The flesh of the manatus is white and delicate, and tastes like young
pork eaten fresh or salted, while the fat forms excellent lard. The
cured flesh keeps long without corruption, and it will continue good
several weeks, even in the hot climate of which it is a native, when
other meat would not resist putrefaction for as many days. The fibres
and the lean part of the flesh are like beef, but more red; it takes a
very long time boiling. The fat of the young one is like pork, and can
scarcely be distinguished from it, while the lean eats like veal. The
fat, which lies between the entrails and skin has a pleasant smell, and
tastes like the oil of sweet almonds. It makes an admirable substitute
for butter, and does not turn rancid in the sun. The fat of the tail
is of a firmer consistence, and when boiled is more delicate than the
other.
Manatees, or sea calves, are found in certain parts of British Honduras
in great numbers. They are, according to my friend, Chief Justice
Temple, frequently caught and brought to the market of Belize, where
they are snapped up with the greatest avidity. He states the flesh
to be white and delicate, something between pork and veal. The tail,
which is very fat, is most esteemed. This caudal luxury is generally
soused or pickled. I do not, myself, fancy the flesh of this brute,
for it is so inhumanly human--it reminds one so much of a mermaid, or
of one of the fifty daughters of Nereus, that to eat it seems to me to
be an approximation to cannibalism. It appears horrible to chew and
swallow the flesh of an animal which holds its young (it has never
more than one at a litter) to its breast, which is formed exactly like
that of a woman, with paws resembling human hands. But these notions
would be considered highly fantastic by those who masticate a monkey
with the greatest relish, partake with gusto of rattlesnake soup, and
voraciously devour an alligator stew. The manatus is commonly found in
shallow water, at the mouths of rivers, where it feeds upon the marine
herbage which there grows in great luxuriance. It has no teeth, but two
thick, smooth, hard, unserrated bones run from one side of the mouth to
the other. I am inclined to think that these bones might be used as a
substitute for ivory.[11]
Mr. P. H. Gosse, in his interesting little manual on the _Natural
History of the Mammalia_, remarks:--
‘From personal experience we can confirm Hernandez’s statement of the
excellence of the flesh of the manatee; he truly compares it to well
fatted pork, of pleasant flavour. The pursuit of it, on this account,
has rendered it scarce in many localities, where it was formerly
numerous; in the vicinity of Cayenne, it was at one time so common,
that a large boat might be filled with them in a day, and the flesh
was sold at 3_d._ per pound. About the middle of the last century it
fetched, at Port Royal in Jamaica, 15_d._ currency per pound.’
The tongue of the sea-lion (_Phoca jubata_) is very good eating, and
some seamen prefer it to that of an ox or calf. Thus Dr. Pernetty
(_Voyage to the Falkland Islands_) says,--‘For a trial we cut off the
tip of the tongue hanging out of the mouth of one of these lions which
was just killed. About sixteen or eighteen of us ate each a pretty
large piece, and we all thought it so good that we regretted we could
not eat more of it.
‘It is said that their flesh is not absolutely disagreeable. I have not
tasted it, but the oil which is extracted from their grease is of great
use. This oil is extracted in two ways; either by cutting the fat in
pieces and melting it in large caldrons upon the fire, or by cutting
it in the same manner upon hurdles or pieces of board, and exposing
them to the sun, or only to the air. This grease dissolves of itself
and runs into vessels placed underneath to receive it. Some of our
seamen pretended that this last sort of oil, when it is fresh, is very
good for kitchen uses. It is preferred to that of the whale; is always
clear, and leaves no sediment.’
Walrus meat is strong, coarse, and of a game-like flavour. Seal flesh
is exceedingly oily, and not very palatable; but by practice, residents
in the northern regions learn to relish both exceedingly.
The large tongue, the heart, and liver of the walrus (_Trichecus
rosmarus_), are often eaten by whalers for want of better fresh
provisions, and are passably good.
Commodore Anson’s party killed many sea-lions for food, using,
particularly, the hearts and tongues, which they thought excellent
eating, and preferable even to those of bullocks. The flesh of the
female sea-bear (_Phoca ursina_, Lin.) they found very delicate,
having the taste of lamb; while that of the cub could scarcely be
distinguished from roasted pig.
Sir Edward Parry was once asked, at a dinner where Lord Erskine was
present, what he and his crew had lived upon when they were frozen
in in the Polar Seas. Parry said they lived upon seals. ‘A very good
living, too,’ exclaimed the Chancellor, ‘if you keep them long enough.’
One of the ordinary acts of hospitality and civility on the part of the
Esquimaux ladies, is to take a bird, or piece of seal-flesh, chew it up
very nicely, and hand it to the visitor, who is expected to be overcome
with gratitude, and finish the operation of chewing and digesting the
delicate morsel.
The carcase and blubber of the whale at Bahia, in Brazil, are reduced
to food by the poor.
To most of the rude littoral tribes of Northern Asia and America, the
whale and seal furnish, not only food and clothing, but many other
useful materials. The Esquimaux will eat the raw flesh of the whale
with the same apparent relish, when newly killed, or after it has been
buried in the ground for several months.
The whales on the coasts of Japan not only afford oil in great
abundance, but their flesh, which is there considered very wholesome
and nutritious, is largely consumed. No part of them, indeed, is thrown
away; all is made available to some useful purpose or another. The
skin, which is generally black, the flesh, which is red and looks like
coarse beef, the intestines and all the inward parts, besides the fat
or blubber, which is boiled into oil, and the bone, which is converted
into innumerable uses,--all is made available to purposes of profit.
Both sperm and black whales abound on the coast of Western Australia.
Sometimes a dead whale is thrown on the shore, and affords luxurious
living to the natives. They do not, however, eat the shark.
The natives of New Zealand, when short of food, will not scruple to eat
the flesh of the whale, when caught in their vicinity.
The deep has many food dainties as well as the land, as we shall
shortly have to notice, and among these is the porpoise, which the
reader may probably have seen dashing up our rivers, or, during a long
voyage, disporting itself amid the briny waves, and rolling gracefully
near the sides of the ship. This sea pig sometimes serves for a feast.
When caught, it is cut into steaks, dried, and put into the ship’s
coppers, with a _quantum suf._ of spices and condiments which nearly
overpower the oily taste. The steaks turn blackish on being exposed
to the air, but this is ‘a matter of nothing’ to those whose daily
diet is usually limited to hard biscuits and salt junk. Landsmen may
question the niceness of the palate which partakes of this dainty, but
the old adage holds true everywhere, ‘de gustibus non disputandum.’
There is no disputing about tastes.
According to ancient records, salted porpoises were formerly used for
food in this country.
In the olden times, when glass windows were considered an effeminate
luxury, and rushes supplied the place of carpets, the flesh of the
porpoise constituted one of the standard delicacies of a public feast.
It was occasionally served up at the tables of the old English nobility
as a sumptuous article of food, and eaten with a sauce composed of
sugar, vinegar, and crumbs of fine bread. But tastes have altered, and
even sailors will scarcely touch the flesh now. M. de Bouganville,
in his voyage to the Falkland Islands, writes--‘We had some of the
porpoise served up at dinner the day it was taken, which several others
at the table besides myself thought by no means so ill-tasted as it is
generally said to be.’
Porpoises are rather dangerous enemies to the shoals of fish. A
porpoise, before taking in a barrel of herrings for its dinner, will
often whet its appetite with a cod’s head and shoulders, leaving the
tail part for some poor fisherman.