The Dido’s First Fishing Trip.
JIM PAUL’S warning made an impression on Reube’s mind. When Will
Carter heard of it he exclaimed:
“That fits in with my own ideas exactly, Reube! There’s some alien
streak in that Gandy’s blood that makes him more likely to knife you in
the back than fight you to your face; and that being a kind of enemy you
don’t understand, you’ve got to be all the more careful, old man.”
“Well,” said Reube, thoughtfully, “what is one to do about it anyway?”
“Why, look sharp for a chance to get the scoundrel locked up, even if
his family does need him,” answered Will. “And, meanwhile, keep your
eyes open after dark, and take no chances. Carry a good heavy stick,
too.”
“All right!” laughed Reube. “But I think these hands of mine are good
enough for Mart, any day.”
That night proving fine with a fair, light wind down the bay, Reube and
Will took the _Dido_ out for her first drift. In the cuddy were stowed
some extra clothes in case of a cold bay fog rolling up, and several
thick blankets, and enough bread and meat and cold tea for a couple of
days in case the trip should be unexpectedly prolonged. Will insisted
also on a generous sheet of Mrs. Dare’s gingerbread and a brown stone
jug of lime-juice ready mixed. He had a care for material comforts. But
as for Reube, he was in such a state of exalted excitement that he could
think of nothing but shad and the _Dido_.
Will was an excellent shot—famous, indeed, all about that region for
his habit of going partridge shooting with a little rifle instead of the
orthodox shotgun. He now took his beloved little rifle with him in the
hope of bagging some rare specimen of gull or hawk. He little dreamed
that he might turn out to be hunted instead of hunter on that trip.
By the time all preparations were complete, and the brown nets, beaded
with wooden floats and leaden sinkers, unwound from the reel and neatly
coiled in the _Dido’s_ stern, and the great half hogshead amidships
filled with water to serve as ballast, the rest of the shad fleet were
dropping one by one out of the creek. Like great pale moths their sails
floated over the marsh, following the windings of the creek, and
vanishing into the silvery night. The _Dido_ followed with Reube at the
helm. She sailed swiftly and soon overtook her slower rivals. Only the
little red-and-white pinkie preserved her distance, and Reube had to
acknowledge, reluctantly, that she was as speedy as the _Dido_. When the
fleet reached the open every boat headed down the bay, at the same time
diverging from its neighbor. The object of this latter movement was to
get the utmost possible room for the nets; of the former to get as far
down the bay as possible before turning with the tide to drift back. The
fishing was all done on this backward drift.
The _Dido_ gradually lost sight of all her rivals but the pinkie, which
hovered, a faint white speck, far to starboard. The five hours’ sail
brought our young shad fishers past Cape Chignecto, and into wider
waters. It was rough off the cape after the turn of tide, and the _Dido_
pitched heavily in the steep yellow waves. Neither Reube nor Will had
ever before been so far down the bay, and in their curiosity over a
certain strange formation of the cliffs they sailed somewhat close to
the shore.
Will, from his place on the cuddy, was expatiating learnedly on the
distorted strata before them, when suddenly he broke off in the midst of
a word, and yelled:
“A reef right ahead! Bring her about, quick!”
But Reube had seen the danger at the same instant. With one hand he
jammed the helm hard down, and with the other loosed the main sheet, at
the same time shouting to Will:
“Let go the jib!”
Will sprang to obey. But the stiff new rope, pulled taut during the long
run and shrunken hard by the spray, would not yield at once even to his
strong fingers. It had got jammed fast in some way. Meanwhile the
_Dido_, broadside on and beaten mightily by the waves, was heeling as if
she would turn over in the trough. The jib pulled terrifically, and the
water hissed above the cleaving gunwale.
“Quick! Quick!” yelled Reube; and Will, snatching his knife from his
belt, severed the rope at a slash and released the sail. Gracefully the
_Dido_ swung up, righted herself, and bowed on an even keel.
“That was something of a close shave,” remarked Reube.
“It was,” said Will, studying with angry eyes the rope which had baffled
him.
After this they took a long tack which brought them once more into
smoother waters above the cape. As the sun got higher the wind fell
lighter, and at length Reube announced that it was time to get out the
net. The mainsail was hauled down, and under a close-reefed jib the
_Dido_ lay to while the net was slowly and carefully paid out over the
stern. The helm was so delicately manipulated that the floating net was
not allowed to bunch, but formed its line of blocks into a wide, shallow
crescent with the _Dido_ at one horn. This accomplished, the remaining
bit of canvas was furled and the long, slow process of “drifting” was
fairly begun. The tide ran fast, and the shores a half mile distant
slipped smoothly by. The rudder swung loose while Will and Reube ate
their breakfast, and congratulated themselves on the sailing qualities
of the _Dido_. After breakfast they basked in the sweet June sun, told
stories, wondered idly if the net was capturing anything, grew sleepy,
and at last began to get impatient. A great gray gull flew over, and
Will raised his rifle. But he lowered it instantly.
“I was on the point of dropping that poor old grayback,” said he,
penitently, “just for lack of something better to do.”
“I wondered why you were going to shoot it,” said Reube, “when I knew it
was no good as a specimen.”
“I say,” exclaimed Will, a few minutes later, yawning, “this sun’s
getting mighty hot! How long have we been drifting?”
“A little over two hours,” replied Reube.
“How long is one expected to drift?” asked Will.
“O, say four, or maybe five,” was the reply.
“Well, as this is just a sort of trial trip and picnic,” suggested Will,
“I move we haul in the net and count our fish. Then we can sail round
yonder point to a big creek I know of with a fine, shelving sand spit at
its mouth. The sand is covered at high water; but about the time we get
there it will be just right for you to go in swimming from. A swim will
go fine this hot day, eh?”
“All right!” assented Reube. He was himself consumed with impatience to
see what was in the net.
As the first two oars’ lengths came over the side there was nothing, and
the fishermen’s faces fell. Then came the shining, silvery sides of a
dozen shad, and they grew exultant. Then a small salmon, and they
chuckled. Then two or three large jellyfish slipped through the meshes
in fragments. And then the shad really began. It was a noble haul, and
excitement ran high in the _Dido_. The huge tub amidships was nearly
half full of the gleaming spoils by the time the last fathom of net came
over the side; and there was also another and larger salmon to show. The
water in the tub was thrown overboard, as the shad made sufficient
ballast.
“If the _Dido_ keeps it up like this she’ll be as good as your diked
marsh,” cried Reube, gloating over his prizes.
“Right you are!” said Will, heartily, washing his hands with vigor over
the side. “And now for that swim. We’ve earned it, and we need it.”
Forthwith the sails were got up, and the _Dido_ made all haste for the
swimming place which Will had indicated. She rounded the point, skirted
the shore for nearly a mile, ran into the creek’s mouth, and dropped
anchor beside the tempting yellow sand spit.
[Illustration: Then came the shining, silvery sides of a dozen shad.]