"Nothing but a lot of holes," said Captain Westfield.
"I've got a lot of the queerest looking fish I ever saw," Walter exclaimed. "Row over and take a look at them. One of them bit me. Gee! but it hurts!"
A few strokes of his oars brought Charley alongside and he peeped over into his chum's skiff.
A score of big, eel-like, repulsive-looking creatures squirmed in the bottom.
One glance and Charley, chucking his anchor aboard Walter's skiff, sprang into it.
"Quick, show me where it bit you!" he cried.
Walter held out a hand in the palm of which a tiny puncture oozed out occasional drops of blood.
Charley whipped out a cord from his pocket, bound it loosely around the wrist of the wounded hand and thrusting an oarlock in the slack twisted it around until the cord dented into the flesh. "Now, stick your hand over into the water and keep it there," he commanded.
Seizing an oar, he gingerly ladled the repulsive-looking creature out of the skiff.