194 



RECREATION. 



"There they poodle ! There they bunt 

 her ! Hear them rush !" are some of the 

 expressions used by the men. 



We pull and strain at the warps until 

 someone inquires : 



"What's the matter with her? We can't 

 gain an inch. Is she hung up?" 



"It's fish !" says the captain of the net. 

 "Here, Jim, take the dory and go out and 

 sink the corks, or we'll never get these 

 ends ashore. Here they are up around my 

 feet." 



So Jim takes the dory and sinks the 

 corks, and as the moon has risen above the 

 horizon we can see better how to work. 



"Now, boys, lift the lead lines and let 

 some of these fish out. We've got more 

 than we can handle, although the freezer 

 wants 1,000 barrels, and 2 salters came in 

 to-day. Somebody get the tag-boats, and 

 go to bailing." 



The tag-boats, holding about 50 barrels 

 each, are made fast to the cork-line, and 

 are bailed full of fish, some of the men 

 wading up to their hips in the net, while 

 others bail from the boats. We see the 

 need of oil-clothes, for as soon as the net 

 is dried up, by taking in the slack twine, 

 the fish rush from side to side of the net 

 with a noise that can be heard half a mile 

 on a still night, and snlash us from head to 

 foot. 



When the tag-boats are filled, they are 

 rowed out to the steamer and the fish are 

 bailed on to her deck until she has about 

 200 barrels aboard. Then we bid the sein- 

 ers goodnight and start on our journey to 

 Gloucester. 



"Those nets must pick up a great variety 

 of fish," we remark, as we resume our seats 

 in the pilot house. 



"Yes, we catch every kind that comes 

 into the river," answers the captain, "from 

 an eel to a horse-mackerel. I recollect one 

 year when the river was full of horse- 

 mackerel, and half a dozen boats at once 

 were taking a ride all over the river, made 

 fast to an iron in those fish. That was 

 sport ! Especially when they crossed lines ! 

 One fellow had a narrow escape. Jim 

 dropped a handful of bluebacks overboard, 

 and when a horse-mackerel rose up after 

 them Jim put an iron into him. Somehow 

 he got that line around his ankle, and over- 

 board he went. Then the boat, not having 

 anybody to steer it, yawed around, and 

 over that went. When we got there, we 

 had to right the boat before we could get 

 to the line, and then we pulled in about 60 

 fathoms of line before we got to Jim. We 

 took him ashore and rubbed him an hour 

 before he showed any signs of coming to. 

 You ought to talk with him. He knows 

 all about horse-mackerel! 



"We had an experience with bluefish a 

 few years ago. We sat around a school 



: 



about where we were to-night. Thought 

 they was pollock, or codfish, you know. 

 We saved 8, I believe. Everyone of them 

 fish bit a hole the size of his mouth in that 

 net and went through it. 



"We catch a big sturgeon once in 

 a while. You'd think they'd tear the net? 

 Not unless they roll up with it and then 

 thrash. We sell them to a Dutchman in 

 Newburyport. He sifts the roe through 

 different-sized sieves, spices it up somehow 

 — he won't tell how — and sends it to New 

 York or Philadelphia, where them Dutch- 

 man pay a fancy price for it. They call it 

 caviare. The meat goes to the same place. 

 They call it Albany beef. Or else the can- 

 ners put it up for salmon. You can tell it. 

 The bones are soft. You can chew them. 

 Salmon bones are hard." 



"What'll the boys do with the rest of 

 them fish? Oh, they'll probably take them 

 up to the freezer. There's a vessel up to 

 the wharf with a freezer aboard. She 

 belongs over to Gloucester. They pay 50 

 cents a barrel, freeze them and keep them 

 until the market is bare. Then they sell 

 them by count, 2 or 3 cents apiece some- 

 times." 



We are in Squam river again. The draw 

 opens, and we glide into a swarm of dories 

 and sailboats. 



"I want a bucketful." 



"Is that a bucket?" inquires the captain. 

 Look what he calls a bucket ! A candy pail ! 

 He wants it full, too. That fellow has a 

 big butter firkin with a bail hitched on to 

 it. This fellow wants a haddock basket 

 full for a bushel. Well, boys, give them 

 their bait, and take their names if you can 

 spell them; -I can't." Turning to us he ex- 

 plains : 



"This is the bucket brigade. Most of 

 them are Portuguese. They never have 

 any money. So-and-so settles for their 

 bait, and buys their fish; has them at both 

 ends, you see." 



"I want 40 barrels," calls a voice from a 

 dory, "right away, too." 



"All right, skipper, come aboard, and 

 we'll be over there." 



"What do you ask for bait?" cries an- 

 other voice. 



"Two dollars," answers our captain. 



"I'll give you $1.50 and take 20 barrels." 



"You can't play that this morning. There's 

 too many of you waiting. I ain't got enough 

 for all of you, anyhow. You'd better take 

 your turn now, and not be whining and 

 offering $5 after it's all gone." 



In this manner we busy ourselves, going 

 from one vessel to another, until the bait 

 is all bailed off the steamer's deck. Then, 

 seeing our opportunity, we spring on one 

 of the wharves, after thanking the genial 

 captain for his hospitality, and seek our 

 homes. 



