The experience of this comical youth who is struggling so valiantly with
"A little too much fish" reminds me of my adventure with the finny
monster that I always call "my shark."
"Hold on to him, I say. Don't let him get the better of you. Hold him
tight. There, you have let him run again."
It was the minister who spoke; but I paid little heed to his advice, for
at that moment I was busy--very busy; and not only that, but I was
satisfied that the present business I understood better than my adviser.
The way of it was this. We were in Gardiner's Bay; had gone down to fish
for porgees chiefly, though, of course, taking whatever came to hand. It
was my custom to take with me on such occasions a shark line, and not
unfrequently I had fine sport in that way. This day, of which I have
been speaking, I had invited the pastor of the village church to
accompany me, and with him had come a theological student who was
visiting at his house.
We had a delightful sail down the bay, and commenced our fishing. The
first porgee which I caught, I rapped on the head, and then putting him
on my shark hook as bait I paid out the line (a half-inch rope to which
the hook was attached) until it had run off with the tide about fifty
feet astern of us, and resumed my fishing.
Our success was good, and we were enjoying it finely when r-a-s-p,
r-a-s-p I heard my heavy shark line dragging out over the gunnel of the
boat. I knew the sound well, and what it meant; a shark was going off
with my baited porgee.
I caught the rope, gave it a quick and strong pull to hook him, and
found at once that I had my hands full. I had taken many of them, and I
knew on the instant, from the violent strain, that he was one of more
than common size. He had not as yet become much alarmed, and he was
simply swimming off with determination, but without any special
excitement. We were in a large sail-boat, but he was swinging us in the
tideway as though it was only a floating board. All this time I was
gathering in the line, until I brought him up where I could see him; I
judged him to be eight feet long at least.
When he came thus near the surface, he took fright and turned down. Of
course I could not hold him, and he dragged the rope through my hands
foot after foot, until he was nearly a hundred feet away. I made out to
glance over my shoulder in search of my crew. I found that the party
were mustered forward holding tight to the mast, and looking decidedly
solemn. I could not, however, attend to them, but proceeded to gather in
my shark again.
By the time that, after a heavy struggle, I had once more brought him to
close quarters, he had become somewhat tired out, and dragging his head
to the surface I dealt him a blow with a club. And it was as I took up
the club that the parson volunteered his advice, as already mentioned.
The blow was not sufficient to stun the shark, and off like a runaway
horse he went again. But when I brought him up the third time it was
manifest that he was becoming exhausted, and that I could hold him. And
hereupon the pastor took heart of grace and came to the rescue.
"Hold him tight, now. Let me get at him; I want to pay him off for past
scores. The sins of the fathers descend upon the children, you know; and
I believe it was his grandfather that used to frighten me so when I
played truant from school and ran off to Fulton Market to bathe. I will
settle him," and, taking the club, he rapped the poor shark across the
brain until life was extinct, and I could, with the help of my crew,
haul him into the boat. He was a little less than nine feet long, and
his name is Eugomphodus littoralis. He has long, slender teeth, almost
like horseshoe nails, each tooth having a sharp point on each side near
the base. He is the only shark of our coast with such teeth. The species
is found from Cape Cod to Hatteras.
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