CLUTCHED BY A HORROR OF THE DEEP
In order that the valuable specimen of the oarfish might be properly
preserved, for the creature was so soft-fleshed that it would quickly
shrivel in the hot sun, the professor accompanied Colin to Astoria the
following morning, and shortly after they landed, the city was buzzing
with news of the wonderful find. Before the boy left for Santa Catalina
that evening he found his name in all the afternoon papers as being one
of the men who had "caught the sea-serpent." As this was the first
specimen in perfect preservation that had reached any city of the United
States and, indeed, only the sixth ever reported from American shores, a
great deal of interest was excited, and Colin was compelled to give an
interview to a reporter, telling the story of the capture. He was sorry
that his brother--to whom he had sent the blue fox--was not with the
rest of the family in Santa Catalina, so that he could tell him all
about it, but the younger lad was at a boys' camp.
Making a stay of only a couple of hours in Los Angeles, the boy went
from there straight to San Pedro, where he took the steamer for Avalon,
the only large town on Santa Catalina, and the most famous place in the
entire world for taking big game fish with rod and reel.
The passage was only of two hours' duration, and the weather ideal. The
water of the channel was like a mirror, but the daily breeze sprang up
at eleven o'clock, its accustomed hour.
Although no more attentive to scenery than most boys of his age, Colin
fairly cried aloud with admiration as the steamer rounded the point and
turned into Avalon Bay. Almost a perfect semicircle, the beach of
glistening white sand enclosed a basin of turquoise sea in which were
reflected the dark, rich tones of the cliffs, all glowing like an opal
beneath the sun, while above rose the hills covered with the wild lilac
and greasewood of California. Even the tame sea-lions which frequent the
harbor and follow incoming boats, and which frequently are to be seen
hauled up on small fishing-craft, seemed to fit wonderfully into the
scene. A passenger who heard the boy's exclamation of delight, turned to
him.
"That's the way I feel about it," he said. "I think it more beautiful
every time I come."
"It makes me think of an abalone shell," Colin remarked thoughtfully,
"before the outside is polished; the bay looks just like the glow of the
shell inside and the sand-hills resemble the rough outside of the shell,
with barnacles growing on it."
"Perhaps that is why it is called Avalon?" his companion said; "abalone,
Avalon--it's not improbable, though I never heard such a derivation
before; the Vale of Avalon in Pennsylvania is supposed to have been the
prime factor in giving the name. But it's a wonderful place in itself,
and besides, there's not one of those hundreds of boats moored in the
harbor but could tell some thrilling tale of big game at sea. Look," he
continued, as the steamer drew near to the entrance of the harbor,
"there's a chap who's hooked to something big. By the way he's playing
the fish it's probably a leaping tuna. Wait a minute and I'll tell you."
He unslung his fieldglasses and focused them on the boat.
"Yes, he's got a tuna," he continued, "for the flag is flying."
The news spread rapidly over the boat, for almost every one on board
was going to Avalon for the angling, and the capture of a large tuna is
an event. The glasses were handed from person to person, and presently
were passed to Colin, who noted with eager interest the little
motor-boat and the big flag. Then he turned the glass on the people in
the boat, and flashed out excitedly:
[Illustration: SEA-SERPENT STRANDED ON CALIFORNIA COAST.
Showing length of small specimen and its semi-transparency.
_By permission of Prof. David Starr Jordan._]
[Illustration: THE SEA-SERPENT CAUGHT BY COLIN.
Oarfish, thirty feet in length, with flaming red upstanding mane, and a
knife-like body less than three inches in thickness.
_By permission of Prof. David Starr Jordan._]
"Why, that's Father!"
"He's in luck, then," said the boy's companion. "I hope I get a chance
this season. Still, it's a good omen, seeing a catch like this when
coming into the harbor."
"Sure thing," said Colin confidently, "there are probably lots of them
this season. Do you suppose Father will land him?"
"About nine out of ten get away," was the reply, "and it takes a good
fisherman to bring them to the gaff. Has your father been here before?
Perhaps I may know him."
"He comes nearly every year," Colin answered. "Dare is his name, Major
Dare."
"Oh, you're Dare's son, are you?" was the response, as the older man
held out his hand. "I've known your father for years. He holds a blue
tuna button, doesn't he?"
"I've never heard of it, if he does," Colin answered. "What's that for?"
"It is the greatest fishing honor that is to be got anywhere. Only about
seventy members of the club have gained it; two, I believe, being women,
and the second largest tuna ever caught on rod and line was brought to
gaff by a woman angler. It is given for catching a tuna weighing over
one hundred pounds, on a light rod."
"That must be fearfully hard to do," the boy said; "even a twenty-pound
fish is a strain to a light rod."
"It is difficult," was the reply, "but the club rules require the use of
a rod the tip of which shall be not less than five feet long, weighing
not over sixteen ounces in weight, and a line not over a 'twenty-four'
or smaller than the usual trout-line. With this equipment, to conquer a
tuna weighing over one hundred pounds is an angling achievement of the
highest rank, and for this the blue tuna button is given by the club."
"And Father never told me!" Colin said reproachfully, watching the
contest with the fish as well as he could considering his distance from
the scene of action.
"Major Dare is a thorough sportsman," the angler said, "and I suppose
he thought it would look like boasting. What's happening there in the
boat?"
"It looks as though they had started out to sea," Colin answered,
handing back the glass.
"That's what's the matter!" the angler said. "By Jonah's whale, how she
is flying through the water!"
The two watched the boat until a turn of the cliff hid it from sight and
then, Colin, turning round, saw that the steamer was nearly at the pier,
close enough for him to distinguish his mother and sister waiting there
and waving to attract his attention. He signaled enthusiastically in
reply, and in a few minutes the steamer was alongside the wharf.
The greeting was most exciting, for the boy was simply bursting with
news, and there had been a good deal of anxiety felt by his parents on
his behalf while he had been wandering in the Behring Sea. But their
talk was broken in upon by an enthusiastic angler friend, who begged
Mrs. Dare to come to the extreme end of the pier and watch the battle
with the big tuna.
"Oh, Mother," eagerly said the boy, "do you mind if I jump in a boat so
that I can go out and watch Father better? I'm sure he wouldn't
object."
"I think I would like to have you with me for a little while, Colin,"
his mother said with a gentle smile, "after you have been away so long.
But you are just the same, after all, eager to do everything
immediately. I know you would be happier in going, so you can desert us
if you like."
"I don't mean that, Mother!" said the boy, feeling a twinge of
self-reproach.
"No, I know. But you can tell us all the rest of your adventures when
you get back. Lucy quite thinks that you have become a sort of 'Robinson
Crusoe.'"
Colin gave his little sister--of whom he was very fond--an unobserved
hug, and then fairly sped down to the end of the pier and called a
boatman to take him off. The boatman, who was a native of the place, and
to whom everything connected with angling was an old story, laughed at
the boy's excitement.
"Goin' to catch a tuna with your hands, sir?" he asked, seeing that the
boy was not carrying any fishing-tackle.
"No," the boy answered, "but I just came in on the steamer and, as we
passed the point, saw Father's boat, and he seemed to have something
big on the line, so I want to go out and see the fun."
"I heard Major Dare had a tuna this mornin'," the boatman said, casting
off and starting the little engine, "although there haven't many of 'em
showed up yet this season. Are you his son?"
"Yes," Colin answered, "I'm the oldest."
"I hope you're goin' to take after him, then," the boatman said
approvingly; "he's a fine angler. Looks like the tuna was comin' in," he
continued a moment later, as the boat with the flag flying came speeding
into the harbor. But the fish was darting from side to side in short
rushes, and it was evident that he was tiring.
"Hullo, Father," called the boy, as they came within hearing; "are you
going to land him?"
"Is that you, Colin?" his father answered, without taking his eyes from
his line, however. "Glad to have you back. Yes," he continued, answering
the boy's question, "I think I'll land him all right, but I'm pretty
well tuckered out, I hooked him over three hours ago."
Even recalling what the angler aboard the steamer had told him about the
sportsmanlike rules that obtain at Avalon, it seemed absurd to Colin
for any one to try and catch so heavy a fish as the tuna seemed to be,
with a rod and line that would be thought light for trout.
"How big do the fish run here?" he asked the boatman.
"'Bout a thousand pounds for the biggest game fishes, them's black
sea-bass," the man answered; "leastways there was an eight-hundred
pounder brought in, and lots of us have seen bigger ones."
"But how can they catch fishes that size on a little bit of a spindling
rod and a line so fine you can hardly see it?"
"They don't," was the reply, "not that big. The record black sea-bass,
rod and reel, that has been caught here was four hundred and thirty-six
pounds in the season of 1905. The biggest tuna--they're the hardest
fighters of any fish that swims--was two hundred and fifty-one pounds,
caught in the season of 1900. I reckon Major Dare's fast to one that's
just a good size for sport."
"You're getting him, Father!" cried Colin, who had been watching the
contest with the fish, while listening to the boatman.
"He's a fair size," said the boatman critically, "but not one of the
really big ones, probably only about eighty or ninety pounds."
The fight came to a close sooner than Colin expected. Dexterously, Major
Dare reeled in his line during a moment's pause while the fish sulked,
bringing him to the surface, and his boatman, quick as a flash of light,
leaned over the side and slipped the long, slender hook, or gaff, into
the gills. But the end was not yet, for the tuna, with a powerful shake
of his head, nearly pulled the man overboard, shook out the gaff, and
commenced another panic-stricken rush.
Colin's father, however, with thumb on the brake of the reel, gave him
absolutely no leeway, and the tuna was stopped within twenty feet, to be
reeled in again. In the meantime, the gaffer had recovered his weapon,
and as the big fish was brought to the side of the boat, he struck
again, this time succeeding in holding against the rush of the fish,
though he was pulled elbow-deep into the water. Then, standing on the
gunwale, the gaffer lifted the head of the tuna and tilted the boat over
as far as was safe, sliding in the fish as he did so, accompanied by the
cheers of Colin. As soon as the tuna was fairly secure, a big square of
canvas was thrown over it to keep it from pounding and threshing in the
bottom of the boat.
"That was bully, Father!" said Colin, reaching out and shaking hands;
"I'm glad I got here in time."
His father looked at him with a twinkle in his eye.
"How the deuce did you know I was out here?" he asked; "I thought the
steamer was only just about due."
"I saw you as we came into the harbor," Colin answered, "and I yelled
loud enough to be heard 'way back in Los Angeles, but you didn't pay any
attention."
"I thought I heard some one shouting a while back," his father said,
"but I was busy then and didn't have time to see who it was."
"How big is the tuna, do you think?"
"Not big enough to be listed. About eighty-five, I should say. What
about it, Vincente?"
"Little more," the boatman said; "I think perhaps ninety."
"Nothing of a record, you see, Colin," his father said, "just a good
morning's sport. But I want to hear all about your doings. It seems to
me that you're developing into quite a sensational person with your
fights with whales, and your sea-serpents, and all the rest of it.
You've been writing good letters, too, my boy. I'm glad to see that you
make use of your eyes when you're in strange places. Tell me how you got
to Astoria, I didn't quite follow that salmon business."
Colin started his yarn, but was only fairly launched into it when they
arrived at the wharf. There quite a crowd had gathered to welcome the
incoming boat, for a big tuna catch always arouses interest in Avalon,
and one of its features is the manner in which it is regarded as a
personal triumph for the angler. The promenaders gather to see the prize
weighed by the officials of the club, and it is rare that the customary
photograph of fish, angler, and gaffer is omitted. As for Colin, he was
as proud over the fish he had seen caught as though he had held the rod
himself.
"I had thought of going to the other side of the island for black
sea-bass to-morrow, Colin," his father said, "and I purposed going with
Colonel Roader. I suppose you would like to come instead, and from what
I hear I think I'll put off that trip and try tuna again to-morrow. You
want to come along?"
"I certainly should, Father," the boy said gratefully, "if it wouldn't
be spoiling your fun."
"Not a bit, my boy," was the kindly reply, "I've been looking forward to
teaching you something about real fishing. Beside which, I have an idea
that you and I will have enough to talk about to keep us going for a
good while. I'd like to take you up to the club-house now, but you'll
probably want to get back home, and we'll go along together. I can get
the boatman to look after notification at the club, and all that sort of
thing."
"I'll wait, if you like."
"No; Vincente knows all the ropes as well as I do. I judge from your
letters that you've enjoyed running around the way you have?"
"I wish you'd been along, Father," the boy replied. "I've had a bully
time. I never expected anything like it when I got aboard the _Gull_."
"I didn't either," said Major Dare dryly; "if I had thought of the
possibility of the ship being rammed by a whale, you'd never have put a
foot on her deck. But Captain Murchison said that whales were entirely
harmless, and so I let you go."
"But, Father, you should have seen the way the old whale charged"--and
the lad plunged into the thick of the story. He was fairly out of
breath when they reached the little cottage Major Dare had rented for a
couple of months, but the boy was by no means out of material, and
nothing short of an absolute command could keep him silent long enough
to eat his lunch. In the afternoon he unpacked his trunk, revealing
little quaint articles he had picked up on his travels as gifts for the
various members of the family. But the excitement of home-coming had
tired the boy, and quite early in the evening he found himself getting
sleepy, so that not long after his little sister had been snugly tucked
up, Colin announced his readiness to go to bed, on the ground that he
was to get up early the next day, as he was going tuna-fishing.
The morning broke hot and hazy. The gray-green of the foliage on the
mountains had a purple tinge in the early morning light, and the sea
took on a mother-of-pearl gleam behind its amethyst, as it reflected the
changing hues of the roseate sunrise. Over San Antonio and San Jacinto
the sun rose gloriously, and in the freshness of the morning air the
giant flying-fish of the Pacific leaped and gleamed across the
mirror-smooth sea.
Colin drew a long breath and expanded his lungs to the full, as though
he could breathe in the glow of color and the wonder of it all.
"It always feels good to be alive at this hour of the morning!" he said.
His father smiled appreciatively.
"You're generally asleep," he said. "But it's a good thing we did get up
in time to-day, for unless my eyes are failing me, I think I can see in
the distance the tunas coming in. Say, Vincente, doesn't that look like
them over there?"
"Yes, sair, I t'ink dat's a school. I overheard a man on ze pier telling
of a beeg one he caught yesterday," said the boatman.
"That was Mr. Retaner," was the answer, "one of the most famous anglers
and authorities on fishing in America. That's why I came out this
morning; he said he thought the school would arrive soon, and what
Retaner doesn't know about fishing isn't worth knowing. He practically
created deep-sea angling in America, so that as an industry it is worth
millions of dollars annually to the country, and as a sport it has been
put in the first rank."
Across the sea of glass with its rose reflections of the sunrise and the
deep underglow of richly-colored life beneath the transparent water,
there came a quick shiver of ripples. Then half a mile away, but
advancing rapidly, appeared a strange turmoil, and in the sunlight, a
stretch of sea, acres in extent, was churned into white foam, looking
like some fairy ice- or snow-field. Above this, at a height of about ten
feet, glittered a palpitating silver canopy, almost blinding in its
sparkle and its sheen.
"What is that?" asked Colin, wondering.
"The tuna feeding and coming down the coast," was the reply.
As it drew nearer, Colin saw that the gleaming silver canopy was formed
of thousands upon thousands of flying-fish, skimming through the air,
dropping to the water every fifty yards or so, then, with a single twist
of the screw-like tail, rising in the air for another soaring flight.
Below, from the surface of the water broken to foam by the tumult, would
leap those tremendous jumpers of the sea, the tuna, plunging through the
living cloud of flying-fish, and dropping to feed upon those which fell
stunned under their impetuous charges. Occasionally, but very rarely, a
tuna would seize its fish in midair, and it was marvelous to see a fish
nearly as large as a man spring like a bolt from a cross-bow out of the
sea, often until it was ten feet above the water, then turn and plunge
back into the ocean.
"We'd better get out of here, I think," Major Dare said to the boatman;
"this is getting to be too much of a good thing."
But, as he said the word, the school of flying-fish swerved right in the
direction of the boat, and in a minute the anglers were surrounded. The
silent, skimming flight of the long-finned flying-fish, the boiling of
the sea, lashed to fury by the pursuing tuna, and these living
projectiles, hurled as a silvered bolt into the air, frightened Colin
not a little, although he was enjoying the experience thoroughly.
"Look out you don't get struck by a flying-fish," his father called to
him, bending low in his seat. Colin, who had not thought of this
possibility, followed suit rapidly, because the California flying-fish,
unlike his Atlantic cousin, is a fish sometimes eighteen inches long,
and he saw that if he were struck by one in the full speed of its
skimming flight, he might easily be knocked overboard.
"Can't they see where they are going?" asked the boy.
"They can see well enough," his father answered, "but they have little
or no control over their flight. They can't change the direction in
which they are going until they touch water again. That's how the tuna
catches them, it swims under in a straight line and grabs the fish as it
comes down to get impetus for another flight."
"But I thought flying-fish went ever so much higher than that!" said the
boy. "I'm sure I've read of their landing on the decks of vessels!"
"They do," was the answer; "they are attracted by the glare of the
lights and fall on board. But that is generally on sailing vessels with
a low freeboard. You don't often hear of flying-fish falling on the deck
of a modern liner, and in the few cases in which they have, it has been
because they happened to come out of the water with a rush against a
slant of wind which carried them up twenty or thirty feet. They go with
an awful force, and I knew an angler once who was pitched head first
overboard by a flying-fish, and was nearly drowned before his boatman
could get him aboard. He had been struck square between the shoulders
and the blow had stunned him for the moment."
"Suppose a chap got hit by a tuna?" queried the boy.
"That's less likely," the father answered, "because, you see, the tuna
comes nearly straight up and down; he leaps, he doesn't skim."
"Zere was one went t'rough a boat last season, Major Dare," the boatman
interjected. "It was late in ze year, after you had gone, I t'ink,
sair."
"Had it been hooked?" asked Colin.
"No, sair," the boatman answered; "tuna don't leap after zey are hooked.
It was when zey were chasing a school, just like this."
"You're thinking of the tarpon, Colin," his father said; "it leaps
wildly after it has been hooked. The tuna, although a wonderful leaper,
hardly ever rises from the water after it is fast to the line. But the
tarpon is a vicious fighter. A couple of years ago a boat was found
drifting in the Galveston fishing-ground off Texas, with a dead angler
and a dead tarpon. The fish had been hooked and had tried to leap over
the boat, striking the angler and breaking his neck, then had fallen
into the boat itself and had not been able to get out."
"There's some excitement to fishing when it's like that!" Colin
commented.
"It's as good as big-game hunting any day, I think," his father
answered; "and you don't have to travel for weeks out of civilization
to find it. Well, now, we'll give you a chance to show how much of the
angler you've got in you."
[Illustration: WHERE THE BIG TUNA WAS CAUGHT.
The Bay and City of Avalon, Santa Catalina Islands, Cal., the most
famous sport-fishing centre in the world.
_By permission of Mr. Chas. Fredk. Holder._]
[Illustration: THE LARGEST SUNFISH ON RECORD.
Estimated at over 2500 pounds, caught off Avalon, Santa Catalina.
_Courtesy of the U. S. Bureau of Fisheries._]
He handed Colin a rod and the boy looked at it. It was nearly seven feet
long, and the whole weight of it, except for the short butt which held
the reel, was not more than sixteen ounces. The line was thin enough to
be threaded through a big darning-needle, it was known as '21 thread' as
it had that number of strands, each strand being tested to a breaking
strain of two pounds.
"Something will smash, sure," said Colin, examining the outfit
carefully; "that looks as though it wouldn't hold a trout!"
"The rod is a split bamboo," his father said, "and if the line breaks it
will be because you've allowed the fish to jerk. Anybody can catch fish
with a heavy line, but the fish hasn't got any chance, and there's no
sport in it. It's on a par with shooting quail sitting instead of
flushing them. Good angling consists in landing the heaviest fish with
the lightest tackle, not in securing the greatest amount of fish. Why,
here in Avalon, there isn't a single boatman who would allow his boat to
be used by a 'fish-hog' who wanted to use heavy tackle."
He had hardly finished speaking when there came a quiver on the line,
and excitedly Colin jerked up his rod.
"Don't strike with a jerk!" his father cried, but Colin was in fortune,
and the line did not break. The reel screamed "z-z-z-ee" with the speed
of its revolutions as the tuna sped to the bottom, and the older angler,
leaning forward, wetted thoroughly the leather brake that the boy was
holding down with his right thumb.
"Easy on the brake," came the warning; "don't put too much strain on the
line or she'll snap!"
But Colin had the makings of an angler in him and he was able
instinctively to judge the amount of pressure that was needed. The tuna,
followed by a sheet of spume-blue water churned by the rapidly-towed
line, plunged on and on, until two hundred and fifty feet of line had
been run out. Then, from the ice-cold bottom, rising as a meteor darts
across the sky, the great fish clove the water to the surface.
"What will I do when he leaps?" asked Colin breathlessly, reeling for
dear life as soon as he felt the upward dash of the tuna.
"He won't leap after he's hooked," his father said; "they very seldom
do. I told you that before. It's the tarpon that plunges and leaps after
being hooked."
The tuna reached the surface with a speed that seemed incredible to the
boy, and though he had been reeling as rapidly as he could make his
fingers fly, even the big multiplier on the reel had failed to bring in
all the slack. The tuna, panic-stricken by the strange line that hissed
behind him and which he could neither outrace nor shake off, tried to
charge the loops of twine that the reel had not yet been able to bring
in. The sea fairly seemed to boil as the fin of the tuna cut through the
water at the surface.
"Look out now, Colin," the boy's father called. "He'll see the boat in a
minute!"
He did. On the instant he saw the launch and the three men in it, and in
the very midst of his charge, the body bent and shot into the depths
again.
"Watch out for the jerk!" the older angler cried, and as the fish
reached the end of the slack line there was a sudden tug which Colin
felt sure meant a lost fish. But his father's warning had come in time,
and by releasing the thumb-brake entirely when the tug came, the reel
was free, and it rattled out another fifty feet, the boy gradually
beginning to apply the pressure again and to feel the tuna at the end of
the line.
One hundred, two hundred, three hundred feet of line reeled out at this
second great rush, and the older man began to look grave as the big reel
grew empty.
"Ought I to try and stop him with the brake, Father?" asked the boy.
"Better not try too hard," came the cautious answer, "the weight of the
line that is out is a heavy pull on him. Unless he's a monster he'll
have to stop soon."
Fifty feet more of line ran out before the rush stopped, and then a
change of action at the other end of the line telegraphed the message to
the boy's fingers that the tuna, for the first time in its life, had
felt fatigue. From over four hundred feet away Colin felt the call and
realized that now he might expect a victory if only he could keep up the
fight to the end and never make a slip. One error, he knew, would be
fatal; one jerk, and the line would snap, one strain too great, and the
strands would give way.
He began to reel in. His back ached and his fingers became cramped, but
still he reeled, every fifty feet or so having to let the line run out
as the tuna made a rush, so that a quarter of an hour's careful bringing
in would be spoiled in thirty seconds. In forty minutes of heartbreaking
strain, the boy had gained not more than forty feet of line, but he was
game and stuck to it manfully. Reeling in carefully, the fish either
sulking or resting, in the next few minutes he won his greatest gain and
pulled in until there was not more than one hundred feet of line out.
His heart was beating high with hope, when the tuna sighted the boat
again and darted away, apparently as fresh and full of fight as when he
had at first been hooked.
At this last rush, when it appeared that there was no immediate
slackening of the powers of the splendid fish, Major Dare said:
"Do you want me to finish him for you?"
In his inmost heart Colin feared that he would have to give up, but he
did not want to admit it. He was utterly inexperienced in the sport and
knew nothing of the many ways whereby older anglers relieve themselves
of much of the strain, but the boy's nerve was untouched, and he set his
teeth and answered:
"I want to bring him in all by myself, if I can, Father. I'm not done
yet, not by a long shot. But if you think I ought to let you finish it,
why, I suppose I'll have to."
"No, I want to see you bring him in," his father said; "only don't kill
yourself at it. It's just as well not to overstrain yourself; it's easy
to have too much energy without judgment."
The boy's grit was soon rewarded, for after this rush, the tuna changed
his tactics, and sinking down to about thirty feet from the surface,
began a steady powerful swim, not a rush, but a straightaway, having
about two hundred feet of line out. To the boy's surprise the boat began
to slip along at a fair rate of speed, and he saw that miracle of
angling, a hundred-pound fish, frightened and angry, towing a heavy boat
with three people in it at a rate of five miles an hour by a line no
thicker than a hairpin. With constant watchfulness and deft management,
the boy was able to gain a few inches at a time. But a few inches make
but little difference when there is two hundred feet of line out!
For over twenty minutes the tuna towed the boat, and then his mood
changed. Though not by any means exhausted, the first undaunted
freshness had worn off and, sulky and savage, the fish charged back at
the line again, that strange white thing in the water that he could not
shake off and that followed him no matter where he went. But in charging
back at the line, as before, he found the boat at the other end of it.
The return charge had been slower than before, and the big multiplier on
the reel had done its work, so that when the tuna came near the boat not
more than seventy feet of line was out, and the boy determined to hold
on to this.
Reaching the surface of the water, the tuna turned. But this time there
was no slack and the fish could not begin a rush. He would not plunge in
the direction of his captor, and Colin kept a steady strain upon the
line, forcing the tuna to swim round and round the boat. This was fatal
to the fish, for Colin was able to keep a sidewise drag upon the line,
giving the tiring creature no chance to turn its head and dash away.
"You're playing very well!" the boy's father approvingly said, as he saw
how, unconsciously, the lad was adopting tricks of angling some
experienced fishermen never really learn.
Colin flushed at the praise, and kept closer watch of the constant
strain on his line. The boatman, seizing every opportunity, ever and
again thrust the boat forward, giving the lad a chance to take in more
slack, so that the tuna swam in ever lessening circles. Suddenly he made
a sharp flurry and tried to dive. But the line was tight and the brake
held him closely, the lifting action curving the giant body in spite of
itself and preventing the dive.
The attempt had cost the fish full thirty feet of liberty, and the boat
was very near. With a little pumping--that is, raising the rod slowly,
then dropping the point quickly and reeling in the foot or so gained,
the boy's father showing him how this should be done--Colin brought the
fish still nearer. Once more the tuna came up to the surface with a rush
in order to get slack enough for a plunge. This might mean that the
whole performance would have to be done over again, but again the fish
was checked, Colin having the line reeled up almost to the wire leader,
and with a quickness that was wonderful in its accuracy, the boatman
neatly dropped the gaff under the jaws of the tuna. There was a short,
sharp flurry, but Vincente knew every trick of the game and speedily
brought the gallant fish on board.
"Two hours an' ten minutes, sair," said the boatman. "An' I t'ink, sair,
zat it's over a hundred."
"You did splendidly, Colin," began his father. "Why, what's the matter?"
he continued in alarm, as the boy sank back in his seat, looking pale
and sick.
"I'm a bit done up, that's all," the boy answered, gasping. His hands
were trembling so that he could not hold the rod, and his face was
ashen.
"Buck fever, I suppose?"
"Yes, sair; he's all right in a minute," said the boatman. "It does zat
every little sometimes, Major Dare. I've seen even ze old angler get
very much tired out after ze strain."
"It's the reaction," said Colin's father, as he laved the boy's
forehead, and just as Vincente had said, in a moment or two the color
came back into the lad's cheeks and he straightened up.
"Silly to act like that," he said. Then, seeing his father's look of
concern, he added, "I feel as though I'd like some grub."
Kindly refraining from increasing the boy's embarrassment by commenting
on his exhaustion spell, the older man reached for the basket and handed
out a package of sandwiches. Two hours of excitement and exertion in the
hot sun, following a very early breakfast, had affected Colin sharply,
but boy-like, he was always ready for eating.
"That was what I wanted," he said, as a few bites disposed of the first
sandwich and he took another.
The boatman nodded approvingly.
"He's goin' to be fine angler, all right," he said. "Major Dare, if zat
tuna's over a hundred, ze boy ought to get ze button. Zat's ze right rod
an' line an' it was caught accordin' to ze rules of ze club."
"Could I really get a button?" asked Colin excitedly, the very thought
driving away the last remnants of his attack of weakness. "Is it really
a tuna? And is it over a hundred pounds?"
"It's a tuna without question," his father answered, "but I'm not so
sure about the weight. If Vincente says it is, he's likely to be right."
"Near one hundred and ten, I t'ink," the boatman answered, "an' I'm sure
over one hundred. 'Bout one hundred, six or seven, I should t'ink."
"Do you want to put out the line again, Colin?" his father asked.
"Thank you, I've had enough for one day," the boy replied. "Let's see
you get one, Father!"
It was a great delight to lie back on the seat with the consciousness
of a great feat achieved, to watch the gulls and sea-birds overhead and
the flying-fish skimming the rippling sea. Major Dare had excellent
sport with a couple of yellowtail--one of which was played fifty minutes
and the other thirty-five--but the honors of the day rested with Colin.
It was nearly noon as the little launch came up to the pier, and the sun
was burning hot, but there were a score of loungers on the beach to
welcome them.
"Any luck, Vincente?" called a friendly boatman, as the little craft
sped by.
"Good luck," was the reply. "Boy got a hundred-pounder!"
"Did, eh?" exclaimed the other boatman, turning round to stare, and
Colin felt that this really was fame. Word was sent to a member of the
weighing committee of the club, and in his presence the fish was put on
the scales. It proved not to be as large as Vincente had thought, being
but one hundred and four pounds, but this was a clear margin over the
hundred, and Colin was just as well pleased as if it had been a hundred
and forty.
He was eager beyond words to know what would be the verdict of the club,
but as the catch had been officially registered, was thoroughly within
the rules, and Major Dare was a valued member of the club, it was
unanimously agreed that a blue button should be awarded to Colin. He was
accordingly elected to junior membership and so received it. The next
two weeks passed all too quickly for the boy, for he got the fishing
fever in his veins, and if he had not been held in check, he would have
stayed on the water night and day. He made a very creditable record,
getting a thirty-pound yellow-tail and several good-sized white sea-bass
and bonito. But he never even got a bite from one of the big black
sea-bass, though his father made a splendid four-hour fight, landing a
two-hundred-pounder. The lad's tuna of a hundred and four pounds, also,
was far outdone by one his father caught ten days later, which scaled
exactly one hundred and seventy pounds.
Three times, in the next two weeks, Colin found himself again fast to a
tuna, but was unable to land any of the three. His first he lost by
jerking too quickly at the strike. The second walked away with his
entire six hundred feet of line at the first rush, and probably was a
fish beyond the rod and reel capacity, and the third broke the line
suddenly in some unexplained way, possibly, the boatman said, because
the tuna had been seized by a shark when down in thirty fathoms of
water.
"Does the tuna live on flying-fish only, Vincente?" asked Colin of the
boatman, a couple of days before he was going to leave.
"Mos'ly zey do, sair, I t'ink," was the reply, "zat is, when zey can get
dem. But zey'll eat nearly any fish an' zey are quite fon' o' squid.
Some fishermen use squid for tuna bait, but I don't t'ink much of ze
idea."
"Let's see," said the boy thoughtfully, "a squid is something like an
octopus, isn't it?"
"Well, no, sair, not exac'ly," the boatman answered. "Bot' of zem have
arms wavin' around, but zey look quite diff'rent, I t'ink. An' a squid
has ten arms, but an octopus has jus' eight."
"Eight's enough, it seems to me," said Colin. "And are there many of
them here? I suppose there must be if they use them for bait."
"Yes, sair, zere is plenty of zem hidin' in ze kelp and ozzer seaweed."
"But how do you catch them?" asked the boy. "Isn't it dangerous?"
"Not a bit, sair," answered the boatman. "I t'ink a squid can't do any
harm. In Newfoun'land, so some one tell me, zey run as big as sixty and
seventy feet, but in Santa Cat'lina, four or five feet from ze tail to
ze end of ze arms is as long a one as I have seen, I t'ink."
"I'd like to go catching squid, just to see how it's done," said the
boy. "The squid I've seen on the Atlantic coast don't often grow bigger
than twelve inches."
"Catch plenty of zem, any evening you say," the boatman answered; "ze
easiest way is to spear zem."
"Bully!" the boy answered; "let's go to-night! I'll get leave, when I go
back to lunch."
When Colin proposed a squid-hunt, at first his mother objected, saying
she was sure such ugly-looking creatures must be poisonous, but the
father knew that this was not the case, and having every confidence in
Vincente, who was his regular boatman, he gave the desired permission.
Accordingly, after an early supper, Colin started out with Vincente to a
section of the shore. The tall, sharp cliffs jutted straight out of the
water, and far upon the crest were the characteristic flock of goats
browsing along paths impassable to any other animal. Below the water lay
the forest of giant kelp.
"We s'all find some squid 'round here," the boatman said; "and sometimes
zere are octopus, too, though ze mos' of zem are on ze rocks a little
furzer along."
"We'd better get busy, I think," said Colin, "it won't be so very long
before it begins to get dark."
"We'll see," was the reply, and picking up his gaffing-hook, Vincente
prodded here and there amid the kelp. "T'ought so," he added a minute
later, and pointed at the water.
"I don't see anything," said Colin, looking closely. "The water's too
muddy."
"No mud," said the boatman, "zat's sepia ink ze squid has squirted so as
to hide. Zey always do zat. Zere's probably a lot of zem zere, for zey
always keep togezzer."
"Is that the real sepia ink, do you know, Vincente?" the boy asked.
"Ze squid, no; ze octopus, yes. Zere is two or t'ree people here zat
catch ze octopus an' sen' ze ink bags to Frisco. See, zere's squid!"
As his eyes became a little accustomed to the reflections in the weed,
Colin was able to see ghostlike brown forms that seemed to slide rather
than swim through the water.
"Do they swim backwards?" he asked in surprise.
"Always, I t'ink," said the boatman. "Zey take in water at ze gills and
zey shoot it out from a pipe near ze mout', an' zat way zey push
zemselves along tail first. I'll bring ze boat closer to ze shore for
zey'll back away from ze boat an' get into shoal water where we can
spear zem."
Moving very slowly and beating the seaweed as they went, little by
little the two drove the hosts of squid back through the kelp to a
narrow bay, the water being turned to a muddy brownish-black by the
discharge of the ink-bags. The squid were of fair size, ranging from one
to four feet in length, of which the body was about one-third. Presently
Vincente's hand shot back a little and, with a quick throw, he cast the
'grains,' as the small-barbed harpoon was called, into the midst of
them. Colin's eyes were not quick enough to see the squid, but the
boatman smiled.
"Got him zat time!" he said. "Pull him in."
Without a moment's hesitation Colin grasped the rope that was attached
to the small harpoon.
"Don't jerk," the boatman warned him; "ze flesh isn't very tough an'
unless you pull steady ze spear will draw right out."
Suddenly Colin felt the rope tauten.
"What's the matter?" he said. "I can't move it."
"Ze squid has got hold of ze bottom," said the boatman with a laugh.
"No, you can't move him. Nozzing move a squid, after he's got hold of
somet'ing. He'll hang on to ze bottom till ze end of ze world, an' he'd
let himself be cut to pieces before he'd let go his hold. Better jerk ze
spear out!"
Colin gave a quick yank and the barbed harpoon came up with the blade as
clean as though it had never been plunged into anything.
"Zere!" the boatman cried, as Colin stood holding the 'grains,' "one
great big one right under you!"
Colin had no time for aim, but seeing a vague shadow below the boat, he
allowed for the refraction of the water, and threw the small barbed
spear with all his might. His cast was as clean as though he were
experienced, and as he grasped the rope he cried to the boatman with a
laugh:
"Beginner's luck!"
"Don't let him get to anyt'ing solid," the boatman warned him. "Jus'
keep him from zat an' you're all right. Don't play him like a fish. Jus'
pull him in."
This was child's play, for the squid's queer method of going through the
water offered no resistance and he was pulled up to the boat. But no
sooner had the cephalopod come within reach than the tables were turned.
With the speed of light the creature swung over, threw two of its arms
under the boat; one clasped the gunwale and others fixed themselves on
the boy's bare arms, while two waved freely as though waiting a chance
to twine around his neck and strangle him.
Colin yelled with fright. As the cold, clammy suckers crinkled
themselves into his flesh, the skin all over his body seemed to creep in
disgust. He had been bending over as he hauled up the rope and the
squid's tentacles around his arms held him poised half out of the boat,
his head not more than a foot and a half from the surface of the water,
looking straight into the hypnotic, black, unwinking eyes of the
sea-monster.
The instinct of fright arose. Using all his strength, he raised his
right arm and grasped the tentacle that had been wound around his left
arm. To his surprise he found that a moderate amount of force only was
needed to pull the grasp of the tentacle free, and he released himself
from the creature almost without difficulty. Nor, except for a slightly
reddened spot on his arms, was there any outward evidence of the
encounter.
Vincente reached down for the cephalopod, allowing it to wrap some of
the tentacles about him, then pried its grasp from the boat with the
handle of the gaff. He made no attempt to free himself from the squid,
but as he stood still for a minute or two, the creature voluntarily
released its hold, falling to the bottom of the boat.
"Zey haven't any strengt' at all out of ze water," the boatman said,
"but while swimming zey have a good deal. See, ze whole body of zat
squid isn't more zan two feet long, an' yet if he'd got a hold of you in
ze water, specially with ze bigger suckers on ze t'ick part of ze arms,
you might have had some trouble. Zose big fellows wit' bodies twenty
feet long an' arms t'irty feet, mus' be one horrible t'ing to meet on a
dark night."
"But would they attack you?"
"Never, I t'ink," said the boatman. "Ze biggest of zem hasn't a beak
large enough to take in a herring."
"Well," Colin said, "I suppose that really wasn't as exciting as it
seemed, but I tell you, for a while, I felt as if I was having all the
thrill I wanted."
"You ought to try ze octopus, now," said the boatman with a chuckle;
"zat is, if you've had enough of ze squids. It's early yet an' we might
go after some of zose octopuses zat hunt crabs."
"I'm ready," said Colin. "They won't get me by surprise, like that squid
did!"
The sun was near the horizon when Colin and the boatman landed on the
rocky shore, and the sunset colors were gorgeous. But Colin did not want
to run any chances of being caught napping, and he followed Vincente,
watching every move. Presently the boatman stopped and pointed, like a
dog flushing a covey of partridges.
About eight feet away was a crab of fair size, perhaps six inches across
the shell. Half-way between where they stood and the crab, right on the
edge of the water, was a small octopus with its large, glaring, green
eyes fixed on the crab. This was at first the only sight Colin could get
of the creature, but by looking into the water closely, he was able to
make out the vague shape of the octopus. The cuttlefish had changed from
its natural color to the exact hue of the sandy bottom on which it was
crawling, and it was advancing so slowly that its progress could hardly
be seen.
[Illustration: OCTOPUS CAUGHT AT SANTA CATALINA, TWENTY-TWO FEET ACROSS.
_By permission of Mr. Chas. Fredk. Holder._]
[Illustration: SQUID CAUGHT AT SANTA CATALINA, 20 FEET IN LENGTH.
(In Newfoundland a species reaches 70 feet.)
_By permission of Mr. Chas. Fredk. Holder._]
Suddenly, as a wave washed it within a few feet of the crab, two of the
tentacles darted out so swiftly that Colin could scarcely follow the
move until they were upon the crab, the rest of the body of the octopus
flattening itself upon the sand as though to secure a greater purchase.
The crab set both its claws into the soft flesh of the tentacles,
whereupon, with a series of horrible convulsions, the cuttlefish
lumbered entirely out of the sea and, with two or three repulsive and
sinuous gyrations, it forced itself bodily over the crab. By this means
the outstretched membranes at the base of the tentacles smothered the
movements of the prey and prevented escape, while at the same time the
mouth and biting beaks were brought into position where they could find
a vital part.
"Do you want zat one as a specimen?" asked the boatman.
Colin was conscious inwardly that he would have preferred to have
nothing at all to do with the repulsive object, but as he had come out
in pursuit of an octopus, he would not, for the world, have shown the
white feather before the boatman.
"Yes, unless we find a bigger," he said, with an overdone assumption of
ease.
"I t'ink, sair," Vincente responded, "zat we'd better be satisfied wit'
zis one. Shall I take it or will you?"
There was just a hint of irony in the boatman's tone, and remembering
the timidity he had shown when clutched by the squid, Colin felt that
this was the chance to redeem himself.
"I don't mind taking it," he said. "You say these things are quite
harmless."
"Quite, sair, I t'ink," the boatman replied.
"All right," was the boy's rejoinder, and he walked forward boldly
toward the octopus. The green eyes regarded him steadily, and just as
the boy stooped to grasp the slimy body, it seemed to gather itself in a
heap and started for the sea.
This was an unexpected move, but Colin, having stated that he wanted
that octopus, did not propose to be cheated out of it. He was surprised
that the cuttlefish could move so fast, and his repugnance gave way to
excitement as he started running after the writhing eight-armed
creature. He was just about to grab it when he tripped on a rock,
covered with slippery seaweed, and fell headlong, the fall throwing him
immediately upon the octopus. For a moment the boy was staggered, and
he never knew whether he had grabbed the cephalopod or whether it had
grasped him, all he knew was that he was lying on the ground with six of
the eight arms of the octopus around him.
The boy was just in time to throw up his hands to protect his eyes, as a
torrent of the inky fluid deluged him from head to foot. He struggled to
get up, but the two tentacles of the cuttlefish held fast to adjacent
rocks, and Colin might have found difficulty in freeing himself, owing
to the awkward attitude in which he had been caught, but for Vincente,
who wrenched the tentacles away from their hold.
"Are you all right, sair?" the boatman asked.
"All right," said Colin stoutly, as he got up.
Seldom had he been such a sight! He was black from head to foot with the
sepia fluid, his clothes were torn where he had fallen on the rocks, and
he was smothered in the nauseous embrace of the uncanny and diabolical
eight-armed creature clinging to his shoulder. Once, on the way to the
boat, the cuttlefish seemed ready to drop off, but, at Vincente's
warning, Colin made believe to force apart the other tentacles, and the
octopus renewed its hold. As soon as they reached the boat and the boy
stood still a moment, the cuttlefish let go, and fell to the bottom of
the boat.
Colin looked down at himself and laughed, then jumped overboard in all
his clothes, threshing around in the water to remove as much of the
sepia as he could, clambering in when he had washed off the worst of it.
Vincente looked at him.
"I t'ink, sair," he said, smiling, "you ought to be photograph' wit' ze
catch!"