The hook was already speeding towards the bottom, but no grunting red gurnard took the bait, the boat being once more going easily along; and for the next quarter of an hour Dick did not get a bite; but at last, as they were rowing along by a rugged part of the coast where the waves foamed and roared among the rocks, tossing the olive-brown sea-weed up and dragging it back, Will bade him look out.
“You’ll get a pollack along here perhaps.”
For another five minutes, though, there was no sign, and Dick suggested that the bait must be gone.
“Pull it in and see,” said Josh.
The lad began to haul, but at the second pull there was a tremendous snatch, the line was dragged from his fingers, and began to run rapidly over the stern.
“Look out!” cried Will.
“I’ve got him!” cried Dick, snatching at the line again, and holding on though it threatened to cut into his soft white hands. “My! don’t he pull! Oh! this is a monster.”
“Pull! haul at him! get his nose this way!” roared Josh; and Dick pulled, with the fish darting to right and left, sixty yards away from the boat’s stern; but the stress soon began to tell, and it came easier after a time, nearer and nearer, till it was drawn close up, and then Dick, who was boiling over with excitement as he gazed at the great prize he had hooked, became aware that the boat was motionless and that Will was leaning over him ready to deftly insert the new gaff-hook in the fish’s gills, and lift it over the side.
“What a beauty!” cried Dick. “Is it the setting sun makes it look like that?”
“No, it’s the natural colours,” replied Will, taking out the hook and then laying the magnificent fish down upon its side to be admired.