'Tis the nicest miss in the world that I was born grandson of my own
father's father, and not of another man altogether. Hendry Watty was
the name of my grandfather that might have been; and he always
maintained that to all intents and purposes he _was_ my grandfather,
and made me call him so--'twas such a narrow shave. I don't mind
telling you about it. 'Tis a curious tale, too.
My grandfather, Hendry Watty, bet four gallons of eggy-hot that he
would row out to the Shivering Grounds, all in the dead waste of the
night, and haul a trammel there. To find the Shivering Grounds by
night, you get the Gull Rock in a line with Tregamenna and pull out
till you open the light on St. Anthony's Point; but everybody gives
the place a wide berth because Archelaus Rowett's lugger foundered
there, one time, with six hands on board; and they say that at night
you can hear the drowned men hailing their names. But my grandfather
was the boldest man in Port Loe, and said he didn't care. So one
Christmas Eve by daylight he and his mates went out and tilled the
trammel; and then they came back and spent the fore-part of the
evening over the eggy-hot, down to Oliver's tiddly-wink, to keep my
grandfather's spirits up and also to show that the bet was made in
earnest.
'Twas past eleven o'clock when they left Oliver's and walked down to
the cove to see my grandfather off. He has told me since that he
didn't feel afraid at all, but very friendly in mind, especially
towards William John Dunn, who was walking on his right hand.
This puzzled him at the first, for as a rule he didn't think much of
William John Dunn. But now he shook hands with him several times,
and just as he was stepping into the boat he says, "You'll take care
of Mary Polly, while I'm away." Mary Polly Polsue was my
grandfather's sweetheart at that time. But why he should have spoken
as if he was bound on a long voyage he never could tell; he used to
set it down to fate.
"I will," said William John Dunn; and then they gave a cheer and
pushed my grandfather off, and he lit his pipe and away he rowed all
into the dead waste of the night. He rowed and rowed, all in the
dead waste of the night; and he got the Gull Rock in a line with
Tregamenna windows; and still he was rowing, when to his great
surprise he heard a voice calling:
"_Hendry Watty! Hendry Watty!_"
I told you my grandfather was the boldest man in Port Loe. But he
dropped his two paddles now, and made the five signs of Penitence.
For who could it be calling him out here in the dead waste and middle
of the night?
"Hendry Watty! Hendry Watty! _drop me a line_."
My grandfather kept his fishing-lines in a little skivet under the
stern-sheets. But not a trace of bait had he on board. If he had,
he was too much a-tremble to bait a hook.
"HENDRY WATTY! HENDRY WATTY! _drop me a line, or I'll know why!_"
My poor grandfather by this had picked up his paddles again, and was
rowing like mad to get quit of the neighbourhood, when something or
somebody gave three knocks--_thump, thump, thump!_--on the bottom of
the boat, just as you would knock on a door. The third thump fetched
Hendry Watty upright on his legs. He had no more heart for
disobeying, but having bitten his pipe-stem in half by this time--his
teeth chattered so--he baited his hook with the broken bit and
flung it overboard, letting the line run out in the stern-notch.
Not halfway had it run before he felt a long pull on it, like the
sucking of a dog-fish.
"_Hendry Watty! Hendry Watty! pull me in_."
Hendry Watty pulled in hand over fist; and in came the lead
sinker over the notch, and still the line was heavy; be pulled and
he pulled, and next, all out of the dead waste of the night, came
two white hands, like a washerwoman's, and gripped hold of the
stern-board; and on the left of these two hands, on the little
finger, was a silver ring, sunk very deep in the flesh. If this was
bad, worse was the face that followed--a great white parboiled face,
with the hair and whiskers all stuck with chips of wood and seaweed.
And if this was bad for anybody, it was worse for my grandfather, who
had known Archelaus Rowett before he was drowned out on the Shivering
Grounds, six years before.
Archelaus Rowett climbed in over the stern, pulled the hook with the
bit of pipe-stem out of his cheek, sat down in the stern-sheets,
shook a small crayfish out of his whiskers, and said very coolly--
"If you should come across my wife--"
That was all my grandfather stayed to hear. At the sound of
Archelaus's voice he fetched a yell, jumped clean over the side of
the boat and swam for dear life. He swam and swam, till by the bit
of the moon he saw the Gull Rock close ahead. There were lashin's of
rats on the Gull Rock, as he knew: but he was a good deal surprised
at the way they were behaving: for they sat in a row at the water's
edge and fished, with their tails let down into the sea for
fishing-lines: and their eyes were like garnets burning as they
looked at my grandfather over their shoulders.
"Hendry Watty! Hendry Watty! You can't land here--you're disturbing
the pollack."
"Bejimbers! I wouldn' do that for the world," says my grandfather: so
off he pushes and swims for the mainland. This was a long job, and
'twas as much as he could do to reach Kibberick beach, where he fell
on his face and hands among the stones, and there lay, taking breath.
The breath was hardly back in his body, before he heard footsteps,
and along the beach came a woman, and passed close by to him. He lay
very quiet, and as she came near he saw 'twas Sarah Rowett, that used
to be Archelaus's wife, but had married another man since. She was
knitting as she went by, and did not seem to notice my grandfather:
but he heard her say to herself, "The hour is come, and the man is
come."
He had scarcely begun to wonder over this, when he spied a ball of
worsted yarn beside him that Sarah had dropped. 'Twas the ball she
was knitting from, and a line of worsted stretched after her along
the beach. Hendry Watty picked up the ball and followed the thread
on tiptoe. In less than a minute he came near enough to watch what
she was doing: and what she did was worth watching. First she
gathered wreckwood and straw, and struck flint over touchwood and
teened a fire. Then she unravelled her knitting: twisted her end of
the yarn between finger and thumb--like a cobbler twisting a
wax-end--and cast the end up towards the sky. It made Hendry Watty
stare when the thread, instead of falling back to the ground,
remained hanging, just as if 'twas fastened to something up above;
but it made him stare more when Sarah Rowett began to climb up it,
and away up till nothing could be seen of her but her ankles dangling
out of the dead waste and middle of the night.
"HENDRY WATTY! HENDRY WATTY!"
It wasn't Sarah calling, but a voice far away out to sea.
"HENDRY WATTY! HENDRY WATTY! _send me a line_."
My grandfather was wondering what to do, when Sarah speaks down very
sharp to him, out of the dark:
"Hendry Watty! Where's the rocket apparatus? Can't you hear the
poor fellow asking for a line?"
"I do," says my grandfather, who was beginning to lose his temper;
"and do you think, ma'am, that I carry a Boxer's rocket in my
trousers pocket?"
"I think you have a ball of worsted in your hand," says she.
"Throw it as far as you can."
So my grandfather threw the ball out into the dead waste and middle
of the night. He didn't see where it pitched, or how far it went.
"Right it is," says the woman aloft. "'Tis easy seen you're a
hurler. But what shall us do for a cradle? Hendry Watty! Hendry
Watty!"
"Ma'am to _you_," says my grandfather.
"If you've the common feelings of a gentleman, I'll ask you kindly to
turn your back; I'm going to take off my stocking."
So my grandfather stared the other way very politely; and when he was
told he might look again, he saw she had tied the stocking to the
line and was running it out like a cradle into the dead waste of the
night.
"Hendry Watty! Hendry Watty! Look out below!"
Before he could answer, plump! a man's leg came tumbling past his ear
and scattered the ashes right and left.
"Hendry Watty! Hendry Watty! Look out below!"
This time 'twas a great white arm and hand, with a silver ring sunk
tight in the flesh of the little finger.
"Hendry Watty! Hendry Watty! Warm them limbs!"
My grandfather picked them up and was warming them before the fire,
when down came tumbling a great round head and bounced twice and lay
in the firelight, staring up at him. And whose head was it but
Archelaus Rowett's, that he'd run away from once already, that night?
"Hendry Watty! Hendry Watty! Look out below!"
This time 'twas another leg, and my grandfather was just about to lay
hands on it, when the woman called down:
"Hendry Watty! catch it quick! It's my own leg I've thrown down by
mistake!"
The leg struck the ground and bounced high, and Hendry Watty made a
leap after it. . . .
And I reckon it's asleep he must have been: for what he caught was
not Mrs. Rowett's leg, but the jib-boom of a deep-laden brigantine
that was running him down in the dark. And as he sprang for it, his
boat was crushed by the brigantine's fore-foot and went down under
his very boot-soles. At the same time he let out a yell, and two or
three of the crew ran forward and hoisted him up to the bowsprit and
in on deck, safe and sound.
But the brigantine happened to be outward-bound for the River Plate;
so that, what with one thing and another, 'twas eleven good months
before my grandfather landed again at Port Loe. And who should be
the first man he sees standing above the cove but William John Dunn?
"I'm very glad to see you," says William John Dunn.
"Thank you kindly," answers my grandfather; "and how's Mary Polly?"
"Why, as for that," he says, "she took so much looking after, that I
couldn't feel I was keeping her properly under my eye till I married
her, last June month."
"You was always one to over-do things," said my grandfather.
"But if you was alive an' well, why didn' you drop us a line?"
Now when it came to talk about "dropping a line" my grandfather
fairly lost his temper. So he struck William John Dunn on the nose--
a thing he had never been known to do before--and William John Dunn
hit him back, and the neighbours had to separate them. And next day,
William John Dunn took out a summons against him.
Well, the case was tried before the magistrates: and my grandfather
told his story from the beginning, quite straightforward, just as
I've told it to you. And the magistrates decided that, taking one
thing with another, he'd had a great deal of provocation, and fined
him five shillings. And there the matter ended. But now you know
the reason why I'm William John Dunn's grandson instead of Hendry
Watty's.