ASHORE AT THE WRONG TIME 213 



them near Gibraltar, where they are called the " tuna 

 of return." 



The "tuna of arrival" and of "return" are as 

 eagerly looked for on the California coast. It is true, 

 we do not make votive offerings at the shrine of St. 

 Sebastian, as St. Zeno is the patron saint of the Cali- 

 fornia rod fisherman, and the god Isabu of the rod 

 man of Japan; neither do we hunt for them with nets 

 miles in extent, and herd them like sheep, after the 

 fashion of the Venetians, the Basques, the Sicilians, 

 and even the Greeks, as here we are altogether too 

 rich to care for tuna ragout. Pompano and striped 

 bass are good enough for the American, and the tuna 

 is too valuable to be given over to mere trade; it 

 is reserved for the angler, the man with delicate rod 

 and a thousand feet of line, consummate skill, and 

 physical strength, who comes from any one of the four 

 quarters of the earth to win a little blue button and 

 acquire fame and merit among the disciples of Saints 

 Zeno and Isabu. 



The "tuna of arrival" is most in favor along the 

 Calif ornias when he does arrive; and the "tuna of 

 return," which is not so large, affords much more 

 sport. The tuna is justly famous. He plays havoc 

 all over the world, up and down which he wanders; 

 the globe-trotter of the fins, a merciless devastator, a 

 "sunderer of companies," rods, lines, and tackle in 

 general. 



The tuna, like Gaul, may be divided into several 

 parts. There is the long-finned tuna, a game fellow 

 with us nearly all the time; the yellow-fin, here at 

 times, but mostly, it is said, at Japan or off Mauna 

 Loa and thereabouts — still under the American flag, 



