20 Big Game Fishes 
awoke to the fact that one had fisherman’s luck; 
then followed a brief pause; to swallow a fly- 
ing-fish one foot in length, is not accomplished 
at once; and I could see the monster poising, 
swallowing with convulsive gulp; then feeling 
the wire leader, it shot ahead, and for an instant 
I gave the butt to one of the finest white sea- 
bass that ever swam, which when hooked, un- 
reeled the line to a new music of the reel. There 
was no stopping this splendid rush, and with 
thumb trembling on the pad, the tip bending to 
the danger point, the boatman backing with one 
oar, pulling with all his power on the other, to 
whirl the boat around, my companion breathing 
advice and caution in low. tones, the reel swear- 
ing, praying, protesting, ah! it was an exciting 
moment, one of those critical points in the life of 
an angler that comes but once and is gone. “If 
I can but hold him!” Walton whispered on a 
similar occasion. If! what a world of chance 
and possibility is tied up in that small word! If 
the line had only been newer; if the leader had 
not been rusty; if that knot had been cut out, or 
if you only had taken a gaffer who did not lose 
his head, —each and any of these “ifs” might 
have reversed this day of happy memory. 
