This afternoon we perceived a disturbance at the end of the fishing-line which is always towing astern, and it was presently seen that we had hooked a fine specimen of the sailor’s dolphin, the most beautiful in coloring of all deep-water fish. I think that it might be as well to apply the name dolphin to this fish from now forward, if there should be occasion to mention one again. Of course it isn’t a dolphin at all, but as sailors call it so, and this is supposed to be a book about sailors, this name is as good as any other. Carefully we coaxed him up beneath the counter and then tried to kill him by holding his mouth out of water, for he would have parted the line if we had attempted to haul him aboard. As he sheared about on the end of the line he presented a spectacle which was actually gorgeous, and, being immediately above him, our view was perfect. His motions were the very ideal of grace, and as he moved swiftly from side to side he exhibited in succession all of his wonderful hues, vivid greens and yellows merging into silver and Prussian blue. His antics were cut short, however, by the arrival of the mate with the grains, which he skilfully drove into the creature’s side (what a useless slaughter!), and he was hauled up over the stern. Then we stood by for the dying colors. Out upon them! Not for a single instant can they compare with those of the fish in his natural condition, when, darting about a fathom or so beneath the surface, he positively enchants the eye with his brilliancy. He will yield us fresh food for supper, such as it is; but all deep-sea fish are poor and dry, save one, the flying-fish, which, if served in a restaurant with tartare sauce, I’m sure could not be detected from a smelt.