CARRIERS 239 



for the profit of her owners and her crew. Having 

 taken her turn on the station and loaded up, she runs to 

 market, slackening at Gravesend to take a pilot on board. 

 As soon as she is alongside at Billingsgate, either next 

 to the quay or abreast of another carrier, gangways are 

 placed, and up and down them processions of head- 

 protected, clogged, and white-smocked men are hurrying. 

 Long before daybreak the work begins, in winter, and 

 from London Bridge, looking down the dark river, you 

 can see the figures flitting in the garish light of the 

 electric lamps, one stream trotting on board, and one 

 hastening ashore, each stream keeping to its own 

 gangway, so that there shall be no collision, no con- 

 fusion. Leaving London Bridge and taking your stand 

 opposite the entrance to the market from the street, you 

 see a little regiment of men, some carrying on their heads 

 loads of fish that need almost a giant's strength to bear. 

 It is a strange and fiercely busy sight. The narrow 

 streets are glutted with the great carts of railway com- 

 panies and dealers, and away in shadows, watching for 

 their time to come, are the costers with their barrows 

 as if noble game must have their feed before the small fry 

 take the leavings. Boxes by the thousand are brought 

 forth from the dank, dark maws of the carriers and either 

 put straightway into the vehicles or sent into the adjacent 

 shops and warehouses of dealers for more deliberate 

 dispatch. To protect his clothing the fish-porter wears 

 the smock and overalls, and to save his head from 

 damage he assumes a padded hat with a sort of pug- 

 garree, to keep the slime at bay. Thick clogs or heavy 

 boots are worn, and the clank of this gear rings sharply 

 out even in the din of human voices, the rattle of hoofs, 



