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[Illustration:
THE LITTLE FELLOW SMILED IN THE WEATHER-BEATEN FACE.
[_See page 15._
]
DORYMATES
A TALE OF THE FISHING BANKS
BY KIRK MUNROE
AUTHOR OF
“WAKULLA” “FLAMINGO FEATHER” “DERRICK STERLING” ETC.
=Illustrated=
NEW YORK AND LONDON
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
1903
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright, 1889, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
CONTENTS.
-------
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A WAIF OF THE SEA 11
II. ON BOARD THE “CURLEW” 25
III. THE HAULING OF THE SEINE 37
IV. A SUDDEN DISASTER 51
V. SAVED BY ELECTRICITY 64
VI. THE GALE ON GEORGE’S 78
VII. A STRUGGLE FOR A LIFE 92
VIII. A FALSE FRIEND, AND AN OPEN ENEMY 105
IX. KIDNAPPED.--THE PROMISE 119
X. TRAWLS AND WHALES 132
XI. SURROUNDED BY ARCTIC ICE 145
XII. AN ICE CAVE AND ITS PRISONERS 159
XIII. LOST IN THE FOG 172
XIV. THE SECRET OF THE GOLDEN BALL 186
XV. A WONDERFUL MEETING 200
XVI. NAVIGATING THE BRIG 213
XVII. OVERBOARD AND INBOARD 227
XVIII. NEWS FROM HOME 240
XIX. THE DEVIL-FISH OF FLEMISH CAP 253
XX. ON THE COAST OF ICELAND 266
XXI. TEMPTED FROM DUTY 279
XXII. THE STEAM-YACHT “SAGA” 292
XXIII. PONIES AND GEYSERS 306
XXIV. A DORYMATE’S HOME 319
XXV. STARTLING DISCOVERIES 332
XXVI. PROUD OF BEING A YANKEE 345
ILLUSTRATIONS.
THE LITTLE FELLOW SMILED IN THE WEATHER-BEATEN _Frontispiece._
FACE
“I CAME TO YOU FROM THE SEA,” HE SAID, PATTING HER _Faces page_ 28
THIN CHEEKS
“SEEMS TO ME I WOULDN’T FEEL SO BAD ABOUT IT IF I ” ” 44
WAS YOU”
“THAT GENTLEMAN THERE REFUSES TO RETURN A GOLD ” ” 52
BALL AND CHAIN THAT I HANDED HIM FOR
EXAMINATION”
IN ANOTHER MOMENT IT FLASHES FULL IN THE WHITE ” ” 68
FACES OF BREEZE M^cCLOUD AND HIS COMPANIONS
“YOU’RE CRAZY, LAD! YOU CAN’T LIVE A MINUTE IN ” ” 90
SUCH A SEA”
THERE WAS A LONG, FIRM HAND-CLASP BETWEEN THEM ” ” 98
“QUICK, NOW! LET’S GET HIM ABOARD THIS SCHOONER” ” ” 116
A LARGE WHALE ROSE TO THE SURFACE TO BLOW ” ” 140
IN A MINUTE MORE THEY HAD SNATCHED THE BUOY FROM ” ” 150
THE ICE-RAFT
AND THE TWO ATHLETIC YOUNG FELLOWS DREW THE ALMOST ” ” 166
HELPLESS FORM OF THEIR SHIPMATE SLOWLY BUT
STEADILY TO WHERE THEY STOOD
“BLOW, SONNY, BLOW!” CRIED ONE OF THE MEN ” ” 174
NOT A HUMAN BEING WAS TO BE SEEN ON BOARD OF HER, ” ” 198#
NOR DID THEIR HAIL RECEIVE ANY ANSWER
“ME AN’ DE CAP’N, WE’S BEEN HABIN’ A MONS’ROUS ” ” 204
HARD TIME”
“BLESS MY SOUL, IF IT ISN’T BREEZE M^cCLOUD!” ” ” 238
NIMBUS, RAISING HIM CLEAR OF THE DECK, HELD HIM AT ” ” 242
ARM’S-LENGTH ABOVE HIS HEAD
MATEO, WITH A HOWL OF DISMAY, HAD DARTED FORWARD ” ” 260
AND VANISHED IN THE FORECASTLE; WHILE NIMBUS,
WITH A YELL OF AFFRIGHT, HAD ROLLED AFT
THE FIRST VIEW OF ICELAND ” ” 266
THE YACHT CAME DIRECTLY TOWARDS THEM ” ” 288
BREEZE’S WELCOME TO THE ”SAGA” ” ” 292
“YOU OUGHT TO HAVE WORN A DIVING SUIT, NIMBUS,”
SAID BREEZE ” ” 310
THOSE ON BOARD THE GREAT STEAMER GAZED WITH ” ” 326
ADMIRATION AT THE DAINTY YACHT
BREEZE STARED IN AMAZEMENT AT WOLFE’S MOTHER ” ” 332
BREEZE’S WELCOME HOME ” ” 350
_Do you carry a dory, captain?
Do you carry a dory on your deck?
Manned by two bold fishermen,
To save a life or board a wreck._
_Landsmen cry, “Man the life-boat!” captain,
“Man the life-boat off our coast!”
But, captain, man the dory,
The fisherman’s glory,
The Banker’s pride and boast._
BY THE B. H. M.
DORYMATES:
A STORY OF THE FISHING BANKS.
CHAPTER I.
A WAIF OF THE SEA.
The fog had lifted, and a few stars were to be seen twinkling feebly;
but the wind was very light, and what there was of it was dead ahead.
There was a heavy swell rolling in from the eastward, but no sea
running. The Gloucester fishing schooner _Sea Robin_ was homeward bound
from the Newfoundland Banks, and as she slowly climbed each glassy
incline of black water, and then slid down into the windless hollow
beyond, she seemed to be making no progress whatever on her course.
Although the _Sea Robin_ had been out for more than four months, and had
seen vessel after vessel of the fleet leave the Banks before she did and
sail for home with full fares, not half the salt in her pens was used
up, and she was returning with the smallest catch of the season. In
spite of the fact that provisions were running low on board the
schooner, her captain, Almon McCloud, would not have given up and left
the Banks yet, had not a recent gale swept away his dories, and caused
the loss of his new four-hundred-fathom cable.
Under these circumstances the crew of the schooner were very
low-spirited, and there was none of the larking and fun among them that
is usually to be noticed in a homeward-bound Banker. The men wondered as
to the “Jonah” who had caused all their ill-luck. Finally they whispered
among themselves that it must be the skipper. They now remembered that
he had been unfortunate in more than one undertaking during the past
year or two, and all were agreed that it would be wise not to sail with
him again. This decision had been unanimously reached a few days before
the one on which this story opens; and when, shortly before daybreak,
there came a loud pounding on the cabin hatch, and a request that the
captain should come on deck, one of the watch below turned restlessly in
his bunk, and growled out,
“I expect we are in for another bit of the skipper’s tough luck.”
Reaching the deck, Captain McCloud found the two men on watch gazing
earnestly at a dull red glow that lighted the distant horizon behind
them.
“Looks like there was suthin afire back there, skipper,” said the man at
the wheel.
The captain waited until the schooner rose on top of a swell, and then,
after a long look at the light, gave the order to put her about and run
for it.
There was some grumbling among the crew at this, for they were tired and
sick of the trip. They wanted to get home and have it over with, and
this running back over the course they had just come seemed to promise a
long and vexatious delay. However, lucky or unlucky, their skipper had
proved himself to be the captain of his vessel in every sense of the
word more times than one, and they dared not question his action loudly
enough for him to hear them.
For nearly an hour longer the light glowed steadily, then it expanded
into a sudden wonderful brightness, and the next instant had disappeared
entirely.
Three hours later, just as the sun was rising in all its sea-born glory,
the _Sea Robin_ sailed slowly through a mass of charred timbers and
other floating remains of what evidently had been a large vessel. There
were no boats to be seen, nor was anything discovered by which her name
or character could be identified. For some time the schooner cruised
back and forth through the wreckage in a fruitless search for survivors
of the catastrophe. As they were about to give it up, and Captain
McCloud had begun to issue the order to head her away again on her
course towards home, he all at once held up his hand to command silence,
and listened.
It was certainly the cry of an infant that came clear and loud across
the water. The crew looked at each other in amazement, not unmixed with
fear. There was no boat to be seen, no sign of life; and yet there it
came again, louder and more distinct than before; the vigorous cry of a
healthy baby who has just waked up and is hungry. The wind had died out
entirely, the water was oily in its unruffled smoothness, and only the
long swell remained.
Once more the cry was heard, and now it seemed so close at hand that
several of the men trembled and turned pale. There was still nothing to
be seen, save on the crest of the swell above them an apparently empty
cask maintaining an upright position in the water, and showing a third
of its length above it.
“That’s the life-boat!” shouted Captain McCloud. “There’s where the
music comes from, men. Oh for the use of a dory for just five minutes!”
Having no boat, they could only watch the cask as it came slowly nearer
and nearer, and several of the men prepared to jump overboard and swim
for it in case it should drift past them. At last, when it was about
thirty feet away, the skipper, making a skilful cast, settled the bight
of a light line over the strange craft. Then he carefully drew it
towards the schooner, over the low rail of which a couple of the crew
were hanging, waiting with out-stretched arms to grasp it.
A minute later the cask stood on the schooner’s deck, and Captain
McCloud was lifting tenderly from it a sturdy, well-grown baby boy,
apparently about two years old. The little fellow smiled in the
weather-beaten face, and stretched out his arms eagerly as the rough
fisherman bent down towards him. At the same instant there came a
fluttering of sails overhead, with a rattling of blocks, and one of the
crew sang out as he sprang to the wheel, “Here’s a breeze! and it’s fair
for home!”
“The baby’s brought it!” shouted another. “Hurrah for the baby!”
The shout was eagerly taken up by the crew; three hearty cheers were
given for the baby, and three more for the breeze he had brought with
him. Then, springing to sheets and halyards with more enthusiasm than
they had shown before on the whole cruise, the active fellows quickly
had the _Sea Robin_ under a cloud of light canvas, and humming merrily
along towards Gloucester.
They now found time to look at their baby, who, held in the skipper’s
arms while he gave the necessary orders for working the schooner,
contentedly sucked his thumb and gazed calmly about with the air of
being perfectly at home. He was a beautiful child, with great blue eyes
and yellow hair that curled in tiny ringlets all over his head. He was
plainly dressed; but all that he wore was made of the finest material.
Altogether he was so dainty a little specimen of humanity that he seemed
like a pink and white rose-bud amid the rough men who surrounded him. He
gazed at them for a minute or two with a smile, as though he would say
that he was most happy to make their acquaintance, and was not in the
least embarrassed by their stares. Then he turned to the skipper, and
began to cry in exactly the tone with which he had announced his
presence in the floating cask.
“Hello!” exclaimed the skipper, who, though married, had no children of
his own, and had never held a baby before in his life, “what’s up now?
Here, ‘doctor,’ you’ve had some experience in this line, I believe; cast
your weather eye over this way and tell us the meaning of the squall.”
The cook, or “doctor,” as he is almost always called on board the
fishing schooners, and, in fact, on most vessels, was a short, thick-set
Portuguese, almost as dark as an Indian, but the very picture of
good-nature. He now stepped up behind the skipper so as to have a good
view of the baby, whose face, which rested on the skipper’s shoulder,
was turned away from the crew, who stood looking at him in a helplessly
bewildered way.
At the “doctor’s” sudden appearance the baby stopped crying, began again
to suck his thumb, and, with great, wide-open eyes, stared solemnly at
the grinning figure to whom it was thus introduced.
“Him hongry, skip,” announced the “doctor.” “Me fix him, pret quicka,
bimeby, right off. Got one lit tin cow lef. You fetcha him down.”
The “doctor,” who was named Mateo, declared afterwards that the moment
he looked into the baby’s face the little one had winked at him, as much
as to say, “You know what I want, old chap, now go ahead and get it.”
By his “lit tin cow” he meant a can of condensed milk, and, as the only
man on board who knew how to feed a baby, he had suddenly become the
most important person among all the crew. Obeying his order, the
skipper, with the new arrival in his arms, followed him down into the
fore hold. The rest of the crew also attempted to crowd down into the
narrow space to witness the novel sight of a baby at breakfast, but old
Mateo quickly ordered them on deck, saying that the little stranger was
big enough to occupy all the room there was to spare.
Then he bustled around in a hurry. He got out and opened the one
remaining can of milk, and mixed a small portion of its contents with
some warm water in a cup. The baby watched his every movement in
silence, but with such a wise look that both the men felt he knew
exactly what was going on. Now came the anxious moment--would he take
the milk? Had he learned how to drink? The anxiety was quickly ended. He
had learned to drink, and quickly emptied the proffered cup of every
drop of its contents with an eagerness that showed how hungry he was. A
ship biscuit, broken into small bits and soaked until soft in another
cup of the warm milk, proved equally acceptable. When the members of the
crew heard that the baby not only took kindly to the tin cow’s milk, but
had eaten hard-tack, they were highly delighted. They declared that he
was a natural born sailor, and would make a fisherman yet.
After his breakfast the baby was laid in the skipper’s own bunk in the
cabin, where, warmly covered, and rocked by the motion of the schooner,
he quickly fell asleep.
On deck the men conversed in low tones for fear of disturbing him. Their
sole topic was the child’s miraculous preservation and rescue, first
from the burning vessel and then from the sea. The cask in which he had
floated to them was carefully examined and pronounced to be of foreign
make. It had evidently been prepared hastily to serve the novel purpose
of a life-boat, but the preparation had been made with skill. In the
bottom was a quantity of scrap-iron, that had served as ballast and
caused it to float on end instead of on its side. On top of this were,
tightly wedged, two large empty tin cans, square, and having screw tops;
while above these was a pillow, in which the baby, wrapped in a thick
woollen shawl, had been laid. There was nothing else. Here was the baby,
and here the cask in which he had been saved; there, far behind them,
was the charred wreckage, and on the sky the night before had shone the
red glow from the burning vessel. Where she was from, and where bound,
whether or not others besides this helpless babe had been spared her
awful fate, what was her name and what her nationality, were among the
countless mysteries of the ocean that might never be cleared up.
There was little satisfaction to be gained by the discussion of these
things; but the baby was a reality, and a novelty such as none of them
had ever before seen on board a fishing schooner. Of him they talked
incessantly during the three days’ homeward run. What they should call
him perplexed them sadly for a time. The names suggested and rejected
would have added several pages to a city directory. Finally this most
important question was decided by the skipper, who said, “He brought a
fair breeze with him that’s held by us ever since, and is giving us one
of the quickest runs home ever made from the Banks. He’s as bright and
cheery and refreshing as a breeze himself, and I propose that we call
him ‘Breeze.’ It’s a name that might belong to almost any nationality,
and yet give offence to none. As to a second name, for want of a better,
and if he don’t discover the one he’s rightly entitled to, why, I’ll
give him mine. What’s more, I’ll adopt him if his own folks don’t turn
up; that is, if my old woman is agreeable, and I ain’t much afraid but
what she will be.”
So the little waif of the sea became, and was known from that day forth
as, Breeze McCloud--a name that was destined to become connected with as
many exciting adventures and hair-breadth escapes as any ever signed to
the shipping papers of a Gloucester fishing schooner.
The breeze that hurried the _Sea Robin_ along was none too fair nor too
strong; for the supply of milk furnished by the “doctor’s” tin cow was
completely exhausted before they reached home. If they had not got in
just as they did, the baby would have suffered from hunger, and the
whole crew would have suffered with him. As it was, they passed
Thatcher’s Island while he was drinking the last of the milk. Before he
was again hungry, with everything set and drawing, and decorated with
every flag and bit of bunting that could be found on board, the saucy
_Sea Robin_ had rounded Eastern Point and was sailing merrily up
Gloucester harbor.
A crowd of people had assembled on the wharf to witness her arrival, and
learn the cause of her decorations. As she neared it one of them called
out,
“What is it, skipper? You’ve got your flags up as if you thought you was
High-line[A] of the fleet; but the old _Robin_ don’t look to be very
deep. What have you got?”
-----
Footnote A:
High-line. The man who catches the most fish on a trip, or the vessel
that brings in the heaviest fare of the season.
-----
“We do claim to be High-line,” shouted back the skipper. “And here’s
what we’ve got to prove it.” With this he held the baby high above his
head so that all might see it, and added, “If any Grand Banker has
brought in a better fare than that this season, I want to see it; that’s
all.”
So Breeze McCloud entered Gloucester harbor, and never had any stranger
been received with greater enthusiasm. The news of his arrival spread
like wildfire, and it seemed as though half the population of the city
had crowded down to the wharf to see him before Captain McCloud could
get ready to leave the schooner. Then, with the baby in his arms, he
stepped into the long seine-boat that, pulled by half a dozen lusty
fellows, was waiting to take him across the harbor to the foot of the
hill upon which his modest cottage was perched.
After many days of anxiety--for the _Sea Robin_ was long overdue--the
captain’s wife, who had watched his schooner sail up the harbor with
flags flying, now awaited him in a fever of impatience. She had waited
at home because she could not bear to meet him before strangers, so she
had heard nothing of what he was bringing her. When at last she saw him
coming up the hill, accompanied by an ever-increasing throng of men,
women, and children, she was greatly perplexed to know what to make of
the sight, and hurried down to the little front gate, where she waited
for an explanation.
“Why! whose child can the man have picked up?” she said to herself, as
her husband drew near enough for her to see what it was he held in his
arms.
“The old _Robin’s_ High-line this season, Dolly,” cried Captain McCloud
as he reached the gate, “and I’ve brought you my share of the catch.”
“You don’t mean that baby, Almon!” exclaimed the bewildered woman.
“Yes, I do mean this very blessed baby! He’s a waif of the sea, without
father, mother, or home, that anybody knows of; and if you say the word,
we’ll give him all three.” With this he held the baby towards her.
She hesitated a moment, but the baby did not. With a happy little crow
he at once stretched out his arms to her, and said, “Mamma!”
It was enough. All the mother-love within her responded to this cry, and
the next moment the little one was hugged tightly to her bosom.
Turning to those who had accompanied him, Captain McCloud said, “That
settles it, neighbors! I hadn’t much doubt of it before; now I know I am
acting rightly; and here, before you all, I solemnly adopt this baby
boy, Breeze McCloud, as my son, and promise, with God’s help, to be a
father to him in deed as well as in name.”
On board the _Sea Robin_ none of the rough nurses, not even the
baby-wise Mateo, had dared undress the little one so strangely given
into their charge, for fear they would not be able to dress him again.
Thus, when he was delivered to Mrs. McCloud, it was evident that, next
to food, his greatest needs were a bath and some clean clothes. These
last his adopted mother borrowed from a neighbor who had children of all
ages and sizes.
When the baby was undressed it was discovered that a slender gold chain
was clasped about his neck. Attached to it was a golden ball covered
with a tracery of unique and elaborate engraving. It was apparently
hollow; but nobody was able to open it, nor could they discover any
joint on its surface, so skilful was the workmanship that had created
it. Finally, declaring that it was merely an ornament and not meant to
be opened, Mrs. McCloud put it carefully away in a sandal-wood box,
among her own little hoard of treasures.
In that box the golden ball lay for years, almost unnoticed, but ever
guarding jealously the secret that some day should exert such a
wonderful influence over the fortunes of the baby from whose neck it had
been taken.