Chris' joy was almost pathetic to see. "I'se sho' going wid you-alls," he cried. "Dis nigger can sho' catch fish with a hook. An' I sho' is glad I doan hab to stay alone on dis ole creepy island at night, no more."
And, indeed, perhaps, the part the little negro had so far taken had been as hard and unpleasant as any of theirs.
The evening that followed was by far the pleasantest they had spent on the island. Fear of the fishermen was over for the present at least. Walter's recovery was another cause for rejoicing, and they all looked forward to their morrow's work with a pleasurable anticipation that none had felt for the hard, nasty, trying net fishing.
So eager was Chris to begin, that he was up long before daybreak cooking breakfast and putting up a hearty lunch for their dinner.
The sun was just coming up as they steered out of the inlet into the open gulf. Walter had insisted upon coming with them and lay on one of the seats looking somewhat thin and pale but drawing in increased strength from every breath of the bracing, salt air.
The captain was in full command, for, when it was a matter of sea work, Charley quickly gave way to the old, experienced sailor. While they bounded over the blue sparkling waves for the line of coral reefs he brought out the hooks, lines, and heavy sinkers they had purchased and rigged up the tackle for their fishing. It was simple. Just strong braided lines fifty feet long with a heavy lead on one end. Above the lead, he attached three very short lines a couple of feet apart, tying a hook on each.
As soon as he decided that they were nearing the reef he ordered the engine slowed down and cast a line over the stern.
"It's too deep to see when we get on the reef," he explained, "so we will have to feel for it. That lead on the line pulls along smooth over the sandy bottom but when it strikes the coral lumps on the reef it will begin to jerk." He sat with hand on the line until a series of quick, jumping tremors told him they were over the reef when he ordered the anchor lowered.
With eagerness the little party baited the hooks and cast their lines over. They waited breathless for the tugging which would announce a bite, but as the minutes dragged away without a nibble, their high spirits began to lower.
"Golly, I could do better than this on the island," grumbled Chris, as he pulled up his line and examined his bait for the twentieth time.