“You shall be a sister to us,” he answered. “Your people are our friends, and, still more, are your husband’s people. I will be as a father to your children. Fear not, sister. Here you shall find rest, and shelter, and food.”
The chief kept to his word, and the poor widow was treated with the greatest kindness by him and his people. The summer came, and a brigade of the company’s trading canoes passed down the river. The people landed, and spoke to her. She was known to several of them, and they invited her to accompany them. The Indians entreated her to remain with them. She thanked them and said, “No, I will go with my husband’s people. When I wedded him I became one of them. I wish, also, that his children should become like them, and be brought up in the faith to which he held.”
Wishing, therefore, the kind Indians farewell, she accompanied the voyageurs; and in the far-off settlement to the east, where she ultimately took up her abode under a Christian missionary, she herself learned more clearly to comprehend the truths of the Gospel whose gracious offers she had embraced, while by all around she was respected and beloved.
Chapter Eleven.
The Trawlers, a tale of the North Sea
The North Sea fleet—Sunday at the fishing ground—The Missionary Service—The gale—A mishap to the Sea-gull and her Captain—A crash—The Captain’s death—All lost but two boys—Doing one’s duty—Morning—Alone with a dead man—Breakfast—To the pumps—Saved at last.
A fleet of a hundred vessels or more lay together, dotting the surface of the German Ocean, or North Sea, as it is more generally called, upwards of 300 miles from the English shore. They were mostly luggers, of from sixty to eighty tons; each with a crew of from seven to nine men. These vessels formed a part of the North Sea fishing fleet, chiefly belonging to Great Yarmouth and the adjacent ports, engaged in trawling for turbot, soles, brill, and other flat fish, for the supply of the London market.
They had been out there for nearly three weeks, their wants being supplied, and the fish they had caught being taken away from them by several large cutters, which came out from Yarmouth laden with ice, in which the fish were packed, and thus conveyed to the Thames, or to the nearest railway terminus—thence to be transported to London, and dispersed by similar means all over the country. It was Sunday: some of the vessels had their sails set and their trawls down, their crews in their dirty week-day dresses standing ready to haul them on board. Other vessels, which had drawn close together, had their sails furled, their anchors down, and their trawl-nets hung up in the rigging to dry. A flag was flying at the mainmast-head on board two of them. The device was a figure with wings, and an open book with golden leaves in its hand, on a blue ground, and underneath, the words “Missions to Seamen.” These two vessels were somewhat apart, and boats from the others were pulling towards them. On board one of the other vessels—the Sea-gull—the crew were collected on deck, in their clean clothing, maybe not so neat and new as they might have worn on shore, however. The boat was alongside; the captain came on deck.