“There’s always sunshine inside o’ my house,” said Greely to his mates once, “no matter what sort o’ weather there may be outside.”
Ere long a squall struck that house—a squall that moved the feelings of our fisherman more deeply than the fiercest gale he had ever faced on the wild North Sea, for it was the squall of a juvenile Jim! From that date the fisherman was wont to remark, with a quiet smile of satisfaction, that he had got moonlight now, as well as sunshine, in the Yarmouth home.
The only matter that distressed the family at first was that the father saw so little of his lightsome home; for, his calling being that of a deep-sea smacksman, or trawler, by far the greater part of our fisherman’s rugged life was spent on the restless ocean. Two months at sea and eight days ashore was the unvarying routine of Jim’s life, summer and winter, all the year round. That is to say, about fifty days on shore out of the year, and three hundred and fifteen days on what the cockney greengrocer living next door to Jim styled the “’owlin’ deep.”
And, truly, the greengrocer was not far wrong, for the wild North Sea does a good deal of howling, off and on, during the year, to say nothing of whistling and shrieking and other boisterous practices when the winter gales are high.
But a cloud began to descend, very gradually at first, on James Greely’s dwelling, for a demon—a very familiar one on the North Sea—had been twining his arms for a considerable time round the stalwart fisherman.
At the time of Jim’s marriage those mission-ships of the Dutch—and, we may add, of the devil—named copers, or floating grog-shops, were plying their deadly traffic in strong drink full swing among the trawlers of the North Sea. Through God’s blessing the mission-ships of the Cross have now nearly driven the copers off the sea, but at the time we write of the Dutchmen had it all their own way, and many a splendid man, whom toil, cold, hardship, and fierce conflict with the elements could not subdue, was laid low by the poisonous spirits of the coper. Greely went to the copers at first to buy tobacco, but, being a hearty, sociable fellow, he had no objection to take an occasional friendly dram. Gradually, imperceptibly, he became enslaved. He did not give way at once. He was too much of a man for that. Many a deadly battle had he with the demon—known only to himself and God—but as he fought in his own strength, of course he failed; failed again and again, until he finally gave way to despair.
Poor Nellie was quick to note the change, and tried, with a brave heart at first but a sinking heart at last, to save him, but without success. The eight days which used to be spent in the sunny home came at last to be spent in the Green Dragon public-house; and in course of time Nellie was taught by bitter experience that if her husband, on his periodical return from the sea, went straight from the smack to the public-house, it was little that she would see of him during his spell on shore. Even curly-headed juvenile Jimmie—his father’s pride—ceased to overcome the counter-attraction of strong drink.
Is it to be wondered at that Nellie lost some of her old characteristics—that, the wages being spent on drink, she found it hard to provide the mere necessaries of life for herself and her boy, and that she finally gave up the struggle to keep either person or house as neat and orderly as of yore, while a haggard look and lines of care began to spoil the beauty of her countenance? Or is it a matter for surprise that her temper began to give way under the strain?
“You are ruining yourself and killing me,” said the sorely-tried wife one evening—the last evening of a spell on shore—as Jim staggered into the once sunny home to bid his wife good-bye.
It was the first time that Nellie had spoken roughly to him. He made no answer at first. He was angry. The Green Dragon had begun to demoralise him, and the reproof which ought to have melted only hardened him.