The busiest man of all was the skipper. He had to keep an eye out for the course of the Johnnie. Vessels that are dressing fish, vessels on which the entire crew are soaked in blood, gills, intestines, and swashing brine, might be allowed privileges, one might think; but no, they must keep a lookout just the same. On this dark night, the Johnnie Duncan, though making a great effort––considering that she had jibs down and wheel in the becket––to stay as she was put, yet would fall away or come-to, especially when the wind shifted two or three points at a jump. And just as soon as she 196 did the skipper would notice it instantly, jump aft and set her right. Generally, to shift the wheel a few spokes would be enough, but now and then he would have to give the wheel a good round whirl. At such a time he would sing out a warning, the torches would be lowered, we would duck our heads, the boom would go swinging by in the smoky yellow glare, and the Johnnie Duncan would be off on another tack. We would brace our legs to a new angle, the skipper would hop back to his knife, and again the dressing would go humming along.
When we had the first hundred barrels of mackerel swashing in brine, the rest of them, perhaps another hundred barrels, were bailed in. And all night long like that we stood to it driving. Under the yellow and smoky light of the torches I could see nothing but mackerel or the insides of mackerel in the air. Keelers, deck, rail, our hands, faces, boots and oilskins were sticky with the blood and gurry. At top speed we raced like that through the night. Once in a while a man would drop his knife or snap off his gibbing mitt, rinse his hand in the brine barrel by his side, slap his hand across the hoops, and condemn the luck of a split finger or a thumb with a fish-bone in it. Another might pull up for a moment, glance up at the stars or down at the white froth under the 197 rail, draw his hand across his forehead, mutter, “My soul, but I’m dry,” take a full dipper from the water-pail, drink it dry, pass dipper and pail along to the next and back to his work.
When the cook called out for breakfast we were still at it, with the deck of the vessel covered with barrels of pickling mackerel. It was beginning to get light then. “Oh, the blessed day’s coming on. Smother the torches, boys,” said the skipper, and led the way below for the first table to have a bite.
Before the sun came up we were beginning to make out the rest of the fleet. One after another they were coming into view, their long hulls and high spars reaching across the wind. Between the gray sky and the slaty sea their white sails looked whiter than chalk.
We had to name the different vessels then. “There’s Tom O’Donnell––and Wesley Marrs––and Sam Hollis––and––” sung out Andie Howe.
“Sam Hollis––where’s Sam Hollis?” broke in Mel Adams.
“Away to the east’ard, ain’t it, Andie?––the fellow with jibs down?” spoke up Billie Hurd, who was a bit proud that he too could pick her out at such a distance.
“So it is, ain’t it?” said Mel, and he began to tell our troubles in the dory. “’Twas him near ran 198 over us last night––remember, Joe? Leastways, it looked like Hollis’s new one’s quarter goin’ by. He was pointin’ ’bout no’the-east then, but he couldn’t ’ve held on that tack long or he’d be somewhere up by Miquelon and not here this mornin’––the gait he was goin’. Man, but there was smoke coming out of his scuppers when he went by. ‘Why don’t y’ come aboard whilst you’re about it––come aboard and be sociable,’ I hollers. ‘Oh, don’t cry, y’ ain’t hurted,’ says whoever’s to the wheel of her. Least it sounded like that, ‘Y’ ain’t hurted,’ he says.”
“Must have been pretty close, Mel?” said Clancy, never stopping, but keeping a string of split mackerel rolling into his keeler. Mel and I were gibbing for Clancy.
“Close? I could’ve touched his chain-plates like that,” and Mel, getting excited, reached his mittened hand across the keeler and touched Clancy on the arm. Clancy’s knife took a jump and cut a finger. For a few seconds Clancy laid down the law of a splitting knife to Mel, but Mel didn’t mind.