Mackereling Out in the Gulf

"Mackereling Out in the Gulf" is a delightful short story by Lucy Maud Montgomery, reflecting her signature blend of humor and insight into human relationships. Set against the picturesque backdrop of Prince Edward Island, the narrative follows the misadventures of a group of friends as they embark on a fishing trip that turns into a series of unexpected events. Through lively dialogue and vivid descriptions, Montgomery explores themes of companionship, the joys of nature, and the charm of small-town life, all while showcasing her keen observations of character and emotion. This whimsical tale encapsulates the warmth and wit that Montgomery is renowned for, making it a beloved addition to her collection.

• Short story

								
The mackerel boats were all at anchor on the fishing grounds; the sea
was glassy calm--a pallid blue, save for a chance streak of deeper
azure where some stray sea breeze ruffled it.

It was about the middle of the afternoon, and intensely warm and
breathless. The headlands and coves were blurred by a purple heat
haze. The long sweep of the sandshore was so glaringly brilliant that
the pained eye sought relief among the rough rocks, where shadows were
cast by the big red sandstone boulders. The little cluster of fishing
houses nearby were bleached to a silvery grey by long exposure to wind
and rain. Far off were several "Yankee" fishing schooners, their sails
dimly visible against the white horizon.

Two boats were hauled upon the "skids" that ran from the rocks out
into the water. A couple of dories floated below them. Now and then a
white gull, flashing silver where its plumage caught the sun, soared
landward.

A young man was standing by the skids, watching the fishing boats
through a spyglass. He was tall, with a straight, muscular figure clad
in a rough fishing suit. His face was deeply browned by the gulf
breezes and was attractive rather than handsome, while his eyes, as
blue and clear as the gulf waters, were peculiarly honest and frank.

Two wiry, dark-faced French-Canadian boys were perched on one of the
boats, watching the fishing fleet with lazy interest in their
inky-black eyes, and wondering if the "Yanks" had seined many mackerel
that day.

Presently three people came down the steep path from the fish-houses.
One of them, a girl, ran lightly forward and touched Benjamin Selby's
arm. He lowered his glass with a start and looked around. A flash of
undisguised delight transfigured his face.

"Why, Mary Stella! I didn't expect you'd be down this hot day. You
haven't been much at the shore lately," he added reproachfully.

"I really haven't had time, Benjamin," she answered carelessly, as she
took the glass from his hand and tried to focus it on the fishing
fleet. Benjamin steadied it for her; the flush of pleasure was still
glowing on his bronzed cheek, "Are the mackerel biting now?"

"Not just now. Who is that stranger with your father, Mary Stella?"

"That is a cousin of ours--a Mr. Braithwaite. Are you very busy,
Benjamin?"

"Not busy at all--idle as you see me. Why?"

"Will you take me out for a little row in the dory? I haven't been out
for so long."

"Of course. Come--here's the dory--your namesake, you know. I had her
fresh painted last week. She's as clean as an eggshell."

The girl stepped daintily off the rocks into the little cream-coloured
skiff, and Benjamin untied the rope and pushed off.

"Where would you like to go, Mary Stella?"

"Oh, just upshore a little way--not far. And don't go out into very
deep water, please, it makes me feel frightened and dizzy."

Benjamin smiled and promised. He was rowing along with the easy grace
of one used to the oar. He had been born and brought up in sound of
the gulf's waves; its never-ceasing murmur had been his first lullaby.
He knew it and loved it in every mood, in every varying tint and
smile, in every change of wind and tide. There was no better skipper
alongshore than Benjamin Selby.

Mary Stella waved her hand gaily to the two men on the rocks. Benjamin
looked back darkly.

"Who is that young fellow?" he asked again. "Where does he belong?"

"He is the son of Father's sister--his favourite sister, although he
has never seen her since she married an American years ago and went to
live in the States. She made Frank come down here this summer and hunt
us up. He is splendid, I think. He is a New York lawyer and very
clever."

Benjamin made no response. He pulled in his oars and let the dory
float amid the ripples. The bottom of white sand, patterned over with
coloured pebbles, was clear and distinct through the dark-green water.
Mary Stella leaned over to watch the distorted reflection of her face
by the dory's side.

"Have you had pretty good luck this week, Benjamin? Father couldn't go
out much--he has been so busy with his hay, and Leon is such a poor
fisherman."

"We've had some of the best hauls of the summer this week. Some of the
Rustler boats caught six hundred to a line yesterday. We had four
hundred to the line in our boat."

Mary Stella began absently to dabble her slender brown hand in the
water. A silence fell between them, with which Benjamin was well
content, since it gave him a chance to feast his eyes on the beautiful
face before him.

He could not recall the time when he had not loved Mary Stella. It
seemed to him that she had always been a part of his inmost life. He
loved her with the whole strength and fidelity of a naturally intense
nature. He hoped that she loved him, and he had no rival that he
feared. In secret he exalted and deified her as something almost too
holy for him to aspire to. She was his ideal of all that was beautiful
and good; he was jealously careful over all his words and thoughts and
actions that not one might make him more unworthy of her. In all the
hardship and toil of his life his love was as his guardian angel,
turning his feet from every dim and crooked byway; he trod in no path
where he would not have the girl he loved to follow. The roughest
labour was glorified if it lifted him a step nearer the altar of his
worship.

But today he felt faintly disturbed. In some strange, indefinable way
it seemed to him that Mary Stella was different from her usual self.
The impression was vague and evanescent--gone before he could decide
wherein the difference lay. He told himself that he was foolish, yet
the vexing, transient feeling continued to come and go.

Presently Mary Stella said it was time to go back. Benjamin was in no
hurry, but he never disputed her lightest inclination. He turned the
dory about and rowed shoreward.

Back on the rocks, Mosey Louis and Xavier, the French Canadians, were
looking through the spyglass by turns and making characteristic
comments on the fleet. Mr. Murray and Braithwaite were standing by the
skids, watching the dory.

"Who is that young fellow?" asked the latter. "What a splendid
physique he has! It's a pleasure to watch him rowing."

"That," said the older man, with a certain proprietary pride in his
tone, "is Benjamin Selby--the best mackerel fisherman on the island.
He's been high line all along the gulf shore for years. I don't know a
finer man every way you take him. Maybe you'll think I'm partial," he
continued with a smile. "You see, he and Mary Stella think a good deal
of each other. I expect to have Benjamin for a son-in-law some day if
all goes well."

Braithwaite's expression changed slightly. He walked over to the dory
and helped Mary Stella out of it while Benjamin made the painter fast.
When the latter turned, Mary Stella was walking across the rocks with

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