SAVED BY ELECTRICITY.
The joyful cry of a light at once put new life and hope into the hearts
of the hungry, drenched, and shivering occupants of the seine-boat.
Those who had huddled together under the wet canvas of the top-sail in
the vain effort to keep warm, as well as those who were pulling
hopelessly and wearily at the oars, gazed eagerly in the direction
indicated by Breeze. Yes, there it was, faint and yellow in the
distance, apparently that of some vessel approaching them from the
southward. They could see it as their boat rose on the crests of the
great billows, though it was lost again when they sank into the black
hollows between them.
Soon they were able to distinguish a second yellow light, lower than the
other, and by the position of these they knew that the approaching
vessel was a steamer, and a large one at that. Then her red and green
side-lights came into view. They watched anxiously to see which of these
would disappear first, in order to determine on which side of them she
was going to pass. If the red light should be lost to view, then they
would know she was passing to windward of them. In that case there would
not be the slightest chance of any cries they could utter reaching her,
and she would go on her way unconscious of their presence. If the green
light should disappear, it would be a sign that she was about to pass to
leeward. In that case there was a possibility that their shouts, borne
down the gale, might attract the attention of the watch on her deck.
Still, she might not stop even then, and it was an almost unheard-of
thing for a boat to be picked up at sea in the darkness of midnight,
amid the noise and tumult of a gale. They fully understood their
position, but, slight as their chance was, they watched for it
hopefully.
All at once, as they were lifted from a deep, watery hollow, and looked
for the lights, they gave utterance to exclamations of dismay. They
could still see the green light and the two yellow lights, but the red
one was no longer visible.
“’Tain’t no use. She’s going to windward of us;” muttered one of the
men, at once giving up all hope, and again lying down in the bottom of
the boat. “Luck’s against us, and we might as well reckon on help from
the old _Curlew_ as from that craft.”
Most of the others evidently thought as he did, and they turned their
eyes resolutely away from the lights, as though determined to be no
longer tantalized by them. But Breeze could not give up so easily, and
he still watched the lights whenever a lifting wave afforded him an
opportunity of seeing them.
What! Can it be? Or are his eyes deceiving him? No. It certainly is the
red light again, now much more distinct than before. The steamer has
altered her course and is heading directly for them. The men are filled
with new life at the boy’s exultant cry announcing his discovery. They
spring up and gaze incredulously. It is true, and both lights are now to
be plainly seen, not more than half a mile away and bearing directly
towards them. Now they fear that she may run them down, and begin to
pull to windward, so as to give her a clear berth. At last she is close
upon them, and the green light disappears, while the red shows clear and
steady.
“Now for a shout, men! All together as I give the word. One! two!
three!” commands the skipper.
It is a wild, desperate cry that startles the lookout on the forward
deck of the steamer from the half reverie into which he has fallen.
Again it comes to his ears, and again, borne on the wings of the gale
across the angry waters; and now it is heard by the steamer’s captain,
who has not left the pilot-house that night.
A gong clangs down among the engines, and a hoarse order is shouted to
the engineer through the speaking-tube. The great screw under the
steamer’s stern stops for a moment, and then churns the water violently
as its motion is reversed and it revolves rapidly backward.
“See if you can pick them up with the electric,” is the captain’s order
to the second officer, who has just appeared on deck. At the same
instant a dazzling flash of white light darts forth from the steamer’s
bow, and cuts a gleaming path-way between two solid walls of blackness
above the raging waters.
The second officer seizes the handles at the back of the great lamp, and
the broad band of light is slowly swept round to the direction from
which the cries have come. In another moment it flashes full in the
white faces of Breeze McCloud and his companions, sitting in their
seine-boat not more than a hundred yards away. The wonderful eye of the
search-light has discovered them, and they cover theirs with their
hands, or turn away from the unbearable radiance.
“Pull under our lee,” shouts the captain of the steamer through a
speaking-trumpet, “and we’ll try and get you aboard.”
It was a difficult task, for the ship rolled so deeply that it would
have been unsafe to open her side-ports, and they must be taken aboard
over the rail. As the seine-boat lay alongside, it was at one moment on
a level with the steamer’s deck, and the next so far below it that her
wet side rose like a black wall high above them. Nothing could be done
until she was turned, so as to lie head to the wind. Then, one by one,
the wrecked men caught the ropes flung to them, fastened them under
their arms, and were hauled up to the steamer’s deck, where they were
received and pulled on board by the stout arms eagerly out-stretched to
aid them. Some of them were buried beneath the huge waves that sprang
after them as though furious at being thus robbed of their expected prey
and still determined to clutch it. Others were bruised by being swung
violently against the iron side of the steamer. At last all of them were
safely rescued, and, with the seine-boat towing by a long line astern,
the great steamer was again headed on her course.
Was there ever anything so delicious as the hot coffee at once served to
them, or so welcome as the plentiful meal that awaited them in the
steamer’s mess-room, after they had got into the dry clothes furnished
by her crew? Breeze did not think there was. And when, soon afterwards,
he found himself in a comfortable bunk, under warm blankets, and
dropping to sleep, he felt that he was one of the most fortunate and
marvellously cared for boys in the world.
[Illustration: IN ANOTHER MOMENT IT FLASHES FULL IN THE WHITE FACES OF
BREEZE McCLOUD AND HIS COMPANIONS.]
The steamer that thus furnished the weary fishermen with shelter,
safety, and all the comforts of a sailor’s life was one of a line plying
between Boston and a southern city, from which she was now bound. Her
captain was one of those noble sailors who are never so happy as when
rescuing other toilers of the sea from its perils. He told Captain
Coffin that, without any definite reason, he had felt impelled to alter
his ship’s course half a point to the eastward shortly before their
cries had been heard. It was this change of direction that had brought
the red light once more into view.
Before morning the gale had so increased in fury that it was not
probable their light craft could have lived through it had they not been
picked up when they were. As it was, the seine-boat, while towing behind
the steamer, was struck soon after daylight by a great sea that capsized
it. The next crushed it like an egg-shell, and the broken wreck was cut
adrift.
Twenty-four hours later they entered Boston harbor, and the crew of the
lost _Curlew_, after expressing their heart-felt thanks to the captain,
passengers, and crew of the steamer, who had done everything in their
power to make them comfortable, left her. They made their way at once to
the market slip devoted to the use of fishing vessels, where they were
sure of finding friends and fellow-townsmen.
While walking slowly along the wharf, and looking wistfully over the
many fishing vessels crowded into the basin, in search of a familiar
face, Breeze was slapped on the shoulder, and a well-known voice
exclaimed,
“Vy, Breeza, ma boy! how you vas? Vere you come from, eh?”
Turning, he saw the smiling face of old Mateo, the Portuguese cook who,
on board the _Sea Robin_, had fed him with milk from the “lit tin cow”
when he was a baby. The old cook had always retained a warm affection
for the boy whom he had thus cared for in his helplessness, and had
never returned to Gloucester without visiting him and bringing him some
present. Now to see him seemed to Breeze almost like a glimpse of home.
Mateo, who, in spite of his years, was still hale and hearty, and one of
the best cooks to be found in the fishing fleet, would listen to nothing
where they stood. He insisted upon dragging Breeze aboard a new and
handsome schooner named the _Albatross_, in which he had shipped for a
cruise to the George’s. She had left Gloucester the day before, and run
up to Boston, where her skipper had some business to attend to. Now she
was to sail again within an hour.
Pulling his young friend down into the forecastle, and seating him
before the mess-table, Mateo exclaimed, “Vell, Breeza, you hongry, eh?”
To him eating was the most important business of life, and until Breeze
had assured him that he had just finished one breakfast, and had no room
for another mouthful, he would listen to nothing else. His mind being
set at rest on this point, Mateo asked,
“Vell, you not hongry, ma boy, ver is ze _C’loo_?”
“Gone to the bottom,” answered Breeze, “and poor Rod Mason has gone with
her.”
“Vat you say? ze _C’loo_ loss, and Rod Mason drowned? Oh, ze holy feesh!
an his bruzzer Bill here, on ze _’Batross_!”
It was indeed so; the only brother of the drowned man had shipped in the
_Albatross_ the day before. When he heard the sad news brought by
Breeze, he declared he must return at once to Gloucester, and make
arrangements for the future of his brother’s family. He would not even
wait for the skipper’s return, but, collecting his dunnage, hurried away
to catch the first train for home.
The rest of the crew, most of whom knew him, were intensely interested
in what Breeze had to tell them of the loss of the _Curlew_ and the
rescue of her crew. They were still plying him with questions when the
skipper of the _Albatross_ returned. He, like Mateo, had been one of the
_Sea Robin’s_ crew upon the memorable occasion when Breeze had come to
her, and now he gave the lad a hearty welcome. When he learned of
William Mason’s desertion he was somewhat annoyed, but in a moment his
face cleared and he said,
“Why won’t you come with us in his place, Breeze? You shall go as an A1
hand, have a full share of the catch, and we are not likely to be out
more than a couple of weeks anyhow. She’s a good vessel, and you are
always such a lucky chap that you’ll be more than welcome aboard of
her.”
“Yes, Breeza, come ’long,” urged the cook. “Ole Mateo feeda you till you
git fat like dog-feesh. Joe-flog, sea-pie, hatch, plenty good t’ings.”
Breeze laughed at the earnestness of the old man and the inducements he
held out, but said, “If I only could go home and see mother for a little
while first, I’d go in a minute. I’d have to get a new outfit too; the
only thing I saved from the _Curlew_ is this oil suit.”
“We’ll wait an hour for you to write to your mother and tell her just
how things stand. That’ll give you time to get an outfit in, too. I
guess you’d better come along,” urged the skipper.
“Outfeet!” cried Mateo, eagerly. “Vat you want? Peajack, boota, gole
vatch an’ chain, eberyting vat you vill hab me getta him.”
So it was finally settled, and an hour later, having written a loving
letter home, and been provided, through the old cook’s generosity, with
an outfit of clothes quite as good as the one he had lost, Breeze found
himself sailing out of Boston harbor in the good schooner _Albatross_,
bound for the George’s Bank. Certainly, nothing had been further from
his mind than this, when he had entered the same harbor a few hours
before; but he was rapidly learning that nothing is so likely to happen
in this life as those things we least expect.
St. George’s Bank, which furnishes the finest cod and halibut found on
the American coast, lies about ninety-five miles due east from Highland
light on Cape Cod. Its waters are fished all through the year by a large
fleet of vessels from New England ports, but its supply continues
apparently undiminished. It lies in a dangerous part of the ocean, for
it is swept by the current of the Gulf Stream, is subject to fearful
storms and dense fogs, and is crossed by all the transatlantic lines of
steamers.
Although it is so near at hand, and though fishing was one of the
earliest industries followed by the New England settlers, it was not
until about 1836 that trips to George’s became a regular feature of the
business. The bank was known to exist, and fish were known to be plenty
on it, long before, but the fishermen were afraid of it. This fear was
owing to the belief among them that the current, always sweeping across
it, was strong enough to drag under and sink any vessel that should
anchor within its influence.
The first three fishing vessels that visited the dreaded bank kept close
together, and their crews fished as they drifted about. Finally, one of
the skippers, who was regarded as a perfect dare-devil for proposing
such a thing, said he was going to anchor and take his chances. Several
of his crew were so frightened that they begged to be put aboard the
other vessels, whose skippers were not so venturesome. They were allowed
to go, and volunteers were called for from the other crews to aid this
bold skipper in his desperate venture. When enough brave fellows had
gone on board to be able to get the anchor up quickly in case of
trouble, it was let go, the cable spun out, was checked, the anchor
held, and the schooner rode to it as easily and quietly as though in
Gloucester harbor.
Now occurred the most amusing part of this bold experiment. The swift
current quickly bore the other two vessels away from the anchored craft,
but those on board the latter imagined that they were moving and leaving
their friends behind. They began to heave desperately on their cable,
got their anchor up, and started back in pursuit of their companions.
When they were once more united, all hands were fully satisfied with
their exploit; and though they had taken but a few quintals[B] of fish
they sailed back to Gloucester filled with pride because one of their
number had dared drop an anchor on George’s.
-----
Footnote B:
A hundred pounds weight.
-----
In those days, and until 1846, fishing vessels did not carry ice in
which to pack their catch and bring it fresh into market. In place of
this, many of them were made into what are known as “smacks” by having
tight compartments built in their hold amidships, and filled with
sea-water from auger-holes bored through the vessel’s bottom.
The greatest depth of water on George’s is 212 fathoms,[C] or 1272 feet,
nearly a quarter of a mile. The average depth for fishing is sixty
fathoms, though halibut are often taken in water two hundred fathoms
deep. It is, of course, tiresome work to drag these great fish to the
surface from such great depths, and they are never sought for there if
they can be found in shoaler water.
-----
Footnote C:
A fathom is six feet.
-----
It is no rare thing to find a hundred fishing vessels at anchor at one
time on George’s during any month of the year, and it was to join this
fleet that the _Albatross_ was now making her way swiftly around the
point of Cape Cod. She was fitted out as a hand-liner--that is, her crew
would fish with hand-lines over her sides--and she had a quantity of
frozen herring stowed with the ice in her hold to be used as bait.
They reached the bank and caught sight of the anchored fleet early the
following morning after leaving Boston. As they slipped along past one
after another of the vessels already at work, they could see their crews
hauling in their lines and tossing fish over the rail as fast as their
arms could move. It seemed curious to Breeze that this busy work should
always stop as soon as the _Albatross_ drifted near any of the others.
He asked why it was, and was told that they were afraid the new-comers
would notice their good luck and anchor near them, which they did not
wish to have them do.
As the _Albatross_ moved slowly across the bank, soundings were taken,
and the skipper kept a baited hook down. At last, in fifty fathoms of
water he got a strong bite, and at once ordered the anchor to be
dropped, Then the sails were snugly furled and the riding-sail set. This
is a small triangular bit of canvas bent to the main-mast, and is used
to hold the vessel’s head to the wind.
Now baskets of bait were got up, lines were overhauled, and soon every
man on board had one or two over the side. They were allowed to run out
until their leaden sinkers touched, when they were drawn up so that the
hooks, that hung a fathom below them, were raised a few feet above the
bottom.
There was an intense eagerness to bring up the first fish, and each man
kept an eye on his neighbor’s line as well as on his own, to see if he
were to be the lucky man. At last a shout announced a bite, and all
turned to see Breeze McCloud tug away at something so tremendously heavy
that it seemed to him he must be lifting a large piece of the bottom of
the ocean.