in the smack _Evergreen_, Capt. John Appleman, tells me that they
started from Mystic, October 3, 1832, on a fishing voyage to Key
West, in company with the smack _Morning Star_, Captain Rowland. On
the 12th were off Cape Hatteras, the winds blowing heavily from the
northeast, and the smack under double-reefed sails. At ten o'clock
in the evening they struck a woho, which shocked the vessel all
over. The smack was leaking badly, and they made a signal to the
_Morning_ _Star_ to keep close to them. The next morning they
found the leak, and both smacks kept off Charleston. On arrival
they took out the ballast, hove her out, and found that the sword
had gone through the planking, timber, and ceiling. The plank was
two inches thick, the timber five inches, and the ceiling
one-and-a-half-inch white oak. The sword projected two inches
through the ceiling, on the inside of the "after run." It struck by
a butt on the outside, which caused the leak. They took out and
replaced a piece of the plank, and proceeded on their voyage.
_The Sailfish_
The sailfish, _Histiophorus gladius_ (with _H. americanus_ and _H.
orientalis_, questionable species, and _H. pulchellus_ and _H.
immaculatus_, young), occurs in the Red Sea, Indian Ocean, Malay
Archipelago, and south at least as far as the Cape of Good Hope
(latitude 35 deg. S.); in the Atlantic on the coast of Brazil (latitude 30 deg.
S.) to the equator, and north to southern New England (latitude 42 deg. N.);
in the Pacific to southwestern Japan (latitude 30 deg. to 10 deg. N.). In a
general way the range may be said to be in tropical and temperate seas,
between latitude 30 deg. S. and 40 deg. N., and in the western parts of those
seas.
The first allusion to this genus occurs in Piso's _Historia Naturalis
Brasiliae_ printed in Amsterdam in 1648. In this book may be found an
identical, though rough, figure of the American species, accompanied by
a few lines of description, which, though good, when the fact that they
were written in the seventeenth century is brought to mind, are of no
value for critical comparison.
The name given to the Brazilian sailfish by Marcgrave, the talented
young German who described the fish in the book referred to, and who
afterward sacrificed his life in exploring the unknown fields of
American zoology, is interesting, since it gives a clue to the
derivation of the name "boohoo," by which this fish, and probably
spear-fish, are known to English-speaking sailors in the tropical
Atlantic.
Sailfish were observed in the East Indies by Renard and Valentijn,
explorers of that region from 1680 to 1720, and by other Eastern
voyagers. No species of the genus was, however, systematically described
until 1786, when a stuffed specimen from the Indian Ocean, eight feet
long, was taken to London, where it still remains in the collections of
the British Museum. From this specimen M. Broussonet prepared a
description, giving it the name _Scomber gladius_, rightly regarding it
as a species allied to the mackerel.
From the time of Marcgrave until 1872 it does not appear that any
zoologist had any opportunity to study a sailfish from America or even
the Atlantic; yet in Gunther's Catalogue, the name _H. americanus_ is
discarded and the species of America is assumed to be identical with
that of the Indian Ocean.
The materials in the National Museum consist of a skeleton and a painted
plaster cast of the specimen taken near Newport, Rhode Island, in
August, 1872, and given to Professor Baird by Mr. Samuel Powell, of
Newport. No others were observed in our waters until March, 1878, when,
according to Mr. Neyle Habersham, of Savannah, Georgia, two were taken
by a vessel between Savannah and Indian River, Florida, and were brought
to Savannah, where they attracted much attention in the market. In
1873, according to Mr. E. G. Blackford, a specimen in a very mutilated
condition was brought from Key West to New York City.
No observations have been made in this country, and recourse must be had
to the statements of observers in the other hemisphere.
In the Life of Sir Stamford Raffles is printed a letter from Singapore,
under date of November 30, 1822, with the following statement:
The only amusing discovery we have recently made is that of a
sailing-fish, called by the natives "ikan layer," of about ten or
twelve feet long, which hoists a mainsail, and often sails in the
manner of a native boat, and with considerable swiftness. I have
sent a set of the sails home, as they are beautifully cut and form
a model for a fast-sailing boat. When a school of these are under
sail together they are frequently mistaken for a school of native
boats.
The fish referred to is in all likelihood _Histiophorus gladius_, a
species very closely related to, if not identical with, our own.
_The Cutlass-fish_
The cutlass-fish, _Trichiurus lepturus_, unfortunately known in eastern
Florida and at Pensacola as the swordfish; at New Orleans, in the St.
John's River, and at Brunswick, Georgia, it is known as the "silver
eel"; on the coast of Texas as "saber-fish," while in the Indian River
region it is called the "skip-jack." No one of these names is
particularly applicable, and, the latter being preoccupied, it would
seem advantageous to use in this country the name "cutlass-fish," which
is current for the same species in the British West Indies.
Its appearance is very remarkable on account of its long, compressed
form and its glistening, silvery color. The name "scabbard-fish," which
has been given to an allied species in Europe, would be very proper also
for this species, for in general shape and appearance it looks very like
the metallic scabbard of the sword. It attains the length of four or
five feet, though ordinarily not exceeding twenty-five or thirty inches.
This species is found in the tropical Atlantic, on the coast of Brazil,
in the Gulf of California, the West Indies, the Gulf of Mexico, and
north to Woods Hole, Massachusetts, where, during the past ten years,
specimens have been occasionally taken. In 1845 one was found at
Wellfleet, Massachusetts; and in the Essex Institute is a specimen which
is said to have been found on the shores of the Norway Frith many years
ago, and during the past decade it has become somewhat abundant in
southern England. It does not, however, enter the Mediterranean. Some
writers believed the allied species, _Trichiurus haumela_, found in the
Indian Ocean and Archipelago and in various parts of the Pacific, to be
specifically the same.
The cutlass-fish is abundant in the St. John's River, Florida, in the
Indian River region, and in the Gulf of Mexico. Several instances were
related to me in which these fish had thrown themselves from the water
into rowboats, a feat which might be very easily performed by a lithe,
active species like the _Trichiurus_. A small one fell into a boat
crossing the mouth of the Arlington River, where the water is nearly
fresh.
Many individuals of the same species are taken every year at the mouth
of the St. John's River at Mayport. Stearn states that they are caught
in the deep waters of the bays about Pensacola, swimming nearly at the
surface, but chiefly with hooks and lines from the wharves. He has known
them to strike at the oars of the boat and at the end of the ropes that
trailed in the water. At Pensacola they reach a length of twenty to
thirty inches, and are considered good food fish. Richard Hill states
that in Jamaica this species is much esteemed, and is fished for
assiduously in a "hole," as it is called--that is, a deep portion of the
waters off Fort Augusta. This is the best fishing-place for the
cutlass-fish, _Trichiurus_. The fishing takes place before day; all
lines are pulled in as fast as they are thrown out, with the certainty
that the cutlass has been hooked. As many as ninety boats have been
counted on this fishing-ground at daybreak during the season.
X
THE GLADIATOR OF THE SEA
Three summers in Catalina waters I had tried persistently to capture my
first broadbill swordfish; and so great were the chances against me that
I tried really without hope. It was fisherman's pride, I imagined,
rather than hope that drove me. At least I had a remarkably keen
appreciation of the defeats in store for any man who aspired to
experience with that marvel of the sea--_Xiphius gladius_, the broadbill
swordsman.
On the first morning of my fourth summer, 1917, I was up at five. Fine,
cool, fresh, soft dawn with a pale pink sunrise. Sea rippling with an
easterly breeze. As the sun rose it grew bright and warm. We did not get
started out on the water until eight o'clock. The east wind had whipped
up a little chop that promised bad. But the wind gradually died down and
the day became hot. Great thunderheads rose over the mainland,
proclaiming heat on the desert. We saw scattered sheerwater ducks and a
school of porpoises; also a number of splashes that I was sure were made
by swordfish.
The first broadbill I sighted had a skinned tail, and evidently had been
in a battle of some kind. We circled him three times with flying-fish
bait and once with barracuda, and as he paid no attention to them we
left him. This fish leaped half out on two occasions, once showing his
beautiful proportions, his glistening silver white, and his
dangerous-looking rapier.
[Illustration: THE ONLY PHOTOGRAPH EVER TAKEN OF LEAPING BROADBILL
SWORDFISH]
[Illustration: XIPHIAS GLADIUS, THE BROADSWORDED GLADIATOR OF THE SEA]
The second one leaped twice before we neared him. And as we made a poor
attempt at circling him, he saw the boat and would have none of our
offers.
The third one was skimming along just under the surface, difficult to
see. After one try at him we lost him.
They were not up on the surface that day, as they are when the best
results are obtained. The east wind may have had something to do with
that. These fish would average about three hundred pounds each. Captain
Dan says the small ones are more wary, or not so hungry, for they do not
strike readily.
I got sunburnt and a dizzy headache and almost seasick. Yet the day was
pleasant. The first few days are always hard, until I get broken in.
Next morning the water and conditions were ideal. 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.
He leaped half out, and some one snapped a picture. It looked like a
fortunate opportunity grasped. We tried him again, with flying-fish and
barracuda. But he would not take either. Yet he loafed around on the
surface, showing his colors, quite near the boat. He leaped clear out
once, but I saw only the splash. Then he came out sideways, a skittering
sort of plunge, lazy and heavy. He was about a three-hundred pounder,
white and blue and green, a rare specimen of fish. We tried him again
and drew a bait right in front of him. No use! Then we charged him--ran
him down. Even then he was not frightened, and came up astern. At last,
discouraged at his indifference, we left him.
This day was ideal up to noon. Then the sun got very hot. My wrists were
burnt, and neck and face. My eyes got tired searching the sea for fins.
It was a great game, this swordfishing, and beat any other I ever tried,
for patience and endurance. The last fish showed his cunning. They were
all different, and a study of each would be fascinating and instructive.
Next morning was fine. There were several hours when the sea was smooth
and we could have sighted a swordfish a long distance. We went eastward
of the ship course almost over to Newport. At noon a westerly wind
sprang up and the water grew rough. It took some hours to be out of it
to the leeward of the island.
I saw a whale bend his back and sound and lift his flukes high in the
air--one of the wonder sights of the ocean.
It was foggy all morning, and rather too cool. No fish of any kind
showed on the surface. One of those inexplicably blank days that are
inevitable in sea angling.
When we got to the dock we made a discovery. There was a kink in my
leader about one inch above the hook. Nothing but the sword of old
_Xiphius gladius_ could have made that kink! Then I remembered a
strange, quick, hard jerk that had taken my bait, and which I thought
had been done by a shark. It was a swordfish striking the bait off!
Next day we left the dock at six fifteen, Dan and I alone. The day was
lowering and windy--looked bad. We got out ahead of every one. Trolled
out five miles, then up to the west end. We got among the Japs fishing
for albacore.
About eleven I sighted a B. B. We dragged a bait near him and he went
down with a flirt of his tail. My heart stood still. Dan and I both made
sure it was a strike. But, no! He came up far astern, and then went down
for good.
The sea got rough. The wind was chilling to the bone. Sheerwater ducks
were everywhere, in flocks and singly. Saw one yellow patch of small
bait fish about an inch long. This patch was forty yards across. No fish
appeared to be working on it.
Dan sighted a big swordfish. We made for him. Dan put on an albacore.
But it came off before I could let out the line. Then we tried a
barracuda. I got a long line out and the hook pulled loose. This was
unfortunate and aggravating. We had one barracuda left. Dan hooked it on
hard.
"That'll never come off!" he exclaimed. We circled old _Xiphius_, and
when about fifty yards distant he lifted himself clear out--a most
terrifying and magnificent fish. He would have weighed four hundred. His
colors shone--blazed--purple blue, pale green, iridescent copper, and
flaming silver. Then he made a long, low lunge away from us. I bade him
good-by, but let the barracuda drift back. We waited a long time while
the line slowly bagged, drifting toward us. Suddenly I felt a quick,
strong pull. It electrified me. I yelled to Dan. He said, excitedly,
"Feed it to him!" but the line ceased to play out. I waited, slowly
losing hope, with my pulses going back to normal. After we drifted for
five minutes I wound in the line. The barracuda was gone and the leader
had been rolled up. This astounded us. That swordfish had taken my bait.
I felt his first pull. Then he had come toward the boat, crushing the
bait off the hook, without making even a twitch on the slack line. It
was heartbreaking. But we could not have done any different. Dan decided
the fish had come after the teasers. This experience taught us exceeding
respect for the broadbill.
Again we were off early in the morning. Wind outside and growing rough.
Sun bright until off Isthmus, when we ran into fog. The Jap
albacore-boats were farther west. Albacore not biting well. Sea grew
rough. About eleven thirty the fog cleared and the sea became
beautifully blue and white-crested.
I was up on the deck when a yell from below made me jump. I ran back.
Some one was holding my rod, and on the instant that a huge swordfish
got the bait had not the presence of mind to throw off the drag and let
out line. We hurried to put on another flying-fish and I let out the
line.
Soon Dan yelled, "There he is--behind your bait!"
I saw him--huge, brown, wide, weaving after my bait. Then he hit it with
his sword. I imagined I could feel him cut it. Winding in, I found the
bait cut off neatly back of the head. While Dan hurried with another
bait I watched for the swordfish, and saw him back in the wake, rather
deep. He was following us. It was an intensely exciting moment. I let
the bait drift back. Almost at once I felt that peculiar rap at my bait,
then another. Somehow I knew he had cut off another flying-fish. I
reeled in. He had severed this bait in the middle. Frantically we baited
again. I let out a long line, and we drifted. Hope was almost gone when
there came a swift tug on my line, and then the reel whirred. I thumbed
the pad lightly. Dan yelled for me to let him have it. I was all
tingling with wonderful thrills. What a magnificent strike! He took line
so fast it amazed me.
All at once, just as Dan yelled to hook him, the reel ceased to turn,
the line slacked. I began to jerk hard and wind in, all breathless with
excitement and frenzy of hope. Not for half a dozen pumps and windings
did I feel him. Then heavy and strong came the weight. I jerked and
reeled. But I did not get a powerful strike on that fish. Suddenly the
line slacked and my heart contracted. He had shaken the hook. I reeled
in. Bait gone! He had doubled on me and run as swiftly toward the boat
as he had at first run from it.
The hook had not caught well. Probably he had just held the bait between
his jaws. The disappointment was exceedingly bitter and poignant. My
respect for _Xiphius_ increased in proportion to my sense of lost
opportunity. This great fish thinks! That was my conviction.
We sighted another that refused to take a bait and soon went down.
We had learned the last few days that broadbills will strike when not on
the surface, just as Marlin swordfish do.
On our next day out we had smooth sea all morning, with great,
slow-running swells, long and high, with deep hollows between. Vast,
heaving bosom of the deep! It was majestic. Along the horizon ran dark,
low, lumpy waves, moving fast. A thick fog, like a pall, hung over the
sea all morning.
About eleven o'clock I sighted fins. We made a circle round him, and
drew the bait almost right across his bill. He went down. Again that
familiar waiting, poignant suspense!... He refused to strike.
Next one was a big fellow with pale fins. We made a perfect circle, and
he went down as if to take the bait!... But he came up. We tried again.
Same result. Then we put on an albacore and drew that, tail first, in
front of him. Slowly he swam toward it, went down, and suddenly turned
and shot away, leaving a big wake. He was badly scared by that albacore.
Next one we worked three times before he went down, and the last one
gave us opportunity for only one circle before he sank.
They are shy, keen, and wise.
The morning following, as we headed out over a darkly rippling sea, some
four miles off Long Point, where we had the thrilling strikes from the
big swordfish, and which place we had fondly imagined was our happy
hunting-ground--because it was near shore and off the usual fishing
course out in the channel--we ran into Boschen fighting a fish.
This is a spectacle not given to many fishermen, and I saw my
opportunity.
With my glass I watched Boschen fight the swordfish, and I concluded
from the way he pulled that he was fast to the bottom of the ocean. We
went on our way then, and that night when I got in I saw his wonderful
swordfish, the world's record we all knew he would get some day. Four
hundred and sixty-three pounds! And he had the luck to kill this great
fish in short time. My friend Doctor Riggin, a scientist, dissected this
fish, and found that Boschen's hook had torn into the heart. This
strange feature explained the easy capture, and, though it might detract
somewhat from Boschen's pride in the achievement, it certainly did not
detract from the record.
That night, after coming in from the day's hunt for swordfish, Dan and I
decided to get good bait. At five thirty we started for seal rocks. The
sun was setting, and the red fog over the west end of the island was
weird and beautiful. Long, slow swells were running, and they boomed
inshore on the rocks. Seals were barking--a hoarse, raucous croak. I saw
a lonely heron silhouetted against the red glow of the western horizon.
We fished--trolling slowly a few hundred yards offshore--and soon were
fighting barracuda, which we needed so badly for swordfish bait.
They strike easily, and put up a jerky kind of battle. They are a long,
slim fish, yellow and white in the water, a glistening pale bronze and
silver when landed. I hooked a harder-fighting fish, which, when brought
in, proved to be a white sea-bass, a very beautiful species with faint
purplish color and mottled opal tints above the deep silver.
Next morning we left the bay at six thirty. It was the calmest day we
had had in days. The sea was like a beveled mirror, oily, soft, and
ethereal, with low swells barely moving. An hour and a half out we were
alone on the sea, out of sight of land, with the sun faintly showing,
and all around us, inclosing and mystical, a thin haze of fog.
Alone, alone, all alone on a wide, wide sea! This was wonderful, far
beyond any pursuit of swordfish.
We sighted birds, gulls, and ducks floating like bits of colored cork,
and pieces of kelp, and at length a broadbill. We circled him three
times with barracuda, and again with a flying-fish. Apparently he had no
interest in edibles. He scorned our lures. But we stayed with him until
he sank for good.
Then we rode the sea for hours, searching for fins.
At ten forty we sighted another. Twice we drew a fresh fine barracuda in
front of him, which he refused. It was so disappointing, in fact, really
sickening.
Dan was disgusted. He said, "We can't get them to bite!"
And I said, "Let's try again!"
So we circled him once more. The sea was beautifully smooth, with the
slow swells gently heaving. The swordfish rode them lazily and
indifferently. His dorsal stood up straight and stiff, and the big
sickle-shaped tail-fin wove to and fro behind. I gazed at them
longingly, in despair, as unattainable. I knew of nothing in the
fishing game as tantalizing and despairing as this sight.
[Illustration: A STRAIGHTAWAY GREYHOUND LEAP, MARVELOUS FOR ITS SPEED
AND WILDNESS]
[Illustration: LIKE A LEAPING SPECTER]
We got rather near him this time, as he turned, facing us, and slowly
swam in the direction of my bait. I could see the barracuda shining
astern. Dan stopped the boat. I slowly let out line. The swordfish
drifted back, and then sank.
I waited, intensely, but really without hope. And I watched my bait
until it sank out of sight. Then followed what seemed a long wait.
Probably it was really only a few moments. I had a sort of hopeless
feeling. But I respected the fish all the more.
Then suddenly I felt a quiver of my line, as if an electric current had
animated it. I was shocked keen and thrilling. My line whipped up and
ran out.
"He's got it!" I called, tensely. That was a strong, stirring instant as
with fascinated eyes I watched the line pass swiftly and steadily off
the reel. I let him run a long way.
Then I sat down, jammed the rod in the socket, put on the drag, and
began to strike. The second powerful sweep of the rod brought the line
tight and I felt that heavy live weight. I struck at least a dozen times
with all my might while the line was going off the reel. The swordfish
was moving ponderously. Presently he came up with a great splash,
showing his huge fins, and then the dark, slender, sweeping sword. He
waved that sword, striking fiercely at the leader. Then he went down. It
was only at this moment I realized I had again hooked a broadbill. Time,
ten forty-five.
The fight was on.
For a while he circled the boat and it was impossible to move him a
foot. He was about two hundred and fifty yards from us. Every once in a
while he would come up. His sword would appear first, a most
extraordinary sight as it pierced the water. We could hear the swish.
Once he leaped half out. We missed this picture. I kept a steady, hard
strain on him, pumping now and then, getting a little line in, which he
always got back. The first hour passed swiftly with this surface fight
alternating with his slow heavy work down. However, he did not sound.
About eleven forty-five he leaped clear out, and we snapped two pictures
of him. It was a fierce effort to free the hook, a leap not beautiful
and graceful, like that of the Marlin, but magnificent and dogged.
After this leap he changed his tactics. Repeatedly I was pulled forward
and lifted from my seat by sudden violent jerks. They grew more frequent
and harder. He came up and we saw how he did that. He was facing the
boat and batting the leader with his sword. This was the most remarkable
action I ever observed in a fighting fish. That sword was a weapon. I
could hear it hit the leader. But he did most of this work under the
surface. Every time he hit the leader it seemed likely to crack my neck.
The rod bent, then the line slackened so I could feel no weight, the rod
flew straight. I had an instant of palpitating dread, feeling he had
freed himself--then harder came the irresistible, heavy drag again. This
batting of the leader and consequent slacking of the line worried Dan,
as it did me. Neither of us expected to hold the fish. As a performance
it was wonderful. But to endure it was terrible. And he batted that
leader at least three hundred times!