ENORMOUS RAYS, OR DEVIL-FISH
Rays, which are somewhat closely related to the sharks, though so
different to the casual observer, are characteristic of all seas, but
especially perhaps of the tropical waters of America, where some of them
attain to enormous weight. The stingrays, of which the one depicted in
this volume is a variety, armed with formidable serrated spikes at the
base of the tail, are in some cases fearsome creatures, while many of
the family are provided with the means of numbing their victims with an
electric discharge. The whip ray, however, though carrying spikes above
the tail, is a harmless and indeed beautiful creature. At the same time,
its frantic leaps when driven wild by the suckers that adhere to its
disc are sufficiently alarming to those unaccustomed to its ways.
To see a kite-shaped creature with a long and whip-like tail leaping
high in the air, then merely touching the water again like a ricocheting
shell and again soaring aloft, a series of such leaps taking it quite a
hundred yards over the surface, is, to say the least of it, a novel
spectacle to those just out from Europe, the seas of which do not afford
these apparitions. It is as if the monster fish were suddenly tenanted
by the wandering spirit of a defunct kangaroo, and when it is added that
its aerial leaps often bring it quite close to the boats--though I do
not remember hearing of a single case in which it actually jumped into
one--it will be seen that there is some excuse for the occasional signs
of alarm evoked by its sudden appearance. The splash with which it
regains the water can, on still days, be heard quite a mile away.
The swimming action of these great rays is very beautiful, displaying
all the graceful undulating movements so characteristic of the shark
tribe, which go so far towards mitigating the repulsive appearance of
some of them. There is always this striking contrast between the live
and dead shark; the one, though endowed with instincts that can never
commend it to our goodwill, is yet a very lithe and graceful robber; the
other, deprived of all life and movement, shows only the vices with none
of the redeeming beauty.
A more characteristic pose of the rays, however, is that of lying
motionless, or, at most, with its disc slightly undulating with
respiration, on the sand just under water. Sometimes, indeed, they are
found lying a yard or so above low-water mark in pits of their own
making, and it is in such positions that they may be particularly
dangerous, through no fault of their own, to the too eager
surf-fisherman who wades bare-footed in the muddy water, careless of
such risks. The whip rays seem of wide distribution under a variety of
names, and a striped species has been taken on the Irish coasts. It
would be difficult to know what use the delicate tail--usually stripped
bare of its skin an inch from the tip--can be to this fish. The armament
of spikes at the base can be erected at will, and the fish is able to
bend up its back, much after the fashion of the scorpion, so as to bring
them to bear on enemies attacking it in front. Each spike is serrated,
its innumerable small points setting inwards, and the whole is enveloped
in a skin so thin as to be ruptured by the mere act of withdrawing it
from some body into which the fearful weapon has been thrust. My own
impression is that portions of this skin remain in the wound, and set up
that local poisoning that gives to such an act of aggression the popular
name of “stinging.”
There are even larger rays on that coast than the whip ray. The giant
ray, for instance, is one of the largest of existing fishes, and
specimens have been captured measuring as much as twenty feet across the
“wings.” Indeed, the Spanish and half-caste pearl divers call this
ghoulish monster the “blanket,” from a fixed belief (though no one can
have survived to tell the tale) that it envelops its victims as in a
blanket, and then devours them at leisure. This sobriquet survives in
the adopted scientific name of Manta. It appears to me that such a diet
is against all probability, if we may judge by the food of most of the
order, but these men are firmly convinced that the giant ray, or, as it
is also not inappropriately called, devil-fish, is an inveterate enemy
to man, and they at least earn the right to an opinion on dangers to
which they alone are constantly exposed.
The proper way to capture these creatures, if any one cares about an
occasional hour’s excitement, is with the harpoon. As for catching them
on the rod, it is only done by foul hooking, and it merely strains the
arms and tackle in what cannot be described as a very good cause.
Harpooning, however, may be really exciting, and I will try to describe
such an adventure to the best of my recollection.
You take the harpoon and get your guide to row you along the shore
northwards. Standing in the bows, behind the neatly coiled harpoon line,
you keep a sharp lookout for game, and very soon you see a mighty disc
lying on the sand at no great depth. Poising the harpoon in the air, you
let drive at the object of your desires; it vanishes in a trailing cloud
of sand, and you have an opportunity of seeing how poor a shot you made
by insufficient allowance for refraction, which, of course, distorts the
size, shape, and position of objects under water; and, as you assure
yourself that in this case the harpoon went a good five feet ahead of
the fish, you resolve to study the position of the next more
accurately.
Look out! Here is a long, dark object coming straight at you. It is a
shark. Let him have it right in the neck. That is better. The harpoon
has struck this time. Habet! Only the weapon has entered near the tail,
not within four feet of the spot you thought to reach. You have to keep
the rope close to the bow, or the brute may capsize you. But the harpoon
has come away, and you coil the rope for the next comer. There is a
sting ray right under your boat. No calculation necessary this time. You
strike it fair in the centre. Be careful how you handle it, for should
it get its spike into you, you will remember the wrenching out of the
barbs.
All ready again! See that dark patch a hundred yards ahead! It is a whip
ray, weighing perhaps 400 lb. How gracefully it flies beneath the water!
You take careful note of its bearings, and reckon that it lies about
seven feet deep and perhaps seventeen feet ahead. This means that the
centre of the fish is some nine feet nearer to you than appears to be
the case. Good! You threw too far again, but the ray is struck near the
head, and you will get some sport anyhow.
The infuriated fish tows the boat in all directions. It is too heavy to
haul in, and must be got ashore. This is not very difficult, for you let
it run free when heading in that direction, and check it when making a
move for deeper water. At last it is beached. There is no occasion to
cut out the harpoon, for all you need do is to thrust in your finger and
press up the barb on either side, and it comes away at once.
As a trophy, the back of this ray, with its black ground and small white
rings within larger ones, characteristic of old fish, makes a handsome
table cover. The tail is about six feet in length, and less in thickness
than a cedar pencil, and at its base are three or four barbed spears. It
feeds entirely on crustacea, never taking a fish bait, and is caught
only by foul hooking. In the roof of the whip ray’s mouth will be seen a
series of processes like corrugated grinding stones, and there is a
corresponding series on the lower jaw. It is between these that the
shell fish are thoroughly triturated. I have somewhere read that the
male rays have sharper teeth and no grinding arrangement, but I am not
sufficiently acquainted with the sex distinctions to bear this out.
[Illustration: A STRANDED WHIP RAY.]