The old run-down junk was certainly no Sea Tiger.
It was, in fact, no bigger than the clipper’s long-boat, though it did have a small cabin in the center where the single mast was located with its bamboo sail. Robbie hadn’t realized how much he missed the water until he felt the junk’s deck beneath his feet. He fell to work with a will, familiarizing himself with the simple rigging, making ready the small sail for hoisting, and doing all the other tasks of a shipman’s pride. No matter that this was a lazy little river scarcely 70 feet across that the locals called a stream. To have a deck beneath his feet again felt like coming home after a week in a desert.
He found himself whistling a merry tune, just like in the old days:
You jolly sailors list to me,
I’ve been a fortnight home from sea,
Which time I’ve rambled night and day,
To have a lark on the Highway.
Listen you jovial sailors gay,
To the rigs of Ratcliffe Highway.
He thought fleetingly of the Sea Tiger. How grand it had been when she ran “with a bone in her teeth,” her sails swelled and the beams creaking with the strain!
He sighed, saddened to think of her now lying dead at the bottom of the China Sea. A twinge of anger rose in him at the memory of Pike, who had apparently betrayed her to that fate. He hadn’t thought of the skipper in a long time. He wondered if thoughts of his father’s old wooden-legged friend would continue to plague him, taking from him some of the pleasure of his essential love for the sea. Yet even as the memories came back, he recalled that the days aboard the Tiger had not been all sweet. No, the “old days” extended further back than that—so far, in fact, that he began to wonder if they had really ever existed at all.
A shout from Coombs, who was standing on the dock, jarred his thoughts back to the present.
“This is the last of the gear, Mr. Taggart,” said the young man as he hoisted a bundle aboard.
Well, thought Robbie, this little excursion promises to be about as eventful as a walk across Hyde Park. Coombs’ mood had remained withdrawn; he had said less than a dozen words it seemed since they had met at dawn. It was too bad. Otherwise there might have been promise of, if not an adventure, at least a diversion from the mission.
Coombs swung aboard, and immediately set about stowing away the gear. He paid Robbie little attention. Robbie stood with his foot propped up on the thwart of the junk, his arms folded, able to take an amused look at the situation. He had seldom encountered such a serious creature as this young man was turning out to be. His bearing could not have been more in contrast with Wallace’s self-assured intensity. Coombs seemed more to harbor the intensity of a boy trying very hard to please, so hard that no room was left in his life for anything else.
For Coombs’ part, he did indeed feel that he had a great deal to prove with this sojourn in China, and thus it was little surprise that he tried so hard to please and felt so frustrated from being kept, as he thought, out of the decision-making process. From an affluent Birmingham banking family, his parents were perplexed at his announcement at the age of fifteen that he had given his life to Christ. They hardly knew what the words meant, but it most certainly sounded like the sort of thing one should keep quiet about. They convinced themselves that the best course of action was to ignore his burst of religious fervor, certain the “spell” would soon pass. What was their mortification when, six months later, he further announced that he had been “called” to become a missionary to China.
Mr. and Mrs. Coombs had scheduled an examination by the family physician, and even contemplated locking their son in his room until the whole business was forgotten. His father had always entertained hopes of his athletically built son entering Cambridge and distinguishing himself on the rugby field, and later doing the same thing in his own bank, or perhaps in a law practice. But now the fool lad wanted to throw his life away. It was unthinkable! But Thomas was an only child, and his parents could not long rave against him. They did, however, make it clear that China was no place for a gentleman, which he would find out on his own soon enough, and come home with his tail between his legs. How much better, they reasoned, not to have to learn the hard way.
But young Coombs had been determined to follow what he perceived as the Lord’s leading, since the moment it had come to him at a service in which Dr. Isaiah Wallace, visiting from China, was the main speaker. His call was a true one, and no less so because of Wallace’s moving presentation. Coombs became determined to serve with the doctor, and to distinguish himself, as his father would have said—whether pleasing God, or validating his own existence in the eyes of his parents. At his tender age who could have told for certain?
Now he had been in China a mere six months, and the twenty-one-year-old missionary was working hard, perhaps to accomplish both goals. Not only did he have to prove himself to his parents, but he also had to make his hero and mentor, Isaiah Wallace, proud of him. The five years of missionary preparation, including an intensive course in Chinese, had not come easy for Thomas. His bent was indeed more toward the athletic than the scholarly, but at the same time he was determined to serve his God in the capacity to which he had been called, no matter what it took.
And it seemed he was now required to drag this sailor along with him as some kind of bodyguard! He was a grown man; how could he serve God if he were continually treated like a child? Yet nagging even more at Thomas’s mind was the fear that Dr. Wallace seemed to have little faith in him, and might never feel confident to give him the chance he deserved. Six months seemed to young Thomas Coombs as an eternity, plenty of time to have become self-sufficient in his particular sphere of mission work. On occasion Wallace had remarked that he was coming along fine, but apparently the words held different connotations to each man.
When the doctor had told him of his plans to go to Hangchow, Coombs had exultantly thought that at last this would be his moment to prove himself on his own. But then almost on the heels of the announcement came the doctor’s declaration that the trip upriver would have to be cancelled in favor of the business in Hangchow. Coombs had argued fervently, at least to the extent he dared with the great man, and did succeed in convincing him that the commitments upriver would be broken only at a severe cost. “We have shaken off the watchdogs that have been oppressing us,” argued Coombs. “We cannot put this tour off any longer without seriously impairing our ministry.” Then the notion of Mr. Taggart’s involvement had come up.
“But he knows less than I of the country or the language!” argued Coombs. “What possible assistance can he provide?”
“He can handle the junk,” returned Wallace.
Coombs actually thought he was trying to be amusing.
“I can manage the boat well enough,” he said.
“‘Pride goeth before a fall,’ Thomas,” admonished the doctor.
“Sir, I don’t mean to be prideful, but I long for more responsibility. I feel that with God’s help I can handle it.”
“In time, Thomas, I have no doubt that you will,” answered the doctor, “but you must have patience. The ways of God take time, not the least of which is our inward preparation for His work in and through us. You must trust the schedule I have set for you.”
“Then let me hire a villager,” pleaded Coombs. It was especially degrading to be told that Taggart had to accompany him, for it was obvious that his only function was to act as a nursemaid.
“I believe Taggart will be more suitable,” replied Wallace; then, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, he added, “and I have other reasons for wanting Mr. Taggart to go along with you.”
“May I inquire as to what those reasons might be?” asked Coombs, not a little timorously.
“For his own sake, Thomas. I believe this opportunity has been ordained by our Lord, for I do not think Mr. Taggart would agree to join us on one of our expeditions of ministry unless he was needed. And I think he will gain a great deal from seeing the gospel spread in this manner. So, Thomas, look upon this as a mutually beneficial excursion. The Chinese are not our only mission field, you know. God sent Mr. Taggart to us for a purpose. And we must be prayerfully faithful to sharing the truths of God with him as well.”