Like all fishing schooners, the Curlew had a forecastle, in which several of the crew slept, and in which were also the cook-stove and mess-table. Back of it was the pantry and store-room, in which were ten fresh-water tanks. Still farther aft was the hold, divided into pens by partitions of rough boards. These were now filled with cakes of ice, but later would be used for fish. Abaft the hold was the cabin, in which the skipper and five of the crew found sleeping accommodations. It was neatly finished in ash, and running along three sides of it was a broad transom that served as a seat or lounging-place. The only furniture was a small coal-stove, securely fastened in the middle of the floor. On the walls hung a clock, a barometer, and a thermometer. A few charts were stowed overhead in a rack, and, flung around in the bunks or on the transom, were a number of paper-covered novels.
The business of fishing is conducted upon the system of shares. That is, half the value of the catch, after outfitting expenses have been deducted, goes to the owners of the vessel, and half to the crew. Although the skipper and cook are not required to take part in the actual business of fishing, each of them receives a full share. The skipper gets, in addition, four per cent. of the value of the catch, and the cook has regular wages.
The living on board a fishing schooner is generally superior to that on almost any other craft. It consists of fresh meat, whenever it can be obtained, fresh fish, vegetables, dried fruit, soft bread, cakes and pies, eggs, condensed milk, and always tea and coffee, hot, strong, and in abundance.
The Curlew was manned by a picked crew of twelve men, including the skipper and cook. They were young, strong, and active, and, except Breeze, all were skilful fishermen. He had been considered very fortunate in obtaining a berth at a time of year when there are so many good men anxious to ship. That he had done so was largely owing to the friendship existing between the skipper, Captain Ezra Coffin, and his adopted father.
When he had consented to ship the boy for this trip, the skipper said,
“It’s a hard life, Breeze, and one full of chances. Every man aboard may have a hundred dollars to his credit before the week is out, and then again we may cruise for a month and not make enough to pay for our ice. You are only a boy, but you will have to do a man’s work, and hard work at that. There are perils of all kinds waiting on every minute of the night and day, and they’ll come when you least expect them. I’d rather a boy of mine would saw wood for a living on land than to try and make it by fishing. Besides all this, as you are a green hand, I can only offer you half a share for this trip. Still, if you are bound to come, I’m glad to have you, both for your own sake and for that of my old dorymate, Almon McCloud. So bring along your dunnage, lad, and may good-luck come with you!”
Breeze had answered, “I know it won’t be all plain sailing, sir, and that I’ve got a lot to learn before I can be called an A 1 hand. Still, hard and dangerous as you say the business is, I’d rather try and make a living at it than at anything else I know of, and I am much obliged to you for giving me a chance.”
Soon after leaving port, the skipper called all hands aft to draw for bunks and to “thumb the hat.” The bunks had numbers chalked on them, and now the skipper held in his hand as many small sticks as there were men in the crew. Each stick had notches cut in it corresponding to the numbers of the bunks, and one by one the crew stepped up and drew them from the skipper’s hand. Thus the sleeping quarters were distributed with perfect fairness, and there was no chance for grumbling. Breeze was lucky enough to draw one of the wide bunks in the cabin, and at once hastened to stow his possessions in it.
When all the berths had been thus distributed, the crew again gathered aft, and each man placed a thumb on the rim of an old straw hat that had been laid on top of the cabin. The skipper turned his back to them, one of the men named a number, and, without looking to see whose it was, the skipper touched one of the thumbs. Then he counted around until the number mentioned was reached. The man at whose thumb he stopped was to stand first watch and trick at the wheel, the next man on his right the second, and so on. There would be two men on watch in bad weather, but one is generally considered sufficient when it is fine.
With the parting injunction to “mind, now, and remember who you are to call,” the skipper went below. As eight bells, or twelve o’clock, was struck, the man who had first watch took the wheel, gave a glance at the compass, another at the sails, and the regular routine of duty was begun.