Harper's Round Table, July 28, 1896

A THRESHER THRASHED.

BY DAWSON STEARNS.

"Talk about catching fish," remarked Walter Clay, in a phlegmatic and yet rather sarcastic style, "it seems to me that Katie has caught one now, if she never did before."

The youth addressed showed that he was more hot-tempered than his companion, as his cheeks flushed and his eyes danced angrily for an instant when the comprehension of his friend's double meaning flashed upon him.

"Oh, stop punning, and look out for that line, quick!" was the sharp reply.

"Better mind your helm, or you'll have your boom gybe, if this lovely fish doesn't gybe it for you, my boy," retorted Walter, as his attention was more closely called to the line he was paying out, as he stood near the weather-bow and watched carefully ahead.

The boys were in a cat-boat of comfortable build, heading toward the mouth of Long Island Sound, close-hauled on the port tack, Brentons Reef Light-ship a mile or more off on the weather-quarter, and a breeze so true and sternly that they felt no uneasiness about getting back to Newport before sundown if they devoted most of the afternoon to sport. The boat was named the Katie, and was owned by the young man at the helm, Harry Main, who had chosen the name and had it painted in neat letters on her stern with the consent of one who did not hesitate to acknowledge the flattery of the compliment. Hence his companion's good-natured play upon it, as well as intimation of the important aspect of the present occasion.

The Katie was a very weatherly craft, as well as a good sailer, and was highly prized by her young owner; in fact, she was a prize. The boat had been built to his special order by one of the most experienced of cat-boat constructors, after many long consultations with his fidus Achates and constant chum Walter, as well as the benefit of professional advice, and the sanction of his father, who footed the bills in redemption of a promise made if Harry attained a certain record at his college examinations. The record had been made through faithful work, the prize had been earned, and the boys were now right heartily enjoying the fruit of their labors in the summer vacation. Little wonder that their good fortune was envied by many, and that their popularity was in no small degree enhanced by the nautical tone acquired through their amateur sailorizing, while their manliness was increased, lung power developed, brains brightened, complexions enriched, and muscles toughened by the glow of such healthful exercise and invigorating pastime.

That morning the boys had started out for bluefish, their boat equipped with outriggers to facilitate the handling of the lines, as is customary; and with reefed sail, to prevent the gaining of too much headway, they were making a fair catch, when a tremendous splashing in the water ahead and rapidly nearing them attracted their attention. It was soon seen that the commotion, whatever it might be due to, was frightening away the fish, and indignation took the place of satisfaction on the part of the fishermen. Watching the disturbance in the water as it drew nearer, the boys could soon make out that it was caused by some monster of the deep, and presently resounding slaps on the surface of the Sound could be plainly distinguished with the creature's tail, making a noise and splashing as though a massive plank were dropped flat side into the water fairly from a height. This was done not only once, but many times, the reports sometimes resembling gun-shots, and indicating that more monsters than one were causing the racket.

"Whales fighting!" suggested Harry.

"No; not big enough; they're closer than you think," said Walter, as he stood with his hand shading his eyes, intently watching them.

"Not sharks, eh? Horse-mackerel, I guess, or sturgeon," rapidly conjectured Harry.

"Great Scott! No, old man--threshers, as you're a sinner!" concluded Walter, decisively. "And there's a whole school of 'em. Look out for your lines!"

But even as the truth flashed upon him his caution was too late, for one of the threshers dashed alongside, sweeping it clear of lines and leaving them afar off, as the school proceeded to gambol in a new direction.

"This is interesting, but I don't think it will pay as well as bluefish," remarked Walter; and even as he spoke another line on the opposite side went with a snap, as the fish scurried off with a vindictive splash of his mighty caudal appendage.

"Let's make it pay!" ejaculated Harry, quick to resolve.

"Capital idea, my boy! Will you kindly elucidate your proposition?" inquired Walter, as he ruefully gathered in some wreckage of bluefishing gear.

"Why," said Harry, "let's make over to Brentons Reef Light-ship, and see if we can't get some shark hooks and bait from the crew, and capture one of the beggars."

"We might try it," said Walter, contemplatively. "Those piratical splashers certainly have assumed too much audacity to suit my equanimity, and they deserve to be punished. Well, get her around, and we'll run over to the light-ship and see."

It was always the quick brain of Harry that planned such expeditions, and as the Katie made good time on her course he eagerly pictured the heroic effect of capturing a thresher and towing it to port. Walter Clay, always willing for any sort of adventure that was not too reckless for a fair chance of safety, and warranted not to get "rattled," but preserve his good-nature and presence of mind under all circumstances, carefully arranged the details of the proposed venture. The men on the light-ship happened to have just such gear as was required for the purpose, and willingly lent it, including a cable's-length (120 fathoms) of stanch half-inch hemp line coiled in a tub, and a big shark-hook with several feet of chain, as well as some chunks of salt pork for bait. They likewise informed the boys that the threshers were probably the same school that had been reported the day before as greatly interfering with the fishermen off on Montauk Shoal.

Specimens of the genuine thresher-shark indeed these creatures were--those Alopias vulpes, or sea-foxes, the dorsal lobes of whose tails are nearly as long as the rest of their bodies, and are used in splashing the surface of the water to aid in securing their prey of small fish. Exceedingly grotesque in appearance they seemed sometimes, the upper lobe of the long tail curving upwards and resembling in form the blade of a scythe. One of the men on the light-ship said he had always heard them called "swingle-tails," and also volunteered the information that the biggest he had ever seen was one caught at Marion, Massachusetts, in November, 1864, which measured thirteen feet long and weighed about 400 pounds. Some people believed that they attacked whales, but he had seen them all up and down the North Atlantic coast, as well as in the Mediterranean and off California, and "in all his going to sea he had never found a whale yet that wouldn't laugh at a thresher." The most damage they did was to fishermen's nets and lines.

The threshing and splashing of the fish had attracted the attention of a great flock of gulls as the boys headed the Katie once more toward the scene of activity; and in the bright sunlight, with the glinting slippery bodies of some of the threshers almost constantly visible, the spray flying, and the bead-eyed sea-birds fluttering and watching overhead, the picture was rather a thrilling one. They were both determined enough in their intentions, yet when they actually arrived upon the scene and a thresher of apparently abnormal size rushed to meet them with a resounding slap of his tail upon the surface of the water that sent the foam flying skyward and seemed like a laughing defy to their plans, even the cool-blooded Walter began to feel a little excitement.

This selfsame thresher lost no time in making good his challenge, but swallowed the bait, and ran off with it away to windward so rapidly that it seemed as if he were going to tow the boat, which was again got full and by on the port tack. Walter was now paying out the line as slowly as he could, with a turn under a belaying-pin, as he made the first remark recorded in this sketch. But it soon became evident that something would have to be done if they did not wish to be towed to sea, so Harry ported his helm to let the boat fall off and endeavor to check the creature in its mad career. As the wind came more abeam, however, so did the shark, and instead of making leeway, the attraction to windward was so powerful that the situation looked almost dangerous, and as if the only way to counteract the shark's tow-line was to let it over the stem with a free sheet. It was just a question, however, whether even then the boat might not be drawn astern, and Walter was actively considering the advisability of cutting the line, when all at once the fish took a turn and once more made toward them.

"Head her up again, quick!" shouted Walter. "Down your helm. He's coming!"

The boat had fortunately way enough to bring her quickly up into the wind as Harry shoved his tiller hard over to starboard and hauled in his sheet, then jumped to help his friend get in the slack of the line as the infuriated monster dashed toward them. He was not a moment too soon. Had the boat not changed direction and forged ahead a little the wildly rushing thresher would have struck it a terrific blow on the port-quarter. As it was, he passed the boys with a leap clear out of water that sent a tremendous splash of spray in their faces, and just missed the boom as he dived astern. It was a thrilling moment; but, indeed, the whole affair, from the time the shark first swallowed the bait, seemed to have happened in less time than one could tell it.

"By jingo!" cried Walter. "What's he going to do next?"

They had not long to wait for a reply. Circling around to seaward, the thresher repeated exactly the same manoeuvre, this time a streak of bloody foam following in his wake. The boys had all they could do to handle the boat in consonance with the shark's movements. As he madly rushed ahead, the line began to smoke from its friction with the rail at the velocity it paid out, and Harry again had to leave his helm to bail water and pour it upon the hempen coils, so quickly snaking out, with the threat of possible disaster when the tub should be emptied. Walter's hands were burned and blistered and raw in spots from contact with the flying line, in a vain endeavor this time to grasp it and get a turn around a pin. The fish went too fast. The boys looked at each other, too excited to speak, as they glanced at the rapidly emptying tub and the flying streak of blue foam ahead. Another instant and the line was all paid out. The last coil of it swirled over the side as they both grasped the tub with all their might to see if they could hold it. The end of the line was made fast to the tub. It might have been a dangerous thing to do, for if the line had parted under the strain, and hit one of them a blow with its rebounding end, it would have been a severe one. But fortunately this shark felt the check, and with a mighty splash he turned again and made back towards them.