“Now I’ll show you where the shark keeps his eyes.” You see, a shark is blind, it can only see about four inches in front of its snout. Every shark has two little parasite fish, pilot fish, that see for it, and in time of trouble the shark swallows its pilot fish for protection. Down in little sockets behind the shark’s gills, Stitches brought out two squirming, brightly colored fish, about three inches long.
People have often asked me how it is that natives seem to swim unharmed in shark-infested waters. They escape from death because they know a shark’s habits. A shark, by reason of its near-sightedness, depends upon its pilot fish to spot food for it. The tiny fish can see any animate object in the water and head for it. The bright color of their bodies shines in front of the shark who follows where they lead. A shark will not attack an inanimate object for it cannot notice it! A moving object in the water attracts attention and the natives, wise to this, let their bodies go limp when a shark circles too near them. Then, when a shark circles to turn around to attack, the native moves like lightning to dive under the animal and rip its throat with his sharp tortoise-shell knife.
“Now always remember, Skipper, if you ever are overboard and near a shark, keep your head and keep quiet until the shark circles from you. Don’t be a landlubber fool and try to fight because that just makes you a movin’ target fer the little pilot fish.” I have been laughed at when I have told about the pilot fish of a shark, and unbelievers have said it was just a good fish yarn, but nevertheless it is a fact.
“Do any other kind of fish eat you, too?” I asked, a bit worried.
“Hell, a shark ain’t a fish, it’s a mammal—just like a porpoise and a whale is a mammal.”
A shark not a fish? It had fins and a body and tail like one and it doesn’t have to come up to the surface to breathe like a porpoise and a whale.
“Now you take that shark jaw and hang it over the side in the water and in a week all the meat will rot off it; then you’ll have a pair of fine shark’s jaws to hang up in your cabin.”
No portion of that shark was to be wasted. McLean had taken the empty gut and had stretched it out in the sun to dry. “For shoelaces” he answered, when I asked him what he was keeping it for.
“But it stinks,” I protested.
“Well, it won’t when I cure it in salt,” he replied.