"I wouldn't mind the frost or snow, or anything else," growled Joe
Stubley, pausing in the midst of his labours among the fish, "if it
warn't for them sea-blisters. Just look at that, Jim," he added,
turning up the hard sleeve of his oiled coat, and exposing a wrist which
the feeble rays of the lantern showed to be badly excoriated and
inflamed.
"Ay, it's an ugly bracelet, an' I've got one myself just begun on my
left wrist," remarked Jim Freeman, also suspending labour for a moment
to glance at his mate's wound. "If our fleet had a mission ship, like
some o' the other fleets, we'd not only have worsted mitts for our
wrists, but worsted helmets for our heads an' necks--to say nothin' of
lotions, pills an' plasters."
"If they'd only fetch us them things an' let alone tracts, Bibles, an'
religion," returned Stubley, "I'd have no objection to 'em, but what's
the use o' religion to a drinkin', swearin', gamblin' lot like us?"
"It's quite clear that your notions about religion are muddled," said
David Duffy, with a short laugh. "Why, what's the use o' physic to a
sick man, Stubs?"
"To make him wuss," replied Stubs promptly.
"You might as well argify with a lobster as with Joe Stubs," said Bob
Lumsden, who, although burdened with the cares of the cooking
department, worked with the men at cleaning and packing.
"What does a boy like you know about lobsters, 'cept to cook 'em?"
growled Stubley. "You mind your pots an' pans. That's all your brains
are fit for--if you have brains at all. Leave argification to men."
"That's just what I was advisin' Duffy to do, an' not waste his breath
on the likes o' you," retorted the boy, with a grin.
The conversation was stopped at this point by the skipper ordering the
men to shake out a reef, as the wind was moderating. By the time this
was accomplished daybreak was lighting up the eastern horizon, and ere
long the pale grey of the cold sea began to warm up a little under the
influence of the not yet visible sun.
"Goin' to be fine," said Lockley, as he scanned the horizon with his
glass.
"Looks like it," replied the mate.
Remarks were few and brief at that early hour, for the men, being pretty
well fagged, preferred to carry on their monotonous work in silence.
As morning advanced the fleet was clearly seen in all directions and at
all distances around, holding on the same course as the _Lively Poll_.
Gradually the breeze moderated, and before noon the day had turned out
bright and sunny, with only a few thin clouds floating in the wintry
sky. By that time the fish-boxes, or trunks, were all packed, and the
men availed themselves of the brief period of idleness pending the
arrival of the steam-carrier from Billingsgate to eat a hearty
breakfast.
This meal, it may be remarked, was a moveable feast, depending very much
on the duties in hand and the arrival of the steamer. To get the fish
ready and shipped for market is always regarded as his first and
all-important duty by the deep-sea trawler, who, until it is performed,
will not condescend to give attention to such secondary matters as food
and repose. These are usually taken when opportunity serves. Pipes and
recreation, in the form of games at cards, draughts, dominoes, and
yarns, are also snatched at intervals between the periods of severe
toil. Nevertheless, there are times when the fisherman's experience is
very different. When prolonged calms render fishing impossible, then
time hangs heavily on his hands, and--in regard to the fleet of which we
write and all those similarly circumstanced--the only recreations
available are sleeping, drinking, gambling, and yarn-spinning. True,
such calms do not frequently occur in winter, but they sometimes do, and
one of them prevailed on the afternoon of the particular winter's day,
of which we treat.
After the departure of the carrier that day, the wind fell so much that
the admiral deemed it advisable not to put down the nets. Before long
the light air died away altogether, and the fleet was left floating
idly, in picturesque groups and with flapping sails, on the glassy sea.
Among the groups thus scattered about, there was one smack which had
quietly joined the fleet when the men were busy transhipping or
"ferrying" the fish to the steam-carrier. Its rig was so similar to
that of the other smacks that a stranger might have taken it for one of
the fleet but the fishermen knew better. It was that enemy of souls,
that floating grog-shop, that pirate of the North Sea, the _coper_.
"Good luck to 'ee," muttered Joe Stubley, whose sharp, because
sympathetic, eye was first to observe the vessel.
"It's bad luck to _you_ anyhow," remarked Bob the cook, who chanced to
pass at the moment.
"Mind your own business, Lumpy, an' none o' your sauce, if you don't
want a rope's-endin'," retorted the man.
"Ain't I just mindin' my own business? Why, wot is sauce but part of a
cook's business?" returned the boy.
"I _won't_ go to her," thought Stephen Lockley, who overheard the
conversation, and in whose breast a struggle had been going on, for he
also had seen the _coper_, and, his case-bottle having run dry, he was
severely tempted to have it replenished.
"Would it not be as well, skipper, to go aboard o' the _coper_, as she's
so near at hand!" said the mate, coming aft at the moment.
"Well, no, Peter; I think it would be as well to drop the _coper_
altogether. The abominable stuff the Dutchmen sell us is enough to
poison a shark. You know I'm not a teetotaller, but if I'm to be killed
at all, I'd rather be killed by good spirits than bad."
"Right you are," replied Jay, "but, you see, a lot of us are hard up for
baccy, and--"
"Of course, of course; the men must have baccy," interrupted the
skipper, "an' we don't need to buy their vile brandy unless we like.
Yes, get the boat out, Jay, an' we'll go."
Stephen Lockley was not the first man who has deceived himself as to his
motives. Tobacco was his excuse for visiting the floating den of
temptation, but a craving for strong drink was his real motive. This
craving had been created imperceptibly, and had been growing by degrees
for some years past, twining its octopus arms tighter and tighter round
his being, until the strong and hearty young fisherman was slowly but
surely becoming an abject slave, though he had fancied himself
heretofore as free as the breezes that whistled round his vessel. Now,
for the first time, Lockley began to have uncomfortable suspicions about
himself. Being naturally bold and candid, he turned sharply round, and,
as it were, faced _himself_ with the stern question, "Stephen, are you
sure that it's baccy that tempts you aboard of the _coper_? Are you
clear that schnapps has nothing to do with it?"
It is one of the characteristics of the slavery to which we refer, that
although strong-minded and resolute men put pointed questions of this
sort to themselves not unfrequently, they very seldom return answers to
them. Their once vigorous spirits, it would seem, are still capable of
an occasional heave and struggle--a sort of flash in the pan--but that
is all. The influence of the depraved appetite immediately weighs them
down, and they relapse into willing submission to the bondage. Lockley
had not returned an answer to his own question when the mate reported
that the boat was ready. Without a word he jumped into her, but kept
thinking to himself, "We'll only get baccy, an' I'll leave the _coper_
before the lads can do themselves any harm. I'll not taste a drop
myself--not a single drop o' their vile stuff."
The Dutch skipper of the _coper_ had a round fat face and person, and a
jovial, hearty manner. He received the visitors with an air of
open-handed hospitality which seemed to indicate that nothing was
further from his thoughts than gain.
"We've come for baccy," said Lockley, as he leaped over the bulwarks and
shook hands, "I s'pose you've plenty of that?"
"Ya," the Dutchman had "plenty tabac--ver sheep too, an' mit sooch a
goot vlavour!"
He was what the Yankees would call a 'cute fellow, that Dutchman.
Observing the emphasis with which Lockley mentioned tobacco, he
understood at once that the skipper did not want his men to drink, and
laid his snares accordingly.
"Com'," he said, in a confidential tone, taking hold of Lockley's arm,
"com' b'low, an' you shall zee de tabac, an' smell him yourself."
Our skipper accepted the invitation, went below, and was soon busy
commenting on the weed, which, as the Dutchman truly pointed out, was
"_so_ sheep as well as goot." But another smell in that cabin
overpowered that of the tobacco. It was the smell of Hollands, or some
sort of spirit, which soon aroused the craving that had gained such
power over the fisherman.
"Have some schnapps!" said the Dutch skipper, suddenly producing a
case-bottle as square as himself, and pouring out a glass.
"No, thank 'ee," said Stephen firmly.
"No!" exclaimed the other, with well-feigned surprise. "You not drink?"
"Oh yes, I drink," replied Lockley, with a laugh, "but not to-day."
"I not ask you to buy," rejoined the tempter, holding the spirits a
little nearer to his victim's nose. "Joost take von leetle glass for
goot vellowship."
It seemed rude to decline a proposal so liberally made, and with such a
smiling countenance. Lockley took the glass, drank it off and went
hurriedly on deck, followed by the Dutchman, with the case-bottle in one
hand and the glass in the other. Of course the men had no objection to
be treated. They had a small glass all round.
"That's the stuff for my money!" cried Stubley, smacking his lips. "I
say, old chap, let's have a bottle of it. None o' your thimblefuls for
me. I like a good swig when I'm at it."
"You'd better wait till we get aboard, Joe, before you begin," suggested
Lockley, who was well aware of Joe's tendencies.
Joe admitted the propriety of this advice, but said he would treat his
mates to one glass before starting, by "way o' wetting their whistles."
"Ya, joost von glass vor vet deir vistles," echoed the Dutchman, with a
wink and a look which produced a roar of laughter. The glass was
accepted by all, including Lockley, who had been quite demoralised by
the first glass.
The victory was gained by the tempter for that time at least. The
fishermen who went for baccy, remained for schnapps, and some of them
were very soon more than half drunk. It was a fierce, maddening kind of
spirit, which produced its powerful effects quickly.
The skipper of the _Lively Poll_ kept himself better in hand than his
men, but, being very sociable in disposition, and finding the Dutchman a
humorous and chatty fellow, he saw no reason to hurry them away.
Besides, his vessel was close alongside, and nothing could be done in
the fishing way during the dead calm that prevailed.
While he and his men were engaged in a lively conversation about nothing
in particular--though they were as earnest over it as if the fate of
empires depended on their judgment--the Dutch skipper rose to welcome
another boat's crew, which approached on the other side of the _coper_.
So eager and fuddled were the disputants of the _Lively Poll_ that they
did not at first observe the newcomers.
It was the _Fairy's_ boat, with Dick Martin in charge.
"Hallo, Dick, mein boy; gif me your vlipper."
A sign from Martin induced the Dutchman to lean over the side and speak
in lower tones.
"Let's have a keg of it," said Dick, with a mysterious look. "Ned Bryce
sent me for a good supply, an' here's _fish_ to pay for it."
The fish--which of course belonged to the owner of the _Fairy_, not to
Ned Bryce--were quickly passed up, and a keg of spirits passed down.
Then the Dutchman asked if Dick or his men wanted tabac or schnapps for
themselves.
"I vill take jersey, or vish, or sail, or boots, or vat you please in
exchange. Com' aboard, anyhow, an' have von leetle glass."
Dick and his men having thus smartly transacted their chief business,
leaped on deck, made fast their painter, let the boat drop astern, and
were soon smoking and drinking amicably with the crew of the _Lively
Poll_. Not long afterwards they were quarrelling. Then Dick Martin,
who was apt to become pugnacious over his liquor, asserted stoutly that
something or other "was." Joe Stubley swore that it "_was not_,"
whereupon Dick Martin planted his fist on Joe Stubley's nose and laid
its growly owner flat on the deck.
Starting up, Joe was about to retaliate, when Lockley, seizing him by
the neck thrust him over the side into the boat, and ordered his more or
less drunken crew to follow. They did so with a bad grace, but the
order was given in a tone which they well understood must not be
disobeyed.
As they pushed off, Stubley staggered and fell into the sea. Another
moment and he would have been beyond all human aid, but Lockley caught a
glimpse of his shaggy black head as it sank. Plunging his long right
arm down, and holding on to the boat with his left, he caught the
drowning man by the hair. Strong and willing arms helped, and Stubley
was hauled inboard--restored to life, opportunity, and hope--and flung
into the bottom of the boat.
The oars were shipped, and they pulled for the _Lively Poll_. As they
rode away they saw that other boats were proceeding towards the _coper_.
The men in them were all anxious to buy baccy. No mention was made of
drink. Oh dear no! They cared nothing for that, though, of course,
they had no sort of objection to accept the wily Dutchman's generous
offer of "von leetle glass vor goot vellowship."