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CHAPTER XI
IN THE FOG BANK
“SQUID ho! Squid ho! Tumble up, all hands!”
Rod Kent, the old salt who had for the past hour been experimenting over the side, leaned down the main cabin hatch and woke the port watch. Behind him on the deck a queer marine creature squirmed in a pool of water and sought vainly to disentangle itself from the apparatus that had caught it.
The shout brought all hands on deck, stupid with sleep, but eager to join in the sport.
The squid is a very small edition of the giant devilfish or octopus. It has ten tentacles, a tapered body about ten inches long, and is armed with the usual defensive ink-sac, by means of which it squirts a cloud of black fluid at a pursuing enemy, escaping in the general murk.
“How’d ye ketch him?” cried all hands, for the advent of squid was the most welcome news the men on the Charming Lass had had since leaving home four days before. It meant that this favorite and 96 succulent bait of the roaming cod had arrived on the Banks, and that the catches would be good.