'SHORTEN dP." 371 



With uhe first movement of the captain's arm, 

 indicating the presence of fish, everybody rashes 

 madly to the rail. Jigs are heard on all sides 

 plashing into the water, and eager hands and 

 arms are stretched at their full length over the 

 side, feeling anxiously for a nibble. 



" Sh hish there's something just passed my 

 fly I felt him," says an old man standing along- 

 side of me. 



" Yes, and I've got hini 2 " triumphantly shouts 

 out the next man on the other side of him, haul- 

 * ig in as he speaks, a fine mackerel, and striking 

 aim off into his barrel in the most approved style. 



Z Z zip goes my line through and deep into 

 my poor fingers, as a huge mackerel rushes sav- 

 agely away with what he finds is not so great a 

 prize as he thought it. I get confoundedly flur- 

 ried, miss stroke half a dozen times in hauling in 

 as many fathoms of line, and at length succeed in 

 landing my first fish safely in my barrel, where 

 he flounders away " most melodiously," as my 

 neighbor says. 



And now it is fairly daylight, and the rain, 

 which has been threatening all night, begins to 

 pour down in right earnest. As the heavy drops 

 patter on the sea the fish begin to bite fast and 

 furiously. 



" Shorten up," says the skipper, and we shorten 

 in our lines to about eight feet from the rail to 

 the hooks, when we can jerk them in just as fast 

 as we can move our hands and arms. " Keep 



