Meanwhile, being unquestionably “in power,” Master Trench, Paul, Oliver, Grummidge, Stubbs, and several of the well-affected, took possession of the boat when ready, and, inviting Swinton to join them—as a stroke of policy—pushed off, with hooks and lines, to make the first essay in the way of fishing on the now famous Banks of Newfoundland.
Anchoring the boat in what they deemed a suitable spot, they went to work.
“I wonder if they’ll take to pork,” remarked Stubbs, as he baited a large hook.
“If they take to it as you do, we shall soon run short o’ that article,” said Swinton, dropping his hook into the water.
“I have brought off some shellfish,” remarked Master Trench. “They may prefer that.”
“So have I, father,” said Oliver, whose bait was already at the bottom, “and if—hallo! hold on! hi! Oh! I say!”
While the boy was thus ejaculating, in a state of blazing excitement, his arms, and indeed his body, to say nothing of his spirit, were being jerked violently by his line in a way that suggested something awful at the other end!
“Have a care, Olly!” “Gently, lad!” “Hold on, boy!” “Let ’im run!” were among the contradictory pieces of advice given in various tones of warning, remonstrance, or simple recommendation; but Oliver heeded them not. Acting on his own judgment he drew his fish, or whatever it might be, gradually and carefully from the deep.
“A mermaid it must be, to tug so hard,” muttered Stubbs, as he and the others looked on with eager interest.
“A merman if it’s anything,” said Squill; “sure there was never a maid in the say, or out of it, as would tug like that.”