The Tarpon 225 
nearly quarter of a mile long, which formed the 
western barrier of a large lagoon. Near the 
lower or southern end of this key the bottom 
rapidly dropped away from three or four feet into 
the deep channel. On the edge of this I cast 
a live mullet bait, which sank down into the chan- 
nel, out of sight, my line resting on the sand over 
a windrow of shells, Portuguese men-of-war, 
Ianthinas, the purple sea-snail, and many more, 
tossed up by the sea. The coral sands were 
fairly alive with hermit crabs. Nearly every 
shell was preémpted, and presently they were 
crawling over me with the curiosity of their kind ; 
while out from myriads of holes came white spirit 
crabs, their glassy eyes alert, ready to dart back at 
the first alarm. 
A strange place was this key, —not a tree or 
bush, nothing on or in the sand but crabs, and an 
occasional turtle’s nest. While I was wondering 
how the young turtles escaped so many crabs, my 
line moved perceptibly, then ran into the water for 
a foot or two and stopped. By this time I was on 
my feet and had the line—not a moment too 
soon —as it ran swiftly out, I giving, hoping that 
it was a tarpon, yet fearing a shark. Perhaps 
fifteen or twenty feet of line slipped away; then 
Q 
