The Hogfish 119 
the sea which come from far away, deep in the 
heart of some roller from the vast unknown, at 
first low murmurs, then the clash of cymbals as 
the silvery crest topples over, bursting into 
thundering crash all down the line, spreading 
out upon the sands, where the pebbles are casta- 
nettes, or leaping high upon the face of some 
rocky cliff with ponderous roar,—all these the 
true angler loves and understands, so never 
draws a blank in a day’s fishing. To the world 
he goes a-fishing, yet the actual catch is far from 
being the sum total of his pleasure; he never 
fails to land his game, if not fish, some new 
delight in the appreciation of life and nature. 
The haunts of the hogfish are among the most 
zesthetic of all fishes, and if the game is not 
found when sought the angler may pass the day 
taking the many-hued courtiers which make up 
the train and retinue of this radiant creature. My 
fishing-ground was a long submerged coral reef, 
which began with Bush Key of the Tortugas reef 
and extended southward, a barrier to the sandy 
lagoon to the west. The reef was made up of 
dead coral heads, which were bare at extreme low 
tide, but at the flood the sea rolled over it, pound- 
ing so furiously in storms that the roar could be 
