splashed with a sullen roar, leaving a red foam on the white.

That appeared the end of his pyrotechnics. It had been only a few
moments. He began to swim off slowly and heavily. We followed. After a
few tense moments it became evident that his terrible surface work had
weakened him, probably bursting his gills, from which his life-blood
escaped.

We all breathed freer then. Captain Dan left the wheel, mopping his
pale, wet face. He gazed at me to see if I had realized our peril. With
the excitement over, I began to realize. I felt a little shaky then. The
ladies were all talking at once, still glowing with excitement. Easy to
see they had not appreciated the danger! But Captain Dan and I knew that
if the swordfish had come aboard--which he certainly would have done had
he ever slipped his head over the gunwale--there would have been a
tragedy on the _Leta D._

"I never knew just how easy it could happen," said Dan. "No one ever
before hooked a big fish right under the boat."

"With that weight, that tail, right after being hooked, he would have
killed some of us and wrecked the boat!" I exclaimed, aghast.

"Well, I had him figured to come into the boat and I was ready to jump
overboard," added my brother.

"We won't cut him loose," said Dan. "That's some fish. But he acts like
he isn't goin' to last long."

Still, it took two hours longer of persistent, final effort on the part
of R. C. to bring this swordfish to gaff. We could not lift the fish up
on the stern and we had to tow him over to Mr. Jump's boat and there
haul him aboard by block and tackle. At Avalon he weighed three hundred
and twenty-eight pounds.

R. C. had caught the biggest Marlin in 1916--three hundred and four
pounds, and this three-hundred-and-twenty-eight-pound fish was the
largest for 1918. Besides, there was the remarkable achievement and
record of seven swordfish in one day, with six of them freed to live and
roam the sea again. But R. C. was not impressed. He looked at his hands
and said:

"You and Dan put a job up on me.... Never again!"

XII

RANDOM NOTES

AVALON, _July 1, 1918_.

Cool, foggy morning; calm sea up until one o'clock, then a west wind
that roughened the water white. No strikes. Did not see a fish. Trolled
with kite up to the Isthmus and back. When the sun came out its warmth
was very pleasant. The slopes seemed good to look at--so steep and
yellow-gray with green spots, and long