Harbor Tales Down North by Norman Duncan (top 5 books to read txt) 📖

Thirst an' meanness never yet kep' agreeable company. 'Tis a wonderful 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; an' I've heared un groan, an' seed his face screw up, when he pinched the pennies in his pocket an' turned away from the temptation t' spend. It hurt un t' the backbone t' pull a cork; he squirmed when his dram got past his Adam's apple. An', Lord! how the outport crews would grin t' see un trickle little drops o' liquor into his belly--t' watch un shift in his chair at the Anchor an' Chain, an' t' hear un grunt an' sigh when the dram was down.

"But Small Sam Small was no toper. Half-seas-over jus' on'y once. It cost un dear.

* * * * *


"I sailed along o' Cap'n Sammy," Tumm resumed, "on the swilin' v'yage in the spring o' the Year o' the Westerly Gales. I mind it well: I've cause. The _Royal Bloodhound_: a stout an' well-found craft. An' a spry an' likely crew: Sam Small never lacked the pick o' the swilin'-boys when it come t' fittin' out for the ice in the spring o' the year. He'd get his load o' fat with the cleverest skippers of un all; an' the wily skippers o' the fleet would tag the ol' rat through the ice from Battle Harbor t' the Grand Banks. 'Small Sam Small,' says they, '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 bones, an' a bottle at his elbow for reasonable sippin' of a cold night. A man should loosen up in his old age, says he; an' God grantin' him bloody decks an' a profitable slaughter, that v'yage, he'd settle down for good an' never leave port again. He was tired, says he; he was old--an' he was all tired out--and he'd use the comfort he'd earned in all them years o' labor an' savin'. Wasn't so much in life, after all, for a old man like him, says he, except a fireside chair, or a seat in the sunlight, with a nip o' the best Jamaica, watered t' the taste.

"'You come along o' me as mate, Tumm,' says he, 'an' I'll fill your pocket.'

"'I'm not averse t' cash,' says I.

"'These here ol' bones creaks out t' the ice for _swiles_,' says he, 'an' not for the pleasures o' cruisin'.'

"'I'll ship, Skipper Sammy,' says I. 'I'll ship with the skipper that gets the fat.'

"'You hails from Chain Tickle?' says he.

"'I does.'

"'Tumm,' says he, 'I'm a old man, an' I'm downcast in these last days; an' I been 'lowin', somehow, o' late, that 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' take along t' the ice an' break in for his own good? Fifteen years or so? I'd berth un well aboard the _Bloodhound_.'

"'I does,' says I.

"'You might fetch un,' says he; 'nothin' like young blood t' cheer the aged.'

"'I'll fetch un quick enough, Skipper Sammy,' says I, 'if you'll stand by my choice.'

"'As I knowed you would, Tumm,' says he, 'you takes me cleverly.'

"It wasn't long after that afore a young lad I knowed in Chain Tickle come shoutin' down t' St. John's. A likely lad, too: blue-eyed, tow-headed, an' merry--the likes of his mother, a widow. No liar, no coward, no pinch-a-penny: a fair, frank-eyed, lovable little rascal--a forgiven young scapegrace--with no mind beyond the love an' livin' jollity o' the day. Hang the morrow! says he; the morrow might do very well, he'd be bound, when it come. Show _him_ the fun o' the minute. An' he had a laugh t' shame the dumps--a laugh as catchin' as smallpox. 'Ecod!' thinks I; 'it may very well be 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 nip o' the best Jamaica--t' clap eyes on a fair, fine lad like that. Is you marked his eyes, Tumm?--saucy as blood an' riches. They fair bored me t' the soul like Sir Harry McCracken's. They's blood behind them eyes--blood an' a sense o' wealth. An' his strut! Is you marked the strut, Tumm?--the very air of a game-cock in a barnyard. It takes a gentleman born t' walk like that. I tells you, Tumm, with wealth t' back un--with wealth t' back body an' brain an' blue blood like that--the lad would be a lawyer at twenty-three an' Chief Justice o' Newf'un'land at thirty-seven. You mark _me_!'

"I'm thinkin', whatever, that Small Sam Small had the natural prejudice o' fatherhood.

"'Tumm,' says he, 'he's cheered me up. Is he savin'?'

"'Try for yourself,' says I.

"Skipper Sammy put the boy t' the test, next night, at the Anchor an' Chain. 'Lad,' says he, 'here's the gift o' half a dollar.'

"'For _me_, Skipper Sammy?' says the lad. ''Tis as much as ever I had in my life. Have a drink.'

"'Have a _what_?'

"'You been wonderful good t' me, Skipper Sammy,' says the lad, 'an' I wants t' buy you a glass o' good rum.'

"'Huh!' says Small Sam Small; ''tis expensive.'

"'Ay,' says the lad; 'but what's a half-dollar _for_?'

"'Well,' says Skipper Sammy, 'a careful lad like you _might_ save it.'

"The poor lad passed the half-dollar back over the table t' Small Sam Small. 'Skipper Sammy,' says he, '_you_ save it. It fair burns my fingers.'

"'Mary, my dear,' says Sam Small t' the barmaid, 'a couple o' nips o' the best Jamaica you got in the house for me an' Mr. Tumm. Fetch the lad a bottle o' ginger-ale--_im_-ported. Damn the expense, anyhow! Let the lad spend his money as he has the notion.'

"An' Sam Small smiled.

* * * * *


"'Tumm,' says Small Sam Small, that night, when the boy was gone t' bed, 'ecod! but the child spends like a gentleman.'

"'How's that, Skipper Sammy?'

"'Free,' says he, 'an' genial.'

"'He'll overdo it,' says I.

"'No,' says he;' 'tisn't in the blood. He'll spend what he haves--no more. An' like a gentleman, too--free an' genial as the big-bugs. A marvelous lad, Tumm,' says he; 'he've ab-se-_lute_-ly no regard for money.'

"'Not he.'

"'Ecod!'

"'He'll be a comfort, Skipper Sammy,' says I, 'on the swilin' v'yage.'

"'I 'low, Tumm,' says he, 'that I've missed a lot, in my life, these last fifteen year, through foolishness. You send the lad home,' says he; 'he's a gentleman, an' haves no place on a swilin'-ship. 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 old age: I'll pay. An', Tumm--here's a two-dollar note. You tell the lad t' waste it _all_ on bananas. This here bein' generous,' says he, 'is an expensive diversion. I got t' save my pennies--_now_!'

* * * * *


"Well, well!" Tumm went on; "trust Small Sam Small t' be off for the ice on the stroke o' the hour for swilers' sailin'--an' a few minutes t' win'ward o' the law. An' the _Royal Bloodhound_ had heels, too--an' a heart for labor. With a fair start from Seldom-Come-By, Skipper Sammy beat the fleet t' the Funks an' t' the first drift-ice beyond. March days: nor'westerly gales, white water an' snowy weather--an' no let-up on the engines. 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 an' s'uth'ard. With these here westerly gales blowin' wild an' cold as perdition they've gone down the Grand Banks way. The fleet will smell around here till they wears their noses out,' says he; 'but Cap'n Sam Small is off t' the s'uth'ard t' get his load o' fat.' An' he switched the _Royal Bloodhound_ about, an' steamed off, with all sail spread, bound down t' the Grand Banks in a nor'west gale, with a burst o' snow t' season it.

"We made the northerly limits o' the Grand Banks in fog an' ca'm weather. Black fog: thick 's mud. We lay to--butted a league into the pack-ice. Greasy weather: a close world an' a moody glass.

"'Cap'n Sammy,' says I, on the bridge, 'there's no tellin' where a man will strike the fat.'

"'Small chance for fat, damme!' says he, 'in fog an' broodin' weather.'

"'Give her a show,' says I, 'an' she'll lighten.'

"'Lighten?' says he. 'Afore night, Tumm, she'll blow this fog t' the Saragossa Sea.'

"The glass was in a mean, poor temper, an' the air was still, an' thick, an' sweaty.

"'Blow?' says he. 'Ay; she's breedin' a naughty nor'west gale o' wind down there.'

"It seemed t' me then I seed a shadow in the fog; an', 'Cap'n Sammy,' says I, 'what's that off the port bow?'

"'What's what?' says he.

"'That patch o' black in the mist.'

"'Tumm,' says he, 'you might tweak the toot-rope.'

"The _Royal Bloodhound_ hadn't opened her mouth afore there came a howl from the mist.