At the top of a mast was rigged a barrel-like thing in which the lookout stood with a glass, on the watch for the swordfish.
These can only be caught asleep on the surface of the sea. When one is sighted either the sails are hoisted, or the sweeps are used, to bring the vessel near enough for the skipper or his mate to make a cast of the harpoon.
Once one of the huge fish was spied, everybody aboard the Hattie G. was on the qui vive. The boys climbed the ratlines to see. The girls borrowed the cook’s old-fashioned spyglass to get a better view of the creature.
The Hattie G. was brought softly near the fish. Skipper Joline had warned his guests to keep quiet. Ruth kept her hand upon Tom Jonah’s collar so that he should not disturb the proceedings.
The skipper stepped into the pulpit—a framework of iron against which he leaned when he cast the harpoon. All was ready for the supreme moment.
The coil of the line was laid behind him. The crew brought the Hattie G. just to the spot Skipper Joline indicated with a wave of his hand.
Back swung the mighty arm of the skipper, the muscles swelling like cables under the sleeve of his blue jersey.
“Now!” breathed the mate, as eager as any of the boys or girls among the spectators.
Ping!
The skipper had let drive. The harpoon sank deeply into the fish. For a brief instant they saw blood spurt out and dye the sea.