Part 20

Not the one "daddy caught with a hook," but another, too small for the hook, too small for the frying-pan, too small for aught else but beauty, and gracefulness of form; and yet not the young of a larger fish, but full grown of himself. In every brook in the State he may be found, yea, even in the rill, no more than a foot in width, which leads away from the old spring-house on the hillside. You will not find him swimming about like the minnows in the still, deep water of the stream, but where the clear, cold water is rushing rapidly over the stones of a ripple he makes his home. There he rests quietly on the bottom, waiting patiently for his food, the larvae or young of gnats, mosquitoes, and other such insects, to float by.

If you attempt to catch him, or your shadow suddenly frightens him, with a sweep of his broad pectoral or breast fins, he moves quicker than a flash a few feet farther up the stream, and then as suddenly comes to a stop, and resumes his quiet, "thoughtful" attitude. If you persist in your attempt to capture him, he will dart under a small stone or submerged leaf, where, like the foolish ostrich which when pursued hides her head under her wing, no longer seeing you, he thinks himself secure.

[Illustration: RAINBOW DARTER.]

On account of the shape of his body, as well as on account of his rapid movements, he has received the surname "darter." Belonging to the group which bears this surname, there are, in the eastern half of the United States, about forty-seven species or kinds, the largest of which, when full grown, measures only about six inches in length, while the smallest species never reaches a length of more than an inch and a half. They all have the same habits, and at least twenty-nine kinds of them are found in Indiana; but the one of which I am writing is much the more common. He is from two to two and a half inches in length, and, like the other members of his family, has two fins on his back; "dorsal" fins they are called by naturalists, the front one of which contains ten short spines. During eight months of the year, the males and females dress alike in a suit of brownish olive which is striped on the sides with ten or twelve narrow, black cross-bars, and more or less blotched on the back with darker spots. But on the first warm days of spring, when the breezes blow up from the gulf, awakening the gypsy in our blood, the little male fish feels, too, their influence, and in him there arises an irresistible desire to "a-courting go." Like most other beings of his sex, he thinks his every-day suit too plain for the important business before him. It will, in his opinion, ne'er catch the eye of his lady love. So he dons one of gaudy colors and from it takes his name,--the rainbow darter,--for in it he is best known, as it not only attracts the attention of his chosen one, but often also that of the wandering naturalist who happens along the stream.

The blackish bars of other seasons are changed to indigo blue, while the space between them assumes a hue of the brightest orange. The fins are broadly edged with blue and have the bases orange, or orange and scarlet, while the cheeks assume the blue and the breast becomes an orange. Clad in this suit he ventures forth on his mission, and if successful, as he almost always is, the two construct a nest of tiny stones in which the eggs of the mother-fish are laid and watched over with jealous care by both parents until in time there issue forth sons destined some day to wear a coat of many colors, and "darters" to be attracted by those coats, as was their mother by the one their father wore.

Although so abundant and so brilliant in the springtime, the rainbow darter is known to few but naturalists. The fishes in which the average country boy is interested are the larger ones--such as the goggle-eye, the sucker, chub, and sunfish--those which, when caught, will fill up the string and tickle the palate.

But there are, let us hope, among our farmers' sons and daughters, some who are learning to take an interest in the objects of nature which are beautiful, as well as in those which are useful. To them I will say, if you wish to see something really pretty, make a seine from an old coffee sack or a piece of mosquito netting, and any day in spring drag two or three ripples of the branch which flows through the wood's pasture, and ten chances to one you will get some "rainbows." By placing them in a fruit jar three-fourths full of clear, cold water, and renewing the water every few hours, they can be kept for several days; but they cannot bear the confinement long, accustomed as they are to the free running stream from which they were taken.

By taking the rainbow as the type of the darter and studying closely its habits, both in captivity and in the streams, much can be learned about a group which, in the words of Dr. S. A. Forbes, "are the mountaineers among fishes. Forced from the populous and fertile valleys of the river beds and lake bottoms, they have taken refuge from their enemies in the rocky highlands where the free waters play in ceaseless torrents, and there they have wrested from stubborn nature a meagre living. Although diminished in size by their continual struggle with the elements, they have developed an activity and hardihood, a vigor of life and a glow of high color almost unknown among the easier livers of the lower lands."

II.--THE LONG-EARED SUNFISH.

Among the most brightly colored of all the fresh-water members of the finny tribe is the long-eared sunfish. When full grown its length is about eight inches and the breadth one-half as much. The color is then a brilliant blue and orange, the former predominating above; the orange on the sides in spots, the blue in wavy, vertical streaks. The cheeks are orange with bright blue stripes; the fins with the membranes orange, and the rays blue. Extending back from the hind margin of each cheek is a conspicuous blackish membrane termed an "ear-flap," which in this species is longer than in any other of the sun-fish family, whence the specific name, _megalotis_, from two Greek words meaning "great" and "ear."

[Illustration: LONG-EARED SUNFISH.]

Within the placid pools of the brooks and larger streams of the State this sunfish has its favorite haunts. Mid-summer is the time when its habits can be best observed. On a recent August morn I sat for an hour or longer on the banks of a stream, which flows through a wooded blue-grass pasture, and watched the denizens of its waters. A peaceful calm existed, the water being without a ripple and with scarce the semblance of a flow--the air without the shadow of a breeze. Dragon flies lazily winged their way across the pool, now resting daintily upon a blade of sedge or swamp grass, now dipping the tips of their abdomens beneath the surface of the water while depositing their eggs. The only sounds of nature were the buzz of a bumble-bee feeding among the flowers of the _Brunella_ at my side, and an occasional drawl of a dog-day locust from the branches of the sycamore which threw a grateful shade about me.

The sunfish "hung motionless" in the water, their heads towards me, holding their position only by a slow flapping of their dorsal and pectoral fins. Their nesting time over, their season's labor ended, it was with them, as with many other beings, a time of languor.

These long-eared fishes are the lords and ladies of the respective pools wherein they abide. When they move other smaller fry clear the way. If a worm or gnat, falling upon the surface, tempts them, it is theirs. A leaf falls near them and is seemingly unnoticed--a fly, and how quickly their dormant energy is put into motion. With a dart and a gulp the insect is swallowed, and a new stage of waiting expectancy is ushered in.

How admirably fitted their form for cleaving the water! They often seem to glide rather than propel themselves through its depths. Again, how swiftly the caudal fin moves when with straight unerring motion they dart upon their prey. At times one turns his body sideways, and, with a slow, upward-gliding motion, moves toward some object on the surface which is doubtfully "good to eat." He even takes it into his mouth and then, not having faith in his power to properly digest it, ejects it with force, and turning quickly darts back to the friendly shadow of a boulder beneath whose sides he has, in time of threatened danger, a safe retreat.

I throw a grasshopper into the pool. Like a flash six of the sunfish are after it. One reaches it a tenth of a second in advance of the others, and with a lightning-like gulp, which disturbs the serenity of the surface of the pool, swallows the kicking prey. The energy of the sun's heat and light, stored in grass, transmitted to move muscles in gigantic leaps, will, in a short time, wag a caudal fin and propel the owner through these watery depths.

Years are thus doubtless spent by these long-eared sunfish in a dreamy sort of existence, their energies quickened by the vernal season and growing duller on the approach of winter. Excepting the times when they are tempted by a wriggling worm on some boy's hook, theirs is a life exempt from danger. A kingfisher glancing down from his perch on the bent sycamore limb may, at times, discern them and lessen their ranks; but, methinks, the chub minnows, with fewer spines in their dorsal fins, are more agreeable to the king-fisher's palate. With all the tints of the rainbow gleaming from their sides they move to and fro, the brilliant rulers of these quiet pools.

The king or monarch of those noted was most gorgeously arrayed. In addition to the hues above described, a streak of emerald bordered his dorsal and caudal fins and was bent around the edge of his upper lip--a green mustache, as it were. By tolling them with occasional bits of food I drew him and his retinue close into shore. There, for some time they rested, watching eagerly for additional morsels. As I was leaving I plucked from my sleeve an ant and threw it towards them. A dart, a gurgle, a gulp--the leader had leaped half his length from the water, and the ant was forever gone. The ripples receded and finally disappeared, and the last scene in this tragedy of nature was at an end.

[Illustration]

SEA-SLUGS AND CUTTLE-FISH

(FROM A JOURNAL OF RESEARCHES.)

BY CHARLES DARWIN.

[Illustration: CUTTLE-FISH.]

I was much interested, on several occasions, by watching the habits of an Octopus, or cuttle-fish. Although common in the pools of water left by the retiring tide, these animals were not easily caught. By means of their long arms and suckers, they could drag their bodies into very narrow crevices; and when thus fixed, it required great force to remove them. At other times they darted, tail first, with the rapidity of an arrow, from one side of the pool to the other, at the same instant discoloring the water with a dark chestnut-brown ink. These animals also escape detection by a very extraordinary, chameleon-like power of changing their color. They appear to vary their tints according to the nature of the ground over which they pass: when in deep water, their general shade was brownish-purple, but when placed on the land, or in shallow water, this dark tint changed into one of a yellowish green. The color, examined more carefully, was a French gray, with numerous minute spots of bright yellow: the former of these varied in intensity; the latter entirely disappeared and appeared again by turns. These changes were effected in such a manner, that clouds, varying in tint between a hyacinth red and a chestnut brown, were continually passing over the body. Any part, being subjected to a slight shock of galvanism, became almost black: a similar effect, but in a less degree, was produced by scratching the skin with a needle. These clouds, or blushes as they may be called, are said to be produced by the alternate contraction and expansion of minute vescicles containing variously colored fluids.

This cuttle-fish displayed its chameleon-like power both during the act of swimming and whilst remaining stationary at the bottom. I was much amused by the various arts to escape detection used by one individual, which seemed fully aware that I was watching it. Remaining for a time motionless, it would then stealthily advance an inch or two, like a cat after a mouse; sometimes changing its color: it thus proceeded, till having gained a deeper part, it darted away, leaving a dusky train of ink to hide the hole into which it had crawled.

While looking for marine animals, with my head about two feet above the rocky shore, I was more than once saluted by a jet of water, accompanied by a slight grating noise. At first I could not think what it was, but afterwards I found out that it was this cuttle-fish, which, though concealed in a hole, thus often led me to its discovery. That it possesses the power of ejecting water there is no doubt, and it appeared to me that it could certainly take good aim by directing the tube or siphon on the upper side of its body. From the difficulty which these animals have in carrying their heads, they cannot crawl with ease when placed on the ground. I observed that one which I kept in the cabin was slightly phosphorescent in the dark.

[Illustration]

THE COW-FISH

(FROM TRAVELS ON THE AMAZON.)

BY SIR ALFRED RUSSELL WALLACE.

[Illustration: SKULL OF COW-FISH.]

It was a female, about six feet long, and nearly five in circumference in the thickest part. The body is perfectly smooth, and without any projections or inequalities, changing into a horizontal semicircular flat tail, with no appearance whatever of hind limbs. There is no distinct neck; the head is not very large, and is terminated by a large mouth and fleshy lips, somewhat resembling those of a cow. There are stiff bristles on the lips, and a few distantly scattered hairs over the body. Behind the head are two powerful oval fins, and just beneath them are the breasts, from which, on pressure being applied, flows a stream of beautiful white milk. The ears are minute holes, and the eyes very small. The color is a dusky lead, with some large pinkish-white marbled blotches on the belly. The skin is about an inch thick on the back, and a quarter of an inch on the belly. Beneath the skin is a layer of fat of a greater or less thickness, generally about an inch, which is boiled down to make an oil used for light and for cooking. The intestines are very voluminous, the heart about the size of a sheep's, and the lungs about two feet long, and six or seven inches wide, very cellular and spongy, and can be blown out like a bladder. The skull is large and solid, with no front teeth; the vertebrae extend to the very tip of the tail, but show no rudiments of posterior limbs; the fore limbs, on the contrary, are very highly developed, the bones exactly corresponding to those of the human arm, having even the five fingers, with every joint distinct, yet enclosed in a stiff inflexible skin, where not a joint can have any motion.

The cow-fish feeds on grass at the borders of the rivers and lakes, and swims quickly with the tail and paddles; and though the external organs of sight and hearing are so imperfect, these senses are said by the hunters to be remarkably acute, and to render necessary all their caution and skill to capture the animals. They bring forth one, or rarely two, young ones, which they clasp in their arms or paddles while giving suck. They are harpooned or caught in a strong net, at the narrow entrance of a lake or stream. Each yields from five to twenty-five gallons of oil. The flesh is very good, being something between beef and pork, and this one furnished us with several meals, and was an agreeable change from our fish diet.

[Illustration]

[Illustration: THE COW FISH.]

OLD RATTLER AND THE KING SNAKE[8]

BY DAVID STARR JORDAN.

PRESIDENT OF LELAND STANFORD, JUNIOR, UNIVERSITY.

[8] From _The Popular Science Monthly_ by permission.

"I only know thee humble, bold, Haughty, with miseries untold, And the old curse that left thee cold, And drove thee ever to the sun On blistering rocks ... Thou whose fame Searchest the grass with tongue of flame, Making all creatures seem thy game, When the whole woods before thee run, Asked but--when all is said and done-- To lie, untrodden, in the sun!" --BRET HARTE.

[Illustration]

Old Rattler was a snake, of course, and he lives in the King's River Canon, high up and down deep in the mountains of California.

He had a hole behind and below a large, flat granite rock, not far from the river, and he called it his home; for in it he slept all night and all winter, but when the sun came back in the spring and took the frost out of the air and the rocks, then he crawled out to lie until he got warm. The stream was clear and swift in the canon, the waterfalls sang in the side gulch of Roaring River, the wind rustled in the long needles of the yellow pines, and the birds called to their mates in the branches. But Old Rattler did not care for such things. He was just a snake, you know, and his neighbors did not think him a good snake at that, for he was surly and silent, and his big, three-cornered, "coffin-shaped" head, set on a slim, flat neck, was very ugly to see. But when he opened his mouth he was uglier still, for in his upper jaw he had two long fangs, and each one was filled with deadly poison. His vicious old head was covered with gray and wrinkled scales, and his black, beadlike eyes snapped when he opened his mouth to find out whether his fangs were both in working order.

Old Rattler was pretty stiff when he first came from his hole on the morning of this story. He had lain all night coiled up like a rope among the rocks, and his tail felt very cold. But the glad sun warmed the cockles of his heart, and in an hour or two he became limber, and this made him happy in his snaky fashion. But, being warm, he began to be hungry, for it had been a whole month since he had eaten anything. When the first new moon of August came, his skin loosened everywhere and slipped down over his eyes like a veil, so that he could see nothing about him, and could not hunt for frogs by the river, nor for chipmunks among the trees. But with the new moon of September all this was over. The rusty brown old coat was changed for a new suit of gray and black, and the diamond-shaped checkers all over it were clean and shiny as a set of new clothes out to be.

There was a little striped chipmunk running up and down the sugar-pine tree over his head, pursing his little mouth and throwing himself into pretty attitudes, as though he were the centre of an admiring audience, and Old Rattler kept a steady eye on him. But he was in no hurry about it all. He must first get the kinks out of his neck, and the cold cramps from his tail. There was an old curse on his family, so the other beasts had heard, that kept him always cold, and his tail was the coldest part of all. So he shook it a little, just to show that it was growing limber, and the bone clappers on the end rustled with a sharp, angry noise. Fifteen rattles he had in all--fifteen and a button--and to have so many showed that he was no common member of his hated family. Then he shook his tail again, and more sharply. This was to show all the world that he, Old Rattler, was wide awake, and whoever stepped on him would better look out. Then all the big beasts and little beasts who heard the noise fled away just as fast as ever they could; and to run away was the best thing they could do, for when Old Rattler struck one of them with his fangs all was over with him. So there were many in the canon, beasts and birds and snakes too, who hated Old Rattler, but only a few dared face him. And one of these was Glittershield, whom men call the King of Snakes, and in a minute I shall tell you why.

And when Old Rattler was doing all that I have said, the King Snake lay low on a bed of pine needles, behind a bunch of fern, and watched him with keen, sharp eye. The angry buzz of Rattler's tail, which scared the chipmunks and the bullfrogs and all the rest of the beast folk, was music for Glittershield. He was a snake, too, and snakes understand some things better than any of the rest of us.

Glittershield was slim and wiry in his body, as long as Old Rattler himself, but not so large around. His coat was smooth and glossy, not rough and wrinkly like Old Rattler's, and his upraised head was small and pretty--for a snake. He was the best dressed of all his kind, and he looked his finest as he faced Old Rattler. His head was shiny black, his throat and neck as white as milk while all down his body to the end of his tail he was painted with rings, first white, then black, then crimson, and every ring was bright as if it had just been freshly polished that very day.

So the King Snake passed the sheltering fern and came right up to Old Rattler. Rattler opened his sleepy eyes, threw himself on guard with a snap and a buzz, and shook his bony clappers savagely. But the King of Snakes was not afraid. Every snake has a weak spot somewhere, and that is the place to strike him. If he hadn't a weak spot no one else could live about him, and then, perhaps he would starve to death at last. If he had not some strong points, where no one could harm him, he couldn't live himself.

As the black crest rose, Old Rattler's tail grew cold, his head dropped, his mouth closed, he straightened out his coil, and staggered helplessly toward his hole.