Trawler living thing in its track, not infrequently also things less desirable and welcome. Then on deck, placed well aft, is the steam cap stan, the "strong man," as fishermen playfully term it. Happy the crews whose smacks are thus fitted, pleasant the relief from the toilsome and weary manual labour previously involved in "getting in the gear." Below is the large hold specially fitted up in this vessel for holding services. Then comes the forecastle, the crew's quarters, the hammocks slung round the sides, the great galley fire blazing in the centre. Farther aft is the cabin, a luxury unknown in an ordinary trawling-smack, but here introduced for the accommodation of clergymen, doctors, missionaries, and others, who may visit the fleets and help in the work, as many have done in their vacation. There is, in this particular vessel, even the additional convenience of a tiny but cosy ladies' cabin, and already ladies have been found daring enough to adventure the trip. Their welcome, by men who never before had seen a lady at the fleet, was exceptionally enthusiastic. But the cabin has more in it than mere comfort for passengers. Steam Fish-carrier running for market. There in the corner may be noticed a mysterious array of bottles, as well as all sorts of surgical and medical appliances. It is the dispensary, and likely enough we shall find the use of it before we complete our trip. In another corner is a closet filled with bags, which on examination prove to be stuffed with books. Then stowed away in cleverly contrived lockers may be found Bibles, prayer-books, supplies of woollen mittens and comforters, and all kinds of possible requisites at sea. While we have been inspecting, the Edward Auriol has run rapidly to the north-east, and the skipper proudly reports she has done ninety miles in twelve hours. "If this wind holds, we'll make the fleet by sundown tomorrow." The wind does hold, and sure enough, just as the dying rays of the setting sun are crimsoning the crests of the restless billows, a smacksman's keen eye discerns the sails of a trawling fleet far on the northeastern horizon. Noting their course the skipper holds after them all night long, and at break of morn we run into the thick of the fleet. It is a stirring and a lively scene; one not soon to be forgotten. Round us are some hundred and fifty to two hundred vessels, sailing in company, tacking, running before a fresh breeze, yet handled so cleverly and smartly, and answering their rudder so quickly, that accidents from collision, save in exceptionally thick and rough weather, are quite unusual. They have not come so near us for nothing. The blue flag flying at our main has told them who and what we are, and they are prompt to greet the Mission-ship. But long before this we have become de facto a trawling-smack. Late last night on as much as he can of the net, and hauling it making the fleet in the offing our skipper in hand over hand. The net is heavy, but had dropped his trawl, and at 4 A.M. we were that proves nothing; it may be filled with startled from a comfortable sleep by the sand, or stones, or mud, or a lost anchor, or "There it comes!" is stentorian shout, "Trawl's comin' up, sir." a good catch of fish. None of us were willing to miss the sight, so the shout as the "cod-end " of the net slowly we tumbled on deck with little delay over emerges from the water, stuffed as it seems toilet arrangements. Already steam was up, to us with some slimy, slippery, moving the tiny engine was puffing away vigorously, mass. It is pulled on deck, the lashing is let and with many a creak and groan the cap- go, and out tumble the finny spoil, and wrigstan was hauling in the trawl ropes. At gling, struggling, gasping all over the deck, length it is hoisted to the ship's side, every are strewn cod, haddock, sole, plaice, and a man is at his post, leaning over and gripping | few much prized, because high-priced, turbot motion is imparted by the abrupt pitching of the waves. Reaching the steamer I scramble on board-rather ignominiously, it must be confessed; for there is no ladder, and the feat of springing over the bulwarks from a boat tossing on the billows, though it looks wonderfully easy, is one requiring long experience to be done scientifically. Once on board I mount the bridge with all speed, for the sight awaiting me may be witnessed but once or twice in a life-time. Words are weak things to picture the exciting spectacle. Our artist has caught the scene well, and but a few words are needed to add vividness to his picture. The steamer herself is rolling heavily, dipping her bulwarks and shipping a deluge of water at every lurch. Round her, but just a little way off, dance the fishingsmacks, running under her lee and dropping their boats. These are pulled as speedily as possible to the steamer, adding continually another and another to the swarm of boats surrounding her. The sea is very rough, and the heavily-laden small boats are now plunged far down in the trough of the sea, and now surge up in a moving mass almost over the steamer's bulwarks. Again and again as they suddenly rise it seems they must be flung on deck, and indeed this does at times happen with terribly disastrous effects. Habituated to this curious motion the men heed it not in their eagerness to get their fish on board. There go the boats jamming against the side, while one man from each, skilfully choosing the right instant, springs on board, gripping the bulwarks when his boat is on the crest of the wave, and being left as it descends hanging on the steamer's side. Another moment and he is on deck and makes fast the painter he carried with him. His companions in the boat heave their boxes to him: he adds them to the piles on deck. Meanwhile others are equally eager to get alongside, and shout, expostulate, and struggle in the mass of boats, good-humoured enough for the most part, but craftily doing all they can to cut one another out. It is amusing to watch how they do it. One boat is in a good place, but another, coming astern, gets her sharp prow inserted, like a wedge, between the first boat and the steamer's hull, then a slight push and the first comer is ousted from the coveted position, while the intruder has secured the inner place, only perhaps to be cut out in his turn by some other and equally cunning smacksman. Of course the first arrivals do not submit silently, hence the shouting and clamour is deafening. All this, added to the thumping of the boxes, the grinding and motion of the boats, the rolling of the steamer, the hurrying to and fro of men, the whistling of the wind and the swish of the water, makes up, it will be confessed, a pretty lively and noisy scene. But while all this is going on alongside, there is plenty of life and motion on board the steamer. There the boxes are being flung, pushed, kicked, or dragged to the hatchway. Men are pitching them down as fast as hands can do it; yet with a hundred or so boats discharging their boxes, the deck is soon blockaded right along, and the boxes are piled as high as the bulwarks. Below, men are packing with ice; between each layer of boxes a layer of ice is placed. The extent of the trade will be realised when it is stated that about £20,000 worth of ice is annually used for the purpose of packing the fish on board the various steam-carriers. Such is "ferrying the fish" in the North Sea. To the beholder it is a scene alike exciting and novel; to the men engaged it is one of grave risk and serious peril, for many lives are lost in this work. A hawser gets beneath a boat's keel, and in the maze of boats and ropes this may easily happen. A man makes a slip, the "trunks" lurch too suddenly and too far, a cross sea catches her, and over goes the boat, and her crew go down like lead. One despairing cry and all is over. Seldom does a man rise from the depths of such a sea. "He is drowned," say the fishermen, "ere he touches bottom." At all events his heavy sea-boots do not help him to rise. At length the last laggard has put her boxes on board, the steamer is "filled up," the signal is given, the scream of her steamwhistle gives warning to the clustering boats, "Clear out! we're off." Having no fancy to form part of her cargo, I dropped into our boat and was pulled back to the Missionship. Jumping on board, I find the deck crowded with visitors. Fine, frank, hearty fellows, most of them; curiously mixed as to blood and race, decidedly unconventional in speech and costume; their talk of the sea, and the sea only. Most of them have come to see the ship or the visitors; but not a few had sore enough need to come. In a rough life of this sort, knocking about amongst running tackle and gear, swinging booms and straining ropes, many get grievously injured. No matter how badly a poor fellow may be wounded, how seriously he may fall sick, there is for him neither help nor healing; he must suffer, it may be, die-until he |