II

SAM

-but otherwise a black confusion all round about. The wind, running down from the northwest, tumbled over the cliff, and swirled, bewildered and angry, in the lee of it. Riding under Lost Craft Head, in this black turmoil, the schooner shivered a bit; and she droned aloft, and she whined below, and she restlessly rose and fell in the soft swell that came spent and frothy from the wide open through Run Away Tickle. But for all we in the forecastle knew of the bitter night-of the roaring white seas and a wind thick an

eaking a heavy muse, "an' hangs his whole weight to it," he added, with

eachin'?" the s

in'," said Tumm, rese

, "what you want t' go an' ask

n the company of his own heart-an' he isn't able t' forget jus' how he got. I'm no great admirer o' the world, an' I isn't very fond o' life,' says he; 'but I knows the law o' life, an' lives the best I can accordin' t' the rules I've learned. I was cast out t' make my way as a wee small lad; an' I was teached the law o' life by harsh masters-by nights' labor, an' kicks, an' robbery, Tumm, by wind, an' cold, an' great big seas, by a empty belly, an' the fear o' death in my small heart. So I'm a mean man. I'm the meanest man in Newf'un'land. They says my twin sister

l,' says I; 'we've all don

Al

t fourteen years,' says I, 'hasn't a ghost

too,

s I. 'Good

quite well acquainted with myself, I don't like to. They isn't much domestic peace in my ol' heart; an' they isn't no d

you mind

if I could break the law, as I've been teached it,' says he, 'they isn'

you will

ys he; 'you see

wa

ughed a

with the cook. God save us! Sam Small in love with the cook! She was the on'y woman aboard, as it used t' be afore the law was made for women; an' a sweet an' likely maid, they says-a rosy, dimpled, good-natured lass, hailin' from down Chain Tickle way, but over-young an' trustful, as it turned out, t' be voyagin' north t' the fishin' with the likes o' Small Sam Small. A hearty maid, they says-blue-eyed an' flaxen-good for labor an' quick t' love. An' havin' fel

he Last Chance dropped anchor in Twillingate harbor, loade

o' you goin' ash

ot?' sa

in' ashore,' says he, 'afor

in' a constable

re afore this schooner's searched,'

e!' sa

somebody's took m

pau

Wink demanded, "what become o' that

he maid from Chain Tickl

g in gray weather. Honest or dishonest?-ecod! what matter? They's nothin' so wicked as meanness. But the law hadn't cotched un: for the law winks with both eyes. 'I'm too old for crime now, an' too rich,' says he; 'but I've worked hard, accordin' t' the law o' life, as she was teached me, an' I've took chances in my time. When I traveled the outports in my youth,' says he, 'I sold liquor for green paint an' slep' with the constable; an' the socks o' the outport fishermen, Tumm,' says he, 'holds many a half-dollar I coined in my Whoopin' Harbor days.' He'd no piety t' save his soul. 'No church for me,' says he; '

he; 'jus' savin

I; 'you're rich

ld as she's run,' says he; 'but if I've a fortune t'

so?' s

r savin', Tumm,' says he, 'I'm c

mess, ecod! when the Almighty puts the love of a penny in a mean man's heart an' tunes his gullet t' the appreciation o' good Jamaica rum. An' I never knowed a man t' carry a more irksome burden of appetite than Small Sam Small o' Whoopin' Harbor. 'Twas fair horrible t' see. Cursed with a taste for savin', ay, an' cursed, too, with a thirst for good Jamaica rum! I've seen his eyes glitter an' his tongue lick his lips at the sight of a bottle;

toper. Half-seas-over jus'

will nose out them swiles.' An' Small Sam Small done it every spring o' the year. No clothes off for Small Sam Small! 'Twas tramp the deck, night an' day. 'Twas 'How's the weather?' at midnight an' noon. 'Twas the crow's-nest at dawn. 'Twas squintin' little green eyes glued t' the glass the day long. An' 'twas 'Does you see un, lads?' forever an' all; an' 'twas 'Damme, where's that fat?' But 'twas now Sam Small's last v'yage, says he; he'd settle down when he made port again, an' live free an' easy in his old age, with a good fire t' warm his bone

mate, Tumm,' says he, 'a

verse t' ca

' the ice for swiles,' says he, 'an

says I. 'I'll ship with the

rom Chain Tic

do

a dash o' young blood in my whereabouts might cheer me up. I 'low, Tumm,' says he, 'you don't know a likely lad t'

es,' s

ys he; 'nothin' like youn

, Skipper Sammy,' says I, 'i

ld, Tumm,' says he, '

e that Sam Small will smile.' A brave an' likely lad: with no fear o' the devil hisself-nor overmuch regard, I'm thinkin', for the chastisements o' God Almighty-but on'y respect for the wish of his own little mother, who was God enough for he. 'What!' says he; 'we're never goin' t' sea with Sam Small. Small Sam Small? Sam Small, the skinflint?' But he took a wonderful fancy t' Small Sam Small; an' as for Skipper Sammy-why-Skipper Sammy loved the graceless rogue on sight. 'Why, Tumm,' says he, 'he's jus' like a gentleman's son. Why 'tis-'tis like a nip o' rum-'tis as good as a n

t Small Sam Small had the na

'he's cheered me

yourself

xt night, at the Anchor an' Chain. 'Lad,'

the lad. ''Tis as much as ever

e a w

pper Sammy,' says the lad, 'an' I wa

all Sam Small;

ad; 'but what's a

Sammy, 'a careful lad

the table t' Small Sam Small. 'Skipper Sammy,'

ca you got in the house for me an' Mr. Tumm. Fetch the lad a bottle o' ginger-ale-im

m Small

ht, when the boy was gone t' bed, 'ecod

hat, Skip

ays he, 'a

verdo it,

ore. An' like a gentleman, too-free an' genial as the big-bugs. A mar

ot

Ec

kipper Sammy,' says I,

hip. An' they isn't no sense, Tumm,' says he, 'in chancin' the life of a fair lad like that at sea. Let un go home to his mother; she'll be glad t' see un again. A man ought t' loosen up in his

. Ice? Ay; big floes o' northerly ice, come down from the Circle with current an' wind-breedin'-grounds for swile. But there wasn't no swiles. Never the bark of a dog-hood nor the whine of a new-born white-coat. Cap'n Sammy nosed the ice into White Bay; he worked out above the Horse Islands; he took a peep at the Cape Norman light an' swatched the Labrador seas. But never a swile got we. 'The swiles,' says he, 'is t' the east a

weather. Black fog: thick 's mud. We lay to-butted a league int

bridge, 'there's no tellin' w

damme!' says he, 'in f

w,' says I, 'an'

night, Tumm, she'll blow thi

or temper, an' the air was s

s breedin' a naughty nor'we

w in the fog; an', 'Cap'n Sammy,' sa

what?'

h o' black

, 'you might twe

opened her mouth afore ther

d. 'What d'ye make

a ship,

is hand. 'Ha

e was yellin' for hel

Whoo, whoo! W

make a tramp cotched fa

! Whoo, whoo, w

, rubbin' his hands, 'with

a hand fo

'you keep your hook o

says I, 't' speed a

a bit, ye dunde

for?'

nd,' says he, 'that she need

er propeller-as well she might, poor helpless lady o' fashion! in that slob-ice-'twould be easy enough t

n Sammy, by an' by

k an' conduct o'

he bottom out. You might go so far as

too

umm,' says he, 'an' learn

ys Cap'n Sammy, as we drawed near, 'an' the devil take the hindmost. She's a likely-lookin' craft. Pinched fast, too. An' the weather-glass kickin' at its foundations! Eh, Tumm? Every man for hisself.' It turned out Cap'n Sammy was right. She was a tramp, the Claymore, two thousand tons, outbound from Liverpool t' Canadian ports, loaded deep, an' now tight in the grip o' the ice. In a big blow o' wind her iron sides would yield like paper t' the crush o' the pack. An' if the signs read true that blow was brewin' in the nor'west. 'Twas breezin' up, down there, with the sky in a saucy temper. From the deck o' the Claymore I lo

isher in brass buttons an' blue. 'Glad t' know you, Cap'n Small,' says he. 'You've come

what?' says

Cap'n Wrath yelled t'

ays Cap'n Sam

Wrath

Cap'n Sammy. 'An' in these busy times, too, for

o,

in this here slob-ice, eh? Scared o' your for'ard plates, too, isn't you? An' you wants a tow, doesn't you? You wants me t' take chances wi

h cocked hi

my, 'know what I wants?

he. An' he jerked a thumb for the ship's boy

, for the weather don't favor delay. I'll want more, an' you'll need more, afore we strikes

ed, sir!' says Cap'n Wrath.

A dram o' rum, in a little mess like this, sir,' say

sheets in the wind. Free rum an' a fair prospect o' gluttin' his greed had overcome un for once in a way. But grim, sir-an' with little pat

mm,' says Cap'n Sammy, 'over North

hip, sir!' say

y, 'you better take a thoughtfu

Wrath s

'n Sammy, 'when that black wind comes down. Take the word for i

a word from the ol' cock, ecod!-bu

lob,' says Cap'n Sammy, 'you'll lose it. An' now,' says

p, sir!' say

lar a minute, Cap'n Wrath,'

h that, an' fair spat rage an

't need no word o' mine. You'll want that line aboard my ship, Cap'n Wrath, when the ice begins t' press. An' I'll stand by, like a Christian skipper, at a dollar a minute for delay'-he hauled out his timepiece-'t' save you

he Royal Bloodhound. 'Skipper Sammy,' says

ave, Tumm,' says he, 'they won't

Sammy,' says I, 'an' you mark

h,' says he; 'an' they isn't no meanness in my heart. Give me your hand, Tumm, an' we'll do better in these rough places. How she blows! An' they's a chi

eside un. He was keepin' a little green eye on a Yankee alarm-clock. 'There's another minute gone,' says he, 'an' that's another dollar. How's the wind? Comin' down at last? Good-that's good! 'Twon't be long afore that tramp begins t' yelp. Jus' about time for me t' have a dram o' rum, if I'm t' keep on ridin' easy. Whew!' says he, when the dram was down, 'there's three more minutes gone, an' that's three more dollars. Been waitin' all my swilin' life t' squeeze a tramp; an' now I'm havin' a right good time doin' of it. I got a expensive son t' fetch up,' says he, 'an' I needs all the money I can lay my hooks on. There's a

ce-a gust that tweaked my whiskers-an' I jumped back in a hurry t'

'has the habit o' blow

like it, s

ot a young spendthrift

sir,' says I, '

got nothin' better t' do than stand

ir,' says I. ''Tis comin' down with the ga

, 't' take a line from t

s I, 'the ship lies badl

he, 'you got your

en squint on me in jus' that frosty wa

st your canvas. There'

ft o' the ice-was but half a league t' the nor'west, a bee-line into the gale's eye. The wind had packed the slob about the ships. It had jammed half a league o' ice against the body o' the big pack t' the sou'east. In the nor'west, too, was another floe. 'Twas there, in the mist, an' 'twas comin' down with the wind. It cotched the first of the gale; 'twas free t' move, too. 'Twould overhaul us soon enough. Ever see the ice rafter, sir? No? Well, 'tis no swift collison. 'Tis horrible an

dark I come

this!'

wai

in' round a b

spell longer

I made for the skipper's cabin with the news. 'Cap'n Sammy,

at!' Cap'n

the s'uth'ard on

at the change o' wind meant. For look you, sir! when the wind was from the nor'west, it jammed the slob against the pack behind us, an' fetched down the floe t' win'ard; but blowin' strong from southerly parts, 'twould not only halt the floe, but 'twould loosen the pack

pucker o' wrinkles. Seemed, too, that his voice had got lost in his throat. 'Tumm,'

ever do th

p'n Wrath is a warm-water sailor, a

t time for any man t' be on the ice.

my youth up,' says he, 'a

I, 'the night

per,' says he, 'but I haves m

etch

,' says he; 'an' stand as

ind had its way. An' it blowed the slob off t' sea like feathers. What a wonder o' power is the wind! An' the sea begun t' hiss an' swell where the ice had been. From the fog come the clang o' the Claymore's telegraph, the chug-ch

m glad he knows how t' spend. I made my fortune, Tumm, as I made it; an' I'm glad-I'm proud-I'm mighty proud-that my son will spend it like a gentleman. I loves un. An' you, Tumm, will teach un wisdom an' kindness, accordin' t' your lights. That's all, Tumm: I've no more t' say.' Pretty soon, though, he run on: 'I been a mean man. But I'm not overly sorry now: for hunger an' hardship will never teach my son evil things o' the world God made. I 'low, anyhow,' says he, 'that God is even with me. But I don't know-I don't know.' You see," Tumm reflected, "'tis wisdom t' get an' t' have, no doubt; but 'tis not the whole o' wisdom, an' 'tis a mean poor strand o' Truth t' hang

Tumm concluded, "

Sammy squatted on

ve of the Labrador, where the schooner Quick as

e Quick as Wink demanded,

knows," Tum

ulated; "you're never te

le Samuel Small, o' St. John's. 'If I'm goin' t' use

e skipper observe

no grudge against Small Sam Small-not after the b