The speaker was evidently a seaman. He had an honest, open face, weather-beaten and tanned with exposure, and his hands were hard and big and used to hard work.
Pilot Jessop was well known in Sydney. In years gone by he had done good service as a pilot, and he still followed his calling, but fortune had favoured him in the shape of a windfall from a rich relation, and he only took on work when he felt inclined.
Walter Jessop knew the coast of Australia as well as any man, and he had sailed up most of the harbours and rivers between Adelaide and Normanton. Such a man was not likely to make many mistakes about the weather, and he knew what these lowering clouds that had been hanging about all day meant.
The Fairy was one of the smallest ferry boats on the harbour, and at this time Watson’s Bay was not such an important place as it is now. Pilot Jessop, however, found it handy to live at Watson’s Bay, as it was under the great shadows of South Head, beyond which lay the open sea. Many a ship had he piloted to a safe anchorage in the harbour.
When the landing-stage was reached, he bade the skipper of the Fairy good-night, and walked to his home, which nestled in a sheltered position high up above the harbour.
A bright little woman, clad in a homely dress, gave him a hearty welcome. Mrs. Jessop was just the wife for such a man, and they had only one regret: they had no child to lavish their affection upon.
‘We’re in for a storm,’ said Wal Jessop, as he was generally called. ‘I hope there’s no vessel making for the harbour; they’d better keep away from our coast to-night.’
‘I’m right glad you have no occasion to go to sea on such nights,’ said his wife. ‘It would make an old woman of me before my time if you were out in these storms.’
‘I weathered a good many storms before I met you,’ said Wal Jessop, ‘but I don’t feel much inclined for it again when I come to such comfortable quarters as these.’
A low murmuring sound could be heard, a door banged, and the windows creaked ominously.