Years ago I had no conception of the amount of positive suffering which the fishermen endure.  I was once on board a merchant steamer during a few months, and I was installed as surgeon-in-chief.  We had a few cases which were pretty tiresome in their way, but then the utmost work our men had to do was the trifle of pulling and hauling when the try-sails were put on her, and the usual scraping and scrubbing and painting which goes on about all iron ships.  But the smacksman runs the risk of a hurt of some kind in every minute of his waking life.  He must work with his oilskins on when rain or spray is coming aboard, and his oilskins fray the skin when the edges wear a little; then the salt water gets into the sore and makes a nasty ulcer, which eats its way up until you may see men who dare not work at the trawl without having their sleeves doubled to the elbow.  Then there are the salt water cracks which cut their way right to the bone.  These, and toothache, the fisherman’s great enemy, are the ailments which may be cured or relieved by the skippers of the Mission smacks.  In a single year nearly eight thousand cases have been treated in the floating dispensaries, and I may say that I never saw a malingerer come on board.  What would be the use?  It is only the stress of positive pain that makes the men seek help, and their hard stoicism is very fine to see.  A man unbinds an ugly poisoned hand, and quietly lets you know that he has gone about his work for a week with that throbbing fester paining him; another will simply say that he kept about as long as he could with a broken finger.  Then there are cases of a peculiarly distressing nature—­scalp wounds caused by falling blocks, broken limbs in various stages of irritation, internal injuries caused by violent falls in bad weather, and for all these there is ready and hearty help aboard the Mission vessel.

Scarcely one of the North Sea converts has turned out badly, for they usually have the stern stuff of good men in them; they have that manly and passionate gratitude which only the true and honest professor, free from taint of humbug or hypocrisy, can maintain, and I say deliberately that every man of them who is brought to lead a pure, sober, religious life, represents a distinct gain to our best national wealth—­a wealth that is far above money.

I know that my dream may be translated into fact, for have we not the early success of the superb hospital smack to reassure us?  Let us go a little farther and complete the work; let us make sure that no poor, maimed seaman shall be without a chance of speedy relief when his hard fate overtakes him on that savage North Sea.  The fishers are the forlorn hope in the great Army of Labour; they risk life and limb every day—­every moment—­in our behoof; surely the luckier children of civilization may remember their hardly entreated brethren?  No sentiment is needed in the business, and gush of any sort is altogether hateful.  God forbid that I should