Chapter XI: Sinks Before the Very Eyes of Those on Shore

Week after week the herring-fishery went by, and certainly John Menzies had no reason to complain of his want of success. Never a day passed that he did not send his hauls in barrels to the Southern market, and in all the fleet, this season, not a casualty had occurred as yet of a fatal character.

Once a shoal of porpoises had appeared in the bay, but by shouting, and the throwing of stones, the fishermen had succeeded in heading them away, and so the nets had been saved.

Sandie had not only settled down to his new life, but had become quite enamoured of it.

The sea was not always calm, however. Our hero told himself that he liked it best in its wayward moods. But there was more than one night when the wind blew so high, and the waves raged with such violence, that it would have been madness to have ventured out. Again, sometimes after they had launched and sailed away, under the most favouring auspices, shortly after midnight a gale would suddenly arise. Then would they have to draw in their nets as speedily as possible, and make at once for the distant harbour, feeling happy and lucky to get inside.

Sandie had a letter from Willie about every second day, and very cheerful epistles they were, just like Willie himself.

But these letters helped greatly to keep up Sandie’s spirits.

Then he had his mathematical books. Oh, yes, he had plenty of time to study, and good use he made of it too.

It seemed to him, moreover, that instead of hard manual labour injuring his constitution, he was waxing stronger every day. His limbs were as stiff as gate-posts, his biceps was as hard as the mainstay of an Aberdeen clipper. He found himself singing, too, at all odd times, and somehow the songs he sang always bore some relation to his present calling; as, for example--

THE BOATIE ROWS.

Oh, weel may the boatie row
That fills a heavy creel,
An’ clothes us a’ frae top to toe,
An’ buys our porridge-meal.
The boatie rows, the boatie rows,
The boatie rows indeed,
An’ happy be the lot o’ a’
That wish the boatie speed.

Or that other tuneful fisher’s song called--

CALLER HERRIN’.

Wha’ll buy our caller herrin’?
They’re bonnie fish and halesome fairin’;
Wha’ll buy our caller herrin’,
Just new come frae the Forth?

When you’re sleepin’ on your pillows,
Dream ye aught of our poor fellows,
Darkling, as they face the billows,
A’ to fill their woven willows.
Buy, buy, &c.

It was on the Monday evening preceding what was long known in the little village of Blackhive as Black Tuesday, and the fishing was well-nigh at its close. Some boats indeed had been taken off the stations, and had borne up for the South. They would fish for a week or two perhaps near the Forth, then sail still farther south to the shores of Norfolk, making Yarmouth itself their headquarters.

Storms are not unfrequent on the shores of England at this time of year, and it is the marvel of the Southern fishermen how those hardy denizens of far northern latitudes can dare all the dangers of the deep in their open boats, which, by the way, in build, and probably also in rig, are not unlike the warships of the Vikings of old. It would really seem that in some instances those fishermen are the lineal descendants of the fearless Norsemen, who were, probably, the first to wage real warfare on the bosom of the mighty ocean.

But on this particular Monday evening, John Menzies was just as merry as ever Sandie had seen him.

“The Lord,” he said, “liked a merry heart when it was sinless, and the Lord had been very good to him, and had blessed him in his basket and in his store, in his murlin and in his creel.”

To-night he had no less than half-a-dozen towsy polls and bright round faces to play to, for there would be no expedition to sea this evening.

The wind blew half a gale, and the breakers roared and fumed and foamed upon the beach, houses high, certainly as high as John’s little cottage, for ever and anon the green seas broke over the chimney, and, as the little fisherman expressed it, tirled the thatch.

It was cold enough, too, to make a fire a comfort, if only but to look at.

Mirth is catching, and even Sandie had sung several of his very best songs, while Eppie at the other side of the fire sat birling her knitting, her honest sonsy face quite wreathed in smiles.

After each song of Sandie’s, John went off into a rattling reel, and next moment the merry bairnies, laughing like sea-birds, were footing it on the light fantastic toe from end to end of the floor.

By-and-bye two or three of the herring-lassies opened the door and stood shyly there, until invited ben by Eppie and by John.

Their day’s work was all over, and they were dressed both neatly and cleanly, with bonnily braided hair, and tartan shawls around their shoulders.

Very humble lassies these were, hailing mostly from the far west, but how many a lady in high life might have envied their beautiful complexions and their pearly teeth, or the gentle smile that played around their ruby lips.

* * * * *

When Sandie retired to bed that night, the wind still howled and raged around the fisherman’s cottage, and the breakers broke in thunder on the beach.

When Sandie awoke next morning, the wind was hushed, the waves had gone down, and the sun was just rising over the eastern horizon and changing all the sea to blood.

As he hastened away to his pool to enjoy his bath, he found all along the shore a huge embankment of brown seaweed of every sort, that the sea had flung up in its wrath. This was mingled with dead fish of many kinds, especially dog-fish and herrings. Crabs too there were in abundance, and here and there sodden salt-encrusted spars of wood. Could these spars have told their story, a sad one indeed it would have been--a story of tempest and shipwreck, of widows’ tears and orphans’ cries.

Although the eastern sky was pretty clear, heavy clouds hung low on the horizon in every other direction, and the waves that now broke more lazily on the golden sands had a sullen boom in them that somehow, to Sandie’s ears, was far from reassuring.

However, all preparations were made that afternoon for another night at sea.

It seemed, as the day drew near a close, that the wind meant to veer round to the north-west entirely, and though it might blow fresh for a time, no one imagined it would be so high as to interfere in any great degree with the catch.

What was the matter with John to-night, I wonder? I am sure I cannot tell, but although he had already twice bidden his Eppie good-bye, he must run back once more, just as all hands were on board and sail was being hoisted, to say good-night again.

* * * * *

Away went John’s great boat, fleet and swift upon the wings of that nor’-western breeze. And away went fifty other boats as well, spreading out as they gave the land a wide berth, so as not to hamper each other.

As John’s boat opened out the rocky promontory, the wind blew higher and higher.

“I think,” said John to his mate, “we better take in a reef. What think ye, men?”

“To be surely,” said a Skyeman, “and it is myself that would close-reef her entirely evermore.”

“Weel, men, close-reefin’ be it.”

And in a short time the thing was accomplished.

Under the influence of so strong a breeze the boat soon reached the fishing-ground. Just as a round moon rose slowly up from the sea, fighting every foot of its way through stormy clouds that raced across the sky, the net was paid out.

Despite the disturbed nature of the sea, fortune appeared to favour them, and a good haul was their reward.

This was succeeded by other good hauls, but by this time--it was now past midnight--the weather seemed so threatening, and the wind so stormy, it was deemed advisable to make their last haul, and bear up for the harbour. As it was, they would have to sail pretty close to the wind to make it, but John knew the qualities of his sturdy little vessel and had no fear.

Already they could see in the glimmering moonlight many of the other boats hurrying past them shorewards, and no doubt dreading the oncoming of some fearful tempest.

While they were preparing to put about, Sandie suddenly clutched John by the arm and tremblingly pointed shorewards.

It seemed as if the moon had dropped from the sky, so suddenly had she been eclipsed by a pall of ink-black clouds, but beneath on the sea, and getting larger and larger every moment, was a long white line evidently approaching with tremendous speed. Flash after flash of lightning appeared to course along it, and a continued roar as of muttering thunder fell on the ears of the frightened fishermen.

The boat had been half round and well into the wind’s eye, but John at once altered the helm, and ere the squall struck her she was once more dead before the wind.

The white wall was a mountain wave, a hurricane wave, borne along before the gale with all the force of Niagara. It struck the boat right aft, and pooped and swamped her, at the same time that the wind caught her and sent her onwards with fearful speed through the broiling, seething waves.

All hands had to hold on for dear life. The only wonder is that the mast did not go by the board, when, without doubt, the brave boat would have broached to and foundered with all hands. She seemed now, however, to settle to it, but there was nothing for it but to stand on before the tempest, even should they be driven far across the North Sea to Denmark itself.

After scudding before the wind for some hours of darkness and tempest, all hands working hard to keep her bailed out, the force of the storm seemed to have been broken, and once again the hopeful moon was seen struggling among the clouds, now and then shining for a few moments in a rift of blue, her sweet rays silvering the crests of the broken waves.

The wind at the same time drew more round to the north, even with a little eastering in it, so John determined now to put about, and make in the direction of the Scottish coast.

He kept her well up, however, being wishful to haul as far to the north as possible. It would thus be more easy to drop down upon the harbour of Blackhive, which he trusted he should be able to reach by daylight.

Had the wind continued to go down, there is no doubt the boat would have made the harbour without further mishap. But the wind was fractious, to say the least of it. It hardly seemed to know its own mind for half-an-hour on a stretch.

Just, however, as daylight, grey and uncertain, was beginning to struggle over the sea, and a strange saturnine light glared over the mountain waves that ridged the eastern horizon, down to leeward, to the infinite joy of those mariner-fishermen a long greyish-blue bank became visible, which they knew was land.

As daylight broadened, and the sun got up, it became more distinct, and they were soon able to make out the white-washed cottage walls of the village itself.

Tears of joy streamed down honest John’s face. His lips moved in prayer, but it appeared that the singing of a verse or two of one of the metrical psalms of David alone could meet the requirements of the case. The little man’s voice, however, was very hoarse and croaky as he commenced--

“God is our refuge and our strength,
In straits a present aid;
Therefore, although the earth remove,
We will not be afraid:
Though hills amidst the seas be cast,
And waters roaring make,
Nay, although the earth itself
By swelling seas doth shake.”

On and on flew the bonnie boat. She appeared to be instinct with vigour and life; she appeared to know she was nearing the harbour in safety.

And now they are close enough in-shore to see the beach densely crowded with distracted men and women, over whom ever and anon a huge wave would send a perfect cataract of snow-white spray.

Careful now, John,--careful. Keep the sheet in command, mates, all ready to let go. The mouth of that harbour is but a narrow, but the good boat will do it. Yes, she----Great heavens! what is that? A sudden puff of wind, a monstrous wave, the brave boat’s head is carried round. She swings for a moment on her stern, and next moment is dashed with fearful violence against the pier-head.

Steady she stays for just two seconds, then backward she reels like a stricken deer, swerves from side to side, then plunges astern, and sinks before the very eyes of those on shore.