TRAWLING 



ber of the crew who has placed his own mug at the 

 guest's disposal. 



Fish might be the greatest rarity at sea, if one judged 

 from the fact that at least three of the men have brought 

 kippers or red herrings to toast for their breakfast. 



The cabin of one of these smacks is not the perfection 

 of comfort ; in many of them a man of medium height 

 cannot even stand upright ; the floor is wet, sometimes 

 sloppy, and the intense heat makes every one anxious to 

 escape to the fresh air as soon as possible. Coming up on 

 deck again, you find that it is broad daylight ; the land 

 has disappeared, or else stands out only in dark outline ; 

 perhaps you have broken away from the main fleet and 

 there is not a boat within hail ; the wind is fresh, the 

 smack slips swiftly and delicately over the waves, and 

 you begin to understand why the fisherman looks with 

 contempt on all occupations except his own. 



At length signs of attention to business reappear ; 

 pipes are stowed away ; the after-breakfast chatter dies 

 down ; the taciturn old fellow at the helm takes a fresh 

 quid of tobacco and mutters some order about easing the 

 fore-sail or lowering the top-sail ; the younger men 

 abandon their speculations as to whether the Skylark 

 or the John and Mary or the Minnie Brown ships 

 just as much water as she did before she went for repairs, 

 and give themselves up to a close inspection of the gear. 

 A few minutes, or hours as the case may be pass ; then 

 the main-sail is pulled round to leeward, other sails are 

 lowered or eased, and you realise that at last the men are 

 going to fish. 



35 



