80. Big Game Fishes 
wreckage of the angler’s art. My companion, 
Mr. Townsend of Philadelphia, could not swim, 
and was otherwise embarrassed by a heavy over- 
coat; and as the boat rolled over and evidently 
would not hold three, Gardner and I started 
to swim to the launch, which had been lying 
off, some distance away, and which was now 
coming up, while Mr. Townsend rested upon 
the bottom of the boat, assuring us that he was 
all right. As I neared the launch I heard the 
boatman’s wife, who was aboard, scream that 
her husband was drowning, and turning, saw 
that Gardner had disappeared. Visions of cer- 
tain big hammerhead sharks flashed through 
my mind; but as I stopped, endeavoring to look 
down into the blue depths, up he came, and I 
discovered that he still held my tuna by the 
gaff; in fact, he had never relinquished his grasp 
upon the handle, and was towing the fish, the 
latter, as it occasionally plunged downward, tak- 
ing the plucky gaffer out of sight—a perform- 
ance extraordinary in its nature, which was 
repeated three times. Each time Gardner, who 
was a professional swimmer previous to his boat- 
ing career, dragged the tuna to the surface, and 
after an exciting and exhausting swim we were 
