"That's right enough. You're in luck, Dr. Jimson," he added, turning to his passengers, "you won't have had long to wait if we catch this one for you."
The captain walked aft, saw that everything was clear on deck, then stepped forward and walked out on the bowsprit to the 'pulpit,' the characteristic feature of a swordfish schooner. This was a small circular platform about three feet across, built at the end of the bowsprit, with a rail waist high around it and a small swinging seat. Triced up to the jib stay was the long harpoon with its head, known as the 'lily-iron.'
The schooner, having the wind abeam, danced smartly over the waves toward the long lithe fin, gliding swiftly through the water. The captain, standing like a statue, waited until the craft was within ten feet of the unconscious swordfish, then thrust downward with all his might. It was a thrust—not a throw—and the muscular strength behind the blow caused the steel to pierce the
thick skin of the swordfish. At the same instant the keg around which the line had been wound was thrown overboard, and the water flew up like a fine jet from the rapid revolutions of the barrel as the swordfish sped away with the line.
"How in the world are you going to haul him in now?" asked Colin, when he saw the keg thrown overboard.
"Did you think we pulled him in, same as you would a cod?" asked the captain.
"Why not?"
"Too much chance of sinking the schooner!" was the reply. "That isn't the way to get a swordfish."
As soon as the line on the barrel became unwound, it tightened with a jerk and the barrel disappeared under the surface. But the resistance that the barrel full of air at the end of the long line gave was great and even the powerful swordfish could not tow it for long. In a few minutes he slackened his speed and the barrel bobbed to the surface. But the swordfish was still traveling like a railroad train, in short rushes, however, here and there.
"See him charge it!" cried Colin.