TALES OF FISHES 



sight. Down he went with a crash. I wound the 

 reel like a madman, but I never even half got up 

 the slack line. The swordfish had run straight tow- 

 ard the boat. He leaped again, in a place I did not 

 expect, and going down, instantly came up in an- 

 other direction. His speed, his savageness, stunned 

 me. I could not judge of his strength, for I never 

 felt his weight. The next leap I saw him sling the 

 hook. It was a great performance. Then that 

 swordfish, finding himself free, leaped for the open 

 sea, and every few yards he came out in a clean jump. 

 I watched him, too fascinated to count the times 

 he broke water, but he kept it up till he was out of 

 sight on the horizon. 



At first Captain Dan took the loss harder than I 

 took it. But gradually I realized what had hap- 

 pened, and, though I made a brave effort to be game 

 and cheerful, I was sick. It did seem hard that, 

 after all those twenty-five days of patience and hope 

 and toil, I could not have hooked the swordfish. 

 I see now that it was nothing, only an incident, but 

 I shall never forget the pang. 



That day ended my 1914 experience. The strain 

 had been too hard on me. It had taken all this time 

 for me to appreciate what swordfishing might be. 

 I assured Captain Dan I would come back in 1915, 

 but at the time he did not believe me. He said: 



"If you hadn't stuck it out so long I wouldn't 

 care. Most of the fishermen try only a few days 

 and never come back. Don't quit now!" 



But I did go back in 1915. Long ago on my lone- 

 ly desert trips I learned the value of companions 



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