ON BOARD THE “CURLEW.”
Fifteen years seems a long time, and yet when they are happy years how
quickly they pass! They had been happy to Breeze McCloud; happy and busy
years. No boy in Gloucester had a pleasanter home or more loving parents
than he, though he was but an adopted son. He rarely thought of this,
though, for Captain McCloud had, from the very first, been a true
father, and the captain’s wife a loving mother to him. No other children
had come to them since they had taken him into their hearts and home,
and he was their pride and delight. He had grown to be a tall, handsome
fellow, interested in his studies, and a bright scholar, but always
impatient for the time to come when he should go out into the world and
win from it his own livelihood.
Whenever Captain McCloud was at home the boy was his constant companion,
and from him Breeze eagerly learned the rudiments of a sailor’s art. He
delighted in being called his father’s “dorymate,” and was very proud of
being able to swim, and to row and sail his own dory, before he was
twelve years old.
Being so much in his father’s company, and listening to the
conversations between him and other men, gave Breeze many ideas beyond
the comprehension of most boys of his age. He sometimes wore a grave and
thoughtful air, and often said wise things that sounded oddly enough in
one so young.
The boy’s curly head was a familiar sight on board most of the fishing
schooners that were constantly coming into or going out of the port.
Here he was perfectly happy while listening to some tale of adventure on
the Banks or more distant fishing grounds, perhaps told by its hero on
the breezy deck or in the snug cabin of the very craft on which it had
all happened.
At last the time had come for him to set forth in quest of similar
adventures, and to do his share towards maintaining the home that had
been such a safe and pleasant one to him. There was sorrow in it now,
and there might soon be want. The _Sea Robin_ had been gone six months,
and no word had been received from her since the day she sailed out
beyond Eastern Point, and vanished in the red glory of the rising sun.
Only in the hearts of his wife and adopted son did the faintest hope
remain that the _Robin’s_ captain was still alive. To all others he was
as dead, and a new breadwinner was needed in his place.
“I must go now, mother,” said Breeze. “I’m large and strong for my age,
and if they’ll take me I am sure I can do a man’s work and earn a man’s
wages.”
“Oh, Breeze, my dear boy! my comfort! Is there not something else you
can do? A clerkship would pay just as well, and there would be none of
the horrible danger.”
“Don’t, mother! don’t urge it! It makes me heart-sick to think of a
desk, or of being shut up all day in a store. I should never be good for
anything, you know I wouldn’t, mother dear, trying to do work that I had
no heart in.”
“But, Breeze--”
“But, mother! Please don’t think any more about a clerkship. Give me
your consent and your blessing, and let me follow father’s calling and
gain a living from the sea, as he has done. I came to you from the sea,
you know,” he continued, with a winning smile, and patting her thin
cheeks. “It was kind to me then, and it always will be, I am sure.”
After many talks of this kind Breeze carried his point. Then, one
evening in March, there was no prouder boy in town than he, when he was
able to announce to his mother that he had shipped for a mackerelling
trip to the southward, on the schooner _Curlew_.
The vessel was already taking in her ice and stores, and would haul out
into the stream the next morning, ready to start. Breeze was to go over
to town the first thing after breakfast, and buy the oil-skin suit,
rubber boots, and woollen cap that, besides the canvas bag of heavy
clothing he would take from home, would form his outfit. These he would
send aboard the schooner. Then he would come home again and say good-by
if there was time--but perhaps there would not be, and so they had
better make the most of this evening.
They did make the most of it, and until after ten o’clock, Breeze and
his mother sat hand in hand, and talked, she sadly and tearfully, he
bravely and hopefully.
The next morning, just before he left, his mother called him into her
room, saying, “I have one more thing to give you, Breeze. It is
something that should be the most precious thing in the world to you,
and I want you to wear it always.” With this she took from the
sandalwood box, that had kept it safely all these years, the slender
chain and golden ball that had hung around his baby neck when she first
held him in her arms.
Breeze was inclined to laugh at the idea of wearing a gold chain and a
locket around his neck; but his mother was so in earnest in her desire
that he should, that he promised to do as she wished.
[Illustration: “I CAME TO YOU FROM THE SEA,” HE SAID, PATTING HER THIN
CHEEKS.]
“It was, doubtless, your own mother first placed it there, and I have a
strong feeling that it will, somehow or other, have much to do with your
future safety and happiness,” she said. “See, I have made a little
pocket in the breast of each of your flannel shirts to hold it,” she
added, as she clasped the chain about his neck and kissed him.
“Own mother, or not own mother, no boy ever had a better, or sweeter, or
dearer, or more loving mother than you have been to me,” cried Breeze,
throwing his arms about her neck, “and I would not exchange you for any
other in the world, not even if she was a queen.”
Now that the time to go had really come, the boy found it a very hard
thing to part from his home. After he had kissed his mother good-by, and
started down the hill, with his canvas bag on his shoulder, he dared not
look back, though he knew she was standing in front of the little
cottage watching him.
He had barely time in town to make his few purchases before the _Curlew_
should sail; for wind and tide were both favorable, and her skipper was
impatient to take advantage of them and get started. His hurry was owing
to the fact that several other schooners were getting ready for trips to
the same waters. He was anxious to be the first on the ground, and, if
possible, carry the first fresh mackerel of the season into New York.
Although everybody has seen and eaten mackerel either fresh or salted,
and though they are caught in immense numbers off the Atlantic coast of
the United States every year, there is but little really known about
them. Where they come from and where they go to are still unsolved
mysteries. Every spring, between the middle of March and the middle of
April, they appear in great shoals in the waters just north of Cape
Hatteras. At this time they are very thin, and hardly fit for food; but
on the coast feeding-grounds they rapidly improve, until in the early
summer, when they have worked their way northward to New England waters,
they are in prime condition. They generally run as far north as the Gulf
of St. Lawrence, from which, in the fall, they suddenly disappear, to be
seen no more until the following spring.
All through the summer, but especially at the very first of the season,
those that are caught near a port are packed in ice and carried in to
the market fresh. The greater part of the year’s catch is, however,
salted in barrels on board the schooners, and afterwards repacked on
shore, in kits or boxes, marked according to the size and quality of the
fish they contain, Nos. 1, 2, 3, or 4, and sent all over the world.
The cruise on which Breeze McCloud was about to start was to be made in
search of the very first mackerel of the season, and the _Curlew’s_
destination was therefore the waters off the Delaware coast, or between
there and Cape Hatteras.
By ten o’clock everything was in readiness for the start. The skipper
had come on board, and all hands were hard at work, making sail or
breaking out and getting up the heavy anchor. Then it was “up jib and
away.” As the lively craft slipped swiftly down the harbor, Breeze found
time for one long last look at his home. At the cottage door he could
just make out a waving handkerchief, that told him he was being watched
and remembered.
Once outside, all hands were kept busy for a couple of hours, setting
light sails, coiling lines, stowing odds and ends, and making everything
snug. The course they were heading would carry them just clear of Cape
Cod; and before a spanking breeze, under a press of canvas, the _Curlew_
tore along as though sailing an ocean race that she was bound to win.
Almost any fishing vessel but a mackereller going out at this stormy
season would have left both top-masts and her jib-boom at home, being
content with the safest of working sails. To the early mackerel catcher,
however, every minute gained may mean many extra dollars in pocket; so
his craft sails in racing trim, and carries her canvas to the extreme of
recklessness.
Like all fishing schooners, the _Curlew_ had a forecastle, in which
several of the crew slept, and in which were also the cook-stove and
mess-table. Back of it was the pantry and store-room, in which were ten
fresh-water tanks. Still farther aft was the hold, divided into pens by
partitions of rough boards. These were now filled with cakes of ice, but
later would be used for fish. Abaft the hold was the cabin, in which the
skipper and five of the crew found sleeping accommodations. It was
neatly finished in ash, and running along three sides of it was a broad
transom that served as a seat or lounging-place. The only furniture was
a small coal-stove, securely fastened in the middle of the floor. On the
walls hung a clock, a barometer, and a thermometer. A few charts were
stowed overhead in a rack, and, flung around in the bunks or on the
transom, were a number of paper-covered novels.
The business of fishing is conducted upon the system of shares. That is,
half the value of the catch, after outfitting expenses have been
deducted, goes to the owners of the vessel, and half to the crew.
Although the skipper and cook are not required to take part in the
actual business of fishing, each of them receives a full share. The
skipper gets, in addition, four per cent. of the value of the catch, and
the cook has regular wages.
The living on board a fishing schooner is generally superior to that on
almost any other craft. It consists of fresh meat, whenever it can be
obtained, fresh fish, vegetables, dried fruit, soft bread, cakes and
pies, eggs, condensed milk, and always tea and coffee, hot, strong, and
in abundance.
The _Curlew_ was manned by a picked crew of twelve men, including the
skipper and cook. They were young, strong, and active, and, except
Breeze, all were skilful fishermen. He had been considered very
fortunate in obtaining a berth at a time of year when there are so many
good men anxious to ship. That he had done so was largely owing to the
friendship existing between the skipper, Captain Ezra Coffin, and his
adopted father.
When he had consented to ship the boy for this trip, the skipper said,
“It’s a hard life, Breeze, and one full of chances. Every man aboard may
have a hundred dollars to his credit before the week is out, and then
again we may cruise for a month and not make enough to pay for our ice.
You are only a boy, but you will have to do a man’s work, and hard work
at that. There are perils of all kinds waiting on every minute of the
night and day, and they’ll come when you least expect them. I’d rather a
boy of mine would saw wood for a living on land than to try and make it
by fishing. Besides all this, as you are a green hand, I can only offer
you half a share for this trip. Still, if you are bound to come, I’m
glad to have you, both for your own sake and for that of my old
dorymate, Almon McCloud. So bring along your dunnage, lad, and may
good-luck come with you!”
Breeze had answered, “I know it won’t be all plain sailing, sir, and
that I’ve got a lot to learn before I can be called an A 1 hand. Still,
hard and dangerous as you say the business is, I’d rather try and make a
living at it than at anything else I know of, and I am much obliged to
you for giving me a chance.”
Soon after leaving port, the skipper called all hands aft to draw for
bunks and to “thumb the hat.” The bunks had numbers chalked on them, and
now the skipper held in his hand as many small sticks as there were men
in the crew. Each stick had notches cut in it corresponding to the
numbers of the bunks, and one by one the crew stepped up and drew them
from the skipper’s hand. Thus the sleeping quarters were distributed
with perfect fairness, and there was no chance for grumbling. Breeze was
lucky enough to draw one of the wide bunks in the cabin, and at once
hastened to stow his possessions in it.
When all the berths had been thus distributed, the crew again gathered
aft, and each man placed a thumb on the rim of an old straw hat that had
been laid on top of the cabin. The skipper turned his back to them, one
of the men named a number, and, without looking to see whose it was, the
skipper touched one of the thumbs. Then he counted around until the
number mentioned was reached. The man at whose thumb he stopped was to
stand first watch and trick at the wheel, the next man on his right the
second, and so on. There would be two men on watch in bad weather, but
one is generally considered sufficient when it is fine.
With the parting injunction to “mind, now, and remember who you are to
call,” the skipper went below. As eight bells, or twelve o’clock, was
struck, the man who had first watch took the wheel, gave a glance at the
compass, another at the sails, and the regular routine of duty was
begun.
Now dinner was announced, and after the skipper was seated, the half of
the crew that reached the mess-table and secured seats were entitled to
eat at “first table” during the trip. The others had to be content to
eat at “second table.” Breeze was not posted as to this, and
consequently was among those who got left when the rush took place.
Afterwards, this seemingly trifling circumstance proved to be of the
most vital importance to him, as we shall see.
The cruise thus fairly begun was continued without incident until the
_Curlew_ reached the fishing grounds off the Virginia capes. Then, under
easy sail, she stood off and on, with a man constantly at the mast-head,
scanning the surface of the water in the hope of seeing mackerel. The
great seine-boat was got overboard, and with the seine in it, was towed
behind the schooner, ready for instant use.
At length, after four tedious days of this work, the impatient crew were
brought tumbling on deck in a hurry one fine morning by the welcome cry
of “There they school; half a mile away, off the weather bow!”