pretty soon i must describe my playground, but first you must learn a few simple things about the place i love best of all places in the world, my home in the deep, deep sea.
do you suppose that when the sky is dark and threatening up where you live, and when the wind is blowing like a hurricane, and the great waves lash about, acting as if mad, that there is great disturbance far below?
do you suppose that when shipmasters are shouting out orders to the crew, and trying to keep their vessels from turning topsy-turvy or going down out of sight, that the fishes are scampering about wild, driven here and there by the fierce winds, and scared half to death by the fury of the storm?
do you suppose there is a terrible roar of wind and wave that bangs us against each other at such times, and makes of the under-sea a raging bedlam?
oh, by no means! there is nothing of the kind down in what folks call "the lower ocean." it is calm and quiet as the surface of a pond on a pleasant summer day.
and yet, if you wonder how i first learned about the lashing and the thrashing of the waves above our heads when there is a storm, let me tell about the time when i was a naughty, wilful fish, bound to have my own way and do just as i pleased. it was when i was quite young, yet pretty well grown. and this makes me wonder if growing little men-folks and women-folks ever are determined to have their own way, no matter what the mother may say.
i have an idea it is what is called the "smart age," when the young, whether fish, flesh, or fowl, start up all at once, and think they know more than—"than all the ancients." i heard that expression used once, and it seemed somehow to fit in here.
well, i was a young, big fellow, when one day i felt the will strong within me to take leaps toward the upper sea. now, i have already said that my mother took the best and most watchful care of me when i was a chicken-fish. so when she saw how restless and venturesome i appeared that day, she tried her best, poor dear, to turn me from my purpose.
for she was older and wise, and could tell by certain signs when the upper currents were seething and boiling. so when i darted upwards with a strong swirl that cut the waters apart for my passage, she thrust herself farther ahead, trying to drive me back, and said plainly by her actions:
"don't go aloft, my son, you will rush into danger; heed the warnings of your mother and stay where the waters are untroubled and safe."
no, i was getting to be a smart man-fish, and must be allowed to go where i would.
very well, i went. upward and upward i dove, until, oh, distress! i was caught by the turmoil and confusion of a great storm. i had gone too far because of knowing far less than i thought i did.
do you ask why i did not immediately dive downwards again? alas, i couldn't! i had raised myself into the storm circle, and big creature that i was, i had need to learn that there were mighty forces of the sea that made all my strength as a mere wisp of straw when placed against them.
do not folks, i wonder, sometimes find it much easier to get into a hard place than to get out of it? that was what i found then, being driven about first this way, then that. i was slammed against a great, roaring billow that sent me off presently in another direction, merely to be met by another wave that dashed me against a third one.
my instincts, that serve me for mind and brains, taught me that if i wanted to get down to quiet, restful depths, i must dive head foremost directly toward the bottom of the sea.
oh, what folly to try! no sooner would i get my great head and long nose pointed for a swift downward plunge, than a thundering billow would actually toss me into the air, just as i have seen a spurt of spray toss a cockle-shell.
oh, but i saw strange sights and heard strange sounds that night! once when two waves came together i was not only tossed high in air, but for several moments i actually rode atop of the rolling foam.
it was then that i had my first view of "folks." what wonderful beings! my first thought was, could it be some new, amazing kind of fish that could stand upright? you see, i had up to that time only known creatures that lay flat, that flapped fins in order to get along, or in order to try what is called by the long word, lo-co-mo-tion.
but here were fine, tall objects that were in every way so different! i indeed knew at once that they were far above and superior to the little creatures that flew, to anything that crawled, and to any kind of fish that swam the seas.
a great vessel was straining and tugging, and i could see lights here and there that showed the water black as night. sailors' voices rose high above the surging of water and the tempest's loud cry. there were queer little holes in the sides of the vessel that i know now are called "port-holes," and big guns were pointed out through them.
a sailor with a rope about his waist tried to walk across the deck, but was thrown along the wet and slippery boards like a ball tossed from the hands of a child. in a queer set of outside garments that i have learned are called "oil-skins," the crew, officers, and captain went to and fro, trying their best to keep things straight.
in some way i knew that the brave captain was not afraid. a little pale he was, surely, but his voice was firm as he called through a strange fixture called the ship's trumpet. and his hands did not shake as he tried to peer through a great glass across the rolling sea.
the sailor with the rope about him was again and again tossed and tumbled about as he tried to make the passage across the deck, but as often as he tried his mates would have to pull on the rope and right him. and i still think, as i did that night, that a ship's crew, sailors, officers, and captain, are brave, brave folk,—the bravest folks i know.
as the storm went crashing on, i kept thrusting myself downward, in hopes to plunge lower than the storm circle. no use. i was upborne every time, and after many attempts knew it would be best to simply float as i must.
i had drifted far from the sailing-vessel, when, as i floated high on the crest of a wave, i looked upon a pleasure-craft of some kind, riding high upon the breakers. men who were not regular sailors looked with startled eyes on the terrible sea. they were calm and quiet, but from the way they questioned the staunch skipper, and watched the men forming the crew, i knew they carried anxious hearts, and longed to see the waters grow calmer.
a hard fling sent me afloat again, and i had a peep inside the cabin, where ladies with white faces and clasped hands were whispering of the storm, and listening with fear in their eyes to the wild clamor of the winds.
then there was a peep beyond that showed me something that to this day i cannot understand, but i tell it because my instincts assure me that boy-folks and girl-folks in good homes with good parents will know just what it meant. and although i am only lord dolphin, a great fish of the sea, there was something about it that has comforted me, and i think always will comfort me as long as i live.
i saw a little girl, oh, a fair little creature, with fluffy, golden hair shading her babyish face, who was on her knees beside a white and gilded berth.
a berth, you know, is a small bed built right against the wall in any kind of a vessel, be it sailer, steamship, or yacht. i think this was some rich man's yacht.
the fair little lady, then, was on her knees beside her gilded berth, her elbows resting on the pretty white bed, eyes closed, tiny white hands clasped, and lips moving. she surely was talking to some one, but who i cannot even guess.
but this much was certain: that child was not afraid. not in the least! she must have wakened from sleep, else she would not have been alone. and hearing the wild storm, she had slipped from her little bed, put herself on her knees, and raised her dear, fearless little hands and heart—where?
oh, surely that child had a friend somewhere whom she trusted. how beautiful!
they say that fishes and some other creatures are cold of blood and have but little feeling. but i have gone far enough to think out one thing, and it all comes of that child on her knees: if a dear mite of a woman like that had a great, powerful friend she could talk to in the dark, and feel safe with in such a tempest, just as true as i am a living dolphin, i believe it must be some one strong enough and good enough to care for all kinds of creatures. i do, indeed! do you wonder it comforts me?
it was strange that after awhile the moon came struggling through the black and angry sky. she rode high, did luna,—that is the moon's name,—and was at the full, and wherever the clouds parted for a moment, a broad streak of luminous light shone down on great mountains of water, leaping up and up, as if eager to crush everything before them.
the wind did not soon go down, it could not; neither could i with my utmost strength dive downwards through the piled-up, violent waves that still rushed and roared, bounded and snapped with wild force.
luna had sailed toward the west, and a gleam of daylight was streaking the sky at the east, before the churning, choppy waters began leaping less high, and once again i was tossed crest-high, where i was glad to catch sight of a sailing-vessel that was steadying herself in the distance, and a white yacht was skipping like a frightened but rescued bird afar off.
i do not know whether i had been terribly afraid or not. i was not afraid of the sea itself, it was what folks call my "native element," the place in which i was born, was natural to me, and i was native to it.
but yes, i think i was afraid that the coming together of those fierce waves might crush me as they met in their terrible strength. the noise of such a meeting could be heard miles away. ships have been in great peril from them, and fish have often had the life beaten out of them in such a sea.
yet, naughty fellow that i was, no great harm came to me. as soon as i saw my chance, head down i plunged, out of the harsh circle of the storm.
oh, the peacefulness and the restfulness of those quiet lower regions! for far below, all strife of angry billow and raging storm was unknown, and glad enough was i to reach my mother's side.
it may have been that my own plump sides were puffed out with the effort i had made, and the storm's rough tossing, and my absence and the direction i had taken all told my mother that something had gone hard with me, and that i was glad to again be near her in the silent depths of home. she floated with me close alongside, guided me to a restful grove midst shimmering weeds that made a soft and silken couch, where in the sweet stillness, lulled by the lap of gentle ripples against weed, or shell, or bending sea-flowers, i glided off to dreamless slumber.
and the last thing i saw before slipping off to quiet sleep was a little bright-haired child on her knees, eyes closed, hands upraised and folded: a child that was not afraid.
