The vastness and mystery of the depths of the sea has naturally led to their being peopled at all ages and amidst almost all peoples with strange and monstrous forms like the Chilon, fish-like in body, but having the head of a man; or the Dies, the creature of a day, whose life’s span ran its course in the hours between the rising and the setting of the sun; or more rarely with forms of more poetic beauty, like those sweet water-wagtails, the mermaidens we have already alluded to. Our illustration is a representation of the sea lion as believed in, or at least delineated, by the author of one of the mediæval treatises on more or less natural history that has come under our notice. Ælian describes fish having the heads of lions, rams, and so forth; and it is, of course, sufficiently evident that when a man has once got upon that train of ideas there is nothing to hinder his turning the whole “Zoological Gardens” into the shadowy depths of ocean, and evolving from his inner consciousness not only camel-fish or gazelle-fish, but fifty other equally striking creations. Rondelet, in a book published in the year 1554, gives sufficiently strange illustrations of sea-bishops and sea-monks; and another mediæval writer, Francisci Boussetti, represents in all good faith other forms equally bizarre; but the greatest storehouse by far, so far as our own experience of these old authors goes, is to be found in the “Historia Monstrorum” of Aldrovandus, a book most copiously illustrated, and full of the most extraordinary conglomerations of diverse creatures, or of wild imaginings that find no counterpart in any way in Nature at all. Of these we need give but one example, the very peculiar biped here represented.
Most of us, even the veriest landsmen, must have heard of “Davy Jones’s Locker,” though few could give it a “local habitation” as well as “a name.” Almost all superstitious people—and certainly sailors as a body may be classed as such—have a great objection to telling their beliefs to those whom they think will not receive their communications in a sympathetic spirit; hence it is often exceedingly difficult in most cases to arrive at all at a satisfactory conclusion, as, even after an explanation has been given, we find that what we were told was a mere putting off of the matter at issue, and their real belief has all the time been concealed from us. The following explanation of the seaman’s phrase we give for what it is worth, which in our humble opinion is not much. We are told that Jones is a corruption of Jonah the prophet, while deva or duffa amongst the natives of the West India islands is a spirit or ghost. The sailor’s locker, we are all aware, is the one place on board where his private possessions are more or less safe, so that when we hear of an unfortunate having gone to Davy Jones’s Locker, we may conclude that he is believed to have gone to some far-down place of safe-keeping in the Spirit-world, as Jonah, by inference, did. It is, however, a decidedly weak point in this explanation that Jonah, whatever may have been his experiences in the depths of the sea, soon exchanged his temporary “locker” for dry land again, and was no doubt ultimately gathered to his fathers in the bosom of mother-earth. Smollett, in his “Peregrine Pickle,” ignores all reference to the faithless prophet, and, without seeking out the why or the wherefore of the name, goes, we think, very much more directly to the point when he writes—“This same Davy Jones, according to the mythology of sailors, is the fiend that presides over all the evil spirits of the deep, and is seen in various shapes, warning the devoted wretch of death and woe.” Like the Irish Church and many other venerable institutions, Davy is now probably disestablished, or shelved like some fine old admiral on the half-pay list, though it would be interesting to hear the opinion of some navy chaplain on the point, as these old superstitions die very hardly, and at times rather clash with more orthodox theology.
The widespread worship of the serpent is a subject of the greatest interest, though it would take us far away from our present subject if we dwelt at length upon it. The place held by the serpent in ancient mythologies has, however, caused the creature to pass far from the region of commonplace zoological fact into the realm of myth.
One old belief more precise than nice was that the serpent first vomits forth its venom before drinking, in order that it may not poison itself by swallowing it; while another curious belief was, that sleeping children whose ears were licked by serpents thereby received the gift of foretelling future events. Cassandra was said thus, amongst other less famous personages more or less believed in by the ancients, to have received the gift of prophecy.
In Squier’s “Serpent Worship in America” many legends are given that admirably illustrate the feelings of the North American aborigines, the Peruvians, Mexicans, and other dwellers on that continent with regard to the great serpent that typifies to them, as to so many other races, the great Evil Power.
One of these, an Ojibiway legend, we must venture on quoting, for, somewhat lengthy as it is, it supplies an excellent illustration of this belief in the malign power of the serpent, and incidentally gives an echo of the widespread belief in a deluge, a belief extending from the legends of the Far West to those of distant China.
The Indian legend runs as follows:—“One day, on returning to his lodge in the wilderness after a long journey, Manabazho, the great teacher, missed from it his young cousin: he called his name aloud, but received no answer. He looked around on the sand for the tracks of his feet, and he there for the first time discovered the trail of Meshekenabek, the Great Serpent. He then knew that his cousin had been seized by his great enemy. He armed himself and followed on his track: he passed the great river and crossed mountains and valleys to the shores of the deep and gloomy lake, now called Manitou Lake, Spirit Lake, or the Lake of Devils. The trail of Meshekenabek led to the edge of the water. At the bottom of this lake was the dwelling of the serpent, and it was filled with evil spirits, his attendants and companions. Their forms were monstrous and terrible, but most, like their master, bore the semblance of serpents. In the centre of this horrible assemblage was Meshekenabek himself, coiling his voluminous folds round the cousin of Manabazho. His head was red as with blood, and his eyes were fierce and glowed like fire: his body was all over armed with hard and glistening scales of every shade and colour. Manabazho looked down upon the writhing spirits of evil, and he vowed deep revenge. He directed the clouds to disappear from the heavens, the winds to be still, and the air to become stagnant over the lake of the Manitous, and bade the sun shine on it with all its fierceness; for thus he sought to drive his enemy forth to seek the cool shadows of the trees that grew upon its banks, so that he might be able to take vengeance upon him.