TWO FIGHTS WITH SWORDFISH 



hundred feet of line and was tired and wet when I 

 had gotten in all I could pull. This brought us to 

 within a couple of hundred feet of our quarry. 

 Also it brought us to five o'clock. Five hours! . . . 

 I began to have queer sensations — aches, pains, 

 tremblings, saggings. Likewise misgivings! 



About this period I determined to see how close 

 to the boat I could pull him. I worked. The word 

 "worked" is not readily understood until a man 

 has tried to pull a big broadbill close to the boat. 

 I pulled until I saw stars and my bones cracked. 

 Then there was another crack. The rod broke at 

 the reel seat! And the reel seat was bent. Fortu- 

 nately the line could still pay out. And I held the 

 tip while Dan pried and hammered the reel off the 

 broken butt on to another one. Then he put the 

 tip in that butt, and once more I had to reel in 

 what seemed miles and miles of line. 



Five thirty! It seemed around the end of the 

 world for me. We had drifted into a tide-rip about 

 five miles east of Avalon, and in this rough water 

 I had a terrible time trying to hold my fish. When 

 I discovered that I could hold him — and therefore 

 that he was playing out — ^then there burst upon me 

 the dazzling hope of actually bringing him to gaff. 

 It is something to fight a fish for more than five 

 hours without one single hope of his capture. I had 

 done that. And now, suddenly, to be fired with 

 hope gave me new strength and spirit to work. The 

 pain in my hands was excruciating. I was burning 

 all over; wet and slippery, and aching in every 

 muscle. These next few minutes seemed longer than 

 all the hours. I found that to put the old strain on 



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