66 



FISHERMEN OF THE UNITED STATES. 



An' then ag'in we lay an' lay 



Off Wonson's Cove or Oakses — 

 None go by our compass-light, 



Nor we by other folkses. 

 Ashore, the ball-room winders shine 



Till weary feet are warnin'. 

 But here an' there's a sick-room light 



That winks away till mornin'. 



Ah' Sundays we go nigher in, 



To hear the bells a-ringin', — 

 I aint no hand for sermons, you, 



But singin's allers singin'. 

 The weathercocks — no two agree — 



Like men they arg' an' differ, 

 While in the cuddy- way I set 



An' take my pipe, an' whiff her. 



My pipe — eh! p'ison? mighty s-l-o-w; 



It makes my dreamin' clearer, 

 Though what I fill it with now-days 



Is growin' dearer 'n' dearer. 

 I takes my comfort when it comes, 



Then no lee-lurch can spill it. 

 An' if my net is empty. Lor'! 



Why, how can growlin' fill it? 



An' so we jog the hours away. 



The gulls they coo an' tattle. 

 Till on the hill the sundown red 



Starts up the drowsiu' cattle. 

 The seiners row their jiggers by; 



I pull the slide half over. 

 An' shet the shore out, an' the smell 



Of sea- weed sweeter'n clover. 



The following sketch, quoted from a Boston newspaper, contains a fair example of the fisher- 

 man's dialect: * 



"'Wall, you, I see another fisherman has gone down,' said a rugged, weather-beaten veteran 

 of the sea to a reporter who, as was his wont, ha,d invaded the quarters of the old salt near Com- 

 mercial wharf. The speaker sat on an upturned keg, and had just finished reading the account of 

 the loss of the Maud S., which had gone down near Half- Way Eock, off Portland Harbor, not long 

 before. 



"'It's cur'ous. Sometimes a vessel '11 go down's easy'e nothin', 'n' then agin she'll live whar 

 you wouldn't say th' wus a ghost of a show. Now, thar was the Eattler, pitchpoled over the 

 shoals off Cape Ann at midnight, some thirteen years ago, in a gale of wind, 'n' come right side up 

 'n' got into port s^ife with every man on board,' and the old man paused and patiently waited for 

 the usual — 



" ' How was that, cap'nl ' 



"With a preparatory 'wall,' while a satisfied look overspread his face, the captain continued: 



" ' One of the wust shoals on the New Englun' coast is 'bout twenty-two league off Cape Anu, 

 called Cashe's Shoals; yet fur all that th'r ain't much said 'bout 'em, which I never could explain, 

 fur more vessels uv gone down thar than on any shoal of the same size along the coast.' 



" ' How large are the shoals ? ' 



" ' Wall, sailin' either side a quarter 'v a mile an' you're in sixty or seventy fathom, but right 

 on the shoals, which is only a few rod across, the water ain't much over twenty feet deep. Why, 

 it's so shaller I've seen kelp growin' up on top o' the water, an' when thar's a blow an' the big 

 seas come rollin' in thar's I've seen 'em — a hundred feet choppin' down on the bottom — ^I tell you 

 it's cruel. No ship could live thar in a storm, an' only smaller vessels can go over in calm weather. 

 Wall, the Eattler, as I was a speakin' of, wus comin' 'long down the coast from Newf n'land 

 loaded with frozen herrin'. The night wus a black one, 'n the cap'n was off his reck'nin'. Least- 



*The facts in the case are truthfully described. The Eattler, while returning to Gloucester from a voyage to 

 Newfoundland, in January, 1867, was overtaken by a furious gale in the vicinity of Cashe's Ledge. She was struck 

 by a heavy sea, thrown on her beam ends or rolled over, and finally righted with the loss of both masts. She arrived 

 in Gloucester a few days later. 



