THE "BARLEY RIG."
It was with Captain Hoeseason of the trawler _Barley Rig_ that the boys
finally succeeded in striking a bargain to land them in Antwerp. The
captain of the craft, who was also her owner, was a giant of a man, more
than six feet tall in his great sea boots and dressed in rough
fisherman's garb. The boys found him in a small, waterfront inn, with a
thatched roof and red window curtains which bore the sign of the Magpie
and Shark, apparently, in the owner's estimation, a happy combination of
land and sea.
Captain Hoeseason declared that he knew the North Sea like a book and
that there would be no danger of encountering mines if they sailed with
him. His craft would be ready at the long fish dock at six the next
morning, he declared, and at that hour the boys presented themselves.
The crew of the _Barley Rig_ were a rough, weather-beaten looking set of
men, and almost immediately, upon the boy's arrival, they set to work,
under the hoarsely bawled orders of Captain Hoeseason, setting the
fisher craft's great red sails. At last all was ready. Under a brisk
breeze, that momentarily grew stronger, the trawler slipped out to sea.
"They're a rough-looking lot on this craft," observed Jack to Bill, as
the _Barley Rig_ began to toss about in a way that would have been
trying to less experienced sailors.
"Yes, I'm glad you've got that money in your money-belt," said Bill,
referring to the American gold they carried. "They have none of them
seen it, thank goodness, or we might have cause to worry."
"Oh, I don't know," declared Jack. "They may be honest enough for all
their rough looks. I imagine that the North Sea fishery doesn't tend to
make men very refined looking."
"At all events it hasn't had that effect on this crew," laughed Bill.
At noon they were summoned, by the cook's beating on a tin pan, to a
dinner of fried fish and boiled potatoes. The little cabin where they
ate it reeked of the fish that for years had formed the _Barley Rig's_
cargo, and was lighted, for it had no openings but the companionway
above, by a swinging, smoking lamp of what was known among the fishermen
as the "pot" variety. But it would have taken more than this to dull the
keen edges of the boys' appetites, whet to razor sharpness by the
freshening wind.
The cook, an old, bent man, with a wild blue eye, stood by his rusty
stove watching as they devoured what was set before them. Overhead they
could hear the trample of feet and the occasional impact of a big wave
as it broke in spray over the bow.
"It's getting rougher," remarked Jack.
"Seems to be," agreed Bill; "this is a small boat to be out in a storm."
"They say that the trawlers are fine sea boats," declared Jack.
There was no doubt that it was getting rougher. By mid-afternoon the
green seas with breaking, white tops, were leaping mountainously under a
scudding gray sky. Still, the captain of the _Barley Rig_ did not take
in a reef of his sails. He stood beside the tiller, which was gripped by
a young giant of a fisher in jersey and boots, giving an occasional
order and puffing vigorously at his stubby clay pipe.
Beside an occasional gruff word, Captain Hoeseason did not have much to
say to his passengers, but they noticed that his eyes followed them
constantly.
"I can't shake off an idea that the fellow has some mischief in mind,"
declared Bill, after he had noticed the furtive scrutiny the skipper of
the _Barley Rig_ was bestowing on them.
"Nonsense," declared Jack. "I made a few inquiries about him and he
appears to bear a good character. Anyhow, we are going among dangers
beside which this trip won't appear as anything, so don't get nervous at
the start off."
As dusk began to settle down, it showed a wild scene. The trawler
appeared to be alone on the troubled ocean; at least, no other craft was
within sight. The wind howled dismally through the cordage, and the
reefed sails tore at their ropes as if they would part at any moment.
"Bad weather, Captain," said Jack, as he and Bill stood bracing
themselves against a back stay.
"Oh, aye," rejoined the captain, taking out his pipe like a stopper to
permit himself speech, "but she'll be worse afore she gits better."
He was right. By nightfall, it was blowing a gale, and the big seas were
breaking over the _Barley Rig_, drenching everything. Water fell in
cataracts down the cabin companionway every time the hatch was opened.
Cooking was impossible, and the boys made their supper on hard ship
biscuit and water while a small flood washed about their feet.
"This is awful, Jack," remarked Bill after a lurch that had sent him
sliding across the cabin.
"Cheer up, old fellow, it might be worse," retorted Jack cheerily.
Bill gave a groan.
"I don't see how it could be, unless we go to the bottom," Bill grumbled
dismally. "You don't think there's any danger of that, Jack, do you?"
"Not a bit of it. This craft has weathered many a storm as bad or worse
than this, I don't doubt," declared Jack stoutly, although the laboring
of the storm-stricken _Barley Rig_ was beginning to get on his nerves.
Not long after the completion of their scanty meal, the captain came
below and snatched a bite. He was dripping from head to foot and
reported the gale as increasing in violence.
"My advice to you younkers is to turn in," he said. "You can have my
bunk--that one yonder. I'll be on deck all night and so will 'tother
lads."
The bunk in question was not much more than a shelf with some very
dubious-looking blankets piled untidily on it. But the boys were tired,
and so they clambered up and composed themselves to rest with the deck
within a foot of their faces, so low was the cabin ceiling.
For a time sleep was impossible. The buffeting blows that the big waves
struck the laboring trawler made her shake and creak as if she would go
to pieces at any moment. On deck the heavy trampling of sea boots kept
up without intermission. The smoky lamp swung drearily. The motion grew
so violent at times that they were almost pitched out of the bunk. In
some corner into which he had dragged himself, they could hear the old
cook snoring and mumbling in his sleep.
But at last, despite all this, tired nature asserted herself and they
dozed off, while outside, the storm howled and shrieked like a furious
and sentient creature aroused to frenzy and extermination.