the saw-fish (_Pristiophoridæ_) and the _Raiidæ_, or skates, are
scavengers, eaters of offal. As such their functions, though humble,
are exceedingly useful and important; for although the myriads of
_Crustacea_ are scavengers pure and simple, their united efforts would
be ineffectual to keep the ocean breadths free from the pollution of
putrefying matter, since the vast majority of them dwell upon the
bottom of comparatively shallow waters. Now when the body of some
immense sea-monster, such as a whale, is bereft of life and rapidly
rots, it usually floats. Then the office of the sharks is at once
apparent. The only large fish that feeds upon garbage, they are
possessed of an enormous appetite, as well as a digestive apparatus
that would put to shame that of the ostrich, who is popularly credited
with a liking for such dainties as nails and broken glass for _hors
d’œuvres_. The shark is ever hungry, and nothing, living or dead, comes
amiss to his maw; but owing to the peculiar shape and position of his
mouth it is only in rare instances that he is able to catch living
prey, as, for instance, when the dog-fish of our coasts, a common
species of shark hated by fishermen, gets among the nets enclosing a
fine catch of herring or mackerel. Then the gluttonous rascal is in
for a good time. Heedless of the flimsy barrier of twine, he gorges
to bursting-point upon the impounded school, and usually concludes
his banquet by tearing great gaps in the net, incidentally allowing
the rest of the prisoners to escape. It is therefore hardly a matter
for surprise that the despoiled and exasperated toilers of the sea,
when they do succeed in capturing a dog-fish, should wreak summary
vengeance upon him by such fantastic mutilation as their heated fancy
suggests. They have also some curious ideas that the erratic antics
performed by a blind, finless, and broken-jawed dog-fish will frighten
away his congeners; and, as the shark is almost universally disdained
as food, this practice of dismembering them and returning them alive
to the sea, _pour encourager les autres_, seems to the fishermen an
eminently satisfactory one. Unfortunately for their theory, the fact
is, that supposing a sound and vigorous shark to meet with one of
his kind incapable of flight or fight, the hapless flounderer would
be promptly devoured by his relative, doubtless with the liveliest
gratification. The shark has no scruples or preferences. Whatever he
can get eatable (from his liberal point of view) he eats: of necessity,
since he bears within him so fierce a craving for food that he will
continue to devour even when disembowelled, until even his tremendous
vitality yields to such a wound as that. Hence his bad name as a
devourer of human flesh. An ordinary man in the water is, as a rule,
the most defenceless of animals; and even a strong swimmer is apt to
become paralysed with fear at the mere rumour of a shark being in his
vicinity. If there be no shelter near, his nerveless limbs refuse their
office, he floats or sinks with hardly a struggle, and the ravenous
_squalus_ finds in him not only an easy prey, but no doubt a most
savoury morsel. This is no reason for suggesting that the shark prefers
the flesh of _homo sapiens_ to all other provender. As I have already
said, his tastes are eclectic. Nay, it is highly doubtful whether he
has any sense of taste at all. All experiences point to the contrary,
for it is common knowledge that sharks will gobble up anything thrown
overboard from a ship, from a corpse swathed in canvas to a lump of
coal. This omnivorousness has been noticed in an able article published
in _Chambers’s Journal_ many years ago, the writer putting forward
as a plausible reason for it the number of parasites that infest
the stomachs of these fish. In this, however, they are by no means
singular, all fish harbouring a goodly number of these self-invited
boarders, the shark certainly entertaining no more than the average.
The presence of any large quantity of easily obtainable food is always
sufficient to secure the undivided attention of the shark tribe.
When “cutting in,” whales at sea I have often been amazed at the
incredible numbers of these creatures that gather in a short space of
time, attracted by some mysterious means from heaven only knows what
remote distances. It has often occurred to us, when whaling in the
neighbourhood of New Zealand, to get a sperm whale alongside without a
sign of a shark below or a bird above. Within an hour from the time of
our securing the vast mass of flesh to the ship the whole area within
at least an acre has been alive with a seething multitude of sharks,
while from every airt came drifting silently an incalculable host of
sea-birds, converting the blue surface of the sea into the semblance of
a plain of new-fallen snow. The body of a whale before an incision is
made in the blubber presents a smooth rounded surface, almost as hard
as india-rubber, with apparently no spot where any daring eater could
find tooth-hold. But, oblivious of all else save that internal anguish
of desire, the ravening sea-wolves silently writhed in the density
of their hordes for a place at the bounteous feast. Occasionally one
pre-eminent among his fellows for enterprise would actually set his
lower jaw against the black roundness of the mighty carcass, and,
with a steady sinuous thrust of his lithe tail, gouge out therefrom a
mass of a hundredweight or so. If he managed to get away with it, the
space left presented a curious corrugated hollow, where the serrated
triangular teeth had worried their way through the tenacious substance,
telling plainly what vigorous force must have been behind them. But
it was seldom that we permitted such premature toll to be taken of
our spoil. The harpooners and officers from their lofty position on
the cutting stage slew scores upon scores by simply dropping their
keen-edged blubber spades upon the soft crowns of the struggling fish,
the only place where a shark is vulnerable to instant death. The weapon
sinks into the creature’s brain, he gives a convulsive writhe or two,
releases his hold and slowly sinks, followed in his descent by a knot
of his immediate neighbours, all anxious to provide him with prompt
sepulture within their own yearning maws.
At such a time as this the presence of a man in the water, right in
the midst of the hungry host, passes unnoticed by them as long as he
is upon the surface and in motion. Among the islands, while engaged in
the “humpbacked” whale fishery, the natives were continually in and
out of the water alongside where the sharks swarmed innumerable, but
we never saw or heard of one being bitten. And some of _those_ sharks
were of the most enormous dimensions--approaching a length of thirty
feet and of a bulk almost equal to one of our whale-boats. With that
unerring instinct for spoil characteristic of the sharks, they begin to
congregate in these seas almost contemporaneously with an attack upon
a whale by whale-fishers. Now, one of the most frequent experiences
in this perilous trade is that of a “stove” boat, necessitating a
subsequent sojourn in the sea unprotected--sometimes for hours. Under
such circumstances--and they have many times fallen to my share--I
am free to confess that I have always had a curious feeling about my
legs as if they were much too long, and whenever anything touched
them a sympathetic thrill of apprehension would run up my spine; but
my legs are still of the usual length. Nor did I ever hear of a man
being attacked in the water at such times. In fact, it is an article of
faith with whalemen that sharks have sufficient intelligence to know
that the human hunters of the whale are busily providing a feast for
them, and that therefore a truce is then rigidly observed between them;
for, although the ravenous creatures cannot refrain from attempting
to sample the blubber _in situ_, their opportunity arrives when the
mountainous mass of reeking meat, stripped of its external coating of
fat, is cut adrift from the ship’s side and allowed to float away.
Then do they attack it in their thousands, and in an incredibly short
time reduce it to a cleanly picked skeleton, for even their prowess
is not equal to devouring the enormous framework of bone. But what
they are capable of in the way of feeding may be judged from the fact
that a humpbacked whale of about eighty tons in weight, which sank,
after we had killed him, in about ten fathoms of water and which we
were unable to raise for six hours for want of suitable gear, was so
reduced in size by the time we lifted him to the surface again as not
to be worth towing to the ship. In those latitudes, _i.e._ among the
South Pacific Islands, are, I believe, to be found the largest sharks
in the world, certainly the largest of those voracious kinds that so
ably fill the office of sea-scavengers. Very large specimens of the
basking shark, some nearly thirty feet long and of much greater girth
than the ordinary ones, have been found in our own seas, but these
unwieldy creatures are as harmless as whales, and quite as timid. There
is a very circumstantial account in _Nature_ of several years ago of a
curious shark caught at Taboga Island, Gulf of Panama, by the crew of
the Royal Italian corvette _Vettor Pisani_. When accurately measured
it was found to be 8.9 metres long, and its greatest girth 6.5 metres.
The mouth of this monster was at the point of its snout instead of
beneath it, but the teeth were rudimentary and covered with membrane.
So harmless was it that it afforded harbourage within its mouth to
several _Remora_, a curious hanger-on of the shark family, of whom more
presently. Dr. Günther classifies this very queer fish as _Rhinodon
typicus_. Sharks of the size I have mentioned as abounding in the South
Pacific have often seven rows of teeth ranked behind each other. Only
the first row were erect, the others lay flat as if ready to replace a
sudden loss of those in use. But, after watching their operations upon
pieces of “kreng,” I am bound to say that swallowing a man whole, even
by the largest of them, appears to me an utterly impossible feat.
Another peculiarity of the shark is that their colossal bodies are
built upon a framework of cartilage, not bone. This may possibly
account for their complete recovery from the most fundamental
injuries. I once caught an eight-feet-long shark in the North Atlantic
whose appearance suggested nothing out of the common. But, having
a desire to make one of those useless articles dear to sailors,
a walking-stick of a shark’s backbone, I went to the trouble of
extracting the spine. I found to my amazement that in the middle of it
there was not only a solid mass of bone of over a foot long, but it was
at this place quite double the normal thickness. Further investigation
revealed the fact that at some period of his career this creature had
been transfixed by a harpoon which had torn out, nearly severing his
body in two halves. Several of the ribs were re-knit and thickened in
the same way. This splendid recuperative power renders the shark almost
invulnerable, except, as before noticed, to a direct severing of the
brain, or such a radical dismemberment as lopping off the tail.
Slothfulness is a distinctive feature of all the sharks. They are able
to put on a spurt at times, but want of energy characterises them all.
This habit reaches its climax in the _Remora_, to which allusion has
already been made. As if in pursuance of a widely held opinion that
lazy people are the most prolific inventors, this small _squalus_ has
evolved an arrangement on the top of his head whereby he can attach
himself to any floating body and be carried along without effort on
his part. All the functions are easily performed during attachment,
and nothing short of doing damage to the fish will dislodge him.
It is fairly well known that the Chinese and East African folk have
utilised the _Remora_ for catching turtle in a most ingenious way.
More energetic than any other sharks are the saw-fish, whose snouts
are prolonged into a broad blade of cartilage, which is horizontal
when the fish is swimming in a normal position, and has both its edges
set with slightly curved teeth about an inch apart. The end of this
formidable-looking weapon is blunt and comparatively soft, so that it
is quite incapable of the feats popularly attributed to it of piercing
whales’ bodies, ships’ timbers, etc. It attacks other fish by a swift
lateral thrust of the saw beneath them, the keen edge disembowelling
them. Then it feeds upon the soft entrails, which are apparently the
only food it can eat, from the peculiar shape of its mouth. It has an
enormous number of small teeth, sometimes as many as fifty rows in one
individual, but they are evidently unfit for the rough duties required
of teeth by the garbage-eating members of the family.
Another peculiarity which differentiates the _Squalidæ_ from all other
fish, and would seem to link them with the mammalia, is the way in
which they produce their young. But here arise such diversities as to
puzzle the student greatly; for some sharks are viviparous, bearing
fifteen sharklets at once, that play about the mother in the liveliest
manner, and are cared for by her with the utmost solicitude. At the
approach of danger they all rush to the parent and hurry down her
throat, hiding in some snug chamber till their alarm has subsided,
when they emerge again and immediately recommence their gambols. The
pretty little blue and gold _Caranx_ (pilot-fish) that is so faithful
a friend and companion to the shark also hides at times in the same
capacious retreat. That this is a fact cannot be disputed, since sharks
have often been caught and cut open, and the lively prisoners taken
from within. Upon several occasions I have witnessed this, and I once
kept a family of a dozen for over a week in a tub of water, feeding
them on scraps, until some busybody gave them to the cat and made
her very unwell. I have also seen the young ones and the pilot left
behind when a shark has been caught, their frantic leapings upward at
their departing protector being quite a moving sight. Other sharks are
ovoviviparous, laying eggs over the hatching of which they watch and
afterwards care for the young as tenderly as do the others. Another
species pack their eggs in a sort of pouch as the skates do. This
envelope contains all the nourishment necessary to the well-being of
the young until they are able to provide for themselves, but the parent
has no further concern with them. As instances of the intelligence
of the shark many well-authenticated stories might be told did space
permit, but two must suffice. While lying in the harbour of Tamatave
every device we could conceive was put in practice in order to catch
some of the sharks with which those waters abounded, but none were
successful, for they carefully avoided all bait attached to lines
strong enough to hold them. And the well-known habit of the “thresher”
shark (_Alopecias vulpes_), of hunting with the killer-whale (_Orca
gladiator_), assisting these furies to destroy a whale and afterwards
amicably dividing the spoil with them, has been enlarged upon many
times. Its absolute certainty does not admit of a doubt.
XVII
FLYING-FISH CATCHING AT BARBADOS
Among the many divers methods of garnering the harvest of the sea,
one of the most interesting and peculiar is the _Exocetus_ fishery
of Barbados. Notwithstanding the incredible numbers of Flying-fish
(_Exocetus volitans_) that crowd every tropical sea, Barbados is the
only place where a systematic fishery of them has ever been established
for commercial purposes. This is the more strange when the ease with
which they may be taken, and the pleasant conditions under which the
fishery is carried on, is considered, while the succulent delicacy of
the fish is certainly a thing to remember. Familiar as the appearance
of these wonderful little creatures is to ocean travellers, very
little is generally known with regard to their habits, haunts, and
mode of life. They are usually the recipients of much misspent pity.
Relentlessly pursued by the albacore, bonito, and dolphin, they seek
the air in shoals, only to be gaily annexed by hovering birds, or to
fall gasping upon the deck of some passing ship. Their fate seems
a hard one; but who pities their prey? They in their turn pursue as
relentlessly and persecute as ruthlessly the smaller fish; and so the
balance is held as truly as nature ever holds it where man does not
interfere.
The most common and widely distributed variety of the flying-fish is
_E. volitans_, whose range is world-wide between the limits of about
thirty-five degrees north and thirty degrees south, though they are
most plentifully found within the tropics. They are usually from six to
twelve inches in length, body nearly quadrangular, colour of the head
and back blue, abdomen silvery, lower lobe of the tail one-half longer
than the upper. Some have no teeth, while others are well furnished;
and naturalists are unable to agree as to whether they are different
varieties, as they are in all other respects identical. The pectoral
fins, or wings as they might well be called, are nearly as long as the
fish, folding neatly and compactly into the sides of the body while the
fish is in the water. The ventral fins are small in this species, and
do not appear to be used as wings, merely serving to balance and guide
the fish in the air. A very common error made in natural histories
where this fish is mentioned is in the statement that it does not fly.
“Its supposed flight is nothing more than a prolonged leap; it cannot
deviate from a straight line, and cannot rise a second time without
entering the water.” This, briefly, is the sort of thing one meets
with in text-books where reference is made to this fish.
The simplest way of dealing with it is the Professor’s method of
answering the query of the French Academy whether their definition of
a crab was correct. The story is so well known that it does not need
repetition. As the result of personal observation extending over a
good many years, I assert that the Exocetus _does fly_. I have often
seen a flying-fish rise two hundred yards off, describe a semicircle,
and meeting the ship, rise twenty feet in the air, perpendicularly,
at the same time darting off at right angles to its previous course.
Then, after another long flight, when just about to enter the water,
the gaping jaws of a dolphin emerging from the sea gave it pause, and
it rose again, returning almost directly upon its former course. This
procedure is so common, that it is a marvel it has not been more widely
noticed. A flying-fish of mature size can fly a thousand yards. It does
not flap its fins as a bird, but they vibrate, like the wings of an
insect, with a distinct hum. The only thing which terminates its flight
involuntarily is the drying of its fin membranes, and their consequent
stiffening.
A marvellous provision of nature is apparent in the economy of this
fish. Its swim-bladder can be inflated so as to occupy the whole cavity
of the abdomen. Another membrane in the mouth is inflated through
the gills. These two reservoirs of air form an excellent substitute
for the air-cells within the bones of birds, and have the additional
advantage of being voluntary in their action.
The only other species of flying-fish which is sufficiently distinct
to call for notice is _E. nigricans_, locally known as ‘Guineamen.’
They often exceed eighteen inches in length, and weigh two or three
pounds. In these the ventral fins are also very large, giving the fish
the appearance of a huge dragon-fly as it darts through the lucent air.
The markings of the body are black instead of blue, while the fins are
black with a transverse band of silver.
Another strange thing about the natural histories that I have been
able to consult is that no idea seems to be formed of where and how
these fish spawn. Being met with all over the ocean, where its profound
depth precludes all idea of their visiting the bottom, the locality of
their breeding-places has puzzled the savants. There can, however, be
no doubt that they deposit their ova in the massive banks of _Sargasso
bacciferum_, or Gulf-weed, which is met with in such vast quantities
as to impede a vessel’s progress through it. Through the pleasant
groves and avenues of these floating forests, the young fry in millions
disport in comparative security, while finding abundant food among the
myriad lower forms of life that abound there. Of course, this remark
can only apply to the Atlantic. Not having had opportunities enough of
observation, I am unable to say where they spawn in the other oceans
they frequent. On the coral reefs of the Leeward Islands and the sandy
cays of the Caribbean Sea, I have often amused myself by catching the
young fry thrown up with piles of Gulf-weed on the beach, and seen
masses of the spawn, like huge bunches of white currants, entangled
among its close-knit fronds.
Barbados, situated in the heart of the north-east Trades, is one of
the favourite haunts of the flying-fish. Its steep shore-lines afford
the blue depths which the flying-fish loves, and permit it to range
very near to land. Thus the fishermen rarely go more than ten or
twelve miles from home. When this industry was first commenced by the
Barbadians, or what led to its establishment, I have been unable to
discover; but it certainly has been for many years the mainstay of a
large part of the population, and the source whence the most popular
food known on the island is derived. There are (or were) about two
hundred boats engaged in the fishery. Nowise notable for grace of form
or elegance of rig, they are substantial undecked vessels, of from five
to fifteen tons capacity, built in the roughest manner, and furnished
in the most primitive way. The motive power is a gaff-mainsail and
jib, and a couple of sweeps for calms. They are painted a light blue,
as nearly approaching the hue of the sea as may be, and every care is
taken to make them noiseless.
The fleet leaves the “canash” (harbour) before daybreak, each skipper
taking his own bearings, and making for the spot which he thinks
will furnish the best results. As the gorgeous tropical dawn awakes,
the boats’ peaks are drooped, luffs of sails are hauled up, and the
fishermen get to business. The tackle used is of the simplest kind. A
wooden hoop three feet in diameter, to which is attached a shallow net
with inch meshes; a bucketful of--well, not to put too fine a point on
it--stinking fish; a few good lines and hooks, and a set of granes,
form the complete lay-out. The fishermen are of all shades, from a deep
rich ebony upwards, by fine gradations, to the cadaverous white so
common in the island. Their simple fishing costume is usually one sole
garment--the humble flour or potato sack of commerce, with holes cut in
the bottom and sides, through which to thrust head and arms.
As soon as the boat is hove-to and her way stopped, the usual exuberant
spirits and hilarious laughter are put and kept under strong restraint,
for a single sound will often scare away all fish in the vicinity,
and no more be seen that day. The fisherman leans far over the boat’s
side, holding the hoop diagonally in one hand. The other hand, holding
one of the malodorous fish before mentioned, is dipped into the sea,
and the bait squeezed into minute fragments. This answers a double
purpose--it attracts the fish; and the exuding oil forms a “sleek” or
glassy surface all around, through which one can see to a great depth.
Presently, sundry black specks appear far down; they grow larger and
more numerous, and the motionless black man hanging over the gunwale
scarcely breathes. As soon as a sufficient number are gathered, he
gently sweeps the net downwards and towards the boat withal, bringing
it to the surface by drawing it up against the side. Often it will
contain as many fish as a man can lift; but so quietly and swiftly
is the operation performed, that the school is not startled, and it
very often happens that a boat is filled (that is, seven or eight
thousand fish) from one school. More frequently, however, the slightest
noise, even a passing shadow, will alarm the school; there is a flash
of silvery light, and the water is clear, not a speck to be seen.
Sometimes the fleet will return with not one thousand fish among them,
when prices will range very high, until next day, when, with fifty or
sixty boats bringing five or six thousand each, a penny will purchase a
dozen.
Occasionally, in the midst of a good spell of fishing, the school
will vanish, and a crowd of dolphin, albacore, or bonito make their
appearance. Then the sport changes its character. Lines are hastily
unrolled, a living flying-fish is impaled on the hook and trolled
astern, seldom failing to allure an albacore or some other large fish,
varying perhaps from twenty to two hundred pounds weight. On one
occasion, when I had the pleasure of a cruise in one of the boats,
we had very poor sport with the flying-fish, only taking about five
hundred by noon. Suddenly the few that had been feeding quietly
around us fled in all directions, breaking the water with a sound
like a sudden rain-storm, and we were aware of the presence of a huge
albacore. The skipper shouted gleefully: “By king, sah, him de bigges’
albacore in de whol’ worl’.” He certainly was a monster; but there was
little time to admire his proportions. He promptly seized our bait;
and the fun commenced. For over an hour this giant mackerel towed us
where he would; and when for a moment the pace slackened and we touched
the line, he was off again as hard as ever. Right through the fleet he
towed us, and finally yielded to our united efforts in the middle of
Carlisle Bay, amongst the shipping. We could not hoist him on board,
and so had recourse to the expedient of passing a double bight of the
line round his tail and towing him into the harbour. Great was the
excitement on the quay, and willing hands not a few worked the crane
wherewith we lifted him. He scaled four hundred and seventy pounds,
the heaviest albacore on record in Barbados. Peddled around the town,
he realised a much larger sum than a boat-load of flying-fish would
have done; and so the sable skipper was well content with his morning’s
work.
XVIII
UNCONVENTIONAL FISHING