Captain Dan came to stand beside me, earnestly watching the rod bend and the line stretch. He shook his head.
"That's a big Marlin and you've got him foul-hooked," he asserted. This statement was made at the end of three hours and more. I did not agree. Dan and I often had arguments. He always tackled me when I was in some such situation as this--for then, of course, he had the best of it. My brother Rome was in the boat that day, an intensely interested observer. He had not as yet hooked a swordfish.
My brother's wife and the other ladies with us on board were inclined to favor my side; at least they were sorry for the fish and said he must be very big.
"Dan, I could tell a foul-hooked fish," I asserted, positively. "This fellow is too alive--too limber. He doesn't sag like a dead weight."
"Well, if he's not foul-hooked, then you're all in," replied the captain.
Cheerful acquiescence is a desirable trait in any one, especially an angler who aspires to things, but that was left out in the ordering of my complex disposition. However, to get angry makes a man fight harder, and so it was with me.
At the end of five hours Dan suggested putting the harness on me. This contrivance, by the way, is a thing of straps and buckles, and its use is to fit over an angler's shoulders and to snap on the rod. It helps him lift the fish, puts his shoulders more into play, rests his arms. But I had never worn one. I was afraid of it.
"Suppose he pulls me overboard, with that on!" I exclaimed. "He'll drown me!"
"We'll hold on to you," replied Dan, cheerily, as he strapped it around me.
Later it turned out that I had exactly the right view concerning this harness, for Dustin Farnum was nearly pulled overboard and--But I have not space for that story here. My brother Rome wants to write that story, anyhow, because it is so funny, he says.
On the other hand, the fact soon manifested itself to me that I could lift a great deal more with said harness to help. The big fish began to come nearer and also he began to get mad. Here I forgot the pain in my hands. I grew enthusiastic. And foolishly I bragged. Then I lifted so hard that I cracked the great Conroy rod.
Dan threw up his hands. He quit, same as he quit the first day out, when I hooked the broadbill and the reel froze.