In the light of the second morning, the marlin and the current are still pulling the skiff to the north-northeast, but Santiago sees the fish is swimming at a shallower depth. He prays that God will let the fish jump, to fill the air sacs on its back so it cannot go deep and die, where he would lose it. Santiago keeps pulling the line taut, to the verge of breaking, each time worrying that the fish might throw the hook. He takes consolation that he feels better with the morning sun and that for once he doesn't have to look straight into it. Santiago tells the fish, "I love you and respect you very much. But I will kill you dead before this day ends." Then he thinks to himself, "Let us hope so."
A small, tired warbler flying south comes and sits on the line to rest. Santiago tells the bird the line is steady and then asks the bird what birds are coming to that it is so tired after a windless night. Then he thinks about the hawks the bird will have to face as it heads toward land and says, "Take a good rest, small bird. Then go in and take your chance like any man or bird or fish." He tells the bird that it can stay at his house, if it likes, and that he would take it in the boat if he weren't with "a friend," meaning the marlin. Then the marlin suddenly lurches, pulling Santiago into the bow. The bird flies up and is gone, and Santiago doesn't even see it go.
