The Life Of
A North Sea Fisher Is One Long Chapter Of Exposure And Hard Work
And Insufficient Fare; And
Even if he makes land at some bleak
fisher port, perhaps the season is bad or his boat has been
Unlucky
and after fifty hours' unsleeping vigilance and toil, not a shop
will give him credit for a loaf of bread. Yet the steerage of the
emigrant ship had been too vile for the endurance of a man thus
rudely trained. He had scarce eaten since he came on board, until
the day before, when his appetite was tempted by some excellent
pea-soup. We were all much of the same mind on board, and
beginning with myself, had dined upon pea-soup not wisely but too
well; only with him the excess had been punished, perhaps because
he was weakened by former abstinence, and his first meal had
resulted in a cramp. He had determined to live henceforth on
biscuit; and when, two months later, he should return to England,
to make the passage by saloon. The second cabin, after due
inquiry, he scouted as another edition of the steerage.
He spoke apologetically of his emotion when ill. 'Ye see, I had no
call to be here,' said he; 'and I thought it was by with me last
night. I've a good house at home, and plenty to nurse me, and I
had no real call to leave them.' Speaking of the attentions he had
received from his shipmates generally, 'they were all so kind,' he
said, 'that there's none to mention.' And except in so far as I
might share in this, he troubled me with no reference to my
services.
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