The mission skipper received his visitor with unwonted heartiness.
“I pray the Lord to give you a good time on shore, David,” he said, as they went down to the cabin, where some of the other skippers were having a chat and a cup of coffee.
“He’ll do that,” said David. “He did it last time. My dear missis could scarce believe her ears when I told her I was converted, or her eyes when she saw the Bethel-flag and the temperance pledge.”
“Praise the Lord!” exclaimed two or three of those present, with deep sincerity, as David thus referred to his changed condition.
“I can’t bide with ’ee, lads,” said David, “for time’s up, but before startin’ I would like to have a little prayer with ’ee, an’ a hymn to the Master’s praise.”
We need not say that they were all ready to comply. After concluding, they saw him into his boat, and bade him God-speed in many a homely but hearty phrase.
“Good-bye, skipper; fare ye well, Billy; the Lord be with ’ee, Joe.”
John Gunter was not omitted in the salutations, and his surly spirit was a little, though not much, softened as he replied.
“Fare ye well, mates,” shouted David, as he once more stood on his own deck, and let his vessel fall away. A toss of the hand followed the salutation. Little Billy echoed the sentiment and the toss, and in a few minutes the Evening Star was making her way out of the fleet and heading westward.
The night which followed was wild, and the wind variable. Next day the sun did not show itself at all till evening, and the wind blew dead against them. At sunset, red and lurid gleams in the west, and leaden darkness in the east, betokened at the best unsteady weather.