232 The Flying-fish 



the land, where the water is the intense blue of mid- 

 ocean. Having arrived, the peak of the sail is dropped 

 and the tack hoisted; in sea parlance, the sail is ' scan- 

 dalised,' and the boat allowed to drift. By this time 

 the gorgeous tropical sunrise is unfolding its ineffable 

 glories, and great splashes of radiant hue appear and 

 disappear upon the placid face of the sea. But the 

 fishermen have no eyes for celestial beauty now. 

 Bending over the side they knead and squeeze the 

 semi-putrid bait in the water until it is broken up into 

 minute fragments, which sink very slowly, and the 

 exuding oil glazes the sea-surface until it is like looking 

 down through a plate of clear glass. 



Presently a few swiftly moving specks appear 

 beneath. They increase in number rapidly, until 

 the vast depth seems alive with them, oftentimes 

 appearing just a mass of fish. Grasping the hoops 

 of their nets on each side, the fishermen lean as far 

 over the boat's gunwale as may be, and with the 

 utmost caution to make no sound, pass the lower 

 edges of the nets into the water as far out as they can 

 reach. They press them downwards and draw them 

 inwards, at the same time lifting them with their 

 inner edges touching the side of the boat until they 

 can pour their load of Flying-fish into her hold. 



If the school be large and the work skilfully done, 

 it is not uncommon for the boat to be loaded in an 

 hour from one school, without appreciably diminishing 

 its numbers. But it is exhausting work, and exciting 

 withal, so that it often happens that an incautious 

 move is made, a slight noise produced, and with one 

 great flash of innumerable turning silver bellies, all 

 close together, the school has disappeared. This may 

 occur a dozen times in the course of the morning, 

 or say from six o'clock until nine, the fish being so 



