I Have Thus Stood Over Them
Half An Hour At A Time, And Stroked Them Familiarly Without
Frightening Them, Suffering
Them to nibble my fingers harmlessly,
and seen them erect their dorsal fins in anger when my hand
approached their
Ova, and have even taken them gently out of the
water with my hand; though this cannot be accomplished by a
sudden movement, however dexterous, for instant warning is
conveyed to them through their denser element, but only by
letting the fingers gradually close about them as they are poised
over the palm, and with the utmost gentleness raising them slowly
to the surface. Though stationary, they keep up a constant
sculling or waving motion with their fins, which is exceedingly
graceful, and expressive of their humble happiness; for unlike
ours, the element in which they live is a stream which must be
constantly resisted. From time to time they nibble the weeds at
the bottom or overhanging their nests, or dart after a fly or a
worm. The dorsal fin, besides answering the purpose of a keel,
with the anal, serves to keep the fish upright, for in shallow
water, where this is not covered, they fall on their sides. As
you stand thus stooping over the bream in its nest, the edges of
the dorsal and caudal fins have a singular dusty golden
reflection, and its eyes, which stand out from the head, are
transparent and colorless. Seen in its native element, it is a
very beautiful and compact fish, perfect in all its parts, and
looks like a brilliant coin fresh from the mint. It is a perfect
jewel of the river, the green, red, coppery, and golden
reflections of its mottled sides being the concentration of such
rays as struggle through the floating pads and flowers to the
sandy bottom, and in harmony with the sunlit brown and yellow
pebbles. Behind its watery shield it dwells far from many
accidents inevitable to human life.
There is also another species of bream found in our river,
without the red spot on the operculum, which, according to
M. Agassiz, is undescribed.
The Common Perch, _Perca flavescens_, which name describes well the
gleaming, golden reflections of its scales as it is drawn out of
the water, its red gills standing out in vain in the thin
element, is one of the handsomest and most regularly formed of
our fishes, and at such a moment as this reminds us of the fish
in the picture which wished to be restored to its native element
until it had grown larger; and indeed most of this species that
are caught are not half grown. In the ponds there is a
light-colored and slender kind, which swim in shoals of many
hundreds in the sunny water, in company with the shiner,
averaging not more than six or seven inches in length, while only
a few larger specimens are found in the deepest water, which prey
upon their weaker brethren. I have often attracted these small
perch to the shore at evening, by rippling the water with my
fingers, and they may sometimes be caught while attempting to
pass inside your hands. It is a tough and heedless fish, biting
from impulse, without nibbling, and from impulse refraining to
bite, and sculling indifferently past. It rather prefers the
clear water and sandy bottoms, though here it has not much
choice. It is a true fish, such as the angler loves to put into
his basket or hang at the top of his willow twig, in shady
afternoons along the banks of the stream. So many unquestionable
fishes he counts, and so many shiners, which he counts and then
throws away. Old Josselyn in his "New England's Rarities,"
published in 1672, mentions the Perch or River Partridge.
The Chivin, Dace, Roach, Cousin Trout, or whatever else it is
called, _Leuciscus pulchellus_, white and red, always an unexpected
prize, which, however, any angler is glad to hook for its
rarity. A name that reminds us of many an unsuccessful ramble by
swift streams, when the wind rose to disappoint the fisher. It is
commonly a silvery soft-scaled fish, of graceful, scholarlike,
and classical look, like many a picture in an English book. It
loves a swift current and a sandy bottom, and bites
inadvertently, yet not without appetite for the bait. The
minnows are used as bait for pickerel in the winter. The red
chivin, according to some, is still the same fish, only older, or
with its tints deepened as they think by the darker water it
inhabits, as the red clouds swim in the twilight atmosphere. He
who has not hooked the red chivin is not yet a complete angler.
Other fishes, methinks, are slightly amphibious, but this is a
denizen of the water wholly. The cork goes dancing down the
swift-rushing stream, amid the weeds and sands, when suddenly, by
a coincidence never to be remembered, emerges this fabulous
inhabitant of another element, a thing heard of but not seen, as
if it were the instant creation of an eddy, a true product of the
running stream. And this bright cupreous dolphin was spawned and
has passed its life beneath the level of your feet in your native
fields. Fishes too, as well as birds and clouds, derive their
armor from the mine. I have heard of mackerel visiting the copper
banks at a particular season; this fish, perchance, has its
habitat in the Coppermine River. I have caught white chivin of
great size in the Aboljacknagesic, where it empties into the
Penobscot, at the base of Mount Ktaadn, but no red ones
there. The latter variety seems not to have been sufficiently
observed.
The Dace, _Leuciscus argenteus_, is a slight silvery minnow, found
generally in the middle of the stream, where the current is most
rapid, and frequently confounded with the last named.
The Shiner, _Leuciscus crysoleucas_, is a soft-scaled and tender
fish, the victim of its stronger neighbors, found in all places,
deep and shallow, clear and turbid; generally the first nibbler
at the bait, but, with its small mouth and nibbling propensities,
not easily caught.
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