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For days on end, the tough little clipper rides the fierce chubasco, as lightning sprouts like trees on the horizon, and the towering waves break over her stout prow. Then south to the Galapagos, "the ash heap of the world." Off these volcanic isles another scoop is made for bait. On the ledges of the overhanging rocks, the huge iguana rustle, and at night a volcano spews its fairy fires. Day after day no fish, and days become weeks. The ship sets course for Peru, and there, after 13 weeks at sea, the big latch is made at last.
The dolphin give the cue, the clipper makes its play. The surface of the school, a shimmer of young fish, breaks open like taut skin as the ancients of the tribe come hurtling up to take the bait. The men in the scuppers see them coming and join forces for the battle—three poles now are roped to the same hook, and still the big backs bow and the heavy arms knot as 300-lb. tuna fly into the back troughs with each heave.
The run holds day and night until the lucky clipper is loaded to the lid with 360 tons of fish, and then she wallows home in triumph. For his four months' work, each member of the crew has made himself $2,500—good pay if a man considers that most of it was made in 75 herculean hours.