He tried to increase the tension,but the line had been taut up to the very edge of the breaking point since he had hooked the fish and he felt the harshness as he leaned back to pull and knew he could put no more strain on it.I must not jerk it ever,he thought.Each jerk widens the cut the hook makes and then when he does jump he might throw it. Anyway I feel better with the sun and for once I do not have to look into it.
With his prayers said, and feeling much better, but suffering exactly as much,and perhaps a little more,he leaned against the wood of the bow and began,mechanically,to work the fingers of his left hand.
Then,with his right hand he felt the difference in the pull of the line before he saw the slant change in the water. Then,as he leaned against the line and slapped his left hand hard and fast against his thigh he saw the line slanting slowly upward.
“You're feeling it now,fish,”he said.“And so,God knows,am I.”
So he did it.It was difficult in the dark and once the fish made a surge that pulled him down on his face and made a cut below his eye.The blood ran down his cheek a little way. But it coagulated and dried before it reached his chin and he worked his way back to the bow and rested against the wood.He adjusted the sack and carefully worked the line so that it came across a new part of his shoulders and,holding it anchored with his shoulders,he carefully felt the pull of the fish and then felt with his hand the progress of the skiff through the water.