hauling together at the word of command,
and could see as the prison became shallower
—at first only (I speak for myself) the purple
deep, with a few indistinct shadows flitting
in silent confusion through one another,
while the imprisoned bonitos and the flying-
fish were already tumbling and capering on
the surface, leaping out of the water, and
falling sometimes back into the prison,
sometimes on board a boat, and sometimes,
happily, over the edge of the net into the free
waters of the open sea.

I have often been amused by the bonitos,
and must look aside to tell an anecdote about
them in the middle of my hauling. A great
uproar, which sounded like the breaking out
of a revolution among the seagulls, called me
lately to my window, which commands a view
of the Bay of Nice, as far as the lighthouse
of Notre Dame de la Garde. There was a
heavy swarm of seagulls scratching and
fluttering about a certain spot in the water,
which seemed to be boiling up and darting
silver rays against the birds. By the help of
my glass I perceived that the uproar was
occasioned by a tremendous battle that was
being fought between fish and fowl, between
the seagulls and an army of bonitos. The
fishes were too large for the birds, who did
their best with beak and claw, frequently
darting down from a height upon the faces of
the enemy, while the bonitos, leaping up out
of the water, struck at the aggressors with
their tails. The sea was boiling and foaming
on the scene of contest, which was ended only
by the people on the shore, who supplied—
rather stupidly, as I thought—a new shoal of
combatants. The fishermen went out with a
net to catch the bonitos, and some sportsmen
put out in boats to have a few shots at
the gulls. The birds however fled away,
before a shot could touch them, with a doleful
screeching; and the fishermen caught only
a few sandelles.

I go on now with the account of my own
fishing. The bonitos were the first things
caught out of our death chamber. When they
came to the surface they were picked by hand
out of the water, or drawn out with hand nets,
and thrown into the boats. As the bottom of
the net continued to be lifted, and the prison
became shallower, the high back-fins and the
upper points of the tail-fins of the large
tunnies became visible. The tunnies were
then circling rapidly along the sides of
their cage. When the bottom of the
Mandrgue had been raised to within one foot
of the surface, the meshes were fastened to
pins on the edges of the high boats, and
the hands were released from the work of
hauling. Then for the first time the tunnies
became hasty in their movements, hurled
themselves into the air, beat their tails, and
bespattered copiously their enemies, who were
all busily endeavouring to seize them by the
breast fins, the tail, and more particularly by
the throat, for the purpose of dragging them
alive on board the boats. The boats quivered
under the struggle between men, and fishes
not much smaller than the men. There were
about thirty tunnies in the net, some of them
more than five feet long. The fishermen
screamed and clamoured; casting aside their
caps and jackets, they pulled up their sleeves,
and flung themselves pell-mell upon their
prey. The entrails of each fish belonged to
him who first laid hold of it, and so there
was begotten a fierce intestine war. No blood
had yet flowed. The tunny yields a choice
meat, and must not be hacked about or
injured in the catching. One man running to
the aid of another, each fish was dragged on
board a boat, by main force, unwounded. The
tunny has extremely spacious gills which
soon dry when in contact with the air; so
that, when once taken on board, the animal
is quickly suffocated. His death-struggle is,
however, shortened by a common pocket-
knife. The fishes having all been taken, the
Mandrague was lowered and again adjusted,
the men in the watch-boat struck the red
flag, and resumed their office. The fisher-
boats at the same time returned to shore as
if there were a silver cup to be adjudged to
the first whose keel should grate upon the
beach.

Upon the beach there was assembled the
whole population of the place that was not
bedridden. The priest was there with folded
arms, on the look out for his belly. The
women were there with their tubs. The
patron of the Mandrague was there also with
a heavy bag of copper coin ready to pay the
fishermen. Each fisherman on delivery of
his counter received the few halfpence that
constitute the wages of his day's labour.
The fishes were then all turned out into the
shallow water on the shore and eviscerated.
The emptied body of each tunny was then
cleaned and thrown into the boat by which
it was to be taken to the market. When
the draught is small, and the fish weigh
less than a hundredweight, women carry
the produce of the fishery to market on their
heads in baskets. They carry it six miles
along a rough and stony road round the
bay of Villafranca for the payment of about
a halfpenny a load.

Fresh tunny is cut into pieces and sold by
the pound to the people of Nice and its
environs, like other meat in butchers' shops.
It is most delicate when pickled. For that
purpose the brawny parts are especially
valued, and pieces of the belly—which form
the most delicate part of the pickled or
marinated tunny—are preserved in Provence
oil, and sent all over the world in long-
necked bottles. The back and tail, which
are in least esteem, are salted and eaten
by the common people, as we eat salt
herring.

The day's fishing just described wanted the
animation sometimes given to the employment
by a chance shark or dolphin in the