258 NORTH SEA FISHERS AND FIGHTERS 



storm-beaten spot could ever be the chosen haunt of 

 much that is fairest and brightest in the country. 



'"Ere she comes!" 



"'Old her up, skipper!" 



" Now she does it ! " 



" No, she doesn't ! " 



"She'll miss it!" 



" No, she won't ! " 



You are standing under the lee of the waterhouse, 

 sheltering with a group of fishermen, and you hear their 

 excited comments as the brave old weather-beaten trawlers 

 the like of which you will not find elsewhere than off the 

 Tyne and Scarborough rush round the pier-head, with 

 their paddles thumping and their oil-clad crews at their 

 stations, on the sea-swept deck. There is heaving of 

 ropes, bawling of orders, twirling of steering-wheels 

 and the ancient craft steam calmly into the harbour and 

 up to their buoys. 



They have fought another fight, and it is still well 

 with them. 



The sea is growing mightily, and a little screw-boat 

 she is a Hullman with a freeboard of something like 

 three feet, comes through the smother of the gale and 

 is swept onward like a shell. Three men are in her 

 wheelhouse, and they rush her around as no one but 

 North Sea smacksmen can rush a trawler round the race 

 of Castle Hill. Still all is bustle, for the boats keep 

 coming in. Then, as the evening closes, harbour- 

 master, deputy, and staff sigh with relief, for the worst is 

 over for the present ; their time of greatest anxiety has 

 passed, and they can seek temporary refuge from the 

 storm. 



