I ploughed the land with horses,
The weather door of the smoking-room had been left open to the North Atlantic fog, as the big liner rolled and lifted, whistling to warn the fishing-fleet.
That Cheyne boys the biggest nuisance aboard, said a man in a frieze overcoat, shutting the door with a bang. He isnt wanted here. Hes too fresh.
A white-haired German reached for a sandwich, and grunted between bites: I know der breed. Ameriga is full of dot kind. I dell you you should imbort ropes ends free under your dariff.
Pshaw! There isnt any real harm to him. Hes more to be pitied than anything, a man from New York drawled, as he lay at full length along the cushions under the wet skylight. Theyve dragged him around from hotel to hotel ever since he was a kid. I was talking to his mother this morning. Shes a lovely lady, but she dont pretend to manage him. Hes going to Europe to finish his education.
Education isnt begun yet. This was a Philadelphian, curled up in a corner. That boy gets two hundred a month pocket-money, he told me. He isnt sixteen either.
Railroads, his father, aindt it? said the German.
Yep. That and mines and lumber and shipping. Built one place at San Diego, the old man has; another at Los Angeles; owns half a dozen railroads, half the lumber on the Pacific slope, and lets his wife spend the money, the Philadelphian went on lazily. The West dont suit her, she says. She just tracks around with the boy and her nerves, trying to find out whatll amuse him, I guess. Florida, Adirondacks, Lakewood, Hot Springs, New York, and round again. He isnt much more than a second-hand hotel clerk now. When hes finished in Europe hell be a holy terror.
Whats the matter with the old man attending to him personally? said a voice from the frieze ulster.
Old mans piling up the rocks. Dont want to be disturbed, I guess. Hell find out his error a few years from now. Pity, because theres a heap of good in the boy if you could get at it.
Mit a ropes end; mit a ropes end! growled the German.
Once more the door banged, and a slight, slim-built boy perhaps fifteen years old, a half-smoked cigarette hanging from one corner of his mouth, leaned in over the high footway. His pasty yellow complexion did not show well on a person of his years, and his look was a mixture of irresolution, bravado, and very cheap smartness. He was dressed in a cherry-coloured blazer, knickerbockers, red stockings, and bicycle shoes, with a red flannel cap at the back of the head. After whistling between his teeth, as he eyed the company, he said in a loud, high voice: Say, its thick outside. You can hear the fish-boats squawking all around us. Say, wouldnt it be great if we ran down one?
Shut the door, Harvey, said the New Yorker. Shut the door and stay outside. Youre not wanted here.
Wholl stop me? he answered, deliberately. Did you pay for my passage, Mister Martin? Guess Ive as good right here as the next man.
He picked up some dice from a checkerboard and began throwing, right hand against left.
Say, genelmen, this is deadern mud. Cant we make a game of poker between us?
There was no answer, and he puffed his cigarette, swung his legs, and drummed on the table with rather dirty fingers. Then he pulled out a roll of bills as if to count them.
Hows your mamma this afternoon? a man said. I didnt see her at lunch.
In her state-room, I guess. Shes most always sick on the ocean. Im going to give the stewardess fifteen dollars for looking after her. I dont go down more n I can avoid. It makes me feel mysterious to pass that butlers-pantry place. Say, this is the first time Ive been on the ocean.
Oh, dont apologize, Harvey.
Whos apologizing? This is the first time Ive crossed the ocean, genelmen, and, except the first day, I havent been sick one little bit. No, sir! He brought down his fist with a triumphant bang, wetted his finger, and went on counting the bills.
Oh, youre a high-grade machine, with the writing in plain sight, the Philadelphian yawned. Youll blossom into a credit to your country if you dont take care.
I know it. Im an Americanfirst, last, and all the time. Ill show em that when I strike Europe. Piff! My cigs out. I cant smoke the truck the steward sells. Any genelman got a real Turkish cig on him?
The chief engineer entered for a moment, red, smiling, and wet. Say, Mac, cried Harvey cheerfully, how are we hitting it?
Vara much in the ordinary way, was the grave reply. The young are as polite as ever to their elders, an their elders are een tryin to appreciate it.
A low chuckle came from a corner. The German opened his cigar-case and handed a skinny black cigar to Harvey.
Dot is der broper apparatus to smoke, my young friendt, he said. You vill dry it? Yes? Den you vill be efer so happy.
Harvey lit the unlovely thing with a flourish: he felt that he was getting on in grownup society.
It would take more n this to keel me over, he said, ignorant that he was lighting that terrible article, a Wheeling stogie.
Dot we shall bresently see, said the German. Where are we now, Mr. Mactonal?
Just there or thereabouts, Mr. Schaefer, said the engineer. Well be on the Grand Bank to-night; but in a general way o speakin, were all among the fishing-fleet now. Weve shaved three dories an near scalped the boom off a Frenchman since noon, an thats close sailing, ye may say.
You like my cigar, eh? the German asked, for Harveys eyes were full of tears.
Fine, full flavor, he answered through shut teeth. Guess weve slowed down a little, havent we? Ill skip out and see what the log says.
I might if I vhas you, said the German.
Harvey staggered over the wet decks to the nearest rail. He was very unhappy; but he saw the deck-steward lashing chairs together, and, since he had boasted before the man that he was never seasick, his pride made him go aft to the second-saloon deck at the stern, which was finished in a turtle-back. The deck was deserted, and he crawled to the extreme end of it, near the flag-pole. There he doubled up in limp agony, for the Wheeling stogie joined with the surge and jar of the screw to sieve out his soul. His head swelled; sparks of fire danced before his eyes; his body seemed to lose weight, while his heels wavered in the breeze. He was fainting from seasickness, and a roll of the ship tilted him over the rail on to the smooth lip of the turtle-back. Then a low, gray mother-wave swung out of the fog, tucked Harvey under one arm, so to speak, and pulled him off and away to leeward; the great green closed over him, and he went quietly to sleep.
He was roused by the sound of a dinner-horn such as they used to blow at a summer-school he had once attended in the Adirondacks. Slowly he remembered that he was Harvey Cheyne, drowned and dead in mid-ocean, but was too weak to fit things together. A new smell filled his nostrils; wet and clammy chills ran down his back, and he was helplessly full of salt water. When he opened his eyes, he perceived that he was still on the top of the sea, for it was running round him in silver-coloured hills, and he was lying on a pile of half-dead fish, looking at a broad human back clothed in a blue jersey.
Its no good, thought the boy. Im dead, sure enough, and this thing is in charge.
He groaned, and the figure turned its head, showing a pair of little gold rings half hidden in curly black hair.
Aha! You feel some pretty well now? it said. Lie still so: we trim better.
With a swift jerk he sculled the flickering boat-head on to a foamless sea that lifted her twenty full feet, only to slide her into a glassy pit beyond. But this mountain-climbing did not interrupt blue-jerseys talk. Fine good job, I say, that I catch you. Eh, wha-at? Better good job, I say, your boat not catch me. How you come to fall out?
I was sick, said Harvey; sick, and couldnt help it.
Just in time I blow my horn, and your boat she yaw a little. Then I see you come all down. Eh, wha-at? I think you are cut into baits by the screw, but you dreeftdreeft to me, and I make a big fish of you. So you shall not die this time.
Where am I? said Harvey, who could not see that life was particularly safe where he lay.
You are with me in the doryManuel my name, and I come from schooner Were Here of Gloucester. I live to Gloucester. By-and-by we get supper. Eh, wha-at?
He seemed to have two pairs of hands and a head of cast-iron, for, not content with blowing through a big conch-shell, he must needs stand up to it, swaying with the sway of the flat-bottomed dory, and send a grinding, thuttering shriek through the fog. How long this entertainment lasted, Harvey could not remember, for he lay back terrified at the sight of the smoking swells. He fancied he heard a gun and a horn and shouting. Something bigger than the dory, but quite as lively, loomed alongside. Several voices talked at once; he was dropped into a dark, heaving hole, where men in oilskins gave him a hot drink and took off his clothes, and he fell asleep.
When he waked he listened for the first breakfast-bell on the steamer, wondering why his state-room had grown so small. Turning, he looked into a narrow, triangular cave, lit by a lamp hung against a huge square beam. A three-cornered table within arms reach ran from the angle of the bows to the foremast. At the after end, behind a well-used Plymouth stove, sat a boy about his own age, with a flat red face and a pair of twinkling gray eyes. He was dressed in a blue jersey and high rubber boots. Several pairs of the same sort of foot-wear, an old cap, and some worn-out woollen socks lay on the floor, and black and yellow oilskins swayed to and fro beside the bunks. The place was packed as full of smells as a bale is of cotton. The oilskins had a peculiarly thick flavor of their own which made a sort of background to the smells of fried fish, burnt grease, paint, pepper, and stale tobacco; but these, again, were all hooped together by one encircling smell of ship and salt water. Harvey saw with disgust that there were no sheets on his bed-place. He was lying on a piece of dingy ticking full of lumps and nubbles. Then, too, the boats motion was not that of a steamer. She was neither sliding nor rolling, but rather wriggling herself about in a silly, aimless way, like a colt at the end of a halter. Water-noises ran by close to his ear, and beams creaked and whined about him. All these things made him grunt despairingly and think of his mother.
Feelin better? said the boy, with a grin. Hev some coffee? He brought a tin cup full and sweetened it with molasses.
Isnt there milk? said Harvey, looking round the dark double tier of bunks as if he expected to find a cow there.
Well, no, said the boy. Ner there aint likely to be till baout mid-September. Taint bad coffee. I made it.
Harvey drank in silence, and the boy handed him a plate full of pieces of crisp fried pork, which he ate ravenously.
Ive dried your clothes. Guess theyve shrunk some, said the boy. They aint our style muchnone of em. Twist round an see if youre hurt any.
Harvey stretched himself in every direction, but could not report any injuries.
Thats good, the boy said heartily. Fix yerself an go on deck. Dad wants to see you. Im his son,Dan, they call me,an Im cooks helper an everything else aboard thats too dirty for the men. There aint no boy here cep me sence Otto went overboardan he was only a Dutchy, an twenty year old at that. Howd you come to fall off in a dead flat caam?
Twasnt a calm, said Harvey, sulkily. It was a gale, and I was seasick. Guess I must have rolled over the rail.
There was a little common swell yesday an last night, said the boy. But ef thets your notion of a gale He whistled. Youll know more fore youre through. Hurry! Dads waitin.
Like many other unfortunate young people, Harvey had never in all his life received a direct ordernever, at least, without long, and sometimes tearful, explanations of the advantages of obedience and the reasons for the request. Mrs. Cheyne lived in fear of breaking his spirit, which, perhaps, was the reason that she herself walked on the edge of nervous prostration. He could not see why he should be expected to hurry for any mans pleasure, and said so. Your dad can come down here if hes so anxious to talk to me. I want him to take me to New York right away. Itll pay him.
Dan opened his eyes as the size and beauty of this joke dawned on him. Say, Dad! he shouted up the focsle hatch, he says you kin slip down an see him ef youre anxious that way. Hear, Dad?
The answer came back in the deepest voice Harvey had ever heard from a human chest: Quit foolin, Dan, and send him to me.
Dan sniggered, and threw Harvey his warped bicycle shoes. There was something in the tones on the deck that made the boy dissemble his extreme rage and console himself with the thought of gradually unfolding the tale of his own and his fathers wealth on the voyage home. This rescue would certainly make him a hero among his friends for life. He hoisted himself on deck up a perpendicular ladder, and stumbled aft, over a score of obstructions, to where a small, thick-set, clean-shaven man with gray eyebrows sat on a step that led up to the quarter-deck. The swell had passed in the night, leaving a long, oily sea, dotted round the horizon with the sails of a dozen fishing-boats. Between them lay little black specks, showing where the dories were out fishing. The schooner, with a triangular riding-sail on the mainmast, played easily at anchor, and except for the man by the cabin-roofhouse they call itshe was deserted.
MorninGood afternoon, I should say. Youve nigh slep the clock round, young feller, was the greeting.
Mornin, said Harvey. He did not like being called young feller; and, as one rescued from drowning, expected sympathy. His mother suffered agonies whenever he got his feet wet; but this mariner did not seem excited.
Naow lets hear all abaout it. Its quite providential, first an last, fer all concerned. What might be your name? Where from (we mistrust its Noo York), an where baound (we mistrust its Europe)?
Harvey gave his name, the name of the steamer, and a short history of the accident, winding up with a demand to be taken back immediately to New York, where his father would pay anything any one chose to name.
Hm, said the shaven man, quite unmoved by the end of Harveys speech. I cant say we think special of any man, or boy even, that falls overboard from that kind o packet in a flat caam. Least of all when his excuse is that hes seasick.
Excuse! cried Harvey. Dyou suppose Id fall overboard into your dirty little boat for fun?
Not knowin what your notions o fun may be, I cant rightly say, young feller. But if I was you, I wouldnt call the boat which, under Providence, was the means o savin ye, names. In the first place, its blame irreligious. In the second, its annoyin to my feelinsan Im Disko Troop o the Were Here o Gloucester, which you dont seem rightly to know.
I dont know and I dont care, said Harvey. Im grateful enough for being saved and all that, of course! but I want you to understand that the sooner you take me back to New York the better itll pay you.
Meaninhaow? Troop raised one shaggy eyebrow over a suspiciously mild blue eye.
Dollars and cents, said Harvey, delighted to think that he was making an impression. Cold dollars and cents. He thrust a hand into a pocket, and threw out his stomach a little, which was his way of being grand. Youve done the best days work you ever did in your life when you pulled me in. Im all the son Harvey Cheyne has.
Hes bin favoured, said Disko, dryly.
And if you dont know who Harvey Cheyne is, you dont know muchthats all. Now turn her around and lets hurry.
Harvey had a notion that the greater part of America was filled with people discussing and envying his fathers dollars.
Mebbe I do, an mebbe I dont. Take a reef in your stummick, young feller. Its full o my vittles.
Harvey heard a chuckle from Dan, who was pretending to be busy by the stump-foremast, and blood rushed to his face. Well pay for that too, he said. When do you suppose we shall get to New York?
I dont use Noo York any. Ner Boston. We may see Eastern Point about September; an your paIm real sorry I haint heerd tell of himmay give me ten dollars efter all your talk. Then o course he maynt.
Ten dollars! Why, see here, I Harvey dived into his pocket for the wad of bills. All he brought up was a soggy packet of cigarettes.
Not lawful currency; an bad for the lungs. Heave em overboard, young feller, and try agin.
Its been stolen! cried Harvey, hotly.
Youll hev to wait till you see your pa to reward me, then?
A hundred and thirty-four dollarsall stolen, said Harvey, hunting wildly through his pockets. Give them back.
A curious change flitted across old Troops hard face. What might you have been doin at your time o life with one hundred an thirty-four dollars, young feller?
It was part of my pocket-moneyfor a month. This Harvey thought would be a knock-down blow, and it wasindirectly.
Oh! One hundred and thirty-four dollars is only part of his pocket-moneyfor one month only! You dont remember hittin anything when you fell over, do you? Crack agin a stanchion, les say. Old man Hasken o the East WindTroop seemed to be talking to himselfhe tripped on a hatch an butted the mainmast with his headhardish. Baout three weeks afterwards, old man Hasken he would hev it that the East Wind was a commerce-destroyin man-o-war, an so he declared war on Sable Island because it was Bridish, an the shoals run aout too far. They sewed him up in a bed-bag, his head an feet appearin, fer the rest o the trip, an now hes to home in Essex playin with little rag dolls.
Harvey choked with rage, but Troop went on consolingly: Were sorry fer you. Were very sorry fer youan so young. We wont say no more abaout the money, I guess.
Course you wont. You stole it.
Suit yourself. We stole it ef its any comfort to you. Naow, abaout goin back. Allowin we could do it, which we cant, you aint in no fit state to go back to your home, an weve jest come on to the Banks, workin fer our bread. We dont see the haaf of a hundred dollars a month, let alone pocket-money; an with good luck well be ashore again somewheres abaout the first weeks o September.
Butbut its May now, and I cant stay here doin nothing just because you want to fish. I cant, I tell you!
Right an jest; jest an right. No one asks you to do nothin. Theres a heap as you can do, for Otto he went overboard on Le Have. I mistrust he lost his grip in a gale we fund there. Anyways, he never come back to deny it. Youve turned up, plain, plumb providential for all concerned. I mistrust, though, theres ruther few things you kin do. Aint thet so?
I can make it lively for you and your crowd when we get ashore, said Harvey, with a vicious nod, murmuring vague threats about piracy, at which Troop almostnot quitesmiled.
Excep talk. Id forgot that. You aint asked to talk moren youve a mind to aboard the Were Here. Keep your eyes open, an help Dan to do ez hes bid, an sechlike, an Ill give youyou aint wuth it, but Ill giveten an a haaf a month; say thirty-five at the end o the trip. A little work will ease up your head, and you kin tell us all abaout your dad an your ma an your money afterwards.
Shes on the steamer, said Harvey, his eyes filling with tears. Take me to New York at once.
Poor womanpoor woman! When she has you back shell forgit it all, though. Theres eight of us on the Were Here, an ef we went back naowits moren a thousand milewed lose the season. The men they wouldnt hev it, allowin I was agreeable.
But my father would make it all right.
Hed try. I dont doubt hed try, said Troop; but a whole seasons catch is eight mens bread; an youll be better in your health when you see him in the fall. Go forward an help Dan. Its ten an a haaf a month, e I said, an o course, all fund, same e the rest o us.
Do you mean Im to clean pots and pans and things? said Harvey.
An other things. Youve no call to shout, young feller.
I wont! My father will give you enough to buy this dirty little fish-kettleHarvey stamped on the deckten times over, if you take me to New York safe; andandyoure in a hundred and thirty by me, anyhow.
Haow? said Troop, the iron face darkening.
How? You know how, well enough. On top of all that, you want me to do menial workHarvey was very proud of that adjectivetill the Fall. I tell you I will not. You hear?
Troop regarded the top of the mainmast with deep interest for a while, as Harvey harangued fiercely all around him.
Hsh! he said at last. Im figurin out my responsibilities in my own mind. Its a matter o jedgment.
Dan stole up and plucked Harvey by the elbow. Dont go to tamperin with Dad any more, he pleaded. Youve called him a thief two or three times over, an he dont take that from any livin bein.
I wont! Harvey almost shrieked, disregarding the advice, and still Troop meditated.
Seems kinder unneighbourly, he said at last, his eye travelling down to Harvey. Idont blame you, not a mite, young feeler, nor you wont blame me when the biles out o your systim. Be sure you sense what I say? Ten an a haaf fer second boy on the schooneran all foundfer to teach you an fer the sake o your health. Yes or no?
No! said Harvey. Take me back to New York or Ill see you
He did not exactly remember what followed. He was lying in the scuppers, holding on to a nose that bled while Troop looked down on him serenely.
Dan, he said to his son, I was sot agin this young feeler when I first saw him on account o hasty jedgments. Never you be led astray by hasty jedgments, Dan. Naow Im sorry for him, because hes clear distracted in his upper works. He aint responsible fer the names hes give me, nor fer his other statementsnor fer jumpin overboard, which Im abaout haaf convinced he did. You be gentle with him, Dan, r Ill give you twice what Ive give him. Them hemmeridges clears the head. Let him sluice it off!
Troop went down solemnly into the cabin, where he and the older men bunked, leaving Dan to comfort the luckless heir to thirty millions.
I warned ye, said Dan, as the drops fell thick and fast on the dark, oiled planking. Dad aint noways hasty, but you fair earned it. Pshaw! theres no sense takin on so. Harveys shoulders were rising and falling in spasms of dry sobbing. I know the feelin. First time Dad laid me out was the lastand that was my first trip. Makes ye feel sickish an lonesome. I know.
It does, moaned Harvey. That mans either crazy or drunk, andand I cant do anything.
Dont say that to Dad, whispered Dan. Hes set agin all liquor, anwell, he told me you was the madman. What in creation made you call him a thief? Hes my dad.
Harvey sat up, mopped his nose, and told the story of the missing wad of bills. Im not crazy, he wound up. Onlyyour father has never seen more than a five-dollar bill at a time, and my father could buy up this boat once a week and never miss it.
You dont know what the Were Heres worth. Your dad must hev a pile o money. How did he git it? Dad sez loonies cant shake out a straight yarn. Go ahead.
In gold mines and things, West.
Ive read o that kind o business. Out West, too? Does he go around with a pistol on a trick-pony, same ez the circus? They call that the Wild West, and Ive heard that their spurs an bridles was solid silver.
You are a chump! said Harvey, amused in spite of himself. My father hasnt any use for ponies. When he wants to ride he takes his car.
No. His own private car, of course. Youve seen a private car some time in your life?
Slatin Beeman he hez one, said Dan, cautiously. I saw her at the Union Depot in Boston, with three niggers hoggin her run. (Dan meant cleaning the windows.) But Slatin Beeman he owns baout every railroad on Long Island, they say, an they say hes bought baout haaf Noo Hampshire an run a line fence around her, an filled her up with lions an tigers an bears an buffalo an crocodiles an such all. Slatin Beeman hes a millionaire. Ive seen his car. Yes?
Well, my fathers what they call a multi-millionaire, and he has two private cars. Ones named for me, the Harvey, and one for my mother, the Constance.
Hold on, said Dan. Dad dont ever let me swear, but I guess you can. Fore we go ahead, I want you to say hope you may die if youre lyin.
Of course, said Harvey.
The aint niff. Say, Hope I may die if I aint speaking truth.
Hope I may die right here, said Harvey, if every word Ive spoken isnt the cold truth.
Hundred an thirty-four dollars an all? said Dan. I heard ye talkin to Dad, an I haaf looked youd be swallered up, sames Jonah.
Harvey protested himself red in the face. Dan was a shrewd young person along his own lines, and ten minutes questioning convinced him that Harvey was not lyingmuch. Besides, he had bound himself by the most terrible oath known to boyhood, and yet he sat, alive, with a red-ended nose, in the scuppers, recounting marvels upon marvels.
Gosh! said Dan at last from the very bottom of his soul when Harvey had completed an inventory of the car named in his honour. Then a grin of mischievous delight overspread his broad face. I believe you, Harvey. Dads made a mistake fer once in his life.
He has, sure, said Harvey, who was meditating an early revenge.
Hell be mad clear through. Dad jest hates to be mistook in his jedgments. Dan lay back and slapped his thigh. Oh, Harvey, dont you spile the catch by lettin on.
I dont want to be knocked down again. Ill get even with him, though.
Never heard any man ever got even with dad. But hed knock ye down again sure. The more he was mistook the more hed do it. But gold-mines and pistols
I never said a word about pistols, Harvey cut in, for he was on his oath.
Thets so; no more you did. Two private cars, then, one named fer you an one fer her; an two hundred dollars a month pocket-money, all knocked into the scuppers fer not workin fer ten an a haaf a month! Its the top haul o the season. He exploded with noiseless chuckles.
Then I was right? said Harvey, who thought he had found a sympathiser.
You was wrong; the wrongest kind o wrong! You take right hold an pitch in longside o me, or youll catch it, an Ill catch it fer backin you up. Dad always gives me double helps cause Im his son, an he hates favourin folk. Guess youre kinder mad at dad. Ive been that way time an again. But dads a mighty jest man; all the fleet says so.
Looks like justice, this, dont it? Harvey pointed to his outraged nose.
Thets nothin. Lets the shore blood outer you. Dad did it for yer health. Say, though, I cant have dealins with a man that thinks me or dad or any one on the Were Heres a thief. We aint any common wharf-end crowd by any manner o means. Were fishermen, an weve shipped together for six years an more. Dont you make any mistake on that! I told ye dad dont let me swear. He calls em vain oaths, and pounds me; but ef I could say what you said baout your pap an his fixins, Id say that baout your dollars. I dunno what was in your pockets when I dried your kit, fer I didnt look to see; but Id say, using the very same words ez you used jest now, neither me nor dadan we was the only two that teched you after you was brought aboardknows anythin baout the money. Thets my say. Naow?
The bloodletting had certainly cleared Harveys brain, and maybe the loneliness of the sea had something to do with it. Thats all right, he said. Then he looked down confusedly. Seems to me that for a fellow just saved from drowning I havent been over and above grateful, Dan.
Well, you was shook up and silly, said Dan. Anyway, there was only dad an me aboard to see it. The cook he dont count.
I might have thought about losing the bills that way, Harvey said, half to himself, instead of calling everybody in sight a thief. Wheres your father?
In the cabin. What d you want o him again?
Youll see, said Harvey, and he stepped, rather groggily, for his head was still singing, to the cabin steps where the little ships clock hung in plain sight of the wheel. Troop, in the chocolate-and-yellow painted cabin, was busy with a note-book and an enormous black pencil which he sucked hard from time to time.
I havent acted quite right, said Harvey, surprised at his own meekness.
Whats wrong naow? said the skipper. Walked into Dan, hev ye?
No; its about you.
Im here to listen.
Well, IIm here to take things back, said Harvey very quickly. When a mans saved from drowning he gulped.
Ey? Youll make a man yet ef you go on this way.
He oughtnt begin by calling people names.
Jest an rightright an jest, said Troop, with the ghost of a dry smile.
So Im here to say Im sorry. Another big gulp.
Troop heaved himself slowly off the locker he was sitting on and held out an eleven-inch hand. I mistrusted twould do you sights o good; an this shows I werent mistook in my jedgments. A smothered chuckle on deck caught his ear. I am very seldom mistook in my jedgments. The eleven-inch hand closed on Harveys, numbing it to the elbow. Well put a little more gristle to that fore weve done with you, young feller; an I dont think any worse of ye fer anythin thes gone by. You wasnt fairly responsible. Go right abaout your business an you wont take no hurt.
Youre white, said Dan, as Harvey regained the deck, flushed to the tips of his ears.
I dont feel it, said he.
I didnt mean that way. I heard what Dad said. When Dad allows he dont think the worse of any man, Dads give himself away. He hates to be mistook in his jedgments too. Ho! ho! Onct Dad has a jedgment, hed sooner dip his colours to the British than change it. Im glad its settled right eend up. Dads right when he says he cant take you back. Its all the livin we make herefishin. The menll be back like sharks after a dead whale in haaf an hour.
What for? said Harvey.
Supper, o course. Dont your stummick tell you? Youve a heap to learn.
Guess I have, said Harvey, dolefully, looking at the tangle of ropes and blocks overhead.
Shes a daisy, said Dan, enthusiastically, misunderstanding the look. Wait till our mainsails bent, an she walks home with all her salt wet. Theres some work first, though. He pointed down into the darkness of the open main-hatch between the two masts.
Whats that for? Its all empty, said Harvey.
You an me an a few more hev got to fill it, said Dan. Thats where the fish goes.
Alive? said Harvey.
Well, no. Theyre sos to be ruther deadan flatan salt. Theres a hundred hogshead o salt in the bins, an we haint moren covered our dunnage to now.
Where are the fish, though?
In the sea they say, in the boats we pray, said Dan, quoting a fishermans proverb. You come in last night with baout forty of em.
He pointed to a sort of wooden pen just in front of the quarter-deck.
You an me well sluice that out when theyre through. Send well hev full pens to-night! Ive seen her down haaf a foot with fish waitin to clean, an we stood to the tables till we was splittin ourselves instid o them, we was so sleepy. Yes, theyre comm in naow. Dan looked over the low bulwarks at half a dozen dories rowing towards them over the shining, silky sea.
Ive never seen the sea from so low down, said Harvey. Its fine.
The low sun made the water all purple and pinkish, with golden lights on the barrels of the long swells, and blue and green mackerel shades in the hollows. Each schooner in sight seemed to be pulling her dories towards her by invisible strings, and the little black figures in the tiny boats pulled like clockwork toys.
Theyve struck on good, said Dan, between his half-shut eyes. Manuel haint room fer another fish. Low ez a lily-pad in still water, Aeneid he?
Which is Manuel? I dont see how you can tell em way off, as you do.
Last boat to the southard. He fund you last night, said Dan, pointing. Manuel rows Portugoosey; ye cant mistake him. East o himhes a heap bettern he rowsis Pennsylvania. Loaded with saleratus, by the looks of him. East o himsee how pretty they string out all alongwith the humpy shoulders, is Long Jack. Hes a Galway man inhabitin South Boston, where they all live mostly, an mostly them Galway men are good in a boat. North, away yonderyoull hear him tune up in a minute is Tom Platt. Man-o-wars man he was on the old Ohio first of our navy, he says, to go araound the Horn. He never talks of much else, cept when he sings, but he has fair fishin luck. There! What did I tell you?
A melodious bellow stole across the water from the northern dory. Harvey heard something about somebodys hands and feet being cold, and then:
Bring forth the chart, the doleful chart,
Full boat, said Dan, with a chuckle. If he give us O Captain its topping too!
The bellow continued:
And naow to thee, O Capting,
Double game for Tom Platt. Hell tell you all about the old Ohio tomorrow. See that blue dory behind him? Hes my uncle,Dads own brother,an ef theres any bad luck loose on the Banks shell fetch up agin Uncle Salters, sure. Look how tender hes rowin. Ill lay my wage and share hes the only man stung up to-dayan hes stung up good.
Whatll sting him? said Harvey, getting interested.
Strawberries, mostly. Pumpkins, sometimes, an sometimes lemons an cucumbers. Yes, hes stung up from his elbows down. That mans lucks perfectly paralyzin. Naow well take a-holt o the tackles an hist em in. Is it true what you told me jest now, that you never done a hands turn o work in all your born life? Must feel kinder awful, dont it?
Im going to try to work, anyway, Harvey replied stoutly. Only its all dead new.
Lay a-holt o that tackle, then. Behind ye!
Harvey grabbed at a rope and long iron hook dangling from one of the stays of the mainmast, while Dan pulled down another that ran from something he called a topping-lift, as Manuel drew alongside in his loaded dory. The Portuguese smiled a brilliant smile that Harvey learned to know well later, and with a short-handled fork began to throw fish into the pen on deck. Two hundred and thirty-one, he shouted.
Give him the hook, said Dan, and Harvey ran it into Manuels hands. He slipped it through a loop of rope at the dorys bow, caught Dans tackle, hooked it to the stern-becket, and clambered into the schooner.
Pull! shouted Dan, and Harvey pulled, astonished to find how easily the dory rose.
Hold on, she dont nest in the crosstrees! Dan laughed; and Harvey held on, for the boat lay in the air above his head.
Lower away, Dan shouted, and as Harvey lowered, Dan swayed the light boat with one hand till it landed softly just behind the mainmast. They dont weigh nothin empty. Thet was right smart fer a passenger. Theres more trick to it in a sea-way.
Ah ha! said Manuel, holding out a brown hand. You are some pretty well now? This time last night the fish they fish for you. Now you fish for fish. Eh, wha-at?
ImIm ever so grateful, Harvey stammered, and his unfortunate hand stole to his pocket once more, but he remembered that he had no money to offer. When he knew Manuel better the mere thought of the mistake he might have made would cover him with hot, uneasy blushes in his bunk.
There is no to be thankful for to me! said Manuel. How shall I leave you dreeft, dreeft all around the Banks? Now you are a fisherman eh, wha-at? Ouh! Auh! He bent backward and forward stiffly from the hips to get the kinks out of himself.
I have not cleaned boat to-day. Too busy. They struck on queek. Danny, my son, clean for me.
Harvey moved forward at once. Here was something he could do for the man who had saved his life.
Dan threw him a swab, and he leaned over the dory, mopping up the slime clumsily, but with great good-will. Hike out the foot-boards; they slide in them grooves, said Dan. Swab em an lay em down. Never let a foot-board jam. Ye may want her bad some day. Heres Long Jack.
A stream of glittering fish flew into the pen from a dory alongside.
Manuel, you take the tackle. Ill fix the tables. Harvey, clear Manuels boat. Long Jacks nestin on the top of her.
Harvey looked up from his swabbing at the bottom of another dory just above his head.
Jest like the Injian puzzle-boxes, aint they? said Dan, as the one boat dropped into the other.
Takes to ut like a duck to water, said Long Jack, a grizzly-chinned, long-lipped Galway man, bending to and fro exactly as Manuel had done. Disko in the cabin growled up the hatchway, and they could hear him suck his pencil.
Wan hunder an forty-nine an a half-bad luck to ye, Discobolus! said Long Jack. Im murderin meself to fill your pockuts. Slate ut for a bad catch. The Portugee has bate me.
Whack came another dory alongside, and more fish shot into the pen.
Two hundred and three. Lets look at the passenger! The speaker was even larger than the Galway man, and his face was made curious by a purple cut running slant-ways from his left eye to the right corner of his mouth.
Not knowing what else to do, Harvey swabbed each dory as it came down, pulled out the foot-boards, and laid them in the bottom of the boat.
Hes caught on good, said the scarred man, who was Toni Platt, watching him critically. There are two ways o doin everything. Ones fisher-fashionany end first an a slippery hitch over allan the others
What we did on the old Ohio! Dan interrupted, brushing into the knot of men with a long board on legs. Get out o here, Tom Platt, an leave me fix the tables.
He jammed one end of the board into two nicks in the bulwarks, kicked out the leg, and ducked just in time to avoid a swinging blow from the man-o-wars man.
An they did that on the Ohio, too, Danny. See? said Tom Platt, laughing.
Guess they was swivel-eyed, then, fer it didnt git home, and I know wholl find his boots on the main-truck ef he dont leave us alone. Haul ahead! Im busy, cant ye see?
Danny, ye lie on the cable an sleep all day, said Long Jack. Youre the hoight av impidence, an Im persuaded yell corrupt our supercargo in a week.
His names Harvey, said Dan, waving two strangely shaped knives, an hell be worth five of any Sou Boston clam-digger fore long. He laid the knives tastefully on the table, cocked his head on one side, and admired the effect.
I think its forty-two, said a small voice overside, and there was a roar of laughter as another voice answered, Then my lucks turned fer onct, caze Im forty-five, though I be stung outer all shape.
Forty-two or forty-five. Ive lost count, the small voice said.
Its Penn an Uncle Salters caountin catch. This beats the circus any day, said Dan. Jest look at em!
Come income in! roared Long Jack. Its wet out yondher, children.
Forty-two, ye said. This was Uncle Salters.
Ill count again, then, the voice replied meekly. The two dories swung together and bunted into the schooners side.
Patience o Jerusalem! snapped Uncle Salters, backing water with a splash. What possest a farmer like you to set foot in a boat beats me. Youve nigh stove me all up.
I am sorry, Mr. Salters. I came to sea on account of nervous dyspepsia. You advised me, I think.
You an your nervis dyspepsy be drowned in the Whale-hole, roared Uncle Salters, a fat and tubby little man. Youre comin down on me agin. Did ye say forty-two or forty-five?
Ive forgotten, Mr. Salters. Lets count.
Dont see as it could be forty-five. Im forty-five, said Uncle Salters. You count keerful, Penn.
Disko Troop came out of the cabin. Salters, you pitch your fish in naow at once, he said in the tone of authority.
Dont spile the catch, Dad, Dan murmured. Them two are ony jest beginnin.
Mother av delight! Hes forkin them wan by wan, howled Long Jack, as Uncle Salters got to work laboriously; the little man in the other dory counting a line of notches on the gunwale.
That was last weeks catch, he said, looking up plaintively, his forefinger where he had left off.
Manuel nudged Dan, who darted to the after-tackle, and, leaning far overside, slipped the hook into the stern-rope as Manuel made her fast forward. The others pulled gallantly and swung the boat inman, fish, and all.
One, two, four-nine, said Tom Platt, counting with a practised eye. Forty-seven. Penn, youre it! Dan let the after-tackle run, and slid him out of the stern on to the deck amid a torrent of his own fish.
Hold on! roared Uncle Salters, bobbing by the waist. Hold on, Im a bit mixed in my caount.
He had no time to protest, but was hove inboard and treated like Pennsylvania.
Forty-one, said Tom Platt. Beat by a farmer, Salters. An you sech a sailor, too!
Twerent fair caount, said he, stumbling out of the pen; an Im stung up all to pieces.
His thick hands were puffy and mottled purply white.
Some folks will find strawberry-bottom, said Dan, addressing the newly risen moon, ef they hev to dive fer it, seems to me.
An others, said Uncle Salters, eats the fat o the land in sloth, an mocks their own blood-kin.
Seat ye! Seat ye! a voice Harvey had not heard called from the focsle. Disko Troop, Tom Platt, Long Jack, and Salters went forward on the word. Little Penn bent above his square deep-sea reel and the tangled cod-lines; Manuel lay down full length on the deck, and Dan dropped into the hold, where Harvey heard him banging casks with a hammer.
Salt, he said, returning. Soon as were through supper we git to dressing-down. Youll pitch to Dad. Tom Platt an Dad they stow together, an youll hear em arguin. Were second haaf, you an me an Manuel an Pennthe youth an beauty o the boat.
Whats the good of that? said Harvey. Im hungry.
Theyll be through in a minute. Suff! She smells good to-night. Dad ships a good cook ef he do suffer with his brother. Its a full catch today, Aeneid it? He pointed at the pens piled high with cod. What water did ye hev, Manuel?
Twenty-fife father, said the Portuguese, sleepily. They strike on good an queek. Some day I show you, Harvey.
The moon was beginning to walk on the still sea before the elder men came aft. The cook had no need to cry second half. Dan and Manuel were down the hatch and at table ere Tom Platt, last and most deliberate of the elders, had finished wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Harvey followed Penn, and sat down before a tin pan of cods tongues and sounds, mixed with scraps of pork and fried potato, a loaf of hot bread, and some black and powerful coffee. Hungry as they were, they waited while Pennsylvania solemnly asked a blessing. Then they stoked in silence till Dan drew a breath over his tin cup and demanded of Harvey how he felt.
Most full, but theres just room for another piece.
The cook was a huge, jet-black negro, and, unlike all the negroes Harvey had met, did not talk, contenting himself with smiles and dumb-show invitations to eat more.
See, Harvey, said Dan, rapping with his fork on the table, its jest as I said. The young an handsome menlike me an Pennsy an you an Manuelwere second haaf, an we eats when the first haaf are through. Theyre the old fish; an theyre mean an humpy, an their stummicks has to be humoured; so they come first, which they dont deserve. Aeneid that so, doctor?
The cook nodded.
Cant he talk? said Harvey in a whisper.
Nough to get along. Not much o anything we know. His natural tongues kinder curious. Comes from the innards of Cape Breton, he does, where the farmers speak homemade Scotch. Cape Bretons full o niggers whose folk run in there durin aour war, an they talk like farmersall huffy-chuffy.
That is not Scotch, said Pennsylvania. That is Gaelic. So I read in a book.
Penn reads a heap. Most of what he says is socep when it comes to a caount o fisheh?
Does your father just let them say how many theyve caught without checking them? said Harvey.
Why, yes. Wheres the sense of a man lyin fer a few old cod?
Was a man once lied for his catch, Manuel put in. Lied every day. Fife, ten, twenty-fife more fish than come he say there was.
Where was that? said Dan. None o aour folk.
Frenchman of Anguille.
Ah! Them West Shore Frenchmen dont caount anyway. Stands to reason they cant caount. Ef you run acrost any of their soft hooks, Harvey, youll know why, said Dan, with an awful contempt.
Always more and never less,
Long Jack roared down the hatch, and the second haaf scrambled up at once.
The shadow of the masts and rigging, with the never-furled riding-sail, rolled to and fro on the heaving deck in the moonlight; and the pile of fish by the stern shone like a dump of fluid silver. In the hold there were tramplings and rumblings where Disko Troop and Tom Platt moved among the salt-bins. Dan passed Harvey a pitchfork, and led him to the inboard end of the rough table, where Uncle Salters was drumming impatiently with a knife-haft. A tub of salt water lay at his feet.
You pitch to dad an Tom Platt down the hatch, an take keer Uncle Salters dont cut yer eye out, said Dan, swinging himself into the hold. Ill pass salt below.
Penn and Manuel stood knee deep among cod in the pen, flourishing drawn knives. Long Jack, a basket at his feet and mittens on his hands, faced Uncle Salters at the table, and Harvey stared at the pitchfork and the tub.
Hi! shouted Manuel, stooping to the fish, and bringing one up with a finger under its gill and a finger in its eyes. He laid it on the edge of the pen; the knife-blade glimmered with a sound of tearing, and the fish, slit from throat to vent, with a nick on either side of the neck, dropped at Long Jacks feet.
Hi! said Long Jack, with a scoop of his mittened hand. The cods liver dropped in the basket. Another wrench and scoop sent the head and offal flying, and the empty fish slid across to Uncle Salters, who snorted fiercely. There was another sound of tearing, the backbone flew over the bulwarks, and the fish, headless, gutted, and open, splashed in the tub, sending the salt water into Harveys astonished mouth. After the first yell, the men were silent. The cod moved along as though they were alive, and long ere Harvey had ceased wondering at the miraculous dexterity of it all, his tub was full.
Pitch! grunted Uncle Salters, without turning his head, and Harvey pitched the fish by twos and threes down the hatch.
Hi! Pitch em bunchy, shouted Dan. Dont scatter! Uncle Salters is the best splitter in the fleet. Watch him mind his book!
Indeed, it looked a little as though the round uncle were cutting magazine pages against time. Manuels body, cramped over from the hips, stayed like a statue; but his long arms grabbed the fish without ceasing. Little Penn toiled valiantly, but it was easy to see he was weak. Once or twice Manuel found time to help him without breaking the chain of supplies, and once Manuel howled because he had caught his finger in a Frenchmans hook. These hooks are made of soft metal, to be rebent after use; but the cod very often get away with them and are hooked again elsewhere; and that is one of the many reasons why the Gloucester boats despise the Frenchmen.
Down below, the rasping sound of rough salt rubbed on rough flesh sounded like the whirring of a grindstonesteady undertune to the click-nick of knives in the pen; the wrench and shloop of torn heads, dropped liver, and flying offal; the caraaah of Uncle Salterss knife scooping away backbones; and the flap of wet, open bodies falling into the tub.
At the end of an hour Harvey would have given the world to rest; for fresh, wet cod weigh more than you would think, and his back ached with the steady pitching. But he felt for the first time in his life that he was one of the working gang of men, took pride in the thought, and held on sullenly.
Knife oh! shouted Uncle Salters at last. Penn doubled up, gasping among the fish, Manuel bowed back and forth to supple himself, and Long Jack leaned over the bulwarks. The cook appeared, noiseless as a black shadow, collected a mass of backbones and heads, and retreated.
Blood-ends for breakfast an head-chowder, said Long Jack, smacking his lips.
Knife oh! repeated Uncle Salters, waving the flat, curved splitters weapon.
Look by your foot, Harve, cried Dan below.
Harvey saw half a dozen knives stuck in a cleat in the hatch combing. He dealt these around, taking over the dulled ones.
Water! said Disko Troop.
Scuttle-butts forard an the dippers alongside. Hurry, Harve, said Dan.
He was back in a minute with a big dipperful of stale brown water which tasted like nectar, and loosed the jaws of Disko and Tom Platt.
These are cod, said Disko. They aint Damarskus figs, Tom Platt, nor yet silver bars. Ive told you that ever single time since weve sailed together.
A matter o seven seasons, returned Tom Platt coolly. Good stowins good stowin all the same, an theres a right an a wrong way o stowin ballast even. If youd ever seen four hundred ton o iron set into the
Hi! With a yell from Manuel the work began again, and never stopped till the pen was empty. The instant the last fish was down, Disko Troop rolled aft to the cabin with his brother; Manuel and Long Jack went forward; Tom Platt only waited long enough to slide home the hatch ere he too disappeared. In half a minute Harvey heard deep snores in the cabin, and he was staring blankly at Dan and Penn.
I did a little better that time, Danny, said Penn, whose eyelids were heavy with sleep. But I think it is my duty to help clean.
Wouldnt hev your conscience fer a thousand quintal, said Dan. Turn in, Penn. Youve no call to do boys work. Draw a bucket, Harvey. Oh, Penn, dump these in the gurry-butt fore you sleep. Kin you keep awake that long?
Penn took up the heavy basket of fish-livers, emptied them into a cask with a hinged top lashed by the focsle; then he too dropped out of sight in the cabin.
Boys clean up after dressin down an first watch in caam weather is boys watch on the Were Here. Dan sluiced the pen energetically, unshipped the table, set it up to dry in the moonlight, ran the red knife-blades through a wad of oakum, and began to sharpen them on a tiny grindstone, as Harvey threw offal and backbones overboard under his direction.
At the first splash a silvery-white ghost rose bolt upright from the oily water and sighed a weird whistling sigh. Harvey started back with a shout, but Dan only laughed.
Grampus, said he. Beggin fer fish-heads. They up-eend the way when theyre hungry. Breath on him like the doleful tombs, haint he? A horrible stench of decayed fish filled the air as the pillar of white sank, and the water bubbled oilily. Haint ye never seen a grampus up-eend before? Youll see em by hundreds fore yere through. Say, its good to hev a boy aboard again. Otto was too old, an a Dutchy at that. Him an me we fought considble. Wouldnt ha keered fer that ef hed hed a Christian tongue in his head. Sleepy?
Dead sleepy, said Harvey, nodding forward.
Mustnt sleep on watch. Rouse up an see ef our anchor-lights bright an shinin. Youre on watch now, Harve.
Pshaw! Whats to hurt us? Brights day. Sn-orrr!
Jest when things happen, Dad says. Fine weathers good sleepin, an fore you know, mebbe, youre cut in two by a liner, an seventeen brass-bound officers, all genelmen, lift their hand to it that your lights was aout an there was a thick fog. Harve, Ive kinder took to you, but ef you nod onct more Ill lay into you with a ropes end.
The moon, who sees many strange things on the Banks, looked down on a slim youth in knickerbockers and a red jersey, staggering around the cluttered decks of a seventy-ton schooner, while behind him, waving a knotted rope, walked, after the manner of an executioner, a boy who yawned and nodded between the blows he dealt.
The lashed wheel groaned and kicked softly, the riding-sail slatted a little in the shifts of the light wind, the windlass creaked, and the miserable procession continued. Harvey expostulated, threatened, whimpered, and at last wept outright, while Dan, the words clotting on his tongue, spoke of the beauty of watchfulness and slashed away with the ropes end, punishing the dories as often as he hit Harvey. At last the clock in the cabin struck ten, and upon the tenth stroke little Penn crept on deck. He found two boys in two tumbled heaps side by side on the main hatch, so deeply asleep that he actually rolled them to their berths.
It was the forty-fathom slumber that clears the soul and eye and heart, and sends you to breakfast ravening. They emptied a big tin dish of juicy fragments of fishthe blood-ends the cook had collected overnight. They cleaned up the plates and pans of the elder mess, who were out fishing, sliced pork for the midday meal, swabbed down the focsle, filled the lamps, drew coal and water for the cook, and investigated the fore-hold, where the boats stores were stacked. It was another perfect daysoft, mild, and clear; and Harvey breathed to the very bottom of his lungs.
More schooners had crept up in the night, and the long blue seas were full of sails and dories. Far away on the horizon, the smoke of some liner, her hull invisible, smudged the blue, and to eastward a big ships top-gallant sails, just lifting, made a square nick in it. Disko Troop was smoking by the roof of the cabinone eye on the craft around, and the other on the little fly at the main-mast-head.
When Dad kerflummoxes that way, said Dan in a whisper, hes doin some high-line thinkin fer all hands. Ill lay my wage an share well make berth soon. Dad he knows the cod, an the Fleet they know Dad knows. See em comm up one by one, lookin fer nothin in particular, o course, but scrowgin on us all the time? Theres the Prince Leboo; shes a Chat-ham boat. Shes crep up sence last night. An see that big one with a patch in her foresail an a new jib? Shes the Carrie Pitman from West Chat-ham. She wont keep her canvas long onless her lucks changed since last season. She dont do much cep drift. There aint an anchor made ll hold her. . . . When the smoke puffs up in little rings like that, Dads studyin the fish. Ef we speak to him now, hell git mad. Las time I did, he jest took an hove a boot at me.
Disko Troop stared forward, the pipe between his teeth, with eyes that saw nothing. As his son said, he was studying the fishpitting his knowledge and experience on the Banks against the roving cod in his own sea. He accepted the presence of the inquisitive schooners on the horizon as a compliment to his powers. But now that it was paid, he wished to draw away and make his berth alone, till it was time to go up to the Virgin and fish in the streets of that roaring town upon the waters. So Disko Troop thought of recent weather, and gales, currents, food-supplies, and other domestic arrangements, from the point of view of a twenty-pound cod; was, in fact, for an hour a cod himself, and looked remarkably like one. Then he removed the pipe from his teeth.
Dad, said Dan, weve done our chores. Cant we go overside a piece? Its good catchin weather.
Not in that cherry-coloured rig ner them haaf baked brown shoes. Give him suthin fit to wear.
Dads pleasedthat settles it, said Dan, delightedly, dragging Harvey into the cabin, while Troop pitched a key down the steps. Dad keeps my spare rig where he kin overhaul it, cause Ma sez Im keerless. He rummaged through a locker, and in less than three minutes Harvey was adorned with fishermans rubber boots that came half up his thigh, a heavy blue jersey well darned at the elbows, a pair of nippers, and a souwester.
Naow ye look somethin like, said Dan. Hurry!
Keep nigh an handy, said Troop an dont go visitin raound the Fleet. If any one asks you what Im callatin to do, speak the truthfer ye dont know.
A little red dory, labelled Hattie S., lay astern of the schooner. Dan hauled in the painter, and dropped lightly on to the bottom boards, while Harvey tumbled clumsily after.
Thats no way o gettin into a boat, said Dan. Ef there was any sea youd go to the bottom, sure. You got to learn to meet her.
Dan fitted the thole-pins, took the forward thwart and watched Harveys work. The boy had rowed, in a lady-like fashion, on the Adirondack ponds; but there is a difference between squeaking pins and well-balanced ruflockslight sculls and stubby, eight-foot sea-oars. They stuck in the gentle swell, and Harvey grunted.
Short! Row short! said Dan. Ef you cramp your oar in any kind o sea youre liable to turn her over. Aint she a daisy? Mine, too.
The little dory was specklessly clean. In her bows lay a tiny anchor, two jugs of water, and some seventy fathoms of thin, brown dory-roding. A tin dinner-horn rested in cleats just under Harveys right hand, beside an ugly-looking maul, a short gaff, and a shorter wooden stick. A couple of lines, with very heavy leads and double cod-hooks, all neatly coiled on square reels, were stuck in their place by the gunwale.
Wheres the sail and mast? said Harvey, for his hands were beginning to blister.
Dan chuckled. Ye dont sail fishin-dories much. Ye pull; but ye neednt pull so hard. Dont you wish you owned her?
Well, I guess my father might give me one or two if I asked em, Harvey replied. He had been too busy to think much of his family till then.
Thats so. I forgot your dads a millionaire. You dont act millionary any, naow. But a dory an craft an gearDan spoke as though she were a whaleboatcosts a heap. Think your dad ud give you one ferfer a pet like?
Shouldnt wonder. It would be most the only thing I havent stuck him for yet.
Must be an expensive kinder kid to home. Dont slitheroo thet way, Harve. Shorts the trick, because no seas ever dead still, an the swells ll
Crack! The loom of the oar kicked Harvey under the chin and knocked him backwards.
That was what I was goin to say. I hed to learn too, but I wasnt more than eight years old when I got my schoolin.
Harvey regained his seat with aching jaws and a frown.
No good gettin mad at things, Dad says. Its our own fault ef we cant handle em, he says. Les try here. Manuel ll give us the water.
The Portugee was rocking fully a mile away, but when Dan up-ended an oar he waved his left arm three times.
Thirty fathom, said Dan, stringing a salt clam on to the hook. Over with the doughboys. Bait sames I do, Harvey, an dont snarl your reel.
Dans line was out long before Harvey had mastered the mystery of baiting and heaving out the leads. The dory drifted along easily. It was not worth while to anchor till they were sure of good ground.
Here we come! Dan shouted, and a shower of spray rattled on Harveys shoulders as a big cod flapped and kicked alongside. Muckle, Harvey, muckle! Under your hand! Quick!
Evidently muckle could not be the dinner-horn, so Harvey passed over the maul, and Dan scientifically stunned the fish before he pulled it inboard, and wrenched out the hook with the short wooden stick he called a gob-stick. Then Harvey felt a tug, and pulled up zealously.
Why, these are strawberries! he shouted. Look!
The hook had fouled among a bunch of strawberries, red on one side and white on the otherperfect reproductions of the land fruit, except that there were no leaves, and the stem was all pipy and slimy.
Dont tech em. Slat em off. Dont
The warning came too late. Harvey had picked them from the hook, and was admiring them.
Ouch! he cried, for his fingers throbbed as though he had grasped many nettles.
Now ye know what strawberry-bottom means. Nothin cep fish should be teched with the naked fingers, Dad says. Slat em off agin the gunnel, an bait up, Harve. Lookin wont help any. Its all in the wages.
Harvey smiled at the thought of his ten and a half dollars a month, and wondered what his mother would say if she could see him hanging over the edge of a fishing-dory in mid-ocean. She suffered agonies whenever he went out on Saranac Lake; and, by the way, Harvey remembered distinctly that he used to laugh at her anxieties. Suddenly the line flashed through his hand, stinging even through the nippers, the woolen circlets supposed to protect it.
Hes a logy. Give him room accordin to his strength, cried Dan. Ill help ye.
No, you wont, Harvey snapped, as he hung on to the line. Its my first fish. Isis it a whale?
Halibut, mebbe. Dan peered down into the water alongside, and flourished the big muckle, ready for all chances. Something white and oval flickered and fluttered through the green. Ill lay my wage an share hes over a hundred. Are you so everlastin anxious to land him alone?
Harveys knuckles were raw and bleeding where they had been banged against the gunwale; his face was purple-blue between excitement and exertion; he dripped with sweat, and was half-blinded from staring at the circling sunlit ripples about the swiftly moving line. The boys were tired long ere the halibut, who took charge of them and the dory for the next twenty minutes. But the big flat fish was gaffed and hauled in at last.
Beginners luck, said Dan, wiping his forehead. Hes all of a hundred.
Harvey looked at the huge gray-and-mottled creature with unspeakable pride. He had seen halibut many times on marble slabs ashore, but it had never occurred to him to ask how they came inland. Now he knew; and every inch of his body ached with fatigue.
Ef Dad was along, said Dan, hauling up, hed read the signs plains print. The fish are runnin smaller an smaller, an youve took baout as logy a halibuts were apt to find this trip. Yesterdays catchdid ye notice it?was all big fish an no halibut. Dad hed read them signs right off. Dad says everythin on the Banks is signs, an can be read wrong er right. Dads deepern the Whale-hole.
Even as he spoke some one fired a pistol on the Were Here, and a potato-basket was run up in the fore-rigging.
What did I say, naow? Thats the call fer the whole crowd. Dads onter something, er hed never break fishin this time o day. Reel up, Harve, an well pull back.
They were to windward of the schooner, just ready to flirt the dory over the still sea, when sounds of woe half a mile off led them to Penn, who was careering around a fixed point for all the world like a gigantic water-bug. The little man backed away and came down again with enormous energy, but at the end of each maneuver his dory swung round and snubbed herself on her rope.
Well hev to help him, else hell root an seed here, said Dan.
Whats the matter? said Harvey. This was a new world, where he could not lay down the law to his elders, but had to ask questions humbly. And the sea was horribly big and unexcited.
Anchors fouled. Penns always losing em. Lost two this trip areadyon sandy bottom tooan Dad says next one he loses, sures fishin, hell give him the kelleg. That ud break Penns heart.
Whats a kelleg? said Harvey, who had a vague idea it might be some kind of marine torture, like keel-hauling in the storybooks.
Big stone instid of an anchor. You kin see a kelleg ridin in the bows furs you can see a dory, an all the fleet knows what it means. Theyd guy him dreadful. Penn couldnt stand that no moren a dog with a dipper to his tail. Hes so everlastin sensitive. Hello, Penn! Stuck again? Dont try any more o your patents. Come up on her, and keep your rodin straight up an down.
It doesnt move, said the little man, panting. It doesnt move at all, and instead I tried everything.
Whats all this hurrahs-nest forard? said Dan, pointing to a wild tangle of spare oars and dory-roding, all matted together by the hand of inexperience.
Oh, that, said Penn proudly, is a Spanish windlass. Mr. Salters showed me how to make it; but even that doesnt move her.
Dan bent low over the gunwale to hide a smile, twitched once or twice on the roding, and, behold, the anchor drew at once.
Haul up, Penn, he said laughing, er shell git stuck again.
They left him regarding the weed-hung flukes of the little anchor with big, pathetic blue eyes, and thanking them profusely.
Oh, say, while I think of it, Harve, said Dan when they were out of ear-shot, Penn aint quite all caulked. He aint nowise dangerous, but his minds give out. See?
Is that so, or is it one of your fathers judgments?
Harvey asked as he bent to his oars. He felt he was learning to handle them more easily.
Dad aint mistook this time. Penns a sure nuff loony.
No, he aint thet exactly, so much ez a harmless ijut. It was this way (youre rowin quite so, Harve), an I tell you cause its right you orter know. He was a Moravian preacher once. Jacob Boiler wuz his name, Dad told me, an he lived with his wife an four children somewheres out Pennsylvania way. Well, Penn he took his folks along to a Moravian meetincamp-meetin most likean they stayed over jest one night in Johns-town. Youve heered talk o Johnstown?
Harvey considered. Yes, I have. But I dont know why. It sticks in my head same as Ashtabula.
Both was big accidentsthets why, Harve. Well, that one single night Penn and his folks was to the hotel Johnstown was wiped out. Dam bust an flooded her, an the houses struck adrift an bumped into each other an sunk. Ive seen the pictures, an theyre dretful. Penn he saw his folk drowned alln a heap fore he rightly knew what was comin. His mind give out from that on. He mistrusted somethin hed happened up to Johnstown, but for the poor life of him he couldnt remember what, an he jest drifted araound smilin an wonderin. He didnt know what he was, nor yit what he hed bin, an thet way he run agin Uncle Salters, who was visitin n Allegheny City. Haaf my mothers folks they live scattered inside o Pennsylvania, an Uncle Salters he visits araound winters. Uncle Salters he kinder adopted Penn, well knowin what his trouble wuz; an he brought him East, an he give him work on his farm.
Why, I heard him calling Penn a farmer last night when the boats bumped. Is your Uncle Salters a farmer?
Farmer! shouted Dan. There aint water enough tween here an Hattrus to wash the furrer-mold offn his boots. Hes jest everlastin farmer. Why, Harve, Ive seen thet man hitch up a bucket, long towards sundown, an set twiddlin the spigot to the scuttle-butt sames ef twas a cows bag. Hes thet much farmer. Well, Penn an he they ran the farmup Exeter way twur. Uncle Salters he sold it this spring to a jay from Boston as wanted to build a summer-haouse, an he got a heap for it. Well, them two loonies scratched along till, one day, Penns churchhed belonged to the Moraviansfound out where he wuz drifted an layin, an wrote to Uncle Salters. Never heerd what they said exactly; but Uncle Salters was mad. Hes a piscopolian mostlybut he jest let em hev it both sides o the bow, s if he was a Baptist; an sez he warnt goin to give up Penn to any blame Moravian connection in Pennsylvania or anywheres else. Then he come to Dad, towin Penn,thet was two trips back,an sez he an Penn must fish a trip fer their health. Guess he thought the Moravians wouldnt hunt the Banks fer Jacob Boiler. Dad was agreeable, fer Uncle Salters hed been fishin off an on fer thirty years, when he warnt inventin patent manures, an he took quarter-share in the Were Here; an the trip done Penn so much good, Dad made a habit o takin him. Some day, Dad sez, hell remember his wife an kids an Johnstown, an then, like as not, hell die, Dad sez. Dont ye talk abaout Johnstown ner such things to Penn, r Uncle Salters hell heave ye overboard.
Poor Penn! murmured Harvey. I shouldnt ever have thought Uncle Salters cared for him by the look of em together.
I like Penn, though; we all do, said Dan. We ought to ha give him a tow, but I wanted to tell ye first.
They were close to the schooner now, the other boats a little behind them.
You neednt heave in the dories till after dinner, said Troop from the deck. Well dress daown right off. Fix table, boys!
Deepern the Whale-deep, said Dan, with a wink, as he set the gear for dressing down. Look at them boats that hev edged up sence mornin. Theyre all waitin on Dad. See em, Harve?
They are all alike to me. And indeed to a landsman, the nodding schooners around seemed run from the same mold.
They aint, though. That yaller, dirty packet with her bowsprit steeved that way, shes the Hope of Prague. Nick Bradys her skipper, the meanest man on the Banks. Well tell him so when we strike the Main Ledge. Way off yonders the Days Eye. The two Jeraulds own her. Shes from Harwich; fastish, too, an hez good luck; but Dad hed find fish in a graveyard. Them other three, side along, theyre the Margie Smith, Rose, and Edith S. Walen, all from home. Guess well see the Abbie M. Deering to-morrer, Dad, wont we? Theyre all slippin over from the shaol o Oueereau.
You wont see many boats to-morrow, Danny. When Troop called his son Danny, it was a sign that the old man was pleased. Boys, were too crowded, he went on, addressing the crew as they clambered inboard. Well leave em to bait big an catch small. He looked at the catch in the pen, and it was curious to see how little and level the fish ran. Save for Harveys halibut, there was nothing over fifteen pounds on deck.
Im waitin on the weather, he added.
Yell have to make it yourself, Disko, for theres no sign I can see, said Long Jack, sweeping the clear horizon.
And yet, half an hour later, as they were dressing down, the Bank fog dropped on them, between fish and fish, as they say. It drove steadily and in wreaths, curling and smoking along the colourless water. The men stopped dressing-down without a word. Long Jack and Uncle Salters slipped the windlass brakes into their sockets, and began to heave up the anchor; the windlass jarring as the wet hempen cable strained on the barrel. Manuel and Tom Platt gave a hand at the last. The anchor came up with a sob, and the riding-sail bellied as Troop steadied her at the wheel. Up jib and foresail, said he.
Slip em in the smother, shouted Long Jack, making fast the jib-sheet, while the others raised the clacking, rattling rings of the foresail; and the foreboom creaked as the Were Here looked up into the wind and dived off into blank, whirling white.
Theres wind behind this fog, said Troop.
It was wonderful beyond words to Harvey; and the most wonderful part was that he heard no orders except an occasional grunt from Troop, ending with, Thats good, my son!
Never seen anchor weighed before? said Tom Platt, to Harvey gaping at the damp canvas of the foresail.
No. Where are we going?
Fish and make berth, as youll find out fore youve been a week aboard. Its all new to you, but we never know what may come to us. Now, take meTom PlattId never ha thought
Its better than fourteen dollars a month an a bullet in your belly, said Troop, from the wheel. Ease your jumbo a grind.
Dollars an cents better, returned the man-o-wars man, doing something to a big jib with a wooden spar tied to it. But we didnt think o that when we manned the windlass-brakes on the Miss Jim Buck, I outside Beau-fort Harbor, with Fort Macon heavin hot shot at our stern, an a livin gale atop of all. Where was you then, Disko?
Jest here, or hereabouts, Disko replied, earnin my bread on the deep waters, an dodgin Reb privateers. Sorry I cant accommodate you with red-hot shot, Tom Platt; but I guess well come aout all right on wind fore we see Eastern Point.
There was an incessant slapping and chatter at the bows now, varied by a solid thud and a little spout of spray that clattered down on the focsle. The rigging dripped clammy drops, and the men lounged along the lee of the houseall save Uncle Salters, who sat stiffly on the main-hatch nursing his stung hands.
Guess shed carry staysl, said Disko, rolling one eye at his brother.
Guess she wouldnt to any sorter profit. Whats the sense o wastin canvas? the farmer-sailor replied.
The wheel twitched almost imperceptibly in Diskos hands. A few seconds later a hissing wave-top slashed diagonally across the boat, smote Uncle Salters between the shoulders, and drenched him from head to foot. He rose sputtering, and went forward only to catch another.
See Dad chase him all around the deck, said Dan. Uncle Salters he thinks his quarter shares our canvas. Dads put this duckin act up on him two trips runnin. Hi! That found him where he feeds. Uncle Salters had taken refuge by the foremast, but a wave slapped him over the knees. Diskos face was as blank as the circle of the wheel.
Guess shed lie easier under staysl, Salters, said Disko, as though he had seen nothing.
Set your old kite, then, roared the victim through a cloud of spray; only dont lay it to me if anything happens. Penn, you go below right off an git your coffee. You ought to hev more sense than to bum araound on deck this weather.
Now theyll swill coffee an play checkers till the cows come home, said Dan, as Uncle Salters hustled Penn into the fore-cabin. Looks to me likes if wed all be doin so fer a spell. Theres nothin in creation deader-limpsey-idlern a Banker when she aint on fish.
Im glad ye spoke, Danny, cried Long Jack, who had been casting round in search of amusement. Id clean forgot wed a passenger under that T-wharf hat. Theres no idleness for thim that dont know their ropes. Pass him along, Tom Platt, an well larn him.
Taint my trick this time, grinned Dan. Youve got to go it alone. Dad learned me with a ropes end.
For an hour Long Jack walked his prey up and down, teaching, as he said, things at the sea that ivry man must know, blind, dhrunk, or asleep. There is not much gear to a seventy-ton schooner with a stump-foremast, but Long Jack had a gift of expression. When he wished to draw Harveys attention to the peak-halyards, he dug his knuckles into the back of the boys neck and kept him at gaze for half a minute. He emphasized the difference between fore and aft generally by rubbing Harveys nose along a few feet of the boom, and the lead of each rope was fixed in Harveys mind by the end of the rope itself.
The lesson would have been easier had the deck been at all free; but there appeared to be a place on it for everything and anything except a man. Forward lay the windlass and its tackle, with the chain and hemp cables, all very unpleasant to trip over; the focsle stovepipe, and the gurry-butts by the focsle hatch to hold the fish-livers. Aft of these the foreboom and booby of the main-hatch took all the space that was not needed for the pumps and dressing-pens. Then came the nests of dories lashed to ring-bolts by the quarter-deck; the house, with tubs and oddments lashed all around it; and, last, the sixty-foot main-boom in its crutch, splitting things length-wise, to duck and dodge under every time.
Tom Platt, of course, could not keep his oar out of the business, but ranged alongside with enormous and unnecessary descriptions of sails and spars on the old Ohio.
Niver mind fwhat he says; attind to me, Innocince. Tom Platt, this bally-hoos not the Ohio, an youre mixing the bhoy bad.
Hell be ruined for life, beginnin on a fore-an-after this way, Tom Platt pleaded. Give him a chance to know a few leadin principles. Sailins an art, Harvey, as Id show you if I had ye in the fore-top o the
I know ut. Yed talk him dead an cowld. Silince, Tom Platt! Now, after all Ive said, howd you reef the foresail, Harve? Take your time answerin.
Haul that in, said Harvey, pointing to leeward.
Fwhat? The North Atlantuc?
No, the boom. Then run that rope you showed me back there
Thats no way, Tom Platt burst in.
Quiet! Hes larnin, an has not the names good yet. Go on, Harve.
Oh, its the reef-pennant. Id hook the tackle on to the reef-pennant, and then let down
Lower the sail, child! Lower! said Tom Platt, in a professional agony.
Lower the throat and peak halyards, Harvey went on. Those names stuck in his head.
Lay your hand on thim, said Long Jack.
Harvey obeyed. Lower till that rope-loopon the after-leach-krisno, its cringletill the cringle was down on the boom. Then Id tie her up the way you said, and then Id hoist up the peak and throat halyards again.
Youve forgot to pass the tack-earing, but wid time and help yell larn. Theres good and just reason for ivry rope aboard, or else twould be overboard. Dye follow me? Tis dollars an cents Im puttin into your pocket, ye skinny little supercargo, so that fwhin yeve filled out ye can ship from Boston to Cuba an tell thim Long Jack larned you. Now Ill chase ye around a piece, callin the ropes, an youll lay your hand on thim as I call.
He began, and Harvey, who was feeling rather tired, walked slowly to the rope named. A ropes end licked round his ribs, and nearly knocked the breath out of him.
When you own a boat, said Tom Platt, with severe eyes, you can walk. Till then, take all orders at the run. Once moreto make sure!
Harvey was in a glow with the exercise, and this last cut warmed him thoroughly. Now he was a singularly smart boy, the son of a very clever man and a very sensitive woman, with a fine resolute temper that systematic spoiling had nearly turned to mulish obstinacy. He looked at the other men, and saw that even Dan did not smile. It was evidently all in the days work, though it hurt abominably; so he swallowed the hint with a gulp and a gasp and a grin. The same smartness that led him to take such advantage of his mother made him very sure that no one on the boat, except, maybe, Penn, would stand the least nonsense. One learns a great deal from a mere tone. Long Jack called over half a dozen ropes, and Harvey danced over the deck like an eel at ebb-tide, one eye on Tom Platt.
Ver good. Ver good don, said Manuel. After supper I show you a little schooner I make, with all her ropes. So we shall learn.
Fust-class fera passenger, said Dan. Dad hes jest allowed youll be wuth your salt maybe fore youre draownded. Thets a heap fer Dad. Ill learn you more our next watch together.
Taller! grunted Disko, peering through the fog as it smoked over the bows. There was nothing to be seen ten feet beyond the surging jib-boom, while alongside rolled the endless procession of solemn, pale waves whispering and lipping one to the other.
Now Ill learn you something Long Jack cant, shouted Tom Platt, as from a locker by the stern he produced a battered deep-sea lead hollowed at one end, smeared the hollow from a saucer full of mutton tallow, and went forward. Ill learn you how to fly the Blue Pigeon. Shooo!
Disko did something to the wheel that checked the schooners way, while Manuel, with Harvey to help (and a proud boy was Harvey), let down the jib in a lump on the boom. The lead sung a deep droning song as Tom Platt whirled it round and round.
Go ahead, man, said Long Jack, impatiently. Were not drawin twenty-five fut off Fire Island in a fog. Theres no trick to ut.
Dont be jealous, Galway. The released lead plopped into the sea far ahead as the schooner surged slowly forward.
Soundin is a trick, though, said Dan, when your dipsey leads all the eye youre like to hev for a week. What dyou make it, Dad?
Diskos face relaxed. His skill and honour were involved in the march he had stolen on the rest of the Fleet, and he had his reputation as a master artist who knew the Banks blindfold. Sixty, mebbeef Im any judge, he replied, with a glance at the tiny compass in the window of the house.
Sixty, sung out Tom Platt, hauling in great wet coils.
The schooner gathered way once more. Heave! said Disko, after a quarter of an hour.
What dyou make it? Dan whispered, and he looked at Harvey proudly. But Harvey was too proud of his own performances to be impressed just then.
Fifty, said the father. I mistrust were right over the nick o Green Bank on old Sixty-Fifty.
Fifty! roared Tom Platt. They could scarcely see him through the fog. Shes bust within a yardlike the shells at Fort Macon.
Bait up, Harve, said Dan, diving for a line on the reel.
The schooner seemed to be straying promiscuously through the smother, her headsail banging wildly. The men waited and looked at the boys who began fishing.
Heugh! Dans lines twitched on the scored and scarred rail. Now haow in thunder did Dad know? Help us here, Harve. Its a big un. Poke-hooked, too. They hauled together, and landed a goggle-eyed twenty-pound cod. He had taken the bait right into his stomach.
Why, hes all covered with little crabs, cried Harvey, turning him over.
By the great hook-block, theyre lousy already, said Long Jack. Disko, ye kape your spare eyes under the keel.
Splash went the anchor, and they all heaved over the lines, each man taking his own place at the bulwarks.
Are they good to eat? Harvey panted, as he lugged in another crab-covered cod.
Sure. When theyre lousy its a sign theyve all been herdin together by the thousand, and when they take the bait that way theyre hungry. Never mind how the bait sets. Theyll bite on the bare hook.
Say, this is great! Harvey cried, as the fish came in gasping and splashingnearly all poke-hooked, as Dan had said. Why cant we always fish from the boat instead of from the dories?
Allus can, till we begin to dress daown. Efter thet, the heads and offals ud scare the fish to Fundy. Boatfishin aint reckoned progressive, though, unless ye know as much as dad knows. Guess well run aout aour trawl to-night. Harder on the back, this, than frum the dory, aint it?
It was rather back-breaking work, for in a dory the weight of a cod is water-borne till the last minute, and you are, so to speak, abreast of him; but the few feet of a schooners freeboard make so much extra dead-hauling, and stooping over the bulwarks cramps the stomach. But it was wild and furious sport so long as it lasted; and a big pile lay aboard when the fish ceased biting.
Wheres Penn and Uncle Salters? Harvey asked, slapping the slime off his oilskins, and reeling up the line in careful imitation of the others.
Git s coffee and see.
Under the yellow glare of the lamp on the pawl-post, the focsle table down and opened, utterly unconscious of fish or weather, sat the two men, a checker-board between them, Uncle Salters snarling at Penns every move.
Whats the matter naow? said the former, as Harvey, one hand in the leather loop at the head of the ladder, hung shouting to the cook.
Big fish and lousyheaps and heaps, Harvey replied, quoting Long Jack. Hows the game?
Little Penns jaw dropped. Twerent none o his fault, snapped Uncle Salters. Penns deef.
Checkers, werent it? said Dan, as Harvey staggered aft with the steaming coffee in a tin pail. That lets us out o cleanin up to-night. Dads a jest man. Theyll have to do it.
An two young fellers I knowll bait up a tub or so o trawl, while theyre cleanin, said Disko, lashing the wheel to his taste.
Um! Guess Id ruther clean up, Dad.
Dont doubt it. Ye wunt, though. Dress daown! Dress daown! Pennll pitch while you two bait up.
Why in thunder didnt them blame boys tell us youd struck on? said Uncle Salters, shuffling to his place at the table. This knifes gum-blunt, Dan.
Ef stickin out cable dont wake ye, guess youd better hire a boy o your own, said Dan, muddling about in the dusk over the tubs full of trawl-line lashed to windward of the house. Oh, Harve, dont ye want to slip down an git s bait?
Bait ez we are, said Disko. I mistrust shag-fishin will pay better, ez things go.
That meant the boys would bait with selected offal of the cod as the fish were cleanedan improvement on paddling bare-handed in the little bait-barrels below. The tubs were full of neatly coiled line carrying a big hook each few feet; and the testing and baiting of every single hook, with the stowage of the baited line so that it should run clear when shot from the dory, was a scientific business. Dan managed it in the dark, without looking, while Harvey caught his fingers on the barbs and bewailed his fate. But the hooks flew through Dans fingers like tatting on an old maids lap. I helped bait up trawl ashore fore I could well walk, he said. But its a putterin job all the same. Oh, Dad! This shouted towards the hatch, where Disko and Tom Platt were salting. How many skates you reckon well need?
Baout three. Hurry!
Theres three hundred fathom to each tub, Dan explained; moren enough to lay out to-night. Ouch! Slipped up there, I did. He stuck his finger in his mouth. I tell you, Harve, there aint money in Gloucester ud hire me to ship on a reglar trawler. It may be progressive, but, barrin that, its the putterinest, slimjammest business top of earth.
I dont know what this is, if tisnt regular trawling, said Harvey sulkily. My fingers are all cut to frazzles.
Pshaw! This is just one o Dads blame experiments. He dont trawl less theres mighty good reason fer it. Dad knows. Thets why hes baitin ez he is. Well hev her saggin full when we take her up er we wont see a fin.
Penn and Uncle Salters cleaned up as Disko had ordained, but the boys profited little. No sooner were the tubs furnished than Tom Platt and Long Jack, who had been exploring the inside of a dory with a lantern, snatched them away, loaded up the tubs and some small, painted trawl-buoys, and hove the boat overboard into what Harvey regarded as an exceedingly rough sea. Theyll be drowned. Why, the dorys loaded like a freight-car, he cried.
Well be back, said Long Jack, an in case youll not be lookin for us, well lay into you both if the trawls snarled.
The dory surged up on the crest of a wave, and just when it seemed impossible that she could avoid smashing against the schooners side, slid over the ridge, and was swallowed up in the damp dusk.
Take ahold here, an keep ringin steady, said Dan, passing Harvey the lanyard of a bell that hung just behind the windlass.
Harvey rang lustily, for he felt two lives depended on him. But Disko in the cabin, scrawling in the log-book, did not look like a murderer, and when he went to supper he even smiled dryly at the anxious Harvey.
This aint no weather, said Dan. Why, you an me could set thet trawl! Theyve only gone out jest far nough sos not to foul our cable. They dont need no bell reelly.
Clang! clang! clang! Harvey kept it up, varied with occasional rub-a-dubs, for another half-hour. There was a bellow and a bump alongside. Manuel and Dan raced to the hooks of the dory-tackle; Long Jack and Tom Platt arrived on deck together, it seemed, one half the North Atlantic at their backs, and the dory followed them in the air, landing with a clatter.
Nary snarl, said Tom Platt as he dripped. Danny, youll do yet.
The pleasure av your compny to the banquit, said Long Jack, squelching the water from his boots as he capered like an elephant and stuck an oil-skinned arm into Harveys face. We do be condescending to honour the second half wid our presence. And off they all four rolled to supper, where Harvey stuffed himself to the brim on fish-chowder and fried pies, and fell fast asleep just as Manuel produced from a locker a lovely two-foot model of the Lucy Holmes, his first boat, and was going to show Harvey the ropes. Harvey never even twiddled his fingers as Penn pushed him into his bunk.
It must be a sad thinga very sad thing, said Penn, watching the boys face, for his mother and his father, who think he is dead. To lose a childto lose a man-child!
Git out o this, Penn, said Dan. Go aft and finish your game with Uncle Salters. Tell Dad Ill stand Harves watch ef he dont keer. Hes played aout.
Ver good boy, said Manuel, slipping out of his boots and disappearing into the black shadows of the lower bunk. Expec he make good man, Danny. I no see he is any so mad as your parpa he says. Eh, wha-at?
Dan chuckled, but the chuckle ended in a snore.
It was thick weather outside, with a rising wind, and the elder men stretched their watches. The hour struck clear in the cabin; the nosing bows slapped and scuffed with the seas; the focsle stove-pipe hissed and sputtered as the spray caught it; and the boys slept on, while Disko, Long Jack, Tom Platt, and Uncle Salters, each in turn, stumped aft to look at the wheel, forward to see that the anchor held, or to veer out a little more cable against chafing, with a glance at the dim anchor-light between each round.
Harvey waked to find the first half at breakfast, the focsle door drawn to a crack, and every square inch of the schooner singing its own tune. The black bulk of the cook balanced behind the tiny galley over the glare of the stove, and the pots and pans in the pierced wooden board before it jarred and racketed to each plunge. Up and up the focsle climbed, yearning and surging and quivering, and then, with a clear, sickle-like swoop, came down into the seas. He could hear the flaring bows cut and squelch, and there was a pause ere the divided waters came down on the deck above, like a volley of buckshot. Followed the woolly sound of the cable in the hawse-hole; and a grunt and squeal of the windlass; a yaw, a punt, and a kick, and the Were Here gathered herself together to repeat the motions.
Now, ashore, he heard Long Jack saying, yeve chores, an ye must do thim in any weather. Here were well clear of the fleet, an weve no choresan thats a blessin. Good night, all. He passed like a big snake from the table to his bunk, and began to smoke. Tom Platt followed his example; Uncle Salters, with Penn, fought his way up the ladder to stand his watch, and the cook set for the second half.
It came out of its bunks as the others had entered theirs, with a shake and a yawn. It ate till it could eat no more; and then Manuel filled his pipe with some terrible tobacco, crotched himself between the pawl-post and a forward bunk, cocked his feet up on the table, and smiled tender and indolent smiles at the smoke. Dan lay at length in his bunk, wrestling with a gaudy, gilt-stopped accordion, whose tunes went up and down with the pitching of the Were Here. The cook, his shoulders against the locker where he kept the fried pies (Dan was fond of fried pies), peeled potatoes, with one eye on the stove in event of too much water finding its way down the pipe; and the general smell and smother were past all description.
Harvey considered affairs, wondered that he was not deathly sick, and crawled into his bunk again, as the softest and safest place, while Dan struck up, I dont want to play in your yard, as accurately as the wild jerks allowed.
How long is this for? Harvey asked of Manuel.
Till she get a little quiet, and we can row to trawl. Perhaps to-night. Perhaps two days more. You do not like? Eh, wha-at?
I should have been crazy sick a week ago, but it doesnt seem to upset me nowmuch.
That is because we make you fisherman, these days. If I was you, when I come to Gloucester I would give two, three big candles for my good luck.
To be surethe Virgin of our Church on the Hill. She is very good to fishermen all the time. That is why so few of us Portugee men ever are drowned.
Youre a Roman Catholic, then?
I am a Madeira man. I am not a Porto Pico boy. Shall I be Baptist, then? Eh, wha-at? I always give candlestwo, three more when I come to Gloucester. The good Virgin she never forgets me, Manuel.
I dont sense it that way, Tom Platt put in from his bunk, his scarred face lit up by the glare of a match as he sucked at his pipe. It stands to reason the seas the sea; and youll get jest about whats goin, candles or kerosene, fer that matter.
Tis a mighty good thing, said Long Jack, to have a frind at coort, though. Im o Manuels way o thinkin. About tin years back I was crew to a Sou Boston market-boat. We was off Minots Ledge wid a northeaster, butt first, atop of us, thickern burgoo. The ould man was dhrunk, his chin waggin on the tiller, an I sez to myself, If iver I stick my boat-huk into T-wharf again, Ill show the saints fwhat manner o craft they saved me out av. Now, Im here, as ye can well see, an the model of the dhirty ould Kathleen, that took me a month to make, I gave ut to the priest, an he hung ut up forninst the altar. Theres more sense in givin a model thats by way o bein a work av art than any candle. Ye can buy candles at store, but a model shows the good saints yeve tuk trouble an are grateful.
Dyou believe that, Irish? said Tom Platt, turning on his elbow.
Would I do ut if I did not, Ohio?
Wa-al, Enoch Fuller he made a model o the old Ohio, and shes to Calem museum now. Mighty pretty model, too, but I guess Enoch he never done it fer no sacrifice; an the way I take it is
There were the makings of an hour-long discussion of the kind that fishermen love, where the talk runs in shouting circles and no one proves anything at the end, had not Dan struck up this cheerful rhyme:
Up jumped the mackerel with his striped back.
Here Long Jack joined in:
And its blowy weather;
Dan went on, with a cautious look at Tom Platt, holding the accordion low in the bunk:
Up jumped the cod with his chuckle-head,
Tom Platt seemed to be hunting for something. Dan crouched lower, but sang louder:
Up jumped the flounder that swims to the ground.
Tom Platts huge rubber boot whirled across the focsle and caught Dans uplifted arm. There was war between the man and the boy ever since Dan had discovered that the mere whistling of that tune would make him angry as he heaved the lead.
Thought Id fetch yer, said Dan, returning the gift with precision. Ef you dont like my music, git out your fiddle. I aint goin to lie here all day an listen to you an Long Jack arguin baout candles. Fiddle, Tom Platt; or Ill learn Harve here the tune!
Tom Platt leaned down to a locker and brought up an old white fiddle. Manuels eye glistened, and from somewhere behind the pawl-post he drew out a tiny, guitar-like thing with wire strings, which he called a machette.
Tis a concert, said Long Jack, beaming through the smoke. A reglar Boston concert.
There was a burst of spray as the hatch opened, and Disko, in yellow oilskins, descended.
Yere just in time, Disko. Fwhats she doin outside?
Jest this! He dropped on to the lockers with the push and heave of the Were Here.
Were singin to kape our breakfasts down. Yell lead, av course, Disko, said Long Jack.
Guess there aint moren baout two old songs I know, an yeve heerd them both.
His excuses were cut short by Tom Platt launching into a most dolorous tune, like unto the moaning of winds and the creaking of masts. With his eyes fixed on the beams above, Disko began this ancient, ancient ditty, Tom Platt flourishing all round him to make the tune and words fit a little:
There is a crack packetcrack packet o fame,
Shes the Liverpool packetO Lord, let her go!
Now the Dreadnought shes howlin crost the Banks o Newfoundland,
Shes the Liverpool packetO Lord, let her go!,
There were scores of verses, for he worked the Dreadnought every mile of the way between Liverpool and New York as conscientiously as though he were on her deck, and the accordion pumped and the fiddle squeaked beside him. Tom Platt followed with something about the rough and tough McGinn, who would pilot the vessel in. Then they called on Harvey, who felt very flattered, to contribute to the entertainment; but all that he could remember were some pieces of Skipper Iresons Ride that he had been taught at the camp-school in the Adirondacks. It seemed that they might be appropriate to the time and place, but he had no more than mentioned the title when Disko brought down one foot with a bang, and cried, Dont go on, young feller. Thats a mistaken jedgmentone o the worst kind, too, becaze its catchin to the ear.
I orter ha warned you, said Dan. Thet allus fetches Dad.
Whats wrong? said Harvey, surprised and a little angry.
All youre goin to say, said Disko. All dead wrong from start to finish, an Whittier hes to blame. I have no special call to right any Marblehead man, but twerent no fault o Iresons. My father he told me the tale time an again, an this is the way twuz.
For the wan hundredth time, put in Long Jack under his breath
Ben Ireson he was skipper o the Betty, young feller, comin home frum the Banksthat was before the war of 1812, but jestice is jestice at all times. They fund the Active o Portland, an Gibbons o that town he was her skipper; they fund her leakin off Cape Cod Light. There was a terrble gale on, an they was gettin the Betty home s fast as they could craowd her. Well, Ireson he said there warnt any sense to reskin a boat in that sea; the men they wouldnt hev it; and he laid it before them to stay by the Active till the sea run daown a piece. They wouldnt hev that either, hangin araound the Cape in any sech weather, leak or no leak. They jest up staysl an quit, natrally takin Ireson with em. Folks to Marblehead was mad at him not runnin the risk, and becaze nex day, when the sea was caam (they never stopped to think o that), some of the Actives folks was took off by a Truro man. They come into Marblehead with their own tale to tell, sayin how Ireson had shamed his town, an so forth an so on, an Iresons men they was scared, seein public feelin agin em, an they went back on Ireson, an swore he was responsble for the hull act. Twerent the women neither that tarred and feathered himMarblehead women dont act that waytwas a passel o men an boys, an they carted him araound town in an old dory till the bottom fell aout, and Ireson he told em theyd be sorry for it some day. Well, the facts come aout later, sames they usually do, too late to be any ways useful to an honest man; an Whittier he come along an picked up the slack eend of a lyin tale, an tarred and feathered Ben Ireson all over onct more after he was dead. Twas the only tune Whittier ever slipped up, an twerent fair. I whaled Dan good when he brought that piece back from school. You dont know no better, o course; but Ive give you the facts, hereafter an evermore to be remembered. Ben Ireson werent no sech kind o man as Whittier makes aout; my father he knew him well, before an after that business, an you beware o hasty jedgments, young feller. Next!
Harvey had never heard Disko talk so long, and collapsed with burning cheeks; but, as Dan said promptly, a boy could only learn what he was taught at school, and life was too short to keep track of every lie along the coast.
Then Manuel touched the jangling, jarring little machette to a queer tune, and sang something in Portuguese about Nina, innocente! ending with a full-handed sweep that brought the song up with a jerk. Then Disko obliged with his second song, to an old-fashioned creaky tune, and all joined in the chorus. This is one stanza:
Now Aprile is over and melted the snow,
Here the fiddle went very softly for a while by itself, and then:
Wheat-in-the-ear, my true-loves posy blowin,
That made Harvey almost weep, though he could not tell why. But it was much worse when the cook dropped the potatoes and held out his hands for the fiddle. Still leaning against the locker door, he struck into a tune that was like something very bad but sure to happen whatever you did. After a little he sang, in an unknown tongue, his big chin down on the fiddle-tail, his white eyeballs glaring in the lamplight. Harvey swung out of his bunk to hear better; and amid the straining of the timbers and the wash of the waters the tune crooned and moaned on, like lee surf in a blind fog, till it ended with a wail.
Jimmy Christmas! Thet gives me the blue creevles, said Dan. What in thunder is it?
The song of Fin McCoul, said the cook, when he wass going to Norway. His English was not thick, but all clear-cut, as though it came from a phonograph.
Faith, Ive been to Norway, but I didnt make that unwholesim noise. Tis like some of the old songs, though, said Long Jack, sighing.
Dont lets hev another thout somethin between, said Dan; and the accordion struck up a rattling, catchy tune that ended:
Its six an twenty Sundays sence las we saw the land,
Hold on! roared Tom Platt. Dye want to nail the trip, Dan? Thats Jonah sure, less you sing it after all our salts wet.
No, taint, is it, Dad? Not unless you sing the very las verse. You cant learn me anything on Jonahs!
Whats that? said Harvey. Whats a Jonah?
A Jonahs anything that spoils the luck. Sometimes its a mansometimes its a boyor a bucket. Ive known a splittin-knife Jonah two trips till we was on to her, said Tom Platt. Theres all sorts o Jonahs. Jim Bourke was one till he was drowned on Georges. Id never ship with Jim Bourke, not if I was starvin. There wuz a green dory on the Ezra Flood. Thet was a Jonah, too, the worst sort o Jonah. Drowned four men, she did, an used to shine fiery O, nights in the nest.
And you believe that? said Harvey, remembering what Tom Platt had said about candles and models. Havent we all got to take whats served?
A mutter of dissent ran round the bunks. Outboard, yes; inboard, things can happen, said Disko. Dont you go makin a mock of Jonahs, young feller.
Well, Harve aint no Jonah. Day after we catched him, Dan cut in, we had a toppin good catch.
The cook threw up his head and laughed suddenlya queer, thin laugh. He was a most disconcerting nigger.
Murder! said Long Jack. Dont do that again, doctor. We aint used to ut.
Whats wrong? said Dan. Aint he our mascot, and didnt they strike on good after wed struck him?
Oh! yess, said the cook. I know that, but the catch iss not finish yet.
He aint goin to do us any harm, said Dan, hotly. Where are ye hintin an edgin to? Hes all right.
No harm. No. But one day he will be your master, Danny.
That all? said Dan, placidly. He wuntnot by a jugful.
Master! said the cook, pointing to Harvey. Man! and he pointed to Dan.
Thats news. Haow soon? said Dan, with a laugh.
In some years, and I shall see it. Master and manman and master.
How in thunder dye work that out? said Tom Platt.
In my head, where I can see.
Haow? This from all the others at once.
I do not know, but so it will be. He dropped his head, and went on peeling the potatoes, and not another word could they get out of him.
Well, said Dan, a heap o thingsll hev to come abaout fore Harves any master o mine; but Im glad the doctor aint choosen to mark him for a Jonah. Now, I mistrust Uncle Salters fer the Jonerest Jonah in the Fleet regardin his own special luck. Dunno ef its spreadin sames smallpox. He ought to be on the Carrie Pitman. That boats her own Jonah, surecrews an gear made no differ to her driftin. Jiminy Christmas! Shell etch loose in a flat caam.
Were well clear o the Fleet, anyway, said Disko. Carrie Pitman an all. There was a rapping on the deck.
Uncle Salters has catched his luck, said Dan as his father departed.
Its blown clear, Disko cried, and all the focsle tumbled up for a bit of fresh air. The fog had gone, but a sullen sea ran in great rollers behind it. The Were Here slid, as it were, into long, sunk avenues and ditches which felt quite sheltered and homelike if they would only stay still; but they changed without rest or mercy, and flung up the schooner to crown one peak of a thousand gray hills, while the wind hooted through her rigging as she zigzagged down the slopes. Far away a sea would burst into a sheet of foam, and the others would follow suit as at a signal, till Harveys eyes swam with the vision of interlacing whites and grays. Four or five Mother Careys chickens stormed round in circles, shrieking as they swept past the bows. A rain-squall or two strayed aimlessly over the hopeless waste, ran down wind and back again, and melted away.
Seems to me I saw somethin flicker jest naow over yonder, said Uncle Salters, pointing to the northeast.
Cant be any of the fleet, said Disko, peering under his eyebrows, a hand on the focsle gangway as the solid bows hatcheted into the troughs. Seas oilin over dretful fast. Danny, dont you want to skip up a piece an see how aour trawl-buoy lays?
Danny, in his big boots, trotted rather than climbed up the main rigging (this consumed Harvey with envy), hitched himself around the reeling cross-trees, and let his eye rove till it caught the tiny black buoy-flag on the shoulder of a mile-away swell.
Shes all right, he hailed. Sail O! Dead to the nothard, comin down like smoke! Schooner she be, too.
They waited yet another half-hour, the sky clearing in patches, with a flicker of sickly sun from time to time that made patches of olive-green water. Then a stump-foremast lifted, ducked, and disappeared, to be followed on the next wave by a high stern with old-fashioned wooden snails-horn davits. The snails were red-tanned.
Frenchmen! shouted Dan. No, taint, neither. Da-ad!
Thats no French, said Disko. Salters, your blame luck holds tightern a screw in a keg-head.
Ive eyes. Its Uncle Abishai.
You cant nowise tell fer sure.
The head-king of all Jonahs, groaned Tom Platt. Oh, Salters, Salters, why wasnt you abed an asleep?
How could I tell? said poor Salters, as the schooner swung up.
She might have been the very Flying Dutchman, so foul, draggled, and unkempt was every rope and stick aboard. Her old-style quarterdeck was some or five feet high, and her rigging flew knotted and tangled like weed at a wharf-end. She was running before the windyawing frightfullyher staysail let down to act as a sort of extra foresail,scandalized, they call it,and her foreboom guyed out over the side. Her bowsprit cocked up like an old-fashioned frigates; her jib-boom had been fished and spliced and nailed and clamped beyond further repair; and as she hove herself forward, and sat down on her broad tail, she looked for all the world like a blouzy, frouzy, bad old woman sneering at a decent girl.
Thats Abishai, said Salters. Full o gin an Judique men, an the judgments o Providence layin fer him an never takin good holt Hes run in to bait, Miquelon way.
Hell run her under, said Long Jack. Thats no rig fer this weather.
Not he, r heda done it long ago, Disko replied. Looks s if he callated to run us under. Aint she daown by the head more n natural, Tom Platt?
Ef its his style o loadin her she aint safe, said the sailor slowly. Ef shes spewed her oakum hed better git to his pumps mighty quick.
The creature threshed up, wore round with a clatter and raffle, and lay head to wind within ear-shot.
A gray-beard wagged over the bulwark, and a thick voice yelled something Harvey could not understand. But Diskos face darkened. Hed resk every stick he hez to carry bad news. Says were in fer a shift o wind. Hes in fer worse. Abishai! Abi-shai! He waved his arm up and down with the gesture of a man at the pumps, and pointed forward. The crew mocked him and laughed.
Jounce ye, an strip ye an trip ye! yelled Uncle Abishai. A livin galea livin gale. Yab! Cast up fer your last trip, all you Gloucester haddocks. You wont see Gloucester no more, no more!
Crazy fullas usual, said Tom Platt. Wish he hadnt spied us, though.
She drifted out of hearing while the gray-head yelled something about a dance at the Bay of Bulls and a dead man in the focsle. Harvey shuddered. He had seen the sloven tilled decks and the savage-eyed crew.
An thats a fine little floatin hell fer her draught, said Long Jack. I wondher what mischief hes been at ashore.
Hes a trawler, Dan explained to Harvey, an he runs in fer bait all along the coast. Oh, no, not home, he dont go. He deals along the south an east shore up yonder. He nodded in the direction of the pitiless Newfoundland beaches. Dad wont never take me ashore there. Theyre a mighty tough crowdan Abishais the toughest. You saw his boat? Well, shes nigh seventy year old, they say; the last o the old Marblehead heel-tappers. They dont make them quarterdecks any more. Abishai dont use Marblehead, though. He aint wanted there. He jes drifs araound, in debt, trawlin an cussin like youve heard. Bin a Jonah fer years an years, he hez. Gits liquor frum the Feecamp boats fer makin spells an selling winds an such truck. Crazy, I guess.
Twont be any use underrunnin the trawl to-night, said Tom Platt, with quiet despair. He come alongside special to cuss us. Id give my wage an share to see him at the gangway o the old Ohio fore we quit floggin. Jest abaout six dozen, an Sam Mocatta layin em on criss-cross!
The disheveled heel-tapper danced drunkenly down wind, and all eyes followed her. Suddenly the cook cried in his phonograph voice: It wass his own death made him speak so! He iss feyfey, I tell you! Look! She sailed into a patch of watery sunshine three or four miles distant. The patch dulled and faded out, and even as the light passed so did the schooner. She dropped into a hollow andwas not.
Run under, by the Great Hook-Block! shouted Disko, jumping aft. Drunk or sober, weve got to help em. Heave short and break her out! Smart!
Harvey was thrown on the deck by the shock that followed the setting of the jib and foresail, for they hove short on the cable, and to save time, jerked the anchor bodily from the bottom, heaving in as they moved away. This is a bit of brute force seldom resorted to except in matters of life and death, and the little Were Here complained like a human. They ran down to where Abishais craft had vanished; found two or three trawl-tubs, a gin-bottle, and a stove-in dory, but nothing more. Let em go, said Disko, though no one had hinted at picking them up. I wouldnt hev a match that belonged to Abishai aboard. Guess she run clear under. Must ha been spewin her oakum fer a week, an they never thought to pump her. Thats one more boat gone along o leavin port all hands drunk.
Glory be! said Long Jack. Wed ha been obliged to help em if they was top o water.
Thinkin o that myself, said Tom Platt.
Fey! Fey! said the cook, rolling his eyes. He haas taken his own luck with him.
Ver good thing, I think, to tell the Fleet when we see. Eh, wha-at? said Manuel. If you runna that way before the wind, and she work open her seams He threw out his hands with an indescribable gesture, while Penn sat down on the house and sobbed at the sheer horror and pity of it all. Harvey could not realize that he had seen death on the open waters, but he felt very sick. Then Dan went up the cross-trees, and Disko steered them back to within sight of their own trawl-buoys just before the fog blanketed the sea once again.
We go mighty quick hereabouts when we do go, was all he said to Harvey. You think on that fer a spell, young feller. That was liquor.
After dinner it was calm enough to fish from the decks,Penn and Uncle Salters were very zealous this time,and the catch was large and large fish.
Abishai has shorely took his luck with him, said Salters. The wind haint backed ner riz ner nothin. How abaout the trawl? I despise superstition, anyway.
Tom Platt insisted that they had much better haul the thing and make a new berth. But the cook said: The luck iss in two pieces. You will find it so when you look. I know. This so tickled Long Jack that he overbore Tom Platt and the two went out together.
Underrunning a trawl means pulling it in on one side of the dory, picking off the fish, rebaiting the hooks, and passing them back to the sea againsomething like pinning and unpinning linen on a wash-line. It is a lengthy business and rather dangerous, for the long, sagging line may twitch a boat under in a flash. But when they heard, And naow to thee, O Capting, booming out of the fog, the crew of the Were Here took heart. The dory swirled alongside well loaded, Tom Platt yelling for Manuel to act as relief-boat.
The lucks cut square in two pieces, said Long Jack, forking in the fish, while Harvey stood open-mouthed at the skill with which the plunging dory was saved from destruction. One half was jest punkins. Tom Platt wanted to haul her an ha done wid ut; but I said, Ill back the doctor that has the second sight, an the other half come up sagging full o big uns. Hurry, Mannle, an brings a tub o bait. Theres luck afloat to-night.
The fish bit at the newly baited hooks from which their brethren had just been taken, and Tom Platt and Long Jack moved methodically up and down the length of the trawl, the boats nose surging under the wet line of hooks, stripping the sea-cucumbers that they called pumpkins, slatting off the fresh-caught cod against the gunwale, rebaiting, and loading Manuels dory till dusk.
Ill take no risks, said Disko thennot with him floatin around so near. Abishai wont sink fer a week. Heave in the dories an well dress daown after supper.
That was a mighty dressing-down, attended by three or four blowing grampuses. It lasted till nine oclock, and Disko was thrice heard to chuckle as Harvey pitched the split fish into the hold.
Say, youre haulin ahead dretful fast, said Dan, when they ground the knives after the men had turned in. Theres somethin of a sea to-night, an I haint heard you make no remarks on it.
Too busy, Harvey replied, testing a blades edge. Come to think of it, she is a high-kicker.
The little schooner was gambolling all around her anchor among the silver-tipped waves. Backing with a start of affected surprise at the sight of the strained cable, she pounced on it like a kitten, while the spray of her descent burst through the hawse-holes with the report of a gun. Shaking her head, she would say: Well, Im sorry I cant stay any longer with you. Im going North, and would sidle off, halting suddenly with a dramatic rattle of her rigging. As I was just going to observe, she would begin, as gravely as a drunken man addressing a lamp-post. The rest of the sentence (she acted her words in dumb-show, of course) was lost in a fit of the fidgets, when she behaved like a puppy chewing a string, a clumsy woman in a side-saddle, a hen with her head cut off, or a cow stung by a hornet, exactly as the whims of the sea took her.
See her sayin her piece. Shes Patrick Henry naow, said Dan.
She swung sideways on a roller, and gesticulated with her jib-boom from port to starboard.
But-ez-fer me, give me liberty-er give me-death!
Wop! She sat down in the moon-path on the water, courtesying with a flourish of pride impressive enough had not the wheel-gear sniggered mockingly in its box.
Harvey laughed aloud. Why, its just as if she was alive, he said.
Shes as stiddy as a haouse an as dry as a herrin, said Dan enthusiastically, as he was slung across the deck in a batter of spray. Fends em off an fends em off, an Dont ye come anigh me, she sez. Look at herjest look at her! Sakes! You should see one o them toothpicks histin up her anchor on her spike outer fifteen-fathom water.
Whats a toothpick, Dan?
Them new haddockers an herrin-boats. Fines a yacht forward, with yacht sterns to em, an spike bowsprits, an a haouse that ud take our hold. Ive heard that Burgess himself he made the models fer three or four of em. Dads sot agin em on account o their pitchin an joltin, but theres heaps o money in em. Dad can find fish, but he aint no ways progressivehe dont go with the march o the times. Theyre chock-full o labour-savin jigs an sech all. Ever seed the Elector o Gloucester? Shes a daisy, ef she is a toothpick.
What do they cost, Dan?
Hills o dollars. Fifteen thousand, phaps; more, mebbe. Theres gold-leaf an everything you kin think of. Then to himself, half under his breath, Guess Id call her Hattie S., too.
That was the first of many talks with Dan, who told Harvey why he would transfer his dorys name to the imaginary Burgess-modelled haddocker. Harvey heard a good deal about the real Hattie at Gloucester; saw a lock of her hairwhich Dan, finding fair words of no avail, had hooked as she sat in front of him at school that winterand a photograph. Hattie was about fourteen years old, with an awful contempt for boys, and had been trampling on Dans heart through the winter. All this was revealed under oath of solemn secrecy on moonlit decks, in the dead dark, or in choking fog; the whining wheel behind them, the climbing deck before, and without, the unresting, clamorous sea. Once, of course, as the boys came to know each other, there was a fight, which raged from bow to stern till Penn came up and separated them, but promised not to tell Disko, who thought fighting on watch rather worse than sleeping. Harvey was no match for Dan physically, but it says a great deal for his new training that he took his defeat and did not try to get even with his conqueror by underhand methods.
That was after he had been cured of a string of boils between his elbows and wrists, where the wet jersey and oilskins cut into the flesh. The salt water stung them unpleasantly, but when they were ripe Dan treated them with Diskos razor, and assured Harvey that now he was a blooded Banker; the affliction of gurry-sores being the mark of the caste that claimed him.
Since he was a boy and very busy, he did not bother his head with too much thinking. He was exceedingly sorry for his mother, and often longed to see her and above all to tell her of this wonderful new life, and how brilliantly he was acquitting himself in it. Otherwise he preferred not to wonder too much how she was bearing the shock of his supposed death. But one day, as he stood on the focsle ladder, guying the cook, who had accused him and Dan of hooking fried pies, it occurred to him that this was a vast improvement on being snubbed by strangers in the smoking-room of a hired liner.
He was a recognized part of the scheme of things on the Were Here; had his place at the table and among the bunks; and could hold his own in the long talks on stormy days, when the others were always ready to listen to what they called his fairy-tales of his life ashore. It did not take him more than two days and a quarter to feel that if he spoke of his own lifeit seemed very far awayno one except Dan (and even Dans belief was sorely tried) credited him. So he invented a friend, a boy he had heard of, who drove a miniature four-pony drag in Toledo, Ohio, and ordered five suits of clothes at a time and led things called germans at parties where the oldest girl was not quite fifteen, but all the presents were solid silver. Salters protested that this kind of yarn was desperately wicked, if not indeed positively blasphemous, but he listened as greedily as the others; and their criticisms at the end gave Harvey entirely new notions on germans, clothes, cigarettes with gold-leaf tips, rings, watches, scent, small dinner-parties, champagne, card-playing, and hotel accommodation. Little by little he changed his tone when speaking of his friend, whom Long Jack had christened the Crazy Kid, the Gilt-edged Baby, the Suckin Vanderpoop, and other pet names; and with his sea-booted feet cocked up on the table would even invent histories about silk pajamas and specially imported neckwear, to the friends discredit. Harvey was a very adaptable person, with a keen eye and ear for every face and tone about him.
Before long he knew where Disko kept the old greencrusted quadrant that they called the hog-yokeunder the bed-bag in his bunk. When he took the sun, and with the help of The Old Farmers almanac found the latitude, Harvey would jump down into the cabin and scratch the reckoning and date with a nail on the rust of the stove-pipe. Now, the chief engineer of the liner could have done no more, and no engineer of thirty years service could have assumed one half of the ancient-mariner air with which Harvey, first careful to spit over the side, made public the schooners position for that day, and then and not till then relieved Disko of the quadrant. There is an etiquette in all these things.
The said hog-yoke, an Eldridge chart, the farming almanac, Blunts Coast Pilot, and Bowditchs Navigator were all the weapons Disko needed to guide him, except the deep-sea lead that was his spare eye. Harvey nearly slew Penn with it when Tom Platt taught him first how to fly the blue pigeon; and, though his strength was not equal to continuous sounding in any sort of a sea, for calm weather with a seven-pound lead on shoal water Disko used him freely. As Dan said:
Taint soundins dad wants. Its samples. Grease her up good, Harve. Harvey would tallow the cup at the end, and carefully bring the sand, shell, sludge, or whatever it might be, to Disko, who fingered and smelt it and gave judgment As has been said, when Disko thought of cod he thought as a cod; and by some long-tested mixture of instinct and experience, moved the Were Here from berth to berth, always with the fish, as a blindfolded chess-player moves on the unseen board.
But Diskos board was the Grand Banka triangle two hundred and fifty miles on each sidea waste of wallowing sea, cloaked with dank fog, vexed with gales, harried with drifting ice, scored by the tracks of the reckless liners, and dotted with the sails of the fishing-fleet.
For days they worked in fogHarvey at the belltill, grown familiar with the thick airs, he went out with Tom Platt, his heart rather in his mouth. But the fog would not lift, and the fish were biting, and no one can stay helplessly afraid for six hours at a time. Harvey devoted himself to his lines and the gaff or gob-stick as Tom Platt called for them; and they rowed back to the schooner guided by the bell and Toms instinct; Manuels conch sounding thin and faint beside them. But it was an unearthly experience, and, for the first time in a month, Harvey dreamed of the shifting, smoking floors of water round the dory, the lines that strayed away into nothing, and the air above that melted on the sea below ten feet from his straining eyes. A few days later he was out with Manuel on what should have been forty-fathom bottom, but the whole length of the roding ran out, and still the anchor found nothing, and Harvey grew mortally afraid, for that his last touch with earth was lost. Whale-hole, said Manuel, hauling in. That is good joke on Disko. Come! and he rowed to the schooner to find Tom Platt and the others jeering at the skipper because, for once, he had led them to the edge of the barren Whale-deep, the blank hole of the Grand Bank. They made another berth through the fog, and that time the hair of Harveys head stood up when he went out in Manuels dory. A whiteness moved in the whiteness of the fog with a breath like the breath of the grave, and there was a roaring, a plunging, and spouting. It was his first introduction to the dread summer berg of the Banks, and he cowered in the bottom of the boat while Manuel laughed. There were days, though, clear and soft and warm, when it seemed a sin to do anything but loaf over the hand-lines and spank the drifting sun-scalds with an oar; and there were days of light airs, when Harvey was taught how to steer the schooner from one berth to another.
It thrilled through him when he first felt the keel answer to his band on the spokes and slide over the long hollows as the foresail scythed back and forth against the blue sky. That was magnificent, in spite of Disko saying that it would break a snakes back to follow his wake. But, as usual, pride ran before a fall. They were sailing on the wind with the staysailan old one, luckilyset, and Harvey jammed her right into it to show Dan how completely he had mastered the art. The foresail went over with a bang, and the foregaff stabbed and ripped through the staysail, which was, of course, prevented from going over by the mainstay. They lowered the wreck in awful silence, and Harvey spent his leisure hours for the next few days under Tom Platts lee, learning to use a needle and palm. Dan hooted with joy, for, as he said, he had made the very same blunder himself in his early days.
Boylike, Harvey imitated all the men by turns, till he had combined Diskos peculiar stoop at the wheel, Long Jacks swinging overhand when the lines were hauled, Manuels round-shouldered but effective stroke in a dory, and Tom Platts generous Ohio stride along the deck.
Tis beautiful to see how he takes to ut, said Long Jack, when Harvey was looking out by the windlass one thick noon. Ill lay my wage an share tis moren half play-actin to him, an he consates himself hes a bowld mariner. Watch his little bit av a back now!
Thats the way we all begin, said Tom Platt. The boys they make believe all the time till theyve cheated emselves into bein men, an so till they diepretendin an pretendin. I done it on the old Ohio, I know. Stood my first watchharbor-watchfeelin finern Farragut. Dans full o the same kind o notions. See em now, actin to be genewine moss-backsvery hair a rope-yarn an blood Stockholm tar. He spoke down the cabin stairs. Guess youre mistook in your judgments fer once, Disko. What in Rome made ye tell us all here the kid was crazy?
He wuz, Disko replied. Crazy ez a loon when he come aboard; but Ill say hes sobered up considble sence. I cured him.
He yarns good, said Tom Platt. Tother night he told us abaout a kid of his own size steerin a cunnin little rig an four ponies up an down Toledo, Ohio, I think twas, an givin suppers to a crowd o simlar kids. Curus kind o fairy-tale, but blame interestin. He knows scores of em.
Guess he strikes em outen his own head, Disko called from the cabin, where he was busy with the logbook. Stands to reason that sort is all made up. It dont take in no one but Dan, an he laughs at it. Ive heard him, behind my back.
Yever hear what Simon Peter Cahoun said when they whacked up a match twix his sister Hitty an Lorin Jerauld, an the boys put up that joke on him daown to Georges? drawled Uncle Salters, who was dripping peaceably under the lee of the starboard dory-nest.
Tom Platt puffed at his pipe in scornful silence: he was a Cape Cod man, and had not known that tale more than twenty years. Uncle Salters went on with a rasping chuckie:
Simon Peter Cahoun he said, an he was jest right, abaout Lorin, Haaf on the taown, he said, an tother haaf blame fool; an they told me shes married a ich man. Simon Peter Cahoun he hednt no roof to his mouth, an talked that way.
He didnt talk any Pennsylvania Dutch, Tom Platt replied. Youd better leave a Cape man to tell that tale. The Cahouns was gypsies frum way back.
Wal, I dont profess to be any elocutionist, Salters said. Im comin to the moral o things. Thats jest abaout what aour Harve be! Haaf on the taown, an tother haaf blame fool; an theres somell believe hes a rich man. Yah!
Did ye ever think how sweet twould be to sail wid a full crew o Salterses? said Long Jack. Haaf in the furrer an other haaf in the muck-heap, as Cahoun did not say, an makes out hes a fisherman!
A little laugh went round at Salterss expense.
Disko held his tongue, and wrought over the log-book that he kept in a hatchet-faced, square hand; this was the kind of thing that ran on, page after soiled page:
July 17. This day thick fog and few fish. Made berth to northward. So ends this day.
July 18. This day comes in with thick fog. Caught a few fish.
July 19. This day comes in with light breeze from N.E. and fine weather. Made a berth to eastward. Caught plenty fish.
July 20. This, the Sabbath, comes in with fog and light winds. So ends this day. Total fish caught this week, 3,478.
They never worked on Sundays, but shaved, and washed themselves if it were fine, and Pennsylvania sang hymns. Once or twice he suggested that, if it was not an impertinence, he thought he could preach a little. Uncle Salters nearly jumped down his throat at the mere notion, reminding him that he was not a preacher and mustnt think of such things. Wed hev him rememberin Johns-town next, Salters explained, an what would happen then? so they compromised on his reading aloud from a book called Josephus. It was an old leather-bound volume, smelling of a hundred voyages, very solid and very like the Bible, but enlivened with accounts of battles and sieges; and they read it nearly from cover to cover. Otherwise Penn was a silent little body. He would not utter a word for three days on end sometimes, though he played checkers, listened to the songs, and laughed at the stories. When they tried to stir him up, he would answer: I dont wish to seem unneighbourly, but it is because I have nothing to say. My head feels quite empty. Ive almost forgotten my name. He would turn to Uncle Salters with an expectant smile.
Why, Pennsylvania Pratt, Salters would shout Youll fergit me next!
Nonever, Penn would say, shutting his lips firmly. Pennsylvania Pratt, of course, he would repeat over and over. Sometimes it was Uncle Salters who forgot, and told him he was Haskins or Rich or McVitty; but Penn was equally contenttill next time.
He was always very tender with Harvey, whom he pitied both as a lost child and as a lunatic; and when Salters saw that Penn liked the boy, he relaxed, too. Salters was not an amiable person (He esteemed it his business to keep the boys in order); and the first time Harvey, in fear and trembling, on a still day, managed to shin up to the main-truck (Dan was behind him ready to help), he esteemed it his duty to hang Salterss big sea-boots up therea sight of shame and derision to the nearest schooner. With Disko, Harvey took no liberties; not even when the old man dropped direct orders, and treated him, like the rest of the crew, to Dont you want to do so and so? and Guess youd better, and so forth. There was something about the clean-shaven lips and the puckered corners of the eyes that was mightily sobering to young blood.
Disko showed him the meaning of the thumbed and pricked chart, which, he said, laid over any government publication whatsoever; led him, pencil in hand, from berth to berth over the whole string of banksLe Have, Western, Banquereau, St. Pierre, Green, and Grandtalking cod meantime. Taught him, too, the principle on which the hog-yoke was worked.
In this Harvey excelled Dan, for he had inherited a head for figures, and the notion of stealing information from one glimpse of the sullen Bank sun appealed to all his keen wits. For other sea-matters his age handicapped him. As Disko said, he should have begun when he was ten. Dan could bait up trawl or lay his hand on any rope in the dark; and at a pinch, when Uncle Salters had a gurry-score on his palm, could dress down by sense of touch. He could steer in anything short of half a gale from the feel of the wind on his face, humouring the Were Here just when she needed it. These things he did as automatically as he skipped about the rigging, or made his dory a part of his own will and body. But he could not communicate his knowledge to Harvey.
Still there was a good deal of general information flying about the schooner on stormy days, when they lay up in the focsle or sat on the cabin lockers, while spare eye-bolts, leads, and rings rolled and rattled in the pauses of the talk. Disko spoke of whaling voyages in the Fifties; of great she-whales slain beside their young; of death agonies on the black tossing seas, and blood that spurted forty feet in the air; of boats smashed to splinters; of patent rockets that went off wrong-end-first and bombarded the trembling crews; of cutting-in and boiling-down, and that terrible nip of 71, when twelve hundred men were made homeless on the ice in three dayswonderful tales, all true. But more wonderful still were his stories of the cod, and how they argued and reasoned on their private businesses deep down below the keel.
Long Jacks tastes ran more to the supernatural. He held them silent with ghastly stories of the Yo-hoes on Monomoy Beach, that mock and terrify lonely clam-diggers; of sand-walkers and dune-haunters who were never properly buried; of hidden treasure on Fire Island guarded by the spirits of Kidds men; of ships that sailed in the fog straight over Truro township; of that harbor in Maine where no one but a stranger will lie at anchor twice in a certain place because of a dead crew who row alongside at midnight with the anchor in the bow of their old-fashioned boat, whistlingnot calling, but whistlingfor the soul of the man who broke their rest.
Harvey had a notion that the east coast of his native land, from Mount Desert south, was populated chiefly by people who took their horses there in the summer and entertained in country-houses with hardwood floors and Vantine portires. He laughed at the ghost-tales,not as much as he would have done a month before,but ended by sitting still and shuddering.
Tom Platt dealt with his interminable trip round the Horn on the old Ohio in flogging days, with a navy more extinct than the dodothe navy that passed away in the great war. He told them how red-hot shot are dropped into a cannon, a wad of wet clay between them and the cartridge; how they sizzle and reek when they strike wood, and how the little ship-boys of the Miss Jim Buck hove water over them and shouted to the fort to try again. And he told tales of blockadelong weeks of swaying at anchor, varied only by the departure and return of steamers that had used up their coal (there was no chance for the sailing-ships); of gales and cold that kept two hundred men, night and day, pounding and chopping at the ice on cable, blocks, and rigging, when the galley was as red-hot as the forts shot, and men drank cocoa by the bucket. Tom Platt had no use for steam. His service closed when that thing was comparatively new. He admitted that it was a specious invention in time of peace, but looked hopefully for the day when sails should come back again on ten-thousand-ton frigates with hundred-and-ninety-foot booms.
Manuels talk was slow and gentleall about pretty girls in Madeira washing clothes in the dry beds of streams, by moonlight, under waving bananas; legends of saints, and tales of queer dances or fights away in the cold Newfoundland baiting-ports. Salters was mainly agricultural; for, though he read Josephus and expounded it, his mission in life was to prove the value of green manures, and specially of clover, against every form of phosphate whatsoever. He grew libellous about phosphates; he dragged greasy Orange Judd books from his bunk and intoned them, wagging his finger at Harvey, to whom it was all Greek. Little Penn was so genuinely pained when Harvey made fun of Salterss lectures that the boy gave it up, and suffered in polite silence. That was very good for Harvey.
The cook naturally did not join in these conversations. As a rule, he spoke only when it was absolutely necessary; but at times a queer gift of speech descended on him, and he held forth, half in Gaelic, half in broken English, an hour at a time. He was especially communicative with the boys, and he never withdrew his prophecy that one day Harvey would be Dans master, and that he would see it. He told them of mail-carrying in the winter up Cape Breton way, of the dog-train that goes to Coudray, and of the ram-steamer Arctic, that breaks the ice between the mainland and Prince Edward Island. Then he told them stories that his mother had told him, of life far to the southward, where water never froze; and he said that when he died his soul would go to lie down on a warm white beach of sand with palm-trees waving above. That seemed to the boys a very odd idea for a man who had never seen a palm in his life. Then, too, regularly at each meal, he would ask Harvey, and Harvey alone, whether the cooking was to his taste; and this always made the second half laugh. Yet they had a great respect for the cooks judgment, and in their hearts considered Harvey something of a mascot by consequence.
And while Harvey was taking in knowledge of new things at each pore and hard health with every gulp of the good air, the Were Here went her ways and did her business on the Bank, and the silvery-gray kenches of well-pressed fish mounted higher and higher in the hold. No one days work was out of common, but the average days were many and close together.
Naturally, a man of Diskos reputation was closely watchedscrowged upon, Dan called itby his neighbours, but he had a very pretty knack of giving them the slip through the curdling, glidy fog-banks. Disko avoided company for two reasons. He wished to make his own experiments, in the first place; and in the second, he objected to the mixed gatherings of a fleet of all nations. The bulk of them were mainly Gloucester boats, with a scattering from Provincetown, Harwich, Chatham, and some of the Maine ports, but the crews drew from goodness knows where. Risk breeds recklessness, and when greed is added there are fine chances for every kind of accident in the crowded fleet, which, like a mob of sheep, is huddled round some unrecognized leader. Let the two Jeraulds lead em, said Disko. Were baound to lay among em for a spell on the Eastern Shoals; though ef luck holds, we wont hev to lay long. Where we are naow, Harve, aint considered noways good graound.
Aint it? said Harvey, who was drawing water (he had learned just how to wiggle the bucket), after an unusually long dressing-down. Shouldnt mind striking some poor ground for a change, then.
All the graound I want to seedont want to strike heris Eastern Point, said Dan. Say, Dad, it lookss if we wouldnt hev to lay moren two weeks on the Shoals. Youll meet all the compny you want then, Harve. Thats the time we begin to work. No reglar meals fer no one then. Mug-up when yere hungry, an sleep when ye cant keep awake. Good job you wasnt picked up a month later than you was, or wed never ha had you dressed in shape fer the Old Virgin.
Harvey understood from the Eldridge chart that the Old Virgin and a nest of curiously named shoals were the turning-point of the cruise, and that with good luck they would wet the balance of their salt there. But seeing the size of the Virgin (it was one tiny dot), he wondered how even Disko with the hog-yoke and the lead could find her. He learned later that Disko was entirely equal to that and any other business and could even help others. A big four-by-five blackboard hung in the cabin, and Harvey never understood the need of it till, after some blinding thick days, they heard the unmelodious tooting of a foot-power fog-horna machine whose note is as that of a consumptive elephant.
They were making a short berth, towing the anchor under their foot to save trouble. Square-rigger bellowin fer his latitude, said Long Jack. The dripping red head-sails of a bark glided out of the fog, and the Were Here rang her bell thrice, using sea shorthand.
The larger boat backed her topsail with shrieks and shoutings.
Frenchman, said Uncle Salters, scornfully. Miquelon boat from St. Malo. The farmer had a weatherly sea-eye. Im most outer baccy, too, Disko.
Same here, said Tom Platt. Hi! Backez vousbackez vous! Standez awayez, you butt-ended mucho-bono! Where you fromSt. Malo, eh?
Ah, ha! Mucho bono! Oui! oui! Clos PouletSt. Malo! St. Pierre et Miquelon, cried the other crowd, waving woollen caps and laughing. Then all together, Bord! Bord!
Bring up the board, Danny. Beats me how them Frenchmen fetch anywheres, exceptin Americas fairish broadly. Forty-six forty-nines good enough fer them; an I guess its abaout right, too.
Dan chalked the figures on the board, and they hung it in the main-rigging to a chorus of mercis from the bark.
Seems kinder uneighbourly to let em swedge off like this, Salters suggested, feeling in his pockets.
Hev ye learned French then sence last trip? said Disko. I dont want no more stone-ballast hove at us long o your callin Miquelon boats footy cochins, sames you did off Le Have.
Harmon Rush he said that was the way to rise em. Plain United States is good enough fer me. Were all dretful short on terbakker. Young feller, dont you speak French?
Oh, yes, said Harvey valiantly; and he bawled: Hi! Say! Arretez vous! Attendez! Nous sommes venant pour tabac.
Ah, tabac, tabac! they cried, and laughed again.
That hit em. Lets heave a dory over, anyway, said Tom Platt. I dont exactly hold no certificates on French, but I know another lingo that goes, I guess. Come on, Harve, an interpret.
The raffle and confusion when he and Harvey were hauled up the barks black side was indescribable. Her cabin was all stuck round with glaring coloured prints of the Virginthe Virgin of Newfoundland, they called her. Harvey found his French of no recognized Bank brand, and his conversation was limited to nods and grins. But Tom Platt waved his arms and got along swimmingly. The captain gave him a drink of unspeakable gin, and the opera-comique crew, with their hairy throats, red caps, and long knives, greeted him as a brother. Then the trade began. They had tobacco, plenty of itAmerican, that had never paid duty to France. They wanted chocolate and crackers. Harvey rowed back to arrange with the cook and Disko, who owned the stores, and on his return the cocoa-tins and cracker-bags were counted out by the Frenchmans wheel. It looked like a piratical division of loot; but Tom Platt came out of it roped with black pigtail and stuffed with cakes of chewing and smoking tobacco. Then those jovial mariners swung off into the mist, and the last Harvey heard was a gay chorus:
Par derriere chez ma tante,
Que donneriez vous, belle,
How was it my French didnt go, and your sign-talk did? Harvey demanded when the barter had been distributed among the Were Heres.
Sign-talk! Platt guffawed. Well, yes, twas sign-talk, but a heap oldern your French, Harve. Them French boats are chockfull o Freemasons, an thats why.
Are you a Freemason, then?
Looks that way, dont it? said the man-o-wars man, stuffing his pipe; and Harvey had another mystery of the deep sea to brood upon.
The thing that struck him most was the exceedingly casual way in which some craft loafed about the broad Atlantic. Fishing-boats, as Dan said, were naturally dependent on the courtesy and wisdom of their neighbours; but one expected better things of steamers. That was after another interesting interview, when they had been chased for three miles by a big lumbering old cattle-boat, all boarded over on the upper deck, that smelt like a thousand cattle-pens. A very excited officer yelled at them through a speaking-trumpet, and she lay and lollopped helplessly on the water while Disko ran the Were Here under her lee and gave the skipper a piece of his mind. Where might ye beeh? Ye dont deserve to be anywheres. You barn-yard tramps go hoggin the road on the high seas with no blame consideration fer your neighbours, an your eyes in your coffee-cups instid o in your silly heads.
At this the skipper danced on the bridge and said something about Diskos own eyes. We havent had an observation for three days. Dyou suppose we can run her blind? he shouted.
Wa-al, I can, Disko retorted. Whats come to your lead? Et it? Cant ye smell bottom, or are them cattle too rank?
What d ye feed em? said Uncle Salters with intense seriousness, for the smell of the pens woke all the farmer in him. They say they fall off dretful on a vyage. Dunno as its any o my business, but Ive a kind o notion that oil-cake broke small an sprinkled
Thunder! said a cattle-man in a red jersey as he looked over the side. What asylum did they let His Whiskers out of?
Young feller, Salters began, standing up in the fore-rigging, let me tell yeou fore we go any further that Ive
The officer on the bridge took off his cap with immense politeness. Excuse me, he said, but Ive asked for my reckoning. If the agricultural person with the hair will kindly shut his head, the sea-green barnacle with the wall-eye may per-haps condescend to enlighten us.
Naow youve made a show o me, Salters, said Disko, angrily. He could not stand up to that particular sort of talk, and snapped out the latitude and longitude without more lectures.
Well, thats a boat-load of lunatics, sure, said the skipper, as he rang up the engine-room and tossed a bundle of newspapers into the schooner.
Of all the blamed fools, next to you, Salters, him an his crowd are abaout the likeliest Ive ever seen, said Disko as the Were Here slid away. I was jest givin him my jedgment on lullsikin round these waters like a lost child, an you must cut in with your fool farmin. Cant ye never keep things seprate?
Harvey, Dan, and the others stood back, winking one to the other and full of joy; but Disko and Salters wrangled seriously till evening, Salters arguing that a cattle-boat was practically a barn on blue water, and Disko insisting that, even if this were the case, decency and fisher-pride demanded that he should have kept things seprate. Long Jack stood it in silence for a time,an angry skipper makes an unhappy crew,and then he spoke across the table after supper:
Fwhats the good o bodderin fwhat theyll say? said he.
Theyll tell that tale agin us fer yearsthats all, said Disko. Oil-cake sprinkled!
With salt, o course, said Salters, impenitent, reading the farming reports from a week-old New York paper.
Its plumb mortifyin to all my feelins, the skipper went on.
Cant see ut that way, said Long Jack, the peacemaker Look at here, Disko! Is there another packet afloat this day in this weather cud ha met a tramp an over an above givin her her reckonin,over an above that, I say,cud ha discoorsed wid her quite intelligent on the management av steers an such at sea? Forgit ut! Av coorse they will not. Twas the most compenjus conversation that iver accrued. Double game an twice runninall to us. Dan kicked Harvey under the table, and Harvey choked in his cup.
Well, said Salters, who felt that his honour had been somewhat plastered, I said I didnt know as twuz any business o mine, fore I spoke.
An right there, said Tom Platt, experienced in discipline and etiquetteright there, I take it, Disko, you should ha asked him to stop ef the conversation wuz likely, in your jedgment, to be anywayswhat it shouldnt.
Dunno but thats so, said Disko, who saw his way to an honourable retreat from a fit of the dignities.
Why, o course it was so, said Salters, you bein skipper here; an Id cheerful hev stopped on a hintnot from any leadin or conviction, but fer the sake o bearin an example to these two blame boys of aours.
Didnt I tell you, Harve, twould come araound to us fore wed done? Always those blame boys. But I wouldnt have missed the show fer a half-share in a halibutter, Dan whispered.
Still, things should ha been kep seprate, said Disko, and the light of new argument lit in Salterss eye as he crumbled cut plug into his pipe.
Theres a power av vartue in keepin things seprate, said Long Jack, intent on stilling the storm. Thats fwhat Steyning of Steyning and Hares fund when he sent Counahan fer skipper on the Marilla D. Kuhn, instid o Cap. Newton that was took with inflamtry rheumatism an couldnt go. Counahan the Navigator we called him.
Nick Counahan he never went aboard fer a night thout a pond o rum somewheres in the manifest, said Tom Platt, playing up to the lead. He used to bum araound the cmission houses to Boston lookin fer the Lord to make him captain of a tow-boat on his merits. Sam Coy, up to Atlantic Avenoo, give him his board free fer a year or more on account of his stories.
Counahan the Navigator! Tck! Tck! Dead these fifteen year, aint he?
Seventeen, I guess. He died the year the Caspar McVeagh was built; but he could niver keep things seprate. Steyning tuk him fer the reason the thief tuk the hot stovebekaze there was nothin else that season. The men was all to the Banks, and Counahan he whacked up an iverlastin hard crowd fer crew. Rum! Ye cud ha floated the Marilla, insurance an all, in fwhat they stowed aboard her. They lef Boston Harbour for the great Grand Bank wid a roarin norwester behind em an all hands full to the bung. An the hivens looked after thim, for divil a watch did they set, an divil a rope did they lay hand to, till theyd seen the bottom av a fifteen-gallon cask o bug-juice. That was about wan week, so far as Counahan remembered. (If I cud only tell the tale as he told ut!) All that whoile the wind blew like ould glory, an the Marillatwas summer, and theyd give her a foretopmaststruck her gait and kept ut. Then Counahan tuk the hog-yoke an thrembled over it for a whoile, an made out, betwix that an the chart an the singin in his head, that they was to the southard o Sable Island, gettin along glorious, but speakin nothin. Then they broached another keg, an quit speculatin about anythin fer another spell. The Marilla she lay down whin she dropped Boston Light, and she never lufted her lee-rail up to that timehustlin on one an the same slant. But they saw no weed, nor gulls, nor schooners; an prisintly they obsarved theyd bin out a matter o fourteen days and they mis-trusted the Bank has suspinded payment. So they sounded, an got sixty fathom. Thats me, sez Counahan. Thats me ivry time! Ive run her slat on the Bank fer you, an when we get thirty fathom well turn in like little men. Counahan is the by, sez he. Counahan the Navigator!
Nex cast they got ninety. Sez Counahan: Either the lead-lines tuk to stretchin or else the Banks sunk.
They hauled ut up, bein just about in that state when ut seemed right an reasonable, and sat down on the deck countin the knots, an gettin her snarled up hijjus. The Marilla shed struck her gait, an she hild ut, an prisintly along came a tramp, an Counahan spoke her.
Hev ye seen any fishin-boats now? sez he, quite casual.
Theres lashins av them off the Irish coast, sez the tramp.
Aah! go shake yerself, sez Counahan. Fwhat have I to do wid the Irish coast?
Then fwhat are ye doin here? sez the tramp.
Sufferin Christianity! sez Counahan (he always said that whin his pumps sucked an he was not feelin good)Sufferin Christianity! he sez, where am I at?
Thirty-five mile west-souwest o Cape Clear, sez the tramp, if thats any consolation to you.
Counahan fetched wan jump, four feet sivin inches, measured by the cook.
Consolation! sez he, bould as brass. Dye take me fer a dialect? Thirty-five mile from Cape Clear, an fourteen days from Boston Light. Sufferin Christianity, tis a record, an by the same token Ive a mother to Skibbereen! Think av ut! The gall av um! But ye see he could niver keep things seprate.
The crew was mostly Cork an Kerry men, barrin one Marylander that wanted to go back, but they called him a mutineer, an they ran the ould Marilla into Skibbereen, an they had an illigant time visitin around with frinds on the ould sod fer a week. Thin they wint back, an it cost em two an thirty days to beat to the Banks again. Twas gettin on towards fall, and grub was low, so Counahan ran her back to Boston, wid no more bones to ut.
And what did the firm say? Harvey demanded.
Fwhat could they? The fish was on the Banks, an Counahan was at T-wharf talkin av his record trip east! They tuk their satisfaction out av that, an ut all came av not keepin the crew and the rum seprate in the first place; an confusin Skibbereen wid Queereau, in the second. Counahan the Navigator, rest his sowl! He was an imprompju citizen!
Once I was in the Lucy Holmes, said Manuel, in his gentle voice. They not want any of her feesh in Gloucester. Eh, wha-at? Give us no price. So we go across the water, and think to sell to some Fayal man. Then it blow fresh, and we cannot see well. Eh, wha-at? Then it blow some more fresh, and we go down below and drive very fastno one know where. By and by we see a land, and it get some hot. Then come two, three nigger in a brick. Eh, wha-at? We ask where we are, and they saynow, what you all think?
Grand Canary, said Disko, after a moment. Manuel shook his head, smiling.
Blanco, said Tom Platt.
No. Worse than that. We was below Bezagos, and the brick she was from Liberia! So we sell our feesh there! Not bad, so? Eh, wha-at?
Can a schooner like this go right across to Africa? said Harvey.
Go araound the Horn ef theres anythin worth goin fer, and the grub holds aout, said Disko. My father he run his packet, an she was a kind o pinkey, abaout fifty ton, I guess,the Rupert,he run her over to Greenlands icy mountains the year haaf our fleet was tryin after cod there. An whats more, he took my mother along with him,to show her haow the money was earned, I presoom,an they was all iced up, an I was born at Disko. Dont remember nothin abaout it, o course. We come back when the ice eased in the spring, but they named me fer the place. Kinder mean trick to put up on a baby, but were all baound to make mistakes in aour lives.
Sure! Sure! said Salters, wagging his head. All baound to make mistakes, an I tell you two boys here thet after youve made a mistakeye dont make fewern a hundred a daythe next best things to own up to it like men.
Long Jack winked one tremendous wink that embraced all hands except Disko and Salters, and the incident was closed.
Then they made berth after berth to the northward, the dories out almost every day, running along the east edge of the Grand Bank in thirty- to forty-fathom water, and fishing steadily.
It was here Harvey first met the squid, who is one of the best cod-baits, but uncertain in his moods. They were waked out of their bunks one black night by yells of Squid O! from Salters, and for an hour and a half every soul aboard hung over his squid-jiga piece of lead painted red and armed at the lower end with a circle of pins bent backward like half-opened umbrella ribs. The squidfor some unknown reasonlikes, and wraps himself round, this thing, and is hauled up ere he can escape from the pins. But as he leaves his home he squirts first water and next ink into his captors face; and it was curious to see the men weaving their heads from side to side to dodge the shot. They were as black as sweeps when the flurry ended; but a pile of fresh squid lay on the deck, and the large cod thinks very well of a little shiny piece of squid tentacle at the tip of a clam-baited hook. Next day they caught many fish, and met the Carrie Pitman, to whom they shouted their luck, and she wanted to tradeseven cod for one fair-sized squid; but Disko would not agree at the price, and the Carrie dropped sullenly to leeward and anchored half a mile away, in the hope of striking on to some for herself.
Disco said nothing till after supper, when he sent Dan and Manuel out to buoy the Were Heres cable and announced his intention of turning in with the broad-axe. Dan naturally repeated these remarks to the dory from the Carrie, who wanted to know why they were buoying their cable, since they were not on rocky bottom.
Dad sez he wouldnt trust a ferryboat within five mile o you, Dan howled cheerfully.
Why dont he git out, then? Whos hinderin? said the other.
Cause youve jest the same ez lee-bowed him, an he dont take that from any boat, not to speak o sech a driftin gurry-butt as you be.
She aint driftin any this trip, said the man angrily, for the Carrie Pitman had an unsavory reputation for breaking her ground-tackle.
Then haow dyou make berths? said Dan. Its her best pint o sailin. An ef shes quit driftin, what in thunder are you doin with a new jib-boom? That shot went home.
Hey, you Portugoosy organ-grinder, take your monkey back to Gloucester. Go back to school, Dan Troop, was the answer.
O-ver-alls! O-ver-alls! yelled Dan, who knew that one of the Carries crew had worked in an overall factory the winter before.
Shrimp! Gloucester shrimp! Git aout, you Novy!
To call a Gloucester man a Nova Scotian is not well received. Dan answered in kind.
Novy yourself, ye Scrabble-towners! ye Chatham wreckers! Git aout with your brick in your stockin! And the forces separated, but Chatham had the worst of it.
I knew haow twould be, said Disko. Shes drawed the wind raound already. Some one oughter put a deesist on thet packet. Shell snore till midnight, an jest when were gettin our sleep shell strike adrift. Good job we aint crowded with craft hereaways. But I aint goin to up anchor fer Chatham. She may hold.
The wind, which had hauled round, rose at sundown and blew steadily. There was not enough sea, though, to disturb even a dorys tackle, but the Carrie Pitman was a law unto herself. At the end of the boys watch they heard the crack-crack-crack of a huge muzzle-loading revolver aboard her.
Glory, glory, hallelujah! sung Dan. Here she comes, Dad; butt-end first, walkin in her sleep sames she done on Queereau.
Had she been any other boat Disko would have taken his chances, but now he cut the cable as the Carrie Pitman, with all the North Atlantic to play in, lurched down directly upon them. The Were Here, under jib and riding-sail, gave her no more room than was absolutely necessary,Disko did not wish to spend a week hunting for his cable,but scuttled up into the wind as the Carrie passed within easy hail, a silent and angry boat, at the mercy of a raking broadside of Bank chaff.
Good evenin, said Disko, raising his head-gear, an haow does your garden grow?
Go to Ohio an hire a mule, said Uncle Salters. We dont want no farmers here.
Will I lend YOU my dory-anchor? cried Long Jack.
Unship your rudder an stick it in the mud, bawled Tom Platt.
Say! Dans voice rose shrill and high, as he stood on the wheel-box. Sa-ay! Is there a strike in the o-ver-all factory; or hev they hired girls, ye Shackamaxons?
Veer out the tiller-lines, cried Harvey, and nail em to the bottom! That was a salt-flavoured jest he had been put up to by Tom Platt. Manuel leaned over the stern and yelled: Johanna Morgan play the organ! Ahaaaa! He flourished his broad thumb with a gesture of unspeakable contempt and derision, while little Penn covered himself with glory by piping up: Gee a little! Hssh! Come here. Haw!
They rode on their chain for the rest of the night, a short, snappy, uneasy motion, as Harvey found, and wasted half the forenoon recovering the cable. But the boys agreed the trouble was cheap at the price of triumph and glory, and they thought with grief over all the beautiful things that they might have said to the discomfited Carrie.
Next day they fell in with more sails, all circling slowly from the east northerly towards the west. But just when they expected to make the shoals by the Virgin the fog shut down, and they anchored, surrounded by the tinklings of invisible bells. There was not much fishing, but occasionally dory met dory in the fog and exchanged news.
That night, a little before dawn, Dan and Harvey, who had been sleeping most of the day, tumbled out to hook fried pies. There was no reason why they should not have taken them openly; but they tasted better so, and it made the cook angry. The heat and smell below drove them on deck with their plunder, and they found Disko at the bell, which he handed over to Harvey.
Keep her goin, said he. I mistrust I hear somethin. Ef its anything, Im best where I am sos to get at things.
It was a forlorn little jingle; the thick air seemed to pinch it off, and in the pauses Harvey heard the muffled shriek of a liners siren, and he knew enough of the Banks to know what that meant. It came to him, with horrible distinctness, how a boy in a cherry-coloured jerseyhe despised fancy blazers now with all a fisher-mans contempthow an ignorant, rowdy boy had once said it would be great if a steamer ran down a fishing-boat. That boy had a stateroom with a hot and cold bath, and spent ten minutes each morning picking over a gilt-edged bill of fare. And that same boyno, his very much older brotherwas up at four of the dim dawn in streaming, crackling oilskins, hammering, literally for the dear life, on a bell smaller than the stewards breakfast-bell, while somewhere close at hand a thirty-foot steel stem was storming along at twenty miles an hour! The bitterest thought of all was that there were folks asleep in dry, upholstered cabins who would never learn that they had massacred a boat before breakfast. So Harvey rang the bell.
Yes, they slow daown one turn o their blame propeller, said Dan, applying himself to Manuels conch, fer to keep inside the law, an thats consolin when were all at the bottom. Hark to her! Shes a humper!
Aooo-whoo-whupp! went the siren. Wingle-tingle-tink, went the bell. Graaa-ouch! went the conch, while sea and sky were all mired up in milky fog. Then Harvey felt that he was near a moving body, and found himself looking up and up at the wet edge of a cliff-like bow, leaping, it seemed, directly over the schooner. A jaunty little feather of water curled in front of it, and as it lifted it showed a long ladder of Roman numerals-XV., XVI., XVII., XVIII., and so forthon a salmon-coloured gleaming side. It tilted forward and downward with a heart-stilling Ssssooo; the ladder disappeared; a line of brass-rimmed port-holes flashed past; a jet of steam puffed in Harveys helplessly uplifted hands; a spout of hot water roared along the rail of the Were Here, and the little schooner staggered and shook in a rush of screw-torn water, as a liners stern vanished in the fog. Harvey got ready to faint or be sick, or both, when he heard a crack like a trunk thrown on a sidewalk, and, all small in his ear, a far-away telephone voice drawling: Heave to! Youve sunk us!
Is it us? he gasped.
No! Boat out yonder. Ring! Were goin to look, said Dan, running out a dory.
In half a minute all except Harvey, Penn, and the cook were overside and away. Presently a schooners stump-foremast, snapped clean across, drifted past the bows. Then an empty green dory came by, knocking on the Were Heres side, as though she wished to be taken in. Then followed something, face down, in a blue jersey, butit was not the whole of a man. Penn changed colour and caught his breath with a click. Harvey pounded despairingly at the bell, for he feared they might be sunk at any minute, and he jumped at Dans hail as the crew came back.
The Jennie Cushman, said Dan, hysterically, cut clean in halfgraound up an trompled on at that! Not a quarter of a mile away. Dads got the old man. There aint any one else, andthere was his son, too. Oh, Harve, Harve, I cant stand it! Ive seen He dropped his head on his arms and sobbed while the others dragged a gray-headed man aboard.
What did you pick me up for? the stranger groaned. Disko, what did you pick me up for?
Disko dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder, for the mans eyes were wild and his lips trembled as he stared at the silent crew. Then up and spoke Pennsylvania Pratt, who was also Haskins or Rich or McVitty when Uncle Salters forgot; and his face was changed on him from the face of a fool to the countenance of an old, wise man, and he said in a strong voice: The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord! I wasI am a minister of the Gospel. Leave him to me.
Oh, you be, be you? said the man. Then pray my son back to me! Pray back a nine-thousand-dollar boat an a thousand quintal of fish. If youd left me alone my widow could ha gone on to the Provident an worked fer her board, an never knownan never known. Now Ill hev to tell her.
There aint nothin to say, said Disko. Better lie down a piece, Jason Olley.
When a man has lost his only son, his summers work, and his means of livelihood, in thirty counted seconds, it is hard to give consolation.
All Gloucester men, wasnt they? said Tom Platt, fiddling helplessly with a dory-becket.
Oh, that dont make no odds, said Jason, wringing the wet from his beard. Ill be rowin summer boarders araound East Gloucester this fall. He rolled heavily to the rail, singing:
Happy birds that sing and fly
Come with me. Come below! said Penn, as though he had a right to give orders. Their eyes met and fought for a quarter of a minute.
I dunno who you be, but Ill come, said Jason submissively. Mebbe Ill get back some o thesome o the-nine thousand dollars. Penn led him into the cabin and slid the door behind.
That aint Penn, cried Uncle Salters. Its Jacob Boiler, anhes remembered Johnstown! I never seed such eyes in any livin mans head. Whats to do naow? Whatll I do naow?
They could hear Penns voice and Jasons together. Then Penns went on alone, and Salters slipped off his hat, for Penn was praying. Presently the little man came up the steps, huge drops of sweat on his face, and looked at the crew. Dan was still sobbing by the wheel.
He dont know us, Salters groaned. Its all to do over again, checkers and everythingan whatll he say to me?
Penn spoke; they could hear that it was to strangers. I have prayed, said he. Our people believe in prayer. I have prayed for the life of this mans son. Mine were drowned before my eyesshe and my eldest andthe others. Shall a man be more wise than his Maker? I prayed never for their lives, but I have prayed for this mans son, and he will surely be sent him.
Salters looked pleadingly at Penn to see if he remembered.
How long have I been mad? Penn asked suddenly. His mouth was twitching.
Pshaw, Penn! You werent never mad, Salters began Only a little distracted like.
I saw the houses strike the bridge before the fires broke out. I do not remember any more. How long ago is that?
I cant stand it! I cant stand it! cried Dan, and Harvey whimpered in sympathy.
Abaout five year, said Disko, in a shaking voice.
Then I have been a charge on some one for every day of that time. Who was the man?
Disko pointed to Salters.
Ye haintye haint! cried the sea-farmer, twisting his hands together. Yeve moren earned your keep twice-told; an theres money owin you, Penn, besides haaf o my quarter-share in the boat, which is yours fer value received.
You are good men. I can see that in your faces. But
Mother av Mercy, whispered Long Jack, an hes been wid us all these trips! Hes clean bewitched.
A schooners bell struck up alongside, and a voice hailed through the fog: O Disko! Heard abaout the Jennie Cushman?
They have found his son, cried Penn. Stand you still and see the salvation of the Lord!
Got Jason aboard here, Disko answered, but his voice quavered. Therewarnt any one else?
Weve fund one, though. Run acrost him snarled up in a mess o lumber thet might ha bin a focsle. His heads cut some.
Who is he?
The Were Heres heart-beats answered one another.
Guess its young Olley, the voice drawled.
Penn raised his hands and said something in German. Harvey could have sworn that a bright sun was shining upon his lifted face; but the drawl went on: Sa-ay! You fellers guyed us considrable tother night.
We dont feel like guyin any now, said Disko.
I know it; but to tell the honest truth we was kinderkinder driftin when we run agin young Olley.
It was the irrepressible Carrie Pitman, and a roar of unsteady laughter went up from the deck of the Were Here.
Hednt you baouts well send the old man aboard? Were runnin in fer more bait an graound-tackle. Guess you wont want him, anyway, an this blame windlass work makes us short-handed. Well take care of him. He married my womans aunt.
Ill give you anything in the boat, said Troop.
Dont want nothin, less, mebbe, an anchor thatll hold. Say! Young Olleys gittin kinder baulky an excited. Send the old man along.
Penn waked him from his stupor of despair, and Tom Platt rowed him over. He went away without a word of thanks, not knowing what was to come; and the fog closed over all.
And now, said Penn, drawing a deep breath as though about to preach. And nowthe erect body sank like a sword driven home into the scabbard; the light faded from the overbright eyes; the voice returned to its usual pitiful little titterand now, said Pennsylvania Pratt, do you think its too early for a little game of checkers, Mr. Salters?
The very thingthe very thing I was goin to say myself, cried Salters promptly. It beats all, Penn, how ye git on to whats in a mans mind.
The little fellow blushed and meekly followed Salters forward.
Up anchor! Hurry! Lets quit these crazy waters, shouted Disko, and never was he more swiftly obeyed.
Now what in creation dye suppose is the meanin o that all? said Long Jack, when they were working through the fog once more, damp, dripping, and bewildered.
The way I sense it, said Disko, at the wheel, is this: The Jennie Cushman business comin on an empty stummick
H-he saw one of them go by, sobbed Harvey.
An that, o course, kinder hove him outer water, julluk runnin a craft ashore; hove him right aout, I take it, to rememberin Johnstown an Jacob Boiler an such-like reminiscences. Well, consolin Jason there held him up a piece, sames shorin up a boat. Then, bein weak, them props slipped an slipped, an he slided down the ways, an naow hes water-borne agin. Thats haow I sense it.
They decided that Disko was entirely correct.
Twould ha bruk Salters all up, said Long Jack, if Penn had stayed Jacob Boilerin. Did ye see his face when Penn asked who hed been charged on all these years? How is ut, Salters?
Asleepdead asleep. Turned in like a child, Salters replied, tiptoeing aft. There wont be no grub till he wakes, natural. Did ye ever see sech a gift in prayer? He everlastinly hiked young Olley outer the ocean. Thets my belief. Jason was turble praoud of his boy, an I mistrusted all along twas a jedgment on worshippin vain idols.
Theres others jes as sot, said Disko.
Thats difrunt, Salters retorted quickly. Penns not all caulked, an I aint only but doin my duty by him.
They waited, those hungry men, three hours, till Penn reappeared with a smooth face and a blank mind. He said he believed that he had been dreaming. Then he wanted to know why they were so silent, and they could not tell him.
Disko worked all hands mercilessly for the next three or four days; and when they could not go out, turned them into the hold to stack the ships stores into smaller compass, to make more room for the fish. The packed mass ran from the cabin partition to the sliding door behind the focsle stove; and Disko showed how there is great art in stowing cargo so as to bring a schooner to her best draft. The crew were thus kept lively till they recovered their spirits; and Harvey was tickled with a ropes end by Long Jack for being, as the Galway man said, sorrowful as a sick cat over fwhat couldnt be helped. He did a great deal of thinking in those weary days, and told Dan what he thought, and Dan agreed with himeven to the extent of asking for fried pies instead of hooking them.
But a week later the two nearly upset the Hattie S. in a wild attempt to stab a shark with an old bayonet tied to a stick. The grim brute rubbed alongside the dory begging for small fish, and between the three of them it was a mercy they all got off alive.
At last, after playing blindmans-buff in the fog, there came a morning when Disko shouted down the focsle: Hurry, boys! Were in taown!
To the end of his days, Harvey will never forget that sight. The sun was just clear of the horizon they had not seen for nearly a week, and his low red light struck into the riding-sails of three fleets of anchored schoonersone to the north, one to the westward, and one to the south. There must have been nearly a hundred of them, of every possible make and build, with, far away, a square-rigged Frenchman, all bowing and courtesying one to the other. From every boat dories were dropping away like bees from a crowded hive, and the clamour of voices, the rattling of ropes and blocks, and the splash of the oars carried for miles across the heaving water. The sails turned all colours, black, pearly-gray, and white, as the sun mounted; and more boats swung up through the mists to the southward.
The dories gathered in clusters, separated, reformed, and broke again, all heading one way; while men hailed and whistled and cat-called and sang, and the water was speckled with rubbish thrown overboard.
Its a town, said Harvey. Disko was right. It IS a town!
Ive seen smaller, said Disko. Theres about a thousand men here; an yonders the Virgin. He pointed to a vacant space of greenish sea, where there were no dories.
The Were Here skirted round the northern squadron, Disko waving his hand to friend after friend, and anchored as nearly as a racing yacht at the end of the season. The Bank fleet pass good seamanship in silence; but a bungler is jeered all along the line.
Jest in time fer the caplin, cried the Mary Chilton.
Salt most wet? asked the King Philip.
Hey, Tom Platt! Come t supper to-night? said the Henry Clay; and so questions and answers flew back and forth. Men had met one another before, dory-fishing in the fog, and there is no place for gossip like the Bank fleet. They all seemed to know about Harveys rescue, and asked if he were worth his salt yet. The young bloods jested with Dan, who had a lively tongue of his own, and inquired after their health by the town-nicknames they least liked. Manuels countrymen jabbered at him in their own language; and even the silent cook was seen riding the jib-boom and shouting Gaelic to a friend as black as himself. After they had buoyed the cableall around the Virgin is rocky bottom, and carelessness means chafed ground-tackle and danger from driftingafter they had buoyed the cable, their dories went forth to join the mob of boats anchored about a mile away. The schooners rocked and dipped at a safe distance, like mother ducks watching their brood, while the dories behaved like mannerless ducklings.
As they drove into the confusion, boat banging boat, Harveys ears tingled at the comments on his rowing. Every dialect from Labrador to Long Island, with Portuguese, Neapolitan, Lingua Franca, French, and Gaelic, with songs and shoutings and new oaths, rattled round him, and he seemed to be the butt of it all. For the first time in his life he felt shyperhaps that came from living so long with only the Were Heresamong the scores of wild faces that rose and fell with the reeling small craft. A gentle, breathing swell, three furlongs from trough to barrel, would quietly shoulder up a string of variously painted dories. They hung for an instant, a wonderful frieze against the sky-line, and their men pointed and hailed. Next moment the open mouths, waving arms, and bare chests disappeared, while on another swell came up an entirely new line of characters like paper figures in a toy theatre. So Harvey stared. Watch out! said Dan, flourishing a dip-net When I tell you dip, you dip. The caplinll school any time from naow on. Wherell we lay, Tom Platt?
Pushing, shoving, and hauling, greeting old friends here and warning old enemies there, Commodore Tom Platt led his little fleet well to leeward of the general crowd, and immediately three or four men began to haul on their anchors with intent to lee-bow the Were Heres. But a yell of laughter went up as a dory shot from her station with exceeding speed, its occupant pulling madly on the roding.
Give her slack! roared twenty voices. Let him shake it out.
Whats the matter? said Harvey, as the boat flashed away to the southward. Hes anchored, isnt he?
Anchored, sure enough, but his graound-tackles kinder shifty, said Dan, laughing. Whales fouled it. . . . Dip Harve! Here they come!
The sea round them clouded and darkened, and then frizzed up in showers of tiny silver fish, and over a space of five or six acres the cod began to leap like trout in May; while behind the cod three or four broad gray-backs broke the water into boils.
Then everybody shouted and tried to haul up his anchor to get among the school, and fouled his neighbours line and said what was in his heart, and dipped furiously with his dip-net, and shrieked cautions and advice to his companions, while the deep fizzed like freshly opened soda-water, and cod, men, and whales together flung in upon the luckless bait. Harvey was nearly knocked overboard by the handle of Dans net. But in all the wild tumult he noticed, and never forgot, the wicked, set little eyesomething like a circus elephants eyeof a whale that drove along almost level with the water, and, so he said, winked at him. Three boats found their rodings fouled by these reckless mid-sea hunters, and were towed half a mile ere their horses shook the line free.
Then the caplin moved off, and five minutes later there was no sound except the splash of the sinkers overside, the flapping of the cod, and the whack of the muckles as the men stunned them. It was wonderful fishing. Harvey could see the glimmering cod below, swimming slowly in droves, biting as steadily as they swam. Bank law strictly forbids more than one hook on one line when the dories are on the Virgin or the Eastern Shoals; but so close lay the boats that even single hooks snarled, and Harvey found himself in hot argument with a gentle, hairy Newfoundlander on one side and a howling Portuguese on the other.
Worse than any tangle of fishing-lines was the confusion of the dory-rodings below water. Each man had anchored where it seemed good to him, drifting and rowing round his fixed point. As the fish struck on less quickly, each man wanted to haul up and get to better ground; but every third man found himself intimately connected with some four or five neighbours. To cut anothers roding is crime unspeakable on the Banks; yet it was done, and done without detection, three or four times that day. Tom Platt caught a Maine man in the black act and knocked him over the gunwale with an oar, and Manuel served a fellow-countryman in the same way. But Harveys anchor-line was cut, and so was Penns, and they were turned into relief-boats to carry fish to the Were Here as the dories filled. The caplin schooled once more at twilight, when the mad clamour was repeated; and at dusk they rowed back to dress down by the light of kerosene-lamps on the edge of the pen.
It was a huge pile, and they went to sleep while they were dressing. Next day several boats fished right above the cap of the Virgin; and Harvey, with them, looked down on the very weed of that lonely rock, which rises to within twenty feet of the surface. The cod were there in legions, marching solemnly over the leathery kelp. When they bit, they bit all together; and so when they stopped. There was a slack time at noon, and the dories began to search for amusement. It was Dan who sighted the Hope Of Prague just coming up, and as her boats joined the company they were greeted with the question: Whos the meanest man in the Fleet?
Three hundred voices answered cheerily: Nick Bra-ady. It sounded like an organ chant.
Who stole the lampwicks? That was Dans contribution.
Nick Bra-ady, sang the boats.
Who biled the salt bait fer soup? This was an unknown backbiter a quarter of a mile away.
Again the joyful chorus. Now, Brady was not especially mean, but he had that reputation, and the Fleet made the most of it. Then they discovered a man from a Truro boat who, six years before, had been convicted of using a tackle with five or six hooksa scrowger, they call itin the Shoals. Naturally, he had been christened Scrowger Jim; and though he had hidden himself on the Georges ever since, he found his honours waiting for him full blown. They took it up in a sort of firecracker chorus: Jim! O Jim! Jim! O Jim! Sssscrowger Jim! That pleased everybody. And when a poetical Beverly manhe had been making it up all day, and talked about it for weekssang, The Carrie Pitmans anchor doesnt hold her for a cent the dories felt that they were indeed fortunate. Then they had to ask that Beverly man how he was off for beans, because even poets must not have things all their own way. Every schooner and nearly every man got it in turn. Was there a careless or dirty cook anywhere? The dories sang about him and his food. Was a schooner badly found? The Fleet was told at full length. Had a man hooked tobacco from a mess-mate? He was named in meeting; the name tossed from roller to roller. Diskos infallible judgments, Long Jacks market-boat that he had sold years ago, Dans sweetheart (oh, but Dan was an angry boy!), Penns bad luck with dory-anchors, Salters views on manure, Manuels little slips from virtue ashore, and Harveys ladylike handling of the oarall were laid before the public; and as the fog fell around them in silvery sheets beneath the sun, the voices sounded like a bench of invisible judges pronouncing sentence.
The dories roved and fished and squabbled till a swell underran the sea. Then they drew more apart to save their sides, and some one called that if the swell continued the Virgin would break. A reckless Galway man with his nephew denied this, hauled up anchor, and rowed over the very rock itself. Many voices called them to come away, while others dared them to hold on. As the smooth-backed rollers passed to the southward, they hove the dory high and high into the mist, and dropped her in ugly, sucking, dimpled water, where she spun round her anchor, within a foot or two of the hidden rock. It was playing with death for mere bravado; and the boats looked on in uneasy silence till Long Jack rowed up behind his countrymen and quietly cut their roding.
Cant ye hear ut knockin? he cried. Pull for you miserable lives! Pull!
The men swore and tried to argue as the boat drifted; but the next swell checked a little, like a man tripping on a carpet. There was a deep sob and a gathering roar, and the Virgin flung up a couple of acres of foaming water, white, furious, and ghastly over the shoal sea. Then all the boats greatly applauded Long Jack, and the Galway men held their tongue.
Aint it elegant? said Dan, bobbing like a young seal at home. Shell break about once every haaf hour now, les the swell piles up good. Whats her reglar time when shes at work, Tom Platt?
Once ivry fifteen minutes, to the tick. Harve, youve seen the greatest thing on the Banks; an but for Long Jack youd seen some dead men too.
There came a sound of merriment where the fog lay thicker and the schooners were ringing their bells. A big bark nosed cautiously out of the mist, and was received with shouts and cries of, Come along, darlin, from the Irishry.
Another Frenchman? said Harvey.
Haint you eyes? Shes a Baltimore boat; goin in fear an tremblin, said Dan. Well guy the very sticks out of her. Guess its the fust time her skipper ever met up with the Fleet this way.
She was a black, buxom, eight-hundred-ton craft. Her mainsail was looped up, and her topsail flapped undecidedly in what little wind was moving. Now a bark is feminine beyond all other daughters of the sea, and this tall, hesitating creature, with her white and gilt figurehead, looked just like a bewildered woman half lifting her skirts to cross a muddy street under the jeers of bad little boys. That was very much her situation. She knew she was somewhere in the neighbourhood of the Virgin, had caught the roar of it, and was, therefore, asking her way. This is a small part of what she heard from the dancing dories:
The Virgin? Fwhat are you talkin of? This is Le Have on a Sunday mornin. Go home an sober up.
Go home, ye tarrapin! Go home an tell em were comin.
Half a dozen voices together, in a most tuneful chorus, as her stern went down with a roll and a bubble into the troughs: Thay-aah-she-strikes!
Hard up! Hard up fer your life! Youre on top of her now.
Daown! Hard daown! Let go everything!
All hands to the pumps!
Daown jib an pole her!
Here the skipper lost his temper and said things. Instantly fishing was suspended to answer him, and he heard many curious facts about his boat and her next port of call. They asked him if he were insured; and whence he had stolen his anchor, because, they said, it belonged to the Carrie Pitman; they called his boat a mud-scow, and accused him of dumping garbage to frighten the fish; they offered to tow him and charge it to his wife; and one audacious youth slipped up almost under the counter, smacked it with his open palm, and yelled: Gid up, Buck!
The cook emptied a pan of ashes on him, and he replied with cod-heads. The barks crew fired small coal from the galley, and the dories threatened to come aboard and razee her. They would have warned her at once had she been in real peril; but, seeing her well clear of the Virgin, they made the most of their chances. The fun was spoilt when the rock spoke again, a half-mile to windward, and the tormented bark set everything that would draw and went her ways; but the dories felt that the honours lay with them.
All that night the Virgin roared hoarsely; and next morning, over an angry, white-headed sea, Harvey saw the Fleet with flickering masts waiting for a lead. Not a dory was hove out till ten oclock, when the two Jeraulds of the Days Eye, imagining a lull which did not exist, set the example. In a minute half the boats were out and bobbing in the cockly swells, but Troop kept the Were Heres at work dressing down. He saw no sense in dares; and as the storm grew that evening they had the pleasure of receiving wet strangers only too glad to make any refuge in the gale. The boys stood by the dory-tackles with lanterns, the men ready to haul, one eye cocked for the sweeping wave that would make them drop everything and hold on for dear life. Out of the dark would come a yell of Dory, dory! They would hook up and haul in a drenched man and a half-sunk boat, till their decks were littered down with nests of dories and the bunks were full. Five times in their watch did Harvey, with Dan, jump at the foregaff where it lay lashed on the boom, and cling with arms, legs, and teeth to rope and spar and sodden canvas as a big wave filled the decks. One dory was smashed to pieces, and the sea pitched the man head first on to the decks, cutting his forehead open; and about dawn, when the racing seas glimmered white all along their cold edges, another man, blue and ghastly, crawled in with a broken hand, asking news of his brother. Seven extra mouths sat down to breakfast: A Swede; a Chatham skipper; a boy from Hancock, Maine; one Duxbury, and three Provincetown men.
There was a general sorting out among the Fleet next day; and though no one said anything, all ate with better appetites when boat after boat reported full crews aboard. Only a couple of Portuguese and an old man from Gloucester were drowned, but many were cut or bruised; and two schooners had parted their tackle and been blown to the southward, three days sail. A man died on a Frenchmanit was the same bark that had traded tobacco with the Were Heres. She slipped away quite quietly one wet, white morning, moved to a patch of deep water, her sails all hanging anyhow, and Harvey saw the funeral through Diskos spy-glass. It was only an oblong bundle slid overside. They did not seem to have any form of service, but in the night, at anchor, Harvey heard them across the star-powdered black water, singing something that sounded like a hymn. It went to a very slow tune.
Tom Platt visited her, because, he said, the dead man was his brother as a Freemason. It came out that a wave had doubled the poor fellow over the heel of the bowsprit and broken his back. The news spread like a flash, for, contrary to general custom, the Frenchman held an auction of the dead mans kit,he had no friends at St Malo or Miquelon,and everything was spread out on the top of the house, from his red knitted cap to the leather belt with the sheath-knife at the back. Dan and Harvey were out on twenty-fathom water in the Hattie S., and naturally rowed over to join the crowd. It was a long pull, and they stayed some little time while Dan bought the knife, which had a curious brass handle. When they dropped overside and pushed off into a drizzle of rain and a lop of sea, it occurred to them that they might get into trouble for neglecting the lines.
Guess twont hurt us any to be warmed up, said Dan, shivering under his oilskins, and they rowed on into the heart of a white fog, which, as usual, dropped on them without warning.
Theres too much blame tide hereabouts to trust to your instinks, he said. Heave over the anchor, Harve, and well fish a piece till the thing lifts. Bend on your biggest lead. Three pound aint any too much in this water. See how shes tightened on her rodin already.
There was quite a little bubble at the bows, where some irresponsible Bank current held the dory full stretch on her rope; but they could not see a boats length in any direction. Harvey turned up his collar and bunched himself over his reel with the air of a wearied navigator. Fog had no special terrors for him now. They fished a while in silence, and found the cod struck on well. Then Dan drew the sheath-knife and tested the edge of it on the gunwale.
Thats a daisy, said Harvey. How did you get it so cheap?
On account o their blame Cathlic superstitions, said Dan, jabbing with the bright blade. They dont fancy takin iron from off a dead man, so to speak. See them Arichat Frenchmen step back when I bid?
But an auction aint taking anythink off a dead man. Its business.
We know it aint, but theres no goin in the teeth o superstition. Thats one o the advantages o livin in a progressive country. And Dan began whistling:
Oh, Double Thatcher, how are you?
Why didnt that Eastport man bid, then? He bought his boots. Aint Maine progressive?
Maine? Pshaw! They dont know enough, or they haint got money enough, to paint their haouses in Maine. Ive seen em. The Eastport man he told me that the knife had been usedso the French captain told himused up on the French coast last year.
Cut a man? Heave s the muckle. Harvey hauled in his fish, rebaited, and threw over.
Killed him! Course, when I heard that I was keenern ever to get it.
Christmas! I didnt know it, said Harvey, turning round. Ill give you a dollar for it when Iget my wages. Say, Ill give you two dollars.
Honest? Dyou like it as much as all that? said Dan, flushing. Well, to tell the truth, I kinder got it for youto give; but I didnt let on till I saw how youd take it. Its yours and welcome, Harve, because were dory-mates, and so on and so forth, an so followin. Catch a-holt!
He held it out, belt and all.
But look at here. Dan, I dont see
Take it. Taint no use to me. I wish you to hev it. The temptation was irresistible. Dan, youre a white man, said Harvey. Ill keep it as long as I live.
Thats good hearin, said Dan, with a pleasant laugh; and then, anxious to change the subject: Looks if your line was fast to somethin.
Fouled, I guess, said Harve, tugging. Before he pulled up he fastened the belt round him, and with deep delight heard the tip of the sheath click on the thwart. Concern the thing! he cried. She acts as though she were on strawberry-bottom. Its all sand here, aint it?
Dan reached over and gave a judgmatic tweak. Hollbutll act that way f hes sulky. Thets no strawberry-bottom. Yank her once or twice. She gives, sure. Guess wed better haul up an make certain.
They pulled together, making fast at each turn on the cleats, and the hidden weight rose sluggishly.
Prize, oh! Haul! shouted Dan, but the shout ended in a shrill, double shriek of horror, for out of the sea came the body of the dead Frenchman buried two days before! The hook had caught him under the right armpit, and he swayed, erect and horrible, head and shoulders above water. His arms were tied to his side, andhe had no face. The boys fell over each other in a heap at the bottom of the dory, and there they lay while the thing bobbed alongside, held on the shortened line.
The tidethe tide brought him! said Harvey with quivering lips, as he fumbled at the clasp of the belt.
Oh, Lord! Oh, Harve! groaned Dan, be quick. Hes come for it. Let him have it. Take it off.
I dont want it! I dont want it! cried Harvey. I cant find the bu-buckle.
Quick, Harve! Hes on your line!
Harvey sat up to unfasten the belt, facing the head that had no face under its streaming hair. Hes fast still, he whispered to Dan, who slipped out his knife and cut the line, as Harvey flung the belt far overside. The body shot down with a plop, and Dan cautiously rose to his knees, whiter than the fog.
He come for it. He come for it. Ive seen a stale one hauled up on a trawl and I didnt much care, but he come to us special.
I wishI wish I hadnt taken the knife. Then hed have come on your line.
Dunno as thet would ha made any differ. Were both scared out o ten years growth. Oh, Harve, did ye see his head?
Did I? Ill never forget it. But look at here, Dan; it couldnt have been meant. It was only the tide.
Tide! He come for it, Harve. Why, they sunk him six miles to southard o the Fleet, an were two miles from where shes lyin now. They told me he was weighted with a fathom an a half o chain-cable.
Wonder what he did with the knifeup on the French coast?
Something bad. Guess hes bound to take it with him to the Judgment, an so What are you doin with the fish?
Heaving em overboard, said Harvey.
What for? We shant eat em.
I dont care. I had to look at his face while I was takin the belt off. You can keep your catch if you like. Ive no use for mine.
Dan said nothing, but threw his fish over again.
Guess its best to be on the safe side, he murmured at last. Id give a months pay if this fog ud lift. Things go abaout in a fog that ye dont see in clear weatheryo-hoes an hollerers and such like. Im sorter relieved he come the way he did instid o walkin. He might ha walked.
Dont, Dan! Were right on top of him now. Wish I was safe aboard, hem pounded by Uncle Salters.
Theyll be lookin fer us in a little. Gimme the tooter. Dan took the tin dinner-horn, but paused before he blew.
Go on, said Harvey. I dont want to stay here all night
Question is, haow hed take it. There was a man frum down the coast told me once he was in a schooner where they darsent ever blow a horn to the dories, becaze the skippernot the man he was with, but a captain that had run her five years beforehed drowned a boy alongside in a drunk fit; an ever after, that boy hed row along-side too and shout, Dory! dory! with the rest.
Dory! dory! a muffled voice cried through the fog. They cowered again, and the horn dropped from Dans hand.
Hold on! cried Harvey; its the cook.
Dunno what made me think o thet fool tale, either, said Dan. Its the doctor, sure enough.
Dan! Danny! Oooh, Dan! Harve! Harvey! Oooh, Haarveee!
Were here, sung both boys together. They heard oars, but could see nothing till the cook, shining and dripping, rowed into them.
What iss happened? said he. You will be beaten at home.
Thets what we want. Thets what were sufferin for said Dan. Anything homeys good enough fer us. Weve had kinder depressin company. As the cook passed them a line, Dan told him the tale.
Yess! He come for hiss knife, was all he said at the end.
Never had the little rocking Were Here looked so deliciously home-like as when the cook, born and bred in fogs, rowed them back to her. There was a warm glow of light from the cabin and a satisfying smell of food forward, and it was heavenly to hear Disko and the others, all quite alive and solid, leaning over the rail and promising them a first-class pounding. But the cook was a black; master of strategy. He did not get the dories aboard till he had given the more striking points of the tale, explaining as he backed and bumped round the counter how Harvey was the mascot to destroy any possible bad luck. So the boys came override as rather uncanny heroes, and every one asked them questions instead of pounding them for making trouble. Little Penn delivered quite a speech on the folly of superstitions; but public opinion was against him and in favour of Long Jack, who told the most excruciating ghost-stories, till nearly midnight. Under that influence no one except Salters and Penn said anything about idolatry, when the cook put a lighted candle, a cake of flour and water, and a pinch of salt on a shingle, and floated them out astern to keep the Frenchman quiet in case he was still restless. Dan lit the candle because he had bought the belt, and the cook grunted and muttered charms as long as he could see the ducking point of flame.
Said Harvey to Dan, as they turned in after watch:
How about progress and Catholic superstitions?
Huh! I guess Im as enlightened and progressive as the next man, but when it comes to a dead St. Malo deck-hand scarin a couple o pore boys stiff fer the sake of a thirty-cent knife, why, then, the cook can take hold fer all o me. I mistrust furriners, livin or dead.
Next morning all, except the cook, were rather ashamed of the ceremonies, and went to work double tides, speaking gruffly to one another.
The Were Here was racing neck and neck for her last few loads against the Parry Norman; and so close was the struggle that the Fleet took side and betted tobacco. All hands worked at the lines or dressing-down till they fell asleep where they stoodbeginning before dawn and ending when it was too dark to see. They even used the cook as pitcher, and turned Harvey into the hold to pass salt, while Dan helped to dress down. Luckily a Parry Norman man sprained his ankle falling down the focsle, and the Were Heres gained. Harvey could not see how one more fish could be crammed into her, but Disko and Tom Platt stowed and stowed, and planked the mass down with big stones from the ballast, and there was always jest another days work. Disko did not tell them when all the salt was wetted. He rolled to the lazarette aft the cabin and began hauling out the big mainsail. This was at ten in the morning. The riding-sail was down and the main- and topsail were up by noon, and dories came alongside with letters for home, envying their good fortune. At last she cleared decks, hoisted her flag,as is the right of the first boat off the Banks,up-anchored, and began to move. Disko pretended that he wished to accomodate folk who had not sent in their mail, and so worked her gracefully in and out among the schooners. In reality, that was his little triumphant procession, and for the fifth year running it showed what kind of mariner he was. Dans accordion and Tom Platts fiddle supplied the music of the magic verse you must not sing till all the salt is wet:
Hih! Yih! Yoho! Send your letters raound!
The last letters pitched on deck wrapped round pieces of coal, and the Gloucester men shouted messages to their wives and womenfolks and owners, while the Were Here finished the musical ride through the Fleet, her headsails quivering like a mans hand when he raises it to say good-by.
Harvey very soon discovered that the Were Here, with her riding-sail, strolling from berth to berth, and the Were Here headed west by south under home canvas, were two very different boats. There was a bite and kick to the wheel even in boys weather; he could feel the dead weight in the hold flung forward mightily across the surges, and the streaming line of bubbles overside made his eyes dizzy.
Disko kept them busy fiddling with the sails; and when those were flattened like a racing yachts, Dan had to wait on the big topsail, which was put over by hand every time she went about. In spare moments they pumped, for the packed fish dripped brine, which does not improve a cargo. But since there was no fishing, Harvey had time to look at the sea from another point of view. The low-sided schooner was naturally on most intimate terms with her surroundings. They saw little of the horizon save when she topped a swell; and usually she was elbowing, fidgeting, and coasting her steadfast way through gray, gray-blue, or black hollows laced across and across with streaks of shivering foam; or rubbing herself caressingly along the flank of some bigger water-hill. It was as if she said: You wouldnt hurt me, surely? Im only the little Were Here. Then she would slide away chuckling softly to herself till she was brought up by some fresh obstacle. The dullest of folk cannot see this kind of thing hour after hour through long days without noticing it; and Harvey, being anything but dull, began to comprehend and enjoy the dry chorus of wave-tops turning over with a sound of incessant tearing; the hurry of the winds working across open spaces and herding the purple-blue cloud-shadows; the splendid upheaval of the red sunrise; the folding and packing away of the morning mists, wall after wall withdrawn across the white floors; the salty glare and blaze of noon; the kiss of rain falling over thousands of dead, flat square miles; the chilly blackening of everything at the days end; and the million wrinkles of the sea under the moonlight, when the jib-boom solemnly poked at the low stars, and Harvey went down to get a doughnut from the cook.
But the best fun was when the boys were put on the wheel together, Tom Platt within hail, and she cuddled her lee-rail down to the crashing blue, and kept a little home-made rainbow arching unbroken over her windlass. Then the jaws of the booms whined against the masts, and the sheets creaked, and the sails filled with roaring; and when she slid into a hollow she trampled like a woman tripped in her own silk dress, and came out, her jib wet half-way up, yearning and peering for the tall twin-lights of Thatchers Island.
They left the cold gray of the Bank sea, saw the lumber-ships making for Quebec by the Straits of St. Lawrence, with the Jersey salt-brigs from Spain and Sicily; found a friendly northeaster off Artimon Bank that drove them within view of the East light of Sable Island,a sight Disko did not linger over,and stayed with them past Western and Le Have, to the northern fringe of Georges. From there they picked up the deeper water, and let her go merrily.
Hatties pulling on the string, Dan confided to Harvey. Hattie an Ma. Next Sunday youll be hirin a boy to throw water on the windows to make ye go to sleep. Guess youll keep with us till your folks come. Do you know the best of gettin ashore again?
Hot bath? said Harvey. His eyebrows were all white with dried spray.
Thats good, but a night-shirts better. Ive been dreamin o night-shirts ever since we bent our mainsail. Ye can wiggle your toes then. Mall hev a new one fer me, all washed soft. Its home, Harve. Its home! Ye can sense it in the air. Were runnin into the aidge of a hot wave naow, an I can smell the bayberries. Wonder if well get in fer supper. Port a trifle.
The hesitating sails flapped and lurched in the close air as the deep smoothed out, blue and oily, round them. When they whistled for a wind only the rain came in spiky rods, bubbling and drumming, and behind the rain the thunder and the lightning of mid-August. They lay on the deck with bare feet and arms, telling one another what they would order at their first meal ashore; for now the land was in plain sight. A Gloucester swordfish-boat drifted alongside, a man in the little pulpit on the bowsprit flourished his harpoon, his bare head plastered down with the wet. And alls well! he sang cheerily, as though he were watch on a big liner. Wouvermans waiting fer you, Disko. Whats the news o the Fleet?
Disko shouted it and passed on, while the wild summer storm pounded overhead and the lightning flickered along the capes from four different quarters at once. It gave the low circle of hills round Gloucester Harbor, Ten Pound Island, the fish-sheds, with the broken line of house-roofs, and each spar and buoy on the water, in blinding photographs that came and went a dozen times to the minute as the Were Here crawled in on half-flood, and the whistling-buoy moaned and mourned behind her. Then the storm died out in long, separated, vicious dags of blue-white flame, followed by a single roar like the roar of a mortar-battery, and the shaken air tingled under the stars as it got back to silence.
The flag, the flag! said Disko, suddenly, pointing upward.
What is ut? said Long Jack.
Otto! Haaf mast. They can see us frum shore now.
Id clean forgot. Hes no folk to Gloucester, has he?
Girl he was goin to be married to this fall.
Mary pity her! said Long Jack, and lowered the little flag half-mast for the sake of Otto, swept overboard in a gale off Le Have three months before.
Disko wiped the wet from his eyes and led the Were Here to Wouvermans wharf, giving his orders in whispers, while she swung round moored tugs and night-watchmen hailed her from the ends of inky-black piers. Over and above the darkness and the mystery of the procession, Harvey could feel the land close round him once more, with all its thousands of people asleep, and the smell of earth after rain, and the familiar noise of a switching-engine coughing to herself in a freight-yard; and all those things made his heart beat and his throat dry up as he stood by the foresheet. They heard the anchor-watch snoring on a lighthouse-tug, nosed into a pocket of darkness where a lantern glimmered on either side; somebody waked with a grunt, threw them a rope, and they made fast to a silent wharf flanked with great iron-roofed sheds fall of warm emptiness, and lay there without a sound.
Then Harvey sat down by the wheel, and sobbed and sobbed as though his heart would break, and a tall woman who had been sitting on a weigh-scale dropped down into the schooner and kissed Dan once on the cheek; for she was his mother, and she had seen the Were Here by the lightning flashes. She took no notice of Harvey till he had recovered himself a little and Disko had told her his story. Then they went to Diskos house together as the dawn was breaking; and until the telegraph office was open and he could wire his folk, Harvey Cheyne was perhaps the loneliest boy in all America. But the curious thing was that Disko and Dan seemed to think none the worse of him for crying.
Wouverman was not ready for Diskos prices till Disko, sure that the Were Here was at least a week ahead of any other Gloucester boat, had given him a few days to swallow them; so all hands played about the streets, and Long Jack stopped the Rocky Neck trolley, on principle, as he said, till the conductor let him ride free. But Dan went about with his freckled nose in the air, bung-full of mystery and most haughty to his family.
Dan, Ill hev to lay inter you ef you act this way, said Troop, pensively. Sence weve come ashore this time youve bin a heap too fresh.
Id lay into him naow ef he was mine, said Uncle Salters, sourly. He and Penn boarded with the Troops.
Oho! said Dan, shuffling with the accordion round the backyard, ready to leap the fence if the enemy advanced. Dad, youre welcome to your own judgment, but remember Ive warned ye. Your own flesh an blood ha warned ye! Taint any o my fault ef youre mistook, but Ill be on deck to watch ye. An ez fer yeou, Uncle Salters, Pharaohs chief butler aint in it longside o you! You watch aout an wait. Youll be plowed under like your own blamed clover; but meDan TroopIll flourish like a green bay-tree because I warnt stuck on my own opinion.
Disko was smoking in all his shore dignity and a pair of beautiful carpet-slippers. Youre gettin ez crazy as poor Harve. You two go araound gigglin an squinchin an kickin each other under the table till theres no peace in the haouse, said he.
Theres goin to be a heap lessfer some folks, Dan replied. You wait an see.
He and Harvey went out on the trolley to East Gloucester, where they tramped through the bayberry bushes to the lighthouse, and lay down on the big red boulders and laughed themselves hungry. Harvey had shown Dan a telegram, and the two swore to keep silence till the shell burst.
Harves folk? said Dan, with an unruffled face after supper. Well, I guess they dont amount to much of anything, or wed ha heard from em by naow. His pop keeps a kind o store out West. Maybe hell give you s much as five dollars, Dad.
What did I tell ye? said Salters. Dont sputter over your vittles, Dan.
Whatever his private sorrows may be, a multimillionaire, like any other workingman, should keep abreast of his business. Harvey Cheyne, senior, had gone East late in June to meet a woman broken down, half mad, who dreamed day and night of her son drowning in the gray seas. He had surrounded her with doctors, trained nurses, massage-women, and even faith-cure companions, but they were useless. Mrs. Cheyne lay still and moaned, or talked of her boy by the hour together to any one who would listen. Hope she had none, and who could offer it? All she needed was assurance that drowning did not hurt; and her husband watched to guard lest she should make the experiment. Of his own sorrow he spoke littlehardly realized the depth of it till he caught himself asking the calendar on his writing-desk, Whats the use of going on?
There had always lain a pleasant notion at the back of his head that, some day, when he had rounded off everything and the boy had left college, he would take his son to his heart and lead him into his possessions. Then that boy, he argued, as busy fathers do, would instantly become his companion, partner, and ally, and there would follow splendid years of great works carried out togetherthe old head backing the young fire. Now his boy was deadlost at sea, as it might have been a Swede sailor from one of Cheynes big teaships; the wife dying, or worse; he himself was trodden down by platoons of women and doctors and maids and attendants; worried almost beyond endurance by the shift and change of her poor restless whims; hopeless, with no heart to meet his many enemies.
He had taken the wife to his raw new palace in San Diego, where she and her people occupied a wing of great price, and Cheyne, in a veranda-room, between a secretary and a typewriter, who was also a telegraphist, toiled along wearily from day to day. There was a war of rates among four Western railroads in which he was supposed to be interested; a devastating strike had developed in his lumber camps in Oregon, and the legislature of the State of California, which has no love for its makers, was preparing open war against him.
Ordinarily he would have accepted battle ere it was offered, and have waged a pleasant and unscrupulous campaign. But now he sat limply, his soft black hat pushed forward on to his nose, his big body shrunk inside his loose clothes, staring at his boots or the Chinese junks in the bay, and assenting absently to the secretarys questions as he opened the Saturday mail.
Cheyne was wondering how much it would cost to drop everything and pull out. He carried huge insurances, could buy himself royal annuities, and between one of his places in Colorado and a little society (that would do the wife good), say in Washington and the South Carolina islands, a man might forget plans that had come to nothing. On the other hand
The click of the typewriter stopped; the girl was looking at the secretary, who had turned white.
He passed Cheyne a telegram repeated from San Francisco:
Picked up by fishing schooner Were Here having fallen off boat great times on Banks fishing all well waiting Gloucester Mass care Disko Troop for money or orders wire what shall do and how is Mama Harvey N. Cheyne.
The father let it fall, laid his head down on the roller-top of the shut desk, and breathed heavily. The secretary ran for Mrs. Cheynes doctor who found Cheyne pacing to and fro.
Whatwhat d you think of it? Is it possible? Is there any meaning to it? I cant quite make it out, he cried.
I can, said the doctor. I lose seven thousand a yearthats all. He thought of the struggling New York practice he had dropped at Cheynes imperious bidding, and returned the telegram with a sigh.
You mean youd tell her? May be a fraud?
Whats the motive? said the doctor, coolly. Detections too certain. Its the boy sure enough.
Enter a French maid, impudently, as an indispensable one who is kept on only by large wages.
Mrs. Cheyne she say you must come at once. She think you are seek.
The master of thirty millions bowed his head meekly and followed Suzanne; and a thin, high voice on the upper landing of the great white-wood square staircase cried: What is it? What has happened?
No doors could keep out the shriek that rang through the echoing house a moment later, when her husband blurted out the news.
And thats all right, said the doctor, serenely, to the typewriter. About the only medical statement in novels with any truth to it is that joy dont kill, Miss Kinzey.
I know it; but weve a heap to do first. Miss Kinzey was from Milwaukee, somewhat direct of speech; and as her fancy leaned towards the secretary, she divined there was work in hand. He was looking earnestly at the vast roller-map of America on the wall.
Milsom, were going right across. Private carstraight throughBoston. Fix the connections, shouted Cheyne down the staircase.
I thought so.
The secretary turned to the typewriter, and their eyes met (out of that was born a storynothing to do with this story). She looked inquiringly, doubtful of his resources. He signed to her to move to the Morse as a general brings brigades into action. Then he swept his hand musician-wise through his hair, regarded the ceiling, and set to work, while Miss Kinzeys white fingers called up the Continent of America.
K. H. Wade, Los Angeles The Constance is at Los Angeles, isnt she, Miss Kinzey?
Yep. Miss Kinzey nodded between clicks as the secretary looked at his watch.
Ready? Send Constance, private car, here, and arrange for special to leave here Sunday in time to connect with New York Limited at Sixteenth Street, Chicago, Tuesday next.
Click-click-click! Couldnt you better that?
Not on those grades. That gives em sixty hours from here to Chicago. They wont gain anything by taking a special east of that. Ready? Also arrange with Lake Shore and Michigan Southern to take Constance on New York Central and Hudson River Buffalo to Albany, and B. and A. the same Albany to Boston. Indispensable I should reach Boston Wednesday evening. Be sure nothing prevents. Have also wired Canniff, Toucey, and Barnes.Sign, Cheyne.
Miss Kinzey nodded, and the secretary went on.
Now then. Canniff, Toucey, and Barnes, of course. Ready? Canniff, Chicago. Please take my private car Constance from Santa Fe at Sixteenth Street next Tuesday p. m. on N. Y. Limited through to Buffalo and deliver N. Y. C. for Albany.Ever bin to N York, Miss Kinzey? Well go some day.Ready? Take car Buffalo to Albany on Limited Tuesday p. m. Thats for Toucey.
Havent bin to Noo York, but I know that! with a toss of the head.
Beg pardon. Now, Boston and Albany, Barnes, same instructions from Albany through to Boston. Leave three-five P. M. (you neednt wire that); arrive nine-five P. M. Wednesday. That covers everything Wade will do, but it pays to shake up the managers.
Its great, said Miss Kinzey, with a look of admiration. This was the kind of man she understood and appreciated.
Tisnt bad, said Milsom, modestly. Now, any one but me would have lost thirty hours and spent a week working out the run, instead of handing him over to the Santa Fe straight through to Chicago.
But see here, about that Noo York Limited. Chauncey Depew himself couldnt hitch his car to her, Miss Kinzey suggested, recovering herself.
Yes, but this isnt Chauncey. Its Cheynelightning. It goes.
Even so. Guess wed better wire the boy. Youve forgotten that, anyhow.
When he returned with the fathers message bidding Harvey meet them in Boston at an appointed hour, he found Miss Kinzey laughing over the keys. Then Milsom laughed too, for the frantic clicks from Los Angeles ran: We want to know why-why-why? General uneasiness developed and spreading.
Ten minutes later Chicago appealed to Miss Kinzey in these words: If crime of century is maturing please warn friends in time. We are all getting to cover here.
This was capped by a message from Topeka (and wherein Topeka was concerned even Milsom could not guess): Dont shoot, Colonel. Well come down.
Cheyne smiled grimly at the consternation of his enemies when the telegrams were laid before him. They think were on the warpath. Tell em we dont feel like fighting just now, Milsom. Tell em what were going for. I guess you and Miss Kinsey had better come along, though it isnt likely I shall do any business on the road. Tell em the truthfor once.
So the truth was told. Miss Kinzey clicked in the sentiment while the secretary added the memorable quotation, Let us have peace, and in board rooms two thousand miles away the representatives of sixty-three million dollars worth of variously manipulated railroad interests breathed more freely. Cheyne was flying to meet the only son, so miraculously restored to him. The bear was seeking his cub, not the bulls. Hard men who had their knives drawn to fight for their financial lives put away the weapons and wished him God-speed, while half a dozen panic-smitten tin-pot toads perked up their heads and spoke of the wonderful things they would have done had not Cheyne buried the hatchet.
It was a busy week-end among the wires; for now that their anxiety was removed, men and cities hastened to accommodate. Los Angeles called to San Diego and Barstow that the Southern California engineers might know and be ready in their lonely roundhouses; Barstow passed the word to the Atlantic and Pacific; and Albuquerque flung it the whole length of the Atchinson, Topeka, and Santa Fe management, even into Chicago. An engine, combination-car with crew, and the great and gilded Constance private car were to be expedited over those two thousand three hundred and fifty miles. The train would take precedence of one hundred and seventy-seven others meeting and passing; despatchers and crews of every one of those said trains must be notified. Sixteen locomotives, sixteen engineers, and sixteen firemen would be neededeach and every one the best available. Two and one half minutes would be allowed for changing engines, three for watering, and two for coaling. Warn the men, and arrange tanks and chutes accordingly; for Harvey Cheyne is in a hurry, a hurry, a hurry, sang the wires. Forty miles an hour will be expected, and division superintendents will accompany this special over their respective divisions. From San Diego to Sixteenth Street, Chicago, let the magic carpet be laid down. Hurry! Oh, hurry!
It will be hot, said Cheyne, as they rolled out of San Diego in the dawn of Sunday. Were going to hurry, Mama, just as fast as ever we can; but I really dont think theres any good of your putting on your bonnet and gloves yet. Youd much better lie down and take your medicine. Id play you a game of dominoes, but its Sunday.
Ill be good. Oh, I will be good. Onlytaking off my bonnet makes me feel as if wed never get there.
Try to sleep a little, Mama, and well be in Chicago before you know.
But its Boston, Father. Tell them to hurry.
The six-foot drivers were hammering their way to San Bernardino and the Mohave wastes, but this was no grade for speed. That would come later. The heat of the desert followed the heat of the hills as they turned east to the Needles and the Colorado River. The car cracked in the utter drouth and glare, and they put crushed ice to Mrs. Cheynes neck, and toiled up the long, long grades, past Ash Fork, towards Flagstaff, where the forests and quarries are, under the dry, remote skies. The needle of the speed-indicator flicked and wagged to and fro; the cinders rattled on the roof, and a whirl of dust sucked after the whirling wheels. The crew of the combination sat on their bunks, panting in their shirtsleeves, and Cheyne found himself among them shouting old, old stories of the railroad that every trainman knows, above the roar of the car. He told them about his son, and how the sea had given up its dead, and they nodded and spat and rejoiced with him; asked after her, back there, and whether she could stand it if the engineer let her out a piece, and Cheyne thought she could. Accordingly, the great fire-horse was let ut from Flagstaff to Winslow, till a division superintendent protested.
But Mrs. Cheyne, in the boudoir stateroom, where the French maid, sallow-white with fear, clung to the silver door-handle, only moaned a little and begged her husband to bid them hurry. And so they dropped the dry sands and moon-struck rocks of Arizona behind them, and grilled on till the crash of the couplings and the wheeze of the brake-hose told them they were at Coolidge by the Continental Divide.
Three bold and experienced mencool, confident, and dry when they began; white, quivering, and wet when they finished their trick at those terrible wheelsswung her over the great lift from Albuquerque to Glorietta and beyond Springer, up and up to the Raton Tunnel on the State line, whence they dropped rocking into La Junta, had sight of the Arkansaw, and tore down the long slope to Dodge City, where Cheyne took comfort once again from setting his watch an hour ahead.
There was very little talk in the car. The secretary and typewriter sat together on the stamped Spanish-leather cushions by the plate-glass observation-window at the rear end, watching the surge and ripple of the ties crowded back behind them, and, it is believed, making notes of the scenery. Cheyne moved nervously between his own extravagant gorgeousness and the naked necessity of the combination, an unlit cigar in his teeth, till the pitying crews forgot that he was their tribal enemy, and did their best to entertain him.
At night the bunched electrics lit up that distressful palace of all the luxuries, and they fared sumptuously, swinging on through the emptiness of abject desolation.
Now they heard the swish of a water-tank, and the guttural voice of a Chinaman, the click-clink of hammers that tested the Krupp steel wheels, and the oath of a tramp chased off the rear-platform; now the solid crash of coal shot into the tender; and now a beating back of noises as they flew past a waiting train. Now they looked out into great abysses, a trestle purring beneath their tread, or up to rocks that barred out half the stars. Now scour and ravine changed and rolled back to jagged mountains on the horizons edge, and now broke into hills lower and lower, till at last came the true plains.
At Dodge City an unknown hand threw in a copy of a Kansas paper containing some sort of an interview with Harvey, who had evidently fallen in with an enterprising reporter, telegraphed on from Boston. The joyful journalese revealed that it was beyond question their boy, and it soothed Mrs. Cheyne for a while. Her one word hurry was conveyed by the crews to the engineers at Nickerson, Topeka, and Marceline, where the grades are easy, and they brushed the Continent behind them. Towns and villages were close together now, and a man could feel here that he moved among people.
I cant see the dial, and my eyes ache so. What are we doing?
The very best we can, Mama. Theres no sense in getting in before the Limited. Wed only have to wait.
I dont care. I want to feel were moving. Sit down and tell me the miles.
Cheyne sat down and read the dial for her (there were some miles which stand for records to this day), but the seventy-foot car never changed its long steamer-like roll, moving through the heat with the hum of a giant bee. Yet the speed was not enough for Mrs. Cheyne; and the heat, the remorseless August heat, was making her giddy; the clock-hands would not move, and when, oh, when would they be in Chicago?
It is not true that, as they changed engines at Fort Madison, Cheyne passed over to the Amalgamated Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers an endowment sufficient to enable them to fight him and his fellows on equal terms for evermore. He paid his obligations to engineers and firemen as he believed they deserved, and only his bank knows what he gave the crews who had sympathized with him. It is on record that the last crew took entire charge of switching operations at Sixteenth Street, because she was in a doze at last, and Heaven was to help any one who bumped her.
Now the highly paid specialist who conveys the Lake Shore and Michigan Southern Limited from Chicago to Elkhart is something of an autocrat, and he does not approve of being told how to back up to a car. None the less he handled the Constance as if she might have been a load of dynamite, and when the crew rebuked him, they did it in whispers and dumb show.
Pshaw! said the Atchinson, Topeka, and Santa Fe men, discussing life later, we werent runnin for a record. Harvey Cheynes wife, she were sick back, an we didnt want to jounce her. Come to think of it, our runnin time from San Diego to Chicago was 57.54. You can tell that to them Eastern way-trains. When were tryin for a record, well let you know.
To the Western man (though this would not please either city) Chicago and Boston are cheek by jowl, and some railroads encourage the delusion. The Limited whirled the Constance into Buffalo and the arms of the New York Central and Hudson River (illustrious magnates with white whiskers and gold charms on their watch-chains boarded her here to talk a little business to Cheyne), who slid her gracefully into Albany, where the Boston and Albany completed the run from tide-water to tide-watertotal time, eighty-seven hours and thirty-five minutes, or three days, fifteen hours and one half. Harvey was waiting for them.
After violent emotion most people and all boys demand food. They feasted the returned prodigal behind drawn curtains, cut off in their great happiness, while the trains roared in and out around them. Harvey ate, drank, and enlarged on his adventures all in one breath, and when he had a hand free his mother fondled it. His voice was thickened with living in the open, salt air; his palms were rough and hard, his wrists dotted with marks of gurrysores; and a fine full flavour of codfish hung round rubber boots and blue jersey.
The father, well used to judging men, looked at him keenly. He did not know what enduring harm the boy might have taken. Indeed, he caught himself thinking that he knew very little whatever of his son; but he distinctly remembered an unsatisfied, dough-faced youth who took delight in calling down the old man, and reducing his mother to tearssuch a person as adds to the gaiety of public rooms and hotel piazzas, where the ingenuous young of the wealthy play with or revile the bell-boys. But this well set-up fisher-youth did not wriggle, looked at him with eyes steady, clear, and unflinching, and spoke in a tone distinctly, even startlingly, respectful. There was that in his voice, too, which seemed to promise that the change might be permanent, and that the new Harvey had come to stay.
Some ones been coercing him, thought Cheyne. Now Constance would never have allowed that. Dont see as Europe could have done it any better.
But why didnt you tell this man, Troop, who you were? the mother repeated, when Harvey had expanded his story at least twice.
Disko Troop, dear. The best man that ever walked a deck. I dont care who the next is.
Why didnt you tell him to put you ashore? You know Papa would have made it up to him ten times over.
I know it; but he thought I was crazy. Im afraid I called him a thief because I couldnt find the bills in my pocket.
A sailor found them by the flagstaff thatthat night, sobbed Mrs. Cheyne.
That explains it, then. I dont blame Troop any. I just said I wouldnt workon a Banker, tooand of course he hit me on the nose, and oh! I bled like a stuck hog.
My poor darling! They must have abused you horribly.
Dunno quite. Well, after that, I saw a light.
Cheyne slapped his leg and chuckled. This was going to be a boy after his own hungry heart. He had never seen precisely that twinkle in Harveys eye before.
And the old man gave me ten and a half a month; hes paid me half now; and I took hold with Dan and pitched right in. I cant do a mans work yet. But I can handle a dory most as well as Dan, and I dont get rattled in a fogmuch; and I can take my trick in light windsthats steering, dearand I can most bait up a trawl, and I know my ropes, of course; and I can pitch fish till the cows come home, and Im great on old Josephus, and Ill show you how I can clear coffee with a piece of fish-skin, andI think Ill have another cup, please. Say, youve no notion what a heap of work there is in ten and a half a month!
I began with eight and a half, my son, said Cheyne.
That so? You never told me, sir.
You never asked, Harve. Ill tell you about it some day, if you care to listen. Try a stuffed olive.
Troop says the most interesting thing in the world is to find out how the next man gets his vittles. Its great to have a trimmed-up meal again. We were well fed, though. But mug on the Banks. Disko fed us first-class. Hes a great man. And Danthats his sonDans my partner. And theres Uncle Salters and his manures, an he reads Josephus. Hes sure Im crazy yet. And theres poor little Penn, and he is crazy. You mustnt talk to him about Johnstown, because
And, oh, you must know Tom Platt and Long Jack and Manuel. Manuel saved my life. Im sorry hes a Portuguee. He cant talk much, but hes an everlasting musician. He found me struck adrift and drifting, and hauled me in.
I wonder your nervous system isnt completely wrecked, said Mrs. Cheyne.
What for, Mama? I worked like a horse and I ate like a hog and I slept like a dead man.
That was too much for Mrs. Cheyne, who began to think of her visions of a corpse rocking on the salty seas. She went to her stateroom, and Harvey curled up beside his father, explaining his indebtedness.
You can depend upon me to do everything I can for the crowd, Harve. They seem to be good men on your showing.
Best in the Fleet, sir. Ask at Gloucester, said Harvey. But Disko believes still hes cured me of being crazy. Dans the only one Ive let on to about you, and our private cars and all the rest of it, and Im not quite sure Dan believes. I want to paralyze em to-morrow. Say, cant they run the Constance over to Gloucester? Mama dont look fit to be moved, anyway, and were bound to finish cleaning out by tomorrow. Wouverman takes our fish. You see, were the first off the Banks this season, and its four twenty-five a quintal. We held out till he paid it. They want it quick.
You mean youll have to work to-morrow, then?
I told Troop I would. Im on the scales. Ive brought the tallies with me. He looked at the greasy notebook with an air of importance that made his father choke. There isnt but threenotwo ninety-four or five quintal more by my reckoning.
Hire a substitute, suggested Cheyne, to see what Harvey would say.
Cant, sir. Im tally-man for the schooner. Troop says Ive a better head for figures than Dan. Troops a mighty just man.
Well, suppose I dont move the Constance to-night, howll you fix it?
Harvey looked at the clock, which marked twenty past eleven.
Then Ill sleep here till three and catch the four oclock freight. They let us men from the Fleet ride free as a rule.
Thats a notion. But I think we can get the Constance around about as soon as your mens freight. Better go to bed now.
Harvey spread himself on the sofa, kicked off his boots, and was asleep before his father could shade the electrics. Cheyne sat watching the young face under the shadow of the arm thrown over the forehead, and among many things that occurred to him was the notion that he might perhaps have been neglectful as a father.
One never knows when ones taking ones biggest risks, he said. It might have been worse than drowning; but I dont think it hasI dont think it has. If it hasnt, I havent enough to pay Troop, thats all; and I dont think it has.
Morning brought a fresh sea breeze through the windows, the Constance was side-tracked among freight-cars at Gloucester, and Harvey had gone to his business.
Then hell fall overboard again and be drowned, the mother said bitterly.
Well go and look, ready to throw him a rope in case. Youve never seen him working for his bread, said the father.
What nonsense! As if any one expected
Well, the man that hired him did. Hes about right, too.
They went down between the stores full of fishermens oilskins to Wouvermans wharf where the Were Here rode high, her Bank flag still flying, all hands busy as beavers in the glorious morning light. Disko stood by the main hatch superintending Manuel, Penn, and Uncle Salters at the tackle. Dan was swinging the loaded baskets inboard as Long Jack and Tom Platt filled them, and Harvey, with a notebook, represented the skippers interests before the clerk of the scales on the salt-sprinkled wharf-edge.
Ready! cried the voices below. Haul! cried Disko. Hi! said Manuel. Here! said Dan, swinging the basket. Then they heard Harveys voice, clear and fresh, checking the weights.
The last of the fish had been whipped out, and Harvey leaped from the string-piece six feet to a ratline, as the shortest way to hand Disko the tally, shouting, Two ninety-seven, and an empty hold!
Whats the total, Harve? said Disko.
Eight sixty-five. Three thousand six hundred and seventy-six dollars and a quarter. Wish Id share as well as wage.
Well, I wont go so far as to say you hevnt deserved it, Harve. Dont you want to slip up to Wouvermans office and take him our tallies?
Whos that boy? said Cheyne to Dan, well used to all manner of questions from those idle imbeciles called summer boarders.
Well, hes kind o supercargo, was the answer. We picked him up struck adrift on the Banks. Fell overboard from a liner, he sez. He was a passenger. Hes by way o hem a fisherman now.
Is he worth his keep?
Ye-ep. Dad, this man wants to know ef Harves worth his keep. Say, would you like to go aboard? Well fix up a ladder for her.
I should very much, indeed. Twont hurt you, Mama, and youll be able to see for yourself.
The woman who could not lift her head a week ago scrambled down the ladder, and stood aghast amid the mess and tangle aft.
Be you anyways interested in Harve? said Disko.
Hes a good boy, an ketches right hold jest as hes bid. Youve heard haow we found him? He was sufferin from nervous prostration, I guess, r else his head had hit somethin, when we hauled him aboard. Hes all over that naow. Yes, this is the cabin. Taint in order, but youre quite welcome to look araound. Those are his figures on the stove-pipe, where we keep the reckonin mostly.
Did he sleep here? said Mrs. Cheyne, sitting on a yellow locker and surveying the disorderly bunks.
No. He berthed forward, madam, an only fer him an my boy hookin fried pies an muggin up when they ought to ha been asleep, I dunno as Ive any special fault to find with him.
There werent nothin wrong with Harve, said Uncle Salters, descending the steps. He hung my boots on the main-truck, and he aint over an above respectful to such as knows moren he do, specially about farmin; but he were mostly misled by Dan.
Dan in the meantime, profiting by dark hints from Harvey early that morning, was executing a war-dance on deck. Tom, Tom! he whispered down the hatch. His folks has come, an Dad haint caught on yet, an theyre pow-wowin in the cabin. Shes a daisy, an hes all Harve claimed he was, by the looks of him.
Howly Smoke! said Long Jack, climbing out covered with salt and fish-skin. Dye belave his tale av the kid an the little four-horse rig was thrue?
I knew it all along, said Dan. Come an see Dad mistook in his judgments.
They came delightedly, just in time to hear Cheyne say: Im glad he has a good character, becausehes my son.
Diskos jaw fell,Long Jack always vowed that he heard the click of it,and he stared alternately at the man and the woman.
I got his telegram in San Diego four days ago, and we came over.
In a private car? said Dan. He said ye might.
In a private car, of course.
Dan looked at his father with a hurricane of irreverent winks.
There was a tale he told us av drivin four little ponies in a rig av his own, said Long Jack. Was that thrue now?
Very likely, said Cheyne. Was it, Mama?
He had a little drag when we were in Toledo, I think, said the mother.
Long Jack whistled. Oh, Disko! said he, and that was all.
I wuzI am mistook in my jedgmentsworsen the men o Marblehead, said Disko, as though the words were being windlassed out of him. I dont mind ownin to you, Mr. Cheyne, as I mistrusted the boy to be crazy. He talked kinder odd about money.
So he told me.
Did he tell ye anything else? Cause I pounded him once. This with a somewhat anxious glance at Mrs. Cheyne.
Oh, yes, Cheyne replied. I should say it probably did him more good than anything else in the world.
I jedged twuz necessary, er I wouldnt ha done it. I dont want you to think we abuse our boys any on this packet.
I dont think you do, Mr. Troop.
Mrs. Cheyne had been looking at the facesDiskos ivory-yellow, hairless, iron countenance; Uncle Salterss, with its rim of agricultural hair; Penns bewildered simplicity; Manuels quiet smile; Long Jacks grin of delight, and Tom Platts scar. Rough, by her standards, they certainly were; but she had a mothers wits in her eyes, and she rose with out-stretched hands.
Oh, tell me, which is who? said she, half sobbing. I want to thank you and bless youall of you.
Faith, that pays me a hunder time, said Long Jack.
Disko introduced them all in due form. The captain of an old-time Chinaman could have done no better, and Mrs. Cheyne babbled incoherently. She nearly threw herself into Manuels arms when she understood that he had first found Harvey.
But how shall I leave him dreeft? said poor Manuel. What do you yourself if you find him so? Eh, wha-at? We are in one good boy, and I am ever so pleased he come to be your son.
And he told me Dan was his partner! she cried. Dan was already sufficiently pink, but he turned a rich crimson when Mrs. Cheyne kissed him on both cheeks before the assembly. Then they led her forward to show her the focsle, at which she wept again, and must needs go down to see Harveys identical bunk, and there she found the nigger cook cleaning up the stove, and he nodded as though she were some one he had expected to meet for years. They tried, two at a time, to explain the boats daily life to her, and she sat by the pawl-post, her gloved hands on the greasy table, laughing with trembling lips and crying with dancing eyes.
And whos ever to use the Were Here after this? said Long Jack to Tom Platt. I feel as if shed made a cathedral av ut all.
Cathedral! sneered Tom Platt. Oh, if it had bin even the Fish Cmmission boat instid of this bally-hoo o blazes. If we only hed some decency an order an side-boys when she goes over! Shell have to climb that ladder like a hen, an wewe ought to be mannin the yards!
Then Harvey was not mad, said Penn, slowly, to Cheyne.
No, indeedthank God, the big millionaire replied, stooping down tenderly.
It must be terrible to be mad. Except to lose your child, I do not know anything more terrible. But your child has come back? Let us thank God for that.
Hello! cried Harvey, looking down upon them benignly from the wharf.
I wuz mistook, Harve. I wuz mistook, said Disko, swiftly, holding up a hand. I wuz mistook in my jedgments. Ye neednt rub in any more.
Guess Ill take care o that, said Dan, under his breath.
Youll be goin off naow, wont ye?
Well, not without the balance of my wages, less you want to have the Were Here attached.
Thets so; Id clean forgot; and he counted out the remaining dollars. You done all you contracted to do, Harve; and you done it baouts well as if youd been brought up Here Disko brought himself up. He did not quite see where the sentence was going to end.
Outside of a private car? suggested Dan, wickedly.
Come on, and Ill show her to you, said Harvey.
Cheyne stayed to talk with Disko, but the others made a procession to the depot, with Mrs. Cheyne at the head. The French maid shrieked at the invasion; and Harvey laid the glories of the Constance before them without a word. They took them in in equal silencestamped leather, silver door-handles and rails, cut velvet, plate-glass, nickel, bronze, hammered iron, and the rare woods of the continent inlaid.
I told you, said Harvey; I told you. This was his crowning revenge, and a most ample one.
Mrs. Cheyne decreed a meal, and that nothing might be lacking to the tale Long Jack told afterwards in his boarding-house, she waited on them herself. Men who are accustomed to eat at tiny tables in howling gales have curiously neat and finished manners; but Mrs. Cheyne, who did not know this, was surprised. She longed to have Manuel for a butler; so silently and easily did he comport himself among the frail glassware and dainty silver. Tom Platt remembered the great days on the Ohio and the manners of foreign potentates who dined with the officers; and Long Jack, being Irish, supplied the small talk till all were at their ease.
In the Were Heres cabin the fathers took stock of each other behind their cigars. Cheyne knew well enough when he dealt with a man to whom he could not offer money; equally well he knew that no money could pay for what Disko had done. He kept his own counsel and waited for an opening.
I hevnt done anything to your boy or fer your boy excep make him work a piece an learn him how to handle the hog-yoke, said Disko. He has twice my boys head for figgers.
By the way, Cheyne answered casually, what dyou calculate to make of your boy?
Disko removed his cigar and waved it comprehensively round the cabin. Dans jest plain boy, an he dont allow me to do any of his thinkin. Hell hev this able little packet when Im laid by. He aint noways anxious to quit the business. I know that.
Mmm! Ever been West, Mr. Troop?
Bins fer ez Noo York once in a boat. Ive no use for railroads. No more hez Dan. Salt waters good enough fer the Troops. Ive been most everywherein the natral way, o course.
I can give him all the salt water hes likely to needtill hes a skipper.
Haows that? I thought you wuz a kinder railroad king. Harve told me so whenI was mistook in my jedgments.
Were all apt to be mistaken. I fancied perhaps you might know I own a line of tea-clippersSan Francisco to Yokohamasix of emiron-built, about seventeen hundred and eighty tons apiece.
Blame that boy! He never told. Id ha listened to that, instid o his truck abaout railroads an pony-carriages.
He didnt know.
Little thing like that slipped his mind, I guess.
No, I only capttook hold of the Blue M. freightersMorgan and McQuades old linethis summer. Disko collapsed where he sat, beside the stove.
Great Caesar Almighty! I mistrust Ive been fooled from one end to the other. Why, Phil Airheart he went from this very town six year backno, sevenan hes mate on the San Josenowtwenty-six days was her time out. His sister shes livin here yet, an she reads his letters to my woman. An you own the Blue M. freighters?
If Id known that Id ha jerked the Were Here back to port all standin, on the word.
Perhaps that wouldnt have been so good for Harvey.
If Id only known! If hed only said about the cussed Line, Id ha understood! Ill never stand on my own jedgments againnever. Theyre well-found packets. Phil Airheart he says so.
Im glad to have a recommend from that quarter. Airhearts skipper of the San Jose now. What I was getting at is to know whether youd lend me Dan for a year or two, and well see if we cant make a mate of him. Would you trust him to Airheart?
Its a resk taking a raw boy
I know a man who did more for me.
Thats diffrunt. Look at here naow, I aint recommendin Dan special because hes my own flesh an blood. I know Bank ways aint clipper ways, but he haint much to learn. Steer he canno boy better, if I say itan the rests in our blood an get; but I could wish he warnt so cussed weak on navigation.
Airheart will attend to that. Hell ship as boy for a voyage or two, and then we can put him in the way of doing better. Suppose you take him in hand this winter, and Ill send for him early in the spring. I know the Pacifics a long ways off
Pshaw! We Troops, livin an dead, are all around the earth an the seas thereof.
But I want you to understandand I mean thisany time you think youd like to see him, tell me, and Ill attend to the transportation. Twont cost you a cent.
If youll walk a piece with me, well go to my house an talk this to my woman. Ive bin so crazy mistook in all my jedgments, it dont seem to me this was like to be real.
They went blue-trimmed of nasturtiums over to Troops eighteen-hundred-dollar, white house, with a retired dory full in the front yard and a shuttered parlour which was a museum of oversea plunder. There sat a large woman, silent and grave, with the dim eyes of those who look long to sea for the return of their beloved. Cheyne addressed himself to her, and she gave consent wearily.
We lose one hundred a year from Gloucester only, Mr. Cheyne, she saidone hundred boys an men; and Ive come sos to hate the sea as if twuz alive an listenin. God never made it fer humans to anchor on. These packets o yours they go straight out, I take it and straight home again?
As straight as the winds let em, and I give a bonus for record passages. Tea dont improve by being at sea.
When he wuz little he used to play at keeping store, an I had hopes he might follow that up. But soons he could paddle a dory I knew that were goin to be denied me.
Theyre square-riggers, Mother; iron-built an well found. Remember what Phils sister reads you when she gits his letters.
Ive never known as Phil told lies, but hes too venturesome (like most of em that use the sea). If Dan sees fit, Mr. Cheyne, he can gofer all o me.
She jest despises the ocean, Disko explained, an II dunno haow to act polite, I guess, er Id thank you better.
My fathermy own eldest brothertwo nephewsan my second sisters man, she said, dropping her head on her hand. Would you care fer any one that took all those?
Cheyne was relieved when Dan turned up and accepted with more delight than he was able to put into words. Indeed, the offer meant a plain and sure road to all desirable things; but Dan thought most of commanding watch on broad decks, and looking into far-away harbours.
Mrs. Cheyne had spoken privately to the unaccountable Manuel in the matter of Harveys rescue. He seemed to have no desire for money. Pressed hard, he said that he would take five dollars, because he wanted to buy something for a girl. OtherwiseHow shall I take money when I make so easy my eats and smokes? You will giva some if I like or no? Eh, wha-at? Then you shall giva me money, but not that way. You shall giva all you can think. He introduced her to a snuffy Portuguese priest with a list of semi-destitute widows as long as his cassock. As a strict Unitarian, Mrs. Cheyne could not sympathize with the creed, but she ended by respecting the brown, voluble little man.
Manuel, faithful son of the Church, appropriated all the blessings showered on her for her charity. That letta me out, said he. I have now ver good absolutions for six months; and he strolled forth to get a handkerchief for the girl of the hour and to break the hearts of all the others.
Salters went West for a season with Penn, and left no address behind. He had a dread that these millionary people, with wasteful private cars, might take undue interest in his companion. It was better to visit inland relatives till the coast was clear. Never you be adopted by rich folk, Penn, he said in the cars, or Ill take n break this checker-board over your head. Ef you forgit your name aginwhich is Prattyou remember you belong with Salters Troop, an set down right where you are till I come fer you. Dont go taggin araound after them whose eyes bung out with fatness, accordin to Scripcher.
But it was otherwise with the Were Heres silent cook, for he came up, his kit in a handkerchief, and boarded the Constance. Pay was no particular object, and he did not in the least care where he slept. His business, as revealed to him in dreams, was to follow Harvey for the rest of his days. They tried argument and, at last, persuasion; but there is a difference between one Cape Breton and two Alabama negroes, and the matter was referred to Cheyne by the cook and porter. The millionaire only laughed. He presumed Harvey might need a body-servant some day or other, and was sure that one volunteer was worth five hirelings. Let the man stay, therefore; even though he called himself MacDonald and swore in Gaelic. The car could go back to Boston, where, if he were still of the same mind, they would take him West.
With the Constance, which in his heart of hearts he loathed, departed the last remnant of Cheynes millionairedom, and he gave himself up to an energetic idleness. This Gloucester was a new town in a new land, and he purposed to take it in, as of old he had taken in all the cities from Snohomish to San Diego of that world whence he hailed. They made money along the crooked street which was half wharf and half ships store: as a leading professional he wished to learn how the noble game was played. Men said that four out of every five fish-balls served at New Englands Sunday breakfast came from Gloucester, and overwhelmed him with figures in proofstatistics of boats, gear, wharf-frontage, capital invested, salting, packing, factories, insurance, wages, repairs, and profits. He talked with the owners of the large fleets whose skippers were little more than hired men, and whose crews were almost all Swedes or Portuguese. Then he conferred with Disko, one of the few who owned their craft, and compared notes in his vast head. He coiled himself away on chain-cables in marine junk-shops, asking questions with cheerful, unslaked Western curiosity, till all the water-front wanted to know what in thunder that man was after, anyhow. He prowled into the Mutual Insurance rooms, and demanded explanations of the mysterious remarks chalked up on the blackboard day by day; and that brought down upon him secretaries of every Fishermans Widow and Orphan Aid Society within the city limits. They begged shamelessly, each man anxious to beat the other institutions record, and Cheyne tugged at his beard and handed them all over to Mrs. Cheyne.
She was resting in a boarding-house near Eastern Pointa strange establishment, managed, apparently, by the boarders, where the table-cloths were red-and-white-checkered and the population, who seemed to have known one another intimately for years, rose up at midnight to make Welsh rarebits if it felt hungry. On the second morning of her stay Mrs. Cheyne put away her diamond solitaires before she came down to breakfast.
Theyre most delightful people, she confided to her husband; so friendly and simple, too, though they are all Boston, nearly.
That isnt simpleness, Mama, he said, looking across the boulders behind the apple-trees where the hammocks were slung. Its the other thing, that what I havent got.
It cant be, said Mrs. Cheyne quietly. There isnt a woman here owns a dress that cost a hundred dollars. Why, we
I know it, dear. We haveof course we have. I guess its only the style they wear East. Are you having a good time?
I dont see very much of Harvey; hes always with you; but I aint near as nervous as I was.
I havent had such a good time since Willie died. I never rightly understood that I had a son before this. Harves got to be a great boy. Anything I can fetch you, dear? Cushion under your head? Well, well go down to the wharf again and look around.
Harvey was his fathers shadow in those days, and the two strolled along side by side, Cheyne using the grades as an excuse for laying his hand on the boys square shoulder. It was then that Harvey noticed and admired what had never struck him beforehis fathers curious power of getting at the heart of new matters as learned from men in the street.
How dyou make em tell you everything without opening your head? demanded the son, as they came out of a riggers loft.
Ive dealt with quite a few men in my time, Harve, and one sizes em up somehow, I guess. I know something about myself, too. Then, after a pause, as they sat down on a wharf-edge: Men can most always tell when a man has handled things for himself, and then they treat him as one of themselves.
Same as they treat me down at Wouvermans wharf. Im one of the crowd now. Disko has told every one Ive earned my pay. Harvey spread out his hands and rubbed the palms together. Theyre all soft again, he said dolefully.
Keep em that way for the next few years, while youre getting your education. You can harden em up after.
Ye-es, I suppose so, was the reply, in no delighted voice.
It rests with you, Harve. You can take cover behind your mama, of course, and put her on to fussing about your nerves and your high-strungness and all that kind of poppycock.
Have I ever done that? said Harvey, uneasily.
His father turned where he sat and thrust out a long hand. You know as well as I do that I cant make anything of you if you dont act straight by me. I can handle you alone if youll stay alone, but I dont pretend to manage both you and Mama. Lifes too short, anyway.
Dont make me out much of a fellow, does it?
I guess it was my fault a good deal; but if you want the truth, you havent been much of anything up to date. Now, have you?
Umm! Disko thinks . . . Say, what dyou reckon its cost you to raise me from the startfirst, last and all over?
Cheyne smiled. Ive never kept track, but I should estimate, in dollars and cents, nearer fifty than forty thousand; maybe sixty. The young generation comes high. It has to have things, and it tires of em, andthe old man foots the bill.
Harvey whistled, but at heart he was rather pleased to think that his upbringing had cost so much. And all thats sunk capital, isnt it?
Invested, Harve. Invested, I hope.
Making it only thirty thousand, the thirty Ive earned is about ten cents on the hundred. Thats a mighty poor catch. Harvey wagged his head solemnly.
Cheyne laughed till he nearly fell off the pile into the water.
Disko has got a heap more than that out of Dan since he was ten; and Dans at school half the year, too.
Oh, thats what youre after, is it?
No. Im not after anything. Im not stuck on myself any just nowthats all. . . . I ought to be kicked.
I cant do it, old man; or I would, I presume, if Id been made that way.
Then Id have remembered it to the last day I livedand never forgiven you, said Harvey, his chin on his doubled fists.
Exactly. Thats about what Id do. You see?
I see. The faults with me and no one else. All the same, somethings got to be done about it.
Cheyne drew a cigar from his vest-pocket, bit off the end, and fell to smoking. Father and son were very much alike; for the beard hid Cheynes mouth, and Harvey had his fathers slightly aquiline nose, close-set black eyes, and narrow, high cheek-bones. With a touch of brown paint he would have made up very picturesquely as a Red Indian of the story-books.
Now you can go on from here, said Cheyne, slowly, costing me between six or eight thousand a year till youre a voter. Well, well call you a man then. You can go right on from that, living on me to the tune of forty or fifty thousand, besides what your mother will give you, with a valet and a yacht or a fancy-ranch where you can pretend to raise trotting-stock and play cards with your own crowd.
Like Lorry Tuck? Harvey put in.
Yep; or the two De Vitre boys or old man McQuades son. Californias full of em, and heres an Eastern sample while were talking.
A shiny black steam-yacht, with mahogany deck-house, nickel-plated binnacles, and pink-and-white-striped awnings puffed up the harbour, flying the burgee of some New York club. Two young men in what they conceived to be sea costumes were playing cards by the saloon skylight; and a couple of women with red and blue parasols looked on and laughed noisily.
Shouldnt care to be caught out in her in any sort of a breeze. No beam, said Harvey, critically, as the yacht slowed to pick up her mooring-buoy.
Theyre having what stands them for a good time. I can give you that, and twice as much as that, Harve. Howd you like it?
Caesar! Thats no way to get a dinghy overside, said Harvey, still intent on the yacht. If I couldnt slip a tackle better than that Id stay ashore. . . . What if I dont?
Stay ashoreor what?
Yacht and ranch and live on the old man, andget behind Mama where theres trouble, said Harvey, with a twinkle in his eye.
Why, in that case, you come right in with me, my son.
Ten dollars a month? Another twinkle.
Not a cent more until youre worth it, and you wont begin to touch that for a few years.
Id sooner begin sweeping out the officeisnt that how the big bugs start?and touch something now than
I know it; we all feel that way. But I guess we can hire any sweeping we need. I made the same mistake myself of starting in too soon.
Thirty million dollars worth o mistake, wasnt it? Id risk it for that.
I lost some; and I gained some. Ill tell you.
Cheyne pulled his beard and smiled as he looked over the still water, and spoke away from Harvey, who presently began to be aware that his father was telling the story of his life. He talked in a low, even voice, without gesture and without expression; and it was a history for which a dozen leading journals would cheerfully have paid many dollarsthe story of forty years that was at the same time the story of the New West, whose story is yet to be written.
It began with a kinless boy turned loose in Texas, and went on fantastically through a hundred changes and chops of life, the scenes shifting from State after Western State, from cities that sprang up in a month andin a season utterly withered away, to wild ventures in wilder camps that are now laborious, paved municipalities. It covered the building of three railroads and the deliberate wreck of a fourth. It told of steamers, townships, forests, and mines, and the men of every nation under heaven, manning, creating, hewing, and digging these. It touched on chances of gigantic wealth flung before eyes that could not see, or missed by the merest accident of time and travel; and through the mad shift of things, sometimes on horseback, more often afoot, now rich, now poor, in and out, and back and forth, deck-hand, train-hand, contractor, boarding-house keeper, journalist, engineer, drummer, real-estate agent, politician, dead-beat, rum-seller, mine-owner, speculator, cattle-man, or tramp, moved Harvey Cheyne, alert and quiet, seeking his own ends, and, so he said, the glory and advancement of his country.
He told of the faith that never deserted him even when he hung on the ragged edge of despairthe faith that comes of knowing men and things. He enlarged, as though he were talking to himself, on his very great courage and resource at all times. The thing was so evident in the mans mind that he never even changed his tone. He described how he had bested his enemies, or forgiven them, exactly as they had bested or forgiven him in those careless days; how he had entreated, cajoled, and bullied towns, companies, and syndicates, all for their enduring good; crawled round, through, or under mountains and ravines, dragging a string and hoop-iron railroad after him, and in the end, how he had sat still while promiscuous communities tore the last fragments of his character to shreds.
The tale held Harvey almost breathless, his head a little cocked to one side, his eyes fixed on his fathers face, as the twilight deepened and the red cigar-end lit up the furrowed cheeks and heavy eyebrows. It seemed to him like watching a locomotive storming across country in the darka mile between each glare of the open fire-door: but this locomotive could talk, and the words shook and stirred the boy to the core of his soul. At last Cheyne pitched away the cigar-butt, and the two sat in the dark over the lapping water.
Ive never told that to any one before, said the father.
Harvey gasped. Its just the greatest thing that ever was! said he.
Thats what I got. Now Im coming to what I didnt get. It wont sound much of anything to you, but I dont wish you to be as old as I am before you find out. I can handle men, of course, and Im no fool along my own lines, butbutI cant compete with the man who has been taught! Ive picked up as I went along, and I guess it sticks out all over me.
Ive never seen it, said the son, indignantly.
You will, though, Harve. You willjust as soon as youre through college. Dont I know it? Dont I know the look on mens faces when they think me aa mucker, as they call it out here? I can break them to little piecesyesbut I cant get back at em to hurt em where they live. I dont say theyre way way up, but I feel Im way, way, way off, somehow. Now youve got your chance. Youve got to soak up all the learning thats around, and youll live with a crowd that are doing the same thing. Theyll be doing it for a few thousand dollars a year at most; but remember youll be doing it for millions. Youll learn law enough to look after your own property when Im out o the light, and youll have to be solid with the best men in the market (they are useful later); and above all, youll have to stow away the plain, common, sit-down-with-your chin-on your-elbows book-learning. Nothing pays like that, Harve, and its bound to pay more and more each year in our countryin business and in politics. Youll see.
Theres no sugar in my end of the deal, said Harvey. Four years at college! Wish Id chosen the valet and the yacht!
Never mind, my son, Cheyne insisted. Youre investing your capital where itll bring in the best returns; and I guess you wont find our property shrunk any when youre ready to take hold. Think it over, and let me know in the morning. Hurry! Well be late for supper!
As this was a business talk, there was no need for Harvey to tell his mother about it; and Cheyne naturally took the same point of view. But Mrs. Cheyne saw and feared, and was a little jealous. Her boy, who rode rough-shod over her, was gone, and in his stead reigned a keen-faced youth, abnormally silent, who addressed most of his conversation to his father. She understood it was business, and therefore a matter beyond her premises. If she had any doubts, they were resolved when Cheyne went to Boston and brought back a new diamond marquise ring.
What have you two been doing now? she said, with a weak little smile, as she turned it in the light.
Talkingjust talking, Mama; theres nothing mean about Harvey.
There was not. The boy had made a treaty on his own account. Railroads, he explained gravely, interested him as little as lumber, real estate, or mining. What his soul yearned after was control of his fathers newly purchased sailing-ship. If that could be promised him within what he conceived to be a reasonable time, he, for his part, guaranteed diligence and sobriety at college for four or five years. In vacation he was to be allowed full access to all details connected with the linehe had not asked more than two thousand questions about it,from his fathers most private papers in the safe to the tug in San Francisco harbour.
Its a deal, said Cheyne at the last. Youll alter your mind twenty times before you leave college, o course; but if you take hold of it in proper shape, and if you dont tie it up before youre twenty-three, Ill make the thing over to you. Hows that, Harve?
Nope; never pays to split up a going concern. Theres too much competition in the world anyway, and Disko says blood-kin hev to stick together. His crowd never go back on him. Thats one reason, he says, why they make such big fares. Say, the Were Here goes off to the Georges on Monday. They dont stay long ashore, do they?
Well, we ought to be going, too, I guess. Ive left my business hung up at loose ends between two oceans, and its time to connect again. I just hate to do it, though; havent had a holiday like this for twenty years.
We cant go without seeing Disko off, said Harvey; and Mondays Memorial Day. Lets stay over that, anyway.
What is this memorial business? They were talking about it at the boarding-house, said Cheyne weakly. He, too, was not anxious to spoil the golden days.
Well, as far as I can make out, this business is a sort of song-and-dance act, whacked up for the summer boarders. Disko dont think much of it, he says, because they take up a collection for the widows and orphans. Diskos independent. Havent you noticed that?
Wellyes. A little. In spots. Is it a town show, then?
The summer convention is. They read out the names of the fellows drowned or gone astray since last time, and they make speeches, and recite, and all. Then, Disko says, the secretaries of the Aid Societies go into the back yard and fight over the catch. The real show, he says, is in the spring. The ministers all take a hand then, and there arent any summer boarders around.
I see, said Cheyne, with the brilliant and perfect comprehension of one born into and bred up to city pride. Well stay over for Memorial Day, and get off in the afternoon.
Guess Ill go down to Diskos and make him bring his crowd up before they sail. Ill have to stand with them, of course.
Oh, thats it, is it, said Cheyne. Im only a poor summer boarder, and youre
A Bankerfull-blooded Banker, Harvey called back as he boarded a trolley, and Cheyne went on with his blissful dreams for the future.
Disko had no use for public functions where appeals were made for charity, but Harvey pleaded that the glory of the day would be lost, so far as he was concerned, if the Were Heres absented themselves. Then Disko made conditions. He had heardit was astonishing how all the world knew all the worlds business along the water-fronthe had heard that a Philadelphia actress-woman was going to take part in the exercises; and he mistrusted that she would deliver Skipper Iresons Ride. Personally, he had as little use for actresses as for summer boarders; but justice was justice, and though he himself (here Dan giggled) had once slipped up on a matter of judgment, this thing must not be. So Harvey came back to East Gloucester, and spent half a day explaining to an amused actress with a royal reputation on two seaboards the inwardness of the mistake she contemplated; and she admitted that it was justice, even as Disko had said.
Cheyne knew by old experience what would happen; but anything of the nature of a public palaver was meat and drink to the mans soul. He saw the trolleys hurrying west, in the hot, hazy morning, full of women in light summer dresses, and white-faced straw-hatted men fresh from Boston desks; the stack of bicycles outside the post office; the come-and-go of busy officials, greeting one another; the slow flick and swash of bunting in the heavy air; and the important man with a hose sluicing the brick sidewalk.
Mother, he said suddenly, dont you rememberafter Seattle was burned outand they got her going again?
Mrs. Cheyne nodded, and looked critically down the crooked street. Like her husband, she understood these gatherings, all the West over, and compared them one against another. The fishermen began to mingle with the crowd about the town-hall doorsblue-jowled Portuguese, their women bare-headed or shawled for the most part; clear-eyed Nova Scotians, and men of the Maritime Provinces; French, Italians, Swedes, and Danes, with outside crews of coasting schooners; and everywhere women in black, who saluted one another with gloomy pride, for this was their day of great days. And there were ministers of many creeds,pastors of great, gilt-edged congregations, at the seaside for a rest, with shepherds of the regular work,from the priests of the Church on the Hill to bush-bearded ex-sailor Lutherans, hail-fellow with the men of a score of boats. There were owners of lines of schooners, large contributors to the societies, and small men, their few craft pawned to the mastheads, with bankers and marine-insurance agents, captains of tugs and water-boats, riggers, fitters, lumpers, salters, boat-builders, and coopers, and all the mixed population of the water-front.
They drifted along the line of seats made gay with the dresses of the summer boarders, and one of the town officials patrolled and perspired till he shone all over with pure civic pride. Cheyne had met him for five minutes a few days before, and between the two there was entire understanding.
Well, Mr. Cheyne, and what dyou think of our city?Yes, madam, you can sit anywhere you please.You have this kind of thing out West, I presume?
Yes, but we arent as old as you.
Thats so, of course. You ought to have been at the exercises when we celebrated our two hundred and fiftieth birthday. I tell you, Mr. Cheyne, the old city did herself credit.
So I heard. It pays, too. Whats the matter with the town that it dont have a first-class hotel, though?
Right over there to the left, Pedro. Heaps o room for you and your crowd.Why, thats what I tell em all the time, Mr. Cheyne. Theres big money in it, but I presume that dont affect you any. What we want is
A heavy hand fell on his broadcloth shoulder, and the flushed skipper of a Portland coal-and-ice coaster spun him half round. What in thunder do you fellows mean by clappin the law on the town when all decent men are at sea this way? Heh? Towns dry as a bone, an smells a sight worse sence I quit. Might ha left us one saloon for soft drinks, anyway.
Dont seem to have hindered your nourishment this morning, Carsen. Ill go into the politics of it later. Sit down by the door and think over your arguments till I come back.
What good is arguments to me? In Miquelon champagnes eighteen dollars a case and The skipper lurched into his seat as an organ-prelude silenced him.
Our new organ, said the official proudly to Cheyne. Cost us four thousand dollars, too. Well have to get back to high-license next year to pay for it. I wasnt going to let the ministers have all the religion at their convention. Those are some of our orphans standing up to sing. My wife taught em. See you again later, Mr. Cheyne. Im wanted on the platform.
High, clear, and true, childrens voices bore down the last noise of those settling into their places.
O all ye Works of the Lord, bless ye the Lord: praise him and magnify him for ever!
The women throughout the hall leaned forward to look as the reiterated cadences filled the air. Mrs. Cheyne, with some others, began to breathe short; she had hardly imagined there were so many widows in the world; and instinctively searched for Harvey. He had found the Were Heres at the back of the audience, and was standing, as by right, between Dan and Disko. Uncle Salters, returned the night before with Penn, from Pamlico Sound, received him suspiciously.
Haint your folk gone yet? he grunted. What are you doin here, young feller?
O ye Seas and Floods, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him for ever!
Haint he good right? said Dan. Hes bin there, same as the rest of us.
Not in them clothes, Salters snarled.
Shut your head, Salters, said Disko. Your biles gone back on you. Stay right where ye are, Harve.
Then up and spoke the orator of the occasion, another pillar of the municipality, bidding the world welcome to Gloucester, and incidentally pointing out wherein Gloucester excelled the rest of the world. Then he turned to the sea-wealth of the city, and spoke of the price that must be paid for the yearly harvest. They would hear later the names of their lost dead one hundred and seventeen of them. (The widows stared a little, and looked at one another here.) Gloucester could not boast any overwhelming mills or factories. Her sons worked for such wage as the sea gave; and they all knew that neither Georges nor the Banks were cow-pastures. The utmost that folk ashore could accomplish was to help the widows and the orphans, and after a few general remarks he took this opportunity of thanking, in the name of the city, those who had so public-spiritedly consented to participate in the exercises of the occasion.
I jest despise the beggin pieces in it, growled Disko. It dont give folk a fair notion of us.
Ef folk wont be fore-handed an put by when theyve the chance, returned Salters, it stands in the nature o things they hev to be shamed. You take warnin by that, young feller. Riches endureth but for a season, ef you scatter them araound on lugsuries
But to lose everything, everything, said Penn. What can you do then? Once Ithe watery blue eyes stared up and down as if looking for something to steady themonce I readin a book, I thinkof a boat where every one was run downexcept some oneand he said to me
Shucks! said Salters, cutting in. You read a little less an take more intrust in your vittles, and youll come nearer earnin your keep, Penn.
Harvey, jammed among the fishermen, felt a creepy, crawly, tingling thrill that began in the back of his neck and ended at his boots. He was cold, too, though it was a stifling day.
That the actress from Philadelphia? said Disko Troop, scowling at the platform. Youve fixed it about old man Ireson, haint ye, Harve? Ye know why naow.
It was not Iresons Ride that the woman delivered, but some sort of poem about a fishing-port called Brixham and a fleet of trawlers beating in against storm by night, while the women made a guiding fire at the head of the quay with everything they could lay hands on.
They took the grandmas blanket,
Whew! said Dan, peering over Long Jacks shoulder. Thats great! Must ha bin expensive, though.
Ground-hog case, said the Galway man. Badly lighted port, Danny.
* * * * * *
The wonderful voice took hold of people by their heartstrings; and when she told how the drenched crews were flung ashore, living and dead, and they carried the bodies to the glare of the fires, asking: Child, is this your father? or Wife, is this your man? you could hear hard breathing all over the benches.
And when the boats of Brixham
There was very little applause when she finished. The women were looking for their handkerchiefs, and many of the men stared at the ceiling with shiny eyes.
Hm, said Salters; that ud cost ye a dollar to hear at any theatremaybe two. Some folk, I presoom, can afford it. Seems downright waste to me. . . . Naow, how in Jerusalem did Cap. Bart Edwardes strike adrift here?
No keepin him under, said an Eastport man behind. Hes a poet, an hes baound to say his piece. Comes from daown aour way, too.
He did not say that Captain B. Edwardes had striven for five consecutive years to be allowed to recite a piece of his own composition on Gloucester Memorial Day. An amused and exhausted committee had at last given him his desire. The simplicity and utter happiness of the old man, as he stood up in his very best Sunday clothes, won the audience ere he opened his mouth. They sat unmurmuring through seven-and-thirty hatchet-made verses describing at fullest length the loss of the schooner Joan Hasken off the Georges in the gale of 1867, and when he came to an end they shouted with one kindly throat.
A far-sighted Boston reporter slid away for a full copy of the epic and an interview with the author; so that earth had nothing more to offer Captain Bart Edwardes, ex-whaler, shipwright, master-fisherman, and poet, in the seventy-third year of his age.
Naow, I call that sensible, said the Eastport man. Ive bin over that graound with his writin, jest as he read it, in my two hands, and I can testify that hes got it all in.
If Dan here couldnt do bettern that with one hand before breakfast, he ought to be switched, said Salters, upholding the honor of Massachusetts on general principles. Not but what Im free to own hes considerable litteryfer Maine. Still
Guess Uncle Salterss goin to die this trip. Fust compliment hes ever paid me, Dan sniggered. Whats wrong with you, Harve? You act all quiet and you look greenish. Feelin sick?
Dont know whats the matter with me, Harvey implied. Seems if my insides were too big for my outsides. Im all crowded up and shivery.
Dispepsy? Pshawtoo bad. Well wait for the readin, an then well quit, an catch the tide.
The widowsthey were nearly all of that seasons makingbraced themselves rigidly like people going to be shot in cold blood, for they knew what was coming. The summer-boarder girls in pink and blue shirt-waists stopped tittering over Captain Edwardess wonderful poem, and looked back to see why all was silent. The fishermen pressed forward as that town official who had talked to Cheyne bobbed up on the platform and began to read the years list of losses, dividing them into months. Last Septembers casualties were mostly single men and strangers, but his voice rang very loud in the stillness of the hall.
September 9th. Schooner Florrie Anderson lost, with all aboard, off the Georges.
Reuben Pitman, master, 50, single, Main Street, City.
Emil Olsen, 19, single, 329 Hammond Street, City. Denmark.
Oscar Standberg, single, 25. Sweden.
Carl Stanberg, single, 28, Main Street. City.
Pedro, supposed Madeira, single, Keenes boardinghouse. City.
Joseph Welsh, alias Joseph Wright, 30, St. Johns, Newfoundland.
NoAugusty, Maine, a voice cried from the body of the hall.
He shipped from St. Johns, said the reader, looking to see.
I know it. He belongs in Augusty. My nevvy.
The reader made a pencilled correction on the margin of the list, and resumed.
Same schooner, Charlie Ritchie, Liverpool, Nova Scotia, 33, single.
Albert May, 267 Rogers Street, City, 27, single.
September 27th.Orvin Dollard, 30, married, drowned in dory off Eastern Point.
That shot went home, for one of the widows flinched where she sat, clasping and unclasping her hands. Mrs. Cheyne, who had been listening with wide-opened eyes, threw up her head and choked. Dans mother, a few seats to the right, saw and heard and quickly moved to her side. The reading went on. By the time they reached the January and February wrecks the shots were falling thick and fast, and the widows drew breath between their teeth.
February 14th.Schooner Harry Randolph dismasted on the way home from Newfoundland; Asa Musie, married, 32, Main Street, City, lost overboard.
February 23d.Schooner Gilbert Hope; went astray in dory, Robert Beavon, 29, married, native of Pubnico, Nova Scotia.
But his wife was in the hall. They heard a low cry, as though a little animal had been hit. It was stifled at once, and a girl staggered out of the hall. She had been hoping against hope for months, because some who have gone adrift in dories have been miraculously picked up by deep-sea sailing-ships. Now she had her certainty, and Harvey could see the policeman on the sidewalk hailing a hack for her. Its fifty cents to the depotthe driver began, but the policeman held up his handbut Im goin there anyway. Jump right in. Look at here, Al; you dont pull me next time my lamps aint lit. See?
The side-door closed on the patch of bright sunshine, and Harveys eyes turned again to the reader and his endless list.
April 19th.Schooner Mamie Douglas lost on the Banks with all hands.
Edward Canton, 43, master, married, City.
D. Hawkins, alias Williams, 34, married, Shelbourne, Nova Scotia.
G. W. Clay, coloured, 28, married, City.
And so on, and so on. Great lumps were rising in Harveys throat, and his stomach reminded him of the day when he fell from the liner.
May 10th.Schooner Were Here [the blood tingled all over him] Otto Svendson, 20, single, City, lost overboard.
Once more a low, tearing cry from somewhere at the back of the hall.
She shouldnt ha come. She shouldnt ha come, said Long Jack, with a cluck of pity.
Dont scrowge, Harve, grunted Dan. Harvey heard that much, but the rest was all darkness spotted with fiery wheels. Disko leaned forward and spoke to his wife, where she sat with one arm round Mrs. Cheyne, and the other holding down the snatching, catching, ringed hands.
Lean your head daownright daown! he whispered. Itll go off in a minute.
I ca-ant! I do-dont! Oh, let me Mrs. Cheyne did not at all know what she said.
You must, Mrs. Troop repeated. Your boys jest fainted dead away. They do that some when theyre gettin their growth. Wish to tend to him? We can git aout this side. Quite quiet. You come right along with me. Psha, my dear, were both women, I guess. We must tend to aour men-folk. Come!
The Were Heres promptly went through the crowd as a body-guard, and it was a very white and shaken Harvey that they propped up on a bench in an anteroom.
Favours his ma, was Mrs. Troops only comment, as the mother bent over her boy.
How dyou suppose he could ever stand it? she cried indignantly to Cheyne, who had said nothing at all. It was horriblehorrible! We shouldnt have come. Its wrong and wicked! Itit isnt right! Whywhy couldnt they put these things in the papers, where they belong? Are you better, darling?
That made Harvey very properly ashamed. Oh, Im all right, I guess, he said, struggling to his feet, with a broken giggle. Must ha been something I ate for breakfast.
Coffee, perhaps, said Cheyne, whose face was all in hard lines, as though it had been cut out of bronze. We wont go back again.
Guess twould be baouts well to git daown to the wharf, said Disko. Its close in along with them Dagoes, an the fresh air will fresh Mrs. Cheyne up.
Harvey announced that he never felt better in his life; but it was not till he saw the Were Here, fresh from the lumpers hands, at Wouvermans wharf, that he lost his all-overish feelings in a queer mixture of pride and sorrowfulness. Other peoplesummer boarders and such-likeplayed about in cat-boats or looked at the sea from pier-heads; but he understood things from the insidemore things than he could begin to think about. None the less, he could have sat down and howled because the little schooner was going off. Mrs. Cheyne simply cried and cried every step of the way and said most extraordinary things to Mrs. Troop, who babied her till Dan, who had not been babied since he was six, whistled aloud.
And so the old crowdHarvey felt like the most ancient of mariners dropped into the old schooner among the battered dories, while Harvey slipped the stern-fast from the pier-head, and they slid her along the wharf-side with their hands. Every one wanted to say so much that no one said anything in particular. Harvey bade Dan take care of Uncle Salterss sea-boots and Penns dory-anchor, and Long Jack entreated Harvey to remember his lessons in seamanship; but the jokes fell flat in the presence of the two women, and it is hard to be funny with green harbour-water widening between good friends.
Up jib and foresl! shouted Disko, getting to the wheel, as the wind took her. See you later, Harve. Dunno but I come near thinkin a heap o you an your folks.
Then she glided beyond ear-shot, and they sat down to watch her up the harbour, And still Mrs. Cheyne wept.
Pshaw, my dear, said Mrs. Troop: were both women, I guess. Likes not itll ease your heart to hev your cry aout. God He knows it never done me a mite o good, but then He knows Ive had something to cry fer!
Now it was a few years later, and upon the other edge of America, that a young man came through the clammy sea fog up a windy street which is flanked with most expensive houses built of wood to imitate stone. To him, as he was standing by a hammered iron gate, entered on horsebackand the horse would have been cheap at a thousand dollarsanother young man. And this is what they said:
Whats the best with you?
Well, Im sos to be that kind o animal called second mate this trip. Aint you most through with that triple invoiced college of yours?
Getting that way. I tell you, the Leland Stanford Junior, isnt a circumstance to the old Were Here; but Im coming into the business for keeps next fall.
Meanin aour packets?
Nothing else. You just wait till I get my knife into you, Dan. Im going to make the old line lie down and cry when I take hold.
Ill resk it, said Dan, with a brotherly grin, as Harvey dismounted and asked whether he were coming in.
Thats what I took the cable fer; but, say, is the doctor anywheres araound? Ill draown that crazy nigger some day, his one cussed joke an all.
There was a low, triumphant chuckle, as the ex-cook of the Were Here came out of the fog to take the horses bridle. He allowed no one but himself to attend to any of Harveys wants.
Thick as the Banks, aint it, doctor? said Dan, propitiatingly.
But the coal-black Celt with the second-sight did not see fit to reply till he had tapped Dan on the shoulder, and for the twentieth time croaked the old, old prophecy in his ear.
Masterman. Manmaster, said he. You remember, Dan Troop, what I said? On the Were Here?
Well, I wont go so far as to deny that it do look like it as things stand at present, said Dan. She was a noble packet, and one way an another I owe her a heapher and Dad.
Me too, quoth Harvey Cheyne.
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