Within a day or two of his arrival in Eastville Harbor, Donald saw the beginnings of great activity among the anchored fleet of fishing schooners in the Bay. Almost simultaneous with the commencement of the West Wind’s overhauling, every vessel in the fleet was tenanted by sail-benders and riggers, painters and caulkers, and the water front rapidly took on a lively appearance with the hauling of schooners to the wharves to receive supplies, fresh water, salt and gear. Fishermen were streaming in from outlying villages and back-country farms—emerging like the bears and squirrels from a winter’s hibernation—to sign up with the skippers for the spring fishing voyage. Eastville became a hive of industry and the street corners and stores were fishermen’s parliaments where the costs of salt, trawl lines, hooks, oil-clothes and sea-boots were discussed and the price per quintal of the season’s fish was forecasted.
Donald did not see a great deal of the Nickerson family except at meal times, kitchen snacks and lunches, mostly at which Mrs. Nickerson and Ruth merely waited on the men. They rose early in the morning and got aboard the vessel by 6.30 a.m., and with an hour for dinner at noon, they worked until darkness called a halt. Joak was busy overhauling his galley gear and painting fo’c’sle and cabin, while Donald and Captain Nickerson worked on the rigging and sails.
When the heavy work of bending sails was finished the skipper said, “Naow, Donny, boy, I’ll leave you to reeve off halliards and sheets and hitch and seize noo rattlins, ’cause I’ve got to skin araound among the boys and git an eight dory gang—that means sixteen men—two to a dory. I’m agoin’ to hev a job gittin’ them ’cause they’ll prefer to ship with old skippers who know the game, but I’ll scrape up a crowd somehow.”
And Donald was left alone for almost a week, during which time Captain Nickerson drove around the country trying to pick up men. He would return after dark from these excursions tired with driving and talking. “Th’ fellers araound here have become most cussedly conservative sence I left home,” he gloomily remarked one night. “They’re all glad to see me, but when it comes to shippin’ with me, they’re either signed up with someone else or they’re afraid they’ll lose a chance o’ making money by sailing with a green skipper. I haven’t got a one yet and I’ve tried hard for a’most a week. There’s men to be had, but haow to git them beats me.”
Donald had met quite a number of the Eastville fishermen and had yarned with them enough to form a general opinion of their characteristics. They treated him very cordially and had freely discussed Captain Nickerson’s chances of picking up a crew. “He’s a good sailorman an’ navigator,” they admitted, “and he’s fished some, but we doubt ef he knows the grounds an’ where to pick up th’ fish. He ain’t never bin skipper afishin’ an’ fellers ain’t agoin to take chances with a green skipper when there’s so many high-liners alookin’ for crews.” Donald readily saw the point and he gave some thought to the matter, and from his observations of fishermen character he made a novel suggestion to Judson.
“It seems to me, captain,” he said, “that you’ve got to spring something unusual on these chaps—something that will appeal to their sporting instincts, and from what I know of them and you I think it can be worked. You may be an Eastville man, but you’re different from these chaps in a good many ways.” And he explained his idea.
The skipper listened intently with a broadening smile on his face, and when Donald had finished he thrust forth his hand. “Good! Lay it there, boy. I’ll do it, by Godfrey! Let’s write it out and we’ll git it printed and mailed at once!” And he rose to his feet, stamping and chuckling.
Two or three days later every fisherman in Eastville and vicinity received the following printed notice in his mail box: