There was our tall friend Joe Davidson, the mate; and Ned Spivin, a man of enormous chest and shoulders, though short in the legs; and Luke Trevor, a handsome young fellow of middle size, but great strength and activity, and John Gunter, a big sour-faced man with a low brow, rough black hair, and a surly spirit. Billy was supposed to be minding the tiller, but, in the circumstances, the tiller was left to mind itself. Zulu was the only active member on board, to judge from the clatter of his pots and pans below.
My usual luck, said the skipper a second time in a deeper growl.
Seems to me, said Gunter, in a growl that was even more deep and discontented than that of the skipper, that luck is always down on us.
Tis the same luck that the rest o the fleet has got, anyhow, observed Joe Davidson, who was the most cheerful spirit in the smack; but, indeed, all on board, with the exception of the skipper and Gunter, were men of a hearty, honest, cheerful nature, more or less careless about life and limb.
To the mates remark the skipper said humph, and Gunter said that he was the unluckiest fellow that ever went to sea.
Youre always growling, Jack, said Ned Spivin, who was fond of chaffing his mates; they should have named you Grunter when they were at it.
I only wish the Coper was alonside, said the skipper, but shes always out of the way when shes wanted. Who saw her last?
I did, said Luke Trevor, just after we had crossed the Silver Pits; and I wish we might never see her again.
Why so, mate? asked Gunter.
Because shes the greatest curse that floats on the North Sea, returned Luke in a tone of indignation.
Ah!you hate her because youve jined the teetotallers, returned Gunter with something of a sneer.
No, mate, I dont hate her because Ive jined the teetotallers, but Ive jined the teetotallers because I hate her.
Pretty much the same thing, aint it?
No more the same thing, retorted Luke, than it is the same thing to put the cart before the horse or the horse before the cart. It wasnt total-abstainin that made me hate the Coper, but it was hatred of the Coper that made me take to total-abstainindont you see?
Not he, said Billy Bright, who had joined the group; Gunter never sees nothing unless you stick it on to the end of his nose, an even then youve got to tear his eyes open an force him to look.
Gunter seized a ropes-end and made a demonstration of an intention to apply it, but Billy was too active; he leaped aside with a laugh, and then, getting behind the mast, invited the man to come on an do his wust.
Gunter laid down the ropes-end with a grim smile and turned to Luke Trevor.
But Im sure youve got no occasion, he said, to blackguard the Coper, for you havent bin to visit her much.
No, thank God, I have not, said Luke earnestly, yet Ive bin aboard often enough to wish I had never bin there at all. Its not that, mates, that makes me so hard on the Coper, but it was through the accursed drink got aboard o that floatin grog-shop that I lost my best friend.
How was that, Luke? we never heerd on it.
The young fisherman paused a few moments as if unwilling to talk on a distasteful subject.
Well, it aint surprisin you didnt hear of it, he said, because I was in the Morgan fleet at the time, an its more than a year past. The way of it was this. We was all becalmed, on a mornin much like this, not far off the Borkum Reef, when our skipper jumped into the boat, ordered my friend Sterlin an me into it, an went off cruisin. We visited one or two smacks, the skippers o which were great chums of our skipper, an he got drunk there. Soon after, a stiff breeze sprang up, an the admiral signalled to bear away to the nor-westard. We bundled into our boat an made for our smack, but by ill luck we had to pass the Coper, an nothin would please the skipper but to go aboard and have a glass. Sterlin tried to prevent him, but he grew savage an told him to mind his own business. Well, he had more than one glass, and by that time it was blowin so ard we began to think wed have some trouble to get back again. At last he consented to leave, an a difficult job it was to get him into the boat wi the sea that was runnin. When we got alongside of our smack, he laid hold of Sterlins oar an told him to throw the painter aboard. My friend jumped up an threw the end o the painter to one of the hands. He was just about to lay hold o the side an spring over when the skipper stumbled against him, caused him to miss his grip, an sent him clean overboard. Poor Sterlin had on his long boots an a heavy jacket. He went down like a stone. We never saw him again.
Did none o you try to save him? asked Joe quickly.
We couldnt, replied Luke. I made a dash at him, but he was out o sight by that time. He went down so quick that I cant help thinkin he must have struck his head on the side in goin over.
Luke Trevor did not say, as he might have truly said, that he dived after his friend, being himself a good swimmer, and nearly lost his own life in the attempt to save that of Sterling.
Dye think the skipper did it a purpose, mate? asked David.
Sartinly not, answered Luke. The skipper had no ill-will at him, but he was so drunk he couldnt take care of himself, an didnt know what he was about.
That wasnt the fault o the Coper, growled Gunter. You say he got half-screwed afore he went there, an he might have got dead-drunk without goin aboard of her at all.
So he might, retorted Luke; nevertheless it was the Coper that finished him off at that timeas it has finished off many a man before, and will, no doubt, be the death o many more in time to come.
The Copers, which Luke Trevor complained of so bitterly, are Dutch vessels which provide spirits and tobacco, the former of a cheap, bad, and peculiarly fiery nature. They follow the fleets everywhere, and are a continual source of mischief to the fishermen, many of whom, like men on shore, find it hard to resist a temptation which is continually presented to them.
There goes the admiral, sang out little Billy, who, while listening to the conversation, had kept his sharp little eyes moving about.
The admiral of the fleet, among North Sea fishermen, is a very important personage. There is an admiral to each fleet, though we write just now about the admiral of the Short Blue. He is chosen for steadiness and capacity, and has to direct the whole fleet as to the course it shall steer, the letting down of its gear or trawls, etcetera, and his orders are obeyed by all. One powerful reason for such obedience is that if they do not follow the admiral they will find themselves at last far away from the steamers which come out from the Thames daily to receive the fish; for it is a rule that those steamers make straight for the admirals vessel. By day the admiral is distinguished by a flag half way up the maintop-mast stay. By night signals are made with rockets.
While the crew of the Evening Star were thus conversing, a slight breeze had sprung up, and Billy had observed that the admirals smack was heading to windward in an easterly direction. As the breeze came down on the various vessels of the fleet, they all steered the same course, so that in a few minutes nearly two hundred smacks were following him like a shoal of herring. The glassy surface of the sea was effectually broken, and a field of rippling indigo took the place of the ethereal sheet of blue.
Thus the whole fleet passed steadily to windward, the object being to get to such a position on the fishing-grounds before night-fall, that they could put about and sail before the wind during the night, dragging their ponderous trawls over the banks where fish were known to lie.
Night is considered the best time to fish, though they also fish by day, the reason being, it is conjectured, that the fish do not see the net so well at night; it may be, also, that they are addicted to slumber at that period! Be the reason what it may, the fact is well-known. Accordingly, about ten oclock the admiral hove-to for a few minutes. So did the fleet. On board the Evening Star they took soundings, and found twenty-five fathoms. Then the admiral called attention by showing a flare.
Look out now, Billy, said David Bright to his son, who was standing close by the capstan.
Billy needed no caution. His sharp eyes were already on the watch.
A green rocket! There she goes, father.
The green rocket signified that the gear was to be put down on the starboard side, and the fleet to steer to the southward.
Bustling activity and tremendous vigour now characterised the crew of the Evening Star as they proceeded to obey the order. A clear starry sky and a bright moon enabled them to see clearly what they were about, and they were further enlightened by a lantern in the rigging.
The trawl which they had to put down was, as we have said, a huge and ponderous affair, and could only be moved by means of powerful blocks and tackle aided by the capstan. It consisted of a thick spar called the beam, about forty-eight feet long, and nearly a foot thick, supported on a massive iron hoop, or runner, at each end. These irons were meant to drag over the bottom of the sea and keep the beam from touching it. Attached to this beam was the bag-neta very powerful one, as may be supposed, with a small mesh. It was seventy feet long, and about sixteen feet of the outermost end was much stronger than the rest, and formed the bag, named the cod-end, in which the fish were ultimately collected. Besides being stronger, the cod-end was covered by flounces of old netting to prevent the rough bottom from chafing it too much. The cost of such a net alone is about 7 pounds. To the beam, attached at the two ends, was a very powerful rope called the bridle. It was twenty fathoms long. To this was fastened the warpa rope made of best manilla and hemp, always of great strength. The amount of this paid out depended much on the weather; if very rough it might be about 40 fathoms, if moderate about 100. Sometimes such net and gear is carried away, and this involves a loss of about 60 pounds sterling. We may dismiss these statistics by saying that a good nights fishing may be worth from 10 pounds to 27 pounds, and a good tripof eight weeksmay produce from 200 to 280 pounds.
Soon the gear was down in the twenty-five fathom water, and the trawl-warp became as rigid almost as an iron bar, while the speed of the smack through the water was greatly reducedperhaps to three miles an hourby the heavy drag behind her, a drag that ever increased as fish of all sorts and sizes were scraped into the net. Why the fish are such idiots as to remain in the net when they could swim out of it at the rate of thirty miles an hour is best known to themselves.
Besides the luminaries which glittered in the sky that night the sea was alive with the mast-head lights of the fishing smacks, but these lower lights, unlike the serenely steady lights above, were ever changing in position, as well as dancing on the crested waves, giving life to the dark waters, and creating, at least in the little breast of Billy Bright, a feeling of companionship which was highly gratifying.
Now, lad, go below and see if Zulu has got something for us to eat, said David to his son. Here, Luke Trevor, mind the helm.
The young fisherman, who had been labouring with the others at the gear like a Hercules, stepped forward and took the tiller, while the skipper and his son descended to the cabin, where the rest of the men were already assembled in anticipation of supper. The cabin was remarkably snug, but it was also pre-eminently simple. So, also, was the meal. The arts of upholstery and cookery had not been brought to bear in either case. The apartment was about twelve feet long by ten broad, and barely high enough to let Joe Davidson stand upright. Two wooden lockers ran along either side of it. Behind these were the bunks of the men. At the inner end were some more lockers, and aft, there was an open stove, or fireplace, alongside of the companion-ladder. A clock and a barometer were the chief ornaments of the place. The atmosphere of it was not fresh by any means, and volumes of tobacco smoke rendered it hazy.
But what cared these heavy-booted, rough-handed, big-framed, iron-sinewed, strong-hearted men for fresh air? They got enough of that, during their long hours on deck, to counteract the stifling odours of the regions below!
Now, then, boys, dar you is, said Zulu, placing a huge pot on the floor, containing some sort of nautical soup. Is cook you soup an tea, an dars sugar an butter, an lots o fish and biskit, so you fire away till you bust yourselves.
The jovial Zulu bestowed on the company a broad and genial grin as he set the example by filling a bowl with the soup. The others did not require a second bidding. What they lacked in quality was more than made up in quantity, and rendered delicious by appetite.
Conversation flagged, of course, while these hardy sons of toil were busy with their teeth, balancing themselves and their cups and bowls carefully while the little vessel rolled heavily over the heaving waves. By degrees the teeth became less active and the tongues began to wag.
I wish that feller would knock off psalm-singin, said Gunter with an oath, as he laid down his knife and wiped his mouth.
He referred to Luke Trevor, who possessed a sweet mellow voice, and was cheering himself as he stood at the helm by humming a hymn, or something like one, for the words were not distinguishable in the cabin.