THE COD-FISHERY 



which the piles of fish are carefully packed with yet more 

 salt, and all will be safely stowed within the hold. 



By mid-season the fish have increased in size and seem- 

 ingly in number. Naturally no two weeks' catches are 

 alike. In most fishing fleets, no matter of what sort, you 

 will nearly always find one skipper who is more knowing, 

 or has the reputation for being more knowing, than his 

 fellows. " Show me where old So-and-so fishes," says one 

 of the crew, " and I'll tell you where to get a good haul." 

 Wherever he goes, others will try to follow. Some of the 

 more independent, however, are content to roam over the 

 otherwise neglected ground and as often as not it is 

 they who get the haul, and not the knowing ones or their 

 followers. We know, of course, there are old stagers so 

 shrewd and so observant that they know, almost literally, 

 every square yard of the ground ; and such men will catch 

 a boat-load while others get nothing. But cod are not 

 like oysters or sponges ; they want to move about, and at 

 times move very swifty ; so that the boat that toils in 

 vain for several hours may at any moment have a shoal 

 of fish under her, so eager for prey that they could almost 

 be caught with the naked hook. 



Once in a way, as summer advances, the sea round the 

 Banks condescends to lie still for a space. The wind drops ; 

 there is a dead calm ; the sunlit water looks as if it could 

 not be rough if it tried, and grows so clear that you can 

 almost see to the bottom. One of the men pauses in his 

 fishing to jerk a remark over his shoulder to the skipper, 

 who has deserted his useless helm. The " patron " looks 

 over the bulwarks, turns away again rubbing his hands, 



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