are of
the deep-sea fishermen, had chartered a small fishing smack, sent her
out among the fishermen to hold religious services of a simple,
unconventional type, in order to afford the men an alternative to the
grog vessels when fishing was slack, and to carry first aid, the
skipper of the vessel being taught ambulance work. They wanted,
however, very much to get a young doctor to go out, who cared also for
the spiritual side of the work, to see if they could use the
additional attraction of proper medical aid to gain the men's
sympathies. His advice to me was to go and have a look at it. "If you
go in January you will see some fine seascapes, anyhow. Don't go in
summer when all of the old ladies go for a rest."

I therefore applied to go out the following January, and that fall,
while working near the Great London docks, I used often to look at
the tall East Indiamen, thinking that I soon should be aboard just
such a vessel in the North Sea. It was dark and raining when my train
ran into Yarmouth, and a dripping, stout fisherman in a blue uniform
met me at that then unattractive and ill-lighted terminus. He had
brought a forlorn "growler" or four-wheeled cab. Climbing in we drove
a mile or more along a deserted road, and drew up at last apparently
at the back of beyond.

"Where is the ship?" I asked.

"Why, those are her topmasts," replied my guide, pointing to two posts
projecting from the sand. "The tide is low and she is hidden by the
quay."

"Heavens!" I thought; "she's no tea clipper, anyhow."

I climbed up the bank and peered down in the darkness at the hull of a
small craft, a little larger than our old Roysterer. She was just
discernible by the dim rays of the anchor light. I was hesitating as
to whether I shouldn't drive back to Yarmouth and return to London
when a cheery voice on deck called out a hearty welcome. What big
things hang on a smile and a cheery word no man can ever say. But it
broke the spell this time and I had my cabby unload my bags on the
bank and bade him good-night. As his wheels rumbled away into the rain
and dark, I felt that my cables were cut beyond recall. Too late to
save me, the cheery voice shouted, "Mind the rigging, it's just tarred
and greased." I was already sliding down and sticking to it as I went.
Small as the vessel was she was absolutely spotless. Her steward, who
cooked for all hands, was smart and in a snow-white suit. The contrast
between-decks and that above was