Chapter IV: Part 4

Gradually the feeling of being upon a floating thing with other creatures seemed less strange. It was remarkable how different the ship was now that he was on board it from what it appeared while he was a few fathoms in the air. Yet he had followed it so long that he had become accustomed to it, and the unpleasant sensation of becoming suddenly a prisoner aboard gave place to that of curiosity. The captain brought some choice fat and ordered the steward to keep the slush from the coppers as clean as possible and give the stranger as much as he wished. After eating several pounds he lost for the time all desire to get away and waddled about the quarter-deck perfectly satisfied with the sudden change in his condition.

The ship’s dog rushed up and made a savage attack, and for a few minutes the great bird was frightened, for the noise was distracting and a sudden bite gave him pain. Then the captain dragged the animal away and gave the newcomer a choice piece of salt pork to make up for the lack of courtesy shown by the dog.

There was much of the dog’s spirit aboard the ship, although it was not manifest to the albatross. Among the men forward were several who had much the same feeling for their fellows. Under the cover of bluff and honest exteriors they concealed dispositions like that of the dog. They were a type of what is known as “sea lawyer,” and were always dwelling upon the grievances of sailors and the rascality of mates and masters. Close and intelligent observers would have noticed at once that the faults their leader saw in others were the ones rising to the surface in himself and which he was trying to conceal. He was saturnine, and his ugly little eyes held an unpleasant look every time he came in the vicinity of either the mate or captain. The second officer was in the other watch and therefore not often about to give him orders.

As the vessel gradually made her way southward and the hardships became more trying with the colder weather, the feeling aboard among the men who listened to the grumbler became more sinister. The captain was not such a man as to let things go unnoticed, but as long as there was no direct disobedience of orders he took no action and let the mate warm up the discontented men with extra work, for it is well known that hard work will do more for an ugly crew than any medicine.

The captain spent much time on deck and made a pet of the bird he had captured. He was a generous man and lonesome among the rough fellows who made up the crew, for his position forbade any intercourse whatever with anyone except his first officer. Even this seaman, able and intelligent as he was, could not be made more of than a slight acquaintance. Such is the rule aboard deep-water ships, for discipline must be enforced if safety is to be considered.

During many lonely hours the master tried to reconcile the dog to the newcomer. The old wolf spirit bred through thousands of generations of the land animal was not easy to pacify. It was the old spirit of suspicion for strangers based upon the experience of hundreds of ancestors, who had perhaps trusted not wisely but too well in the days when all living things were at war with each other and only the strongest and most cunning might survive. It was as evident in the dog as in the men of the forecastle, and the master studied carefully and comprehensively to subdue it, or at least pacify it to an extent that strife might be averted. Kindness and unselfishness were the two antidotes he would employ.

The great bird was not slow to notice his friendship. After a day or two he was on the lookout for the master, who appeared regularly to take his morning observation for longitude, and he walked laboriously up to him in spite of the dog’s yelping. There was something in the man’s behavior that made him instinctively his friend. Finally even the dog’s suspicions were allayed, and instead of seizing the bird’s feathers in the rear to jerk them and then dodge the snap of the beak, he met the bird face to face and refrained from either a bite or bark. The two became reconciled.

During several days the albatross waddled about the quarter-deck and was fed, until the captain, fearing that he would grow so fat he would be unable to fly, finally took him in his arms one day and placed him upon the rail. Then he tied a bit of fancy red cord about his leg so that he might distinguish him from other birds that would follow in the ship’s wake. The great bird had long ago learned to eat from the man’s hand and took care not to chop too close to the fingers with his powerful beak. The master would stroke the beautiful white head and smooth the snowy feathers until the petting became a thing looked forward to. It was a smooth day in the latitude of the Falklands when he determined to set the captive free, and the dark water seemed less attractive than usual under the gloom of the overcast sky. The lonely cry of a stray penguin broke now and again upon the ears of the listening seaman and had a depressing effect.

With a last caress he gave the pet a gentle push to start him. The great black eyes looked hard at the sailor, and then, with the giant wings outstretched, he swung off in a graceful swoop, curving upward as the falling body nearly touched the sea. He was gone.

That night it came on to blow hard from the westward. The ship, nearing the latitude of the Horn, was shortened down to her lower topsails, and with the wind snoring away under them and past each taut downhaul, clewline, and halyard, she was hove to. It was necessary to try to keep her from sagging off to the eastward, for in this latitude every mile counts.

During the morning watch the mate had reason to call the captain, for with a falling glass and shifting wind, he was on the lookout for a definite change.

The captain came on deck and took in the situation. It was still dark, but the growing light on the horizon told of the approaching day. He stood near the man at the wheel a moment and the mate went forward where the green seas sometimes rose above the topgallant rail and fell upon the deck as the staggering ship plunged into the trough. Through the dim, misty light of the early morning he saw the watch turning out to clew down the foretopsail, and as the foremost man took the ratlines he turned and walked to the binnacle to watch the shifting course.

The increasing gale and gloomy prospects had caused the grumbling element among the crew to be more careless than usual, in spite of the master’s efforts to pacify them. The leader of the malcontents came aft with two others to take a pull in the spanker sheet, for upon the boom had been bent the storm trysail to hold the vessel’s head up to the gale while hove to. The men hauled surlily upon the line, but it came in so slowly that the mate came aft and spoke to them to stir them up. Then they flattened it in, but the stout landsman, or ordinary seaman, who was taking in the slack upon the cleat, failed to catch a turn. A tremendous sea hove the ship to leeward almost upon her beam-ends. The struggling men were hove against the lee rail, and the sheet, whirling loose from the fellow’s hands, caught a turn about his body and in an instant he was flung over the side. The captain, who had just stepped out from the wheel-house, made a grab to seize him, and a turn of the now flying line caught him around the ankle and jerked him also over the rail into the sea. Then followed the dreaded cry of “man overboard” and the confusion of a crew of men without a leader.

The mate with ready knife cut away the lashings of the quarter-buoys and let them go overboard. Then he tried to fling a line, but the ship was moving too fast. She was forereaching heavily, but in that sea it was madness to think of trying to stop her by laying the yards aback, or losing control of her in any way. She must go on. They might shorten her down enough to stop her, but even if they could do so within half an hour she would be too far away to see a man in the water and the sea too heavy to think of lowering a small boat.

Daylight was breaking over the stormy ocean and the roar from aloft was sounding louder with the increasing gale. Many of the men forward had not seen the incident and the cries of those upon the foretopsail yard to those on deck could be heard. From a bunch at the weather clewline came a faint strain of a “chanty”:

“‘Ole stormy, ’e was a good ole man--
Singing yo, ho, ho--with a hey--bar-rrr.’”

The absurd chorus struck forcibly upon the ears of the master, who with both hands gripped the life-buoy and kept his head clear of the breaking seas. The mate, leaning over the taffrail, bawled something to him he could not understand, and then the ship drifted to leeward with the faint sound of singing still in his ears:

“‘Ole stormy, ’e’ll come walking home,
Singing yo, ho, ho--with a hey--bar-rrrrr.

“‘le stormy, ’e has gone to sea--
But ’e’ll not come back, with a hey--bar-r-rr-rr.’”

The words of a “chanty” are generally grotesque and meaningless, but it was this very absurdity that struck the listening master as fraught with meaning. It was significant of his ending. He would not come back again.

The water was quite cold, and to make certain that he would not lose his hold upon the cork float he passed his head through the circular opening and made his body fast with the hand-line to the buoy at both sides, so that he would balance evenly. He would do all he could to live, and if he floated long enough they might pick him up after all. The minutes dragged into hours, and cold and exhaustion caused his mind to wander. He fancied he saw green fields again and was back in the land of his birth.

The suffering of passing was almost over and it held no terrors for him. He had tried to do what he could aboard the ship to make things less hard for his men. Perhaps if he had been more savage he would have done better, for there are some men who cannot be touched save through great bodily fear.

The dawn of the southern day had broken over the heaving ocean, and at times he would try instinctively to look for the ship. She had disappeared. Nothing but the great rolling seas as far as the eye could reach, and these turned now and again into grass-grown hills before his failing vision.

It was late in the morning, after the daylight had become strong, that he fancied he heard a dull, thunderous noise. It had little effect upon him now, for he was too far gone to pay much attention. The noise grew louder and louder as the minutes passed and suddenly his dulled brain became alert again. He looked toward where the sound came from, and it was from the northward and behind him, and through the haze of the flying spume-drift he saw the dark gray shadows of rocks. He fancied his mind was at fault, and in spite of the heavy roar which now filled the air he paid little attention. Then he was hove nearer the ledge and felt the rush of the lifting sea.

It spurred him to recover. He dashed the salt water from his eyes and made a desperate effort to realize his position. Then a great, high rolling surge that had run for miles across the southern ocean picked him up on its crest and bore him shoreward with the speed of the wind. As it broke into a white smother of foam he saw clearly at last that he was being hurled upon the rocks. He struggled to keep his head out of the boiling rush and looked for a place where he would strike. To hit the ledge at the speed he was going meant instant death, and he tried to see if there was no slue or opening into which he might be hurled. The current of the Antarctic had caused an eddy within a few miles of the rocks of Hermite Isle, in which he had drifted, and it had carried him toward the land at a rapid rate.

Rising upon the roll of the crest, he just managed to keep from striking until the weight and speed of the breaker had been exhausted. Then by chance and the aid of the buoy he managed to float into a crevice between the rocks and cling there until the back-wash had left him almost high and dry. With the last remaining energy left he hauled his body clear of the tide and lost consciousness.

When he regained his senses the sun was well up on the northwestern horizon. The wind had gone down considerably, and heavy, oily-looking clouds were hurrying past overhead, with breaks between them. He felt the sting of sleet upon his face and the chill from his wet clothes almost paralyzed him. He staggered to his feet and gazed about him. Then he crawled higher up the rocks.

There was no doubt about it, he was upon the rocks of Cape Horn. He was clear in his mind now and remembered his struggles, and he had seen the ragged hump too often not to recognize it at once. How his ship had been driven in so close was hard to guess, but he knew the treacherous currents of the Drift and remembered that a careless helmsman might very easily nurse the vessel off her course with the help of an unknown set to the northward.

While he looked about him he became aware that he needed nourishment very badly. He was faint with the long swim and continued exposure to the cold water and he must have remained unconscious for many hours after coming ashore. There was nothing to eat upon the ledge. Tufts of the great tussac-grass shot up here and there upon the heights above him, but there was nothing that looked as if it might be used to prolong his life.

But a seaman is never beaten until he dies. The master would not despair. He sat a moment and studied the question. Then he arose again and clambered painfully up the crags, hoping that he might find some Cape pigeon eggs upon the higher terraces. There was not a sign of anything except a great rock-hopper, or penguin, who skipped nimbly down and plunged into the sea with a loud cry before the sailor could reach him. Some thirty feet above the ledge upon which he landed he discovered a pool of half-stagnant water, but it was not salty and came from the melted snow and sleet. He drank some and felt better, although it made him colder. He felt through his clothes for a match, but found the metal case in which he carried them had failed to keep out the sea water. His numb fingers could scarcely open the case, but he finally placed the little sticks in a lee, where he hoped they would dry enough to light. Then he sat down and waited, and before he knew it he had fallen asleep.

The sun had swung up again in the northeast when he opened his eyes and the weather was less ugly. He tried his matches. First one was scratched carefully upon a dry piece of stone. The head crumbled slowly away. A bit of smoke seemed to start from it and the seaman’s heart beat rapidly. Then the head fell away, leaving the bare stick. It was worthless. He tried another of his scanty store. He grasped the little stick close to its head of composition and drew it very carefully upon the rock. A bunch of finely shredded grass, perfectly dry, was rolled into a ball to catch the first spurt of flame. The match cracked softly and at each noise the sailor’s heart seemed to stop. His hand shook violently. Then the head of the match crumbled again, and his spirits sank within him. It was life or death, for he must have warmth soon or perish. He had only three more fuses and he stopped a little to think of some way he might make them burn. He gazed steadily at them for a long time and then took up one. It failed.

Hope died away as he took up the other two. He struck them carefully as before, but they were spoiled. Then he cast the grass from him and looked out to sea.

He had been gazing for a long time before he was aware of a form which appeared circling over the ocean beyond the lift of the breakers. It was that of a huge albatross, which had come in from the sea and was apparently looking for a sheltered place upon the Horn to rest. The master gazed at the great white form skimming along over the wave-tops and remembered his pet. The bird appeared larger than the one he had caught, but all of the great Cape albatrosses were so much alike that he could not distinguish between them. He watched the bird circle about him and finally noticed that he had been discovered, for the creature came nearer and nearer at each sweep until he caught the look of its eye as it bent its head a little in order to observe him better. The albatross was evidently hungry and it might take very little indeed to invite an attack. The bird was practically carnivorous, for it ate anything in the way of flesh it could capture. It was very powerful and could get the best of a man without much trouble, provided the man was incapable of vigorous defense. The thought made him alert and brought to his own hungry self the idea of capture. He might do worse than eat a thirty-pound bird during his stay ashore. He could not cook the creature, but that would be of but small consequence in his present state. The food was the main thing and it was necessary to get something at once.

The bird came closer and closer until finally with outstretched wings and projecting feet it backed against its own headway and settled upon the ledge not twenty feet distant.

The captain’s heart beat high with expectation. He lay perfectly still watching it, hoping that it would come near enough for him to grasp it. If it was strong enough to conquer, it was well; he would soon be dead anyway without food. If he could master it by gripping its throat, he might live for many days.

The bird came straight toward him. He was quiet as a cat waiting for a spring, his eyes glaring at it as it approached. Then something attracted his attention. Upon the foot of the bird was a bit of cord. Yes, there was no mistake, it was his pet, the bird he had captured. He started up with a cry, but the bird came steadily toward him without fear, and in an instant was poking his great beak into his hand for food.

The seaman’s heart was beating wildly. Here was food enough for a week right in his grasp. He had but to seize the bird’s neck quickly and with the little strength he had left he could strangle it. The thought called forth all the wild wolf spirit in his nature. He was trembling with the excitement. But, as he looked down upon the beautiful, smooth white neck of his former pet, he wavered. Something within him rose against a deed of violence. He stroked the soft feathers and looked at the creature, who was probably almost as hungry as himself. No, he would commit no horrid act. He would probably starve anyhow, and it would be better to die than to have such a conscience. Then all of the beast fell away from him and he felt better.

But while he sat and stroked the great bird his mind was active. The albatross would not remain there long. He would follow some vessel for the beef-fat from her coppers, and as the thought came to him he began a plan to attract attention.

He tore from his shirt a long piece of linen. This was a piece having his name written upon it in indelible ink which had stood the wash of the laundry. It would stand the wash of the sea. He made it fast to the bird’s leg, and the bight of it he brought up over the back beneath the wings, tying it loosely and leading the other end down so that it could be fastened to the other leg. The thin cloth lying loose would prevent the bird from cutting it with its beak, for the edges of that appendage, while very sharp, were not laid as close together as those of a pair of shears, and the thin cloth would work between them. Upon the top of the piece he wrote with his own blood, “Cape Horn, Hermite Isle, Help.” Underneath this he put the date, and let his laundry mark do for signature. Then he led the bird gently to the edge of the rock and pushed him over.

Afterward he settled down in his bed of tussac and waited for the end he now felt was at hand. He prayed to the God he had felt in the breath of the trade wind and roar of the storm, the power which was manifest in all nature. Then a feeling of peace came upon him and his sufferings were over; he had collapsed.

Two days later the Norwegian bark _Eric_ was working to the westward past Cape St. John. Her captain had noticed a great albatross following his vessel all day, and saw the bird had something fast to its leg. Being of a very superstitious nature the master did everything he could to attract the bird’s attention and draw him close enough to observe the hanging cloth more thoroughly. He was astonished to find the bird quite tame, and had no difficulty in hauling it on deck with a baited hook. He took off the rag and read the inscription, which had luckily kept clear and dry, for the weather had been cold and the sleet squalls had not caused the writing to run.

Being in the neighborhood of the Horn, he did what no one but a very superstitious master would have done without great trepidation. He stood under all sail for Hermite Isle and hove his ship to not three miles from the rocks. The weather was better than usual and he had no difficulty in lowering a small boat and making a landing.

As the craft drew near the land the white life-buoy attracted the helmsman’s attention, lying high up on the rocks and showing out strongly against the background of black ledge. The boat was headed into a rift or slue, and two of the men managed to spring out of her, the rest keeping her clear of the rocks, which, although sheltered in the slue, felt the tremendous lift and back-wash of the heavy swell outside. The master was found unconscious in his bed of tussac-grass.

By care and skill they managed to get him into the small boat alive and started for the bark that was riding safely in the offing. They hurried back aboard and came alongside just as the Norwegian navigator set the great bird free again. The men rested upon their oars and watched the albatross as it stretched forth its wings and bore away to the southward. A man standing in the lee rigging held a line to throw to the bow oarsmen, but he hesitated and watched the majestic flight. The officer in the boat looked instinctively upward, and, as the huge creature soared away, he took off his cap and bowed his head.

He came from a race of giants. His ancestors had held sway over the great breadth of the Pacific for many centuries, and were the lords of the South Sea. When he first saw the light it was where the towering peaks of Juan Fernandez rose above the eastern sea, like the backs of huge marine monsters, from the deep ocean, topped by a heavy pall of vapor which rose densely for miles into the blue above and spread out like an enormous umbrella. Between the darkening under surface of the higher layers of white, reaching down to the green hills beneath, rectangular sections of steel-blue showed the semi-tropic rainfall. They were sharply outlined against the clear sky beyond, for off the land the sky was devoid of a single trade-cloud.

All around was peaceful calm. The great Pacific, father of waters, was resting. Only the high-rolling swell from far away to the westward came majestically onward toward the shore, rising higher and higher as it met, deep down, the resistance of the outlying reefs, until it threw its crest far into the air, and, with a thunderous roar of welcome, rushed white and churning against the iron-hard cliffs, which received it silently and hurled it backward as if coldly repellent of its embrace.

The sun had shone strongly for days upon the smooth, heaving swell, and out upon the sunken ledges where the albicore lingered; the rays filtered down to the solid rock. Here, sheltered by the reef beyond, the breakers did not disturb the ocean denizens. The deep-toned thunder of the fall on the outer barrier filled the air, but beneath the surface of the clear water all was quiet in the sunshine. The king was a young one of a large family. Scores of his brothers and sisters lay close to the bottom peering in and out among the forests of kelp, and enjoying the rays of the warm sun, for the albicore is essentially a surface fish. The heat and light were very pleasant to them, and they were growing strong and healthy.

The older fish had come inshore some weeks before our hero was born, but food was plentiful about the island and they still lingered. They had spawned and had seen their young brought forth. Now their duty was done and they swarmed about the ledges or plunged playfully about the slues in the reef, chasing the smaller fish to shelter in pure wantonness. They lingered on when it was time for them to take to the great stretch of ocean to the westward and make room for others of the deep ocean tribes. Now the young were about in great numbers, and they seemed almost to crowd the waters in the sheltered coves. It was high time to go to sea again, and on the morrow the leaders of the school would start for the open ocean to the west, where the sun sank out of sight. Those who could follow might be safe, for the older fish were very strong, and their numbers would prevent any of the hanger-on crowd of sullen sharks from coming too near the flanks of the moving throng.

A leader passed while our young one was watching the light. He was a great fish six feet in length, his sides shimmering like silver. His long, sinuous body apparently made no motion, save that it went ahead slowly and steadily, and his eyes sparkled like glistening crystals. His thin, tapering head seemed barely to disturb the medium about him as he went through it, and the only vibration of the light rays near him was caused by the huge mouth, which, although shut, showed heavy projecting lips and a half-concealed row of pointed teeth that rippled the water slightly as he slipped past. He was a long, powerful fellow, capable of great speed, and a stroke from those jaws of his meant death to anything in the sea of his size except the shark. Even the tough hide of this scavenger would not protect him from a frightful cut when the long, muscular body was launched at him with the speed of an arrow. A dark shadow which had come near the edge of the broken water gradually drew away with the albicore’s approach, and the young one experienced a feeling of relief instinctively which he could not understand. He was a very sensitive young one, all nerves, and the uneasiness which possessed him when the large relative drew away caused him to make an effort to follow. But the great albicore took no notice of him, nor waited, but suddenly made a dart ahead, leaving only the vision of a silvery flash.

Other large fellows came and went while the younger ones strayed about the shoal water and chased the herring spawn or whale-food, eating much and gaining strength hourly.

High above the bare rocks a shaggy goat nibbled the grass of the hillside, and to the southward a chunky, dirty bark lay with her courses hauled up and her mainyards aback, while a dense smoke arose from her trying-out furnace. Alongside of her the carcass of a freshly killed whale rolled just awash in the swell, attracting countless thousands of whalebirds and loafing sharks.

The young albicore grew very nervous as the sun sank behind the sea in the far west, dyeing the waves a deep crimson. He was remarkably sensitive for an ocean fish. Instinct told him that he would fare better away from that reef after the last full-grown albicore had gone. They had been going to sea all day by twos and threes, but had paid not the slightest attention to him or any of his younger mates. The longing for the open ocean came upon him and with it a nameless dread. He had no mother to guide him, no father to protect him. They had gone to sea with the rest and left him to shift for himself. But there was something in the deepening roar of the surf and the moaning of the sea among the sunken ledges that spoke of an all-pervading Power that would guide him onward to whatever life held in store. And yet with it all was that nameless fear and dread which made him alert to every vibration of the water. Darkness came suddenly, and some of his smaller companions began to seek shelter of the more shallow water within the coves and between the rocks. Their shimmering bodies grew less and less distinct until only the phosphorescent flare of the disturbed water when they moved gave notice of their presence. The semi-tropical night fell upon the peaceful ocean.

All that night the great fish moved westward. In the morning, just before the sun rose, the last of the laggards had started off into deep water, leaving the high cliffs like a wall in the eastward, while the somber bank of vapor rose again from the land and cast a gloom over the outlying reef.

While the young fish were waiting for the growing light to guide them in the wake of their forbears, there was a sudden commotion on the edge of the surf. Numerous plunges and splashes told of a horde of rapidly moving bodies advancing through the shoal water of the reef. The feeling of terror that had come over our young one the day before now seemed to pervade the entire crowd that scurried here and there in the gloom. Everywhere there seemed to be a state of wild alarm. Bunches of the smaller fish tried to find shelter in deep, dark holes where the kelp weed formed mats and snaky tangles. Then, just as the first rays of the morning sun glistened upon the crest of a great roller, there was a sudden rush through the water all about, and dark forms came plunging onward with incredible speed.

Our young one caught a glimpse of a great fish high in the air heading for him, and the next instant there were several huge gaping mouths between pairs of shining eyes rushing upon him from all sides. He saw his young comrades seized and swallowed, their frantic efforts to escape availing them not the least. Then with a wild terror, which spurred him to frantic action, he rushed seaward. A giant mouth made a snap at him as he went past. A huge form rose in the air and dropped upon him with jaws gaping. He made a mad dodge and just missed the rows of teeth, while the stroke of the falling body almost stunned him. Then he recovered and tore for the outer breakers. The bonita had struck inshore, and lucky would be the small fish who could escape their rush.

Away into the deepening blue of the ocean he sped headlong with all his energy. He looked neither to the right nor left, but held his way straight ahead with the terror of those fierce monsters vibrating through his whole being. On and on, without a thought of rest or slacking his speed, he pushed until the bright sunshine showed him a desolate waste of fathomless blue void around and beneath him, and a bluer void above, with the little lumpy trade-clouds swinging past overhead. He was heading almost due west, and as the day wore on and his terror gave place to fatigue, he slacked his speed enough to take a careful look about him. There was not a living thing in sight.

Hunger soon came upon him and stirred him to further action. He began searching the sea for food. Soon one of his former companions came up almost as exhausted as himself with the run for life, and together they swam slowly along just beneath the surface in the roll of the swell.

As the day passed more of his youthful relatives hove in sight until by night six followers held their way in his wake. These were all who had gotten to sea. Few indeed had escaped. The day had marked the death of countless young fish, for the bonita spared nothing that came in their path.

The seven albicore cruised in company, capturing what small surface fish accident cast in their way, but all the time they held a general course to the westward and northward to where the coral reefs rose from the bed of the equatorial ocean. Day after day they swam steadily on, the young albicore leading. Their silvery bodies grew apace and their backs took on a shifting blue color, so that looking down from above, it would have been hard to tell them from the surrounding blue depths. Sometimes the ugly and noisy bos’n-birds would swoop down as though to strike them, but by sinking a few feet beneath the surface the albicore easily escaped. At night the seven swam beneath a tropic moon, and as they went their courage grew rapidly with their size. Unfortunately they approached an unknown peak lying below the surface of the great ocean. Here they were chased by a huge dolphin who haunted the vicinity. Three of their number fell prey to him before they could get away. A week or two later the remaining four fell in with a roaming pair of bonita. Two more went the way of the weak.

The remaining pair of albicore now cruised onward together, our hero leading as before, until they came to Tahiti, in the South Sea. Long accustomed to danger now, they approached the shore warily, their tapering bodies scarcely disturbing the sea. The albicore had grown very fast, developing during these weeks of travel into powerful fish. The teeth of the male leader began to show sharply beyond his lips. He was growing more and more muscular, and the long swim was hardening him. He was sturdy and shrewd, and the wild instinctive fear that had governed his younger actions now gave place to a feeling of confidence. His mate had also developed into a strong fish, and as they swam slowly in through the outer breakers of the barrier reef, their long, sinuous bodies armed with jaws and teeth which were not to be despised, smaller fish approached to welcome them. The albicore received them coldly, heading straight into the sheltered coves of coral, where they would rest from their long run. Here they stopped at last and set about making a new home.

During the months that followed the albicore grew several feet longer. Our leader was now nearly six feet in length, with his long jaws armed with razor-like teeth, his tapering flanks with silvery scales covering muscles of great hardness and power. And with that power came a consciousness of his worth. His wild life and flight made him careful of the denizens of the coral banks. He grew cold and thoughtful until, as he reached his final development physically, he was a dignified and quiet fellow. The smaller sociable fish of the reef did not understand him. Theirs was a life of ease and comparative safety, and their thoughts seldom went beyond the boundaries of the outer barrier. They fussed among themselves and voted the great stranger and his companion surly company. The inquisitive little sunfish would sometimes take a peep in at the cove where the albicore usually lay in the sunshine on bright afternoons, but there was something in the great fish’s manner that the little reefer could not understand, and he set him down for a villain, keeping at a distance and looking askance always at those ragged teeth that peeped out from the long, sharp jaws. Even the mullet were warned, and gave the albicore a wide berth, while all the time he lay there with his thoughts far away where the peaks of Juan Fernandez rose from the sea. He was indeed a stranger in a strange place. Finally he was left alone with his mate.

The little sociable fish were heeded not at all by the albicore. He went to the reef daily and caught what small game he wished. His dignified movements were even watched by the great ground shark who lay daily under the shelter of the outer barrier, waiting to snap up any unwary traveler who might be unfortunate enough to be caught in the rolling surf and lose control of himself. Once only did the shark come in contact with the stranger. It was when the albicore had been rolled shoreward in the roaring surge. The lurking monster thought it a good chance to strike. He received a savage cut over the eye that left him somewhat bewildered and much more respectful of the powerful stranger’s rights in the vicinity.

As the season changed and the trade-wind shifted to the eastward, bringing with it little watery clouds, the two albicore became more and more restless. The future king’s sensitive nature became more and more imbued with the feeling that he must return to the waters of his birth to take his place among those of his kind. He would be needed. The bonita would come again, and there might be no albicore leader to protect those who had escaped their last assault, and who would return to the beautiful peaks that rose from the sea of his birth. There was a feeling within him that he must be there for a purpose. He was something more than a mere cruising pirate of the reefs of the South Pacific. The petty life of little sociable fish was not for such as he. There was something for him to do before he died, and this feeling became stronger and stronger until one rainy morning he started out accompanied by his faithful mate.

He was now at the fullness of his powers, a full-grown albicore of the southern ocean. All the inheritance of the race of giants from whom he had sprung was in his strong frame and lightning-like actions. He could dart so swiftly the eye could hardly follow his form, and by a slight swerve upwards he could spring high into the air above, leaving the sea ten feet or more below him, and then with head pointed gracefully downward, he would plunge into the blue depths, slipping his long, sinuous body so easily into the unresisting medium that there would be hardly a splash to mark his entrance. There were strength and grace in all his movements, and he was as bold as he was beautiful.

The speed of the fastest ship was slow as compared with his tremendous pace, so although he took his time and spent several days hunting upon the surface of the sea, it was but a short run for him to Mas-a-fuera. It was a very different passage from the one made when as a little fellow he voyaged out.

The high, grim cliffs of Mas-a-fuera rise a sheer thousand feet on the north side of the island, and the wind is usually southerly. This makes a ponderous lee, the only sea being the heave of the offshore swell. Many denizens of the deep ocean come in here to rest and search for food, and even the great cachalot, or sperm-whale, often takes a quiet cruise through the clear depths to enjoy the stillness, and incidentally look up a stray octopus or cuttle fish who might be ensconced within some ocean cavern in the cliffs.

It was toward this sheltered lee-shore our albicore held his way. Above the heights the huge pall of vapor rose as in his younger days, standing out clearly against the void of blue, as sharply outlined as a heavy cumulus cloud. There was no mistaking the place. He felt like a sailor who had made a long voyage and had sighted the home port at last.

As he went shoreward, followed by his mate, he noticed many silvery flashes in the water between him and the land. Drawing nearer he saw that these were caused by countless albicore. Soon he was amid a throng of his fellows numbering thousands, all making their way toward the sheltered sea in the lee of the island. With the spirit and instinct born in him and developed by his roaming life, he at once took the lead of this vast school and led them slowly in to the submerged rocks which would shelter them during their stay. Great numbers of females, heavy with spawn, straggled from the flanks of the column, but he swam around them, forcing them all into an almost solid phalanx of moving fish. The memory of the bonita was still fresh within him. He would take no chances with these helpless kindred. They seemed to recognize his leadership without question, and followed quietly wherever he led the way. Now and then some frisky younger member of the horde would make a sudden start to sheer away, but with a rush our leader was upon him, and he was forced back again. As they drew near the island a school of porpoises made a dash among them. These fellows drove the more timid in frantic throngs until our leader came plunging to the rescue followed by a few of the largest and boldest of the school. In a few minutes the warm-blooded animals had received some severe strokes from the razor-like teeth and they went plunging seaward. Then the mass of albicore went in and took possession of the rocks, the smaller fish fleeing before them.

Here at last our hero was in the waters he loved. Game was plentiful and the schools of the albicore led by him along the sunken rocks found it easy to keep supplied. His great size, greater than even the largest of that vast host, made his leadership unquestioned. Everything stood clear of his rush except the sullen sharks, and even they took care not to precipitate trouble by hanging too closely about the rear of his foraging parties as they went their way along the shore.

During the whole season the albicore hung about the reefs of Mas-a-fuera and Juan Fernandez Island. The young had come forth and the sheltered places inside the outer breakers were teeming with them. Our leader had driven to sea all other fish who were at all antagonistic to them, and peaceful tranquillity reigned. Once or twice a growing fellow, who had reached six feet or more in length, wanted to try conclusions with the leader, but he soon had enough after encountering the sharp teeth, and took his place among the followers. He was their king. A king by election and superiority, he led them steadily until the season waned, and the time for the bonita to strike inshore came at hand.

As this time drew near the feeling of unrest began to show itself among the school. Stragglers began to leave the reef and seek the open ocean with the instinctive longing for that safety which exists there. Our king watched them go by pairs and sometimes dozens, but he made no attempt to stop them. There would be enough to look out for without them, and they could well be spared.

Finally the time came for the general movement. He had marshaled the great host of albicore from the adjacent reefs, and together in one vast throng they left for open ocean, going to the northward to avoid the enemy who would attack from the south and west. The bonita were not as large or as heavy as themselves individually, but they were the strongest creatures of their size in the ocean, and their countless numbers made them absolutely fearless. They would attack anything that stood in their path, and their great vitality and quickness made them the most dreaded of all the foraging bands of sea-wolves which roamed the South Sea.

The solid phalanx of albicore started offshore at sunrise, the king in the van and the younger and more helpless bringing up in the rear of the column; but as before many of the young had been overlooked as they loitered among the sheltered places in the rocks.

The head of the moving mass was a full mile from shore before the end of the crowd had begun to leave, and as the sun shone upon the calm ocean, its rays struck glancing along the flanks of thousands of moving bodies, making the water seem like shimmering silver as the light flashed from the bright scales. There was no wind at all, and far away to the westward our leader thought he saw a peculiar disturbance of the sea surface. He took a leap into the air to get a better view and was followed by many of his companions, who usually imitated his example in all his movements. As he rose in the sunshine his glistening armor reflected the light and made him visible for miles. What he had seen upon the western skyline was enough. As far as the eye could reach the ocean had spurted white at his plunge, for the bonita had seen him, and with a front of several miles in extent they were plunging toward the band of albicore, tearing the calm surface to foam with their rush. It was as though some mighty explosion had taken place and spurted the sea upward in little jets along the front of a sunken reef, for the bonita acted almost in unison in spite of their vast numbers. They were now in full charge.

When two rapidly moving bodies, of almost equal weight, meet, the one having the swifter movement will prevail. King Albicore understood this principle instinctively, and instantly darted forward. His followers joined him, and away they rushed straight for the line of breaking water which drew nearer and nearer as the moments flew by. The rear of the column, finding the head leaving at speed, closed up the gap and came onward until soon the entire mass of albicore were driving headlong to the westward as fast as they could go.

It was a magnificent sight to watch those charging columns. A million bonita charging a hundred thousand albicore. Nowhere on land could such vast hosts of large living creatures marshal. The sea was ruffled and foamed for miles with the disturbance of the fleeting bodies, and from above the bos’n-birds could watch the long line of pointed heads making the ocean darken with a huge shadow as the hordes rushed onward.

A mile, then a half--a quarter, and still the ruffling lines of ocean surface seemed to draw nearer with undiminished speed. There was a seeming instant of quiet. A space of apparently unruffled water. And then they met.

Like an eruption from some subterranean crater the sea sprung upward. The long lines of pointed heads struck together. Bodies flung high in the air. Tails, heads, quivering sides streaming from ugly gashes, were thrown into the sunlight, and then upon the quiet of the morning there broke a deep, dull, moaning roar of immense volume.

Full into the center of the great army the king albicore tore his way. Bonita snapped and flashed upon all sides, their vigorous bodies fairly quivering with the rapidity of their movements, but with his jaws cutting like a pair of flying shears, he held his way while his sturdy followers entered behind him and forced the gap. Into this, like a wedge, pressed the body of the column, cutting and fighting with incredible fury. Comrades fell out by the hundred, chopped and torn by the bonita who surged in upon the flanks, but the great mass of albicore tore its way through, killing everything in its path.

Away they went straight ahead. The bonita fell away sullenly from the solid ranks, and in half an hour the last albicore had gone through the gap in close column, leaving the sea and its scavengers to wipe out the marks of their passage. There was no changing front to that horde. The course was straight ahead. It was certain death to be left behind.

The bonita held their way toward the reefs of Mas-a-fuera and were soon out of sight in the East.

But King Albicore, what of him?

With flanks cut and ripped almost to ribbons he stuck at the head of the column. No sheering this way or that. The feeling had come upon him that he had done his duty. He had fulfilled his mission. He, the king, had led his comrades to victory, and he must pay the great debt which falls to all sons of nature. Silently and steadily he went along, his instinct telling him his time had come. But with it there were no regrets.

He had done all he could for his kind, and like a king he would die.

The bright sunshine would fade and the blue water would disappear forever. They would forget him, and another leader would take his place. But he knew he had done his duty and knew he had done it well, and the great throng would live to be thankful for his prowess.

The sunlight seemed to be fading and darkness appeared to be coming upon the ocean, yet he knew it was not quite midday. He turned to take one look at the mighty host he had brought to sea. They were still following him faithfully.

Then the light went out. He turned upon his side and sank downward through the blue depths, while the albicore held their way to the coral reefs of the South Sea.

The “Nibblers” received their name from Mr. Keon, second officer of the steamship _Spitfire_ of the Great American Fruit Company’s line running to the tropics for bananas. The family, commonly speaking, were simply ship’s rats, but Mr. Keon was of a romantic and discerning turn of mind, and after making their acquaintance he christened them comprehensively.

To Mr. Keon they were much more than ordinary rats. He knew the whole family intimately from old Mrs. Nibbler, the mother, down to little Tiny, the smallest and most timid youngster of the lot, and to be known by the second officer was a privilege not granted to all who came aboard the fruit ship. He was a man who possessed an enormous fund of material from which he could draw without effort for sea stories, and, according to many authorities, consequently possessed a large amount of “gray matter” in his head. Whether this came outside in the form of hair, or remained inside in the form of brains, it is not necessary to inquire. He told the story of “The Nibblers,” sitting one night on the edge of the forward hatch with the full tropic moon behind him and the soft wind of the Florida Stream blowing the smoke from his pipe away to leeward, and enough of it was remembered to get his name down as that of a very remarkable man.