CHAPTER X.
ONE NIGHT'S SPORT.
"Now just imagine that we are really hunting fish," Charley directed, as he shoved his skiff from shore. "Take up your positions exactly as I directed and make as little noise as possible with your oars."
His companions eagerly obeyed and the three skiffs slowly crept ahead as if stealing up on a school of fish.
But their leader was not yet ready for real fishing and they had proceeded thus but a little ways when he gave the captain the signal for a run. The old sailor deftly backed up his skiff and threw Charley the end of his net. The lad caught it and quickly made it fast to his own. "Give way," he shouted, seizing his oars, and the three boats darted away while the nets ran out smoothly over their sterns.
When he judged that three-fourths of his net was out, Charley shouted to his chums and the two boats swung around for each other. The last of Walter's net ran out just as Charley passed around the stern of his skiff and turning back into the circle rowed out the few remaining yards of his own net.
"That's one important thing to remember," he commented as he rowed up to his chum's boat. "We always want to turn when we have got just enough net left to reach each other with. If our nets don't come together the fish all run out through the gap."
"Whew," Walter panted, "I never dreamed those nets were so long. I thought my arms were going to break from rowing so hard before you gave the signal to turn."
Charley grinned. "They are four hundred yards each—nearly a quarter of a mile long. Wait until you get one full of fish and it will seem forty miles long. The captain's got that other end closed up nicely, and now for the drumming up."