“That’s the seine-net they’re shooting overboard,” said Will. “It has corks all along the top, and these keep the top edge level with the water, while all the rest sinks right down to the bottom. It’s shallow enough over the sands here for the net to touch the bottom.”
“I see!” cried Dick excitedly. “And they are going to row right round the shoal of fish and make a regular fence of net about them, so as they can’t get away.”
“A mussy me!” cried Josh smiling. “Why, I’m getting quite proud o’ you, Master Dick. You might ha’ been born a fisherman.”
“But will the net be long enough to go right round?” said Dick.
“No, perhaps not; but they’ll manage that if they’re lucky.”
The scene was exciting enough to chain the interest of those in the boat, while quite a crowd gathered on the cliff to witness the capture—one which meant money and support to a good many families; for there would be basketing and carting to the far-off station, to send the take to the big towns, if a take it should prove to be. And so all watched as the large boat was rowed steadily, its heap of net growing lower, and the row of dot-like corks that trailed from behind getting longer and longer, and gradually taking the shape of a half-moon.
The little boat remained nearly stationary, only drawing a trifle towards where Dick and his companions were; but the big boat continued its course, and so did the shoal of mackerel, making a beautiful ripple on the surface, that seemed as changeful as the ripple marks on their own backs, and in happy unconsciousness of the fact that their way back to sea was being steadily shut off, and that there were baskets getting ready, and horses being fed to bear them to the train, so that the next morning they would be glittering on stalls in busy towns both far and near.
It was a long but carefully-executed piece of work, the large boat making a very wide circuit, so as not to alarm the fish, now about the centre of a semicircle of net.
“But suppose the net should be twisted,” said Dick excitedly, “and not reach the bottom—what then?”
“Then when the mackerel were scared they’d swim about and find the hole, and go through it like the tide between a couple of rocks,” replied Will. “But the men wouldn’t let the net go down twisted; they’re too used to shooting it.”