184 THE SALT OF MY LIFE 



fleet shows no sign of life, unless indeed a mongrel 

 cur barks at us from the bows of some vessel close 

 to which we pass, to be chastised later, no doubt, 

 for having disturbed the sleep of everyone on the 

 river. Later, when we have fished for a couple 

 of hours, there will be activity and bustle, sleepy 

 lads scrubbing down the decks, men ashore hailing 

 whichever ship they want to board and, if not 

 quickly fetched off, adding to their humble peti- 

 tion and prayer such piercing expletives as might 

 reach the ferryman of Styx. Ere we go home to 

 breakfast, the whole boiling of them will be on 

 deck, and a fight with a good bass under a ship's 

 side will collect a crowded audience and a poly- 

 glot of encouragement, chaff, condolence. . . Per 



Bacco ! . . . Aller Wetter ! . . . Got the , 



by - ! Alas, that one should have to bowdle- 

 rise only the English ! 



As first we approach the lowermost tier, how- 

 ever, all is silence. We cannot drift the way we like 

 until the tide runs swifter, so Cox will for forty 

 minutes or so row the boat slowly and in circles 

 abreast of these lower ships and the railway quay. 

 We shall not hook anything large, but our baits 

 are over the side now, and one never knows. Ha ! 

 what was that ? A twitch of the rod top . . . 

 another . . . down it goes, for the slight turn of 

 the wrist has flicked the sharp hook in beyond 

 the barb, and the bass is fast . The reel sings a 



