CHAPTER X
RUN DOWN DURING A SQUALL
On the way back to New Bedford, Colin begged for the 'sword' of theswordfish as a trophy, and, permission being given, one of the boatmenvolunteered to prepare it for him, offering to clean and polish it sothat the weapon would show to best advantage. Dr. Jimson had beenexcessively courteous to Colin throughout the trip, and hisfellow-feeling was greatly increased when he learned that the boy alsowas a holder of the blue tuna button, for he himself was an enthusiasticangler.
"I'm a trout-fisher by preference," said Dr. Jimson, settling himselfdown for a chat as the schooner sailed quietly on its way to NewBedford, with a dropping wind, "and I believe that the steelhead trout,in the streams that flow through the redwood forests, are the finestfish alive."
"I thought the rainbow trout was supposed to have the call," said Colin;"at least, Father always declares so, and he goes up to the Klamathregion nearly every year."
"The rainbow is a very gamy trout," agreed the angler, "and it runslarge, up to twenty pounds sometimes, but pound for pound, there's morefight in a steelhead."
"What's the Dolly Varden?" Colin queried. "I never can get the variouskinds of trout clear in my mind."
"If you can keep them clear when you have them hooked," said the other,with a jolly laugh, "that's much more important. But a Dolly Vardenisn't a trout at all, it's really a char. It's a beautiful fish, too,and you find it in cold, clear streams, such as the upper waters of theSacramento and Alaskan rivers. In Alaska it swarms in millions. But themost beautiful trout in the country, indeed the most beautiful fish inthe world, perhaps, are found in three little streams on the very top ofthe Sierra Nevada. Did they tell you the story, in Washington, about thethree forms of golden trout?"
"No, Dr. Jimson," the boy replied; "Dr. Crafts mentioned it, butsomething came up to turn the conversation."
"I went up on that expedition a few years ago," the trout-lover said,"because I've done a good deal of work for the Bureau on the wholesalmon family. Trout and salmon are very near relatives, and the troutwill go up streams and leap small falls just as the salmon do. But, asyou can easily see, in the headwaters of streams rising high in theSierras, there are sure to be falls that trout cannot leap."
"Yes, sir, of course."
"Now, my boy," the other said impressively, "a few years ago, it wasfound out that there were trout in these streams above falls which wouldbe absolutely impassable to any fish. How could they get there? It was ariddle. The only possible answer was that the fish must be older thanthe falls, that the stream had worn away its bed, bit by bit, until animpassable barrier from below had been created, but that the trout hadgone on in the upper creeks, developing in their own way, for hundredsof centuries.
"The rocks over which these streams flow are a granite formation, verybrightly colored, principally gray and red. The swiftly-flowing streamremoves the debris, so that the clear water flows limpidly over thisgorgeous coloring. In such a stream, where the natural enemies of thetrout are the fish-hawk and the eagle, it is essential as a matter ofprotection that the fish should resemble the hue of the bottom, andaccordingly, the most superb coloring in the world is theirs. But eachof the three small streams that are cut off from the rivers below arealso separate from each other, and in the ages during which this hasbeen so, each of these streams has seen a different coloration developin the trout. All are bright golden, all have orange fins and an orangestripe along the side, all are spotted with black, but they vary in manysmall particulars. Nowhere else in the world but in these threecreeks--Volcano Creek, Soda Creek, and Aqua Bonita or Gracious WaterCreek--can these fish be found; nowhere else would they retain theirgorgeous coloring.
"Accordingly, the United States Government sent a party up to the verysummit of the Sierra Nevada to study these fish, and of this party I wasone. It was there that I saw the most marvelous storm that has perhapsever been recorded. An electrical disturbance of great magnitude waspassing over the country at the time, and it reached its vivid climax onthe Sierras. Our camp was struck, several animals killed, and a coupleof the teamsters severely injured, but for nearly two hours the wholeworld seemed set in a coronal of lightning flashes.
"We stayed up there with the trout for several weeks, and when wereached Washington, there was not a man in the party but was determinedto fight, heart and soul, to save these rare fish from extinction. Oneor two summers during which 'fish-hogs' were permitted on the upperreaches of the Kern River, would have destroyed the trout forever, and,indeed, in one month a party of those reckless near-sportsmen destroyedalmost one thousand of them. But the President's interest was enlisted,the Bureau of Fisheries made a firm stand, and to-day the regioncontaining these most exquisite and most wonderful of all fresh-waterfish is a part of the Mount Whitney National Park, and the golden troutare saved from extinction."
"Bully for the Bureau!" cried Colin. "Every time I learn more of itswork, it seems to be doing something finer."
Following out the lad's interest in the whole trout question, Dr. Jimsontaught him nearly all there was to know about the various members of thesalmon and trout family, one of the most important food-fish groups ofthe world. Both being ardent fishermen, they were startled, however, bythe sudden announcement:
"Big halibut off starboard quarter!"
"Yes," said Dr. Jimson, "there it is! Don't you see it," he continued,pointing with his finger, "flapping its tail on the water?"
"I see," said Colin; "but what is it doing that for?"
"Probably attacking a fish," was the reply. "Are you going after it,Captain?"
"No," the fisherman answered; "I've heard that people sometimes catchthem without a net, but I never did."
"One of the biggest halibut that was ever brought ashore was caught injust such a way," the trout expert said, turning to Colin. "It was outnear Sable Island, and the halibut was attacking a big cod by repeatedblows with its tail. A boat was sent out with a couple of men carryinggaff-hooks, and the fight between the two fish was so fierce thatneither of them paid any attention to the boat. The fishermen gaffed thehalibut and pulled him into the dory, though it nearly swamped them, forthe fish weighed over three hundred and fifty pounds. It's rather aqueer story, I think, but it is reported as official."
Colin whistled.
"My word!" he said. "It must have been a big one, because a halibut isflat, like a flounder, isn't it?"
"Yes, it's the largest of the flatfish. There's a record of one halibuthaving been caught weighing a trifle over five hundred pounds. Usually afish one-fifth of that size is considered large."
"Flatfish are funny creatures," said Colin. "I've often wondered how theeyes in various species wander around in their heads."
"Other people have wondered, too," said his companion.
"Well, but we know something about it, don't we?" protested the lad."Aren't the eyes all right in the young fish?"
"Certainly," was the reply, "and, what's more, the young fish swimsupright."
"How does the eye move round, then? Does the eye on one side go blindand another one grow on?"
"No," answered his friend; "your first idea was the right one, the eyemoves round. But, as a matter of fact, it goes through the body. Theyoung flatfish is thin and almost transparent, and when it begins to betime for the eye to change from one side of the body to the other itsinks in. A thin, transparent skin grows over the socket and the eyesinks in and in, the bones moving away from before it, until it has comenear the proper place on the other side. Then a new socket opens for theeye, and it finally arrives at the end of its journey through the head,thus coming on the same side as the other eye. At the same time, too,the flatfish gets the habit of swimming on its side, and its colorscheme changes, one side--which has become the bottom--being white,while the upper side is dark and spotted to look like the stones on thebottom of the sea."
"What do flatfish eat?"
"Everything," was the reply, "from a clam to a codfish. But the favoritefood o
f the halibut, for instance, is sting-ray, and consequently it isa good friend of the oysterman; where there is plenty of halibut, therewill be few sting-rays, and these last are destructive to a goodoyster-bed."
"It seems to me," said Colin, "that the whole story of the seas is thatfish eat fish, while the few that escape from their own kind are gobbledup by seagulls and terns and other birds."
"Yet," said the other, smiling, "the birds don't have it all their ownway. Sometimes the fish gobble them!"
"Can they eat birds?"
"It's a little rare," was the reply, "but there's one authentic case onrecord in which a fish's stomach was found to contain no less than sevenwild ducks."
"Why, I always thought that fish had a small mouth in proportion totheir size. It must have been a monstrous big one!"
"It was not much more than four feet long," was the reply; "but it isone of the few fishes having a huge mouth. They sometimes call it agoosefish, because it attacks wild geese, but the right name isfishing-frog or angler. It glides along the bottom until directlybeneath where ducks are feeding, and when one dives for worms in themud--you know the way ducks go down--the angler catches it by the neckand drags it down and then swallows it at leisure. You see the birdhasn't a chance, because all the angler-fish has to do is to hold ituntil it strangles."
This led to a discussion of the food of fishes, and under the spur ofthe boy's questions, the scientist outlined for him the dietary ofalmost every fish that swims, together with all the various ways inwhich water is aerated, such as the growth of water-plants and thecurrents of streams.
"It still seems to me," said Colin, "that nearly every fish lives byfighting some other fish. It's a wonder," he added, with a laugh, "thatthere aren't some professional fighters among them."
"There are," his friend replied; "that is to say, in the sense you mean.There's a fish which is called the fighting-fish, that is regularlytrained by the fishermen, and the combats are so famous that when one isscheduled to come off a big crowd gathers."
"Where?" asked Colin incredulously. "That sounds a little as if youthought I was one of the marines, Dr. Jimson."
"It is absolutely the case," was the reply. "And, what is more, theyadvertise these fights widely and get big gate receipts, just like abaseball game here. The sum of money taken in for admissions, too, hasbecome so large that the Crown refuses to allow the fights to be heldunless a certain percentage is paid over to the king."
"Where can that be?"
"In Siam," was the reply. "The fighting-fish is distantly related tothe perch, but it has been used for public combats for so long that ithas become highly specialized. It is really a sort of gamecock amongfish, and the money expended in licenses in Siam brings in a comfortablerevenue to the Crown. The owner of a champion fighting-fish never needsto work for a living, he can easily be supported by the winnings of hispossession. Often a fish or a team of fishes is owned by a village andthe rivalry between communities is intense. The Siamese are inveterategamblers, also, and in more than one instance the Siamese Government hashad to send supplies to a village which was threatened with faminebecause all the villagers had lost their crops through betting upon thesuccess of their team of fighting-fish."
"You say it's a kind of perch?"
"Only distantly," was the reply; "it belongs to a very curious group offishes which cannot live long in the water unless they can breathe aironce in a while, nor can they live very long in air, unless they breathewater occasionally. The fish that climbs tall trees is a member of thesame sub-order."
"You mean the skippy?"
"No," the scientist answered; "it's a much better climber than theskippy. It will run up the trunk of a palm tree."
"Now come, Dr. Jimson," expostulated Colin. "Do you expect me to believethat?"
"Certainly, when it is true," came the reply. "The statement often hasbeen made and then disbelieved, but there is plenty of scientificevidence now to arm its truth."
"Does it climb up to the top and crack cocoa-nuts?" queried the boy,still incredulously.
"Not quite that," his friend said, smiling. "I believe seven feet is ashigh a climb as is known, that being recorded officially by one of thestaff of the Madras Government Central Museum. The creature usually onlyclimbs during a heavy tropical rainstorm, and it is believed that thefish, accustomed to ascending tiny streams, is stimulated to climb thetree by the rush of water flowing down the bark. The gill cover ismovable, and the spines of the ventral fins very sharp. It doesn't go uphead first, you know, but sideways."
"How does the fish climb down, then?" queried Colin.
"Tumbles," was the laconic reply.
"And starts up again?"
"No, it usually hops sideways over land to a mud-bank again, not tohave another climbing fit until the next big tropical shower comes aftera period of drought. But if you wanted to find out all the strangehabits of fishes," continued his friend, as the schooner ran into NewBedford harbor, "it would take more time than one swordfish trip wouldgive you."
CLAMMER RAKING FOR QUAHAUGS IN NEW BEDFORD HARBOR.
_Courtesy of the U. S. Bureau of Fisheries._]
OYSTERMAN TONGING FOR OYSTERS IN BUZZARD'S BAY.
_Courtesy of the U. S. Bureau of Fisheries._]
On the way back to Woods Hole, going down the harbor, Colin questionedthe captain of the M. B. L. boat, the _Cayadetta_,--which happened tohave been at New Bedford that afternoon, and on which he had been giventhe courtesy of a passage--why there seemed to be two different kinds ofboats scattered over the harbor oystering.
"That feller's not oysterin'," the captain answered; "he's rakin'quahogs."
"Quahogs?"
"That's clams," was the explanation; "the right name for what the peopledown in New York call a 'little-neck clam.' The 'neck' is a foot, andit's little because the quahog doesn't burrow deep. The long or softclam does."
"And he just pulls them up with a rake?"
"Yep," was the reply; "big rake with curved tines to it. You see hejerks his rake along until he feels it full, then pulls it up. Now, thisfeller, over on the other side here, he's not goin' after clams at all.He's oysterin'. Ef you'll notice, he has two poles an' he works 'emapart an' together again like a pair o' shears, an' then when he feelshe has a load, he hauls it up the same way, picks out the oysters thatare big enough, an' throws the small ones back together with the stonesan' other rubbish that he has brought up. They call that 'tonging'oysters, an' the thing he uses is called the 'tongs.'"
"I've been wondering," said Colin, as they passed over the bay and henoted again all the lobster-pot buoys which had interested him sogreatly on the way to New Bedford, "I've been wondering whether therewas any crabbing done up this way?"
"Not much," the captain answered; "there's one caught now an' again, butall the good eatin' crabs belong further south. New Jersey's the placef'r crabs, an' I reckon most o' the soft-shell crabs o' the country comefrom there, but the business o' cannin' crabs is done way down inChesapeake Bay, where there's crabs no end."
"A soft-shell crab is just the same species as the regular blue crab,isn't it," asked the boy; "only it has cast its shell?"
"Jus' the same," was the reply, "but for the market, an' there it'sworth four or five times as much."
"When you come to think of it," said Colin, "there isn't much in the seathat isn't fit for food. Even the swordfish is good eating."
"There's some poisonous fish down in the tropics," was the reply, "but Ireckon that but for a few of those, a hungry man could eat nigh anythin'that came out o' the water, fish or shellfish or anythin'. An' youknow," he added, "some folks, like the Japanese an' South Sea Islanders,prefer 'em raw."
"Doesn't sound good to me at all," the boy said with a laugh, as thelittle steamer turned into the 'hole.' "I'm satisfied to eat oysters andclams raw, but not much else."
The rest of the month passed all too rapidly for Colin, who was becominggreatly attached to Woods Hole. The sense of accomplishment was strongth
roughout the place, every one was conscious that time was well spent,and the atmosphere of the little village was one of entire content. Theboy made any number of friends, but above all, he took his greatestdelight in knowing that he had really found the work that he wanted todo, and in trying as hard as he could to fit himself for it. Every dayhe spent in the Bureau he saw more clearly the value of the work it haddone and the opportunities for other great advances. The exportation oflive fish to foreign streams had a great attraction for him.
"You know, Colin," the director said to him one day, when he wasspeaking of the Bureau work, "all over the world there are fish which weought to be able to acclimatize in American waters, and there areAmerican fish which would thrive abroad. It has always been an idea ofmine that we could probably prevent famines in large parts of Asia bylooking after the fish supply. You hardly ever find a bad crop and a badfish year come together, the one always makes up for the other. Justthink what a gain it would have been in some of these Chinese and Indianfamines if they could have had all the fish they wanted. Millions oflives could have been saved. The Bureau of Fisheries of this and othercountries won't have finished its work until every river and stream offresh water, every lake, and every square mile of the ocean is stockedwith the very finest of the food fishes, and the undesirables are weededout."
"Weeded out, like a garden?"
"Just exactly! Every hogfish and lamprey in American waters--that's anear-fish that sucks the blood of other fish, you know--should beexterminated just in the same way that the farmers of the country aremaking away with the Canada thistle. Against the sharks--the tigers ofthe sea, the killers--the wolves of the sea, and all the other predatoryforms, relentless war should be waged until the wild fishes of the seaare destroyed, as the wild beasts of the forest have fled before theface of man."
"Could that ever be done?"
"It will be done," the director answered, "but not in my time nor inyours. It is a piece of work in which every step counts, and just onesummer's work may bring results that will help millions of people in theyears yet to come."
"And I shall have a share!" cried Colin, his enthusiasm kindling.
"Every one has a share; in the Fisheries, no work is wasted, no energyis lost. Whether it be such research as that which you have seen medoing upon the oyster drill, or the spectacular administration of theseal herds on the Pribilof Islands, or the dry statistical work ofestimating the value of a fishery--on which work Dr. Crafts writes mehe is going to send you--each part has its place and a big place. Theaims of the Bureau are on so vast a scale that nothing is petty. Wethink in terms of millions and tens of millions, and Nature responds.There are more showy ways of helping the world, but for theaccomplishment of great results I know of none superior."
"You said, sir," said Colin, who had been startled by the reference tohimself, "that Dr. Crafts had some other work for me?"
"Yes," was the reply. "You know that the Laboratory here only keeps openuntil the first of September, don't you?"
"Yes, Mr. Prelatt."
"What had you thought of doing between then and college?"
"I hadn't made any plans."
"I have a letter from the Deputy Commissioner, here," the directorcontinued, "in which he asks me if there is any one of the young fellowswhom I have had for the summer who would like to go with one of thestatistical field agents, and he suggests your name, should you wish togo. It will be a short stay, not more than ten days or so, and won'tinterfere with your getting back to college."
"I should like to go, ever so much," said Colin, "and I think it'sawfully good of Dr. Crafts to think of me."
"Very well, then," answered the director; "I'll write to him about it. Ithought you would accept, unless you had made other plans."
"I don't think I know much about the statistical side of the Bureau,"said Colin; "just what does that take up?"
"Statistics mainly, but I can explain its value best by what I know ithas done," the director said thoughtfully. "One of the very best thingsit accomplished, I think, was an investigation into the cause of theheavy loss of life among the crews of New England fishing-vessels."
"What was the cause, sir?"
"The statistical division of the Bureau ascribed a great many of thefatalities to badly-built vessels, so that a number of them foundered atsea in bad weather."
"How could the Bureau help that?"
"It did help it wonderfully," the director answered. "A thoroughinvestigation was set on foot and all kinds of vessels examined. Theexperts of the country were consulted and hundreds of models made tofind out just which was the most seaworthy. The fishing-fleets of allthe world were visited, and as a result a schooner was built and calledthe _Grampus_, which became a model for all that was most to be desiredin fishing-vessels. The boat-builders of the country since then havefollowed that type, and the loss of life from vessels of the _Grampus_type in the last ten years has been less than one-fourth of that fromthe older vessels in the ten years preceding. From the port ofGloucester alone, this has meant in the ten years a saving of over sixhundred lives."
"That's getting results!" said Colin admiringly.
"And the commercial results, while they don't compare in importance withthe saving of life, of course, are even bigger. The winter cod-fisheryof New England was absolutely revolutionized by the introduction ofgill-nets with glass-ball floats, the catch becoming three times aslarge, while at least one hundred thousand dollars was saved annually inthe single item of bait. Scores of new fishing-grounds have beenlocated, and apparatus has been devised which enables the fishermen toexploit grounds which they previously had been unable to reach.
TESTING THE OCEAN'S CROP.
Experimental haul on the Bureau's vessel, the _Fish Hawk_, to determinethe character of the population of shore waters.
_Courtesy of the U. S. Bureau of Fisheries._]
"There are so many different things being accomplished that it's hard toname them all, but you can see for yourself that some one has got tocollect the figures on fisheries in order to determine how the industryis progressing. If a town reports a bad season, when all the other portshave been fortunate, the Bureau finds out why. If the catch of a certainfish is decreasing all over the country, then this species must beturned over to the fish culturists for artificial hatching and increaseof supply, and so on in a thousand directions. The statistical end hasto get the figures. We base all our work on those."
"I wonder what I shall have to do?" said Colin, with a note of query.
"That I don't know anything about," the director answered. "As directorof the Biological Laboratory, I'm on the scientific division, and reallycan't tell you much about the cultural and statistical ends. Iunderstand, however, that the Deputy Commissioner plans to send you tothe mackerel fishery."
"From Gloucester, Mr. Prelatt?"
"No, from Boston. At least that is where you are to meet Mr. Roote.Rather a full review of the mackerel fishery has been made, so Isuppose this is some special inquiry. The regular statistics of Bostonand Gloucester fish-markets are so important that local agents areappointed to make monthly reports. You have not been called on much forextra collecting recently, have you?"
"No, sir," answered Colin; "almost all the research workers have enoughspecimens for the work they're doing, because it's too near the end ofthe time to start any new details. So I haven't much to do except tolook after the trap."
"We'll get a few days together on the oyster drill, then," said thedirector, "before you go away."
When the time came for Colin to leave Woods Hole he found himself mostreluctant to go, and he rather regretted that he had accepted themackerel fishery investigation, because he saw that he could have gotpermission to work on with Mr. Prelatt for a week or two. But the matterhad been arranged, and when the boy arrived in Boston, he was alert withthe interest of a new experience.
The statistician was a silent man. He greeted Colin with few words andeyed him critically.
"Hm! You can
handle a boat?"
"Yes, sir," said Colin in surprise.
"Get aboard the _Shiner_ at seven-thirty to-morrow, at the dock next toGray's," and he nodded his head and walked off, leaving Colin to stareafter him.
"Well," the boy said aloud, "that's short enough and clear enough, onlyI don't happen to know where Gray's is!"
A little questioning around the waterfront, however, enabled him to findthe vessel, and as the lad had been in Boston a couple of times before,the search was not long. The _Shiner_ hailed from Gloucester and was"the real thing," as Colin said under his breath. One hundred and twelvefeet long she was, with an air, as she sat on the water, of knowingevery little wickedness of the ocean and understanding the way toconquer it too; her mainmast cleared eighty-five feet, and was steppedwell forward, with a boom that Colin did not overestimate greatly whenhe put it at eighty feet. Although the boy was not a keen judge, hethought the bowsprit immensely long, and noticed what a narrow nose theseiner possessed.
Early the next morning she put out. The weather was ugly, but thecaptain of the _Shiner_ was a Gloucester fisherman, and he went slapdown Boston Harbor with every inch of canvas set alow and aloft. Theseiner lay well over on her side, and Colin, while he had often sailedin small boats with the lee rail under, found it a new sensation to gotearing along at such speed. He knew nothing of his new chief, and stolea glance at him, finding the statistician smoking a pipe with entireunconcern.
Colin smiled to himself. For a moment he had forgotten, the statisticianwas a Bureau man, too. The _Shiner_ sped out to sea, cleaving the waterat thirteen knots an hour easily, although her thirty-six-footseine-boat was towing after her.
"She certainly can sail, Mr. Roote!" exclaimed the boy, but he only gota grunt in reply.
The evening of the third day had come before Colin gained any idea as tothe purpose of this trip. He saw that it would be no use askingquestions, and waited until he should be told what he was to do. In themeantime, he was enjoying the sail immensely, for the craft seemedinstinct with life, and Colin learned from the other fishermen aboardthat she was one of the fastest vessels out of Gloucester. Colin hadsettled himself under the blankets for the night and just dropped offto sleep when there came a hail from the masthead.
"Fish! Lyin' nor'-nor'-east."
Every man stirred in his bunk, but none made a move. Colin, who hadwakened instantly with muscles tense and ready to spring out, followedthe example of the others round him, and waited. Indeed he dropped offto sleep again, when the voice of the captain came from the wheel:
"Pass the word to oil up."
There was no need to say "Pass the word," for every man below heard theorder, and tumbled up at once, sliding into sea-boots, oilskins, andsou'westers. Most of the men lighted a pipe, and one or two took a'mug-up' from the coffee-kettle. Evidently the mackerel were not faraway, for in less than five minutes the captain called again:
"All on deck!"
Up the ladder went the fishermen with a rush. There was not a starvisible, and the night was as black as though the ship were plunginginto a cave. Even the phosphorescence or 'fire' at the ship's bow wasnot especially brilliant, and Colin tumbled over half a dozen differentthings in as many yards on deck, while only the fact that he hadsea-boots on saved him from barking his shins on the fore-hatch.
"Drop over the dory, haul up the boat!"
The commands came ringing out sharply. Colin had been aboard aman-of-war, but there was no such discipline as this. The words werescarcely spoken, when four of the men had the dory over the starboardrail, while eight of the men tailed on to the painter of the seine-boatand brought it to the port fore-rigging.
"Tops'l halyards. Lively now!"
With a rattle and whir the two great sails went soaring up in thedarkness, and the _Shiner_ leaped forward, her lee rail almost flush tothe sea.
"She's a great boat," said Colin to one of the men near him; "Ishouldn't have thought she could have stood the tops'ls."
The fisherman looked at him.
"Jerry Fitzgerald is the skipper o' this craft," he said, "an' he's gotthe reputation o' carryin' all canvas in a full gale. See the lightsaround us?"
"I saw one or two," Colin answered. "Other seiners?"
"O' course, an' do you think Jerry's goin' to lose a chance o' theschool because o' canvas? Wait a bit an' you'll see!"
Not a minute had passed by before another order came.
"Give her the stays'l. Run up the balloon, too!"
Colin gasped, but he lent a hand. As the _Shiner_ felt the added sailshe poked her nose in and took the water green. But the narrow buildforward threw off the load, and she rose like a duck. The seiner wascarrying a fearful press of sail, but she stood up stiffly under it, allthe red and green lights of the other seiners falling astern; it wasevident that the skipper meant to keep them there. Before long,occasional flashes of light, being the phosphorescence churned up by thetails of a pod of mackerel, could be seen from the deck.
"Into the boat!" cried the skipper.
For just a second Colin hesitated, but he saw Mr. Roote go into theseine-boat and he followed immediately. The seine-master, who had beenaloft, came down with a rush. Colin could hear the rustle of theoilskins as he partly touched the stays, but he landed on the deck witha 'thump' as great as though he had leaped down the last ten feet. Theseine-boat was dropping astern as fast as one of the crew, who remainedon deck, could pay out the painter, but the seine-master gave no heed tothe rapid departure of the boat. He took half a dozen quick steps to thestern and leaped over the quarter, judging the distance so accuratelythat he landed fair on the foremost thwart of the seine-boat as shedropped astern, a couple of the men catching him as he jumped.
"Easy on the painter!" he cried. Then, next moment:
"Stand by the dory," as the smaller of the boats, with two men aboard,came sliding by and was almost thrown on top of the seine-boat by across-sea.
There came a fire of orders from the captain, which Colin could hardlyfollow, and he wondered how the helmsman and one man on deck could keepup with them.
"Ease off the main-sheet! Dave,"--that was the man at the wheel,--"swingher away a bit. Steady there! Slack the foretops'l and stays'l halyards.Lively now! Jibe her over, Dave! Down with the balloon, there! Quick asthe Lord'll let you! Over she comes! Stand by in the boat and dory! Keepher down, Dave! Down, man, down! It's a good school."
There was a moment's pause.
"You in the boat and dory?"
"All ready, sir," answered the seine-master.
"Ready, dory?"
"All ready."
"Hard up, Dave! Steady a little. A little! Don't you know what a littleis? Ready in the boat, there! Steady with that wheel! Now you've gother. You in the boat, there. Got that new-fangled net ready?"
"Ready," cried the statistician shortly. Then Colin understood. The tripwas for the purpose of testing out a new net devised by the Bureau andthe Fisheries man was a net expert. No wonder he knew a boat!
"Stand by the boat. Ready, the dory! When I give the word! Hold on a bitwith the painter! Now let her go! You in the dory there, show yourlantern! All your own way now!"
Colin tugged at his oar. Never, in all his experience in rowing, had hetackled anything like an oar of that size, but he pulled for all he wasworth, and a glow ran through him to feel that he was holding up hisend. The light dory with two men aboard, came racing after them. It wasnearly a half-mile pull before the seine-master cried:
"Over with the buoy!"
And the buoy was tossed overboard for the dory to pick up and hold towindward.
Then the silent Fisheries officer got busy. Without a word, he reachedfor the net. It was made of a lighter twine than customary, and notthickly tarred, having also different corks to the usual type, andsinkers all over the net. It looked like a fearfully complicated thingto handle and Roote was a small man, but that net went flying out asthough tossed by a giant.
"You're a jim-dandy with the twine, all right," s
aid the seine-masteradmiringly. He turned to the rowers, "Put your backs into it, boys," hesaid; "drive her for all you know how. We've got to give this newcontraption a fair chance."
"How much net out now, sir?" he asked the statistician in a few minutes.
"Quarter of a mile," was the reply.
"Shall we close in then, eh?"
"You'd better."
The seine-master, feeling that the school of mackerel had been inclosed,turned the seine-boat towards the dory and, under the powerful arms ofthe fishermen, the circle was soon completed. It was a perfect set.
The wind had been rising rapidly, and just as the seine-boat reached thedory a sharp rain squall struck. But the cry was, "Purse up!" for untila seine is partly pursed up, there is no telling whether the fish arereally in or not. For a moment, however, it was almost impossible topurse up, the wind and rain were beating so savagely.
"Pull!" said Roote, suiting the action to the word, and all hands joinedhim. The net was light, far lighter than the old fishermen's nets, andthere was more than one audible comment to the effect that the net wouldbreak, and that it was too bad they hadn't one of the old-style netsaround the school, but the pursing in continued, and the net showed nosigns of breakage. Presently first one, then another, fish flashed abovethe water, and a minute later the shine of the mackerel showed, and thenthe whole school, including thousands of fish, rose in a body to thesurface, beating the water with their forked tails, and threshing in madconfusion from side to side.
The seine-master turned to the Fisheries official with a good deal ofconcern.
"That's a big haul," he said; "will your net stand it?"
There was no hesitation in the reply.
"Yes," he said.
"Then I'm willin' to admit," said the seine-master, "that you win. I'dnever ha' believed that you could get as big a net as light as that an'able to hold the fish. That'll save us fishermen a pile o' labor."
But the official was not to be tempted into talk, even on the questionof his own invention. He simply nodded, and went on pursing in.Presently the _Shiner_ came pelting down the breeze, still carryingquite a bit of canvas, there being not enough hands on board to reef.The weather was getting dirtier every minute.
"Hello there the boat!" hailed the captain.
"All right," the seine-master called back. "A couple o' hundredbarrels."
"Net holding?"
"Looks like it."
"Better get on board soon's you can," the captain advised; "we may havea bit of a blow."
Colin thought to himself that there was a great deal more than a "bit ofa blow" at the time, but he said nothing. The worst of it was the waythe rain came pelting down, for it was as thick as a fog, anddispiriting. It was a cold rain, too, and although it was September, thenortheast gale was chill. Colin shivered in his oilskins. The pursing indone, the seine-master waved a torch, but it could not be seen in therain.
"It's a good thing we've got a cap'n like Jerry on board, boys," saidthe seine-master. "He'll have to smell us out, because he can't seeanythin'."
But it was a longer wait than any one expected, for the schooner hadfaded into the rain and could not be seen. Suddenly a hail was heard,and the _Shiner_ passed to leeward of the boats, dimly visible. Everyone shouted, and an answering cry came back.
"He'll beat up to wind'ard a bit an' then pick us up," said theseine-master cheerfully.
Colin wondered how any man could run a schooner about in a gale of windand come back to a certain spot, but he need not have been incredulous,for in about five minutes' time the _Shiner_ came sliding down as thoughto run over the boats, being thrown up into the wind in the nick oftime. As the schooner settled beside the boat, all the men but twostreamed aboard her, one remaining at the bow, to shackle the seine-boatto the iron that hung from the hook at the fore-rigging on the portside, while the other, grabbing hold of the long steering-oar, did hisbest to fend off the stern. The seine, thus being between the boat andthe schooner, was held by Roote and the seine-master. Colin climbedaboard with the rest of the men, and within two minutes' time, the bigdip-net--which would hold a barrel at a time--was scooped in among thefish.
Ten or eleven times the dip-net had descended and come up full of fish,and the work was proceeding rapidly in spite of the pitching and heavingof the vessel, when suddenly every one was stopped by the long wail of afoghorn near by. Not a sound of one had been heard before, and all handswere so busy that the direction from which the sound came had not beennoted. Exactly half a minute elapsed.
Then mournfully and very close, the long "Who-o-o-o" sounded almost uponthem, and the captain sprang to the wheel. As he set a hand upon thespokes and spun them round, a tall gray ship towered above them from theside on which was the seine-boat, and seemed to hang poised a moment onthe crest of a sea before the final crash. Colin, who was leaning overthe rail watching the dipping of the net, was able to see everything.The fisherman at the bow of the seine-boat jumped for the boom andclasped it safely. Then, as the sailing vessel lurched upon them, theboy noted that the seine-master and the fisherman at the stern of theseine-boat leaped for the martingale shrouds and held them.
But that instant's delay, as the bark had seemed to be poised upon thewave, had been enough for the _Shiner_. Having her canvas up, thefraction of time gave her the chance to answer to her helm, and she spunround like a teetotum, seeming almost to wriggle from under the bow ofthe ship like a live creature. Roote, the only one left in theseine-boat, had been the last to see the oncoming ship. He gave onequick look upward, and plunged from the seine-boat into the sea. Evenso, the chances were in his favor, but as he touched the water the shipcrashed into the seine-boat, and a piece of the wreckage hit him on thehead.
It all happened in a flash, but at the instant that he was struck,Colin, still in his oilskins and sea-boots, dived into the water.Fortunately, he cleared the vortex. In a few seconds Roote came up, andColin grabbed him by the hair. The statistician was insensible, whichmade matters easier for the boy. But the oilskins and sea-boots were animpossible load, and it was only by great exertion that he managed atlast to get them off and still keep Roote afloat. Soon after thisrelief, too, the statistician showed signs of life, and aftersuccessfully fending off a struggle, Colin succeeded in getting theinjured man to rest his weight on him in the least tiring manner.
"I don't swim much," said the net expert. "How about you? How long canyou keep afloat?"
"Long enough twice over for them to find us," said Colin cheerfully."I'm a regular fish in the water."
But the boy soon found out that it was a far different thing swimmingunder normal conditions and really having to battle for his life in afair seaway. Roote, too, soon relapsed once more into unconsciousness,and the boy had to support his weight. He was a swimmer, a championswimmer, and it was rather a shock to him to find how difficult it waseven to keep afloat. He realized how valueless a casual knowledge ofswimming would be for use in the open sea.
He had not been more than half an hour in the water when his strengthbegan to fail. He swam around expecting to find some piece of wreckagewhich would aid him, but not a thing could he see. His arms grew heavyand his feet hung down as though leaded weights were fastened to them.Black spots began to dance before his eyes, and Roote's weight became atorture. But he still hung on and kept afloat.
An hour passed of buffeting with the sea, and the boy began to growlight-headed. He had swallowed quite a little salt water, and presentlyhe began singing, although he had a feeling as though a double self toldhim not to sing. A choking took his throat and startled him into fullconsciousness. He had nearly been down that time! But the training ofyears stood him in good stead now that he needed it, and he still swamon.
Then he began to dream. Once or twice he came to himself and smiledsadly to think that this was the end of all his hopes in the Bureau ofFisheries, but this consciousness did not last for more than a minutebefore he fell dreaming again, still, however, swimming heavily andkeeping afloat. A
nd it seemed to him that the last and the most real ofhis dreams was that a boat came by. But this, he thought, must bedrowning and it was not hard to drown, to dream of being rescued and togo down, down, down, to the cold, strange tideless depths of sea fromwhich no one ever comes up alive. Still, there was the boat in hisdream, but it had come too late, and it seemed to Colin, that with hislast effort he pushed Roote toward the outstretched arms of the men inthe boat, waved a feeble farewell and sank. The water gurgled in hisears, there was a horrible strangulation, he tried to cry out, his lungsfilled with water, and he knew no more.
Hours passed. Then, with a sense of suddenly arriving from a far-offplace, Colin opened his eyes. He was in the cabin of a ship, and despitehis exhaustion, he tried to rouse himself at the sound of voices. Roote,and another man, the captain of the bark, were standing beside his bunk.
"He's a plucky youngster, as well as a great swimmer," he heard thecaptain say. "Who is he?"
And Colin heard the other reply, with a note of pride in his voice:
"That's Colin Dare. He's one of our men. We think a lot of him in theBureau of Fisheries!"
And the boy, wanly, but happily smiling, fell into a deep but healthysleep.
THE END
Boy With the U. S. Fisheries Page 11