“It all depends on whether or not they are hungry. In some soundings, where fish abound, I have seen sharks by the hundred, which not only refused the bait, but did not injure the men who went into the water to bathe or accidentally fell overboard. Nevertheless, like yourself, I wonder that these creatures did not bite, for the sharks of the Atlantic are considered particularly greedy.”
“I can tell ye,” said the boatswain, who was standing close by, “why they did not take hold of the bait. It is because we are just in the track of the Brazilian slave ships; they throw many of the niggers overboard, for many die, and there’s no doubt but the creatures find richer morsels than a bit of salt beef.”
“Are there not several species of sharks?” I inquired of a passenger who seemed well acquainted with natural history in all its variety.
“A great many,” he answered, “and the largest and most rapacious is the white shark, to which class those that have just left us belong. He moves through the Atlantic as if it was his own realm, but is seldom seen beyond the solstitial point, preferring the latitude within the tropics; he is also found in the Mediterranean sea, and also in the gulf of Lyons, where he is peculiarly savage. The blue shark, seen in the English channel, is seldom dangerous; others, larger but less harmless, infest the northern seas, and are often pursued by the whalers merely for sport. Then there is the spotted or tiger shark, not very large but exceedingly rapacious; the hammer shark, which derives its name from the peculiar shape of its head, and the ground shark, which is the most to be dreaded of any, since he lies deep down in the water, and rising suddenly, seizes his prey without any one suspecting his vicinity.”
“Suppose a man is so unfortunate as to fall overboard, and a shark is in the neighborhood,” said I, “what can he do to save himself? Is there no hope of escaping from his dreadful jaws?”
“The best means I have seen tried,” he replied, “and with good effect is, if a man is a good swimmer, to throw himself on his back, splash the water with his feet, and shout with all his strength. The shark is a great coward and easily frightened––noise will always drive him off. When I was on a voyage to the West Indies, two or three years ago, I had a Newfoundland dog with me, who was accustomed to spring into the water from any height, and after anything. I was greatly attached to the animal, and 178 you may imagine my alarm as, one day we were lying becalmed off the West India islands, I saw him jump down and with, loud barkings, as if delighted with the sport, swim after a large shark that was playing around the ship. I expected nothing else but to see him devoured in an instant, but to my astonishment the monster turned and swam vigorously, evidently frightened by the barking of the dog who continued to follow him, until a boat was let down and himself brought back by the sailors.
“A singular method,” continued my learned fellow-passenger, “is practised by the divers who collect pearls on the coast of Ceylon. They often let themselves down an hundred feet in order to reach the mud banks where the pearl oysters are to be found, and whilst they are filling their baskets they must watch carefully on all sides lest a shark fall upon them. If they see one near, they stir up the mud, and then while the enemy is blinded by the turbid water they rise as quickly as possible to the surface. Many escape in this manner, but many also fall victims. Fair ladies as they adorn their persons with these costly ornaments think little of the suffering by which they are obtained,––the arduous adventurous life, or of the unfortunates who are annually swallowed by those savages of the deep. When one considers how often those poor Indians must dive to the bottom, to say nothing of the loss of life, before a string of pearls can be obtained, we may confidently assert that every necklace has been purchased by at least the life of one human being.”
Scudding now before a fresher wind, we steered towards the south and soon found ourselves in a colder climate. 179 The flying fish played lively as ever around the ship, and one night so many fell on deck as to furnish an excellent mess for breakfast. Black dolphins, the greatest enemy of their flying neighbors, tumbled playfully about in the rippling water, and at times encircled the ship in great numbers. Their motion is swift and vigorous,––so much so that it is scarcely possible to strike them with a harpoon.
On the 20th of October we reached the latitude of the Cape of Good Hope. Flocks of sea birds fluttered around our masts, for this colder region is the home of the beautiful sea dove, the great white albatross and an innumerable multitude of smaller kinds, that on the approach of stormy weather seem to rise, as by the stroke of a magician’s wand, from the sea. One of the few changes one meets with on a voyage to Africa is angling for birds, for they are as easily taken as the finny tribe, by baiting a fish-hook with a piece of fat meat, and especially so in those rough seas, upon whose surface little to nourish can be found, they seize greedily upon the hook, which fastens itself readily in their crooked bills. All these sea birds are clothed with a coat of feathers so thick and elastic that except in one or two places they are invulnerable to a bullet.