Mardi: Chapter 18

Chapter 18

My Lord Shark And His Pages

There is a fish in the sea that evermore, like a surly lord, only
goes abroad attended by his suite. It is the Shovel-nosed Shark. A
clumsy lethargic monster, unshapely as his name, and the last species
of his kind, one would think, to be so bravely waited upon, as he is.
His suite is composed of those dainty little creatures called Pilot
fish by sailors. But by night his retinue is frequently increased by
the presence of several small luminous fish, running in advance, and
flourishing their flambeaux like link-boys lighting the monster's
way. Pity there were no ray-fish in rear, page-like, to carry his
caudal train.

Now the relation subsisting between the Pilot fish above mentioned
and their huge ungainly lord, seems one of the most inscrutable
things in nature. At any rate, it poses poor me to comprehend. That a
monster so ferocious, should suffer five or six little sparks, hardly
fourteen inches long, to gambol about his grim hull with the utmost
impunity, is of itself something strange. But when it is considered,
that by a reciprocal understanding, the Pilot fish seem to act as
scouts to the shark, warning him of danger, and apprising him of the
vicinity of prey; and moreover, in case of his being killed, evincing
their anguish by certain agitations, otherwise inexplicable; the
whole thing becomes a mystery unfathomable. Truly marvels abound. It
needs no dead man to be raised, to convince us of some things. Even
my Viking marveled full as much at those Pilot fish as he would have
marveled at the Pentecost.

But perhaps a little incident, occurring about this period, will best
illustrate the matter in hand.

We were gliding along, hardly three knots an hour, when my comrade,
who had been dozing over the gunwale, suddenly started to his feet,
and pointed out an immense Shovel-nosed Shark, less than a boat's
length distant, and about half a fathom beneath the surface. A lance
was at once snatched from its place; and true to his calling, Jarl
was about to dart it at the fish, when, interested by the sight of
its radiant little scouts, I begged him to desist.

One of them was right under the shark, nibbling at his ventral fin;
another above, hovering about his dorsal appurtenance; one on each
flank; and a frisking fifth pranking about his nose, seemingly having
something to say of a confidential nature. They were of a bright,
steel-blue color, alternated with jet black stripes; with glistening
bellies of a silver-white. Clinging to the back of the shark, were
four or five Remoras, or sucking-fish; snaky parasites, impossible to
remove from whatever they adhere to, without destroying their lives.
The Remora has little power in swimming; hence its sole locomotion is
on the backs of larger fish. Leech-like, it sticketh closer than a
false brother in prosperity; closer than a beggar to the benevolent;
closer than Webster to the Constitution. But it feeds upon what it
clings to; its feelers having a direct communication with the
esophagus.

The shark swam sluggishly; creating no sign of a ripple, but ever
and, anon shaking his Medusa locks, writhing and curling with
horrible life. Now and then, the nimble Pilot fish darted from his
side--this way and that--mostly toward our boat; but previous to
taking a fresh start ever returning to their liege lord to report
progress.

A thought struck me. Baiting a rope's end with a morsel of our almost
useless salt beef, I suffered it to trail in the sea. Instantly the
foremost scout swam toward it; hesitated; paused; but at last
advancing, briskly snuffed at the line, and taking one finical
little nibble, retreated toward the shark. Another moment, and the
great Tamerlane himself turned heavily about; pointing his black,
cannon-like nose directly toward our broadside. Meanwhile, the little
Pilot fish darted hither and thither; keeping up a mighty fidgeting,
like men of small minds in a state of nervous agitation.

Presently, Tamerlane swam nearer and nearer, all the while lazily
eyeing the Chamois, as a wild boar a kid. Suddenly making a rush for
it, in the foam he made away with the bait. But the next instant, the
uplifted lance sped at his skull; and thrashing his requiem with his
sinewy tail, he sunk slowly, through his own blood, out of sight.
Down with him swam the terrified Pilot fish; but soon after, three of
them were observed close to the boat, gliding along at a uniform
pace; one an each side, and one in advance; even as they had attended
their lord. Doubtless, one was under our keel.

"A good omen," said Jarl; "no harm will befall us so long as they stay."

But however that might be, follow us they did, for many days after:
until an event occurred, which necessitated their withdrawal.

Back to chapter list of: Mardi