CHIRPING GIANTS 169 



to spend in hospital by catching a turtle on the open sea, as 

 broad and venerable as the Round Table. 



Channel south of Nocra. Raimondo and Alberto were hunting 

 together as usual. A handsome black-fin of about four feet 

 came along. Raimondo followed it, shot it in the flank and 

 grabbed the line. The black-fin tried to flee but succeeded 

 only in dragging his assailant a short distance. Alberto 

 arrived on the scene to help. He fired too. It was all over 

 now. Or almost. The two of them took it to the boat. 

 Raimondo got his camera and took the best shots possible. 

 The shark co-operated. In fact, it smiled. As they were 

 about to haul it on board, the black-fin woke up with a 

 shock. It lashed out with its tail, shook off* men, arrows and 

 gun and departed without saying good-bye. 



*But when we were talking of taking its photograph, it 

 was as vain as a turkey-cock,' moaned Alberto. 



Enteraia. We left the island behind us, and with the outboard 

 chugging travelled towards Mersa Nasi. We had worked all 

 day from dawn to dusk and were tired. Gigi was holding the 

 tiller and slithered us safely between one sand-bank and the 

 next — we knew them all by heart now. It was going to be 

 dark that night for there was no moon. Still, we had few 

 apprehensions about banking. From time to time I shouted 

 the way to Gigi. The water sloughed over the wooden boards. 

 The sea got blacker. The sky was filled with stars and the 

 shadows of the sleeping islands changed. 



The engine coughed, hiccupped and stopped. We had run 



