For the first few minutes, though Percy rowed his prettiest, he could not hold his own with the moving barrel. Each glance over his shoulder showed that it was farther away. He bent stoutly to his oars. The sloop was heading in the opposite direction, and the distance between them widened rapidly. The wind had veered still further to the east and the fog hung more thickly on the horizon. The barrel was nearer. At last he had begun to gain on it. He rowed with renewed vigor. Either the fish was tiring out or had stopped swimming altogether. Presently the dory bumped against the keg. Pulling in his oars and dropping them over the thwarts, he sprang forward and gaffed the buoy. A moment later he had lifted it aboard and was pulling in the warp. The first ten feet came over the gunwale without any resistance; then he had to surge against the sag of a dead weight. The fish had either given up the ghost or was too exhausted to struggle. Fifty fathoms is a long distance to drag two hundred pounds. Percy's arms began to ache before he had coiled in half the warp. Then he was treated to a surprise. Several feet of line jerked through his hands. The fish had come to life again! Percy closed his grip on the strands, but soon let them slip to avoid being pulled overboard. He started to make the line fast, but remembered Spurling's caution against the danger of tearing the dart out of his prey. So he tossed the barrel over again and began rowing after it. After traveling a few rods, it stopped. Once more he took it aboard and began coiling in the warp. This time the fish must surely be spent. But no! Thirty fathoms had crossed the gunwale when the rope was whisked from his hands with even more violence than before. Taken completely by surprise, Percy was wrenched forward. He hung for a moment over the side, twisted himself back in a strong effort to regain his balance, and incautiously planted his foot inside the unlaying coil. A turn whipped round his ankle, and he was snatched overboard, feet first. Before he could make a motion to free himself he was plowing rapidly along under water. His first panic passed. Unless he wished to drown, he must somehow clear his foot of that vise-like grip. And whatever he did must be done at once. He tried to reach his ankle, but the rate at which he was traveling straightened out his body, and he could not bend it against the water rushing by him. The warp leading back to the dory trailed across his face. He felt his way down it, hand over hand, to his ankle. There was a terrible pressure on his chest, a roaring in his ears; he was strangling. He could not hold his breath ten seconds longer. Bent almost double, he grasped the taut line beyond his foot, first with one hand, then with both, and flung his whole weight suddenly on it in a desperate pull.