e flee:--
Its shadow's so shady, that's all,--
We only swim under its lee.
And as for the eels there above,
And as for the fowls in the air,
We care not for them nor their ways,
As we cheerily glide afar!

We fish, we fish, we merrily swim,
We care not for friend nor for foe:
Our fins are stout,
Our tails are out,
As through the seas we go.

But how now, my fine fish! what alarms your long ranks, and tosses
them all into a hubbub of scales and of foam? Never mind that long
knave with the spear there, astern. Pipe away, merry fish, and give
us a stave or two more, keeping time with your doggerel tails. But
no, no! their singing was over. Grim death, in the shape of a
Chevalier, was after them.

How they changed their boastful tune! How they hugged the vilified
boat! How they wished they were in it, the braggarts! And how they
all tingled with fear!

For, now here, now there, is heard a terrific rushing sound under
water, betokening the onslaught of the dread fish of prey, that with
spear ever in rest, charges in upon the out-skirts of the shoal,
transfixing the fish on his weapon. Re-treating and shaking them off,
the Chevalier devours them; then returns to the charge.

Hugging the boat to desperation, the poor fish fairly crowded
themselves up to the surface, and floundered upon each other, as men
are lifted off their feet in a mob. They clung to us thus, out of a
fancied security in our presence. Knowing this, we felt no little
alarm for ourselves, dreading lest the Chevalier might despise our
boat, full as much as his prey; and in pursuing the fish, run through
the poor Chamois with a lunge. A jacket, rolled up, was kept in
readiness to be thrust into the first opening made; while as the
thousand fins audibly patted against our slender planks, we felt
nervously enough; as if treading upon thin, crackling ice.

At length, to our no small delight, the enemy swam away; and again by
our side merrily paddled our escort; ten times merrier than ever.

CHAPTER XLIX
Yillah

While for a few days, now this way, now that, as our craft glides
along, surrounded by these locusts of the deep, let the story of
Yillah flow on.

Of her beauty say I nothing. It was that of a crystal lake in a
fathomless wood: all light and shade; full of fleeting revealings;
now shadowed in depths; now sunny in dimples; but all sparkling and
shifting, and blending together.

Bu