226 Recreations of a Sportsman 



and at the end of two hours had us some dis- 

 tance off the east end of San Clemente, a swift 

 current sweeping us steadily to the west. Up 

 to this time we had not seen the fish, but on the 

 third hour it came to surface and circled one 

 hundred and fifty feet away in plain view, a 

 splendid fish. 



How big? Saint Zeus and the rest only know, 

 but never was such a fish hooked on " three- 

 six." The Baron fought without letting up, 

 pumped, reeled, gave the butt in careful 

 fashion, but never could he induce that fish to 

 come nearer. The launch was always swing- 

 ing, racing after it, but all to no purpose. Even 

 Mexican Joe's philosophy had given out, and 

 then the engine broke down. The sun was 

 sinking in the west, the fish and the tide were 

 hurrying in the direction of Japan. We could 

 see the yacht almost hull down. Our friends 

 had gone back, a heavy sea had picked up, 

 and four hours from the strike found us still 

 drifting, the Baron fighting the fish, Mexican 

 Joe gazing at the engine, w r hich he had taken 

 apart that he might more thoroughly and satis- 

 factorily anathematize each individual piece, 

 while I waved a white sweater in the faint hope 

 that we would be seen, as half a bottle of water, 

 one oar, and a small tuna hound seemed to be 

 the practical assets for a long drift out to sea. 



So we drifted on, and at four hours and a 



