tnered the perplexed Sonnyboy. “Can¬ 
nibal ?” 
“A grouper is all of that," explained 
Cap-n Jim. “He'll eat his own kith an’ 
kin when his stummick ain’t sot just 
right for th’ best there is on th’ table. 
Your father an’ me will drag a couple 
o’ phantoms down through that nice, 
clean, deep water an’ see what happens. 
It's all a case of discoverin’ how their 
appetites are runnin’. By rights, I 
ought to be at th’ oars and both of you 
trollin’, but there ain’t any too much 
time if we expect to get back to Miami 
tonight.” 
But at the expiration of fifteen minutes 
we had never a bite. For my part, I 
could not keep my eyes off Sonnyboy; 
tense, nerves on 
edge, lips puck¬ 
ered, brow frown¬ 
ing, he held his 
line as if he half 
expected to land a 
whale or an old 
seaman’s chest 
filled with glitter¬ 
ing doubloons. 
Now and again, 
during a second of 
relaxation, he 
turned in my direc¬ 
tion, his expression 
a caress. 
“What do you 
say if we chum 
’em up ? ’ ’ said 
Cap’n Jim, to the 
youngster. 
“If—If you say 
so,” Sonnyboy re¬ 
sponded, t re m u - 
lously, although it 
was all Greek to 
him. 
“Down in this section,” explained the 
Captain, “if things don’t go nicely at th’ 
start, we do what we call ‘chummin’. It 
means no more than throwing out some 
food teasers. Everybody has their pet 
variety. Sometimes it’s fiddler crabs— 
a whole bucket of ’em. Then again it’s 
minced crawfish. That’s me! An’ I got 
a pailful. Watch me—I learned this 
trick in Florida fifteen years or more 
ago. 
“Most of th’ meat in a crawfish’ is in 
th’ tail, as you’ll notice, so I just nip it 
out neatly, and ferget th’ shell an’ an- 
tenny—which is whiskers. Next, I ties 
a clump of nice shells onto a string— 
like this—and a sinker, and lower it over 
the side until it comes t’ within a foot 
or so of th’ bottom—th’ infernal tide is 
agoin’ to worry me. 
“Some meat sticks to them shells and 
a grouper would rather have it than a 
slice off his own brother-in-law—sort o’ 
teases him—like gettin’ goodies out of 
hickory-nuts—you know. An’ it lasts a 
quite likely while. What sense is there 
doin’ what so many fishermen do—just 
throwin’ it loose, overboard ? Th’ tide 
takes it to Madagascar before you can 
turn ’round.” 
The chumming helped. And I am de¬ 
lighted to chronicle that the first fish 
caught was a handsome eight-pound 
grouper, by the youngest member of the 
Page 170 
party. Twice he dropped the line, twice 
he let out little screeches of delight, and 
at last he had at his feet, in the boat, 
a catch well worth his while. 
“And a beauty !” exclaimed Cap’n Jim. 
“You win th’ rubber fish-hook, m’lad! 
That’s a youngster from th’ mangrove 
section over on one of th’ keys. Got no 
business here. There’s as many kind of 
groupers as there are matches in a box. 
I'm likin’ th’ spotted babies—dark 
browns and bright reds. Folks call ’em 
everything from Speckled Hinds to John 
Paws, an’ Cabrillas, an’ Polka Dots an’ 
what not. This variety go up as high 
as fifty or sixty pounds. That’s why 
there ain't any sayin’ what tackle to try 
out if you don’t know your water. * It 
may be a number 9 line or a 21; it may 
be a 2% hook or a 10%. That was a 
fighter you got, Sonny, but nine times in 
ten, th’ small fellers are lazy; your lively 
customers are up in th’ 50-pound class. 
Good eatin’? Well, not much after ten 
pounds. That’s a prime mess you got 
there, an’ I'll keep my promise an’ fix 
you a meal of him—boiled or baked is 
best fer groupers.” 
W E had no luck with our phantoms 
and spoons were just as unsuccess¬ 
ful, but it was shrimp-day for grouper 
in that channel and the three of us 
caught nine in a little less than two 
hours. 
Sonnyboy had his first genuine thrill. 
He had hooked a small grouper and was 
bringing him to the surface, when, with 
an eddy of water, a swish and a sinister 
dash of spray and fin, a shark made a 
spring for the catch u and made off with 
it, leaving Sonnyboy no more than a 
fragment of bloody head. 
“That devil weighed five hundred 
pounds if an ounce,” Cap’n Jim ex¬ 
claimed. “They’re wise to us now. I’ve 
half a mind to play around here and 
try to get him.” 
Sonnyboy was recovering from the 
surprise of the adventure. But we were 
in the shark zone, and I had expected 
some such finale to our sport. 
“Look here, Son,” said the Captain, 
as he began to row back to the dock (I 
was trolling just for luck), “you want 
to KEEP PULLIN’ ON THAT LINE 
when you get your strike. I've been 
watchin’ you. Too much give an’ take. 
Once you start bringin’ ’em up—no mat¬ 
ter what it is or may be—just keep her 
rigid. A fish can’ spit out a hook if it 
ain't caught right.” 
Sonnyboy nodded and I could see that 
he was stowing the information away in 
the most serious mood possible. 
However, it was reserved for Dad to 
stage the really dramatic event of the 
day. As I have said, I was trolling, 
with no real expectations of doing any¬ 
thing, when, midway of the distance to 
the dock, there 
came a smart yank 
at my line and I 
followed the Cap¬ 
tain’s advice in the 
matter of alert ac¬ 
tion. Something 
red — something 
beautifully, gorge¬ 
ously red — shot 
into the air and 
over into the boat, 
like a scarlet 
meteor—a rainbow 
flash of fire ! 
At the same mo¬ 
ment, Cap’n Jim 
let out a yell that 
signified the ut¬ 
most amazement. 
“Hold it —hold 
k !” he thundered, 
“I can’t believe my 
own eyes — never 
been done before— 
it’s amiracle — 
wait ’till I tell the 
boys about this back at the pier—nobody 
will believe me—I wouldn’t take ten 
dollars fer you catchin’ that fish !” 
He dropped his oars and rushed at my 
catch like a madman. 
“It's a Red Snapper, isn’t it?” I 
queried. 
“SURE it’s a Red Snapper!” he 
shouted, “But—but—man alive ! That’s 
the FIRST red snapper I ever saw 
caught inside, since I’VE been down 
here—an' I can't settle my mind that it’s 
true, even NOW! Ain’t she purty! 
Ain’t she handsome! Mebbe 11 pounds, 
or more ! You have to go out at least 
five miles to get a beauty like that and 
THEN they ain’t so easy to catch. Lots 
of fishermen catch mutton-fish an’ hog- 
fish an’ TPIINK they’ve got Red Snap¬ 
pers. Wonderful! Hold her pretty !” 
Until we landed at the dock at Miami, 
Cap’n Jim continued to jabber his ap¬ 
preciation and astonishment over my 
catch. 
By the time we gained the Key, the 
wind was considerably stiffer, .and we 
had lost some of the penetrating bril¬ 
liancy of the tropic sunshine. I did not 
need the Captain's gloomy hint to realize 
that his earlier predictions were destined 
to come true with a vengeance. Under 
no circumstances could we attempt to 
make Miami that day. Already the 
(Continued on page 200) 
