Jim Greely, The North Sea Skipper

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Title:     Jim Greely, The North Sea Skipper
Author: R. M. Ballantyne [More Titles by Ballantyne]

When Nellie Sumner married James Greely--the strapping skipper of a Yarmouth fishing-smack--there was not a prettier girl in all the town, at least so said, or thought, most of the men and many of the women who dwelt near her. Of course there were differences of opinion on the point, but there was no doubt whatever about it in the mind of James Greely, who was overwhelmed with astonishment, as well as joy, at what he styled his "luck in catching such a splendid wife."

And there was good ground for his strong feeling, for Nellie was neat, tidy, and good-humoured, as well as good-looking, and she made Jim's home as neat and tidy as herself.

"There's always sunshine inside o' my house," said Greely to his mates once, "no matter what sort o' weather there may be outside."

Ere long a squall struck that house--a squall that moved the feelings of our fisherman more deeply than the fiercest gale he had ever faced on the wild North Sea, for it was the squall of a juvenile Jim! From that date the fisherman was wont to remark, with a quiet smile of satisfaction, that he had got moonlight now, as well as sunshine, in the Yarmouth home.

The only matter that distressed the family at first was that the father saw so little of his lightsome home; for, his calling being that of a deep-sea smacksman, or trawler, by far the greater part of our fisherman's rugged life was spent on the restless ocean. Two months at sea and eight days ashore was the unvarying routine of Jim's life, summer and winter, all the year round. That is to say, about fifty days on shore out of the year, and three hundred and fifteen days on what the cockney greengrocer living next door to Jim styled the "'owlin' deep."

And, truly, the greengrocer was not far wrong, for the wild North Sea does a good deal of howling, off and on, during the year, to say nothing of whistling and shrieking and other boisterous practices when the winter gales are high.

But a cloud began to descend, very gradually at first, on James Greely's dwelling, for a demon--a very familiar one on the North Sea--had been twining his arms for a considerable time round the stalwart fisherman.

At the time of Jim's marriage those mission-ships of the Dutch--and, we may add, of the devil--named _copers_, or floating grog-shops, were plying their deadly traffic in strong drink full swing among the trawlers of the North Sea. Through God's blessing the mission-ships of the Cross have now nearly driven the _copers_ off the sea, but at the time we write of the Dutchmen had it all their own way, and many a splendid man, whom toil, cold, hardship, and fierce conflict with the elements could not subdue, was laid low by the poisonous spirits of the _coper_. Greely went to the _copers_ at first to buy tobacco, but, being a hearty, sociable fellow, he had no objection to take an occasional friendly dram. Gradually, imperceptibly, he became enslaved. He did not give way at once. He was too much of a man for that. Many a deadly battle had he with the demon--known only to himself and God-- but as he fought in his own strength, of course he failed; failed again and again, until he finally gave way to despair.

Poor Nellie was quick to note the change, and tried, with a brave heart at first but a sinking heart at last, to save him, but without success. The eight days which used to be spent in the sunny home came at last to be spent in the Green Dragon public-house; and in course of time Nellie was taught by bitter experience that if her husband, on his periodical return from the sea, went straight from the smack to the public-house, it was little that she would see of him during his spell on shore. Even curly-headed juvenile Jimmie--his father's pride--ceased to overcome the counter-attraction of strong drink.

Is it to be wondered at that Nellie lost some of her old characteristics--that, the wages being spent on drink, she found it hard to provide the mere necessaries of life for herself and her boy, and that she finally gave up the struggle to keep either person or house as neat and orderly as of yore, while a haggard look and lines of care began to spoil the beauty of her countenance? Or is it a matter for surprise that her temper began to give way under the strain?

"You are ruining yourself and killing me," said the sorely-tried wife one evening--the last evening of a spell on shore--as Jim staggered into the once sunny home to bid his wife good-bye.

It was the first time that Nellie had spoken roughly to him. He made no answer at first. He was angry. The Green Dragon had begun to demoralise him, and the reproof which ought to have melted only hardened him.

"The last of the coals are gone," continued the wife with bitterness in her tone, "and there's scarcely enough of bread in the house for a good supper to Jimmie. You should be ashamed of yourself, Jim."

A glare of drunken anger shot fiercely from the fisherman's eyes. No word did he utter. Turning on his heel, he strode out of the house and shut the door after him with cannon-shot violence.

"O Jim--stop Jim!" burst from timid Nellie. "I'll never--"

She ceased abruptly, for the terrified Jimmie was clinging to her skirts, and her husband was beyond the reach of her voice. Falling on her knees, she prayed to God passionately for pardon. It was their first quarrel. She ended by throwing herself on her bed and bursting into a fit of sobbing that not only horrified but astounded little Jim. To see his mother sobbing wildly while he was quiet and grave was a complete inversion of all his former experiences. As if to carry out the spirit of the situation, he proceeded to act the part of comforter by stroking his mother's brown hair with his fat little hand until the burst of grief subsided.

"Dare, you's dood now, muzzer. Tiss me!" he said.

Nellie flung her arms round the child and kissed him fervently.

Meanwhile James Greely's smack, the _Dolphin_, was running down the Yare before a stiff breeze, and Jim himself had commenced the most momentous, and, in one sense, disastrous voyage of his life. As he stood at the tiller, guiding his vessel with consummate skill out into the darkening waters, his heart felt like lead. He would have given all he possessed to recall the past hour, to have once again the opportunity of bidding Nellie good-bye as he had been wont to do in the days that were gone. But it was too late. Wishes and repentance, he knew, avail nothing to undo a deed that is done.

Jim toiled with that branch of the North Sea fleets which is named the "Short Blue." It was trawling at a part of the North Sea called "Botney Gut" at that time, but our fisherman had been told that it was fishing at another part named the "Silverpits." It blew hard from the nor'west, with much snow, so that Jim took a long time to reach his destination. But no "Short Blue" fleet was to be seen at the Silverpits.

To the eyes of ordinary men the North Sea is a uniform expanse of water, calm or raging as the case may be. Not so to the deep-sea trawler. Jim's intimate knowledge of localities, his sounding-lead and the nature of the bottom, etcetera, enabled him at any time to make for, and surely find, any of the submarine banks. But fleets, though distinguished by a name, have no "local habitation." They may be on the "Dogger Bank" to-day, on the "Swarte Bank" or the "Great Silverpits" to-morrow. With hundreds of miles of open sea around, and neither milestone nor finger-post to direct, a lost fleet is not unlike a lost needle in a haystack. Fortunately Jim discovered a brother smacksman looking, like himself, for his own fleet. Being to windward the brother ran down to him.

"What cheer O! Have 'ee seen anything o' the Red Cross Fleet?" roared the skipper, with the power of a brazen trumpet.

"No," shouted Jim, in similar tones. "I'm lookin' for the Short Blue."

"I passed it yesterday, bearin' away for Botney Gut."

"'Bout ship" went Jim, and away with a stiff breeze on his quarter. He soon found the fleet--a crowd of smacks, all heading in the same direction, with their huge trawling nets down and bending over before what was styled a good "fishing-breeze." It requires a stiff breeze to haul a heavy net, with its forty or fifty feet beam and other gear, over the rough bottom of the North Sea. With a slight breeze and the net down a smack would be simply anchored by the stern to her own gear.

Down went Jim's net, and, like a well-drilled fisherman, he fell into line. It was a rough grey day with a little snow falling, which whitened all the ropes and covered the decks with slush.

Greely's crew had become demoralised, like their skipper. There were five men and a fair-haired boy. All could drink and swear except the boy. Charlie was the only son of his mother, and she was a good woman, besides being a widow. Charlie was the smack's cook.

"Grub's ready," cried the boy, putting his head up the hatchway after the gear was down.

He did not name the meal. Smacksmen have a way of taking food irregularly at all or any hours, when circumstances permit, and are easy about the name so long as they get it, and plenty of it. A breakfast at mid-day after a night of hardest toil might be regarded indifferently as a luncheon or an early dinner.

Black Whistler, the mate, who stood at the helm, pronounced a curse upon the weather by way of reply to Charlie's summons.

"You should rather bless the ladies on shore that sent you them wursted mittens an' 'elmet, you ungrateful dog," returned the boy with a broad grin, for he and Whistler were on familiar terms.

The man growled something inaudible, while his mates went below to feed.

Each North Sea trawling fleet acts unitedly under an "admiral." It was early morning when the signal was given by rocket to haul up the nets. Between two and three hours at the capstan--slow, heavy toil, with every muscle strained to the utmost--was the result of the admiral's order. Bitter cold; driving snow; cutting flashes of salt spray, and dark as Erebus save for the light of a lantern lashed to the mast. Tramp, tramp, tramp, the seemingly everlasting round went on, with the clank of heavy sea-boots and the rustle of hard oil-skins, and the sound of labouring breath as accompaniment; while the endless cable came slowly up from the "vasty deep."

But everything comes to an end, even on the North Sea! At last the great beam appears and is secured. With a sigh of relief the capstan bars are thrown down, and the men vary their toil by clawing up the net with scarred and benumbed fingers. It is heavy work, causes much heaving and gasping, and at times seems almost too much for all hands to manage.

Again Black Whistler pronounces a malediction on things in general, and is mockingly reminded by the boy-cook that he ought to bless the people as sends him wursted cuffs to save his wrists from sea-blisters.

"Seems to me we've got a hold of a bit o' Noah's ark," growled one of the hands, as something black and big begins to appear.

He is partially right, for a bit of an old wreck is found to have been captured with a ton or so of fish. When this is disengaged the net comes in more easily, and the fish are dropped like a silver cataract on the wet deck.

One might imagine that there was rest for the fishermen now. Far from it. The fish had to be "cleaned"--i.e. gutted and the superfluous portions cut off and packed in boxes for the London market. The grey light of a bleak winter morning dawned before the work was finished. During the operation the third hand, Lively Dick, ran a fish-bone deeply into his hand, and laid a foundation for future trouble.

It was noon before the trunks, or fish-boxes, were packed. Then the little boat had to be launched over the side, loaded with fish, and ferried to one of the steamers which ply daily and regularly between Billingsgate and the fleets. Three men jumped into it and pushed off--a mere cockle-shell on a heaving flood, now dancing on a wave-crest, now lost to view in a water-valley.

"What's that?" said Whistler, as they pulled towards the steamer. "Looks bigger than the or'nary mission-ships."

"Why, that must be the noo hospital-ship, the _Queen Victoria_," answered Lively Dick, glancing over his shoulder at a large vessel, smack-rigged, which loomed up through the haze to leeward.

They had no time for further remark, for the great side of the steamer was by that time frowning over them. It was dangerous work they had to do. The steamer rolled heavily in the rough sea. The boat, among a dozen other boats, was soon attached to her by a strong rope. Men had to be athletes and acrobats in order to pass their fish-boxes from the leaping and plunging boats to the deck of the rolling steamer. The shouting and noise and bumping were tremendous. An awkward heave occasionally sent a box into the sea amid oaths and laughter. Jim's cargo was put safely on board, and the boat was about to cast off when a heavier lurch than usual caused Black Whistler to stagger. To save himself from plunging overboard he laid both hands on the gunwale of the boat--a dangerous thing to do at any time when alongside of a vessel. Before he could recover himself the boat went crashing against the steamer's iron side and the fisherman's hands were crushed. He fell back into the boat almost fainting with agony. No cry escaped him, however. Lively Dick saw the blood streaming, and while his mate shoved off the boat he wrapped a piece of canvas in a rough-and-ready fashion round the quivering hands.

"I'm done for this trip," groaned Whistler, "for this means go ashore-- weeks in hospital--wages stopped, and wife and chicks starving."

"Never a bit, mate," said Dick; "didn't you know that the noo mission-ship does hospital work afloat and that they'll keep you aboard of her, and lend us one o' their hands till you're fit for work again?"

Whether poor Whistler believed, or understood, or was comforted by this we cannot say, for he made no reply and appeared to be almost overcome with pain. On reaching the _Dolphin_ a signal of distress was made to the floating hospital, which at once bore down to them. The injured man was transferred to it, and there, in the pleasant airy cabin, Black Whistler made acquaintance with men who were anxious to cure his soul as well as his body. Up to this time he had resolutely declined to visit the mission-ships, but now, when a skilled medical man tenderly dressed his terrible wounds and a sympathetic skipper led him to a berth and supplied him with some warm coffee, telling him that he would be free to remain there without charge as long as was needed, and that meanwhile one of the mission hands would take his place in the _Dolphin_ till he was able to resume work, his opinion of mission-ships and work underwent modification, and he began to think that mission crews were not such a bad lot after all.

Meanwhile Skipper Greely, leaving his man in the _Queen Victoria_, returned to his smack accompanied by George King, the new hand.

King's position was by no means an enviable one, for he found himself thus suddenly in the midst of a set of men who had no sympathy with him in religious matters, and whose ordinary habits and conversation rendered remonstrance almost unavoidable. Unwilling to render himself obnoxious at first, the man resolved to try the effect of music on his new shipmates. He happened to possess a beautiful tenor voice, and the first night--a calm bright one--while taking his turn at the helm, he sang in a soft sweet voice one after another of those hymns which Mr Sankey has rendered so popular. He began with "Come to the Saviour, make no delay," and the first effect on his mates, most of whom were below, was to arouse a feeling of contempt. But they could not resist the sweetness of the voice. In a few minutes they were perfectly silent, and listening with a species of fascination--each being wafted, both by words and music, to scenes on shore and to times when his spirit had not been so demoralised by sin.

Greely, in particular, was transported back to the sunny home in Yarmouth, and to the days of first-love, before the _demon_ had gained the mastery and clouded the sunshine.

As the night wore on, a fog settled down over the North Sea, and the smacks of the Short Blue fleet began to blow their fog-horns, while the crews became more on the alert and kept a bright look-out.

Suddenly, and without warning, a dull beating sound was heard by the look-out on the _Dolphin_. Next moment a dark object like a phantom ship loomed out of the fog, and a wild cry arose as the men saw the bows of a huge ocean steamer coming apparently straight at them. The smack was absolutely helpless, without steering way. For an instant there was shouting on board the steamer, and she fell off slightly as she rushed into the small circle of the _Dolphin's_ light. A tremendous crash followed, but the change of direction had been sufficient to prevent a fatal collision. Another moment and the great steamer was gone, while the little smack rocked violently from the blow as well as from the swell left in the steamer's wake.

This was but the beginning of a night of disaster. Skipper Greely and his men had scarcely recovered from the surprise of this incident when the fog lifted and quickly cleared away, revealing the Short Blue fleet floating all round with flapping sails, but it was observed also that a very dark cloud rested on the north-western horizon. Soon a stiffish breeze sprang up, and the scattered fleet drew together, lay on the same tack, and followed the lead of their admiral, to whom they looked for the signal to shoot the trawls. But instead of giving this order the admiral signalled to "lay-to."

Being disgusted as well as surprised that their leader was not going to fish, Jim Greely, being also exhausted by long watching, went below and turned in to have a sleep. He had not been long asleep when fair-haired Charlie came to tell him that Lively Dick, who acted as mate in Whistler's absence, wanted him on deck. He ran up at once.

"Looks like dirty weather, skipper," said Dick, pointing to windward.

"Right you are, lad," said Jim, and called all hands to close-reef.

This being done and everything made snug, the skipper again turned in, with orders to call him if things should get worse.

Soon after, Dick, who was at the helm, saw a squall bearing down on them, but did not think it worth while to call the skipper. It broke on them with a clap like thunder, but the good _Dolphin_ stood the shock well, and Dick was congratulating himself when he saw a sea coming towards them, but sufficiently astern, he thought, to clear them. He was wrong. It broke aboard, right into the mainsail, cleared the deck, and hove the smack on her beam-ends.

This effectually aroused the skipper, who made desperate but at first ineffectual efforts to get out of his berth, for the water, which poured down the hatchway, washed gear, tackles, turpentine-tins, paint-pots, and nearly everything moveable from the iron locker on the weather-side down to leeward, and blocked up the openings. Making another effort he cleared all this away, and sprang out of the berth, which was half full of water. Pitchy darkness enshrouded him, for the water had put out the lights as well as the fire. Just then the vessel righted a little.

"Are you all right on deck?" shouted Jim, as he scrambled up the hatchway.

"All right, as far as I can see," answered Dick.

"Hold on, I've a bottle o' matches in my bunk," cried the skipper, returning to the flooded cabin. Fortunately the matches were dry; a light was struck, and a candle and lamp lighted. The scene revealed was not re-assuring. The water in the cabin was knee-deep. A flare, made of a woollen scarf soaked in paraffin, was lighted on deck, and showed that the mainsail had been split, the boat hopelessly damaged, and part of the lee bulwarks broken. The mast also was leaning aft, the forestay having been carried away. A few minutes later Lively Dick went tumbling down into the cabin all of a heap, to avoid the mast as it went crashing over the side in such a way as to prevent the use of the pumps, and carrying the mizzenmast along with it.

"Go to work with buckets, boys, or she'll sink," shouted the skipper, himself setting the example, for the ballast had shifted and the danger was great. Meanwhile George King seized an axe and cut away the rigging that held on to the wrecked masts, and fair-haired Charlie laboured like a hero to clear the pumps. The rays of the cabin lights did not reach the deck, so that much of the work had to be done in what may be styled darkness visible, while the little vessel kicked about like a wild thing in the raging sea, and the torn canvas flapped with a horrible noise. Pitiless wind, laden with sleet, howled over them as if thirsting impatiently for the fishermen's lives. At last they succeeded in clearing the pumps, and worked them with untiring energy for hours, but could not tell how many, for the thick end of a marline-spike had been driven through the clock-face and stopped it.

It was still dark when they managed to rig up a jury-mast on the stump of the old one and hoist a shred of sail. George King was ordered to the tiller. As he passed Greely he said in a cheerful voice, "Trust in the Lord, skipper, He can bring us out o' worse than this."

It might have been half an hour later when another sea swept the deck. Jim took shelter under the stump of the mast and held on for dear life. Charlie got inside the coil of the derrick-fall and so was saved, while the others dived into the cabin. When that sea had passed they found no one at the tiller. Poor King had been washed overboard. Nothing whatever could be done for him, even if he had been seen, but the greedy sea had swallowed him, and he was taken to swell with his tuneful voice the company of those who sing on high the praises of redeeming love.

The sea which swept him into eternity also carried away the jury-mast, and as the smack was now a mere wreck, liable to drift on shore if the gale should continue long, Jim let down an anchor, after removing its stock so that it might drag on the bottom and retard the drifting while it kept the vessel's head to the sea.

A watch was then set, and the rest of the crew went below to wait and wish for daybreak! It was a dreary vigil under appalling circumstances, for although the smack had not actually sprung a leak there was always the danger of another sea overwhelming and altogether sinking her. Her crew sat there for hours utterly helpless and literally facing death. Fortunately their matches had escaped the water, so that they were able to kindle a fire in the stove and obtain a little warmth as well as make a pot of tea and eat some of their sea-soaked biscuit.

It is wonderful how man can accommodate himself to circumstances. No sooner had the crew in this wreck felt the stimulating warmth of the hot tea than they began to spin yarns! not indeed of a fanciful kind--they were too much solemnised for that--but yarns of their experience of gales in former times.

"It minds me o' this wery night last year," said Lively Dick, endeavouring to light his damp pipe. "I was mate o' the _Beauty_ at the time. We was workin' wi' the Short Blues on the Dogger, when a tremendous squall struck us, an' it began to snow that thick we could scarce see the end o' the jib-boom. Well, the gale came on in real arnest before long, so we had to lay-to all that night. When it came day we got some sail set and I went below to have a hot pot o' tea when the skipper suddenly sang out `Jump up here, Dick!' an' I did jump up, double quick, to find that we was a'most runnin' slap into a dismasted craft. We shoved the tiller hard a-starboard and swung round as if we was on a swivel, goin' crash through the rackage alongside an' shavin' her by a hair. We could just see through the snow one of her hands choppin' away at the riggin', and made out that her name was the _Henry and Thomas_."

"An' did ye see nothin' more of 'er arter that?" asked the boy Charlie with an eager look.

"Nothin' more. She was never heard of arter that mornin'."

While the men were thus talking, the watch on deck shouted that one of the mission-ships was close alongside. Every one ran on deck to hail her, for they stood much in need of assistance, two of their water-casks having been stove in and everything in the hold turned topsy-turvy-- beef, potatoes, flour, all mixed up in horrible confusion. Just then another sea came on board, and the crew had to dive again to the cabin for safety. That sea carried away the boat and the rest of the starboard bulwarks, besides starting a plank, and letting the water in at a rate which the pumps could not keep down.

Quickly the mission-ship loomed up out of the grey snow-cloud and ran past.

"You'll want help!" shouted the mission skipper.

"Ay, we do," shouted Jim Greely in reply. "We're sinkin', and our boat's gone."

An arm thrown up indicated that the words were understood. A few minutes later and the crew of the _Dolphin_ saw the mission crew launching their little boat. With, such a sea running the venture was perilous in the extreme, but when the mission skipper said "Who'll go?" he had no lack of volunteers. The boat was manned at once, and the crew of the _Dolphin_ were rescued a few minutes before the _Dolphin_ herself went head-foremost to the bottom. Just as they got safely on deck the mission-ship herself shipped a heavy sea, which washed several of the men into the lee scuppers. They jumped up immediately--some with "Thank God" on their lips, others with a laugh--but James Greely did not rise. He lay stunned and rolling about in the water. It was found on raising him that his right leg was broken at the thigh.

When Jim recovered consciousness he did not complain. He was a man of stern mould, and neither groaned nor spoke; but he was not the less impressed with the kindness and apparent skill with which the mission skipper treated him.

Having received a certain amount of surgical training, the skipper-- although unlearned and a fisherman--knew well how to put the leg in splints and otherwise to treat the patient.

"It's pretty bad, I fear," he said soothingly, observing that Jim's lips were compressed, and that beads of perspiration were standing on his brow.

Jim did not reply, but smiled grimly and nodded, for the rolling of the ship caused him increasing agony as the injured parts began to inflame.

"I'm not very good at this sort o' work," said the mission skipper modestly, "but thank God the new hospital-ship is cruisin' wi' the Short Blue just now. I saw her only yesterday, so we'll put you aboard of her and there you'll find a reg'lar shore-goin' surgeon, up to everything, and with all the gimcracks and arrangements of a reg'lar shore-goin' hospital. They've got a new contrivance too--a sort o' patent stretcher, invented by a Mr Dark o' the head office in London--which'll take you out o' the boat into the ship without movin' a bone or muscle, so keep your mind easy, skipper, for you'll be aboard the _Queen Victoria_ before many hours go by."

Poor Greely appreciated the statement about the stretcher more than all the rest that was said, for he was keenly alive to the difficulty of passing a broken-boned man out of a little boat into a smack or steamer in a heavy sea, having often had to do it.

The mission skipper was right, for early the next day Jim was strapped to a wonderful frame and passed into the hospital-ship without shake or shock, and his comrades were retained in the mission smack until they could be sent on shore. Greely and his men learned many lessons which they never afterwards forgot on board of the _Queen Victoria_--the foundation lesson being that they were lost sinners and that Jesus Christ came "to seek and to save the lost."

Slowly, and at first unwillingly, Skipper Greely took the great truths in. Several weeks passed, and he began to move about with some of his wonted energy. Much to his surprise he found himself one morning signing the temperance pledge-books, persuaded thereto by the skipper of the _Queen Victoria_. Still more to his surprise he found himself one Sunday afternoon listening, with unwonted tears in his eyes, to some of his mates as they told their spiritual experiences to an assembly of some hundred or so of weather-beaten fishermen. Before quitting that vessel he discovered that he possessed a powerful and tuneful voice, admirably adapted for singing hymns, and that he was capable of publicly stating the fact that he was an unworthy sinner saved by grace.

When at last he returned ashore and unexpectedly entered the Yarmouth home, Nellie could scarcely believe her senses, so great was the change.

"Jim!" she cried, with opening eyes and beating heart, "you're like your old self again."

"Thank God," said Jim, clasping her in his strong arms. But he could say no more for some time. Then he turned suddenly on curly-headed Jimmie, who had been fiercely embracing one of his enormous sea-boots, and began an incoherent conversation and a riotous romp with that juvenile fisherman.

A brighter sunshine than had ever been there before enlightened that Yarmouth home, for God had entered it and the hearts of its occupants.

Example is well-known to be infectious. In course of time a number of brother fishermen began to think as Jim Greely thought and feel as he felt. His house also became the centre, or headquarters, of an informal association got up for the purpose of introducing warmth and sunshine into poor homes in all weathers, and there were frequently such large meetings of the members of that association that it taxed Nellie's ingenuity to supply seats and stow them all away. She managed it, however; for, as Jim was wont to remark, "Nellie had a powerful intellec' for her size."

Among the frequenters of this Yarmouth home were several of the men who had once been staunch supporters of the Green Dragon, and of these the most enthusiastic, perhaps, if not the most noisy, were Black Whistler, Lively Dick, and fair-haired Charlie.

[The end]
R. M. Ballantyne's short story: Jim Greely, The North Sea Skipper

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