138 ALONGSHORE 



HI 



Benjie, 'they'm asleep, I'll warrant; an' they'm 

 foul' 



The drifter itself looked asleep, rolling gently 

 to its nets on the swell. Round and about the 

 mizzen halyard the riding-lamp swung. The 

 mainsail was spread abroad over the bows. Our 

 boats bumped. The sail heaved like a gigantic 

 loose-skinned animal awakening; it was flung 

 back, and from underneath Jim's startled face 

 looked out. Richard snored on, wrapped in 

 a fearnaught jacket, his head under the cutty. 

 'Thought we was in a collision,' Jim explained.' 

 'Us an't catched nort. Hauled in two nets for 

 a hunderd an' a half. We'm foul, I b'lieve, o' 

 thic inside boat's nets. Row down 'long the 

 buoys, will 'ee? Us won't try an' haul in till the 

 moon rises. Cold, ain't it? I'd only just catched 

 off to sleep. . . .' 



But his sleepiness belied him. 



Already the clouds to the eastward were filling 

 with a chilly light. We rowed down the buoys; 

 passed the inside drifter; saw the two lines of 

 corks drawing closer and closer together; and, 

 finally, found the two fleets of nets buoy to buoy. 

 Hailing the inside drifter, we told them so. 



'What be chattering 'bout?' 



