THE GROUPER BANKS.
"WE are grateful for what you did in our behalf," said Charley, when
they again came upon the Roberts on the dock. "We did not expect you to
take up our troubles but we cannot find words to express our gratitude
for what you have done for us."
Big Bill blushed like a school girl. "We didn't do much," he said,
awkwardly. "I was going to do it anyway, sometime. It just came off a
little sooner than I expected. I don't fancy fighting much--it's poor
business--but it's the only way to handle fellows like that Hunter
gang--a decent man can't stoop to meet them with their own tricks."
"It is a rather primitive way of righting wrongs, but I was not
thinking of that," said Charley, earnestly. "I was thinking of the
loyal friendship, and the kindly feeling you had for us that prompted
the act. It was a big, friendly action, all the more so as we are
almost strangers to you."
"That's all right," stammered Bill, embarrassed by his thanks. "I
guess I beat Hunter up more than I intended to. He drew a knife on me
so I couldn't handle him very gently. What did the fish boss have to
say?" he inquired, eager to change the subject.
The captain told him of the new plan that Mr. Daniels had suggested.
"Mr. Daniels is a mighty square man," said Bill, emphatically. "I am
glad you are going to follow his advice. We are thinking some of trying
the reef fishing, too, until our nets come, so we will likely see a
good deal of each other."
"The more the pleasanter for us at any rate," declared the old sailor.
"Well, I guess we must be going. Chris will be wondering what has
happened to us. Good-by. Drop in on us when you get the chance."
The trip back to the island was made with lighter hearts than they had
brought with them, and they were made still lighter at the sight of
Walter's improved condition. He was sitting up in bed arguing warmly
with Chris that he was well enough to get up and dress, but the little
negro had hidden his clothes and could not be moved by threats or
entreaties.
"No, Massa Walt," Chris was saying as they entered. "You got to jis'
lay quiet. I'se had a terrible time aworryin' an' anursin' you an' I
ain't goin' to risk youah getting sick on my hands again through youah
foolishness. Golly, I doan know what you white chilluns would do widout
dis nigger to watch out foah you-alls."
So much was Walter improved, that Charley thought it safe to tell him
of all that had happened since his accident.
"I am almost glad the nets are gone," he declared, when Charley had
finished. "I don't believe I would ever have made a good net fisherman.
I could never have grown to like the work."
Chris' joy was almost pathetic to see. "I'se sho' going wid you-alls,"
he cried. "Dis nigger can sho' catch fish with a hook. An' I sho' is
glad I doan hab to stay alone on dis ole creepy island at night, no
more."
And, indeed, perhaps, the part the little negro had so far taken had
been as hard and unpleasant as any of theirs.
The evening that followed was by far the pleasantest they had spent on
the island. Fear of the fishermen was over for the present at least.
Walter's recovery was another cause for rejoicing, and they all looked
forward to their morrow's work with a pleasurable anticipation that
none had felt for the hard, nasty, trying net fishing.
So eager was Chris to begin, that he was up long before daybreak
cooking breakfast and putting up a hearty lunch for their dinner.
The sun was just coming up as they steered out of the inlet into the
open gulf. Walter had insisted upon coming with them and lay on one
of the seats looking somewhat thin and pale but drawing in increased
strength from every breath of the bracing, salt air.
The captain was in full command, for, when it was a matter of sea work,
Charley quickly gave way to the old, experienced sailor. While they
bounded over the blue sparkling waves for the line of coral reefs he
brought out the hooks, lines, and heavy sinkers they had purchased and
rigged up the tackle for their fishing. It was simple. Just strong
braided lines fifty feet long with a heavy lead on one end. Above the
lead, he attached three very short lines a couple of feet apart, tying
a hook on each.
As soon as he decided that they were nearing the reef he ordered the
engine slowed down and cast a line over the stern.
"It's too deep to see when we get on the reef," he explained, "so we
will have to feel for it. That lead on the line pulls along smooth
over the sandy bottom but when it strikes the coral lumps on the reef
it will begin to jerk." He sat with hand on the line until a series of
quick, jumping tremors told him they were over the reef when he ordered
the anchor lowered.
With eagerness the little party baited the hooks and cast their lines
over. They waited breathless for the tugging which would announce a
bite, but as the minutes dragged away without a nibble, their high
spirits began to lower.
"Golly, I could do better than this on the island," grumbled Chris, as
he pulled up his line and examined his bait for the twentieth time.
The old sailor filled and lit his pipe with a twinkle in his eye. "Wait
jist one half hour an' they'll begin to bite," he announced, calmly.
"Have you made special arrangements with them," Walter inquired.
"Not quite, but fish have their habits the same as people," the captain
explained. "They only bite at certain tides. Seems like they had their
regular mealtime as one might say, only they go by tides instead of a
clock. It's the last of the ebb tide now. In a few minutes it will be
flood tide and the fish will all be hunting their breakfasts."
"But I have caught fish on both ebb and flood tides, captain," Charley
objected.
"Yes, an' there are people, too, who are always eating between meals,"
the old sailor retorted, "but most of them are contented with their
regular mealtime."
"Golly! dis nigger often wonders how you keeps track ob dem tides,"
Chris remarked. "I can't tell nothin' 'bout dem, 'cept when I'se on de
shore an' can watch the rise and fall."
"It's simple, lad," explained the old sailor. "It's the moon that
causes the tides. All one has to do is to notice the moon. When the
moon is coming up the tide is going down. When the moon is going down
the tide is coming up. No matter where you are it is always the same."
"I've got a bite," Charley announced, and moon and tides were
straightway forgotten by the eager little party.
It seemed as though his announcement had been the breakfast bell for
the finny creatures below, for before he had got his fish to the
surface, his companions were hauling furiously on the lines.
Charley gave a shout of exultation as he swung his prize aboard. It was
a chunky, reddish fish with mouth and fins of scarlet, and was about
fifteen pounds in weight.
"That's a red grouper," said the captain, sparing a glance from his own
captive. "This one I've got is a black grouper. Those flat, silvery
fish Chris and Walter have caught are red-mouth grunts." But the old
sailor had no time for further speculations for the sport grew fast and
furious. Often they pulled up to find three fish on their line at once,
one on each hook.
As fast as they unhooked their captives they threw them into the
forward cockpit where they soon grew into a beautiful, glistening heap
of red, gold and silver hues.
For two hours they pulled the fish aboard as fast as they could bait
and cast their hooks. Then, as suddenly as they had begun, the fish
ceased to bite.
"We might as well get up anchor and move to another place," the captain
announced.
"Has we done catched dem all?" Chris inquired, innocently.
"Hardly," said the old sailor, with a laugh, "but a shark or some other
sea monster is prowling around down below and has scared them all
away." They weighed anchor and drifted back a couple of hundred feet
upon the reef where they found the fish biting there the same as before.
"I'ze got something queer on my line," announced Chris, as he pulled up
hand over hand. "Hit don't jerk none. Hit's jest heavy-like."
"A bit of coral, I expect," Charley suggested.
All stared at the curious-looking object as Chris slung it in over the
side.
"Why," said Charley, as he scraped off the clinging moss and barnacles.
"It's a doll, just a big, rag doll."
"Put it back in the water, lad," said the captain, with a hint of tears
in his voice, "put it back. Likely its little mistress sleeps there
below the waves. We must not separate her from her dolly."
It was only a guess, but the idea took such strong hold of them all
that anchor was again weighed and they dropped further along to another
place.
About four o'clock the captain declared it was time to start for home.
"We have done pretty well for one day," he said, "and we have got to
get home in time to carry the fish over to Clearwater."
His companions were willing to stop. Although they had enjoyed the
sport greatly, their arms were aching from the constant pulling and
their hands were sore from numerous pricks from hooks and fins.
An hour's run brought them back to their island. Here Chris stopped off
to get supper, and Walt to lie down and rest a bit, while Charley and
the captain carried the fish over.
The two were back by the time Chris had supper ready.
"We had twelve hundred pounds of grouper and six hundred pounds of
grunts, twenty dollars' worth in all," Charley announced, proudly. "Not
bad for our first day's work."
"Why, that's five dollars apiece," said Walter, delightedly. "If we can
keep that up we'll make thirty dollars a week for each one of us."
"We can't figure on steady fishing," objected the captain. "That's the
worst drawback about this reef fishing. One can only get out in fine
weather. Sometimes it blows for a week at a time so that one cannot wet
a line."
"Then it's up to us to discover something to make money at during
stormy weather," Charley declared.
It was Chris who hit upon the idea, but the reader will learn about
that later.