'Midst Arctic Perils: A Thrilling Story of Adventure in the Polar Regions — Context and Discussion

Garge was for'ard scratching the foremast and whistling blithely in the hope, common to the old-time seamen, that the joint action would result in a breeze.

"Better now than when we've got the holds full of fish," declared the skipper, commenting upon the lack of wind.

Leslie and Guy slept badly that night. The bunks felt uncomfortable, weird noises overhead and strange groanings as the old vessel strained in the long, oily swell, the somewhat close atmosphere 'tween decks, all combined to disturb the slumbers of the two chums. Glad were they when, at the first blush of dawn, they were able to leave their strange beds and go on deck.

It was a glorious morning. The sun had just risen above a low-lying bank of haze. The surface of the North Sea was ruffled by a gentle breeze. All around the sea and sky met in an unbroken horizon. Not another sail was to be seen.

The only member of the crew already on deck was Peter, the ship's boy, who was steering with the skill of a born sailorman, keeping the stiff little ketch "full and bye" without shiver in her well-stretched canvas.

"Good-morning, Peter," said Guy. "It looks as if it's going to be a jolly fine day."

"Not for trawling," replied Peter sagely. "Might do for pleasure folk, but the wind'll die down when the sun gets up, and more'n likely there'll be a fog."

"Where do we wash?" inquired Leslie innocently. Peter grinned.

"There's a canvas bucket up for'ard," he informed his questioner. "Just you strip, and get t' other gent to swill you down. That's what we do."

As Peter had prophesied, the wind did fall to a dead calm. Leslie and Guy had a swim over the side, getting on board again by means of a tarry rope.

For the rest of the day the _Laughing Lassie_ drifted idly, until about an hour before sunset, when a smart breeze helped her on her way.

Skipper Runswick declared that the nets would be shot directly the ketch arrived at her favourite fishing ground. It would mean a night's work, he admitted, but no doubt the young gents would sleep throughout the noise on deck.

"We'd rather remain up, if you don't mind," said Leslie, remembering the hard bunk in the little cabin. Besides, it was the novelty of seeing the trawls, laden with glittering fish, being hauled on board, that was one of the objects of his trip.

"All right," replied Runswick, good-humouredly. "No doubt we can make you properly useful." Acting upon the skipper's advice, the two lads turned in for a few hours on the understanding that they would be called directly the nets were ready to be shot.

Contrary to their expectations, they slept like logs until one in the morning, when Peter, knocking loudly at the cabin door, announced that all was in readiness.

Putting on thick sweaters, Leslie and Guy went on deck. It was pitch dark, except for the feeble glimmer of two lanterns hung vertically from the forestay. Not a star was visible. There was hardly any wind, while the sea was calm and strangely phosphorescent.

Slowly Long Garge and Peter, assisted by the two "supernumeraries," paid out yard after yard of carefully coiled nets, for the speed at which the _Laughing Lassie_ was moving was so slight that any attempt to shoot the nets hurriedly would result in a disastrous tangle.

"All out, Cap'n!" announced Long Garge, as the last of the cork floats disappeared overboard. "But, blow me, if there ain't thick weather a-comin' on."

In a very short space of time the deck of the _Laughing Lassie_ was hidden in a pall of vapour. It was impossible to see the regulation lights from the after-part of the ketch.

"'Tis thick," agreed Skipper Runswick. "Peter, you nip below and get out the fog-horn. It'll keep you busy. Thank goodness we're out of the regular steamer tracks," he added under his breath.

Although the night had hitherto been warm and humid, a cold clamminess accompanied the fog. In spite of their thick sweaters, the lads shivered.

"Nothin' doin' for a bit," said the skipper, almost colliding with his guests, as he made his way for'ard. "Go below to the cabin. Unless the fog lifts pretty soon, we'll not get the nets in afore dawn. If you're still of a mind to see the job being done, I'll give you the word."

"Thanks awfully," said Leslie, his teeth chattering as he spoke. "We would like to be called if you do haul in the nets."