Chapter 23

Early the next morning—it was the twentieth day of Nisan—they were all reassembled on The Abigail. There was plenty of work to be done in reconditioning the neglected ship and her sister craft, The Sara, but no one had any keen interest in it. They were restless, inattentive, and preoccupied by their expectancy of a visitation. Every little while some one of them would make a tour of the deck, scanning the horizon. The animated discussions of yesterday had reviewed the story, over and over again, until nothing was left to be said.

‘Think he will come today?’ one would ask, aware that the question had no answer. The strain of waiting was beginning to tell: waiting and watching and listening was hard work. Late in the afternoon Andrew, customarily so frugal with suggestions, startled them by calling out to his brother who for the past hour had been sitting on the tiller-seat, gazing across the shimmering water, ‘Let us go fishing tomorrow! I think he would rather find us working—when he comes.’ The proposal brought general relief. The rest of the day was spent in putting the nets and sailing tackle in order. The tension was relaxed. A frayed rope at the end of the mainmast’s boom broke with Johnny and dumped him into the lake. They hauled him out dripping and everybody laughed. How good it seemed to be able to laugh again, especially at Johnny, whose agility in scampering all over the rigging had made him amiably envied.

Next day they fished off a cove on the north shore and with considerable success; came back to anchorage in the evening, stocked the big live-box, half submerged at their wharf, and carried home well-filled baskets of perch. Peter thought of returning that night to Bethsaida, but when the time came to leave the ship he decided to remain. All the others went home, including Thad, who was ordered to take some fish home to his family. At twilight the dories were all gone and Peter was alone, but with a tranquil mind. And that night he slept.

At the first grey-blue light before dawn, the Big Fisherman rose and walked forward. It was still too early to identify the familiar landmarks. On such a morning, he had stood here gazing toward the shore in the predawn haze and had heard a voice calling ‘Simon!’ With what heart-racing haste had he scrambled into the little boat and flailed the lake with excited oars! And then he had received his commission as the fisherman who would now ‘fish for men.’

The sky was brightening a little and the fog was dissolving. Dimly the outlines of the wharves and huts became visible. The Big Fisherman’s narrowed eyes slowly swept the shoreline. A tall, slender column of blue smoke was rising from a small, bright fire at the water’s edge. Beside the fire, warming his hands, stood the Master. He raised his arm, waved a hand, and called:

‘Peter!’

Half an hour later the disciples began to arrive, by twos and threes, for the day’s work. They hurried to the spot where Jesus and Peter sat side by side before the fire, and were greeted by the Master’s welcoming smile. The Big Fisherman’s shaggy head was wet; he was bare to the waist; his shirt lay near-by on the sand, drying. His eyes were red and swollen with weeping, but strangely luminous. It was plain to see what had happened. Peter had tearfully repented his weakness and had been fully restored to the Master’s comradeship.