The Tarpon 247 



made a fine run of one hundred and fifty feet 

 which was irresistible. The boatman shouted 

 that a shark was after it, so I forced the fighting 

 while he backed water. Up into the air went the 

 silver king on the crest of a big roller, falling 

 broadside and still hooked, as I had with the big 

 multiplier kept a taut line; then it stopped and 

 came toward me, sweeping around in the arc of 

 a circle, making a splendid leap so near the boat 

 that I fancied I heard the boatman gasp; perhaps 

 it was myself. Nothing could be more gamy, 

 more magnificent, than the play of this fish, as 

 rushing, leaping, coming in, bearing off, always 

 on the surface, it fought its gallant fight for fifteen 

 minutes or more, until I brought it successfully 

 to the boat. As near as I could estimate, the fish 

 was six feet in length, as we lost it after having 

 towed it nearly to the beach a mile distant. 



By this time two other anglers were playing 

 tarpons, and the scene was intensely exciting and 

 sensational, especially as a gaffed tarpon very 

 nearly wrecked a neighboring boat, overturning 

 gaffer and angler in the melee. Tarpons were 

 now leaping here and there, and I turned my 

 attention to attempts to photograph them, one 

 angler forcing his fish to jump for my benefit and 



