1 64 Big Game Fishes 



coral beaches, apparently floating on the waters, 

 possessing a charm peculiarly their own. The 

 air was as soft as velvet to the cheek, the days 

 clear and beautiful, and the atmosphere had a 

 strange resonance as though the blue vault of 

 the heavens was a sounding-board which made 

 every sound bell-like and distinct. The distant 

 roar of the surf on the outer reef, the grinding 

 of the dead coral rocks as they were tossed 

 hither and yon by the waves, the far-away 

 " ha-ha " of the laughing gull, the crash of the 

 big ray as its winglike fins struck the w r ater, 

 all were heard with extraordinary distinctness 

 by the angler drifting in lagoon or channel. 

 This explains why the jacks invariably sum- 

 moned me to the sport, which for excitement 

 and novelty it would be difficult to exceed. 



In my initial experience I was a fourth of a 

 mile away when a sound like the pattering of 

 rain came softly down the wind. Louder it 

 grew, changing into a ringing, rushing noise, 

 then into a roar. 



"Don 1 yo' hear it, sah?" whispered Chief, 

 resting on his oars, allowing the dinghy to drift. 



I turned in the direction of the sound and 

 became witness to my first "jack beat." The 



