Captain Mugford: Our Salt and Fresh Water Tutors

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“Indeed! yes,” replied Harry. “Look! he is stopping, and seems to be shaking the hook as a cat would a mouse. What can it be?”

Now the unknown took a tack towards us, and the line was gathered in and kept tight, and, as he began to go about on another course, his enemies took advantage of his momentary sluggishness to haul with considerable effect on the line. That brought the rascal right under the rocks. We could not see him; only the commotion of the water. Being brought up with such a short turn maddened the fellow, and perhaps he began to realise what was giving him such a jaw-ache. At any rate, just then he showed his speed to the whole length of the line, rushing off like a locomotive, and cutting his enemies fingers to the bones. They held on, however, and were able to bring him to as his charge slackened.

Of course the others of us hauled in our lines and watched with eagerness the combat so exciting. We proffered advice of all kinds to the two fishers, which they did not heed but devised schemes as the moment required, and certainly they managed with great skill. You would have thought the Captain was on deck in a hurricane, or repelling the boarders of a Malay pirate. The pipe was jammed up to its bowl in the side of his mouth, and all he said came in jerks through his teeth.

We were perfectly in the dark as to what the fish might be—whether an immense cod or halibut, or a princely bass.

The fight went on for half an hour without any decided result. But after that the struggles of the fish occupied a smaller space, never taking more than half the line out now. He was nearer the surface too, and the quick slaps of a tremendous tail lashed the sea.

“Mr Clare,” called out Captain Mugford, “won’t you twist two of the boys’ lines together and bend them on that gaff? By the way, there is a hatchet with us, is there not? Good! Have that and the gaff ready. We are tiring the animal, whatever it is—a shark, I suspect.”

Whilst we were carrying out the Captain’s orders, Harry cried, “See, see! there is the whole length of him. Yes, a shark. What a grand beast!”

They were tiring him—worrying the strength and fierceness out of him. Every turn was bringing him nearer the rock. Every dash of his was weaker. But it must have been fully an hour from the first rush he made before he was brought exhausted alongside of the rocks, and the Captain cried, “Put in the gaff, Mr Clare—hard deep!”

Well was it that a strong line had been made fast to the gaff, for as its big hook struck him behind the gills, he uttered a sound like the moan of a child, and flapped off, the gaff remaining in him, into deep water.

With the two lines and his exhausted state, it was comparatively easy to bring him to the rocks again, and then with blows of the hatchet we had soon murdered him. Even then it was a job of some moment to get the body safely up the slimy and uneven rocks.