Book III

Come now, O Wielder of the Sceptre, mark thou the cunning devices of the fisher's art and his adventures in the hunting of his prey, and learn the law of the sea and take delight in my lay. For under they sceptre rolls the sea and the tribes of the haunts of Poseidon, and for thee are all deeds done among men. For thee the gods have raised me up to be thy joy and thy minstrel among the Cilicians beside the shrine of Hermes. And, O Hermes, god of my fathers, most excellent of the children of the Aegis-bearer, subtlest mind among the deathless gods, do thou enlighten and guide and lead, directing me to the goal of my song. The counsels of fishermen excellent in wit thou didst thyself, O Lord, first devise and didst reveal the sum of all manner of hunting, weaving doom for fishes. And thou didst deliver the art of the deep for keeping to Pan of Corycus, thy son, who, they say, was the saviour of Zeus — the saviour of Zeus but the slayer of Typhon. For he tricked terrible Typhon with promise of a banquet of fish and beguiled him to issue forth from his spacious pit and come to the shore of the sea, where the swift lightning and the rushing fiery thunderbolts laid him low; and, blazing in the rain of fire, he beat his hundred heads upon the rocks whereon he was carded all about like wool. And even now the yellow banks by the sea are red with the blood of the Typhonian battle. O Hermes, glorious in counsel, thee especially do fishermen worship. Therefore invoking thee with the gods who aid their hunt I pursue the glorious song of their chase.

First of all the fisher should have body and limbs both swift and strong, neither over fat nor lacking in flesh. For often he must fight with mighty fish in landing them — which have exceeding strength so long as they circle and wheel in the arms of their mother sea. And lightly he must leap from a rock; and, when the toil of the sea is at its height, he must swiftly travel a long way and dive into the deepest depths and abide amongst the waves and remain labouring at such works as men upon the sea toil at with enduring heart. Cunning of wit too and wise should the fisher be, since many and various are the devices that fishes contrive, when they chance upon unthought-of snares. Daring also should he be and dauntless and temperate and he must not love satiety of sleep but must be keen of sight, wakeful of heart and open-eyed. He must bear well the wintry weather and the thirsty season of Sirius; he must be fond of labour and must love the sea. So shall he be successful in his fishing and dear to Hermes.

In the autumn season fishing is best in the evening and when the morning-star rises. In winter the fisher should set out with the spreading rays of the sun. In bloomy spring the whole day is prosperous in all manner of fishing, what time all fishes are drawn to haunt the coasts near the land by the travail of birth and the thirst of desire. Look always for a wind that blows gentle and fair, lightly rolling a tranquil sea. For fishes fear and loathe violent winds and will not wheel over the sea, but with a temperate wind fishing is exceedingly favourable. All the fishes that swim the sea speed against wind and wave, since this is the easier way for them in their march toward the shores, and they do not suffer through being driven forcefully by the current. But when the fisher puts to sea let him set his sail with the wind — Northward when the wet South Wind blows; Southward when the North Wind drives the sea; when the East Wind rises, towards the paths of the West Wind; towards the East let the West Wind bear his vessel; for so will infinite shoals meet him and his fishing will be blest with luck.

Fourfold modes of hunting their prey in the sea have fishermen devised. Some delight in Hooks; and of these some fish with a well-twisted line of horse-hair fastened to long reeds, others simply cast a flaxen cord attached to their hands, another rejoices in landed lines or in line with many hooks. Others prefer to array Nets; and of these there are those called casting-nets, and those called draw-nets — drag-nets and round bag-nets and seines. Others they call cover-nets, and, with the seines, there are those called ground-nets and ball-nets and the crooked trawl: innumerable are the various sorts of such crafty-bosomed Nets. Others again have their minds set rather upon Weels which bring joy to their masters while they sleep at ease, and great gain attends on little toil. Others with the long pronged Trident wound the fish from land or from a ship as they will. The due measure and right ordering of all these they know certainly who contrive these things.

Fishes, it seems, not only against one another employ cunning wit and deceitful craft but often also they deceive even the wise fishermen themselves and escape from the might of hooks and from the belly of the trawl when already caught in them, and outrun the wits of men, outdoing them in craft, and become a grief to fishermen.

The Grey Mullet, when caught in the plaited arms of the net, is not ignorant of the encircling snare, but leaps up, eager to reach the surface of the water, hasting with all his might to spring straight up with nimble leap, and fails not of his wise purpose. For often he lightly overleaps in his rush the utmost bounds of the corks and escapes from doom. But if at his first upward rush he slips back again into net, he makes no further effort and leaps no more in his grief but taught by trial, ceases from his endeavours. As when a man, long distressed by painful disease, at first, in his yearning and desire for life, obeys the physicians and does all things that they bid him; but when the unescapable fates of death prevail, he cares no more for life but lies stretched out, giving over to death his exhausted limbs, beholding already at hand the final day of fate; even so the Grey Mullet knows what manner of end is come upon him and lies prone, awaiting doom from his captor.

The Muraena, when they are caught in the net, circle about in the enclosure seeking for a wider mesh and through it making their way, after the manner of snakes, with slippery limbs they all escape.

The Basse digs with its fins in the sand a trench large enough to admit its body and lays itself therein as in a bed. And the fishermen bring down to the shore a net but the Basses by simply lying in the mud gladly avoids them and escapes the net of destruction.

A like device is practised by the Mormyrus: when it perceives that it has fallen into the net, it hides in the sands.

The Basse, when smitten by the point of the bent hook, leaps on high and incessantly presses its head violently on the line itself, till the wound becomes wider and it escapes destruction.

The mighty Orcynus employ a similar device. For when they have seized the jaw of the guileful hook, swiftly they strain and rush to the nether depths, putting pressure on the hand of the fisher; and if they reach the bottom, straightway they beat their head against the ground and tear open the wound and spit out the barb.

But when giant fishes swallow the landed hooks — such as the tribes of the Ox-ray and the Sea-sheep and the Skate or the sluggish race of the Hake — they will not yield to it but throwing their flat bodies in the sands they put all their weight upon the line and cause trouble to the fishermen, and often they get free from the hook and escape.

The swift Amia and the Fox-sharks, when they are hooked, straightway hasten upward to forestall the fisher and speedily bite through with their teeth the middle of the line or the extreme hairs. Therefore for them the fishermen forge a longer socket on the hook, as a protection against their teeth.

The Cramp-fish, moreover, forgets not its cunning in the pain of being struck, but straining in its agony it puts its flanks against the line, and straightway through the horse-hair and through the rod runs the pain which gives the fish its name and lights in the right hand of the fisher; and often the rod and the fishing-tackle escape from his palm. Such icy numbness straightway settles in his hand.

The Cuttle-fishes again practise this craft. They have seated in their heads a dark muddy fluid blacker than pitch, a mysterious drug causing a watery cloud, which is their natural defence against destruction. When fear seizes them, immediately they discharge the dusky drops thereof and the cloudy fluid stains and obscures all around the paths of the sea and ruins all the view; and they straightway through the turbid waters easily escape man or haply mightier fish.

A like craft is practised also by the air-travelling tribes of the Calamary. Only their fluid is not black but reddish, but the device which they employ is altogether similar.

Such are the cunning devices of fishes; yet notwithstanding they perish by the subtle wiles of fishermen. Those which run in the sheer depths of the sea the fishers capture easily, since they possess no subtle craft. For ere now one has caught and landed a deep-sea fish with onions or with bare hooks. Those on the other hand which range near the sea-girding land have sharper wits; yet even of these the small fishes are caught with the feeble Prawn: they swallow tentacled Poulpe or Crab or tiny Hermit-crabs or bait of salted flesh or rock-haunting Worms or anything of the fishy kind that may be at hand. The small fish thou shouldst use as bait for the larger; for rejoicing in the banquet they speed their own destruction; gluttonous verily always is the race of the swimming tribes that roam the water. The Crow-fish attracts the Tunny, the fat Prawn attracts the Basse, the Channus is a bait beloved of the Braize, as the Bogue is to the Dentex and the Rainbow-wrasse to the Hippurus; the Red Mullet slays the Merou, the Perch catches the Cirrhis, the Gilt-head is landed by the Maenis; while the baleful Muraena haste after the flesh of the Poulpe. As for those fishes which are of enormous size, the Beauty-fish delights in the Tunny, the Orcynus in the Oniscus; while for the Anthias thou shouldst array the Basse, the Hippurus for the Swordfish, and for the Glaucus thou shouldst impale the Grey Mullet. To entrap other fish employ other breeds, the weaker as bait for the stronger; since verily all fishes are welcome food to one another and gluttonous destruction. So true it is that naught is deadlier than hunger and the grievous belly, which bears harsh sway among men and is a stern mistress to dwell with: who never forgets her tribute and who misleads the wits of many and casts them into ruin and binds them fast to shame. The belly bears sway over wild beasts and over reptiles and over the flocks of the air, but it has its greatest power among fishes; for them evermore the belly proves their doom.

Hear first the cunning mode of taking the Anthias which is practised by the inhabitants of our glorious fatherland above the promontory of Sarpedon, those who dwell in the city of Hermes, the town of Corycus, famous for ships, and in sea-girt Eleusa. A skilful man observes those rocks near the land, under which the Anthias dwell: caverned rocks, cleft with many a covert. Sailing up in his boat he makes a loud noise by striking planks together; and the heart of the Anthias rejoices in the din, and one haply rises presently from the sea, gazing at the boat and the man. Then the fisher straightway lets down into the waves the ready bait of Perch or Crowfish, offering a first meal of hospitality. The fish rejoices and greedily feasts on the welcome banquet and fawns upon the crafty fisherman. As to the house of a hospitable man there comes one famous for his deeds of hand or head, and his host is glad to see him at his hearth and entreats him well with gifts and feast and all manner of loving-kindness; and at the table both rejoice and take their pleasure in pledging cup for cup; even so the fisher rejoices in hope and smiles while the fish delights in new banquets. Thenceforward the fisherman journeys to the rock every day and relaxes not his labour and ceases not to bring food. And straightway the Anthias gather all together in the place to feast, as if a summoner brought them. Always for more and readier fishes he provides the coveted food, and they have no thought of other paths or other retreats, but there they remain and linger, even as in the winter days the flocks abide in the steadings of the shepherds and care not to go forth even a little from the fold. And when fishes descry the boat that feeds them starting from the land and speeding with the oars, immediately they are all alert and gaily they wheel over the sea, sporting delightfully, and go to meet their nurse. As when the mother Swallow, the bird that first heralds the West Wind of Spring, brings food to her unfledged nestlings and they with soft cheeping leap for joy about their mother in the nest and open their beaks in their desire for food, and all the house of some hospitable man resounds with the shrill crying of the mother bird; even so the fishes leap joyfully to meet their feeder as he comes, even as in the circle of a dance. And the fisherman fattening them with dainty after dainty and with his hand stroking them and proffering them his gifts from his hand, tames their friendly heart, and anon they obey him like a master, and wheresoever he indicates with his finger, there they swiftly rush. Now behind the boat, now in front, now landward he points his hand; and thou shalt see them, like boys in a place of wrestling, according to the wisdom of a man, rushing this way or that as their master bids. But when he has tended them enough and bethinks him of taking them, then he seats himself with a line in his left hand and fits thereto a hook, strong and sharp. Then all the fishes alike he turns away, commanding them with his hand, or he takes a stone and casts it in the water, and they dive after it, thinking to be food. One picked fish alone he leaves, whichsoever he will — unhappy fish, rejoicing in a banquet which is to be its last. Then he reaches down the hook over the sea and the fish swiftly seizes its doom; and the bold fisher draws it in with both hands, winning a speedy prey by his cunning. And he avoids the notice of the rest of the company of Anthias; for if they see or hear the din of the unhappy victim being landed, then the fisher will never more have banquets enough to tempt the fishes to return, but they spurn with loathing both his attentions and the place of destruction. But the fisher should be a powerful man and land his fish by force of strength or else a second man should lend a hand in his labour. For so, unwitting of their crafty doom, fattened themselves they fitly fatten others; and always when thou wilt, successful fishing shall be thine.

Others trust in their valiant might and strength of limb when they array the great adventure against the Anthias, not cultivating friendship nor proffering food but having recourse at once to the pointed hook and overcoming the fish by their valour. The hook is fashioned of hard bronze or iron, and two separate barbs are attached to the great rope of twisted flax. On it they fix a live Basse — if a live one be at hand; but if it be a dead one, speedily one puts in its mouth a piece of lead, which they call a dolphin; and the fish, under the weight of the lead, moves his head to and fro, as if alive. The line is strong and well-woven. When the Anthias hear the noise and leap from the sea, then some attend to the labour of the oar, while the fisherman from the stern-end lets down the crooked snare into the sea, gently waving it about. And the fishes all straightway follow the ship and seeing before their eyes what seems to be a fleeing fish, they rush in haste after the banquet, each striving to outstrip the other: thou wouldst say it was a foeman plying swift knees in pursuit of a routed foe: and they are eager for goodly victory. Now whichever fish the fisher sees to be best, to it he offers the banquet, and with eager gape it rushes after the gift that is no gift. Thereupon thou shalt see the valour of both, such a struggle there is as man and captive fish contend. His strong arms and brows and shoulders and the sinews of his neck and ankles swell with might and strain with valour; while the fish, chafing with pain, makes a fight, pulling against the pulling fisher, striving to dive into the sea, raging incontinently. Then the fisher bids his comrades plunge in their oars; and as the ship speeds forward, he on the stern is dragged bodily backward by the rush of the fish, and the line whistles, and the blood drips from his torn hand. But he relaxes not the grievous contest. As two keen men of mighty valour stretch their grasp about one another and endeavour each to pull the other, hauling with backward strain; and long time both, enduring equal measure of toil, pull might and main and are pulled; even so between those, the fisher and the fish, strife arises, the one eager to rush away, the other eager to pull him in. Nor do the other Anthias fishes desert the captive in his agony but are fain to help him and violently hurl their backs against him and fall each one upon him, foolishly, and know not that they are afflicting their comrade. Often also when they are fain to tear through the line with their jaws, they are helpless, since their mouth is unarmed. At last when the fish is weary with labour and pain and the quick rowing, the man overpowers him and pulls him in. But if the fisher yield to him even a little, he cannot pull him in — so tremendous is his strength. Often he tears and cuts the line on his sharp spine and rushes away, leaving the fisherman empty-handed. A like strength is possessed by the Beauty-fish and the race of the Orcynus and others of monstrous body that roam the deep; and even by such arms are they captured.

Others the fisherman catches with the wile of food and feast. A good fish will be the Black Sea-bream, which ever rejoices in rough rocks. Plait a round weel as large as may be, fashioning it with Iberian broom or withes and putting staves round it. Let the entrance be smooth and the belly yawning wide. As bait, put within it reptile Poulpe or Crayfish, in either case broiled on the fire; for the savour entices the fishes within. Having thus prepared the plaited deceit, lean it obliquely beside a rock, to be an ambush under the sea. And immediately the odour will rouse the Black Sea-bream and he will come within the weel, not very confident on his first journey, but with all haste he makes his meal and speeds away again. Thereafter the weel-fisher puts in the weel ever fresh pleasant food for them and ill-omened gluttony speedily gathers them within, and one fish brings another comrade to share the banquet. At length without fear they gather all together within the weel and remain sitting therein all the day, as if they had acquired a house, and an evil nest they find it. As when to the house of a fatherless youth his age-fellows, who study not sobriety, gather all day bidden and unbidden, wasting evermore the possessions of the masterless house, in such practices as foolish young men are incited to by the waywardness of youth, and in their folly find an evil end; even so for the gathered fishes doom stands nigh at hand. For when they become many and fat, then the man puts a well-fitting cover on the mouth of weel and takes captive the fishes huddling within the enclosure and sleeping their last sleep. Too late they perceive their doom and struggle and strive to get out — foolish fishes who find the weel no longer so pleasant a home.

Against the Admon they prepare in autumn a weel of osiers and moor it in the midst of the waves, fastening to the bottom a bored stone by way of anchor, while corks support the trap above. In it they always put four wet stones from the beach. On the wet stones grows a milky slime of the sea, desire for which attracts the wretched little fishes, a greedy race, which gather and rush to the weel and remain in its embrace. The Admon, seeing them gathered within the hollow retreat, all speedily rush upon them, eager for a feast. But them they do not overtake: they easily slip away: but the Admon are nowise able, for all their endeavour, to escape again from the plaited ambush, but, preparing woe for others, they find destruction for themselves. As when some hunter on the hills prepares a trap in the woods for a wild beast and with hard heart ties up a dog, fastening him by a cord about his private parts; the loud howling of the dog in pain travels afar and the wood resounds about him; the Leopard hears and is glad and hastes to track the cry; swiftly she arrives and leaps upon the dog; then a hidden device snatches the dog aloft, while the Leopard rolls headlong in the pit, and has no more thought of feasting but of flight; but for it there is no escape prepared: even such is the fate of the hapless Admon and in place of food they rush upon their fate and the unescapable net of Hades.

In like fashion for the Shad also and the Pilchard one devises capture in the autumn and so one takes the Larinus and the tribes of the Trachurus. The fisherman weaves compactly a weel of broom and therein puts a cake of parched vetches, moistened with fragrant wine, and mixes therewith the tear of the Assyrian daughter of Theias: who, they say, did a deed of ill contrivance for love of her father and came into his bed, through the anger of Aphrodite; but since the doom of the gods rooted her and the tree that bears her name, she wails and mourns her woeful fate, wetted with tears for the sake of her bed: her holy sap the fisher mingles with the rest and moors his weel in the waves; and swiftly the lily fragrance runs over the sea and summons the herds of various kind; and the fishes moved by the sweet breath obey the call and speedily the weel is filled, bringing to the fisherman a recompense of goodly spoil.

The Saupes always delight above all things in moist seaweed and by that bait also they are taken. On previous days the fisherman sails to one place and always casts in the waves stones of a handy size, to which he has fastened fresh seaweed. But when the fifth morning sees his toil and the gathered Saupes feed about that place, then he arrays his crafty weel. Within it he casts stones wrapped in seaweed and about the mouth he binds such grasses of the sea as Saupes and other plant-eating fishes delight in. Then the fishes gather and eat the grasses and thereafter speed inside the weel. Straightway the fisher sails swiftly to the spot and pulls up the weel. His work is done silently, the men not speaking and the oars hushed. For silence is profitable in all fishing but above all in the case of the Saupes; since their wits are easily scared and a scare renders vain labour of the fisher.

No fish, I declare, delights in meaner bait than doth the Red Mullet; for it feeds on all the silt of the sea that it can find and it loves especially evil-smelling food. It delights exceedingly in the rotting bodies of men, when the dolorous sea makes any man its prey. Wherefore fishers easily take them with smelly baits which have a hateful breath. Red Mullets and Swine, I declare, have like habits, wallowing always in filth for the desire of the belly: and the Red Mullets have the same distinction among the finny tribes as Swine have among the herds of the land.

The Melanurus thou shalt not easily beguile and carry away either with weel or with the encircling net. For the Melanurus among all fishes is eminent at once for cowardice and for prudence, and gluttonous bait is never pleasing to it. Always when the sea is calm it lies in the sands and rises not from brine. But when under stress of violent winds the sea rages and billows, then do the Melanurus alone speed over the sea together, fearing not any man nor any creature of the sea. While all the rest for fear dive to the nether foundations of the sea, the Melanurus haunt the sounding shores or draw to the rocks as they roam in search of any food that the wind-beaten sea may show them. Foolish fishes! which know not how much more cunning are men, who take them captive despite all their endeavour to escape. When the sea boils with stormy flood, a man stands upon a jutting sea-beaten cliff, where the wave bellows loudly on the rocks, and scatters dainties in the breaking waves, even cheese mixed with flour; and the Melanurus rush eagerly upon the welcome food. But when they are gathered together within range of his cast, he himself turns his body aside, that he may not cast his shadow on the water, and the fish be frightened. In his hands he holds ready a thin rod and a thin line of light hair all untwined, whereon are strung numerous light hooks. On these he puts the same bait as before he cast in the water, and lets it down into the deep turmoil of the waves. Seeing it the Melanurus immediately rush upon it and snatch — their own destruction. Nor does the fisher hold his hand at rest, but ever and again draws up his hooks from eddying waters, even if they be often empty. For in the seething sea he cannot mark for certain whether a fish is hooked or whether it is but the waves that shake the line. But when a fish swallows the hook, swiftly he pulls him forth, ere he thinks of guile, ere he cause fright to the feeble Melanurus. In such wise he accomplishes his treacherous fishing in stormy weather.

Yea, and the Grey Mullet, albeit he is no glutton, they yet deceive by clothing narrow hooks with bait mixed with flour and gifts of curdled milk. Therewith they knead also the sweet-smelling herb of mint. Mint, men say, was once a maid beneath the earth, a Nymph of Cocytus, and she lay in the bed of Aidoneus; but when he raped the maid Persephone from the Aetnaean hill, then she complained loudly with overweening words and raved foolishly for jealousy, and Demeter in anger trampled her with her feet and destroyed her. For she had said that she was nobler of form and more excellent in beauty than dark-eyed Persephone and she boasted that Aidoneus would return to her and banish the other from his halls: such infatuation leapt upon her tongue. And from the earth sprang the weak herb that bears her name. Mint, then, the fishers mingle with the bait which they put upon their hooks. And in no long time the Grey Mullet, when the odour reaches him, first approaches the hook distantly and regards with eyes askance the snare; like to a stranger who, chancing upon much trodden cross-ways, stands pondering, and at one moment his heart is set on going by the left road, at another by the right, and he looks on this side and on that and his mind fluctuates like the wave and only at long last he reaches a single purpose; even so also the spirit of the Grey Mullet ponders variously, now thinking of a snare and now of harmless food. At last his mind impels him and brings him nigh his doom. And immediately he starts back in fear and many times as he touches it, terror seizes him and checks his impulse. As when a little maiden girl, when her mother is abroad, is faint for some eatable or whatever it may be; and to touch it she is afraid for the anger of her mother, yet, unwilling to withdraw, she dares the deed: stealthily she creeps to it and again turns away; now courage, now fear enters her heart; and always her keen eyes are strained watchfully upon the door: even so then the gentle fish approaches and retires. But when he takes heart and draws nigh, not readily does he touch the bait but first lashes with his tail and stirs the hook to see whether haply there is any warm breath in its body; for to eat of aught living is for the Grey Mullet a thing forsworn. Then he nibbles and plucks at the bait with the tip of his mouth; and straightway the fisher strikes and pierces him with the bronze, even as a charioteer constrains a gallant horse by the stern compulsion of the bit, and pulls him up and casts him struggling on the loathed earth.

The Swordfish also men deceive by deadly hooks. But the doom of the Swordfish is not such as that of the Grey Mullet nor like that of other fishes. For the fishermen do not put bait upon their hooks, but the hook hangs from the line naked and without deceit, furnished with two recurved barbs, while •some three palms above it they tie a soft white fish, fastening it skilfully by the tip of its mouth. When the furious Swordfish comes, straightway he rends the body of the fish with his fierce sword, and as the fish is rent, its members slip down from the fastening and are entangled right about the barbs of the hook. But the fish perceives not the crooked guile but swallows the grievous bait and is caught and hauled up by the might of the man.

Many are the devices which fishers contrive against the Swordfish, and those above all who fish the Tyrrhenian tract of sea and about the holy city of Massalia and in the region of the Celts. For there, wondrous and not at all like fishes, range monster fishes unapproachable. The fishermen fashion boats in the likeness of the Swordfishes themselves, with fishlike body and swords, and steer to meet the fish. The Swordfish shrinks not from the chase, believing that what he sees are not benched ships but other Swordfishes, the same race as himself, until the men encircle him on every side. Afterwards he perceives his folly when pierced by the three-pronged spear; and he has no strength to escape for all his desire but perforce is overcome. Many a time as he fights the valiant fish with his sword pierces in his turn right through the belly of the ship; and the fishers with blows of brazen axe swiftly strike all his sword from his jaws, and it remains fast in the ship's wound like a rivet, while fish, orphaned of his strength, is hauled in. As when men devising a trick of war against their foes, being eager to come within their towers and city, strip the armour from the bodies of the slain and arm themselves therewith and rush nigh the gates; and the others fling open their gates as for their own townsmen in their haste, and have no joy of their friends; even so do boats in his own likeness deceive the Swordfish.

Moreover, when encircled in the crooked arms of the net the greatly stupid Swordfish perishes by his own folly. He leaps in his desire to escape but near at hand he is afraid of the plaited snare and shrinks back again and forgetteth what manner of weapon is set in his jaws and like a coward remains aghast till they hale him forth upon the beach, where with downward-sweeping blow of many spears men crush his head, and he perishes by a foolish doom.

Folly slays also the Mackerel and the fat Tunny and the Needle-fishes and the tribes of the wide-spread Dentex. The Mackerels, when they see others crouching in the net, are fain to enter the many-meshed snare of destruction — such delight possesses them when they behold: like untried children who, when they see the bright flashing of blazing fire, rejoice in its rays and are fain to touch it and stretch a childish hand into the flame, and speedily the fire proves unkind; even so the Mackerels are fain to rush within the covert of the ambush whence there is no return and find their fondness fatal. Then some land in the wider meshes and leap out, but others, penned in the narrower openings, suffer a bitter fate by strangling. When the net is hauled ashore, thou shalt see them in multitudes on either side fixed as with nails, some still minded to enter the net of destruction, others already eager to escape from their evil plight, held fast within dripping nets.

The Tunnies again suffer like affliction with the Mackerel by their foolishness. For they also are possessed by a similar fatal desire to come within the loins of the crafty net; they do not however essay to enter the belly of the net under water but assail it with their crooked teeth, devising to make a passage sufficient for their body. The wet net becomes stretched about their infixed teeth and they have no means of escape, but labouring under the entanglement about their mouth they are haled to the land, taken by their own witlessness.

Such also is the counsel of the Needle-fishes. These when they have escaped the bosom of the net and are gotten free from trouble, turn again and in their anger fix their teeth in the net; and it enters into their mouths and holds fast the close-set teeth within.

The Dentex travel in separate bands, like companies of soldiers. When a man lets down a hook for them, they stand aloof and all bend sidelong looks on one another and are unwilling to approach. But when one leaps forth from another rank and swiftly seizes the bait, then also one of them takes courage in his heart and draws nigh to the hook and is haled in. The Dentex, eyeing one another and delighting in their banquet, rejoice even while they are being caught, and they vie with one another as to which shall die first, like children exulting in their sports.

The breed of Tunnies comes from the spacious Ocean, and they travel into the regions of our sea when they lust after the frenzy of mating in the spring. First the Iberians who plume themselves upon their might capture them within the Iberian brine; next by the mouth of the Rhone the Celts and the ancient inhabitants of Phocaea hunt them; and thirdly those who are dwellers in the Trinacrian isle and by the waves of the Tyrrhenian sea. Thence in the unmeasured deeps they scatter this way or that and travel over all the sea. Abundant and wondrous is the spoil for fishermen when the host of Tunnies set forth in spring. First of all the fishers mark a place in the sea which is neither too straitened under beetling banks nor too open to the winds, but has due measure of open sky and shady coverts. There first a skilful Tunny-watcher ascends a steep high hill, who remarks the various shoals, their kind and size, and informs his comrades. Then straightway all the nets are set forth in the waves like a city, and the net has its gate-warders and gates withal and inner courts. And swiftly the Tunnies speed on in line, like ranks of men marching tribe by tribe — these younger, those older, those in the mid season of their age. Without end they pour within the nets, so long as they desire and as the net can receive the throng of them; and rich and secret is the spoil.