XVII
BLOWN OFF
At two o'clock on a Friday morning toward the end of August Spurling and Whittington started with six tubs of trawl, baited with salted herring, for Clay Bank. Long before sunrise the last fathom of ground-line had gone overboard and the tubs were empty.
Swinging the Barracouta about, they retraced their course to the first buoy.
A long, oily ocean swell, heaving in from the south, undulated the breezeless sea. The air was mild, almost suspiciously so. Dawn was breaking redly as they reached their starting-point and prepared to pull in the trawl.
"I'll haul the first half, Perce," volunteered Spurling.
Drawing the dory alongside, he cast off her painter and sprang aboard. Before taking in the buoy he stood for a half-minute, scanning sky and sea.
"Almost too fine!" he remarked. "I don't like that crimson east. You remember how the rhyme goes:
"A red sky in the morning,
Sailors take warning.