FISHERMEN'S OWN BOOK 89 



was far away. Not drowned ; ah, no ! Not buried under any mountain 



wave, cold food for fishes. He had seen lonely hours — night and day when 



at his work his thoughts were with his dear ones left at home ; in his dreams, 



too, he was ever with them. His comrades chided him for his lack of 



sociability; he had no heart for mirth. His greatest pleasure was in the 



reading of his Bible and in singing the tender songs Janet loved. Those 



songs were always tender, always telling of love and home. For there have 



been some stirring sea-songs written — written by men who were never on 



the sea — but they are not the songs sailors sing. The sea-beaten, homesick 



sailor does not turn to "A Life on the Ocean Wave" for consolation when 



he thinks of the faces he leaves behind the curtain of the home window. 



"The sea, the sea, the open seal 

 I am where I wculd ever be ; 

 * * * * * » 

 T love, O how I love to ride 

 On the tierce, foaming, bui'sting tide," 



are heartless mocker}', an unmeaning gibberish, to the man who has fought 



for very life, with death behind him, in the sleet and hail and crashing ice 



on Georges, or in the polar seas. For him the homely ballad of "Wapping 



Old Stairs" tells a dearer story. Molly, who says she'll be true and 



promises, 



"Your breeches I'll mend, and your grog, too, I'll make," 



is the dearest sweetheart, and her blue eyes shine across the night and storm. 



Meanwhile, Janet watched and prayed. With her children she braved 

 the wind and storm, and went to the water-side to be near ///;«. She 

 stretched her arms out, and her hot tears fell on the rocks where she stood. 



"O sea!" she sobbed, "Spare him! he loved you always ; he has trusted 

 you in your wildest anger, in your darkest moods ; spare him now!'' 



Bye-and-bye came rumors, brought by an old fisherman, of a schooner 

 drifting at the mercy of the storm — a disabled craft, which the gale pre- 

 vented rendering assistance, and when it was over she was not to be seen, 

 and it was doubtful if she ever returned to port. 



Bye-and-bye other news came that it was the Snow-Bird — but there were 

 good men on board of her, and there was hope that she might yet be heard 

 from. 



And Janet heard. O God, pity the tortured hearts of woman at such 

 times as these. She went from fisherman to fisherman, as they got into 

 port. They turned away, shivering, from her sad eyes. 



"Was there no way to help those drowning men out there? Could noth- 

 ing be done.-" Must they stand idle, watching, while vessel and men went 

 down before their eyes ? " 



Poor wife! And there were others, too, other hearts trembling, other 



