THE ROYAL PURPLE GAME OF THE SEA 



and he threw the hook. I found the point of the 

 hook bent. It had never been embedded in his 

 jaw. And also I found that his violent exercise 

 had lasted just one minute. I wondered how long 

 I would have lasted had the hook been deep-set. 



Next day I had a swordfish take my bait, swim 

 away on the surface, showing the flying-fish plainly 

 between his narrow beak, and after fooUng with it 

 for a while he ejected it. 



Next day I got a great splashing strike from an- 

 other, without even a sight of the fish. 



Next day I hooked one that made nineteen beau- 

 tiful leaps straightaway before he got rid of the 

 hook. 



And about that time I was come to a sad pass. 

 In fact, I could not sleep, eat, or rest. I was crazy 

 on swordfish. 



Day after day, from early morning till late after- 

 noon, aboard on the sea, trolling, watching, waiting, 

 eternally on the alert, I had kept at the game. My 

 emotional temperament made this game a particu- 

 larly trying one. And every possible unlucky, un- 

 foreseen, and sickening thing that could happen to 

 a fisherman had happened. I grew morbid, hope- 

 less. I could no longer see the beauty of that wild 

 and lonely island, nor the wonder of that smooth, 

 blue Pacific, nor the myriad of strange sea-creatm-es. 

 It was a bad state of mind which I could not wholly 

 conquer. Only by going at it so hard, and sticking 

 so long, without any rests, could I gain the experi- 

 ence I wanted. A man to be a great fisherman should 

 have what makes Stewart White a great hunter — 

 no emotions. If a lion charged me I would imagine 



35 



