There are few objects in nature, we think, more soothing1 to the feelings and at the same time more heart-stirring to the soul than the wide ocean in a profound calm, when sky and temperature, health, hour, and other surrounding conditions combine to produce unison3 of the entire being.
Such were the conditions, one lovely morning about the end of summer, which gladdened the heart of little Billy Bright as he leaned over the side of the Evening Star, and made faces at his own reflected image in the sea, while he softly whistled a slow melody to which the gentle swell5 beat time.
The Evening Star was at that time the centre of a constellation—if we may so call it—of fishing-smacks7, which floated in hundreds around her. It was the “Short Blue” fleet of deep-sea trawlers; so named because of the short square flag of blue by which it was distinguished8 from other deep-sea fleets—such as the Grimsby fleet, the Columbia fleet, the Great Northern, Yarmouth, Red Cross, and other fleets—which do our fishing business from year’s end to year’s end on the North Sea.
But Billy was thoughtless and apt to enjoy what was agreeable, without reference to its being profitable. Some of the conditions which rejoiced his heart had the reverse effect on his father. That gruff-spirited fisherman did not want oily seas, or serene9 blue skies, or reflected clouds and sunshine—no, what he wanted was fish, and before the Evening Star could drag her ponderous10 “gear” along the bottom of the sea, so as to capture fish, it was necessary that a stiffish breeze should not only ruffle11 but rouse the billows of the North Sea—all the better if it should fringe their crests12 with foam13.
“My usual luck,” growled15 David Bright, as he came on deck after a hearty16 breakfast, and sat down on the bulwarks17 to fill his pipe and do what in him lay to spoil his digestion—though, to do David justice, his powers in that line were so strong that he appeared to be invulnerable to tobacco and spirits. We use the word “appeared” advisedly, for in reality the undermining process was going on surely, though in his case slowly.
His “hands,” having enjoyed an equally good breakfast, were moving quietly about, paying similar attention to their digestions18!
There was our tall friend Joe Davidson, the mate; and Ned Spivin, a man of enormous chest and shoulders, though short in the legs; and Luke Trevor, a handsome young fellow of middle size, but great strength and activity, and John Gunter, a big sour-faced man with a low brow, rough black hair, and a surly spirit. Billy was supposed to be minding the tiller, but, in the circumstances, the tiller was left to mind itself. Zulu was the only active member on board, to judge from the clatter20 of his pots and pans below.
“My usual luck,” said the skipper a second time in a deeper growl14.
“Seems to me,” said Gunter, in a growl that was even more deep and discontented than that of the skipper, “that luck is always down on us.”
“’Tis the same luck that the rest o’ the fleet has got, anyhow,” observed Joe Davidson, who was the most cheerful spirit in the smack6; but, indeed, all on board, with the exception of the skipper and Gunter, were men of a hearty, honest, cheerful nature, more or less careless about life and limb.
To the mate’s remark the skipper said “humph,” and Gunter said that he was the unluckiest fellow that ever went to sea.
“You’re always growling21, Jack,” said Ned Spivin, who was fond of chaffing his mates; “they should have named you Grunter when they were at it.”
“I only wish the Coper was alon’side,” said the skipper, “but she’s always out of the way when she’s wanted. Who saw her last?”
“I did,” said Luke Trevor, “just after we had crossed the Silver Pits; and I wish we might never see her again.”
“Why so, mate?” asked Gunter.
“Because she’s the greatest curse that floats on the North Sea,” returned Luke in a tone of indignation.
“Ah!—you hate her because you’ve jined the teetotallers,” returned Gunter with something of a sneer22.
“No, mate, I don’t hate her because I’ve jined the teetotallers, but I’ve jined the teetotallers because I hate her.”
“Pretty much the same thing, ain’t it?”
“No more the same thing,” retorted Luke, “than it is the same thing to put the cart before the horse or the horse before the cart. It wasn’t total-abstainin’ that made me hate the Coper, but it was hatred23 of the Coper that made me take to total-abstainin’—don’t you see?”
“Not he,” said Billy Bright, who had joined the group; “Gunter never sees nothing unless you stick it on to the end of his nose, an’ even then you’ve got to tear his eyes open an’ force him to look.”
Gunter seized a rope’s-end and made a demonstration24 of an intention to apply it, but Billy was too active; he leaped aside with a laugh, and then, getting behind the mast, invited the man to come on “an’ do his wust.”
Gunter laid down the rope’s-end with a grim smile and turned to Luke Trevor.
“But I’m sure you’ve got no occasion,” he said, “to blackguard the Coper, for you haven’t bin2 to visit her much.”
“No, thank God, I have not,” said Luke earnestly, “yet I’ve bin aboard often enough to wish I had never bin there at all. It’s not that, mates, that makes me so hard on the Coper, but it was through the accursed drink got aboard o’ that floatin’ grog-shop that I lost my best friend.”
“How was that, Luke? we never heerd on it.”
The young fisherman paused a few moments as if unwilling25 to talk on a distasteful subject.
“Well, it ain’t surprisin’ you didn’t hear of it,” he said, “because I was in the Morgan fleet at the time, an’ it’s more than a year past. The way of it was this. We was all becalmed, on a mornin’ much like this, not far off the Borkum Reef, when our skipper jumped into the boat, ordered my friend Sterlin’ an’ me into it, an’ went off cruisin’. We visited one or two smacks, the skippers o’ which were great chums of our skipper, an’ he got drunk there. Soon after, a stiff breeze sprang up, an’ the admiral signalled to bear away to the nor’-west’ard. We bundled into our boat an’ made for our smack, but by ill luck we had to pass the Coper, an’ nothin’ would please the skipper but to go aboard and have a glass. Sterlin’ tried to prevent him, but he grew savage26 an’ told him to mind his own business. Well, he had more than one glass, and by that time it was blowin’ so ’ard we began to think we’d have some trouble to get back again. At last he consented to leave, an’ a difficult job it was to get him into the boat wi’ the sea that was runnin’. When we got alongside of our smack, he laid hold of Sterlin’s oar19 an’ told him to throw the painter aboard. My friend jumped up an’ threw the end o’ the painter to one of the hands. He was just about to lay hold o’ the side an’ spring over when the skipper stumbled against him, caused him to miss his grip, an’ sent him clean overboard. Poor Sterlin’ had on his long boots an’ a heavy jacket. He went down like a stone. We never saw him again.”
“Did none o’ you try to save him?” asked Joe quickly.
“We couldn’t,” replied Luke. “I made a dash at him, but he was out o’ sight by that time. He went down so quick that I can’t help thinkin’ he must have struck his head on the side in goin’ over.”
Luke Trevor did not say, as he might have truly said, that he dived after his friend, being himself a good swimmer, and nearly lost his own life in the attempt to save that of Sterling28.
“D’ye think the skipper did it a’ purpose, mate?” asked David.
“Sartinly not,” answered Luke. “The skipper had no ill-will at him, but he was so drunk he couldn’t take care of himself, an’ didn’t know what he was about.”
“That wasn’t the fault o’ the Coper,” growled Gunter. “You say he got half-screwed afore he went there, an’ he might have got dead-drunk without goin’ aboard of her at all.”
“So he might,” retorted Luke; “nevertheless it was the Coper that finished him off at that time—as it has finished off many a man before, and will, no doubt, be the death o’ many more in time to come.”
The Copers, which Luke Trevor complained of so bitterly, are Dutch vessels30 which provide spirits and tobacco, the former of a cheap, bad, and peculiarly fiery31 nature. They follow the fleets everywhere, and are a continual source of mischief32 to the fishermen, many of whom, like men on shore, find it hard to resist a temptation which is continually presented to them.
“There goes the admiral,” sang out little Billy, who, while listening to the conversation, had kept his sharp little eyes moving about.
The admiral of the fleet, among North Sea fishermen, is a very important personage. There is an “admiral” to each fleet, though we write just now about the admiral of the “Short Blue.” He is chosen for steadiness and capacity, and has to direct the whole fleet as to the course it shall steer33, the letting down of its “gear” or trawls, etcetera, and his orders are obeyed by all. One powerful reason for such obedience34 is that if they do not follow the admiral they will find themselves at last far away from the steamers which come out from the Thames daily to receive the fish; for it is a rule that those steamers make straight for the admiral’s vessel29. By day the admiral is distinguished by a flag half way up the maintop-mast stay. By night signals are made with rockets.
While the crew of the Evening Star were thus conversing35, a slight breeze had sprung up, and Billy had observed that the admiral’s smack was heading to windward in an easterly direction. As the breeze came down on the various vessels of the fleet, they all steered36 the same course, so that in a few minutes nearly two hundred smacks were following him like a shoal of herring. The glassy surface of the sea was effectually broken, and a field of rippling37 indigo38 took the place of the ethereal sheet of blue.
Thus the whole fleet passed steadily39 to windward, the object being to get to such a position on the “fishing-grounds” before night-fall, that they could put about and sail before the wind during the night, dragging their ponderous trawls over the banks where fish were known to lie.
Night is considered the best time to fish, though they also fish by day, the reason being, it is conjectured40, that the fish do not see the net so well at night; it may be, also, that they are addicted41 to slumber42 at that period! Be the reason what it may, the fact is well-known. Accordingly, about ten o’clock the admiral hove-to for a few minutes. So did the fleet. On board the Evening Star they took soundings, and found twenty-five fathoms43. Then the admiral called attention by showing a “flare.”
“Look out now, Billy,” said David Bright to his son, who was standing45 close by the capstan.
Billy needed no caution. His sharp eyes were already on the watch.
“A green rocket! There she goes, father.”
The green rocket signified that the gear was to be put down on the starboard side, and the fleet to steer to the southward.
Bustling46 activity and tremendous vigour47 now characterised the crew of the Evening Star as they proceeded to obey the order. A clear starry48 sky and a bright moon enabled them to see clearly what they were about, and they were further enlightened by a lantern in the rigging.
The trawl which they had to put down was, as we have said, a huge and ponderous affair, and could only be moved by means of powerful blocks and tackle aided by the capstan. It consisted of a thick spar called the “beam”, about forty-eight feet long, and nearly a foot thick, supported on a massive iron hoop49, or runner, at each end. These irons were meant to drag over the bottom of the sea and keep the beam from touching50 it. Attached to this beam was the bag-net—a very powerful one, as may be supposed, with a small mesh51. It was seventy feet long, and about sixteen feet of the outermost52 end was much stronger than the rest, and formed the bag, named the cod-end, in which the fish were ultimately collected. Besides being stronger, the cod-end was covered by flounces of old netting to prevent the rough bottom from chafing53 it too much. The cost of such a net alone is about 7 pounds. To the beam, attached at the two ends, was a very powerful rope called the bridle54. It was twenty fathoms long. To this was fastened the warp—a rope made of best manilla and hemp55, always of great strength. The amount of this paid out depended much on the weather; if very rough it might be about 40 fathoms, if moderate about 100. Sometimes such net and gear is carried away, and this involves a loss of about 60 pounds sterling. We may dismiss these statistics by saying that a good night’s fishing may be worth from 10 pounds to 27 pounds, and a good trip—of eight weeks—may produce from 200 to 280 pounds.
Soon the gear was down in the twenty-five fathom44 water, and the trawl-warp became as rigid56 almost as an iron bar, while the speed of the smack through the water was greatly reduced—perhaps to three miles an hour—by the heavy drag behind her, a drag that ever increased as fish of all sorts and sizes were scraped into the net. Why the fish are such idiots as to remain in the net when they could swim out of it at the rate of thirty miles an hour is best known to themselves.
Besides the luminaries57 which glittered in the sky that night the sea was alive with the mast-head lights of the fishing smacks, but these lower lights, unlike the serenely58 steady lights above, were ever changing in position, as well as dancing on the crested59 waves, giving life to the dark waters, and creating, at least in the little breast of Billy Bright, a feeling of companionship which was highly gratifying.
“Now, lad, go below and see if Zulu has got something for us to eat,” said David to his son. “Here, Luke Trevor, mind the helm.”
The young fisherman, who had been labouring with the others at the gear like a Hercules, stepped forward and took the tiller, while the skipper and his son descended60 to the cabin, where the rest of the men were already assembled in anticipation61 of supper. The cabin was remarkably62 snug63, but it was also pre-eminently simple. So, also, was the meal. The arts of upholstery and cookery had not been brought to bear in either case. The apartment was about twelve feet long by ten broad, and barely high enough to let Joe Davidson stand upright. Two wooden lockers64 ran along either side of it. Behind these were the bunks65 of the men. At the inner end were some more lockers, and aft, there was an open stove, or fireplace, alongside of the companion-ladder. A clock and a barometer66 were the chief ornaments67 of the place. The atmosphere of it was not fresh by any means, and volumes of tobacco smoke rendered it hazy68.
But what cared these heavy-booted, rough-handed, big-framed, iron-sinewed, strong-hearted men for fresh air? They got enough of that, during their long hours on deck, to counteract69 the stifling70 odours of the regions below!
“Now, then, boys, dar you is,” said Zulu, placing a huge pot on the floor, containing some sort of nautical71 soup. “I’s cook you soup an’ tea, an’ dar’s sugar an’ butter, an’ lots o’ fish and biskit, so you fire away till you bu’st yourselves.”
The jovial72 Zulu bestowed73 on the company a broad and genial74 grin as he set the example by filling a bowl with the soup. The others did not require a second bidding. What they lacked in quality was more than made up in quantity, and rendered delicious by appetite.
Conversation flagged, of course, while these hardy75 sons of toil76 were busy with their teeth, balancing themselves and their cups and bowls carefully while the little vessel rolled heavily over the heaving waves. By degrees the teeth became less active and the tongues began to wag.
“I wish that feller would knock off psalm-singin’,” said Gunter with an oath, as he laid down his knife and wiped his mouth.
He referred to Luke Trevor, who possessed77 a sweet mellow78 voice, and was cheering himself as he stood at the helm by humming a hymn79, or something like one, for the words were not distinguishable in the cabin.
“I think that Luke, if he was here, would wish some other feller to knock off cursin’ an’ swearin’,” said Joe.
“Come, Joe,” said the skipper, “don’t you pretend to be one o’ the religious sort, for you know you’re not.”
“That’s true,” returned Joe, “and I don’t pretend to be; but surely a man may object to cursin’ without bein’ religious. I’ve heard men say that they don’t mean nothin’ by their swearin’. P’raps the psalm-singin’ men might say the same; but for my part if they both mean nothin’ by it, I’d rather be blessed than cursed by my mates any day.”
“The admiral’s signallin’, sir,” sung out Luke, putting his head down the companion at that moment.
The men went on deck instantly; nevertheless each found time to light the inevitable80 pipe before devoting himself entirely81 to duty.
The signal was to haul up the trawl, and accordingly all the fleet set to work at their capstans, the nets having by that time been down about three or four hours.
It was hard work and slow, that heaving at the capstans hour after hour, with the turbulent sea tossing about the little smacks, few of which were much above seventy tons burden. One or two in the fleet worked their capstans by steam-power—an immense relief to the men, besides a saving of time.
“It’s hard on the wrists,” said Gunter during a brief pause in the labour, as he turned up the cuffs82 of his oiled frock and displayed a pair of wrists that might well have caused him to growl. The constant chafing of the hard cuffs had produced painful sores and swellings, which were further irritated by salt water.
“My blessin’s on de sweet ladies what takes so much trouble for us,” said Zulu, pulling up his sleeves and regarding with much satisfaction a pair of worsted cuffs; “nebber had no sore wrists since I put on dese. W’y you no use him, Gunter?”
“’Cause I’ve lost ’em, you black baboon,” was Gunter’s polite reply.
“Nebber mind, you long-nosed white gorilla,” was Zulu’s civil rejoinder, “you kin27 git another pair when nixt we goes aboard de mission-ship. Till den4 you kin grin an enjoy you’self.”
“Heave away, lads,” said the skipper, and away went the capstan again as the men grasped the handles and bent83 their strong backs, sometimes heaving in a few turns of the great rope with a run as the trawl probably passed over a smooth bit of sand; sometimes drawing it in with difficulty, inch by inch, as the net was drawn84 over some rough or rocky place, and occasionally coming for a time to a dead lock, when—as is not unfrequently the case—they caught hold of a bit of old wreck85, or, worse still, were caught by the fluke of a lost anchor.
Thus painfully but steadily they toiled86 until the bridle or rope next to the beam appeared above the waves, and then they knew that the end of all their labour was at hand.
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1
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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unison
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| n.步调一致，行动一致 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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smack
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| vt.拍，打，掴；咂嘴；vi.含有…意味；n.拍 | |
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smacks
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| 掌掴（声）( smack的名词复数 )； 海洛因； （打的）一拳； 打巴掌 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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ruffle
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| v.弄皱，弄乱；激怒，扰乱；n.褶裥饰边 | |
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crests
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| v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的第三人称单数 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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bulwarks
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| n.堡垒( bulwark的名词复数 )；保障；支柱；舷墙 | |
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digestions
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| n.消化能力( digestion的名词复数 )；消化，领悟 | |
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oar
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| n.桨，橹，划手；v.划行 | |
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clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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growling
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| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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sterling
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| adj.英币的(纯粹的，货真价实的)；n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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steer
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| vt.驾驶，为…操舵；引导；vi.驾驶 | |
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obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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conversing
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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rippling
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| 起涟漪的，潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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indigo
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| n.靛青，靛蓝 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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conjectured
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| 推测，猜测，猜想( conjecture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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addicted
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| adj.沉溺于....的，对...上瘾的 | |
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slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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fathoms
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| 英寻( fathom的名词复数 ) | |
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fathom
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| v.领悟，彻底了解 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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starry
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| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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hoop
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| n.（篮球）篮圈，篮 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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mesh
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| n.网孔，网丝，陷阱；vt.以网捕捉，啮合，匹配；vi.适合； [计算机]网络 | |
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outermost
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| adj.最外面的，远离中心的 | |
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chafing
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| n.皮肤发炎v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的现在分词 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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hemp
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| n.大麻；纤维 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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luminaries
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| n.杰出人物，名人（luminary的复数形式） | |
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serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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crested
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| adj.有顶饰的，有纹章的，有冠毛的v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的过去式和过去分词 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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lockers
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| n.寄物柜( locker的名词复数 ) | |
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65
bunks
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| n.（车、船等倚壁而设的）铺位( bunk的名词复数 )；空话，废话v.（车、船等倚壁而设的）铺位( bunk的第三人称单数 )；空话，废话 | |
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66
barometer
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| n.气压表，睛雨表，反应指标 | |
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67
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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68
hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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counteract
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| vt.对…起反作用，对抗，抵消 | |
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stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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71
nautical
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| adj.海上的，航海的，船员的 | |
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jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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80
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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81
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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82
cuffs
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| n.袖口( cuff的名词复数 )v.掌打，拳打( cuff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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84
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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