“I’ve got him,” I shouted, beginning to haul in, for I could feel something heavy at the end of the line which had given several sharp snatches as I hauled.
“Oh, what a shame!” cried Bob. “I don’t see why they should come first to old Sep. Here, I know what it is. Only an old bow-wow.”
“No, it isn’t,” I exclaimed as I caught a glimpse of something white, looking like a slice of the moon far down below the boat. “It’s a flat-fish, and a big one.”
I proved to be right, as I hauled it flapping over the side, and Bigley seized what proved to be a nice plaice, and took the hook from its jaws.
As the line, being rebaited, was thrown in again, there was a serious examination of the prize, which was about to be transferred to the basket brought to hold our captures, when Bob shouted, “I’ve got him!” and began to haul in with all his might.
We both adjured him to be careful, but in his excitement he paid no heed, only dragged as hard as he could, and hoisted in a long grey fish, at which he gazed with a comical aspect full of disgust.
I laughed, and as I laughed he grew more angry, for his prize was what he had previously called a “bow-wow” and attributed to me. For it was a good-sized dog-fish, one which had to be held at head and tail lest in its twining and lashing about it should strike with its spine and do some mischief.
“Here, let me take him off,” cried Bob.
“No, no; you mind the line isn’t tangled,” cried Bigley; but Bob gave him a push, the dog-fish, which was nearly a yard long, was set free, and began to journey about amongst Bob’s line, while, when he placed his foot upon its head, the fierce creature bent half round, and then let itself go like a spring, with the effect that it struck Bob’s shoe so smart a blow with one of its spines that the shoe was pierced by the toe, and it required a tug to withdraw the spine.
“Are you hurt, Bob?” we both cried earnestly.