8o Big Game Fishes 



wreckage of the angler's art. My companion, 

 Mr. Townsend of Philadelphia, could not swim, 

 and was otherwise embarrassed by a heavy over- 

 coat; and as the boat rolled over and evidently 

 would not hold three, Gardner and I started 

 to swim to the launch, which had been lying 

 off, some distance away, and which was now 

 coming up, while Mr. Townsend rested upon 

 the bottom of the boat, assuring us that he was 

 all right. As I neared the launch I heard the 

 boatman's wife, who was aboard, scream that 

 her husband was drowning, and turning, saw 

 that Gardner had disappeared. Visions of cer- 

 tain big hammerhead sharks flashed through 

 my mind ; but as I stopped, endeavoring to look 

 down into the blue depths, up he came, and I 

 discovered that he still held my tuna by the 

 gaff ; in fact, he had never relinquished his grasp 

 upon the handle, and was towing the fish, the 

 latter, as it occasionally plunged downward, tak- 

 ing the plucky gaffer out of sight a perform- 

 ance extraordinary in its nature, which was 

 repeated three times. Each time Gardner, who 

 was a professional swimmer previous to his boat- 

 ing career, dragged the tuna to the surface, and 

 after an exciting and exhausting swim we were 



