TUNNEY IN THE BAY

I had the morning watch the other day as we were steaming North for home after three weeks at sea.  I was pretty bored, for in that time we had seen only two ships and three or four aircraft, so I viewed, with pleased surprise, odd clusters of lights away ahead.

By day-break, an hour later, we were up to them and they turned out to be the Southern edge of a fleet of French Tunney Fishers.

As the grey light of dawn spread round the horizon with the promise of a good day to come, the sails began to stand out in silhouettes and their flares paled and disappeared with the stars.  I counted nineteen of them, Yawls and Ketches under full sail, spread over twenty odd miles.

By seven o'clock we were well through them and only a few lay ahead, so I called the Captain and he came up to relieve me while I made preparations for what was in store.

I don't suppose you have ever tried tunney steaks.  When they are fresh they are as tasty and satisfying as salmon, and after three weeks at sea they are a veritable ambrosia of the Gods and a most welcome change from the inevitable sameness of seafood.

We picked our ship and steamed up on the same course and abeam him about fifty yards away.  I bellowed at him over the loud hailer in execrable French - "Nous voulons de poisson, - nous vous donnerons en change de cafe, de la savon, des cigarettes".

© Copyright R McC McMullan 2007 – reproduced here with his kind permission.

At first they had all tumbled out on deck and viewed us with evident fear and distrust as we closed them, but when we waved they became all grins and gesticulations, and after my shouting, they produced fish and held them up to O.K. the agreement.

We steamed ahead.  I left the bridge, went off down to the whaler I had ordered to be ready, we manned it and stood by -

The Captain stopped the ship half a mile ahead and we were lowered to within a foot of the wave crests and then slipped onto the next wave with a splash.  I did coxwain myself and with a crew of five, we soon rowed to the Yawl which was "hove to" in the choppy sea.

It is no fun handling a small boat in a seaway, but we got alongside and managed to hold on all right, at times level with her deck and at others she was seven or eight feet below us.  She rolled and we rode the seas.

To carry on a conversation under these conditions in English is no easy matter, but with my school-boy French, it was worse.

They had a fairly villainous looking crew, bearded and unshaven, dressed in a weird assortment of clothing with the occasional smock and loose beret of the trade.

© Copyright R McC McMullan 2007 – reproduced here with his kind permission.

They seemed very cheerful and they too were pleased with the bargain.  They had been out of Lorient for 21 days and wanted supplied with the following - News, their position, cigarettes, soap, coffee, fresh water, coal.  We gave them the first two free since they had no wireless or sextant.  These were invaluable and provided goodwill for the remaining transactions.

I managed to drive a fairly good bargain though - six fish for a three pound tin of coffee, two for four bars of coarse soap, so many for cigarettes etc.

We got 25 in all at an overall cost of 1 / 2 per head, and as they were as big as salmon, we were quite pleased.

At the end we pushed off, glad to be clear again from her side, with many shouts of Bonne Chance, Au Revoir, etc, and then lay head to wind to await being picked up again.

As she drew clear, our ship ran across wind to pick us up, and on the top of a wave presented a most frightening appearance to a small boat.  However she ran alongside us and we rowed strongly then to get hold of the heaving line and falls and ten minutes later, we were safely on board again and rather pleased with ourselves notwithstanding the inevitable soaking from spray.

To my pleasure I found it was after eight o'clock and therefore I was off watch, so down below for a good wash and then to breakfast with an appetite of a wolf.

R McC McMullan

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