Since They Were Continually Pursuing
Astern The Flying-Fish That Survived For Several Flights, They Were
Always Overtaking The Snark, And At Any Time One Could Glance Astern
And On The Front Of A Breaking Wave See Scores Of Their Silvery
Forms Coasting Down Just Under The Surface.
When they had eaten
their fill, it was their delight to get in the shadow of the boat,
or of her sails, and a hundred or so were always to be seen lazily
sliding along and keeping cool.
But the poor flying-fish! Pursued and eaten alive by the bonitas
and dolphins, they sought flight in the air, where the swooping
seabirds drove them back into the water. Under heaven there was no
refuge for them. Flying-fish do not play when they essay the air.
It is a life-and-death affair with them. A thousand times a day we
could lift our eyes and see the tragedy played out. The swift,
broken circling of a guny might attract one's attention. A glance
beneath shows the back of a dolphin breaking the surface in a wild
rush. Just in front of its nose a shimmering palpitant streak of
silver shoots from the water into the air - a delicate, organic
mechanism of flight, endowed with sensation, power of direction, and
love of life. The guny swoops for it and misses, and the flying-
fish, gaining its altitude by rising, kite-like, against the wind,
turns in a half-circle and skims off to leeward, gliding on the
bosom of the wind. Beneath it, the wake of the dolphin shows in
churning foam. So he follows, gazing upward with large eyes at the
flashing breakfast that navigates an element other than his own. He
cannot rise to so lofty occasion, but he is a thorough-going
empiricist, and he knows, sooner or later, if not gobbled up by the
guny, that the flying-fish must return to the water. And then -
breakfast. We used to pity the poor winged fish. It was sad to see
such sordid and bloody slaughter. And then, in the night watches,
when a forlorn little flying-fish struck the mainsail and fell
gasping and splattering on the deck, we would rush for it just as
eagerly, just as greedily, just as voraciously, as the dolphins and
bonitas. For know that flying-fish are most toothsome for
breakfast. It is always a wonder to me that such dainty meat does
not build dainty tissue in the bodies of the devourers. Perhaps the
dolphins and bonitas are coarser-fibred because of the high speed at
which they drive their bodies in order to catch their prey. But
then again, the flying-fish drive their bodies at high speed, too.
Sharks we caught occasionally, on large hooks, with chain-swivels,
bent on a length of small rope. And sharks meant pilot-fish, and
remoras, and various sorts of parasitic creatures. Regular man-
eaters some of the sharks proved, tiger-eyed and with twelve rows of
teeth, razor-sharp. By the way, we of the Snark are agreed that we
have eaten many fish that will not compare with baked shark
smothered in tomato dressing. In the calms we occasionally caught a
fish called "hake" by the Japanese cook. And once, on a spoon-hook
trolling a hundred yards astern, we caught a snake-like fish, over
three feet in length and not more than three inches in diameter,
with four fangs in his jaw. He proved the most delicious fish -
delicious in meat and flavour - that we have ever eaten on board.
The most welcome addition to our larder was a green sea-turtle,
weighing a full hundred pounds and appearing on the table most
appetizingly in steaks, soups, and stews, and finally in a wonderful
curry which tempted all hands into eating more rice than was good
for them. The turtle was sighted to windward, calmly sleeping on
the surface in the midst of a huge school of curious dolphins. It
was a deep-sea turtle of a surety, for the nearest land was a
thousand miles away. We put the Snark about and went back for him,
Hermann driving the granes into his head and neck. When hauled
aboard, numerous remora were clinging to his shell, and out of the
hollows at the roots of his flippers crawled several large crabs.
It did not take the crew of the Snark longer than the next meal to
reach the unanimous conclusion that it would willingly put the Snark
about any time for a turtle.
But it is the dolphin that is the king of deep-sea fishes. Never is
his colour twice quite the same. Swimming in the sea, an ethereal
creature of palest azure, he displays in that one guise a miracle of
colour. But it is nothing compared with the displays of which he is
capable. At one time he will appear green - pale green, deep green,
phosphorescent green; at another time blue - deep blue, electric
blue, all the spectrum of blue. Catch him on a hook, and he turns
to gold, yellow gold, all gold. Haul him on deck, and he excels the
spectrum, passing through inconceivable shades of blues, greens, and
yellows, and then, suddenly, turning a ghostly white, in the midst
of which are bright blue spots, and you suddenly discover that he is
speckled like a trout. Then back from white he goes, through all
the range of colours, finally turning to a mother-of-pearl.
For those who are devoted to fishing, I can recommend no finer sport
than catching dolphin. Of course, it must be done on a thin line
with reel and pole. A No. 7, O'Shaughnessy tarpon hook is just the
thing, baited with an entire flying-fish. Like the bonita, the
dolphin's fare consists of flying-fish, and he strikes like
lightning at the bait. The first warning is when the reel screeches
and you see the line smoking out at right angles to the boat.
Before you have time to entertain anxiety concerning the length of
your line, the fish rises into the air in a succession of leaps.
Since he is quite certain to be four feet long or over, the sport of
landing so gamey a fish can be realized.
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