party, as he alone knew the secret of starting Mexican Joe's engine, if it should stop, my information being confined to the lever, stopping, backing, and going ahead. The Governor and I were lounging on the beach about five o'clock with no ambition for strenuous recreations, when we sighted the launch coming in at full speed. In a few moments Joaquin rounded up, and reported from the seat of war that Mr. Pinchot was fast to a big swordfish about three miles offshore, and would I not go out and stand by? The blue haze was deepening up the big Mosquito rift, or cañon behind us, and the headlands of the island were fast changing to the radiant colors and tints they take on before night; while far up the island, the afternoon fog was pouring down the rocky slopes, a thing of beauty, glorified beyond power of expression. I went aboard, took the helm, and we turned out to sea; but the boy, Joaquin, had lost the direction of the skiff, so we went on a hunt for it. I sent him aloft, but still he could not see the skiff. After a while I sighted it on a wave, a mere speck, about three miles to the southeast. I had Joaquin light the lantern so that the anglers could see us if we missed them, and headed directly for them at full speed. At once I became aware that they were moving rapidly, as I was forced continually to haul to the north or change my course. Curiously enough, the boy could not see them, due to some defect of his eyesight, and through no fault of his would, doubtless, not have found the skiff, as it was being towed up the coast and offshore. I kept the skiff in sight with difficulty, and when I reached it, it was so dark that I could just see Pinchot bending to the rod as he shouted to me, and Mexican Joe behind, pushing at the oars in a gallant attempt to force the boat up over the fish to enable Pinchot to gain line. There was a fair sea on, and as I fell in close behind the procession, to stand by until the gaffing, it was one of the most exhilarating spectacles in the way of excitement and daring sport I have ever witnessed; and with a decided spice of possible danger to the angler, thrown in. We gave them a cheer, and Pinchot shouted to me that the fish had leaped fifteen times immediately after it was hooked, and that he had brought it alongside several times, but could not hold it. I at once became aware that something remarkable had been hooked, due to the speed at which they were going. I had been towed once in an open boat ten or twelve miles by a large tuna, but not at such a continuous speed as this. I had slowed down to within twenty feet of them, just behind, and believing that there was a chance of their boat filling, tried to maintain this position, my left hand on the engine lever, my right on the wheel, with Joaquin in the bow to keep an outlook. And here I saw, or tried to see, Pinchot make the fight of his life with a swordfish. I imagined the fish was towing them at a rate of five miles an hour, and it should be remembered that the line was not much larger than an eye-glass cord, of twenty-four strands with a breaking strength of two pounds. to a strand. He had out from one hundred and fifty feet to three hundred feet approximately, and the towing was by the tip of the rod, the butt being in a socket on the seat. The work cut out for Pinchot sitting in a skiff going at five miles an hour, stern first, against a sea, in the dark, was to reel in a fish fighting mad or crazed by fear, that was anywhere from ten to twelve feet long,1 and weighed from one hundred fifty to three hundred fifty pounds. If by any mistake over forty-eight lifting pounds was put on the line it would break; the pressure being applied by the thumb upon a leather pad on the wound line. The reel had a capacity of six hundred feet, with a click and an anti over-running appliance. 1 The record swordfish for the season 1909 at Santa Catalina was three hundred forty-seven pounds. The notable specimen now hangs on the walls of the Tuna Club, taken by Hon. C. G. Conn. |