Away they went straight ahead. The bonita fell away sullenly from the solid ranks, and in half an hour the last albicore had gone through the gap in close column, leaving the sea and its scavengers to wipe out the marks of their passage. There was no changing front to that horde. The course was straight ahead. It was certain death to be left behind.
The bonita held their way toward the reefs of Mas-a-fuera and were soon out of sight in the East.
But King Albicore, what of him?
With flanks cut and ripped almost to ribbons he stuck at the head of the column. No sheering this way or that. The feeling had come upon him that he had done his duty. He had fulfilled his mission. He, the king, had led his comrades to victory, and he must pay the great debt which falls to all sons of nature. Silently and steadily he went along, his instinct telling him his time had come. But with it there were no regrets.
He had done all he could for his kind, and like a king he would die.
The bright sunshine would fade and the blue water would disappear forever. They would forget him, and another leader would take his place. But he knew he had done his duty and knew he had done it well, and the great throng would live to be thankful for his prowess.
The sunlight seemed to be fading and darkness appeared to be coming upon the ocean, yet he knew it was not quite midday. He turned to take one look at the mighty host he had brought to sea. They were still following him faithfully.
Then the light went out. He turned upon his side and sank downward through the blue depths, while the albicore held their way to the coral reefs of the South Sea.