hey 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;