Arthur involuntarily slackened the line, and the eel ceased its backward drag and swam up.
“Now, haul again—just a bit,” said Josh, standing there with the gaff in his perfect hand, keen axe in the deformed.
Arthur obeyed and dragged the writhing serpentine creature close to the surface. Then, quick as thought, Josh had the great snaky fish by the head with his short sharp gaff-hook, drew it over the gunwale, and before Arthur could realise what was done the axe had descended with a dull thud, and Josh dragged the quivering half inert conger over the side and forward, clear of the line and away from Arthur.
“There!” cried Josh, as he cleverly extricated the hook with the disgorger; “you come and look at him, Master Arthur. He can’t bite now, and I’m holding him down.”
There was so much quiet firmness in the fisherman’s words that Arthur felt himself constrained to go forward and look at the great snaky fish as it heaved and curved its springy body in the bottom of the boat.
“A reg’lar good fat one,” said Josh. “She be a bit ugly, sure enough, and I’ve seen many a boy in my time scared by the gashly things. It was your first one, Master Arthur, and you caught him, and I say as you warn’t a bit scared.”
“I—I couldn’t help being a little afraid,” said Arthur slowly; “but look! look! it’s biting the rope.”
“Ay, but it has no strength to bite now,” said Josh. “There, we’ll put um in the well, and let um lie there. You caught um—fine eight-and-thirty pound if it be an ounce. Now you shall catch another.”
“What!” gasped Arthur.
“I say, now you shall catch another,” said Josh sturdily, as he leaned over the side and washed disgorger, axe, and hook. “You won’t mind half so much next time, and then your brother won’t be able to crow over you.”