Part 23 (2/2)

during a previous conversation had told him that.

”Patrol,” announced the skipper laconically, indicating a steam trawler as she rounded the detached chalk pinnacle known as ”Old Harry”. ”She's there to keep Garmin submarines away, you know. Ever seen a Garmin submarine, mister?”

”Have you?” enquired Sefton, countering the old fellow's curiosity.

”Only one, and 'er was no good to n.o.body,” replied Old Garge. ”They sunk 'er away down Christchurch Bay. Seed the navy chaps a-getting her up, only the patrol boat ordered me away. That was away back last summer. Since then they submarines 'ave given this part a wide berth.”

”I'd like to see one getting properly strafed,” declared Leslie. ”What would you do, Jack, if one showed its nose up just now?”

”Chuck it,” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the sub good-humouredly. ”We're supposed to be on the way to the fis.h.i.+ng-ground, not chasing U boats. Hallo! There's The Needles Light.”

By this time the sun had set in a haze of vivid crimson. Against the dark grey of the eastern sky, the coastwise lights of The Needles and St. Catherine's were beginning to a.s.sert their presence in the rapidly waning twilight. Contrary to expectation the breeze still held, although under the shadow of Hengistbury Head, bearing three miles to the nor'ard, a number of fis.h.i.+ng-craft lay completely becalmed.

”Evenin', Peter!” shouted Old Garge cordially, as the _Fidelity_ drew ahead of the hitherto leading boat. Peter waved his arm in reply. His response was not so cordial, seeing that his boat had been outstripped, greatly to the glee of Leslie and young Tim.

For the next quarter of an hour all hands were busily engaged in paying out the nets. Then, under triced-up mainsail, the smack floundered slowly through the water, towing the length of fis.h.i.+ng-gear astern.

The first haul produced very indifferent results. Leslie began to think that it was poor sport, since the catch consisted of less than a dozen medium-sized whiting and a couple of small ba.s.s. Nor did the second cast fare much better.

”'Tes this east'ly wind we've a-been havin' that's done the mischief,”

explained the skipper of the _Fidelity_. ”I thought when it veered we'd be in luck. Howsomever, we'll have another shot.”

Again the nets were paid out, and the smack, hampered with her tow, stood off in the direction of the distant St. Catherine's Light.

”Mighty slow, isn't it?” confided Leslie to his brother. ”Wish Old Garge would up nets and make for home. Sailing's all right, but this almost bores me stiff.”

”Patience!” rejoined Sefton. ”This is your choice. How would you care to go fis.h.i.+ng for months, blow high, blow low? No matter whether it be summer or winter, you've got to go on fis.h.i.+ng--fis.h.i.+ng for a brute that will bite you pretty hard at the first favourable opportunity.”

”You mean submarines?” asked the lad. ”I should like to see one. It must be fine sport.”

”Not on board this hooker, though,” added the sub. ”Give me something that can hit back.”

Force of habit made the young officer glance to windward. He would not have been altogether surprised had a pair of twin periscopes appeared above the surface of the moonlit water. After all, he reflected, there wasn't much chance of that. The fis.h.i.+ng-ground was well out of the recognized steamer tracks. A U boat, especially in the English Channel, where she ran an almost momentary risk of destruction, would not waste time over the shallow Dolphin Bank to look for insignificant fis.h.i.+ng-smacks. Still, Hun submarines did erratic things sometimes.

Then the sub laughed at his fancies. The possibility was so remote that he ridiculed the suggestion.

Meanwhile Old Garge had disappeared under the half-deck. A wreath of smoke from the dilapidated iron chimney, and the banging of several iron utensils, announced the fact that he was preparing some sort of repast.

Tim, mechanically sawing the tiller to and fro, kept the smack on her course.

The _Fidelity_ was now well to the east'ard of the rest of the fleet. A couple of miles separated her from the nearmost of the brown-sailed boats, whose dark canvas showed up distinctly in the slanting rays of the moon.

”We're giving them the slip, aren't we?” enquired Leslie, indicating the still busily engaged smacks.

Tim glanced over his shoulder.

”Granfer,” he called out; ”we'm a long way down t' east'ard. Shall us up nets?”

”No; you just carry on,” replied Old Garge, his voice m.u.f.fled in the confined s.p.a.ce. ”I'll be with you in a minute. I'm fair busy just now.”

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