The Coxswains Bride | Page 7

as one of the men said, "snorin'" over the wild sea towards the
harbour of Greyton.
It was a grand sight to behold the pier of the little port on that stormy
morning. Of course, it had soon become known that the lifeboat was
out. Although at starting it had been seen by only a few of the old
salts--whose delight it was to recall the memory of grand stormy times
long past, by facing the gales at all hours in oiled coats and
sou'-westers--the greater part of the fishing village only became aware
of the fact on turning out to work in the morning. We have said that the
gale had moderated, and the sun had come out, so that the pier was
crowded, not only with fisher-folk, but with visitors to the port, and
other landsmen.
Great was the hope, and sanguine the expectation of the crowd, when,
after long and anxious waiting, the lifeboat was at last descried far out
at sea, making straight for the harbour.
"All right, Bill," exclaimed an old fisherman, who had been for some
time past sweeping the horizon with his glass, "the flag's a-flyin'."
"What does that mean?" asked a smart young lady, who had braved the
blast and run the risk of a salt-wash from the sprays at the pier-end in
her eager desire to see the boat arrive.
"It means, Miss, that they've managed to save somebody--how many, in
course, we can't tell till they come."
There was a strong disposition on the part of the crowd to cheer when
this was said.
After a few minutes' further observation, the old man with the glass
murmured, as if speaking to himself, "I do believe she's chock-full o'
people."
When this was repeated, the suppressed cheer broke forth, and the

excitement increased. Soon the people with good eyes could see for
themselves that the swiftly approaching boat was as full as she could
hold, of human beings. At the same time, those who were in the boat
could see the swarms of sympathisers on the pier who awaited their
arrival.
But there was one man who took no note of these things, and seemed
indifferent to everything around him. The coxswain of the lifeboat was
spiritually absent from the scene.
"You seem to've got the fidgets, Bob," remarked Joe Slag, looking
earnestly at his friend. "That swim has been too much for 'ee."
"'Taint that, Joe," replied Bob, quickly. "What's the time now, lad?"
Pulling out the antique warming-pan again, Slag said it was nigh a
quarter past ten, and added that he, (Bob), seemed to be "uncommon
consarned about the time o' day that mornin'."
"And so would you be, lad," returned the coxswain, in a low voice, as
he advanced his mouth to his comrade's ear, "if you was in my fix. I've
got to be spliced this day before twelve, an' the church is more'n two
miles inland!"
"That's awk'ard," returned Slag, with a troubled look. "But, I say, Bob,
you've kep' this uncommon close from us all--eh? I never heerd ye was
to be spliced so soon."
"Of course I kep' it close, 'cos I wanted to give you an' my mates a
surprise, but it strikes me I'll give some other people a surprise to-day,
for there's no time to put on clean toggery."
"You'll never manage it," said Slag, in a sympathetic tone, as he once
more consulted the warming-pan. "It's gettin' on for half arter ten now,
an' it takes a mortal time to rig out in them go-to-meetin' slops."
"Do I look anything like a bridegroom as I am?" asked the coxswain
with a curious glance.

"Sca'cely," replied Slag, surveying his friend with a grim smile--"(mind
your helm, Bob, there's a awk'ard run on the tide round the pier-head,
you know.) No; you're not wery much like one. Even if your toggery
was all ship-shape--which it ain't--it would stand dryin', and your hair
would be the better o' brushin'--to say nothin' o' your beard--an' it do
seem, too, as if a bit o' soap might improve your hands an' face arter
last night's work. No, Bob, I couldn't honestly say as you're exactly
ship-shape as you stand."
"Listen, Joe Slag," said Bob Massey, with sudden earnestness. "I've
never yet come in after a rescue without seein' the boat hauled up an'
made snug. `Dooty first, an' pleasure arter,' that's bin my motto, as you
know. But dooty lies in another direction this day, so you promise to
see her hauled up, an' cleaned, an' properly housed, won't you?"
"In coorse I does."
"Well, then," continued Bob, in the same low, earnest tone, "arter that's
done, you'll go an' invite all our mates an' friends to a jolly blow-out in
the big shed alongside o'