"You don't know it, Master Will, lad, but Natur' couldn't ha' done no
better for you if she'd tried."
"Why, Josh?"
"Why, lad? There's a queshton to ask! Why? Warn't you born in
Co'rn'all, the finest country in all England, and ain't you going to
grow into a Cornishman, as all old books says is giants, when you've
left off being a poor smooth, soft-roed, gallish-looking creatur', same
as you are now?"
The utterer of these words certainly spoke them, but in a musical,
sing-song intonation peculiar to the fishermen of the district. He was
a fair, short man, somewhat deformed, one arm being excessively short,
seeming little more than a hand projecting from one side of his breast;
but this in no wise interfered with his activity as he stood there
glittering in the bright morning sunshine on the deck of a Cornish
lugger, shaking pilchards out of the dark-brown net into the well or
hold.
Josh Helston glittered in the morning sunshine like a harlequin in a
limelight, for he was spangled from head to foot with the loose silvery
scales of the pilchards caught during the night, and on many another
night during the past few weeks. There were scales on his yellow
south-wester, in his fair closely-curling hair, a couple on his
ruddy-brown nose, hundreds upon his indigo-blue home-knit jersey, and
his high boots, that were almost trousers and boots in one, were
literally burnished with the adherent disks of silvery iridescent horn.
The "poor smooth, gallish-looking creatur'" he addressed was a
well-built young fellow of seventeen, with no more effeminacy in his
appearance than is visible in a lad balanced by nature just on that edge
of life where we rest for a short space uneasily, bidding good-bye to
boyhood so eagerly, before stepping boldly forward, and with flushed
face and flashing eyes feeling our muscles and the rough hair upon our
cheeks and chins, and saying, in all the excitement of the discovery of
that El Dorado time of life, "At last I am a man!"
Josh Helston's words did not seem fair, but his way was explained once
to Michael Polree as they stood together on the pier; and the latter had
expostulated after his fashion, for he never spoke much, by saying:
"Easy, mate, easy."
"Easy it is, Mike," sang rather than said Josh. "I know what I'm about.
The old un said I wasn't to spoil him, and I won't. He's one o' them
soft sort o' boys as is good stuff, like a new-bred net; but what do you
do wi' it, eh?"
"Bile it," growled old Mike, "Cutch or Gambier."
"Toe be sure," said Josh; "and I'm biling young Will in the hot water o'
adversitee along with the cutch o' worldly knowledge, and the gambier o'
fisherman's gumption, till he be tanned of a good moral, manly, sensible
brown. I know."
Then old Mike winked at Josh Helston, and Josh Helston winked solemnly
at old Mike Polree, who threw a couple of hake slung on a bit of spun
yarn over one shoulder, his strapped-together boots stuffed with coarse
worsted stockings, one on each side, over the other shoulder, squirted a
little tobacco juice into the harbour, and went off barefoot over the
steep stones to the cottage high up the cliff, muttering to himself
something about Pilchar' Will being a fine young chap all the same.
"That's all nonsense about the Cornishmen being giants, Josh," said
Will, as he rapidly passed the long lengths of net through his hands, so
that they should lie smooth in the hold, ready for shooting again that
night without twist or tangle. "Old writers were very fond of
stretching men."
"Dessay they was," said Josh; "but they never stretched me. I often
wish I was ten inches longer."
"It wouldn't have made a better fellow of you, Josh," said Will, with a
merry twinkle in his eye.
"I dunno 'bout that," said Josh disparagingly; "I ain't much account,"
and he rubbed his nose viciously with the back of his hand, the result
being that he spread a few more scales upon his face.
"Why, you're the strongest man I know, Josh. You can throw anyone in
Peter Churchtown, and I feel like a baby when you grip hold of me."
Josh felt flattered, but he would not show it in the face of such a
chance for giving a lesson.
"Babby! And that's just what you are--a big soft, overgrown babby, with
no more muscle in you than a squid. I'd be ashamed o' myself, that I
would, if I was you."
"Can't help it, Josh," said the young fellow, wrinkling his sun-browned
forehead, and still turning the soft nets into filmy ropes by passing
them through his hands.
"Can't help it! Why, you ain't got no more spirit in you than a
pilchar'--no more'n one o' these as run its head through the net last
night, hung on by its gills and let itself die, whar it might ha'
wriggled itself out if it had had plenty o' pluck. If you don't take
care, my lad, you'll get a name for being a regular soft. I believe if
one of the lads o' your own size hit you, you'd cry."
"Perhaps I should, Josh, so I hope no one will hit me."
The lad thrust back his scarlet woollen cap, and bent down over the
brown nets so that his companion should not see his face; and as he
shook down the soft meshes, with the heap growing bigger and bigger, so
did the pile of silvery pilchards grow taller, as Josh growled to
himself and shook out the fish easily enough, for though the gills of
the herring-like fish acted as barbs to complete their arrowy form as
they darted through the sea, and kept them from swimming back, the hold
on the net was very frail, and they kept falling pat, pat, upon the deck
or in the well.
"After all I've done for you I don't want you to turn out a cur,"
growled Josh at last.
"Well, was I a cur last night?" cried Will eagerly. "Mike said there
was a storm coming on, and that we'd better run in. Didn't I say,
`let's stop and shake out the fish,' as we hauled the nets?"
"Ay, but that's not very plucky," cried Josh, giving his face another
rub and placing some spangles under his right eye; "that's being
foolhardy and running risks with your craft, as no man ought to do as
has charge of a lugger and all her gear. Ah, you're a poor gallish sort
o' lad, and it's only a silly job to try and make a man of you."
It was quite early in the morning, and the sun was just showing over the
bold headland to play through the soft silvery mist that hung in patches
over the sea, which heaved and fell, ruddy orange where the sun glanced
upon the swell, and dark misty purple in the hollows. The surface was
perfectly smooth, not a breath of air coming from the land to dimple the
long gentle heaving of the ebbing tide. Here and there the dark
luggers, with their duck-shaped hulls and cinnamon-brown sails, stood
out clear in the morning sunshine; while others that had not reached the
harbour were fast to the small tub buoys; and again others that had not
heeded the warnings of the threatened storm were only now creeping in,
looking strange and mysterious, half-hidden as they were by the veil of
mist that now opened, now closed and completely blotted them from the
sight of those in the harbour.
It was a wild-looking place, the little fishing town nestling on the
cliff, with the grey granite rocks piled-up behind and spreading to east
and west like cyclopean walls, built in regular layers by the giants of
whom Josh Helston had told. The wonder was that in some north-east gale
the little fleet of fishing vessels was not dashed to pieces by the huge
breakers that came tearing in, to leap against the rocks and fall back
with a sullen roar amidst the great boulders. And one storm would have
been enough, but for the harbour, into which, like so many sea-birds,
the luggers huddled together; while the great granite wall curved round
them like a stout protective arm thrust out by the land, and against
which the waves beat themselves to spray.
It was a wild but singularly attractive view from Peter Churchtown, for
the simple Cornish folk did not trouble themselves to say "Saint," but
invariably added to every village that boasted a church the name of
churchtown. High above it, perched upon the steepest spots, were the
tall engine-houses of the tin and copper mines, one of which could be
seen, too, half-way down the cliff, a few hundred yards from the
harbour; and here the galleries from whence the ore was blasted and
picked ran far below the sea. In fact it was said that in the pursuit
of the lode of valuable ore the company would mine their way till they
met the work-people of the Great Ruddock Mine over on the other side of
the bay, beyond the lighthouse through the curve of the shore.
As the mist lifted from where it had half-hidden the tall lighthouse,
with its base of black rocks, against which the sea never ceased
breaking in creamy foam, a boat could be seen on its way to a large
black, mastless vessel, moored head and stern with heavy chains, and
looking quite deserted in the morning light.
"There they go off to work, Josh," exclaimed Will suddenly.
"Well, and you're off to work too," said Josh gruffly, as he picked from
the net the half, of a pilchard, the tail portion having been bitten off
by some predatory fish, as it hung helplessly by its gills. "Them hake
have been having a nice game wi' the fish to-night."
As he spoke he picked out another and another half pilchard, and threw
them as far as he could, when, almost as each piece touched the water, a
soft-looking grey gull swept down and caught it from the surface with
its strong beak, uttering a low peevish-sounding wail as it swept up
again, hardly seeming to move its long white-lined wings.
"I should dearly like to go aboard the lighter and see what they are
doing," said Will eagerly.
"Paying attention to their work," said Josh sharply, "and that's what
you're not doing."
"I'm only a few fathoms behind you, Josh, and I shall be waiting
directly. I say, when we're done let's row aboard."
"I don't want to row aboard," said Josh sourly, but watching the
progress of the boat the while.
"They've got regular diving things there, Josh, and an air-engine; and
the men go down. I should like to have a look."
"What are they going down for?" said Josh; "looking for oyster-beds?"
"No, no. Trelynn Mine is like to be flooded by the water that comes in
from one of the galleries under the sea, and the divers go down to try
and find the place where it gets in, and stop it with clay and cement."
"Humph! are they going to find it, d'yer think?"
"Yes, I believe so. They measure so exactly that they can put a boat
right over the place. I say, Josh, shouldn't you like to go down?"
"What! dive down?"
"Yes."
"I should just think not, indeed. A man's place is in a boat floating
atop of the water, and not going underneath. If man was meant to go
underneath he'd have gills and fins and scales, same as these here
pilchar's."
"Oh, yes, I know all that; but only think of trying on a diver's suit,
and being supplied with air from above, through a tube into your
helmet."
"This here dress is good enough for me, and my sou'-wester's a sight
better than any helmet I know, and the only air as I care about having
through a tube's 'bacco smoke."
"But shouldn't you like to go and see the diving?"
"Not I," said Josh, staring hard at the great lighter. "'Sides, when
we've done here, and the fish is all salted down, I want to row across
to the lighthouse."
"That will be going close by, Josh. I'll take an oar with you, and
let's stop on the way."
"Just couldn't think o' such a thing. Come, work away, lad," cried
Josh; and both he and Will did work away, the latter saying nothing
more, for he knew his man, and that there was eager curiosity and also
intense longing in the looks directed by the fisherman across the water
from time to time.
The result was, that, armed with a couple of good-sized pollack as a
present to the skipper in charge of the lighter, Josh Helston and his
young companion rowed alongside the well-moored vessel before the
morning was much older, and were soon on deck watching the proceedings
with the greatest interest.
One of the divers was just preparing to go down as they set foot aboard;
and they were in time to see the heavy leaden weights attached to his
back and breast, and the great helmet, with its tail-like tube, lifted
over his head and screwed on to the gorget. Then with the life-line
attached he moved towards the gangway, the air-pump clanking as the crew
turned the wheel; and step by step the man went down the ladder lashed
to the lighter's side. Josh involuntarily gripped Will's hand as the
diver descended lower and lower, to chest, neck, and then the great
goggle-eyed helmet was covered, while from the clear depths the air that
kept rapidly bubbling up rendered the water confused, so that the
descending figure looked distorted and strange.
"Three fathom o' water here, my lad," whispered Josh, as with his
companion he leaned over the side and gazed down at the rocks below.
"Three and a half, isn't it, Josh?" said Will in a low tone. "Mike
always says there's three and a half here at this time of the tide."
"And I says it's three fathom," growled Josh dogmatically. "My, but
it's a gashly sight for a man to go down like that!"
"Why, I wouldn't mind diving down, Josh," said Will excitedly.
"Diving down! Ay, I wouldn't mind diving down. It's being put in
prison, and boxed up in them gashly things as makes it so horrid. Here,
let's be off. I can't stand it. That there poor chap'll never come up
again alive."
"Nonsense, Josh! He's all right. There, you can see him moving about.
That pump sends him down plenty of air."
"Lor', what a great soft sort of a chap you are, William Marion!" said
Josh. "You'll never larn nothing. The idee of a pump pumping air!
They're a-pumping the water from all round him, so as to give the poor
chap room to breathe. Can't you see the long soft pipe? Here, I don't
like it. I want to go."
"No, no: not yet," cried Will excitedly. "I want to watch the diver."
"An' I don't," said Josh, turning his face away. "I never could abear
to see things killed, and I never would go and see it. I can stand
fish, but that's enough for me. Here's a human bein' goin' to be as
good as murdered, and I won't be one o' them as stands by and sees it
done."
"What nonsense, Josh!" cried Will. "This is regular diving apparatus.
That's an air-pump; and the man has air pumped down into his helmet
through that india-rubber pipe."
"Garlong; don't tell me, boy," cried Josh indignantly. "Into his helmet
indeed! Why, you can see all the water bubbling up round him. That's
what it is--pumped away. I tell 'ee I'm off. I won't stop and see the
gashly work going on."
Just then there was a cry from one of the men by the gangway, for the
life-line was jerked.
"More air!" he shouted; and the men spun the wheel round faster; but the
line jerked again.
"There's something wrong!" shouted one of the others. "Here, lay hold
there--quick! Keep on there with that handle, stupids! Do you want the
man to choke? Pump, I tell you. Now, then, haul!"
"There, I told you so, Will," cried Josh, whose ruddy-brown face was
looking mottled with white. "I know'd the gashly old job was wrong.
Come away, boy, come away."
For answer, in his excitement Will thrust his arm aside and ran to the
line to help haul.
"No, no, my lad; stand aside," cried the man who seemed to be captain of
the diving-crew, and who was dressed for the work all but his helmet.
"Haul away, do you hear?"
The men were hauling hard, but the rope had come taut; and instead of
their bringing up the diver it was plain to all that the poor fellow had
got the line hitched round a piece of rock, or else one of his legs
wedged in some crevice of the rocks he was exploring.
"Shake the rope loose for a moment and haul again," cried the leader.
The men obeyed and then hauled again, but the line came taut once more;
and if they had hauled much harder it would have parted.
"Lend a hand here quick with that other helmet. Make fast there! I'll
go down and cast him loose. Here, quick, some of you!"
"He'll be a dead un afore you get to him," growled the skipper of the
lighter, "if you arn't sharp."
"I knowed it, I knowed it," whispered Josh hoarsely. "I see it all
along."
"Screw that on," panted the leader; "and you, Winter, stand by the
engine. Be cool. Now, the helmet. Hah!"
There was a loud crash just then as the trembling and excited man who
was handing the second helmet let it fall upon an iron bar lying upon
the deck, so injuring the delicate piece of mechanism that the men
stared at each other aghast, and Will's hands grew wet with horror.
"Is there a man here who can dive?" shouted the skipper coming forward
with a thin coil of line. And, amidst a breathless silence Will stepped
forward.
"No, no, he can't," shouted Josh excitedly; and then he stood
open-mouthed and with one hand clasping the other as he saw Will make a
rapid hitch in the line, throw it round his waist, tighten it, and then,
after a quick glance round, seize one of the diver's leaden weights
lying on an upturned cask. Then stepping to the side he said quickly,
"Josh, look to the line!" and with the heavy weight held out at
arm's-length he leaped from the gangway, right where the air-bubbles
were still rising, and plunged headforemost into the sea.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note: Net-making in Cornwall is called net-breeding.