In a twinkling every boy had a line overboard; but, to their disappointment, not a fish would bite. They still seized the throw-bait that was cast out, but not one of them would take a baited hook.
“If that isn’t a regular mackerel trick, I’ll eat my bait,” said George Warren. “Cap’n Sam said mackerel would often act that way, though I never saw them when they wouldn’t bite before. He says they will play around a boat for hours and not touch a hook, and, all of a sudden, they’ll commence and bite as though they were starving.”
The boy’s words were unexpectedly verified at this moment by a sudden twitch at his line and by corresponding twitches at all the other lines. The fish had begun biting in earnest. The next moment the boys had three or four aboard, handsome fellows, striped green and black, changing to a bluish shade, and soon the cockpit seemed alive with them.
It was new sport for Tom and Bob, but they soon learned to tend two lines, one in each hand; to drop one and haul the other in at a bite, and to slat the mackerel off the hook with a quick snap, instead of stopping to take them off by hand.
The mackerel bit fiercely, sometimes at the bare hook even, like fish gone crazy. It seemed as though they might go on catching them all day long, for the water was alive with them; but all at once the fish stopped biting as abruptly as they had begun. They still played around the boat, but not a fish would touch a hook.
“We may as well put up our lines, boys. They are through biting for this morning,” said Arthur Warren. “Besides, we have more fish now than we know what to do with.”
There was no doubt of that. They had caught several hundred of the fish—enough to supply the village.
“We’ll make friends with every one in town,” said George Warren. “These are the first mackerel of the season, and we will give away all we cannot use.”
“I feel as though I could eat about four now,” said young Joe.
“I can eat at least six,” said Henry Burns.