CHAPTER IX.

PILCHARD FISHING.

ADJOINING John Trevan's house was a building we have not yet noticed. It is called a pilchard cellar. Before we describe it, we must explain what a pilchard is like, and why it should need a cellar.

Pilchards are a little smaller than herrings, closely resembling them in size. They are not found swimming about alone, or even in dozens; they rather choose the companionship of hundreds, thousands, and millions of their kind.

In winter they live in the deep sea, but when spring comes they desire change, so they rise nearer to the surface of the water, and form themselves into small shoals; the small shoals grow into larger ones, and at last, the large ones unite into one mighty host, led by the pilchard king. This army comes on past the Scilly Isles about the end of July, and for the next four months, the Cornish fishermen, their wives and children, are principally employed in catching, curing, and packing pilchards.

They are not kept for home consumption, but are salted, put into barrels, and sent to the Mediterranean; Italy and Spain affording the best market for them.

John Trevan rented a pilchard cellar. It was a square building, open in the middle, with a sloping roof round the four sides, which was supported by pillars of rough granite. It had gutters into which the oil ran from the fish when they lay in salt, and from the gutters, by reason of the inclined floor, into a pit or tank made to receive it.

Mr. and Mrs. Trevan were busily engaged in this cellar one morning towards the end of July. They were clearing away things that had accumulated during the winter, such as washing tubs, clothes lines, fire-wood, and old fish baskets, for the first boats from Newlyn were about to set sail that afternoon in quest of pilchards. They were likely to go some distance out to sea, as the shoals do not come inland until the month of August, when they are probably driven there by hunger.

Pilchards are caught near to the shore in a different manner from that which is employed in the open sea.

As they approach the land, they are enclosed in the seine, a large net which encircles the whole shoal. In this case it is the merchant who engages the fishermen to work for him at weekly wages. Huers, or look-out men, stand on the cliffs when the sea birds gather in great numbers, and watch for a red tinge on the water, which shows that a shoal is approaching. When the huer ascertains for certain that he is not deceived, he shouts, "Heva, heva"—found, found—and this is the signal for the boats to put off and secure the prize. He is furnished with a large bush of furze, which he waves to the right or left to indicate the direction they are to take, and where to cast the seine.

The fishermen who work for themselves use the drift-net, and their own boat is sufficient, while seine-fishing requires three boats; for enclosing the shoal of pilchards is only the first step towards securing it.

Dorothy and Judith were all excitement, and lessons were abandoned in the more engrossing occupation of helping to salt pilchards. They assisted their mother and grandfather to join the nets together into one. Each member of the crew which owned the "Mary Ann" had the same done at home, and at last all were joined again; thus an enormous net nearly three quarters of a mile in length was formed.

The "Mary Ann" was supplied with provisions, for she might have to spend two nights at sea. She left Newlyn about five o'clock; the glass was high, the sea calm, and the moon at its full.

"Look sharp for the birds," said John Trevan, when the boat was some miles out at sea; for gulls and other wild fowl pursue a shoal of pilchards, as well as hordes of dogfish, hake, and cod.

On and on they sailed, until the boat was about ten miles distant from the Scilly Isles; then John Trevan gave the word of command to lower the net. It was let down gently into the sea, and formed a wall more than twenty feet deep. The sails were then taken down, and boat and net allowed to drift with the tide.

"'Tis almost too bright a night for them," whispered one of the crew to his companions. "See how clear the water is. The moon shows the net."

"Hush," said another; "we are striking into the right course. I see hungry fish on every side, as if in pursuit."

And so it was, a few minutes later they came up to a fine shoal of pilchards, not so large as sometimes, but large enough for the net to secure fifteen thousand, which were scooped out by the aid of smaller nets, worked within the compass of the great seine-net. Some large fish were caught besides, that in chasing their prey had been captured themselves.

The "Mary Ann" was not the only well-laden boat that entered Newlyn harbour next morning; others had been equally successful; for as the shoal came against one drift-net, its course was altered until it fell in with another, and so on through the night.

John Trevan and his partners were met by their wives and children, all eager to help carry the pilchards to the cellar. They were laden with cowels, barrows, and tubs, and were soon hard at work. Some of the women having taken up one load remained in the cellar to cure them, while the rest went backwards and forwards until the fish were all brought up; then they too helped to cure them. It is done in this manner. The pilchards are cleaned and placed in tiers edgewise, and each tier is sprinkled with salt; they thus resemble a packet of sandwiches turned side uppermost, and remain in this condition for six weeks, in order to give time for the oil and water to drain out. They are thoroughly washed before being packed in barrels for export.

It was after nine o'clock ere the day's work was done. Then the cellar was locked, and the members of each family retired to their respective homes, in a condition agreeable neither to the sight or smell.

"I am right-down tired," said Dorothy, throwing herself into a chair, "and so must you be, grandfather; and poor father has been up all night. But only think, Judith, we've each earned two shillings; for you know the rule, father, threepence an hour, just as if we were working for strangers."

"Are you sure you do as much when you work for me as when you work for some of our rich merchants?" asked Mr. Trevan.

"Indeed I am," answered Dorothy. "But here comes mother with something nice for supper. I do think you are the very kindest mother to be found anywhere," she added.

"What can it be?" said Judith, for Mrs. Trevan had brought in her dish with a white napkin thrown over it.

"It's a squab pie; I'm sure it is by the shape of it," exclaimed Dorothy, "Am I right, mother?"

"Yes, I've kept my secret very well; but I wanted to surprise you, John, after your hard work."

A squab pie is highly esteemed in Cornwall; it is made of mutton steaks, onions, and sliced pippins placed in layers in a deep pie-dish, and covered with crust.

"But how did you find time to make it without our knowing?" asked Judith.

"I did it when you all went out, yesterday; and I slipped out of the cellar for a few minutes to look to the fire so as to warm it up again," replied her mother. "Now, father, let me help you."

"Not to-night, Philippa," answered the old man, "though I'm sorry to disappoint you. I'm over tired, and would rather sit still and look on. John," he added a few minutes later, "I've been asked to be a huer this year; do you advise me to accept the offer? I'm not sure my old weather-beaten bark will stand up against the fatigue."

"Nor do I wish you to risk it, father," said Mr. Trevan. "Leave such work now for younger men. I ought not to have allowed you to stand about salting pilchards all to-day."

"But I like it, John; and I should enjoy standing on Paul Hill to watch for the tinge on the sea, and to wave a branch of furze hither and thither when I'm sure the shoal is advancing. I've rarely been deceived. How wonderful it is to see the water alive with silver scales."

"So it is, father, and I know you've been a clever huer in your day, and since you were too old to command a ship; but you can't stand the fatigue of watching and waiting about for hours, this year. You are tired enough with to-day, and it's been easy work compared to a huer's, for he is exposed to rough winds and heavy rains. Will you not go to bed at once?"

"No, John, not until I've offered up my evening prayer. I want to thank God with you, for I'm so grateful to Him for giving you such a good take. We may say of the pilchards, we know not whence they come or whither they go, but that God sends them to us; and it seems to me a cause for deep thankfulness that they appear year after year; for after all, it is the Father's good pleasure to send them."

"So it is, and we will bless Him for His great kindness to us," responded, John reverently. "How apt we are to forget the many mercies which are scattered around us day by day, and to take them as if we deserved them instead of with thankful hearts."

"Right, John, very right. 'It is of the Lord's mercies that we are not consumed, because His compassion fail not. They are new every morning: great is His faithfulness.' I can sing of fresh mercies which have been scattered around my path through all my long, long pilgrimage."

"So can I; and so can we all," added Mrs. Trevan. "Now, father, let us pray together."

Dorothy and Judith were not too tired to join in grandfather's evening prayer.

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