The Spell of the White Sturgeon

by Jim Kjelgaard

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  _PARTNERS_

  Ramsay was puzzled. Hans Van Doorst had arisen even before the firstfaint streaks of dawn cracked the night sky and without waiting foranyone else to get up, or for breakfast, he had gone out to work. He wasnot fishing, for he had assured Ramsay that there would be no fishinguntil all could take part. Furthermore, Hans had said, the fishing wouldneed all of them. One man alone could not take enough fish to make itworthwhile.

  Still, Hans had gone out before it was properly light enough to see.Ramsay had heard Captain Klaus greet his master from the top of thehouse. What anyone would be doing out of bed at such an early hourremained a mystery. In the dim morning light, descending the steps tothe kitchen, Ramsay continued to wonder why Hans had gone out when hedid. He greeted the Van Hoovens, who were already washed up forbreakfast, and Marta went to the back door to call, "Hans!"

  Captain Klaus' hoarse squawk broke the morning stillness, and a secondlater there was an answering call from Hans. He was down at the beach,doing something there, and presently he came in.

  Ramsay grinned appreciatively at his appearance, for the Dutchfisherman's cheeks glowed like the rising sun. His eyes sparkled, and aperpetual chuckle seemed to gurgle in his throat. Plainly Hans had beendoing some invigorating work, but it was work in which he took a vastpleasure. Anything onerous could not possibly put such a shine uponanyone at all. Hans washed at the basin outside the door.

  "Ah!" he breathed as he sat down to the huge breakfast Marta hadreadied. "This looks good!"

  "I should think a stale crust would look good to anyone who puts in ahalf-day's work before anyone else stirs," Marta said.

  "It would!" Hans agreed, helping himself to half a dozen eggs and anequal number of bacon slices. "It would, and many a time I have dined ononly a crust! But fare such as this! Fit for the angels! I'm theluckiest fisherman alive, I think!"

  "Also the most oily-tongued," Marta added. Nonetheless she was pleased."I suppose, when we are all wealthy from fishing, you will hire a cookfor me?"

  "Not I!" Hans said. "Never I! Hiring anyone but you to do our cookingwould be as out of place as hiring Joe Mannis instead of a preacher todo our praying! No, Marta! Not elsewhere in Wisconsin is there one whoequals your skill with cookery!"

  Pieter, who often tried to beguile his wife but seldom succeeded,laughed. Marta blushed. While Hans devoured what he had already taken,then served himself to three more eggs, Ramsay ate almost feverishly.Today was the big day, the time all of them had been waiting for,because today they went fishing. Ramsay finished and waited withill-concealed impatience while Pieter and Hans mopped their plates withcrusts of bread. All three went outside.

  Squawking and chuckling, as though at some huge joke, Captain Klauswinged down from the rooftop to alight on his master's shoulder. Hetilted, flapping his wings to balance himself, and caressed Hans' cheekwith his hard, cold bill, even while he kept up a running fire of seagull chatter. Hans reached up to stroke his pet.

  Ramsay looked down at the beach, and saw two structures which had notbeen there yesterday. Hans must have built them this morning. They werewindlasses, made of peeled logs, and about eight hundred feet apart. Onewas the conventional windlass--a drum mounted on two uprights and with acrank that could be turned by hand. The spindle of the other--all theselake men could work miracles with logs or anything else at theircommand--was set vertically in a stone and log foundation and it had along, stout shaft protruding from its center. Ramsay lookedquestioningly at Hans.

  The Dutch fisherman shrugged. "It is simple," he explained. "We have butone horse. Therefore, we men work the one while the horse turns theother. Marta can lead it."

  Ramsay was incredulous. "You mean we'll take so many fish that a horsewill be needed to drag them in?"

  Hans' throaty chuckle sounded. "If we do not," he said, "from now onforever you may say that Hans Van Doorst is not a fisherman. Say that heis just a little boy who plays at fishing."

  With a fisherman's skill, Hans was coiling a rope. He settled itcarefully in the bottom of the boat, so that it wouldn't kink or snarlwhen paid out, and was alert to avoid stepping on or tangling it inanyway. Folded exactly as Hans wanted it, with all the floats on oneside and all the sinkers on the other, the net was overhauled on thestern of the boat. Another coil of rope lay on the net, and Hans tiedone end of that to the spindle of the horse-powered windlass.

  Then he looked happily at Pieter and Ramsay. "Now," he said, "I need anoarsman."

  "I'll row!" Ramsay offered eagerly.

  "Go ahead." Pieter grinned.

  So expertly that he scarcely ruffled the water and did not even disturbhis net or rope, Hans launched the boat. He waded in up to his knees,paying out more rope as he did so, and held the boat steady until Ramsaywaded out beside him and climbed into the rower's seat.

  Ramsay tried to board cautiously, skilfully, as he had seen Hans do.Obviously a great deal of careful work had gone into folding the net andcoiling the rope. Everything had to be done exactly right, and oneclumsy or ill-timed move could make a hopeless snarl out of all. Still,Hans seemed confident and sure of himself. Probably, Ramsay thought, hehad done this so many times that doing it was almost second nature. Theboy looked expectantly at Hans.

  "Straight into the lake," the Dutch fisherman directed. "Keep a straightright-angle course to the windlass; you can do that by sighting yourselffrom it. Row as swiftly as you wish."

  With strong, surging strokes of the oars, Ramsay sent the ponderous boatout into the quiet lake. He watched Hans carefully, trying to noteeverything he did, and his respect for fishermen grew. The Dutchman satalmost carelessly in the stern, to all outward appearances not eveninterested in what he was doing. But, as they continued out into thelake, the rope continued to slip smoothly over the stern. There wasnever a tangle or even a kink. It looked easy, but net-weaving hadlooked easy too before Ramsay tried it. Beyond any doubt, it took skilland long familiarity with the job to handle six or eight hundred feet ofrope in such a fashion and do it perfectly.

  They came near the end of the rope and Ramsay slowed his strokes alittle. The laughing Dutch fisherman turned to him.

  "Sharp left," he directed. "Stay about this far out in the lake and rowa bit more slowly. Now we set the seine."

  Ramsay followed instructions, watching the beach line to make sure thathe stayed the proper distance out, and Hans began sliding the seine overthe stern. He did it smoothly, gracefully, as he did everythingconnected with fishing. Ramsay nodded approvingly to see how well Hanslaid his net and how expertly he had guaged the place in which it was tobe laid. Instead of curling toward the beach, the seine, obviouslycontrolled by a current that swept into the lake, billowed outward.

  "Does the lake have different currents?" Ramsay asked interestedly.

  "That it does. When the wind blows toward shore, of course waves wash upon the shore. But the lake, she moves in a thousand different ways, andthe currents that appear on the surface are not always like those thatsurge beneath the surface. Ah, yes! Many moods has Lake Michigan and,"Hans grinned, "not many of them are placid moods."

  "How could you tell that a current to hold the seine was right here?"

  "I felt it when I had hold of your horse's tail."

  Ramsay pondered that information. The current holding the net certainlywas not perceptible from the surface. It would not be evident at all,except to one who had a thorough understanding of such things and wasable to sense the most minute change in the water that lay about him. Ofcourse, the stones, the sinkers, probably helped hold the seine in placetoo.

  Foot by foot, the seine slipped into the lake and a long line of itstretched at an angle toward the boat. Ramsay tried to judge for himselfhow far the net was going down. He could not because he had had toolittle experience in fishing, but he was sure the seine rested exactlywhere Hans wanted it to rest.

  Without seeming to move, Hans leaned over to pick up the other coil ofrope. Smoothly he tied it, and the last few
feet of seine slid over theboat's stern to disappear in the lake. Ramsay waited expectantly fordirections. They came.

  "Straight as you can towards the other windlass," Hans said. "Then weare all ready."

  Again Ramsay turned at a right angle toward the other windlass. Now hebegan to understand the setting of a seine. There were the twowindlasses, the two six-hundred-foot ropes and the seine runningparallel to the beach. Now, Ramsay supposed, they would beach the boat,tie this rope to the other windlass, and be ready to haul in the seine.If they did not make a good catch, they could lengthen the ropes and putthe seine farther out in the lake. Also, by adding more sinkers orsubtracting some, they could raise or lower the seine. Ramsay tried tomake some observations about the water in which they were fishing.

  It was comparatively shallow, though at all places except very near theshore it would float a fair-sized ship. Also, it seemed to have a rathersmooth bottom. In addition, though the bay could at times be angry, itwas more sheltered than some places. Storms here probably would at notime reach the heights of fury that they reached on the open lake.Because he was anxious to learn as much as he could about fishing,Ramsay asked some questions. "Are whitefish usually found in shallowwater?"

  "Almost always," Hans said. "Though they need not necessarily always befound close to shore. I myself know of reefs where we will be sure ofwonderful catches as soon as we get some pound nets, and some of themare a mile or more out."

  "Then the lake bottom varies?"

  "Oh, yes! To get an idea of what the bottom of the lake is like, take alook at the land about you. Here you find a hill, or a succession ofrolling hills. Here is a stretch of flat prairie. There are deep gulchesand bluffs. You will find clay, sand, loam, small stones, boulders. AsI've already said, the lake's bottom is almost exactly like the landabout it."

  "What's the deepest part?"

  "Baptiste LeClaire and I once sounded a place off the Wisconsinpeninsula. We touched bottom with a thousand feet of line, and I thinkthat may be the deepest place in Lake Michigan, though I cannot be sure.I have not sounded every place in the lake and, for that matter, neitherhas anyone else."

  "Are there deep-water fish?"

  "The trout ordinarily seeks deep water, though they may be found inshallows in the spring. However, there are not enough trout to be wortha fisherman's while. Some day this may change."

  "Is there any way to set a net so a fisherman may be sure of a goodcatch?"

  "Not once in ten times, if he is just beginning, can a fisherman becertain of a good catch, or of any catch. The tenth time is theexception. I am sure, for instance, that there must be a vast number ofwhitefish in this bay, because the food for them is here. Otherwise, thefisherman must be taught by experience, or by another fisherman, whereto set his nets so that he will make a good catch. Watch it now. We areabout to land."

  The nose of the little boat bumped gently against the sand beach, andHans stepped out into knee-deep water. Paying no attention to hissoaking-wet shoes and trousers, he uncoiled the rope as he walked up thebeach and tied it through a hole which he had drilled in the spindle ofthe hand windlass. More gingerly, not afraid of getting wet but notanxious to do so, Ramsay stepped to the nose of the boat and leapedonto the dry beach.

  Pieter and Marta joined them, and all turned puzzled glances on Hans;they knew almost nothing about the technique of fishing and must look tohim. Ramsay watched the fisherman test the taut rope with his hand, anda little smile of satisfaction flitted across his face.

  Excited himself, Hans looked at the even more excited people about him."Relax." He grinned. "The seine is not going anywhere, and we will soonsee what we have caught. Ramsay, do you want to harness the horse andbring him down?"

  "Sure."

  Ramsay trotted to the barn, anxious to be doing anything that would helprelieve the seething tension within him. Everything he had done thismorning--indeed, everything he had done since meeting Hans VanDoorst--had been fascination itself. Now, if Hans' predictions wereright, and the Dutch fisherman seemed so absolutely sure of himself,they would soon be in the fishing business. Ramsay laid a friendly handon Black's mane, and the little horse followed willingly into the barn.He stood quietly to be harnessed. Ramsay fastened a singletree to theharness tugs and hooked a strong chain onto it.

  Partaking of the humans' excitement, Captain Klaus winged low over thebeach, crying and squawking as he wheeled and dipped in gracefulcircles. Ramsay grinned at him. Of all the pets a fisherman might have,surely a sea gull was the most fitting.

  Ramsay led Black toward the far windlass, the one the horse was to work,because Hans, Pieter and Marta had gathered about it. Captain Klauscame out of the sky to alight on top of the windlass, and the horsescraped a restless front hoof across the sand beach. Ramsay lookedinquiringly at Hans, who frowned and stepped back, then turned to theboy. "We need a longer chain," he decided. "Will you get one?"

  "Sure."

  Ramsay ran back to the barn and returned with the longest chain Pieterhad. Hans hooked it to the windlass shaft, laid it out flat, and thenconnected it to the chain Ramsay had already brought. The boy noddedunderstandingly. The rope dipped into the lake, then rose to thewindlass spindle. The chain had to be long enough so that the horse, inwalking around and around, could step over the rope.

  Hans turned to Marta. "When I give the word," he said, "lead the horsein a circle around the windlass. Lead him slowly; we do not want theseine to come in too fast. Try to maintain a steady pace, and we will doour best to suit ours to yours. Both ends of the seine must come inevenly."

  "Yaah!" In spite of her dire forebodings about fishermen, Marta's eyeswere shining like stars. "Yaah! I can do it."

  "Good," Hans said gently. "I know you can. Ramsay, you and Pieter comewith me."

  The three men took their places by the other windlass, and Ramsay triedto suppress a growing excitement. He waited tensely, both hands on thecrank; Pieter was on the other side of the windlass.

  Looking once more at the taut rope stretching into the lake, Hans VanDoorst raised his voice, "All right, Marta!"

  Grasping the cheek strap of the little horse's bridle, Marta began tolead him slowly around and around. Tense, sweating a little, Ramsay tooka fierce grip on the windlass crank and looked at Hans. The Dutchfisherman, his eyes on Marta, timed the turning of the windlass. "Now!"he said.

  Ramsay strained with every muscle and nerve, and great beads of sweatdripped from his forehead. Hans had built well and with a fullappreciation of leverage and tension; nevertheless, the windlass washard to turn. The seine itself would be responsible for part of that.Dry, one man could carry it. But when lake water penetrated every one ofits hundreds of meshes, the seine would surely weigh much more. However,no net of any description could within itself weigh this much. Hans musthave guessed correctly. There were endless fish in the bay and theincoming seine must be loaded with them.

  "Faster!" Hans exclaimed.

  Ramsay gritted his teeth and turned the windlass faster. He shot afleeting glance at Marta, who was still leading the horse slowly. Evenso, Black was going too fast. The combined strength of three men was nomatch for the strength of a horse. Hans' bellow split the air, "Marta,stop!"

  Marta halted the little horse and Ramsay leaned his weight against thewindlass' crank so that they would not lose what they had alreadygained. He gulped in great, refreshing breaths. Hans asked, "Can youhold it?"

  Ramsay and Pieter nodded, and Hans walked down to talk with Marta. Shemust lead the horse even more slowly, for the men could not keep up withhim. If both ends of the seine were not pulled in evenly, if the net wastilted or bent, the catch could well be lost.

  Ramsay straightened as Hans came back to take hold of the crank. "Allright," he said.

  Ramsay turned, setting his shoulder to the windlass while his breathcame in excited little gasps. The rope, tight as a stretched wire,sloped into the lake. Though it was stoutly built of heavy logs, thewindlass trembled on its frame. The crank became harder to t
urn and thewet rope wrapped like a clinging hair about the spindle. Ramsay gasped.

  Out in the lake, just beyond the shallow water at the edge of the beach,the seine's floats showed. The seine itself was bent like a bow, its twoends straining toward the windlasses while the center arched into thelake.

  The gleam of silver in the seine seemed to cast a soft radiance over thelake and the beach, and even a powerful current could not have bowed theseine in such a fashion. Ramsay set his shoulder to the windlass andhelped give it two more turns. Down at the other windlass, Marta waswatching them. She, too, had learned. The men could not keep up with thehorse, so she was adjusting the horse's speed to them.

  Farther up the seine came, so that some of the sinkers were dragging inthe shallows. The floats were bowed over, forming a sort of half-sack,and the center of the seine still arched back into deep water. Ramsaysaw a tight little grin appear on Hans Van Doorst's face. Pieter waslooking incredulously at the loaded net.

  "A little more!" Hans pleaded. "Just a little more! Get the center up!"

  They took two more turns, brought the center of the seine into shallowwater, and Hans latched the windlass. With a wild whoop, the Dutchfisherman raced down to the lake and stooped to grasp ahundred-and-fifty-pound sturgeon caught in the net. Hans dragged it uponto the beach, left it there, and returned to get a bigger one.

  "Nets unload!" he sang out.

  Ramsay ran forward, heedless of water that surged about his knees. Hestumbled, fell headlong, and arose sputtering. But, now that he wassoaking-wet anyway, it no longer made any difference. He grabbed asix-pound whitefish in each hand and threw the pair far up the beach. Hegrinned as he watched Pieter drag another big sturgeon out of the seine,and grabbed two more whitefish.

  "Yaah! For once men work with a real will!"

  Ramsay turned around to see Marta, her spray-wet hair plastered close toher head. Her feet were spread almost defiantly apart, and the smile onher lips and the laugh in her eyes were proof of the fact that she wasnow whole-heartedly with them. Fishermen risked a lot. But who didn'trisk when they played for big stakes? Lake Michigan was there, until nowan almost untapped source of wealth; and if nobody dared to get thishoard, it would remain forever in the lake. Somebody had to try. In thatmoment, as never before, Ramsay knew that they were in the fishingbusiness.

  Only vaguely was he aware of Pieter and Hans working beside him, and hedid not know how long it took to get all the fish out of the seine. Heknew only that suddenly the net sagged emptily. He took two smallwhitefish out of it, threw them back into the lake, and watched themswim away; then he looked at Hans Van Doorst.

  "Let us bring the net up to dry," Hans said.

  They reeled in the windlasses and stretched the soaking seine betweenthem. Ramsay turned for a look at the beach, and he could not see itbecause the sand was covered with fish. Hans had been right. The bay infront of the Van Hooven home was a very paradise for fish. Countlesssturgeon and whitefish lay on the beach. Ramsay heard Hans say, "Now wego to work."

  Hans hitched the little horse, brought the cart down to the beach, andbegan throwing whitefish into it. The bigger, heavier sturgeon, ofcourse, Hans had to lift into the wagon box. When they had a load, hedrove to the stacked barrels left by Baptiste LeClaire. Ramsay watchedinterestedly.

  A little trickle of water wound into the lake at this point, and Hanshad dammed it in such a fashion that a miniature cataract fell over thestones and mud which he had placed in the water course. Beside this werea big, flat wooden dish, evidently also made by Hans, and several sacksof salt. The Dutchman produced three razor-sharp fish knives, moresalvage from the _Spray_, and turned to Pieter. "Do you want to bringthe rest of the fish up?"

  "Yaah. I'll do that."

  Hans caught up a six-pound whitefish and, seeming to use his knife verylittle, he cut its head off. Leaving the fish unscaled, he sliced itdown the backbone to the end of the tail and spilled the viscera out. Hewashed his fish in the dam's tiny spillway and, filling the wooden dishwith salt, he rolled the split whitefish in dry salt. Then he placed itcarefully in a two-hundred-pound barrel.

  Ramsay caught up a fish and a knife and tried to imitate exactly Hans'procedure. But, though he thought he was doing everything precisely asthe Dutchman had done it, he was much slower. Hans had two more fishready and in the barrel before Ramsay was finished with one. GrimlyRamsay worked on. If this was a part of fishing, it was a part he mustand would learn. He picked up another fish and, as he worked, he gainedskill.

  As soon as one barrel was filled, Hans threw a couple of hands full ofsalt on top, fitted a head to it and clamped it down with a black ashhoop. Again Ramsay nodded understandingly. He had supposed that a brinesolution in which to pack the fish must be prepared, but evidently nonewas necessary. Enough water remained on the fish to form their ownbrine. Packed in such a fashion, they would keep for many months.

  Pieter brought another load of fish and another, and then set to workwith a fish knife to help clean the catch and pack it. The big sturgeon,of course, had to be cut into suitable strips and salted before theywere packed. Some of them were filled with roe--caviar--and Pietercarted pails full of that to feed Marta's poultry. The remainder of thewaste was loaded into the cart and hauled far away from the scene of thepacking. Then Hans scrubbed everything carefully. Fishermen who packedfood for human consumption must be very clean.

  The sun was down and the moon up before they finished, but when theywere done they had packed seven barrels--fourteen hundred pounds--ofwhitefish and three barrels of sturgeon. It was a rich haul. Though theyhad worked for almost seventeen hours, each of them had earned moremoney than the average worker in Devil Chad's tannery received in a fullmonth.

  Ramsay sighed as he cleaned and honed his fish knife, and Hans said,"The moon is bright and right for working, and we need a pier."

  "A pier?"

  "Yaah. Else how will a boat put in to pick our catch up? I work for anhour or so."

  Ramsay, thinking of his comfortable bed, stumbled down to the lake tohelp Hans put in an hour or two on the pier.