The Gray Snapper ay 
entire community of the wreck to a frenzy in 
their attempts to reach the bait. Staid old grunts 
performed miracles of agility, in vying with the 
parrot-fishes; the great black and white angel- 
fishes, timid ordinarily to a painful degree, dashed 
at the delicious morsels; a long spotted moray 
dragged itself from the lower story of the wreck, 
and I could see by the rapid vibration of their 
whips that even the crayfishes, which were backed 
into sandy cells, were discussing the propriety of 
taking the chances and joining the mélée. 
I had been spending:a part of nearly every 
day upon the reef fishing or floating over the 
beds of olive-green coral, but now gave up other 
piscatorial pursuits and devoted myself to the 
gray snapper. I fished early and late, even at 
night. I tried them at the flood and quarter ebb, 
with light lines and dark, with baits whose variety 
would have arrested the attention of the ghost of 
Walton. I laid at their shrine young mullets, live 
shad (Xystaema), gigantic shrimps; caught at great 
expense of time and patience luscious sea-worms; 
excavated from the deep mud the soft portions of 
the rare queen conch clams, — not the base-born 
bivalve of commerce, but a brilliant, radiant crea- 
ture of dazzling hues. In desperation, I even 
