132 DAYS STOLEN FOR SPORT 



motion of the Shag at anchor when a ground swell 

 rolled. On another occasion, go where we would, 

 nothing but wrasse and dog-fish resulted. The wrasse, 

 with their almost endless variety of colouring, are, 

 when first landed, a pretty sight, but when they have 

 been in the boat a httle time and protrude from their 

 vent a walnut-sized bladder, as they invariably do, 

 they are not so handsome, and, being disliked for food 

 in Cornwall, they did not count with us. Neither 

 did the catch of the destructive, unloved dogfish 

 give satisfaction, unless it was to the sailors while they 

 were dealing out to them sudden death from a short- 

 handled, weighty instrument. 



The day for bream came to us at a most opportune 

 time, as two of the ladies had come with us, and we 

 had a store of bait — a dozen mackerel caught at day- 

 break and a basket of mussels brought from the 

 Helford River. 



The Shag was moored in deep water, between 

 two rocks that raised their weed-covered heads to 

 within a few feet of the surface. The captain with 

 great care gave a preliminary browsing, throwing in 

 chopped crab on either side which sank straight down 

 as far as we could see in this sheltered spot. 



Close by, the masts of the Mohegan showed where 

 she had sunk after striking these rocks, while a mile 

 shoreward, the huge liner Paris, firmly fixed upon the 

 rocks, looked as though she was taking her course 

 down Channel quite near the shore. 



In a few lines I will tell j'ou of the tackle required 

 for bottom fishing in these waters, or rather the tackle 

 that I use. A two-joint stiff rod, six feet six inches 

 in length, a large wooden winch, a plaited dark silk 

 line filled with mutton fat and a paternoster that has 

 three brass beams, eighteen inches apart, with twisted 

 gut hooks on them, the last bar to be twelve inches from 

 the lead, which should be of sufficient weight to with- 

 stand the tide. 



