“Daresay,” rejoined Aaron; “but do your Bahama fish speak, Paul, eh? Balaam’s ass was a joke to this fellow.”
I have already said that the water was not quite three fathoms deep, and it was so clear that I could see down to the very sand, and there were the fish cruising about in great numbers.
“Haul in, Wagtail—you have hooked him,” and up came a beautiful black grouper, about four pounds weight.
“Ah, there is the regular jiggery-jiggery,” sung out little Reefpoint, at the same moment, as he in turn began to pull up his line. “Stand by to land him,” and a red snapper, for all the world like a gigantic gold fish, was hauled on board; and so we carried on, black snappers, red snappers, and rock fish, and a vast variety, for all of which, however, Wagtail had names pat, until at length I caught a most lovely dolphin—a beauty to look at—but dry, terribly dry to eat. I cast it on the deck, and the chameleon tints of the dying fish, about which so many lies have been said and sung, were just beginning to fade, and wax pale, and ashy, and deathlike, when I felt another strong jiggery jiggery at my line, which little Reefpoint had, in the meantime, baited afresh. “Zounds! I have caught a whale—a shark at the very least” and I pulled him in, hand over hand.
“A most noble Jew fish,” said I.
“A Jew fish!” responded Wagtail.
“A Jew fish!” said Aaron Bang.
“A Jew fish!” said Paul Gelid.
“My dear Cringle,” continued Wagtail, “when do you dine?”
“At three, as usual.”