CARRIERS 235 



skipper on the bridge, unless it is to thrash her through 

 them ? But he does not call them gales or storms. 

 He speaks of breezes and if the breeze is very bad a 

 hurricane he reluctantly admits that it is a "smart" 

 one. Beyond that he declines to go. His vessel may 

 be an ancient foundry, a " washer," which means that 

 all that may be seen of her in a "breeze" is her bridge 

 and funnel, but he will hang on to the shivering rails, 

 keep a footing on the deluged quivering boards that 

 threaten to fall to pieces under him, peer into the thick 

 malignant weather ahead and do his best to follow his 

 own advice to any doubtful Thomas who is in his 

 company " Don't look aft." It is better for the 

 doubting Thomas's peace of mind that he should not 

 do so, that, indeed, he should look neither aft nor for- 

 ward nor amidships, for in a North Sea breeze there is 

 little to behold from a deeply laden carrier's bridge 

 except the water. 



As I write I call to mind the little, sturdy, brown- 

 faced, oil-skinned master of the carrier in which I made 

 my first run from north to south, from Heligoland to 

 the Thames. At the last moment I had leaned over 

 the end of the bridge with him as he said to a couple of 

 men who had laboriously ferried their fish to us, " We 

 can't take your offal, we've got no more ice. But you 

 can let's have your prime. We'll take that." So the 

 prime was taken, the painter was let go, and we 

 started. 



" Full speed ahead." 



The order was given to the engineer and the run to 

 Billingsgate began, against a head-wind and sea. She 

 was heavily laden, and her progress was not so rapid as 



