CHAPTER II.
Enter the tropics—Flying fish—Luminosity of the ocean—Magnificent scene—Phosphoric light—Interesting facts in elucidation of that phenomenon—Albicores and Bonitos—A colossal whale—Sea birds—Gigantic species of albatross—Description of those birds—Their manner of flight.
On the 31st of May we lost the north-east trade, in 8° 40′ north, and longitude 23° west, after which we experienced variable winds with torrents of rain, until the 4th of June, when we had the south-east trade in latitude 4° 38′ north, and longitude 22° 49′ west, and crossed the equator early on the morning of the 7th, in longitude 27° 5′ west, being altogether only thirty-two days from Plymouth, including our delay at St. Jago.
On entering the tropics many animate objects excite attention, among others the flying-fish; it is surprising how many different opinions have been formed on the subject of this fish; some considering it seeks the air for sport or pastime, whilst others regard it as only taking flight when pursued, and thus decide its existence to be a continued series of troubles and persecutions. Between such opposite opinions, we can only form our judgment from actual observation, and there is one circumstance without any doubt resting upon it; that the supposed war of extermination exercised against them has not diminished their numbers, for they are observed in as large “flocks” at the present day, as navigators have related of them former days; they must also have had a long cessation of hostilities from the time of birth, to enable them to arrive at maturity. To say that these fish undergo persecution more than any other living animals of the creation, is absurd, for we may observe the same principle throughout the whole of the animated kingdom of nature.
On arriving in tropical regions, this curious fish is seen, and affords some variety to the tedium of a ship; the passengers amusing themselves by watching its flight, and sometimes its “persecution,” when pursued by bonitos, dolphins, albicores, among the finny, and tropic birds, boobies, gannets, &c. among the feathered tribe. I have frequently derived both information and amusement by watching the flight of these fish; to observe them skim the surface of the water for a great distance, sometimes before, and at other times against the direction of the wind, elevating themselves either to a short height from the surface, or to five or six feet, and then, diverging a little from their course, drop suddenly into their proper element; sometimes when their flight was not high above the water, and it blew fresh, they would meet with an elevated wave, which invariably buried them beneath it, but they would often again start from it and renew their flight.
I have never yet been able to see any percussion of the pectoral fins during flight, although such a high authority as Cuvier says, “the animal beats the air during the leap, that is, it alternately expands and closes its pectoral fins;” and Dr. Abel also supports this opinion, and says that it agrees with his experience; he has repeatedly seen the motion of the fins during flight, and as flight is only “swimming in air,” it appears natural that those organs should be used in the same manner in both elements. But the structure of a fin is not that of a wing; the pectoral fins or wings of the flying fish are simply enlarged fins, capable of supporting, perhaps, but not of propelling the animal in its flight.[12]
In fish, the organ of motion for propelling them through the water is the tail, and the fins direct their course; in birds, on the contrary, the wings are the organs of motion, and the tail the rudder. The only use of the extended pectoral fins in the fish is for the purpose of supporting the animal in the air, like a parachute, after it has leaped from the water by some power, which is possessed by fish of much larger size, even the whale. From the structure of the fin, I cannot consider it at all calculated for repeated percussions out of the water, although while in that fluid it continues its natural action uninjured, as it soon dries when brought into contact with the air, and the delicacy of the membrane between the rays would very readily become injured, were the organ similarly exerted in that medium.
The greatest length of time that I have seen these volatile fish on the fin, has been thirty seconds by the watch, and their longest flight, mentioned by Captain Hall, has been two hundred yards; but he thinks that subsequent observation has extended the space. The most usual height of flight, as seen above the surface of the water, is from two to three feet; but I have known them come on board at a height of fourteen feet and upwards; and they have been well-ascertained to come into the channels of a line of battle ship, which is considered as high as twenty feet and upwards.[13]
But it must not be supposed they have the power of elevating themselves in the air, after having left their native element; for on watching them I have often seen them fall much below the elevation at which they first rose from the water, but never in any one instance could I observe them raise themselves from the height at which they first sprang, for I regard the elevation they take to depend on the power of the first spring or leap they make on leaving their native element.
On the 6th of June, in latitude 1° 50′ north, and longitude 25° 14′ west, a flying-fish was brought me by one of the steerage passengers, which had just “flown” on board over his head, as he was standing near the fore-part of the ship; being still alive when he brought it to me, I hastened to place it in a bucket of water, to ascertain whether it would attempt to spring from it, and “take flight;” however, I found it was too late, for after floating about with its long pectoral fins half expanded, as it remained near the surface of the water, it continued alive for about the space of a minute, and then died. They usually, from the violence with which they come on board, receive some injury against the spars, boats, or chains, sufficient to destroy them; and therefore it will be difficult to observe their true actions as when performed in full vigour in their native element. This specimen measured nine inches in length. What excited my attention in this fish was a species of anatifa attached by its peduncle to the thorax. I regard as a very unusual circumstance, the existence of an anatifa attached to a living animal, particularly one of such rapidity of motion as this fish is usually supposed to be. The height at which this fish came on board could not have been less than fourteen feet from the surface of the water, and on the windward side of the vessel.
The “flight” of these fish has been compared to that of birds, so as to deceive the observer; however, I cannot perceive any comparison, one being an elegant, fearless, and independent motion, whilst that of the fish is hurried, stiff, and awkward, more like a creature requiring support for a short period, and then its repeated flights are merely another term for leaps. The fish make a rustling noise, very audible when they are near the ship, dart forward, or sometimes take a curve to bring themselves before the wind, and when fatigued fall suddenly into the water. It is not uncommon to see them, when pursued, drop exhausted, rise again almost instantly, proceed a little further, again dipping into the ocean, so continuing for some distance until they are out of sight, so that we remain in ignorance whether they have been captured or have eluded pursuit.
The flying-fish swim in shoals, for on one day they are seen rising about, and in the vicinity of the ship, in great numbers; and on the day following, or latter part of the same day, only a few stragglers are seen. When disturbed by the passage of the ship through the shoal, they rise in numbers near the bows of the ship, and the consternation seems to spread among those far distant: the same may be observed when dolphins and albicores are pursuing them. On passing between the islands of Fuego and St. Jago, (Cape Verd group,) in December, 1828, I witnessed a number of bonito in pursuit of flying-fish; the former springing several yards out of the water, in eager chase, whilst large shoals of the latter arose with an audible rustling noise before their pursuers, and the chase continued as far as we could see, a number of victims no doubt being sacrificed to the voracity of their hunters. Besides the finny enemies, they had to encounter, as they rose from the water, boobies, gannets, and tropic birds, which hovered about, and in our view secured very many as they sought refuge in the air. It was a novel sight, and one not often witnessed during repeated voyages, and afforded much amusement and interest to those who beheld it.[14]
Occasionally our attention was excited during the voyage, by the remarkable luminosity assumed by the ocean in every direction, like rolling masses of liquid fire, as the waves broke and exhibited an appearance inconceivably grand and beautiful. The phosphoric light, given out by the ocean, exists to a more extensive and brilliant degree in tropical regions, although in high latitudes it is occasionally visible, more especially during the warm months of the year. The cause of it has excited much speculation among naturalists; and although many of the marine molluscous and crustaceous animals, such as salpa, pyrosoma, cancer, several medusæ have been found to occasion it, yet no doubt debris, from dead animal matter, with which sea water is usually loaded, is also often one of the exciting causes.
As the ship sails with a strong breeze through a luminous sea on a dark night, the effect produced is then seen to the greatest advantage. The wake of the vessel is one broad sheet of phosphoric matter, so brilliant as to cast a dull, pale light over the after-part of the ship; the foaming surges, as they gracefully curl on each side of the vessel’s prow, are similar to rolling masses of liquid phosphorus; whilst in the distance, even to the horizon, it seems an ocean of fire, and the distant waves breaking, give out a light of an inconceivable beauty and brilliancy: in the combination, the effect produces sensations of wonder and awe, and causes a reflection to arise on the reason of its appearance, as to which as yet no correct judgment has been formed, the whole being overwhelmed with mere hypothesis.
Sometimes the luminosity is very visible without any disturbance of the water, its surface remaining smooth, unruffled even by a passing zephyr; whilst on other occasions no light is emitted unless the water is agitated by the winds, or by the passage of some heavy body through it. Perhaps the beauty of this luminous effect is seen to the greatest advantage when the ship, lying in a bay or harbour in tropical climates, the water around has the resemblance of a sea of milk. An opportunity was afforded me when at Cavité, near Manilla, in 1830, of witnessing for the first time this beautiful scene: as far as the eye could reach over the extensive bay of Manilla, the surface of the tranquil water was one sheet of this dull, pale, phosphorescence; and brilliant flashes were emitted instantly on any heavy body being cast into the water, or when fish sprang from it or swam about; the ship seemed, on looking over its side, to be anchored in a sea of liquid phosphorus, whilst in the distance the resemblance was that of an ocean of milk.
The night to which I allude, when this magnificent appearance presented itself to my observation, was exceedingly dark, which, by the contrast, gave an increased sublimity to the scene; the canopy of the heavens was dark and gloomy; not even the glimmering of a star was to be seen; while the sea of liquid fire cast a deadly pale light over every part of the vessel, her masts, yards, and hull; the fish meanwhile sporting about in numbers, varying the scene by the brilliant flashes they occasioned. It would have formed, I thought at the time, a sublime and beautiful subject for an artist, like Martin, to execute with his judgment and pencil, that is, if any artist could give the true effect of such a scene, on which I must express some doubts.
It must not be for a moment conceived that the light described as brilliant, and like to a sea of “liquid fire,” is of the same character as the flashes produced by the volcano, or by lightning, or meteors. No: it is the light of phosphorus, as the matter truly is, pale, dull, approaching to a white or very pale yellow, casting a melancholy light on objects around, only emitting flashes by collision. To read by it is possible, but not agreeable; and, on an attempt being made, it is almost always found that the eyes will not endure the peculiar light for any length of time, as headaches and sickness are often occasioned by it. I have frequently observed at Singapore, that, although the tranquil water exhibits no particular luminosity, yet when disturbed by the passage of a boat, it gives out phosphoric matter, leaving a brilliant line in the boat’s wake, and the blades of the oars when raised from the water seem to be dripping with liquid phosphorus.
Even between the tropics, the phosphoric light is increased or diminished in its degree of brilliancy, in a very slight difference of latitude; on one day it would be seen to a most magnificent extent, on the next it would be perhaps merely a few luminous flashes. It might proceed from the shoals of marine animals, that caused the brilliancy to be less extensively distributed over one part of the ocean than another. That I am correct in asserting that some of the animals which occasion the phosphoric light, emitted by the ocean, do travel in shoals, and are distributed in some latitudes only in a very limited range, I insert two facts which occurred during this voyage, and which will no doubt be regarded as interesting.
On the 8th of June, being then in latitude 00° 30′ south, and longitude 27° 5′ west, having fine weather and a fresh south-easterly trade wind, and range of the thermometer being from 78° to 84°, late at night the mate of the watch came and called me to witness a very unusual appearance in the water, which he, on first seeing, considered to be breakers. On arriving upon the deck, this was found to be a very broad and extensive sheet of phosphorescence, extending in a direction from east to west as far as the eye could reach; the luminosity was confined to the range of animals in this shoal, for there was no similar light in any other direction. I immediately cast the towing net over the stern of the ship as we approached nearer the luminous streak, to ascertain the cause of this extraordinary and so limited a phenomenon. The ship soon cleaved through the brilliant mass, from which, by the disturbance, strong flashes of light were emitted; and the shoal (judging from the time the vessel took in passing through the mass) may have been a mile in breadth: the passage of the vessel through them, increased the light around to a far stronger degree, illuminating the ship. On taking in the towing net, it was found half filled with pyrosoma, (atlanticum?) which shone with a beautiful pale greenish light, and there was also a few small fish in the net at the same time; after the mass had been passed through, the light was still seen astern until it became invisible in the distance, and the whole of the ocean then became hidden in darkness as before this took place. The scene was as novel as it was beautiful and interesting, more so from having ascertained, by capturing the luminous animals, the cause of the phenomenon.
The second was not exactly similar to the preceding; but, although also limited, was curious, as occurring in a high latitude during the winter season. It was on the 19th of August,[15] the weather dark and gloomy, with light breezes from north-north-east, in latitude 40° 30′ south, and longitude 138° 3′ east, being then distant about three hundred and sixty-eight miles from King’s Island, (at the western entrance of Bass’s Straits). It was about eight o’clock, P.M. when the ship’s wake was perceived to be luminous, and scintillations of the same light were also abundant around. As this was unusual and had not been seen before, and it occasionally also appeared in larger or smaller detached masses giving out a high degree of brilliancy: to ascertain the cause, so unusual in high latitudes during the winter season, I threw the towing net overboard, and in twenty minutes succeeded in capturing several pyrosoma, giving out their usual pale green light; and it was no doubt detached groups of these animals, that were the occasion of the light in question. The beautiful light given out by these molluscous animals soon subsided, (being seen emitted from every part of their bodies,) but by moving them about it could be reproduced for some length of time after. As long as the luminosity of the ocean was visible, (which continued most part of the night,) a number of Pyrosoma atlanticum, two species of Phyllosoma, an animal apparently allied to Leptocephalus, as well as several crustaceous animals, all of which I had before considered as inter-tropical species, were caught and preserved. At half-past ten, P.M. the temperature of the atmosphere on deck was 52°, and that of the water 51½°. The luminosity of the water gradually decreased during the night, and towards morning was no longer seen, nor on any subsequent night.[16]
Albicores,[17] bonitos, and even a colossal whale close under the stern, beguiled a tedious hour, until we arrived in latitudes where the various species of albatross, cape petrel, and other oceanic birds afforded a change from the “finny” to the “feathered” tribe. We lost the south-east trade on the 13th of June, in about 14° 30′ south, and long. 32° 14′. west. In lat. 30° 0′ south, and long. 24° 18′ west, on the 25th of June, cape petrels[18] were first seen, and increased in numbers as we proceeded, continuing about the ship, in greater or less numbers, even to Port Jackson; albatrosses were not seen until we arrived in lat. 36° south, long. 5° 18′ west, when several species of this bird were often about the vessel.
Besides the sight of flying fish, sharks, dolphins, and other deep-water fish; cape petrels, albatrosses, and other oceanic birds, serve to banish the sameness of a sea voyage, and that ennui which lays its benumbing hand upon those who have but few resources in themselves, and looking for it in objects around, too often feel disappointed. It is usually about the 29° of latitude, and 26° of west longitude, that the gigantic species of albatross is usually first seen, as well as the smaller but not less elegant species of the same bird. At first but few are seen, but they increase in numbers as the vessel gets into more southern latitudes; at some seasons of the year they appear more numerous than at others, which may be attributed to the pairing time, which may keep them, at certain seasons, nearer the rocky islets upon which they breed or rear their young. The large white or wandering albatross,[19] (Diomedia exulans,) the type of the genus, excites much interest by its majestic appearance, either when almost sweeping the sides of the vessel with its huge pinions, or when beheld a prisoner on the ship’s deck, realizing the idea of the famed roc (allowing for the brilliant and exaggerated descriptions usual in all eastern nations) mentioned in the Arabian Nights’ Entertainments.[20]
It is pleasing to observe this superb bird sailing in the air in graceful and elegant movements, seemingly excited by some invisible power, for there is rarely any movement of the wings seen, after the first and frequent impulses given, when the creature elevates itself in the air; rising and falling as if some concealed power guided its various motions, without any muscular exertion of its own; and then descending sweeps the air close to the stern of the ship, with an independence of manner, as if it were “monarch of all it surveyed.” It is from the very little muscular exertion used by these birds, that they are capable of sustaining such long nights without repose.
When these elegant birds are captured, and brought on board, their sleek, delicate and clean plumage is a subject of much admiration; and the fine snow-white down which remains after the removal of the outer feathers, is in requisition among ladies for muffs, tippets, &c. The large species of albatross measures from eight to fourteen feet. I have even heard it asserted, that specimens have been shot of this species, the expanded wings of which measured twenty feet across; but the greatest spread I have seen, has been fourteen feet.[21] The immense distance these birds are capable of flying, seems almost incredible, although often ascertained by birds having been caught, marked, and again set at liberty. When seizing an object floating on the water, they gradually descend with expanded or upraised wings, or sometimes alight, and float like a duck on the water, while devouring their food; then, elevating themselves, they skim the surface of the ocean with expanded wings, giving frequent impulses, (as the great length of their wings prevents their rising with facility from a level surface,) as they run along for some distance, until they again soar in mid-air, and recommence their erratic flights. It is interesting to view them during boisterous weather, flying with, and even against, the wind, seeming the “gayest of the gay” in the midst of howling winds and foaming waves.
To watch the flight of these birds used to afford me much amusement;—commencing with the difficulty experienced by them in elevating themselves from the water. To effect this object, they spread their long pinions to the utmost, giving them repeated impulses as they run along the surface of the water for some distance. Having, by these exertions, raised themselves above the wave, they ascend and descend, and cleave the atmosphere in various directions, without any apparent muscular exertion. How then, it may be asked, do these birds execute such movements? The whole surface of the body in this, as well as, I believe, most, if not all, the oceanic tribes, is covered by numerous air-cells, capable of a voluntary inflation or diminution, by means of a beautiful muscular apparatus. By this power, the birds can raise or depress themselves at will, and the tail, and great length of the wing, enable them to steer in any direction. Indeed, without some provision of this kind, to save muscular exertion, it would be impossible for these birds to undergo such long flights without repose, as they have been known to do; for the muscles appertaining to the organs of flight, although large in these birds, are evidently inadequate in power to the long distances they have been known to fly, and the immense length of time they remain on the wing, without scarcely a moment’s cessation.
When several species of the albatross, as well as petrels and other oceanic birds, are about the ship at the same time, no combats have been seen to take place between them; but on the death of one, the others soon fall upon and devour it. When one of this tribe of birds is captured and brought upon the deck, it appears to be a very muscular bird,—judging from its external form. This deception is occasioned by the quantity of down and feathers, with a very dense integument, and the air-cells being often inflated in a slight degree. When these are removed, the body of the bird is found to be of a smaller size than would have been supposed, and, comparatively speaking, does not possess the muscular power, which, from its long flights, our ideas might lead us to suppose. I remarked that the albatross would lower himself even to the water’s edge, and elevate himself again without any apparent impulse; nor could I observe any percussion of the wings when the flight was directed against the wind,—but then, of course, its progress was tardy. Many, however, have differed with me in considering that the birds never fly “dead against the wind,” but in that manner, which sailors term, “close to the wind,” and thus make progress, aided by, when seemingly flying against, the wind.[22]
The different species or varieties of the albatross, are but little understood; in the course of a long voyage but few opportunities occur to any person acquainted with natural history to examine specimens, and consequently our knowledge respecting them is limited to a very few facts. It is not in many instances that a new species can be defined; age and sex often producing differences which are frequently regarded as specific characters. If persons, who may feel an interest, or have studied this interesting science, would note down the differences of plumage, size, and sex, &c. of the birds captured, in course of time a mass of information might be collected, which would serve, in some degree, to determine the different changes of plumage undergone by the various species.[23]
On the 21st of August, the south end of King’s Island was seen, bearing east-north-east, by compass, at a distance of thirty miles. We entered Bass’s Straits on the same night, and anchored in Sydney Cove, Port Jackson, on the morning of the 25th of August.