move,—perhaps its velocity does not exceed a mile in the hour.
Silence reigns around you. See, each fisher has a basket or calabash,
containing many a live cray; and each line, as thick as a crow quill,
measures scarce a furlong. At one end two perch hooks are so fastened
that they cannot interfere with each other. A few inches below the
reaching point of the farthest hook, the sinker, perhaps a quarter
of a pound in weight, having a hole bored through its length, is
passed upon the line, and there secured by a stout knot at its lower
extremity. The other end of the line is fastened ashore. The tackle,
you observe, is carefully coiled on the sand at the fisher’s feet. Now
on each hook he fixes a cray-fish, piercing the shell beneath the tail,
and forcing the keen weapon to reach the very head of the suffering
creature, while all its legs are left at liberty to move. Now, each
man, holding his line a yard or so from the hooks, whirls it several
times overhead, and sends it off to its full length directly across
the stream. No sooner has it reached the gravelly bed, than gently
urged by the current, it rolls over and over, until it is nearly in
the line of the water. Before this, however, I see that several of
the men have had a bite, and that by a short jerk they have hooked
the fish. Hand over hand they haul in their lines. Poor perch, it is
useless labour for thee to flounce and splash in that manner, for no
pity will be shewn thee, and thou shalt be dashed on the sand, and
left there to quiver in the agonies of death. The lines are within
a few yards of being in. I see the fish gasping on its side. Ah!
there are two on this line, both good; on most of the others there
is one; but I see some of the lines have been robbed by some cunning
inhabitant of the water. What beautiful fishes these perches are! so
silvery beneath, so deeply coloured above! What a fine eye too! But,
friend, I cannot endure their gaspings. Pray put them on this short
line, and place them in the water beside you, until you prepare to go
home. In a few hours each fisher has obtained as many as he wishes.
He rolls up his line, fastens five or six perches on each side of
his saddle, mounts his horse, and merrily wends his way.
In this manner the White Perch is caught along the sandy banks of the
Ohio, from its mouth to its source. In many parts above Louisville
some fishers prefer using the trot-line, which, however, ought to be
placed upon, or very little above, the bottom of the stream. When this
kind of line is employed, its hooks are more frequently baited with
mussels than with cray-fish, the latter being perhaps not so easily
procured there as farther down the stream. Great numbers of perches
are also caught in seines, especially during a transient rise of the
water. Few persons fish for them with the pole, as they generally
prefer following the edges of the sandbars next to deep water. Like
all others of its tribe, the White Perch is fond of depositing its
spawn on gravelly or sandy beds, but rarely at a depth of less than
four or five feet. These beds are round, and have an elevated margin
formed of the sand removed from their centre, which is scooped out
for two or three inches. The fish, although it generally remains
for some days over its treasure, is by no means so careful of it as
the little sunny, but starts off at the least appearance of danger.
I have more than once taken considerable pleasure in floating over
their beds, when the water was sufficiently clear to admit of my
seeing both the fish and its place of deposit; but I observed that
if the sun was shining, the very sight of the boat’s shadow drove
the perches away. I am of opinion that most of them return to the
sea about the beginning of November; but of this I am not certain.
The usual length of this fish, which on the Ohio is called the White
Perch, and in the State of New York the Growler, is from fifteen to
twenty inches. I have, however, seen some considerably larger. The
weight varies from a pound and a half to four, and even six pounds.
For the first six weeks of their arrival in fresh water streams they
are in season; the flesh is then white and firm, and affords excellent
eating; but during the heats of summer, they become poor, and are
seldom very good. Now and then, in the latter days of September, I
have eaten some that tasted as well as in spring. One of the most
remarkable habits of this fish is that from which it has received the
name of Growler. When poised in the water, close to the bottom of a
boat, it emits a rough croaking noise, somewhat resembling a groan.
Whenever this sound is heard under a boat, if the least disturbance
is made by knocking on the gunwale or bottom, it at once ceases; but
is renewed when every thing is quiet. It is seldom heard, however,
unless in fine calm weather.
The White Perch bites at the hook with considerable care, and very
frequently takes off the bait without being caught. Indeed, it requires
a good deal of dexterity to hook it, for if this is not done the
first time it touches the bait, you rarely succeed afterwards; and I
have seen young hands at the game, who, in the course of a morning,
seldom caught more than one or two, although they lost perhaps twenty
crays. But, now that I have afforded you some information respecting
the habits of the White Perch, allow me to say a few words on the
subject of its favourite bait.
The Cray is certainly not a fish, although usually so styled; but as
every one is acquainted with its form and nature, I shall not inflict
on you any disquisition regarding it. It is a handsome crustaceous
animal certainly, and its whole tribe I consider as dainties of the
first order. To me “_Ecrevisses_,” whether of fresh or of salt water,
stripped of their coats, and blended into a soup or a “gombo,” have
always been most welcome. Boiled or roasted too, they are excellent
in my estimation, and mayhap in yours. The Crayfish, of which I here
more particularly speak—for I shall not deprive them of their caudal
appendage, lest, like a basha without his tail, they might seem of
less consequence—are found most abundantly swimming, crawling at the
bottom or on shore, or working at their muddy burrows, in all the
southern parts of the Union. If I mistake not, we have two species
at least, one more an inhabitant of rocky streamlets than the other,
and that one by far the best, though the other is good too. Both
species swim by means of rapid strokes of the tail, which propel them
backwards to a considerable distance at each repetition. All that I
regret concerning these animals is, that they are absolutely little
aquatic vultures—or, if you please, crustacea with vulturine habits—for
they feed on every thing impure that comes in their way, when they
cannot obtain fresh aliment. However this may be, the Crays somehow
fall in with this sort of food, and any person may catch as many as
he may wish, by fastening a piece of flesh to a line, allowing it to
remain under water for a while, and drawing it up with care, when,
with the aid of a hand-net, he may bring it ashore with _a few_! But
although this is a good method of procuring Cray-fish, it answers
only for those that live in running waters. The form of these is
delicate, their colour a light olive, and their motions in the water
are very lively. The others are larger, of a dark greenish-brown,
less active in the water than on land, although they are most truly
amphibious. The first conceal themselves beneath shelving rocks,
stones, or water-plants; the others form a deep burrow in the damp
earth, depositing the materials drawn up, as a man would do in
digging a well. The manner in which they dispose of the mud you may
see by glancing at the plate of the White Ibis, in my third volume
of Illustrations, where also you will find a tolerable portrait of
one of these creatures.
According to the nature of the ground, the burrows of this Crayfish are
more or less deep. Indeed, this also depends partly on the increasing
dryness of the soil, when, influenced by the heat of summer, as well
as on the texture of the substratum. Thus, in some places, where
the Cray can reach the water after working a few inches, it rests
contented during the day, but crawls out for food at night. Should
it, however, be left dry, it renews its labour; and thus while one
burrow may be only five or six inches deep, another may be two or
three feet, and a third even more. They are easily procured when thus
lodged in shallow holes; but when the burrow is deep, a thread is
used, with a small piece of flesh fastened to it. The Cray eagerly
seizes the bait, and is gently drawn up, and thrown to a distance,
when he becomes an easy prey. You have read of the method used by the
White Ibis in procuring Crays; and I leave you to judge whether the
bird or the man is the best fisher. This species is most abundant
round the borders of the stagnant lakes, bayous, or ponds of the
Southern Districts; and I have seen them caught even in the streets
of the suburbs of New Orleans, after a heavy shower. They become
a great pest by perforating embankments of all sorts, and many are
the maledictions that are uttered against them both by millers and
planters, nay even by the overseers of the levees along the banks of
the Mississippi. But they are curious creatures, formed no doubt for
useful purposes, and as such they are worthy of your notice.
THE WHOOPING CRANE.
_GRUS AMERICANA_, TEMM.
PLATE CCXXVI. MALE.
The variegated foliage of the woods indicates that the latter days
of October have arrived; gloomy clouds spread over the heavens; the
fierce blasts of the north, as if glad to escape from the dreary
regions of their nativity, sport in dreadful revelry among the forests
and glades. Showers of sleet and snow descend at intervals, and the
careful husbandman gathers his flocks, to drive them to a place of
shelter. The traveller gladly accepts the welcome of the forester,
and as he seats himself by the blazing fire, looks with pleasure on
the spinning wheels of the industrious inmates. The lumberer prepares
to set out on his long voyage, the trapper seeks the retreats of
the industrious beaver, and the red Indian is making arrangements
for his winter hunts. The Ducks and Geese have already reached the
waters of the western ponds; here a Swan or two is seen following
in their train, and as the observer of nature stands watching the
appearances and events of this season of change, he hears from on
high the notes of the swiftly travelling but unseen Whooping Crane.
Suddenly the turbid atmosphere clears, and now he can perceive the
passing birds. Gradually they descend, dress their extended lines,
and prepare to alight on the earth. With necks outstretched, and long
bony legs extended behind, they proceed supported by wings white as
the snow but tipped with jet, until arriving over the great savannah
they wheel their circling flight, and slowly approach the ground,
on which with half-closed wings, and outstretched feet they alight,
running along for a few steps to break the force of their descent.
Reader, see the majestic bird shake its feathers, and again arrange
them in order. Proud of its beautiful form, and prouder still of its
power of flight, it stalks over the withering grasses with all the
majesty of a gallant chief. With long and measured steps be moves
along, his head erect, his eye glistening with delight. His great
journey is accomplished, and being well acquainted with a country
which has often been visited by him, he at once commences his winter
avocations.
The Whooping Crane reaches the Western Country about the middle of
October, or the beginning of November, in flocks of twenty or thirty
individuals, sometimes of twice or thrice that number, the young by
themselves, but closely followed by their parents. They spread from
Illinois over Kentucky, and all the intermediate States, until they
reach the Carolinas on the southern coast, the Floridas, Louisiana,
and the countries bordering on Mexico, in all of which they spend
the winter, seldom returning northward until about the middle of
April, or towards the beginning of May. They are seen on the edges
of large ponds supplied with rank herbage, on fields or savannahs,
now in swampy woods, and again on extensive marshes. The interior
of the country, and the neighbourhood of the sea shores, suit them
equally well, so long as the temperature is sufficiently high. In
the Middle States, it is very seldom indeed that they are seen; and
to the eastward of these countries they are unknown; for all their
migrations are performed far inland, and thus they leave and return
to the northern retreats where, it is said, they breed and spend the
summer. While migrating they appear to travel both by night and by
day, and I have frequently heard them at the former, and seen them
at the latter time, as they were proceeding toward their destination.
Whether the weather be calm or tempestuous, it makes no difference to
them, their power of flight being such as to render them regardless
of the winds. Nay I have observed them urging their way during very
heavy gales, shifting from high to low in the air with remarkable
dexterity. The members of a flock sometimes arrange themselves in
the form of an acute-angled triangle; sometimes they move in a long
line; again they mingle together without order, or form an extended
front; but in whatever manner they advance, each bird sounds his
loud note in succession, and on all occasions of alarm these birds
manifest the same habit. While with us they are also always met with
in flocks. But now, Reader, allow me to refer to my journals, whence
I shall extract some circumstances relative to this majestic bird,
which I hope you will find not uninteresting.
_Louisville, State of Kentucky, March 1810._—I had the gratification
of taking ALEXANDER WILSON to some ponds within a few miles of town,
and of shewing him many birds of this species, of which he had not
previously seen any other than stuffed specimens. I told him that the
white birds were the adults, and that the grey ones were the young.
WILSON, in his article on the Whooping Crane, has alluded to this,
but, as on other occasions, has not informed his readers whence the
information came.
_Henderson, November 1810._—The Sand Hill Crane arrived at the Long
Pond on the 28th of last month. I saw two flocks of young ones there,
and one of adults on the Slim Pond. Both old and young immediately
set to digging through the mud, the rains having scarcely begun to
cover those places with water, for during summer they become almost
dry. The birds work very assiduously with their bills, and succeed
in uncovering the large roots of the great water-lily, which often
run to a depth of two or three feet. Several cranes are seen in the
same hole, tugging at roots and other substances, until they reach
the object of their desire, which they greedily devour. While thus
engaged, they are easily approached; for if their heads are bent down
they cannot see you, and until they raise themselves again, to take
notice of what may be going on around the place, you may advance so
as to get within shot. While I watched them at this work, they were
perfectly silent; and as I lay concealed behind a large cypress tree,
within thirty paces of a flock, thus buried, as it were, in the great
holes they had formed, so as to put me in mind of a parcel of hogs
or bears at their wallowing spots, I could plainly see the colour
of their eyes, which is brown in the young, and yellow in the adult.
After observing them as long as I wished, I whistled, on which they
all at once raised their heads to see what the matter might be. I
had so fair an opportunity that I could not resist the temptation,
especially as several of the birds had their necks so close together
that I felt confident I must kill more than one of them. Accordingly,
just as their last croaking notes were heard, and I saw them preparing
to set to work again, I fired. Only two flew up, to my surprise. They
came down the pond towards me, and my next shot brought them to the
ground. On walking to the hole, I found that I had disabled seven in
all. Those which were in different holes farther off, all flew away,
uttering loud cries, and did not return that afternoon. In the course
of a week these birds turned up the earth, and dug holes all over
the dry parts of the ponds. As soon as heavy rains fill the pools,
the Cranes abandon them, and resort to other places.
_Natchez, November 1821._—The Sand-hill Cranes now resort to the
fields, in which corn, pease, and sweet potatoes have been planted, as
well as to the cotton plantations. They feed on the grains and pease,
dig up the potatoes, which they devour with remarkable greediness;
and in the wet fields seize on water insects, toads and frogs, but
never, I believe, on fishes.
_Bayou Sara, April 12. 1822._—The Sand-hill Cranes have left all
the fields, and removed to the swamps and inner lakes. I saw some
catching young bull-frogs, water-lizards, and water-snakes, as well
as very small alligators. One struck at a young snapping turtle,
which, however, escaped. The Wood Ibises and these birds do not agree
together; the latter chase the former up to their bellies in the water.
_April 16._—I saw nine beautiful adult birds apparently in perfect
plumage. They were round a fallen log, about twenty yards from the
water, all very busily occupied in killing a band of young alligators,
which had probably endeavoured to save themselves from the attacks
of the Cranes by crawling beneath the sides of the log. I shot at
them without much effect, for, although I believe I wounded two of
them, they all flew off. On going up to the log, I found several
young alligators, measuring from seven to eight inches in length,
apparently dead, with their heads sadly bruised as if by a powerful
blow. This led me to think that they kill a number of animals before
they feed upon them, as the Wood Ibis is wont to do. This afternoon
I saw four of these young Cranes tearing up the ground in search
of cray-fish. One caught a butterfly as it was fluttering near, and
instantly swallowed it.
This species feeds only during the day. Besides the objects which
I have already mentioned, it now and then swallows a mole or a
meadow-mouse, and not unfrequently, I think, snakes of considerable
length. I opened one that had a garter-snake, more than fifteen inches
long, in its stomach.
The wariness of this species is so remarkable, that it takes all
the cunning and care of an Indian hunter to approach it at times,
especially in the case of an old bird. The acuteness of their sight
and hearing is quite wonderful. If they perceive a man approaching,
even at the distance of a quarter of a mile, they are sure to take
to wing. Should you accidentally tread on a stick and break it, or
suddenly cock your gun, all the birds in the flock raise their heads
and emit a cry. Shut the gate of a field after you, and from that
moment they all watch your motions. To attempt to crawl towards them,
even among long grass, after such an intimation, would be useless;
and unless you lie in wait for them, and be careful to maintain a
perfect silence, or may have the cover of some large trees, heaps of
brushwood, or fallen logs, you may as well stay at home. They generally
see you long before you perceive them, and so long as they are aware
that you have not observed them, they remain silent; but the moment
that, by some inadvertency, you disclose to them your sense of their
presence, some of them sound an alarm. For my part, Reader, I would
as soon undertake to catch a deer by fair running, as to shoot a
Sand-hill Crane that had observed me. Sometimes, indeed, towards the
approach of spring, when they are ready to depart for their breeding
grounds, the voice of one will startle and urge to flight all within
a mile of the spot. When this happens, all the birds around join into
a great flock, gradually rise in a spiral manner, ascend to a vast
height, and sail off in a straight course.
When wounded, these birds cannot be approached without caution, as
their powerful bill is capable of inflicting a severe wound. Knowing
this as I do, I would counsel any sportsman not to leave his gun
behind, while pursuing a wounded Crane. One afternoon in winter, as I
was descending the Mississippi, on my way to Natchez, I saw several
Cranes standing on a large sand-bar. The sight of these beautiful
birds excited in me a desire to procure some of them. Accordingly,
taking a rifle and some ammunition, I left the flat-bottomed boat
in a canoe, and told the men to watch for me, as the current was
rapid at that place, the river being there narrowed by the sand-bar.
I soon paddled myself to the shore, and having observed, that, by
good management, I might approach the Cranes under cover of a huge
stranded tree, I landed opposite to it, drew up my canoe, and laying
myself flat on the sand, crawled the best way I could, pushing my gun
before me. On reaching the log, I cautiously raised my head opposite
to a large branch, and saw the birds at a distance somewhat short of
a hundred yards. I took, as I thought, an excellent aim, although
my anxiety to shew the boatmen how good a marksman I was rendered
it less sure than it might otherwise have been. I fired, when all
the birds instantly flew off greatly alarmed, excepting one which
leaped into the air, but immediately came down again, and walked
leisurely away with a drooping pinion. As I rose on my feet, it saw
me, I believe, for the first time, cried out lustily, and ran off
with the speed of an ostrich. I left my rifle unloaded, and in great
haste pursued the wounded bird, which doubtless would have escaped
had it not made towards a pile of drift wood, where I overtook it. As
I approached it, panting and almost exhausted, it immediately raised
itself to the full stretch of its body, legs, and neck, ruffled its
feathers, shook them, and advanced towards me with open bill, and eyes
glancing with anger. I cannot tell you whether it was from feeling
almost exhausted with the fatigue of the chase; but, however it was,
I felt unwilling to encounter my antagonist, and keeping my eye on
him, moved backwards. The farther I removed, the more he advanced,
until at length I fairly turned my back to him, and took to my heels,
retreating with fully more speed than I had pursued. He followed,
and I was glad to reach the river, into which I plunged up to the
neck, calling out to my boatmen, who came up as fast as they could.
The Crane stood looking angrily on me all the while, immersed up to
his belly in the water, and only a few yards distant, now and then
making thrusts at me with his bill. There he stood until the people
came up; and highly delighted they were with my situation. However,
the battle was soon over, for, on landing, some of them struck the
winged warrior on the neck with an oar, and we carried him on board.
While in the Floridas, I saw only a few of these birds alive, but
many which had been shot by the Spaniards and Indians, for the sake
of their flesh and beautiful feathers, of which latter they make fans
and fly-brushes. None of these birds remain there during summer; and
WILLIAM BARTRAM, when speaking of this species, must have mistaken
the Wood Ibis for it.
The young are considerably more numerous than the old white birds; and
this circumstance has probably led to the belief among naturalists
that the former constitute a distinct species, to which the name of
Canada Crane, _Grus canadensis_, has been given. This, however, I
hope, I shall be able to clear up to your satisfaction. In the mean
time, I shall continue my remarks.