The Templeton case

Tom Gale leaned heavily on the low bulwarks of the little schooner Lucy, his arms folded upon the aforesaid bulwarks, his short, black clay pipe in his mouth, and his eyes fixed on the flowing tide glittering in the sunlight of a clear October day.

Tom Gale had nothing whatever to do, and was doing it well, lounging and thinking, for the most part, about nothing at all. He combined the offices of crew and cook of the little coasting schooner that was moored at the head of Marsh Quay, waiting for a load of gravel that was delayed. That very morning word had been brought that the contractor would not be able to cart the gravel from the pit, about three miles away, down to Marsh Quay until the following Tuesday. This was Saturday, and the “captain” and “mate” had incontinently taken themselves off to their respective homes at Frattenbury, leaving Tom Gale in charge.

Tom Gale did not in the least mind having nothing to do beyond taking care of a vessel that nobody was likely to run away with. There was good beer to be had at the “Mariner’s Arms,” not a hundred yards away, and there was a nice snug bar parlour in the “Mariner’s Arms,” where the evenings might be spent in comfort—for there was no risk in deserting the vessel for an hour or two.

Marsh Quay was on one of the little estuaries of the sea that pierced into the southern country from the Channel. Two miles northward, the grey, tapering spire of the Cathedral of Frattenbury stood out against the background of Downs and blue sky. The estuary, which ran up within a mile of Frattenbury to the westward, was at Marsh Quay only about two hundred yards in width, but broadened out southward until a curve hid its course towards the open sea.

Marsh Quay, as its name implied, was a little quay jutting out into the estuary from the eastern shore. It was only about fifty yards long, but fairly broad, and contained sheds for storage on either side, except at the end, where it was quite open for a space, which formed room for a small vessel to be moored on either side, as well as one at its extremity.

The quay was reached by a straight road of about half a mile, which turned out of the main road to Frattenbury, and ended abruptly on the quay itself. As one approached by this road one passed a few cottages on either side, while, just before one came to the quay itself, there was a good-sized house on the right, and the “Mariner’s Arms” on the left. The seaward wall of the little inn was washed at the base at spring tides, and the windows looked out over the estuary.

On the right-hand side of the quay, screened by the buildings on it, was an anchorage for vessels of small draught at low tide. A couple of little yachts were riding here, while, drawn up on the shore, were two or three flat-bottomed light canoes and some small boats. Most of these belonged to the “Mariner’s Arms,” and were for hire, Marsh Quay being quite a little resort at high tide in summer, when Frattenbury people came out to fish, or to sail in the estuary.

On the shore immediately opposite was a wood, coming right down to the water’s edge, already turning golden yellow with autumn tints. Above the trees of this wood, a few hundred yards inland, could be seen the upper part of a house to which a boat, moored to the tiny jetty opposite, evidently belonged.

At low tide the estuary was a wide expanse of black mud, except for a narrow channel winding in the middle, and the little pool beside the quay, which formed the anchorage. The tide from the Channel outside came in with a strong current which rushed back at the turn. Boating was not particularly safe, and even if one were sailing a light draught yacht, one had to know the shallows well, while heavier vessels coming up or going down with the tide had to stick to the mid-channel, to avoid running on the mud.