Transcriber’s Notes
Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations
in hyphenation and accents have been standardised but all other
spelling and punctuation remains unchanged.
With a few exceptions French words are not accented.
In Chapter X, St Monance Uppertown and Overtown both used for the same
location.
The footnotes are located at the end of the book.
Italics are represented thus _italic_.
THE HARVEST OF THE SEA.
[Illustration: VIEW OF WICK HARBOUR DURING THE HERRING SEASON.]
THE
HARVEST OF THE SEA
_A CONTRIBUTION TO
THE NATURAL AND ECONOMIC HISTORY OF
THE BRITISH FOOD FISHES_
BY JAMES G. BERTRAM
[Illustration: Fish on seashore]
POLONIUS.—Do you know me, my lord?
HAMLET.—Excellent well; you are a fishmonger.
_Shakespeare._
_WITH FIFTY ILLUSTRATIONS._
LONDON
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET
1865
_Printed by_ R. CLARK, _Edinburgh_.
PREFATORY NOTE.
It is not my intention to inflict upon the reader a formal Preface.
It would, however, be ungrateful were I not to take an opportunity
of acknowledging the aid and information kindly afforded by various
Members of the French Government; also by Professor Coste of the French
Institute; M. Coumes of Strasbourg; the Authorities at Huningue; the
Intendant of the Jardin d’Acclimatisation of Paris; Mr. Robert Buist;
Mr. John Cleghorn; Jonathan Couch, Esq. of Polperro; Mr. H. Dempster;
Thomas Ashworth, Esq.; Mr. Robert Cowie; Mr. R. P. Scott; Edward Cooke,
Esq., R.A., to whose kindness I am indebted for the characteristic
Sketches of “The Angler Fish” and “Jack in his Element.”
So far as I am aware, this is the first work in which an attempt has
been made to bring before the public in one view the present position
and future prospects of the Food Fisheries of Great Britain. Great
pains have been taken to obtain reliable information and correct
statistics, but in so wide a field of labour considerable allowance
must be made for errors.
The excellent Fish Groups have been arranged and drawn by Mr. Stewart,
the Natural History draughtsman of this city; while the Sketches of
Fishing Scenes on Lochfyne and elsewhere are by Mr. J. R. Prentice.
EDINBURGH, _18th October 1865_.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
FISH LIFE AND GROWTH.
PAGE
Classification of Fish—Their Form and Colour—Mode and Means
of Life—Curiously-shaped Fish—Senses of Smell and Hearing
in Fish—Fish nearly Insensible to Pain—The Fecundity of
Fish—Sexual Instinct of Fish—External Impregnation of the
Ova—Ripening of a Salmon Egg—Birth of a Herring—Proposal
for a Marine Observatory in order to note the Growth of
our Sea Fish—Curious Stories about the Growth of the Eel—All
that is known about the Mackerel—Whitebait: is it a
Distinct Species?—Mysterious Fish: the Vendace and the
Powan—Where are the Haddocks?—The Food of Fish—Fish
as a rule not Migratory—The Growth of Fish Shoals—When
Fish are good for Food—The Balancing Power of Nature 1
CHAPTER II.
FISH COMMERCE.
Early Fish Commerce—Sale of Fresh-water Fish—Cured Fish—Influence
of Rapid Transit on the Fisheries—Fish-Ponds—The Logan
Pond—Ancient Fishing Industries—The Dutch
Herring-Fishing—Comacchio—The Art of Breeding Eels—Progress of
Fishing in Scotland—A Scottish Buss—Newfoundland Fisheries—The
Greenland Whale-Fishing—Speciality of different Fishing
Towns—The General Sea Fisheries of France—French Fish
Commerce—Statistics of the British Fisheries 34
CHAPTER III.
FISH CULTURE.
Antiquity of Pisciculture—Italian Fish-Culture—Sergius
Orata—Re-discovery of the Art—Gehin and Remy—Jacobi—Shaw
of Drumlanrig—The Ettrick Shepherd—Scientific and Commercial
Pisciculture—A Trip to Huningue—Tourist Talk
about Fish—Bale—Huningue described—The Water Supply—_Modus
Operandi_ at Huningue—Packing Fish Eggs—An
Important Question—Artificial Spawning—Danube Salmon—Statistics
of Huningue—Plan of a Suite of Ponds—M. de Galbert’s
Establishment—Practical Nature of Pisciculture—Turtle-Culture—Best
kinds of Fish to rear—Pisciculture in Germany—Stormontfield
Salmon-Breeding Ponds—Design for a Suite of
Salmon-Ponds—Statistics of Stormontfield—Acclimatisation
of Fish—The Australian Experiment—Introduction of the
_Silurus glanis_ 69
CHAPTER IV.
ANGLERS’ FISHES.
Fresh-Water Fish not of much Value—The Angler and his
Equipment—Pleasures
of the Country in May—Anglers’ Fishes—Trout,
Pike, Perch, and Carp—Gipsy Anglers—Angling
Localities—Gold Fish—The River Scenery of England—The
Thames—Thames Anglers—Sea Angling—Various Kinds of
Sea Fish—Proper Kinds of Bait—The Tackle Necessary—The
Island of Arran—Corry—Goatfell, etc. 129
CHAPTER V.
THE NATURAL AND ECONOMIC HISTORY
OF THE SALMON.
The Salmon our best-known Fish—Controversies and Anomalies—Food
of Salmon—The Parr Controversy—Experiments by
Shaw, Young, and Hogg—Grilse: its Rate of Growth—Do
Salmon make Two Voyages to the Sea in each Year?—The
Best Way of marking Young Salmon—Enemies of the Fish—Avarice
of the Lessees—The Rhine Salmon—Size of Fish—Killing
of Grilse—Rivers Tay, Spey, Tweed, Severn, etc.—The
Tay Fisheries—Report on English Fisheries—Upper and
Lower Proprietors 177
CHAPTER VI.
THE NATURAL AND ECONOMIC HISTORY
OF THE HERRING.
Description of the Herring—The Old Theory of Migration—Geographical
Distribution of the Herring—Mr. John Cleghorn’s
Ideas on the Natural History of the Herring—Mr. Mitchell on
the National Importance of that Fish—Commission of Inquiry
into the Herring-Fishery—Growth of the Herring—The Sprat—Should
there be a Close-time?—Caprice of the Herring—The
Fisheries—The Lochfyne Fishery—The Pilchard—Herring
Commerce—Mr. Methuen—The Brand—The Herring Harvest
All Night at the Fishing—The Cure—The Curers—Herring
Boats—Increase of Netting—Are we Overfishing?—Proposal
for more Statistics 226
CHAPTER VII.
THE WHITE-FISH FISHERIES.
Difficulty of obtaining Statistics of our White-Fish
Fisheries—Ignorance of the Natural History of the White
Fish—“Finnan Haddies”—The Gadidæ Family: the Cod, Whiting,
etc.—The Turbot and other Flat Fish—When Fish are in Season—How
the White-Fish Fisheries are carried on—The Cod and
Haddock Fishery—Line-Fishing—The Scottish Fishing Boats—Loss
of Boats on the Scottish Coasts—Storms in Scotland—Trawl-Net
Fishing—Description of a Trawler—Evidence on
the Trawl Question 285
CHAPTER VIII.
THE NATURAL AND ECONOMIC HISTORY
OF THE OYSTER.
Proper Time for Oyster-Fishing to Begin—Description of the
Oyster—Controversies about its Natural History—Spatting
of the Oyster—Growth of the Oyster—Quantity of Spawn
emitted by the Oyster—Social History of the Oyster—Great
Men who were Fond of Oysters—Oyster-Breeding in France—Lake
Fusaro—Beef’s Discovery of Artificial Culture—Oyster-Farming
in the Bay of Biscay—The Celebrated Green
Oysters—Marennes—Dr. Kemmerer’s Plan—Lessons to be
gleaned from the French Pisciculturists—How to manage an
Oyster-Farm—Whitstable—Cultivation of Natives—The Colne
Oyster-Trade—Scottish Oysters—The Pandores—Extent of
Oyster-Ground in the Firth of Forth—Dredging—Extent of
American Oyster-Beds 332
CHAPTER IX.
OUR SHELL-FISH FISHERIES.
Productive Power of Shell-Fish—Varieties of the Crustacean
Family—Study of the Minor Shell-Fishes—Demand for
Shell-Fish—Lobsters—A Lobster Store-Pond Described—Natural
History of the Lobster and other Crustacea—March of the
Land-Crabs—Prawns and Shrimps, how they are caught and
cured—Scottish Pearl-Fisheries—Account of the Scottish
Pearl-Fishery—A Mussel-Farm—How to grow Bait 382
CHAPTER X.
THE FISHER-FOLK.
The Fisher-People the same everywhere—Growth of a Fishing
Village—Marrying and giving in Marriage—The Fisher-Folk’s
Dance—Newhaven near Edinburgh—Newhaven Fishwives—A
Fishwife’s mode of doing
Business—Superstitions—Fisherrow—Dunbar—Buckhaven—Cost
of a Boat and its Gear—Scene of the _Antiquary_:
Auchmithie—Smoking Haddocks—The Round of Fisher
Life—“Finnan Haddies”—Fittie and its Quaint Inhabitants—Across
to Dieppe—Bay of the Departed—The Eel-Breeders of
Comacchio—The French Fishwives—Narrative of a
Fishwife—Buckie—Nicknames of the Fisher-Folk—Effects of a
Storm on the Coast 418
CHAPTER XI.
CONCLUDING REMARKS.
Are there more Fish in the Sea than ever came out of it?—Modern
Writers on the Fisheries—Were Fish ever so abundant
as is said?—Salmon-Poaching—Value of Salmon—Sea
Fish—Destruction of the Young—Is the demand for Fish
beginning to exceed the Supply?—Evils of Exaggeration—Fish
quite Local—Incongruity of protecting one Fish and not
another—Difficulties in the way of a Close-Time—Duties of
the Board of White-Fisheries—Regulation of Salmon Rivers—Justice
to Upper Proprietors—The one Object of the Fishermen—Conclusion 474
APPENDIX.
I. OBSERVATIONS ON FISH-GUANO 491
II. LIST OF AUTHORITIES 499
III. WICK HERRING-HARVEST OF 1865 502
IV. TOTAL CATCH OF HERRINGS AT ALL THE STATIONS ON THE
NORTH-EAST COAST DURING THE LAST FIVE YEARS; AND
ESTIMATED NUMBER OF HANDS EMPLOYED—1865 503
INDEX 505
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
VIEW OF WICK HARBOUR DURING THE HERRING SEASON _Frontispiece._
EGGS OF THE SALMON KIND JUST HATCHING _Page_ 13
SALMON A DAY OR TWO OLD 14
WHITEBAIT GROUND NEAR QUEENSFERRY 22
LOCHMABEN 27
PACKING HERRINGS 41
A DIVISION OF COMACCHIO 48
BILLINGSGATE 65
THE FISHMARKET AT BALE 81
GROUND-PLAN OF THE PISCICULTURAL ESTABLISHMENT AT HUNINGUE 82
VIEW OF HUNINGUE 83
HALL OF INCUBATION 84
BASINS FOR THE YOUNG FISH 85
GUTTERS FOR HATCHING PURPOSES 86
ARTIFICIAL MODE OF SPAWNING 87
PISCICULTURAL ESTABLISHMENT AT BUISSE 93
ORIGINAL BREEDING-POND AT STORMONTFIELD 100
PROFILE OF STORMONTFIELD SALMON-BREEDING PONDS 101
DESIGN FOR A SERIES OF SALMON-BREEDING PONDS 103
PISCICULTURAL APPARATUS 115
SILURUS GLANIS 127
ANGLERS’ FISHES 137
JACK IN HIS ELEMENT 141
THAMES ANGLERS.—FROM AN OLD PICTURE 151
THE ANGLER FISH 156
CORRY HARBOUR 171
PARR ONE YEAR OLD 182
SMOLT TWO YEARS OLD 189
FISHES OF THE SALMON FAMILY 198
SALMON-WATCHER’S TOWER ON THE RHINE 201
STAKE-NETS ON THE RIVER SOLWAY 208
SALMON-FISHING STATION AT WOODHAVEN ON TAY 212
MEMBERS OF THE HERRING FAMILY 245
VIEW OF LOCHFYNE 249
VIEW OF A CURING YARD 261
THE GADIDÆ FAMILY 289
THE PLEURONECTIDÆ FAMILY 297
LAKE FUSARO 349
OYSTER-PYRAMID 350
OYSTER-FASCINES 351
OYSTER-PARKS 355
OYSTER-CLAIRES 357
OYSTER-TILES 363
OYSTER-DREDGING AT COCKENZIE 377
THE SCOTTISH PEARL-MUSSEL 399
MUSSEL-STAKES 411
A MUSSEL-FARM 412
NEWHAVEN FISHWIVES 424
A FRENCH FISHWOMAN 454
CHAPTER I.
FISH LIFE AND GROWTH.
Classification of Fish—Their Form and Colour—Mode and Means of
Life—Curiously-shaped Fish—Senses of Smell and Hearing in Fish—Fish
nearly Insensible to Pain—The Fecundity of Fish—Sexual Instinct of
Fish—External Impregnation of the Ova—Ripening of a Salmon Egg—Birth
of a Herring—Proposal for a Marine Observatory in order to note
the Growth of our Sea Fish—Curious Stories about the Growth of the
Eel—All that is known about the Mackerel—Whitebait: is it a Distinct
Species?—Mysterious Fish: the Vendace and the Powan—Where are the
Haddocks?—The Food of Fish—Fish as a rule not Migratory—The Growth of
Fish Shoals—When Fish are good for Food—The Balancing Power of Nature.
Fish form the fourth class of vertebrate animals, and, as a general
rule, they live in the water; although in Ceylon and India there are
found species that live in the earth, or, at any rate, that are able to
exist in mud, not to speak of some that are said to occupy the trees
of those countries! The classification of fishes as given by Cuvier
is usually adopted. That eminent naturalist has divided these animals
into those with true bones, and those having a cartilaginous structure;
and the former again are divided into acanthopterous and malcopterous
fish. Other naturalists have adopted more elaborate classifications;
but Cuvier’s being the simplest has in my opinion a strong claim to be
considered the best; at least it is the one generally used.
A fish breathes by means of its gills, and progresses chiefly by
means of its tail. This animal is admirably adapted for progressing
through the water, as may be seen from its form, which has been
imitated more or less closely by the builders of ships, the makers
of weavers’ shuttles, and others. Fish are exceedingly beautiful as
regards both form and colour. There are comparatively few persons,
however, who have an opportunity of seeing them at the moment of
their greatest brilliancy, namely, just when they are brought out of
the water. I allude more particularly to some of our sea fish—as the
herring, mackerel, etc. The power of a fish to take on the colour of
its hiding-place may be mentioned. I found, a few weeks ago, some young
fish of various kinds in the Tweed at Stobo, which were, when in the
water, quite undistinguishable from the vegetable matter among which
they were taking shelter. It is not an easy matter to paint a fish so
as accurately to transmit to canvas its exquisite shape and glowing
colours. The moment it is taken from its own element its form alters
and its delicate hues fade; and in different localities fish have,
like the chameleon, different colours, so that the artist must have a
quick eye and a responding hand to catch the rapidly-fleeting tints of
the animal. Nothing, for instance, can reveal more beautiful masses of
colour than the hauling into the boat of a drift of herring-nets. As
breadth after breadth emerges from the water the magnificent ensemble
of the fish flashes with ever-changing hues upon the eye—a wondrous
pantomimic mixture of glancing blue and gold, and silver and purple,
blended into one great burning glow of harmonious colour, lighted
into brilliant life by the soft rays of the newly-risen sun. But,
alas for the painter! unless he can instantaneously fix the burnished
mass on his canvas, the light of its colour will be extinguished, and
its beauty be dimmed, long before the boat has reached the harbour.
The brightly-coloured fish of the tropics are indeed gorgeous, as is
the plumage of tropical birds; but as regards excellence of flavour,
beautifully-blended colours, and especially as a food power, they
cannot for a moment be compared with that plentiful poor man’s
fish—the beautiful common herring of our British waters.
If the breathing apparatus of a fish were to become dry the animal
would at once be suffocated. A fish when in the water has very little
weight to support, as its specific gravity is about the same as that
of the water in which it lives, and the bodies of these animals are
so flexible as to aid them in all their movements, while the various
fins assist either in balancing the body or in helping it to progress.
The motion of a fish is excessively rapid; it can dash along in the
water with lightning-like velocity. Many of our sea fish are curiously
shaped, such as the hammer-headed shark, the globe-fish, the monkfish,
the angel-fish, etc.; then we have the curious forms of the rays, the
Pluronectidæ, and of some others that I may call “fancy fish;” but
fish of all kinds are admirably adapted to their mode of life and the
place where they live—as for instance, in a cave where light has never
penetrated there have been found fish without eyes. Fresh-water fish
do not, however, vary much in shape, most of them being very elegant.
Fish are nearly insensible to pain, and are cold-blooded, their blood
being only two degrees warmer than the element in which they swim. It
is worthy of being noted also that fish have small brains in comparison
to the size of their bodies—considerably smaller in proportion than in
the case of the birds or mammalia, but the nerves communicating with
the brain are as large in fish, proportionately, as in either the birds
or mammalia. So far as personal knowledge goes, I believe the senses
of sight and hearing are well developed in most fish, as also those of
smell and taste, particularly the sense of smell, which chiefly guides
them to their food. We may take for granted, I think, that fish have a
very keen sense of smell—more so than most other animals; and thus it
is that strong-smelling baits are so successful in fishing. The French
people, for instance, when fishing for sprats and sardines, bait the
ground with prepared cod-roe, which, by the way, adds very largely
to the expense of that branch of fishing in the Bay of Biscay. I may
also remind my readers, as an evidence of fish having a strong sense
of smell, that salmon-roe used to be a deadly trout-bait, but fishing
with salmon-roe is now illegal. It has been said by some naturalists
that fish do not hear well, but that assertion is contrary to my own
experience; for on making repeated trials as to the sense of hearing
in fish, I found them as quick in that faculty as they are sharp in
seeing; and have we not all read of pet fish being summoned by means
of a bell, and of trouts that have been whistled to their food like
dogs? Water is an excellent conductor of sound: it conveys a noise
of any kind to a greater distance, and at nearly as great a speed as
air. Benjamin Franklin used to experiment on water as a conductor,
and soon arrived at the conclusion that its powers in this way were
wonderful. By striking two stones together, the experimenter will find
that the sound is conveyed to a great distance, and also that it is
very loud. Most kinds of fish are voracious feeders, and prey upon each
other without the slightest ceremony; and the greatest difficulties of
the angler are experienced after the fish have had a good feed, when
even the most practised artist, with his most seductive bait, will
not induce them to nibble, far less to bite. Many of our fish have a
digestion so rapid as only to be comparable to the action of fire, and
in good feeding-grounds the growth of a fish usually corresponds to
its power of eating. In the sea there exists an admirable field for
observing the cannibal propensities of the fish world, where shoals
of one species have apparently no other object in life than to chase
another kind with a view to eat them; and what goes on in the sea on
a wholesale scale is imitated on a smaller scale in the loch and the
river. To compensate for the waste of life incidental to their place
of birth and their ratio of growth, nature has endowed this class of
animals with an enormous power of reproduction. Fish yield their eggs
by tens of thousands or millions, according to the danger that has to
be incurred in the progress of their growth.
All fish are enormously fecund; indeed there is nothing in the animal
world that can in this respect be compared to them, except perhaps a
queen bee, which has fifty or sixty thousand young each season; or the
white ant, which produces eggs at the rate of fifty per minute, and
goes on laying for a period of unknown duration; not to speak of that
terrible domestic _bug_bear which no one likes more particularly to
name, but which is popularly supposed to become a great-grandfather in
twenty-four hours. The little aphides of the garden may also be noted
for their vast fecundity, as may likewise the common house-fly. During
a year one green aphis may produce one hundred thousand millions of
young; and the house-fly produces twenty millions of eggs in a season!
When I state that the codfish yields its eggs in millions, and that a
herring of six or seven ounces in weight is provided with about thirty
thousand ova, it will at once be seen that the multiplying power of all
kinds of fish is enormous; but then the drain on fish life, consequent
on the _habitat_ of these animals, is immense, or at least of
corresponding magnitude. Although there may be thirty thousand eggs in
a herring, the reader must bear in mind that if these be not vivified
by the milt of the male fish, they just rot away in the sea, and never
become of any value, except perhaps as food to some minor monster of
the deep. Millions upon millions of the eggs that are emitted by the
cod or the herring never come to life at all—many of them from the want
of the fructifying power, and others from being devoured by enemies.
Then, again, of those eggs that are so fortunate as to be ripened, it
is pretty certain, I think, from minute and careful inquiry, that fully
ninety per cent of the young fish perish before they are six months
old. Were only half of the eggs to come to life, and but one moiety
of the young fish to live, the sea would so abound with animal life
that it would soon be impossible for a boat to move in its waters. But
we can never hope to realise such a sight; and when it is considered
that a single shoal of herrings consists of millions and millions
of individual fish, and takes up a space in the sea far more than
that occupied by the parks of London, and yet gives no impediment to
navigation, my readers will see the magnitude of our fish supplies;
but, from the destruction of fish life by natural causes, the breeding
supply is kept down to an amount that cannot, in my opinion, be very
far from the point of extermination; and hence I am prepared to argue
the urgent necessity of regulation, continued statistical inquiry, and
the adoption of fish-culture as an adjunct to the natural supplies.
The figures of fish fecundity are quite reliable, and are not dependent
on mere guessing or imagination, because different persons have taken
the trouble, the writer amongst others, to count the separate eggs
in the roes of some of our fish, in order to ascertain exactly their
amount of breeding power. It is well known that the female salmon
yields her eggs at the rate of about one thousand for each pound of
her weight, and some fresh-water fish are still more prolific; the sea
fish, again, far excelling them in reproductive power. The sturgeon,
for instance, is wonderfully fecund, as much as two hundred pounds
weight of roe having been taken from one of these fish, yielding a
total of 7,000,000 of eggs. I have in my possession the results of
several investigations into the question of fish fecundity, which
were conducted with careful attention to the details, and without
any desire to exaggerate: these give the following results:—Codfish,
3,400,000; flounder, 1,250,000; sole, 1,000,000; mackerel, 500,000;
herring, 35,000; smelt, 36,000. Mr. Frank Buckland, who some time ago
investigated this part of the fish question, quite corroborates such
numbers as being correct, having found equally great quantities in
fish dissected by himself.
Any of my readers who wish to manipulate these figures may try by way
of experiment a few calculations with the herring. The produce of a
single herring is, let us say, thirty-six thousand eggs, but we may—and
the deduction is a most reasonable one—allow that half of these never
come to life, which reduces the quantity born to eighteen thousand.
Allowing that the young fish will be able to repeat the story of their
birth in three years, we may safely calculate that the breeding stock
by various accidents will by that time be reduced to nine thousand
individuals; and granting half of these to be females, or let us say,
for the sake of rounding the figures, that four thousand of them yield
roe, we shall find by multiplying that quantity by thirty-six thousand
(the number of eggs in a female herring) that we obtain a total of one
hundred and forty-four millions as the produce in three years of a
single pair of herrings; and although half of these might be taken as
the food of man as soon as they were large enough, there would still be
left an immense breeding stock even after all deductions for casualties
had been given effect to; so that the devastations committed by man
on the shoals while capturing for food uses must be enormous if they
affect, as I suppose, the reproductiveness of these useful animals. Of
course this is but guess-work, and is merely given as a basis for a
more minute statement; but I have conversed with practical people who
do not think that, taking all times and seasons into account, even five
per cent of the roe of a herring comes to life, far less that such a
percentage reaches maturity as table fish.
It is now well enough known, even to the merest _tyros_ in the study
of natural history, and to anglers and others interested as well,
that the impregnation of fish-eggs is a purely external act; but at
one time this was not believed, and even so lately as six years ago a
portion of the experiments at the Stormontfield salmon-breeding ponds
was dedicated, by Mr. Robert Buist, to a solution of this question,
with what result may be easily guessed. The old theory, so stoutly
maintained by Mr. Tod Stoddart and others, that it is contrary both
to fact and reason that fish can differ from land animals in the
matter of the fructification of their eggs, was signally defeated,
and the question conclusively settled at the ponds in a very simple
way—namely, by placing in the breeding-boxes a quantity of salmon eggs
which had not been brought into contact with the milt, and which rotted
away; proving emphatically that the sexes do not come into alliance
at the time of spawning, and that there is no way of rendering the
eggs fruitful unless they are brought into immediate contact with the
milt. Curious ideas used to prevail on this branch of natural history.
Herodotus observes of the fish of the Nile, that at the season of
spawning they move in vast multitudes towards the sea; the males lead
the way, and emit the engendering principle in their passage; this the
females absorb as they follow, and in consequence conceive, and when
their ova are deposited they are consequently matured into fry. Linnæus
backed up this idea, and asserted that there could be no impregnation
of the eggs of any animal out of the body, and as fish have no organs
of generation, there was in the mind of the great naturalist no more
feasible explanation of their mode of reproduction than that given in
Beloe’s _Herodotus_. It is this wonderfully exceptional principle in
the life of fish that has given rise to the art of pisciculture—_i.e._
the artificial impregnation of the eggs of fish forcibly exuded from
these animals, which, as will be fully explained in another portion
of this work, are brought into contact with the milt, independent
altogether of the animal.
The principle of fish life which brings the male and female together at
the period of spawning is unknown. It is supposed by some naturalists
that fish do not gather into shoals till they are about to perform
the grandest action of their nature, and that till that period each
animal lives a separate and individual life. If we set down the sense
of smell as the power which attracts the fish sexes, we shall be very
nearly correct: such cold-blooded animals cannot very well have any
more powerful instinct. A very clever Spanish writer on pisciculture
hints that the fish have no amatory feeling for each other at that
period, thus forming a curious exception to most other animals, and
that it is the smell of the roe in the female that attracts the
male. As the writer well expresses it—“The curious phenomenon of the
fecundation of the eggs or spawn of the female fish away from the
bowels of the mothers, and independent of their co-operation in every
way, constitutes an interesting exception to the almost universal law
of instinct and sympathy in the sexes—a law simple in its essence, as
are all nature’s laws, but most prolific in its results; for we see it
pass through all the phases of an immense series, from the phenomena
of organic attraction shown by the first-named living beings up to the
great passions of love and maternity in the human species, forming
the affectionate and solid bases of families and the imperishable
foundation of society.”
This idea—viz. as to the shoaling of the fish at the period of spawning
only—has been prominently thrown out in regard to the herring by
parties who do not admit even of a partial migration from the deep to
the shallow water, which, however, is an idea that is stoutly held
by some writers on the herring question. It is rather interesting,
however, in connection with this phase of fish life, to note that
particular shoals of herrings deposit their spawn at particular
places, that the eggs come simultaneously to life, and that it is
quite certain that the young fish remain together for a considerable
period—a few months at least—after they are hatched. This is well
known from the fact of large bodies of young herrings having been
caught during the sprat season; these could not, of course, have been
assembled to spawn—they were too young and had no development of milt
or roe. This, if these fish separate, gives rise to the question—At
what period do the herrings begin their individual wanderings? Sprats,
of course—if sprats be sprats and not the young of the herring—may
have come together at the period when they are so largely captured
for the purpose of perpetuating their kind; but if so, they must live
long together before they acquire milt or roe. And how is it that
we so often find young herrings in the sprat shoals? Then, again,
how comes it that the fishermen do not frequently fall in with the
separate herrings during the white-fishing seasons? How is it that
fishermen find particular kinds of fish always on particular ground?
How is it that eels migrate in immense bodies? My opinion is, that
particular kinds of fish do hold always together, or at all events
gather at particular seasons into greater or lesser bodies. No doubt,
life among the inhabitants of the sea, if we could know it, is quite
as diversified as life on land, where we observe that many kinds of
animals colonise—ants, bees, etc. Are the old stories about each kind
of fish having a king so absolutely incredible after all? That there
are schools of fish is certain; how the great bodies may be divided can
only be guessed.
Whatever may be the attracting cause, and however powerful the sexual
instinct may be among fish, it can scarcely be discussed fully
in a work which makes no pretension to being scientific or even
technological. It is noteworthy, however, that fish-eggs afford us an
admirable opportunity of studying a peculiarly interesting stage of
animal life—viz. the embryo stage—which naturally enough is rather
obscure in all animals. Having had opportunities of observing the
eggs of the salmon in all their stages of progress, from the period
of their first contact with the milt till the bursting of the egg and
the coming forth of the tiny fish, I will venture briefly to describe
what I have seen, because salmon eggs are of a convenient size for
continued examination. The roe of this fine fish is, I daresay, pretty
familiar to most of my readers. The microscope reveals the eggs of
the salmon as being more oval than round, although they appear quite
round to the naked eye. A yolk seems to float in the dim-looking mass,
and the skin or shell appears full of minute holes, while there is an
appearance of a kind of canal or funnel, which opens from the outside
and is apparently closed at the inner end. The milt is found to swarm
with a species of very small creatures with big heads and long tails,
apparently of very low organisation. On the contact of this fluid
with the egg, into which it enters by the canal I have described, an
immediate change takes place—the ovum, so to speak, becomes illuminated
as if by some curious internal power, and the aspect of the egg then
appears a great deal brighter and clearer than before; and it is surely
wonderful that on the mere touching of the egg with this wonder-working
sperm so great a change should take place—a change which indicates that
the grand process of reproduction characteristic of all living nature
has begun in the ovum, and will go on with increasing strength to
maturity.
Beds containing salmon-spawn are so accessible, comparatively speaking,
as to render it easy to trace the development of the egg from the
embryo to the complete animal. I have personally watched the egg
from the date of its contact with the milt till the little salmon
has burst out of its fragile prison and waddled away to the shady
side of a friendly pebble, evidently anxious to hide its nakedness.
I was enabled, in fact, to hatch a few salmon eggs, brought from
Stormontfield last Christmas-day, by means of a very simple apparatus
in a printing-office, and had therefore an opportunity of daily
observation. As may be supposed, however, the transmutation of a salmon
egg into a fish is a tedious process, which takes above a hundred
days to accomplish. The eggs of the female under the natural system
of spawning are laid in the secluded and shallow tributary of some
choice stream, in a trough of gravel ploughed up by the fish with
great labour, and are there left to be wooed into life by the eternal
murmuring of the water. From November till March, through the storms
and floods of winter, the ova lie hid among the gravel, slowly but
surely quickening into life, and few persons would guess from a mere
casual glance at the tributary of a great salmon stream that it held
among its bubbling waters such a countless treasure of future fish.
A practised person will find out a burrow of salmon eggs with great
precision, and a little bit of water may contain perhaps a million
of eggs waiting to be summoned into life by the mysterious workings
of nature. During the first three weeks from the milting of the egg
scarcely any change is discernible in its condition, except that about
the end of that period it contains a brilliant spot, which gradually
increases in its brilliancy, when certain threads of blood begin
faintly to prefigure the anatomy of the young fish. After another
day or two, the bright spot seems to assume a ring-like form, having
a clear space in the centre, and the blood-threads then become more
and more apparent. These blood-like tracings are ultimately seen to
take an animal shape; but it would be difficult at first to say what
the animal may turn out to be—whether a tadpole or a salmon. After
this stage of the development is reached, two bright black specks are
then seen—the eyes of the fish. We can now, from day to day, note
the form as it gradually assumes a more perfect shape; we can see it
change palpably almost from hour to hour. After the egg has been laved
by the water for a hundred days, we can observe that the young fish
is then thoroughly alive and, to use a common expression, kicking.
We can see it moving and can study its anatomy, which, although as
yet very rudimentary, contains all the elements of the perfect fish.
Heat expedites the birth of the fish. The eggs of a minnow have been
sensibly advanced towards maturity by being held on the palm of the
hand. The spawn of the lobster has the advantage of being nursed on
the tail of the animal till it is just on the point of ripening into
life. Salmon eggs deposited early in the season, when the temperature
is high, come sooner to life than those spawned in mid-winter: indeed
there is a difference of as much as fifty days between those deposited
in September and those spawned in December, the one requiring ninety
days, the other one hundred and forty days to ripen into life. Salmon
have been brought to life in sixty days at Huningue; but the quickest
hatching ever accomplished at the Stormontfield breeding-ponds was when
the fish came to life in one hundred and twenty days.
I have endeavoured to illustrate these early stages of fish life by a
drawing, which shows the eggs at about their natural size, as also the
advance of the fish in size and shape.
[Illustration: EGGS OF THE SALMON KIND JUST HATCHING.]
At the salmon-ponds of Stormontfield the eggs laid down the first
season were hatched in one hundred and twenty-eight days, but the eggs
of other fish have been known to come to life a great deal sooner. The
usual time for the hatching of salmon eggs in our northern rivers is
one hundred and thirty days, or between four and five months, according
to the openness or severity of the season. When at last the infant
animal bursts from the shell, it is a clumsy, unbalanced, tiny thing,
having attached to it the remains of the parental egg, which hamper
its movements; but after all, the remains of its little prison are
exceedingly useful, as for a space of about thirty days the young
salmon cannot obtain other nourishment than what is afforded by this
umbilical bag.
[Illustration: SALMON A DAY OR TWO OLD.]
We cannot, unfortunately, obtain a sight of the ripening eggs of any
of our sea fish at a time when they would prove useful to us. No one,
so far as I know, has seen the young herring burst from its shell
under such advantageous circumstances as we can view the salmon ova;
but I have seen the bottled-up spawn of that fish just after it had
ripened into life, the infant animal being remarkably like a fragment
of cotton thread that had fallen into the water: it moved about with
great agility, but required the aid of a microscope to make out that
it was a thing endowed with life. Who could suppose, while examining
those wavy floating threads, that in a few months afterwards they would
be grown into beautiful fish, with a mechanism of bones to bind their
flesh together, scales to protect their body, and fins to guide them in
the water? But young herring cannot be long bottled up for observation,
or be kept in an artificial atmosphere; for in that condition they die
almost before there is time to see them live; and when in the sea there
are no means of tracing them, because they are speedily lost in an
immensity of water.
There are points of contrast between the salmon and the herring which
I cannot pass without notice. They form the St. Giles’ and St. James’
of the fish world, the one being a portion of the rich man’s food,
and the other filling the poor man’s dish. The salmon is hedged round
by protecting Acts of Parliament, but the herring gets leave to grow
just as it swims, parliamentary statutes being thought unnecessary
for its protection. The salmon is born in its fine nursery, and is
wakened into life by the music of beautiful streams: it has nurses and
night-watchers, who hover over its cradle and guide its infant ways;
but the herring, like the brat of some wandering pauper, is dropped
in the great ocean workhouse, and cradled amid the hoarse roar of the
ravening waters; and whether it lives or dies is a matter of no moment,
and no one’s business. Herring mortality in its infantile stages is
appalling, and even in its old age, at a time when the rich man’s fish
is protected from the greed of its enemies, the herring is doomed to
suffer the most. And then, to finish up with the same appropriateness
as they have lived, the venison of the waters is daintily laid out on
a slab of marble, while the vulgar but beautiful herring is handled
by a dirty costermonger, who hurls it about in a filthy cart drawn by
a wretched donkey. At the hour of reproduction the salmon is guarded
with jealous care from the hand of man, whilst at the same season the
herring is offered up a wholesale sacrifice to the destroyer. It is
only at its period of spawning that the herring is fished. How comes it
to pass that what is a highly punishable crime in the one instance is
a government-rewarded merit in the other? To kill a gravid salmon is
as nearly as possible felony; but to kill a herring as it rests on the
spawning-bed is an act at once meritorious and profitable!
Having given my readers a general idea of the fecundity of fish, and
the method of fructifying the eggs, and of the development of these
into fish—for, of course, the process will be nearly the same with all
kinds of fish eggs, the only difference perhaps being that the eggs
of some varieties will take a longer time to hatch than the eggs of
others—I will now pass on to consider the question of fish growth.
All fish are not oviparous. There is a well-known blenny which is
viviparous, the young of which at the time of their birth are so
perfect as to be able to swim about with great ease; and this fish is
also very productive. Our skate fishes (Raiæ) are all viviparous. “The
young are enclosed in a horny capsule of an oblong square shape, with
a filament at each corner. It is nourished by means of an umbilical
bag till the due period of exclusion arrives, when it enters upon
an independent existence.” I could name a few other fish which are
viviparous. In the fish-room of the British Museum may be seen one of
these. It is known as _Ditrema argentea_, and is plentifully found in
the seas of South America. But our information on this portion of the
natural history of fish is very obscure at present.
There are many facts of fish biography that have yet to be ascertained,
and which, if we knew them, would probably conduce to a stricter
economy of fish life and the better regulation of the fisheries. Beyond
a knowledge of mere generalities, the animal kingdom of the sea is a
sealed book. No person can tell, for example, how long a time elapses
from the birth of any particular sea fish till the period when it is
brought to table. Sea fish grow up unheeded—quite, in a sense, out of
the bounds of observation. Naturalists can only guess at what rate a
codfish grows. Even the life of a herring, in its most important phase,
is still a mystery; and at what age the mackerel or any other fish
becomes reproductive, who can say? The salmon is the one particular
fish that has as yet been compelled to render up to those inquiring
the secret of its birth and the ratio of its growth. (See _Natural and
Economic History of the Salmon_.) We have imprisoned this valuable
fish in artificial ponds, and by robbing it of its eggs have noted
when the young ones were born and how they grew. It would be equally
easy to devise a means of observing sea fish. Why should we not erect
a great marine observatory, where we could, as in the case of the
Stormontfield-bred salmon, watch the young fish burst from its shell,
and for a year or two observe and study the progress of the animal, and
ascertain its rate of growth, and especially the period at which it
becomes reproductive? The government might act upon this suggestion,
and vote a few thousand pounds annually for the support of a series of
marine fish-ponds; for something more is required than the resources of
an amateur naturalist to determine how fish live and grow.
What naturalists chiefly and greatly need in respect of our sea fish
is, precise information as to their rate of growth. We have a personal
knowledge of the fact of the sea fish selecting our shores as a
spawning-ground, but we do not precisely know in some instances the
exact time of spawning, how long the spawn takes to quicken into life,
or at what rate the fish increase in growth.
The eel may be taken as an example of our ignorance of fish life. Do
our professed naturalists know anything about it beyond its migratory
habits?—habits which, from sheer ignorance, have at one period or
another been guessed as pertaining to all kinds of fish. The tendency
to the romantic, specially exhibited in the amount of travelling power
bestowed by the elder naturalists on this class of animals, would seem
to be very difficult to put down.
About two years ago an old story about the eel was gravely revived
by having the larger portion of a little book devoted to its
elucidation—an old story seriously informing us that the silver eel is
the product of a black beetle. But no one need wonder at a new story
about the eel, far less at the revival of this old one; for the eel is
a fish that has at all times experienced the greatest difficulty in
obtaining recognition as being anything at all in the animal world, or
as having respectable parentage of even the humblest kind. In fact, the
study of the natural history of the eel has been hampered by old-world
romances and quaint fancies about its birth, or, in its case, may I
not say invention? “The eel is born of the mud,” said one old author.
“It grows out of hairs,” said another. “It is the creation of the
dews of evening,” exclaimed a third. “Nonsense,” emphatically uttered
a fourth controversialist, “it is produced by means of electricity.”
“You are all wrong,” sserted a fifth, “the eel is generated from
turf;” and a sixth theorist, determined to outdo all the others and
come nearer the mark than any of his predecessors, assures the public
that the young fish are grown from particles scraped off the old ones!
The beetle theorist tells us that the silver eel is a neuter, having
neither milt nor roe, and is therefore quite incapable of perpetuating
its kind; and, in short, that it is a romance of nature, being _one_
of the productions of some wondrous lepidopterous animals seen by Mr.
Cairncross (the author of the work alluded to) about the place where
he lived in Forfarshire, its other production being of its own kind, a
black beetle! The story of the rapid growth and transformation of the
salmon is—as will by and by be seen—wonderful enough in its way, but it
is certainly far surpassed by the extraordinary silver eel, which is at
one and the same time a fish and an insect.
There can be no doubt that the eel is a curious enough animal even
without the extra attributes bestowed upon it by this very original
naturalist, for that fish is in many respects the opposite of the
salmon: it is spawned in the sea, and almost immediately after coming
to life proceeds to live in brackish or entirely fresh water. It is
another of the curious features of fish life that about the period
when eels are on their way to the sea, where they find a suitable
spawning-ground, salmon are on their way from the sea up to the
river-heads to fulfil the grand instinct of their nature—namely,
reproduction. The periodical migrations of the eel, on which instinct
has been founded the great fishing industry of Comacchio, on the
Adriatic, described in another portion of this volume, can be
observed in all parts of the globe, and they take place, according
to the climate, at different periods from February to May; the fish
frequenting such canals or rivers as have communication with the sea.
The myriads of young eels which ascend are almost beyond belief; they
are in numbers sufficient for the population of all the waters of
the globe—that is, if there were protective laws to shield them from
destruction, or reservoirs in which they might be preserved to be used
for food as required. The eel, indeed, is quite as prolific as the
generality of sea fish. As a corroboration of the prolificness of the
animal, it may be stated that eels have been noted—but that was some
years ago—to pass up the river Thames from the sea at the extraordinary
rate of eighteen hundred per minute! This _montee_ was called eel-fair.
It is clear from certain facts in the history of this peculiar animal
that, like all other fish, it can suit its life and growth to whatever
circumstances it may be placed in, and seems to be quite able to
multiply and replenish its species in rivers and lakes as well as in
the sea. In Scotland eels are very seldom eaten, a strong prejudice
existing in that country against the fish on account of its serpentine
shape; but for all that the eel is a nutritious and palatable fish, and
is highly susceptible of the arts of the cook. At one time the eel was
thought to be viviparous, but naturalists now know better, having found
out that eels produce their young in the same way as most other fish do.
It would be interesting, and profitable as well, to know as much of
any one of our sea fish as we now know of the salmon, but so little
progress is being made in observing the natural history of fish that we
cannot expect for some time to know much more than we do at present;
everything in the fish world seems so much to be taken for granted that
we are still inclined rather to revive the old traditions than to study
or search out new facts. Naturalists are so ignorant of how the work of
growth is carried on in the fish world—in fact, it is so difficult to
investigate points of natural history in the depths of the sea—that we
cannot wonder at less being known about marine animals than about any
other class of living beings.
It is the want of precise information about the growth of the fish
that has of late been telling heavily against our fisheries, for in
the meantime all is fish that comes to the fisherman’s net, no matter
of what size the animals may be, or whether or not they have been
allowed time to perpetuate their kind. No person, either naturalist
or fisherman, knows how long a period elapses from the date of its
birth before a turbot or codfish becomes reproductive. It is now well
known, in consequence of the repeated experiments made with that fish,
that the salmon grows with immense rapidity, a consequence in some
degree of its quick digestive power. The codfish, again—and I reason
from the analogy of its greatly slower power of digesting its food and
from other corroborative circumstances—must be correspondingly slow
in its growth; but people must not, in consequence of this slow power
of digestion, believe all they hear about the miscellaneous articles
often said to be found in the stomach of a codfish, as a large number
of the curiosities found in the intestinal regions of his codship are
often placed there by fishermen, either by way of joke or in order to
increase the weight and so enhance the price of the animal.
As regards the natural history of one of our best-known food fishes, I
have taken the pains to compile a brief _precis_ of its life from the
best account of it that is known, keeping in the background at present
any knowledge or speculation of my own regarding it. I allude to the
mackerel; and the following facts are from an evidently well-studied
chapter of Mr. Jonathan Couch’s _Fishes of the British Islands_, by
which it will be at once seen that our knowledge of the growing power
of this well-known fish is very defective.
1. Mackerel, geographically speaking, are distributed over a wide
expanse of water, embracing the whole of the European coasts, as
well as the coasts of North America, and this fish may be caught as
far southward as the Canary Islands. 2. The mackerel is a wandering
unsteady fish, supposed to be migratory, but individuals are always
found in the British seas. 3. This fish appears off the British coasts
in quantity early in the year; that is, in January and February. 4.
The male kind are supposed to be more numerous than the female. 5. The
early appearance of this fish is not dependent on the weather. 6. The
mackerel, like the herring, was at one time supposed to be a native of
foreign seas. 7. This fish is laden with spawn in May, and it has been
known to deposit its eggs upon our shores in the following month.
Such is a brief _resumé_ of Mr. Couch’s chapter on the mackerel.
Now, we have no account here of how long it is ere the spawn of
the mackerel quickens into life, or at what age that fish becomes
reproductive, although in these two points is unquestionably obtained
the key-note to the natural history of all fishes, whether they be
salmon or sprats. In fact—and it is no particular demerit of Mr. Couch
more than of every other naturalist—we have no precise information
whatever on this point of growth power. We have at best only a few
guesses and general deductions, and we would like to know as regards
all fish—_1st_, When they spawn; _2d_, How long it is ere the spawn
quickens into life; and _3d_, At what period the young fish will be
able to repeat the story of their birth. These points once known—and
they are most essential to the proper understanding of the economy of
our fisheries—the chief remaining questions connected with fishing
industry would be of comparatively easy solution, and admit of our
regulating the power of capture to the natural conditions of supply.
[Illustration: WHITEBAIT GROUND NEAR QUEENSFERRY.]
As another example of our ignorance of fish life, I may instance that
diminutive member of the Clupea family—the whitebait. This fish, which
is so much better known gastronomically than it is scientifically, was
thought at one time to be found only in the Thames, but it is much
more generally diffused than is supposed. It is found for certain,
and in great plenty, in three rivers—viz., the Thames, the Forth, and
the Hamble. I have also seen it taken out of the Humber, not far from
Hull, and have heard of its being caught near the mouth of the Deveron,
on the Moray Firth; and likewise of its being found in plentiful
quantities off the Isle of Wight. Mr. Stewart, the natural history
draughtsman, tells me also that he has seen it taken in bushels on
many parts of the Clyde, and that at certain seasons, while engaged in
taking coal-fish, he has found them so stuffed with whitebait that by
holding the large fish by the tail the little silvery whitebait have
fallen out in handfuls. The whitebait has become celebrated from the
mode in which it is cooked, and the excuse it affords to Londoners for
an afternoon’s excursion, as also from its forming a famous dish at the
annual fish-dinner of her Majesty’s ministers; but truth compels me
to state that there is nothing in whitebait beyond its susceptibility
of taking on a flavour from the skill of the cook. It is poor feeding
when compared to a dish of sprats, or (an illegal) fry of young
salmon; and it has been said in joke that an expert cook can make up
capital whitebait by means of flour and oil! But to eat whitebait is
a fashion of the season, and the well-served tables of the Greenwich
and Blackwall taverns, with their pleasant outlook to the river, and
their inducements of chablis and other choice wines and comestibles,
are undoubtedly very attractive, whether the persons partaking of these
dainties be ministers of state or merchants’ clerks.
The whitebait, however, if I cannot honestly praise it as a table fish,
is particularly interesting as an object of natural history, there
having been from time to time, as in the case of most other fish,
some very learned disputes as to where it comes from, how it grows,
and whether or not it be a distinct member of the herring family or
the young of some other fish. The whitebait—which, although found in
rivers, is strictly speaking a sea fish—is a tiny animal, varying in
length, when taken for cooking purposes, from two to four inches, and
has never been seen of a greater length than five inches. In appearance
it is pale and silvery, with a greenish back, and ought to be cooked
immediately after being caught; indeed if, like Lord Lovat’s salmon,
whitebait could leap out of the water into the frying-pan, it would be
a decided advantage to those dining upon it, for if kept even for a few
hours it becomes greatly deteriorated, and, as a consequence, requires
all the more cooking to bring the flavour up to the proper pitch of
gastronomic excellence. In fact, it is necessary to keep the fish alive
in a tub of water, and to ladle them out for the process of cooking
as the guests may arrive. Perhaps, as all fish are chameleon-like in
reflecting not only the colour of their abode, but what they feed on
as well, the supposed fine flavour of whitebait, so far as it is not
conferred upon that fish by the cook, may arise from the matters held
in solution in the Thames water, and so the result from the corrupt
source of the supply may be a quicker than ordinary decay. The waters
of the Forth at the whitebait ground, of which I have given a slight
sketch, are clean and clear, a little way above Inchgarvie, where the
sprat-fishing is usually carried on, and the whitebait taken there
are in consequence slightly different in colour, and greatly so in
taste, from those obtained in the Thames; in fact, all kinds of fish,
including salmon, are able to live and thrive in the Firth of Forth. It
is long since the refined salmon forsook the Thames, but then salmon
are very delicate in their eating, and at once take on the surrounding
flavour, whatever that may be. Creditable attempts are now being
made to re-stock the Thames, especially the upper waters, with more
valuable fish than are at present contained in that river, but whether
these attempts will be successful yet remains to be seen. I have been
watching with great interest what is being done by Mr. Frank Buckland
and others; but salmon I fear cannot at present live in the Thames.
To thrive successfully, that fish must have access to the sea, and
how a salmon can ever penetrate to the salt water with the river in
its present state is a problem that must be left for future solution;
however, as Mr. Frank Buckland very truthfully remarks, if the salmon
are not first sent down the Thames they cannot be expected ever to come
up that noble river.
Returning, however, to our whitebait, it may be stated that that fish
was once thought to be the young of the shad, which is itself an
interesting fish, coming from the sea to deposit its spawn in the fresh
waters. The shad was at one time thought to be the patriarch of the
herring tribe; and it was said, in the days when the old theory about
the migration of the herring was believed in, that the great shoals
which came to this country from the icy seas of the high latitudes were
led on their wonderful tour by a few thousands of this gigantic fish.
Pennant conjectured that whitebait was an independent species, but so
difficult is it to investigate such facts in the water that it was not
till many years had elapsed that the question was set at rest so far as
to determine at any rate that whitebait were not the young of either
the Alice or the Twaite shad, which, by the by, is a coarse and insipid
fish—
“_Alusæ_, crackling on the embers, are
Of wretched poverty the insipid fare.”
Some investigations I have in hand may settle the question whether
or not the whitebait be herring-fry or a distinct fish. As yet I
have never at any season of the year found an example of whitebait
containing either milt or roe, although it is said that examples may
be taken full of both during the early winter months. This, of course,
is not conclusive evidence of its being the young of some other fish,
although it would go some length in proving it a distinct species; but
I need not enter further into the controversy at present, as it is not
of much interest to the general reader, except to say that whitebait,
whatever species it may belong to, comes up from the sea, where it has
been spawned, to feed in the river. I may mention that this fish cannot
now be taken so far up the river Thames as formerly. Whitebait are now
usually caught between Gravesend and Woolwich, and the fish are in
their best season between April and September. It is not unusual for
sea fish to ascend our rivers: the eel, as I have already narrated,
spawns in the sea, and the young of that fish ascend to the fresh
water, in which they live till they are seized with the migratory
instinct. The parentage of the whitebait will be discovered in the sea,
and the changes undergone by fish during their growth are so varied and
curious that it would be difficult to predict what the little whitebait
may turn out to be—whiting perhaps! After being told that the silver
eel is the produce of a black beetle, and knowing that a tadpole is an
infantile frog, and that the zœa ultimately becomes a crab, we need
not wonder if we are some day told that whitebait becomes in time
metamorphosed into some other entirely different fish!
Besides whitebait there are other mysterious fish—especially in
Scotland—which are well worthy of being alluded to. An idea prevails
in Scotland that the vendace of Lochmaben and the powan of Lochlomond
are really herrings forced into fresh water, and slightly altered by
the circumstances of a new dwelling-place, change of food, and other
causes. One learned person lately ascribed the presence of sea fish in
fresh water to the great wave which had at one time passed over the
country. But no doubt the real cause is that these peculiar fish were
brought to those lakes ages ago by monks or other persons who were
adepts in the piscicultural art.
[Illustration: LOCHMABEN.
The home of the Vendace.]
A brief summary of the chief points in the habits of these mysterious
fish may interest the reader. The “vendiss,” as it is locally called,
occurs nowhere but in the waters at Lochmaben, in Dumfriesshire; and
it is thought by the general run of the country people to be, like
the powan of Lochlomond, a fresh-water herring. The history of this
fish is quite unknown, but it is thought to have been introduced into
the Castle Loch of Lochmaben in the early monkish times, when it was
essential, for the proper observance of church fasts, to have an
ample supply of fish for fast-day fare. It is curious as regards the
vendace that they float about in shoals, that they make the same kind
of poppling noise as the herring, and that they cannot be easily taken
by any kind of bait. At certain seasons of the year the people assemble
for the purpose of holding a vendace feast, at which times large
quantities of the fish are caught by means of a sweep net. The fish is
said to have been found in other waters besides those of Lochmaben, but
I have never been able to see a specimen anywhere else. There are a
great number of traditions afloat about the vendace, and a story of its
having been introduced to the lake by Mary Queen of Scots. The country
people are very proud of their fish, and take a pride in showing it
to strangers. The principal information I can give about the vendace,
without becoming technical, is, that it is a beautiful and very
symmetrical fish, about seven or eight inches long, not at all unlike
a herring, only not so brilliant in the colour; and that the females
of the vendace seem to be about a third more numerous than the males—a
characteristic which is also observed in the salmon family. The vendace
spawn about the beginning of winter, and for this purpose gather, like
the herring, into shoals. They are very productive, and do not take
long to grow to maturity.
The peculiarities of the Lochleven trout may be chiefly ascribed to a
peculiar feeding-ground. Having lived at one time on the banks of this
far-famed loch, I had ample time and many opportunities of studying
the habits and anatomy, as well as the fine flavour, of this beautiful
fish, which, in my humble opinion, has no equal in any other waters.
Feeding I believe to be everything, whether the subjects operated upon
be cattle, capons, or carps. The land-locked bays of Scotland afford
richer flavoured fish than the wider expanses of water, where the
finny tribe, it may be, are much more numerous, but have not the same
quantity or variety of food, and, as a consequence, the fish obtained
in such places are comparatively poor both in size and flavour. Nothing
can be more certain than that a given expanse of water will feed only
a certain number of fish; if there be more than the feeding-ground
will support they will be small in size, and if the fish again be very
large it may be taken for granted that the water could easily support
a few more. It is well known, for instance, that the superiority of
the herrings caught in the inland sea-lochs of Scotland is owing to
the fish finding there a better feeding-ground than in the large and
exposed open bays. Look, for instance, at Lochfyne: the land runs down
to the water’s edge, and the surface water or drainage carries with it
rich food to fatten the loch, and put flesh on the herring; and what
fish is finer, I would ask, than a Lochfyne herring? Again, in the
bay of Wick, which is the scene of the largest herring fishery in the
world, the fish have no land food, being shut out from such a luxury by
a vast sea wall of everlasting rock; and the consequence is, that the
Wick herrings are not nearly so rich in flavour as those taken in the
sea-lochs of the west of Scotland. In the same way I account for the
rich flavour and beautiful colour of the trout of Lochleven. This fish
has been acclimatised with more or less success in other waters, but
when transplanted it deteriorates in flavour, and gradually loses its
beautiful colour—another proof that much depends on the feeding-ground;
indeed, the fact of the trout having deteriorated in quality as a
consequence of the abridgment of their feeding-range, is on this point
quite conclusive. I feel certain, however, that there must be more than
one kind of these Lochleven trouts; there is, at any rate, one curious
fact in their life worth noting, and that is, that they are often in
prime condition for table use when other trouts are spawning.
The powan, another of the mysterious fish of Scotland, is also
considered to be a fresh-water herring, and thought to be confined
exclusively to Lochlomond, where they are taken in great quantities.
It is supposed by persons versed in the subject that it is possible to
acclimatise sea fish in fresh water, and that the vendace and powan,
changed by the circumstances in which they have been placed, are, or
were, undoubtedly herrings. The fish in Lochlomond also gather into
shoals, and on looking at a few of them one is irresistibly forced to
the conclusion, that in size and shape they are remarkably like the
common herring. The powan of Lochlomond and the pollan of Lough Neagh
are not the same fish, but both belong to the Coregoni: the powan is
long and slender, while the pollan is an altogether stouter fish,
although well shaped and beautifully proportioned.
I could analyse the natural history of many other fish, but the result
in all cases is nearly the same, and ends in a repeated expression
that what we require as regards all fish is the date of their period
of reproduction; all other information without this great fact is
comparatively unimportant. It is difficult, however, to obtain any
reliable information on the natural history of fish either by way
of inquiry or by means of experiments. Naturalists cannot live in
the water, and those who live on it, and have opportunities for
observation, have not the necessary ability to record, or at any rate
to generalise what they see. No two fishermen, for instance, will agree
on any one point regarding the animals of the deep. I have examined
every intelligent fisherman I have met within the last ten years,
numbering above one hundred, and few of them have any real knowledge
regarding the habits of the fish which it is their business to capture.
As an instance of fishermen’s knowledge, one of that body recently
repeated to me the old story of the migration of the herring, holding
that the herring comes from Iceland to spawn, and that the sprat goes
to the same icy region in order that it may fulfil the same instinct.
“Where are the haddocks?” I once asked a Newhaven fisherman. “They are
about all eaten up, sir,” was his very innocent reply; and I believe
this to be true. The shore races of that fish have long disappeared,
and our fishermen have now to seek this most palatable inhabitant of
the sea afar off in the deep waters. Vast numbers of the haddock used
to be taken in the Firth of Forth, but during late years they have
become very scarce, and the boats now require to go a night’s voyage
to seek for them. If we knew the minutiæ of the life of this fish,
we should be better able to regulate the season for its capture, and
the percentage that we might with safety take from the water without
deteriorating the breeding power of the animal. There are some touches
of romance even about the haddock, but I need not further allude to
these in this division of my book, as I shall have to refer to it
again under the head of the “White Fish Fisheries.” It is, like all
fish, wonderfully prolific, and is looked upon by the fishermen as
being also a migratory fish, as are also the turbot and many other sea
animals.
The family to which the haddock belongs embraces many of our best
food fish, as whiting, cod, ling, etc.; but of the growth and habits
of the members of this family we are as ignorant as we are of the
natural history of the whitebait or sprat. I have the authority of a
rather learned Buckie fisherman (recently drowned, poor fellow! in the
great storm on the Moray Frith) for stating that codfish do not grow
at a greater rate than from eight to twelve ounces per annum. This
fisherman had seen a cod that had got enclosed by some accident in a
large rock pool, and so had obtained for a few weeks the advantage of
studying its powers of digestion, which he found to be particularly
slow, although there was abundant food. The haddock, which is a far
more active fish, my informant considered to grow at a more rapid rate.
On asking this man about the food of fishes, he said he was of opinion
that they preyed extensively upon each other, but that, so far as his
opportunities of observation went, they did not as a matter of course
live upon each other’s spawn; in other words, he did not think that the
enormous quantities of roe and milt given to fish were provided, as
has been supposed by one or two writers on the subject, for any other
purpose than the keeping up of the species. The spawn of all kinds of
fish is extensively wasted by other means; and these animals have no
doubt a thousand ways of obtaining food that are yet unknown to man;
indeed, the very element in which they live is in a sense a great mass
of living matter, and it doubtless affords by means of minute animals
a wonderful source of supply. Fish, too, are less dainty in their food
than is generally supposed, and some kinds eat garbage of the most
revolting description with great avidity.
I take this opportunity of correcting the very common error that all
fish are migratory. Some fishermen, and naturalists as well, picture
the haddock and the herring as being afflicted with perpetual motion—as
being wanderers from sea to sea and shore to shore. The migratory
instinct in fish is, in my opinion, very limited. They do move about a
little, without doubt, but not further than from their feeding-ground
to their spawning-ground—from deep to shallow water. Some plan of
taking fish other than the present must speedily be devised; for now
we only capture them—and I take the herring as an example—over their
spawning-ground, when, according to all good authority, they must
be in their worst possible condition, their whole flesh-forming or
fattening power having been bestowed on the formation of the milt and
roe. I repudiate altogether this iteration of the periodical wandering
instincts of the finny tribes. There are great fish colonies in the
sea, in the same way as there are great seats of population on land,
and these fish colonies are stationary, having, comparatively speaking,
but a limited range of water in which to live and die. Adventurous
individuals of the fish world occasionally roam far away from home, and
speedily find themselves in a warmer or colder climate, as the case may
be; but, speaking generally, as the salmon returns to its own waters,
so do sea fish keep to their own colony.
Our larger shoals of fish, which form money-yielding industries, are
of wonderful extent, and must have been gathering and increasing for
ages, having a population multiplied almost beyond belief. Century
after century must have passed away as these colonies grew in size,
and were subjected to all kinds of influences, evil or good: at times
decimated by enemies, or perhaps attacked by mysterious diseases, that
killed the fish in tens of thousands. At Rockall, for instance, there
was lately discovered a cod depôt, about which a kind of sensation
was made—perhaps by interested parties—in the public prints, but the
supply obtained at that place was only of brief duration. This fish
colony, which had evidently fixed upon a good food-giving centre, was
too infantile to be able to stand the heavy draughts that were all at
once made upon it. Schools or shoals of fish, when they are of such an
extent as will admit of constant fishing, must have been forming during
long periods of time; for we know that, despite the wonderful fecundity
of all kinds of sea fish, the expenditure of both seed and life is
something tremendous. We may rest assured that, if a female codfish
yields its roe by millions, a balancing-power exists in the water that
prevents the bulk of them from coming to life, or at any rate from
reaching maturity. If it were not so, how came it, in the days when
there was no fish commerce, and when man only killed the denizens
of the sea for the supply of his individual wants, that our waters
were not, so to speak, impassable from a superfluity of fish? Buffon
has said that if a pair of herrings were left to breed and multiply
undisturbed for a period of twenty years, they would yield a fish bulk
equal to the whole of the globe in which we live!
The subject of fish growth—particularly as regards the changes
undergone by the salmon family—will be found further elucidated under
the head of “Fish Culture,” and incidentally in some other divisions of
this work.