They had now caught a great many fish, and began to feel somewhat tired. Their hands, too, were sore and parboiled from the friction of the line and constant soaking in the water, especially those of John and Fred, who did not know how to take out the hook without putting their fingers into the fish’s mouth, and scratching and cutting them with his teeth and gills. But Charlie, who was better versed in the business, took out the hook with his killer—a stick made to fit the hook, and with which he knocked the fish on the head as he pulled them in. So, while one of them fished, and threw bait to keep the fish round, the others leaned over the side of the canoe, and amused themselves by looking down into the clear water, and seeing the fish swimming about among the kelp, like cattle in the pasture. There were sculpins, lobsters, perch, cod, pollock, and once in a while a haddock, all living as socially together as could be. Sometimes a cusk would stray in among them, and a sea-nettle come drifting along just outside the kelp, his long feelers streaming a yard behind him.
“Look at the muscles down there,” said Fred; “I never knew muscles grew on rocks way out in the sea; I thought they grew in the mud.”
“These,” replied John, “are rock muscles, a much smaller kind; they are what the sea-ducks live on; they dive down and tear them off the rocks with their bills.”
“What kind of a thing is that? I should like to know; there, he’s close to that great rock.”
“I don’t know; Charlie, come here and tell us what this is.”
“That,” said Charlie, “is a lump-fish; he don’t belong here, on a rock cod ledge, but I suppose he’s out making calls this pleasant day.”
“I should think he was a lump,” said John; “he’s square, both ends.”
“They are first rate to eat,” said Charlie; “let’s try and catch him, and give him to Uncle Isaac, together with that great lobster.”
“What is the best bait for him, Charlie?”
“I don’t know. You and Fred bait him with lobster, and I will bait him with clams.”