family preservation in the manner described, I am not willing to admit
that in every case that may arise in which the weak and disabled are
sacrificed, that it is done for the material benefit of the physically
able and robust. How the destruction of the weak and nearly-developed
ant can result in good to the colony, in view of the fact that not the
slightest effort to escape the danger by flight is undertaken, the sole
object being the hiding of the young, it is most difficult to conceive.
There seems to be one of two theories, in the writer’s judgment, that
will, in anything like a satisfactory manner, account for this strange,
abnormal habit upon the part of an insect that has been proverbially
distinguished for its kind and affectionate disposition towards the
tender beings committed to its trust; either to attribute it to an
unwillingness and dislike to see its offspring made the servants of
a hostile race or the subjects of ill-treatment and abuse, or to the
survival of a habit of the past when its ancestors were a migratory, or
nomadic, species.
That a feeling of repugnance does sometimes take possession of animal
nature when the objects of parental care and solicitude are, or are
about to be, reduced to slavery or confinement, and impels to actions
of cruelty, will be patent from what follows:--
A friend, several summers ago, having procured a pair of young
robins, placed them in a cage, which he hung from a tree-branch close
to his dwelling, where the parent-birds could have an opportunity to
feed them. All went well for a few days, when the parents, who had
busied themselves in the intervals of feeding in attempts to secure
their release, finding their efforts unavailing, flew away, but
only to return with something green in their bills, most probably
poisonous caterpillars, which they fed to their offspring. A few
minutes later and they lay in the bottom of the cage dead, but the
parents, as if conscious of what would result, flew away, and never
came back.
May it not be that the parents, finding all efforts to restore their
young to freedom ineffectual, sought this method of saving them from
a life to which death must assuredly be preferable? Instances of like
character might be adduced by the hundred, but enough has been written
to show that, in the case of _Formica flava_, an unwillingness to allow
the humblest of the colony to be taken into bondage was the motive
which prompted the sacrifice.
NEST-BUILDING FISHES.
Not alone in color do fishes resemble birds. In the home-life and love
of offspring a close resemblance obtains. Many are nest-builders,
erecting structures quite as complicated as those of some birds, and
hardly less elaborate in design and finish.
Floating along some woodland stream, or strolling along its
grass-fringed margin, we have watched the domestic life of the
Sun-fish, the _Eupomotis vulgaris_ of writers, that mottled, bespangled
beauty that seems always on hand to be caught by the angler in default
of more noble game.
Where delicate grasses grow, and floating lily-pads cast their shadows,
there among the winding stems the Sun-fish builds its home. Moving
in pairs in and out among the lilies near the shore, as if jointly
selecting a site for a nursery, they may be seen. The spot is generally
a gravelly one, and, once determined upon, no time is lost in pushing
the work to a speedy conclusion. For several inches around the space
is cleared of stems or roots, and these are carefully carried away.
The smaller roots are swept aside by well-directed blows of their
tails, or by mimic whirlpools which the fishes, standing over the nest,
create by their fins. The stones are next taken up, the smaller ones
in their mouths, the larger being pushed out bodily, or fanned away by
the sweeping process, until an oval depression, with a sandy bottom,
finally appears. About the sides the stems of aquatic verdure, which
seem to have been purposely left, may be seen standing, and these now
naturally fall over, oftentimes constituting the nest a perfect bower,
with walls bedecked with buds, while the roof is a mat of white lilies
floating upon the surface. Here the eggs are deposited, the male and
female alternately watching them.
[Illustration: NEST OF COMMON SUN-FISH.
Male and Female Defending It from Attack of Cat-fish.]
While the Sun-fish is always recognized as the most peaceful of the
finny tribe, and only chasing in wanton playfulness its neighbors,
it is otherwise when the passions are wrought to a high pitch of
excitement through the play of amatory influences in the spring-time.
Let a stranger, a bewhiskered cat-fish, approach the bower, and war
is at once declared. The little creatures snap at the intruder with
anger and defiance. Their sharp dorsal fins stand erect, the pectorals
vibrate with repressed emotion, while the violent movements of their
powerful tails evince a readiness and determination to stand by their
home at all hazards. Indeed, so vigorous is their charge, that even
large fishes are forced to retreat, and, as the Sun-fishes build in
companies, the intruder often finds himself attacked by a whole colony
of them.
Nearly all the Sun-fishes are nest-builders, some forming arbors, as we
have seen, others scooping out nests on sandy shoals, while one, the
Spotted Sun-fish, is more democratic, affecting muddy streams, where,
on the approach of cold weather, it makes a nest in the muddy bottom,
and there it lies dormant till the coming spring.
Who has not made friends with the Dace--_Rhinichthys atronasus_? He is
a veritable finny jester. We have watched him in his watery retreat,
and, perhaps unseen, have played the spy upon his domestic proceedings.
Life is a gala time to these little fishes. They have seemingly never a
care or a bother. In jest they join in the chase of some curious minnow
that intrudes upon their presence, suddenly changing their course to
dash at some resplendent dragon-fly that hovers over the leafy canopy
of their home, and as quickly darting off again to attack some bit of
floating leaf or imaginary insect.
All is not play, however, even among the Dace. The warm days of June
usher in the sterner duties, the nesting-time. Male and female join
in the preparation, and a locality, perhaps in shallow water in some
running brook, is selected. Roots, snags and leaves are carried away,
both fishes sometimes found tugging away at a single piece, taking it
down-stream, and working faithfully and vigorously until, in a few
hours, a clearing over two feet in diameter is the result.
There the first eggs are laid. The male, who has retired, soon appears
from up-stream, bearing in his mouth a pebble, which is placed in the
centre of the clearing. Now they both swim away, but soon returning,
each bearing a pebble, that is also dropped upon the eggs. Slowly the
work proceeds, until a layer of clean pebbles apparently covers the
eggs. A second layer of eggs is now deposited by the female, and these
are covered by pebbles as the others had been, the industrious little
workers scouring the neighborhood for them, seemingly piling up eggs
and stones alternately until the heap attains a height of eight inches
or more. These heaps vary in shape, some being pyramidal, and others
dome-shaped.
Such patience as these finny housekeepers manifest is not appreciated
by man. The gleaners of the golden fields, in whose waters our little
friends are found, have not discovered their secret, and think the
curious piles the washes of the brook itself. But their purpose is
the protection of their eggs. In swift-running streams, which these
fish are so wont to affect, the eggs would be washed away, and,
driven against rocks and snags, would be destroyed, or, even escaping
destruction, would, by the undulating movement to which they would
become subjected, be rendered impossible of incubation. Besides, were
they not thus protected, even though there was no danger of being
washed away, they would become easy prey to the attacks of carnivorous
fishes.
Unlike as the Lamprey-eels are in structure to the Dace, yet in their
habits of erecting a nest they are very similar. Upon our Eastern
sea-board they are a common species, inhabiting both salt and fresh
water. In the early spring they follow the shad up the rivers,
occasionally preceding them, and search about for suitable localities
in which to deposit their spawn. They clean away the stones as the
Dace were seen to do, bending their long bodies in coils, which they
use in pushing aside the accumulation on the bottom. To the unlearned
the appearance of two Eels, each three feet in length, twisting and
seemingly coiling about each other, would be indicative of war. But
having cleaned for themselves a smooth spot, the Lampreys proceed
to place stones. Irregularly-shaped stones of small size are easily
and quickly transported in their mouths, but when stones that weigh
several pounds are to be brought, the tactics they adopt are worthy of
an engineer. As the spots chosen for the rearing of their submarine
castles are ordinarily subjected to a swift current, the largest
stones, which it would be thought impossible for them to move, are
looked for up stream. A suitable one found, and a favorable position
presented, the sucking mouth is fastened to it, and by a convulsive
effort, the tail of the fish being raised aloft, the heavy stone is
lifted from its place, the current pushing against the fish and stone,
bearing them along several feet before they sink. Another effort of
the fish, and the rock is again raised and carried down stream, until
finally, by repeated liftings and struggles, the ingenious, persevering
nest-builder is swept down to the nest, where the load is deposited.
This laborious work is carried on until the pile has attained a height
of two or three feet, and a diameter of four. No special form seems
to be necessary. The nest is generally oval, compact and well devised
to contain the eggs, which are carefully deposited within, thus
affording protection in its numerous interstices for the young when
they hatch. When about six inches long, the young _Petromyzon marinus_,
which is a strange little fellow, is devoid of teeth, and blind, and
possesses so many characteristics distinct from the parent, that for
a long time he was considered a separate species, and even assigned a
place in a different genus. Enormous nests are sometimes built. John
M. Batchelder, Esq., describes one, which he saw in the Saco River,
Maine, that was about fifteen feet long, and from one to three feet in
height, its position and triangular shape in vertical section being
well adapted for securing a change of water, and a hiding-place for the
young. The operation of building was very methodical, a hundred and
more Eels being at work upon the structure. Water-worn stones, chips
of granites and fragments of bricks, sometimes weighing as much as two
pounds and transported by a single individual, were utilized in the
building.
[Illustration: BLACK-NOSED DACE.
Constructing Their Nest of Pebbles.]
More remarkable, however, than any previously described, are the nests
of the Fresh-water Chub, _Semotilus bullaris_, which is known in some
localities as the Stone Toter. This fish attains a length of about
fifteen inches. The finest nests are on the shores of Westminster
Island, but they are common on nearly every island that has a sandy,
gravelly shore among the many that make up the Thousand Islands. The
nest is a pile of stones, sometimes measuring ten feet across at the
base, four feet in height, and containing a good-sized cart-load of
stones, weighing in all perhaps a ton. Stones from small pebbles
to some four inches in length were used, and as some of the nests
are placed at considerable distances from the gravel-beds, and each
stone represented a journey, the amount of labor performed, when it
is considered that tens of thousands of stones must have been used
in the building, certainly was incredible. Each stone is brought in
the mouth of the Chub and dropped over the piles, one or more fishes
working at the same heap. Some plan is evidently followed in the work,
the first deposit of stones being small, and dropped so as to form a
circle or semi-circle. The largest heaps are undoubtedly the work of
successive years, the nests being annually added to during the last
of May or June, when the Chubs are seen lying in the heaps, at which
time the eggs are probably deposited. All the labor of piling up is to
protect them from predatory fishes, a necessary and wise provision, as
cat-fish, rock-bass, perch and others prey upon the eggs.
In gravelly beds the Trout excavates a simple nest, a mere depression
in the sand, that is not at all incomparable to the nest of some
species of gulls. A furrow in the gravelly bottom of a river, often ten
feet in length, the depression being made as fast as it is required, is
the nest of the Salmon. In Canadian rivers these nests can be easily
distinguished by the lighter marking in the bottom.
Few persons of the many who delight to drift along our sea-shores are
unfamiliar with the Toad-fish. So closely does he in shape and color
resemble a moss-covered stone that his enemies are deceived. Intrenched
among the weeds and gravel, which the mother-fish carelessly throws
aside, after the fashion of some of the gulls, the young are reared,
their yolk-sacs enabling them to cling to the rocks of the nest soon
after birth. There, under the watchful eye of the parent, they remain
until old enough to swim away.
But the most vigilant of all nest-builders is the Four-spined
Stickleback--_Apeltes quadracus_. In some neighboring stream, that
sooner or later finds its way to the ocean, he may be found. There
are different species of these fish, but their architectural ideas
are pretty much the same. They vary mainly in the locations they
select for nesting. Some place the nests upon the bottom, concealed
among the sea-weed found there, while others hang theirs from some
projecting ledge, or swing it in the tide from the sunken bough of
some overhanging tree. As is unusual, the work of nidification is
solely performed by the male Stickleback, the female taking no part in
the labor. The spawning season having arrived, he, assuming a bright
nuptial lustre, shows remarkable activity in selecting a site for an
edifice, and transporting the building material thither. Fragments of
all kinds of plants, gathered often at a distance, are brought home in
his mouth. These are arranged as a sort of a carpet, but as there is
danger of the light materials being carried away by the current, they
are weighted down by sand to keep them in their places. Having entwined
them with his mouth to his complete satisfaction, he then glides gently
over them on his belly, and glues them with the mucus that exudes from
his pores. More solid materials, sometimes bits of wood, sometimes bits
of straw, which he seizes with his mouth, are adjusted to the sides of
the floor to constitute the walls. He is now very particular. If the
piece cannot be properly adjusted to his building, and he does not lose
patience in his efforts to fit it in, he carries it to some distance
from the nest and leaves it. After the side walls are erected, a roof
of the same materials with the floor is laid over the chamber. Firmness
is given to the whole structure by passing over it with his body, the
light and useless particles being fanned away by the action of his fins
and the vibratory movements of his tail. In carrying on his building
operations care is taken to preserve a circular opening into the
chamber, his head and a great part of his body being thrust therein,
thus widening and consolidating it, and rendering it a fit receptacle
for the female. When choosing material, the fish has been seen testing
its specific gravity by letting it sink once or twice in the water, and
if the descent was not rapid enough finally abandoning it.
Of the exact method used by the fish in binding the nest together we
are indebted to Prof. Ryder. The male fish spins from a pore or pores
a compound thread, using his body to insinuate himself through the
interstices through which he carries the thread. The thread is spun
fitfully, not continuously. He will go round and round the nest perhaps
a dozen times, when he will rest awhile and begin anew. Its shape is
somewhat conical before completion. The thread is wound round and
round the nest in a horizontal direction, and when freshly spun is
found to consist of six or eight very thin transparent fibres, which
have alternated tapering ends where they are broken off. Very soon
after the thread is spun, particles of dirt adhere to it, and render it
difficult to interpret its character. The nest measures one-half of an
inch in height, and three-eighths in diameter.
The time occupied in collecting materials and constructing the nest
is about four hours, and when all is ready the male starts out to
seek a female, and, having found her, conducts her with many polite
attentions to the prepared home. The eggs being deposited, the male
establishes himself as a guardian of the precious treasures, not even
suffering the female to approach it again. Every fish that comes near,
no matter how large, is furiously assailed. He gives battle valiantly,
striking at their eyes and seizing their fins in his mouth. His sharp
dorsal and ventral spines are very effective weapons in his defence.
Constant watchfulness upon the part of the male is needed, for, if he
go away for only a few moments, the sticklebacks and other fish lurking
in the vicinity rush in and devour the eggs in an instant. A whole
month he is occupied in providing for the safety of his offspring.
About the tenth day he employs himself in tearing down the nest and
carrying the material to some little distance. The fry may now be
observed in motion. And these the male continually nurses, suffering no
encroachment, and if the young brood show a tendency to stray beyond
bounds, they are driven back within their precincts, until they are
strong enough to provide for their own living, when both old and young
disappear together.
But nothing in the lives of all these little nest-builders is more
interesting than the intelligence they display and the facility with
which they adapt themselves to circumstances. They seem to be able to
grasp almost instantly the conditions of the environment, and to employ
a wise discrimination in suiting them to their wants. Hardly two nests
are alike. Marked differences in details of structure, configuration
and surroundings are apparent, which prove that these creatures are
controlled by reason, rather than instinct, in the elaboration of their
homes. That they have some means of communicating their desires to
each other cannot be doubted. When the male has laid hold of a stem, a
pebble or a stick that completely baffles all effort at removal, his
mate seems summoned to his assistance, and the united strength of the
pair accomplishes the object to be gained. There is ever noticeable
in whatever the sexes undertake some concert of action which would
put to shame the boasted intelligence of man himself. The Sun-fishes,
as has been said, nest in companies. When the combined effort of two
individuals is unable to expel an invader, the entire community, as by
a single mighty impulse, rises up against the foe. There is evidence
of some form of society, even though simple in its organization, where
individual members league themselves together for mutual protection
and defence. Other examples might be cited to give the reader a
common-sense estimate of the comparatively high order of intelligence
that characterizes the actions of many of our fishes.
SLIPPERY AS AN EEL.
Eels are found in almost all warm and temperate countries, and grow
to a very great size in tropical regions. They are impatient of cold,
and hence do not exist in the extreme northern and southern parts
of the world. In many islands of the Pacific Ocean they are held in
considerable estimation, being preserved in ponds and fed by hand, but
in many civilized communities a strong prejudice prevails against them,
probably from their similarity to snakes, which prevents even a hungry
man from caring to eat such wholesome and nutritious food.
Not one of our river fishes is so mysterious as the Eel, and although
much is now known that was involved in obscurity, yet there is still
much to learn of its habits, especially the manner of its reproduction.
Difference of locality, it is likely, may influence the Eel and cause a
difference of habit, an opinion which seems warranted from the various
and perplexing accounts that have been given of its customs by numerous
practical observers.
During the hot, still and sunny days of June they are chiefly seen on
top of the water, wherever masses of aquatic weeds may be found, either
in the calm enjoyment of a sun-bath, or for the purpose of feeding upon
the myriads of gnats, moths and flies that seek the plants for rest or
food, and which by unavoidably damping their wings become easy prey
to their ambushed enemies. At night, similar retreats are affected
for like purposes. Floating masses of detached weeds that the eddying
stream has wound and kept in one place are sought in warm, stilly
weather, but in blowing, cooler or rainy weather they forsake such
places for the still, deep ditches. If a flush of water comes, and a
little, shallow stream, running from or into the main river, becomes
fuller than usual, there they resort in vast numbers, evidently pleased
with the delicious change, only to remain as long as its freshness
continues.
Like many other fishes, Eels are very tenacious of life, and can live a
long time when removed from the water, owing to a simple and beautiful
modification of structure, which permits them to retain a sufficient
amount of moisture to keep the gills damp and in a condition to perform
their natural functions. They have been seen crawling over considerable
distances, somewhat snake-like in their movements, evidently either in
pursuit of water, their own dwelling-place being nearly dried, or in
search of some running stream in whose waters they may reach the sea
after the customary manner of their race. Multitudes of Eels, both old
and young, some of the latter scarcely six inches in length, have been
seen crawling up the banks of a creek, apparently without any purpose,
and over the smooth surface of a projecting rock, with all the ease
of a fly moving over a ceiling. So active were the little ones as to
defy, unless the hand was moved with extreme rapidity, their capture.
Vast numbers of these little Eels are in the habit of proceeding up the
rivers in the spring-time. In some places in England they are called
Elvers. They are caught in immense quantities, and scalded and pressed
into masses termed Eel- or Elver-cake. When dressed these little Eels
afford a luxurious repast. Towards the latter part of summer these
fishes migrate towards the sea, being capable of living in fresh or
salt water with equal ease, the mouths of rivers constituting favorite
localities. Even in our seaport towns and marine watering-places the
common river Eel is caught by those who are angling in the sea for fish.