Not far off—so near indeed that those on board almost saw the catastrophe—lay the Evening Star. They of course heard the cries and the confusion, and knew only too well what had occurred.
To order out the boat was the work of an instant. With powerful strokes Joe, Spivin, Trevor, and Gunter, caused it to leap to the rescue. On reaching the spot they discovered and saved the mate. He was found clinging to an oar, but all the others had disappeared. The steamer which had done the deed had lowered a boat, and diligent search was made in all directions round the spot where the fatal collision had occurred. No other living soul, however, was found. Only a few broken spars and the upturned boat of the smack remained to tell where Jim Frost, and the rest of his like-minded men, had exchanged the garb of toil for the garments of glory!
As a matter of course this event made a profound impression for a time on board of the Evening Star and of such vessels as were near enough next morning to be informed of the sad news. A large portion of the fleet, however, was for some time unaware of what had taken place, and some of the masters and crews who were averse to what they styled “psalm-singin’ and prayin’,” did not seem to be much affected by the loss.
Whether grieved or indifferent however, the work of the fleet had to be done. Whether fishermen live or die, sink or swim, the inexorable demand of Billingsgate for fish must be met! Accordingly, next day about noon, a fresh breeze having sprung up, and a carrier-steamer being there ready for her load, the same lively scene which we have described in a previous chapter was re-enacted, and after the smacks were discharged they all went off as formerly in the same direction, like a shoal of herrings, to new fishing-grounds.
When they had got well away to the eastward and were beating up against a stiff northerly breeze, David Bright who stood near the helm of the Evening Star, said to his son in a peculiarly low voice—
“Now, Billy, you go below an’ fetch me a glass of grog.”
Billy went below as desired, but very unwillingly, for he well knew his father’s varying moods, and recognised in the peculiar tone in which the order was given, a species of despondency—almost amounting to despair—which not unfrequently ushered in some of his worst fits of intemperance.
“Your fadder’s in de blues to-day,” said Zulu, as he toiled over his cooking apparatus in the little cabin; “when he spok like dat, he goes in for heavy drink.”
“I know that well enough,” returned Billy, almost angrily.
“Why you no try him wid a ’speriment?” asked the cook, wrinkling up his nose and displaying his tremendous gums.