Idylls of the Sea, and Other Marine Sketches

Among the many divers methods of garnering the harvest of the sea, one of the most interesting and peculiar is the Exocetus fishery of Barbados. Notwithstanding the incredible numbers of Flying-fish (Exocetus volitans) that crowd every tropical sea, Barbados is the only place where a systematic fishery of them has ever been established for commercial purposes. This is the more strange when the ease with which they may be taken, and the pleasant conditions under which the fishery is carried on, is considered, while the succulent delicacy of the fish is certainly a thing to remember. Familiar as the appearance of these wonderful little creatures is to ocean travellers, very little is generally known with regard to their habits, haunts, and mode of life. They are usually the recipients of much misspent pity. Relentlessly pursued by the albacore, bonito, and dolphin, they seek the air in shoals, only to be gaily annexed by hovering birds, or to fall gasping upon the deck of some passing ship. Their fate seems a hard one; but who pities their prey? They in their turn pursue as relentlessly and persecute as ruthlessly the smaller fish; and so the balance is held as truly as nature ever holds it where man does not interfere.

The most common and widely distributed variety of the flying-fish is E. volitans, whose range is world-wide between the limits of about thirty-five degrees north and thirty degrees south, though they are most plentifully found within the tropics. They are usually from six to twelve inches in length, body nearly quadrangular, colour of the head and back blue, abdomen silvery, lower lobe of the tail one-half longer than the upper. Some have no teeth, while others are well furnished; and naturalists are unable to agree as to whether they are different varieties, as they are in all other respects identical. The pectoral fins, or wings as they might well be called, are nearly as long as the fish, folding neatly and compactly into the sides of the body while the fish is in the water. The ventral fins are small in this species, and do not appear to be used as wings, merely serving to balance and guide the fish in the air. A very common error made in natural histories where this fish is mentioned is in the statement that it does not fly. “Its supposed flight is nothing more than a prolonged leap; it cannot deviate from a straight line, and cannot rise a second time without entering the water.” This, briefly, is the sort of thing one meets with in text-books where reference is made to this fish.

The simplest way of dealing with it is the Professor’s method of answering the query of the French Academy whether their definition of a crab was correct. The story is so well known that it does not need repetition. As the result of personal observation extending over a good many years, I assert that the Exocetus does fly. I have often seen a flying-fish rise two hundred yards off, describe a semicircle, and meeting the ship, rise twenty feet in the air, perpendicularly, at the same time darting off at right angles to its previous course. Then, after another long flight, when just about to enter the water, the gaping jaws of a dolphin emerging from the sea gave it pause, and it rose again, returning almost directly upon its former course. This procedure is so common, that it is a marvel it has not been more widely noticed. A flying-fish of mature size can fly a thousand yards. It does not flap its fins as a bird, but they vibrate, like the wings of an insect, with a distinct hum. The only thing which terminates its flight involuntarily is the drying of its fin membranes, and their consequent stiffening.

A marvellous provision of nature is apparent in the economy of this fish. Its swim-bladder can be inflated so as to occupy the whole cavity of the abdomen. Another membrane in the mouth is inflated through the gills. These two reservoirs of air form an excellent substitute for the air-cells within the bones of birds, and have the additional advantage of being voluntary in their action.

The only other species of flying-fish which is sufficiently distinct to call for notice is E. nigricans, locally known as ‘Guineamen.’ They often exceed eighteen inches in length, and weigh two or three pounds. In these the ventral fins are also very large, giving the fish the appearance of a huge dragon-fly as it darts through the lucent air. The markings of the body are black instead of blue, while the fins are black with a transverse band of silver.

Another strange thing about the natural histories that I have been able to consult is that no idea seems to be formed of where and how these fish spawn. Being met with all over the ocean, where its profound depth precludes all idea of their visiting the bottom, the locality of their breeding-places has puzzled the savants. There can, however, be no doubt that they deposit their ova in the massive banks of Sargasso bacciferum, or Gulf-weed, which is met with in such vast quantities as to impede a vessel’s progress through it. Through the pleasant groves and avenues of these floating forests, the young fry in millions disport in comparative security, while finding abundant food among the myriad lower forms of life that abound there. Of course, this remark can only apply to the Atlantic. Not having had opportunities enough of observation, I am unable to say where they spawn in the other oceans they frequent. On the coral reefs of the Leeward Islands and the sandy cays of the Caribbean Sea, I have often amused myself by catching the young fry thrown up with piles of Gulf-weed on the beach, and seen masses of the spawn, like huge bunches of white currants, entangled among its close-knit fronds.

Barbados, situated in the heart of the north-east Trades, is one of the favourite haunts of the flying-fish. Its steep shore-lines afford the blue depths which the flying-fish loves, and permit it to range very near to land. Thus the fishermen rarely go more than ten or twelve miles from home. When this industry was first commenced by the Barbadians, or what led to its establishment, I have been unable to discover; but it certainly has been for many years the mainstay of a large part of the population, and the source whence the most popular food known on the island is derived. There are (or were) about two hundred boats engaged in the fishery. Nowise notable for grace of form or elegance of rig, they are substantial undecked vessels, of from five to fifteen tons capacity, built in the roughest manner, and furnished in the most primitive way. The motive power is a gaff-mainsail and jib, and a couple of sweeps for calms. They are painted a light blue, as nearly approaching the hue of the sea as may be, and every care is taken to make them noiseless.

The fleet leaves the “canash” (harbour) before daybreak, each skipper taking his own bearings, and making for the spot which he thinks will furnish the best results. As the gorgeous tropical dawn awakes, the boats’ peaks are drooped, luffs of sails are hauled up, and the fishermen get to business. The tackle used is of the simplest kind. A wooden hoop three feet in diameter, to which is attached a shallow net with inch meshes; a bucketful of—well, not to put too fine a point on it—stinking fish; a few good lines and hooks, and a set of granes, form the complete lay-out. The fishermen are of all shades, from a deep rich ebony upwards, by fine gradations, to the cadaverous white so common in the island. Their simple fishing costume is usually one sole garment—the humble flour or potato sack of commerce, with holes cut in the bottom and sides, through which to thrust head and arms.

As soon as the boat is hove-to and her way stopped, the usual exuberant spirits and hilarious laughter are put and kept under strong restraint, for a single sound will often scare away all fish in the vicinity, and no more be seen that day. The fisherman leans far over the boat’s side, holding the hoop diagonally in one hand. The other hand, holding one of the malodorous fish before mentioned, is dipped into the sea, and the bait squeezed into minute fragments. This answers a double purpose—it attracts the fish; and the exuding oil forms a “sleek” or glassy surface all around, through which one can see to a great depth. Presently, sundry black specks appear far down; they grow larger and more numerous, and the motionless black man hanging over the gunwale scarcely breathes. As soon as a sufficient number are gathered, he gently sweeps the net downwards and towards the boat withal, bringing it to the surface by drawing it up against the side. Often it will contain as many fish as a man can lift; but so quietly and swiftly is the operation performed, that the school is not startled, and it very often happens that a boat is filled (that is, seven or eight thousand fish) from one school. More frequently, however, the slightest noise, even a passing shadow, will alarm the school; there is a flash of silvery light, and the water is clear, not a speck to be seen. Sometimes the fleet will return with not one thousand fish among them, when prices will range very high, until next day, when, with fifty or sixty boats bringing five or six thousand each, a penny will purchase a dozen.

Occasionally, in the midst of a good spell of fishing, the school will vanish, and a crowd of dolphin, albacore, or bonito make their appearance. Then the sport changes its character. Lines are hastily unrolled, a living flying-fish is impaled on the hook and trolled astern, seldom failing to allure an albacore or some other large fish, varying perhaps from twenty to two hundred pounds weight. On one occasion, when I had the pleasure of a cruise in one of the boats, we had very poor sport with the flying-fish, only taking about five hundred by noon. Suddenly the few that had been feeding quietly around us fled in all directions, breaking the water with a sound like a sudden rain-storm, and we were aware of the presence of a huge albacore. The skipper shouted gleefully: “By king, sah, him de bigges’ albacore in de whol’ worl’.” He certainly was a monster; but there was little time to admire his proportions. He promptly seized our bait; and the fun commenced. For over an hour this giant mackerel towed us where he would; and when for a moment the pace slackened and we touched the line, he was off again as hard as ever. Right through the fleet he towed us, and finally yielded to our united efforts in the middle of Carlisle Bay, amongst the shipping. We could not hoist him on board, and so had recourse to the expedient of passing a double bight of the line round his tail and towing him into the harbour. Great was the excitement on the quay, and willing hands not a few worked the crane wherewith we lifted him. He scaled four hundred and seventy pounds, the heaviest albacore on record in Barbados. Peddled around the town, he realised a much larger sum than a boat-load of flying-fish would have done; and so the sable skipper was well content with his morning’s work.