Trailing the Sea-Bat 



seemed to rise almost over the boat, hurling the spray 

 over us, and once more we were off up the lagoon 

 headed for the cul de sac. 



I gave Chief the rope, and taking the big square- 

 edged lance sent it into the black mass. A cloud of 

 blood followed, while the speed of the fish was 

 increased so that the bow was well under water, 

 flush with the deck. Again and again I lanced the 

 fish, but the blade was a chisel-like affair, and did not 

 penetrate more than five or six inches. There was 

 a duplicate pair of grains in the boat, and this weapon 

 was also hurled into the ray's back, but still it rushed 

 on, seemingly as vigorous as ever. I fully expected 

 to see it turn again, but it held its course, heading 

 directly for the narrow tide channel between Long 

 and Bush Keys toward which Paublo was running 

 along the beach of the former key. It was an excit- 

 ing moment. The fish was alongside, yet we were 

 going, as near as I could judge, at full speed. 



Nearer we came, flying over the roots of man- 

 groves, over patches of coral and sea-grass, into a 

 narrow channel hardly four feet deep and not thirty 

 feet wide, with a flat on each side partly bare. Not 

 a tenth of a mile away the sea was beating on the 

 reef, which meant liberty, if not life, to the fish. 

 But fishermen's luck was ours. The tide was so low 

 that it left but two feet in the upper head of the 

 channel into which we ran. The fish discovered its 

 error too late, but made a clever attempt to rectify 



15 



