2;o Life in the Open 



weary angler stands and leads it into the field of the 

 gaffer, and as the steel sinks into its silvery flesh below 

 the jaw, it makes a supreme effort and plunges, shatter- 

 ing the gaff, making fifty feet. There 's many a slip 

 between gaff and line in catching tunas ! 



Again the angler rallies and a fresh gaff hits the 

 mark ; the angler slacks away, and all stand upon the 

 rail as the gaffer slides the splendid fish into the boat, a 

 monster in gold, silver, and azure, which later on tips 

 the scales at one hundred and fifty pounds. A few 

 ponderous blows on the flooring, a strange, penetrating 

 quiver, and the king is dead. Up runs the flag of vic- 

 tory, bearing the blue tuna, shattered nerves and weary 

 muscles are forgotten, and the boat runs in amid the 

 cheers, whistles, and salutes of the lookers-on in boats 

 who have been watching the catch and the often heart- 

 breaking struggle. 



That afternoon the angler wears a little blue button. 

 He has taken tarpon, perhaps the weird rohu and 

 mahsir that Kipling sings about ; but he would not ex- 

 change his experience with all these for that four hours' 

 battle with the leaping tuna along these placid waters. 



So delightful are the conditions of the sport at this 

 isle of summer that they become compensations even 

 for occasional poor luck, as even tunas are uncertain 

 and seasons have been known to pass when the fish, 

 over one hundred pounds in weight, absolutely spurned 

 all lures. The winter here is the time of flowers, or 

 from the coming of the rain, from November to April, 



