CHAPTER XXIITHE SHARK’S ATTACHÉ—QUEER WAYS OF FISHING—HINTS FOR NAVAL WARFARE—FISH THATDOFLY.
THE SHARK’S ATTACHÉ—QUEER WAYS OF FISHING—HINTS FOR NAVAL WARFARE—FISH THATDOFLY.
The little pilot-fish is not the only friend that the shark has. The remora, or sucking-fish, as we shall soon see, is still more attached to him. This is one of the queerest fish in the whole ocean. Others may have a more extraordinary, or, at any rate, a more terrifying appearance, but not one of them is constructed on such an original principle, or has such a very quaint and ingenious process of getting through the world. What the process is may be guessed from the name of sucking-fish, but the remora does not suck with its mouth, but with its head. The whole upper surface of this consists of “a large, flat, plate-like adhesive disc,” and whatever this disc touches it adheres to with the greatest tenacity. The reason is that the air between the plate and anything it lies against is forced out, so that a vacuum is created, and when once this is the case, two things that touch each other always stick together. It is by virtue of this principle that a fly is able to walk along the ceiling, for all its six feet end in so many little adhesive discs or suckers, which act as strongly, in proportion to their size, as does that ofthe remora. But the remora, when it uses its sucker, does not walk, or even swim, which is the equivalent of walking in a fish; all that is done for it by the shark or turtle, to which it attaches itself. It just swims underneath it, and presses itself against its under side, and there it is carried along as safely as if it were riding in its own carriage—indeed, much more so, for there is less likely to be an accident, and if ever there is, the remora can drop off without being hurt, as people generally are when they jump out of a carriage.
It is difficult to imagine a more secure and delightful way of going about, and of all sea-fish, the remora, as it seems to me, must have the easiest and safest time. To all but him the fierce and greedy monsters of the deep—the sword-fish and saw-fish, the threshers, the sharks, and the killers—are a terror and a menace. But what can any of them do against a little sucking thing that sticks tight against them, in a place they cannot possibly get at. The remora, if it liked, could fix itself to the very sword or saw itself of these two redoubtable warriors. It would not, probably, because when either were in action, it would have to come off; but just behind one or the other—on the hilt or the handle—it could manage quite comfortably. It would then be just in front of their owners’ mouth, but yet quite unreachable, so that, supposing it to be a dainty, this would make a very good illustration of Tantalus. With the saw-fish, at any rate, such a situation would be quite possible, since there is a considerable space between the mouth and the beginning of the saw, and if there would not be roomenough for it there with the sword-fish, the under part of the lower lip, or jaw, would do just as well.
It is as the friend—orattaché—of the shark, however, that the remora is best known, and it is just in this position, or approaching to it, that he is said to fix himself—on the front or head part of the shark’s body, rather than behind, or on the tail. Now, of course, when the shark is eating anything—when he is tearing at a dead whale, for instance—fragments of the feast will float about in the water, and the nearer the remora is to the mouth of the shark, the nearer these are likely to come to it. This is the reason generally given for his choosing the position on the shark which he is said to do, or for his swimming at the shark’s mouth, when he chooses to swim with, rather than cling to him. However, as the remora is free to leave the shark whenever he chooses, and as the latter swallows his food whole, I cannot quite see what advantage he gains by being always in this advanced position. It is not as if he could not leave the shark, for then it might be a matter of life and death to him to be there. But as he must always know when the shark gets anything, and cannot well nibble the piece that goes down his patron’s throat, as far as I can see he might as well sit lower down, as at the head of the table.
For myself, therefore, I doubt the reason given for his choosing the latter position, and I should doubt the fact of his doing so, if there were not some evidence for it. For the remora often attaches itself to the hull of a ship, and it is natural to suppose that, in such cases, it mistakes the ship for a large shark, or a whale. Now when it doesso, it either sticks to, or swims near, the fore part of the vessel, but not behind, or astern. Thus, Professor Moseley describes it as “swimming for weeks, near the water-surface, just a foot in front of the cut-water,” and he remarks on this that “if it swam just behind the stern, it would get plenty of food, whereas in front of the bow it gets nothing whatever.” “Nevertheless,” continues the professor, “it stays on at what, in a shark, is, of course, the right place, ready to be at the beast’s mouth directly food is found.” This, therefore, seems to establish the fact. As to the reason of it, it has just occurred to me that when a shark bites a piece out of the living body of any creature, there must be a great rush of blood, and the remora would get the best benefit of this, if it was just by the shark’s mouth, at the time. Or, again, the little fish may feel more secure there than elsewhere. A shark is a large thing—twenty, thirty, or forty feet long sometimes—and many voracious fish that might prefer to keep away from its head, might be bold enough, perhaps, to approach its tail or the after part of its body. The remora, apparently, is not in the habit of going inside the shark’s mouth, as does the pilot-fish—so it may think the next safest thing to that is to keep as near it as it can, on the outside.
The wonderful power of adhesion, possessed by the remora, has been put to practical use by the Chinese, who actually employ it to catch turtles. A thin but very strong line is attached to a little iron ring, which is fitted round the base of the remora’s tail, which, as it becomes very narrow just there, and then swells broadly out toform the caudal fin, seems as if it were made for the purpose. Thus armed, the fishermen row or sail about till they see a turtle lying asleep on the water, and having come as close up to it as they dare, they drop several of these queer fishing-lines over the side of the boat—or sampan, as it is called. Should the remoras attach themselves to the sides or keel, they are dislodged with long bamboos, to which the lines serve as a guide, and then, swimming round about, before long they generally discover the turtle, to which they at once become fastened. If there were only one of them it might not be possible to draw in so large and heavy a creature as a turtle—at least, a large one—but with several it is not difficult to do so. The remoras are then detached, and can be used in this manner again and again, as well as to catch a fish or two, should it be so desired. Afterwards, when they have done their day’s work, they can be eaten themselves, for that is the way of the world, not of the Chinese only, as some people seem to think. The Chinese, it may be remembered, fish also with cormorants, round whose throats they weld a ring, to prevent their swallowing the fish. Two more novel and ingenious methods of following the gentle craft were surely never devised, but the more ingenious of the two, perhaps—that which I have just described—seems to have been practised by the Indians of America, when the Spaniards, in an evil hour, first landed on that continent. Columbus himself—or if not he, one of his companions—has described the method, and how, when the remora is thrown overboard, it shoots “like an arrow out of a Bowe towards the other fish, andthen, gathering the bag on his head like a purse-net, holds it so fast that he lets not loose till hal’d up out of the water.”[14]The Indians, however, seem to have used but one remora at a time, as apparently they do now, and if it fixes itself to a turtle, instead of hauling it in, they dive down, following the line, and swim with it to the boat.
ThreeversusOneA sword-fish and two killers attacked the mighty cachalot in vain. He first bit the sword-fish in two, then stretched one killer dead upon the sea with a blow from his tail, and the other fled for his life.
ThreeversusOneA sword-fish and two killers attacked the mighty cachalot in vain. He first bit the sword-fish in two, then stretched one killer dead upon the sea with a blow from his tail, and the other fled for his life.
ThreeversusOne
A sword-fish and two killers attacked the mighty cachalot in vain. He first bit the sword-fish in two, then stretched one killer dead upon the sea with a blow from his tail, and the other fled for his life.
We do not read that the old Greeks or Romans ever used the remora of the Mediterranean—for there are several species—to fish with in this way. If they had, they would probably have expected it to pull in anything—even a whale—for their idea was that this little fish, by affixing itself to a ship, could retard its progress through the water, or even stop it if it wished to. Thus it was believed that at the battle of Actium a remora held back Antony’s ship, and thus contributed to his defeat. It seems strange that no one should have thought of turning such powers to practical account, not for fishing purposes merely, but also in naval warfare. Even now, were the story true, much might be done in this way. Instead of torpedoes discharged at the enemy’s ships, we might read, then, of remoras having been successfully affixed to them.
There are several different kinds of sucking fishes, and some of them—like the common lump-sucker which frequents our coasts—have the adhesive disc, or part, situated on the under surface. Of the true remoras there are also several species, the smallest being about eight inches long, whilst the largest attains to three feet or more.
If the remoras, by virtue of their parasitic relationswith powerful and dangerous species, are the most protected of all fishes, we may, perhaps, look upon the flying-fish of the southern seas as the most persecuted. At any rate, it is popularly supposed to be, and equally when it leaps out of the water, or, after a long, skimming flight, descends into it again, the bonito—a sort of large mackerel, its principal enemy—is understood to be hungering for it. For myself, upon general principles, I am inclined to doubt this. Animals, it is well known, enjoy doing what they do with ease and mastery. If they have an art, they like to practise it—they do not seek to hide their light under a bushel. Why, then, should not a fish that can fly, fly, sometimes, for its own amusement? That it should do so would be in accordance with all analogy; so, as it is no more than an assumption to hold that it does not, I shall hold that it does. One reads, often, about the gaping jaws of a dolphin, or albacore, appearing above the water, just as the flying-fish is about to descend into it—and no doubt this may frequently occur. But were the dolphin or albacore or bonito always expecting it—having pursued it underneath, in the water, as we are told—I believe the signs of this would be much more frequent. It would be the usual thing then, I believe, to see the jaws, or the whole body of the enemy, leap into the air, or at least for there to be some disturbance in the water, as the excursionist touched it. But this, as a rule, one does not see—at least, I have not myself.
Again, one reads so much about sea-birds hovering in the air, and ready to pounce upon the poor fish, as soon as they issue from the waves. However, though I havemade three sea voyages—one in a sailing-ship—I have never had the luck to see this; from which I gather that there is at least a good deal of respite from this evil, to which, moreover, other fishes are subject—for whether in air or water, what matters it? No doubt, however, but that theExocetus volitans—to give it its Latin name—is ardently pursued, and eaten, as it deserves to be, with the greatest relish. That its fins have been developed into wings, for the express purpose of escaping from such pursuit, is equally probable; and therefore it would be very strange if they did not often enable it to do so. A good evidence of their efficacy is, I think, the enormous abundance of the species possessing them; so that perhaps, on the whole, these creatures of two elements, on whom so much pity has been bestowed, have a better, instead of a worse, time than the majority of their fellows.
The most curious thing I know about the flying-fish is that naturalists will keep on pretending that it can’t fly. However, we must not be led astray by this, but go by the name and what our gallant seamen tell us. Also we should remember this, that a sailor, when he sees a fish flying, or anything curious, is a free man, whereas a naturalist, under similar circumstances, has his hands more or less tied by a sort of professional etiquette, which requires that he should not let an animal be more interesting than he can help, or give in to any picturesque fact, unless it can be stated in a dull kind of way. The facility with which, in able hands, this compromise may be effected, has led to many tardy admissions; but exceptionalcases arise, and this, perhaps, may be one of them. For here is the tropic sea, blue as a sapphire, gleaming like a diamond, glancing and throbbing with such jewels of light that it looks as though thousands of silver fishes were jumping in the meshes of a golden net, flung down by the sun from the sky. All at once, from amidst these myriads of sparkles a number flash higher, leap into the air, and fly, like bright arrows, towards you. Onwards they come, and from being light only, they pass into form and substance, begin to live, to move with sense and volition, and, all at once, they are fishes, flying with wings over their home of the sea. They sink towards the water, rise again, sink, rise, then dip for one moment, and, the next, go glittering up into the air, and come spinning round in a curve. Thus they gleam on for a most astonishing distance, till, near you, they disappear into the sea, or, far away, become again the sparkling jewels of the sun. And all around, over the great, wide sea, these showers of living gems are leaping in and out of it. It is a most beautiful sight. The body of the fish is of a light, gleaming blue, and the delicate film-like wings, springing from just behind the gills, and extending backwards almost to the tail, set it, as they rapidly quiver, in a soft and silvery haze.
It is, of course, the pectoral fins that thus perform the office of wings, and by moving them and steering a course, their owner flies as truly, for the time, as does either a bird or a bat. Those who deny this—the naturalists aforesaid—say that the flying-fish never go for a greater distance, without touching the water, than theinitial impetus of their leap out of it carries them to. Now the swim-bladder of the flying-fish is so large that when the creature distends it, as it has the power to do, it occupies almost the whole cavity of the body, which thus becomes full of air, and, besides this, it has another sort of bladder in its mouth, which it can inflate through the gills. Thus it is all air, and everybody knows how difficult it is to throw a light, bladdery thing to any distance—a stone goes much farther. What sort of impetus must that be, which can, in this instance, throw it to 500 or 1,000 yards, and is it not more likely that a small fish (it is only about a foot long), whose fins have become developed so as to support it in the air, and whose body has been turned into an air-sac, should have been enabled to fly, rather than leap, these wonderful distances? When I first saw flying-fish myself, I felt quite angry at the nonsense I had been made to believe about them, through the natural history books, and from that moment I resolved that I would be as cautious in trusting to what are called sober statements, as to statements that may seem to be exaggerated. Certainly it is the sailors, here, and not the scientists, who best know what they are talking about, and so, as they have seen a great deal more of flying-fish than I have, instead of repeating my own opinion, I will end the subject, and this chapter, with that of one who, to all the advantages of a sailor, adds those of being a careful observer and a very picturesque writer. At any rate, I don’t see how he can have been mistaken in such matters as these, and, if not,there ought to be an end, at last, of that long-enduring fallacy that the flying-fish cannot fly.
Mr. Bullen then—and I quote him as an authority—says at page 188 of hisIdylls of the Sea: “As the result of personal observation extending over a good many years, I assert that the Exocetusdoes fly. I have often seen a flying-fish rise two hundred yards off, describe a semicircle, and, meeting the ship, rise twenty feet in the air perpendicularly, at the same time darting off at right angles to its previous course. Then, after another long flight, when just about to enter the water, the gaping jaws of a dolphin gave it pause and it rose again, returning, almost directly, upon its former course. This procedure is so common that it is a marvel it has not been more widely noticed. A flying-fish of mature size can fly a thousand yards. It does not flap its fins as a bird, but they vibrate like the wings of an insect, with a distinct hum. The only thing which terminates its flight involuntarily is the drying of its fin-membranes and their consequent stiffening.”