While I was still puzzling my brains as to how I should set to work, he returned with his fishing apparatus in hand: a bow and arrow, and a ball of twine.
At the arrow-head he had fastened a barbed spike, and had secured the arrow to the end of the string. Armed with this weapon, he advanced to the river's edge.
His arrow flew from the bow, and, to my surprise, struck one of the largest fish in the side.
“Help, father, help!” he cried, as the great fish darted off, carrying arrow and all with it; “help! or he will pull me into the water.”
I ran to his assistance, and together we struggled with the finny monster. He pulled tremendously, and lashed the water around him; but we held the cord fast, and he had no chance of escape. Weaker and weaker grew his struggles, and, at length, exhausted by his exertions and loss of blood, he allowed us to draw him ashore.
He was a noble prize, and Fitz and Ernest, who came up just as we completed his capture, were quite envious of Jack's success. Not to be behindhand, they eagerly rushed off for weapons themselves.
We were soon all in the water, Fritz with a harpoon, Ernest with a rod and line, and I myself, armed like Neptune, with an iron trident, or more properly speaking, perhaps, a pickfork. Soon the shore was strewn with a goodly number of the finest fish—monster after monster we drew to land. At length Fritz, after harpooning a great sturgeon full eight feet long, could not get the beast ashore; we all went to his assistance, but our united efforts were unavailing.
“The buffalo!” proposed my wife, and off went Jack for Storm. Storm was harnessed to the harpoon rope, and soon the monstrous fish lay panting on the sand.
We at length, when we had captured as many fish as we could
