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Updated: May 27, 2025
"I suppose he told you the famous story of the swordfish which charged a vessel and drove its sword through 'copper sheathing, an inch board under-sheathing, a three-inch plank of hard wood, the solid white oak timber twelve inches thick, then through another two and a half-inch hard-oak ceiling, and lastly penetrated the head of an oil cask, where it stuck, not a drop of the oil having escaped?"
The swordfish arrive on Georges on the Southwest Part and on the Southern Edge about June 5, and the traveling schools pass over the bank, northward bound, up to August 10. In fact, all through the season when they are present in northern waters, even up to November, they may be found on Georges.
It was the swordfish and certainly one of immense size the hugest yet. "He's following the boat!" yelled Captain Dan, in great excitement. So I saw, but I could not speak or yell. All was intense excitement on that boat. I jumped up on the stern, holding the bait Captain Dan had put on my hook. Then I paused to look. We all looked, spellbound. That was a sight of a lifetime.
The first two swordfish we saw did not stay on the surface long enough to be worked. The third one stayed up, but turned away from the bait every time we got it near him. So we left him. About noon I sighted a big splash a mile off shoreward, and we headed that way. Soon I sighted fins. The first time round we got the bait right and I felt the old thrill. He went down. I waited; but in vain.
Next day I had a swordfish take my bait, swim away on the surface, showing the flying-fish plainly between his narrow beak, and after fooling with it for a while he ejected it. Next day I got a great splashing strike from another, without even a sight of the fish. Next day I hooked one that made nineteen beautiful leaps straightaway before he got rid of the hook.
"In two minutes I'll have a gaff in him!" I made a last effort. Dan reached for the leader. Then the hook tore out. My swordfish, without a movement of tail or fin, slowly sank to vanish in the blue water. After resting my blistered hands for three days, which time was scarcely long enough to heal them, I could not resist the call of the sea.
But I did not run, though I should have been glad enough to do so. At my side hung one of the Indian weapons that serve them instead of swords, a club of wood set on both sides with spikes of obsidian, like the teeth in the bill of a swordfish. Snatching it from its loop I gave the puma battle, striking a blow upon his head that rolled him over and caused the blood to pour.
Shipping his oars, he rowed up to the cask and took it in. A pull on the warp showed that the swordfish was motionless. Percy began hauling again, but this time he was very careful to keep his feet clear of the coil. A damp breath smote his cheek. He glanced toward the east, and saw the fog blowing over the water in ragged, fleecy masses. The Barracouta was momentarily hidden.
After being cut free, this swordfish lay on the surface a few moments, acting as if he was out of breath. He weighed about one hundred and fifty, and was a particularly beautiful specimen. The hook showed in the corner of his mouth. He did not have a scratch on his graceful bronze and purple and silver body. I waved my hat at him and then he slowly sank. "What next?" I demanded.
He does not complain; he has learned to abhor mankind, and he loves to be alone, in company with himself and his own thoughts. Several days passed in this manner. One morning he felt the brig slacken its speed; the dashing of the wave against the prow diminished, and the Swordfish, suddenly furling its sails, after having slightly rocked hither and thither, stopped. They had just cast anchor.
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