Dec. 28, 1912 
FOREST AND STREAM 
823 
THE SAND SHARKS AND THE MAN 
EATER. 
Continued from page 812. 
what their particular style of procedure was 
when hooked. I found that it was to dive 
down and swim along the bottom. Not one 
took the bait in mid water, and I tried with 
over twenty of them caught and many missed. 
Also my theories about sharks were all 
smashed—not one of the twenty caught turned 
over when they took the bait, for I never got 
a bite till the heavy line with its thick chain 
leader and massive hook was flat on bottom in 
two or three fathoms of water. 
When seventeen fairly big sharks had thus 
been hauled aboard, I determined to try them 
with the rod and reel. To my surprise, the 
captain acted as though he knew eaxactly what 
was coming. He hauled the tender alongside, 
while I proceeded to screw up my gaff, and 
rig the rod with regular tarpon hook, leader, 
and line. 
In five minutes I had a good one on. There 
was no trouble about bites, for the place was 
swarming with sharks, and when I struck, he 
scooted along the bottom. I could scarcely 
bring him up enough to see his shadow through 
the waves. Fifty yards ran off and no pause; 
then a hundred, and soon I was at the end of 
the line. There was nothing more to do but 
give him all the butt and try to turn him. The 
captain yelled for me to jump in the tender, 
and then we could bring the shark to gaff. But 
I held on, only to lose the line and gear. 
Twice this happened before I consented to 
play the shark from the tender. I wanted to 
see how much strain a shark of size would 
stand without turning. And this I believe: a 
ten-foot shark will stand all a strong man can 
give with the purchase of a half-inch rope; 
stand it and not turn either, for some of these 
walked off as if I were hooked on to an auto¬ 
mobile, not even wagging their heads—just a 
straight walk-away. 
Rigging on a new line and gear, I got a 
bite, and after setting the hook, simply stepped 
into the boat with the captain’s helper. Then 
the tale was different. The water was nowhere 
more than a few fathoms deep, and most of 
the time less than five. So he could not take 
advantage of his huge weight to sulk, or break 
connections with a dive. Nor did he try, but 
simply started along the shoal while we fol¬ 
lowed, partly towed by the fish, partly headed 
up by the oars. 
In twenty minutes or half an hour I had 
him alongside, and was thinking the shark an 
easy prey when compared with a tarpon. But, 
alas! I had counted too quickly. For the first 
time he seemed to wake up when he caught 
sight of the boat, and away we went on a real 
cruise. The waves were tossing us about so, 
that it was impossible to stand. Between baling 
and rowing, my helper was having all he could 
do. We went along that shoal in a series of 
rushes which tore the line from the reel, and 
sent jets of spray over the boat. 
Time and time again we could see the shark 
roll up with a wave; see the whole fish out¬ 
lined in the green water, and then, with what 
seemed to be an easy wag of his head, he 
jerked the rod till, spite of the holder, the butt 
rattled my waistline and made me gasp for 
breath—or a pad. 
We were two miles from the sloop when 
he came to gaff. Reaching down, I set the 
steel deep in his maw, and held on with all my 
might. The shark rolled around like a spin¬ 
ning minnow, around and around, winding the 
line about him, and to my no small chagrin, 
unscrewing the head of the gaff till it came 
away. Had the gaff held, I doubt whether I 
could have kept it in my hand, for the rolling 
of the shark and the slapping about of his 
monstrous head were almost incredibly strong. 
Even with a chain and rope, neither the cap¬ 
tain nor I could hold a shark without taking a 
turn about the rail, and with a rod in one hand 
and a gaff in the other, the holding was simply 
out of the question. He went away with the 
gaff in his throat, and yards of the line wound 
about him so tightly that it seemed it must 
cut through even his tough skin. 
Still the battle was not over, for hook and 
line both held. It was only a question of 
minutes before we had him up again, and this 
time we shot the shark just forward of the 
eyes—a constant surprise to me that day that 
such a monster thing should be killed as by a 
stroke of lightning, yet with only a little 
twenty-two bullet. 
1 hree times this was repeated with slight 
variations, and I excused my apparent fish 
hoggishness on the score that these were a 
menace to life and limb, as well as to the game 
fish and food fish of the waters. So at last, 
thoroughly tired and drenched through with 
spray, we hauled up anchor and made for port 
with a score of sharks aboard. 
The wind was fair. Far on the skyline a 
big schooner, with all sails set, stole along. 
About us the sea roared and foamed as the 
Hattie B. came down on a wave. No wonder 
the captain found trouble in locating a bar 
three fathoms under water, and thirteen miles 
out to sea. Yet he declared we could not 
catch a half dozen sharks in a week outside of 
that spot, perhaps half a square mile in extent. 
“But they’s hundreds of ’em there,” said 
he. “It’s a regular bedding ground for ’em. 
Lo’d love you. I’ve caught thousands of ’em 
right on that one shoal.” 
“Did you ever see one of them attack a 
man?” said I; for I had in mind the lurid 
stories of this monster of the deep. 
“Wal,” said he, “these ain’t rightly man- 
eatin’ sha’ks. The blue sha’ks is what they say 
eats men, and they look it. Only one you 
caught to-day is a blue sha’k. There he is— 
that pearl-gray one.” 
He certainly looked big enough—a monster 
of eleven feet, with a maw that would close 
over a man’s shoulders. 
“Well, Captain, you’ve been in this business 
twenty years? Did you ever see even signs 
of one attacking a man?” 
“I never did—to speak the truth. Though 
I guess I wouldn’t want to risk ’em none if they 
was in warmer water. Ya see, sir, them sha’ks 
don’t stay hereabout in the winter. Along 
about the middle of August, the blue sha’k 
comes on the ledge and drives the sand-sha’ks 
off. Then’s the time we catches the biggest.” 
“Did you ever fish for them in winter, 
Captain?” said I. 
“Lo’d bless you, yes, I’ve come along here 
when that old lighthouse on Bishop’s Ledge was 
covered thick with ice. Ya couldn’t git into 
her nohow, less’n you chopped through with an 
ax. Many a time we’d drop a line in the winter, 
but never a sha’k. They’re off for the warm 
water when the ice comes here. 
“Why, sir, it was in warm weather—fifteen, 
eighteen, twenty years agone—when I first found 
’em. I his sloop Hattie B. was bran new then, 
and we was seinin’ for mack’rel. Well, sir, we 
had her out behind us, five hundred ya’ds o’ 
fine new seine, and we come along the tide rip 
just the same as we done to-day. We had a fair 
net full when we hove over the ledge an’ be¬ 
gan to git ready to haul in on Horseshoe Shoal. 
“Well, sir, I’ve been a long time fishin’, 
but never did I see anythin’ the like o’ that. All 
on a sudden Scuppy sings out, ‘Lo’d love ye, 
see the sha’k!’ An’ all along that five hundred 
ya d o’ seine the foam come poppin’ up, and 
the blood, an’ bits o’ fish. Gulls come a 
squawkin’ an’ the net a wobblin’ like she was 
in a backswirl. \ a’d better believe we got 
busy. All hands turned over an’ we raised the 
very devil with them sha’ks. We shot ’em, an’ 
belted ’em with the ax. We slugged ’em with 
pins an’ everythin’. But I want to tell ya, when 
we gits that net aboard we done some cussin’. 
Ya could shove that boat through the holes. 
Five on us, four days’ labor it took to mend 
that damned net. Yes, sir, five on us four 
days a-workin’ like niggers. That’s how I 
found ’em—right in the Hattie B. D’you think 
I'm likely to forgit ’em?” 
“Well, Captain, there certainly are some 
sharks there. I’d like to have seen what was 
on the end of that line we broke to-day, with all 
three of us heaving.” 
“Sha’k?” said the Captain; “sha’k? by the 
gods they’s sha’k to burn there. Un do ya 
know, sir, a fellow asks me last trip how in the 
world did I find them, the ledge bein’ so small. 
‘Find ’em?’ says I. Lo’d, I found them sha’k 
afore you was born; ’n’ I aint likely to forgit 
where I found ’em neither.” 
HUNTING GAME IN MAINE. 
Continued from page 814. 
loons, the drumming of a partridge, the whist¬ 
ling of a frightened deer or call of the moose 
—that monarch of the thick timber—all is still¬ 
ness and an ideal place to cultivate a quiet heart 
and a contented mind. 
In tramping through the woods we saw 
many signs of deer, bear and moose. Every 
day we brought down a few partridges for the 
table and a sufficient supply of venison, which 
is cooked here at Charles Daisey’s to perfec¬ 
tion. However, the most enjoyable meal was 
that at midday, cooked on an open fire in the 
woods. There were many elements of enjoy¬ 
ment here—the cutting down of the wood for 
the fire, the building of the fire itself, which is 
to sportsmen generally one of the pleasantest 
recollections of the chase. Here we broiled 
partridge, a piece of luscious venison or a 
speckled beauty, all cooked hunter’s style, a 
veritable triumph of culinary art. With a good 
appetite and a reasonable thirst, what could be 
better than this? True, we had no plates, but 
we never mourned their loss. 
It is a long road and hard traveling, with 
many moss-covered fallen timbers, from finely 
decorated table-ware to the lair of the wild 
moose, and here Tom was at his best. He 
