Idylls of the Sea, and Other Marine Sketches (2024)

First printed February 1899
Reprinted April 1899; August 1899; December 1900

TO
MY DEAR WIFE
THIS LITTLE BOOK
IS AFFECTIONATELY
DEDICATED

Most of these sketches are, by the courtesy ofthe proprietors, reprinted from the Spectator;the others have appeared in various magazines—theCornhill, Good Words, Sunday Magazine,Chambers’s Journal, Country Life, NationalReview, and Pall Mall Gazette. To the proprietorsof all these journals my hearty thanksfor their kind permission to republish are herebyoffered.

FRANK T. BULLEN.

PREFACE

In these little sketches of a few out of theinnumerable multitude of ways in which the seahas spoken to me during my long acquaintancewith it, I have tried with ’prentice hand to reproducefor shore-dwellers some of the things ithas told me. If I were to stop and consider whatother men, freeholders upon the upper slopes ofthe literary Olympus, have done in the samedirection, I should not dare to put forth thislittle book.

Let my plea be that I have not seen with theireyes nor heard with their ears, but with mine own.This may have some weight with my judges—thosewho will buy the wares I have to sell.

FRANK T. BULLEN.

Feb. 1899.

Mr. Bullen’s work in literature requires nointroduction. If it ever did, it has received oneso complete from Mr. Kipling, that not anotherword is needed. Mr. Kipling, in phrases as happyas they are generous, has exactly described thecharacter of Mr. Bullen’s writings. After that,to commend him to the public is superfluous.However, in spite of this, Mr. Bullen has askedme to write a few words to put in the front ofhis book, and I obey. If my introduction doesno good, it will at least do no harm, and I shall atany rate have the pleasure of being in very goodcompany. His whales and sharks and othermonsters of the deep are creatures with whom*one is proud to be associated.

These Idylls—little pictures—strike me as someof the most vivid things ever written about thesea. I take it that only a man who has used thesea as a common sailor, and before the mast, reallyxiiknows it in all its humours,—has heard all thosemultitudinous voices that echo along the vastwaste spaces of the deep. The officer is either toobusy with his responsibilities of command, or elseis off duty and so not at close quarters with thewinds and waves. As a rule the sailor,—theman who heaves the lead, stands at the wheel,sits in the crow’s nest for long hours together,and does the more wearisome and leisurely dutiesof the ship, is not a person of sufficient imaginationand education to record the impressions thatcome to those who do battle with “a remote andunhearing Ocean.” In Mr. Bullen, perhaps forthe first time, we have a man who has been afo’c’s’le hand and yet has the power, first to realisein a literary shape, and then to set down, thewonders of the flood. It was a most happy combinationthat for once the man who saw the tropicdawn from the crow’s nest of a whaler should beable to communicate the full magic of the scene.

It is not conventionally that I have called Mr.Bullen’s work “vivid.” It is of writing such ashis that we can say, and say truly:

He transports us to the very place he describes—doesnot merely hand us a stereoscopic glass inwhich to observe a well-defined photograph.

xiii

One other quality has always struck me in Mr.Bullen’s work. In spite of the fact that he knowsso much science, and makes so keen and convincinga use of this knowledge, there is always anair of mystery and enchantment about his writing.De Quincey’s brother told De Quincey that allhis arguments against the supernatural wereperfectly sound here in England, but that theydid not hold “to the suth’ard of the line.” Inthe Southern Seas were still to be found realmswhere pure reason was not supreme. But Mr.Bullen’s experiences and Idylls are “to the suth’ardof the line.” He deals as a rule with that regionof romance, and hence it is, I suppose, that a senseof something strange and fateful, and so fascinating,haunts his pictures of the sea.

But I am doing the readers of this book a veryill turn in keeping them waiting at the door. Letthem be assured that there is matter well worththeir marking within, and that if they are capableof taking pleasure in the sea and its secrets, theycannot fail of entertainment here.

J. ST. LOE STRACHEY.

xvii

I
THE PASSING OF PETER

For six weeks we had simmered in unwinkingsunblaze by day, and by night had stared withever-fresh wonder at the blue-black immensityabove, bejewelled with stars as the sand on thesea-shore for multitude. Among the glorioushost of heaven the dazzling moon sailed on herstately way, the radiant splendour of her raysalmost unbearable in their penetrating power.Beneath us the waveless ocean lay like anothersky, its levelled surface unruffled by the faintestzephyr. On moonless nights it was often hardto divest oneself of the idea that we were floatingin mid-air, so little difference was there betweenbelow and above. Our passage, already overlong, seemed to have ended here, a thousandmiles from land, and far out of the track of otherships. For some time this wondrous restfulnessof all the elements fell upon our souls like thesoothing touch of a mother’s hand upon thefevered head of her child. In the night watches2voices were hushed, and whispered conversecame gently from lips unaccustomed to suchtopics, upon subjects exalted and solemn. Evenduring the day, while engaged in severe toil—forour careful captain was utilising this unwelcomeopportunity in a general refit—it seemed as if allhands were under a deep impression of gravity,as though conscious of contact with the eternities.But this feeling of awe, which was almost involuntaryworship, gradually gave place as thedays passed in changeless procession to anincreasing sense of indefinite fear. Each manlooked askance at his fellow’s face, fearfully seekingsight of that shadow he felt upon his own. Oneunspoken question trembled on every lip, oneovermastering idea blended with and tincturedall others. A change, unusual as unwholesome,came over the bright blue of the sea. No longerdid it reflect, as in a limpid mirror, the splendourof the sun, the sweet silvery glow of the moon,or the coruscating clusters of countless stars.Like the ashen-grey hue that bedims the countenanceof the dying, a filmy greasy skin appeared tooverspread the recent loveliness of the ocean’ssurface. The sea was sick, stagnant, and foul.From its turbid waters arose a miasmatic vapourlike a breath of decay, which clung clammily tothe palate and dulled all the senses. Drawn bysome strange force from the unfathomable depthsbelow, eerie shapes sought the surface, blinkingglassily at the unfamiliar glare they had exchanged3for their native gloom,—uncouth creatures bedightwith tasselled fringes like weed-growths wavingaround them, fathom-long medusæ with colouredspots like eyes clustering all over their transparentsubstance, wriggling worm-like forms of suchelusive matter that the smallest exposure to thesun melted them, and they were not. Lowerdown, vast pale shadows crept sluggishly along,happily undistinguishable as yet, but adding ahalf-familiar flavour to the strange, faint smellthat hung about us. Of the ordinary fish whichattend a vessel under healthful conditions fewwere to be seen. Such stragglers as occasionallycame near were languid and purposeless in theirmovements, as if infected by the universal malaisethat only fostered foul and fermenting growths.The sole exceptions were the sharks, who cameand went as stealthily, but as eagerly as ever.

Such a morbific, unwholesome condition ofour environment as this utter cessation of therevivifying motion of the aerial ocean, with itsbeneficent reaction upon the watery world beneath,could not fail sooner or later to affectthe health of the crew. Doubtless the heavytoil in which all hands were continually engagedduring the day put off the coming disaster longerthan would otherwise have been the case. Butthe ship was ill found, the meat was partiallydecayed, and the bread honeycombed by variousvermin. The water alone was comparativelysweet, although somewhat flavoured with tar, for4we had caught it as it fell from the surchargedskies. There was no change of dietary, no freshprovisions, except when, as a great banquet oncein two months, an allowance of soup and bouilliwas served out, which only suggested a change,hardly supplied it. Men grew listless and uncompanionable.Each aloof from his fellowstook to hanging moodily over the bulwarks andstaring steadfastly at the unpleasant surface of theonce beautiful sea. And the livid impalpabilitiesthat, gigantic and gruesome, pursued their shadowy,stealthy glidings beneath seemed to be dailygrowing more definite and terrible. The watchersglared at them until their overburdened imaginationcould support the sight no longer, and they soughtrelief by hoarse cries from the undefinable terror.One by one the seamen fell sick, apparentlywith scurvy, that most loathsome ailment, thatseems to combine in itself half a dozen otherdiseases and reproduces old and long-forgottenwounds. It was accompanied, too, by partialblindness, as of moon-stroke, rendering thesufferers utterly unable to see anything at night,even though by day their sight was still fairlygood. Already short-handed, this new distressadded greatly to the physical sufferings of thepatient mariners, who endured with a fortitudeseldom seen among merchant seamen the slowlyaccumulating burden of their sorrows. Thequestioning look before noted as visible in everyman’s eyes now took another meaning. As a5recent and a most powerful writer, Joseph Conrad,has noticed, one of the strongest superstitionscurrent among seamen is the notion that such anabnormal condition of the elements calls for ahuman victim. Life must be paid that themajority may live. Whose would it be? Noword was spoken on the subject, but the sequelshowed how deeply seated was the idea.

At last from among the brooding men onefigure detached itself and became prominent withan unearthly significance. He was an old andfeeble man named Peter Burn, unfitted in any caseto endure much longer the ordinary stress of asailor’s life. But suddenly his frailty seemed toobtrude itself persistently upon our notice until hisworn-out frame became almost transparent. Towardsthe close of this moribund state of theelements Peter’s mind grew retrospective. Hispresent surroundings seemed to fade from hisknowledge, becoming, as far as he was concerned,non-existent. Hour after hour he would lieyarning incessantly of bygone exploits in long-forgottenships on many seas. In the long, quietevenings all hands that were able would gatherround with pipes aglow and listen silently to hisbabbling, flowing like a placid stream of sound,contrasting curiously with the lurid language inwhich he revived the scenes of riot, bloodshed, andlicense of his distant youth. He still relished apipe, although he hardly seemed aware whether itwas alight or not. But there was always some one6ready to catch it as it fell from his trembling jaws,or to support it tenderly with one hand while alight was applied with the other. Day by day hisdetachment from present things increased. Helived only in the misty past, his immediate environmentbecame a perfect blank, and he calledhis shipmates by strange names. Of any want ofthe consolations of religion he manifested no sign,and as there was none to offer them, the pathos ofthat dreadful indifference passed unnoticed.

At last, one evening, when a sticky haze rosesluggishly from the fermenting sea, peopling theimmediate vicinity of the ship with fantastic shapes,Peter raised his voice in an astonishing volume ofsound, commanding his attendants to carry him ondeck. They instantly obeyed. Very tenderly andcautiously they bore him to the top-gallant forecastle,whence a clear view could be obtained allaround. Through the hedge of mist the moonwas rising, a vast blood-red disc, across the faceof which passed in weird procession formlessphantoms of indefinite and ever-varying suggestiveness.Overhead, the lustreless stars looked downwearily out of a sky that had paled from its deepazure to a neutral tint of green. From beneath,the foul effluvia ascended like the air of a charnel-house.Even the gleaming phosphorescence in thewake of the living things below glared pale andslow. The heavy silence around was only brokenat long intervals by the melancholy wail of a wearysea-bird that feared to rest on the glairy sea. On7board the voice of our ancient shipmate prattled onin tones scarcely human and in language unintelligibleto any of us. As the moon, risingclear of the steaming vapours, resumed her normalappearance, she shot a pallid beam across us where,like a group of ghosts, we crouched around Peter’sprone form. When the cold ray touched his faceit suddenly changed, and became beautiful, butonly for a moment. Then the withered, toothlessjaw dropped, the dim eyeballs settled in theirsockets, and Peter passed from among us. Like avoice from heaven came the command, breakingthe heavy stillness, “Square away the main-yard.”As men in a dream we obeyed. But the sweetbreeze aroused us as it swept away the fœtid mistin reluctant rolls and eddies. A joyful sound likethe musical murmur of a brooklet arose frombeneath the forefoot as the good ship resumed herlong-hindered journey through the reviving sea,and the long calm was over.

Then when sail had been trimmed, and gearcoiled up again, came the sailmaker softly, a rollof worn canvas under his arm, and his palm andneedle ready. In ten minutes a long white bundlewas borne reverently aft and laid on a hatch, wherea mass of sandstone was secured to its smaller end.The skipper produced a worn Prayer-book, fromwhich, like one determined to do his duty at allcost, he doggedly read the Order for the Burial ofthe Dead right through. All hands stood roundin the moonlight with bare heads and set faces8until the skipper’s voice ceased. Then at a signfrom the mate four of us lifted the hatch to therail, slowly raised its inner end and held it steadily,while, with a slow hiss, its burden slid into the seaand disappeared beneath a shining column ofemerald green.

She was his latest bride; the joy of his greatheart as well as the flower of his goodly flock.And as he swept proudly through the foaming sea,with her graceful form gliding sinuously by hisside, at the head of the mighty school in all theexultation of his overlordship of those Titans, heoften sprang clear into the bright air in the fulnessof his gigantic life and measureless delight ofliving it. After having in this way somewhatquieted his exuberant spirits, he swam sedatelyenough by the side of his favourite again, andresumed the serious conversation they had beenhaving. He told her they would arrive at theisland to-morrow, and she would then see whata sweet spot he had selected for the birthplaceof their first-born. There was deep water rightup to the edge of the widespreading reef.Shallow winding channels, that only sagaciouswhales, humpbacks like themselves, could find orthread amid the incessant rolling of the enormousbreakers, led into a spacious lagoon behind, where10there was no greater depth than six fathoms.The floor of those quiet quarters was delightfullyjagged, so that she would be able easily to chafeoff every last barnacle and limpet from the lovelyfolds of her charming breast. As for food, theplace was alive with tender young squid and sea-slugs,all fat and juicy. And as he spoke hecaressed her lovingly with his fifteen-feet fin thatspread like a wing from the broad expanse of hisside, while she gazed up at him affectionately outof the corner of her tiny eye.

When she instinctively expressed her fear ofthe ever-vigilant sharks, who love nothing betterthan a tender young calf, he comforted her by anassurance that there was little need to fear themthere. If a stray one should come prowlinground she was to attack him at once, as he wouldalmost certainly be alone. Then his voice took agraver tone as his wound reminded him of thegreatest danger of all, and one of which she hadno experience. He told her how to some of thequiet haunts of their people came occasionallywhite things, with long thin legs, walking on topof the water. They were not nearly as big asa whale, but there seemed to be smaller livingthings in them that were terrible and dangerous.They bit with long sharp teeth, they had armshundreds of feet long, and they knew no pityeven for languid mother and new-born calf. Theyhad killed vast numbers of the whale-folk, andthe thought of his escape from them made him11ache with fright, though it was so many years ago.But, happily, they could not come everywhere,and he had chosen this shelter for her because itwas barred against them.

Even as he spoke, the school swept into sightof a vast barrier of coral, and, settling down manyfathoms, they skirted its base rooted in the eternalbuttresses of the world. Grand and awful wasthe view, but they heeded it not, being on businessbent, with no admiration to waste on the gorgeousscene or appreciation of the untellable marvelsof the deep,—matters of every day with them.Presently they rose near enough to the surface tohear the solemn roar of the league-long line ofresistless breakers overhead, and, turning withthem, followed their lord and leader into oneof the channels he had spoken of. It wound itstortuous way for a couple of miles through thegreat reef, the stillness of the placid shallowsstrangely disturbed by the thundering return of thedisplaced water as the troop of leviathans paddledgently through its intricacies. At length theyemerged into a wide lagoon, bounded on one sideby towering masses of black rock rising tier upontier for over two thousand feet. In every otherdirection the sea raised a rampart of dazzlingfoam, which seemed never to subside for onemoment, or reveal even a remote chance of entry.

For the next two days they stayed with her,exploring every corner, finding it truly, as theMaster had said, a place of ten thousand for a12refuge from all enemies. At last, when thepatient mother-to-be had settled upon a shadypool beneath a huge overhanging crag as herfavourite spot, they all bade her farewell, formedinto line and departed, leaving her to the unfailingministrations of the good Nurse Nature,with a promise to return again in about ten days.

On the second day of her loneliness a little sonwas born to her, a pretty, frolicsome creatureabout eight feet long, his tender, shining, dark skinelegantly mottled with splashes of grey, while thetiny furrows of his belly were white as curd.And the proud mother lolled in her cool cornerfeeding her babe from her bounteous breast,feeling supremely happy. He was a very wellspringof joy to her, every move of his litheyoung body, every puff from his tiny spiracle,giving a new pang of delight. Nor did anythingharmful come near. But she never relaxed hervigilant watch; not the faint splash of a gannetafter a fleeting flying-fish but sent a shudder ofapprehensive energy through her mighty frame.

For one blissful week there was perfect peace.Then came a morning when the glorious blue skygrew grey and greasy, then black as soot. Adeathlike silence fell. The harmless fish and otherdenizens of the reef crept into crevices of the coral,and all the birds fled wailing away. She wasfilled with an undefinable dread; a loneliness unfeltbefore shrank every fibre with fear. Movinguneasily about the restricted area of her shelter,13her calf clutched closely under her fin, she sawspear after spear of crimson flame cleave the swartheavens, while immense boulders of red-hot rockfell in a hurtling hail around her. A seethingtorrent of molten lava amid a dense fog of steamfell with a deafening hiss into the sea. Desperatelyshe sought to descend, but forgetting the bottom sonear, dealt herself a fearful blow. Then in franticfear for her youngling, she rushed, holding himcloser to her breast, around the barrier, seekingthe passage through which they had entered.Almost exhausted with her exertions, she found it,fled along its windings with the rock heaving andgroaning around her, and at last plunged exultantlythrough the boiling breakers down, down intopeace. But unsatisfied, still she toiled on to leavethat accursed place far behind, nor rested exceptto breathe her offspring until she was a hundredmiles away.

Then, secure from that terror, she took herease, thinking poor mother, that all danger waspast. But alas for her hopes! A grim silentshadow shot past as she lay basking on her side,her calf lazily sucking. Startled into suddenactivity, she sprang forward her full length, swiftlysweeping her wide fins back and forth in search ofher infant. Again that dark form flew past herside, bearing away on the projecting sword fromits head the body of her first-born writhing insudden death.

“How very hard it is to provide for a young, fast-growingfamily nowadays,” said the mother shark,turning, for the hundredth time that morning, uponher broad side in order to get a better view of whatmight be stirring above. For nearly a week shehad been fasting—in fact ever since she came inhurriedly at the close of a great feast upon thestripped carcase of a recent whale. There, by dintof the energy of her massive shoulders, her fourteenfeet of length, and fivefold rows of triangular teeth,she had managed to secure a respectable proportionof the spoil for the replenishing of her own hugemaw as well as for the upkeep of the fourteensharklings that were now restlessly darting in andout of their cosy cave at the far end of hercapacious throat.

Within the immediate range of her glance avast black shadow obscured a wide, irregularlyshaped area of the blazing sunshine. It was socalm that the shadow seemed stationary. In thedirection of this cool penumbra her gaze lingered15earnestly. For hereditary instinct as well as longexperience gave her the knowledge that from thesubstance of such shadows came food droppingdown, varied and toothsome, actually alive uponrare occasions. Somewhat impatiently she wonderedat the long time that her little blue and goldattendant had been gone. He was so seldomabsent from his place between her eyes for a wholeminute that she got quite uneasy. But while shefidgeted fretfully, with many twitchings of herflexible “gaff topsail,” back came the pilot-fish ina tearing hurry. “Now then, partner, movealong, do. There’s a lump of fat pork almost asbig as your head hanging over that ship’s stern. Idon’t quite understand why it doesn’t sink, but itis good. I nibbled just a crumb, and you can besure this time that it’s no bagful of cinders likethat nasty mouthful that gave you the chest-acheso bad this morning.” The latter part of thisenergetic exordium was lost upon Mother Shark,being drowned in the wash set up by her greattail-fin, which was going in grand style, startingher off at such a rate that two or three stragglersof the family had to skip like shrimps to getindoors before they were left behind and lost.

Straight as an arrow to the mark went the tinyguide, keeping just in front of his huge friend’ssnout. Together they swept into the shadow,where, sure enough, a mass of meat hung justbelow the sea surface, though gently lifted almostout of water every now and then. “Oh, do16look, Mamma! there’s a big fish. Is he going toeat up that pretty little one, do you think?”—“Oh,no, my little man,” struck in the mate, “butyou watch him now.” As he spoke the great greybody took a curve laterally, a dazzling glare of whiteappeared, and there, beneath the speaker, was acrescentic gap in the smooth, livid underside,fringed with innumerable points like chevaux-de-frise,and as big as the gape of a coal-sack.Around it the small pilot circled excitedly at topspeed. Slowly it rose beneath the bait, which themate as gently slacked away, there was a gulp, andthe big joint disappeared. There was a flash, asplash, and an eddy. Then the rope attached tothe shark-hook concealed in that pork groanedover the rail as it felt the strain.

“Lay aft the watch,” roared the mate, andamid the trampling of many feet, a babel of directions,and a tremendous tumult alongside, throughthe writhings of the captive monster, she wastransferred forward to the lee gangway, where, bythe aid of a stout watch-tackle, she was hoisted outof water.

“Don’t take him aboard,” cried the captain;“make such an infernal mess if you do. Justspritsle yard him ’n let him go agen.” So a pieceof scantling was got from the carpenter, pointed atboth ends, about four feet long. This they drovethrough her jaws from side to side. Another wedge-shapedpiece was planted diagonally down throughher broad snout, the upper end pointing forrard.17Then they cut off the wide pectoral fins, lettingthe quivering carcase fall into the sea again bythe simple expedient of chopping the hook out.“What abominable cruelty,” muttered a gentle-facedman among the crowding passengers, as heturned away sick at heart. But the bustling seamenlooked pityingly at him, wondering doubtlessat his lack of sporting instincts. Thus disabled,the miserable monster plunged blindly in uncertaindirections, unable to steer herself, unheeding thefrantic caresses of her faithful little satellite, whohad almost exhausted himself by leaping up at heras she hung struggling against the vessel’s side.Neither did she notice the puzzled, waveringmovements of her wondering brood. So shedisappeared from the view of the laughing, happycrowd on deck. But whichever way she rushedshe always fetched up to the surface promptly,because of the vane in her head. Thus for a dayand a night she fought aimlessly with all the forcesof amazing vitality pent up in her huge bodyagainst these torturing disablements, until mercifullyshe fell in with a couple of ravenouscongeners. Scenting fresh blood they made forher straightway. Like mad things they fell uponher. Long and hard they strove, tearing their waythrough the tough framework until assistance camefrom all quarters, and a motley multitude ofvarious hungry ones cleaned up every shred of thewelcome banquet, leaving only the deserted pilotto seek another partner.

Ras Nungwe stood out boldly against the deepazure of the midnight sky, its rugged outlinessoftened and etherealised by the flood of moltenlight flowing from the rising moon. Within thevelvety shadow which extended far to the north-westwardfrom that bold headland lay our brig, alonely, almost pathetic object, with sails all verticalin the utter calm, and taut as boards with thedrenching dew. The royals, peering above theenwrapping dark, gleamed silvery-white where theunintercepted moon-rays touched them, crowningthe homely craft with a radiant halo of silversheen. I stood alone in the silent gloom of thedeck completely absorbed in the solemn beauty ofthe scene, and utterly unmindful for the present ofthe severe stress of our encompassing emergencies.After the fierce heat of the glowing day thecaressing coolness of the hour was a pure delight,for, although not a breath lifted the down fringingthe dog-vane suspended just above my head, therewas a freshness in the atmosphere which belied the19thermometer. A sound rippled along through thequiet, sending a responsive thrill over my scalp, asof an attuned nerve. Mellow and sustained, theclear call of the Muezzin from the minaret inZanzibar Town had travelled this great distance,bearing its tremendous challenge, “Allah hoAkbar!” Dropping all consonants on its way,only the open vowels persisted; but even so, nonecould mistake the words. Obedient even in sleepto the call of his faith, Sa’adi, our Suahili steward,turned upon his mat near the mainmast, and risingto his feet, with hands outstretched before him,began in low gutturals the majestic ritual of theMussulmani, “Bismillahi ’Rahmanni ’Raheem.”

Meanwhile, the swelling tide of moonlighthad invaded the sombre area wherein we layuntil the whole of the vessel was shining inpurest light. Every rope, spar, and sail, shimmeringin that wonderful luminosity, looked unearthly,a phantom that the returning sun would dissipatewith his workaday beams. Here and there onthe deck, wherever a little shelter could be foundfrom the soaking dew, lay figures in many anuneasy attitude, brokenly slumbering and mutteringthrough the helpless delirium of fever; forall hands save the second mate, myself, twoMalagasy, and two Arabs, were desperately sick.The poisonous malaria which crawls stealthily tothe Zanzibar anchorage out of the foulness of thatmost filthy town, aided by the treacherous exhalationsfrom the soil everywhere, had stricken20them down, and their only hope of recoveryseemed to lie in escape from that dangerousvicinity. Therefore, but principally because ofour affection for our suffering skipper, withhis wife and child all tossing in delirium, wehad dared to get under weigh and proceed to seain such a plight. But now, relieved by mycareful brother officer, I went below, knowingfrom painful experience that, stifling as the airmight be down in my berth, it was far safer thanon deck.

I awoke streaming as if in the sudatorium ofa Hammam, and after a careful rub down andcomplete change of rig, returned on deck torelieve my faithful partner. A small air fromthe African land was just lifting the lighter sails,and making a pleasant little ripple warble alongside.One of the Malagasy, a docile Betsimasaraka,came to the wheel, necessitating a careful watchover his well-meant but generally misdirectedefforts on my part, since the duty was as yetstrange to him. Still, I had leisure to take myfill of admiring wonder at the completely changedscene. We now sailed on a sea of silver, themoon being almost vertical. Out of that radiantlevel rose the dark battlements of the great island,its clear-cut outlines in sharp contrast to thepellucid sky. Far ahead loomed the misty massof Pemba, and on the left a long, low streak ofgloom, lit up here and there by gleaming stretchesof shining sand, showed the proximity of Africa,21ancient land of mystery. A subdued murmur,like that of a shell, but with an occasional swelltherein, was rather suggested than heard, sounceasing was its deep monotone, the unrestingroll of the Indian Ocean upon those lonely shores.At no great distance from us a snowy featheroccasionally showed itself where the slumberingsea was momentarily ruffled in its regular rollby an outlying spur of coral close to the surface.

In striking contrast to those bright gleams theblack blotch made by some toiling fisherman’ssmall canoe showed up against the bright waterslike a patch of rock. Presently, out of the mistyenvirons of a small island to leeward, came the faintbut unmistakable sound of oars strenuously worked.The night-glasses revealed the sinister shape of adhow heading towards us, a foam-wreath sparklingat her bows as if she was going at a great rate.“More slaves,” I thought bitterly, for nightnavigation is not favoured by Arabs except uponexcursions that do not bear the light well.Fervently I hoped that some of my countrymenwere lying hidden near enough to stop thoseincarnate devils on their infernal errand. Forgettingall else, I strained my eyes through the glassesat the swiftly approaching dhow. The course hewas making would bring him closely past us, andeventually land him at the extreme northern endof Zanzibar Island.

Hoping against hope, I swept the horizonearnestly with the glasses, my gaze lingering for22long in the direction where lay the guardship withfive hundred eager fellows on board ready to takeany risk to stop such a villainous craft as was nowbefouling the seascape, did they but know of herpresence. I had nearly given up all hope, when tomy intense delight I saw coming in our directionfrom Pemba a tiny cloud of black smoke. Hardlyknowing how to contain myself, I rushed below,found a rocket, and leaning it against the rail,touched it off. With a hiss like a bursting steampipeit soared aloft, scaring my poor Malagasyhelmsman almost into a fit, and bursting at asplendid height into five blazing stars, an imperativecall to any cruising naval launch near. The flyingslaver never swerved or halted. On the contrary,she was evidently adding to her speed. But to mysatisfaction the small black thread of smoke aheadnow showed a lurid glow running through it.Doubtless they had grasped the intention of mysignal, and were making their little craft do her bestto obey it. Within a cable’s length the dhow passedour stern, her straining crew yelling curses at us inmellifluous Suahili. Pitiful, indeed, would have beenour case could those merciless flesh-hunters thenhave had their will of us. But with double-bankedsweeps they strove to gain the shore, scenting thepursuers they could not see. Nearer drew thetrailing smoke-wreath, until beneath it I coulddiscern the slender shape of a steam-launch. Andthen I rejoiced to see her change her course so as tocut off the dhow ere she could reach the objective23her crew were straining every sinew to attain.Breathlessly I watched the manœuvre, disregardingthe unwelcome failure of the gentle breeze thatagain left us motionless. At last there was a flashfrom the launch’s bow, followed by a sullen boom,the sweetest sound imaginable to my hungry ears.Another flash, and then the bright foam faded fromthe dhow’s sides, showing that they had ceasedtheir efforts to escape. A short silence ensued,followed by a faint rattle of small-arm fire.

Although the grey light of dawn was nowdisplacing the almost blue-black of the night sky,the two craft were so far away that I could notsee how my brethren were faring, but almost unconsciouslyI breathed a prayer for their success.Then, in gorgeous array of green and purple andgold, conquering daylight rushed across the sky,paling the bright moon and quenching the sweetstars in the ineffable glory of a new morn. Allthe beauties of the adjacent shores sprang intosight, completing the splendid picture. But, bestof all, over that devilish dhow now floated thewhite-and-red folds of St. George’s Cross, whoseappearance anywhere always gives an Englishmanan accelerated heart-beat. How much more, then,when it is seen sheltering those who were lost,helpless, and hopeless slaves. Before long thedhow was taken in tow by the launch, whichheaded towards us. I ran up the old Red Ensign,dipping it gaily in salute to the victors in so noblea cause. As she passed close under our stern the24officer in charge, waving his cap, shouted: “Manythanks, sir, for your signal. We should certainlyhave missed the prize without it. She has onehundred and fifteen slaves on board, all ages andboth sexes, packed like sardines in a tin. It isa splendid haul. Good-bye, sir, and a mostpleasant passage to you.” I would have answeredhim in many words, but something choked myutterance, and I could only wave my hand inhearty farewell. I could not help a feeling ofsatisfaction as I noticed several prone figures onthe dhow’s deck with crimson stains on theirdingy white garments. There are times whenthe Mosaic law seems to all of us the onlysatisfying adjustment of rewards.

Of the long days that followed before wefinally cleared those sultry shores, days of anxietyand nights of constant care, much could be tolddid space permit. One by one the haggard, quinine-saturatedinvalids resumed their watch, wistfullyseeking to help, but so weak that their falteringsteps failed them oftentimes. But gradually theygathered strength, until by the time that Zanzibarhad faded below the blue horizon every onemustered at watch—changing, and our littlecompany remained complete.

Something, doubtless, akin to the contact of thenaked soul with its God is the feeling ofconscious nothingness that enwraps a man whofinds himself alone in some tiny craft upon theunbroken circle of the sea. Even more so,perhaps, when he has a vessel under his feet, thanwhen he survives upon some frail fabric of hastilygathered flotsam, the lost company of his fellows.For in the former case he has leisure for calmthought, need for skill and energy; none ofwhich qualities will avail him much in the latter,where it is but a question of a little more or lessfirm hold upon fleeting life. To this conclusionI am led from experience of both situations, aboutthe former of which I would fain speak now.

As the result of a series of adventures while mateof an old Cumberland brig under the nominalcommand of one of the most besotted drunkardsI have ever known, I found myself adrift in anAcadian coast village early in December, friendlessand penniless. Already the icy barrier was rapidly26forming which would effectually bar all navigationuntil the ensuing spring, and the thought of beingthus frozen up in helpless idleness for months,coupled with the prospect of winter for my youngwife in England without my support, was almostmore than I could bear. Kismet threw in myway the commander, owner, and builder of a tinyschooner, who, disgusted with his “bad luck,”had freighted his co*ckleshell with the harvestof his farm, three hundred barrels of potatoes,and purposed sailing for the West Indies in orderto sell vessel and cargo. Of ocean navigation heknew nothing, all his previous nautical experiencehaving been confined to the rugged coasts of NovaScotia, so that he was highly elated at the idea ofengaging a mate with a London certificate. Notthat he would have hesitated to launch out intothe Atlantic without any other knowledge thanhe possessed, without chronometer, sextant, orephemeris. Like many of the old school of sea-farers,now perhaps quite extinct, he would havereckoned upon finding his way to port in time byasking from ship to ship sighted on the passage,for he was in no hurry. I was in no mood forbargaining—a way of escape was my urgent need—andin a few hours from our meeting we werebusily rowing the wee craft down the fast-emptyingriver. The crew consisted of the skipper, his ten-year-oldson, myself, and a gawky, half-witted ladof sixteen, who strutted under the title of cook.Bitter, grinding poverty was manifest in every27detail of our equipment, principally in the provisions,which consisted solely of a barrel of flour,a small tub of evil-smelling meat (source unknown),and a keg of salt flavoured with a few herrings.Of course, there was the cargo, and the skipperconcealed, moreover, under his pillow a few ouncesof tea, about 3 lb. of wet sugar in an oozing bag,and a bottle of “square” gin. “Medical comforts,”he explained, with an air of knowing whatought to be carried on a deep-water voyage.

For the first five hundred miles we groped ourway through fantastic wreaths of frost-fog, itsdense whiteness enclosing us like a wall, and itspitiless embrace threatening to freeze the creepingblood in our veins, while, invisible, the angrycurrents of the fiercest tideway in the worldbubbled beneath us like a witch’s cauldron, whosesteam was fluid ice, after whirling us top-wise indefiance of wind and helm. Strange noises assailedour ears, and a feeling of uncertain suspension asthough sailing in the clouds possessed our benumbedfaculties. But as if guided by an instinctivesense of direction, the skipper succeeded infetching the New Brunswick shore, enteringMusquash Harbour without hesitation, and anchoringa scant bowshot from the frozen strand.Wasting no time, very precious now, we landed,restoring our feeble circulation by felling a largenumber of beautiful young silver birches, which,like regular ranks of glittering ghosts, stoodthickly everywhere. Our sea-stock of fuel28provided, we broke up the armour-plated coveringof ice over a swiftly-flowing streamlet and filledour solitary water-cask, an irksome task, since thewater froze as we poured. With enormousdifficulty we shipped these essentials, and in allhaste weighed again, and stole seaward into thegathering gloom. Night brought a bitter gale,whose direction barely enabled us to creep undera tiny triangle of canvas towards the narrowportals of the Bay of Fundy. The flying sprayclung to masts and rigging, clothing them withmany layers of ice, till each slender spar and ropegleamed huge above our heads through thepalpable dark. The scanty limits of the deckbecame undistinguishable from the levels of an iceberg,to which offspring of the sombre North ourlittle craft was rapidly becoming akin. Below, inthe stuffy, square den, the “cook” continually fedthe ancient stove with crackling birchwood andmade successive kettlesful of boiling burnt-breadcoffee, while the half-frozen skipper and his materelieved each other every half-hour for a briefthaw. In such wise we reached a sheltered nookbehind Cape Sable, anchoring in a culminatingblizzard of snow, and fleeing instantly to thesteaming shelter below. Outside our frail shellthe tempest howled unceasingly throughout thelong, long night. When the bleak morning brokethe little ship was perched precariously, like somecrippled sea-bird, upon three pinnacles of rock.The sea had retreated from us for nearly a mile,29and all the grim secrets of its iron bed lay revealedunder the cold, grey dawn. Overhead hunggigantic icicles like sheaves of spears from themassive white pillars that concealed our identitywith man’s handiwork, and at imminent risk wemust needs break them down in order to move thevessel when the inrushing flood should again sether free. Presently it came, a roaring yellow massof broken water, laden with all the varied débrisof that awful coast. But we were ready for it, andby strenuous toil managed to get into a safeanchorage.

Seven short days and long ghastly nights we laythere waiting a chance to escape. Christmas cameand went, bringing with it bitter thoughts of home,but no word was spoken on the subject. Theskipper’s little son lay feverishly tossing in thedelirium of measles, his father’s face an impenetrablemask, but whether of stoicism orstolidity I could not tell. At last the windsoftened, changed its direction, and breaking upthe gloomy pall of cloud, allowed a few pale gleamsof sun to peep through, welcome as sight to theblind. Scrambling ashore, we cut down a widespreadingyoung spruce-tree, and after a struggleof two hours succeeded in getting it on board withall its matted branches intact. Then, tearing outthe anchor in a fury of energy and desire to begone, we stood to the southward with our strangedeck-load. A few short hours, and what a change!As if under the breath of some kindly angel, the30ice and snow melted from around us, the pleasantthrill of expanding life returned. It was no newmiracle, only the sweet influence of that mild butmighty ocean river, the Gulf Stream, into whosebeneficent bosom we had crept like a strayed andperishing child. How we revelled in the genialwarmth. With what delight we bathed our stiffenedlimbs in those tepid waters, feeling life and comfortsurge back to us as if from their very source.

Just a little while for recovery, and then roundswung the wind again. The dismal curtains of thesky were drawn, and the melancholy monotone ofthe advancing storm wailed through our scantyrigging. Right across the path of the great streamit blew, catching the waves in their stately march,and tearing their crests furiously backward.Fiercer and louder howled the gale, while thebewildered sea, irresistibly borne north-eastward bythe current and scourged southward by the ever-increasingstorm, rose in pyramidal heaps whichfell all ways, only their blinding spray flyingsteadfastly to leeward. In that welter of conflictingelements, whence even the birds had fled, wewere tossed like any other bubble of the myriadsbursting around. Sail was useless to steady her,for the towering billows becalmed it; neither daredwe risk our only canvas blowing away. So whenit appeared that there was a little more truth in thetrend of the sea, we moored the cable to the trunkof our tree and cast it overboard. And to thatstrangely transformed plant we rode as to a floating31anchor, held up head to sea, save when thepersistent swell rose astern in a knoll of advancingwater and hurled us three hundred fathoms forwardin a breath. Nine weary watches of four hours eachdid I stand by the useless wheel, breathlessly eyeingthe tigerish leap of each monstrous wave until itswept by leaving us still alive. Yet while theskipper stood his watch I slept, serenely obliviousof the fearful strife without. So bravely, loyallydid the little Daisy behave that hope rosesteadily, until just as the parting clouds permitteda ray of moonlight to irradiate the tormented sea,there was a sudden change in her motion. As ifworn out by the unequal strife, she fell off into thesea-trough, a mountain of black water toweredabove her, and in one unbearable uproar shedisappeared. Blinded and battered out of all sense,I knew no more until I found myself clinging tothe wheel with a grip that left indented bruises allover my arms. She had survived, and, as if inadmiration for her valiant fight, the sea fell and lefther safe. The tree-trunk had been sawn rightthrough, but its work was done.

* * * * *

Beneath pleasant skies we plodded southward toour destined port, arriving uneventfully at Antiguaafter a passage of thirty-five days.

Despite the inroads made upon sail by steam,a goodly fleet of sailing ships still survive, manyof them magnificent specimens not only of marinearchitecture, but also of the cunning handiworkof the modern “rigger.” The enormous sail-areashown by some of these ships and the immensespread of their yards would have staggered thedaring skippers of forty years ago, when theChina tea-clippers were the greyhounds of theseas, and the Yankee flyers were wiping the eyesof their sturdy British compeers. But in orderto see these majestic vessels at their best it isnecessary to be on board one of them on a voyageto or from the Far East. Their troubles areoften many and their hindrances great until theyreach those Southern parallels where, after a spellof “doldrums” varying with the season, they pickup those brave west winds that, unhindered, sweepin almost constant procession around the landlessSouthern slopes of the world. This is no placefor weaklings either among ships or men. If a33passage is to be made and a vessel’s reputationfor swiftness, apart from steam-power, to be eithersustained or acquired, here is the field. There isnone like unto it. Not only should canvas,hemp, and steel be of the best, but the skippermust be stout of heart, not to be daunted bythreatening skies, mountainous seas, or wanderingislands of ice. More than all these, he must to-daybe prepared to face the probability of hisscanty crew being quite unable to handle thegigantic pinions of his vessel should the favouringbreeze rise, as it often does, to such a plenitudeof power as to make it most dangerous for themto be longer spread.

To take a typical instance: the 5000 tonfour-masted sailing ship Coryphæna, laden withgeneral merchandise for Melbourne, reached thelatitude of Cape Frio on the thirty-fifth day fromLondon. Like all of her class, she was butweakly manned, but as if to provide against anypossible emergencies of sail-carrying, her enormousmasts of mild steel were quadruply stayed withsteel cables, until they were almost like an integralpart of the massive fabric herself. From truck tomast-coat not a shaking of hemp was used forcordage where steel wire rope or chain could bemade available. Neither were any old-timelashings, lanyards, or seizings to be seen. Theirplaces were filled by screws and levers, wherebyone man could exert more power on a shroudor a guy than was formerly possible to a dozen,34aided by a complicated web of tackles. Andthe sails, those vast breadths of canvas that, whenset, made the mighty hull appear but a trivial thingbeneath their superb spread, were of the heaviestquality woven, their seams, leaches, and roachesfortified by all the devices known to the sailmaker.

The skipper paced the poop with uncertainsteps, hardly able to conceal his impatience at thedallying of the light airs that only made thegreat squares of canvas slam sullenly against themasts, and wear themselves thin. Longingly hiseyes lingered on the western horizon, hungeringfor sign of the “Westerlies.” His eager gazewas at last rewarded by the vision of a sombrearch of lowering cloud, which slowly upreared itsgrim segment above the setting sun. The fitfulsouth-easterly airs, dregs of the “Trades,” whichin their feeble variableness had so sorely tried hispatience, gradually sank like the last few breathsof some expiring monster, leaving the sea glassyand restful under the dark violet of the eveningsky. Only a long, regular swell came rollingeastward in rhythmical march, its placid undulationsswaying the huge vessel gently as thedrowsy rocking of an infant’s cradle. But itsindications were sufficiently precise to satisfy theskipper, who, after a peaceful pipe, retired earlyto rest, leaving orders to call him in the eventof any sudden change. His manner, however,indicated that he expected nothing of the kind.After his departure the chief officer prowled35restlessly about the quarterdeck, being a manto whom the stagnation of a calm was anunmitigated calamity. At present his only satisfactionlay in noting how steadily the celestialbridge astern grew in breadth and altitude, whileat the same time the swell became deeper, longer,and more definite in its direction.

By four bells the summits of the climbingcumuli forming the immeasurable arch in thewest were right overhead, while the sky withinits radius was now overspread with a filmy veilthat hid the stars from view. Suddenly a chillbreath touched his ear, sensitive as a hound’s,and immediately his fretful lassitude was gone.He stood erect, alert, every nerve tense, readyfor action. “Stand by, the watch!” he roared,and in response a few dark figures slouched intosight from the shadowy corners where they hadbeen dozing away the leaden-footed hours. Thena cool stream of air came steadily flowing from themysterious centre of the gloom abaft. “Squarethe main-yard!” shouted the mate again; andwith eerie, wailing cries the great steel tubes weretrimmed to the coming breeze. The order washardly executed before, with a rush and a scream,out leapt the west wind from its lair, while withmany a sharp report and grinding of gear beingdrawn into its grooves the huge fabric obeyed thecompelling impulse and began her three thousandleague stretch to the eastward. By midnight itblew a gale, to which the same vessel, had she36been bound in the opposite direction, must needshave shown but a scanty spread of sail. Now,nothing was further from the intention of thegleeful mate than the starting of a single thread.

At the relieving of the watch the skipper wascalled and informed of the change, so that uponhim should rest the responsibility for “carryingon.” For the driving fragments of storm-rentcloud were low, and by their meteor speed foretoldthat this was but a foretaste of the tempest tofollow. Planting himself in his favourite attitudeon the extreme weather-quarter, the captain fixedhis eyes on the upper sails with a look of supremecontent, though to an inexperienced gaze theywould have seemed on the point of bursting intoshreds, their very stitch-holes strained to gaping aquarter-inch long. Every one of her thirty-fourwings were spread and drawing, for the wind beingwell on the quarter, allowed of the yards beingcanted forward, while the ship went “steady as achurch,” with a ten-degree list to port. Still thewind increased and faster drove the ship, until bydaylight she was going a full sixteen knots, which, inspite of the Yankee yarns anent the James Baines,her main skysail, and her twenty-one knots, isabout the maximum possible under sail. The firstcheerless gleams of the new day revealed an awe-inspiringview. Far as could be seen the oceansurface was torn into snowy foam by the ragingwind, for the sea had not yet time to get into thegigantic stride it would presently take in sympathy37with the irresistible march of the all-compellingstorm. “Fine breeze, sir,” chuckled the mate,rubbing his hands with delight. “Only hope it’llhold,” replied the skipper, peering keenly aft intothe eye of the wind. There, to a landsman, thesight was ominous, almost appalling. Dense massesof distorted nimbus came hurtling out of the deepgloom, which seemed to grow blacker and moremenacing every hour. So through the howlingday the big ship fled onward like a frightened thing,steady and straight as an ice-yacht over LakeMichigan, although at times an incipient sea smoteher broadside, and, baffled, cast its crest aloft, wherethe shrieking blast caught it and whirled it inneedle-like particles as high as the upper topsails.

When night drew in the sea had fairly risen, andcame bellowing along in mountainous masses manymiles in length at a speed that bade fair to overtakethe fleeing ship. Strange it was to note how,as the waves grew, the ship seemed to dwindleuntil her huge bulk appeared quite insignificant.And now, at frequent intervals, enormous bodiesof broken water hurled themselves on board, oftenfilling the spacious decks flush fore and aft with aseething flood. And still the “old man,” hungon, his courage and faith in the powers of his shipbeing justly rewarded by a week’s run of over twothousand miles without the loss of a rope-yarn.Then the breeze gradually faltered, swerved fromits steadfast direction, and worked round by thesouth, until at south-east it dropped lifeless for an38hour or so. Then out from the north-east itrushed like a raving genie, almost catching the shipaback, and giving the scanty band of toilers atremendous task to handle the immense squaresof canvas that thundered like infuriate monstersagainst their restraining bonds. But in a shorttime the gale had veered round into the westwardagain, and the Coryphæna resumed her headlongrace to the east. Running upon the arc of a greatcircle, she gradually worsened the weather as shereached higher latitudes. Stinging snow squallscame yelling after her, hiding everything behinda bitter veil. Past gigantic table-topped icebergs,floating mountains against whose gaunt sides theawful billows broke with deafening clangour,flinging their hissing fragments hundreds of feetinto the gloomy sky. At last so fierce grew thefollowing storm that the task of reducing sailbecame absolutely necessary. All hands were calledand sped aloft to the unequal conflict. Scourgedby the merciless blast, battered by the threshingsails, they strove for dear life through two terriblehours of that stern night. A feeble cry was heard,—afaint splash. Only a man dropped from themain top-gallant yard,—through one hundred andtwenty feet of darkness into the yeasty smotherbeneath, and ere the news reached the deck, calmand peaceful below the tumult, more than a mileastern, swallowed by the ever-unsatisfied maw ofthe ravening sea. And onward like a meteor spedthe flying ship, “running her Easting down.”

Swinging through the clear sky, one hundredfeet above the little stretch of white deck thatlooks so strangely narrow and circ*mscribed, theperiod of two hours assigned for a spell is oftenspent in strange meditations. For all the circ*mstancesare favourable to absolute detachment fromordinary affairs. A man feels there cut off fromthe world, a temporary visitor to a higher sphere,from whose serene altitude the petty environmentof daily life appears separated by a vast gulf.Rising to that calm plane in the shimmeringpearly twilight of a tropical dawn, he is enabledto view, as from no other standpoint, the dailymystery and miracle of the sunrise. For heforgets the tiny microcosm below, involuntarilylooking upward into the infinite azure until hismind becomes consciously akin to eternal verities,and sheds for a brief space the gross hamperingsof fleshly needs and longings. At such a time,especially if the heavens be one stainless concaveof blue, the advent of the new day is so overwhelming40in its glory that the soul is flooded witha sense of celestial beauty unutterable. Beautifuland glorious indeed are the changing tints andvarying hues of early dawn upon the fleecy fieldsof cloud, but the very changeableness of thewondrous scene is unfavourable to the simplesettlement of wondering, worshipping thoughtinduced by the birth of unclouded light. At firstthere appears upon the eastern edge of the vast,sharply-defined circle of the horizon, that by afamiliar optical illusion seems to bound a sapphireconcavity of which the spectator is the centre, atremulous, silky paling of the tender blue belongingto the tropical night. The glowing starsgrow fainter, dimmer, ceasing to coruscate likecelestial jewels studding the soft, dark canopy ofthe sky. Unlingering, the palpitating sheenspreads zenithwards, presently sending before itas heralds wide bars of radiance tinted withblends of colour not to be reproduced by theutmost skill of the painter. Before their triumphaladvent the great cone of the zodiacal light, which,like a stupendous obelisk rising from the mereshadow of some ineffable central glow, to whichthe gigantic sun itself is but a pale star, hasdominated the moonless hours, fades and vanishes.Far reaching, these heavenly messengers gild thewestern horizon, but when the eye returns totheir source it has become “a sea of glass mingledwith fire,”—a fire which consumes not, and,while glowing with unfathomable splendour, has41yet a mildness that permits the eye to search itsinnermost glories unfalteringly and with inexpressibledelight.

But while the satisfied sight dwells upon thistranscendent scene, forgetting that it is not theonly morning in earth’s history when it is to belavished upon a favoured world, there is a suddenquickening of the throbbing light, along thesharp blue edge of the ocean runs a blazing rimof molten gold, and in a perfect silence, beneathwhich may be felt the majestic music of the spheres,the sun has come. Turn away the head; thetrembling eyes cannot for an instant dwell uponthat flaming fervent globe that at one mightystride is already far above the horizon. Thesweet face of the sea wears a million sparklingsmiles of welcome—everywhere the advent of theDay-bringer has decked it with countless flashinggems. As if ecstatic in their appreciation of thebanishment of night, a school of porpoises fivethousand strong indulge in riotous gambols.Leaping high into the bright air, their shining,lithe bodies all a-quiver with pure joy of abundantlife, they churn the kindly sea into foam, leavingin their mad, frolicsome rush a wide track of whiteon the smoothness behind them. So flawless isthe calm that even the tiny argosy of the nautilusis tempted to rise and spread its silken sail, alovely gauzy curve just a shade or so lighter inhue than the sapphire of the sea, and so discerniblefrom that height to the practised eye. In quick42succession more and more appear, until a fairyfleet of hundreds is sailing as if bearing Titaniaand her train to some enchanted isles, where neverwind blows loudly. But lo! as if at a signal froma pigmy Admiral, the squadron has vanishedbubble-wise. From where they lately rode inmimic pageant rises, ghost-like, a vast flock offlying-fish, the hum of whose vibrant wing-finsascends to the ear. Many thousands in number,glistening in the sunblaze like burnished silver,they glide through the air with incredible speed,the whole shoal rising and falling in wave-likeundulations as if in the performance of preconcertedevolutions. They have been flying upona plane of perhaps twenty feet above the sea forsome five hundred yards, and are just about tore-enter the water, when beneath them appear theiridescent beauties of a school of dolphin (not thedull-hued mammal, but the poet-beloved fish).At that dread sight the solid phalanx breaks up,hurled back upon itself in the disorder of deadlypanic. In little groups, in single fugitives, theyscatter to every point of the compass, a hopelesslydisorganised mob, whereof the weaker fall to swiftoblivion in the gaping jaws of their brilliant,vigorous foes beneath. The main body sheer off,sadly thinned, in a fresh direction, long quiveringraiders launching themselves in hot pursuit upontheir rear, devouring as they rush, until eaters andeaten disappear, and the battlefield lies in placidbeauty as if never disturbed. One hovering bird,43a “bo’sun,” with long slender tail and feathers ofpurest white, circles around on unmoving, outspreadpinions, slowly turning his pretty head, withdark incurious eyes, upon the strange biped soawkwardly perched in his dominions of upper air.Whence and when did he come? A momentsince and he was not. Did the vacant ether producehim? Yet another moment and he is goneas he came, leaving behind him a palpable senseof loss.

But now all attention is concentrated upon thehorizon, where the trained eye has caught a glimpseof something of greater interest than either birdor fish. A series of tiny puffs, apparently ofsteam, rises from the shining surface, but so evanescentthat nothing but long-practised vision woulddiscern them at so great a distance. Irregularly,both as to time and position, they appear, ashadowy procession of faintest indefinite outlines,a band of brief shadows. Yet upon them eagereyes are bent in keenest attention, for they representpossibilities of substantial gain, and bring themind back from the realms of pure romance withthe swiftness of a diving sea-bird down to thehard necessities of everyday life. They are thebreathings of marine mammalia, mightiest of ocean’scitizens, and strangest of links between the inhabitantsof land and sea. A little keen scrutiny,however, reveals the disappointing fact that thosefeathery phantoms mark the presence of thatspecial species of whales who enjoy complete44immunity from attack either from above or below.Their marvellous agility, no less than the exiguouscovering of fat to which they have reduced theusually massive blubber borne by their congeners,gives abundant reason why they should be thusunmolested. So they roam the teeming seas inthe enviable, as well as almost unique, positionamong the marine fauna of exemption from death,except by sickness or old age, as much as anysedate, law-abiding citizen of London. Theyseem to be well aware of their privileges, for theydraw near the ship with perfect confidence, heedingher huge shadow no more than if she were amass of rock rising sheer from the ocean-bed, andincapable of harm to any of the sea-folk. Fromour lofty eyrie we watch with keenest interest theantics of these great creatures, their amatorygambols, parental care, elegant ease, and keensportiveness. Yonder piebald monster, who seemsthe patriarch of the school, after basking placidlyin the scorching rays of the sun, now high inthe heavens, gravely turns a semi-somersault,elevating the rear half of his body (some fortyfeet or so) out of the water. Then with steady,tremendous strokes he beats the water, the hundredsquare feet of his tail falling flatly with a reverberationlike the sound of a distant bombardment.The others leap out of water, sedately as becomestheir bulk, or roll over and over each other uponthe surface, occasionally settling down until theylook like fish of a foot or so in length. They45even dare to chafe their barnacle-studded sidesagainst the vessel’s keel, sending a strange tremorthrough her from stem to stern, which is even feltin the “crow’s nest.” But no one molests themin any way; in fact, it must be placed to thewhaler’s credit that he rarely takes life for “sport,”though callous as iron where profit of any kindmay be secured.

Oh, the heat; as if one’s head were a focusfor the sun himself, since there is little else formany leagues exposed for him to assail except themirror-like ocean. Thence, too, the heat risesas if to place us between two fires, until we feellike the fakirs of India undergoing their self-imposedpenance of the swing. How ferventlythankful we are when at last the glorious orbdescends so low that his slanting rays lose theirpower in great measure, and permit us again totake a reviving interest in our surroundings.Yon floating tree, for instance; we have longbeen wondering in a vague sort of dream what itmight be. And indeed its appearance is strangeenough to warrant considerable speculation. Ithas been adrift for months, and except upon theside which floats uppermost, is covered with barnacles,whose adhering feet have extended in someinstances to a fathom in length, the tiny shellsbeing almost invisible at the free ends. Thiswealth of living covering, waving gently as thelog is rocked by the unseen swell, gives the wholething an uncanny look, as of some strange unclassified46monster “begotten of the elder slime.”Around it are playing in shoals fish of many kindsseen only in deep waters—fish of every luminoustint that can be imagined, and ranging in sizefrom the lordly albacore, weighing a quarter of aton, to the tiny caranx of a couple of inches long.But hush! there is a priceless freshness in the air.The weary day is shaking off the fervent embraceof her exhaustless bridegroom. Gentle, lovelyshades of colour are replacing the intense glow.A little, little breeze creeps cautiously along,ruffling the grateful sea in patches of purpleshadow. A more subdued glory gathers in thewest than heralded the sun’s ascending—a tendererrange of tints, like the afterglow of autumn ascompared with the flaming blossoms of spring.For a few brief moments the gorgeous goldendisc swims upon the edge of the lambent sea, andhe is gone. Swiftly following him, the brillianthues fade from the sky, shyly the stars peep out,and it is night.

For many years Pacific mariners, both of whiteand dusky races, had known and dreaded thedangers of the Marae Reef. It lay right in thetrack of vessels between Opolu and Nieuwe, onlyvisible to the seaman’s eye from the mast-head oncalm days as a slight discoloration of the brilliantblue sea that everywhere else bared its unstaineddepths of single colour. With a fresh Tradeblowing there was no difficulty in locating it, for itmade its menace heard as well as seen. The long,indolent Pacific swell, sweeping majestically fromcontinent to continent across half the world, metthis mushroom growth in its mighty path andimmediately raised its awful voice in thunderousprotest against such an addition to the alreadyinnumerable dangers of that perilous region.Not only so, but as if it would uproot the intruderfrom its massy foundations that broadeneddown into the matrix of the world, the wrathfulwave arose in gigantic billows of foaming white,in the midst of which momentarily appeared the48defiant summits of living rock, steadfast and secure,while the ageless ocean vainly sought to uproot itfrom its eternal base. But such scenes were of themost infrequent occurrence. The normal conditionsof those waters were peaceful, and the swellscarcely heavy enough to raise even a solitarybreaker once a day. And as the scanty tradebetween the islands grew less and less, the dangerof the reef, nay, almost its very existence, passedout of men’s minds.

Still, heedless of either elemental strife orserenest calm, the microscopic masons toiled on,each in its tiny cell content to fulfil the conditionsof its being and to add its infinitesimal quota tothe world-fragment; then, having justified itsexistence, to pass into other forms of usefulness bymeans of the ever-active alchemy of Nature. Butfor those of the builders whose lot it was to reachthe summit of the fabric which their united effortshad reared there was another ending, or rathertransmutation. A swift oblivion awaited them, asudden severance from their life-work, as the reef,now awash, was left temporarily dry by the ebbingtide. Yet all around them uncounted myriads oftheir co-workers toiled eagerly upward to the samepersonal fate, the same collective achievement, eachadding some essential to form the perfect whole.Thus from generation to generation the fabricgrew, so slowly by man’s reckoning, so swiftlyaccording to the hasteless chronology of creation,until there came a day when, after a more49placid period even than usual, the bared surface ofthe reef became covered with a dazzling floor ofminutest fragments, ground from the countlesspinnacles below by the unceasing attrition of thewaves. Tide after tide lapped the infant beach,with kindliest murmur as of tender welcome, everbringing fresh store of shining sand, until at lowwater of the spring tides there was a new spot ofearth’s surface gleaming white in that expanse ofblue, like a snowflake new-fallen upon a vastsapphire.

A little bird, grey of feather and with long,slender legs, drifted softly out of the surroundingvoid, and alighted daintily upon this glisteningearth-bud with a sweet, low chirp of content thatalso sounded like a note of welcome. Withdelicate, mincing steps the graceful visitor patteredover the crisp sand, prying with keen black eyesand fine, nervous beak into every cranny andworm-hole, and finding apparently many a tastymorsel to reward her visit. Evening broughtanother guest on family cares intent,—a hugeturtle, whose broad, buckler-like carapace roseshining out of the limpid wave like the dome ofsome naiad’s pearly palace under the silvern glowof the broad moon. But instinct, that infallibleguide to the lesser intelligences of animate creation,warned the expectant parent that here, for sometime at any rate, no safe cache might be found forthe deposit of those precious round eggs of hers.So, after a leisurely survey of the scanty circlet, she50dragged her huge bulk lingeringly into the clearwaters again, and was immediately transformedfrom a crawling reptile into a swift and gracefulcreature that cleft the waves like an arrow.Thenceforward many visitants came and went,birds, crustacea, and fish, most of them exchangingbenefits with the new land, although any nascentgerms of vegetation lay biding their appointed timeuntil the sea should finally refrain from flinging anoccasional lustration across the smiling face of thenew-born islet. In due process of the suns,however, a wandering coco-nut came with many abackward sweep and much dallying upon the outskirtsof the surrounding reef among the bewilderingeddies, until at last a friendly wavelet caught it andspun it up high and dry, where it lay at rest, keptfrom rolling seaward again by a little ridge left inthe sand, the impress of a more than usuallyvigorous breaker. In that soft scene of milddelight day succeeded day like the passing of asunny afternoon dream, undisturbed by anyclamorous voice of wind or hoarse note of ravin fromthe sea. Balmy airs, like the sweet breath of love,scarcely dimpled the serene face of the blue oceanaround. In a beneficent flood the golden sunshinelavished its treasures upon the lonely ocean beneathby day, and by night the unaging glory of thesilver stars, among whose countless hosts the quietbeauty of the lovely moon pursued her stately way,was perfectly reproduced in the same limitlessmirror.

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Beneath these gentle, yet irresistible, influencesthat solitary coco-nut felt its dim interior fermentwith life. And out from the dead dryness of itshusk sprang two slender arms; tender, beseechingthings of a living green in almost startling contrastto the withered, storm-tossed envelope from whencethey had emerged. In obedience to some hiddenimpulse one of them bent downwards and by slowpersistence wrought its way into the sand, while theother lifted itself erect and presently unfolded adelicate green fan. Unwatched, unadmired, saveby that Infinite Intelligence that fills the remotestcorners of earth and sea with loveliness for Its owndelight, the tiny tree strengthened daily, mooringitself ever deeper by spreading rootlets that reacheddown through the interstices of the reef beneath,and raising higher and higher in perfect beauty itsfeathery fronds of palest green, the earliest pioneerof the vegetable kingdom in this youthful patch ofMother Earth. After a while, as the coast-lineextended and more of the dry land held its ownagainst the engirdling deep, other plants of lowerstature, but equal charm, managed to find acongenial root-hold in this seemingly barren patchof sand. Humble as they were, they gave to theislet the friendly tint that all eyes love, and made itmore complete. Several migrant sea-birds haltedhere, and, finding the spot exactly suited to theirneeds, made it their home, laying their large eggsbarely upon the smooth sand, and rearing in happyaloofness from all enemies their voracious broods.52Turtles no longer disdained the scanty beach as asafe hatching place for their plentiful stores of eggs,and strange waifs from far-away lands were arrestedin their weary oscillations about the never-restingocean and peacefully brought here to a final abiding-place.

So fared the uneventful, unnoted procession ofdays, months, and years, until one morning thenow abundant, happy life of the island awoke, aswas its wont, at the first warm breath of a newday. A soft blush of indescribable colour-blendsreplaced the dark violet of the night sky, whoseshadows retreated before that conquering dawn asif in haste to allow the advent of its coming glory.Soon, heralded by spears, streamers, and sheaves ofshining gold, the majestic silence of his entrysmiting the waiting hemisphere like the trump ofan archangel, the great sun rose. His first levelrays glided across the glowing sea and fell upon thewan, upturned face of a man, flung like any otherfragment of jetsam up from the heaving bosom ofthe Pacific, and left apparently lifeless on the sandnear the trunk of the now sturdy tree. Underthat loving touch of reviving warmth the pale, setfeatures relaxed, a shudder as if of re-enteringvitality shook the gaunt limbs, and presently theeyes unclosed. The first human visitor to theisland sat up and stared vacantly around. His upturnedeyes caught sight of the great green bunchesof delicious young fruit hanging some twenty feetabove his head, and the sight was tantalising53beyond measure to his leathery, cracking tongueand throat. He was far too weak to attempt sucha task as climbing the tree would have been; buta few of the eggs that lay near soon supplied himwith fresh vigour, although the outraged birdsprotested all they knew against this strange experience,unlike anything hitherto troubling theirpeaceful life. But as the man grew stronger hisproceedings troubled the original freeholders moreand more. For he collected a great heap of driftwood,including the mast of his own vessel, uponwhich he had been borne hither, and presently fromout of the midst of the heap arose a heavy blackpillar of smoke. Then through the smoke burstflashes of fire, before which all but those birds withyoung, whom no terrors would have driven themfrom, fled shrieking away. As the man grewstronger he climbed the tree, and drank greedilyfrom the sweet liquid filling the young nuts; butwhile he sat there among the far-spreading leaves,he saw a sight that touched him deeper than wouldthe most beautiful Nature picture in the world,—aschooner making for the island. They had seenhis smoke-pillar at a great distance and alteredtheir course to his rescue. So he went away,leaving behind him a terrible memory as of theravages of some unthinkable monster whose visithad changed, not only the face of Nature, but allthe habits and customs of the island-folk.

There was a delicate tint of green over all the skyinstead of its usual deep, steadfast blue. Allaround the horizon the almost constant concomitantsof the Trade winds, fleecy masses ofcumuli, were lying peacefully, their shape unalteredfrom hour to hour. Their usual snowy whiteness,however, was curiously besmirched by a shadingof dirty brown which clung around their billowyoutlines, giving them a stale appearance greatly atvariance with the normal purity of these lovelycloud-forms. The afternoon sun, gliding swiftlydown the shining slope of heaven toward thewestern edge of that placid sea, had an air ofmystery about his usually glorious disc, a wondrousglow of unnameable tints that, streaming awayfrom him into the clear firmament, encircled himwith a halo of marvellous shades, all lacking thepalpitating brightness usually inseparable fromsolar displays near the Equator. And over thesea-surface also was spread, as upon a vast palette,great splashes of colour, untraceable to any definite55source, mysterious in their strange beauty. Atirregular intervals, across that silent expanse ofpeaceful limpidity, came, in stately onset, anundulating throb of ocean’s heart,—a shining knollof water one hundred leagues in length, but somobile, so gentle in its gliding incidence, that itwas beautiful as the heaving bosom of a sleepingnaiad. The very silence, deep and solemn asthat of the stellar spaces, was sweet,—a peacefulsweetness that fell upon the soul like the mostexquisite music, and soothed as does a dreamlesssleep.

And yet, in spite of the indescribable charm ofthat divine day, there was on board the solitaryship that gave the needed touch of human interestto that ocean Elysium a general air of expectancy,a sense of impending change which as yet couldnot be called uneasiness, and still was indefinablyat variance with the more manifest influences thatmade for rest of mind and body. The animals onboard, pigs and cats and fowls, were evidently illat ease. Their finer perceptions, unbiassed byreasoning appreciation of Nature’s beauties, werepalpably disturbed, and they roamed restlesslyabout, often composing themselves as if to sleep,only to resume their agitated prowling almostimmediately. Lower sank the sun, stranger andmore varied grew the colour-schemes in sky andsea. Up from the Eastern horizon crept graduallya pale glow as of a premature dawn, the breakingof an interpolated day shed by some visitant sun56from another system. The moon was not yetdue for six hours, so that none could attribute thisunearthly radiance to her rising. Busy each withthe eager questionings of his own perturbed mind,none spoke a word as the sun disappeared, butwatched in suspense that was almost pain thebrightening of this spectral glare. Suddenly, as ifreflected from some unimaginable furnace, thezenith was all aflame. That fiery glow aboveturned the sea into the semblance of a lake ofblood, and horror distorted every face. The stillpersisting silence now lay like the paralysis of atrance upon all, and an almost frantic desire forsound racked them to the core.

At last, when it seemed as if the tension of theirnerves had almost reached the snapping point,there was an overwhelming sulphurous stench,followed by a muttering as of thunder beneath thesea. A tremendous concussion below the keelmade the stout hull vibrate through every beam,and the tall masts quivered like willow twigs in asquall. The air was full of glancing lights, as iflegions of fire-flies disported themselves. Slowlythe vessel began to heave and roll, but with anuncertain staggering motion, unlike even thebroken sea of a cyclone centre. Gradually thatdreadful light faded from the lurid sky, and wasreplaced by a smoky darkness, alien to theovershadowing gloom of any ordinary tempest.Strange noises arose from the deep, not to becompared with any of the manifold voices of the57ocean so well known to those who do business ingreat waters. And the myriad brightnesses whichmake oceans’ depths so incomparably lovelythroughout the tropical nights were all gone. Allwas dark beneath as above. Not only so, butthose anxious mariners could feel, though theycould not see, that while the atmospheric oceanwas calm almost to stagnation, the hidden deepsunder them were being rent and disintegrated bysuch an unthinkable storm as the air had neverwitnessed. The fountains of the great deep werebroken up, but the floods issuing therefrom wereof cosmic flame, able to resolve even that immensityof superincumbent ocean into its original gases andchange the unchangeable.

Tossing helplessly upon that tortured sea, faceto face with those elemental forces that only tothink of makes the flesh shrink on the bones likea withered leaf, the men suffered the passageof the hours. What was happening or wasabout to happen they could only dimly imagine.They could but endure in helplessness and hopefor the day. Yet their thoughts would wander tothose they loved, wondering dimly whether thecatastrophe apparently impending was to beuniversal and the whole race of man about to beblotted out,—whether the world were dying. Whatthey suffered could not be told, but the animalsdied. Perhaps the scorching heat-waves whichcontinually arose, making mouths and nostrilscrack like burnt leather, and cauterising taste and58smell as if with the fumes of molten sulphur, hadslain the beasts. The discovery of this ghastlydetail of the night’s terrors did not add much totheir fears. It could not; for the mind of mancan only contain a limited amount of terror, as thebody can only feel a limited amount of pain, whichis something to be deeply thankful for.

Shortly after midnight there was a deafeninguproar, a hissing as of the Apocalyptic Star beingquenched, and immediately the gloom became filledwith steam, an almost scalding fog, through whichas through a veil came a red sheen. At the sametime a mighty swell swept toward them from eastto west, striking the ship full in the stem.Gallantly she rose to the advancing wall of wateruntil she seemed upreared upon her stern, but inspite of her wonderful buoyancy a massive seabroke on board, clearing the decks like a besom ofdestruction. Down the receding slope of thisgigantic billow she fled, as if plunging headlong tothe sea-bed, and before she had time to recoverherself was met by another almost as huge.Clinging for life to such fragments as still held onthe clean-swept decks, the crew felt that at last allwas over. But the good ship survived the thirdwave, being then granted a brief respite beforeanother series appeared. This allowed all hands abreathing space, and an opportunity to notice thatthere was a healthier smell in the air, and that theterror-striking noises were fast dying away. Whenthe next set of rollers came thundering along they59were far less dangerous than before, nor, althoughthey made a clean breach over the much-enduringship, were they nearly as trying to the almostworn-out crew. And now, breaking through theappalling drapery that had hidden the bright faceof the sky, suddenly shone the broad smile of thesilver moon. Like the comforting face of a dearfriend, that pleasant sight brought renewed hopeand vigour to all. Again the cheery voices of theofficers were heard, and all wrought manfully torepair the damage done by the terrible sea. Oneby one the glittering stars peeped out as the gloomycanopy melted away, revealing again the beautifulblue of the sky. A gentle breeze sprang up, butfor awhile it was only possible to lay the ship’shead approximately on her course, because thecompasses were useless. The needles had temporarilylost their polarity in the seismic disturbancethat had taken place beneath them. But that wasa small matter. As long as the celestial guideswere available, the navigators could afford to waituntil, with the rest of Nature’s forces, magnetismregained its normal conditions. So, during theenergetic labours of the men, the morning quicklycame, hailed by them as a sight they had neveragain expected to see. And what a dawn it was.Surely never had the abundant day been so delightful,the heaven so stainless, the air so pure. All themore because of the extraordinary contrast betweensky and sea; for old ocean was utterly unlike anysea they had ever before sailed upon. As far as60the eye could reach the surface was covered withfloating pumice, so that the vessel grated throughit as if ploughing over a pebbly beach. Whereverthe water could be seen it was actually muddy,befouled like any ditch. Dead fish, floating anddistorted, added to the ugliness of what overnightwas so beautiful. Most pathetic of all, perhaps,upon that dead sea was the sight of an occasionalspot of white, a tiny patch of ruffled feathersfloating, that had been one of the fearless wingedwanderers who add so much to the beauty of thesea, its joyous life quenched by the poisonousfumes of the submarine earthquake.

All imaginative minds are inevitably impressed bythe solemn grandeur of the sea. Some shudderat its awful loneliness, its apparent illimitability,its air of brooding, ageless mystery in calm.Others are most affected by its unchainable energy,the terror of its gigantic billows, its immeasurabledestructiveness in storms. Yet others, a lessnumerous class, ponder over its profundities ofrayless gloom and uniform cold, where incalculablepressures bear upon all bodies, so that cylinders ofmassive steel are flattened into discs, and waterpercolates through masses of metal as though theywere of muslin. But there is yet another aspectof the oceanic wonders that engages the meditationsof comparatively few, and this is perhaps the mostmarvellous of them all.

Placid and reposeful, tempest-tossed or current-whirled,the unchangeable yet unresting surface ofthe ocean reveals to the voyager no inkling ofwhat is going on below its mobile mask, and even62when furrowed deepest by the mighty but invisibleploughshare of the storm, how slight is the effectfelt twenty feet deep. Yet in those soundlessabysses of shade beneath the waves a war is beingincessantly waged which knows no truce, ruthless,unending, and universal. On earth the strugglefor existence is a terrible one, exciting all oursympathies when we witness its pitilessness, beingourselves by some happy accident outside the area.Nature, “red in tooth and claw,” weeding out theunfit by the operation of her inexorable laws,raises many a doubting question in gentle souls asto why all this suffering should be necessary.They see but a portion of the reversed patternwoven by the eternal looms. But the fauna ofthe land are by an enormous majority herbivorous,mild in their habits, and terrified at the sight ofblood. Even the carnivora, fierce and ravenousas are their instincts, do not devour one anotherexcept in a few insignificant and abnormal cases,such as wolves driven mad by starvation. Muchless do they eat their own offspring, although thereare many instances of this hideous appetite amongthe herbivores, which are familiar to most of us.

In striking contrast to these conditions, thetribes of ocean are all devourers of each other,and, with the exception of the mammalia and thesharks, make no distinction in favour of their ownfruit. One single instance among the inhabitantsof the sea furnishes us with a variation. Thehalicore, dugong, or manatee (Sirenia), now nearly63extinct, are, without doubt, eaters of herbage only.This they gather along the shores whose watersare their habitat, or cull from the shallow seabottoms. For all the rest, they are mutually dependentupon each other’s flesh for life, unscrupulous,unsatisfied, and vigorous beyond belief. “VæVictis” is their motto, and the absence of all otherfood their sole and sufficient excuse. Vieweddispassionately, this law of interdependence directis a beneficent one in spite of its apparent cruelty.Vast as is the sea, the fecundity of most of itsdenizens is well known to be so great that withouteffective checks always in operation it must rapidlybecome putrid and pestilential from the immenseaccumulation of decaying animal matter. As thingsare, the life of a herring, for instance, from first tolast is a series of miraculous escapes. As ova, theirenemies are so numerous, even their own parentsgreedily devouring the quickening spawn, that itis hard to understand how any are overlooked andallowed to become fish. Yet as fry, after providingfood for countless hordes of hungry foes, they arestill sufficiently numerous to impress the imaginationas being in number like the sands of the sea. Andso, always being devoured by millions, they progresstowards maturity, at which perhaps onebillionth of those deposited as ova arrive. Thisinfinitesimal remnant is a mighty host requiringsuch supplies of living organisms for its daily foodas would make an astronomer dizzy to enumerate.And every one is fat and vigorous; must be, since64none but the fittest can have survived. Theirglittering myriads move in mysteriously orderedmarch along regular routes, still furnishing foodfor an escort of insatiable monsters such as whales,sharks, etc.; while legions of sea-fowl abovedescend and clamorously take their tiny toll. Indue season they arrive within the range of man.He spreads his nets and loads his vessels, but allhis spoils, however great they may appear to him,are but the crumbs of the feast, the skimmings ofthe pot.

This marvellous system of supply and demandis, of course, seen in its highest development nearland, or at any rate where the bed of the sea iscomparatively near the surface, as on the Banks ofNewfoundland, the Agulhas Banks, and manyothers. But in the deepest waters of the ocean,far from any shore, there are immense numbers ofswift predatory fish, such as the bonito, the dolphin(coryphæna), and the albacore. Mammalia also,like the porpoise, grampus, and rorqual, requireenormous supplies of fish for their sustenance, andnever fail to find them. As we ascend the scaleof size the struggle becomes majestic—a war ofTitans, such as no arena on earth has seen sincethe Deluge. The imagination recoils dismayedbefore the thought of such a spectacle as is affordedby the gigantic cachalot descending to the murkydepths where in awful state the hideous Krakenbroods. No other name befits this inexpressiblemonster as well as the old Norse epithet bestowed65in bygone days upon the greatest of the molluscaby terrified fisher-folk of Scandinavia. Vast, formless,and insatiable, he crouches in those fathomlesssilences like the living embodiment of sin, an ever-cravingabysmal mouth surrounded by a Medusa-likeweb of unresting arms. His enormous flaccidbulk needs a continual holocaust to supply itsflood of digestive juices, and that need is abundantlysupplied. Then comes the doughty leviathanfrom above, and in noiseless majesty of power,disdaining subterfuge, rushes straight to the attack,every inch of his great frame mutely testifying tothe enormous pressure of the superincumbent sea.Sometimes, stifling for air, the whale rises to thesurface dragging upward his writhing prey, thoughalmost as bulky as himself. In his train followthe lesser monsters eager for their share, and noneof the fragments are lost.

But see the grampus hurl himself like someflying elephant into the “brown” of a school ofscared porpoises. In vain do they flee at headlongspeed anywhither. The enemy pursues, he overtakes,he swallows at a gulp, even as do his victimsthe lesser creatures upon which they fatten in theirturn. So with the huge mackerel, which seamencall the albacore, although as far as one can seethere is no difference between him and the tunnyof the Mediterranean but in size. What havoc hemakes among a school of his congeners the bonito!A hungry lion leaping into the midst of a flock ofdeer will seize one, and retire to devour it quietly.66But this monster clashes his jaws continually as herushes to and fro among the panic-stricken hosts,scattering their palpitating fragments around himin showers. In like manner do his victims playthe destroyers’ part in their turn. Yonder flightof silvery creatures whose myriads cast a denseshade over the bright sea are fleeing for life, forbeneath them, agape for their inevitable return, arethe serried ranks of their ravenous pursuers.Birds intercept the aerial course of the fugitives,who are in evil case indeed whithersoever theyflee. But descending the scale, we shall find thepersecuted Exoceta also on the warpath in theirthousands after still smaller prey.

Time would fail to tell of the ravages of theswordfish, also a mackerel of great size and ferocity,who launches himself torpedo-like at thebulky whale, the scavenger-shark, or a comrade,with strict impartiality. And of the “killer”whale, eater of the tongue only of the mysticetus;the thresher-shark, aider and abettor of the killer;or the saw-fish, who disembowels his prey that hisfeeble teeth may have tender food. Their warfareknows no armistice; they live but to eat and beeaten in their turn, and as to eat they must fight,the battle rages evermore. The dark places of theearth are full of the habitations of cruelty, butthey are peaceful compared with the sombre depthsof the sea.

All hands were asleep. The conduct of thewatch on deck, though undoubtedly culpable, hadjust this excuse, that the ship was far out of thetrack of other vessels, and lying lapped in aprofound calm, still as a ship can ever be uponthe ocean’s never-resting bosom. It was mytrick at the wheel, and although I had certainlybeen asleep like the rest of my shipmates, Ipresently found myself wide awake, as if anunfelt breath had in an instant swept my brainclear of those bewildering mist-wreaths that usuallyhinder the mind on its return to tangible thingsfrom its wanderings in the realms of the unknown.Instinctively I glanced aloft, where the sails hungflatly motionless, except for an occasional ripplingflap, soft-sounding as the wing of a mousing owl,as the vessel swayed dreamily over the caressingswell. Overhead, the bright eye of Aldebaranlooked down with a friendly gaze, but not an aireven of the faintest was there to stir the slumberingkeel. On the companion, a few feet away,68the shapeless form of the mate was dimly discernible,as in some incomprehensible tangle of limbshe lay oblivious of his surroundings. Throughthe open after-leaf of the cabin skylight came theclose, greasy-smelling reek of the little den below.The useless compass answered my inquiring peepwith a vacant stolidity, as if it were glued to thebottom of its bowl. Only the clock seemed aliveand watchful, telling me that for still anotherhour I must remain at my post, although mypresence there was the merest formality.

So I turned my thoughts listlessly in thedirection of the sailor’s usual solace during longspells of lonely watch—the building of airyvisions of shore delights, when, the long voyageover, I should be free once more for a shorttime with a little handful of fast-disappearing goldwherewith to buy such pleasures as I couldcompass. As I thus dreamed, the heavy minutescrawled away on leaden-shod feet, while thepalpable silence enwrapped me, almost makingaudible the regular rhythm of my heart. Butgradually out of this serene outward and inwardquiet there stole over me a nameless sense of fear,why or of what I had no idea. Nay, I hardly recognisedthis benumbing stealthy change in the calmnormal flow of my being as fear. It was anindefinite alteration of all my faculties from healthyrestful regularity to a creeping stagnation, as ofsome subtle poison disintegrating my blood andturning it into chilly dust. All the moisture of69my body seemed evaporating, my skin grewtighter, and my breath came in burning gaspsthat scorched my nostrils and throat. Yet, whilethis disabling of all my physical constituents wasprogressing, my mind was actively rebelling againstthe mysterious paralysis of its usually willing co-operators.Eagerly, fiercely, it demanded a reason,urged to instant action of some kind. Then, stillin the same fateful, hasteless manner, my terrortook a more definite shape. It, whatever wasthus sapping my most vital forces, was behind me,I felt it; I realised it; but what or who or howit was I could not or dared not imagine. DimlyI dwelt upon what I felt ought to be certain, thatonly about six feet of clear deck separated mefrom the vacant plane of the sea, but that certaintywould not appear sure, as it ought to have done.

At last, by what seemed to me a superhumaneffort of will, I summoned all my resources andturned my body round. There lay the sleepingsea, besprinkled all over with reflections of innumerablestars that shone scarcely less brillianton the smooth face of the deep than they did inthe inscrutable dome above. But among thosesimulated coruscations lay what looked like thelong straight folds of a shroud. Broadening as itneared me, it faded away before its skirts reachedthe ship. My dry, aching eyeballs followed itspallid outlines horizonwards until at that indefinablelimit where sea and sky seem to meet my feartook shape. There in the blue-black heaven, its70chin resting on the sea margin, glared a giganticskull, perfect in all its ghastly details, and glowingwith that unearthly light that only emanates fromthings dead. Yet the cavernous openings of thatawful visage, deep within their darkness, showeda lurid suggestion of red that burned and fadedas if fed from some hidden furnace beyond.This horrible apparition, so utterly at variancewith the placid loveliness of its setting, completedmy undoing. I actually felt thankful for its appallinghideousness as the sense that my endurancelimit was reached came upon me. With a feelingof unspeakable gratitude and relief, I felt myparched-up bones melt, my whole frameworkcollapsed, and I sank slowly to the deck, allknowledge fading like the last flicker of anexhausted lamp. But with the last gleam of sightI saw the Thing, elongated out of all proportion,suddenly snap the unseen ligament that boundit to the horizon. And immediately, some distanceabove, the sweet cool face of the lovely moonshone full-orbed, to commence her triumphalmarch across the sky. Then for an age I died.

By slow, painful stages life returned to me, asif the bewildered spirit must creep and grovelthrough obscene tunnels and tortuous grooves ofinterminable length before it could again reanimatethe helpless tabernacle awaiting it. But so greathad been the shock, so complete the disorganisationof all my powers, that for what seemed hoursafter I became fully conscious again, I was71unable to raise an eyelash. The same profoundpeace still reigned, not a sound, hardly a movementof the vessel. Slowly my eyes unclosed.I lay in a lake of moonlight streaming from theradiant globe sailing up the blue, now welladvanced in her stately progress among the palingstars. As I looked up at the splendid satellite Iwondered vaguely how I could ever have connectedsuch a well-beloved object with the brain-witheringterror of the immediate past. The problem wasbeyond me, never an acute reasoner at the best oftimes, but now mentally palsied by what I hadundergone. While I still lay in sentient inabilityto move I heard the mate rise to his feet with aresounding yawn. The familiar noise broke thespell that held me. I rose to my feet involuntarilyand peered in at the clock, which wason the stroke of four. “Eight bells, sir,” I said,but in a voice so harsh and strange that theofficer could not believe his ears. “What’s that?”he queried wonderingly. I repeated the words.He rose and struck the bell, but came aftimmediately he had done so and peered into myface as if to see who it was. “Ain’t ye well?”he asked. “Y’ look like a cawpse.” I madesome incoherent reply, upon which he said quickly,“Here, go for’ard ’n turn in, ’relse I’m damnedif ye won’t be sick.” Listlessly I answered “Ay,ay, sir,” and shambled forward to my stuffy bunk.My shipmates, heavy with sleep, took no noticeof me, and I turned in, to lie tossing feverishly,72every sinew in my body vibrating with pain so asto be almost unbearable. A long spell of whatI suppose was brain fever followed, during whichthe terrible vision of that middle watch was re-enacteda thousand times with innumerablefantastic additions. Out of that weary waste oflife I emerged transformed from a ruddy, full-facedyouth into a haggard, prematurely old man,while nothing but my stalwart physique enabledme to survive. For the rest of the voyage myshipmates looked upon me with awe, as upon onewho had made a fearsome voyage into the unseenworld lying all around us, and been permitted toreturn wise beyond the power of mortal speech toexpress. But my silence upon the subject was onlybecause I really had nothing to tell. Whence camethat marrow-freezing fear I shall never know, orwhy. What I saw was simply such a grotesquedistortion of the moon’s disc as is often witnessedin low latitudes, when either sun or moon risingappears to have the lower limb glued to thehorizon for quite an appreciable time, whilefragments of mist or cloud passing over theluminous and elongated face cause strange patternsto appear upon it. And when suddenly the connectionseems to break, the luminary apparentlysprings several degrees at a bound into the clearsky above. Just an effect of refraction—nothingmore.

Curious indeed was the freak of fortune which,before I was thirteen years old, threw me like afrond of drifting seaweed upon one of the scatteredcays of the Mexican Gulf. About the manner ofmy arrival I propose to say nothing here; sufficientfor present purposes to note that I was entirelyalone upon that desolate patch of sand, hardlyworthy of the name of islet, its very existence as afragment of dry land dependent upon a bristlingbarrier of black boulders that bared their raveningfangs at every ebb. When the tide was up theirposition was solely marked by long lines of snowybreakers whose magnitude, accumulated by a protractedstruggle shorewards over the vast outlyingcoral banks, was enormous,—so huge, in fact, thatit was seldom possible, even when standing uponthe apex of the islet, to see the horizon line, whichstretched its perfect circle all around.

The defending fringe of jagged rocks formedby no means a continuous barrier. In fact it wasmore properly a series of parallels sufficiently74separated to have admitted small vessels betweenthem, should the turbulent swell ever be quietenough to permit such daring navigation. At onepoint a sort of causeway ran seaward somehundreds of feet at right angles to the beach.The crags of which this was composed were baredat half ebb, but from their tops one could in placeslook down into blue hollows where no bottomcould be seen. Except when the wind was high,this ridge, though exceedingly difficult to traverse,from its broken character, was protected frombattering seas. Lying, as it did, so much nearerthe land, and in a different direction to the otherbarriers, it was sheltered by them to such an extentthat only upon rare occasions was it swept fromend to end by a lingering, lolloping swell that didnot break.

Driven by that same pitiless necessity that hadcompelled me to ferret out the means of existencesomehow since I reached my tenth year, it was nolong time before I discovered that this rugged spurwas the best place for fishing, especially with regardto Crustacea, because a multitude of fish inhabitedthe irregular cavities of the reef beneath. Andsince I had water in abundance, a 400-gallon tankfull having washed ashore from the wreck, while ofbiscuit and fishing-tackle there was also somestore, I spent a good deal of my time upon the unevenpathway formed by this natural pier. Contentingmyself with small bait cut from someluckless baby octopus I always waylaid at starting.75I was untroubled by fish too large for my immaturestrength, though on several occasions I only justsucceeded in tearing half the palpitating body ofmy catch out of the eager jaws of some monsterthat rushed at him as he made his involuntaryjourney upwards.

Although so young, I was fairly seasoned toalarms and not at all nervous, which was as well,for if I had been I should probably have died offright during the first night of my stay on the islet.But there was one inexplicable noise that alwaysmade me feel as if I had swallowed a lump of iceaccidentally when I heard it. Even while on boardthe ship I never felt easy about it, the less sobecause I could never find an explanation of itsorigin. It sounded as if some giant had smittenthe sea flatly with a huge paddle, or, still more, asif an extra large whale were “lob-tailing”—i.e.poised in the water head downwards, and strikingdeliberate blows upon its surface with his mightyflukes. This is a favourite habit with the largercetacea, but only in the daytime, although I didnot then know of it. The noise which scared me,however, was only heard at night, when, with acalm sea and not a breath of wind stirring, itassailed my ears like a summons from the unseenworld. For this cause alone I was always glad tosee the blessed daylight flooding the sky again.

Several days wore away uneventfully enough,and I was getting quite inured to silence andsolitude, when it befell that the ebb came late in76the afternoon. By the slant of the sun I judgedit must be somewhere about five o’clock when Iclimbed out along the slippery causeway to myfavourite spot—a smooth hollow in the crest of agreat boulder, from which comfortable perch Icould look down on either side into deep, bluewater. Here I seated myself cosily, and soonhauled up a dozen or so of sizable fish. Then,having ample provision, I rolled up my line, andlounged at ease, sleepily surveying the unspeakableglories of the sunset. Whether in the body or outof the body I cannot tell, but the time slippedaway unnoticed by me, till suddenly I started up,every nerve tingling with fear at the sound I somuch dreaded somewhere very close at hand. Itrembled so violently that I could not go back justyet; indeed, I could not stand, but sank into mystony seat. At that moment I turned my head to theright, and saw rising out of the water apparentlyquite slowly a hideous shape, if shape it could besaid to possess any. In the gathering gloom itappeared almost like a gigantic bat as far as itsgeneral outline could be seen, but I never heard ofa water-bat. For quite an appreciable space ithung in the quiet air, changing all the placid beautyof the evening into brain-benumbing horror forme; then with an unfolding movement it fell uponthe glassy surface, producing the awe-inspiringsound I had so often shuddered at, its volumeaugmented tenfold by its nearness. Like somefascinated bird, I remained motionless, staring at77the rapidly smoothing spot where the awful thinghad disappeared. Then suddenly the sea at myfeet became all black, and out of its depths therearose close at my side a monster that was theembodied realisation of my most terrified imaginings.Its total area must have been about 200square feet. It was somewhat of a diamond shape,with a tapering, sinewy tail about as long againas its body. Where I judged its head to be was aconvex hollow, which opened widely as it rose,disclosing rows of shining teeth, set like those of ahuman being. At each side of this gulf rose aspiral horn about two feet long, looking like twistedwhalebone, and guarding the eyes which lay betweenthem. Oh, those eyes! Though not much morethan twice as large as a horse’s, as they glaredthrough the wide slits within which they festeredthe ruddy sheen of the sunset caught them, makingthem glow bloodily with a plenitude of ghastlyferocity that haunts me yet. And on either sideof the thing undulated gigantic triangular wings,raising its mass into the air with noiseless ease.

All this and more I saw in the breathless spaceof its ascent; then it hung between me and heaven,the livid corrupt-looking corrugations of its undersideall awork, as it seemed, to enfold my shrinkingflesh. Those fractions of a second, stretched intohours, during which my starting pupils photographedevery detail of the loathsome beast, passedaway at last, and it descended slantingly over me.Then amidst a roar of water in my ears the darkness78swallowed me up, and I knew no more. I aminclined to think that I owe my life to the trancelikestate into which I had fallen, for although itappeared a frightfully long time before I saw thesweet evening light again, I was not nearly soexhausted as I have been on other occasions, whencompelled to take a long dive. But after I hadscrambled up on to the rock again, wondering tofind myself still alive, such a recurrence of overmasteringfear seized me that it was all I could doto crawl crab-wise over the stony pinnacles back tothe sand again. My strength only held out untilI had reached a spot above high-water mark.There I subsided into blissful unconsciousness ofall things, and knew no more until a new day wasfar advanced, and the terror of the previous nightonly a distressing memory apparently of someprevious stage of existence. Years afterwards Ilearned that the hideous thing which had thusscared me almost to death was one of the raiidæ,or skate tribe. Locally it is known as the alligatorguard, or devil fish, and, truly, its appearancejustifies such an epithet. It is apparently harmlessto man, but why, alone among the Cephalopteridæ,it should have the curious habit of taking thesenocturnal leaps out of water is a mystery.

She had been a staunch, well-found woodenbarque of about 800 tons, English built, but, likeso many more of our sturdy old sailing ships, inthe evening of her days she had been bought bythe thrifty Norwegians. She bore on her amplestern the faded legend, Olaf Trygvasson, Trondhjem.Backwards and forwards across the North Atlanticto Quebec in summer, and to the Gulf Portsin winter, she had been faithfully drogueingtimber for them for several seasons, her windmill-pumpsteadily going and the owners’ profitsaccumulating.

This last voyage, however, had been unfortunatefrom its commencement. To the serious annoyanceof Trygvasson and Company, no outwardfreight was obtainable, while the passage was halfas long again as it should have been. A cargowas secured at last in Pensacola, with which notonly was her capacious hold crammed, but thewhole deck fore and aft as high as the shearpoleswas piled with the balks, so that from the forecastle-head80to the taffrail she was flush—a windsweptstretch of slippery uneven planks with justa hole left here and there for the hard-bittenmariners to creep down to their darksome densbelow. They were hardly clear of the harbourwhen one of those hurricane-like squalls socommon to the Florida Gulf burst upon her,tearing a whole suit of sails from the yards andstays and sending them fleeting to leeward likefluttering clouds of spindrift. Then gale aftergale buffeted her with unrelenting severity, treatingthe stolid, long-suffering crew with persistentcruelty as they crept wearily about the bittereminence of the deck-load or clung half-frozen tothe yards wrestling with the crackling ice-ladencanvas. There were no complaints, for Scandinavianseamen endure the bitterest hardships withwonderful patience, growling—that well-usedprivilege of British seamen—being almost unknownamong them.

At last there came a day when the wind grewmore savage than they had yet borne,—wind with awrathful tearing edge to it, as well as a forceagainst which none of their canvas would standfor a moment. As a last resource they hove herto under a tarpaulin cut from the lazarette hatch,only two feet square, which they lashed in themizen rigging. This steadied her for some hours,keeping her head to the wind fairly well, until asea came howling down out of the grey hopelessnessto windward and caught her on the weather81quarter. It twisted her up into the wind, wrenchingoff the rudder-head as you would behead ashrimp. Helpless, she fell off on the other tackjust in time for a black mountain of solid water tohurl itself upon the bluff of her bow and sweepaft, tearing away with it boats, men, and all elsethat stood or lay in its way. When that greatflood had subsided she was a silent ship. Theonly member of the crew left on deck was he whohad been the helmsman, but was now only a heapof broken bones lying in a confused tangle just inthe little space behind the wheel.

And then, being entirely at the mercy of thehowling wind and scourging sea, the doomed shipwas gradually stripped of her various furniture.Yards, released from position by the carrying awayof the braces, battered and banged about untilthey and their supporting spars fell in ruin on thedeckload and thundered alongside at the sturdyhull. While this dismantling was in progress, asmall boy of about thirteen cowered in the murkycabin as far out of reach of the invading flood ofsalt water as he could get, wondering wearilywhen the clamour overhead would subside andsomebody come below again. He was a Londonwaif, who, unwanted and forlorn, had been forseveral years drifting about the world, the sportof every cross current of mischance until he hadlanded at Pensacola, where Captain Neilsen, ofthe Olaf Trygvasson, had in pity for his youthfulloneliness given him a passage to London in82exchange for his services as cabin-boy. Althoughfairly well versed in seafaring—for he had beennearly two years at the poor business—he marvelledmightily at the uproar above and how it was heheard no voices. The noise of falling spars, thedull crashing blows of the sea, and the melancholywailing of the wind were still so deafening that hewas able as yet to console himself with the thoughtthat puny human cries would be inaudible. Butat last his suspense grew unbearable, and droppinginto the water, which was well above his waist, hestruggled on deck, to find himself sole representativeof the crew, and the vessel derelict.

A horror of great loneliness fell upon him.Long experience of hardness had made him dry-eyedupon most occasions where tears would seemto be indicated in one so young, but somethingclutched his throat now that made him burst intoa passionate fit of crying. In the full tide of it hesuddenly stopped and screamed frantically, “Larsen!Petersen! Jansen!” but there was no voice nor anythat answered.

The wind died away and the sea went down.There was a break in the pall of gloomy clouds,through which the afternoon sun gleamed warmly,even hopefully. But the brave and much-enduringold vessel was now water-logged, kept afloat solelyby her buoyant cargo. She lay over at an angleof about 45°, the waves lap-lapping the edge ofthe deckload on the lee-side. Without motive-poweror guidance, the sport of the elements, she83drifted helplessly, hopelessly anywhither, a dangerto all navigation during the hours of darknessbecause almost invisible. And since she movednot except with the natural oscillation of the ocean,the rank parasitic life with which the sea teemsfastened upon her hungrily wherever the waterreached, so that in a short time she began to smellancient and fish-like as Caliban.

Amidst that rapidly increasing growth of weedand shell, the lonely lad moved ghost-like, hissanity preserved as yet by the natural hopefulnessof youth. But a fixed melancholy settled andstrengthened upon him. He ate barely sufficientto support his frail life, although there was asufficiency of coarse food and water for many days.At intervals he held long rambling conversationswith himself aloud, peopling the solemn silencearound him with a multitude of the creatures ofhis fancy. But mostly he crouched close down tothe lee edge of the deckload, gazing for hours at astretch into the fathomless blue depths beneathhim; for the weather had completely changed,the drift of the derelict having been southwardinto a region of well-nigh perpetual calm, apparentlyunvisited by storms or tenanted ships.

Day after day crawled by—how many thesolitary child never knew, for he kept no reckoning.Longer and longer grew the dark festoons of dankweed around the battered hulk, while the barnacles,limpets, and other parasites flourished amazingly.In those calm waters whither she had drifted fish84of all shapes and sizes, usually unseen by mortaleyes, abounded. They swarmed around the weed-bedrapedhull as they do about a half-tide rock insome quiet cove unvisited by man. As the calmpersisted these marine visitants grew quainter andmore goblin-like of shape, fresh accessions to theirnumbers continually reaching the surface. Paleeyes unfamiliar with the naked sunlight blinkedglassily at the garish day out of hideous heads,and the motion of these denizens of the colddarkness below was sluggish and bewildered. Thewater became thick with greasy scum and theusually invigorating air took on a taint of decay,the stench of a stagnant sea. To the boy’s disorderedvision these gruesome companions grewmore uncanny than the dreams of a madman, butstill, though they daily multiplied until the waterseemed alive with them, the strange fascinationthey exerted over him conquered his naturalrepugnance to slimy things all legs and eyes, thatcrawled horribly near. He could hardly sparesufficient time for such scanty meals as he needed,and must fetch from his hoard in an upper bunkon the weather-side of the cabin well out of reachof the encroaching, restless flood that invadedalmost every other nook. Far into the night, too,under the stately stars, when the glazing sea wasall aglow with living fires brightening and fadingin long lines running in a multitude of directionsand of a rich variety of colours, he remained, as ifchained to the rail, staring steadfastly down at the85phantasmagoria below with eyes that scarcelyblinked, though they ached and burned with theunreasoning intensity of his gaze. His babblingceased. He spoke no word now, only broodedover the unhealthful waters like some paralysedold man. Voices came whispering strange mattersin his ears, tales without beginning or end, incoherentfragments of mystery that wandered throughthe twilight of his mind and left no track ofsense.

At last one night he crept wearily into his bunkfor a morsel of food, meaning to bring it on deckand resume his unmeaning watching of the sea. Butwhen he had put a biscuit in the breast of hisjumper and tried to clamber back over the blackflood that with sullen noise swept to and fro in thedarkened cuddy, he found himself unable to move,much less to creep monkey-wise from point topoint to the scuttle. So he lay back and slept,never heeding the weakness and want of feeling inhis wasted limbs. When he awoke it was day, along shaft of sunlight piercing an opening in thedeck over his head and irradiating the gloomy denin which he lay. Suddenly there was a sound ofvoices, a cheery, hearty hail of “Anybody aboardthis hooker? Hullo, derelict, ahoy!” He heardand smiled feebly. Such voices had been hisconstant companions for days, and although hefelt dimly that they sounded different now, he wasonly too certain that they would change intomalignant mockeries again directly. Then all was86still once more, save for the ceaseless wash of thewaves against the weed-hung bulkheads of the cabin.

Outside upon the shining sea rode that mostbeautiful of all craft, a whale-boat, whose trimcrew lay on their oars gazing curiously and with acertain solemnity upon the melancholy ruin beforethem. The officer in charge, a young lieutenantin the smart uniform of the American navy, stoodin the stern-sheets pondering irresolutely, the undertonesof his men falling unmeaningly upon his ears.At last he appeared to have made up his mind, andsaying, “Pull two, starn three,” put the tiller hardover to sheer the boat off to seaward, where thegraceful shape of his ship showed in strong reliefa*gainst the blue sky. But the sturdy arms hadbarely taken twenty strokes when, as if by someirresistible impulse, the officer again pressed thetiller to port, the boat taking a wide sheer, whilethe crew glanced furtively at his thoughtful faceand wondered whatever he was about. Not untilthe boat headed direct for the wreck again did hesteady the helm. “In bow, stand by to hook on!”he cried sharply, and as the boat shot along the lee-side,“unrow.” “Jemmy,” to his after-oarsman,“jump aboard and see if you can get below,forrard or aft. If she isn’t bung full you mightfind something alive.” “Ay, ay, sir,” said Jemmy,a sturdy little Aberdonian, and in ten seconds hewas scrambling over the slippery timbers towards thecuddy scuttle. Plump! and he disappeared downthe dark hole. Two minutes’ breathless suspense87followed, a solid block of silence, then a perfectyell of delight startled all the watchers nearly outof their wits. The dripping head of the daringScot reappeared at the scuttle ejacul*ting in choicestAberdeen: “Sen’s anither han’ here gin ye wull,sir. Ah’ve fun’ a laddie leevin, an’ thet’s a’.” Ina moment another man was by his side, and thefrail little bundle of humanity was passed into theboat with a tender solicitude beautiful to see inthose bronzed and bearded men.

The lieutenant, in a voice choked with emotion,said, “Poor little chap! Somehow I felt as if Icouldn’t leave that ship. Give way, men; he’s sonearly gone that we must get him aboard sharp ifwe’re going to save him after all.” The crewneeded no spur, they fairly made the boat flytowards the ship, while the officer, with a touchalmost as gentle as a mother’s, held the boy in hisarms. When she arrived alongside the Essexeverything was in readiness, the fact of a life beingat stake having been noted a long way off. Hewas gently lifted on board and handed over to thedoctor’s care, while the crew were piped to gunnerypractice and the dangerous obstruction of thederelict smashed into a mass of harmless fragments.

A few days of such unceasing care as a king mightdesire in vain, and the boy took firm hold on lifeagain. But his youthful elasticity of spirit has neverreturned to him. A settled gravity has taken itsplace, remaining from the time when he kept his longand lonely vigil on the Olaf Trygvasson, derelict.

STUDIES IN
MARINE NATURAL HISTORY

It is surely a matter for congratulation that thesentiment of mankind toward what we are pleasedto call the lower animals is certainly, if slowly,tending in the direction of kinder and moremerciful appreciation of them in nearly all theirvarieties as knowledge of them grows from more tomore. As perhaps is but natural, this benevolentfeeling is most strongly marked for birds, thosefeathered Zingari of the air whose blithe evolutionsabove are more envied by man than any otherpower possessed by the vastly varied membersof the animal kingdom. In obedience to thegrowing demand for more intimate knowledge ofbirds and their habits whole libraries have beenwritten, and still this literature increases; butwhile in this there is nothing to cavil at, onecannot help feeling that the marvellous life of thesea-birds has received far from adequate attention.Like so many other denizens of that vast anddensely populated world of waters, their inaccessibilityhas hindered that close observation by trained92naturalists necessary in order to describe them asthey deserve, while as yet no marine RichardJefferies or White of Selborne has arisen. Andthis want is really to be wondered at, seeing howfascinating is the study of oceanic fauna, andremembering what a wealth of leisure is enjoyedby masters of sailing ships, which alone affordopportunities for observing the life of the sea-people.

Easily first in point of interest, as well as size,comes the lordly albatross, whose home is far southof the Line, and whose empire is that illimitablearea of turbulent waves which sweep resistlessround the world. Compared with his power ofvision (sailors give all things except a ship theepicene gender “he”), the piercing gaze of theeagle or condor becomes myopic, unless, as indeedmay be the case, he possesses other senses unknownto us by means of which he is made aware ofpassing events interesting to him occurring atincredible distances. Out of the blue void hecomes unhasting on motionless pinions, yet at suchspeed that, one moment a speck hardly discernible,turn but your eyes away, and ere you can againlook round he is gliding majestically overhead.Nothing in Nature conveys to the mind sowonderful an idea of effortless velocity as does hiscalm appearance from vacancy. Like most of thetrue pelagic birds, he is a devourer of offal, thesuccessful pursuit of fish being impossible to hismajestic evolutions. His appetite is enormous,93but his powers of abstinence are equally great, andoften for days he goes without other nourishmentthan a drink of the bitter sea. At the Gargantuanbanquet provided by the carcass of a dead whale,he will gorge himself until incapable of rising fromthe sea, yet still his angry scream may be heard asif protesting against his inability to find room formore provision against hungry days soon to follow.Despite his incomparable grace of flight whengliding through mid-air with his mighty wings outspread,when ashore or on deck he is clumsy andill at ease. Even seated upon the sea his proportionsappear somewhat ungainly, while his hugehooked beak seems too heavy to be upheld. Onland he can hardly balance himself, and the broadsilky webs of his feet soon become lacerated. Thushis visits to the lone and generally inaccessiblerocks which are his breeding places are as brief asmay be, since even conjugal delights are dearlypurchased with hunger and painful restraint. Atrue child of the air, land is hateful to him, andonly on the wing does he appear to be really athome and easeful.

The other members of the albatross family,who, with their chief (Diomedea exulans), are allclassed by whalers under the ugly name of“gooneys,” bear few of the majestic characteristicsof their great head. The “mallymoke,” whichcomes nearest to the albatross in size and beauty,is actually found north of the Line, a fact whichsevers this bird very widely from the albatross in94geographical range. Also, he is much livelier andmore given to bustle fussily about. It costs himfar less exertion to rise from the sea for flightthan the unwieldy paddling run along the surfacenecessary to give sufficient impetus for raising thehuge albatross, and consequently his alightings aremuch more frequent. But he is undoubtedly abeautiful bird, suffering only by comparison withthe most splendid of all sea-fowl. A brown kindof albatross, with a dirty white beak, is very muchin evidence south of 20° S., dropping continuallyinto the turbulence of a ship’s wake, and diving toconsiderable depths after scraps. Sailors call themCape hens, for some misty reason which is nevergiven. Among Southern birds they occupy muchthe same place in the esteem of those who areacquainted with them as does the sparrow at home.

A general favourite among seamen is the Capepigeon, a pretty, busy little sea-bird about the sizeof a dove, but plumper, with a black head and anelaborate pattern in black and grey upon the whiteof its open wings. Around the stern of any passingship large numbers of these fluttering visitorshover continually, their shrill cries and unwearyingmanœuvres contrasting pleasantly with the deepmonotone made by the driving keel through thefoaming sea. In common with most Southernsea-birds having hooked beaks, they are easilycaught with hook and line, but will not live incaptivity. Thoughtless passengers, wearied withwhat they call the tedium of the voyage, often95amuse themselves by shooting these gracefulwanderers, although what satisfaction may befound in reducing a beautiful living thing to auseless morsel of draggled carrion is not easy tosee. Occasionally a passing ship finds herselfaccompanied for a very short time by large flocksof small dove-coloured birds, who, however, donot seem to care much for the association withvessels so characteristic of sea-birds generally.These are known as whale-birds, probably becausein the mêlée that goes on round the carcass of adead whale they are never seen. Indeed theywould stand but little chance of a meal among thehordes of larger and more voracious feasters.Mention must also be made of a peculiar and unprepossessingmember of the petrel family, whichlooks much like a disreputable albatross, but issomewhat scarce. Known indifferently amongwhalemen as the “Nelly” or the “stinker,” itseems probable that this bird is the Southernrepresentative of the Arctic fulmar, which isabundant in the North. His chief peculiarity ishis forwardness. No sooner does a whale giveup the ghost than the Nelly boldly alights uponthe black island-like mass and calmly commencesto peck away at the firm blubber, while thousandsupon thousands of other birds wait impatientlyaround, not daring to do likewise. Hence theterrible threat current in whaleships, “I’ll ’lighton ye like a stinker on a carcass.”

At the bottom of the size scale, but in point of96affectionate interest second to none, comes thestormy petrel, or Mother Carey’s chicken, adarling wee wanderer common to both hemispheres,and beloved by all sailors. With itsdelicate glossy black-and-brown plumage justflecked with white on the open wings, and itslong slender legs reaching out first on one sideand then on the other as if to feel the sea, itnestles under the very curl of the most mightybillows or skims the sides of their reverberatinggreen abysses content as hovers the lark over alush meadow. Howling hurricane or searchingsnow-blasts pass unheeded over that velvety blackhead. The brave bright eye dims not, nor doesthe cheery little note falter even if the tiny travellermust needs cuddle up close under the lee of somebig ship for an occasional crumb. Only oncehave I known an individual cruel or senselessenough to harm a stormy petrel, and then theexecrations of his shipmates fairly scared him intorepentance. They seem to have solved the secretof perpetual motion, and often at night a carefullistener may hear their low cry, even if he be notkeen-sighted enough to see them flit beneath him.

Quite apart from these true oceanic nomads arethe large class of sea-birds who, while gatheringtheir food exclusively from the sea, never go toany great distance from land. This differencebetween them and the birds before mentioned isso strongly marked, that unobservant as sailors aregenerally, there are few who do not recognise the97vicinity of land upon catching sight of a man-o’-warbird, booby, gannet, or bo’sun. All these birds,whose trivial designations seem somehow moreappropriate than the nine-jointed nomenclatureof the schools, frequent for preference moreaccessible shores than the craggy pinnacles generallychosen by the bolder outfliers. Of the first-named,the “man-o’-war” or “frigate” bird,very little can be said to his credit. Michelethas rhapsodised about him in a curious effusion,of which one can only say that he seems to haveconfused three distinct birds under one head.Were this bird to receive an entirely appropriatetitle, it would be “pirate” or “buccaneer,” sinceit is only upon the rarest occasions that hecondescends to fish for himself, choosing rather torob humbler birds of their well-earned prey. Nosea-bird mounts so high as he, rising into the clearblue until only a black speck to the unassisted eye.Usually, however, he contents himself with a circlingpoise at an altitude of about 200 feet, whence hekeeps steadfast watch upon all that transpires beneath.With his long tail dividing and closing like thehalves of a pair of shears, and the brilliant scarletpouch at his neck occasionally inflated, he waits,waits, until some fussy booby, like an overladenhousewife hurrying home from market, comesflapping along towards her nest. Then the broadpinions suddenly close, and down like a meteorcomes the marauder. With a wild shriek ofterror booby disgorges her fish, but ere it reaches98the water out hash the black wings again, and witha grand swoop the assailant has passed beneath hisfrightened victim, caught the plunder, and soaredskyward. In like manner these birds may sometimesbe seen to catch a flying fish on the wing, a trulymarvellous feat. It is, nevertheless, a pathetic sightto see them, when old age or sickness overtakes them,sitting in lonely dignity among the rocks wherethey breed, helplessly awaiting with glazing eyes anddropping plumage the tardy coming of deliverance.

As for the booby, whose contemptuous nameis surely a libel, space is now far too brief to doanything like justice to its many virtues. In anumber of ways it corresponds very closely withthe manners of our domestic fowls, notably in itscare of its brood, and utter change in its habitswhen the young ones are dependent upon it. Ofstupidity the only evidences really noticeable areits indifference to the approach of generallydreaded dangers when it is drowsy. At night onemay collect as many from their resting-places ascan be desired, for they make no effort to escape,but look at their enemy with a full, steady eyewherein there is no speculation whatever. Numberlessinstances might be collected where the tameness,as well as the abundance, of boobies have been themeans of preserving human life after shipwreck,while their flesh and eggs are by no means unpalatable.Of several other interesting members of thegreat family of oceanic birds we have now no roomto speak, but hope to return to the subject later on.

Never, within the history of mankind, does thereappear to have been a time when dwellers by thesea did not believe in some awful and giganticmonsters inhabiting that unknown and vague immensity.

Whether we turn to Genesis to find great sea-monstersfirst of created sentient beings, or ransackthe voluminous records of ancient civilisations, theresult is the same. What a picture is that of theHindu sage in the Fish Avatar of Krishna, findinghimself and his eight companions alone in their arkupon the infinite sea, being visited by the god asan indescribably huge serpent extending a millionleagues, shining like the sun, and with onestupendous horn, sky-piercing.

In the brief compass of this chapter I do notpropose to réchauffer any sea-serpent stories,ancient or modern. More especially because mysubject is the Kraken, and while I hold mostfirmly that the gigantic mollusc which can alonebe given that title is the fons et origo of all true100sea-serpent stories, it is with facts relating to theformer that I have alone to deal. As might havebeen expected, all stories of sea-monsters have astrong family likeness, showing pretty conclusivelytheir common derivation, with such differences asthe locality and personality of the narrative mustbe held accountable for. But among sea-folk, asamong all people leading lives in close contact withthe elemental forces of Nature, legends persistwith marvellous vitality, and so the story of theKraken is to be found wherever men go down tothe sea in ships, and do business in great waters.

Substantially the story is: that long low-lyingbanks have been discovered by vessels, which havemoored thereto, only to find the supposed landdeveloping wondrous peculiarities. Amid tremendousturmoil of seething waters, arms innumerable,like a nest of mighty serpents, arose from thedeep, followed at last by a horrible head, of a bignessand diabolical appearance unspeakably appalling.Fascinated by the terrible eyes that, large as shields,glared upon them, the awe-stricken seamen beheldsome of the far-reaching tentacles, covered withmultitudes of mouths, embracing their vessel,while others searched her alow and aloft, cullingthe trembling men from the rigging like ripe fruit,and conveying them forthwith into an abysmalmouth where they vanished for ever.

Such a story, especially when embellished byprofessional story-tellers, has of course met withwell-merited scepticism, but sight has been largely101lost of the fact that from very early times much independenttestimony has been borne to the existenceof immense molluscæ in many waters, sufficientlyhuge and horrific to have furnished a substantialbasis for any number of hair-raising yarns. Andhaving myself for some years been engaged in thesperm whale fishery, all over the globe, I nowventure to bear the testimony of another eyewitnessto the truth of many Kraken legends,however much they may have been, and are now,doubted.

To eager students of marine natural history,nothing can well be stranger than the manner inwhich, with two or three honourable exceptions,the sperm whale fishers of the world have “sinnedtheir mercies.” To them as to no other class ofsea-farers have been vouchsafed not glimpsesmerely, but consecutive months and years of theclosest intimacy with the secret things of old ocean,embracing almost the whole navigable globe.And when, unpressed for time, they have leisurelyentered those slumbrous latitudes so anxiouslyavoided by the hurried, worried merchantman,how utterly have they neglected their marvellousopportunities of observation of the wonders thererevealed. It may not be generally known thatduring long-persisting calms the sea surface changesits character. From limpid blue it becomes greasyand pale, from that health-laden odour to whichthe gratified nostrils dilate, and the satisfied lungsexpand, there is a gruesome change to an unwholesome102stench of stagnation and decaying things,such as the genius of Coleridge depicted when hesang:

Strangest of all the strange visitors to the upperworld at such times is the gigantic squid, or cuttle-fish.Of all the Myriad species of mollusca thismonster may fairly claim chief place, and neitherin ancient or modern times have any excited moreinterest than he. Gazing with childlike fear uponhis awe-inspiring and uncanny bulk, the ancientshave done their best to transmit their impressionsto posterity. Aristotle writes voluminously uponthe subject, as he did about most things, but hiscuttles are such as are known to most of us. Plinyleaves on record much concerning the Sepiadæwhich is evidently accurate in the main, mentioningespecially (lib. ix. caps. iv. and xxx.) one monsterslain on the coast of Spain which was in the habit ofrobbing the salt-fish warehouses. Pliny caused thegreat head to be sent to Lucullus, and states that itfilled a cask of fifteen amphoræ. Its arms werethirty feet long, so thick that a man could hardlyembrace them at their bases, and provided withsuckers, or acetabula, as large as basins holdingfour or five gallons. But those who have leisureand inclination may pursue the subject in the103works of Ælian, Paulinus (who describes themonster as a gigantic crab), Bartholinus, AthanasiusKircher, Athenæus, Olaus Magnus, and others.Pontoppidan, Bishop of Bergen, in his NaturalHistory of Norway, has done more than anyother ancient or modern writer to discredit reports,essentially truthful, by the outrageous fabricationshe tells by way of embellishment of the facts whichhe received. Least trustworthy of all, he has beenin this connection most quoted of all, but here heshall be mentioned only to hold his inventions upto the scorn they so richly deserve.

The gigantic squid is, unlike most of the cephalopoda,a decapod, not an octopod, since it possesses,in addition to the eight branchiæ withwhich all the family are provided, two tentacula ofdouble their length, having acetabula only in asmall cluster at their ends. This fact was noticedby Athanasius Kircher, who describes a largeanimal seen in the Sicilian seas which had ten rays,or branches, and a body equal in size to that of awhale; which, seeing how wide is the range in sizeamong whales, is certainly not over-definite.Coming down to much later days, we find Denysde Montfort facile princeps in his descriptions ofthe Kraken (Hist. Nat. de Molluscs, tome ii.p. 284). Unfortunately, his reputation for truthfulnessis but so-so, and he is reported to haveexpressed great delight at the ease with which hecould gull credulous people. Still the best of hisstories may be quoted, remembering that, as far104as his description of the monster is concerned, hedoes not appear to have exaggerated at all.

He records how he became acquainted with amaster mariner of excellent repute, who had mademany voyages to the Indies for the GothenburgCompany, by name Jean Magnus Dens. To thisworthy, sailing his ship along the African coast,there fell a stark calm, the which he, even asdo prudent shipmasters to-day, turned to goodaccount by having his men scrape and cleanse theoutside of the vessel, they being suspended nearthe water by stages for that purpose. While thusengaged, suddenly there arose from the blueplacidity beneath a most “awful monstrous,”cuttle-fish, which threw its arms over the stage,and seizing two of the men, drew them below thesurface. Another man, who was climbing onboard, was also seized, but after a fearful strugglehis shipmates succeeded in rescuing him. That samenight he died in raving madness. The mollusc’sarms were stated to be at the base of the bignessof a fore-yard (vergue d’un mât de misaine), whilethe suckers were as large as ladles (cueillier à pot).

One who should have done better—Dr. Shaw,in his lectures—calmly makes of that “fore-yard”a “mizen-mast,” and of the “ladles” “pot-lids,”which may have been loose translation, even as thescraping “gratter” is funnily rendered “raking,”as if the ship’s bottom were a hayfield, but looksuncommonly like editorial expansion, which thestory really does not require.

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Another story narrated by Denys de Montfortrelates how a vessel was attacked by a huge“poulp,” which endeavoured to drag down vesseland all; but the crew, assisted by their patron, St.Thomas, succeeded in severing so many of themonster’s arms from his body that he was fain todepart, and leave them in peace. In gratitudefor their marvellous deliverance they caused anex voto picture to be painted of the terrible scene,and hung in their parish church, for a testimonyto the mighty power of the saint.

In the Phil. Trans. of the Royal Society (lxviii.p. 226), Dr. Schewediawer tells of a sperm whalebeing hooked (sic) which had in its mouth atentaculum of the Sepia Octopodia, twenty-sevenfeet long. This was not its entire length, for oneend was partly digested, so that when in situ itmust have been a great deal longer. When weconsider, says the learned doctor, the enormousbulk of the animal to which the tentaculum herespoken of belonged, we shall cease to wonder atthe common saying of sailors that the cuttle-fishis the largest in the ocean.

In Figuier’s Ocean World he quotes largelyfrom Michelet, that great authority on theMollusca, giving at length the latter’s highlypoetical description of the vast family of “murderoussuckers,” as he terms the cephalopoda.

In the same work, too, will be found a mostmatter-of-fact description and illustration of themeeting of the French corvette Alecton with an106immense calamary between Teneriffe and Madeira.This account was furnished by Lieutenant Bayerto the Académie des Sciences, and is evidently asober record of fact. The monster’s body washauled alongside, and an attempt was made tosecure it by means of a hawser passed round it,but of course, as soon as any strain was put uponthe rope, it drew completely through the softgelatinous carcass, severing it in two. The lengthof this creature’s body was fifty feet. But M.Figuier is not satisfied; he says that even thisaccount must be taken cum grano salis, so unwillingis he to believe in a monster that wouldevidently settle the great Kraken and sea-serpentquestion once for all.

Even Dr. Solander and Mr. Banks, after findinga cuttle six feet long floating upon the sea nearCape Horn, which was quite beyond all theirprevious experience, could not bring themselvesto believe in the existence of any larger. So atthe beginning of this century, while people hadlargely consented to accept the sea-serpent, theywould have none of the Kraken or anything whichmight reasonably explain the persistence of evidenceabout him. But had these scientific sceptics onlytaken the trouble to interview the crews of theSouth Sea whalers, that sailed in such a goodlyfleet from our ports during the first half of thecentury, they must have been convinced that, sofar from the Kraken being a myth, he is one ofthe most substantial of facts, unless, indeed, they107believed that all whalemen were in a conspiracyto deceive them on that point.

Any thoughtful observer who has ever seena school of sperm whales, numbering severalhundreds, and understood, from the configurationof their jaws, that they must of necessity feedupon large creatures, can never after feel difficultyin believing that, in order to supply the enormousdemand for food made by these whales, their preymust be imposing in size and abundant in quantity.

On my first meeting with the cachalot, onterms of mutual destruction, I knew nothing ofhis habits, and cared less. But seeing him, whenwounded, vomiting huge masses of white substance,my curiosity was aroused, and when I saw thatthese masses were parts of a mighty creaturealmost identical in structure with the small squidso often picked up on deck, where it falls in itsfrantic efforts to escape from dolphins (Coryphæna),albacore, or bonito, my amazement was great.Some of these fragments were truly heroic in size.

Surgeon Beale, in his book on the sperm whale,only credits the cachalot with being able to swallowa man, but with all the respect due to so great awriter, I am bound to say that such masses as Ihave seen ejected from the stomach of the dyingwhale could only have entered a throat to whicha man was as a pill is to us. We can, however,only speak of what we have seen, and perhaps Dr.Beale had never seen such large pieces ejected.

In an article in Nature of June 4, 1896, I108have described an encounter which I witnessedbetween a gigantic squid and a sperm whale, inthe Straits of Malacca, which, as far as I amconcerned, has settled conclusively the Krakenand sea-serpent question for me. This terrificcombat took place under the full glare of a tropicalmoon, upon the surface of a perfectly calm sea,within a mile of the ship. Every detail of thestruggle was clearly visible through a splendidglass, and is indelibly graven upon my mind. Itwas indeed a battle of giants—perhaps all themore solemnly impressive from being waged inperfect silence. The contrast between the lividwhiteness of the mollusc’s body and the massiveblackness of the whale,—the convulsive writhingof the tremendous arms, as, like a Medusa’s headmagnified a thousand times, they wound andgripped about the columnar head of the greatmammal,—made a picture unequalled in all theanimal world for intense interest. The immenseeyes, at least a foot in diameter, glared out of thedead white of the head, inky black, appalling intheir fixity of gaze. Could we have seen morenearly, and in daylight, we should have also foundthat the sea was turned from its normal blue intoa dusky brown by the discharge of the greatcephalopod’s reservoir of sepia, which in such acreature must have been a tank of considerablecapacity. Each of those far-reaching arms wereof course furnished with innumerable suckingdiscs, most of them a foot in diameter, and, in109addition to the adhering apparatus, provided witha series of claws set round the inner edges of thesuckers, large as those of a grizzly bear. Besidesthe eight arms, there were the two tentacula,double the length of the arms, or over sixty feetlong—in fact, about the length of the animal’sbody, and quite worthy of being taken for a pairof sea-serpents by themselves. But the whaleapparently took no heed of the Titanic strugglesof this enormous mollusc. He was busy wieldinghis mighty jaws, not in mastication, but intearing asunder the soft flesh into convenientlumps for being swallowed. All around werenumerous smaller whales or sharks, joining in theplentiful feast, like jackals round a lion. Everyfisherman worth his salt knows how well all fishthat swim in the sea love the sapid flesh of thecephalopoda, making it the finest bait known, andin truth it is, and always has been, a succulentdainty, where known, for mankind as well. Butit is evident from the scanty number of times thatthe gigantic cuttle-fish has been reported, thathis habitat is well beneath the surface, yet not sofar down but that he may be easily reached bythe whale, and also find food for his own vastbulk. Probably they prey upon one another.From what we know of the habits of thosemembers of the family who live in accessiblewaters, it is evident that nothing comes amiss tothem in the way of fish or flesh, dead or alive.

The Prince of Monaco, who is a devotee of110marine natural history, was fortunate enough towitness some bay whalers at Terceira early thisyear catching a sperm whale. He and hisscientific assistants were alike amazed at seeingthe contents of the whale’s stomach ejected beforedeath, but their amazement became hystericaldelight when they found that the ejecta consistedof portions of huge cuttle-fish, as yet unknown toscientific classification. The species was promptlynamed after the Prince, Lepidoteuthis Grimaldii,and a paper prepared and read before the Académiedes Sciences at Paris. So profoundly impressedwas the Prince with what he had seen, that he atonce determined to convert his yacht into a whaler,in order to become better acquainted with thesewonderful creatures, so long known to the obtuseand careless whale-fishers. One interesting circ*mstancenoted by the Prince was the number ofcircular impressions made upon the tough andstubborn substance of the whale’s head, hard ashippopotamus hide, showing the tremendous powerexerted by the mollusc as well as his inability todo the whale any harm.

But were I to describe in detail the numerousoccasions upon which I have seen, not certainlythe entire mollusc, but such enormous portions oftheir bodies as would justify estimating them asfully as large as the whales feeding upon them, itwould become merely tedious repetition.

As I write, comes the news that an immensesquid has just been found stranded on the west111coast of Ireland, having arms thirty feet in length,a formidable monster indeed.

In conclusion, it may be interesting to knowthat these molluscs progress, while undisturbed,literally on their heads, with all the eight armswhich surround the head acting as feet as well ashands to convey food to the ever-gaping mouth;but when moving quickly, as in flight, or to attack,they eject a stream of water from an aperture inthe neck, which drives them backwards at greatspeed, all the arms being close together. Closeto this aperture is the intestinal opening, a strangeposition truly. Strangest, perhaps, of all is themanner in which some species grow, at certainseasons, an additional tentacle, which, when complete,becomes detached and floats away. Inprocess of time it finds a female, to which it clings,and which it at once impregnates. It then fallsoff, and perishes. It is probable that the animalkingdom, in all its vast range, presents no strangermethod than this of the propagation of species.

Among the most fascinating of natural historystudies, but withal one of the most difficult, isthat of the Squalidæ, or shark family. Theplodding perseverance of German professors hasfurnished students with an elaborate classificationof these singular creatures in all their knowngenera, but of their habits little is really known.A mass of fable has clustered round them, muchof it surviving from very remote times, and addedto periodically by people who might, if they would,know better. The reiteration of shark stories hasin consequence resulted in more ignorant prejudiceagainst the really useful squalus than has perhapsfallen to the lot of any other animal, althoughmost observant people know how absurd are manyof the popular beliefs about much better knowncreatures. Strangely enough, the detestation inwhich the shark is generally held is largely thefault of sea-farers. It never seems to occur toshore-going folk how few are the opportunitiesobtained by the ordinary sailor-man of studying113the manners and customs of the marine fauna.Merchant ships, even sailing vessels, must “makea passage” in order to pay, and, except whenunfortunate enough to get becalmed for a longspell, are rarely in a position favourable to closeobservation of deep-sea fishes and their ways.Men-of-war, especially surveying ships, who spendmuch time in unfrequented waters, and are oftenstationary for weeks at a time, are in a muchbetter plight, and give the eager student of marinenatural history great facilities for closely watchingthe sea-folk. Yet those are seldom taken advantageof as they might be for the rectificationof the abundant errors that are to be found inbooks that deal in a popular way with the life-historiesof sea-monsters. The only class ofmariners who have had, so to speak, the homelife of the sea-people completely open to them,who for periods of time extending to three orfour years were in daily contact with the usuallyhidden sources of oceanic lore, were the South Seawhalers, whose calling is now almost a thing ofthe past. But even they wasted their invaluableprivileges most recklessly, the contributions whichthey have made to science being exceedingly trivial.

Thus it comes about that the very men whoshould have either verified or disproved the reallystupid stories current concerning sharks havechosen instead to adopt them blindly, and have,therefore, for centuries been guilty of the mostrevolting cruelty towards these strange fish. In114this connection it is interesting to note the remotetimes in which shark legends arose. Aristotle,whose multifarious researches extended into somany fields of knowledge, furnishes us with almostthe first recorded mention of the shark, and hisdesignation of them is perpetuated in the scientificnomenclature of a very numerous species to-day,the Lamiæ. From another name for the samecreature πρίστις, we get Pristiophoridæ, or saw-fish,a curious shark confounded by an enormousnumber of otherwise well-read people with swordfish(Xiphias), which is really a huge mackerelwith a keen bony elongation of the upper jaw.Lycophron has recorded that Hercules, in thecourse of his superhuman adventures, was swallowedby a shark (Κάρχαρος), in whose maw he remainedfor three nights (why not days as well?), thencebeing surnamed Trinox, or Trihesperides. Theophrastus,pupil of Aristotle and Plato, observesthat the Red Sea abounds with sharks, a remarkwhich is as true in our day as it was in his.The Hercules myth was doubtless founded uponthe reports of some actual witnesses of thevoracious habits of these insatiable monsters,magnified and distorted, as most natural eventswere in those days, by superstitious terror. Evendown to the present year of grace most peoplebelieve that quite a moderate-sized squalus iscapable of swallowing a man entire, in spite of theabundant ocular evidence to the contrary affordedthem by the specimens in museums, whose jaws,115generally denuded of flesh, give a greater idea oftheir capacity than is warranted by the livingcreature. It is refreshing to find, however, thateven in those dark ages for all kinds of animalssuch a judicial writer as Plutarch speaks a goodword for this universally feared and detested fish.He says that in parental fondness, in suavityand amiability of disposition, the shark is notexcelled by any other creature. Keen as is mydesire to see tardy justice awarded to the shark, Ishould hesitate to endorse the eminent Greek’sstatement as far as the last two qualities areconcerned. My long and close acquaintancewith the Squalidæ does not furnish me with anyevidence in their favour on either of these heads.But in parental affection they are only equalled bythe Cetacea, no other fish having, as far as I amaware, any reluctance to devour its own offspring.Plutarch’s testimony, however, speaks volumes forhis powers of observation and courage of hisopinions, for verily in it he is contra mundum.Oppian, having seen the body of a huge shark inthe museum at Naples, voices in his fifth Halieuticthe general feeling in his day by the followingremarkable outburst: “May the earth which Inow feel under me, and which has hithertosupplied my daily wants, receive, when I yield it,my latest breath. Preserve me, O Jupiter!from such perils as this, and be pleased to acceptmy offerings to thee from dry land. May no thinplank interpose an uncertain protection between116me and the boisterous deep. Preserve me, ONeptune! from the terrors of the rising storm,and may I not, as the surge dashes over the deck,be ever cast out amidst the unseen perils thatpeople the abyss. ’Twere punishment enoughfor a mortal to be tossed about unsepulchred onthe waves, but to become the pasture of a fish, andto fill the foul maw of such a ravenous monster asI now behold, would add tenfold to the horrors ofsuch a lot.”

Olaus Magnus, upon whom we may alwaysdepend for something startling and original bothin prose and picture, exhibits to our wonderinggaze an agonised swimmer rising half out of thesea with three ravenous dog-fish hanging to himas hounds to a stag. In the distance is a huge rayor skate (one of the same family, by the by) witha human face, intended probably for a kind of seaangel, towards which wondrous apparition thedespairing wretch stretches forth his appealingarms. Coming down to mediæval times, Rondoletbabbles of a shark, taken at Marseilles, in whosestomach was discovered the body of a man incomplete armour, a tough morsel to swallow inmore senses than one. He also tells of a sharkaccidentally stranded near the same port and lyingupon the shore with mouth wide gaping. Intothis inviting portal there entered a man accompaniedby a dog. The venturesome pair roamedabout the darksome cavern making all sorts ofstrange discoveries, finally emerging into the outer117air swelling with importance at having accomplishedso curious a feat. Enlarging upon this mostobvious “yarn,” the learned Dr. Badham gravelyremarks that it greatly strengthens the probabilitythat the fish which swallowed Jonah was a shark(Piscis anthropophagus), but that he is quitecertain it could not have been a whale, from thewell-known smallness of the latter’s gullet. Withoutcommenting upon the Old Testament story,there can be no doubt whatever that in thecachalot, or sperm whale, we have a marinemonster capable of swallowing Jonah and hiscompanions of Tarshish at a gulp—I had almostsaid ship and all, such is the capacity of that vastcetacean’s throat. But Dr. Badham, while posingas an eminent authority, further exposes hisbountiful want of acquaintance with his subject byobserving that the liver of a medium-sized sharkwill yield two tons and a half of oil! As it is ahuge shark that will scale that much altogether, hemust have imagined them to be even bettersupplied with liver than Mulvaney’s hepaticColonel—in fact, all liver and some over.

A very favourite shark fable is to the effectthat these fish prefer negroes to Europeans as food.The inventor of this was probably Père Labat, amediæval French li—, I mean historian. After enlargingupon it for awhile he proceeds to embellish*t with the addition that the shark prefers Englishmento Frenchmen, because their flesh is more sapidand juicy from being better nourished. That was118probably before the French acquired their reputationfor cookery. Numberless variants of thisfantastic fable are extant, all, without exception, asbaseless as the original yarn from which theyhave lineally descended. The annals of the slave-tradehave, as might be expected, produced aplentiful crop of shark stories, of which apparentlyonly the untrue ones survive. It may perhaps betrue that the fiendish flesh dealers on the “WestCoast” really did surround themselves with acordon of slaves when they went bathing in thesea, having relays ready to supply the places ofthose occasionally snatched away by the sharks.Highly improbable though, since it would havebeen so expensive. Little doubt can attach to thesupposition that, with their instinct for offal somarvellously developed as it is, great numbers ofsharks followed the slave-ships across the seas, fromwhose pestilential holds the festering corpses weredaily flung. But when Pennant tells us that theslaving captains used to hang the body of a slavefrom yard-arm or bowsprit-end that they might beamused by the spectacle of sharks leaping twentyfeet out of the sea and tearing the bodies tofragments, he is stating that which is not onlygrotesquely untrue, but manifestly absurd. Sharksdo not leap out of water. In making this statementI am liable to be contradicted, as I have been beforein the columns of the Spectator, but never, nota bene,except upon hearsay, or personal evidence that hadgrave elements of doubt about it. Sharks can of119course raise their bodies partly out of water by anupward rush, a supreme effort rarely made by anaturally and habitually sluggish fish; but, after anexperience among many thousands of sharks underthe most varied conditions in all parts of the worldwhere they abound, I repeat emphatically that it isimpossible for a shark to raise his entire body outof water and seize anything suspended in the air.And anyone who has carefully watched one sharkseizing anything in the water or on the surface willfind it difficult to disagree with me.

One more “authority” and we will get to firsthandfacts. Sir Hans Sloane, in a very particularaccount of the shark, remarkable in many respectsfor its accuracy, perpetrates the following:—“Ithas several ducts on the head filled with a sort ofgelly, from which, being pressed by the water,issues an unctuous, viscid, slippery, and mucilaginousmatter, very proper to make the fish very glibto sail the readier through the water. Most fishhave something analagous to this.” That any fishshould secrete a lubricant, at once unctuous andviscid, for the purpose of accelerating its progressthrough the limpid element in which it lives, wouldbe curious indeed were such a contradictory factpossible, but that Sir Hans Sloane should say so,when the most cursory acquaintance with hissubject would have shown him the absurdity ofsuch a statement, would be far stranger were it notfor the evidence afforded by the Phil. Trans. of thewildest flights of imagination on the part of savants120even down to comparatively recent times. Butprobably enough space has been given to ancientfables about the shark.

The whole family of the Squalidæ, with thedoubtful exceptions of the saw-fish (Pristiophoridæ)and the Raiidæ, or skates, are scavengers, eaters ofoffal. As such their functions, though humble,are exceedingly useful and important; for althoughthe myriads of Crustacea are scavengers pure andsimple, their united efforts would be ineffectual tokeep the ocean breadths free from the pollution ofputrefying matter, since the vast majority of themdwell upon the bottom of comparatively shallowwaters. Now when the body of some immensesea-monster, such as a whale, is bereft of life andrapidly rots, it usually floats. Then the office ofthe sharks is at once apparent. The only largefish that feeds upon garbage, they are possessed ofan enormous appetite, as well as a digestiveapparatus that would put to shame that of theostrich, who is popularly credited with a likingfor such dainties as nails and broken glass for horsd’œuvres. The shark is ever hungry, and nothing,living or dead, comes amiss to his maw; but owingto the peculiar shape and position of his mouth itis only in rare instances that he is able to catch livingprey, as, for instance, when the dog-fish of ourcoasts, a common species of shark hated by fishermen,gets among the nets enclosing a fine catch ofherring or mackerel. Then the gluttonous rascalis in for a good time. Heedless of the flimsy121barrier of twine, he gorges to bursting-point uponthe impounded school, and usually concludes hisbanquet by tearing great gaps in the net, incidentallyallowing the rest of the prisoners to escape.It is therefore hardly a matter for surprise that thedespoiled and exasperated toilers of the sea, whenthey do succeed in capturing a dog-fish, shouldwreak summary vengeance upon him by suchfantastic mutilation as their heated fancy suggests.They have also some curious ideas that the erraticantics performed by a blind, finless, and broken-jaweddog-fish will frighten away his congeners;and, as the shark is almost universally disdained asfood, this practice of dismembering them andreturning them alive to the sea, pour encourager lesautres, seems to the fishermen an eminentlysatisfactory one. Unfortunately for their theory,the fact is, that supposing a sound and vigorousshark to meet with one of his kind incapable offlight or fight, the hapless flounderer would bepromptly devoured by his relative, doubtless withthe liveliest gratification. The shark has noscruples or preferences. Whatever he can geteatable (from his liberal point of view) he eats: ofnecessity, since he bears within him so fierce acraving for food that he will continue to devoureven when disembowelled, until even his tremendousvitality yields to such a wound as that. Hence hisbad name as a devourer of human flesh. Anordinary man in the water is, as a rule, the mostdefenceless of animals; and even a strong swimmer122is apt to become paralysed with fear at the mererumour of a shark being in his vicinity. If therebe no shelter near, his nerveless limbs refuse theiroffice, he floats or sinks with hardly a struggle, andthe ravenous squalus finds in him not only an easyprey, but no doubt a most savoury morsel. Thisis no reason for suggesting that the shark prefersthe flesh of hom*o sapiens to all other provender.As I have already said, his tastes are eclectic. Nay,it is highly doubtful whether he has any sense oftaste at all. All experiences point to the contrary,for it is common knowledge that sharks will gobbleup anything thrown overboard from a ship, from acorpse swathed in canvas to a lump of coal. Thisomnivorousness has been noticed in an able articlepublished in Chambers’s Journal many years ago,the writer putting forward as a plausible reason forit the number of parasites that infest the stomachsof these fish. In this, however, they are by nomeans singular, all fish harbouring a goodly numberof these self-invited boarders, the shark certainlyentertaining no more than the average.

The presence of any large quantity of easilyobtainable food is always sufficient to secure theundivided attention of the shark tribe. When“cutting in,” whales at sea I have often beenamazed at the incredible numbers of these creaturesthat gather in a short space of time, attracted bysome mysterious means from heaven only knowswhat remote distances. It has often occurred tous, when whaling in the neighbourhood of New123Zealand, to get a sperm whale alongside without asign of a shark below or a bird above. Within anhour from the time of our securing the vast massof flesh to the ship the whole area within at leastan acre has been alive with a seething multitude ofsharks, while from every airt came drifting silentlyan incalculable host of sea-birds, converting theblue surface of the sea into the semblance of aplain of new-fallen snow. The body of a whalebefore an incision is made in the blubber presentsa smooth rounded surface, almost as hard asindia-rubber, with apparently no spot where anydaring eater could find tooth-hold. But, obliviousof all else save that internal anguish of desire, theravening sea-wolves silently writhed in the densityof their hordes for a place at the bounteous feast.Occasionally one pre-eminent among his fellowsfor enterprise would actually set his lower jawagainst the black roundness of the mighty carcass,and, with a steady sinuous thrust of his lithe tail,gouge out therefrom a mass of a hundredweight orso. If he managed to get away with it, the spaceleft presented a curious corrugated hollow, wherethe serrated triangular teeth had worried their waythrough the tenacious substance, telling plainlywhat vigorous force must have been behind them.But it was seldom that we permitted such prematuretoll to be taken of our spoil. Theharpooners and officers from their lofty position onthe cutting stage slew scores upon scores by simplydropping their keen-edged blubber spades upon124the soft crowns of the struggling fish, the onlyplace where a shark is vulnerable to instant death.The weapon sinks into the creature’s brain, hegives a convulsive writhe or two, releases his holdand slowly sinks, followed in his descent by aknot of his immediate neighbours, all anxious toprovide him with prompt sepulture within theirown yearning maws.

At such a time as this the presence of a man inthe water, right in the midst of the hungry host,passes unnoticed by them as long as he is uponthe surface and in motion. Among the islands,while engaged in the “humpbacked” whale fishery,the natives were continually in and out of thewater alongside where the sharks swarmed innumerable,but we never saw or heard of onebeing bitten. And some of those sharks were ofthe most enormous dimensions—approaching alength of thirty feet and of a bulk almost equalto one of our whale-boats. With that unerringinstinct for spoil characteristic of the sharks, theybegin to congregate in these seas almost contemporaneouslywith an attack upon a whale bywhale-fishers. Now, one of the most frequentexperiences in this perilous trade is that of a“stove” boat, necessitating a subsequent sojournin the sea unprotected—sometimes for hours.Under such circ*mstances—and they have manytimes fallen to my share—I am free to confessthat I have always had a curious feeling about mylegs as if they were much too long, and whenever125anything touched them a sympathetic thrill ofapprehension would run up my spine; but mylegs are still of the usual length. Nor did I everhear of a man being attacked in the water at suchtimes. In fact, it is an article of faith with whalementhat sharks have sufficient intelligence to knowthat the human hunters of the whale are busilyproviding a feast for them, and that therefore atruce is then rigidly observed between them; for,although the ravenous creatures cannot refrainfrom attempting to sample the blubber in situ,their opportunity arrives when the mountainousmass of reeking meat, stripped of its externalcoating of fat, is cut adrift from the ship’s sideand allowed to float away. Then do they attackit in their thousands, and in an incredibly shorttime reduce it to a cleanly picked skeleton, foreven their prowess is not equal to devouring theenormous framework of bone. But what they arecapable of in the way of feeding may be judgedfrom the fact that a humpbacked whale of abouteighty tons in weight, which sank, after we hadkilled him, in about ten fathoms of water andwhich we were unable to raise for six hours forwant of suitable gear, was so reduced in size bythe time we lifted him to the surface again as notto be worth towing to the ship. In those latitudes,i.e. among the South Pacific Islands, are, I believe,to be found the largest sharks in the world,certainly the largest of those voracious kinds thatso ably fill the office of sea-scavengers. Very large126specimens of the basking shark, some nearly thirtyfeet long and of much greater girth than theordinary ones, have been found in our own seas,but these unwieldy creatures are as harmless aswhales, and quite as timid. There is a verycirc*mstantial account in Nature of several yearsago of a curious shark caught at Taboga Island,Gulf of Panama, by the crew of the Royal Italiancorvette Vettor Pisani. When accurately measuredit was found to be 8.9 metres long, and its greatestgirth 6.5 metres. The mouth of this monsterwas at the point of its snout instead of beneath it,but the teeth were rudimentary and covered withmembrane. So harmless was it that it affordedharbourage within its mouth to several Remora,a curious hanger-on of the shark family, of whommore presently. Dr. Günther classifies this veryqueer fish as Rhinodon typicus. Sharks of thesize I have mentioned as abounding in the SouthPacific have often seven rows of teeth rankedbehind each other. Only the first row were erect,the others lay flat as if ready to replace a suddenloss of those in use. But, after watching theiroperations upon pieces of “kreng,” I am boundto say that swallowing a man whole, even by thelargest of them, appears to me an utterly impossiblefeat.

Another peculiarity of the shark is that theircolossal bodies are built upon a framework ofcartilage, not bone. This may possibly accountfor their complete recovery from the most fundamental127injuries. I once caught an eight-feet-longshark in the North Atlantic whose appearancesuggested nothing out of the common. But,having a desire to make one of those uselessarticles dear to sailors, a walking-stick of a shark’sbackbone, I went to the trouble of extracting thespine. I found to my amazement that in themiddle of it there was not only a solid mass ofbone of over a foot long, but it was at this placequite double the normal thickness. Further investigationrevealed the fact that at some periodof his career this creature had been transfixed by aharpoon which had torn out, nearly severing hisbody in two halves. Several of the ribs werere-knit and thickened in the same way. Thissplendid recuperative power renders the sharkalmost invulnerable, except, as before noticed, toa direct severing of the brain, or such a radicaldismemberment as lopping off the tail.

Slothfulness is a distinctive feature of all thesharks. They are able to put on a spurt at times,but want of energy characterises them all. Thishabit reaches its climax in the Remora, to whichallusion has already been made. As if in pursuanceof a widely held opinion that lazy people are themost prolific inventors, this small squalus hasevolved an arrangement on the top of his headwhereby he can attach himself to any floatingbody and be carried along without effort on hispart. All the functions are easily performedduring attachment, and nothing short of doing128damage to the fish will dislodge him. It is fairlywell known that the Chinese and East Africanfolk have utilised the Remora for catching turtle ina most ingenious way. More energetic than anyother sharks are the saw-fish, whose snouts areprolonged into a broad blade of cartilage, which ishorizontal when the fish is swimming in a normalposition, and has both its edges set with slightlycurved teeth about an inch apart. The end ofthis formidable-looking weapon is blunt andcomparatively soft, so that it is quite incapable ofthe feats popularly attributed to it of piercingwhales’ bodies, ships’ timbers, etc. It attacksother fish by a swift lateral thrust of the sawbeneath them, the keen edge disembowelling them.Then it feeds upon the soft entrails, which areapparently the only food it can eat, from thepeculiar shape of its mouth. It has an enormousnumber of small teeth, sometimes as many asfifty rows in one individual, but they are evidentlyunfit for the rough duties required of teeth by thegarbage-eating members of the family.

Another peculiarity which differentiates theSqualidæ from all other fish, and would seem tolink them with the mammalia, is the way in whichthey produce their young. But here arise suchdiversities as to puzzle the student greatly; forsome sharks are viviparous, bearing fifteen sharkletsat once, that play about the mother in the liveliestmanner, and are cared for by her with the utmostsolicitude. At the approach of danger they all129rush to the parent and hurry down her throat,hiding in some snug chamber till their alarm hassubsided, when they emerge again and immediatelyrecommence their gambols. The pretty little blueand gold Caranx (pilot-fish) that is so faithful afriend and companion to the shark also hides attimes in the same capacious retreat. That this isa fact cannot be disputed, since sharks have oftenbeen caught and cut open, and the lively prisonerstaken from within. Upon several occasions Ihave witnessed this, and I once kept a family ofa dozen for over a week in a tub of water, feedingthem on scraps, until some busybody gave them tothe cat and made her very unwell. I have alsoseen the young ones and the pilot left behindwhen a shark has been caught, their franticleapings upward at their departing protector beingquite a moving sight. Other sharks are ovoviviparous,laying eggs over the hatching of whichthey watch and afterwards care for the young astenderly as do the others. Another species packtheir eggs in a sort of pouch as the skatesdo. This envelope contains all the nourishmentnecessary to the well-being of the young untilthey are able to provide for themselves, but theparent has no further concern with them. Asinstances of the intelligence of the shark manywell-authenticated stories might be told did spacepermit, but two must suffice. While lying in theharbour of Tamatave every device we couldconceive was put in practice in order to catch130some of the sharks with which those watersabounded, but none were successful, for theycarefully avoided all bait attached to lines strongenough to hold them. And the well-known habitof the “thresher” shark (Alopecias vulpes), ofhunting with the killer-whale (Orca gladiator),assisting these furies to destroy a whale andafterwards amicably dividing the spoil with them,has been enlarged upon many times. Its absolutecertainty does not admit of a doubt.

Among the many divers methods of garneringthe harvest of the sea, one of the most interestingand peculiar is the Exocetus fishery of Barbados.Notwithstanding the incredible numbers of Flying-fish(Exocetus volitans) that crowd every tropicalsea, Barbados is the only place where a systematicfishery of them has ever been established for commercialpurposes. This is the more strange whenthe ease with which they may be taken, and thepleasant conditions under which the fishery iscarried on, is considered, while the succulent delicacyof the fish is certainly a thing to remember.Familiar as the appearance of these wonderful littlecreatures is to ocean travellers, very little is generallyknown with regard to their habits, haunts, andmode of life. They are usually the recipients ofmuch misspent pity. Relentlessly pursued by thealbacore, bonito, and dolphin, they seek the air inshoals, only to be gaily annexed by hovering birds,or to fall gasping upon the deck of some passing132ship. Their fate seems a hard one; but whopities their prey? They in their turn pursueas relentlessly and persecute as ruthlessly thesmaller fish; and so the balance is held as trulyas nature ever holds it where man does notinterfere.

The most common and widely distributedvariety of the flying-fish is E. volitans, whoserange is world-wide between the limits of aboutthirty-five degrees north and thirty degrees south,though they are most plentifully found within thetropics. They are usually from six to twelve inchesin length, body nearly quadrangular, colour of thehead and back blue, abdomen silvery, lower lobeof the tail one-half longer than the upper. Somehave no teeth, while others are well furnished;and naturalists are unable to agree as to whetherthey are different varieties, as they are in all otherrespects identical. The pectoral fins, or wings asthey might well be called, are nearly as long asthe fish, folding neatly and compactly into thesides of the body while the fish is in the water.The ventral fins are small in this species, and donot appear to be used as wings, merely servingto balance and guide the fish in the air. A verycommon error made in natural histories wherethis fish is mentioned is in the statement that itdoes not fly. “Its supposed flight is nothing morethan a prolonged leap; it cannot deviate froma straight line, and cannot rise a second timewithout entering the water.” This, briefly, is the133sort of thing one meets with in text-books wherereference is made to this fish.

The simplest way of dealing with it is theProfessor’s method of answering the query of theFrench Academy whether their definition of acrab was correct. The story is so well knownthat it does not need repetition. As the result ofpersonal observation extending over a good manyyears, I assert that the Exocetus does fly. I haveoften seen a flying-fish rise two hundred yardsoff, describe a semicircle, and meeting the ship,rise twenty feet in the air, perpendicularly, atthe same time darting off at right angles toits previous course. Then, after another longflight, when just about to enter the water, thegaping jaws of a dolphin emerging from the seagave it pause, and it rose again, returning almostdirectly upon its former course. This procedureis so common, that it is a marvel it has not beenmore widely noticed. A flying-fish of mature sizecan fly a thousand yards. It does not flap its finsas a bird, but they vibrate, like the wings of aninsect, with a distinct hum. The only thing whichterminates its flight involuntarily is the drying ofits fin membranes, and their consequent stiffening.

A marvellous provision of nature is apparentin the economy of this fish. Its swim-bladdercan be inflated so as to occupy the whole cavityof the abdomen. Another membrane in themouth is inflated through the gills. These tworeservoirs of air form an excellent substitute for134the air-cells within the bones of birds, and havethe additional advantage of being voluntary intheir action.

The only other species of flying-fish which issufficiently distinct to call for notice is E.nigricans, locally known as ‘Guineamen.’ Theyoften exceed eighteen inches in length, and weightwo or three pounds. In these the ventral finsare also very large, giving the fish the appearanceof a huge dragon-fly as it darts through the lucentair. The markings of the body are black insteadof blue, while the fins are black with a transverseband of silver.

Another strange thing about the natural historiesthat I have been able to consult is thatno idea seems to be formed of where and howthese fish spawn. Being met with all over theocean, where its profound depth precludes allidea of their visiting the bottom, the locality oftheir breeding-places has puzzled the savants.There can, however, be no doubt that they deposittheir ova in the massive banks of Sargassobacciferum, or Gulf-weed, which is met with insuch vast quantities as to impede a vessel’s progressthrough it. Through the pleasant grovesand avenues of these floating forests, the youngfry in millions disport in comparative security,while finding abundant food among the myriadlower forms of life that abound there. Of course,this remark can only apply to the Atlantic. Nothaving had opportunities enough of observation,135I am unable to say where they spawn in the otheroceans they frequent. On the coral reefs of theLeeward Islands and the sandy cays of theCaribbean Sea, I have often amused myself bycatching the young fry thrown up with piles ofGulf-weed on the beach, and seen masses of thespawn, like huge bunches of white currants,entangled among its close-knit fronds.

Barbados, situated in the heart of the north-eastTrades, is one of the favourite haunts of theflying-fish. Its steep shore-lines afford the bluedepths which the flying-fish loves, and permit itto range very near to land. Thus the fishermenrarely go more than ten or twelve miles fromhome. When this industry was first commencedby the Barbadians, or what led to its establishment,I have been unable to discover; but it certainlyhas been for many years the mainstay of a largepart of the population, and the source whence themost popular food known on the island is derived.There are (or were) about two hundred boatsengaged in the fishery. Nowise notable for graceof form or elegance of rig, they are substantialundecked vessels, of from five to fifteen tonscapacity, built in the roughest manner, and furnishedin the most primitive way. The motivepower is a gaff-mainsail and jib, and a couple ofsweeps for calms. They are painted a light blue,as nearly approaching the hue of the sea as maybe, and every care is taken to make them noiseless.

The fleet leaves the “canash” (harbour) before136daybreak, each skipper taking his own bearings,and making for the spot which he thinks willfurnish the best results. As the gorgeous tropicaldawn awakes, the boats’ peaks are drooped, luffsof sails are hauled up, and the fishermen get tobusiness. The tackle used is of the simplest kind.A wooden hoop three feet in diameter, to whichis attached a shallow net with inch meshes; abucketful of—well, not to put too fine a pointon it—stinking fish; a few good lines and hooks,and a set of granes, form the complete lay-out.The fishermen are of all shades, from a deep richebony upwards, by fine gradations, to the cadaverouswhite so common in the island. Their simplefishing costume is usually one sole garment—thehumble flour or potato sack of commerce,with holes cut in the bottom and sides, throughwhich to thrust head and arms.

As soon as the boat is hove-to and her waystopped, the usual exuberant spirits and hilariouslaughter are put and kept under strong restraint,for a single sound will often scare away all fishin the vicinity, and no more be seen that day.The fisherman leans far over the boat’s side,holding the hoop diagonally in one hand. Theother hand, holding one of the malodorous fishbefore mentioned, is dipped into the sea, and thebait squeezed into minute fragments. Thisanswers a double purpose—it attracts the fish;and the exuding oil forms a “sleek” or glassysurface all around, through which one can see137to a great depth. Presently, sundry black specksappear far down; they grow larger and morenumerous, and the motionless black man hangingover the gunwale scarcely breathes. As soonas a sufficient number are gathered, he gentlysweeps the net downwards and towards the boatwithal, bringing it to the surface by drawing itup against the side. Often it will contain asmany fish as a man can lift; but so quietly andswiftly is the operation performed, that the schoolis not startled, and it very often happens thata boat is filled (that is, seven or eight thousandfish) from one school. More frequently, however,the slightest noise, even a passing shadow, will alarmthe school; there is a flash of silvery light, andthe water is clear, not a speck to be seen. Sometimesthe fleet will return with not one thousandfish among them, when prices will range veryhigh, until next day, when, with fifty or sixtyboats bringing five or six thousand each, a pennywill purchase a dozen.

Occasionally, in the midst of a good spell offishing, the school will vanish, and a crowd ofdolphin, albacore, or bonito make their appearance.Then the sport changes its character.Lines are hastily unrolled, a living flying-fish isimpaled on the hook and trolled astern, seldomfailing to allure an albacore or some other largefish, varying perhaps from twenty to two hundredpounds weight. On one occasion, when I had thepleasure of a cruise in one of the boats, we had138very poor sport with the flying-fish, only takingabout five hundred by noon. Suddenly the fewthat had been feeding quietly around us fled in alldirections, breaking the water with a sound like asudden rain-storm, and we were aware of thepresence of a huge albacore. The skipper shoutedgleefully: “By king, sah, him de bigges’ albacorein de whol’ worl’.” He certainly was a monster;but there was little time to admire his proportions.He promptly seized our bait; and the fun commenced.For over an hour this giant mackereltowed us where he would; and when for amoment the pace slackened and we touched theline, he was off again as hard as ever. Rightthrough the fleet he towed us, and finally yieldedto our united efforts in the middle of Carlisle Bay,amongst the shipping. We could not hoist himon board, and so had recourse to the expedient ofpassing a double bight of the line round his tailand towing him into the harbour. Great was theexcitement on the quay, and willing hands not afew worked the crane wherewith we lifted him.He scaled four hundred and seventy pounds, theheaviest albacore on record in Barbados. Peddledaround the town, he realised a much larger sumthan a boat-load of flying-fish would have done;and so the sable skipper was well content with hismorning’s work.

Enthusiastic anglers have, I believe, been heardto declare with emphasis that they would rathercatch no fish at all than return with a full creelinveigled in an “unsportsmanlike” way. Ofcourse, ideas of what constitutes sport vary almostwith the individual, since like the rubric—(withred edges, please)—sporting canons are susceptibleof private interpretation. But if the ultimateobject of fishing be the gratification of catchingfish, my stupidity baulks at the notion of an angler,enthusiastic or stolid, preferring to be unsuccessfulrather than to succeed by the exercise of a littlepersonal ingenuity, whether it be unconventionalor canonical. What can be more pathetic, forinstance, than to see a perfectly-equipped sportsman,whose outfit has made a terrible hole in a£20 note, watching with simulated indifferenceoutwardly, but black envy clawing his liver, somegrimy urchin with string and stick grassing fishafter fish, while he is unable to get a rise?Perhaps, however, my point of view is unfair,140because one-sided. For while it has manyhundreds of times been my lot to either catchsome fish or go without a meal, which certainlyquickened my interest in the sport, I have seldomhad the pleasure of fishing merely for amusem*nt.Although never a professional fisherman, andtherefore a hater of nets as reducing the joy orsuccess to the level of scavenging, I have from avery early age, and in nearly every part of theworld washed by the sea, taken a hand at fishingfrom deep personal motives, and always onunconventional lines.

My first introduction to the stern delights ofsea-fishing was in a Jamaican harbour when I wasthirteen years old. Having been shipwrecked Iwas for the time by way of being a juvenile beachcomber,but I had plenty of good-natured darkychums. Four of them took me out one day intheir canoe barracouta-fishing. Now this fish is asort of sea-pike which sometimes reaches four feetin length, and for his fierceness is more dreadedin the West Indies by bathers than the muchmaligned shark. His principal food is small fish,although he is not dainty. In order to imitate asnearly as possible the flight of his usual prey, it iscustomary for four darkies to man a canoe, get wellout to sea during the early morning calm, and thenpaddle furiously for a few hundred yards at a time,towing a small mackerel at the end of a stout line.On this occasion I held the line. I thought itglorious fun; but suddenly I saw a bar of silver141leap into the air, followed instanter by my suddenexit from the canoe. I had a turn of the lineround my hand, a trick of inexperience. Therewas a good deal of noise and excitement, duringwhich the dugout capsized and spilled her crewaround, while the big fish did his best to towthe light craft away from us; but in somemysterious scrambling fashion we all embarkedagain. By this time the ’couter was very tired,allowing us to haul him up alongside and take himaboard quite peaceably. Then hey for the beach,borrow a truck, and peddle the prize aroundtown at so much a pound. But they wouldn’ttake me any more.

A good deal of promiscuous fishing of anunsatisfactory kind was added to my youthfulexperiences before I reached home, some of itonly to be recalled with many pangs. After along, weary pull in the sweltering, tropical evenings,to drop upon some ghoulish reef-spur and breakhook after hook in the rugged coral branchesuntil no more remained, and we must needs returnhungry and dispirited—these are not pleasantthings to remember. But the following year Imade my first long voyage, and on the passageout got an experience that makes my finger-tipstingle to-day. With envious eyes I had watchedthe mate, as from the end of the flying jibboomhe had vainly tried to cozen some bonito (a sortof exaggerated mackerel) that were accompanyingthe ship into the belief that a shred of white rag142with which he was flicking the water was a flying-fish.Naturally, I burned to show that I couldsucceed, and no sooner had he come in to take thesun than I was out along the boom like a ratto take his place. There was a fresh breezeblowing, and as the ship heeled and plunged theline blew far away to leeward in a graceful curvewhich only permitted the rag to touch the wave-topsoccasionally. I trembled so with excitementthat I could not have kept my perch, but that mylegs were jammed in between the jib guys and theboom. I had not been there more than fiveminutes when a splendid fish sprang twenty feetinto the air and swallowed my bait on the wing.I hauled for dear life, scarcely daring to lookbelow where my prize hung dangling, a weightI could only just manage to pull up. But Isucceeded at last, and grabbed him to my pantingbreast. There wasn’t time to get scared at thecontract I had on my hands; I just hung onwhile his tremendous vibrations benumbed my bodyso that I could not even feel that he was actuallychafing all the skin off my ribs. At last, feelingmy strength almost gone, I plunged him into thefolds of the flying-jib, which was furled on theboom, and laid on him. In this way I succeededin overcoming his reluctance to stay with me, andeventually I bore him on board in triumph, noteven dashed by the effective ropes-ending I gotfor soaking the jib in blood from head to tack.After that memorable capture I was simply crazed143with fishing. Even in calms, when predatoryfish such as dolphin, barracouta, bonito, oralbacore hang around listlessly and are consideredquite uncatchable by seamen generally, I havemanaged to deceive them and obtain that greatdesideratum, a fresh mess for all hands. Butcoming home round the Cape, when in the strengthof the Agulhas current, the wind failed, and themate got out the deep-sea lead-line. In orthodoxfashion we passed it forrard and dropped the longplummet into the dark depths, with two or threestout hooks, baited with lumps of fat pork,fastened to it. When we hauled it in each hookwas burdened with a magnificent cod, and a sceneof wild excitement ensued. All the watchimprovised tackle of some kind—a piece ofhambro’ line, a marlinespike for sinker, and onehook was the usual outfit—and in a couple ofhours the deck was like Billingsgate. All sortsand conditions of fish apparently lived down there,and all most accommodating in their appetite.

In Manila Bay the natives taught me how tocatch a delicious fish like a more symmetricalJohn Dory, with a most delicate line of twistedgrass and a tiny hook. The bait was rice, boiledto a paste; and so successful was I that all handsenjoyed a hearty supper of fish every evening,being the only crew in the harbour where sucha thing was known. On that passage home,however, I caught a Tartar. I was fishing offthe boom for bonito, when suddenly the school144closed up into a compact body and fled. Ithought it strange, but went on playing my bait.Suddenly out of the cool shade beneath the shiprushed an albacore, grabbing my bait before I hadtime to lift it out of his way. He wasn’t very largefor his kind, but my gracious, he was all I wanted.I actually tried to haul him up at first, but Icouldn’t begin to lift him; so I was fain to playhim until we were both exhausted. He waseventually secured at last by the simple expedientof lowering a man overside who slipped a bowlineround him, by which he was hoisted on board.He weighed 120 lb., but seemed as strong as abuffalo. Some years after, when out flying-fishingin Barbados one morning, we hooked an albacorethat towed our boat, a 5-tonner, for over sixmiles before he gave in. We towed him alongsideinto the carenage and had him hoisted on tothe wharf by a crane. He weighed 470 lb. Thealbacore is almost, if not quite, identical with thetunny of the Mediterranean and the tuna ofCalifornia, and anybody who thirsts for greatersport than the noblest salmon can give, or eventhe magnificent tarpon, should try what the tunacan do for them.

But of all the queer fish I ever caught, onethat I came across in Tonala River, Mexico, wasthe strangest. It was just inside the bar, and Ihad been sailing the boat smartly to and fro,catching a kind of caranx that loves a fleetingsilvery bait. Sport becoming quiet, and wind145falling, I packed about a pound of fish on mylargest hook and let it trail while I smoked thecigarito of laziness. I hoped to get a good-sizedfish in this way before returning on board.Suddenly my line tautened out, zip, zip—this wasno ordinary fish. After about twenty minutesof thoroughly exhausting work I caught sight ofa dirty, brownish mass away down under water.Redoubling my efforts, up came my fish—analligator ten feet long. He looked perfectlydevilish, and for the moment I was really scared.Hooks were scarce, however, so calling upon thedarky with me to stand by with a running bowline,I hauled away till I got his hideous snout up out ofthe water, which I doubt whether I should havedone but that he came for me with a rush at thelast. Joe dropped the noose over his upper jawmost neatly, getting it tightened between his uglyyellow teeth so that he couldn’t bite it. Just thena breeze sprang up, and making the rope fast toa thwart we kept away for the ship, the greatsaurian’s jaws banging against the boat’s planks andripping large splinters out of them. We got himaboard safely, to find “he” was a female, withover a bushel of eggs in her body and a strangecollection of rubbish in her stomach.

Among such primitive peoples as still survive, notthe least curious or notable trait which universallyobtains is the manner in which all things uncanny,or which they are unable to comprehend, are bycommon consent ascribed to the Devil. Not toa devil as one of a host, but the Devil par excellence,as though they understood him to be definableonly as the master and originator of whatsoeverthings are terrifying, incomprehensible, or cruel.Many eminent writers have copiously enriched ourliterature by their researches into this all-prevailingpeculiarity, so that the subject has, on the whole,been well threshed out, and it is merely alludedto en passant as one of the chief reasons for theepithet which forms the title of this chapter.

Now it will doubtless be readily admitted thatsea-folk retain, even among highly civilised nations,their old-world habits of thought and expressionlonger than any other branch of the population.This can scarcely be wondered at, since to all ofus, even the least imaginative, the eternal mystery147of the ocean appeals with thrilling and ever-fresheffect every time that we come into close personalrelations with it.

But when those whose daily bread dependsupon their constant struggle with the mightymarine forces, who are familiar with so many ofits marvels, and saturated with the awe-inspiringsolemnity which is the chief characteristic of thesea, are in the course of their avocations broughtsuddenly in contact with some seldom-seen visitorof horrent aspect arising from the gloomy unknowndepths, with one accord they speak of the monsteras a “devil-fish,” and the name never fails to adhere.

So that there is, not one species of devil-fish,but several, each peculiar to some different part ofthe world, and inspiring its own special terror inthe hearts of mariners of many nations. Of theDevil-fish that we in this country hear most about,and have indelibly portrayed for us by Victor Hugo,the octopus, so much has been written and saidthat it is not necessary now to do much more thanmake passing allusion to the family. But theCephalopoda embrace so vast a variety that it seemshardly fair to single out of them all the comparativelyharmless octopus for opprobrium, whileleaving severely unmentioned the gigantic onychoteuthisof the deep sea, to say nothing of manyintermediate cuttle-fish. From the enormousmollusc just mentioned—which is, not unreasonably,credited by seamen with being the largestfish in the ocean—to the tiny loligo, upon which148nearly all deep-water fish feed, hideousness is theirprevailing feature, and truly appalling of aspectsome of the larger ones are, while their omnivorousvoracity makes them veritable sea-scavengers, towhom nothing comes amiss, alive or dead. Andwhile having no intention to underrate the claimsof the octopus to his diabolical prænomen onaccount of his slimy ugliness and unquenchableferocity, I feel constrained to put in a word forthat little-known horror of the deep, the ten-armedcuttle-fish, which, like some fearful creationof a diseased brain, broods over the dark andsilent profundities of ocean, extending his far-reachingtentacles through an immense area, touchingnothing living to which they do not cling withan embrace that never relaxes until the victim issafely deposited within the crushing clutch of thegreat parrot-like mandibles guarding the entranceto that vast and never-to-be satisfied stomach.Nothing that the morbid imagination of man hasever pictured can surpass in awful appearance thereality of this dire chimæra, which, notwithstanding,has undoubtedly an important part to play in themysterious economy of the sea. “He dwelleth inthe thick darkness”; for, not content with thenatural gloom of his abode, he diffuses aroundhim a cloud of sepia, which bewilders and blindshis victims, rendering them an easy prey to thenever-resting tentacles which writhe through themirk, ready at a touch to hold whatever is there,be it small or great.

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But the strangest fact connected with thismighty mollusc is, that while from the earliestdawn of literature numberless allusions more orless tinged with imagination have been made to it,modern science has only very recently made up itsmind to accept as a fact its existence at all. Somany indisputable proofs have, however, beenforthcoming of late years, both as to the size andstructure of the gigantic cuttle-fish, that it hasnow taken its place among the verities of naturalhistory as indisputably as the elephant or the tiger.It has also been firmly established that the spermwhale or cachalot (Physeter macrocephalus) findshis principal, if not his only, food in these hugegelatinous masses while ranging the middledepths of the ocean, and that their appearanceon the sea surface is generally due to this whale’saggression.

To pass on, however, to a much less known“devil-fish.” In the long fish gallery at thesplendid Natural History Museum at SouthKensington there is a small specimen, someeighteen inches across, of a fish whose habitat isthe Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean Sea.

There it attains enormous proportions, and is,not without reason, known to all the frequentersof those waters as the “devil-fish.” When ayoungster I was homeward bound from Sant’ Anawith a cargo of mahogany, and when off CapeCampèche was one calm afternoon leaning over thetaffrail, looking down into the blue profound, on150the watch for fish. A gloomy shade came overthe bright water, and up rose a fearsome monstersome eighteen feet across, and in general outlinemore like a skate or ray than anything else, allexcept the head. There, what appeared to be twocurling horns about three feet apart rose one oneach side of the most horrible pair of eyesimaginable. A shark’s eyes as he turns sidewaysunder your vessel’s counter and looks up to see ifany one is coming are ghastly, green, and cruel;but this thing’s eyes were all these and much more.I felt that the Book of Revelation was incompletewithout him, and his gaze haunts me yet.Although quite sick and giddy at the sight ofsuch a bogey, I could not move until the awfulthing, suddenly waving what seemed like mightywings, soared up out of the water soundlessly to aheight of about six feet, falling again with athunderous splash that might have been heard formiles. I must have fainted with fright, for thenext thing I was conscious of was awakening underthe rough doctoring of my shipmates. Since thenI have never seen one leap upward in the daytime.At night, when there is no wind, the sonoroussplash is constantly to be heard, although why theymake that bat-like leap out of their proper elementis not easy to understand. It does not seempossible to believe such awe-inspiring horrorscapable of playful gambolling.

At another time, while mate of a barque loadingin the Tonala River, one of the Mexican mahogany151ports, I was fishing one evening from the vessel’sdeck with a very stout line and hook for largefish.

A prowling devil-fish picked up my bait, andfeeling the hook, as I suppose, sprang out of waterwith it. I am almost ashamed to say that I madeno attempt to secure the thing, which was acomparatively small specimen, but allowed it toamuse itself, until, to my great relief, the hookbroke, and I recovered the use of my line, myevening’s sport quite spoiled.

These ugly monsters have as yet no commercialvalue, although from their vast extent of flatsurface they might be found worthy of attentionfor their skins, which should make very excellentshagreen. A closer acquaintance with them wouldalso most probably divest them of much of theterror in which they are held at present.

Another widely known and feared devil-fish hasits headquarters in the Northern Pacific, mostlyalong the American coast, especially affecting theGulf of California. This huge creature is amammal, one of the great whale family, really arorqual of medium size and moderate yield of oil.Like the rest of this much-detested and shunned(by whalers) branch of the Cetacea, it carries buta tiny fringe of valueless whalebone, and therefore,as compared with the sperm and “right”whales, its value is small. Yet at certain seasonsof the year the American whaleships often think itworth their while to spend a month or so bay-whaling152in some quiet inlet unknown to, and uncaredfor by, the bustling merchantman.

In these secluded spots the California devil-fish,mussel-digger, grey-back, and several other aliasesnot fit for publication, but all showing how theobject of them is esteemed by his neighbours, maysometimes be taken at a disadvantage, the cowslanguid just before or after parturition, and thebulls who escort them too intent upon their lovesto be as wily as is their wont.

But only the élite of the Yankee whalemen,dexterous and daring as are all the tribe, can hopeto get “to windward,” of the diabolically cunninggiants whom they abuse with such fluent andfrequent flow of picturesque profanity. It is apeculiar characteristic of this animal that it seemsever on the alert, scarcely exposing for one momentit* broad back above the sea-surface when rising tospout, and generally travelling, unlike all itscongeners, not upon, but a few feet below, thewater. For this reason, and in this fishery alone,the whalers arm themselves with iron-shaftedharpoons, in order to strike with greater force andcertainty of direction a whale some distance beneaththe surface. A standing order, too, among themis never by any chance to injure a calf while themother lives, since such an act exposes all andsundry near the spot to imminent and violentdeath.

Neglect of this most necessary precaution, ormore probably accident, once brought about a153calamity that befell a fleet of thirteen Americanwhaleships which had been engaged in the “bowhead”fishery among the ice-floes of the ArcticPacific. In order to waste no time, they camesouth when winter set in, and by common consentrendezvoused in Margharita Bay, Lower California,for a month or two’s “devil-fishing.”

The whales were exceedingly abundant thatseason, and all the ships were soon busy with asmuch blubber as they could manage. The easewith which the whales were being obtained,however, led to considerable carelessness andforgetfulness of the fact that the whale neverchanges its habits. One bright morning, aboutthree weeks after the opening of the season, thewhole flotilla of fifty-two boats, four from eachship, had been lowered and were making their wayas rapidly as possible to the outlying parts of thegreat bay, keeping a bright look-out for “fish.”Spreading out fan-wise, they were getting moreand more scattered, when about the centre of thefleet some one suddenly “struck” and got fastto a fish. But hardly had the intimation beengiven when something very like panic seized uponthe crowd. In a moment or two the reason wasapparent. From some cause, never definitelyknown, a harpooner had in striking at a large cowwhale transfixed her calf at her side with hisharpoon, killing it immediately. The mother,having quietly satisfied herself that her offspringwas really dead, turned upon her aggressors like a154veritable demon of destruction, and, while carefullyavoiding exposure of her body to attack, simplyspread devastation among the flotilla. Whenevershe rose to the surface, it was but for a second, toemit an expiration like the hiss of a lifting safety-valve,and almost always to destroy a boat orcomplete the destruction of one already hopelesslydamaged.

Every blow was dealt with an accuracy andappearance of premeditation that filled the superstitiousPortuguese, who formed a good half of thecrews, with dismay—the more so that many ofthem could only guess at the original cause of whatwas really going on. The speed of the monsterwas so great, that her almost simultaneous appearanceat points widely separated made her seemubiquitous; and as she gave no chance whateverfor a blow, it certainly looked as if all the boatswould be destroyed seriatim. Not content withdealing one tremendous blow at a boat and reducingit at once to a bundle of loose boards, she renewedher attentions again and again to the wreckage,as if determined that the destruction shouldbe complete.

Utter demoralisation had seized even theveterans, and escape was the only thought governingall action. But the distance to shore was great,and the persistence and vigour of the furiousleviathan, so far from diminishing, seemed toincrease as the terrible work went on. At last twoboats did succeed in reaching the beach at a point155where it sloped very gradually. The crews hadhardly leaped overboard, to run their craft uphigh and dry, when close behind them in theshallows foamed and rolled their relentless enemy,just too late to reach them. Out of the largenumber of well-equipped boats that left the shipsthat morning, only these two escaped undamaged,and the loss of the season’s work was irremediable.Over fifty men were badly injured, and six, one ofwhom was the unhappy origin of the whole trouble,were killed outright. The triumphant avenger ofher slain offspring disappeared as silently as shehad carried on her deadly warfare, as far as couldbe known unhurt, and with an accumulated hoardof experience that would, if possible, render hermore of a “devil” to any unsuspecting whalemenwho should hereafter have the misfortune to meetwith and attack her than she had proved herself tobe already.

Dejected and crippled, the fleet lost no time ingetting away from the spot and fleeing north toSan Francisco, there to refit for other and moreprofitable fishing grounds.

There are a great many “ower-true” tales toldof the prowess of this wily creature, but theselection that I have made will doubtless sufficefor a fair specimen of what the California “devil-fish”is capable of when opportunity arises.

The volatile and tuneful negroes of the WestIndia islands have their own peculiar “devil-fish,”but in this case there is nothing diabolical in the156appearance or vast in the size of the creature. Itis, indeed, a very well-known fish in most tropicalwaters, and must from its habits and appearancebe closely allied to the hake and pike. Amongseamen generally it is well known as the barracouta,and is especially plentiful around the New Zealandcoast, where a few hours of the peculiar fishingpractised by the Maories will generally reward thefisherman with a gross or so of fish averaging 10to 12 lb. each.

It is among the Leeward Islands, however, thatthe barracouta attains his largest dimensions, andhas inspired the fishermen and boatmen with suchdread of him that, while they hold the universallyfeared shark in supreme contempt, the mererumour of a “devil-fish” anywhere in their vicinitywill bring every nigg*r within hail scrambling outof the water in double-quick time.

Whether rightly or wrongly, I have never beenable to ascertain by personal observation, but undoubtedlythe fact is that the barracouta is creditedwith an infernal propensity for inflicting a namelessmutilation upon any human being unfortunateenough to get within reach of him. He is longand narrow, blue-black above, with a silvery-greybelly, and swift as an arrow. His lower jaw isconsiderably longer than the upper, and both arearmed with teeth, almost exactly like those of adog. From this configuration of the jaws it isunnecessary for the barracouta to turn on its back,like the shark, when he comes for you. Silent,157straight, swift, and almost invisible in those dark-bluewaters, the first intimation of his presence isoften the fatal snap of those lethal jaws, whichleaves the hapless victim beyond hope of recovery.

Before quitting this portion of the subject apassing reference may be permitted to a verydisheartening occurrence due to the predatoryhabits of these fish. At great cost some public-spiritedindividuals had stocked the upper reachesof the pretty river Clutha in Otago, New Zealand,with salmon-fry from ova imported fromEngland. The incipient salmon flourished untilin the course of natural development they reachedthe “parr” stage of their career. Then in an evilhour they journeyed seawards until they reachedthe estuary of the river. A school of barracoutahad just previously crossed the bar from the sea,and in their search for living food happened uponthe toothsome innocents from the secure spawning-bedsabove. Long did the patient watchers up-countrywait, but never more did one of thoseyouthful salmon return to them. All the moneyspent was wasted, and all the high hopes of aplentiful supply of indigenous salmon were frustratedfor years.

There are, of course, many other marinemonstrosities to which with more or less show ofreason the satanic epithet has been applied; butthey are very little known or noticed, exceptwithin certain narrow limits. Probably enoughhas been said to justify simple savages and almost158equally simple-minded seamen in bestowing uponthe creatures of their dread a name which to themembodies all they are able to conceive of pitilesscruelty, unquenchable ferocity, and unmatchablecunning.

By popular consent the rash act of the daringman who first devoured an oyster has been greatlyextolled, but what meed of praise should beawarded to that dim and distant discoverer whofirst essayed to break into and devour the flesh ofthe armour-clad tortoise or turtle? All unarmedas he doubtless must have been, except for spear ofchipped flint or charred stick, the mere entry withinthe domus of the reptile, even by way of the leatheryneck or flank, must have been no easy feat.

But, once having tasted such good meat, howrapidly the news must have been spread by ourfriend! Here was a banquet indeed, ready tohand, for the acquisition of which none of theordinary attributes of the chase were needed.Speed, courage, endurance, cunning, all could bedispensed with, while even the most unenlightened“salvage-man” would hardly need the informationthat it were wise to avoid the front end of thesluggish creature, with its terrible jaws of keen-edgedshell.

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Since those far-off days mankind has beenfaithful in its love for the genus Testudo, whetherterrestrial or marine, wherever edible membersof it could be obtained; but when and why theconsumption of turtle-soup became with us asynonym for the highest luxury in the way offood, and indissolubly associated with the royalhospitality of the Lord Mayor, is indeed a questionto be answered. One may be permitted tosuppose that, during the reign of some more thanusually gifted cordon bleu, the grand discoverywas made that the peculiar flesh of this succulentreptile lent itself most amicably and gelatinouslyto the wonderful disguise with which it is investedere it becomes the dream of the epicure. Thepages of ancient Latin writers abound with descriptions,not only of strange foods, but strangermodes of preparing them for the table, the mererecital of which to-day is often sufficient toeffectually banish appetite. Among these earlyrecipes are many for dealing with the flesh of bothland and sea tortoises. According to their lightthose ancient cooks excelled in curious ways ofdressing turtle, or rather disguising it, for it mustbe confessed that turtle-steak au naturel is notof that exquisite flavour to appeal to the palatelike a plain beefsteak or mutton-chop. Good,wholesome, and tender as it undoubtedly is, ittastes more like veal with a nuance of fish thananything else in the best kinds; while many turtles,from feeding upon cuttle-fish, have a decidedly161unpleasant, musky flavour. Few flesh foods pallquicker upon the palate. In most West Indiancoast towns an abundant meal of turtle can be obtainedfor the equivalent of sixpence wheneverrequired, but except by those whose object is tofill up cheaply and quickly, it is little appreciated.

I was once mate of a barque gathering a cargoof mahogany along the Mexican coast, and whilelying at Tonala the supply of fresh beef ran short.The skipper bought a fine large turtle for a meretrifle from some fishermen, and rather chuckled atthe prospect of getting two days’ meat for less thanthe usual price of one. He gave orders to theworn-out seaman whom, in common with vesselsof that class, we carried as cook, etc., to apportionthe joints. At eight bells a procession of weary-lookingmen slouched aft, the foremost one bearinga kid of something. He came to the break of thepoop, and as spokesman inquired for the captain.That gentleman stepped briskly forward, saying,“Well, what’s up now?” “What d’ye call that,sir?” said the man. “That,” said the skipper,giving just a glance at the queer-looking messin the kid; “why yer so-and-so idiot, that’s whatthe Lord Mayor gives about a guinea a houncefor. Why, only the haristocracy gets a charnceat ’ome to eat the likes o’ that.” “Oh, very well,”said the man; “p’r’aps you’ll eat it yourself then,sir, since its so —— good, and give us what wesigned for. We aint crockeydiles to eat shell-fish,shells an’ all.” With that he planted his little tub,162with its strange contents, down on the poop andstalked forward again, followed by his scowlingshipmates. I am bound to admit that there waslittle room for wonder that Jack on this occasionpreferred salt horse to boiled turtle.

But this is by the way. Of terrestrial Chelonesthere is an immense variety distributed over almostthe whole land surface of the globe where themean annual temperature does not fall below 60°.The flesh of these reptiles is, with few exceptions,notably that of the American Terrapin, very lightlyesteemed by civilised peoples, and in some specieshighly poisonous. A very strange fact concerningland tortoises is the presence of the largest membersof the family upon such widely separated and inhospitablespots as Aldabra and Agalegas Islandsin the Indian Ocean, and the Galapagos group inthe South Pacific. In these lonely islets—forthey are hardly more—enormous specimens ofthese strange reptiles crawl sluggishly about,grazing upon the scanty herbage, secure from allenemies except man, and apparently gifted withincredible longevity. As far as natural decay isconcerned, they would certainly appear to beunaffected by the flight of time, although oneneed not believe unless he wants to the story ofthe sailor of one upon whose shell he saw carvedthe legend, ‘The Ark—Captain Noah; Ararat,for orders.’ The Galapagans eat them duringscarcity of other food, but do not hanker afterthem as regular diet. They do, however, prize163the fat oil which some of these reptiles possess ingreat abundance, and whenever they catch oneand do not need its flesh, they cut a slit in theleathery skin between the upper and lower shellsnear the tail and take a peep within. If thevictim be not fat enough for their purpose theyrelease him, and he shuffles off apparently quiteunaffected by this rough surgery. Indeed, such isthe incredible vitality of these reptiles that theyhave been known to live for six months afterhaving their brains entirely removed, and oneexisted for twenty-three days after its head hadbeen cut off.

Redi, the well-known Italian surgeon, whomade these apparently useless experiments, statesthat, upon opening the body of the last-mentionedtortoise, on the twenty-third day he saw the tripleheart beating, and the blood entering and leavingit. What he hoped to establish by such crueldoings is not stated by him.

Varieties of land tortoises are exceedingly numerous,and embrace some very peculiar forms,notably the Emysaura serpentina, which is a kindof compromise between a lizard and a tortoise,lives in and around Oriental lakes and rivers, andfeeds indiscriminately upon small fish, reptiles,and birds. The Chelodina Novæ Hollandiæ ofAustralia, with its long snake-like neck and widegaping jaws; the Chelys matamata, loving stagnantpools, and adorned about the head and neck withsprouting fringes like bunches of rootlets, giving164it a most uncanny appearance; and the Gymnopusof African rivers, which feeds upon young crocodiles,and whose flesh is nevertheless most delicateand highly prized, and many others, furnish amost interesting study, but not strictly germane toour subject, which is turtle—the Thalassians oroceanic tortoises, from which alone our suppliesare drawn.

Among marine tortoises or turtles there isvastly less variety than among their congeners ofthe land. Sir Richard Owen decided that onlyfive well-defined species are known to exist at thepresent day, although the fossil remains of trueturtles show that a much greater range of thesevarieties existed in prehistoric times. The principaldifference between tortoise and turtle is the shapeof the paws, which in the land varieties are alwaysarmed with claws, and have a strong likeness tothe legs of a lizard. In the turtles these clawedfeet become flippers, almost fins, wonderfullyadapted for swimming purposes, but rendering theturtle when on land more helpless and clumsy inhis locomotion than even a seal.

Turtles are true amphibians, although, owing tothe extent and volume of their arbitrary lungs,and perhaps also to their general sluggishness ofhabit, they can and do remain under water for alonger time than any other amphibian, with theexception, perhaps, of the crocodile. But, like thesaurian just mentioned, it is imperative that theyleave the sea periodically for the purpose of laying165their eggs, which they do in loose sand, leavingthem to be hatched by the heat of the sun. Ithas been authoritatively stated that when theyoung turtle first emerges from the egg his shell isnot formed, and that he is white in colour.Perhaps different species may account for a discrepancyhere; but I can only say, that having,for many hours, along the shores of islets in theCaribbean Sea and around the Gulf of Mexico,amused myself by digging up turtles’ and crocodiles’eggs, breaking them, and sending the livelyoccupants afloat, I have never seen either a whiteor a shell-less one. Of course the shell was not ofthe substance one would expect in a full-grownindividual, but it was hard and perfectly formed,while the tiny creature was wonderfully swift inits movements. Innumerable enemies await theinfant turtle, extending even to his own kind,and but a small percentage of those hatched areprivileged to arrive at maturity. Nevertheless,such is the fecundity of these reptiles, that theirnumbers are exceedingly large, and even whereold-established stations for turtle-catching exist,no diminution of their numbers is ever seen.

Having reached a weight of about twenty-fivepounds, they are thenceforth safe from all enemiesexcept man, and even he gets but scant opportunityto molest them save when they visit theirfavourite beaches for family purposes.

When a lad of thirteen I had the misfortune tobe cast away upon one of the reef-fringed islets in166the Bay of Campêche. The vessel became a totalwreck, and we escaped to the islet, finding it bareof everything but an immense number of boobiesand frigate-birds, the beach being covered with theeggs of the former, and the rocks plentifullybesprinkled with the eggs of the latter. The firstnight of our stay I was taking a lonely stroll alongthe beach—the whole circuit of the isle could bemade under an hour—when I saw a light cloud ofsand rising from the smooth white plain just aheadof me. At first the idea of an inrush of the seaoccurred to me; but going carefully nearer, Isaw an immense black centre to the misty spot,apparently digging furiously. Hurrying back tocamp, I gave the alarm, and three of the menaccompanied me back. Without any difficultythey managed to secure the creature, which was anenormous turtle weighing not less than 1800 lb.It was rather a tough job turning her over, butonce on her broad back she was helpless, and wasspeedily towed to camp. Next morning at daybreakshe was butchered, and more than eighthundred eggs, of which only thirteen were withshells, were taken from her ovary. The carapacewas so large that it made me a good bath. Themeat was all removed and hung up, only the headand tail being left attached to the shell. Late thatafternoon a young Dane, in some foolish freak oranother, must needs go and introduce two of hisfingers into the open mouth of the apparentlydead head. Like the action of an iron-shearing167press the jaws closed, taking off the two fingers asclean as possible. Then another man essayed tocut off the tail, but as soon as the knife enteredthe skin the tail curled up and gripped the blade,and it was nearly an hour before he could withdrawit. So that their vitality must be little, ifany, inferior to that of the land tortoise.

One of the most favoured spots frequented byturtle is, or used to be, the desolate island ofAscension in the South Atlantic, a barren volcanicpatch belonging to Britain, and, because usedexclusively as a naval depot, entered upon thebooks of the Admiralty as one of Her Majesty’sships. An enormous number of turtle were annually“turned” there, and preserved in a smalllagoon from shipment to shipment. It was mypleasant privilege to assist at one of these turnings,and I bear a very vivid recollection of the game.Crouched low behind an immense boulder one eveningabout eight o’clock, we could hear a hollowreverberating murmur of the mighty surf outside,suggesting sleepily irresistible force. A dazzlingwreath of snowy foam, gleaming like burnishedsilver, fringed the quiet stretch of glittering sand,which, gently sloping upward and landward, wasbounded by gloomy bastions of black lava.Beyond that shining semicircle of glowing whitelay the sombre blue-black bosom of the quietlittle bay, now heaving gently as that of a sleepingchild. Hither and thither, threading its mysteriousdepths, glided spectrally broad tracks of greenish168light, vivid, yet ever brightening and fading, as ifof living flame. Presently there emerged fromthe retreating smother of spume a creeping somethingof no very definite shape, under the glamourof the molten moonlight, but making an oddshuffling progress inland, and becoming more recognisableas it rose. Another, and yet another,and still more arrived as the shining tracks convergedshorewards. At last the dark shapes camenear enough for a novice to know them for turtle.Soon the first-comers reached their limit, andbegan the work for which they were here. Eachmassive reptile, by an indescribable motion of itsfore-flippers, delved into the yielding grit, throwingthe spoil behind it and upward withal untilit was enveloped in a misty halo of shining sand.Then the whole beach was alive with the toilingChelones and their male attendants, who shuffledabout, emitting curious noises, but whether ofencouragement or affection this deponent sayethnot.

Divers of them came from far—so far thatnone who have not witnessed the swift cleaving oftheir true element by these ungainly monsterscould believe how the wide sweep of those eagerflippers devours the fleeting leagues. In a shorttime many of the delving turtles had sunk belowthe level of the surrounding sand, while some hadceased their digging and commenced to deposittheir eggs. Suddenly we rushed upon them, andfor some minutes the swarming beach was apparently169a scene of wild confusion. Really, the planof attack was well ordered; and when the firstscurry was over nearly all the visitors were to beseen wrong side up, waving their flippers deprecatingly.In less than half an hour the loneliness wasagain regnant, the victims having been towed offthrough a gap in the rocks to a spacious spoilariumin the lagoon behind, there to await their transitto the goal of most good things, London town.

While the capture of turtle upon a sandy shorenecessarily admits of but few variations, the pursuitof these reptiles in their proper element lendsitself to many peculiarities. How often does theever-hungry sailor, striving wearily to forget hisplentiful lack of tasty eatables while on the look-outof some calm-bound “wind-jammer,” get adelightful thrill upon seeing the broad shiningback of a sleeping Spharga calmly floating uponthe sunlit surface of the silent sea! Visions of “afresh mess for all hands” nerve the watch todesperate efforts in order to quickly free the gigfrom its long-disused trammels. Once afloat,there are several ways of securing the prize.Roughly, the orthodox method is for one hand to“scull” the boat with one oar over the stern à laChinoise, while one stationed in the bow may,when near enough, drive a harpoon through thecarapace of the slumberer. Or one may not.And candour compels the statement that thepercentage of successes is not high. If the performerbe not very expert with the weapon—and170very few sailors are—the result is usually a burstof angry jeers from disappointed shipmates, and afew eddying swirls on the surface whence theawakened turtle has fled in amazement.

Another way practised most successfully by theamphibious Kanakas of Polynesia is to slip noiselesslyinto the water, and, diving beneath theturtle, grasp the hind flippers with crossed hands.One swift and dexterous twist places the prize onhis back, in which helpless position he is keptwith ease upon the surface until the canoe arrivesand he is transferred to it. Among the coralreefs of the Friendly Islands turtle-fishing is ahighly favoured form of sport, and when thereptiles are surprised among the tortuous shallowchannels between the reefs or in the almost land-lockedlagoons, they rarely escape. Here it isusual for the fisherman to spring upon the turtle’sback, and, clutching the fore edge of the shellwith both hands, to hang on until his prize isexhausted and speedily brought to the surface.1

But of all the fashions of securing this much-huntedcreature, that followed by the ingeniousfisher-folk of the Chinese littoral bears away thepalm. Most voyagers in tropical seas are acquaintedwith a peculiar fish, E. remora, knowngenerally by the trivial name of “sucker.” Thedistinguishing characteristic of this fish is laziness.171Unwilling to exert itself overmuch in thepursuit of food, it has developed an arrangementon the back of its head exactly like the corrugatedsole of a tennis shoe, and as artificial inappearance as if made and fitted by the hand ofman. When the sucker finds itself in the vicinityof any large floating body, such as a ship, a shark,or a piece of flotsam, whose neighbourhood seemsto promise an abundance of food, it attachesitself firmly thereto by means of this curious contrivance,which permits it to eat, breathe, andperform all necessary functions while being carriedabout without any exertion on its part. It canattach and detach itself instantaneously, and holdsso firmly that a direct backward pull cannot dislodgeit without injury to the fish. The Chinese,who have successfully trained the cormorant andthe otter to fish for them, have taken the remorain hand with the happiest results. Several good-sizedspecimens having been caught, small iron ringsare fitted to their tails, to which are attached long,slender, but very strong lines. Thus equipped, thefishermen set out, and when a basking turtle isseen, two or three of the suckers are slipped overboard.Should they turn and stick to the bottomof the sampan, they are carefully detached bybeing pushed forward with the inevitable bamboo,and started on the search again. At last theyattach themselves to the supine turtle. Thenthe fishermen haul in the lines, against whichgentle suasion the hapless Chelone struggles in172vain. Once on board the lugger, the usefulremora is detached, and is at once ready for useagain.

1But the turtle can by no means be kept on the surfaceuntil it is exhausted. The first act of a hunted turtle is toseek the depths.

The same mode of catching turtle is followedby the fishermen of the East African coast, fromMozambique northward. The coast of Africa haslong been famous for its turtle, and Pliny tellsof the Chelonophagi of the Red Sea, a race ofturtle-eaters, who were able to obtain these creaturesof so gigantic a size that they could utilisethe carapaces for roofs to their dwellings andboats for their feeble voyages. Strabo also alludesto these people; but without accusing either ofthese venerable authorities of exaggeration, it ispretty certain that no such enormous specimensof Chelonia are ever met with in these days.

Tortoise-shell is well known to be furnished bythe turtle, the best by the Hawk’s Bill variety,which supplies the worst flesh, being exceedinglymusky (Chelone imbricata). The green turtle(Chelonée franche) is most valuable for food,and attains, with another well-marked variety(Spharga Coriacea), the largest size of all turtlesknown. This latter has been sometimes taken onthe coast of Britain, several of large size (700 to800 lb. weight) having been recorded as caughtin our seas.

What particular law of etymology has beenevoked to produce the queer word standing at thehead of this paper I am unable to imagine. LikeTopsy, I “’spects it growed,” but my own privateopinion is that it is the Kentish coast way of pronouncingthe word “hovering,” since the hovellersare certainly more often occupied in hovering thanin doing anything more satisfactory to themselves.

However strange the word may sound in alandsman’s ears, it is one of the most familiar toBritish seamen, especially among our coasters,although the particular form of bread-winningthat it is used to designate is practically confinedto the Kent and Sussex shores of the EnglishChannel, having its headquarters at Deal. Briefly,a “hoveller” is a boatman who follows none of176the steady orthodox lines of boatmanship, such asfishing, plying for passengers, etc., but hoversaround the Channel, a snapper-up of unconsideredtrifles, a pilot, a wrecker, or if a ghost of a chancepresents itself, a smuggler.

2Whilst this reprint was in the press the writer receivedan ingenious explanation of the word from Mr. Charles Fleet,an old resident on the Sussex coast. He derives it from“Hoviler,” a sort of mounted militia raised during theCommonwealth, and so named from the “hovils” (leathernjackets) they wore.

Naturally, the poor hoveller does not bear thebest of characters. The easy unconventional fitof his calling settles that for him as conclusivelyas the cryptic term “general dealer,” so often seenin police-court reports, does a man’s status ashore,but with far less reason. It must be admittedthat he is not over-scrupulous or prone to regardtoo rigidly the laws of meum and tuum. Theportable property which occasionally finds its wayinto his boat is, however, usually ownerless exceptfor the lien held by the Crown upon all flotsam,jetsam, and ligan; which rights, all unjust as hein common with most seafarers consider them tobe, he can hardly be blamed for ignoring.

But when the worst that can be alleged againstthe character of the hoveller has been said, a verylarge margin of good remains to his credit, goodof which the general public never hears, or hearingof it, bestows the praise elsewhere.

They are the finest boatmen in the world.Doubtless this seems a large claim to make ontheir behalf, but it is one that will be heartilyendorsed by all who know anything of the conditionof the English Channel in winter, and areat the same time in a position to make comparisons.And it must also be remembered that177the harvest of the hoveller is gathered when thewintry weather is at its worst, when the long,hungry snare of the Goodwins is snarling andhowling for more and more of man’s handiworkto fill its for ever unsatisfied maw, when the wholewidth of the strait is like a seething cauldron, andthe atmosphere is one weltering whirl of hissingspindrift; while the hooting syrens, shriekingwhistles, and clanging bells from the benightedand groping crowd of unseen vessels blend theirdiscord with the tigerish roar of the storm in onebewildering chaos of indescribable tumult.

Then, when the fishermen have all run forshelter, and even the hardy tugboats hug somesheltering spit or seaward-stretching point, thehoveller in his undecked clinker-built lugger, somethirty-five feet long and ten feet beam, square-sternedand sturdy-looking like himself, may beseen through the writhing drifts of fog and sprayclimbing from steep to steep of the foaming billowslike a bat hawking along some jagged cliff.

She shows just a tiny patch of brown sail, amere shred, but sufficient to keep her manageablewith her head within five or six points of thewind and her stub-bow steadily pointed to theonrush of the toppling seas. Every other wavesends a solid sheet of spray right over her, hidingher momentarily from view, but the row of squatfigures sitting motionless along the weather gunwaleheed it no more than as if they were graven images.And thus they cruise, hungry and thirsty, their178eyeballs burning with sleeplessness, throughout theweary hours of night and day, with every senseacutely strained and every moment balanced uponthe very scythe-edge of death. Long practicemakes them keen of sight as the wailing gullsoverhead, and small indeed must be the floatingobject that escapes their unremitting scrutiny.

Homeward-bound sailing ships from overseaports are what they principally lust after. Theskippers of these vessels after their long absencefrom home usually feel more or less anxious asthey near the narrows. The Trinity pilots intheir trim cutters have their cruising grounddefinitely fixed for them by authority, extendingno further west than Dungeness. But long beforethat well-known point, with its dazzling spear ofelectric radiance reflected from the gloomy pallof cloud above, is reached, the homeward-boundskipper’s anxiety becomes almost unbearable if theweather be thick and he has as yet made no landfallto verify his position. Then the suddenappearance of a hoveller emerging from the mirkaround, and his cheery hail, “D’ye want a pilot,sir?” is heavenly in its relief. For these men,although regarded with no small contempt anddisfavour by the aristocracy of pilotage licensed bythe Trinity Brethren, know the Channel as a manknows the house he has lived in for years, know itat all times, whether in calm or storm, the blacknessof winter midnight, the brilliance of summer noon,or the horrible uncertainty of enshrouding fog.

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The hoveller can hardly be blamed if he takefull advantage of the foulness of the weather todrive as hard a bargain as he can with the skipperof a hesitating homeward-bounder for the hire ofhis invaluable local knowledge. Full well heknows that when the skies are serene and the windis favourable he may tender his services in vain,even at the lowest price. No master, in thesedays of fierce competition, dare make an entry ofa hoveller’s fee in his bill of expenses, except underpressure of bad weather, on pain of being consideredunfit for his post, and finding himselfcompelled to pay the charge out of his own scantysalary.

So that fine weather to the hoveller spells emptypocket and hungry belly. The long, bright daysof summer bring to him no joy, though thoughtlesspassengers lounging at their ease upon thepromenade deck of some palatial steamship maythink his lot a lazy, lotus-eating way of drowsingthrough the sunny hours. Neither would theyimagine from his wooden immobility of pose andthe unbending appearance of his rig what fieryenergy he is capable of displaying when opportunityarises.

On one occasion, when I was a lad of eighteen,we were homeward bound from Luzon to London.We sighted Corvo dimly through the drivingmist of a fierce westerly gale, before which webowled along at the rate of 300 miles a day. Fornearly five days we fled thus for home, seeing180nothing except an occasional dim shape of somevessel flitting silently past. Not a glimpse of theheavenly bodies was vouchsafed us whereby to fixour position, nor did we haul up once for a cast ofthe deep-sea lead. At last by “dead reckoning,”we were well up Channel, but the steady thrust ofthe gale never wavered in force or direction. Themist grew denser, the darkness more profound.By the various sounds of foghorns and whistleswe knew that many vessels surrounded us, and thatit was scarcely less dangerous to heave-to than torun. Presently, by the narrowest of shaves, wemissed running down a light outward-boundbarque, the incident leaving us with yards swingingevery way and a general feeling of uncertainty asto what would happen next. Suddenly out of thegloom to leeward came the hoarse cry, “Want apilot, sir?” It was the sweetest music imaginable.All eyes were strained in the direction of the voice.In a minute or two the well-known shape of ahovelling lugger became visible, under a doublereefed lug, rushing towards us. He rounded toby our lee quarter, and in reply to our skipper’squery, “How much will you take me up to theNess for?” came the prompt answer; “Ten pounds.”“Ten devils!” yelled our skipper; “why, you adjectivehovelling pirate, it’s only about ten minutes’walk.” “Better get out ’n walk it then, cap’n,”said the boatman; “can’t take you up for no lessto-night.” The usual haggling began, but wascut short by the hoveller, who shouted, “So long,181cap’n, time’s precious,” giving at the same time apull at his tiller which sent the boat striding acable’s length to leeward. “All right,” roared theold man, “come aboard, and be dam’d t’you,”and at the word the lugger was back alongsideagain. Launching his dinghy was out of thequestion in such a sea, for at one moment theboat was level with our shearpoles, the next sheseemed groping under our keel. “Heave us aline, cap’n,” shouted he, and the mate hurled acoil of the lee main-brace at him. Quick as a winkhe had cast a bowline round his waist with theend. “Haul away aboard,” he cried, and as hisboat rose on the crest of a big sea he sprang at theship and missed her. But he had hardly time todisappear in the smother of foam, before he wasbeing dragged up the side like a bale of rags, andalmost instantly tumbled on deck. Springing tohis feet, he dashed the water out of his eyes, andas calmly as if nothing unusual had happened, saidto the man at the wheel, “Put your hellum up,m’lad, square away the main-yard, haul aft the mainsheet,”and as if by magic the weather seemed tofine down and a great peace reigned. “Steady asshe goes, m’lad,” said he to the helmsman, with apeep at the compass; and then turning to theskipper, in a wheedling voice, “You couldn’tspare my mates a bit o’ grub, I s’pose, sir, and aplug of terbacker?” “Oh yes,” replied thecaptain with alacrity. “Stooard! get a couple o’pieces of beef out o’ the harness cask, and some182bread in a bag, for the boatmen. I’ll go downand get them some tobacco.” Already the luggerwas closing in on us again, and by the time thelonged-for provisions were at hand, she wasnear enough for them to be hove on board. Afurther plea for a drop of rum could not beentertained, as we had none, but well pleased withthe result of their visit the rovers sheered off andwere swallowed up in the encircling darkness.Exactly three-quarters of an hour later we roundedthe Ness and hove-to for the pilot, the luggerpopping up under our lee again as if she had beentowing astern, and receiving back the luckyhoveller with his fat fee in his pocket.

Years after, in a much larger ship, of which Iwas second mate, we were bound right round thecoast to Dundee, and got befogged somewhere offBeachy Head. As on the previous occasion, thewind was strong, and blowing right up Channel.A hoveller came alongside and made a bargain totake us up to Dungeness for ten pounds. By thetime he had scrambled on board, our captain beganto wonder whether he might be available to pilotus right round to Dundee, not feeling very confidentin his own knowledge of the navigation ofthe East coast. So he put the question to ourvisitor, who replied that he himself was not qualified,and indeed would not be allowed to take usif he were. But he could arrange to have a NorthSea pilot out in Deal Roads awaiting us on ourarrival there. This was too much for our skipper’s183power of belief. That co*ckle-shell of a lugger ableto outstrip his 1400-ton ship, with this breezebehind her, so much in forty miles! It couldn’tbe done. “Never mind, sir,” said the hoveller,“you make my money thirteen pound for the wholejob, and if you have to wait in the Downs for yourpilot, you needn’t pay me more than ten.” “It’sa go,” answered the captain, fully satisfied.

Hailing his boat, the Dealman gave his instructions.Crowding on all sail, away she went,sheering in for the shore, and soon was lost tosight in the mist. Meanwhile we also set all thesail she could carry, and made a fairly rapid run tothe Downs. Sure enough, there was a galley puntawaiting us, the men lying on their oars, and thepilot with his bag lounging in the stern. Theskipper said not a word as he handed our hovellerhis full money, but he looked like a man who hadbeen badly beaten in a contest of wits.

But if one would see the hoveller at his best, itis when some hapless vessel has met her fate onthe Goodwins during a gale. The silent suck ofthose never-resting sands makes the time of herremaining above water very short, without thecertainty of her rapid breaking up under the terriblebattering of the mighty seas. Gatheringaround the doomed fabric, like jackals round acarcass, the hardy beachmen perform prodigies oflabour. The work which they will do, wrenchingout cargo and fittings, and transferring them totheir boats, while the straining, groaning hull184threatens every moment to collapse beneath theireager feet, and the bitter tempest fills the air withsalt spray, to say nothing of an occasional breakerwhich buries wreck and wreckers alike beneath itsincalculable mass of foaming water, cannot beadequately described—it must be seen to be realised.As if mad with desire, they tear and strain andheave like Titans, apparently insensible to fatigue.For they know that at any moment their prizemay vanish from beneath them, and with her alltheir hopes of gain. Weather has for them noterrors. Let but the cry of “wreck” go up, andthough even the lifeboat be beaten back, thehoveller will get there somehow, not under anypretence of philanthropy, but in the hope of earningsomething, though it may be gratefully recordedthat they never shirk the most terrible risks whenthere is a hope of saving life.

Such sudden and violent transitions from utteridleness to the most tremendous exertion as theycontinually experience do not seem to harm thesetoughened amphibia. Plenty of them do ofcourse “go under,” in more or less distressingcirc*mstances, but though their own tiny circlelaments their loss, their tragic fate makes no moredisturbance than the drop of a pebble outside ofit. There are plenty to take their place. Foreven in so precarious a calling as hovelling thereare grades. The poor possessors of only a four-oaredgalley hope to rise to the dignity of a lugger,so that they may quit scrabbling along the shores185and get out to where, if the dangers are indefinitelyincreased, the chances of a good haul now andthen are proportionately greater.

Another phase of their calling is the rescue ofvessels who from various causes are drifting todestruction. Many a craft reaches port in safetywith a couple of Dealmen on board, that but fortheir timely help would never have been heard ofa*gain. I know of one case where a large Frenchchasse-marée, with a cargo of wine, lost her foremastoff the Varne shoal. In its fall it crippledthe skipper and one of the crew. Another onewas frost-bitten, and the remaining two, both boys,were so paralysed with fright that they were quiteuseless. So in the grey of the New Year’s dawn,with a pitiless snowstorm raging from the N.W.,she was drifting helplessly along the edge of thesand. Two hovellers saw her plight at the sametime, and each strained every nerve to get up toher first, for she was a prize well worth thewinning. At last they drew so near to her thatit was anybody’s race. But the head man of theforemost lugger tore off his oilskins, sea-boots,and fear-nought jacket, and plunging into theboiling sea actually battled his way to her side,climbing on board triumphantly, and so makinggood his claim. It is satisfactory to be able toadd that the dauntless rascal was completelysuccessful in bringing the Trois Frères intoDover, and shared with his four mates £120 forsalvage services. Not a bad twenty-four hours’186work, but for nearly two months before they hadearned less than five shillings per man per week,and they all had wives and families dependentupon them.

Yet with all their hardships, they are free. Noman is their master, for they always sail on shares,varied a little according to each individual’smonetary stake in the boat. And doubtless thewild life has a certain charm of its own, whichgoes far to counterbalance its severity and danger.“An’ anyhow,” as one of them said to me notlong ago, “ourn’s a bizness the bloomin’ Germansain’t likely to do us out of. There ain’t manyleft like that, is ther?”

“Things is lookin’ pretty bad for the Britishsailor, Bill, don’t ye think?”

“Well, fur’s I c’n see, they can’t look muchwuss, Joe. I know one thing: ’f I c’d a onlygot a billet ashore—even a bloomin’ dus’man’sjob—I’d a never even smelt salt water agen. W’y,there ain’t no Henglish ships now ’ceptin’ fur theflag. But I will say this much; I never seen itquite so bad’s this afore.”

The speakers were the only two British seamenbefore the mast on board the four-masted steelsailing ship St. George, of Liverpool, bound fromLondon to Melbourne with a general cargo ofimmense value, and nearly five thousand tonsmeasurement. In the square of the main hatchwas carefully stowed forty tons of blasting andrifle powder received at the “red buoy,” Gravesend,and earning a very high freight. The master wasa German of Rostock, Friedrich Schwartz by188name, who for the wage of £10 per month wasfilling this onerous position to the exclusion of anEnglishman, who thought such a post deservedbetter pay. The chief officer, unfortunately forhim, was a Liverpool man, with a little money ofhis own, who could therefore afford to cut ratesas well as the Germans. Every other member ofthe ship’s company, except the two worthies above-mentionedand a couple of Warspite lads, was a“ja-for-yes man” as Jack impartially denominatesScandinavians and Teutons alike.

When the St. George left the East India Docks,the managing director (she belonged to a single-shipcompany whereof none of the shareholdersknew anything of the shipping business) chuckledto himself to think how cheaply she was manned,and hurried back to Billiter Street to calculate hiscommission on the outward passage. The politicaloutlook was very gloomy. Germany was growingmore insolently aggressive every day, and theomniscient Kaiser smiled grimly as he read thelatest report of the British Registrar-General ofSeamen. He was naturally delighted to see howcompletely the British nation was handing overthe control of its vast mercantile marine to foreignofficers and seamen, all of whom were trainednaval men, and capable of immediately utilisingany sudden opportunity of dealing Britain a deadlyblow.

At the time alluded to at the opening of thisstory, the St. George, under a towering mountain189of canvas, was bowling rapidly through the north-eastTrades towards the Line. Needless, perhaps,to say that the Britons on board were having anuncomfortable time of it. The mate was madeto feel at every turn that he was an interloper.Although his country’s flag sheltered him, CaptainSchwartz’s contempt for England and all thatbelonged to her was freely vented in his hearing.And all conversation on board, as well as mostof the orders, being in German, Mr. Brown andhis four compatriots felt that they were indeedaliens on sufferance. Like the majority of theircountrymen, they knew no language but their own,which in the present instance was as well for theirsmall remainder of mental peace. The two A.B.shad at least one advantage over the mate, theycould talk to each other, though every “workup”job was sorted out to them, their treatmentbeing just the same as the two boys.

So the days dragged wearily on until onemorning a streak of smoke on the northernhorizon gradually resolved itself into a splendidarmoured cruiser that overhauled the St. Georgeas if she were at anchor instead of logging twelveknots easy. With a bird-like swoop the flyersheered up under her quarter, showing the whiteensign at her standard. Up went the good old“blood and guts,” of Old England at the St.George’s peak in reply, and to the incisive sea-queriesfrom the cruiser’s bridge, Mr. Brownshouted back the information required as to port190of destination, length of passage, etc. Then cameringing across the startling message, “War isdeclared between England and Germany. Butyou’re all right, I hope. There is little danger tobe apprehended from German warships. Still, becareful, and crack on all you know if you do seea suspicious-looking craft. Good-bye,” and themajestic vessel sheered off at top speed for thewestward.

“Ha, mein verdammt Englischer schweinhund,dot ju are, hou ju feel yoost now, hein? Gottbewahr; ju haf komm to ein ent mit yourselluf,aind id? Ve schou ju somedings now, und tond juforkedd id.” Thus the triumphant skipper,accompanying his jeers at the mate with a horriblegrimace at the brilliant flag floating proudly overhead,and an emphatic expectoration on the whitedeck. Then, excited beyond measure, he rushedto the break of the poop and yelled a summons inGerman for all hands. Aft they came, tumblingover one another in their eagerness, and rangedthemselves before the saloon doors. On his loftyplatform above their heads the rampant skipperraved, stamped, gesticulated, and finally burstsonorously into song, “Deutschland, Deutschland,über alles,” all hands, with the miserable exceptionof the handful of English, joining vociferously inhis pæan of triumph.

Thenceforward, a further development ofscurvy treatment took place. The mate wasno longer allowed access to the chronometer, or191permitted to “take the sun,” or work up the ship’sposition. The log-book was also taken from him,the young third mate given charge of his watch,and he was made to take his meals alone in hisberth. Neither he nor the two English A.B.swere allowed to come on the poop any more, sothat they were completely in the dark as to theposition of the ship within hundreds of miles, asfrom never seeing the compass they could onlyguess generally how she was steering. Spiritlesslythe luckless islanders wearily worried on from dayto day, the butt of all their exulting shipmates.When the Kaiser’s birthday came round, and theship was put en fête, they were bidden sarcasticallyto rejoice over the change of affairs. But withthe hoisting of an immense German flag at thepeak they lost all control of themselves, burstinginto a fury of passionate tears, mingled with cursesupon their enemies. They were immediately setupon by the whole crowd, and after a few minutesof desperate fighting were overpowered, heavilyironed, and flung into the forepeak on the coals,bruised from head to heel. Many and bitter weretheir regrets as they lay on their easeless couch.Scarcely less venomous were their curses on thefatuous folly of the rulers who had suffered suchan event as this to become possible than on theirbrutal gaolers. For as Joe muttered scornfully,“Tain’t ’sif they hain’t been told of it. It’s beendrummed into their yeers long ’nough, Godknows, ’n all they ever sed wuz, ‘Oh, yore192ezaggeratin’. The puss*ntidge uv furriners in theBritish mercantile marine ain’t anythin’ like sohigh az you say.”

“’Seems ’bout’s high’s we want, anyway,” saidBill dreamily, while the poor mate ground histeeth but never said a word.

What puzzled them all greatly was the lengthof time the ship seemed to be getting into coldweather. From the time the cruiser spoke them,when they were in about 15 degrees N., was nowmore than a month, and with the winds they hadcarried they should have been running their eastingdown in about 40 degrees S. But they were stillin tropical weather. At last the mate broke along silence by saying: “I believe he’s makingfor Walvisch Bay. ’Shouldn’t wonder if there’ssome German warships there or thereabouts. Ionly hope he is trying to get there, an’ one of ourcruisers sights him. It’s about our only chance.”

Several days passed and still they were keptclose prisoners in the black, stifling hole, starvingon a trifle of hard tack and water, and sinkingdeeper every day into a very gulf of despair. Atlast, to the practised senses of the captives, it wasevident that something was afoot. She had hoveto. On deck the Deutschers were in trouble.As the mate had surmised, they were bound forWalvisch Bay, carrying every rag they couldcrowd on her, seeing that every hour they wereout of port now on this unusual course wasbrimful of danger. The skipper scarcely ever193left the deck, and his eyes were bleared andburning with constant glaring through his glassesfor a possible pursuer.

H.M.S. Scourge, 22-knot cruiser, was on herpassage to Simon’s Town with urgent stores forthe squadron off that station. Her orders were—“Allpossible dispatch,” yet, when the look-out oneafternoon reported a heavily-rigged four-masterstanding to the eastward in latitude twenty-threedegrees south, her commander felt justified inaltering her course sufficiently to bring him intouch with this phenomenon. The stranger wasmaking grand headway under all canvas to aheavy south-east Trade, but the speed of the cruiserwas fully two knots to her one. In about anhour, therefore, from sighting her, the Scourgeranged sufficiently near to inquire by signal forthe usual information. But the merchantman wasso slow with his answers that before two sets hadbeen hoisted the vessels were within hail of eachother. “Where are you bound to?” roared thecommander of the cruiser. A dramatic pausesucceeded, in which all eyes on board both shipswere centred upon the skipper of the St. George.At last the reluctant answer came, “WalvischBay.” “The devil you are,” said the navalcaptain; “I must have a closer look at you.” Acouple of abrupt orders, and a well-manned cutter,with the first-lieutenant in charge, was boundingacross the few fathoms of sea towards the St.George, with instructions to ascertain the bottom194facts of this mystery. Arriving alongside, theofficer sprang on board, and, quickly mounting thepoop, confronted Captain Schwartz, whose face wasa study of conflicting emotions. Already thelieutenant had noticed the Teutonic appearance ofeverybody on deck, and the captain’s working facedeepened the suspicions aroused. “I wish toexamine your papers, sir,” said he quietly to thescowling skipper. “Vat for, sir?” was the almostexpected reply. For all answer the lieutenantstrode to the side and blew a small whistle, whichbrought six of his boat’s crew bounding on boardin an instant. “Now, sir,” he said, turning againto the skipper, “my time is precious, and myorders precise. Kindly lead the way into yourcabin, and produce your documents, or I mustsearch for them without you.” The baffledTeuton still hesitating, the naval officer, with aslight gesture of impatience, beckoned his men aft.They came on the jump, but one of them steppingforward in advance of his fellows, saluted, andsaid, “Beg pardon, sir, but we just heard somevoices forrard a-cryin’ ‘Help!’ and it sounded’sif they wus cooped up somewheres.” A darkfrown settled upon the officer’s face as he replied,sternly, “Three of you go forrard and search; theothers come below here with me.” But before hestepped into the companion-way he blew two sharpnotes on his whistle, a signal which was immediatelyanswered by the cruiser sending another cutteralongside with a fully-armed crew.

195

In the meantime the search aft had revealed theship’s papers, which showed of course that theSt. George had cleared from London for Melbourne.The skipper’s private journal in German was alsoimpounded. With the documents under his armthe lieutenant returned on deck, just as the searchparty forward emerged from the fore-peak bringingtheir hapless countrymen to light. Orderswere immediately issued to place all the foreignersunder arrest, but the skipper was nowhere to beseen. A search for him was ordered at once, butthe words had hardly been spoken when, with anawful roar, the whole beautiful fabric was rent intoa myriad fragments; an immense volume of densesmoke rose sullenly into the clear air, and thesparkling sea was bestrewn with the mangledremains of friend and foe alike.

The desperate skipper had chosen, rather thangive up his ill-gotten prize, to fire the great storeof powder under the main-hatch, involving himselfand his captors in one awful fate. A great waveraised by the gigantic explosion made even thestately cruiser roll and stagger as if in a heavygale, but all her boats were in the water in a tricemaking search for any trace of life among thewreckage.

Not one was saved, and with a company ofheavy-hearted men she resumed her passage bearingthe terrible news of the loss of the St. George.

At intervals, ever since the issue of the last reportof the Registrar-General of Shipping and Seamen,there have been appearing in the press items ofcomment upon the significant tables set forth inthat most interesting document. But one featurehas been painfully evident in all of them—theinability to appreciate, from a merchant seaman’spoint of view, the underlying lessons that reportcontained.

This, though much to be regretted, can scarcelybe wondered at when we remember the limitations,the inarticulateness, of the class referred to. Hereit may be as well to state that in what follows theterms “ship,” “officer,” and “seaman,” are to beunderstood as referring solely to the MercantileMarine, unless otherwise stated—a necessary warning,since eight out of every ten landsmen alwaysconfound the two services, mercantile and naval.

First in importance, as well as in interest, toseamen is the question of personnel. It is muchto the credit of the Navy League that it is wide197awake to the dangers besetting this countrythrough the increasing numbers of foreign seamenmanning our ships. But it does not appear as ifeven the Navy League fully realises to what extentour cargo-carriers have been handed over to theforeigner. A very extended acquaintance withthe various trades is absolutely necessary in orderto understand the reason why the percentagesshown in the Board of Trade return do not revealthe true state of affairs. As they stand, the percentageof foreign able-seamen to British (excludingLascars) in foreign-going sailing ships is shownto be as high as 48.6. Taking steam and sailingships together, the percentage falls to 35.5, forreasons which will presently appear. Now, onewould naturally expect (what proves indeed to bethe case) that our coasters and fishermen would bealmost entirely British. And we may go a stepfurther, and declare that these hardy fellows arethe fine flower of our seamen, as stalwart andcapable as ever British seamen were. With themmay be classed the fishermen, hovellers, and beachmengenerally of our coasts, who, though notclassed as seamen, may fearlessly challenge comparisonwith any seafarers in the wide world.Among all these the foreigner finds little or noroom wherein to thrust himself, nor is there apparentlymuch danger that he ever will. Next tothese in order of immunity from foreign interferencecome the great steamship lines, other thanthose trading to the Far East, whose crews are198almost exclusively composed of Lascars and Chinese,with British officers. To the former belong suchgreat undertakings as the “Cunard,” the “Union,”the “Castle,” and the “Pacific” Companies. Inthese splendid vessels the Britisher tenaciouslyholds his own, in whatever part of the ship youseek him. The food is good, pay is fair, accommodationis comfortable, and a high state ofdiscipline is maintained. Consequently, these shipsare eagerly sought after by the better class ofseamen, who will be found making voyage aftervoyage in the same vessel, or at least in the sameline.

But having thus briefly dismissed the almostexclusively British-manned branches of the MercantileMarine, we are met by a vastly differentstate of affairs at once.

Ocean Tramps

Go to one of the shipping offices when a sailingship is “signing on,” and watch the skipper’scontemptuous look as he scrutinises a steamboatman’s discharge just handed to him. “I wantsailors, not navvies,” he shouts, as he scornfullyflings it back. Therefore a “sailor man,” givesthem a wide berth if he can. And then the conditionsof life on board these tanks effectually bardecent Britons out of them. The few that arefound in them generally belong to that unhappyclass of men who get drunk at every opportunity,199and must go when their money is done in whateverpresents itself. They would sail in a sieve withthe devil for a skipper. The rule is, however, forthese vessels to be manned by a motley crowd ofwhat Jack calls “dagoes,”—Latins of all kinds, thescum of the Levant, with a sprinkling of Scandinavians,but not many. It speaks volumes for theskill and pluck of the officers unfortunate enoughto be responsible for such ships, that so few casualtiesoccur in comparison with their number; forit is no uncommon thing for a tramp of a thousandtons or so to be wallowing along through a pitch-blacknight, the whole watch on deck consisting ofthe officer in charge and three men, no one ofwhom is able to understand the other. One is atthe wheel, one is on the look-out, and the other“stands by to never mind.” The kennel below isfilthy,—a parti-coloured halo round the reekinggrease-pot that serves for a lamp eloquentlytestifying to the condition of the atmosphere.The food is in keeping with the rest, where providedby the ship; but in a large number of casesthese are “weekly boats,”; that is, the men arepaid by the week and “find” themselves,—anarrangement that lends itself to some extraordinarydevelopments of mixed messes and semi-starvationamong such a strange medley of races. I knewa weekly boat once that signed in London fora Mediterranean voyage, but was chartered inSmyrna to take pilgrims to Jeddah. The fellowscut their purchases very fine, as it was for the trip,200but owing to their stores being stolen by thestarving pilgrims, they were in such a plight whenthey left Suez that it was a miracle they did notshare the fate of fifty-five of their passengers, whor*signed their pilgrimage on the passage, and foundrest among the sharks. Other things happened,too, more true than tellable, which would almostserve as an appendix to the Inferno. These vesselsare mostly owned by single-ship companies, adozen or so of which will be managed by someenterprising broker, who makes a fortune, althoughthe shareholders rarely see dividends. Under suchconditions of ownership there is no room forwonder that these tramps are what they are.

Much Canvas and Few Men

Many intelligent people are possessed by theidea that steam is rapidly driving the sailing-shipfrom the sea. If they would only take a strollround the docks they would alter their views.For certain trades and some kinds of cargo thesteamer, let her be built, found, and manned ascheaply as the ’cutest single-ship manager cancontrive, cannot possibly compete with the sailing-ship.And of late years it has been found possibleto add enormously to the size of sailing-shipswithout increasing the cost of their working toany extent. Four-masted ships have becomeplentiful, carrying an area of canvas which wouldhave seemed incredible to the seamen of fifty years201ago, accustomed as they were to the flying clippersof Britain and America. These vessels are as handsomeas the tramp steamer is hideous, their gracefullines, taut spars, and spidery rigging all lendingthemselves to beauty. But in these, as in thetramps, the foreigner is paramount. The ghastlyfarce (to a sailor) of labour-saving appliances hasenabled the owners to reduce the crew lists tosuch an extent that in the majority of these shipsall hands are barely enough for an efficient watch.The only change which has been found workablein the management of the larger sails above thecourses is an American invention. It consists ofsplitting a sail in half horizontally, and was longapplied to the topsails only, their unwieldy depthhaving always made them exceedingly difficult tohandle. With the growth in size of ships andsails the top-gallant-sails have been also halved,and this alteration is now very general. But thecomparative ease with which these sails can behandled, as compared with what used to be thecase, has naturally tempted officers anxious to makea passage to “hang on,” longer than they used to,depending upon their ability to get sail in quicklyat the last moment. That was all very well whena crew was carried sufficient in numbers to dowhat was required of them. But when eight suchstruggling monsters as a 3000-ton ship’s to’gallant-s’lsare have to be furled at once in a gale of windby eighteen men (supposing all hands are called),it is quite another matter. Few experiences are202more awful than those gained by being on a yardwith a handful of men trying to master two orthree thousand yards of No. 1 canvas in whatsailors call a “breeze of wind,”—off the Horn,for instance, in a blinding snowstorm, with thecanvas like a plank for stiffness, and rising farabove your head in a solid round of white, intowhich you vainly try to force your half-frozenfingers.

The Dutchman

There is a great temptation to enlarge uponthis theme, but it must be sternly suppressed, myobject being solely to show how a scanty crewlist adds to the miseries of the sailor. Not onlyso, but the food is so uniformly, unpardonablybad that British seamen will not put up with ita day longer than they can help. They get outof it the first opportunity that presents itself, andthe Dutchman, as Jack impartially designatesGermans and Scandinavians alike, comes in. Insuch vessels as I have been describing he is foundin a proportion of at least 85 per cent. And notonly as common seamen, but as officers, masters,mates, and tradesmen. In these ships are to befound the 180 captains, 512 mates, 637 boatswains,1304 carpenters, 277 sailmakers, and 2321 cooksand stewards of foreign birth admittedly sailing inBritish vessels, according to the Registrar-General.A very potent reason for this is to be found in thepeculiar conditions of discipline, or rather want of203discipline, obtaining on board these ships. Badfood, short-handedness, and miserable quartersmake British Jack, never too amenable to discipline,kick over the traces. When he does, whichis not infrequently, what remedy has his superiorofficer? Practically none. Handcuffs are carried,but with an all too scanty crew already thatcoercive measure is barred. American methodsof “booting” and “belaying-pin soup” are alsoout of the question, for Jack knows enough ofthe Merchant Shipping Act to make him a dangerouscustomer to assault. Personal violence towardsa seaman on the high seas renders an officer liableto lose his certificate, even if he gets a presentadvantage in the sudden civility of the personassaulted. Again, the scanty number of officerscarried in proportion to the crew is a powerfulargument against the use of physical force. Sodangerous a weapon ought never to be used atsea unless it is sure to be effectual. And yet,failing personal violence, there are no means bywhich an officer can enforce obedience to hisorders. Refusal to obey orders, often accompaniedby the foulest abuse, is one of the commonest ofexperiences at sea in British sailing ships, for whichgross outrage the master’s only legal remedy isto note the offence in the official log, and on theship’s arrival in port get a magistrate to sanctionfining the offender a portion of his pay varyingfrom two days’ to a month’s wages.

Between British seamen anxious to leave the204sea and captains eager to ship Dutchmen, themiserable remnant of our countrymen manning“deep-water” ships steadily dwindles. Thosethat remain are mostly like Sterne’s starling, orelse they are hopeful youngsters who, havingserved their time in some singly-owned hooker,and passed for second mate, sail before the mastin hope of picking up a berth abroad. They cannotlive at home in idleness wearing away the dockroads looking for berths which are all filled upby those possessing influence of some kind withthe owners, so they put in their time as A.B.sand live in hope. This, however, is not all.Not content with supplying our forecastles, theDutchmen kindly furnish us with officers as well.I have been before the mast in a ship, the Orpheusof Greenock, where the chief mate was a Liverpoolman, who, with a Welsh A.B. and myself, representedthe entire British element on board.Her crew numbered twenty-four all told. DoubtlessI shall hear that this was a marvellouslyexceptional case, but I beg to differ—it is all toocommon.

The “Boy”

Another curious feature of the manning of ourships is especially noticed by the Registrar-General—theway in which young British seamen leavethe sea-life at the earliest opportunity. His unemotionalremark, that “as ‘sailors’ do not ordinarilyenter the sea-service after they are twenty-five205years of age, this falling off in the number of itsyoung British sailors affects the source of supply ofour future petty officers and able seamen,” is fullof the gravest warning, which has, however, apparentlypassed unheeded. Out of the various trainingships3 there pass every year a very large numberof lads into the mercantile marine, who havereceived at least an insight into the conditions ofa sailor’s life as it should be. They are taughthabits of obedience, cleanliness, and regularity,and in some cases have actual acquaintance withthe working of small vessels under way. Whenthey are considered to be fairly competent to doall that is likely to be required of them, they aretaken in hand by an official whose duty it is tofind ships for them. In due time they sign as“boys,” generally in sailing ships, and away theygo to sea. To their utter amazement they findthe life has scarcely anything in common with thatwhich they have been used to. In the first place,they miss most painfully the abundance of goodplain food. Then they have been used to cleanlinessof the strictest kind, both in body andclothes. Now they are fortunate if they canobtain the eighth share of a bucket of fresh wateronce a week, unless rain falls. Their duties havebeen regular, their periods of rest unbroken; nowthey have as many masters as there are hands onboard, and they never know what to do next.They have been under a regular system of tuition;206now, if they learn anything, it is because they aredetermined to do so in spite of difficulties whichare only to be overcome by such indomitableperseverance as one can hardly expect from a boy.And lastly, they are thrown into the intimatesociety of a group of men who, generally speaking,have but one topic of conversation, one mode ofspeech—the worst possible. They are continuallybeing told that nobody but a fool goes to sea, thatit is the life of a convict, with worse food andlodging, and that they had better sweep a crossingashore. Consequently they are ever on the look-outfor a way of escape, and the great majoritysucceed in finding one before very long.

3This does not apply to cadet ships, such as the Worcester and Conway.

The Naval Reserve

This brings me to a most important part of thesubject, the question of merchant seamen as areserve for the Navy. There can be no doubt thatthe institution of the Royal Naval Reserve was agrand idea, but there are grave doubts as to theway in which it is being carried out. As far as itsofficers are concerned, its success can hardly bedisputed, though there may be more truth than ispalatable in the assertion that Naval officers lookdown with much contempt upon the gallantmerchantmen who become R.N.R. lieutenants.Whether that be so or not, I am sure that Navalofficers would be the first to recognise the valueof R.N.R lieutenants if ever their services were207needed, and any lingering feeling of superioritywould soon give place to admiration. But themen, the rank and file, who are each paid a substantialretaining fee yearly, besides a guinea a weekfor six weeks’ annual drill? I speak under correctionas trenching upon a matter with which Ihave had small acquaintance, but I believe thatdrill is usually put in on board of an ancient hulk,with obsolete weapons, and that very few of themen have any acquaintance whatever with theactual conditions of service on board a sea-goingvessel of war. If I am right in this contention,then this most valuable body of men are runningto waste, and would be no more fit to take theirplaces on board a man-o’-war than they would beto start cabinet-making. And if this be so in thecase of Royal Naval Reserve men, what can besaid of those outside that experimental force?Except that he would be hardly likely to get seasick,the merchant seaman suddenly transferred to(let us say) a first-class battleship would feel asmuch out of his element as any landsman, moreso than an engine-fitter or a man accustomed tosome of our big machine-shops. To use the samewords, but in a very different sense, that I usedabout the tramp-steamer crews, a man-of-warsman(blue-jacket) is not a sailor at all now. He is amarine artilleryman with a fine knowledge of boathandling, but a spanner is fitter for his fist than amarlinspike. He lives in the heart of a bewilderingcomplication of engineering contrivances, to208which the mazy web of a sailing-ship’s top hamperis as simple as a child’s box of bricks. He isaccustomed to the manipulation of masses of metalso huge as to excite the awe-stricken wonder ofthe ordinary citizen who is not an engineer. Andfamiliarity with packages of death-dealing explosivesrenders him as contemptuously indifferent to theirpotentialities of destruction as if they were sand orsawdust. And, most important of all, long andrigid training has made him one of the smartestmen in the world, able to act at the word of commandlike a pinion in a machine, at the rightmoment, in the right way, yet with that intelligenceno machine can ever possess.

The Intelligent Foreigner

Talk about the average merchant seamen fillingup gaps in the ranks of men like these is almosttoo much for one’s patience on the part of thosewhose business it is to know; it is criminal stupidity.Now in France every merchant seaman mustperforce spend a large proportion of his time inthe Navy, so that their reserve is always available.And that is one reason why France strives soeagerly to foster her Mercantile Marine even atsuch crushing cost to her long-suffering taxpayers.In the event of war with us, however, she wouldbe in a far different position, because she couldexist without a merchant ship at sea, and all theircrews would be ready for service in the Navy.209What should we do? Even supposing that allour merchant seamen were capable of taking theirplaces on board of men-of-war if called upon, whowould man the fleets of food-carriers? Acceptingas rigidly correct the proportions shown by theofficial document already quoted, the percentage offoreign seamen in all foreign-going vessels wastwo years ago 35.5, and admittedly increasingrapidly. Would it be wise to withdraw from themerchant ships the stiffening of British subjectsthey now carry and replace them by aliens? Ifirmly believe that the danger limit has long beenpassed in the exclusively cargo-carrying trades,which, after all, are our very backbone. What thisgreat army of aliens will do in the event of ourgoing to war with one or two European Powersis a problem of undeniable gravity. But given afine ship with a valuable cargo, with officers andcrew nearly all German, what might they reasonablybe expected to do? Failing an answer, I submitthat the temptation to transfer the ship to theirown flag would be very great. And it is a needlessrisk. Let it be granted that the alien officeror skipper is a good man, better educated mostlikely, a good seaman, and that he is cheap. Allthese qualities except the educational one (which is,after all, not so important to our officers as it is tothe foreigner) our officers possess in just as greatmeasure, while as for the price—well, I have seenhalf-a-dozen chief mates tumbling over one anotherfor the chance of shipping in a 1200-ton Baltic210tramp steamer at £5:10s. a month. They couldnot be much cheaper than that, unless they gotthe same wages as the crew. And I know ofEnglish skippers of sea-going steamers out ofLondon who are getting £10 a month. Poormen, they are cheap enough!

To sum up as briefly as possible all the foregoingremarks: It seems clear to me, as it has done toall intelligent seamen that I have ever met, thatvery little legislation is needed to make the BritishMercantile Marine popular again among our owncountrymen. Legislation has hitherto done littlefor the sailor, while it has exasperated the shipowner,already handicapped as none of his foreignrivals have ever been. The Mercantile Marineshould more nearly approximate to the Navy inmany of its details, which need not entail extraexpense or annoyance to the shipowner. It shouldbe made possible for a shipmaster to ensure betterdiscipline, but he should be able to give his menbetter food and better housing. The Board ofTrade scale of provisions is a hateful abomination;it ought to be blotted out and a sensible dietarysubstituted, which need not exceed it in cost, whileit would act like a charm upon seamen, for whomit has an importance undreamed of by those ashore,who even on the slenderest incomes can fare everyday in a manner luxurious by comparison with oursailors. More attention should be paid to themen’s quarters. Here, again, expenses need notbe raised; a little attention to detail in drawing up211specifications would make a vast difference. Andnone but a naturalised British subject should bepermitted to sign articles in a British ship. Thisplan is pursued with advantage in American vessels,which, like our own, carry an enormous percentageof foreigners of all nations. Of undermanning Ineed say nothing more, because the question isbeing dealt with, and will, I earnestly hope, besettled with as much satisfaction to everybodyconcerned as the splendid “Midge” scheme, theonly piece of marine legislation that I can rememberthat has been completely successful.Unfortunately, under present conditions it is responsiblefor the still further depletion of ourMercantile Marine of British seamen, since numbersof them by its beneficent operations reach theirhomes with their hard-earned pay intact. Thisenables them to look about for a job ashore wherethey are known, whereas under the bad old conditionsthey would have been in a few days again“outward bound with a stocking round theirnecks,” as Jack tersely sums up the situation of aman who has squandered all his money, beenrobbed of, or has sold, all his clothes, and is off tosea again in the first craft that he can get, goinghe neither knows nor cares whither.

There is a tiny islet on the outskirts of theSolomon Archipelago that to all such casualwanderers as stray so far presents not a singlefeature of interest. Like scores of others in thoselatitudes, it has not yet attained to the dignity ofa single coco-nut tree, although many derelictnuts have found a lodgment upon it, and begunto grow, only to be wiped out of existence at thenext spring-tide. Viewed from a balloon itwould look like a silly-season mushroom, but witha fringe of snowy foam around it marking theprotecting barrier to which it owes its existence, tosay nothing of its growth. Yet of all places inthe world which I have been privileged to visit,this barren little mound of sand clings mosttenaciously to my memory, for reasons which willpresently appear.

One of those devastating cyclones that at longintervals sweep across the Pacific, leaving a longswath of destruction in their wake, had overtakenthe pearling schooner of which I was mate.213For twenty-four hours we fled before it, we knewnot whither, not daring to heave-to. The onlycompass we possessed had been destroyed by thefirst sea that broke on board. Whether it wasnight or day we had no notion, except by watch,and even then we were doubtful, so appalling wasthe darkness. Hope was beginning to revivethat, as the Papalangi had proved herself sostaunch, she might yet “run it out,” unless shehit something. But the tiny rag rigged forrard tokeep her before it suddenly flew into threads; thecurl of the sea caught her under the counter andspun her up into the wind like a teetotum. Thenext vast comber took her broadside-on, rolled herover, and swallowed her up. We went “downquick into the pit.”

Although always reckoned a powerful swimmer,even among such amphibia as the Kanakas, I don’tremember making a stroke. But after a horrible,choking struggle in the black uproar I got mybreath again, finding myself clinging, as a drowningman will, to something big and seaworthy. Itwas an ordinary ship’s hencoop that the skipperhad bought cheap from a passenger vessel inAuckland. As good a raft as one could wish, itbore me on over the mad sea, half dead as I was,until I felt it rise high as if climbing a cataractand descend amidst a furious boiling of surf intocalm, smooth water. A few minutes later Itouched a sandy beach. Utterly done up, I sleptwhere I lay, at the water’s edge, though the214shrieking hurricane raged overhead as if it wouldtear the land up by the roots.

When I awoke it was fine weather, though toleeward the infernal reek of the departing meteorstill disfigured a huge segment of the sky. Ilooked around, and my jaw dropped. Often I hadwondered what a poor devil would do whohappened to be cast away on such a spot as this.Apparently I was about to learn. A painfulpinch at my bare foot startled me, and I saw anugly beast of a crab going for me. He wasnearly a foot across, his blue back covered withlong spikes, and his wicked little eyes seemed tohave an expression of diabolical malignity. Isnatched at a handful of his legs and swung himround my head, dashing him against the side ofmy coop with such vigour that his armour flew toflinders around me. I never have liked crab, evenwhen dressed, but I found the raw flesh of that onetasty enough—it quite smartened me up. Havingeaten heartily, I took a saunter up the smoothknoll of sand, aimlessly, I suppose, for it was asbare as a plate, without a stone or a shell. Fromits highest point, about ten feet above high-watermark, I looked around, but my horizon wascompletely bounded by the ring of breakers aforesaid.I felt like the scorpion within the fierycircle, and almost as disposed to sting myself todeath had I possessed the proper weapon. As Istood gazing vacantly at the foaming barrier andsolemn enclosing dome of fleckless blue, I was again215surprised by a vicious nip at my foot. There wasanother huge crab boldly attacking me—me, avigorous man, and not a sodden corpse, as yet. Ifelt a grue of horror run all down my back, but Igrabbed at the vile thing and hurled it from mehalf across the island. Then I became aware ofothers arriving, converging upon me from allaround, and I was panic-stricken. For one madmoment I thought of plunging into the sea again;but reason reasserted itself in time, reminding methat, while I had certain advantages on my sidewhere I was, in the water I should fall a helplessvictim at once, if, as might naturally be expected,these ghouls were swarming there. Not a weaponof any kind could I see, neither stick nor stone.My feelings of disgust deepened into despair. ButI got little time for thought. Such a multitude ofthe eerie things were about me that I was keptmost actively employed seizing them and flingingthem from me. They got bolder, feinting anddodging around me, but happily without anydefinite plan of campaign among them. Once Istaggered forward, having trodden unaware upona spiky back as I sprung aside, wounding my footbadly. I fell into a group of at least twenty,crushing some of them, but after a painful struggleamong those needle-like spines regained my feetwith several clinging to my body. A kind offrenzy seized me, and, regardless of pain, Iclutched at them right and left, dashing them tofragments one against the other, until quite a pile216of writhing, dismembered enemies lay around me,while my hands and arms were streaming fromnumberless wounds. Very soon I became exhaustedby my violent exertions and the intenseheat, but, to my unfathomable thankfulness, theheap of broken crabs afforded me a long respite,the sound ones finding congenial occupation indevouring them. While I watched the busycannibals swarming over the yet writhing heap, Ibecame violently ill, for imagination vividly depictedthem rioting in my viscera. Vertigo seizedme, I reeled and fell prone, oblivious to all thingsfor a time.

When sense returned it was night. The broadmoon was commencing her triumphal march amongthe stars, which glowed in the blue-black concavelike globules of incandescent steel. My body wasdrenched with dew, a blessed relief, for my tonguewas leathery and my lips were split with drouth.I tore off my shirt and sucked it eagerly, themoisture it held, though brackish, mitigating mytortures of thirst. Suddenly I bethought me ofmy foes, and looked fearfully around. There wasnot one to be seen, nothing near but the heap ofclean-picked shells of those devoured. As themoon rose higher, I saw a cluster of white objectsat a little distance, soon recognisable as boobies.They permitted me to snatch a couple of themeasily, and wringing off their heads I got such adraught as put new life into me. Hope returned,even quelling the cruel thought of daylight bringing217again those ravening hordes of crawlingcrustacea. Yet my position was almost as hopelessas one could imagine. Unless, as I much doubted,this was a known spot for bêche de mer or pearl-shellfishers, there was but the remotest chance ofmy rescue, while, without anything floatable butmy poor little hencoop, passing that barrier ofbreakers was impossible. Fortunately I havealways tried to avoid meeting trouble half-way,and with a thankful feeling of present wantssupplied, I actually went to sleep again, thoughstiff and sore from head to heel.

At daybreak I awoke again to a repetition ofthe agonies of the previous day, which, although Iwas better fortified to meet them, were greaterthan before. The numbers of my hideous assailantswere more than doubled as far I could judge.The whole patch of sand seemed alive with thevoracious vermin. So much so that when I sawthe approach of those horrible hosts my heart sank,my flesh shrank on my bones, and I clutched atmy throat. But I could not strangle myself,though had I possessed a knife I should certainlyhave chosen a swift exit from the unutterablehorror of my position, fiercely as I clung to life.To be devoured piecemeal, retaining every facultytill the last—I could not bear the thought. Therewas no time for reflection, however; the strugglebegan at once and continued with a pertinacity onthe part of the crabs that promised a speedy endto it for me. How long it lasted I have no idea—to218my tortured mind it was an eternity. At last,overborne, exhausted, surrounded by mounds ofthose I had destroyed, over which fresh legionspoured in ever-increasing numbers, earth and skywhirled around me, and I fell backward. As Iwent, with many of the vile things already clingingto me, I heard a yell—a human voice that revivedmy dulling senses like a galvanic shock. Withone last flash of vigour I sprang to my feet, seeingas I did so a canoe with four Kanakas in it, notfifty yards away, in the smooth water between thebeach and the barrier. Bounding like a buck,heedless of the pain as my wounded feet clashedamong the innumerable spiky carapaces of myenemies, I reached the water, and hurled myselfheadlong towards that ark of safety. How Ireached it I do not know, nor anything furtheruntil I returned to life again on board the Warrigalof Sydney, as weak as a babe and feeling a centuryolder.

We were gathered together in a compact groupunder the weather bulwarks of the old Rainbow,South Sea-man, presently cruising on the Linegrounds; officers and harpooners of three shipsengaged in the pleasant occupation of “gamming,”as ship-visiting is termed among Southern-goingwhalemen. Song and dance were finished, andwith pipes aglow, stretched at our ease, the time-honoured“cuffer” or yarn was going its soothinground.

The fourth officer of the Rainbow, a taciturnEnglishman, whose speech and manner excitedwonder as to how he came in that galley, wascalled upon in his turn to contribute. Withouthesitation, as if professional story-telling was hismétier, he began:

“‘’Ere she white water-r-rs! Ah blo-o-ow!’came ringing down from the main crow’s nest ofthe Megantic, South Sea whaler of Martha’sVineyard, as she heeled solemnly to the steady220trade on the ‘off-shore’ ground one lovelymorning.

“‘Where away? Haow fer off?’ roared theskipper, while, slinging his glasses, he preparedto elevate his sixteen stone painfully to the giddyheight above him.

“‘Two p’ints on the starb’rd baouw, sir, ’baoutfive mile off. Looks like sparm whale, sir,’ wasthe prompt reply.

“‘All right, keep her az she goes, Mr. Slocum,’n’ clar away boats,’ said the ‘old man,’ as withmany a grunt he began his pilgrimage of pain.

“There was no need to call all hands. Thefirst cry had startled them into sudden activity.Before its echoes died away, they were on deck,with no trace of drowsiness among them. Beingin a high state of discipline, each man went straightto his boat, standing ready, at the word, to lowerand be off after the gambolling leviathan ahead.Silence reigned profound, except for the soothingmurmur of the displaced sea as the lumbering oldbarky forged slowly ahead, or the soft flap of ahardly-drawing staysail as she rolled to windward.Seated upon the upper topsail yard, the ‘old man’soliloquised grumblingly, ‘What in the ’tarnalblazes ’s he doin’ of? Gaul bust my gol-dernskin ef ever I see sech a ninseck ’n my life. I beeverlastin’ly frazzled ef ’taint mos’ ’s bad ezsnakes in yer boots. Mr. Slocum, jes’ shin uphyar a minit, won’t ye?’

“As if unable to trust his own senses any221longer, he thus called upon the mate to help himout. More agile than the skipper in his movements,it was but a few seconds before Mr. Slocumwas by his chief’s side, peering with growingbewilderment through the binoculars at the strangeobject ahead. What had at first sight seemedan ordinary full-sized bull cachalot leisurelyplaying upon the surface of the sea, had nowresolved itself into an indescribable, ever-shiftingmass of matter, from the dark centre of whichwrithing arms continually protruded and retreated.The golden glare lavished along the glittering seaby the ascending sun added to the mystery surroundingthe moving monster or monsters, forit or they lay right in the centre of that dazzlingpath.

“‘Wall—whatjer mek ov it, Mr. Slocum?’queried the skipper sarcastically.

“Slowly, as if spelling his words, the matereplied, ‘Thutty-nine year hev I ben a-fishin’, butef ever I see ennythin’ like that befo’, may I neverpump sparm whale ag’in. Kaint fine no sortername fer it, sir.’

“‘Lemme see them glasses agen,’ said the ‘oldman’ wearily. ‘’Pears like ’s if she’s a-risin’ it,whatever ’tes, consider’ble sudden;’ and, readjustingthe focus, he glued his eyes to the tubesagain for another long searching look at theuncanny sight. His scrutiny was evidently moresatisfying than at first, for without removing theglasses from his eyes, he yapped, ‘’Way down222frum aloft! Heave to, ’n low’r away, Mr. Slocum.Guess yew’ll fine a “fish” thar, er tharabout.’

“‘Ay, ay, sir,’ promptly returned the mate,departing with great alacrity, issuing orders thewhile, so that by the time he reached the deckthere was a whirring rattle of patent sheaves, anda succession of subdued splashes, as boat after boattook the water. In almost as short a time as ittakes to say it, the boats’ masts were stepped,the big sails bellied out, and away sped the handsomecraft, in striking contrast to the unlovely oldhulk that had borne them.

“We were no ‘greenies’; long practice had sofamiliarised us with the wiles and ferocity of thecachalot, that we had none of the tremors atapproaching one that so sorely afflict beginners.Nevertheless there was an air of mystery about thepresent proceedings which affected all of us moreor less, though no one knew precisely why.Absolute silence is the invariable rule, as you know,in boats going on a ‘fish,’ because of that exquisitesense of sound possessed by the sperm whale,which is something more than hearing; so wewere slightly startled to hear our harpooner say ina clear undertone, ‘Dern funny-lookin’ fish that,Mr. Slocum, don’t ye think?’ But for all answerour chief growled, ‘Stand up, José!’

“Instantly the big fellow sprang to his feet inattitude to strike, balancing his weapon, a heroicfigure sharply outlined against the clear blue.

“Good Lord! what was that? A horrible223medley of blue-black and livid white, an inextricabletangle of writhing, clutching, tearing, serpent-likearms, that lashed the sea into a curious dusky foam,evil-smelling and greasy. Out of its midst rosean immense globular mass, bearing two eyes largerthan barrel-heads, dead black, yet with a Satanicexpression that confused one’s heart-beats.

“‘Giv’t to him! giv’t to him!’ roared themate, and instantly the iron flew into the midst ofthe wallowing entanglement, followed immediatelyby another from José’s eager, nervous arms.Willing hands clutched the flapping sail to roll itup, but a shriek of agony paralysed them all. Along livid thing rose on the off side of the boat,and twining itself around the wretched harpooner’stall figure, tore him from our midst, his heartbrokendeath-yell curdling our blood. Quick asthought, another of those awful arms came glidingover us, this time encircling the boat amidships.Though tapering to the slenderest of points, it wasof the circumference of a man’s body at its thickest,and armed with saucer-like mouths all along itsinferior surface. One of these clung to my barebreast as the slimy horror tightened round us,a ring of great curved claws which protruded fromit tearing at my flesh as if to strip it from thebones. But we had hardly realised what washappening, when she was going over, parbuckledas you might turn a hand-bowl. In a moment allwas darkness and struggle for breath amidst a verymaelström of slime and stench, in the depths of224which I felt myself freed from that frightful grip.It seemed like hours before, with a bound, I reachedthe surface again, clutching at something hard andfloating as I rose. In spite of the excruciatingagony of my wounds, and the rushing of the airinto my collapsed lungs, there was a sense of reliefbeyond expression, as of resurrection from thedead.

“Although counted a good swimmer evenamong such amphibia as our crew, I lay theresupine, stretched at length upon the sea—a still,white figure grasping numbly at the fragment ofbottom-board. Suddenly I became aware of awhirling in the water again, but I was in a sort ofstupor of the physical faculties, though mentallyalert enough.

“Then up reared above my head an object Irecognised with a long wail of terror; thetremendous lower jaw of the sperm whale, bristlingwith its double row of gleaming teeth. BeforeI could gasp a prayer, or even think what washappening, I was gliding down the vast greycavern of his throat, with but one thought left—‘thedescent into Hell is easy.’ Down, down Iwent into utter darkness, among a squirming,fetid heap of snaky coils, that enveloped me, andseemed to gnaw and tear at my shuddering bodyas if devouring me at second hand. Then camean explosion—a dull, rending report that sent anearthquake shock through me and my unutterablesurroundings. Immediately following this225there was a convulsive upheaval, in which all thecontents of that awful place took a rising motion,growing faster and faster, until, with a roaringrush, came the dear daylight again.

“What ensued then for some time I do notknow. A sensation of heavenly peace and calmpossessed me, when, as if released from someunimaginable nightmare, I found myself floatingplacidly as a Medusa upon a calm sea. There Ifelt content to lie, without effort, conscious onlyof life—life so sweet that I wondered dreamilywhether I was still in the body, or had passedinto that blissful state imagined by speculativepsychologists as awaiting man after death. Graduallymy mind became clearer, my limbs felt willingto obey the impulse of my brain. I began toswim, feebly at first, almost automatically, butwith increasing vigour as the significance of myposition became clearer to me.

“I had swum but a short distance when theblessed sound of my shipmates’ voices greeted myears, but from my lowly position I was unable tosee them, until one of them gripped me by thearms, dragging me into the boat among them.

“Then I learned without surprise that I wasthe only survivor of my boat’s crew. Every oneof my fellows had disappeared before the horror-strickengaze of the men in the other boats, who,being but a short distance astern of us, hadwitnessed the whole tragedy. It appeared thatwe had attacked a cachalot in the act of devouring226one of the gigantic cuttle-fish, or ‘squid,’ uponwhich these cetaceans feed, and of which it is mostprobable no mortal eye has yet beheld a full-sizedspecimen. For they inhabit the middle depths ofoceans, never coming to the surface voluntarily.

“This monster’s arms, or tentacles, enlaced thewhole colossal body of the whale, so that theymust have been fully 60 feet or 70 feet in length.At their junction with the head they were about5 feet in girth, as a huge fragment lying at thebottom of the boat conclusively proved. At thetime we so rashly attacked the whale the mightymollusc must have been in his death-throes, forimmediately after our boat’s disappearance thewhale ‘sounded.’ When, a minute or two later,he rose again to the surface, the other boats’ crewssaw him busily turning over and over, as if collectingthe scattered fragments of his late victim. Atthat time they had not noticed me among thevarious flotsam, but it must have been then that Ivanished down the capacious gullet of the voraciouscetacean. Fortunately for me they were furiouslybent upon attacking the whale, and so in somedegree avenging their slain shipmates.

“The second mate had loaded his bomb-gunwith an extra heavy charge, and at the samemoment that the harpooner darted his weapon thebomb was discharged also. It penetrated thecachalot’s lungs, inflicting a mortal wound by itsexplosion therein, the noise of which was the shockthat I felt while in that horrible tomb. As is227usual, in his dying agony the whale ejected thewhole contents of his stomach, by means of whichcataclysm I was expelled therefrom and restoredto the upper world once more. But had it notbeen for long and severe practice in diving, takenwhile pearl-fishing in Polynesia, enabling me tocompete successfully with Kanakas, who almostlive in the water, and even to outdo them at times,I must have been suffocated. The only time Iwas ever before so distressed for breath was inLevuka, when mate of a schooner. Our anchorfouled a rock in eight fathoms of water, and wecould by no means persuade any of our nativesto attempt its release. Rather than lose the fairchance of sailing that day I tried the dangeroustask, succeeding after a desperate struggle, butregaining the surface with blood streaming frommouth, nose, and ears.

“I lay back in the stern-sheets of the boatfeeling cruelly exhausted, the pain of my ghastlywound becoming continually more severe. But,even pre-occupied as I was, I could hardly fail tonotice a want of cordiality towards me among myshipmates. An uncomfortable silence prevailed,depressing and unusual. It was not due to thenatural solemnity following upon the sudden lossof five of our number, cut off in the prime oftheir health and strength, for, until I had toldthe wonderful story of my going down into Sheol,their demeanour had been very different. Ilooked appealingly and wonderingly from one to228the other, but could not meet any eye. They wereall furtively averted with intent to avoid my gaze.

“To my relief we reached the ship speedily.I was assisted on board gently enough, and led aftto where the skipper was roaming restlessly athwartthe quarter-deck, like a caged animal. I wasallowed to sit down while he examined me keenlyas to the occurrences of the day. The gloomdeepened on his face as I recounted all that Icould remember of the fate of my unfortunateshipmates, until, my tale being told, he began, incurt, half-angry fashion, to question me about myantecedents. Not liking his manner, besidesfeeling faint and ill, I gave him but little informationon that head.

“Then he burst out into petulant disconnectedsentences, in bitter regrets for the lost men, blameof everybody generally, and at last, as if hispredominant thought could no longer be restrained,shouted, ‘I wish ter God A’mighty I’d never seeny’r face aboard my ship. Man an’ boy I b’enspoutin’ fer over forty year, an’ never see, no, nerhearn tell ov, sech a hell-fire turn out. Yew’r aJonah, thet’s wut yew air, an’ the sooner we getshet ov ye the better it’ll be fer all han’s, an’ themore likely we sh’l be to hev some luck.’

“This was such a crusher that I did not attemptto reply, nor, owing to my condition, did I quiterealise the full brutality and injustice of the manas I might otherwise have done. I crept forwardto my bunk, to find myself shunned by all my229shipmates as if I was a leper, which treatment, asI had hitherto been a prime favourite, was veryhard to bear. But in the face of ignorantsuperstition like this I was powerless. So I heldmy peace and sat solitary, my recovery beingmuch hindered by the miserable state of my mind.The rest of the passage to Valparaiso was a timeof such misery as I never experienced before orsince, and I wonder that they did not land ahopeless lunatic.

“However, I fought against that successfully,determined to live if I was allowed to, and atlast, to my intense relief, I shook off the dust ofmy feet against that detestable ship and herbarbarous crew, thankful that their cruelty hadstopped short of heaving me overboard as asacrifice to the manes of my lost shipmates.”

There was a silence of some minutes’ durationafter he had finished his yarn, then from one andthe other came scraps of personalia confirming thegeneral outlines of his experiences as to theexistence of those nightmares of the sea of incrediblesize, as attested by the ejecta of everydying cachalot. All gave it as their firm beliefthat it must have been a sperm whale thatswallowed Jonah in the long ago, but it was thegeneral opinion that as a rule a man was perfectlysafe in the water from a sperm whale except undersuch circ*mstances as had been detailed, and thatour friend had been the victim of a mistake on thepart of the hungry leviathan.

He was born under a baleful star. I know,because I was there at the time. But at theoutset of this veracious history, to prevent probablemisunderstanding, allow me to assert that whatfollows in all its details is literally and absolutelytrue. Naturally deficient in imagination, I would notattempt to embellish so curious a narrative as this,which, were I gifted beyond all literary romancists,I should only mar by adding fiction thereunto.

Well then, for the locus in quo, a lumberingold Yankee-built ship of some 2000 tons burden,bound from Liverpool to Bombay with coal, andat the inauspicious opening of my subject’s erraticcareer wallowing in the storm-torn sea off theCape of Good Hope. His mother was a middle-agedlady pig, with a bitter grievance againstmankind in general, and her present owners inparticular. Brought on board during the vessel’sstay in Madras the previous year, she had neverforgotten or ceased to lament her native jungle,231nor had the long course of gentle treatment andgood food modified by a single vengeful gasp hervirulent hatred of all and sundry. Insult wasadded to injury when, in Liverpool, she wasmated with an alien spouse, the chubby pink-flushedwhiteness of whose skin made no greatercontrast to her inky hue than did the calm placidityof his temper to her furious, unappeasable, and continualrage. Many tokens of her regard were scoreddeeply along his fat sides; indeed, but for themanifest impossibility of getting a fair bite at him,it is only reasonable to suppose that she wouldhave devoured him alive.

Now it befell upon a certain evening, when abitter north-east gale was brewing under thelowering leaden sky, and the weird whistling ofthe coming tempest made melancholy musicthrough the complaining shrouds, that an interestingevent in her history drew near its fulfilment.In anticipation of this occurrence, our carpenter hadrigged up a rude sort of fold under the top-gallantforecastle, and within its narrow limits she wasranging tiger-like, champing her foam-fleckedjaws, and occasionally tobogganing from side toside in various unhappy attitudes as the shiptumbled every way in the bewildered sea.When the watch to which I (a small urchin offourteen) belonged came on deck at midnightI was immediately told off by my inveterate foe,the second mate, to attend to the requirements ofthe “lady in the straw.” Inverted commas are232necessary, because the “straw” did not exist, norany substitute for it; nothing but the bare deckpolished to a glossy slipperiness by the incessantfriction of the sliding sow. There was a freshhand at the bellows before we had been on deckmany minutes, and all the watch were soon perchedaloft, struggling short-handedly with the acreageof thundering canvas, while the ship plunged soviolently that I could only remain under the forecastleby clinging, bat-like, to the side of the penthat confined the miserable mother-elect. Duringthat vigil of terror and darkness (for I had onlyone of those ancient teapot-shaped lamps, thatyield more smoking stench than light) elevenwretched parti-coloured morsels of pork came intobeing, the advent of each one exacerbating thefeelings of the already frantic parent to such adegree that she became a veritable fury, and to myterrified eyes seemed to dilate with potentialities ofdestruction. Out of the whole family I succeeded,at the imminent risk of my own life, in savingtwo from the jaws of their maniacal mother, andone of those sagaciously succumbed before eightbells. I received small thanks for my pains, andnarrowly escaped a colting at my tyrant’s hands,who saw his visions of abundant sucking-pigrudely dispelled by what he was pleased to call my“dam’ pig-headed foolishness.”

It boots not now to tell of the wealth of ingenuityI lavished upon that ill-starred piglet, to whom Istood perforce in loco parentis—how I must needs233lasso the snorting, shrieking mother, and, havingentangled her legs fore and aft, drag her to theside of the pen and lash her securely down, whileI held my protégé to one streaming teat afteranother. Enough that the care of that solitaryremnant of a family embittered my days and renderedmy nights sleepless interregnums of weariness.Unto all things their appointed end, saith the sage,and so at last I was freed from this porcine incubusby my charge having grown able and wily enoughto dodge his unnatural parent, and snatch his sustenancefrom her in a variety of ingenious ways.But still he might not trust himself to sleep nearher, and so he discovered a nest beneath the heel ofthe bowsprit, whereby her insatiable desire for hisdestruction was completely frustrated, since shecould by no possible artifice get at him. Aftera while it was noticed that Sûsti (as for somehidden reason he had come to be called) invariablywore at the end of his tail a crimson ornament,which, upon closer examination, was found to bewhere something amused itself, or themselves, bynibbling during the night. The carpenter, who isalways called upon to repair everything on boardship except ropes and sails, turned to and boundup the lessening terminal with a piece of tarredcanvas, and plentifully besmeared the outside ofthe bandage with tar also. And this he didmany days, because tar, and dressing, and a littlemore of Sûsti had always disappeared in themorning. So the outrage continued, and the tail234became more and more abbreviated until it wasentirely non est, and the midnight marauders hadactually excavated a socket in the corpus delictinearly half an inch deep.

By this time we had reached Bombay, and werebusy, with the aid of a swarming host of coolies,in getting rid of our grimy cargo. But some onefound time to suggest that a place of safety forSûsti should be found during the night, fearingthat, unless something was done soon, we shouldseek him one morning and find only a disembodiedsqueal. Consequently Sûsti was captured everyevening, and, protesting discordantly, was confinedin a coal-basket, which was carefully enclosed inthe after hatch house. The plan succeededadmirably, so far that the diminution in our stockof pork ceased. But one morning, when the afterhold was empty, the hatch house was lifted off asusual and placed by the side of the gaping hatchway,its door open, and Sûsti lying, forgotten, inhis basket. All hands went to breakfast, whilethe coolies below, as was their wont, stopped work,and, squatting in the after-hold, held a conversazione.In the middle of our meal there wasa hideous uproar, and an eruption of the heathenfrom all the hatchways, greenish-grey with fright,and swarming madly in every possible direction—overboard,aloft, anywhere. When at last wewere able to elicit from the demented crowd thereason for their panic, we learned that as theywere all toiling strenuously to prepare the coal for235a renewal of our operations, down into their midstcame flying a demon of Jehannum in the guise ofa gigantic pig, with vast bat-like wings, and eyesof the bigness of a man’s fists glaring like red-hotcoals. What wonder that they had fled, Hindooand Mussulman alike, at the sight of theirabomination in such an avatar of dread hurtlingdown upon their shaven crowns. The story sentus all seeking below, little dreaming that the lucklessSûsti was to blame. Presently we found himlying by the side of the keelson, badly hurt, butcheerful as ever. And with that indomitable pluckthat had endeared him to us all, he not only survived,but made a complete recovery within a week.

Now, however, his rotund body had taken acurve, by reason of which he always appeared tobe in the act of reaching around to look for thetail that had been. This peculiar bent of hisfigure had the strangest results whenever he tookexercise. Wherever his goal might be, and inspite of his most energetic efforts to reach it, heonly succeeded in describing what I am obliged tocall a lateral parabola, along which he wouldeventually arrive at some unforeseen spot near hisstarting-point. Nor were the co-efficients of hiscurves at all regular. Sometimes, owing to theenergetic efforts he made to counteract this inevitablecurvilinear bias, a series of maxima andminima were produced which, when traced uponthe deck, afforded some very interesting problemsin the parallelograms of forces.

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But I regret to record that the principalresult of his errata was a decided increase in thelocal consumption of Scotch whisky. For ourjovial skipper became so inordinately vain of hisboomerang pig that he issued invitations to hisfellow-captains in the harbour, in quite a recklessfashion, to come and see what an unprecedentedcurio he had gotten. They came multitudinously,came to scoff, but remained to grow purple withlaughter and lose all their loose change in betsupon the probable points of arrival made by Sûstiin his gyratory gallops after sweet biscuits. Andthey returned to their several ships in a charmingvariety of unconventional attitudes, vocal but notharmonious, at irregular intervals during the night.Meanwhile Sûsti, pampered beyond even swinishdreams of avarice, waxed fat and almost uncontrollable.Joie de vivre filled him from end to end—fromsnout to socket. It seized him suddenly atall sorts of times, causing him to squeal hysterically,waggle his incipient hams momentarily, and thenlaunch himself into space along the line of somemarvellously complicated curve terminating in themost unexpected places.

As long as Europeans were about him he wassafe, except for an occasional belabouring when hechanced to upset some luckless passer-by. But wewere ordered round the coast to Cocanada in ballast,and, to expedite our loading there, took a numberof coolies with us. On the day of our arrival,and shortly after anchoring, all hands were seated237peacefully at dinner on the forecastle head.Below, on the shady side of the forward house, the“bundaree” had prepared the coolies’ meal, animmense flat dish of rice piled into a cone, witha number of tiny wells of curry round the rim,and a larger reservoir of the same fiery compoundat the apex in a sort of crater. Around this theplacid Hindoos crouched on their hams in orthodoxfashion, and each right hand had just begun tomanipulate a bolus of curry-moistened rice forconveyance to the expectant mouths, when with ameteoric rush Sûsti came round the corner of thehouse in a grand ellipse, and landed in the centreof the rice-pan. This was too much for eventhose mild coolies. With yells and imprecationsthey sprang for handspikes, belaying-pins, etc.,and rushed upon the unclean beast, perfectly madwith rage. Our big retriever, who hated all blackmen impartially, and was therefore rigidly limitedto the poop as a rule, saw the melée, and, judgingdoubtless that it was high time for his interference,came flying from his eminence, all shining teethand savage snarl, into the centre of the strugglingmass. For a brief moment nothing could beclearly distinguished; then suddenly there was abreak up and a stampede. Every coolie sprangoverboard like the demon-possessed swine ofGadara, leaving Neptune sadly sniffing at thelifeless body of Sûsti, which lay embedded in aheap of the befouled and scattered rice.

A bright sunny morning; the gentle north-easterlybreeze just keeping the sails full as thelumbering whaling-barque Splendid dips jerkilyto the old southerly swell. Astern, the blue hillsaround Preservation Inlet lie shimmering in thesoft spring sunlight, and on the port beam themighty pillar of the Solander Rock, lying off thesouth-western extremity of New Zealand, issharply outlined against the steel-blue sky. Farbeyond that stern sentinel, the converging shoresof Foveaux Strait are just discernible in dimoutline through a low haze. Ahead, the jaggedand formidable rocks of Stewart Island, bathed ina mellow golden glow, give no hint of theirterrible appearance what time the Storm-fiend ofthe south-west cries havoc and urges on hischariot of war.

The keen-eyed Kanaka in the fore crow’s nestshades his eyes with his hand, peering earnestlyout on the weather bow at something which has239attracted his attention. A tiny plume of vapourrises from the blue hollows about ten miles away,but so faint and indefinable that it may be onlya breaking wavelet’s crest caught by the crosswind. Again that little bushy jet breaks themonotony of the sea; but this time there isno mistaking it. Emerging diagonally from thewater, not high and thin, but low and spreading,it is an infallible indication to those piercing eyesof the presence of a sperm-whale. The watcherutters a long, low musical cry, “Blo-o-o-o-w,”which penetrates the gloomy recesses of fo’ksleand cuddy, where the slumberers immediatelyengage in fierce conflict with whales of a sizenever seen by waking eyes. The officer andwhite seamen at the main now take up the cry,and in a few seconds all hands are swiftly yetsilently preparing to leave the ship. She is putabout, making a course which shortly brings hera mile or two to windward of the slowly-movingcachalot. Now it is evident that no solitarywhale is in sight, but a great school, gambollingin the bright spray. One occasionally, in pureexuberance of its tremendous vitality, springstwenty feet into the clear air, and falls, a hundredtons of massive flesh, with earthquake-like commotion,back into the sea.

Having got the weather-gage, the boats arelowered; sail is immediately set, and, like swifthuge-winged birds, they swoop down upon theprey. Driving right upon the back of the nearest240monster, two harpoons are plunged into his bodyup to the “hitches.” The sheet is at once hauledaft, and the boat flies up into the wind; while theterrified cetacean vainly tries, by tremendouswrithing and plunging, to rid himself of thebarbed weapon. The mast is unshipped, andsnugly stowed away; oars are handled, andpreparation made to deliver the coup de grâce.But finding his efforts futile, the whale hassounded, and his reappearance must be awaited.Two boats’ lines are taken out before the slackeningcomes, and he slowly rises again. Faster andfaster the line comes in; the blue depths turn acreamy white, and it is “Stern all,” for dear life.Up he comes, with jaws gaping twenty feet wide,gleaming teeth and livid, cavernous throat glitteringin the brilliant light. But the boat’s crew areseasoned hands, to whom this dread sight isfamiliar, and orders are quietly obeyed, the boatbacking, circling and darting ahead like a sentientthing under their united efforts. So the infuriatedmammal is baffled and dodged, while thrust afterthrust of the long lances are got home, andstreamlets of blood trickling over the edges ofhis spout-hole give warning that the end is near.A few wild circlings at tremendous speed, jawsclashing and blood foaming in torrents from thespiracle, one mighty leap into the air, and theocean monarch is dead. He lies just awash,gently undulated by the long, low swell, onepectoral fin slowly waving like some great stray241leaf of Fucus gigantea. A hole is cut throughthe fluke and the line secured to it. The ship,which has been working to windward during theconflict, runs down and receives the line; and ina short time the great inert mass is hauled alongsideand secured by the fluke chain.

The other two boats have succeeded in killinga large fish also, but are at least four miles off.They may as well try to move the Solander itselfas tow their unwieldy prize to the ship. Theshapeless bulk of the cachalot makes it a difficulttow at all times, but, with a rising wind and sea,utterly impossible to whale-boats. The barometeris falling; great masses of purple-edged cumuliare piling high on the southern horizon, and noweather prophet is needed to foretell the imminentapproach of a heavy gale. The captain lookswistfully to windward at Preservation Inlet, onlytwenty-five miles off, and thinks, with fiercediscontent, of the prize, worth eight or ninehundred pounds, which lies but four or five milesaway, and must be abandoned solely for want ofsteam-power. And that is not all. Around, faras the eye can reach, the bushy spouts are rising.Hundreds of gigantic cetaceans are disporting,apparently not at all “gallied” by the conflict whichhas been going on. Some are near enough to thefast boat to be touched by hand. “Potentialitiesof wealth beyond the dreams of avarice” are here;but acquisition is impossible for want of steam.The vessel, bound to that immense body, can only242crawl tortoise-like before the wind—lucky, indeed,to have a harbour ahead where the whale maybe cut in, even though it be forty miles away.Without that refuge available, she could not hopeto keep the sea and hold her prize through thewild weather, now so near. So, with a heavyheart, the captain orders the fast boat to abandonher whale and return with all possible speed. Thebreeze is freshening fast, and all sail is made forPort William. So slow is the progress, that it ispast midnight before that snug shelter is reached,although for the last four hours the old ship isterribly tried and strained by the press of sailcarried to such a gale.

In four days the work of getting the oil isfinished, and three or four Maoris ashore havemade a tun and a half of good clear oil from theabandoned carcass. This, added to the ship’squantity, makes twelve and a half tuns of oil andspermaceti mingled from the one fish. Nonesmaller has been noticed out of the hundredsseen on the same day. It is eighteen days fromthe time of anchoring before the harbour canagain be quitted, owing to adverse winds andgales. Who can estimate the number of opportunitieslost in that time? On the second dayafter reaching the grounds, another school is seenwith the same result—one fish, and another fortnight’senforced idleness.

This is no imaginary sketch, but a faithfulrecord of actual facts, which, with slight variations,243has been repeated many times within the writer’sexperience. On one occasion there were four ofus on the ground in company—three Americans,and one colonial. Each secured a whale beforedusk. We kept away at once for Port William,fearing the shifting of the wind, which wouldbring us on a ragged, lee shore. The Americans,being strangers to the coast, hauled off to thewestward. Five days afterwards, as we werecleaning ship after trying out, those three shipscame creeping in to the harbour through theeastern end of Foveaux Strait, all sadly damaged,and of course whaleless. They had been batteredby the furious gale all that time, and barelyescaped destruction on the Snares. Two of themleft the grounds a few days after, having had theirfill of the Solander. Thus, it is obvious thatnothing but steam is needed to make thismost prolific of whaling-grounds a veritabletreasure-field. Cutting in and trying out at seacould be entirely dispensed with. The magnificentland-locked harbour of Preservation Inlet, to saynothing of others easily available, affords completefacilities for a shore station. The water is inmany cases forty or fifty fathoms deep alongsidethe rocks, while sheltered nooks abound, “wherenever wind blows loudly.”

Working by the share, no finer or more skilfulwhalemen exist than the half-breed Maoris whopeople Stewart Island, and they would joyfully welcomesuch a grand opportunity of making their pile.

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Long before the Antarctic Expedition fromDundee left our shores, the merits of this grandfield for whaling operations were discussed atlength by the writer in the columns of a Dundeepaper, and strongly advocated; but those responsiblefor the management of that venture wereevidently so wedded to Greenland methods thatthe advice was unheeded. Perhaps the unprofitableissue of the enterprise as far as whales wereconcerned may dispose the adventurers to takeadvice, and try sperm-whaling in the temperatezone, in place of right-whaling in the far south.Should they do so, there is every reason to hopeand believe that the palmy days of the sperm-whalefishery may be renewed. Dundee firms ofto-day may then, like Messrs. Enderby of Londonin 1820–30, gladly welcome home ship after ship,full to the hatches with the valuable spoil of theSouthern Seas.

Note.—Since the above was written it has been the writer’s melancholyduty to chronicle the final disappearance of the British Whale Fishery.

Judging by the popularity of the seals at theZoological Gardens, these wonderful amphibiahave a firm hold upon the affections of ordinarypeople. It probably occurs to but few as theygaze delightedly upon the unapproachable graceof the seals in their favourite element, how brutaland debasing is the pursuit of them for commercialpurposes. This is a theme that hasexercised the powers of many able writers, but hasprobably never been set forth in such awful realismas Mr. Burn-Murdoch has presented us within his book, From Edinburgh to the Antarctic.For the seal is such a gentle, kindly creature, soperfectly harmless, except perhaps during the courtingseason, when the males fight fiercely, but neverà l’outrance. The seal’s one mistake in life is thathe has not exerted the intelligence that he undoubtedlypossesses in the direction of clothinghimself with some substitute, worthless to man,for the inimitable covering which is so ardentlycraved by shivering man and womankind.

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There are, however, some seals that, from theirbulk and ferocious appearance, actually inviteattack from those ardent sportsmen who onlylong for sight of game worthy of hunting. Thesea-elephant (Macrorhinus proboscideus), uponfirst acquaintance, seems, as our transatlanticfriends concisely express it, “to fill the bill,” inthese respects. In size he is little inferior to thehuge quadruped after which he has been named,although, owing to the absence of legs, he willnot look so bulky as the elephant. The possessionof a rudimentary trunk of a foot or soin length has probably had little to do with thetrivial appellation given to this great Phoca, hisenormous size as compared with the ordinaryseal being warrant enough for the name. Sincethe sea-elephant’s hide is almost hairless, only themassive coating of blubber he carries can excitethe cupidity of the hunter, and then only in theabsence of anything that may be easier obtained.

During the course of a whaling voyage “downSouth” it was the writer’s misfortune to visit theAuckland Islands in search of sea-elephants, owingto the unaccountable absence of whales from thevicinity for an extraordinarily long time. No oneof the ship’s company had ever seen one of thecreatures before, although most were well acquaintedwith ordinary seal-hunting. When,therefore, it was decided to visit the lonely, storm-tormentedisles usually frequented by them therewas an utter absence of enthusiasm. Indeed,247many openly expressed a strong desire to be wellout of the business. But when once a course hasbeen decided upon at sea it needs strongermeasures and greater unanimity among the crewthan is often possessed to alter it, and consequently,after a truly miserable time ofcontention with the inhospitality of the SouthernOcean, we found ourselves anchored in a fairlywell-sheltered bay at the Aucklands. The timeof our visit was the antipodean spring, a seasonwhich, in those latitudes, is rigorous beyond belief.Gales of wind, accompanied by hard snowflakesand hail, raged almost incessantly, enwrapping theentire land surface in a bleak haze of spray fromthe sea, mingled with the congealed moisture fromabove. Notwithstanding these drawbacks, theobject of the expedition had to be pursued withoutdelay, parties were landed, armed with clubsof iron-wood, short but massive, and long, keenknives. General instructions were given as toprocedure, based upon insufficient data, as therecipients well knew, and therefore not at allreliable. Everybody understood in a hazy sort ofway that a seal’s vulnerable point was his nose:a tap on that was as paralysing as a bullet throughthe heart. Of course. And the subsequent proceedingswere merely a matter of practice andstamina. Very good—oh, very good indeed!Thus equipped the explorers went blundering overboulders, wading through morasses, over fallentree-trunks and glassy ice-slopes, until suddenly248through the mist loomed up a massy shape. Possiblyit was exaggerated by the haze, but it lookedtruly terrific when it was seen to be alive. It wassurprising how little any one coveted the honourof being first to attack the big seal in front ofthem. But for very shame’s sake there could beno halting on the sealers’ part.

An appalling roar, quite in keeping with hisappearance, burst from the monster, at which amost sympathetic thrill ran through the attackingparty, accompanied by an earnest desire to besomewhere else. Again that indefinite desire tostand well in each other’s opinion came to theirrescue, impelling the foremost man to fling hisfears to the winds and rush in upon the formidablebeast crouching before him. A badly-aimed blowat the animal’s snout made no more impressionthan a snow-flake, but the unwieldy creature,thoroughly alarmed, dropped from his semi-rampantaltitude, almost burying his daringassailant beneath him as he did so. Then, likesome legless hippopotamus, he waddled seawards,rolling from side to side in a manner so utterlyludicrous that fear was totally quenched in anuproarious burst of laughter. Recovering fromthat revulsionary paroxysm, all hands rushed uponthe retreating mass, each eager to be the first toattack what we now saw to be a thoroughlydemoralised foe.

Out of the many harmless blows aimed at thegreat seal’s head one struck the root of his249proboscis, and like some vast bladder suddenlydeflated he sank to the ground. Into the subsequentdetails it is not edifying to enter, theircrude brutality being only excusable on theground of nervous ignorance. But as foolhardinesssucceeded timorousness, so did tragedy waitupon comedy. Out of the mist-enwrapped morassto shoreward of us came in elephantine haste aperfect host of the huge creatures we were seeking.And, as if they could not see us or were soterror-stricken that nothing could hinder them intheir extraordinary career seawards, they camefloundering, bellowing right amongst our littleparty. For one short minute it seemed as ifwe should be overwhelmed, crushed under thismountainous charge of massive flesh. Then therewas “sauve qui peut.” In various directions wefled from the path of the advancing hosts, buthung upon their flanks, getting a straggler nowand then. The chase grew frantic, “thorough bog,thorough briar,” over rocks and through streams;panting with fierce desire to slay, and forgetful ofall else. What a crowd of savages we were!

At the last moment, on the very edge of thebeach, one of our number, anxious to get just anothervictim, missed his blow, and stumbled right upon thehuge beast. Putting out his arms to save himself,he thrust one of them right into the mouth of thegaping behemoth. An ear-splitting yell of agonyfollowed, bringing every man to his assistance onthe gallop. At first it was difficult to see what250had happened, the great bulk of the seal as itswayed from side to side effectually hiding thepuny form of the suffering enemy by its side. He,poor wretch, was in evil case; for the sea-elephanthas the alarming habit of crushing solidpebbles of basalt or granite as large as orangesbetween his jaws in much the same fashion as ahealthy youngster does lollypops. Probably thisstrange exercise of the gigantic jaw power hepossesses is rendered necessary for digestive purposes,since no seal masticates its food.

Poor Sandy, who in such headlong fashion hadthrust his arm into that awful mill, now found tohis bitter cost what use might be made of thegenerally harmless stonebreakers. After the firstblood-curdling scream we had heard there was anutter silence as far as our shipmate was concerned,only the soft floundering of the immense mass ofsliding flesh and the snorting breath being audible.The mate was the first to realise what hadhappened, and with a howl of anger he leapedforward, bringing down his club with all his mightjust as the creature stooped low for another launchingmovement seaward. The blow fell just at thejunction of the proboscis with the skull, and witha shudder which convulsed the whole mass of hisbody the huge animal collapsed, burying our unhappyshipmate beneath him. With one impulsewe all sprang upon the heap of flesh, tearing withdesperate energy to roll it from off the body, butit really seemed at first impossible to move it.251Slipping, sliding, gasping for breath, we allpushed and strove—wasting, I doubt not, more thanhalf our strength for want of preconcerted action.Oh, joy; we moved him at last, and there laySandy to all appearance a corpse.

Without any further delay we placed him in theboat, hoping that he was still alive, but by nomeans sure, and with all possible speed he wastaken on board. This sudden calamity seemedto paralyse the rest of us for the time, and we allstood about watching the departing boat, as if wecould not make up our minds to resume operations.But suddenly a dull, thunderous roar startled usfrom our lethargy, and looking landwards throughthe driving sleet we saw the shapeless forms ofanother immense herd of the ungainly monstersfloundering toward us. Manifestly we were in anunhealthy predicament, and without waiting fororders we fled in all directions but towards theadvancing herd. Through swampy patches ofgreen, over frozen rocks, torn by thorny shrubs,and incessantly dodging the blind onset of groupsof the wallowing monsters, we scrambled unreasoninglyuntil—panting, breathless, and demoralized—wehalted from sheer inability to go farther.When we had recovered it was some time beforewe got together again, and when we did we werea sorry crowd, as unfit as could well be imaginedfor the tremendous labour that awaited us ofskinning the huge carcasses that lay dotted aboutthe foreshore. However, we commenced the task,252and by nightfall had completed the flenching.A gun from the ship recalled us on board almosttoo weary to launch the boats, and plastered thicklywith mud, blood, and grease. When we arrivedon board we were too exhausted to eat, hardly ableto feel any interest in the news that Sandy wasalive and doing as well as could be expected. Butone conviction was burnt deep into the perceptionsof all—that the hardest whaling ever done was apleasant pastime compared with sea-elephant huntingat the Aucklands.

Difficulties, which, could I have foreseen then,would have appeared insurmountable, attendedthe interview hereinafter recorded. First of all,His Majesty King Cachalot the MMCC was notin the best of humours—which was hardly to bewondered at, since, with all the ability we couldmuster, five boats’ crews of us from the spouterFinback had been harassing him since daylight,eager to add his fourteen-ton overcoat to ourgreasy cargo. It was a blazing day on the Line,Pacific side, with hardly a ripple on the water, sothat what advantage there was weighed on ourside. Yet so wary and skilful had his Majestyproved, that one by one the boats had retired hurtfrom the field, while the object of their attentionswas as fresh as paint, and, as he afterwards expressedit, “going very strong.” Nevertheless the scrumhad been warm in a double sense, and his Majestybore many palpable evidences of our efforts allover his huge black body.

Being in command of the only surviving boat,254sole representative of our available force, andwith a reputation yet to win, I must confess to alittle lack of care, a nervous desire to distinguishmyself; but I still think it was hard to havemy boat knocked into a litter of barrel stavesby the unanticipated somersault of my expectedprize just as I reckoned upon deliveringa coup de lance in final settlement of our littleaccount.

After the surprise of our meeting had somewhatsubsided, I found myself reclining in a richlycarved and upholstered chair in my genial host’ssplendidly furnished reception room, puffing withappreciative enjoyment at one of his unapproachableRothschilds—’beg pardon I’m sure—I mean that Ifound myself clinging with no uncertain clutch toa capsized line-tub, into which I succeeded ingetting after a series of involuntary evolutions,after having managed to swallow the majority ofa barrel of salt water. While settling myself inmy ark like a faded Moses, our late antagonistdrew near and watched me closely. As soon as Iappeared to be compos mentis, he thus addressedme:

“What you settin’ there fur a-gappin’ at me’sif y’didn’t know who I wuz.”

“I humbly beg your Majesty’s pardon; I meantno offence, I assure you. But I perceive you arean American citizen.”

“Perseev’ nothin’, y’abbrevyated galoot,”growled he. “Hain’t enny persepshun ’baout ye,255’r y’ewd see I’m waitin’ ter be interviewed, same’sall th’ other sellebritiz.”

Now, although I do believe that the journalist isnascitur, non fit, my nascent journalism if existentwas decidedly latent, and at present I was indubitablyunfit for anything but a rescue or two. But herewas a unique chance of becoming famous, andthough modest and retiring to the last degree, Irose to the occasion. A few fragmentary recollectionsmarshalled themselves, and I askedinsinuatingly:

“How old is your Majesty?”

“One thousan’ four hunderd seasons,” he repliedpromptly.

As soon as I recovered my breath, I answeredpolitely, “Indeed! Your Majesty wears well. Ishould hardly have thought it. Are your Majesty’sparents living?”

“How’d I know,” he grumbled, peepingfiercely at me out of the corner of his starboardeye. “Don’t go much on parients ermong ourpeepul. Next please!”

“Where did your venerability do us the honourto be born, if the question be allowable?” I queriedtimidly.

“Here,” he roared, with a resounding crash ofhis enormous tail on the surface; “where’d ye thinkI’d be born but at sea?”

Deficient in locality evidently, I thought, beinga bit of a phrenologist myself, though it wouldhave required a theodolite to survey the bumps256upon his capacious cranium. But as he showedsigns of irritability, I added quickly, “Are youmarried, your Majesty, or how?”

“Well; I should cackle,” he said—“married, hay!Why one of your (an awful reverberation suggesteda powerful adjective) slush-tubs hez jest broke upone uv the purtiest little harems I ever collected,twelve ravishin’ beauties sech ez any monark’d beproud of. Well thar, hurry up; I’m jest remindedov an ole schoolmate uv mine ’s got mose ’s gooderwun. He’s usin’ roun’ the Bonins ’baout now, ’n’I mus’ git over thar ’n’ b’reave him. Royal rights,y’know,” and his Majesty shed a ponderous wink.

“What does your Majesty do for a living?” Iventured to inquire.

“Eat!” he roared. “Harpoons en bomb-guns,what dz ennybody du fr a livin’? I never heerdsech a barnacle-headed grampus ’n all my fishin’.”With that he lifted up his tremendous caput out ofwater and exposed his Blackwall tunnel of a mouth,as who should remark, “Not much room forother occupation in a whale’s life when a gulf likethis needs attention.”

I suppose I looked a bit preoccupied, for hehastily added, “But I never eat sech insecks ez yoube.”

“What, never?” I ventured to murmur.

“No, never,” he replied; “at least, that is,”—butseeing his hesitation, I said I fancied I’d hearda story about a passenger by the name of Jonahdown on the Syrian coast a while back. “Oh, well257y’know,” he muttered apologetically, “’f courseaccidents will happen, ’s the shark said to hisbrother when he took him in, but I don’t reckonthar wuz anythin’ to mek a noise erbout. ’Tany-ratethe can’date left considerable sudden. Yewneedn’t be ’fraid ennyhow.”

But I was unprepared with any more questionsat the moment, the outlook, or inlook rather, beingso disconcerting. So I said, “Would your Majestyobject to outlining a few of your wonderful experiencesfor the benefit of landsmen generally.Any information you may choose to give will beregarded as strictly confidential, of course.”

“Oh, sartinly,” he replied with an alarmingarea of smile. “Mos’ ov ’em hev ben with yourdod-gasted tribe. Why yew’re tarnally prowlin’erbout tryin’ ter get ter wind’ard ov peac’blefokes I kaint surmise. Still, up till now I’ve benequal ter holdin’ me own,—keepin’ me eend up, ezyew may say. To-day f’rinstance, hey?” I wincedunder the sarcasm. “But I mind onst daown onthe Noo Seelan’ coas’ towin’ five boat-load ovMowries frum the Solander ’way down eenamostter the Cambells. They wuz a plucky crowd, f’rthey helt on ter me through a blizzard ov hail an’snow lasting twyst az long as I kin stay soundin’.When it gin over they wuz all fruz stiffer’n alance-pole. My, but gettin’ cleer ov em wuz apull. I hed to soun’ at top-gait ’sif I wuz boun’f’r two thousan’ fathoms, ’n’ suthin’ hed ter give.I wuz pretty fat in those days, so their all-fired258irons drew. They galled me like sixty, but I wasfree.

“Then a left-handed-on-both-feet crowd eout ova French right-whaler tackled me offn the Cape.Mighty big mistake they struck—thought I wuzpore ole say-nothin’-ter-nobody Mr. Cetus, theydid. ’N’, when I milled roun’ ’n’ cum f’r ’emeend on ’ith er twenty foot smile on me hed!airthqueeks ’n’ volcanose! y’ sh’d jest er seen ’emflew. Didn’ wait to say howdy, jest cut line ’n’vamoosed like ’sif ole Jemmy Smallback wuz after’em. I wuz thet mad, I’d liketer hev busted uptheir ole hooker ’n’ all, but thet thar Essex affairgin me sech er swell’d hed I ’lowed it warn’t badreck’nin’ ter let her go et that.

“Say, djever see er big squid, big’s me?” hequeried sharply.

“Yes, your Majesty, I did once. Only once.B-b-b-ay of B-b-bengal,” for I was almost moribund.

“Ah, you hev seen suthin’ then. F’r yewinsecks wut live on top don’t offen git a chanceter see them critters ’less we bring ’em up f’r thesun ter see haow gaul-darned ugly they air. Wall,one like yew say yew seen tangled erp my fav’rit’wife off Futuna one afternoon. Me an’ my haremwuz feedin’ at ’bout a thousan’ fathom, an’ Pollyjest sidled up ter ole Jellybelly ’n’ got hole ov amouthful ov him. He, bein’ kinder s’prised,gripped her all over ter onst; ’n’, stranger,” headded impressively, “I’ll be weather-bound ef hedidn’t frap her hole head up so’s she couldn’t bite259er breathe. We’d ben down ’bout long ernoughtoo, but I sailed right in ’n’ bit his great carkissin half az well az I c’d see f’r his ink-cloud.Hows’ever I wuz too late, f’r he’d locked histangle ov arms roun’ an’ roun’ her hed, ’n’ thoughhis body wuz all chawed erp they couldn’ comeadrift. So she drowned, ’n we all hed ter maketracks upstairs quicker ’n winkin’ er we sh’d a bendrowned tu. As ’twuz we wuz fair beat out whenwe arrove up top.

“Did I ever have enny fights with me ownpeople? Well I—but there, how’d yew know,poor thing. Millyuns ov ’em. Look at me,”and he swept proudly past exhibiting his groovedand ribbed flanks bearing indelible traces of manya furious battle, some of the foot-wide scars beingtwenty feet long.

“Enny more informashun I c’n supply yewwith at short notice? bekuz this session’ll hev teradjurn siny die in about tew minnits. I’m gittin’mos’ amazin’ peckish.”

Happy thought, “What do you live on mostly,your Majesty?”

“Squid. Fust ’n las’ ’n’ between meals gen’ly.They aint nothin’ better tew eat in the hullworl’ ’z far’s I know. We dew ’casionally git abellyful ov fish ov sorts by layin’ quiet whenthe shoals air swarmin’. They run down a feller’sgullet in hunderds ’n never know whar they’regoin. But they’re cussid indigestible——”

I was alone. There was nothing in sight, but260my interviewee was gone. So stiff and sore was Ithat I could hardly turn my head to see if helpwas coming. There was no help in sight that Icould discover, but presently a boat came alongfrom the ship and picked me up—none too soon.Gloomily we returned on board to moralisemournfully over our ill-luck and the perfidy ofsperm whales generally.

Of course no one is under any obligation tobelieve this most reliable relation. At the sametime I may be allowed to remind the scepticalthat in the present case their credibility is subjectedto no such strain as half the respectable advertisem*ntsof the day place upon it. However, Iwon’t press the point; here is the story, fay ce quevouldras.

Doubtless you have all heard of waterspouts,many of you have seen them in full spin, and nota few, amateurs of meteorology, have got theirpet theories as to the genesis, evolution, anddissolution of these mysterious meteors. Withjust a touch of perhaps pardonable vanity I maysay that, for an important section of society, mytheory holds the field—is, in fact, unassailable.But I refrain from exposing it publicly at present,principally because such exposition involves a largeuse of the higher mathematics, in which I am, tobe candid, somewhat shaky; and secondly, becausethe editor would see me farther before he would262let me do it. But an ounce of experience isworth a ton of theory, even such gilt-edged theoryas mine—at least most of us work on the lines ofthis well-worn proverb. So my experience, whichis herein set forth, must necessarily be consideredas the most valuable contribution to our knowledgeof waterspoutery or trombe-oonery that has everyet appeared. I might claim more for it thanthis, but modesty was ever a failing of mine.

On 23rd August last, then, I was leaning overthe taffrail of an ancient barque, of which I was“only” mate, homeward bound from Iquique toFalmouth for orders. We had reached the horselatitudes, those detestable regions embracing thedebatable area between the limits of the north-eastand south-east trade winds. Here you may havesuch an exhibition of what the skies are capable ofin the matter of rain as nowhere else in the world.For days together the weather will consist ofsqualls—not much wind in them as a rule—fromall points of the compass, but rain—well, onemight almost as well be living beneath an oceanof which the bottom is given to falling outoccasionally. And as all this tremendous rainfallcomes from the sea, the replenishment of thesupply upstairs keeps the pumping machinerygoing constantly. It is no uncommon sight tosee forty or fifty waterspouts in various stagesof their career at one time. On this particularafternoon there was quite a forest of them about,but as yet none of them had come within less than263two or three miles of the ship. It was my watchbelow, and the air being stifling down in themurky little cabin, I was enjoying a pipe and alittle cool breeze that had been blowing for abouttwenty minutes in the right direction. The oldhooker was wriggling along about two or threeknots—sufficiently fast to induce me to trywhether some members of a sociable school ofdolphins that were playing about us could begulled into biting at a bit of white rag I was trailing,which concealed a formidable hook. The “oldman” was below, seated at the cabin table,wrestling with his day’s reckoning not over-successfully,for his grumbling expletives werenow and then audible through the wide-openskylight, the man at the wheel gazing skywardwith a comical expression of innocence wheneverhe met my eye after an extra heavy blast frombelow. The antics of the fish beneath me sofully occupied my attention that the near approachof a waterspout along the starboard beam did notattract my notice. In any case, the weather wasno affair of mine, the bo’sun being in charge,though, as usual in these undermanned vessels,up to his elbows in tar, away forward somewhere.But suddenly the gloom became so heavy and thechill in the air so evident, that I looked up wonderingwhence the squall had arrived at such shortnotice. At that moment a big dolphin who hadbeen tantalising me for a long time seized myhook. I had only two or three fathoms of line264out, and being balanced upon the taffrail, the jerkwas sufficiently forceful to make me turn a backsomersault overboard. The last thing I saw wasthe helmsman’s face blank with utter amazementat my sudden exit. I struck the water end-on,going pretty deep, but on returning to the surfacewas horrified to find myself the centre of awhirling, seething commotion, as if some unseengiant was stirring the sea with a mighty spoon.The gyrations I was compelled to perform mademe quite giddy and sick, although my head keptso well above water that I was in no danger ofdrowning. Faster and faster yet I was whirledaround, while a dense fog seemed to rise allround, shutting out everything from view behindan impenetrable white curtain.

I have often noticed that if you tuck a chicken’shead under its wing and give it a gentle circularmotion it will “stay put,” in any position youlike for an indefinite length of time, although thebrightness of its eyes and its regular respirationshows that it is “all there.” Thus it was withme. I was certainly all there, but the spinningbusiness had reduced me to a hypnotised ormesmerised condition, in which I was incapable ofindependent volition, while keenly conscious ofall that was going on. I became aware of anupward movement, a sort of spiral ascension, as ifI was attached to one of the threads of a giganticvertical screw that was being withdrawn by a steadyleft-handed revolution. Also, it was very wet,265though not with a solid wetness as of the sea—morelike one of the usual tremendous showerswe had lately been having, and in no sense was Iconscious of floating. I began to get somewhatused to the spiral movement, the sensation beingalmost pleasant, since the nausea that troubled mewas gone, but I wondered vaguely whither I wasbound. It was getting very cold, and a muffledpersistent roar, as of some infuriated bull utteringhis grievances through a vast speaking-trumpet,worried me greatly, for I could imagine no reasonfor such a sound. However, in my passivecondition I could only endure whatever camealong, this being no time for protest or struggle.

Suddenly I felt myself emerge as if from a pipeup into an immense reservoir of the heaviest mistI ever felt. At that instant a terrible sensation ofinstability took possession of me, very like that oneexperiences in wandering over deep new-fallensnow, concealing Heaven knows what crevassesbeneath, only more so. My heart worked like apulsometer, and every nerve in my quiveringcorpus said as plain as print, “You’ll come anawful cropper directly.” And it was even so.All my lost power of independent movement cameback to me at once, and frantically clutching atthe fog wreaths around me I began to fall. Mostof us know that ugly old dream where the bedplays see-saw over some unfathomable abyss,higher at every swing, till suddenly we wakesnatching at the bed-clothes and bathed in sweat. In266my case, unfortunately, the fall came too. Itseemed to occupy hours. While I came hurtlingfrom the heavens I remembered with satisfactionthat the wife would get her half-pay right up tothe end of the voyage, and I fervently hoped shehad kept my insurance premiums paid up. Thenthe great solemn sea sprang up to meet me. Therewas a Number One splash, a rush of salt water in myears, and the blessed daylight once more. Rightclose to me was the ship, all hands gaping over theside at me as if I was a spook and never a oneoffering to heave me a line. The manner of myreappearance seemed to have knocked them all silly.All except the old man, that is. He stoopeddeliberately, picked up the coil of the main topsailbrace, and hove it at me. It fell all about me in atangle, but I managed to get hold of the standingpart, which I froze to tight, while the skipperhauled me alongside. Feeling numb and stupid,I yet managed to haul myself on board, and withall the chaps gaping at me with protruding eyes,staggered up on to the poop. The skipper metme with a scowl, saying grimly, “Looky here, Mr.Brown, the next time you quit this ship, with myleave or without, you’ll stay there.” I felt hurt,but disinclined to talk back, so I went below tochange my dunnage and enter up my log-book.

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