38 
FOREST AND STREAM 
July 13, 19x2 
the gleaming water to escape the notice of the 
keen-eyed lad aloft. The tin pan beat of the 
exhaust was sleep producing and monotonous; 
the novice, whose sole duty was to mind the 
helm and dose the engine with cylinder oil, de¬ 
tected himself nodding at the wheel. After sev¬ 
eral hours swordfish began to take on a mythical 
unreality that made the waste of quart on quart 
of gasolene seem futile and extravagant, when— 
“a 250-POUND CATCH.” 
experienced man tending the rope is less than 
it would seem, and casualties are infrequent, al¬ 
though about one fish in ten will try to charge 
the dory. The process of capture is extraordi¬ 
narily exciting and never to be forgotten. I he 
pull of the straining fish will tow the dory over 
the water, and the braces and smother of spray 
in adjusting the fluke rope have possibilities be¬ 
yond the gaffing of the liveliest salmon in a 
rocky stream. 
As we sailed through the blue and gold of 
early morning, the wind died down, and the sun 
beat hot upon our deck. The sea became a flat 
expanse of burnished steel, the long heave of 
the ground swell running through it, and we 
rose and fell with measured regularity on water 
that seemed like oil. A hot day with no wind 
will bring the swordfish to the surface, where 
they bask in the warm sunshine or glide slowly 
in search of food, impelled by the sail-like power 
of their sickle-shaped fin and fluke. And such 
a day, ideal in all conditions, was upon us. Har¬ 
poons and gear were carefully examined, the 
captain of our vessel climbed into the “pulpit” 
at the bow. The first mate, with more skill than 
grace, clambered aloft, and the crew, consisting 
of the novice, took the helm, where it was thought 
that he could do least damage. 
After slowing down the engine we crirsed 
in long reaches over the fishing grounds, .back¬ 
ward and forward in five-mile circles, triangles 
and quadrilaterals, allowing not a single foot of 
"Luff!” was bellowed from aloft, and in a yell, 
"Luff hard!” 
With the tail of his eye the novice caught 
sight of a black fin “cut out” swiftly to star¬ 
board and disappear as the boat swung sharply 
in its direction. But the tip of the harpoon, by 
which the man at the helm must steer at such 
a time, still pointed to starboard, then ahead, 
then lowered, down it plunged. “We have him !” 
was the cry, and “Shut her off!” came in the 
same breath from aloft. 
Fumbling in excitement the novice nearly 
tore the switch from its fastening. 
“Toss your keg” came double voices. He 
tossed, and the line running aft was caught in 
the propeller. A two-pronged pitchfork lay on 
deck. The novice by dint of jumping over the 
engine, and upsetting a quart of cylinder oil as 
he did so, reached it and cleared the line, while 
from the keg now thirty feet astern the line un¬ 
reeled with stately slowness. The motion quick¬ 
ened, spray began to fly, the keg spun like a top 
upon the water. It disappeared bobbed up again 
some fifty feet further on, and danced along 
over the waves as fast as a man could row. 
“Start her up,” said the captain, and the 
mate bent to the fly-wheel. “Whish!” said the 
engine. “Drat the engine,” said the mate. 
The engine back-fired resonantly, but snap¬ 
ping the switch, the mate caught the explosion 
and we forged ahead once more at top speed, 
soon overhauling the skipping keg that was doing 
a skirt dance all its own some 200 yards away. 
Into the dory jumped the mate, the novice 
scrambling after, and the oars creaked. 
“Got to see the end of this!” exclaimed the 
novice with a nonchalance that he was far from 
feeling. 
“May be you’ll see the end of something 
else,” remarked the mate to cheer his spirits. 
“Charging elephants,” he said, “if I don’t be¬ 
lieve he’s going to run us!” 
The keg was in the dory by this time, and 
the line, running outward almost horizontally, 
showed that Mr. Swordfish was on top of the 
water seeking that which he might punch with 
his proboscis. The novice elevated his frame 
from the bottom of the dory where he had been 
squatting. He disliked the thought of being 
taken for a target. 
“A man was plugged right through the thigh 
the other day,” remarked the mate. “He’s in the 
hospital now with six trained nurses. Honor 
bright,” he added, with a grin. 
“What did he do until the main boat came 
alongside?” ventured the novice. 
“Bailed, hung on to his leg and prayed,” said 
the mate tersely. “There she goes,” he added; 
“we're all right now.” 
‘Tuff hard.” 
The line was again running deep, lower and 
taut, and the danger of being charged eliminated. 
The dory moved with unction over the rippling 
heave of the ground swell, and finally the novice 
looking overboard caught a vague, blue-green, 
torpedo-like shape that turned sideways for an 
instant giving forth a flash of silver. 
“Better attend to business,” said the mate. 
“He’ll be up in a jiffy. Get your fluke rope 
ready. Now then!” A giant of blue and silver, 
with eyes that might have looked upon the fall 
of man, was alongside. “Oh, good Lord! ' ex¬ 
claimed the novice. His exclamation stopped, 
however, when the fish, with a swift motion of 
its fluke, drenched him with a bucket or two of 
water, and struck the dory a blow that made it 
quiver. 
“Over she goes!” sputtered the mate, who 
was also drenched. The fluke rope was attached 
and with yells and hosannas the occupants of the 
dory signalled the main vessel which was cruis¬ 
ing slowly back and forth about 300 yards away. 
The throat halyard used as a tackle made 
quick work of hoisting the fish aboard, where it 
was quieted with a hammer, and again we re¬ 
sumed the cruise, while the novice gazed with 
gloating ecstasy on the 250-pound monster now 
wrapped carefully in oilskins to preserve it from 
the sun. On that trip we took six fish ranging 
from one to three hundred pounds in weight, 
and to lovers of excitement and the sea the ad¬ 
vice within this article is brief and to the point 
—go swordfishing. 
