Rudyard Kipling : The Complete Novels and Stories. Редьярд Джозеф Киплинг

bait fer soup?’ This was an unknown backbiter a quarter of a mile away.

      Again the joyful chorus. Now, Brady was not especially mean, but he had that reputation, and the fleet made the most of it. Then they discovered a man from a Truro boat, who, six years before, had been convicted of using a tackle with five or six hooks—a ‘scrowger’ they call it—on the Shoals. Naturally, he had been christened ‘Scrowger Jim’; and though he had hidden himself on the Georges ever since, he found his honours waiting for him full blown. They took it up in a sort of fire-cracker chorus: ‘Jim! O Jim! Jim! O Jim! Sssscrowger Jim!’ That pleased everybody. And when a poetical Beverly man—he had been making it up all day, and talked about it for weeks—sang ‘The Carrie Pitman’s anchor doesn’t hold her for a cent!’ the dories felt that they were indeed fortunate. Then they had to ask that Beverly man how he was off for beans, because even poets must not have things all their own way. Every schooner and nearly every man got it in turn. Was there a careless or dirty cook anywhere? The dories sang about him and his food. Was a schooner badly found? The fleet was told at full length. Had a man hooked tobacco from a messmate? He was named in meeting; the name tossed from roller to roller. Disko’s infallible judgments, Long Jack’s market-boat that he had sold years ago, Dan’s sweetheart (oh, but Dan was an angry boy!), Penn’s bad luck with dory-anchors, Salters’s views on manure, Manuel’s little slips from virtue ashore, and Harvey’s lady-like handling of the oar—all were laid before the public; and as the fog fell around them in silvery sheets beneath the sun, the voices sounded like a bench of invisible judges pronouncing sentence.

      The dories roved and fished and squabbled till a swell underran the sea. Then they drew more apart to save their sides, and some one called that if the swell continued the Virgin would break. A reckless Galway man with his nephew denied this, hauled up anchor, and rowed over the very rock itself. Many voices called them to come away, while others dared them to hold on. As the smooth-backed rollers passed the southward, they hove the dory high and high into the mist, and dropped her in ugly, sucking, dimpled water, where she spun round her anchor, within a foot or two of the hidden rock. It was playing with death for mere bravado; and the boats looked on in uneasy silence till Long Jack rowed up behind his countrymen and quietly cut their roding.

      ‘Can’t ye hear ut knockin’?’ he cried. ‘Pull for your miserable lives! Pull!’

      The men swore and tried to argue as the boat drifted; but the next swell checked a little, like a man tripping on a carpet. There was a deep sob and a gathering roar, and the Virgin flung up a couple of acres of foaming water, white, furious, and ghastly over the shoal sea. Then all the boats greatly applauded Long Jack, and the Galway men held their tongue.

      ‘Ain’t it elegant?’ said Dan, bobbing like a young seal at home. ‘She’ll break about once every ha’af hour now, ’less the swell piles up good. What’s her reg’lar time when she’s at work, Tom Platt?’

      ‘Once ivry fifteen minutes, to the tick. Harve, you’ve seen the greatest thing on the Banks; an’ but for Long Jack you’d seen some dead men too.’

      There came a sound of merriment where the fog lay thicker and the schooners were ringing their bells. A big bark nosed cautiously out of the mist, and was received with shouts and cries of, ‘Come along, darlin’,’ from the Irishry.

      ‘Another Frenchman?’ said Harvey.

      ‘Hain’t you eyes? She’s a Baltimore boat, goin’ in fear an’ tremblin’,’ said Dan. ‘We’ll guy the very sticks out of her. Guess it’s the fust time her skipper ever met up with the fleet this way.’

      She was a black, buxom eight-hundred-ton craft. Her mainsail was looped up, and her topsail flapped undecidedly in what little wind was moving. Now a bark is feminine beyond all other daughters of the sea, and this tall, hesitating creature, with her white and gilt figurehead, looked just like a bewildered woman half lifting her skirts to cross a muddy street under the jeers of bad little boys. That was very much her situation. She knew she was somewhere in the neighbourhood of the Virgin, had caught the roar of it, and was, therefore, asking her way. This is a small part of what she heard from the dancing dories:

      ‘The Virgin? Fwhat are you talkin’ of? This is Le Have on a Sunday mornin’. Go home an’ sober up.’

      ‘Go home, ye tarrapin! Go home an’ tell ’em we’re comin’.’

      Half a dozen voices together, in a most tuneful chorus, as her stern went down with a roll and a bubble into the troughs: “Thay-[‘Thay-]aah—she—strikes!’

      ‘Hard up! Hard up fer your life! You’re on top of her now.’

      ‘Daown! Hard daown! Let go everything!’

      ‘All hands to the pumps!’

      ‘Daown jib an’ pole her!’

      Here the skipper lost his temper and said things. Instantly fishing was suspended to answer him, and he heard many curious facts about his boat and her next port of call. They asked him if he were insured; and whence he had stolen his anchor, because, they said, it belonged to the Carrie Pitman; they called his boat a mud-scow, and accused him of dumping garbage to frighten the fish; they offered to tow him and charge it to his wife; and one audacious youth slipped almost under the counter, smacked it with his open palm, and yelled, ‘Gid up, Buck!’

      The cook emptied a pan of ashes on him, and he replied with cod-heads. The bark’s crew fired small coal from the galley, and the dories threatened to come aboard and ‘razee’ her. They would have warned her at once had she been in real peril; but, seeing her well clear of the Virgin, they made the most of their chances. The fun was spoilt when the rock spoke again, a half-mile to windward, and the tormented bark set everything that would draw and went her ways; but the dories felt that the honours lay with them.

      All that night the Virgin roared hoarsely; and next morning, over an angry, white-headed sea, Harvey saw the fleet with flickering masts waiting for a lead. Not a dory was hove out till ten o’clock, when the two Jeraulds of the Day’s Eye, imagining a lull which did not exist, set the example. In a minute half the boats were out and bobbing in the cockly swells, but Troop kept the We’re Heres at work dressing-down. He saw no sense in ‘dares’; and as the storm grew that evening they had the pleasure of receiving wet strangers, only too glad to make any refuge in the gale. The boys stood by the dory-tackles with lanterns, the men ready to haul, one eye cocked for the sweeping wave that would make them drop everything and hold on for the dear life. Out of the dark would come a yell of ‘Dory, dory!’ They would hook up and haul in a drenched man and a half-sunk boat till their decks were littered down with nests of dories and the bunks were full. Five times in their watch did Harvey, with Dan, jump at the fore-gaff where it lay lashed on the boom, and cling with arms, legs, and teeth to rope and spar and sodden canvas as a big wave filled the decks. One dory was smashed to pieces and the sea pitched the man head first on to the decks, cutting his forehead open; and about dawn, when the racing seas glimmered white all along their cold edges, another man, blue and ghastly, crawled in with a broken hand, asking news of his brother. Seven extra mouths sat down to breakfast—a Swede; a Chatham skipper; a boy from Hancock, Maine; one Duxbury, and three Provincetown men.

      dressing-down on the ‘we’re here.’

      There was a general sorting out among the fleet next day; and though no one said anything, all ate with better appetites when boat after boat reported full crews aboard. Only a couple of Portuguese and an old man from Gloucester were drowned, but many were cut or bruised; and two schooners had parted their tackle and been blown to the southward, three days’ sail. A man died on a Frenchman—it was the same bark that had traded tobacco with the We’re Heres. She slipped away quite quietly one wet, white morning, moved to a patch of deep water, her sails all hanging anyhow, and Harvey saw the funeral through Disko’s spy-glass. It was only an oblong bundle slid overside. They did not seem to have any form of service, but in the night, at anchor, Harvey heard them across the star-powdered