“Don’t strike at her, Josh,” shouted Pollard, “unless she be coming over. I think we can manage her easy enough now.”
He was quite right, for long custom had made these men wonderfully clever in the management of a net, which, fragile in its single threads, becomes, in its combination of thousands of meshes, an engine of tremendous power.
The way the men managed was as follows:—
After getting, as it were, the two ends of the net to the shore, they drew on the lower rope, bringing it in, and in, over the sand, till the bow it made was less bent. Then they served the upper rope the same. Then they drew both together, with the result that at last the tremendously extensive net was folded longwise right over upon itself, the top-line was drawn right down upon the foot-line, and at last the fish left in the net were completely shut in what seemed like an enormous old-fashioned purse.
This done, the ends were taken by plenty of willing hands right into shallow water, and as the men hauled, the great purse came closer and closer, and every now and then there was a tremendous agitation towards the middle.
“Let’s go ashore, now,” said Arthur, as Josh urged the boat on, and the water swirled up tremendously not four yards away.
“Is there any danger—any risk?” said Mr Temple quietly to Josh.
“A mussy me! no, sir; not a bit!” said Josh; and then laughing, he added, “only for shark, sir, of having his liver boiled down for oil.”
“Oh! don’t I wish I had a spear, or a harpoon!” cried Dick excitedly, as once more the water was churned up and the net came to the surface.
“We’ll get her without any o’ that tackle, Master Dick, sir,” cried Josh, keeping steadily advancing after the cork-line, but not so quickly as to go over the net.