the brave little barques that brought the first cargo of ivory from the western coast of Africa to France.
The ivory carving of Dieppe, as our readers are aware, is well represented in the International Exhibition this summer, and many persons have doubtless felt an interest in comparing these specimens with the English carving which has been successfully carried on for the last few years in London, where the workers are all English—men and boys. An account of these artists, and the ways and means of carrying on their business, may interest the readers of Once a Week, and at some future time we may possibly recur to the Ivory Carving in England.
MACKAREL IN THE BAY!
About the centre of the large bay stretching from Porland to Berry Head lies the pleasant village of Seaton. Let us suppose ourselves rambling on the beach at Seaton on any fine morning from May to September, which is the season for mackarel coming up the bay. That common sea-side sight, the smoke of a distant steamer, is never seen here, as the mail packets going down Channel, after sighting the Bill of Portland, stretch across the bay to the Start, and then make the Lizard as their last landmark. Still there is no lack of bustle; pleasure boats and trawls from Beer, a celebrated fishing village, speck the sea in all directions. Often, too, a collier anchors near the beach, and by means of barges plying along, a rope made fast to the shore rapidly transfers her cargo to the carts. Teams of five horses are requisite, together with a plentiful allowance of lashes and shouting, to drag each load up the treacherous pebble beach to firm ground.
But at some sixty yards from shore are two or three large fishing boats, with a heap of nets in each; two or three men standing up in them, in the attitudes of the fishermen in Raphael’s cartoon of the Miraculous Draught; and three or four more leaning on their oars and keeping her head out to sea, eager as an University crew before the starting gun is fired. Signs of mackarel have been noticed in the bay, and all eyes are turned on a group of comrades strongly relieved against the sky on the top of the cliffs. Suddenly these men observe a ripple in the offing, like a catspaw of wind ruffling the surface, but which their experience tells them is the rush of shoals of sprats to the surface to escape the attacks of the mackarel, or these fish themselves playfully sunning their noses. With a loud shout up go their caps into the air; the captain in the boat below gives the word, “now boys,” and the muscles on four pair of brawny arms simultaneously leap out, as each boat gives way before the vigorous stroke. The look-out men rush headlong down the cliffs to the shore ropes, and curious spectators begin to draw to them from all parts of the beach. The captain at the stern of each boat is paying out the net, leaving a long curve of floating corks to mark the track. Soon the boats turn, and taking a wide circuit in hopes of enclosing “the school,” make for the shore, where the captain leaps out with the rope attached to that end of the net in his hand. The panting fishermen rest on their oars a brief space to recover breath after the “spirt,” and then following his example, dash through the foam to assist in hauling.
This is the most arduous part of the whole business. The nets, or “seines” as they are called, are from 130 to 300 fathoms in length; 220 is about the average at Seaton. They are heavily weighted with leads, and from enclosing such a large space of sea and so many fish (as the men hope), the tide also perhaps setting off the shore, are only dragged in with great difficulty. So all idlers on the beach are pressed into the service; workmen, and the whole seafaring population, wives often included, lend a hand at the two ropes. If it be the beginning of the season, the news of mackarel in the bay spreads like wildfire in the village. The hunting propensities of a lower civilisation break out afresh: the cobbler leaves his bench, the grocer’s apprentice drops the scales, his master is seized with a like infection, shop-doors are bolted, and all make a stampede to the beach. Here you may see a brawny fisherman busily hauling, sprung from a long line of famous smugglers; next him is an eager Cockney, or an enthusiastic clergyman, pulling away manfully to the great detriment of his coat. All are glad to lend a helping hand, but it is hard work. The little Cockney soon succumbs. Can that be our friend the parson giving in? No, he is retiring a moment to deposit his coat at a safe distance from the throng, and now returns to the rope with a remembrance of the old days coming over him when he helped to pull his college boat to victory. He does not mean to give in if all the skin is frayed off his fingers by the rope (no uncommon accident to a beginner). “Fall to’t yarely! Bestir, bestir!”
This is what passes at the seine nearest the village. Lower down the beach, where the enthusiasm is not so hearty, the fishermen are sitting down on the shingle, one above another, hauling from this position with a scornful affectation of far niente, as they see the crowds flocking to their rivals.
But now the gang we first visited are contracting their seine, and the two ends are approaching each other. Meanwhile we may mention that these nets are manufactured at Bridport, cost fifty or sixty pounds, and are sold at so much per lb. to the eight or ten fishermen who generally make up a company. It is necessary that they be thoroughly dried after each draught, or if replaced while damp in the boat, they “heat” in a day, and are so hot that they cannot be touched with impunity, after which they speedily decay.
Half-an-hour has been spent in vigorous hauling, the purse of the net will soon come in, and the catch be known. Now the excitement is intense. There may be three or four mackarel in it; there may be ten thousand. The cockney and his sisters fancy there will be three or four hundred, they do not quite know why. The fishermen are silent, watching two or three of their comrades in the boat, who bring up the end of the net, and peer into the depths to catch the welcome glitter of the mackarel. Not
