There are few objects in nature, we think, more soothing to the feelings
and at the same time more heart-stirring to the soul than the wide ocean
in a profound calm, when sky and temperature, health, hour, and other
surrounding conditions combine to produce unison of the entire being.
Such were the conditions, one lovely morning about the end of summer,
which gladdened the heart of little Billy Bright as he leaned over the
side of the _Evening Star_, and made faces at his own reflected image in
the sea, while he softly whistled a slow melody to which the gentle
swell beat time.
The _Evening Star_ was at that time the centre of a constellation--if we
may so call it--of fishing-smacks, which floated in hundreds around her.
It was the "Short Blue" fleet of deep-sea trawlers; so named because of
the short square flag of blue, by which it was distinguished from other
deep-sea fleets--such as the Grimsby fleet, the Columbia fleet, the
Great Northern, Yarmouth, Red Cross, and other fleets--which do our
fishing business from year's end to year's end on the North Sea.
But Billy was thoughtless and apt to enjoy what was agreeable, without
reference to its being profitable. Some of the conditions which
rejoiced his heart had the reverse effect on his father. That
gruff-spirited fisherman did not want oily seas, or serene blue skies,
or reflected clouds and sunshine--no, what he wanted was fish, and
before the _Evening Star_ could drag her ponderous "gear" along the
bottom of the sea, so as to capture fish, it was necessary that a
stiffish breeze should not only ruffle but rouse the billows of the
North Sea--all the better if it should fringe their crests with foam.
"My usual luck," growled David Bright, as he came on deck after a hearty
breakfast, and sat down on the bulwarks to fill his pipe and do what in
him lay to spoil his digestion--though, to do David justice, his powers
in that line were so strong that he appeared to be invulnerable to
tobacco and spirits. We use the word "appeared" advisedly, for in
reality the undermining process was going on surely, though in his case
slowly.
His "hands," having enjoyed an equally good breakfast, were moving
quietly about, paying similar attention to their digestions!
There was our tall friend Joe Davidson, the mate; and Ned Spivin, a man
of enormous chest and shoulders, though short in the legs; and Luke
Trevor, a handsome young fellow of middle size, but great strength and
activity, and John Gunter, a big sour-faced man with a low brow, rough
black hair, and a surly spirit. Billy was supposed to be minding the
tiller, but, in the circumstances, the tiller was left to mind itself.
Zulu was the only active member on board, to judge from the clatter of
his pots and pans below.
"My usual luck," said the skipper a second time, in a deeper growl.
"Seems to me," said Gunter, in a growl that was even more deep and
discontented than that of the skipper, "that luck is always down on us."
"'Tis the same luck that the rest o' the fleet has got, anyhow,"
observed Joe Davidson, who was the most cheerful spirit in the smack;
but, indeed, all on board, with the exception of the skipper and Gunter,
were men of a hearty, honest, cheerful nature, more or less careless
about life and limb.
To the mate's remark the skipper said "humph," and Gunter said that he
was the unluckiest fellow that ever went to sea.
"You're always growling, Jack," said Ned Spivin, who was fond of
chaffing his mates; "they should have named you Grunter when they were
at it."
"I only wish the Coper was alon'side," said the skipper, "but she's
always out of the way when she's wanted. Who saw her last?"
"I did," said Luke Trevor, "just after we had crossed the Silver Pits;
and I wish we might never see her again."
"Why so, mate?" asked Gunter.
"Because she's the greatest curse that floats on the North Sea,"
returned Luke in a tone of indignation.
"Ah!--you hate her because you've jined the teetotallers," returned
Gunter with something of a sneer.
"No, mate, I don't hate her because I've jined the teetotallers, but
I've jined the teetotallers because I hate her."
"Pretty much the same thing, ain't it?"
"No more the same thing," retorted Luke, "than it is the same thing to
put the cart before the horse or the horse before the cart. It wasn't
total-abstainin' that made me hate the Coper, but it was hatred of the
Coper that made me take to total-abstainin'--don't you see?"
"Not he," said Billy Bright, who had joined the group; "Gunter never
sees nothing unless you stick it on to the end of his nose, an' even
then you've got to tear his eyes open an' force him to look."
Gunter seized a rope's-end and made a demonstration of an intention to
apply it, but Billy was too active; he leaped aside with a laugh, and
then, getting behind the mast, invited the man to come on "an' do his
wust."
Gunter laid down the rope's-end with a grim smile and turned to Luke
Trevor.
"But I'm sure you've got no occasion," he said, "to blackguard the
Coper, for you haven't bin to visit her much."
"No, thank God, I have not," said Luke earnestly, "yet I've bin aboard
often enough to wish I had never bin there at all. It's not that,
mates, that makes me so hard on the Coper, but it was through the
accursed drink got aboard o' that floatin' grog-shop that I lost my best
friend."
"How was that, Luke? we never heerd on it."
The young fisherman paused a few moments as if unwilling to talk on a
distasteful subject.
"Well, it ain't surprisin' you didn't hear of it," he said, "because I
was in the Morgan fleet at the time, an' it's more than a year past.
The way of it was this. We was all becalmed, on a mornin' much like
this, not far off the Borkum Reef, when our skipper jumped into the
boat, ordered my friend Sterlin' an' me into it, an' went off cruisin'.
We visited one or two smacks, the skippers o' which were great chums of
our skipper, an' he got drunk there. Soon after, a stiff breeze sprang
up, an' the admiral signalled to bear away to the nor'-west'ard. We
bundled into our boat an' made for our smack, but by ill luck we had to
pass the Coper, an' nothin' would please the skipper but to go aboard
and have a glass. Sterlin' tried to prevent him, but he grew savage an'
told him to mind his own business. Well, he had more than one glass,
and by that time it was blowin' so 'ard we began to think we'd have some
trouble to get back again. At last he consented to leave, an' a
difficult job it was to get him into the boat wi' the sea that was
runnin'. When we got alongside of our smack, he laid hold of Sterlin's
oar an' told him to throw the painter aboard. My friend jumped up an'
threw the end o' the painter to one of the hands. He was just about to
lay hold o' the side an' spring over when the skipper stumbled against
him, caused him to miss his grip, an' sent him clean overboard. Poor
Sterlin' had on his long boots an' a heavy jacket. He went down like a
stone. We never saw him again."
"Did none o' you try to save him?" asked Joe quickly.
"We couldn't," replied Luke. "I made a dash at him, but he was out o'
sight by that time. He went down so quick that I can't help thinkin' he
must have struck his head on the side in goin' over."
Luke Trevor did not say, as he might have truly said, that he dived
after his friend, being himself a good swimmer, and nearly lost his own
life in the attempt to save that of Sterling.
"D'ye think the skipper did it a' purpose, mate?" asked David.
"Sartinly not," answered Luke. "The skipper had no ill-will at him, but
he was so drunk he couldn't take care of himself, an' didn't know what
he was about."
"That wasn't the fault o' the Coper," growled Gunter. "You say he got
half-screwed afore he went there, an' he might have got dead-drunk
without goin' aboard of her at all."
"So he might," retorted Luke; "nevertheless it _was_ the Coper that
finished him off at that time--as it has finished off many a man before,
and will, no doubt, be the death o' many more in time to come."
The Copers, which Luke Trevor complained of so bitterly, are Dutch
vessels which provide spirits and tobacco, the former of a cheap, bad,
and peculiarly fiery nature. They follow the fleets everywhere, and are
a continual source of mischief to the fishermen, many of whom, like men
on shore, find it hard to resist a temptation which is continually
presented to them.
"There goes the admiral," sang out little Billy, who, while listening to
the conversation, had kept his sharp little eyes moving about.
The admiral of the fleet, among North Sea fishermen, is a very important
personage. There is an "admiral" to each fleet, though we write just
now about the admiral of the "Short Blue." He is chosen for steadiness
and capacity, and has to direct the whole fleet as to the course it
shall steer, the letting down of its "gear" or trawls, etcetera, and his
orders are obeyed by all. One powerful reason for such obedience is
that if they do not follow the admiral they will find themselves at last
far away from the steamers which come out from the Thames daily to
receive the fish; for it is a rule that those steamers make straight for
the admiral's vessel. By day the admiral is distinguished by a flag
half way up the maintop-mast stay. By night signals are made with
rockets.
While the crew of the _Evening Star_ were thus conversing, a slight
breeze had sprung up, and Billy had observed that the admiral's smack
was heading to windward in an easterly direction. As the breeze came
down on the various vessels of the fleet, they all steered the same
course, so that in a few minutes nearly two hundred smacks were
following him like a shoal of herring. The glassy surface of the sea
was effectually broken, and a field of rippling indigo took the place of
the ethereal sheet of blue.
Thus the whole fleet passed steadily to windward, the object being to
get to such a position on the "fishing-grounds" before night-fall, that
they could put about and sail before the wind during the night, dragging
their ponderous trawls over the banks where fish were known to lie.
Night is considered the best time to fish, though they also fish by day,
the reason being, it is conjectured, that the fish do not see the net so
well at night; it may be, also, that they are addicted to slumber at
that period! Be the reason what it may, the fact is well-known.
Accordingly, about ten o'clock the admiral hove-to for a few minutes.
So did the fleet. On board the _Evening Star_ they took soundings, and
found twenty-five fathoms. Then the admiral called attention by showing
a "flare."
"Look out now, Billy," said David Bright to his son, who was standing
close by the capstan.
Billy needed no caution. His sharp eyes were already on the watch.
"A green rocket! There she goes, father."
The green rocket signified that the gear was to be put down on the
starboard side, and the fleet to steer to the southward.
Bustling activity and tremendous vigour now characterised the crew of
the _Evening Star_ as they proceeded to obey the order. A clear starry
sky and a bright moon enabled them to see clearly what they were about,
and they were further enlightened by a lantern in the rigging.
The trawl which they had to put down was, as we have said, a huge and
ponderous affair, and could only be moved by means of powerful blocks
and tackle aided by the capstan. It consisted of a thick spar called
the "beam", about forty-eight feet long, and nearly a foot thick,
supported on a massive iron hoop, or runner, at each end. These irons
were meant to drag over the bottom of the sea and keep the beam from
touching it. Attached to this beam was the bag-net--a very powerful
one, as may be supposed, with a small mesh. It was seventy feet long,
and about sixteen feet of the outermost end was much stronger than the
rest, and formed the bag, named the cod-end, in which the fish were
ultimately collected. Besides being stronger, the cod-end was covered
by flounces of old netting, to prevent the rough bottom from chafing it
too much. The cost of such a net alone is about 7 pounds. To the beam,
attached at the two ends, was a very powerful rope called the bridle.
It was twenty fathoms long. To this was fastened the warp--a rope made
of best manilla and hemp, always of great strength. The amount of this
paid out depended much on the weather; if very rough it might be about
40 fathoms, if moderate about 100. Sometimes such net and gear is
carried away, and this involves a loss of about 60 pounds sterling. We
may dismiss these statistics by saying that a good night's fishing may
be worth from 10 pounds to 27 pounds, and a good trip--of eight weeks--
may produce from 200 to 280 pounds.
Soon the gear was down in the twenty-five fathom water, and the
trawl-warp became as rigid almost as an iron bar, while the speed of the
smack through the water was greatly reduced--perhaps to three miles an
hour--by the heavy drag behind her, a drag that ever increased as fish
of all sorts and sizes were scraped into the net. Why the fish are such
idiots as to remain in the net when they could swim out of it at the
rate of thirty miles an hour is best known to themselves.
Besides the luminaries which glittered in the sky that night the sea was
alive with the mast-head lights of the fishing smacks, but these lower
lights, unlike the serenely steady lights above, were ever changing in
position, as well as dancing on the crested waves, giving life to the
dark waters, and creating, at least in the little breast of Billy
Bright, a feeling of companionship which was highly gratifying.
"Now, lad, go below and see if Zulu has got something for us to eat,"
said David to his son. "Here, Luke Trevor, mind the helm."
The young fisherman, who had been labouring with the others at the gear
like a Hercules, stepped forward and took the tiller, while the skipper
and his son descended to the cabin, where the rest of the men were
already assembled in anticipation of supper. The cabin was remarkably
snug, but it was also pre-eminently simple. So, also, was the meal.
The arts of upholstery and cookery had not been brought to bear in
either case. The apartment was about twelve feet long by ten broad, and
barely high enough to let Joe Davidson stand upright. Two wooden
lockers ran along either side of it. Behind these were the bunks of the
men. At the inner end were some more lockers, and aft, there was an
open stove, or fireplace, alongside of the companion-ladder. A clock
and a barometer were the chief ornaments of the place. The atmosphere
of it was not fresh by any means, and volumes of tobacco smoke rendered
it hazy.
But what cared these heavy-booted, rough-handed, big-framed,
iron-sinewed, strong-hearted men for fresh air? They got enough of
that, during their long hours on deck, to counteract the stifling odours
of the regions below!
"Now, then, boys, dar you is," said Zulu, placing a huge pot on the
floor, containing some sort of nautical soup. "I's cook you soup an'
tea, an' dar's sugar an' butter, an' lots o' fish and biskit, so you
fire away till you bu'st yourselves."
The jovial Zulu bestowed on the company a broad and genial grin as he
set the example by filling a bowl with the soup. The others did not
require a second bidding. What they lacked in quality was more than
made up in quantity, and rendered delicious by appetite.
Conversation flagged, of course, while these hardy sons of toil were
busy with their teeth, balancing themselves and their cups and bowls
carefully, while the little vessel rolled heavily over the heaving
waves. By degrees the teeth became less active and the tongues began to
wag.
"I wish that feller would knock off psalm-singin'," said Gunter with an
oath, as he laid down his knife and wiped his mouth.
He referred to Luke Trevor, who possessed a sweet mellow voice, and was
cheering himself, as he stood at the helm, by humming a hymn, or
something like one, for the words were not distinguishable in the cabin.
"I think that Luke, if he was here, would wish some other feller to
knock off cursin' an' swearin'," said Joe.
"Come, Joe," said the skipper, "don't you pretend to be one o' the
religious sort, for you know you're not."
"That's true," returned Joe, "and I don't pretend to be; but surely a
man may object to cursin' without bein' religious. I've heard men say
that they don't mean nothin' by their swearin'. P'raps the
psalm-singin' men might say the same; but for my part if they both mean
nothin' by it, I'd rather be blessed than cursed by my mates any day."
"The admiral's signallin', sir," sung out Luke, putting his head down
the companion at that moment.
The men went on deck instantly; nevertheless each found time to light
the inevitable pipe before devoting himself entirely to duty.
The signal was to haul up the trawl, and accordingly all the fleet set
to work at their capstans, the nets having by that time been down about
three or four hours.
It was hard work and slow, that heaving at the capstans hour after hour,
with the turbulent sea tossing about the little smacks, few of which
were much above seventy tons burden. One or two in the fleet worked
their capstans by steam-power--an immense relief to the men, besides a
saving of time.
"It's hard on the wrists," said Gunter during a brief pause in the
labour, as he turned up the cuffs of his oiled frock and displayed a
pair of wrists that might well have caused him to growl. The constant
chafing of the hard cuffs had produced painful sores and swellings,
which were further irritated by salt water.
"My blessin's on de sweet ladies what takes so much trouble for us,"
said Zulu, pulling up his sleeves and regarding with much satisfaction a
pair of worsted cuffs; "nebber had no sore wrists since I put on dese.
W'y you no use him, Gunter?"
"'Cause I've lost 'em, you black baboon," was Gunter's polite reply.
"Nebber mind, you long-nosed white gorilla," was Zulu's civil rejoinder,
"you kin git another pair when nixt we goes aboard de mission-ship.
Till den you kin grin an enjoy you'self."
"Heave away, lads," said the skipper, and away went the capstan again as
the men grasped the handles and bent their strong backs, sometimes
heaving in a few turns of the great rope with a run, as the trawl
probably passed over a smooth bit of sand; sometimes drawing it in with
difficulty, inch by inch, as the net was drawn over some rough or rocky
place, and occasionally coming for a time to a dead lock, when--as is
not unfrequently the case--they caught hold of a bit of old wreck, or,
worse still, were caught by the fluke of a lost anchor.
Thus painfully but steadily they toiled, until the bridle or rope next
to the beam appeared above the waves, and then they knew that the end of
all their labour was at hand.