Two hundred barrels the skipper had said, but long before we were all pursed up we knew that five hundred barrels would never hold the fish in that seine. The size of that school filled us with joy and yet it was the very size of it that caused us our trouble. It was too big for the seine, and when they began to settle down and take the twine with them the trouble began for us. No bit of twine ever made to be handled from a seine-boat was big enough to hold that school of fish when they began to go down. The skipper was awake to it early and signalled for the vessel to come alongside. So the Johnnie stood over to us, and Hurd, pushing the spare dory over with Moore’s help, came jumping with it to the side of the seine where I was alone in the first dory. He hadn’t even stopped to get into his oilskins, he was in such a hurry. By the skipper’s orders I had made fast some of the corks to the thwarts in the dory and Billie took some into the spare dory. The whole length of the seine-boat they were making fast the seine too. In that way The skipper and Clancy hung on to the last. “Jump you, Tommie!” called the skipper. “Not me till you go,” answered Clancy. They couldn’t do a bit of good, but they hung on, each grabbing handfuls of twine in a last effort to hold up the seine. The seine-boat went under––and they up to their necks––and then it turned over and in toward the seine. Some of us hollered––we were afraid that it was all up with both of them––that they would be thrown toward the inside and tangled up in the seine. But both of them bobbed up, the skipper saying nothing, but Clancy sputtering like a crazy man. The dories coming loose gave a few of us a chance to climb up on the bottom of them, and when the seine-boat came bobbing up most of the others climbed up on the bottom of that. And there was some swearing done then, you may be sure! The gang would have been all right then, waiting to be picked up by the cook from the vessel, which was then pretty handy; but the seine-boat started to go under again and then came the slap of a little sea, and overboard went seven or eight of us. Clancy was one of those thrown into the water. We all remembered it afterwards because he called out for Andie Howe. “Where’s Andie?” “Here,” said Andie. “Where?” “Hanging onto the bow of the seine-boat.” “Well, hang on a while longer,” said Clancy and struck out for the vessel, and made it too, oilskins, big boots and all. He threw two or three lines out at once––one especially to Thad Simpson, the other man of the crew besides Andie Howe who it was known couldn’t swim. So Clancy hauled him in. The third man he hauled in was Billie Hurd. “Good Lord, Tommie,” said Billie, “you hove a line over my head to Andie Howe.” “You pop-eyed Spanish mackerel!” roared Clancy at him, “you ought to know by this time that Andie can’t swim.” “I know, but he was all oiled up, and look at me–––” “Go to hell,” said Clancy. We all got aboard after a while, but our fine new seine was gone, and the big school of fish too. After a hard grapple we got the dories and a little later the seine-boat, and after a lot more work we got them right side up. The dories we pulled the plugs out of to let them drain and then took them on deck, but the seine-boat we had to pump out. By then it was pretty well on in the night and I remember how the moon rose just as we had And “Oh, Lord! that thousand-barrel school!” groaned everybody. |