98 THE SALT OF MY LIFE 



and chapel choirs. Entertainments there are 

 none. But if you want to catch fish, if you 

 want to live among the genuine fishermen who 

 wrestle with the deep sea for their bread, if you 

 want to forget for a little the petty turmoil of 

 the great world in the peaceful isolation of a little 

 community that knows nought of tariff reform or 

 the laws of bridge, then take your ticket for St. 

 Austell and wire Craggs to meet you with a wag- 

 gonette. The train, moving on into the far west, 

 is the last link with modern civilisation, and he 

 will drive you through beautiful country into a 

 new world. 



Each morning, after breakfast, and perhaps an 

 apologetic glance at the Morning News or Mercury, 

 according to that political bias which will not be 

 shaken off even on a holiday, you get on board 

 the lugger at the inner quay or outer pier, accord- 

 ing to the depth of water at that time of the tide, 

 and, after a little sculling to get clear of the har- 

 bour, up with the red mainsail and little mizen, and 

 there is a fair run or dead beat, according to what 

 ground you want to try. As soon as the little 

 lighthouse is astern, out go the mackerel-lines, 

 one over each side and a lighter one astern, and, 

 with luck rather than skill, you catch one fish or 

 a hundred. It is all a matter of running into 

 large shoals. Now and again, a too active pollack 

 of four or five pounds seizes one of the hooks and 



