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."