for him, and the next instant there were several huge gaping mouths
between pairs of shining eyes rushing upon him from all sides. He saw
his young comrades seized and swallowed, their frantic efforts to
escape availing them not the least. Then with a wild terror, which
spurred him to frantic action, he rushed seaward. A giant mouth made a
snap at him as he went past. A huge form rose in the air and dropped
upon him with jaws gaping. He made a mad dodge and just missed the
rows of teeth, while the stroke of the falling body almost stunned
him. Then he recovered and tore for the outer breakers. The bonita had
struck inshore, and lucky would be the small fish who could escape
their rush.
Away into the deepening blue of the ocean he sped headlong with all
his energy. He looked neither to the right nor left, but held his way
straight ahead with the terror of those fierce monsters vibrating
through his whole being. On and on, without a thought of rest or
slacking his speed, he pushed until the bright sunshine showed him a
desolate waste of fathomless blue void around and beneath him, and a
bluer void above, with the little lumpy trade-clouds swinging past
overhead. He was heading almost due west, and as the day wore on and
his terror gave place to fatigue, he slacked his speed enough to take a
careful look about him. There was not a living thing in sight.
Hunger soon came upon him and stirred him to further action. He began
searching the sea for food. Soon one of his former companions came up
almost as exhausted as himself with the run for life, and together they
swam slowly along just beneath the surface in the roll of the swell.
As the day passed more of his youthful relatives hove in sight until by
night six followers held their way in his wake. These were all who had
gotten to sea. Few indeed had escaped. The day had marked the death of
countless young fish, for the bonita spared nothing that came in their
path.
The seven albicore cruised in company, capturing what small surface
fish accident cast in their way, but all the time they held a general
course to the westward and northward to where the coral reefs rose
from the bed of the equatorial ocean. Day after day they swam steadily
on, the young albicore leading. Their silvery bodies grew apace and
their backs took on a shifting blue color, so that looking down from
above, it would have been hard to tell them from the surrounding blue
depths. Sometimes the ugly and noisy bos’n-birds would swoop down as
though to strike them, but by sinking a few feet beneath the surface
the albicore easily escaped. At night the seven swam beneath a tropic
moon, and as they went their courage grew rapidly with their size.
Unfortunately they approached an unknown peak lying below the surface
of the great ocean. Here they were chased by a huge dolphin who haunted
the vicinity. Three of their number fell prey to him before they could
get away. A week or two later the remaining four fell in with a roaming
pair of bonita. Two more went the way of the weak.
The remaining pair of albicore now cruised onward together, our hero
leading as before, until they came to Tahiti, in the South Sea. Long
accustomed to danger now, they approached the shore warily, their
tapering bodies scarcely disturbing the sea. The albicore had grown
very fast, developing during these weeks of travel into powerful fish.
The teeth of the male leader began to show sharply beyond his lips.
He was growing more and more muscular, and the long swim was hardening
him. He was sturdy and shrewd, and the wild instinctive fear that had
governed his younger actions now gave place to a feeling of confidence.
His mate had also developed into a strong fish, and as they swam slowly
in through the outer breakers of the barrier reef, their long, sinuous
bodies armed with jaws and teeth which were not to be despised, smaller
fish approached to welcome them. The albicore received them coldly,
heading straight into the sheltered coves of coral, where they would
rest from their long run. Here they stopped at last and set about
making a new home.
During the months that followed the albicore grew several feet longer.
Our leader was now nearly six feet in length, with his long jaws armed
with razor-like teeth, his tapering flanks with silvery scales covering
muscles of great hardness and power. And with that power came a
consciousness of his worth. His wild life and flight made him careful
of the denizens of the coral banks. He grew cold and thoughtful until,
as he reached his final development physically, he was a dignified and
quiet fellow. The smaller sociable fish of the reef did not understand
him. Theirs was a life of ease and comparative safety, and their
thoughts seldom went beyond the boundaries of the outer barrier. They
fussed among themselves and voted the great stranger and his companion
surly company. The inquisitive little sunfish would sometimes take a
peep in at the cove where the albicore usually lay in the sunshine on
bright afternoons, but there was something in the great fish’s manner
that the little reefer could not understand, and he set him down for
a villain, keeping at a distance and looking askance always at those
ragged teeth that peeped out from the long, sharp jaws. Even the mullet
were warned, and gave the albicore a wide berth, while all the time he
lay there with his thoughts far away where the peaks of Juan Fernandez
rose from the sea. He was indeed a stranger in a strange place.
Finally he was left alone with his mate.
The little sociable fish were heeded not at all by the albicore. He
went to the reef daily and caught what small game he wished. His
dignified movements were even watched by the great ground shark who lay
daily under the shelter of the outer barrier, waiting to snap up any
unwary traveler who might be unfortunate enough to be caught in the
rolling surf and lose control of himself. Once only did the shark come
in contact with the stranger. It was when the albicore had been rolled
shoreward in the roaring surge. The lurking monster thought it a good
chance to strike. He received a savage cut over the eye that left him
somewhat bewildered and much more respectful of the powerful stranger’s
rights in the vicinity.
As the season changed and the trade-wind shifted to the eastward,
bringing with it little watery clouds, the two albicore became more
and more restless. The future king’s sensitive nature became more and
more imbued with the feeling that he must return to the waters of his
birth to take his place among those of his kind. He would be needed.
The bonita would come again, and there might be no albicore leader to
protect those who had escaped their last assault, and who would return
to the beautiful peaks that rose from the sea of his birth. There
was a feeling within him that he must be there for a purpose. He was
something more than a mere cruising pirate of the reefs of the South
Pacific. The petty life of little sociable fish was not for such as
he. There was something for him to do before he died, and this feeling
became stronger and stronger until one rainy morning he started out
accompanied by his faithful mate.
He was now at the fullness of his powers, a full-grown albicore of the
southern ocean. All the inheritance of the race of giants from whom he
had sprung was in his strong frame and lightning-like actions. He could
dart so swiftly the eye could hardly follow his form, and by a slight
swerve upwards he could spring high into the air above, leaving the
sea ten feet or more below him, and then with head pointed gracefully
downward, he would plunge into the blue depths, slipping his long,
sinuous body so easily into the unresisting medium that there would be
hardly a splash to mark his entrance. There were strength and grace in
all his movements, and he was as bold as he was beautiful.
The speed of the fastest ship was slow as compared with his tremendous
pace, so although he took his time and spent several days hunting upon
the surface of the sea, it was but a short run for him to Mas-a-fuera.
It was a very different passage from the one made when as a little
fellow he voyaged out.
[Illustration: FULL INTO THE CENTRE KING ALBICORE TORE HIS WAY.]
The high, grim cliffs of Mas-a-fuera rise a sheer thousand feet on
the north side of the island, and the wind is usually southerly. This
makes a ponderous lee, the only sea being the heave of the offshore
swell. Many denizens of the deep ocean come in here to rest and
search for food, and even the great cachalot, or sperm-whale, often
takes a quiet cruise through the clear depths to enjoy the stillness,
and incidentally look up a stray octopus or cuttle fish who might be
ensconced within some ocean cavern in the cliffs.
It was toward this sheltered lee-shore our albicore held his way.
Above the heights the huge pall of vapor rose as in his younger days,
standing out clearly against the void of blue, as sharply outlined as a
heavy cumulus cloud. There was no mistaking the place. He felt like a
sailor who had made a long voyage and had sighted the home port at last.
As he went shoreward, followed by his mate, he noticed many silvery
flashes in the water between him and the land. Drawing nearer he saw
that these were caused by countless albicore. Soon he was amid a throng
of his fellows numbering thousands, all making their way toward the
sheltered sea in the lee of the island. With the spirit and instinct
born in him and developed by his roaming life, he at once took the
lead of this vast school and led them slowly in to the submerged rocks
which would shelter them during their stay. Great numbers of females,
heavy with spawn, straggled from the flanks of the column, but he swam
around them, forcing them all into an almost solid phalanx of moving
fish. The memory of the bonita was still fresh within him. He would
take no chances with these helpless kindred. They seemed to recognize
his leadership without question, and followed quietly wherever he led
the way. Now and then some frisky younger member of the horde would
make a sudden start to sheer away, but with a rush our leader was
upon him, and he was forced back again. As they drew near the island
a school of porpoises made a dash among them. These fellows drove the
more timid in frantic throngs until our leader came plunging to the
rescue followed by a few of the largest and boldest of the school. In a
few minutes the warm-blooded animals had received some severe strokes
from the razor-like teeth and they went plunging seaward. Then the mass
of albicore went in and took possession of the rocks, the smaller fish
fleeing before them.
Here at last our hero was in the waters he loved. Game was plentiful
and the schools of the albicore led by him along the sunken rocks found
it easy to keep supplied. His great size, greater than even the largest
of that vast host, made his leadership unquestioned. Everything stood
clear of his rush except the sullen sharks, and even they took care not
to precipitate trouble by hanging too closely about the rear of his
foraging parties as they went their way along the shore.
During the whole season the albicore hung about the reefs of
Mas-a-fuera and Juan Fernandez Island. The young had come forth and the
sheltered places inside the outer breakers were teeming with them. Our
leader had driven to sea all other fish who were at all antagonistic
to them, and peaceful tranquillity reigned. Once or twice a growing
fellow, who had reached six feet or more in length, wanted to try
conclusions with the leader, but he soon had enough after encountering
the sharp teeth, and took his place among the followers. He was their
king. A king by election and superiority, he led them steadily until
the season waned, and the time for the bonita to strike inshore came at
hand.
As this time drew near the feeling of unrest began to show itself among
the school. Stragglers began to leave the reef and seek the open ocean
with the instinctive longing for that safety which exists there. Our
king watched them go by pairs and sometimes dozens, but he made no
attempt to stop them. There would be enough to look out for without
them, and they could well be spared.
Finally the time came for the general movement. He had marshaled the
great host of albicore from the adjacent reefs, and together in one
vast throng they left for open ocean, going to the northward to avoid
the enemy who would attack from the south and west. The bonita were
not as large or as heavy as themselves individually, but they were the
strongest creatures of their size in the ocean, and their countless
numbers made them absolutely fearless. They would attack anything that
stood in their path, and their great vitality and quickness made them
the most dreaded of all the foraging bands of sea-wolves which roamed
the South Sea.
The solid phalanx of albicore started offshore at sunrise, the king in
the van and the younger and more helpless bringing up in the rear of
the column; but as before many of the young had been overlooked as they
loitered among the sheltered places in the rocks.
The head of the moving mass was a full mile from shore before the end
of the crowd had begun to leave, and as the sun shone upon the calm
ocean, its rays struck glancing along the flanks of thousands of moving
bodies, making the water seem like shimmering silver as the light
flashed from the bright scales. There was no wind at all, and far away
to the westward our leader thought he saw a peculiar disturbance of the
sea surface. He took a leap into the air to get a better view and was
followed by many of his companions, who usually imitated his example
in all his movements. As he rose in the sunshine his glistening armor
reflected the light and made him visible for miles. What he had seen
upon the western skyline was enough. As far as the eye could reach the
ocean had spurted white at his plunge, for the bonita had seen him, and
with a front of several miles in extent they were plunging toward the
band of albicore, tearing the calm surface to foam with their rush. It
was as though some mighty explosion had taken place and spurted the sea
upward in little jets along the front of a sunken reef, for the bonita
acted almost in unison in spite of their vast numbers. They were now in
full charge.
When two rapidly moving bodies, of almost equal weight, meet, the one
having the swifter movement will prevail. King Albicore understood
this principle instinctively, and instantly darted forward. His
followers joined him, and away they rushed straight for the line of
breaking water which drew nearer and nearer as the moments flew by. The
rear of the column, finding the head leaving at speed, closed up the
gap and came onward until soon the entire mass of albicore were driving
headlong to the westward as fast as they could go.
It was a magnificent sight to watch those charging columns. A million
bonita charging a hundred thousand albicore. Nowhere on land could such
vast hosts of large living creatures marshal. The sea was ruffled and
foamed for miles with the disturbance of the fleeting bodies, and from
above the bos’n-birds could watch the long line of pointed heads making
the ocean darken with a huge shadow as the hordes rushed onward.
A mile, then a half--a quarter, and still the ruffling lines of ocean
surface seemed to draw nearer with undiminished speed. There was a
seeming instant of quiet. A space of apparently unruffled water. And
then they met.
Like an eruption from some subterranean crater the sea sprung upward.
The long lines of pointed heads struck together. Bodies flung high in
the air. Tails, heads, quivering sides streaming from ugly gashes, were
thrown into the sunlight, and then upon the quiet of the morning there
broke a deep, dull, moaning roar of immense volume.
Full into the center of the great army the king albicore tore his
way. Bonita snapped and flashed upon all sides, their vigorous bodies
fairly quivering with the rapidity of their movements, but with his
jaws cutting like a pair of flying shears, he held his way while his
sturdy followers entered behind him and forced the gap. Into this, like
a wedge, pressed the body of the column, cutting and fighting with
incredible fury. Comrades fell out by the hundred, chopped and torn
by the bonita who surged in upon the flanks, but the great mass of
albicore tore its way through, killing everything in its path.
Away they went straight ahead. The bonita fell away sullenly from the
solid ranks, and in half an hour the last albicore had gone through the
gap in close column, leaving the sea and its scavengers to wipe out the
marks of their passage. There was no changing front to that horde. The
course was straight ahead. It was certain death to be left behind.
The bonita held their way toward the reefs of Mas-a-fuera and were soon
out of sight in the East.
But King Albicore, what of him?
With flanks cut and ripped almost to ribbons he stuck at the head of
the column. No sheering this way or that. The feeling had come upon
him that he had done his duty. He had fulfilled his mission. He, the
king, had led his comrades to victory, and he must pay the great debt
which falls to all sons of nature. Silently and steadily he went along,
his instinct telling him his time had come. But with it there were no
regrets.
He had done all he could for his kind, and like a king he would die.
The bright sunshine would fade and the blue water would disappear
forever. They would forget him, and another leader would take his
place. But he knew he had done his duty and knew he had done it well,
and the great throng would live to be thankful for his prowess.
The sunlight seemed to be fading and darkness appeared to be coming
upon the ocean, yet he knew it was not quite midday. He turned to take
one look at the mighty host he had brought to sea. They were still
following him faithfully.
Then the light went out. He turned upon his side and sank downward
through the blue depths, while the albicore held their way to the coral
reefs of the South Sea.
[Illustration: _The NIBBLERS_]
The “Nibblers” received their name from Mr. Keon, second officer of
the steamship _Spitfire_ of the Great American Fruit Company’s line
running to the tropics for bananas. The family, commonly speaking,
were simply ship’s rats, but Mr. Keon was of a romantic and discerning
turn of mind, and after making their acquaintance he christened them
comprehensively.
To Mr. Keon they were much more than ordinary rats. He knew the whole
family intimately from old Mrs. Nibbler, the mother, down to little
Tiny, the smallest and most timid youngster of the lot, and to be known
by the second officer was a privilege not granted to all who came
aboard the fruit ship. He was a man who possessed an enormous fund of
material from which he could draw without effort for sea stories, and,
according to many authorities, consequently possessed a large amount
of “gray matter” in his head. Whether this came outside in the form of
hair, or remained inside in the form of brains, it is not necessary to
inquire. He told the story of “The Nibblers,” sitting one night on the
edge of the forward hatch with the full tropic moon behind him and the
soft wind of the Florida Stream blowing the smoke from his pipe away to
leeward, and enough of it was remembered to get his name down as that
of a very remarkable man.
“Ye see,” said he, after we had been watching the antics of a huge rat
who was scampering around the edge of the hatchway, “that feller has
got as much sense as you have. It’s ole Toby, one o’ the old fellers
what’s been aboard this vessel since she carried her first cargo. He’s
a most uncommon old rat, an’ that’s a fact. He’s as happy an ole raskil
as ever haunted a ship’s bilge, an’ he aint afeared o’ much. I seen
him chase a cat clean into the galley door onct, and he would ha’ got
her but fer the fool ‘doctor’ heavin’ a pan at him. See how quick he
kin jump. Just look at them whiskers, hey?
“I remember when I first seen him, away back in the eighties, when
Captain Jackson took command. He ware a young feller then an’ the
captain’s wife used to come o’ evenings an’ sit on the bridge jest over
this forrad hatch. She ware a fine-lookin’ gal, an’ that’s a fact, a
heap finer-lookin’ than the ole man. He warn’t nothin’ much fer looks
anyway, a little chap with a squint an’ grizzled whiskers fer all the
world like ole Toby’s there, but he ware a terrier fer handlin’ canvas
in the ole days. I seen him onct--but no matter, that aint got nothin’
to do with what I’m goin’ to tell ye.
“Ye see, the gal was mighty pretty. I don’t know as I ever seen a woman
as good-lookin’. She had golden hair, an’ eyes as soft an’ blue----”
“Go on with the yarn,” interrupted the bos’n; “we’ll let the girl go.”
Keon smoked on in silence after this as though he had taken offense,
but we soon saw by the look of his eyes that he was far away from that
fore hatch.
“The second mate used to sit right here,” he went on at last, “an’ she
would look over the bridge rail on fine evenings an’ watch the Nibblers
goin’ an’ comin’ around this hole. Rats is like all other animals,
includin’ humans, in respects to selections, an’ the way these fellows
would fight an’ scrap fer each other was somethin’ funny to see. The
biggest an’ strongest rat would knock the other out an’ take up with
one o’ the young an’ frivolous females, jest like it occurs in story
books. He was the hero, big an’ strong an’ fine-lookin’, an’ o’ course
the gal rat would care fer him like females care fer all heroes. He was
supposed to have all the fine qualities o’ rat in his make-up, jest
like a hero has, an’ the way he would go a-scamperin’ around after
some little feller who wasn’t strong enough to stand to him was funny
to see. The captain’s wife used to come to the rail an’ look down an’
watch them fer hours, an’ laugh an’ laugh when some fellow like big
Toby there would put the rest out the way, an’ the second mate he would
sit there close by durin’ the dog-watch, an’ watch, too, but he warn’t
always lookin’ at the rats. Then when he had to go on the bridge he had
to meet that queer little captain who waren’t no bigger’n a good-sized
mouse. He didn’t reach much more’n up to the second mate’s shoulder.
Sometimes the young woman looked hard at the two when they were
together, an’ the skipper would get nervous, fer he thought a lot o’
her--an’ so did the second mate. The men forrads used to notice a thing
or two, an’ they called the skipper ‘Squeak Jackson,’ he was so little
an’ small in his voice. But he kept his temper an’ never let on as to
what he thought o’ his size, fer he had been a good one.
“Ye see, rats don’t have no consciences. That’s where they differs with
humans. Fools don’t have none to speak on, but sometimes there comes
a time to most men when they wonders what about the little feller what
gets licked. It’s all right in stories o’ love, and no one bothers at
the time about the weaklin’ who can’t hold his own, but really when it
comes down to hard fact without all the romance o’ women in it, there’s
somethin’ sorrowful about the poor feller who can’t hold his way agin
the stronger one. He aint done nothin’ wrong in bein’ weak, an’ he was
born that way, so why blame him fer it? Sometimes it seems as if the
world was wrong, always goin’ sides with the fine, handsome hero o’
the affair who can drive off the weaklin’ an’ rescue the female. What
about the feller who was born weak an’ small, aint he got no feelin’s?
But nobody cares a rap fer him. It’s nature. It shows humans are mostly
animals, an’ as fer me I sometimes feel I lost somethin’ by not bein’
born a rat.
“Ye see, the _Spitfire_ was in the banana trade then. Bananas are the
devil to carry if they get ripe on you, and get switchin’ around below.
I seen the banana slush four feet deep in the lower hold, an’ ye know
banana juice is about as acid as anythin’ goin’, an’ it cuts iron
into holes an’ pits quicker’n you can tell o’ it. Ye got to be mighty
careful cleanin’ a banana ship’s bilge if you don’t want her to get
pitted, an’ her bottom like a piece o’ blottin’ paper soft enough to
poke yer foot through with a kick. It takes a man who knows how to take
care o’ a banana ship to keep her up!
“I don’t know how rats come to be in ships, but they come by the
hundreds. Mebbe they come in the fruit, or stores. Anyways, there they
be, an’ there’s no way to git rid o’ them.