136 THE SALT OF MY LIFE 



bight of the line and bitten it through, for he 

 sank out of ken with the lead and hooks. Some 

 guessed a shark; others thought it must be an 

 extra large traglin; it did not seem to matter 

 much, and I went below for another lead and 

 some more line. Before I was ready to resume 

 work, our old enemies, the sharks, had found 

 us out again, for one or two members of the 

 party were bringing the mournful heads of mor- 

 wong and nannygai to the surface, the bodies 

 having been severed as cleanly as on the operating 

 table. The sun is now well up over the horizon, 

 and its rays fall on little heaps of slain, each piled 

 on the deck beside its captor. How different are 

 those bright-hued fishes from the sober pollack 

 and whiting of far-off Mevagissey ! The eye 

 almost wearies of their brilliancy and longs to 

 dwell on a single grey fish like we used to catch 

 at home, just as the old shellback, tired to death 

 of brazen tropical skies, prayed for the sting of 

 a Channel fog in his eyes. So, when one wanders 

 in the luxuriant fern groves of tropical Queens- 

 land and watches the raucous-voiced parrots 

 flying in all the pride of their dazzling plumage, 

 regret for the sober but tuneful linnet and nightin- 

 gale surges in the homesick breast. We do not, 

 it is true, expect music from fishes, but in the 

 matter of flavour, the smart dwellers in those 

 warm seas are for the most part not comparable 



