Beche-de-mer, though called fish by tradesmen, neither swims nor floats; neither does it crawl, nor wriggle, nor hop, skip nor jump.  It simply “moves” on the ocean floor, when not reposing in apparently absolute and unconscious idleness like its distant relative, the star-fish.  Nor does the creature possess any means of self-protection.  Some species are rough and prickly, and are said to irritate the hand that grasps them.  Others either in nervousness, or a result of shock to the system, or to amaze and affright the beholder, shoot out interminable lengths of filmy, cottony threads, white and glutinous, until one is astonished that a small body should contain such a quantity of yarn ready spun, to eject at a moment’s notice like the mazes of ribbon drawn from a conjurer’s hat.

While it would be idle to particularise the different varieties of beche-de-mer, that lead such lowly lives in the coral reef here, there is one more conspicuous than the others, which may be referred to without presuming to trespass on the preserves of scientific inquirers.  Indeed, it is entitled to notice, for it seems to be most prominent among the few which afford examples of unconscious mimicry and sympathetic coloration to insure themselves from molestation.  Beche-de-mer does not generally give the idea of capability of even the simplest form of deception.  True, the “black fish,” shrinking from observation, puts on a cloak of sand, and a cousin assumes a resemblance to an irregular piece of coral—­rugged, sea-stained and rotten.  But the variety under notice takes a higher place in the deceptive art, for it seems to pose as an understudy to one of the most nimble and vicious habitants of the sea—­the banded snake.  It lies coiled and folded among the stones and coral of the reef, or partially hidden by brown seaweed, which heightens its momentary effect upon the nerves of the barefooted Beachcomber.  Its length is from 4 to 5 feet, girth about 3 inches, colour reddish brown, with darker bands and blotches.  The deception is in appearance only.  A touch reveals an innocent but shocking fraud—­a poor despicable dummy, lacking the meanest characteristic of its alert original.

Limp and impotent, it is little more than a skin full of water, a yard and a half of intestine with no superficial indication of difference between head and tail.  Watch closely, and the “face,”—­a much frayed mop—­is shyly obtruded from one end, and there is justification for the opinion that the other end is the tail.  Possibly, after all, this may not be a true variety of beche-de-mer.  In that case an apology to the rest of the tribe is necessary; though the mop-like face betrays a strong family likeness.