TALES OF FISHES 



barracuda. But he would not take either. Yet he 

 loafed around on the surface, showing his colors, 

 quite near the boat. He leaped clear out once, but 

 I saw only the splash. Then he came out sideways, 

 a skittering sort of plunge, lazy and heavy. He was 

 about a three-hundred pounder, white and blue and 

 green, a rare specimen of fish. We tried him again 

 and drew a bait right in front of him. No use! 

 Then we charged him — ran him down. Even then 

 he was not frightened, and came up astern. At last, 

 discouraged at his indiflference, we left him. 



This day was ideal up to noon. Then the sun 

 got very hot. My wrists were burnt, and neck and 

 face. My eyes got tired searching the sea for fins. 

 It was a great game, this swordfishing, and beat any 

 other I ever tried, for patience and endurance. The 

 last fish showed his cunning. They were all differ- 

 ent, and a study of each would be fascinating and 

 instructive. 



Next morning was fine. There were several hours 

 when the sea was smooth and we could have sighted 

 a swordfish a long distance. We went eastward of 

 the ship course almost over to Newport. At noon a 

 westerly wind sprang up and the water grew rough. 

 It took some hours to be out of it to the leeward of 

 the island. 



I saw a whale bend his back and sound and lift 

 his flukes high in the air — one of the wonder sights 

 of the ocean. 



It was foggy all morning, and rather too cool. 

 No fish of any kind showed on the surface. One of 

 those inexplicably blank days that are inevitable 

 in sea angling. 



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