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<h3>Chapter Sixty Four.</h3> <h4>The thick Waters.</h4> The most palatable portions of the sharks’ flesh having been stripped from the bones and cut into thin slices, were now to be submitted to a drying, or rather broiling process. This was to be accomplished by a fire of spermaceti. As already stated, there was no scarcity on the score of this fuel. The “case” of the cachalot contained enough to have roasted all the sharks within a circle of ten mile around it; and, to all appearance, there were hundreds of them inside that circumference. Indeed, that part of the ocean where the dead whale had been found, though far from any land, is at all times most prolific in animal life. Sometimes the sea for miles around a ship will be seen swarming with fish of various kinds, while the air is filled with birds. In the water may be seen large “schools” of whales, “basking”—as the whalers term it—at intervals, “spouting” forth their vaporous breath, or moving slowly onward,—some of them, every now and then, exhibiting their uncouth gambols. Shoals of porpoises, albacores, bonitos, and other gregarious fishes will appear in the same place,—each kind in pursuit of its favourite prey, while sharks, threshers, and sword-fish, accompanied by their “pilots” and “suckers,” though in lesser numbers, here also abound,—from the very abundance of the species on which these sea-monsters subsist “Flocks” of flying-fish sparkle in the sun with troops of bonitos gliding watchful below, while above them the sky will sometimes be literally clouded with predatory birds,—gulls, boobies, gannets, tropic and frigate-birds, albatrosses, and a score of other kinds but little known, and as yet undescribed by the naturalist. It may be asked why so many creatures of different kinds congregate in this part of the ocean? Upon what do they subsist? what food can they find so far from land? A ready reply to these questions may be given, by saying, that they subsist upon each other; and this would be, to some extent, true. But then there must be a base forming the food for all, and produced by some process of nature. What process can be going on in the midst of the ocean to furnish the subsistence of such myriads of large and voracious creatures? In the waters of the great deep, apparently so pure and clear, one would think that no growth,—either animal or vegetable, could spring up,—that nothing could come out of nothing. For all this, in that pure, clear water, there is a continual process of production,—not only from the soil at the bottom of the sea, but the salt-water itself contains the germs of material substances, that sustain life, or become, themselves, living things, by what appears, to our ignorant eyes, spontaneous production. There is no spontaneity in the matter. It is simply the principle of creation, and acting under laws and by ways that, however ill-understood by us, have existed from the beginning of the world. It is true that the whole extent of the great oceans are not thus thickly peopled. Vast tracts may be traversed, where both fish and birds of all kinds are extremely scarce; and a ship may sail for days without seeing an individual of either kind. A hundred miles may be passed over, and the eye may not be gratified by the sight of a living thing,—either in the water or the air. These tracts may truly be termed the deserts of the sea; like those of the land, apparently uninhabited and uninhabitable. It may be asked, Why this difference, since the sea seems all alike? The cause lies not in a difference of depth: for the tracts that teem with life are variable in this respect,—sometimes only a few fathoms in profundity, and sometime unfathomable. The true explanation must be sought for elsewhere. It will be found not in depth, but in direction,—in the direction of the currents. Every one knows that the great oceans are intersected here and there by currents,—often hundreds of miles in breadth, but sometimes narrowing to a width of as many “knots.” These oceanic streams are regular, though not regularly defined. They are not caused by mere temporary storms, but by winds having a constant and regular direction; as the “trades” in the Atlantic and Pacific, the “monsoons” in the Indian Ocean, the “pamperos” of South America, and the “northers” of the Mexican Gulf. There is another cause for these currents, perhaps of more powerful influence than the winds, yet less taken into account. It is the spinning of the earth on its axis. Undoubtedly are the “trades” indebted to this for their direction towards the west,—the simple centrifugal tendency of the atmosphere. Otherwise, would these winds blow due northward and southward, coming into collision on the line of the equator. But it is not my purpose to attempt a dissertation either on winds or oceanic streams. I am not learned enough for this, though enough to know that great misconception prevails on this subject, as well as upon that of the tides; and that meteorologists have not given due credit to the revolving motion of our planet, which is in truth the principal producer of these phenomena. Why I have introduced the subject at all is, not because our little book is peculiarly a book of the ocean, but, because that ocean currents have much to do with “Ocean Waifs,” and that these last afford the true explanation of the phenomenon first-mentioned,—the fact that some parts of the ocean teem with animal life, while others are as dead as a desert. The currents account for it, thus:—where two of them meet,—as is often the case,—vast quantities of material substances, both vegetable and animal, are drifted together; where they are held, to a certain extent, stationary; or circling around in great ocean eddies. The wrack of sea-weed,—waifs from the distant shores,—birds that have fallen lifeless into the ocean, or drop their excrement to float on its surface,—fish that have died of disease, violence, or naturally,—for the finny tribes are not exempt from the natural laws of decay and death,—all these organisms, drifted by the currents, meet upon the neutral “ground,”—there to float about, and furnish food to myriads of living creatures,—many species of which are, to all appearance, scarce organised more highly than the decomposed matters that appear first to give them life, and afterwards sustain their existence. In such tracts of the ocean are found the lower marine animals, in incalculable numbers; the floating shell-fish, as Janthina, Hyalaea and Cleodora; the sea-lizards, as Velellae, Porpitae, and their kindred; the squids, and other molluscs; with myriads of medusa. These are the oceanic regions known to the sailors as “thick waters,” the favourite resort of the whale and its concomitant creatures, whose food they furnish; the shark, and its attendants; the dolphins, porpoises, sword-fish and flying-fish; with other denizens of the water; and a like variety of dwellers in the air, hovering above the surface, either as the enemies of those below, or aids to assist them in composing the inscrutable “chain of destruction.” <hr /></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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