He would have gladly turned in at once, but the fish must be cleaned first, and after that it was his turn to stand a two hours’ watch on deck. Thus it was late in the evening before the exhausted lad tumbled into his bunk, where he dreamed of monstrous fish with twenty-dollar gold-pieces in their mouths, that turned into Joe-floggers as he reached for them.
The fishing was good for three days longer, and all hands were light-hearted and happy over their success. Songs and jokes were heard on all sides, and the yarns told at night in the cabin were all of big fares and quick trips to the Banks. It had been a stormy winter, and March had come in like an angry, roaring lion; but now it seemed to be anxious to prove the truth of the old saying, and to be about to go out like the meekest of lambs. Three days more of such luck as they had had would pull up their anchor and see them homeward bound. But March is a fickle month.
The fourth day broke cloudy and threatening. The sky was gray and the air was filled with a penetrating chill. The schooner rode uneasily, straining and surging at her cable in the heavy swell that rolled in from the eastward. The previous day had been what old sailors would call “a weather-breeder,” with the wind light and puffy from the south-west. The mercury in the barometer had stood about 30.7, which indicated a change, and something to be expected from off the sea.
As the day wore on there was a feeling of snow in the atmosphere, and the barometer fell steadily. The fish continued to bite eagerly, and every man did his best to swell the sum total of his catch while he had the chance. The luck of the Albatross had been noticed, and several other vessels were anchored near her, both ahead and astern.
By noon angry spurts of snow were driving in the faces of her crew, the wind was moaning drearily through the rigging, and an occasional dash of spray wet the deck. About this time all hands were ordered to “knock off” fishing, dress the morning’s catch, stow all light articles below, and “snug ship.” Twenty more fathoms of cable were paid out. The foresail was loosed and three reefs were tied in it, so that it might be ready for instant use in case the vessel broke adrift. Then it was again furled, and securely tied.
The storm came on rapidly after that, until at four o’clock, when supper was served, the schooner was pitching furiously, and bringing up with vicious jerks on its straining cable. It was already quite dark, and the snow drove in horizontal lines, tingling against a bare face like cuts from a whip-lash. The wind howled through the taut rigging, and the spray, torn from the crests of the racing seas, was blown in blinding sheets above the slippery decks.
Breeze had never experienced anything like this. To him it was already a frightful gale, and, as he almost pitched down the forward companion-ladder in answer to the supper call, he was surprised to find how calmly the men were taking it. In spite of the tumult on deck, the creaking and groaning of the vessel’s timbers, and her mad pitching, several of them were seated at the mess-table eating as unconcernedly as though nothing unusual were happening. Another lay in his bunk, smoking and exchanging jokes with those who were eating.
After the storm-swept deck, the forecastle seemed warm, light, and cheerful. As Breeze sat down to the table, from which, in spite of the storm-racks, the dishes were every now and then flung to the floor, he wondered that he had never before noticed what a cosey and comfortable place it was.
“Vel, Breeza!” shouted old Mateo, whose entire energies were devoted to keeping the coffee-pot from sliding off the stove. “How you lak him? Pret good, eh?”
“I lak him very much better down here than I do on deck,” answered the boy between his mouthfuls of hot coffee and biscuit. “But, I say, Mateo, don’t you call this a pretty stiff sort of a gale?”