266 THE SALT OF MY LIFE 



Romans, in what are appropriately styled the 

 " good old days/' fed on spare slaves. In Leg- 

 horn we used to spear it at night, that is to say 

 when we could remember to miss our own feet, 

 which generally had first call. It cannot be 

 claimed that any of these methods come, strictly 

 speaking, under the head of " sport," yet so stub- 

 born a creature would not be manageable on 

 ordinary gear. 



I have not, if the Fates are kind, baited my last 

 hook in the waters of Madeira. First tried in the 

 spring of the year, that is not a climate to taste 

 but once. The beautiful bay, the delicious bathes, 

 the mackerel fishing within ten minutes of your 

 bedroom, the pleasant canters in the cool of the 

 afternoon to Cama de Lobos, the slower and more 

 ambitious ascent of mountain sides to get amazing 

 views, the cooling return by sledge to sea level- 

 memories like these, to say nothing of a hospi- 

 tality that those only can appreciate who trave], 

 invite return. Then there are the tunny. They 

 have yet to be reckoned with. So far, it is they 

 that have done the reckoning, but the account is 

 not yet closed. That the smaller kinds at any 

 rate are occasionally caught napping is proved 

 by a yarn which I had from a veteran sea captain, 

 who was on one occasion bound from Gibraltar 



