and by a process similar to that
by which it had been originally stocked.

CHAPTER FORTY FOUR.

THE ALBACORES.

The hope of replenishing their larder was likely to be realised easily,
and ere long. Scarce had their sail caught the breeze, when they
perceived alongside the _Catamaran_ a shoal of the most beautiful fish
that are to be found in any part of the boundless ocean. There were
several hundreds in the shoal; like mackerel, all nearly of one size,
and swimming, moreover in the same direction,--just as a school of
mackerel are seen to do.

They were much larger, however, than the common mackerel,--each being
about four feet in length, with a stout, though well-proportioned body,
having that peculiar elegance of shape which belongs to all the mackerel
tribe.

Their colour was sufficient of itself to entitle them to the appellation
of beautiful creatures. It was a bright turquoise blue or azure,
showing, in certain lights, a tinge of gold. This was the colour of
their backs; while underneath they were of a silvery white, gleaming
with a lively iridescence. A row of spurious fins above the tail, and
another underneath, were of a bright yellow; while their large round
eyes exhibited an iris of silver.

Their pectoral fins were very long and sickle-shaped; while the dorsal
one, also well developed, presented a structural peculiarity in having a
deep groove running longitudinally down the spine of the back, into
which the fin,--when at rest and depressed,--exactly fitted: becoming so
completely sheathed and concealed, as to give to the fish the appearance
of being without this apparatus altogether!

If we except their lovely hues, their greater size, and a few other less
notable circumstances, the fishes in question might have been taken for
mackerel; and it would have been no great mistake to so describe them:
since they were in reality of this genus. They were of a different
species, however,--the most beautiful species of the mackerel tribe.

"Albacore!" cried Ben Brace, as soon as he saw them shooting alongside
the raft. "Albacore be they. Now, Snowy, out wi' your hooks an' lines.
In this fresh breeze they be a'most sure to bite; and we'll be able, I
hope, to make up for the loss o' the others. Hush all o' ye! Ne'er a
word; ne'er a movement to scare 'em off. Softly, Snowy! Softly, ye ole
sea-cook."

"No fear, Massa Brace,--no fear o' dem leabin dis ole _Cat'maran_, so
long's de be a-gwine