Und schaudernd dacht ich’s—­da kroch’s heran,
  Regte hundert Gelenke zugleich,
  Will schnappen nach mir.

A harpoon was driven into the leathery, pulpy body of the monster, but with no other effect than the sudden snapping of the inch line like thread.  It was subsequent to this that, as the diver stayed his steps in the unsteady current, his staff was seized below.  The water was murky with the river-silt above the salt brine, and he could see nothing, but after an effort the staff was rescued or released.  Curious to know what it was, he probed again, and the stick was wrenched from his hand.  With a thrill he recognized in such power the monster of the sea, the devil-fish.  He returned anxious, doubtful, but resolute.  Few like to be driven from a duty by brute force.  He armed himself, and descended to renew the hazardous encounter in the gloomy solitude of the sea-bottom.  I would I had the wit to describe that tournament beneath the sea; the stab, 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