The Lifeboat | Page 5

are capable of being upset as well as ordinary boats, and there
are cases on record in which the crews of them have been drowned as
well as the people whom they recklessly went out to save. My opinion
is, that persons who devote themselves to a sea-faring life must make
up their minds to the chances and risks attending such a life. Now you
have my answer--good-bye, and give my best regards to your sister. I
will expect you back next Saturday week."
"I have still another favour to ask, sir," said Guy, after some hesitation.
"Has it anything to do with what you are pleased to term a
philanthropic object?"
"It has."
"Then," said Mr Denham, "save me the trouble of refusing, and
yourself the pain of a refusal, by holding your tongue,--and retiring."
Guy coloured, and was about to turn away in disgust, but, repressing
his indignation by a powerful effort, he advanced with a cheerful
countenance, and held out his hand.
"Well, good-bye, uncle. If ever you go to the coast, and happen to see a
storm and a shipwreck, you'll change your mind, I think, in regard to
this matter."
Mr Denham did go to the coast, and, did see a storm and a shipwreck,
but whether this prediction ever came true is a point that shall not be
revealed at this part of our narrative.
CHAPTER TWO.

IN WHICH MORE IMPORTANT PERSONAGES ARE
INTRODUCED, AND DISPLAY THEIR CHARACTERS BY THEIR
ACTIONS MORE OR LESS.
The "Three Jolly Tars" was one of those low taverns where seamen
were wont to congregate--not because it was a low tavern, but because
there was no other sort of tavern--high or low--in that neighbourhood.
The world (that is to say, the delicately-nurtured and carefully-tended
world) is apt to form erroneous opinions in regard to low taverns, and
degradation, and sin in general,--arising from partial ignorance and
absolute inexperience, which it is important that we should correct in
order that the characters of our story may not be falsely judged. God
forbid that it should be for a moment supposed that we have a word to
say in favour of low taverns. Our aim just now is, not to consider these,
but, to convince the reader, if possible, that every man who enters one
of them is not necessarily a lost or utterly depraved creature.
It is undoubtedly true that these low taverns are moral pig-sties. Nay,
we owe an apology to the pigs for the comparison. Sties appear to be
places of abode suited to the nature and tastes of their occupants, and
the grumps who inhabit them seem not only to rejoice in them (for this
alone would be no argument, inasmuch as the same may be affirmed of
men who rejoice in low taverns), but to be utterly incapable of higher
enjoyment out of them. Let a pig out of his stye, afford him every
conceivable opportunity of intellectual and physical improvement, and
he will carefully search out the nearest mudhole--unhappy until he
finds it--will thrust not only his nose but his body into it, and will find
supreme enjoyment in wallowing in the mire; and no blame to him for
this; he is grumpish by nature. Yes, a low tavern is beneath the level of
a pig-stye!
Nevertheless, as it is possible that, for a time, man may, through sin, or
circumstances, or both, be reduced to such a condition as to take shelter
in a pig-stye, without exposing himself to the charge of being a pig; so,
it is possible that a man may frequent a low tavern, not without
detriment, but, without becoming thereby worthy of being classed with
the lowest of the low. Do not misunderstand us, gentle reader. We do

not wish in the slightest degree to palliate the coarse language, the
debasement, the harsh villainy, which shock the virtuous when visiting
the haunts of poverty. Our simple desire is to assure the sceptical that
goodness and truth are sometimes found in strange questionable places,
although it is undoubtedly true that they do not deliberately search out
such places for an abode, but prefer a pure atmosphere and pleasant
companionship if they can get it.
It must not be supposed, then, that our friend John Bax--sometimes
called "captain," sometimes "skipper," not unfrequently "mister," but
most commonly "Bax," without any modification--was a hopeless
castaway, because he was found by his friend Guy Foster in a room full
of careless foul-mouthed seamen, eating his bread and cheese and
drinking his beer in an atmosphere so impregnated with tobacco smoke
that he could scarcely see, and so redolent of gin that he could scarcely
smell the smoke!
In those days there were not so many sailors' homes and temperance
coffee-houses as there are now. In the locality