102 FISH HARVESTING. 
rock-bound nook, the water lashed into white 
spray by a thousand tails and fins, plied with » 
all the power and energy the poor struggling 
fish could exert to escape the dreaded foe. <A 
wall of rocks, right and left, ahead the shelving 
shingle—on they go, and hundreds lie high- 
and-dry, panting on the pebbles. It is just as 
well perhaps to die there, as to be torn, bitten, 
and eaten by the piratical cannibals that are 
waging fearful havoc on the imprisoned shoal. 
The dogfish wound ten times as many as they 
eat, and, having satiated and gorged their greedy 
stomachs, swim lazily away, leaving the dead, 
dying, and disabled to the tender mercies of the 
sea-birds watching the battle, ever ready to 
pounce upon the unprotected, and end its miseries. 
Garnering the herring-crop is the Coast Indian’s 
best ‘sea-harvest;’ lodges spring up like mush- — 
rooms along the edges of the bays and harbours; 
large fleets of canoes dot the water in every di- 
rection, their swarthy crews continually loading 
them with glittering fish ; paddling ashore, they 
hand the cargo to the female part of the commu- 
nity, and then start again for a similar freight. 
Indians have various plans for catching herrings. 
Immense numbers are taken with small hand- 
nets, literally dipping them out of the water into 
