Chapter 5

The early morning haze had lifted now. The sun had scented the old tarred ropes and softened the pitch in the deck-seams. The sailors worked in silence, deftly spreading open the frayed cords of the net and weaving into them the new twine.

Simon straightened his back, scratched his bushy head with his awl, and shaded his sweating brow for keener observation of the dory that was slowly approaching from the docks. His face lighted up. Other eyes followed his inquisitively.

‘Who’s that with John?’ mumbled Andrew.

‘I don’t recognize him,’ said Simon. ‘Some youngster wanting a job maybe.’

‘Looks like a tramp,’ thought James.

‘That would be John—all over,’ remarked old Zebedee, from the adjacent deck of The Rachael, ‘always bringing home a lost dog to feed.’

‘Well—he might do worse,’ rumbled Simon deep in his throat. ‘Go forward, Thad, and toss him a rope.’

Work on the net was resumed without much enthusiasm, all of them curious to see what sort of passenger John had picked up. But, whoever the stranger was, the Big Fisherman would doubtless approve of his coming aboard. Anything that Johnny did was agreeable with Simon. Every member of the crew took that for granted.

Sometimes newcomers to the fleet were a bit annoyed over the skipper’s partiality toward this absent-minded youth, but they soon accepted it without jealousy; for nobody could help liking him. Johnny was shamelessly lazy. On warm afternoons when everybody else was diligently fishing, Johnny could be found lying flat on his back staring up into the sky. If Simon teasingly queried for a report on what he saw in the white clouds today he would raise his arm and dreamily finger a pattern of a dome, a tower, a bridge, a city; or perhaps a winged angel.

‘You’re not much good as a fisherman, Johnny,’ Simon would say, ‘but it’s worth something to see pictures in the sky.’

It is doubtful, however, whether Simon would have tolerated any such indolence had that been the boy’s only distinction. In emergencies he was amazingly industrious, resourceful, and courageous. In fair weather, when the sails were hoisted or reefed, the crew had to step over him while he indifferently viewed their labours through half-closed eyes. Let there be a storm, Johnny astonished them with his seamanship. If a ravelled rope fouled a pulley high on the main-mast in the midst of a howling gale, everybody knew that the drenched sailor inching his way up the swaying ratlines was Johnny the dreamer.

Perhaps Simon loved the boy for his reckless bravery, perhaps for his visions in the white clouds, perhaps for both of these disparate talents; but whatever may have been the grounds of his affection it was sincere and ever on display. Nor was it a one-sided devotion. Simon was Johnny’s hero. It was a relationship that gave something of fragrance to an occupation much in need of it.