Part 33 (1/2)

”Oh, what a shame!” cried Bob. ”I don't see why they should come first to old Sep. Here, I know what it is. Only an old bow-wow.”

”No, it isn't,” I exclaimed as I caught a glimpse of something white, looking like a slice of the moon far down below the boat. ”It's a flat-fish, and a big one.”

I proved to be right, as I hauled it flapping over the side, and Bigley seized what proved to be a nice plaice, and took the hook from its jaws.

As the line, being rebaited, was thrown in again, there was a serious examination of the prize, which was about to be transferred to the basket brought to hold our captures, when Bob shouted, ”I've got him!”

and began to haul in with all his might.

We both adjured him to be careful, but in his excitement he paid no heed, only dragged as hard as he could, and hoisted in a long grey fish, at which he gazed with a comical aspect full of disgust.

I laughed, and as I laughed he grew more angry, for his prize was what he had previously called a ”bow-wow” and attributed to me. For it was a good-sized dog-fish, one which had to be held at head and tail lest in its twining and las.h.i.+ng about it should strike with its spine and do some mischief.

”Here, let me take him off,” cried Bob.

”No, no; you mind the line isn't tangled,” cried Bigley; but Bob gave him a push, the dog-fish, which was nearly a yard long, was set free, and began to journey about amongst Bob's line, while, when he placed his foot upon its head, the fierce creature bent half round, and then let itself go like a spring, with the effect that it struck Bob's shoe so smart a blow with one of its spines that the shoe was pierced by the toe, and it required a tug to withdraw the spine.

”Are you hurt, Bob?” we both cried earnestly.

”No, not a bit. My toes don't go down as far as that. Ah, would you?”

This was to the fish, which was las.h.i.+ng about fiercely.

”Let me do it, Bob. I'll kill it in no time, and I know how to manage him.”

”So do I,” said Bob independently, as he made another attack upon the dog-fish, which resented it by a fresh stroke with its spine, this time so near to Bob's leg that he jumped back and fell over the thwart.

”I say, that was near,” he cried. ”You have a try, Big.”

Our school-fellow wanted no second bidding, and taking hold of the line, he drew the fish's head under his right foot, pressed down its tail with his left, took out the hook, and then with his knife inflicted so serious a cut upon the creature that, when he threw it over, it only struggled feebly, as it sank slowly and was carried away.

”There's a cruel wretch!” cried Bob. ”Did you see how vicious he was with his knife?”

”It isn't cruel to kill fishes like that,” retorted Bigley. ”See what mischief they do hunting the other fish and eating everything. See how they bite the herrings and mackerel out of the nets, only leaving their heads.”

”He wouldn't have said anything if the dog had spiked him,” I said.

”Why, so he did spike me,” cried Bob; ”and--”

”I've got another,” I cried, beginning to haul up, and as I hauled Bob sent his freshly-baited and disentangled hook down to the bottom.

I had caught another flat-fish about the size of the first, and directly after Bob caught one. Then there was a pause, and I took another dog-fish, and after that we fished, and fished, and fished for about half an hour and caught nothing.

It was December, but the air was still, and we did not feel it in the slightest degree cold. I suppose it was the excitement kept us warm, for there was always the expectation of taking something big, even if the great fish never came.

Just as we were thinking that it was of no use to stay longer the fish began to bite again, and we caught several, but all small, and then all at once, as I was lowering my lead, I cried out:

”Look here! I can't touch bottom.”