228 THE SALT OF MY LIFE 



the levee in the East, and for the next three hours, 

 as day gained the mastery, we were drawing slow]y 

 through the water, the sail hardly filling out and 

 glad of assistance from the long sweepers, at which 

 the men toiled like the galley slaves they looked. 

 At last, without apparently taking up any particu- 

 lar marks, the Reis put down the anchor and 

 signified that we should begin fishing. A lively 

 mackerel was dipped out of the bait barrel, into 

 which a fat boy, with no other very evident ambi- 

 tion in life, had been zealously pouring water 

 ever since the sun was up. The hook was fixed 

 in the back, and the Reis asked us, through John, 

 to let out about 60 fathoms to start with. Plumb 

 went my wire line, Turner's reel, which held no 

 more than a hundred fathoms of it, running out 

 easily with the weight of the 2 lb. mackerel. No 

 tunny accepted the invitation, and I have since 

 reflected that if one had, I must either have gone 

 overboard, or lost a lot of another man's tackle, 

 not the most agreeable alternative for a holiday. 

 In California they played these huge fish from a 

 small boat, which the fish is free to tow until tired 

 out. This puts the minimum of strain on the rod 

 and gives the line every chance. Anchored, 

 however, in water of such depth, there would only 

 be one chance in a thousand of saving a heavy 

 fish, even if the first rush did not decide the issue. 

 There was an agony of suspense, for we did not then 



