76 Big Game Fishes 
away and towed us four miles south, occasionally 
stopping to rush in, and once carried us out into 
rough water, towing the boat stern first against 
the heavy seaway so rapidly that I expected to 
see her fill; but by sheer good luck I turned the 
fish, and at the end of four hours brought it to 
gaff. Slowly it circled the boat and for the first 
time we saw that the fish was what we had 
suspected, of unusual size. As it slowly swam 
along, its big back of a deep blue, its white belly 
occasionally gleaming as it turned, its finarettes 
flashing gold, it presented a magnificent spec- 
tacle,a compensation for the hardest struggle I 
had ever made. Nearer it came, then it was 
turned at the quarter, the boatman’s gaff slid 
beneath, and the big hook struck home. It was a 
clever gaff, but with a tremendous surge the tuna 
sounded, shivering the handle in the gaffer’s 
hands, and was away taking the wreck with 
it. Fortunately I stopped the rush, and a few 
moments later again had the tuna alongside. 
This time a new gaff held it, the gamy creature, 
never conquered, never discouraged, lashing the 
water, hurling it over us, a last defiance. A 
nervous gaffer would have lost the fish at this 
stage, but the boatman held fast, and stepping 
