CHAPTER XXII. 



TARPON-FISHING. 



: The generous gushing of the springs, 

 When the angler goes a-trolling ; 

 The stir of song, and summer wings, 

 The line which shines, and life which sings ; 

 Make earth replete with happy things 

 When the angler goes a-trolling." 



T. T. Stoddakt. 



" Keep her steady, dod-rot your woolly head," yelled the captain 

 of the Avenger, as the gallant vessel moved out of Tampa Bay 

 with the last of the shore wind in the grey of the morning. The 

 captain hauled the peak of his mainsail taut, looked with a threat- 

 ening eye at the fluttering jib that was beginning to shake on the 

 close-hauled course, emptied a soda bottle of whiskey, the last he 

 would have for many a day, threw the bottle overboard, bit a 

 large piece off a roll of tobacco of the kind called nigger-head, and 

 then deposited himself by the tiller elbowing the negro away with- 

 out a word. He was a bold buccaneer, that captain — that is, in 

 language. In spirit he was as gentle as a calf. His vessel, a sloop- 

 rigged centre-board scow, was littered up with barrels, nets, small 

 boats, and miscellaneous rubbish. The fierce name of the Avenger, 

 spelled Avengeher, on her stern belied her peaceable errand.. 

 The captain explained the name by saying, " Yer see, my t'other 

 boat was clean stole, and I built this 'ere, and named her the 

 Avenger, fur if ever I ketch that miserable Yank that got away 

 with the Rosebud — tar and feathers — he'll ketch," — emphasising 

 the unfinished sentence with a sounding jab with his fist that 

 would have knocked in the head of a flour-barrel. 



In the interim of his pursuit of the thief the captain had 

 agreed to take us down to Charlotte Harbour, and back again to 



