“I do not despair altogether,” he answered. “We may very likely, before long, be visited by birds, which, as we have our guns, we may be able to shoot; or, should a calm come on, possibly some flying-fish may leap on board, or we may be able to catch some other fish. Perhaps we may even be able to manufacture a hook and line.”
“What a fortunate idea!” I exclaimed. “I have got a file in my knife; and we may be able to find a nail, to which I can put a barb, and bend it into the proper shape.”
We lost no time in putting the idea just started, into execution. We hunted about, and fortunately discovered a long thin nail of tough iron, which I thought we could bend into the shape of a hook. I told no one what I was about, however, but at once began filing away so as to form the barb, the most difficult part of my task. Arthur, meantime, recollected that he had on a pair of strong thread socks; so, undoing the upper part, he produced a long line, which when doubled was of sufficient strength to bear a pretty strong pull. By the time I had prepared my hook, greatly to my satisfaction, his line was ready. It was not so long as we should have liked, but still long enough to allow the bait to sink sufficiently below the surface to attract the unwary fish. Tim, in the meantime, had been cleaning our guns, the locks of which, not having been covered up, had prevented their use at the moment they were so much required. We reloaded them, and put in fresh priming.
Uncle Paul having noticed what we were about,—“That is right,” he observed. “We are bound to make every effort to preserve our lives. While we put full trust in God, He will favour our efforts.”
The wind was again dropping, and the time, we thought, was favourable to commence fishing. We had to sacrifice a small piece of manatee flesh, but we trusted that it would give us a satisfactory return. So, having baited our hook, and put some lead on the line, we dropped it into the water, letting it tow astern. Never did fisherman hold a line with more anxious wish for success than did Arthur. He had not long to wait.
“I have a bite!” he exclaimed in a tone of eagerness. “Hurrah! it’s hooked!”
Carefully he drew in the line, while Tim and I leaned over the side, to lift up the expected prize, for fear that it might break away at the last moment. It was a fish nearly two feet long; and it fortunately struggled but little, or I believe that it would have carried away the hook. How eagerly we clutched it!—literally digging our fingers into its flesh—and then with a jerk brought it safely aboard. We none of us knew its name; but as it was of the ordinary fishlike shape, we hoped that it would prove to be of a species fit for human food.
“I wish we had a kitchen-fire at which to cook it,” cried Marian.
“We must manage to do without that,” observed Uncle Paul; “and we shall not be the first folks who have been thankful to obtain raw fish for dinner.”
It is my belief that that fish saved our lives. Even Marian managed to eat a small portion, which was beaten up fine to enable her to swallow it. Strange to say, it was the only one we caught, though we had the line out for several hours afterwards. We were afraid of allowing it to remain unless one of us held it, lest some large fish, catching hold of it, should carry away the hook. We therefore hauled it in at night; and, it being calm, Arthur took the helm, while Uncle Paul lay down to sleep.