, preferring to let him
pull out the line, and then when he rested I worked on him to recover
it. My idea was to keep a perpetual strain upon him.

I do not think I had even a hope of bringing this fish to the boat.

It was twelve o'clock exactly when I hooked him, and a quarter of an
hour sped by. My first big thrill came when he leaped. This was a
surprise. He was fooling round, and then, all of a sudden, he broke
water clear. It was an awkward, ponderous action, and looked as if he
had come up backward, like a bucking bronco. His size and his long,
sinister sword amazed me and frightened me. It gave me a cold sensation
to realize I was hooked to a huge, dangerous fish. But that in itself
was a new kind of thrill. No boatman fears a Marlin as he does the true
broadbill swordfish.

My second thrill came when the fish lunged on the surface in a red foam.
If I had hooked him so he bled freely there was a chance to land him!
This approach to encouragement, however, was short-lived. He went down,
and if I had been hooked to a submarine I could scarcely have felt more
helpless. He sounded about five hundred feet and then sulked. I had the
pleasant task of pumping him up. This brought the sweat out upon me and
loosened me up. I began to fight him harder. And it seemed that as I
increased the strain he grew stronger and a little more active. Still
there was not any difference in his tactics. I began to get a conception
of the vitality and endurance of a broadbill in contrast with the speed
and savageness of his brother fish, the Marlin, or roundbill.

At two o'clock matters were about the same. I was not tired, but
certainly the fish was not tired, either. He came to the surface just
about as much as he sounded. I had no difficulty at all in getting back
the line he took, at least all save a hundred feet or so. When I tried
to lead him or lift him--then I got his point of view. He would not
budge an inch. There seemed nothing to do but let him work on the drag,
and when he had pulled out a few hundred feet of line we ran up on him
and I reeled in the line. Now and then I put all the strain I could on
the rod and worked him that way.

At three o'clock I began to get tired. My hands hurt. And I concluded I
had been rather unlucky to start on a broadbill at the very beginning.

From that time he showed less frequently, and, if anything, he grew
slower and heavier. I felt no more rushes. And along about this time I
found I