In passing along the shores of the bay, on evenings when the water was
smooth, you could hear a succession of dull thuds like the sound of
distant guns. Looking to eastward you saw a dark semicircular streak on
the water, and inside this streak a coble glided slowly hither and
thither. One man rowed gently, letting his oars drop into the water with
a slight splash, that could be heard nevertheless a long way off. The
sweeps were so long that the rower could not scull in the ordinary way,
but crossed his arms and held the handle of the right sweep in his left
hand, and _vice versa_. In the stern of the boat stood a man of gigantic
size. At intervals he heaved up a great tiller into the air and brought
it down with all his strength; he then gathered himself for another
effort while the split end of the tiller floated on the water; then came
another strong muscular effort, and then another resounding splash. If
the boat drew near the brown rocks the blows of the tiller would startle
a piper or a curlew; a long note of warning would pierce the stillness,
and a wailing answer came from the next point; then a shrill clamour
passed all round the bay, and the birds skimmed towards the island like
flights of dark arrows.
The black streak on the water was made by the cork floaters of a net,
for the men in the coble were engaged in catching sea-trout. When the
tide has flowed for some time, there is a general stir among the fish.
First the dainty gobies come forward as vanguard; then come the pretty
fish that the men call sea-minnows; then the dark shadows of the
flounders fly swiftly over the sandy floor, and the dogcrabs sidle along
in a very lively manner. As the foam creeps further and further in the
larger fishes come from the deep water. Great congers with their ugly
manes and villanous eyes wind in and out the rocky channels, committing
assaults on smaller fishes as they come. The red rock cod leaves his
stony hollows and swims over the sandy places, looking for soft crabs,
or for his favourite food, the luscious crass. Last of all comes the
beautiful sea-trout, skirmishing forward with short rushes, and
sometimes making a swirl near the surface of the water. The fishermen
wait until they think the trout have had time to reach the inner rocks,
and then softly paddle the coble away from the shore. The net is
dexterously shot, and a good man can manage to do this without making a
splash. The long curtain is about four feet deep, and lead sinkers make
it hang true. Not a word is spoken until the great bladder which marks
the end of the net falls into the sea. Then the boat is taken toward the
shore, and the fishermen rest quiet for awhile, until it is time to
begin splashing. The big pole is dashed into the water in order to
frighten the trout towards the net, and very great judgment is required
in the rower, for if he happens to take the wrong track he may easily
put the fish in the way of escape.
The gigantic man who used to ply the tiller, and the old rower, were
both very clever at this kind of fishing. The older of the two was
called "Big Harry," and the younger was called "Little Harry." There was
humour in this mode of naming, for Little Harry stood six feet four,
while Big Harry only measured about six feet three. Big Harry had four
sons altogether, and the average height of the family was about six feet
four. All the lads were extremely good-looking, but the old man liked
Little Harry best, and always took him for partner. The other sons
handled the second of the family cobles, and the five men made an
excellent living. It was a fine sight to see the fellows go away in the
afternoon. They wore great boots that came up to the thigh, blue woollen
caps, or sou-westers, and thick dark Guernseys. All of them were
dark-haired and dark-eyed, and with their earrings, they looked strange
and foreign. The three younger lads, who were much bigger than their
father, went partners in one boat, and the two gaudy craft took their
several ways. The men never said good-bye or good-night, nor did they
use any other form of politeness, because by the fishermen any
demonstration of friendliness, even among relations, is counted as
showing softness. The mother of the lads was a handsome,
broad-shouldered woman who had been a beauty in her day. She mostly used
to spare time for seeing her tall fellows off, but she never waved to
them. In spite of this reticence, it must not be supposed that the
family were unkindly: more gentle and helpful men never lived, and
there was not one of them who had not done some brave thing. It may be
worth while to tell a story illustrative of their disposition.
One brisk morning, when the sea was running high, a little boy was
sailing a fine model yacht in one of the great pools on the shore. The
tide was running in, and presently the advancing water rushed into the
pool. The yacht was just in the centre when the whirl of the sea took
her. She swung round; the westerly wind caught her, and in a moment she
was over the barrier and away into deep water. The little thing was well
leaded, and she went off like a dolphin. The youthful owner saw her now
and again as she topped the waves, and he lamented exceedingly. At last
it struck him to run north to the village. Just as he reached the cove,
Big Harry's younger sons were coming in after a night at sea. The men
were wet and sleepy enough, but when the little boy told them his story
they lifted him into the bow of the coble and shoved off again. With
three reefs in the sail they dodged out among the jumping seas, and ran
over the bay after the truant yacht. The swift coble soon overhauled the
runaway, and the men came back well drenched by their second trip. The
whole thing was done with perfect simplicity; and the fishermen would
not accept even a glass of ale from the boy's father. They said "they
were glad to see the bairn so pleased," and they tease the said "bairn"
about his skill in navigation even to this day. When we see kindness
like this we may be content to do without words or other minor
demonstrations.
During all the long nights Big Harry and Little Harry used to sit
together very silently. Sometimes when the corks at one part of the net
went under water suddenly, one of the men would say, "There's a troot
fast," but conversation did not extend beyond elementary observations
like this. The dark came down over the bay, and the last gleam died away
from the distant hills. The water purred softly with little treble
sounds against the sides of the boat; the trees made hoarse noises, and
sometimes the long whistle of an otter (who is also a trout fisher)
would come from the shaggy sides of the brown stream. The men sat on
amid the mystery of the night, but they had no care for the picturesque.
By-and-by the time for a haul would come, and the muscular fish were
pitched "flopping" into the basket. Then the nets were shot again, and
the resonant splashing begun. If the tide suited, the boat stayed on
till dawn. As soon as the cushats began to fly from the woods to the
fields, and the hillsides were streaked with grey motes of light, Big
Harry and his son rowed into the cove, and then Little Harry went to
catch the old mare on the moor. A boy drove the night's fish to the
station, and Big Harry slept heavily in the dark box bed.
Father and sons led this life for many years. Their only change came
when the herring shoals moved southward, and then the five strong men
used to make a great deal of money. They saved too, and were much better
off than some people who live in finer houses. Indeed, they had much
need to earn a great deal, for those great frames were not easily kept
up. Big Adam once ate five eggs after his return from a night's
fishing. He then inquired "When will breakfast be ready?". So it will be
seen that his appetite was healthy.
It seemed that nothing but gradual decay could ever sap the strength of
any one of these fine athletes, yet a miserable mischance made a break
in the family, and changed Big Harry into a sorrowful man. He came
ashore one rainy morning, and he and his son had sore work in hauling
the coble up. There was no one to drive the fish to the station, so
Little Harry volunteered. It was a long drive for such a bad day, and
when the young man came home he was chilled. He shivered a good deal and
could not sleep, but no one dreamed of bringing a doctor for a man with
a forty-seven inch chest. Within a very short while Little Harry was
taken by rapid consumption, and succumbed like a weakling from the town.
On the day of the funeral the father would not follow the coffin over
the moor. He lay with his face pressed on the pillow, and the bed shook
with his sobbing. He never would take another son for mate, because he
thought he might distress the lad if he showed signs of comparing him
with the dead. He preferred a stranger. He liked carrying Little Harry's
son about, and he used to be pleased when the clergyman said to the
child, "Well, and how is your big pony?"--the pony being the
grandfather. When the lad grew big enough to handle the small-sized
plasher the old man took him as partner, and he boasts about the little
fellow's cleverness.