A murmur of assent followed, and the preacher went on; but we will not follow him. After closing with the hymn, “How sweet the name of Jesus sounds in a believer’s ear,” they all went on deck, where they found a glory of sunshine flooding the Sunbeam, and glittering on the still tranquil sea.
The meeting now resolved itself into a number of groups, among whom the peculiar work of the day was continued directly or indirectly. It was indeed a wonderful condition of things on board of the Gospel ship that Sunday—wheels within wheels, spiritual machinery at work from stem to stern. A few, whose hearts had been lifted up, got out an accordion and their books, and “went in for” hymns. Among these Bob Lumsden and his friend Pat Stiver took an active part. Here and there couples of men leaned over the side and talked to each other in undertones of their Saviour and the life to come. In the bow Manx Bradley got hold of Joe Stubley and pleaded hard with him to come to Jesus, and receive power from the Holy Spirit to enable him to give up all his evil ways. In the stern Fred Martin sought to clear away the doubts and difficulties of Ned Bryce. Elsewhere the two clergymen were answering questions, and guiding several earnest souls to a knowledge of the truth, while down in the cabin Jim Freeman prevailed on several men and boys to sign the temperance pledge. Among these last was Groggy Fox, who, irresolute of purpose, was still holding back.
“’Cause why,” said he; “I’ll be sure to break it again. I can’t keep it.”
“I know that, skipper,” said Fred, coming down at the moment. “In your own strength you’ll never keep it, but in God’s strength you shall conquer all your enemies. Let’s pray, lads, that we may all be enabled to keep to our good resolutions.”
Then and there they all knelt down, and Skipper Fox arose with the determination once again to “Leave the poor old stranded wreck, and pull for the shore.”
But that was a memorable Sunday in other respects, for towards the afternoon a stiff breeze sprang up, and an unusually low fall in the barometer turned the fishermen’s thoughts back again to wordly cares. The various boats left the Sunbeam hurriedly. As the Lively Poll had kept close alongside all the time, Stephen Lockley was last to think of leaving. He had been engaged in a deeply interesting conversation with one of the clergymen about his soul, but at last ordered his boat to be hauled alongside.
While this was being done, he observed that another smack—one of the so-called “ironclads”—was sailing so as to cross the bows of his vessel. The breeze had by that time increased considerably, and both smacks, lying well over, were rushing swiftly through the water. Suddenly some part of the ironclad’s tackling about the mainsail gave way, the head of the vessel fell to leeward; next moment she went crashing into the Lively Poll, and cut her down to the water’s edge. The ironclad seemed to rebound and tremble for a moment, and then passed on. The steersman at once threw her up into the wind with the intention of rendering assistance, but in another minute the Lively Poll had sunk and disappeared for ever, carrying Peter Jay and Hawkson along with her.
Of course several boats pushed off at once to the rescue, and hovered about the spot for some time, but neither the men nor the vessel were ever seen again.
There was a smack at some distance, which was about to quit the fleet next morning and return to port. The skipper of it knew well which vessel had been run down, but, not being near enough to see all that passed, imagined that the whole crew had perished along with her. During the night the breeze freshened to a gale, which rendered fishing impossible. This vessel therefore left the fleet before dawn, and carried the news to Gorleston that the Lively Poll had been run down and sunk with all her crew.
It was Fred Martin’s wife who undertook to break this dreadful news to poor Mrs Lockley.