“Come along, my beauty! What a wopper! Won’t he go down without sauce? Pity I’ve got no kleek to gaff him. Not quite so close, Dan, he’ll get—Hah!”
The weight of the fish tore it from the hook at that moment, and it dropped.
Dropped, ay, but not exactly into its native element. It dropped into Dan’s bosom! With a convulsive grasp Dan embraced it in his strong arms and sank. Matt Quintal dived, also caught hold of the fish with both hands and worked his two thumbs deep into its gills. By the process called treading water, the two soon regained the surface. Sarah Quintal seized Dan McCoy by the hair, Bessy Mills made a grasp at Matt and caught him by the ear, while John Adams made a grab at the fish, got him by the nose, thrust a hand into his mouth, which was wide open with surprise or something else, as well it might be, and caught it by the tongue.
Another moment, and a wild cheer from the boys announced that the fish was safe in the canoe.
“We’re entitled to dinner now, father,” said Dan, laughing.
“Not a bit of it, you lazy boys; that fish is only big enough for the girls. We want something for the men and child’n. Be off again.”
With much more readiness the youths, now gratified by their success, turned to the outlying rocks of a low promontory which jutted from the inaccessible cliffs at that part. Effecting a landing with some difficulty, they proceeded to look for crawfish, a species of lobster which abounds there.
Leaning over a ledge of rock, and peering keenly down into a clear pool which was sheltered from the surf, Dan suddenly exclaimed, “There’s one, Matt; I see his feelers.”
As he spoke he dived into the water and disappeared. Even a pearl diver might have wondered at the length of time he remained below. Presently he reappeared, puffing like a grampus, and holding a huge lobster-like creature in his hands.
“That’ll stop the mouths of two or three of us, Matt!” he exclaimed, looking round.