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- 10312
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:18.539Z
- extracted_by
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- start_line
- 10248
- text
- a glimpse of our fish, while yet alive and hearty.
We were alarmed at perceiving, that certain servitors were preparing to
accompany us with trenchers of edibles. It begat the notion, that our
trip to the fish-ponds was to prove a long journey. But they were not
three hundred yards distant; though Borabolla being a veteran traveler,
never stirred from his abode without his battalion of butlers.
The ponds were four in number, close bordering the water, embracing
about an acre each, and situated in a low fen, draining several
valleys. The excavated soil was thrown up in dykes, made tight by being
beaten all over, while in a soft state, with the heavy, flat ends of
Palm stalks. Lying side by side, by three connecting trenches, these
ponds could be made to communicate at pleasure; while two additional
canals afforded means of letting in upon them the salt waters of the
lagoon on one hand, or those of an inland stream on the other. And by a
third canal with four branches, together or separately, they could be
partially drained. Thus, the waters could be mixed to suit any gills;
and the young fish taken from the sea, passed through a stated process
of freshening; so that by the time they graduated, the salt was well
out of them, like the brains out of some diplomaed collegians.
Fresh-water fish are only to be obtained in Mondoldo by the artificial
process above mentioned; as the streams and brooks abound not in trout
or other Waltonian prey.
Taken all floundering from the sea, Borabolla’s fish, passing through
their regular training for the table, and daily tended by their
keepers, in course of time became quite tame and communicative. To
prove which, calling his Head Ranger, the king bade him administer the
customary supply of edibles.
Accordingly, mouthfuls were thrown into the ponds. Whereupon, the fish
darted in a shoal toward the margin; some leaping out of the water in
their eagerness. Crouching on the bank, the Ranger now called several
by name, patted their scales, carrying on some heathenish nursery-talk,
like St. Anthony, in ancient Coptic, instilling virtuous principles
into his finny flock on the sea shore.
But alas, for the hair-shirted old dominie’s backsliding disciples.
For, of all nature’s animated kingdoms, fish are the most unchristian,
inhospitable, heartless, and cold-blooded of creatures. At least, so
seem they to strangers; though at bottom, somehow, they must be all
right. And truly it is not to be wondered at, that the very reverend
Anthony strove after the conversion of fish. For, whoso shall
Christianize, and by so doing, humanize the sharks, will do a greater
good, by the saving of human life in all time to come, than though he
made catechumens of the head-hunting Dyaks of Borneo, or the
blood-bibbing Battas of Sumatra. And are these Dyaks and Battas one
whit better than tiger-sharks? Nay, are they so good? Were a Batta your
intimate friend, you would often mistake an orang-outang for him; and
have orang-outangs immortal souls? True, the Battas believe in a
hereafter; but of what sort? Full of Blue-Beards and bloody bones. So,
also, the sharks; who hold that Paradise is one vast Pacific, ploughed
by navies of mortals, whom an endless gale forever drops into their
maws.
Not wholly a surmise. For, does it not appear a little unreasonable to
imagine, that there is any creature, fish, flesh, or fowl, so little in
love with life, as not to cherish hopes of a future state? Why does man
believe in it? One reason, reckoned cogent, is, that he desires it. Who
shall say, then, that the leviathan this day harpooned on the coast of
Japan, goes not straight to his ancestor, who rolled all Jonah, as a
sweet morsel, under his tongue?
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