back. The white feathers flew away on
the wind. She swept up, appeared to pause wearily and quiver, then
disgorged her fish. It glinted in the sunlight. The _rabihorcado_
dropped in easy, downward curve and caught it as it fell.

So the struggle for existence continued till I seemed to see all the
world before me with its myriads of wild creatures preying upon one
another; the spirit of nature, unquenchable as the fires of the sun,
continuing ceaseless and imperturbable in its inscrutable design.

As we rowed away I looked back. Sky of a dull purple, like smoke with
fire behind it, framed the birds of power and prey in colors suitable to
their spirit. My ears were filled with the haunting sound of the sea,
the sad wash of the surf, the harmonious and mournful music of the
Island of the Dead.

III

THE ROYAL PURPLE GAME OF THE SEA

To the great majority of anglers it may seem unreasonable to place
swordfishing in a class by itself--by far the most magnificent sport in
the world with rod and reel. Yet I do not hesitate to make this
statement and believe I can prove it.

The sport is young at this writing--very little has been written by men
who have caught swordfish. It was this that attracted me. Quite a number
of fishermen have caught a swordfish. But every one of them will have
something different to tell you and the information thus gleaned is apt
to leave you at sea, both metaphorically and actually. Quite a number of
fishermen, out after yellowtail, have sighted a swordfish, and with the
assistance of heavy tackle and their boatmen have caught that swordfish.
Some few men have caught a small swordfish so quickly and easily that
they cannot appreciate what happened. On the other hand, one very large
swordfish, a record, was caught in an hour, after a loggy rolling about,
like a shark, without leaping. But these are not fighting swordfish. Of
course, under any circumstances, it is an event to catch a swordfish.
But the accidents, the flukes, the lucky stabs of the game, do not in
any sense prove what swordfishing is or what it is not.

In August, 1914, I arrived at Avalon with tuna experience behind me,
with tarpon experience, and all the other kinds of fishing experience,
even to the hooking of a swordfish in Mexico. I am inclined to confess
that all this experience made me--well, somewhat too assured. Any one
will excuse my enthusiasm. The day of my arrival I met Parker, the
genial taxidermist of Ava