The Young Trawler. Robert Michael Ballantyne

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      “My usual luck,” said the skipper a second time in a deeper growl.

      “Seems to me,” said Gunter, in a growl that was even more deep and discontented than that of the skipper, “that luck is always down on us.”

      “’Tis the same luck that the rest o’ the fleet has got, anyhow,” observed Joe Davidson, who was the most cheerful spirit in the smack; but, indeed, all on board, with the exception of the skipper and Gunter, were men of a hearty, honest, cheerful nature, more or less careless about life and limb.

      To the mate’s remark the skipper said “humph,” and Gunter said that he was the unluckiest fellow that ever went to sea.

      “You’re always growling, Jack,” said Ned Spivin, who was fond of chaffing his mates; “they should have named you Grunter when they were at it.”

      “I only wish the Coper was alon’side,” said the skipper, “but she’s always out of the way when she’s wanted. Who saw her last?”

      “I did,” said Luke Trevor, “just after we had crossed the Silver Pits; and I wish we might never see her again.”

      “Why so, mate?” asked Gunter.

      “Because she’s the greatest curse that floats on the North Sea,” returned Luke in a tone of indignation.

      “Ah!—you hate her because you’ve jined the teetotallers,” returned Gunter with something of a sneer.

      “No, mate, I don’t hate her because I’ve jined the teetotallers, but I’ve jined the teetotallers because I hate her.”

      “Pretty much the same thing, ain’t it?”

      “No more the same thing,” retorted Luke, “than it is the same thing to put the cart before the horse or the horse before the cart. It wasn’t total-abstainin’ that made me hate the Coper, but it was hatred of the Coper that made me take to total-abstainin’—don’t you see?”

      “Not he,” said Billy Bright, who had joined the group; “Gunter never sees nothing unless you stick it on to the end of his nose, an’ even then you’ve got to tear his eyes open an’ force him to look.”

      Gunter seized a rope’s-end and made a demonstration of an intention to apply it, but Billy was too active; he leaped aside with a laugh, and then, getting behind the mast, invited the man to come on “an’ do his wust.”

      Gunter laid down the rope’s-end with a grim smile and turned to Luke Trevor.

      “But I’m sure you’ve got no occasion,” he said, “to blackguard the Coper, for you haven’t bin to visit her much.”

      “No, thank God, I have not,” said Luke earnestly, “yet I’ve bin aboard often enough to wish I had never bin there at all. It’s not that, mates, that makes me so hard on the Coper, but it was through the accursed drink got aboard o’ that floatin’ grog-shop that I lost my best friend.”

      “How was that, Luke? we never heerd on it.”

      The young fisherman paused a few moments as if unwilling to talk on a distasteful subject.

      “Well, it ain’t surprisin’ you didn’t hear of it,” he said, “because I was in the Morgan fleet at the time, an’ it’s more than a year past. The way of it was this. We was all becalmed, on a mornin’ much like this, not far off the Borkum Reef, when our skipper jumped into the boat, ordered my friend Sterlin’ an’ me into it, an’ went off cruisin’. We visited one or two smacks, the skippers o’ which were great chums of our skipper, an’ he got drunk there. Soon after, a stiff breeze sprang up, an’ the admiral signalled to bear away to the nor’-west’ard. We bundled into our boat an’ made for our smack, but by ill luck we had to pass the Coper, an’ nothin’ would please the skipper but to go aboard and have a glass. Sterlin’ tried to prevent him, but he grew savage an’ told him to mind his own business. Well, he had more than one glass, and by that time it was blowin’ so ’ard we began to think we’d have some trouble to get back again. At last he consented to leave, an’ a difficult job it was to get him into the boat wi’ the sea that was runnin’. When we got alongside of our smack, he laid hold of Sterlin’s oar an’ told him to throw the painter aboard. My friend jumped up an’ threw the end o’ the painter to one of the hands. He was just about to lay hold o’ the side an’ spring over when the skipper stumbled against him, caused him to miss his grip, an’ sent him clean overboard. Poor Sterlin’ had on his long boots an’ a heavy jacket. He went down like a stone. We never saw him again.”

      “Did none o’ you try to save him?” asked Joe quickly.

      “We couldn’t,” replied Luke. “I made a dash at him, but he was out o’ sight by that time. He went down so quick that I can’t help thinkin’ he must have struck his head on the side in goin’ over.”

      Luke Trevor did not say, as he might have truly said, that he dived after his friend, being himself a good swimmer, and nearly lost his own life in the attempt to save that of Sterling.

      “D’ye think the skipper did it a’ purpose, mate?” asked David.

      “Sartinly not,” answered Luke. “The skipper had no ill-will at him, but he was so drunk he couldn’t take care of himself, an’ didn’t know what he was about.”

      “That wasn’t the fault o’ the Coper,” growled Gunter. “You say he got half-screwed afore he went there, an’ he might have got dead-drunk without goin’ aboard of her at all.”

      “So he might,” retorted Luke; “nevertheless it was the Coper that finished him off at that time—as it has finished off many a man before, and will, no doubt, be the death o’ many more in time to come.”

      The Copers, which Luke Trevor complained of so bitterly, are Dutch vessels which provide spirits and tobacco, the former of a cheap, bad, and peculiarly fiery nature. They follow the fleets everywhere, and are a continual source of mischief to the fishermen, many of whom, like men on shore, find it hard to resist a temptation which is continually presented to them.

      “There goes the admiral,” sang out little Billy, who, while listening to the conversation, had kept his sharp little eyes moving about.

      The admiral of the fleet, among North Sea fishermen, is a very important personage. There is an “admiral” to each fleet, though we write just now about the admiral of the “Short Blue.” He is chosen for steadiness and capacity, and has to direct the whole fleet as to the course it shall steer, the letting down of its “gear” or trawls, etcetera, and his orders are obeyed by all. One powerful reason for such obedience is that if they do not follow the admiral they will find themselves at last far away from the steamers which come out from the Thames daily to receive the fish; for it is a rule that those steamers make straight for the admiral’s vessel. By day the admiral is distinguished by a flag half way up the maintop-mast stay. By night signals are made with rockets.

      While the crew of the Evening Star were thus conversing, a slight breeze had sprung up, and Billy had observed that the admiral’s smack was heading to windward in an easterly direction. As the breeze came down on the various vessels of the fleet, they all steered the same course, so that in a few minutes nearly two hundred smacks were following him like a shoal of herring. The glassy surface of the sea was effectually broken, and a field of rippling indigo took the place of the ethereal sheet of blue.

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