Not any of the Catamaran’s crew were ignorant of the character of these objects. The silvery sheen of translucent wings, as they glittered under the bright sunbeams, proclaimed the creatures to be a “flock” of flying-fish, of which the albacores—of all their many enemies the most dangerous—were now in pursuit.
There may have been several of the flying-fish that did not rise into the air, but fell a prey to their pursuers under the water; and of those that did succeed in springing above the surface there were two that never came down again,—at least not in the shape of flying-fish.
The sea-hawks, wheeling above both pursuers and pursued, had been watching their opportunity; and as the pretty creatures made their appearance above water, both the birds swooped straight down among the prinkling cohort, each selecting a victim. Both made a successful swoop; for they were observed to turn and fly with a slant upwards, each with a flying-fish in its beak.
One of them, the male bird, didn’t appear to be satisfied with the hold he had taken; for, with a sudden jerk of his head, he let go again, pitched the prey several feet upward, and again as it came down took a fresh “grip” upon it.
No doubt this was to his satisfaction, for almost in the same instant that the flying-fish returned within the mandibles of his beak it disappeared, wings and all, down that dark passage, where, no doubt, many another of its kind had preceded it.
It was evident that neither of the birds considered one flying-fish sufficient for a meal; for as soon as they had swallowed those already taken, they again placed themselves in position for shooting down upon a second victim.
And now the crew of the Catamaran had the fortune to witness one of those singular incidents that may sometimes be seen upon the ocean,—a little drama of Nature, in which three of her creatures,—all three differing in kind,—formed the dramatis persona.
The cock frigate-bird, on turning to look for a fresh victim, espied one, or that which was likely to become one, almost directly beneath him.
It was a single flying-fish, which by some chance,—perhaps from not being either so fast a swimmer or so swift upon the wing as its fellows,—had lagged behind the “school.”
It was no longer playing laggard, and for a very good reason: since an albacore, nearly full three feet in length, was swimming after it and doing his very best to overtake it. Both were exerting every bit of muscular strength that lay in their fins,—the former to make its escape, the latter to prevent this consummation.