Sea Fishing 311 



" I 'm not sure," he said, and his face was pale 

 beneath the flicker of a single lamp, " whether I 

 killed the fish, or whether the fish killed me ! " 



We sallied forth into the darkness and glanced 

 anxiously seaward. A faint light illumined the 

 bay, and across the eastern horizon quivered a bar 

 of silver. 



" They 're off Abalone Point," said Jim a minute 

 later. " Listen ! " 



Indeed, splashes were distinctly audible ; the 

 sounds floated heavily across the grey waters, and 

 our hearts throbbed responsively as we seated our- 

 selves in Jim's boat, facing the stern sheets, and 

 side by side. The baits were already prepared: 

 two flying-fish, some fourteen inches long. Each 

 was hooked through the head ; another hook, con- 

 nected by piano-wire with the first, was sewn on to 

 the fish's belly; a wire trace, a yard long, and a 

 stout brass swivel completed the lure, which we 

 attached by means of a clove-hitch and a bowline 

 to our lines. Then the launch slipped her moor- 

 ings, we dropped the baits into the water, and paid 

 out thirty yards of line. The game had begun ! 



As we gripped our rods, Jim whispered encourage- 

 ment and advice. 



"We'll get a strike within ten minutes — sure! 

 You'll think you've snagged a submarine island, 

 and then the reel '11 tell you that you 've hitched to 

 a shootin' star ! Don't snub the son of a gun too 

 much, but check him. When the strike comes, you 

 just holler, * Let go ! ' I guess I 'm on to my job, 

 and I '11 gamble that you don't lose more 'n three 

 hundred feet of line before this boat will be goin* 



