Harbor Tales Down North Part 43

"The other habit!" Tumm e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "Ay--the other habit! 'Twas habit: a habit o' soul. An' then I learned a truth o' life. 'Twas no new thing, t' be sure: every growed man knows it well enough. But 'twas new t' me--as truth forever comes new t' the young. Lovely or fearsome as may chance t' be its guise, 'tis yet all new to a lad--a flash o'

light upon the big mystery in which a lad's soul dwells eager for light. An' I was scared; an' I jumped away from Davy Junk--as once thereafter I did--an' fair shook in the Presence o' the Truth he'd taught me. For 'twas clear as a star: that a soul fas.h.i.+ons its own world an' lives therein. An' I'd never knowed it afore! An' I mind well that it come like a vision: the glimpse of a path, got from a hill--a path the feet o' men may tread t' h.e.l.l an men perversely choose it. A wolf's world? A world as you likes it! An' in my young world was no sorrow at all--nor any sin, nor hate, nor hunger, nor tears. But love, ecod!--which, like truth, comes new t' the young, an'

first glimpsed is forever glorious. I was sixteen then--a bit more, perhaps; an' I was fond o' laughter an' hope. An' Bessie Tot was in my world: a black-haired, red-lipped little rogue, with gray eyes, slow glances, an' black lashes t' veil her heart from eager looks. First love for T. Tumm, I'm bold t' say; for I'm proud o' the odd lift o'

soul it give me--which I've never knowed since, though I've sought it with diligence--ay, almost with prayer. I've no shame at all t' tell o' the touch of a warm, moist little hand on the road t' Gull Island Cove--the whisper, the tender fear, in the shadow o' the Needle--an'

the queer, quick little kiss at the gate o' dark nights--an' the sigh an' the plea t' come again. An' so, t' be sure, I'd no kin with the gloom o' Davy Junk that night, but was brother t' hope an' joy an'

love. An' my body was big an' warm an' willin'--an' my heart was tender--an' my soul was clean--an' for love o' the maid I loved I'd turned my eyes t' the sunlit hills o' life. G.o.d's world o' sea an'

labor an' hearts--an' therein a lad in love!

"'I'll take care o' my soul,' thinks the lad, that was I, 'lest it be cast away forever, G.o.d help me!'

"An' that's youth--the same everywhere an' forever."

Tumm sighed....

"'Twas high time for me now t' sail the Labrador," Tumm resumed, "an'

I was in a pother o' longin' t' go. Sixteen--an' never a sight o'

Mugford! I was fair ashamed t' look Bessie Tot in the eye. Dear heart!--she ever loved courage in a man, an' the will t' labor, too, an' t' be. An' so--'Ecod!' thinks I, on the way home that night, 'I'll sail along o' Davy Junk, an' prove my spirit, withal, for the whole world t' see. An' I 'low that _now_, knowin' me so well as he does, Davy'll s.h.i.+p me.' But my mother said me nay--until I pestered her skirts an' her poor heart beyond bearin'; an' then all at once she cried, an' kissed me, an' cried a bit more, an' kissed me again, an'

hugged me, an' 'lowed that a lad had t' be a man _some_ time, whatever happened, an' bade me sail along o' Skipper Davy an he'd take me, which he never would do, thinks she. It come about, whatever an' all, that I found Skipper Davy on the doorstep of his spick-an'-span cottage by Blow-Me, near the close o' that day, with night fallin'

with poor promise, an' the wind adverse an' soggy with fog. An' thinks I, his humor would be bad, an' he'd be cursin' the world an' the weather an' all in the way he'd the bad habit o' doin'. But no such thing; he was as near to a smile o' satisfaction with hisself as Davy Junk could very well come with the bad habit o' lips an' brows he'd contracted. For look you!--a scowl is a twist o' face with some men; but with Davy his smile was a twist that had t' be _kep'_ twisted.

"'Evil weather, Skipper Davy,' says I.

"'Oh no,' says he. 'It all depends on how you _looks_ at it.'

"'But you're not in the habit o' lookin'----'

"'I'm learnin' t' peep,' says he.

"I'd no means of accountin' for _that_! 'Foul weather, an' no talkin', man,' says I, 'for the Labrador bound!'

"'What's the sense o' naggin' the _weather_?' says he. 'Isn't you able t' leave her alone, Tumm? Give her time, lad, an' she'll blow fair.

She've her humors as well as we, haven't she? An' she've her business, too. An' how can _you_ tell whether her business is good or evil? I tells you, Tumm, you isn't got no right t' question the weather.'

"'G.o.d's sake!' says I. 'What's happened overnight?'

"'No matter,' says he. 'I 'low a man haves the right t' _try_ a change o' mind an he wants to.'

"'Parson Tree been overhaulin' you?'

"'Oh,' says he, 'a man can put his soul s.h.i.+pshape without the aid of a parson.'

"'Then, Skipper Davy,' says I, with my heart in my mouth, 'I 'low I'll sail the Labrador along o' you.'

"'Not so, my son,' says he. 'By no means.'

"'I _wants_ to, Skipper Davy!'

"'You got a mother ash.o.r.e,' says he.

"'Well, but,' says I, 'my mother says a lad's got t' be a man _some_ time.'

"'I can't afford t' take you, Tumm.'

"'Look you, Skipper Davy!' says I, 'I'm able-bodied for my years. None more so. Take me along o' you--an' I'll work my hands t' b.l.o.o.d.y pulp!'

"''Tis not that, Tumm,' says he. ''Tis--well--because--I've growed kind o' fond o' you overnight. We got a bit--intimate--together--an'

you--was kind. Tis not my habit, lad, t' be fond o' n.o.body,' says he, in a flash, 'an' I'll not keep it up. I'm otherwise schooled. But, damme!' says he, 'a man's got t' go overboard _once_ in a while, whatever comes t' pa.s.s.'

"'Then sure you'll take me!'

"'I wouldn't get my fish,' says he. 'I'd be scared o' losin' you. I'd sail the _Word o' the Lord_ like a ninny. Thinks I--I got t' be careful! Thinks I--why, I can't have Tumm cast away, for what would his mother do? Thinks I--I'll reef, an' I'll harbor, an' I can't get along, an' I might hit ice, an' I might go ash.o.r.e on Devil-May-Care.

_An' I wouldn't get my fis.h.!.+_'

"'Still an' all, I _got_ t' go!'

"'You isn't driven,' says he.

"'Skipper Davy,' says I, fair desperate, 'I got a maid.'

"'A _what_?' says he.

"'A maid, Skipper Davy,' says I, 'an' I wants with all my heart t'

prove my courage.'

"'What you goin' t' do with her?'

"'I'll wed her in due season.'

"Skipper Davy jumped--an' stared at me until I fair blushed. I'd shook un well, it seemed, without knowin'--fair t' the core of his heart, as it turned out--an' I'd somehow give un a glimpse of his own young days, which he'd forgot all about an' buried in the years since then, an' couldn't now believe had been true. 'A maid?' says he then.

'A--maid! An' you'll wed her in due season! _You_, lad! Knee-high to a locust! An' you wants t' go down the Labrador t' prove your courage for the sake of a maid? For--Love! Tis not a share o' the catch you wants--'tis not altogether the sight o' strange places--'tis not t'

master the tricks o' sailin'--'tis not t' learn the reefs an' berths o' the Labrador. 'Tis t' prove--your--courage! An' for the sake of a maid! Is that the behavior o' lads in the world in these times? Was it always the way--with lads? I wonder--I wonder an _I_ might ever have done _that_--in my youth!'

"I couldn't tell un.

"'Tumm,' says he, 'I'll further your purpose, G.o.d help me!'

"An' then the first adventure comin' down like a patch o' suns.h.i.+ne over the sea! Ah-ha, the glory o' that time! Sixteen--an' as yet no adventure beyond the waters of our parts! A n.o.bbly time off Mad Mull in a easterly wind--a night on the ice in the spring o' the year--a wrecked punt in the tickle waters; but no big adventure--no right t'

swagger--none t' c.o.c.k my cap--an' no great tale o' the north coast t'

tell the little lads o' Rickity Tickle on the hills of a Sunday afternoon. But now, at last, I'd a berth with Davy Junk, a thing beyond belief, an' I was bound out when the weather fell fair. An' out we put, in the _Word o' the Lord_, in good time; an' Skipper Davy--moved by fear of his fondness, no doubt--cuffed me from Rickity Tickle t' the Straits, an' kicked me from the Barnyards t'

Thumb-an'-Finger o' Pinch-Me Head. 'I isn't able t' be partial, lad,'

says he, 't' them I'm fool enough t' be fond of.' Whatever had come to un overnight at Rickity Tickle--an' however he'd learned t' peep in new ways--there was no sign o' conversion on the cruise from Rickity t' Pinch-Me. But 'twas some comfort t' be well in the lead o' the fleet in the Straits, when a westerly gale blowed the ice off-sh.o.r.e, an' it fair healed my bruises an' cured my dumps t' get the traps down between the Thumb an' the Finger afore a sail showed up in the gray weather t' s'uth'ard. Hard sailin', every inch o' the way down--blind an' mad. Skipper Davy at the wheel: fog alongsh.o.r.e, ice in the fog, reefs off the heads, an' a wind, by times, t' make the _Word o' the Lord_ howl with the labor o' drivin' north.

"I didn't ease up on my prayers afore the anchor was down an' the _Word o' the Lord_ got her rest in the lee o' Pinch-Me.

"'Feelin' better, Tumm?' says Skipper Davy.