"Under a goose-winged tawp-s'l, an' a double-reef'd main-sail,
With her head towards th' nor'ad, boys, she rides a furious gale;
If brother Tom could see us naow, an' hear those wild winds blow
He'd thank th' Lord that he was out of Corbett's gundalow!"
With the droning of the wind, the seething of the sea, and the
squawking of the gulls as accompaniments, this deep-sea concert went
on, and every man worked like a busy tailor baiting his gear and
chiming in the choruses. Someone struck up an inspiring song about the
record run of the fishing schooner _Mary L. MacKay_, and it reflected
the spirit of those hardy Banksmen.
"We lashed th' hawser to th' rack, an' chocked th' cable box,
An' over-hauled th' shackles on th' fore an' main-sheet blocks;
We double griped th' dories as th' gang began to pray,
For a breeze to whip the bitts from aout th' _Mary L. MacKay_.
We slammed her to Matinicus, an' th' skipper hauled th' log:
'Sixteen knots an hour, by gum! Ain't she th' gal to slog!'
An' th' wheelsman he jest shouted as he swung her on her way,
'You watch me tear the mains'l off th' _Mary L. MacKay_!'
To the wheel was lashed th' steersman as he soaked her thro' th' gloom,
And a big sea hove his dory-mate clean over th' main-boom,
It ripped the oil-pants off his legs an' we could hear him say:
'There's a power o' water flyin' o'er th' _Mary L. MacKay_!'"
Captain Nickerson leaned over the taff-rail and glanced at the log
dials. "Ten knots, Donny-boy," he murmured happily. "She can travel
this one! Sock it to her, son!" And he jumped back to assist in the
baiting up. When supper was announced, the work was finished and the
watches were set. McKenzie lazied the evening away stretched out on a
cabin locker listening to the yarns of his ship-mates. Some of their
quiet relations were the very heart of adventure and hazard. "You'll
mind th' time, skipper, when the _Annie Crosby_ was hove down and came
up with a dory hangin' to her fore spreader!" or "Was you around in
that bad blow when Harry Winslow soaked his vessel over th' Cape
ledges an' smashed th' skeg off her bangin' over the rocks! He _was_ a
haound, that Winslow!" Aye, they know thrills who fish the Banks--the
thrills of "Breakers ahead!" and the desperate clawing off a
lee-shore; the scares of the smoking mists, sinister with the raucous
bellowings of driving liners; the exhilarating drives for port in a
brave wind, and the lying-to in piling seas, blinding snows and savage
gales! Donald lolled with sparkling eyes and open ears drinking it all
in until the last yarner had knocked out his pipe and rolled into his
bunk.
Joak turned them out for breakfast next morning at four. It was black
dark, and they ate in the light of oil lamps while the schooner tore
along on her east by south course. "She's run a hundred an' twenty
miles naow," remarked a fisherman just relieved from his "trick."
"This one's a grand little hooker to sail! Steers like a witch!" He
sat down at the table. "I'm as hungry as a bear. Slap some o' them
beans on this plate, Westley-boy, an' give th' bread an' butter a fair
wind this way."
At five, the Skipper shot the schooner up in the wind. "Take a cast of
the lead, Don!" he cried, and when the youth gave him the sounding,
"Thirty-five fathoms, sir!" he examined the tallow on the bottom of
the lead. "Fine sand. Right! Call the gang, Donald! We'll hoist the
dories over here an' spin the gear aout! There's a fellow to wind'ard
there dressing down fish." As he went for'ard, Donald looked to the
sou'west and saw the twinkle of torch-lights low down on the far
horizon--unmistakable sign of a Banksman at work.
The men came from below, oil-skinned and booted, and with mittens and
woollen caps on, for the air was biting and cold. They began getting
the tubs of trawl, anchors and buoys ready, and scurried around
picking up the impedimenta necessary for going overside in the dories.
"Lower away top dories!" bawled Judson from the wheel. Though this was
his first order as a fishing skipper yet he seemed to have adapted
himself to the life as if he had known no other. The experiences of
his younger days came readily to mind and hand and he carried on as
though he had never seen the "lime-juice" merchant service.
The four fishermen who went in the two dories (nested on top of the
port and starboard sets) placed their thwarts and pen-boards in
position, kicked the dory-plug into its hole in the bottom of the
boat, and saw to it that two pairs of oars, sail, water-jar,
bait-knife, bailer, bow-roller and gurdy-winch were in place. Then
they hooked the dory hoisting tackles into the bow and stern beckets
of the twenty-foot boats, and with two men heaving on the fall of each
tackle, they swung the dory to the rail. Throwing in anchors, buoys
and buoy lines, they shoved the little craft out and lowered her into
the water while Donald held her alongside by the painter. Joak did the
same for the dory on the port side.
One of the fishermen jumped into the boat, while his dory-mate handed
him down the tubs of baited trawls. "Set two tubs, boys," advised the
skipper, "and if fish are strikin' we'll spin th' whole string. Pull
to the east'ard when you're setting your gear!" The two fishermen
jumped into the dory and Donald allowed the boat to drift astern and
belayed the painter to the taffrail pin.
Within a very short time, all eight dories were overboard with their
crews in them, and the schooner towed them along in a string of four
in line ahead from each quarter. Heading the vessel away from the
schooner to windward, the skipper waved his hand. "Leggo port dory!"
The last dory on the port string cast off. One man shipped the oars
and pulled to the eastward, while the other hove the trawl-buoy over
and payed out the anchor line. When the line had run out sufficiently
for a thirty-five fathom depth of water, he bent the end of the baited
line to the crown of the light trawl anchor and hove it overboard.
Placing the tub of trawl-line before him in the stern-sheets of the
dory, the fisherman commenced throwing the baited gear out by means of
a heaving stick which he held in his right hand, while his dory-mate
rowed the boat. It did not take long before the two thousand odd feet
of trawl was whisked out and the end line of the second tub was bent
to the tub-end of the first and shot overside in a similar manner.
When the whole line was in the water, another anchor was bent to the
baited gear and thrown over, and the fishermen hung to the anchor-rode
until it was time to haul the trawl. With a buoyed anchor at the first
end and another at the last end, the four thousand feet of line with
its sixteen hundred baited hooks, was securely stretched along the sea
floor, and in readiness to entrap the hungry cod and haddock which
roamed over the bottom looking for food.
All eight dories were cast off from the schooner and all set their
trawls at a distance of about half a mile from each other, and when
the last dory was slipped, the skipper put the schooner about, and
with the jumbo belayed to windward, the mainsheet eased off, and the
wheel made fast a spoke from hard-down, the _West Wind_ lurched along
in that semi-hove-to condition known in fishermen's parlance as
"jogging." Joak went to his galley to get dinner ready; Captain
Nickerson shipped the fish-pen boards on the schooner's decks between
rail and cabin house, and Donald whetted dressing knives.
As they worked, Captain Nickerson kept up a running fire of
explanations about the fishery, and Donald listened with increasing
interest. "This manner of running dories aout is called making
'flying-sets,'" said Judson, "and the schooners fishing fresh for
market usually work this way. If we strike good fishin' hereabouts,
we'll let go the anchor an' ride to that big cable hawser, an' th'
men will pull away from th' vessel an' set their gear all 'round her.
Ef we do that, we'll stow all th' sail an' hoist a trysail, or ridin'
sail on th' main to steady her an' keep her headin' up to her cable.
We're only setting' two tubs this time to try th' ground aout, but ef
fishin's good, we'll run four or six tubs an' buoy them an' leave them
in th' water. Th' boys'll under-run th' trawls then--takin' th' fish
off th' hooks an' re-baiting them without liftin' th' whole tub o'
gear out o' th' water. You'll notice that each trawl buoy has a short
stick with a black-ball or flag on it inserted into it. That marks th'
gear an' enables us to pick it up easily. They'll start ahaulin' th'
lines in half an hour, an' we'll see ef there's any fish hereabouts."
They jogged past a dory which was hauling in their gear. A fisherman
stood in the bow and pulled the line up from the bottom over a
lignumvitæ roller fixed in the bow-gunnel. His dory-mate stood
immediately behind him with the empty trawl tub, and as his mate
hauled, he coiled the gear down in the tub again. "There's a scale!"
cried Judson. The fisherman in the dory had a big cod on his line and
he lifted it up with his right hand and swung it deftly behind him
with a sharp jerk which tore the hook out of the mouth of the fish and
sent it wriggling into the penned-off fish pound in the dory bottom.
Donald could see a number of fish being hauled up, and the skipper was
scanning the other dories through his glasses. "They're all gittin'
something," he remarked. "I hope there's fish here, for we've got to
hustle. Ira Burton'll have a full deck by naow I reckon, an' he's got
plenty bait to keep him agoin'!"
They started picking up the dories shortly afterwards, and as they
came alongside, Donald and Joak caught their painters and allowed them
to drift abreast the quarters. Pitching and rolling in the swell, the
fishermen forked the cod, haddock and pollock up into the deck
pens--counting the catch as they threw the fish aboard. "A hundred an'
twenty-one!" sung out a fisherman. A couple of forks or "pews" spun
over the rail, followed by the two dory-mates. "Tie yer dory astern,"
said Captain Nickerson. "Go'n have a bite an' spin aout four tubs.
We'll let go the anchor here."
When the eight dories delivered their catch, there were five thousand
pounds of cod, pollock and large haddock in the pens. Donald had never
seen so many fish in his life before. "Is that a good catch, skipper?"
he asked. The other pursed his lips. "Only fair," he replied. "I've
seen th' whole quarter full o' fish on two tubs, but it ain't a good
sign to strike fish right away. We'll get a deck later."
They anchored the schooner on the Bank and after furling sail, the
gang bent and hoisted the trysail or riding sail, had a "mug up" of
tea and cold victuals, and pulled away in their dories to set and haul
their lines again. They were "on fish," and when they left their
buoyed trawls at nightfall, there was fifteen thousand pounds in the
deck pens. After supper, the work of "dressing down," splitting and
salting the catch began.
Several kerosene torches with huge wicks were set alight on the cabin
house; dressing tables were rigged, and the men, armed with sharp
knives, commenced gutting and beheading and splitting open the fish.
They were adepts at the work, and Donald watched them with wonder.
"Slop!" a large cod would be slapped on to the table; a fisherman
would seize it in his gloved hand and give it a slash with a knife
across the throat and up the belly; his neighbour would scoop the
viscera and gills out with one motion and snap the head off with
another, and, when passed around the board, the beheaded and
disemboweled fish would be whisked into a huge tub of salt water,
split from nape to tail and scraped free from blood and adhering
viscera. After a sousing in the tub, it would be hove out to drain in
a pen alongside the fish room hatch, and finally it would be shot
below, where the "salters" in the hold would pile it neatly in a pen,
skin down, and cover it liberally with coarse salt.
The men worked like Trojans in the glare of the torches--gossiping and
singing--and the low hum of their talk would be punctuated by a shout
for a fresh knife, a drink of water, or a pipe or a chew of tobacco.
The skipper seemed to be everywhere. One minute he would be pitching
fish down into the hold; another time he would be slapping fish on to
the dressing tables. He jumped around whetting knives, lighting
torches, and occasionally gutted fish. "You ain't forgot haow to split
'em, Cap!" remarked a man, complimenting his dexterity with the knife.
Nickerson laughed. "When a feller has spent three years of his boyhood
days doin' this, he ain't likely to forget--even though he has been
deep-waterin' since. I was two seasons with old Abner Westhaver in the
_Carrie Watson_, and he kep' a boy ahumpin'--believe me! I've split
ten thousand pounds hand-runnin' many a time with that ol' Turk, an'
he wouldn't let ye straighten yer back 'til the work was done."
In the spells between assisting the men, Donald sat on the wheel-box
and surveyed the scene. The schooner, with all canvas furled, except
the try-sail on the main, rolled gently to the swell--her shining
spars and new running gear outlined in the glare from the flaming
torches. These flickering flares limned the rugged faces of the
fishermen at work and illuminated the objects within their effulgent
radius in the manner of Rembrandt. Decks gleamed wet like a city
street on a rainy night; the slimy bodies of the fish and the oilskins
of the men stood out vivid against the darkness where the light caught
them. All around was the night--opaque, impalpable, and only definable
when a heavier swell lifted its crest above the low quarter and caught
the torch glow. Sea birds squawked in the blackness--quarrelling over
the choice scraps of viscera dumped overside--and occasionally flying
into the circle of light, so near that Donald could discern their
unwinking, bead-like eyes as they poised for a moment above the rail.
There were myriads of gulls around while they were dressing fish; when
the work was done, they vanished. "Them beggars knows," observed a
fisherman to McKenzie. "They'll keep away ontil they sees you begin to
rig th' dressing keelers, then they're round in hundreds. Winter
time's th' time for gulls ... don't see 'em so much in summer.
Stinkin' Carey Chickens then ... hundreds of 'em. Fly agin yer face
when dressin' daown fish by torches an' 'most choke ye with th'
carrion smell of 'em. Deep-water sailors think Carey Chickens are
sacred. We fishermen take no 'count of 'em ... snip their heads off
with th' dress-knife when they flops in front of ye."
When the last fish was below and in the salt, Donald cleaned up the
decks and the men proceeded to bait up their gear and prepare bait for
taking out with them on the morrow. Then, with draw-buckets of clean
salt water, they washed their oilskins free of fish slime, wrung out
their gloves and mittens, and went below to fo'c'sle and cabin for a
mug-up, a smoke, and a long, satisfying "kink" in a warm, comfortable
bunk. "Breakfast at two, boys," Captain Nickerson said. "We'll get the
gear 'bout three an' set an' haul all day to-morrow. We've got to
hustle day an' night to trim Ira Burton." And to McKenzie, he said,
"Go'n turn into your pew, Don. I'll keep watch 'til midnight, then
I'll give you a hail. We'll catch up on sleep when the boys are out in
the dories to-morrow."
Donald rolled into his berth in the cabin after a "mug-up" of molasses
cake and coffee from the "shack locker" or quick lunch cupboard in the
forecastle. He felt tired but happy, and soon closed his eyes, lulled
to slumber by the steady ticking of the cabin clock, the regular
snores of his shipmates, and the gentle rolling of the vessel. As he
slept he dreamed that he was skipper of a fishing schooner as big as
the _Kelvinhaugh_, running a hundred dories, and that he had brought
her in full of fish and had won Ira Burton's money. Ruth Nickerson met
him on the dock as he landed and threw her arms around his neck and
kissed him. With a satisfied "Um-hum!" he rolled his back to the light
of the lamp and "sounded for forty fathoms," while Nickerson paced the
weather quarter, smoking and planning how he, a green fishing skipper,
would "get to wind'ard" of an old fish-killer like Ira Burton.