“The press-stones a bin rolling.”
“Haas they, sure enuff,” says the old man.
“Ees! ees!” exclaims Janniper; “they has been making a skimmage!”
“Hark ye,” cries the old woman, “there they go again.”
And sure enough there was a heavy rolling of the stones in the cellar below them. It did not require much imagination to image these round granite pebbles sliding themselves down on the “couse,” or stone flooring, and dividing themselves up into sets, as if for a dance,—a regular “cows’ courant,” or game of romps.
“Fish to-morrow!” exclaimed the old woman. The ejaculations of each one of the party shewed their perfect faith in the belief, that the stones rolling down from the heap, in which they had been useless for some time, was a certain indication that pilchards were approaching the coast.
Early on the morrow the old man and his sons were on their “stem;” and shortly after daylight the cry of “Heva! heva!”[53] was heard from the hills; the seine was shot, and ere night a large quantity of fish might be seen in the cellar, and every one joyous.
WHIPPING THE HAKE.
It is not improbable that the saying applied to the people of one of the Cornish fishing-towns, of “Who whipped the hake?” may be explained by the following:—