Harpooning Tunny Fish in Canada. 
I was staying at a small 'fishing village on the 
Gulf of St. Lawrence and a fisherman asked me 
if I would like to go after “sherks,” a local term 
for tunny fish, or mackerel sharks. These fish 
come in large schools in July and August and 
enter the bays in search of small fish for food. 
In calm weathe'r the)' swim on the surface of 
the water, with their long-pointed tails and sharp 
fins plainly visible. Their winters are spent in 
southern waters, the Adriatic Sea being their 
favorite place for spawning, and on the Medi¬ 
terranean coast they are caught in nets in large 
numbers for food. In the summer they make 
for northern latitudes, where, as a rule, they are 
unmolested. The small village at which I was 
staying is one of the few places in northern 
parts where the tunny is caught for sport as 
well as for food. At Santa Catalina Island, off 
the coast of California, they are caught with a 
large rod and reel, but these fish are a much 
smaller species and rarely exceed 400 pounds, 
whereas the ones I became acquainted with ex¬ 
ceeded even 800 pounds in weight. 
I accepted my fisherman friend’s invitation 
with alacrity, and half-past five next morning 
found him waiting for me with his boat and 
crew, which consisted of three other men be¬ 
sides himself. I was told it was a fine morning 
for “sherking.” It was calm as glass and rather 
dull, which is much better than a bright sun, as 
that makes a glare on the water which makes it 
difficult to see the fish at a distance. The boat 
in shape was something like a whale boat; in 
fact, the whole outfit is very much like a whal¬ 
ing outfit on a small scale. There were two 
harpoons fitted into wooden handles, the second 
being for use in case the first broke, and a long 
steel blade on a wooden handle, called a lance, 
for bleeding the fish with when he is got along¬ 
side. There was also a large coil of thin rope 
attached to the harpoon and a round wooden 
block driven into the bow over which a half 
hitch of the rope might be taken, to relieve the 
strain when hauling in the fish. 
The boat is not rowed, but is paddled like a 
large canoe, the reason for this being that pad¬ 
dling is much more noiseless and not so liable 
to frighten the fish. The men can also see bet¬ 
ter what they are doing. Paddling a heavy boat 
all day after tunny fish is back-breaking work, 
as I discovered later, and one gets so carried 
away by the excitement of chasing the fish that 
the tired feeling is not discovered until the work 
is over. We were obliged to paddle about five 
miles before we reached the best “sherking 
ground,” as the men called it, which was a 
stretch of water near some high bluffs. 
into the paddles. After that it was a sort of 
game of hide and seek. Sometimes the fish 
Would disappear altogether for several minutes 
and we would think they had gone. Then they 
would suddenly reappear on the surface and we 
would dash after them, old William calling out: 
“Paddle, boys; paddle.” Once we got very close 
to them and could see their black backs shin¬ 
ing, but just as Douglas got ready to throw the 
harpoon, they dived and disappeared again, com¬ 
ing up some distance away. At last, after des¬ 
perate efforts, we overtook the school, and 
Douglas taking a long shot, threw the harpoon. 
We thought he had missed, but there was a 
splash, a whirr of rope running out and we 
knew that we were fast to a fish. 
I have had a good deal of experience in a 
diversity of sport, but I do not know of any 
more exciting and thrilling moment than when 
the harpoon is thrown. The rope begins to run 
out and you know that you are really fast to a 
big tunny. There is still a great element of 
uncertainty about it. Unless the harpoon has 
struck the right spot it very often falls out. 
Sometimes it strikes the backbone and glances 
off, and occasionally if imbedded in the soft, 
fleshy parts.it pulls out after much strain has 
been put on it. Many fish are lost in this way. 
This fellow, however, had been struck in the 
right spot, and the harpoon held. After first 
diving straight to the bottom he went off at a 
fine pace, towing the boat along as if it were 
nothing. Douglas paid out rope, keeping a cer¬ 
tain amount of strain on all the time as in play¬ 
ing a salmon, and the moment the fish slackened 
up a bit, he began to haul in the rope. He 
would haul in a good deal, and then off the fish 
would go again and out would go the rope. Sud¬ 
denly the tunny dived and then Douglas shouted, 
“Back water,” so, that we should not get be¬ 
yond the fish, which might cause complications. 
THE COLT FACTORY AT PATERSON, N. J., IN 1836. 
William, the eldest man, was in command of 
the boat and steered with a long oar at the stern. 
Douglas, a strong, active young fellow, was the 
harpooner and stood up in the bow on lookout. 
He also helped in the paddling until we got 
close to a school, when he seized the harpoon. 
The other two men and I paddled in the middle 
of the boat. In the distance we could see sev¬ 
THE ORIGINAL “PATERSON” COLT REVOLVER. 
eral other boats also on the lookout for tunny, 
and Douglas said he saw that one was “fast” 
to a fish, though my unpracticed eyes could see 
nothing. Suddenly he ' shouted out: “There 
they school!” and sure enough about a hundred 
yards away was a faint ripple on the surface 
of the water. We paddled after them as fast 
as possible, when suddenly they appeared in an 
entirely different direction. We hurried the boat 
as quickly as possible and put our whole strength 
