tightly with both hands to the line; the savage
next him takes one of the long spears, and
quickly places on to the end of it a shorter one,
barbed and bladdered; the other two paddle
warily. At first the hooked fish was sulky, and
remained obstinately at the bottom, until
continued jerks at the line ruffled his temper and
excited his curiosity sufficiently to induce a
sudden ascent to the surface—perhaps to have
a peep at his persecutors. Awaiting his appearance
stood the spearman, and when the canoe
was sufficiently near, in he sent the spear, jerking
the long haft or handle from the shorter
barbed spear, which remained in the fish, the
bladder floating like a life-buoy, marking the
fish's whereabouts. The holibut, finding his
reception anything but agreeable, tries to
descend again into the lower regions, a performance
now difficult to accomplish, as the bladder
is a serious obstacle. Soon reappearing on
the surface, another spear was sent into
him, and so on, until he was compelled
to remain floating. During all this time,
the paddlers, aided by the line-man, followed
all the twistings and windings of the fish, as a
greyhound courses a doubling hare. For some
time the contest was a very equal one, after
the huge fish was buoyed and prevented from
diving. On the one side the holibut made
desperate efforts to escape by swimming, and on
the other, the Indians keeping a tight line,
made him tow the canoe. Evident signs of
weariness at last began to exhibit themselves,
his swimming became slower, and the attempts
to escape more feeble and less frequent. Several
times the canoe came close up to him, but a
desperate struggle enabled him once more to get
away. Again and again we were all but over;
the fish literally flew through the water,
sometimes towed the canoe nearly under, and at
others spun it suddenly round, like a whipped
top; nothing but the wonderful dexterity of the
paddlers saving us from instant shipwreck and
the certainty of drowning. I would have given
much to have stood up; but no, if I only
moved to one side to peep over, a sudden yell
from the steersman, accompanied with a flourish
of the braining club—mildly admonitory, no
doubt, but vastly significant—ensured instant
obedience. I forgot cold, wet, fright—indeed,
everything but the one all-absorbing excitement
attendant on this ocean chase; the skill and
tact of uneducated man pitted against a huge
sea monster of tenfold strength, a sight a lover
of sport would travel any distance to witness.

Slowly and steadily the sturdy paddlers
worked towards the shore, towing the fish, but
keeping the canoe stern first, so as to be enabled
to pay out line and follow him should he
suddenly grow restive; in this way the Indians
gradually coaxed the flat monster towards the
beach, a weak powerless exhausted giant,
outwitted, captured, and subdued, prevented from
diving into his deep sea realms, by, to him,
anything but life-buoys. We beached him at last,
and he yielded his life to the knife and club of
the red-skin.

Returning for another foray a like success
attended our efforts, and three fish were thus
taken during the day. Our three holibut
weighed collectively over nine hundred pounds,
the first taken being by far the largest. I
arrived at this estimate by weighing portions of
the fish at the Fort the following day. Some
time was occupied on the beach in cutting them
up and making temporary stages to pack the
flesh away on, lest bears or wolves might
demolish it ere a fleet of canoes could be sent
after it on the following day. All these operations
completed, a fire was lighted, and large
masses of fish broiled on the glowing embers
were summarily devoured by the hungry fishermen;
the fish as an edible I did not care much
about, but the sport I most thoroughly enjoyed.
Perhaps the element of constant danger enhanced
the charm of this, to me, new system of fishing.
It was the first time I had alone, in a canoe
manned by four savages, speaking an unknown
language, upon the great trysting-ground of the
illimitable sea, beheld the perfection of fishing,
a pleasure considerably increased by the
discovery that in a remote part of the world the sea—
as it ever has been and still is in highly civilised
countries—the nursery of the strong arm and
defiant spirit. Men taught only lessons of dire
necessity had hit on a plan, simple but most
effective, that enabled them to master and land
a large fish five hundred pounds in weight, to
battle with a rough sea, in a boat so frail that
a boy could easily upset it. I have tried cod
fishing on the banks of Newfoundland, whale
fishing on the coast of Greenland, sturgeon
spearing on the Fraser, Lake fishing in Canada,
salmon fishing in England and elsewhere, but
not one single day can I recal to my
remembrance, that equals in intense delight this red-
letter day in the annals of my fishing
experiences—my day among the holibut.

Just published, bound in cloth, price 5s. 6d.,
THE THIRTEENTH VOLUME.

NEW WORK BY MR. DICKENS,
In Monthly Parts, uniform with the Original Editions of
" Pickwick," " Copperfleld," &c.
Now publishing, PART XVII., price 1s., of
OUR MUTUAL FRIEND.
BY CHARLES DICKENS.
IN TWENTY MONTHLY PARTS.
With Illustrations by MARCUS STONE.
London: CHAPMAN and HALL, 193, Piccadilly.

A new Serial Novel, by CHARLES COLLINS, entitled
AT THE BAR,
Will be commenced in No. 335, for September 23rd, in
addition to HALF A MILLION OF MONEY, by AMELIA
B. EDWARDS, which will be continued from week to week
until completed.