THE RAW MATERIAL 



There was no industrial class of which so little 

 was known and in which therefore so little interest 

 was taken, as the deep sea fishermen. The very 

 ducks from which the}' sailed were unfathomed 

 mysteries to the majority of the public, the vessels 

 were known only vaguely as pretty or picturesque 

 fishing smacks, and the men, if seen at all, were 

 reckoned quite as romantic in their way as the Vene- 

 tian boatman or the Portuguese who took the tourist 

 up the Douro. So at least would the Spa lounger 

 think, while watching the brown-sailed smack 

 heaving on the blue swell, slowly disappearing, 

 going, presumably, for a pleasant night's fishing; 

 but as a matter of fact beginning a two months' 

 voyage of monotonous toil and eating and drinking, 

 making the best of a poor existence. 



In the small, dirt}', dark hole which did duty in 

 even the finest smacks as a cabin, men slept and ate 

 and drank unbroken^ from day to day and week 

 to week, the only preparation for bed being taking 

 off boots and head-dress, though frequently the boots 

 were left on. 



Fully dressed, utterly exhausted, the fisherman 

 climbed into the stifling black box he called a bunk, 

 drew the shutter, and in an atmosphere which would 

 suffocate an ordinary person sought forgetfulness in 

 sleep ; or he would just stretch himself on the locker 

 or the sodden greasy floor and know nothing till the 

 unwelcome roar of a voice came down the tiny hatch- 

 way, " Haul up your trawl, boys, haul !" And so, 

 as likely as not, especially in the bitter winter, with 



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