The Sea On Fire
The night following our abandonment of the Parki, was made memorable by
a remarkable spectacle.
Slumbering in the bottom of the boat, Jarl and I were suddenly awakened
by Samoa. Starting, we beheld the ocean of a pallid white color,
corruscating all over with tiny golden sparkles. But the pervading hue
of the water cast a cadaverous gleam upon the boat, so that we looked
to each other like ghosts. For many rods astern our wake was revealed
in a line of rushing illuminated foam; while here and there beneath the
surface, the tracks of sharks were denoted by vivid, greenish trails,
crossing and recrossing each other in every direction. Farther away,
and distributed in clusters, floated on the sea, like constellations in
the heavens, innumerable Medusae, a species of small, round, refulgent
fish, only to be met with in the South Seas and the Indian Ocean.
Suddenly, as we gazed, there shot high into the air a bushy jet of
flashes, accompanied by the unmistakable deep breathing sound of a
sperm whale. Soon, the sea all round us spouted in fountains of fire;
and vast forms, emitting a glare from their flanks, and ever and anon
raising their heads above water, and shaking off the sparkles, showed
where an immense shoal of Cachalots had risen from below to sport in
these phosphorescent billows.
The vapor jetted forth was far more radiant than any portion of the
sea; ascribable perhaps to the originally luminous fluid contracting
still more brilliancy from its passage through the spouting canal of
the whales.
We were in great fear, lest without any vicious intention the
Leviathans might destroy us, by coming into close contact with our
boat. We would have shunned them; but they were all round and round us.
Nevertheless we were safe; for as we parted the pallid brine, the
peculiar irradiation which shot from about our keel seemed to deter
them. Apparently discovering us of a sudden, many of them plunged
headlong down into the water, tossing their fiery tails high into the
air, and leaving the sea still more sparkling from the violent surging
of their descent.
Their general course seemed the same as our own; to the westward. To
remove from them, we at last out oars, and pulled toward the north. So
doing, we were steadily pursued by a solitary whale, that must have
taken our Chamois for a kindred fish. Spite of all our efforts, he drew
nearer and nearer; at length rubbing his fiery flank against the
Chamois’ gunwale, here and there leaving long strips of the glossy
transparent substance which thin as gossamer invests the body of the
Cachalot.
In terror at a sight so new, Samoa shrank. But Jarl and I, more used to
the intimate companionship of the whales, pushed the boat away from it
with our oars: a thing often done in the fishery.
The close vicinity of the whale revived in the so long astute Skyeman
all the enthusiasm of his daring vocation. However quiet by nature, a
thorough-bred whaleman betrays no little excitement in sight of his
game. And it required some persuasion to prevent Jarl from darting his
harpoon: insanity under present circumstances; and of course without
object. But “Oh! for a dart,” cried my Viking. And “Where’s now our old
ship?” he added reminiscently.
But to my great joy the monster at last departed; rejoining the shoal,
whose lofty spoutings of flame were still visible upon the distant line
of the horizon; showing there, like the fitful starts of the Aurora
Borealis.
The sea retained its luminosity for about three hours; at the
expiration of half that period beginning to fade; and excepting
occasional faint illuminations consequent upon the rapid darting of
fish under water, the phenomenon at last wholly disappeared.
Heretofore, I had beheld several exhibitions of marine phosphorescence,
both in the Atlantic and Pacific. But nothing in comparison with what
was seen that night. In the Atlantic, there is very seldom any portion
of the ocean luminous, except the crests of the waves; and these mostly
appear so during wet, murky weather. Whereas, in the Pacific, all
instances of the sort, previously corning under my notice, had been
marked by patches of greenish light, unattended with any pallidness of
sea. Save twice on the coast of Peru, where I was summoned from my
hammock to the alarming midnight cry of “All hands ahoy! tack ship!”
And rushing on deck, beheld the sea white as a shroud; for which reason
it was feared we were on soundings.
Now, sailors love marvels, and love to repeat them. And from many an
old shipmate I have heard various sage opinings, concerning the
phenomenon in question. Dismissing, as destitute of sound philosophic
probability, the extravagant notion of one of my nautical friends—no
less a philosopher than my Viking himself—namely: that the
phosphoresence of the sea is caused by a commotion among the mermaids,
whose golden locks, all torn and disheveled, do irradiate the waters at
such times; I proceed to record more reliable theories.
Faraday might, perhaps, impute the phenomenon to a peculiarly
electrical condition of the atmosphere; and to that solely. But herein,
my scientific friend would be stoutly contradicted by many intelligent
seamen, who, in part, impute it to the presence of large quantities of
putrescent animal matter; with which the sea is well known to abound.
And it would seem not unreasonable to suppose, that it is by this means
that the fluid itself becomes charged with the luminous principle. Draw
a bucket of water from the phosphorescent ocean, and it still retains
traces of fire; but, standing awhile, this soon subsides. Now pour it
along the deck, and it is a stream of flame; caused by its renewed
agitation. Empty the bucket, and for a space sparkles cling to it
tenaciously; and every stave seems ignited.
But after all, this seeming ignition of the sea can not be wholly
produced by dead matter therein. There are many living fish,
phosphorescent; and, under certain conditions, by a rapid throwing off
of luminous particles must largely contribute to the result. Not to
particularize this circumstance as true of divers species of sharks,
cuttle-fish, and many others of the larger varieties of the finny
tribes; the myriads of microscopic mollusca, well known to swarm off
soundings, might alone be deemed almost sufficient to kindle a fire in
the brine.
But these are only surmises; likely, but uncertain.
After science comes sentiment.
A French naturalist maintains, that the nocturnal radiance of the
fire-fly is purposely intended as an attraction to the opposite sex;
that the artful insect illuminates its body for a beacon to love. Thus:
perched upon the edge of a leaf, and waiting the approach of her
Leander, who comes buffeting with his wings the aroma of the flowers,
some insect Hero may show a torch to her gossamer gallant.
But alas, thrice alas, for the poor little fire-fish of the sea, whose
radiance but reveals them to their foes, and lights the way to their
destruction.