“Ye’re no fishing for finnickin’ graylin’, or such like pretty-pretties av of the ould counthry,” said the old convict patronisingly, as his toothless mouth expanded into a grin. “These blue-nosed devils would break the heart and soul av the best greenheart as was iver grown. Lay down thim sthicks an’ take wan of these,” and he pointed to some thick lines, ready coiled and baited with pieces of raw beef. “Just have thim out into the wather, and hould on like grim death—that’s all. Sure the boys here have taught me a mighty lot I niver larned before.”

Our visitors “hived” out the already baited lines, and caught a dozen or more of splendid fish, varying from 6 lbs. to 10 lbs. in weight, and then, as a drenching downpour of rain blotted out everything around us, we went home, leaving our take with Billy, with the exception of two or three of the largest, which we brought home with us for supper. He whispered to my brothers and myself that he would give us “ten bob” for the lot; and as the old villain’s money was extremely useful to us, and our parents knew nothing about our dealings with the ancient reprobate, we cheerfully agreed to the “ten bob” suggestion.

But, as I have said, Nemesis was near to William Duggan, Esq., over this matter of the black bream, for on the following Tuesday Lieut. H–happened across the leading fishmonger’s shop in Hunter Street, where there were displayed several splendid black bream. One of these, he noticed, had a large piece bitten out of the back, and he at once recognised it. He stepped inside and asked the black-moustached Grecian gentleman who attended to the counter the price of the fish, and where they were caught.

“Nine shillings each, sir. They are a very scarce fish, and we get them only from one man, an old fellow who makes his living by catching them in Mosman’s Bay. We give him five shillings each for every fish over 6 lbs., and seven-and-sixpence for every one over 10 lbs. No one else but this old fellow can catch black bream of this size. He knows the trick.”

H–, thinking he was doing us boys a good turn, wrote a line to our father, telling him in a humorous manner all about this particular wretched back-bitten black bream which he had recognised, and the price he had been asked for it. Then my father, having no sense of humour, gave us, one and all, a sound thrashing for taking money from old Duggan, who thereafter sold our black bream to a hawker man who travelled around in a spring cart, and gave him three shillings each, out of which we got two, and spent at a ship chandler’s in buying fresh tackle.

For ‘twas not the “filthy lucre” we wanted, only the sport.

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