TALES OP FISHES 



miles from where we had hooked him. He was 

 weakening, but I thought I was worse off than he was. 

 Dan changed the harness. It seemed to make more 

 effort possible. 



The floor under my feet was wet and slippery 

 from the salt water dripping off my reel. I could 

 not get any footing. The bend of that rod down- 

 ward, the ceaseless tug, tug, tug, the fear of sharks, 

 the paradoxical loss of desire now to land the tuna, 

 the change in my feeling of elation and thrill to 

 wonder, disgust, and utter weariness of spirit and 

 body — all these warned me that I was at the end of 

 my tether, and if anything could be done it must be 

 quickly. 



Relaxing, I took a short rest. Then nerving my- 

 self to be indifferent to the pain, and yielding alto- 

 gether to the brutal instinct this tuna-fighting rouses 

 in a fisherman, I lay back with might and main. 

 Eight times I had gotten the double line over the 

 reel. On the ninth I shut down, clamped with 

 my thumbs, and froze there. The wire leader sung 

 like a telephone wire in the cold. I could scarcely 

 see. My arms cracked. I felt an immense strain 

 that must break me in an instant. 



Captain Dan reached the leader. Slowly he 

 heaved. The strain upon me was released. I let 

 go the reel, threw off the drag, and stood up. There 

 the tuna was, the bronze-and-blue-backed devil, 

 gaping, wide-eyed, shining and silvery as he rolled, 

 a big tuna if there ever was one, and he was con- 

 quered. 



When Dan lunged with the gaff the tuna made a 

 tremendous splash that deluged us. Then Dan 



248 



