Part 15 (1/2)

”Oh, they'll giss, verra near,” he said; ”they've an eye on the fish sense they're bawn. G.o.d knows it's verra little they mak,” he added, ”an' they'll carry's much's two men o' us can lift. They're extrawnery strang.”

As a lot of catfish were thrown down at our feet, he looked at them with a shudder and exclaimed,--

”I'd no eat that.”

”Why not?” said I. ”Are they not good?”

”Ah, I'd no eat it,” he replied, with a look of superst.i.tious terror spreading over his face. ”It doesna look richt.”

A fresh trawler came in just as the auction had nearly ended. The excitement renewed itself fiercely. The crowd surged over to the opposite side of the pier, and a Babel of voices arose. The skipper was short and fat, and in his dripping oilskin suit looked like a cross between a catfish and a frog.

”Here, you Rob,” shouted the auctioneer, ”what do you add to this fine lot o' herrin'?”

”Herring be d----d!” growled the skipper, out of temper, for some reason of his own; at which a whirring sound of e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed disapprobation burst from the women's lips.

The fish were in great tanks on the deck. Quickly the sailors dipped up pails of the sea-water, dashed it over them, and piled them into baskets, in s.h.i.+ning, slippery ma.s.ses: the whole load was on the pier, sorted, and sold in a few minutes.

Then the women settled down to the work of a.s.sorting and packing up their fish. One after another they shouldered their creels and set off for Edinburgh. They seemed to have much paying back and forth of silver among themselves, one small piece of silver that I noticed actually travelling through four different hands in the five minutes during which I watched it. Each woman wore under her ap.r.o.n, in front, a sort of ap.r.o.n-like bag, in which she carried her money. There was evidently rivalry among them. They spied closely on each other's loads, and did some trafficking and exchange before they set off. One poor old creature had bought only a few crayfish, and as she lifted her creel to her back, and crawled away, the women standing by looked over into her basket, and laughed and jeered at her; but she gave no sign of hearing a word they said.

Some of them were greatly discontented with their purchases when they came to examine them closely, especially one woman who had bought a box of flounders. She emptied them on the ground, and sorted the few big ones, which had been artfully laid on the top; then, putting the rest, which were all small, in a pile by themselves, she pointed contemptuously to the contrast, and, with a toss of her head, ran after the auctioneer, and led him by the sleeve back to the spot where her fish lay. She was as fierce as Christie herself could have been at the imposition. She had paid the price for big flounders, and had got small ones. The auctioneer opened his book and took out his pencil to correct the entry which had been made against her.

”Wull, tak aff saxpence,” he said.

”Na! na!” cried she. ”They're too dear at seven saxpence.”

”Wull, tak aff a saxpence; it is written noo,--seven s.h.i.+llin'.”

She nodded, and began packing up the flounders.

”Will you make something on them at that price?” I asked her.

”Wull, I'll mak me money back,” she replied; but her eyes twinkled, and I fancy she had got a very good bargain, as bargains go in Newhaven; it being thought there a good day's work to clear three s.h.i.+llings,--a pitiful sum, when a woman, to earn it, must trudge from Newhaven to Edinburgh (two miles) with a hundred pounds of fish on her back, and then toil up and down Edinburgh hills selling it from door to door. One s.h.i.+lling on every pound is the auctioneer's fee. He has all the women's names in his book, and it is safe to trust them; they never seek to cheat, or even to put off paying. ”They'd rather pay than not,” the blue-eyed auctioneer said to me. ”They're the honestest folks i' the warld.”

As the last group was dispersing, one old woman, evidently in a state of fierce anger, approached and poured out a torrent of Scotch as bewildering and as unintelligible to me as if it had been Chinese. Her companions gazed at her in astonishment; presently they began to reply, and in a few seconds there was as fine a ”rippet” going on as could have been heard in Cowgate in Tam's day. At last a woman of near her own age sprang forward, and approaching her with a determined face, lifted her right hand with an authoritative gesture, and said in vehement indignation, which reminded me of Christie again,--

”Keep yersil, an' haud yer tongue, noo!”

”What is she saying?” I asked. ”What is the matter?”

”Eh, it is jist nathin' at a',” she replied. ”She's thet angry, she doesna knaw hersil.”

The faces of the Newhaven women are full of beauty, even those of the old women: their blue eyes are bright and laughing, long after the sea wind and sun have tanned and shrivelled their skins and bleached their hair. Blue eyes and yellow hair are the predominant type; but there are some faces with dark hazel eyes of rare beauty and very dark hair,--still more beautiful,--which, spite of its darkness, shows glints of red in the sun. The dark blue of their gowns and cloaks is the best color-frame and setting their faces could have; the bunched fulness of the petticoat is saved from looking clumsy by being so short, and the cloaks are in themselves graceful garments. The walking in a bent posture, with such heavy loads on the back, has given to all the women an abnormal breadth of hip, which would be hideous in any other dress than their own. This is so noticeable that I thought perhaps they wore under their skirts, to set them out, a roll, such as is worn by some of the Bavarian peasants. But when I asked one of the women, she replied,--

”Na, na, jist the flannel; a' tuckit.”

”Tucked all the way up to the belt?” said I.

”Na, na,” laughing as if that were a folly never conceived of,--”na, na.” And in a twinkling she whipped her petticoat high up, to show me the under petticoat, of the same heavy blue cloth, tucked only a few inches deep. Her ma.s.sive hips alone were responsible for the strange contour of her figure.

The last person to leave the wharf was a young man with a creel of fish on his back. My friend the sailor glanced at him with contempt.

”There's the only man in all Scotland that 'ud be seen carryin' a creel o' fish on his back like a woman,” said he. ”He's na pride aboot him.”