Home HomeBuddha's Tales for Young and Old Prince Goodspeaker Vol 1Ann Somerville – Darshian Tales 1 Kei's GiftChristine Pope [Tales of the Ashes of Roses (epub)Christine Pope [Tales of the Binding Spell (epub)Lilith Grey At His Throat, a Promise (MMM)^Lilith Grey At His Throat, a Promise (MMM) c(a)^Roberts Nora Trzy Siostry [Siostry z klanu MacGregor] (2)Huxley Aldous Nowy wspaniały ÂświatZappa Frank Takiego mnie nie znacieHan Jenny Do wszystkich chlopcow, ktorych
 

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.My spirits did not revive to any degree, but atleast grim disaster left me.In the next half hour, strange to relate, encouragement did rise out of thegloom; and I worked so well and so hard that I began to imagine I might whipthis great fish yet.To that end I called for my boat to come round behind us,so Peter could board us with my big gaff, and Morton could go on board my boatwith his motion-picture camera.This change was made easily enough, and withPeter beside me I felt still more hopeful.I knew from the feel of my back,however, that I had overdone it, and should ease up on the rod and patientlysave myself.But this was impossible.Then the reel broke off the third time.I almost pitched both reel and rodoverboard; but Peter's calmness and his dexterous swift hands had coolinginfluence upon me."You could fight him better from our boat," said Peter.Why had I not thought of that before? This boat was new to me; and thelocation of the chair, the distance to the gunwale, the fact that at someturns of the chair I had no support for my feet, made all my extreme exertionof no compelling avail.After a little more of it, I again called for my boatto run close.I released the drag, and holding the rod up, with Peter holding me, I made thechange into the Alma G.without mishap.And then in my own chair I fell tofighting that swordfish as hard as I had fought him two hours before.He feltit too.Slowly his quick, free, tremendous moves lost something; what, it washard to say.Eight times I got the double line over the reel, only to have itpulled away from me.Each time, of course, the end of the leader came out ofthe water.Bill, who had come on board my boat with the Captain, leaned overat last and grasped the leader."Careful," I warned."One hand only.Don't break him off." Twice Bill heldmomentarily to the leader, long enough to raise my fluctuating hopes.Peter stood back of me, holding my chair.The tremendous weight of theswordfish, thrown against the rod socket, pushed the chair round farther andfarther."Mr Grey," said Peter, "what you want on that fish is your big tackle.If youpull the leader up again I can slip your line through the swivel.""By George--" I panted."Peter.you're.the kind of boatman.I wantaround."Fired by this sagacious idea, I strained rod, reel and line, and eventuallydrew the leader up a foot out of the water.two feet.three, when Billgrasped it, and Peter with swift, careful fingers slipped my line through theswivel, knotted it and then with flash of knife cut the Captain's line."By gad! That's great!" ejaculated Captain Mitchell."You'll lick him now."Everybody whooped, except me, as I hauled away with the big rod that hadkilled so many big fish.I seemed to have renewed strength.I certainly sawred for the moment and swore I would pull his head off.In short order I hadthe leader out of the water again, closer and closer, until Bill once moregrasped it.This time he held on.Frank kept the boat moving ahead.We gained on the fish.Slowly he rose, a huge, shining monster, rolling, plunging.My heart leaped tomy throat.Bill yelled for help.Peter, with gaff in right hand, leaned overto take the leader in his left.I could see how both men strained every nerveand muscle.That frightened me.How many great fish had I seen lost at theboat! The swordfish pounded the water white just out of reach.I ordered themen to let go; and with a thumping splash he disappeared and took linerapidly.He seemed a changed swordfish.He ran off much line, which was hard to getPage 49 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlback.He grew wild and swift.He had got his head again.Perhaps the strongertackle, the narrow escape at the boat, had alarmed him.Anyway, he wasdifferent.He kept us going.But I felt master now.I knew I could whip him.My aching arms and paining back were nothing.His long runs did not worry me.Let him drag three hundred yards of line! But when he got too much line weshot ahead so that I could recover it.So that stage of the fight went on and neared the end.I felt that it wouldmean victory.There are signs a fisherman can detect, movements and sensationswhich betray a weakening fish.I kept my knowledge to myself.How manymistakes fishermen make!This period was somewhat after the third hour.It had not afforded me muchrelief, although a restored equilibrium certainly helped.The next action ofsignificance on the part of Mr.Black Marlin was to sound.He had notattempted this before to any extent, but now he went down.I made no effort tocheck him.Indeed, that would have been useless.I watched the line slide off,in jerks, yard by yard; and through my mind went many thoughts, alloptimistic.When a great fish sounds after a long fight it is favorable to theangler.At the depth of five hundred feet the pressure of water is tremendous,and the farther down then the greater proportionately.Broadbill swordfishoften sound with their last flurry of departing strength.My black Marlin continued to go down.I asked Captain Mitchell if his recordnine hundred and seventy-six-pound Marlin sounded like that."Yes, only not so deep; and earlier in the fight," responded the Captain."Idon't like the idea of this fellow.He's getting too deep.Suppose he shoulddie down there?""Well, I reckon the old tackle will lift him," I replied confidently.Nevertheless Captain Mitchell's concern was transferred to me.It was too lateto attempt more strain; indeed I had to ease off the drag.Slowly and moreslowly sounded the swordfish, until he was taking inches instead of feet.Then, at last, he stopped taking line altogether.One thousand feet down!There he seemed anchored.Hopefully I waited for some sign of his working back.None came.Then I bracedmy shoulders, heaved on my harness, and stretched my arm tackles in a long,hard lift.The old rod described a curve, till it bent double and the tippointed straight down at the water.I waited for the spring of the rod, forthe slow rise of the tip that always helped so materially to bring up a fish.The spring came, but so slowly that I had more concern added to my trouble.Bydropping the rod quickly and swiftly winding the reel I gained a few inches ofline.This action I repeated again and again, until sweat broke out hot uponme.All the same a cold chill waved over my back.I realized my gigantic task.The great swordfish had fought to the last gasp, and had died down at thattremendous depth.Now he was a dead weight, almost impossible to move morethan a few inches at each lift.But still I felt perfect confidence in thetackle, and that by pushing myself to extremes I could bring this black Marlinup.So I toiled as never before; and as I toiled all the conditions grew worse.Ittook both Captain Mitchell and Peter to hold my chair straight [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]