Fighting a Swordfish at Night 5 



into the air, swimming in pairs, brigades, and 

 companies with the long dorsal waving in the 

 sun. In the excitement of anticipation it was 

 easy to mistake them for the real game, but once 

 clearly seen, the mistake was rarely repeated. 



The swordfish came down the San Clemente 

 rialto with a swagger unmistakable; the tall 

 slender dorsal and top of the caudal following 

 one another at a rakish angle suggestive of the 

 rapier just below. As the swordsman swam, he 

 seemed to bend slightly to right and left as be- 

 came a swordsman of the sea. He assumed a 

 nonchalant air, paid little or no attention to the 

 launch, moving south along the rocky slopes of 

 the island a few hundred yards from shore; now 

 with a companion, again alone ; swimming slowly 

 and evidently in a peaceful frame of mind, as 

 mild-mannered a fellow, to paraphrase, as ever 

 rammed a ship or broke a line. 



" Up anchor and at him ! " was the order, and 

 but a few moments was required to place the 

 launch in his way; the lure, a big flying fish, a 

 twenty-four strand line and sixteen-ounce rod, 

 the prescribed tackle of the Tuna Club for such 

 game. 



This individual swordfish well illustrated the 

 strange uncertainty of angling, whether it be for 

 trout, or the larger game of the sea. Pinchot 

 was the chosen duelist and took his place with 

 Mexican Joe in a light skiff which we towed 



