I don't think that the people of Gloucester will ever forget the
morning of that race, which, they will still tell you, was the only
race ever sailed. Wind was what the fishermen wanted, and they got
it--wind, and sea with it. The admiral of the White Squadron, then at
anchor at Rockport Harbor, just around the Cape, stood on the bridge
of his flagship that morning and looked out to sea. Somebody told him
that the fishermen were going to race that day. He took another look.
"Race to-day? Pooh! they'll do well to stay hove-to to-day." Of
course, that ought to have settled it, the admiral having said it.
It blew that day. Leaving home I had time for a bite to eat and a
wash-up. I turned the corner and picked up Clancy, with Maurice Blake,
Tom O'Donnell and Wesley Marrs just ahead. We ran into Mr. Edkins, a
nice old gentleman, who had been made secretary of the race committee.
What he didn't know about fishing would be the making of a "killer,"
but, of course, he wasn't picked out for that--he'd never fished a
day in his life--but because of his knowledge of the rules of yacht
racing. Having had long experience in managing yachting regattas, he
knew all about time allowances and sail measurements--though there
were to be no allowances of any kind here. It was to be boat for boat
in this race; every vessel for herself. So he was thought to be a good
man to have to look after the stake and judges' boats. It was
Gloucester's Anniversary celebration, with a lot of strangers in
town--the Governor and a whole holdful of national characters--and in
deference to them the race was to be managed so that spectators might
have a chance to see it.
Mr. Edkins came along in his official regalia--tall hat, frock coat,
umbrella, gloves, and a pink in his button-hole.
"Is it true, Captain O'Donnell, that the race is going to be held
to-day?"
O'Donnell looked at him as though he didn't understand. "To-day?
to-day?--Good Lord, are we all on the wrong tack? And sure isn't this
the day?"
"Oh, yes--oh, yes, Captain O'Donnell, this is the day appointed. And
that is the trouble. Surely you are not going to race to-day?"
"We're not going to--" broke in Wesley Marrs, "and why aren't we going
to race to-day? What in the name of all that's good have we been
doing with our vessels up on the railway the last week or two? What
d'y'think we took the ballast out of our vessels for? What d'y'think I
had that everlasting new balloon made for last trip in, what for that
big mains'l that Tom here had bent on the Colleen yesterday, and for
what did Maurice drive the Johnnie Duncan home only last night? What
in----"
"Wait, Captain, wait. What I mean is, do you know how it is outside?
They've telegraphed me that up in Boston Harbor there won't be a
steamer leave the harbor to-day--it's as stormy as that. There are two
big ocean liners--and we've got word that they won't leave--won't dare
to leave--not a steamer of any kind will leave Boston Harbor to-day.
And outside a heavy sea running--with the wind fifty-four miles an
hour, the weather bureau says. Fifty-four miles an hour. That's not
street corner talk--it's official. And----"
"Divil take it, does being official make it blow any harder?" asked
O'Donnell.
"And I know the way you fishermen will try to carry on. I know, I
know--don't tell me you're careful. I tell you, Captain O'Donnell, and
you, Captain Marrs, I tell you all--that if you persist in racing
to-day I wash my hands of the whole affair--completely wash my----"
"Well, 'tis a fine wash day, too. Come, Wesley--come, Maurice, we'll
have to be getting on."
They left Mr. Edkins standing there. A little farther on they overtook
the manager of the insurance company, which had policies on most of
the fishing vessels. He was just about to enter his office when
O'Donnell spied him. "Hullo, there's the man I want to see--" and
hailed, "Just heave to a minute, Mr. Brooks, if you please. Now look
here, you know we've took a few pigs of iron out our vessels, and you
know it looks like a bit of weather outside. Now, what I want to know
is if I capsize the Colleen Bawn to-day--if I don't come home with
her--does my wife get the insurance? That's what I want to know--does
my wife get the insurance?"
Mr. Brooks looked at O'Donnell, rubbed his chin and scratched his
head, then looked at O'Donnell again. "Why, I suppose it all comes
under the usual risk of fishing vessels. I suppose so--but--h-m--it
will be pretty risky, won't it? But let me see--wait a moment
now--there's the President inside, and Mr. Emerson, too--he's a
director."
He went inside, and we could see that they were talking it over.
Pretty soon they all came out with the President of the company in
front. "Good-morning, Captain O'Donnell--Captain Marrs, good-morning.
How do you do, Maurice? Captain O'Donnell, take it from me as
official, your insurance on the Colleen Bawn is safe. For the honor
and glory of old Gloucester go ahead and sink her."
"And the Lucy Foster?" asked Wesley.
"And the Lucy Foster, Captain Marrs."
"Of course the Johnnie Duncan, speaking for the owners?" asked
Maurice.
"For every vessel that we insure that leaves the harbor to race
to-day."
"Hurroo!" said O'Donnell. "Don't tell me, Wesley, I'm no--what's
it?--dip-lo-mat. Yes, dip-lo-mat, by the Lord!"
But it certainly was a desperate morning for a race. The streets
seemed to be full of men ready to go out. There were to be only nine
vessels in the race, but another half dozen vessels were going over to
see it, and that meant more than three or four hundred able fishermen
going out. The men that were going to stay ashore would go up to those
that were going out and say, "Well, good-by, old man. If you don't
come back, why, you know your grave'll be kept green." And the men
going out would grin and say, "That's all right, boy, but if she goes,
she'll go with every rag on her," in a half-joking way, too, but it
was the belief that morning that there might be a whole lot of truth
in that kind of joking.
Before we reached the dock we knew that the whole town had learned
pretty much that half a dozen of the skippers had promised each other
in Mrs. Arkell's kitchen the night before, "No sail comes off except
what's blown off," and there promised to be some blown off. Men who
had only just heard their skippers speak of that were bragging of it
in the streets. "Why," said one of O'Donnell's crew as we were coming
down the dock, "if any crawly-spined crawfish loses his nerve and
jumps to our halyards, thinkin' the Colleen's going to capsize--why,
he'll get fooled--and why? Because our halyards are all housed
aloft--by the skipper's orders."
That sounded strong, but it was true. When we reached the end of our
dock we looked for ourselves, and there it was. The Colleen's crew had
hoisted their mains'l already and there she lay swayed up and all
ready, and men aloft were even then putting the seizing on. Tom
O'Donnell himself was pointing it out to Sam Hollis with a good deal
of glee, thinking, I suppose, to worry Hollis, who, to uphold his
reputation, would have to do the same and take the chances that went
with it. By this time everybody knew that Hollis had put his ballast
back during the night. One of Wesley Marrs's men jumped onto the
Withrow and below and had a look for himself. He couldn't get down by
way of the hatches--they were battened down--but he dropped into the
forec's'le and, before anybody knew what he was up to, he had slipped
through the forehold and into the mainhold and there he saw where they
had hurriedly put back the flooring, and he also saw extra barrels of
sand tiered low for further stiffening of the Withrow. He was
discovered before he got on deck and nearly beaten to a jelly before
he got up on the wharf again. It ended in a fine little riot with some
of our gang and O'Donnell's mixing in. Clancy came down the back-stay
like a man falling from the mast-head, so as to be into it before it
was over. He was almost too late--but not quite. Only old Mr. Duncan
coming along with half a dozen other dignified owners stopped it. But
there was time for Clancy to speak his mind out to Sam Hollis. And
that gave Hollis a chance to say, "Well, talk away, Tommie Clancy, but
this is the day I make the Johnnie Duncan take in sail." And Clancy
answered him, "That so! Well, no matter what happens, put this down,
Maurice Blake hangs to his canvas longer than Sam Hollis to-day--hangs
to it or goes over with it or the spars come out of the Johnnie
Duncan."
After the talking was over we thought Hollis would be shamed into
sending a man aloft to mouse his halyards too. But not for Hollis.
That was a little too much for him. Clancy and three or four others
finished attending to our own halyards and overhauling the gear aloft.
Our mains'l was already hoisted and the other three lowers with stops
loosed were all ready to hoist too. The mains'l had been left standing
just as it was when the Johnnie Duncan came in that morning. It was
flat as a board, and I remember how grieved we were when we had to
lower it again because the tug that came to give us a kick out from
the dock could not turn us around with it up--it was blowing so. The
tug captain said he might manage to turn it against the sun, but that
would be bad luck of course, and he knew the crew wouldn't stand for
it, especially with a race like this on hand. It had to be with the
sun; and so we had to lower it again, and when the vessel was turned
around, hoist it again, not forgetting to lash the halyards aloft
again too. But after we'd got it swayed up it didn't set near so well
as before--too baggy to our way of thinking.