"Then they all at once made a dash for the poor beast. I tried to pull 'im out, but there was a couple of 'undred of 'em there, and 'e 'ad no chance. 'E gave just one yelp and then was pulled under, and the groupers jolly well ate him clear down to the bones. We never saw 'ide nor 'air of 'im agen!"
Colin shuddered a little as he looked at the groupers swimming idly about and said:
"Don't you suppose it was just because there were so many of them in this small pool? I hardly think a grouper would attack anything as large as a dog out in the open sea. They're much the same sort of fish as bass, you know."
"No, sir," the keeper answered; "I never 'eard of a grouper bein' dangerous out at sea. But there is a fish that's very bad around the coral on the reef."
"You mean sharks?" Colin queried.
"No, sir," the keeper answered; "sharks ain't no fish."
Colin elevated his eyebrows a little at this somewhat surprising way of stating that the sharks belonged to a lower order of marine species than any other fish, but he let it pass unchallenged.
"What fish do you mean, then?" asked the boy.
"Not sharks," the keeper replied; "there ain't no sharks near Bermuda anyway, they can't get near enough. The reefs run ten mile out and they never come away inside 'ere. No, sir, it's the moray I'm talkin' of."