The Young Trawler, Robert Michael Ballantyne [e novels to read .txt] 📗

made that last smash, ("I _told_ you it was a smash," said David, softly), that dear Miss Ruth has bin worritin' herself--if babby would only keep quiet for two minutes--worritin' herself about Mrs Bright in a way that none of us can understand. She's anxious to make inquiries about her and her affairs in a secret sort o' way, but the dear young lady is so honest--there's babby again! Now, I've got her all right. It was the milk-can this time, but there warn't much in it, an' the cat's got the benefit. Well, darlin' Joe, where was I--oh, the dear young lady's so honest an' straitfor'ard, that even a child could see through her, though none of us can make out what she's drivin' at. Yesterday she went to see Mrs Bright, an' took a liar with her--'"

"Hallo! Joe, surely she'd niver do that," said the skipper in a remonstrative tone.

"She means a lawyer," returned Joe, apologetically, "but Maggie niver could spell that word, though I've often tried to teach 'er--`Maggie,' says I, `you mustn't write _liar_, but _law-yer_.'

"`La! yer jokin',' says she.

"`No,' says I, `I'm not, that's the way to spell it,' an' as Maggie's a biddable lass, she got to do it all right, but her memory ain't over strong, so, you see, she's got back to the old story. Howsever, she don't really mean it, you know."

"Just so," returned the skipper, "heave ahead wi' the letter, Joe."

Knitting his brows, and applying himself to the much-soiled and crumpled sheet, the mate continued to read:--

"`An' the liar he puzzled her with all sorts o' questions, just as if he was a schoolmaster and she a school-girl. He bothered her to that extent she began to lose temper, ("he better take care," muttered the skipper, chuckling), but Miss Ruth she sees that, an' putt a stop to it in her own sweet way, ("lucky for the liar," muttered the skipper), an' so they went away without explainin'. We've all had a great talk over it, an' we're most of us inclined to think--oh! that babby, she's bin an rammed her darlin' futt into the tar-bucket! but it ain't much the worse, though it's cost about half-a-pound o' butter to take it off, an' that ain't a joke wi' butter at 1 shilling, 4 pence a pound, an' times so bad--well, as I was goin' to say, if that blessed babby would only let me, we're all inclined to think it must have somethin' to do wi' that man as David owes money to, who said last year that he'd sell his smack an' turn him an' his family out o' house an' home if he didn't pay up, though what Miss Ruth has to do wi' that, or how she come for to know it we can't make out at all.'"

"The blackguard!" growled the skipper, fiercely, referring to `that man,' "if I only had his long nose within three futt o' my fist, I'd let him feel what my knuckles is made of!"

"Steamer in sight, father," sang out Billy at that moment down the companion-hatch.

The conference being thus abruptly terminated, the skipper and mate of the _Evening Star_ went on deck to give orders for the immediate hauling up of the trawl and to "have a squint" at the steamer, which was seen at that moment like a little cloud on the horizon.


CHAPTER EIGHT.


DANGERS, DIFFICULTIES, AND EXCITEMENTS OF THE TRAFFIC; LOADING THE STEAMER.

Bustling activity of the most vigorous kind was now the order of the day in the Short Blue fleet, for the arrival of the carrying-steamer, and the fact that she was making towards the admiral, indicated that she meant to return to London in a few hours, and necessitated the hauling of the trawls, cleaning the fish, and packing them; getting up the "trunks" that had been packed during the night, launching the boats, and trans-shipping them in spite of the yet heavy sea.

As every one may understand, such perishable food as fish must be conveyed to market with the utmost possible despatch. This is accomplished by the constant running of fast steamers between the fleets and the Thames. The fish when put on board are further preserved by means of ice, and no delay is permitted in trans-shipment. As we have said, the steamers are bound to make straight for the admiral's smack. Knowing this, the other vessels keep as near to the admiral as they conveniently can, so that when the steamer is preparing to return, they may be ready to rush at her like a fleet of nautical locusts, and put their fish on board.

Hot haste and cool precision mark the action of the fishermen in all that is done, for they know well that only a limited time will be allowed them, and if any careless or wilful stragglers from the fleet come up when the time is nearly past, they stand a chance of seeing the carrier steam off without their fish, which are thus left to be shipped the following day, and to be sold at last as an inferior article, or, perhaps, condemned and thrown away as unfit for human food.

The _Evening Star_ chanced to be not far from the admiral when the steamer appeared. It was one of the fleet of steam-carriers owned by the well-known fish firm of Messrs. Hewett and Company of London. When it passed David Bright's smack the crew had got in the trawl and were cleaning and packing the catch--which was a good one--as if their very lives depended on their speed. They immediately followed in the wake of the carrier toward the admiral.

As all the smacks were heading towards the same centre, they came in on every tack, and from all points of the compass.

"Look sharp, boys," said David Bright, who was steering, "we must git every fish aboard. It's now eight o'clock, an' she won't wait beyond eleven or twelve, you may be sure."

There was no need for the caution. Every man and boy was already doing his utmost.

It fell to Billy's lot to help in packing the trunks, and deftly he did it,--keeping soles, turbot, and halibut separate, to form boxes, or "trunks of prime," and packing other fish as much as possible according to their kind, until he came to roker, dabs, gurnets, etcetera, which he packed together under the name of "offal." This does not mean refuse, but only inferior fish, which are bought by hawkers, and sold to the poor. The trunks were partly open on top, but secured by cords which kept the fish from slipping out, and each trunk was labelled with the name of the smack, to which it belonged, and the party to whom it was consigned.

As the fleet converged to the centre, the vessels began to crowd together and friends to recognise and hail each other, so that the scene became very animated, while the risk of collision was considerable. Indeed, it was only by consummate skill, judgment and coolness that, in many cases, collisions were avoided.

"There's the _Sparrow_," said Billy to Trevor, eagerly, as he pointed to a smack, whose master, Jim Frost, he knew and was fond of. It bore down in such a direction as to pass close under the stern of the _Evening Star_.

"What cheer! what cheer!" cried Billy, holding one of his little hands high above his head.

"What cheer!" came back in strong, hearty tones from the _Sparrow's_ deck.

"What luck, Jim?" asked David Bright, as the vessel flew past.

"We fouled an old wreck this mornin', an' tore the net all to pieces, but we got a good haul last night--praise the Lord."

"Which piece o' luck d'ye praise the Lord for?" demanded David, in a scoffing tone.

"For both," shouted Frost, promptly. "It might have bin worse. We might have lost the gear, you know--or one o' the hands."

When this reply was finished, the vessels were too far apart for further intercourse.

"Humph!" ejaculated Gunter, "one o' the psalm-singin' lot, I suppose."

"If it's the psalm-singin'," said Spivin, "as makes Jim Frost bear his troubles wi' good temper, an' thank God for foul weather an' fair, the sooner you take to it the better for yourself."

"Ay, an' for his mates," added Zulu, with a broad grin.

"Shove out the boat now, lads," said the skipper.

At this order the capacious and rather clumsy boat, which had hitherto lain on the deck of the _Evening Star_ like a ponderous fixture, was seized by the crew. A vigorous pull at a block and tackle sent it up on the side of the smack. A still more vigorous shove by the men--some with backs applied, some with arms, and all with a will--sent it stern-foremost into the sea. It took in a few gallons of water by the plunge, but was none the worse for that.

At the same moment Zulu literally tumbled into it. No stepping or jumping into it was possible with the sea that was running. Indeed the fishermen of the North Sea are acrobats by necessity, and their tumbling is quite as wonderful, though not quite so neat, as that of professionals. Perchance if the arena in which the latter perform were to pitch about as heavily as the _Evening Star_ did on that occasion, they might be beaten at their own work by the fishermen!

Zulu was followed by Ned Spivin, while Gunter, taking a quick turn of the long and strong painter round a belaying-pin, held on.

The _Evening Star_ was now lying-to, not far from the steam-carrier. Her boat danced on the waves like a cork, pitching heavily from side to side, with now the stern and now the bow pointing to the sky; at one moment leaping with its gunwale above the level of the smack's bulwarks; at the next moment eight or ten feet down in the trough of the waves; never at rest for an instant, always tugging madly at its tether, and often surging against the vessel's side, from actual contact with which it was protected by strong rope fenders. But indeed the boat's great strength of build seemed its best guarantee against damage.

To one unaccustomed to such work it might have seemed utterly impossible to put anything whatever on board of such a pitching boat. Tying a mule-pack on the back of a bouncing wild horse may suggest an equivalent difficulty to a landsman. Nevertheless the crew of the _Evening Star_ did it with as much quiet determination and almost as much speed as if there was no sea on at all. Billy and Trevor slid the trunks to the vessel's side; the mate and Gunter lifted them, rested them a moment on the edge; Zulu and Spivin stood in the surging boat with outstretched arms and glaring eyes. A mighty swing of the boat suggested that the little craft meant to run the big one down. They closed, two trunks were grappled, let go, deposited, and before the next wave swung them alongside again, Spivin and Zulu were glaring up--ready for more--while Joe and Gunter were gazing down--ready to deliver.

When the boat was loaded the painter was cast off and she dropped astern. The oars were shipped, and they made for the steamer. From the low deck of the smack they could be seen, now pictured against the sky on a wave's