On the coast of Cornwall, as we have hinted, it is one of the staple industries, and pursued systematically. Where they come from, and whither they go, seems alike unknown. All that is certain is, that they are met with in shoals swimming past the Scilly Islands as early as July. In August the inshore fishing begins, and they appear on various parts of the coast as far north as Devonshire and the south coast of Ireland up to October and November; no doubt those which have escaped the innumerable nets spread for them.
"The first sight from the cliffs of a shoal of pilchards," says Mr. Collins, in the work already quoted, "is not a little interesting. They produce on the sea the appearance of the shadow of a dark cloud, which approaches until you can see the fish leaping and playing on the surface by hundreds at a time, all huddled close together, and so near the shore that they can be caught in fifty or sixty feet of water. Indeed, when the shoals are of considerable magnitude, the fish behind have been known literally to force the fish in front up to the beach, so that they could be taken in baskets, or even with the hand.
"With the discovery of the first shoal, the active duties of the lookout, or huer, on the cliffs begin. Each fishing village places one or more of these men on the watch all round the coast. He is, therefore, not only paid his guinea a week while he is on the watch, but a percentage on the produce of all the fish taken under his auspices. He is placed at his post, where he can command an uninterrupted view of the sea, some days before the pilchards are expected.
"The principal boat used is, at least, of fifteen tons burden, and carries a large net called the 'seine,' which measures a hundred and ninety fathoms in length, and costs a hundred and twenty pounds—sometimes more. It is simply one long strip from eleven to thirteen fathoms in breadth, composed of very small meshes, and furnished all along its length with cork at one edge and lead at the other. The men who cast this net are called 'shooters,' and receive eleven shillings and sixpence a week, and one basket of fish out of every haul.
"As soon as the 'huer' discerns a shoal he waves his bush. The signal is conveyed to the beach by men and boys watching near him. The 'seine'-boat, accompanied by another, to assist in casting the net, is rowed out to where he can see it; then there is a pause and hush of expectation. Meanwhile the devoted pilchards press on—a compact mass of thousands on thousands of fish—swimming to meet their doom. All eyes are fixed on the 'huer;' he stands watchful and still, until the shoal is thoroughly embayed in water which he knows to be within the depth of the 'seine.' Then, as the fish begin to pause in their progress, and gradually crowd closer and closer together, he gives the signal, and the 'seine' is cast or 'shot' overboard.
"The grand object is now to enclose the entire shoal. The leads sink one side of the net perpendicularly to the bottom, the corks buoy the other to the surface of the water. When it has been taken all round the shoal, the two extremities are made fast, and the fishes are imprisoned within an oblong barrier of netting. The art is how to let as few of the pilchards escape as possible while the process is being completed. Whenever the 'huer' observes that they are startled, and separating at any particular point, he waves his bush, and thither the boat is steered, and there the net is shot at once; the fish are thus headed and thwarted in every direction with extraordinary address and skill. This labour completed, the silence of intense expectation that has hitherto prevailed is broken—there is a shout of joy on all sides—the shoal is secured.
"The 'seine' is now regarded as a great reservoir of fish. It may remain in the water a week or more; to secure it against being moved from its position, in case a gale should come on, it is warped by two or three ropes to points of land in the cliff, and is at the same time contracted in circuit by its opposite ends being brought together and passed lightly over its breadth for several feet. While these operations are being performed, another boat, another set of men, and another net, are approaching the scene of action.
"The new net is called the 'tuck;' it is smaller than the 'seine;' inside which it is to be let down, for the purpose of bringing the fish close to the surface. The men who manage this net are called 'regular sewers.' The boat is first of all rowed inside the seine-net, and laid close to the seine-boat, which remains stationary outside. To its bows one rope at the end of the tuck-net is fastened. The tuck-boat now slowly makes the inner circle of the seine, the smaller net being dropped overboard, and attached to the seine at intervals as she goes. To prevent the fish from getting between the two nets during the operation, they are frightened into the middle of the enclosure by beating the water with oars, and stones fastened to ropes. When the 'tuck' has at length travelled round the whole circle of the 'seine,' and is securely fastened to the seine-boat at the end as it was at the beginning, everything is prepared for the great event of the day—hauling the fish to the surface.
"Now all is excitement on sea and shore; every little boat in the place puts off, crammed with idle spectators; boys shout, dogs bark, and the shrill voices of the former are joined by the deep voices of the 'seiners.' There they stand, six or eight stalwart, sun-burnt fellows, ranged in a row in the seine-boat, hauling with all their might at the 'tuck'-net, and roaring out the nautical 'Yo, heave ho!' in chorus. Higher and higher rises the net; louder and louder shout the boys and the idlers; the 'huer,' so calm and collected hitherto, loses his self-possession, and waves his cap triumphantly. 'Hooray! hooray! Yoy—hoy, hoy! Pull away, boys! Up she comes! Here they are!' The water boils and eddies; the 'tuck'-net rises to the surface; one teeming, convulsed mass of shining, glancing, silvery scales; one compact mass of thousands of fish, each one of which is madly striving to escape, appears in an instant. Boats as large as barges now pull up, in hot haste, all round the nets, baskets are produced by dozens, the fish are dipped up in them, and shot out, like coals out of a sack, into the boats. Presently the men are ankle-deep in pilchards; they jump upon the benches, and work on till the boats can hold no more. They are almost gunwale under before they leave for the shore."
In the process of curing, the scene becomes doubly picturesque, but this is shore-work, with which our space forbids us to deal.