“Well, no,” said Josh; “they ain’t so big as sea-sarpents, because they say they’re hundreds o’ yards long. I never see one, but I’ve heerd say so; but congers will bite and no mistake. I had one ketch me by the boot once, and he bit right through the leather.”
All this while they were rowing farther and farther from the shore, on about as lovely an evening as it was possible to imagine, and the warm glow of the sunshine prevented Arthur’s face from looking ghastly white.
He felt that he must beg of them to turn back directly—that he dared not go farther; and yet there was a greater fear still to keep him silent. If he begged of them to row back they would laugh at him for a coward, and he could not bear this.
“Fishing!” he thought; why, it was like going to attack some horrible pack of sea-monsters in their rocky fastnesses; and instead of being dressed in flannels, he felt that he ought to be clothed in complete armour. Why, if a conger could bite through a line, what would he think of flannel trousers? And if one got tight hold of his flesh, what would be the consequences?
Arthur sat there with his mouth dry and his eyes staring as, in imagination, he saw one of the great slimy creatures twisting itself round and round, and cutting a great piece out of one of his legs; and it was all he could do to keep from shuddering with fear.
And all the while there was Dick with a red face, and his hat stuck right at the back of his head, tugging away at his oar, and smiling at all Josh said.
“I must try and be as brave as Dick is,” Arthur said to himself; and forcing his teeth firmly together, he began to plan in his own mind what he would do if Dick caught a conger. He would have his penknife ready in his hand, and pretend to help pull in the line; and while he was doing this he would cut it and the monster would swim away.
“Don’t you be scared about the congers, Master Taffarthur, sir,” said Josh kindly. “They be gashly ugly things to tackle sometimes, but—”
“I’m not afraid,” said Arthur indignantly.
“Not you, sir. Why should you be?” said Josh. “We can manage them. A big one has a nasty way of his own of getting loose in the boat and wriggling himself all about under the thwarts—”