Tales Of Fishes (1928)

by Grey, Zane

  The fish having been killed, it is lifted upon the deck by a purchase tackle of two double blocks rigged in the shrouds.

  The pursuit of the swordfish is much more exciting than ordinary fishing, for it resembles the hunting of large animals upon the land and partakes more of the nature of the chase. There is no slow and careful baiting and patient waiting, and no disappointment caused by the accidental capture of worthless "bait-stealers." The game is seen and followed, and outwitted by wary tactics, and killed by strength of arm and skill. The swordfish is a powerful antagonist sometimes, and sends his pursuers' vessel into harbor leaking, and almost sinking, from injuries he has inflicted. I have known a vessel to be struck by wounded swordfish as many as twenty times in a season. There is even the spice of personal danger to savor the chase, for the men are occasionally wounded by the infuriated fish. One of Captain Ashby's crew was severely wounded by a swordfish which thrust his beak through the oak floor of a boat on which he was standing, and penetrated about two inches in his naked heel. The strange fascination draws men to this pursuit when they have once learned its charms. An old swordfish fisherman, who had followed the pursuit for twenty years, told me that when he was on the cruising-ground, he fished all night in his dreams, and that many a time he has rubbed the skin off his knuckles by striking them against the ceiling of his bunk when he raised his arms to thrust the harpoon into visionary monster swordfishes.

  The Spear-fish or Bill-fish The bill-fish or spear-fish, Tetrapturus indicus (with various related forms, which may or may not be specifically identical), occurs in the western Atlantic from the West Indies (latitude 10| to 20| N.) to southern England (latitude 40| N.); in the eastern Atlantic, from Gibraltar (latitude 45| N.) to the Cape of Good Hope (latitude 30| S.) in the Indian Ocean, the Malay Archipelago, New Zealand (latitude 40|

  S.), and on the west coast of Chile and Peru. In a general way, the range is between latitude 40| N. and latitude 40| S.

  The species of Tetrapturus which we have been accustomed to call T. albidus, abundant about Cuba, is not very usual on the coast of southern New England. Several are taken every year by the swordfish fishermen. I have not known of their capture along the southern Atlantic coast of the United States. All I have known about were taken between Sandy Hook and the eastern part of Georges Banks.

  The Mediterranean spear-fish, Tetrapturus balone, appears to be a landlocked form, never passing west of the Straits of Gibraltar.

  The spear-fish in our waters is said by our fishermen to resemble the swordfish in its movements and manner of feeding. Professor Poey narrates that both the Cuban species swim at a depth of one hundred fathoms, and they journey in pairs, shaping their course toward the Gulf of Mexico, the females being full of eggs. Only adults are taken. It is not known whence they come, or where they breed, or how the young return. It is not even known whether the adult fish return by the same route. When the fish has swallowed the hook it rises to the surface, making prodigious leaps and plunges. At last it is dragged to the boat, secured with a boat-hook, and beaten to death before it is hauled on board. Such fishing is not without danger, for the spear-fish sometimes rushes upon the boat, drowning the fisherman, or wounding him with its terrible weapon. The fish becomes furious at the appearance of sharks, which are its natural enemies. They engage in violent combats, and when the spear-fish is attached to the fisherman's line it often receives frightful wounds from the adversaries.

  The spear-fish strikes vessels in the same manner as the swordfish. I am indebted to Capt. William Spicer, of Noank, Connecticut, for this note:

  Mr. William Taylor, of Mystic, a man seventy-six years old, who was in the smack Evergreen, Capt. John Appleman, tells me that they started from Mystic, October 3, 1832, on a fishing voyage to Key West, in company with the smack Morning Star, Captain Rowland. On the 12th were off Cape Hatteras, the winds blowing heavily from the northeast, and the smack under double-reefed sails. At ten o'clock in the evening they struck a woho, which shocked the vessel all over. The smack was leaking badly, and they made a signal to the Morning Star to keep close to them. The next morning they found the leak, and both smacks kept off Charleston. On arrival they took out the ballast, hove her out, and found that the sword had gone through the planking, timber, and ceiling. The plank was two inches thick, the timber five inches, and the ceiling one-and-a-half-inch white oak. The sword projected two inches through the ceiling, on the inside of the "after run." It struck by a butt on the outside, which caused the leak. They took out and replaced a piece of the plank, and proceeded on their voyage.

  The Sailfish The sailfish, Histiophorus gladius (with H. americanus and H. orientalis, questionable species, and H. pulchellus and H. immaculatus, young), occurs in the Red Sea, Indian Ocean, Malay Archipelago, and south at least as far as the Cape of Good Hope (latitude 35| S.); in the Atlantic on the coast of Brazil (latitude 30|

  S.) to the equator, and north to southern New England (latitude 42| N.); in the Pacific to southwestern Japan (latitude 30| to 10| N.). In a general way the range may be said to be in tropical and temperate seas, between latitude 30| S. and 40| N., and in the western parts of those seas.

  The first allusion to this genus occurs in Piso's Historia Naturalis Brasiliu printed in Amsterdam in 1648. In this book may be found an identical, though rough, figure of the American species, accompanied by a few lines of description, which, though good, when the fact that they were written in the seventeenth century is brought to mind, are of no value for critical comparison.

  The name given to the Brazilian sailfish by Marcgrave, the talented young German who described the fish in the book referred to, and who afterward sacrificed his life in exploring the unknown fields of American zoology, is interesting, since it gives a clue to the derivation of the name "boohoo," by which this fish, and probably spear-fish, are known to English-speaking sailors in the tropical Atlantic.

  Sailfish were observed in the East Indies by Renard and Valentijn, explorers of that region from 1680 to 1720, and by other Eastern voyagers. No species of the genus was, however, systematically described until 1786, when a stuffed specimen from the Indian Ocean, eight feet long, was taken to London, where it still remains in the collections of the British Museum. From this specimen M. Broussonet prepared a description, giving it the name Scomber gladius, rightly regarding it as a species allied to the mackerel.

  From the time of Marcgrave until 1872 it does not appear that any zoologist had any opportunity to study a sailfish from America or even the Atlantic; yet in Gunther's Catalogue, the name H. americanus is discarded and the species of America is assumed to be identical with that of the Indian Ocean.

  The materials in the National Museum consist of a skeleton and a painted plaster cast of the specimen taken near Newport, Rhode Island, in August, 1872, and given to Professor Baird by Mr. Samuel Powell, of Newport. No others were observed in our waters until March, 1878, when, according to Mr. Neyle Habersham, of Savannah, Georgia, two were taken by a vessel between Savannah and Indian River, Florida, and were brought to Savannah, where they attracted much attention in the market. In 1873, according to Mr. E. G. Blackford, a specimen in a very mutilated condition was brought from Key West to New York City.

  No observations have been made in this country, and recourse must be had to the statements of observers in the other hemisphere.

  In the Life of Sir Stamford Raffles is printed a letter from Singapore, under date of November 30, 1822, with the following statement:

  The only amusing discovery we have recently made is that of a sailing-fish, called by the natives "ikan layer," of about ten or twelve feet long, which hoists a mainsail, and often sails in the manner of a native boat, and with considerable swiftness. I have sent a set of the sails home, as they are beautifully cut and form a model for a fast-sailing boat. When a school of these are under sail together they are frequently mistaken for a school of native boats.

  The fish referred to is in all likelihood Histiophorus gladius, a species v
ery closely related to, if not identical with, our own.

  The Cutlass-fish The cutlass-fish, Trichiurus lepturus, unfortunately known in eastern Florida and at Pensacola as the swordfish; at New Orleans, in the St.

  John's River, and at Brunswick, Georgia, it is known as the "silver eel"; on the coast of Texas as "saber-fish," while in the Indian River region it is called the "skip-jack." No one of these names is particularly applicable, and, the latter being preoccupied, it would seem advantageous to use in this country the name "cutlass-fish," which is current for the same species in the British West Indies.

  Its appearance is very remarkable on account of its long, compressed form and its glistening, silvery color. The name "scabbard-fish," which has been given to an allied species in Europe, would be very proper also for this species, for in general shape and appearance it looks very like the metallic scabbard of the sword. It attains the length of four or five feet, though ordinarily not exceeding twenty-five or thirty inches.

  This species is found in the tropical Atlantic, on the coast of Brazil, in the Gulf of California, the West Indies, the Gulf of Mexico, and north to Woods Hole, Massachusetts, where, during the past ten years, specimens have been occasionally taken. In 1845 one was found at Wellfleet, Massachusetts; and in the Essex Institute is a specimen which is said to have been found on the shores of the Norway Frith many years ago, and during the past decade it has become somewhat abundant in southern England. It does not, however, enter the Mediterranean. Some writers believed the allied species, Trichiurus haumela, found in the Indian Ocean and Archipelago and in various parts of the Pacific, to be specifically the same.

  The cutlass-fish is abundant in the St. John's River, Florida, in the Indian River region, and in the Gulf of Mexico. Several instances were related to me in which these fish had thrown themselves from the water into rowboats, a feat which might be very easily performed by a lithe, active species like the Trichiurus. A small one fell into a boat crossing the mouth of the Arlington River, where the water is nearly fresh.

  Many individuals of the same species are taken every year at the mouth of the St. John's River at Mayport. Stearn states that they are caught in the deep waters of the bays about Pensacola, swimming nearly at the surface, but chiefly with hooks and lines from the wharves. He has known them to strike at the oars of the boat and at the end of the ropes that trailed in the water. At Pensacola they reach a length of twenty to thirty inches, and are considered good food fish. Richard Hill states that in Jamaica this species is much esteemed, and is fished for assiduously in a "hole," as it is called--that is, a deep portion of the waters off Fort Augusta. This is the best fishing-place for the cutlass-fish, Trichiurus. The fishing takes place before day; all lines are pulled in as fast as they are thrown out, with the certainty that the cutlass has been hooked. As many as ninety boats have been counted on this fishing-ground at daybreak during the season.

  Chapter X

  THE GLADIATOR OF THE SEA

  Three summers in Catalina waters I had tried persistently to capture my first broadbill swordfish; and so great were the chances against me that I tried really without hope. It was fisherman's pride, I imagined, rather than hope that drove me. At least I had a remarkably keen appreciation of the defeats in store for any man who aspired to experience with that marvel of the sea--Xiphius gladius, the broadbill swordsman.

  On the first morning of my fourth summer, 1917, I was up at five. Fine, cool, fresh, soft dawn with a pale pink sunrise. Sea rippling with an easterly breeze. As the sun rose it grew bright and warm. We did not get started out on the water until eight o'clock. The east wind had whipped up a little chop that promised bad. But the wind gradually died down and the day became hot. Great thunderheads rose over the mainland, proclaiming heat on the desert. We saw scattered sheerwater ducks and a school of porpoises; also a number of splashes that I was sure were made by swordfish.

  This was the commencement of a nervous fever which confined me for several months. During all that time Henry was my only nurse. I afterwards learned that, knowing my father's advanced age and unfitness for so long a journey, and how wretched my sickness would make Elizabeth, he spared them this grief by concealing the extent of my disorder. He knew that I could not have a more kind and attentive nurse than himself; and, firm in the hope he felt of my recovery, he did not doubt that, instead of doing harm, he performed the kindest action that he could towards them.

  [Illustration: THE ONLY PHOTOGRAPH EVER TAKEN OF LEAPING BROADBILL

  SWORDFISH]

  [Illustration: XIPHIAS GLADIUS, THE BROADSWORDED GLADIATOR OF THE SEA]

  The second one leaped twice before we neared him. And as we made a poor attempt at circling him, he saw the boat and would have none of our offers.

  The third one was skimming along just under the surface, difficult to see. After one try at him we lost him.

  They were not up on the surface that day, as they are when the best results are obtained. The east wind may have had something to do with that. These fish would average about three hundred pounds each. Captain Dan says the small ones are more wary, or not so hungry, for they do not strike readily.

  I got sunburnt and a dizzy headache and almost seasick. Yet the day was pleasant. The first few days are always hard, until I get broken in.

  Next morning the water and conditions were ideal. The first two swordfish we saw did not stay on the surface long enough to be worked.

  The third one stayed up, but turned away from the bait every time we got it near him. So we left him.

  About noon I sighted a big splash a mile off shoreward, and we headed that way. Soon I sighted fins. The first time round we got the bait right and I felt the old thrill. He went down. I waited; but in vain.

  He leaped half out, and some one snapped a picture. It looked like a fortunate opportunity grasped. We tried him again, with flying-fish and barracuda. But he would not take either. Yet he loafed around on the surface, showing his colors, quite near the boat. He leaped clear out once, but I saw only the splash. Then he came out sideways, a skittering sort of plunge, lazy and heavy. He was about a three-hundred pounder, white and blue and green, a rare specimen of fish. We tried him again and drew a bait right in front of him. No use! Then we charged him--ran him down. Even then he was not frightened, and came up astern. At last, discouraged at his indifference, we left him.

  This day was ideal up to noon. Then the sun got very hot. My wrists were burnt, and neck and face. My eyes got tired searching the sea for fins.

  It was a great game, this swordfishing, and beat any other I ever tried, for patience and endurance. The last fish showed his cunning. They were all different, and a study of each would be fascinating and instructive.

  Next morning was fine. There were several hours when the sea was smooth and we could have sighted a swordfish a long distance. We went eastward of the ship course almost over to Newport. At noon a westerly wind sprang up and the water grew rough. It took some hours to be out of it to the leeward of the island.

  I saw a whale bend his back and sound and lift his flukes high in the air--one of the wonder sights of the ocean.

  It was foggy all morning, and rather too cool. No fish of any kind showed on the surface. One of those inexplicably blank days that are inevitable in sea angling.

  When we got to the dock we made a discovery. There was a kink in my leader about one inch above the hook. Nothing but the sword of old Xiphius gladius could have made that kink! Then I remembered a strange, quick, hard jerk that had taken my bait, and which I thought had been done by a shark. It was a swordfish striking the bait off!

  Next day we left the dock at six fifteen, Dan and I alone. The day was lowering and windy--looked bad. We got out ahead of every one. Trolled out five miles, then up to the west end. We got among the Japs fishing for albacore.

  About eleven I sighted a B. B. We dragged a bait near him and he went down with a flirt of his tail. My heart stood still. Dan and I both made sure it was a strike. But, no!
He came up far astern, and then went down for good.

  Dan sighted a big swordfish. We made for him. Dan put on an albacore.

  But it came off before I could let out the line. Then we tried a barracuda. I got a long line out and the hook pulled loose. This was unfortunate and aggravating. We had one barracuda left. Dan hooked it on hard.

  "That'll never come off!" he exclaimed. We circled old Xiphius, and when about fifty yards distant he lifted himself clear out--a most terrifying and magnificent fish. He would have weighed four hundred. His colors shone--blazed--purple blue, pale green, iridescent copper, and flaming silver. Then he made a long, low lunge away from us. I bade him good-by, but let the barracuda drift back. We waited a long time while the line slowly bagged, drifting toward us. Suddenly I felt a quick, strong pull. It electrified me. I yelled to Dan. He said, excitedly, "Feed it to him!" but the line ceased to play out. I waited, slowly losing hope, with my pulses going back to normal. After we drifted for five minutes I wound in the line. The barracuda was gone and the leader had been rolled up. This astounded us. That swordfish had taken my bait.

  I felt his first pull. Then he had come toward the boat, crushing the bait off the hook, without making even a twitch on the slack line. It was heartbreaking. But we could not have done any different. Dan decided the fish had come after the teasers. This experience taught us exceeding respect for the broadbill.

  Again we were off early in the morning. Wind outside and growing rough.

  Sun bright until off Isthmus, when we ran into fog. The Jap albacore-boats were farther west. Albacore not biting well. Sea grew rough. About eleven thirty the fog cleared and the sea became beautifully blue and white-crested.

  I was up on the deck when a yell from below made me jump. I ran back.

  Some one was holding my rod, and on the instant that a huge swordfish got the bait had not the presence of mind to throw off the drag and let out line. We hurried to put on another flying-fish and I let out the line.