My First Barracouta 313 



taking as little heed of the fact that there were many 

 sharks in the vicinity as of one another. But at that cry 

 there was a frantic rush to get out of the water. De- 

 mented, they tore at one another for the possession of 

 ropes that were flung over, and for a few moments it 

 looked as if a tragedy were imminent. But, fortunately, 

 all got safely on board, although their demoralised, 

 panic-stricken condition was painful to witness. And 

 their discussion of the situation afterwards savoured 

 more of the proceedings of a bevy of Bedlamites than 

 anything else. 



The vessel was wrecked on leaving the port for 

 home, coming to grief about two miles outside the 

 harbour, and consequently I had an opportunity 

 of studying shore life among those cheery amiable 

 darkies. One day four stalwart ebon friends of mine 

 foregathered on the beach, and I, coming up with 

 them, learned that they were going Barracouta 

 fishing. I asked if I might come too, and was immedi- 

 ately made welcome, nay more, I was allowed to sit 

 in the stern of the canoe and hold the line, a stout 

 cord about sixty yards long with one two-inch hook 

 baited with a whole fish about six inches long, of what 

 kind I do not now remember. I sat upon the gunwale 

 right aft and held the line, which had been allowed to 

 run out about half its length, while my four friends 

 plied their paddles with all their might, making the 

 canoe fly through the water, the object being to make 

 the bait appear alive. 



It was most exhilarating for me, although the 

 exertion under that blazing sun must have been most 

 exhausting to my friends. For some time no fish 

 came, as we careered to and fro across the bay, and 

 presently taking a couple of turns round my hand 

 I looked forward at my energetic paddlemen. Suddenly 



