There were still twelve nets out. Croyden’s face shone in the lights. He was grinning.
‘For Christ’s sake, Croy!’ shouted Jack. ‘They’ll drag us down!’
‘Pull!’
Together they managed a little. ‘Again!’ shouted Croyden.
Five inches. ‘Again!’
Seven inches. ‘We’re winning!’
Nearly a mile of nets remained in the water, pulling down on the cobles with their weight. And still the fish were coming, shoaling so thickly that they were drowning each other. The surface was full of their bodies. Gannets were diving all around the boat, striking the churned-up water in bomb-bursts and the gannets too were coming up in the nets, and they too were drowned, their necks caught in the mesh as they fed.
‘Now! Again!’ The sweat was running down Croyden’s face.
Fish covered the deck. The head-rope on the roller was slipping back again. The boat was being pulled over. ‘Let it go, Croy!’ Jack lunged for the rope. Croyden pushed him off. He grabbed the head-rope and alone managed to pull a couple of inches. Jack reached down and slipped a gutting knife from inside the bulwarks. He slashed at the rope. He sawed at it – but Croyden shoved him aside and he fell. The knife spun overboard.
Croyden continued to heave. The net was stuck fast. He tried to reach ahead but the strands of the head-rope were popping apart on the roller. The last one went and the Maria V
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