18. CHAPTER XVIII.
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 linkboys
lighting the monster's way. Pity there were no rayfish
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.
