In Which Notorious Tom Tulk o’ Twillingate and the Skipper of the “Black Eagle” Put Their Heads Together Over a Glass of Rum in the Cabin of a French Shore Trader

There was never a more notorious rascal in Newfoundland than old Tom Tulk of Twillingate. There was never a cleverer rascal––never a man who could devise new villainies as fast and execute them as neatly. The law had never laid hands on him. At any rate not for a crime of importance. He had been clapped in jail once, but merely for debt; and he had carried this off with flying colours by pushing past the startled usher in church and squatting his great flabby bulk in the governor’s pew of the next Sunday morning. He was a thief, a chronic bankrupt, a counterfeiter, an illicit liquor seller. It was all perfectly well known; but not once had a constable brought an offense home to him. He had once been arrested for theft, it is true, and taken to St. John’s by the constables; but on the way he 213 had stolen a watch from one and put it in the pocket of the other, thereby involving both in far more trouble than they could subsequently involve him.

Add to these evil propensities a deformed body and a crimson countenance and you have the shadow of an idea of old Tom Tulk.

George Rumm and Tom Tulk boarded the Black Eagle in the rain and sought the shelter of her little cabin. The cook had made a fire for the skipper; the cabin was warm and quiet. Tom Tulk closed the door with caution and glanced up to see that the skylights were tight. Skipper George produced the bottle and glasses.

“Now, Skipper George,” said Tom Tulk, as he tipped the bottle, “’tis a mint o’ money an’ fair easy t’ make.”

“I’m not likin’ the job,” the skipper complained. “I’m not likin’ the job at all.”

“’Tis an easy one,” Tom Tulk maintained, “an’ ’tis well paid when ’tis done.”

Skipper George scowled in objection.

“Ye’ve a soft heart for man’s work,” said Tom, with a bit of a sneer. 214

Skipper George laughed. “Is you thinkin’ t’ drive me by makin’ fun o’ me?” he asked.

“I’m thinkin’ nothin’,” Tom Tulk replied, “but t’ show you how it can be done. Will you listen t’ me?”

“Not me!” George Rumm declared.

Tom Tulk observed, however, that the skipper’s ears were wide open.

“Not me!” Skipper George repeated, with a loud thump on the table. “No, sir! I’ll have nothin’ t’ do with it!”

Tom Tulk fancied that the skipper’s ears were a little bit wider than before; he was not at all deceived by this show of righteousness on the part of a weak man.

“Well, well!” he sighed. “Say no more about it.”

“I’m not denyin’,” said Skipper George, “that it could be done. I’m not denyin’ that it would be easy work. But I tells you, Tom Tulk, that I’ll have nothin’ t’ do with it. I’m an honest man, Tom Tulk, an’ I’d thank you t’ remember it.”

“Well, well!” Tom Tulk sighed again. “There’s many a man in this harbour would jump at the chance; but there’s never another so honest that I could trust him.” 215

“Many a man, if you like,” Skipper George growled; “but not me.”

“No, no,” Tom Tulk agreed, with a covert little sneer and grin; “not you.”

“’Tis a prison offense, man!”

“If you’re cotched,” Tom Tulk laughed. “An’ tell me, George Rumm, is I ever been cotched?”

“I’m not sayin’ you is.”

“No; nor never will be.”

It had all been talked over before, of course; and it would be talked over again before a fortnight was past and the Black Eagle had set sail for the French Shore with a valuable cargo. Tom Tulk had begun gingerly; he had proceeded with exquisite caution; he had ventured a bit more; at last he had come boldly out with the plan. Manned with care––manned as she could be and as Tom Tulk would take care to have her––the Black Eagle was the ship for the purpose; and Skipper George, with a reputation for bad seamanship, was the man for the purpose. And the thing would be easy. Tom Tulk knew it. Skipper George knew it. It could be successfully done. There was no doubt about it; and Skipper George hated to 216 think that there was no doubt about it. The ease and safety with which he might have the money tumble into his pocket troubled him. It was not so much a temptation as an aggravation. He found himself thinking about it too often; he wanted to put it out of his mind, but could not.

“Now, Tom Tulk,” said he, at last, flushing angrily, “let’s have no more o’ this. I’m fair tired of it. I’ll have nothin’ t’ do with it; an’ I tells you so, once an’ for all.”

“Pass the bottle,” said Tom Tulk.

The bottle went from hand to hand.

“We’ll say no more about it,” said Tom Tulk; “but I tells you, Skipper George, that that little clerk o’ yours, Tommy Bull, is just the ticket. As for a crew, I got un handy.”

“Belay, belay!”

“Ay, ay, Skipper George,” Tom Tulk agreed; “but as for fetchin’ a cargo o’ fish into St. John’s harbour without tellin’ where it came from, if there’s any man can beat me at that, why, I’d–––”

Skipper George got up and pulled open the hatch.

“I’ll see you again,” said Tom Tulk. 217

Skipper George of the Black Eagle helped himself to another dram when Tom Tulk had withdrawn his great body and sly face. It was true, all that Tom Tulk had said. It was true about the clerk; he was ripe to go bad. It was true about the crew; with hands scarce, and able-bodied young fellows bound to the Sidney mines for better wages, Skipper George could ship whom he liked and Tom Tulk chose. It was true about fetching fish into St. John’s without accounting whence it came. Tom Tulk could do it; nobody would ask eccentric old Tom Tulk where he got his fish––everybody would laugh. It was true about the skipper himself; it was quite true that his reputation was none of the best as a sailing-master. But he had never lost a ship yet. They might say he had come near it, if they liked; but he had never lost a ship yet. No, sir; he had never lost a ship yet. Nor would he. He’d fetch the Black Eagle home, right enough, and show Sir Archibald Armstrong!

But the thing would be easy. It was disgustingly easy in prospect. Skipper George wished that old Tom Tulk had never come near to bother him. 218

“Hang Tom Tulk!” thought he.

But how easy, after all, the thing would be!

The first hand put his head in the hatchway to tell Skipper George that he was to report to Sir Archibald Armstrong in the office at once. Skipper George was not quite easy about the three drams he had taken; but there was nothing for it but to appear in the office without delay. As a matter of fact Sir Archibald Armstrong detected nothing out of the way. He had something to say to Skipper George about the way to sail a schooner––about timid sailing, and reckless sailing, and feeling about in fogs, and putting out to sea, and running for harbour. When he had finished––and he spoke long and earnestly, with his blue eyes flashing, his head in the air, his teeth snapping once in a while––when Sir Archibald had finished, Skipper George was standing with his cap in his hand, his face flushed, answering, “Yes, sir,” and, “No, sir,” in a way of the meekest. When he left the office he was unpleasantly aware that he was face to face with his last chance. In this new trouble he forgot all about Tom Tulk.

“Skipper George,” he thought, taking counsel 219 with himself, as he poured another dram, “you got t’ do better.”

He mused a long time.

“I will do better,” he determined. “I’ll show un that I can sail a schooner.”

Before he stowed away for the night, a little resentment crept into his thoughts of Sir Archibald. He had never felt this way before.

“I got t’ stop this,” he thought.

Tom Tulk was then dreaming over a glass of rum; and his dreams were pleasant dreams––concerning Skipper George of the Black Eagle.