ASHORE AT THE WRONG TIME 221 



boat — so the operation can be observed. And this is 

 the method we employed. Our boatman let the 

 launch drift, occasionally tossing over a handful of 

 sardines or chum at which a band of fishes of gorgeous 

 hues — blue and yellow and silver predominating — 

 charged, rising, seemingly, from the eternal deeps. 

 There were, first, the bonitos, the real humming-birds 

 of the sea, and from these flashing gems one's bait 

 had to be jerked else one would hook a ten or twelve- 

 pound fish. Close behind came the albacores, with 

 long side fins; oceanic tourmalines of the tint the 

 ocean is made of; ravenous, voracious, weighing pos- 

 sibly thirty pounds. From this tuna you must jerk 

 your bait just as he snaps at it, as he is not the 

 game of your choice, and remember, there are thirty 

 or more of these fishes to avoid by constant jerking of 

 the line. 



But here is your game. Immediately after the alba- 

 core comes the "tuna of arrival." He ascends per- 

 haps from the greater depths, — the personification 

 of strength and dignity. With precision he picks 

 up the silvery sardines within an inch of your lure, 

 but never by so much as a move displays a desire 

 to take it, though he is ravenous for the rest, and 

 sails in and out, turning this way and that, always 

 obtaining his share; then presto! he is gone with all 

 the rest. 



I saw this realistic scene, this nerve-racking (to the 

 angler) performance day after day for several weeks, 

 and in all that time I never saw a yellow-fin take a 

 sardine which concealed a hook. They appeared to be 

 absolutely fearless, and the spectacle of beautifully 

 colored or tinted fishes, of thirty or fifty or more pounds 



