But now the wind freshens—the smooth surface darkens—the sails belly out in tension, and the white ripples gather under our bows. We round the point: Fort Adams, we pass thy massive walls, thy grim “forty-two’s” glaring like wild beasts, chained, ready to leap upon us from their casements. Ay—now we run outside—now it freshens—now it breezes—she begins to dance like a feather. There it comes stronger! see the white caps! There she goes—scuppers under—swash—swash—swash—we jump from wave to wave, as we run parallel with the shore, our pennant streaming proudly behind us. Here it comes, strong and steady—there she takes it—gunwale under—luff, old fellow! luff up, Davy! or you’ll give us all wet jackets. Ay! that will do—she’s in the wind’s eye. How the waves tumble in upon the land—see the Spouting Rock—see the column of white foam thrown up, as repulsed, the waves roll out again from the rocky cavern. We near the Dumplings—and, round to! round to! here are the lobster-pots—haul in—tumble them in the bottom of the boat—ay—there’s bait enough. Now we lay our course across to Beaver Light—we slide, we dash along—springing from wave to wave—dash—dash—no barnacles on her bottom at this rate, Davy. Ay, here we are—a quick run—a good quick run. Anchor her just outside the surf—ay, that will do—give her a good swing—let her ride free—she rolls like a barrel on these long waves. Look to your footing, boys—steady—steady. Now, then, for it. Davy, you and Scip will have as much as you can do to bait for us—all ready. Here goes then—a good long throw—that’s it—my sinker is just inside the surf. What!—already! I’ve got him—pull in, pull in—see, my line vibrates like a fiddle-string!—pull away—here he is—_Tautaug_—three-pounder. Lie you there—ay, slap away, beauty, you have done for ever with your native element. There, again—off with him. Again—again—again. This is fun to us, but death to you, ye disciples of St. Anthony! Give me a good large bait this time, Scipio—that will do—now, whis-whis-whis-te—that’s a clean, long throw. By Jupiter! you have got a bite with a vengeance. Careful—give him more line—let it run—play him—ease—ease the line around the thole-pin; he’ll take all the skin of your fingers else. Pull away gently—there he runs. Careful, or you lose him—play him a little—he begins to tire—steady, steady—draw away—now he shoots wildly this way—look out! there he goes under the boat; here he is again. Steady—quick, Davy, the net;—I’ve got it under him—now then, in with him. Bass! twenty pounds, by all the steel-yards in the old Brick Market! Ay, there they have got hold of me; a pull like a young shark; let it run—the whole line is out—quick, quick—take a turn round the thole-pin—snap! There, Davy! there goes your best line, sinker, hooks and all. Give me the other line. Ah, ha!—again—again—again. This is sport. One—two—three——nine Bass, and thirty Tautaug. So—the tide won’t serve here any longer; we will stretch