sleety wind, and 
 through it still the old familiar words. Again I 
 shouted as I ran : ' Williims, Tom Williams, help ! 
 Where are you?' This time he heard me, and 
 
FROM DEATH UNTO LIFE. 25 
 
 shouted back ; and in a few more minutes we were 
 together. He told me he had come after his 
 seals, as I had supposed. He had noticed the 
 bad weather coming on, but thought he would be 
 back in time, and had been stopped like myself by 
 the open channel. He also told me that he had 
 been quite around the large pan of ice on which 
 we were standing, and it was evident to him 
 that we were close to the edge of the pack, and 
 blowing out to sea as fast as the wind could 
 carry us. 
 
 " *' If it keeps on as it is now,' said he, ' we shall 
 be clear of the main body of ice by the morning. 
 I think this pan will hold out for some time, as 
 it's pretty big and solid ; thereby it is only a 
 matter of time with us, whether we drown or 
 perish with cold or starve, I fear ; but we'll keep 
 together, anyhow, and leave it in the hands of 
 God/ 
 
 *^ And so we spent that night. Sir, crouching to- 
 gether for warmth under a hummock of ice. In 
 the shelter, it wasn't so very cold, for the wind, 
 as I said, was southerly, and before dawn it 
 stopped snowing, and the wind was not so high. 
 When daylight came we could see our position, 
 and a terrible sight it was. The pan of ice on 
 
26 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAAL 
 
 which we were standing was perhaps five hundred 
 feet long, and nearly the same in breadth— that 
 was all. Away to windward it was thick and 
 cloudy, and we could see no sign of the main body 
 of ice, only great pans floating, like the one we 
 were on, at the mercy of the wind. To leeward 
 of us was the open sea, ugly-looking enough, I 
 can tell you, with the short lop which the wind 
 had stirred up. 
 
 ^*'Well, my boy,* said Tom, 'it looks bad, 
 doesn^t it? I'm afraid there's no chance of 
 change of wind yet, and if it holds this way all 
 day, we shall be blown a long way to the north- 
 ward, and the further we get out to sea the more 
 I'm afraid of this pan breaking up.' 
 
 '' All day long we walked about as well as we 
 could, for between the hard work of the day 
 before, and our terrible experience of the night, 
 we were far gone with weakness. We were not 
 suffering from hunger, for I had two or three 
 seals' hearts fastened to my belt, and Tom had a 
 couple, too. You know we sealers often eat the 
 seal's heart raw. Sir, when we are out among 
 them and get hungry. So we fared well enough 
 as far as food went ; for the hearts, raw though 
 they were, tasted honey-sweet to us. 
 
FROM DEATH UNTO LIFE. * 27 
 
 ''Just think of our situation, Sir — drifting out 
 to sea, hopelessly and helplessly, on that pan of 
 ice, with the cold waters breaking up over it, all 
 around, as if they were eager to devour us ! 
 
 *' Towards evening the wind veered a point or 
 two, and dropped off a little, and the night came 
 down upon us once more. It was pitch-dark, 
 but not foggy, and the wind died quite away 
 about midnight. I don't think we should either 
 of us have lived through another night like the 
 first. 
 
 ** Tom was cheerful, and tried to cheer me up ; 
 but, poor fellow, I could see his strength was 
 failing fast, and I knew that when he went, I 
 shouldn't be long behind him. I should have 
 said that all through the day, every now and 
 then, he would burst out with a hymn, and then 
 he would say : 
 
 '' ' George, my boy, there's only One can help 
 you and me now ; but He can, and if ic is His 
 will we shall see home yet, never fear. Let us 
 ask Him.' 
 
 " And, then, Sir, w^e would kneel down, and he 
 would pray such a prayer. Sir; it seemed as if 
 he saw the Saviour close to him, and I'm not 
 sure but he did. Many times that day, some- 
 
28 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAM. 
 
 times with me, sometimes away by himself, he 
 was on his knees. How he prayed for me ! He 
 didn't seem to care whether he got to land or not, 
 so long as I was rescued, and somehow I felt as if 
 it would be so. 
 
 ''As we crouched together that night, he talked 
 to me about himself, told me what a wild fellow 
 he had been in his youth, and how he had 
 been converted at a revival service, fifteen years 
 before. He told me of the joy he felt in God's 
 service, and of the love and peace experienced 
 through all those years. And then, seeing I was 
 touched, he urged me to give my heart to Jesus, 
 then and there. I cried, and he cried with me, 
 and prayed over me again and again. Just 
 before dawn, the wind came further round from 
 the westward, the sky cleared away a bit, and it 
 grew colder. As the sun rose we could see 
 nothing but open water all around us, as far as 
 the eye could reach, with here: and there a bit of 
 field ice floating about ; no sign of the main body 
 of ice anywhere to be seen. It was a glorious 
 day, not a cloud in the sky, and the sun bright 
 and warm. The wind kept low, too ; though, as 
 the day wore on, it got colder and colder. We 
 finished our last raw heart about dinner time, and 
 
FROM DEATH UNTO LIFE, ^ 
 
 quenched our thirst, as we had done before, by 
 eating the snow. 
 
 ''Tom got weaker and weaker, and I felt my 
 own strength going fast. Our only hope was 
 that some seahng vessel might come along and 
 see us ; though it was a very poor hope, for we 
 had nothing to make signals with, and our pan 
 wasn't half the size it was when we got adrift 
 first. Besides it wasn't at all likely, unless they 
 passed us close enough to touch, that they would 
 think of looking twice at a floating pan. I kept 
 a good look out, however, for, as I said, it was 
 our only chance, poor as it was. So the day 
 passed away, poor Tom getting gradually too 
 weak to stand, and lying for shelter behind the 
 hummock where we had spent our nights. Not 
 long after sunset, he called me over to him. 
 
 '* ' George, boy,' said he, quiet and solemn- 
 like, ' I shall never see another sunset ; I don't 
 think I shall see it rise. I feel I am going fast; 
 I think I must have hurt myself in some way that 
 Monday m.orning. Thank God I'm not afraid to 
 die ; I am going where there is no need of the 
 sun, I am going to Jesus. For fifteen years He 
 has been with me constant, and now I shall be 
 with Him for ever. Blessed be His holy name 1 
 
3d SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAN, 
 
 But you, George, I have been praying that you 
 may be spared, and I beUeve you will. I don't 
 know how, but I believe you will. God has 
 answered my prayer, I feel He has. O, George, 
 promise me that you will live for God ; promise 
 me that you will come to Jesus.' 
 
 '' ' I will, Tom, I will,' I sobbed out, for I was 
 completely broken down, 
 
 '' ^ Kneel down, George,' he said, and I knelt 
 beside him. 'O blessed Lord,' I heard him 
 murmur, in his poor, weak voice, ' Thou hast 
 heard my prayer for his life, hear me for his 
 eternal life, too. Help him to come to Thee, 
 help him to come to Thee now ! ' And then he 
 whispered : ' You pray, George.' 
 
 *' ' I don't know how, Tom,' I answered, with 
 the tears streaming over my face. 
 
 '^ ' O try,' he said ; ' He will help you, He 
 will hear you ; try.' 
 
 ^'And I prayed with all my heart. I prayed 
 that God would forgive me, and take away my 
 sins ; that He would do it now. I was in an 
 agony ; my sins seemed greater than I could 
 bear, and I cried to God from the depths of a 
 wounded spirit. And He heard me. He heard 
 and answered me then and there. I rose to my 
 
FROM DEATH UNTO LIFE. ^t 
 
 feet rejoicing, for I felt I was forgiven. It was 
 bright moonlight all around, it was sunlight in 
 my soul. 
 
 '' ' Tom/ I cried, ' He has heard me. He has 
 
 heard me !' 
 
 '' He did not speak, but lay there with a smile 
 on his face, and his eyes fixed on the bright, full 
 moon. 
 
 '' ' Praise God with me, dear Tom,' I said 
 again, ^ for my sins are all forgiven.' 
 
 '' Still he did not move ; still that quiet smile 
 and heaven-turned face. He was gone ! He 
 was praising God for me, no doubt ; but it was 
 in the land where there is no more death, and no 
 
 more sea. 
 
 '* Awe-stricken, but not surprised, and not 
 afraid, I stood looking at him for a few minutes, 
 and then turned and looked out upon the sea. 
 It was a glorious night, and clear for miles in 
 every direction. A large island of ice loomed up 
 away to windward, looking in the moonlight Hke 
 a ship under sail. I sighed, and, turning my 
 head away, pondered over poor Tom's assurance 
 that I should be rescued. It didn't seem Hkely, 
 and yet he seemed sure it would be so. Perhaps 
 it was an hour before I looked up again to where 
 
3^ SKIPPER GEORGE NETA/AI^, 
 
 I had seen the island of ice. It was a ship after 
 all! I started up. Was I dreaming? Was it 
 a fancy of my poor mind, all weak with anxiety 
 and exposure ? Was it a vision ? It was a ship, 
 sure enough. On she came, with the bright 
 moonlight glistening on her sails, and her spars 
 and rigging all shining, as it seemed to me, like 
 silver. Why, it was our own ship ! It was the 
 HunteK Would she pass me close? Could I 
 make them hear ? With all my strength, I ran 
 to the edge of the ice and shouted. Again and 
 again I cried, but no one heard. She was within 
 a few yards of me now, and I heard one of the 
 watch sing out to the man at the wheel to star- 
 board his helm or he'd be foul of a pan of ice. 
 Still on she came, and I could recognise the men 
 on deck, and hear them talking. Would they 
 pass me after all ? 
 
 '''Hunter, ahoy! help, help!' I cried; and 
 there was a rush for the rail. 
 
 "'Help, O, help!' I cried again, and then I 
 heard a voice say : 
 
 " ' There's i% man on the pan ; quick, lower a 
 
 punt ! " / 
 
 f 
 
 ''Another ^minute, and the punt was lowered 
 and rowing towards me. As it touched the ice, 
 
.^: ^^-^.^. FROM DEATH UNTO LIFE, 33 
 
 I gave one more shout, and dropped down where 
 I stood, insensible. When I came to myself, I 
 was in the captain's cabin wrapped in blankets 
 before the stove, with the captain himself and two 
 or three others rubbing my body and limbs. It 
 was some time before I could talk much, for I 
 was badly frost-burnt, and very weak. As soon 
 as I was able, though, I told them about poor 
 Tom, and how he died ; and there weren't many 
 dry eyes, you may be sure. Sir, as they listened 
 to me and, I suppose, thought of the way the}^ 
 had served him. We brought his ^oor body 
 home to the harbour, where we arrived a couple 
 of days later, and I'm told, for I was too ill to be 
 there, of course, that there was many a tear shed 
 over his coffin the day they put him under the 
 ground. 
 
 " I was a long time sick, a good many months ; 
 but, thank God, He spared me and restored 
 me ; and I've never lost, Sir, through His grace 
 and mercy, the peace and pardon He gave me 
 that moonlight night on the lonely ice. I've tried 
 to keep my promise to poor Tom, and to Him, 
 which I made then, and to live for His glory and 
 the good of my fellow-men, 
 
 '' Now, Sir, my story is done ; and you know 
 
 3 
 
34 
 
 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAN, 
 
 why I said at the beginning that I often come up 
 here on moonlight nights Hke this, and look out 
 over the sea. It seems to draw one nearer to 
 God, and it brings home to me so closely the 
 time when He brought me so wonderfully to 
 Himself." 
 
 MM:: 
 
 ,\.- 
 
■j^ 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE MAN. 
 
 <« Nane o Scotland's dogs, 
 But whalpit some place far abroad, 
 Whaur sailors gang to fish for cod." 
 
 Burns, " The Twa Dogs.'' 
 
 "The rank is but the guinea's stamp; 
 The man's the gowd for a' that." 
 
 Icienty " A Mans a Man" 
 
 SUCH was the story 
 which George 
 ?^ Netman told his 
 
 minister as they 
 stood, one bright 
 March night in 
 1 87-, looking 
 out over the 
 moonlit waters 
 of the Bay of 
 Notre Dame. A 
 startling story, 
 truly, and so the 
 Rev. Mr. Fairbairn thought, as he looked at the 
 
36 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAN. 
 
 quiet, strong face of the narrator and thanked him 
 for the telHng. There were tears in both men's 
 eyes as they gripped each other's hands at the 
 close, and parted for the night. It was no time 
 for words, the feelings stirred were too deep and 
 tender for that ; and as the one turned down the 
 hill to his cottage, and the other went along the 
 ridge to where the lights of the tiny mission-house 
 shone out their welcome, the stillness of the 
 glorious night seemed full of the presence of the 
 unseen God, and its very silence spake of Him. 
 
 George Netman was a Newfoundland fisherman. 
 In mercantile phrase, he was a " planter " — a word 
 which is of pecuhar application in Newfoundland, 
 meaning as it does a fisherman who is a house- 
 holder and boatowner ; and which is evidently of 
 the nature of a survival, dating from those old times 
 when, in legal parlance, the island was a " planta- 
 tion " of England, and its sparse settlers '' planters." 
 '' Skipper George Netman," his neighbours called 
 him, in virtue of his position and respectability as 
 master and owner of a fine schooner and possessor 
 of a house and fishing-room. 
 
 He was a fine specimen of his class, tall and 
 strong, with broad shoulders and chest ; close- 
 knit and sinew}^, yet lithe and full of spring and 
 
THE MA^, 37 
 
 boy-like activity ; v/ith a noble head well set and 
 crowned with iron-grey hair, and an open, cheery, 
 weather-beaten face, lighted up by a pair of bright, 
 straightforward-looking blue eyes. He w^as a 
 goodly man to look at — a man you would instinct- 
 ively turn to look at the second time, if you 
 passed him in the street, even in his homely ^ 
 fisherman's "rig." Then, indeed, he looked his 
 best, his fine figure set off to advantage in the 
 tight-fitting blue guernsey, with the appropriate 
 accompaniment of heavy sea-boots, and yellow 
 oil-cloth sou'-wester — every inch a fisherman, and 
 every inch a man. 
 
 No mxan was better known in all the bight than 
 Skipper George, no man better liked or more 
 looked up to, not from his position alone, for the 
 little settlement boaste^J wealthier men than he, 
 but from general force of character and kindliness 
 of disposition ; and above all, from that indescrib- 
 able weight which accompanies always and every- 
 where a genuinely independent and decided 
 Christian life. By general agreement, he was the 
 *' leadin' man " of the harbour — a first authority on 
 all matters connected with his calling, an umpire 
 in all cases of dispute, a justice of the peace without 
 commission and without pay or pickings. That 
 
38 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAAT. 
 
 Skipper George Netman said so was a sufficient 
 guarantee of any piece of news that was current, 
 and that it was his opinion was, in itself, ante- 
 cedently a proof of the rightness of any proposition 
 or course of procedure. And rightly so, the 
 people would tell you, if you asked the reason. 
 Hadn't he been one of the first '' liviers " in the 
 bight ? Hadn't he been goin' to sea, man and 
 boy, for well on to fifty years ? Didn't he know 
 every rock and shoal around the shore as well as 
 he knew the pr.th from his ^^ thrastle " to his stage ? 
 Wasn't he the greatest " sile killer " on the shore ? 
 And then, if you had time to listen, you would 
 hear of brave deeds of help and rescue unostenta- 
 tiously done, and kindly deeds of beneficence and 
 self-denial, watching by the sick and dying, quiet 
 liberalities to the poor and suffering, done a3 it 
 were by stealth. '^ Ah, he's a good man, Skipper 
 George," your informant would end with, in 
 emphasis that was silencing, in fact convincing. 
 
 Skipper George was a Methodist ; indeed, he 
 was the leading spirit in the Methodism of the 
 settlement as he was in its general life ; a liberal 
 supporter of the cause, a true friend to the 
 ministers, an earnest and honest worker in those 
 fields of Christian usefulness which his Churcii so 
 
THE MAN. 
 
 39 
 
 freely opens to her laymen. Fifteen years before, 
 when he had come with his wife and children to 
 the harbour, he had brought his religion with him, 
 and erected the family altar from the very beginning 
 in his new home. Then he had gathered a class 
 around him, and welcomed to his house the heroic 
 minister who had all the great Bay of Notre Dame 
 for his circuit, and whose visits were, of necessity, 
 like those of angels, few and far between. Largely 
 from his own means, and, in good measure, with 
 his own hands, he had built the little church, and 
 every one knew it was owing to his influence thaj- 
 four years ago a young man had been sent by the 
 Conference to Caplin Bight Circuit, and this year 
 a married man. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 HIS SURROUNDINGS. 
 
 " Long lines of cliff breaking have left a chasm, 
 And in the chasm are foam and yellow sands ; 
 Beyond red roofs about a narrow wharf, 
 In cluster." 
 
 Tennyson, '' Enoch Aidcnr 
 " On this beach . . . 
 Hard coils of cordage, swarthy fishing nets. 
 Anchors of rusty fluke, and boats updrawn." 
 
 Ibid. :\ 
 
 /^APLIN BIGHT 
 
 ^^^ lies on the shore 
 
 of the broad and 
 
 beautiful Bay of 
 
 Notre Dame. It is 
 
 a picturesque little 
 
 place, embosomed in 
 
 wooded hills which 
 
 sweep protectingly 
 
 around it, sheltering 
 
 it from nearly every 
 
 wind that blows. 
 
 Rugged and , stern, 
 
HIS SURROUNDINGS. 4I 
 
 a huge rocky bluff stands, like a fortress, at each 
 side of the narrow entrance, outside of which 
 great breakers dash and roar in stormy weather ; 
 but onc^ inside tl^e Tickle, as it is called, you 
 may bia defiance to the winds and waves, and 
 rejoice in deep water and good anchorage. 
 
 At one side of the harbour the hills descend 
 almost sheer to the water s edge, at the other 
 they slope away gradually, leaving a long, broad, 
 curving beach — a famous resort for capHn in the 
 season, when these bright and beautiful little fish, 
 in countless myriads, pay their annual visit to 
 the coasts of Newfoundland. To this beach the 
 settlement owes its existence and its name. For 
 many a year before a house was built on the 
 slope above, Caplin Bight had been famed all 
 along the bay as a place where these fish not only 
 *' struck in " the earliest, but where they '' held 
 out '* the longest, and during all the '' caplin 
 school " were most plentiful, and year after year 
 vast numbers had been caught in seines and cast- 
 nets for bait, and myriads more tossed up by the 
 surf, to die and rot upon the pebbles. 
 
 By-and-by, a lone fisherman had built his rough 
 cottage on the inviting sward above the sands, to 
 be followed, in course of time, by another and 
 
42 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAN, 
 
 another, until the houses now cluster thickly 
 under the hill and around its sides. Great spider- 
 legged ^' flakes^- (raised platforms for drying fish 
 on) cover a large area of the beach, and long, 
 low-roofed ^^stages," and a ^'fishing-room,^' built 
 on posts, project at every few yards into the 
 water. Here in summer time, in a perpetual 
 odour of fish, the processes of curing that staple 
 of the country go busily on ; and here in winter, 
 scarcely less busily, the punts and skiffs are 
 modelled and built for the summer's voyage. 
 
 The place has the straggling and unfinished 
 look common to most out-harbours, and due to 
 the temporary nature of the buildings and other 
 erections used for fish-curing, as well as to their 
 peculiarity of structure. But when you left the 
 chaos of flake and stage, and walked up towards 
 the dwellings of the people, you would not fail to 
 be impressed, in the trimness of the little garden 
 enclosures, the neatness of the white-painted 
 houses, with a more favourable idea of the stability 
 and respectability of the place. Nor would you 
 fail to be struck with the kindly good nature of 
 the people you chanced to accost, with their 
 anxious courtesy in answering your queries, and 
 with their general air of intelligence and spright- 
 
ins SURROUNDINGS, 43 
 
 liness. Were you to avail yourself of the 
 invitation, sure to be given, to come and sit down, 
 the good wife would at once put the tea-kettle on 
 the stove, and rake and replenish the fire ; then 
 Jane or Mary would be hurried off to get a drop 
 of milk, the carefully-kept glass bowl of white 
 sugar would be taken from some secret recess, 
 and a new loaf cut and buttered liberally. 
 
 ^'Make yourself at home, Sir; you're kindly 
 welcome to it, such as it is," would be your 
 warrant to refresh yourself with the homely fare, 
 with injunctions to ^' make a long arm," and help 
 yourself, and '* not wait for compliments/' The 
 hospitality of Newfoundland is proverbial, and 
 Caplin Bight people are no exception to the rule. 
 You will notice now the peculiar dialect of the 
 people. There is a good deal that smacks of the 
 West of England about it, 3/ou think as you listen, 
 in the depth of tone and prolonging of the final 
 syllables, as well as in the quaint pronunciation. 
 You are right. There is good West of England 
 blood in many of these Green Bay folk— blood 
 that flowed clear and clean in generations of 
 honest yeomen of. Dorset or Somerset or Devon, 
 They trace descent from sire or grandsire, or yet 
 remoter ancestor, who came out a '^ youngster " to 
 
44 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMA.V, 
 
 some large planter, years and years ago— came 
 out a lad from Poole or Bridport or Dartmouth, 
 and never saw the dear old land again. Perhaps 
 you will meet one or two— there are more than 
 that in the place— who are English and have 
 come out as described, though of late years the 
 practice of importing '^youngsters" has been 
 largely discontinued. 
 
 A fine sturdy race, ^these Green Bay people, 
 fertile in resources, ingenious in the handicrafts 
 connected with their calling, fond of books where 
 they have the ability to use them— a people 
 educated, however, far more by observation than 
 by reading, in whom necessity has developed 
 handiness and self-reliance in a remarkable 
 degree. Primarily and chiefly fishermen, they 
 can yet turn their hands to many another work, 
 and be shoemakers, gunsmiths, house-joiners or 
 ship-builders, as need may require. A hardy 
 race they are, too, used to roughing it from early 
 youth, taking to the boat, and the exposure, and 
 unrest of a fisherman's life as naturally as the 
 fish itself does to its native element. A serious, 
 thoughtful people in the main, disposed to 
 earnest views of life and duty, strongly sus- 
 ceptible to religious influence. Such, then, in 
 
HIS SURROONDINGS, 
 
 45 
 
 general, are the characteristics of the people of 
 whom this story tells. Human nature is much 
 the same all the world over, and the problem of 
 hfe has to be ciphered out by each man and 
 woman in much the same terms after all. Re- 
 sponsibility equal exactly to privilege — that is 
 the essential equation running through the sum, 
 and though many factors on both sides eriter into 
 the question, and appedr to affect its nature, it is 
 reducible for all to that very simple equation. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 AN itinerant's LETTER. 
 
 " Dear is the work He gives in many a varied way, 
 
 Little enough in itself, yet something for every day 
 
 Something by pen for the distant, by hand or voice for the 
 near, 
 
 Whether to soothe or teach, whether to aid or cheer." 
 
 F. R. Havergal. 
 \ 
 
 T T was ,a fine bright 
 J- morning, towards 
 theendof March, afort- 
 night after the conver- 
 sation detailed in our 
 first chapter. The 
 Rev. Harry Fairbairn 
 was sitting in his 
 study, writing home. 
 A cheery fire glowed 
 in the little Franklin 
 stove, well filled with 
 brick billets; and the 
 minister's skin -boots 
 and *' vamps " lying by the fender were $team- 
 
AN ITIN'JIRANTS LETTER, 4J 
 
 iiig with iieat. A tiny room was that same 
 study, and home y enough in its appointments. 
 Cherished photographs of far-away loved ones 
 hung above the plain little mantel-piece, and a 
 half-dozen framed views of EngHsh scenery 
 adorned the walls. Books were the chief orna- 
 ments of the room — books tidily ranged in neat 
 shelves, on both sides of the chimney, and books 
 scattered about the room in the untidy way so 
 tantalising to the careful housewife, yet so natural 
 and even necessary to the absorbed and eager 
 student. A short walking-stick, with a spear in 
 it. and a pair of snow-shoes, or, as they call them 
 in Green Bay, '' rackets," rested against the wood- 
 box, and these, like the boots and ^Wamps" before 
 mentioned, were dripping and steaming as the 
 frozen snow melted from them. For the minister 
 had just returned that morning from a round ot 
 his circuit, and, having arrived thoroughly fagged, 
 had decided on taking a holiday within doors, and 
 getting up some arrears of correspondence. As 
 he sits there at the study table, he gives a 
 favourable opportunity of sketching him. It is a 
 good head that bends over the letter — a fine, 
 broad forehead, under the abundant brown hair, a 
 Saxon face with its full beard and dark blue eyes 
 
48 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAX. 
 
 a Strong, well-knit frame, tall, but full of force, 
 and what the French call verve. 
 
 Somewhere between thirty and forty you would 
 judge him to be, and rightly. Mr. Fairbairn is a 
 Yorkshireman, from that lovely valley through 
 which the Wharfe pours its fertilising and flashing 
 waters — one of those Englishmen to whom New- 
 foundland, and many another land, owes so much, 
 who, feeling the Divine message burning within 
 them, have left home and occupation to preach 
 Christ's Gospel, and who have made up for the 
 lack of early training by an assiduous .,elf-culture 
 that has ripened into a truer education than the 
 mere routine of a college curriculum, per se, can 
 ever afford. Harry Fairbairn was naturally a 
 student. When a boy on his father's farm, he 
 began to pick up the nucleus of a library in many 
 a well-worn but valuable volume, purchased 
 second-hand on his visits to the towns ; and these 
 treasures, carefully conned in early morning hours, 
 and after the toilful day had closed, had helped 
 to equip him for the work to which he had 
 been called. In other Churches he might have 
 remained, his fine talent hidden and his store of 
 knowledge all unused ; but in Methodism, to her 
 honour be it said, such men as he have always 
 
AN ITINERANTS LETTER. 49 
 
 found the means and the opportunity for develop- 
 ment and usefulness. In his seven years of 
 mission work in Newfoundland the habits of study 
 acquired in the home-farm had been kept up, and 
 the workman had, as in the Latin proverb, been 
 made by working. 
 
 Let us glance over his shoulder. He is writing 
 to that noble and patriarchal Yorkshire gentleman, 
 through whose influence he had come out as a 
 missionary, and who has been more than once 
 affectionately and rightly called the foster-father 
 of Newfoundland missions. 
 
 '' I avail myself of a few hours' leisure," the 
 letter runs, '^ to give you some news concerning 
 myself and my surroundings. I wrote you last 
 just after Conference, and told you of my new 
 appointment. I have now spent nine months on 
 it, and begin to know it and its people pretty 
 thoroughly. I like it very much indeed ; though 
 it is pretty hard work, as I have twelve preaching 
 places, and, from Hammer Cove on the one side 
 to Dog-Bite on the other, I have nearly thirty 
 miles to travel. You will laugh, I expect, at the 
 queer names. Fancy a lovely little harbour pro- 
 faned by the name of Dog-Bite, because, as 1 have 
 taken the pains to find out, one of the first settlers 
 
 4 
 
50 SfCIPPEK GEORGE NETMAN. 
 
 got bitten by his dog there when wood-cutting. 
 But what will you think of Shoe Cove and Stocking 
 Harbour, and Snook's Arm and Rett's Head and 
 Nicky's Nose? All those names are to be found in 
 this very Bay ! Somehow in this country, as in other 
 new countries, foreigners have left behind them 
 much prettier and more appropriate names than the 
 English. What can be finer than Bonavista, Bona- 
 venture, or Placentia, or more inappropriate than 
 Bloody Bay, Rogue's Harbour, or Muddy Hole ? 
 
 " But to return to my mission. It is, as I was 
 saying, pretty hard work to get round it as regu- 
 larly, or as often, as I would like. I'm a poor 
 sailor, and get terribly sea-sick in the punts, as 
 the men take me from place to place when the 
 water is open ; and I've suffered a good bit some- 
 times from cold, being too sick to move or take 
 an oar to keep myself warm. I liki the winter 
 travelling, though. It is rare exercise, this snow- 
 shoe walking that we have here, and the people 
 tell me I'm getting to be a ' ter'ble fine hand in the 
 rackets.' I've just come back from visiting the 
 upper part of m}^ mission, and, thanks to good 
 weather, have managed to get entirely round it in 
 less than a fortnight. It is two weeks to-morrow 
 since I started on my round. I went first down 
 
A.V ITlNERANrS LET7EK. H 
 
 to Prowse*s Cove, JMSt five miles from here, visited 
 twenty-five families, read and prayed with them 
 all, preached twice in Skipper Joe Batt's kitchen, 
 with my head among the beams of the ceiling. 
 Next I went on to Sculpin Arm, which is seven 
 miles further down shore. Here I preached three 
 times in the little school-chapel, just built, and 
 visited every family in the place — about fifty, 
 besides meeting the class for tickets, and ad- 
 ministering the sacrament. Then I visited the 
 ' liviers ' on the other side of the Arm, gave them 
 one service, and w^nt on to Bill Bone's Harbour, 
 Waggett's Beach, and Dog-Bite, preaching, and 
 visiting every family. Then I came up home in 
 one day, slept here, and early next morning 
 started up the Bay, visiting Pike's Cove, Scrubby 
 Point, Squashberry Head, and Hammer Cove, and 
 giving each place one or two services. Altogether, 
 in the fortnight, I've travelled some sixty miles, 
 mostly on rackets : visited one hundred and thirty 
 families ; preached eighteen times ; held twenty- 
 one prayer-meetings ; met seven classes ; ad- 
 ministered the sacrament six times ; baptized eight 
 children ; married two couples (I wish it had been 
 more) ; and buried an infant, and a patriarch of 
 four- score and five. 
 
54 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAN. 
 
 ^' Coming along from Hammer Cove yesterday, I 
 was complaining a bit of the constant work, and 
 of feeling pretty well tired out, when old John 
 Adams, who was accompanying me, administered 
 the somewhat ill-timed consolation, that it was 
 * better to wear out than to rust out.' But I don't 
 think there is any fear of my wearing out. I 
 never enjoyed such glorious health, and the air 
 is so pure, and the climate so exhilarating, that 
 walking is a positive luxury. And then the 
 appetite ! My dear Sir, if you were to see the 
 hearty meals one makes in this country, off the 
 homely fare one gets sometimes on a circuit like 
 this, you would indeed be surprised. Talk of the 
 roast beef of Old England, indeed ! You should 
 taste seal. You should sit down to a shoulder of 
 young harp, or of two-year-old bedlamer seal, 
 served up by the deft hand of hospitable Aunt 
 Martha Bartlett, after a three hours' tramp on 
 snow-shoes over the hills with a smart nor'-wester 
 right in your face ! Talk of pheasant or turkey, 
 forsooth ! You should have Aunt Kitty Fowler 
 place before you the leg and wing of an ice-gull, 
 or the breast of a good fat turr, after an enforced 
 abstinence from fresh meat of perhaps a month 
 or so ! I admit, of course, that the -walk and 
 
AN ITINERANTS LETTER, 55 
 
 abstinence are necessary to enable an Englishman 
 to fully appreciate these dainties at first, at all 
 events, but on mission.^ like this you generally have 
 these appetizers. Indeed, my wife often laughs 
 at me, and says Fm becoming a regular New- 
 foundlander, to which I retort that she is not far 
 
 behind me. 
 
 " I never enjoyed my work so much as I have 
 done since we came here, The people are so 
 wonderfully kind, so glad to see one in their 
 homes, so hospitable, so attentive to what one 
 says, and so respectful and apparently thankful 
 for one's labour, that it is a real pleasure to be 
 among them. It is true, as I said, Jiat the work 
 is hard, and, being, as you know, a bit of a book- 
 worm, I feel the loss of those regular hours of 
 study which were possible on my circuit in 
 Trinity Bay ; but somehow my brain is kept so 
 clear with the out-door exercise that I seem to be 
 able to read and digest more in a couple of hours 
 here than I did in double that time elsewhere. 
 I have good help too in the way of faithful class- 
 leaders, and in nearly every place there is at 
 least one who in my absence either reads a 
 sermon, or according to his ability preaches one, 
 on Sundays, and maintains regular services during 
 
56 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAN, 
 
 the week. As I have hstened to some of these 
 men, their wonderful power in prayer, their depth 
 of experience, and extraordinary facility ot 
 utterance in giving expression to it, I have longed 
 that they had had in youth the advantages of 
 education. Some of them can scarcely read, 
 some of them cannot read a word. And yet the 
 most beautiful language, so simple, so correct, 
 will pour from their lips. 
 
 '' I am hoping and praying for a revival. There 
 are good signs, and I have little doubt that we 
 shall soon have a baptism of power from on high. 
 Meantime we are working on, thank God, in 
 hope, and with the promises of a Word that hath 
 never failed.'* 
 
 ^^M^ 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE SEALS ARE IN. 
 
 ♦' And slowly moving on the horizon's brink 
 Floats the vast icc-ficld with its glassy blink." 
 
 LYTTON, " King Arthin.'* 
 
 THUS far had the Rev. Mr. Fairbairn proceeded 
 with his correspondence, when a tap at the 
 study door, responded to by a prompt, though 
 half unwilUng, *' Come in," was followed by the 
 entrance of a visitor, whose cheery, *' Welcome 
 back. Sir," was succeeded by a quick and 
 apologetic, '' I'm afraid I've interrupted you/' as 
 
58 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAM, 
 
 he caught sight of the minister's letter-strewn 
 table. 
 
 "Come in, Skipper George; never mind the 
 interruption. I can finish my letters before the 
 mails leave. Take a seat by the fire. Are all 
 well at home ? " 
 
 ''Thank you, Sir; I won't sit down. They're 
 all well at home, except mother, who is feeling 
 her rheumatics terrible bad this last fortnight. 
 Fd be glad if you'd call in and see her, in a day 
 or two. Sir. But what brought me up now was 
 to ask if you would like to see the men hauling 
 seals. They've been out since daylight, and 
 several of 'em have brought in fine tows already. 
 If you go up to the high point over there, about 
 a mile's walk. Burton's Pinch, as we call it, and 
 take your spy-glass with you, you will be able to 
 see them plain enough. I heard you say the 
 other day. Sir, that you'd like to see such a sight, 
 and, as you may not get another chance while 
 you are with us, I thought I'd run up and let you 
 know." 
 
 ''I am really much obliged to you, Skipper 
 George," said the minister eagerly, ^'and I will 
 go at once. I'm delighted to hear the seals are 
 within reach. They told me down the, shore, 
 
THE SEALS ARE m, 59 
 
 yesterday, they believed there were seals on the 
 ice, but it was too far off to do much. I noticed 
 as I came along that the sharp breeze yesterday 
 and last night had brought it in a good deal 
 nearer. How far off is it to the seals ? " 
 
 ''About four miles, Sir; but please God it 
 keeps blowing this way, the ice will be taut on 
 the land to-morrow. There's a tongue of ice 
 touching the point — that's Woody Point — Sir, 
 three miles down shore, you know already. I'll 
 go and show you the path to the Pinch, if you're 
 going at once. It is a short cut, and will save 
 you going around." 
 
 The minister's preparations for going were 
 soon made, and, with his glass slung over his 
 shoulder, in a very few minutes he was trudging 
 along behind his guide in the narrow track that 
 led to the vantage ground desired. 
 
 ''There, Sir," said the latter^ when at length 
 they had come to the foot of the last ascent, 
 " keep to the left-hand path, and in ten minutes 
 more you'll be at the top. I'd go with you 
 myself, but I must not stop. My boys are off on 
 the ice, and I only came in myself with a tow of 
 seals, intending to go off at once, when my 
 missus told me you had got home, and I thought 
 
6o SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAN, 
 
 maybe you'd like to see the work, so I stopped 
 to tell you. Good-bye, Sir, for the present. Don't 
 stay too long on the top of the hill — these March 
 winds are very searching, although the sun is so 
 strong." 
 
 With eager step, though tired already by his 
 morning tramp up shore, Mr. Fairbairn climbed to 
 the top of the hill, and, sheltering himself behind 
 a boulder from the sharp breeze blowing off the 
 sea, he found himself, as Skipper George had 
 expressed it, in " a complete place for spyin'." 
 The lofty headland gave him, on the one side, a 
 view of the Bight, and on the other of the open 
 bay, and through his glass, in that clear atmo- 
 sphere, he could see for miles. Between the shore 
 and theice a mile or two of open water intervened ; 
 and then, far as the eye could reach to seaward, 
 was one vast field of white, unbroken, save where 
 here and there an irregular opening showed the 
 blue water underneath. 
 
 Upon this field of white the bright March sun 
 was pouring his unclouded rays, flashed back in 
 dazzling splendour from many a crystal pinnacle 
 and crag. So bright was it that the minister was 
 fain to withdraw his eyes from his glass, and 
 rest them, again and again to turn them, upon 
 
THE SEALS ARE IN. 6i 
 
 that fascinating scene. In the open watei by the 
 shore punts were moving to and from the edge of 
 the ice, and on the edge itself a large number of 
 them were hauled up, awaiting the return of their 
 crews. Off to seaward, through his glass, Mr. 
 Fairbairn could make out the men moving hither 
 and thither after the seals, and even see them 
 killing and ''sculphig" them; while nearer he 
 could not only see but hear them as they hauled 
 their gory prizes towards their punts. 
 
 Turning towards the harbour, signs of un- 
 wonted excitement were everywhere apparent. 
 The women stood in knots about the doors, 
 chatting eagerly, while down at the beach were 
 crowds of children watching the bigger boys and 
 men, as they landed the pelts from the punts, and 
 hauled them to the stages,. Even the very dogs 
 seemed to have caught something of the excite- 
 ment of the occasion, as they congregated, in 
 canine converse, by the landing-place, and watched 
 for opportunities to make surreptitious snaps at 
 the tempting but tabooed delicacies brought so 
 tantalisingly near their noses. 
 
 Upon this ever-changing living picture, so 
 different from the associations of his early years, 
 so unlike anything he had previously seen in his 
 
62 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAN, 
 
 mission work, Mr. Fairbairn gazed with absorbed 
 interest, now turning his glass to observe the 
 movements of the busy workers on the ice, now 
 watching the unwonted activities of the village 
 below him, until, reminded by a shiver of Skipper 
 George's remark about the searching wind, he 
 took note of the declining sun, and briskly made 
 his way homewards, to finish his letters for the 
 overland mail, and to add to them an account of 
 the day's experience. 
 
 Next morning, as the minister looked from his 
 bed-room window, he could see that Skipper 
 George's hope had been realised. The ice was 
 close to the shore, and packed tightly together ; 
 and from the deserted appearance of the settle- 
 ment, it was evident that the men, and even the 
 boys, were off upon it, intent on securing as 
 many seals as possible while the welcome 
 opportunity lasted. After breakfest, he walked 
 down to the beach, where an old man, stick in 
 hand, was mounting guard over a pile of pelts 
 evidently just brought in, and keeping off the 
 dogs that sniffed hungrily around it. 
 
 "Well, Uncle Tommy, you and I are pretty 
 nigh the only men left ashore, it seems," said 
 Mr. Fairbairn as he came up. 
 
THE SEALS ARE IN. 63 
 
 '' Marnin', Sir ; glad to see 'ee home again," 
 said the old man. '' Yes, Sir, I be that old and 
 crippled up wi' rheumatics, I be forced to stay 
 ashore, though I seen the day I could haul my 
 tow wi' any young gaffer among *em." 
 
 ''I suppose it is not often you have such a 
 chance as this on the shore. Uncle Tommy?" 
 
 '^No, Sir; 'tis years now since I seen th' ice 
 jammed in like 'tis to-day. O' course we have 
 til' ice in the bay every winter, jammed in tight 
 enough sometimes, but this here's the real 
 breedin' ice from outside, and full of seals. 'Tis 
 only a scattered time, when the bay is clear of 
 other ice, and a slant of wind comes as this is 
 passin' and brings it in, that we have a chance 
 like this. I don't t'ink we'll have this very long. 
 I don't like the looks of the sky, for all 'tis so 
 bright and fine; and we'll have a change of 
 wind, an' a good breeze, too, afore to-morrow's 
 over. 'Tis all right to-day, but I wouldn't like 
 to go very far on it to-morrow, for if the wind 
 comes to change and blow hard 'twill go off very 
 quick." 
 
 ''A man would soon get rich at this sort of 
 work if he only had such chances often, wouldn't 
 he?" 
 
64 SAIPIER GEORGE NETMAN. 
 
 '* 'Deed, he would, Sir. 1 niindin the spring of 
 '6 1, I t'ink it was, the siles came in in thousands 
 all along the shore. I made eighty-five pounds 
 that year for my own hand, and my boys made a 
 hundred and fifty pound betvveen 'em. That w^as 
 a great year. Sir. I mind in one day alone I 
 hauled over twenty pounds' worth of siles. I 
 s'pose dere was hundreds done so well as we — 
 better some of 'em, for they hadn't as far to haul. 
 There haven't been a year like that since, 
 though." 
 
 ''You must have killed a good many seals in 
 your day, Uncle Tommy." 
 
 '' Yes, Sir, I have. I was seventy-four year old 
 last Candlemas day; and I went to th' ice, man 
 an' boy, twenty-nine year runnin', besides the 
 times I been off in punt after 'em from this place, 
 and off on th' ice when they came in on the shore. 
 I've had many a hard day's work on th' ice, Sir, I 
 tell 'ee, and had many a narry escape, one way an' 
 t'other. I mind once I was out on th' second trip, 
 wi' old Skipper Joe Stuckless, an' I fired at an old 
 dog hood an' thought I'd killed him. I went up 
 to him, and was just getting out my knife to 
 begin sculpin' him, when he reared at me as 
 savage an' lively as if I hadn't hit him. at all. 
 
THE SEALS ARE IN. 65 
 
 Ter'ble ugly beast, an old dog hood, Sir. If I 
 hadn't been smarter then than 1 am now, by a 
 good deal, 'twould ha' bin all up wi' me. As it 
 was, he tore my arm ter'ble— there's the marks, 
 see— but I managed to get the stock o' my gun 
 in his mouth and run. He made splinters o' my 
 gun, though. 'Nother time, I was out afore the 
 bows, an' got caught 'tween the ship an' th' ice. 
 I give myself up for dead that time, but got clear 
 wi' a broken leg; bad enough it was too, for I 
 couldn't get it set till we got home, more than a 
 week after. 
 
 " 'Nother time I was out swatchin', as we calls 
 it, that's shooting siles as they comes up through 
 the swatches— them's the holes in th' ice, you 
 know, Sir— and I was a good way from anybody 
 else o' th' gang, when I put my foot on what I 
 thought was a solid little pan, to jump across a 
 swatch, an' my foot went through, an' in I went. 
 I'd ha' managed to scrabble out right enough, only 
 I went ahead so far, when I made the false step, 
 that I got out of my reach of the solid ice, an' 
 among the soft slob an' lolly in the middle of the 
 swatch. I sung out as loud as I could, but I had 
 little hope o' being heard ; an' I struggled to get 
 a hold o' the solid ice, but the slob was so thick 
 
 S 
 
66 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAN. 
 
 and heavy, it weighed me down further an' further. 
 At last I got fairly spent between shoutin' an' 
 struggHn', and I felt myself sinkin' down fast 
 among the lolly. It was right up to my chin, and 
 I thought I was gone sure enough, when I heard 
 a shout, and saw my wife's brother, who had left 
 home after I did, runnin' hot-foot towards me. 
 He was only just in time, for I w^as 'most gone, 
 but he had a gaff wi' him fortunately, an' stuck it 
 into my coat an' hauled me out. I was a long 
 time afore I got the better o' that. 'Twas a turnin' 
 point wi' me, though, thank God. If I'd gone 
 then, I'd ha' gone wrong; but now, blessed be 
 His name, I have a good hope. That kind o' 
 steadied me, but next winter we had a revival on 
 the shore, an' I give my heart to God, an' I know 
 He is with me, rough and smooth." 
 
 '* Ay, Uncle Tommy, it is a good thing to have 
 God with us. It makes a wonderful difference, 
 either in danger or out." 
 
 '* It do. Sir, it do," said the old man reverently, 
 and he drew his rough sleeve across his eyes as 
 he spoke. " It was the best voyage ever I made 
 when I give my sins to God, and got His grace 
 an' love instead." 
 
 *' Well, I hope the men will have a good day cf 
 
Tk'^ SEALS ARE EV. 
 
 67 
 
 it to-day. They must have taken a good many 
 seals yesterday, did they not ? " 
 
 ''You be right, Sir; an' they'll get a good 
 many more to-day. The siles is some distance 
 off, though, or they'd be comin' in wi' their tows 
 quicker than they are. They can go as far as 
 they like to-day, but I'm half afeared some of 'em 
 '11 be gettin' blown off to-morrow, if the wind 
 chops round sudden, as I think it will. You can't 
 trust these young fellers, they're that venturesome 
 and foreright." 
 
 The garrulous old man would have chattered 
 away much longer, but the minister's time was 
 precious ; so, bidding him good-bye, he went back 
 to his study, and for the next few hours forgot all 
 about the seals and the sealers, among the loved 
 volumes of his library. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 BLOWN OFF. 
 
 "Not seldom, clad in radiant vest, 
 Deccitfuliy goes forth the morn." 
 
 Wordsworth, 
 
 "Not a twinkling star, or beacon's light, 
 Abatr^ the perils of a stormy night."— /r/r;;/. 
 
 ^ I ^HE next day broke brightly, though there 
 ^ was a haziness about the sky that told of a 
 change of weather soon to come. The men spoke 
 of it as they set off for the sealing-ground in the 
 early morning, and warned one another gravely 
 
BLOWN OFF, 69 
 
 against going too far from land. All the fore- 
 noon the wind kept edging around, and the ice 
 slackening off the shore. Still, it was close 
 enough to get off upon, and the men were eagerl}; 
 making the most of their time to secure a few 
 more seals before it started altogether. Towards 
 afternoon, those who came in from the furthest 
 distance brought news that outside the ice was 
 breaking up and running off very quickly; and as 
 the day advanced, the men came in very weary 
 and wet, and spoke of the difficulty they had 
 experienced in getting along. Finally several 
 came in without any seals, and told how they had 
 been obliged to leave their tows behind, the ice 
 being so bad and broken that they could not haul 
 them. 
 
 As the day wore on. Burton's Pinch and the 
 adjacent high lands were filled with people, 
 anxiously watching the fast loosening ice, on 
 which the increasing wind was now telling rapidly. 
 Many stragglers came in, in twos and threes, to 
 the edge of the ice, and were brought safely ashore, 
 until at length only four remained to be accounted 
 for — William Netman, a smart lad of eighteen ; 
 his brother John, a couple of years younger ; 
 Richard Tuffin, a son of Uncle Tommy's ; and 
 
70 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAN, 
 
 another young man, named Henry Burton. 
 These had come in early with seals, and had 
 started out again. They had been seen about 
 noon going towards the seals, but no one had 
 seen or spoken with them since. 
 
 It was now growing dusk, the wind had freshened 
 considerably, and every now and then a hght snow 
 squall swept across the hills. Still the anxious 
 crowds stood peering into the fast- growing 
 darkness. At length a party of men were observed 
 coming towards the edge of the ice, and expecta- 
 tion was high that the missing ones had come ; 
 but it was a company of four from a settlement 
 further up the bay, who had just managed to get 
 opposite Caplin Bight as the ice drifted past. As 
 night closed in, the little harbour was full of 
 lamentation. It seemed as if the joyous, active 
 life of the morning had gone out in the terrible 
 anxiety and agony of the evening. 
 
 Poor old Uncle Tommy Tuffin was weeping 
 like a child when Mr. Fairbairn called at his house. 
 '^I was afearcd of this, Sir, I was afeared of this," 
 he said mournfully. ^'I said to 'ee yesterday I 
 was afeared th' whid would come around an' blow 
 th' ice off afore th' lads got ashore, all of 'em. I 
 didn't think, though, my poor boy would be caught. 
 
BLOWN OFF. 71 
 
 The good Lord have mercy upon him ! O my boy, 
 my poor boy ! " 
 
 The minister tried to soothe the old man's 
 grief, which was touching to see, and then went 
 on to Skipper George Netman's, two of whose 
 sons were among the missing. He found the 
 house full of dismay. The aged grandmother sat 
 rocking herself by the firesiae, the te-irs trickling 
 over her wrinkled cheeks, and her lips moving in 
 prayer. By the table, on which lay the untouched 
 evening meal, sat the mother, her face buried in 
 her hands, while the younger children, awe- 
 stricken and subdued, w^ere sitting in a group by 
 their mother's side, 
 
 Mrs. Netman looked up as the minister entered. 
 '^ O, Mr. Fairbairn," she exclaimed, '' I am so glad 
 you've come. You've heard of the dreadful thing 
 that's happened. My tv/o poor boys are lost on 
 the ice," and she burst out into uncontrollable 
 weeping. *' Gone, gone," she moaned, '' my two 
 bright, beautiful boys. Here in this very room 
 with me a few hours ago, and now^, O where ? " — 
 and she shuddered as she spoke. ''Poor little 
 Jack," she continued, '' came up and kissed me, 
 just as they left, and told little Polly there he 
 would try to bring her home a pretty white-coat 
 
72 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAN. 
 
 to play with. O my boys, my boys ! my precious 
 boys ! " 
 
 "Dear Mrs. Netman," said the minister gently, 
 "you will injure yourself by giving way like that! 
 It may not be so bad as you suppose. You know 
 they may have got to land further down shore. 
 At all events they are in God's hands. Where's 
 the master ? " he continued, after a pause ; " I 
 thought I should find him here." 
 
 " Down at the stage, Sir, getting a skift ready 
 to go and look for them. Sit down, Sir. He'll 
 be in directly. Ah ! here he is." As she spoke 
 her husband entered the room, his usually quiet 
 face showing the strain that was on his mind. 
 He grasped silently the minister's outstretched 
 hand, and the latter said, " O, Mr. Netman, this 
 is a dreadful thing that has happened." 
 
 " Terrible, Sir, terrible. I'm like a man beside 
 myself at times. Thank God, though, I haven't 
 given up all hope. He helps me to stand it.— 
 Sarah, gel: me my other boots, and a pair of mitts ; 
 quick now, like a good maid ; I mustn't wait a 
 minute. The men are all ready." 
 
 "You're not going without eating anything, 
 surely, George ? " said his wife. 
 
 " Eating, my dear ? I can't eat much, but I'll 
 
BLOWN OFF, 73 
 
 have a bite and a cup of tea, just to please you. 
 The men have had theirs." 
 
 '' Where are you going, then, Skipper George ? " 
 said the minister. 
 
 '^ Down shore, Sir. The ice is well off, up here, 
 but it's penned in down further, and, maybe, the 
 lads got in somewhere between here and Clarke's 
 Point. Anyhow, I've got a couple of cod-seine 
 skiffs myself, and there are four other boats from 
 the harbour, and we're going to try all along the 
 shore if we can find any tidings oi them. We'll 
 get off to the edge of the ice, if there's no sign of 
 them between here and the Point. Please God, 
 we may find the poor fellows ; but the ice ran out 
 so fast that I'm terribly afraid they went too far, 
 and are driven ofit. My poor boys, my poor boys ! 
 What did I let you go for? Good-bye, Mr. Fair- 
 bairn ; you'll pray for us, I know. I'd be glad if 
 you could stay in the house a little while after we 
 go. My poor wife is almost broken-hearted, and 
 I'm afraid of her giving way altogether when I 
 leave. I didn't like to ask you while she was in 
 the room." 
 
 '' I'll stay a while, Mr. Netman, I'll stay a while. 
 I'll send word home to Mrs. Fairbairn, so that she 
 won't be uneasy." 
 
74 S/v/rPER GEORGE NETMAM. 
 
 '' Thank you, Sir. Good-bye/ 
 '' I'll walk down to the stage with you. Skipper 
 George, and see you off." 
 
 As the two went down to the stage together, 
 the minister tried to give thr poor stricken father 
 a word of encouragement and hope, though 
 inwardly his heart sank at the thought of the 
 terrible danger of the missing young men. Un- 
 less they had already reached land, there was 
 little hope of their ever being rescued, and he 
 knew how true were Skipper George's words,— 
 '^There's not much hope. Sir, unless they've 
 already got ashore somewhere ; but we'll do our 
 best, and we won't give up what hope there is until 
 we're obliged. If they haven't got ashore, they 
 may get to the weather edge of the ice ; and if 
 we can get out to it, there's a bare chance still 
 of our finding them. The wind is dropph;g a 
 goodish bit already, and isn't quite as much off- 
 shore as it was a couple of hours ago." 
 
 The rest of the crew were already aboard the 
 skiff, which lay tossing at the stage-head, and the 
 light of half-a-dozen lanterns showed a score or 
 two of persons assembled to see them off. Poor 
 old Uncle Tommy was there, his white hair 
 blowing about, and his weather-beaten and 
 
BLOWN OFF, 75 
 
 sorrow-pinched face looking more wrinkled than 
 
 ever. 
 
 ''God bless 'ee, Skipper George/' he cried, as 
 the latter stepped on board the boat, and took 
 the steering-oar. '' God grant you may find 
 'em and bring 'em back ! I know you'll do it, 
 if you can. The wind's droppin', thank the 
 
 Lord." 
 
 ''Good-bye, Uncle Tommy. Don't stop pray- 
 ing for us. We'll do all we can. — Cast off there, 
 Rob. Now, boys, give way ; we must catch up 
 to the other boats before they get outside." 
 
 Many a word of cheer and many a fervent 
 " God be with you" followed the boat as she 
 swiftly disappeared in the darkness, and then the 
 people went back quickly to their homes. 
 
 Mr. Fairbairri lingered behind after the others 
 had gone, listening to the beat of the oars as the 
 boat rowed out to the harbour mouth. The 
 snow squalls had ceased, but the night was pitch 
 dark, and the wind, though not nearly so strong 
 as it had been, was still blowing freshly. The 
 water was ebbing and flowing noisily on the beach, 
 and gurgling around the posts on which the stage 
 was built, while out in the harbour it was beating 
 with a continuous lap — lap — lap against the 
 
76 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAN, 
 
 sides of the schooners, anchored at their winter 
 moorings. The lights in the fishermen's houses 
 seemed to twinkle like so many stars, while, here 
 and there, a moving flash showed where lanterns 
 were being used on the stages. It was very 
 solemn and still — a striking contrast to the scene 
 of the preceding day, when he had had the chat 
 on the beach with Uncle Tommy. Then, a broad 
 white field had stretched for miles into the offing, 
 traversed by busy feet, as safely as if a part of 
 solid land ; now not a fragment of ice was to be 
 seen : then, the joyous hum of active and eager 
 life filled the air; now it was dreary and dark, 
 as with the shadow of death. How night and 
 sorrow make it seem strange that there ever 
 could have been day and joy ! Yesterday now 
 seemed years ago, so far away and shadowy and 
 dream-Hke and unreal. The minister's heart was 
 full as he stood there alone. He could still hear 
 the measured rhythm of the oars of the receding 
 boats throbbing distinctly through the air, and 
 he listened till at length it grew more and more 
 faint, and finally died av/ay in the far distance. 
 How would they come back ? How would they 
 come back? And, as the wind sighed over the 
 hills, and whistled among the rigging of the 
 
BLOWN OFF. 77 
 
 anchored schooners, his thoughts went out to the 
 poor young fellows, at that very moment, it might 
 be, in deadly peril on the treacherous ice, far out 
 in the darkness of that lonely night. 
 
 When Mr. Fairbairn went back to the house, 
 he found the large kitchen nearly full of people ; 
 for the neighbours had, as by one consent and 
 bound by a common tie of interest and solici- 
 tude, clustered around those whose anxiety was 
 naturally the greatest. Old Mrs. Netman sat still 
 by the fireside, a little apart from all the rest, 
 her hands folded quietly on her lap ; and her 
 face, slightly uplifted, bore an expression of rest, 
 as with eyes closed, and lips every now and then 
 tremulously wh spering a prayer, she seemed 
 oblivious of all that was passing around her. 
 Skipper George's wife sat earnestly talking to a 
 young woman who was weeping bitterly, and 
 whom the minister recognised as the sister of 
 Henry Burton, one of the missing men. Uncle 
 Tommy was sitting not far from her, his hands 
 clasped upon the handle of his walking-stick, and 
 his head bent forward upon them. The others 
 were sitting about the room silent, or conversing 
 in subdued tones. The strain of a great suspense 
 was visible on nearly every face, and a nervous 
 
JH SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAN. 
 
 excitement that sought outlet in change of posi- 
 tion or rapid speech. ^r 
 
 *' Dear friends," said the minister quietly, after 
 a few minutes' conversation with the mistress ot 
 the house, '^ we cannot go and search for our dear 
 missing ones, but we can do something else to 
 help them and those who have gone to look for 
 them. You remember that when Peter was in 
 prison, and his life in danger, 'prayer was mide 
 without ceasing of the Church unto God for him,' 
 and God heard and answered the prayer. Our 
 loved ones are not beyond His help, neither are 
 we beyond His sympathy and care. Has He not 
 said, ^ Call upon Me in the day of trouble, and I 
 will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify Me ' ? 
 Has He not bidden us to cast our burden on Him, 
 with the promise that He will sustain us ? Let 
 us ask our heavenly Father in this time of anxiety, 
 if it be His will, to save our friends, and to give 
 us strength and grace to say, ' Thy will be done,' 
 whatever that will may be. Let us pray." And 
 then in an earnest prayer, emphasised by the sobs 
 and ejaculations of the little company, Mr. Fair- 
 bairn commended the missing ones to God, praying 
 that, if it were His will, they might reach their 
 homes again ; that those who had gone to seek 
 
BLOWN OFF. 79 
 
 them might be under Divine guidance and care ; 
 and that those left in such terrible anxiety might 
 have patience and trust tobear the present burden, 
 and to meet the future, w^hatever it might bring 
 forth to them. Then, rising, he gave out the well- 
 known hymn commencing, 
 
 " Commit thou all thy griefs 
 
 And ways into His bands. 
 
 To His sure truth and tender care, 
 
 Who heaven and earth commando ;" 
 
 and with full hearts and broken voices they sang 
 it through. 
 
 ''Will two of you now lead us in pra3^er ? " said 
 the minister, and they knelt again. For a moment or 
 two there was silence, and then a tremulous voice, 
 broken by frequent sobs, was lifted up in prayer. 
 It was Uncle Tommy's. '' O blessed Lord," he 
 cried, '' Thou art the Hearer and the Answerer of 
 prayer. Thou hast told us that, like as a father 
 pitieth his chil'ern, so th' Lord pitiet' them that 
 fear Him. Thou seest us here. Thou knowest 
 what we want. Save the poor boys out on the 
 ice, blessed Lord. Save 'em from bein' blown off, 
 if it please Thee. Show 'em how to git \o land. 
 Make the dark r^>ht bright before 'em. Give 
 
So SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAM, 
 
 'em courage, Lord. Give 'em faith, Help 'em to 
 look to Thee. An', O Lord, bless them that's 
 gone to look for 'em. Do Thou go wi' 'em. Do 
 Thou lead 'em to th' right place an' at the right 
 time. O Father, be Thou their Pilot. May they 
 come back safe. May they come back bringin' the 
 lost ones wi* 'em, safe and sound. But if not, O 
 our heavenly Father, if not " — here the poor old 
 man's voice broke almost completely down — 
 " help us to say, ' Thy will be done ; ' help us to 
 see that Thy will is best, and to leave it all wi' 
 Thee." 
 
 The next to pray was Mrs. Netman, and a thrill 
 of sympathy ran through the room, as her voice 
 broke the stillness that followed Uncle Tommy's 
 prayer : " Heavenly Father, I plead with Thee for 
 my children. O take them not from me, if it 
 please Thee. Thou knowest that I love them. 
 Thou knowest how I love them. They are Thine, 
 blessed Lord. I have given them to Thee ; Thou 
 knowest I have, and I thank Thee that I knov/ 
 Thou hast accepted the offering. I have sought 
 to train them for Thee, for Thy service. Shall 
 their young lives be cut short ? Shall they fail of 
 the promise of which they were so full ? God 
 forbid. Father, forbid. Restore them, if it please 
 
BLOWN OFF, 8i 
 
 Thee. May those who are seeking them find ihem, 
 and bring them home in safety. Father, not my 
 will be done, but Thine : Thy will of infinite 
 tenderness and wisdom. Thy will be done. 
 Help me to say it, whatever happens ; help us all 
 to say it. Thou knowest. Lord, how hard it is to 
 say it when the cup is bitter ; but help us to say 
 it, now and always." As the mother^s voice, fi.ill of 
 the intense longing and pathos of her anxiety and 
 love, rose and fell, in the simple petitions of her 
 prayer, the effect was indescribable ; and after she 
 had ceased the people still remained upon their 
 knees, bowed in silence before God, until, at length, 
 the minister began the hymn, ^^ Thy will be done," 
 and, still kneeling, the people prayed rather than 
 sang the sweet and solemn words : — 
 
 " O teach me from my heart to say, 
 * Thy will be done I 
 
 ) tt 
 
 Other prayers followed, and for nearly two hours 
 the socnd of prayer and praise went up from that 
 company of anxious men and women. Then, 
 with whispered words of sympathy and cheer to 
 those chiefly interested, they dispersed, one by 
 one, until at length only Uncle Tommy and Mary 
 Burton remained. For these as for the Netmans 
 
 6 
 
^2 
 
 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAiST. 
 
 sleep was of course out of the question, and they 
 had agreed to spend the night together. Mr. 
 Fairbairn too remained, to stay up with them, 
 feehng that his place was with these anxious ones 
 in their hour of terrible suspense. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 • < 
 
 1} 
 
 AT EVENING TIME IT SHALL BE LIGHT. 
 
 "And the night shall be full of music, 
 
 And the cares that infest the day 
 
 Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, 
 
 And as silently steal away." 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 HERE was 
 not much 
 sleep 
 in the 
 settlement 
 that night. The 
 kling lights 
 iroiigh the win- 
 cottages, until 
 another day 
 rendered them unnecessary ; and as 
 the day advanced, the men gathered in 
 knots on the hills which commanded the best view 
 of the bay, and peered earnestly through the morn- 
 ing mist, to catch a glimpse of the returning boats. 
 
 awni 
 
84 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAN 
 
 Not a vestige of ice was in sight, though, away on 
 the horizon, the dreamy hght of the *'ice-gHm*' in 
 the sky showed that the white field was just be- 
 yond its rim. Hour after hour passed away ; the 
 morning was succeeded by noon, and yet no 
 stroke of work was done in the Httle harbour. 
 The men could not work, for the strain of a 
 terrible uncertiinty unnerved them, and made 
 them restless. From point to point they 
 wandered, siiigly or in groups, now scanning the 
 hazy horizon, now speculating as to the where- 
 abouts of the boats, and the chances of their 
 success, and anon commiserating their missing 
 neighbours, and recalling their appearance and 
 conversation when they had last seen them, or 
 recounting reminiscences of similar accidents of 
 which they had heard or with which they had 
 themselves been connected. 
 
 Slowly the hours of the day dragged on, the 
 suspense of all becoming every hour more pain- 
 ful, and the strain on those chiefly interested 
 almost agonising in its intensity. At length, just 
 as the night came on, a boat was seen rounding 
 the most distant point down shore, quickly 
 followed by another and another. The news flew 
 rapidly, " The boats are coming I The boats are 
 
''AT EVENING TIME 17 SHALL BE LIGHT:' 85 
 
 coming; and in a few minutes the whole 
 population of the village was clustered on the 
 high lands, watching the boats as they were 
 rowed up the shore. Darkness closed in long 
 before they reached the harbour mouth, and the 
 people, hurrying from the hills, crowded the beach 
 and the stages, to greet them on arrival and learn 
 the tidings they were bringing. By-and-by, the 
 oar-strokes, plainly heard, told that they had 
 entered the Narrows, and as the splash, splash of 
 the steady pulls came closer and closer, the eager- 
 ness and suspense became terrible. Here, indeed, 
 WTre the anxiously expected boats, but what news 
 WTre they bringing ? Was it life or death ? O, 
 the suspense of that awful moment ! All WTre 
 longing to know the truth, yet none durst ask. 
 And thus, amidst absolute silence, the boats came 
 slowly on. At length a voice broke the stillness. 
 It was Mr. Fairbairn's, and strangely tremulous 
 and unnatural it sounded : 
 
 " Is that you, Skipper George ? *' 
 
 " Yes, Sir." The answer came promptly 
 through the darkness. 
 
 There was a pause, and it seemed to the 
 minister that his heart- beats were as loud as the 
 sound of his voice, as he asked, 
 
86 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAiV, 
 
 *' Have you found them ? ' 
 
 Again there was a pause — very long it seemed 
 to the Hsteners — and then the reply in broken 
 tones, 
 
 " All found, Sir, thank the good Lord.' ^ 
 
 The pent-up feelings of the people could no 
 longer be restrained. Some shouted, some 
 cheered, some laughed hysterically, while not a 
 few, men as well as women, burst into tears and 
 wept Hke children,, 
 
 Meanwhile the boats had reached the stage, and 
 the lights of a score of lanterns flashed down 
 upon them. Ay, there they were, poor fellows, 
 haggard-looking and cold, it was true, as they lay 
 wrapped up in the blankets which their finders 
 had brought with them, but safe and sound, there 
 was no doubt of that. In a few minutes the boats 
 WTre made fast and the missing men restored to 
 their friends on the stage. Who can describe 
 that meeting — the joy that was almost too great 
 for expression, the certainty that seemed almost 
 impossible of realisation, the excitement and 
 agitation, intensified by the vigils of the past night 
 and the strain of the anxious, dreary da}^ that 
 was closing so happily ? Who can picture that 
 mother receiving back as from the grave her two 
 
''AT EVENING TIME IT SHALL BE LLGLIT'' 87 
 
 noble boys, or that aged patriarch clasping his 
 son to his breast, or that sister sobbing out her 
 gratitude and love as she hung on the shoulder 
 of her only brother, almost mourned as dead, and 
 now restored alive and well ? " 
 
 ^' Friends," said Mr. Fairbairn, ^^ let us sing the 
 Doxology," and instantly every head was bared 
 and every voice was raised as the grand and 
 appropriate outburst of praise rolled up to heav^en. 
 Never more fittingly, and never perhaps more 
 sincerely, did those words go up from human 
 hearts. Again and again they sang them, and the 
 surrounding hills caught the echoes and redoubled 
 them, until the very night itself seemed vocal with 
 their song of thankfulness. 
 
 ^* Yes, Sir/' said Skipper George, as he and the 
 minister sat together, the following day, in close 
 converse on the events of the rescue; ^*yes. Sir, 
 we had, you may depend on it, a pretty hard time 
 of it. After we rowed out o' harbour that night, 
 we kept well in by the land, following the 
 windings of the shore, and especially careful to 
 examine the headlands and to inquire at the settle- 
 ments as we went along. But we couldn't see or 
 hear anything of them at all, and the people d^^wu 
 
S8 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAN, ___ _^ 
 
 shore didn't give us much hope, for the ice had 
 run off very fast, and hadn't penned in, as v^e had 
 hoped. However, we kept on, and by dayhght 
 were down at the Point, but without any success. 
 One thing we were now sure of, they hadn't got 
 to land anywhere this side of the Point, and we 
 knew 'twas no use trying the other side, as the 
 bay opens out wide immediately. 
 
 *^ We felt pretty well disheartened, I assure you. 
 Sir, but we didn't think of giving up the search 
 yet. So I called the other boats up close, and I 
 told them we'd row out to the ice, and that my 
 boat would take the farthest off place, each boat 
 to make the edge of the ice a mile or two from the 
 rest so as to search the whole line of it as cl.sely 
 and as quickly as we could. I gave 'em their 
 bearings and we started. They all got to the edge 
 some time before we did, for I w^as determined to 
 keep as far out as possible. About an hour and 
 a half's smart pulling took us to the edge, and we 
 at once scattered a bit and began our search. 
 The ice was pretty loose, though not as much so 
 as I had feared from the way the wind blew the 
 night before, and the swell that was heaving 
 among it. 
 
 *' For about two hours my crew worked about, 
 
''AT EVENING TIME IT SHALL BE LIGHT'' 85 
 
 going out as far as we dared from the boat, and 
 keeping within hailing distance of one another, for 
 the ice was bad and heavy. At last I heard a 
 shout from one of the men, and when I got to him 
 I found he had in his hand a piece of cloth all 
 covered with blood, which I recognised at once as 
 a bit of the sleeve-waistcoat belonging to my boy, 
 little Jack. He had found it about half a mile to 
 the north, he told us, and there was a good deal of 
 blood on the ice where he found it, and marks of 
 blood leading south and west, as if the person 
 bleeding had gone in that direction. My heart 
 gave a great throb as I saw that bit of blood- 
 stained cloth, Sir, and I began to imagine all sorts 
 of terrible things ; and yet I thanked God that we 
 had a clue, trifling as it was, to the whereabouts 
 of the poor lads, and I knew that, after all, the 
 blood might mean nothing worse than a cut hand ; 
 so I told the men to scatter again, and we went on 
 in the direction the traces showed. 
 
 '* We soon lost the tracks, but we kept on, and 
 by-and-by got among some heavy ice. I suppose 
 an hour passed, and still no sign of them, when 
 all at once I heard a shout of ' Father ! ' and there 
 was my boy, William, not a hundred yards away, 
 on the top of a big hummock of ice. In a few 
 
90 SKIPPER GEORGE NET MAN. ■ ^ 
 
 minutes more I was beside him, and there, behind 
 the hummock, was a sight I'll never forget. Poor 
 little Jack, white as a corpse, was lying with his 
 head on Dick Tuffin's shoulder, and Harry Burton 
 was busy rubbing his forehead with snow. The 
 poor little chap had fainted when he heard William 
 call out ^ Father ! ' and knew th^.t I was coming. 
 As I bent over him he came to, and put his arms 
 round my neck and cried. 
 
 ^^ ' It's all right now, father ; 111 soon be able to 
 get up and go home,' he said, after the first out- 
 burst was over. It seems that poor Jack was the 
 principal cause of their being blown off. He had 
 managed to give his leg an ugly gash when 
 sculping a seal late in the afternoon, and just as 
 they were thinking of starting, and it bled so much 
 that the poor boy got weak, and couldn't get along 
 fast. Then William told the others to go ahead, 
 and he'd hold on with Jack ; but the others 
 wouldn't leave them, and so they all got drove off 
 together. 
 
 ^^ Poor fellows ! they had an awful time of it. 
 William told me the grinding of the ice and the 
 howling of the wind were fearful during the first 
 part of the night. They were so near the weather 
 edge that it was packed pretty tight, so they were 
 
'' AT EVENING TIME IT SI/ALL BE IIGHT:' 91 
 
 able to move about and keep themselves warm, 
 and ever since daylight they had been on the 
 tramp, keeping near the edge, and moving to 
 windward, in the bare hope that some one might 
 rescue them. Will tells me they never gave up 
 hope, and poor little Jack was the pluckiest of 
 the lot, always with a merry laugh and a cheery 
 w^ord of hope that help was sure to come. Come 
 in and see the boys, Sir. They're smart to-day.'* 
 
 %..' j^- «p -^i 
 
CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 THE REVIVAL. 
 
 " He is here ! His loving voice 
 Hath reached thee, though so far away ! 
 He is waiting to rejoice, 
 O wandering one, o'er thee to-day ; 
 Waiting, waiting to bestow 
 His perfect pardon full and free ; 
 Waiting, waiting till thou know 
 His wealth of love for thee, for thee ! " 
 
 F. R. Havergal. 
 
 ^^^^ ^M ^ ^ /^N the Sunday 
 
 W^BS K^^SSMSl/^-"^ morning {o\~ 
 IKiiitSKtllJiiB^'i^ * ^ lowing the 
 ^^^s^^^ss^^mat^^^m^^^'' startling: epi- 
 
 HHiilH^^^^ sode related in 
 MBII^^^- tJ^e last chapter, 
 |^E|9£li'" the little churcl* at 
 B l^^ Caplin Bight was filled to 
 
 BB^B^^ overtlowing. It was known thf,. 
 
 ^^P^ Mr. Fairbairn was going to make 
 ^ special allusion to the incident; for the 
 
 ser\'ice had been announced, at the Friday evening 
 
^ ^ .^ THE REVnUL. 93 
 
 prayer-meeting, as a thanksgiving service, and 
 this had helped to swell the congregation. As the 
 groups of men gathered about the doors outside 
 before the service — an out-port custom far from 
 conducive to spirituality of thought or converse — 
 there was a quietness about their demeanour, and 
 an earnestness in their tones, as they talked of 
 the rescue and the rescued, which showed them 
 to be deeply touched by the events of the week. 
 When Mr. Fairbairn arose to give out the opening 
 hymn, he was struck at once with this quiet and 
 intense feeling in the congregation. There sat 
 Skipper George on the right side under the gallery, 
 and Mrs. Netman with her rescued boys, one on 
 each side of her. In the middle row of pews, not 
 far from the pulpit, the snowy head of Uncle 
 Tommy met his eye, with his stalwart son safe 
 and sound beside him ; and in the next pew, 
 Henry Burton and his sister Mary. There was a 
 sympathetic moisture in the minister's eyes, and a 
 tremor of emotion in his voice, as he gave out the 
 hymn beginning : 
 
 *' God of my life, Whose gracious power 
 Through varied deaths my soul hath led, 
 '^r turned aside the fatal hour, 
 Or lifted up my sinking head ; " 
 
94 SKIPPER GEORGE NET MAM. 
 
 and as the joyous strains rang through the building, 
 the hearts of the people seemed to go out to God 
 in the earnestness of their songc All through the 
 prayer and the lessons the same strong feeling 
 was evident ; and when the text was read, *^ Then 
 they cry unto the Lord in their trouble, and He 
 saveth them out of their distresses," Mr. Fairbairn 
 felt at once that strange, subtle influence which 
 comes only from an audience whose attention is 
 concentrated and whose emotion is quickened by 
 intense interest in the speaker's theme. Every 
 eye was fixed upon the preacher as he proceeded, 
 and as, after dwelling upon the goodness of the 
 heavenly Father, and the readiness and mercy with 
 which He hears and answers the prayer of those in 
 trouble, applying it to the present instance, and to 
 the experience of his hearers in similar circum- 
 stances in the past, he wound up with an appeal 
 to them to let their gratitude take practical shape 
 in lives of living obedience, he felt in his heart 
 that the message had gone home. 
 
 At the evening service the place was crowded, 
 and the same intense and pent-up feeling manifest 
 from the very outset. The text was, ^' The Son 
 of man is come to seek and to save that which 
 was lost;" and the theme, always appropriate, 
 
The revival 95 
 
 but now made much more effective by the week's 
 events, kindled the hearts of both minister and 
 hearers. Never had Mr. Fairbairn felt such an 
 inspiration, never had his heart been so full of 
 the Divine love, or his lips so touched with the 
 hallowed fire of spiritual energy. It seemed to 
 him as though heart and brain and tongue were 
 being used directly by God, so strong was the 
 impulse that swayed him, so apart from himself 
 the power which gave him fulness of thought and 
 fluency of speech. With tears pouring over his 
 cheeks, his voice high-pitched in nervous eagerness, 
 his frame thrilling with the strong tide oi em.otion 
 that swept him along, he dilated upon the saving 
 love of God in Christ, and pressed the subject 
 home upon his hearers. An interise love for his 
 people possessed him, an intense longing for 
 their salvation agonised his spirit. Leaning over 
 the desk, with outstretched hands and broken 
 voice, he besought them to be reconciled to God. 
 The common-place conventionalisms of the pulpit 
 were forgotten ; gesture, voice, manner were the 
 exponents not of trained habit, but of the sudden, 
 startling, supernatural quickening of knowledge, 
 sympathy, and affection for God and souls. *' Gro- 
 tesque,'' perhaps the cold critic would stjle that 
 
96 SKIPPER GEORGE NETAIA.V, 
 
 strong emotion, those quickly changing movements, 
 that rapid, excited pleading. Grotesque, indeed, 
 as earnestness is ever, perforce, grotesque to him 
 who knows not its cause, or fails to understand 
 the reason for it. To Harry Fairbairn, leaning 
 there over the homely little pulpit, had come that 
 same Pentecostal chrism, which, issuing in the 
 intense preaching of Peter and the rest, had led 
 naturally enough to the cynic's sneer, " These 
 men are full of new wine ! " There were no 
 cynics, however, in that little company ; the 
 earnestness of the preacher was almost equalled 
 by the earnestness of his hearers ; and as he 
 warmed with his subject, a wave of spiritual 
 influence passed over the people, and they swayed 
 beneath its impulse as trees sway beneath the 
 breeze of summer. 
 
 It was, after all, but the culmination of efforts 
 made through months of prayer and strong 
 entreaty ; the providential crisis after prolonged 
 and, in some cases, poignant mental debate and 
 spiritual unrest. Prayer had been long offered, 
 it was now to be answered ; the seed had been 
 long sowing, it was now time for the joy of 
 harvest. The old men, who had been expect- 
 ing this, rejoiced as they noted the preacher's 
 
THE REVIVAL. 97 
 
 kindling eye and felt the magnetic thrill of his 
 eager pleadings. In almost every pew, the 
 awe-stricken look, the bowed head, or the un- 
 checked tear revealed the emotion of the listeners. 
 Yet all was still, as if the very breath was held, 
 in that absorbed attention with which they bent 
 forward to catch the rapidly uttered words. 
 '^Remember, beloved," cried the impassioned 
 speaker, ^'remember how we felt last week. 
 Remember our anxiety, our agony of solicitude 
 for our loved ones, lost in the storm and darkness. 
 Lost, lost, lost ! How keenly we felt it ! How 
 our imagination pictured the awfulness of their 
 situation! How we shuddered over the terrible risk 
 of their never being found ! How we rejoiced at 
 the strength and knowledge and courage and 
 determination of those who went to seek and to 
 save them ! How our hearts went out to God in 
 gratitude when they were brought back safe and 
 sound ! Did those fathers whose sons were lost 
 feel deeply? Ay, the strong men wept like 
 women, their hearts were full, their eyes o'er- 
 flovved ! And doth not God feel, think you, for 
 those in spiritual danger. His children entrapped, 
 estrayed, endangered? Ah, yes, with infinite 
 solicitude and compassionate anxiety our heavenly 
 
 7 
 
98 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAiV. 
 
 Father yearns over His lost children; and seeks to 
 save and to bring them home to Himself. Lost, 
 lost; lost ! Lost to true self, lost to true happi- 
 ness, lost to heaven, lost to God ! O the untold 
 peril of a wandering soul — lost, lost — out upon 
 the dark storm-swept seas of sin, in the night of 
 prejudice and pride and passion ; starless, black, 
 and hopeless ! No human heart can estimate the 
 peril, no human hand can rescue from it. No 
 help, no hope, no haven ! 
 
 '^ But stay. The Son of man is come to seek 
 and to save that which was lost. He is come. Do 
 you ask, as the Jews of old, ^ Who is this Son of 
 man ? * He is the incarnate God, the Substitute, 
 the Saviour — ' able to save to the uttermost all 
 those that come unto God by Him.' Able to 
 save ! Willing to save ! Come to save ! Thank 
 God, thank God. Ay, and to the uttermost ! No 
 doubt of it, for He is God. The infinite possibili- 
 ties of Godhead are in Him, the infinite merit of the 
 High and Holy One is in His /atonement. He is 
 come to save that which was lost. Beloved, were 
 our friends who went out to seek their lost ones a 
 few days ago, content with merely an effort, a 
 single effort to reach those whom they sought ? 
 You know they were not. What care'd they for 
 
THE REVIVAL, 99 
 
 trouble or toil ? They searched diligently again 
 and again. They called, if so be their voices 
 might be heard by those astray. And Christ is 
 come and is calhng. Hark ! He is here — in 
 this church — at this moment. He is come to seek 
 and to save the lost. Do ye not hear Him ? 
 Hist ! Listen to the voice that was hushed in 
 death at Calvary. He is calling His lost ones in 
 this congregation. Do ye not hear Him, I say 
 again, calling, calling now? Ah, yes, beloved, 
 you hear Him some of you ; I see it in your faces 
 I hear it in your quick-draw^n breath. Will ye 
 not listen ? Will ye not come to Him ? Will ye 
 not be saved ? Will ye not ? O will ye not ? " 
 The preacher stopped, with hands outstretched, 
 the tears coursing down his cheeks as he looked 
 out over the people. The deepest silence prevailed, 
 and an awe, as from a conviction of the unseen 
 presence of the Saviour, rested upon the congre- 
 gation. There was a pause ; then a pew-door 
 opened, and quietly, with head bowed down, Henry 
 Burton, one of the rescued men, stepped down the 
 aisle, and knelt at the communion-rail. In a 
 moment he was followed by Richard Tuffin ; and 
 then another and another went forward, until the 
 little rail was well-nigh filled. As Uncle Tommy 
 
loo SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAN, 
 
 saw his son go forward, his shout of ' Glory be to 
 God!' broke the spell which seemed to hold the 
 congregation, and instantly cries of penitence on 
 the one hand, and of the joy of fulfilled longing on 
 the other, were heard all over the church. Without 
 closing the service Mr. Fairbairn gave out the 
 hymn, '^ Come to Jesus," and invited those who 
 were anxious to be saved to come out boldly 
 and decidedly for Christ. As the pathetic words 
 of invitation rang through the church, one after 
 another came to the rail or knelt in the nearest 
 seats, and in the prayer-meeting which followed 
 the sound of weeping penitence, followed by the 
 shout and rapture of assured pardon, went up 
 from many a heart. It was a sight to move the 
 hardest. There were fathers rejoicing over their 
 sons, brothers praying with sisters, mothers 
 pointing their weeping children to the Cross. It 
 was, indeed, a Bochim — a place of weeping. The 
 state of nervous tension to which the people had 
 been brought by the strain of their recent anxiety 
 had, doubtless, much to do with this fact ; the 
 deep spiritual power leading to intense conviction 
 of sin had, just as unquestionably, more. There 
 was noise, doubtless, and apparent confusion ; 
 but it was the noise of earnestness, not' of mere 
 
THE REVIVAL, 
 
 loi 
 
 excitement. There was little to occasion comment, 
 there was nothing to condemn. Calm and self-con- 
 trolled, Mr. Fairbairn guided the earnestness and 
 emotion of the people to secure the best results. 
 He did not unduly check it ; he did not allow it 
 to degenerate into mere hysteric agony. He let 
 the Lord do His own work, and the Lord was 
 glorified and souls were saved. Years afterwards 
 it was looked back to by the people not as '* Mr. 
 Fairbairn's revival,'' but as **' the great revival,'* 
 and the human instrument was forgotten in the 
 honour of the Master Whom he had served. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 TIMES OF REFRESHING. 
 
 ' And while the spring airs trembled thrDugh the trees 
 The gracious Wind that blovveth where it lists 
 Dispersed the fallacies, the world -breathed mists ' 
 That hid unseen realities. That Breeze 
 Unveiled the mysteries of hidden sin, 
 And let the all-searching Light flash startlingly within." 
 
 " Under His Shadow:' 
 
 TH'OR many weeks the revival 
 ^ continued. All through 
 April and May the meetings 
 
 vvTre kept 
 up every 
 night, with 
 unabated 
 fervour and 
 with un- 
 failing suc- 
 cess. True, 
 it was the 
 bysy sea- 
 
 •-' Y* "^ J •^v-C4 
 
 son, and tlie men were toiling through the long 
 
Times of refreshing, 103 
 
 spring days, tarring and painting their boats, 
 mending and barking their nets and seines, and 
 getting things generally in order for the approach- 
 ing 'Wo3^age." Yet, night after night, the church 
 was filled, and the sounds of prayer and praise 
 swelled out through the open window^s across the 
 placid bight. Scarce a family in the settlement 
 but had been visited by the gracious influences, 
 in the conversion of one or more of its m.embers ; 
 scarce a heart but had felt, in some degree, the 
 mysterious moving of the subtle spiritual energy, 
 with which the very atmosphere seemed charged. 
 In some homes, indeed, there was a complete 
 change ; parents and children had all yielded, one 
 by one, to the Divine call, had passed through 
 the throes of spiritual awakening, and now 
 rejoiced together in the common salvation. In 
 others the prayers and efforts of years had at 
 length been rewarded, and godly fathers and 
 mothers looked with increased pride, and with 
 something far more exultant than pride, up"Mi 
 strapping lads and comely lasses, born anew into 
 spiritual, serious, and joyous vitality, and aflame 
 with holy zeal in every good wcrd and work. 
 
 Not only among the grown-up people, however, 
 did the revival influences s; read ; large numbers )f 
 
104 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAN. 
 
 the children of the Sabbath School were genuinely 
 converted; and manifested the sincerity of their 
 hearts, and the power of the spiritual life within 
 them, by earnest and continued efforts for the 
 salvation of their young companions and class- 
 mates. Many a night, while the elders were at 
 the church, the children gathered in prayer- 
 meetings, and even in class-meetings, by them- 
 selves, in one or other of the houses. Very 
 touching indeed it was, as you passed some 
 lowly cottage, to hear the clear treble of children's 
 voices in ^^ Jesus loves me," or '^ Come to Jesus," 
 or the plaintive pleading of some youthful prayer- 
 leader as he drew near to God ; or, peeping in, 
 to see a cluster of serious, earnest-fac^d lictle 
 ones, listening to one of their own age, as he 
 spoke of Jesus and His love. Morning, noon, 
 and night the air was vocal with the sweet 
 melodies and sweeter words of favourite hymns. 
 The men sang them as they worked in their 
 stages and about their boats, the women sang 
 them as the}'" pursued their household duties, the 
 children sang them as they passed to and from 
 the school, or gathered in play upon the beach or 
 among the hills. The very blithesomeness of the 
 springtide was intensified by the spiritual warmth 
 
TIMES OF REFRESHING. 105 
 
 that filled the little community, and the common- 
 place round of its activities and interests was 
 dignified and elevated by the Divine light that 
 lay upon them, as the bit of broken glass is 
 transfigured into more than diamond brilliancy by 
 the magic touch of a stray sunbeam. 
 
 And not alone in Caplin Bight did the holy 
 influence come down; the whole circuit, to its 
 remotest preaching place, felt the quickening 
 impulse of the wind that bloweth where it listeth, 
 and, in every settlement, hearts ''strangely 
 warmed," and lives blessedly changed, testified 
 clearly and unmistakably to the fact of birth from 
 above. Nor was this all. Who that has laboured 
 on the out-port circuits of Newfoundland has not 
 been filled with amazement at the fluency and 
 eloquence of speech, the clearness of idea, the 
 fulness of insight, and the fervour and pathos of 
 expression with which new converts, often utterly 
 illiterate, and by nature modest and shrinking, are 
 enabled to tell of their experience and to appeal 
 to their unconverted friends? Who has not 
 listened with awe as some humble pleader, 
 prostrate before God, has led the congregation in 
 prayer so simple and yet so powerful, so elevated 
 in thought and so striking in phrase, as to be 
 
to6 
 
 SKIPPER GEORGE NET MAN. 
 
 noticeable under any circumstances ; remembering 
 that the man to whom he was listening had had 
 no teacher save the Spirit of God, and had been 
 but a few days or hours before stolid, unspiritual, 
 uncouth, and unholy ? And as these glorious 
 testimonies were given, and these heaven-inspired 
 prayers offered, in the cottage meetings and 
 public gatherings all over the circuit, the minister 
 rejoiced with that exquisite and unspeakable joy 
 which none can realise save those privileged by 
 the Master to be partakers with Him in the work 
 and the reward of harvest. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 U^XLE TOMMY WEIGHS ANCHOR. 
 
 •'To die is gain."— St. Paul. 
 
 '•The end of that man is peace." -David. 
 
 S 
 
 OON after the re- 
 vival, Uncle Tommy 
 was taken seriously ill, 
 and evidently, as he 
 said himself, ^^ took for 
 death." For a 
 long time the old 
 man had been fail- 
 ing, crippled with 
 rheumatism, and 
 shattered with the 
 toil and exposure 
 of years of struggle as the bread-winner of a large 
 family. The nervous tension when his son was 
 blown off to sea, the excitement attendant upon 
 
io8 SKIPPER GEORGE NETiMAN, 
 
 his rescue, and the joy of his subsequent conversion, 
 had been too much for the enfeebled constitution 
 of the old fisherman, and rapidly, yet gently, the 
 silver cord was loosening. The quaint smile was 
 still upon his face, and the sharp look lingered in 
 the fast dimming' eye, as Mr. Fairbairn entered 
 his room one bright June morning. The sun was 
 doing its best to enter through the small casement, 
 and touched here and there the silvery locks upon 
 the pillow, and the gnarled and wrinkled hands 
 that lay folded upon the coverlet. 
 
 '* Here I be. Sir," he said cheerily, after the 
 first greetings were over, " out in the stream, all 
 ready for the voyage, thank God, and only waitin' 
 for the word to up anchor and be off. God have 
 bin very good to me. Sir. I've had a long time 
 on airth, and heaps o' blessm's. Bless His name, 
 since I seen the state I was livin* in, and give Him 
 my heart, I bin led along like a little child. An' 
 now my dear boy's begun to serve Him, my last 
 care is gone. Not but what I'd ha' bin glad to 
 live a bit longer — but then, too,T'm glad to go. 
 Seemin' to me. Sir, it's been like heaven in Caplin 
 Bight these last few weeks ! " 
 
 'Mt has indeed, Uncle Tommy," said the 
 minister. 
 
UNCLE TOMMY WEIGHS ANCHOR. 109 
 
 " It have, Sir, it have. Seemin' to me I won't 
 be able to feel more joy or peace hardly up yonder. 
 Sure I forgot, though ; Til see Jesus. That'll be 
 different. That'll be more joy. Praise His name. 
 I shall know Him by the prents o' the wounds in 
 His hands. * We shall see Him as He is,' the 
 'postle says — that manes wounds and all, I s'pose. 
 An' I'll see my Uttle girls that died when they 
 were babies, over forty j^ear ago— two of 'em. 
 Will they be babies still, do 'ee think, Sir, or 
 growed out o' my knowledge ? " 
 
 '' I'm sure we'll know our loved ones in heaven, 
 Uncle Tommy, though we cannot tell how they 
 may have altered." 
 
 '* Yes, Sir, I believe it. Since I bin lyin* here, 
 I bin thinkin', thinkin', turnin' over in my mind 
 th' past o' my life. 'Tis wonderful, too, to think 
 how, after seventy-three years o' knockin' about, 
 afloat and ashore, hard put, often, an' wi' terrible 
 narry 'scapes many times, here I be dyin' so quiet 
 an' comfortable like. I told 'ee once how I was 
 brought to God, Sir ; I didn't tell 'ee, did I, of the 
 time I was carried overboard wi' an anch* ^r ? 
 No, I thought not. 'Twas near fifty year ago. I 
 was shipped wi' a man called Clarke, in a small 
 schooner. We'd bin to Twillingate for salt, 1 
 
no SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAN. 
 
 mind, an' we was comin* home. It was blowin' 
 heavy, an* we couldn't make the run, and had to 
 go into a bight, a few miles down the shore, for 
 the night. In beatin' in we mis-stayed in a 
 terrible ugly spot, an' to keep her from goin' 
 ashore the skipper shouted to let go the anchor. 
 Somehow it fouled, and wouldn't start, and I got 
 leanin' over the rail to try an' clear it, when, all of 
 a sudden, it slipped round, the fluke hitched in 
 my sleeve, and I was jerked overboard, and went 
 down to bottom with it. By God's mercy, when 
 it struck the bottom, the fluke was unhitched from 
 my sleeve, and I rose to the top again, an' 
 climbed on board ; but it was an awful moment 
 for me when I felt myself pulled down to bottom 
 foul of an anchor, an' I'll never forget the look on 
 the skipper's face when I got on board, or the 
 words he said to me. ' Tuflin,' he says, ' there's 
 no man livin' has had a narrier 'scape than you. 
 If you sin agin' God after this, you're an ongrateful 
 chap. 'Tis a warnin', lad, 'tis a warnin'.' Poor 
 old skipper Joe Clarke put me in mind o' that 
 many a time arterward ; but I carried on much 
 the same as afore fur a long time. Thank the 
 Lord, I did turn to en afore it wuz too late, and 
 He sove me. He didn't cast me away. He sove 
 
UNCLE TOMMY IVEIGHS ANCHOR, 
 
 III 
 
 me. Will 'ee sing a verse o^ ' H.^ppy Day/ Sir, 
 if 'ee please ? " 
 
 The minister at once started the famih'ar words, 
 the weak, quavering voice of trie old man joining 
 in fervently. As the singing proceeded, Uncle 
 Tommy's voice grew louder and louder, and his 
 whole frame seemed to dilate with the conscious- 
 ness of his acceptance with God. His countenance 
 lost the haggard look of illness, and his eye was 
 lit up as with inward fire. Raising himself 
 suddenly to a sitting position, he clapped his 
 hands together, as the chorus of the last verse 
 was finished, and lifting his face to heaven, he 
 began ecstatically to praise and glorify God for 
 His goodness towards him, 
 
 '' I can rej'ice in Him, I can rej'ice in His sal- 
 vation," he cried. ^^ I feel Him with me, He fills 
 me with His love. Glory be to His holy name 
 for ever ! Glory, glory, glory ! " 
 
 Judging the excitement to be too great for the 
 old saint's exhausted frame, Mr. Fairbairn took up 
 the Bible, lying beside the bed, and began to read 
 the one hundred and third Psalm. As the quiet 
 tones of his voice, reading :he beautiful and 
 familiar words, fell upon the old man's ear, he lay 
 back upon his pillow, and, turning his radiant 
 
112 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAN, 
 
 face towards the minister, repeated the psalm, 
 verse by verse, after him. 
 
 "Thank you^ Sir/' he said, as the reading 
 dosed ; '* now pray with me." 
 
 Kneeling by the bedside, Mr. Fairbairn gave 
 thanks to God for His goodness to His aged 
 servant, and asked for grace and strength for him 
 in his hours of weakness and approaching death. 
 The old man responded feebly yet fervently all 
 through, and as the prayer ended, he lay with 
 closed eyes and parted lips, as though exhausted, 
 just opening his eyes with a look of affection and 
 gratitude as the minister bade him good-bye and 
 promised to call again in the evening. 
 
 *' What do you think of father, Sir ? " said his 
 son Richard, as he shook hands with the minister 
 on leaving the house. 
 
 '^ Well, Richard," was the reply, " I don't think 
 he can last much longer. He seems to have 
 given way all at once. I should not be surprised 
 if he goes in a day or two." 
 
 " That's just my thinking, Sir," said the 3^oung 
 man. '' He's been so happy this last week, 
 prayin' and singin' and exhortin' everybody that 
 comes to see him, that I don't think he can stand 
 it much longer, for he's failin' very fast, as you say." 
 
UNCLE TOMMY WEIGHS ANCHOR, 113 
 
 " Well, Richard, I believe the dear old man will 
 soon be with Jesus. He was talking to me so 
 triumphantly of seeing his Saviour just now. He 
 will soon see Him face to face, and be with Him 
 for ever. Let me know if there's any change. 
 Good morning." 
 
 '' Good morning. Sir. I will indeed, and thank ' 
 you too." 
 
 Towards the close of the day a messenger 
 came for the minister. Old Mr. Tuffin had had a 
 change for the worse, and Richard would be glad 
 if Mr. Fairbairn would come down ; such was the 
 substance of the message. In a few minutes the 
 minister was in the sick room. A wonderful 
 change had taken place in the brief interval. It 
 seemed no longer the old familiar, friendly face, 
 full of good nature and quaint fun, that lay there 
 on the pillow, but a refined and sublime coun- 
 tenance, purified from earthliness of contour or 
 expression, and glowing with a radiance that 
 awed you as you gazed. The old man was 
 unconscious, and the watchers told the minister 
 that he had been wandering in his thoughts and 
 speech all the afternoon. The sun was setting in 
 glorious purple and golden clouds, and the room 
 was flooded with its light. Quietly, the circle 
 
 8 
 
ti4 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAN. 
 
 around the bed watched the calm face that was 
 already growing grey in death. Startlingly and 
 with wonderful clearness came the sudden words, 
 " Heave up the anchor, boys ; weVe all ready ; " 
 and then, '^ Starboard there, boy, steady ; now 
 we're off.'' The watchers looked at one another, 
 and whispered, '' He's wandering again ; '^ and 
 Mr. Fairbairn, seeing the face altering rapidly, 
 said, ^' Beloved, let us commend our dear friend 
 to God." Kneeling down amid many a sob, the 
 minister prayed for an abundant entrance for the 
 soul about to enter the haven of eternal rest, and 
 as he prayed the change came. One glance 
 around, one quiver of the lip, one soft, child-like 
 breath, and then the stillness of a death-chamber. 
 Uncle Tommy had weighed anchor, and sailed 
 away beyond the sunset. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 SKIPPER GEORGE HOLDS SERVICE ABOARD. 
 
 " All the storms will soon be over, 
 Soon we'll anchor in the harbour ; 
 We are out on an ocean sailing, 
 To our home beyond the tide." 
 
 '' Home Beyond:' 
 
 *' Where there's no more ' Topsail haul/ 
 And there's no more ' Hard-a-lee.' " 
 
 Sea Song, 
 
 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAN'S schooner, 
 the Foam-Crest^ or, as the fishermen gene- 
 rally called her, the Cres\ lay at anchor one bright 
 September Sunday morning in the harbour at 
 
ii6 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAN, 
 
 Grady, Labrador. It had been, as the fishermen 
 say, " a middlin^ good v'yage " that summer, and 
 the schooner was well filled with fish, and bound 
 home. The hard work of the Labrador fishery, 
 with its days of unceasing toil, and its nights of 
 broken rest, was over for another season, and as 
 the men leaned over the bulwarks they chatted 
 freely and rejoicingly at the prospect of being 
 home ''afore next Sunday." 
 
 At Labrador the winter sets in very early, and 
 already there was snow on the high lands in the 
 neighbourhood, and a slight coating of '' sish " or 
 ice-scum on the harbour, which the bright sun 
 had not yet quite dissipated. Several schooners, 
 bound home like the Cres\ were at anchor at 
 short distances from her, and through the sharp, 
 still morning air there came, ever and anon, the 
 murmur of conversation or the sound of whistling 
 or of singing. 
 
 '' 'Most time for prayers, hain't it ? " said one of 
 the men, 
 
 ''Yes, 'tis," said another. "You'll have the 
 skipper on deck d'rectly, singin' out to h'ist the 
 flag." 
 
 " Wonder if any o' them schooners is goin' to 
 have pr'yers aboard," said the first speaker. 
 
SKIPPER GEORGE HOLDS SERVICE ABOARD, 117 
 
 " Don't know any of 'em," was the response ; 
 "I bin tryin' to see if I could make out where 
 they belongs to. They're all strangers; though 
 seemin' to me I've seen that far-off one there, 
 painted green with a white stripe, somewhere 
 about Twillingate." 
 
 '•' So 've I," said another ; " if I bain't mistaken, 
 that's Skipper Jimmy Youngs's craft, from the 
 Back Harbour o' Twillingate, and he's a great 
 man for pr'yers, same as our own. Ah, here's 
 the skipper comin' on deck. We'll have the 
 word now, I s'pose." 
 
 ''Good morning, boys," said Mr. Netman. 
 *' I'm glad we've got a fine Sunday. Tom, run 
 up the flag there, and let's show our colours. Do 
 you know any o' those schooners, boys ? " 
 
 " We was just sayin'. Sir, that they seem to be 
 strangers mostly, though Jack thinks that green 
 one with the white stripe is a Twillingate craft." 
 
 '' Which one ? O, yes ; Jack is right, that is 
 James You^^f^s's new schooner. A couple of you 
 take the punt, and row off, will you, and tell him 
 that I'd be glad if he'd come over, and we'll have 
 service on our schooner. You might go round 
 and tell the men on the other craft, too. There's 
 plenty o' time." 
 
Ii8 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAN, 
 
 In a few minutes the punt was off on her 
 mission, and the flag floating at the main-truck 
 announced to all who saw it the proposed gather- 
 ing for worship. It was a large white flag, with 
 the word Bethel in red letters upon it — a present 
 from Mrs. Fairbairn to Skipper George, and 
 highly prized by both him and his crew ; and on 
 every Sabbath during the summer it had spoken 
 out silently yet clearly the principles and practices 
 on board the Cres\ and invited all who saw it 
 to come aboard for worship. 
 
 Once, indeed, the Labrador voyage was a 
 constant scene of Sabbath-breaking and sin, and 
 men acted almost universally as if there w^ere 
 no God, and no obligations north of the Straits 
 of Belle Isle ; but, for many years, that has been 
 greatly changed, and to-day, thanks mainly to the 
 faithfulness of Methodist preachers, and the 
 leavening of the people with Methodist doctrine, 
 there are few harbours on all the Labrador coast 
 in which you will not find, as the Sabbath-day 
 comes round, one or more schooners flying the 
 Bethel flag, and many earnest men, able and 
 willing to '* hold service,'^ and gather their com- 
 rades and neighbours together for prayer. 
 
 In a half-hour or so after the hoisting of the 
 
SKIPPER GEORGE HOLDS SERVICE ABOARD. 119 
 
 flag, quite a goodly congregation, each schooner 
 in the harbour furnishing its quota, had assembled 
 on board the Cr€s\ and the somewhat small cabin 
 was crowded to excess. It was an interesting 
 sight, too — that company of strong, hardy men 
 in their rough garb, clean and tidy as they could 
 make themselves, and bronzed and roughened 
 from exposure to sun and storm. 
 
 There was a certain amount of fun and mischief 
 half-repressed in the eyes of some of the younger 
 men and lads, proceeding, however, rather from 
 the exultation of relief from work than from 
 irreverence or levity ; but the older men sat there 
 with a serene seriousness upon their faces that 
 betokened an intense interest in and enjoyment of 
 the exercises of the hour ; and a quiet solemnity 
 rested upon all the faces as Skipper George gave 
 out the first hymn : 
 
 " O for a thousand tongues to sing 
 My great Redeemer's praise ! " 
 
 How they sang it— to be sure! The tune was 
 some old-fashioned one, full of grace-notes and 
 repeats, that had filtered down through years of 
 congregational singing, gaining in queerness by 
 the filtering, until it now contained notes and 
 
120 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAJV, 
 
 repeats that would have astounded the original 
 composer ; but there was a swing in its chorus- 
 like repetitions that made it a great favourite with 
 the hearty singers, and it rolled and swelled and 
 reverberated around the cabin and up through 
 the companion-way — a volume of rough but 
 soul-stirring melody. 
 
 After the singing came an earnest prayer, 
 emphasised by loud amens and expressions of 
 assent from the listeners, and then Skipper 
 George opened the Bible and read the seventeenth 
 chapter of St. John^s Gospel. As he came to the 
 words, " / pray for thcmf' he stopped suddenly, 
 and resting the Bible on the table before him, 
 he said : '* Friends, I'm thinkin' of something 
 that happened four years ago this very fall. We 
 were comin* from St. John's to Caplin Bight in 
 Green Bay, with our winter's provisions, in the 
 month of November, just the first week in November 
 it was. The sky looked ugly when we left, but we 
 were anxious to get home ; so we started with a 
 light, southerly wind, about one o'clock in the 
 day, and before night we got a good piece on our 
 way. Just before nightfall the wind came more 
 eastern, and it set in a nasty drizzle, but I 
 thought we'd get to Seldom-Come-By before the 
 
SKIPPER GEORGE HOLDS SERVICE ABOARD. 121 
 
 weather set in ; for I could see very well that we 
 were in for a breeze from the north-east, and 
 some real dirty weather. So we pressed on as 
 well as we could with the scant wind, ail through 
 the night. Towards morning I saw 'twas getting 
 thick o' fog, and the wind was getting more 
 ahead, an* the sea rising very fast. 
 
 *' Hows'ever, I knew I'd set my course all right, 
 and that we hadn't run far enough yet to be in any 
 danger from the land ; so we kept on, just dodging 
 along nearly head to wind. Well, so the day 
 passed, wind and sea both rising, and fog as thick 
 as I ever saw it. Night was coming on again, 
 and I knew we must be in a ticklish place, but all 
 we could do was to keep her head to it, and make 
 all as snug as possible; so I had everything 
 settled away nicely, and prepared for a bad night. 
 My wife and a couple of other women were in the 
 cabin, and I battened down the hatch and fastened 
 everything up securely. The sea was running 
 very high, making a clean breach over her from 
 stem to stern sometimes, and the wind was so 
 high that we were reefed down pretty close, I tell 
 you ; just enough canvas on to give her steerage- 
 way. I stationed the men on the bows and amid- 
 ships, to keep as good a look-out as they could, 
 
122 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAN. 
 
 and to listen for the ' rote ' of the breakers^ for I felt 
 sure we must be drifting near dangerous ground ; 
 and I took the helm myself. 
 
 ^^ That was an awful night. Hardly one of us 
 stirred for hours, myself at the w^heel, and the 
 men with their eyes fixed on the darkness, and 
 their ears strained to catch the ' rote.' The noise 
 of the wind and sea was deafening, and we were 
 drenched and blinded by the seas that constantly 
 swept over us. Well, to come to my point. As 
 I stood there at the wheel all through the night, I 
 could hear my wife and some of the other women 
 in the cabin below us, praying that God, in His 
 mercy, would deliver us from our danger. Hour 
 after hour they prayed, O, such prayers ! and I 
 listened as I stood at the wheel, and the strength 
 of those prayers seemed to come into my hands 
 and my heart. Then sometimes they'd sing : 
 
 ** * Through waves, and clouds, and storms, 
 He gently clears thy way ; ' 
 
 or, 
 
 " ' Steady, O pilot, stand firm at the wheel ! 
 Steady, we soon shall outweather the gale ; * 
 
 or some other encouraging hymn that sent life 
 into me, as I stood there, almost numb with the 
 cold, and expecting every minute to hear the cry 
 
SKIPPER GEORGE HOLDS SERVICE ABOARD, 123 
 
 of ' Breakers ! ' and, perhaps, be dashed to pieces 
 in an hour. How I thanked God for those prayers, 
 and how, by-and-by, the faith of those women 
 seemed to kindle my own, and to make me feel 
 that all would be right ! And then this very verse 
 came into my mind, ' I pray for them/ and I 
 thought of Jesus with His disciples in the storm 
 on the Sea of GaHlee, and how easy it w^as for 
 Him to bring us safe through. ' I pray for them ; ' 
 — it came to me with such comfort. I, His child, 
 in danger, and He, knowing it, and praying for 
 me. And I gripped the wheel all the tighter as 1 
 thought of it, and thanked my God for the assur- 
 ance of His love and care. 
 
 '' Well, towards morning the wind veered a little 
 and dropped, and the fog cleared up somewhat ; 
 and by daylight it was blowing just a light breeze 
 from about west-nor'-west, and quite clear, so 
 that we could see where we were. There was the 
 land on the port bow, about a quarter of a mile 
 off, and one long Hne of foaming breakers for 
 miles; and we must have drifted in the night 
 along the very w^orst part of the Straight Shore, 
 and I needn't tell you, friends, what that place is 
 like in a gale of wind and heavy sea. We must 
 have drifted close along by the rocks on that 
 
124 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAM. 
 
 awful lee shore ; and how we scraped along, as I 
 may say, without touching them is more than I 
 can tell. I believe there wasn't a minute that 
 night, hardly, but we were in instant danger; but 
 out of it all the good hand of God brought us, and 
 I never read the verse since, or think of it, without 
 that scene coming up to me. 
 
 *' Dear friends, w^e need the prayer of Jesus, in 
 the struggle of life, always, and, thank God, we 
 have it. ' I pray for them,' He says ; and if we 
 are His, that prayer goes to God morning, noon, 
 and night, for our well-being, our guidance, and 
 our deliverance, in storm or calm, on sea or land. 
 We're homeward bound to-day — to our earthly 
 homes — and we've yet many a mile of sea to get to 
 them, and many a rock and ugly bit of coast to 
 keep clear of; but, ' I pray for them,' He says, 
 and if we trust Him it will all be right, never fear. 
 An' some of us are homeward bound for heaven, 
 thank God ; and, though 'tis often ' hard toihng 
 to make the blest shore,' as the hymn says, yet 
 we shall cast anchor there some day, never fear, 
 if we are faithful, for He's praying for us, and the 
 Father hears Him always. 
 
 " Yes, friends, we are all bound home for 
 Newfoundland, but are we all Jbound home to 
 
SKlPPEk GEORGE HOLDS SERVICE ABOARD, 125 
 
 heaven ? Praps not. PVaps there are some of 
 us that hope to get there without Jesus. Well, 
 friends, we won't. We won't. We'll drive on 
 the lee shores of sin and be lost, unless we have 
 Christ as our Saviour. * I pray for them ; ' why, 
 there isn't a man in this cabin that Jesus isn't 
 praying for — not one. If we're His, He is 
 praying that we may be kept from the evil one ; 
 and if we are not His, He is praying, ' Spare him 
 yet another year/ He's prayed that for some of 
 us perhaps a good many years, and we've been 
 kept along kept along, from year to year, just by 
 the prayer of our loving, long-suffering Saviour. 
 What is it to be, friends, — the harbour or the lee 
 shore ? Shall we work along with Jesus and let 
 Him help us, or shall we baffle Him and all His 
 love and longing and power to save us ? 'Tis for 
 us to settle; 'tis for us to settle. May we all 
 settle it to-day." 
 
 A deep seriousness rested upon the faces of the 
 little company during the Skipper's short address, 
 and the stillness showed how close was the ^ 
 attention with which he was heard. The half- 
 dozen prayers which followed were intensely 
 earnest, and full of spiritual energy and touching 
 though homely pathos ; and when the meeting 
 
126 SKIPPER GEORGE NETMAN, 
 
 was over, and the men were moving off in their 
 punts to their respective vessels, it was evident, 
 from the absence of the usual chatter and banter, 
 and the almost universal silence which prevailed, 
 how deep were the impressions that had been 
 made, and how solemn the feelings which the 
 service had evoked. 
 
 ''Well, Skipper Netman," said one old man, as 
 he was leaving the Cres\ '' I can only love and 
 t*ank 'ee for the word you give us this marnin'. 
 It did my old heart good. I bin beatin' about a 
 good many year, but I'm bound home, t'ank God, 
 and I know Jesus is prayin' and lookin' out for 
 me yonder. I w^on't be able to git over to prayer 
 meetin' to-night, so FU bid 'ee ' Good-bye,' and if 
 we never meet here agen, I hope we'll anchor 
 together in the harbour above." 
 
 Kind reader mine, we, too, part here. These 
 ''short and simple annals of the poor" must now 
 come to a close. Possibly we may meet again ; 
 just as possibly we may not. In any case, I 
 must now say " Good-bye," and, in the parting 
 words of the old fisherman, " I hope we'll anchor 
 together in the harbour above." 
 
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CHAS. II, KELLY'S PUBLICATIONS. 15 
 
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 22 Pilffrim's Progress. By John Bunyan. 
 
 23 Far from the Clamorous World. By Jno, 
 
 Hingeley. 
 
 24 Those Watchful Eyes. By EmUie 8mrch field. 
 
20 A SELECTION FROM 
 
 NEW SERIES OF POPULAR 
 BIOGRAPHIES. 
 
 lUiutrabed, Or, 8vo, cloth, gilt lettered. 
 One Shilling each. 
 
 1 John Wyclif : Translator of the Bible, and 
 
 Reformer. By B. Corlett Gowell, 
 
 2 From Cobbler's Bench to President's Chair : 
 
 The Story of Samuel Bradbum. By Rev. 
 Benjamin Gregory, D,D. 
 
 3 Poacher ttimed Preacher : The Story of John 
 
 Preston of Yeadon, a remarkable Local 
 Preacher. By Rev. B. Gregory, D.D. 
 
 4 Susanna Wesley and other Eminent Methodist 
 
 Women. By A. E. Keeling. With Portraits. 
 
 5 Bernard Gilpin, the Apostle of the North. 
 
 By Rev. H. Bunting. 
 
 6 Friends of the Slave. GranviUe Sharp, Thomas 
 
 Clarkson, Wilberforce, Bnxton, and others. 
 By Rev. G. Maunder. 
 
 7 Friends of the Prisoner. John Howard, 
 
 Elizabeth Fry, Sarah Martin, and others. 
 By Rev. G. Maunder. 
 
 8 Joseph Garibaldi, Patriot and Soldier. By 
 
 R. Corlett Cowell. 
 
 9 Count Zinzendorf: a Pioneer of Social 
 
 Christianity. 
 10 The Scottish Covenanters. By Rev. Thoa. J, 
 Macartney. 
 
CHAS. H. KELLY'S PUBLICATIONS. 21 
 
 THE IDEAL* LIBRARY 
 FOR BOYS. 
 
 In large Cr. 8vo, cloth, gilt lettered, 
 
 One Shilling each. 
 
 1 The Four Friends. By W. W. Poeock, B A 
 ''^'^ J J^*®^*o^'« Mieritance. By E. Search- 
 
 3 James DaryU. By Ruth Elliott. 
 
 4 The Hand on the Helm. By P. A TroUer 
 
 5 John Marriott's Idol : or, The Scarlet Geranium. 
 Tie ^ngs Messenger: a Story of Canadian 
 
 Life. By Dr. Withrow. 
 
 7 John Rowan's Trust. By E. M. Edwards. 
 
 8 Lion the Mastiff. By A. G. Savigny. 
 
 a Ihe New Headmaster : or Little Speedwell's 
 Victory. By M. Hayeraft. 
 
 10 Raymond Theed. By Ehie Kendall. 
 
 11 Soldiers of Liberty : a Story of the Siege of 
 
 Leyden. By E. P. Weaver. ^ 
 
 12 Ste : or, the Lad of Lovelyn. By ' Old Comiah. ' 
 i.6 Sprattie and the Dwarf : a Story of East 
 
 London. By Nellie Cornwall. 
 
 14 Castle Mailing. By A. E. Keeling. 
 
 15 CecU Wilford : a Soldier's Son. By E. M 
 
 Edwards. " 
 
 16 Courtenay Harrison's Early Struggles. By M. 
 
 ti. vrowther. 
 
 17 Elbert's Return. By Dr. Wise. 
 
 18 'Gainst Friend and Foe. By Alan a Dale. 
 
 ^"'b^?,'** ^^ '^'^- ^ Sark Story. 
 By B. Galhenne R(Mn. 
 
22 A SELECTION FROM 
 
 LARGE TYPE SERIES FOR 
 YOUNG CHILDREN. 
 
 Crown 4to, cloth, irik lettered, numerous Illustrations, 
 ^ One Shilling eacii. 
 
 1 In Distant Lands. By W, J. Forster, 
 
 2 Our Blest Redeemer: The Story of the Life 
 
 of Christ. Told for Children. By Kate 
 T, Sizer, 
 
 3 Pictures and Stories from the Old Testament. 
 
 By Kate T, Sizer. 
 
 4 New Fables for Boys and Girls. By W, J. 
 
 Forster. 
 
 5 Some Famous Britons. By W, J, Forster. 
 
 6 Florrie's Strange Guest. By Harry Norton. 
 
 7 Some English Rivers. By W. J. Forster, 
 
 8 There and Baek. By W. J. Forster. 
 
 9 Those Three. By May Lewis Smith. 
 
 10 Those Tiresome Pigs. By Harry Norton. 
 
 11 Romance and Heroism of Early Methodism. 
 
 By J. A. Clappertony M.A. 
 
 THE •SPEEDWELL* LIBRARY 
 OF BOYS* BOOKS. 
 
 Cr. 8v0f cloth, gilt lettered, about 192 pages, 
 One Shilling each. 
 
 1 Tim's Friend. By Annie E. Barton. 
 
 2 Ludwig's Treasure. By Kate T. Sizer. 
 
 3 Uncle Ray's Choice. By Jennie Chappell. 
 
 4 The Boys of Northcote. By^ H. R. Baldioin. 
 
 5 Mark Harvey, the Engine Driver. By W. J ago. 
 
CUAS. H. KELLTS PUBLICATIONS, 23 
 
 THE SPEEDWELL' LIBRARY 
 OF GIRLS' BOOKS. 
 
 Or. 8vo, cloth, gilt lettered, about 192 parjes, 
 
 One Shilling each. 
 
 1 A-Fa : Tlie Story of a Slave Girl in China. 
 
 2 Dolly and Syb. By E. M. Bryant. 
 
 3 Lisbeth's Choice. By Mrs. Hay era ft 
 
 4 Open Flowers. By Margaret Hay era ft 
 
 5 Miss Dornwell's Domestic. By S. Moorland. 
 
 7 M • i""!"; ' F.^^^g^if : ^ Tale of Majnba Hill. 
 ' 7 Muriel, the Sister Mother. By Dorothy Hoot on. 
 
 UNCLE FRANK'S LIBRARY 
 
 FOR BOYS. 
 
 In Small Cr. 8vo, cloth, ink lettered, 
 
 Ninepence each. 
 
 1 Kcnooshao : a Red Indian Tragedy. By Rev. 
 
 G. Baimley. 
 
 2 King Alfred's Last Christmas. By F. S. 
 
 Hut lings. 
 
 3 Knight's Move. By W. J. Forster. 
 
 4 Land of the Ganges : Life in Northern Lidia. 
 
 By J. Marrat. 
 
 5 Left to Take Care of Themselves. By A, 
 
 Rylands. 
 () Mattie and Bessie. By A.E. Courtenay. 
 
 7 Michael the Tailor. By M. Gallienne. 
 
 8 Narrow Escape. By W. J. Forster. 
 One Too Many. By E. M. Edtcards. 
 
 10 Rooksnest Abbey. By Jennie Chappcll. 
 
 11 Sinclair's Museum. By W. J. For.Hirr. 
 
 .12 Skipper George Netmau : a story of New- 
 foundland. Ih/ G. J, Bond 
 
 13 Tom Fletcher's- Fortunes. By Mrs. //. B. ||| 
 Paidl. ^H 
 
24 A SELECTION FROM 
 
 Uncle Frank's Library for Boys— 
 
 continued. 
 
 1 4 When His Years were Few. By Edit It Corn forth, 
 
 15 With Sw6rd and Shield. By W, J. Fors'ter. 
 ]G The Young Bankrupt. By J. Colicelt. 
 
 17 Under the Juniper Tree. By W, J . Forster. 
 
 18 Tom O'Jack's Tad. By Unde Jacob. 
 
 AUNT DOROTHY'S LIBRARY 
 
 FOR GIRLS, 
 
 In Sm dl Cr. 8vo^ cloth, ink lettered, 
 
 Ninepence each. 
 
 1 The Basket of Flowers. By C. Von Schmid. 
 
 2 Brookside School. By Margaret II ay craft. 
 
 3 Elizabeth Gaunt. A Tale of Monmouth's 
 
 Rebellion. By F, S. llollings. 
 
 4 Foundation Scholar. By Jennie Perrett. 
 
 5 Heartsease and Morning Glories. By Jennie 
 
 Ghappell. 
 
 6 High Ridge Farm. By S. Moorlarid. 
 
 7 Miss Grahame's Memorial. 
 
 8 Nell, the Clown's Wife. By E. Gradidge. ' 
 
 9 Pictures and Stories about the Early Christians, 
 
 By Annie F. P errant. 
 
 10 Sara's Choice ; or, No Vain Sacrifice. By 
 
 Annie F. Per ram. 
 
 11 Scenes from the Wonderful Ijife. By W. J. 
 
 Forster. 
 
 12 Sketches of Early Methodism in the Black 
 
 Country. 
 }:\ Within Thy Gates : Bible Talks with Chiklren. 
 
 By W. J. Forster. 
 14 Thorns and Flowers. By A. Rylands. 
 
CHAS. B. KELLY'S PUBLICATIONS 25 
 THE 'IMPERIAL' SERIES. 
 
 In Imperial 16mo, ornamental doth, with ' 
 
 Ulvstrationa, 
 Elghtpence each. 
 
 1 Alphabet's Quarrel, and other Stories. Bv W 
 
 J . torster. " 
 
 2 Capitals of Europe. By W. J. Forater. 
 
 CJaught m the Snow, and other Stories. By 
 W. J. Forater. " 
 
 4 Charley's Year at the Farm. By W. J. Forster. 
 
 5 ^Tly Joe, and other Stories. By W. J. Forster. 
 b Herbert s Prize, and other Stories. Bv W J 
 
 Forster. a • • 
 
 7 Hermit for a Day. and other Stories. By W J 
 
 torster. ' ' 
 
 8 Man in the Moon, and other Stories. ByW J 
 
 Forater. ' .' 
 
 9 Stolen Keys, and other Stories. By W J 
 
 Forater. 
 
 10 Street Lainp's Story, and other Stories. By 
 
 W. J. Forater. * 
 
 11 Two Dragons, and other Stories. Bu W J 
 
 Forater. 
 
 •WONDERFUL LAMP' SERIES 
 
 FOR GIRLS. 
 
 In Small Cr. 8vo, doth, ink lettered, 
 
 Sixpence each. 
 
 1 The Wonderful Lamp. By Ruth Elliott. 
 
 2 The Chat in the Meadow. By Lillie Montfort, 
 
 3 Dots and Gwinnie. 
 
26 A SELECTION FROM 
 
 'Wonderful Lamp* Series for 
 
 Girls — eantd. 
 
 4 Mary Ashton. 
 
 5 Minnie Neilson's Summer Holidays. 
 
 6 Mona BeU. 
 
 7 Rosa's Oliristmas Invitations. By lAllie 
 
 Montfort. 
 
 8 The Message of tlie Flowers. By Mrs. W, O. 
 
 Mathews, 
 
 9 Noll's Wonderings : Peeps into Astronomy 
 
 and Geology. By K. T. Sizer, 
 
 10 A Posy of Pinks. 
 
 11 Trixie, Jack, and Baby BeUe. 
 
 12 Laura Merton and Her Friends. 
 
 13 Letty Lacey. 
 
 14 Little Miss Crosspatch. 
 
 15 Little Spangles ; or Trust in God. 
 
 16 Mayflower Pilgrims. By K, T. Sizer, 
 
 17 Eva's Mission. By A, F. Perram. 
 
 18 FaitMul Rigmor and Her Grandmother. By 
 
 Nellie Cornwall, 
 
 19 Fanny Lawson. 
 
 20 Golden Jerusalem. By Jennie Perrett, 
 
 21 How Katie Kept House. By A. F. Perram. 
 
 22 Captives by the Nile : A Story of the Hebrew 
 
 Exodus. 
 
 23 Burden Bearers and Travelling by Land and 
 
 Water. 
 
 24 Cecily Mordaunt. 
 
 25 Celestine and Sallie. 
 
 26 The Chiklren of Kinlochber\ae. By A. F, 
 
 Perram. 
 
 27 Christine's Sacrifice. By K. T. Sizer. 
 
CHAS, H. KELLTS PUBLICATIONS. 27 
 
 'Wonderful Lamp* Series for 
 
 Girls — eontd, 
 
 28 Daddy Longlegs and His White Heath Flower. 
 
 By N elite Cornwall, 
 
 29 Deborah's Trials and Triumphs. By E 
 
 Searchfield, 
 
 30 The Haimted Life. By Rev, J, Hatgh, 
 
 ^ ^® Eventide : A Tale of Home and the 
 World. 
 
 32 Joyce MaxweU^s Mistakes : A Story of the 
 
 00 mr. ^f/^o^ Field. By Lena Tyack. 
 
 oo ine Adventures of Peggy. 
 
 34 Ephraim Wragge's Recollections. 
 
 oa Sf ^ People Dress at Home and Abroad. 
 
 ^D The Story of Lydia Muttulakshmi. 
 
 •WONDERFUL LAMP* SERIES 
 
 FOR BOYS. 
 
 In Small Cr, 8vo, cloth, ink leUered, 
 
 Sixpence each. 
 
 1 After Many Days. 
 
 2 John's Teachers. By IMlie MontfoH, 
 
 3 Johnnie's Work : and How He Did It. 
 
 4 Ragged Jim's Last Song : and other BaUads. 
 
 bhort Sermons for Little People. By T, 
 Champneas. 
 
 6 Story of an Apprenticeship. 
 
 7 The Wreck of the * Maria' Mail Boat, 
 
 8 Northward Ho ! By K, T. Sizer, 
 
 9 The Peace Boy. By E. M. Bryant. 
 
 10 Ronald's Self Denial. By W. J. Forster. 
 U bir John Franklin: 
 
 12 The Story of Our English Bible. By U. A. 
 
 Scott. 
 
 13 Three Friends and Some Little People. 
 
28 A SELECTION FROM 
 
 •Wonderful Lamp' Series for 
 
 Boys — contd, 
 
 14 Little Phil's Christmas Gifts. 
 
 15 The Man in Armour. 
 
 16 Emico's School Days. By K. T. Sizer 
 
 17 For Basil's Sake. 
 
 18 Bernard Palissy, the Huguenot Potter. By A. 
 
 E, Keeling. 
 
 19 David Field and Harry GiU. 
 
 20 Soon and Safe. 
 
 21 That HaK-Crown : Whose Was Tt ? 
 
 22 Ancass, the Slave Preacher. 
 
 23 Hugh's Ancestors ; or, English Boys and Girls 
 
 in Far-off Times. By K, T, Sizer. 
 
 24 Two Little Wanderers. By R. F. Hardy. 
 
 25 Pictures of Early Methodists. By S. Ellen 
 
 Gregory. 
 
 26 Little Jim : a Young Christian Hero. 
 
 27 How Book are Made. By T. G. Heath. 
 
 28 Fire and Water, etc. By T. 0. Heath. 
 
 29 Old Sefanaia; the Fijian Herald. 
 
 30 Village Chimes. 
 
 •WON OVER* SERIES. 
 
 Foolscap 8vo, cloth hoards. 
 
 Sixpence each. 
 
 1 Afterward. By E. Searchfield. 
 
 2 Becky and Ruble, the Little Street Singers. 
 
 By M. E. Gouldhig. 
 
 3 Davy's Friend, and other Stories. By Jennie 
 
 Ferrett. 
 
 4 Gilbert Guestling ; or, the Story of a Hymn Book 
 
 5 Guy Sylvester's Golden Year. 
 
 6 The Little Disciple. The Story of His Life 
 
 for Young Children. 
 
 7 Poppy's Life Service. By E. Searchfield. 
 
 8 Won Over. By Miss Hellis. 
 
OH AS. E. KELLY'S PUBLICATIONS. 29 
 '^^^/,^^^^^ ^'^E* SERIES. 
 
 Uoyal 16mo, illiUrated, doth, ink lettered. 
 
 Sixpence each. 
 
 1 Andent Egypt : its Monuments. Worship and 
 
 /'eople. % Rev. E. Lightwood. 
 
 2 Babes in the Basket : or, Daph and her Charge. 
 
 3 Fiji and the Friendly Isles. 
 
 4 First Year of my Life in China 
 
 ^ ^'^TeJ^. ^''' "^ ^'^^' '^^''^- ByDr.E. 
 
 ^ '^cIpTain."' ''°" ' ^'^^'^ S- l'--^ a 
 
 7 Insect Lights and Sounds. 
 
 8 Jane Hudson, the American Girl 
 
 9 Jew and his Tenants. By A. D. Walker. 
 
 10 History of Joseph. By T. Champness 
 
 11 Lessons frorn Noble Lives, and other Stories. 
 
 12 Margery s Christmas Box By Ruth Elliott. 
 
 13 No Gains without Pains : a True Life for Boys 
 
 ''^"Kreei^^^^-'^^^-^^.^P^-' 
 
 16 Robert Dawson : or, The Brave Spirit. 
 
 iLs^r*"*^^"''*^^*^- F°-BoyB and Girls. 
 18 Story of a PiUow. Told for Children. 
 
 Stories of Noble Lives early Consecrated. 
 
30 A SELECTION FROM 
 
 THE 'LITTLE GUIDE* SERIES. 
 
 Imperial 327no, cloihy boards, ink lettered. 
 
 Fouppence each. 
 
 1 Fragments for Young People. 
 
 2 Freddie Cleminson. 
 
 3 Jesus, History of. For Children. 
 
 4 Martin Luther, The Story of. 
 
 5 Moses, History of. 
 
 6 Precious Seed and Little Sowers. 
 
 7 Bernard, the Little Guide. 
 
 8 Fatherly Guide, Rhoda, and Fire in the Soul. 
 
 9 Kingly Breaker, Concerning Play, and Sowing 
 
 the Seed. 
 
 10 Will Brown ; or, Saved at the Eleventh Hour. 
 
 11 Little Pilgrims : Glimpses of Child Life. By 
 
 A. M. Young. 
 
 12 Muriel ; or, the Sister Mother. 
 
 13 Nature's Whispers. 
 
 14 Passages from the Life of Heinrich Stilling. 
 
 15 Wren's Nest at Wrenthorpe. 
 
 THE 'CROWN* SERIES. 
 
 16mo, cloth hoards, ink lettered, Illustrated, 
 
 Threepence each. 
 
 1 Louis Henrie ; or, The Sister's Promise. 
 
 2 The Giants, and How to Fight Them. 
 
 3 Robert Dawson ; or, The Brave Spirit. 
 
 4 Jane Hudson, tlie American Girl. 
 
 5 The Jewish Twins. By Aunt Friendly, 
 
 6 The Book of Beasts. 35 Illustrationa. 
 
 7 Thfc Buok of Birds. 40 Illustrations, 
 
CHAS. H. KELLY'S PUBLICATIONS. 31 
 The * Crown' Series — conti. 
 
 8 Proud in Spirit. 
 
 9 Gertrude's Bible Lesson. 
 
 10 The Rose in the Desert. 
 
 11 The Little Black Hen. 
 
 12 Martha's Hymn. 
 
 13 Nettie Mathieson. 
 
 14 The Prince in Disguise. 
 
 15 The Children on the Plains. 
 
 16 The Babes in the Basket. 
 
 17 Richard Harvey ; or, Taking a Stand. 
 
 18 Kitty King. Lessons for Little Girls. 
 
 19 Nettie's Mission. 
 
 20 Little Margery. 
 
 21 Margery's City Home. 
 
 22 The Crossing Sweeper. 
 
 23 Rose Conroy's Lessons. 
 
 24 Ned Dolan's Garret. 
 
 25 Little Henry and his Bearer. 
 
 26 Little Woodman and his Dog. 
 
 27 Johnny. Lessons for Little Boys. 
 
 28 Pictures and Stories for the Little Ones. 
 
 29 A Story of the Sea, and other Incidents. 
 
 30 Aunt Lizzie's Talks about Remarkable Fishes. 
 
 31 Three Little Folks : the Ant, the Bee, and the 
 
 Spider. 
 
 32 The Dairyman*B Daughter. 
 
32 THE * FLORAL' SERIES. 
 
 Imperial 32mo cloth, hoards, ink lettered^ 3cl. 
 Also in cloth limp, price 2cl. 
 
 1 African Girls. 
 
 2 Archie and Nellie : What Thev Saw and What 
 
 They Said. 
 
 3 Ants and Conies. 
 
 4 Bunyan, John. 
 
 5 Cecil Lawrence. 
 
 G Celestine, the Blind Woman of the Pastures. 
 
 7 Kingly Breaker. 
 
 8 Crown with Gems. 
 
 9 Deserted Nestlings (The). 
 
 10 Duty Called. 
 
 11 Fifth of November (The). 
 
 12 Locusts and S]jiders. 
 
 13 Happy. 
 
 14 Harry's Errand. 
 
 15 Hattie and Nancy. 
 
 16 Held Down. 
 
 17 In a Minute. Bij Faith Chilterii. 
 
 19 Joseph Peters, the Negro Slave. 
 
 20 Little Nan's Victors. 
 
 21 Luther, Story of. 
 
 22 ]\'>ssimo of Piedmont. 
 
 24 Micluiel Faraday. 
 
 25 Mrs. Chester's Story. 
 
 26 Nunks ; or, Aunt Mary the N"ursoiu:iid. 
 
 27 Over the Sea and Far Away. 
 
 28 Shirlev Children. 
 
 29 Sorrow on the Sea. 
 
 30 Spoiling the Vines. Bij Rev W. W. Newton. 
 
 31 Story about Apple Trees. 
 
 33 Walter at Home and at School. 
 
 34 Will ]]rown ; or, Saved at the 'Jluv'euth Hour. 
 
 35 Moses, History of.