Chapter 49 - A Story of Adventure on Land and Sea by Mayne Reid
Between two Tyrants
The two birds which had attracted the attention of the Catamaran’s crew were seen suddenly to abandon their fixed poise in the air, and commence wheeling in circles, or rather in spiral lines that gradually descended towards the surface of the sea.
In a short while they were so low that the scarlet pouch under the throat of the male was easily recognisable, swollen out like a goitre; while the elegant conformation of the birds, with their long, scimitar-shaped wings, and slender forked tails, was sharply defined against the blue background of the sky.
The albacores no longer took any notice of the baited hooks; but, instead, commenced darting through the water in various directions, until they had got scattered about over the sea.
Was it fear of the predatory birds hovering above that was producing this change in their tactics?
It could not be that. They did not appear to be acting under any alarm; but rather as if prowling in search of something not yet visible either to them or to those who were watching them from the deck of the Catamaran.
Ben Brace and Snowball knew the fish were not frightened by the presence of the birds; but William, whose experience of sea-life was more limited,—although the albacores did not look alarmed,—thought, doubtingly, that they were so.
“Surely,” said he, appealing to his older companions, “such big fish needn’t be scared of them?”
As he put the interrogatory, he pointed upward to the two birds, now within a hundred fathoms of the surface. “Surely they can’t kill an albacore? If they did, they could never swallow it, I should think?”
“’T ain’t the albacore they be after,” replied Ben Brace, “nor be the albacore afeerd o’ them,—not a bit. There be another sort o’ fishes not far away, though we can’t see ’em. No more do these sky-blue chaps as be swimming around us. They be now lookin’ for ’em,—mighty sharp, as ye see; an’ they’ll be sartin to scare ’em up in three shakes o’ a shark’s tail.”
“What other sort of fish?” inquired William.
“Flyin’-fish, lad; same’s you an’ I made our first meal on, when we wur wellnigh starvin’. There’s a school not far off. The frigates has spied ’em from aloft, an’ that’s what’s brought them hoverin’ over. They’ve seed the albacores too; and as they know that these preys on the flyin’-fish, they’ve come down to be nearer thar game. Unless the albacores get thar eyes on the winged fish, and run down among ’em, there’ll be no chance for the frigates. They can do nothin’ till t’ other jumps ’em out o’ the water. The sky-blues don’t seem to see ’em yet; but I dare say it’ll not be long afore they do, judgin’ by their manoeuvres. Thar! Didn’t I tell thee, lad? See yonder! They be off after something.”
As the sailor spoke, several of the albacores were seen suddenly heading in a direction parallel to the course of the Catamaran and passing rapidly through the transparent water.
In an instant after, several white objects were seen springing up before them, which, after glancing for a moment in the air, plunged back again into the water.
Not any of the Catamaran’s crew were ignorant of the character of these objects. The silvery sheen of translucent wings, as they glittered under the bright sunbeams, proclaimed the creatures to be a “flock” of flying-fish, of which the albacores—of all their many enemies the most dangerous—were now in pursuit.
There may have been several of the flying-fish that did not rise into the air, but fell a prey to their pursuers under the water; and of those that did succeed in springing above the surface there were two that never came down again,—at least not in the shape of flying-fish.
The sea-hawks, wheeling above both pursuers and pursued, had been watching their opportunity; and as the pretty creatures made their appearance above water, both the birds swooped straight down among the prinkling cohort, each selecting a victim. Both made a successful swoop; for they were observed to turn and fly with a slant upwards, each with a flying-fish in its beak.
One of them, the male bird, didn’t appear to be satisfied with the hold he had taken; for, with a sudden jerk of his head, he let go again, pitched the prey several feet upward, and again as it came down took a fresh “grip” upon it.
No doubt this was to his satisfaction, for almost in the same instant that the flying-fish returned within the mandibles of his beak it disappeared, wings and all, down that dark passage, where, no doubt, many another of its kind had preceded it.
It was evident that neither of the birds considered one flying-fish sufficient for a meal; for as soon as they had swallowed those already taken, they again placed themselves in position for shooting down upon a second victim.
And now the crew of the Catamaran had the fortune to witness one of those singular incidents that may sometimes be seen upon the ocean,—a little drama of Nature, in which three of her creatures,—all three differing in kind,—formed the dramatis persona.
The cock frigate-bird, on turning to look for a fresh victim, espied one, or that which was likely to become one, almost directly beneath him.
It was a single flying-fish, which by some chance,—perhaps from not being either so fast a swimmer or so swift upon the wing as its fellows,—had lagged behind the “school.”
It was no longer playing laggard, and for a very good reason: since an albacore, nearly full three feet in length, was swimming after it and doing his very best to overtake it. Both were exerting every bit of muscular strength that lay in their fins,—the former to make its escape, the latter to prevent this consummation.
It was evident, however, to those on board the Catamaran, that the pursuer was gaining upon the pursued; and this at length became also evident to the flying-fish. The tiny creature, as it cut through the clear water, could be seen quivering with fear; and the spectators looked to see it shoot upward into the air, and thus disappoint the greedy tyrant at its tail.
No doubt this would have been the very course of conduct for the flying-fish to have pursued; and no doubt it was on the eve of adopting it, when, all at once, the long, shadowy wings and outstretched neck of the frigate-bird were seen outlined above.
The sight was sufficient to keep the fish under water a while longer, but only a very little while. Above were that ugly red pouch and craning neck; below, those hideous jaws, ready to open and engulf it.
There seemed no chance of escape. It was only a question of choice as to the mode of death: whether it would prefer to become food for a fish, or be devoured by a bird.
As, in itself, it partook a little of the nature of, or, at all events, of the habits of both, there was not much to choose between them; but whether it did not desire to deliver itself over to the enemy most like to itself, or whether it was that the latter was now so near as to be almost certain of seizing it, it declared its preference for the bird by making a sudden spring which carried it clear out of the water, and into the air.
The sea-hawk hovering above in eager expectation lost no time in making the attempt to secure it; but whether he was too sure of his prize, or from some other unexplained reason, certain it is that he gave a practical illustration of the old and well-known adage about the cup and the lip, by failing to clutch the prey.
He was seen darting towards it with open beak,—his talons cruelly extended for its capture; but, notwithstanding all his activity, the white object that shot glittering past him, and dropped into the sea far beyond, proclaimed to the Catamarans that the Exocetus had escaped.