John was still sprawling beneath the cutty. Tony and I snoozed under the mainsail, huddled up together for the sake of warmth, like animals in a nest. At intervals we got up to peep over the gunwale or to bale the boat out. Then with comic sighs we coiled down together again. It was bitterly cold in the small hours. We pooled our vitality, as it were, and shared and shared alike. When we finally awoke, about five in the morning, the wind had died down, the sky and moon were clouded, and a dull mist was creeping over the sea.
We hauled in the net—fathoms of it for scarcely a fish.
"Have 'ee got anything to eat?" asked Tony.
"No."
"Have yu got ort to drink?" asked John.
"No."
"Got a cigarette?" I asked.
"Not one."
"If we was to go a bit farther out and shute...." said Tony.
"G'out! Hould yer row!"