They were making most miraculous draughts of fishes. I
watched one little fellow. He was hardly a dozen years of age, but he
plied his trade with such skill and enterprise, that he nearly filled his
canoe during the half hour I was watching him. It was terrible to see with
what intense energy and cruelty the little yellow devil, with bared arms
blooded to the shoulders, pounced upon his prey. With a quick jerk he
pulled his fish in, then clutching it with one hand and thrusting the
fingers of the other with the prompt ferocity of a young tiger into the
panting gills, he tore off with a single wrench the head, and threw the
body, yet quivering with life, among the lifeless heap of his victims
lying at the bottom of his boat. The sea gulls, hovering about shrieking
shrilly and pouncing upon the heads and entrails as they were thrown into
the water, fighting over them and gulping them down with hungry voracity,
seemed to heighten this picture of the "Gentle art of angling."
The return of the steward and chaplain with a boat load of "marketing" was
a welcome surprise. The parson, whose unquestionable taste in the
aesthetics of eating had been wisely secured by the steward, dilated with
great gusto upon the juicy beefsteaks, the freshness of the fish, and the
richness of the fruit.
Pages:
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164