CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.
TOUCHES ON LOVE AND ON PILCHARD FISHING.
There can be no doubt that "Fortune favours the brave," and Maggot wasone of those braves whom, about this time, she took special delight infavouring.
Wild and apparently reckless though he was, Maggot had long cherished anambitious hope, and had for some time past been laying by money for thepurpose of accomplishing his object, which was the procuring of aseine-net and boats for the pilchard fishery. The recent successes hehad met with in Botallack enabled him to achieve his aim more rapidlythan he had anticipated, and on the day following that in whichClearemout received his deserts, he went to Penberth Cove to see thatall was in readiness, for pilchards had recently appeared off the coastin small shoals.
That same day Oliver Trembath, having spent a night of misery inPenzance, made up his mind to return to St. Just and face his fate likea man; but he found it so difficult to carry this resolve into effectthat he diverged from the highroad--as he had done on his firstmemorable visit to that region--and, without knowing very well why,sauntered in a very unenviable frame of mind towards Penberth Cove.
Old Mr Donnithorne possessed a pretty villa near the cove, to which hewas wont to migrate when Mrs D felt a desire for change of air, and inwhich he frequently entertained large parties of friends in the summerseason. In his heart poor Mr Donnithorne had condemned this villa "tothe hammer," but the improved appearance of things in the mines hadinduced him to suspend the execution of the sentence. News of theappearance of pilchards, and a desire to give Rose a change after herlate adventure, induced Mr Donnithorne to hire a phaeton (he hadrecently parted with his own) and drive over to Penberth.
Arrived there, he sauntered down to the cove to look after his nets--forhe dabbled in pilchard fishing as well as in other matters--and Rosewent off to have a quiet, solitary walk.
Thus it came to pass that she and Oliver Trembath suddenly met in alonely part of the road between Penberth and Penzance. Ah, those suddenand unexpected meetings! How pleasant they are, and how well every onewho has had them remembers them!
"Miss Ellis!" exclaimed Oliver in surprise.
"Mr Trembath!" exclaimed Rose in amazement.
You see, reader, how polite they were, but you can neither see norconceive how great was the effort made by each to conceal the tumultthat agitated the breast and flushed the countenance, while the tonguewas thus ably controlled. It did not last long, however. Oliver, beingthrown off his guard, asked a number of confused questions, and Rose, inher somewhat irrelevant replies, happened to make some reference to"that villain Clearemout."
"Villain?" echoed Oliver in undisguised amazement.
"The villain," repeated Rose, with a flushed face and flashing eye.
"What? why? how?--really, excuse me, Miss Ellis--I--I--the villain--Clearemout--you don't--"
There is no saying how many more ridiculous exclamations Oliver mighthave made had not Rose suddenly said,--"Surely, Mr Trembath, you haveheard of his villainy?"
"No, never; not a word. Pray do tell me, Miss Ellis."
Rose at once related the circumstances of her late adventure, with muchindignation in her tone and many a blush on her brow.
Before she had half done, Oliver's powers of restraint gave way.
"Then you never loved him?" he exclaimed.
"Loved him, sir! I do not understand--"
"Forgive me, Rose; I mean--I didn't imagine--that is to say--oh! Rose,can it be--is it possible--my _dear_ girl!"
He seized her hand at this point, and--but really, reader, why should wego on? Is it not something like a violation of good taste to be tooparticular here? Is it not sufficient to say that old Mr Donnithornecame suddenly, and of course unexpectedly, on them at that criticaljuncture, rendering it necessary for Rose to burst away and hide herblushing face on her uncle's shoulder, while Oliver, utterlyoverwhelmed, turned and walked (we won't say fled) at full speed in thedirection of the cove.
Here he found things in a condition that was admirably suited to thestate of his feelings. The fishermen of the cove were in a state ofwild excitement, for an enormous shoal of pilchards had been enclosed inthe seine-nets, and Maggot with his men, as well as the people employedby Mr Donnithorne, were as much over head and ears in fishing as Oliverwas in love. Do you ask, "Why all this excitement?" We will tell you.
The pilchard fishing is to the Cornish fisherman what the harvest is tothe husbandman, but this harvest of the sea is not the result ofprolonged labour, care, and wisdom. It comes to him in a night. It maylast only a few days, or weeks. Sometimes it fails altogether. Duringthese days of sunshine he must toil with unwonted energy. There is norest for him while the season lasts if he would not miss hisopportunity. The pilchard is a little fish resembling a small herring.It visits the southern coasts of England in autumn and winter, and theshoals are so enormous as to defy calculation or description. When theyarrive on the coast, "huers"--sharp-sighted men--are stationed on thecliffs to direct the boatmen when to go out and where to shoot theirseine-nets. When these are shot, millions of pilchards are oftenenclosed in a single net.
To give an idea of the numbers of fish and the extent of the fishing, ina few words, we may state the fact that, in 1834, one shoal of greatdepth, and nearly a mile broad, extended from Hayle River to St. Ives, adistance of two and a half miles. A seine was shot into this mass, and3,600 hogsheads were carried to the curing cellars. As there are 3,000pilchards in each hogshead, the catch amounted to nearly eleven millionfish! The value of these might be 3 pounds a hogshead, and the clearprofit about 1 pound a hogshead, so that it is no wonder we hear offortunes having been made in a few hauls of the pilchard seines. At thesame time, losses are sometimes very heavy, owing to gales arising andbreaking or carrying away the nets. Such facts, combined with theuncertainty of the arrival or continuance of the fish on any particularpart of the coast, tend to induce that spirit of eager, anxiousexcitement to which we have referred as being so congenial to OliverTrembath's state of mind at the time of which we write.
On the beach the young doctor found Maggot and his men launching theirboats, and of course he lent them a hand.
"Pilchards been seen?" he inquired.
"Iss, iss, doctor," was the smith's curt reply; "jump in, an' go 'longwith us."
Oliver accepted the invitation, and was rowed towards a part of the baywhere the sea appeared to be boiling. The boat was a large one,attended by several others of smaller dimensions. The boiling spotbeing reached, Maggot, whose whole being was in a blaze of enthusiasm,leaped up and seized the end of a seine-net--three hundred fathoms longby fourteen deep--which he began to throw overboard with the utmostenergy, while the boat was rowed swiftly round the mass of fish. DavidTrevarrow assisted him, and in less than four minutes the whole net wasin the sea. One of the other boats, meanwhile, had fastened another netto the first, and, rowing in an opposite direction from it, progressedin a circular course, dropping its net as it went, until the two met--and thus an immense shoal of pilchards were enclosed.
The nets being floated on the surface with corks, and their lower endssunk to the bottom with leads, the fish were thus securely imprisoned.But the security was not great; a gale might arise which would sweepaway the whole concern, or the pilchards might take a fancy to make adash in one particular direction, in the event of which they wouldcertainly burst the net, and no human power could save a single fin. Inorder to prevent this, the men in the smaller boats rowed round theseine, beat the sea with their oars, hallooed, and otherwise exertedthemselves to keep the fish in the centre of the enclosure. Meanwhile alittle boat entered within the circle, having a small net, named a"tuck-net," which was spread round the seine, inside, and graduallydrawn together, until the fish were raised towards the surface in asolid, sweltering mass. The excitement at this point became tremendous.Thousands of silvery fish leaped, vaulted, and fluttered in a seethingmass on the sea. Maggot roared and yelled his orders like a Stento
r.Even mild David Trevarrow lost self-command, and shouted vociferously.
"Hand the basket!" cried Maggot.
A large basket, with a rope attached to one handle, was produced.Maggot seized the other handle, and thrust it down among the wrigglingpilchards. Trevarrow hauled on the rope, lifted the basket out of thesea, and a cataract of living silver was shot into the boat, accompaniedby a mighty cheer. Basketful after basketful followed, until the menstood leg-deep in fish.
"Hold on a bit!" cried Maggot, as, with rolled-up sleeves, dishevelledhair, and glaring eyes, he threw one leg over the side of the boat, themore easily to continue his work.
"Have a care," cried Oliver at that moment, stretching out his hand; buthe was too late. The excitable smith had overbalanced himself, and wasalready head and shoulders deep down among the pilchards, which spranghigh over him, as if in triumph!
To catch him by the legs, and pull him back into the boat, was the workof a moment, but the proceedings were not interrupted by the mishap. Alaugh greeted the smith as he was turned head up, and immediately hebraced himself to his arduous labour with renewed energy.
The boat filled, it was rowed to the shore, and here was received byeager and noisy men, women, and children, by whom the precious contentswere carried to the "cellars," or salting-houses, where they were packedin the neatest possible piles, layer on layer, heads and tails, with asprinkling of salt between.
Maggot's family had followed him to Penberth. Mrs M was there, busy asa bee--so was Zackey, so was little Grace, and so was the baby. Theyall worked like Trojans, the only difference between baby Maggot and theothers being, that, while they did as much work as in them lay, he undidas much as possible; was in every one's way; fell over and intoeverything, including the sea, and, generally, fulfilled his mission ofmischief-maker with credit. The chet was there too! Baby Maggot haddecreed that it should accompany him, so there it was, living onpilchards, and dragging out its harassed existence in the usual way.What between salt food, and play, kicks, cuffs, capers, and gluttony,its aspect at that time was more demoniacal, perhaps, than that of anyother chet between John o' Groat's and the Land's End.
Volumes would scarcely contain all that might be written about thiswonderful scene, but enough has been said to indicate the processwhereby Maggot secured and salted some hundreds of thousands ofpilchards. The enclosing of the fish was the result of a few minutes'work, but the salting and packing were not ended for many days. Theresult, however, was that the lucky smith sent many hogsheads ofpilchards the way of most Cornish fish--namely, to the Mediterranean,for consumption by Roman Catholics, and in due course he received theproceeds, to the extent of three thousand pounds.
Thus did Maggot auspiciously begin the making of his fortune--which wasoriginated and finally completed by his successful mining operations atBotallack.
And let it be observed here, that he was neither the first nor the lastpoor man who became prosperous and wealthy by similar means. There aremen, not a few, now alive in Cornwall, who began with hammer and pick,and who now can afford to drink in champagne, out of a golden flagon,the good old Cornish toast--"Fish, tin, and copper."