individuals always appeared to be quiet, retiring fishermen who
hesitated to enlarge upon what was manifestly close to their hearts. I
had never paid any attention to them. Who ever heard of a bonefish,
anyway? The name itself did not appeal to my euphonious ear.
But on this 1916 trip some faint glimmering must have penetrated the
density of my cranium. I had always prided myself upon my conviction
that I did not know it all, but, just the same, I had looked down from
my lofty height of tuna and swordfish rather to despise little
salt-water fish that could not pull me out of the boat. The waahoo and
the dolphin had opened my eyes. When some mild, quiet, soft-voiced
gentleman said bonefish to me again I listened. Not only did I listen, I
grew interested. Then I saw a couple of bonefish. They shone like
silver, were singularly graceful in build, felt heavy as lead, and
looked game all over. I made the mental observation that the man who had
named them bonefish should have had half of that name applied to his
head.
After that I was more interested in bonefish. I never failed to ask
questions. But bonefishermen were scarce and as reticent as scarce. To
sum up all of my inquiries, I learned or heard a lot that left me
completely bewildered, so that I had no idea whether a bonefish was a
joke or the grandest fish that swims. I deducted from the amazing
information that if a fisherman sat all day in the blazing sun and had
the genius to discover when he had a bite he was learning. No one
ever caught bonefish without days and days of learning. Then there were
incidents calculated to disturb the peace of a contemplative angler like
myself.
[Illustration: AT LONG KEY, THE LONELY CORAL SHORE WHERE THE SUN
SHINES WHITE ALL DAY AND THE STARS SHINE WHITE ALL NIGHT]
[Illustration: THE FAMOUS STUNT OF A MARLIN SWORDFISH, "WALKING ON
HIS TAIL"]
One man with heavy tackle yanked some bonefish out of the tide right in
front of my cabin, quite as I used to haul out suckers. Other men tried
it for days without success, though it appeared bonefish were passing
every tide. Then there was a loquacious boatman named Jimmy, who, when
he had spare time, was always fishing for bonefish. He would tell the
most remarkable tales about these fish. So finally I drifted to that
fatal pass where I decided I wanted to catch bonefish. I imagined it
would be easy for me. So did Captain Sam. Alas! the vanity of man!
Forthwith Captain Sam and I started out to catch soldier-crabs for bait.
The directions we got from conch fishermen and others led us to assume
that it would be an easy matter to find crabs. It was not! We had to go
poking round mangrove roots until we learned how to catch the soldiers.
If this had not been fun for me it would have been hard work. But ever
since I was a little tad I have loved to chase things in the water. And
upon this occasion it was with great satisfaction that I caught more
bait than Captain Sam. Sam is something of a naturalist and he was
always spending time over a curious bug or shell or object he found.
Eventually we collected a bucketful of soldier-crabs.
Next day, about the last of the ebb-tide, we tied a skiff astern and
went up the Key to a cove where there were wide flats. While working our
way inshore over the shoals we hit bottom several times and finally
went aground. This did not worry us, for we believed the rising tide
would float us.
Then we got in the skiff and rowed toward the flats. I was rather
concerned to see that apparently the tide was just about as high along
this shore as it ever got. Sam shook his head. The tides were strange
around the Keys. It will be high on the Gulf side and low on the
Atlantic side, and sometimes it will run one way through the channels
for thirty-six hours. But we forgot this as soon as we reached the
bonefish shoals.
Sam took an oar and slowly poled inshore, while I stood up on a seat to
watch for fish. The water was from six to eighteen inches deep and very
clear and still. The bottom appeared to be a soft mud, gray, almost
white in color, with patches of dark grass here and there. It was really
marl, which is dead and decayed coral.
Scarcely had we gotten over the edge of this shoal when we began to see
things--big blue crabs, the kind that can pinch and that play havoc with
the fishermen's nets, and impudent little gray crabs, and needle-fish,
and small chocolate-colored sharks--nurse sharks, Sam called them--and
barracuda from one foot to five feet in length, and whip-rays and
sting-rays. It was exceedingly interesting and surprising to see all
these in such shallow water. And they were all tame.
Here and there we saw little boils of the water, and then a muddy patch
where some fish had stirred the marl. Sam and I concluded these were
made by bonefish. Still, we could not be sure. I can see a fish a long
way in the water and I surely was alert. But some time elapsed and we
had poled to within a few rods of the mangroves before I really caught
sight of our coveted quarry. Then I saw five bonefish, two of them
large, between the boat and the mangroves. They were motionless. Somehow
the sight of them was thrilling. They looked wary, cunning, game, and
reminded me of gray wolves I had seen on the desert. Suddenly they
vanished. It was incredible the way they disappeared. When we got up to
the place where they had been there were the little swirls in the roiled
water.
Then Sam sighted two more bonefish that flashed away too swiftly for me
to see. We stuck an oar down in the mud and anchored the boat. It seemed
absolutely silly to fish in water a foot deep. But I meant to try it.
Putting a crab on my hook, I cast off ten or a dozen yards, and composed
myself to rest and watch.
Certainly I expected no results. But it was attractive there. The wide
flat stretched away, bordered by the rich, dark mangroves. Cranes and
pelicans were fishing off the shoals, and outside rippled the green
channel, and beyond that the dark-blue sea. The sun shone hot. There was
scarcely any perceptible breeze. All this would have been enjoyable and
fruitful if there had not been a fish within a mile.
Almost directly I felt a very faint vibration of my line. I waited,
expectantly, thinking that I might be about to have a bite. But the line
slackened and nothing happened.
There were splashes all around us and waves and ripples here and there,
and occasionally a sounding thump. We grew more alert and interested.
Sam saw a bonefish right near the boat. He pointed, and the fish was
gone. After that we sat very still, I, of course, expecting a bite every
moment. Presently I saw a bonefish not six feet from the boat. Where he
came from was a mystery, but he appeared like magic, and suddenly, just
as magically, he vanished.
"Funny fish," observed Sam, thoughtfully. Something had begun to dawn
upon Sam, as it had upon me.
No very long time elapsed before we had seen a dozen bonefish, any one
of which I could have reached with my rod. But not a bite! I reeled in
to find my bait gone.
"That bait was eaten off by crabs," I said to Sam, as I put on another.
Right away after my cast I felt, rather than saw, that slight vibration
of my line. I waited as before, and just as before the line almost
imperceptibly slackened and nothing happened.
Presently I did see a blue crab deliberately cut my line. We had to move
the boat, pick up the lost piece of line, and knot it to the other. Then
I watched a blue crab tear off my bait. But I failed to feel or see that
faint vibration of my line. We moved the boat again, and again my line
was cut. These blue crabs were a nuisance. Sam moved the boat again. We
worked up the flat nearer where the little mangroves, scarce a foot
high, lifted a few leaves out of the water. Whenever I stood up I saw
bonefish, and everywhere we could hear them. Once more we composed
ourselves to watch and await developments.
[Illustration: SURGING IN A HALF-CIRCLE]
[Illustration: BROADBILL SWORDFISH ON THE SURFACE--THE MOST THRILLING
SIGHT TO A SEA ANGLER]
In the succeeding hour I had many of the peculiar vibrations of my line,
and, strange to see, every time I reeled in, part of my bait or all of
it was gone. Still I fished on patiently for a bonefish bite.
Meanwhile the sun lost its heat, slowly slanted to the horizon of
mangroves, and turned red. It was about the hour of sunset and it turned
out to be a beautiful and memorable one. Not a breath of air stirred.
There was no sound except the screech of a gull and the distant splashes
of wading birds. I had not before experienced silence on or near salt
water. The whole experience was new. We remarked that the tide had not
seemed to rise any higher. Everywhere were little swells, little waves,
little wakes, all made by bonefish. The sun sank red and gold, and all
the wide flat seemed on fire, with little mangroves standing clear and
dark against the ruddy glow. And about this time the strangest thing
happened. It might have been going on before, but Sam and I had not seen
it. All around us were bonefish tails lifted out of the water. They
glistened like silver. When a bonefish feeds his head is down and his
tail is up, and, the water being shallow, the upper fluke of his tail
stands out. If I saw one I saw a thousand. It was particularly easy to
see them in the glassy water toward the sunset.
A school of feeding bonefish came toward us. I counted eleven tails out
of the water. They were around my bait. Now or never, I thought, waiting
frantically! But they went on feeding--passed over my line--and came so
near the boat that I could plainly see the gray shadow shapes, the
long, sharp noses, the dark, staring eyes. I reeled in to find my bait
gone, as usual. It was exasperating.
We had to give up then, as darkness was not far off. Sam was worried
about the boat. He rowed while I stood up. Going back, I saw bonefish in
twos and fours and droves. We passed school after school. They had just
come in from the sea, for they were headed up the flat. I saw many
ten-pound fish, but I did not know enough about bonefish then to
appreciate what I saw. However, I did appreciate their keen sight and
wariness and wonderful speed and incredible power. Some of the big
surges made me speculate what a heavy bonefish might do to light tackle.
Sam and I were disappointed at our luck, somewhat uncertain whether it
was caused by destructive work of crabs or the wrong kind of bait or
both. It scarcely occurred to us to inquire into our ignorance.
We found the boat hard and fast in the mud. Sam rowed me ashore. I
walked back to camp, and he stayed all night, and all the next day,
waiting for the tide to float the boat.
After that on several days we went up to the flat to fish for bonefish.
But we could not hit the right tide or the fish were not there. At any
rate, we did not see any or get any bites.
Then I began to fish for bonefish in front of my cottage. Whenever I
would stick my rod in the sand and go in out of the hot sun a bonefish
would take my bait and start off to sea. Before I could get back he
would break something.
This happened several times before I became so aroused that I
determined to catch one of these fish or die. I fished and fished. I
went to sleep in a camp-chair and absolutely ruined my reputation as an
ardent fisherman. One afternoon, just after I had made a cast, I felt
the same old strange vibration of my line. I was not proof against it
and I jerked. Lo! I hooked a fish that made a savage rush, pulled my
bass-rod out of shape, and took all my line before I could stop him.
Then he swept from side to side. I reeled him in, only to have him run
out again and again and yet again. I knew I had a heavy fish. I expected
him to break my line. I handled him gingerly. Imagine my amaze to beach
a little fish that weighed scarcely more than two pounds! But it was a
bonefish--a glistening mother-of-pearl bonefish. Somehow the obsession
of these bonefishermen began to be less puzzling to me. Sam saw me catch
this bonefish, and he was as amazed as I was at the gameness and speed
and strength of so small a fish.
Next day a bonefisherman of years' experience answered a few questions I
put to him. No, he never fished for anything except bonefish. They were
the hardest fish in the sea to make bite, the hardest to land after they
were hooked. Yes, that very, very slight vibration of the line--that
strange feeling rather than movement--was the instant of their quick
bite. An instant before or an instant after would be fatal.
It dawned upon me then that on my first day I must have had dozens of
bonefish bites, but I did not know it! I was humiliated--I was taken
down from my lofty perch--I was furious. I thanked the gentleman for
his enlightenment and went away in search of Sam. I told Sam, and he
laughed--laughed at me and at himself. After all, it was a joke. And I
had to laugh too. It is good for a fisherman to have the conceit taken
out of him--if anything can accomplish that. Then Sam and I got our
heads together. What we planned and what we did must make another story.
IX
SWORDFISH
_From records of the New York Bureau of Fisheries,
by G. B. Goode_
The swordfish, _Xiphias gladius_, ranges along the Atlantic coast of
America from Jamaica (latitude 18 deg. N.), Cuba, and the Bermudas, to Cape
Breton (latitude 47 deg. N.). It has not been seen at Greenland, Iceland, or
Spitzbergen, but occurs, according to Collett, at the North Cape
(latitude 71 deg.). It is abundant along the coasts of western Europe,
entering the Baltic and the Mediterranean. I can find no record of the
species on the west coast of Africa south of Cape Verde, though Lutken,
who may have access to facts unknown to me, states that they occur clear
down to the Cape of Good Hope, South Atlantic in mid-ocean, to the west
coast of South America and to southern California (latitude 34 deg.), New
Zealand, and in the Indian Ocean off Mauritius.
The names of the swordfish all have reference to that prominent feature,
the prolonged snout. The "swordfish" of our own tongue, the "zwardfis"
of the Hollander, the Italian "sofia" and "pesce-spada," the Spanish
"espada" and "espadarte," varied by "pez do spada" in Cuba, and the
French "espadon," "dard," and "epee de mer," are simply variations of
one theme, repetitions of the "gladius" of ancient Italy and "xiphius,"
the name by which Aristotle, the father of zoology, called the same fish
twenty-three hundred years ago. The French "empereur" and the
"imperador" and the "ocean kingfish" of the Spanish and French West
Indies, carry out the same idea, for the Roman Emperor was always
represented holding a drawn sword in his hand. The Portuguese names are
"aguhao," meaning "needle," or "needle-fish."
This species has been particularly fortunate in escaping the numerous
redescriptions to which almost all widely distributed forms have been
subjected. By the writers of antiquity it was spoken of under its
Aristotelian name, and in the tenth edition of his _Systema Naturae_, at
the very inception of binomial nomenclative, Linnaeus called it _Xiphias
gladius_. By this name it has been known ever since, and only one
additional name is included in its synonym, _Xiphias rondeletic_ of
Leach.
The swordfish has been so long and so well known that its right to its
peculiar name has seldom been infringed upon. The various species of
_Tetrapturus_ have sometimes shared its title, and this is not to be
wondered at, since they closely resemble _Xiphias gladius_, and the
appellative has frequently been applied to the family _Xiphiidae_--the
swordfish--which includes them all.
The name "bill-fish," usually applied to our _Tetrapturus albidus_, a
fish of the swordfish family, often taken on our coast, must be
pronounced objectionable, since it is in many districts used for
various species of Belonidae, the garfishes or green-bones (_Belone
truncata_ and others), which are members of the same faunas. Spear-fish
is a much better name.
The "sailfish," _Histiophorus americanus_, is called by sailors in the
South the "boohoo" or "woohoo." This is evidently a corrupted form of
"guebum," a name, apparently of Indian origin, given to the same fish in
Brazil. It is possible that _Tetrapturus_ is also called "boohoo," since
the two genera are not sufficiently unlike to impress sailors with their
differences. Blecker states that in Sumatra the Malays call the related
species, _H. gladius_, by the name "Joohoo" (Juhu), a curious
coincidence. The names may have been carried from the Malay Archipelago
to South America, or _vice versa_, by mariners.
In Cuba the spear-fish are called "aguja" and "aguja de palada"; the
sailfish, "aguja prieta" or "aguja valadora"; _Tetrapturus albidus_
especially known as the "aguja blanca," _T. albidus_ as the "aguja de
castro."
In the West Indies and Florida the scabbard-fish or silvery hairy-tail,
_Trichiurus lepturus_, a form allied to the _Xiphias_, though not
resembling it closely in external appearance, is often called
"swordfish." The body of this fish is shaped like the blade of a saber,
and its skin has a bright, metallic luster like that of polished steel,
hence the name.
Swordfish are most abundant on the shoals near the shore and on the
banks during the months of July and August; that they make their
appearance on the frequented cruising-grounds between Montauk Point and
the eastern part of Georges Banks sometime between the 25th of May and
the 20th of June, and that they remain until the approach of cold
weather in October and November. The dates of the first fish on the
cruising-grounds referred to are recorded for three years, and are
reasonably reliable: in 1875, June 20th; in 1877, June 10th; in 1878,
June 14th.
South of the cruising-grounds the dates of arrival and departure are
doubtless farther apart, the season being shorter north and east. There
are no means of obtaining information, since the men engaged in this
fishery are the only ones likely to remember the dates when the fish are
seen.
The swordfish comes into our waters in pursuit of its food. At least
this is the most probable explanation of its movements, since the duties
of reproduction appear to be performed elsewhere. Like the tuna, the
bluefish, the bonito, and the squiteague, they pursue and prey upon the
schools of menhaden and mackerel, which are so abundant in the summer
months. "When you see swordfish, you may know that mackerel are about,"
said an old fisherman to me. "When you see the fin-back whale following
food, there you may find swordfish," said another. The swordfish also
feeds upon squid, which are at times abundant on our banks.
To what extent this fish is amenable to the influences of temperature is
an unsolved problem. We are met at the outset by the fact that they are
frequently taken on trawl lines which are set at the depth of one
hundred fathoms or more, on the offshore banks. We know that the
temperature of the water in these localities and at that depth is sure
to be less than 40 deg. Fahr. How is this fact to be reconciled with the
known habits of the fish, that it prefers the warmest weather of summer
and swims at the surface in water of temperature ranging from 55 deg. to
70 deg., sinking when cool winds blow below? The case seemed clear enough
until the inconvenient discovery was made that swordfish are taken on
bottom trawl lines. In other respects their habits agree closely with
those of the mackerel tribe, all the members of which seem sensitive to
slight changes in temperature, and which, as a rule, prefer temperature
in the neighborhood of 50 deg. or more.
[Illustration: SHINING IN THE SUNLIGHT]
[Illustration: THROWING WHITE WATER LIKE THE EXPLOSION OF A TORPEDO]
The appearance of the fish at the surface depends largely upon the
temperature. They are seen only upon quiet summer days, in the morning
before ten or eleven o'clock, and in the afternoon about four o'clock.
Old fishermen say that they rise when the mackerel rise, and when the
mackerel go down they go down also.
Regarding the winter abode of the swordfish, conjecture is useless. I
have already discussed this question at length with reference to the
menhaden and mackerel. With the swordfish the conditions are very
different. The former are known to spawn in our waters, and the schools
of young ones follow the old ones in toward the shores. The latter do
not spawn in our waters. We cannot well believe that they hibernate, nor
is the hypothesis of a sojourn in the middle strata of mid-ocean exactly
tenable. Perhaps they migrate to some distant region, where they spawn.
But then the spawning-time of this species in the Mediterranean, as is
related in a subsequent paragraph, appears to occur in the summer
months, at the very time when the swordfish are most abundant in our own
waters, apparently feeling no responsibility for the perpetuation of
their species.
The swordfish, when swimming at the surface, usually allows its dorsal
fin and the upper lobe of its caudal fin to be visible, projecting out
of the water. It is this habit which enables the fisherman to detect the
presence of the fish. It swims slowly along, and the fishing-schooner
with a light breeze finds no difficulty in overtaking it. When excited
its motions are very rapid and nervous. Swordfish are sometimes seen to
leap entirely out of the water. Early writers attributed this habit to
the tormenting presence of parasites, but this theory seems hardly
necessary, knowing what we do of its violent exertions at other times.
The pointed head, the fins of the back and abdomen snugly fitting into
grooves, the absence of ventrals, the long, lithe, muscular body,
sloping slowly to the tail, fits it for the most rapid and forceful
movement through the water. Prof. Richard Owen, testifying in an England
court in regard to its power, said:
"It strikes with the accumulated force of fifteen
double-handed hammers. Its velocity is equal to that of a
swivel shot, and is as dangerous in its effect as a heavy
artillery projectile."
Many very curious instances are on record of the encounter of this fish
with other fishes, or of their attacks upon ships. What can be the
inducement for it to attack objects so much larger than itself is hard
to surmise. We are all familiar with the couplet from Oppian:
Nature her bounty to his mouth confined,
Gave him a sword, but left unarmed his mind.
It surely seems as if temporary insanity sometimes takes possession of
the fish. It is not strange that when harpooned it should retaliate by
attacking its assailant. An old swordfisherman told Mr. Blackman that
his vessel had been struck twenty times. There are, however, many
instances of entirely unprovoked assaults on vessels at sea. Many of
these are recounted in a later portion of this memoir. Their movements
when feeding are discussed below as well as their alleged peculiarities
of movement during breeding season.
It is the universal testimony of our fishermen that two are never seen
swimming close together. Captain Ashby says that they are always distant
from each other at least thirty or forty feet.
The pugnacity of the swordfish has become a byword. Without any special
effort on my part, numerous instances of their attacks upon vessels have
in the last ten years found their way into the pigeonhole labeled
"Swordfish."
AElian says (b. XXXII, c. 6) that the swordfish has a sharp-pointed snout
with which it is able to pierce the sides of a ship and send it to the
bottom, instances of which have been known near a place in Mauritania
known as Cotte, not far from the river Sixus, on the African side of the
Mediterranean. He describes the sword as like the beak of the ship
known as the trireme, which was rowed with three banks of oars.
The _London Daily News_ of December 11, 1868, contained the following
paragraph, which emanated, I suspect, from the pen of Prof. R. A.
Proctor.