But what has befallen this poor little Boneeta astern, that he swims so toilingly on, with gills showing purple?  What 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 we 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.