The warp was hauled in until the first net was reached. It came up as black as coal, save for a dog-fish or two that had broken a mesh here and there. "Too much moon to-night," said Kisseck; "they see the nets, and the 'cute they are extraordinary." Half an hour later the moon went out behind a thick ridge of cloud that floated over the land. The sky became gray and leaden, and a rising breeze ruffled the sea. Some of the men on deck began to sing. "Hould on there," shouted Kisseck, "d'ye want to frighten all the herrin' for ten miles?" Hour after hour wore on, and not a fish came to the "look-on" net. Toward one o'clock in the morning the moon broke out again in full splendor. "There'll be a heavy strike now," said Kisseck; and in another instant a luminous patch floated across the line of nets, sank, disappeared, and pulled three of the buoys down with them. "Pull up now," shouted Kisseck. Then the nets were hauled. It was Danny Fayle's duty to lead the warp through a snatch-block fixed to the mast-hole on to the capstan. Davy Cain disconnected the nets from the warps, and Tommy Tear and Mark Crennel pulled the nets over the gunwale. They came up, white in the moonlight, as a solid block of fish. Bill Kisseck and Christian passed the nets over the scudding pole and shook the herrings into the hold. "Five barrels at least," said Kisseck. "Try again." And once more the nets were shot. The other boats of the fleet were signaled that the "Ben-my-Chree" had discovered a scale of fish. The blue light was answered by other blue lights on every side. The fishing was faring well. One, two, three o'clock. The night was wearing on. The moon went out once more, and in the darkness that preceded the dawn the lanterns burning on the drifting boats gave out an eery glow. At last the gray light came in the east, and the sun rose over the land. The breeze was now fresh, and it was time to haul in the nets for the last time. In accordance with ancient custom, the admiral's flag went up to the mast-head, and at this sign every man in the fleet dropped on one knee, with his face in his cap, to offer his silent thanksgiving for the blessings of the season. "Tumble up the sheets--bear a hand there--d---- the lad --gerr out of the way." In five minutes the lugger was running home before a stiff breeze. "Nine barrels--not bad for the last night," said Christian. "Souse them well," said Kisseck, and Davy Corteen sprinkled salt on the herrings as they lay in the hold. Mark Crennel, who acted as slushy, otherwise cook, came up from below with a huge saucepan, which he filled with the fish. As he did so, the ear was conscious of a faint "cheep, cheep"--the herrings were still alive.