"That's one thing which puzzles me," Walter said. "How are you going to find fish at night. Of course, I understand how you can tell where they are in the day time, for if you can't see the fish themselves, you can tell they are there by the ripples they make in the water."
"They are oftentimes easier to find at night," Charley affirmed. "There is nearly always more or less phosphorescence in the water and a fish can not move without leaving a glowing streak in his wake, that is, if he is within ten feet of the surface. An expert fisherman can tell by the character of the bright streak the kind of fish that makes it. Each species makes a different kind of movement and an expert can read their trails like a hunter reads tracks. Nights when the water does not fire it is harder, for then the fisherman has to go by sound. Each kind of fish makes its own peculiar noise but it is hard to distinguish some of them apart and still harder to tell their size. Our nets are made for mullet and that is the only kind of fish we need be concerned with."
"Why, there is a lot more to fishing than I thought," Walter commented. "I supposed it was simple and easy to learn."
"It takes years of experience to make a skilful fisherman," Charley assured him. "I do not claim to be one. I only just know the rudiments of it."
"I reckon it's that way with most everything," Captain Westfield remarked, thoughtfully, "from running a ship up to running a nation. Thar's always a heap more to larn than the man outside thinks thar is."
"But all the knowledge a man can get does not help without plenty of good hard work," Charley amended. "And it's time for us to begin ours now. It's dark enough now, I believe. All aboard for our first attempt."
The three scrambled into their skiffs and casting loose from the launch, took to their oars bringing their crafts into the formation they had practiced.
In a few minutes, the launch was lost to sight and they could not see each other. Only the faint glow of the turned-down lanterns rising above the gunwales of their skiffs enabled them to keep track of each other.
As they crept slowly on into the night, Walter was surprised to see how teeming the waters were with life. On every side of his boat, fiery streaks marked the passage of finny creatures. At times, he passed through spaces fairly aglow with the movements of them. As Charley had said, there was a marked difference in the character of the water trails. Some were close to the surface, while others showed deep below. Some were long and continuous in a straight line. Others twisted and turned, while still others seemed to run only a little ways and then stopped suddenly. But they all marked the passage of fish, and he soon began to wonder why Charley did not give the signal to circle them. At first, he consoled himself with the thought that his chum knew what he was doing, but as they rowed steadily on mile after mile through the flashing schools, he began to have doubts. After all, Charley had admitted that he was not an experienced fisherman. Perhaps Charley was not passing through the same schools. Perhaps he was not watching close. Walter's arms and back began to ache from the steady rowing and as his fatigue increased he began to get irritated. Why all this steady rowing on and on when there were plenty of fish all about them. The same thoughts were passing through Captain Westfield's mind but he had been bred in a calling which demands constant patient obedience to the one in command. He had elected to follow Charley's leadership and that was the end of it. He would do it without question.
At last Walter could stand it no longer.