A HAUL FROM THE HERRING POND 



25 



slaughter. The skipper later declared 

 that a bluefish will cram itself to the 

 jaws with sections of its victims, then, 

 when there is room for no more, eject 

 the mangled mass and begin all over 

 again. This may or may not be true, 

 but certain it is that the blue is pos- 

 sessed of an appalling voracity, which 

 the fragments of its victims do not 

 seem to satisfy. The terns know 

 this, hence their close attendance when 

 the carnage begins. While nature often 

 seems to work in a savage mood and 

 to impel her creatures to what may 

 look like outrageous slaughter, a little 

 of close observation seldom fails to dis- 

 cover a method in the apparent mad- 

 ness. The terns and other sea fowl 

 are grateful for all scraps that float, 

 while on the bottom bide the slow- 

 moving scavengers, ready to take care 

 of whatever sinks their way. Nothing 

 is wasted, and the lobster, crab and 

 other bottom feeders must bless the 

 name of the bluefish. 



As the line straightened, I thought 

 of something and from a pocket came 

 an old pair of leather gloves. "Now, 

 by gum!" ejaculated the skipper, "wha' 

 did ye larn that? Not on no lakes, I'm 

 bettin." I laughed, for the puzzled ex- 

 pression he wore just then was ex- 

 ceedingly funny. But there was scant 

 time for fooling. 



A strike — so savage that it suggested 

 an abrupt fouling of a rock, warned me 

 to be mighty careful, and in a moment 

 began a lively set-to. Of course, on 

 such tackle, there was little of any- 

 thing akin to playing the captive ; in 

 fact, I just hauled him in hand over 

 hand. He appeared to be most amaz- 

 ingly strong, but to my astonishment, 

 the first good look at him proved that 

 he weighed, if anything, little more 

 than three pounds. 



"Hustle tha' — get that line out 

 again!" roared the skipper, who well 

 knew the value of rapid work. The 

 cord had scarcely straightened before 

 another fish took hold, and this one 

 proved no larger than the first. For 

 five minutes there was no further ac- 



tion, so we put about and again worked 

 toward the terns. The skipper thought 

 we had missed the main school of blues 

 and had taken a couple of small strag- 

 glers, but, of course, it is not unusual 

 to encounter many fish no larger than 

 ours. He proved to be right, too, for 

 as he sung out: "Be ready tha'!" there 

 came a jerk that almost carried away 

 the tackle. Instantly I realized that 

 this time it was a regular old rip-snort- 

 er, and at once the value of the gloves 

 was proved. Resolute and strong, this 

 fish fought like a bulldog, and be- 

 cause I knew a good thing when I had 

 it, no liberties were taken. With the 

 possible exception of a western salmon, 

 1 don't think I had handled so powerful 

 a fish for the size — about five pounds. 



Beyond all question, this fellow was 

 as game as they are made, and unless 

 my eyes deceived me, he tried two dis- 

 tinct snaps at my fingers before the 

 hook was freed. Indeed, so strong and 

 active was he that the knife-blade was 

 pushed through his spine before I dared 

 to let him go. As a rule, a lively fish 

 is rapped on the head, but I prefer the 

 knife, which does not bruise, while in- 

 stantly killing the fish. 



"Come on, skipper, your turn now!" 

 I sung out, but the old boy, while keen 

 enough, was reluctant to stop my fun. 

 As I would stand no argument, we 

 finally changed places, and it, indeed, 

 was a treat to watch his weatherbeaten, 

 but expressive face. "Foller them 

 gulls," was his sole order, so I stood 

 with the stick between my legs and 

 studied the professional side. He was 

 no end of fun. Veteran that he was, he 

 had all the enthusiasm of a big boy, and 

 his sizzling comments as he pulled in, 

 fell harmless on the broad Atlantic. 

 He took five medium-sized fish in 

 rather rapid succession, and each cap- 

 ture only added to the glow of the war- 

 spark in his keen gray eye. But he 

 wasn't satisfied. My big fish lay in 

 plain view, and it did make the others 

 look like thirty cents, or snappers, or 

 whatever is small change for bluefish. 



Suddenly I missed the guiding terns. 



