ONE NIGHT'S SPORT.
"NOW just imagine that we are really hunting fish," Charley directed,
as he shoved his skiff from shore. "Take up your positions exactly as I
directed and make as little noise as possible with your oars."
His companions eagerly obeyed and the three skiffs slowly crept ahead
as if stealing up on a school of fish.
But their leader was not yet ready for real fishing and they had
proceeded thus but a little ways when he gave the captain the signal
for a run. The old sailor deftly backed up his skiff and threw Charley
the end of his net. The lad caught it and quickly made it fast to his
own. "Give way," he shouted, seizing his oars, and the three boats
darted away while the nets ran out smoothly over their sterns.
When he judged that three-fourths of his net was out, Charley shouted
to his chums and the two boats swung around for each other. The last
of Walter's net ran out just as Charley passed around the stern of
his skiff and turning back into the circle rowed out the few remaining
yards of his own net.
"That's one important thing to remember," he commented as he rowed
up to his chum's boat. "We always want to turn when we have got just
enough net left to reach each other with. If our nets don't come
together the fish all run out through the gap."
"Whew," Walter panted, "I never dreamed those nets were so long. I
thought my arms were going to break from rowing so hard before you gave
the signal to turn."
Charley grinned. "They are four hundred yards each--nearly a quarter of
a mile long. Wait until you get one full of fish and it will seem forty
miles long. The captain's got that other end closed up nicely, and now
for the drumming up."
The three rowed around inside the circle while Charley showed them how
to frighten the fish into the nets by pounding on the bottoms of the
skiffs and beating the water with the blades of their oars.
"Why, the circle is full of fish," Walter suddenly exclaimed. "I can
see hundreds of them darting about."
"I saw them before I gave the signal to run," Charlie said coolly, but
his words were lost in the din the captain and his chum were making
in their excitement. Walter was beating the water frantically with
his oar while the old sailor standing up in his skiff was clapping his
hands and shouting "Shoo, shoo", much as though he was driving a flock
of chickens.
Charley rested on his oars and watched them with a broad grin on his
face.
"Don't get excited," he remarked, when at last they stopped from sheer
exhaustion. "Captain, it's no use straining your voice yelling at
the fish. They can't hear you. The only thing that scares them is a
vibration of the water they live in. That beating the water with your
oar is the proper caper, Walter, only it happens that these fish are
mullet and you can't drive mullet into a gill net in the day time. Fine
as the twine is, they see the meshes and back off. And, now, let's row
back to the ends of our nets and pick them up."
His two crestfallen companions meekly obeyed, and after considerable
blundering due to their inexperience the nets were once more got aboard
the skiffs.
The two novices' arms and backs were beginning to ache but Charley
insisted on another trial.
It was well he did so for Walter had not rowed out a third of his net
when some leads caught in the webbing and the pile turned over into a
tangled heap that took the three a good half hour to straighten out.
"You must be careful how you pile your net in the boat," Charley
cautioned, when the mess was at last straightened out. "If that had
happened when we were really and truly fishing it might have meant
the loss of forty or fifty dollars' worth of fish. You must keep your
loose webbing piled clear of your lead and cork lines. I noticed you
had piled your net carelessly, that's why I wanted to make another run.
There's nothing like experience to make one careful."
"You might have told me about it and saved all this hard extra work,"
grumbled Walter with a flash of temper. "My arms and back ache like a
tooth ache."
"Cheer up. We'll go ashore now, and have a rest and supper before we
start out for real work," said Charley, cheerfully, ignoring his chum's
remarks.
A long rest under the palm trees and one of Chris' capital suppers put
Walter into good humor again. "I guess, I got mad a little too easily,"
he half apologized to his chum over the meal. "I didn't stop to think
that you had been working as hard as I and that you would not have put
us all to that extra work if you had not thought it necessary."
"That's all right," answered Charley, heartily. "Just forget it. Every
one gets a little riled sometimes, and fishing is mighty hard on the
temper." But the lad knew that the flashes of temper would come many
times before his chum became a seasoned fisherman. "Oh, well," he
consoled himself, grimly, "it's no use trying to avoid them, the sooner
they come and go, why, the better."
Chris had prepared a lunch for the fishermen to carry with them to eat
during the night, and just as the sun went down, the three boarded the
launch and with the three skiffs in tow set out for their first attempt
in their new calling.
The memory of that first night will linger in Walter's and the
Captain's memory for years to come. They had run about two miles in the
launch when Charley shut off the engine.
"I think we had better anchor here and take to the skiffs," he said.
"These are strange waters and we might pile the launch up on a rock in
the darkness."
A lantern was lit and placed on the launch's bow to guide them back to
her, and the other lanterns were also lit, turned down low and placed
in the bottom of the skiffs.
"None of you must ever allow your lights to show while we are hunting
fish," Charley continued. "A light frightens them worse than anything
else. A flash of lightning makes them all scurry for deep water.
There's no use taking to the skiffs for a little while, it isn't dark
enough to fish yet."
"That's one thing which puzzles me," Walter said. "How are you going to
find fish at night. Of course, I understand how you can tell where they
are in the day time, for if you can't see the fish themselves, you can
tell they are there by the ripples they make in the water."
"They are oftentimes easier to find at night," Charley affirmed. "There
is nearly always more or less phosphorescence in the water and a fish
can not move without leaving a glowing streak in his wake, that is, if
he is within ten feet of the surface. An expert fisherman can tell by
the character of the bright streak the kind of fish that makes it. Each
species makes a different kind of movement and an expert can read their
trails like a hunter reads tracks. Nights when the water does not fire
it is harder, for then the fisherman has to go by sound. Each kind of
fish makes its own peculiar noise but it is hard to distinguish some of
them apart and still harder to tell their size. Our nets are made for
mullet and that is the only kind of fish we need be concerned with."
"Why, there is a lot more to fishing than I thought," Walter commented.
"I supposed it was simple and easy to learn."
"It takes years of experience to make a skilful fisherman," Charley
assured him. "I do not claim to be one. I only just know the rudiments
of it."
"I reckon it's that way with most everything," Captain Westfield
remarked, thoughtfully, "from running a ship up to running a nation.
Thar's always a heap more to larn than the man outside thinks thar is."
"But all the knowledge a man can get does not help without plenty of
good hard work," Charley amended. "And it's time for us to begin ours
now. It's dark enough now, I believe. All aboard for our first attempt."
The three scrambled into their skiffs and casting loose from the
launch, took to their oars bringing their crafts into the formation
they had practiced.
In a few minutes, the launch was lost to sight and they could not see
each other. Only the faint glow of the turned-down lanterns rising
above the gunwales of their skiffs enabled them to keep track of each
other.
As they crept slowly on into the night, Walter was surprised to see how
teeming the waters were with life. On every side of his boat, fiery
streaks marked the passage of finny creatures. At times, he passed
through spaces fairly aglow with the movements of them. As Charley
had said, there was a marked difference in the character of the water
trails. Some were close to the surface, while others showed deep below.
Some were long and continuous in a straight line. Others twisted and
turned, while still others seemed to run only a little ways and then
stopped suddenly. But they all marked the passage of fish, and he soon
began to wonder why Charley did not give the signal to circle them. At
first, he consoled himself with the thought that his chum knew what
he was doing, but as they rowed steadily on mile after mile through
the flashing schools, he began to have doubts. After all, Charley had
admitted that he was not an experienced fisherman. Perhaps Charley
was not passing through the same schools. Perhaps he was not watching
close. Walter's arms and back began to ache from the steady rowing and
as his fatigue increased he began to get irritated. Why all this steady
rowing on and on when there were plenty of fish all about them. The
same thoughts were passing through Captain Westfield's mind but he had
been bred in a calling which demands constant patient obedience to the
one in command. He had elected to follow Charley's leadership and that
was the end of it. He would do it without question.
At last Walter could stand it no longer.
"Say, Charley," he hailed, "there's lots of fish around here."
"I see them," came the cheerful answer. "They don't look right to me,
though. Let's go on a bit."
Sullenly, Walter rowed on in silence. After what to his tired muscles
seemed ages of weary pulling, a crisp order came floating over the
water.
"Get ready--Drop your net weight over"--A pause, then: "All right--all
together--pull hard."
Walter forgot his aching limbs in the excitement of the moment. He bent
to his oars and sent his skiff flying through the water while his net
rippled swiftly out over the stern.
"Come together," at last came the order and he swung his flying craft
around to meet his chum's.
"Gee," panted Charley, as he crossed the end of Walter's net, just as
the last of his own ran out. "I pulled myself out of breath trying to
get around that school. Most of them outran me, but I guess we have got
a few penned up in the circle. Put up your lantern and let's rest a bit
before we drum up. Good," he exclaimed as the lights flashed out over
the water. "They are hitting the nets already---Listen."
From all sides of them came a soft peculiar smacking sound much like
that made by a person opening and closing his mouth rapidly.
"Listen, old chap," Charley cried in glee, "you are hearing your first
catch of mullet."