Bone Street/Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHIEF COOK AND BOTTLEWASHER
And so the days passed along, Jack becoming more and more accustomed to his work. He learned to prepare a variety of dishes from the recipes given him by Mrs. Hampton, and found what many a housewife does not know, that there is a wonderful difference between fish straight from the sea and the fish we buy ashore. Folks who have never been at sea may laugh at knocking a cod-fish unconscious, but if so they have never seen a monster, three or four feet long, lashing itself about the deck. Jack also learned to rise instantly the “up-trawl” cry came, and being relieved of his other work, he could always depend upon having a full night’s rest, so rising with the cry was no hardship.
Sometimes Jack would feel shame at the amount of surplus food thrown overboard, for these fishermen lived well. Occasionally they caught a lobster or a few prawns and crabs, and these were always cooked for the crew.
Jack made many mistakes, and of course got chaffed about them considerably. One day he decided to make a roly-poly pudding, and took it down into the cabin, leaving it in the cloth until he went up for the sauce, meaning to take its coat off later. He had hardly got up when he heard a shout, “Stooard, Stooard.” He went down, and the skipper greeted him with “Where’s the line?” Mystified, Jack asked, “What line?” “Here’s the lead,” said Black Jack, “but where’s the line?” And holding up the plate, he showed Jack his roly-poly pudding, and whether it was the flour or baking-powder, Jack didn’t know, but there was a long dirty-grey hard substance, described by the skipper as “hard as the knobs of hell.” But they were more amused than anything, and Jack never forgot the first roly-poly pudding he made.
On another occasion, he decided to make some jam tart, and carefully making his paste, rolled it out, and covered the bottom of an enamel plate. Then he spread jam over it, and cutting long pieces of pastry, twisted them, placing four pieces crossways. My word, they did look nice, just like Mrs. Hampton’s! He put them into the oven, and after baking put them away to cool. When laying the table, he placed them in the centre for a sweet after fish had been served, and then, leaving them to continue with their meal, went into his galley to prepare for the others, when suddenly he heard a roar of laughter from the cabin. He listened, wondering what the commotion was about, but as the uproar continued, went down to investigate, and found the skipper with the tart on his knee, industriously chipping pieces away with a knife. “It’s stuck, stooard,” he shouted, shoving a mixture of pastry and jam into his mouth, while the chief and bosun wiped the tears away from their eyes. “It won’t come off, cook; have you nailed it on, or what the devil’s the matter with it?” asked the skipper. But Jack had only forgotten to grease the plates before covering them with the paste. It must be said that they took his mistakes in good part. Of course, they teased him, but that was only to be expected, and Jack was sensible enough to take it in the right spirit.
By the eighth day out they were about as disreputable specimens of mankind as could be found; they had not troubled to shave, and only occasionally washed in fresh water, owing to the limited amount carried, but although they looked so unkempt to the eye, it was impossible to get real dirty out there, as a souse in sea-water was quite all right.
Jack was worse to look at than the others, for he was wearing shore-going clothes and boots, which from his knees downwards were thick with salt. His boots were almost white from the salt which had dried on them. For all that he felt fit and well, for since his sea-sickness had passed away, he was eating like a horse. He was also finding his sea-legs, and although he still had some difficulty on account of his arm, was able to carry the food down the steep ladder leading into the cabin.
At six o’clock on the ninth morning they pulled their trawl in for the last time, and set their bows full steam ahead for home, all hands beginning to make themselves look a bit decent before reaching port.
First of all, each of the crew selected some fish for himself, and after carefully cleaning it, fastened a line to it, and heaved it overboard to tow it a few miles before bringing it in. Then they tidied the decks, and last of all, cleansed themselves. There was still need to be careful of the water, but there was enough for a good wash for all. Those who were fortunate enough to have a change of clothing with them, changed into it, but Jack had no change. Watching it all, however, he was determined to bring one next trip out, that was, of course, if he was engaged again.
After dinner, all was cleaned up ready for port, and those whose watch it was below sat in the cabin, where the skipper was entering his log. Presently he called Jack down to take particulars of name, age, place of birth, etc.
“Well, stooard,” he said, after taking all particulars, “are you coming with us next trip?”
“If I can,” said Jack.
“Do you like the work?” asked the other.
“It’s a bit rough,” was the reply, “especially after factory work, but if the arm holds out I’d like to stop, you’ve all been pretty decent to me, and if you take me on I’ll do my best.”
“That’s all right,” said the skipper, “report in the morning to the office at 10 a.m. I’ll meet you all there, you’d better get an outfit, and it’s just as well to get oilskins. It won’t always be fine weather, and you’ll need them.”
Jack thanked him and decided to ask Ned Hampton to help him to purchase an outfit.
It was still light when they arrived at Fish Dock. The lock-gates were not yet opened, and they tied up at the river wall to wait for the customs man, who passed the trawlers in. Presently came the cry from the wall: “Any tobacco, spirits, wine, or other excisable goods on board?” “None,” replied the skipper, and the official passed on. But they did not always take the skipper’s word, sometimes the trawler was searched, though it was very seldom anything contraband was found.
As they were passing through the dock-gate, Jack heard a hail from above, and looking up, saw Ned Hampton walking alongside.
“I thought you’d be coming in by this tide,” shouted Ned, who followed them until they were tied up, and then came aboard.
Grasping Jack’s hand, he enquired, “How have you managed?”
“Champion,” replied Jack. “It was a bit rough at first, but I soon got used to it,” and taking his string of cod and skate they departed for home. On arrival Mrs. Hampton welcomed him with a hug, and “My word, but we’ve missed you, lad.” Ned showed her the fish. “Oh dear me,” she said, “who’s going to eat all that?”
“We’ll eat what we can,” said Jack, “you can give the neighbours what’s left over.”
Supper was soon prepared and eaten, after which Mrs. Hampton said, “Now you’ll want a bath. I expected you to-day, and there’s a boiler full of water, all ready and hot; off with you into the scullery.”
Jack was nothing loth. Certainly the bath was small, and the water had to be carried to it, but it was very refreshing, and keenly appreciated.
After the bath nothing would suffice except a recital of his adventures, which brought the remark from Ned, “Well, there’s one thing to be thankful for, you’ve struck a good skipper, so perhaps you’ll be able to stick it.” They both laughed heartily over his mistakes, but Jack soon began to feel sleepy, and was very glad to get to a real bed. He slept soundly, although at first he missed the rolling of the ship, but oh, Mrs. Hampton’s bed was comfortable after a bed of straw.
Jack rose at eight next morning, and as Ned was not working that day, they went to the docks where the offices of the North Sea Steam Trawling Company were situated. Jack found several of the crew, and by ten the others had arrived and were settled up. Jack received seventeen shillings and sixpence for a week’s work, plus two shillings and sixpence share of liver money, and two shillings bonus on the catch. He had sailed on the Saturday, and returned a week on the following Monday. This was not right, he thought, but the clerk looking at him said, “It’s all right, we pay up to Friday night, so you’re three days in hand, counting to-day as one.” Jack understood now, and thanking him was for departing, when the skipper, who was with the manager, came through the inner door.
“Here, Bradley,” he called. Jack advanced into the office while the skipper said, “This is the chap. I think he can manage, so he had better take his orders now.” The manager said nothing, but taking a slip of paper out of a drawer, signed it, and passed it over to Jack, who, examining it, found under the firm’s printed heading the following words:
“Please supply to the order of bearer provisions for the steam trawler ‘Wild Boar.’” Following this was a list of various ships’ contractors, and without further ado, the skipper led Jack from the office, and outside said, “I see you don’t understand. Well, let me tell you that’s a sign of trust. You go to any of those shops and order what you think we shall require for a nine-days’ trip. Don’t waste, but don’t be stingy. I am off to the boat now, so you had better give the orders, as we’ll be off at high tide to-morrow morning.” And off he went.
Ned was waiting outside, and on joining him Jack repeated what had happened.
“That’s all right,” said Ned, “let’s go home and consult the wife.”
So after a look at the trawler, which was being unloaded of her catch, they returned home, and after consulting Mrs. Hampton, and being also to a great extent guided by his experience, Jack prepared a list of food, which he presented at the different stores, requesting them to be delivered that day.
Then they turned their steps in another direction, this time to purchase a sea kit for Jack. He had twenty-two shillings, and as Mrs. Hampton would not agree to take anything for the present, he decided to spend the lot. Second-hand shops and pawnbrokers were visited, and after considerable manoeuvring and careful spending, they managed to purchase a pair of jack-boots reaching just below the knee, two pairs of thick stockings, a jersey, oilskin and sou’-wester. They were all second-hand, otherwise they could not have managed on such a small amount. A kit-bag completed the list, and stuffing the whole lot into the kit-bag, they departed home.
Jack had one shilling and eightpence left, and wishing to give the Hamptons pleasure, he decided to ask the couple to go out with him. They visited the Palace, enjoying the variety show immensely, and after a turn at the evening paper, partook of supper, and retired to rest for the night.
Jack was aboard the trawler at six next morning. It was necessary to be early, as there was coal and ice, provisions, etc., to stow away.
Soon they were again passing through the dockgates on their way to Dogger Bank, but there was a difference compared with the last time they departed. That time Jack was strange and untried, now he knew some of the ropes and was determined to find the others, so he quickly busied himself in the galley, while on deck the crew cleaned up.
This trip was much easier for him than the first, for being relieved from all deck work he was enabled to devote himself entirely to the main duty of cooking, for which he was engaged, and in the end certainly attained success.
Trip succeeded trip, Jack still sticking to the “Wild Boar.”
He gained a reputation amongst the other trawlermen as a good cook, and was frequently offered a change, but no, the skipper had been decent to him, giving him a chance when other people might have passed him by.
The “Wild Boar” was a good seaworthy boat, and Jack could see no reason for a change. His wages were increased to one pound per week, out of which he still paid three shillings and sixpence per week for the retention of his bedroom. By the end of September he was quite rich again, for being naturally steady, he spent very little, except on clothes, and an occasional visit to the theatre with the Hamptons.
Autumn came and departed, and after the end of September the sea took on a new phase, which even Jack could see. The October gales were due, and each day marked a difference out there on the North Sea. Gentle swells gave way to violent waves which threatened to envelop the little “Wild Boar,” and one day Jack stood just inside the galley door fascinated at the wildness of it all as the little boat ploughed her way along.
This was his first experience of really bad weather, the jibsail was furled, hatches battened down, the iron forecastle and engine-room doors were slammed to, gear taken in ready for the storm. Jagged streaks of lightning illuminated the sky, then cracks of thunder bursting like cannon filled the air with sound. Jack thought this was bad enough, but he was yet to experience the worst.
The wind commenced to rise, while the electric storm gave way. Commencing with a low moan, it gradually grew louder and louder until it finally howled and screeched through the rigging and ropes, the jib-boom swaying from one side to the other. The men on deck held tightly on to ropes, and stayed whenever they could on the lee-side.
On the bridge were both skipper and mate with set face, and keen, anxious eyes.
Jack, amazed at the majesty of it all, stood transfixed just inside the galley door watching. Gradually the rain stopped, while the wind howled louder and louder, but the old “Wild Boar” was a good boat. At a quarter’s speed she rode the storm with all lamps lit, blessed with a real man at the wheel. Suddenly Jack saw a light on one side. The skipper also observed it. “Another trawler,” he muttered to his mate. “Full speed” rang the engine-room bell. The trawler jumped forward, the other boat gradually coming into view, and soon they were close enough to distinguish each other. First they were down on the trough made by two high waves. Jack seized hold of the doorpost. Surely, he thought, one of the waves would fall and crush the boat into a shapeless mass, but the next moment they were on the top looking down at the other trawler yards below them.
It was both terrible and wonderful, and Jack bethought him of the words of Ned Hampton, “It’s a dog’s life.” But although amazed, he was not unduly alarmed. Presently the storm abated, the screeching wind dropping first into a low howl, then into a moan as though lamenting that it had not taken them to itself and wiped them out of existence.
The stars peeped out, men divested themselves of their oil-skins, the skipper turned the wheel over to the mate, returning to his watch below, and shortly afterwards Jack went down to his galley.
So the work went on, brave men taking toll of the sea that others may live, risking their lives time and time again, facing the fierce storms of the North Sea, Dogger Bank and Cemetery, the most notorious fishing grounds in the world, the graves of scores of brave fellows. What memories these names bring forth! Memories of hardships. Freezing days, scorching days. Memories of men rough but sound, men who cared little for the dangers, and toiled that their loved ones may live.
“Nor’, nor’, by east,” said the skipper. “Good night, mate.”
“Dogger Bank and Cemetery.”
Life on a trawler was not so bad after all, thought Jack; and provided he could manage physically, he was determined to stick it. It would have been much more difficult had he been compelled to perform all the duties usually allotted to the cook. So in return for the kindness shown by Black Jack, he exerted himself, doing his very best to give them good clean food, and indeed every member of the crew did their utmost to show their appreciation of his efforts.
Many a spare half an hour he spent in the wheelhouse, a simple structure immediately in front of it funnel. Jack soon realised his good fortune to have been shipped on the “Wild Boar,” for had he been compelled to take a turn at the wheel in a rough sea, certainly his lame arm would have been torn out of its socket. In these spare half-hours Black Jack would talk to him about the lure of the seas, telling of how in his younger days he had shipped as cabin boy in an old-time fishing smack, where there was barely room to turn round, and how he had been belted about his shoulders with a buckle end of a strap for being slow, still he had been determined to progress, studying navigation in his spare time, and how proud he was to get his skipper’s certificate.
The confidence of the skipper caused Jack to relate what life was like in a factory town, but the skipper enjoyed best hearing him talk about the moors, and he nodded his head appreciatively as Jack described their vast grandeur.
“Aye,” he said, “there’s something grand about open spaces. How folk live when they are cooped up in a factory beats me. Why, they never breathe God’s pure air.”
He puffed at his pipe reflectively. “Give me the sea,” he said. “She’s cruel, she’s kind; one day she kisses and caresses you, the next day she’s in a fury, and would gladly kill you, but she’s real, she’s true, and in any case I’d rather have her than be shut away from God’s pure air.”
In many ways Jack showed that he valued the confidence placed in him, but in the main by serving good food, for it takes little imagination to realise what it meant to these chaps exposed to the sea, and working hard sixteen hours out of the twenty-four, if the inner man was not promptly and properly attended to.
It was indeed a rough life, but Jack stuck to his guns, in fact he could see no other prospect.
The remainder of his shipmates were kind too, he could get condensed water whenever there was any, which was indeed a privilege, for washing in sea-water is not likely to give the acme of cleanliness.
Bill the deckie would secure the choicest fish for the doctor to cook and serve, so altogether Jack was made fairly comfortable.
Beckton seemed a long way off now. Sometimes when preparing coffee in the early morning, he would think of the clatter of the clogs, and see the eternal race for the yawning mill gates at 6 a.m.
However, this comparative peace and security was not to last, and it was during the November gales that ill-luck found him again, and once more laid him low. The trawls had been taken in before time as a gale was rising, and their small catch had been tumbled on to the deck.
“Get busy, chaps,” called out Black Jack, “let’s have all snug, she’s coming on a gale,” and while the crew were cleaning the fish, Jack as usual prepared coffee. In a very few minutes it was indeed rough. The “Wild Boar” tumbled and staggered about, the decks first sloping one way then the other, continually pitching and rolling, but the men must be served with the hot coffee, so stepping carefully out of the galley, the kettle in his good hand, he waited an opportunity to make his way to where the crew were working. He had just reached the deck, and with a muttered “Now for it” was making a dash, when a sudden gust struck the trawler, dashing him violently against the low bulwarks, the kettle of boiling coffee flying yards away.