DANGERS, DIFFICULTIES, AND EXCITEMENTS OF THE TRAFFIC; LOADING THE
STEAMER.
Bustling activity of the most vigorous kind was now the order of the day
in the Short Blue fleet, for the arrival of the carrying-steamer, and
the fact that she was making towards the admiral, indicated that she
meant to return to London in a few hours, and necessitated the hauling
of the trawls, cleaning the fish, and packing them; getting up the
"trunks" that had been packed during the night, launching the boats, and
trans-shipping them in spite of the yet heavy sea.
As every one may understand, such perishable food as fish must be
conveyed to market with the utmost possible despatch. This is
accomplished by the constant running of fast steamers between the fleets
and the Thames. The fish when put on board are further preserved by
means of ice, and no delay is permitted in trans-shipment. As we have
said, the steamers are bound to make straight for the admiral's smack.
Knowing this, the other vessels keep as near to the admiral as they
conveniently can, so that when the steamer is preparing to return, they
may be ready to rush at her like a fleet of nautical locusts, and put
their fish on board.
Hot haste and cool precision mark the action of the fishermen in all
that is done, for they know well that only a limited time will be
allowed them, and if any careless or wilful stragglers from the fleet
come up when the time is nearly past, they stand a chance of seeing the
carrier steam off without their fish, which are thus left to be shipped
the following day, and to be sold at last as an inferior article, or,
perhaps, condemned and thrown away as unfit for human food.
The _Evening Star_ chanced to be not far from the admiral when the
steamer appeared. It was one of the fleet of steam-carriers owned by
the well-known fish firm of Messrs. Hewett and Company of London. When
it passed David Bright's smack the crew had got in the trawl and were
cleaning and packing the catch--which was a good one--as if their very
lives depended on their speed. They immediately followed in the wake of
the carrier toward the admiral.
As all the smacks were heading towards the same centre, they came in on
every tack, and from all points of the compass.
"Look sharp, boys," said David Bright, who was steering, "we must git
every fish aboard. It's now eight o'clock, an' she won't wait beyond
eleven or twelve, you may be sure."
There was no need for the caution. Every man and boy was already doing
his utmost.
It fell to Billy's lot to help in packing the trunks, and deftly he did
it,--keeping soles, turbot, and halibut separate, to form boxes, or
"trunks of prime," and packing other fish as much as possible according
to their kind, until he came to roker, dabs, gurnets, etcetera, which he
packed together under the name of "offal." This does not mean refuse,
but only inferior fish, which are bought by hawkers, and sold to the
poor. The trunks were partly open on top, but secured by cords which
kept the fish from slipping out, and each trunk was labelled with the
name of the smack, to which it belonged, and the party to whom it was
consigned.
As the fleet converged to the centre, the vessels began to crowd
together and friends to recognise and hail each other, so that the scene
became very animated, while the risk of collision was considerable.
Indeed, it was only by consummate skill, judgment and coolness that, in
many cases, collisions were avoided.
"There's the _Sparrow_," said Billy to Trevor, eagerly, as he pointed to
a smack, whose master, Jim Frost, he knew and was fond of. It bore down
in such a direction as to pass close under the stern of the _Evening
Star_.
"What cheer! what cheer!" cried Billy, holding one of his little hands
high above his head.
"What cheer!" came back in strong, hearty tones from the _Sparrow's_
deck.
"What luck, Jim?" asked David Bright, as the vessel flew past.
"We fouled an old wreck this mornin', an' tore the net all to pieces,
but we got a good haul last night--praise the Lord."
"Which piece o' luck d'ye praise the Lord for?" demanded David, in a
scoffing tone.
"For both," shouted Frost, promptly. "It might have bin worse. We
might have lost the gear, you know--or one o' the hands."
When this reply was finished, the vessels were too far apart for further
intercourse.
"Humph!" ejaculated Gunter, "one o' the psalm-singin' lot, I suppose."
"If it's the psalm-singin'," said Spivin, "as makes Jim Frost bear his
troubles wi' good temper, an' thank God for foul weather an' fair, the
sooner you take to it the better for yourself."
"Ay, an' for his mates," added Zulu, with a broad grin.
"Shove out the boat now, lads," said the skipper.
At this order the capacious and rather clumsy boat, which had hitherto
lain on the deck of the _Evening Star_ like a ponderous fixture, was
seized by the crew. A vigorous pull at a block and tackle sent it up on
the side of the smack. A still more vigorous shove by the men--some
with backs applied, some with arms, and all with a will--sent it
stern-foremost into the sea. It took in a few gallons of water by the
plunge, but was none the worse for that.
At the same moment Zulu literally tumbled into it. No stepping or
jumping into it was possible with the sea that was running. Indeed the
fishermen of the North Sea are acrobats by necessity, and their tumbling
is quite as wonderful, though not quite so neat, as that of
professionals. Perchance if the arena in which the latter perform were
to pitch about as heavily as the _Evening Star_ did on that occasion,
they might be beaten at their own work by the fishermen!
Zulu was followed by Ned Spivin, while Gunter, taking a quick turn of
the long and strong painter round a belaying-pin, held on.
The _Evening Star_ was now lying-to, not far from the steam-carrier.
Her boat danced on the waves like a cork, pitching heavily from side to
side, with now the stern and now the bow pointing to the sky; at one
moment leaping with its gunwale above the level of the smack's bulwarks;
at the next moment eight or ten feet down in the trough of the waves;
never at rest for an instant, always tugging madly at its tether, and
often surging against the vessel's side, from actual contact with which
it was protected by strong rope fenders. But indeed the boat's great
strength of build seemed its best guarantee against damage.
To one unaccustomed to such work it might have seemed utterly impossible
to put anything whatever on board of such a pitching boat. Tying a
mule-pack on the back of a bouncing wild horse may suggest an equivalent
difficulty to a landsman. Nevertheless the crew of the _Evening Star_
did it with as much quiet determination and almost as much speed as if
there was no sea on at all. Billy and Trevor slid the trunks to the
vessel's side; the mate and Gunter lifted them, rested them a moment on
the edge; Zulu and Spivin stood in the surging boat with outstretched
arms and glaring eyes. A mighty swing of the boat suggested that the
little craft meant to run the big one down. They closed, two trunks
were grappled, let go, deposited, and before the next wave swung them
alongside again, Spivin and Zulu were glaring up--ready for more--while
Joe and Gunter were gazing down--ready to deliver.
When the boat was loaded the painter was cast off and she dropped
astern. The oars were shipped, and they made for the steamer. From the
low deck of the smack they could be seen, now pictured against the sky
on a wave's crest, and then lost to view altogether for a few seconds in
the watery valley beyond.
By that time quite a crowd of little boats had reached the steamer, and
were holding on to her, while their respective smacks lay-to close by,
or sailed slowly round the carrier, so that recognitions, salutations,
and friendly chaff were going on all round--the confusion of masts, and
sails, and voices ever increasing as the outlying portions of the fleet
came scudding in to the rendezvous.
"There goes the _Boy Jim_," said Luke Trevor, pointing towards a smart
craft that was going swiftly past them.
"Who's the _Boy Jim_?" growled Gunter, whose temper, at no time a good
one, had been much damaged by the blows he had received in the fall of
the previous night.
"He's nobody--it's the name o' that smack," answered Luke.
"An' her master, John Johnston, is one o' my best friends," said Billy,
raising his fist on high in salutation. "What cheer, John! what cheer,
my hearty!"
The master of the _Boy Jim_ was seen to raise his hand in reply to the
salutation, and his voice came strong and cheerily over the sea, but he
was too far off to be heard distinctly, so Billy raised his hand again
by way of saying, "All right, my boy!"
At the same time a hail was heard at the other side of the vessel. The
crew turned round and crossed the deck.
"It's our namesake--or nearly so--the _Morning Star_," said Trevor to
Gunter, for the latter being a new hand knew little of the names of
either smacks or masters.
"Is her skipper a friend o' yours too?" asked Gunter of Billy.
"Yes, Bowers _is_ a friend o' mine--an' a first-rate fellow too; which
is more than you will ever be," retorted Billy, again stretching up the
ready arm and hand. "What cheer, Joseph, what cheer!"
"What cheer! Billy--why, I didn't know you, you've grow'd so much,"
shouted the master of the _Morning Star_, whose middle-sized, but broad
and powerful frame was surmounted by a massive countenance, with good
humour in the twinkling eyes, and kindly chaff often in the goodly-sized
mouth.
"Yes, I've grow'd," retorted Billy, "an' I mean to go on growin' till
I'm big enough to wallop _you_."
"Your cheek has been growin' too, Billy."
"So it has, but nothin' like to your jaw, Joseph."
"What luck?" shouted David as the _Morning Star_ was passing on.
"Fifteen trunks. What have _you_ got?"
The skipper held up his hand to acknowledge the information, and shouted
"nineteen," in reply.
"You seem to have a lot o' friends among the skippers, Billy," said
Gunter, with a sneer, for he was fond of teasing the boy, who, to do him
justice, could take chaff well, except when thrown at him by ill-natured
fellows.
"Yes, I have a good lot," retorted Billy. "I met 'em all first in
Yarmouth, when ashore for their week's holiday. There's Joseph White,
master of the mission smack _Cholmondeley_, a splendid feller he is; an'
Bogers of the _Cephas_, an' Snell of the _Ruth_, an' Kiddell of the
_Celerity_, an' Moore of the M.A.A., an' Roberts of the _Magnet_, an'
Goodchild and Brown, an' a lot more, all first-rate fellers, whose
little fingers are worth the whole o' your big body."
"Well, well, what a lucky fellow you are!" said Gunter, with affected
surprise; "an' have you no bad fellers at all among your acquaintance?"
"Oh yes," returned the boy quickly, "I knows a good lot o' them too.
There's Dick the Swab, of the _White Cloud_, who drinks like a fish, an'
Pimply Brock, who could swear you out o' your oiled frock in five
minutes, an' a lot of others more or less wicked, but not one of 'em so
bad as a big ugly feller I knows named John Gunter, who--"
Billy was interrupted by Gunter making a rush at him, but the boy was
too nimble for the man, besides which, Gunter's bruises, to which we
have before referred, were too painful to be trifled with. Soon
afterwards the boat returned for another cargo of trunks, and the crew
of the _Evening Star_ went to work again.
Meanwhile the "power of littles" began to tell on the capacious hold of
the steamer. Let us go on board of her for a few minutes and mount the
bridge. The fleet had now closed in and swarmed around her so thickly,
that it seemed a miracle that the vessels did not come into collision.
From the smacks, boat after boat had run alongside and made fast, until
an absolute flotilla was formed on either side. As each boat came up it
thrust itself into the mass, the man who had pulled the bow-oar taking
the end of the long painter in his hand ready for a leap. Some boats'
crews, having trans-shipped their trunks, were backing out; others were
in the midst of that arduous and even dangerous operation; while still
more came pouring in, seeking a place of entrance through the heaving
mass.
The boat of the _Evening Star_ was ere long among the latter with her
second load--Zulu grinning in the bow and Spivin in the stern. Zulu was
of that cheery temperament that cannot help grinning. If he had been
suddenly called on to face Death himself, we believe he would have met
him with a grin. And, truly, we may say without jesting, that Zulu had
often so faced the King of Terrors, for it is a sad fact that many a
bold and brave young fellow meets his death in this operation of
trans-shipping the fish--a fall overboard is so very easy, and, hampered
as these men are with huge sea-boots and heavy garments, it too often
happens that when they chance to fall into the sea they go down like a
stone.
They never seem to think of that, however. Certainly Zulu did not as he
crouched there with glittering eyes and glistening teeth, like a dark
tiger ready for a spring.
There was strict discipline, but not much interference with the work, on
board the steamer. No boat was permitted to put its trunks aboard abaft
a certain part of the vessel, but in front of that the fishermen were
left to do the work as best they could. They were not, however,
assisted--not even to the extent of fastening their painters--the crew
of the steamer being employed below in stowing and iceing the fish.
When the _Evening Star's_ boat, therefore, had forced itself alongside,
Zulu found himself heaving against the steamer's side, now looking up at
an iron wall about fifteen feet high, anon pitching high on the billows
till he could see right down on the deck. He watched his opportunity,
threw himself over the iron wall, with the painter in one hand, (while
Spivin and the boat seemed to sink in the depths below), rolled over on
the deck, scrambled to his feet, made the painter fast to the foremast
shrouds, and ran to look over the side.
Spivin was there ready for him, looking up, with a trunk on the boat's
gunwale. Next moment he was looking down, for a wave had lifted the
boat's gunwale absolutely above the vessel's bulwark for an instant. No
words were needed. Each knew what to do. Zulu made a powerful grab,
Spivin let go, the trunk was on the steamer's rail, whence it was hurled
to the deck, narrowly missing the legs and toes of half-a-dozen reckless
men who seized it and sent it below. Almost before Zulu could turn
round Spivin was up again with another trunk, another wild grab was
made, but not successfully, and Spivin sank to rise again. A second
effort proved successful--and thus they went on, now and then missing
the mark, but more frequently hitting it, until the boat was empty.
You have only to multiply this little scene by forty or fifty, and you
have an idea of the loading of that steamer on the high seas. Of course
you must diversify the picture a little, for in one place you have a man
hanging over the side with a trunk in mid-air, barely caught when in its
descent, and almost too heavy for him by reason of his position. In
another place you have a man glaring up at a trunk, in another glaring
down;--in all cases action the most violent and most diversified,
coupled with cool contempt of crushed fingers and bruised shins and
toes.
At last the furore began to subside. By degrees the latest boats
arrived, and in about three hours from the time of commencing, the crew
of the steamer began to batten down the hatches. Just then, like the
"late passenger," the late trawler came up. The captain of the steamer
had seen it long before on the horizon doing its best to save the
market, and good-naturedly delayed a little to take its fish on board,
but another smack that came up a quarter of an hour or so after that,
found the hatches closed, and heard the crushing reply to his hail--"Too
late!"
Then the carrying-steamer turned her sharp bow to the sou'-west, put on
full steam, and made for the Thames--distant nearly 300 miles--with over
2000 trunks of fresh fish on board, for the breakfast, luncheon and
dinner tables of the Great City. Thus, if the steamer were to leave
early on a Monday, it would arrive on Tuesday night and the fish be sold
in the market on Wednesday morning about five o'clock.
With little variation this scene is enacted every day, all the year
round, on the North Sea. It may not be uninteresting to add, that on
the arrival of the steamer at Billingsgate, the whole of her cargo would
probably be landed and sold in less than one hour and a half.