MAKE QUEER CATCHES AT CAPE COD.

Many strange fish come to the nets of the weirsmen of Cape Cod. The collection of the amateur photographer who summered at Provincetown a season would not be complete without a plate of some of them to show wondering friends on winter evenings.

Most striking, perhaps, would be the giant horse-mackerel, which were often seen.

"Four-hundred-pounders each" they were, according to the offhand estimate of the local old salt who named them for the summer folks edification. They were indeed a handsome couple, although only medium-sized representatives of a marine clan—orcynus thynnus—of which hundreds are annually taken at Provincetown in the big "catchalls," commonly termed weirs.

In a small way, the horse-mackerel is a gladiator. Prior to his advent, the sand-lance, the mackerel, the herring, pollock, and dogfish make regular visitation in Cape Cod Bay.

When the breaching "sea-tiger," or horse-mackerel, with great goggle eyes staring stonily and lemon-hued, rearanal fins glittering goldlike in the shadow of its under body, comes rushing upon the scene, all minor species hurriedly decamp.

The horse-mackerel, or its familiar, is common in the Mediterranean, where it is known as the tuna, or tunny. For centuries the flesh of the tuna has been highly esteemed by the Latin races. Packed in oil, or salted, it has, since the days of the Phœnicians, been a very widely known commodity in the Mediterranean trade.

The horse-mackerel occurs in the west Atlantic as far north as the Gulf of St. Lawrence. It puts in an appearance at Provincetown early in June customarily, remaining in the vicinity until about October.

When much of the fishing-work there was performed by means of nets, the horse-mackerel was both a source of revenue and a pest to the small boatman; but the oil taken from it more than compensates for the loss resulting from its ravages upon nets.

One would suppose that the fishermen's nets would speedily be ruined by the creatures, but such is not the case. Upon striking a floating net, the horse-mackerel goes, bulletlike, straight through it—unlike the shark, which, rolling itself in the netting, tears the same enormously—making a clean, round hole, easy to repair.

Individuals weighing as much as 1,500 pounds have, it is said, been taken. Specimens of that weight are not taken off Provincetown, however, the average specimens weighing from 400 to 500 pounds, with an occasional 900 or 1,000-pounder.

The average length is about eight feet.

Horse-mackerel were seldom, if ever, used for food in this country until within a few years. At present quite all specimens taken in weirs are sent to city markets, where a ready sale at a good price is assured among immigrants from the south of Europe.

No horse-mackerel need now be set adrift as worthless, as was formerly the custom.

Usually the capture of a weir-imprisoned horse-mackerel is not a matter of great difficulty. Once in a while, however, the great strength of an individual nearly prevails over the efforts of its jailers. For instance: In July, 1897, Captain Henry J. Lewis, a skilful weir-manipulator, found in his harbor trap a big horse-mackerel, exhausted and apparently dead upon the dried-in "lint" when the crew gathered in the netting.

The disengaged end of the main throat-halyards was made fast to the tail of the supposedly dead fish, the bight was loosely attached to the main-sheet traveler, and Skipper Lewis and his helper straightway began to bail in herring.

All at once the stern of the boat settled. Down it went, suddenly, and water began to pour into the standing-room. The horse-mackerel had regained consciousness and was making the fact known.

Mate James hurriedly unloosed the halyards, and the immense fish disappeared below the surface and renewed its fight for freedom.

As the fish scurried away, the halyards tautened. The main-gaff started aloft, drawn by the hoisting-gear. The gaff-end caught, held securely for a moment, then broke, and up in a trice went the bellying sail, with broken spar dangling.

For a moment all was confusion on the boat. The fish, a 900-pounder, in one of its rushes approached the boat's quarter. One of the crew, ax in hand, delivered a swinging blow at him, but the agile horse-mackerel easily avoided it.

An instant later the strong wind struck full upon the bagging canvas and laid the boat over, well upon her side. A capsize seemed imminent. Correctly sizing up the situation, Mate Manuel James seized a sharp knife and with one stroke severed the halyards.

Immediately the horse-mackerel, with all but a small portion of the main-halyards tied to its tail, vanished like a flash through the broadside netting of the weir, vanished for good. Lewis, owner thereof, gave vent to sundry explosive ejaculations.

Cape Cod weirs scoop in many unexpected water-creatures. Recently a forty-foot-long—estimated—right-whale entered O'Neil's head of harbor Provincetown floating traps. Annoyed a half-hour later by would-be captors, this huge animal, bearing within its mouth baleen worth probably $2,000, with one rush burst through the heavy netting and went away to sea, leaving a badly torn weir behind.

In August, 1908, a baby finback whale, just out of leading-strings, evidently, it being only fifteen feet long, entered Blatchford's weir and was slain. The creature was exhibited under a tent upon the main beach.

The Lewis-James weir captured, October 9 of the same year, a bone shark seventeen feet long. The skin of that rare creature was removed intact, and is now being tanned for mounting by the purchaser, David C. Stull, known as the Ambergris King.

This species—cetophinus maximus—a native of Arctic seas, is one of the largest of sharks. Sluggish in movement, the bone shark swims lazily at the surface, apparently indifferent to the approach of boats. Food found in its stomach comprises a red, pulpy mass, probably the roe of sea-urchins. The teeth are small—the Stull specimen hadn't the vestige of a tooth, being very young—and the gill-rakers—a sort of Galway whisker worn inside, instead of outside, the throat—would indicate that it feeds at the surface, straining its food, as does the baleen-bearing whale.

A half-dozen years ago a West Indian sea-turtle, with a plump remora—sucking fish—adhering to its under shell, was taken from the "Jim" Lewis weir.

Very recently the largest lobster known to have been captured in Provincetown Harbor was taken from the Eastern weir. Its weight was twenty-three pounds, and its length, tail end to outer end of forward extended claws, was forty-two inches. This giant crustacean, carefully mounted, now graces Mr. Stull's museum of marine curios.

Recent sizable lot arrivals of fishes once deemed worthless at Provincetown, include the shadine, scientifically known as etrumeus sadinia, a species which occurs as far south as the Gulf of Mexico, but is most commonly found in Florida and Carolina waters, and the species variously called saury, billfish, skipper, and skipjack, the latter because of its surface-bounding habit when pursued by the horse-mackerel and bonito.

The shadine appeared at Provincetown for the first time, and in large numbers, in October, 1908. They are very valuable.

The saury, or billfish—scomberesox sauris—is found in all parts of the North Atlantic. Cod feed voraciously upon them. This long-beaked, slender-bodied species feeds upon soft, pelagic animals, its teeth being very minute.

This species, formerly considered worthless in Provincetown, has suddenly leaped into favor. All caught there are eagerly sought by New York and Boston commission men.