has he there, towing
behind? It is tangled sea-kelp clinging to its fins. But the clogged
thing strains to keep up with its fellows. Yet little they heed. Away
they go; every fish for itself, and any fish for Samoa.

At last the poor Boneeta is seen no more. The myriad fins swim on; a
lonely waste, where the lost one drops behind.

Strange fish! All the live-long day, they were there by our side; and
at night still tarried and shone; more crystal and scaly in the pale
moonbeams, than in the golden glare of the sun.

How prettily they swim; all silver life; darting hither and thither
between their long ranks, and touching their noses, and scraping
acquaintance. No mourning they wear for the Boneeta left far astern;
nor for those so cruelly killed by Samoa. No, no; all is glee, fishy
glee, and frolicking fun; light hearts and light fins; gay backs and
gay spirits.--Swim away, swim away! my merry fins all. Let us roam
the flood; let us follow this monster fish with the barnacled sides;
this strange-looking fish, so high out of water; that goes without
fins. What fish can it be? What rippling is that? Dost hear
the great monster breathe? Why, 'tis sharp at both ends; a tail
either way; nor eyes has it any, nor mouth. What a curious fish! what
a comical fish! But more comical far, those creatures above, on its
hollow back, clinging thereto like the snaky eels, that cling and
slide on the back of the Sword fish, our terrible foe. But what
curious eels these are! Do they deem themselves pretty as we? No, no;
for sure, they behold our limber fins, our speckled and beautiful
scales. Poor, powerless things! How they must wish they were we, that
roam the flood, and scour the seas with a wish. Swim away; merry
fins, swim away! Let him drop, that fellow that halts; make a lane;
close in, and fill up. Let him drown, if he can not keep pace. No
laggards for us:--

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.

Fish, Fish, we are fish with red gills;
Naught disturbs us, our blood is at zero:
We are buoyant because of our bags,
Being many, each fish is a hero.
We care not what is it, this life
That we follow, this phantom unknown:
To swim, it's exceedingly pleasant,--
So swim away, making a foam.
This strange looking thing by our side,
Not for safety, around it w