The dolphin is--from a poet's point of view--a very interesting animal, with an air of romance about him. Dolphins are said to be of a very joyous temperament. Well, perhaps; but they are, nevertheless, about the worst enemies those hardy, northern, herring-fishery men have to encounter.
They come in shoals after the herrings, and go "slick" through the nets, carrying great pieces away on their ungainly bodies. And the boatmen can do nothing to protect their silvery harvest.
Once, while our young heroes were on board one of the largest and best of the boats, it came on to blow off the land--not simply a gale of wind, but something near akin to a hurricane. They were driven out to sea about sundown, and Duncan and Conal could never forget the sufferings of that fearful night.
After trying in vain to beat to windward, they put up the helm--narrowly escaping broaching-to--and ran before it.
But all through the darkness, and until the gray and uncertain light of day broke slowly over the storm-tossed ocean, the seas were continually breaking over the sturdy boat, and everyone was drenched to the skin. It might have been said, with truth, that she was swamped, so full of water was the well.
The great waves were now visible enough, each with its yellow sides and its foaming mane. It seemed, indeed, that the ocean was stirred up to its very bottom, and when down in the trough of the seas, with those "combers" threatening far above, with truth might it have been said that the waves were mountains high.
All the nets were lost, but no lives.
About noon the wind veered round to the west, and all sail was set, and the boat steered for land; but so far into the Atlantic had they been driven that it was sunrise next morning before they succeeded in reaching the bay.
And there sad news awaited them.
There would be mourning widows and weeping children, for two bonnie boats had perished with all their brave crews.