 CHAPTER XXVII You will pardon me, my friends, for passing over two voyages to Labrador, which should have been noticed earlier in this narrative, having been accomplished forty years ago, more or less. One of these voyages was in a miserable old hulk without sails and rigging, just fit for old junk. As usual, went to Boston for our supplies, etc., with a crew of nine men. At a common passage, nothing remarkable occurring as far as Canzo, near Halifax. The wind then came ahead and rain set in. The main sail became very heavy and sagged so that the bolt rope parted, and down it came, leaving a foot or two of the sail aloft with the gaff. Sent them down, and mended the sail as best we could before running it up again. The rain changed to a thick fog, and we thought best to endeavor to find a harbour. We knew hardly anything in regard to the lay of the land. Knew not any place convenient for our purpose, but kept along maintaining a good look-out. Soon land-hove and sight close aboard of us right ahead. Next ship stood to the wind south, and directly land was ahead and under our lee. It appeared that by some means we had entered a river. Made short tax until a ledge of rocks directly ahead and in the middle of the passage caused us to let go the anchor. The shore was not in sight now, so dense was the fog. It was high water. We went below and made a good fire to dry and warm ourselves. Not a great while after a boat came alongside and which was a gentleman who asked where we were from. We told him we were from Boston, had been, in about one hour. He thought we must have had an excellent pilot, could not conceive how we had been able to enter the river at all, so thickly were rocks and shoals scattered about. He remarked that he had lived in this vicinity thirty years, and never before had he seen a vessel in there. He was more than surprised when, and replied to a question, we told him we had not grounded nor struck a rock. I thought then, if we had been in some nice vessel, we should not have fared so well. But the old hulk was not worth pounding against rocks. This man was a pilot along the coast, but he acknowledged that with his experience and knowledge of the river he could not have succeeded as well as we in our ignorance had done. I thought the poet was perfectly correct when he wrote, when ignorance is bliss, to his folly to be wise. We waited three days for an opportunity to be taken out. The pilot started with us on about three-quarter tide, as in case we lodged on the rocks full tide would lift us clear. The name of the harbour was Peter the Great, lying north-northeast from Canzo Light. Thirty or forty miles distant. We continued on our voyage, which was successfully accomplished without anything transpiring worthy of note, except our safe arrival at home, where we remained through the winter, starting the following spring on another trip in the good old brig Planter. Our brig was under the command of Thomas Fisher, with a crew of twelve men and a boy, at a favourable run to the gut of Canzo, which divides Cape Breton from Nova Scotia. We made the ice, and for security went into the harbour of Jestercoe. In a few days had company by the arrival of another fishing vessel. From the extremely friendly relations existing between her commander and our own, we judged them members of the same Masonic fraternity which subsequently proved correct. The ice was from three to four feet thick, and from Newfoundland across to where we lay, one field of ice stretched out before the eye. We had waited some time for it to clear out. One afternoon the captain of the other vessel came on board. Our skipper said to Captain Casno, How long do you think it will be before this ice melts, or goes out so that we can proceed on our voyage? He replied that if we waited for it to melt or break up, we should get no opportunity for fishing during the season. That to me was anything but an agreeable feature, but soon he somewhat alleged my apprehensions by stating that in less than twenty-four hours the ice would all disappear by sinking. You will observe by holding a piece up to the light that it is very porous, has a dark coloured appearance, a sure indication that it will not long remain. The wind was to southward, consequently if the ice moved it would have to drift directly to windward, from the lay of the land to the outlet being only ten miles wide to the northward. At daylight in the morning went aloft, looked over the beach, and no ice could be discovered. Both vessels got under way and sailed, with a strong fair wind going at the rate of seven or eight miles an hour. Saw no ice during our further passage. Now where did it go? I say it sank, and persons who contend that the theory of fields of ice sinking is false will please tell us if it does not sink what does become of it. On the passage I noticed the skipper and Uncle Oliver were fitting a large lot of gear. I looked on a few minutes and observed to the skipper that I presumed he and Mr. Norton intended to catch all the fish during the cruise. Said he, Oh no! But let me tell you we do expect to catch one half that comes on board the vessel. I replied that they would not if I had my health. Said he, I wonder if you don't expect to be high hook. I replied that is just what I do expect. If I cannot, we'll not go home in the vessel. Sooner will I work my passage on some other one. Said he, Then I rather guess we shall make a saving of grub, for if you keep your word we shall have one less to provision, for I never was beat in my life. I told him he had never had me to fish against. No, said he, but I've had a blamed sight smarter man to try it on. He had the advantage of me by his buying the stern of the boat privilege, while I had to fish in the boughs. But at the close of the season I led him in count ten hundred and forty-two fish. Now, said I, Captain Fisher, I think you will have to vitual me a little longer. I shall take the passage with you. It did not set well on his stomach. Uncle Oliver was behind me over two thousand, I having taken during the six weeks of fishing thirteen thousand fish to my line, which, with those of the rest of the crew, were salted and brought to Boston Green, and were cured at Gallup's Island down the harbor. When we had completed the task, with the exception of about eighty quintile, as a party had chartered the brig for a West India voyage, the owners were exceeding anxious to get the balance dried and brought up to market. The captain was an owner also. He ordered all who could work to advantage to turn on to washing out. While thus engaged, I noticed that the heat from the sun was very oppressive. It was terribly hot. I remarked to the skipper that unless the fish already spread were taken care of, the heat would destroy them. As he paid no heed to my expression of opinion, I repeated the suggestion and told them they would surely become sunburnt. He only told me that I appeared to have a great deal to say about the fish. I told him that as I owned the largest portion of them, my self-interest made me speak. He said, Let them burn and be hanged, for every fish must be washed to-day. The washing was continued to the end of the chapter. This night went on shore to fag it or pile the fish. As we took them by the tail, it dropped off in our hands, and as we attempted to gather them by placing the hand under them, the napes would fall to the ground. They didn't amount to much. Often did I afterward fill a bushel-basket with the burnt fish and exchange them with the farmers for a small pal of milk. But were not thus disposed of, we left upon the island, not considering them worth gathering up. I told the skipper that he ought to be compelled to pay for them. I think so still. His reply was that he was not aware how hot the sun was. The balance of the cargo was taken to the city and sold, and after a six-months absence we returned to our homes. CHAPTER XXVIII. And now, having wearied my listeners with the recital of some of the most important scenes in my checkered life, there is but little more to add. The sun of my declining years is sinking fast. The trembling limb and wrinkled brow tell me in words that it is difficult to misinterpret that the glass of my mortal voyage has about run out. Three score and ten has been numbered, and the eighteenth of July, 1873, will be eighty years since my birth. It is not strange that I sometimes feel to appropriate the words of the poet, my days are gliding swiftly by, and I a pilgrim stranger. But I am by, it will be said of me, as of most of my childhood's companions, he is gone. But if prepared to meet the great change that awaits the family of earth, it is not particularly material at just what moment we are summoned. Hoping to be reunited in a brighter world than this, I draw the narrative to a close. End of Chapter Twenty-Eight Recording by Phyllis Vinceli End of eighty years ashore and afloat, or the thrilling adventures of Uncle Jethro, embracing the remarkable episodes in A Life of Toil and Danger on Land and Sea by E. C. Cornell