tab, thrust, curvet, plunge--the
conquest and capture of the unknown combatant. A special chance
preserves the mediaeval character of the contest, saving it from the
sulphurous associations of modern warfare that might be suggested by
the name of devil-fish. No: the antagonist wore a coat-of-mail and
arms of proof, as became a good knight of the sea, and was besides
succulent, digestible--a veritable prize for the conqueror. It was a
monstrous crab.

The constant encounter of strange and unforeseen perils enables the
professional diver to meet them with the same coolness with which
ordinary and familiar dangers are confronted on land. On one occasion
a party of such men were driven out into the Gulf by a fierce
"norther," were tossed about like chips for three days in the vexed
element, scant of food, their compass out of order, and the horizon
darkened with prevailing storm. At another time a party wandered out
in the shallows of one of the keys that fringe the Gulf coast. They
amused themselves with wading into the water, broken into dazzling
brilliance. A few sharks were seen occasionally, which gradually and
unobserved increased to, a squadron. The waders meanwhile continued
their sport until the evening waned away. Far over the dusk violet
Night spread her vaporous shadows:

The blinding mist came up and hid the land,
And round and round the land,
And o'er and o'er the land,
As far as eye could see.

At last they turned their steps homeward, crossing the little sandy
key, between which and the beach lay a channel shoulder-deep, its
translucent waves now glimmering with phosphorescence. But here
they were met by an unexpected obstacle. The fleet of sharks, with
a strategical cunning worthy of admiration, had flanked the little
island, and now in the deeper water formed in ranks and squadrons,
and, with their great goggle eyes like port-fires burning, lay ready
to dispute the passage. Armed with such weapons as they could clutch,
the men dashed into the water with paeans and shouts and the broken
pitchers of fallen Jericho. The violet phosphorescence lighted them on
their way, and tracked with luminous curve and star every move of the
enemy. The gashed water at every stroke of club or swish of tail or
fin bled in blue and red fire, as if the very sea was wounded. The
enemy's line of battle was broken and scattered, but not until more
than one of the assailants had looked point-blank into the angry eyes