uriously.

"'Shorten up,' says the skipper, and we shorten in our lines to about
eight feet from the rail to the hooks, when we can jerk them in just as
fast as we can move our hands and arms. 'Keep your lines clear,' is now
the word, as the doomed fish slip faster and faster into the barrels
standing to receive them. Here is one greedy fellow already casting
furtive glances behind him, and calculating in his mind how many fish he
will have to lose in the operation of getting his second strike-barrel.

"Now you hear no sound except the steady flip of fish into the barrels.
Every face wears an expression of anxious determination; everybody moves
as though by springs; every heart beats loud with excitement, and every
hand hauls in fish and throws out hooks with a methodical precision, a
kind of slow haste, which unites the greatest speed with the utmost
security against fouling lines.

"And now the rain increases. We hear jibs rattling down; and glancing up
hastily, I am surprised to find our vessel surrounded on all sides by the
fleet, which has already become aware that we have got fish alongside.
Meantime the wind rises, and the sea struggles against the rain, which is
endeavoring with its steady patter to subdue the turmoil of old ocean. We
are already on our third barrel each, and still the fish come in as fast
as ever, and the business (sport it has ceased to be some time since),
continues with vigor undiminished. Thick beads of perspiration chase each
other down our faces. Jackets, caps, and even over-shirts, are thrown off,
to give more freedom to the limbs that are worked to their utmost.

"'Hillo! Where are the fish?' All gone. Every line is felt eagerly for a
bite, but not the faintest nibble is perceptible. The mackerel, which but
a moment ago were fairly rushing on board, have in that moment disappeared
so completely that not a sign of one is left. The vessel next under our
lee holds them a little longer than we, but they finally also disappear
from her side. And so on all around us.

"And now we have time to look about us--to compare notes on each other's
successes--to straighten our backbones, nearly broken and aching horribly
with the constant reaching over; to examine our fingers, cut to pieces and
grown sensationless with the perpetual dragging of small lines across
them--to--'There, the skipper's got a bite! Here they are again, boys, and
big fellows, too!' Everybody rushes once more to the rail, and