Each man at the end of the take reports his
number of fish, which account is duly entered
in a book, kept for the purpose by the skipper.

I suppose the cod must have been more than
usually ravenous on this occasion, it being
impossible for the men to unhook and bait
sufficiently fast; fish, from fourteen to sixty
pounds, were tumbled on the deck with a
rapidity perfectly astounding; each man seemed
to lend all his skill and energies to outvie his
neighbour in the number he could haul in. Old
Ivory, busiest of all, made rapid and erratic
journeys up and down the deck, in one hand a
pail, in the other a tin cup, the former filled
with a strange mixture of molasses, lime-juice,
and water, familiarly designated "swankey."
Showing his white teeth, and rolling his great
round eyes, he relieved his excited feelings by a
sort of disjointed commentary: "We in among
'em dis time." "Roll down de swankey, boys."
"Golly, golly, but dis is mighty tall fishing!"
"Dat's de cod Old Ivory see," as an unusually
fine specimen came flapping over the side.

For four hours the fish continued biting without
any sign of slackening; the decks were
literally filled with the dead and dying. The
shrill cheery voice of the skipper rang out clear
and sharp as a trumpet: "Cease fishing, boy
—haul in the gear. Guess it's about time to
split and salt." Ready obedience was at once
observed; the lines rapidly and carefully stowed
away in round hampers, the operation of "dressing
down" commenced.

First of all, the hands are divided into
throaters, splitters, headers, salters, and packers.
Each fisherman knows how many fish he has
taken by the number of tongues; planks are
placed on the heads of casks or tops of baskets,
to be used as dissecting-tables.

The throater, armed with a very long,
sharp, double-edged knife, begins the fray by
cutting the throat of the codfish down to the
bone, and ripping it open about half its length.
The header then seizes it, and, with a sudden
wrench, twists off the head, dragging with it all
the entrails; separating the liver, he throws the
rest overboard, and passes the fish to the splitter,
who also has a formidable knife. With a
dexterous cut he opens the cod to the tail, and with
astonishing rapidity takes out the backbone,
carefully separating from it the sound or swimming
bladder; the backbone being refuse, is
given to the fishes in Neptune's regions. Six
fish a minute is not considered very astonishing
work for an accomplished splitter. From the
splitter the fish is transferred to the salter, who
needs to exercise extreme care and skill. He
first rubs the salt well over each side of the
fish, and places them in layers, back uppermost;
a quantity of salt being sprinkled between each
layer.

As the work goes briskly on, the cheery songs
of the "dressing gang" sound pleasantly,
mingled with the screams of the sea-birds
fighting for the offal as it splashes into the sea.

In about three weeks, the fish, piled in what
are called kenches, are sufficiently salt. The
final curing is seldom done at sea; either a
temporary drying-station is selected on shore,
or the vessel, when laden, returns to her port,
where the fish are dried and rendered marketable.
Small platforms or flakes are erected, on
which the wet salted fish are laid; at the end of
three days they are said to be "made," after
which they are again piled away in kenches for
two or three days to sweat; in other words, to
dissipate all remaining moisture; three days
more, and they are again placed on the flakes,
and the curing is complete. Thus preserved,
they fetch about two dollars to three dollars
fifty cents (fourteen shillings) per quintal (or
hundred-weight).

Washing decks and a general clearance was
hardly effected after our fortunate take, before
all was dark and dismal; the dense fog continued
to thicken, and the driving rain made the sails and
rigging dripping wet. A long heaving swell rolled
steadily in from the north-east, and we rocked
most disagreeably "in the cradle of the deep."
Occasionally fitful puffs of wind came spitefully,
tarrying only a few minutes, then hurrying
away again, leaving the banker only to roll
more heavily in the sluggish surge. Feeling,
as I leaned over the stern, anything but
comfortable (never having before experienced this
kind of motion, that not unfrequently turns up
even seasoned old salts), my attention was
attracted to the skipper, who was vainly trying
to peer into the darkness. The rain and spray
from his sou'wester and gum suit ran off in
rivulets; his face, as the binnacle light gleamed
palely on it, expressed extreme terror and
anxiety, both ears and eyes being strained to
catch the faintest sound. Gazing at once in
the same direction, I could discern nothing,
save the white foam-crests passing like ghosts
under the stern; the wind was rising rapidly,
and well-nigh blew a gale.

Listening intently, it seemed to me, as each
gust of wind hissed and clattered through our
rigging, that mingled with it was a strange
splashing sound, as of some huge beast
floundering and plunging in the water. Drawing near
the skipper, to ask him if he, too, heard this
unusual noise, I was not a little frightened at
seeing him dash to the companion-way, and
shout, "All hands on deck!" then seizing the
fog-trumpet, blow it with all his might. The
danger was very soon evident—a large ship
was close upon us. Straight on she came,
looking like a moving mountain, her signal and
cabin lights twinkling like stars, her tall masts
and spars, like pyramids of canvas, towering
high above us, her massive bows anon buried
deeply in the foam, then rearing up on end,
displayed her cutwater and burnished sheathing
like a plated monster anew risen from the deep.
The awful suspense at that moment no time
can ever efface from my memory. Steadily,
steadily she came, on, on, on, upon our tiny
craft; the next plunge and it seemed to me she
must be over us! I could distinctly hear the
creak of her masts and the sough of the sails
as the wind whistled through the ropes, and