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By the following morning the weather had become unsettled. The wind was still coming out of the west; but a low, solid wall of cloud had replaced the promising sunset of the evening before, and from time to time the wind would wrench off a section of the black mass, and volley it with great speed across the sky, to accumulate in unstable pyramids against the sunrise.
But the success of the day before had so fired the enthusiasm of the fishermen that they were not easily to be deterred from following their luck, and the first grey premonition of the day found the wharf seething with preparation.
Clara, with the baby in her arms, accompanied Jake to the pier-head. She knew the futility of remonstrance; but her eyes were fearful when the heavy, black clouds swept overhead. Once, when a wave slapped a pile, and threw a handful of spray in her face, she moaned and looked up at the big negro by her side. But Jake was full of the business in hand, and besides, he was growing a little impatient at his wife’s incessant plea that he sell his share of the “Seagull” and settle on land. Now he turned from her, and shouted:
“All right, mens!”
He bestowed a short, powerful embrace upon his wife, with his eyes looking over her shoulder into the Atlantic’s veiled face, turned from her with a quick, nervous movement, and dropped from the wharf into his boat.
Standing in the bow, he moistened his finger in his mouth, and held it up to the wind.
“You mens bes’ git all de fish yuh’ kin tuhday,” he admonished. “Win’ be in de eas’ by tuhmorruh. It gots dat wet tas’ ter um now.”
One by one the boats shoved off, and lay in the stream while they adjusted their spritsails and rigged their full jibs abeam, like spinnakers, for the free run to sea. The vessels were similar in design, the larger ones attaining a length of thirty-five feet. They were very narrow, and low in the waist, with high, keen bows, and pointed sterns. The hulls were round-bottomed, and had beautiful running lines, the fishermen, who were also the designers and builders, taking great pride in the speed and style of their respective craft. The boats were all open from stem to stern and were equipped with thole-pins for rowing, an expedient to which the men resorted only in dire emergency.
Custom had reduced adventure to commonplace; yet it was inconceivable that men could put out, in the face of unsettled weather, for a point beyond sight of land, and exhibit no uneasiness or fear. Yet bursts of loud, loose laughter, and snatches of song, blew back to the wharf long after the boats were in mid-stream.
The wind continued to come in sudden flaws, and, once the little craft had gotten clear of the wharves, the fleet made swift but erratic progress. There were moments when they would seem to mark time upon the choppy waters of the bay; then suddenly a flaw would bear down on them, whipping the water as it came, and, filling the sails, would fairly lift the slender bows as it drove them forward.
By the time that the leisurely old city was sitting down to its breakfast, the fleet had disappeared into the horizon, and the sun had climbed over its obstructions to flood the harbor with reassuring light.
The mercurial spirits of the negroes rose with the genial warmth. Forebodings were forgotten. Even Clara sang a lighter air as she rocked the baby upon her lap.
But the sun had just lifted over the eastern wall, and the heat of noon was beginning to vibrate in the court, when suddenly the air of security was shattered. From the center of town sounded the deep, ominous clang of a bell.
At its first stroke life in Catfish Row was paralyzed. Women stopped their tasks, and, not realizing what they did, clasped each others’ hands tightly, and stood motionless, with strained, listening faces.
Twenty times the great hammer fell, sending the deep, full notes out across the city that was holding its breath and counting them as they came.
“Twenty!” said Clara, when it had ceased to shake the air.
She ran to the entrance and looked to the north. Almost at the end of vision, between two buildings, could be seen the flagstaff that surmounted the custom-house. It was bare when she looked—just a thin, bare line against the intense blue, but even as she stood there, a flicker of color soared up its length; then fixed and flattened, showing a red square with a black center.
“My Gawd!” she called over her shoulder. “It’s de trut’. Dat’s de hurricane signal on top de custom-house.”
Bess came from her room, and stood close to the terrified woman.
“Dat can’t be so,” she said comfortingly. “Ain’t yuh ’member de las’ hurricane, how it tek two day tuh blow up. Now de sun out bright, an’ de cloud all gone.”
But Clara gave no sign of having heard her.
“Come on in!” urged Bess. “Ef yuh don’t start tuh git yuh dinner, yuh won’t hab nuttin’ ready fuh de mens w’en dey gits in.”
After a moment the idea penetrated, and the half-dazed woman turned toward Bess, her eyes pleading.
“You come wid me, an’ talk a lot. I ain’t likes tuh be all alone now.”
“Sho’ I will,” replied the other comfortingly. “I min’ de baby fuh yuh, an’ yuh kin be gittin’ de dinner.”
Clara’s face quivered; but she turned from the sight of the far red flag and opened her door for Bess to pass in.
After the two women had remained together for half an hour, Bess left the room for a moment to fetch some sewing. The sun was gone, and the sky presented a smooth, leaden surface. She closed the door quickly so that Clara might not see the abrupt change, and went out of the entrance for a look to sea.
Like the sky, the bay had undergone a complete metamorphosis. The water was black, and strangely lifeless. Thin, intensely white crests rode the low, pointed waves; and between the opposing planes of sky and sea a thin westerly wind roamed about like a trapped thing and whined in a complaining treble key. A singularly clear half-light pervaded the world, and in it she could see the harbor mouth distinctly, as it lay ten miles away between the north and south jetties that stretched on the horizon like arms with the finger-tips nearly touching.
Her eyes sought the narrow opening. Guiltless of the smallest speck, it let upon utter void.
“It’d take ’em t’ree hour tuh mek harbor from de banks wid good win’,” said a woman who was also watching. “But dere ain’t no powuh in dis breeze, an’ it a head one at dat.”
“Dey kin row it in dat time,” encouraged Bess. “‘An’ de storm ain’t hyuh yit.”
But the woman hugged her forebodings, and stood there shivering in the close, warm air.