pioneer had plenty of perils to guard against. Secure from the suckers
and redfins on the one hand, and from the mosquitoes on the other, he
had yet for enemies certain predatory larvae and water-beetles, as well
as a few inch-long youngsters of the trout family, who were very active
and rapacious. There was a water-beetle with hooked, pincer-like jaws
and lightning rapidity of movement, which kept him almost ceaselessly on
the alert, and filled him with wholesome terror as he saw it capture and
devour numbers of his less nimble or less wary kin. And one day, when he
had chanced, in the company of his diminished school of fry, to drift
into a shallow cove where there was no current at all to disturb the
water, he was chased by the terrible larva of a dragon-fly. The
strange-looking creature, with what seemed a blank, featureless mask
where its face and jaws ought to be, darted at him under the propulsion
of jets of water sucked into its middle and spurted out behind. Having
taken alarm in time, he made good his escape between the stalks of a
fine water-weed where the big larva could not penetrate. From this
retreat he saw his pursuer turn and pounce upon a small basking minnow.
The mask that covered the larva's face shot out as if on a hinge,
developed into two powerful, grappling claws, and clutched the victim in
the belly. After a brief struggle, which terrified all the tiny
creatures within a radius of three feet, the minnow was dragged down to
a clump of weed and the victor proceeded to make his feast. The little
salmon stole in terror from his hiding-place and darted out into the
more strenuous but for him far safer waters where a live current stirred
among the gravel. To be sure the beetles were there, and the hungry
young trout; but he had learned the ways of both these species of foe
and knew pretty well how to elude them. Meanwhile, as he was himself
continually busy catching and devouring the tiny forms of life which
abounded in those fruitful waters,--minute shell-fish, and the spawn of
the water-snails that clung under the stones, gnats, and other small
insects that fell on the water, and even other fry just from the
egg,--he was growing at such a rate that presently the fierce
water-beetles and the baby trout ceased to have any terrors for him. And
at last, turning savagely as one of his old tormentors passed by, he
caught a small beetle between his jaws and proceeded to make a meal of
him. A few days later one of the baby trout was too slow in getting out
of his way. He made a rush, caught his former tyrant, and, though the
latter was more than an inch long, found no difficulty in swallowing him
head first.
By this time the little salmon was between two and three inches long. He
was what those learned in matters pertaining to the salmon would have
called a "parr". His colouring was very beautiful, in a higher key than
the colouring of a trout, and more brilliant, if less showy. There was
none of the pink of the trout, but a clear silvery tone on sides and
belly, with a shining blue-black along the back. The sides were marked
with a row of black dots, set far apart and accentuated by a yellow
flush around them, and with another row of spots of most vivid scarlet.
Along the sides also ran a series of broad, vertical, bluish gray bars,
the badge of the young of all the salmon tribe. He was a slender,
strong-finned, finely moulded little fish, built to have his dwelling in
swift currents and to conquer turbulent rapids. His jaws were strong and
large, and he had no reason to fear anything of his size that swam the
river.
There were now not more than two score of his brothers and sisters left
alive, and these scattered far and wide over the shoaling stream. It was
high summer in the Quahdavic country, and the Great South Branch was
beginning to show its ledges and sandy bars above water. Deep green the
full-leaved boughs of elm and ash, poplar and cedar leaned above the
current; and along the little wild-meadows which here and there bordered
the stream, where the lumbermen had had camps or "landings", the misty
pink-purple blossoms of the milkweed poured a wild sweetness upon the
air. In a shallow run near the shore, where the sunlight, falling
through an overhanging cedar "sweeper", dappled the clear ripples, and
the current was about eight inches deep, and there was no pool near to
tempt the larger fish, the active and wary little parr took up his
home. The same run was chosen by three of his fellows also, and by a
couple of small trout of about the same size. But there was room enough,
and food enough, in that run for all of them, so the association was
harmonious.
Lying with his head up-stream, his long fins and broad tail slowly
waving to hold him in his position against the current, the little parr
waited and watched while his food was brought down to him by the
untiring flow. Sometimes it was a luckless leaf-grub, or a caddis-worm
torn from his moorings, that came tumbling and bumping down along the
smooth pebbles of the bottom, to be gathered into the young salmon's
eager maw. Sometimes it was a fly or moth or bee or beetle that came
bobbing with drenched, helpless wings along the tops of the ripples. And
once in awhile a pink-shelled baby crawfish in its wanderings would come
sidling across the run, and be promptly gobbled up in spite of the
futile threatenings of its tiny claws. The river was liberal in its
providing for its most favoured children, these aristocratic and
beautiful parr, so the youngster grew apace in his bright run.
Happy though his life was now, in every kind of weather, he was still
beset with perils. He had, of course, no longer anything to fear from
the journeying suckers, with their small, toothless mouths, but now and
then a big-mouthed, red-bellied, savage trout would pass up the run, and
in passing make a dash at one of the little occupants. In this way two
of the parr, and one of the little trout, disappeared,--the trout folk
having no prejudice whatever against cannibalism. But our pioneer,
ceaselessly on the watch and matchlessly nimble, always succeeded in
keeping well out of the way. Once he had a horrible scare, when a
seven-pound salmon, astray from the main channel, made his way
cautiously up the middle of the run and scraped over the bar. In this
case, however, the alarm was groundless. The stranger was not seeking
food, but only a way out of the embarrassing shallows.
Another peril that kept the young parr on the alert--an ever imminent
and particularly appalling peril--was the foraging of the kingfishers. A
pair of these noisy and diligent birds had their nest of six little ones
in a hole in the red bluff just above the run, and they took ceaseless
tribute from the finny tribes of the river. Like an azure arrow one of
them would dart down into the river with a loud splash, and flap up
again, usually, with a gleaming trout or parr held firmly between the
edges of his great beak. If he missed his shot and came up with empty
beak, he would fly off up the river with a harsh, clattering,
startlingly loud cry of indignation and protest. Several times one or
other of these troublesome foragers dropped into the run. The dappling
of the shadow and sun, however, from the cedar, was a protection to the
dwellers in this run; and only twice was the fishing there successful.
The second little trout, and one more of the parr, were carried off.
Then the birds forsook that particular bit of ripple and hunted easier
waters.
In leaping at the flies which came down the surface of the run the
little salmon one day got a severe but invaluable lesson. A large and
gaudy fly, unlike anything that he had ever encountered before, appeared
on the ripples over his head. Still more unlike those which he had
encountered before, it did not hurry downward with the water, but
maintained its position in a most mysterious fashion. While the parr
eyed it curiously, wondering whether to try it or not, it suddenly moved
straight up against the current, and was followed at a short distance by
another queer-looking big fly, green and brown like a grasshopper.
Excited by the strange behaviour of these two strangers, the parr rose
sharply and hit the green fly with his tail, intending to drown it and
investigate it at his leisure. To his astonishment both flies instantly
disappeared. Chagrined and puzzled, he dropped back to the tail of the
run, sulking.
[Illustration: "HELD FIRMLY BETWEEN THE EDGES OF HIS GREAT BEAK."]
A moment later, however, the two flies reappeared, slipping very slowly
down the current, mounting up again directly in the teeth of it,
sometimes dancing on the surface, sometimes sinking a little below it,
but always remaining the same distance apart, and always behaving in a
manner mysteriously independent of the power of the stream. For a few
seconds the parr eyed them with distrust. Then growing excited by their
strange actions, he dashed forward fiercely and caught the gaudy red fly
in his jaws. There was a prick, a twitch, a frightful jerk,--and he
found himself dragged forth into the strangling upper air, where he fell
flopping on the dry gravel of the shore.
As he lay gasping and struggling on the hot pebbles, which scorched off
the delicate bloom from his tender skin, a tall shape stooped over him,
and a great hand, its fingers as long as his whole body, picked him up.
He heard a vague reverberation, which was the voice of the tall shape
saying, "A poor little beggar of a salmon,--but not badly hooked! He'll
be none the worse, and perhaps none the wiser!" Then, with what seemed
to him terrible and deadly violence, but what was really the most
careful delicacy that the big hand was capable of, the hook was removed
from his jaw, and he was tossed back into the water. Dizzy and
half-stunned, he turned over on his back, head downward, and for a
moment or two was at the mercy of the current. Then, recovering from the
shock, he righted himself, and swam frantically to the shelter of an
overhanging stone which he knew, where he lay with heaving sides, sore,
aching, and trembling, till little by little his self-possession
returned to him. But ever afterward, since he was by nature somewhat
more wary and alert than his fellows, he viewed floating flies with
suspicion and inspected them cautiously before seizing them in his jaws.
[Illustration: "LEAPING HIGH OUT OF THE POOLS."]
All through the summer and autumn the little parr was kept very busy,
feeding, and dodging his enemies, and playing in the cheerful, shallow
"run" beneath the cedar. When the early autumn rains swelled the
volume of the Great South Branch, he first realized how numerous were
the big salmon in the stream,--fish which had kept carefully clear of
the shallow places wherein he had spent the summer. Though he held
himself well aloof from these big fish,--which never paid him any
attention,--he noticed them playing tempestuously, leaping high out of
the pools, and very busy night and morning on the gravel bars, where
they seemed to be digging with their powerful snouts.
Still later, when, instead of flies and beetles, there fell upon the
darkening surface of the river little pale specks which vanished as he
snatched at them, he grew fiercely and inexplicably discontented. What
he longed for he did not know; but he knew it was nowhere in the waters
about him, neither along the edges of the shore, where now the ice was
forming in crisp fringes. All about him he saw the big salmon,--their
sides lean and flat, their brilliant colours darkened and
faded,--swimming down languidly with the strenuous current. Hitherto
their movements had been all up-stream,--upward, upward incessantly and
gladly. Now the old energy and joy of life seemed all gone out of them.
Nevertheless, they seemed very anxious to go somewhere, and the way to
that somewhere appeared to be down-stream. Hardly knowing what he did,
and not at all knowing why he did it, the parr found himself slipping
down-stream with them. He had grown vastly in size and strength, while
his vivid and varied hues had begun to soften appreciably. In fact, he
was now no longer a parr, but a "smelt"; and after the ordained custom
of his kind, he was on his way to the sea.
II
Long-finned and full of vigour, the smelt was not dismayed when he came
to heavier water, exchanging the region of the gravelly bars for a space
of broken ledges, where the great current roared hither and thither and
lashed itself into foam. Through these loud chutes and miniature falls
he shot safely, though not at first without some trepidation. The lean,
slab-sided salmon, or "slinks", who were his travelling companions,
served as his involuntary guides. Except to make use of them in this way
once or twice, he paid them little attention; though now and again a big
lantern-jawed fellow would rush at him with a sort of half-hearted
fury, compelling him to make a hurried retreat.
The Great South Branch, soon after the region of the wild ledges was
past, fell into quiet ways, and crept for a few miles with deep,
untroubled current through a land of alders. Here the winter, which had
by this time settled down upon the high Quahdavic country, had its will,
and the river was frozen and snow-covered from shore to shore. The
smelt, as he journeyed beneath the ice, was puzzled and disturbed by the
unusual dimness of the light that filtered down to him.
This was a condition, however, which he soon left behind. Swollen by the
influx of several lesser streams, the Great South now burst its fetters
and thundered along through a series of tumultuous rapids. Then above
the thunder of these rapids came a louder, heavier roar, a trampling
whose vibration carried a warning to the traveller. He paused for a
moment; but seeing that the salmon swam on without hesitation or
apparent misgiving, he dashed forward-confidently into the tumult. A
moment more and he was hurled onward bewilderingly, dashed downward
through a smother of broken water which held so much air in it that it
almost choked him, and shot into a great, deep, swirling pool where
many "slinks" and a few slim smelts like himself were swimming lazily
hither and thither. He had successfully made the descent of the South
Branch Falls, though, in his ignorance of the best channel, he had
missed the solid water, and come down through the smother.
After a very brief rest in the basin below the Falls, to recover his
self-possession, the smelt, with many other migrants, resumed his
seaward journey. The Great South presently, with a long rush, united its
waters with those of the main Quahdavic. Down this full-flowing stream
he swam steadily for three uneventful days, to find himself at length in
a mighty river whose amber-brown current was a surprise to him after the
clear, greenish floods in which he had been born. It took him several
days, journeying leisurely, and feeding moderately as he went, to get
accustomed to the change in the water. And barely had he become
accustomed to it when another and more startling change confronted him.
The current, flowing strongly in one direction, would change for a time
and flow directly against him. This was confusing. But it was not by any
means the worst. A strange, bitter taste was in the water. The great
salt tides were rushing up to welcome him. He was nearing the sea.
At first the brackishness in the water repelled him; but almost at once
he found himself accepting it with avidity. At the same time he could
not but observe a sudden awakening of interest in life among the languid
"slinks". They began to show a better appetite, to move about more
alertly, to make themselves more dangerous to the smaller fish that
crossed their paths. The water grew more and more salt,--with an ever
increasing zest to it which made the smelt amazingly keen for his food.
Then the shield of ice above him, beneath which he had so long
travelled, suddenly vanished, and through long, free shoreless waves he
felt the sunlight streaming down to him unimpeded. The water was now no
longer tawny brown, but green. He had reached the sea.
For some reason which he could never have explained,--for he certainly
felt no affection for them,--the smelt, with others like himself, kept
travelling more or less in the company of the reviving "slinks". Like
all the rest of the strong-*finned, silver-sided host, he was now
feeding with a ravenousness of appetite unknown to him in the old days
of rapid and pool. His food was chiefly the very tiny creatures of the
sea, shell-fish from the deep-covered rocks and floating masses of weed,
young fry swimming in schools, jellyfish of various sorts, and the
myriad minute sea things which made certain belts and patches of the
sea, at times, almost like a kind of soup ready to his eager palate.
Ever north and north swam the silver host, seeking those cold currents
from the pole which are as thick with life as the lands they wash are
lifeless. Very deep they swam, so deep that, countless as their armies
were, they left no trace to betray them to the nets or hooks of the
fishing fleets. In those faintly glimmering depths the slow tide stirred
softly, unmoved by whatever Arctic storm might rave and shrink over its
surface. In the gloom the tiny creatures of the sea shone by their own
pale phosphorescence, and in such unimaginable millions did they swarm
that the journeying salmon had but to open their mouths to be fed. At
this depth, too, they had but little persecution from the more swift and
powerful hunters of the sea, the big-mouthed whales, the sharks, and the
porpoises. Their most dangerous enemies generally lived and fought and
ravaged nearer the surface, leaving to them the lordship of the
twilight deeps. Once in awhile, indeed, a sounding whale might drop its
mighty bulk among them, and engulf a few scores in his huge maw before
the pressure and the need of air forced him again to the surface. And
once in awhile a shark or swordfish would rush down, as a hawk swoops
from the upper sky, to harry their array. But for the most part now, as
at no other period in their career, they went unmolested on their secret
and mysterious northern drift.
When the young salmon had been about three months in the sea, growing
diligently all the time, a strange but potent influence impelled him,
along with most of his companioning hordes, to turn and journey backward
toward the coast whence he had come. He was now about five pounds in
weight, and if he had fallen into the hands of a fisherman he would have
been labelled a "grilse". His companions were nearly all grilse like
himself, varying in weight from two and a half to four or five pounds,
with here and there a big, adult salmon journeying majestically among
them. The majority of the full-grown salmon had preceded them shoreward
by anything from one month to four, under the urge of the homing and
parental instinct.
As the big grilse journeyed he went on growing daily, till by the time
he found himself back in the waters of the Gulf he was a good six pounds
in weight. As he mounted nearer the surface and drew inshore he passed
the mouths of various rivers and encountered swirling currents of
brackish water. At each of these river-mouths numbers of the host would
separate and turn up the freshening tide. But our grilse kept right on,
making unerringly for his mighty native stream. And those that continued
with him were more in number than those that turned aside.
It was during this journey down offshore that perils once more began to
assail the young salmon, perils which it took all his good luck and keen
activities to evade. For one thing, there were dogfish. These miniature
sharks, with their savage mouths set far under their snouts, were no
match for the grilse, or any of his kind, in speed; but the latter,
being unsuspicious, came very near being caught unawares. A swift surge
of his long fins and powerful tail saved him, just in time. He shot away
like a silver streak as the fierce jaws snapped sharply at his flank.
After that he kept his eyes alert on the approach of any fish in the
least degree larger than himself. And in the course of this
watchfulness he saw many of his kinsmen caught and torn to pieces by the
ravening dogfish, who are the very wolves of the sea.
Another and equally deadly peril was one that took several forms. Once
as he swam swiftly but easily onward, he saw a number of his companions,
who chanced to be a little ahead of him, stop abruptly and engage in
what seemed to him a meaningless struggle. Ever suspicious, he checked
himself and tried to make out what was the matter. The struggle was
desperate, but the adversary at first invisible. In a moment, however,
he detected a mesh of fine, brown lines, which seemed to surround and
grapple with the unfortunate fish. Not waiting to investigate further,
he retreated with a nervous flurry of speed. Then, since nothing could
divert his homeward impulse, he dived almost to the bottom and continued
his journey, not returning toward the dangerous surface till he was
nearly a mile beyond the throttling peril of the drift-net. But there
were yet other nets, and as he entered the great outrush of his native
river he encountered them on every side, stretched on rows of stakes
running far out into the channels. These "set nets", as they were
termed, he was fortunate enough, or wary enough, to detect when he first
entered the river, and he avoided them by keeping to the deepest parts
of the channel; but he saw what cruel toll they took of the eager and
heedless schools that swam with him. Net after net they threatened him;
but ever upward he urged his way against the tawny current, his long
fins and powerful tail never pausing in their graceful, tireless effort.
Neither he nor his companions now lost time in foraging, for their
appetite had mysteriously vanished since leaving the salt water. They
had become engrossed in one idea, the quest of the clean-rushing rapids
and the beds of bright gravel where they were born.
Leagues up the great river, after mounting several noisy but not
difficult rapids, the grilse came to a halt for the first time in a deep
and spacious pool which swarmed with his fellows. Here he rested, and
here he made light, casual meals, jumping at the little flies which fell
upon the swirling surface of the pool. Once the bright yellow body of a
struggling wasp allured him,--but just as he was rising to gulp it in, a
memory, vague but terrifying, swung dimly up into his brain from the
far-off days when he had been a tiny, gay-coloured parr in the ripples
of the Great South Branch. He remembered the sharp point piercing his
jaw, his choking and gasping on the hot, dry bank; and refusing the
bright titbit, he left it to be gobbled up by one of his less wary
companions. After that revival of memory the crafty grilse inspected
every fly before he rose to it, to see if any slender, almost invisible
line were attached to it. His precautions were unnecessary, in that
instance, the pool being a lonely and unnoted one in a broad, shallow
reach of the river; but his awakened watchfulness was to stand him in
good stead later on.
A day's journey beyond the pool, a great outrush of colder water,
green-white against the amber tide of the main river, greeted the
returning grilse, and he found himself in the mouth of his native
Quahdavic. It was a scanter and shallower stream, however, than when he
left it, for now the long heats of the summer had shrunken all the
watercourses. As he mounted the clear current he now encountered fierce
rapids, and ledges boiling with foam, which put his swimming prowess to
the test. After a day of these rapids and ledges and shallow rips, he
felt quite ready to halt once more in a great green pool where two
lively brooks, tumbling in from either shore, kept the surface flecked
with whirling foam. Here the invigorating coolness of the water speedily
refreshed him, and he fell to feeding on the various insects brought
down by the meeting currents. The pool was thronged with grilse and
full-grown salmon, with here and there a school of graceful whitefish or
a group of sluggish suckers, whom he ignored. When the moon rose white
over the black, serried masses of the fir woods, silvering the pool, the
big grilse, obeying a sudden caprice, shot upwards with a mighty surge
of fins and tail, and hurled himself high into the still air. Falling
back with a resounding splash, he repeated the feat again and again. He
had discovered the fascination of diving upward into the unknown and
alien element of the air. Others of his kindred, large and small, had
made the same discovery, and the wilderness silence was broken with
splash after splash, as the tense, silver shapes shot up, gleamed for an
instant, and fell back. As the noise of the mysterious play echoed on
the night air, a black bear crept down to the water's edge on one side
of the stream, and a lynx stole out to the end of a log on the other
side, each hoping that some unwary player might come within reach of
his paw. But all the salmon kept out in the safe deeps; and the
keen-eyed watchers watched in vain as the round moon climbed the clean
heights of sky.
After a few days in this pool, he was surprised one early morning by the
sight of a long, dark shape gliding over the surface. From its side,
near the hinder end, a strange-looking, narrow fin thrust downward from
time to time, and with heavy swirls propelled the dark shape. The
strange apparition disturbed him, and he grew restless and watchful. A
few minutes after it had passed there came a faint splash on the surface
above him, and a big, curious-looking fly appeared. It sank an inch or
two, moved against the current, and was then withdrawn. He eyed it with
scorn, remembering his former experience with such. But when, a moment
later, the strange fly appeared again, he was amazed to see one of the
biggest salmon in the pool rise lazily and suck it down. The next
instant there was a terrific commotion. He saw the great fish rush
hither and thither up and down and around the pool, now scattering the
whitefish on the bottom, now splashing upon the surface and leaping
half his length into the air. Very clearly the cunning grilse
understood what it all meant. For many long minutes he watched the
struggle, which showed no sign of ending. Then disgusted and
apprehensive, he forsook the pool, darting beneath the canoe as he did
so, and continued his journey up-stream.