Looking Seaward Again

by Baron Walter Runciman Runciman

The flood tide had covered the rocks. A volunteer crew of five fine specimens of English manhood were promptly got together, and a large coble was wheeled down the beach and launched into the breaking sea. They struggled with accustomed doggedness until they had passed the most critical part of the bay and got safely within speaking distance of the vessel. Two good-looking fellows in naval uniform stood on the quarter-deck, and one of these, the commander, asked the fishermen to take one of his officers ashore. To this they readily agreed, though they said it would be most difficult to land, as it was much safer to go off than come in, but they would risk that. The officer jumped into the boat, the rope was slipped, and then commenced a struggle between the endurance and skill of the hardy fishermen on the one hand and the angry cross seas which threatened to toss the boat and its occupants to destruction on the other. The officer suggested that the reefs should be let out of the sail to rush her over the dangerous corner of the entrance.

"I have used this plan often," said he, "and it always succeeded."

The coxswain demurred, although these men are very skilled in the handling of their boats; but at last he was prevailed upon by his crew to allow the officer to try the experiment. The latter only agreed to do so on condition that he was in no way interfered with, and his orders were strictly carried out. Up went the close-reefed lug; the occupants were instructed to lie low to windward, the men at the main sheet were ordered in a quiet, cool manner to ease off and haul in as necessity required. In a few minutes they had reached the crucial point. The men began to express anxiety, when amid the shrill song of the wind and the noise of the breaking seas, the man now in charge called out with commanding vigour—

"Steady your nerves, boys! I know quite well how to handle her."

The helmsman had barely finished his appeal when the combers began to curl up in rapid succession; the mass of water threatened to overwhelm the rushing craft, but she was manipulated with such fine seamanship that only the spray lashed over her in smothering clouds. Suddenly orders were given to stand by to lower the sail, and in another minute the helm was put down to bring the boat head to sea and wind. The sail was lowered, oars shipped, and she was manoeuvred stern on to the beach. As soon as she struck, a rush to help was made by those who had watched with feverish anxiety the passage through the broken water, lest the frail craft should be overturned and all aboard drowned. A rope was bent on to the stern, and the crowd quickly hauled the coble away from the heavy surf into safety. At this point, an elderly gentleman, tall, with a long, shaggy beard and bushy grey hair, which might have been a wig, rode up on a brown mare. His appearance and demeanour stamped him with the characteristics of a real old country gentleman, who put on what sailors would call an insufferable amount of "side." He promptly introduced himself to the officer as the Lord of the Manor, giving his name as Crawshaw.

The naval man gave his as Thomas Turnbull, and explained that he was sent to organize some system of resistance to the smuggling that was being carried on along that part of the coast. Mr. Crawshaw volunteered assistance, and hinted that the task would be rendered all the more arduous as he would not only have the smugglers to deal with, but their accomplices, the fisher-folk and farmers. After a few weeks' experience, it was quite obvious that the squire was right, and in view of this, Thomas Turnbull sent for his wife and six children, and settled down to his work in real earnest.

The intimation that the new-comer was a religious man, and could preach and pray, soon spread through the villages, and large numbers flocked to see and hear him. Many came out of pure curiosity, and some to mock and jeer, but these seldom succeeded in setting at defiance the great power that was behind the preacher. He was of commanding presence; his face, as some of the villagers used to say, was good to look at, and the message that he delivered to his audience came with irresistible force, which broke the spirit of some of the most determined obstructers, and turned many into friends, and a few even into saints. The fisher-folk did not take kindly to him, and so strong was their opposition that they threatened many times to take his life. Their savage ignorance would have unnerved and discouraged a less powerful personality, but this man seemed to be buoyed up by his belief that it was God's work and he was only the instrument in carrying it out. He was often warned of the violence that was threatened towards him, but the intimation never disturbed his inherent belief that no earthly power could break through the cordon that protected him; and so he continued his work, temporal and spiritual, undisturbed by the threats of a class whom he was determined to civilize, and, "with God's help, Christianize." The process was long, the methods of resistance wicked.

Jimmy Stone, one of the worst scoundrels in the district, had laboured to persecute Turnbull, and to break up the meetings for months past. He tyrannized over men and brutally maltreated women, and his blasphemy was terrible to listen to. It was during one of his outbursts of wrath against the "Ranter" preacher that he was suddenly staggered by Turnbull going up to him, laying his hand on his shoulder, and admonishing him to refrain from such shocking conduct. He attempted to seize the preacher by the throat, and I fear at this juncture Turnbull forsook for a little his usual attitude of equanimity, for before the giant knew where he was he lay on the ground, stunned by a left-hander. The preacher was an awkward customer to deal with, and it would seem as though he did not entirely trust to Divine interposition when hands were laid on him. His tormentor lay, a humiliated heap, at his feet. Never in Jimmy's life had any one dared to resent his attacks in this way. He could not understand it, and was overcome more by superstition and a fear of Turnbull's reputed supernatural aids than by real fear of his physical powers. Turnbull ordered the bully to stand up, and warned him against experimenting on strangers. He then, in quaint, old-world phraseology, the outcome of much deep reading of Butler, Baxter, and Jeremy Taylor, and wholly without cant or affectation, went on to say—

"I intend to let you off lightly on this occasion, but if I hear of you practising any injustice or in any way giving annoyance to your neighbours again, I shall deem it my duty to teach you a salutary lesson. Now, bear in mind what I say to you; and remember that the Almighty may visit you with His wrath. It may be that He will send to your house affliction, and even make it desolate by taking some one from you whom you love. Or He may see that the only way of checking the course of your wickedness is to have you laid aside with sickness. It is probable that He will smite you by taking away from your evil influence some of your children. God is very merciful to little children when they are in the hands of brutes like you. Go away from me! and ponder over what I have said."

Jimmy slouched off, muttering vengeance against the Almighty if He dared to interfere with his bairns, and, as an addendum, he vividly portrayed the violent death of Turnbull. He slunk listlessly into his cottage, tumbled on to a seat, and was lost in meditation. Jenny, his wife, tremulously asked what ailed him. She was alarmed at his subdued manner; she had never known him come into the house without bullying and using blasphemous language to her and the children, and oftentimes this was accompanied by blows that well-nigh killed her and them; and yet she stood loyally by him whenever he needed a friend. Suddenly he jumped to his feet, and as though he had become possessed of an inspiration, broke silence by vigorously exclaiming to his wife that he had settled the manner of the "Ranter" preacher's death.