The Kingfish 289 
speed. Others, recognizing the summons, joined 
it, and out from all portions of the reef came birds 
—the lumbering pelican, and last the man-of-war 
bird. What had been at first a few splashes was 
now a mass of foam, which, surrounded by smooth 
water in the heart of a dead calm, presented a 
strange appearance. The ocean seemed to be 
boiling, the patch of several acres moving slowly 
along. Once in this magic area, countless fishes 
were seen dashing along the surface, chasing a 
school of small fry. Long ago mere hunger had 
been appeased, and the kingfishes were slaughter- 
ing their subjects for the mere pleasure of killing. 
The foam was tinged with red, and from it, sinking 
into the sea, would be seen a shower of silver, the 
severed bodies of the victims attracting sharks and 
other prey. 
Resembling the kingfish in many respects is 
the Spanish mackerel, Scomberomorus maculatus, 
a game fish in every sense, coming from southern 
and unknown seas in spring in vast numbers in 
search of food — menhaden and other small fry — 
and to spawn. I have taken large specimens 
trolling to the east of Fortress Monroe near the 
capes, where large schools come in, and once ran 
through a school in the Florida Straits, which 
U 
