CHAPTER III

The story of that day of bloodshed and horror, when Charlik and his

white allies sought to exterminate the whole community, cannot here be

told in _all_ its dreadful details. Seventy years have come and gone

since then, and there are but two or three men now living on the island

who can speak of it with knowledge as a tale of "the olden days when we

were heathens." Let the rest of the tale be told in the words of one of

those natives of Leassé, who, then a boy, fought side by side with

Ledyard, North, and Macy.

* * * * *

"The sun was going westward in the sky when the two ships rounded the

point and anchored in what you white men now call Coquille Harbour. We

of Leassé, who watched from the shore, saw six boats put off, filled

with men. There pulled inside the reef, and went to the right towards

Môut; three went to the left. Letya (Ledyard), with the two white

strangers who had come to him in the night, and two hundred of our men,

had long before gone into the mountains to await Charlik and his

fighting men, and their white friends. They--Letya and the Leassé

people--made a trap for Charlik's men in the forest. Charlik himself was

in the boats with the other white men. He wanted to see the people of

Leassé and Môut driven into the water, so that he might shoot at them

with a new rifle which Késa or the other ship captain--I forget

which--had given to him. But he wanted most of all to get Cerita, the

wife of Letya, the white man. Only Cerita was to live. These were

Charlik's words. He did not know that her husband had returned from the

sea. Had he known that, he would not have given all his money and all

his oil to the two white captains to help him to make Leassé and Môut

desolate and give our bones to his dogs to eat.

"It was a great trap--the trap prepared by Letya; and Charlik's men and

the white men with them fell in it. They fell as a stone falls in a deep

well, and sinks and is no more seen of men.

"This was the manner of the trap: The path down the cliff was between

two high walls of rock; at the foot of the cliff was a thick clump of

high pandanus trees growing closely together. In between these trees

Letya built a high barrier of logs, encompassing the outlet of the path

to Leassé. This barrier was a half circle; the two ends touched the edge

of the cliff, and the centre was hidden among the pandanus trees. On the

top of this barrier the men of Leassé waited with loaded muskets; lower

down on the ground were others, they too had loaded muskets. On the top

of the cliff where the path led down, fifty men were hidden. They were

hidden in the thick scrub which we call _oap. Oap_ is a good thing in

which to hide from an enemy, and then spring from and slay him suddenly.

"I, who was then a boy, saw all this. I heard Letya, our white man, tell

the head of our village that Charlik's men would enter into the trap and

perish. Then kava was made, and Letya and the head men drank. Kava is

good, but rum is better to make men fight. We had no rum, but we had

great love for Letya and his wife, and his two children, and great hate

for Charlik. So we said, 'If this is death, it is death,' and every man

went to his post--some to the barrier at the foot of the cliff, and some

to the thicket of _oap_ on the summit. Cerita, the wife of Letya the

Englishman, was weeping. She was weeping because Nená, the chief of

Môut, was waiting in the house to kill her if her husband should be

slain. But she did not weep because of the fear of death; it was for her

children she wept. That is the way of women. What is the life of a child

to the life of a man?

"Nená was my father's brother. He was a brave man, but was too old to

fight, for his eyes were dimmed by many years. So he sat beside Cerita

and her two children, with a long knife in his hand and waited. He

covered his face with a mat and waited. It was right for him to do this,

for Letya was a great man; and his wife, although she was a foreigner,

was an honoured woman. Therefore though Nená might not look upon her

face at other times, he could kill her if Letya said she must die. This

was quite right and correct. A wife must be guided by her husband and do

what is right and correct, and avoid scandal.

"For many hours the women in the houses waited in silence. Then suddenly

they heard the thunder of two hundred guns, and the roaring of voices,

then more muskets. They ran out of the houses and looked up to the

cliff, and lo! the sky was bright as day, for when Charlik's people and

the white men walked into the trap in the darkness, Letya and our people

set alight great heaps of dry leaves and scrub, which were placed all

along the barrier of logs. This was done so that they could see better

to shoot. There were thirty or forty of Charlik's men killed by that

volley. The white man who was leading them was very brave; he tried to

climb over the barrier, but fell back dead, for a man named Sru thrust a

whale-lance into his heart. All this time the other white men and the

rest of Charlik's people were firing their muskets, but their bullets

only hit the heavy logs of the barrier, and Letya and our people killed

them very easily by putting their muskets through the spaces. When the

sailors saw their captain fall, they tried to run away, and the Lele

warriors ran with them. But when they reached the path which led up

between the cliff, it too was blocked, and many of them became jammed

together between the walls, and these were all killed very easily--some

with bullets, and some with big stones. Then those that were left ran

round and found inside the trap, trying to get out. They were like rats

in a cask, and our people kept killing them as they ran. Some of

them--about thirty--did climb over, but all were killed, for when they

jumped down on the other side our people were there waiting. At last

four of the sailors made a big hole by tearing out two posts, and rushed

out, followed by the Lele men. Letya was the first man to meet the

sailors, and he told them to surrender. Two of them threw down their

arms, but the other two ran at Letya, and one of them ran his cutlass

into him. It went in at the stomach, and Letya fell. We killed all these

white sailors, but some of the Lele men escaped. That was a great pity,

but then how can these things be helped?" The two strange white men who

were fighting beside Le|tya, picked him up, and they carried him into

his house. He was not dead, but he said, 'I shall soon die, take me to

my wife.' I did not go with them to the house. I went into the barrier

with the other youths to kill the wounded. It is a foolish thing not to

kill wounded men; they may get better and kill you. So we killed them.

There were fourteen white men slain in that fight beside their captain.

"Before it was daylight some of our men set out along the beach to look

for the boats. They did not want to kill any more white men, but they

did want to kill Charlik. They were very fortunate, for before they had

gone far on their way they saw three of the boats coming along close in

to the beach. So they hid behind some rocks. Charlik was in the first

boat; he was standing in the bow pointing out the way. When he came very

close they all fired together, and Charlik's life was gone. He fell dead

into the sea. Then the boats all turned seaward, and pulled hard for the

ships. Then before long, we saw the other three boats going back to the

ships; in these last were four of Charlik's men who had escaped. The

boats were quickly pulled up, and the ships sailed away, for those on

board were terrified when they heard that all the white men they had

sent to fight were dead.

"Letya did not die at once--not for two days. Cerita his wife and two

white men watched beside him all this time. Before he died he called the

head men to him, and said that he gave his small ship to the two white

men, together with many other things. All his money he gave to his wife,

and told her she must go away with the white men, who would take her

back to her own people. To the head men he gave many valuable things,

such as tierces of tobacco and barrels of powder. This was quite right

and proper, and showed he knew what was correct to do before he died. We

buried him on the little islet over there called Bèsi.

"The two white men and Cerita and her two children went away in the

little ship. But they did not go to Cerita's country: they remained at

Ponapé, and there the tall man of the two--the officer--married Cerita.

All this we learnt a year afterwards from the captain of a whaling ship.

It was quite right and proper for Letya's widow to marry so quickly, and

to marry the man who had been a friend to her husband."

_A Hundred Fathoms Deep_

There is still a world or discovery open to the ichthyologist who, in

addition to scientific knowledge, is a lover of deep-sea fishing, has

some nerve, and is content to undergo some occasional rough experiences,

if he elects to begin his researches among the many island groups of the

North and South Pacific. I possessed, to some extent, the two latter

qualifications; the former, much to my present and lasting regret, I did

not. Nearly twenty-six years ago the vessel in which I sailed as

supercargo was wrecked on Strong's Island, the eastern outlier of the

fertile Caroline Archipelago, and for more than twelve months I devoted

the greater part of my time to traversing the mountainous island from

end to end, or, accompanied by a hardy and intelligent native, in

fishing, either in the peculiarly-formed lagoon at the south end, or two

miles or so outside the barrier reef.

The master of the vessel, I may mention, was the notorious, over

maligned, and genial Captain Bully Hayes, and from him I had learnt a

little about some of the generally unknown deep-sea fish of Polynesia

and Melanesia. He had told me that when once sailing between Aneityum

and Tanna, in the New Hebrides, shortly after a severe volcanic eruption

on the former island had been followed by a submarine convulsion, his

brig passed through many hundreds of dead and dying fish of great size,

some of which were of a character utterly unknown to any of his native

crew--men who came from all parts of the North and South Pacific. More

remarkable still, some of these fish had never before been seen by the

inhabitants of the islands near which they were found. There were, he

said, some five or six kinds, but they were all of the groper family.

One of three which was brought on board was discovered floating on the

surface when the ship was five miles off Tanna. A boat was lowered, but

on getting up to it, the crew found they were unable to lift it from the

water; it was, however, towed to the ship, hoisted on board, and cut

into three parts, the whole of which were weighed, and reached over 300

lbs. In colour it was a dull grey, with large, closely-adhering scales

about the size of a florin; the fins, tail, and lips were blue. Another

one, weighing less, had a differently-shaped head, with a curious,

pipe-like mouth; this was a uniform dull blue. A similar upturning from

the ocean's dark depths of strange fish occurred during a submarine

earthquake near Rose Island, a barren spot to the south-west of Samoa.

The disturbance threw up vast numbers of fish upon the reefs of Manua,

the nearest island of the group, and the natives looked upon their great

size and peculiar appearance with unbounded astonishment.

Without desiring to bore the reader with unnecessary details of my own

experiences in the South Seas, but because the statement bears on the

subject of this article--a subject which has been my delight since I was

a boy of ten years of age--I may say that, nine years after the loss of

Captain Hayes's vessel on Strong's Island, I was again shipwrecked on

Peru, one of the Gilbert, or, as we traders call them, the "Line"

Islands. Here I was so fortunate as to take up my residence with one of

the local traders, a Swiss named Frank Voliero, who was an ardent

deep-sea fisherman, and whose catches were the envy and wonder of the

wild and intractable natives among whom he lived; for he had excellent

tackle, which enabled him to fish at depths seldom tried by the natives,

who have no reason to go beyond sixty or eighty fathoms. In the long

interval that had elapsed since my fishing days in the Carolines and my

arrival at Peru Island, I had gained such experience in my hobby in many

other parts of the Pacific as falls to few men, and the desire to fish

in deep water, and get something that astonished the natives of the

various islands, had become a passion with me. Voliero and myself went

out together frequently, and, did space permit, I should like to

describe the fortune that attended us at Peru, as well as my fishing

adventures at Strong's Island.

In a former work I have endeavoured to describe that extraordinary

nocturnal-feeding fish, the _palu_, and the manner of its capture by

the Malayo-Polynesian islanders of the Equatorial Pacific, and in the

present article I shall try to convey to my readers an idea of deep-sea

fishing in the South Seas generally. When I was living on the little

island of Nanomaga (one of the Ellice Group, situated about 600 miles to

the north-west of Samoa), as the one resident trader, I found myself

in--if I may use the term--a marine paradise, as far as fishing went.

The natives were one and all expert fishermen, extremely jealous of

their reputation of being not only the best and most skilful men in

Polynesia in the handling of their frail canoes in a heavy surf, but

also of being deep-learned in the lore of deep-sea fishing.

My arrival at the island caused no little commotion among the young

bloods, each of whose chances of gaining the girl of his heart, and

being united to her by the local Samoan missionary teacher, depended in

a great measure upon his ability to provide sustenance for her from the

sea; for Nanomaga, like the rest of the Ellice Group, is but little more

than a richly-verdured sandbank, based upon a foundation of coral, and

yielding nothing to its people but coconuts and a coarse species of

taro, called puraka. The inhabitants, in their low-lying atolls, possess

no running streams, no fertile soil, in which, as in the mountainous

isles of Polynesia, the breadfruit, the yam, and the sweet potato grow

and flourish side by side with such rich and luscious fruits as the

orange and banana, and pineapple--they have but the beneficent coconut

and the evergiving sea to supply their needs. And the sea is kind to

them, as Nature meant it to be to her own children.

The native missionary at Nanomaga was a Samoan. He was intended by

nature to be a warrior, a leader of men; or--and no higher praise can I

give to his dauntless courage--a boat-header on a sperm whaler. Strong

of arm and quick of eye, he was the very man to either throw the harpoon

or deal the death-giving thrust or the lance to the monarch of the ocean

world; but fate or circumstance had made him a missionary instead. He

was a fairly good missionary, but a better fisherman.

Three miles from Nanomaga is a submerged reef, marked on the chart as

the Grand Coral Reef, but known to the natives as Tia Kau, "the reef."

It is in reality a vast mountain of coral, whose bases lie two hundred

fathoms deep, with a flattened summit of about fifty acres in extent,

rising to within five fathoms of the surface of the sea. This spot is

the resort of incredible numbers of fish, both deep-sea haunting and

surface swimming. Some of the latter, such as the _pala_ (not the

_palu_)--a long, scaleless, beautifully-formed fish, with a head of bony

plates and teeth like a rip-saw--are of great size, and afford splendid

sport, as they are game fighters and almost as powerful as a porpoise.

They run to over 100 lbs., and yet are by no means a coarse fish. In the

shallow water on the top of this mountain reef there are some eight or

nine varieties of rock cod, none of which were of any great size; but

far below, at a depth of from fifty to seventy fathoms, there were some

truly monstrous fish of this species, and I and my missionary friend had

the luck to catch the four largest ever taken--221 lbs., 208 lbs., 118

lbs., and 111 lbs. I had caught when fishing for schnapper, in thirty

fathoms off Camden Haven, on the coast of New South Wales, a mottled

black and grey rock cod, which weighed 83 lbs., and was assured by the

Sydney Museum authorities that such a weight for a rock cod was rare in

that part of the Pacific, but that _bêche-de-mer_ fishermen on the Great

Barrier Reef had occasionally captured fish of the same variety of

double that size and weight.

Not possessing a boat, we fished from a canoe--a light, but strong and

beautifully constructed craft, with "whalebacks" fore and aft to keep it

from being swamped by seas when facing or running from a surf. The

outrigger was formed of a very light wood, called _pua_, about fourteen

inches in circumference. With the teacher and myself there usually went

with us a third man, whose duty it was to keep the canoe head to wind,

for anchoring in deep water in such a tiny craft was out of the

question, as well as dangerous, should a heavy fish or a shark get foul

of the outrigger. Capsizes in the daytime we did not mind, but at night

numbers of grey sharks were always cruising around, and they were then

especially savage and daring.

Leaving the pretty little village, which was embowered in a palm grove

on the lee side of the island, we would, if intending to fish on the Tia

Kau, make a start before dawn, remain there till the canoe was loaded to

her raised gunwale pieces with the weight of fish, and then return.

Night fishing on the Tia Kau by a single canoe was forbidden by the

_kaupule_ (head men) as being too dangerous on account of the sharks,

and so usually from ten to twenty canoes set out together. If one did

come to grief through being swamped, or capsized by having the outrigger

fouled by a shark, there was always assistance near at hand, and it

rarely happened that any of the crew were bitten. In 1872, however, a

fearful tragedy occurred on the Tia Kau, when a party of seventy

natives--men, women, and children--who were crossing to the neighbouring

Island of Nanomea, were attacked by sharks when overtaken on the reef by

a squall at night. Only two escaped to tell the tale.[14]

If, however, we meant to try for _takuo_, a huge variety of the

mackerel-tribe, or _lahe'u_, a magnificent bream-shaped fish, we had no

need to go so far as the dangerous Tia Kau; three or four cable-lengths

from the beach, and right in front of the village, we could lie in water

as smooth as glass, and seventy fathoms in depth. Our bait was

invariably flying-fish, freshly caught, or the tentacles of an octopus.

My lines were of white American cotton, and I generally used two hooks,

one below and one above the sinker, both baited with a whole

flying-fish, while my companions preferred wooden or iron hooks, of

their own manufacture, and lines made from hibiscus bark or coconut

fibre.

I shall always remember with pleasure my first _lahe'u_. I was

accompanied by the native teacher alone, and we paddled off from the

village just after evening service, and brought to about a quarter of a

mile outside the reef. The rest of the islanders had gone round in

their canoes to the weather side of the little island to fish for

_takuo_, for we were expecting a _malaga_, or party of visitors from the

Island of Nukufetau in a day or two, and unusual supplies of fish had to

be obtained, to sustain, not only the island's record as the fishing

centre of the universe, but the people's reputation for hospitality. It

had been my suggestion to the teacher that he and I, who were unable to

accompany the others, should try what we could do nearer home. The night

was brilliantly starlight, and the sea as smooth as glass--so smooth

that there was not even the faintest swell upon the reef. The trade wind

was at rest, and not the faintest breath of air moved the foliage of the

coco palms lining the white strip of beach. Now and then a splash or a

sudden commotion in the water around us would denote that some hapless

flying-fish had taken an aerial flight from a pursuing _pala_, or that a

shark had seized a turtle in his cruel jaws. Lighting our pipes, we

lowered our lines together according to island etiquette, and touched

bottom at thirty fathoms; then hauled in a fathom or two of line to

avoid fouling the coral. In a few minutes my companion hooked an _utu_,

a sluggish fish, somewhat like a salmon in appearance, with shining

silvery scales and a broad flat head. As he was hauling in, and I was

looking over the side of the canoe to watch it coming up, I felt a

sharp, heavy tug at my own line, and, before I could check it, thirty or

forty yards of line whizzed through my fingers with lightning speed.

"_Lahe'u!_" shouted the teacher, hurriedly making his own line fast,

and whipping up his paddle. "Don't give out any more line or he will run

under the reef, and we shall lose him."

I knew by the vibration and hum of the line as soon as I had it well in

hand that there was a heavy and powerful fish at the end. Ioane,

disregarding the _utu_ as being of no importance in comparison to a

_lahe'u_, was plunging his paddle rapidly into the water, and

endeavouring to back the canoe seaward into deeper water, but, in spite

of his efforts and my own, we were being taken quickly inshore. For some

two or three minutes the canoe was dragged steadily landward, and I knew

that once the _lahe'u_ succeeded in getting underneath the overhanging

ledge of reef, there would be but little chance of our taking him except

by diving, and diving on a moonless night under a reef, and freeing a

fish from jagged branches of coral, is not a pleasant task, although an

Ellice Islander does not much mind it. Finding that I could not possibly

turn the fish, I asked Ioane what I should do. He told me to let go a

few fathoms of line, brace my knee against the thwart, and then trust to

the sudden jerk to cant the fish's head one way or the other. I did as I

was told. Out flew the line, and then came a shock that made the canoe

fairly jump, lifted the outrigger clear out of the water, and all but

capsized her. But the ruse was successful, for, with a furious shake,

_lahe'u_ changed his course, and started off at a tremendous rate,

parallel with the reef, and then gradually headed seaward.

"Let him go," said Ioane, who was carefully watching the tautened-out

line, and steering at the same time. "'Tis a strong fish, but he is _man

tonu_ (truly hooked), and will now tire. But give him no more line, and

haul up to him."

For fully five minutes the canoe went flying over the water, and I

continued to haul in line fathom by fathom, until I caught sight of,

deep down in the water right ahead, a great phosphorescent boil and

bubble. Then the pace began to slacken, as the gallant fighter began to

turn from side to side, shaking his head and making futile breaks from

port to starboard. Bidding me come amidships with the line, Ioane took

in his paddle, and picked up the harpoon which we always carried on the

outrigger platform in case of meeting a turtle. Nearer and nearer came

the great fish, till, with a splash of phosphorescent light and spray,

he came to the surface, beating the water with his forked and bony tail,

and still trying to get a chance for another downward run. Then Ioane,

waiting his opportunity, sent the iron clean through him from side to

side, and I sat down and watched, with a thrill of satisfaction and a

sigh of relief, his final flurry. In a few minutes we hauled him

alongside, drew the harpoon, and with some difficulty managed to get him

over the side and lower him into the bottom of the canoe amidships,

where he lay fore and aft, his curved back standing up nearly a foot and

a half above the raised gunwale. Although not above four feet in length,

he was nearly three in depth, and about sixteen inches thick at the

shoulder--a truly noble fish.

"We have done well," said the teacher, with a pleased laugh, as he

hauled in his own line and dropped a 6-lb. _utu_ into the canoe. "There

will be much talk over this to-morrow, for these people here are very

conceited, and think that no one but themselves can catch _lahe'u_ and

_pala_. They will know better now, when they see this one."

We returned to the shore within two hours from the time we left, with my

_lahe'u_, an _utu_, and five or six salmon-like fish called _tau-tau_,

all nocturnal feeders, and all highly thought of by the natives,

especially the latter. The _lahe'u_ we hung up under the missionary's

verandah, and at daylight I had the intense satisfaction of seeing a

crowd of natives surrounding it, and of hearing their flattering

allusions to myself as a _papalagi masani tonu futi íka_--a white man

who really could fish like a native.

_On a Tidal River_

The English visitor to the Eastern Colonies of Australia who is in

search of sport with either rod or hand line can always obtain excellent

fishing in the summer months even in such traffic-disturbed harbours as

Sydney, Newcastle, and other ports; but on the tidal rivers of the

eastern and southern seaboard he can, every day, catch more fish than he

can carry during seven months of the year. In the true winter months

deep sea fishing is not much favoured, except during the prevalence of

westerly winds, when, for days at a time, the Pacific is as smooth as a

lake; but in the rivers, from Mallacoota Inlet, which is a few miles

over the Victorian boundary, to the Tweed River on the north of New

South Wales, the stranger may fairly revel not only in the delights of

splendid fishing but in the charms of beautiful scenery. He needs no

guide, will be put to but little expense, for the country hotel

accommodation is good and cheap; and, should he visit some of the

northern rivers where the towns, or rather small settlements, are few

and far between, he will find the settlers the embodiment of British

hospitality.

Some three years ago the writer formed one of the crew of a little

steamer of fifty tons named the _Jenny Lind_, which was sent out along

the coast in the endeavour to revive the coast whaling industry. Through

stress of weather we had frequently to make a dash for shelter, towing

our sole whaleboat, to one of the many tidal rivers on the coast between

Sydney and Gabo Island. Here we would remain until the weather broke,

and our crew would literally cover the deck with an extraordinary

variety of fish in the course of a few hours. Then, at low tide, we

could always fill a couple of cornsacks with excellent oysters, and get

bucketfuls of large prawns by means of a scoop net improvised from a

piece of mosquito netting; game, too, was very plentiful on the lagoons.

The settlers were generally glad to see us, and gave us so freely of

milk, butter, pumpkins, &c., that, despite the rough handling we always

got at sea from the weather, we grew quite fat. But as the greater part

of my fishing experience was gained on the northern rivers of the colony

of N.S. Wales it is of them I shall write.

Eighteen hours' run by steamer from Sydney is the Hastings River, on the

southern bank of which, a mile from the bar, is the old-time town of

Port Macquarie, a quaint, sleepy little place of six hundred

inhabitants, who spend their days in fishing and sleeping and waiting

for better times. There are two or three fairly good hotels, very pretty

scenery along the coast and up the river, and a stranger can pass a

month without suffering from ennui--that is, of course, if he be fond

of fishing and shooting; if he is not he should avoid going there, for

it is the dullest coast town in New South Wales. The southern shore,

from the steamer wharf to opposite the bar, is lined with a hard beach,

on which at high tide, or slack water at low tide, one may sit down in

comfort and have great sport with bream, whiting, and flathead. As soon

as the tide turns, however, and is well on the ebb or flow, further

fishing is impossible, for the river rushes out to sea with great

velocity, and the incoming tide is almost as swift. On the other side of

the harbour is a long, sandy point, called the North Shore, about a mile

in length. This, at the north end, is met by a somewhat dense scrub,

which lines the right bank of the river for a couple of miles, and

affords a splendid shade to any one fishing on the river bank. The outer

or ocean beach is but a few minutes' walk from the river, and a

magnificent beach it is, trending in one great unbroken curve to Point

Plomer, seven miles from the township.

Before ascending the river on a fishing trip one has to provide one's

self with a plentiful supply of cockles, or "pippies," as they are

called locally. These can only be obtained on the northern ocean beach,

and not the least enjoyable part of a day's sport consists in getting

them. They are triangular in shape, with smooth shells of every

imaginable colour, though a rich purple is commonest. As the back wash

leaves the sands bare these bivalves may be seen in thick but irregular

patches protruding from the sand. Sometimes, if the tide is not low

enough, one may get rolled over by the surf if he happen to have his

back turned seaward. Generally I was accompanied by two boys, known as

"Condon's Twins." They were my landlord's sons, and certainly two of the

smartest young sportsmen--although only twelve years old--ever met with.

Both were very small for their age, and I was always in doubt as to

which was which. They were always delighted to come with me, and did not

mind being soused by a roller now and then when filling my "pippy" bag.

Pippies are the best bait one can have for whiting (except prawns) in

Australia, for, unlike the English whiting, it will not touch fish bait

of any sort, although, when very hungry, it will sometimes take to

octopus flesh. Bream (whether black or silvery), flathead, trevally,

jew-fish, and, indeed, all other fish obtained in Australia, are not so

dainty, for, although they like "pippies" and prawns best, they will

take raw meat, fish, or octopus bait with readiness. Certain species of

sea and river mullet are like them in this respect, and good sport may

be had from them with a rod in the hot months, as Dick and Fred, the

twins aforesaid, well knew, for often would their irate father

wrathfully ask them why they wasted their time catching "them worthless

mullet."

But let me give an idea of one of many days' fishing on the Hastings,

spent with the "Twins." Having filled a sugar bag with "pippies" on the

ocean beach, we put on our boots and make our way through the belt of

scrub to where our boat is lying, tied to the protruding roots of a

tree. Each of us is armed with a green stick, and we pick our way pretty

carefully, for black snakes are plentiful, and to tread on one may mean

death. The density of the foliage overhead is such that but little

sunlight can pierce through it, and the ground is soft to our feet with

the thick carpet of fallen leaves beneath. No sound but the murmuring of

the sea and the hoarse notes of countless gulls breaks the silence, for

this side of the river is uninhabited, and its solitude disturbed only

by some settler who has ridden down the coast to look for straying

cattle, or by a fishing party from the town. Our boat, which we had

hauled up and then tied to the tree, is now afloat, for the tide has

risen, and the long stretches of yellow sandbanks which line the channel

on the farther side are covered now with a foot of water. As we drift up

the river, eating our lunch, and letting the boat take care of herself,

a huge, misshapen thing comes round a low point, emitting horrid

groanings and wheezings. It is a steam stern-wheel punt, loaded with

mighty logs of black-butt and tallow wood, from fifty feet to seventy

feet in length, cut far up the Hastings and the Maria and Wilson Rivers,

and destined for the sawmill at Port Macquarie.

In another hour we are at our landing-place, a selector's abandoned

homestead, built of rough slabs, and standing about fifty yards back

from the river and the narrow line of brown, winding beach. The roof had

long since fallen in, and the fences and outbuildings lay low, covered

with vines and creepers. The intense solitude of the place, the

motionless forest of lofty grey-boled swamp gums that encompassed it on

all sides but one, and the wide stretch of river before it were

calculated to inspire melancholy in any one but an ardent fisherman.

Scarcely have we hauled our boat up on the sand, and deposited our

provisions and water in the roofless house, when we hear a commotion in

the river--a swarm of fish called "tailer" are making havoc among a

"school" of small mullet, many of which fling themselves out upon the

sand. Presently all is quiet again, and we get our lines ready.

For whiting and silvery bream rather fine lines are used, but we each

have a heavy line for flathead, for these fish are caught in the tidal

rivers on a sandy bottom up to three feet and four feet in length. They

are in colour, both on back and belly, much like a sole, of great width

across the shoulders, and then taper away to a very fine tail. The head

is perfectly flat, very thin, and armed on each side with very sharp

bones pointing tailward; a wound from one of these causes intense

inflammation. The fins are small--so small as to appear almost

rudimentary--yet the fish swims, or rather darts, along the bottom with

amazing rapidity. They love to lie along the banks a few feet from the

shore, where, concealed in the sand, they can dart out upon and seize

their prey in their enormous "gripsack" mouths. The approach of a boat

or a person walking along the sand will cause them to at once speed like

lightning into deep water, leaving behind them a wake of sand and mud

which is washed off their backs in their flight. Still, although not a

pleasing fish to look at, the flathead is of a delicious and delicate

flavour. There are some variations in their shades of colour, from a

pale, delicate grey to a very dark brown, according to their habitat,

and, although most frequent in very shallow water, they are often caught

in great quantities off the coast in from ten to fifteen fathoms of

water. Gut or wire snoodings are indispensable when fishing for

flathead, else the fish invariably severs the line with his fine

needle-pointed teeth, which are set very closely together. Nothing comes

amiss to them as food, but they have a great love for small mullet or

whiting, or a piece of octopus tentacle.

Baiting our heavy lines with mullet--two hooks with brass-wire snoods to

each line--we throw out about thirty yards, then, leaving two or three

fathoms loose upon the shore, we each thrust a stick firmly into the

sand, and take a turn of the line round it. As the largest flathead

invariably dart upon the bait, and then make a bolt with it, this plan

is a good one to follow, unless, of course, they are biting freely; in

that case the smaller lines for bream and whiting, &c., are hauled in,

for there is more real sport in landing an 8-lb. flathead than there is

in catching smaller fish, for he is very game, and fights fiercely for

his life.

Having disposed our big lines, we bait the smaller ones with "pippies,"

and not two minutes at the outside elapse after the sinkers have touched

bottom when we know we are to have a good time, for each of us has

hooked a fish, and three whiting are kicking on the sand before five

minutes have expired. Then for another hour we throw out and haul in

again as quickly as possible, landing whiting from 6 oz. to nearly 2

lbs. in weight. One of the "Twins" has three hooks on his line, and

occasionally lands three fish together, and now and again we get small

bream and an occasional "tailer" of 2 lbs. or 3 lbs. As the sun mounts

higher the breeze dies away, the heat becomes very great, and we have

frequent recourse to our water jar--in one case mixing it with whisky.

Then the whiting cease to bite as suddenly as they have begun, and move

off into deeper water. Just as we are debating as to whether we shall

take the boat out into mid-stream, Twin Dick gives a yell as his stick

is suddenly whipped out of the sand, and the loose line lying beside it

rushes away into the water. But Dick is an old hand, and lets his fish

have his first bolt, and then turns him. "By Jingo! sir, he's a big

fellow," he cries, as he hauls in, the line now as taut as a telegraph

wire, and then the other twin comes to his aid, and in a few minutes the

outline of the fish is seen, coming in straight ahead as quick as they

can pull him. When he is within ten feet of the beach the boys run up

the bank and land him safely, as he turns his body into a circle in his

attempts to shake out the hook. Being called upon to estimate his

weight, I give it as 11 lbs., much to the twins' sorrow--they think it

15 lbs.

Half an hour passes, and we catch but half a dozen silvery bream and

some small baby whiting, for now the sun is beating down upon our heads,

and our naked feet begin to burn and sting, so we adjourn to the old

house and rest awhile, leaving our big lines securely tied. But, though

the breeze for which we wait comes along by two o'clock, the fish do

not, and so, after disinterring our takes from the wet sand wherein we

had buried them as caught to prevent them being spoilt by the sun, we

get aboard again and pull across to the opposite bank of the river.

Here, in much deeper water, about fifteen feet right under the clayey

bank, we can see hundreds of fine bream, and now and then some small

jew-fish. Taking off our sinkers, we have as good and more exciting

sport among the bream than we had with the whiting, catching between

four and five dozen by six o'clock. Then, after boiling the billy and

eating some fearfully tough corned meat, we get into the boat again,

hoist our sail, and land at the little township just after dark.

Such was one of many similar day's sport on the Hastings, which, with

the Bellinger, the Nambucca, the Macleay, and the Clarence, affords good

fishing practically all the year round. Then, besides these tidal

rivers, there are at frequent intervals along the coast tidal lagoons

and "blind" creeks where fish congregate in really incredible

quantities. Such places as Lake Illawarra and Lake Macquarie are fishing

resorts well known to the tourist; but along the northern coast, where

the population is scantier, and access by rail or steamer more

difficult, there is an absolutely new field open to the sportsman--in

fact, these places are seldom visited for either fishing or shooting by

people from Sydney. During November and December the bars of these

rivers are literally black with incredible numbers of coarse

sea-salmon--a fish much like the English sea-bass--which, making their

way over the bars, swim up the rivers and remain there for about a week.

Although these fish, which weigh from 6 lbs. to 10 lbs., do not take a

bait and are rather too coarse to eat, their roes are very good,

especially when smoked. They are captured with the greatest of ease,

either by spearing or by the hand; for sometimes they are in such dense

masses that they are unable to manoeuvre in small bays; and the urchins

of coastal towns hail their yearly advent with delight. They usually

make their first appearance about the second week in November, and are

always followed by a great number of very large sharks and saw-fish,

which commit dreadful havoc in their serried and helpless ranks.

Following the sea-salmon, the rivers are next visited in January by

shoals of very large sea-mullet--blue-black backs, silvery bellies and

sides, and yellow fins and tails. These, too, will not take a bait, but

are caught in nets, and, if a steamer happens to be on the eve of

leaving for Sydney, many hundreds of baskets are sent away; but they

barely pay the cost of freight and commission, I believe. There are

several varieties of sea-mullet, one or two of which will take the hook

freely, and I have often caught them off the rocky coast of New South

Wales with a rod when the sea has been smooth. The arrival of the big

sea-mullet denotes that the season for jew-fish is at its height; and if

the stranger to Australian waters wants exciting sport let him try

jew-fishing at night. In deep water off the coast these great fish are

occasionally caught during daylight, but a dull, cloudy night is best,

when they may be caught from the beach or river bank in shallow water.

Very stout lines and heavy hooks are used, for a 90-lb. or l00-lb.

jew-fish is very common. Baiting with a whole mullet or whiting, or one

of the tentacles of an octopus, the most amateurish fisherman cannot

fail to hook two or three jew-fish in a night. (Even in Sydney harbour I

have seen some very large ones caught by people fishing from ferry

wharves.) They are very powerful, and also very game, and when they rise

to the surface make a terrific splashing. At one place on the Hastings

River, called Blackman's Point, a party of four of us took thirteen

fish, the heaviest of which was 42 lbs. and the lightest 9 lbs. Next

morning, however, the Blackman's Point ferryman, who always set a line

from his punt when he turned in, showed us one of over 70 lbs. When they

grow to such a size as this they are not eaten locally, as the flesh is

very often full of thin, thread-like worms. The young fish, however, are

very palatable.

The saw-fish, to which I have before alluded as harrying the swarms of

sea-salmon, also make havoc with the jew-fish, and very often are caught

on jew-fish lines. They are terrible customers to get foul of (I do not

confound them with the sword-fish) when fishing from a small boat. Their

huge bone bill, set on both sides with its terrible sharp spikes, their

great length, and enormous strength, render it impossible to even get

them alongside, and there is no help for it but either to cut the line

or pull up anchor and land the creature on the shore. Even then the task

of despatching one of these fish is no child's play on a dark night, for

they lash their long tails about with such fury that a broken leg might

be the result of coming too close. In the rivers of Northern Queensland

the saw-fish attain an enormous size, and the Chinese fishermen about

Cooktown and Townsville often have their nets destroyed by a saw-fish

enfolding himself in them. Alligators, by the way, do the same thing

there, and are sometimes captured, perfectly helpless, in the folds of

the nets, in which they have rolled themselves over and over again,

tearing it beyond repair with their feet, but eventually yielding to

their fate.

The schnapper, the best of all Australian fish, is too well known to

English visitors to describe in detail. Most town-bred Australians

generally regard it as a purely ocean-loving fish, or at least only

frequenting very deep waters in deep harbours, such as Sydney, Jervis

Bay, and Twofold Bay. This is quite a mistake, for in many of the

rivers, twenty or more miles up from the sea, the writer and many other

people have not only caught these beautiful fish, but seen fishermen

haul in their nets filled with them. But they seldom remain long,

preferring the blue depths of ocean to the muddy bottoms of tidal

rivers, for they are rock-haunting and surf-loving.

Of late years the northern bar harbours and rivers of New South Wales

have been visited by a fish that in my boyhood's days was unknown even

to the oldest fisherman--the bonito. Although in shape and size they

exactly resemble the ocean bonito of tropic seas, these new arrivals are

lighter in colour, with bands of marbled grey along the sides and belly.

They bite freely at a running bait--_i.e.,_ when a line is towed astern,

and are very good when eaten quite fresh, but, like all of the mackerel

tribe, rapidly deteriorate in a few hours after being caught. The

majority of the coast settlers will not eat them, being under the idea

that, as they are all but scaleless, they are "poisonous." This silly

impression also prevails with regard to many other scaleless fish on the

Australian coast, some of which, such as the trevally, are among the

best and most delicate in flavour. The black and white rock cod is also

regarded with aversion by the untutored settlers of the small coast

settlements, yet these fish are sold in Sydney, like the schnapper, at

prohibitive prices.

In conclusion, let me advise any one who is contemplating a visit to

Australia, and means to devote any of his time to either river or sea

fishing, to take his rods with him; all the rest of his tackle he can

buy as cheap in the colonies as he can in England. Rods are but little

used in salt-water fishing in Australia, and are rather expensive. Those

who do use a rod are usually satisfied with a bamboo--a very good rod

it makes, too, although inconvenient to carry when travelling--but the

generality of people use hand lines. And the visitor must not be

persuaded that he can always get good fishing without going some

distance from Sydney or Melbourne. That there is some excellent sport to

be obtained in Port Jackson in summer is true, but it is lacking in a

very essential thing--the quietude that is dear to the heart of every

true fisherman.

_Denison Gets Another Ship_

Owing to reduced circumstances, and a growing hatred of the hardships of

the sea, young Tom Denison (ex-supercargo of the South Sea Island

trading schooner _Palestine_) had sailed from Sydney to undertake the

management of an alleged duck-farm in North Queensland. The ducks, and

the vast area of desolation in which they suffered a brief existence,

were the property of a Cooktown bank, the manager of which was Denison's

brother. He was a kind-hearted man, who wanted to help Tom along in the

world, and, therefore, was grieved when at the end of three weeks the

latter came into Cooktown humping his swag, smoking a clay pipe, and

looking exceedingly tired, dirty, and disreputable generally. However,

all might have gone well even then had not Mrs. Aubrey Denison, the

brother's wife, unduly interfered and lectured Tom on his "idle and

dissolute life," as she called it, and made withering remarks about the

low tastes of sailors other than captains of mail steamers or officers

in the Navy. Tom, who intended to borrow £10 from his brother to pay his

passage back to Sydney to look for a ship, bore it all in silence, and

then said that he should like to give up the sea and become a

missionary in the South Seas, where he was "well acquainted with the

natives."

Mrs. Aubrey (who was a very refined young lady) smiled contemptuously,

and turned down the corners of her pretty little mouth in a manner that

made the unsuccessful duck-farmer boil with suppressed fury, as she

remarked that _she_ had heard of some of the shocking stories he had

been telling the accountant and cashier of the _characters_ of the

people in the South Seas, and _she_ quite understood _why_ he wished to

return there and re-associate with his vulgar and wicked companions.

Now, she added, had he stuck bravely to work with the ducks, the Bank

(she uttered the word "Bank" in the tone of reverence as one would say

"The Almighty") would have watched his career with interest, and in time

his brother would have used his influence with the General Manager to

obtain a position for him, Tom Denison, in the Bank itself! But, judging

from _her_ knowledge of his (Tom's) habits and disposition, she would be

doing wrong to hold out the slightest hope for him now, and------

"Look here, Maud, you're only twenty-two--two years older than me, and

you talk like an old grandmother;" and then his wrath overpowered his

judgment--"and you'll look like one before you're twenty-five. Don't you

lecture _me_. I'm not your husband, _thank Heaven above_! And damn the

bank and its carmine ducks." (He did not say "carmine," but I study the

proprieties, and this is not a sanguinary story.)

From the weatherboard portals of the bank Tom strode out in undisguised

anger, and obtained employment on a collier, discharging coals. Then, by

an extraordinary piece of good luck, he got a billet as proof-reader on

the North Queensland _Trumpet Call_, from which, after an exciting three

weeks, he was dismissed for "general incompetency and wilful neglect of

his duties." So with sorrow in his heart he had turned to the

ever-resourceful sea again for a living. He worked his passage down to

Sydney in an old, heart-broken, wheezing steamer named the _You Yangs_,

and stepped jauntily ashore with sixteen shillings in his pocket, some

little personal luggage rolled up in his blanket, and an unlimited

confidence in his own luck.

Two vessels were due from the South Sea Islands in about a month, and as

the skippers were both well known to and were on friendly terms with

him, he felt pretty certain of getting a berth as second mate or

supercargo on one of them. Then he went to look for a quiet lodging.

This was soon found, and then realising the fact that sixteen shillings

would not permit him viewing the sights of Sydney and calling upon the

Governor, as is the usual procedure with intellectual and dead-broke

Englishmen who come to Australia with letters of introduction from

people who are anxious to get rid of them, he tried to get temporary

employment by applying personally at the leading warehouses and

merchants' offices. The first day he failed; also the second. On the

third day the secretary of a milk company desired him to call again in

three days. He did, and was then told by the manager that he "might

have something" for him in a month or two. This annoyed Tom, as he had

put on his sole clean collar that morning to produce a good impression.

He asked the official if six months would not suit him better, as he

wanted to go away on a lengthy fishing trip with the Attorney-General.

The manager looked at him in a dignified manner, and then bade him an

abrupt good-day.

A week passed. Funds were getting low. Eight shillings had been paid in

advance for his room, and he had spent five in meals. But he was not

despondent; the _Susannah Booth_, dear, comfortable old wave-puncher,

beloved of hard-up supercargoes, was due in a week, and, provided he

could inspire his landlady with confidence until then, all would be

well.

But the day came when he had to spend his last shilling, and after a

fruitless endeavour to get a job on the wharves to drive one of the many

steam winches at work discharging cargo from the various ships, he

returned home in disgust.

That night, as he sat cogitating in his bedroom over his lucklessness,

his eye fell on a vegetable monstrosity from Queensland, presented to

him by one of the hands on board the _You Yangs_. It was a huge, dried

bean-pod, about four feet long, and contained about a dozen large black

beans, each about the size of a watch. He had seen these beans, after

the kernels were scooped out, mounted with silver, and used as

match-boxes by bushmen and other Australian gentry. It at once occurred

to him that he might sell it. Surely the thing ought to be worth at

least five shillings.

In two minutes he was out in the street, but to his disgust found most

of the shops closed, except the very small retail establishments.

Entering a little grocery store, he approached the proprietor, a man

with a pale, gargoyle-like face, and unpleasant-looking, raggedy teeth,

and showing him the bean, asked him to buy it.

The merchant looked at it with some interest and asked Tom what it was

called.

Tom said it was a _Locomotor Ataxy_. (He didn't know what a _locomotor

ataxy_ was; but it sounded well, and was all the Latin he knew, having

heard from his mother that a dissolute brother of hers had been

afflicted with that complaint, superinduced by spirituous liquors.)

The grocer-man turned the vegetable over and over again in his hand, and

then asked the would-be vendor if he had any more. Tom said he hadn't.

The _locomotor ataxy_, he remarked, was a very rare bean, and very

valuable. But he would sell it cheap--for five shillings.

"Don't want it," said the man rudely, pushing it away contemptuously.

"It's only a faked-up thing anyway, made of paper-mashy."

Tom tried to convince him that the thing was perfectly genuine, and

actually grew on a vine in North Queensland; but the Notre Dame

gargoyle-featured person only heard him with a snort of contempt. It was

obvious he wouldn't buy it. So, sneeringly observing to the grocer that

no doubt five shillings was a large sum for a man in such a small way of

business as he was, Tom went out again into the cold world.

He tried several other places, but no one would even look at the thing.

After vainly tramping about for over two hours, he turned away towards

his lodging, feeling very dispirited, and thinking about breakfast.

Turning up a side street called Queen's Place, so as to make a short cut

home, he espied in a dimly-lighted little shop an old man and a boy

working at the cobbler trade. They had honest, intelligent faces, and

looked as if they wanted to buy a _locomotor ataxy_ very badly. He

tapped at the door and then entered.

"Would you like to buy this?" he said to the old man. He did not like to

repeat his foolish Latin nonsense, for the old fellow had such a worn,

kindly face, and his honest, searching eyes met his in such a way that

he felt ashamed to ask him to buy what could only be worthless rubbish

to him.

The cobbler looked at the monstrosity wonderingly. "'Tis a rare big

bean," he said, in the trembling quaver of old age, and with a mumbling

laugh like that of a pleased child. "I'll give you two shillin's for it.

I suppose you want money badly, or else you wouldn't be wanderin' about

at ten o'clock at night tryin' to sell it. I hope you come by it honest,

young man?"

Tom satisfied him on this score, and then the ancient gave him the two

shillings. Bidding him good-night, Tom returned home and went to bed.

(Quite two years after, when Denison returned to Sydney from the South

Seas with more money "than was good for his moral welfare," as his

sister-in-law remarked, he sought out the old cobbler gentleman and

bought back his _locomotor ataxy_ bean for as many sovereigns as he had

been given shillings for it.)

Next morning he was down at the wharves before six o'clock, smoking his

pipe contentedly, after breakfasting sumptuously at a coffee-stall for

sixpence. There was a little American barque lying alongside the

Circular Quay, and some of the hands were bending on her head-sails. Tom

sat down on the wharf stringer dangling his feet and watching them

intently. Presently the mate appeared on the poop, smoking a cigar. He

looked at Tom critically for a moment or so, and then said--

"Looking for a ship, young feller?"

The moment Tom heard him speak, he jumped to his feet, for he knew the

voice, last heard when the possessor of it was mate of the island

trading schooner _Sadie Caller_, a year before in Samoa.

"Is that you, Bannister?" he cried.

"Reckon 'taint no one else, young feller. Why, Tom Denison, is it you?

Step right aboard."

Tom was on the poop in an instant, the mate coming to him with

outstretched hand.

"What's the matter, Tom? Broke?"

"Stony!"

"Sit down here and tell me all about it. I heard you had left the

_Palestine_. Say, sling that dirty old pipe overboard, and take one of

these cigars. The skipper will be on deck presently, and the sight of it

would rile him terrible. He hez his new wife aboard, and she considers

pipes ez low-down."

Tom laughed as he thought of Mrs. Aubrey, and flung his clay over the

side. "What ship is this, Bannister?"

"The _J.W. Seaver_, of 'Frisco. We're from the Gilbert Islands with a

cargo of copra."

"Who is your supercargo?"

"Haven't got one. Can't get one here, either. Say, Tom, you're the man.

The captain will jump at getting you! Since he married he considers his

life too valuable to be trusted among natives, and funks at going ashore

and doing supercargo's work. Now you come below, and I'll rake out

enough money to get you a high-class suit of store clothes and shiny

boots. Then you come back to dinner. I'll talk to him between then and

now. He knows a lot about you. I'll tell him that since you left the

_Palestine_ you've been touring your native country to 'expand your

mind.' _She's_ Boston, as ugly as a brown stone jug, and highly

intellectual. _He's_ all right, and as good a sailor-man as ever trod a

deck, but _she's_ boss, runs the ship, and looks after the crew's

morals. Thet's why we're short-handed. But she'll take to you like

lightning--when she hears that you've been 'expanding your mind.' Buy a

second-hand copy of Longfellow's, poems, and tell her that it has been

your constant companion in all your wanderings among vicious cannibals,

and she'll just decorate your cabin like a prima-donna's boudoir, darn

your socks, and make you read some of her own poetry."

That afternoon, Mr. Thomas Denison, clean-shirted and looking eminently

respectable and prosperous, and feeling once more a man after the

degrading duck episode in North Queensland, was strolling about George

Street with Bannister, and at peace with the world and himself. For the

skipper's wife had been impressed with his intellectuality and modest

demeanour, and was already at work decorating his cabin--as Bannister

had prophesied.

_Jack Shark's Pilot_

Early one morning as we in the _Palestine_, South Sea trading schooner,

were sailing slowly between Fotuna and Alofa--two islands lying to the

northward of Fiji--one of the native hands came aft and reported two

large sharks alongside. The mate at once dived below for his shark hook,

while I tried to find a suitable bit of beef in the harness cask. Just

as the mate appeared carrying the heavy hook and chain, our skipper, who

was lying on the skylight smoking his pipe, although half asleep,

inquired if there were "any pilot fish with the brutes."

"Yes, sir," said a sailor who was standing in the waist, looking over

the side, "there's quite a lot of 'em. I've never seen so many at one

time before. There's nigh on a dozen."

The captain was on his feet in an instant. "Don't lower that hook of

yours just yet, Porter," he said to the mate. "I'm going to get those

pilot fish first. Tom, bring me up my small fishing line."

"They won't take a hook, will they?" I inquired.

"Just you wait and see, sonny. Ever taste pilot fish?"

"No. Are they good to eat?"

"Best fish in the ocean, barring flying-fish," replied the skipper, as,

after examining his line, he cut off both hook and leaden sinker and

bent on a small-sized _pa_--a native-made bonito hook cut out from a

solid piece of pearl-shell.

Then jumping up into the whaleboat which hung in davits on the starboard

quarter he waited for the sharks to appear, and the mate and I leant

over the side and watched. We had not long to wait, for in a few minutes

one came swimming quickly up from astern, and was almost immediately

joined by the other, which had been hanging about amidships. They were

both, however, pretty deep down, and at first I could not discern any

pilot fish. The captain, however, made a cast and the hook dropped in

the water, about fifty feet in the rear of the sharks; he let it sink

for less than half a minute, and then began hauling in the line as

quickly as possible, and at the same moment I saw some of the pilot fish

quite distinctly--some swimming alongside and some just ahead of their

detestable companions, which were now right under the counter. Then

something gleamed brightly, and the shining hook appeared, for a second

or two only, for two of the "pilots" darted after it with lightning-like

rapidity, and presently one came to the surface with a splash,

beautifully hooked, and was swung up into the boat.

"Now for some fun," cried the captain, as tossing the fish to us on deck

he again lowered the hook. This time it had barely touched the surface

of the water when away went the line with a rush right under our keel.

"This is a big fellow," said the skipper, and up came another dark blue

and silver beauty about a foot in length, dropping off the hook just in

time as he was hoisted clear of the gunwale. Then, in less than ten

minutes--so eager were they to rush the hook the moment it struck the

water--five more were jumping about upon the deck or in the boat. Then

came a calamity, the eighth fish dropped off when half way up and took

the hook with him, having swallowed it and bitten through the line.

The captain jumped on deck again and began rooting out his bag for

another small-sized _pa_, but to his disgust could not find one ready

for use--none of them having the actual "hook" portion lashed to the

shank, and the operation of lashing one of these cleverly-made native

hooks takes some little time and patience, for the holes which are bored

through the base of the "hook" part in order to lash it to the shank are

very small, and only very fine and strong cord, such as banana-fibre,

can be used. However, while the irate captain was fussing over his task,

the mate and I were watching the movements of the sharks and their

little friends with the greatest interest, having promised the captain

not to lower the shark hook till he had caught the rest of the pilot

fish, for he assured us that they would most likely disappear after the

sharks were captured. (I learned from my own experience afterward that

he was mistaken, for when a shark is caught at sea his attendants will

frequently remain with the ship for weeks, or until another shark

appears, in which case they at once attach themselves to him.)

Both sharks were now swimming almost on the surface, so close to the

ship that they could have been caught in a running bowline or harpooned

with the greatest ease; and in fact our native crew, who were very

partial to shark's flesh, had both harpoon and bowline in readiness in

case the cunning brutes would not take a bait. They were both of great

size--the largest being over twelve or thirteen feet in length. With the

smaller one were three pilot fish, one swimming directly under the end

of its nose, the others just over its eyes; the larger had but one

attendant, which kept continually changing its position, sometimes being

on one side, then on another, then disappearing for a few moments

underneath the monster's belly, or pressing itself so closely against

the creature's side that it appeared as if it was adhering to it. I had

never before seen these fish at such close quarters, and their

extraordinary activity and seeming attachment to their savage companions

was most astonishing to witness; occasionally when either of the sharks

would cease moving, they would take up a position within a few inches of

its jaws, remain there a few seconds, and then swim under its belly and

reappear at the tail, then slowly make their way along its back or sides

to the hideous head again. Sometimes, either singly or all together,

they would dart away on either side, but quickly returned, never being

absent more than a minute. These brief excursions showed them to be

extremely swift, yet when they returned to their huge companions they

instantly became--at least to all appearance--intensely sluggish and

languid in their movements, and swam in an undecided, indefinite sort of

manner as if thoroughly exhausted. But this was but in appearance, for

suddenly they would again shoot away along the surface of the water with

lightning-like rapidity, disappear from view of the keenest eye, and,

ere you could count five, again be beside the vessel swimming as

leisurely, if not as lazily, as if they were incapable of quickening

their speed.

Having his line ready again, the captain now began fishing from the

stern, and succeeded in catching three of the remaining four, the last

one (which our natives said was the fish which had swallowed the first

hook) refusing even to look at the tempting bit of iridescent

pearl-shell. Then the impatient mate lowered his bait over the stern,

having first passed the line outboard and given the end to three or four

of the crew, who stood in the waist ready to haul in. The smaller of the

two sharks was at once hooked, and when dragged up alongside amidships

struggled and lashed about so furiously that the big fellow came

lumbering up to see what was the matter, and Billy Rotumah, our native

boatswain, who was watching for him, promptly drove a harpoon socket

deeply into him between the shoulders; then, after some difficulty, a

couple of running bowlines settled them both in a comfortable position

to be stunned with an axe.

The schooner was at this time within a few miles of a small village on

Alofa, named Mua, and presently a boat manned by natives boarded us to

sell yams, taro, pineapples, and bananas, all of which we bought from

them in exchange for the sharks' livers and some huge pieces of flesh

weighing two or three hundred pounds. These people (who resemble the

Samoans in appearance and language) were much impressed and terrified

when they saw the pilot fish which had been caught, and told our crew

that ours would be an unlucky ship--that we had done a dangerous and

foolish thing. Their feeling on the subject was strong; for when I asked

them if they would take two or three of the fish on shore to Father

Hervé, one of the French priests living on Fotuna, who was an old

friend, they started back in mingled terror and indignation, and

absolutely declined to even touch them. Taking one of the pilot fish up

I held it by the head between my forefinger and thumb and asked the

natives if they did not consider it good to look at.

"True," replied a fine, stalwart young fellow, speaking in Samoan, "it

is good to look at," and then he added gravely, "_Talofa lava ia te

outou i le vaa nei, ua lata mai ne aso malaia ma le tiga|_" ("Alas for

all you people on this ship, there is a day of disaster and sorrow near

you").

I tried to ascertain the cause of their terror, but could only elicit

the statement that to kill a pilot fish meant direful misfortune. No

sensible man, they asserted, would do such a senseless and _saua_

(cruel) thing, and to eat one was an abomination unutterable.

As soon as our visitors had left I hurried to make a closer examination

of our prizes before the cook took possession of them. Of the eleven,

only one was over a foot in length, the rest ranged from five to ten

inches. The beautiful dark blue of the head and along the back, so

noticeable when first caught, had now lost its brilliancy, and the four

wide vertical black stripes on the sides had also become dulled,

although the silvery belly was still as bright as a new dollar. The eyes

were rather large for such a small fish, and all the fins were

blue-black, with a narrow white line running along the edges. Their

appearance even an hour after death was very handsome, and in shape they

were much like a very plump trout. In the stomachs of some we found

small flying squid, little shrimps, and other Crustacea.

Our Manila-man cook, although not a genius, certainly knew how to fry

fish, and that morning we had for breakfast some of Jack Shark's

pilots--the most delicately-flavoured deep-sea fish I have ever

tasted--except, perhaps, that wonderful and beautiful creature, the

flying-fish.

_The "Palu" of the Equatorial Pacific_

During a residence of half a lifetime among the various island-groups of

the North-western and South Pacific, I devoted much of my spare

time--and I had plenty of it occasionally--to deep-sea fishing, my

tutors being the natives of the Caroline, Marshall, Gilbert, and Ellice

Groups.

The inhabitants of the last-named cluster of islands are, as I have

said, the most skilled fishermen of all the Malayo-Polynesian peoples

with whom it has been my fortune to have come in contact. The very

poverty of their island homes--mere sandbanks covered with coconut and

pandanus palms only--drives them to the sea for their food; for the

Ellice Islanders, unlike their more fortunate prototypes who dwell in

the forest-clad, mountainous, and fertile islands of Samoa, Tahiti,

Raratonga, &c., live almost exclusively upon coconuts, the drupes of the

pandanus palm, and fish. From their very infancy they look to the sea as

the main source of their food-supply, either in the clear waters of the

lagoon, among the breaking surf on the reef, or out in the blue depths

of the ocean beyond. From morn till night the frail canoes of these

semi-nude, brown-skinned, and fearless toilers of the sea may be seen by

the voyager paddling swiftly over the rolling swell of the wide Pacific

in chase of the _bonito_, or lying motionless upon the water, miles and

miles away from the land, ground-fishing with lines a hundred fathoms

long. Then, as the sun dips, the flare of torches will be seen along the

sandy beaches as the night-seekers of flying-fish launch their canoes

and urge them through the rolling surf beyond the reef, where, for

perhaps three or four hours, they will paddle slowly to and fro, just

outside the white line of roaring breakers, and return to the shore with

their tiny craft half-filled with the most beautiful and wonderful fish

in the world. The Ellice Island method of catching flying-fish would

take too long to explain here, much as I should like to do so; my

purpose is to describe a very remarkable fish called the _palu_, in the

capture of which these people are the most skilful. The catching of

flying-fish, however, bears somewhat on the subject of this article, as

the _palu_ will not take any other bait but a flying-fish, and therefore

a supply of the former is a necessary preliminary to _palu_ fishing.

Let us imagine, then, that the bait has been secured, and that a party

of _palu_-fishers are ready to set out from the little island of

Nanomaga, the smallest but most thickly populated of the Ellice Group.

The night must be windless and moonless, the latter condition being

absolutely indispensable, although, curiously enough, the fish will

take the hook on an ordinary starlight night. Time after time have I

tried my luck with either a growing or a waning moon, much to the

amusement of the natives, and never once did I get a _palu_, although

other nocturnal-feeding fish bit freely enough.

The tackle used by the natives is made of coconut cinnet, four or

eight-stranded, of great strength, and capable of holding a fifteen-foot

shark should one of these prowlers seize the bait. The hook is made of

wood--in fact, the same as is used for shark-fishing--about one inch and

a half in diameter, fourteen inches in the shank, with a natural curve;

the barb, or rather that which answers the purpose of a barb, being

supplied by a small piece lashed horizontally across the top of the end

of the curve. These peculiar wooden hooks are _grown_; the roots of a

tree called _ngiia_, whose wood is of great toughness, are watched when

they protrude from a bank, and trained into the desired shape; specimens

of these hooks may be seen in almost any ethnographical museum. To sink

the line, coral stones of three or four pounds weight are used, attached

by a very thin piece of cinnet or bark, which, when the fish is struck,

is always broken by its struggles, and falls off, thus releasing the

line from an unnecessary weight. It is no light task hauling in a thick,

heavy line, hanging straight up and down for a length of from

seventy-five to a hundred fathoms or more!

Each canoe is manned by four men, only two of whom usually fish, the

other two, one at the bow and the other at the stern, being employed in

keeping the little craft in a stationary position with their paddles.

If, however, there is not much current all four lower their lines, one

man working his paddle with one hand so as to keep from drifting. My

usual companions were the resident native teacher and two stalwart young

natives of the island--Tulu'ao and Muli'ao; and I may here indulge in a

little vanity when I say that my success as a _palu_-fisher was regarded

as something phenomenal, only one other white man in the group, a trader

on the atoll of Funafuti, having ever caught a _palu_, or, in fact,

tried to catch one. But then I had such beautiful tackle that even the

most skilled native fisherman had no chance when competing with me. My

lines were of twenty-seven-strand white American cotton, as thick as a

small goose-quill, and easily handled, never tangling or twisting like

the native cinnet; and my hooks were the admiration and envy of all who

saw them. They were of the "flatted" Kirby type, eyed, but with a curve

in the shank, which was five inches in length, and as thick as a

lead-pencil. I had bought these in Sydney, and during the voyage down

had rigged them with snoodings of the very best seizing wire, intending

to use them for shark-fishing. I had smaller ones down to three inches,

but always preferred using the largest size, as the _palu_ has a large

mouth, and it is a difficult matter in a small canoe on a dark night to

free a hook embedded in the gullet of a fish which is awkward to handle

even when exhausted, and weighing as much as sixty or seventy pounds;

while I also knew that any unusual noise or commotion would be almost

sure to attract some of those most dangerous of all night-prowlers of

the Pacific, the deep-water blue shark.

Paddling out due westward from the lee side of the island, where the one

village is situated, we would bring-to in about seventy or eighty

fathoms. As I always used leaden sinkers, my companions invariably let

me lower first to test the depth, as with a two or three-pound lead my

comparatively thin line took but little time in running out and touching

bottom. A whole flying-fish was used for one bait by the natives, it

being tied on to the inner curve of the great wooden hook, whilst I cut

one in half, fore-and-aft, and ran my hook through it lengthwise.

The utmost silence was always observed; and even when lighting our pipes

we were always careful not to let the reflection of the flame of the

match fall upon the water, on account of the sharks, which would at once

be attracted to the canoe, and hover about until they were rewarded for

their vigilance by seizing the first _palu_ brought to the surface.

Sometimes a hungry shark will seize the outrigger in his jaws, or get

foul of it, and upset the canoe, and a capsize under such circumstances

is a serious matter indeed. For this reason the canoes are never far

apart from each other; if one should be attacked or disabled by a shark

the others at once render assistance, and the shark is usually thrust

through with a lance if he is too big to be captured and killed. All

haste is then made to get away from the spot, leaving the disturber of

the proceedings to be devoured by his companions, whom the scent of

blood soon brings upon the scene.

With ordinary luck we would get our first _palu_ within an hour of

lowering our lines. At such a great depth as eighty or ninety fathoms a

bite would scarcely be felt by one of my companions on his thick, heavy,

and clumsy line; but on mine it was very different, and there was hardly

an occasion on which I did not secure the first fish. Like most

bottom-haunting fish in very deep water the _palu_ makes but a brief

fight. If he can succeed in "getting his head," he will at once rush

into the coral forest amid which he lives, and endeavour to save himself

by jamming his body into a cleft or chasm of rock, and let the hook be

torn from his jaws, which are soft, boneless, and glutinous. Once,

however, he is dragged clear of the coral he seems to lose all heart;

and, although he makes an occasional spurt, he grows weaker and weaker

as he is dragged toward the surface, and when lifted into the canoe is

apparently lifeless, his large eyes literally standing out of his head,

and his stomach distended like a balloon. So enormous is the distention

of the bladder that sometimes it will protrude from the mouth, and then

burst with a noise like a pistol-shot! Perhaps some of my readers will

smile at this, but they could see the same thing occur with other

deep-sea fish besides the _palu_. In the Caroline and Marshall Islands

there is a species of grey groper which is caught in a depth ranging

from one hundred to one hundred and fifty fathoms; these fish, which

range up to two hundred pounds, actually burst their stomachs when

brought to the surface; for the air in the cavities of the body expands

on the removal of the great pressure which at such depths keeps it

compressed.

Now as to the appearance of the _palu_. When first caught, and seen by

the light of a lantern or torch, it is a dark, silvery grey in colour,

with prickly, inverted scales--like the feathers of a French fowl of a

certain breed. The head is somewhat cod-shaped, with eyes quite as large

as a crown-piece; the teeth are many, small, and soft, and bend to a

firm pressure; and the bones in the fin and tail are so soft and

flexible that they may be bent into any shape, but when dried are of the

appearance and consistency of gelatine. The length of the largest _palu_

I have seen was five feet six inches, with a girth of about forty

inches. This one was caught in about ninety fathoms of water; and when I

opened the stomach I found it to contain five or six undigested fish,

about seven inches in length, of the groper species, and for which the

natives of the island had no name or knowledge of beyond the appellation

_ika kehe_--"unknown fish"--that is, fish which are only seen when taken

from the stomach of a deep-sea fish, or are brought to the surface or

washed ashore after some submarine disturbance.

The flesh of the _palu_ is greatly valued by the natives of the

equatorial islands of the Pacific for its medicinal qualities as a

laxative, whilst the oil with which it is permeated is much used as a

remedy for rheumatism and similar complaints. Within half an hour of its

being taken from the water the skin changes to a dead black, and the

flesh assumes the appearance of whale blubber. Generally, the fish is

cooked in the usual native ground-oven as quickly as possible, care

being taken to wrap it closely up in the broad leaves of the _puraka_

plant--a species of gigantic taro--in order that none of the oil may be

lost. Thinking that the oil, which is perfectly colourless and with

scarcely any odour, might prove of value, I once "tried out" two of the

largest fish taken, and obtained a gallon. This I sent to a firm of

drug-merchants in Sydney; but unfortunately the vessel was lost on the

passage.

The _palu_ does not seem to have a wide habitat. In the Tonga Islands it

is, I believe, very rare; and in Fiji, Samoa, and other mountainous

groups throughout Polynesia the natives appear to have no knowledge of

it, although they have a fish possessing the same peculiar

characteristics, but of a somewhat different shape. I have fished for it

without success at half a dozen places in Samoa, in New Britain, and New

Ireland. But it is generally to be found about the coasts of any of the

low-lying coral islands of the Union (or Tokelau) Group, the Ellice,

Gilbert, Marshall, and part of the Caroline archipelagoes. The Gilbert

Islanders call it _te ika ne peka_--a name that cannot well be

translated into bald English, though there is a very lucid Latin

equivalent.

In 1882 I took passage from the Island of Nukufetau in the Ellice Group

for the Caroline Islands. The vessel was a fine brigantine of 160 tons,

and was named the _Orwell_. She was, unfortunately, commanded by an

incompetent, obstinate, self-willed man, who, though a good seaman, had

no meteorological knowledge and succeeded in losing the ship, when lying

at anchor, on Peru Island, in the Gilbert Group, ten days after leaving

Nukufetau, simply through disregarding the local trader's advice to put

to sea. Disastrous as was the incident to me, for I lost trade goods and

personal effects to the value of over a thousand pounds, and came ashore

with what I stood in--to wit, a pyjama suit--and a bag of Chili dollars,

I had reason to afterwards congratulate myself from a fisherman's point

of view.

Living on the island was a Swiss, Frank Voliero, whom I have before

mentioned. He was an ardent deep-sea fisherman, and was on that account

highly respected by the natives, who otherwise did not care for him, as

he was of an exceedingly quarrelsome disposition. He was an expert

_palu_ man, and he and I therefore quickly made Island _bruderschaft_.

During the three months I remained on Peru we had many fishing trips,

and caught not less than fifty _palu_. The largest of these was

evidently a patriarch, for although he was in rather poor condition he

weighed 136 lbs. and was 6 feet 10 inches in length. Another, hooked at

a depth of eighty-five fathoms, was only 5 feet 2 inches, and weighed

129 lbs. Its stomach contained a small octopus with curiously stunted

tentacles, almost as thick at the tips as they were at the base, but in

all other respects similar to those found in shallow water upon the

reefs and in the lagoon.

Both Voliero and myself tried many kinds of bait for _palu,_ believing

that the native theory that the fish would only take flying-fish was

wrong. We found that on Peru, any elongated fish, such as gars, silvery

mullet, or young bonito, were acceptable, and that the tentacle of an

octopus, after the outer skin was removed, answered just as well. Yet

further southward among the Pacific Isles, flying-fish is the only bait

they will take! Evidently, therefore, the _palu_, at the great depths in

which it lives, is attracted by a brightly-hued fish whose habitat is on

the surface of the ocean. Why this is so must be decided by

ichthyologists, for there are no bright, silvery-scaled fish inhabiting

the ocean at such depths as eighty or a hundred fathoms. And why is it

that the _palu,_ quiescent by day, and feeding only at night, so eagerly

seizes a hook baited with a flying-fish--a fish which never descends

more than a few fathoms below the surface, and which the _palu_ can

never possibly see except when it is lowered by human hands to, or sinks

to the bottom?

Of the marvellous efficacy of the _palu_-oil in a case of acute

rheumatism I can speak with knowledge. The second mate of an

island-trading schooner of which I was the supercargo, was landed at

Arorai, in the Line Islands, unable to move, and suffering great agony.

After two days' massaging with _palu_-oil he recovered and returned to

his duties.

[Since this was written I have learned that Mr. E.R. Waite, of the

Sydney Museum, has described the _palu_ as the _Ruvettus pretiosus_,

"which hitherto was known only from the North Atlantic, and whose

recorded range is now enormously increased. The Escolar--to give it its

Atlantic name--has been taken at depths as great as three and four

hundred fathoms, but can only be taken at night in September and the

early part of October." I should very much like to learn how the _palu_

is taken at a depth of four hundred fathoms--eight hundred yards!]

_The Wily "Goanner"_

In the early part of the year 1899 a settler named Hardy, residing at

Glenowlan, in the Rylstone district of New South Wales, about 150 miles

from Sydney, lost numbers of his lambs during the lambing season.

Naturally enough, dingoes were suspected, but none were seen. Then other

sheep--men began to lose lambs, and a close watch was set, with the

result that iguanas, which are very numerous in this part of the

country, were discovered to be the murderers of the little "baa-baa's."

The cause of this new departure in the predatory habits of the

"goanner"--which hitherto had confined his evil deeds to nocturnal

visits to the fowl-yards--is stated to be the extermination of the

opossum, which has driven the cunning reptile to seek for another source

of food. And, as before the shooting of kangaroos, wallabies, and

opossums was resorted to as a means of livelihood by hundreds of bushmen

who had no other employment open to them, the young of these marsupials

furnished the iguana with an ample supply of food, the theory is very

probably correct. Poison will be the only method of destroying or

reducing the numbers of the iguana, who, robber as he is, yet has his

good points, as has even the sneaking, blood-loving native cat--for both

are merciless foes to snakes of all kinds; and 'tis better to have an

energetic and hungry native cat and a score of wily iguanas working

havoc among the tenants of your fowl-house than one brown or an equally

deadly "bandy-bandy" snake within half a mile.

In that part of New South Wales in which the writer was born--one of the

tidal rivers on the northern coast--both snakes and iguanas were

plentiful, and a source of continual worry to the settlers.

On one occasion some boyish companions and myself set to work to build a

raft for fishing purposes out of some old and discarded blue gum rails

which were lying along the bank of the river. Boy-like, we utterly

disregarded our parents' admonition to put on our boots, and, aided by a

couple of blackfellows, we moved about the long grass on our bare feet,

picking up the heavy rails and carrying them on our shoulders, one by

one, down to the sandy beach, where we were to lash them together.

Presently we came across a very heavy rail, about eight feet long,

twelve inches in width, and two inches thick. It was no sooner up-ended

than we saw half a dozen "bandy-bandies"--the smallest but most deadly

of Australian snakes, not even excepting the death-adder--lying beneath!

We gave a united yell of terror and fled as the black and yellow banded

reptiles--none of which were over eighteen inches in length nor thicker

than a man's little finger--wriggled between our feet into the long

grass around us. For some minutes we were too frightened at our escape

to speak; but soon set to work to complete the raft. Presently one of

the blackfellows pointed to a tall honeysuckle-tree about fifty feet

away, and said with a gleeful chuckle, "Hallo, you see him that 'pfeller

goanner been catch him bandy-bandy?"

Sure enough, an iguana, about three feet in length, was scurrying up the

rough, ridgy bark of the honeysuckle with a "bandy-bandy" in his jaws.

He had seized the snake by its head, I imagine, for we could see the

rest of its form twisting and turning about and enveloping the body of

its capturer. In a few seconds we saw the iguana ascend still higher,

then he disappeared with his hateful prey among the loftier branches. No

doubt he enjoyed his meal.

About a year or so later I was given another instance of the "cuteness"

of the wicked "goanner." My sister (aged twelve) and myself (two years

younger) were fishing with bamboo rods for mullet. We were standing, one

on each side, of the rocky edges of a tiny little bay on the coast near

Port Macquarie (New South Wales). The background was a short, steep

beach of soft, snow-white sand, fringed at the high-water margin with a

dense jungle of wild apple and pandanus-trees.

The mullet bit freely, and as we swung the gleaming, bright-silvered

fish out of the water on to the rocks on which we stood, we threw them

up on to the beach, and left them to kick about and coat themselves with

the clean, white sand--which they did in such an artistic manner that

one would imagine they considered it egg and breadcrumb, and were

preparing themselves to fulfil their ultimate and proper use to the

_genus homo_.

My sister had caught seven and I five, when, the sun being amidships, we

decided to boil the billy of tea and get something to eat; young mullet,

roasted on a glowing fire of honeysuckle cobs were, we knew, very nice.

So, laying down our rods on the rocks, we walked up to the beach--just

in time to see two "goanners"--one of them with a wriggling mullet in

his mouth--scamper off into the bush.

A careful search revealed the harrowing fact that nine of the twelve

fish were missing, and the multitudinous criss-cross tracks on the sand

showed the cause of their disappearance. My sister sat down on a hollow

log and wept, out of sheer vexation of spirit, while I lit a fire to

boil the billy and grill the three remaining mullet. Then after we had

eaten the fish and drank some tea, we concocted a plan of deadly

revenge. We took four large bream-hooks, bent them on to a piece of

fishing-line, baited each hook with a good-sized piece of octopus (our

mullet bait), and suspended the line between two saplings, about three

inches above the leaf-strewn ground. Then, feeling confident of the

success of our murderous device, we finished the billy of tea and went

back to our fishing. We caught a couple of dozen or more of fine mullet,

each one weighing not less than 1-1/2 lbs.; and then the incoming tide

with its sweeping seas drove us from the ledge of rocks to the beach,

where we changed our bamboo rods for hand-lines with sinkers, and flung

them, baited with chunks of mullet, out into the breaking surf for

sea-bream. By four in the afternoon we had caught more fish than we

could well carry home, five miles away; and after stringing the mullet

and bream through the gills with a strip of supple-jack cane, we went up

the beach to our camp for the billy can and basket.

And then we saw a sight that struck terror into our guilty souls--a

_Danse Macabre_ of three writhing black and yellow, long-tailed

"goanners," twisting, turning and lashing their sinuous and scaly tails

in agony as they sought to free their widely-opened jaws from the cruel

hooks. One had two hooks in his mouth. He was the quietest of the lot,

as he had less purchase than the other two upon the ground, and with one

hook in his lower and one in his upper jaw, glared upwards at us in his

torture and smote his sides with his long, thin tail.

"Oh, you wicked, wicked boy!" said my partner in guilt--at once shifting

the responsibility of the whole affair upon me--"you ought to be ashamed

of yourself for doing such a thing! You know well enough that we should

never hurt a poor, harmless iguana. Oh, _do_ take those horrible hooks

out of the poor things' mouths and let them go, you wicked, cruel boy!"

With my heart in my mouth I crept round through the scrub, knife in

hand.

"Go on, you horrible, horrible, coward!" screamed my sister; "one would

think that the poor things were alligators or sharks. Oh, my goodness,

if you're so frightened, I'll come and do it myself." With that she

clambered up into the branches of a pandanus-tree and looked at me

excitedly, mingled with considerable contempt and much fear.

Being quite wise enough not to attempt to take the hooks out of the

"goanners'" mouths, I cut the two ends of the line to which they hung.

They instantly sought refuge on the tree trunks around them; but as each

"goanner" selected his individual tree, and as they were still connected

to each other by the line and the hooks in their jaws, their attempts to

reach a higher plane was a failure. So they fell to upon one another

savagely.

"Come away, you wicked, thoughtless boy," said my sister, weepingly. "I

shall never come out with you again; you cruel thing."

Then, overcoming my fear, I valiantly advanced, and gingerly extending

my arm, cut the tangled-up fishing line in a dozen places; and with my

bamboo fishing-rod disintegrated the combatants. They stood for a few

seconds, panting and open-mouthed, and then, with the hooks still fast

in their jaws, scurried away into the scrub.

_The Ta~nifa of Samoa_

Many years ago, at the close of an intensely hot day, I set out from

Apia, the principal port of Samoa, to walk to a village named Laulii, a

few miles along the coast. Passing through the semi-Europeanised town of

Matautu, I emerged out upon the open beach. I was bound on a

pigeon-shooting trip to the mountains, but intended sleeping that night

at Laulii with some native friends who were to accompany me. With me was

a young Manhiki half-caste named Allan Strickland; he was about

twenty-two years of age and one of the most perfect specimens of

athletic manhood in the South Pacific.[15] For six months we had been

business partners and comrades in a small cutter in which we traded

between Apia and Sava'ii--the largest island of the Samoan group; and

now after some months of toil we were taking a week's holiday together,

and enjoying ourselves greatly, although at the time (1873) the country

was in the throes of an internecine war.

A walk of a mile brought us to the mouth of the Vaivasa River, a small

stream flowing into the sea from the littoral on our right. The tide was

high and we therefore hailed a picket who were stationed in the trenches

on the opposite bank and asked them in a jocular manner not to fire at

us while we were wading across. To our surprise, for we were both well

known to and on very friendly terms with the contending parties, half a

dozen of them sprang up and excitedly bade us not to attempt to cross.

"Go further up the bank and cross to our _olo_ (lines) in a canoe,"

added a young Manono chief whose family I knew well, "there is a

_ta~nifa_ about. We saw it last night."

That was quite enough for us--for the name _Ta~nifa_ sent a cold chill

down our backs. We turned to the right, and after walking a quarter of a

mile came to a hut on the bank at a spot regarded as neutral ground.

Here we found some women and children and a canoe, and in less than five

minutes we were landed on the other side, the women chorusing the

dreadful fate that would have befallen us had we attempted to cross at

the mouth of the river.

"_E lima gafa le umi!_" ("'Tis five fathoms long!") cried one old dame.

"And a fathom wide at the shoulders," said another bare-bosomed lady,

with a shudder. "It hath come to the mouth of the Vaivasa because it

hath smelt the blood of the three men who were killed in the river here

two days ago."

"We'll hear the true yarn presently," said my companion as we walked

down the left-hand bank of the river. "There must be a _ta~nifa_

cruising about, or else those Manono fellows wouldn't have been so

scared at us wanting to cross."

As soon as we reached the young chief's quarters, we were made very

welcome, and were obliged to accept his invitation to remain and share

supper with himself and his men--all stalwart young natives from the

little island of Manono--a lovely spot situated in the straits

separating Upolo from Savaii. Placing our guns and bags in the care of

one of the warriors, we took our seats on the matted floor, filled our

pipes anew, and, whilst a bowl of kava was being prepared, Li'o, the

young chief told us about the advent of the _ta~nifa_.

Let me first of all, however, explain that the _ta~nifa_ is a somewhat

rare and greatly-dreaded member of the old-established shark family. By

many white residents in Samoa it was believed to occasionally reach a

length of from twenty to twenty-five feet; as a matter of fact it seldom

exceeds ten feet, but its great girth, and its solitary, nocturnal habit

of haunting the mouths of shallow streams has invested it even to the

native mind with fictional powers of voracity and destruction. Yet,

despite the exaggerated accounts of the creature, it is really a

dreadful monster, rendered the more dangerous to human life by the

persistency with which it frequents muddied and shallow water,

particularly after a freshet caused by heavy rain, when its presence

cannot be discerned.

Into the port of Apia there fall two small streams--called "rivers" by

the local people--the Mulivai and the Vaisigago, and I was fortunate to

see specimens of the _ta~nifa_ on three occasions, twice at the

Vaisigago, and once at the mouth of the Mulivai, but I had never seen

one caught, or even sufficiently exposed to give me an idea of its

proportions. Many natives, however--particularly an old Rarotongan named

Hapai, who lived in Apia, and was the proud capturer of several

_ta~nifa_--gave me a reliable description, which I afterwards

verified.

A _ta~nifa_ ten feet long, they assured me, was an enormously bulky and

powerful creature with jaws and teeth much larger than an ocean-haunting

shark of double that length; the width across the shoulders was very

great, and although it generally swam slowly, it would, when it had once

sighted its prey, dart along under the water with great rapidity without

causing a ripple. At a village in Savaii, a powerfully built woman who

was incautiously bathing at the mouth of a stream was seized by one of

these sharks almost before she could utter a cry, so swiftly and

suddenly was she attacked. Several attempts were made to capture the

brute, which continued to haunt the scene of the tragedy for several

days, but it was too cunning to take a hook and was never caught.

This particular _ta~nifa_, which had been seen by the young Manono

chief and his men on the preceding evening had made its appearance soon

after darkness had fallen and had cruised to and fro across the mouth of

the Vaivasa till the tide began to fall, when it made its way seaward

through a passage in the reef. It was, so Li'o assured me, quite eight

feet in length and very wide across the head and shoulders. The water

was clear and by the bright starlight they had discerned its movements

very easily; once it came well into the river and remained stationary

for some minutes, lying under about two feet of water. Some of the

Manono men, hailing a picket of the enemy on the opposite bank of the

river, asked for a ten minutes' truce to try and shoot it; this was

granted, and standing on top of the sandy trench, half a dozen young

fellows fired a volley at the shark from their Sniders. None of the

bullets took effect and the _ta~nifa_ sailed slowly off again to

cruise to and fro for another hour, watching for any hapless person who

might cross the river.

Just as the kava was being handed round, some children who were on watch

cried out that the _ta~nifa_ had come. Springing to his feet, Li'o

again hailed the enemy's picket on the other side, and a truce was

agreed to, so that "the white men could have a look at the

_ma|lie_"--shark.

Thirty or forty yards away was what seemed to be a huge, irregular and

waving mass of phosphorus which, as it drew nearer, revealed the

outlines of the dreaded fish. It came in straight for the mouth of the

creek, passed over the pebbly bar, and then swam leisurely about in the

brackish water, moving from bank to bank at less than a dozen feet from

the shore. The stream of bright phosphorescent light which had

surrounded its body when it first appeared had now, owing to there being

but a minor degree of phosphorus in the brackish water, given place to

a dulled, sickly, greenish reflection, accentuated however by thin,

vivid streaks, caused by the exudation from the gills of a streaming,

viscid matter, common to some species of sharks, and giving it a truly

terrifying and horrible appearance. Presently a couple of natives,

taking careful aim, fired at the creature's head; in an instant it

darted off with extraordinary velocity, rushing through the water like a

submerged comet--if I may use the illustration. Both of the men who had

fired were confident their bullets had struck and badly wounded the

shark, but were greatly disgusted when, ten minutes later, it again

appeared, swimming leisurely about, at ten fathoms from the beach.

Three days later, as we were returning to Apia, we were told by our

native friends that the shark still haunted the mouth of the Vaivasa;

and I determined to capture it. I sent Allan on board the cutter for our

one shark hook--a hook which had done much execution among the sea

prowlers. Although not of the largest size, being only ten inches in the

shank, it was made of splendid steel, and we had frequently caught

fifteen-feet sharks with it at sea. It was a cherished possession with

us and we always kept it--and the four feet of chain to which it was

attached--bright and clean.

In the evening Allan returned, accompanied by the local pilot (a Captain

Hamilton) and the fat, puffing, master of a German barque. They wanted

"to see the fun." We soon had everything in readiness; the hook, baited

with the belly-portion of a freshly-killed pig (which the Manono people

had commandeered from a bush village) was buoyed to piece of light _pua_

wood to keep it from sinking, and then with twenty fathoms of brand-new

whale line attached, we let it drift out into the centre of the passage.

Then making our end of the line fast to the trunk of a coconut tree, we

set some children to watch, and went into the trenches to drink some

kava, smoke, and gossip.

We had not long to wait--barely half an hour--when we heard a warning

yell from the watchers. The _ta~nifa_ was in sight.

Jumping up and tumbling over each other in our eagerness we rushed out;

but alas! too late for the shark; for instead of approaching in its

usual leisurely manner, it made a straight dart at the bait, and before

we could free our end of the line it was as taut as an iron bar, and the

creature, with the hook firmly fastened in his jaw, was ploughing the

water into foam, amid yells of excitement from the natives. Then

suddenly the line fell slack, and the half-a-dozen men who were holding

it went over on their backs, heels up.

In mournful silence we hauled it in, and then, oh woe! the hook, our

prized, our beautiful hook, was gone! and with it two feet of the chain,

which had parted at the centre swivel. That particular _ta~nifa_ was

seen no more.

Nearly two months later, two _ta~nifa_ of a much larger size, appeared

at the mouth of the Vaivasa. Several of the white residents tried, night

after night, to hook them, but the monsters refused to look at the

baits. Then appeared on the scene an old one-eyed Malay named 'Reo, who

asserted he could kill them easily. The way in which he set to work was

described to me by the natives who witnessed the operations. Taking a

piece of green bamboo, about four feet in length, he split from it two

strips each an inch wide. The ends of these he then, after charring the

points, sharpened carefully; then by great pressure he coiled them up

into as small a compass as possible, keeping the whole in position by

sewing the coil up in the fresh skin of a fish known as the _isuumu

moana_--a species of the "leather-jacket." Then he asked to be provided

with two dogs. A couple of curs were soon provided, killed, and the

viscera removed. The coils of bamboo were then placed in the vacancy and

the skin of the bellies stitched up with small wooden skewers. That

completed the preparation of the baits.

As soon as the two sharks made their appearance, one of the dead dogs

was thrown into the water. It was quickly swallowed. Then the second

followed, and was also seized by the other _ta~nifa_. The creatures

cruised about for some hours, then went off, as the tide began to fall.

On the following evening they did not turn up, nor on the next; but the

Malay insisted that within four or five days both would be dead. As soon

as the dogs were digested, he said, the thin fish-skin would follow, the

bamboo coil would fly apart, and the sharpened ends penetrate not only

the sharks' intestines, but protrude through the outer skin as well.

Quite a week afterwards, during which time neither of the _ta~nifa_

had been seen alive, the smaller of the two was found dead on the beach

at Vailele Plantation, about four miles from the Vaivasa. It was

examined by numbers of people, and presented an extremely interesting

sight; one end of the bamboo spring was protruding over a foot from the

belly, which was so cut and lacerated by the agonised efforts of the

monster to free itself from the instrument of torture, that much of the

intestines was gone.

That the larger of these dreaded fish had died in the same manner there

was no reason to doubt; but probably it had sunk in the deep water

outside the barrier reef.

_On Board the "_Tucopia_."

The little island trading barque _Tucopia_, Henry Robertson, master, lay

just below Garden Island in Sydney Harbour, ready to sail for the

Friendly Islands and Samoa as soon as the captain came on board. At nine

o'clock, as Bruce, the old, white-haired, Scotch mate, was pointing out

to Mrs. Lacy and the Reverend Wilfrid Lacy the many ships around, and

telling them from whence they came or where they were bound, the second

mate called out--

"Here's the captain's boat coming, sir."

Bruce touched his cap to the pale-faced, violet-eyed clergyman's wife,

and turning to the break of the poop, at once gave orders to "heave

short," leaving the field clear to Mr. Charles Otway, the supercargo of

the _Tucopia_, who was twenty-two years of age, had had seven years'

experience of general wickedness in the South Seas, thought he was in

love with Mrs. Lacy, and that, before the barque reached Samoa, he would

make the lady feel that the Reverend Wilfrid was a serious mistake, and

that he, Charles Otway, was the one man in the world whom she could love

and be happy with for ever. So, being a hot-blooded and irresponsible

young villain, though careful and decorous to all outward seeming, he

set himself to work, took exceeding care over his yellow, curly hair,

and moustache, and abstained from swearing in Mrs. Lacy's hearing.

* * * * *

A week before, Mr. and Mrs. Lacy had called at the owner's office and

inquired about a passage to Samoa in the _Tucopia_, and Otway was sent

for.

"Otway," said the junior partner, "can you make room on the _Tucopia_

for two more passengers--nice people, a clergyman and his wife."

"D----all nice people, especially clergymen and their wives," he

answered promptly--for although the youngest supercargo in the firm, he

was considered, the smartest--and took every advantage of the fact. "I'm

sick of carting these confounded missionaries about, Mr. Harry. Last

trip we took two down to Tonga--beastly hymn-grinding pair, who wanted

the hands to come aft every night to prayers, and played-up generally

with the discipline of the ship. Robertson never interfered, and old

Bruce, who is one of the psalm-singing kidney himself, encouraged the

beasts to turn the ship into a floating Bethel."

"Mr. Harry" laughed good-naturedly. "Otway, my boy, you mustn't put on

so much side--the firm can't afford it. If you hadn't drunk so much

whisky last night you would be in a better temper this morning."

"Oh, if you've got some one else to take my billet on the _Tucopia_,

why don't you say so, instead of backing and filling about, like a

billy-goat in stays? _I_ don't care a damn if you load the schooner up

to her maintop with sky-pilots and their dowdy women-kind. I've had

enough of 'em, and I hereby tender you my resignation. I can get another

and a better ship to-morrow, if--"

"Sit down, you cock-a-hoopy young ass," and "Mr. Harry" hit the

supercargo a good-humoured but stiff blow in the chest. "These people

aren't missionaries; they're a cut above the usual breed. Man's a

gentleman; woman's as sweet as a rosebud. Now look here, Otway; we give

you a pretty free hand generally, but in this instance we want you to

stretch a point--you can give these people berths in the trade-room,

can't you?"

The supercargo considered a moment. "There's a lot returning this trip.

First, there's the French priest for Wallis Island--nice old buffer, but

never washes, and grinds his teeth in his sleep--he's in the cabin next

to mine; old Miss Wiedermann for Tonga--cabin on starboard side--fussy

old cat, who is always telling me that she can distinctly hear

Robertson's bad language on deck. But her brother is a good sort, and so

I put up with her. Then there's Captain Burr, in the skipper's cabin,

two Samoan half-caste girls in the deck-house--there's going to be

trouble over those women, old Bruce says, and I don't doubt it--and the

whole lot will have their meals in the beastly dog-kennel you call a

saloon, and I call a sweat-box."

"Thank you, Mr. Otway. Your elegant manner of speaking shows clearly

the refining influence of the charming people with whom you associate.

Just let me tell you this--you looked like a gentleman a year or two

ago, but become less like one every day."

"No wonder," replied Otway sullenly, "the Island trade is not calculated

to turn out Chesterfields. I'm sick enough of it, now we are carrying

passengers as well as cargo. I suppose the firm will be asking us

supercargoes to wear uniform and brass buttons soon, like the ticket

collector on a penny ferry."

"Quite likely, my sulky young friend--quite likely, if it will pay us to

do so."

"Then I'll clear out, and go nigger-catching again in the Solomons.

That's a lot better than having to be civil to people who worry the soul

out of you, are always in the way at sea, and a beastly nuisance in

port. Why, do you know what old Miss Weidermann did at Manono, in Samoa,

when we were there buying yams three months ago?"

"No; what did she do?"

"Got the skipper and myself into a howling mess through her infernal

interference; and if the chiefs and old Mataafa himself had not come to

our help there would have been some shooting, and this firm could never

have sent another ship to Manono again. It makes me mad when I think of

it--the silly old bundle of propriety and feminine spite."

"Tell me all about it, Otway. 'Twill do you good, I can see, to unburden

yourself of some of your bad temper. Shut that door, and we'll have a

brandy-and-soda together."

"Well," said Otway, "this is what occurred. I was ashore in the village,

buying and weighing the yams, the skipper was lending me a hand, and

everything was going on bully, when Mataafa and his chiefs sent an

invitation to us to come up to his house and drink kava. Of course such

an invitation from the native point of view was a great honour; and

then, besides that, it was good business to keep in with old Mataafa,

who had just given the Germans a thrashing at Vailele, and was as proud

as a dog with two tails. So, although I hate kava, I accepted the

invitation with 'many expressions of pleasure,' and felt sure that as

the old fellow knew me of old, and I knew he wanted to buy some rifles,

that I should get the bulk of a bag of sovereigns his mongrel, low-down

American secretary was carrying around. So oft went the skipper and I,

letting the yams stand over till we returned; the barque was lying about

a mile off the beach. Mataafa was very polite to us, and during the kava

drinking I found out that he had about three hundred sovereigns, and

wanted to see the Martini-Henrys we had on board. Of course I told him

that it would be a serious business for the ship if he gave us

away--imprisonment in a dreadful dungeon in Fiji, if not hanging at the

yard-arm or a man-of-war--and the old cock winked his eye and laughed.

Then, as time was valuable, we at once concocted a plan to get the

rifles--fifty--ashore without making too much of a show. Well, among

some of the women present there were two great swells, one was the

_taupo_, or town maid, of Palaulae in Savaii, and the other was a niece

of Mataafa himself. These two, accompanied by a lot of young women of

Manono, were to go off on board the barque in our boats, ostensibly to

pay their respects to the white lady on board, and invite her on shore,

so as to get her out of the way; then I was to pass the arms out of the

stern ports into some canoes which would be waiting just as it became

dark. About five o'clock they started off in one boat, leaving me and

the skipper to follow in another. I had sent a note off to the mate

telling him all about the little game, and to be mighty polite to the

two chief women, who were to be introduced to Miss Weidermann, give the

old devil some presents of mats, fruits, and such things, and ask her to

come ashore as Mataafa's guest.

"Well, something had gone wrong with the Weidermann's temper; for when

the women came on board she was sulking in her cabin, and refused to

show her vinegary face outside her state-room door. Thinking she would

get over her tantrum in a few minutes, the mate invited the two Samoan

ladies and their attendants down into the cabin, where they awaited her

appearance, behaving themselves, of course, very decorously, it being a

visit of ceremony.

"Presently Old Cat-face opened her door, and then, without giving the

native ladies time to utter a word, she launched out at them in her

bastard-mongrel Samoan-Tongan. The first thing she said was that she

knew the kind of women they were, and what had brought them on board!

How dared such brazen, shameless cattle come into the cabin! Into the

same cabin as a white lady! The bold, half-naked, disgraceful hussies,

etc., etc. And then she capped the thing by calling to the steward to

come and drive them out!