The Jack 165 



lagoon was a sheet of glass, a dead calm having 

 taken possession of the gulf, as far as the eye 

 could see. Here and there the knifelike fin 

 of some vagrant shark cut the water, or a billfish 

 went ricochetting along, the only disturbing 

 elements ; yet near the shore-line of a long 

 attenuated key of white sand, the waters were 

 beaten into foam, amid which scores of bodies 

 were leaping. It was the jack, or cavally, the 

 horse crevalle, as it is known from Cuba to the 

 Carolinas and beyond, and the roar was made 

 by a large school fiercely charging the ranks 

 of a school of sardines, to capture which they 

 sprang into the air, surged along the surface, 

 all the while beating the water with their tails, 

 creating a loud and peculiar sound called by 

 my boatmen "beating" a term which well ap- 

 plied. With lusty strokes, Chief now sent the 

 dinghy flying ahead, and in a few moments 

 forced her into the midst of the wildest and 

 most remarkable commotion I had ever wit- 

 nessed. The fishes had moved inshore, and 

 for two or three acres changed the water into 

 a foaming sea. They were in the air by hun- 

 dreds, their silvery sides glistening in the sun- 

 light, their fins flashing golden yellow a most 



