It is no rare thing to find a hundred fishing vessels at anchor at one time on George’s during any month of the year, and it was to join this fleet that the _Albatross_ was now making her way swiftly around the point of Cape Cod. She was fitted out as a hand-liner--that is, her crew would fish with hand-lines over her sides--and she had a quantity of frozen herring stowed with the ice in her hold to be used as bait. They reached the bank and caught sight of the anchored fleet early the following morning after leaving Boston. As they slipped along past one after another of the vessels already at work, they could see their crews hauling in their lines and tossing fish over the rail as fast as their arms could move. It seemed curious to Breeze that this busy work should always stop as soon as the _Albatross_ drifted near any of the others. He asked why it was, and was told that they were afraid the new-comers would notice their good luck and anchor near them, which they did not wish to have them do. As the _Albatross_ moved slowly across the bank, soundings were taken, and the skipper kept a baited hook down. At last, in fifty fathoms of water he got a strong bite, and at once ordered the anchor to be dropped, Then the sails were snugly furled and the riding-sail set. This is a small triangular bit of canvas bent to the main-mast, and is used to hold the vessel’s head to the wind. Now baskets of bait were got up, lines were overhauled, and soon every man on board had one or two over the side. They were allowed to run out until their leaden sinkers touched, when they were drawn up so that the hooks, that hung a fathom below them, were raised a few feet above the bottom. There was an intense eagerness to bring up the first fish, and each man kept an eye on his neighbor’s line as well as on his own, to see if he were to be the lucky man. At last a shout announced a bite, and all turned to see Breeze McCloud tug away at something so tremendously heavy that it seemed to him he must be lifting a large piece of the bottom of the ocean. CHAPTER VI. THE GALE ON GEORGE’S. “Look out, Breeze! Let him run a bit!” shouted the skipper. “Don’t try to snub him yet, or he’ll snap your line like a thread.” Whish-hiss-s-s goes the stout line as the fish at the other end takes a downward plunge. Now he runs upward, and the slack is hastily gathered in. “There, he is off again! My, what a rush! There is evidently some serious work on hand here,” said the skipper, as he went to the young fisherman’s assistance. It took fifteen minutes of steady, patient, and skilful work to tire the powerful fish. During this time general attention was directed to the struggle, and the men almost neglected their own lines in their curiosity to see what sort of a creature Breeze had hooked.