Book 3
Imperial Oppian Greek- But now come, sceptre-bearer, mark for me the all-cunning devices of the fisher's craft, and the contests of the hunters, and consider the law of the sea, and take delight in our song; for under your sceptre the sea is gathered, and the tribes of Poseidon's channels, and all works among men are furthered for you, and to you the gods released me, a delight and a singer, among the Cilicians beneath the Hermaean shrines. And you, Hermes, my father's god, best of the sons of the Aegis-bearer, most gainful mind among the immortals, show forth and signify and begin, guiding the turning-post of my song; for the counsels of the over-subtle fishermen you yourself, lord, first of all devised, and the achievement of the chase of every kind you revealed, weaving dooms upon the fishes. And to Corycian Pan you committed the craft of the deep, your son, who, they say, became the rescuer of Zeus, the rescuer of Zeus, and the destroyer of Typhon. For he, with fisher's baits beguiling the dread Typhon, deceived him to come up out of his cavern, out of the broad pit, and to come to the sea-shore; there the sharp lightnings and the rushes of thunderbolts, blazing, laid him low; and he, burning in the showers of fire, his hundred heads dashed about everywhere among the rocks, torn and rent; and yellow still beside the shores the banks grow red with the gore of the Typhonian shoutings. Hermes, famed in counsel, you above all the fishermen appease; therefore, calling on you along with the rustic gods, I go after the glory of a well-hunting song. First, let the angler have a body and limbs both swift and strong, neither too fat nor too lean of flesh; for there is need often for him to fight against strong fish drawn up, fish with overpowering strength, until in the arms of mother brine they are whirled, struggling, and shaken loose. And there is need to leap from rock and to spring up onto rock easily; and there is need, when the labour of the deep is stretched out, swiftly to thread the long course, and to dive into the deepest places, and, abiding amid the waves, as on the land, to linger, toiling at the works in which upon the sea men contend, holding a steadfast spirit. And let the angler be of a mind cunning and shrewd; since the fish contrive very many and varied things when they fall in with unexpected snares. And let him be most daring and fearless and prudent, nor let him love surfeit of sleep; let him look keenly, wakeful in heart and with open eyes. And let him bear well the storm of Zeus and the thirsty season of Sirius; let him long for toils, and love the sea; for thus he will be both a good hunter and dear to Hermes. The chase by evening in the autumn seasons is strongest, and at dawn when the morning-star rises; in winter set out together with the sun's rays as they are scattered abroad; but the whole day in flowering spring is enriched with hunts of every kind, when all the fishes, haunting the shores near the land, are drawn on by the labour of birth and the thirst of love. And ever look toward the wind that blows gentle and fair, rolling the soft brine lightly; for violent winds the fishes dread and hate, nor do they wish to wheel about over the sea; but in a temperate wind the chase stands favourable on every hand. And all the swimmers of the sea dart against the winds and the waves, since for them the road is thus easier as they go toward the shores, nor by constraint do they labour, driven from behind by the gusts. But let the fisher set forth, spreading his net to the breezes fair: toward the North, when the wet South wind blows; and toward the Southern sea, when the North wind drives; and when the East wind rises, toward the paths of the West; and against the East let the West wind bear his boat; for thus the swarms unspeakable will meet him, and good shall be the catch. In four ways have the fishers contrived the law of sea-hunting; and some take delight in hooks, and of these some, fastening to long reeds the well-twisted line of horse-hair, hunt; and others, just so binding from their hands a flaxen cord, send it forth; and one delights in lines let straight down, and another glories in many-hooked lines. Nets again others care more to make ready; of these some are casting-nets, and some are called draw-nets, and trawls and round hand-nets and seines; and others they call covering-nets, and along with seines, the foot-ropes and the cork-floats together and the crooked all-catcher; and countless and varied are such nets of the snare-stitching folds. And others again set their mind rather on weels, weels, which have cheered their masters as they slumbered at their ease; for from small toil a great gain attends. And others wound the swimmers with the long-barbed trident from the land and from the ship, as they wish. And the measure of all these, and the order of each, they know exactly, those who fashion these things. For the fishes had not only against one another a close device and thievish craft, but they have even often deceived the prudent hunters themselves, and fled the violence of the hooks and the bellies of the all-catchers, when already caught, and outran the wits of men, conquering by counsel, and became a grief to the fishermen. The grey mullet, drawn in the plaited arms of the net, was not ignorant of the encircling snare, but springs up high, longing for the top of the water, straight upward, hastening with what strength he has, in a light leap to rush; nor did he fail of his prudent counsel; for often by his springs he has leapt over even the topmost cork-ropes easily, and escaped his doom. But if, having sprung up at the first attempt, he slips again into the noose, then he no longer forces his way nor leaps up, grieving, but, taught by trial, ceases from his rush. As when a man, long tossing in a sickness full of cares, at first, both longing and clinging to life, obeys the physicians in all things, whatever they bid, doing them; but when the inescapable dooms prevail, the dooms of Hades, then he cares no more for life, but stretched out he lies, having yielded to death his fainting limbs, already looking on his last day near his fate; so too the grey mullet learns what end is coming, and lies fallen, awaiting the doom of the hunter. And the morays, when at any time they fall into the nets, seeking a wide gap, wheel about in the toils, and darting through it after the manner of serpents, all with their slippery limbs slip out and escape. And the bass, having dug a pit with his fins through the sand, as large as to receive his body, reclines as into a bed; and when the fishermen draw their net to the shores, he, lying just so in the mud, gladly escaped and fled the snare of destruction. Such things the mormyrus too contrives: when it perceives the chase coming on, falling forward, it dives into the sands. But the bass, struck by the point of the well-curved hook, springing up high, presses its head unceasingly against the very line, forced, that its wound may become wider, and that it may escape destruction. Such things the great-bulked orcyni too devised; for when they have snatched the jaw of the bent guile, swiftly straining they dart down to the lowest deep, forcing the hand of the hunter; and if they reach the bottom, then straightway, striking their head against the ground, they break open the wound, and spit out the barb. But when the monstrous fish gape at the lines let down—such as are the broods of oxen and of sheep, or the ray, or the sluggish race of the hake—they will not follow, but casting their broad body upon the sands they all together weigh down, and lay toil upon the fishers; and often they slipped off, loosed from the hook. And the nimble bonitos and the thresher-sharks, when they are caught, straightway hasten upward to anticipate, and quickly the middle of the line they cut beneath their teeth, or the very tips of the hair; therefore for them the fishers have forged a longer shank upon the hook, a defence against their teeth. Yes, and the cramp-fish does not abandon its own wit even when distressed by the blow; but strained with pains it presses its flanks against the line; and swiftly through the hair of horse and through the reed it ran and into the fisher's right hand it hurled the fish-named pain; and often from his hand the rod fell, and the gear of the chase. For such a frost settles at once upon the hand. The cuttlefish again has such guileful devices. There is in them, fixed in their poppy-pouches, a dark ink, darker than pitch, an unseen drug of watery gloom, which is bred in them as a defence against destruction; and them, when fear takes them, straightway they belch up the murky drops, and all about the sea, the dim ichor stains and blots out all the paths around, and turns aside all sight; and they, through the murky passage, at once flee easily both man and, if anywhere, a stronger fish. Like to them contrive the air-roaming broods of the squid; but in them the ink is not black but ruddy that is bred, and a device all like to theirs they make ready. With such thoughts they are minded; but nonetheless they perish by the close prudence of the fishermen. Those that run in the towering open seas they easily draw up; for in them is no varied wit; for already one has drawn up even with onions and bare hooks the open-sea-roaming fish. But all that feed near the sea-fenced land, for them the mind is sharper; but even of these the small are drawn up with feebler shrimps, gaping at the fringes of octopuses or at a crab and at small hermit-crabs, and if you should fix salt flesh and rock-worms, and whatever fishy thing is near you; and arm the small as bait for the greater; for laughing at their meals they hasten on destruction; for ever foolish is the race of the swimmers that run. The corvina lures the tunny, and the bass the shrimp, the fat one, and the channus is a dear bait for the braize, and the bogues for the dentex, and the rainbow-wrasses for the dolphin-fish; the red mullet slays the orphos, and the perch draws up the cirrhis, and the gilthead is drawn up with the sprat; while the loathsome morays are borne, hastening after the flesh of octopuses; and all that have a body exceeding in size— the beauty-fish is gladdened with the tunny, while with the hake the orcynus, and the bass you should arm against the anthias, the dolphin-fish with the sword-fish, and on the glaucus you should fix the grey mullet; and for one fish a different kind you should devise, for the stronger the weaker; since indeed all of them are to one another both dear food and greedy destruction. So there is nothing worse than hunger nor than the heavy belly, which rules among men, harsh and a grievous mistress, a hearth-companion, never forgetting its dues, and many, swerving from their wits, it casts into ruin and binds fast in shames; and the belly rules over the beasts and the creeping things and the flocks of the air, and most of all among the swimmers it holds power; for to them the belly is ever doom. First learn the prudent hunting of the anthiae, such as the dwellers of our glorious fatherland make ready, above the Sarpedonian shore, all that dwell in the city of Hermes, the ship-famed town of Corycus, and in sea-girt Eleusa. Those rocks near the land the skilled man marks out, beneath which the anthiae make their lodging, cavern-grown, with their close clefts riven through; and sailing up in his boat, he makes a loud-ringing din, beating with planks; and the heart of the anthiae delights in the clatter; and one comes up at once from the deep, peering at boat and man; and to him the angler straightway throws ready perch in the waves, or corvinae, offering the gifts of a first stranger's fare. And he, greedily rejoicing, feasts on the dear meal, and fawns upon the crafty hunter. As when into the dwelling of a hospitable man there comes a renowned man, in works either of hand or of mind, and he gladly saw him at his hearth, and with gifts well and with feasts and kindnesses of every sort cherishes him; and both, rejoicing about the table, take delight in the alternate cups of the mixing-bowl; so the angler, rejoicing in his hopes, smiles, and the fish takes delight in the new meals. Thence thereafter he, day by day, ever to the rock sets out, nor leaves off his labour nor abandons it, bringing the feast; and they at once gather in throngs, the feasters, throughout the place, as at a summoner's bidding. And ever to more and to readier he offers the greedy fare; nor have they other roads nor other recesses in their minds, but staying there they linger, as in the folds of herdsmen the flocks lodge in the wintry days, nor at all longing to go forth from the pen. And when they descry, rising from the land and hastening with oars, the nurturing boat, at once all upright, exulting, wheeling above the brine, they play delightfully and come to meet their nurse. As when to her unfledged nestlings a mother bears food, the bird that is the first herald of the spring west wind, and they, softly twittering, leap up in the nest, joyful about their mother, and longing for food open wide their beaks, and all the house resounds of the host-receiving man, shrilly crying to its young; so they, when their feeder comes to meet them, joyful leap up, as in a dancer's ring. And the fisher, fattening them with meals one upon another, touching them with his hand and stretching gifts from his hand, gentles their dear heart; and at once, as to a king, they obey him, and wherever he beckons with his hand they swiftly dart; and he now behind the ship, now in front, now near the mainland sends his right hand; and you will see them, like boys by a man's prudent care in a wrestling-ground, darting this way and that, where the overseer bids. But when of tending he has enough, and the chase is his care, then indeed, fastening the line about his left hand he sits, and the barb of the hook, strong and swift, he makes ready, and them he turns aside, bidding with his hand all alike, or, taking a stone, he cast it through the water; and they dive after it, thinking it to be food; and of them one only he left out, chosen, whichever he will, the ill-fated one, rejoicing in his last meals; the hook he held out above the brine; and he the ruin swiftly snatched, and the eager man drew with both hands, having taken a quick and thievish catch; and he escapes the notice of the other troop of anthiae; for if they should see or hear the splash of the ill-caught one drawn up, no more will there be for him so many meals, that they should come back again, but they spit it out, loathing both the tending and the deadly place; but let one be strong, and forcefully overpowering let him draw it up, or let a second other lay hold of the labour; for thus, not perceiving their own crafty ruin, they themselves, being fattened, fatten their fellows; and ever, when you will, a well-aimed catch shall be at hand. Others, trusting in strong force and in the might of their limbs, arm themselves for a great contest against the anthias, toiling at no friendship, no food, but to the point of the hook they hasten, and overcome by valour. The hook is made of hard bronze or of iron, and twofold barbs hold on each side a great flaxen cord; and about it they drive a living bass, if it is at hand; but if it die, quickly someone puts beneath its mouth a leaden weight, which they call the dolphin; and it, with the heavy lead, bends and bends back its head, like a living thing. And the cord is strong and well-plaited; but when the din the anthiae hear and leap up out of the sea, to others belongs the labour of the oar, but he, from the very stern, the fisher sends the curved guile into the sea, softly whirling it round; and they at once all follow the ship and the fleeing thing, beholding it like a fish, hastening after the feast, and dart forth each before the other; you would say that against a hostile man a man was lightening his knees in terror; and they long for noble victory; and whichever the angler sees to be pre-eminent, to that one he offered the feast; and it greedily gaping at the gifts—ill gifts—pursued; thence thereafter you shall behold the strength of both, what a contest they wage, the man and the fish drawn along; for his stout arms and his brow and his shoulders and the sinews of his neck and his ankles surge with strength and are strained with valour; while the fish, vexed beneath its pain, struggles, dragging him who drags it, forcing to dive into the sea, uncontrollably eager; and he calls on his comrades to fall to the oars; and as the boat is driven on, backward from the stern the whole is dragged by the fish's rush; and the line cries out, and from his hand blood drips as it is sawn; but he in no way lets go the heavy struggle. As when two overweening men, eager in strength, straining ropes upon one another, strive to drag, pulling with backward heaves, and long both, bearing equal measures of toil, unceasingly draw and unceasingly are drawn; so for these, the fisher and the fish, has strife arisen, the one longing to dart away, the other to drag. Nor do the other fish leave it in its pains, the anthiae, but they wish to defend it, and against the man himself they thrust their backs by force and each one falls upon him, foolish, nor perceived that they were wearing out their own comrade. And often, longing with their jaws to break the cord, they are helpless, since their mouth is weaponless. And late, as it labours in toil and pains, the man, forcing it with close strokes of the oars, drew it up; but if it yield to him even a little, then no more will he draw it; for such an overweening strength has it. And often, over its sharp-pronged spine, biting it through, it cut the line, and darted away, leaving the hunter empty. Such strength has the beauty-fish too, and the breed of the orcyni, and all the others that, monstrous of body, roam; with such arms they are hunted. Others again, beguiling with meals and feasts, the fisher hunts; and a good fish for him will be the cantharus, which ever delights in the scaly rocks. And you should plait a round weel, the largest you can, making it either of Iberian broom or of withies, casting the rods about; and let its entrance be smooth and its belly wide-gaping; and within you should set as bait a creeping octopus or a crawfish, both roasted from the fire; for the savour draws the fishes within. Thus, having made ready the woven guile near the rock, you should lean it aslant, an under-sea ambush; and at once the smell will rouse the cantharus and it will come within the weel, not very bold on its first road, but most swiftly having feasted, it runs back again; thence thereafter the weel-man for those ever puts in fresh delightful fare; and them quickly the ill-named belly gathers within, and one brings another as a fellow-supper comrade. And now, fearless, in throngs within the weel gathered, sitting all day long, as though a house they had won, they abide, and have found an evil lodging. As when, in the house of an orphaned youth, others of his age, caring nothing for prudence, both bidden and self-invited all day long gather, ever consuming the substance of the unguarded house, such as reckless youth lets loose upon foolish young men, and in their folly they have found an evil end; so for these gathered there ruin stands close at hand. For when they are many and well-fattened, then the man covers the mouth of the weel with a lid well-fitted; and them, crouched within the toil, slumbering for the last time, he drew up; and late, perceiving destruction, they gasp and are eager to slip out, the fools, nor any more have the weel so well-housed. For the admones they arm an autumn weel of osier, and moor it amid the waves, fastening below a pierced stone as anchor; and corks hold the guile above; and within it ever they cast four wet pebbles from the shore; and on these, as they are wetted, there grows a milky sea-slime, the longing for which draws the fishes, small, worthless, a greedy race; and they gather, running on to the weel, and stay within its arms. And the admones, seeing within the hollow recess the gathered ones, soon all rush upon them, desiring the feast; but them they reach not, but slip past easily; and they, for all their longing, are not able again to slip out of the woven ambush, but, contriving woes for others, they have found destruction for themselves. As when in the thickets a mountain rustic sets a trap for a beast, and in his pitiless heart within binds it tight, cutting off a dog's loins; and from its pains, a ringing din of the suffering creature comes from afar, and around it the thicket groans; and the leopard, hearing, was gladdened and rushes on, seeking the track of the cry; and quickly it came and leapt in; and then him the hidden guile snatches up on high, while she in the pit is rolled, fallen forward, and cares no more for the feast, but for fear; and for her there is no ready way out; such things the wretched admones too suffered, and instead of food they rushed upon doom and the inescapable fence of Hades. And one too, for the shads alike and the chalcides, has devised an autumn chase, and took the larinus and the tribes of the horse-mackerel, weaving a weel of broom well-compacted, and put in a cake of roasted vetch, soaked in fragrant wine, and mixed in the tears of the Assyrian maiden, Theias' daughter, who once, they say, having loved her father, accomplished a hopeless deed and came to that union, Aphrodite being wroth; but when fate of the gods rooted her into a tree of her name, she wails and laments her ruin, wet with tears for the grace of the bed; and mixing in her divine sap, he moors the weel in the breakers, and at once a lily-fragrance ran over the sea, calling the manifold herds; and they follow, shaken by the delicious breath, and swiftly the weel is filled, bringing the hunter a good return of the chase. The saupes ever in the wet seaweeds most of all delight, and with that food are they hunted. In the former days the angler sails to one place, and ever amid the waves he casts pebble-stones, having tied about them flourishing weeds. But when the fifth dawn looks on the labour, and the saupes, gathered, feed about that passage, then he makes ready the guile of the weel; and within it he cast stones wrapped in weeds, and about the mouths he bound sea-grasses, in which they delight, the saupes and all other plant-eating fish; they then, gathering, ate the grasses, but afterward were swept into the recess; and he at once draws up the weel, swiftly sailing back; and in silence is his work accomplished, with voiceless men and with noiseless oars; for silence is profitable for all hunts, but above all among the saupes; since for them the mind is easily startled; and startling makes the labour hard to hunt. Of the red mullet none, I say, in baser foods delights; for all the refuse of the sea, whatever it meets, it feeds on; and it longs above all for an ill-savouring feast; and exceedingly it delights in human bodies that are rotting, when the mournful sea has taken some one. Therefore with baits that breathe out a stench easily they draw it, all that breathe a hostile reek. And like, I say, to the red mullets and to swine are their habits made, ever wallowing about the belly's urge; and both—the mullets are distinguished among the swimmers, and the swine are pre-eminent among the herds of the land. But you shall not carry off the melanurus, neither in a weel easily beguiling it, nor in the flaxen circle; for above all the melanurus among fishes is both feeble and prudent, and never is greedy food welcome to its heart; and ever, when there is calm, it lies in the sands, and does not come up from the brine; but when the surging sea presses hard about, from violent winds, then indeed the melanuri alone dart through the wave in throngs, dreading neither any man nor any sea-creature; while all the rest in fear dive to the lowest foundation of the sea, they then haunt the loud-resounding shores and draw near the rocks, wanderers, if any food the sea, beaten by the gusts, should show forth; the fools, nor did they learn how much wiser are men, who took them in the chase even when they utterly shunned it. When the wintry flood of Amphitrite seethes, a man stands upon a jutting sea-beaten rock, where the keenest wave roars about the crags; and he scatters food upon the breaking surges, cheese mingled together with Demeter's grain; and to the welcome fare the melanuri leap, hastening on. But when they are at hand in throngs for the cast of the chase, he turns his body aslant, that the water may not be shadowed by his craft and fear be in the fishes; and there is for him a slender reed ready in his hands, and a slender line of light hair, unplaited just so; and with slender hooks, close-set, it is plaited; on these he put the bait, which before too he had cast through the water, and sends it into the deep churning wave; and they, seeing it, at once leap up and snatch their destruction. Nor has the fisher an idle hand, but often he draws up the hooks from the eddy, even if often they be empty; for of the surging sea he could not perceive exactly, whether any fish is caught, or whether just so the waves toss them about; but when one gapes upon it, swiftly he drew it out before laying the guile in his mind, before fear smites the worthless melanuri. Such a wintry, all-thievish chase he accomplished. Yes, and the grey mullet too, though it is not greedy, they beguiled, having set upon the narrow hooks food mingled with Demeter's grain and with the curdled gifts of milk; and they kneaded into them together fragrant mint, which once they say was a maiden, a being of the underworld, the Cocytian Nymph; and she inclined to the bed of Aïdoneus; but when the maiden Persephone he ravished from the Aetnaean crag, then her, crying out with overweening words, raging insolently in jealousy, in wrath Demeter ground to dust, trampling on her with her sandals; for she had said that she was more glorious in form and better in beauty than dark-eyed Persephone, and that to herself Aïdoneus would return, and her from his halls would drive out; such ruin leapt upon her tongue. And a worthless herb, named for her, sprang from the earth, which kneading in they cast upon the hooks. And the grey mullet, not long after, when the smell reached it, meeting it, at first from afar off the hook askance beneath its eyes beholds the guile, like a man, a stranger, who, coming upon much-trodden crossroads, stands pondering, and his heart now to the left, now to the right is minded to go upon the path; and he peers on either side, and his mind like a wave rolls, and very late he reached for a single counsel; so too in the grey mullet his spirit ponders all manner of things, suspecting both the guile and harmless food; and late his mind roused him and led him near his fate; and at once, trembling, he drew back; and often already fear seized him as he touched, and turned back his rush. As when a little girl child, her mother being away, longing for a dainty or some other thing, trembles to touch it for fear of her mother's wrath, nor to draw back, for all her longing, has she the heart; but creeping up in secret she turns away again, and her heart now has courage, now dread fear falls upon it; and her eyes ever peer keenly, strained toward the doorway; so then, drawing on, the gentle fish wheels back. But when, taking courage, it comes near, not very readily does it touch the food, but with its tail first it lashes, rousing the hook, lest perhaps some warmth of breath be in the flesh; for to grey mullets it is forsworn to feed on what is living. Thence thereafter with the tips of its mouth it nibbles, scraping the feast round; and the fisher at once with the bronze pierces it, jerking it up, as a man checking a bold horse, a charioteer with the hard constraints of the bit, drew it up, and cast it gasping upon the hateful land. And the sword-fish too they beguiled with deadly hooks. But not for the sword-fish is such a doom, nor like the others'; for not upon hooks do they set ready the food, but it is hung bare and unconcealed, the cord being barbed at its end with double points; and of that, hanging above about three palms, a soft white fish, one, by the tip of its lip they bound skilfully; and when the furious sword-fish comes, straightway it carves the fish's body with its greedy blade; and as it is being cut up, the joints of the bound thing fall away, and it whirls about the very jaws of the hook; but it knew not the bent guile, but gaping at the heavy feast, the prey is drawn up by the man's strength. And many against the sword-fish the hunters arm, above all those who hunt the Tyrrhenian sea-passage and about Massalia, the holy city, and about the Celts; for there both dread and like to no fishes, unapproachable, the great-bulked sword-fish range. And they, fashioning boats likened to the sword-fish themselves, both a fishy body and swords, guide them against it; and it does not shun the chase, thinking it not well-benched ships that it beholds, but other sword-fish, a common race, until the men on every side encircle it; and it perceived its ruin too late, pierced by the three-pronged point, nor has it strength to flee, for all its longing, but by constraint must be subdued. And often, in defence, it has pierced the hollow side of a ship clean through with its sword, the valiant fish, but they, swiftly, with strokes of the well-bronzed axe have broken off all the sword from its jaws; and so in the ship's wound the spike sticks fast, and it is drawn up bereft of its strength. As when, contriving a war-guile against foes, longing to come within the towers and the city, having stripped the armour from the war-slain dead, they themselves armed and ran near the gates; and the others, thinking it their own hastening citizens, open the doors, and rejoiced not in such comrades; so too the likeness of ships beguiled the sword-fish. And indeed, in the crooked arms of the net encircled, the sword-fish, greatly foolish in its follies, perishes, which leaps, eager to slip out, but trembling near the woven guile, again backward it withdraws; nor has it weapon in mind, such as is fixed in its jaws, but cowardly it stays with fainting spirit, until they draw it out upon the shores; and there with timbers, the men driving down with strokes one upon another, crushed its head together, and it perishes by a foolish doom. Folly took the mackerel too, and the fat tunny, and the needle-fish and the tribes of the far-scattered dentex. The mackerel, seeing others crouched within the snare, longed to enter the net's many-meshed destruction; such a delight comes upon them as they look on; like to untried children, who, beholding the bright flashing of kindled fire, warmed by its rays laugh, and long to touch it and stretch their childish hand into the flame; but soon the cruel fire was revealed to them; so they long to fall into the inescapable ambush, into its recess, and met with an evil love. There some, running aground in the wider meshes, leapt out, while others, shut in the narrow passages, endured a bitter, constricted doom, accomplishing it. And many, as the net is drawn to the shores, you shall see fastened on both sides as with bolts, some still minded to enter the snare of destruction, others already eager to slip out of their misery, held within by the wet meshes. The tunnies again toil the same toil as the mackerel in folly; for to them too a like longing for ruin falls, to mingle in the flanks of the guileful net; but for them there is no diving down into the belly within, but they dart at it with their crooked teeth, plotting with their body a sufficient passage; and in their teeth, as they press the wet net, it is stretched; nor any device to escape, but, labouring in the bond about their mouths, they are drawn to the land, taken by their follies. And indeed such is the wit of the needle-fish: when they have fled out of the bosom of the net, and got outside the toil, again they turn about, and, wroth at the net, they drive in their bites; and it sinks within them and holds fast their close teeth within. But the dentex go in equal companies, distinguished; and to them, when a man lets down a hook, they all, turning away, an askance light upon one another cast, and will not draw near; but when one, darting out of another row, swiftly the bait snatches, then another too takes courage in his heart and draws near the hook and is dragged; and they, beholding one another, rejoicing about the feast, are gladdened as they are dragged, and hasten, each before the other, who shall die first being caught, like children exulting in their toys. The race of the tunnies is sprung from the wide-pathed Ocean; and they come to the works of our sea in spring, after the frenzy, when they rage with the madness of mating. And these first, within the Iberian brine, the men hunt who glory in their strength, the Iberians; secondly, by the mouth of the Rhone, the hunters, the Celts and the ancient dwellers of Phocaea; thirdly they hunt, all who in the Trinacrian isle are dwellers and by the waves of the Tyrrhenian sea. Thence in the boundless depths, one here, another there, they scatter and sail over all the sea. Great and dread is the chase that comes to the fishermen, when the spring host of the tunnies sets out. First of all they mark out a place of the sea neither too narrow under the overhanging banks nor too open to the winds, but bearing measures fitting both of clear sky and of sheltering recesses. There first onto a steep, high hill the skilled tunny-watcher climbs, who marks the manifold herds as they come, both of what kind and how many, and declares it to his comrades; and at once all the nets like a city are set forward in the waves; and there are gate-keepers to the net, and gates, and inmost galleries. And they swiftly rush on in rows, like phalanxes of men coming on rank by rank; some are younger, some older, others in the midst of their prime; and countless they flow within the nets, until they are willing, and the net takes up the gathered ones; and rich and pre-eminent stands the catch.