Sea Fishing 317 



carried out nearly two hundred yards of line, and 

 tried all the tricks known to the mackerel tribe: 

 he rushed here and there like a mad coyote; he 

 sounded and sulked ; he towed the boat more than 

 five miles ; he circled round us with the speed of a 

 planet careering through space ; he jerked the line 

 till it was taut and musical as catgut; he tested 

 every aching sinew in my body, every fibre of the 

 stout rod, every strand of that cutty-hunk line. 



But he came at last to the gaff ! 



He was so done that he floated belly-up to the 

 steel, and never quivered when it pierced his silvery 

 side. He fought like a lion ; he died like a lamb ! 

 His beauty, moribund, was indescribable : the deep 

 peacock blue of his back melted with exquisite 

 gradation into burnished silver, and from nose to 

 tail he glittered with an iridescence that would put 

 mother-of-pearl to the blush. We marked the dor- 

 sal fin snug in its sheath, the pectorals folded to 

 the side and almost invisible, the mighty tail. And 

 in the moment of triumph we wondered if the law 

 of the survival of the fittest had been vindicated. 



Time — one hour and five minutes ; weight — 

 125J lbs. 



Upon the morning following we had three strikes, 

 and lost three sets of hooks and many yards of 

 line. The next day was a blank ; the day after, we 

 watched a four-and-a-half-hours' fight between a 

 tuna and Col. Morehouse. The fish proved the 

 victor, but mercifully spared the life of our friend. 

 This famous struggle was chronicled at length in 

 all the local papers. Then Sunday brought us 

 rest and hope. Upon Monday morning at 3.55 we 



