On the Trail of a Moonfish 91 



galleon of the past ages, he came sailing up the 

 stream, an ancient and venerable fish, to strike 

 the sandy bar in seven feet of water. I saw him 

 sailing in, observed him when the tall tooth-like 

 fin hit the bottom, saw him turn and fall upon 

 his side, beating the water into foam in his ef- 

 fort to escape. The Minorcans went out in their 

 boats, lassoed and hauled the monster igno- 

 miniously in, one of the largest specimens I have 

 seen, a giant of the tribe. 



This fish must have weighed in the neighbor- 

 hood of a ton, though this, like the substance 

 of many fish stories, is but guesswork, as no 

 scales were at hand, not even those of the an- 

 cient joke the ones on the fish's back their 

 place being taken by a rough corrugated and 

 paper-like skin covered with a mucus, the home 

 of phosphorescent bacteria. 



Just before casting off the fish we held it to 

 the side of the skiff, holding the big fin out of 

 water, but in this position the fish towed us 

 in a circle by employing the big lower fin as a 

 screw. It here developed a peculiar trait. As 

 Hammond, who performed yeoman's service in 

 the whole catch, lifted up its head, the fish raised 

 its mouth, opened it quickly, and shot a volume 

 of water at me, as big in diameter as a man's 

 closed hand. I saw it coming and ducked, but 

 my companion received it in the chest. Whether 

 this was accidental no one knows, but this 



