Towards the land was a
small wood of gnarled trees, the boughs of which were all brushed
smooth by the gales; looking landward there was the green flat, in
which the river ran, rising into low hills; hardly a house was visible
save one or two lonely farms; two or three church towers rose above
the hills at a long distance away. Indeed Blea was much cut off from
the world; there was a bridge over the stream on the west side, but
over the other channel was no bridge, so that to fare eastward it was
requisite to go in a boat. To seaward there were wide sands, when the
tide was out; when it was in, it came up nearly to the end of the
village street. The people were mostly fishermen, but there were a few
farmers and labourers; the boats of the fishermen lay to the east side
of the village, near the river channel which gave some draught of
water; and the channel was marked out by big black stakes and posts
that straggled out over the sands, like awkward leaning figures, to
the sea's brim.

Father Thomas lived in a small and ancient brick house near the
church, with a little garden of herbs attached. He was a kindly man,
much worn by age and weather, with a wise heart, and he loved the
quiet life with his small flock. This morning he had come out of his
house to look abroad, before he settled down to the making of his
sermon. He looked out to sea, and saw with a shadow of sadness the
black outline of a wreck that had come ashore a week before, and over
which the white waves were now breaking. The wind blew steadily from
the north-east, and had a bitter poisonous chill in it, which it
doubtless drew from the fields of the upper ice. The day was dark and
overhung, not with cloud, but with a kind of dreary vapour that shut
out the sun. Father Thomas shuddered at the wind, and drew his patched
cloak round him. As he did so, he saw three figures come up to the
vicarage gate. It was not a common thing for him to have visitors in
the morning, and he saw with surprise that they were old Master John
Grimston, the richest man in the place, half farmer and half
fisherman, a dark surly old man; his wife, Bridget, a timid and
frightened woman, who found life with her harsh husband a difficult
business, in spite of their wealth, which, for a place like Blea, was
great; and their son Henry, a silly shambling man of forty, who was
his father's butt. The three walked silently and heavily, as though
they came on a sad errand.

Father Thomas