812 
FOREST AND STREAM 
Dec. 28. 1012 
without disgust. “Why, I wouldn't disgrace 
my rod with doubting she could haul that clear 
out of water as a small boy lands his first 
sucker. What in the name of Sir Isaac did we 
bring this cow-rope for?” and I handed the 
line to the captain, who merely turned the 
shark over as he struck the side, and then hit 
him a whack over the snout with a baseball bat. 
“Bait gone,” said he, as he heaved the 
shark aboard. Hold a minute, an’ I'll put a 
good one on.” Still, as he sliced a porgy in 
half and jabbed the hook through as before, I 
thought, “Why this sort of tackle for these? 
I could hoist these out with a cod line and 
“Heave? why bless you, Captain, that heave 
would have stopped a cow.” 
“Lo’d no, that wa'nt no heave; sock the 
hook right into her next time,” and he jabbed 
a great slice of blackfish on. 
Now I was fully awake to the situation. 
This time I stood on the seat by the side of 
the boat, and when I felt the same sort of a 
bite, I simply jumped backward off the seat 
with the line pinched desperately in my fists. 
“That ought to ‘sock’ the hook in,” thought I. 
before I landed, and it did. It also “socked 
me,” for I came up standing, with a jerk that 
snapped my teeth till sparks almost flew from 
hold him. There was simply nothing to do but 
let him run, and keep a taught rope clear. 
When he showed signs of weakening, I be¬ 
gan to haul in. From stem to stern of the 
sloop I was jerked by that shark. Time and 
time again the captain stepped in to help, but 
I warned him off, determined to see if that 
fish could beat me with such tackle. It was 
twenty minutes of the most strenuous tug of 
war that I ever have experienced before he 
came to the side. 
Even then the work was not over. No- 
one man could hold that ponderous head from 
swirling. Showers of foam drenched the cap- 
SHOOTING THE SHARK. 
HAULING HIM ALONGSIDE. 
save some of my self-respect.” So I threw the 
line over again. 
Perhaps five minutes passed, and I felt an¬ 
other bite—just a twitch and a tug about what 
a cod would give—and I pulled as before. Ye 
gods and little fishes! That rope came tight 
with a jerk that sent spray flying from it in 
jets, and tore the line through my hands till 
they burned. 
“Hold him! Hold him tight!” said the 
captain. “Heave ahead!” and I hove. I had 
a good brace against the side of the sloop, and 
I leaned back with a will. By and by I saw a 
huge gray shape loom up through the wave, 
and with a slat that sent the water in showers 
over me, disappear, while I fell backward 
against the opposite thwarts. 
“Ya didn’t set the hook into him, sir. Ya 
want to heave right sma’t when she bites. 
Ya see, if ya don’t, the hook don’t go through 
his thick skin.” 
my jaws. If you ever chanced to jump from 
a high limb, and thinking to land clear, tangled 
your fist in a noose and came up with a snap, 
you will know what happened on my end of the 
line. With blistering skin I held on till I 
fetched up with a slap against the side of the 
boat. 
This time I took a turn about the rail, and 
looked to see what would happen. That half¬ 
inch rope was cutting through the water like 
a trout line with a lively six-pounder on. Bit 
by bit I got him started from the bottom, then 
with a surge he lunged surfaceward. I could 
see the dark-gray form shadowed through the 
green water, then the white belly, as he turned 
over, then in a shower of spray, up shot the 
head and front part of a great shark, his white 
maw and jagged teeth spitting out foam, and 
the huge hook clanking against the chain as he 
wagged his lumbering head against the barb. 
Hold him? It would have taken three men to 
tain and me, as the shark threshed and rolled! 
till the chain was wound about him, and every¬ 
thing in confusion. But taking a turn again, I 
waited till he unrolled himself. Then holding 
him as steady as I might, for the mere slatting 
of his head jerked the arms with almost a dis¬ 
locating strain, I kept him close while the 
captain gave him his quietus. Just a little 
twenty-two bullet forward, not back of, but 
forward of the eye, almost at the end of the 
snout, and that monster shark fell limp in an 
instant with his mouth opening and his teeth 
spitting forth one long rattle of death. 
Then we hooked him on the hoisting tackle 
and drew him aboard; nine feet and some few 
inches he was in length, and as thick about the 
belly as a flour barrel, two hundred and fifty 
to three hundred pounds, the captain declared. 
That was some fish. 
I played several of them in order to see 
(Continued on page 823.) 
