s, pains, tremblings,
saggings. Likewise misgivings!

About this period I determined to see how close to the boat I could pull
him. I worked. The word "worked" is not readily understood until a man
has tried to pull a big broadbill close to the boat. I pulled until I
saw stars and my bones cracked. Then there was another crack. The rod
broke at the reel seat! And the reel seat was bent. Fortunately the line
could still pay out. And I held the tip while Dan pried and hammered the
reel off the broken butt on to another one. Then he put the tip in that
butt, and once more I had to reel in what seemed miles and miles of
line.

Five thirty! It seemed around the end of the world for me. We had
drifted into a tide-rip about five miles east of Avalon, and in this
rough water I had a terrible time trying to hold my fish. When I
discovered that I could hold him--and therefore that he was playing
out--then there burst upon me the dazzling hope of actually bringing him
to gaff. It is something to fight a fish for more than five hours
without one single hope of his capture. I had done that. And now,
suddenly, to be fired with hope gave me new strength and spirit to work.
The pain in my hands was excruciating. I was burning all over; wet and
slippery, and aching in every muscle. These next few minutes seemed
longer than all the hours. I found that to put the old strain on the
rod made me blind with pain. There was no fun, no excitement, no thrill
now. As I labored I could not help marveling at the strange, imbecile
pursuits of mankind. Here I was in an agony, absolutely useless. Why did
I keep it up? I could not give up, and I concluded I was crazy.

I conceived the most unreasonable hatred for that poor swordfish that
had done nothing to me and that certainly would have been justified in
ramming the boat.

To my despair the fish sounded deep, going down and down. Captain Dan
watched the line. Finally it ceased to pay out.

"Pump him up!" said Dan.

This was funny. It was about as funny as death.

I rested awhile and meditated upon the weakness of the flesh. The thing
most desirable and beautiful in all the universe was rest. It was so
sweet to think of that I was hard put to it to keep from tossing the rod
overboard. There was something so desperately trying and painful in this
fight with a broadbill. At last I drew a deep, long breath, and, with a
pang in my breast and little stings all over me, I began to lift on him.
He