d he would certainly have perished, had it
not been that the recently arrived mission vessel chanced to be a very
short distance to windward of him. A slight touch of the helm sent her
swiftly to his side. A rope was thrown. Martin caught it. Ready hands
and eager hearts were there to grasp and rescue. In another moment he
was saved, and the vessel swept on to mingle with the other smacks--for
Martin was at first almost insensible, and could not tell to which
vessel of the fleet he belonged.

Yes, the bad man was rescued, though no one would have sustained much
loss by his death; but in Yarmouth that night there was one woman, who
little thought that she was a widow, and several little ones who knew
not that they were fatherless. The other man who perished was an
unmarried youth, but he left an invalid mother to lifelong mourning over
the insatiable greed of the cold North Sea.

Little note was taken of this event in the fleet. It was, in truth, a
by no means unusual disaster. If fish are to be found, fair weather or
foul, for the tables on land, lives must be risked and lost in the
waters of the sea. Loss of life in ferrying the fish being of almost
daily occurrence, men unavoidably get used to it, as surgeons do to
suffering and soldiers to bloodshed. Besides, on such occasions, in the
great turmoil of winds and waves, and crowds of trawlers and shouting,
it may be only a small portion of the fleet which is at first aware that
disaster has occurred, and even these must not, cannot, turn aside from
business at such times to think about the woes of their fellow-men.

Meanwhile Dick Martin had fallen, as the saying is, upon his feet. He
was carried into a neatly furnished cabin, put between warm blankets in
a comfortable berth, and had a cup of steaming hot coffee urged upon him
by a pleasant-voiced sailor, who, while he inquired earnestly as to how
he felt, at the same time thanked the Lord fervently that they had been
the means of saving his life.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

TELLS OF MORE THAN ONE SURPRISE.

"Was that your boat that went down?" shouted Groggy Fox of the
_Cormorant_, as he sailed past the _Fairy_, after the carrying-steamer
had left, and the numerous fishing-smacks were gradually falling into
order for another attack on the finny hosts of the sea.

They were almost too far apart for the reply to be heard, and possibly
Bryce's state of mind prevented his raising his voice sufficiently, but
it