Some three miles down the coast of Loon Island a reef
of several rods in length broke the force of the waves from seaward; and as these dashed in upon it they crashed into a thousand particles, which gleamed transiently with the colours of the rainbow as the sun shone upon the drops. Close under the lee of this reef went Will Hackett, and cast anchor a few rods away, not far from another boat, already at anchor. The Viking followed, and likewise anchored at a little distance, and sails were furled.
Quickly the heavy cod-lines, equipped with two hooks each, and bulky sinker, were dropped overboard; and the boys waited expectantly, their baits close to bottom.
A prize to the one that gets the first cod, said Harvey.
Whats the prize? asked Bob.
Why, he can keep the cods head, said Henry Burns. Hello! he exclaimed a moment later. Ive hooked on bottom, I guess. No, it must be seaweed.
Henry Burns began hauling in with considerable effort.
Why, its a fish! he exclaimed the next moment. Theres something moving on the end of the line. But he doesnt fight any. Comes up like so much lead.
Thats the way they act, said Harvey. They dont make any fuss. But youve got a big one.
Henry Burns, hauling with all his might, hand over hand, presently brought to the surface an enormous cod.
Theres a whole dinner for a hotel in that fellow, said he. And, indeed, the fish would weigh fully twenty pounds.
Not quite so lively sport as catching mackerel, is it? he remarked, looking at his hands, which were reddened with the chafing of the hard line.
No, this is more like work, said Harvey. But they wont all run anywhere near as big as that. Youve caught one of the old settlers.
The fish were biting in earnest now, and the boys were bringing them in over the rail almost as fast as they could bait and cast overboard. By noon they had two great baskets full, stowed away in the cabin out of the sun, and were glad enough to take a long hour for rest, feasting on one of the smallest of their catch, rolled in meal and fried to a tempting crispness.
Then near sundown they were among the first to weigh anchor and run for harbour, tired but elated over their first days rough work.
Will Hackett had advised them how to dispose of their catch. A trader at the head of the harbour bought for salting down all that the fishermen did not sell alive to the schooners that carried them in huge wells, deep in their holds, to the Portland or Boston markets.
So they ran in with the other craft, and took their catch in to his dock in their dory.
The trader, a small, wiry, bright-eyed Yankee, scrutinized Henry Burns and Jack Harvey sharply, as they entered the little den which bore the imposing word Office over its door.
So youre fishermen, eh? he remarked. Rather a fine craft youve brought down for the work. Guess you might manage to keep alive somehow if you didnt fish for a living.
He was interested, though, when they told him their circumstances.
Good! he exclaimed. Well, Im paying a dollar a hundredweight for cod caught on hand-lines, and less for trawl-caught. But you dont calculate to do trawl-fishing, I reckon.
Not just yet, answered Harvey.
They hitched the tackle at the end of the pier on to the baskets of fish, and the cod were hoisted up to the scales.
Three hundred and sixty pounds, I make it, said the trader. Thats three dollars and sixty cents.
The boys went away, clinking three big silver dollars, a fifty-cent piece, and a dime, and passing the money from hand to hand, admiringly.
That never seemed like very much money to me before, said Harvey, thoughtfully. It makes a difference whether you earn it or not and how, doesnt it?
Its all right for the first day, said Henry Burns. Well do better as we get the hang of it. And then later, if we get a catch of mackerel on the first run of the fish, why, weve got the boat to make a fast trip over to Stoneland, and sell them to the hotel. Therell be money in that.
The next morning, beating out of the harbour early, they had an unpleasant experience.
They had anchored off the dock at the head of the harbour, and had just begun to work their way out through the channel, which was there quite narrow, against a light southwest breeze. Henry Burns had the wheel, with Harvey tending sheet, and Tom and Bob working the single jib that they had set. A little way ahead of them a boat was coming in, running free.
Theres our friend, remarked Henry Burns, noting the pinkeys sharp, queer stern. Its old Martel coming in from under-running his hake-trawls. Well try to keep clear of him.
But it seemed this was not wholly possible.
The
Viking was standing up to clear a buoy a short distance ahead, which marked the channel, and would just barely fetch by it if she was not headed off any. It became apparent soon, however, that the skipper of the pinkey was heading so that, if one or the other did not give way, there would be a collision.
Better give him the horn, suggested Tom, as the boys watched the oncoming boat.