174 FISHES I HAVE KNOWN 



twenty pounds weight, we had for supper some 

 cutlets cut from it sprinkled with salt and vinegar, 

 and fried. 



On one of my voyages out to Brazil in a 

 mail steamer, we put into St. Vincent, Cape 

 Verd Islands, to coal, remaining there nearly 

 twenty-four hours. The mountainous island of 

 St. Aritonio, towering up 5,000 feet, its sides 

 clothed with tropical vegetation, first met our 

 view. Then, separated from it by a narrow 

 channel, came the absolutely barren volcanic 

 islet of St. Nicholas, with its horseshoe-shaped 

 harbour, its miserable pop-gun fort on one of 

 the points, its settlement close to the beach, and 

 in the background its range of desolate and jagged 

 hills, some of whose outlines suggest the recum- 

 bent profile of Wellington, Washington, or 

 Napoleon, whichever you please. 



After exploring the wretched hole, whereon it 

 is said only a single tree grows, and after 

 climbing the summit of the range and sinking 

 ankle-deep at each step into volcanic scoria, I 

 went fishing, and had good sport with rock-cod 

 and horse-mackerel, good to eat if small, but if 

 large, somewhat coarse. As a light breeze sprang 

 up, I hoisted the modest little sail, and " railed," 

 or " whiffed," as for mackerel, with a small cavallo, 



