Part 4 (1/2)

Suddenly, as we were talking, a horn--a genuine old-fas.h.i.+oned dinner-horn--pealed out, seemingly not a hundred yards ahead.

”Port your helm there!” shouted the skipper to Bonney, who was at the wheel. The old sea-dog, Trull, caught up a tin bucket setting near, and began drumming furiously; while the skipper, diving down the companion way, brought up a loaded musket, which he hastily discharged over his head.

”Shout, halloo, scream!” he sang out to us. ”Make all the noise you can, to let them know where we are!”

The schooner sheered off, minding her helm; and, at the same moment, we saw the dim outline of a small vessel almost under the bows.

”What s.h.i.+p is that?” demanded Capt. Mazard.

”Schooner 'Catfish' of Gloucester,” replied a boyish voice.

”Where bound?”

”Home.”

”Can you give us the lat.i.tude?”

”Can't do it, skippy. Haven't seen the sun for a week. Not far from forty-five degrees, I reckon.”

”Are we in any danger of Cape Race?”

”Not a bit. We're more than a hundred miles east of it, I think.”

The little schooner, of not more than sixty tons, drifted slowly past.

There were seven hands on deck; all boys of sixteen and eighteen, save one. This is the training which makes the Gloucester sailors so prized for our navy.

... During the evening, we heard at a distance the deep, grum whistle of the Inman steamer going down to Halifax,--whistling at intervals to warn the fishermen. It continued foggy all night, but looked _thinner_ by nine next morning. The captain brought up an armful of out-riggers (a short spar three or four feet long to set in the side-rail, with a small pulley-block in the upper end to run a line through.)

”Now, boys,” said he, setting the out-riggers, ”we will try the cod.--Palmleaf! Palmleaf! Here, you sunburnt son! A big chunk of pork!”

”They won't bite it,” said old Trull.

”I've sometimes caught 'em with it,” replied the captain. ”It's pork or nothing. We've no clams nor manhaden (a small fish of the shad family) to lure them.”

The stout cod-hooks, with their strong linen lines, were reeved through the blocks, baited, and let down into the green water. For some time we fished in silence. No bites. We kept patiently fis.h.i.+ng for fifteen minutes. It began to look as if old Trull was right.

Presently Kit jerked hastily.

”Got one?” we all demanded.

”Got something; heavy too.”

”Haul him up!” cried the skipper.

Kit hauled. It made the block creak and the out-rigger bend. Yard after yard of the wet line was pulled in; and by and by the head of a tremendous fellow parted the water, and came up, one, two, three feet, writhing and bobbing about.

”Twenty pounds, if an ounce!” shouted young Donovan.

”Heave away!” cried the captain. ”Now swing him over the rail!”

They were swinging him in, had almost got their hands on him, when the big fish gave a sudden squirm. The hook, which was but slightly caught in the side of its mouth, tore out. Down he went,--_chud!_