TALES OF FISHES 



ceeding half-hour. Never for an instant did Cap- 

 tain Dan let up. Assuredly during that time he 

 spent more force on the fish than I had in six hours. 



The sea was bad, the boat was rolling, the cock- 

 pit was inches deep under water many a time. I 

 was hard put to it to stay at my post; and what 

 saved the watchers above could not be explained 

 by me. 



"Mebbe I can hold him now — a little," called 

 Dan once, as he got the hundred-foot mark over the 

 reel. "Strap the harness on me!" 



I fastened the straps round Dan's broad shoul- 

 ders. His shirt was as wet as if he had fallen over- 

 board. Maybe some of that wet was spray. His 

 face was purple, his big arms bulging, and he whistled 

 as he breathed. 



"Good-by, Dan. This will be a fitting end for 

 a boatman," I said, cheerfully, as I dove back to 

 the wheel. 



At six o'clock our fish was going strong and Dan 

 was tiring fast. He had, of course, worked too 

 desperately hard. 



Meanwhile the sun sank and the sea went down. 

 All the west was gold and red, with the towers of 

 Church Rock spiring the horizon. A flock of gulls 

 were circling low, perhaps over a school of tuna. 

 The white cottages of Avalon looked mere specks 

 on the dark island. 



Captain Dan had the swordfish within a hundred 

 feet of the boat and was able to hold him. This 

 seemed hopeful. It looked now just a matter of 

 a little more time. But Dan needed a rest. 



I suggested that my brother come down and take 



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