the fisherwomen running hither and thither in hot haste armed with a
plentiful supply of food for the bread-winners, which is soon after the
boat’s arrival put on board, and hastily partaken of ere the hard day’s
work commences. Before the meal is finished, the carters are waiting
at the pier-side; and should all the herrings be shaken out of the
nets, the men at once don their oilskins, and placing themselves in a
convenient position to fill the baskets in the boat’s hold, the work
of discharging commences. The skipper stands upon the pier to haul the
baskets ashore, an operation in which he is often assisted by his wife,
who on many occasions takes the lion’s share of the work. After working
some time in the hold, the men gradually become covered with the
silvery scales of the fish till their clothing assumes the appearances
of a coat of mail, in which their stalwart figures and superb physique
stand out in striking relief. Should the harvest of the sea be landed
in larger quantities than usual, the stir both on the piers and in the
curing-yards correspondingly increases; and amid a babel of tongues
and uproarious good-humour, the stream of carts loaded with herrings
goes on incessantly; while fishcurers, whose heads are almost turned
with the pressure of business, rush to and fro issuing orders to their
servants and fishermen.
On being brought into the yards, the herrings are emptied into large
square wooden boxes called ‘forelands,’ many of which are under a
roof, so that the women who gut the fish may be protected from the
heat of the sun or the inclemency of the weather. To those who see
them for the first time in a heavy fishing-night, the gutters count
one of the sights of the trade; and their persons, as they appear clad
in oilskins and besmeared with blood from head to foot, reminds one
of an Indian in his war-paint fresh from battle. These women, from a
life-long experience, show the greatest dexterity in their work; and
the rapidity with which they seize a herring, enter the knife at its
gills, remove the gut, and throw the offal into one tub and the fish
into another, is one of the features of the business, and, in the eyes
of a stranger, appears part of a juggler’s education. In the course
of an afternoon and evening, one crew of women—comprising two gutters
and one packer—will have a good many rows of barrels at their credit,
representing earnings of from ten to twenty shillings. On all occasions
when the fishing is heavy, these women are obliged to work at any hour;
and as it often happens that the boats are late in arriving, curing
operations go on all night, rendering a curing-yard, if not a pretty,
an interesting sight. From end to end of the premises are rows of
forelands heaped with herrings, whose silvery scales glitter in the
light thrown from the blazing naphtha lamps suspended overhead, the
rays of which, again, play upon the surface of the water in the harbour
in a way that recalls memories of historic cities by sea and lake.
Around the forelands the women ply the knife in a competitive spirit
with lightning speed; and while they work, the air is often filled with
the strains of popular songs and hymns, interspersed with the Gaelic
music of the Highland girls, sung by these toilers to while away the
midnight hours. On such a night, a fishing-town has an appearance quite
unique. The lurid glare in a murky sky of the many lights burning in
the yards, has a very weird effect; while the roll of carts and the
shrill cries of the fisher-girls, mixed with the stentorian tones of
‘the maister’ issuing his orders at dead of night, give a romantic
touch to the picture. Often among the gutters are to be found most
respectable, educated females, who are tempted by the high remuneration
paid to engage in the work, and who, when the fishing is over, assume
another character, and may be seen at the Christmas balls in some of
the smaller towns as the leaders of fashion. It may be noted here, that
after being gutted, packed, and salted, the herrings are allowed to lie
in barrels in the curing-yards for some little time. The barrels are
then filled up, and otherwise completely cured; and having received the
brand of the Fishery Board as a certificate of good quality, they are
despatched to Germany and Russia and; other centres where herrings form
a staple article of food. The salting of herrings has hitherto been the
chief method of curing; but recently, boracic acid has been introduced
for the same purpose, though how far it will be adopted in practice, is
still a question of the future.
One feature of the fishing which presents an unusually pretty and
romantic sight may be seen on a dark night towards the end of August.
At that time the boats are usually within a mile or two of the shore;
and when the gloaming deepens and the nets are shot, the crews prepare
to hoist the lights required to be exhibited by law to prevent
accidents happening with passing vessels. As darkness sets in, light
after light appears, till the sea for a stretch of many miles is
transformed into what seems a gaily illuminated city; but instead of
the din and bustle associated with such an occasion, not a sound is
heard but the gentle ripple of the summer sea, as its wavelets frolic
on the sandy beach, or thread their way round the rocks near the old
tower. The sight is ever new, and one so pretty and so fascinating,
that on every occasion when it is available, the whole community,
including those who have been privileged to witness it for a lifetime,
eagerly seek the points of vantage where they can best view the
fairy-like scene spread out before them.
In mostly all the great herring-fishery ports, the harbours during
winter have a most oppressive stillness, and often the trade done for
a protracted period would comprise the arrival and sailing of a few
colliers and a limited number of windbound ships. In spring, the scene
changes, however; and by July, every available inch of water area is
appropriated to the use of craft employed in the staple industry; and
at times so great is the pressure, that many vessels are obliged to lie
in the bay and wait their regular turn before being permitted to enter
the harbour. In addition to our own ships, a great many German vessels
have been hitherto engaged carrying herrings; but within the last
two years, Norwegian steamers, which were employed in the Norwegian
herring business before steam was introduced here, have greatly taken
up the carrying-trade, to the serious exclusion of the British sailing
schooners, which held the trade in their own hands for half a century,
and considered it strictly their own. In consequence of the altered
aspect of affairs, a strong feeling exists among the old-fashioned
mariners, especially the local skippers, against what they consider
an unjust usurpation of their exclusive right, and many an aged salt
may be heard sighing for the ‘good old times.’ But in spite of their
quarter-deck arguments, which appear as old-fashioned as their craft,
steam-carrying power is fast increasing; and it is more than probable
that the once smart fleet of schooners, whose employment in the
herring-trade was wont to yield the year’s dividend to the owners, will
soon be practically a thing of the past.
The social aspect of the fishermen engaged in the herring-fishery has
undergone a remarkable change within the last quarter of a century;
and the noisy, hard-drinking, indigent toilers of the deep have given
place to a race of sober, industrious, religiously inclined class of
men, who in many instances have amassed and have at their credit in the
bank large sums of money. On the north and north-east coasts, thirty or
forty years ago, fishermen as a class were reckoned amongst the hardest
drinkers of the population, and one curious custom then existing, but
which happily disappeared many years ago, was rather a strong proof
of the not very enviable character attached to the men in those days.
Before finally settling the terms of an agreement with the curer, the
skipper always satisfied himself that one important clause was safe,
which was to the effect that the curer was bound to supply a gallon
and a half of whisky weekly for the exclusive use of the crew while
prosecuting the fishing.
As years rolled on, the habits of fishermen gradually improved; and
when the temperance movement spread its branches over the land, no
class enlisted under its banners more readily, and no section of
the community was more enthusiastic or adhered more firmly to the
teetotal principles than did this section of the seafaring class. In a
remarkably short time the thatched hovels gave place to neat stone and
lime cottages; and the fishermen, instead of spending their evenings in
the public-house, preferred either to stay at home and mend the nets or
join in some temperance or religious movement which often necessitated
a walk of a good many miles to the chief town in the district where
these meetings were usually held. The religious tone in most of the
villages on the north-east coast and Moray Firth continues marked;
and many of those whose conduct a generation ago was a reproach to
their village, not only are now in comfortable circumstances, but take
an active interest in all local affairs, and can conduct religious
meetings in a way that would do credit to those regularly trained for
the ministry.
Fishermen are not naturally cosmopolitan in their nature, and take
comparatively little interest in matters not directly affecting
themselves; but if a trawling agitation is being promulgated, or if a
sudden gale deals destruction to fishermen anywhere on the coast, the
villagers evince the greatest anxiety to obtain the latest information.
War or rumours of war exercise a strong influence on their minds, and
the weekly newspapers are anxiously looked for, and the reports on the
subject keenly discussed; but stirring questions of national importance
seldom or never disturb the equilibrium of village life. A local
oracle is here and there met with, and though his learning may not be
profound, he has sufficient ability to represent with some degree of
intelligence the opinions or wishes of his fellow-villagers at any
time that a question affecting their welfare is prominently before the
public. Some of these oracles are vain of their learning; and many good
stories are in circulation in the fishing districts indicative of their
anxiety to air their learning, especially when a big word could be
utilised, whether it suited the sense or not. One good example happened
in Fraserburgh not many years ago on the occasion of an accidental
meeting of a minister and a leading villager. During the fishing
season, the minister was visiting in a part of the town where a row
of small houses were built on exactly similar lines; and finding it
difficult to distinguish his parishioner’s house, asked a fisherman—at
the moment remarking as to the similarity of the buildings—where the
individual whom he wanted resided. The man drew himself up, and with
the intention of impressing the minister with his erudition, proffered
his services with the following remark: ‘Weel, sir, I’m no a bit
surprised at your difficulty, for the houses on this street are most
unanimous.’
As has been already indicated, fishermen do not trouble themselves with
the affairs of state, and the result is that food for conversation
limits itself to incidents in their daily life, which, though at
times painfully exciting, is oftenest most uneventful. During the
herring-fishing season, when the men often do not see one another from
Monday to Saturday, part of Sunday is invariably spent in discussing
the results of the previous week’s work. ‘Between sermons,’ three,
four, and sometimes half-a-dozen fishermen congregate at a relative’s
or an acquaintance’s lodgings, and having seated themselves, some on
chairs, some on chests, and others on nets, and filled their pipes,
proceed to narrate their experiences of the past few days; in the
course of which, one man describes how, after sailing east-north-east,
and putting Mormond Hill down, he shot his nets, and was rewarded with
a good take, but got much destruction to netting in consequence of
other boats having shot over his ‘fleet;’ while another recounts most
minutely every night’s work from leaving till returning to the harbour,
and explains that though they had been upon different grounds, they had
failed to meet with any luck, although their neighbour Sandie, who was
alongside of them, one night had got seventy crans. In this manner each
skipper gives a little history of the week’s labours; and the company
having exhausted their store of news, take their departure to their
respective homes, probably not to meet again till the following Sunday.
MY FIRST PATIENT.
‘... And may I beg you to visit us in your private rather than in
your professional capacity? Since my dear wife has been failing
thus sadly, she has evinced a great dread of medical men; and were
she to guess you other than an ordinary guest, I tremble for the
consequences! The carriage will meet you at Blackburne Station at
whatever hour you name.—Yours very truly,
ARTHUR CRAWFORD.’
This is an extract from a letter that I received on the 10th of June
1870, and being but a young fellow of twenty-six, I was very much
elated thereby. The great drawback to being what is called a specialist
is that the generality of people—for what reason, I have never been
able to discover—are afraid to employ you until you are well on in
years, and consequently this Mrs Crawford for whom my services had
been enlisted was my first private patient. My speciality was madness;
and tiring equally of hospital-work and of idling in my own rooms, I
was heartily thankful for the good luck that had befallen me. In a
previous letter, Mr Crawford had given a detailed account of his wife’s
symptoms; and now all arrangements were completed, and I was due at his
Berkshire home on the following day.
When the train steamed into the little country station, I found a
carriage and pair ready to meet me. Evidently, to judge by the general
get-up of the whole thing, the Crawfords were wealthy folk; and
this impression was confirmed when we reached the house, which was
standing in the midst of a lovely park. In true country fashion, the
hall-doors were standing open, and my host met me on the threshold with
outstretched hands.
‘This is exceedingly kind of you,’ he said genially, ‘for I know
you have come at your very earliest convenience.—Journey from town
pleasant?—Yes? That’s right.—James, take Mr Lennox’s things to his
room. Lunch in the morning-room, hey?—Come along, my dear sir; you must
be half famished.’ So saying, he preceded me down a long corridor,
whence I caught distant glimpses of a beautiful garden at the back of
the house, and into a snug little room where luncheon was laid. While
I discussed a cold chicken, Mr Crawford went on chatting; and ere I
went to my room for a wash and brush up before presenting myself to
his wife, we were excellent friends. I do not think I ever met a man
who so much charmed me at first sight; nay, he more than charmed, he
captivated me. He was about thirty, and exceedingly handsome, with
fair curly hair, and bright blue eyes. He had a bronzed complexion,
and a hearty laugh, and was altogether a most attractive specimen of
a young Englishman. When I had finished luncheon, his manner changed
abruptly as he began speaking of his young wife.
‘I did not like to enter upon the subject before you were rested,’ he
began courteously; ‘but I am intensely anxious you should see her.
For some months past she has been suffering from intense melancholia,
and lately she has taken a deep distrust of those around her, more
particularly of me.’ He stopped abruptly and bit his lip. ‘Doctor, I
simply worship her,’ he went on passionately. ‘When I married her five
years ago, she was the blithest, merriest girl in all the shire; and
now, to see her like this—why, it breaks my heart!’ and he dropped into
a chair and buried his face in his hands.
There was an awkward pause, for in those days I was too inexperienced
to be much of a hand at consolation, and then I stepped nearer to him
and laid my hand upon his shoulder. ‘Come, come,’ I said cheerily,
‘there is no need to despair like this. We must hope for the best. How
does she show her distrust of you?’
He raised his head to answer me. ‘By keeping the boy from me, for one
thing. She will hardly let me touch him.’
‘The boy? A son of yours?’
‘Our only child,’ he answered—‘a dear little fellow of nearly four; and
she betrays a terrible fear whenever I have him with me.’
‘Does she eat well?’
‘Hardly at all.’
‘Sleep at night?’
He shook his head; and then followed a string of various professional
questions. Our conversation at an end, I requested to be shown to my
room, promising to be in the drawing-room for five o’clock tea, when I
should be introduced to Mrs Crawford.
‘As _Mr_ Lennox, if you please,’ suggested her husband as we crossed
the hall. ‘You remember that I asked you to drop the doctor, and seem
an ordinary visitor?’
Of course I agreed; and then he told me he had spoken to her of me as
an old college friend; and finally he left me to myself.
When I descended to the drawing-room, I found both Crawford and his
wife waiting for me. He was standing by the open window playing with
the climbing roses that were nodding by its sill: he was talking
merrily as I entered, and looked the personification of life and good
spirits. A girl was standing by the mantel-shelf with her back towards
me, and I had barely time to admire the slight figure and graceful
pose, before Crawford’s voice rang out in hearty cordiality.
‘Ah! there you are at last! Let me introduce you to my wife.—Beatrice,
this is Mr John Lennox.’
She had half turned when he began speaking; but as he said my name, she
gave a sudden gasp and confronted me with large startled eyes. I have
seen the eyes of a snared bird and those of a hunted stag, but I have
never seen such a look of piteous fear as dwelt in hers then. For one
moment she seemed half mad with terror; but the next it fled as quickly
as it came, and she held out her hand in greeting. As she did so, an
ugly scar on the smooth white wrist caught my eye. It looked to me
like an unskilful but intentional cut from a knife, and while we were
exchanging commonplaces as to my journey, &c., I was wondering as to
whether she had ever attempted her own life. She was in the first flush
of her womanhood; and her glorious blue eyes and coil of auburn hair
would alone have sufficed to stamp her as a beautiful woman, had it not
been that the curious expression of her face outweighed every other
fascination. She gave me the impression of being literally consumed
by a terrible dread, to the nature of which I of course as yet held
no clue; and with this dread, an equally strong desire to suppress
all outward indication of it. Add to this, the fact that her face was
entirely colourless, and that the hand she had given me, in spite of
the June sunshine, was as cold as ice, and it will be seen that my
first case promised to be full of interest.
She poured out the tea silently, while her husband and I went on
chatting, and she did not speak again until he proposed to ring the
nursery bell.
‘We have not seen Bertie all day,’ he added, ‘and I know you would like
to show him off to Lennox.’
‘He is having his tea,’ she rejoined quickly. ‘Show him off in the
morning, Arthur; I don’t think we want him now.’
‘O fie! There is an unkind mamma! I wonder what Bertie would say to
you? He can finish his tea here, dear. I’ll fetch him.’
‘No, no; I’ll go.’ She ran out of the room as she spoke; and Crawford
turned to me with a weary-looking smile.
‘You see, Lennox? I generally give way; but I am afraid of it growing
upon her, if I never see the child. He is such a splendid fellow!’ As
he spoke, his wife returned with the boy in her arms.
‘I met him in the hall,’ she explained; ‘he was just coming in from his
walk.—No, Arthur, don’t take him: he is not at all heavy.’ This last
to her husband, who had advanced with outstretched hands. ‘Look here,
Bertie, darling. Who likes cake?’ She seated herself on a low chair,
still keeping a jealous arm around the child, and went on talking, this
time to me. ‘Arthur and I quarrel over this small boy.’ She laughed a
little, but it sounded very mirthless. ‘The last cause of dissension is
his health. I think he is growing delicate and wants change, and papa
doesn’t agree. Does he, my beauty?’
The boy laughed as she held him yet more closely to her; and looking at
his rosy cheeks and bright eyes, it seemed to me that there could not
be a healthier youngster.
‘I am afraid I must take papa’s side,’ I said. ‘You must not alarm
yourself unnecessarily, dear Mrs Crawford, for I think’—— I stopped
abruptly, alarmed by the expression on her face. I was new at my work,
be it remembered; but I think that older men than I would have been
frightened. Bertie had rebelled against the detaining arm; and sliding
on to the floor, had run to his father and climbed into his arms.
A fine game of romps now ensued, and the mother sat and watched them.
Sitting there facing her, I, too, was watching. In my student days,
I had kept a tame lizard, and by whistling to it, had been able to
direct its movements at will, and now I was reminded of my whilom pet
by watching Beatrice Crawford’s eyes. Every motion of her husband’s, as
he ran round the room tossing the laughing boy in his arms, appeared
to hold a fascination for her, and her gaze never left him but once.
That once was when she walked swiftly to a further table and possessed
herself of a paper-knife, which she handed to me, commenting on its
curious make. It was of steel and sharply pointed; and I handed it back
again with the remark, that it would make a nasty weapon if needed.
She took it without glancing at me again; but her husband had caught
her words, and now came up to us breathless and laughing, with Bertie
clinging round his neck.
‘Don’t hold that thing, my darling,’ he said tenderly. ‘I hate to see
such an ugly knife in your dear little hands.’
‘Give it to Bertie, mamma,’ cried the child, stretching dimpled hands
for the coveted treasure; and his father, with an injunction to be
careful, was taking it from her to give to him, when, with a muffled
cry, she snatched the knife back and dashed it through the open window
into the garden beyond.
‘You shan’t have it!—you shan’t have it!’ she cried excitedly, while a
bright red spot burned on either cheek. ‘You would’—— With marvellous
self-control, she stopped dead short; and after an almost imperceptible
pause, she added in her usual quiet tones: ‘Pray, forgive me, Arthur;
I am so afraid of Bertie hurting himself.—Go up to the nursery, dear.
Mamma will come to you.’
Awe-struck at her late passion, the child went gently out of the room,
and his mother following him, I was left alone with Crawford. It went
to my heart to see the pained, drawn look on his face; but the scene
had at all events put one thing beyond a doubt: Mrs Crawford was not
merely failing in brain-power—she was mad.