In the deep blue waters of the ocean, surrounded by shimmering schools of fish, there lived a small fish named Finley. From the day he hatched, Finley was special; not only for being the first of all his fish siblings to swim out into the ocean, but also for the little green spots sprinkled all over his otherwise bright orange body that resembled tiny green gems. However, it was those little green spots and his size that often made him a target for bullying by bigger fish in the coastal area.
One sunny afternoon, as Finley was joyfully swimming near the colorful coral reef, he overheard two larger fish talking.
“What’s that, just a little bumpy orange thing?” one fish laughed, pointing his fin at Finley.
“Let’s take a closer look!” sneered the other, revealing his sharp teeth as he swam towards Finley and stopped right in front of him. “Jewel fish, are you, with those ugly little green things? Just get lost, and be wise enough not to show your face again!” And with that, they both swam away, laughing out loud.
Finley felt so unhappy. He had often heard his mother tell his brothers and sisters with a fond shake of her head, when they were at all inclined to boast, that good manners and a kind heart were worth more than beautiful fins. But that did not seem to be the opinion of the fish he had just met. All he wished was to live peaceably with them, while these larger fish chased him this way and that, just to laugh at him and terrorize him.
At last he made up his mind to leave that part of the reef for a while, trusting, as his mother always did, that the change of scene would do him good. So into the open water he swam, hoping soon to reach a quieter kind of place. He spotted a school of fish darting back and forth. They seemed utterly indifferent to him. They did not part to let him through, as the fishes always do; they just swam against him, and made him fight his way through them, till at length one large fish, in the very middle of the school, seemed to take pity on him.
“Where are you off to in such a hurry, friend?” he said, stopping to breathe. “And what is the matter with your fins and tail? They are not nice and smooth like ours. Why don’t you keep them oily? It’ll do you good.”
Finley gave a thoughtful shake to his head, and said: “What a lot you have to learn! Because fish have scales is no reason why they should be oily! You see we all have scales, and when we grow up, we ought, of course, to have them nice and bright. But a big fish like you does not want to lead a small fish like me into temptation. So good-bye.”
Another time he came across a large fish who was beguiling the time by observing a group of fishermen with their lines, standing just above the water.
“What are you looking at?” ventured Finley.
“Just making up my mind as to which of those wretches I will next let catch me,” he answered.
“Let you catch you?”
“Yes, of course. They don’t mean to catch me for the fun of taking me. Oh no; their object is to catch me for food. And I, to amuse myself, sometimes dive right down and take a nibble at the bait they are teasing me with. But I manage to do it so cleverly that I never get caught myself.”
“And how is that?” asked Finley.
“First and foremost by never allowing myself to be caught in the same spot twice running,” he answered. “Then, if you want to know, come close, close to the line, and give a sharp dig, dig, and nip, nip at the bait, till you have pulled it right off the hook, as you might take the shell off a lobster with your teeth. And then, knowing well the bit of line that you were nibbled at, keep off that spot for ever after, and you will never be caught.”
“But how do you know that they are not using some other bait?”
“Oh! about that there is no difficulty,” he said. “You can always tell by the little green crabs which walk about on the beach, joyous and careless enough, till one fine day they are caught and boiled on to the table of a poor fisherman.”
The truth of all this sank deep into Finley’s mind, and one day he felt somehow that he ought to pay a visit to his own bit of the reef again. But when Finley got back to it, what was his surprise to find quite a number of fishes sitting on the coral rocks, listening in respectful silence to some fish of rank.
One large fish, more nobly shaped than the rest, was saying, “After all, if we had enough to eat at the bottom of the ocean, we should grow quite content and happy by and by just like the flounders. But those oscillating, gas-lighting double florin-cow fishes worry us so! We can’t catch them,” he went on, turning his fin towards a family near him, “but we should be so pleased to get them out of the way. They are such improper persons; just look at their figures. But should they offend any large fish, they go and take refuge at once in the tall coral-barrier at Pavilion de Heligoland, in order not to be candied and served whole in a plate of wine-sauce at the next fish dinner. Oh, yes; if we did not catch and devour them when we have an opportunity, the whole ocean would be filled with wild rejects and rubbish. Only try and understand.”
“That voice is familiar to me,” thought Finley; “yes, to be sure, that is a sturgeon. Luckily the thought is enough, at any rate for the present, to cure me of ever touching fish with a hammered-out nose like yours.”
And just as he began to slip away, the great fish looked at him and said, “Why, to be sure, Finley, is that you? What are you doing here?”
“I came here once before,” said Finley, “but I promised myself I would never return after the treatment I met with the last time.”
“That might have been a lesson to you,” replied the large fish. “But all that is of the past now. Come and be one of us. In that way you will be relieved from all the anxiety of the future. For, you see, if we can agree together, a little unison, or perhaps still better, alloy won’t be unwelcome to the brutish oysters—do not bite the bait!—and the ugly hammer-headed accursed butcher-fish, who feed themselves to surfeit at our cost. And if we go on thus, all the fish in the gulf will come to naught but peaceable quiet. Rest assured one handsome aery fish-vegetable of that sort, to be sure, will no longer be roasting on the fire as formerly!”
And after Finley had swallowed about four pinches of fish-vegetable, the large fish drew Finley much nearer to a hillock made of fish food, where all manner of fishes were feasting, and singing, and saying:
“Finley, all bad days are past! Never again will the crabbiest enemy with the green spots on their backs dare poke fun at you. Hear what I say, each one to shell his oyster; and if ever fish took Fra Angelico’s motto for their guide, it is we, for we have enough to satisfy the fish within our summits.”
Later, when Finley was traversing the oyster-hillocks, he thought to himself, “I was quite mistaken when I thought the little green spots on my back were a source of weakness to me; they were far more like the insignia of a member of a Society, living within itself, and still pleasant and pretty to look at.” And when evening was closing in, he swam back, quite happy, through the coral-houses, where all manner of fishes were swimming about busy in their household matters, wise and half-blind fishes sitting and resting their poor aching bones on coral couches, and fishes suffering from worms, but still contented with their lot in life. And Finley said, “Why did I ever abandon this little corner of the reef? All fish are brothers and sisters here.”
When he got home, he found a note from his mother waiting for him, who said she had just sent for all grown-up fishes by way of an evening party, and that a little more patience would soon make him one of themselves.
And exactly at that moment in came the little stupid fish, with five and ten marks very neatly tied on to his tail, that is to say, stamped money worth twenty crowns in all, which he said had been given him, but was very rightly his property still, and which had, in fact, stitched a velvet and gold belly fairly and squarely on to the host’s suit.
Finley was much pleased. So happy, indeed, did he feel fit to burst, that he instantly presented half to the fish society.
“The unheard-of purity and virtue towards the fish under your own care which you have shown,” said the large fish, “prompt me to assure you that the society will never forget it! A good mark that will be on your ribs some day. A few more tidings from an eminent deep-sea-fish, and we shall elect you president in due form; so do not give way to misanthropy and ill-humor, but mind your health; members of our Society, you must know, are obliged not to die, and under pain of exclusion refuse to exist in any but a cheerful and contented sort of way.”