The Bluefisb 155 



the topgallant yard of a three-master ; at least, it 

 cleared my head when it swung around. My rod 

 weighed twenty-six ounces, was eight feet long, 

 with a far too slender tip, and was rigged with a 

 number twelve cuttyhunk line, which would pull 

 a dead weight of twenty-two pounds. The skip- 

 per had orders to luff at the strike and hold her 

 in the wind until I brought the bluefish to gaff 

 this is a well-planned theory, and, as the boat- 

 man said later on, " it looked all right." Presently 

 we were bounding over the water, the silvery bait 

 flashing from wave to wave sixty feet behind. We 

 had reached halfway over the " rip," the little cat- 

 boat flying along, lee scuppers under, with a big 

 bone in her teeth, the skipper, with one hand on 

 the tiller, and the other grasping the main-sheet, 

 ready to slack away when the strike came the 

 reel screamed, " luff! luf-f-f-f-f !" shrilly, then madly, 

 and up into the wind came the boat, caracoling, 

 shaking her sails, and making a prodigious pro- 

 test at being stopped in so ruthless a manner. 

 But all was not well with me; the bluefish had 

 made a prodigious rush, and aided by the speed 

 of the boat, literally ran out my line, and, despite 

 a desperate effort to save it, took line and tip. 

 But there were more lines, more tips, and more 



