The effect was wonderful! All the young, reckless spirits in the
district camped on Nickerson's doorstep and he had his pick of the
best in making up his eight dory gang--sixteen young bloods, strong,
single, and tough, and endowed with a dash of the sporting spirit
which would ensure their being of the breed to "stand the gaff" in
winning their skipper's bet.
Nickerson was delighted. "That sure was a great stunt, Donny, boy," he
cried. "I've got a gang of young toughs--a bunch that'll work 'til
they drop an' who'll swing dories over when the gulls can't fly to
wind'ard! They're the kind for makin' a big trip 'cause they'll work
like the devil to beat the old timers, and they'll fish when the
married men an' the' narvous men'll be for stayin' aboard. I'd ha'
never thought o' that stunt if it wasn't for you, by Jupiter!"
"Do you suppose anyone will take up your bet?" enquired Donald
somewhat anxiously. The other thought for a moment before answering.
"Yes!" he replied. "Some skipper will call me--some high-liner. Lemme
see--who is there runnin' eight dories? Wilson?--No, he's too tight!
Wallace?--A big family an' no money to blow! It'll be either Smith or
Ira Burton. Burton will call me sure! He don't like me sence I gave
him a trimming for insulting little Vera Knickle. ... Yes, it'll
likely be Burton. He'll itch to take my money an' show me up as a
windy bluff. Mark me, Donald, we'll have Burton to fight against, and
he'll take some trimming, too!"
Jud Nickerson's wager was the talk of the fleet and the news spread up
and down the shore. Young fishermen came in from other ports to ask
for a "sight" with Nickerson, and he regretfully turned them away. He
had his gang now--a cracking good crowd--Jud Nickerson's "hellions"
they were called, and down on the wharves and in the outfitters and
barber shops, the old skippers smiled sourly and "cal'lated that Jud
Nickerson was agoin' to fish lime juice fashion," and they reckoned
some day he would spring a surprise in the way of a vessel with
"injy-rubber" dories that would stretch with a big load of fish, and
leather sails for running a vessel to port in a breeze.
The _West Wind_ was duly hauled alongside the wharf and her gang were
aboard getting salt into the hold bins and rigging up their trawling
gear. This was a job which Captain Nickerson advised Donald to "get
hep to," and he sat with the fishermen on the _West Wind's_ sunny
decks practising the knotting of "gangens,"[1] the "sticking" of same
into the "ground line" of the "trawl" or long-line, and the bending on
to the gangens of the seven or eight hundred hooks which go to make up
a seven-"shot" tub of trawl gear. The Eastville harbor fleet of
twenty-five or thirty schooners were nearly all "salt Bankers"--that
is, they engaged in a deep sea fishery on the off-shore "Banks" or
shoal water areas of the Western North Atlantic, and their catch of
cod, hake, pollock, haddock and cusk were split and put down in salt
aboard the vessels. Cod, however, was the commonest fish caught, and
when the salted catch was landed, it was prepared for export to West
Indies and South America by being dried on racks or "flakes" exposed
to open air and sun. Flakes, hundreds of feet long, were built on the
sunny slopes of the hillsides around the harbor, and during the summer
months these would be covered with hundreds of thousands of split
salted codfish caught on the Banks from Le Have to Grand. When
thoroughly dried these fish were graded, packed in casks and drums,
and shipped to the West Indies and South America, where, as "bacalhao"
it is much esteemed by the Latins and colored populations.
[1] Pronounced "gan" as in "began" and "gen" as in "gent."
Donald knew a good deal about sailing a schooner, but he knew
absolutely nothing about fishing in any form. His notion of "trawling"
was steam trawling wherein a huge bag net was towed over the bottom by
a steamer specially built and equipped for the purpose. In Scotland
this method of deep-sea fishing was universal. Trawling, so-called, in
Canada, was a different operation altogether, and consisted in
catching fish by means of lines about 2,100 feet long, into which, at
28 or 40 inch intervals, a "snood" or "gangen" about 36 inches long
was stuck and hitched through the strands of the main or "ground"
line. To this snood or gangen was hitched a black japanned hook and
from seven to eight hundred hooks depended to a "string" or "tub" of
trawl gear. The whole of this long line was coiled down in tubs
usually made from cutting down a flour barrel, and six to eight tubs
of trawl went to each dory.
The dory is a flat-bottomed, high-sided boat peculiar to the North
Atlantic coasts of the American continent. It is thus constructed for
wonderful seaworthiness when properly handled, and by having removable
thwarts and other fixtures, it can be "nested" within other dories on
the schooner's decks. From six to twelve such boats can be carried
"nested" one within the other on the port and starboard sides of a
vessel's waist. From these dories, when launched on the fishing
grounds, two fishermen set the long trawls with every hook baited and
the line anchored along the bottom.
Young McKenzie found himself in an enchantingly novel world of
seafaring and learning something new every day. He had recovered from
his surprise at the beautiful class of vessel employed in the Canadian
deep-sea fisheries, and the comfort of their forecastles and cabins,
but what delighted him still more was the class of men who went to sea
in these fishing craft. They were fishermen and farmers and lumbermen
and seamen all rolled into one, and as they sat in the sun rigging up
interminable fathoms of tarred cotton lines into fishing gear, their
conversation would range from the planting of potatoes to the care of
a "galled" ox; from the cutting of spruce "piling" and the clearing of
an alder swamp to the forty fathom talk of searoads and sailormen.
Most of them had been to the West Indies in schooners, brigs and
barquentines. They talked glibly of Demerara, Trinidad and its "Pitch
Lake"; the Sugar Loaf at Rio; the Prado and Malecon of Havana, and the
salt pans of Turk's Islands. They chewed tobacco, joked and yarned in
a strangely fascinating drawl, and Donald's seafaring blood would be
thrilled by their unaffected relations of wild battles with sea and
wind, and times when the sudden hurricane blows of spring and fall
"blew th' gaul-derned fores'l, jumbo'n jib clean aout of her 'n left
us stripped to bare poles 'n th' gaul-derned ledges to loo'ard!"
They all addressed each other by baptismal names and Donald was struck
by the number of Biblical appellations, and also the odd Freemans,
Wallaces, Bruces, Wolfes, Lincolns and other Christian names which
sounded strange to his ears and betokened the liberty-loving spirit of
ancestors. They were a fine type--lean, strong-muscled, sun-tanned,
good humored and coolly daring, and Donald looked forward to life
among them with anticipatory pleasure. In these craft and with these
men for shipmates, he felt the fascination of the searoads coming
over him stronger than ever, and the hateful memory of the days on
the _Kelvinhaugh_ were passing into oblivion.
They were almost ready for sea, and Captain Nickerson and Donald were
standing on the wharf superintending the loading of some supplies,
when the skipper gave a grunt. "Here's Burton acomin'!" They turned
around to see a tall, raw-boned, sandy-haired man about forty stepping
towards them. He had a clean-shaven face, a hard mouth, and cold grey
eyes. "Hello, Jud," he said in a high-pitched drawl. "See ye're back
with us again. Lime-juicin' too much for ye these days?"
Nickerson grunted. "Cal'late lime-juicin' didn't hurt me any," he said
coldly. "But a man likes to be home an' among his folks once in a
while."
The other picked up a pine splinter from the wharf, and producing a
knife, began to whittle it. After a pause, he spoke again. "See ye're
agoin' in fer fishin'. Ye've a smart vessel there."
"Yep! She's able!" answered Judson shortly.
Another pause. "Reckon ye can catch a trip o' fish?" Still whittling,
he asked the question without taking his eyes from the pine sliver.
"Reckon I kin!" replied Nickerson, and fixing the other with his
steely glance, added, "I plan to be high-line eight-doryman this
season."
Whittling away, Captain Burton nodded slowly. "Umph!" he piped after a
thoughtful pause. "Cal'late, Jud, I hev five hundred toad-skins loose
what says you ain't agoin' to be ahead o' th' _Annie L. Brown's_ gang
spring trip to fall."
Judson laughed sarcastically. "The _Annie Brown_? Why ef I couldn't
trim that crowd of old women I wouldn't 'temp to go afishin'. I am out
to trim an abler gang than the _Annie's_." There was a grin on the
faces of the loafing _West Winders_ who sensed what was in the air and
who hung around within earshot. Burton noted the grins and reddened.
"I said, Jud, that the _Annie L. Brown_ hez five hundred dollars to
put up agin yore hooker. Do you take it, or do you not?"
"Of course I'll take it, Captain Burton," answered the other with a
careless laugh. "If you have the money with you I'll take it naow
'stead of later."
Burton threw the stick away and snapped his knife. "I'll leave th'
money with Bill Smith, th' harbor-master, an' you kin leave yores
there too. I'm sailin' day after t'morrow." Without another word, he
turned and stalked up the wharf. Nickerson turned to his grinning
gang. "That's the joker we're up against," he said, "and, take it from
me, he'll be a tough one to beat. He has a good gang and an able
vessel and he's a good fish-killer. We'll have to hustle some to get
that money, bullies."
A fisherman laughed. "You find th' fish, Cap," he said, "an' you'll
find that 'hustle' is aour middle name. Ira Burton's 'toadskins' look
mighty good t' me!"
Joak had removed his dunnage down aboard the schooner and lived on her
with some of the men. Donald wanted to do the same, but the Skipper
told him to remain at the Nickerson home until he, himself, went
aboard. Though he appreciated and enjoyed Judson's kindness, yet he
felt the lack of presentable clothes--especially when Ruth was about,
for, by her actions and manner towards him, he felt instinctively that
she looked upon him as a common Scotch sailor-boy of a social status
far beneath her. She was neither unkind nor discourteous, but she
treated him exactly as one would treat a hired man. This jarred
McKenzie's pride considerably, and when Ruth was around he refrained
from conversation and confined himself to mere affirmative or negative
answers when she addressed him.
The evening before sailing came, and Donald trudged up from the vessel
clad in overalls and rubber boots, and grimy with loading stove coal.
When he stepped up on the verandah of the Nickerson home, he spied
Ruth seated before an artist's easel and intent on painting a view of
the harbor. Anything savoring of art appealed to Donald and he could
not resist walking up and looking at the young lady's effort. He felt
instinctively that he would be snubbed. At the sound of his footsteps
she turned around and gave him a careless glance such as one would
give the milk-man or a pet cat.
"Good evening, Miss," ventured Donald politely. "I see you are an
artist." "I do a little painting," she replied curtly, continuing her
work. For a space he watched her brushing in the colors, and his
artistic eye detected many mistakes which were spoiling an otherwise
creditable canvas. The girl evidently lacked training though she
possessed ability. When she paused to squeeze some color on to a
palette, Donald noticed that her fingers were long and well
shaped--tokens of artistic temperament. "Well, what do you think of
it?" she said without looking up and with a touch of patronizing
tolerance in her words.
"I think it is very good in parts," replied Donald quietly, "but--"
"Yes, but--?" She was looking at him with arched eye-brows, and there
was a trace of resentment in her voice seeming to infer "What do you
know about art?"
McKenzie smiled. "I was going to say, if you'll permit me, that your
perspective is a little bit out," he answered calmly. "Your schooner
is too large for the shed in the fore-ground, and the detail on the
further side of the harbor is too harsh. It should be toned down a
bit--" He paused, noting the angry flush which was rising to her face.
"Go on!" she snapped--almost rudely. "What else is wrong with it?" Her
tone was irritable, and Donald, thinking of her conversation with her
sister-in-law the day he and Joak arrived, proceeded without mercy,
"Your sky is too much of a greeny-blue--you need more cobalt in it.
Your water should reflect the sky more, and your clouds are somewhat
heavy. A little dash of white and Naples yellow mixed in the centres
would lift them out more. And, pardon me, for a sunny day, you should
have worked more of a yellow tinge into all your colors--" He said no
more, for with an indignant toss of her head and a sparkle of temper
in her blue eyes that made her look very fascinating, she jumped up
from the stool and throwing down her brush, stalked into the house,
saying tartly, "If you're so smart--finish it yourself and let us see
if you are as good an artist as you are a critic!" Donald stared after
her--somewhat pleased that he had stirred this self-possessed young
beauty, and yet somewhat regretful at having offended her. Any
unpleasant rifts in his relationships with any person always annoyed
McKenzie. He would rather endure than inflict. He turned and scanned
the painting, and the artist in him came to the fore. Throwing off his
overall jacket, he sat down, picked up the palette and brushes, and
started to work. Under his trained eyes and hands the crudities were
painted out or toned down, and when Captain Jud came up from the wharf
he had transformed the picture into something, which, while yet
amateurish, betokened the handiwork of a true artist. "Aye, aye,
painting something, are ye?" was the Skipper's greeting.
"No," answered the other. "I took the liberty of retouching your
sister's picture. It is her painting, and it is very good." He rose
and followed Judson into the house.
He had been gone but a minute before Ruth slipped silently around a
corner of the verandah. "He says 'it's very good' does he?" she
murmured. "Let's see what our Scotch sailor-artist-critic has done."
But when she looked at the canvas, her pique gave way to genuine
admiration. "Oh!" she ejaculated softly. "He _is_ an artist after
all!" Then perplexedly. "I wonder where he learned?" Still wondering,
she lifted the canvas from the easel and took it up to her room.
They had supper in the big dining-room that evening--it was a special
meal for the departing sailors--and Donald wore a white duck shirt
with a turn-down collar--a dollar purchase which catered in a measure
to his desire for clean white linen. With his face and hands well
scrubbed, and his hair brushed, he looked eminently respectable and
felt more at ease. Clothes and personal appearance are two extremely
important factors in the self-respect of youth--especially so when the
admiration of a girl is to be gained. McKenzie's dollar shirt added
enough to his personal appearance to command Ruth's attention, and
during the supper she shot shy glances at him and wondered why she
hadn't noticed what fine eyes and teeth and hands this tanned young
seaman possessed. His artistic criticism set her to thinking. She
pondered over his manner of conversation and his actions when she and
her mother were around. He spoke with a Scottish accent, but then,
unlike McGlashan, his language was faultlessly correct. His table
manners, she noticed now, were according to all the canons of
etiquette. He did not tuck his serviette into his shirt-neck; he
wielded his spoon in the prescribed way when taking soup, and he held
and used his knife and fork properly and not in the "scrammy-handed"
manner she expected from a common sea-boy. The Nickersons were
superior people, and noted these things and lived correctly
themselves. They were seamen and ship-builders, fish merchants and
timber merchants, but others of the family had taken up the higher
professional arts and doctors, clergymen and lawyers were numbered
among them. The Skipper's maternal uncle was a lawyer and a member of
the Dominion House of Commons--not that this political honor may be
cited as a criterion of breed--but it was evidence of the fact that
the family were "particular and knowing folk."
They were to sail for the fishing banks on the morrow, and Judson
suggested they have a little family party. Brother Asa and his wife
were invited over, and they were bringing with them a cousin who was
visiting them; a young woman a year or two older than Ruth. "Now,
Sis," said Jud to his sister, "you can get busy an' make up a whack of
that choc-late fudge for me to take to sea with me. I c'd eat a bar'l
of it right now!"
Asa Nickerson, older than Judson, but almost identical in looks,
speech and manner, came in with his wife and her cousin Helena Stuart.
Helena was petite with soft brown eyes and pretty fair hair--a rather
striking girl and with a face and form which matched her hair and
eyes, she would attract admiring attention anywhere. When she greeted
Ruth and the two were together, Donald thought he had never seen
finer-looking girls. Judson was evidently struck with Miss Stuart, and
it wasn't long before he managed to escort her off to the kitchen to
superintend his sister's fudge making. Donald, in the odd habit he had
of conjuring up contrasting memories, smiled to himself when the
Skipper, in his most polite and persuasive manner, offered Miss Stuart
his arm in mock courtesy and led her laughingly away to a
candy-boiling. He thought of a rain-lashed, heaving deck and the
drumming of a big wind aloft and an oil-skinned, sea-booted Judson
leaning over the bridge rail of the _Kelvinhaugh_ and rasping out,
"Put yer ruddy guts into it, you lousy hounds, or I'll bash the ugly
mug of th' swine that hangs back!" with a liberal sprinkling of biting
oaths for better measure. Truly, seafarers live lives of contrasts not
alone in the element they live part of their lives, but in the nature
of their work and the herding of men with men far from refining
influences.
Donald was left with the older people, and he sat quietly listening to
their small talk. Asa spoke to him once or twice, but eventually got
embroiled in a discussion with his parents as to the correct manner in
which to feed a nine-months-old child--which discussion, while of
interest to married people, bored McKenzie dreadfully, and several
times he felt like making a bold move by leaving and repairing to the
kitchen, where, from the shrieks and laughter, the girls and the
Skipper were having a jolly time over the manufacture of the chocolate
confection.
He was about to slip out, when Mrs. Asa went to the piano and
commenced running her fingers over the keys. "Play us a tune,
Gertrude," boomed the old ship-builder. "My ol' favorite,
y'know--'Sweet Dreamland Faces'--an' ye might sing it too,
Gerty-girl."
The daughter-in-law picked out the music but demurred at the singing.
"You know, father, I can't play and sing at the same time. If I had
someone to play, I'd sing. Helena would play for me, but I hate to
disturb her. She's having a good time in the kitchen by the sounds."
Donald, tired of sitting and doing nothing and itching to get his
fingers on piano keys once more, rose to his feet. "Possibly I can
help you," he said quietly. "I haven't played the piano since we left
the West Coast, but I'll try."
Young Mrs. Nickerson looked somewhat surprised, but smiled and vacated
the stool. Donald sat down and fingered the keys. His fingers were
stiff with the hard usage of sea-faring, but he swung readily into the
easy score, and soon Mrs. Asa was singing the sweet old song in a
pleasing voice to his accompaniment. When it was finished amid the
plaudits of the listeners, the singer complimented the young fellow on
his playing. "You play well," she said. "Do you sing? I'm sure you do!
Won't you play and sing for us?"
Rather than hazard a resumption of the baby-food conversation, Donald
murmured with a self-conscious blush that he would try, and without
any preliminaries he touched the keys and in a clear baritone rendered
"Ye Banks and Braes o' Bonnie Doon." As he sang the famous old
Scottish song, memories of his mother and home in far-away Scotland
surged to mind. He forgot the company and sang with closed eyes. He
was lonely and more than a little home-sick, and the yearning
suggested by the words and its plaintive air rang in his voice, and
his quiet touch on the piano mingled with his singing and combined to
make it a song from the heart and soul of a wanderer far from his
native land.
"Ye mind me o' departed joys--
Departed.... Never to return!"
When he finished there was an awed silence, and he swung on the stool
to see Judson and the two girls standing in the doorway. Helena
Stuart, her eyes glowing, walked over to the piano. "That was lovely,
Mr. McKenzie," she murmured admiringly. "Won't you sing something
else?"
Donald was embarrassed. "I--I'd like to hear _you_ play or sing
something, Miss," he stammered. "Will you, please?"
"By Jingo, Donny-boy," cried the Skipper, "I've been with you nigh a
year naow and I never knew you could play or sing like that! I've
h'ard you chanteying, but, if I could play and sing like you can I'd
be hanged if I'd go to sea."
Miss Stuart had been rummaging through a music cabinet. "Here we are,
Mr. McKenzie," she cried. "Here's a pretty thing--'In Old Madrid!' Do
you know it? Fine! If you'll sing it with me, I'll play." She
commenced the prelude and they sang the quaint old song. It was a
favorite of Donald's and savored of the romance which forever appealed
to his nature. Songs of feeling awakened responsive chords within him
and his voice contained the subtle intonations of correct
interpretation of the words.
"Her lover fell long years ago for Spain--"
He could conjure a picture of gallant _conquistadores_--_caballeros_
and _hidalgos_ of chivalrous Castile ... the lover--an armored knight
lying stark on a stricken field with a Moorish arrow or javelin in his
heart ... and her dainty glove would be fixed in his helm. He visioned
her anguish when the dreadful news was brought to her--
"A convent veil ... those dark eyes hid,
And all the vows that love had sigh'd ... were vain!"
In such a song he could feed his soul on the sentiment which he
hungered for. Miss Stuart's soprano blended well with his expressive
baritone and delighted the listeners who felt they were being truly
regaled with singing of a high order. Ruth, too, was delighted, but
deep down in her heart was a twinge of bitterness, of jealousy, of
recrimination. This young stranger had lived under her father's roof
for almost a month and it was only on the eve of his departure for the
fishery that she discovered his worth and talents. She had ignored him
for a common sailor lad--a ship laborer--and here he was displaying
culture superior to her own. Later, she catechised her brother. "Who
is this McKenzie boy? He's no common fellow like that cook of
yours--that impossible McGlashan. Where is his family? Where does he
come from?"
Judson laughed. "What did you think he was, Sis? Some hoodlum I picked
off the dock? Why, honey, his father was a well-known sea-captain in
the New York trade ... drowned at sea. The boy is very clever and very
well educated. His uncle owns a fleet of ships and Donald was an
apprentice or cadet on the barque I was mate of. They knocked him
about so much on her that I got him to skin aout in Vancouver and come
with me. He's a thorough gentleman in every way and one of the
pluckiest and nerviest youngsters I ever was shipmates with. He's gone
through something, that lad!"
When her brother had finished, Ruth looked at him accusingly. "Judson
Nickerson," she said. "I'm vexed with you! You tell me all this when
he is going away, and here for almost a month I've kept him at a
distance thinking he was only a sailor you had hired. We might have
had a lot of pleasant evenings here if you hadn't been so thoughtless.
You come home to eat and sleep, and when we are around you kept Mr.
McKenzie from getting better acquainted with your eternal
ship-and-fish-talk monopolizing his evenings. I--I could _beat_ you,
Judson--yes! thrash you well!" And she stamped her foot angrily, while
the Skipper stammered excuses and finally laughed at her chagrin. "It
took Helena to find aout my friend's qualities," he teased. "_You_
judged him by his clothes. He wanted to dress himself up, but I told
him to save his money as he didn't have much. This'll teach you, Sis,
that all my guests are not rough-necks and shellbacks!"
In the parlor, Helena and Donald were entertaining the company by
singing and playing, and in the congenial atmosphere the young fellow
cast off his reserve. He felt that he was once more picking up the
threads of the things he delighted in, but had lost for a space. With
generous praise from his audience, admiring glances and expressions
from pretty Miss Stuart, and a desire to revenge himself upon Ruth
for her neglect and tolerant behavior towards him, he expanded and did
his best.
When Ruth came from the kitchen with her brother and noticed the
friendly intimacy of the two young people at the piano, she suggested
a dance as a diversion. "Gerty will play a waltz for us and we can go
into the dining-room. Juddy--push the table back, and--" in a
whisper--"take Helena for your partner. I'll find out if your friend
has other accomplishments."
When Mrs. Asa trilled out the "Blue Danube," Ruth approached Donald.
"Will you waltz with me?" she asked with a winning smile. The youth
looked up at her with surprise in his eyes, colored slightly, and
glanced at his heavy boots. "I--I'm afraid I can't do much with these
on," he answered hesitatingly, "and I expect I'm sadly out of
practice--"
"Let's try anyway," she suggested, and Donald slipped his arm around
her waist and stepped off in time to the music. He held her very
gingerly at first, but in the swing of the dance he tightened his
embrace of her lithe figure. Though nervous and afraid of stepping on
her dainty feet with his heavy brogans, and somewhat abashed in
holding a pretty girl to him in such close proximity, he,
nevertheless, piloted her through the rhythmic whirl in a creditable
manner which bespoke a graceful dancer. Panting, and with eyes glowing
and cheeks blooming, she called a halt. "Oh, I'm out of breath," she
gasped. "Let's sit down. Juddy and Helena will dance all night."
He escorted her to a corner of the dining-room and sat beside her. All
his resentment against her previous treatment of him had vanished and
he felt strangely buoyant and happy. For a moment neither spoke. "I'm
so sorry I was rude to you about my painting this afternoon," ventured
Ruth at last with a shy glance towards his face. "You were quite right
in your criticisms and you altered it wonderfully. I had no idea you
were so clever. You must have studied painting..."
Donald nodded. "I always loved drawing and painting," he replied. "My
art lessons were the only ones I really enjoyed."
"And music and dancing and singing?"
"I took lessons in all because Mother made me do so," he answered
smiling. "I did not like them at the time, though I appreciate such
education now."
She looked at him to see if he was passing a compliment, but in his
expression there was no evidence of such. "Your Mother must miss you
very much," she observed. "Whatever sent a clever boy like you to sea?
Art, music and drawing-room accomplishments have a mighty little place
on a fishing boat. It's a miserable life, though Juddy thinks it is
the only occupation."
"Men must work," replied the youth.
"Granted! But seafaring! Fishing! Why not some occupation where you
can make use of your artistic gifts--?"
"There are better artists than I am walking the streets of Glasgow and
London who will draw excellent crayon pictures for a sixpence." He
smiled and added. "I loved the sea!"