Picturegoer (Jul-Dec 1937)

PICTUREGOER Weekly August 21, 1937 The Story of the Film — continued remainder of the day ignored him. Before supper, Long Jack came aboard with his catch. His face was yellow with pain. Captain Disko, ordering up a measure of rum for the patient started to extract the fish-hooks buried in his arm. Harvey watching wide-eyed from the companion, heard the captain say : " You should have come aboard this morning. Jack. I can pull this one through, but I'll have to cut the rest." "All right. No sneakin' job was going to keep me from my share, or from winning my bet." Manuel came on deck, all smiles; but it was to Long Jack, holding out his bared arm for business, to whom he spoke. "Hey, Jack, here's your razor! I pay prompt, eh ? " "Thanks. At least, I won it fair and square. That's a sight more than you tried to be." "Are you crazy. Jack? You don't think I fouled your trawl?" "I been handling trawl for twenty years, and I never seen a line snarl itself that way, except by human hands. Either you or that kid done it. If I find he's put his flippers in my trawl, I'll wind him twice round the capstan and break him off short." Long Jack swore and tossed off a cup of rum. " I think you put more hooks in yourself so as to get more rum," Manuel chaffed . Long J ack wrenched himself free from Nate, who was holding him steady for the captain's knife. "You can't say that to me — you lyin' thieving dog you ! " He seized the knife lying on the bollard and went for Manuel. The captain stood aside. Harvey realised, with a sickening sensation, that the captain, as he had once stated, would never take part in his men's private quarrels. Long Jack was lunging at Manuel with the knife. It was more than Harvey could stand. He seized Long Jack's coat. "Don't !" he screamed. "It wasn't Manuel. I did it. I did it last night, when you were having supper. I didn't mean to get hooks in your arm. I thought we'd have some fun. I " "You sneakin' little " Now Long Jack was after him, but Manuel had the tall fisherman by the collar. "What you worry about?" Manuel demanded. "He admit the whole thing like a regular grown fellow. He say he sorry. Everything all right now." "Nothing's all right till I beat his ears off." "You touch that kid and I'll tear you apart — see. Don't get me mad, Jack. I get all crazy and sick inside." Before Manuel's doubled fist and blazing eyes, Long Jack retreated. "All right — get on with the cutting, Disko." Harvey heard him mumble. That night, Harvey, climbing earlier than usual into his bunk, heard Manuel come in. "Hey, little fish ! You sleepy ? " he said in the old way. Harvey's misery had been too acute, too long denied expression, to bear the strain of unexpected tenderness. " I'm so ashamed, Manuel. You — your not speaking to me. And those hooks in Jack's arm," he sobbed. "Ah, we all get ashamed once in a while 1 Jack, he very tough man. You have a bite at my apple. See, I give you the rosy side. All 24 fishermen's arms have hooks in them. Listen ! I sing you a song my father teach me. I kinda put words to it." Still Harvey dared not look up. Slowly, as Manuel's deep voice to the simple accompaniment of the hurdy-gurdy sounded through the cabin, the dark head was raised from the small arm, and the boy, through tears, gazed adoringly at his hero. A day came when the entire fishing fleet collected on the Grand Banks for a final fill-up of fish before the run home. Manuel pointed Harvey out the names of the different schooners lying on a calm sea and Captain Disko paid him the compliment of engaging his services as well as Manuel's for a round of visiting. Proudly Harvey, at the oars, helped bring the dory alongside the various schooners, while the captain exchanged the time of day with the crews and collected mail to take back to Gloucester. While they were absent on this social task, however, the Jennie Cushman stole a march on them. Without ringing her bell or running up her flag, as was the custom, she raised anchor and was well away on the home run before Captain Disko had reached the We're Here. "Hey, get that anchor in," he shouted, coming aboard from the dory. "Loose your jibs and mainsail. No Jennie Cushman' s beating me back to Gloucester. Jump to it ! I'll put it across Walt Cushman or lie along the bottom. Put some beef into hauling that chain." Working at windlass and halyards, the crew got the schooner under way. The water was choppy and the We're Here was carrying full sail. Harvey hadn't thought it possible for any ship that floated to lie on her side so far as to seem almost parallel with the waves. Nevertheless, Captain Disko persisted that the "Little Lady," as he termed the We're Here, would right herself. Having taken a short cut and more than one risk of grounding, morning found the We're Here following the Jennie Cushman in calm water. The crew generally opined, from the risks he had taken, that Captain Disko had been looking too far down the neck of a bottle. He was not drunk, however, except with determination to beat the Cushman to Gloucester. Meanwhile, Manuel and Harvey, having a quiet time together in the fo'c'sle, were reckoning how much money they would have to spend ashore. With all the funds that had been at his command in the old days, Harvey had never felt so rich as in the prospect of the nine dollars he had earned. "What will you do when you go ashore, Manuel?" he asked. "Well, first I got to go to church store — you know, where you buy crucifix and Madonna and things. I buy two-place gold candlestick I see there, and I take it to church and I light candles for my father's birthday — third this month — August. Then, I think, maybe I light candle for myself, too. I have few bad thoughts this trip." But Harvey wouldn't allow his hero to have had any such lapses, and listened intently while Manuel described the fine suit he would wear ashore, the purple coat, the cloth-topped shoes, the big pearl buttons, and the new tie with yellow flowers. When Manuel came to asking Harvey what he was going to do and whether he would speak to his father on the telephone, there was an awkward pause. Presently the confession was made. "I don't want to go home, Manuel. I want to stay with you and be a fisherman. I want to be as good as you are." Cookie, looking in from the galley, announced that all who wanted to see a boat being passed had better come. Harvey scurried up the companion-way to follow Manuel to his post at the wheel. Wind had risen. The We're Here was ploughing through rough water. Long Jack, looking at the bellying canvas, remarked : "Them topsails'U carry away if we keep this up." "I'll take the lower spars out of her before I'll let Walt Cushman work the wind'ard of me," Captain Disko declared. The Jennie Cushman a bare length ahead, came about. "She's coming. You'll have to give way to her, Disko," the mate shouted. "Well, I ain't giving way." "She'll cut us down, for sure," muttered another of the crew. "Hold her to it, Manuel. Don't lose an inch," Disko roared. "Landsakes, Disko, here she comes." On came the Cushman. It seemed as though her prow must ram the We're Here. At the last moment came Walt's cry from the deck : "Hard to starboard!" and the We're Here continued on her course with not an inch to spare between rail and rail as the Cushman dropped behind. "I had the right of way, you old beach gat," Cushman shouted. "You must have mislaid it somewhere," Captain Disko countered. "Well, we ain't to Gloucester yet. I'll do more than keep you in sight, Disko." "Poor old Walt broke his jib. He's checking his topsails now," Captain Disko reported, lowering his glasses as the Jennie Cushman sailed into the distance. "Best do the same," Long Jack advised. "The main topsail 11 go if you don't." "Go aloft with Jack, Manuel. Stand by to try the topsails," the captain ordered. "I'll luff you when you reach the masthead." Up they went, Harvey thinking that Manuel must be the finest fisherman in the whole fleet. He didn't know and Captain Disko didn't know, that, as a result of recent strain, one of the standing ropes supporting the mainmast was breaking, strand by strand, where it encircled the pin. Thus when the rope broke, Manuel, acting on a warning shout from Long Jack, who had seen the danger and was already sliding to safety, was still on the shrouds. Slowly, with a ghastly creaking and tearing of wood, the mainmast split and heeled over. Harvey, reaching the rail, tumbling over the mass of canvas, pulleys, ropes, and broken timber which covered the decks, saw Manuel afloat, head and shoulders above the water, in the midst of a drifting mass of tackle and steel cable which had been swept from the schooner.^ Creeping out fearfully on the upper half of the mast lying along the surface of the water, Harvey called. "Are you all right, Manuel?" He didn't know that Manuel had begged Captain Disko, who had ordered Long Jack to lower a dory, not to bring him aboard. Harvey mustn't know that Manuel's body below the waist was mangled, that already the steel cable securing the drift to the schooner was tightening with the turn of the tide. "If we leave him there, the line will cut him through," Long Jack had said, whereupon Manuel had shouted to Captain Disko to cut the line and let him sink. Already the captain's axe was at work, and Harvey gazed at his friend for the last time, hopefully at first, then terrified at the look on Manuel's face as he said : " Good-bye, little fish ! You'll be the best fisherman ever. I go now to fish with my father in his dory. You remember — I told you." The captain's axe delivered its final blow. The cable severed. With a last look at Harvey, Manuel sank beneath the waves. Harvey's grief was inconsolable, though everyone from Long Jack upwards was kind. The captain allowed him to have Manuel's hurdy-gurdy, and on shore entertained Mr. Cheyne, who had come to Gloucester to meet his son. But Harvey was not ready yet to meet his father and go back to the old life. In the middle of supper he excused himself and went to the church, where he bought two candles, one from Manuel to his father and one from himself to Manuel. " /^an I say a prayer alone?" he asked to the priest who had lighted the candles for him. The priest quietly withdrew, and Harvey prayed with widely opened eyes before the altar that God would allow him, if it were possible, a place with Manuel and his father in the dory. With unshed tears he left the church and, finding Manuel's dory drawn up on the beach, climbed into it and sobbed his heart out. After a while, Mr. Cheyne came to him; but there was no room in the child's consciousness for anyone but Manuel. Two days later the homely fisherfolk of Gloucester gathered at the sea wall to attend the vicar's memorial service. One by one, at the conclusion of the simple prayers, those who had lost their loved ones threw wreaths to be borne across the water by the outgoing tide. When Manuel's name was called, Harvey threw his wreath — a small one of white flowers, bought with all that was left of his nine dollars. Watching it float with brimming eyes, he suddenly saw another and larger wreath beside it and, looking up, realised his father had thrown it. His father's arm went round him, and Harvey did not draw back. In silence their linked thoughts went out to Manuel, the fisherman who had olayed his part in making Harvey Cheyne a successful citizen. Harvey, reunited with his father, pays his last respects to Manuel. |