CHAPTER XLVIII.
Something Under The Surface Not to omit an occurrence of considerable interest, we must needs here present some account of a curious retinue of fish which overtook our Chamois, a day or two after parting with the canoe.
A violent creaming and frothing in our rear announced their approach.
Soon we found ourselves the nucleus of an incredible multitude of finny creatures, mostly anonymous.
First, far in advance of our prow, swam the helmeted Silver-heads; side by side, in uniform ranks, like an army.

Then came the Boneetas, with their flashing blue flanks.

Then, like a third distinct regiment, wormed and twisted through the water like Archimedean screws, the quivering Wriggle-tails; followed in turn by the rank and file of the Trigger-fish--so called from their quaint dorsal fins being set in their backs with a comical curve, as if at half-cock.
Far astern the rear was brought up by endless battalions of Yellow- backs, right martially vested in buff.
And slow sailing overhead were flights of birds; a wing in the air for every fin in the sea.
But let the sea-fowls fly on: turn we to the fish.
Their numbers were amazing; countless as the tears shed for perfidious lovers.

Far abroad on both flanks, they swam in long lines, tier above tier; the water alive with their hosts.

Locusts of the sea, peradventure, going to fall with a blight upon some green, mossy province of Neptune.