. No need of a dentist hath he. Seen at night, stealing along
like a spirit in the water, with horrific serenity of aspect, the
White Shark sent many a thrill to us twain in the Chamois.

By day, and in the profoundest calms, oft were we startled by the
ponderous sigh of the grampus, as lazily rising to the surface, he
fetched a long breath after napping below.

And time and again we watched the darting albicore, the fish with the
chain-plate armor and golden scales; the Nimrod of the seas, to whom
so many flying fish fall a prey. Flying from their pursuers, many of
them flew into our boat. But invariably they died from the shock. No
nursing could restore them. One of their wings I removed, spreading
it out to dry under a weight. In two days' time the thin membrane,
all over tracings like those of a leaf, was transparent as isinglass,
and tinted with brilliant hues, like those of a changing silk.

Almost every day, we spied Black Fish; coal-black and glossy. They
seemed to swim by revolving round and round in the water, like a wheel;
their dorsal fins, every now and then shooting into view, like spokes.

Of a somewhat similar species, but smaller, and clipper-built about
the nose, were the Algerines; so called, probably, from their corsair
propensities; waylaying peaceful fish on the high seas, and
plundering them of body and soul at a gulp. Atrocious Turks! a
crusade should be preached against them.

Besides all these, we encountered Killers and Thrashers, by far the
most spirited and "spunky" of the finny tribes. Though little larger
than a porpoise, a band of them think nothing of assailing leviathan
himself. They bait the monster, as dogs a bull. The Killers seizing
the Right whale by his immense, sulky lower lip, and the Thrashers
fastening on to his back, and beating him with their sinewy tails.
Often they come off conquerors, worrying the enemy to death. Though,
sooth to say, if leviathan gets but one sweep al them with his terrible
tail, they go flying into the air, as if tossed from Taurus' horn.

This sight we beheld. Had old Wouvermans, who once painted a bull
bait, been along with us, a rare chance, that, for his pencil. And
Gudin or Isabey might have thrown the blue rolling sea into the
picture. Lastly, one of Claude's setting summer suns would have
glorified the whole. Oh, believe me, God's creatures fighting, fin
for fin, a thousand miles from land, and with the round horizon for
an arena; is no ign