When the full light of day appeared, Yann abruptly
wiped his eyes with his sleeve and ceased weeping.
That grief was over now. He seemed completely
absorbed by the work of the fishery, and by the monotonous
routine of substantial deeds, as if he never had thought
of anything else.
The catching went on apace, and there were scant hands
for the work. Around about the fishers, in the
immense depths, a transformation scene was taking
place. The grand opening out of the infinitude,
that great wonder of the morning, had finished, and
the distance seemed to diminish and close in around
them. How was it that before the sea had seemed
so boundless!
The horizon was quite clear now, and more space seemed
necessary. The void filled in with flecks and
streamers that floated above, some vague as mist,
others with visibly jagged edges. They fell softly
amid an utter silence, like snowy gauze, but fell
on all sides together, so that below them suffocation
set in swiftly; it took away the breath to see the
air so thickened.
It was the first of the August fogs that was rising.
In a few moments the winding-sheet became universally
dense; all around the Marie a white damp lay
under the light, and in it the mast faded and disappeared.
“Here’s the cursed fog now, for sure,”
grumbled the men. They had long ago made the
acquaintance of that compulsory companion of the second
part of the fishing season; but it also announced its
end and the time for returning to Brittany.
It condensed into fine, sparkling drops in their beards,
and shone upon their weather-beaten faces. Looking
athwart ship to one another, they appeared dim as
ghosts; and by comparison, nearer objects were seen
more clearly under the colourless light. They
took care not to inhale the air too deeply, for a
feeling of chill and wet penetrated the lungs.
But the fishing was going on briskly, so that they
had no time left to chatter, and they only thought
of their lines. Every moment big heavy fish were
drawn in on deck, and slapped down with a smack like
a whip-crack; there they wriggled about angrily, flapping
their tails on the deck, scattering plenty of sea-water
about, and silvery scales too, in the course of their
death-struggle. The sailor who split them open
with his long knife, sometimes cut his own fingers,
in his haste, so that his warm blood mingled with
the brine.
Caught in the fog, they remained ten days in succession
without being able to see anything. The fishing
went on handsomely the while, and with so much to
do there was no time for weariness. At regular
intervals one of them blew a long fog-horn, whence
issued a sound like the howling of a wild beast.
Sometimes, out of the depths of white fog, another
bellowing answered their call. Then a sharper
watch was kept. If the blasts were approaching,
all ears were turned in the direction of that unknown
neighbour, whom they might perhaps never see, but whose
presence was nevertheless a danger. Conjectures
were made about the strange vessel; it became a subject
of conversation, a sort of company for them; all longing
to see her, strained their eyes in vain efforts to
pierce those impalpable white shrouds.
