“Yes,” quickly responded Du Ponté, “I hooked him on a small perch line out there,” indicating the spot near shore, “in front of my friend’s cottage, not more than three rods from shore. He can tell you”—nodding to the “cottager”—“he saw me from his gallery, which is over the small dock near where I was fishing, throw the pole overboard and heard me shout for help. Now, friend,” nodding to the man with the wounded limb, “tell Mr. Mac how we got him ashore.”
“There isn’t much to say about what we did,” began the “cottager,” “but it’s what the fish did to us. Look at Ribbon Gibbon! His hand lacerated to the wrist; Du Ponté, here, with a dislocated shoulder, while I have a jagged wound at the knee.” Mac viewed them as requested, his features at the time screwed up as though a bright sunlight were shining on his face.
“I had just finished dressing,” the “cottager” continued, “and had stepped out on the balcony to see what the weather was to be, before I went into the tower to run up the flag. Then it was I saw Du Ponté at his regular trick of fishing the perch bank dry before anybody else was up and stirring. The next instant I heard a despairing yell, and, looking in the direction from whence it came, I saw Du Ponté making frantic efforts to raise the stone anchor to his boat, and calling at the same time for help to capture his fishing pole, which was making down stream in a zig-zag course at lightning speed. As I watched the pole it came, now and then, to the surface. I saw that its mysterious kidnapper was making for the small bay which lay where you see, there, between my cottage and the hotel here. An idea seized me, and, with swiftness born only of excitement, I sped down the stairs, out into the roadway which leads through ‘Ghost Hollow,’ shouting as I ran to Ribbon Gibbon, who had just emerged from the hotel, to meet me at the bend of the bay in ‘Ghost Hollow.’
“‘Who’s drowning?’ said Ribbon.
“‘Nobody,’ said I, all out of breath with excitement; ‘Du Ponté has hooked a sturgeon, and he made off into the bay here with his pole and line. Look!’ says I. ‘There it goes again,’ and the bamboo pole shot inward a couple of rods nearer shore. Ribbon saw the pole this time, and we set out together to capture the fish.
“‘Let’s take that boat lying over there on the other shore,’ said he, and we made a run for it. I jumped at once into the boat in my haste to reach the runaways, but Ribbon stopped to push off from the rocks. I lost my balance and fell over the sharp end of the oar-lock, and that’s how I cut my leg. Before I had got righted up again I heard a terrible splashing, and, looking over the end of the boat into the bay, I saw Ribbon with an oar striking wildly at something in the water, a boat length from shore. ‘We’ve got him, we’ve got him!’ he wailed, hysterically, but suddenly losing his footing he fell full length upon the monster as he lay struggling to free himself from the maze of twisted fishlines with which he found himself securely tied. Immediately a cry of pain came from the water, and Ribbon held up a bleeding hand. In his fall he had encountered the sharp teeth of the fish you see here before you in full view.”
At this point in the narrative Ribbon groaned, and, holding his injured arm at the elbow, turned slowly away. “Stunned by the beating he had received from Ribbon with the oar,” continued the “cottager,” “and exhausted by his efforts to free himself from the coils of the line, Mr. Fish gave up the struggle, and with the aid of Ponté, who had now reached the shore, we rolled him up upon the beach. We have weighed him over at the ice-house, and he tips the scales at exactly eighty-seven pounds and one-quarter.”
The “cottager” then limped to the side of Du Ponté, Ribbon Gibbon edged up beside the “cottager,”then Mac, after placing his thumbs in the sleeve-holes of his vest and elevating his head till his eyes had a chance from under the peak of his cap, a cunning smile o’erspreading his face, spoke quietly and deliberately.
“Well, gentlemen,” said he, “it is remarkable, and only that I have the honor of knowing you three chaps, and know you to be absolutely truthful, I might say to you that you are the best trio of liars I have ever met.” Then he made a catlike grin at the “cottager,” and, keeping his thumbs in the arm-holes of his vest, he turned and sauntered out of the group.
The number of people who now stood gaping with undisguised wonder pictured on their faces edged in closer, forming a compact circle surrounding the terrible monster of the deep, and viewing the disabled subjects of his vicious attack.