192 THE THOTTSAND ISLES. 



made a fierce rush ; instantly the line slipped -with a 

 steady but slight strain through my finers, and he_ dashed 

 off for some distance, but soon tired, he allowed me to 

 pull him up to the side of the boat ; once there, grasping 

 the wire above the hook, I lifted him quickly over the 

 side and threw him on the bottom, where he flounced 

 about vigorously and with energy enough, if exhibited 

 sooner, to have broken almost any line. Taking the 

 hook carefully by the shank, I twisted it out of his 

 mouth, and weighing him with the scales that were 

 always in my pocket, found he weighed ten pounds. 



Turning at the head of the little cove, we retraced 

 our path and struck another fish, and so over and over 

 again, some of them making violent but unavailing efforts 

 to escape, others slapping off just as they were being 

 lifted into the boat, others again coming in with their 

 heads out of water like a yawl towed behind a steamboat. 

 Sometimes it was the right-hand rod that bent, some- 

 times the left, then the hand-line felt the strain — often 

 two and sometimes all three at once ; it kept me bu&y, 

 to say the least of it. The reels were of little use, as the 

 boatman had to keep rowing to prevent the lines sinking 

 to the bottom and catching in the weeds, which, in spite 

 of all precautions they sometimes succeeded in doing, 

 and the strain was consequently too great for them. 

 The bottom of the boat was filled with the long-bodied, 

 wolfish and ravenous devils, that snapped their jaws, 

 struggled about, their eyes gleaming with impotent fury 

 and merciless cruelty, as ugly looking a set as the sun 

 ever shone upon ; but as they were brought in, one after 

 another,, my oarsman was delighted. 



