POLLACK AND PILCHARDS 111 



the harbour with our slimy spoils at our feet. Half 

 the pilchard boats are already snug at their moor- 

 ings ; two of them sail in abreast of us, so that we 

 have merry company up the dark alley that leads 

 to our lodgings. 



I have elsewhere confessed that night-fishing 

 no longer attracts me. Here and there, as on 

 the Mole at Leghorn, or on the mackerel-grounds 

 at Funchal , it is no doubt a case of angling at night 

 or not at all, for the water in those latitudes is so 

 clear, and the sun so bright, that it would be im- 

 possible to deceive the fish by day on tackle stout 

 enough to hold them. In the muddy water of 

 the English Channel, however, at any rate east 

 of Plymouth Sound, between which and the 

 threshold of the western ocean it clears sensibly, 

 the difficulty is less to prevent the fishes seeing 

 the tackle than indeed to help them see the bait, 

 which must in some places hang as fruitlessly as 

 would even Mr. Chamberlain's loaf before the 

 nose of a starving Londoner in the thick of a 

 November fog. Moreover, the nights of those 

 southern countries are often much more agree- 

 able than the days, for the full glare of the sun 

 is at times unbearable on the water. Night- 

 fishing therefore assumes virtues in such seas 

 that it can lay no claim to on the coast of 

 Britain, where there is no need to seek its friendly 

 concealment. Anyone on a holiday can find 



