That afternoon they mustered their swordfish gear. In the house were three or four of the wrecked coaster's mast-hoops. One of these Jim lashed to the sloop's jibstay, about waist-high above the end of the bowsprit. "That'll do for the pulpit!" Near the jaws of the gaff he nailed a little board seat, rigged like a bracket on a roof for shingling. On this the lookout could sit, his arm round the mast, watching for fins. "Now for a harpoon!" Across the rafters inside the house lay a hard-pine pole eighteen feet long, ending in a tapering two-foot iron. Strung on a fish-line hanging from a spike were a half-dozen swordfish darts. These were sharp, stubby metal arrows, all head and tail and no body, with a socket cast on one side to admit the top of the pole-iron. Back of the arrow-head was a hole, through which was fastened the buoy-line. "Righto!" exclaimed Jim. "Now when the fog clears we'll be ready to do business." That very night the mists scaled away before a brisk north wind. Morning showed the sea clear for miles, though a fleecy haze still blurred the southern and eastern horizon. "We'll take this chance," decided Jim. "May not get a better. Remember it's dog-days!" At five o'clock they started south. Before eight they were on the swordfish-grounds. The wind, blowing against the long ocean swell, raised a fairly heavy sea. Though the day was clear, they could still feel the fog in the air. Jim allotted the company their several stations. "Budge, you swarm up to that seat on the gaff and watch out for fins! Throppy, you steer as Budge tells you! Stand by to take the dory, Perce, and go after any fish I'm lucky enough to iron. Filippo, be ready to throw that buoy and coil of warp off the starboard bow the minute I make a strike. I'll get out in the pulpit with the harpoon. Keep alive, everybody! We're liable to run across something any minute." Perched aloft, Budge scanned the tossing, glittering sea. His keen eye detected a triangular, black membrane steering leisurely through the waves a hundred yards ahead. "Fin on the starboard bow! Keep her off, Throppy!" In a short time the _Barracouta_ was close behind the unconscious fish. From the bowsprit end burst a shout of disgust: "No good! I can see him plain! Tail's too limber! Only a shark! Swing her off, Throppy!" "How can I tell a shark from a swordfish?" Budge called down to Jim. "Shark's back fin is shorter and broader, and he keeps his tail-fluke whacking from side to side. Swordfish has two steady fins, stiff as shingles; front one is long and slender and curves back on a crook; the after one is the upper tail-fluke. Try again!" Five minutes passed. Then an excited yell: "Fin to port!" Following Budge's shouted directions, the sloop gave chase. Soon they were near their quarry. "Swordfish!" breathlessly announced Jim. "And a big one! Put me on top of him, Budge!"