FLORIDA AND THE WEST INDIES 135 



fisherman sadly reels in his line to get a new 

 bait. 



I get a couple more that afternoon, one of about 

 80 lbs., the other between 60 lbs. and 70 lbs., and 

 then, just as it is getting dusk, and one or two of 

 the fleet are paddling back to the launch in readi- 

 ness for the return journey, I lose a really good 

 fish — as big, so far as can be seen in the failing 

 light, as my best on the beach yonder — in a very 

 strange manner. Twice it jumps, but it is evi- 

 dently not able to throw out the hook. Then, of a 

 sudden, and with no particular strain on the rod, 

 the tension relaxes, and the line comes back to me, 

 minus sinker, minus snell, apparently cut through 

 as if with scissors not very far from the rod. 

 Underhill explains this as the work of a kingfish. 

 The tarpon has the trick of many fish, blowing the 

 bait many feet up the line when hooked. Some- 

 times it flings away the bait as it flings away the 

 sinker, but it often sends it up the line. This does 

 not always matter, but on this occasion a kingfish 

 must have been cruising round the boat, must have 

 dashed at the bait, and its sharp teeth must have 

 severed the line in a flash. For such a rencontre 

 there is no remedy. Indeed, this is the one way 

 of losing a tarpon (I shall enumerate others on a 

 later page), in which the angler is in no way to 

 blame and can do nothing to save his fish. 



Consoled in a measure by this reflection, I too 

 rejoin the homeward fleet. No fewer than twenty 

 tarpon have bitten the sand this day, out of which 

 total the Useppa seven claim fifteen. Great is the 

 rejoicing as we run back in the darkness, giving, as 

 is our custom, a blow of the whistle for each fish 



