Tales of Fishes Part 14

There were splashes all around us and waves and ripples here and there, and occasionally a sounding thump. We grew more alert and interested.

Sam saw a bonefish right near the boat. He pointed, and the fish was gone. After that we sat very still, I, of course, expecting a bite every moment. Presently I saw a bonefish not six feet from the boat. Where he came from was a mystery, but he appeared like magic, and suddenly, just as magically, he vanished.

"Funny fish," observed Sam, thoughtfully. Something had begun to dawn upon Sam, as it had upon me.

No very long time elapsed before we had seen a dozen bonefish, any one of which I could have reached with my rod. But not a bite! I reeled in to find my bait gone.

"That bait was eaten off by crabs," I said to Sam, as I put on another.

Right away after my cast I felt, rather than saw, that slight vibration of my line. I waited as before, and just as before the line almost imperceptibly slackened and nothing happened.

Presently I did see a blue crab deliberately cut my line. We had to move the boat, pick up the lost piece of line, and knot it to the other. Then I watched a blue crab tear off my bait. But I failed to feel or see that faint vibration of my line. We moved the boat again, and again my line was cut. These blue crabs were a nuisance. Sam moved the boat again. We worked up the flat nearer where the little mangroves, scarce a foot high, lifted a few leaves out of the water. Whenever I stood up I saw bonefish, and everywhere we could hear them. Once more we composed ourselves to watch and await developments.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SURGING IN A HALF-CIRCLE]

[Ill.u.s.tration: BROADBILL SWORDFISH ON THE SURFACE--THE MOST THRILLING SIGHT TO A SEA ANGLER]

In the succeeding hour I had many of the peculiar vibrations of my line, and, strange to see, every time I reeled in, part of my bait or all of it was gone. Still I fished on patiently for a bonefish bite.

Meanwhile the sun lost its heat, slowly slanted to the horizon of mangroves, and turned red. It was about the hour of sunset and it turned out to be a beautiful and memorable one. Not a breath of air stirred.

There was no sound except the screech of a gull and the distant splashes of wading birds. I had not before experienced silence on or near salt water. The whole experience was new. We remarked that the tide had not seemed to rise any higher. Everywhere were little swells, little waves, little wakes, all made by bonefish. The sun sank red and gold, and all the wide flat seemed on fire, with little mangroves standing clear and dark against the ruddy glow. And about this time the strangest thing happened. It might have been going on before, but Sam and I had not seen it. All around us were bonefish tails lifted out of the water. They glistened like silver. When a bonefish feeds his head is down and his tail is up, and, the water being shallow, the upper fluke of his tail stands out. If I saw one I saw a thousand. It was particularly easy to see them in the gla.s.sy water toward the sunset.

A school of feeding bonefish came toward us. I counted eleven tails out of the water. They were around my bait. Now or never, I thought, waiting frantically! But they went on feeding--pa.s.sed over my line--and came so near the boat that I could plainly see the gray shadow shapes, the long, sharp noses, the dark, staring eyes. I reeled in to find my bait gone, as usual. It was exasperating.

We had to give up then, as darkness was not far off. Sam was worried about the boat. He rowed while I stood up. Going back, I saw bonefish in twos and fours and droves. We pa.s.sed school after school. They had just come in from the sea, for they were headed up the flat. I saw many ten-pound fish, but I did not know enough about bonefish then to appreciate what I saw. However, I did appreciate their keen sight and wariness and wonderful speed and incredible power. Some of the big surges made me speculate what a heavy bonefish might do to light tackle.

Sam and I were disappointed at our luck, somewhat uncertain whether it was caused by destructive work of crabs or the wrong kind of bait or both. It scarcely occurred to us to inquire into our ignorance.

We found the boat hard and fast in the mud. Sam rowed me ash.o.r.e. I walked back to camp, and he stayed all night, and all the next day, waiting for the tide to float the boat.

After that on several days we went up to the flat to fish for bonefish.

But we could not hit the right tide or the fish were not there. At any rate, we did not see any or get any bites.

Then I began to fish for bonefish in front of my cottage. Whenever I would stick my rod in the sand and go in out of the hot sun a bonefish would take my bait and start off to sea. Before I could get back he would break something.

This happened several times before I became so aroused that I determined to catch one of these fish or die. I fished and fished. I went to sleep in a camp-chair and absolutely ruined my reputation as an ardent fisherman. One afternoon, just after I had made a cast, I felt the same old strange vibration of my line. I was not proof against it and I jerked. Lo! I hooked a fish that made a savage rush, pulled my ba.s.s-rod out of shape, and took all my line before I could stop him.

Then he swept from side to side. I reeled him in, only to have him run out again and again and yet again. I knew I had a heavy fish. I expected him to break my line. I handled him gingerly. Imagine my amaze to beach a little fish that weighed scarcely more than two pounds! But it was a bonefish--a glistening mother-of-pearl bonefish. Somehow the obsession of these bonefishermen began to be less puzzling to me. Sam saw me catch this bonefish, and he was as amazed as I was at the gameness and speed and strength of so small a fish.

Next day a bonefisherman of years' experience answered a few questions I put to him. No, he never fished for anything except bonefish. They were the hardest fish in the sea to make bite, the hardest to land after they were hooked. Yes, that very, very slight vibration of the line--that strange feeling rather than movement--was the instant of their quick bite. An instant before or an instant after would be fatal.

It dawned upon me then that on my first day I must have had dozens of bonefish bites, but I did not know it! I was humiliated--I was taken down from my lofty perch--I was furious. I thanked the gentleman for his enlightenment and went away in search of Sam. I told Sam, and he laughed--laughed at me and at himself. After all, it was a joke. And I had to laugh too. It is good for a fisherman to have the conceit taken out of him--if anything can accomplish that. Then Sam and I got our heads together. What we planned and what we did must make another story.

IX

SWORDFISH

_From records of the New York Bureau of Fisheries, by G. B. Goode_

The swordfish, _Xiphias gladius_, ranges along the Atlantic coast of America from Jamaica (lat.i.tude 18 N.), Cuba, and the Bermudas, to Cape Breton (lat.i.tude 47 N.). It has not been seen at Greenland, Iceland, or Spitzbergen, but occurs, according to Collett, at the North Cape (lat.i.tude 71). It is abundant along the coasts of western Europe, entering the Baltic and the Mediterranean. I can find no record of the species on the west coast of Africa south of Cape Verde, though Lutken, who may have access to facts unknown to me, states that they occur clear down to the Cape of Good Hope, South Atlantic in mid-ocean, to the west coast of South America and to southern California (lat.i.tude 34), New Zealand, and in the Indian Ocean off Mauritius.

The names of the swordfish all have reference to that prominent feature, the prolonged snout. The "swordfish" of our own tongue, the "zwardfis"

of the Hollander, the Italian "sofia" and "pesce-spada," the Spanish "espada" and "espadarte," varied by "pez do spada" in Cuba, and the French "espadon," "dard," and "epee de mer," are simply variations of one theme, repet.i.tions of the "gladius" of ancient Italy and "xiphius,"

the name by which Aristotle, the father of zoology, called the same fish twenty-three hundred years ago. The French "empereur" and the "imperador" and the "ocean kingfish" of the Spanish and French West Indies, carry out the same idea, for the Roman Emperor was always represented holding a drawn sword in his hand. The Portuguese names are "aguhao," meaning "needle," or "needle-fish."

This species has been particularly fortunate in escaping the numerous redescriptions to which almost all widely distributed forms have been subjected. By the writers of antiquity it was spoken of under its Aristotelian name, and in the tenth edition of his _Systema Naturae_, at the very inception of binomial nomenclative, Linnaeus called it _Xiphias gladius_. By this name it has been known ever since, and only one additional name is included in its synonym, _Xiphias rondeletic_ of Leach.

The swordfish has been so long and so well known that its right to its peculiar name has seldom been infringed upon. The various species of _Tetrapturus_ have sometimes shared its t.i.tle, and this is not to be wondered at, since they closely resemble _Xiphias gladius_, and the appellative has frequently been applied to the family _Xiphiidae_--the swordfish--which includes them all.

The name "bill-fish," usually applied to our _Tetrapturus albidus_, a fish of the swordfish family, often taken on our coast, must be p.r.o.nounced objectionable, since it is in many districts used for various species of Belonidae, the garfishes or green-bones (_Belone truncata_ and others), which are members of the same faunas. Spear-fish is a much better name.

The "sailfish," _Histiophorus america.n.u.s_, is called by sailors in the South the "boohoo" or "woohoo." This is evidently a corrupted form of "gueb.u.m," a name, apparently of Indian origin, given to the same fish in Brazil. It is possible that _Tetrapturus_ is also called "boohoo," since the two genera are not sufficiently unlike to impress sailors with their differences. Blecker states that in Sumatra the Malays call the related species, _H. gladius_, by the name "Joohoo" (Juhu), a curious coincidence. The names may have been carried from the Malay Archipelago to South America, or _vice versa_, by mariners.

In Cuba the spear-fish are called "aguja" and "aguja de palada"; the sailfish, "aguja prieta" or "aguja valadora"; _Tetrapturus albidus_ especially known as the "aguja blanca," _T. albidus_ as the "aguja de castro."

In the West Indies and Florida the scabbard-fish or silvery hairy-tail, _Trichiurus lepturus_, a form allied to the _Xiphias_, though not resembling it closely in external appearance, is often called "swordfish." The body of this fish is shaped like the blade of a saber, and its skin has a bright, metallic l.u.s.ter like that of polished steel, hence the name.

Swordfish are most abundant on the shoals near the sh.o.r.e and on the banks during the months of July and August; that they make their appearance on the frequented cruising-grounds between Montauk Point and the eastern part of Georges Banks sometime between the 25th of May and the 20th of June, and that they remain until the approach of cold weather in October and November. The dates of the first fish on the cruising-grounds referred to are recorded for three years, and are reasonably reliable: in 1875, June 20th; in 1877, June 10th; in 1878, June 14th.

South of the cruising-grounds the dates of arrival and departure are doubtless farther apart, the season being shorter north and east. There are no means of obtaining information, since the men engaged in this fishery are the only ones likely to remember the dates when the fish are seen.

The swordfish comes into our waters in pursuit of its food. At least this is the most probable explanation of its movements, since the duties of reproduction appear to be performed elsewhere. Like the tuna, the bluefish, the bonito, and the squiteague, they pursue and prey upon the schools of menhaden and mackerel, which are so abundant in the summer months. "When you see swordfish, you may know that mackerel are about,"

said an old fisherman to me. "When you see the fin-back whale following food, there you may find swordfish," said another. The swordfish also feeds upon squid, which are at times abundant on our banks.

To what extent this fish is amenable to the influences of temperature is an unsolved problem. We are met at the outset by the fact that they are frequently taken on trawl lines which are set at the depth of one hundred fathoms or more, on the offsh.o.r.e banks. We know that the temperature of the water in these localities and at that depth is sure to be less than 40 Fahr. How is this fact to be reconciled with the known habits of the fish, that it prefers the warmest weather of summer and swims at the surface in water of temperature ranging from 55 to 70, sinking when cool winds blow below? The case seemed clear enough until the inconvenient discovery was made that swordfish are taken on bottom trawl lines. In other respects their habits agree closely with those of the mackerel tribe, all the members of which seem sensitive to slight changes in temperature, and which, as a rule, prefer temperature in the neighborhood of 50 or more.

[Ill.u.s.tration: s.h.i.+NING IN THE SUNLIGHT]

[Ill.u.s.tration: THROWING WHITE WATER LIKE THE EXPLOSION OF A TORPEDO]

The appearance of the fish at the surface depends largely upon the temperature. They are seen only upon quiet summer days, in the morning before ten or eleven o'clock, and in the afternoon about four o'clock.

Old fishermen say that they rise when the mackerel rise, and when the mackerel go down they go down also.

Regarding the winter abode of the swordfish, conjecture is useless. I have already discussed this question at length with reference to the menhaden and mackerel. With the swordfish the conditions are very different. The former are known to sp.a.w.n in our waters, and the schools of young ones follow the old ones in toward the sh.o.r.es. The latter do not sp.a.w.n in our waters. We cannot well believe that they hibernate, nor is the hypothesis of a sojourn in the middle strata of mid-ocean exactly tenable. Perhaps they migrate to some distant region, where they sp.a.w.n.

But then the sp.a.w.ning-time of this species in the Mediterranean, as is related in a subsequent paragraph, appears to occur in the summer months, at the very time when the swordfish are most abundant in our own waters, apparently feeling no responsibility for the perpetuation of their species.

The swordfish, when swimming at the surface, usually allows its dorsal fin and the upper lobe of its caudal fin to be visible, projecting out of the water. It is this habit which enables the fisherman to detect the presence of the fish. It swims slowly along, and the fis.h.i.+ng-schooner with a light breeze finds no difficulty in overtaking it. When excited its motions are very rapid and nervous. Swordfish are sometimes seen to leap entirely out of the water. Early writers attributed this habit to the tormenting presence of parasites, but this theory seems hardly necessary, knowing what we do of its violent exertions at other times.

The pointed head, the fins of the back and abdomen snugly fitting into grooves, the absence of ventrals, the long, lithe, muscular body, sloping slowly to the tail, fits it for the most rapid and forceful movement through the water. Prof. Richard Owen, testifying in an England court in regard to its power, said:

"It strikes with the acc.u.mulated force of fifteen double-handed hammers. Its velocity is equal to that of a swivel shot, and is as dangerous in its effect as a heavy artillery projectile."

Many very curious instances are on record of the encounter of this fish with other fishes, or of their attacks upon s.h.i.+ps. What can be the inducement for it to attack objects so much larger than itself is hard to surmise. We are all familiar with the couplet from Oppian:

Nature her bounty to his mouth confined, Gave him a sword, but left unarmed his mind.

It surely seems as if temporary insanity sometimes takes possession of the fish. It is not strange that when harpooned it should retaliate by attacking its a.s.sailant. An old swordfisherman told Mr. Blackman that his vessel had been struck twenty times. There are, however, many instances of entirely unprovoked a.s.saults on vessels at sea. Many of these are recounted in a later portion of this memoir. Their movements when feeding are discussed below as well as their alleged peculiarities of movement during breeding season.