We were almost on the big fish. He was cruising lazily. The skipper drew back his right arm and shoulder, but fin and tail took a sudden shoot. John was in command at the masthead. "Luff--luff!" called John. The vessel shot up, the skipper leaned far over the pulpit rail. Fin and tail were gone from his sight, but from aloft we could follow the blue-black shadow of the body under water. Suddenly the shadow turned and shot diagonally back under our bowsprit. John called a warning. The skipper rose on his toes--with that long right arm raised above and behind his head, he looked seven feet tall--and waited. We feared he was waiting too long, when whing!--a backward swoop of the arm, a downward thrust of the pole, and "Gottim!" said the cook, and tossed the bight of the warp over the rail and calmly bent on a new warp for the skipper's pole. The skipper took a backward look at the flying fish; then quickly, but with never a hurry, rigged a fresh iron and line to his pole. After a man has ironed a few thousand swordfish it is probably hard to get excited over one more. The big fish was gone, deep down, and after him the warp was whirling out of the tub in the ship's waist. In no time the whole fifty-fathom line was gone, and atop of the sea the black-and-white-painted barrel was going a good clip. And then under it went, but not for long. Up it came, and around in a quarter-circle and then straight away again with a grand little wake after it. By this time Bill had been dropped into a dory and was rowing after the buoy. The buoy ran round another big circle before Bill caught up with it. When he did he took the buoy into the dory and began to warp in the fish, and had him alongside and was about to lance him in the head, when whir-h-h! tail and sword beat the sea white, and Bill cast him loose. Now, if John, or Oliver, or Shorty had ever got that fish snubbed up under the dory gunnel like that, they would have finished him. If he was as long and big around as a dory, be sure they would, or try to; but getting on to middle age was Bill, and he probably had in mind a clear picture of every doryman that was ever killed swordfishing. Bill was going after them in his own way. He'd get 'em just the same. Just let that fish play hisself out. Which he did after an hour or so, and then Bill hauled him under the dory's quarter, and reached over and a dozen times or so drove the long lance into his head. The fish flurried around and churned white water, but the deep lance thrusts did for him at last. And then Bill hitched him around the tail and waited for the vessel; and Oliver, who had been having a windward eye to the dory all the time, put over to him, and the dory tackle was hooked under the tail-knot and the fish hauled in.