It was quite light before he reached the nearest cottage, which stood about a hundred yards east of the Port Street, and belonged to a fisherman and boatwright named Garvice. The men and his sons had their tar-pot on the brazier and had already begun work on a dinghy which lay keel uppermost before them.
They looked with surprise at him when he asked if they had been long at work.
“On'y a matter o' quartern hour,” replied the old man.
“Then you must have seen John Bennet and got his message?” said Wesley.
“Seen John Bennet? Ay, ay—still mad. Message? No message i' the world. What message 'ud a hare-brainer like to 'un bear to folk wi' the five senses o' Golmighty complete?” the old man enquired.
“Do you tell me that Bennet said naught to you about a half-drowned man needing your help?” asked Wesley.
“No word. Even if so rigid a madman ha' carried that tale think ye we'd be here the now?”
“'Tis as well that I came, though I thought it cruel to distrust him,” said Wesley.
He then told the man what was needed, and before he had spoken a dozen words the old man had thrown down his tar-brush and was signalling his sons to run down one of the boats to the water.
“Paddle round in half the time takes t' walk,” he said. “No back breakin', no bone shakin 's my morter. Down she goes.”