FISHES. 633 



will sometimes produce as many as 16,000 tunnies, each from twenty 

 to twenty-five pounds weight. 



When the park, in place of being established for a single fishery, 

 is a permanent construction in the sea, it is called, in Provence, a 

 "madrague." The madragueis a vast enclosure. The netting which 

 forms the partitions of its chambers are sustained by buoys of cork 

 on the surface, and kept down by heavy stones and other weights on 

 the lower edge, and maintained in this position by cords, one ex- 

 tremity of which is attached to the net, and the other is moored to 

 an anchor. The madrague is intended to arrest the shoals of tunnies 

 at the moment when they abandon the shore in order to return to 

 the open sea. For this purpose a long alley or run is established 

 between the sea-shore and the park or madrague. The tunnies follow 

 this alley, and, after passing from chamber to chamber, betake them- 

 selves at last to the body of the park. 



In order to force them into the madrague they are pressed towards 

 the shore by means of a long net, which is extended in their rear 

 attached to two boats, each of which sustains one of the upper 

 angles of the net. When the fishes come to the last compartment, 

 the fishermen raise a horizontal net, which makes a sort of false bottom 

 to this compartment, by which the fishes are gradually raised to the 

 surface of the water. This operation occupies the whole night. 



In the morning the tunnies are collected in a very narrow space, 

 and at varying distances from the shore ; and now the carnage com- 

 mences. The unhappy creatures are struck with long poles, boat- 

 hooks, and other weapons. The tunny-fishing presents a very sad 

 spectacle at this its last stage ; fine large fish perish under the blows 

 of a multitude of fishermen, who pursue their bloody task with most 

 dramatic effect. The sight of the poor creatures, some of them 

 wounded and half dead, trying in vain to struggle with their ferocious 

 assailants, is very painful to see. The sea, red with blood, long 

 preserves traces of this frightful carnage, of which an illustration is 

 attempted in Plate XXIX. 



The flesh of the tunny is much esteemed, being firm and whole- 

 some. It is called the salmon of Provence. " For our part," says 

 M. Figuier, " we put it far above the salmon. Nothing is comparable 

 to the fresh tunny thrown into a hot frying pan, and sprinkled with 

 vinegar and salt. When properly cooked, nothing can be more firm 

 or savoury. In short, nothing of the kind can rival, or even be com- 

 pared, with the tunny, as we find it at Marseilles and Cette." 



The tunny is greatly celebrated among the Greeks and other in- 

 habitants on the shores of the Mediterranean, of the Propontus, and 



