Another fish partial to the wake of a sailing-ship, on account of the amount of animal refuse which is thrown overboard, is the bonito, closely allied to the tunny, though smaller and more graceful. The average length is between two and three feet, and it is, for its size, the strongest fish I ever met with. Like the mackerel, its congener, it is most beautiful directly after its removal from the water; its back is steely-blue, which grows lighter at the sides and eventually shades off into silver under the belly, along which run several horizontal lines of darker hue. The sailors harpoon it for sport rather than for the sake of its flesh, which is coarse and somewhat rank. When the ship is only creeping along with but little wind, it is possible to take bonito on a spinning bait; but very strong tackle is requisite for bringing it on board. I have seen a successful (?) handliner, who hooked a large bonito while fishing from a small boat, towed in every direction for a considerably exciting time before he could come to closer quarters with his capture. On one occasion I enjoyed some excellent mackerel-fishing off St. Helena, catching enough to fill two ship’s buckets in a very short time and with no other bait than a few shreds of red rag. Suddenly the biting ceased, and as the water was beautifully clear, one could plainly discern the approach of a dim figure, large and powerfully built—in fact, a bonito—which just sniffed at the hooks and passed on majestically, after which the terrified mackerel returned—to the buckets! This novel sport was very enjoyable, lasting until I was called away to conduct a party over the island and make a few purchases. The scenery was certainly lovely, and the various spots connected with the brief imprisonment of Napolean Buonaparte excited the interest of the entire party; yet I must confess that I should not care about it as a place of residence for any length of time: it is not to be compared with Madeira in any one particular. The albacore, another of the Scomberidæ, is also frequently caught or harpooned; it is a much thicker and deeper fish than the last-named, sometimes attaining to an enormous size. Its flesh, too, is in much higher repute, and was equally appreciated by the nations of antiquity who dwelt upon the shores of the Mediterranean, in which sea it thrives along with its near relative the tunny. The dorsal fin, which is situated rather far back, graduates somewhat abruptly, vanishing into a number of small finlets up to its unusually crescentic tail with the same arrangement of finlets underneath. Very interesting to the voyager are the performances of those creatures called flying-fish, which probably cause more amusement to passengers round the Cape than any other members of the finny tribe.