Glimpses of Ocean Life 34

Glimpses of Ocean Life 34

'Who has not seen the picture of the stupid-looking boy going warily

out with a box of salt, having been gravely informed by some village

wag that if he would only just drop a pinch of salt on the birds' tails

he would be sure to catch them. We are all familiar enough with this

venerable joke, but not so with its successful application in another

case. This time it is the fisherman, instead of the village boy, who

carries the box. He cautiously slips a little salt into the hole,

which irritates the ends of the siphons, and makes the _Solen_ come

quickly out to see what is the matter, and clear itself of this painful

intrusion. The fisher, on the alert, must quickly seize his prey, or

else it will dart back again into its retreat, whence no amount of

salting or coaxing will bring it out again.'

 

If after reading the above quotation any person should fancy that in

his mind's eye he perceives at many sea-side places, scores of hardy,

weather-beaten fishermen walking about, each armed with nothing but a

box filled with salt, wherewith to bamboozle the Spout-Fish, he will be

most lamentably deceived. True it is, this plan is sometimes adopted by

children and amateur naturalists, but by fishermen--never. Instead of a

salt-box, these, when in search of their favourite bait, always carry

a kind of harpoon, formed of a piece of iron rod, the end of which is

sharpened to a point.

 

Having witnessed the Solen throw up his jet of water, and retire

beneath the soil, the fisherman suddenly plunges his instrument into

the orifice. Should the action have been skilfully performed, the

rod will have pierced the animal between its valves, which instantly

retract upon the intruding object. To draw the fish to the surface is

then a comparatively easy task. If the first plunge of the rod be not

successful, the fisher knows full well it would be futile for him to

repeat the attempt, as the object of his attack would quickly burrow

itself down to such a depth as to render pursuit hopeless. Juveniles

at the sea-side, imitating the plan above described, become by practice

very expert in procuring specimens of the Razor-Fish by means of a

piece of wire sharpened at one end.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XXIV.

 

A Gossip on Fishes &c.,

 

INCLUDING THE ROCKLING, SMOOTH BLENNY, GUNNEL-FISH, GOBY, ETC.

 

 

 

 

[Illustration:

 

1 SMOOTH BLENNY

2 VIVIPAROUS BLINNY

3 SPOTTED BLENNY or Gunnel-Fish

4, 5, 6 THE MONTAGU SUCKER-FISH

(Three illustrations.)

7 SUCKER of THE MONTAGU SUCKER-FISH]

 

 

 

 

XXIV.

 

 

One of the best _bons mots_ that I ever remember to have read was

entitled, 'Punch's Address to the Ocean'--

 

'With all thy faults I love thee _still_.'

 

Any landsman who finds himself occupying a seat in a fishing-smack or

oyster-boat while a stiffish breeze is blowing will, I am sure, with

great mental fervour echo the above sentiment.

 

For myself, I can never take even a short trip on the water without

experiencing some unpleasantness--proving to me that the sea is not 'my

element.' Still, I am one of those to whom the 'salt ocean' is endeared

by early recollections, having been, when a child, frequently among the

aged and mutilated veterans of our country who vegetate on the banks of

the 'silver Thames.'

 

From the tobacco-stained mouths of some of these old blue-jackets (all

of whom, I may mention, according to their own account, had fought

'alongside of the _galyant_ Nelson'), many strange stories have been

poured into my eager and willing ears, and even now a thrill of delight

is evoked when any of these 'yarns' rise to remembrance. Still, the

truth must be told: ever since I narrowly escaped drowning by plumping

into the water backwards, from leaning against the _unsnibbed_-door of

a bathing-machine, and at another time from being in a boat that, to

my intense horror and dismay, had sprung a leak--I have enjoyed the

sea best when my feet are on dry land; in other words, I like to view

the 'world of fluid matter,' in its various phases, from a distant and

perfectly safe point of view. Nay more, I can always better appreciate

certain of its beauties (at all events during winter time) when seated

by a warm fireside.

 

When lately in such a cosy position, my thoughts reverted to the

marvellous operations ever going on within the liquid walls of the

great deep. There artifices and stratagems, robbery and murder, and

cannibalism in its worst forms continually occur. On the other hand,

there may be scenes of courtship, touching instances of maternal

affection, such as, were they chronicled, would make our hearts bleed

with truest sympathy. Still, the Rob Roy maxim of

 

'They should take who have the power,

And they should keep who can,'

 

seems therein to be carried out with a rigour that would do honour to

the 'bold outlaw Macgregor.' Might there is generally predominant over

right. Fishes eternally prey upon each other; and for such reason, were

it not for the wonderful fecundity of these creatures (one cod-fish,

for instance, producing several millions of ova in a single season), we

should soon have the waters depopulated of all but the monsters of the

deep.

 

Now, knowing that such a state of things exists--that cannibalism is

of such frequent occurrence, and the dogs of war are there ever let

loose--the inquiry naturally presented itself: Are the inhabitants of

the ocean a happy race or not? According to many writers, the answer

must be given in the affirmative; nay, more, some authors state, and

with good show of authority, too, be it observed, that _fishes are

in reality the happiest of created things_, by reason that they have

no fear or apprehension of death, nor are they subject to pain or

disease, nor, in fact, to any of those ills that _flesh_ is heir to.

These creatures cannot, of course, live for ever; but by a merciful

dispensation of Providence, their final pang endures but for an instant.

 

The celebrated St. Anthony is among the believers in the consummate

happiness of the finny tribe. There is on record a discourse said to

have been preached by him to an assembly of fish, in which they are

flattered to an amazing extent. It almost rouses one's jealous ire to

find such fulsome adulation bestowed upon the lower animals, at the

expense of all other objects in nature, not excepting _man_ himself.

There is, however, such a singular force and truthfulness in some of

the __EXPRESSION__s and sentiments which occur in the Jesuitical discourse

alluded to (given by Addison in his 'Remarks on Italy'), that I cannot

resist the temptation of quoting a few of its most prominent passages.

 

We are told that St. Anthony, feeling annoyed at certain heretics not

listening devoutly to his preaching, he determined to teach them a

lesson; and for this purpose went down to the sea-shore, and called

the fishes together in the name of God, that they might hear his holy

word. The fish soon swam towards the speaker in vast shoals, and,

having ranged themselves, according to their several species, into a

very beautiful congregation, were addressed just as if they had been

rational creatures.

 

The sermon commences in the following words:--

 

'My dearly-beloved Fish,--Although the infinite power and goodness

of God discovers itself in all the works of his creation, as in the

heavens, in the sun, in the moon, and in the stars--in the lower world,

in man, and in other perfect creatures,--nevertheless, the goodness of

the divine Majesty shines out in you more eminently, and appears after

a more particular manner, than in any other created beings.

 

'It is from God, my beloved fish, that you have received being, life,

motion, and sense. It is he that has given you, in compliance with your

natural inclinations, the whole world of waters for your habitation.

It is he that has furnished it with lodgings, chambers, caverns,

grottoes, _and such magnificent retirements as are not to be met with

in the seats of kings or in the palaces of princes_!

 

'You have the water for your dwelling--a clear, transparent element,

brighter than crystal; you can see from its deepest bottom everything

that passes on its surface. You have the eyes of a lynx or of an Argus;

you are guided by a secret and unerring principle, delighting in

everything that may be beneficial to you, and avoiding everything that

may be hurtful; you are carried on by a hidden instinct to preserve

yourselves, and to propagate your species; you obey, in all your

actions, works, and motions, the dictates and suggestions of nature,

without the least repugnance or contradiction.

 

'The cold of winter and the heat of summer are alike incapable of

molesting you. A serene or a clouded sky are indifferent to you. Let

the earth abound in fruits or be cursed with scarcity, it has no

influence on your welfare. You live secure in rains and thunders,

lightnings and earthquakes; you have no concern in the blossoms of

spring or in the glowings of summer, in the fruits of autumn or in the

frosts of winter. You are not solicitous about hours or days, months or

years, the variableness of the weather or the change of seasons.'

 

The saint still further 'butters his fish' by reminding them, among

other things, that they were specially favoured by God at the time of

the universal deluge, they being the only species of creatures that

were insensible of the mischief that had laid waste the whole world! He

then begs of them, as they are not provided with words, to make some

sign of reverence; give some show of gratitude, according to the best

of their capacities; express their thanks in the most becoming manner

that they are able, and be not unmindful of all the benefits which the

divine Majesty has bestowed upon them.

 

He had no sooner done speaking, but behold a miracle! The fish, as

though they had been endued with reason, bowed down their heads with

all the marks of a profound devotion, and then went joyously bobbing

around with a kind of fondness, as in approval of what had been spoken

by the blessed father, St. Anthony.

 

Many of the heretics, as a matter of course, were converted at

beholding the miracle; and the polite and pious little fishes, having

received his benediction, were dismissed by the saint.

 

Shakspeare authoritatively asserts that--

 

'Travellers ne'er do lie,

Though fools at home condemn them.'

 

Here I beg to differ with the sweet Bard of Avon, who, I am sure, would

have retracted his statement had he read the above fishy discourse,

and also the following among many other strange anecdotes which are

published regarding the 'denizens of the deep.'