TALES OF FISHES 



tain Dan and me, who in our enthusiasm claimed 

 a record. 



But — that sort of thing is one of the aspects of 

 the sport. I was sorry, for Captain Dan's sake. 

 The rivahies between boatmen are keen and im- 

 portant, and they are fostered by unsportsman-like 

 fishermen. And fishermen Hve among past asso- 

 ciations; they grow to beUeve their performances 

 unbeatable and they hate to see a new king crowned. 

 This may be human, since we are creatures who 

 want always to excel, but it is irritating to the young 

 fishermen. As for myself, what did I care how 

 much the swordfish weighed? He was huge, mag- 

 nificent, beautiful, and game to the end of that four- 

 hour battle. Who or what 'could change that — or 

 the memory of those schools of flying-fish in the 

 sunset glow — or the giant tuna, smashing the water 

 all about me — or the eagles fighting over my head — 

 or the beauty of wild and lonely Clemente under its 

 silver cloud-banks? 



I went on catching one or two swordfish every 

 day, and Captain Dan averred that the day would 

 come when we would swamp the boat. These days 

 were fruitful of the knowledge of swordfish that I 

 had longed to earn. 



They are indeed "queer birds." I learned to 

 recognize the sharp vibration of my line when a 

 swordfish rapped the bait with his sword. No 

 doubt he thought he thus killed his prey. Then 

 the strike would come invariably soon after. No 

 two swordfish acted or fought alike. I hooked one 

 that refused to stand the strain of the line. He 



42 



