Big Game at Sea 



ing for the objects which suggested the game of his 

 choice. 



It was this change of habit that made the great 

 white man-eater an ocean wanderer. He avoided 

 the shore and attached himself to a large ship which 

 sailed from Boston to Liverpool; trailed it, like a 

 hound on the scent, for days; laid by it in storms 

 and calms, and every bucket of refuse thrown over 

 brought the man-eater up from astern with a rush. 

 He finally lost the trail of this ship in chasing some- 

 thing which was thrown over, and was a thousand 

 miles or more at sea. He swam in every direction, 

 hoping to pick up her scent or wake; now madly, 

 again swimming slowly. He dived down a quarter 

 of a mile, searching for the bottom which was three 

 miles beyond, but was driven up by the cold to swim 

 along the surface on calm days. 



The marvelous turquoise tints of the ocean's heart, 

 its splendid virile life, its strength, its ponderous 

 movements, its silvery tracery, the frosting of the 

 sea as it broke, made no impression upon his sodden 

 brain. The wonderful illumination of the sea at 

 night, its real comets and constellations of vivid phos- 

 phorescence were not seen by him as he moved along. 

 It mattered little to this blood hunter that the ocean 

 was a realm of beauties, that each crystal drop was 

 buoyant with life and countless lovely forms. He 

 failed to note the splendors of the huge jellies whose 

 tentacles of living lace brushed over him in a cloud 



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