_How Billy Topsail's Friend Bobby Lot Joined Fortunes
With Eli Zitt and Whether or Not he Proved Worthy of
the Partnership_
RUDDY COVE called Eli Zitt a "hard" man. In Newfoundland, that means
"hardy"--not "bad." Eli was gruff-voiced, lowering-eyed, unkempt,
big; he could swim with the dogs, outdare all the reckless spirits of
the Cove with the punt in a gale, bare his broad breast to the winter
winds, travel the ice wet or dry, shoulder a barrel of flour; he was a
sturdy, fearless giant, was Eli Zitt, of Ruddy Cove. And for this the
Cove very properly called him a "hard" man.
When Josiah Lot, his partner, put out to sea and never came back--an
offshore gale had the guilt of that deed--Eli scowled more than ever
and said a deal less.
"He'll be feelin' bad about Josiah," said the Cove.
Which may have been true. However, Eli took care of Josiah's widow and
son. The son was Bobby Lot, with whom, subsequently, Billy Topsail
shared the adventure of the giant squid of Chain Tickle. The Cove
laughed with delight to observe Eli Zitt's attachment to the lad. The
big fellow seemed to be quite unable to pass the child without patting
him on the back; and sometimes, so exuberant was his affection, the
pats were of such a character that Bobby lost his breath. Whereupon,
Eli would chuckle the harder, mutter odd endearments, and stride off on
his way.
"He'll be likin' that lad pretty well," said the Cove. "Nar a doubt,
they'll be partners."
And it came to pass as the Cove surmised; but much sooner than the
Cove expected. Josiah Lot's widow died when Bobby was eleven years
old. When the little gathering at the graveyard in the shelter of
Great Hill dispersed, Eli took the lad out in the punt--far out to the
quiet fishing grounds, where they could be alone. It was a glowing
evening--red and gold in the western sky. The sea was heaving gently,
and the face of the waters was unruffled.
"Bobby, b'y!" Eli whispered. "Bobby, lad! Does you hear me? Don't cry
no more!"
"Ay, Eli," sobbed Bobby. "I'll cry no more."
But he kept on crying, just the same, for he could not stop; and Eli
looked away--very quickly--to the glowing sunset clouds. Can't _you_
tell why?
"Bobby," he said, turning, at last, to the lad, "us'll be partners--you
an' me."
Bobby sobbed harder than ever.
"Won't us, lad?"
Eli laid his great hand on Bobby's shoulder. Then Bobby took his fists
out of his eyes and looked up into Eli's compassionate face.
"Ay, Eli," he said, "us'll be partners--jus' you an' me."
From that out, they _were_ partners; and Bobby Lot was known in the
Cove as the foster son of Eli Zitt. They lived together in Eli's
cottage by the tickle cove, where Eli had lived alone, since, many
years before, _his_ mother had left _him_ to face the world for
himself. The salmon net, the herring seine, the punt, the flake,
the stage--these they held in common; and they went to the grounds
together, where they fished the long days through, good friends, good
partners. The Cove said that they were very happy; and, as always, the
Cove was right.
One night Eli came ashore from a trading schooner that had put in in
the morning, smiling broadly as he entered the kitchen. He laid his
hand on the table, palm down.
"They's a gift for you under that paw, lad," he said.
"For me, Eli!" cried Bobby.
"Ay, lad--for my partner!"
Bobby stared curiously at the big hand. He wondered what it covered.
"What is it, Eli?" he asked. "Come, show me!"
Eli lifted the hand, and gazed at Bobby, grinning, the while,
with delight. It was a jack-knife--a stout knife, three-bladed,
horn-handled, big, serviceable; just the knife for a fisher lad. Bobby
picked it up, but said never a word, for his delight overcame him.
"You're wonderful good t' me, Eli," he said, at last looking up with
glistening eyes. "You're _wonderful_ good t' me!"
Eli put his arm around the boy. "You're a good partner, lad," he said.
"You're a wonderful good partner!"
Bobby was proud of that.
* * * * *
They put the salmon net out in the spring. The ice was still lingering
offshore. The west wind carried it out; the east wind swept it in:
variable winds kept pans and bergs drifting hither and thither, and no
man could tell where next the ice would go. Now, the sea was clear,
from the shore to the jagged, glistening white line, off near the
horizon; next day--the day after--and the pack was grinding against the
coast rocks. Men had to keep watch to save the nets from destruction.
The partners' net was moored off Break-heart Point. It was a good
berth, but a rough one; when the wind was in the northeast, the waters
off the point were choppy and covered with sheets of foam from the
breakers.
"'Tis too rough t' haul the salmon net," said Eli, one day. "I'll be
goin' over the hills for a sack o' flour. An' you'll be a good b'y 'til
I gets back?"
"Oh, ay, sir!" said Bobby Lot.
It was a rough day: the wind was blowing from the north, a freshening,
gusty breeze, cold and misty; off to sea, the sky was leaden,
threatening, and overhead dark clouds were driving low and swift with
the wind; the water was choppy--rippling black under the squalls. The
ice was drifting alongshore, well out from the coast; there was a berg
and the wreck of a berg of Arctic ice and many a pan from the bays and
harbours of the coast.
With the wind continuing in the north, the ice would drift harmlessly
past. But the wind changed. In the afternoon it freshened and veered to
the east. At four o'clock it was half a gale, blowing inshore.
"I'll just be goin' out the tickle t' have a look at that ice," thought
Bobby. "'Tis like it'll come ashore."
He looked the punt over very carefully before setting out. It was wise,
he thought, to prepare to take her out into the gale, whether or not
he must go. He saw to it that the thole-pins were tight and strong,
that the bail-bucket was in its place, that the running gear was fit
for heavy strain. The wind was then fluttering the harbour water and
screaming on the hilltops; and he could hear the sea breaking on the
tickle rocks. He rowed down the harbour to the mouth of the tickle,
whence he commanded a view of the coast, north and south.
The ice was drifting towards Break-heart Point. It would destroy the
salmon net within the hour, he perceived--sweep over it, tear it
from its moorings, bruise it against the rocks. Bobby knew, in a
moment, that his duty was to put out from the sheltered harbour to the
wind-swept, breaking open, where the spume was flying and the heave and
fret of the sea threatened destruction to the little punt. Were he true
man and good partner he would save the net!
"He've been good t' me," he thought. "Ay, Eli 've been wonderful good
t' me. I'll be true partner t' him!"