Mrs. Walton had much to do with many philanthropic movements, and men were always glad to hear her judgments—­mainly because she was not a platform woman.  She turned an amused look on Fullerton, and said, “Of course a woman can’t deal with logic and common sense and all those dreadful things, and I know what a terribly rigid logician Mr. Fullerton is.  I think, even without seeing any more misery and broken bones and things, that we have no very great difficulty before us.  The case is as simple as can be—­to a woman.  There is an enormous fund set aside by the public for charity, and everybody wants to see a fair distribution.  If a slater comes off a roof and breaks a limb, there is a hospital for him within half an hour’s drive in most towns.  If one of our men here breaks his arm, there is no hospital within less than two days’ steam.  We don’t want the public to think the fisher is a more deserving man than the slater; we want both men to have a fair chance.  Charitable men can see the slater, so they help him; they can’t see the fisher without running the chance of being bruised and drenched, so they don’t help him—­at present.  They don’t want good feeling; they want eyes, and we must act as eyes for them.  Women can only be useful on shore; you gentlemen must do everything that is needed out here.  I’m very glad I’ve seen the North Sea in a fury, but I should not care to be a mere coddled amateur, nor would any one else that I work with.”

“Quite right, madam,” said the professor, nodding his head with the gravity of all Cambridge; “and I should like to see women taking part in the management of our sea hospitals if the scheme is ever to be any more than a dream.  The talking women are like the talking men:  they squabble, they recriminate, they screech and air their vanity, and they mess up every business they touch.  But if you have committee work to do, and want economy and expedition, then give me one or two lady members to assist.”

Then Blair called, “Come along, skipper; she’s going easy.  Bring up one or two of the men and we’ll have some singing.”

Now the ordinary sailor sings songs with the merriest or most blackguard words to the most dirge-like tunes; but our fishermen sing religious words to the liveliest tunes they can learn.  I notice they are fonder of waltz rhythms than of any others.  The merchant sailor will drawl the blackguard “I’ll go no more a-roving” to an air like a prolonged wail; the fisherman sings “Home, beautiful home” as a lovely waltz.  Blair always encouraged the men to sing a great deal, and therein he showed the same discretion as good merchant mates.

I cannot describe Freeman’s ecstasies, and I wish I could only give an idea of the helmsman’s musical method.  This latter worthy had easy steering to do, so he joined in; he was fond of variety, and he sang some lines in a high falsetto which sounded like the whistling of the gaff (with perhaps a touch of razor-grinding added); then just when you expected him to soar off at a tangent to Patti’s topmost A, he let his voice fall to his boots, and emitted a most bloodcurdling bass growl, which carried horrid suggestions of midnight fiends and ghouls and the silent tomb.  Still, his mates thought he was a musical prodigy; he was entranced with the sweetness and power of his own performance, and the passengers were more than amused, so every one was satisfied.