126 ALONGSHORE m 



down with the tide, sweeps several miles of sea. 

 The fish swim into its meshes, and, on account of 

 their fins and gills, are unable to back out again. 

 How many small fish swim right through the net, 

 how many large ones cannot get in, how many of 

 all those that strike the nets fail to mesh them- 

 selves — nobody knows. Possibly a very large 

 number. Some nights a good proportion of fish 

 are dragged inboard along with the yarn, entangled 

 rather than meshed. It is probable that at such 

 times they have been simply cruising about, instead 

 of migrating or pursuing their food. 



A fish's-eye view of a fleet of nets, could one 

 take it, would be a strangely impressive sight. 

 One would see — looking up through water grow- 

 ing rapidly a darker green in the twilight — the 

 keel and bottom-strakes of a small boat. In clear 

 water one might also see her foresail hauled down, 

 leaving only the mizzen up in order to keep her 

 head to the wind. Then, with that peculiar soft 

 plash which netting makes, fathom after fathom 

 of it would be shot overboard in heaps, and would 

 float away, straightening itself out until there ex- 

 tended from the boat — itself a mere black bubble 

 on the water — an immense brown curtain more 

 than half-a-mile long, and five or six fathoms 



