e fish which the Smithsonian declared to be
a waahoo. The name waahoo appears to be more familiarly associated with
a shrub called burning-bush, also a Pacific coast berry, and again a
small tree of the South called winged elm. When this name is mentioned
to a fisherman he is apt to think only fun is intended. To be sure, I
thought so.

In February, 1915, I met Judge Shields at Long Key, and, remembering his
capture of this strange fish some years previous, I questioned him. He
was singularly enthusiastic about the waahoo, and what he said excited
my curiosity. Either the genial judge was obsessed or else this waahoo
was a great fish. I was inclined to believe both, and then I forgot all
about the matter.

This year at Long Key I was trolling for sailfish out in the Gulf
Stream, a mile or so southeast of Tennessee Buoy. It was a fine day for
fishing, there being a slight breeze and a ripple on the water. My
boatman, Captain Sam, and I kept a sharp watch on all sides for
sailfish. I was using light tackle, and of course trolling, with the
reel free running, except for my thumb.

Suddenly I had a bewildering swift and hard strike. What a wonder that I
kept the reel from over-running! I certainly can testify to the burn on
my thumb.

Sam yelled "Sailfish!" and stooped for the lever, awaiting my order to
throw out the clutch.

Then I yelled: "Stop the boat, Sam!... It's no sailfish!"

That strike took six hundred feet of line quicker than any other I had
ever experienced. I simply did not dare to throw on the drag. But the
instant the speed slackened I did throw it on, and jerked to hook the
fish. I felt no weight. The line went slack.

"No good!" I called, and began to wind in.

At that instant a fish savagely broke water abreast of the boat, about
fifty yards out. He looked long, black, sharp-nosed. Sam saw him, too.
Then I felt a heavy pull on my rod and the line began to slip out. I
jerked and jerked, and felt that I had a fish hooked. The line appeared
strained and slow, which I knew to be caused by a long and wide bag in
it.

"Sam," I yelled, "the fish that jumped is on my line!"

"No," replied Sam.

It did seem incredible. Sam figured that no fish could run astern for
two hundred yards and then quick as a flash break water abreast of us.
But I knew it was true. Then the line slackened just as it had before. I
began to wind up swiftly.

"He's gone," I said.

Scarcely had I said that when a smashing b