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Updated: June 21, 2025
The elongated fish in our part of the world, congers, dog-fish, guard-fish, and similar creatures, fasten their teeth into their prey, then setting their bodies in rapid motion like a screw, they regularly cut great pieces out of their victim. This was precisely the same as a serpent with its prey, and it is a natural history fact worth recording. But look!"
I hardly think so, Sherlaw, I hardly think so. Case of reaction entirely. Good morning.” “Congleton seems satisfied,” remarked Escott. “I’ll tell you what,” said the junior, profoundly. “Old Congers is a very good chap, and all that, but he’s not what I should call extra sharp. I should feel uncommon suspicious.” “H’m,” replied Escott. “As you say, our worthy chief is not extra sharp.
But when George arose to throw some more logs on the fire, the shower of sparks that flew heavenward brought him suddenly back to reality to the snow-covered woods of Labrador. "I hope we shall be able to find another house in Congers with a fireplace such as our old one had," he said, turning to me as if he knew I had been reading his thoughts.
Ill-omened carrion that thou art, wherefore placedst thou the pickled cucumber so far apart from the boar's head? and why are these superb congers unprovided with a requisite quantity of fennel? The divorce betwixt the shell-fish and the Chian wine, in a presence like this, is worthy of the divorce of thine own soul from thy body; or, to say the least, of a lifelong residence in the Pistrinum."
The bat-room was thronged with fishermen in guernseys, sea-boots, and sou'-westers. They were all on their feet together, twisting about like great congers on the quay, drinking a little and smoking a great deal, thumping the table, and all talking at once. "How've you done, Billy?" "Enough to keep away the divil and the coroner, and that's about all." "Where's Tom Dug?" "Gone to Austrilla."
We were now reduced to a small daily allowance of calavances, which not being sufficient to keep us alive, we had recourse to the remainder of our smoked congers which had been neglected for some months, and had been soaking and rotting in the bilge-water, so that they were now as disgusting food as could be.
Lightened our packs a bit, throwing away more or less useless stuff at old shack, where we had a rainy night. Pot of tea at Rainy Sunday Camp. All very hungry and weak. Camped below Rainy Sunday Camp. Tried wenastica, not bad. Not much taste to it. Thinking all time of home and M. and parents and Congers and Wurtsboro' and childhood and country. Wednesday, October 14th.
Our tales turn all their doings to favour and to prettiness, or hopelessly humorize the creatures. A hole in the Sligo river is haunted by one of these monsters. He is ardently believed in by many, but that does not prevent the peasantry playing with the subject, and surrounding it with conscious fantasies. When I was a small boy I fished one day for congers in the monster hole.
“No more there is,” replied Escott. “His memory seems to me to have suffered from something, and he simply supplies its place in conversation from his imagination, and in action from the inspiration of the moment. The methods of society are too orthodox for such an aberration, and as his friends doubtless pay a handsome fee to keep him here, old Congers labels him mad and locks the door on him.”
We brought him home to Congers, where he immediately carried consternation into the neighbouring chicken yards, convinced that he had found the finest partridge country on earth. Here his decision for Christ was made. He was baptized and united with the Church of Christ.
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