The Savannah morning news. (Savannah, Ga.) 1900-current, 1904-12-11

| Grand Bank fog.
When the wet sun rises dripping, ii
rises from a running sea, black in the
hollows, green on the inclines, lacey
white on the crests; and every riding
sail in all the fleet thunders stiffiy in
salute. The bows no longer climb
suffering up the swells They tear
through them. drowning and splitting
| salt water 10 so Spouting down both
sides Of the bowsprit along the decks.
Again and again the men, sitting be-
low at breakfast, hear the swash of
water as she takes it green" over the
side.
Watching Their Rivals.
| Holding to lines and dashed booms.
the men of the fleet look sharply
around the horizon, watching their
rivals. Suddenly a voice rings from
our bow. whipped back by the wind:
over"
"She Isl is she?" shouts our captain.
so she is. Well. that settles it. over
Won go. boys"
The big men in their big hip boots
unsling the high sided dories at the
word. Over they go with a run into
a sea so heavy and wild that from our
! slippery. cascade-washed deck it looks
/ momentarily as if the whole fleet of
| smacks were going to the bottom. A
/ wicked thrust of rushing waves that
try to crush them against the side,
evaded with a clever. short twist of
an oar: a brief pounding into the very
middle of a swirling wave-and OFF
they go. pulling steadily and as easi-
| ly as IL they were rowing on a mill
/ pond, up the long hills of gray and
| green, poising a moment on the sharp
/ tops and disappearing utterly In the
hollow beyond. to climb up again and
sink until they anchor at last, black
specks. a mile and more away from
| their house and home"
1t is no weather for dories to be
out; and many a skipper watches the
i growing sea and the whistling. strain
/ ing wind anxiOusly from his leaping
smack. But time is growing short. If
the smack is to have a full fare. she
must get it now or never in order to
| get it to the Christmas market.
The Gamble with the Sea.
So, weighing the chances OF his
marine dice with keen and instant de-
| cision, the fisherman CANDLES with the
sea, and for unequal stakes. Against
| the fish that are staked by the gray
old sea, the men stake lusty, brave
| young life.
Harder and harder blows the wind.
The clear-cut rim of sea and sky in
the north has nsensibly grown trifie
| uuii- Only the eye OF sea gun OF d
| fisherman could see the difference.
But presently from schooner after
schooner sound the conch shells, blow
| ing the home-call to their dories.
Specks appear, converging on the
| semi-circle of anchored vessels, grow
from specks to tiny black shapes and
from shapes to dories. streaming home
in answer to the warning signals.
Before the rearmost have more than
come into fair sight, the thing that
brewed in the north is on them
white, binding, a driving snow storm,
biting with the cold of the Labrador
! current.
Now ring bells, blow horns, sound
gun and pistol The fishing fleet of
the Grand Bank has lost too many
| men in the snow storms of the past,
to take a chance. Too many Christ
mas markets have been supplied by
vessels that came in with flag at half
mast while somewhere in the I'M
| known plains of sea drifted their
dories with men turning frozen faces
toward the staring, passionless Allan
tic sky.
Dory after dory. with frosted white
figures in them and soft white mounds
covering their fish. glide out of the
storm and lie under our lee to toss
their catch on deck and call out their
| scores before the men scramble heav-
lily on deck and shake off the fringing
| ice that covers them from eye lashes
| to feet.
HOmeward Bound at Last.
The fish. herding fathcms deep. un-
disturbed by the gale overhead, have
been biting well. The piles grow
| high on deck with each dory's load.
And when the cleaning and icing down
is done that night, all hands stretch
| themselves happily to sleep with the
knowledge that the next day will see
the riding sail replaced by the great
mainsail. and that before noon the
craft will be gliding and sliding over
the restless seas, bound west by south
/ for port.
But it is no yachting cruise that
awaits them. Between the Banks and
| Gloucester, Boston and New York
| fish markets is a rolling ocean drunk
| en- with wintry temper Before the
fishermen of America make the twin
| lights of Thatcher's Island, the steady
| eye Of Minot's Lodge, the welcome
soft shine Of the Stepping Stone that
/ tell Hell Gate is near, or the fierce
/ winki1g of Sandy Hook that shoots
i Its electric beam over thirty miles of
sea, there will be frozen sails crack
| ling like a board when they are moved.
and ropes of ice instead of manila
hemp, and decks glaring with sIeet.
There will be driving through archlng
seas and scudding before gales that
blow straight down from Greenland.
But the girls at home are pulling on
the tow rope; rolling. lurching on her
sides like a slipping horse, dipping
into the trough headfirst like a wrest-
| Ter tumbling. she goes smoking
through it. Scared and frosted and
salted and a little shattered, she lies
behind the long wharves of Boston
town or in the snug. populous square
wooden cove of Fulton Market at
Il last.
Winch and windlass clatter, baskets
/ flop into her hold and come up. twist
ing slowly, heaped with silvery loads.
Outside the wagons wait TO carry the
/ Christmas FISH through the green ana
red decorated town. And the skipper
energies from the cabin, Transformed
from an oilskin-clad norman into A
/ spic and span person rugged in the
latest style Of shore toys, to go and
see his girl. and tell her that they
had an ordinary cruise with MOTH
ing happening that was worth mem
tioning-