Josh had changed the position of Arthur’s line several times, and at last he took hold of it and began to haul it in.
“Going to leave off?” said Arthur joyously.
“No, my lad, not yet. You won’t mind me throwing in for you?”
“Oh no!” cried the boy.
“Then,” said Josh, “I’m just going to throw over yonder into the deepest part, and if we don’t get one out of there we may give up.”
Drawing in and laying the line carefully in rings, he took the weight and threw it some distance from them, the lead falling with a heavy plash. Then Dick and Will followed suit on their side, and Arthur was compelled to take the line again from Josh, for the latter said:
“Oh no! I’m not going to fish. I can have a turn any day, my lad. Go on, and we’ll show ’em this time what it is to fish again’ us. A mussy me! we’ll give ’em a startler directly. We’ll show ’em what conger be.”
Arthur’s hands felt cold and damp as he sat there holding: the line and thinking of what would be the consequences if he hooked a monster and Josh failed to kill it before dragging it on board. It would run all over the boat, and it would be sure to bite him first—he knew it would; and the idea was horrible, making him so nervous that his hands shook as he held the line.
It was quite dark now, but a beautiful transparent darkness, with the sky one glorious arch of glittering points, and the sea a mirror in which those diamond sparks were reflected. The phosphorescence that had been so beautiful on the night when his brother was out with Josh and Will was absent, save a faint pale glow now and then, seen when a wave curled over and broke upon the great bird rock. All was wonderfully still, and they sat for some time listening to the distant singing of some of the fishermen, whose voices sounded deliciously soft and melodious as the tones of the old west-country part-song floated over the heaving sea.
Suddenly Arthur started, for Dick exclaimed: