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THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE 



hawk-bill turtle, which is quite plentiful 

 in these waters. 



THE LURE OF THE TROPICAL NIGHT 



It was like pulling teeth to go below 

 deck and leave the wondrous beauty of 

 the tropical night, with the soft, cool touch 

 of the ever-blowing trade wind, the 

 shadowy grace of the giant coconut palms 

 swaying and whispering on the near-by 

 beach in the moonlight, while the surf, 

 grounding upon the coral strand on the 

 outer side of the isle, lulled us with its 

 crooning obligato. 



But the wiser heads spoke of the need 

 of a good night's rest to prepare for the 

 battle royal which we hoped was in the 

 offing, and so we regretfully went below 

 and to dreamland instead of having a try 

 at the tarpon which we could hear jump- 

 ing and rolling on the surface, like playful 

 puppies, only a few hundred yards astern. 



At sunrise the next morning all hands 

 were up and ready for the fray. The 

 chef soon had a hot breakfast served, 

 after which we piled aboard our motor- 

 driven fishing boat, upon which our rods, 

 lines, and harpoons had been made ready 

 the night before. 



Making a course out through the island 

 channel to the open sea, all of us except- 

 ing the steersman hung over the side to 

 enjoy the amazing sights below in the 

 deep ocean pools. One of us would ex- 

 citedly point to a squad of six or eight 

 big tarpon lazily wallowing about far be- 

 low — lords of their element, unafraid ; 

 therefore ready to give battle to anything 

 except, perhaps, a tiger shark. 



Another startled angler would call from 

 the other side that a io-foot hammer- 

 head or a nurse shark was rolling an eye 

 at him from the ocean floor, while still 

 another inland fisherman wanted to jump 

 down among a school, numbering pos- 

 sibly ten thousand large and small man- 

 grove snappers, busily parading up and 

 down a long stretch of coral shelf on the 

 bottom, which afforded them instant hid- 

 ing places in case of the sudden appear- 

 ance of hungry enemies. 



Passing out over the entrance bar, we 

 set a course for the open sea, and soon 

 all were scanning the pulsing bosom of 

 the Gulf Stream for big game, like the 

 crew of a submarine destroyer peeling 



their eyes for a periscope in the danger 

 zone. 



Strange as it may seem, the fish of the 

 warm seas do not appear to have the 

 slightest apprehension of danger from 

 the noise of a motor-boat, and if attracted 

 by the bait or not disturbed by the ap- 

 proach of a natural enemy below water, 

 one can not only get very close to them, 

 but has little difficulty in keeping the big 

 fish in sight, once they are located and 

 something of their habits known. 



After a while Captain Thompson called 

 our attention in his quiet way to a long, 

 dark shadow not far below the surface 

 a couple of boat-lengths away, and the 

 boat was turned toward the first sign of 

 our quarry, which he said was a "herring- 

 hog," a species of porpoise. It proved to 

 be an adult about eight feet long, weigh- 

 ing around four hundred pounds, and as 

 this species destroys great quantities of 

 foodfish, we went for it. 



Reaching the proper position to strike, 

 a hand harpoon was thrown, found its 

 mark, and away the herring-hog went at a 

 fast clip, the line fairly smoking from the 

 barrel. And soon we were being towed 

 along — a novel sensation to the novice. 

 One of the less experienced fishermen of 

 the party was given the harpoon line with 

 instructions to bring the big fellow along- 

 side forthwith, and further instructed 

 above all to "keep, his head up," the rest 

 of us sitting back to enjoy his attempts 

 to obey orders. 



About twenty minutes after the strike 

 and while yet the herring-hog was show- 

 ing slight signs of tiring, although this 

 could not be said of the perspiring fisher- 

 man into whose care he had been given, 

 a considerable disturbance was observed 

 on the surface of the water about a quar- 

 ter of a mile away, and it was judged to 

 be either a leopard shark at kill or a battle 

 royal between two big denizens of the 

 deep. Anything can be expected in these 

 waters. 



THE REAL BUSINESS OF THE DAY 



It was our business, however, to have 

 ring-side seats at this battle, whatever it 

 was. So all hands took hold of the her- 

 ring-hog line and, reversing the engine, 

 which was not very sportsmanlike, but 

 decidedly effective in checking it, we 



