The only drawback was baiting the hook whenever a fish was taken from it.  Uncle James soon remedied this difficulty.  He cut from the under side of a dead mackerel six thin pieces, about half an inch in diameter, and gave each of us two.  We put them on our hooks, and they served for bait a long time.  When they were gone, we put on more of the same kind.  Mackerel will bite at any very small object, almost, that they can see, and sometimes fishermen fasten a small silver coin to their hooks, which will do duty as bait for days.  They wish to catch as many fish as they possibly can, while they are biting, for mackerel are very notional.  Sometimes they will bite so fast as to tire their captors, and, ten minutes after, not one can be felt or seen.  Usually, they can be caught best in the morning and toward evening.  I suppose they have but two meals a day, breakfast and supper, going without their dinner.  In this respect, they resemble trout and many other kinds of fish.

They are caught in great numbers off the coast of Maine and Massachusetts in the months of August and September.  Hundreds of schooners, large and small, and thousands of men and boys are employed in the business.  Standing upon the shore, near Portland, and looking out upon the Atlantic, on a bright summer’s day, you can sometimes see more white, glistening sails of “mackerel-catchers” than you can count.  At the wharves of every little village on the sea-shore, or on a river near the shore, boats and fishermen abound.  Of late years, immense nets or “seines” have been used, and often, by means of them, enormous quantities of fish have been secured in one haul.  The season is short, but most of the fishermen, before the mackerel come and after they go, engage in fishing for cod and hake, which are plentiful also.  Mackerel-catching has its joys, but it also has its sorrows and uncertainties.  One vessel may have excellent luck while another may be very unfortunate.  In short, those engaged in the pursuit of mackerel have to content themselves with “fishermen’s luck.”

While we were busily fishing, George called my attention to a dark fin, projecting a few inches above the water, and gradually approaching the boat with a peculiar wavy motion.  Just before reaching us it sank out of sight.  I cast an inquiring glance at my cousin, who said, in a low tone of voice, “A shark!” A feeling of wonder and dread came over me, and doubtless showed itself in my face, for my uncle said, in an assuring voice, “He will not harm us.”

The mackerel stopped biting all at once.  Our fishing was over.  It was now about ten o’clock, and the sun had become warm.  Half a mile from us was a small island, with a plenty of grass and a few trees, but no houses.  Uncle James proposed that we should row to it, which we gladly did.  Its shores were steep and rocky, and we found much difficulty in landing; but at last we got ashore and pulled the boat up after us.  Among the rocks