harpooner stands, and an upright bar of iron three feet high, rising from the tip of the bowsprit just in front of this platform. At the top of this bar is a bow of iron in a nearly circular form, to surround the waist of the harpooner. This structure is called the "rest" or the "pulpit." A man is always stationed at the mast-head, whence, with the keen eye which practice has given him, he can easily descry the tell-tale dorsal fins at a distance of two or three miles. When a fish has been sighted, the watch "sings out," and the vessel is steered directly toward it. The skipper takes his place in the pulpit, holding the harpoon with both hands by the upper end, and directing the man at the wheel by voice and gesture how to steer. When the fish is from six to ten feet in front of the vessel, it is struck. The harpoon is not thrown; the strong arm of the harpooner punches the dart into the back of the fish beside the dorsal fin, and the pole is withdrawn. The line is from fifty to one hundred and fifty fathoms long, and the end is either made fast on board the smack, or attached to a keg or some other form of buoy and thrown overboard. After the fish has exhausted himself by dragging the buoy through the water, it is picked up, the fish is hauled alongside, and killed with a lance. In the mean time, several other fish may have been struck and left to tire themselves out in the same way. The following interesting account of the taking of a sword-fish is from an article by Mr. C. F. Holder, published several years ago in "Forest and Stream": "The man waited until we were almost upon them, and as one of them turned, as if in idle curiosity, to see what the great shadow meant, he hurled a spear, and the next moment the huge fish sprang from the water and, with a furious twist, tried to shake out the iron. So great was the effort that it fell on its side with a crash, and for a moment was still, but it was only for a second. The line jumped into activity, and rushed out so you could not follow it, now swaying to and fro and making the water fly like rain. About fifty feet of line had gone out, when six of us managed to get a fair hold on the line, and attempted to try our strength. If six individuals were ever jerked around in a more vivacious manner, they have my utmost sympathies. Now the swordfish would land us all together in a heap, then slacken up, and take us unawares, throwing us to the deck with a force that fully came up to my preconceived ideas of the sport. He would undoubtedly have dragged us all overboard if the rope had not been sure and fast. This sort of fun was kept up for about fifteen minutes, when the fish perceptibly weakened, and the long rushes to the right and left grew feebler and feebler, until we ventured to haul in. At last we had the brute alongside. A rope was rigged from the peak and fastened around the long sword, and the monster was rolled on board the sloop. We measured our game, which was nine feet six inches long. Though I have frequently caught sharks which measured thirteen feet, I never saw any that showed near the strength of this peculiar
