Читать книгу Dorymates: A Tale of the Fishing Banks - Munroe Kirk - Страница 7

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The joyful cry of a light at once put new life and hope into the hearts of the hungry, drenched, and shivering occupants of the seine-boat. Those who had huddled together under the wet canvas of the top-sail in the vain effort to keep warm, as well as those who were pulling hopelessly and wearily at the oars, gazed eagerly in the direction indicated by Breeze. Yes, there it was, faint and yellow in the distance, apparently that of some vessel approaching them from the southward. They could see it as their boat rose on the crests of the great billows, though it was lost again when they sank into the black hollows between them.

Soon they were able to distinguish a second yellow light, lower than the other, and by the position of these they knew that the approaching vessel was a steamer, and a large one at that. Then her red and green side-lights came into view. They watched anxiously to see which of these would disappear first, in order to determine on which side of them she was going to pass. If the red light should be lost to view, then they would know she was passing to windward of them. In that case there would not be the slightest chance of any cries they could utter reaching her, and she would go on her way unconscious of their presence. If the green light should disappear, it would be a sign that she was about to pass to leeward. In that case there was a possibility that their shouts, borne down the gale, might attract the attention of the watch on her deck. Still, she might not stop even then, and it was an almost unheard-of thing for a boat to be picked up at sea in the darkness of midnight, amid the noise and tumult of a gale. They fully understood their position, but, slight as their chance was, they watched for it hopefully.

All at once, as they were lifted from a deep, watery hollow, and looked for the lights, they gave utterance to exclamations of dismay. They could still see the green light and the two yellow lights, but the red one was no longer visible.

“’Tain’t no use. She’s going to windward of us;” muttered one of the men, at once giving up all hope, and again lying down in the bottom of the boat. “Luck’s against us, and we might as well reckon on help from the old Curlew as from that craft.”

Most of the others evidently thought as he did, and they turned their eyes resolutely away from the lights, as though determined to be no longer tantalized by them. But Breeze could not give up so easily, and he still watched the lights whenever a lifting wave afforded him an opportunity of seeing them.

What! Can it be? Or are his eyes deceiving him? No. It certainly is the red light again, now much more distinct than before. The steamer has altered her course and is heading directly for them. The men are filled with new life at the boy’s exultant cry announcing his discovery. They spring up and gaze incredulously. It is true, and both lights are now to be plainly seen, not more than half a mile away and bearing directly towards them. Now they fear that she may run them down, and begin to pull to windward, so as to give her a clear berth. At last she is close upon them, and the green light disappears, while the red shows clear and steady.

“Now for a shout, men! All together as I give the word. One! two! three!” commands the skipper.

It is a wild, desperate cry that startles the lookout on the forward deck of the steamer from the half reverie into which he has fallen.

Again it comes to his ears, and again, borne on the wings of the gale across the angry waters; and now it is heard by the steamer’s captain, who has not left the pilot-house that night.

A gong clangs down among the engines, and a hoarse order is shouted to the engineer through the speaking-tube. The great screw under the steamer’s stern stops for a moment, and then churns the water violently as its motion is reversed and it revolves rapidly backward.

“See if you can pick them up with the electric,” is the captain’s order to the second officer, who has just appeared on deck. At the same instant a dazzling flash of white light darts forth from the steamer’s bow, and cuts a gleaming path-way between two solid walls of blackness above the raging waters.

The second officer seizes the handles at the back of the great lamp, and the broad band of light is slowly swept round to the direction from which the cries have come. In another moment it flashes full in the white faces of Breeze McCloud and his companions, sitting in their seine-boat not more than a hundred yards away. The wonderful eye of the search-light has discovered them, and they cover theirs with their hands, or turn away from the unbearable radiance.

“Pull under our lee,” shouts the captain of the steamer through a speaking-trumpet, “and we’ll try and get you aboard.”

It was a difficult task, for the ship rolled so deeply that it would have been unsafe to open her side-ports, and they must be taken aboard over the rail. As the seine-boat lay alongside, it was at one moment on a level with the steamer’s deck, and the next so far below it that her wet side rose like a black wall high above them. Nothing could be done until she was turned, so as to lie head to the wind. Then, one by one, the wrecked men caught the ropes flung to them, fastened them under their arms, and were hauled up to the steamer’s deck, where they were received and pulled on board by the stout arms eagerly out-stretched to aid them. Some of them were buried beneath the huge waves that sprang after them as though furious at being thus robbed of their expected prey and still determined to clutch it. Others were bruised by being swung violently against the iron side of the steamer. At last all of them were safely rescued, and, with the seine-boat towing by a long line astern, the great steamer was again headed on her course.

Was there ever anything so delicious as the hot coffee at once served to them, or so welcome as the plentiful meal that awaited them in the steamer’s mess-room, after they had got into the dry clothes furnished by her crew? Breeze did not think there was. And when, soon afterwards, he found himself in a comfortable bunk, under warm blankets, and dropping to sleep, he felt that he was one of the most fortunate and marvellously cared for boys in the world.

IN ANOTHER MOMENT IT FLASHES FULL IN THE WHITE FACES OF BREEZE McCLOUD AND HIS COMPANIONS.

The steamer that thus furnished the weary fishermen with shelter, safety, and all the comforts of a sailor’s life was one of a line plying between Boston and a southern city, from which she was now bound. Her captain was one of those noble sailors who are never so happy as when rescuing other toilers of the sea from its perils. He told Captain Coffin that, without any definite reason, he had felt impelled to alter his ship’s course half a point to the eastward shortly before their cries had been heard. It was this change of direction that had brought the red light once more into view.

Before morning the gale had so increased in fury that it was not probable their light craft could have lived through it had they not been picked up when they were. As it was, the seine-boat, while towing behind the steamer, was struck soon after daylight by a great sea that capsized it. The next crushed it like an egg-shell, and the broken wreck was cut adrift.

Twenty-four hours later they entered Boston harbor, and the crew of the lost Curlew, after expressing their heart-felt thanks to the captain, passengers, and crew of the steamer, who had done everything in their power to make them comfortable, left her. They made their way at once to the market slip devoted to the use of fishing vessels, where they were sure of finding friends and fellow-townsmen.

While walking slowly along the wharf, and looking wistfully over the many fishing vessels crowded into the basin, in search of a familiar face, Breeze was slapped on the shoulder, and a well-known voice exclaimed,

“Vy, Breeza, ma boy! how you vas? Vere you come from, eh?”

Turning, he saw the smiling face of old Mateo, the Portuguese cook who, on board the Sea Robin, had fed him with milk from the “lit tin cow” when he was a baby. The old cook had always retained a warm affection for the boy whom he had thus cared for in his helplessness, and had never returned to Gloucester without visiting him and bringing him some present. Now to see him seemed to Breeze almost like a glimpse of home.

Mateo, who, in spite of his years, was still hale and hearty, and one of the best cooks to be found in the fishing fleet, would listen to nothing where they stood. He insisted upon dragging Breeze aboard a new and handsome schooner named the Albatross, in which he had shipped for a cruise to the George’s. She had left Gloucester the day before, and run up to Boston, where her skipper had some business to attend to. Now she was to sail again within an hour.

Pulling his young friend down into the forecastle, and seating him before the mess-table, Mateo exclaimed, “Vell, Breeza, you hongry, eh?”

To him eating was the most important business of life, and until Breeze had assured him that he had just finished one breakfast, and had no room for another mouthful, he would listen to nothing else. His mind being set at rest on this point, Mateo asked,

“Vell, you not hongry, ma boy, ver is ze C’loo?”

“Gone to the bottom,” answered Breeze, “and poor Rod Mason has gone with her.”

“Vat you say? ze C’loo loss, and Rod Mason drowned? Oh, ze holy feesh! an his bruzzer Bill here, on ze ’Batross!”

It was indeed so; the only brother of the drowned man had shipped in the Albatross the day before. When he heard the sad news brought by Breeze, he declared he must return at once to Gloucester, and make arrangements for the future of his brother’s family. He would not even wait for the skipper’s return, but, collecting his dunnage, hurried away to catch the first train for home.

The rest of the crew, most of whom knew him, were intensely interested in what Breeze had to tell them of the loss of the Curlew and the rescue of her crew. They were still plying him with questions when the skipper of the Albatross returned. He, like Mateo, had been one of the Sea Robin’s crew upon the memorable occasion when Breeze had come to her, and now he gave the lad a hearty welcome. When he learned of William Mason’s desertion he was somewhat annoyed, but in a moment his face cleared and he said,

“Why won’t you come with us in his place, Breeze? You shall go as an A1 hand, have a full share of the catch, and we are not likely to be out more than a couple of weeks anyhow. She’s a good vessel, and you are always such a lucky chap that you’ll be more than welcome aboard of her.”

“Yes, Breeza, come ’long,” urged the cook. “Ole Mateo feeda you till you git fat like dog-feesh. Joe-flog, sea-pie, hatch, plenty good t’ings.”

Breeze laughed at the earnestness of the old man and the inducements he held out, but said, “If I only could go home and see mother for a little while first, I’d go in a minute. I’d have to get a new outfit too; the only thing I saved from the Curlew is this oil suit.”

“We’ll wait an hour for you to write to your mother and tell her just how things stand. That’ll give you time to get an outfit in, too. I guess you’d better come along,” urged the skipper.

“Outfeet!” cried Mateo, eagerly. “Vat you want? Peajack, boota, gole vatch an’ chain, eberyting vat you vill hab me getta him.”

So it was finally settled, and an hour later, having written a loving letter home, and been provided, through the old cook’s generosity, with an outfit of clothes quite as good as the one he had lost, Breeze found himself sailing out of Boston harbor in the good schooner Albatross, bound for the George’s Bank. Certainly, nothing had been further from his mind than this, when he had entered the same harbor a few hours before; but he was rapidly learning that nothing is so likely to happen in this life as those things we least expect.

St. George’s Bank, which furnishes the finest cod and halibut found on the American coast, lies about ninety-five miles due east from Highland light on Cape Cod. Its waters are fished all through the year by a large fleet of vessels from New England ports, but its supply continues apparently undiminished. It lies in a dangerous part of the ocean, for it is swept by the current of the Gulf Stream, is subject to fearful storms and dense fogs, and is crossed by all the transatlantic lines of steamers.

Although it is so near at hand, and though fishing was one of the earliest industries followed by the New England settlers, it was not until about 1836 that trips to George’s became a regular feature of the business. The bank was known to exist, and fish were known to be plenty on it, long before, but the fishermen were afraid of it. This fear was owing to the belief among them that the current, always sweeping across it, was strong enough to drag under and sink any vessel that should anchor within its influence.

The first three fishing vessels that visited the dreaded bank kept close together, and their crews fished as they drifted about. Finally, one of the skippers, who was regarded as a perfect dare-devil for proposing such a thing, said he was going to anchor and take his chances. Several of his crew were so frightened that they begged to be put aboard the other vessels, whose skippers were not so venturesome. They were allowed to go, and volunteers were called for from the other crews to aid this bold skipper in his desperate venture. When enough brave fellows had gone on board to be able to get the anchor up quickly in case of trouble, it was let go, the cable spun out, was checked, the anchor held, and the schooner rode to it as easily and quietly as though in Gloucester harbor.

Now occurred the most amusing part of this bold experiment. The swift current quickly bore the other two vessels away from the anchored craft, but those on board the latter imagined that they were moving and leaving their friends behind. They began to heave desperately on their cable, got their anchor up, and started back in pursuit of their companions. When they were once more united, all hands were fully satisfied with their exploit; and though they had taken but a few quintals^[B] of fish they sailed back to Gloucester filled with pride because one of their number had dared drop an anchor on George’s.

In those days, and until 1846, fishing vessels did not carry ice in which to pack their catch and bring it fresh into market. In place of this, many of them were made into what are known as “smacks” by having tight compartments built in their hold amidships, and filled with sea-water from auger-holes bored through the vessel’s bottom.

The greatest depth of water on George’s is 212 fathoms,^[C] or 1272 feet, nearly a quarter of a mile. The average depth for fishing is sixty fathoms, though halibut are often taken in water two hundred fathoms deep. It is, of course, tiresome work to drag these great fish to the surface from such great depths, and they are never sought for there if they can be found in shoaler water.

It is no rare thing to find a hundred fishing vessels at anchor at one time on George’s during any month of the year, and it was to join this fleet that the Albatross was now making her way swiftly around the point of Cape Cod. She was fitted out as a hand-liner--that is, her crew would fish with hand-lines over her sides--and she had a quantity of frozen herring stowed with the ice in her hold to be used as bait.

They reached the bank and caught sight of the anchored fleet early the following morning after leaving Boston. As they slipped along past one after another of the vessels already at work, they could see their crews hauling in their lines and tossing fish over the rail as fast as their arms could move. It seemed curious to Breeze that this busy work should always stop as soon as the Albatross drifted near any of the others. He asked why it was, and was told that they were afraid the new-comers would notice their good luck and anchor near them, which they did not wish to have them do.

As the Albatross moved slowly across the bank, soundings were taken, and the skipper kept a baited hook down. At last, in fifty fathoms of water he got a strong bite, and at once ordered the anchor to be dropped, Then the sails were snugly furled and the riding-sail set. This is a small triangular bit of canvas bent to the main-mast, and is used to hold the vessel’s head to the wind.

Now baskets of bait were got up, lines were overhauled, and soon every man on board had one or two over the side. They were allowed to run out until their leaden sinkers touched, when they were drawn up so that the hooks, that hung a fathom below them, were raised a few feet above the bottom.

There was an intense eagerness to bring up the first fish, and each man kept an eye on his neighbor’s line as well as on his own, to see if he were to be the lucky man. At last a shout announced a bite, and all turned to see Breeze McCloud tug away at something so tremendously heavy that it seemed to him he must be lifting a large piece of the bottom of the ocean.