CHAPTER XIX.

THE DEVIL-FISH OF FLEMISH CAP.

Captain Coffin was an unusually well-informed man, and as Breeze was always on the lookout for stray bits of information, he took advantage of the opportunity afforded by this long voyage to ask the skipper a great many questions. One day, soon after leaving the _Vixen_, the lead, running out to a great depth, showed them to have crossed the Grand Bank, and to be on the deep waters of the North Atlantic. While they were talking of this, Breeze asked the captain how he supposed the Banks had been formed.

“My theory is,” answered the skipper, “that they were formed, and are constantly being added to, by icebergs. You see, every spring thousands of these big fellows come sailing down through Davis Strait for their summer outing. They bring with them tons and tons of gravel and sand, collected while they formed part of slow-moving arctic glaciers, or picked up off the bottom as they drifted along the Greenland and Labrador coasts. Now, no matter how large an iceberg is above water, it is more than twice as big below the surface--that is, we see less than one-third of its whole bulk, while the rest is under water. I saw one once aground in forty fathoms. Well, by-and-by the part that is under water begins to feel the influence of the Gulf Stream, and to melt much more rapidly than that which is above. As the bergs drift about in this melting condition, they lose, here and there, quantities of the sand they have brought with them. After a while they have melted away so much under water that they become top-heavy and capsize with a tremendous flurry, pitching overboard a great deal more of their cargo. Finally they melt away entirely, and all the material they have brought down from the north is swept up by the Gulf Stream, and deposited along its northern edge on what we call the Banks. To form them has been the slow but unceasing work of unnumbered centuries.”

“But why doesn’t this great quantity of sand and gravel pile itself up until it finally reaches the surface and becomes an island or a lot of small islands?”

“Because of the fierce currents that are continually sweeping over the Banks and scattering the material far and wide. They are caused by the mighty flow of the St. Lawrence River, by tides and winds, and very largely by the Gulf Stream; for, with such a volume of warm water flowing north and east all the time, there must be an equal quantity of cold water flowing south and west to take its place.”

“That’s so;” said Breeze, “I might have thought of that.”

“Many persons,” continued Captain Coffin, “imagine the Banks to be islands of mud rising to within a few feet of the surface, and even showing above it in places; and I have been asked if navigation on them was not very dangerous on account of the shoal water. I actually had a man ask me once if we often went ashore on the Banks.”

“Of course, I have always known better than that,” said Breeze; “but I don’t know how near they do come to the surface.”

“The shoalest waters of the Grand Bank,” answered the skipper, “are three fathoms, on the Virgin Rocks, ninety miles to the southward of Cape Race, and from that the depth increases to two hundred fathoms; while to the south-east of the Bank soundings of six miles have failed to reach bottom.”

“Well, there isn’t much danger of running aground in such waters,” laughed Breeze, “and I’m very much obliged to you for this information; but who do you suppose first found out that there were fish on the Banks?”

“I don’t know; perhaps it was that old Iceland fellow, Lief Erikson, who they say first discovered America. I have been told by the French fishermen who come over here every summer that their countrymen knew of these grounds as early as 1504, and that less than twenty-five years from the time that Columbus made his first voyage, a fleet of more than a hundred French, Spanish, and Portuguese fishing vessels were visiting them regularly every summer.”

“I should think with such constant fishing the supply would give out,” said Breeze.

“It would seem so, but it doesn’t; and I believe there are just as many fish on the Banks now as there ever were. Of course, there are more in some seasons than in others. This, for instance, appears to be an off year, and that is the reason I am going to see if they haven’t gone to the other side of the ocean for the summer.”

Soon after this the _Fish-hawk_ reached the small bank known as Flemish Cap, about three hundred miles east of Grand Bank, and the most distant of all the American fishing grounds. This was just twelve hundred miles from Gloucester, or half-way to Iceland, and Captain Coffin determined to set a few trawls, and see if they could not pick up some halibut here. As, under reduced sail, the schooner moved slowly across the Bank, several of the crew got out hand-lines and dropped them over the side. Among these was Nimbus, who, never having been on a fishing vessel before, was delighted to have a chance to try his luck at the new business, and very anxious to catch a halibut.

Now, Breeze was possessed of the peculiar power of ventriloquism, or the ability to so use his voice as to make it seem to come from other places than that in which he stood. He had only recently discovered this power, but had practised continually while on board the _Vixen_, and had become fairly skilful in performing the trick. In the excitement of the past week he had not thought of it; but now, as he saw Nimbus baiting a hook, and, under Mateo’s direction, preparing to make his first attempt at fishing, it flashed into his mind that here was a chance for some fun. He stationed himself close beside the two cooks, and waited patiently.

After a while there came a tug at the line, and Nimbus began excitedly to haul in. As the fish approached the surface old Mateo went in search of a gaff, with which to get it on deck. Just as its nose showed out of the water, and the black man was about to give a great shout of joy over his success, a voice, coming apparently from the halibut’s mouth, cried out,

“Let go, Nimbus, you hurt!”

For a moment the negro stood petrified with amazement, his mouth wide open as it had been in readiness for his shout of triumph, and his eyeballs rolling wildly.

Once more the fish spoke. “Let go, I say!”

This was too much. With a yell of terror the negro dropped his line, which went whizzing out over the rail, and sprang backward. As he did so he encountered old Mateo, just coming to his aid with the gaff. The force of the collision sent the two cooks rolling on deck together. Nimbus shouting, “Ow! ow! luff ole Nim alone; he nebber catch um no mo’!” and Mateo clutching at the black man’s ears, and spluttering out his wrath in Portuguese.

He was the first to scramble to his feet, and picking up the gaff, began to belabor Nimbus over the head with its handle. Just then Breeze, who, though choking with laughter, had caught the line and pulled the halibut once more to the surface, called to him for help in getting it aboard.

As the little man, responding to this summons, reached over the schooner’s side with the gaff, and prepared to hook it into the great white fish, he nearly tumbled overboard with the fright of hearing a voice directly beneath him say,

“What do you want with me, old Mateo? I ain’t your fish.”

Mateo bounded from the deck as though he had received an electric shock, and had not one of the crew who stood near seized the gaff, it would have dropped into the water as it fell from his hand.

The crew had by this time discovered the trick that Breeze was playing; but they were trying to suppress their laughter in order that the two victims of the joke might not suspect it.

As the halibut was lifted from the water and laid flapping on deck it seemed to say, “Well, this is what I call a mean trick! We heard you fellows were bound for Iceland, and--” There was no need to finish the remark, for before this point was reached old Mateo, with a howl of dismay, had darted forward and vanished in the forecastle, while Nimbus, with a yell of affright, had rolled aft and sought the safety of the cabin.

Then how those fishermen did roar with laughter, and stamp on the deck with their heavy boots, and slap Breeze on the back in token of their appreciation of his talent and its successful application! From that time forward he was obliged to exercise it frequently for the benefit of his shipmates; but it was long before Nimbus thoroughly understood it, or could be persuaded that the mysterious voices that seemed to come from all parts of the schooner were not produced by some invisible being.

The readiness with which this first halibut had taken the hook determined Captain Coffin to make at least one set of the trawls at that point. It was to be a “set under sail.” That is, instead of coming to an anchor, the schooner, under easy sail, would drop one dory with its trawl, then another, and so on until all were out, when it would turn back, pick them up in the same order, and stand off and on near the buoys until it was time to haul. As each trawl was set at right angles to the course of the schooner, and there were six of them placed at intervals of half a mile, very nearly three square miles of bottom were thus covered.

The rest of the crew had been paired off, and had chosen their dories before Breeze and Nimbus came aboard, so these two naturally became dorymates. This time Nimbus was the green hand, and Breeze his instructor, in the art of trawl-setting. Everything went smoothly with them until they had partially hauled their trawl, when such a fearful thing happened to them that to this day Breeze cannot think of it without a shudder.

Nimbus was in the forward part of the dory hauling in the line, while Breeze stood just behind him, coiling it away. As they were thus engaged, the trawl seemed to catch in some heavy body, and, in spite of his strength, Nimbus was obliged to call upon Breeze for aid to move it.

“Mus’ hab um whale on de hook,” he panted, as he tugged at the straining line.

Directly the strain was slackened, so suddenly that they nearly tumbled over backward. The water surrounding the boat became black as ink, and from it darted something like a huge snake, that twined itself about the black man’s body. He gave a cry of horror, and tried to tear it loose, but at his first movement two more of the snake-like arms shot out from the inky water and also seized upon him. These twined about his legs and tripped him, so that he fell in the bottom of the boat, very nearly upsetting it. As it was, it was drawn so far over to one side by the weight of the creature attacking them that there was imminent danger of its filling, and leaving them to struggle powerlessly in the water.

All this had happened so suddenly that Nimbus was flat on his back before Breeze at all realized what was taking place. A glance over the side showed him two of the cruelest-looking eyes he had ever seen. They were quite round, very large, and projected from the base of the long writhing arms, or tentacles, that had seized upon Nimbus. Snatching up an oar, and using it as a sort of harpoon, Breeze aimed a furious blow at one of the protruding eyes. Whether he struck it or not he could not tell, for before he could recover the oar it was torn from his grasp and drawn under the water. At the same instant another of the monster’s tentacles was thrust upward and fastened upon him, pinning his left arm to his body.

In the first shock of his terror, Nimbus rolled, screaming and helpless, among the slippery fish in the bottom of the dory. Suddenly a cry from Breeze of “Help, Nimbus! Help me! I’m being dragged overboard!” seemed to restore his courage. He struggled to his knees, seized upon one of the snake-like things that held him, and, with a mighty wrench, literally tore it in two. This gave him some freedom of motion, and he managed to reach over to where Breeze was clinging to a gunwale, and drew the boy’s sheath-knife from his belt.

Now the black man became the attacking party, and with the keen-edged knife began to slash right and left at the clinging tentacles, several more of which had by this time risen from the water, and were endeavoring to seize him. He fought so savagely, and with such effect, that finally the monster, having lost five of his arms, sank sullenly from their sight beneath the discolored waters.

For several minutes after their enemy had disappeared they watched apprehensively for his return, dreading a renewal of the attack. Much of their trawl had run out during the struggle, and now, making a tub fast to it, they tossed it overboard, and while Breeze held up an oar as a signal for the schooner to come to them, Nimbus began to row towards her.

“What do you think it was, Nimbus?” Breeze asked, at length.

“Don’ know. Nebber see’d notting like um in all my sailin’. Mus’ be um debbil-fish.”

Although Nimbus had never heard of Victor Hugo, he had applied to his late enemy the same name given it by the great French writer, the “devil-fish,” which is so wonderfully described in the “Toilers of the Sea.”

“Well, I think it was a sea-serpent,” said Breeze, “and I’m not sure but what there were half a dozen of them, too.”

When Captain Coffin heard their story, and saw the portions of the monster that still remained in the dory, he fully realized the peril they had been in, and congratulated them upon their escape from the embrace of a giant cuttle-fish. He measured the largest of the arms that Nimbus had cut from the creature’s body. It was bloodless, and composed entirely of gristle, and from its length the skipper concluded the creature must have measured twenty feet from tip to tip of two of its arms.

“But what kind of a beast was it?” asked Breeze. “It had big eyes, and seemed to be swimming in ink, but I could not see any tail or fins.”

“No, it did not have any. Its body was simply a round, leathery sack, about as big as a medium-sized squash. It had a horny beak like a parrot’s, and could have given you an ugly bite if it had got hold of you. The ink that it threw out was the sepia of commerce, from which India-ink is made. The creature was the giant squid, or octopus. He had eight arms, and but for your knife would undoubtedly have dragged you both to the bottom of the ocean.”

“Do they often attack people?” asked Breeze.

“No; they rarely appear on the surface of the water, and this fellow would not have done so if one of your trawl-hooks had not caught him. He belongs to the same family as the little squid we catch in such quantities on the Banks for cod bait.”

“I’d hate to have to catch such a fellow as he was for bait,” said Breeze, with a shudder.

“He’d make good whale bait,” replied the skipper. “There’s nothing the sperm-whale likes better. I once saw a piece of the arm of a cuttle-fish, thirty feet long, taken from a dead whale’s mouth, and we calculated that the creature to which it had belonged must have measured one hundred and twenty feet from tip to tip.”

“I thought a whale’s throat was too small to swallow a thing like that,” said Breeze.

“Not the throat of a sperm-whale. That is large enough to swallow ’most anything. You are thinking of the right whale. He couldn’t swallow a mackerel, his throat is so small.”

One afternoon, ten days after this incident, by which time the crew of the _Fish-hawk_ were heartily tired of the cold, stormy weather of the North Atlantic, the cry of “Land, ho!” rang through the schooner. The western sun, breaking through a bank of clouds, shone clear and full upon a distant snow-covered mountain-top. The ocean had been crossed, and Iceland was in sight.