business
commences again, but not at so fast a rate as before. By-and-by there is
another cessation, and we hoist our jib and run off a little way, into a
new berth.

"While running across, I take the first good look at the state of affairs
in general. We lie, as before said, nearly in the center of the whole
fleet, which from originally covering an area of perhaps fifteen miles
each way, has 'knotted up' into a little space, not above two miles
square. In many places, although the sea is tolerably rough, the vessels
lie so closely together that one could almost jump from one to the other.
The greatest skill and care are necessary on such occasions to keep them
apart, and prevent the inevitable consequences of a collision, a general
smash-up of masts, booms, bulwarks, etc. Yet a great fish-day like this
rarely passes off without some vessel sustaining serious damage. We thread
our way among the vessels with as much care and as daintily as a man would
walk over ground covered with eggs; and finally get into a berth under the
lee of a vessel which seems to hold the fish pretty well. Here we fish
away by spells, for they have become 'spirty,' that is, they are
capricious, and appear and disappear suddenly."

[Illustration: TRAWLING FROM A DORY]

Three causes make the occupation of those fishermen who go for cod and
halibut to the Newfoundland Banks extra hazardous--the almost continual
fog, the swift steel Atlantic liners always plowing their way at high
speed across the fishing grounds, heedless of fog or darkness, and the
custom of fishing with trawls which must be tended from dories. The trawl,
which is really only an extension of hand-lines, is a French device
adopted by American fishermen early in the last century. One long
hand-line, supported by floats, is set at some distance from the
schooner. From it depend a number of short lines with baited hooks, set at
brief intervals. The fisherman, in his dory, goes from one to the other of
these lines pulling them in, throwing the fish in the bottom of the boat
and rebaiting his hooks. When his dory is full he returns with his load to
the schooner--if he can find her.

That is the peril ever present to the minds of the men in the dory--the
danger of losing the schooner. On the Banks the sea is always running
moderately high, and the great surges, even on the clearest days, will
often shut out the dories from the vision of the lookout. The winds and
the currents tend t