370 WHALING AND FISHING. 



on the rail ready for use, and at one o'clock return 

 to my comfortable bunk. I am soon again asleep, 

 an.l dreaming of hearing fire-bells ringing, and 

 seeing men rush to the fire ; and just as I see "the 

 machine " round the corner of the street, am start 

 led out of my propriety, my dream, sleep, and all t 

 by the loud cry of " Fish ho ! " 



I start up desperately in my narrow bunk, 

 bringing my cranium in violent contact with a 

 beam overhead, which has the effect of knocking 

 me flat down in my berth again. After recovering 

 as much consciousness as is necessary to appre- 

 ciate my position, I roll out of bed, jerk savagely 

 at my boots, and snatching up my cap and pea- 

 jacket, make a rush at the companion way. up 

 which I manage to fall in my haste, and then 

 spring into the hold for a strike-barrel. 



And now the mainsail is up, the jib down, and 

 the captain is throwing bait. It is not yet quite 

 light, but we hear other mainsails going up all 

 round us. A cool drizzle makes the morning un- 

 mistakably uncomfortable, and we stand around 

 half asleep, with our sore hands in our pockets, 

 wishing we were at home. The skipper, how- 

 ever, is holding his lines over the rail with an air 

 which clearly intimates that the slightest kind of 

 a nibble will be quite sufficient this morning to 

 seal the doom of a mackerel. 



" There, by Jove ! the captain hauls back- 

 there, I told you so ! skipper's got him no aha, 

 captain, you haul back too savagely ! " 



