I have remembered the scene I saw one evening when I called upon him, and found him with his family at tea.
"Come in, sir, come in; you won't disturb us: glad to see you."
His wife and, I think, five little daughters were there, and the baby boy, the only son, was taken out of the cradle to be shown to me.
And as Jarman dandled the little fellow in his strong arms he said, "Bless the boy! Bless the boy! he will make a life-boat coxswain some day, that he will;" and I felt that all the thoughts of the danger of the work was lost in the joy of saving life; I glanced at the mother, half expecting some expression of dissent; no, her smile showed that she was proud of her husband, and that all her sympathies were with him in his noble work, and that she was quite content that her only boy should in his day follow in his father's steps and be, like him, one of the gallant band of life-savers who guard our coasts.
And I have often felt, that however much such pictures of happy home-circles dwelt in the heart of Jarman, and of his comrades, as they have struggled out through the dark storms, and rushed into conflict with the wild seas, yet that they have never caused them to turn back from any danger, or to lessen one single effort in their warfare to save life.
Isaac Jarman was turned out into the North Sea almost from his cradle.
His father, a boatman, got severely hurt on board a hovelling-lugger, so much so, that he was never fit for work again; as a matter of course, the family became very poor.
Many hungry children to feed, and the arms once so strong now powerless to labour for them, no wonder that the cupboard was often empty, and the growing lads forced to do something for themselves as soon as they were able.
And so Isaac Jarman, when a boy of twelve years old, was sent away to sea on board a small fishing-smack called the Pledge; she was only twenty-five tons, but used to sail long distances away to fish in the North Sea, in all weathers, summer and winter.