Back Aa

Ocean Waifs

Close

<h3>Chapter Forty Seven.</h3> <h4>Angling for Albacore.</h4> After a while the crew of the Catamaran watched the manoeuvres of the sword-fish with a degree of interest that almost caused them to forget their own forlorn situation. Little William and Lilly Lalee were especially delighted with the singular spectacle; and long after the sailor and Snowball had turned their attention to other and more necessary matters, the two stood side by side gazing out upon the ocean in the direction in which the sea-swordsman had been seen. We say had been seen: for, after swallowing the brace of albacores, the voracious monster had suddenly disappeared, either by diving deep down into the sea, or shooting off to some distant point. Little William and Lalee looked everywhere,—first astern, where the swordsman had made the display of his skill; then on both sides; and, finally, ahead. They looked in these different directions,—because, from what they had already seen of its natative powers, they knew that the great fish could pass in a few seconds through a hundred fathoms of water, and therefore was as likely to be on one side as the other. On no side, however, could the fish be seen; and, although both the sailor-lad and Lalee would have been pleased to witness a little more of that same sword exercise, they were at length forced to the conclusion that the performance was over and the performer gone away,—perhaps, to exhibit his prowess in some other quarter of the aquatic world. “Berry like,—berry like he gone way,” said Snowball, in reply to the interrogatory of little William. “A good ting if dat am de fack; fo’ den we hab chance to hook up some o’ dese hya abbacore. See dem now! Doan’ you see how berry different dey are behavin’. Dey no longer ’feerd. Dat am sign dat de long snout hab turn him nose in some oder direcshun. He gone fo’ sartin.” Sure enough the behaviour of the albacores was very much altered, as Snowball had affirmed. Instead of flashing about from one side of the raft to the other, and exhibiting manifest symptoms of alarm, they now swam placidly alongside, at a regular rate of speed, just keeping up with the Catamaran. They looked, moreover, as if they would now take the bait, which during the presence of the sword-fish they had obstinately refused to touch, though frequently flung, both by Snowball and the sailor, right under their snouts. Both were again preparing to repeat their angling operations; and in a few seconds’ time each had his hook ready, with a piece of shark-meat temptingly attached to it, the bait being rendered still more attractive from having a little shred of scarlet flannel looped around the shank of the hook, while several fathoms of stout sennit-cord served as trolling-lines. Plash into the water went the two baited hooks, both at once; and, almost before the ripples caused by the plunge had ceased to circle upon the surface, a still louder plashing could be heard, and a much rougher ripple seen,—in short, a large space of the surface agitated into foam, where a brace of albacores were fluking and struggling on the respective hooks of Snowball and the sailor. Right rapidly were they hauled aboard, and their struggles brought to a termination by a smart tap on the head administered to each in succession, by a handspike, which had suddenly found its way into the grasp of the sailor. No time was thrown away in contemplating the captives, or triumphing over their capture. Little William and Lalee alone examined the two beautiful creatures thus brought within their reach; while Snowball and the sailor, rapidly readjusting the baits upon their hooks, that had been slightly disarranged by the teeth of the tunnies,—for the albacore is a species of tunny fish,—once more flung them forth. This time the baits were not so greedily “grabbed” at. As if the “school” had become suspicious, they all for a considerable time fought shy of it; but, as it was trolled so temptingly under their very snouts, first one and then another began to make approach,—now nearer and nearer, one or two taking a nibble at it, and then dropping it again, and suddenly shying off,—as if they had discovered something unpleasant either in its taste or touch. This delicate nibbling continued for several minutes when, at length, an albacore more courageous than its companions, or perhaps with an emptier stomach than the rest, at sight of the tempting morsel suddenly took leave of his discretion; and, darting forward, seized the bait upon Ben’s hook, swallowing bait, hook, and several inches of the sennit-cord, at a single gulp! There was no danger of its being able to detach itself from that hook. The barb was already fast in its entrails before Ben gave the jerk to secure it. Another jerk brought the fish out of its native element, landing it amidships on board the Catamaran, where, like its two predecessors, it was instantly knocked on the head. Snowball continued to “troll” his line in the most approved fashion; and was soon again joined by his brother “piscator,” who, after settling the scores with the second fish he had caught, had adjusted a fresh bait, and once more flung his line into the water. For some reason or other, the albacores became suddenly shy,—not as if alarmed at the action of the anglers, but rather from having their attention attracted to some other object invisible to the eyes of those on the Catamaran. The fish were so near the raft, that every movement made by them could be easily observed,—even to the glancing of their silvery irides,—and those who observed them could see that they were looking aloft. Up went the eyes of the Catamarans, both anglers and idlers turning their glances towards the sky. There was nothing to be seen there,—at least, nothing to account for the shyness of the fish, or the upward cast of their eyeballs. So thought three of the party,—little William, Lalee, and the sailor,—who beheld only the blue, cloudless canopy of the heavens. Snowball, however, whose single experience of ocean-life was greater than the sum total of the other three twice told, did not, like the rest, desist all at once from his scrutiny of the sky, but remained gazing with upturned look for period of several minutes. At the termination of that time, an exclamatory phrase, escaping from his lips, proclaimed the discovery of some object that, to his mind, accounted for the odd behaviour of the albacores. “De frigate-bird!” was the phrase that came mutteringly from between Snowball’s teeth. “Ya, ya,—dar am two ob dem,—de cock an’ hen, I s’pose. Dat ’counts for de scariness of dese hya fish. Dat’s what am doin’ it.” “O, a frigate-bird!” said Ben Brace, recognising in Snowball’s synonyme one of the most noted wanderers of the ocean,—the Pelicanus aquila of the naturalists, but which, from its swift flight and graceful form, is better known to mariners under the appellation given to it by Snowball. “Where away?” interrogated the sailor. “I don’t see bird o’ any sort. Where away, Snowy?” “Up yonner,—nearly straight ober head,—close by dat lilly ’peck ob cloud. Dar dey be, one on de one side, odder on fodder,—de ole cock an’ de ole hen, I’se be boun!” “Your daylights be uncommon clear, nigger. I don’t see ne’er a bird—Ah, now I do!—two of ’em, as you say. Ye’re right, Snowy. Them be frigates to a sartainty. It’s easy to tell the cut o’ thar wings from any other bird as flops over the sea. Beside, there be no other I knows on as goes up to that height. Considerin’ that thar wings be spread nigh a dozen feet, if not all o’ that, and that they don’t look bigger than barn-swallows, I reckon they must be mor’n a mile overhead o’ us. Don’t you think so, Snowy?” “Mile, Massa Brace! Ya, dey am two mile ’bove us at de berry lees. Dey doan’ ’peer to move an inch from dat same spot. Dar be no doubt dat boaf o’ ’em am sound ’sleep.” “Asleep!” echoed little William, in a tone that betokened a large measure of astonishment. “You don’t say, Snowball, that a bird can go to sleep upon the wing?” “Whoo! lilly Willy, dat all you know ’bout de birds in dis hya part ob do worl’? Sleep on de wing! Sartin dey go ’sleep on de wing, an’ some time wif de wing fold close to dar body, an’ de head tuck under ’im,—don’t dey, Mass’ Brace?” “I ain’t sartin as to that,” doubtingly answered the ex-man-o’-war’s-man. “I’ve heerd so: but it do seem sort o’ unnat’ral.” “Whoo!” rejoined Snowball, with a slightly derisive inclination of the head; “why for no seem nat’ral? De frigate hersef she sleep on de water widout sails set,—not eben a stitch ob her canvas. Well, den: why no dem frigate-birds in de air? What de water am to de ship de air am to de birds. What hinder ’em to take dar nap up yonner, ’ceptin’ when dar’s a gale ob wind? Ob coos dat u’d interrup’ dar repose.” “Well, nigger,” rejoined the sailor, in a tone that betokened no very zealous partisanship for either side of the theory, “you may be right, or you may be wrong. I ar’n’t goin’ to gi’e you the lie, one way or t’ other. All I know is, that I’ve seed frigates a-standing in the air, as them be now, making way neyther to windart or leuart; f’r all that I didn’t believe they was asleep. I kud see thar forked tails openin’ and closin’ jist like the blades o’ a pair o’ shears; and that inclined me to think they war wide awake all the time. If they was asleep, how kud they a-kep waggin’ thar tails? Though a bird’s tail be but feathers, still it must ha’ some feelin’ in it.” “Law, Massa Ben!” retorted the negro, in a still more patronising tone, as if pitying the poverty of the sailor’s syllogism, “you no tink it possible that one move in dar sleep? You nebber move you big toe, or you foot, or some time de whole ob you leg? Beside,” continued the logician, passing to a fresh point of his argument, “how you s’pose de frigate-bird do ’idout sleep? You know berry well he not got de power to swim,—him feet only half web. He no more sit on de water dan a guinea-fowl, or a ole hen ob de dunghill. As for him go ’sleep on de sea, it no more possyble dan for you or me, Massa Ben.” “Well, Snowy,” slowly responded the sailor, rather pushed for a reply, “I’m willin’ to acknowledge all that. It look like the truth, an’ it don’t,—both at the same time. I can’t understan’ how a bird can go to sleep up in the air, no more’n I could hang my old tarpaulin’ hat on the corner o’ a cloud. Same time I acknowledge that I’m puzzled to make out how them thar frigates can take thar rest. The only explanation I can think o’ is, that every night they fly back to the shore, an’ turns in thar.” “Whoogh! Massa Brace, you knows better dan dat. I’se heerd say dat de frigate-bird nebber am seed more’n a hunder league from de shore. Dam! Dis nigga hab seed dat same ole cock five time dat distance from land,—in de middle ob de wide Atlantic, whar we sees ’um now. Wish it was true he nebber ’tray more dan hunder knots from de land; we might hab some chance reach it den. Hunder league! Golly! more’n twice dat length we am from land; and dere ’s dem long-wing birds hov’rin’ ’bove our heads, an sleepin’ as tranquil as ebber dis nigga did in de caboose ob de ole Pandora.” Ben made no reply. Whether the reasoning of the Coromantee was correct or only sophistical, the facts were the same. Two forms were in the sky, outlined against the back ground of cerulean blue. Though distant, and apparently motionless, they were easily distinguishable as living things,—as birds,—and of a kind so peculiar, that the eye of the rude African, and even that of the almost equally rude Saxon, could distinguish the species. <hr /></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2