34 Life in the Open 



glint of silver and green is seen against the blue, and 

 along the quarter, circling the boat, bearing off bravely, 

 flashing in the sunlight, is a splendid bonito (Sarda 

 chilensis). 



Minutes have crept away, and twenty have been 

 captured by the fish that, mad with fear, turns and 

 plunges downward to the cry of the reel ze-e-e-e-e / 

 music that makes the watery welkin ring, sounds that 

 stir the blood and flush the face. The rod and reel is 

 plied deftly, and the game is brought to gaff. What a 

 fish it is the boatman holds up ! three feet long if an 

 inch, with black stripes fore and aft ; blue or green on 

 the upper side, silver below ; and an eye of gold and 

 blue, a gem in itself. 



Twenty pounds is the verdict, and taken on a six- 

 teen-thread line in just twenty minutes. Here is joy 

 enough, one would think, but while the anglers are ad- 

 miring the fine points of the fish, the other rod gives 

 tongue, and a blare of sounds strikes the air, while the 

 rod nods, bends, and swings up and down as though 

 mad. Away go feet and yards, until the spool 

 seems to be melting into the sea, and the boatman 

 whispers, " Stop him, sir, or he '11 get away with you 

 altogether." 



Stop him! aye, that 's the question, but how ? You 

 are pressing your right thumb on the line with all your 

 force. Your hand is numb, and the rushing, grinding 

 cord, a mere thread, is throwing a fine spray of pow- 

 dered leather in every direction. You press the line 



