d that his violent exercise had lasted just one minute. I wondered
how long I would have lasted had the hook been deep-set.

Next day I had a swordfish take my bait, swim away on the surface,
showing the flying-fish plainly between his narrow beak, and after
fooling with it for a while he ejected it.

Next day I got a great splashing strike from another, without even a
sight of the fish.

Next day I hooked one that made nineteen beautiful leaps straightaway
before he got rid of the hook.

And about that time I was come to a sad pass. In fact, I could not
sleep, eat, or rest. I was crazy on swordfish.

Day after day, from early morning till late afternoon, aboard on the
sea, trolling, watching, waiting, eternally on the alert, I had kept at
the game. My emotional temperament made this game a particularly trying
one. And every possible unlucky, unforeseen, and sickening thing that
could happen to a fisherman had happened. I grew morbid, hopeless. I
could no longer see the beauty of that wild and lonely island, nor the
wonder of that smooth, blue Pacific, nor the myriad of strange
sea-creatures. It was a bad state of mind which I could not wholly
conquer. Only by going at it so hard, and sticking so long, without any
rests, could I gain the experience I wanted. A man to be a great
fisherman should have what makes Stewart White a great hunter--no
emotions. If a lion charged me I would imagine a million things. Once
when a Mexican _tigre_, a jaguar, charged me I--But that is not this
story. Boschen has the temperament for a great fisherman. He is
phlegmatic. All day--and day after day--he sits there, on trigger, so to
speak, waiting for the strike that will come. He is so constituted that
it does not matter to him how soon or how late the strike comes. To me
the wait, the suspense, grew to be maddening. Yet I stuck it out, and in
this I claim a victory, of which I am prouder than I am of the record
that gave me more swordfish to my credit than any other fisherman has
taken.

On the next day, August 11th, about three o'clock, I saw a long, moving
shadow back of my bait. I jumped up. There was the purple, drifting
shape of a swordfish. I felt a slight vibration when he hit the bait
with his sword. Then he took the bait. I hooked this swordfish. He
leaped eight times before he started out to sea. He took us three miles.
In an hour and five minutes I brought him to gaff--a small fish. Captain
Dan would take no chances of