He took his basin of bread and milk from Humility’s hand, and ate by the fire. She had wrung his clothes through fresh water, and as soon as they were thoroughly dry he retired upstairs to change. He came back to his seat by the fire.
“Now, I be like ’Possel Paul,” he said, rubbing his hands, and stretching them out to the blaze. “After his shipwreck, you know, when the folks ’pon the island showed en kindness. This is the Lord’s doing, and it is marvellous in your eyes.
“‘Not fearing nor doubting,
With Christ by my side,
I hopes to die shouting,
The Lord will provide!’”
Humility thought that for certain the shipwreck had turned his head.
“But where do you come from?” she asked.
“They call me Jacky Pascoe, ma’am; but I calls myself the King’s Postman—
“‘Jacky Pascoe is my name,
Wendron is my nation,
Nowhere is my dwelling-place,
For Christ is my salvation—’
“I was brought to a miner, over to Wheal Jewel, in Illogan Parish; but got conversion fifteen years since, an’ now I go about praising the Name. I’ve been miner, cafender, cooper, mason, seaman, scissor-grinder, umbrella-mender, holli-bubber, all by turns. I sticks my hands in my pockets, an’ waits on the Lord; an’ what he tells me to do, I do. This day week I was up to Fowey, working on the tip.[2] There was a little schooner there, the Garibaldi, of Newport, discharging coal. The Lord said to me, ‘Arise, go in that there schooner!’ I sought out the skipper, and said, ‘Where be bound for next?’ ‘Back to Newport,’ says he. ‘That’ll suit me,’ I says, an’ persuaded en to take me. But the Lord knew where she were bound better’n the skipper; and here I be!”
It seemed to his hearers that this man took little thought of his drowned shipmates. Mr. Raymond looked up as he strapped his books together.
“You were not the only man in that schooner,” he said, rather severely.