My boatman struck well in toward the Canadian shore; but although we crossed places where he had had wonderful success on many a previous occasion, and of which there were extraordinary stories of mascallonge, our luck had deserted us. However, perseverance was rewarded; suddenly my hand-line was taughtened as though it had struck a log; for a moment it was still, then I felt the motion of the fish. The boatman instantly dropped his oars and reeled in as quickly as possible the other lines--just in time; for the fish, feeling he was caught, made one rush directly toward us. I drew in the line hand over hand, to have something to give out when he should make away again, but not nearly so fast as he moved. He passed close to us; we could see the broad back, the long nose, the fierce eye, the mighty length of the mascallonge.
“Turn the boat broadside toward him,” I whispered as he passed.
Away he went, the slack of the line hissed through the water as his increasing distance took it up, and partially deadened his way as he reached the end of it and came against the light though steady strain with which I held it. Giving to him, at first readily then more sparingly, I again turned him; this time he did not approach so near, but swung round well in-shore. Then, with a sudden rush, he came straight on, and flashed directly beneath the bottom of the boat. If the line once touched the rough surface, or caught in a splinter of the wood, we knew it would part like pack-thread. The oarsman tried to swing her round; there was no time; hastily gathering a few coils, I threw them into the water at the stern, and passing the line over my head, anxiously watched them sink. Suddenly they were taken up, the line in my hand taughtened and lifted out of water; it had not caught, and that danger was past. The struggle lasted long; again and again he darted away; once he nearly exhausted my line, and compelled me to use considerable force, but generally I held the least possible strain on him. Finally, he made one grand rush, was foiled, allowed himself to be drawn alongside, and was neatly gaffed by the boatman.
He was an immense fish, a triton even among pickerel of ten pounds. Beauty he certainly did not possess, but grandeur and ferocity marked every lineament. His huge head, immense jaws, and terrible teeth, his long, narrow body, large fins, and broad tail, and above all, his fierce, gleaming, savage eye, marked him as the undisputed master of the fresh waters. His enormous size and prodigious strength, the latter exemplified by his nearly springing over the gunwale, indicated that he had no match even in our extensive lakes, while his merciless ferocity, that would spare neither large nor small, friend nor foe, was but too apparent. His weight, as afterward ascertained, was thirty-five pounds, and his length was excessive proportionally to other fish. Although he fought well, he had not exhibited in the water the vigor he did out of it. Now that his fate was sealed, he lashed about, struggled and flounced as though his capture had just commenced, and scarcely showed an intimation of approaching death or surrender. It appears to be a peculiarity of the pickerel family that they exhibit their courage and strength too late, waiting till they are manacled before they fairly rouse themselves to the emergency. Their efforts consequently afford little pleasure to the sportsman or profit to themselves.