The Strife of the Sea

by T. Jenkins Hains

The first motion upon the part of the monster is a signal which produces a strange effect. No sooner has he bolted the game than from all around rise dark-brown and gray shadows. These congregate about him, and he lazily swims away, leaving probably half a hundred of his relations to search the clear depths for what might be left.

And such relatives! One has a head half a fathom wide, his eyes peering wickedly from the curving sides of his shovel-like nose. Another has stripes like those of the tiger on land, and is hardly less ugly in disposition. Let the old fellow who first tackled the game get a slit in his hide and the striped fellow see it. He will find his affectionate relative’s knowledge of the fact announced by a sudden chop. Then there will be a general mix-up, and if he is still active and strong enough he may live to dine upon the unsympathetic cousin. But more than likely the cousin will be re-enforced by a host of hungry comrades, whose ideas of fair play are somewhat biased by an uncontrollable appetite for anything nutritious. If this is the case he will apparently melt into that beautiful blue void about him, leaving but a slight stain which will soon disappear. It was here in these abodes of the genus carcharodon that our hero was born.

He was one of a school of six when he first saw the light, and his five brothers and sisters were so like him that the great mother shark could hardly tell them apart. When she opened her enormous mouth one day to receive them and give them shelter while a desperate sword-fish swung his weapon in her face, she made a miscount when shutting her jaws, and one belated little fellow was quickly swallowed by the insolent enemy. The mother made a dash and chopped off a piece of the sword-fish’s tail as he fled before her wrath, but he escaped in spite of this.

During his babyhood Johnny Shark had many trials. There were the hideous little pilot fish to deal with. They were always following him around trying to rob him of his rights. Then his brothers also lacked in unselfishness, and he fought them, one and all, from the beginning, until his disposition became somewhat combative.

During this period of his life his skin was of a most beautiful velvety gray, shading to white on his belly. His hard bony lips formed a sheath for his cutters, and they fitted in behind them as snug as a sword in a scabbard. They were very small, but the same shape as his mother’s triangles, and he could work them on their bases as though hinged in his jaws. He was but little more than a foot in length, and he kept close to his mother’s side, ready to shelter should a fierce albicore or any of the giant mackerel tribe take a notion that he would make a good meal.

And yet he could venture deep in the shadow of the mountain defiles, where in some of the huge caverns gigantic, many-armed monsters, with huge beaks and eyes a foot in diameter, lay waiting, seizing whatever unfortunate fish happened within the sweep of their snaky tentacles. In fact all around him was an eternal war. Everything seemed to be fighting with everything else and only the luckiest and most powerful beings seemed to last many changes of the moon.

As for his brothers and sisters they were like himself, keeping close to his mother, and ready for a refuge within her huge jaws at the first sign of an approaching enemy.

As he grew slowly he began to develop a wandering spirit. He would leave the protecting shadow of his mother when she would float lazily upon the surface, and explore the ragged fringe of foam to see what might be had in the way of diversion. Once a great bonita made a dash at him, but he saw him coming in time, and turning he chopped him savagely. The taste of blood seemed to invigorate him, for he hung fiercely upon his now fleeing enemy until he tore away, leaving a mouthful of himself in the tightly locked jaws. He was too lazy to follow up his victory. A fat porpoise chased his wounded assailant until he conquered him and made him his meal.

In fact, he seldom cared for violent exercise, and could hardly understand the foolish savagery of some of the warmer-blooded denizens about him. When he fought he generally made a sure thing of it. He would take no chances where a wound or exhaustion meant certain death. There were plenty of small rockfish that were too stupid to run when he approached, and he could always get enough of them without playing the game of death for the pleasure of it.

Once a school of giants came to the Rocks, and he lay in the shadow of a crag wondering at their size. They were sperm whales, and their leader was an enormous old fellow whose fat sides were studded with barnacles. These seemed to trouble him, and he would roll slowly up to a peak near the surface where the sunlight filtered down through the blue, and rub his belly for hours at a time, scraping off thousands of the parasites. Then the stupid little fishes would dart out from their hiding places to catch them, and he would dash among them before they could get back again. While the monsters lay near the Rocks a very long and thin relative of Johnny’s mother paid them a visit. His tail was enormous, and it was evident he was fast. He seemed to have some business with his parent, for soon afterwards she followed him off to sea where one of the whales lay sleeping with the water breaking gently over her back.