154 THE SALT OF MY LIFE 



assured me that it was the snorting of a perch 

 that had caught sight of my bait and would cer- 

 tainly seize it in a minute or two. At first this 

 sort of fooling found me credulous, and I braced 

 myself up for the coming fight ; but such " Wolf ! " 

 cries soon lose their first novelty, and I developed 

 a peaceful mood, indifferent to perch or anything 

 else equally remote. Still, it was more agreeable 

 on the pier than on a steamer overrun with unclean 

 lightermen and bawling stevedores, and at low tide 

 it was always amusing to watch the little mud- 

 skippers, true fishes out of water, hopping about at 

 play among the uncovering mangrove roots. That 

 was all. I had practically comforted myself with 

 the conviction that the much talked of giant 

 perch of the Fitzroy was a scaly myth, but this 

 pleasant explanation of my failure was dashed 

 on the last morning of our stay. Even as the last 

 hatch was fastened down, the last bargee bundled 

 over the side by an irate baggage-officer, the order 

 about to be given to stand by the anchor, we were 

 hailed from a bend in the bank, and a little boat 

 shot out with the lighthouse-keeper, who had a 

 small offering for me in the shape of a perch that 

 he had caught at daybreak. It weighed consider- 

 ably over 30 Ibs. after it was cleaned, and proved 

 excellent eating. Such a fish must have given 

 fine sport on the rod, and not to have caught one 

 was my one regret for as desolate and malarial 



