Part 13

Such patience as these finny housekeepers manifest is not appreciated by man. The gleaners of the golden fields, in whose waters our little friends are found, have not discovered their secret, and think the curious piles the washes of the brook itself. But their purpose is the protection of their eggs. In swift-running streams, which these fish are so wont to affect, the eggs would be washed away, and, driven against rocks and snags, would be destroyed, or, even escaping destruction, would, by the undulating movement to which they would become subjected, be rendered impossible of incubation. Besides, were they not thus protected, even though there was no danger of being washed away, they would become easy prey to the attacks of carnivorous fishes.

Unlike as the Lamprey-eels are in structure to the Dace, yet in their habits of erecting a nest they are very similar. Upon our Eastern sea-board they are a common species, inhabiting both salt and fresh water. In the early spring they follow the shad up the rivers, occasionally preceding them, and search about for suitable localities in which to deposit their spawn. They clean away the stones as the Dace were seen to do, bending their long bodies in coils, which they use in pushing aside the accumulation on the bottom. To the unlearned the appearance of two Eels, each three feet in length, twisting and seemingly coiling about each other, would be indicative of war. But having cleaned for themselves a smooth spot, the Lampreys proceed to place stones. Irregularly-shaped stones of small size are easily and quickly transported in their mouths, but when stones that weigh several pounds are to be brought, the tactics they adopt are worthy of an engineer. As the spots chosen for the rearing of their submarine castles are ordinarily subjected to a swift current, the largest stones, which it would be thought impossible for them to move, are looked for up stream. A suitable one found, and a favorable position presented, the sucking mouth is fastened to it, and by a convulsive effort, the tail of the fish being raised aloft, the heavy stone is lifted from its place, the current pushing against the fish and stone, bearing them along several feet before they sink. Another effort of the fish, and the rock is again raised and carried down stream, until finally, by repeated liftings and struggles, the ingenious, persevering nest-builder is swept down to the nest, where the load is deposited. This laborious work is carried on until the pile has attained a height of two or three feet, and a diameter of four. No special form seems to be necessary. The nest is generally oval, compact and well devised to contain the eggs, which are carefully deposited within, thus affording protection in its numerous interstices for the young when they hatch. When about six inches long, the young _Petromyzon marinus_, which is a strange little fellow, is devoid of teeth, and blind, and possesses so many characteristics distinct from the parent, that for a long time he was considered a separate species, and even assigned a place in a different genus. Enormous nests are sometimes built. John M. Batchelder, Esq., describes one, which he saw in the Saco River, Maine, that was about fifteen feet long, and from one to three feet in height, its position and triangular shape in vertical section being well adapted for securing a change of water, and a hiding-place for the young. The operation of building was very methodical, a hundred and more Eels being at work upon the structure. Water-worn stones, chips of granites and fragments of bricks, sometimes weighing as much as two pounds and transported by a single individual, were utilized in the building.

More remarkable, however, than any previously described, are the nests of the Fresh-water Chub, _Semotilus bullaris_, which is known in some localities as the Stone Toter. This fish attains a length of about fifteen inches. The finest nests are on the shores of Westminster Island, but they are common on nearly every island that has a sandy, gravelly shore among the many that make up the Thousand Islands. The nest is a pile of stones, sometimes measuring ten feet across at the base, four feet in height, and containing a good-sized cart-load of stones, weighing in all perhaps a ton. Stones from small pebbles to some four inches in length were used, and as some of the nests are placed at considerable distances from the gravel-beds, and each stone represented a journey, the amount of labor performed, when it is considered that tens of thousands of stones must have been used in the building, certainly was incredible. Each stone is brought in the mouth of the Chub and dropped over the piles, one or more fishes working at the same heap. Some plan is evidently followed in the work, the first deposit of stones being small, and dropped so as to form a circle or semi-circle. The largest heaps are undoubtedly the work of successive years, the nests being annually added to during the last of May or June, when the Chubs are seen lying in the heaps, at which time the eggs are probably deposited. All the labor of piling up is to protect them from predatory fishes, a necessary and wise provision, as cat-fish, rock-bass, perch and others prey upon the eggs.

In gravelly beds the Trout excavates a simple nest, a mere depression in the sand, that is not at all incomparable to the nest of some species of gulls. A furrow in the gravelly bottom of a river, often ten feet in length, the depression being made as fast as it is required, is the nest of the Salmon. In Canadian rivers these nests can be easily distinguished by the lighter marking in the bottom.

Few persons of the many who delight to drift along our sea-shores are unfamiliar with the Toad-fish. So closely does he in shape and color resemble a moss-covered stone that his enemies are deceived. Intrenched among the weeds and gravel, which the mother-fish carelessly throws aside, after the fashion of some of the gulls, the young are reared, their yolk-sacs enabling them to cling to the rocks of the nest soon after birth. There, under the watchful eye of the parent, they remain until old enough to swim away.

But the most vigilant of all nest-builders is the Four-spined Stickleback--_Apeltes quadracus_. In some neighboring stream, that sooner or later finds its way to the ocean, he may be found. There are different species of these fish, but their architectural ideas are pretty much the same. They vary mainly in the locations they select for nesting. Some place the nests upon the bottom, concealed among the sea-weed found there, while others hang theirs from some projecting ledge, or swing it in the tide from the sunken bough of some overhanging tree. As is unusual, the work of nidification is solely performed by the male Stickleback, the female taking no part in the labor. The spawning season having arrived, he, assuming a bright nuptial lustre, shows remarkable activity in selecting a site for an edifice, and transporting the building material thither. Fragments of all kinds of plants, gathered often at a distance, are brought home in his mouth. These are arranged as a sort of a carpet, but as there is danger of the light materials being carried away by the current, they are weighted down by sand to keep them in their places. Having entwined them with his mouth to his complete satisfaction, he then glides gently over them on his belly, and glues them with the mucus that exudes from his pores. More solid materials, sometimes bits of wood, sometimes bits of straw, which he seizes with his mouth, are adjusted to the sides of the floor to constitute the walls. He is now very particular. If the piece cannot be properly adjusted to his building, and he does not lose patience in his efforts to fit it in, he carries it to some distance from the nest and leaves it. After the side walls are erected, a roof of the same materials with the floor is laid over the chamber. Firmness is given to the whole structure by passing over it with his body, the light and useless particles being fanned away by the action of his fins and the vibratory movements of his tail. In carrying on his building operations care is taken to preserve a circular opening into the chamber, his head and a great part of his body being thrust therein, thus widening and consolidating it, and rendering it a fit receptacle for the female. When choosing material, the fish has been seen testing its specific gravity by letting it sink once or twice in the water, and if the descent was not rapid enough finally abandoning it.

Of the exact method used by the fish in binding the nest together we are indebted to Prof. Ryder. The male fish spins from a pore or pores a compound thread, using his body to insinuate himself through the interstices through which he carries the thread. The thread is spun fitfully, not continuously. He will go round and round the nest perhaps a dozen times, when he will rest awhile and begin anew. Its shape is somewhat conical before completion. The thread is wound round and round the nest in a horizontal direction, and when freshly spun is found to consist of six or eight very thin transparent fibres, which have alternated tapering ends where they are broken off. Very soon after the thread is spun, particles of dirt adhere to it, and render it difficult to interpret its character. The nest measures one-half of an inch in height, and three-eighths in diameter.

The time occupied in collecting materials and constructing the nest is about four hours, and when all is ready the male starts out to seek a female, and, having found her, conducts her with many polite attentions to the prepared home. The eggs being deposited, the male establishes himself as a guardian of the precious treasures, not even suffering the female to approach it again. Every fish that comes near, no matter how large, is furiously assailed. He gives battle valiantly, striking at their eyes and seizing their fins in his mouth. His sharp dorsal and ventral spines are very effective weapons in his defence. Constant watchfulness upon the part of the male is needed, for, if he go away for only a few moments, the sticklebacks and other fish lurking in the vicinity rush in and devour the eggs in an instant. A whole month he is occupied in providing for the safety of his offspring. About the tenth day he employs himself in tearing down the nest and carrying the material to some little distance. The fry may now be observed in motion. And these the male continually nurses, suffering no encroachment, and if the young brood show a tendency to stray beyond bounds, they are driven back within their precincts, until they are strong enough to provide for their own living, when both old and young disappear together.

But nothing in the lives of all these little nest-builders is more interesting than the intelligence they display and the facility with which they adapt themselves to circumstances. They seem to be able to grasp almost instantly the conditions of the environment, and to employ a wise discrimination in suiting them to their wants. Hardly two nests are alike. Marked differences in details of structure, configuration and surroundings are apparent, which prove that these creatures are controlled by reason, rather than instinct, in the elaboration of their homes. That they have some means of communicating their desires to each other cannot be doubted. When the male has laid hold of a stem, a pebble or a stick that completely baffles all effort at removal, his mate seems summoned to his assistance, and the united strength of the pair accomplishes the object to be gained. There is ever noticeable in whatever the sexes undertake some concert of action which would put to shame the boasted intelligence of man himself. The Sun-fishes, as has been said, nest in companies. When the combined effort of two individuals is unable to expel an invader, the entire community, as by a single mighty impulse, rises up against the foe. There is evidence of some form of society, even though simple in its organization, where individual members league themselves together for mutual protection and defence. Other examples might be cited to give the reader a common-sense estimate of the comparatively high order of intelligence that characterizes the actions of many of our fishes.

SLIPPERY AS AN EEL.

Eels are found in almost all warm and temperate countries, and grow to a very great size in tropical regions. They are impatient of cold, and hence do not exist in the extreme northern and southern parts of the world. In many islands of the Pacific Ocean they are held in considerable estimation, being preserved in ponds and fed by hand, but in many civilized communities a strong prejudice prevails against them, probably from their similarity to snakes, which prevents even a hungry man from caring to eat such wholesome and nutritious food.

Not one of our river fishes is so mysterious as the Eel, and although much is now known that was involved in obscurity, yet there is still much to learn of its habits, especially the manner of its reproduction. Difference of locality, it is likely, may influence the Eel and cause a difference of habit, an opinion which seems warranted from the various and perplexing accounts that have been given of its customs by numerous practical observers.

During the hot, still and sunny days of June they are chiefly seen on top of the water, wherever masses of aquatic weeds may be found, either in the calm enjoyment of a sun-bath, or for the purpose of feeding upon the myriads of gnats, moths and flies that seek the plants for rest or food, and which by unavoidably damping their wings become easy prey to their ambushed enemies. At night, similar retreats are affected for like purposes. Floating masses of detached weeds that the eddying stream has wound and kept in one place are sought in warm, stilly weather, but in blowing, cooler or rainy weather they forsake such places for the still, deep ditches. If a flush of water comes, and a little, shallow stream, running from or into the main river, becomes fuller than usual, there they resort in vast numbers, evidently pleased with the delicious change, only to remain as long as its freshness continues.

Like many other fishes, Eels are very tenacious of life, and can live a long time when removed from the water, owing to a simple and beautiful modification of structure, which permits them to retain a sufficient amount of moisture to keep the gills damp and in a condition to perform their natural functions. They have been seen crawling over considerable distances, somewhat snake-like in their movements, evidently either in pursuit of water, their own dwelling-place being nearly dried, or in search of some running stream in whose waters they may reach the sea after the customary manner of their race. Multitudes of Eels, both old and young, some of the latter scarcely six inches in length, have been seen crawling up the banks of a creek, apparently without any purpose, and over the smooth surface of a projecting rock, with all the ease of a fly moving over a ceiling. So active were the little ones as to defy, unless the hand was moved with extreme rapidity, their capture. Vast numbers of these little Eels are in the habit of proceeding up the rivers in the spring-time. In some places in England they are called Elvers. They are caught in immense quantities, and scalded and pressed into masses termed Eel- or Elver-cake. When dressed these little Eels afford a luxurious repast. Towards the latter part of summer these fishes migrate towards the sea, being capable of living in fresh or salt water with equal ease, the mouths of rivers constituting favorite localities. Even in our seaport towns and marine watering-places the common river Eel is caught by those who are angling in the sea for fish.

Various modes of capturing Eels are adopted by man. Bobbing, or clodding as it is sometimes called, is a very common and successful method, consisting in bunching a number of earthworms upon a worsted string, and lowering it near the place where the fishes are supposed to be feeding. So eagerly do the voracious fish seize the bait, and so fiercely do they bite, that they are pulled out of the water before they have time to collect their thoughts and disengage their teeth from the string. Night-lines, which are laid in the evening and taken up in the morning, are another plan. But the most successful method is by spearing. The spear used for the purpose is not unlike the conventional trident of Neptune, except that the prongs are four in number, flattened, slightly barbed on each edge, and spread rather widely from their junction with the shaft. This is pushed at random into the muddy banks where the Eels love to lie, and when one is caught, its long snake-like body is wedged in between the jagged prongs and lifted into the boat before it is able to extricate itself. Almost any kind of food that it can master, whether aquatic or terrestrial, is eaten to satisfy the creature’s most voracious appetite. Even mice and rats fall victims to its hunger, and an Eel is recorded to have been found floating dead on the water, having been choked to death by a rat which it had essayed to swallow, but which proved too large a morsel for its throat.

So remarkable is the tenacity of life which this fish possesses, that after the creature has been cut up into lengths, each separate piece will move as if alive, and at the touch of a pin’s point will curve itself as though it felt the injury. When all irritability has ceased, the portions will flounce vigorously about if placed in boiling water, and even after its influence has ceased will, upon the addition of salt, jump about as vigorously as before. There can be no real sensation, let it be understood, as the spinal cord has been severed and all connection with the brain, which is the seat of sensation, has been cut off.

How the Eel reproduces its kind has long been a subject of discussion. Some held that the young is produced in a living condition, and others that it is hatched from the egg. The matter has, however, been set at rest by the microscope, which shows that the oily-looking substance, generally called fat, which is found in the abdomen of the Eel, is really an aggregation of eggs, and that these objects, minute as they are, and which are not so large as the point of a pin, are quite as perfect in their structure as the eggs of a moth or a bird are seen to be to the naked, unaided vision.

_Anguilla rostrata_, as the Common American Eel is technically known, is abundant in the United States, living in fresh-water streams, but depositing its eggs, often eight millions to a single fish, in the ocean, the young ascending the rivers. Eels are devoid of ventral fins. Their scales, which are very minute, are covered with a thick, slime-like material. Under the microscope each scale is beautifully ornamented, and the exquisite pattern formed by the scales on the skin may be readily and effectively seen if a bit of it, when fresh, be placed on the window-glass and allowed to dry. The sexes are difficult to distinguish; the females have the highest dorsal fin, smaller eyes, and a lighter color than the males, while the snout is generally broader at the tip.

When contiguous to the sea, as in a pond near Wells, on the coast of Maine, the Eels invariably go down into salt water at night. As the connecting stream is narrow, the sight is remarkable, thousands filling the channel, many of whom, when alarmed, leaving the water and passing over the dry rocks to the ocean. Eels are not the silent creatures which many persons suppose them to be. They frequently utter a sound, expressed by a single note, which is more distinctly musical than the sounds made by other fishes, and which has a clear metallic resonance. They are of slow growth, scarcely reaching the length of twelve inches during the first year, but subsequently attaining to large dimensions, the preserved skins of two Eels, which Mr. Yarrall saw at Cambridge, England, weighing together fifty pounds, the heavier being twenty-seven pounds in weight.

Fish, as a rule, do not live more than a few minutes out of the water. An Eel, however, will remain alive for many hours, and even days, in atmospheric air, provided it is laid in a damp place. Now, if one be carefully watched when placed upon dry land, it will be observed to pout out the cheeks on both sides of its face. Underneath this puffed-out skin will be found the gills, and the skin which covers them will be seen to be so arranged as to form a closed sac, which the Eel fills with water, and so keeps the gill-fibres moist. This wonderful contrivance enables the Eel to come out of the water, and to travel, so to speak, by land. Thus Eels are often found in outlying ponds of human construction, where they were never placed by the hand of man. Finding old quarters uncomfortable, they take in a good supply of water, and exchange them for the better, not by repeated leaps towards the water, as some fish are known to do, but by a smooth, uniform snake-like progression.

That some fishes should leave the water and travel overland is, perhaps, not more remarkable than that some birds, the ouzel for example, should leave their natural element and fly into and under the water. Whoever knows the hidden paths of the marsh has doubtless watched the brown-hued Eels wriggling their way through the grass from one pool to another, especially at night, leaving their home and wandering about, seemingly unconscious whither their pilgrimage will end.

“Slippery as an Eel” is proverbial. Many a person has, by his slick, cunning ways, succeeded in eluding the law and escaping justice, affording an apt illustration of the character of the animal about which we have been talking, but the slipperiness of the Eel is not given to it that it may take some unlawful advantage of its neighbors, but that it may the more readily slip from the grasp of a more powerful enemy, or the more easily make its way into the muddy depths of the pond or stream which it so very much affects. So it will be seen that while this slippery character in the one is protective, in the economy of nature, for a wise and laudable purpose, yet in the other it but secures to the possessor the getting of an ignoble gain and the ruin of a once proud name.

While these agile denizens of aquatic life are selfish and voracious almost beyond precedent, and apparently more concerned in feeding than in anything else, there are certainly some traits in their character which are redeeming features. Low as they are in the scale of piscine existences, occupying the very lowest family of the Anguillidine Apodes, they are none the less susceptible to the human influence of kindness. They grow accustomed to man when good is at the basis of his actions, and have been known to accept food from his hand. They remember the face of a friend, and when it is presented at the door of glass, so to speak, that opens the way to their home, they come without fear or suspicion showing itself in their movements. Even the sound of the voice of a benefactor awakens a sympathetic response in their bosoms.

RANA AND BUFO.