Chapter Twenty One.
The Spoils of the Sea.
“A shark!” yelled out Mister Bob, evincing much greater fright than his sister Nell, although he was very fond of referring to her contemptuously as “being only a girl,” when manly exploits happened to be the topic of conversation and she chanced to hazard an opinion; and, at the same instant, he jumped madly from the gunwale of the little cutter on to the top of her half-deck forwards, climbing from thence into the lee rigging, where he evidently thought he would be safer. “A shark! Won’t it bite?”
“Aye, by Jove, it will!” said the Captain ironically. “I’d swarm up to the masthead, if I were you, so as to be out of harm’s way. You needn’t mind your sister or any of us down here. We can take care of ourselves!”
This made Bob a bit ashamed, and he began to climb down again from the rigging, looking gingerly the while over the side, as if expecting every minute that the terrible monster of the deep which his imagination had pictured would spring up and seize him.
“I—I—was afraid,” he faltered. “I—I—thought it best to get out of the way.”
“So it seems,” said the old sailor grimly. “It’s lucky, though, that every one was not of the same mind; or where would we all be! Dick, where’s that hatchet I gave you this morning to put into the boat?”
“It’s in the after locker, sir.”
“Look smart, then,” cried the Captain excitedly. “Bear a hand and get it at once.”
At this order, Dick, who, like Bob, had thought “discretion the better part of valour,” and got behind the windlass, in order to have some substantial obstacle between himself and the trawl-net which the Captain, with Mr Dugald Strong’s aid, had partly dragged into the well of the cutter, now crawled out from his retreat; and keeping over well to leeward on the other side of the boom, proceeded to the locker in the stern-sheets, from whence he took out a small axe and handed it to Captain Dresser.
“Ha!” ejaculated the old sailor, as he gripped the weapon tightly and belaboured with the back of it, using all the vigour of his still nervous right arm, the bag, or “pocket” of the net, in which the body of some big fish was seen to be entangled; although neither its form nor appearance could be distinctly distinguished, the folds and meshes being so tightly wrapped round it. “I’ll soon settle him!”
“Hold hard!” shouted out Bob’s father, at about the second blow with the head of the axe over the gunwale. “You very nearly cut my arm off then! Lucky for me you were not using the edge of your hatchet.”
“Beg your pardon, I’m sure,” apologised the Captain. “But these brutes are uncommonly tough.”
“More than my arm is,” said Mr Strong ruefully, rubbing this member tenderly. “What sort of beast is it—not a real shark, surely? I always imagined those beggars to be very much bigger.”
“No,” replied the other, satisfied from the net being now still that he had “settled” his victim. “It is what is called a ‘fox-shark,’ or dog-fish.”
“Ah,” exclaimed Bob, climbing down from the rigging now that he saw all danger was over, “I thought I heard it bark just like a dog when you and dad hauled up the trawl.”
“So did I,” chimed in Nellie, likewise coming to the stern again from her place of refuge. “It sounded just like Rover’s bark when he’s sometimes shut up for being naughty.”
“You are both right,” said the Captain, who, with the assistance of their father, had now lifted the beam and net over the side into the well of the boat and was busy unfolding the meshes of the net. “The brute not only barks, but bites, too, if he gets a chance.”
“Oh!” cried Bob and Nell together; and they, with Dick, waited anxiously to see the monster disclosed—a deep-drawn “O-o-oh!”
“There!” ejaculated the Captain a moment after, when he had extracted the dead body of the dog-fish, nearly five feet long, from the net and turned it over with his foot so that they should see its wide shark-mouth and rows of little teeth set on edge, looking like so many small-tooth combs arranged parallel to each other. “What do you say to that for a nibble, eh?”
“Is it any good?” asked the barrister, thinking that the dog-fish had a sort of resemblance to a good-sized pike, with the exception of course of its head, which, however, the old sailor had so battered about with his hatchet that the animal would not have been recognised by its nearest relative. “Not up to much, I should think!”
“Well, I have heard of sailors eating shark on a pinch, but I’ve got no stomach for it myself; and all it’s fit for is to be chucked overboard,” replied the Captain, carrying out his suggestion without further delay, grumbling as he added— “The brute has spoilt our haul, too, confound it, and damaged our net!”
It was as the Captain said, there being nothing found in the pocket of the trawl, beyond the carcase he had just consigned to its native element, save some mud and a few oyster-shells.
Fortunately, though, the dog-fish had not done quite so much harm as he might; and, after mending a few rents by tying them together with pieces of sennet, which the old sailor had taken the precaution of having ready for such purpose beforehand, the trawl-net was as good as ever, allowing them to “shoot” it again for another dredge.
This time it remained down till the tide turned, a good three hours at least; and the hopes of all were high in expectation when they commenced hauling it in.
“What do you think we’ll catch now?” asked Nell. “Eh, Captain?”
“Well, not a whale, missy,” said the Captain, with his customary chuckle, which to him formed almost a part of his speech. “Still, I fancy we ought to pick up something this time better than a dog-fish.”
These doubts were solved anon; for after a terrible long interval of heaving round the windlass, at which Mr Strong groaned greatly, declaring that his back felt broken from having to stoop nearly double so as to keep out of the way of the swinging boom of the cutter, which swayed to and fro as she rolled about in the tideway, the end of the trawl-beam once more hove in sight alongside, bobbing up endwise out of the water.
“Belay!” sang out the Captain on seeing it, taking a turn with a coil of the rope round the windlass-head to secure it, lest it might whirl round and let the trawl go to the bottom again before they could hoist it inboard. “That will do now, Strong; if you’ll bear a hand we’ll get our spoil in.”
Thereupon he and the barrister leant over the side of the boat as before; and, catching hold of either end of the trawl-beam, they lifted it over the gunwale.
The Captain then swished the folds of the net vigorously, so as to shake what fish might have become entangled in the meshes into the pocket at the end, Bob and Nellie, and likewise Dick, watching the operations with the keenest interest. “Now,” cried the sailor, “we shall see what we shall see!” So saying, he and Mr Strong raised up the net pocket, which was a goodish big bundle and seemed, from its heavy weight, to contain a large number of fish, for it throbbed and pulsated with their struggles; when, cutting with his clasp-knife the stout piece of cord with which the small end of the pocket was tied, the Captain shook out its living contents on the bottom boards in the well—Nell giving a shriek and springing up on one of the thwarts as a slimy sole floundered across her foot, thinking perhaps it was a fellow sole!
She was not frightened, however, only alarmed; and, the next moment, she was inspecting with as much curiosity as the others the motley collection that had been brought up from the sea.
“Not a bad lot, eh?” observed the Captain critically, poking the fish about with the end of his stick, which he took off the seat for the purpose. “I see we’ve got some good soles, besides that little chap that took a fancy to you, missy.”
“I didn’t mind it,” said Miss Nell courageously, now that she knew that there was nothing much to be frightened of. “It was cold and wet, poor thing; but I knew it would not hurt me.”
“Ah, but you screamed though!” retorted the sailor waggishly, as he turned to her father. “Say, Strong, do you know what to do with a sole, eh?”
“Why, eat it, I suppose,” replied the other laughing. “I don’t think you can better that, eh?”
“Yes, that’s all right, no doubt,” said the Captain, a little bit grumpy at being caught up in that way. “I mean how to cook it properly?”
“Boil it,” suggested the barrister, at a loss how to answer the question satisfactorily. “I should think that the simplest plan.”
“Boil it?” repeated the Captain in a voice of horror; “boil your grandmother!”
“Well, you must really excuse me,” said the barrister, as well as he could speak from laughing; while Bob and Nell went into fits at the idea of their poor old “Gran” being cooked in so summary a fashion. “I’m good at a knife and fork, but really I don’t know anything of cooking.”
“I see you don’t,” replied the old sailor triumphantly, his good-humour restored at being able to put the other “up to a wrinkle,” as he said; “but I’ll tell you. The best way, Strong, to do a sole is to grill him as quickly as you can over a clear fire. About five minutes is enough for the transaction; and then, with a squeeze of lemon and a dash of cayenne, you’ve got a dish fit for a king! No bread-crumbs or butter or any of that French fiddlery, mind, or you’ll spoil him!”
“I’ll remember your recipe should I ever chance to turn cook,” said Mr Strong. “I should think it ought to taste uncommonly good.”
“By Jove, you shall try it, this very afternoon!” cried the old sailor energetically. “Dick, see that the gridiron is clean, for we’ll want it by and by. Hullo, though, I’m forgetting about the rest of our catch. Let us see what we’ve got.”
While the Captain had been talking to their father, Bob and Nellie had been rummaging in the bottom of the boat, trying to make out the different fish; but, from the fact of all being coated with mud, of which the trawl’s pocket was pretty well filled, in addition to its live occupants, these latter seemed all so similar at first glance as to resemble those two negro gentlemen, Pompey and Caesar, described by a sable brother as being “berry much alike, ’specially Pompey!”
However, the old sailor soon sorted them out.
“Half-a-dozen pair of good soles, eh? That will be a treat for your aunt Polly,” he said to Miss Nell, pitching the fish as he picked them out carelessly on one side. “Some odd flounders, too, I see. They’re nearly as good as our soles; and, I see also a lot of plaice and dabs, which are not bad, fried, when you can’t get anything better in the same line, and—hullo, by jingo, don’t touch that!”
“Why, Captain?” inquired Bob, who had just taken up in his hands a soft, jelly-like, flabby thing that appeared as if it were a little white owl, some ten or twelve inches high, without any particular head or wings to speak of, although it had a short black beak, resembling a parrot’s, projecting from out of its livid-hued fleshy body. “What is it?”
“It’s a cuttle-fish,” cried the old sailor. “Drop it, my boy, at once! or—”
He spoke too late; for at the same moment, the cuttle-fish deluged Bob with the inky fluid which nature has provided it with as a means of hiding its whereabouts in the water from its enemies, and from which the Romans obtained their celebrated “Tyrian dye.”
Nell, also, came in for a share of this over her dress, which did not by any means improve its appearance.
“Never mind, though;” said the Captain to them both, by way of consolation. “What’s done can’t be helped!”
“Ah!” remarked their father slily, “if you had been looking after the net, instead of instructing me in cookery, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“You’re quite right, Strong,” replied the other, with an air of great contrition; albeit his eyes twinkled with fun and his manner was not quite that of a repentant sinner. “I’ve neglected my duties shamefully.”
With these words he set to work anew, disinterring a large skate weighing over twelve pounds from amidst the mud and refuse brought up by the trawl.
The gills of this fish, in the centre of its globular body, had the most extraordinary likeness to a human face; and as the queer-looking creature puffed out these gills, it appeared, as Mr Strong pointed out, just like a fat old gentleman taking a glass of some rare and highly-recommended wine and “washing his mouth out” so as to taste it properly.
“Oh, papa, how funny!” exclaimed Nell. “It is just like that, too! But look, Captain, there’s a ‘soldier crab,’ isn’t it?”
“Yes, my dear, and we’ll keep him for your aquarium; as well as some new sea-anemones and another zoophyte I see here, too. This chap is christened the ‘alcyonium’ by learned naturalists, but is called ‘dead man’s fingers’ by the fisher-folk along shore.”
“What a horrid name!” interposed Nellie, shuddering—“a horrid name!”
“It is so named,” continued the Captain, “because the creature has the advantage of having several bodies instead of one, all radiating from a single stem, like fingers or toes. But now, I think, there’s nothing much of any good left of our shoot, save a few oysters. Those will come in handy presently, eh, Strong?”
“Yes, I shan’t mind,” replied the barrister. “I’m beginning to have an appetite, I think.”
“We’ll have luncheon at once then,” said the old sailor with alacrity, as if this would be a labour of love. “I’m not beginning to have an appetite, because I’ve got one already, and a precious good one, too! Do you think you can pick a bit if you try, eh, young people?”
“Yes, please,” replied Nell. Master Bob’s response was a shout of “Rather,” fully indicative of his feelings; while Dick grinned so much that his face was a study as he said “Y–es, sir, sure-ly!”
Taking all these evidences as proof of the unanimity of the company on the subject, the Captain, all helping, at once set about the preparations for the coming feast. He first, however, tied up the pocket of the trawl again, preparatory to heaving it overboard; so that they could “kill two birds with one stone,” as he said, and be fishing and eating at the same time.
Each had something to do after this important operation.
Dick began by scraping some soles which the Captain selected from the number he had put aside for Mrs Gilmour. Next, Master Bob washed these in a bucket of water he had procured from over the side of the cutter in sailor fashion; and then handing them to the Captain, who officiated as “master of the kitchen,” over the gridiron in the “fo’c’s’le,”—the old sailor cooked away quite cheerfully, in spite of having to bend himself almost in two in the little cabin in order to attend to his task properly, his zeal preventing him for the moment from feeling any inconvenience from stooping so much.
Nell, who had been debarred from any share in preparing the fish or looking after its grilling, which, certainly, she would infinitely have preferred, contented herself with arranging the four small plates which were all that the cutter’s locker contained in the way of crockery-ware, besides a similar number of cups of various hues and shapes.
All of these articles the young lady set out systematically on a board which the Captain fixed across the thwarts to serve as a table; while, as for Mr Strong, all he did in the way of assistance was to set himself down on the most comfortable seat he could find in the stern-sheets, where, lighting his pipe, he beguiled the weary moments until lunch should be ready as best he could, smoking and thinking!
He had not to wait long; for presently, with much dignity the Captain served up his first instalment of soles, which were declared by the barrister to be so good that another cooking was necessary; aye, and another too after that, until there was not a single sole left.
“Poor aunt Polly!” exclaimed Nellie, laughing merrily when they were all consumed, and the bones of the fish chucked overboard to feed their brethren below. “All her soles are gone! What shall we tell her?”
“Why, that we ate them,” said the Captain, starting the laugh, and all joining in.
Dick, who was at the moment devouring the last crust of bread left, after finishing his portion of the fish, nearly choked himself by bursting into a guffaw while in the act of swallowing; so, this necessitated the Captain’s administering to him a cup of sea-water wherewith to wash down the morsel sticking in his throat, which did not taste nice after grilled sole, though the Captain said it was “as good as grog.”
They did not have much sport after luncheon, the next cast of the net bringing up nothing but boulders and mud, besides an old bottle that must have been dropped into the sea years before and, mayhap, went down with Kempenfeldt in the Royal George; for it was encrusted with seaweed and barnacles of almost a century’s growth.
After a bit, seeing that nothing further was to be gained by stopping out at sea, drifting with the tide alternately between the Nab and Warner light-ships, like Mahomet’s coffin between heaven and earth, the Captain hauled up the trawl and bore away back homeward as well as he could with a foul wind, having to make several tacks before fetching the cutter’s moorings off the coastguard-station.
In spite of this, however, they reached “the Moorings” in time for dinner; when, notwithstanding their hearty luncheon, no deficiency of appetite could be observed in any of the party.
Bob and Nellie were, of course, delighted with their experiences of the day; for, in addition to the joys of trawling and festive picnic on the water, which they thought even better than their previous one on land, they brought home a splendid “soldier crab,” who caused much subsequent amusement when admitted to the aquarium, two new specimens of sea-anemones, and the “dead man’s fingers,” whose name made their aunt Polly shiver, the good lady declaring it “quite uncanny, sure.”
Their mother, however, was not quite so well-pleased with the result of the expedition.
“There, I told you so!” she exclaimed, on catching sight of them, with the stains of the cuttle-fish plainly visible on their clothes. “You will never wish to wear this suit again, Bob; and, dear, dear, look at your dress, Nellie!”
“It’s not so bad, mamma,” pleaded she. “I only got a little of it.”
“A little of what?”
“The Tyrian dye, Captain Dresser called it, from the cuttle-fish,” explained Bob, who seemed to treat the matter more lightly than the spoiling of his shirt-front and jacket deserved in Mrs Strong’s opinion. “It’s quite classical, mother—so the Captain said when I got squelched with it.”
“Really, I wish Captain Dresser would not make experiments with his dyes when you two are near him,” said she, very plaintively. “He hasn’t to look after your clothes, as I have.”
Nell smiled at her mother’s mistake, while Master Bob fairly screeched with laughter.
“Why, it wasn’t the Captain who did it,” he shouted out gleefully. “It was the cuttle-fish that squirted over us.”
Then, on the whole story being told her, Mrs Strong exonerated the Captain.
But not so Mrs Gilmour, when she learnt the history of the soles, which had been specially set aside for her and afterwards eaten.
“Oh, you cormorants!” she cried, pretending to be in a great rage. “Fancy eating my soles! Did you ever hear of such a thing? Captain Dresser, I’ll never forgive you!”
“Don’t be so hard-hearted,” said he imploringly. “If you only knew how hungry we were, I’m sure you would forgive us with your usual good-nature.”
“I’m not so certain of that,” replied she. “’Deed, and I won’t.”
“Besides, we enjoyed them so, do you know,” continued the old sailor, chuckling away at a fine rate. “Sure they were mighty fine, ma’am. The best soles I ivver ate, sure.”
“That makes the matter worse, you robber!” she retorted, smiling good-naturedly at his broad mimicry of her Irish pronunciation. “Why, ye’re adding insult now to injury, sure.”
“Never mind, Polly,” interposed her brother, acting as peacemaker between the two. “The Captain will show you how to cook soles properly the next time he catches any.”
“Yes,” said Mrs Gilmour drily, “if he doesn’t ate them first.”
“By Jove, I promise not to do that, ma’am, for I don’t like ’em raw,” replied the offender, keeping up the fun, and not one whit abashed by these comments on his behaviour. “Really, though, ma’am, I think you ought to forgive me now, and banish your hard feelings, as you’ve given me a wigging. Besides, if we did eat all the soles, I’ve brought you home a fine big skate, and lots of plaice, instead.”
“Sure, I’ll consider about it,” said his hostess, showing signs of relenting. “But don’t you think, now, skates are rather out of place in this warm weather, eh, Captain?”