"How much net out now, sir?" he asked the statistician in a few minutes.
"Quarter of a mile," was the reply.
"Shall we close in then, eh?"
"You'd better."
The seine-master, feeling that the school of mackerel had been inclosed, turned the seine-boat towards the dory and, under the powerful arms of
the fishermen, the circle was soon completed. It was a perfect set.
The wind had been rising rapidly, and just as the seine-boat reached the dory a sharp rain squall struck. But the cry was, "Purse up!" for until a seine is partly pursed up, there is no telling whether the fish are really in or not. For a moment, however, it was almost impossible to purse up, the wind and rain were beating so savagely.
"Pull!" said Roote, suiting the action to the word, and all hands joined him. The net was light, far lighter than the old fishermen's nets, and there was more than one audible comment to the effect that the net would break, and that it was too bad they hadn't one of the old-style nets around the school, but the pursing in continued, and the net showed no signs of breakage. Presently first one, then another, fish flashed above the water, and a minute later the shine of the mackerel showed, and then the whole school, including thousands of fish, rose in a body to the surface, beating the water with their forked tails, and threshing in mad confusion from side to side.
The seine-master turned to the Fisheries official with a good deal of concern.