The Boy Chums Cruising in Florida Waters

by Frances Trego Montgomery

  CHAPTER XX.

  THE GROUPER BANKS.

  "WE are grateful for what you did in our behalf," said Charley, whenthey again came upon the Roberts on the dock. "We did not expect you totake up our troubles but we cannot find words to express our gratitudefor what you have done for us."

  Big Bill blushed like a school girl. "We didn't do much," he said,awkwardly. "I was going to do it anyway, sometime. It just came off alittle sooner than I expected. I don't fancy fighting much--it's poorbusiness--but it's the only way to handle fellows like that Huntergang--a decent man can't stoop to meet them with their own tricks."

  "It is a rather primitive way of righting wrongs, but I was notthinking of that," said Charley, earnestly. "I was thinking of theloyal friendship, and the kindly feeling you had for us that promptedthe act. It was a big, friendly action, all the more so as we arealmost strangers to you."

  "That's all right," stammered Bill, embarrassed by his thanks. "Iguess I beat Hunter up more than I intended to. He drew a knife on meso I couldn't handle him very gently. What did the fish boss have tosay?" he inquired, eager to change the subject.

  The captain told him of the new plan that Mr. Daniels had suggested.

  "Mr. Daniels is a mighty square man," said Bill, emphatically. "I amglad you are going to follow his advice. We are thinking some of tryingthe reef fishing, too, until our nets come, so we will likely see agood deal of each other."

  "The more the pleasanter for us at any rate," declared the old sailor."Well, I guess we must be going. Chris will be wondering what hashappened to us. Good-by. Drop in on us when you get the chance."

  The trip back to the island was made with lighter hearts than they hadbrought with them, and they were made still lighter at the sight ofWalter's improved condition. He was sitting up in bed arguing warmlywith Chris that he was well enough to get up and dress, but the littlenegro had hidden his clothes and could not be moved by threats orentreaties.

  "No, Massa Walt," Chris was saying as they entered. "You got to jis'lay quiet. I'se had a terrible time aworryin' an' anursin' you an' Iain't goin' to risk youah getting sick on my hands again through youahfoolishness. Golly, I doan know what you white chilluns would do widoutdis nigger to watch out foah you-alls."

  So much was Walter improved, that Charley thought it safe to tell himof all that had happened since his accident.

  "I am almost glad the nets are gone," he declared, when Charley hadfinished. "I don't believe I would ever have made a good net fisherman.I could never have grown to like the work."

  Chris' joy was almost pathetic to see. "I'se sho' going wid you-alls,"he cried. "Dis nigger can sho' catch fish with a hook. An' I sho' isglad I doan hab to stay alone on dis ole creepy island at night, nomore."

  And, indeed, perhaps, the part the little negro had so far taken hadbeen as hard and unpleasant as any of theirs.

  The evening that followed was by far the pleasantest they had spent onthe island. Fear of the fishermen was over for the present at least.Walter's recovery was another cause for rejoicing, and they all lookedforward to their morrow's work with a pleasurable anticipation thatnone had felt for the hard, nasty, trying net fishing.

  So eager was Chris to begin, that he was up long before daybreakcooking breakfast and putting up a hearty lunch for their dinner.

  The sun was just coming up as they steered out of the inlet into theopen gulf. Walter had insisted upon coming with them and lay on oneof the seats looking somewhat thin and pale but drawing in increasedstrength from every breath of the bracing, salt air.

  The captain was in full command, for, when it was a matter of sea work,Charley quickly gave way to the old, experienced sailor. While theybounded over the blue sparkling waves for the line of coral reefs hebrought out the hooks, lines, and heavy sinkers they had purchased andrigged up the tackle for their fishing. It was simple. Just strongbraided lines fifty feet long with a heavy lead on one end. Above thelead, he attached three very short lines a couple of feet apart, tyinga hook on each.

  As soon as he decided that they were nearing the reef he ordered theengine slowed down and cast a line over the stern.

  "It's too deep to see when we get on the reef," he explained, "so wewill have to feel for it. That lead on the line pulls along smoothover the sandy bottom but when it strikes the coral lumps on the reefit will begin to jerk." He sat with hand on the line until a series ofquick, jumping tremors told him they were over the reef when he orderedthe anchor lowered.

  With eagerness the little party baited the hooks and cast their linesover. They waited breathless for the tugging which would announce abite, but as the minutes dragged away without a nibble, their highspirits began to lower.

  "Golly, I could do better than this on the island," grumbled Chris, ashe pulled up his line and examined his bait for the twentieth time.

  The old sailor filled and lit his pipe with a twinkle in his eye. "Waitjist one half hour an' they'll begin to bite," he announced, calmly.

  "Have you made special arrangements with them," Walter inquired.

  "Not quite, but fish have their habits the same as people," the captainexplained. "They only bite at certain tides. Seems like they had theirregular mealtime as one might say, only they go by tides instead of aclock. It's the last of the ebb tide now. In a few minutes it will beflood tide and the fish will all be hunting their breakfasts."

  "But I have caught fish on both ebb and flood tides, captain," Charleyobjected.

  "Yes, an' there are people, too, who are always eating between meals,"the old sailor retorted, "but most of them are contented with theirregular mealtime."

  "Golly! dis nigger often wonders how you keeps track ob dem tides,"Chris remarked. "I can't tell nothin' 'bout dem, 'cept when I'se on deshore an' can watch the rise and fall."

  "It's simple, lad," explained the old sailor. "It's the moon thatcauses the tides. All one has to do is to notice the moon. When themoon is coming up the tide is going down. When the moon is going downthe tide is coming up. No matter where you are it is always the same."

  "I've got a bite," Charley announced, and moon and tides werestraightway forgotten by the eager little party.

  It seemed as though his announcement had been the breakfast bell forthe finny creatures below, for before he had got his fish to thesurface, his companions were hauling furiously on the lines.

  Charley gave a shout of exultation as he swung his prize aboard. It wasa chunky, reddish fish with mouth and fins of scarlet, and was aboutfifteen pounds in weight.

  "That's a red grouper," said the captain, sparing a glance from his owncaptive. "This one I've got is a black grouper. Those flat, silveryfish Chris and Walter have caught are red-mouth grunts." But the oldsailor had no time for further speculations for the sport grew fast andfurious. Often they pulled up to find three fish on their line at once,one on each hook.

  As fast as they unhooked their captives they threw them into theforward cockpit where they soon grew into a beautiful, glistening heapof red, gold and silver hues.

  For two hours they pulled the fish aboard as fast as they could baitand cast their hooks. Then, as suddenly as they had begun, the fishceased to bite.

  "We might as well get up anchor and move to another place," the captainannounced.

  "Has we done catched dem all?" Chris inquired, innocently.

  "Hardly," said the old sailor, with a laugh, "but a shark or some othersea monster is prowling around down below and has scared them allaway." They weighed anchor and drifted back a couple of hundred feetupon the reef where they found the fish biting there the same as before.

  "I'ze got something queer on my line," announced Chris, as he pulled uphand over hand. "Hit don't jerk none. Hit's jest heavy-like."

  "A bit of coral, I expect," Charley suggested.

  All stared at the curious-looking object as Chris slung it in over theside.

  "Why," said Charley, as he scraped off the clinging moss and barnacles."It's a doll, just a big, rag doll."

 
"Put it back in the water, lad," said the captain, with a hint of tearsin his voice, "put it back. Likely its little mistress sleeps therebelow the waves. We must not separate her from her dolly."

  It was only a guess, but the idea took such strong hold of them allthat anchor was again weighed and they dropped further along to anotherplace.

  About four o'clock the captain declared it was time to start for home.

  "We have done pretty well for one day," he said, "and we have got toget home in time to carry the fish over to Clearwater."

  His companions were willing to stop. Although they had enjoyed thesport greatly, their arms were aching from the constant pulling andtheir hands were sore from numerous pricks from hooks and fins.

  An hour's run brought them back to their island. Here Chris stopped offto get supper, and Walt to lie down and rest a bit, while Charley andthe captain carried the fish over.

  The two were back by the time Chris had supper ready.

  "We had twelve hundred pounds of grouper and six hundred pounds ofgrunts, twenty dollars' worth in all," Charley announced, proudly. "Notbad for our first day's work."

  "Why, that's five dollars apiece," said Walter, delightedly. "If we cankeep that up we'll make thirty dollars a week for each one of us."

  "We can't figure on steady fishing," objected the captain. "That's theworst drawback about this reef fishing. One can only get out in fineweather. Sometimes it blows for a week at a time so that one cannot weta line."

  "Then it's up to us to discover something to make money at duringstormy weather," Charley declared.

  It was Chris who hit upon the idea, but the reader will learn aboutthat later.