"Did you see how vicious he was with his knife ?" "It isn't cruel to kill fishes like that," retorted Bigley.

"See what mischief they do hunting the other fish and eating everything.

See how they bite the herrings and mackerel out of the nets, only leaving their heads." "He wouldn't have said anything if the dog had spiked him," I said.
"Why, so he did spike me," cried Bob; "and--" "I've got another," I cried, beginning to haul up, and as I hauled Bob sent his freshly-baited and disentangled hook down to the bottom.
I had caught another flat-fish about the size of the first, and directly after Bob caught one.

Then there was a pause, and I took another dog-fish, and after that we fished, and fished, and fished for about half an hour and caught nothing.
It was December, but the air was still, and we did not feel it in the slightest degree cold.

I suppose it was the excitement kept us warm, for there was always the expectation of taking something big, even if the great fish never came.
Just as we were thinking that it was of no use to stay longer the fish began to bite again, and we caught several, but all small, and then all at once, as I was lowering my lead, I cried out: "Look here! I can't touch bottom." "Nonsense!" said Bob, lowering his line, but only to become a convert, and exclaim accordingly.
"Why, we're drifting," cried Bigley, going to the line that held the anchor, to find that it had been dragged out of the muddy sand, and that we had slowly gone with the tide into deeper water, whose bottom there was not length enough of rope for the grapnel to touch.
"I'll soon put that right," cried Bigley, unfastening the line and letting about three fathoms more run out, but even then the anchor did not reach bottom, and without we were stationary it was of no use to fish.
"Haul in your lines, lads," cried Bigley, setting us an example by dragging away at the cord which held the anchor.