They tell their readers that the EXOCETUS VOLITANS “does not fly; does not flutter its wings; can only take a prolonged leap,” and so on.  The misfortune attendant upon such books seems, to an unlearned sailor like myself, to be that, although posing as authorities, most of the authors are content to take their facts not simply at second-hand, but even unto twenty-second-hand.  So the old fables get repeated, and brought up to date, and it is nobody’s business to take the trouble to correct them.

The weather continued calm and clear, and as the flying-fish were about in such immense numbers, I ventured to suggest to Goliath that we might have a try for some of them.  I verily believe he thought I was mad.  He stared at me for a minute, and then, with an indescribable intonation, said, “How de ol’ Satan yew fink yew gwain ter get’m, hey?  Ef yew spects ter fool dis chile wiv any dem lime-juice yarns, ’bout lanterns ’n boats at night-time, yew’s ’way off.”  I guessed he meant the fable current among English sailors, that if you hoist a sail on a calm night in a boat where flying-fish abound, and hang a lantern in the middle of it, the fish will fly in shoals at the lantern, strike against the sail, and fall in heaps in the boat.  It may be true, but I never spoke to anybody who has seen it done, nor is it the method practised in the only place in the world where flying-fishing is followed for a living.  So I told Mr. Jones that if we had some circular nets of small mesh made and stretched on wooden hoops, I was sure we should be able to catch some.  He caught at the idea, and mentioned it to the mate, who readily gave his permission to use a boat.  A couple of “Guineamen” (a very large kind of flying-fish, having four wings) flew on board that night, as if purposely to provide us with the necessary bait.

Next morning, about four bells, the sea being like a mirror, unruffled by a breath of wind, we lowered and paddled off from the ship about a mile.  When far enough away, we commenced operations by squeezing in the water some pieces of fish that had been kept for the purpose until they were rather high-flavoured.  The exuding oil from this fish spread a thin film for some distance around the boat, through which, as through a sheet of glass, we could see a long way down.  Minute specks of the bait sank slowly through the limpid blue, but for at least an hour there was no sign of life.  I was beginning to fear that I should be called to account for misleading all hands, when, to my unbounded delight, an immense shoal of flying-fish came swimming round the boat, eagerly picking up the savoury morsels.  We grasped our nets, and, leaning over the gunwale, placed them silently in the water, pressing them downward and in towards the boat at the same time.  Our success was great and immediate.  We lifted the wanderers by scores, while I whispered imploringly, “Be careful not to scare them; don’t make a sound.”