He stepped into the boat, and lay down in the bottom with his arms over the side and his landing-hook, securely bound to a short, stout piece of bamboo, held ready.
“Shan’t be in your way, shall I?” he asked.
“No, not at all,” replied Joe. “Now, Rob, are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“I say, don’t let go again.”
“I’ll try not,” replied Rob, and the hauling began once more, with almost as much effort necessary. But at the end of a minute it began to be evident that the fish was tired, for it yielded more and more as the line was drawn in, but kept to its old tactics of hugging the bottom till it was close up to the boat, where, after pausing a moment or two, Rob cried,—
“Now then, both together! Don’t miss him, Shaddy! Mind, he’s a hideous great thing.”
“All right, my lads; haul away!”
They hauled, but instead of the fish suffering itself to be dragged like a lump of lead close in to the boat, it now commenced different tactics, and rose till the gilded tail appeared above the surface quite clear of the line, and beat and churned up the water so that it was too much disturbed for them to see the head, the creature seeming to be fighting hard to dive down again straight to the bottom.
“That’s right, my lads: he’s coming. ’Nother fathom, and I’ll get the hook into him. Haul steady. He’s, done. He’s— Well, I’m blessed!”