CHAPTER XI.
THE QUARREL.
THE new fishermen could hardly wait to beat up the circle so eager werethey to see what their nets contained.
"I guess we have got all there was in the circle," Charley at lastannounced. "Let's start to take up. Fasten your lantern to the end ofan oar and fix it so it will shine down on your net so that you can seewhat you are doing, look out for cat fish. I put a short club in eachof the skiffs to-day. If you get a cat fish, kill it before you try totake it out of your net."
"What kind of looking fish are they?" Walter paused to inquire.
"They are a slimy fish without scales," Charley explained. "Theyhave a flat head and on each side of the gills and on the back areneedle-sharp horns about three inches long with fine saw teeth alongthe edge. When the fish are swimming the horns lay back flat againstthe body, but when they strike a net or anything else, they stick thehorns straight out. They are fierce to take out of a net, they willtangle up dozens of meshes on those horns and the fine twine is hardto work off the saw edges. It's dangerous to handle them unless theyare killed for they are liable to flop and stick those horns in youand make a very poisonous wound. Well, let's get to work, the night isslipping away fast."
With lanterns popped out over the skiff's stern the three set to work.
At first it was exciting to haul in the nets with the strugglingfish entangled in their meshes, and to watch the pile in their boatssteadily grow, but the novelty soon wore off and only the hard workremained. And hard work it was, harder than either the captain orWalter had dreamed. A breeze had arisen since sunset and they had todrag their skiffs up against it as they pulled in their nets. When theycame to a fish they had to hold the net with their feet, while theybent over under the dim light and freed it from the entangling meshes.Every now and then they came to a great mass of sea moss caught up intheir nets, which required all their strength to dump out, nor did theyescape painful accidents, although they met with none of the dreadedcat fish, every fish handled by them seemed armed with sharp fins andtheir fingers were soon sore with a multitude of tiny punctures. Aflopping fish flipped a bit of jelly into the captain's eye. It burnedlike a touch from a red hot iron, and the old sailor half blinded grewfaint from the intense pain. At last Walter realized what it meant tohandle four hundred yards of net. Before he had got half of his inthe boat he was fairly ready to lie down and cry from pain and sheerweariness.
Charley, more expert, soon had his net boated and taking hold of theother end of Walter's helped him with the balance, then rowed over andperformed a like service for the captain. "Let's rest a little bit andeat our lunch before we start again," he suggested when the nets wereall up. "I'll anchor my boat and you both come alongside and tie up tome so we can all eat together."
He had brought a box partly filled with sand along in his skiff and init he now proceeded to build a small fire on which he boiled coffee andheated up the lunch Chris had given them. The hot meal and steamingcoffee made his two companions almost forget for a time their pains andweariness.
"How many do you think we got that time?" Walter inquired, over asecond cup of coffee.
"About twelve hundred pounds of mullet," he judged, "some thirty oddpounds of trout and about two hundred pounds of bottom fish," saytwenty-eight dollars' worth altogether. "That's pretty fair for onerun. If we can get in four more runs like it before daylight, it willmake a good night's work."
"Four more runs," cried Walter in dismay, all his aches and painsreturning at the thought, "why I don't believe I can last out one more."
"I know it's tough on you two," said Charley sympathetically, "but wehave got to do it. We cannot hope to make money by just making one ortwo runs a night. It will not be quite so bad after you get hardened toit. I know just how you feel. I once fished every night steady for sixmonths and we made from six to eight runs each night. I was new to thebusiness then and I thought the first two or three nights that it wouldcertainly kill me. Tired. Why many a time I've gone sound asleep whilerowing and fallen over into the bottom of the boat amongst the fishwithout waking up. Oh, it's tough all right, but you have got to getused to it."
Walter was silent. He was doing a sum in mental arithmetic, "eightruns a night. Four hundred yards of net to run out each time and fourhundred yards of net to take in. Eight hundred yards multiplied eighttimes was six thousand four hundred yards or over three miles besidesall the endless rowing." Why it was more than flesh and blood couldstand. Was any amount of money worth such nerve and muscle rackinglabor? He was still pondering this when his chum gave the order tostart again and they once more fell into the old formation and rowedsilently on into the darkness.
Mile after mile they rowed steadily on until the launch's lanternsshowed only a pin point of light in the distance. The ache in Walter'smuscles grew to an acute pain. Every stroke of the oars was an effortthat seemed impossible to repeat. All around his boat came and wentdarting flashes of many fish. Again the old question arose. Why allthis aimless, senseless rowing. He felt a hot unreasoning resentmentagainst his chum that grew with his deadly weariness and at last flowedout in speech.
"Charley," he snapped out across the water, "I'm getting sick of thisnonsense. There's fish all around us. Let's either try to catch them orgo home. I'm tired of this rowing, rowing, rowing for nothing."
Charley was silent a moment before replying. Matters had come to thepass he had feared. He had witnessed the same thing many times with newbeginners. One of two things must happen, either Walter must learn tohave faith in his leadership until he himself had gained experience orelse they must give up fishing. No amount of argument would convincehim like a bit of experience, as the result of having his own way insomething he knew nothing about. It was bitter medicine but it was theonly treatment which would check the disease, however, he decided togive his chum one last chance.
"I am doing the best I know how, Walt," he answered. "I have to followmy best judgment in this fishing so long as I am running head boat."
"Judgment nothing," scoffed Walter angrily, "there's no judgment inrowing our arms off when there are fish all around us."
"All right Old Chap, you can run head boat if you think you can dobetter. I'll follow you without question," Charley replied wearily.
"All right, I will," agreed Walter, shortly. "I can promise you I willnot make you row yourself to death for nothing."
In silence Charley changed positions with his chum. They had notproceeded a hundred yards in the new order when Walter's skiff slid inamongst the biggest school he had yet seen.
"All right, let's run them," he shouted excitedly.
Charley smiled grimly as he cast him the end of his net to make fastbut he said nothing, and when his chum gave the signal to start he wasoff at the word.
"Whew," panted Walter, as they came together at the end of the run,"we've made a killing this time. Just look at the bright streaks. Why,the circle is full of fish. Come on, let's drum them up."
"I wouldn't drum any," Charley advised.
"I'm running head boat now," Walter reminded him shortly, "kindly do asI say."
"All right," his chum agreed, cheerfully, and fell to beating the waterlustily with his oar.
"I guess they are all in the nets now," Walter at last announced."Let's pick them up."
Charley rowed back to the end of his net in silence. He grinned withgrim humor as his quick ear caught queer grunting sounds from alongthe lines of net. He seized the end of his and pulled it aboard, thenhe paused, adjusted his lantern carefully, took a drink of water fromhis jug, laid his short club handy on the seat beside him, and settledhimself for a long spell of hard work.
Walter reached for the end of his net, tingling with anticipation. Thefirst few yards came in empty, then a score of white bellies showed inthe dripping webbing as he hoisted it into the boat. Pride gave way todismay. Instead of the clean, glistening mullet he had expected, thesewere slimy, flat-headed fish, loathsome to look at, emitting repulsivegrunts and re
eking forth a sickening odor. Each was hopelessly tangledin a mess of webbing. For a moment, he wildly debated the notion ofcasting the net back overboard and fleeing. Then he grimly, doggedly,settled down to work. His thoughts were more unpleasant than thetask before him. He had brought this upon himself and not only uponhimself but upon his companions also. Because he had become a littletired, he had given way to a fit of temper and made a fool of himself.Well, Charley and the captain would never want him to fish with themagain, and it served him right, but his heart ached at the thought ofseparating from those kind, true, friendly companions after all theyears they had spent together. He paused for a moment and listened.From the captain's skiff came muttered exclamations as the old sailorlabored over his unwelcome catch. From Charley's boat came only thesharp, frequent crack of the club as he hauled the detested fish inover the stern.
Slowly the minutes lengthened into hours and the night dragged away,while the humbled lad, suffering in every muscle, his fingers bleedingfrom a score of scratches, and one hand swelling rapidly where a hornhad entered, worked grimly on. Slowly Charley's light drew away fromhim for the other lad's experience had taught him the knack of takingout fish swiftly.
Once, Walter raised his eyes from his task and looked about. Themorning star had risen in the east and Charley's light had disappeared."Got disgusted and gone home," he decided, bitterly. "Well, I don'tblame him."
The day was just breaking when Walter, at last, reached the end of hisnet. The captain had escaped lightly and had been through for sometime. He was stretched out on a seat, resting, and placidly smoking hispipe. The launch was only a short distance away. Charley had rowed backand was bringing her up to save his chums the long row to her.
"Good morning," Charley hailed, cheerfully, as he shut off the engine,"all through."
Walter almost shouted with joy. His chum was not angry with him afterall.
Charley ranged alongside and peeped into his skiff.
"What have you saved them all for," he exclaimed, as his eye lighted onthe big pile of fish.
"Why, to sell," Walter faltered.
His chum grinned. "No one buys them. Why you couldn't give them away.But come, both of you and make fast. We'll just get home in time forbreakfast."
It was a humble and abashed lad that stepped aboard the launch.
"Charley, I've been a fool," he blurted out, "but if you can overlookit this time, it will not happen again."
"Forget it," said his chum heartily. "I hated it more for your sakethan for my own, but it's all over now. Cheer up, Old Chap."
"How did you know what kind of fish they were?" Walter inquired, aftera brief silence.
"By the streaks. A catfish fires deep below the surface and he onlyruns a little ways then stops. A mullet makes a long straight streakclose the surface. But those were not all catfish we rowed throughto-night. There were sharks in one place, a school of porgies inanother, and a lot of sea bass and some fish I could not determine andwas afraid to run."