Читать книгу Dorymates: A Tale of the Fishing Banks - Munroe Kirk - Страница 5

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In less than five minutes after the first cry announcing the appearance of the eagerly expected fish, the great thirty-foot, double-ended seine-boat, rowed by eight men, had left the schooner and started in the direction of the school. In its stern, with his hand on the long steering oar, stood the seine-master, directing the course of the boat and keeping a sharp lookout ahead. Pulling after them as fast as he could was Breeze McCloud, in the single dory that the Curlew carried. The schooner, left in charge of the skipper and cook, was thrown up into the wind, and was held as nearly stationary as possible until it could be seen where she would be wanted.

“Come, stretch yourselves, lads! stretch yourselves! Let’s see who’ll break the first oar! Those other fellows are just humping themselves. It’s Yankee against Yankee this time, and you’ve got a tough lot to beat,” shouted the seine-master.

He would, of course, have been very sorry to have an oar broken, but he had such confidence that the men could do no more than bend the tough ash blades, no matter how hard they tugged, that he was perfectly willing they should try. By the “other fellows” he meant the crew of another fishing schooner, which daylight of that morning had disclosed not far from them, and which had evidently discovered mackerel about the same time they had. They, too, were out in their seine-boat, and doubtless looked forward with as great confidence as did the men from the Curlew to taking the first fare of the season into New York.

“Easy, lads, easy now!” ordered the seine-master, in a tone of suppressed excitement; “here’s our school.” Now he tossed overboard a small keg, or buoy, to which was attached one end of the upper, or cork line of the great net. Near this Breeze was to wait in his dory. Then, bending to their oars, the boat’s crew began to pull, with lusty strokes, in a great circle around the school of fish that was rippling the water close beside them. Swimming in a dense body close to the surface, often throwing themselves clear of the water, with their steely blue sides flashing in the morning light, the mackerel were darting madly hither and thither. At one instant the whole school, moved by some mysterious impulse, would make a simultaneous dash in one direction, and the next it would as suddenly rush back again. In the cool dim depths beneath them, dog-fish, sharks, and other hungry sea pirates were breakfasting off the newly arrived strangers, and devouring them by the score. In the air above them circled and swooped great fishing hawks, anxious to make a meal off of fresh mackerel. Now to these enemies was added man, the most cruel and greatly to be dreaded of all. No wonder the poor fish were frightened and undecided as to the direction of their flight from so many imminent dangers.

Meantime the great net, a quarter of a mile long, had been skilfully drawn completely around them. Breeze, in his dory, obeying previously given instructions, carried the buoy that had first been thrown overboard to the seine-boat, in which the other end of the cork-line was still held and made fast. The circle was now perfect, and the fish were surrounded by a wall of fine but stout twine. Their only chance of escape lay at the bottom of the net, and in another minute this opening would also be closed against them.

While the upper edge of the seine was floated by means of numerous large corks attached to the rope that ran along its entire length, its lower edge was sunk and held straight down by an equal number of leaden rings. Through these ran a second stout line, known as the “purse rope,” an end of which remained in the boat. By pulling on this all the leaden rings could be drawn close together, and as the net was now in the form of a circle, its lower edge would form a purse in which there would be no opening for escape.

Hauling on this rope and “pursing” the seine is the hardest part of the entire job, and takes the united efforts of the seine-boat’s crew. It is also a most exciting operation, for if it is successfully accomplished the fish are caught and an ample reward for all the previous toil is almost certain. If, on the other hand, the fish take alarm at the last moment and dart downward through the still open bottom of the net, all the hard work goes for nothing and must be done over again, perhaps many times before a successful haul is made.

Such was the case in this instance. Success was almost within reach of the Curlew’s crew, when suddenly the entire school of fish, upon which they were building such high hopes, dropped out of sight like so many leaden plummets, and were gone. They had evidently decided that there were more chances for life among the sharks and dog-fish than within the power of their human enemies, and had wisely seized their last chance of escape from them.

It was a bitter disappointment, and it was made the keener by the sight of certain movements on board the rival schooner that indicated a successful pursing of their seine and a heavy catch of fish. Slowly, and with much grumbling over their hard luck, the Curlew’s men gathered in their net and empty seine. They piled it up carefully, rings forward and corks aft, in the after-part of their boat, ready for the next time. Then they listlessly pulled towards their schooner, which was lying near by, and on board which breakfast awaited them.

The Curlew sailed close to the other schooner in order to learn her luck, and witness the lively scene about her. The stranger’s seine had enclosed an enormous school of fish, which was estimated at nearly, if not quite, five hundred barrels. One end of it had been got on board the schooner, and the dipping out of the fish was about to begin. They were greatly frightened, and rushed from side to side with such violence that many of them were crushed to death. All at once they sank, and their weight was so great as to draw one gunwale of the heavy seine-boat under the water, although eight men were perched on the opposite side to counterbalance it.

When a crew find a greater quantity of fish on their hands than they can take care of, as was the case now, it is customary, if there is another vessel within hail, to give her the surplus rather than to throw it away. Having often done this himself, Captain Coffin did not hesitate, as the two schooners drew close together, to hail the other skipper and ask if he had any fish to give away.

“No, I haven’t,” was the surly answer. “If you want fish go and catch ’em.”

“All right,” answered Captain Coffin, somewhat provoked, but still good-naturedly; “we’re the lads can just do that, and we’ll beat you into New York yet.”

“Looks like it now, doesn’t it?” shouted the other, scornfully. “If you do, though, it won’t be because I helped you. I’d rather lose every fish I’ve got alongside here than to give you one of them.”

These words were hardly out of his mouth when the captured fish darted violently towards the bottom of the net, and the seine-boat was nearly capsized, as has been related. Its crew hurriedly scrambled to the upper side. Suddenly the boat righted, so quickly that the whole eight men were flung overboard, and found themselves floundering in the cold water.

The situation was startling as well as comical, though the explanation of what had happened was very simple. The frightened fish, in their downward rush, had torn a great hole in the net, which was an old one, and through it they had instantly darted to depths of safety. The seine, being thus relieved of its burden, no longer pulled the boat down, and it at once yielded to the weight of the men on its upper gunwale.

Under ordinary circumstances this mishap would have excited the sympathy of those on board the Curlew. Now, on account of the uncivil reply of the rival skipper to their captain, they were inclined to rejoice at what had happened, and they roared with laughter at the rueful faces of the dripping men as they scrambled back into their boat.

To Breeze the whole affair presented itself in such a comical aspect that he laughed louder and longer than any of the others, though in a perfectly good-humored way, and without a trace of an unkind feeling towards those who had been so unfortunate. His mirth was, however, deemed peculiarly irritating by one of the rival crew, a young man with an ugly face that bore unmistakable traces of dissipation. He shook his fist at Breeze and called out,

“Never you mind, young feller, I’ll not forget you! And maybe I’ll find a chance to make you laugh out of the other side of your mouth some day.”

This speech sobered Breeze at once, though at first he looked around in a bewildered way, thinking it could not possibly be meant for him. When he realized that it was he shouted back,

“Seems to me I wouldn’t feel so bad about it if I was you. I wasn’t laughing at you, anyway. I was laughing to think how surprised those mackerel must have been when you went diving down after them, trying to catch ’em in your hands.”

This raised another shout of laughter from the Curlew men, but the young man towards whom it was directed only shook his fist again at Breeze, and turned away without a word, going below to find some dry clothes.

Breeze saw that he had unwittingly made for himself an enemy in this stranger, and for a time the knowledge caused him real distress. He was a warm-hearted boy, preferring friendships to enmities, and would at any time sacrifice his own pleasure or comfort to win the former and overcome the latter. At the same time, he was not sorry that he had asserted his own independence and answered back as he had. The incident soon passed from his mind, however, in the rush of more stirring events, and it was some time before he was again reminded of it.

Captain Coffin was much puzzled to account for the surliness of the rival skipper until the Curlew passed astern of the other schooner, so that her name, Roxy B., and her hailing port could be read. Then it flashed across him that this was the Rockhaven craft that was thought to be so fast, but which he had beaten in a fair race on a run into Boston the summer before.

“SEEMS TO ME I WOULDN’T FEEL SO BAD ABOUT IT IF I WAS YOU.”

To bear ill-will for such a cause certainly showed a small and mean mind, and Captain Coffin said he was very glad the other had refused to let him have any fish, for he should hate to be under obligations to such a man.

The Curlew had not gone more than a mile from the Roxy B. when the fish of which she was in search began to rise to the surface on all sides of her. The seine-boat was quickly sent out, while Breeze, in his dory, followed it as before. This time a school was successfully surrounded, and the net was pursed without a mishap. A flag hoisted on an oar in the boat was the signal to the schooner that they had made a large haul and needed her assistance. She was soon brought alongside of the pursed seine with its burden of glittering fish, and from it a long-handled scoop-net, worked with a tackle, was dipping them, a half-barrelful at a time, and transferring them to her deck.

The catch was about one hundred and fifty barrels of mackerel that were of a prime quality as to size, but so thin that they would have been unfit to split and salt. The afternoon was drawing to a close before they were all got on board and the seine was properly stowed in its boat; but there was no rest for the tired crew yet a while. Sail was made on the schooner, and she was headed for Sandy Hook, nearly three hundred miles away. Then all hands, except the cook and the man at the wheel, turned to and began “gibbing” and packing the fish.

Mackerel are so delicate that they die almost as soon as they touch a deck, and will quickly spoil if not cared for at once. So there was no time to lose, and the whole catch must be “gibbed,” or cleaned, and packed in ice before sleep could be thought of.

In “gibbing” a mackerel the gills are plucked out, and with them come the entrails. This operation was performed with marvellous rapidity by the skilled workers of the crew, the refuse matter was tossed into square wooden boxes known as “gib-tubs,” and the cleaned fish were thrown into bushel baskets.

Down in the hold the blocks of ice were removed from a pen, and reduced to small bits by heavy sharp-pointed “slicers.” A layer of this broken ice was shovelled over the bottom of the empty pen, and above it was spread a basket of fish. Then came another layer of ice, then more fish, and so on until the pen was full, when another was emptied and filled in the same manner. It was long after midnight before the crew of the Curlew knocked off work, with the last of their fish safely packed away; but, tired as they were, they were also highly elated by their success, and by the prospect of being the first mackereller of the season into New York.

The next day, spent in running up the coast with a brisk westerly breeze, was one of the happiest that can come to the in-shore fisherman. Everybody was in the best of humor, from the knowledge that they had, stowed beneath their hatches, a fair-sized catch of the very earliest mackerel of the season. They knew these would bring an extra price, and pay each of them at least twice as much as they would make under more ordinary circumstances. There was little to do except stand watch and clean ship; so that most of the day was devoted to the spinning of yarns in the forecastle, and the singing of songs to a banjo accompaniment in the cabin. The cook made them a great dish of Joe-floggers (peculiar pancakes stuffed with plums) for breakfast, and a gorgeous plum-duff for dinner. Upon the whole, Breeze enjoyed the day so thoroughly that he wondered how anybody could complain of the hardships of a fisherman’s life, or think it anything but fascinating.

They passed the double Highland lights, and rounding Sandy Hook, stood up New York Bay some time during the following night; the next morning, by daylight, they were snugly moored in the Fulton Market slip, among scores of other fishing vessels, none of which had on board a single mackerel. Theirs was the first catch of the season, and before breakfast-time it had been sold in bulk for three thousand dollars. Of this, after expenses were deducted, each full share amounted to ninety-two dollars, while the half share credited to Breeze was forty-six dollars. This seemed to him a large sum of money to have been earned in a week, only one day and night of which had been devoted to real hard work. He at once wrote to his mother telling her the good news, and as he did so he felt that he had become, if not an important member of society, at least a very wealthy one.

In the afternoon he took a short walk through the lower part of the great city, but became so bewildered by the noise, bustle, and crowds of people that he dared not go very far for fear of getting lost. On one of the downtown streets that he did visit he was attracted by the sight of a jeweller’s window. This reminded him of what his mother had said, that if anybody could open the golden ball that hung from the chain around his neck it would be a city jeweller.

Entering the store, he stepped up to an elderly gentleman who stood behind a desk, and unclasping the chain, handed it and the ball to him, saying, “I don’t know whether this ball will open or not; can you tell me, sir?”

The jeweller examined the trinket carefully, and seemed particularly interested in the unique tracery with which it was ornamented. For several minutes he did not speak; then he asked, abruptly, “Where did you get this?”

Breeze told him in a few words all that he knew of its history as well as his own.

“H’m,” said the jeweller. “You wait here a moment, while I show this to my partner.”

He was gone so long that Breeze began to grow uneasy, and had just about made up his mind to go in search of him, when he returned. He was accompanied by a low-browed, swarthy individual, who, when Breeze was pointed out, stepped up to him and said,

“This trinket, that you have brought in, is quite a novelty in our line, and I should like to buy it of you. It is a puzzle-charm of East Indian make. Unless one knows the secret of its construction, it cannot possibly be opened except by an accident that might not happen in ten thousand times of trying. I learned my trade in Calcutta, and am probably the only man in New York City to-day who can open this little ball. You see that I can do it.”

Here he showed Breeze the ball open, but did not let him see its contents. Then turning his back for an instant, he again displayed it closed as before.

“What will you take for it?” he asked.

“It’s not for sale,” answered Breeze, “but I am willing to pay for learning the trick of how to open it, for I am curious to know what it contains.”

“That information is not for sale either, nor will I tell you what the ball contains,” said the jeweller. “Moreover, if you will not sell it to me, or show me some proof that you are its rightful owner, I shall keep it until I can place it in the hands of the police, for it is my belief that you have stolen it.”