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And then beyond, there lies the life eternal. 'My mother is enjoying that, I said. 'Yes, indeed, he answered; 'and her boy will enjoy it too in God's good time, for does not the Master say of all those who belong to Him, "I give unto them eternal life?" "I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly"? I shall never forget my last Sunday in Runswick Bay.
Then, from the R of Runswick I hung a long fishing net, covered with floats, and falling down over a fish basket, and some lobster-pots, whilst on the ground were lying a number of fish which had been emptied out of the basket. Next followed a list of patrons, such as: The Honourable O'Mackerell, Lord Crabby Lobster, Sir C. Shrimp, etc., etc.
Listen, "Home, sweet home, there's no place like home, there's no place like home." Do you like it, Mr. Jack? 'Yes, I do like it, Jack, I said; 'I knew it when I was a little chap like you. As he played, once more it brought before me my mother's voice and my mother's words. I had not thought of my mother for years so much as I had done at Runswick Bay.
When the sun is beginning to climb down the sky in the direction of Hinderwell, and everything is bathed in a glorious golden light, the ferryman will row you across the bay to Runswick, but a scramble over the rocks on the beach will be repaid by a closer view of the now half-filled-up Hob Hole.
'No, it's big, ever so big, he said, stretching out his hands to show me its size. 'Why, whoever gave you it? I asked. 'It isn't Jack's own organ, said the child. 'Whose is it, then? 'It's father's, father's own organ. It seemed to me a most extraordinary thing for the mission preacher of Runswick Bay to have in his possession, but I did not like to ask any more questions at that time.
The place is the same, Runswick Bay and our village green, but the weight to be drawn is not a boat, not a handkerchief; the weight is a human soul. It is your soul, my friend, your immortal soul; you are the one who is being drawn. 'And who are the pullers? Oh, how many they are! I myself have my hands on the rope.
He said no more, but hurried away, and it was many years before he referred to the subject again; but the day came when he did mention it, and when he told me, with tears in his eyes, that he looked upon that Sunday at Runswick as the first link in the chain of God's loving Providence, by means of which He had led him to Himself.
I am ashamed to confess that I had brought no Bible with me to Runswick Bay; I had not opened a Bible for years. But when all was quiet in the house I stole quietly downstairs, and brought up Duncan's Bible, which was lying on the top of the oak cupboard below. What a well-worn, well-read Bible it was! I wondered if my mother's Bible had been read like that.
Here and it is the same at Runswick one is obliged to walk warily during the painter's season, for fear of either obstructing the view of the man behind the easel you have just passed, or out of regard for the feelings of some girls just in front. There are often no more chances of standing still in Staithes than may be enjoyed on a popular golf-links on a fine Saturday afternoon.
The villagers recovered some of their property by digging, and some pieces of broken crockery from one of the cottages are still to be seen on the shore near the ferryman's hut, where the path joins the shore. This sandy beach, lapped by the blue waves of Runswick Bay, is one of the finest and most spectacular spots to be found on the rocky coast-line of Yorkshire.
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