This fish, it seems, is a white whale about fifteen feet long and nobody knows how old. He is an eclectic bachelor who disdains the company of his fellows but has hankerings after humanity which have induced him to become the voluntary pilot of the ships that visit his dominions. But even in this he is conservative. He takes no notice of sailing vessels, even aristocratic yachts, nor of oil-launches; only steamers interest “Pelorus Jack,” and he has his favourites among these.
He goes out to meet them, and speeds them on their departure, capering in front of the bows, diving, turning somersaults, and performing a piscatorial entertainment for the benefit of the passengers to the best of his ability. It was almost unbelievable, and Captain Greendays shouted with laughter at the idea of our being, as he called it, “so easily gulled.”
“Wait and see!” advised the “Pateena’s” commander. “If you stay up till about ten to-night you will see him yourself. He likes the ‘Pateena,’ and always comes a long way out to meet us.”
“Oh, come!” protested Captain Greendays. “That’s a little too much! Why it’s equal to saying the fish can distinguish one boat from another!”
The Captain knocked the ashes out of his pipe and carefully filled it again before replying. “I know it sounds a bit high-flown, but it is a fact nevertheless. The fish really does know one boat from another. An attempt was made some time ago to harpoon him from one of them, and he has carefully avoided her ever since, never goes near her, but he never by any chance misses the ‘Wainui,’ she is by a long way his favourite!”
After this of course we remained up on deck, and we were amply rewarded. The night was nearly as bright as day, and just after we had sighted the lights on Stephen’s Island “Pelorus Jack” made his appearance. The phosphorescence flashing round him as he swam alongside made him look even more than his reputed fifteen feet,—a luminous silver creature electric in his sudden darts and dives into the dark, calm depths of the water.
And Captain Greendays had to own himself converted, but he declared that if he told the tale at home everyone would say it was the “tallest” fish story they had ever heard, even from New Zealand!
The “Pateena” was alongside the wharf at Nelson when we got up next morning, and we went ashore directly after breakfast. We spent a long and delightful hot summer’s day roaming about in the valleys and on the riverbanks. Nelson is the prettiest of towns; it is all hills and dales, and greener even than the rest of this greenest of countries,—if places, like people, have each their own special superlative, greenest is certainly New Zealand’s, and to properly describe it a new list of adjectives expressive of verdancy would have to be coined!
Nelson has some very handsome buildings, especially the boys’ college, but we were so enchanted with the view from the hills, and with the Matai valley, that we had very little time to spend in the town itself. We had only allowed
