BIG GAME FISHES OF CALIFORNIA 



the swordfish or cut away, as it could tow us offshore indefi- 

 nitely, and a day in the open Gulf of Mexico, where hurricane- 

 like squalls appear as though by magic and sweep the sea, was 

 an ominous outlook. So we " clapped on to the line " and 

 began to haul in. I made my black man coil the line 

 between his legs, ready to let go when I said the word. That 

 we ever stopped the swordfish for an instant I doubt, but we 

 could occasionally pull ourselves up to it a few feet ; then 

 would come a tremendous rush, we would lose all we had gained, 

 and my man would glance about in a fearsome way and look 

 ominous things — he did not like sharks, and they did like 

 him. More than once the big fish had us almost over, and I 

 was just about to cut the line when the boat would right. 



At last we got within thirty feet of the end by hauling our 

 dinghy up to the swordsman, and weary, breathless, burnt by 

 the fiery, tropical sun, I took a turn with the line about the fore- 

 seat, while my man pulled away from the fish and out to sea. 

 This miserable trick on our part made it gradually turn, or 

 away from us, and soon our foolish game was swimming 

 quietly out into the big trap, the lagoon on the opposite side 

 of the barrier reef. 



We were glad of the rest, being practically worn-out with 

 excitement and labour, so we sat quietly and allowed the big 

 fish to tow us to its doom. Gradually the water shallowed, 

 slowly the tide ebbed as an hour slipped away, and the sword- 

 fish, at last recognising that it was getting into too shoal water, 

 began gradually to turn, hoping, doubtless, to retrace its swim 

 to deeper water. It was now or never with us ; and while 



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