It is well known to literature, under its sea-name, for its
marvellous brilliancy of colour, and there are few objects more
dazzling than a dolphin leaping out of a calm sea into the
sunshine. The beauty of a dying dolphin, however, though
sanctioned by many generations of writers, is a delusion, all the
glory of the fish departing as soon as he is withdrawn from his
native element.
But this habit of digression grows upon one, and I must do my
best to check it, or I shall never get through my task.
To resume then: when this school of dolphin (I can't for the life
of me call them CORIPHAENA HIPPURIS) came alongside, a rush was
made for the "granes"--a sort of five-pronged trident, if I may
be allowed a baby bull. It was universally agreed among the
fishermen that trying a hook and line was only waste of time and
provocative of profanity! since every sailor knows that all the
deep-water big fish require a living or apparently living bait.
The fish, however, sheered off, and would not be tempted within
reach of that deadly fork by any lure. Then did I cover myself
with glory. For he who can fish cleverly and luckily may be sure
of fairly good times in a whaler, although he may be no great
things at any other work.
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