He had swung the head of the raft from shore, and was standing at the stern end, pole in hand, ready to push off.
The boys found places quickly, one on either side of the iron rod which supported the basket of blazing pine. The knots were hissing, snapping, and sending forth a constant star-like shower of sparks.
Ben pushed from shore and poled slowly along in about three or four feet of water. By aid of the glare from the flaming beacon above them the young spearmen were enabled to see down through the placid depths to the muddy bottom. They crouched, spear in hand, ready to impale the first victim that showed itself.
When they were well under way Ben began to issue instructions.
“See anything yet?” he inquired.
“Nothing but some sticks and stones,” replied Ed.
“Wait a minute! There—goes—something!” And George made a wild jab into the water.
“Hold on there; that won’t do!” said Ben. “You’ll break the pole or throw yourself overboard. When you see something, lower the point of your spear gradually till you get it two or three inches over your fish. Then give a short, quick jab and you’ll get him.”
“I see an eel!” cried Ed, lowering his spear as Ben had directed. “I’ve got him!” he declared, exultantly, and raised his spear and displayed a three-foot eel wriggling on the tines. He was about to drop his prize on the raft when the guide interrupted.
“Here, take this,” he said, and pushed forward the box on which he had been sitting. “Put them in that; otherwise they’ll flop overboard. Now take your knife and stick him behind the head. In the future, spear them there, and you’ll kill them at once.”