Most of the men crowded round the master of the smack, while, in deep sad tones, he told how the son of Daniel Rodger had, during the night, been swept overboard by a heavy sea and drowned before the boat could be launched to rescue him. “But,” continued the speaker in a cheerful voice, “the dear boy was a follower of Jesus, and he is now with Him.”
When this was said, “Praise the Lord!” and “Thank God!” broke from several of the men in tones of unmistakable sincerity.
It was at this point that the boat of the Evening Star ranged alongside. The master of the mission smack went to the side and held out his hand, which David Bright grasped with his right, grappling the smack’s rail at the same time with his left, and vaulted inboard with a hearty salutation. As heartily was it returned, especially by the unbelievers on board, who, perchance, regarded him as a welcome accession to their numbers!
Billy, Gunter, and the others tumbled on to the deck in the usual indescribable manner, and the former, making fast the long painter, added the Evening Star’s boat to the lengthening flotilla astern.
“Your man seems to be hurt,” said the master of the mission smack—whom we may well style the missionary—“not badly, I hope. You’re limpin’ a bit.”
“Oh! nothin’ to speak of,” growled Gunter, “on’y a bit o’ skin knocked off.”
“We’ll put that all right soon,” returned the missionary, shaking hands with the other members of the crew. “But p’r’aps you’d like to go below with us, first. We’re goin’ to hold a little service. It’ll be more comfortable under hatches than on deck.”
“No, thank ’ee,” replied Gunter with decision. “I’ll wait till yer done.”
“P’r’aps you would like to come?” said the missionary to the captain.
“Well, I—I may as well as not,” said David with some hesitation.