much is said, but they look rather gloomy. Their mates on shore are not reassured, but pull with a will. Up comes the first waif of the deep, an old spider-crab, sprawling in the meshes. He is sullenly seized by a leg, and ignominiously flung out on his back. Next comes up a cabbage-stalk, to the amusement of the bystanders. Now for the last haul; it does not feel so heavy as it ought to do.
“Yo, ho!” sing out the men, and the purse is soon stranded. Alas! not a mackarel is visible! A confused heap of cuttles (Sepia officinalis), and sea pens (Loligo vulgaris), all very spiteful, and oozing out ink at every one who treads near them; ten or twelve worthless flat-fish, a large pebble and a mass of seaweed, make up its contents. The fishermen growl, and proceed to fling out the cuttles, and dry the seine, while the laughing spectators move on to the next net.
The same scene of hauling in is being enacted here. Now that the general interest is centred on them, the men feel the dignity of their position. They stand up now. The wives help as much as their tongues will allow them, for a very brisk quarrel is going on. A perspiring, wrathful individual, who looks like a broken-down tide-waiter, “armed with a little brief authority,” has issued some order to these Naiads, in a manner their hot west-country blood resents:
“Us bain’t a goin’ to drag her any nigher,” you hear them affirm.
The excited tide-waiter runs up to them over the nets, and by so doing, brings down a fresh nest of hornets about his ears, in the shape of the husbands, who angrily call him off. The ladies, reassured by the unexpected succours, venture to assume the offensive, and the head virago shakes her fist in his face, denouncing him as a thief. Here a general explosion ensues. A visitor standing by interferes to prevent a breach of the peace. Work is suspended by the husbands (gladly enough) for a moment, while they reduce their irate spouses to a grumbling submission; the quarrel resolves itself into an angry discussion between the virago and her would-be pacifier on the outskirts of the crowd. But the purse is approaching the shore. Surely there will be something this time! There are two or three dunlins coursing over the space circled by the corks, and a gull or two is stooping down in it, and reappearing with a sprat in its mouth. Good signs these, think the old hands. Here is the inevitable spider-crab again, fast in the meshes as before, looking as much out of his element as a hermit who should be suddenly dragged by his heels into a ball-room. No time to free him now; the net is piled over him. Murmurs of admiration run through the crowd, countless shoals of sprats are being dragged in, some dart through the meshes and so escape, others leap over the net in their fright, the sea is alive with them. Most of them are stranded on the beach, however, where the small boys fill their baskets. Here is the first mackarel entangled by his gills in the meshes! there is another. Now for the last pull! A shout breaks forth, and a panting heap of flapping mackarel, a thousand in number, though they only seem two hundred, is dragged on the shore. All press down to see them. A wave breaks over the unwary one’s feet; no matter, it is worth getting wet to see that iridescent mass of living purple and amber, and you must be quick, the colours fade when they are dead. Only just drawn to the edge, every other wave washes over them, and stimulates them to increased efforts to escape to their native element. But it is all in vain, they are soon stilled in death, flung into baskets, and deposited in a heap on the beach.
As a specimen of the uncertainty of the takes, we may mention that early in July this season, a haul such as we have attempted to describe took two fish. Bad weather followed, and no more shoals came in till the 25th, when 2000 were taken. These were sold at 9s. per hundred, or 14d. per dozen. Again, during the evening of the 28th nearly 8000 were captured. On the 1st of August 12,000 were taken in three hauls, while in the afternoon of that day 15,000 were caught at once! The scene that ensued beggars description. It was impossible, owing to their numbers, to pull the net on shore, so the men dashed in up to their necks (the beach is very precipitous), and stretching another net outside the first to take those which made their escape from it, proceeded to bale the fish on to the shore with iron bowls. The tide was coming in, and the utmost expedition had to be made. These were sold at 4s. 1d. per hundred, or a halfpenny each. On this day alone 30,000 mackarel were caught on the beach, by which the fishermen expected to clear 80l. A penny a-piece is the average price for the fish on the shore when tolerably plentiful. Some days, however, the boats go the whole length of the bay without being able to head the “schools,” while at other times such numbers are taken that they are carted off to spread on the fields.
The owner or owners of the net take half of each catch; the other half is divided between the men in the boat and those who haul in from the shore, the former having the larger share. Every bystander who helps to pull in may claim a fish or two. Formerly, a tithe of every catch went to the vicar, but this has now fallen into disuse.
It is a great treat to a naturalist to assist at one of these takes. Many are the curiosities of the deep he may then obtain. The great parasitic anemone is often brought in; but perhaps the variety of fish caught with the mackarel is the most interesting feature of the whole business. You may speedily become an ichthyologist at Seaton. We have seen along with 3000 mackarel, two salmon taken at one haul, one of fourteen lbs. the other of seven lbs. weight, which were sold on the spot for a sovereign. Cuttles, squids, and jelly-fish of various kinds were also taken, dog-fish and whiting, “dun cows and long noses” (to use native names), bass, flat fish, turbots, gurnards, crabs of all kinds, mullets and congers, John Dories with their comfortable aldermanic corporations, thousands of sprats, &c., &c. There were also several green and red fish, far more brilliantly coloured than is generally seen out of tropical seas, such as the fisherman in the “Arabian Nights” might have caught.
But a fresh bustle is going on. The men have beached their boat high and dry, and elevated an