THE GLADIATOR OP THE SEA 



nnHREE summers in Catalina waters I had tried 

 ■■■ persistently to capture my first broadbill sword- 

 fish; and so great were the chances against me that 

 I tried really without hope. It was fisherman's, 

 pride, I imagined, rather than hope that drove me. 

 At least I had a remarkably keen appreciation of 

 the defeats in store for any man who aspired to 

 experience with that marvel of the sea — Xiphiui 

 gladius, the broadbill swordsman. 



On the first morning of my fourth summer, 1917, 

 I was up at five. Fine, cool, fresh, soft dawn with 

 a pale pink sunrise. Sea rippling with an easterly 

 breeze. As the sun rose it grew bright and warm. 

 We did not get started out on the water until eight 

 o'clock. The east wind had whipped up a little 

 chop that promised bad. But the wind gradually 

 died down and the day became hot. Great thunder- 

 heads rose over the mainland, proclaiming heat on 

 the desert. We saw scattered sheerwater ducks and 

 a school of porpoises; also a number of splashes 

 that I was sure were made by swordfish. 



The first broadbill I sighted had a skinned tail, 

 and evidently had been in a battle of some kind. 

 We circled him three times with flying-fish bait and 



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