266 Life in the Open 



tunas feeding. A stretch of perhaps twenty acres is a 

 mass of foam. Some of the fish are playing along the 

 surface, churning the blue water into silver. Some are 

 leaping high into the air, going up like arrows, eight or 

 more feet. The boatman is bearing off and is several 

 feet ahead, but suddenly slows down to half speed. 

 Big flying-fishes are speeding away in every direction a 

 foot or more above the water, looking like gigantic 

 dragon-flies. Now the bait is in the line of march 

 of the school. The boatman stands like a statue, his 

 hand on the little engine, ready to stop and reverse. 

 Suddenly he whispers, " Look out, sir ! " his voice hoarse 

 with what should be suppressed excitement, and two or 

 three flying-fishes cross the exact location of the baits. 

 He knows that a nemesis, one or more, is directly be- 

 hind. Then comes a rush of something, a blaze of silvery 

 foam along the surface, tossing the spume high in air, 

 and two rods are jerked to the water's edge, while the 

 reel gives tongue in clear vibrant notes like the melody 

 of an old hound that one angler had known in the 

 Virginia fox-hunting country long ago. 



Zee-zee-zeee-eee ! rises the music, the symphony of the 

 reels ; now a duet, both joining and giving out long- 

 continued notes as the line is jerked away in feet and 

 yards, in veritable handfuls. In the meantime the 

 school is closing about the boat and there is fear that 

 the lines will be cut by the crazed fish. Fisherman's 

 luck ! one breaks perhaps too much pressure was put 

 upon the brake, perhaps the sharp fin of a tuna cut it. 



