The heavy February gale had surprised the collier that had been on its way from Newcastle to London. When the waves crashed mercilessly against its hull and the winds hit its sails with such force that the ship had threatened to capsize, the skipper ordered to run for the Whitby harbour.

When the port came into view, the ship fired signals, and bells were tolled in the harbour town. The lifeboat was launched in case the crew needed assistance.

They did. As the ship approached the port, it was blown off course, southward, and ran aground on the hard shale known as the Scaur, hidden just below the surface. The waves kept beating against the ship until it was broken up into pieces, the Whitby lifeboat only managing to reach the ship just in time to help the terrified crew off.

Nobody in Whitby seemed to care about the loss of the ship however. At first dawn, as the tide was going out, people were already rushing down to the Scaur, now partially exposed, carrying baskets. Entire families showed up, and some visiting Dutch sailors were running ahead of the others to get there first. 

A wrecked collier meant free coal scattered across the Scaur and beaches.

One of the people rushing down to the shore was a young woman. Her name was Susan Thorn. She wanted the coal to sell so she could afford a horse. She dreamed of becoming a jockey all her life, ever since her mother told her about how fast the horses could fly down the track. Susan tore down the beach side until she reached the wreck. She searched the entire boat but came up empty handed. She sighed and went to leave the beach which was becoming quite crowded. Her foot caught on something buried in the sand and she fell roughly on the sand. She cursed loudly. She stood up and dusted herself off and turned to scowl at the object that tripped her but stopped when she found what it was.

He might be hung-over, but Harry Longbottom showed up. He had cursed the bells that had woken him from his drunk slumber last night, but when one of his children - was it his? - when a child had told him a collier was in trouble, he had ordered the children to wake him and their useless mother up early.

That morning, he hadn't stayed to check whether Anita actually got up. Instead, he and the children had hurried down to the beach, trying to get there before the others. The slipway was crowded with so many people trying to get down the sands at once, but he elbowed his way through the crowd, not stopping to help the man he had caused to slip on the seaweed-covered concrete.

Once he got to the beach, he realized that a lot of people were already there, gathering the coal, and he could feel himself rage. Bastards! Half of them probably didn't even need it as much as he and his poor starving family did!

When he saw a young woman trip over something - probably a large piece of coal! -, he hurried over. "Yo, lady! That's my coal!" He took her by the elbow and pulled her up to get her out of the way.

"Pardon me, sir!" She snapped at the man with annoyance. When she came to get coal she did not expect to be treated so roughly by people passing. She shook herself out of his large hands and got the measure of him and did a double take. "Why, haven't I seen you before?"

Harry picked up the coal and looked around for James, who had been carrying the basket. He spotted his youngest son picking coal out of other people's basket when they weren't looking and putting it in their own. Good lad.

He turned back to the girl. "Depends. Are you a whore, lass? In that case, probably," he said, laughing at his own joke. He began to browse the nearby sands for coal.

Susan scowls, "I am not. Though you look like someone who could not get a girl if she was blind, deaf, and dead." She smirked at him. "I'll assume you're here for the coal and not a pleasant stroll? If so, it would be great if you could tell me the difference between the inky-black useless rocks and the valuable substance we're searching for. You see, as a poor housewife I don't often have the chance to see the stuff up close. I wouldn't be able to discern its authenticity if it was clutched in my fist." She bats her eyes and rocks on her feet hoping he forgot about the scuffle and she can get some coal before it's gone. She doesn't hear a response, "Hey. What'cha lookin' for, pal?" She taps him on his large shoulder. Susan raises her eyebrows, "You're looking around you frantically. I'm wondering who you're searching for."

At that insult, Harry had almost turned and shouted abuse back at her, but the coal was more important to him right now. It was being picked off the beach rapidly, and he was desperately scanning the ground. He had just spotted a piece of coal when she tapped him on the shoulder.

He rose. "Coal, of course, ye dumb cow. If ye're a housewife, ye'r husband must be a miserable sod." He took a few steps to where he had seen a piece of coal and picked it up, shoving a child out the way who had been trying to get there first. He turned back to the young woman. "If it burns... it's coal. If not... it's a rock."

Susan stared at him, dumbfounded. She threw her hands up indignation. "Oh, so I'm supposed to take a match to every black mound I see? And, for your information I am no simple housewife, I-", she straightened and posed, "am a Poet." Susan paused and watched him for a few seconds. "What's your deal anyways? Why are you such a grouch? I mean by this point, to shut me up, you might as well just say we should work together. I'll be mute then, I promise." She gave him eyes.

Harry snorted. "A worse housewife."

He looked around. "James!" A scrawny little boy with greasy dark hair ran over, carrying a basket, and Harry took it from him. "Off... gather more." And the child ran away again.

Harry put the coal he had gathered in the basket, set the basket down, and turned back to the girl. "Well lass. If ye wanna help me, ye'r most welcome. T' coal can go in this basket." He picked up another piece and tossed it in the basket.