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diff --git a/36998.txt b/36998.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f3dc955 --- /dev/null +++ b/36998.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8246 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Every Man for Himself, by Norman Duncan + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Every Man for Himself + +Author: Norman Duncan + +Release Date: August 7, 2011 [EBook #36998] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EVERY MAN FOR HIMSELF *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +[Illustration: SHE WAS PROMISED TO SLOW JIM TOOL] + + + + + EVERY MAN + FOR + HIMSELF + + BY + NORMAN DUNCAN + + AUTHOR OF + "THE CRUISE OF THE _SHINING LIGHT_" + "DOCTOR LUKE OF THE _LABRADOR_" + ETC. ETC + + NEW YORK AND LONDON + HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS + MCMVIII + + + + + Copyright, 1906,1907,1908, by Harper & Brothers. + Copyright, 1906, by Houghton, Mifflin, and Company. + Copyright, 1905, by The Outlook Company. + Copyright, 1907, by The Century Co. + + _All rights reserved_ + Published September, 1908. + + + + + CONTENTS + + CHAPTER PAGE + I. The Wayfarer 1 + II. A Matter of Expediency 40 + III. The Minstrel 66 + IV. The Squall 98 + V. The Fool of Skeleton Tickle 132 + VI. A Comedy of Candlestick Cove 149 + VII. "By-an'-by" Brown of Blunder Cove 182 + VIII. They Who Lose at Love 208 + IX. The Revolution at Satan's Trap 231 + X. The Surplus 273 + + + + + ILLUSTRATIONS + + SHE WAS PROMISED TO SLOW JIM TOOL. Frontispiece + "I SEED THE SHAPE OF A MAN LEAP FOR MY PLACE" 62 + THE DARK, SMILING SALIM, WITH HIS MAGIC PACK, WAS WELCOME 88 + "YOU KEEP YOUR TONGUE OFF POOR LIZABETH" 112 + "YOU WAS FIXED ALL RIGHT?" PARSON JAUNT ASKED 178 + "OL' BILL HULK CRAWLIN' DOWN THE HILL T' MEETIN'" 276 + + + + +EVERY MAN FOR HIMSELF + + + + +I--THE WAYFARER + + +The harbor lights were out; all the world of sea and sky and barren rock +was black. It was Saturday--long after night, the first snow flying in +the dark. Half a gale from the north ran whimpering through the rigging, +by turns wrathful and plaintive--a restless wind: it would not leave the +night at ease. The trader _Good Samaritan_ lay at anchor in Poor Man's +Harbor on the Newfoundland coast: this on her last voyage of that season +for the shore fish. We had given the schooner her Saturday night bath; +she was white and trim in every part: the fish stowed, the decks +swabbed, the litter of goods in the cabin restored to the hooks and +shelves. The crew was in the forecastle--a lolling, snoozy lot, now +desperately yawning for lack of diversion. Tumm, the clerk, had survived +the moods of brooding and light irony, and was still wide awake, musing +quietly in the seclusion of a cloud of tobacco smoke. By all the signs, +the inevitable was at hand; and presently, as we had foreseen, the +pregnant silence fell. + + * * * * * + +With one blast--a swishing exhalation breaking from the depths of his +gigantic chest, in its passage fluttering his unkempt mustache--Tumm +dissipated the enveloping cloud; and having thus emerged from seclusion +he moved his glance from eye to eye until the crew sat in uneasy +expectancy. + +"If a lad's mother tells un he've got a soul," he began, "it don't do no +wonderful harm; but if a man finds it out for hisself--" + +The pause was for effect; so, too, the pointed finger, the lifted +nostrils, the deep, inclusive glance. + +"--it plays the devil!" + +The ship's boy, a cadaverous, pasty, red-eyed, drooping-jawed youngster +from the Cove o' First Cousins, gasped in a painful way. He came closer +to the forecastle table--a fascinated rabbit. + +"Billy Ill," said Tumm, "you better turn in." + +"I isn't sleepy, sir." + +"I 'low you better _had_," Tumm warned. "It ain't fit for such as you t' +hear." + +The boy's voice dropped to an awed whisper. "I wants t' hear," he said. + +"Hear?" + +"Ay, sir. I wants t' hear about souls--an' the devil." + +Tumm sighed. "Ah, well, lad," said he, "I 'low you was born t' be +troubled by fears. God help us all!" + +We waited. + + * * * * * + +"He come," Tumm began, "from Jug Cove--bein'," he added, indulgently, +after a significant pause, "born there--an' that by sheer ill luck of a +windy night in the fall o' the year, when the ol' woman o' Tart Harbor, +which used t' be handy thereabouts, was workin' double watches at Whale +Run t' save the life of a trader's wife o' the name o' Tiddle. I 'low," +he continued, "that 'tis the only excuse a man _could_ have for hailin' +from Jug Cove; for," he elucidated, "'tis a mean place t' the westward +o' Fog Island, a bit below the Black Gravestones, where the _Soldier o' +the Cross_ was picked up by Satan's Tail in the nor'easter o' last fall. +You opens the Cove when you rounds Greedy Head o' the Henan'-Chickens +an' lays a course for Gentleman Tickle t' other side o' the Bay. 'Tis +there that Jug Cove lies; an' whatever," he proceeded, being now well +under way, with all sail drawing in a snoring breeze, "'tis where the +poor devil had the ill luck t' hail from. We was drove there in the +_Quick as Wink_ in the southerly gale o' the Year o' the Big Shore +Catch; an' we lied three dirty days in the lee o' the Pillar o' Cloud, +waitin' for civil weather; for we was fished t' the scrupper-holes, an' +had no heart t' shake hands with the sea that was runnin'. 'Tis a mean +place t' be wind-bound--this Jug Cove: tight an' dismal as chokee, with +walls o' black rock, an' as nasty a front yard o' sea as ever I knowed. + +"'Ecod!' thinks I, 'I'll just take a run ashore t' see how bad a mess +really _was_ made o' Jug Cove.' + +"Which bein' done, I crossed courses for the first time with Abraham +Botch--Botch by name, an' botch, accordin' t' my poor lights, by nature: +Abraham Botch, God help un! o' Jug Cove. 'Twas a foggy day--a cold, wet +time: ecod! the day felt like the corpse of a drowned cook. The moss was +soggy; the cliffs an' rocks was all a-drip; the spruce was soaked t' the +skin--the earth all wettish an' sticky an' cold. The southerly gale +ramped over the sea; an' the sea got so mad at the wind that it fair +frothed at the mouth. I 'low the sea was tired o' foolin', an' wanted t' +go t' sleep; but the wind kep' teasin' it--kep' slappin' an' pokin' an' +pushin'--till the sea couldn't stand it no more, an' just got mad. Off +shore, in the front yard o' Jug Cove, 'twas all white with breakin' +rocks--as dirty a sea for fishin' punts as a man could sail in +nightmares. From the Pillar o' Cloud I could see, down below, the +seventeen houses o' Jug Cove, an' the sweet little _Quick as Wink_; the +water was black, an' the hills was black, but the ship an' the mean +little houses was gray in the mist. T' sea they was nothin'--just fog an' +breakers an' black waves. T' land-ward, likewise--black hills in the +mist. A dirty sea an' a lean shore! + +"'Tumm,' thinks I, ''tis more by luck than good conduct that you wasn't +born here. You'd thank God, Tumm,' thinks I, 'if you didn't feel so +dismal scurvy about bein' the Teacher's pet.' + +"An' then-- + +"'Good-even,' says Abraham Botch. + +"There he lied--on the blue, spongy caribou-moss, at the edge o' the +cliff, with the black-an'--white sea below, an' the mist in the sky an' +on the hills t' leeward. Ecod! but he was lean an' ragged: this fellow +sprawlin' there, with his face t' the sky an' his legs an' leaky boots +scattered over the moss. Skinny legs he had, an' a chest as thin as +paper; but aloft he carried more sail 'n the law allows--sky-scraper, +star-gazer, an', ay! even the curse-o'-God-over-all. That was +Botch--mostly head, an' a sight more forehead than face, God help un! +He'd a long, girlish face, a bit thin at the cheeks an' skimped at the +chin; an' they wasn't beard enough anywheres t' start a bird's nest. Ah, +but the eyes o' that botch! Them round, deep eyes, with the still waters +an' clean shores! I 'low I can't tell you no more--but only this: that +they was somehow like the sea, blue an' deep an' full o' change an' +sadness. Ay, there lied Botch in the fog-drip--poor Botch o' Jug Cove: +eyes in his head; his dirty, lean body clothed in patched moleskin an' +rotten leather. + +"An'-- + +"'Good-even, yourself,' says I. + +"'My name's Botch,' says he. 'Isn't you from the _Quick as Wink_?' + +"'I is,' says I; 'an' they calls me Tumm.' + +"'That's a very queer name,' says he. + +"'Oh no!' says I. 'They isn't nothin' queer about the name o' Tumm.' + +"He laughed a bit--an' rubbed his feet together: just like a tickled +youngster. 'Ay,' says he; 'that's a wonderful queer name. Hark!' says +he. 'You just listen, an' I'll _show_ you. Tumm,' says he, 'Tumm, Tumm, +Tumm.... Tumm, Tumm, Tumm.... Tumm--' + +"'Don't,' says I, for it give me the fidgets. 'Don't say it so often.' + +"'Why not?' says he. + +"'I don't like it," says I. + +"'Tumm,' says he, with a little cackle, 'Tumm, Tumm, Tumm--' + +"'Don't you do that no more,' says I. 'I won't have it. When you says it +that way, I 'low I don't know whether my name is Tumm or Tump. 'Tis a +very queer name. I wisht,' says I, 'that I'd been called Smith.' + +"''Twouldn't make no difference,' says he. 'All names is queer if you +stops t' think. Every word you ever spoke is queer. Everything is queer. +It's _all_ queer--once you stops t' think about it.' + +"'Then I don't think I'll stop,' says I, 'for I don't _like_ things t' +be queer.' + +"Then Botch had a little spell o' thinkin'." + +Tumm leaned over the forecastle table. + +"Now," said he, forefinger lifted, "accordin' t' my lights, it ain't +nice t' see _any_ man thinkin': for a real man ain't got no call t' +think, an' can't afford the time on the coast o' Newf'un'land, where +they's too much fog an' wind an' rock t' 'low it. For me, I'd rather see +a man in a 'leptic fit: for fits is more or less natural an' can't be +helped. But Botch! When Botch _thunk_--when he got hard at it--'twould +give you the shivers. He sort o'drawed away--got into nothin'. They +wasn't no sea nor shore for Botch no more; they wasn't no earth, no +heavens. He got rid o'all that, as though it hindered the work he was +at, an' didn't matter anyhow. They wasn't nothin' left o'things but +botch--an' the nothin' about un. Botch _in_ nothin'. Accordin' t' my +lights, 'tis a sinful thing t'do; an' when I first seed Botch at it, I +'lowed he was lackin' in religious opinions. 'Twas just as if his soul +had pulled down the blinds, an' locked the front door, an' gone out for +a walk, without leavin' word when 'twould be home. An', accordin' t' my +lights, it ain't right, nor wise, for a man's soul t' do no such thing. +A man's soul 'ain't got no common-sense; it 'ain't got no caution, no +manners, no nothin' that it needs in a wicked world like this. When it +gets loose, 't is liable t' wander far, an' get lost, an' miss its +supper. Accordin' t' my lights, it ought t' be kep' in, an' fed an' +washed regular, an' put t' bed at nine o'clock. But Botch! well, there +lied his body in the wet, like an unloved child, while his soul went +cavortin' over the Milky Way. + +"He come to all of a sudden. 'Tumm,' says he, 'you is.' + +"'Ay,' says I, 'Tumm I is. 'Tis the name I was born with.' + +"'You don't find me,' says he. 'I says you _is_.' + +"'Is what?' + +"'Just--_is_!' + +"With that, I took un. 'Twas all t' oncet. He was tellin' me that I +_was_. Well, I _is_. Damme! 'twasn't anything I didn't _know_ if I'd +stopped t' think. But they wasn't nobody ever called my notice to it +afore, an' I'd been too busy about the fish t' mind it. So I was sort +o'--s'prised. It don't matter, look you! t' _be_; but 'tis mixin' t' the +mind an' fearsome t' stop t' _think_ about it. An' it come t' me all t' +oncet; an' I was s'prised, an' I was scared. + +"'Now, Tumm,' says he, with his finger p'intin', 'where was you?' + +"'Fishin' off the Shark's Fin,' says I. 'We just come up loaded, an'--' + +"'You don't find me,' says he. 'I says, where was you afore you was is?' + +"'Is you gone mad?' says I. + +"'Not at all, Tumm,' says he. 'Not at all! 'Tis a plain question. You +_is_, isn't you? Well, then, you must have been _was_. Now, then, Tumm, +where _was_ you?' + +"'Afore I was born?' + +"'Ay--afore you was is.' + +"'God knows!' says I. 'I 'low _I_ don't. An' look you, Botch,' says I, +'this talk ain't right. You isn't a infidel, is you?' + +"'Oh no!' says he. + +"'Then,' says I, for I was mad, 'where in hell did you think up all this +ghostly tomfoolery?' + +"'On the grounds,' says he. + +"'On the grounds?' Lads," said Tumm to the crew, his voice falling, +"_you_ knows what that means, doesn't you?" + + * * * * * + +The Jug Cove fishing-grounds lie off Breakheart Head. They are beset +with peril and all the mysteries of the earth. They are fished from +little punts, which the men of Jug Cove cleverly make with their own +hands, every man his own punt, having been taught to this by their +fathers, who learned of the fathers before them, out of the knowledge +which ancient contention with the wiles of the wind and of the sea had +disclosed. The timber is from the wilderness, taken at leisure; the iron +and hemp are from the far-off southern world, which is to the men of the +place like a grandmother's tale, loved and incredible. Off the Head the +sea is spread with rock and shallow. It is a sea of wondrously changing +colors--blue, red as blood, gray, black with the night. It is a sea of +changing moods: of swift, unprovoked wrath; of unsought and surprising +gentlenesses. It is not to be understood. There is no mastery of it to +be won. It gives no accounting to men. It has no feeling. The shore is +bare and stolid. Black cliffs rise from the water; they are forever +white at the base with the fret of the sea. Inland, the blue-black hills +lift their heads; they are unknown to the folk--hills of fear, remote and +cruel. Seaward, fogs and winds are bred; the misty distances are vast +and mysterious, wherein are the great cliffs of the world's edge. Winds +and fogs and ice are loose and passionate upon the waters. Overhead is +the high, wide sky, its appalling immensity revealed from the rim to the +rim. Clouds, white and black, crimson and gold, fluffy, torn to shreds, +wing restlessly from nowhere to nowhere. It is a vast, silent, restless +place. At night its infinite spaces are alight with the dread marvel of +stars. The universe is voiceless and indifferent. It has no purpose--save +to follow its inscrutable will. Sea and wind are aimless. The land is +dumb, self-centred; it has neither message nor care for its children. +And from dawn to dark the punts of Jug Cove float in the midst of these +terrors. + + * * * * * + +"Eh?" Tumm resumed. "_You_ knows what it is, lads. 'Tis bad enough t' +think in company, when a man can peep into a human eye an' steady his +old hulk; but t' think alone--an' at the fishin'! I 'low Botch ought to +have knowed better; for they's too many men gone t' the mad-house t' St. +John's already from this here coast along o' thinkin'. But Botch thinked +at will. 'Tumm,' says he, 'I done a power o' thinkin' in my life--out +there on the grounds, between Breakheart Head an' the Tombstone, that +breakin' rock t' the east'ard. I've thunk o' wind an' sea, o' sky an' +soil, o' tears an' laughter an' crooked backs, o' love an' death, rags +an' robbery, of all the things of earth an' in the hearts o' men; an' I +don't know nothin'! My God! after all, I don't know nothin'! The more +I've thunk, the less I've knowed. 'Tis all come down t' this, now, Tumm: +that I _is_. An' if I _is_, I _was_ an' _will be_. But sometimes I +misdoubt the _was_; an' if I loses my grip on the _was_, Tumm, my God! +what'll become o' the _will be_? Can you tell me that, Tumm? Is I got t' +come down t' the _is_? Can't I build nothin' on that? Can't I go no +further than the _is_? An' will I lose even that? Is I got t' come down +t' knowin' nothin' at all?' + +"'Look you! Botch,' says I, 'don't you know the price o' fish?' + +"'No,' says he. 'But it ain't nothin' t' know. It ain't worth knowin'. +It--it--it don't matter!' + +"'I 'low,' says I, 'your wife don't think likewise. You got a wife, +isn't you?' + +"'Ay,' says he. + +"'An' a kid?' + +"'I don't know,' says he. + +"'You _what_!' says I. + +"'I don't know,' says he. 'She was engaged at it when I come up on the +Head. They was a lot o' women in the house, an' a wonderful lot o' fuss +an' muss. You'd be _s'prised_, Tumm,' says he, 't' know how much fuss a +thing like this can _make_. So,' says he, 'I 'lowed I'd come up on the +Pillar o' Cloud an' think a spell in peace.' + +"'An' what?' says I. + +"'Have a little spurt at thinkin'.' + +"'O' she?' + +"'Oh no, Tumm,' says he; '_that_ ain't nothin' t' _think_ about. But,' +says he, 'I s'pose I might as well go down now, an' see what's happened. +I hopes 'tis a boy,' says he, 'for somehow girls don't seem t' have much +show.' + +"An' with that," drawled Tumm, "down the Pillar o' Cloud goes Abraham +Botch." + +He paused to laugh; and 'twas a soft, sad little laugh--dwelling upon +things long past. + +"An' by-and-by," he continued, "I took the goat-path t' the water-side; +an' I went aboard the _Quick as Wink_ in a fog o' dreams an' questions. +The crew was weighin' anchor, then; an' 'twas good for the soul t' feel +the deck-planks underfoot, an' t' hear the clank o' solid iron, an' t' +join the work-song o' men that had muscles an' bowels. 'Skipper Zeb,' +says I, when we had the old craft coaxed out o' the Tickle, 'leave me +have a spell at the wheel. For the love o' man,' says I, 'let me get a +grip of it! I wants t' get hold o' something with my hands--something +real an' solid; something I knows about; something that _means_ +something!' For all this talk o' the _is_ an' _was_, an' all these +thoughts o' the _why_, an' all the crybaby 'My Gods!' o' Abraham Botch, +an' the mystery o' the wee new soul, had made me dizzy in the head an' a +bit sick at the stomach. So I took the wheel, an' felt the leap an' +quiver o' the ship, an' got my eye screwed on the old Giant's Thumb, +loomin' out o' the east'ard fog, an' kep' her wilful head up, an' +wheedled her along in the white tumble, with the spray o' the sea cool +an' wet on my face; an' I was better t' oncet. The Boilin'-Pot Shallows +was dead ahead; below the fog I could see the manes o' the big white +horses flung t' the gale. An' I 'lowed that oncet I got the _Quick as +Wink_ in them waters, deep with fish as she was, I'd have enough of a +real man's troubles t' sink the woes o' the soul out o' all remembrance. + +"'I won't care a squid,' thinks I, 'for the _why_ nor the _wherefore_ o' +nothin'!' + +"'N neither I did." + +The skipper of the _Good Samaritan_ yawned. "Isn't they nothin' about +fish in this here yarn?" he asked. + +"Nor tradin'," snapped Tumm. + +"Nothin' about love?" + +"Botch never _knowed_ about love." + +"If you'll 'scuse me," said the skipper, "I'll turn in. I got enough." + +But the clammy, red-eyed lad from the Cove o' First Cousins hitched +closer to the table, and put his chin in his hands. He was now in a +shower of yellow light from the forecastle lamp. His nostrils were +working; his eyes were wide and restless and hot. He had bitten at a +chapped underlip until the blood came. + +"About that _will be_" he whispered, timidly. "Did Botch never +say--_where_?" + +"You better turn in," Tumm answered. + +"But I wants t' know!" + +Tumm averted his face. "Ill," he commanded, quietly, "you better turn +in." + +The boy was obedient. + +"In March, 'long about two year after," Tumm resumed, "I shipped for the +ice aboard the _Neptune_. We got a scattered swile [seal] off the Horse +Islands; but ol' Cap'n Lane 'lowed the killin' was so mean that he'd +move t' sea an' come up with the ice on the outside, for the wind had +been in the nor'west for a likely spell. We cotched the body o' ice t' +the nor'east o' the Funks; an' the swiles was sure there--hoods an' harps +an' whitecoats an' all. They was three St. John's steamers there, an' +they'd been killin' for a day an' a half; so the ol' man turned our crew +loose on the ice without waitin' t' wink, though 'twas afternoon, with a +wicked gray look t' the sky in the west, which was where the wind was +jumpin' from. An' we had a red time--ay, now, believe me: a soppy red +time of it among the swiles that day! They was men from Green Bay, an' +Bonavist', an' the Exploits, an' the South Coast, an' a swarm o' Irish +from St. John's; they was so many men on the pack, ecod! that you +couldn't call their names. An' we killed an' sculped till dusk. An' then +the weather broke with snow; an' afore we knowed it we was lost from the +ships in the cloud an' wind--three hundred men, ecod! smothered an' +blinded by snow: howlin' for salvation like souls in a frozen hell. + +"'Tumm,' thinks I, 'you better get aboard o' something the sea won't +break over. This pack,' thinks I, 'will certain go abroad when the big +wind gets at it." + +"So I got aboard a bit of a berg; an' when I found the lee side I sot +down in the dark an' thunk hard about different things--sunshine an' +supper an' the like o' that; for they wasn't no use thinkin' about what +was goin' for'ard on the pack near by. An' there, on the side o' the +little berg, sits I till mornin'; an' in the mornin', out o' the +blizzard t' win'ward, along comes Abraham Botch o' Jug Cove, marooned on +a flat pan o' ice. 'Twas comin' down the wind--clippin' it toward my +overgrown lump of a craft like a racin' yacht. When I sighted Botch, +roundin' a point o' the berg, I 'lowed I'd have no more'n twenty minutes +t' yarn with un afore he was out o' hail an' sight in the snow t' +leeward. He was squatted on his haunches, with his chin on his knees, +white with thin ice, an' fringed an' decked with icicles; an' it 'peared +t' me, from the way he was took up with the nothin' about un, that he +was still thinkin'. The pack was gone abroad, then--scattered t' the four +winds: they wasn't another pan t' be seed on the black water. An' the +sea was runnin' high--a fussy wind-lop over a swell that broke in big +whitecaps, which went swishin' away with the wind. A scattered sea broke +over Botch's pan; 'twould fall aboard, an' break, an' curl past un, +risin' to his waist. But the poor devil didn't seem t' take much notice. +He'd shake the water off, an' cough it out of his throat; an' then he'd +go on takin' observations in the nothin' dead ahead. + +"'Ahoy, Botch!' sings I. + +"He knowed me t' oncet. 'Tumm!' he sings out. 'Well, well! That _you_?' + +"'The same,' says I. 'You got a bad berth there, Botch. I wish you was +aboard the berg with me.' + +"'Oh,' says he, 'the pan'll _do_. I gets a bit choked with spray when I +opens my mouth; but they isn't no good reason why I shouldn't keep it +shut. A man ought t' breathe through his nose, anyhow. That's what it's +_for_.' + +"'Twas a bad day--a late dawn in a hellish temper. They wasn't much of it +t' see--just a space o' troubled water, an' the big unfeelin'' cloud. +An', God! how cold it was! The wind was thick with dry snow, an' it come +whirlin'' out o' the west as if it wanted t' do damage, an' meant t' +have its way. 'Twould grab the crests o' the seas an' fling un off like +handfuls o' white dust. An' in the midst o' this was poor Botch o' Jug +Cove! + +"'This wind,' says I, 'will work up a wonderful big sea, Botch. You'll +be swep' off afore nightfall.' + +"'No,' says he; 'for by good luck, Tumm, I'm froze tight t' the pan.' + +"'But the seas'll drown you.' + +"'I don't know,' says he. 'I keeps breakin' the ice 'round my neck,' +says he, 'an' if I can on'y keep my neck clear an' limber I'll be able +t' duck most o' the big seas.' + +"It wasn't nice t' see the gentle wretch squattin' there on his +haunches. It made me feel bad. I wisht he was home t' Jug Cove thinkin' +of his soul. + +"'Botch,' says I, 'I _wisht_ you was somewheres else!' + +"'Now, don't you trouble about that, Tumm,' says he. 'Please don't! The +ice is all on the outside. I'm perfeckly comfortable inside.' + +"He took it all so gracious that somehow or other I begun t' forget that +he was froze t' the pan an' bound out t' sea. He was 'longside, now; an' +I seed un smile. So I sort o' got his feelin'; an' I didn't fret for un +no more. + +"'An', Tumm,' says he, 'I've had a wonderful grand night. I'll never +forget it so long as I lives.' + +"'A what?' says I. 'Wasn't you cold?' + +"'I--I--I don't know,' says he, puzzled. 'I was too busy t' notice much.' + +"'Isn't you hungry?' + +"'Why, Tumm,' says he, in s'prise, 'I believes I is, now that you +mentions it. I believes I'd _like_ a biscuit.' + +"'I wisht I had one t' shy,' says I. + +"'Don't you be troubled,' says he. 'My arms is stuck. I couldn't cotch +it, anyhow.' + +"'Anyhow,' says I, 'I wisht I had one.' + +"'A grand night!' says he. 'For I got a idea, Tumm. They wasn't nothin' +t' disturb me all night long. I been all alone--an' I been quiet. An' I +got a idea. I've gone an' found out, Tumm,' says he, 'a law o' life! +Look you! Tumm,' says he, 'what you aboard that berg for? 'Tis because +you had sense enough t' get there. An' why isn't I aboard that berg? +'Tis because I didn't have none o' the on'y kind o' sense that was +needed in the mess last night. You'll be picked up by the fleet,' says +he, 'when the weather clears; an' I'm bound out t' sea on a speck o' +flat ice. This coast ain't kind,' says he. 'No coast is kind. Men lives +because they're able for it; not because they're coaxed to. An' the on'y +kind o' men this coast lets live an' breed is the kind she wants. The +kind o' men this coast puts up with ain't weak, an' they ain't timid, +an' they don't think. Them kind dies--just the way I 'low _I_ got t' die. +They don't live, Tumm, an' they don't breed.' + +"'What about you?' says I. + +"'About me?' says he. + +"'Ay--that day on the Pillar o' Cloud.' + +"'Oh!' says he. 'You mean about _she_. Well, it didn't come t' nothin', +Tumm. The women folk wasn't able t' find me, an' they didn't know which +I wanted sove, the mother or the child; so, somehow or other, both went +an' died afore I got there. But that isn't got nothin' t' do with +_this_.' + +"He was drifted a few fathoms past. Just then a big sea fell atop of un. +He ducked real skilful, an' come out of it smilin', if sputterin'. + +"'Now, Tumm,' says he, 'if we was t' the s'uth'ard, where they says 'tis +warm an' different, an' lives isn't lived the same, maybe you'd be on +the pan o' ice, an' I'd be aboard the berg; maybe you'd be like t' +starve, an' I'd get so much as forty cents a day the year round. They's +a great waste in life,' says he; 'I don't know why, but there 'tis. An' +I 'low I'm gone t' waste on this here coast. I been born out o' place, +that's all. But they's a place somewheres for such as me--somewheres for +the likes o' me. T' the s'uth'ard, now, maybe, they'd _be_ a place; t' +the s'uth'ard, maybe, the folk would want t' know about the things I +thinks out--ay, maybe they'd even _pay_ for the labor I'm put to! But +_here_, you lives, an' I dies. Don't you see, Tumm? 'Tis the law! 'Tis +why a Newf'un'lander ain't a nigger. More'n that, 'tis why a dog's a dog +on land an' a swile in the water; 'tis why a dog haves legs an' a swile +haves flippers. Don't you see? 'Tis the law!' + +"'I don't quite find you,' says I. + +"Poor Botch shook his head. 'They isn't enough words in langwitch,' says +he, 't' 'splain things. Men ought t' get t' work an' make more.' + +"'But tell me,' says I. + +"Then, by Botch's regular ill luck, under he went, an' it took un quite +a spell t' cough his voice into workin' order. + +"'Excuse me,' says he. 'I'm sorry. It come too suddent t' be ducked.' + +"'Sure!' says I. '_I_ don't mind.' + +"'Tumm,' says he, 'it all comes down t' this: _The thing that lives is +the kind o' thing that's best fit t' live in the place it lives in_. +That's a law o' life! An' nobody but _me_, Tumm,' says he, 'ever knowed +it afore!' + +"'It don't amount t' nothin',' says I. + +"'Tis a law o' life!' + +"'But it don't _mean_ nothin'.' + +"'Tumm,' says he, discouraged, 'I can't talk t' you no more. I'm too +busy. I 'lowed when I seed you there on the berg that you'd tell +somebody what I thunk out last night if you got clear o' this mess. An' +I _wanted_ everybody t' know. I did so _want_ un t' know--an't' know that +Abraham Botch o' Jug Cove did the thinkin' all by hisself! But you don't +seem able. An', anyhow,' says he, 'I'm too busy t' talk no more. They's +a deal more hangin' on that law 'n I told you. The beasts o' the field +is born under it, an' the trees o' the forest, an' all that lives. +They's a bigger law behind; an' I got t' think that out afore the sea +works up. I'm sorry, Tumm; but if you don't mind, I'll just go on +thinkin'. You _won't_ mind, will you, Tumm? I wouldn't like you t' feel +bad.' + +"'Lord, no!' says I. '_I_ won't mind.' + +"'Thank you, Tumm,' says he. 'For I'm greatly took by thinkin'.' + +"An' so Botch sputtered an' thunk an' kep' his neck limber 'til he +drifted out o' sight in the snow." + +But that was not the last of the Jug Cove philosopher. + +"Next time I seed Botch," Tumm resumed, "we was both shipped by chance +for the Labrador from Twillingate. 'Twas aboard the dirty little _Three +Sisters_--a thirty-ton, fore-an'-aft green-fish catcher, skippered by Mad +Bill Likely o' Yellow Tail Tickle. An' poor Botch didn't look healthful. +He was blue an' wan an' wonderful thin. An' he didn't look at all +_right_. Poor Botch--ah, poor old Botch! They wasn't no more o' them +fuddlin' questions; they wasn't no more o' that cock-sure, tickled +little cackle. Them big, deep eyes o' his, which used t' be clean an' +fearless an' sad an' nice, was all misty an' red, like a nasty sunset, +an' most unpleasant shifty. I 'lowed I'd take a look in, an' sort o' +fathom what was up; but they was too quick for me--they got away every +time; an' I never seed more'n a shadow. An' he kep' lookin' over his +shoulder, an' cockin' his ears, an' givin' suddent starts, like a poor +wee child on a dark road. They wasn't no more o' that sinful gettin' +into nothin'--no more o' that puttin' away o' the rock an' sea an' the +great big sky. I 'lowed, by the Lord! that he couldn't _do_ it no more. +All them big things had un scared t' death. He didn't dast forget they +was there. He couldn't get into nothin' no more. An' so I knowed he +wouldn't be happy aboard the _Three Sisters_ with that devil of a Mad +Bill Likely o' Yellow Tail Tickle for skipper. + +"'Botch,' says I, when we was off Mother Burke, 'how is you, b'y?' + +"'Oh, farin' along,' says he. + +"'Ay,' says I; 'but how _is_ you, b'y?' + +"'Farin' along,' says he. + +"'It ain't a answer,' says I. 'I'm askin' a plain question, Botch.' + +"'Well, Tumm,' says he, 'the fac' is, Tumm, I'm--sort o'--jus'--farin' +along.' + +"We crossed the Straits of a moonlight night. The wind was fair an' +light. Mad Bill was t' the wheel: for he 'lowed he wasn't goin' t' have +no chances took with a Lally Line steamer, havin' been sunk oncet by the +same. 'Twas a kind an' peaceful night. I've never knowed the world t' be +more t' rest an' kinder t' the sons o' men. The wind was from the +s'uth'ard, a point or two east: a soft wind an' sort o' dawdlin' +careless an' happy toward the Labrador. The sea was sound asleep; an' +the schooner cuddled up, an' dreamed, an' snored, an' sighed, an' rolled +along, as easy as a ship could be. Moonlight was over all the world--so +soft an' sweet an' playful an' white; it said, 'Hush!' an', 'Go t' +sleep!' All the stars that ever shone was wide awake an' winkin'. A +playful crew--them little stars! Wink! wink! 'Go t'sleep!' says they. +''Tis our watch,' says they. '_We'll_ take care o' _you_.' An' t' +win'ward--far off--black an' low--was Cape Norman o' Newf'un'land. +Newf'un'land! Ah, we're all mad with love o' she! Good-night!' says she. +'Fair v'y'ge,' says she; 'an' may you come home loaded!' Sleep? Ay; men +could sleep that night. They wasn't no fear at sea. Sleep? Ay; they +wasn't no fear in all the moonlit world. + +"An' then up from the forecastle comes Botch o' Jug Cove. + +"'Tumm,' says he, 'you isn't turned in.' + +"'No, Botch,' says I. 'It isn't my watch; but I 'lowed I'd lie here on +this cod-trap an' wink back at the stars.' + +"'I can't sleep,' says he. 'Oh, Tumm, I _can't_!' + +"''Tis a wonderful fine night,' says I. + +"'Ay,' says he; 'but--' + +"'But what?' says I. + +"'You never can tell,' says he + +"'Never can tell what?' + +"'What's goin' t' happen.' + +"I took one look--just one look into them shiverin' eyes--an' shook my +head. 'Do you 'low,' says I, 'that we can hit that berg off the port +bow?' + +"'You never can tell,' says he. + +"'Good Lord!' says I. 'With Mad Bill Likely o' Yellow Tail Tickle at the +wheel? Botch,' says I, 'you're gone mad. What's _come_ along o' you? +Where's the _is_ an' the _was_ an' the _will be_? What's come o' that +law o' life?' + +"'Hist!' says he. + +"'Not me!' says I. 'I'll hush for no man. What's come o' the law o' +life? What's come o' all the thinkin'?' + +"'Tumm,' says he, 'I don't think no more. An' the laws o' life,' says +he, 'is foolishness. The fac' is, Tumm,' says he, 'things look wonderful +different t' me now. I isn't the same as I used t' be in them old days.' + +"'You isn't had a fever, Botch?' says I. + +"'Well,' says he, 'I got religion.' + +"'Oh!' says I. 'What kind?' + +"'Vi'lent,' says he. + +"'I see,' says I. + +"'I isn't converted just this minute,' says he. 'I 'low you might say, +an' be near the truth, that I'm a damned backslider. But I _been_ +converted, an' I may be again. Fac' is, Tumm,' says he, 'when I gets up +in the mornin' I never knows which I'm in, a state o' grace or a state +o' sin. It usual takes till after breakfast t' find out.' + +"'Botch, b'y,' says I, for it made me feel awful bad, 'don't you go an' +trouble about that.' + +"'You don't know about hell,' says he. + +"'I _does_ know about hell,' says I. 'My mother told me.' + +"'Ay,' says he; 'she told you. But you doesn't _know_.' + +"'Botch,' says I, 'twould s'prise me if she left anything out.' + +"He wasn't happy--Botch wasn't. He begun t' kick his heels, an' scratch +his whisps o' beard, an' chaw his finger-nails. It made me feel bad. I +didn't like t' see Botch took that way. I'd rather see un crawl into +nuthin' an' think, ecod! than chaw his nails an' look like a scared +idjit from the mad-house t' St. John's. + +"'You got a soul, Tumm,' says he. + +"'I knows that,' says I. + +"'How?' says he. + +"'My mother told me.' + +"Botch took a look at the stars. An' so I, too, took a look at the funny +little things. An' the stars is so many, an' so wonderful far off, an' +so wee an' queer an' perfeckly solemn an' knowin', that I 'lowed I +didn't know much about heaven an' hell, after all, an' begun t' feel +shaky. + +"'I got converted,' says Botch, 'by means of a red-headed parson from +the Cove o' the Easterly Winds. _He_ knowed everything. They wasn't no +_why_ he wasn't able t' answer. "The glory o' God," says he; an' there +was an end to it. An' bein' converted of a suddent,' says Botch, without +givin' much thought t' what might come after, I 'lowed the parson had +the rights of it. Anyhow, I wasn't in no mood t' set up my word against +a real parson in a black coat, with a Book right under his arm. I 'lowed +I wouldn't stay very long in a state o' grace if I done _that_. The fac' +is, he _told_ me so. "Whatever," thinks I, "the glory o' God does well +enough, if a man only _will_ believe; an' the tears an' crooked backs +an' hunger o' this here world," thinks I, "which the parson lays t' Him, +fits in very well with the reefs an' easterly gales He made." So I +'lowed I'd better take my religion an' ask no questions; an' the parson +said 'twas very wise, for I was only an ignorant man, an' I'd reach a +state o' sanctification if I kep' on in the straight an' narrow way. So +I went no more t' the grounds. For what was the _use_ o' goin' there? +'Peared t' me that heaven was my home. What's the use o' botherin' about +the fish for the little time we're here? I couldn't get my _mind_ on the +fish. "Heaven is my home," thinks I, "an' I'm tired, an' I wants t' get +there, an' I don't want t' trouble about the world." 'Twas an immortal +soul I had t' look out for. So I didn't think no more about laws o' +life. 'Tis a sin t' pry into the mysteries o' God; an' 'tis a sinful +waste o' time, anyhow, t' moon about the heads, thinkin' about laws o' +life when you got a immortal soul on your hands. I wanted t' save that +soul! _An I wants t' save it now_!' + +"'Well,' says I, 'ain't it sove?' + +"'No,' says he; 'for I couldn't help thinkin'. An' when I thunk, +Tumm--whenever I fell from grace an' thunk real hard--I couldn't believe +some o' the things the red-headed parson said I _had_ t' believe if I +wanted t' save my soul from hell.' + +"'Botch,' says I, 'leave your soul be.' + +"'I can't,' says he. 'I can't! I got a immortal soul, Tumm. What's t' +become o' that there soul?' + +"'Don't you trouble it,' says I. 'Leave it be. 'Tis too tender t' trifle +with. An', anyhow,' says I, 'a man's belly is all he can handle without +strainin'.' + +"'But 'tis _mine_--_my_ soul!' + +"'Leave it be,' says I. 'It'll get t' heaven.' + +"Then Botch gritted his teeth, an' clinched his hands, an' lifted his +fists t' heaven. There he stood, Botch o' Jug Cove, on the for'ard deck +o' the _Three Sisters_, which was built by the hands o' men, slippin' +across the Straits t' the Labrador, in the light o' the old, old +moon--there stood Botch like a man in tarture! + +"'I isn't sure, Tumm,' says he, 'that I wants t' go t' heaven. For I'd +be all the time foolin' about the gates o' hell, peepin' in,' says he; +'an' if the devils suffered in the fire--if they moaned an' begged for +the mercy o' God--I'd be wantin' t' go in, Tumm, with a jug o' water an' +a pa'm-leaf fan!' + +"'You'd get pretty well singed, Botch,' says I. + +"'I'd _want_ t' be singed!' says he. + +"'Well, Botch,' says I, 'I don't know where you'd best lay your course +for, heaven or hell. But I knows, my b'y,' says I, 'that you better give +your soul a rest, or you'll be sorry.' + +"'I can't,' says he. + +"'It'll get t' one place or t'other,' says I, 'if you on'y bides your +time.' + +"'How do you know?' says he. + +"'Why,' says I, 'any parson'll _tell_ you so!' + +"'But how do _you_ know?' says he. + +"'Damme, Botch!' says I, 'my mother told me so.' + +"'That's it!' says he. + +"'What's it?' + +"'Your mother,' says he. ''Tis all hearsay with you an' me. But I wants +t' know for myself. Heaven or hell, damnation or salvation, God or +nothin'!' says he. 'I wouldn't care if I on'y _knowed_. But I don't +know, an' can't find out. I'm tired o' hearsay an' guessin', Tumm. I +wants t' know. Dear God of all men,' says he, with his fists in the air, +'I _wants t' know_!' + +"'Easy,' says I. 'Easy there! Don't you say no more. 'Tis mixin' t' the +mind. So,' says I, 'I 'low I'll turn in for the night.' + +"Down I goes. But I didn't turn in. I couldn't--not just then. I raked +around in the bottom o' my old nunny-bag for the Bible my dear mother +put there when first I sot out for the Labrador in the Fear of the Lord. +'I wants a message,' thinks I; 'an' I wants it bad, an' I wants it +almighty quick!' An' I spread the Book on the forecastle table, an' I +put my finger down on the page, an' I got all my nerves t'gether--_an' I +looked_! Then I closed the Book. They wasn't much of a message; it +_done_, t' be sure, but 'twasn't much: for that there yarn o' Jonah an' +the whale is harsh readin' for us poor fishermen. But I closed the Book, +an' wrapped it up again in my mother's cotton, an' put it back in the +bottom o' my nunny-bag, an' sighed, an' went on deck. An' I cotched poor +Botch by the throat; an', 'Botch,' says I, 'don't you never say no more +about souls t' me. Men,' says I, 'is all hangin' on off a lee shore in a +big gale from the open; an' they isn't no mercy in that wind. I got my +anchor down,' says I. 'My fathers forged it, hook-an'-chain, an' _they_ +weathered it out, without fear or favor. 'Tis the on'y anchor I got, +anyhow, an' I don't want it t' part. For if it do, the broken bones o' +my soul will lie slimy an' rotten on the reefs t' leeward through all +eternity. You leave me be,' says I. 'Don't you never say soul t' me no +more!' + +"I 'low," Tumm sighed, while he picked at a knot in the table with his +clasp-knife, "that if I could ''a' done more'n just what mother teached +me, I'd sure have prayed for poor Abraham Botch that night!" + +He sighed again. + +"We fished the Farm Yard," Tumm continued, "an' Indian Harbor, an' beat +south into Domino Run; but we didn't get no chance t' use a pound o' +salt for all that. They didn't seem t' be no sign o' fish anywheres on +the s'uth'ard or middle coast o' the Labrador. We run here,' an' we beat +there, an' we fluttered around like a half-shot gull; but we didn't come +up with no fish. Down went the trap, an' up she come: not even a +lumpfish or a lobser t' grace the labor. Winds in the east, lop on the +sea, fog in the sky, ice in the water, colds on the chest, boils on the +wrists; but nar' a fish in the hold! It drove Mad Bill Likely stark. +'Lads,' says he, 'the fish is north o' Mugford. I'm goin' down,' says +he, 'if we haves t' winter at Chidley on swile-fat an' sea-weed. For,' +says he, 'Butt o' Twillingate, which owns this craft, an' has outfitted +every man o' this crew, is on his last legs, an' I'd rather face the +Lord in a black shroud o' sin than tie up t' the old man's wharf with a +empty hold. For the Lord is used to it,' says he, 'an' wouldn't mind; +but Old Man Butt would _cry_.' So we 'lowed we'd stand by, whatever come +of it; an' down north we went, late in the season, with a rippin' wind +astern. An' we found the fish 'long about Kidalick; an' we went at it, +night an' day, an' loaded in a fortnight. 'An' now, lads,' says Mad Bill +Likely, when the decks was awash, 'you can all go t' sleep, an' be +jiggered t' you!' An' down I dropped on the last stack o' green cod, an' +slep' for more hours than I dast tell you. + +"Then we started south. + +"'Tumm,' says Botch, when we was well underway, 'we're deep. We're awful +deep.' + +"'But it ain't salt,' says I; ''tis fish.' + +"'Ay,' says he; 'but 'tis all the same t' the schooner. We'll have wind, +an' she'll complain.' + +"We coaxed her from harbor t' harbor so far as Indian Tickle. Then we +got a fair wind, an' Mad Bill Likely 'lowed he'd make a run for it t' +the northern ports o' the French Shore. We was well out an' doin' well +when the wind switched t' the sou'east. 'Twas a beat, then; an' the poor +old _Three Sisters_ didn't like it, an' got tired, an' wanted t' give +up. By dawn the seas was comin' over the bow at will. The old girl +simply couldn't keep her head up. She'd dive, an' nose in, an' get +smothered; an' she shook her head so pitiful that Mad Bill Likely 'lowed +he'd ease her for'ard, an' see how she'd like it. 'Twas broad day when +he sent me an' Abraham Botch o' Jug Cove out t' stow the stays'l. They +wasn't no fog on the face o' the sea; but the sky was gray an' troubled, +an' the sea was a wrathful black-an'-white, an' the rain, whippin' past, +stung what it touched, an' froze t' the deck an' riggin'. I knowed she'd +put her nose into the big white seas, an' I knowed Botch an' me would go +under, an' I knowed the foothold was slippery with ice; so I called the +fac's t' Botch's attention, an' asked un not t' think too much. + +"'I've give that up,' says he. + +"'Well,' says I, 'you might get another attackt.' + +"'No fear,' says he; ''tis foolishness t' think. It don't come t' +nothin'.' + +"'But you _might_,' says I. + +"'Not in a moment o' grace,' says he. 'An', Tumm,' says he, 'at this +instant, my condition,' says he, 'is one o' salvation.' + +"'Then,' says I, 'you follow me, an' we'll do a tidy job with that there +stays'l.' + +"An' out on the jib-boom we went. We'd pretty near finished the job when +the _Three Sisters_ stuck her nose into a thundering sea. When she shook +that off, I yelled t' Botch t' look out for two more. If he heard, he +didn't say so; he was too busy spittin' salt water. We was still there +when the second sea broke. But when the third fell, an' my eyes was +shut, an' I was grippin' the boom for dear life, I felt a clutch on my +ankle; an' the next thing I knowed I was draggin' in the water, with a +grip on the bobstay, an' something tuggin' at my leg like a whale on a +fish-line. I knowed 'twas Botch, without lookin', for it couldn't be +nothin' else. An' when I looked, I seed un lyin' in the foam at the +schooner's bow, bobbin' under an' up. His head was on a pillow o' froth, +an' his legs was swingin' in a green, bubblish swirl beyond. + +"'Hold fast!' I yelled. + +"The hiss an' swish o' the seas was hellish. Botch spat water an' spoke, +but I couldn't hear. I 'lowed, though, that 'twas whether I could keep +my grip a bit longer. + +"'Hold fast!' says I. + +"He nodded a most agreeable thank you. 'I wants t' think a minute,' says +he. + +"'Take both hands!' says I. + +"On deck they hadn't missed us yet. The rain was thick an' sharp-edged, +an' the schooner's bow was forever in a mist o' spray. + +"'Tumm!' says Botch. + +"'Hold fast!' says I. + +"He'd hauled his head out o' the froth. They wasn't no trouble in his +eyes no more. His eyes was clear an' deep--with a little laugh lyin' far +down in the depths. + +"'Tumm,' says he, 'I----' + +"'I don't hear,' says I. + +"'I can't wait no longer,' says he. 'I wants t' know. An' I'm so near, +now,' says he, 'that I 'low I'll just find out.' + +"'Hold fast, you fool!' says I. + +"I swear by the God that made me," Tumm declared, "that he was smilin' +the last I seed of his face in the foam! He wanted t' know--an' he found +out! But I wasn't quite so curious," Tumm added, "an' I hauled my hulk +out o' the water, an' climbed aboard. An' I run aft; but they wasn't +nothin' t' be seed but the big, black sea, an' the froth o' the +schooner's wake and o' the wild white horses." + + * * * * * + +The story was ended. + +A tense silence was broken by a gentle snore from the skipper of the +_Good Samaritan_. I turned. The head of the lad from the Cove o' First +Cousins protruded from his bunk. It was withdrawn on the instant. But I +had caught sight of the drooping eyes and of the wide, flaring nostrils. + +"See that, sir?" Tumm asked, with a backward nod toward the boy's bunk. + +I nodded. + +"Same old thing," he laughed, sadly. "Goes on t' the end o' the world." + +We all know that. + + + + +II--A MATTER OF EXPEDIENCY + + +Sure enough, old man Jowl came aboard the _Good Samaritan_ at Mad Tom's +Harbor to trade his fish--a lean, leathery old fellow in white moleskin, +with skin boots, tied below the knees, and a cloth cap set decorously on +a bushy head. The whole was as clean as a clothes-pin; and the punt was +well kept, and the fish white and dry and sweet to smell, as all +Newfoundland cod should be. Tumm's prediction that he would not smile +came true; his long countenance had no variation of expression--tough, +brown, delicately wrinkled skin lying upon immobile flesh. His face was +glum of cast--drawn at the brows, thin-lipped, still; but yet with an +abundant and incongruously benignant white beard which might have +adorned a prophet. For Jim Bull's widow he made way; she, said he, must +have his turn at the scales and in the cabin, for she had a baby to +nurse, and was pressed for opportunity. This was tenderness beyond +example--generous and acute. A clean, pious, gentle old fellow: he was +all that, it may be; but he had eyes to disquiet the sanctified, who are +not easily disturbed. They were not blue, but black with a blue film, +like the eyes of an old wolf--cold, bold, patient, watchful--calculating; +having no sympathy, but a large intent to profit, ultimately, whatever +the cost. Tumm had bade me look Jowl in the eye; and to this day I have +not forgotten.... + + * * * * * + +The _Good Samaritan_ was out of Mad Tom's Harbor, bound across the bay, +after dark, to trade the ports of the shore. It was a quiet +night--starlit: the wind light and fair. The clerk and the skipper and I +had the forecastle of the schooner to ourselves. + +"I 'low," Tumm mused, "_I_ wouldn't want t' grow old." + +The skipper grinned. + +"Not," Tumm added, "on this coast." + +"Ah, well, Tumm," the skipper jeered, "maybe you won't!" + +"I'd be ashamed," said Tumm. + +"You dunderhead!" snapped the skipper, who was old, "on this coast an +old man's a man! He've lived through enough," he growled, "t' show it." + +"'Tis accordin'," said Tumm. + +"To what?" I asked. + +"T' how you looks at it. In a mess, now--you take it in a nasty mess, +when 'tis every man for hisself an' the devil take the hindmost--in a +mess like that, I 'low, the devil often gets the _man_ o' the party, an' +the swine goes free. But 'tis all just accordin' t' how you looks at it; +an' as for _my_ taste, I'd be ashamed t' come through fifty year o' life +on this coast alive." + +"Ay, b'y?" the skipper inquired, with a curl of the lip. + +"It wouldn't _look_ right," drawled Tumm. + +The skipper laughed good-naturedly. + +"Now," said Tumm, "you take the case o' old man Jowl o' Mad Tom's +Harbor--" + +"Excuse me, Tumm b'y," the skipper interrupted. "If you're goin' t' +crack off, just bide a spell till I gets on deck." + +Presently we heard his footsteps going aft.... + + * * * * * + +"A wonderful long time ago, sir," Tumm began, "when Jowl was in his +prime an' I was a lad, we was shipped for the Labrador aboard the _Wings +o' the Mornin'_. She was a thirty-ton fore-an'-after, o' Tuggleby's +build--Tuggleby o' Dog Harbor--hailin' from Witch Cove, an' bound down t' +the Wayward Tickles, with a fair intention o' takin' a look-in at +Run-by-Guess an' Ships' Graveyard, t' the nor'ard o' Mugford, if the +Tickles was bare. Two days out from Witch Cove, somewheres off Gull +Island, an' a bit t' the sou'west, we was cotched in a switch o' +weather. 'Twas a nor'east blow, mixed with rain an' hail; an' in the +brewin' it kep' us guessin' what 'twould accomplish afore it got tired, +it looked so lusty an' devilish. The skipper 'lowed 'twould trouble some +stomachs, whatever else, afore we got out of it, for 'twas the first +v'y'ge o' that season for every man Jack o' the crew. An' she blowed, +an' afore mornin' she'd tear your hair out by the roots if you took off +your cap, an' the sea was white an' the day was black. The _Wings o' the +Mornin'_ done well enough for forty-eight hours, an' then she lost her +grit an' quit. Three seas an' a gust o' wind crumpled her up. She come +out of it a wreck--topmast gone, spars shivered, gear in a tangle, an' +deck swep' clean. Still an' all, she behaved like a lady; she kep' her +head up, so well as she was able, till a big sea snatched her rudder; +an' then she breathed her last, an' begun t' roll under our feet, dead +as a log. So we went below t' have a cup o' tea. + +"'Don't spare the rations, cook,' says the skipper. 'Might as well go +with full bellies.' + +"The cook got sick t' oncet. + +"'You lie down, cook,' says the skipper, 'an' leave me do the cookin'. +Will you drown where you is, cook,' says he, 'or on deck?' + +"'On deck, sir,' says the cook. + +"I'll call you, b'y,' says the skipper. + +"Afore long the first hand give up an' got in his berth. He was +wonderful sad when he got tucked away. 'Lowed somebody might hear of it. + +"'You want t' be called, Billy?' says the skipper. + +"'Ay, sir; please, sir,' says the first hand. + +"'All right, Billy,' says the skipper. 'But you won't care enough t' get +out.' + +"The skipper was next. + +"'_You goin', too!_' says Jowl. + +"'You'll have t' eat it raw, lads,' says the skipper, with a white +little grin at hisself. 'An' don't rouse me,' says he, 'for I'm as good +as dead already.' + +"The second hand come down an' 'lowed we'd better get the pumps goin'. + +"'She's sprung a leak somewheres aft,' says he. + +Jowl an' me an' the second hand went on deck t' keep her afloat. The +second hand 'lowed she'd founder, anyhow, if she was give time, but he'd +like t' see what would come o' pumpin', just for devilment. So we lashed +ourselves handy an' pumped away--me an' the second hand on one side an' +Jowl on the other. The _Wings o' the Mornin'_ wobbled an' dived an' +shook herself like a wet dog; all she wanted was a little more water in +her hold an' then she'd make an end of it, whenever she happened t' take +the notion. + +"'I'm give out,' says the second hand, afore night. + +"'Them men in the forecastle isn't treatin' us right,' says Jowl. 'They +ought t' lend a hand.' + +"The second hand bawled down t' the crew; but nar a man would come on +deck. + +"'Jowl,' says he, 'you have a try.' + +"Jowl went down an' complained; but it didn't do no good. They was all +so sick they wouldn't answer. So the second hand 'lowed he'd go down an' +argue, which he foolishly done--an' never come back. An' when I went +below t' rout un out of it, he was stowed away in his bunk, all out o' +sorts an' wonderful melancholy. 'Isn't no use, Tumm,' says he. '_It_ +isn't no use.' + +"'Get out o' this!' says the cook. 'You woke me up!' + +"I 'lowed the forecastle air wouldn't be long about persuadin' me to the +first hand's sinful way o' thinkin'. An' when I got on deck the gale +tasted sweet. + +"'They isn't _treatin'_ us right,' says Jowl. + +"'I 'low you're right,' says I, 'but what you goin' t' do?' + +"'What you think?' says he. + +"'Pump,' says I. + +"'Might's well,' says he. 'She's fillin' up.' + +"We kep' pumpin' away, steady enough, till dawn, which fagged us +wonderful. The way she rolled an' pitched, an' the way the big white, +sticky, frosty seas broke over us, an' the way the wind pelted us with +rain an' hail, an' the blackness o' the sky, was _mean_--just almighty +careless an' mean. An' pumpin' didn't seem t' do no good; for why? _we_ +couldn't save the hulk--not us two. As it turned out, if the crew had +been fitted out with men's stomachs we might have weathered it out, an' +gone down the Labrador, an' got a load; for every vessel that got there +that season come home fished t' the gunwales. But we didn't know it +then. Jowl growled all night to hisself about the way we was treated. +The wind carried most o' the blasphemy out t' sea, where they wasn't no +lad t' corrupt, an' at scattered times a big sea would make Jowl +splutter, but I heared enough t' make me smell the devil, an' when I +seed Jowl's face by the first light I 'lowed his angry feelin's had riz +to a ridiculous extent, so that they was something more'n the weather +gone wild in my whereabouts. + +"'What's gone along o' you?' says I. + +"'The swine!' says he. 'Come below, Tumm,' says he, 'an' we'll give un a +dose o' fists an' feet.' + +"So down we went, an' we had the whole crew in a heap on the forecastle +floor afore they woke up. Ecod! what a mess o' green faces! A +per-feck-ly limp job lot o' humanity! Not a backbone among un. An' all +on account o' their stomachs! It made me sick an' mad t' see un. The +cook was the worst of un; said we'd gone an' woke un up, just when he'd +got t' sleep an' forgot it all. Good Lord! 'You gone an' made me +remember!' says he. At that, Jowl let un have it; but the cook only +yelped an' crawled back in his bunk, wipin' the blood from his chin. For +twenty minutes an' more we labored with them sea-sick sailors, with +fists an' feet, as Jowl had prescribed. They wasn't no mercy begged nor +showed. We hit what we seen, pickin' the tender places with care, an' +they grunted an' crawled back like rats; an' out they come again, head +foremost or feet, as happened. I never seed the like of it. You could +treat un most scandalous, an' they'd do nothin' but whine an' crawl +away. 'Twas enough t' disgust you with your own flesh an' bones! Jowl +'lowed he'd cure the skipper, whatever come of it, an' laid his head +open with a birch billet. The skipper didn't whimper no more, but just +fell back in the bunk, an' lied still. Jowl said he'd be cured when he +come to. Maybe he was; but 'tis my own opinion that Jowl killed un, then +an' there, an' that he never _did_ come to. Whatever, 'twas all lost +labor; we didn't work a single cure, an' we had t' make a run for the +deck, all of a sudden, t' make peace with our own stomachs. + +"'The swine!' says Jowl. 'Let un drown!' + +"I 'lowed we'd better pump; but Jowl wouldn't hear to it. Not he! No +sir! He'd see the whole herd o' pigs sunk afore he'd turn a finger! + +"'_Me_ pump!' says he. + +"'You better,' says I. + +"'For what?' + +"'For your life,' says I. + +"'An' save them swine in the forecastle?' says he. 'Not _me_!' + +"I 'lowed it didn't matter, anyhow, for 'twas only a question o' keepin' +the _Wings o' the Mornin'_ out o' the grave for a spell longer than she +might have stayed of her own notion. But, thinks I, I'll pump, whatever, +t' pass time; an' so I set to, an' kep' at it. The wind was real +vicious, an' the seas was breakin' over us, fore an' aft an' port an' +starboard, t' suit their fancy, an' the wreck o' the _Wings o' the +Mornin'_ wriggled an' bounced in a way t' s'prise the righteous, an' the +black sky was pourin' buckets o' rain an' hail on all the world, an' the +wind was makin' knotted whips o' both. It wasn't agreeable, an' +by-an'-by my poor brains was fair riled t' see the able-bodied Jowl with +nothin' t' do but dodge the seas an' keep hisself from bein' pitched +over-board. 'Twas a easy berth _he_ had! But _I_ was busy. + +"'Look you, Jowl,' sings I, 'you better take a spell at the pump.' + +"'Me?' says he. + +"'Yes, _you_!' + +"'Oh no!' says he. + +"'You think I'm goin' t' do all this labor single-handed?' says I. + +"''Tis your own notion,' says he. + +"'I'll see you sunk, Jowl!' says I, 'afore I pumps another stroke. If +you wants t' drown afore night I'll not hinder. Oh no, Mister Jowl!' +says I. 'I'll not be standin' in your light.' + +"'Tumm,' says he, 'I got a idea.' + +"'Dear man!' says I. + +"'The wind's moderatin',' says he, 'an' it won't be long afore the sea +gets civil. But the _Wings o' the Mornin'_ won't float overlong. She've +been settlin' hasty for the last hour. Still an' all, I 'low I got time +t' make a raft, which I'll do.' + +"'Look!' says I. + +"Off near where the sun was settin' the clouds broke. 'Twas but a slit, +but it let loose a flood o' red light. 'Twas a bloody sky an' sea--red as +shed blood, but full o' the promise o' peace which follows storm, as the +good God directs. + +"'I 'low,' says he, 'the wind will go down with the sun.' + +"The vessel was makin' heavy labor of it. 'I bets you,' says I, 'the +_Wings o' the Mornin'_ beats un both.' + +"'Time'll tell,' says he. + +"I give un a hand with the raft. An' hard work 'twas; never knowed no +harder, before nor since, with the seas comin' overside, an' the deck +pitchin' like mad, an' the night droppin' down. Ecod! but I isn't able +t' tell you. I forgets what we done in the red light o' that day. 'Twas +labor for giants an' devils! But we had the raft in the water afore +dark, ridin' in the lee, off the hulk. It didn't look healthy, an' was +by no means invitin'; but the _Wings o' the Mornin'_ was about t' bow +an' retire, if the signs spoke true, an' the raft was the only hope in +all the brutal world. I took kindly t' the crazy thing--I 'low I did! + +"'Tumm,' says Jowl, 'I 'low you thinks you got some rights in that +raft.' + +"'I do,' says I. + +"'But you isn't,' says he. 'You isn't, Tumm, because I'm a sight bigger +'n you, an' could put you off. It isn't in my mind t' do it--but I +_could_. I wants company, Tumm, for it looks like a long v'y'ge, an' I'm +'lowin' t' have you.' + +"'What about the crew?' says I. + +"'They isn't room for more'n two on that raft,' says he. + +"'Dear God! Jowl,' says I, 'what you goin' t' do?' + +"'I'm goin' t' try my level best,' says he, 't' get home t' my wife an' +kid; for they'd be wonderful disappointed if I didn't turn up.' + +"'But the crew's got wives an' kids!' says I. + +"'An' bad stomachs,' says he. + +"'Jowl,' says I, 'she's sinkin' fast.' + +"'Then I 'low we better make haste.' + +"I started for'ard. + +"'Tumm,' says he, 'don't you go another step. If them swine in the +forecastle knowed they was a raft 'longside, they'd steal it. It won't +_hold_ un, Tumm. It won't hold more'n two, an', ecod!' says he, with a +look at the raft, 'I'm doubtin' that she's able for _that_!' + +"It made me shiver. + +"'No, sir!' says he. 'I 'low she won't hold more'n one.' + +"'Oh yes, she will, Jowl!' says I. 'Dear man! yes; she's able for two.' + +"'Maybe,' says he. + +"'Handy!' says I. 'Oh, handy, man!' + +"'We'll try,' says he, 'whatever comes of it. An' if she makes bad +weather, why, you can--' + +"He stopped. + +"'Why don't you say the rest?' says I. + +"'I hates to.' + +"'What do you mean?' says I. + +"'Why, damme! Tumm,' says he, 'I mean that you can get _off_. What +_else_ would I mean?' + +"Lord! I didn't know! + +"'Well?' says he. + +"'It ain't very kind,' says I. + +"'What would _you_ do,' says he, 'if _you_ was me?' + +"I give un a look that told un, an' 'twas against my will I done it. + +"'Well,' says he, 'you can't blame me, then.' + +"No more I could. + +"'Now I'll get the grub from the forecastle, lad,' says he, 'an' we'll +cast off. The _Wings o' the Mornin'_ isn't good for more'n half an hour +more. You bide on deck, Tumm, an' leave the swine t' me.' + +Then he went below. + +"'All right,' says he, when he come on deck. 'Haul in the line.' We +lashed a water-cask an' a grub-box t' the raft. 'Now, Tumm,' says he, +'we can take it easy. We won't be in no haste t' leave, for I 'low 'tis +more comfortable here. Looks t' me like more moderate weather. I feels +pretty good, Tumm, with all the work done, an' nothin' t' do but get +aboard.' He sung the long-metre doxology. 'Look how the wind's dropped!' +says he. 'Why, lad, we might have saved the _Wings o' the Mornin'_ if +them pigs had done their dooty last night. But 'tis too late now--an' +it's _been_ too late all day long. We'll have a spell o' quiet,' says +he, 'when the sea goes down. Looks t' me like the v'y'ge might be +pleasant, once we gets through the night. I 'low the stars'll be peepin' +afore mornin'. It'll be a comfort t' see the little mites. I loves t' +know they're winkin' overhead. They makes me think o' God. You isn't got +a top-coat, is you, lad?' says he. 'Well, you better get it, then. I'll +trust you in the forecastle, Tumm, for I knows you wouldn't wrong me, +an' you'll need that top-coat bad afore we're picked up. An' if you got +your mother's Bible in your nunny-bag, or anything like that you wants +t' save, you better fetch it,' says he. 'I 'low we'll get out o' this +mess, an' we don't want t' have anything t' regret.' + +"I got my mother's Bible. + +"'Think we better cast off?' says he. + +"I did. The _Wings o' the Mornin'_ was ridin' too low an' easy for me t' +rest; an' the wind had fell to a soft breeze, an' they wasn't no more +rain, an' no more dusty spray, an' no more breakin' waves. They was a +shade on the sea--the first shadow o' the night--t' hide what we'd leave +behind. + +"'We better leave her,' says I. + +"'Then all aboard!' says he. + +"An' we got aboard, an' cut the cable, an' slipped away on a soft, black +sea, far into the night.... An' no man ever seed the _Wings o' the +Mornin'_ again.... An' me an Jowl was picked up, half dead o' thirst an' +starvation, twelve days later, by ol' Cap'n Loop, o' the Black Bay +mail-boat, as she come around Toad Point, bound t' Burnt Harbor.... + + * * * * * + +"Jowl an' me," Tumm resumed, "fished the Holy Terror Tickles o' the +Labrador in the _Got It_ nex' season. He was a wonderful kind man, Jowl +was--so pious, an' soft t' speak, an' honest, an' willin' for his labor. +At midsummer I got a bad hand, along of a cut with the splittin'-knife, +an' nothin' would do Jowl but he'd lance it, an' wash it, an' bind it, +like a woman, an' do so much o' my labor as he was able for, like a man. +I fair got t' _like_ that lad o' his--though 'twas but a young feller t' +home, at the time--for Jowl was forever talkin' o' Toby this an' Toby +that--not boastful gabble, but just tender an' nice t' hear. An' a fine +lad, by all accounts: a dutiful lad, brave an' strong, if given overmuch +t' yieldin' the road t' save trouble, as Jowl said. I 'lowed, one night, +when the _Got It_ was bound home, with all the load the salt would give +her, that I'd sort o' like t' know the lad that Jowl had. + +"'Why don't you fetch un down the Labrador?' says I. + +"'His schoolin',' says Jowl. + +"'Oh!' says I. + +"'Ay,' says he; 'his mother's wonderful particular about the schoolin'.' + +"'Anyhow,' says I, 'the schoolin' won't go on for all time.' + +"'No,' says Jowl, 'it won't. An' I'm 'lowin' t' harden Toby up a bit +nex' spring.' + +"'T' the ice?' says I. + +"'Ay,' says he; 'if I can overcome his mother.' + +"''Tis a rough way t' break a lad,' says I. + +"'So much the better,' says he. 'It don't take so long. Nothin' like a +sealin' v'y'ge,' says he, 't' harden a lad. An' if you comes along, +Tumm,' says he, 'why, I won't complain. I'm 'lowin' t' ship with Skipper +Tommy Jump o' the _Second t' None_. She's a tight schooner, o' the +Tiddle build, an' I 'low Tommy Jump will get a load o' fat, whatever +comes of it. You better join, Tumm,' says he, 'an' we'll all be +t'gether. I'm wantin' you t' get acquainted with Toby, an' lend a hand +with his education, which you can do t' the queen's taste, bein' near of +his age.' + +"'I'll do it, Jowl,' says I. + +"An' I done it; an' afore we was through, I wisht I hadn't." + +Tumm paused. + +"An' I done it--nex' March--shipped along o' Tommy Jump o' the _Second t' +None_, with Jowl an' his lad aboard," he proceeded. + +"'You overcame the wife,' says I, 'didn't you?' + +"''Twas a tough job,' says he. 'She 'lowed the boy might come t' harm, +an' wouldn't give un up; but me an' Toby pulled t'gether, an' managed +her, the day afore sailin'. She cried a wonderful lot; but, Lord! that's +only the way o' women.' + +"A likely lad o' sixteen, this Toby--blue-eyed an' fair, with curly hair +an' a face full o' blushes. Polite as a girl, which is much too polite +for safety at the ice. He'd make way for them that blustered; but he +done it with such an air that we wasn't no more'n off the Goggles afore +the whole crew was all makin' way for he. So I 'lowed he'd _do_--that +he'd be took care of, just for love. But Jowl wasn't o' my mind. + +"'No,' says he; 'the lad's too soft. He've got t' be hardened.' + +"'Maybe,' says I. + +"'If anything happened,' says he, 'Toby wouldn't stand a show. The men +is kind to un now,' says he, 'for they doesn't lose nothin' by it. If +they stood t' lose their lives, Tumm, they'd push un out o' the way, an' +he'd go 'ithout a whimper. I got t' talk t' that lad for his own good.' + +"Which he done. + +"'Toby,' says he, 'you is much too soft. Don't you go an' feel bad, now, +lad, just because your father tells you so; for 'tis not much more'n a +child you are, an' your father's old, an' knows all about life. You got +t' get hard if you wants t' hold your own. You're too polite. You gives +way too easy. _Don't_ give way--don't give way under no circumstances. In +this life,' says he, ''tis every man for hisself. I don't know why God +made it that way,' says he, 'but He done it, an' we got t' stand by. +You're young,' says he, 'an' thinks the world is what you'd have it be +if you made it; but I'm old, an' I knows that a man can't be polite an' +live to his prime on this coast. Now, lad,' says he, 'we isn't struck +the ice yet, but I 'low I smell it; an' once we gets the _Second t' +None_ in the midst, 'most anything is likely t' happen. If so be that +Tommy Jump gets the schooner in a mess you look out for yourself; don't +think o' nobody else, for you can't _afford_ to.' + +"'Yes, sir,' says the boy. + +"'Mark me well, lad! I'm tellin' you this for your own good. You won't +get no mercy showed you; so don't you show mercy t' nobody else. If it +comes t' your life or the other man's, you put _him_ out o' the way +afore he has time t' put _you_. Don't let un give battle. Hit un so +quick as you're able. It'll be harder if you waits. You don't have t' be +_fair_. 'Tisn't expected. Nobody's fair. An'--ah, now, Toby!' says he, +puttin' his arm over the boy's shoulder, 'if you feels like givin' way, +an' lettin' the other man have your chance, an' if you _can't_ think o' +yourself, just you think o' your mother. Ah, lad,' says he, 'she'd go +an' cry her eyes out if anything happened t' you. Why, Toby--oh, my! now, +lad--why, _think_ o' the way she'd sit in her rockin'-chair, an' put her +pinny to her eyes, an' cry, an' cry! You're the only one she've got, an' +she couldn't, lad, she _couldn't_ get along 'ithout you! Ah, she'd cry, +an' cry, an' cry; an' they wouldn't be nothin' in all the world t' give +her comfort! So don't you go an' grieve her, Toby,' says he, 'by bein' +tender-hearted. Ah, now, Toby!' says he, 'don't you go an' make your +poor mother cry!' + +"'No, sir,' says the lad. 'I'll not, sir!' + +"'That's a good boy, Toby,' says Jowl. 'I 'low you'll be a man when you +grow up, if your mother doesn't make a parson o' you.'" + +Tumm made a wry face. + +"Well," he continued, "Tommy Jump kep' the _Second t' None_ beatin' +hither an' yon off the Horse Islands for two days, expectin' ice with +the nor'east wind. 'Twas in the days afore the sealin' was done in +steamships from St. John's, an' they was a cloud o' sail at the selsame +thing. An' we all put into White Bay, in the mornin' in chase o' the +floe, an' done a day's work on the swiles [seals] afore night. But nex' +day we was jammed by the ice--the fleet o' seventeen schooners, cotched +in the bottom o' the bay, an' like t' crack our hulls if the wind held. +Whatever, the wind fell, an' there come a time o' calm an' cold, an' we +was all froze in, beyond help, an' could do nothin' but wait for the ice +t' drive out an' go abroad, an' leave us t' sink or sail, as might +chance. Tommy Jump 'lowed the _Second t' None_ would sink; said her +timbers was sprung, an' she'd leak like a basket, an' crush like a +eggshell, once the ice begun t' drive an' grind an' rafter--leastwise, he +_thunk_ so, admittin' 'twas open t' argument; an' he wouldn't go so far +as t' pledge the word of a gentleman that she _would_ sink. + +"'Whatever,' says he, 'we'll stick to her an' find out.' + +"The change o' wind come at dusk--a big blow from the sou'west. 'Twas +beyond doubt the ice would go t' sea; so I tipped the wink t' young Toby +Jowl an' told un the time was come. + +"'I'll save my life, Tumm,' says he, 'if I'm able.' + +"'Twas a pity! Ecod! t' this day I 'low 'twas a pity; 'Twas a fine, +sweet lad, that Toby; but he looked like a wolf, that night, in the +light o' the forecastle lamp, when his eyes flashed an his upper lip +stretched thin over his teeth! + +"'You better get some grub in your pocket,' says I. + +"'I got it,' says he. + +"'Well,' says I, 'I 'low _you've_ learned! Where'd you get it?" + +"'Stole it from the cook,' says he. + +"'Any chance for me?' + +"'If you're lively,' says he. 'The cook's a fool.... Will it come soon, +Tumm?' says he, with a grip on my wrist. 'How long will it be, eh, Tumm, +afore 'tis every man for hisself?' + +"Soon enough, God knowed! By midnight the edge o' the floe was rubbin' +Pa'tridge P'int, an' the ice was troubled an' angry. In an hour the pack +had the bottom scrunched out o' the _Second t' None_; an' she was kep' +above water--listed an' dead--only by the jam o' little pans 'longside. +Tommy Jump 'lowed we'd strike the big billows o' the open afore dawn an' +the pack would go abroad an' leave us t' fill an' sink; said _he_ +couldn't do no more, an' the crew could take care o' their own lives, +which was what _he_ would do, whatever come of it. 'Twas blowin' big +guns then--rippin' in straight lines right off from Sop's Arm an' all +them harbors for starved bodies an' souls t' the foot o' the bay. An' +snow come with the wind; the heavens emptied theirselves; the air was +thick an' heavy. Seemed t' me the wrath o' sea an' sky broke loose upon +us--wind an' ice an' snow an' big waves an' cold--all the earth contains +o' hate for men! Skipper Tommy Jump 'lowed we'd better stick t' the ship +so long as we was able; which was merely his opinion, an' if the hands +had a mind t' choose their pans while they was plenty, they was welcome +t' do it, an' he wouldn't see no man called a fool if his fists was big +enough t' stop it. But no man took t' the ice at that time. An' the +_Second t' None_ ran on with the floe, out t' sea, with the wind an' +snow playin' the devil for their own amusement, an' the ice groanin' its +own complaint.... + +"Then we struck the open." + +[Illustration: "I SEED THE SHAPE OF A MAN LEAP FOR MY PLACE"] + +"'Now, lads,' yells Tommy Jump, when he got all hands amidships, 'you +better quit the ship. The best time,' says he, 'will be when you sees +_me_ go overside. But don't get in my way. You get your own pans. God +help the man that gets in my way!' + +"Tommy Jump went overside when the ice opened an' the _Second t' None_ +begun t' go down an' the sea was spread with small pans, floatin' free. +'Twas near dawn then. Things was gray; an' the shapes o' things was +strange an' big--out o' size, fearsome. Dawn shot over the sea, a wide, +flat beam from the east, an' the shadows was big, an' the light dim, an' +the air full o' whirlin' snow; an' men's eyes was too wide an' red an' +frightened t' look with sure sight upon the world. An' all the ice was +in a tumble o' black water.... An' the _Second t' None_ went down.... +An' I 'lowed they wasn't no room on my pan for nobody but me. But I seed +the shape of a man leap for my place. An' I cursed un, an' bade un go +farther, or I'd drown un. An' he leaped for the pan that lied next, +where Jowl was afloat, with no room t' spare. An' Jowl hit quick an' +hard. He was waitin', with his fists closed, when the black shape +landed; an' he hit quick an' hard without lookin'.... An' I seed the +face in the water.... An', oh, I knowed who 'twas! + +"'Dear God!' says I. + +"Jowl was now but a shape in the snow. 'That you, Tumm?' says he. 'What +you sayin'?' + +"' Why didn't you take time t' _look_?' says I. 'Oh, Jowl! _why_ didn't +you take time?' + +"'T' look?' says he. + +"'Dear God!' + +"'What you sayin' that for, Tumm?' says he. 'What you mean, Tumm? ... My +God!' says he, 'what is I gone an' done? Who _was_ that, Tumm? My God! +Tell me! What is I done?' + +"I couldn't find no words t' tell un. + +"'Oh, make haste,' says he, 'afore I drifts away!' + +"'Dear God!' says I, ''twas Toby!' + +"An' he fell flat on the ice....An' I didn't see Jowl no more for four +year. He was settled at Mad Tom's Harbor then, where you seed un t'-day; +an' his wife was dead, an' he didn't go no more t' the Labrador, nor t' +the ice, but fished the Mad Tom grounds with hook-an'-line on quiet +days, an' was turned timid, they said, with fear o' the sea...." + + * * * * * + +The _Good Samaritan_ ran softly through the slow, sleepy sea, bound +across the bay to trade the ports of the shore. + +"I tells you, sir," Tumm burst out, "'tis hell. _Life_ is! Maybe not +where you hails from, sir; but 'tis on this coast. I 'low where you +comes from they don't take lives t' save their own?" + +"Not to save their own," said I. + +He did not understand. + + + + +III--THE MINSTREL + + +Salim Awad, poet, was the son of Tanous--that orator. Having now lost at +love, he lay disconsolate on his pallet in the tenement overlooking the +soap factory. He would not answer any voice; nor would he heed the +gentle tap and call of old Khalil Khayyat, the tutor of his muse; nor +would he yield his sorrow to the music of Nageeb Fiani, called the +greatest player in all the world. For three hours Fiani, in the wail and +sigh of his violin, had expressed the woe of love through the key-hole; +but Salim Awad was not moved. No; the poet continued in desolation +through the darkness of that night, and through the slow, grimy, +unfeeling hours of day. He dwelt upon Haleema, Khouri's daughter--she (as +he thought) of the tresses of night, the beautiful one. Salim was in +despair because this Haleema had chosen to wed Jimmie Brady, the +truckman. She loved strength more than the uplifted spirit; and this +maidens may do, as Salim knew, without reproach or injury. + +When the dusk of the second day was gathered in his room, Salim looked +up, eased by the tender obscurity. In the cobble-stoned street below the +clatter of traffic had subsided; there were the shuffle and patter of +feet of the low-born of his people, the murmur of voices, soft laughter, +the plaintive cries of children--the dolorous medley of a summer night. +Beyond the fire-escape, far past the roof of the soap factory, lifted +high above the restless Western world, was the starlit sky; and Salim +Awad, searching its uttermost depths, remembered the words of Antar, +crying in his heart: "_I pass the night regarding the stars of night in +my distraction. Ask the night of me, and it will tell thee that I am the +ally of sorrow and of anguish. I live desolate; there is no one like me. +I am the friend of grief and of desire._" + + * * * * * + +The band was playing in Battery Park; the weird music of it, harsh, +incomprehensible, an alien love-song-- + + "Hello, mah baby, + Hello, mah honey, + Hello, mah rag-time girl!" +drifted in at the open window with a breeze from the sea. But by this +unmeaning tumult the soul of Salim Awad, being far removed, was not +troubled; he remembered, again, the words of Antar, addressed to his +beloved, repeating: "_In thy forehead is my guide to truth; and in the +night of thy tresses I wander astray. Thy bosom is created as an +enchantment. O may God protect it ever in that perfection! Will fortune +ever, O daughter of Malik, ever bless me with thy embrace? That would +cure my heart of the sorrows of love._" + + * * * * * + +And again the music of the band in Battery Park drifted up the murmuring +street, + + "_Just_ one girl, + Only _just_ one girl! + There are others, I know, but they're _not_ my pearl. + _Just_ one girl, + Only just one girl! + I'd be happy forever with _just_ one girl!" + +and came in at the open window with the idle breeze; and Salim heard +nothing of the noise, but was grateful for the cool fingers of the wind +softly lifting the hair from his damp brow. + +It must be told--and herein is a mystery--that this same Salim, who had +lost at love, now from the darkness of his tenement room contemplating +the familiar stars, wise, remote, set in the uttermost heights of heaven +beyond the soap factory, was by the magic of this great passion inspired +to extol the graces of his beloved Haleema, Khouri's daughter, star of +the world, and to celebrate his own despair, the love-woe of Salim, the +noble-born, the poet, the lover, the brokenhearted. Without meditation, +as he has said, without brooding or design, as should occur, but rather, +taking from the starlit infinitude beyond the soap factory, seizing from +the mist of his vision and from the blood of agony dripping from his +lacerated heart, he fashioned a love-song so exquisite and frail, so shy +of contact with unfeeling souls, that he trembled in the presence of +this beauty, for the moment forgetting his desolation, and conceived +himself an instrument made of men, wrought of mortal hands, unworthy, +which the fingers of angels had touched in alleviation of the sorrows of +love. + +Thereupon Salim Awad arose, and he made haste to Khalil Khayyat to tell +him of this thing.... + +This same Khalil Khayyat, lover of children, that poet and mighty +editor, the tutor of the young muse of this Salim--this patient gardener +of the souls of men, wherein he sowed seeds of the flowers of the +spirit--this same Khalil, poet, whose delight was in the tender bloom of +sorrow and despair--this old Khayyat, friend of Salim, the youth, the +noble-born, sat alone in the little back room of Nageeb Fiani, the +pastry-cook and greatest player in all the world. And his narghile was +glowing; the coal was live and red, showing as yet no gray ash, and the +water bubbled by fits and starts, and the alien room, tawdry in its +imitation of the Eastern splendor, dirty, flaring and sputtering with +gas, was clouded with the sweet-smelling smoke. To the coffee, perfume +rising with the steam from the delicate vessel, nor to the rattle of +dice and boisterous shouts from the outer room, was this Khalil +attending; for he had the evening dejection to nurse. He leaned over the +green baize table, one long, lean brown hand lying upon _Kawkab +Elhorriah_ of that day, as if in affectionate pity, and his lean brown +face was lifted in a rapture of anguish to the grimy ceiling; for the +dream of the writing had failed, as all visions of beauty must fail in +the reality of them, and there had been no divine spark in the labor of +the day to set the world aflame against Abdul-Hamid, Sultan, +slaughterer. + +To him, then, at this moment of inevitable reaction, the love-lorn +Salim, entering in haste. + +"Once more, Salim," said Khalil Khayyat, sadly, "I have failed." + +Salim softly closed the door. + +"I am yet young, Salim," the editor added, with an absent smile, in +which was no bitterness at all, but the sweetness of long suffering. "I +am yet young," he repeated, "for in the beginning of my labor I hope." + +Salim turned the key. + +"I am but a child," Khalil Khayyat declared, his voice, now lifted, +betraying despair. "I dream in letters of fire: I write in shadows. In +my heart is a flame: from the point of my pen flows darkness. I proclaim +a revolution: I hear loud laughter and the noise of dice. Salim," he +cried, "I am but a little child: when night falls upon the labor of my +day I remember the morning!" + +"Khalil!" + +Khalil Khayyat was thrilled by the quality of this invocation. + +"Khalil of the exalted mission, friend, poet, teacher of the aspiring," +Salim Awad whispered, leaning close to the ear of Khalil Khayyat, "a +great thing has come to pass." + +Khayyat commanded his ecstatic perturbation. + +"Hist!" Salim ejaculated. "Is there not one listening at the door?" + +"There is no one, Salim; it is the feet of Nageeb the coffee-boy, +passing to the table of Abosamara, the merchant." + +Salim hearkened. + +"There is no one, Salim." + +"There is a breathing at the key-hole, Khalil," Salim protested. "This +great thing must not be known." + +"There is no one, Salim," said Khalil Khayyat. "I have heard Abosamara +call these seven times. Being rich, he is brutal to such as serve. The +sound is of the feet of the little Intelligent One. He bears coffee to +the impatient merchant. His feet are soft, by my training; they pass +like a whisper.... Salim, what is this great thing?" + +"Nay, but, Khalil, I hesitate: the thing must not be heard." + +"Even so," said Khalil Khayyat, contemptuously, being still a poet; "the +people are of the muck of the world; they are common, they are not of +our blood and learning. How shall they understand that which they hear?" + +"Khalil," Salim Awad answered, reassured, "I have known a great moment!" + +"A great moment?" said Khalil Khayyat, being both old and wise. "Then it +is because of agony. There has issued from this great pain," said he, +edging, in his artistic excitement, toward the victim of the muse, "a +divine poem of love?" + +Salim Awad sighed. + +"Is it not so, Salim?" + +Salim Awad flung himself upon the green baize table; and so great was +his despair that the coffee-cup of Khalil Khayyat jumped in its saucer. +"I have suffered: I have lost at love," he answered. "I have been +wounded; I bleed copiously. I lie alone in a desert. My passion is +hunger and thirst and a gaping wound. From fever and the night I cry +out. Whence is my healing and satisfaction? Nay, but, Khalil, devoted +friend," he groaned, looking up, "I have known the ultimate sorrow. +Haleema!" cried he, rising, hands clasped and uplifted, eyes looking far +beyond the alien, cobwebbed, blackened ceiling of the little back room +of Nageeb Fiani, the pastry-cook and greatest player in all the world. +"Haleema!" he cried, as it may meanly be translated. "Haleema--my sleep +and waking, night and day of my desiring soul, my thought and +heart-throb! Haleema--gone forever from me, the poet, the unworthy, fled +to the arms of the strong, the knowing, the manager of horses, the one +powerful and controlling! Haleema--beautiful one, fashioned of God, star +of the night of the sons of men, glory of the universe, appealing, of +the soft arms, of the bosom of sleep! Haleema--of the finger-tips of +healing, of the warm touch of solace, of the bed of rest! Haleema, +beautiful one, beloved, lost to me!... Haleema!... Haleema!..." + +"God!" Khalil Khayyat ejaculated; "but this is indeed great poetry!" + +Salim Awad collapsed. + +"And from this," asked Khalil Khayyat, cruel servant of art, being +hopeful concerning the issue, "there has come a great poem? There +_must_," he muttered, "have come a love-song, a heart's cry in comfort +of such as have lost at love." + +Salim Awad looked up from the table. + +"A cry of patient anguish," said Khalil Khayyat. + +"Khalil," said Salim Awad, solemnly, "the strings of my soul have been +touched by the hand of the Spirit." + +"By the Spirit?" + +"The fingers of Infinite Woe." + +To this Khalil Khayyat made no reply, nor moved one muscle--save that his +hand trembled a little, and his eyes, which had been steadfastly +averted, suddenly searched the soul of Salim Awad. It was very still in +the little back room. There was the sputtering of the gas, the tread of +soft feet passing in haste to the kitchen, the clamor from the outer +room, where common folk were gathered for their pleasure, but no sound, +not so much as the drawing of breath, in the little room where these +poets sat, and continued in this silence, until presently Khalil Khayyat +drew very close to Salim Awad. + +"Salim," he whispered, "reveal this poem." + +"It cannot be uttered," said Salim Awad. + +Khalil Khayyat was by this amazed. "Is it then so great?" he asked. +"Then, Salim," said he, "let it be as a jewel held in common by us of +all the world." + +"I am tempted!" + +"I plead, Salim--I, Khalil Khayyat, the poet, the philosopher--I plead!" + +"I may not share this great poem, Khalil," said Salim Awad, commanding +himself, "save with such as have suffered as I have suffered." + +"Then," answered Khalil Khayyat, triumphantly, "the half is mine!" + +"Is yours, Khalil?" + +"The very half, Salim, is the inheritance of my woe!" + +"Khalil," answered Salim Awad, rising, "attend!" He smiled, in the way +of youth upon the aged, and put an affectionate hand on the old man's +shoulder. "My song," said he, passionately, "may not be uttered; for in +all the world--since of these accidents God first made grief--there has +been no love-sorrow like my despair!" + +Then, indeed, Khalil Khayyat knew that this same Salim Awad was a worthy +poet. And he was content; for he had known a young man to take of the +woe from his own heart and fashion a love-song too sublime for +revelation to the unfeeling world--which was surely poetry sufficient to +the day. He asked no more concerning the song, but took counsel with +Salim Awad upon his journey to Newfoundland, whither the young poet was +going, there in trade and travel to ease the sorrows of love. And he +told him many things about money and a pack, and how that, though +engaged in trade, a man might still journey with poetry; the one being +of place and time and necessity, and the other of the free and infinite +soul. Concerning the words spoken that night in farewell by these poets, +not so much as one word is known, though many men have greatly desired +to know, believing the moment to have been propitious for high speaking; +but not a word is to be written, not so much as a sigh to be described, +for the door was closed, and, as it strangely chanced, there was no ear +at the key-hole. But Nageeb Fiani, the greatest player in all the world, +entering upon the departure of Salim Awad, was addressed by Khalil +Khayyat. + +"Nageeb," said this great poet, "I have seen a minstrel go forth upon +his wandering." + +"Upon what journey does the singer go, Khalil?" + +"To the north, Nageeb." + +"What song, Khalil, does the man sing by the way?" + +"The song is in his heart," said Khalil Khayyat. + +Abosamara, the merchant, being only rich, had intruded from his own +province. "Come!" cried he, in the way of the rich who are only rich. +"Come!" cried he, "how shall a man sing with his heart?" + +Khalil Khayyat was indignant. + +"Come!" Abosamara demanded, "how shall this folly be accomplished?" + +"How shall the deaf understand these things?" answered Khalil Khayyat. + +And this became a saying.... + +Hapless Harbor, of the Newfoundland French shore, gray, dispirited, +chilled to its ribs of rock--circumscribed by black sea and impenetrable +walls of mist. There was a raw wind swaggering out of the northeast upon +it: a mean, cold, wet wind--swaggering down the complaining sea through +the fog. It had the grounds in a frothy turmoil, the shore rocks +smothered in broken water, the spruce of the heads shivering, the world +of bleak hill and wooded valley all clammy to the touch; and--chiefest +triumph of its heartlessness--it had the little children of the place +driven into the kitchens to restore their blue noses and warm their +cracked hands. Hapless Harbor, then, in a nor'east blow, and a dirty +day--uncivil weather; an ugly sea, a high wind, fog as thick as cheese, +and, to top off with, a scowling glass. Still early spring--snow in the +gullies, dripping in rivulets to the harbor water; ice at sea, driving +with the variable, evil-spirited winds; perilous sailing and a wretched +voyage of it upon that coast. A mean season, a dirty day--a time to be in +harbor. A time most foul in feeling and intention, an hour to lie snug +in the lee of some great rock. + +The punt of Salim Awad, double-reefed in unwilling deference to the +weather, had rounded Greedy Head soon after dawn, blown like a brown +leaf, Salim being bound in from Catch-as-Catch-Can with the favoring +wind. It was the third year of his wandering in quest of that ease of +the sorrows of love; and as he came into quiet water from the toss and +spray of the open, rather than a hymn in praise of the Almighty who had +delivered him from the grasping reach of the sea, from its cold fingers, +its green, dark, swaying grave--rather than this weakness--rather than +this Newfoundland habit of worship, he muttered, as Antar, that great +lover and warrior, had long ago cried from his soul: "_Under thy veil is +the rosebud of my life, and thine eyes are guarded with a multitude of +arrows; round thy tent is a lion-warrior, the sword's edge, and the +spear's point_"--which had nothing to do, indeed, with a nor'east gale +and the flying, biting, salty spray of a northern sea. But this Salim +had come in, having put out from Catch-as-Catch-Can when gray light +first broke upon the black, tumultuous world, being anxious to make +Hapless Harbor as soon as might be, as he had promised a child in the +fall of the year. + +This Salim, poet, maker of the song that could not be uttered, tied up +at the stage-head of Sam Swuth, who knew the sail of that small craft, +and had lumbered down the hill to meet him. + +"Pup of a day," says Sam Swuth. + +By this vulgarity Salim was appalled. + +"Eh?" says Sam Swuth. + +Salim's pack, stowed amidships, was neatly and efficiently bound with +tarpaulin, the infinite mystery of which he had mastered; but his punt, +from stem to stern, swam deeply with water gathered on the way from +Catch-as-Catch-Can. + +"Pup of a day," says Sam Swuth. + +"Oh my, no!" cried Salim Awad, shocked by this inharmony with his mood. +"Ver' bad weather." + +"Pup of a day," Sam Swuth insisted. + +"Ver' bad day," said Salim Awad. "Ver' beeg wind for thee punt." + +The pack was hoisted from the boat. + +"An the glass don't lie," Sam Swuth promised, "they's a sight dirtier +comin'." + +Salim lifted the pack to his back. "Ver' beeg sea," said he. "Ver' bad +blow." + +"Ghost Rock breakin'?" + +"Ver' bad in thee Parlor of thee Devil," Salim answered. "Ver' long, +black hands thee sea have. Ver' white finger-nail," he laughed. "Eh? +Ver' hong-ree hands. They reach for thee punt. But I am have escape," he +added, with a proud little grin. "I am have escape. I--Salim! Ver' good +sailor. Thee sea have not cotch _me_, you bet!" + +"Ye'll be lyin' the night in Hapless?" + +"Oh my, no! Ver' poor business. I am mus' go to thee Chain Teekle." + +Salim Awad went the round of mean white houses, exerting himself in +trade, according to the cure prescribed for the mortal malady of which +he suffered; but as he passed from door to door, light-hearted, dreaming +of Haleema, she of the tresses of night, wherein the souls of men +wandered astray, he still kept sharp lookout for Jamie Tuft, the young +son of Skipper Jim, whom he had come through the wind to serve. Salim +was shy--shy as a child; more shy than ever when bent upon some gentle +deed; and Jamie was shy, shy as lads are shy; thus no meeting chanced +until, when in the afternoon the wind had freshened, these two blundered +together in the lee of Bishop's Rock, where Jamie was hiding his +humiliation, grief, and small body, but devoutly hoping, all the while, +to be discovered and relieved. It was dry in that place, and sheltered +from the wind; but between the Tickle heads, whence the harbor opened to +the sea, the gale was to be observed at work upon the run. + +Salim stopped dead. Jamie grinned painfully and kicked at the road. + +"Hello!" cried Salim. + +"'Lo, Joe!" growled Jamie. + +Salim sighed. He wondered concerning the amount Jamie had managed to +gather. Would it be sufficient to ease his conscience through the +transaction? The sum was fixed. Jamie must have the money or go wanting. +Salim feared to ask the question. + +"I isn't got it, Joe," said Jamie. + +"Oh my! Too bad!" Salim groaned. + +"Not all of un," added Jamie. + +Salim took heart; he leaned close, whispering, in suspense: "How much +have you thee got?" + +"Two twenty--an' a penny." + +"Ver' good!" cried Salim Awad, radiant. "Ver', ver' good! Look!" said +he: "you have wait three year for thee watch. Ver' much you have want +thee watch. 'Ha!' I theenk; 'ver' good boy, this--I mus' geeve thee watch +to heem. No, no!' I theenk; 'ver' bad for thee boy. I mus' not spoil +thee ver' good boy. Make thee mon-ee,' I say; 'catch thee feesh, catch +thee swile, then thee watch have be to you!' Ver' good. What happen? +Second year, I have ask about the mon-ee. Ver' good. 'I have got one +eighteen,' you say. Oh my--no good! The watch have be three dollar. Oh +my! Then I theenk: 'I have geeve the good boy thee watch for one +eighteen. Oh no, I mus' not!' I theenk; 'ver' bad for thee boy, an' mos' +ver' awful bad trade.' Then I say, 'I keep thee watch for one year +more.' Ver' good. Thee third year I am have come. Ver' good. What you +say?' 'I have thee two twenty-one,' you say. Ver', ver' good. Thee price +of thee watch have be three dollar? No! Not this year. Thee price have +_not_ be three dollar." + +Jamie looked up in hope. + +"Why not?" Salim Awad continued, in delight. "Have thee watch be spoil? +No, thee watch have be ver' good watch. Have thee price go down? No; +thee price have not." + +Jamie waited in intense anxiety, while Salim paused to enjoy the +mystery. + +"Have I then become to spoil thee boy?" Salim demanded. "No? Ver' good. +How then can thee price of thee watch have be two twenty?" + +Jamie could not answer. + +"Ver' good!" cried the delighted Salim. "Ver', ver' good! I am have tell +you. Hist!" he whispered. + +Jamie cocked his ear. + +"Hist!" said Salim Awad again. + +They were alone--upon a bleak hill-side, in a wet, driving wind. + +"I have be to New York," Salim whispered, in a vast excitement of +secrecy and delight. "I am theenk: 'Thee boy want thee watch. How thee +boy have thee watch? Thee good boy _mus'_ have thee watch. Oh, mygod! +how?' I theenk. I theenk, an' I theenk, an' I theenk. Thee boy mus' pay +fair price for thee watch. Ha! Thee Salim ver' clever. He feex thee +price of thee watch, you bet! Eh! Ver' good. How?" + +Jamie was tapped on the breast; he looked into the Syrian's wide, +delighted, mocking brown eyes--but could not fathom the mystery. + +"How?" cried Salim. "Eh? How can the price come down?" + +Jamie shook his head. + +"_I have smuggle thee watch!_" Salim whispered. + +"Whew!" Jamie whistled. "That's sinful!" + +"Thee watch it have be to you," answered Salim, gently. "Thee sin," he +added, bowing courteously, a hand on his heart, "it have be all my own!" + + * * * * * + +For a long time after Salim Awad's departure, Jamie Tuft sat in the lee +of Bishop's Rock--until indeed, the dark alien's punt had fluttered out +to sea on the perilous run to Chain Tickle. It began to rain in great +drops; the sullen mood of the day was about to break in some wrathful +outrage upon the coast. Gusts of wind swung in and down upon the boy--a +cold rain, a bitter, rising wind. But Jamie still sat oblivious in the +lee of the rock. It was hard for him, unused to gifts, through all his +days unknown to favorable changes of fortune, to overcome his +astonishment--to enter into the reality of this possession. The like had +never happened before: never before had joy followed all in a flash upon +months of mournful expectation. He sat as still as the passionless rock +lifted behind him. It was a tragedy of delight. Two dirty, cracked, +toil-distorted hands--two young hands, aged and stained and malformed by +labor beyond their measure of strength and years to do--two hands and the +shining treasure within them: to these his world was, for the time, +reduced--the rest, the harsh world of rock and rising sea and harsher +toil and deprivation, was turned to mist; it was like a circle of fog. + +Jamie looked up. + +"By damn!" he thought, savagely, "'tis--'tis--_mine_!" + +The character of the exclamation is to be condoned; this sense of +ownership had come like a vision. + +"Why, I _got_ she!" thought Jamie. + +Herein was expressed more of agonized dread, more of the terror that +accompanies great possessions, than of delight. + +"Ecod!" he muttered, ecstatically; "she's mine--she's mine!" + +The watch was clutched in a capable fist. It was not to be dropped, you +may be sure! Jamie looked up and down the road. There was no highwayman, +no menacing apparition of any sort, but the fear of some ghostly ravager +had been real enough. Presently the boy laughed, arose, moved into the +path, stood close to the verge of the steep, which fell abruptly to the +harbor water. + +"I got t' tell mamma," he thought. + +On the way to Jamie's pocket went the watch. + +"She'll be that glad," the boy thought, gleefully, "that she--she--she'll +jus' fair _cry_!" + +There was some difficulty with the pocket. + +"Yes, sir," thought Jamie, grinning; "mamma'll jus' cry!" + +The watch slipped from Jamie's overcautious hand, struck the rock at his +feet, bounded down the steep, splashed into the harbor water, and +vanished forever.... + + * * * * * + +A bad time at sea: a rising wind, spray on the wing, sheets of cold +rain--and the gray light of day departing. Salim Awad looked back upon +the coast; he saw no waste of restless water between, no weight and +frown of cloud above, but only the great black gates of Hapless Harbor, +beyond which, by the favor of God, he had been privileged to leave a +pearl of delight. With the wind abeam he ran on through the sudsy sea, +muttering, within his heart, as that great Antar long ago had cried: +"_Were I to say thy face is like the full moon of heaven, wherein that +full moon is the eye of the antelope? Were I to say thy shape is like +the branch of the erak tree, oh, thou shamest it in the grace of thy +form! In thy forehead is my guide to truth, and in the night of thy +tresses I wander astray!_" + +And presently, having won Chain Tickle, he pulled slowly to Aunt +Amelia's wharf, where he moored the punt, dreaming all the while of +Haleema, Khouri's daughter, star of the world. Before he climbed the +hill to the little cottage, ghostly in the dusk and rain, he turned +again to Hapless Harbor. The fog had been blown away; beyond the heads +of the Tickle--far across the angry run--the lights of Hapless were +shining cheerily. + +"Ver' good sailor--me!" thought Salim. "Ver' good hand, you bet!" + +A gust of wind swept down the Tickle and went bounding up the hill. + +"He not get me!" muttered Salim between bared teeth. + +A second gust showered the peddler with water snatched from the harbor. + +"Ver' glad to be in," thought Salim, with a shudder, turning now from +the black, tumultuous prospect. "Ver' mos' awful glad to be in!" + +[Illustration: THE DARK, SMILING SALIM, WITH HIS MAGIC PACK, WAS +WELCOME] + +It was cosey in Aunt Amelia's hospitable kitchen. The dark, smiling +Salim, with his magic pack, was welcome. The wares displayed--no more for +purchase than for the delight of inspection--Salim stowed them away, sat +himself by the fire, gave himself to ease and comfort, to the delight of +a cigarette, and to the pleasure of Aunt Amelia's genial chattering. The +wind beat upon the cottage--went on, wailing, sighing, calling--and in the +lulls the breaking of the sea interrupted the silence. An hour--two +hours, it may be--and there was the tramp of late-comers stumbling up the +hill. A loud knocking, then entered for entertainment three gigantic +dripping figures--men of Catch-as-Catch-Can, bound down to Wreckers' Cove +for a doctor, but now put in for shelter, having abandoned hope of +winning farther through the gale that night. Need o' haste? Ay; but what +could men do? No time t' take a skiff t' Wreckers' Cove in a wind like +this! 'Twould blow your hair off beyond the Tickle heads. Hard enough +crossin' the run from Hapless Harbor. An' was there a cup o' tea an' a +bed for the crew o' them? They'd be under way by dawn if the wind fell. +Ol' Tom Luther had t' have a doctor _somehow_, whatever come of it! + +"Hello, Joe!" cried the one. + +Salim rose and bowed. + +"Heared tell 't Hapless Harbor you was here-abouts." + +"Much 'bliged," Salim responded, courteously, bowing again. "Ver' much +'bliged." + +"Heared tell you sold a watch t' Jim Tuft's young one?" + +"Ver' good watch," said Salim. + +"Maybe," was the response. + +Salim blew a puff of smoke with light grace toward the white rafters. He +was quite serene; he anticipated, now, a compliment, and was fashioning, +of his inadequate English, a dignified sentence of acknowledgment. + +"Anyhow," drawled the man from Catch-as-Catch-Can, "she won't go no +more." + +Salim looked up bewildered. + +"Overboard," the big man explained. + +"W'at!" cried Salim. + +"Dropped her." + +Salim trembled. "He have--drop thee--watch?" he demanded. "No, no!" he +cried. "The boy have not drop thee watch!" + +"Twelve fathoms o' water." + +"Oh, mygod! Oh, dear me!" groaned Salim Awad. He began to pace the +floor, wringing his hands. They watched him in amazement. "Oh, mygod! +Oh, gracious! He have drop thee watch!" he continued. "Oh, thee poor +broke heart of thee boy! Oh, my! He have work three year for thee watch. +He have want thee watch so ver' much. Oh, thee great grief of thee poor +boy! I am mus' go," said he, with resolution. "I am mus' go to thee +Hapless at thee once. I am mus' cure thee broke heart of thee poor boy. +Oh, mygod! Oh, dear!" They scorned the intention, for the recklessness +of it; they bade him listen to the wind, the rain on the roof, the growl +and thud of the breakers; they called him a loon for his folly. "Oh, +mygod!" he replied; "you have not understand. Thee broke heart of thee +child! Eh? W'at you know? Oh, thee ver' awful pain of thee broke heart. +Eh? I know. I am have thee broke heart. I am have bear thee ver' awful +bad pain." + +Aunt Amelia put a hand on Salim's arm. + +"I am mus' go," said the Syrian, defiantly. + +"Ye'll not!" the woman declared. + +"I am mus' go to thee child." + +"Ye'll not lose your life, will ye?" + +The men of Catch-as-Catch-Can were incapable of a word; they were amazed +beyond speech. 'Twas a new thing in their experience. They had put out +in a gale to fetch the doctor, all as a matter of course; but this risk +to ease mere woe--and that of a child! They were astounded. + +"Oh yes!" Salim answered. "For thee child." + +"Ye fool!" + +Salim looked helplessly about. He was nonplussed. There was no +encouragement anywhere to be descried. Moreover, he was bewildered that +they should not understand! + +"For thee child--yes," he repeated. + +They did but stare. + +"Thee broke heart," he cried, "of thee li'l child!" + +No response was elicited. + +"Oh, dear me!" groaned the poet. "You _mus'_ see. It is a child!" + +A gust was the only answer. + +"Oh, mygod!" cried Salim Awad, poet, who had wandered astray in the +tresses of night. "Oh, dear me! Oh, gee!" + +Without more persuasion, he prepared himself for this high mission in +salvation of the heart of a child; and being no longer deterred, he put +out upon it--having no fear of the seething water, but a great pity for +the incomprehension of such as knew it best. It was a wild night; the +wind was a vicious wind, the rain a blinding mist, the night thick and +unkind, the sea such in turmoil as no punt could live through save by +grace. Beyond Chain Tickle, Salim Awad entered the thick of that gale, +but was not perturbed; for he remembered, rather than recognized the +menace of the water, the words of that great lover, Antar, warrior and +lover, who, from the sands of isolation, sang to Abla, his beloved: +"_The sun as it sets turns toward her and says, Darkness obscures the +land, do thou arise in my absence. And the brilliant moon calls out to +her, Come forth, for thy face is like me when I am at the full and in +all my glory._" + +The hand upon the steering-oar of this punt, cast into an ill-tempered, +cold, dreary, evil-intentioned northern sea, was without agitation, the +hand upon the halyard was perceiving and sure, the eye of intelligence +was detached from romance; but still the heart remembered: "_The +tamarisk-trees complain of her in the morn and in the eve, and say, +Away, thou waning beauty, thou form of the laurel! She turns away +abashed, and throws aside her veil, and the roses are scattered from her +soft, fresh cheeks. Graceful is every limb, slender her waist, +love-beaming are her glances, waving is her form. The lustre of day +sparkles from her forehead, and by the dark shades of her curling +ringlets night itself is driven away._" + +The lights of Hapless Harbor dwindled; one by one they went out, a last +message of wariness; but still there shone, bright and promising +continuance, a lamp of Greedy Head, whereon the cottage of Skipper Jim +Tuft, the father of Jamie, was builded. + +"I will have come safe," thought Salim, "if thee light of Jamie have +burn on." + +It continued to burn. + +"It is because of thee broke heart," thought Salim. + +The light was not put out: Salim Awad--this child of sand and heat and +poetry--made harbor in the rocky north; and he was delighted with the +achievement. But how? I do not know. 'Twas a marvellous thing--thus to +flaunt through three miles of wind-swept, grasping sea. A gale of wind +was blowing--a gale to compel schooners to reef--ay, and to double reef, +and to hunt shelter like a rabbit pursued: this I have been told, and +for myself know, because I was abroad, Cape Norman way. No +Newfoundlander could have crossed the run from Chain Tickle to Hapless +Harbor at that time; the thing is beyond dispute; 'twas a feat +impossible--with wind and lop and rain and pelting spray to fight. But +this poet, desert born and bred, won through, despite the antagonism of +all alien enemies, cold and wet and vigorous wind: this poet won +through, led by Antar, who said: "_Thy bosom is created as an +enchantment. Oh, may God protect it ever in that perfection_," and by +his great wish to ease the pain of a child, and by his knowledge of wind +and sea, gained by three years of seeking for the relief of the sorrows +of love. + +"Ver' good sailor," thought Salim Awad, as he tied up at Sam Swuth's +wharf. + +'Twas a proper estimate. "Ver' good," he repeated. "Ver' beeg good." + +Then this Salim, who had lost at love, made haste to the cottage of +Skipper Jim Tuft, wherein was the child Jamie, who had lost the watch. +He entered abruptly from the gale--recognizing no ceremony of knocking, +as why should he? There was discovered to him a dismal group: Skipper +Jim, Jamie's mother, Jamie--all in the uttermost depths. "I am come!" +cried he. "I--Salim Awad--I am come from thee sea! I am come from thee +black night--I am come wet from thee rain--I am escape thee hands of thee +sea! I am come--I, Salim Awad, broke of thee heart!" 'Twas a surprising +thing to the inmates of that mean, hopeless place. "I am come," Salim +repeated, posing dramatically--"I, Salim--I am come!" 'Twas no more than +amazement he confronted. "To thee help of thee child," he repeated. "Eh? +To thee cure of thee broke heart." There was no instant response. Salim +drew a new watch from his pocket. "I have come from thee ver' mos' awful +sea with thee new watch. Eh? Ver' good. I am fetch thee cure of thee +broke heart to thee poor child." There was no doubt about the efficacy +of the cure. 'Twas a thing evident and delightful. Salim was wet, cold, +disheartened by the night and weather; but the response restored him. +"Thee watch an' thee li'l' chain, Jamie," said he, with a bow most +polite, "it is to you." + +Jamie grabbed the watch. + +"Ver' much 'bliged," said Salim. + +"Thanks," said Jamie. + +And in this cheap and simple way Salim Awad restored the soul of Jamie +Tuft and brought happiness to all that household. + + * * * * * + +And now, when the news of this feat came to the ears of Khalil Khayyat, +the editor, as all news must come, he sought the little back room of +Nageeb Fiani, the greatest player in all the world, with the letter in +his hand. Presently he got his narghile going, and a cup of perfumed +coffee before him on the round, green baize table; and he was very +happy--what with the narghile and the coffee and the letter from the +north. There was hot weather, the sweat and complaint of the tenements; +there was the intermittent roar and shriek of the Elevated trains +rounding the curve to South Ferry; there was the street murmur and gasp, +the noise of boisterous voices and the click of dice in the outer room; +but by these Khalil Khayyat was not disturbed. Indeed not; there was a +matter of the poetry of reality occupying his attention. He called +Nageeb, the little Intelligent One, who came with soft feet; and he bade +the little one summon to his presence Nageeb Fiani, the artist, the +greatest player in all the world, who came, deferentially, wondering +concerning this important message from the poet. + +"Nageeb," said Khalil Khayyat, "there has come a letter from the north." + +Nageeb assented. + +"It concerns Salim," said Khayyat. + +"What has this Salim accomplished," asked Nageeb Fiani, "in alleviation +of the sorrows of love?" + +Khayyat would not answer. + +"Tell me," Nageeb pleaded. + +"This Salim," said Khalil Khayyat, "made a song that could not be +uttered. It is well," said Khalil Khayyat. "You remember?" + +Nageeb remembered. + +"Then know this," said Khalil Khayyat, abruptly, "the song he could not +utter he sings in gentle deeds. It is a great song; it is too great for +singing--it must be lived. This Salim," he added, "is the greatest poet +that ever lived. He expresses his sublime and perfect compositions in +dear deeds. He is, indeed, a great poet." + +Nageeb Fiani thought it great argument for poetry; so, too, Khalil +Khayyat. + + + + +IV--THE SQUALL + + +TUMM of the _Good Samaritan_ kicked the cabin stove into a sputter and +roar of flame so lusty that the black weather of Jump Harbor was +instantly reduced from arrogant and disquieting menace to an impression +of contrast grateful to the heart. "Not bein' a parson," said he, roused +now from a brooding silence by this radiant inspiration, "I isn't much +of a hand at accountin' for the mysteries o' God; an' never havin' made +a world, I isn't no critic o' creation. Still an' all," he persisted, in +a flash of complaint, "it did seem t' me, somehow, accordin' t' my +lights, which wasn't trimmed at no theological college, that the Maker +o' Archibald Shott o' Jump Harbor hadn't been quite kind t' Arch." The +man shifted his feet in impatient disdain, then laughed--a gently +contemptuous shaft, directed at his insolence: perhaps, too, at his +ignorance. It fell to a sigh, however, which continued expression, +presently, in a glance of poignant bewilderment. "Take un by an' all," +he pursued, "I was wonderful sorry for Arch. Seemed t' me, sir, though +he bore the sign o' the Lord's own hand, as do us all, that he'd but a +mean lookout for gracious livin', after all. + +"Poor Archibald Shott! + +"'Arch, b'y,' says I, 'you got the disposition of a snake.' + +"'Is I?' says he. 'Maybe you're right, Tumm. I never knowed a snake in a +intimate way.' + +"'You got the soul,' said I, 'of a ill-born squid.' + +"'Don't know,' said he; 'never _seed_ a squid's soul.' + +"'Your tongue,' says I, 'is a flame o' fire; 'tis a wonder t' me she +haven't blistered your lips long afore this.' + +"'Isn't _my_ fault,' says he. + +"'No?' says I. 'Then who's t' blame?' + +"'Well,' says he, 'God made me.' + +"'Anyhow,' said I, 'you've took t' the devil's alterations an' +improvements like a imp t' hell fire.'" + +Tumm dropped into an angry muse.... + +We had put in from the sea off the Harborless Shore, balked by a +screaming Newfoundland northwester, allied with fog and falling night, +from rounding Taunt Head, beyond which lay the snug harbor and waiting +fish of Candlestick Cove. It had been labor enough, enough of cold, of +sleety wind and anxious watching, to send the crew to berth in sleepy +confusion when the teacups were emptied. Tumm and I sat in the +companionable seclusion of the trader's cabin, the schooner lying at +ease in the shelter of Jump Harbor. In the pause, led by the wind from +this warmth and peace and light to the reaches of frothy coast, I +recalled the cliffs of Black Bight, upon which, as I had been told in +the gray gale of that day, the inevitable had overtaken Archibald Shott. +They sprang clear from the breakers, an expanse of black rock, barren as +a bone, as it seemed in the sullen light, rising to a veil of fog, +which, floating higher than our foremast, kept their topmost places in +forbidding mystery. We had come about within stone's-throw, so that the +bleak walls, echoing upon us, doubled the thunder of the sea. They +inclined from the water: I bore this impression away as the schooner +darted from their proximity--an impression, too, of ledges, crevices, +broken surfaces. In that tumultuous commotion, perhaps, flung then +against my senses, I had small power to observe; but I fancied, I +recall, that a nimble man, pursued by fear, might scale the Black Bight +cliffs. There was imperative need, however, of knowing the way, else +there might be neither advance nor turning back.... + + * * * * * + +"Seemed t' be made jus' o' leavin's, Arch did," Tumm resumed, with a +little twitch of scorn: "jus' knocked t'gether," said he, "with scraps +an' odds an' ends from the loft an' floor. But whatever, an a man had no +harsh feelin' again' a body patched up out o' the shavin's o' bigger +folk, a lean, long-legged, rickety sort o' carcass, like t' break in the +grip of a real man," he continued, "nor bore no grudge again' high +cheek-bones, skimped lips, a ape's forehead, an' pale-green eyes, sot +close to a nose like a axe an' pushed a bit too far back, why, then," he +concluded, with a largely generous wave, "they wasn't a deal o' fault t' +be found with the looks o' Archibald Shott. Wasn't no reason ever _I_ +seed why Arch shouldn't o' wed any maid o' nineteen harbors an' lived a +sober, righteous, an' fatherly life till the sea cotched un. But it +seemed, somehow, that Arch must fall in love with the maid o' Jump +Harbor that was promised t' Slow Jim Tool--a lovely lass, sir, believe +_me_: a dimpled, rosy, towheaded, ripplin' sort o' maid, as soft as +feathers an' as plump as a oyster, with a disposition like sunshine +an'--an'--well, _flowers_. She was a wonderful dear an' tender lass, quick +t' smile, sir, quick as the sea in a sunlit southerly wind, an' quick t' +cry, too, God bless her! in sympathy with the woes o' folk. + +"'Arch,' says I, wind-bound in the _Curly Head_ at Jump Harbor, 'don't +you _do_ it.' + +"'Love,' says he, 'is queer.' + +"'Maybe,' says I; 'but keep off. You go,' says I, 'an' get a maid o' +your own.' + +"'_Wonderful_ queer,' says he. ''Twouldn't s'prise me, Tumm,' says he, +'if a man failed in love with a fish-hook.' + +"'Well,' says I, ''Lizabeth All isn't no fish-hook. She've red cheeks +an' blue eyes an' as soft an' round a body as a man ever clapped eyes +on. Her hair,' says I, 'is a glory; an', Arch,' says I, 'why, she +_pities_!' + +"'True,' says he; 'but it falls far short.' + +"'How far?' says I. + +"'Well,' says he, 'you left out her muscles.' + +"'Look you, Arch!' says I; 'you isn't nothin' but a mean man. They isn't +nothin' that's low an' cruel an' irreligious that you can't be +comfortable shipmates with. Understand me? They isn't nothin' that can't +be spoke of in the presence o' women an' children that isn't as good as +a Sunday-school treat t' you. It doesn't scare you t' know that the +things o' your delight would ruin God's own world an they had their way. +Understand me?' says I, bein' bound, now, to make it plain. 'An' now,' +says I, 'what you got t' give, anyhow, for the heart an' sweet looks o' +this maid? Is you thinkin',' says I, 'that she've a hankerin' after your +dried beef body an' pill of a soul?' + +"'Never you mind,' says he. + +"'Speak up!' says I. 'What you got t' _trade_?' + +"'Well,' says he, 'I'm clever.' + +"''Tis small cleverness t' think,' says I, 'that in these parts a ounce +o' brains is as good as a hundredweight o' chest an' shoulders.' + +"'You jus' wait an' see,' says he. + +"Seems that Jim Tool was a big man with a curly head an' a maid's gray +eyes. He was wonderful solemn an' soft an' slow--so slow, believe _me_, +sir, that he wouldn't quite know till to-morrow what he found out +yesterday. If you spat in his face to-day, sir, he might drop in any +time toward the end o' next week an' knock you down; but if he put it +off for a fortnight, why, 'twouldn't be so wonderful s'prisin'. I 'low +he was troubled a deal by the world. 'Twas all a mystery to un. He went +about, sir, with his brows drawed down an' a look o' wonder an' s'prise +an' pity on his big, kind, pink-an'-white face. He was _always_ +s'prised; never seemed t' _expect_ nothin'--never seemed t' be ready. I +'low it shocked un t' pull a fish over the side. 'Dear man!' says he. +'Well, well!' What he done when 'Lizabeth All first kissed un 'tis past +me t' tell. I 'low that shootin' wouldn't o' shocked un more. An' how +long it took un t' wake up an' really feel that kiss--how many days o' +wonder an' s'prise an' doubt--'twould take a parson t' reckon. Anyhow, +she loved un: I knows she did--she loved un, sir, because he was big an' +kind an' curly-headed, which was enough for 'Lizabeth All, I 'low, an' +might be enough for any likely maid o' Newf'un'land." + +I dropped a birch billet in the stove. + +"Anyhow," said Tumm, moodily, "it didn't last long." + +The fire crackled a genial accompaniment to the tale of Slow Jim +Tool.... + + * * * * * + +"Well, now," Tumm continued, "Slow Jim Tool an' Archibald Shott o' Jump +Harbor was cast away in the _Dimple_ at Creep Head o' the Labrador. +Bein' wrecked seamen, they come up in the mail-boat; an' it so happened, +sir, that 'long about Run-by-Guess, with the fog thick, an' dusk near +come, Archibald Short managed t' steal a Yankee's gold watch an' sink un +in the pocket o' Slow Jim Tool. 'Twas s'prisin' t' Jim. Fact is, when +they cotched un with the prope'ty, sir, Jim 'lowed he never knowed when +he done it--never knowed he _could_ do it. 'Ecod!' says he; 'now that +s'prises _me_. I mus' o' stole that there watch in my sleep. Well, +well!' S'prised un a deal more, they says, when a brass-buttoned +constable come aboard at Tilt Cove' an' took un in charge in the Queen's +name. '_In the Queen's name!_' says Jim. 'What's that? In the Queen's +name? Dear man!' says he; 'but this is awful! An' I never knows when I +done it!' 'Twas more s'prisin' still when they haled un past Jump +Harbor. 'Why,' says he, 'I wants t' go home an' see 'Lizabeth All. Why,' +says he, 'I got t' talk it over with 'Lizabeth!' 'You can't,' says the +constable. 'But,' says Jim, 'I _got_ t'. Why,' says he, 'I always +_have_.' 'Now,' says the constable, 'don't you make no trouble.' So Jim +was s'prised again; but when the judge give un a year t' repent an' make +brooms in chokee t' St. John's he was _so_ s'prised, they says, that he +never come to his senses till he landed back at Jump Harbor an' was +kissed seven times by 'Lizabeth All in the sight o' the folk o' that +place. An' even after that, I'm told--ay, through a season's fishin'--he +pondered a deal more'n was good for un. Ashore an' afloat, 'twas all the +same. 'Well, well!' says he. 'Dear man! I wonders how I done it. Arch,' +says he, 'you was aboard; can't _you_ throw no light?' Arch 'lowed he +might an he but tried, but wouldn't. 'Might interfere,' says he, 'atween +you an' 'Lizabeth.' 'But,' says Jim, 'as a friend?' + +"'Well,' says Arch, ''riginal sin.' + +"''Riginal sin!' says Jim. 'Dear man! but I mus' have got my share!' + +"'You is,' says Arch. ''Tis plain in your face. You looks low and +vicious. 'Riginal sin, Jim,' says he, 'marks a man.' + +"'Think so?' says Jim. 'I'm sorry I got it.' + +"'An' look you!' says Arch; 'you better be wonderful careful about +unshippin' wickedness on 'Lizabeth.' + +"'On 'Lizabeth?' says Jim. 'What you mean? God knows,' says he, 'I'd not +hurt 'Lizabeth.' + +"'Then ponder,' says Arch. ''Riginal sin is made you a thief an' a +jailbird. Ponder, Jim--ponder!' + +"Now," cries Tumm, in an outburst of feeling, "what you think 'Lizabeth +All done?" + +I was confused by the question. + +"Why," Tumm answered, "it didn't make no difference t' she!" + +I was not surprised. + +"Not s'prised!" cries Tumm. "No," he snapped, indignantly, "nor neither +was Slow Jim Tool." + +Of course not! + +"Nobody knows nothin' about a woman," said Tumm; "least of all, the +woman. An', anyhow," he resumed, "'Lizabeth All didn't care. Why, God +save you, sir!" he burst out, "she loved the shoulders an' soul o' Slow +Jim Tool too much t' care. 'Tis a woman's way; an' a woman's true love +so passes the knowledge o' men that faith in God is a lesson in A B C +beside it. Well," he continued, "sailin' the _Give an' Take_ that fall, +I was cotched in the early freeze-up, an' us put the winter in at Jump +Harbor, with a hold full o' fish an' every married man o' the crew in a +righteous rage. An' as for 'Lizabeth, why, when us cleared the +school-room, when ol' Bill Bump fiddled up with the accordion ''Money +Musk' an' '_Pop_ Goes the Weasel,' when he sung out, 'Balance!' an' +'H'ist her, lad!' when the jackets was throwed aside an' the boots was +cast off, why, 'Lizabeth All jus' fair _clinged_ t' that there big, +gray-eyed, pink-an'-white Slow Jim Tool! 'Twas a pretty sight t' watch +her, sir, plump an' winsome an' yellow-haired, float like a sea-gull +over the school-room floor--t' see her blushes an' smiles an' eyes o' +love. It done me good. I 'lowed I wished I was young again--an' big an' +slow an' kind an' curly-headed. But lookin' about, sir, it seemed t' me, +as best I could understand, that a regiment o' little devils was +stickin' red-hot fish-forks into the vitals o' Archibald Shott; an' then +I 'lowed, somehow, that maybe I was jus' as well off as I was. I got a +look in his eyes, sir, afore the night was done; an' it jus' seemed t' +me that the Lord had give me a peep into hell. + +"'Twas more'n Archibald Shott could carry. 'Tumm,' says he, nex' day, 'I +'low I'll move.' + +"'Where to?' says I. + +"''Low I'll jack my house down t' the ice,' says he, 'an' haul she over +t' Deep Cove. I've growed tired,' says he, 'o' fishin' Jump Harbor.' + +"Well, now, they wasn't no prayer-meetin' held t' keep Archibald Shott +t' Jump Harbor. The lads o' the place an' the crew o' the _Give an' +Take_ turned to an' jerked that house across the bay t' Deep Cove like a +gale o' wind. They wasn't nothin' left o' Archibald Shott at Jump Harbor +but the bare spot on the rocks where the house used t' be. When 'twas +all over with, Arch come back t' say good-bye; an' he took Slow Jim Tool +t' the hills, an', 'Jim,' says he, 'you knows where my house used t' be? +Hist!' says he, 'I wants t' tell you: is you able t' hold a secret? +Well,' says he, 'I wouldn't go pokin' 'round in the dirt there. You +leave that place be. They isn't nothin' there that you'd like t' have. +Understand? _Don't go pokin' 'round in the dirt where my ol' house was._ +But if you does,' says he, 'an' if you finds anything you wants, why, +you can keep it, and not be obliged t' me.' So Jim begun pokin' 'round; +being human, he jus' couldn't help it. He poked an' poked, till they +wasn't no sense in pokin' no more; an' then he 'lowed he'd give +'Lizabeth a wonderful s'prise in the spring, no matter what it cost. +'Archibald Shott,' says he, 'is a kind man. You jus' wait, 'Lizabeth, +an' _see_.' And in the spring, sure enough, off he sot for Chain Tickle, +where ol' Jonas Williams have a shop an' a store, t' fetch 'Lizabeth a +pink ostrich feather she'd seed in Jonas's trader two year afore. She +'lowed that 'twas a wonderful sight o' money t' lay out on a feather, +when he got back; but he says: 'Oh no, 'Lizabeth; the money wasn't no +trouble t' get.' + +"'No trouble?' says she. + +"'Why, no,' says he; 'no trouble t' speak of. I jus' sort o' poked +around an' picked it up.' + +"About a week after 'Lizabeth All had first wore that pink feather t' +meetin' a constable come ashore from the mail-boat an' tapped Slow Jim +Tool on the shoulder. + +"'What you do that for?' says Jim. + +"'In the Queen's name!' says the constable. + +"'My God!' says Jim. 'What is I been doin'?' + +"'Counterfeitin',' says the constable. + +"'Counter-fittin'!' says Jim. 'What's that?' + +"They says," Tumm sighed, "that poor Jim Tool was wonderful s'prised t' +be give two year in chokee t' St. John's for passin' lead shillin's; for +look you! Jim didn't _know_ they was lead." + +"And Elizabeth?" I ventured. + +"Up an' died," he drawled.... + + * * * * * + +"Well, now," Tumm proceeded, "'twas three year later that Jim Tool an' +Archibald Shott an' me was shipped from Twillingate aboard the _Billy_ +_Boy_ t' fish the Labrador below Mugford along o' Skipper Alex Tuttle. +Jim Tool was more slow an' solemn an' puzzled 'n ever I knowed un t' be +afore; an' he was so wonderful shy o' Archibald Shott that Arch 'lowed +he'd have the superstitious shudders if it kep' up much longer. 'If he'd +only talk,' says Arch, 'an' not creep about this here schooner like a +deaf an' dumb ghost!' But Jim said nar a word; he just' kep' a gray eye +on Arch till Arch lost a deal more sleep 'n he got. 'He _irks_ me!' says +Arch. ''Tisn't a thing a religious man would practise; an' I'll _do_ +something,' says he, 't' stop it!' Howbeit, things was easy till the +_Billy Boy_ slipped past Mother Burke in fair weather an' run into a +dirty gale from the north off the upper French shore. The wind jus' +seemed t' sweep up all the ice they was on the Labrador an' jam it +again' the coast at Black Bight. There's where we was, sir, when things +cleaned up; gripped in the ice a hundred fathom off the Black Bight +cliffs. An' there we stayed, lifted from the pack, lyin' at fearsome +list, till the wind turned westerly an' began t' loosen up the ice. + +"'Twas after noon of a gray day when the _Billy Boy_ dropped back in the +water. They was a bank o' blue-black cloud hangin' high beyond the +cliffs; an' I 'lowed t' the skipper, when I seed it, that 'twould blow +with snow afore the day was out. + +"'Ay,' says the skipper; 'an' 'twon't be long about it.' + +"Jus' then Slow Jim Tool knocked Archibald Shott flat on his back. Lord, +what a thump! Looked t' me as if Archibald Shott might be damaged. + +"'Ecod! Jim,' says I, 'what you go an' do that for?' + +"'Why,' says Jim, 'he said a bad word again' the name o' 'Lizabeth.' + +"'Never done nothin' o' the kind,' says Arch. 'I was jus' 'bidin' here +amidships lookin' at the weather.' + +"'Yes, you did, Arch,' says Jim; 'you done it in the forecastle--las' +Wednesday. I heared you as I come down the ladder.' + +"'Don't you knock me down again,' says Arch. 'That _hurt_!' + +"'Well,' says Jim, 'you keep your tongue off poor 'Lizabeth.' + +[Illustration: "YOU KEEP YOUR TONGUE OFF POOR 'LIZABETH"] + +"By this time, sir, the lads was all come up from the forecastle. We +wasn't much hands at fightin', in them days, on the Labrador craft, +bein' all friends t'gether; an' a little turn up on deck sort o' scared +the crew. Made un shy, too; they hanged about, backin' an' shufflin', +like kids in a parlor, fair itchin' along o' awkwardness, grinnin' a +deal wider'n was called for, but sayin' nothin' for fear o' drawin' more +attention 'n they could well dodge. Skipper Alex he laughed; then I +cackled a bit--an' then off went the crew in a big he-haw. I seed +Archibald Shott turn white an' twitch-lipped, an' I minds me now, sir, +that he fidgeted somewhat about his hip; but bein' all friends aboard, +sir, shipped from near-by harbors, why, it jus' didn't jump into my mind +that he was up t' anything more deadly than givin' a hitch to his +trousers. How should it? We wasn't _used_ t' brawls aboard the _Billy +Boy_. But whatever, Archibald Shott crep' for'ard a bit, till he was +close 'longside, an' then bended down t' do up the lashin' of his shoe: +which he kep' at, sir, fumblin' like a baby, till Jim looked off t' the +clouds risin' over the Black Bight cliffs an' 'lowed 'twould snow like +wool afore the hour was over. Then, 'Will she?' says Arch; an' with that +he drawed his splittin'-knife an' leaped like a lynx on Slow Jim Tool. I +seed the knife in the air, sir--seed un come down point foremost on Jim's +big chest--an' heared a frosty tinkle when the broken blade struck the +deck. It didn't seem natural, sir; not on the deck o' the _Billy Boy_, +where we was all friends aboard, raised in near-by harbors. + +"Anyhow, Slow Jim squealed like a pig an' clapped a hand to his heart; +an' Arch jumped back t' the rail, where he stood with muscles drawed an' +arms open for a grapple, fair drillin' holes in Jim with his little +green eyes. + +"'Ouch!' says Jim; 'that wasn't _fair_, Arch!' + +"Arch's lips jus' lifted away from his teeth in a ghastly sort o' grin. + +"'Eh?' says Jim. 'What you want t' do a dirty trick like that for?' + +"Arch didn't seem t' have no answer ready: jus' stood there eyin' Jim, +stock still as a wooden figger-head, 'cept that he shivered an' gulped +an' licked his blue lips with a tongue that I 'lowed t' be as dry as +sand-paper. Seemed t' me, sir, when his muscles begun t' slack an' his +eyes t' shift, that he was more scared 'n any decent man ought ever t' +get. But he didn't say nothin'; nor no more did nobody else. Wasn't +nothin' t' _say_. There we was, all friends aboard, reared in near-by +harbors. Didn't seem natural t' be stewin' in a mess o' hate like that. +Look you! we _knowed_ Archibald Shott an' Slow Jim Tool: knowed un, +stripped an' clothed, body an' soul, an' _had_, sir, since they begun t' +toddle the roads o' Jump Harbor. Knowed un? Why, down along afore the +_Lads' Hope_ went ashore on the Barnyard Islands, I slep' along o' Jim +Tool an' _poulticed Archibald Shaft's boils_! Didn't seem t' me, sir, +when Jim took off his jacket an' opened his shirt that they was anything +more'n sorrow for Arch's temper brewin' in his heart. Murder? Never +thunk o' murder; wasn't used enough t' murder. I 'lowed, though, that +Jim didn't like the sight o' the cut where the knife had broke on a rib; +an' I 'lowed he liked the feel of his blood still less, for he got white +an' stupid an' disgusted when his fingers touched it, jus' as if he +might be sea-sick any minute, an' he shook hisself an' coughed, sir, +jus' like a dog eatin' grass. + +"'Tumm,' says he, 'you got a knife?' + +"'Don't 'low no one,' says I, 't' clean a pipe 'ith my knife.' + +"'No,' says he; 'a sheath-knife?' + +"'Left un below,' says I. 'What you want un for?' + +"'Jus' a little job,' says he. + +"'What _kind_ of a job?' says I. + +"'Oh,' says he, 'jus' a little job I got t' do!' + +"Seemed nobody had a knife, so Jim Tool fetched his own from below. + +"'Find un?' says I. + +"'Not my bes' one,' says he. 'Jus' my second bes'.' + +"Skipper Alex 'lowed 'twould snow like goose feathers afore half an hour +was out, but, somehow, sir, nobody cared, though the wind was breakin' +off shore in saucy puff's an' the ice pack was goin' abroad. + +"Jim Tool feeled the edge of his knife. 'Isn't my bes' one,' says he. 'I +got a new one somewheres.' + +"I 'lowed he was a bit out o' temper with the knife; an' it _did_ look +sort o' foul sir, along o' overuse an' neglect. + +"'Greasy,' says he, wipin' the blade on his boot; 'wonderful greasy! +Isn't much use no more. Wisht I had my bes' one. This here,' says he, +'is got three big nicks. But, anyhow, Arch,' says he, 'I won't hurt you +no more'n I can help!' + +"Then, sir, knife in hand an' murder hot in his heart, he bore down on +Archibald Shott. 'Twas all over in a flash: Arch, lean an' nimble as a +imp, leaped the rail an' put off over the ice toward the Black Bight +cliffs, with Slow Jim in chase. Skipper Alex whistled 'Whew!' an' looked +perfeckly stupid along o' s'prise; whereon, sir, havin' come to his +senses of a sudden, he let out a whoop like a siren whistle an' vaulted +overside. Then me, sir; then the whole bally crew! In jus' a wink 'twas +follow my leader over the pans t' save Archibald Shott from slaughter: +scramble an' leap, sir, slip an' splash--across the pans an' over the +pools an' lanes o' water. + +"I 'low the skipper might o' overhauled Jim an he hadn't missed his leap +an' gone overhead 'longside. As for me, sir, wind an' legs denied me. + +"'Hol' on, Jim!' sings I. 'Wait for _me_!' + +"But Jim wasn't heedin' what was behind; I 'low, sir, what with hate an' +the rage o' years, he wasn't thinkin' o' nothin' 'cept t' get a knife in +the vitals o' Archibald Shott so deep an' soon as he was able. Seemed +he'd do it, too, in quick time, for jus' that minute Archibald slipped; +his legs sailed up in the air, an' he landed on his shoulders an' rolled +off into the water. But God bein' on the watch jus' then, sir, Jim +leaped short hisself from the pan he was on, an' afore he could crawl +from the sea Arch was out an' lopin' like a hare over better goin'. Jim +was too quick for me t' nab; I was fetched up all standin' by the lane +he'd leaped--while he sailed on in chase o' Arch. An' meantime the crew +was scattered north an' south, every man Jack makin' over the ice for +the Black Bight cliffs by the course that looked best, so that Arch was +drove in on the rocks. I 'lowed 'twould be over in a trice if somebody +didn't leap on the back o' Slow Jim Tool; but in this I was mistook: for +Archibald Shott, bein' hunted an' scared an' nimble, didn't wait at the +foot o' the cliff for Jim Tool's greasy knife. He shinned on up--up an' +up an' up--higher an' higher--with his legs an' arms sprawled out an' +workin' like a spider. Nor neither did Jim stop short. No, sir! He +slipped his knife in his belt--an' up shinned _he_! + +"'_Jim_, you fool!' sings I, when I come below, 'you come down out o' +that!' + +"But Jim jus' kep' mountin'. + +"'Jim!' says I. 'You want t' fall an' get hurted?' + +"Up comes the skipper in a proper state o' wrath an' salt water. 'Look +you, Jim Tool!' sings he; 'you want t' break your neck?' + +"I 'lowed maybe Jim was too high up t' hear. + +"'Tumm,' says the skipper, 'that fool will split Archibald Shott once he +gets un. You go 'round by Tatter Brook,' says he, 'an' climb the hill +from behind. This foolishness is got t' be stopped. Goin' easy,' says +he, 'you'll beat Shott t' the top o' the cliff. He'll be over first; let +un go. But when Tool comes,' says he, 'why, you got a pair o' arms there +that can clinch a argument.' + +"'Ay,' says I; 'but what'll come o' Archibald?' + +"'Well,' says the skipper, 'it looks t' me as if he'd be content jus' t' +keep on goin'.' + +"In this way, sir, I come t' the top o' the cliff. They _was_ signs o' +weather--a black sky, puffs o' wind jumpin' out, scattered flakes o' +snow--but they wasn't no sign o' Archibald Shott. They was quite a reach +o' brink, sir, high enough from the shore ice t' make a stomach squirm; +an' it took a deal o' peepin' an' stretchin' t' spy out Arch an' Jim. +Then I 'lowed that Arch never _would_ get over; for I seed, sir--lyin' +there on the edge o' the cliff, with more head an' shoulders stickin' +out in space than I cares t' dream about o' these quiet nights--I seed +that Archibald Shott was cotched an' could get no further. There he was, +sir, stickin' like plaster t' the face o' the cliff, some thirty feet +below, finger-nails an' feet dug into the rock, his face like a year-old +corpse. I sung out a hearty word--though, God knows! my heart was empty +o' cheer--an' I heard some words rattle in Shott's dry throat, but +couldn't understand; an' then, sir, overcome by space an' that face o' +fear, I rolled back on the frozen moss, sick an' limp. When I looked +again I seed, so far below that they looked like fat swile on the ice, +the skipper an' the crew o' the _Billy Boy_, starin' up, with the floe +an' black sea beyond, lyin' like a steep hill under the gray sky. +Midway, swarmin' up with cautious hands an' feet, come Slow Jim Tool, +his face as white an' cold as the ice below, thin-lipped, wolf-eyed, his +heart as cruel now, sir, his slow mind as keen, his muscles as tense an' +eager, as a brute's on the hunt. + +"'Jim!' says I. 'Oh, Jim!' + +"Jim jus' come on up. + +"'Jim!' says I. 'Is that _you_?' + +"Seemed, sir, it jus' _couldn't_ be. Not _Jim_! Why, I _nursed_ Jim! I +tossed Jimmie Tool t' the ceilin' when he was a mushy infant too young +t' do any more'n jus' gurgle. Why, at that minute, sir, like a dream in +the gray space below, I could see Jimmie Tool's yellow head an' fat +white legs an' calico dresses, jus' as they used t' be. + +"'Jim,' says I, 'it can't be you. Not you, Jim,' says I; 'not _you_!' + +"'Tumm,' says he, 'is he stuck? Can't he get no farther?' + +"Jim! + +"'If he can't,' says he, 'I got un! I'll knife un, Tumm,' says he, 'jus' +in a minute.' + +"'Don't try it,' says I. + +"'Don't you fret, Tumm,' says he. 'Isn't no fear o' _me_ fallin'. _I'm_ +all right.' + +"An' this was Jimmie Tool! Why, sir, I knowed Jimmie Tool when he was a +lad o' twelve. A hearty lad, sir, towheaded an' stout an' strong an' +lively, with freckles on his nose, an' a warm, kind, white-toothed +little grin for such as put a hand on his shoulder. Wasn't nobody ever, +man, woman, or child, that touched Jimmie Tool in kindness 'ithout bein' +loved. He jus' couldn't help it. You jus' be good t' Jimmie Tool, you +jus' put a hand on his head an' smile, an' Jimmie 'lowed they was no man +like you. 'You got a awful kind heart, lad,' says I, when he was twelve; +'an' when you grows up,' says I, 'I 'low the folk o' this coast will be +glad you was born.' An' here was Jimmie Tool, swarmin' up the Black +Bight cliffs, bent on the splittin' o' Archibald Shott, which same +Archibald I had took t' Sunday-school, by the wee, soft hand of un, many +a time, when he was a flabby-fleshed, chatterin' rollypolly o' four! +Bein' jus' a ol' fool, sir--bein' jus' a soft ol' fool hangin' over the +Black Bight cliffs--I wisht, somehow, that little Jimmie Tool had never +needed t' grow up. + +"'Jimmie," says I, 'what you _really_ goin' t' do?' + +"'Well,' says he, 'jus' a minute.' + +"'Very well,' says I; 'but you better leave poor Arch alone.' + +"'How's his grip?' says he. + +"'None too good,' says I; 'a touch would dislodge un.' + +"'If I cotched un by the ankle, then,' says he, 'I 'low I could jerk un +loose.' + +"'You hadn't better _try_,' says Arch. + +"'Jim,' says I, 'does you know how high up you really is?' + +"Jim jus' reached as quick as a snake for Archibald Shott's foot, but +come somewhat short of a grip. 'Shoot it!' says he, 'I can on'y touch un +with my finger. I'll have t' climb higher.' + +"Up he come a inch or so. + +"'You try that again, Jim,' says Arch, 'an' I'll kick you in the head.' + +"'You can't,' says Jim; 'you dassn't move a foot from that ledge.' + +"'Try an' see,' says Arch. + +"'I can see very well, Arch, b'y,' says Jim. 'If you wriggles a toe, +you'll fall.' + +"Then, sir, I cotched ear o' the skipper singin' out from below. Seemed +so far down when my eyes dropped that my fingers digged theirselves deep +in the moss and clawed around for better grip. They isn't no beach +below, sir, nor broken rock, as you knows; the cliffs rise from deep +water. Skipper and crew was on the ice; an' I seed that the wind had +blowed the pans off shore. Wind was up now: blowin' clean t' sea, with +flakes o' snow swirlin' in the lee o' the cliff. It fair scraped the +moss I was lyin' on. Seemed t' me, sir, that if it blowed much higher +I'd need my toes for hangin' on. A gust cotched off my cap an' swep' it +over the sea. Lord! it made me shiver t' watch the course o' that ol' +cloth cap! Blow? Oh, ay--blowin''! An' I 'lowed that the skipper was +nervous in the wind. He sung out again, waved his arms, pointed t' the +sea, an' then ducked his head, tucked in his elbows, an' put off for the +schooner, with the crew scurryin' like weak-flippered swile in his wake. +Sort o' made me laugh, sir; they looked so round an' squat an' +short-legged, 'way down below, sprawlin' over the ice in mad haste t' +board the _Billy Boy_ afore she drifted off in the gale. Laugh? Ay, sir! +I laughed. Didn't seem t' me, sir, that Jim Tool really _meant_ t' kill +Archibald Shott. Jus' seemed, somehow, like a rough game, with somebody +like t' get hurted if they kep' it up. So I laughed; but I gulped that +laugh back t' my stomach, sir, when I slapped eyes again on Archibald +Shott! + +"'Don't do that, Arch,' says I. 'You'll _fall_!' + +"'Well,' says he, 'Jim says I can't kick un in the head.' + +"'No more you can,' says Jim; 'an' you dassn't try.' + +"Arch was belly foremost t' the cliff--toes on a ledge an' hands gripped +aloft. He was able t' look up, but made poor work o' lookin' down over +his shoulder; an' I 'lowed, him not bein' able t' see Jim, that the +minute he reached out a foot he'd be cotched an' ripped from his hold, +if Jim really wanted t' do it. Anyhow, he got his fingers in a lower +crack. 'Twas a wonderful strain t' put on any man's hands an' arms: I +could see his forearms shake along of it. But safe at this, he loosed +one foot from the ledge, let his body sink, an' begun t' kick out after +Jim, jus' feelin' about like a blind man, with his face jammed again' +the rock. Jus' in a minute Jim reached for that foot. Cotched it, too; +but no sooner did Arch feel them fingers closin' in than he kicked out +for life an' got loose. The wrench near overset Jim. He made a quick +grab for the rock an' got a hand there jus' in time. Jim laughed. It may +be that he thunk Arch would be satisfied an' draw up t' rest. But Arch +'lowed for one more kick; an' this, sir, cotched Slow Jim Tool fair on +the cheek when poor Jim wasn't lookin'. Must o' hurt Jim. When his head +fell back, his face was all screwed up, jus' like a child's in pain. I +seed, too, that his muscles was slack, his knees givin' way, an' that +his right hand, with the fingers spread out crooked, was clawin' for a +hold, ecod! out in the air, where they wasn't nothin' but thin wind t' +grasp. Then I didn't see no more, but jus' lied flat on the moss, my +eyes fallen shut, limp an' sweaty o' body, waitin' t' come to, as from +the grip o' the Old Hag. + +"When I looked again, sir, Archibald Shott had both feet toed back on +the ledge, an' Slow Jim Tool, below, was still stickin' like a barnacle +t' the cliff. + +"'Jim,' says I, 'if you don't stop this foolishness I'll drop a rock on +you.' + +"'This won't do,' says he. + +"'No,' says I; 'it _won't_!' + +"'I 'low, Tumm,' says he, 'that I better swarm above an' come down.' + +"'What for?' says I. + +"'Step on his fingers,' says he. + +"Then, sir, the squall broke; a rush an' howl o' northerly wind! Come +like a pack o' mad ghosts: a break from the spruce forest--a flight over +the barren--a great leap into space. Blue-black clouds, low an' thick, +rushin' over the cliff, spilt dusk an' snow below. 'Twas as though the +Lord had cast a black blanket o' night in haste an' anger upon the sea. +An' I never knowed the snow so thick afore; 'twas jus' emptied out on +the world like bags o' flour. Dusty, frosty snow; it got in my eyes an' +nose an' throat. 'Twasn't a minute afore sea an' shore was wiped from +sight an' Jim Tool an' Archibald Shott was turned t' black splotches in +a mist. I crabbed away from the brink. Wasn't no sense, sir, in lyin' +there in the push an' tug o' the wind. An' I sot me down t' wait; an' +by-an'-by I heard a cry, a dog's bark o' terror, from deep in the +throat, sir, that wasn't no scream o' the gale. So I crawled for'ard, on +hands an' knees that bore me ill, t' peer below, but seed no form o' +flesh an' blood, nor got a human answer t' my hail. I turned again t' +wait; an' I faced inland, where was the solemn forest, far off an' hid +in a swirl o' snow, with but the passion of a gale t' bear. An' there I +stood, sir, turned away from the rage o' hearts that beat in breasts +like ours, until the squall failed, an' the snow thinned t' playful +flakes, an' the gray clouds, broken above the wilderness, soaked crimson +from the sun like blood. + +"'Twas Jim Tool that roused me. + +"'That you, Jim?' says I. + +"'Ay,' says he; 'you been waitin' here for me, Tumm?' + +"'Ay,' says I; 'been waitin'.' + +"'Tired?' says he. + +"'No,' says I; 'not tired.' + +"There come then, sir, a sort o' smile upon him--fond an' grateful an' +childlike. I seed it glow in the pits where his eyes was. 'It was kind,' +says he, 't' wait. You always _was_ kind t' me, Tumm.' + +"'Oh no,' says I; 'not kind.' + +"'Tumm,' says he, kickin' at a rock in the snow, 'I done it,' says he, +'by the ankle.' + +"'Then,' says I, 'God help you, Jim!' + +"He come close t' me, sir, jus' like he used t' do, when he was a lad, +in trouble. + +"'Keep off, Jim!' says I. + +"'Why so?' says he. 'Isn't you goin' t' be friends 'ith me any more?' + +"I was afraid. 'Keep clear!' says I. + +"'Oh, why so?' says he. + +"'I--I--don't know!' says I. 'God help us all, I don't _know_!' + +"Then he falled prone, sir, an' rolled over on his back, with his arms +flung out, as if now he seed the blood on his hands; an' he squirmed in +the snow, sir, like a worm on a hook. 'I wisht I hadn't done it! Oh, +dear God,' says he, '_I wisht I hadn't done it!_' + +"Ah, poor little Jimmie Tool! + + * * * * * + +"I looked away, sir, west'ard, t' where the sky had broken wide its +gates. Ah, the sun had washed the crimson blood-drip from the clouds! +'Twas a flood o' golden light. Colors o' heaven streamin' through upon +the world! But yet so far away--beyond the forest, and, ay, beyond the +farther sea! Maybe, sir, while my eyes searched the far-off sunlit +spaces, that my heart fled back t' fields o' time more distant still. I +remembered the lad that was Jimmie Tool. Warm-hearted, sir, aglow with +tender wishes for the joy o' folk; towheaded an' stout an' strong, +straight o' body an' soul, with a heart lifted high, it seemed t' me, +from the reachin' fingers o' sin. Wasn't nobody ever, sir, that touched +Jimmie Tool in kindness 'ithout bein' loved. 'Ah, Jimmie,' says I, when +I looked in his clear gray eyes, 'the world'll be glad, some day, that +you was born. Wisht I was a lad like you,' says I, 'an' not a man like +me.' An' he'd cotch hold o' my hand, sir, an' say: 'Tumm, you is +wonderful good t' me. I 'low I'm a lucky lad,' says he, 't' have a +friend like you.' So now, sir, come back t' the bleak cliffs o' Black +Bight, straight returned from the days of his childhood, with the golden +dust o' that time fresh upon my feet, the rosy light of it in my eyes, +the breath o' God in my heart, I kneeled in the snow beside Jim Tool an' +put a hand on his shoulder. + +"'Jimmie!' says I. + +"He would not take his hands from his eyes. + +"'Hush!' says I, for I had forgot that he was no more a child. 'Don't +cry!' + +"He cotched my hand, sir, jus' like he used t'do. + +"'T' me,' says I, 'you'll always be the same little lad you used t' be.' + +"It eased un: poor little Jimmie Tool!" + +Tumm's face had not relaxed. 'Twas grim as ever. But I saw--and turned +away--that tears were upon the seamed, bronzed cheeks. I listened to the +wind blowing over Jump Harbor, and felt the oppression of the dark +night, which lay thick upon the roads once known to the feet of this +gray-eyed Jimmie Tool. My faith was turned gray by the tale. "Ecod!" +Tumm burst in upon my musing, misled, perhaps, by this ancient sorrow, +"I'm glad _I_ didn't make this damned world! An', anyhow," he continued, +with a snap of indignation, "what happened after that was all done as +_among men_. Wasn't no cryin'--least of all by Jim Tool. When the _Billy +Boy_ beat back t' pick us up, all hands turned out t' fish Archibald +Shott from the breakers, an' then we stowed un away in a little place by +Tatter Brook, jus' where the water tumbles down the hill. Jim 'lowed he +might as well be took back an' hanged in short order. The sooner, he +says, the better it would suit. 'Lizabeth was dead, an' Arch was dead, +an' he might as well go, too. Anyhow, says he, he _ought_ to. But +Skipper Alex wouldn't hear to it. Wasn't no time, says he; the crew +couldn't afford to lose the v'y'ge; an', anyhow, says he, Jim wasn't in +no position t' ask favors. So 'twas late in the fall, sir, afore Jim was +give into the hands o' the Tilt Cove constable. Then Jim an' me an' the +skipper an' some o' the crew put out for St. John's, where Jim had what +they called his trial. An' Jim 'lowed that if the jury could do so +'ithout drivin' theirselves, an' would jus' order un hanged as soon as +convenient, why, he'd be 'bliged. An'--" + +Tumm paused. + +"Well?" I interrogated. + +"The jury," Tumm answered, "_jus' wouldn't do it_!" + +"And Jimmie?" + +"Jus' fishin'." + +Poor little Jimmie Tool! + + + + +V--THE FOOL OF SKELETON TICKLE + + +When the wheezy little mail-boat rounded the Liar's Tombstone--that gray, +immobile head, forever dwelling upon its forgotten tragedy--she "opened" +Skeleton Tickle; and this was where the fool was born, and where he +lived his life, such as it was, and, in the end, gave it up in uttermost +disgust. It was a wretched Newfoundland settlement of the remoter parts, +isolated on a stretch of naked coast, itself lying unappreciatively snug +beside sheltered water: being but a congregation of stark white cottages +and turf huts, builded at haphazard, each aloof from its despairing +neighbor, all sticking like lean incrustations to the bare brown +hills--habitations of men, to be sure, which elsewhere had surely +relieved the besetting dreariness with the grace and color of life, but +in this place did not move the gray, unsmiling prospect of rock and +water. The day was clammy: a thin, pervasive fog had drenched the whole +world, now damp to the touch, dripping to the sight; the wind, out of +temper with itself, blew cold and viciously, fretting the sea to a +swishing lop, in which the harbor punts, anchored for the day's fishing +in the shallows over Lost Men grounds, were tossed and flung about in a +fashion vastly nauseating to the beholder.... Poor devils of men and +boys! Toil for them, dawn to dark; with every reward of labor--love and +all the delights of life--changed by the unhappy lot: turned sordid, +cheerless, bestial.... + + * * * * * + +"Ha!" interrupted my chance acquaintance, leaning upon the rail with me. +"I am ver' good business man. Eh? You not theenk?" There was a saucy +challenge in this; it left no escape by way of bored credulity; no man +of proper feeling could accept the boast of this ingratiating, frowsy, +yellow-eyed Syrian peddler. "Ha!" he proceeded. "You not theenk, eh? But +I have tell you--I--myself! I am thee bes' business man in Newf'un'lan'." +He threw back his head; regarded me with pride and mystery, eyes half +closed. "No? Come, I tell you! I am thee _mos'_ bes' business man in +Newf'un'lan'. Eh? Not so? Ay, I am thee ver' mos' bes' business man in +all thee worl'. I--Tanous Shiva--I--_I_!" He struck his breast. "I have be +thee man. An' thee mos' fool--thee mos' beeg fool--thee mos' fearful beeg +fool in all thee worl' leeve there. Ay, zur; he have leeve there--dead +ahead--t' Skeleton Teekle. You not theenk? Ha! I tell you--I tell you +now--a mos' won-dair-ful fun-ee t'ing. You hark? Ver' well. Ha!" he +exclaimed, clasping his hands in an ecstasy of delight. "How you will +have laugh w'en I tell!" He sobered. "I am now," he said, solemnly, +"be-geen. You hark?" + +I nodded. + +"First," he continued, gravely important, as one who discloses a +mystery, "I am tell you thee name of thee beeg fool. James All--his name. +Ol' bach. Ver' ol' bach. Ver' rich man. Ho! mos' rich. You not theenk? +Ver' well. I am once hear tell he have seven lobster-tin full of gold. +Mygod! I am mos' put crazy. Lobster-tin--seven! An' he have half-bushel +of silver dollar. How he get it? Ver' well. His gran'-father work ver' +hard; his father work ver' hard; all thee gold come to this man, an' +_he_ work ver', ver' hard. They work fearful--in thee gale, in thee cold; +they work, work, work, for thee gold. Many, many year ago, long time +past, thee gold be-geen to have save. It be-geen to have save many year +afore I am born. Eh? Fun-ee t'ing! They work, work, work; but _I_ am not +work. Oh no! I am leetle baby. They save, save, save; but _I_ am not +save. Oh no! I am foolsh boy, in Damascus. Ver' well. By-'n'-by I am +thee growed man, an' they have fill thee seven lobster-tin with thee +gold. For what? Eh? I am tell you what for. Ha! I am show you I am ver' +good business man. I am thee ver' mos' bes' business man in +Newf'un'lan'." + +My glance, quick, suspicious, was not of the kindest, and it caught his +eye. + +"You theenk I have get thee gold?" he asked, archly. "You theenk I have +get thee seven lobster-tin?... Mygod!" he cried, throwing up his hands +in genuine horror. "You theenk I have _steal_ thee gold? No, no! I am +ver' hones' business man. I say my prayer all thee nights. I geeve nine +dollar fifty to thee Orth'dox Church in Washin'ton Street in one year. I +am thee mos' hones' business man in Newf'un'lan'--an'" (significantly), +"I am _ver' good_ business man." + +His eyes were guileless.... + +A punt slipped past, bound out, staggering over a rough course to Lost +Men grounds. The spray, rising like white dust, drenched the crew. An +old man held the sheet and steering-oar. In the bow a scrawny boy bailed +the shipped water--both listless, both misshapen and ill clad. Bitter, +toilsome, precarious work, this, done by folk impoverished in all +things. Seven lobster-tins of gold coin! Three generations of labor and +cruel adventure, in gales and frosts and famines, had been consumed in +gathering it. How much of weariness? How much of pain? How much of evil? +How much of peril, despair, deprivation? And it was true: this alien +peddler, the on-looker, had the while been unborn, a babe, a boy, +laboring not at all; but by chance, in the end, he had come, covetous +and sly, within reach of all the fruit of this malforming toil.... + +"Look!" + +I followed the lean, brown finger to a spot on a bare hill--a sombre +splash of black. + +"You see? Ver' well. One time he leeve there--this grea' beeg fool. His +house it have be burn down. How? Ver' well. I tell you. All people want +thee gold. All people--all--all! 'Ha!' theenk a boy. 'I mus' have thee +seven lobster-tin of gold. I am want buy thee parasol for 'Liza Hull +nex' time thee trader come. I _mus'_ have thee gold of ol' Skip' Jim. If +I not, then Sam Tom will have buy thee parasol from Tanous Shiva. 'Liza +Hull will have love him an' not me. I _mus'_ have 'Liza Hull love me. +Oh,' theenk he, 'I _mus'_ have 'Liza Hull love me! I am not can leeve +'ithout that beeg 'Liza Hull with thee red cheek an' blue eye!' (Ver' +poor taste thee men have for thee girl in Newf'un'lan'.) 'Ha!' theenk +he. 'I mus' have thee gold. I am burn thee house an' get thee gold. Then +I have buy thee peenk parasol from Tom Shiva.' Fool! Ver' beeg fool--that +boy. Burn thee house? Ver' poor business. Mos' poor. Burn thee house of +ol' Skip' Jim? Pooh!" + +It seemed to me, too--so did the sly fellow bristle and puff with +contempt--that the wretched lad's directness of method was most +reprehensible; but I came to my senses later, and I have ever since +known that the highwayman was in some sort a worthy fellow. + +"Ver' well. For two year I know 'bout thee seven lobster-tin of gold, +an' for two year I make thee great frien' along o' Skip' Jim--thee +greates' frien'; thee ver' greates' frien'--for I am want thee gold. Aie! +I am all thee time stop with Skip' Jim. I am go thee church with Skip' +Jim. I am kneel thee prayer with Skip' Jim. (I am ver' good man about +thee prayer--ver' good business man.) Skip' Jim he theenk me thee Jew. +Pooh! I am not care. I say, 'Oh yess, Skip' Jim; I am mos' sad about +what thee Jews done. Bad Jew done that.' 'You good Jew, Tom,' he say; 'I +am not hol' you to thee 'count. Oh no, Tom; you good Jew,' he say. 'You +would not do what thee bad Jews done.' 'Oh no, Skip' Jim,' I say, 'I am +ver' good man--ver', ver' good man.'" + +The peddler was gravely silent for a space. + +"I am hones' man," he continued. "I am thee mos' hones' business man in +Newf'un'lan'. So I mus' have wait for thee gold. Ah," he sighed, "it +have be _mos'_ hard to wait. I am almos' break thee heart. But I am +hones' man--ver', ver' hones' man--an' I _mus'_ have wait. Now I tell you +what have happen: I am come ashore one night, an' it is thee nex' night +after thee boy have burn thee house of Skip' Jim for the peenk parasol. + +"'Where Skip' Jim house?' I say. + +"'Burn down,' they say. + +"'Burn down!' I say. 'Oh, my! 'Tis sad. Have thee seven lobster-tin of +gold be los'?' + +"'All spoil,' they say. + +"I am not theenk what they mean. 'Oh, dear!' I say. 'Where Skip' Jim?' + +"'You fin' Skip' Jim at thee Skip' Bill Tissol's house.' + +"'Oh, my!' I say. 'I am mos' sad. I am go geeve thee pit-ee to poor +Skip' Jim.'" + +The fog was fast thickening. We had come close to Skeleton Tickle; but +the downcast cottages were more remote than they had been--infinitely +more isolated. + +"Ver' well. I am fin' Skip' Jim. He sit in thee bes' room of thee Skip' +Bill Tissol's house. All thee 'lone. God is good! Nobody there. What +have I see? Gold! Gold! The heap of gold! The beeg, beeg heap of gold! I +am not can tell you!" + +The man was breathing in gasps; in the pause his jaw dropped, his yellow +eyes were distended. + +"Ha!" he ejaculated. "So I am thank thee dear, good God I am not come +thee too late. Gold! Gold! The heap of gold! I am pray ver' hard to be +good business man. I am close thee eye an' pray thee good God I am be +ver' good business man for one hour. 'Jus' one hour, O my God!' I pray. +'Leave me be ver', ver' good business man for jus' one leet-tle ver' +small hour. I am geeve one hun'red fifty to thee Orth'dox Church in +Washin'ton Street, O my God,' I pray, 'if I be mos' ver' good business +man for thee one hour!' An' I shake thee head an' look at thee rich ol' +Skip' Jim with thee ver' mos' awful sad look I am can. + +"'Oh, Skip' Jim!' I say. 'Fear-r-ful! How have your house cotch thee +fire?' + +"'Thee boy of Skip' Elisha,' he say. + +"'Oh, Skip' Jim,' I say, 'what have you do by thee wicked boy?' + +"'What have I do?' he say. 'He cannot have mend thee bad business. What +have I do? I am not wish thee hurt to thee poor, poor boy.' + +"There sit thee beeg fool--thee ver' beeg fool--thee mos' fearful fool in +all thee worl'. Ol' Skip' Jim All--thee beeg fool! There he sit, by thee +'lone; an' the heap of good gold is on thee table; an' the candle is +burnin'; an' the beeg white wheesk-airs is ver' white an' mos' awful +long; an' thee beeg han's is on thee gold, an' thee salt-sores from thee +feeshin' is on thee han's; an' thee tear is in thee ol' eyes of ol' +Skip' Jim All. So once more I pray thee good God to be made ver' good +business man for thee one hour; an' I close thee door ver' tight. + +"'Oh, Tom Shiva,' he says, 'I am ruin'!' + +"'Ver' sad,' I say. 'Oh, dear!' + +"'I am ruin'--ruin'!' he say. 'Oh, I am ruin'! What have I do?' + +"'Ver', ver' sad,' I say. 'Oh, Skip' Jim,' I say, 'tis ver' sad!' + +"'Ruin'!' he say. 'I am not be rich no more. I am ver' poor man, Tom +Shiva. I am once be rich; but I am not be rich no more.' + +"I am not know what he mean. 'Not be rich no more?' I say. 'Not be rich +no more?' + +"'Look!' he say. 'Look, Tom Shiva! Thee gold! Thee seven lobster-tin of +gold!' + +"'I am see, Skip' Jim,' I say. + +"'Ah,' he say, in thee mos' awful, thee ver' mos' awful, speak, 'it is +all spoil'! It is all spoil'! I am ruin'!' + +"Then I am pray mos' fearful hard to be ver' good business man for thee +one hour. Ver' well. I look at thee gold. Do I know what he have mean? +God is good! I do. Ver' well. Thee gold is come out of the fire. What +happen? Oh, ver' well! It have be melt. What ver' beeg fool is he! It +have be melt. All? No! Thee gold steek together; thee gold melt in two; +thee gold be in thee beeg lump; thee gold be damage'. What this fool +theenk? Ah! Pooh! This fool theenk thee gold have be all spoil'. Good +gold? No, spoil' gold! No good no more. Ruin'? I am ver' good business +man. I see what he have mean. Ah, my heart! It jump, it swell, it choke +me, it tumble into the belly, it stop; it hurt me mos' awful. I am +theenk I die. Thee good God have answer thee prayer. 'O my God,' I pray +once more, 'this man is ver' beeg fool. Make Tanous Shiva good business +man. It have be ver', ver' easy t'ing to do, O God!' + +"'Spoil', Skip' Jim?' I say. + +"'All spoil', Tom Shiva,' he say. 'Thee gold no good.' + +"'Ver' sad to be ruin',' I say. 'Oh, Skip' Jim, ver' sad to be ruin'. I +am ver', ver' sad to see you ruin'.' + +"'Tom Shiva,' he say, 'you ver' good man.' + +"'Skip' Jim,' I say, 'I have love you ver' much.' + +"'Oh, Tom Shiva,' thee beeg fool say, 'I am thank you ver' hard.' + +"'Oh yess, Skip' Jim,' I say, 'I am love you ver', ver' much.' + +"He shake my han'. + +"'I am love you ver' much, Skip' Jim,' I say, 'an' I am ver' good man.' + +"My han' it pinch me ver' sore, Skip' Jim shake it so hard with thee +beeg, black han' he have. Thee han' of thee feesherman is ver', ver' +beeg, ver' strong. Thee ver' hard work make it ver' beeg an' strong. + +"'Skip' Jim,' I say, 'I am poor man. But not ver' poor. I am have +leet-tle money. I am wish thee help to you. I am _buy_ thee spoil' +gold.' + +"'Buy thee gold?' he say. 'Oh, Tom Shiva. All spoil'. Look! All melt. +Thee gold no good no more.' + +"'I am buy thee gold from you,' I say, 'Skip' Jim, my friend.' + +"'Ver' good friend, you, Tom Shiva,' he say; 'ver' good friend to me.' + +"I am look at him ver' close. I am theenk what he will take. 'I am geeve +you,' I say, 'I am geeve you,' Skip' Jim,' I say-- + +"Then I stop. + +"'What you geeve me for thee spoil' gold?' he say. + +"'I am geeve you,' I say, 'for thee spoil' gold an' for thee half-bushel +of spoil' silver,' I say, 'I am geeve you seventy-five dollar.' + +"Then _he_ get ver' good business man in the eye. + +"'Oh no!' he say. 'I am want one hundred dollar.' + +"I shake my head. 'Oh, Skip' Jim!' I say. 'Shame to have treat thee +friend so! I am great friend to you, Skip' Jim,' I say. 'But,' I say, +'business is business. Skip' Jim,' I say, 'let us have pray.' + +"What you theenk? What you theenk this ver' beeg fool do? How I laugh +inside! 'Let us have pray, Skip' Jim,' I say. What you theenk he do? Eh? +Not pray? Ver' religious man, Skip' Jim--ver', ver' religious. Pray? Oh, +I know _him_. Pray? You bet he pray! You ask Skip' Jim to pray, an' he +pray--oh, he pray, you bet! 'O God,' he pray, 'I am ver' much 'blige' for +Tom Shiva. I am ver' much 'blige' he come to Skeleton Teekle. I am ver' +much 'blige' he have thee soft heart. I am ver' much 'blige' you fix +thee heart to help poor ol' Skip' Jim. He good Jew, O God.' (Pooh! I am +Syrian man--not Jew. But I am not tell, for I am ver' good business man). +'Forgive this poor Tom Shiva, O my dear God!' + +"I get ver' tired with thee prayin'. I am ver' good business man. I am +want thee gold. + +"'Skip' Jim!' I whis-pair. 'Oh, Skip' Jim!' I say. 'Thee bargain! Fix +thee bargain with thee dear God.' My heart is ver' mad with thee fear. +'Fix thee bargain with thee good God,' I say. 'Oh, Skip' Jim!' I +whis-pair. 'Queek! I am offer seventy-five dollar.' + +"Then he get up from thee knee. Ver' obstinate man--ver', ver' obstinate +man, this ol' Skip' Jim. He get up from thee knee. What he theenk? Eh? +He theenk he ver' good business man. He theenk he beat Tom Shiva by thee +sin. Want God? Oh no! Not want God to know, you bet! + +"'I am want one hundred dollar,' he say, ver' cross, 'for thee heap of +spoil' gold an' silver. Thee God is bus-ee. I am do this business by +thee 'lone. Thee dear God is ver', ver' bus-ee jus' now. I am not bother +him no more.' + +"'Ver' well,' I say. 'I am geeve you eighty.' + +"'Come,' he say; 'ninety will have do.' + +"'Ver' well,' I say. 'You are my friend. I geeve you eighty-five.' + +"'Ver' well,' he say. 'I am love you ver' much, Tom Shiva. I take it. +Ver' kind of you, Tom Shiva, to buy all thee spoil' gold an' silver. I +am hope you have not lose thee money.' + +"I am ver' hones' business man. Eh? What I say? I say I lose thee money? +No, no! I am thee ver' mos' hones' business man in Newf'un'lan'. I am +too hones' to say thee lie. + +"'I am take thee risk,' I say. 'You are my friend, Skip' Jim,' I say. 'I +am take thee risk. I am geeve you eighty-five dollar for all the spoil' +gold an' silver--half cash, half trade.... I am have mos' wonderful suit +clothes for ver' cheap....'" + + * * * * * + +And the fool of Skeleton Tickle was left with a suit of shoddy tweed and +fifty-seven dollars in unspoiled gold and silver coin, believing that he +had overreached the peddler from Damascus and New York, piously thanking +God for the opportunity, ascribing glory to him for the success, content +that it should be so.... And Tanous Shiva departed by the mail-boat, as +he had come, with the seven lobster-tins of gold and the half-bushel of +silver which three generations had labored to accumulate; and he went +south to St. John's, where he converted the spoiled coin into a bank +credit of ten thousand dollars, content that it should be so. And +thereupon he set out again to trade.... + + * * * * * + +The mail-boat was now riding at anchor within the harbor of Skeleton +Tickle. Rain was falling--thin, penetrating, cold, driven by the wind. On +the bleak, wet hills, the cottages, vague in the mist, cowered in dumb +wretchedness, like men of sodden patience who wait without hope. A punt +put out from shore--came listlessly toward the steamer for the mail. + +"Ho! Tom Timms!" the Syrian shouted. "That you, Tom Timms? How Skip' Jim +All? How my ol', good friend Skip' Jim All?" + +The boat was under the quarter. Tom Timms shipped his oars, wiped the +rain from his whiskers, then looked up--without feeling. + +"Dead," he said. + +"Dead!" The man turned to me. "I am thank thee good God," he whispered, +reverently, "that I am get thee gold in time." He shuddered. "O, my +God!" he muttered. "What if I have come thee too late!" + +"Ay, dead," Tom Timms repeated. "He sort o' went an' jus' died." + +"Oh, dear! How have he come to die? Oh, my poor friend, ol' Skip' Jim! +How have he come by thee death?" + +"Hanged hisself." + +"Hanged hisself! Oh, dear! Why have thee ol' Skip' Jim be so fearful +wicked?" + +It was an unhappy question. + +"Well," Tom Timms answered, in a colorless drawl, "he got a trap-leader +when he found out what you done. He just sort o' went an' got a +trap-leader an' hanged hisself in the fish-stage--when he found out what +you done." + +The Syrian glanced at me. I glanced at him. Our eyes met; his were +steady, innocent, pitiful; my own shifted to the closing bank of gray +fog. + +"Business," he sighed, "is business." + +The words repeated themselves interminably--a monotonous dirge. Business +is business.... Business is business.... Business is business.... + + + + +VI--A COMEDY OF CANDLESTICK COVE + + +It was windy weather: and had been--for an exasperating tale of dusks and +dawns. It was not the weather of variable gales, which blow here and +there, forever to the advantage of some Newfoundland folk; it was the +weather of ill easterly winds, in gloomy conjunction bringing fog, rain, +breaking seas, drift-ice, dispiriting cold. From Nanny's Old Head the +outlook was perturbing: the sky was hid, with its familiar warnings and +promises; gigantic breakers fell with swish and thud upon the black +rocks below, flinging lustreless white froth into the gray mist; and the +grounds, where the men of Candlestick Cove must cast lines and haul +traps, were in an ill-tempered, white-capped tumble--black waves rolling +out of a melancholy fog, hanging low, which curtained the sea beyond. + +The hands of the men of Candlestick Cove were raw with salt-water sores; +all charms against the affliction of toil in easterly gales had +failed--brass bracelets and incantations alike. And the eyes of the men +of Candlestick Cove were alert with apprehensive caution: tense, quick +to move, clear and hard under drawn brows. With a high sea perversely +continuing beyond the harbor tickle, there was no place in the eyes of +men for the light of humor or love, which thrive in security. Windy +weather, indeed! 'Twas a time for men to _be_ men! + +"I 'low I never seed nothin' _like_ it," Jonathan Stock complained. + +The sea, breaking upon the Rock o' Wishes, and the wind, roaring past, +confused old Tom Lull. + +"What say?" he shouted. + +"Nothin' _like_ it," said Jonathan Stock. + +They had come in from the sea with empty punts, and they were now +pulling up the harbor, side by side, toward the stage-heads, which were +lost in the misty dusk. Old Tom had hung in the lee of the Rock o' +Wishes until Jonathan Stock came flying over the tickle breaker in a +cloud of spray. The wind had been in the east beyond the experience of +eighty years; it was in his aged mind to exchange opinions upon the +marvel. + +"Me neither," said he. + +They were drawing near Herring Point, within the harbor, where the noise +of wind and sea, in an easterly gale, diminishes. + +"I 'low I _never_ seed nothin' like it," said Jonathan Stock. + +"Me neither, Skipper Jonathan." + +"Never _seed_ nothin' like it." + +They pulled on in silence--until the froth of Puppy Rock was well astern. + +"Me neither," said Tom. + +"_I_ never seed nothin' like it," Jonathan grumbled. + +Old Tom wagged his head. + +"No, sir!" Jonathan declared. "Never seed _nothin'_ like it." + +"Me neither." + +"Not like _this_," said Jonathan, testily. + +"Me neither," old Tom agreed. "Not like this. No, sir; me neither, b'y!" + +'Twas a grand, companionable exchange of ideas! A gush of talk! A +whirlwind of opinion! Both enjoyed it--were relieved by it: rid of the +gathered thought of long hours alone on the grounds. Jonathan Stock had +expressed himself freely and at length; so, too, old Tom Lull. 'Twas +heartening--this easy sociability. Tom Lull was glad that he had waited +in the lee of the Rock o' Wishes; he had felt the need of conversation, +and was now gratified; so, too, Jonathan Stock. But now, quite exhausted +of ideas, they proceeded in silence, pulling mechanically through the +dripping mist. From time to time old Tom Lull wagged his head and darkly +muttered; but the words invariably got lost in his mouth. + +Presently both punts came to Jonathan Stock's stage. + +"I _'low_," Jonathan exclaimed, in parting, "I never seed nothin' like +it!" + +Old Tom lifted his oars. He drew his hand over his wet beard. A moment +he reflected--frowning at the mist: deep in philosophical labor. Then he +turned quickly to Jonathan Stock: turned in delight, his gray old face +clear of bewilderment--turned as if about to deliver himself of some vast +original conception, which might leave nothing more to be said. + +"Me neither!" he chuckled, as his oars struck the water and his punt +moved off into the mist. + +Windy weather! Moreover, it was a lean year--the leanest of three lean +years. The flakes were idle, unkempt, dripping the fog; the stages were +empty, the bins full of salt; the splitting-knives were rusted: this +though men and punts and nets were worn out with toil. There was no +fish: wherefore, the feeling men of Candlestick Cove kept clear of the +merchant of the place, who had outfitted them all in the spring of the +year, and was now contemplating the reckoning at St. John's with much +terror and some ill-humor. + +It was a lean year--a time of uneasy dread. From Cape Norman to the Funks +and beyond, the clergy, acutely aware of the prospect, and perceiving +the opportunity to be even more useful, preached from comforting texts. +"The Lord will provide" was the theme of gentle Parson Grey of Doubled +Arm; and the discourse culminated in a passionate allusion to "Yet have +I never seen the seed of the righteous begging bread." Parson Stump of +Burnt Harbor--a timid little man with tender gray eyes--treated "Your +Heavenly Father feedeth them" with inspiring faith. + +By all this the apprehension of the folk was lulled; it was admitted +even by the unrighteous that there were times when 'twas better to be +with than without the clergy. At Little Harbor Shallow, old Skipper Job +Sutler, a man lacking in understanding, put out no more to the grounds +off Devil-may-Care. + +"Skipper Job," the mail-boat captain warned, "you better get out t' the +grounds in civil weather." + +"Oh," quoth Job, "the Lard'll take care o' we!" + +The captain was doubtful. + +"An', anyhow," says Job, "if the Lard don't, the gov'ment's got to!" + +His youngest child died in the famine months of the winter. But that was +his fault.... + + * * * * * + +Skipper Jonathan Stock was alone with the trader in the shop of +Candlestick Cove. The squat, whitewashed building gripped a +weather-beaten point of harbor shore. It was night--a black night, the +wind blowing high, rain pattering fretfully upon the roof. The worried +little trader--spare, gimlet-eyed, thin-whiskered, now perched on the +counter--slapped his calf with a yardstick; the easterly gale was fast +aggravating his temper beyond control. It was bright and warm in the +shop; the birch billets spluttered and snored in the stove, and a great +lamp suspended from the main rafter showered the shelves and counter and +greasy floor with light. Skipper Jonathan's clothes of moleskin steamed +with the rain and spray of the day's toil. + +"No, John," said the trader, sharply; "she can't have un--it can't be +done." + +Jonathan slowly examined his wrist; the bandage had got loose. "No?" he +asked, gently, his eyes still fixed on the salt-water sore. + +"No, sir." + +Jonathan drew a great hand over his narrow brow, where the rain still +lay in the furrows. It passed over his beard--a gigantic beard, bushy and +flaming red. He shook the rain-drops from his hand. + +"No, Mister Totley," he repeated, in a patient drawl. "No--oh no." + +Totley hummed the opening bars of "Wrecked on the Devil's Finger." He +broke off impatiently--and sighed. + +"She _can't_," Jonathan mused. "No--_she_ can't." + +The trader began to whistle, but there was no heart in the diversion; +and there was much poignant distress in the way he drummed on the +counter. + +"I wouldn't be carin' so much," Jonathan softly persisted--"no, not so +_much_, if 'twasn't their birthday. She told un three year ago they +could have un--when they was twelve. An', dear man! they'll be twelve two +weeks come Toosday. Dear man!" he exclaimed again, with a fleeting +little smile, "_how_ the young ones grows!" + +The trader slapped his lean thigh and turned his eyes from Jonathan's +simple face to the rafters. Jonathan bungled with the bandage on his +wrist; but his fingers were stiff and large, and he could not manage the +thread. A gust of wind made the roof ring with the rain. + +"An' the other little thing?" Jonathan inquired. "Was you 'lowin' my +woman could have--the other little thing? She've her heart sort o' sot on +_that_. Sort o' _sot_ on havin'--that there little thing." + +"Can't do it, Jonathan." + +"Ay," Jonathan repeated, blankly. "She was sayin' the day 'twas sort o' +giddy of her; but she was 'lowin' her heart was sort o' _sot_ on +havin'--that little thing." + +Totley shook his head. + +"Her heart," Jonathan sighed. + +"Can't do it, John." + +"Mm-m-m! No," Jonathan muttered, scratching his head in helplessness and +bewilderment; "he can't give that little thing t' the woman, neither. +Can't give she _that_." + +Totley shook his head. It was not an agreeable duty thus to deny +Jonathan Stock of Candlestick Cove. It pinched the trader's heart. "But +a must is a must!" thought he. The wind was in the east, with no sign of +change, and 'twas late in the season; and there was no fish--_no fish_, +God help us all! There would be famine at Candlestick Cove--_famine_, God +help us all! The folk of Candlestick Cove--Totley's folk--must be fed; +there must be no starvation. And the creditors at St. John's--Totley's +creditors--were wanting fish insistently. _Wanting fish_, God help us! +when there was no fish. There was a great gale of ruin blowing up; there +would be an accounting to his creditors for the goods they had given him +in faith--there must be no waste of stock, no indulgence of whims. He +must stand well. The creditors at St. John's must be so dealt with that +the folk of Candlestick Cove--Totley's folk--could be fed through the +winter. 'Twas all-important that the folk should be fed--just fed with +bread and molasses and tea: nothing more than that. Nothing more than +that, by the Lord! would go out of the store. + +Jonathan pushed back his dripping cloth cap and sighed. "'Tis fallin' +out wonderful," he ventured. + +Totley whistled to keep his spirits up. + +"Awful!" said Jonathan. + +The tune continued. + +"She 'lows," Jonathan went on, "that if it keeps on at this rate she +won't have none left by spring. That's what _she_ 'lows will happen." + +Totley proceeded to the chorus. + +"No, sir," Jonathan pleaded; "she'll have nar a one!" + +The trader avoided his eye. + +"An' it makes her _feel_ sort o' bad," Jonathan protested. "I tells her +that with or without she won't be no different t' me. Not t' _me_. But +she sort o' feels bad just the same. You sees, sir," he stammered, +abashed, "she--she--she's only a woman!" + +Totley jumped from the counter. "Look you Jonathan!" said he, +decisively, "she can _have_ it." + +Jonathan beamed. + +"She can have what she wants for herself, look you! but she can't have +no oil-skins for the twins, though 'tis their birthday. 'Tis hard times, +Jonathan, with the wind glued t' the east; an' the twins is got t' go +wet. What kind she want? Eh? I got two kinds in the case. I don't +recommend neither o' them." + +Jonathan scratched his head. + +"Well, then," said the trader, "you better find out. If she's goin' t' +have it at all, she better have the kind she hankers for." + +Jonathan agreed. + +"Skipper Jonathan," said the trader, much distressed, "we're so poor at +Candlestick Cove that we ought t' be eatin' moss. I'll have trouble +enough, this fall, gettin' flour from St. John's t' go 'round. Skipper +Jonathan, if you could get your allowance o' flour down t' five barrels +instead o' six, I'd thank you. The young ones is growin', I knows; +but--well, I'd thank you, Jonathan, I'd thank you!" + +"Mister Totley, sir," Jonathan Stock replied, solemnly, "I _will_ get +that flour down t' five. Don't you fret no more about feedin' my little +crew," he pleaded. "'Tis kind o' you; an' I'm sorry you've t' fret." + +"Thank you, Jonathan." + +"An' ... you wouldn't mind lashin' this bit o' cotton on my wrist, would +you, sir? The sleeve o' my jacket sort o' chafes the sore." + +"A bad hand, Jonathan!" + +"No--oh no; _it_ ain't bad. I've had scores of un in my time. It don't +amount t' nothin'. Oh no--it ain't what you might call _bad_!" + +The wrist was bound anew. Jonathan stumbled down the dark steps to the +water-side, glad that his wife was to have that which she so much +desired. He pushed out in the punt. She was only a woman, he thought, +with an indulgent smile, but she _did_ want--that little thing. The wind +was high--the rain sweeping out of the east. He turned the bow of the +punt toward a point of light shining cheerily far off in the dark, +tumultuous night. + + * * * * * + +Jonathan Stock had no more than got off his soggy boots, and washed his +hands, and combed his hair, and drawn close to the kitchen fire--while +his wife clattered over the bare floor about the business of his +comfort--when Parson Jaunt tapped and entered: and folded his umbrella, +and wiped his face with a white handkerchief, and jovially rubbed his +hands together. This was a hearty, stout little man, with a double chin +and a round, rosy face; with twinkling eyes; with the jolliest little +paunch in the world; dressed all in black cloth, threadbare and shiny, +powdered with dandruff upon the shoulders; and wearing a gigantic yellow +chain hanging from pocket to pocket of the waistcoat, and wilted collar +and cuffs, and patent-leather shoes, which were muddy and cracked and +turned up at the toes. A hearty welcome he got; and he had them all +laughing at once--twins and all. Even the chickens in the coop under the +settee clucked, and the kid behind the stove rapturously bleated, and +the last baby chuckled, and the dog yawned and shook his hind quarters, +joyfully awake. + +'Twas always comforting to have Parson Jaunt drop in. Wherever he went +among the folk of Candlestick Cove, in wet weather or dry, poor times or +bad, there was a revival of jollity. His rippling person, smiling face, +quick laugh, amiable intimacy, his quips and questions, his way with +children--these made him beloved. Ay, there was always a welcome for +Parson Jaunt! + +"Ha, ha! Yes," the parson proceeded, "the brethren will be here on the +next mail-boat for the district meeting. Ha, ha! Well, well, now! And +how's the baby getting along, Aunt Tibbie? Hut! you little toad; don't +you laugh at me!" + +But the baby would. + +"Ha-a-a, you rat! You _will_ laugh, will you? He's a fine child, +that.... And I was thinking, Skipper Jonathan, that you and Aunt Tibbie +might manage Parson All of Satan's Trap. Times are hard, of course; but +it's the Lord's work, you know.... Eh? Get out, you squid! Stop that +laughing!" + +The baby could not. + +"Stop it, I say!" + +The baby doubled up, and squirmed, and wiggled his toes, and gasped with +glee. + +"Yes," the parson continued, "that you might manage Parson All of +Satan's Trap." + +"T' be sure!" cried Skipper Jonathan. "We'll manage un, an' be glad!" + +Aunt Tibbie's face fell. + +"That's good," said the parson. "Now, that _is_ good news. 'Tis most +kind of you, too," he added, earnestly, "in these hard times. And it +ends my anxiety. The brethren are now all provided for.... Hey, you +wriggler! Come out of that! Ha, ha! Well, well!" He took the baby from +the cradle. "Gi' me a kiss, now. Hut! You won't? Oh, you _will_, will +you?" He kissed the baby with real delight. "I thought so. Ha! I thought +so." He put the baby back. "You little slobbery squid!" said he, with a +last poke. "Ha! you little squid!" + +Aunt Tibbie's face was beaming. Anxiety and weariness were for the +moment both forgot. 'Twas good, indeed, to have Parson Jaunt drop in! + +"Eh, woman?" Jonathan inquired. + +"Oh, ay!" she answered. "We've always a pillow an' a bite t' eat for the +Lard's anointed." + +"The Lord's anointed!" the parson repeated, quickly. "Ah, that's it, +sister," said he, the twinkle gone from his upturned eyes. "I've a +notion to take that up next Sunday. And Parson All," he continued, "is a +saintly fellow. Yes, indeed! Converted at the age of seven. He's served +the Lord these forty years. Ah, dear me! what a profitable season you'll +be having with him! A time of uplifting, a time of--of--yes, +indeed!--uplifting." The parson was not clever; he was somewhat limited +as to ideas, as to words; indeed, 'twas said he stuttered overmuch in +preaching and was given to repetition. But he was sincere in the +practise of his profession, conceiving it a holy calling; and he did the +best he could, than which no man can do more. "A time," he repeated, +"of--of--yes--of uplifting." + +Aunt Tibbie was taken by an anxious thought. "What do he fancy," she +asked, "for feedin'?" + +"Ha, ha!" the parson exploded, in his delightfully jocular way. "That's +the woman of it. Well, well, now! Yes, indeed! There speaks the good +housewife. Eh, Skipper Jonathan? _You're_ well looked after, I'll +warrant. That's rather good, you know, coming from you, Aunt Tibbie. Ha, +ha! Why, Aunt Tibbie, he eats anything. Anything at all! You'll want +very little extra--very, very little extra. But he'll tell you when he +comes. Don't worry about that. Just what you have for yourselves, you +know. If it doesn't agree with him, he'll ask for what he desires." + +"Sure, _sir_!" said Skipper Jonathan, heartily. "Just let un ask for +it." + +"Ay," Aunt Tibbie echoed, blankly; "just let un ask for it. Sure, he can +speak for hisself." + +"Of _course_!" cried the parson, jovially. "Why, to be sure! _That's_ +the hospitality for me! Nothing formal about that. That's just what +makes us Newfoundlanders famous for hospitality. That's what I _like_. +'Just let un ask.'" + +The clock struck. Skipper Jonathan turned patiently to the dial. He must +be at sea by dawn. The gale, still blowing high, promised heavy labor at +the oars. He was depressed by the roar and patter of the night. There +came, then, an angry gust of rain--out of harmony with the parson's +jovial spirit: sweeping in from the black sea where Jonathan must toil +at dawn. + +"Ay," he sighed, indifferently. + +Aunt Tibbie gave him an anxious glance. + +"Yes, indeed! Ha, ha!" the parson laughed. "Let me see, now," he +rattled. "To-morrow. Yes, yes; to-morrow _is_ Tuesday. Well, now, let me +see; yes--mm-m-m, of course, that's right--you will have the privilege of +entertaining Brother All for four days. I wish it was more. I wish for +your sake," he repeated, honestly, being unaware of the true situation +in this case, "that it _could_ be more. But it can't. I assure you, it +can't. He _must_ get the mail-boat north. Pity," he continued, "the +brethren can't linger. These district meetings are so helpful, so +inspiring, so refreshing. Yes, indeed! And then the social aspect--the +relaxation, the flow of soul! We parsons are busy men--cooped up in a +study, you know; delving in books. Our brains get tired. Yes, indeed! +They need rest." Parson Jaunt was quite sincere. Do not misunderstand +him. 'Twould be unkind, even, to laugh at him. He was not clever; that +is all. "Brain labor, Skipper Jonathan," he concluded, with an odd touch +of pomposity, "is hard labor." + +"Ay," said Skipper Jonathan, sympathetically; "you parsons haves +wonderful hard lines. I Wouldn't like t' _be_ one. No, sir; not me!" + +In this--in the opinion and feeling--Skipper Jonathan was sincere. He most +properly loved Parson Jaunt, and was sorry for him, and he must not be +laughed at. + +"But," the parson argued, "we have the district meetings--times of +refreshing: when brain meets brain, you know, and wit meets wit, and the +sparks fly. Ha, ha! Yes, indeed! The social aspect is not to be +neglected. Dear me, no! Now, for illustration, Mrs. Jaunt is to +entertain the clergy at the parsonage on Thursday evening. Yes, indeed! +She's planned the refreshments already." The parson gave Aunt Tibbie a +sly, sly glance, and burst out laughing. "Ha, ha!" he roared. "I know +what you want. You want to know what she's going to have, don't you? +Woman's curiosity, eh? Ha, ha! Oh, you women!" Aunt Tibbie smiled. +"Well," said the parson, importantly, "I'll tell you. But it's a secret, +mind you! Don't you tell Brother All!" Aunt Tibbie beamed. "Well," the +parson continued, his voice falling to a whisper, "she's going to have a +jelly-cake, and an angel-cake, and a tin of beef." The twins sat up, +wide-eyed with attention. "Eh? Ha, ha!" the parson laughed. "You got +that? And she's going to have something more." Aunt Tibbie leaned +forward--agape, her eyes staring. The twins were already overcome. "Yes, +indeed!" said the parson. "_She's got a dozen bananas from St. John's!_ +Eh? Ha, ha! And she's going to slice 'em and put 'em in a custard. Ha, +ha!" + +The twins gasped. + +"Ha, ha!" the parson roared. + +They were all delighted--parson, skipper, housewife, and twins. Nor in +providing this hospitality for the Black Bay clergy was the parson in +thought or deed a selfish shepherd. It would be unkind--it would be most +unfair--to think it. He was an honest, earnest servant of the Master he +acknowledged, doing good at Candlestick Cove, in fair and foul weather. +He lived his life as best he could--earnestly, diligently, with pure, +high purpose. But he was not clever: that is all. 'Twould be an evil +thing for more brilliant folk (and possibly less kindly) to scorn him. + +"Yes, indeed!" the parson laughed. "And look here, now--why, I must be +off! Where's my umbrella? Here it is.... _Will_ you look at that baby, +Aunt Tibbie? He's staring at me yet. Get out, you squid! Stop that +laughing. Got a kiss for me? Oh, you _have_, have you? Then give it to +me.... A fine baby that; yes, indeed! A fine baby.... Get out, you +wriggler! Leave your toes be. Ha-a-a! I'll catch you--yes, I will!... +What a night it is! How the wind blows and the rain comes down! And no +sign of fish, Skipper Jonathan? Ah, well, the Lord will provide. +Good-night. God bless you!" + +"You'll get wonderful wet, sir," said Aunt Tibbie, with a little frown +of anxiety. + +"I don't mind it in the least," cried the parson. "Not at all. I'm used +to it." + +Skipper Jonathan shut the door against the wind. + +"Will it never stop blowin'!" Aunt Tibbie complained. + +Outside, wind and rain had their way with the world. Aunt Tibbie and +Skipper Jonathan exchanged glances. They were thinking of the dawn. + +"I'm wantin' t' go t' bed, Tibbie," Jonathan sighed, "for I'm wonderful +tired." + +"An' I'm tired, too, dear," said Aunt Tibbie, softly. "Leave us all go +t' bed." + +They were soon sound asleep.... + + * * * * * + +Parson All turned out to be a mild little old man with spectacles. His +eyes were blue--faded, watery, shy: wherein were many flashes of humor +and kindness. His face was smooth and colorless--almost as white as his +hair, which was also long and thin and straight. When Jonathan came in +from the sea after dark--from the night and wet and vast confusion of +that place--Parson All was placidly rocking by the kitchen fire, his +hands neatly folded, his trousers drawn up, so that his ankles and +calves might warm; and the kitchen was in a joyous tumult, with which +the little old man from Satan's Trap was in benevolent sympathy. +Jonathan had thought to find the house solemn, the wife in a fluster, +the twins painfully washed and brushed, the able seamen of the little +crew glued to their stools; but no! the baby was crowing in the cradle, +the twins tousled and grinning, the wife beaming, the little crew +rolling on the floor--the whole kitchen, indeed, in a gratefully familiar +condition of chaos and glee. + +At once they sat down to supper. + +"I'm glad t' have you, parson," said Jonathan, his broad, hairy face +shining with soap and delight. "That I is. I'm _glad_ t' have you." + +The parson's smile was winning. + +"Jonathan haves a wonderful taste for company," Aunt Tibbie explained. + +The man defended himself. "I isn't able t' help it," said he. "I loves +t' feed folk. An' I isn't able, an' I never was able, an' I never will +be able t' help it. Here's your brewis, sir. Eat hearty of it. Don't +spare it." + +"They's more in the pot," Aunt Tibbie put in. + +The parson's gentle eye searched the table--as our eyes have often done. +A bit of hopeful curiosity--nothing more: a thing common to us all, +saints and sinners alike. We have all been hungry and we have all hoped; +but few of us, I fancy, being faint of hunger--and dyspeptic--have sat +down to a bowl of brewis. 'Tis no sin, in parson or layman, to wish for +more; for the Lord endowed them both with hunger, and cursed many, +indiscriminately, with indigestion. Small blame, then, to the parson, +who was desperately hungry; small blame to Jonathan, who had no more to +give. There is no fault anywhere to be descried. Ah, well! the parson's +roving eye was disappointed, but twinkled just the same; it did not +darken--nor show ill-humor. There was a great bowl of brewis--a mountain +of it. 'Twas eyed by the twins with delight. But there was nothing more. +The parson's eye--the shy, blue, twinkling eye--slyly sought the stove; +but the stove was bare. And still the mild eyes continued full of +benevolence and satisfaction. He was a _man_--that parson! + +"Windy weather," said he, with an engaging smile. + +"Never seed nothin' _like_ it!" Jonathan declared. + +The twins were by this time busy with their forks, their eyes darting +little glances at the parson, at the parson's overloaded plate, at the +ruin of the mountain. + +"Wind in the east," the parson remarked. + +Jonathan was perturbed. "You isn't very hearty the night," said he. + +"Oh, dear me, yes!" the parson protested. "I was just about to begin." + +The faces of the twins were by this overcast. + +"Don't spare it, parson." + +The parson gulped a mouthful with a wry face--an obstinately wry face; he +could _not_ manage to control it. He smiled at once--a quick, sweet +comprehensive little smile. It was heroic--he was sure that it was! And +it _was_! He could do no more. 'Twas impossible to take the brewis. A +melancholy--ay, and perilous--situation for a hungry man: an old man, and +a dyspeptic. Conceive it, if you can! + +"_That_ ain't hearty," Aunt Tibbie complained. + +"To be frank," said the parson, in great humiliation--"to be perfectly +frank, I like brewis, but--" + +The happiness faded from Aunt Tibbie's eyes. + +"--I don't find it inspiring," the parson concluded, in shame. + +The twins promptly took advantage of the opportunity to pass their +plates for more. + +"Dyspepsey?" Aunt Tibbie inquired. + +"It might be called that," Parson All replied, sweeping the board with a +smile, but yet with a flush of guilt and shame, "by a physician." + +"Poor man!" Aunt Tibbie signed. + +There was a brief silence--expectant, but not selfishly so, on the part +of the parson; somewhat despairing on the part of the hosts. + +"Well, parson," Skipper Jonathan said, doggedly, "all you got t' do is +_ask_ for what you wants." + +"No, no!" + +"That's all you got t' do," Jonathan persisted. + +"Most kind of you, sir! But--no, no!" + +"Please do!" Aunt Tibbie begged. + +But the parson was not to be persuaded. Not Parson All of Satan's Trap--a +kindly, sensitive soul! He was very hungry, to be sure, and must go +hungry to bed (it seemed); but he would not ask for what he wanted. +To-morrow? Well, _something_ had to be done. He would yield--he _must_ +yield to the flesh--a little. This he did timidly: with shame for the +weakness of the flesh. He resented the peculiarity of brewis in his +particular case. Indeed, he came near to rebellion against the Lord--no, +not rebellion: merely rebellious questionings. But he is to be forgiven, +surely; for he wished most earnestly that he might eat brewis and +live--just as you and I might have done. + +"Now, Parson All," Jonathan demanded, "you just _got_ t' tell." + +And, well, the parson admitted that a little bread and a tin of beef--to +be taken sparingly--would be a grateful diet. + +"But we've none!" cried Aunt Tibbie. "An' this night you'll starve!" + +"To-night," said the parson, gently, "my stomach--is a bit out--anyhow." + +Presently he was shown to his bed.... + + * * * * * + +"I 'low," said Aunt Tibbie, when the parson was stowed away and she had +caught Skipper Jonathan's wavering eye, "he'd better have more'n that." + +"He--he--he've just _got_ t' have more." + +"He've a weak stomach," Aunt Tibbie apologized. "Poor man!" + +"I tells you, Tibbie," Jonathan declared, "them parsons haves wonderful +hard times. They isn't able t' get out in the air enough. Too much +book-study. Too much brain labor. I wouldn't change places with a +parson, woman, for all the world!" + +Aunt Tibbie nodded absently. + +"I 'low," said Jonathan, "I'd better be gettin' under way for the shop." + +The man drew on his boots and got into his oil-skins, and had his wrists +bandaged and went out. It was a long pull to the shop; but his mind was +too full of wonder and sly devising to perceive the labor of the way.... +And the trader was silting alone in the shop, perched on the counter, +slapping his lean calf with a yardstick, while the rain pattered on the +roof and the wind went screaming past. + +"You got a parson, Jonathan," said he, accusingly. "Yes, you is." + +"Ay," Jonathan admitted, "I got one." + +"An' that's what brings you here." + +"It be," Jonathan replied, defiantly. + +The silence was disquieting. + +"I'm 'lowin'," Jonathan stammered, "t'--t'-t' sort o' get four tins o' +beef." + +The trader beat his calf. + +"An' six pound o' butter," said Jonathan, "an' some pickles." + +"Anything else?" the trader snapped. + +"Ay," said Jonathan, "they is." + +The trader sniffed. + +"The parson haven't said nothin', but Tibbie's got a notion that he's +wonderful fond o' canned peaches," Jonathan ventured, diffidently. "She +'lows they'll keep his food sweet." + +"Anything else?" + +"No--oh no!" Jonathan sighed. "I 'low you wouldn't give me three pound o' +cheese?" he asked. "Not that the parson _mentioned_ cheese, but Tibbie +'lows he'd find it healthful." The trader nodded. "About four cans o' +peaches," said Jonathan. + +"I see," said the trader. + +Jonathan drew a great hand over his narrow brow, where the rain still +lay in the furrows. It passed over his red whiskers. He shook the +rain-drops from his hand. + +"Oh, dear!" he sighed. + +"Jonathan," said the trader, sharply, "you're a fool. I've long knowed +it. But I loves a fool; an' you're the biggest dunderhead I ever knowed. +You can _have_ the cheese; you can _have_ the beef; you can _have_ the +peaches. You can have un all. _But_--you got t' pay." + +"Oh, ay," said Jonathan, freely. "I'll pay!" + +"You'll go without sweetness in your tea," the trader burst out, "all +next winter. Understand? No sweetness in your tea. _That's_ how you'll +pay. If you takes these things, mark you, Jonathan!--an' hearken well--if +you takes these things for your parson, there'll be no molasses measured +out for _you_. You'll take your tea straight. Do you understand me, +Jonathan Stock?" + +"'Tis well," said Jonathan. + +"An'--" + +"The other?" Jonathan interrupted, anxiously. "You wasn't 'lowin' t' +have the woman give up that, was you? 'Tis such a little thing." + +The trader was out of temper. + +"Not that!" Jonathan pleaded. + +"Just that!" Totley exclaimed. "I'll not give it to her. If you're t' +have parsons, why, pay for un. Don't come askin' me t' do it for you." + +"But she--she--_she's only a woman_! An' she sort o' feels bad. Not that +'twould make any difference t' me--not t' _me_. Oh, I tells her that. But +she 'lows she wants it, anyhow. She sort o' _hankers_ for it. An' if you +could manage--" + +"Not I!" Totley was very much out of temper. "Pay for your own parson," +he growled. + +"Ah, well," Jonathan sighed, "she 'lowed, if you made a p'int of it, +that she'd take the grub an' do without--the other. Ay, do without--the +other." + +So Jonathan went home with what the parson needed to eat, and he was +happy. + + * * * * * + +It was still windy weather. Dusks and dawns came in melancholy +procession. The wind swept in the east--high, wet, cold. Fog and rain and +drift-ice were to be met on the grounds of Candlestick Cove. From +Nanny's Old Head the outlook was more perturbing than ever: the sea's +distances were still hid in the mist; the breakers on the black rocks +below gave the waste a voice, expressed its rage, its sullen purpose; +the grounds where the men of Candlestick Cove must fish were still in a +white-capped tumble; and the sores on the wrists of the men of +Candlestick Cove were not healed. There was no fish; the coast +hopelessly faced famine; men and women and children would all grow lean. +The winter, approaching, was like an angry cloud rising from the rim of +the sea. The faces of the men of Candlestick Cove were drawn--with fear +of the sea and with dread of what might come to pass. In the +meeting-house of Candlestick Cove, in district meeting assembled, the +Black Bay clergy engaged in important discussions, with which the sea +and the dripping rocks and the easterly wind had nothing to do.... + + * * * * * + +The Black Bay parsons were exchanging farewells at the landing-stage. +The steamer was waiting. There had been no change in the weather: the +wind was blowing high from the east, there was fog abroad, the air was +clammy. Parson Jaunt took Parson All by the arm and led him aside. + +"How was you fixed, brother?" he whispered, anxiously. "I haven't had +time to ask you before." + +Parson All's eyebrows were lifted in mild inquiry. + +"Was you comfortable? Did you get enough to eat?" + +There was concern in Parson Jaunt's voice--a sweet, wistful +consideration. + +"Yes, yes!" Parson All answered, quickly. "They are very good people--the +Stocks." + +"They're clean, but--" + +"Poor." + +[Illustration: "YOU WAS FIXED ALL RIGHT?" PARSON JAUNT ASKED] + +"Very, very poor! Frankly, Brother All, I was troubled. Yes, indeed! I +was troubled. I knew they were poor, and I didn't know whether it was +wise or right to put you there. I feared that you might fare rather +badly. But there was nothing else to do. I sincerely hope--" + +Parson All raised a hand in protest. + +"You was fixed all right?" Parson Jaunt asked. + +"Yes, brother," answered Parson All, in genuine appreciation of the +hospitality he had received. "It was touching. Praise the Lord! I'm glad +to know that such people _live_ in a selfish world like this. It was +very, very touching." + +Parson Jaunt's face expressed some surprise. + +"Do you know what they did?" said Parson All, taking Parson Jaunt by the +lapel of the coat and staring deep into his eyes. "_Do you know what +they did?_" + +Parson Jaunt wagged his head. + +"Why, brother," Parson All declared, with genuinely grateful tears in +his eyes, "when I told Skipper Jonathan that brewis soured on my +stomach, he got me tinned beef, and butter, and canned peaches, and +cheese. I'll never forget his goodness. Never!" + +Parson Jaunt stared. "What a wonderful thing Christianity is!" he +exclaimed. "What a wonderful, wonderful thing! By their fruits," he +quoted, "ye shall know them." + +The Black Bay clergy were called aboard. Parson Jaunt shook off the mild +old Parson All and rushed to the Chairman of the District, his black +coat-tails flying in the easterly wind, and wrung the Chairman's hand, +and jovially laughed until his jolly little paunch shook like jelly.... + + * * * * * + +That night, in the whitewashed cottage upon which the angry gale beat, +Skipper Jonathan and Aunt Tibbie sat together by the kitchen fire. +Skipper Jonathan was hopelessly in from the sea--from the white waves +thereof, and the wind, and the perilous night--and Aunt Tibbie had +dressed the sores on his wrists. The twins and all the rest of the +little crew were tucked away and sound asleep. + +Skipper Jonathan sighed. + +"What was you thinkin' about, Jonathan?" Aunt Tibbie asked. + +"Jus' ponderin'," said he. + +"Ay; but what upon?" + +"Well, Tibbie," Jonathan answered, in embarrassment, "I was +jus'--ponderin'." + +"What is it, Jonathan?" + +"I was 'lowin', Tibbie," Jonathan admitted, "that it wouldn't be so +easy--no, not so _easy_--t' do without that sweetness in my tea." + +Aunt Tibbie sighed. + +"What _you_ thinkin' about, dear?" Jonathan asked. + +"I got a sinful hankerin'," Aunt Tibbie answered, repeating the sigh. + +"Is you, dear?" + +"I got a sinful hankerin'," said she, "for that there bottle o' +hair-restorer. For I don't _want_ t' go bald! God forgive me," she +cried, in an agony of humiliation, "for this vanity!" + +"Hush, dear!" Jonathan whispered, tenderly; "for I loves you, bald or +not!" + +But Aunt Tibbie burst out crying. + + + + +VII--"BY-AN'-BY" BROWN OF BLUNDER COVE + + +"By-an'-by" Brown he was called at Blunder Cove. And as "By-an'-by" +Brown he was known within its fishing radius: Grave Head to Blow-me-down +Billy. Momentarily, on the wet night of his landing, he had been +"Mister" Brown; then--just "By-an'-by" Brown. + +There was no secret about the baby. Young Brown was a bachelor of the +outports: even so, there was still no secret about the baby. Nonsense! +It was not "By-an'-by's." It never had been. Name? Tweak. Given name? +She. What! Well, then, _It_! Age? Recent--somewheres 'long about +midsummer. Blunder Cove was amazed, but, being used to sudden peril, to +misfortune, and strange chances, was not incredulous. Blunder Cove was +sympathetic: so sympathetic, indeed, so quick to minister and to assist, +that "By-an'-by" Brown, aged fifteen, having taken but transient shelter +for the child, remained to rear it, forever proposing, however, to +proceed--by-and-by. So there they were, "By-an'-by" Brown and the baby! +And the baby was not "By-an'-by's." Everybody knew it--even the baby: +perhaps best of all. + +"By-an'-by" Brown had adopted the baby at Back Yard Bight of the +Labrador. There had been nothing else to do. It was quite out of the +question, whatever the proprieties, whatever the requirements of babies +and the inadequacy of bachelors--it was quite out of the question for +"By-an'-by" Brown, being a bachelor of tender years and perceptions, to +abandon even a baby at Back Yard Bight of the Labrador, having first +assisted at the interment of the mother and then instantly lost trace of +the delinquent father. The monstrous expedient had not even occurred to +him; he made a hasty bundle of the baby and took flight for more +populous neighborhoods, commanding advice, refuge, and infinitely more +valuable assistance from the impoverished settlements by the way. And +thereafter he remembered the bleak and lonely reaches of Back Yard Bight +as a stretch of coast where he had been considerably alarmed. + +It had been a wet night when "By-an'-by" Brown and the baby put into +Blunder Cove--wind in the east, the sea in a tumble: a wet night, and +late of it. All the windows were black; and the paths of the place--a +water-side maze in the lee of great hills--were knee-deep in a flood of +darkness. "By-an'-by" Brown was downcast: this because of his years. He +was a lad of fifteen. Fifteen, mark you!--a gigantic fifteen: a wise and +competent fifteen, too, having for seven years fended for itself in the +turf huts of the Labrador and the forecastles of the lower coasts. But +still, for the moment, he was downcast by the burden upon his youth. So +he knocked diffidently at the first kitchen door; and presently he stood +abashed in a burst of warm light from within. + +Shelter? Oh, ay! T' be sure. But (in quick and resentful suspicion): + +"B'y," Aunt Phoebe Luff demanded, "what ye got in them ile-skins? Pups?" + +"By-an'-by" Brown observed that there were embers in the kitchen stove, +that steam was faintly rising from the spout of the kettle. + +"Baby," said he. + +Aunt Phoebe jumped. "What!" cried she: + +"Jus' a baby," said "By-an'-by" Brown. "_Well!_--you give that there baby +here." + +"I'll be glad t', ma'am," said young "By-an'-by" Brown, in childish +tenderness, still withholding the bundle from the woman's extended arms, +"but not for keeps." + +"For keeps!" Aunt Phoebe snorted. + +"No, ma'am; not for keeps. I'm 'lowin' t' fetch it up myself," said +"By-an'-by" Brown, "by-an'-by." + +"Dunderhead!" Aunt Phoebe whispered, softly. + +And "By-an'-by" Brown, familiar with the exigency, obediently went in. + + * * * * * + +_Then_ there were lights in the cottages of Blunder Cove: instantly, it +seemed. And company--and tea and hard bread and chatter--in Skipper Tom +Luff's little white kitchen. A roaring fire in the stove: a kettle that +sang and chuckled and danced, glad once more to be engaged in the real +business of life. So was the cradle--glad to be useful again, though its +activity had been but for an hour suspended. It went to work in a +business-like way, with never a creak, in response to the gentle toe of +"By-an'-by" Brown's top-boot. There was an inquisition, too, through +which "By-an'-by" Brown crooned to the baby, "Hush-a-by!" and absently +answered, "Uh-huh!" and "By-an'-by!" as placid as could be. Concerning +past troubles: Oh, they was--yesterday. And of future difficulties: Well, +they was--by-an'-by. "Hush-a-by!" and "By-an'-by!" So they gave him a new +name--"By-an'-by" Brown--because he was of those whose past is forgot in +yesterday and whose future is no more inimical than--well, jus' +by-an'-by. + +"By-an'-by" Brown o' Blunder Cove--paddle-punt fishin' the Blow-me-down +grounds.... + + * * * * * + +It had not been for keeps. "By-an'-by" Brown resisted in a fashion so +resolute that no encroachment upon his rights was accomplished by Aunt +Phoebe Luff. He had wandered too long alone to be willing to yield up a +property in hearts once he possessed it. And Blunder Cove approved. The +logic was simple: _If_ "By-an'-by" Brown took the child t' raise, why, +then, nobody else would _have_ t'. The proceeding was never regarded as +extraordinary. Nobody said, "How queer!" It was looked upon merely as a +commendably philanthropic undertaking on the part of "By-an'-by" Brown; +the accident of his sex and situation had nothing to do with the +problem. Thus, when Aunt Phoebe's fostering care was no longer +imperative "By-an'-by" Brown said _Now_ for the first time in his life, +and departed with the baby. By that time, of course, there was an +establishment: a whitewashed cottage by the water-side, a stage, a +flake, a punt--all the achievement of "By-an'-by's" own hands. A new +account, too: this on the ledger of Wull & Company, trading the French +Shore with the _Always Loaded_, putting in off and on. + +"By-an'-by's" baby began to grow perceptibly. "By-an'-by" just kept on +growing, 'lowin' t' stop sometime--by-an'-by. It happened--by-an'-by. This +was when he was two-and-twenty: by which time, according to enthusiastic +observers from a more knowing and appreciative world, he was +Magnificent. The splendor consisted, it was said, in bulk, muscle, and +the like, somewhat, too, perhaps, in poise and glance; but Blunder Cove +knew that these external and relatively insignificant aspects were +transcended by the spiritual graces which "By-an'-by" Brown displayed. +He was religious; but it must be added that he was amiable. A great, +tender, devoted dog: "By-an'-by" Brown. This must be said for him: that +if he by-an'-byed the unpleasant necessities into a future too distant +to be troublesome, he by-an'-byed the appearance of evil to the same far +exile. After all, it may be a virtue to practise the art of +by-an'-bying. + +As for the baby at this period, the age of seven years, the least said +the less conspicuous the failure to say anything adequate. Language was +never before so helplessly mocked. It may be ventured, however, to prove +the poverty of words, that dispassionately viewed through the eyes of +"By-an'-by" Brown, she was angelic. "Jus' a wee li'l' mite of a angel!" +said he. Of course, this is not altogether original, nor is it specific; +but it satisfied "By-an'-by" Brown's idea of perfection. A slim little +slip of a maid of the roguishly sly and dimpled sort: a maid of delicate +fashioning, exquisite of feature--a maid of impulsive affections. Exact +in everything; and exacting, too--in a captivating way. And herein was +propagated the germ of disquietude for "By-an'-by" Brown: promising, +indeed (fostered by the folly of procrastination), a more tragic +development. "By-an'-by's" baby was used to saying, You _told_ me so. +Also, But you _promised_. The particular difficulty confronting +"By-an'-by" Brown was the baby's insistent curiosity, not inconsistent +with the age of seven, concerning the whereabouts of her father and the +time and manner of his return. + +Brown had piqued it into being: just by saying--"By-an'-by!" + +"Ay," says she; "but _when_ will he be comin' back?" + +"Why," he answered, bewildered--"by-an'-by!" + +It was a familiar evasion. The maid frowned. "Is you sure?" she +demanded, sceptically. + +"Ye bet ye!" he was prompt to reply, feeling bound now, to convince her, +whatever came of it; "he'll be comin' back--by-an'-by." + +"Well, then," said the maid, relieved, "I s'pose so." + +Brown had never disclosed the brutal delinquency of Long Bill Tweak. Not +to the maid, because he could not wound her; not to Blunder Cove, +because he would not shame her. The revelation must be made, of course; +but not now--by-an'-by. The maid knew that her mother was dead beyond +recall: no mystery was ever made of that; and there ended the childish +wish and wonder concerning that poor woman. But her father? Here was an +inviting mystery. No; he was not what you might call dead--jus' sort o' +gone away. Would he ever come back? Oh, _sure_! no need o' frettin' +about that; _he'd_ be back--by-an'-by. Had "By-an'-by" Brown said +_Never_, the problem would have been dieposed of, once and for all: the +fretting over with, once and for all. But what he said was this +uncourageous and specious by-an'-by. So the maid waited in interested +speculation: then impatiently. For she was used to saying, You _told_ me +so. Also, But then you _promised_. + +As by-an'-by overhauled by-an'-by in the days of "By-an'-by" Brown, and +as the ultimate by-an'-by became imminent, "By-an'-by" Brown was ever +more disquieted. + +"But," says the maid, "'by-an'-by' is never." + +"Oh, my, no!" he protested. + +She tapped the tip of his nose with a long little forefinger, and +emphasized every word with a stouter tap. "Yes--it--is!" said she. + +"Not _never_," cried "By-an'-by" Brown. + +"Then," says she, "is it to-morrow?" + +Brown violently shook his head. + +"Is it nex' week?" + +"Goodness, no!" + +"Well," she insisted--and she took "By-an'-by's" face between her palms +and drew it close to search his eyes--"is it nex' year?" + +"Maybe." + +She touched the tip of her white little nose to the sunburned tip of +his. "But _is_ it?" she persisted. + +"Uh-huh," said "By-an'-by" Brown, recklessly, quite overcome, committing +himself beyond redemption; "nex' year." + +And "By-an'-by's" baby remembered.... + + * * * * * + +Next year began, of course, with the first day of January. And a day +with wind and snow it was! Through the interval of three months +preceding, Brown had observed the approach of this veritable by-an'-by +with rising alarm. And on New Year's Day, why, there it was: by-an'-by +come at last! "By-an'-by" Brown, though twenty-two, was frightened. No +wonder! Hitherto his life had not been perturbed by insoluble +bewilderments. But how to produce Long Bill Tweak from the mist into +which he had vanished at Back Yard Bight of the Labrador seven years +ago? It was beyond him. Who could call Bill Tweak from seven years of +time and the very waste places of space? Not "By-an'-by" Brown, who +could only ponder and sigh and scratch his curly head. And here was the +maid, used to saying, as maids of seven will, But you told me so! and, +You _promised_! So "By-an'-by" Brown was downcast as never before; but +before the day was spent he conceived that the unforeseen might yet +fortuitously issue in the salvation of himself and the baby. + +"Maybe," thought he--"by-an'-by!" + +As January progressed the maid grew more eager and still more confident. +He _promised_, thinks she; also, He _told_ me so. There were times, as +the terrified Brown observed, when this eagerness so possessed the child +that she trembled in a fashion to make him shiver. She would start from +her chair by the stove when a knock came late o' windy nights on the +kitchen door; she would stare up the frozen harbor to the Tickle by +day--peep through the curtains, interrupt her housewifely duties to keep +watch at the window. + +"Anyhow, he _will_ come," says she, quite confidently, "by-an'-by." + +"Uh-huh!" Brown must respond. + +What was a shadow upon the gentle spirit of "By-an'-by" Brown was the +sunlight of certain expectation irradiating "By-an'-by's" baby. But the +maid fell ill. Nobody knew why. Suspicion dwelled like a skeleton with +"By-an'-by" Brown; but this he did not divulge to Blunder Cove. Nothin' +much the matter along o' she, said the Cove; jus' a little spell o' +somethin' or other. It was a childish indisposition, perhaps--but come +with fever and pallor and a poignant restlessness. "By-an'-by" Brown had +never before known how like to a black cloud the future of a man might +be. At any rate, she must be put to bed: whereupon, of course, +"By-an'-by" Brown indefinitely put off going to bed, having rather stand +watch, he said. It was presently a question at Blunder Cove: who was the +more wan and pitiable, "By-an'-by's" baby, being sick, or "By-an'-by," +being anxious? And there was no cure anywhere to be had--no cure for +either. "By-an'-by" Brown conceived that the appearance of Long Bill +Tweak would instantly work a miracle upon the maid. But where was Bill +Tweak? There was no magic at hand to accomplish the feat of summoning a +scamp from Nowhere! + +One windy night "By-an'-by" Brown sat with the child to comfort her. "I +'low," he drawled, "that you wisht a wonderful sight that your father +was here." + +"Uh-_huh_!" the maid exclaimed. + +Brown sighed. "I s'pose," he muttered. + +"Is he comin'?" she demanded. + +"Oh--by-an'-by!" + +"I wisht 'twas _now_," said she. "That I does!" + +Brown listened to the wind. It was blowing high and bitterly: a winter +wind, with snow from the northeast. "By-an'-by" was troubled. + +"I 'low," said he, hopelessly, "that you'll love un a sight, won't +ye?--when he comes?" + +"Ye bet ye!" the maid answered. + +"More'n ye love--some folks?" + +"A lot," said she. + +Brown was troubled. He heard the kitchen stove snore in its familiar +way, the kettle bubble, the old wind assault the cottage he had builded +for the baby; and he remembered recent years--and was troubled. + +"Will ye love un more?" he asked, anxiously, turning his face from the +child, "than ye loves me?" He hesitated. "Ye won't, will ye?" he +implored. + +"'Twill be different," said she. + +"Will it?" he asked, rather vacantly. + +"Ye see," she explained, "he'll be my _father_." + +"Then," suggested "By-an'-by," "ye'll be goin' away along o' he?--when he +comes?" + +"Oh, my, no!" + +"Ye'll not? Ye'll stay along o' me?" + +"Why, ye see," she began, bewildered, "I'll--why, o' course, I'll--oh," +she complained, "what ye ask me _that_ for?" + +"Jus' couldn't _help_ it," said "By-an'-by," humbly. + +The maid began to cry. + +"Don't!" pleaded "By-an'-by" Brown. "Jus' can't _stand_ it. I'll do +anything if ye'll on'y stop cryin'. Ye can _have_ your father. Ye +needn't love me no more. Ye can go away along o' he. An' he'll be comin' +soon, too. Ye'll see if he don't. Jus' by-an'-by--by-an'-by!" + +"'Tis never," the maid sobbed. + +"No, no! By-an'-by is soon. Why," cried "By-an'-by" Brown, perceiving +that this intelligence stopped the child's tears, "by-an'-by +is--wonderful soon." + +"To-morrow?" + +"Well, no; but--" + +"'Tis never!" she wailed. + +"'Tis nex' week!" cried "By-an'-by" Brown.... + + * * * * * + +When the dawn of Monday morning confronted "By-an'-by" Brown he was +appalled. Here was a desperately momentous situation: by-an'-by must be +faced--at last. Where was Long Bill Tweak? Nobody knew. How could Long +Bill Tweak be fetched from Nowhere? Brown scratched his head. But Long +Bill Tweak _must_ be fetched: for here was the maid, chirpin' about the +kitchen--turned out early, ecod! t' clean house against her father's +coming. Cured? Ay; that she was--the mouse! "By-an'-by" Brown dared not +contemplate her collapse at midnight of Saturday. But chance intervened: +on Tuesday morning Long Bill Tweak made Blunder Cove on the way from +Lancy Loop to St. John's to join the sealing fleet in the spring of the +year. Long Bill Tweak in the flesh! It was still blowing high: he had +come out of the snow--a shadow in the white mist, rounding the Tickle +rocks, observed from all the windows of Blunder Cove, but changing to +Long Bill Tweak himself, ill-kempt, surly, gruff-voiced, vicious-eyed, +at the kitchen door of "By-an'-by" Brown's cottage. + +Long Bill Tweak begged the maid, with a bristle-whiskered twitch--a +scowl, mistakenly delivered as a smile--for leave to lie the night in +that place. + +The maid was afraid with a fear she had not known before. "We're 'lowing +for company," she objected. + +"Come in!" "By-an'-by" called from the kitchen. + +The maid fled in a fright to the inner room, and closed the door upon +herself; but Long Bill Tweak swaggered in. + +"Tweak!" gasped "By-an'-by" Brown. + +"Brown!" growled Long Bill Tweak. + +There was the silence of uttermost amazement; but presently, with a +jerk, Tweak indicated the door through which "By-an'-by's" baby had +fled. + +"It?" he whispered. + +Brown nodded. + +"'Low I'll be goin' on," said Long Bill Tweak, making for the windy day. + +"Ye'll go," answered "By-an'-by" Brown, quietly, interposing his great +body, "when ye're let: not afore." + +Long Bill Tweak contented himself with the hospitality of "By-an'-by" +Brown.... + + * * * * * + +That night, when Brown had talked with the maid's father for a long, +long time by the kitchen stove, the maid being then turned in, he softly +opened the bedroom door and entered, closing it absent-mindedly behind +him, dwelling the while, in deep distress, upon the agreement he had +wrested by threat and purchase from Long Bill Tweak. The maid was still +awake because of terror; she was glad, indeed, to have caught sight of +"By-an'-by" Brown's broad, kindly young countenance in the beam of light +from the kitchen, though downcast, and she snuggled deeper into the +blankets, not afraid any more. "By-an'-by" touched a match to the +candle-wick with a great hand that trembled. He lingered over the simple +act--loath to come nearer to the evil necessity of the time. For Long +Bill Tweak was persuaded now to be fatherly to the child; and +"By-an'-by" Brown must yield her, according to her wish. He sat for a +time on the edge of the little bed, clinging to the maid's hand; and he +thought, in his gentle way, that it was a very small, very dear hand, +and that he would wish to touch it often, when he could not. + +Presently Brown sighed: then, taking heart, he joined issue with his +trouble. + +"I 'low," he began, "that you wisht your father was here." + +The maid did. + +"I 'low," he pursued, "that you wisht he was here this very minute." + +That the maid did! + +"I 'low," said "By-an'-by," softly, lifting the child's hands to his +lips, "that you wisht the man in the kitchen was him." + +"No," the maid answered, sharply. + +"Ye doesn't?" + +"Ye bet ye--no!" said she. + +"Eh?" gasped the bewildered Brown. + +The maid sat upright and stiff in bed. "Oh, my!" she demanded, in alarm; +"he _isn't_, is he?" + +"No!" said "By-an'-by" Brown. + +"Sure?" + +"Isn't I jus' _tol'_ ye so?" he answered, beaming. + +Long Bill Tweak followed the night into the shades of forgotten time.... + + * * * * * + +Came Wednesday upon "By-an'-by" Brown in a way to make the heart jump. +Midnight of Saturday was now fairly over the horizon of his adventurous +sea. Wednesday! Came Thursday--prompt to the minute. Days of bewildered +inaction! And now the cottage was ship-shape to the darkest corners of +its closets. Ship-shape as a wise and knowing maid of seven, used to +housewifely occupations, could make it: which was as ship-shape as +ship-shape could be, though you may not believe it. There was no more +for the maid to do but sit with folded hands and confidently expectant +gaze to await the advent of her happiness. Thursday morning: and +"By-an'-by" Brown had not mastered his bearings. Three days more: +Thursday, Friday, Saturday. It occurred, then, to "By-an'-by" Brown--at +precisely ten o'clock of Friday morning--that his hope lay in Jim Turley +of Candlestick Cove, an obliging man. They jus' _had_ t' be a father, +didn't they? But they _wasn't_ no father no more. Well, then, ecod! +_make_ one. Had t' be a father, _some_how, didn't they? And--well--there +was Jim Turley o' Candlestick Cove. He'd answer. Why not Jim Turley o' +Candlestick Cove, an obligin' man, known t' be such from Mother Burke t' +the Cape Norman Light? He'd 'blige a shipmate in a mess like this, ecod! +You see if he didn't! + +Brown made ready for Candlestick Cove. + +"But," the maid objected, "what is I t' do if father comes afore night?" + +"Ah!" drawled "By-an'-by," blankly. + +"Eh?" she repeated. + +"Why, o' course," he answered, with a large and immediate access of +interest, drawing the arm-chair near the stove, "you jus' set un there +t' warm his feet." + +"An' if he doesn't know me?" she protested. + +"Oh, sure," "By-an'-by" affirmed, "the ol' man'll know _you_, never +fear. You jus' give un a cup o' tea an' say I'll be back afore dark." + +"Well," the maid agreed, dubiously. + +"I'll be off," said Brown, in a flush of embarrassment, "when I fetches +the wood t' keep your father cosey. He'll be thirsty an' cold when he +comes. Ye'll take good care of un, won't ye?" + +"Ye bet ye!" + +"Mind ye get them there ol' feet warm. An' jus' you fair pour the tea +into un. He's used t' his share o' tea, ye bet! _I_ knows un." + +And so "By-an'-by" Brown, travelling over the hills, came hopefully to +Jim Turley of Candlestick Cove, an obliging man, whilst the maid kept +watch at the window of the Blunder Cove cottage. And Jim Turley was a +most obligin' man. 'Blige? Why, sure! _I'll_ 'blige ye! There was no +service difficult or obnoxious to the selfish sons of men that Jim +Turley would not perform for other folk--if only he might 'blige. Ye jus' +go ast Jim Turley; _he'll_ 'blige ye. And Jim Turley would with delight: +for Jim had a passion for 'bligin'--assiduously seeking opportunities, +even to the point of intrusion. Beaming Jim Turley o' Candlestick Cove: +poor, shiftless, optimistic, serene, well-beloved Jim Turley, forever +cheerfully sprawling in the meshes of his own difficulties! Lean Jim +Turley--forgetful of his interests in a fairly divine satisfaction with +compassing the joy and welfare of his fellows! I shall never forget him: +his round, flaring smile, rippling under his bushy whiskers, a perpetual +delight, come any fortune; his mild, unself-conscious, sympathetic blue +eyes, looking out upon the world in amazement, perhaps, but yet in kind +and eager inquiry concerning the affairs of other folk; his blithe +"Yo-ho!" at labor, and "Easy does it!" Jim Turley o' Candlestick +Cove--an' obligin' man! + +"In trouble?" he asked of "By-an'-by" Brown, instantly concerned. + +"Not 'xactly trouble," answered "By-an'-by." + +"Sort o' bothered?" + +"Well, no," drawled "By-an'-by" Brown; "but I got t' have a father by +Satu'day night." + +"For yerself?" Jim mildly inquired. + +"For the maid," said "By-an'-by" Brown; "an' I was 'lowin'," he added, +frankly, "that you might 'blige her." + +"Well, now," Jim Turley exclaimed, "I'd like t' wonderful well! But, ye +see," he objected, faintly, "bein' a ol' bachelor I isn't s'posed t'--" + +"Anyhow," "By-an'-by" Brown broke in, "I jus' got t' have a father by +Satu'day night." + +"An' I'm a religious man, an'--" + +"No objection t' religion," Brown protested. "I'm strong on religion +m'self. Jus' as soon have a religious father as not. Sooner. Now," he +pleaded, "they isn't nobody else in the world t' 'blige me." + +"No," Jim Turley agreed, in distress; "no--I 'low not." + +"An' I jus' _got_," declared Brown, "t' have a father by Satu'day +night." + +"Course you is!" cried Jim Turley, instantly siding with the woebegone. +"Jus' got t'!" + +"Well?" + +"Oh, well, pshaw!" said Jim Turley, "_I'll_ 'blige ye!" + +The which he did, but with misgiving: arriving at Blunder Cove after +dark of Saturday, unobserved by the maid, whose white little nose was +stuck to the frosty window-pane, whose eyes searched the gloom gathered +over the Tickle rocks, whose ears were engaged with the tick-tock of the +impassive clock. No; he was not observed, however keen the lookout: for +he came sneaking in by Tumble Gully, 'cordin' t' sailin' orders, to join +"By-an'-by" Brown in the lee of the meeting-house under Anxiety Hill, +where the conspiracy was to be perfected, in the light of recent +developments, and whence the sally was to be made. He was in a shiver of +nervousness; so, too, "By-an'-by" Brown. It was the moment of inaction +when conspirators must forever be the prey of doubt and dread. They were +determined, grim; they were most grave--but they were still afraid. And +Jim Turley's conscience would not leave him be. A religious man, Jim +Turley! On the way from Candlestick Cove he had whipped the perverse +thing into subjection, like a sinner; but here, in the lee of the +meeting-house by Anxiety Hill, with a winter's night fallen like a cold +cloud from perdition, conscience was risen again to prod him. + +An obligin' man, Jim Turley: but still a religious man--knowing his +master. + +"I got qualms," said he. + +"Stummick?" Brown demanded, in alarm. + +"This here thing," Jim Turley protested, "isn't a religious thing to +do." + +"Maybe not," replied "By-an'-by" Brown, doggedly; "but I promised the +maid a father by Satu'day night, an' I got t' have un." + +"'Twould ease my mind a lot," Jim Turley pleaded, "t' ask the parson. +Come, now!" + +"By-an'-by," said "By-an'-by" Brown. + +"No," Jim Turley insisted; "now." + +The parson laughed; then laughed again, with his head thrown back and +his mouth fallen open very wide. Presently, though, he turned grave, and +eyed "By-an'-by" Brown in a questioning, anxious way, as though seeking +to discover in how far the big man's happiness might be chanced: +whereupon he laughed once more, quite reassured. He was a pompous bit of +a parson, this, used to commanding the conduct of Blunder Cove; to +controlling its affairs; to shaping the destinies of its folk with a +free, bold hand: being in this both wise and most generously concerned, +so that the folk profited more than they knew. And now, with "By-an'-by" +Brown and the maid on his hands, to say nothing of poor Jim Turley, he +did not hesitate; there was nothing for it, thinks he, but to get +"By-an'-by" Brown out of the mess, whatever came of it, and to arrange a +future from which all by-an'-bying must be eliminated. A new start, +thinks he; and the by-an'-by habit would work no further injury. So he +sat "By-an'-by" Brown and Jim Turley by the kitchen stove, without a +word of explanation, and, still condescending no hint of his purpose, +but bidding them both sit tight to their chairs, went out upon his +business, which, as may easily be surmised, was with the maid. + +"Bein' a religious man," said Jim Turley, solemnly, "he'll mend it." + +When the parson came back there was nothing within her comprehension, +which was quite sufficient to her need. "By-an'-by" Brown was sent home, +with a kindly God-bless-ye! and an injunction of the most severe +description to have done with by-an'-bying. He stumbled into his own +kitchen in a shamefaced way, prepared, like a mischievous lad, to be +scolded until his big ears burned and his scalp tingled; and he was a +long, long time about hanging up his cap and coat and taking off his +shoes, never once glancing toward the maid, who sat silent beyond the +kitchen stove. And then, when by no further subterfuge could he prolong +his immunity, he turned boldly in her direction, patiently and humbly to +accept the inevitable correction, a promise to do better already +fashioned upon his tongue. And there she sat, beyond the glowing stove, +grinning in a way to show her white little teeth. Tears? Maybe: but only +traces--where-left, indeed, for the maid to learn, or, at least, by her +eyes shone all the brighter. And "By-an'-by" Brown, reproaching himself +bitterly, sat down, with never a word, and began to trace strange +pictures on the floor with the big toe of his gray-socked foot, while +the kettle and the clock and the fire sang the old chorus of comfort and +cheer. + +The big man's big toe got all at once furiously interested in its +artistic occupation. + +"Ah-ha!" says "By-an'-by's" baby, "_I_ found you out!" + +"Uh-huh!" she repeated, threateningly, "I found _you_ out." + +"Did ye?" "By-an'-by" softly asked. + +The maid came on tiptoe from behind the stove, and made an arrangement +of "By-an'-by" Brown's long legs convenient for straddling; and having +then settled herself on his knees, she tipped up his face and fetched +her own so close that he could not dodge her eyes, but must look in, +whatever came of it; and then--to the reviving delight of "By-an'-by" +Brown--she tapped his nose with a long little forefinger, emphasizing +every word with a stouter tap, saying: + +"Yes--I--did!" + +"Uh-huh!" he chuckled. + +"An'," said she, "I don't _want_ no father." + +"Ye don't?" he cried, incredulous. + +"Because," she declared, "I'm 'lowin' t' take care o' _you_--an' _marry_ +you." + +"Ye is?" he gasped. + +"Ye bet ye, b'y," said "By-an'-by's" baby--"by-an'-by!" + +Then they hugged each other hard. + + + + +VIII--THEY WHO LOSE AT LOVE + + +And old Khalil Khayyat, simulating courage, went out, that the +reconciliation of Yusef Khouri with the amazing marriage might surely be +accomplished. And returning in dread and bewildered haste, he came again +to the pastry-shop of Nageeb Fiani, where young Salim Awad, the light of +his eyes, still lay limp over the round table in the little back room, +grieving that Haleema, Khouri's daughter, of the tresses of night, the +star-eyed, his well-beloved, had of a sudden wed Jimmie Brady, the jolly +truckman. The smoke hung dead and foul in the room; the coffee was +turned cold in the cups, stagnant and greasy; the coal on the narghile +was grown gray as death: the magic of great despair had in a twinkling +worked the change of cheer to age and shabbiness and frigid gloom. But +the laughter and soft voices in the outer room were all unchanged, still +light, lifted indifferently above the rattle of dice and the aimless +strumming of a canoun; and beyond was the familiar evening hum and +clatter of New York's Washington Street, children's cries and the patter +of feet, drifting in at the open door; and from far off, as before, came +the low, receding roar of the Elevated train rounding the curve to South +Ferry. + +Khayyat smiled in compassion: being old, used to the healing of years, +he smiled; and he laid a timid hand on the head of young Salim Awad. + +"Salim, poet, the child of a poet," he whispered, "grieve no more!" + +"My heart is a gray coal, O Khalil!" sighed Salim Awad, who had lost at +love. "For a moment it glowed in the breath of love. It is turned cold +and gray; it lies forsaken in a vast night." + +"For a moment," mused Khalil Khayyat, sighing, but yet smiling, "it +glowed in the breath of love. Ah, Salim," said he, "there is yet the +memory of that ecstasy!" + +"My heart is a brown leaf: it flutters down the wind of despair; it is +caught in the tempest of great woe." + +"It has known the sunlight and the tender breeze." + +Salim looked up; his face was wet and white; his black hair, fallen in +disarray over his forehead, was damp with the sweat of grief; his eyes, +soulful, glowing in deep shadows, he turned to some place high and +distant. "My heart," he cried, passionately, clasping his hands, "is a +thing that for a moment lived, but is forever dead! It is in a grave of +night and heaviness, O Khalil, my friend!" + +"It is like a seed sown," said Khalil Khayyat. + +"To fail of harvest!" + +"Nay; to bloom in compassionate deeds. The flower of sorrow is the joy +of the world. In the broken heart is the hope of the hopeless; in the +agony of poets is their sure help. Hear me, O Salim Awad!" the old man +continued, rising, lifting his lean brown hand, his voice clear, +vibrant, possessing the quality of prophecy. "The broken heart is a seed +sown by the hand of the Beneficent and Wise. Into the soil of life He +casts it that there may be a garden in the world. With a free, glad hand +He sows, that the perfume and color of high compassion may glorify the +harvest of ambitious strife; and progress is the fruit of strife and +love the flower of compassion. Yea, O Salim, poet, the child of a poet, +taught of a poet, which am I, the broken heart is a seed sown gladly, to +flower in this beauty. Blessed," Khalil Khayyat concluded, smiling, "oh, +blessed be the Breaker of Hearts!" + +"Blessed," asked Salim Awad, wondering, "be the Breaker of Hearts?" + +"Yea, O Salim," answered Khalil Khayyat, speaking out of age and ancient +pain; "even blessed be the Breaker of Hearts!" + +Salim Awad turned again to the place that was high and distant--beyond +the gaudy, dirty ceiling of the little back room--where, it may be, the +form of Haleema, the star-eyed, of the slender, yielding shape of the +tamarisk, floated in a radiant cloud, compassionate and glorious. + +"What is my love?" he whispered. "Is it a consuming fire? Nay," he +answered, his voice rising, warm, tremulous; "rather is it a little +blaze, kindled brightly in the night, that it may comfort my beloved. +What is my love, O Haleema, daughter of Khouri, the star-eyed? Is it an +arrow, shot from my bow, that it may tear the heart of my beloved? Nay; +rather is it a shield against the arrows of sorrow--my shield, the +strength of my right arm: a refuge from the cruel shafts of life. What +are my arms? Are they bars of iron to imprison my beloved? Nay," cried +Salim Awad, striking his breast; "they are but a resting-place. A +resting-place," he repeated, throwing wide his arms, "to which she will +not come! Oh, Haleema!" he moaned, flinging himself upon the little +round table, "Haleema! Jewel of all riches! Star of the night! Flower of +the world! Haleema ... Haleema...." + +"Poet!" Khalil Khayyat gasped, clutching the little round table, his +eyes flashing. "The child of a poet, taught of a poet, which am I!" + +They were singing in the street--a riot of Irish lads, tenement-born; +tramping noisily past the door of Nageeb Fiani's pastry-shop to Battery +Park. And Khalil Khayyat sat musing deeply, his ears closed to the alien +song, while distance mellowed the voices, changed them to a vagrant +harmony, made them one with the mutter of Washington Street; for there +had come to him a great thought--a vision, high, glowing, such as only +poets may know--concerning love and the infinite pain; and he sought to +fashion the thought: which must be done with tender care in the classic +language, lest it suffer in beauty or effect being uttered in haste or +in the common speech of the people. Thus he sat: low in his chair, his +head hanging loose, his eyes jumping, his brown, wrinkled face fearfully +working, until every hair of his unshaven beard stood restlessly on end. +And Salim Awad, looking up, perceived these throes: and thereby knew +that some prophetic word was immediately to be spoken. + +"They who lose at love," Khayyat muttered, "must.... They who lose at +love...." + +"Khalil!" + +The Language Beautiful was for once perverse. The words would not come +to Khalil Khayyat. He gasped, tapped the table with impatient +fingers--and bent again to the task. + +"They who lose at love...." + +"Khalil!" Salim Awad's voice was plaintive. "What must they do, O +Khalil," he implored, "who lose at love? Tell me, Khalil! _What must +they do?_" + +"They who lose at love.... They who lose at love must.... They who lose +at love must ... seek...." + +"Speak, O Khalil, concerning those wretched ones! And they must seek?" + +Khayyat laughed softly. He sat back in the chair--proudly squared his +shoulders. "And now I know!" he cried, in triumph. He cleared his +throat. "They who lose at love," he declaimed, "must seek...." He paused +abruptly. There had been a warning in the young lover's eyes: after all, +in exceptional cases, poetry might not wisely be practised. + +"Come, Khalil!" Salim Awad purred. "They who lose at love? What is left +for them to do?" + +"Nay," answered Khalil Khayyat, looking away, much embarrassed, "I will +not tell you." + +Salim caught the old man's wrist. "What is the quest?" he cried, +hoarsely, bending close. + +"I may not tell." + +Salim's fingers tightened; his teeth came together with a snap; his face +flushed--a quick flood of red, hot blood. + +"What is the quest?" he demanded. + +"I dare not tell." + +"The quest?" + +"I _will_ not tell!" + +Nor would Khalil Khayyat tell Salim Awad what must be sought by such as +lose at love; but he called to Nageeb Fiani, the greatest player in all +the world, to bring the violin, that Salim might hear the music of love +and be comforted. And in the little back room of the pastry-shop near +the Battery, while the trucks rattled over the cobblestones and the +songs of the Irish troubled the soft spring night, Nageeb Fiani played +the Song of Love to Lali, which the blind prince had made, long, long +ago, before he died of love; and in the sigh and wail and passionate +complaint of that dead woe the despair of Salim Awad found voice and +spent itself; and he looked up, and gazing deep into the dull old eyes +of Khalil Khayyat, new light in his own, he smiled. + +"Yet, O Khalil," he whispered, "will I go upon that quest!" + + * * * * * + +Now, Salim Awad went north to the bitter coasts--to the shore of rock and +gray sea--there to carry a pack from harbor to harbor of a barren land, +ever seeking in trade to ease the sorrows of love. Neither sea nor +land--neither naked headland nor the unfeeling white expanse--neither +sunlit wind nor the sleety gale in the night--helped him to +forgetfulness. But, as all the miserable know, the love of children is a +vast delight: and the children of that place are blue-eyed and hungry; +and it is permitted the stranger to love them.... On he went, from +Lobster Tickle to Snook's Arm, from Dead Man's Cove to Righteous Harbor, +trading laces and trinkets for salt fish; and on he went, sanguine, +light of heart, blindly seeking that which the losers at love must seek; +for Khalil Khayyat had told him that the mysterious Thing was to be +found in that place. + + * * * * * + +With a jolly wind abeam--a snoring breeze from the southwest--the tight +little _Bully Boy_, fore-and-after, thirty tons, Skipper Josiah Top, was +footing it through the moonlight from Tutt's Tickle to the Labrador: +bound down north for the first fishing of that year. She was tearing +through the sea--eagerly nosing the slow, black waves; and they heartily +slapped her bows, broke, ran hissing down the rail, lay boiling in the +broad, white wake, stretching far into the luminous mist astern. Salim +Awad, the peddler, picked up at Bread-and-Water Harbor, leaned upon the +rail--staring into the mist: wherein, for him, were melancholy visions of +the star-eyed maid of Washington Street.... At midnight the wind veered +to the east--a swift, ominous change--and rose to the pitch of half a +gale, blowing cold and capriciously. It brought fog from the distant +open; the night turned clammy and thick; the _Bully Boy_ found herself +in a mess of dirty weather. Near dawn, being then close inshore, off the +Seven Dogs, which growled to leeward, she ran into the ice--the first of +the spring floes: a field of pans, slowly drifting up the land. And when +the air was gray she struck on the Devil's Finger, ripped her keel out, +and filled like a sieve; and she sank in sixty seconds, as men say--every +strand and splinter of her. + +But first she spilled her crew upon the ice. + + * * * * * + +The men had leaped to port and starboard, fore and aft, in unthinking +terror, each desperately concerned with his own life; they were now +distributed upon the four pans which had been within leaping distance +when the _Bully Boy_ settled: white rafts, floating on a black, +slow-heaving sea; lying in a circle of murky fog; creeping shoreward +with the wind. If the wind held--and it was a true, freshening wind,--they +would be blown upon the coast rocks, within a measurable time, and might +walk ashore; if it veered, the ice would drift to sea, where, +ultimately, in the uttermost agony of cold and hunger, every man would +yield his life. The plight was manifest, familiar to them, every one; +but they were wise in weather lore: they had faith in the consistency of +the wind that blew; and, in the reaction from bestial terror, they +bandied primitive jokes from pan to pan--save the skipper, who had lost +all that he had, and was helplessly downcast: caring not a whit whether +he lived or died; for he had loved his schooner, the work of his hands, +his heart's child, better than his life. + +It chanced that Salim Awad, who loved the star-eyed daughter of Khouri, +and in this land sought to ease the sorrow of his passion--it chanced +that this Salim was alone with Tommy Hand, the cook's young son--a tender +lad, now upon his first voyage to the Labrador. And the boy began to +whimper. + +"Dad," he called to his father, disconsolate, "I wisht--I wisht--I was +along o' you--on _your_ pan." + +The cook came to the edge of the ice. "Does you, lad?" he asked, softly. +"Does you wisht you was along o' me, Tommy? Ah, but," he said, +scratching his beard, bewildered, "you isn't." + +The space of black water between was short, but infinitely capacious; it +was sullen and cold--intent upon its own wretchedness: indifferent to the +human pain on either side. The child stared at the water, nostrils +lifting, hands clinched, body quivering: thus as if at bay in the +presence of an implacable terror. He turned to the open sea, vast, gray, +heartless: a bitter waste--might and immensity appalling. Wistfully then +to the land, upon which the scattered pack was advancing, moving in +disorder, gathering as it went: bold, black coast, naked, +uninhabited--but yet sure refuge: being greater than the sea, which it +held confined; solid ground, unmoved by the wind, which it flung +contemptuously to the sky. And from the land to his father's large, kind +face. + +"No, b'y," the cook repeated, "you isn't. You sees, Tommy lad," he +added, brightening, as with a new idea, "you _isn't_ along o' me." + +Tommy rubbed his eyes, which were now wet. "I wisht," he sobbed, his +under lip writhing, "I _was_--along o' you!" + +"I isn't able t' swim t' you, Tommy," said the cook; "an', ah, Tommy!" +he went on, reproachfully, wagging his head, "you isn't able t' swim t' +me. I tol' you, Tommy--when I went down the Labrador las' year--I _tol'_ +you t' l'arn t' swim. I tol' you, Tommy--don't you mind the time?--when +you was goin' over the side o' th' ol' _Gabriel's Trumpet_, an' I had my +head out o' the galley, an' 'twas a fair wind from the sou'east, an' +they was weighin' anchor up for'ard--don't you mind the day, lad?--I tol' +you, Tommy, you _must_ l'arn t' swim afore another season. Now, see +what's come t' you!" still reproachfully, but with deepening tenderness. +"An' all along o' not mindin' your dad! 'Now,' says you, 'I wisht I'd +been a good lad an' minded my dad.' Ah, Tommy--shame! I'm thinkin' you'll +mind your dad after this." + +Tommy began to bawl. + +"Never you care, Tommy," said the cook. "The wind's blowin' we ashore. +You an' me'll be saved." + +"I wants t' be along o' you!" the boy sobbed. + +"Ah, Tommy! _You_ isn't alone. You got the Jew." + +"But I wants _you_!" + +"You'll take care o' Tommy, won't you, Joe?" + +Salim Awad smiled. He softly patted Tommy Hand's broad young shoulder. +"I weel have," said he, slowly, desperately struggling with the +language, "look out for heem. I am not can," he added, with a little +laugh, "do ver' well." + +"Oh," said the cook, patronizingly, "you're able for it, Joe." + +"I am can try eet," Salim answered, courteously bowing, much delighted. +"Much 'bliged." + +Meantime Tommy had, of quick impulse, stripped off his jacket and boots. +He made a ball of the jacket and tossed it to his father. + +"What you about, Tommy?" the cook demanded. "Is you goin' t' swim?" + +Tommy answered with the boots; whereupon he ran up and down the edge of +the pan, and, at last, slipped like a reluctant dog into the water, +where he made a frothy, ineffectual commotion; after which he sank. When +he came to the surface Salim Awad hauled him inboard. + +"You isn't goin' t' try again, is you, Tommy?" the cook asked. + +"No, sir." + +Salim Awad began to breathe again; his eyes, too, returned to their +normal size, their usual place. + +"No," the cook observed. "'Tis wise not to. You isn't able for it, lad. +Now, you sees what comes o' not mindin' your dad." + +The jacket and boots were tossed back. Tommy resumed the jacket. + +"Tommy," said the cook, severely, "isn't you got no more sense 'n that?" + +"Please, sir," Tommy whispered, "I forgot." + +"Oh, _did_ you! _Did_ you forget? I'm thinkin', Tommy, I hasn't been +bringin' of you up very well." + +Tommy stripped himself to his rosy skin. He wrung the water out of his +soggy garments and with difficulty got into them again. + +"You better be jumpin' about a bit by times," the cook advised, "or +you'll be cotchin' cold. An' your mamma wouldn't like _that_," he +concluded, "if she ever come t' hear on it." + +"Ay, sir; please, sir," said the boy. + +They waited in dull patience for the wind to blow the floe against the +coast. + + * * * * * + +It began to snow--a thick fall, by-and-by: the flakes fine and dry as +dust. A woolly curtain shut coast and far-off sea from view. The wind, +rising still, was charged with stinging frost. It veered; but it blew +sufficiently true to the favorable direction: the ice still made +ponderously for the shore, reeling in the swell.... The great pan +bearing Salim Awad and Tommy Hand lagged; it was soon left behind: to +leeward the figures of the skipper, the cook, the first hand, and the +crew turned to shadows--dissolved in the cloud of snow. The cook's young +son and the love-lorn peddler from Washington Street alone peopled a +world of ice and water, all black and white: heaving, confined. They +huddled, cowering from the wind, waiting--helpless, patient: themselves +detached from the world of ice and water, which clamored round about, +unrecognized. The spirit of each returned: the one to the Cedars of +Lebanon, the other to Lobster Cove; and in each place there was a +mother. In plights like this the hearts of men and children turn to +distant mothers; for in all the world there is no rest serene--no rest +remembered--like the first rest the spirits of men know. + + * * * * * + +When dusk began to dye the circumambient cloud, the pan of ice was close +inshore; the shape of the cliffs--a looming shadow--was vague in the snow +beyond. There was no longer any roar of surf; the first of the floe, now +against the coast, had smothered the breakers. A voice, coming faintly +into the wind, apprised Tommy Hand that his father was ashore.... But +the pan still moved sluggishly. + +Tommy Hand shivered. + +"Ah, Tom-ee!" Salim Awad said, anxiously. "Run! Jump! You weel have--what +say?--cotch seek. Ay--cotch thee seek. Eh? R-r-run, Tom-ee!" + +"Ay, ay," Tommy Hand answered. "I'll be jumpin' about a bit, I'm +thinkin', t' keep warm--as me father bid me do." + +"Queek!" cried Salim, laughing. + +"Ay," Tommy muttered; "as me father bid me do." + +"Jump, Tom-ee!" Salim clapped his hands. "Hi, hi! Dance, Tom-ee!" + +In the beginning Tommy was deliberate and ponderous; but as his limbs +were suppled--and when his blood ran warm again--the dance quickened; for +Salim Awad slapped strangely inspiring encouragement, and with droning +"la, la!" and sharp "hi, hi!" excited the boy to mad leaps--and madder +still. "La, la!" and "Hi, hi!" There was a mystery in it. Tommy leaped +high and fast. "La, la!" and "Hi, hi!" In response to the strange +Eastern song the fisherboy's grotesque dance went on.... Came then the +appalling catastrophe: the pan of rotten, brittle salt-water ice cracked +under the lad; and it fell in two parts, which, in the heave of the sea, +at once drifted wide of each other. The one part was heavy, commodious; +the other a mere unstable fragment of what the whole had been: and it +was upon the fragment that Salim Awad and Tommy Hand were left. +Instinctively they sprawled on the ice, which was now +overweighted--unbalanced. Their faces were close; and as they lay +rigid--while the ice wavered and the water covered it--they looked into +each other's eyes.... There was, not room for both. + +"Tom-ee," Salim Awad gasped; his breath indrawn, quivering, "I +am--mus'--go!" + +The boy stretched out his hand--an instinctive movement, the impulse of a +brave and generous heart--to stop the sacrifice. + +"Hush!" Salim Awad whispered, hurriedly, lifting a finger to command +peace. "I am--for one queek time--have theenk. Hush, Tom-ee!" + +Tommy Hand was silent. + + * * * * * + +And Salim Awad heard again the clatter and evening mutter of Washington +Street, children's cries and the patter of feet, drifting in from the +soft spring night--heard again the rattle of dice in the outer room, and +the aimless strumming of the canoun--heard again the voice of Khalil +Khayyat, lifted concerning such as lose at love. And Salim Awad, staring +into a place that was high and distant, beyond the gaudy, dirty ceiling +of the little back room of Nageeb Fiani's pastry-shop near the Battery, +saw again the form of Haleema, Khouri's star-eyed daughter, floating in +a cloud, compassionate and glorious. "'The sun as it sets,'" he thought, +in the high words of Antar, spoken of Abla, his beloved, the daughter of +Malik, when his heart was sore, "'turns toward her and says, "Darkness +obscures the land, do thou arise in my absence." The brilliant moon +calls out to her: "Come forth, for thy face is like me, when I am in all +my glory." The tamarisk-trees complain of her in the morn and in the +eve, and say: "Away, thou waning beauty, thou form of the laurel!" She +turns away abashed, and throws aside her veil, and the roses are +scattered from her soft, fresh cheeks. Graceful is every limb; slender +her waist; love-beaming are her glances; waving is her form. The lustre +of day sparkles from her forehead, and by the dark shades of her curling +ringlets night itself is driven away!'".... They who lose at love? Upon +what quest must the wretched ones go? And Khalil Khayyat had said that +the Thing was to be found in this place.... Salim Awad's lips trembled: +because of the loneliness of this death--and because of the desert, +gloomy and infinite, lying beyond. + +"Tom-ee," Salim Awad repeated, smiling now, "I am--mus'--go. Goo'-bye, +Tom-ee!" + +"No, no!" + +In this hoarse, gasping protest Salim Awad perceived rare sweetness. He +smiled again--delight, approval. "Ver' much 'bliged," he said, politely. +Then he rolled off into the water.... + +One night in winter the wind, driving up from the Battery, whipped a +gray, soggy snow past the door of Nageeb Fiani's pastry-shop in +Washington Street. The shop was a cosey shelter from the weather; and in +the outer room, now crowded with early idlers, they were preaching +revolution and the shedding of blood--boastful voices, raised to the +falsetto of shallow passion. Khalil Khayyat, knowing well that the +throne of Abdul-Hamid would not tremble to the talk of Washington +Street, sat unheeding in the little back room; and the coal on the +narghile was glowing red, and the coffee was steaming on the round +table, and a cloud of fragrant smoke was in the air. In the big, black +book, lying open before the poet, were to be found, as always, the +thoughts of Abo Elola Elmoarri. + +Tanous, the newsboy--the son of Yusef, the father of Samara, by many +called Abosamara--threw _Kawkab Elhorriah_ on the cook's counter. + +"News of death!" cried he, as he hurried importantly on. "_Kawkab_! News +of death!" + +The words caught the ear of Khalil Khayyat. "News of death?" mused he. +"It is a massacre in Armenia." He turned again, with a hopeless sigh, to +the big, black book. + +"News of death!" cried Nageeb Fiani, in the outer room. "What is this?" + +The death of Salim Awad: being communicated, as the editor made known, +by one who knew, and had so informed an important person at St. John's, +who had despatched the news south from that far place to Washington +Street.... And when Nageeb Fiani had learned the manner of the death of +Salim Awad, he made haste to Khalil Khayyat, holding _Kawkab Elhorriah_ +open in his, hand. + +"There is news of death, O Khalil!" said he. + +"Ah," Khayyat answered, with his long finger marking the place in the +big, black book, "there has been a massacre in Armenia. God will yet +punish the murderer." + +"No, Khalil." + +Khayyat looked up in alarm. "The Turks have not shed blood in Beirut?" + +"No, Khalil." + +"Not so? Ah, then the mother of Shishim has been cast into prison +because of the sedition uttered by her son in this place; and she has +there died." + +"No, Khalil." + +"Nageeb," Khayyat demanded, quietly, "of whom is this sad news spoken?" + +"The news is from the north." + +Khayyat closed the book. He sipped his coffee, touched the coal on the +narghile and puffed it to a glow, contemplated the gaudy wall-paper, +watched a spider pursue a patient course toward the ceiling; at last +opened the big, black book, and began to turn the leaves with aimless, +nervous fingers. Nageeb stood waiting for the poet to speak; and in the +doorway, beyond, the people from the outer room had gathered, waiting +also for words to fall from the lips of this man; for the moment was +great, and the poet was great. + +"Salim Awad," Khayyat muttered, "is dead." + +"Salim is dead. He died that a little one might live." + +"That a little one might live?" + +"Even so, Khalil--that a child might have life." + +Khayyat smiled. "The quest is ended," he said. "It is well that Salim is +dead." + +It is well? The people marvelled that Khalil Khayyat should have spoken +these cruel words. It is well? And Khalil Khayyat had said so? + +"That Salim should die in the cold water?" Nageeb Fiani protested. + +"That Salim should die--the death that he did. It is well." + +The word was soon to be spoken; out of the mind and heart of Khalil +Khayyat, the poet, great wisdom would appear. There was a crowding at +the door: the people pressed closer that no shade of meaning might be +lost; the dark faces turned yet more eager; the silence deepened, until +the muffled rattle of trucks, lumbering through the snowy night, and the +roar of the Elevated train were plain to be heard. What would the poet +say? What word of eternal truth would he speak? + +"It is well?" Nageeb Fiani whispered. + +"It is well." + +The time was not yet come. The people still crowded, still +shuffled--still breathed. The poet waited, having the patience of poets. + +"Tell us, O Khalil!" Nageeb Fiani implored. + +"They who lose at love," said Khalil Khayyat, fingering the leaves of +the big, black book, "must patiently seek some high death." + +Then the people knew, beyond peradventure, that Khalil Khayyat was +indeed a great poet. + + + + +IX--THE REVOLUTION AT SATAN'S TRAP + + +Jehoshaphat Rudd of Satan's Trap was shy--able-bodied, to be sure, if a +gigantic frame means anything, and mature, if a family of nine is +competent evidence, but still as shy as a child. Moreover, he had the +sad habit of anxiety: whence tense eyelids, an absent, poignant gaze, a +perpetual pucker between the brows. His face was brown and big, framed +in tawny, soft hair and beard, and spread with a delicate web of +wrinkles, spun by the weather--a round countenance, simple, kindly, +apathetic. The wind had inflamed the whites of his eyes and turned the +rims blood red; but the wells in the midst were deep and clear and cool. +Reserve, courageous and methodical diligence at the fishing, a quick, +tremulous concern upon salutation--by these signs the folk of his harbor +had long ago been persuaded that he was a fool; and a fool he was, +according to the convention of the Newfoundland outports: a shy, dull +fellow, whose interests were confined to his punt, his gear, the grounds +off the Tombstone, and the bellies of his young ones. He had no part +with the disputatious of Satan's Trap: no voice, for example, in the +rancorous discussions of the purposes and ways of the Lord God Almighty, +believing the purposes to be wise and kind, and the ways the Lord's own +business. He was shy, anxious, and preoccupied; wherefore he was called +a fool, and made no answer: for doubtless he _was_ a fool. And what did +it matter? He would fare neither better nor worse. + +Nor would Jehoshaphat wag a tongue with the public-spirited men of +Satan's Trap: the times and the customs had no interest, no +significance, for him; he was troubled with his own concerns. Old John +Wull, the trader, with whom (and no other) the folk might barter their +fish, personified all the abuses, as a matter of course. But-- + +"I 'low I'm too busy t' think," Jehoshaphat would reply, uneasily. "I'm +too busy. I--I--why, I got t' tend my _fish!_" + +This was the quality of his folly. + + * * * * * + +It chanced one summer dawn, however, when the sky was flushed with +tender light, and the shadows were trooping westward, and the sea was +placid, that the punts of Timothy Yule and Jehoshaphat Rudd went side by +side to the Tombstone grounds. It was dim and very still upon the water, +and solemn, too, in that indifferent vastness between the gloom and the +rosy, swelling light. Satan's Trap lay behind in the shelter and shadow +of great hills laid waste--a lean, impoverished, listless home of men. + +"You dunderhead!" Timothy Yule assured Jehoshaphat. "He've been robbin' +you." + +"Maybe," said Jehoshaphat, listlessly. "I been givin' the back kitchen a +coat o' lime, an' I isn't had no time t' give t' thinkin'." + +"An' he've been robbin' this harbor for forty year." + +"Dear man!" Jehoshaphat exclaimed, in dull surprise. "Have he told you +that?" + +"Told me!" cried Timothy. "No," he added, with bitter restraint; "he've +not." + +Jehoshaphat was puzzled. "Then," said he, "how come you t' know?" + +"Why, they _says_ so." + +Jehoshaphat's reply was gently spoken, a compassionate rebuke. "An I was +you, Timothy," said he, "I wouldn't be harsh in judgment. 'Tisn't quite +Christian." + +"My God!" ejaculated the disgusted Timothy. + +After that they pulled in silence for a time. Jehoshaphat's face was +averted, and Timothy was aware of having, in a moment of impatience, not +only committed a strategic indiscretion, but of having betrayed his +innermost habit of profanity. The light grew and widened and yellowed; +the cottages of Satan's Trap took definite outline, the hills their +ancient form, the sea its familiar aspect. Sea and sky and distant rock +were wide awake and companionably smiling. The earth was blue and green +and yellow, a glittering place. + +"Look you! Jehoshaphat," Timothy demanded; "is you in debt?" + +"I is." + +"An' is you ever been out o' debt?" + +"I isn't." + +"How come you t' know?" + +"Why," Jehoshaphat explained, "Mister Wull _told_ me so. An' whatever," +he qualified, "father was in debt when he died, an' Mister Wull told me +I ought t' pay. Father was _my_ father," Jehoshaphat argued, "an' I +'lowed I _would_ pay. For," he concluded, "'twas right." + +"Is he ever give you an account?" + +"Well, no--no, he haven't. But it wouldn't do no good, for I've no +learnin', an' can't read." + +"No," Timothy burst out, "an' he isn't give nobody no accounts." + +"Well," Jehoshaphat apologized, "he've a good deal on his mind, lookin' +out for the wants of us folk. He've a _wonderful_ lot o' brain labor. +He've all them letters t' write t' St. John's, an' he've got a power of +'rithmetic t' do, an' he've got the writin' in them big books t' trouble +un, an'--" + +Timothy sneered. + +"Ah, well," sighed Jehoshaphat, "an I was you, Timothy, I wouldn't be +harsh in judgment." + +Timothy laughed uproariously. + +"Not harsh," Jehoshaphat repeated, quietly--"not in judgment." + +"Damn un!" Timothy cursed between his teeth. "The greedy squid, the +devil-fish's spawn, with his garden an' his sheep an' his cow! _You_ got +a cow, Jehoshaphat? _You_ got turnips an' carrots? _You_ got ol' Bill +Lutt t' gather soil, an' plant, an' dig, an' weed, while you smokes +plug-cut in the sunshine? Where's _your_ garden, Jehoshaphat? Where's +_your_ onions? The green lumpfish! An' where do he get his onions, an' +where do he get his soup, an' where do he get his cheese an' raisins? +'Tis out o' you an' me an' all the other poor folk o' Satan's Trap. 'Tis +from the fish, an' _he_ never cast a line. 'Tis from the fish that we +takes from the grounds while he squats like a lobster in the red house +an' in the shop. An' he gives less for the fish 'n he gets, an' he gets +more for the goods an' grub 'n he gives. The thief, the robber, the +whale's pup! Is you able, Jehoshaphat, t' have the doctor from Sniffle's +Arm for _your_ woman! Is _you_ able t' feed _your_ kids with cow's milk +an' baby-food?" + +Jehoshaphat mildly protested that he had not known the necessity. + +"An' what," Timothy proceeded, "is you ever got from the grounds but +rheumatiz an' salt-water sores?" + +"I got enough t' eat," said Jehoshaphat. + +Timothy was scornful. + +"Well," Jehoshaphat argued, in defence of himself, "the world have been +goin' for'ard a wonderful long time at Satan's Trap, an' nobody else +haven't got no more'n just enough." + +"Enough!" Timothy fumed. "'Tis kind o' the Satan's Trap trader t' give +you that! _I'll_ tell un," he exploded; "I'll give un a piece o' my mind +afore I dies." + +"Don't!" Jehoshaphat pleaded. + +Timothy snorted his indignation. + +"I wouldn't be rash," said Jehoshaphat. "Maybe," he warned, "he'd not +take your fish no more. An' maybe he'd close the shop an' go away." + +"Jus' you wait," said Timothy. + +"Don't you do it, lad!" Jehoshaphat begged. "'Twould make such a +wonderful fuss in the world!" + +"An' would you think o' that?" + +"I isn't got _time_ t' think," Jehoshaphat complained. "I'm busy. I 'low +I got my fish t' cotch an' cure. I isn't got time. I--I--I'm too busy." + +They were on the grounds. The day had broken, a blue, serene day, +knowing no disquietude. They cast their grapnels overside, and they +fished until the shadows had fled around the world and were hurrying out +of the east. And they reeled their lines, and stowed the fish, and +patiently pulled toward the harbor tickler, talking not at all of the +Satan's Trap trader, but only of certain agreeable expectations which +the young Timothy had been informed he might entertain with reasonable +certainty. + +"I 'low," said Jehoshaphat, when they were within the harbor, "I +understand. I got the hang of it," he repeated, with a little smile, +"now." + +"Of what?" Timothy wondered. + +"Well," Jehoshaphat explained, "'tis your first." + +This was a sufficient explanation of Timothy's discontent. Jehoshaphat +remembered that he, too, had been troubled, fifteen years ago, when the +first of the nine had brought the future to his attention. He was more +at ease when this enlightenment came. + + * * * * * + +Old John Wull was a gray, lean little widower, with a bald head, bowed +legs, a wide, straight, thin-lipped mouth, and shaven, ashy cheeks. His +eyes were young enough, blue and strong and quick, often peering +masterfully through the bushy brows, which he could let drop like a +curtain. In contrast with the rugged hills and illimitable sea and stout +men of Satan's Trap, his body was withered and contemptibly diminutive. +His premises occupied a point of shore within the harbor--a wharf, a +storehouse, a shop, a red dwelling, broad drying-flakes, and a group of +out-buildings, all of which were self-sufficient and proud, and looked +askance at the cottages that lined the harbor shore and strayed upon the +hills beyond. + +It was his business to supply the needs of the folk in exchange for the +fish they took from the sea--the barest need, the whole of the catch. +Upon this he insisted, because he conscientiously believed, in his own +way, that upon the fruits of toil commercial enterprise should feed to +satiety, and cast the peelings and cores into the back yard for the folk +to nose like swine. + +Thus he was accustomed to allow the fifty illiterate, credulous families +of Satan's Trap sufficient to keep them warm and to quiet their +stomachs, but no more; for, he complained: "Isn't they got enough on +their backs?" and, "Isn't they got enough t' eat?" and, "Lord!" said he, +"they'll be wantin' figs an' joolry next." + +There were times when he trembled for the fortune he had gathered in +this way--in years when there were no fish, and he must feed the men and +women and human litters of the Trap for nothing at all, through which he +was courageous, if niggardly. When the folk complained against him, he +wondered, with a righteous wag of the head, what would become of them if +he should vanish with his property and leave them to fend for +themselves. Sometimes he reminded them of this possibility; and then +they got afraid, and thought of their young ones, and begged him to +forget their complaint. His only disquietude was the fear of hell: +whereby he was led to pay the wage of a succession of parsons, if they +preached comforting doctrine and blue-pencilled the needle's eye from +the Testament; but not otherwise. By some wayward, compelling sense of +moral obligation, he paid the school-teacher, invariably, generously, so +that the little folk of Satan's Trap might learn to read and write in +the winter months. 'Rithmetic he condemned, but tolerated, as being some +part of that unholy, imperative thing called l'arnin'; but he had no +feeling against readin' and writin'. + +There was no other trader within thirty miles. + +"They'll trade with me," John Wull would say to himself, and be +comforted, "or they'll starve." + +It was literally true. + + * * * * * + +In that winter certain gigantic forces, with which old John Wull had +nothing whatever to do, were inscrutably passionate. They went their +way, in some vast, appalling quarrel, indifferent to the consequences. +John Wull's soul, money, philosophy, the hopes of Satan's Trap, the +various agonies of the young, were insignificant. Currents and winds and +frost had no knowledge of them. It was a late season: the days were gray +and bitter, the air was frosty, the snow lay crisp and deep in the +valleys, the harbor water was frozen. Long after the time for blue winds +and yellow hills the world was still sullen and white. Easterly gales, +blowing long and strong, swept the far outer sea of drift-ice--drove it +in upon the land, pans and bergs, and heaped it against the cliffs. +There was no safe exit from Satan's Trap. The folk were shut in by ice +and an impassable wilderness. This was not by the power or contriving of +John Wull: the old man had nothing to do with it; but he compelled the +season, impiously, it may be, into conspiracy with him. By-and-by, in +the cottages, the store of food, which had seemed sufficient when the +first snow flew, was exhausted. The flour-barrels of Satan's Trap were +empty. Full barrels were in the storehouse of John Wull, but in no other +place. So it chanced that one day, in a swirling fall of snow, +Jehoshaphat Rudd came across the harbor with a dog and a sled. + +John Wull, from the little office at the back of the shop, where it was +warm and still, watched the fisherman breast the white wind. + +"Mister Wull," said Jehoshaphat, when he stood in the office, "I 'low +I'll be havin' another barrel o' flour." + +Wull frowned. + +"Ay," Jehoshaphat repeated, perplexed; "another barrel." + +Wull pursed his lips. + +"O' flour," said Jehoshaphat, staring. + +The trader drummed on the desk and gazed out of the window. He seemed to +forget that Jehoshaphat Rudd stood waiting. Jehoshaphat felt awkward and +out of place; he smoothed his tawny beard, cracked his fingers, +scratched his head, shifted from one foot to the other. Some wonder +troubled him, then some strange alarm. He had never before realized that +the lives of his young were in the keeping of this man. + +"Flour," he ventured, weakly--"one barrel." + +Wull turned. "It's gone up," said he. + +"Have it, now!" Jehoshaphat exclaimed. "I 'lowed last fall, when I paid +eight," he proceeded, "that she'd clumb as high as she could get 'ithout +fallin'. But she've gone up, says you? Dear man!" + +"Sky high," said the trader. + +"Dear man!" + +The stove was serene and of good conscience. It labored joyously in +response to the clean-souled wind. For a moment, while the trader +watched the snow through his bushy brows and Jehoshaphat Rudd hopelessly +scratched his head, its hearty, honest roar was the only voice lifted in +the little office at the back of John Wull's shop. + +"An' why?" Jehoshaphat timidly asked. + +"Scarcity." + +"Oh," said Jehoshaphat, as though he understood. He paused. "Isn't you +got as much as you _had?_" he inquired. + +The trader nodded. + +"Isn't you got enough in the storehouse t' last till the mail-boat +runs?" + +"Plenty, thank God!" + +"Scarcity," Jehoshaphat mused. "Mm-m-m! Oh, I _sees_," he added, +vacantly. "Well, Mister Wull," he sighed, "I 'low I'll take one of Early +Rose an' pay the rise." + +Wull whistled absently. + +"Early Rose," Jehoshaphat repeated, with a quick, keen glance of alarm. + +The trader frowned. + +"Rose," Jehoshaphat muttered. He licked his lips. "Of Early," he +reiterated, in a gasp, "Rose." + +"All right, Jehoshaphat." + +Down came the big key from the nail. Jehoshaphat's round face beamed. +The trader slapped his ledger shut, moved toward the door, but stopped +dead, and gazed out of the window, while his brows fell over his eyes, +and he fingered the big key. + +"Gone up t' eighteen," said he, without turning. + +Jehoshaphat stared aghast. + +"Wonderful high for flour," the trader continued, in apologetic +explanation; "but flour's wonderful scarce." + +"Tisn't _right!_" Jehoshaphat declared. "Eighteen dollars a barrel for +Early Rose? 'Tisn't right!" + +The key was restored to the nail. + +"I can't pay it, Mister Wull. No, no, man, I can't do it. Eighteen! +Mercy o' God! 'Tisn't right! 'Tis too _much_ for Early Rose." + +The trader wheeled. + +"An' I _won't_ pay it," said Jehoshaphat. + +"You don't have to," was the placid reply. + +Jehoshaphat started. Alarm--a sudden vision of his children--quieted his +indignation. "But, Mister Wull, sir," he pleaded, "I got t' have it. +I--why--I just _got_ t' have it!" + +The trader was unmoved. + +"Eighteen!" cried Jehoshaphat, flushing. "Mercy o' God! I says 'tisn't +right." + +"Tis the price." + +"'Tisn't right!" + +Wull's eyes were how flashing. His lips were drawn thin over his teeth. +His brows had fallen again. From the ambush they made he glared at +Jehoshaphat. + +"I say," said he, in a passionless voice, "that the price o' flour at +Satan's Trap is this day eighteen." + +Jehoshaphat was in woful perplexity. + +"Eighteen," snapped Wull. "Hear me?" + +They looked into each other's eyes. Outside the storm raged, a clean, +frank passion; for nature is a fair and honest foe. In the little office +at the back of John Wull's shop the withered body of the trader shook +with vicious anger. Jehoshaphat's round, brown, simple face was +gloriously flushed; his head was thrown back, his shoulders were +squared, his eyes were sure and fearless. + +"'Tis robbery!" he burst out. + +Wull's wrath exploded. "You bay-noddy!" he began; "you pig of a +punt-fisherman; you penniless, ragged fool; you man without a copper; +you sore-handed idiot! What you whinin' about? What right _you_ got t' +yelp in my office?" + +Of habit Jehoshaphat quailed. + +"If you don't want my flour," roared Wull, fetching the counter a thwack +with his white fist, "leave it be! 'Tis mine, isn't it? I _paid_ for it. +I _got_ it. There's a law in this land, you pauper, that _says_ so. +There's a law. Hear me? There's a law, Mine, mine!" he cried, in a +frenzy, lifting his lean arms. "What I got is mine. I'll eat it," he +fumed, "or I'll feed my pigs with it, or I'll spill it for the fishes. +They isn't no law t' make me sell t' _you_. An' you'll pay what I'm +askin', or you'll starve." + +"You wouldn't do that, sir," Jehoshaphat gently protested. "Oh no--_no_! +Ah, now, you wouldn't do that. You wouldn't throw it t' the fishes, +would you? Not flour! 'Twould be a sinful waste." + +"Tis my right." + +"Ay,' Mister Wull," Jehoshaphat argued, with a little smile, "'tis +yours, I'll admit; but we been sort o' dependin' on you t' lay in enough +t' get us through the winter." + +WUll's response was instant and angry. "Get you out o' my shop," said +he, "an' come back with a civil tongue!" + +"I'll go, Mister Wull," said Jehoshaphat, quietly, picking at a thread +in his faded cap. "I'll go. Ay, I'll go. But--I got t' have the flour. +I--I--just _got_ to. But I won't pay," he concluded, "no eighteen dollars +a barrel." + +The trader laughed. + +"For," said Jehoshaphat, "'tisn't right." + +Jehoshaphat went home without the flour, complaining of the injustice. + + * * * * * + +Jehoshaphat Rudd would have no laughter in the house, no weeping, no +questions, no noise of play. For two days he sat brooding by the kitchen +fire. His past of toil and unfailing recompense, the tranquil routine of +life, was strangely like a dream, far off, half forgot. As a reality it +had vanished. Hitherto there had been no future; there was now no past, +no ground for expectation. He must, at least, take time to think, have +courage to judge, the will to retaliate. It was more important, more +needful, to sit in thought, with idle hands, than to mend the rent in +his herring seine. He was mystified and deeply troubled. + +Sometimes by day Jehoshaphat strode to the window and looked out over +the harbor ice to the point of shore where stood the storehouse and shop +and red dwelling of old John Wull. By night he drew close to the fire, +and there sat with his face in his hands; nor would he go to bed, nor +would he speak, nor would he move. + +In the night of the third day the children awoke and cried for food. +Jehoshaphat rose from his chair, and stood shaking, with breath +suspended, hands clinched, eyes wide. He heard their mother rise and go +crooning from cot to cot. Presently the noise was hushed: sobs turned to +whimpers, and whimpers to plaintive whispers, and these complaints to +silence. The house was still; but Jehoshaphat seemed all the while to +hear the children crying in the little rooms above, He began to pace the +floor, back and forth, back and forth, now slow, now in a fury, now with +listless tread. And because his children had cried for food in the night +the heart of Jehoshaphat Rudd was changed. From the passion of those +hours, at dawn, he emerged serene, and went to bed. + + * * * * * + +At noon of that day Jehoshaphat Rudd was in the little office at the +back of the shop. John Wull was alone, perched on a high stool at the +desk, a pen in hand, a huge book open before him. + +"I'm come, sir," said Jehoshaphat, "for the barrel o' flour." + +The trader gave him no attention. + +"I'm come, sir," Jehoshaphat repeated, his voice rising a little, "for +the flour." + +The trader dipped his pen in ink. + +"I says, sir," said Jehoshaphat, laying a hand with some passion upon +the counter, "that I'm come for that there barrel o' flour." + +"An' I s'pose," the trader softly inquired, eying the page of his ledger +more closely, "that you thinks you'll get it, eh?" + +"Ay, sir." + +Wull dipped his pen and scratched away. + +"Mister Wull!" + +The trader turned a leaf. + +"Mister Wull," Jehoshaphat cried, angrily, "I wants flour. Is you gone +deaf overnight?" + +Impertinent question and tone of voice made old John Wull wheel on the +stool. In the forty years he had traded at Satan's Trap he had never +before met with impertinence that was not timidly offered. He bent a +scowling face upon Jehoshaphat. "An' you thinks," said he, "that you'll +get it?" + +"I does." + +"Oh, you does, does you?" + +Jehoshaphat nodded. + +"It all depends," said Wull. "You're wonderful deep in debt, +Jehoshaphat." The trader had now command of himself. "I been lookin' up +your account," he went on, softly. "You're so wonderful far behind, +Jehoshaphat, on account o' high livin' an' Christmas presents, that I +been thinkin' I might do the business a injury by givin' you more +credit. I can't think o' _myself_, Jehoshaphat, in this matter. 'Tis a +_business_ matter; an' I got t' think o' the business. You sees, +Jehoshaphat, eighteen dollars more credit--" + +"Eight," Jehoshaphat corrected. + +"Eighteen," the trader insisted. + +Jehoshaphat said nothing, nor did his face express feeling. He was +looking stolidly at the big key of the storehouse. + +"The flour depends," Wull proceeded, after a thoughtful pause, through +which he had regarded the gigantic Jehoshaphat with startled curiosity, +"on what I thinks the business will stand in the way o' givin' more +credit t' you." + +"No, sir," said Jehoshaphat. + +Wull put down his pen, slipped from the high stool, and came close to +Jehoshaphat. He was mechanical and slow in these movements, as though +all at once perplexed, given some new view, which disclosed many and +strange possibilities. For a moment he leaned against the counter, legs +crossed, staring at the floor, with his long, scrawny right hand +smoothing his cheek and chin. It was quiet in the office, and warm, and +well-disposed, and sunlight came in at the window. + +Soon the trader stirred, as though awakening. "You was sayin' eight, +wasn't you?" he asked, without looking up. + +"Eight, sir." + +The trader pondered this. "An' how," he inquired, at last, "was you +makin' that out?" + +"Tis a fair price." + +Wull smoothed his cheek and chin. "Ah!" he murmured. He mused, staring +at the floor, his restless fingers beating a tattoo on his teeth. He had +turned woebegone and very pale. "Jehoshaphat," he asked, turning upon +the man, "would you mind tellin' me just how you're 'lowin' t' get my +flour against my will?" + +Jehoshaphat looked away. + +"I'd like t' know," said Wull, "if you wouldn't mind tellin' me." + +"No," Jehoshaphat answered. "No, Mister Wull--I wouldn't mind tellin'." + +"Then," Wull demanded, "how?" + +"Mister Wull," Jehoshaphat explained, "I'm a bigger man than you." + +It was very quiet in the office. The wind had gone down in the night, +the wood in the stove was burned to glowing coals. It was very, very +still in old John Wull's office at the back of the shop, and old John +Wull turned away, and went absently to the desk, where he fingered the +leaves of his ledger, and dipped his pen in ink, but did not write. +There was a broad window over the desk, looking out upon the harbor; +through this, blankly, he watched the children at play on the ice, but +did not see them. By-and-by, when he had closed the book and put the +desk in order, he came back to the counter, leaned against it, crossed +his legs, began to smooth his chin, while he mused, staring at the +square of sunlight on the floor. Jehoshaphat could not look at him. The +old man's face was so gray and drawn, so empty of pride and power, his +hand so thin and unsteady, his eyes so dull, so deep in troubled +shadows, that Jehoshaphat's heart ached. He wished that the world had +gone on in peace, that the evil practices of the great were still hid +from his knowledge, that there had been no vision, no call to +revolution; he rebelled against the obligation upon him, though it had +come to him as a thing that was holy. He regretted his power, had shame, +indeed, because of the ease with which the mighty could be put down. He +felt that he must be generous, tender, that he must not misuse his +strength. + +The patch of yellow light had perceptibly moved before the trader spoke. +"Jehoshaphat," he asked, "you know much about law?" + +"Well, no, Mister Wull," Jehoshaphat answered, with simple candor; "not +_too_ much." + +"The law will put you in jail for this." + +Constables and jails were like superstitious terrors to Jehoshaphat. He +had never set eyes on the brass buttons and stone walls of the law. + +"Oh no--_no_!" he protested. "He wouldn't! Not in _jail_!" + +"The law," Wull warned, with grim delight, "will put you in jail." + +"He _couldn't_!" Jehoshaphat complained. "As I takes it, the law sees +fair play atween men. That's what he was _made_ for. I 'low he ought t' +put you in jail for raisin' the price o' flour t' eighteen; but not +me--not for what I'm bound t' do, Mister Wull, law or no law, as God +lives! 'Twouldn't be right, sir, if he put me in jail for that." + +"The law will." + +"But," Jehoshaphat still persisted, doggedly, "'twouldn't be _right_!' + +The trader fell into a muse. + +"I'm come," Jehoshaphat reminded him, "for the flour." + +"You can't have it." + +"Oh, dear!" Jehoshaphat sighed. "My, my! Pshaw! I 'low, then, us'll just +have t' _take_ it." + +Jehoshaphat went to the door of the shop. It was cold and gloomy in the +shop. He opened the door. The public of Satan's Trap, in the persons of +ten men of the place, fathers of families (with the exception of Timothy +Yule, who had qualified upon his expectations), trooped over the greasy +floor, their breath cloudy in the frosty air, and crowded into the +little office, in the wake of Jehoshaphat Rudd. They had the gravity of +mien, the set faces, the compassionate eyes, the merciless purpose, of a +jury. The shuffling subsided. It was once more quiet in the little +office. Timothy Yule's hatred got the better of his sense of propriety: +he laughed, but the laugh expired suddenly, for Jehoshaphat Rudd's hand +fell with unmistakable meaning upon his shoulder. + +John Wull faced them. + +"I 'low, Mister Wull," said Jehoshaphat, diffidently, "that we wants the +storehouse key." + +The trader put the key in his pocket. + +"The key," Jehoshaphat objected; "we wants that there key." + +"By the Almighty!" old John Wull snarled, "you'll all go t' jail for +this, if they's a law in Newfoundland." + +The threat was ignored. + +"Don't hurt un, lads," Jehoshaphat cautioned; "for he's so wonderful +tender. He've not been bred the way _we_ was. He's wonderful old an' +lean an' brittle," he added, gently; "so I 'low we'd best be careful." + +John Wull's resistance was merely technical. + +"Now, Mister Wull," said Jehoshaphat, when the big key was in his hand +and the body of the trader had been tenderly deposited in his chair by +the stove, "don't you go an' fret. We isn't the thieves that break in +an' steal nor the moths that go an' corrupt. We isn't robbers, an' we +isn't mean men. We're the public," he explained, impressively, "o' +Satan's Trap. We got together, Mister Wull," he continued, feeling some +delight in the oratory which had been thrust upon him, "an' we 'lowed +that flour was worth about eight; but we'll pay nine, for we got +thinkin' that if flour goes up an' down, accordin' t' the will o' God, +it ought t' go up now, if ever, the will o' God bein' a mystery, anyhow. +We don't want you t' close up the shop an' go away, after this, Mister +Wull; for we got t' have you, or some one like you, t' do what you been +doin', so as we can have minds free o' care for the fishin'. If they was +anybody at Satan's Trap that could read an' write like you, an' knowed +about money an' prices--if they was anybody like that at Satan's Trap, +willin' t' do woman's work, which I doubts, we wouldn't care whether you +went or stayed; but they isn't, an' we can't do 'ithout you. So don't +you fret," Jehoshaphat concluded. "You set right there by the fire in +this little office o' yours. Tom Lower'll put more billets on the fire +for you, an' you'll be wonderful comfortable till we gets through. I'll +see that account is kep' by Tim Yule of all we takes. You can put it on +the books just when you likes. No hurry, Mister Wull--no hurry. The +prices will be them that held in the fall o' the year, 'cept flour, +which is gone up t' nine by the barrel. An', ah, now, Mister Wull," +Jehoshaphat pleaded, "don't you have no hard feelin'. 'Twouldn't be +right; We're the public; so _please_ don't you go an' have no hard +feelin'." + +The trader would say nothing. + +"Now, lads," said Jehoshaphat, "us'll go." In the storehouse there were +two interruptions to the transaction of business in an orderly fashion. +Tom Lower, who was a lazy fellow and wasteful, as Jehoshaphat knew, +demanded thirty pounds of pork, and Jehoshaphat knocked him down. +Timothy Yule, the anarchist, proposed to sack the place, and him +Jehoshaphat knocked down twice. There was no further difficulty. + +"Now, Mister Wull," said Jehoshaphat, as he laid the key and the account +on the trader's desk, "the public o' Satan's Trap is wonderful sorry; +but the thing had t' be done." + +The trader would not look up. + +"It makes such a wonderful fuss in the world," Jehoshaphat complained, +"that the crew hadn't no love for the job. But it--it--it jus' had t' be +done." + +Old John Wull scowled. + + * * * * * + +For a long time, if days may be long, Jehoshaphat Rudd lived in the fear +of constables and jails, which were the law, to be commanded by the +wealth of old John Wull; and for the self-same period--the days being +longer because of the impatience of hate--old John Wull lived in +expectation of his revenge. Jehoshaphat Rudd lowed he'd stand by, +anyhow, an' _go_ t' jail, if 'twas needful t' maintain the rights o' +man. Ay, _he'd_ go t' jail, an' be whipped an' starved, as the +imagination promised, but he'd be jiggered if he'd "_'pologize_." Old +John Wull kept grim watch upon the winds; for upon the way the wind blew +depended the movement of the ice, and the clearing of the sea, and the +first voyage of the mail-boat. He was glad that he had been robbed; so +glad that he rubbed his lean, transparent hands until the flush of life +appeared to surprise him; so glad that he chuckled until his housekeeper +feared his false teeth would by some dreadful mischance vanish within +him. Jail? ay, he'd put Jehoshaphat Rudd in jail; but he would forgive +the others, that they might continue to fish and to consume food. In +jail, ecod! t' be fed on bread an' water, t' be locked up, t' wear +stripes, t' make brooms, t' lie there so long that the last little Rudd +would find its own father a stranger when 'twas all over with. 'Twould +be fair warning t' the malcontent o' the folk; they would bide quiet +hereafter. All the people would toil and trade; they would complain no +more. John Wull was glad that the imprudence of Jehoshaphat Rudd had +provided him with power to restore the ancient peace to Satan's Trap. + + * * * * * + +One day in the spring, when the bergs and great floes of the open had +been blown to sea, and the snow was gone from the slopes of the hills, +and the sun was out, and the earth was warm and yellow and merrily +dripping, old John Wull attempted a passage of the harbor by the ice, +which there had lingered, confined. It was only to cross the narrows +from Haul-Away Head to Daddy Tool's Point, no more than a stone's throw +for a stout lad. The ice had been broken into pans by a stiff breeze +from the west, and was then moving with the wind, close-packed, bound +out to sea, there to be dispersed and dissolved. It ran sluggishly +through the narrows, scraping the rocks of the head and of the point; +the heave of the sea slipped underneath and billowed the way, and the +outermost pans of ice broke from the press and went off with the waves. +But the feet of old John Wull were practised; he essayed the crossing +without concern--indeed, with an absent mind. Presently he stopped to +rest; and he stared out to sea, musing; and when again he looked about, +the sea had softly torn the pan from the pack. + +Old John Wull was adrift, and bound out. + +"Ahoy, you, Jehoshaphat!" he shouted. "Jehoshaphat! Oh, Jehoshaphat!" + +Jehoshaphat came to the door of his cottage on Daddy Tool's Point. + +"Launch that rodney,"[1] Wull directed, "an' put me on shore. An' +lively, man," he complained. "I'll be cotchin' cold out here." + +With the help of Timothy Yule, who chanced to be gossiping in the +kitchen, Jehoshaphat Rudd got the rodney in the open water by the +stage-head. What with paddling and much hearty hauling and pushing, they +had the little craft across the barrier of ice in the narrows before the +wind had blown old John Wull a generous rod out to sea. + +"Timothy, lad," Jehoshaphat whispered, "I 'low you better stay here." + +Timothy kept to the ice. + +"You been wonderful slow," growled Wull. "Come 'round t' the lee side, +you dunderhead! Think I wants t' get my feet wet?" + +"No, sir," Jehoshaphat protested. "Oh no; I wouldn't have you do that an +I could _help_ it." + +The harbor folk were congregating on Haul-Away Head and Daddy Tool's +Point. 'Twas an agreeable excitement to see John Wull in a mess--in a +ludicrous predicament, which made him helpless before their eyes. They +whispered, they smiled behind their hands, they chuckled inwardly. + +Jehoshaphat pulled to the lee side of the pan. + +"Come 'longside," said Wull. + +Jehoshaphat dawdled. + +"Come 'longside, you fool!" Wull roared. "Think I can leap three +fathom?" + +"No, sir; oh no; no, indeed." + +"Then come 'longside." + +Jehoshaphat sighed. + +"Come in here, you crazy pauper!" Wull screamed, stamping his rage. +"Come in here an' put me ashore!" + +"Mister Wull!" + +Wull eyed the man in amazement. + +"Labor," said Jehoshaphat, gently, "is gone up." + +Timothy Yule laughed, but on Haul-Away Head and Daddy Tool's Point the +folk kept silent; nor did old John Wull, on the departing pan, utter a +sound. + +"Sky high," Jehoshaphat concluded. + +The sun was broadly, warmly shining, the sky was blue; but the wind was +rising smartly, and far off over the hills of Satan's Trap, beyond the +wilderness that was known, it was turning gray and tumultuous. Old John +Wull scowled, wheeled, and looked away to sea; he did not see the +ominous color and writhing in the west. + +"We don't want no law, Mister Wull," Jehoshaphat continued, "at Satan's +Trap." + +Wull would not attend. + +"Not law," Jehoshaphat repeated; "for we knows well enough at Satan's +Trap," said he, "what's fair as atween men. You jus' leave the law stay +t' St. John's, sir, where he's t' home. He isn't fair, by no means; an' +we don't want un here t' make trouble." + +The trader's back was still turned. + +"An', Mister Wull," Jehoshaphat entreated, his face falling like a +child's, "don't you have no hard feelin' over this. Ah, now, _don't_!" +he pleaded. "You won't, will you? For we isn't got no hate for you, +Mister Wull, an' we isn't got no greed for ourselves. We just wants +what's fair--just what's fair." He added: "Just on'y that. We likes t' +see you have your milk an' butter an' fresh beef an' nuts an' whiskey. +_We_ don't want them things, for they isn't ours by rights. All we wants +is just on'y fair play. We don't want no law, sir: for, ecod!" +Jehoshaphat declared, scratching his head in bewilderment, "the law +looks after them that _has_, so far as I _knows_, sir, an' don't know +nothin' about them that _hasn't_. An' we don't want un here at Satan's +Trap. We won't _have_ un! We--we--why, ecod! we--we can't _'low_ it! We'd +be ashamed of ourselves an we 'lowed you t' fetch the law t' Satan's +Trap t' wrong us. We're free men, isn't we?" he demanded, indignantly. +"Isn't we? Ecod! I 'low we _is_! You think, John Wull," he continued, in +wrath, "that _you_ can do what you like with _we_ just because you an' +the likes o' you is gone an' got a law? You can't! You can't! An' you +can't, just because we won't _'low_ it." + +It was an incendiary speech. + +"No, you can't!" Timothy Yule screamed from the ice, "you robber, you +thief, you whale's pup! _I'll_ tell you what I thinks o' you. You can't +scare _me_. I wants that meadow you stole from my father. I wants that +meadow--" + +"Timothy," Jehoshaphat interrupted, quietly, "you're a fool. Shut your +mouth!" + +Tom Lower, the lazy, wasteful Tom Lower, ran down to the shore of +Haul-Away Head, and stamped his feet, and shook his fist. "I wants your +cow an' your raisins an' your candy! We got you down, you robber! An' +I'll _have_ your red house; I'll have your wool blankets; I'll have +your--" + +"Tom Lower," Jehoshaphat roared, rising in wrath, "I'll floor you for +that! That I will--next time I cotch you out." + +John Wull turned half-way around and grinned. + +"Mister Wull," Jehoshaphat asked, propitiatingly, "won't you be put +ashore?" + +"Not at the price." + +"I 'low, then, sir," said Jehoshaphat, in some impatience, "that you +might as well be comfortable while you makes up your mind. Here!" He +cast a square of tarpaulin on the ice, and chancing to discover Timothy +Yule's jacket, he added that. "There!" he grunted, with satisfaction; +"you'll be sittin' soft an' dry while you does your thinkin'. Don't be +long, sir--not overlong. _Please_ don't, sir," he begged; "for it looks +t' me--it looks wonderful t' me--like a spurt o' weather." + +John Wull spread the tarpaulin. + +"An' when you gets through considerin' of the question," said +Jehoshaphat, suggestively, "an' is come t' my way o' thinkin', why all +you got t' do is lift your little finger, an' I'll put you ashore"--a +gust of wind whipped past--"if I'm able," Jehoshaphat added. + +Pan and boat drifted out from the coast, a slow course, which in an hour +had reduced the harbor folk to black pygmies on the low rocks to +windward. Jehoshaphat paddled patiently in the wake of the ice. Often he +raised his head, in apprehension, to read the signs in the west; and he +sighed a deal, and sometimes muttered to himself. Old John Wull was +squatted on the tarpaulin, with Timothy Yule's jacket for a cushion, his +great-coat wrapped close about him, his cap pulled over his ears, his +arms folded. The withered old fellow was as lean and blue and rigid and +staring as a frozen corpse. + +The wind had freshened. The look and smell of the world foreboded a +gale. Overhead the sky turned gray. There came a shadow on the sea, +sullen and ominous. Gusts of wind ran offshore and went hissing out to +sea; and they left the waters rippling black and flecked with froth +wherever they touched. In the west the sky, far away, changed from gray +to deepest black and purple; and high up, midway, masses of cloud, with +torn and streaming edges, rose swiftly toward the zenith. It turned +cold. A great flake of snow fell on Jehoshaphat's cheek, and melted; but +Jehoshaphat was pondering upon justice. He wiped the drop of water away +with the back of his hand, because it tickled him, but gave the sign no +heed. + +"I 'low, Mister Wull," said he, doggedly, "that you better give Timothy +Yule back his father's meadow. For nobody knows, sir," he argued, "why +Timothy Yule's father went an' signed his name t' that there writin' +just afore he died. 'Twasn't right. He didn't ought t' sign it. An' you +got t' give the meadow back." + +John Wull was unmoved. + +"An', look you! Mister Wull," Jehoshaphat continued, pulling closer to +the pan, addressing the bowed back of the trader, "you better not press +young Isaac Lower for that cod-trap money. He've too much trouble with +that wife o' his t' be bothered by debt. Anyhow, you ought t' give un a +chance. An', look you! you better let ol' Misses Jowl have back her +garden t' Green Cove. The way you got that, Mister Wull, is queer. I +don't know, but I 'low you better give it back, anyhow. You _got_ to, +Mister Wull; an', ecod! you got t' give the ol' woman a pound o' cheese +an' five cents' worth--no, ten--ten cents' worth o' sweets t' make her +feel good. She _likes_ cheese. She 'lows she never could get _enough_ o' +cheese. She 'lows she _wished_ she could have her fill afore she dies. +An' you got t' give her a whole pound for herself." + +They were drifting over the Tombstone grounds. + +"Whenever you makes up your mind," Jehoshaphat suggested, diffidently, +"you lift your little finger--jus' your little finger." + +There was no response. + +"Your little finger," Jehoshaphat repeated. "Jus' your little +finger--on'y that." + +Wull faced about. "Jehoshaphat," said he, with a grin, "you wouldn't +leave me." + +"Jus' wouldn't I!" + +"You wouldn't." + +"You jus' wait and see." + +"You wouldn't leave me," said Wull, "because you couldn't. I knows you, +Jehoshaphat--I knows you." + +"You better look out." + +"Come, now, Jehoshaphat, is you goin' t' leave an old man drift out t' +sea an' die?" + +Jehoshaphat was embarrassed. + +"Eh, Jehoshaphat?" + +"Well, no," Jehoshaphat admitted, frankly. "I isn't; leastways, not +alone." + +"Not alone?" anxiously. + +"No; not alone. I'll go with you, Mister Wull, if you're lonesome, an' +wants company. You sees, sir, I can't give in. I jus' _can't_! I'm here, +Mister Wull, in this here cranky rodney, beyond the Tombstone grounds, +with a dirty gale from a point or two south o' west about t' break, +because I'm the public o' Satan's Trap. I can die, sir, t' save gossip; +but I sim-plee jus' isn't able t' give in. 'Twouldn't be _right_." + +"Well, _I_ won't give in." + +"Nor I, sir. So here we is--out here beyond the Tombstone grounds, you on +a pan an' me in a rodney. An' the weather isn't--well--not quite _kind_." + +It was not. The black clouds, torn, streaming, had possessed the sky, +and the night was near come. Haul-Away Head and Daddy Tool's Point had +melted with the black line of coast. Return--safe passage through the +narrows to the quiet water and warm lights of Satan's Trap--was almost +beyond the most courageous hope. The wind broke from the shore in +straight lines--a stout, agile wind, loosed for riot upon the sea. The +sea was black, with a wind-lop upon the grave swell--a black-and-white +sea, with spume in the gray air. The west was black, with no hint of +other color--without the pity of purple or red. Roundabout the sea was +breaking, troubled by the wind, indifferent to the white little rodney +and the lives o' men. + +"You better give in," old John Wull warned. + +"No," Jehoshaphat answered; "no; oh no! I won't give in. Not _in_." + +A gust turned the black sea white. + +"_You_ better give in," said Jehoshaphat. + +John Wull shrugged his shoulders and turned his back. + +"Now, Mister Wull," said Jehoshaphat, firmly, "I 'low I can't stand this +much longer. I 'low we can't be fools much longer an' get back t' +Satan's Trap. I got a sail, here, Mister Wull; but, ecod! the beat t' +harbor isn't pleasant t' _think_ about." + +"You better go home," sneered old John Wull. + +"I 'low I _will_," Jehoshaphat declared. + +Old John Wull came to the windward edge of the ice, and there stood +frowning, with his feet submerged. "What was you sayin'?" he asked. +"That you'd go home?" + +Jehoshaphat looked away. + +"An' leave me?" demanded John Wull. "Leave _me? Me?_" + +"I got t' think o' my kids." + +"An' you'd leave me t' _die?_" + +"Well," Jehoshaphat complained, "'tis long past supper-time. You better +give in." + +"I won't!" + +The coast was hard to distinguish from the black sky in the west. It +began to snow. Snow and night, allied, would bring Jehoshaphat Rudd and +old John Wull to cold death. + +"Mister Wull," Jehoshaphat objected, "'tis long past supper-time, an' I +wants t' go home." + +"Go--an' be damned!" + +"I'll count ten," Jehoshaphat threatened. + +"You dassn't!" + +"I don't know whether I'll _go_ or not," said Jehoshaphat. "Maybe not. +Anyhow, I'll count ten, an' see what happens. Is you ready?" + +Wull sat down on the tarpaulin. + +"One," Jehoshaphat began. + +John Wull seemed not to hear. + +"Two," said Jehoshaphat. "Three--four--five--six--seven." + +John Wull did not turn. + +"Eight." + +There was no sign of relenting. + +"Nine." + +Jehoshaphat paused. "God's mercy!" he groaned, "don't you be a fool, +Mister Wull," he pleaded. "Doesn't you _know_ what the weather is?" + +A wave--the lop raised by the wind--broke over the pan. John Wull stood +up. There came a shower of snow. + +"Eh?" Jehoshaphat demanded, in agony. + +"I won't give in," said old John Wull. + +"Then I got t' say ten. I jus' _got_ to." + +"I dare you." + +"I will, Mister Wull. Honest, I will! I'll say ten an you don't look +out." + +"Why don't you _do_ it?" + +"In a minute, Mister Wull. I'll say it just so soon as I get up the +sail. I will, Mister Wull, honest t' God!" + +The coast had vanished. + +"Look," cried Jehoshaphat, "we're doomed men!" + +The squall, then first observed, sent the sea curling over the ice. +Jehoshaphat's rodney shipped the water it raised. Snow came in a +blinding cloud. + +"Say ten, you fool!" screamed old John Wull. + +"Ten!" + +John Wull came to the edge of the pan. 'Twas hard for the old man to +breast the gust. He put his hands to his mouth that he might be heard in +the wind. + +"I give in!" he shouted. + +Jehoshaphat managed to save the lives of both. + + * * * * * + +Old John Wull, with his lean feet in a tub of hot water, with a gray +blanket over his shoulders, with a fire sputtering in the stove, with +his housekeeper hovering near--old John Wull chuckled. The room was warm +and his stomach was full, and the wind, blowing horribly in the night, +could work him no harm. There he sat, sipping herb tea to please his +housekeeper, drinking whiskey to please himself. He had no chill, no +fever, no pain; perceived no warning of illness. So he chuckled away. It +was all for the best. There would now surely be peace at Satan's Trap. +Had he not yielded? What more could they ask? They would be content with +this victory. For a long, long time they would not complain. He had +yielded; very well: Timothy Yule should have his father's meadow, Dame +Jowl her garden and sweets and cheese, the young Lower be left in +possession of the cod-trap, and there would be no law. Very well; the +folk would neither pry nor complain for a long, long time: that was +triumph enough for John Wull. So he chuckled away, with his feet in hot +water, and a gray blanket about him, bald and withered and ghastly, but +still feeling the comfort of fire and hot water and whiskey, the pride +of power. + +And within three years John Wull possessed again all that he had +yielded, and the world of Satan's Trap wagged on as in the days before +the revolution. + +----- +[1] A rodney is a small, light boat, used for getting about among the +ice packs, chiefly in seal-hunting. + + + + +X--THE SURPLUS + + +To the east was the illimitable ocean, laid thick with moonlight and +luminous mist; to the west, beyond a stretch of black, slow heaving +water, was the low line of Newfoundland, an illusion of kindliness, the +malignant character of its jagged rock and barren interior transformed +by the gentle magic of the night. Tumm, the clerk, had the wheel of the +schooner, and had been staring in a rapture at the stars. + +"Jus' readin', sir," he explained. + +I wondered what he read. + +"Oh," he answered, turning again to contemplate the starlit sky, "jus' a +little psa'm from my Bible." + +I left him to read on, myself engaged with a perusal of the serene and +comforting text-book of philosophy spread overhead. The night was +favorably inclined and radiant: a soft southerly wind blowing without +menace, a sky of infinite depth and tender shadow, the sea asleep under +the moon. With a gentle, aimlessly wandering wind astern--an idle, +dawdling, contemptuous breeze, following the old craft lazily, now and +again whipping her nose under water to remind her of suspended +strength--the trader _Good Samaritan_ ran on, wing and wing, through the +moonlight, bound across from Sinners' Tickle to Afterward Bight, there +to deal for the first of the catch. + +"Them little stars jus' _will_ wink!" Tumm complained. + +I saw them wink in despite. + +"Ecod!" Tumm growled. + +The amusement of the stars was not by this altered to a more serious +regard: everywhere they winked. + +"I've seed un peep through a gale o' wind, a slit in the black sky, a +cruel, cold time," Tumm continued, a pretence of indignation in his +voice, "when 'twas a mean hard matter t' keep a schooner afloat in a +dirty sea, with all hands wore out along o' labor an' the fear o' death +an' hell; an', ecod! them little cusses was winkin' still. Eh? What d'ye +make o' that?--winkin' still, the heartless little cusses!" + +There were other crises, I recalled--knowing little enough of the labor +of the sea--upon which they winked. + +"Ay," Tumm agreed; "they winks when lovers kiss on the roads; an' they +winks jus' the same," he added, softly, "when a heart breaks." + +"They're humorous little beggars," I observed. + +Tumm laughed. "They been lookin' at this here damned thing so long," he +drawled--meaning, no doubt, upon the spectacle of the world--"that no +wonder they winks!" + +This prefaced a tale. + + * * * * * + +"Somehow," Tumm began, his voice fallen rather despondent, I fancied, +but yet continuing most curiously genial, "it always made me think o' +dust an' ashes t' clap eyes on ol' Bill Hulk o' Gingerbread Cove. Ay, +b'y; but I could jus' fair hear the parson singsong that mean truth o' +life: 'Dust t' dust; ashes t' ashes'--an' make the best of it, ye sinners +an' young folk! When ol' Bill hove alongside, poor man! I'd think no +more o' maids an' trade, o' which I'm fair sinful fond, but on'y o' +coffins an' graves an' ground. For, look you! the ol' feller was so +white an' wheezy--so fishy-eyed an' crooked an' shaky along o' age. 'Tis +a queer thing, sir, but, truth o' God, so old was Bill Hulk that when +he'd board me I'd remember somehow the warm breast o' my mother, an' +then think, an' couldn't help it, o' the bosom o' dust where my head +must lie." + +Tumm paused. + +"Seemed t' me, somehow," he continued, "when the _Quick as Wink_ was +lyin' of a Sunday t' Gingerbread Cove--seemed t' me somehow, when I'd +hear the church bell ring an' echo across the water an' far into the +hills--when I'd cotch sight o' ol' Bill Hulk, with his staff an' braw +black coat, crawlin' down the hill t' meetin'--ay, an' when the sun was +out, warm an' yellow, an' the maids an' lads was flirtin' over the roads +t' hear the parson thunder agin their hellish levity--seemed t' me then, +somehow, that ol' Bill was all the time jus' dodgin' along among open +graves; for, look you! the ol' feller had such trouble with his legs. +An' I'd wish by times that he'd stumble an' fall in, an' be covered up +in a comfortable an' decent sort o' fashion, an' stowed away for good +an' all in the bed where he belonged. + +"'Uncle Bill,' says I, 'you at it yet?' + +"'Hangin' on, Tumm,' says he. 'I isn't quite through.' + +[Illustration: "OL' BILL HULK CRAWLIN' DOWN THE HILL T' MEETIN'"] + +"'Accordin' t' the signs,' says I, 'you isn't got much of a grip left.' + +"'Yes, I is!' says he. 'I got all my fishin' fingers exceptin' two, an' +I 'low they'll last me till I'm through.' + +"Ecod! sir, but it made me think so mean o' the world that I 'lowed I'd +look away. + +"'No, Tumm,' says he, 'I isn't _quite_ through.' + +"'Well,' says I, 'you must be tired.' + +"'Tired,' says he. 'Oh no, b'y! Tired? Not me! I got a little spurt o' +labor t' do afore _I_ goes.' + +"'An' what's that, Uncle Bill?' says I. + +"'Nothin' much,' says he. + +"'But what _is_ it?' + +"'Nothin' much,' says he; 'jus' a little spurt o' labor.' + +"The ol' feller lived all alone, under Seven Stars Head, in a bit of a +white house with black trimmin's, jus' within the Tickle, where 'twas +nice an' warm an' still; an' he kep' his house as neat an' white as a +ol' maid with a gray tomcat an' a window-garden o' geraniums, an', like +all the ol' maids, made the best fish on fifty mile o' coast. 'Twas said +by the ol' folks o' Gingerbread Cove that their fathers knowed the time +when Bill Hulk had a partner; but the partner got lost on the Labrador, +an' then Bill Hulk jus' held on cotchin' fish an' keepin' house all +alone, till he got the habit an' couldn't leave off. Was a time, I'm +told, a time when he had his strength--was a time, I'm told, afore he +wore out--was a time when Bill Hulk had a bit o' money stowed away in a +bank t' St. John's. Always 'lowed, I'm told, that 'twas plenty t' see un +through when he got past his labor. 'I got enough put by,' says he. 'I +got more'n enough. I'm jus' fishin' along,' says he, 't' give t' the +poor. Store in your youth,' says he, 'an' you'll not want in your age.' +But somehow some o' them St. John's gentlemen managed t' discover +expensive ways o' delightin' theirselves; an' what with bank failures +an' lean seasons an' lumbago, ol' Bill was fallen poor when first I +traded Gingerbread Cove. About nine year after that, bein' then used t' +the trade o' that shore, I 'lowed that Bill had better knock off an' lie +in the sun till 'twas time for un t' go t' his last berth. ''Twon't be +long,' thinks I, 'an' I 'low my owners can stand it. Anyhow,' thinks I, +''tis high time the world done something for Bill.' + +"But-- + +"'Tumm,' says he, 'how many books is kep' by traders in Newf'un'land?' + +"I 'lowed I didn't know. + +"'Call it a round million,' says he. + +"'What of it?' says I. + +"'Nothin' much,' says he. + +"'But what of it?' says I. + +"'Well,' says he, 'if you was t' look them million books over, goin' as +easy as you please an' markin' off every line o' every page with your +forefinger, what d'ye think would come t' pass?' + +"I 'lowed I couldn't tell. + +"'Eh?' says he. 'Come, now! give a guess.' + +"'I don't know, Bill,' says I. + +"'Why, Tumm,' says he, 'you wouldn't find a copper agin the name o' ol' +Bill Hulk!' + +"'That's good livin',' says I. + +"'Not a copper!' says he. 'No, sir; _not if you looked with spectacles_. +An' so,' says he, 'I 'low I'll jus' keep on payin' my passage for the +little time that's left. If my back on'y holds out,' says he, 'I'll +manage it till I'm through. 'Twon't be any more than twenty year. Jus' a +little spurt o' labor t' do, Tumm,' says he, 'afore I goes.' + +"'More labor, Uncle Bill?' says I. 'God's sake!' + +"'Nothin' much,' says he; 'jus' a little spurt afore I goes in peace.' + +"Ah, well! he'd labored long enough, lived long enough, t' leave other +hands clean up the litter an' sweep the room o' his life. I didn't know +what that little spurt o' labor was meant t' win for his peace o' +mind--didn't know what he'd left undone--didn't know what his wish or his +conscience urged un t' labor for. I jus' wanted un t' quit an' lie down +in the sun. 'For,' thinks I, 'the world looks wonderful greedy an' harsh +t' me when I hears ol' Bill Hulk's bones rattle over the roads or come +squeakin' through the Tickle in his punt. 'Leave un go in peace!' thinks +I. 'I isn't got no love for a world that sends them bones t' sea in an +easterly wind. Ecod!' thinks I; 'but he've earned quiet passage by jus' +livin' t' that ghastly age--jus' by hangin' on off a lee shore in the +mean gales o' life.' Seemed t' me, too, no matter how Bill felt about +it, that he might be obligin' an' quit afore he _was_ through. Seemed t' +me he might jus' stop where he was an' leave the friends an' neighbors +finish up. 'Tisn't fair t' ask a man t' have his labor done in a +ship-shape way--t' be through with the splittin' an' all cleaned up--when +the Skipper sings out, 'Knock off, ye dunderhead!' Seems t' me a man +might leave the crew t' wash the table an' swab the deck an' throw the +livers in the cask. + +"'You be obligin', Bill,' says I, 'an' quit.' + +"'Isn't able,' says he, 'till I'm through.' + +"So the bones o' ol' Bill Hulk rattled an' squeaked right on till it +made me fair ache when I _thunk_ o' Gingerbread Cove. + + * * * * * + +"About four year after that I made the Cove in the spring o' the year +with supplies. 'Well,' thinks I, 'they won't be no Bill Hulk this +season. With that pain in his back an' starboard leg, this winter have +finished he; an' I'll lay a deal on that.' 'Twas afore dawn when we +dropped anchor, an' a dirty dawn, too, with fog an' rain, the wind +sharp, an' the harbor in a tumble for small craft; but the first man +over the side was ol' Bill Hulk. + +"'It _can't_ be you, Uncle Bill!' says I. + +"'Tumm,' says he, 'I isn't quite through--yet.' + +"'You isn't goin' at it _this_ season, is you?' + +"'Ay,' says he; 'goin' at it again, Tumm.' + +"'What for?' says I. + +"'Nothin' much,' says he. + +"'But what _for_?' + +"'Well,' says he, 'I'm savin' up.' + +"'Savin' up?' says I. 'Shame _to_ you! What you savin' up for?' + +"'Oh,' says he, 'jus' savin' up.' + +"'But what _for_?' says I. 'What's the sense of it?' + +"'Bit o' prope'ty,' says he. 'I'm thinkin' o' makin' a small +investment.' + +"'At your age, Uncle Bill!' says I. 'An' a childless man!' + +"'Jus' a small piece,' says he. 'Nothin' much, Tumm.' + +"'But it won't do you no _good_,' says I. + +"'Well, Tumm,' says he, 'I'm sort o' wantin' it, an' I 'low she won't go +t' waste. I been fishin' from Gingerbread Cove for three hundred year,' +says he, 'an' when I knocks off I wants t' have things ship-shape. Isn't +no comfort, Tumm,' says he, 'in knockin' off no other way.' + +"Three hundred year he 'lowed he'd fished from that there harbor, a +hook-an'-line man through it all; an' as they wasn't none o' us abroad +on the coast when he come in, he'd stick to it, spite o' parsons. They +was a mean little red-headed parson came near churchin' un for the +whopper; but Bill Hulk wouldn't repent. 'You isn't been here long enough +t' _know_, parson,' says he. ''Tis goin' on three hundred year, I tells +you! I'll haul into my fourth hundred,' says he, 'come forty-three year +from Friday fortnight.' Anyhow, he'd been castin' lines on the +Gingerbread grounds quite long enough. 'Twas like t' make a man's back +ache--t' make his head spin an' his stomach shudder--jus' t' think o' the +years o' labor an' hardship Bill Hulk had weathered. Seemed t' me the +very stars must o' got fair disgusted t' watch un put out through the +Tickle afore dawn an' pull in after dark. + +"'Lord!' says they. 'If there ain't Bill Hulk puttin' out again! Won't +nothin' _ever_ happen t' he?'" + +I thought it an unkind imputation. + +"Well," Tumm explained, "the little beggars is used t' change; an' I +wouldn't wonder if they was bored a bit by ol' Bill Hulk." + +It might have been. + +"Four or five year after that," Tumm proceeded, "the tail of a sou'east +gale slapped me into Gingerbread Cove, an' I 'lowed t' hang the ol' girl +up till the weather turned civil. Thinks I, ''Tis wonderful dark an' +wet, but 'tis also wonderful early, an' I'll jus' take a run ashore t' +yarn an' darn along o' ol' Bill Hulk.' So I put a bottle in my pocket t' +warm the ol' ghost's marrow, an' put out for Seven Stars Head in the +rodney. 'Twas mean pullin' agin the wind, but I fetched the stage-head +'t last, an' went crawlin' up the hill. Thinks I, 'They's no sense in +knockin' in a gale o' wind like this, for Bill Hulk's so wonderful hard +o' hearin' in a sou'east blow.' + +"So I drove on in. + +"'Lord's sake, Bill!' says I, 'what you up to?' + +"'Nothin' much, Tumm,' says he. + +"'It don't look right,' says I. 'What _is_ it?' + +"'Nothin' much,' says he; 'jus' countin' up my money.' + +"'Twas true enough: there he sot--playin' with his fortune. They was +pounds of it: coppers an' big round pennies an' silver an' one lone gold +piece. + +"'You been gettin' rich?' says I. + +"'Tumm,' says he, 'you got any clear idea o' how much hard cash they is +lyin' right there on that plain deal table in this here very kitchen you +is in?' + +"'I isn't,' says I. + +"'Well,' says he, 'they's as much as fourteen dollar! An' what d'ye +think o' that?' + +"I 'lowed I'd hold my tongue; so I jus' lifted my eyebrow, an' then sort +o' whistled, 'Whew!' + +"'Fourteen,' says he, 'an' more!' + +"'_Whew!_' says I. + +"'An', Tumm,' says he, 'I had twenty-four sixty once--about eighteen year +ago.' + +"'You got a heap now,' says I. 'Fourteen dollar! Whew!' + +"'No, Tumm!' cries he, all of a sudden. 'No, no! I been lyin' t' you. I +been lyin'!' says he. 'Lyin'!' + +"'I don't care,' says I; 'you go right ahead an' lie.' + +"'They _isn't_ fourteen dollar there,' says he. 'I jus' been makin' +_believe_ they was. See that there little pile o' pennies t' the +nor'east? I been sittin' here countin' in them pennies twice. They isn't +fourteen dollar,' says he; 'they's on'y thirteen eighty-four! But I +_wisht_ they was fourteen.' + +"'Never you mind,' says I; 'you'll get that bit o' prope'ty yet.' + +"'I _got_ to,' says he, 'afore I goes.' + +"'Where does it lie?' says I. + +"'Oh, 'tisn't nothin' much, Tumm,' says he. + +"'But what _is_ it?' + +"'Nothin' much,' says he; 'jus' a small piece.' + +"'Is it meadow?' says I. + +"'No,' says he; 'tisn't what you might call meadow an' be right, though +the grass grows there, in spots, knee high.' + +"'Is it a potato-patch?' + +"'No,' says he; 'nor yet a patch.' + +"''Tisn't a _flower_ garden, is it?' says I. + +"'N-no,' says he; 'you couldn't rightly say so--though they _grows_ +there, in spots, quite free an' nice.' + +"'Uncle Bill,' says I, 'you isn't never told me nothin' about that there +bit o' prope'ty. What's it held at?' + +"'The prope'ty isn't much, Tumm,' says he. 'Jus' a small piece.' + +"'But how much _is_ it?' + +"'Tom Neverbudge,' says he, 'is holdin' it at twenty-four dollar; he've +come down one in the las' seven year. But I'm on'y 'lowin' t' pay +twenty-one; you sees I've come _up_ one in the las' _four_ year.' + +"''Twould not be hard t' split the difference,' says I. + +"'Ay,' says he; 'but they's a wonderful good reason for not payin' +more'n twenty-one for that there special bit o' land.' + +"'What's that?' says I. + +"'Well,' says he, ''tis second-handed.' + +"'Second-handed!' says I. 'That's queer!' + +"'Been used,' says he. + +"'Used, Uncle Bill?' + +"'Ay,' says he; 'been used--been used, now, for nigh sixty year.' + +"'She's all wore out?' says I. + +"'No,' says he; 'not wore out.' + +"'_She'd_ grow nothin'?' says I. + +"'Well,' says he, 'nothin' much is expected, Tumm,' says he, 'in that +line.' + +"I give a tug at my pocket, an', ecod! out jumped the bottle o' Scotch. + +"'Well, well!' says he. 'Dear man! But I bet ye,' says he, 'that you +isn't fetched no pain-killer.' + +"'That I is!' says I. + +"'Then,' says he, 'about half an' half, Tumm, with a dash o' water; +that's the way I likes it when I takes it.' + +"So we fell to, ol' Bill Hulk an' me, on the Scotch an' the pain-killer. + + * * * * * + +"Well, now, after that," Tumm resumed, presently, "I went deep sea for +four year in the South American fish trade; an' then, my ol' berth on +the _Quick as Wink_ bein' free of incumbrance--'twas a saucy young clerk +o' the name o' Bullyworth--I 'lowed t' blow the fever out o' my system +with the gales o' this here coast. 'A whiff or two o' real wind an' a +sight o' Mother Burke,' thinks I, 'will fix _me_.' 'Twas a fine Sunday +mornin' in June when I fetched Gingerbread Cove in the ol' craft--warm +an' blue an' still an' sweet t' smell. 'They'll be no Bill Hulk, thank +God!' thinks I, 't' be crawlin' up the hill t' meetin' _this_ day; +_he've_ got through an' gone t' his berth for all time. I'd like t' yarn +with un on this fine civil Sunday,' thinks I; 'but I 'low he's jus' as +glad as I is that he've been stowed away nice an' comfortable at last.' +But from the deck, ecod! when I looked up from shavin', an' Skipper Jim +was washin' up in the forecastle, I cotched sight o' ol' Bill Hulk, +bound up the hill through the sunshine, makin' tolerable weather of it, +with the wind astern, a staff in his hand, and the braw black coat on +his back. + +"'Skipper Jim,' sings I, t' the skipper below, 'you hear a queer noise?' + +"'No,' says he. + +"'Nothin' like a squeak or a rattle?' + +"'No,' says he. 'What's awry?' + +"'Oh, nothin' says I:' on'y ol' Bill Hulk's on the road.' + +"I watched un crawl through the little door on Meetin'-house Hill long +after ol' Sammy Street had knocked off pullin' the bell; an' if I didn't +hear neither squeak nor rattle as he crep' along, why, I _felt_ un, +anyhow, which is jus' as hard to bear. 'Well,' thinks I, 'he've kep' +them bones above ground, poor man! but he's never _at_ it yet. He've +knocked off for good,' thinks I; 'he'll stumble t' meetin' of a fine +Sunday mornin', an' sit in the sun for a spell; an' then,' thinks I, +'they'll stow un away where he belongs.' So I went aboard of un that +evenin' for a last bit of a yarn afore his poor ol' throat rattled an' +quit. + +"'So,' says I, 'you is at it yet?' + +"'Ay, Tumm,' says he; 'isn't quite through--yet. But,' says he, 'I'm +'lowin' t' _be_.' + +"'Hard at it, Uncle Bill?' says I. + +"'Well, no, Tumm,' says he; 'not hard. Back give warnin' a couple o' +year ago,' says he, 'an' I been sort o' easin' off for fear o' accident. +I've quit the Far Away grounds,' says he, 'but I been doin' very fair on +Widows' Shoal. They's on'y one o' them fishin' there nowadays, ah' she +'lowed she didn't care.' + +"'An' when,' says I, 'is you 'lowin' t' knock off?' + +"'Jus' as soon as I gets through, Tumm,' says he. 'I won't be a minute +longer.' + +"Then along come the lean-cheeked, pig-eyed, scrawny-whiskered son of a +squid which owned the bit o' prope'ty that Bill Hulk had coveted for +thirty year. Man o' the name o' Tom Budge; but as he seldom done it, +they called un Neverbudge; an' Gingerbread Cove is full o' Never-budges +t' this day. Bill 'lowed I might as well go along o' he an' Tom t' +overhaul the bit o' land they was tryin' t' trade; so out we put on the +inland road--round Burnt Bight, over the crest o' Knock Hill, an' along +the alder-fringed path. 'Twas in a green, still, soft-breasted little +valley--a little pool o' sunshine an' grass among the hills--with Ragged +Ridge t' break the winds from the sea, an' the wooded slope o' the Hog's +Back t' stop the nor'westerly gales. 'Twas a lovely spot, sir, believe +me, an' a gentle-hearted one, too, lyin' deep in the warmth an' glory o' +sunshine, where a man might lay his head on the young grass an' go t' +sleep, not mindin' about nothin' no more. Ol' Bill Hulk liked it +wonderful well. Wasn't no square o' ground on that coast that he'd +rather own, says he, than the little plot in the sou'east corner o' that +graveyard. + +"'Sight rather have that, Tumm,' says he, 'than a half-acre farm.' + +"'Twas so soft an' snug an' sleepy an' still in that little graveyard +that I couldn't blame un for wantin' t' stretch out somewheres an' stay +there forever. + +"'Ay,' says he, 'an' a thirty-foot potato-patch throwed in!' + +"'''Tis yours at the price,' says Tom Neverbudge. + +"'_If_,' says Bill Hulk, ''twasn't a second-handed plot. See them graves +in the sou'west corner, Tumm?' + +"Graves o' two children, sir: jus' on'y that--laid side by side, sir, +where the sunlight lingered afore the shadow o' Hog's Back fell. + +"'Been there nigh sixty year,' says Bill. 'Pity,' says he; 'wonderful +pity.' + +"'They won't do you no harm,' says Neverbudge. + +"'Ay,' says Bill; 'but I'm a bachelor, Tom, used t' sleepin' alone,' +says he, 'an' I'm 'lowin' I wouldn't take so wonderful quick t' any +other habit. I'm told,' says he, 'that sleepin' along o' children isn't +what you might call a easy berth.' + +"'You'd soon get used t' _that_,' says Neverbudge. 'Any family man'll +tell you so.' + +"'Ay,' says Bill; 'but they isn't kin o' mine. Why,' says he, 'they +isn't even friends!' + +"'That don't matter,' says Neverbudge. + +"'Not matter!' says he. 'Can you tell me, Tom Neverbudge, the _names_ o' +them children?' + +"'Not me.' + +"'Nor yet their father's name?' + +"'No, sir.' + +"'Then,' says Bill, 'as a religious man, is you able t' tell me they was +born in a proper an' perfeckly religious manner?' + +"'I isn't,' says Neverbudge. 'I guarantees nothin'.' + +"'An' yet, as a religious man,' says Bill, 'you stands there an' says it +doesn't matter?' + +"'Anyhow,' says Neverbudge, 'it doesn't matter _much_' + +"'Not much!' cries Bill. 'An' you a religious man! Not much t' lie for +good an' all,' says he, 'in the company o' the damned?' + +"With that Tom Neverbudge put off in a rage. + +"'Uncle Billy,' says I, 'what you wantin' that plot for, anyhow? 'Tis so +damp 'tis fair swampy.' + +"'Nothin' much,' says he. + +"'But what _for?_' says I. + +"'Well,' says he, 'I wants it.' + +"'An' 'tis on a side-hill,' says I. 'If the dunderheads doesn't dig with +care, you'll find yourself with your feet higher'n your head.' + +"'Well,' says he, 'I wants it.' + +"'You isn't got no friends in this neighborhood,' says I; 'they're all +put away on the north side. An' the sun,' says I, 'doesn't strike here +last.' + +"'I wants it,' says he. + +"'What for?' says I. + +"'Nothin' much,' says he; 'but I wants it.' + +"'But what for?' says I. + +"'Well,' says he, in a temper, 'I got a _hankerin'_ for it!' + +"'Then, Uncle Bill,' says I, for it made me sad,' I wouldn't mind them +little graves. They're poor wee things,' says I, 'an' they wouldn't +disturb your rest.' + +"'Hush!' says he. 'Don't--_don't_ say that!' + +"'Graves o' children,' says I. + +"'Don't say no more, Tumm,' says he. + +"'Jus' on'y poor little kids,' says I. + +"'Stop!' says he. 'Doesn't you see I'm cryin'?' + +"Then up come Tom Neverbudge. 'Look you, Bill Hulk!' says he, 'you can +take that plot or leave it. I'll knock off seventy-five cents on account +o' the risk you take in them children. Come now!' says he; 'you take it +or leave it.' + +"'Twenty-one fifty,' says Bill. 'That's a raise o' fifty, Tom.' + +"'Then,' says Tom, 'I'll use that plot meself.' + +"Bill Hulk jumped. 'You!' says he. 'Nothin' gone wrong along o' you, is +they, Tom?' + +"'Not yet,' says Tom; 'but they might.' + +"'No chill,' says Bill, 'an' no fever? No ache in your back, is they, +Tom?' + +"'Nar a ache.' + +"'An' you isn't give up the Labrador?' + +"'Not me!' + +"'Oh, well,' says Bill, feelin' easy again, 'I 'low _you_ won't never +need no graveyard.' + +"Tom Neverbudge up canvas an' went off afore the wind in a wonderful +temper; an' then ol' Bill Hulk an' me took the homeward road. I +remembers the day quite well--the low, warm sun, the long shadows, the +fresh youth an' green o' leaves an' grass, the tinkle o' bells on the +hills, the reaches o' sea, the peace o' weather an' Sabbath day. I +remembers it well: the wheeze an' groan o' ol' Bill--crawlin' home, sunk +deep in the thought o' graves--an' the tender, bedtime twitter o' the +new-mated birds in the alders. When we rounded Fish Head Rock--'tis +half-way from the graveyard--I seed a lad an' a maid flit back from the +path t' hide whilst we crep' by; an' they was a laugh on the lad's lips, +an' a smile an' a sweet blush on the maid's young face, as maids will +blush an' lads will laugh when love lifts un high. 'Twas at that spot I +cotched ear of a sound I knowed quite well, havin' made it meself, thank +God! many a time an' gladly. + +"Bill Hulk stopped dead in the path. 'What's that?' says he. + +"'Is you not knowin'?' says I. + +"'I've heared it afore,' says he, 'somewheres.' + +"Twas a kiss,' says I. + +"'Tumm,' says he, in a sort o' scared whisper, '_is they at that yet in +the world?_' + +"'Jus' as they used t' be,' says I, 'when you was young.' + +"'Well,' says he, 'jig _me!_' + +"Then I knowed, somehow, jus' how old ol' Bill Hulk must be. + +"Well, thereafter," Tumm continued, with a sigh and a genial little +smile, "they come lean years an' they come fat ones, as always, by the +mystery o' God. Ol' Bill Hulk drove along afore the wind, with his last +rags o' sail all spread, his fortune lean or fat as the Lord's own +seasons 'lowed. He'd fall behind or crawl ahead jus' accordin' t' the +way a careful hand might divide fish by hunger; but I 'lowed, by an' +all, he was overhaulin' Tom Neverbudge's twenty-three twenty-five, an' +would surely make it if the wind held true a few years longer. 'Twelve +thirty more, Tumm,' says he, 'an' if 'twasn't for the pork I might +manage it this season. The longer you lives, Tumm,' says he, 'the more +expensive it gets. Cost me four fifty las' season for Dr. Hook's +Surecure Egyptian Lumbago Oil, an' one fifty, Tumm, for a pair o' green +glasses t' fend off blindness from the aged. An' I jus' got t' have pork +t' keep my ol' bones warm. I don't _want_ no pork,' says he; 'but they +isn't no heat in flour, an', anyhow, I got t' build my shoulder muscles +up. You take a ol' hulk like mine,' says he, 'an' you'll find it a +wonderful expensive craft t' keep in sailin' order.' + +"'You stick t' pork,' says I. + +"'I was thinkin',' says he, 'o' makin' a small investment in a few +bottles o' Hook's Vigor. Clerk o' the _Free for All_,' says he, ''lows +'tis a wonderful nostrum t' make the old feel young.' + +"'You stick t' pork,' says I, 'an' be damned t' the clerk o' the _Free +for All_.' + +"'Maybe I better,' says he, 'an' build up my shoulders. They jus' _got_ +t' be humored.' + +"Ol' Bill Hulk always 'lowed that if by God's chance they'd on'y come a +fair fishin' season afore his shoulders give out he'd make a +self-respectin' haul an' be through. 'Back give out about thirteen year +ago,' says he, 'the time I got cotched by a dirty nor'easter on the +Bull's Horn grounds. One o' them strings back there sort o' went an' +snapped,' says he, 'jus' as I was pullin' in the Tickle, an' she isn't +been o' much use t' me since. Been rowin' with my shoulders for a little +bit past,' says he, 'an' doin' very fair in southerly weather; but I got +a saucy warnin',' says he, 'that they won't stand nothin' from the +nor'east. "No, sir," says they; "nothin' from the nor'east for we, Bill +Hulk, an' don't you put us to it!" I'm jus' a bit afeared,' says he, +'that they might get out o' temper in a southerly tumble; an' if they +done that, why, I'd jus' have t' stop, dear Lord!' says he, ''ithout +bein' through! Isn't got no legs t' speak of,' says he, 'but I don't +need none. I got my arms runnin' free,' says he,' an' I got one thumb +an' all my fishin' fingers 'ceptin' two. Lungs,' says he, 'is so-so; +they wheezes, Tumm, as you knows, an' they labors in a fog, an' aches +all the time, but chances is they'll _last_, an' a fair man can't ask no +more. As for liver, Tumm,' says he, 'they isn't a liver on these here +coasts t' touch the liver I got. Why,' says he, 'I never knowed I had +one till I was told!' + +"'Liver,' says I, 'is a ticklish business.' + +"''Lowin' a man didn't overeat,' says he, 'think he could spurt along +for a spell on his liver?' + +"'I does,' says I. + +"'That's good,' says he; 'for I'm countin' a deal on she.' + +"'Never you fear,' says I. '_She'll_ stand you.' + +"'Think she will?' says he, jus' like a child. 'Maybe, then,' says he, +'with my own labor, Tumm, I'll buy my own grave at last!' + +"But the season bore hard on the ol' man, an' when I balanced un up in +the fall o' the year, the twelve thirty he'd been t' leeward o' the +twenty-three twenty-five Tom Neverbudge wanted for the plot where the +two little graves lay side by side had growed t' fifteen ninety-three. + +"'Jus' where I was nine year ago,' says he, 'lackin' thirty-four cents.' + +"'Never you fear,' says I + +"'My God! Tumm,' says he, 'I got t' do better nex' season.'" + +Tumm paused to gaze at the stars. + +"Still there," I ventured. + +"Winkin' away," he answered, "the wise little beggars!" + +The _Good Samaritan_ dawdled onward. + +"Well, now, sir," Tumm continued, "winter tumbled down on Gingerbread +Cove, thick an' heavy, with nor'east gales an' mountains o' snow; but +ol' Bill Hulk weathered it out on his own hook, an' by March o' that +season, I'm told, had got so far along with his shoulder muscles that he +went swilin' [sealing] with the Gingerbread men at the first offshore +sign. 'Twas a big pack, four mile out on the floe, with rough ice, a +drear gray day, an' the wind in a nasty temper. He done very well, I'm +told, what with the legs he had, an' was hard at it when the wind +changed to a westerly gale an' drove the ice t' sea. They wasn't no hope +for Bill, with four mile o' ice atween him an' the shore, an' every +chunk an' pan o' the floe in a mad hurry under the wind: _they_ knowed +it an' _he_ knowed it. 'Lads,' says he, 'you jus' run along home or +you'll miss your supper. As for me,' says he, 'why, I'll jus' keep on +swilin'. Might as well make a haul,' says he, 'whatever comes of it.' +The last they seed o' Bill, I'm told, he was still hard at it, gettin' +his swiles on a likely pan; an' they all come safe t' land, every man o' +them, 'ceptin' two young fellers, I'm told, which was lost in a jam off +the Madman's Head. Wind blowed westerly all that night, I'm told, but +fell jus' after dawn; an' then they nosed poor ol' Bill out o' the floe, +where they found un buried t' the neck in his own dead swiles, for the +warmth of the life they'd had, but hard put to it t' keep the spark +alight in his own chilled breast. + +"'Maybe I'm through,' says he, when they'd got un ashore; 'but I'll hang +on so long as I'm able.' + +"'Uncle Billy,' says they, 'you're good for twenty year yet.' + +"'No tellin',' says he. + +"'Oh, sure!' says they; 'you'll do it.' + +"'Anyhow,' says he, 'now that you've fetched me t' _land_,' says he, 'I +got t' hang on till the _Quick as Wink_ comes in.' + +"'What for?' says they. + +"'Nothin' much,' says he; 'but I jus' got to.' + +"'You go t' bed,' says they, 'an' we'll stow them swile in the stage.' + +"'I'll lie down an' warm up,' says he, 'an' rest for a spell. Jus' a +little spurt,' says he, 'jus' a little spurt--o' rest.' + +"'You've made a wonderful haul,' says they. + +"'At last!' says he. + +"'Rest easy,' says they, 'as t' that.' + +"'Twas the women that put un t' bed. + +"'Seems t' me,' says he, 'that the frost has bit my heart.' + +"So ol' Bill Hulk was flat on his back when I made Gingerbread Cove with +supplies in the first o' that season--anchored there in bed, sir, at +last, with no mortal hope o' makin' the open sea again. Lord! how white +an' withered an' cold he was! From what a far-off place in age an' pain +an' weariness he looked back at me! + +"'I been waitin', Tumm,' says he. 'Does you hear?' + +"I bent close t' hear. + +"'I'm in a hurry,' says he. 'Isn't got no chance t' pass the time o' +day. Does you hear?' + +"'Ay,' says I. + +"'I got hopes,' says he. 'Tom Neverbudge haves come down t' twenty-two +seventy-five. You'll find a old sock in the corner locker, Tumm,' says +he, 'with my fortune in the toe. Pass un here. An' hurry, Tumm, hurry, +for I isn't got much of a grip left! Now, Tumm,' says he, 'measure the +swile oil in the stage an' balance me up for the las' time.' + +"'How much you got in that sock?' says I. + +"'Nothin' much,' says he. 'Jus' a little left over.' + +"'But _how_ much?' + +"'I'm not wantin' t' tell,' says he, 'lest you cheat me with kindness. +I'd have you treat me as a man, come what will.' + +"'So help me God! then, Bill Hulk,' says I, 'I'll strike that balance +fair.' + +"'Tumm!' he called. + +"I turned in the door. + +"'Oh, make haste!' says he. + +"I measured the swile oil, neither givin' nor takin' a drop, an' I +boarded the _Quick as Wink_, where I struck ol' Bill Hulk's las' +balance, fair t' the penny, as atween a man an' a man. Ah! but 'twas +hard, sir, t' add no copper t' the mean small total that faced me from +the page: for the fortune in the toe o' Bill Hulk's ol' sock was light +enough, God knows! when I passed un over. + +"'Tumm,' says he, 'is it a honest balance?' + +"'It is,' says I. + +"'Wait a minute!' says he. 'Jus' a minute afore you tells me. I isn't +quite ready.' + +"I watched the sun drop into the sea while I waited. + +"'Now,' says he, 'tell me quick!' + +"'Nine eighty-three,' says I. + +"'Add t' that,' says he, 'the twelve ninety-three in the sock. Quick, +Tumm!' says he. + +"I scribbled it out. + +"'Wait!' says he. 'Just a minute, Tumm, till I gets a better grip.' + +"I seed 'twas growin' quite gray in the west. + +"'Now!' says he. + +"'Uncle Billy,' roars I, 'tis twenty-two seventy-six!' + +"'Send for Tom Neverbudge!' cries he: 'for I done it--thank God, I done +it!' + +"I fetched Tom Neverbudge with me own hands t' trade that grave for the +fortune o' ol' Bill Hulk," Tumm proceeded, "an' I seed for meself, as +atween a party o' the first part an' a party o' the second, that 'twas +all aboveboard an' ship-shape, makin' what haste I was able, for Bill +Hulk's anchor chain showed fearful signs o' givin' out. + +"'Is it done?' says he. + +"'All fast,' says I. + +"'A plot an' a penny left over!' says he. + +"'A plot an' a penny,' says I. + +"'Tumm,' says he, with a little smile, 'I needs the plot, but _you_ take +the penny. 'Tis sort o' surprisin',' says he, 'an' wonderful nice, too, +t' be able t' make a bequest. I'd like t' do it, Tumm,' says he, 'jus' +for the feel of it, if you don't mind the size.' + +"I 'lowed I'd take it an' be glad. + +"'Look you! Bill Hulk,' says Neverbudge, 'if them graves is goin' t' +trouble you, I'll move un an' pay the cost o' labor. There, now!' says +he; 'that's kind enough.' + +"Bill Hulk got up on his elbow. '_What_'ll you do along o' my plot?' +says he. + +"'Move them graves,' says Neverbudge. + +"'You leave my plot be, Tom Neverbudge!' says Bill. 'What you think I +been wantin' t' lie in that plot for, anyhow?' + +"Tom Neverbudge 'lowed he didn't know. + +"'Why,' says ol' Bill Hulk, 'jus' t' lie alongside them poor lonely +little kids!' + +"I let un fall back on the pillow. + +"'I'm through, Tumm,' says he, 'an' I 'low I'll quit.' + +"Straightway he quit...." + + * * * * * + +Wind astern, moonlight and mist upon the sea, a serene and tender sky, +with a multitude of stars benignantly peeping from its mystery: and the +_Good Samaritan_ dawdled on, wing and wing to the breeze, bound across +from Sinners' Tickle to Afterward Bight, there to deal for the first of +the catch. Tumm looked up to the sky. He was smiling in a gentle, +wistful way. A little psa'm from his Bible? Again I wondered concerning +the lesson. "Wink away," said he, "you little beggars! Wink away--wink +away! You been lookin' at this damned thing so long that no wonder you +winks. Wink away! I'm glad you've the heart t' do it. I'm not troubled +by fears when you winks down, you're so wonderful wiser'n we. Wink on, +you knowin' little beggars!" + +This, then, it seemed, was the lesson. + + THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Every Man for Himself, by Norman Duncan + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EVERY MAN FOR HIMSELF *** + +***** This file should be named 36998.txt or 36998.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/9/9/36998/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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