Half an hour later every bunk in the "Sally's" cabin had an occupant, and, save for the loud breathing, there were no signs of life apparent until Mr. Rowe came out "all standing" at least an hour before daybreak.
"All hands on deck!" he shouted, after looking out of the cuddy-hatch. "We're goin' to have as much wind as will be needed, an' can't afford to be loafin' 'round here while there's many a school of fat mackerel outside cryin' for us to come an' catch 'em."
There was little need to urge Uncle Ben's family on this morning, once their eyes were open, for the idea of making a try at taking fish was so exciting that it only needed they should be aroused to consciousness before all hands were, as Tom said, "skippin' 'round right lively."
It was hardly more than daybreak when the "Sally" sailed out of the cove with every flag flying, Uncle Ben at the helm, the two boys cooking breakfast in the cabin, and little Joey and Mr. Rowe forward on the lookout for mackerel.
It was well for the "family" that the cooks did not loiter over their portion of the work, for in less than ten minutes after the last one had eaten breakfast Mr. Rowe gave the welcome word that there was a big school of fish in the path of gold cast by the rising sun, and when Tom came on deck he could see what appeared to be a shadow, even amid the rays of light.
"Yes, them's mackerel, all right!" Uncle Ben said joyously in answer to Tom's question. "They swim so near the surface that their fins are almost out of water. A big school it is, for a fact, an' if we get our fair share out of it I'm allowin' we shan't be away from the island many hours, for at this season of the year fresh mackerel are worth a good bit of money. We'll be in a hurry to get 'em to market."
Ten minutes later Mr. Rowe was throwing bait industriously as the "Sally" came up into the wind, and the old lobster catcher cried excitedly as he made ready his lines:
"Get your gigs out, lads, for this 'ere is a hungry school. Let the hooks jest touch the water, an' when you bring one in over the rail, snap him off anywhere on deck, for this kind of fishin' is what you might call lively work, with no time for finnicky business."
Even as he spoke Uncle Ben drew in a fish, and in a twinkling all hands were pulling the flapping beauties over the rail at a rate that promised the richest kind of a fare in a very short time.
CHAPTER XX