I could do nothing except hold on for all I was worth, keeping as tight a line as I could, and, of course, lowering the point of the rod whenever the fish jumped, as he frequently did. As time went on, however, the rushes made by the fish were not so long, and he seemed, at last, to have abandoned his leaping tactics, which had given me so much anxiety in the earlier stages of the struggle. The fish was gradually becoming exhausted, and the strain on the rod and line seemed to be much greater. “He’ll be turning soon, I’m thinking,” said Sandy. The end, one way or the other, could surely not be far off now, and we discussed the question whether or not we should try to land, but, on the whole, we thought we had better not run the risk of getting into very shallow water. At last the fish turned on his side, though he quickly righted himself and made another short run. Sandy had got the boat in about three feet of water, a few yards from the bank; he handed the oars to my brother, seized the gaff, and got out of the boat. I slowly reeled in my line; there was another short rush from the fish, and again I reeled him up. Nearer and nearer he came to the boat, and again turned on his side. Suddenly, in less time than it takes to tell, Sandy had the gaff into him, and was struggling to the shore. Safely landed, the fish was speedily given his _coup de grâce_. He was a very red male fish, weighing rather over 10¼ lb., and I had hooked him in the hard part of his upper jaw, which accounted partly for the fact that I had so little power over him, and also for the fact that the hook had kept its hold so well. “Now then, Sandy,” I said, as I got out my flask, “if any man ever deserved a drop of good whisky, you do.” “Shlàinte” (Gaelic for “Your good health”), said Sandy. “It was a grand fight, sir; I’ve never seen a better.” “How long do you think you were playing him?” said my brother. “Somewhere about an hour, I should think,” I replied. “Four hours and six minutes,” he said. “I looked at my watch when you hooked him, and it was then just a minute or two before half-past one; and I looked at my watch when Sandy gaffed him--it was then twenty-five minutes to six. I counted the number of times the fish jumped, and it was seventeen. I don’t suppose you noticed it,” he added, “but there was a cart going off with peats, near the loch, soon after you began to play the fish, and it came back again not long ago.” We heard afterwards that the men in the cart thought I was playing another fish when they passed us on their return journey.