14 THE SALT OF MY LIFE 



up fishing for half the year and give the cod and 

 whiting the go-bye but I am content to amuse 

 myself for the other half with bass and pollack, 

 mackerel and mullet, and then send my rods to the 

 maker. I must own to having an alternative 

 amusement for the short days, thanks to the kind- 

 ness of friends, whose hospitality stands the 

 yearly test of a more than averagely miserable 

 performance with the gun. Were it not for such 

 interludes on the moors, among the roots, or 

 beside the coverts, it may be that the sulking cod 

 and hungry whiting would still win me forth as 

 they did of yore, but for ten years at any rate 

 their spell has not worked, and a predisposition 

 to rheumatism makes me grateful that this is so. 

 Now and then, on a more than commonly balmy 

 November day, I still go after the whiting and 

 mackerel, but the Babbacombe ground lies too 

 far away from Teignmouth to be reached those 

 short afternoons with any comfort, unless you 

 have the aid of steam power. Sometimes a 

 friendly motor-boat, of which several are owned 

 in the harbour, gives the ' ' Hirondelle " a tow 

 out and back, which is not only a saving of time, 

 but also sparing of my boatman's labour, as it 

 is a dreadful pull on the very calm days, on which 

 alone fishing is much pleasure. The most enjoy- 

 able hour's fishing that I remember on that ground 

 was with poor Aubrey Harcourt, in October, 



