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Jack at Sea, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 12. A Finny Prize |
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_ CHAPTER TWELVE. A FINNY PRIZE The run through the Canal did not seem monotonous to Sir John, for a new feeling of satisfaction was growing within him, and everything looked bright. The crew appeared contented, and the work went on with an ease and regularity that was pleasant to see. The various objects of interest were pointed out, but Jack paid very little attention to them, his attention being principally taken up by the working of the yacht, and he was, in spite of the heat, up and down several times, the engine, with its bright machinery and soft gliding movements, so full of condensed power, having a strange fascination for him. Then they were out in the Red Sea, with its sandy and sun-baked mountains, and the water flashing like molten silver. Here it was perfectly calm, and Jack watched when the speed was increased; and as the captain wished to show Sir John what the yacht could do under pressure, the order for full speed ahead was given by the touch of an index, and they cut through the dazzling water, sending up an arrow-shaped wave of displacement, and for the next two miles going at a tremendous rate. Then all at once the captain began to give orders, and the neatly-furled canvas was cast loose and hoisted, for puffs of air came from the northeast like as if from a furnace mouth, and away they glided once more. The fires were drawn, the steam blown off, and their rate decreased, though it was not far behind that of one of the great steamers which passed them on its way to China. Once well on their way, lines were brought out from the little magazine and furnished with sinkers of lead selected by the mate to suit the speed at which glittering silvered artificial baits were thrown out to drag forty or fifty yards behind; but though every kind of lure on board was tried, hours and hours went by without a touch. But long before this Jack had turned to the mate, who was leaning over the stern on the opposite side. "Isn't this very stupid?" he said. "Oh no," said Mr Bartlett merrily. "It's a capital practice for patience." "I don't know that I want to practise patience," said the lad thoughtfully. "But I say, I felt it when we started. Surely the fish will not be stupid enough to bite at these baits." "It does not seem like it," said the mate, smiling. "They will sometimes when the water's a bit rougher and we're going fast, but they are too clever for us to-day." "Then we can give up," said Jack with a sigh of relief. "Give up? No, that will never do. If we could only catch one fish, we could use it to cut up for bait." "Ugh! the cannibals," cried Jack. "Yes, plenty of fish are; but as we haven't one, and don't seem as if we can catch one, I'll go below and see if the cook can help me to a bit of pork skin to cut into a bait or two." He made his line fast and went forward, while, standing now in the shadow cast by the great sail behind him, Jack held the line in a quiet listless way, gazing at the distant mountains and wondering at the beauty of the colour with which they glowed in the pure air. He felt calm and restful, and the soft sensuous warmth of the wind was pleasant. It was restful too this gliding over the sea, with the yacht gently rising and falling and careening over to the breeze. The trouble of the days to come seemed farther off, and for a few moments the germs of a kind of wonderment that he should have looked upon this voyage as a trouble began to grow in his mind. Then he was roused from his pleasant musings as if by an electric shock attended by pain. The line he had coiled round his hand suddenly tightened with a jerk which wrenched at his shoulder and cut into his fingers, and he uttered a shout for help which made the man at the wheel turn to look. A big black-haired fellow, who was busy with a marline-spike and a piece of rope, dropped both and ran to the lad's help, but not before he had brought his left hand up to help his right, taking hold of the fishing-line and holding on with the feeling that the next minute he would be dragged overboard, but too proud to loose his hold all the same. "Got him, sir?" said the sailor. "I've got something," panted Jack. "It's horribly strong." "They are in here. Let him go." "What!" cried Jack indignantly; "certainly not." "I don't mean altogether, sir. Let him run, or the hook will break out." "But how?" "You've plenty of line on the winch, sir; let him have some loose to play about and tire himself." "Oh yes, I see; but it's jerking dreadfully." The man picked up the big wooden winch upon which the line was wound and held it fast. "Now, sir, hold on tight with your left hand, while you untwist the line from your right. That's the way. Now catch hold tight and let the wheel run slowly. There's a hundred yards more here. It will let him tire himself. That's it, he won't go very far; then you can wind in again--giving and taking till he leaves off fighting." "Hallo! here, Mr Meadows," cried the mate; "this is hardly fair. Why you're the best fisherman after all. That's it, let him go every time he makes a dart like this: now he's slacking again. Wind up, sir, wind up." Jack obeyed very clumsily, for it wanted practice to hold the big wooden winch steady with one hand while he wound with the other, and before he had recovered ten yards the fish made a fresh dart, not astern, but away nearly at right angles with the course of the ship, tiring itself by having to drag the now curved line through the water. "Now again," cried the mate; "wind--wind." Jack's inclination said, "Give the line over to the man who understands it," but pride said "No"; and he wound away till the wheel was nearly jerked from his hands by a fresh dart made by the captive. And so it went on for some minutes, till the fish began to show symptoms of becoming exhausted; so did Jack, upon whose face the perspiration was standing in beads. "Here, Lenny," cried the mate, "go and get the big gaff-hook. We shall have this fellow." The man ran forward, and Jack, with eyes fixed, began to play his fish with a little more _nous_, but it was terribly hard work. "Tell me when you're tired," said the mate. "Now." "Shall I play him for you?" "No, no! Don't touch it," cried Jack, who was unaware for some moments that he had an audience to look on. "Oh no, I won't touch till you tell me," said the mate. "Bravo!" cried the doctor; "capital. Well done, Jack, that's the way. I ought to have been here. Why you've got hold of a thumper." So it proved, for the fish showed no sign of giving in for another quarter of an hour, and various were the comments made as to the probability of its being got on deck; but at last the darts grew shorter and shorter, and far astern they saw a gleam from time to time of something silvery and creamy as there was a wallowing and rolling on the surface, and now the mate took hold of the keen hook attached to a light ten-foot ash pole. "Perhaps you'd like to gaff him, Doctor Instow," said the mate. "No, no," replied the doctor. "Fair play. You two were fishing. Land him yourself." "What shall I do now?" said Jack, who was panting with his exertions. "Let the winch go down on the deck, and haul the fish in hand over hand till you get him close in." Jack followed his instructions, and the captive, completely exhausted, now came in fast enough, proving to be far larger than any of those present had expected to see, but about a tenth of what Jack had imagined from the strength the creature had displayed. In fact there had been moments when the lad had again been calculating whether at one of the fiercest rushes he would not have to let go and so escape being dragged over the rail. But now, half drowned by being drawn through the water, the fish came in slowly and quietly, the lad having all the hauling to himself, till, leaning over, the mate made a dart and a snatch with the great gaff-hook, the weight on Jack's arms suddenly ceased, and, helped by the big dark sailor, Mr Bartlett hauled the prisoner quickly in over the rail, for it to lie beating the white boards with sounding slaps of its crescent-moon-shaped tail. "Well done!" cried Sir John. "What brilliant colours!" "Hah! yes," cried the doctor. "This is something like fishing. What is it, captain?" "Oh, one of the great mackerel tribe fellows they have in the Mediterranean. It isn't a bonito, for it's too big, but just as bright in its colours. Can't be a small tunny come down through the Canal, can it?" "I'm puzzled," said the mate, bending over the beautiful prize. "It may be; but whatever it is, Mr Meadows here has had a fine stroke of luck, and we shall have fish for dinner." Jack flushed with the excitement of the capture, and stood looking on at the beauty of the creature's colours in the bright sunshine, while the mate placed the end of the gaff-pole between its jaws before attempting to extract the great triple hook which hung by a swivel beneath the silvered shining bait. "I should say it is one of the bonitos," said the doctor thoughtfully. "It has that slimness just before the tail fin spreads out, and there are plenty of flying fish here, of course." "Plenty, sir," said the captain. "I dare say if you go forward you'll see them beginning to skip out of the water, startled by the yacht. Seen any yet, Mr Jack?" "Not yet," was the reply. "Yes," said the doctor, "I think that's what it is. They chase the flying fish, and this fellow must have taken your long spoon-bait for one of them. Don't you think so, Bartlett?" "Yes, sir, you are right; but without exaggeration I never saw so fine a one as this. Why," he continued, clasping his hands round the thin part near the tail and raising the fish for a few moments before letting it fall back on the white boards, "it is very little short of forty pounds." "It must be quite that," cried the doctor. "Well, it's always the way, the new beginner catches the biggest fish. I should have liked to hook that fellow. Did he pull much, Jack?" "Dreadfully. My arms feel strained by the jerks it gave." "I congratulate you, my boy," said Sir John. "It is a beauty." Then the captain spoke: "When you've done admiring it, gentlemen, there is some one else would like to have a word. I mean the cook. This fellow is fresh now, but they go off at a tremendous rate, and it will be worthless in a few hours. Pass the word there for the cook." The word was passed, and the worthy in question came up smiling. "What do you say to him?" said the captain. "Too big and coarse?" "Oh no, sir," cried the man. "I'll answer for it I can send some cutlets off it that will be excellent, and make plenty for the crew as well." It seemed a pity to Jack for the beautifully coloured prize to be handed over, but already some of the bright tints were fading, and as soon as it was borne off the mate made a sign to Lenny, who brought a swab and a bucket to remove the wet and slime. "What do you say to another turn, Mr Meadows?" said the mate, smiling. Jack smiled and began to rub his shoulder, so the tackle was hung in loops to dry, and the lad went forward to watch the flying fish spin out of the water and glide along upon their transparent wing-like fins; and he returned to watch the beautiful little creatures again and again as, evidently taking the hull of the yacht for some huge pursuing fish, they darted up from under her counter to drop back far away after their forced journey, and swim on till they gathered force and with swallow-like skim took another flight. "Isn't it near dinner-time?" he said at last to the doctor, who was by his side watching the flights. "Must be, I should say," was the reply, as that gentleman glanced at his watch. "Yes: close upon it. Glad of it, for I begin to feel a bit peckish in spite of this heat. I wonder what your fish will be like." He soon learned, for the cook was right, and all pronounced it excellent; but there was something more than ordinary flavour about the fish from the Red Sea, and the doctor gave Sir John a meaning look, one to which Jack's father responded by a short nod. Edward had had his opinions too, about his young master--opinions which sometimes made him look pleased, at others shake his head. "Young governor's going it," he muttered, as he stood near watching the fishing. "Fancy him getting excited over hooking a fish, and holding on by the line. Beats anything I ever knew of before. There, you never know what's in a boy till you begin to get it out of him. Why that line must have cut his hands awful, but he never reg'larly 'owled about it, only rubbed the places a bit when he got a chance. Wonder whether the doctor's giving him some kind of physic as makes him come out like this. If he is, I should like to have a dose or two to bring me up to the mark. It's wonderful what a change he's made." Edward ceased for a few moments. "Wonder how he gives it him, and what he takes it in. He don't know he's taking it, that's for certain. It must be on the sly, or I should have seen it, and the glass and spoon. That's it. He puts it in his coffee; I'll be bound to say that's it--in his coffee. I'll be on the watch." "Dunno why I should though," said the man, after a few moments' musing. "'Tain't my place to know anything about it, and if it does him good, where's the harm? And it is doing him good, that's for certain; but I should like to know what it is, and when he gives it." _ |
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