Big Game at Sea 



ice. The thing is still there. He dashes at the 

 bottom, attempts to brush it away, then, terrified, 

 maddened at the restraint, rises like a rocket, bound- 

 ing upward to the surface and is free; no, he has 

 merely overrun the thing which now presses on him 

 stronger, harder than ever. 



Again he plays, and despite his titanic efforts is 

 stopped. He rises, reaches the surface, gets the 

 direction of the thing and charges along the surface, 

 fin in air, tossing the spume, a splendid object, a 

 living catapult. , Then into the field of his vision 

 comes the strange object he has seen time and again 

 the launch, a man in the stern standing up reeling for 

 his life, another looking over his shoulder. This is 

 the enemy he must get away from, and turning, the 

 leaper, never leaping now, darts away carrying the 

 line fifty, one hundred, two hundred, three hundred, 

 four hundred feet, until the strain becomes unbear- 

 able, maddening; then he turns, perhaps in uncon- 

 trollable curiosity, perhaps in rage, and charges the 

 thing again, and again breaks away, turning so 

 quickly as to toss the spume upon the man. Five 

 or six of these charges I have watched or experienced, 

 splendid exhibitions of skill, well calculated to test 

 nerves of any caliber. 



Again the tuna dives into the turquoise sea boring 

 down, but the long slender rod checks him, and 

 slowly he rises until thirty feet from the surface he 

 turns and resolutely swims away performing that 



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