Fishy, maybe, but what a father!
By E. C. Walsham
To meet the ideal father I should ask you to visit some of the beautiful sea-weed gardens that fill many a rock pool along the coast, or to dip a net where the angler finds his shrimps for bait. Here you may see not only an ideal father but the most docile of husbands, one of the meekest males the world has ever known.
He is everything that a husband should be. Perhaps the secret of his success as a father lies in the possession of a clever wife – one who points a way of escape to all weary, toil-worn wives, not only in her own watery world but in yours and mine.
All down the ages long-suffering woman has had thrust upon her the care and nurture of offspring. She has submitted, if not always with a good grace, with seeming meekness. It has remained for little Mrs. Pipe-fish (Urocampus carinorostris) and a few other emancipated mothers to turn the tables – with a vengeance.
Mrs. Pipe-fish has decreed that the office of nursemaid shall devolve upon her husband. She has turned him into a veritable pipe-fish perambulator. Though but a mere silvery streak a few inches in length, Mrs. Pipe-fish has taken the bit between her teeth, so to speak, and has bullied her meek mate not only into carrying the parcels (i.e. eggs) but into carrying them right until they hatch into wee replicas of himself and his clever spouse. Moreover, he must have his pocket always in readiness, so that his score or two children may seek safety therein when danger threatens.
There is only one name for this model father, and Jeeves he became. Mrs. Pipe-fish has but to produce the eggs. The rest may safely be left to Jeeves, who obligingly allows them to be incubated in his queer little tail-pocket until they are ready for birth.
My ideal father wears no badge of office. Indeed, seeing him and his family sporting among sea-grass in lovely sunken sea-gardens, one has difficulty in deciding which of them ‘wears the breeks’. Laying them on the palm of a hand (they are only wee creatures) one sees in some of them a long, elliptical swelling on the under surface at the base of the tail. These are the male pipe-fish, and the swelling is really a brood-pouch in which, later, he will cradle the eggs of an emancipated wife.
In immature males only a slight ridge is apparent, but as the mating season approaches it becomes more pronounced. Presently the lips of the pouch part to allow the entrance of eggs. One may soon follow two lines of bead-like swellings where lie the orderly rows of developing eggs.
From the moment when he takes charge of them life becomes a serious business for Mr. Pipe-fish. He is now an automatic incubator for the eggs of his emancipated lady, who skims away to lead a carefree, bachelor-girl life in the fairylike little sea-gardens. Nor do his troubles end with the birth of the babies, for until they can fend for themselves he must be ever in attendance, like a broody hen with her chicks.
Have I introduced the model father? Not until one has witnessed the birth of a baby pipe-fish from the brood pouch of its father can one measure the height and depth of his devotion.
My specimens were placed in a glass of water as soon as they were taken from the sea. In mature males the ova were clearly defined in those bead-like swellings that ran the length of each pouch. The inside of the pocket is honeycombed with cells, and in each of these an embryo pipe-fish, with great dark eyes, lay coiled around its yolk-sac.
Presently much movement was evident. Then bubble-like swellings appeared in the ‘furrow’ of the pouch, and instantly out squirmed first one, then another, and another, of the wee pipefish, colorless replicas of their daddy.
So transparent they were they seemed nothing more than silver streaks, tiny phantom-fish, whose great dark eyes were startlingly clear. Their transparency is a means of protection in water teeming with hungry enemies.
These babies swam about their small glass world with a writhing, lashing motion – like the tail of a boy’s kite mounting into the sky. At the tip of each tail was a wee fan-like fin which doubtless acted as a rudder.
As each baby left its father’s pouch one noted its close resemblance to another group of curious fish, the seahorses, which are believed to be descended from a common ancestor. Among its brethren, in their sea-grass pastures, the mature pipe-fish is well camouflaged. So closely does he resemble a blade of grass that he is discovered only with difficulty. His long tubular mouth, which is open only at the tip, hasn’t a tooth in it! He can dine only upon such trifles as can be sucked through the small opening.
I have known many human fathers whose generous pockets were easily accessible to wife or daughter; but when I see one of them searching twelve or thirteen pockets for a tram-ticket I feel that here is something Mr. Pipe-fish could teach him – this model father who has but one pocket which he places at the complete disposal of his spouse.
Chapter 6
MATERNAL DEVOTION
‘With the seething masses of spherical, green abdomens and translucent legs about her the quiet mother made an exquisite picture of
