FISHING AS A SPORT 



and the sudden, rapid rush of the line over the multiplier 

 (a winch whose inner cylinder revolves three or four times 

 to one turn of the handle) tells you that you have made a 

 strike, even if the fish fails to jump. Let him have line 

 a hundred yards if he wants it ; and let him tow you as 

 far as he feels inclined. 



Suddenly he makes a leap, and you had better obey to 

 the letter the guide's injunction to " hold on " ; for, when 

 the fish kicks, there is reasonable probability of the rod's 

 being unceremoniously jerked out of your hands. You 

 have no time to notice other smaller flying fish that 

 whizz past your ears; someone in the next boat has just 

 fired a gun, and you do not even speculate as to whether 

 you were the target or no, for you are carried away by ex- 

 citement and a ten-stone fish. The tarpon drops again, 

 but springs up once more almost before he is down, 

 tugging more desperately than ever. 



This time, however, he does not come up unaccom- 

 panied. What are those things bobbing about where he 

 has just left the surface ? Shark-snouts ; three of them ! 

 You have no longer any need to wonder at that gun-shot, 

 and at present you have not time ; you cannot even stop 

 to weigh your own chances of finding yourself in the 

 midst of those vicious-looking muzzles ; for, with a final, 

 fruitless jerk, the tarpon signifies his acceptance of the 

 inevitable; drops, reduces his speed, and allows himself 

 to be drawn alongside for gaffing for only an experienced 

 fisher will try to run his catch ashore. 



Then, when the excitement is all over and you have 

 leisure to think of what might have happened, you 



86 



