y up! Hoist sail and get in out o'it 'fore the wind rises. Come
on!"

With two oars out to windward we started beating home. We made a tack
out to sea. There the waves skatted in over the bows, for the
deeply-laden boat was down by the head because the heavy pile of net
and fish prevented the water from running aft where we could have
bailed it out. If we had had to tack much farther to sea.... We should
have lost the catch, and perhaps ourselves.

We put the boat round towards Seacombe. "Luff her up all yu can," said
John. "Luff her up, I tell thee, or we'm never going to fetch. The
sea's rising an' us an't got nort to spare."

By keeping the luff of the sail in a flutter, sometimes too much into
the wind, I just fetched. Then we rowed into smoother water.

"'Tis fifteen thousand if 'tis one," said John.

"'Tis more'n that," said Tony with a note of respect in his voice.

[Sidenote: _PACKING THE FISH_]

"Better wait till they sends some boats out. Us can't baych the boat
wi' thees weight in her."

We yelled, anchored, then waited; swore, yelled and waited. Someone
came at last. The great heavy mast was sent ashore. Two boatloads of
net and fish followed, and finally the drifter herself was beached.

The crowd that had gathered on the shingle worked at the winch and
ropes. We walked about among them answering questions, but for the
moment doing nothing. We felt we had a right to watch the landlubbers
work in return for the herrings we threw out to them. We had been to
sea; had caught the catch of the season.

I came in house and fried some herrings for supper. Tony and John went
back to the boat. All night long they worked under the moon, drawing
out the net and picking the fish from it, standing knee-deep in fish,
spotted with scales like sequins. Far into Sunday they worked, counting
and packing the fish while the Sunday folk in their best clothes
strolled along the sea-wall and sniffed.

Twenty-two long-thousand herrings--squashed, dirty and
bloodstained--were carted away in the barrels. Twenty-eight hours Tony
and John had worked. Then they washed, picked herring scales off
themselves, and rested. The skin was drawn tightly over their faces
and, as it were, away from their eyes. I saw, as I glanced at them,
what they will look like when they are old men: the skull and
crossbones half peeped out. And I said to myself: "When we feed on
herrings we feed on fishermen's strength. Though we don't cook human