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 mélée. 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 
