"No, I'll not. The old woman is going to make my supper for me, and I'll
not disappoint her, if I'm drowned in trying."
So the boat raced towards the bay, bows under. Nearing the Carr, where a
narrow passage opens into smooth water, a strong back-wash came from the
jagged rocks. One curling black sea came foaming back, and met the green
sea that was plunging on to the reef. A mountain of water rose and fell
with a heavy crash over the sail, and the boat turned slowly over. All
three men were encumbered with their heavy sea-boots, but they managed
to struggle out and fasten themselves on to the high keel. Four or five
seas came in quick succession; the boat reached shallow water; the mast
snapped with a loud crash, and within a few seconds Tommy said--
"Jump now, men, for it."
Up to their waists in water, the men clambered on to the sand and looked
round, only to see the wreck of their coble beating herself to pieces
with heavy lunges twenty yards from the shore.
Tommy spat the salt water out of his mouth, and fell upon his knees. He
then walked up to the village, changed his clothes, behaved with
elephantine tenderness to his mother, and walked out in the darkness to
see his friend, the gardener. He sat on the settle in the low kitchen,
and smoked solemnly without speaking. The next night he appeared at the
same hour, and spent his evening in the same composed manner. For three
weeks he never missed a night, and the gardener's family were puzzled to
an extraordinary degree by the sombre expression of his face, and by his
abstinence from the rude remarks which were wont to characterize his
conversation concerning his friends and neighbours. Mrs. Wray, the
gardener's wife, said one evening, "I wonder what the lout comes
doddering about here for. He sits as if some of the lads had cutten his
tongue out." The very next night Tommy solved her obstinate
questionings. He said, "Mary, my hinny, I have found God;" and the next
afternoon Walter Musgrave was astonished and pleased to see the fierce
face of Tommy glaring from the seat opposite the pulpit. This dumb man
had no means of expressing the feelings that were taking possession of
him. He only knew that he felt kindly towards all living things, and,
above all, he felt as though he must manifest a feeling akin to worship
when he was in the gentle presence of Musgrave.
Year after year, until his mother died, he never failed in his kindness
towards her, and the old dame was wont to express a kind of comic
surprise at the womanish demeanour of her son. He caught fish for his
living, but a cramped piece of reasoning forced him to the conclusion
that it would be wrong for him to shoot any more birds. He said, "The
birds was made by God, and God's been good to me, and I am not going to
hurt them." Sunday after Sunday in all weathers he strode off to the
moor. Wayfarers would meet him at night when the wind was hurling down
from the Cheviots and bringing clouds of snow. He had but one salutation
for all who met him: "Good night, my man; God bless you till the
mornin'."
Sometimes, when the paths were so foul that nothing but wading would
take a man over the moor, Tommy was greatly puzzled about finding his
way, and one night he and Musgrave walked unsuspectingly over a low
cliff, and fell softly upon a great ridge of sand. But these little
misadventures did not by any means daunt Tommy. His new religion was
that he must be at chapel twice every Sunday, and at prayer-meetings as
often through the week as Musgrave chose to take him. To this he held.
The Squire's pheasants suffered no longer, and Tommy's big lurcher
displayed a tendency towards virtue which earned him the admiration of
all the gamekeepers on the estate. Efforts were made to get the big man
to pray at the ordinary love-feasts that were held in connection with
the chapel, but he always said, "No; my Father and me has all our
conversations to ourselves. It is not as if God didn't know; but I don't
think a blackguard like me should address Him face to face after the
life I have led."
The years went by, and Tommy's shaggy beard showed signs of grizzling.
His huge limbs were more deliberate in their movement, and his low
forehead had somehow or other acquired a certain spiritual aspect. He
wrought at his trade, saved money, and spent some in decorating his
mother's grave. One night, when he was smoking his pipe with Musgrave,
he said--
"Christ died for all the lot of us, didn't He? That was a rare thing to
do. Now, suppose He says, when I meet Him, 'What are you doing here? You
have done nothing but go to chapel.' Now, Mr. Musgrave, will you tell me
this: what should I say in a case of that sort?"
Old Musgrave wrinkled his wise brows and replied, "Thomas, my man, He
knows your heart. I suppose you think you ought to save life, or
something of that kind, don't you?"
"Yes, sir, that's just what I do think," said Thomas.
"Well, believe me, your chance will come. Now let's light up our pipes,
and walk over the moor home, Thomas, and puzzle yourself no more about
these things."
A bad winter came, and the thundering seas broke so continually over the
rocks that it was impossible for the men to get bait on their own rocks.
All day long the loungers walked the cliff edge, and watched the columns
of spray hissing up from the black rocks. Day after day the clouds
seemed to mix themselves with the sea as they laid their grey shoulders
to the water. Money became scarce in the village, and the men who had
savings had to help those who were poorer. When things got almost too
bad for bearing, Billy Armstrong said to one of his friends--
"Look here, you and me and Hob's Tommy will run round to the Tyne, and
get some mussels, or else the whole place will be starved when the fine
weather comes."
A big coble was got out, and ran down to the Tyne with a northerly wind
through the shrewd and vicious sea. The men got the cargo of mussels,
and at four in the afternoon prepared to beat their way northward. It
was then blowing half a gale, but the wind had shifted round from the
shore, so that very little tacking was required. As the shades fell
lower and lower, the wind rose higher and higher. The blasts galloped
down through the hollows, and struck the brown sail of the coble like
the sound of musketry. The boat lay hard over, and the water leaped in
spurts over her lee gunwale. They reached the point where the Cobbler's
Stone stood. Tommy was in a strange state of exaltation. He pointed to
the misty shore, then to the black stone round which the water was
seething. He said quietly, "Yonder, my lads!"
They rounded the point, and put the boat's head nearer to windward. A
harsh ripping sound was heard under the bottom. She lay hard over until
a blast came and tore her clear. Billy Armstrong said--
"You have taken her in a bit too near, my son. The bilge chocks is both
pulled off; look you, they're gone away astern." And, sure enough, two
long planks drifted away behind the boat. They had been torn off by the
force with which she rushed upon the outlying rock. Tommy said, "Let's
have another reef in, mates." But before the sail could be half lowered,
a storming gust swept out of the bay, and struck the boat with a roar.
The long rudder smashed; a green sea doubled up behind her, and she
turned over exactly as the coble had done when Tommy first prayed.
In the wild waves it was hard for the men to get hold. The bilge chocks
were gone, and thus all chance of a hand grip was lost. Half-way down
the square stern of the boat a hole had been bored, through which a
rope had been passed and knotted at both ends. This rope served the men
in hauling the boat down to the sea. Only one could hold on to this
short scrap, and Tommy, who was the first to think of it, seized it, and
held on with the strength of his despair. The boat lunged and struck the
faces of the two men who were holding on to her sides. Billy Armstrong
was bleeding from the mouth, and his front teeth were gone--dashed out
by one stroke which had met him as he tried to climb and catch hold of
the deep iron keel in the fore part of the coble. The other man said
suddenly, "I have got a broken arm, Tommy." A few minutes went by,
during which the men dared not speak--only Tommy was perfectly safe. The
others were slipping and writhing in their efforts to hang on to the
smooth planks. The man with the broken arm had the nails of his sound
hand torn, and the blood streamed down as he clutched again and again at
the slippery seams. At last he said, "I cannot do it any longer. Tell
Mary the money is under the bed at the right-hand side next the wall,
and ask my grandfather to take little Adam for me and keep him." A
thought came into Hob's Tommy's mind. He cried out, "Don't let yourself
go down. Edge yourself round here to the stern, and you shall have this
rope." The maimed man came slowly round, and took the rope as Tommy let
go. For a single minute the bruised giant rested his hands on the
lunging stern of the little vessel. He did not look up, and his face had
no devotional aspect, but the two men who were saved remembered his
words to the end of their lives. He said, "O Lord Jesus, I am even with
you now. I am going to die." The stern of the boat flew up into the air
as a short sea hit her, and Hob's Tommy lost his grip. He lay back
quietly on the water, and the men said that he even smiled. Presently
the foam covered him over.