The Harvest of the Sea - A contribution to the natural and economic history of the

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Title: The Harvest of the Sea - A contribution to the natural and economic history of the - British food fishes
Author: Bertram, James Glass
Language: English
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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.

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.

There was a time when man only killed the denizens of the deep in order
to supply his own immediate wants, and it is very much to be regretted,
in the face of the extensive fish commerce now carried on, that no
reliable documents exist from which to write a consecutive history of
the rise and progress of fishing.

In the absence of precise information, it may be allowed us to guess
that even during the far back ages fish was esteemed as an article of
diet, and formed an important contribution to the food resources of
such peoples as had access to the sea, or who could obtain the finny
inhabitants of the deep by purchase or barter. In the Old and New
Testaments, and in various ancient profane histories, fish and fishing
are mentioned very frequently; and in what may be called modern times a
few scattered dates, indicating the progress of the sea fisheries, may,
by the exercise of great industry and research, be collected; but these
are not in any sense consecutive, or indeed very reliable, so that we
are, as it were, compelled to imagine the progress of fish commerce,
and to picture in our mind’s eye its transition from the period when
the mere satisfaction of individual wants was all that was cared for,
to a time when fish began to be bartered for land goods—such as farm,
dairy, and garden produce—and to trace, as we best can, that commerce
through these obscure periods to the present time, when the fisheries
form a prominent outlet for capital, are a large source of national
revenue, and are attracting, because of these qualities, an amount of
attention never before bestowed upon them.

Fish commerce being an industry naturally arising out of the immediate
wants of mankind, has unfortunately, as regards the article dealt in,
been invested with an amount of exaggeration that has no parallel
in other branches of industry. Blunders perpetrated long ago in
Encyclopædias and other works, when the life and habits of all kinds
of fish, from the want of investigation, were but little understood,
have been, with those additions which under such circumstances always
accumulate, handed down to the present day, so that even now we are
carrying on some of our fisheries on altogether false assumptions, and
in many cases evidently killing the goose for the sake of the golden
egg: in other words, never dreaming that there will be a fishing
to-morrow, which must be as important, or even more important, than the
fishing of to-day, beyond which the fisher class as a rule never look.

It is curious to note that there was in most countries a commerce
in fresh-water fish long before the food treasures of the sea were
broken upon. This is particularly noticeable in our own country, and
is vouched for by many authorities both at home and abroad. We can all
imagine also, that in the prehistoric or very early ages, when the
land was untilled and virgin, and the earth was undrained, there were
sources for the supply of fresh-water fish that do not now exist in
consequence of the enhanced value of land. At the period to which I
have been alluding there was a much greater water surface than there
is now—rivers were broader and deeper, and so also were our lakes and
marshes. In those early days, although not so early as the remote
uncultivated age of which I have spoken, there were great inland stews
populous with fish, especially in connection with monasteries and other
religious houses, many examples of which, in their remains, are still
to be seen in England or on the Continent. In fact, fish commerce, in
despite of many curious industries connected with the productiveness
of the fisheries, was not really developed till a few years ago, when
the railway system of carriage began. Even up to the time of George
Stephenson commerce in fish was generally speaking a purely local
business, except in so far as the fishwives could extend the trade by
carrying the contents of their husbands’ boats away inland, in order,
as in the still more primitive times, to barter the fish for other
produce. The fishermen of Comacchio, for instance, still cure their
eels, because they have not the means of sending them so rapidly into
the interior of Italy as would admit of their being eaten fresh. Scotch
salmon in the beginning of the present century was nearly all kippered
or cured as soon as caught, because the demand for the fresh fish was
only local, and therefore limited. With the discovery that salmon by
being packed in ice could be kept a long time fresh, the trade began to
extend and the price to rise. This discovery, which exercised a very
important influence on the value of our salmon-fisheries, was made by a
country gentleman of Scotland, Mr. Dempster of Dunnichen, in the year
1780. Steamboat and railway transit, when they became general, at once
converted salmon into a valuable commodity; and such is now the demand,
from facility of transport, that this particular fish, from its great
individual value, has been lately in some danger of being exterminated
through the greed of the fishery tenants; indeed, it cannot be said
that it is yet safe, for every tenant thinks it legitimate to kill all
the fish he can see.

The network of railways which now encircles the land has conferred
upon our inland towns, so far as fish is concerned, all the advantages
of the coast. For instance, the fishermen of Prestonpans send more
of their fish to Manchester than to Edinburgh, which is only nine
miles distant: indeed our most landward cities are comparatively
well supplied with fresh fish and crustacea, while at the seaside
these delicacies are not at all plentiful. The Newhaven fishwife is
a common visitant in many of our larger Scottish inland towns, being
able by means of the railway to take a profitable journey; indeed,
one consequence of the extension of our railways has undoubtedly been
to add enormously to the demand for sea produce, and to excite the
ingenuity of our seafaring population to still greater cunning and
industry in the capture of all kinds of fish. In former years, when a
large haul of fish was taken there was no means of despatching them to
a distance, neither was there a resident population to consume what was
caught. Railways not being then in existence, the conveyance inland
was too slow for a perishable commodity like fish, and visitors to the
seaside were also rarer than at present. The want of a population to
eat the fish no doubt aided the comfortable delusion of our supplies
being inexhaustible. But it is now an undoubted fact, that with
railways branching out to every pier and quay, our densely-populated
inland towns are better supplied with fish than the villages where
they are caught—a result of that keen competition which has at length
become so noticeable where fish, oysters, or other sea delicacies are
concerned. The high prices now obtained form an inducement to the
fishermen to take from the water all they can get, whether the fish
be ripe for food or not. A practical fisherman, whom I have often
consulted on these topics, says that forty years ago the slow system of
carriage was a sure preventive of overfishing, as fish, to be valuable
for table purposes, require to be fresh. “It’s the railways that has
done all the mischief, sir, depend on that; and as for the fishing,
sir, it’s going on at such a rate that there will very soon be a
complete famine. I’ve seen more fish caught in a day, sir, with a score
of hooks on a line than can now be got with eight thousand!”

[Illustration]

As to fish-ponds: at the time indicated it was quite usual for noblemen
and other country gentlemen to have fish-ponds; in fact, a fish-pond
was as necessary an adjunct of a large country house as its vegetable
or fruit garden. These ponds, as the foregoing sketch will show, were
of the most simple kind, and were often enough constructed by merely
stopping a little stream at some suitable place, and so forming a
couple of artificial lakes, in which were placed a few large stones,
or two or three bits of artificial rock-work, so constructed as to
afford shelter to the fish. There being in those days no railways or
other speedy conveyance, there arose a necessity for fish-ponds to
persons who were in the habit of entertaining guests or giving great
dinner-parties; hence also the multiplicity of recipes in our older
cookery-books for the dressing of all kinds of fresh-water fishes;
besides, in the very ancient times, that is before the Reformation,
when Roman Catholicism required a rigorous observance of the various
church fasts, a fish-pond near every cathedral city, and in the
precincts of every monastery, was a _sine qua non_. The varieties of
fish bred in these ponds were necessarily very limited, being usually
carp, some of which, however, grew to a very large size. There are
traces also of some of our curious and valuable fishes having been
introduced into this country during those old monastic times. Thus it
is thought, as has been already stated, that the celebrated trout of
Lochleven may have been introduced from foreign parts by some of the
ancient monks who had a taste for gastronomy. The celebrated vendace of
Lochmaben is likewise supposed to have been introduced in the same way
from some continental fishery.

As I have already shown, most of the fish-ponds of these remote times
were quite primitive in their construction—very similar, in fact, to
the beautiful trout-pond that may any day be seen at Wolfsbrunnen, near
Heidelberg. There were no doubt ponds of large extent and of elaborate
construction, but these were comparatively rare; and even on the very
sea-coast we used to have ponds or storing-places for sea fish. One of
these is still in existence: I allude to Logan Pond in Galloway. This
is only used as a place for keeping fish so as to have them attainable
for table uses without the family having to depend on the state of the
weather. This particular pond is not an artificially-constructed one,
but has been improved out of the natural surrounding of the place. It
is a basin, formed in the solid rock, ten yards in depth, and having
a circumference of one hundred and sixty feet. It is used chiefly as a
preserve to ensure a constant supply of fish, which are taken in the
neighbouring bay when the weather is fine, and transferred to the pond,
which communicates with the sea by a narrow passage. It is generally
well stocked with cod, haddock, and flat fish, which in the course
of time become very tame; and I regret to say, from want of proper
shelter, most of the animals become blind. The fish have of course to
be fed, and they partake greedily, even from the hand of their keeper,
of the mass of boiled mussels, limpets, whelks, etc., with which they
are fed, and their flavour is really unexceptionable.

Coming back, however, to the subject of fresh-water fish-ponds, it
may be stated that at one time some very large but simply-constructed
fish-ponds, or stews as they were then called, existed in various parts
of England, but that, as the commerce in sea fish gradually extended,
these were given up, except as adjuncts to the amenities of gentlemen’s
pleasure-grounds. Ornamental canals and fish-ponds are not at all
uncommon in the parks of our country gentlemen, although they are not
required for fish-breeding purposes, as the fast London or provincial
trains carry baskets of fish to a distance of one hundred miles in a
very few hours, so that a turbot or whiting is in excellent condition
for a late dinner.

All the ancient fishing industries, whether those that still exist or
those that are extinct, except in their remains, bear traces of the
times in which they originated. Pisciculture (which I shall describe at
some length by and by) arose at a very ancient period, and was chiefly
resorted to in connection with fresh-water fishes—the ova of such being
the most readily obtainable; or with the mollusca, as these could
bear a long transport, having a reservoir of water in their shell.
The sea fishers of the olden time dealt with the fish for the purpose
of their being cured with salt or otherwise, simply, as has already
been stated, because of the scarcity of rapid land carriage and a
comparatively scanty local population.

[Illustration: PACKING HERRINGS.]

The particular fishing industry which has bulked largest in literature,
and which was pursued after a systematic fashion, is, or rather was,
that of the Dutch, for Holland does not at present make her mark so
largely on the waters as she was wont to do, being at present far
surpassed in fishing enterprise by Scotland and other countries. The
particular fish coveted by the Dutch people was the herring, and I have
recently had the pleasure of examining a set of engravings procured in
Amsterdam, that convey a graphic idea of the great importance that was
attached by the Dutch themselves to their herring-fishery. This series
of sixteen peculiarly Dutch plates begins at the beginning of the
fishery, as is indeed proper it should, by showing us a party busy at a
seaside cottage knitting the herring nets; one or two busses are seen
in the distance busy at work. We are then shown, on the banks of one
of the numerous Dutch canals, a lot of quaint-looking coopers engaged
in preparing the barrels, while next in order comes a representation
of the preparing and victualing of the buss, which is surrounded by
small boats, and crowded with an active population all engaged in
getting the vessel ready for sea—barrels of provisions, breadths of
netting, and various necessaries, are being got on board. Then follow
plates, of which the foregoing is a specimen, showing us the equipment
of various other kinds of boats, which again are succeeded by a view
of the busses among the shoals of herring, the big mast struck, most
of the sails furled, and the men busy hauling in the nets, which are
of course, as is fitting in a picture, laden with fish. Various other
boats are also shown at work, as the great hoy, a one-masted vessel,
that is apparently furnished with a seine-net, and the great double
shore or sea-boar, which is an open boat. Then we have the herring-buss
coming gallantly into the harbour, with its sails all set and its flags
all flying—its hull deep in the water, which seems to frolic lovingly
round its prow as if glad at its safe return. Next, of course, there is
a scene on the shore, where the pompous-looking curer and his servants
are seen congratulating each other amid the bustle of surrounding
commerce and labour; dealers, too, are figured in these engravings,
with their wheelbarrows drawn by dogs of unmistakable Dutch build, and
there are also to be seen in the picture many other elements of that
industry peculiar to all fishing towns, whether ancient or modern.

The next scene of this fishing panorama is the herring banquet or
feast, where the king, or mayhap the rich owner of a fleet of busses,
sits grandly at table, with his wife and daughter, attended by a butler
and a black footman, partaking of the first fruits of the fishery.
After this follows a view of the fishmarket, with portraits of the
fishwives, and altogether thoroughly indicative of their peculiar
way of doing business, which is always the same, whether the scene
be laid in ancient Holland or in modern Billingsgate. Next comes a
picture of the various buyers of the commodity on their way home,
of course by the side of a canal, with their purchases of deep-sea,
shore, state, and red herrings. The next scene of the series is a
smoking-house, partially obscured by wreaths of smoke, where the
herrings are being red-ed; and the series is appropriately wound up
with a tableau representing the important process of repairing the
damaged nets—the whole conveying a really graphic, although not very
artistic, delineation of this highly characteristic Dutch industry. A
few plates illustrative of the whale-fisheries of Holland are appended
to the series I have been describing—for whale-fishing in the seas
of Greenland was also in those days one of the industries of the
hardworking Dutch.

The old saying that Amsterdam was built on herring bones frequently
used to symbolise the fishing power of Holland. It is thought that
the industry of the Dutch people was first drawn to the value of
the sea fisheries by the settlement of some Scottish fishermen in
their country. I cannot vouch for the truth of this statement as to
the Scottish emigration, but I believe it was a Fleming who first
discovered the virtues of pickled herrings, and it is also known that
the capture of the herring was a chief industry on the sea-board of
all the Low Countries, and it is likewise instructive to learn that
at a time when our own fisheries were very much undeveloped the Dutch
people found our seas to be a mine of gold, so productive were they in
fish, and so famous did the Dutch cure of herrings become. We are not
called on, however, to credit all the stories of miraculous draughts
taken, and store of wealth garnered up, by the plodding Hollanders.
We must bear in mind that when the Dutch began to fish the seas as
a field of industry were nearly virgin, and that that people had
at one time this great source of wealth all to themselves. At that
particular period, likewise, there was no limit to the supply, the
fishermen having but to dip their nets in the water in order to have
them filled. No wonder, therefore, that the fisheries of Holland grew
into a prominent industry, and became at one time the one absorbing
hobby of the nation. Busses in large fleets were fitted out and
manned, till in time the Dutch came to be reputed as the greatest
fishers in the world. But great as was the fishing industry of those
days in Holland, and industrious as the Dutch undoubtedly were, it is
evident that there has been a considerable amount of exaggeration as
to the results, more especially in regard to the enormous quantities
of fish that are said to have been captured and cured. But whatever
this total might be was not of great consequence. The mere quantity of
fish caught is perhaps, although a considerable one, the smallest of
the many benefits conferred on a nation by an energetic pursuit of its
fisheries. The fishermen must have boats, and these must be fitted with
sails, rigging, etc.; and, moreover, the boats must be manned by an
efficient crew; then the curing and sale of the fish give employment to
a large number of people as well; whilst the articles of cure—as salt,
barrels, etc.—must of necessity be largely provided, and are all of
them the result of some kind of trained industry: and all these varied
circumstances of demand combine to feed the particular industrial
pursuit I am describing. And the fisheries provide, besides, a grand
nursery for seamen, which is, perhaps, in a country like ours, having a
powerful navy, the greatest of all the benefits conferred.

I have taken the pains to collate as many of the figures of the Dutch
fishery as I could collect during an industrious search, and I find
that, in the zenith of its prosperity, after the proclamation of the
independence of the States of Holland, three thousand boats were
employed in her own bays, while sixteen hundred herring busses fished
industriously in British waters, while eight hundred larger vessels
prosecuted the cod and whale fisheries at remote distances. In the
year 1603 we are informed that the Dutch sold herrings to the amount
of £4,759,000, besides what they themselves consumed. We are also told
that in 1618 they had twelve thousand vessels engaged in this branch of
the fishery, and that these ships employed about two hundred thousand
men. It must have been a splendid sight, on every 24th of June, to
witness the departure of the great fleet from the Texel; and as most of
the Dutch people were more or less interested in the prosperity of the
fishery, either as labourers or employers of labour, there would be no
lack of spectators on these occasions. The Wick herring drave of twelve
hundred boats is, as I will by and by endeavour to show, an industrial
sight of no common kind, but it must give way before the picturesque
fleet of Holland, as it sailed away from the Texel about three hundred
years ago.

Long before the organisation of the Dutch fisheries there existed a
quaint colony of Italian fisher people on the borders of a more poetic
water than the Zuyder Zee. I allude to the eel-breeders of Comacchio on
the Adriatic. This particular fishing industry is of very considerable
antiquity, as we have well-authenticated statistics of its produce,
extending back over three centuries. The lagoons of Comacchio afford
a curious example of what may be done by design and labour. This
place was at one time a great unproductive swamp, about one hundred
and forty miles in circumference, accessible to the waves of the sea,
where eels, leeches, and the other inhabitants of such watery regions,
sported about unmolested by the hand of man; and its inhabitants—the
descendants of those who first populated its various islands—isolated
from the surrounding civilisation, and devoid of ambition, have long
been contented with their obscure lot, and have even remained to this
day without establishing any direct communication with surrounding
countries.

The precise date at which the great lagoon of Comacchio was formed into
a fish-pond is not known, but so early as the year 1229 the inhabitants
of the place—a community of fishers as quaint, superstitious, and
peculiar as those of Buckie on the Moray Firth, or any other ancient
Scottish fishing port—proclaimed Prince Azzo d’Este Lord of Comacchio;
and from the time of this appointment the place grew in prosperity, and
the fisheries from that date began to assume an organisation and design
which had not before that time been their characteristic. The waters
of the lagoon were dyked out from those of the Adriatic, and a series
of canals and pools were formed suitable for the requirements of the
peculiar fishery carried on at the place, all of which operations were
greatly facilitated by the Reno and Volano mouths of the Po forming
the side boundaries of the great swamp; and, as a chief feature of the
place, the marvellous fish labyrinth celebrated by Tasso still exists.
Without being technical, we may state that the principal entrances to
the various divisions of the great pond—and it is divided into a great
many stations—are from the two rivers. A number of these entrances have
been constructed in the natural embankments which dyke out the waters
of the lagoon. Bridges have also been built over all these trenches by
the munificence of various Popes, and very strong flood-gates, worked
by a crank and screw, are attached to each, so as to regulate the
migration of the fish and the entrance and exit of the waters. A very
minute account of all the varied hydraulic apparatus of Comacchio would
only weary the reader; but I may state generally, and I speak on the
authority of M. Coste, that these flood-gates place at the service of
the fish-cultivators about twenty currents, which allow the salt waters
of the lagoon to mingle with the fresh waters of the river. Then,
again, the waters of the Adriatic are admitted to the lagoon by means
of the Grand Palotta Canal, which extends from the port of Magnavacca
right through the great body of the waters, with branches stretching to
the chief fishing stations which dot the surface of this inland sea, so
that there are about a hundred mouths always ready to vomit into the
lagoon the salt water of the Adriatic.

The entire industry of this unique place is founded on a knowledge
of the natural history of the particular fish which is so largely
cultivated there—viz. the eel. Being a migratory fish, the eel is
admirably adapted for cultivation, and being also very prolific and
of tolerably rapid growth it can be speedily turned into a source of
great profit. About the end of the sixteenth century we know that the
annual income derived from eel-breeding in the lagoons was close upon
£12,000—a very large sum of money at that period. No recent statistics
have been made public as to the money derived from the eels of
Comacchio, but I have reason to know that the sum has not in any sense
diminished during late years.

[Illustration: A DIVISION OF COMACCHIO.

A. Canal Palotta.
B. Entrance from the canal.
C. Canal for the passage of boats.
C´. Sluices for closing canal.
D. First compartment of the labyrinth.
E. Outer basin.
F. Antechamber of the first compartment.
G. Chamber of the first compartment.
H. Second compartment.
I. Chamber of second compartment.
K. Third compartment.
L L L. Chambers of third compartment.
M. Wickerwork baskets for keeping fish alive.
N. Boat with instruments of fishing.
O. Dwelling-house.
P. Storehouse.
]

The inhabitants of Comacchio seem to have a very correct idea of the
natural history of this rather mysterious fish. They know exactly the
time when the animal breeds, which, as well as the question how it
breeds, has in Britain been long a source of controversy, as I have
already shown; and these shrewd people know very well when the fry
may be expected to leave the sea and perform their _montee_. They can
measure the numbers, or rather estimate the quantity, of young fish
as they ascend into the lagoon, and consequently are in a position
to know what the produce will eventually be, as also the amount of
food necessary to be provided, for the fish-farmers of Comacchio do
not expect to fatten their animals out of nothing. However, they go
about this in a very economic way, for the same water that grows
the fish also grows the food on which they are fed. This is chiefly
the aquadelle, a tiny little fish which is contained in the lakes
in great numbers, and which, in its turn, finds food in the insect
and vegetable world of the lagoons. Other fish are bred as well as
the eel—viz. mullet, plaice, etc. On the 2d day of February the year
of Comacchio may be said to begin, for at that time the _montee_
commences, when may be seen ascending up the Reno and Volano mouths
of the Po from the Adriatic a great series of wisps, apparently
composed of threads, but in reality young eels; and as soon as one
lot enters, the rest, with a sheeplike instinct, follow their leader,
and hundreds of thousands pass annually from the sea to the waters of
the lagoon, which can be so regulated as in places to be either salt
or fresh as required. Various operations connected with the working
of the fisheries keep the people in employment from the time the
entrance-sluices are closed, at the end of April, till the commencement
of the great harvest of eel-culture, which lasts from the beginning of
August till December. The manner of life of the people of Comacchio
will be found detailed under the title of “The Fisher Folks” in another
part of this volume. The engraving represents one of the fishing-places
of the lagoon.

No country has, taking into account size and population, been more
industrious on the seas than Scotland—the most productive fishery
of that country having been the herring. There is no consecutive
historical account of the progress of the herring-fishery. The first
really authentic notice we have of a trade in herrings is nine hundred
years old, when it is recorded that the Scots sold herrings to the
people of the Netherlands, and we have some indications that even
at that early period a considerable fishery for herrings existed in
Scotland; and even prior to this time Boethius alludes to Inverlochy
as an important seat of commerce, and persons of intelligence consider
that town to have been a resort of the French and Spaniards for the
purchase of herring and other fishes. The pickling and drying of
herrings for commerce were first carried on by the Flemings. This mode
of curing fish is said to have been discovered by William Benkelen of
Biervlet, near Sluys, who died in 1397, and whose memory was held in
such veneration for that service that the Emperor Charles V. and the
Queen of Hungary made a pilgrimage to his tomb. We have also incidental
notices of the herring-fishery in the records of the monastery of
Evesham, so far back as the year 709, and the tax levied on the capture
of herrings is noticed in the annals of the monastery of Barking as
herring-silver. The great fishery for herrings at Yarmouth dates
from the earliest Anglo-Saxon times, and at so early a period as the
reign of Henry I. it paid a tax of 10,000 fish to the king. We are
told that the most ancient records of the French herring-fishery are
not earlier than the year 1020, and we know that in 1088 the Duke of
Normandy allowed a fair to be held at Fecamp during the time of this
fishery, the right of holding it being granted to the Abbey of the Holy
Trinity. The Yarmouth fishery, even in these early times, was a great
success—as success was then understood. Edward III. did all he could to
encourage the fishery at that place. In 1357 he got his Parliament to
lay down a body of laws for the better regulation of the fisheries, and
the following year sixty lasts of herring were shipped at Portsmouth
for the use of his army and fleet in France. In 1635 a patent was
granted to Mr. Davis for gauging red-herrings, for which Yarmouth
was famed thus early, at a certain price per last; his duty was, in
fact, to denote the quality of the fish by affixing a certain seal;
this, so far as we know, is the first indication of the brand system.
His Majesty Charles II., being interested in the fisheries, visited
Yarmouth in company with the Duke of York and others of the nobility,
when he was handsomely entertained, and presented with four golden
herrings and a chain of considerable value.

Several of the kings of Scotland were zealous in aiding the fisheries,
but the death of James V. and the subsequent religious and civil
commotions put a stop for a time to the progress of this particular
branch of trade, as well as to every other industrial project of
his time. In 1602 his successor on the throne, James VI., resumed
the plans which had been chalked out by his grandfather. Practical
experiments were made in the art of fishing, fishing-towns were built
in the different parts of the Highlands, and persons well versed in
the practice were brought to teach the ignorant natives; but as the
Highlanders were jealous of these “interlopers,” very slow progress
was made; and, again, the course of improvement was interrupted by the
king’s accession to the throne of England and the union of the two
Crowns. During the remainder of James’s reign little progress was made
in the art of fishing, and we have to pass over the reign of Charles I.
and wait through the troublous times of the Protectorate till we have
Charles II. seated on the throne, before much further encouragement
is decreed to the fisheries. Charles II. aided the advancement of
this industrial pursuit by appointing a Royal Council of Fishery, in
order to the establishment of proper laws and regulations for the
encouragement of those engaged in this branch of our commerce.

After this period the British trade in fish and the knowledge of the
arts of capture expanded rapidly. It is said, as I have already stated,
that during our early pursuit of the fishery the Dutch learned much
from us, and that, in fact, while we were away founding the Greenland
whale-fishery, the people of Holland came upon our seas and robbed
us of our fish, and so obtained a supremacy in the art that lasted
for many years. At any rate, whatever the Dutch accomplished, we were
particularly industrious in fishing. Our seas were covered with busses
of considerable tonnage—the average being vessels of fifty tons, with a
complement of fourteen men and a master. The mode of fishing then was
to sail with the ship into the deep sea, and then, leaving the vessel
as a rendezvous, take to the small boats, and fish with them, returning
to the large vessel to carry on the cure. The same mode of fishing,
with slight modifications, is still pursued at Yarmouth and some other
places in England.

The following note of the cost of building and sailing one of the
old Scottish herring-busses will illustrate the fishery of the last
century:—

_Expenses of a Vessel of 60 Tons Burden fitted out for the
Herring-Fishery._

To shipbuilder’s account for hull £345 0 0
To joiners’ account 21 10 0
To blockmaker’s account (paint, etc.) 18 0 0
To rope-work account (sails, etc.) 160 0 0
To smith’s account (anchors, etc.) 22 10 0
To spars, 3 fishing-boats, compasses, etc. 56 0 0
—————-—————-
Cost of Vessel (forward) £623 0 0

_Outfit._

To 462 bushels of salt 45 0 0
To 32 lasts herring barrels 80 0 0
To 15,000 square yards netting 78 5 0
To buoys, etc. 8 4 0
To provisions for 14 men for 3 months 42 10 0
To spirits for men when at work 5 0 0
To wages, 13 men at 27s. per month 52 13 0
To shipmaster’s wages 10 0 0
To custom-house clearing 0 15 0
—————-—————-
Cost of Outfit £945 7 0
============

Supposing the above vessel to make one-half of her cargo of herrings
yearly, which has not been the case for seven years back on an average,
the state of account will stand as under:—

_Voyage to Herring Fishers and Owners._ _Dr._

To one-half of salt carried out £22 10 0
To one-half of barrels used 48 0 0
To tear and wear on nets (one-third worn) 26 1 3
To provisions and spirits 47 10 0
To wages, including skipper 62 13 0
To tear and wear of rigging and vessel,
5 per cent per month 30 11 2
To insurance on £957 for 3 months at 2½ per cent 27 16 0
To interest on £957 for 3 months 11 18 0
To waste on salt, etc., at 10 per cent 3 10 0
To freight of herrings to Cork, at 2s. per barrel,
192 barrels 19 4 0
To duty on herrings in Ireland, at 1s. per barrel 9 12 0
—————-—————
£305 5 5

Brought forward £305 5 5

_Contra._ _Cr._

By 192 barrels herrings at 20s. £192 0 0
By debenture on herrings at 2s. 8d. 25 12 0
By bounty on 60 tons 90 0 0
—————————— 307 12 0
——————————
Gain on home fishery £2 6 7

Extra Expenses on such Busses as go to the Irish
Fishery—
To duty of 17¾ tons salt in Ireland £10 19 11
To duty on barrels 4 16 0
To fees on 3 boats at 42s. 6 6 0
—————————— 22 1 11
——————————
Loss if upon Irish fishery £19 15 4

Much has also been written from time to time about the great
cod-fishery of Newfoundland: it has been the subject of innumerable
treatises, Acts of Parliament, and other negotiations, and various
travellers have illustrated the natural products and industrial
capabilities of these North American seas. The cod-fishery of
Newfoundland is undoubtedly one of the greatest fishing industries the
world has ever seen, and has been more or less worked for three hundred
and sixty years. Occasionally there is a whisper of the cod grounds of
Newfoundland being exhausted, and it would be no wonder if they were,
considering the enormous capture of that fish that has constantly been
going on during the period indicated, not only by means of various
shore fisheries, but by the active American and French crews that are
always on the grounds capturing and curing. Since the time when the Red
Indian lay over the rocks and transfixed the codfish with his spear,
till now, when thousands of ships are spreading their sails in the bays
and surrounding seas, taking the fish with ingenious instruments of
capture, myriads upon myriads of valuable cod have been taken from the
waters, although to the ordinary eye the supply seems as abundant as
it was a century ago. When my readers learn that the great bank from
whence is obtained the chief supply of codfish is nearly six hundred
miles long and over two hundred miles in breadth, it will afford a
slight index to the vast total of our sea wealth and to the enormous
numbers of the finny population of this part of our seas, and the
population of which, before it was discovered, must have been growing
and gathering for centuries; but when it is further stated—and this
by way of index to the extent of this great food-wealth—that Catholic
countries alone give something like half a million sterling every year
for the produce of these North American seas, the enormous money value
of a well-regulated fishery must become apparent even to the most
superficial observer of facts and figures.

It is much to be regretted that we are not in possession of reliable
annual statistics of the fisheries of Newfoundland, but there are so
many conflicting interests connected with these fisheries as to render
it difficult to obtain accurate statistics. Mr. Hind, in his recent
work on Labrador, gives us a few figures about the fisheries of Nova
Scotia and Canada, for which we are thankful. From this work we learn
that the fish exported from Nova Scotia in 1860 reached the large sum
of $2,956,788, and that 3258 vessels were engaged in the fishery; and
Mr. Hind thinks that if we include the fish and fish-oil consumed by
the inhabitants, the present annual value of the fisheries to British
America must be above $15,000,000, and this estimate even does not
include much of the fish that goes directly to Britain. The value of
the Labrador fisheries alone has been estimated at one million sterling
per annum, and the total value of the fisheries of the Gulf of St.
Lawrence and the coast of Labrador may be set down as four millions
sterling per annum, and the Canadian fisheries, Mr. Hind informs us,
are yet in their infancy!

Another fishing industry which has bulked large in the annals of
the sea is the whale-fishery. At one time a goodly number of British
vessels were fitted out in order to follow this dangerous pursuit in
the Arctic Seas, and many a thrilling narrative has been founded on
the adventures of enterprising whalers. This fishery has fallen off
very much of late years, both as regards the pursuit of the right or
the Greenland whale, and also in the case of the sperm whale, the
capture of which used to be an “enterprise of great pith and moment”
in America, the head-quarters of the fishery being situated at New
Bedford. It is a good thing that the invention of gas has superseded in
a great measure our dependence on the whale; and the discovery of other
lubricants, vegetable and mineral, suitable for machinery, has rendered
us altogether independent of the Leviathan of the deep. Although this
particular fishing industry may almost be said to be extinct, it was at
one time of considerable importance, at least to Scottish commerce.

To come down to the present time, it is pleasant to think that the
seas of Britain are crowded with many thousand boats, all gleaning
wealth from the bosom of the waters. As one particular branch of sea
industry becomes exhausted for the season another one begins. In
spring we have our white fisheries; in summer we have our mackerel;
in autumn we have the great herring-fishery; then in winter we deal
in pilchards and sprats and oysters; and all the year round we trawl
for flat fish or set pots for lobsters, or do some other work of the
fishing—in fact, we are continually day by day despoiling the waters of
their food treasures. When we exhaust the inshore fisheries we proceed
straightway to the deep waters. Hale and strong fishermen sail hundreds
of miles to the white-fishing grounds, whilst old men potter about
the shore, setting nets with which to catch crabs, or ploughing the
sand for prawns. At different places we can note the specialities of
the British fisheries. In Caithness-shire we can follow the greatest
herring-fleet in the world; at Cornwall, again, we can view the
pilchard-fishery; at Barking we can see the cod-fleet; at Hull there is
a wealth of trawlers; at Whitstable we can make acquaintance with the
oyster-dredgers; and at the quaint fishing-ports on the Moray Firth,
to be afterwards described, we can witness the manufacture of “Finnan
haddies,” as at Yarmouth we can take part in the making of bloaters;
and all round our coasts we can see women and children industriously
gathering shell-fish for bait, or performing other functions connected
with the industry of the sea—repairing nets, baiting the lines, or
hawking the fish, for the fisherwomen are true helpmates to their
husbands. At certain seasons everything that can float in the water is
called into requisition—little cobbles, gigantic yawls, trig schooners,
are all required to aid in the gathering of the sea harvest. Thousands
of people are employed in this great industry; betokening that a vast
population have chosen to seek bread on the bosom of the great deep.

Crossing the Channel we can see that the general sea fisheries of
France are also being prosecuted with great vigour, and at those
places which have railways to bear away the produce with considerable
profit. I am in possession of notes and statistics pertaining to a
large portion of the French seabord, giving plentiful details of the
modern fishing industry of that country; and the fisheries of France
are greatly noticed just now, in the hope of their forming a splendid
nursery for seamen, the improvement of the navy being at present one
of the dominant objects of the Emperor of the French. The Marine
Department, having this object in view, have sagaciously broken through
all the old protective laws incidental to the fisheries, and now
allow the fishermen to carry on their trade very much as they please;
trawling has therefore become pretty general at all those ports which
maintain railway communication with the interior: thus at Dunkerque
there are 60 trawlers; at Boulogne, 100; at Tourville, 109; at
Treport, 53; at Calais, 84; with lesser numbers at smaller ports, most
of them being engaged in supplying the wants of Paris with deep-sea
fish; and as the coasts are provided with excellent harbours of refuge,
the trawlers follow their avocations with regularity and success.

The modes of sea-fishing are so much alike in every country that it
is unnecessary for us to do more than just mention that the French
method of trawling is very similar to our own, about which I will by
and by have something to say. But there are details of fishing industry
connected with that pursuit on the French coasts that we are not
familiar with in Britain. The neighbouring peasantry, for instance,
come to the seaside and fish with nets which are called _bas parc_; and
these are spread out before the tide is full in order to retain all
the fish which are brought within their meshes. The children of these
land-fishers also work, although with smaller nets, at these foreshore
fisheries, while the wives poke about the sand for shrimps and the
smaller crustacea. These people thus not only ensure a supply of food
for themselves during winter, but also contrive during summer to take
as much fish as brings them in a little store of money.

The perpetual industry carried on by the coast people on the French
foreshores is quite a sight, although it is a fish commerce of a
humble and primitive kind. Even the little children contrive to make
money by building fish-ponds, or erecting trenches, in which to gather
salt, or in some other little industry incidental to sea-shore life.
One occasionally encounters some abject creature groping about the
rocks to obtain the wherewithal to sustain life. To these people all
is fish that comes to hand; no creature, however slimy, that creeps
about is allowed to escape, so long as it can be disguised by cookery
into any kind of food for human beings. Some of the people have old
rickety boats patched up with still older pieces of wood or leather,
sails mended here and there, till it is difficult to distinguish the
original portion from those that have been added to it; nets torn and
darned till they are scarce able to hold a fish; and yet that boat
and that crippled machinery are the stock in trade of perhaps two or
three generations of a family, and the concern may have been founded
half a century ago by the grandfather, who now sees around him a
legion of hungry gamins that it would take a fleet of boats to keep in
food and raiment. The moment the tide flows back, the foreshore is at
once overrun with an army of hungry people, who are eager to clutch
whatever fishy _debris_ the receding water may have left; the little
pools are eagerly, nay hungrily, explored, and their contents grabbed
with an anxiety that pertains only to poverty. At some places of the
coast, however, a happier life is dawning on the people—the discovery
of pisciculture has led to a traffic in oysters that, as I will by and
by show, is surprising; indeed a new life has in consequence dawned
on some districts, and where at one time there was poverty and its
attendant squalor, there is now wealth and its handmaid prosperity.

On some parts of the French coasts, and it is proper to mention this,
the fishery is not of importance, although the fish are plentiful
enough. At Cancale, for instance, the fishermen have imposed on
themselves the restriction of only fishing twice a week. In Brittany,
at some of the fishing places, the people seem very poor and miserable,
and their boats look to be almost valueless, reminding one of the state
of matters at Fittie in the outskirts of Aberdeen. At the isle of
Groix, however, there is to be found a tolerably well-off maritime and
fishing community; at this place, where the men take to the sea at an
early age, there are about one hundred and thirty fishing boats of from
twenty to thirty tons each, of which the people—_i.e._ the practical
fishermen—are themselves the owners. At the Sands of Olonne there is a
most extensive sardine-fishery—the capture of sprats, young herrings,
and young pilchards, for curing as sardines, yielding a considerable
share of wealth, as a large number of boats follow this branch of the
business all the year round. There are not less than 13,000 boats on
the coast of Brittany devoted to the sardine trade, and when it is
considered that, according to Mitchell, a sum of £80,000 is annually
expended on cod and mackerel roe for bait in this fishery, my readers
will see that the total value of the French fisheries must be very
considerable. Experiments in artificial breeding are now being made
both with the white fish and the crustaceans, and sanguine hopes are
entertained of having in a short time a plentiful supply of all kinds
of shell and white fish, and as regards those parts of the French
coast which are at present destitute of the power of conveyance,
the apparition of a few locomotives will no doubt work wonders in
instigating a hearty fishing enterprise.

In fact the industry of the French as regards the fisheries has become
of late years quite wonderful, and there is evidently more in their
eager pursuit of sea wealth than all at once meets the eye. No finer
naval men need be wished for any country than those that are to be
found in the French fishing luggers, and there can be no doubt but
that they are being trained with a view to the more perfect manning
of the French navy. At any rate the French people (? government)
have discovered the art of growing sailors, and doubtless they will
make the most of it, being able apparently to grow them at a greatly
cheaper rate than we can do. As regards the French fisheries in the
North Sea, I may mention that the flotilla engaged in 1863, in that
particular mine of industry, consisted of 285 ships, measuring 22,000
tons, and manned by nearly 4000 seamen—the whole, both ships and men,
being an increase over those of the preceding year. This fleet left
the shores of France between the 20th of March and the 12th of April,
and shortly after these dates arrived at Iceland. A very large number
of codfish were taken, and the report to the Minister of Marine says
that the ships of war on the station afforded help to eighty-three
of the vessels, and that the health of the crews was remarkably good
during the whole season, eighteen vessels only requiring the aid of
the surgeon, and these vessels had only two invalids each. This is
instructive as showing the care that is taken in the selection of
healthy crews, and of the pains of their Government to keep them
healthy, and it must be admitted that, so far as physique is concerned,
the French seamen are fine-looking fellows.

The commercial system established in France for bringing the produce
of the sea into the market is of a highly-elaborate and intricate
character. The direct consequence of this system is, that the price of
fish goes on increasing from its first removal from the shore until
it reaches the market. This fact cannot be better illustrated than
by tracing the fish from the moment they are landed on the quay by
the fishermen through various intermediate transactions until they
reach the hands of the fishmonger of Paris. The first agent into
whose hands they come is the _ecoreur_. The _ecoreur_ is usually a
qualified man appointed by the owners of the vessels, the municipality,
or by an association termed the _Société d’Ecorage_. He performs
the functions of a wholesale agent between the fisherman and the
public. He is ready to take the fish out of the fisherman’s hands as
soon as they are landed. He buys the fish from the fisherman, and
pays him at once, deducting a percentage for his own services. This
percentage is sometimes 5, 4, or even as low as 3½ per cent. He
undertakes the whole risk of selling the fish, and suffers any loss
that may be incurred by bad debts or bad sale, for which he can make
no claim whatever upon the owner of the boat. The system of _ecorage_
is universally adopted, as the fisherman prefers ready money with a
deduction of 5 per cent rather than trouble himself with any repayment
or run the risk of bad debts. Passing from the _ecoreur_ we come to the
_mareyeur_—that is, the merchant who buys the fish from the wholesale
agent. He provides baskets to hold the fish, packs them, and despatches
them by railway. He pays the carriage, the town-dues or duties, and
the fees to the market-crier. Should the fish not keep, and arrive in
Paris in bad condition, and be complained of by the police, he sustains
the loss. As regards the transport arrangements, the fish are usually
forwarded by the fast trains, and the rates are invariable, whatever
may be the quality of the fish. Thus, turbot and salmon are carried at
the same rate as monkfish, oysters, and crabs. On the northern lines
the rate is 37 cents per ton per kilometre; upon the Dieppe and Nantes
lines, 25 or 26 cents; which gives 85 or 96 francs as the carriage of
a ton of fish despatched from the principal ports of the north—such as
St. Valery-sur-Somme, Boulogne, Calais, and Dunkerque—and 130 francs
per ton on fish despatched from Nantes.

The fish, on their arrival in Paris, are subjected to a duty. For the
collection of this duty the fish are divided into two classes—viz.,
fine fresh fish and ordinary fresh fish. The fine fish—which class
includes salmon, trout, turbot, sturgeon, tunny, brill, shad, mullet,
roach, sole, lobster, shrimp, and oyster—pay a duty of 10 per cent of
the market value. The duty upon the common fresh fish is 5 per cent.
This duty is paid after the sale, and is then of course duly entered in
the official register.

All the fish sent to Paris is sold through the agency of auctioneers
(_facteurs à la criee_) appointed by the town, who receive a commission
of 2 or 3 per cent. The auctioneer either sells to the fishmonger or to
the consumer.

It will be seen from the above statement that between the landing
of the fish by the fisherman and the purchase of it by the salesman
at Paris there is added to the price paid to the fisherman 5 per
cent for the _ecorage_; 90, 100, or 130 francs per ton for carriage;
10 or 5 per cent, with a double tithe of war, for town-dues; and 3
per cent taken by the auctioneer—or, altogether, 18 or 13 per cent,
besides the war-tithe and the cost of transport. This is an estimate
of the indispensable expenses only, and does not include a number of
items—such as the profit which the _mareyeur_ ought to make, the cost
of the baskets, carriage from the market to the railway, and from the
custom-house to the market in Paris; and, besides, presumes that the
merchant who buys in the market is the consumer, which is seldom the
case.

Many other considerations must be taken into account, as, for instance,
the quantity of fish not sold, or sold at a low price, the fish which
arrive in Paris in bad condition, and that quantity which never leaves
the fishing town.

Besides all this, if we bear in mind that the fish-despatcher tries to
repay himself for losses incurred, it need not astonish us that he must
put a high price upon the fish he sends to the market.

From these considerations it is evident, I think, that the high price
of fish is not owing to any scarcity in the supply, or that an increase
in the quantity brought to land will effectually reduce the price.
Were the fisherman to give his labour for nothing, and the merchant,
or rather commission-agent, who buys from him to seek no profit, there
is still enough in carriage, toll, and duties, to put a price on the
fish which would place it beyond the power of small purses to reach.
To reduce the price we must lessen these intermediate expenses, and
put the fisherman in direct communication with the Parisian salesman.
This might be possible by the establishment of fishermen’s societies,
directed by skilful business men.

I question very much, however, if the fishermen would agree to such
a plan, as they always prefer ready money and no risk. Another
suggestion is to unite the offices of _ecoreur_ and _mareyeur_ in
one person, or even, as is already done in some quarters, to combine
these two functions with the owner’s own special duties. Undoubtedly,
a much more effectual plan than either of these is a reduction in the
expenses of carriage and duties. The system of transport is manifestly
defective, inasmuch as the rate is a uniform one for fine and ordinary
fresh fish. The expenses of the carriage compel the fisherman in
many cases to retain the ordinary or inferior qualities of fish and
endeavour to make use of them otherwise than for sale by employing them
for the food of their own households, feeding poultry, or manuring
barren land. They in some instances cut off the superfluous parts of
the monkfish—the tail, fins, etc.—to reduce the carriage weight; and
although the fish thus mutilated fetch a less price than they would
otherwise bring, the depreciation of the selling-price is more than
counterbalanced by the reduction in the freight.

It would be difficult to suggest a system which would at once meet the
wishes of the owners of boats, the fish-merchants, and the railway
directors. On the southern and western railway lines in Ireland the
fish are divided into classes. Turbot, sole, plaice, whiting, eels, and
shrimps, are charged two-thirds of the rate for salmon; oysters, crabs,
and lobsters, one-half; and herring and the common fish one-third.
In France, as I have already said, the rate is uniform. The cost of
transport depends upon the distance alone. The Commercial Treaty has
brought foreign fish more abundantly into the market; but those coming
from England, being gutted to make them keep, have no longer the red
gills by which the buyer distinguishes fresh fish; and between a gutted
fish and one with the gills intact the purchaser never hesitates to
choose the latter, without the slightest regard to the place at which
it has been caught. The fish-carrier, again, tries, by cramming as
many fish as possible into the large baskets, to diminish the number of
packages, and thus destroys a number of his fish.

If there is little hope of a reduction of the railway tariffs, there
is still less chance, we think, of any reduction of the town-duties.
They are far too profitable to the city funds. The revenue derived by
the city of Paris from the sale of fish amounted, in 1858, to 894,214
francs; in 1859, to 928,925; and in 1860 it increased to 1,027,920
francs. This sum, however, only includes the dues levied upon fish
carried to the market. There is a separate and distinct duty upon fish
which arrive directly by railway to the consumer. In this case fine
fresh fish are subjected to a duty of 60 francs the 100 kilogrammes;
common fish, 15 francs; ordinary oysters, 5 francs; and Ostend oysters,
15 francs per 100 kilogrammes. The exact revenue accruing to the city
from this source embraces these two duties; and in estimating the full
amount that the merchant must pay for bringing fish into the town and
selling it in the market, we must add to these dues the expense of
cartage, railway fare, the double tithe of war, and the fees to the
crier.

From the official records of the market sales, we find that for six
years there has been little difference in the price of fish. The tables
of 1852 and 1862 show that mussels, shrimps, mullets, and salmon, are
at the same price; lobsters, sprats, turbot, and shad, are a little
less; and mackerel, whiting, monkfish, sardines, sole, tunny, trout,
barbel, and flounder, are slightly raised. The prices vary so little
that any increase in the revenue must arise from an increased quantity
being brought into the market. Oysters, however, have increased greatly
in price, although the quantity has diminished.

[Illustration: BILLINGSGATE.]

But allowing the French people to cultivate to the very utmost—as they
especially do as regards the oyster—it is impossible they can ever
exceed, either in productive power or money value, the fisheries of our
own coasts. If, without the trouble of taking a long journey, we desire
to witness the results of the British fisheries, we have only to repair
to Billingsgate to find this particular industry brought to a focus. At
that piscatorial bourse we can see in the early morning the produce of
our most distant seas brought to our greatest seat of population, sure
of finding a ready and a profitable market. The aldermanic turbot, the
tempting sole, the gigantic codfish, the valuable salmon, the cheap
sprat, and the universal herring, are all to be found during their
different seasons in great plenty at Billingsgate; and in the lower
depths of the market buildings countless quantities of shell-fish of
all kinds, stored in immense tubs, may be seen; while away in the
adjacent lanes there are to be found gigantic boilers erected for
the purpose of crab and lobster boiling. Some of the shops in the
neighbourhood have always on hand large stocks of all kinds of dried
fish, which are carried away in great waggons to the railway stations
for country distribution. About four o’clock on a summer morning
this grand piscatorial mart may be seen in its full excitement—the
auctioneers bawling, the porters rushing madly about, the hawkers also
rushing madly about seeking persons to join them in buying a lot, and
so to divide their speculations; and all over is sprinkled the dripping
sea-water, and all around we feel that “ancient and fish-like smell”
which is the concomitant of such a place.

No statistics of a reliable kind are published as to the total annual
value of the British fisheries. An annual account of the Scottish
herring-fishery is taken by commissioners and officers appointed for
that purpose; which, along with a yearly report of the Irish fisheries,
is the only reliable annual document on the subject that we possess,
and the latest official report of the commissioners will be found
analysed in another part of this volume. For any statistics of our
white-fish fisheries we are compelled to resort to second-hand sources
of information; and, as is likely enough in the circumstances, we do
not, after all, get our curiosity properly gratified on these important
topics—the progress and produce of the British fisheries. As a proof
of the difficulty of obtaining reliable statistics of our sea-harvest,
I am compelled to have recourse to the quantities of all kinds of fish
carried by the various railways as an indication of what we are doing
on the waters. Large quantities of sea produce are still, however,
carried by water. The supplies brought inland by the various railways
are as follow:—

London and Brighton 5,174 tons.
Great Western 2,885 ”
North British 8,303 ”
Great Northern 11,930 ”
North Eastern 27,896 ”
South Eastern 3,218 ”
Great Eastern 29,086 ”
——————
Making a total of 88,492 tons.

For Ireland the statistics of carriage for the same year are as follow:—

Great Southern and Western 1145 tons.
Midland and Great Western 785 ”
Waterford and Limerick 374 ”
Dublin and Drogheda 1004 ”
—————
Making a total of 3308 tons.

The best index, however, of the quantities of fish taken out of the
British seas is the supply of that comestible required for London
alone. Two attempts have been made to obtain a correct account of the
quantities of each kind used for the commissariat of London. Fourteen
years ago Mr. Mayhew gave a summation of the quantities of fish sold
at Billingsgate, and the number of each kind as detailed is really
astonishing; as 203,000 salmon, nearly four millions of fresh herrings,
and others in proportion. The second attempt to gauge the fish-supply
of the great metropolis was made by a Member of Parliament. In moving
for a commission to inquire into the state of the British fisheries, he
gave the following statistics:—

Codfish 500,000
Mackerel 25,000,000
Soles 100,000,000
Plaice 35,000,000
Haddocks 200,000,000
Oysters 500,000,000
Periwinkles 300,000,000
Cockles 70,000,000
Mussels 50,000,000
Lobsters, daily 10,000

There is likewise a very extensive demand for cured or pickled fish.
Mayhew quoted 1,600,000 dried cod and 50,000,000 of red herrings as
being a portion of the London fish-supply. Eels are also a very large
item, being set down as nearly 10,000,000 per annum; and as for crabs,
prawns, shrimps, sprats, etc., they are required by the ton weight, and
are hawked about London in millions!

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_.

Pisciculture may be briefly described as the art of fecundating and
hatching fish-eggs, and of nursing young fish under protection till
they are of an age to take care of themselves.

The art of pisciculture is almost as old as civilisation itself. We
read of its having been practised in the empire of China for many
centuries, and we also know that it was much thought of in the palmy
days of ancient Italy, when expensively-fed fish of all kinds were
a necessity of the wonderful banquets given by wealthy Romans and
Neapolitans. There is still in China a large trade in fish-eggs, and
boats may be seen containing men who gather the spawn in various
rivers, and then carry it into the interior of the country for sale,
where the young fish are reared in great flocks or shoals in the
rice-fields. One Chinese mode of collecting fish-spawn is to map out
a river into compartments by means of mats and hurdles, leaving only
a passage for the boats. The mats and hurdles intercept the spawn,
which is skimmed off the water, preserved for sale in large jars, and
is bought by persons who have ponds or other pieces of water which
they may wish to stock with gold or other fish. One Chinese plan is to
hatch fish-eggs in paddy-fields, and in these places the spawn speedily
comes to life, and the flocks of little fishes are herded from one
field to another as the food becomes exhausted. The trade in ova is
so well managed, even in the present day, that fish are plentiful and
cheap—so cheap as to form a large portion of the food of the people;
and nothing so much surprises the Chinese who come here as the high
price that is paid for the fish of this country. A Chinese fisherman
was much astonished, three years ago, at the price he was charged for a
fish-breakfast at Toulon. This person had arrived in France with four
or five thousand young fish of the best kinds produced in his country,
for the purpose of their being placed in the great marine aquarium in
the Bois de Boulogne. Being annoyed at the comparative scarcity of
fish in France, the young Chinaman wrote a brief memoir, showing that,
with the command of a small pond, any quantity of fish might be raised
at a trifling expense. All that is necessary, he stated in the memoir
alluded to, is to watch the period of spawning, and throw yolks of
eggs into the water from time to time, by which means an incredible
quantity of the young fry are saved from destruction. For, according
to the information conveyed by this very intelligent youth, thousands
of young fish annually die from starvation—they are unable to seek
their own food at so tender an age. We cannot believe all the stories
we hear about the Chinese mode of breeding fish, they are so evidently
exaggerated; but I must notice one particularly ingenious method of
artificial hatching which has been resorted to by the people of China
and which is worth noting as a piscicultural novelty. These ingenious
Celestials carry on a business in selling and hatching fish-spawn,
collecting the impregnated eggs from various rivers and lakes, in
order to sell to the proprietors of canals and private ponds. When the
proper season for hatching arrives, they empty a hen’s egg, by means
of a small aperture, sucking out the natural contents, and then, after
substituting fish-spawn, close up the opening. The egg thus manipulated
is placed for a few days under a hen! By and by the shell is broken,
and the contents are placed in a vessel of water, warmed by the heat
of the sun only; the eggs speedily burst, and in a short time the
young fish are able to be transported to a lake or river of ordinary
temperature, where they are of course left to grow to maturity without
being further noticed than to have a little food thrown to them.

The luxurious Romans achieved great wonders in the art of
fish-breeding, and were able to perform curious experiments with the
piscine inhabitants of their aquariums; they were also well versed
in the arts of acclimatisation. A classic friend, who is well versed
in ancient fish lore, tells me that the great Roman epicures could
run their fish from ice-cold water into boiling cauldrons without
handling them! They spared neither labour nor money in order to gratify
their palates. The Italians sent to the shores of Britain for their
oysters, and then flavoured them in large quantities on artificial
beds. The value of a Roman gentleman’s fish in the palmy days of
Italian banqueting was represented by an enormous sum of money. The
stock kept up by Lucullus was never valued at a less sum than £35,000!
These classic lovers of good things had pet breeds of fish in the same
sense as gentlemen in the present day have pet breeds of sheep or
homed cattle. Lucullus, for instance, to have such a valuable stock,
must have been in possession of unique varieties derived from curious
crosses, etc. Red mullet or fat carp, which sold for large prices,
were not at all unusual. Sixty pounds we can ascertain as being given
for a single mullet, and more than three times that sum for a dish of
that fish; and enormous sums of money were lavished in the buying,
rearing, and taming of the mullet; so much so, that some of those
who devoted their time and money to this purpose were satirised as
mullet-millionaires. One noble Roman went to a fabulous expense in
boring a tunnel through a mountain, in order that he might obtain
a plentiful supply of salt water for his fish-ponds. Sergius Orata
invented artificial oyster-beds. He caused, as will be afterwards
described when I come to speak of oyster-farming, to be constructed at
Baiæ, on the Lucrine Sea, great reservoirs, where he grew the dainty
mollusc in thousands; and in order that he and his friends might have
this renowned shell-fish in its very highest perfection, he built a
palace on the coast, in order to be near his oyster-ponds; and thither
he resorted when he wanted to have a fish-dinner free from the care and
turmoil of business. Many of the more luxurious Italians, imitating
Sergius Orata, expended fabulous sums of money on their fish-ponds, and
were so enabled, by means of their extravagance, to achieve all kinds
of _outré_ results in the fattening and flavouring of their fish. A
curious story, illustrative of these times and of the value set on fish
of a particular flavour, is related, in regard to the bass (_labrax
lupus_) which were caught in the river Tiber. The Roman epicures were
very fond of this fish, especially of those caught in a particular
portion of the river, which they could tell by means of their taste and
fine colour. An exquisite, while dining, was horrified at being served
with bass of the wrong flavour, and loudly complained of the badness of
the fish; the fact being that the real bass (the high-coloured kind)
were flavoured by the disgusting food which they obtained at the mouth
of a common sewer.

The modern phase of pisciculture is entirely a commercial one,
which as yet does not lie in imparting fanciful flavours to the
fish—although, if such were wanted, it might easily enough be
accomplished—but has developed itself both at home and abroad in the
replenishing of exhausted streams with salmon, trout, or other kinds
of fish. The present idea of pisciculture, as a branch of commerce,
is due to the shrewdness of a simple French peasant, who gained his
livelihood as a _pêcheur_ in the tributaries of the Moselle, and the
other streams of his native district, _La Bresse_ in the _Vosges_. He
was a thinking man, although a poor one, and it had long puzzled him
to understand how animals yielding such an abundant supply of eggs
should, by any amount of fishing, ever become scarce. He knew very well
that all female fish were provided with tens of thousands of eggs, and
he could not well see how, in the face of this fact, the rivers of La
Bresse should be so scantily peopled with the finny tribes. Nor was the
scarcity of fish confined to his own district: the rivers of France
generally had become impoverished; and as in all Catholic countries
fish is a prime necessary of life, the want of course was greatly felt.
Joseph Remy was the man who first found out what was wrong with the
French streams, and especially with the fish supplies of his native
rivers—and better than that, he discovered a remedy. He ascertained
that the scarcity of fish was chiefly caused by the immense number of
eggs that never came to life, the enormous quantity of young fish that
were destroyed by enemies of one kind or another, and the fishing-up of
all that was left, in many instances, before they had an opportunity
to reproduce themselves; at any rate, without any care being taken to
leave a sufficient breeding stock in the rivers, so that the result he
discovered had become inevitable.

The guiding fact of pisciculture has been more than once accidentally
re-discovered—that is, allowing that the ancient Romans knew it exactly
as now practised; but nothing came of such discoveries, and till
a discovery be turned to some practical use, it is, in a sense, no
discovery at all. After being lost for many hundred years, the art of
artificially spawning fish was re-discovered in Germany by one Jacobi,
and practised on some trout more than a century ago. This gentleman
not only practised pisciculture himself, but wrote essays on the
subject as well. His elaborate treatise on the art of fish-culture was
written in the German language, but also translated into Latin, and
inserted by Duhamel du Monceau, in his _General Treatise on Fishes_.
Jacobi, who practised the art for thirty years, was not satisfied
with a mere discovery, but at once turned what he had discovered to
practical account, and, in the time of Jacobi, great attention was
devoted to pisciculture by various gentlemen of scientific eminence.
Count Goldstein, a savan of the period, likewise wrote on the subject.
The Journal of Hanover also had papers on this art, and an account of
Jacobi’s proceedings was enrolled in the Memoirs of the Royal Academy
of Berlin. This discovery of Jacobi was the simple result of keen
observation of the natural action of the breeding salmon. Observing
that the process of impregnation was entirely an external act, he saw
at once that this could be easily imitated by careful manipulation; so
that, by conducting artificial hatching on a large scale, a constant
and unfailing supply of fish might readily be obtained. The results
arrived at by Jacobi were of vast importance, and obtained not only
the recognition of his government, but also the more solid reward of a
pension. I need not detail the experiments of Jacobi, as they are very
similar to those of others that I intend to describe at full length in
this portion of my narrative.

Some persons dispute the claims of France to the honour of this
discovery, asserting that the peasant Remy had borrowed his idea from
the experiments of Shaw of Drumlanrig, who had by the artificial
system undertaken to prove that parrs were the young of the salmon.
As I shall again have occasion to allude to Mr. Shaw’s experiments,
I do not require to say more at present on this part of my subject
than that they were brought to a successful conclusion long before
the rediscovery of the art of pisciculture by Remy. In my opinion the
honours may be thus divided, whether Remy knew of Shaw’s experiments
or not: I would give to Scotland the honour of having re-discovered
pisciculture as an adjunct of science, and to France the useful part
of having turned the art to commercial uses. In regard to what has
been already stated here as to the accidental discovery of artificial
fish-breeding, I may mention that James Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd,
was one of the discoverers. Hogg had an observant eye for rural scenes
and incidents, and anxiously studied and experimented on fish-life.
He took an active share in the parr controversy. Having seen with his
own eyes the branded parr assuming the scales of the smolt, he never
doubted after that the fact that the parr was the young of the salmon.
In Norway, too, an accidental discovery of this fish-breeding power was
made; and certainly if salmon-fishing in that country goes on at its
present rate cultivation will be largely required. The artificial plan
of breeding oysters has been more than once accidentally discovered.
There is at least one well-authenticated instance of this, which
occurred about a century ago, when a saltmaker of Marennes, who added
to his income by fattening oysters, lost a batch of six thousand in
consequence of an intense frost, the shells not being sufficiently
covered with water; but while engaged in mourning over his loss
and kicking about the dead molluscs, he found them, greatly to his
surprise, covered with young oysters already pretty well developed,
and these, fortunately, although tender, all in good health, so
that ultimately he repeopled his salt-bed without either trouble or
expense—having of course to wait the growth of the natives before he
could recommence his commerce.

To return to Remy, however, his experiments were so instantaneously
crowned with success as even to be a surprise to himself; and in order
to encourage him and Gehin, a coadjutor he had chosen, the Emulation
Society of the Vosges voted them a considerable sum of money and
a handsome bronze medal. It was not, however, till 1849 that the
proceedings of the two attracted that degree of notice which their
importance demanded both in a scientific and economic sense. Dr. Haxo
of Epinal then communicated to the Academy of Sciences at Paris an
elaborate paper on the subject, which at once fixed attention on the
labours of the two fishermen—in fact, it excited a sensation both in
the Academy and among the people. The government of the time at once
gave attention to the matter, and finding, upon inquiry, everything
that was said about the utility of the plan to be true, resolved to
have it extended to all the rivers in France, especially to those
of the poorer districts of the country. The artificial system of
fish-breeding was by this mode of action rapidly extended over the
chief rivers of France, and added much to the comfort of the people,
and in some cases little fortunes were realised by intelligent farmers
who appreciated the system and had a pond or stream on which they could
conduct their experiments in safety.

The piscicultural system has culminated in France, chiefly under the
direction of Professor Coste, in the erection of a great establishment
at Huningue, near Bale, for the collection and distribution of
fish-eggs. In order to see this place with my own eyes, and so be
enabled to describe exactly how the piscicultural business of France
is administered, I paid a visit to the great laboratory along with
some friends in the autumn of 1863, having gone by way of Paris in
order to see that city in its holiday trim during the _fêtes_ of the
Emperor. The weather was so hot, and pleasure-seeking so fatiguing,
that my little party made but a brief stay in the gay capital. It was a
pleasant relief indeed when we had obtained our tickets for Mulhausen,
done the penance of the _salle d’attente_, and then, attaining our
seats, had left the sultry city behind us. The air became at once cool
and moist, and the torturing Paris thirst left us—that fierce thirst
which no quantity of well-mixed _vin ordinaire_ and water, no amount of
brandy and _eau de seltz_, could assuage. After reaching the outskirts
of the city, and passing those manufactories, wood-yards, tile-depôts,
brickfields, and stone-yards, which are common to the environs of all
large towns, we could see well about us, and enjoy the sights and
sounds of French agriculture—all but the perfume of the rotting flax
in process of manipulation in the watery pits; we certainly did not
enjoy that potent compound of all that is awful in the way of smell. It
was pleasant to note the industry of the small farmers, all busy with
their wives and families on their little allotments, or rather estates,
for numbers of them are owners or perpetual holders of the land on
which they work; and it looks curious to eyes accustomed to the large
fields of England to see the little patches which compose the majority
of French farms. We saw no particularly choice landscape scenery on
the line of rail by which we travelled—_via_ Troyes and Chalindrey—but
there was no lack of picturesque villages and immense barns, giving
cheerful token of a rude plenty, and there was no end of tall pollard
trees, and numerous vineyards; besides, here and there, upon a bit of
stubble, we were agreeably surprised by the whitter of an occasional
covey of partridges.

Bent on a piscatorial tour, I noted with care—to the occasional
wonderment of my friends—the spots of water that pretty often fringed
the line of rails, and wondered if they were populated by any of the
finny tribe; if so, by what kind of fish, and whether they had been
replenished by the aid of pisciculture? There was evidently fishing
in the districts we passed through, because at many of the stations
we encountered the vision of an occasional angler, and a frequent
“flop” in many of the pools which we passed convinced me that fair
sport might be had; and the entry of an occasional Waltonian into
some of the stations with twenty pounds weight of trout quite excited
everybody, and made some of us long to whip the waters of the district
of Champagne, through which we were passing. And a close inspection of
the national _etablissement de pisciculture_ at Huningue has convinced
me that if any river in France be still fishless, it is not through the
fault of a paternal government.

Travelling is pleasant in France, for although the trains are slow,
they are safe and punctual. The distance from Paris to Mulhausen is
fifteen hours by the ordinary train, but we did not feel the journey
at all tedious. In my compartment were a priest, who spoke a very
“leetle” English, but who could evidently read a great deal of Latin; a
shrewd Edinburgh news-agent—who, like most Scotchmen, took nothing for
granted, but saw and judged for himself; and his daughter, a young lady
on her way to “do” the Rhine, but who took no interest in pisciculture.
Then there was a lively English gentleman, who seemed to have an
intimate acquaintance with every fish in the Thames; he had netted
whitebait (and eaten them) off Blackwall, he had taken perch out of the
East India Dock, killed a monster pike near Teddington, and had caught
no end of gudgeon at various picturesque spots on the great river.

“Bah,” said my Scotch friend, joining in the conversation, “did you
ever kill a salmon, man? I hate gudgeon and such small fry; give me
the river Isla, about the ‘Brig o’ Riven,’ a good stout rod with no
end of tackle, and an angry seventeen-pound fish sulking behind a big
stone—then you may have sport; or favour me with good trolling-tackle
and a boat on deep Loch Awe, with the castle of Kilchurn glooming its
great shadow over us, and the eternal hills rising tall around, and I
will take out trout that will outweigh a hundred gudgeon; or give me
a trout-rod and a pleasant ramble along the picturesque Shochy, and
I will manage to fill my basket with fish worth taking home; but away
with your Thames gudgeon, they can only satisfy a Cockney linendraper.”

Verily my shrewd Scottish friend, with his reminiscences of monster
fish and his fervid manner, waxed eloquent; he even startled the
priest; and as for the Englishman he looked quite chapfallen. I had to
come to the rescue, and defended as well as I could Thames angling,
and reminded the enthusiastic Caledonian that they once had very fine
salmon in the Thames, and would some day, if all goes well, have them
again; and that gudgeon-fishing in the midst of such fine scenery was
at least a healthy and happy way of having a pleasant day’s “out,” even
if the sport was not quite so fierce as hunting for salmon in the river
Isla at the “Brig o’ Riven.”

The salmon of the Tay, it was also hinted to the news-agent, were not
so famous as those of the Severn. “But we have twenty for your one,”
was the quick reply, “and at the Stormontfield breeding-ponds we are
raising them by the hundred thousand. The rental of the Tay, sir, is
equal to what the whole revenue of the French fisheries was a year or
two ago.” “Very likely, sir,” I replied; “but then the Tay is what you
may call a Highland stream—good for fish, no doubt; and the Thames is
a splendid river in its own way, but no one pretends that it is a fish
river; it is the highway of the greatest commerce in the world, and——”
“Pooh, man,” said the Scotchman, “the Tay is as celebrated for commerce
as for fish. Have you ever been to Dundee?” And then, chuckling to
himself at his rather rich idea of comparing Dundee to London, my
friend sank back in his corner of the carriage and looked as if he
could have slain a thousand London gudgeon-fishers, and the twinkle in
his eye waxed brighter and brighter as he continued his chuckle.

As even the longest journey will come to an end, the train arrived in
due time at Mulhouse, or Mulhausen, as it is called in the German, and
it being late and dark, and our whole party being somewhat fatigued,
we allowed ourselves to be carried to the nearest hotel, a large,
uncomfortable, dirty-looking place, where apparently they seldom see
British gold, and make an immense charge for _bougies_. Had we had the
necessary time to spare, my little party would have been interested in
seeing Mulhouse, which is a manufacturing town of considerable size,
where many of the operatives are the owners of their own houses; but
being within scent of Switzerland, having the feeling that we were in
the shadow of its mountains, and almost within hearing of the noise
made by its many waters, we hurried on by the first train to Bale.
The distance is short, and the conveyance quick. Almost before we had
time to view the passing landscape, which is exceedingly beautiful,
being rich in vineyards and orchards, and rapidly turning Swiss in its
scenery, we were stopped at St. Louis by the custom-house authorities,
who, it is but proper to say, are exceedingly polite to all honest
travellers. I would advise any one in search of the _etablissement
de pisciculture_ at Huningue to leave the train at this station. Not
knowing its proximity at the time of my visit, I went right on to Bale.

Poets might go into raptures about Bale—Bale the beautiful—with the
flowing Rhine cutting it into two halves, its waters green as the
icefields which had given them birth, its houses quaint, its streets
so clean, its fountains so antique; but we had no time to go into
raptures—our business was to get to Huningue, and curiously enough we
had wandered into the fishmarket before we knew where we were. Like
various other fishmarkets which we have visited, it contained no fish
that we could see, but it is so picturesque that I determined to place
a view of it in this work. Hailing a _voiture_, our party had no end
of difficulty to get the coachman to understand where we wanted to
be driven. I said, “To Huningue;” he then suggested that it must be
“Euiniguen,” and my Scotch young lady friend, who was all in a glow
about the “beautiful Rhine,” as, of course, a young lady ought to be,
suggested that the pronunciation might be “Hiningue,” which proved
a shrewd guess, as immediately on hearing it we were addressed in
tolerable but very broken English by a quiet-looking coachman, who
said, “Come with me; I have study the English grammaire; I know where
you want to go, and will take you.” Although I could not help wondering
that a celebrated place, as we all thought Huningue ought to be, was
not better known, I felt pretty sure our coachman knew it; and having
persuaded my Scotch friend and his young lady to take a drive, we at
once started for the _etablissement de pisciculture_, where we were
all of us most hospitably received by the superintendent, who at once
conducted us over the whole place with great civility and attention.

[Illustration: THE FISHMARKET AT BALE.]

[Illustration: GROUND-PLAN OF THE PISCICULTURAL ESTABLISHMENT AT
HUNINGUE.
Showing the disposition of the buildings and the situation of the
experimental watercourses.]

[Illustration: VIEW OF HUNINGUE.]

The series of buildings which have been erected at Huningue are
admirably adapted to the purpose for which they have been designed.
The group forms a square, the entrance portion of which—two lodges—is
devoted to the _corps de garde_, and the centre has been laid out as
a kind of shrubbery, and is relieved with two little ponds containing
fish. The whole establishment, ponds and buildings, occupies a space
of eighty acres. The suite of buildings comprise at the side two great
hatching-galleries, 60 metres in length and 9 metres broad, containing
a plentiful supply of tanks and egg-boxes; and in the back part of the
square are the offices, library, laboratory, and residences of the
officers. Having minutely inspected the whole apparatus, I particularly
admired the aptitude by which the means to a certain end had been
carried out. The egg-boxes are raised in pyramids, the water flowing
from the one on the top into those immediately below. The eggs are
placed in rows on glass frames which fit into the boxes, as will be
seen by examining the drawings. The grand agent in the hatching of
fish-eggs being water, I was naturally enough rather particular in
making inquiry into the water supplies of Huningue, and these I found
were very ample: they are derived from three sources—the springs
on the private grounds of the establishment, the Rhine, and the
Augraben stream. The water of the higher springs is directed towards
the buildings through an underground conduit, whilst those rising
at a lower level are used only in small basins and trenches for the
experiments in rearing fish outside. Being uncovered, however, they
are easily frozen, and are besides frequently muddy and troubled. As
a general rule, fish are not bred at Huningue, the chief business
accomplished there being the collection and distribution of their eggs;
but there is a large supply of tanks or troughs for the purpose of
experimenting with such fish as may be kept in the place. The waters
of the Rhine, being at a higher level than the springs, can be at once
employed in the _appareils_ and basins. The waters of the Augraben
stream, which cross the grounds, are of very little use. Nearly dry
in summer, rapid and muddy after rain, they have only hitherto served
to supply some small exterior basins. Of course, different qualities
of water are quite necessary for the success of the experiments in
acclimatisation carried on so zealously at this establishment. Some
fish delight in a clear running stream, while others prefer to pass
their life in sluggish and fat waters. The engineering of the different
water-supplies, all of them at different levels, has been effectually
accomplished by M. Coumes, the engineer of this department of the
Rhine, who, in conjunction with Professor Coste, planned the buildings
at Huningue; indeed the machinery of all kinds is as nearly as possible
perfect.

[Illustration: HALL OF INCUBATION.]

[Illustration: BASINS FOR THE YOUNG FISH.]

[Illustration: GUTTERS FOR HATCHING PURPOSES.]

The course of business at Huningue is as follows:—The eggs are brought
chiefly from Switzerland and Germany, and embrace those of the various
kinds of trout, the Danube and Rhine salmon, and the tender ombre
chevalier. People are appointed to capture gravid fish of these
various kinds, and having done so to communicate with the authorities
at Huningue, who at once send an expert to deprive the fishes of
their spawn and bring it to the breeding or store boxes, where it is
carefully tended and daily watched till it is ready to be despatched
to some district in want of it. The mode of artificial spawning is
as follows, and I will suppose the subject operated upon to be a
salmon:—Well, first catch your fish; and here I may state that male
salmon are a great deal scarcer than female ones, but fortunately one
of the former will milt two or even three of the latter, so that the
scarcity is not so much felt as it might otherwise be. The fish, then,
having been caught, it should be seen, before operating, that the spawn
is perfectly matured, and that being the case, the salmon should be
held in a large tub, well buried in the water it contains, while the
hand is gently passed along its abdomen, when, if the ova be ripe,
the eggs will flow out like so many peas. The eggs must be carefully
roused or washed, and the water should then be poured off. The male
salmon may be then handled in a similar way, the contact of the milt
immediately changing the eggs into a brilliant pink colour. After being
again washed, the eggs may be ladled out into the breeding-boxes,
and safely left to come to maturity in due season. Very great care
is necessary in handling the ova. The eggs distributed from Huningue
are all carefully examined on their arrival, when the bad ones are
thrown out, and those that are good are counted and entered upon the
records of the establishment, which are carefully kept. The usual way
of ascertaining the quantity is by means of a little stamped measure,
which varies according to the particular fish-eggs to be counted. The
ova are watched with great care so long as they remain in the boxes
at Huningue, and any dust is removed by means of a fine camel-hair
brush, and from day to day all the eggs that become addled are removed.
The applications to the authorities at Huningue for eggs, both from
individuals and associations, are always a great deal more numerous
than can be supplied; and before second applications from the same
people can be entertained, it is necessary for them to give a detailed
account of how their former efforts succeeded. The eggs, when sent
away, are nicely packed in boxes among wet moss, and they suffer very
little injury if there be no delay in the transit.

[Illustration: ARTIFICIAL MODE OF SPAWNING.]

“How about the streams from which the eggs are brought?” I asked. “Does
this robbery of the spawn not injure them?”

“Oh, no; we find that it makes no difference whatever. The fish are
so enormously fecund that the eggs can be got in any quantity, and no
difference be felt in the parent waters;what we obtain here are a mere
percentage of the grand totals deposited by the fish.”

Of course, as the operations are pursued over a large district of two
countries, no immediate difference will be felt; but how if these
Huningue _explorateurs_ go on for years taking away tens of thousands
of eggs? Will that not ultimately prove a case of robbing Peter to pay
Paul? I know full well that all kinds of fish are enormously prolific,
and the reader would see from the figures given in a former section
that it is so; but suppose a river, with the breeding power of the Tay,
was annually robbed of a few million eggs, the result must some day
be a slight difference in the productive power of the water. I would
like to know with exactitude if, while the waters of France are being
replenished, the rivers in Switzerland and Germany are not beginning
to be in their turn impoverished? It surely stands to reason that if
the impoverishment of streams resulting from natural causes be aided
by the carrying away of the eggs by zealous _explorateurs_, they must
become in a short time almost totally barren of fish. The best plan,
in my opinion, is for each river to have its own breeding-ponds on the
plan of those of Stormontfield on the river Tay which I will by and by
describe.[1]

It would scarcely pay to breed the commoner fishes of the lakes and
rivers, as pike, carp, and perch; the commonest fish bred at Huningue
is the _fera_, whilst the most expensive is the beautiful ombre
chevalier, the eggs of which cost about a penny each before they are
in the water as fish. The general calculation, however, appertaining
to the operations carried on at Huningue gives twelve living fish for
a penny. The _fera_ is very prolific, yielding its eggs in thousands;
it is called the herring of the lakes; and the young, when first born,
are so small as scarcely to be perceptible. The superintendent at
Huningue told me that several of them had escaped by means of the canal
into the Rhine, where they had never before been found. I inquired
particularly as to the Danube salmon, but found that it was very
difficult to hatch, especially at first, great numbers of the eggs,
as many sometimes as 60 or 70 per cent, being destroyed; but now the
manipulators are getting better acquainted with the _modus operandi_,
and it is expected that by and by the assistants at Huningue will be
as successful with this fish as they are with all others. Even allowing
for a very considerable loss in the artificially-manipulated ova—and
it is thought that two-thirds at least of the eggs of this fish are in
some way lost—it is certain that the artificial system of protection
is immensely more productive in fish than the natural one, for it has
been said, in reference especially to the salmon of the river Tay, that
hardly one in a thousand of the eggs ever reaches to maturity as a
proper table-fish, such is the enormous destruction of eggs and young
fry; and the percentage of destruction in Catholic countries is greatly
larger, because during the fast-days enjoined by the church fish _must_
be obtained.

Up to the season of 1863-64 the total number of fresh-water fish-eggs
distributed from Huningue was far above 110,000,000, and nearly the
half of these were of the finer kinds of fish, there being no less than
41,000,000 of eggs of salmon and trout.

I have complied a tabular statement, which I insert at this place, of
the number of fish-eggs collected and distributed at Huningue for the
two years previous to my visit:—

1860-61.

┌──────────┬─────────────┬──────────┬───────────┬──────────┬─────────┐
│ │ │ │ │ Quantity │Retained │
│ Species │ Time of │ Ova │ │despatched│ for │
│ │ Operations. │provided. │ Loss. │ from the │ Experi- │
│ │ │ │ │Establish-│ ments at│
│ │ │ │ │ ment. │Huningue.│
├──────────┼─────────────┼──────────┼───────────┼──────────┼─────────┤
│ │ 1860-61. │ │ │ │ │
│Common │ │ │ │ │ │
│ trout}│ │ │ │ │ │
│Salmon }│ │ │ │ │ │
│ trout}│ │ │ │ │ │
│Great lake│{Oct. 20 }│ │{1,943,100}│ │ │
│ trout}│{to Mar. 17,}│ 5,729,100│{ 34 per }│ 3,153,500│ 632,500│
│Rhine }│{149 days. }│ │{ cent. }│ │ │
│ salmon}│ │ │ │ │ │
│Ombre }│ │ │ │ │ │
│chevalier}│ │ │ │ │ │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │
│ │{Nov. 14 }│ │ │ │ │
│Fera │{to Dec. 30,}│ 8,997,000│ 22,000 │ 5,573,000│3,402,000│
│ │{ 46 days. }│ │ │ │ │
├──────────┼─────────────┼──────────┼───────────┼──────────┼─────────┤
│ Total │ │14,726,100│ 1,965,100 │8,726,500 │4,034,500│
└──────────┴─────────────┴──────────┴───────────┴──────────┴─────────┘

_Destination of the Ova despatched from the Establishment._

278 demands for establishments in 70 departments of France, and 29
demands from establishments in Belgium, Switzerland, Bavaria, and
Wurtemberg.

1861-62.

┌──────────┬─────────────┬──────────┬───────────┬──────────┬─────────┐
│ │ │ │ │ Quantity │Retained │
│ Species │ Time of │ Ova │ │despatched│ for │
│ │ Operations. │provided. │ Loss. │ from the │ Experi- │
│ │ │ │ │Establish-│ ments at│
│ │ │ │ │ ment. │Huningue.│
├──────────┼─────────────┼──────────┼───────────┼──────────┼─────────┤
│ │ 1861-62. │ │ │ │ │
│Common │ │ │ │ │ │
│ trout}│ │ │ │ │ │
│Salmon }│ │ │ │ │ │
│ trout}│ │ │ │ │ │
│Great lake│ { Oct. 24 }│ │ │ │ │
│ trout}│ {to Mar. 7,}│ 6,382,900│ 2,602,400│ 3,360,000│ 420,500│
│Rhine }│ {135 days. }│ │ │ │ │
│ salmon}│ │ │ │ │ │
│Ombre }│ │ │ │ │ │
│chevalier}│ │ │ │ │ │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │
│ │{ Nov. 16 }│ │ │ │ │
│Fera │{to Dec. 25,}│11,995,000│ 12,000 │ 9,519,000│2,464,000│
│ │{ 39 days. }│ │ │ │ │
├──────────┼─────────────┼──────────┼───────────┼──────────┼─────────┤
│ Total │ │18,377,900│ 2,614,400 │12,879,000│2,884,500│
└──────────┴─────────────┴──────────┴───────────┴──────────┴─────────┘
296 demands for establishments in 76 departments of France, and 39
demands from other parts of Europe.

So far as I could ascertain, the right of fishing in France is claimed
by the Government in all navigable rivers and canals, but private
persons can purchase the power to fish; and the rent payable by those
using nets varies from £1 to £4 per annum. In common streams that are
not navigable, and in lakes, the fishery belongs to the proprietors
of the surrounding land, and no person can fish in these without
permission. As to the larger river fisheries, they are so mapped out
as to prevent all possibility of dispute, no fisherman being permitted
to work his nets on a portion of water which does not belong to him.
Fishing of some kind goes on all the year round.

The following figures will indicate the money rental and the value of
the produce of the whole of the French fisheries:—

4719 miles navigable rivers £23,025
3105 miles of canals 5,845
310 miles of estuaries of rivers 46,140
930 miles of rivers and canals belonging to individual
proprietors 2,700
114,889 miles of rivers and streams not navigable.
493,750 acres of lakes and ponds.

The money value of the fish caught in these waters may be stated as
follows:—

From State Returns for rivers and canals £28,880
The estuaries yield £46,140, of which the fresh
waters supply one-half, giving 23,080
Rivers and canals belonging to private individuals 2,680
114,889 miles of watercourses 148,000
493,750 acres of lakes and ponds 400,000
————————
Total £602,640

If the profits of the cultivators and expenses of the fishery be added
to the produce, we have—

Canals and watercourses £400,000
Lakes and ponds 400,000
————————
Total production of profits and produce £800,000

[Illustration: PISCICULTURAL ESTABLISHMENT AT BUISSE.]

The piscicultural establishment of M. de Galbert, one of the most
important of the kind which exists in France, is worthy of notice. It
is situated at Buisse in the canton of Voiron in Isere, a department on
the south-east frontier of France. The works, of which the accompanying
engraving is a plan, comprise four ponds for the reception of the fish
in various stages of growth. The first (1 in the plan) is about 100
metres long by 3 m. 50 in breadth, with a mean depth of 1 metre. It
is almost divided into two parts, a sheet of water and a stream, by a
peninsula, and the division is completed by a grating which prevents
the mixing of the fish contained in each part, and also arrests the
ascent or descent of the fry. The sheet of water is supplied from
sources of an elevated temperature which diverge into the stream, and
thence into pond No. 2 at N. This basin (2) is 150 metres long, with
a mean breadth of 8 metres, and a depth varying from 1 to 2 metres.
Besides the waters from the first pond, this basin is supplied from
the springs, and from the mill-stream which rises from a rock situated
at a distance of 200 metres. This pond contains fish of the second
year. A sluice or water-gate (J), placed in the deepest part of the
pond, affords the means of turning the water and the fish contained
therein into the pond No. 3. Courses of rough stones and weeds line the
banks of the pond, and form places of shelter for the fish, besides
encouraging the growth of such shell-fish as shrimps, lobsters, etc.
The third pond (3) has a surface of about 5000 yards, with a depth
equal to that of the second pond. An underground canal (G) runs along
the eastern side, and at distances of 2 metres trenches lined with
stones loosely thrown together join the canal to the basin, and allow
the fish to circulate through these subterranean passages, where every
stone becomes a means of shelter and concealment. The adult trout can
conceal themselves in the submerged holes and crevices of the islands
(F) of which there are three in the pond. The narrowest part of the
basin is crossed by a viaduct of 8 metres (N), to the arch of which
is fitted an iron grating with rods in grooves to receive either a
sluice or a snare. The sluice, formed of fine wire, keeps out the
fish that would destroy the spawn at the time of fecundation. The
spawn is covered with a layer of fine round gravel, to the thickness
of 0 m. 30, which the trout can easily raise as fast as it bursts the
egg. The snare or netting encloses the fish destined for artificial
breeding without hurting them, and also secures the fish that are to
be consumed, and those which it is necessary to destroy because of
their voracity, as the pike. A floodgate placed at the lower end of
the pond permits the pond to be emptied when necessary, and an iron
grating prevents the escape of the fish. All the ponds are protected by
a double line of galvanised iron wire placed on posts armed with hooks,
and yet low enough to allow a boat to pass. The water of the ponds
finally passes into the Isere, where a permanent snare allows strange
fish to penetrate into the ponds. At spawning time a great many trout
deposit their spawn there. The small pond (4) fed by the mill-stream
is a sort of reservoir for large fish destined for sale or domestic
use. Throughout the year the fish caught in the nets of the third
pond are placed in this basin, so when the spawning season arrives it
is a vast nursery for the purpose of reproduction. In the house (O)
built near the bridge (N) of the third pond lodge the guard and the
hatching-apparatus. The _appareils_ are similar to those employed at
the Collége de France and are supplied from a spring. One particular
appareil, placed in a source of which the temperature never varies,
is slightly different from the other models: it is simply zinc boxes
pierced with very fine holes. This apparatus, which has been in use for
three years, has given great satisfaction. It may be added that the
establishment at Buisse can supply 40,000 or 50,000 young trout in the
year at five centimes each, a result which is mainly due to the care
and solicitude with which M. de Galbert has conducted his operations.

What strikes us most in connection with the history of French
fish-culture is the essentially practical nature of all the experiments
which have been entered upon. There has been no toying in France with
this revived art of fish-breeding. The moment it was ascertained that
Remy’s discoveries in artificial spawning were capable of being carried
out on the largest possible scale, that scale was at once resolved
upon, and the government of the country became responsible for its
success, which was immediate and substantial. The discoverer of the art
was handsomely rewarded; and the great building at Huningue, used as
a place for the reception and distribution of fish-eggs, testifies to
the anxiety of France to make pisciculture one of the most practical
industries of the present day. Unceasing efforts are still being made
by the government to extend the art, so that every acre of water in
that country may be as industriously turned to profit as the acres of
land are. Why should not an acre of water become as productive as an
acre of land? We have an immensity of water space that is comparatively
useless. The area occupied by the water of our lakes and rivers may
be estimated from the Thames, which occupies a space of five thousand
square miles. The French people are now beginning thoroughly to
appreciate the value of their lakes and rivers. Think of the fish-ponds
of Doombes being of the extent of thirty thousand acres! No wonder that
in France pisciculture has become a government question, and been taken
under the protecting wing of the state.

The different kinds of water in France are carefully considered, and
only fish suitable for them placed therein. In marshy places eels
alone are deposited, whilst in bright and rapid waters trout and
other suitable fish are now to be found in great plenty. Attention is
at present being turned to sea-fish, and the latest “idea” that has
been promulgated in connection with the cultivation of sea-animals
is turtle-culture. The artificial multiplication of turtle, on the
plan of securing the eggs and protecting the young till they are able
to be left to their own guidance, is advocated by M. Salles, who is
connected with the French navy, and who seems to have a considerable
knowledge of the nature and habits of the turtle. To some extent
turtle-culture is already carried on in the island of Ascension—so
far at least as the protection of the eggs and watching over the
young is concerned. M. Salles proposes, however, to do more than is
yet done at Ascension; he thinks that, to arrive quickly at a useful
result, it would be best to obtain a certain number of these animals
from places where they are still abundant, and transport them to such
parks or receptacles as might be established on the coasts of France
and Corsica, where, at one time, turtles were plentiful. Animals about
to lay would be the best to secure for the proposed experiments; and
these might be captured when seeking the sandy shores for the purpose
of depositing their eggs. Male turtles might at the same time be taken
about the islets which they frequent. A vessel of sufficient dimensions
should be in readiness to bring away the precious freight; and the
captured animals, on arriving at their destination, should be deposited
in a park chosen under the following considerations:—The formation
of the sides to be an inclosure by means of an artificial barrier of
moderate height, formed of stones, and perpendicular within, so as
to prevent the escape of the animals, but so constructed as to admit
the sea, and, at the same time, allow of a large sandy background for
the deposition of the eggs, which are about the size of those laid by
geese. As the turtles are herbivorous, the bottom of the park should be
covered with sea-weeds and marine plants of all kinds, similar to those
the animal is accustomed to at home. A fine southern exposure ought to
be chosen for the site of the park, in order to obtain as much of the
sunshine as possible, heat being the one grand element in the hatching
of the eggs. Turtles are very fond of sunshine, and float lazily about
in the tropical water, seldom coming to the shore except to lay. This
they do in the night-time: crawling cautiously ashore, and scraping a
large hole in a part of the sand which is never reached by the tide,
they deposit their eggs, and carefully cover them with the sand,
leaving the sun to effect the work of quickening them into life.

It may be as well to state here that the French people eat all kinds of
fish, whether they be from the sea, the river, the lake, or the canal.
In Scotland and Ireland the salmon only is bred artificially as yet,
and chiefly because it is a valuable and money-yielding animal, and no
other fresh-water fish is regarded there as being of value except for
sport. In France large quantities of eels are bred and eaten; but in
Scotland, and in some parts of England, the people have such a horror
of that fish that they will not touch it. This of course is due to
prejudice, as the eel is good for food in a very high degree. In all
Roman Catholic countries there are so many fast-days that fish-food
becomes to the people an essential article of diet; in France this
is so, and the consequence is that a good many private amateurs in
pisciculture are to be found throughout the empire; but the mission of
the French Government in connection with fish-culture is apparently to
meddle only with the rearing and acclimatising of the more valuable
fishes. It would be a waste of energy for the authorities at Huningue
to commence the culture of the carp or perch. In our Protestant country
there is no demand for the commoner river or lake fishes except for
the purposes of sport; and with one or two exceptions, such as the
Lochleven trout, the charr, etc., there is no commerce carried on in
these fishes. One has but to visit the fishmarket at Paris to observe
that all kinds of fresh-water fish and river crustacea are there ranked
as saleable, and largely purchased. The mode of keeping these animals
fresh is worthy of being followed here. They are kept alive till wanted
in large basins and troughs, where they may at all times be seen
swimming about in a very lively state.

As soon as the piscicultural system became known, it was rapidly
extended over the whole continent of Europe, and the rivers of Germany
were among the first to participate in the advantages of the artificial
system. In particular may be noticed the efforts made to increase the
supplies of the Danube salmon, a beautiful and excellent food-fish,
with a body similar to the trout, but still more shapely and graceful,
and which, if allowed time, is said to grow to an enormous size. The
young salmon of the Danube are always of a darker colour than those a
little older, but they become lighter in colour as they progress in
years. The mouth of this fish is furnished with very strong teeth; its
back is of a reddish grey, its sides and belly perfectly white; the
fins are bluish white; the back and the upper part of both sides are
slightly and irregularly speckled with black and roundish red spots.
This fish is also very prolific. Professor Wimmer of Landshut, the
authorities at Huningue mentioned, had frequently obtained as many as
40,000 eggs from a female specimen which weighed only eighteen pounds.
Our own _Salmo salar_ is not so fecund, it being well understood that a
thousand eggs per pound weight is about the average spawning power of
the British salmon. The ova of the Danube salmon are hatched in half
the time that our salmon eggs require for incubation—viz. in fifty-six
days—while the young fry attain the weight of one pound in the first
year; and by the third year, if well supplied with the requisite
quantity of food, they will have attained a weight of four pounds.
The divisions of growth, as compared with _Salmo salar_, are pretty
nearly as follows:—That fish, curiously enough, may at the end of two
years be eight pounds in weight, or it may not be half that number of
ounces. One batch of a salmon hatching go to the sea at the end of the
first year, and rapidly return as grilse, handsome four-pound fish,
whilst the other moiety remain in the fresh water till the expiry of
the second year from the time of birth, so that _they_ require about
thirty months to become four-pound fish, by which time the first moiety
are salmon of eight or ten pounds! These are ascertained facts. This
is rapid work as compared with the Danube fish, which, after the first
year, grows only at about the rate of eighteen ounces per annum. But
even at that rate, fish-cultivation must pay well. Suppose that by the
protected or piscicultural system a full third (_i.e._ 13,500) of the
40,000 eggs arrive in twelve months at the stage of pound fish, and
are sold at the rate of threepence per pound weight, a revenue of £162
would thus result in one year’s time from a single pair of breeding
salmon! Two pairs would, of course, double the amount, and so on.

A series of well-conducted operations in fish-culture has been carried
on for about twelve years on the river Tay about five miles from Perth;
and as these have attracted a great amount of attention, they merit a
somewhat lengthened description. The breeding-ponds at Stormontfield
are beautifully situated on a sloping haugh on the banks of the Tay,
and are sheltered at the back by a plantation of trees. The ground
has been laid out to the best advantage, and the whole of the ponds,
water-runs, etc., have been planned and constructed by Mr. Peter Burn,
C.E., and they have answered the purpose for which they were designed
admirably. The supply of water is obtained from a rapid mill-stream,
which runs in a line with the river Tay, as is shown by a small plan
on the next page. The necessary quantity of water is first run from
this stream into a reservoir, from which it is filtered through pipes
into a little watercourse at the head of the range of boxes from whence
it is laid on. These boxes are fixed on a gentle declivity, half-way
between the mill-race and the Tay, and by means of the slope the water
falls beautifully from one to another of the three hundred “procreant
cradles” in a gradual but constant stream, and collects at the bottom
of the range of boxes in a kind of dam, and thence runs into a small
lake or depôt where the young fish are kept. Until lately only one
such pond was to be found at Stormontfield, but another pond for the
smolts has now been added in order to complete the suite. A sluice
made of fine wire-grating admits of the superfluous water being run
off into the Tay, so that an equable supply is invariably kept up. It
also serves for an outlet to the fish when it is deemed expedient to
send them out to try their fortune in the greater deep near at hand,
and for which their pond experience has been a mode of preparation.
The planning of the boxes, ponds, sluices, etc., has been accomplished
with great ingenuity; and one can only regret that the whole apparatus
is not three times the size, so that the Tay proprietors might
breed annually a million of salmon, which would add largely to the
productiveness of that river, and of course aid in increasing the
rental.

[Illustration: ORIGINAL BREEDING-POND AT STORMONTFIELD.
A. Mill-race.
B. Filtering-pond.
C. Hatching-boxes.
D. Rearing-pond.
E. Upper canal.
F. Lower canal.
G. Connecting stream of C and D.
H. By-run to river.
K. Pipe from mill-race to pond.
L. Pipe to empty pond.
M. Pipe from mill-race to filtering-pond.
_n n_. Discharge-pipes from do.
O. Do. do. to lower canal.
P. Sluices from pond.
R. Marking-box.
S. Keeper’s house.
T V. Sluices from lower canal.
]

For the purpose of showing the level of the pond at Stormontfield I beg
to introduce what the French people call “a profile.”

[Illustration: PROFILE OF STORMONTFIELD SALMON-BREEDING PONDS.
A. Source of water-supply.
B. Pond from which to filter water on boxes.
C. Egg-boxes.
D. Pond for young fish.
E. River Tay.
]

The salmon-breeding operations at Stormontfield originated at a
meeting of the proprietors of the river Tay held in July 1852,
when a communication by Dr. Eisdale was read on the subject of
artificial propagation; and Mr. Thomas Ashworth of Poynton detailed
the experiments which had been conducted at his Irish fisheries.
This gentleman, who takes a great and practical interest in all
matters relating to fisheries and the breeding of fish—and to whom I
am greatly indebted for practical information—said that he had long
entertained the opinion that it would be quite as easy to propagate
salmon artificially in our rivers as it is to raise silkworms on
mulberry leaves, though the former were under water and the latter in
the open air; “indeed it has become an established fact,” said Mr.
Ashworth, “that salmon and other fish may be propagated artificially
in ponds in numbers amounting to millions, at a small cost, and thus
be protected from their natural enemies for the first year or two of
their existence, after which they will be much more able, comparatively
speaking, to take care of themselves, than can be the case in the
earlier stages of their existence.” Mr. Ashworth estimates the expense
of artificial propagation as about one pound for each thousand fish, or
one farthing per salmon. On the suggestion of Mr. Ashworth, a practical
pisciculturist was engaged to inaugurate the breeding operations at
Stormontfield, and to teach a local fisherman the art of artificial
spawning. The operation of preparing the spawn for the boxes was
commenced on the 23d of November 1853, and in the course of a month
300,000 ova were deposited in the 300 boxes, which had been carefully
filled with prepared gravel, and made all ready for their reception.
Mr. Ramsbottom, who conducted the manipulation, says the river Tay is
one of the finest breeding streams in the world, and thinks that it
would be presumptuous to limit the numbers of salmon that might be bred
in it were the river cultivated to the full extent of its capabilities.

The date when the first of the eggs deposited was observed to be
hatched was on the 31st of March, a period of more than four months
after the stocking of the boxes; and during April and May most of
the eggs had started into life, and the fry were observed waddling
about the breeding-boxes, and were in June promoted to a place in the
reception-pond, being then tiny fish a little more than an inch long.
Sir William Jardine, who has taken a warm interest in the Stormontfield
operations, thought that the first year’s experiments were remarkably
successful in showing the practicability of hatching, rearing,
and maintaining in health, a very large number of young fish, at a
comparatively trifling cost. The artificial breeding of salmon is still
carried on at these ponds, and with very great success, when their
limited extent is taken into account. They have sensibly increased the
stock of fish in the Tay, and also, as I will by and by relate, under
the separate head of “The Salmon,” contributed greatly to the solution
of the various mysteries connected with the growth of that fish. The
fish, it is remarkable, suffer no deterioration of any kind by being
bred in the ponds, and can compare in every respect with those bred in
the river.

[Illustration: DESIGN FOR A SERIES OF SALMON-BREEDING PONDS.
Source of supply at top.
Breeding-boxes next.
Parr-pond after.
Smolt-pond to the right.
Adult salmon pond to the left.
River at foot of plan.
Ornamental walks.
Clumps of trees, etc., according to taste.
]

The plan of the ponds at Stormontfield, as originally constructed,
will be a better guide to persons desiring information than any written
description. The engraving, with the double pond, shows a design of my
own, founded on the Stormontfield suite it contains a separate pond
for the detention, for a time, of such large fish as may be taken with
their spawn not fully matured. Cottages for the superintendent of the
ponds and his assistants are also shown in the plan.

The ponds at Stormontfield were originally designed with a view to
breed 300,000 fish per annum, but after a trial of two years it was
found, from a speciality in the natural history of the salmon elsewhere
alluded to, that only half that number of fish could be bred in each
year. Hence the necessity for the recently-constructed smolt-pond,
which will now admit of a hatching at Stormontfield of at least 350,000
eggs every year. An additional reason for the construction of the new
pond was the fact of the old one being too small in proportion to the
breeding-boxes. Its dimensions were 223 feet by 112 feet at its longest
and broadest parts. The new pond is nearly an acre in extent, and is
well adapted for the reception of the young fish.

The egg-boxes at Stormontfield, unlike those at Huningue, are in the
open air, and in consequence the eggs are exposed to the natural
temperature, and take, on an average of the seasons, about 120 days
to ripen into fish. For instance, the eggs laid down in November 1863
had not come to life at the time of my visit to the ponds in the
second week of March 1864. The young fish, as soon as they are able to
eat—which is not for a good few days, as the umbilical bag supplies all
the food that is required for a time by the newly-hatched animal—are
fed with particles of boiled liver. On the occasion of my last visit
(December 22, 1864), Mr. Marshall threw a few crumbs into the pond,
which caused an immediate rising of the fry at that spot in great
numbers. It would, of course, have been a simple plan to turn each
year’s fish out of the ponds into the river as they were hatched, but
it was thought advisable rather to detain them till they were seized
with the migratory instinct and assumed the scales of smolthood, which
occurs, as already stated in other parts of this work, at the age of
one and two years respectively. Indeed, the experiments conducted at
the Stormontfield ponds have conclusively settled the long-fought
battle of the parr, and proved indisputably that the parr is the young
of the salmon, that it becomes transformed to a smolt, grows into a
grilse, and ultimately attains the honour of full-grown salmonhood.

The anomaly in the growth of the parr was also attempted to be solved
at Stormontfield, but without success. In November and December
1857 provision was made for hatching in separate compartments the
artificially-impregnated ova of—1, parr and salmon; 2, grilse and
salmon; 3, grilse pure; 4, salmon pure. It was found, when the young of
these different matches came to be examined early in April 1859, that
the sizes of each kind varied a little, Mr. Buist, the superintendent
of fisheries, informing us that—“1st, the produce of the salmon with
salmon are 4 in. in length; 2d, grilse with salmon, 3½ in.; 3d,
grilse with grilse, 3½ in.; 4th, parr with grilse, 3 in.; 5th, smolt
from large pond, 5 in.” These results of a varied manipulation never
got a fair chance of being of use as a proof in the disputation; for,
owing to the limited extent of the ponds at the time, the experiments
had to be matured in such small boxes or ponds as evidently tended to
stunt the growth of the fish. Up to the present time the riddle which
has so long puzzled our naturalists in connection with the growth of
the salmon has not been solved. A visitor whom I met at the ponds was
of opinion that a sufficient quantity of milt was not used in the
fructification of the eggs, as the male fish were scarcer than the
female ones, and that those eggs which first came into contact with the
milt produced the stronger fish.

“Peter of the Pools” (Mr. Buist) says that what strikes a stranger who
visits the ponds most is the great disparity in the size of fish of the
same age, the difference of which can only be that of a few weeks, as
all were hatched by the month of May. That there are strong and weak
fry from the moment that they burst the covering admits not of a doubt,
and that the early fish may very speedily be singled out from among
the late ones is also quite certain. In the course of a few weeks the
smolts that are to leave at the end of the first year can be noted. The
keeper’s opinion is that at feeding-time the weak are kept back by the
strong, and therefore are not likely to thrive so fast as those that
get a larger portion of the food; he lays great stress on feeding, and
his opinion on that subject is entitled to consideration.

At the time of the visit alluded to one of the ponds (the original one)
was swarming with young salmon hatched out in March and April 1864, the
eggs having been placed in the boxes in November and December 1863.
Half of these would depart from the ponds as smolts during May 1865;
the other half, I suppose, would be transferred to the new pond, as
there is direct communication with both of the ponds from the canal at
the foot of the suite of breeding-boxes, which have been lately renewed
and improved. The requirements of spawning only once in two seasons
have not been strictly observed of late years, so that eggs were laid
down in both the years 1862 and 1863. In the former of those years the
ova laid down were 250,000, and in 1863 about 80,000; indeed, no more
could be obtained, in consequence of the river being in an unfavourable
state for capturing the gravid fish.

The guiding of the smolts from the ponds to the river is easily managed
through the provision made at Stormontfield for that purpose, and
which consists of a runlet lined with wood, protected at the pond by
a perforated zinc sluice, and terminating near the river in a kind of
reception-chamber, about four feet square, which, is likewise provided
with a zinc sluice (also perforated), to keep the fish from getting
away till the arranged time, thus affording proper facilities for the
marking and examination of departing broods. [See plan.] The sluice
being lifted, the current of water is sufficiently strong to carry
the fish down a gentle slope to the Tay, into which they proceed in
considerable quantities, day by day, till all have departed; the parrs,
strange to say, evincing no desire to remove, although, of course,
being in the same breeding-ponds, they have a good opportunity of
reaching the river.

It was a great drawback in former years at Stormontfield, during the
hatching seasons, that many fish were caught with their eggs not
sufficiently matured, and which could not be used in consequence. To
remedy this, a plan has been adopted of keeping all the salmon that
are caught, if they be so nearly ripe for spawning as to warrant
their detention. These are confined in the mill-race till they become
thoroughly ready for the manipulator, and are kept within bounds by
strong iron gratings, placed about 100 yards from each other. These
gravid fish are taken out as they are required, or rather as they
ripen, by means of a small sweep-net, and it is noteworthy that the
animals, after being once or twice fished for, become very cunning, and
hide themselves in such bottom holes as they can discover, in order
that the net may pass over them. I have no doubt that the Stormontfield
mill-race forms an excellent temporary feeding-place for these fish, as
its banks are well overhung with vegetation, and its waters are clear
as crystal, and of good flavour. It is a decided convenience to be able
thus to store the egg-and-milt-producing fish till they are wanted,
and will render the annual filling of the breeding-boxes a certainty,
which, even under the old two-year system, was not so, in consequence
of floods on the river Tay, and from many other causes besides.

The latest has been the best spawning season experienced since the
commencement of the Stormontfield artificial spawning operations. On
the 22d of December (1865) I found that Peter Marshall, the resident
pisciculturist, had up to that date deposited in the breeding-boxes
more than 300,000 salmon eggs, and that he still had three adult fish
to spawn, from which he calculated upon obtaining something like 50,000
additional eggs, and he told me that that number would complete the
total quantity required that season—viz. 350,000; indeed, the boxes
cannot conveniently hold many more, although another row has been
constructed.

Upwards of a million of pond-bred fish have now been thrown into
the river Tay, and the result has been a satisfactory rise in the
salmon-rental of that magnificent stream.

I have compiled the following summary of what has been achieved in
salmon-breeding at the Stormontfield ponds:—

On the 23d November 1853 the stocking of the boxes commenced, and
before a month had expired 300,000 ova were deposited, being at the
rate of 1000 to each box, of which at that time there were 300. These
ova were hatched in April 1854, and the fry were kept in the ponds
till May 1855, when the sluice was opened, and one moiety of the fish
departed for the river and the sea. About 1300 of these were marked by
cutting off the dead or second dorsal fin. The smolts marked were about
one in every hundred, so that about 130,000 must have departed, leaving
more than that number in the pond. The second spawning, in 1854, was
a failure, only a few thousand fish being produced. This result arose
from the imperfect manipulation of the fish by those intrusted with the
spawning. The third spawning took place between the 22d November and
the 16th December 1855, and during that time 183,000 ova were deposited
in the boxes. These ova came to life in April 1856. The second
migration of the fry spawned in 1853 took place between the 20th April
and 24th May 1856. Of the smolts that then left the ponds, 300 were
marked with rings, and 800 with cuts in the tail. Many grilses having
the mark on the tail were re-taken, but none of those marked with the
ring. The smolts from the hatching of 1856 left the pond in April
1857. About 270 were marked with silver rings inserted into the fleshy
part of the tail; about 1700 with a small hole in the gill-cover; and
about 600 with the dead fin cut off in addition to the mark in the
gill-cover. Several grilses with the mark on the gill and tail were
caught and reported, but no fish marked with the ring. The fourth
spawning took place between the 12th November and the 2d December 1857,
when 150,000 ova were deposited in the boxes. These came to life in
March 1858. Of the smolts produced from the previous hatching, which
left the pond in 1858, 25 were marked with a silver ring behind the
dead fin, and 50 with gilt copper wire. Very few of this exodus were
reported as being caught. The smolts produced from the hatching of 1858
left the pond in April 1859, and 506 of them were marked. The fifth
spawning, from 15th November to 13th December 1859, produced 250,000
ova, which were hatched in April 1860. Of the smolts that left in 1860,
670 were marked, and a good many of them were reported as having been
caught on their return from the sea. The smolts of the hatching of 1860
left the pond in May 1861, but none of them were marked.[2] The number
of eggs deposited in the breeding-boxes in the spawning season of 1862
(November and December) was about 250,000; and in 1863 not more than
80,000 ova could be obtained, in consequence of the unfavourable state
of the river for capturing gravid salmon. Peter Marshall has proved a
most able pisciculturist. The loss of eggs under his management forms
an almost infinitesimal proportion of the total quantities hatched at
Stormontfield.

Mr. Buist has favoured me with the following notes, which were compiled
from his day-books at an early stage of the Stormontfield experiments:—

“1. Of the marked fish which were liberated from the pond at
Stormontfield, four out of every hundred were recaptured, either as
grilse or salmon.

“2. We find that more than 300,000 fish were reared in the pond, and
allowed to go into the Tay. Thus forty fish out of every thousand were
recaptured; and as 300,000 were in all liberated, it follows that
12,000 of the salmon taken in the Tay were pond-bred fish. But as the
fish did not all go away in one year, this 12,000 must be distributed
over two years.

“3. We find the average number of salmon and grilse taken in each year
is 70,000. It follows, then, if there be any truth in figures, that
nearly one-tenth of the fish taken in the Tay for the last two years
were artificially bred. This is equivalent to a rise of 10 per cent in
the rental of the fishings; and such we find is the result.

“It may be urged that if the salmon from which the ova were taken had
been left at liberty, the result would have been the same; but this
we know could not have been the case, for, according to a careful
calculation made by Mr. Thomas Tod Stoddart and others, each pair of
salmon, although they produce upon an average 30,000 eggs, do not rear
above five fish. Three female fish, if every egg they deposit was to
produce a salmon, would produce all the fish in the Tay. When left in
their natural state, 30,000 ova produce four or five fish fit for the
table; whereas the same number of ova, when carefully protected in the
breeding-ponds, produce about 800. This is supposing that one-third of
the ova deposited in the boxes perishes—does not hatch, and comes to
nothing. Therefore the increase in the number of salmon taken within
the last year is accounted for. Had there been any increase in the
number of fish in the other rivers of Scotland, doubts might arise; but
there has been no such increase, last year being a bad one for every
river in Scotland with the exception of the Tay.”

In addition to the group of salmon-breeding ponds at Stormontfield,
a very successful suite of breeding-boxes has been laid down on the
river Dee, in the Stewartry of Kirkcudbright, by Messrs. Martin and
Gillone, the lessees of the river Dee salmon-fisheries. Mr. Gillone,
who is an adept in the art of fish-culture, was one of the earliest
to experiment on the salmon, and so long ago as 1830 had arrived at
the conclusion that parr were young salmon, and that that tiny animal
changed at a given period into a smolt, and in time became a valuable
table-fish. These early experiments of Mr. Gillone’s were not in any
sense commercial; they were conducted solely with a view to solve what
was then a curious problem in salmon-growth. In later years Mr. Gillone
and his partner have entered upon salmon-breeding as an adjunct of
their fisheries on the river Dee, for which, as tacksmen, they pay a
rental of upwards of £1200 per annum. The breeding-boxes of Messrs.
Martin and Gillone have been fitted up on a very picturesque part
of the river at Tongueland, and the number of eggs last brought to
maturity is considerably over 100,000. The present series of hatchings
for commercial purposes was begun in 1862-63 with 25,000 eggs, followed
in the succeeding year by a laying down of nearly double that number.
The hatchings of these seasons were very unsuccessful, the loss from
many causes being very great, for the manipulation of fish eggs during
the time of their artificial extraction and impregnation requires
great care—a little maladroitness being sufficient to spoil thousands.

The last hatching (spring 1865) has been most successfully dealt with.
Messrs. Martin and Gillone’s breeding-boxes are all under cover, being
placed in a large lumber-store connected with a biscuit manufactory.
This chamber is seventy feet long, and there is a double row of boxes
extending the whole length of the place. These receptacles for the
eggs are made of wood; they are three feet long, one foot wide, and
four inches deep, and into the whole series a range of frames has
been fitted containing glass troughs on which to lay the eggs. The
edges of the glass are ground off, and they are fitted angularly
_across the current_ in the shape of a V. The eggs are laid down on,
or rather sown into, these troughs, from a store bottle, on to which
is fitted a tapering funnel. The flow of water, which is derived from
the river, and is filtered to prevent the admission of any impurity,
is very gentle, being at the rate of about fifteen feet per minute,
and is kept perfectly regular. The boxes are all fitted with lids,
in order to prevent the eggs from being devoured, as is often done,
by rats and other vermin, and also to assimilate the conditions of
artificial hatching as much as possible to those of the natural
breeding-beds—where, of course, the eggs are covered up with gravel and
are hatched in comparative darkness.

It may be of some use, particularly to those who are interested in
pisciculture, to note a few details connected with the capturing of the
gravid fish and the plan of exuding the ova practised at Tongueland.
The river Dee is tolerably well stocked with fish, as may be surmised
from the rent I have named as being paid for the right of fishing. Mr.
Gillone adopts the plan, now also in use at Stormontfield, of capturing
his fish in good time—in fact, as a general rule, before the eggs are
ripe—and of confining them in his mill-race till they are thoroughly
ready for manipulation. Last season—_i.e._ in November and December
1864, and January 1865—as many as thirty-six female fish were taken for
their roe, the number of milters being twenty-five, the total weight of
the lot being 454 lbs., or, on the average, six and a half pounds each
fish. According to rule, the weight of the female fish taken having
been 283 lbs., these ought to have yielded 283,000 eggs, but as several
of the fish were about ripe at the time they were caught, they spawned
naturally in the mill-race, where the eggs in due time came to life.
The plan of spawning pursued at Tongueland is as follows:—Whenever the
fish are supposed to be ripe for that process, the water is shut out
of the dam, and the animal is first placed in a box filled with water
in order to its examination; if ready to be operated upon, it is then
transferred to a trough filled with water about three feet and a half
long, seven inches in breadth, and of corresponding depth, and the
roe or milt is pressed out of the fish just in the position in which
it swims. As soon as the eggs are secured, a portion of the water is
poured out of the wooden vessel, and the male fish is then similarly
treated. The milt and roe are mixed by hand stirring, and the eggs then
being washed are distributed into the boxes.

Mr. Gillone carries on all his operations with the greatest possible
precision. He has a large clear glass bottle marked off in divisions,
each of which contains 800 eggs, and he numbers the divisions allotted
to each particular fish, which are sown into a similarly numbered
division in his box, so that by referring to his index-book he can
trace out any peculiarity in the eggs, etc.

Although pisciculture has been shown by means of what has been achieved
on the Continent and at Stormontfield to be eminently practical, yet
nothing beyond a few toy experiments, so to speak, have been made in
England; indeed, we have had a great deal of “toying” with the subject;
but all honour to Messrs. Buckland and Francis—they are evidently
doing their best to create public opinion on the subject. Lectures
have been delivered on fish-culture, and letters have been thickly sent
to the daily papers, advocating the extension of the art; but no great
movement has been made beyond stocking the upper waters of the Thames
with a few thousand trout and some fancy fish. Salmon also have been
hatched; but can they reach the sea in the present state of the river?

[Illustration: PISCICULTURAL APPARATUS.]

In order that gentlemen who have a bit of running water on their
property may try the experiment of artificial hatching, I give a
drawing of an apparatus invented by M. Coste suitable for hatching out
a few thousand eggs—it could be set up in a garden or be placed in any
convenient outhouse. I may state that I am able to hatch salmon eggs
in the saucer of a flower-pot; it is placed on a shelf over a fixed
wash-hand basin, and a small flow of water regulated by a stopcock
falls into it. The vessel is filled with small stones and bits of
broken china, and answers admirably. Out of a batch of about two
hundred eggs brought from Stormontfield, only fifteen were found to
have turned opaque in the first five weeks. Eggs hatched in this homely
way are very serviceable, as one can examine them day by day and note
how they progress, and in due time observe the development of the fish
for a few days. The young animals can only be kept in the saucer about
ten or twelve days, and should then be placed in a larger vessel or be
thrown into a river.

As regards England, I should like to see one of the great rivers of
that country turned into a gigantic salmon “manufactory.” Ponds might
be readily constructed on one or two places of the Severn, or on some
of the other suitable salmon streams of England or Wales, capable of
turning out a million fish per annum, and at a comparatively trifling
cost. The formation of the ponds would be the chief expense; a couple
of men could watch and feed the fry with the greatest ease. The size
adopted might be three times that of the ponds on the river Tay, and
the original cost of these was less than £500. I would humbly submit
that the ponds should be constructed after the manner of the plan I
have elsewhere given. Except by the protecting of the spawn and the
young fish from their numerous enemies, there is no way of meeting
the present great demand for salmon, which, when in season, is in the
aggregate of greater value than the best butchers’ meat. The salmon is
an excellent fish to work with in a piscicultural sense, because it is
large enough to bear a good deal of handling, and it is very accessible
to the operations of mankind, because of the instinct which leads it to
spawn in the fresh water instead of the sea. It is only such a fish as
this monarch of the brook that would individually pay for artificial
breeding, for, having a high money value as an animal, it is clear that
salmon-culture would in time become as good a way of making money as
cattle-feeding or sheep-rearing.

There are waste places in England—the Essex marshes, for instance, or
the fens of Norfolk—where it would be profitable to cultivate eels
or other fish after the manner of the inhabitants of Comacchio. I
observed lately some details of a plan to rescue a quantity of land
in Essex from the water; it would perhaps pay as well to convert
the broad acres in question, from their being near the great London
market, into a fish-farm. The English people are fond of eels, and
would be able to consume any quantity that might be offered for sale,
and the place being in such close proximity to the Thames, other fish
might be cultivated as well. All the best portions of the hydraulic
apparatus of Comacchio might be imitated, and to suit the locality,
such other portions as might be required could be invented. The art
of pisciculture is but in its infancy, and we may all live in the
hope of seeing great water farms—but, to be profitable, they must be
gigantic—for the cultivation of fish, in the same sense as we have
extensive grazing or feeding farms for the breeding and rearing of
cattle.

In Ireland, Mr. Thomas Ashworth, of the Galway fisheries, finds it as
profitable and as easy to breed salmon as it is to rear sheep. His
fisheries are a decided success; and, if we except the cost of some
extensive engineering operations in forming fish-passes to admit of
a communication with the sea, the cost of his experiments has been
trifling and the returns exceptionally large. Mr. Ashworth put into
his fisheries no less than a million and a half of salmon eggs in
the course of two seasons—viz., 659,000 eggs in 1861, and 770,000 in
1862.[3] I am anxious to obtain a consecutive and detailed account of
the operations carried out by the Messrs. Ashworth, but have not been
able to get correct particulars. Mr. Ashworth has lately visited the
oyster-farms of the Isle of Re, and has a high opinion of the efforts
made for the multiplication of that favourite mollusc. He has very
obligingly communicated to me a number of interesting statistics as to
French oyster-culture, which I have incorporated into my account of the
shell-fish fisheries.

Two recent achievements in the art of fish-culture, or at any rate in
the art of acclimatisation, deserve to be chronicled in this division
of the “Harvest of the Sea.” I allude to the successful introduction
into Australia of the British salmon, and the equally successful
bringing to this country of a foreign fish—the _Silurus glanis_.

Grave doubts at one time prevailed among persons interested in
acclimatisation and pisciculture as to whether or not it were possible
to introduce the British salmon into the waters of Australia; and an
interesting controversy was about three years ago carried on in various
journals as to the best way of taking out the fish to that country.
Those very wise people who never do anything, but are largely endowed
with the gift of prophecy, at once proclaimed that it could not be
done; that it was impossible to take the salmon out to Australia, etc.
etc. But happily for the cause of progress in natural science, and the
success of this particular experiment, there were men who had resolved
to carry it out and who would not be put down. Mr. Francis Francis,
Mr. Frank Buckland, and Mr. J. A. Youl, took a leading part in the
achievement; but before they fell upon their successful plan of taking
out the ova in ice, hot discussions had ensued as to how the salmon
could be introduced into the rivers of the Australian Continent. Many
plans were suggested: some for carrying out the young fish in tanks,
and others for taking out the fructified ova, so that the process of
hatching might be carried on during the voyage. One ingenious person
promulgated a plan of taking the parr in a fresh-water tank a month
or two before it changed into a smolt, saying that after the change
it would be easy to keep the smolts supplied with _fresh_ salt water
direct from the sea as the ship proceeded on her voyage.

The mode ultimately adopted was to pack up the ova in a bed of ice,
experiments having first been made with a view to test the plan. For
that purpose a large number of ova were deposited in an ice-house in
order to ascertain how long the ripening of the egg could be deferred—a
condition of the experiment of course being that the egg should remain
quite healthy. The Wenham Lake Ice Company were so obliging as to allow
boxes containing salmon and trout ova, packed in moss, to be placed
in their ice vaults, and to afford every facility for the occasional
examination of the eggs. Satisfactory results being obtained—in other
words, it having been proved that the eggs of the salmon could with
perfect safety be kept in ice for a period exceeding the average time
of a voyage to Australia—it was therefore resolved that a quantity
of eggs, properly packed in ice, should be sent out. The result of
this experiment is now well known, most of the daily papers having
chronicled the successful exportation of the ova, and announced that
the fish had come to life and were thriving in their foreign home.

I do not wish to weary my readers, but must crave their indulgence
while I give a few of the more interesting details connected with this
important experiment.

The number of ova sent out to Australia was 100,000 salmon and 3000
trout. The vessel selected for the conveyance of the eggs was the
_Norfolk_, which on one or two occasions had made very rapid voyages.
The ova were procured from the Tweed, the Severn, the Ribble, and the
Dovey rivers; thus England, Scotland, and Wales contributed to this
precious freight. One hundred and sixty-four boxes, containing about
90,000 ova, were placed at the bottom of the ice-house, with a solid
mass of ice nine feet thick on the top, so that every particle of this
mass must melt before the ova would suffer. Sixteen boxes, containing
above 13,000 ova, were placed in other parts of the ice-house, with ice
below and above, as well as all round the boxes. The ova were taken
between the 13th and 15th January, placed on board the ship on the
18th, and the _Norfolk_ left the docks on the morning of the 21st, and
Plymouth on the 28th January. Thirty tons of Wenham Lake ice were used
in the experiment.

The ship arrived at Hobson’s Bay, Melbourne, on the 15th of April,
having been seventy-seven days on the voyage. A few of the boxes
containing the eggs were at once opened and placed in a suitable
hatching apparatus, but the larger portion were sent off to Tasmania
and reached Hobart Town on the 20th of April, where they were at once
deposited in the pond which had been carefully prepared for them on
the river Plenty. The following extract from a letter, written by the
Hon. Dr. Officer, Speaker of the House of Assembly, will show what
was done on the arrival of the eggs:—“Soon after the arrival of the
first half of the boxes, the process of opening them and depositing
the ova in their watery beds commenced, and you may be sure an anxious
process it was. In the first two boxes that were opened by far the
greater number of the ova had perished, but as we proceeded much more
fortunate results were obtained, and in many of the packages the living
predominated over the dead. I could not attempt to state to you, even
approximately, at the present moment, the actual number of healthy ova
that were found in the moss and placed in the hatching-boxes, beyond
saying that they amount to many thousands, and are amply sufficient,
if they should all continue to thrive and should become living fish,
to insure the complete success of our experiment. All the boxes have
now been opened except fifteen, and the ova first taken out have been
about twenty-four hours in the water. Among these some of them can
be observed with the eyes quite prominent, and visibly indicating the
near approach of hatching, so that not many days will elapse until the
ultimate result of the experiment is known. The remnant of the ice,
amounting to about eight tons, obtained from the _Norfolk_, was brought
up here with very little loss, and has of course been used in cooling
the water in the hatching-boxes. Mr. Ramsbottom thinks it will last
as long as he will require its aid, although it melts very quickly.
The water of the Plenty, which had fallen below 50 degrees, had been
again raised by a week of warm sunny weather to 54 degrees, which was
its temperature yesterday, but it was reduced to 45 degrees by the
introduction of ice. To-day the weather has been more suitable, and
the natural temperature is not much over 50 degrees, and will in all
probability soon decline several degrees lower. One or two of the ova
which were deposited in the water in apparently sound health have been
observed to become opaque and die, while some others have been seen to
retain all their clearness. These observations have necessarily been of
very limited extent. In one of the two boxes of trout ova, nearly all
were dead; in the other nearly all alive, and of a remarkably clear and
brilliant appearance. These have been placed in a compartment separated
from the salmon-boxes.”

The commissioners appointed to receive the ova sent to Tasmania made a
formal report to the Government of the colony. One of the local papers
supplies a summary of what was reported, which is as follows:—“They
state that upon examination of the cases on arrival, it was found that
a close and almost unvarying relation existed between the fate of
the ova and the condition of the moss in which they were enveloped.
Where the moss retained its natural green hue and elasticity, there
a large proportion of the ova retained a healthy vitality; where,
on the contrary, the moss was of a brown colour, and in a collapsed
or compressed form, few of the ova were found alive, and all were
more or less entangled in a network of fungus. The smallest amount of
mortality was invariably found to have taken place in those boxes in
which the moss had been most loosely packed and the ova subjected to
the least amount of pressure. On the 4th of May the first trout made
its appearance, followed on the succeeding day by the first salmon that
had ever been seen in Australia, or south of the equator. The further
hatching of the trout and salmon proceeded very slowly for some days,
but then became more rapid—especially among the trout. Among these the
process was completed about the 25th May, producing upwards of two
hundred healthy fish. The hatching of the salmon is more protracted,
and was not concluded until the 8th June, on which day the last little
fish was observed making its escape from the shell. As they continued
to make their appearance from day to day, their numbers were counted by
Mr. Ramsbottom with tolerable accuracy up to about 1000, after which
it was no longer possible to keep any reckoning. The great undertaking
of introducing the salmon and trout into Tasmania has now, the
commissioners believe, been successfully accomplished. Few countries of
the same extent possess more rivers suited to the nature and habits of
this noble fish than Tasmania. A stranger acquainted with the salmon
rivers of Europe could scarcely behold the ample stream and sparkling
waters of the Derwent without fancying that they were already the home
of the king of fish. And the Derwent is but one of many other large and
ever-flowing rivers almost equally suited to become the abode of the
salmon. When these rivers have been stocked, they cannot fail to become
a source of considerable public revenue, and of profit and pleasure to
the people.”

Mr. Ramsbottom, a son of the well-known English practical
pisciculturist, went out in charge of the eggs, and aided in their
accouchement, watching over the progress of the experiment with much
zeal. Very great anxiety was evinced by those interested for the
proper hatching out of the eggs, and the mortality which was soon
visible among the ova—it was at one time at the rate of one hundred
each day—was viewed with great alarm. The first eggs were hatched in
the ponds of Tasmania. Of the Victoria consignment, the first egg was
hatched at an ice company’s establishment on the 7th of May, twenty-two
days after the arrival of the ship. In a letter, dated 11th May 1864,
Dr. Officer communicates many interesting details of the experiment, as
the following extract will show:—“By our last out-going mail I reported
the hatching of the first trout and the first salmon on May 4 and 5.
We have now forty trout and nine salmon, but of the latter two are
deformed, and, therefore, not likely to survive long. The first-born
salmon is now nine days old, and is quite healthy and visibly grown.
The mortality among the ova, which had been about one hundred per diem
for some days, has very much decreased again, and for the last two days
has been quite trifling. The weather and temperature of the water have
continued favourable. The temperature of the Plenty and ponds has not
exceeded 49 degrees, nor descended below 46 degrees. This equality is
of course highly conducive to the health and progress of our charge.
We expected to have seen more salmon by this time, but our impatience
has outrun probability and the teachings of experience. The authorities
tell us that a few always precede the great body of fish by a good many
days, and are not usually so vigorous as those that are hatched at a
later period. As to the trout we may, I think, regard them as safe.
Only one out of the whole number hatched has died. As I looked at their
box this afternoon, I observed several in the act of escaping from the
shell. Mr. Ramsbottom’s attentions are indefatigable, and, I believe,
nothing has been neglected that could insure success.”

The process of hatching was much more protracted than was anticipated;
it was not till the 8th of June that the last of the eggs gave forth
its little tenant. An account of the daily hatching was kept up till
the time that 1000 of the eggs had arrived at maturity, but after that
the hatching went on with such rapidity as to render it impossible to
keep a correct record. Up to the 16th of June the trout had not been
artificially fed, but for all that they looked healthy and grew fat.
Mr. Ramsbottom computed that he had at least 3000 healthy salmon,
rather a small percentage certainly to obtain out of the 30,000 eggs,
but quite sufficient to solve the grand problem of whether or not it
were possible to introduce the British salmon into Australian waters.
The latest accounts tell us that the young parr are doing well, though
they are not growing so fast as the trout.[4] The further progress of
the experiment will be watched with great anxiety both at home and
abroad. The Tasmanian Legislature have voted a further sum of £800
for the purpose of introducing another batch of ova; this sum will be
augmented by £400 voted by the Victorian Acclimatisation Society; so
that no means will be left untried to bring to a successful conclusion
this great experiment—the ultimate result of which, I have no doubt,
will be, that the salmon will become as valuable a fish in the waters
of the great Australian Continent as it is in the waters of our own
islands.

The naturalisation of fish, to which a brief reference has already been
made, is a subject that is not very well understood; but so far as
practical experience goes, I have seen nothing to prevent our breeding
in England some of the most productive foreign kinds. Among the fishes
of China, for instance, in addition to the golden carp—now quite
common here, and bred in thousands in nearly every factory pond, and
which is looked upon as simply an ornamental fish—there is the lo-in,
or king of fish, which frequently measures seven feet in length, and
weighs from fifty to two hundred pounds, the flesh being excellent;
the lien-in-wang and the kan-in, almost as good, and even larger than
the other. Then there is the li-in, the usual weight of which is about
fifteen pounds, and is said to be of a much finer flavour than our
European carp. There are many other choice fishes of exquisite flavour,
which it is unnecessary to enumerate; but I have no doubt that, besides
these natives of Chinese seas, there are numerous other fine fish that
might be acclimatised in our rivers and firths. The seir fish of Ceylon
may be named: it is a kind of scomberoid, and in shape and size is
similar to the British salmon. We must not, however, build ourselves
much on the acclimatisation of foreign fish, especially tropical fish,
as—although fish can bear great extremes of temperature—it would be
no easy matter to habituate them to our climate. Indeed some writers
think it will be found impossible to habituate tropical fish, however
valuable, to our cold waters, but the experiment is, I believe, being
tried in France. The bass of Lake Wennern may also be mentioned as a
suitable fish for British waters, as well as the ombre chevalier of
the Lake of Geneva, a few of which latter are now, I believe, along
with some other varieties, being tried in the river Thames. So great is
the increasing interest of pisciculture becoming, that new ideas are
being daily thrown out regarding it. A few months ago a writer in the
_Times_ suggested the introduction of a white fish from the Canadian
lakes to our fresh waters:—“This fish (_Coregonus albus_), of the
salmon family, is from three to four pounds weight, as delicious as a
Dublin Bay haddock when fresh, and when barrelled considered a luxury
in the Central and Southern States of America and the West Indies,
bringing 50 per cent over the price of barrelled trout. Different from
our fresh-water fish, it is a vegetarian, living on weeds and moss. It
is a great article of food in the North-Western States of America and
Canada, the exports of it being $464,479 in 1861 from the states on the
lakes; but I have no return from Canada, which may be about one-half
more, making a total of over $700,000, or £140,000 a year.”

The latest achievement in pisciculture has been the introduction to
this part of Europe of “the Wels” (_Silurus glanis_), an interesting
account of which lately appeared in the _Field_ newspaper. Great
expectations have been formed that this gigantic fish may be
successfully reared in England. It is, I believe, the largest European
fresh-water fish, commonly attaining a weight of from fifty to
eighty pounds, and individuals have been found of the extraordinary
size of four cwts.! Dr. Gunther, the eminent ichthyologist, remarks
that this is the only foreign fish which it would be worth while to
introduce into this country; and thinks that, in several of our lakes,
particularly those in peat soil, it might be usefully placed.

[Illustration: SILURUS GLANIS.]

The following particulars regarding this new food fish have been
printed by the Acclimatisation Society, to whom the greatest praise
is due for its introduction:—Its appearance is not pleasant, the
large flattened head having a capacious mouth, which is capable of
seizing the largest kind of prey; so that if this fish be successfully
propagated in our streams and lakes, the pike, the water-wolf of the
British waters, will meet with more than its match. The habits of
the _Silurus glanis_ are said to be most ferocious, and its growth,
provided there be a sufficient supply of food, very rapid. The body
is less elongated than the eel, and there are, stretching from the
head, long tapering barbels; the eyes are frog-like, and there are many
other points of resemblance to the frog. The new fish is like the eel
in its habits, being a wallowing fish, fond of burrowing in the mud,
and hiding amongst the rotten roots of trees. There are dark charges
made against some of the largest specimens of the _Silurus glanis_,
in the stomachs of which it is reported that portions of human bodies
have been found. However, this is probably an exaggeration. There can,
however, be no doubt of the extraordinary appetite and fierceness of
this fish. In the floods of the Danube the silurus finds plentiful
prey in the multitude of frogs which pass into the river; but at other
times, fish, small animals, worms, indeed anything which comes near,
afford a supply of food; and there may be fear that, notwithstanding
the valuable qualities of the silurus as a means of supply to our
tables, it may more than balance its value in this way by the immense
destruction of fish which is needed for its support. It is said that
the silurus, when the prey is plentiful, will attain over fifty-six
pounds in four years; and Englishmen who have tasted it report that
in flavour it is superior to the salmon. Specimens of the wels have
been brought alive from a distance of nearly two thousand miles to the
station of the society at Twickenham by the exertions of Sir Stephen
Lakeman and Mr. Lowe, a gentleman who takes a great interest in all
questions of natural science. In all, fourteen of these young fish were
brought from Kapochien, in Wallachia, where Sir Stephen Lakeman has an
estate. The Argich river, which flows past there, abounds in these and
other valuable fish, which are found more or less throughout central
Europe and in Scandinavia. In the Danube and many of its tributaries
the number is abundant; and in those wide waters the _Silurus glanis_
is said to reach the enormous weight of three hundred pounds.

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.

Although it may be deemed necessary in a work like the present to
devote some space to the subject, I do not set much store by the common
anglers’ fishes, so far, at least, as their food value is concerned;
for although we were to cultivate them to their highest pitch, and by
means of artificial spawning multiply them exceedingly, they would
never (the salmon, of course, excepted) form an article of any great
commercial value in this beef-eating country. In France, where the
Church enjoins so many fasts and has such strict sumptuary laws, the
people are differently situated, and require, especially in the inland
districts, to have recourse to the meanest produce of the rivers
in order to carry out the injunctions of their priests. The fresh
waters are therefore assiduously cultivated in nearly all continental
countries; but the fresh-water fishes of the British Islands have at
present but a very slight commercial value, as they are not captured,
either individually or in the aggregate, for the purposes of commerce;
but to persons fond of angling they afford sport and healthful
recreation, whether they are pursued in the large English or Scottish
lakes, or caught in the small rivulets that feed our great salmon
streams.

Although Britain is possessed of a seabord of 4000 miles, and a large
number of fine rivers and lakes, the total number of British fishes is
comparatively small (about 250 only), and the varieties which live in
the fresh water are therefore very limited; those that afford sport
may be numbered with ease on our ten fingers. Fishers who live in
the vicinity of large cities are obliged in consequence to content
themselves with the realisation of that old proverb which tells them
that small fish are better than no fish at all; hence there is a race
of anglers who are contented to sit all day in a punt on the Thames,
happy when evening arrives to find their patience rewarded with a
fisher’s dozen of stupid gudgeons. But in the north, on the lakes of
Cumberland or on the Highland lochs of Scotland, such tame sport would
be laughed at. Are there not charr in the Derwent and splendid trout
in Loch Awe? and these require to be pursued with a zeal, and involve
an amount of labour not understood by anglers who punt for gudgeon or
who haunt the East India Docks for perch, or the angler who only knows
the usual run of Thames fish—barbel, roach, dace, and gudgeon. To kill
a sixteen-pound salmon on a Welsh or Highland stream is to be named
a knight among anglers; indeed, there are men who never lift a rod
except to kill a salmon; such, however, like the Duke of Roxburghe,
are the giants of the profession. For sport there is no fish like the
monarch of the brook, and great anglers will not waste time on any
fish less noble. An angler, with a moderate-sized fish of the salmon
kind at the end of his line, is not in the enjoyment of a sinecure,
although he would not for any kind of reward allow his work to be done
by deputy. I have seen a gentleman play a fish for four hours rather
than yield his rod to the attendant gillie, who could have landed the
fish in half-an-hour’s time. It is a thrilling moment to find that,
for the first time, one has hooked a salmon, and the event produces a
nervousness that certainly does not tend to the speedy landing of the
fish. The first idea, naturally enough, is to haul our scaly friend
out of the water by sheer force; but this plan has speedily to be
abandoned, for the fish, making an astonished dash, rushes away up
stream in fine style, taking out with it no end of “rope;” then when
once it obtains a bite of its bridle away it goes sulking into some
rocky hiding-place. In a brief time it comes out again with renewed
vigour, determined as it would seem to try your mettle; and so it
dashes about till you become so fatigued as not to care whether you
land it or not. It is impossible to say how long an angler may have to
“play” a salmon or a large grilse; but if it sinks itself to the bottom
of a deep pool, it may be a business of hours to get it safe into the
landing-net, if the fish be not altogether lost, as in its exertions to
escape it may so chafe the line as to cause it to snap and thus regain
its liberty; and during the progress of the battle the angler has
certainly to wade, aye and be pulled once or twice through the stream,
so that he comes in for a thorough drenching, and may, as many have
to do, go home after a hard day’s work without being rewarded by the
capture of a single fish.

There is abundance of good salmon-angling to be had in the season
in the north of Scotland, where there are always a great variety of
fishings to be let at prices suitable for all pockets; and there
is nothing better either for health or recreation than a day on a
salmon stream. There are one or two places on Tweed frequented by
anglers who take a fishing as a sort of joint-stock company, and who,
when they are not angling, talk politics, make poetry, bandy about
their polite chaff, and generally “go in” as they say for any amount
of amusement. These societies are of course very select, and not
generally accessible to strangers, being of the nature of a club. The
plan which every angler ought to adopt on going to a strange water
is to place himself under the guidance of some shrewd native of the
place, who will show him all the best pools and aid him with his advice
as to what flies he ought to use, and give him many useful hints on
other points as well. Anglers, however, must divide their attention,
for it is quite as interesting (not to speak of convenience) for some
men to spend a day on the Thames killing barbel or roach as it is to
others to kill a ten-pound salmon on the Tweed or the Spey. It is good
sport also to troll for pike in the Lodden or to capture grayling in
beautiful Dovedale. And so pleasant has of late years become the sport
that it is no uncommon sight to see a gentle-born lady handling a
salmon-rod with as much vigour as grace on some one of our picturesque
Highland streams. In fact, angling is a recreation that can be made to
suit all classes, from the child with his stick and crooked pin to the
gentleman with his well-mounted rod and elaborate tackle, who hies away
in his yacht to the fiords of Norway in search of salmon that weigh
from twenty to forty pounds and require a day to capture. For those,
however, who desire to stay at home there is abundant angling all the
year round. From New-Year’s Day to Christmas there needs be no stoppage
of the sport; even the weather should never stop an enthusiastic
angler; but on very bad days, when it is not possible to go out of
doors, there is the study of the fish, and their natural and economic
history, which ought to be interesting to all who use the angle, and
to the majority of mankind besides; and there is spread out around
the angler the interesting book of nature inviting him to perusal. He
can see the white seal of winter opened, and observe the balmy spring
put forth its vernal power; note the turbid streams of winter as they
are slackening their volume of water; see the swelling buds and the
bursting leaves; admire the cowslip and the primrose grow into blossom
almost as he looks at them; hear the sweet notes of the cuckoo, and the
unceasing carol of noisier birds; watch the sportive lamb or the timid
hare; and chronicle the ever-changing seasons as they roll away on
their everlasting journey of progress.

Without pretending to rival the hundred and one guides to angling
that now flood the market, I shall take a glance at a few of the more
popular of the anglers’ fishes; not, however, in any scientific or
other order of precedence, but beginning with the trout, seeing that
the salmon is discussed in a separate division of this work.

Of all our fresh-water fishes, the one that is most plentiful, and
the one that is most worthy of notice by anglers, is the trout. It
can be fished for with the simplest possible kind of rod in the most
tiny stream, or be captured by elaborate apparatus on the great lochs
of Scotland. There are so many varieties of it as to suit all tastes;
there are well-flavoured burn trout, not so large as a small herring,
and there are lake giants that, when placed in the scales, will pull
down a twenty pound weight with the greatest ease. The usual run of
river trout are about six or eight ounces in weight; a pound trout is
an excellent reward for the patient angler. Where a trouting stream
flows through a rich and fertile district of country, with abundant
drainage, the trout are usually well-conditioned and large, and of good
flavour; but when the country through which the stream flows is poor
and rocky, with no drains carrying in food to enrich the stream, the
fish will, as a matter of course, be lanky and flavourless; they may be
numerous, but they will be of small size. It is curious, too, to note
the difference of the fish of the same stream: some of the trout taken
in Tweed, and in other rivers as well, are sharp in their colour, have
fine fat plump thick shoulders, great depth of belly, and beautiful
pink flesh of excellent flavour; others again are lean and flavourless.
The colour of trout is of course dependent on the quality and
abundance of its food; those are best which exist on ground-feeding,
living upon worms and such fresh-water crustaceans as are within reach.
Fly-taking fish—those that indulge in the feed of ephemeræ that takes
place a few times every day—are comparatively poor in flesh and weak in
flavour. As to where fishers should resort, must be left to themselves.
I was once beguiled out to the Dipple, but it was a hungry sort of
river, where the trout were on the average about three ounces and
scarce enough; although I must say that for a few minutes, when “the
feed” was on the water, there was an enormous display of fish, but they
preferred to remain in their native stream, a tributary of the Clyde I
think. The mountain streams and lochs of Scotland, or the placid and
picturesque lakes of Cumberland and Westmorland, are the paradise of
anglers.

For trout-fishing we would name Scotland as being before all other
countries. “What,” it has been asked, “is a Scottish stream without
its trout?” Doubtless, if a river has no trout it is without one of
its greatest charms, and it is pleasant to record that, except in
the neighbourhood of very large seats of population, trout are still
plentiful in Scotland. It is true the railway, and other modes of
conveyance, have carried of late years a perfect army of anglers into
its most picturesque nooks and corners, and therefore fish are not
quite so plentiful as they were thirty years ago, in the old coaching
days, when it was possible to fill a washing-tub in the space of half
an hour with lovely half-pound trout from a few pools on a burn near
Moffat. But there are still plenty of trout; indeed there is a noted
fisher who can fill his basket even in streams that, being near the
large cities, have been too often fished; but then it is given to him
to be a man of great skill in his vocation, and moreover capable of
instructing others, for he has written a work that in some degree has
revolutionised the art of angling.

The place to try an angler is a fine Border stream or a grand Highland
loch; but I shall not presume to lay down minute directions as to _how_
to angle, for an angler, like a poet, must be born, he can scarcely be
bred, and no amount of book lore will confer upon a man the magic power
of luring the wary trout from its crystalline home. The best anglers,
and I may add fish-poachers, are the gipsies. A gipsy will raise fish
when no other human being can move them. If encamped near a stream, a
gipsy band are sure to have fish as a portion of their daily food; and
how beautifully they can broil a trout or boil a grilse those only who
have had the fortune to dine with them can say. Your gipsy is a rare
good fisher, and with half a rod can rob the river of a few dozens of
trout in a very brief space of time, and he can do so while men with
elaborate “fishing machines,” fitted up with costly tackle, continue
to flog the water without obtaining more than a questionable nibble,
just as if the fish knew that they were greenhorns, and took a pleasure
in chaffing them. Mr. Cheek, who wrote a capital book for the guidance
of what I may call Thames anglers, says that the best way to learn
is to see other anglers at work—which is better than all the written
instructions that can be given, one hour’s practical information going
farther than a folio volume of written advice. It is all in vain for
men to fancy that a suit of new Tweeds, a fair acquaintance with
Stoddart or Stewart, and a large amount of angling “slang,” will make
them fishers. There is more than that required. Besides the natural
taste, there is wanted a large measure of patience and skill; and the
proper place to acquire these best virtues of the angler is among the
brawling hill streams of Scotland, or on the expansive bosom of some of
the great Cumberland lakes, while trying for a few delicious charr. A
congregation of fish brought together by means of a scatter of food and
an angler’s taking advantage of the piscine convention over its diet
of worms, is no more angling than a battue is sport. An American that
I have heard of has a fish-manufactory in Connecticut, where he can
shovel the animals out by the hundred; but then he does not go in for
sport, his idea—a thoroughly American one—is money! But despite this
exceedingly commercial idea, there are a few anglers in America, and as
there are much water and many game fishes, there is plenty of sport.
In North America there are to be found in large quantities both the
true salmon and the brook trout; and as a great number of the American
fishes visit the fresh and salt water alternately, they, by reason of
their strength and size, afford excellent employment either to the
river or sea angler. One of the best of the American fishes is called
the Mackinaw salmon.

[Illustration: ANGLERS’ FISHES.
1. Great lake trout (_Salmo ferox_).
2. _Salmo fario._
3. Trout.
]

To come back, in the meantime, to Scotland and the trout, and where
to find them, I may mention that that particular fish is the stock in
trade of the streams and lochs of Scotland,—Scotland, the “land of
the mountain and the flood,”—and there is an ever-abiding abundance
of water, for the lochs and streams of that country are numberless.
One county alone (Sutherland, to wit) contains a thousand lochs, and
one parish in that county has in it two hundred sheets of water,
and all of these abounding with fine trout, affording rich sport to
the angler—rewarding all who persevere with full baskets. As I have
already hinted, the fisher must study his locality and glean advice
from well-informed residents. The gipsies of a district can usually
give capital advice as to the kind of bait that will please best. Many
a time have anglers been seen flogging away at a stream or lake that
was troutless, or at their wit’s end as to which of their flies would
please the dainty palate of my lord the resident trout. But I shall
not further dogmatise on such matters; most people who are given to
angling are quite as wise as the writer of these remarks; and there are
as fine trout in England, I daresay, as there are in Scotland; indeed
there are a thousand streams in this Great Britain, Ireland, and Wales
of ours, where we can find fish—there are splendid trout even in the
Thames. Then there are the Dove and the Severn, as well as rivers that
are much farther away, so that on his second day from London an active
angler may be whipping the Spey for salmon, or trolling on Loch Awe for
the large trout that inhabit that sheet of water. The change of scene
is of itself a delight, no matter what river the visitor may choose. At
the same time the physical exertion undergone by the angler flushes his
cheek with the hue of health, and imparts to his frame a strength and
elasticity known only to such as are familiar with country scenes and
pure air. May and the Mayfly are held to inaugurate the angler’s year;
for although a few of the keenest sportsmen keep on angling all the
year round, most of them lay down their rod about the end of October,
and do not think of again resuming it till they can smell the sweet
fragrance of the advancing summer. Although few of our busy men of law
or commerce are able to forestall the regular holiday period of August
and September, yet a few do manage a run to the country at the charming
time of May, when the days are not too hot for enjoyment nor too
short for country industry. In August and September the landscape is
preparing for the sleep of winter, whilst in May it is being robed by
nature for the fêtes of summer, and, despite the sneers of some poets
and naturalists, is new and charming in the highest degree. Town living
people should visit the country in May, and see and feel its industry,
pastoral and simple as it is, and at the same time view the charms of
its scenery in all its vivid freshness and fragrance.

Some anglers delight in pike-catching, others try for perch; but
give me the trout, of which there is a large variety, and all worth
catching. In Loch Awe, for instance, there is the great lake trout,
which, combined with the beauty of the scenery, has sufficed to draw
to that neighbourhood some of our best anglers. The trout of Loch Awe,
as is well known, are very ferocious, hence their scientific name of
_Salmo ferox_. This trout attains to great dimensions; individuals
weighing twenty pounds have been often captured; but its flavour is
indifferent and the flesh is coarse, and not of a prepossessing colour.
This kind of trout is found in nearly all the large and deep lochs
of Scotland. It was discovered scientifically about the end of last
century by a Glasgow merchant, who was fond of sending samples of
it to his friends as a proof of his prowess as an angler. The usual
way of taking the great lake trout is to engage a boat to fish from,
which must be rowed gently through the water. The best bait is a small
trout, with at least half-a-dozen strong hooks projecting from it, and
the tackle requires to be prodigiously strong, as the fish is a most
powerful one, although not quite so active as some others of the trout
kind, but it roves about in these deep waters enacting the parts of
the bully and the cannibal to all lesser creatures, and driving before
it even the hungry pike. Persons residing near the great lochs capture
these large trout by setting night lines for them. As has been already
mentioned, they are exceedingly voracious, and have been known to be
dragged for long distances, and even after losing hold of the bait to
seize it again with great eagerness, and so have been finally captured.
These great lake trout are also to be found in other countries.

In Lochleven, at Kinross, in the county of Fife, twenty-two miles from
Edinburgh, there will be found localised that beautiful trout which is
peculiar to this one loch, and which I have already referred to as one
of the mysterious fishes of Scotland. This fish—although its quality
is said to have been degenerated by the drainage of the lake in 1830,
at which period it was reduced by draining to a third of its former
dimensions—is of considerable commercial value; it cannot be bought in
Edinburgh under two shillings a pound weight; and if it was properly
cultivated might yield a large revenue. I have not been able to obtain
recent statistics of “the take” of Lochleven trout, but in former years
during the seven months of the fishing season it used to range from
fifteen thousand to twenty thousand pounds weight, and at the time
referred to all trout under three-quarters of a pound in weight were
thrown back into the water by order of the lessee. Eighty-five dozen of
these fine trout have been known to be taken at a single haul, while
from twenty to thirty dozen used to be a very common take. As to perch,
they used to be caught in thousands. Little has or can be said about
Lochleven trout, except that they are a speciality. Some learned people
(but I take leave to differ from them) consider the Lochleven fish to
be identical with _Salmo fario_, but never in any of my piscatorial
wanderings have I found its equal in colour, flavour, or shape. It
has been compared with the _Fario Lemanus_ of the Lake of Geneva, and
having handled both fishes I must allow that there is very little
difference between them; but still there are differences. Boats can be
hired at Kinross for an hour or two’s fishing on Lochleven. Mr. Barnet,
the editor of the local paper, himself a keen fisher, will, I have
no doubt, put gentlemen in the way of enjoying a day’s pike or trout
fishing on the loch.

I need not go over all the varieties of fresh-water trout _seriatim_,
for their name is legion, and every book on angling contains lists of
those that are peculiar to the districts treated upon. If anglers’
fishes ever become valuable as food, it will be by the cultivation of
our great lochs. With such a vast expanse of water as is contained in
some of these lakes, and having ample river accommodation at hand for
spawning purposes, there could be no doubt that artificial breeding,
if properly gone about, would be successful. The Lochleven trout in
particular might be made a subject of piscicultural experiment; it is
already of great money value commercially, and could be cultivated so
as to become a considerable source of revenue to the proprietor of the
lake and amusement to the angler.

[Illustration: JACK IN HIS ELEMENT.]

There are some pretty big pike in Lochleven; I lately examined a
very large one, weighing sixteen pounds, that had been feeding very
industriously on the dainty trout of the loch. As every angler knows,
the pike affords capital sport, and may be taken in many different
ways. Pike spawn in March and April, when the fish leaves its
hiding-place in the deep water and retires for procreative purposes
into shallow creeks or ditches. The pike yields a very large quantity
of roe on the average, and the young fish are not long in being
hatched. Endowed with great feeding power, pike grow rapidly from the
first, attaining a length of twenty-two inches. Before that period a
young pike is called a jack, and its increase of weight is at the rate
of about four pounds a year when well supplied with food. The appetite
of this fish is very great, and, from its being so fierce, it has been
called the pirate of the rivers. It is not easily satisfied with food,
and numerous extraordinary stories of the pike’s powers of eating and
digesting have been from time to time related. I remember, when at
school at Haddington (seventeen miles from Edinburgh), of seeing a pike
that inhabited a hole in the “Lang Cram” (a part of the river Tyne),
which was nearly triangular in shape, supposed to be the exact pattern
of its hiding-place, and which devoured every kind of fish or animal
that came in its way. It was caught several times, but always managed
to escape, and must have weighed at least twenty-five pounds. Upon
one occasion it was hooked by a little boy, who fished for it with a
mouse, when it rewarded him for his cleverness by dragging him into
the water; and had help not been at hand the boy would assuredly have
been drowned, as the water at that particular spot was deep. As to the
voracity of this fish many particulars have been given. Mr. Jesse,
in one of his works, says that a pike of the weight of five pounds
has been known to eat a hundred gudgeon in three weeks; and I have
myself seen them killed in the neighbourhood of a shoal of parr, and,
notwithstanding their rapidity of digestion, I have seen four or five
fish taken out of the stomach of each. Mr. Stoddart, one of our chief
angling authorities, has calculated the pike to be amongst the most
deadly enemies of the infant salmon. He tells us that the pike of the
Teviot, a tributary of the Tweed, are very fond of eating young smolts,
and says that, in a stretch of water ten miles long, where there is
good feeding, there will be at least a thousand pike, and that these
during a period of sixty days will consume about a quarter of a million
of young salmon!

One would almost suppose that some of the stories about the voracity
of pike had been invented; if only half of them be true, this fish has
certainly well earned its title of shark of the fresh water. There
is, for instance, the well-known tale of the poor mule, which a pike
was seen to take by the nose and pull into the water; but it is more
likely I think that the mule pulled out the pike. Pennant, however,
relates a story of a pike that is known to be true. On the Duke of
Sutherland’s Canal at Trentham, a pike seized the head of a swan that
was feeding under water, and gorged as much of it as killed both. A
servant, perceiving the swan with its head below the surface for a
longer time than usual, went to see what was wrong, and found both
swan and pike dead. A large pike, if it has the chance, will think
nothing of biting its captor; there are several authentic instances
of this having been done. The pike is a long-lived fish, grows to a
large size, and attains a prodigious weight. There is a narrative
extant about one that was said to be two centuries and a half old,
which weighed three hundred and fifty pounds, and was seventeen feet
long. There is abundant evidence of the size of pike: individuals
have been captured in Scotland, so we are told in the Scots Magazine,
that weighed seventy-nine pounds. In the London newspapers of 1765 an
account is given of the draining of a pool, twenty-seven feet deep, at
the Lilishall Limeworks, near Newport, which had not been fished for
many years, and from which a gigantic pike was taken that weighed one
hundred and seventy pounds, being heavier than a man of twelve stone!
I have seen scores of pike which weighed upwards of half a stone, and
a good many double that weight, but, as in the case of the salmon, the
weight is now on the descending ratio, the giants of the tribe having
been apparently all captured. Formerly there used to be great hauls
of this fish taken out of the water. Whether or not a pike be good
for food depends greatly on where it has been fed, what it has eaten,
and how it has been cooked. In fact, as I have already endeavoured
to show, the animals of the water are in respect of food not unlike
those of the land—their flavour is largely dependent on their feeding;
and pike that have been luxuriating on Lochleven trout, or feeding
daintily for a few months on young salmon, cannot be very bad fare.
As a general rule, however, pike are not highly esteemed as a dish
even when cooked _à la Walton_, who recommended them to be roasted,
and basted during the process with claret, anchovies, and butter. Old
Isaac says a dish of pike so prepared is too good for any but anglers
or very honest men. The pike is a comparatively ugly fish as regards
its shape, but at certain seasons is very brilliant in colour. It is
extensively distributed, and is found over the greater part of Europe,
and also in America and Asia. The mascalogne, _Esox estor_, is the
name of the largest American pike; it is found only in the great lakes
and waters of the St. Lawrence basin, and grows to a very large size,
thirty pounds being a common enough weight, but individuals have been
captured ranging from sixty to eighty pounds. The mascalogne, like all
its tribe, is a bold and voracious fish. There is also the northern
pickerel, another American pike, which does not grow so large as the
above, but is quite as fierce and bold as our own pike; and as the fish
is not good for food, although an excellent game fish, affording no
end of sport, I need not recommend the acclimatisation of any of these
American savages.

The carp family (Cyprinidæ) is very numerous, embracing among its
members the barbel, the gudgeon, the carp-bream, the white-bream, the
red-eye, the roach, the bleak, the dace, and the well-known minnow.
There is one of the family which is of a beautiful colour, and with
which all are familiar—I mean the golden carp, which may be seen
floating in its crystal prison in nearly every home of taste, and which
swarms in the ponds at Hampton Court and in the tropical waters of the
Crystal Palace at Sydenham. The gold and silver fish are natives of
China, whence they were introduced into this country by the Portuguese
about the end of the seventeenth century, and have become, especially
of late years, so common as to be hawked about the streets for sale. In
China, as we can read, every person of fashion keeps gold-fish by way
of having a little amusement. They are contained either in the small
basins that decorate the courts of the Chinese houses, or in porcelain
vases made on purpose; and the most beautiful kinds are taken from a
small mountain-lake in the province of Che-Kyang, where they grow to a
comparatively large size, some attaining a length of eighteen inches
and a comparative bulk, the general run of them being equal in size to
our herrings. These lovely fish afford great delight to the Chinese
ladies, who tend and cultivate them with great care. They keep them in
very large basins, and a common earthen pan is generally placed at the
bottom of these in a reversed position, and so perforated with holes as
to afford shelter to the fish from the heat and glare of the sun. Green
stuff of some kind is also thrown upon the water to keep it cool, and
it (the water) must be changed at least every two days, and the fish,
as a general rule, must never be touched by the hand. Great quantities
of gold-fish are often bred in ponds adjacent to factories, where the
waste steam being let in the water is kept at a warmish temperature.
At the manufacturing town of Dundee they became at one time a complete
nuisance in some of the factories, having penetrated into the steam and
water pipes, and occasionally brought the works to a complete stand.
In England the golden carp usually spawns between May and July, the
particular time being greatly regulated by the warmth of the season.
The time of spawning may be known by the change of habit which occurs
in this fish. It sinks at once into deep water instead of basking on
the top, as usual; previous to which the fish are restive and quick in
their movements, throwing themselves out of the water, etc. It may be
stated here, to prevent disappointment, that golden carp never spawn in
a transparent vessel. When the spawn is hatched the fish are very black
in colour, some darker than others: these become of a golden hue, while
those of a lighter shade become silver-coloured. As is the case with
the salmon, it is some time before this change occurs, some colouring
at the end of one year, and others not till two or three seasons have
come and gone. These beautiful prisoners seldom live long in their
crystal cells, although the prison is beautiful enough, one would
fancy:—

“I ask, what warrant fixed them (like a spell
Of witchcraft fixed them) in the crystal cell;
To wheel with languid motion round and round,
Beautiful, yet in mournful durance bound?
Their peace, perhaps, our slightest footstep marr’d,
Or their quick sense our sweetest music jarr’d;
And whither could they dart, if seized with fear?
No sheltering stone, no tangled root was near.
When fire or taper ceased to cheer the room,
They wore away the night in starless gloom;
And when the sun first dawned upon the streams,
How faint their portion of his vital beams!
Thus, and unable to complain, they fared,
While not one joy of ours by them was shared.”

Gold-fish ought not to be purchased except from some very respectable
dealer. I have known repeated cases where the whole of the fish bought
have died within an hour or two of being taken home. These golden carp,
which are reared for sale, are usually spawned and bred in warmish
water, and they ought in consequence to be acclimatised or “tempered”
by the dealer before they are parted with. Parties buying ought to be
particular as to this, and ascertain if the fish they have bought have
been _tempered_.

Returning to the common carp, I may speak of it as being a most useful
pond-fish. It is a sort of vegetarian, and it may be classed among the
least carnivorous fishes; it feeds chiefly upon vegetables or decaying
organic matter, and very few of them prey upon their kind, while some,
it is thought, pass the winter in a torpid state. There is a rhyme
which tells us that

Turkeys, carp, hops, pickerel, and beer,
Came into England _all_ in one year.

But this couplet must, I think, be wrong, as some of these items were
in use long before the carp was known; indeed, it is not at all certain
when this fish was first introduced into England, or where it was
brought from, but I think it extremely possible that it was originally
brought here from Germany. In ancient times there used to be immense
ponds filled with carp in Prussia, Saxony, Bohemia, Mecklenburg, and
Holstein, and the fish was bred and brought to market with as much
regularity as if it had been a fruit or a vegetable. The carp yields
its spawn in great quantities, no fewer than 700,000 eggs having been
found in a fish of moderate weight (ten pounds); and, being a hardy
fish, it is easily cultivated, so that it would be profitable to breed
in ponds for the fishmarkets of populous places, and the fish-salesmen
assure us that there would be a large demand for good fresh carp. It
is necessary, according to the best authorities, to have the ponds in
suites of three—viz., a spawning-pond, a nursery, and a receptacle for
the large fish—and to regulate the numbers of breeding fish according
to the surface of water. It is not my intention to go minutely into
the construction of carp-ponds; but I may be allowed to say that it
is always best to select such a spot for their site as will give the
engineer as little trouble as possible. Twelve acres of water divided
into three parts would allow a splendid series of ponds—the first to
be three acres in extent, the second an acre more, and the third to be
five acres; and here it may be again observed that, with water as with
land, a given space can only yield a given amount of produce, therefore
the ponds must not be overstocked with brood. Two hundred carp, twenty
tench, and twenty jack per acre is an ample stock to begin breeding
with. A very profitable annual return would be obtained from these
twelve acres of water; and, as many country gentlemen have even larger
sheets than twelve acres, I recommend this plan of stocking them with
carp to their attention. There is only the expense of construction to
look to, as an under-keeper or gardener could do all that was necessary
in looking after the fish. A gentleman having a large estate in Saxony,
on which were situated no less than twenty ponds, some of them as large
as twenty-seven acres, found that his stock of fish added greatly
to his income. Some of the carp weighed fifty pounds each, and upon
the occasion of draining one of his ponds, a supply of fish weighing
five thousand pounds was taken out; and for good carp it would be no
exaggeration to say that sixpence per pound weight could easily be
obtained, which, for a quantity like that of this Saxon gentleman,
would amount to a sum of £125 sterling. Now, I have the authority of
an eminent fish-salesman for stating that ten times the quantity here
indicated could be disposed of among the Jews and Catholics of London
in a week, and, could a regular supply be obtained, an unlimited
quantity might be sold.

I have been writing about Highland streams and northern lochs; but the
river scenery of England is, in its way, equally beautiful, and no
river is more charming than the Thames. It is a classic stream, and its
praises have been sung by the poets and celebrated by the historian.
After Mrs. S. C. Hall and Thorne, it were vain to repeat its praises:—

“Glide gently, thus for ever glide,
O Thames! that anglers all may see
As lovely visions by thy side,
As now, fair river, come to me.
Oh, glide, fair stream, for ever so
Thy quiet soul on all bestowing,
Till all our minds for ever flow
As thy deep waters are now flowing.”

The Thames takes its rise in Gloucestershire, about three miles from
the town of Cirencester; and at that place, and for some miles of its
course, it is known as the Isis, and not till the waters of the Thame
join it in Oxfordshire is it known as the _Thames_. This celebrated
river is small at first, and flows through some beautiful scenery and
highly-cultivated country; its banks are studded with castles and
palaces, beautiful towns and snug villages; while well-stored gardens
and cultivated fields give smiling evidence of plenty all along its
course. When we consider that the Thames flows past Windsor, Hampton
Court, and Richmond; that it laves the grassy lawns of Twickenham,
waters the gardens of Kew, and that it bears upon its bosom the
gigantic commerce of London—we can at once realise its importance, and
can understand its being called the king of British rivers, although it
is neither so long, nor does it contain so voluminous a body of water
as some other of our British streams. The total length of the river
Thames is 215 miles, and the area of the country it waters is 6160
square miles. It has as affluents a great many fine streams, including
the river Lodden, as also the Wey and the Mole. I am not entitled to
consider it here in its picturesque aspects—my business with it is
piscatorial, and I am able to certify that it is rich in fish of a
certain kind—

“The bright-eyed perch with fins of Tyrian dye,
The silver eel in shining volumes rolled,
The yellow carp in scales bedropp’d with gold,
Swift trout diversified with crimson stains,
And pike, the tyrants of the watery plains.”

Considering that all its best fishing points are accessible to an
immense population, many of whom are afflicted with a mania for
angling, it is quite wonderful that there is a single fish of any
description left in it; and yet but a year or two ago, the “pen of the
war” bagged a seven-pound trout near Walton Bridge! I may be allowed
just to run over a few Thames localities, and note what fish may be
taken from them. Above Teddington at different places an occasional
trout may be pulled out, but, although the finest trout in the world
may be got in the Thames, they are, unfortunately, so scarce in the
meantime, that it is hardly worth while to lose one’s time in the
all but vain endeavour to lure them from their home. Pike fishing or
trolling will reward the Thames angler better than trouting. There are
famous pike to be taken every here and there—in the deep pools and at
the weirs: and, as the pike is voracious, a moderately good angler,
with proper bait, is likely to have some sport with this fish. But
the speciality of the Thames, so far at least as most anglers are
concerned, is the quantity of fish of the carp kind which it contains,
as also perch. This latter fish may be taken with great certainty about
Maidenhead, Cookham, Pangbourne, Walton, Labham, and Wallingford Road;
and a kindred fish, the pope, in great plenty, may be sought for in the
same localities. Then the bearded barbel is found in greater plenty in
the Thames than anywhere else, and, as it is a fish of some size and
of much courage, it affords great sport to the angler. The best way to
take the barbel is with the “Ledger,” and the best places for this kind
of fishing are the deeps at Kingston Bridge, Sunbury Lock, Halliford,
Chertsey Weir, and in the deeps at Bray, where many a time and oft have
good hauls of barbel been taken. The best times for the capture of
this fish are late in the afternoon or very early in the morning. Chub
are also plentiful in the Thames; and Mr. Arthur Smith, who wrote a
guide to Thames anglers, specially recommended the island above Goring
for chub, also Marlow and the large island below Henley Bridge. This
fish can be taken with the fly, and gives tolerable sport. The roach
is a fish that abounds in all parts of the Thames, especially between
Windsor and Richmond; and in the proper season—September and October—it
will be found in Teddington Weir, Sunbury, Blackwater, Walton Bridge,
Shepperton Lock, the Stank Pitch at Chertsey, and near Maidenhead,
Marlow, and Henley Bridges. At Teddington I may state that the dace is
abundant, and there is plenty of little fish of various kinds that can
be had as bait at most of the places we have named. In fact, in the
Thames there is a superabundance of sport of its kind, and plenty of
accommodation for anglers, with wise fishermen to teach them the art;
and although the best sport that can be enjoyed on this lovely stream
is greatly different from the trout-fishing of Wales or Scotland, it
is good in its degree, and tends to health and high spirits, and an
anxiety to excel in his craft, as one can easily see who ventures by
the side of the water about Kew and Richmond.

“With hurried steps,
The anxious angler paces on, nor looks aside,
Lest some brother of the angle, ere he arrive,
Possess his favourite swim.”

[Illustration: THAMES ANGLERS.—FROM AN OLD PICTURE.]

I come now to the perch, a well-known because common fish, about
which a great deal has been written, and which is easily taken by the
angler. There are a great number of species of this fish, from the
common perch of our own canals and lochs to the “lates” of the Nile,
or the beautiful golden-tailed mesoprion, which swims in the seas of
Japan and India and flashes out brilliant rays of colour. The perch was
assiduously cultivated in ancient Italy, in the days when pisciculture
was an adjunct of gastronomy, and was thought to equal the mullet in
flavour. In Britain, the fish, left to its natural growth and no care
being taken to flavour it artificially, is surpassed for table purposes
by the salmon and the trout; but perch being abundant afford plenty of
good fishing. The perch usually congregate in small shoals, and delight
in streams, or water with a clear bottom and with overhanging foliage
to shelter them from the overpowering heats of summer. These fish do
not attain any considerable weight, the one recorded as being taken in
the Serpentine, in Hyde Park, which weighed nine pounds, being still
the largest on record. Perch of three and four pounds are by no means
rare, and those of one pound or so are quite common. The perch is a
stupid kind of fish, and easily captured. Many of the foreign varieties
of perch attain an immense weight. Some of the ancient writers tell us
that the “lates” of the Nile attained a weight of three hundred pounds;
and then there is the vacti of the Ganges, which is often caught five
feet long. The perch, after it is three years old, spawns about May. It
may be described as rather a hardy fish, as we know it will live a long
time out of water, and can be kept alive among wet moss, so that it
may be easily transferred from pond to pond. Its hardy nature accounts
for its being found in so many northern lochs and rivers, as in the
olden times of slow conveyances it must have taken a long time to send
the fish to the great distances we know it must have been carried
to. On the Continent, living perch are a feature of nearly all the
fishmarkets. The fish, packed in moss and occasionally sprinkled with
water, are carried from the country to the cities, and if not sold are
taken home and replaced in the ponds. This particular fish, which is
very prolific, might be “cultivated” to any extent. We do not see why
a fish-pond should not be as much a portion of a country gentleman’s
commissariat as his kitchen-garden or his cow-paddock. Perch are
useful in more ways than are generally known. The Laplanders make glue
and also jelly out of their skins. Exquisite dishes for fastidious
gourmets can be concocted from their milts, and choice ornaments can
be formed out of their scales. The sea-perch, as it is called (the
basse), may be mentioned here. Some varieties of it are very plentiful
on the coast of America, where they grow to a large size, and are
much esteemed for their flavour. Another variety of the perch is the
common pike-perch, which might be acclimatised with advantage in our
seas, where it is at present unknown. It is common in the Danube and
the Elbe, as also in the Caspian and Black Seas. It is a fish that
grows rapidly and attains a considerable weight, and its flesh is most
agreeable. It is surprising that no pains are taken to acclimatise new
varieties of fish in Britain, although it could be easily accomplished.
There is, for instance, the black basse of the Huron, which might be
advantageously introduced; and there are many other fishes, both of the
salt and fresh water, which would flourish in this country and add to
our commissariat. I have chronicled in another place the introduction
of the _Silurus glanis_, and I would have been only too glad to have
recorded the introduction of a dozen other fish.

As I have said so much about the Scottish lochs, it would be but
fair to say a few words about those of England; but in good honest
truth it would be superfluous to descant at the present day on the
beauties of Windermere, or the general lake scenery of Cumberland and
Westmorland: it has been described by hundreds of tourists, and its
praises have been sung by its own poets—the lake poets. It is with its
fish that we have business, and honesty compels us to give the charr a
bad character. It is not by any means a game fish, so far as sport is
concerned; nor is it great in size or rich in flavour. But potted charr
is a rare breakfast delicacy. This fish, which is said by Agassiz to be
identical with the ombre chevalier of Switzerland, is rarely found to
weigh more than a pound; specimens are sometimes taken exceeding that
weight, but they are scarce. The charr is found to be pretty general
in its distribution, and is found in many of the Scottish lochs. It
spawns about the end of the year, some of the varieties depositing
their eggs in the shallow parts of the lake, while others proceed a
short way up some of the tributary streams. In November great shoals of
charr may be seen in the rivers Rothay and Brathay, particularly the
latter, with the view of spawning. The charr, we are told by Yarrell,
afford but scant amusement to the angler, and are always to be found in
the deepest parts of the water in the lochs which they inhabit. “The
best way to capture them is to trail a very long line after a boat,
using a minnow for a bait, with a large bullet of lead two or three
feet above the bait to sink it deep in the water; by this mode a few
charr may be taken in the beginning of summer, at which period they are
in the height of perfection both in colour and flavour.”

As I am on the subject of anglers’ fishes, the reader will perhaps
allow me to suggest that “no end of sport” may be obtained in the sea;
that capital sea-angling may be enjoyed all the year round, and all
round the British coasts; and that there are fighting fishes in the
waters of the great deep that will occasionally try both the cunning
and the nerve of the best anglers. The greatest charm of sea-angling,
however, lies in its simplicity, and the readiness with which it can
be engaged in, together with the comparatively homely and inexpensive
nature of the instruments required. A party living at the seaside
can either fish off the rocks or hire a boat, and purchase or obtain
the loan (for a slight consideration) of such simple tackle as is
necessary; though it must not be too simple, for even sea-fish will
not stand the insult of supposing they can be caught as a matter of
course with anything; and as the larger kinds of hooks are often scarce
at mere fishing villages, it is better to carry a few to the scene of
action.

“Well then, what sport does the sea afford?” will most likely be the
first question put by those who are unacquainted with sea-angling. I
answer, anything and everything in the shape of fish or sea-monster,
from a sprat to a whale. This is literally true. It is not an
unfrequent occurrence for tourists in Orkney, or other places in
Scotland, to assist at a whale-battue; and some of my readers may
remember a very graphic description of an Orcadian whale-hunt, given
in _Blackwood’s Magazine_ a few years ago, by the late Professor
Aytoun, who was Sheriff and Admiral of Orkney. The kind of sea-fish,
however, that are most frequently taken by the angler, both on the
coasts of England and Scotland, are the whiting, the common cod, the
beautiful poor or power cod, and the mackerel; there is also the
abundant coal-fish, or sea-salmon as I call it, from its handsome
shape. This fish is taken in amazing quantities, and in all its stages
of growth. It is known by various names, such as sillock, piltock,
cudden, poddly, etc.; indeed most of our fishes have different names
in different localities; but I shall keep to the proper name so as to
avoid mistakes. The merest children are able, by means of the roughest
machinery, to catch any quantity of young coal-fish; they can be taken
in our harbours, and at the sea-end of our piers and landing-places.
The whiting is also very plentiful, so far as angling is concerned, as
indeed are most of the Gadidæ. It feeds voraciously, and will seize
upon anything in the shape of bait; several full-grown pilchards
have been more than once taken from the stomach of a four-pound
fish. Whiting can be caught at all periods of the year, but it is of
course most plentiful in the breeding season, when it approaches the
shores for the purpose of depositing its spawn—that is in January
and February. The common codfish is found on all parts of our coast,
and the sea-anglers, if they hit on a good locality—and this can be
rendered a certainty—are sure to make a very heavy basket.

[Illustration: THE ANGLER FISH.]

The pollack, or, as it is called in Scotland lythe, also affords
capital sport; and the mackerel-herring and conger-eel can also
be taken in considerable quantities. I can strongly recommend the
lythe-fishing to gentlemen who are _blasés_ of salmon or pike, or who
do not find excitement even among the birds of lone St. Kilda. Then,
as will afterwards be described, there is the extensive family of the
flat fish, embracing brill, plaice, flounders, soles, and turbot.
The latter is quite a classic fish, and has long been an object of
worship among gastronomists; it has been known to attain an enormous
size. Upon one occasion an individual, which measured six feet across,
and weighed one hundred and ninety pounds, was caught near Whitby.
The usual mode of capturing flat fish is by means of the trawl-net,
but many varieties of them may be caught with a handline. A day’s
sea-angling will be chequered by many little adventures. There are
various minor monsters of the deep that vary the monotony of the day
by occasionally devouring the bait. A tadpole-fish, better known as
the sea-devil or “the angler,” may be hooked, or the fisher may have
a visit from a hammer-headed shark or a pile-fish, which adds greatly
to the excitement; and if “the dogs” should be at all plentiful, it is
a chance if a single fish be got out of the sea in its integrity. So
voracious are this species of the Squalidæ, that I have often enough
pulled a mere skeleton into the boat, instead of a plump cod of ten or
twelve pounds weight.

[Illustration]

I shall now say a few words about the machinery of capture. The tackle
in use for handline sea-fishing is much the same everywhere, and that
which I describe will suit almost any locality. It consists of a frame
of four pieces of woodwork about a foot and a half in length, fastened
together in the shape of such a machine as ladies use for certain
worsted work. Round this is wound a thin cord, generally tanned, of
from ten to twenty fathoms in length. To the extreme end of this line
is attached a leaden sinker, the weight of which varies according
as the current of the tide is slow or rapid. About two feet above
the sinker is a cross piece of whalebone or iron, to the extremities
of which the strings on which the hooks are dressed are attached.
Sometimes a third hook is affixed to an outrigger, about two feet above
the other hooks. The length of the cords to which the lower hooks are
attached should be such as to allow them to hang about six inches
higher than the bottom of the sinker. In some parts of the Western
Highlands a rod consisting of thin fir is used, but from the length of
line required it is rather a clumsy instrument, as after the fish has
been struck the rod has to be laid down in the boat, and the line to be
hauled in by hand.

As to bait, it is quite impossible to lay down any strict rule. The
bait which is the favourite in one bay or bank is scouted by the fish
of other localities. At times almost anything will do: numbers of
mackerel have been taken with a little bit of red cloth attached to the
hook; on certain occasions the fish are so voracious that they will
swallow the naked iron! On the English coasts, and among the Western
Islands of Scotland, the most deadly bait that is used is boiled
limpets, which require to be partially chewed by the fisher before
placing them on the hooks; in other places mussels are the favourites,
and in others the worms procured among the mud of the shore. The
limpet has this one advantage, that it is easily fixed on the hook,
and keeps its hold tenaciously. A very excellent bait for the larger
kinds of fish is the soft parts of the body of small crabs, which
are gathered for that purpose at low tide under the stones; a good
place for procuring them is a mussel-bed. The best time for fishing
is immediately before ebb or flow. The hooks being baited, the line
is run over the side of the boat until the lead touches the bottom,
when it is drawn up a little, so as to keep the baits out of reach of
the crabs, who gnaw and destroy both bait and tackle. The line is held
firmly and lightly outside the boat, the other hand, inside the boat,
also having a grip of the line. The moment a fish is felt to strike,
the line is jerked down by the hand inside, thus bringing it sharply
across the gunwale and fixing the hook. A little experience will soon
enable the angler to determine the weight of the fish, and according
as it is light or heavy must he quickly or slowly haul in his line.
When the fish reaches the surface, he should, if practicable, seize it
with his hand, as it is apt, on feeling itself out of water, to wriggle
off. A landing-clip or gaff, such as is used in salmon-fishing, is
useful, as, in the event of hooking a conger or a ray, there is much
difficulty, and even some danger.

In fishing for lythe—the most exciting of all sea-angling—a very strong
cord is used, on which, in order to prevent the fouling of the line,
one or two stout swivels are attached. The hooks also cannot be too
strong; those used for cod or ling fishing are very suitable. The
baits in general use are the body of a small eel, about half a foot in
length, skinned and tied to the shaft; or a strip of red cloth, or a
red or white feather similarly attached. A piece of lead is fixed on
the line at a short distance above the hook.

[Illustration]

The boat must be rowed or sailed at a moderate rate, and from five or
ten fathoms of the line allowed to trail behind. The boat end of the
line should be turned once or twice round the arm, and held tightly in
the hand; if the line were fastened to the boat, there is every chance
that a large lythe—they are frequently caught upwards of thirty pounds
weight—would snap the tackle. The fish, when hooked, gives considerable
play, and rather strongly objects to being lifted into the boat. The
clip or gaff is in this case always necessary. In fishing for lythe,
mackerel and dogfish are not unfrequently caught. The best place for
prosecuting this sport is in the neighbourhood of a rocky shore; and
the best times of the day are the early morning and evening. This fish
will also take readily during any period of a dull but not gloomy day.

The most amusing kind of sea-angling is fly-fishing for small lythe and
saithe (coal-fish). The tackle is exceedingly simple: a rod consisting
of a pliant branch about eight feet in length; a line of light cord of
the same length, and a small hook roughly busked with a small white,
red, or black feather. The fly is dragged on the surface as the boat
is rowed along, and the moment the fish is struck it is swung into
the boat. The fry of the lythe and saithe may also be fished for from
rocks and pier-heads, using the same tackle. A very ingenious plan for
securing a number of these little fish is carried on in the Firth of
Clyde and elsewhere. A boat similar in shape to a salmon-coble, with
a crew of two—one to row and one to fish—goes out along the shore in
the evening, when the sea is perfectly calm or nearly so. The fisher
has charge of half-a-dozen rods or more, similar to the one already
mentioned. These rods project across the square stern of the boat, and
their near ends are inserted into the interstices of a seat of wattled
boughs, on which the fisher sits, not steadily, but bumping gently up
and down, communicating a trembling motion to the flies. The course of
the coble is always close in shore, and, if the fish are taking well,
the same ground may be fished over many times during the course of the
evening.

As to set-line-fishing, it can only be practised in places where the
tide recedes to a considerable distance. The cord used is of no defined
length, and at certain distances along its entire extent are affixed
corks to prevent the hooks sinking in the sand or mud. The shore-end
is generally anchored to a stone, and the further end fastened to the
top of a stout staff firmly fixed in the beach, and generally attached
also to a stone to prevent it drifting ashore in the event of being
loosened from its socket. From the staff almost to the shore, hooks
are tied along the line at distances of a yard. The hooks are baited
at low tide, and on the return of next low tide the line is examined.
This is neither a satisfactory nor sure method of fishing, as many of
the fish wriggle themselves free, and clear the hook of the bait, and
many, after being caught, fall a prey to dogfish, etc., so that the
disappointed fisher, on examining his line, too often finds a row of
baitless hooks, alternating with the half-devoured bodies of haddocks,
flounders, saithe, and other shore fish.

[Illustration]

I may just name another mode of obtaining sport, which is by spearing
flat fish, such as flounders, dab, plaice, etc. No rule can be laid
down on this method of fishing. It has been carried on successfully
by means of a common pitchfork, but some gentlemen go the length of
having fine spears made for the purpose, very long and with very sharp
prongs; others, again, use a three-pronged farm-yard “graip,” which has
been known to do as much real work as more elaborate utensils specially
contrived for the purpose. The simplest directions I can give to those
who try this style of fishing are just to spear all the fish they can
see, but the general plan is to stab in the dark with the kind of
instrument delineated above. At the mouths of most of the large English
rivers there is usually abundance of all the minor kinds of flat fish.

[Illustration]

Lobsters and crabs can be taken at certain rocky places of the coast;
mussels can be picked from the rocks, and cockles can be dug for in
the sand. Shrimps can also be taken, and various other wonders of the
sea and its shores may be picked up. After a storm a great number of
curious fishes and shells may be gathered, and some of these are very
valuable as specimens of natural history. The apparatus for capturing
lobsters and crabs is like a cage, and is generally made of wicker
work, with an aperture at the top or the side for the animal to enter
by; it can be baited with any sort of garbage that is at hand. Having
been so baited, the lobster-pot is sunk into the water, and left for
a season, till, tempted by the mess within, the game enters and is
caged. Those who would induce crabs to enter their pots must set them
with fresh bait; lobsters, on the other hand, will look at nothing but
garbage. Very frequently rock-cod, saithe, and other fish, are found to
have entered the pots, intent both on foul and fresh food. Shell-fish
for bait can be taken by means of a wooden box or old wicker basket
sunk near a rocky place, and filled with garbage of some kind; the
whelks and small crabs are sure to patronise the mass extensively, and
can thus be obtained at convenience. It is impossible to tell in the
limits of a brief chapter one-half of the fishing wonders that can be
accomplished during a sojourn at the seaside. A visit to some quaint
old fishing town, on the recurrence of “the year’s vacation sabbath,”
as some of our poets now call the annual month’s holiday, might be made
greatly productive of real knowledge; there are ten thousand wonders of
the shore which can be studied besides those laid down in books.

As will be noted, I have avoided as much as possible the naming of
localities, preferring to state the general practice. In all seaside
towns and fishing villages there are usually three or four old
fishermen who will be glad to do little favours for the curious in
fish lore—to hire out boats, give the use of tackle, and point out
good localities in which to fish. For such as have a few weeks at
their disposal, I would suggest the western sea-lochs of Scotland as
affording superb sport in all the varieties of sea-angling. Fish of
all kinds, great and small, are to be found in tolerable quantity,
and there is likewise the still greater inducement of fine scenery,
cheap lodgings, and moderate living expenses. But the entire change
of scene is the grand medicine; nothing would do an exhausted London
or Manchester man more good than a month on Lochfyne, where he could
not only angle in the great water for amusement, but also watch the
commercial fishers, and enjoy the finely-flavoured herring of that loch
as a portion of his daily food. If persons in search of sea-angling
wish to combine the enjoyment of picturesque scenery with their
pleasant labours on the water, they cannot do better than select, as I
did, the rural village of Corry, on the Island of Arran, as a centre
from which to conduct their operations.

May I be allowed to say a few words about this wonderful island, just
by way of a whet to the eye-appetite of those who have never seen
it? Our angler, having arrived at Glasgow, can go down the Clyde by
steamboat direct to Arran. There is another and a quicker way—viz.
by railway to Ardossan and steamboat to Brodick, but most strangers
prefer the river; and let me say here, without fear of contradiction,
there is no pleasure river equal to the Clyde, especially as regards
accessibility. The steamers from Glasgow peer at stated intervals into
every nook and cranny of the water, and, on the Saturdays especially,
deposit perfect armies of people at various towns and villages below
Greenock, who are thus enabled to pass the Sunday in the bright open
air by the clear waters of this great stream. Any kind of lodging is
put up with for the sake of being “down the water;” and all sorts of
people—merchants even of high degree and “Glasgow bodies” of lower
social standing—are contented, chiefly no doubt at the instigation of
their better halves, to sojourn in places that when at home they would
think quite unsuitable for even the Matties of their households. The
banks of the Clyde have become wonderfully populous within the last
twenty-five years—villages have expanded into towns, hamlets have grown
into villages, and single cottages into hamlets. Now the railway to
Greenock is insufficient as a daily travelling aid to persons whose
half hours are of large commercial value; and as a consequence, a new
line of rails has been constructed to come upon the water at Wemyss
Bay, about twelve miles below Greenock. To your thorough business man
time is money, and if he is alternately able to leave his place of
business and his place of pleasure half an hour later each way, he is
all the better pleased with both. To speculators in want of an idea I
would say: Rush to the Clyde, and buy up every inch of land that can
be had within a mile of the water, build upon it, and from the half
million of human beings who tenant Glasgow and the surrounding towns
I will engage to find two competing occupants for every house that
can be put up. Building has progressed even in Arran, and this too in
despite of the late Duke of Hamilton’s dislike to strangers, so that
there is now a population on the island of about 6000. A friend of mine
says that such an important entity as a duke has no right to do as he
likes with his own, and consequently that Arran ought to be built upon,
and the blackcocks and other game birds be left to take their chance.
Even with such limited accommodation as can be now obtained, Arran is
a delightful summer residence; were it to be generally built upon, it
would realise from ground-rents alone an annual fortune to his Grace
the Duke of Hamilton, who owns the greater part of it, and he might
have capital shooting into the bargain.

Arran, I may state to all who are ignorant of the fact, is a very
paradise for geologists; and amateur globe-makers—persons who think
they are better at constructing worlds than the Great Architect who
preceded them all—are particularly fond of that island, being, as
they suppose, quite able to find upon it _materiel_ sufficient for
the erection of the largest possible “theories.” Figures, it is
said, can be made to prove either side of a cause; so can stones.
Each geologist can build up his own pet world from the same set of
rocks; and so active geologists proceed to stucco over with their own
compositions—“adumbrate” a friend calls the process—the sublime works
of the greatest of all designers. None of the sciences have given rise
to so much controversy as the science of geology. I make no pretensions
to much geologic knowledge, although I do know a little more than the
man who wondered if the granite boulders which he saw on a brae-side
were on their way up or down the hill, and argued that it was a moot
point. What I would like to see would be a good work on geology,
divested entirely of the learned and scientific slang which usually
make such books entirely useless to ninety-nine out of every hundred
persons who attempt to read them. I would like, moreover, a work that
would not bully us with a ready-made theory.

Arran is a rugged island, and, as I have said, is full of interesting
and almost unique geologic features. There is a mountain upon it which
it is a kind of necessity for all visitors to ascend. It is called
Goatfell—its proper name being Goath-Bhein, or hill of winds. At Corry
I was told of persons who had ascended Goatfell and come down again—the
mountain is 2865 feet high—in less than three hours; but I very soon
found that I could not do the going up from Corry in that period of
time, not to speak of the coming down, which to some people, especially
if, like myself, they carry about with them a solid weight of fourteen
stones, is still more fatiguing; but then I had the disadvantage of a
wet forenoon, necessitating an occasional sojourn beneath a granite
boulder in order that _we_—that is, myself and a friend who essayed the
ascent with me—might keep ourselves tolerably dry. It was toilsome,
too, wading up to the knees in heather, even although the heather was
in its fullest bloom; but by perseverance and the good guiding of an
intelligent shepherd whom we took with us as a guide, and who knew the
best paths, we did in time reach the top, and must confess that we
obtained upon our arrival an exceeding rich reward, the view from the
summit being very grand and extensive, embracing what I may be allowed
to call a sublimely-painted diorama of portions of the three kingdoms.

It would be commonplace indeed to say of the view from the top of
Goatfell that it was either beautiful, picturesque, or sublime,
for it is grand—I might say a mysterious combination of all these
qualities; for it cannot be contemplated without a certain feeling of
awe gradually becoming incidental to the situation. We obtain, first
of all, in the distance, a faint and dreamlike view of mountains in
Ireland,—away, however, over a far expanse of sea. Nearer at hand,
looking another way, the giant crag of Ailsa rises perpendicular from
the water, and we can almost hear the screaming of the myriads of wild
fowl which float over it like a cloud. Then at our feet lie in rich
profusion the green islands of the Clyde—Bute and the Cumbraes close
at hand; Argyle, with its lovely bays of glassy water, farther away;
and more distant still, the cragged peaks of Skye. Opening up from all
parts of the river, which glitters brilliantly in the sun, there may be
discovered glimpses of lovely scenery—hill-tops melting into clouds,
and lofty mountains so abundantly clothed with wood that the very
branches dip into the water. Here and there, distance no doubt lending
enchantment to the view, we can see deep glens and gloomy ravines, with
trickling brooks and a rare wealth of foliage, penetrated ever and anon
by flashing sunbeams that light up the picture for a moment and then
leave it darker and grander than before. Pastoral hill-sides too we can
see covered with kine; while every here and there steamboats dot the
water and show their hazy trail of smoke. Lochfyne, covered with tiny
skiffs, is in view, the waters yielding up their wealth of nourishment
to the industrious fisherman. There too are the winding Kyles of Bute,
as much worthy of being immortalised in verse as the well-sung Isles
of Greece. The eye loves to linger on the soft-looking waters of the
inland seas; and again and again we gaze upon the Cobbler as he keeps
watch over the waters of Loch Long, or scan the placid expanse of
Lochfyne.

The late Miss Catharine Sinclair very happily said that a portion
of Lochfyne is fine only in name, and I can well agree with her
while looking at the rocky sides of Cantyre; but giving reins to the
imagination, we can fill up the scene and picture the savages of a few
thousand years ago fishing from the rocks with their bone-tipt spears,
and hauling the produce of their skill out of the waters with rough
branches of trees; and, as time flies onward, we can note in our mind’s
eye the rude canoes as they progress into ships becoming instruments of
commerce and tokens of civilisation. At our very feet are the immense
masses of granite that form the mountain on which we stand; and near at
hand, towering up alongside, are the cones of two other hills, forming
with Goatfell a silent council of three that seem to be ever engaged in
mysterious communing. The silence on the mountain-tops is wonderful,
indeed oppressive: there is not a sound to relieve the ear except
perhaps a roar of water, howling and hissing and boiling in endless
torture in one of the valleys; and as the wind fitfully moans as it
soughs adown some weird vale, half hidden from us by the clouds that
float over it, the scene looks

“So wondrous wild, the whole might seem
The scenery of a fairy dream.”

Looking around, one could feel that the island has a history, if we
could but ascertain it. Books have been written about Arran, and
the stone period and the metallurgic period, as illustrated by the
antiquities of the place, have been canvassed with a keen zest; in
fact, Arran is, if that be possible, more interesting to the antiquary
than the geologist. Its chambered cairns and cromlechs are silent
monuments of great events, as also are its standing-stones; and the
place is rich in those grey monoliths that would speak to us, if we
could but interpret their silent eloquence, of deeds achieved ages ago
by the valiant warriors of a long past time. There are vestiges of a
prehistoric age in Arran that indicate a population as long before the
Celtic period as that age preceded our own. There have doubtless been
heroes on Mauchrie Moor worthy to have their praises sung in Ossianic
strains; for scattered all over the island there are marks and tokens
and scathed ruins that give rise to profound speculations as to the
past history of this dark and mountainous island. And the irresistible
conclusion of any amount of imagining is, that Arran is not alone the
paradise of the geologist, but is the heaven of the botanist as well,
while the antiquary may find in its moors and glens rich memorials
indicating even in the present age the great and troubled life which
the huge mass of rock and its gigantic and peaked protuberances have
passed through as time with an invisible pencil was recording its
history.

Having sufficiently studied the changing scenery, and rested and
refreshed ourselves with some oat cakes and whisky, my friend proposed
that we should do our speculation on the geology and history of the
island at home over the dinner-table, or under the mild influence of
the cup that not inebriates. This was a sensible proposal, especially
as the rain was becoming more than a mere indication, and the shepherd,
who knew the dangers of the hill-top in wet clothes, impatient; so I
gave way, the more especially as beautiful views do not last for ever:
the bright scene fades and the colours deaden—the sea looks gloomy,
the mists gather, the rain falls, and the wind dashes the falling
water rudely in our face, giving us warning to hurry away before worse
befalls us.

When we again reached the plateau from which the rocky dome of
Goatfell takes its rise, the fair sun once more shone out, and we had
to note the botanical wealth of the island, and especially how rich
in heaths and ferns are the slopes of the mountain. Indeed the same
may be said of all the Clyde islands. Cantyre is rich in ferns also.
A botanical friend, while I was lingering on a recent occasion in a
bend of Lochfyne, waiting for that prince of river steamers the newest
_Iona_, picked up in a few minutes seven different varieties, and told
me that he had no doubt of finding double that number had we had time
to look for them. Our shepherd guide, while descending with us from
the mountain, seemed to hint that the reason why Arran was not more
generally allowed to be built upon by the late duke was because of the
game. I had heard before that the duke thought of keeping the Island
of Arran as a gigantic game-preserve; indeed it is admirably suited
for such a purpose, having an area of 165 square miles, and being
entirely isolated from any poaching population. Our guide, on being
asked, was quite of my opinion as to the declining grouse supplies: we
are overshooting our game birds in the very same way as we have been
overfishing our salmon. Where are the grouse? can only be answered
by the death-dealing brigade of sportsmen, gamekeepers, and gillies,
who every “twelfth” assemble on the hills and moors to perform their
annual shooting task. The grand brag over all the cohort of guns is
who will have the biggest bag; and now, what with overshooting and the
mysterious disease that ever and anon attacks the birds, we are likely
to run out of grouse. What a calamity! not only to real sportsmen, but
to all others who have extensive tracts of moor or mountain land, the
only wealth of which has hitherto been the stock of game. Once upon
a time the capercailzie abounded in the Island of Arran, and in many
places of Scotland besides; but that bird has long been very scarce,
and renewed attempts to breed it have not as yet resulted in any great
success. The wild boar was at one time also to be found on the island,
and there are still a few wild deer that rush with fleet steps about
the mountainsides; and on rare occasions, although not very lately,
eagles have been seen on the mountain-tops, where ptarmigan are yet
occasionally found. Arran is lavishly populated with grouse and black
game, while on the lowland parts partridges and pheasants have been
bred by the duke.

We were exceedingly glad, after our hot and toilsome forenoon’s work,
to refresh our bodies with cold water, and then to sit down to our
homely dinner of stewed mutton and well-boiled potatoes, which, it is
needless to say, we ate with decided relish. During this rest we became
still better acquainted with our landlady. She had passed nearly all
her life on the island as a domestic servant, and now, when she had
fallen into “the sere the yellow leaf,” she had, by “good speaking,”
and the payment of a rent of one pound a year, obtained permission to
reside in her present little cottage, which, when it was handed over
to her, was ruined and roofless: she had, therefore, to put on a straw
roof, and is bound to keep it in repair. “How did she live?” my friend
asked. “Well, sir, I don’t live very well; I’m not in good health and
can’t see to do much with my needle. I have some sewing work at which
I can earn a penny a day. It is called ‘veining,’ and is used to trim
ladies’ underclothing. Occasionally I let my bit place to Glasgow
gentlemen, who come down by the Saturday steamboat. The few shillings
that I will get from you, if you stay out the week, will be money to
me. A gentleman living in Edinburgh is kind enough to pay my rent, and
when my beds are let, I sleep in the garret.” Such are the short and
simple annals of the poor; and I could not help being impressed with
this example of patient womanhood, who, rather than be a recipient of
parish relief, would toil on from day to day, acting over again Hood’s
song of the shirt, in order to the earning of a “sair-won penny fee.”

I have just indicated by the little story of this woman the one
drawback of the island—the scarcity of house accommodation, and
consequently of good lodgings. To give my readers a practical idea of
how matters stand, let me relate the experience of my last visit,
when, accompanied by the same friend, I made a hurried run down to the
island one Saturday evening to make some inquiries anent the Western
herring-fishery.

[Illustration: CORRY HARBOUR.]

We had been landed from the steamboat on a massive grey boulder, on
the sides of which, thick as was the atmosphere, we observed dozens of
limpets and crowds of “buckies,” and other sea-ware, giving us token of
ample employment when we could obtain leisure for a more minute survey
of the rocks and stray stones which sprinkle the sea-beach of Corry.
In the meantime, that is just after landing, the great, the momentous
question on this and every other Saturday night is—is _the_ inn full?
A hurried scramble over the jagged stones, and a rush past the very
picturesque residence of Mr. Douglas’ pigs, brought us to the inn, and
at once decided the question. Mrs. Jamison, the landlady, shook her
lawn-bedizened head—the inn, alas, _was_ full, overflowing in fact,
for a gentleman had engaged the coach-house! It was feared, too, that
every house in the village was in a like predicament, and further
inquiry soon confirmed this to us rather awful statement, and so I was
left standing at the inn-door, with a bitingly shrewd companion, to
solve this problem—Given the barest possible accommodation throughout
all Corry for only forty-eight strangers, how to shake fifty into the
village, so that each might have somewhere to lay his head? This is
a problem, I suspect, that few can answer. What was to be done? The
steamboat had gone! Were we then to tramp on to Brodick, with more
than a suspicion of a rainy night in the moist atmosphere, or try a
shake-down of clean straw in a lime quarry? It might have come to
that, and as both of us had before then camped out for a night by the
sheltered side of a haystack, we might have arranged, fortified by the
aid of a dram, or perhaps two, to pass a tolerable night in the lime
cavern beside a very canny-looking horse-of-all-work that we caught a
glimpse of through the gloom of the place while peeping into it.

But a Douglas to the rescue! And who is Douglas? it will be asked.
Well, the ever-active Douglas in his own person combines the offices
of boatman, quarrier, postman, butcher, grocer, and general merchant,
and is, in fact, to use a Scotch phrase, the “Johnny A’things” of the
village—a dealer in—

“Meal, barley, butter, and cheese;
Soap, starch, blue, and peas;
Train-oil, tobacco, pipes, and teas;
And whisky and loch leeches.”

It fortunately occurred that a modest maiden lady, a very
“civil-spoken” woman indeed, by name Grace Macalister, had been
disappointed of two Glasgow gentlemen, who had engaged her whole
house, and so the two benighted travellers from the east were accepted,
at the instigation of the aforesaid Mr. Douglas, in lieu of them.
Taking possession of our lodgings at once, we formed ourselves into a
committee of supply, which resulted in a prompt expenditure of a sum
of six shillings and threepence, the particulars of which, for the
benefit of my readers, and to show how primitive we had all at once
become, I beg to subjoin—namely, bread, 7d.; mutton, 2s. 4d.; butter,
6½d.; tea, 6d.; sugar, 3d.; milk, ½d.; herring, 2d. This sum,
with eighteenpence added for whisky, threepence for potatoes, and one
penny for a candle, represented the total commissariat expenses of two
persons in Corry for five wholesome but homely meals. Our bed cost
us one shilling each per night, and our attendance and washing were
charged at the rate of a shilling a day, so long as we used the Hotel
Macalister, but even this did not very much swell the grand total of
the bill, which, at such rates, was by no means heavy at the end of
our holiday ramble over Arran, especially when it is considered that
the Arran season does not very greatly exceed one hundred days. Our
quarters were certainly primitive enough—namely, half of a thatched
cottage, or rather hut we may call it, consisting of one apartment
containing two beds, four chairs, a small table, and a little cupboard.
The beds were curtained by a series of blue striped cotton fragments
of three different patterns of an old Scotch kind, and the walls were
papered with five different kinds of paper; but the low roof was the
greatest treat of all—it was covered with old numbers of the _Witness_
newspaper, at the time when it was edited by Hugh Miller, and these
had, no doubt, been left in the cottage by previous travellers. The
floor was covered with fragments of canvas laid down as a carpet. Many
tourists would perhaps turn up their noses at this humble cottage, but
to my friend and myself it was a delightful change.

I have not space in which to particularise all the beauties of Arran,
but I must say a word or two about Glen Sannox. Near the golden beach
of Sannox Bay is situated the solitary churchyard of Corry, with its
long grass waving rank over the graves, and its borders of fuchsias
laden with brilliant blossoms. There was, we observed, on peeping over
the wall, a new-made grave, that of an orphan girl who had been drowned
while bathing. Passing the churchyard—there was once a church at the
place, but all trace of it, save one stone built into the wall of the
churchyard, has long passed away—we came upon a brawling stream, which
led us up to the ruins of what had been a barytes-mill. The stones lay
around in great masses, as if they had been suddenly undermined by the
passing stream, and had fallen cemented as they stood. In a year or
two they will be grown over with weeds, and in a century hence some
persons may ingeniously speculate on the ruins, and give a learned
disquisition as to what building once stood there, and its uses. My
friend and I wondered what it had been, but an old man told us all
about it; and, strange to say, in the course of conversation, we found
this old resident reciting scraps of Ossian’s poems. He told us, too,
that the bard had died in the very parish in which we were standing. He
believed Ossian to have been a great priest and teacher of the people,
and this was an idea that was quite new to us. We had heard before, or
rather read, that the poet was by some esteemed a great warrior, and by
others a necromancer—perhaps to esteem him a teacher is right enough;
his poems, at any rate, were at one time as familiar in the mouths of
the West Highlanders as household words.

The scenery of Arran would certainly inspire a poet. As we penetrated
into Glen Sannox it became most interesting, whether we noted the
brawling and bubbling brook, or the rich carpet of heath and wild
flowers upon which we trod. The luxuriance of its wild flowers is
remarkable, and of its rabbits equally so. As we proceed up the glen,
the lofty hills with their granitic scars frown down upon us, and
one with a coroneted brow looks kingly among the others, as the mist
floats upon their shoulders, like a waving mantle, and with their bold
and rugged precipices they seem as if they had just been suddenly
shot out from the bosom of the earth. Glen Sannox is sublime indeed;
its magnitude is remarkable, and it is so hemmed in with hills as
to look at once, even without any details, or the aid of history, a
fitting hiding-place for the gallant Bruce and his devoted followers.
About three miles north from this glen we can view—and, we venture
to say, not without astonishment—the falling fragments of the broken
mountain; a stream of large stones that lie crowded on the declivity
of the hill, till they in one long trail reach the ocean. But to
enumerate a tithe even of the scenic and antiquarian beauties of
the island would require—nay, it has obtained, and more than once—a
volume. I could dwell upon the blue rock near Corry, and picture the
overhanging cliffs of the neighbourhood mantled o’er with ivy. The
visitor might enter some of the caves which have been scooped out by
the sea, or wander among the rock pools of the indented shore, rich
with treasures wherewith to feed the greedy eye of the naturalist, and
view the ladies, with kilted coats, doing their daily lessons from
Glaucus, collecting pretty shells, bottling anemones, or gathering
sea-weeds wherewith to ornament their botanic albums. At last, after
a long day’s work of wandering and climbing, we long for a quiet seat
and a refreshing cup of tea, and by and by, when the night shuts us
out from active labour, we hie us to our box bed, in order to stretch
our wearied limbs in Miss Macalister’s well-lavendered sheets; and,
as we are just attempting to coax the balmy goddess to close our eyes
with her soft fingers, we hear the landlady in her garret reading her
nightly chapter from her Gaelic Bible, with that genuine droning sound
incidental to the West Highland voice.

I have more than once after nightfall passed a quiet half-hour at our
cottage door inhaling the saline breath of the mighty sea. The look-out
at midnight is very beautiful: the Cumbrae light looked like a monitor
telling us that even at that dread hour we were watched over. On the
opposite coast of Ayr a huge ironwork threw a lurid glare upon the
bosom of the sea, and almost at my feet the restless waves were playing
a mournful dirge on the boulder-crowded beach. I could see along the
water to Holy Island, and could almost feel the silence that at that
moment would render the cave of old Saint Molio a wondrous place for
holding a feast of the imagination, the viands being brought forward
from a far-back time, and the island again peopled with the quaint
races that had passed a brief span of life upon its shores—who had been
warmed by the same sun as had that day shone upon me, and whose nights
had been illumined by the same moon that was now shimmering its soft
radiance upon the liquid bosom of the sparkling waters.

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.

So many books have been written during the last few years about this
beautiful and valuable animal that I do not require to occupy a very
large portion of this work with either its natural or economic history;
for of the two hundred and fifty kinds of fish which inhabit the rivers
and seas of Britain, the salmon (_Salmo salar_) is the one about which
we know more than any other, and chiefly for these reasons:—It is of
greater value as property than any other fish; its large size better
admits of observation than smaller members of the fish tribe; and,
in consequence of its migratory instinct, we have access to it at
those seasons of its life when to observe its habits is the certain
road to information. And yet, with all these advantages, or rather in
consequence of them, there has been a vast amount of controversy, oral
and written, as to the birth, breeding, and growth of the salmon.
There have been controversies as to the impregnation of its eggs, as
to the growth of the fish from the parr to the smolt stage; also as
to the kind of food it eats, how long it remains in the salt water,
and whether it makes one or two voyages to the sea per annum. There
has likewise been a grilse controversy, as well as a rate-of-growth
quarrel. These scientific and literary combats have been fought at
intervals, and, to speak generally, have exhibited the temper and the
learning of the combatants in about equal proportions. The dates of
these controversies are not so easily fixed as might be desired, seeing
that they are either scattered at intervals throughout the Transactions
of learned societies, buried in heavy encyclopædias, or altogether lost
in the columns of newspapers. It is scarcely an exaggeration to say
that during the past quarter of a century there has been a committee of
inquiry either in the House of Lords or Commons, a royal commission, a
blue book, or an Act of Parliament, every year on behalf of the salmon,
besides numerous publications by private individuals.

Although no person now believes the assertion of the Billingsgate
naturalist, that salmon-eggs come to maturity in a period of
forty-eight hours, or that other authority who told the world that as
soon as the fish burst from the ovum—a smolt six inches long coming out
of a pea!—it was conducted to the sea by its parents, there is much of
the romantic in the history of this monarch of the brook, and about the
manner in which the varied disputed points have been solved, if indeed
some of these points be yet completely settled.

I shall not again enter into the impregnation theory, having said as
much as was necessary about that portion of my subject in a previous
division of this work; but will proceed at once to give a summary of
the parr controversy, and a few statements about the grilse and the
full-grown fish as well.

[Illustration]

According to the state of knowledge some five-and-thirty years ago—and
I need not go further back at present—the smolt was said to be the
first stage of salmon-life, and the abounding parr was thought to be
a distinct fish. Now we know better, and are able to regulate our
salmon-fisheries accordingly. The spawn deposited by the parent fish in
October, November, and December, lies in the river till about April or
May, when it quickens into life. I have already described the changes
apparent in the salmon-egg from the time of its fructification till
the birth of the fish. The infant fry are of course very helpless, and
are seldom seen during the first week or two of their existence, when
they carry about with them as a provision for food a portion of the egg
from whence they emanated. At that time the fish is about half an inch
in size, and presents such a very singular appearance that no person
seeing it would ever believe that it would grow into a fine grilse or
salmon. About fifty days is required for the animal to assume the shape
of a perfect fish; before that time it might be taken for anything
else than a young salmon. The engravings on this and the succeeding
pages, which are exactly half the size of life, show the progress of
the salmon during the first two years of its existence, at the end of
which time it is certain to have changed into a smolt. After eating
up its umbilical bag, which it takes a period of from twenty to forty
days to accomplish, the young salmon may be seen about its birthplace,
timid and weak, hiding about the stones, and always apparently of the
same colour as the surroundings of its sheltering place. The transverse
bars of the parr very speedily become apparent, and the fish begins
to grow with considerable rapidity, especially if it is to be a
twelvemonth’s smolt, and this is very speedily seen at such a good
point of observation as the Stormontfield ponds. The smallest of the
specimens given in the preceding page represents a parr at the age of
two months; the next in size shows the same fish two months older; and
the remaining fish is six months old. The young fish continue to grow
for a little longer than two years before the whole number make the
change from parr to smolt and seek the salt water. Half of the quantity
of any one hatching, however, begin to change at a little over twelve
months from the date of their coming to life; and thus there is the
extraordinary anomaly, as I shall by and by show, of fish of the same
hatching being at one and the same time parr of half an ounce in weight
and grilse weighing four pounds. The smolts of the first year return
from the sea whilst their brothers and sisters are timidly disporting
in the breeding shallows of the upper streams, having no desire for
change, and totally unable to endure the salt water, which would at
once kill them. The sea-feeding must be favourable, and the condition
of the fish well suited to the salt water, to ensure such rapid
growth—a rapidity which every visit of the fish to the ocean serves
but to confirm. Various fish, while in the grilse stage, have been
marked to prove this; and at every migration they returned to their
breeding stream with added weight and improved health. What the salmon
feeds upon while in the salt water is not well known, as the digestion
of that fish is so rapid as to prevent the discovery of food in their
stomachs when they are captured and opened. Guesses have been made, and
it is likely that these approximate to the truth; but the old story of
the rapid voyage of the salmon to the North Pole and back again turns
out, like the theory upon which was built up the herring-migration
romance, to be a mere myth.

None of our naturalists have yet attempted to elucidate that mystery of
salmon life which converts one-half of the fish into sea-going smolts
while as yet the other moiety remain as parr. It has been investigated
so far at the breeding-ponds at Stormontfield, but without resolving
the question. There is another point of doubt as to salmon life which
I shall also have a word to say about—namely, whether or not that fish
makes two visits annually to the sea; likewise whether it be probable
that a smolt remains in the salt water for nearly a year before it
becomes a grilse. As a salmon only stays, as is popularly supposed, a
very short time in the salt water, and as it is one of the quickest
swimming fishes we have, so that it is able to reach a distant river in
a very short space of time, it is most desirable that we should know
what it does with itself when it is not migrating from one water to the
other; because, according to the opinion of some naturalists, it would
speedily become so deteriorated in the river as to be unequal to the
slightest exertion.

The mere facts in the biography of the salmon are not very numerous; it
is the fiction and mystery with which the life of this particular fish
has been invested by those ignorant of its history that has made it a
greater object of interest than it would otherwise have become. This
will be obvious as I briefly trace the amount of controversy and state
the arguments which have been expended on the three divisions of its
life.

THE PARR CONTROVERSY.—None of the controversies concerning the growth
of the salmon have been so hotly carried on or have proved so fertile
in argument as the parr dispute. At certain seasons of the year,
most notably in the months of spring and early summer, our salmon
streams and their tributaries become crowded, as if by magic, with
a pretty little fish, known in Scotland as the parr, and in England
as the brandling, the peel, the samlet, etc. The parr was at one
time so wonderfully plentiful, that farmers and cottars who resided
near a salmon river used not unfrequently, after filling the family
frying-pan, to feed their pigs with the dainty little fish! Countless
thousands were annually killed by juvenile anglers, and even so lately
as twenty years ago it never occurred either to country gentlemen or
their farmers that these parr were young salmon. Indeed, the young of
the salmon, as then recognised, was only known as a smolt or smout.
Parr were thought, as I have already said, to be distinct fish of the
minor or dwarf kind. Some large-headed anglers, however, had their
doubts about the little parr, and naturalists found it difficult to
procure specimens of the fish with ova or milt in them. Dr. Knox,
the anatomist, asserted that the parr was a hybrid belonging to no
particular species of fish, but a mixture of many; and it is curious
enough that although this fish was declared over and over again to be a
separate species, no one ever found a female parr containing roe. The
universal exclamation of naturalists for many a long year was always:
It is a quite distinct species, and not the young of any larger fish.
The above drawing represents a parr, the engraving being exactly half
the size of life.

[Illustration: PARR ONE YEAR OLD.
Half the natural size.]

This “distinct-species” dogma might have been still prevalent, had not
the question been taken in hand and solved by practical men. Before
mentioning the experiments of Shaw and Young, it will be curious
to note the varieties of opinion which were evoked during the parr
controversy, which has existed in one shape or another for something
like two hundred years. As a proof of the difficulty of arriving at
a correct conclusion amidst the conflict of evidence, I may cite the
opinion of Yarrell, who held the parr to be a distinct fish. “That the
parr,” he says, “is not the young of the salmon, or, indeed, of any
other of the large species of Salmonidæ, as still considered by some,
is sufficiently obvious from the circumstance that parr by hundreds
may be taken in the rivers all the summer, long after the fry of the
year of the larger migratory species have gone down to the sea.” Mr.
Yarrell also says, “The smolt or young salmon is by the fishermen of
some rivers called ‘a laspring;’” and explains, “The laspring of some
rivers is the young of the true salmon; but in others, as I know from
having had specimens sent me, the laspring is really _only a parr_.”
Mr. Yarrell further states the prevalence of an opinion “that parrs
were hybrids, and all of them males.” Many gentlemen who would not
admit that parr were salmon in their first stage have lived to change
their opinion.

My friend Mr. Robert Buist, the intelligent and very obliging
conservator of the Stormontfield breeding-ponds, is one of the
gentlemen who now finds, from the results of most accurate experiments
conducted under his own personal superintendence, that he was in error
in holding the parr to be a distinct fish. A very eminent living
naturalist, who has now seen all the stages of the question, said at
one time that the parr had no connection whatever with the migratory
salmon; and also that “males are found so far advanced as to have the
milt flow on being handled; but at the same time, and indeed all the
females which I have examined, had the roe in a backward state, and
they have not been discovered spawning in any of the shallow streams
or lesser rivulets, like the trout.” Such extracts could be multiplied
to almost any extent, but I can only give one more, and it is from
the same writer. After minutely describing the anatomy of the fish,
he thus sums up: “In this state, therefore, I have no hesitation in
considering the parr not only distinct, but one of the best and most
constantly marked species we have.”

The first person who “took a thought about the matter”—_i.e._ as to
whether the parr was or was not the young of the salmon—and arrived
at any solid conclusion, was James Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, who,
in his usual eccentric way, took some steps to verify his opinions.
He had, while herding his sheep, many opportunities of watching
the fishing-streams, and, like most of his class, he wielded his
fishing-rod with considerable dexterity. While angling in the
tributaries of some of the Border salmon-streams he had often caught
the parr as it was changing into the smolt stage, and had, after close
observation, come to the conclusion that the little parr was none
other than the infant salmon. Mr. Hogg did not keep his discovery a
secret, and the more his facts were controverted by the naturalists
of the day the louder became his proclamations. He had suspected all
his life that parr were salmon in their first stage. He would catch
a parr with a few straggling scales upon it; he would look at this
fish and think it queer; instantly he would catch another a little
better covered with silver scales, but all loose, and not adhering
to the body. Again he would catch a smolt, manifestly a smolt, all
covered with the white silver scales, yet still rather loose upon
its skin, and these would come off in his hand. On removing these he
found the parr, with the blue finger marks below the new scales; and
that these were young salmon then became as manifest to the shepherd
as that a lamb, if suffered to live, would become a sheep. Wondering
at this, he marked a great number of the lesser fish, and offered
rewards (characteristically enough of whisky) to the peasantry to
bring him any fish that had evidently undergone the change predicted
by him. Whenever this conclusion was settled in his mind, the
Shepherd at once proclaimed his new-gained knowledge. “What will the
fishermen of Scotland think,” said he, “when I assure them, on the
faith of long experience and observation, and on the word of one
who can have no interest in instilling an untruth into their minds,
that every insignificant parr with which the Cockney fisher fills
his basket is a salmon lost?” These crude attempts of the impulsive
shepherd of Ettrick—and he was hotly opposed by Mr. Buist, now of
Stormontfield—were not without their fruits; indeed they were so
successful as quite to convince him that parr were young salmon in
their first stage.

As I have had occasion to mention the opinions of James Hogg on the
salmon question, I may be allowed to state here that the following
amusing bit of dialogue on the habits of the salmon once took place
between the Ettrick Shepherd and a friend:—

_Shepherd_—“I maintain that ilka saumon comes aye back again frae the
sea till spawn in its ain water.”

_Friend_—“Toots, toots, Jamie! hoo can it manage till do that; hoo, in
the name o’ wonder, can a fish, travelling up a turbid water frae the
sea, know when it reaches the entrance to its birthplace, or that it
has arrived at the tributary that was its cradle?”

_Shepherd_—“Man, the great wonder to me is no hoo the fish get back,
but hoo they find their way till the sea first ava, seein’ that they’ve
never been there afore!”

The parr question, however, was determined in a rather more formal
mode than that adopted by the author of “Bonny Kilmenny.” Mr. Shaw, a
forester in the employment of the Duke of Buccleuch, took up the case
of the parr in 1833, and succeeded in solving the problem. In order
that he might watch the progressive growth of the parr, Mr. Shaw began
by capturing seven of these little fishes on the 11th of July 1833;
these he placed in a pond supplied by a stream of excellent water,
where they grew and flourished apace till early in April 1834, between
which date and the 17th of the following May they became smolts; and
all who saw them on that day when they were caught by Mr. Shaw were
thoroughly convinced that they were true salmon smolts. In March 1835
Mr. Shaw repeated his experiments with twelve parrs of a larger size,
taken also from the river. On being transferred to the pond, these
so speedily acquired the scales of the smolt that Mr. Shaw assumed
a period of two years as being the time at which the change took
place from the parr to the smolt. The late Mr. Young of Invershin, a
well-known authority on salmon life, was experimenting at the same time
as Mr. Shaw, and for the same purpose—namely, to determine if parr were
the young of the salmon, and, if so, at what period they became smolts
and proceeded to the sea. Well, Mr. Shaw said two years, and Mr. Young,
who was at that time manager of the Duke of Sutherland’s fisheries,
said the change took place in twelve months; others, again, who took
an interest in the controversy, said that three years elapsed before
the change was made. The various parties interested held each their
own opinion, and it may even be said that the disputation still goes
on; for although a numerous array of facts bearing on the migration
have been gathered, we are still in ignorance of any regulating
principle on which the migratory change is based, or to account for the
impulse which impels a brood of fish to proceed to sea divided into
two moieties. Mr. Shaw watched his young fry with unceasing care, and
described their growth with great minuteness, for a period extending
over two years, when his parrs became smolts. Mr. Young, in a letter
from Invershin, dated January 1853, says, pointedly enough—“The fry
remain in the river one whole year, from the time they are hatched to
the time they assume their silvery coat and take their first departure
for the sea. All the experiments we have made on the ova and fry of the
salmon have exactly corresponded to the same effects, and none of them
have taken longer in arriving at the smolt than the first year.”

Mr. Buist, in one of his letters on the progress of artificial breeding
at the Stormontfield ponds, says: “There is at present a mystery as
regards the progress of the young salmon. There can be no doubt that
all in our ponds are really and truly the offspring of salmon; no other
fish, not even the seed of them, could by any possibility get into
the ponds. Now we see that about one half have gone off as smolts,
returning in their season as grilses; the other half remain as parrs,
and the milt in the males is as much developed, in proportion to the
size of the fish, as their brethren of the same age seven to ten pounds
weight, whilst these same parrs in the ponds do not exceed one ounce
in weight. This is an anomaly in nature which I fear cannot be cleared
up at present. I hope, however, by proper attention, some light may
be thrown upon it from our experiments next spring. The female parrs
in the pond have their ova so undeveloped that the granulations can
scarcely be discovered by a lens of some power. It is strange that
both Young’s and Shaw’s theories are likely to prove correct, though
seemingly so contradictory, and the much-disputed point settled, that
parrs (such as ours at least) are truly the young of the salmon.”

It is quite certain that parr are young salmon, and that a parr
becomes a smolt and goes to the sea, although there are still to be
found, no doubt, a few wrong-headed people who will not be convinced
on the point, but pridefully maintain all the old salmon theories and
prejudices. With them the parr is still a distinct fish, the smolt is
the true young of _Salmo salar_ in its first stage, and a grilse is
just a grilse and nothing more. However, these old-world people will
in time pass away (there is no hope of convincing them), and then the
modern views of salmon biography, founded as they are on laborious
personal investigation, will ultimately prevail.

THE SMOLT AND GRILSE.—But the great parr mystery is still unsolved—that
is to say, no one knows on what _principle_ the transformation is
accomplished; how it is that only half of a brood ripen into smolts
at the end of a year, the other moiety taking double that period to
arrive at the same stage of progress. Some scientific visitors to the
Stormontfield ponds say that this anomaly is natural enough, and that
similar ratios of growth may be observed among all animals; but it
is curious that just exactly the half of a brood—and the eggs be it
remembered all from adult salmon, and therefore similar in ripeness
and other conditions—should change into smolts at the end of a year,
leaving a moiety in the ponds as parr for another twelvemonth.

The most remarkable phase in the life of the salmon is its
extraordinary instinct for change. After the parr has become a smolt,
it is found that the desire to visit the sea is so intense, especially
in pond-bred fish, as to cause them to leap from their place of
confinement, in the hope of attaining at once their salt-water goal;
and of course the instinct of river-bred fish is equally strong on
this point—they all rush to the sea at their proper season. There are
various opinions as to the cause of the migratory instinct in the
salmon. Some people say it finds in the sea those rich feeding-grounds
which enable it to add so rapidly to its weight. It is quite certain
that the fish attains its primest condition while it is in the salt
water; those caught in the estuaries by means of stake or bag nets
being richer in quality, and esteemed far before the river fish. The
moment the salmon enters the fresh water it begins to decrease in
weight and fall from its high condition. It is a curious fact, and
a wise provision of nature, that the eel, which is also a migratory
fish, descends to spawn in the sea as the salmon is ascending to the
river-head for the same purpose; were the fact different, and both
fish to spawn in the river, the roe of the salmon would be completely
eaten up. In due time then, we find the silver-coated host leaving the
rippling cradle of its birth, and adventuring on the more powerful
stream, by which it is borne to the sea-fed estuary, or the briny ocean
itself. And this picturesque tour is repeated year after year, being
apparently the grand essential of salmon life.

[Illustration: SMOLT TWO YEARS OLD.
Half the natural size.]

It is pleasant, rod in hand, on a breezy spring day, while trying to
coax “the monarch of the brook” from his sheltering pool, to watch
this annual migration, and to note the passage of the bright-mailed
army adown the majestic river, that hurries on by busy corn-mill and
sweeps with a murmuring sound past hoar and ruined towers, washing
the pleasant lawns of country magnates or laving the cowslips on the
village meadow, and as it rolls ceaselessly ocean-ward, giving a
more picturesque aspect to the quaint agricultural villages and farm
homesteads which it passes in its course. During the whole length
of its pilgrimage the army of smolts pays a tribute to its enemies
in gradual decimation: it is attacked at every point of vantage;
at one place the smolts are taken prisoners by the hundred in some
well-contrived net, at another picked off singly by some juvenile
angler. The smolt is greedily devoured by the trout, the pike, and
various other enemies, which lie constantly in waiting for it, sure
of a rich feast at this annually-recurring migration. But the giant
and fierce battle which this infantile tribe has to fight is at the
point where the salt water begins to mingle with the stream, where are
assembled hosts of greedy monsters of the sea of all shapes and sizes,
from the porpoise and seal down to the young coal-fish, who dart with
inconceivable rapidity upon the defenceless shoal and play havoc with
the numbers.

Many naturalists dispute most lustily the assertion that the smolt
returns to the parental waters as a grilse the same year that it visits
the sea; and some writers have maintained that the young fish makes
a grand tour to the North Pole before it makes up its mind to “hark
back.” It has been pretty well proved, however, that the grilse may
have been the young smolt of the same year. A most remarkable fact in
the history of grilse is, that we kill them in thousands before they
have an opportunity of perpetuating their kind; indeed on some rivers
the annual slaughter of grilse is so enormous as palpably to affect
the “takes” of the big fish. It has been asserted, likewise, that the
grilse is a distinct fish, and not the young of the salmon in its early
stage. There has been a controversy as to the rate at which the salmon
increases in weight; and there have been numerous disputes about what
its instinct had taught it to “eat, drink, and avoid.”

It has been authoritatively settled, however, that grilse become
salmon; and, notwithstanding a recent opening up of this old sore, I
hold the experiments conducted by his Grace the Duke of Athole and
the late Mr. Young of Invershin to be quite conclusive. The latter
gentleman, in his little work on the salmon, after alluding to various
points in the growth of the fish, says:—“My next attempt was to
ascertain the rate of their growth during their short stay in salt
water, and for this purpose we marked spawned grilses, as near as we
could get to four pounds weight; these we had no trouble in getting
with a net in the pools below the spawning-beds, where they had
congregated together to rest, after the fatigues of depositing their
seed. All the fish above four pounds weight, as well as any under that
size, were returned to the river unmarked, and the others marked by
inserting copper wire rings into certain parts of their fins: this was
done in a manner so as not to interrupt the fish in their swimming
operations nor be troublesome to them in any way. After their journey
to sea and back again, we found that the four pound grilses had grown
into beautiful salmon, varying from nine to fourteen pounds weight. I
repeated this experiment for several years, and on the whole found the
results the same, and, as in the former marking, found the majority
returning in about eight weeks; and we have never among our markings
found a marked grilse go to sea and return a grilse, for they have
invariably returned salmon.”

The late Duke of Athole took a considerable interest in the grilse
question, and kept a complete record of all the fish that he had caused
to be marked; and in his Journal there is a striking instance of
rapidity of growth. A fish marked by his Grace was caught at a place
forty miles distant from the sea; it travelled to the salt water, fed,
and returned in the short space of thirty-seven days. The following is
his entry regarding this particular fish:—“On referring to my Journal,
I find that I caught this fish as a kelt this year, on the 31st of
March, with the rod, about two miles above Dunkeld Bridge, at which
time it weighed exactly ten pounds; so that, in the short space of
five weeks and two days, it had gained the almost incredible increase
of eleven pounds and a quarter; for, when weighed here on its arrival,
it was twenty-one pounds and a quarter.” There could be no doubt, Mr.
Young thinks, of the accuracy of this statement, for his Grace was most
correct in his observations, having tickets made for the purpose, and
numbered from one upwards, and the number and date appertaining to each
fish was carefully registered for reference.

As the fish grew so rapidly during their visit to the salt water,
people began to wonder what they fed on, and where they went. A
hypothesis was started of their visiting the North Pole; but it was
certain, from the short duration of their visit to the salt water that
they could proceed to no great distance from the mouth of the river
which admitted them to the sea. Hundreds of fish were dissected in
order to ascertain what they fed upon; but only on very rare occasions
could any traces of food be found in their stomachs. What, then, do the
salmon live upon? was asked. It is quite clear that salmon obtain in
the sea some kind of food for which they have a peculiar liking, and
upon which they rapidly grow fat; and it is very well known that after
they return to the fresh water they begin to lose their flesh and fall
off in condition. The rapid growth of the fish seems to imply that its
digestion must be rapid, and may perhaps account for there never being
food in its stomach when found; although I am bound to mention that
one gentleman who writes on this subject accounts for the emptiness of
the stomach by asserting that the salmon vomits at the moment of being
taken. The codfish again is frequently found with its stomach crowded;
in fact, I have seen the stomach of a large cod which formed quite a
small museum, having a large variety of articles “on board,” as the
fisherman said who caught it. Salmon seldom now attain a weight of more
than from fifteen to eighteen pounds. Long ago sixty-pound fish were
by no means rare, and twelve years back salmon weighing thirty and
forty pounds used frequently to be seen on our fishmongers’ counters.
In the golden age of the fisheries salmon are said to have been very
plentiful, and attainable for food by all classes of the community,
the price being a mere trifle; but railways now carry away our sea
produce with such rapidity to far-off cities and populous towns, where
there is an increasing demand that the price has risen to such a point
as to make this fish a luxury for the rich, and so induce the capture
of salmon of all weights. On all these points there has been a great
amount of disputation, chiefly carried on in the Transactions of
learned societies, and not therefore accessible to the general reader.

It is supposed by some writers that the salmon makes two voyages
in each year to the sea, and this is quite possible, as we may
judge from the data already given on this point; but sometimes the
salmon, although it can swim with great rapidity, takes many weeks to
accomplish its journey because of the state of the river. If there is
not sufficient water to flood the course, the fish have to remain in
the various pools they may reach till the state of the water admits
of their proceeding on their journey either to or from the sea. The
salmon, like all other fish, is faithful to its old haunts; and it is
known, in cases where more than one salmon-stream falls into the same
firth, that the fish of one stream will not enter another, and where
the stream has various tributaries suitable for breeding purposes, the
fish breeding in a particular tributary invariably return to it.

But, in reference to the idea of a double visit to the salt water, may
we not ask—particularly as we have the dates of the marked fish for
our guidance—what a salmon that is known to be only five weeks away
on its sea visit does with itself the rest of the year? A salmon, for
instance, spawning about “the den of Airlie,” on the Isla, some way
beyond Perth, has not to make a very long journey before it reaches
the salt water, and travelling at a rapid rate would soon accomplish
it; but supposing the fish took forty days for its passage there and
back, and allowing a period of six weeks for spawning and rest, there
are still many months of its annual life unaccounted for. It cannot,
according to the ideas of some writers, remain in the river forty-seven
weeks, because it would become so low in condition from the want of
a proper supply of nourishing food that it would die. It is this
fact that has led to the supposition of a double journey to the sea.
The Rev. Dugald Williamson, who wrote a pamphlet on this subject,
entertains no doubt about the double journey. “Salmon migrate twice
in the course of the year, and the instinct which drives them from
the sea in summer impels them to the sea in spring. Let the vernal
direction of the propensity be opposed, let a salmon be seized as it
descends and confined in a fresh-water pond or lake, and what is its
fate? Before preparing to quit the river it had suffered severely in
strength, bulk, and general health, and, imprisoned in an atmosphere
which had become unwholesome, it soon begins to languish, and in the
course of the season expires: the experiment has been tried, and the
result is well known. This being an ascertained and unquestionable
fact, is it a violent or unfair inference that a similar result obtains
in the case of those salmon that are forced back, from whatever cause,
to the sea, that the salt-water element is as fatal to the pregnant
fish of autumn as the fresh-water element is to the spent fish in
spring?... If there is any truth in these conjectures, they suggest
the most powerful reasons for _resisting_ or _removing_ obstructions
in the estuary of a river.” The riddle of this double migration of the
salmon is likely still to puzzle us. It is said that the impelling
force of the migratory instinct is, that the fish is preyed upon in
the salt water by a species of crustaceous insect, which forces it to
seek the fresh waters of its native river; again, that while the fresh
water destroys these sea-lice a new kind infests it in the river,
thus necessitating a return to the sea. My own experience leads me to
believe that salmon can exist perfectly well in the fresh water for
months at a time, suffering but little deterioration in weight, but
never, so far as I could ascertain, growing while in the fresh streams,
although it is certain they feed. It is a well-known fact that the parr
cannot live in salt water. I have both tried the experiment myself and
seen it tried by others; the parr invariably die when placed in contact
with the sea-water.

Mr. William Brown, in his painstaking account of _The Natural History
of the Salmon_, also bears his testimony on this part of the salmon
question:—“Until the parr takes on the smolt scales, it shows no
inclination to leave the fresh water. It cannot live in salt water.
This fact was put to the test at the ponds, by placing some parrs in
salt water—the water being brought fresh from the sea at Carnoustie;
and immediately on being immersed in it the fish appeared distressed,
the fins standing stiff out, the parr-marks becoming a brilliant
ultramarine colour, and the belly and sides of a bright orange. The
water was often renewed, but they all died, the last that died living
nearly five hours. After being an hour in the salt water, they appeared
very weak and unable to rise from the bottom of the vessel which
contained them, the body of the fish swelling to a considerable extent.
This change of colour in the fish could not be attributed to the colour
of the vessel which held them, for on being taken out they still
retained the same brilliant colours.”

All controversies relating to the growth of salmon may now be held
as settled. It has been proved that the parr is the young of the
salmon; the various changes which it undergoes during its growth have
been ascertained, and the increase of bulk and weight which accrues
in a given period is now well understood. But we still require much
information as to the “habits” of fish of the salmon kind.

In a recent conversation with Mr. Marshall of Stormontfield, while
comparing notes on some of the disputed points of salmon growth, we
both came to the conclusion that the following dates, founded on the
experiments conducted at Stormontfield, might be taken as marking
the chief stages in the life of a salmon. An egg deposited in the
breeding-boxes say in December 1852 yielded a fish in April 1853; that
fish remained as a parr till a little later than the same period of
1854, when, being seized with its migratory instinct, and having upon
it the protecting scales of the smolt, it departed from the pond into
the river Tay on its way to the sea, having previously had conferred
upon it a certain mark by which it could be known if recaptured on its
return. It was recaptured as a grilse within less than three months
of its departure (July), and weighed about four pounds. Being marked
once more, it was again sent away to endure the dangers of the deep;
and lo! was once more taken, this time a salmon of the goodly weight
of ten pounds! But there comes in here the question if it was the same
fish, for it is said that the smolt in some cases remains a whole
winter in the sea, and therefore that the fish I have been alluding to
was a smolt that had never come back as a grilse. I have a theory that
half of the brood of smolts sent to sea do remain over the winter and
come back as salmon, while the others come back almost immediately as
grilse. It is possible, however, that any particular fish may lose its
river for a season, and be in some other water for a time as a grilse,
and then finding its birth-stream come once again to its “procreant
cradle.” The rapidity of salmon growth, however, I consider to be
undoubtedly proved.

A good deal has been said in various quarters about the best way of
marking a young salmon so that at some future stage of its life it may
be easily identified. Cutting off the dead fin is not thought a good
plan of marking, because such a mark may be accidentally imitated and
so mislead those interested, or it may be wilfully imitated by persons
wishing to mislead. Of the smolts sent away from the Stormontfield
ponds during May 1855, 1300 were marked in a rather common way—viz.
by cutting off the second dorsal fin—and twenty-two of these marked
fish were taken as grilse during that same summer, the first being
caught on the 7th of July, when it weighed three pounds. Mr. Buist,
who took charge of the experiments, was quite convinced that a much
larger number of the marked fish than twenty-two was caught, but many
of the fishermen, having an aversion to the system of pond-breeding,
took no pains to discover whether or not the grilse they caught had the
pond-mark, and so the chance of still further verifying the rate of
salmon growth was lost. A reward offered by Mr. Buist of 2s. per pound
weight for each grilse that might be brought to his office, led to an
imitation of the mark and the perpetration of several petty frauds
in order to get the money. The mark was frequently imitated, and one
or two fish were brought to Mr. Buist which almost deceived him into
the belief of their being some of the real marked fish. As Mr. Buist
says—“So cunningly had this deception been gone about, that a casual
observer might have been deceived. When the fin was cut off the recent
wound was far too palpable; and to hide this the man cut a piece of
skin from another fish and fixed it upon the wounded part. I examined
this fish, which was lying alongside of an undoubted pond-marked fish,
which had the skin and scales grown over the cut, and I am satisfied
that it would be impossible to imitate the true mark by any process
except by marking the fish while young.”[5] Peter Marshall and also Mr.
Buist agree with me in saying that the number of fish taken, each being
minus the dead fin, was a sufficient proof that these fish were really
the pond-bred ones returned as grilse. It is impossible that twenty
or thirty grilse could have all been accidentally maimed within a few
weeks, and each present the same—the very same appearance. Various
other plans of marking were tried by the authorities at Stormontfield,
some of which were partially successful, and added another link to the
chain of evidence, which proves at any rate that many individual fish
have grown from the smolt to the grilse state in the course of a very
few weeks.

[Illustration: FISHES OF THE SALMON FAMILY.
1. Salmon.
2. Grilse.
3. Sea-trout.
4. Herling.
]

Leaving the salmon as an object of natural history, and looking at it
as an article of commerce, I find that there exists a considerable
dread of its speedy extinction, which, taking into account the state
of the fisheries, is not at all to be wondered at. The English
salmon-fisheries have utterly declined; the Irish fisheries are
decaying; and the eagerness with which the Scotch people are rushing to
Parliament for new laws indicates a fear of a similar fate overtaking
the fisheries of the North. The “breeches-pocket” view of the question
has recently become of considerable importance, in consequence of
this fear of failing supplies; for the commerce carried on in this
particular fish has been at the rate of over £100,000 a year; and
although our salmon-fisheries are not nearly equal in value to the
herring and white fisheries, still the individual salmon is our most
tangible fish, and brings to its owner a larger sum of money than any
other member of the fish family. Indeed, of late years this “monarch of
the brook” has become emphatically the rich man’s fish; its price for
table purposes, at certain seasons of the year, being only compatible
with a large income; and liberty to play one’s rod on a salmon river
is a privilege paid for at a high figure per annum. Such facts at once
elevate _Salmo salar_ to the highest regions of luxury: certainly,
salmon can no longer find a place on the tables of the poor; for we
shall never again hear of its selling at twopence per pound, or of
farm-servants bargaining not to be compelled to eat it oftener than
twice a week.

At every stage of its career the salmon is surrounded by enemies.
At the very moment of spawning, the female is watched by a horde of
devourers, who instinctively flock to the breeding-grounds in order
to feast on the ova. The hungry pike, the lethargic perch, the greedy
trout, the very salmon itself, are lying in wait, all agape for the
palatable roe, and greedily swallowing whatever quantity the current
carries down. Then the water-fowl eagerly pounces on the precious
deposit the moment it has been forsaken by the fish; and if it
escape being gobbled up by such cormorants, the spawn may be washed
away by a flood, or the position of the bed may be altered, and the
ova be destroyed perhaps for want of water. As an instance of the
loss incidental to salmon-spawning in the natural way, I may just
mention that a whitling of about three-quarters of a pound weight
has been taken in the Tay with three hundred impregnated salmon ova
in its stomach! If this fish had been allowed to dine and breakfast
at this rate during the whole of the spawning season it would have
been difficult to estimate the loss our fisheries sustained by his
voracity. No sooner do the eggs ripen, and the young fish come to life,
than they are exposed, in their defenceless state, to be preyed upon by
all the enemies already enumerated; while as parr they have been taken
out of our streams in such quantities as to be made available for the
purposes of pig-feeding and as manure! Some economists estimate that
only one egg out of every thousand ever becomes a full-grown salmon.
Mr. Thomas Tod Stoddart calculated that one hundred and fifty millions
of salmon ova are annually deposited in the river Tay; of which only
fifty millions, or one-third, come to life and attain the parr stage;
that twenty millions of these parrs in time become smolts, and that
their number is ultimately diminished to 100,000; of which 70,000 are
caught, the other 30,000 being left for breeding purposes. Sir Humphrey
Davy calculates that if a salmon produce 17,000 roe, only 800 of these
will arrive at maturity. It is well, therefore, that the female fish
yields 1000 eggs for each pound of her weight; for a lesser degree of
fecundity, keeping in view the enormous waste of life indicated by
these figures, would long since—especially taking into account the
various very destructive modes of fishing that used a few years ago to
be in use—have resulted in the utter extinction of this valuable fish.

[Illustration: SALMON-WATCHER’S TOWER ON THE RHINE.]

The root of the evil as regards the scarcity of salmon is to be found
in the avarice of the lessees of fisheries, who have overfished the
rivers to an alarming extent. The increased value of all kinds of fish
food during late years has engendered in these parties a greed of money
that leads to the capture and sale of almost everything that bears the
shape of fish. The tenant of a salmon-fishery has but one desire, and
that is to clear his rent and get as much profit as he can. To achieve
this end he takes all the fish that come to his net, no matter of what
size they may be. It is not his interest to let a single one escape,
because if he did so his neighbour above or below him on the water
would in all probability capture it. As a general rule, the tenant has
no care for future years; he has no personal interest in stocking the
upper waters with breeding fish. He is forced by the competition of
his rivals to do all he can in the way of slaughter; and were there
not a legal pause of so many hours in the course of the week, and a
close-time of so many days in the year, it is questionable if a score
of fish would make their way past the engines devoted to their capture.
A watcher can stand on the bridge of Perth, and at certain seasons can
signal or count every fish that passes in the water below him, and
every fish passing can be caught by those on the look-out; and I have
seen the same watch kept on the Rhine,[6] and on other salmon rivers.
The accompanying sketch of a salmon-watcher’s tower on the great
German river may interest some of my readers who have never been on
that beautiful water.

This unhealthy competition will always continue till some new system
be adopted, such as converting each river into a joint-stock property,
when the united interests of the proprietors, both upper and lower,
would be considered. The trade in fresh salmon, which has culminated
in some rivers by the total extermination of the fish, dates from the
time of Mr. Dempster’s discovery of packing in ice. Half-a-century ago,
when we had no railways, and when even _fast_ coaches were too slow for
the transmission of sea-produce, the markets were exceedingly local.
Then salmon was so very cheap as to be thought of no value as food, and
was only looked upon by the population with an eye of good-humoured
toleration—nobody ever expected to hear of it as a luxury at five
shillings a pound weight. No Parisian market existed then for foul
fish, and fifty years ago people only poached for amusement. But in
the excessive poaching which now goes on during close-time we have a
minor cause nearly as productive of evil as the primary and legal one;
for of course it is _legal_ for the tacksman of the station to kill
all the fish he can. Add to these causes the extraordinary quantities
of infant fish which are annually killed, coupled with that phase of
insanity which leads to the capture of grilse (salmon that have never
spawned), and we obtain a rough idea of the progress of destruction as
it goes on in our salmon rivers. Fifty or sixty years ago men caught
a salmon or shot a pheasant for mere sport, or at most for the supply
of an individual want. Now poaching is a trade or business entered
into as a means of securing a weekly or annual income; it has its
complex machinery—its nets, guns, and other implements. There are men
who earn large wages at this illicit work, who take to “the birds” in
autumn and the fish in winter with the utmost regularity; and there are
middlemen and others who encourage them and aid them in disposing of
the stolen goods. A few men will band themselves together, and in the
course of a night or two sweep fish from off the spawning-beds which
are totally unfit for human food. There is a ready market always to be
found even for spawning fish. Few of my readers can have any idea of
the immense number of salmon which are destroyed by this cause, and
at the very time when they are at their greatest value, intent on the
propagation of their kind. Indeed, on the very spawning-bed itself,
the “deadly leister” is hurled with unerring aim and mighty force; and
the slain fish, safely hidden in the poacher’s bag, is carried off to
be kippered and sold for the English market. A party will start at
nightfall, and, dividing into two companies, sweep the Tweed with a net
from shore to shore, and capture everything of the salmon kind that
comes within reach. The takes upon such occasions average from ten to
forty fish. The first night upon which my informant—a weaver—went out,
the result was seventeen large fish, three of which weighed ninety
pounds. Upon the second occasion the take was much larger, thirty-eight
salmon of a smaller size being the reward of their iniquity, weighing
in the aggregate four hundred and forty pounds, and producing in cash
£8 sterling, divided among eleven people. These stolen fish pass
through numerous hands. A person comes at a given time and takes away
the spoil; all that the actual poacher obtains as his share is a few
pence per pound weight. They are bought from the thieves by middlemen,
who again dispose of them to certain salesmen—each party, of course,
obtaining a profit.

In former times, as at present, there were more ways of killing a
salmon than by angling for it. Parties used to be made up for the
purpose of “burning the water,” a practice which prevailed largely
on the Tweed, and which afforded good rough sport. The burning took
place a little after sunset, when an old boat was commissioned for
the purpose, and flaming torches of pinewood were lighted to lure the
fish to their destruction. The leister, a sharp iron fork, was used on
these occasions with deadly power; rude mirth and song were usually the
order of the night; and the practice being illegal was not without a
spice of danger, or at least a chance of a ducking. Burning the water,
it must, however, be confessed, was more a picturesque way of poaching
than a means of adding legitimately to the produce of the fisheries as
a branch of commerce. It would have been well for the salmon-fisheries
had the arts of poaching never extended beyond the rude practice here
alluded to; but now poaching, as I have endeavoured to show, has become
a business, and countless thousands of the fish are swept off the
breeding-beds and sold to dealers. There is on most rivers an organised
system of taking and disposing of the fish; France, till very lately,
affording the chief outlet for this kind of food—an outlet, however,
which a recent Act of Parliament has done much to close up. Legislation
on the salmon question has of late been greatly extended, some powerful
Acts of Parliament having been passed for the better regulation of the
various British salmon-fisheries.[7]

It is recorded that at one time great hauls of salmon could be taken
either in the rivers of Scotland or Ireland, and that in England
salmon were also quite plentiful. One miraculous draught is mentioned
as having been taken out of the river Thurso, on which occasion the
enormous number of two thousand five hundred fish were captured. We
shall never again see such a haul, unless we give the rivers a rest for
a space of five years or so. A jubilee would greatly help to restore
the _status quo_. The discovery of packing in ice by Mr. Dempster led,
as was to be expected, to so large a trade in fresh salmon between
Scotland and England, that it at once effected a great rise in the
price of the fish. High prices had their usual consequence with the
producer. Every device was put in requisition to catch fish for London
and the Continent; and if this was the case at the beginning, it will
be readily understood how rapidly the fish-trade rose in importance
as new modes of transit became common. The demand and supply at once
assumed such enormous proportions as to tell with fatal effect on the
fisheries; and the high prices led at the same time to such extensive
and organised poaching as I have attempted to describe, and which,
notwithstanding much police organisation, still exists.

At one time there were famous salmon in the Thames, and hopes are
entertained of fish being successfully cultivated in that river. It
is certain that much deleterious matter has been allowed to get into
that stream and also into that famous salmon river the Severn; and in
the rivers of Cornwall I believe the hope of ever breeding salmon has
been entirely given up in consequence of the poisonous matters which
flow from the mines. Many rivers which were known to contain salmon in
abundance in the golden age of the fisheries are now tenantless from
matter by which they are polluted, such as the refuse of gasworks,
paper-mills, etc.

Another fertile source of harm to the salmon-fisheries are the fixed
engines of capture which so many people think it right to use, and
which the Lord Advocate’s Salmon Bill of 1862 left almost _in statu
quo_, except that a little power on this part of the salmon question
is given to the commissioners appointed to carry out the Act. Stake and
bag nets in Scotland are known to have been very destructive, as have
the putchers, butts, and trumpets of the English and Welsh rivers. It
would be tedious to describe the different fixed engines invented for
the capture of salmon; what I desire to show is that they have injured
the fisheries. A controversy has been raging in Scotland for some years
back on this point of the salmon question, which, there can be no
doubt, will ultimately result in their _entire_ extinction. That they
have been a most fruitful cause of injury to the fisheries has been
proved by a long array of facts and figures. A striking example of the
effect of bag-nets occurred with regard to the Tay. The system having
been extended to that river, the productiveness of the upper portions
of the stream was very speedily affected; and again, shortly after
their removal, the fisheries became greatly more productive, as will
be seen by and by when it becomes necessary to deal with the figures
denoting the rental of that river.

Although I have already referred to it, it is most important to note
here much more particularly the fact that, with probably the solitary
exception of the Tweed (and there the deterioration has only recently
been arrested), the size and weight of salmon are annually diminishing,
and, as some fishermen think, their condition and flavour also. There
can be no doubt that in the golden age of the fisheries they attained
much larger proportions than they do now. I need scarcely quote in
support of this opinion the fish mentioned by Yarrell, which was
exhibited by Mr. Groves, and weighed eighty-three pounds; nor that
alluded to by Pennant, which was only ten pounds lighter; nor the fact
that in all virgin salmon-rivers the fish average a greater weight
than any now taken in the British streams. It is within the memory
of anglers that fish of forty pounds were by no means rare in the
Scottish rivers; that salmon of thirty pounds and thirty-five pounds
weight were quite common; and that the general run of fish were in
the aggregate many pounds heavier than those of the present day. Mr.
Anderson, the lessee of some of the best salmon-fisheries on the Firth
of Forth, a gentleman who is master of his business, is of opinion that
the average weight of fish now is reduced to about sixteen pounds;
and by the Tweed Tables, the average weight of those killed by the
net between July and September, though apparently on the increase, in
no month rises to fifteen pounds. How is it, then, that we have no
giants of the river in these days? The answer, I think, is simple and
convincing. Let us suppose, for example, that the fish grows at the
rate of five pounds per annum: it would, therefore, take ten years to
achieve a growth of fifty pounds. Now it is needless to say that, in
British waters at any rate, we never either see or hear of a fish of
that weight. The fact is, we do not give our salmon time to grow to
that size. The greater portion of the fish that we kill are two years
old, or at the most three—fish running from eight pounds to sixteen
pounds in weight. It is clear that, if we go on for a year or two
longer at the rate of slaughter we have been indulging of late years,
there will speedily not be even a three-year-old fish to pull out of
the water. It is very suggestive of the state of the salmon-fisheries
that we have now eaten down to our three-year-olds.

Another fertile source of destruction is the killing of grilse;
the grilse being a virgin fish, its slaughter is just analogous
to the killing of lambs without due regulation as to quantity. In
this respect, “the conduct of salmon proprietors is as rational
as high-farming with the help of tile-drains, liquid-manure, and
steam-power, would be for the purpose of eating corn in the blade.”
As many as 100,000 grilses have been taken from one river in a year—a
notable example of killing the goose for the golden egg. If we had an
Act of Parliament to prevent the capture of grilse, we should never
want salmon. The parr and smolt are protected. Why? Because they are
the young of the salmon. Well, so is grilse the young of the salmon,
and grilse also are sadly in want of protection.

[Illustration: STAKE-NETS ON THE RIVER SOLWAY.]

Recent debates in the House of Commons on the English and Scottish
Salmon Fisheries Bills brought out very distinctly the worst phase of
the salmon question—viz. the prevalence of stake and bag nets. These
machines have exercised a baneful influence on the fisheries, and
have in numerous instances intercepted about one-half of the salmon
of particular rivers, before they could reach their own waters. These
nets are erected in the tideways, not far from the shore, and as the
fish are coasting along towards their own particular spawning-ground,
they are intercepted either in the chambers of the bag-net, or in
the meshes of the stake-net. It is said, too, that fish taken in the
tidal estuaries are in far finer condition than those caught in
the fresh-water division of the large salmon rivers; hence they are
in greater demand, and bring a slightly better price. There is no
consideration among tacksmen of river fishings, or proprietors of bag
or stake nets, for the preservation of the fish; it seems to be a rule
with these gentlemen to kill all they can. It is obvious that, if the
upper proprietors of the waters were to act in the same spirit, and
kill all the salmon that reached the breeding-grounds, that fine fish,
not unaptly called the “venison of the waters,” would very speedily
become extinct.

As may be known to most of my readers, the chief British salmon
streams, so far at least as productiveness is concerned, are the Tay,
the Tweed, the Spey, and the Esk. I have not space in which to sketch
the whole of these rivers, but I desire, on behalf of English readers
particularly, to say a few words about two of our Scottish salmon
streams; and I select the Tay and the Spey.

The Tay is equal to a basin of 2250 square miles, and it discharges,
after a run of about 150 miles, a greater volume of water than any
other Scottish river. “As ascertained by Dr. Anderson, the quantity
which is carried forward per second opposite the city of Perth averages
no less than 3640 cubic feet.” The main river and its affluents, and
_their_ varied tributaries, afford splendid breeding-ground for the
salmon. As an instance we may take the Earn. It flows from Loch Earn
in the far west of Perthshire, and is, when it leaves the lake, a
considerable river, and over the greater part of its course its current
is very rapid. A slight drawback to its capabilities as a fish-breeding
river is the fact of its sometimes overflowing its banks; but its
tributaries afford plenty of excellent ground for salmon-breeding.
Indeed, on all the tributaries of the Tay there is ample accommodation
for the fish. I have in my mind’s eye some excellent salmon-beds
near Airlie Castle, on the Isla. The banks of the river are overhung
by foliage, and the salmon sport industriously in the deep pools,
resorting to the gravel at the proper season in order to dig beds in
which to deposit their eggs, and when in due time these are vivified
and grow from the fry to the parr state, I have seen the youthful
“natives” catching them in scores.

The Tay deserves special honour, for it must rank as the king of
Scottish rivers, receiving as it does the tribute of so many streams,
and running its course through such a variety of fine scenery. Loch
Tay is generally accounted the source of this river, but if it be
considered that the loch is chiefly fed by the river Dochart, the
source of this latter river is actually the fountain-head of the
Tay. The Dochart rises in the extreme west of Perthshire, and, after
striking the base of the “mighty Ben More” and the Dochart Hills, falls
into Loch Tay at the village of Killin, before reaching which place it
assumes the dimensions of a considerable river. There is fine angling
to be had in the vicinity of Killin; indeed, the salmon rod-fisheries
there are of some value, and trout can be taken in great plenty both
in the Dochart and the Lochay. Loch Tay contains abundance of fish,
and, as that sheet of water is of considerable size, there is ample
room to ply the angle, either for salmon, trout, or charr. The loch is
about sixteen miles in length, and is overshadowed on the north by Ben
Lawers—one of the loftiest of our Scottish mountains. The river Tay
issues from the loch within a mile of Taymouth Castle, one of the fine
seats of the noble family of Breadalbane; and, after flowing eastward
for a few miles, its waters are augmented by those of the Lyon, whose
source is about twenty-six miles distant from its junction with the
Tay. Passing over several minor streams and proceeding eastwards,
the next important tributary of the Tay is the Tummel, the junction
taking place at the ancient and once famous burgh of Logierait. This
river, which is the largest tributary of the Tay, is the outlet of
Loch Rannoch, situated in the extreme north-west of Perthshire. The
loch is well stocked with trout, and large specimens of the _Salmo
ferox_ are frequently caught; but the true salmon (_Salmo salar_) is
not found either in Loch Rannoch or Loch Tummel, their ascent being
checked by the Falls of Tummel. Below the falls, however, there are
several salmon-fisheries, but they are not very productive. The Tay,
after receiving the waters of the Tummel and Garry at Logierait, flows
onward through beautiful scenery till it reaches Dunkeld, where it
receives the tributary stream of the Braan, which has for its source
a small sheet of water named Loch Freuchie, situated in Glen Quoich.
The scenery around the junction of the Braan and Tay is hallowed by
numberless associations of bygone times. Passing beneath the noble
arches of Dunkeld Bridge, the Tay flows eastward till it is joined by
the Isla, when it again takes a southerly direction until it reaches
Perth. On its way thither it receives the tribute of the Almond, the
Shochie, and the Ordie. The Isla is a large and important stream,
draining as it does a considerable extent of country, and lending its
aid both to miller and manufacturer. The Almond is the next river in
importance, but a tradition connected with it is better known than the
river itself. On Lynedoch Braes, which are near the foot of the stream,
dwelt the heroines of the poetic legend of Bessie Bell and Mary Gray,
in the house which they “biggit” with their own hands, and “theekit
ower wi’ rashes.” The Shochie and Ordie cannot claim the name of
rivers, but they are celebrated as being named in a prophecy attributed
to Thomas the Rhymer:—

“Says the Shochie to the Ordie
Where shall we meet?
At the cross of Perth,
When a’ men are asleep.”

The Isla, Almond, and the two rivers last named, in common with all
the tributaries of the Tay, afford excellent sport to the angler.
The country bordering the banks of this portion of the Tay is a
mixture of pastoral and agricultural. Rippling past the Stormontfield
breeding-ponds, now a feature of the river, and the palace of Scone,
the Tay speedily reaches the links of Perth’s fair city; and after
being joined by the Earn, also an excellent salmon stream, it widens
into a broad estuary, and, speedily sweeping past the manufacturing
town of Dundee, is lost in the German Ocean.

[Illustration: SALMON-FISHING STATION AT WOODHAVEN ON TAY.]

A few local inquiries as to angling on the Tay will elicit more
valuable information than I can give here. At some places on the lower
portion of the water the aid of a boat (a Tay boat) is necessary, as
the best pools are otherwise inaccessible to the angler. The cost of a
boat and man ranges, I think, from three to six shillings, and on the
smooth parts of the river one man is generally enough for attendance.
Some parts of the Tay are quite free to all comers, especially about
Kinfauns; and, if I mistake not, up all the way from Perth to the
breeding-ponds at Stormontfield. Perth forms a capital centre for the
angler: it is a good place in which to obtain information or tackle,
and it is easy to get away from the “Fair City” to places and streams
of note. And if the angler wants to “harl” the Tay itself, Perth is the
very best place to obtain instructions in the art of “harling,” which
is very attractive. The commercial fishings may be seen in operation
at and below Perth: they are carried on by means of the net and coble.
A boat sails out with the net, and taking in a sweep of the water
returns, in its progress enclosing any of the salmon kind that may be
in that part of the river. The operation is usually repeated several
times each day at every fishing station.

The Tay salmon-fisheries are owned by various noblemen, gentlemen, and
corporations; and they yield a gross annual rent of nearly £17,000. To
give an idea of the individual value and the occasional fluctuations of
even the best fisheries, we may cite some of the figures connected with
the rental of the river Tay. Lord Gray, for instance, has drawn from
his fisheries more than £100,000 during the last thirty-five years.
The salmon and grilse obtained for this sum run from 10,000 to 28,000
a year. It has been frequently asserted that our salmon-fisheries are
a lottery, and in confirmation of this it may be stated that in 1831,
when 10,000 fish were taken, the rental of this fishery was £4000; and
that in 1842, when the capture was 28,453 fish, the rental was £1000
less. Dividing the income for the two years, we have the following
result:—Averaging the fish at 5s. each gives as a loss to the tenant on
the 10,000 year of £1500, while on the other year there is the large
profit of £4000! But the value of the Tay fisheries will be better
estimated by mentioning that in some seasons the number of fish taken
from the mouth of the Isla down to the sea has ranged from 70,000
to upwards of 100,000. Ten of the fishing-stations between Perth and
Newburgh used to produce an annual rental of about (on the average)
£700 each.

As to the much-discussed stake-net question, the following figures may
be quoted:—About the end of last century, _before_ the existence of
stake-nets, the average number of fish taken at the Kinfauns fishery
was—salmon, 8720; grilse, 1714. In the first ten years of the present
century, the average annual catch of salmon fell to 4666, and the
grilse numbered 1616. _After_ the stake-nets were removed, and in
the ten years from 1815 to 1824, the average number of salmon caught
was 9010 per annum, and of grilse 8709. I have purposely avoided
filling up my space with an accumulation of proof on this point,
but were further proof required of the deadly influence of stake
and bag nets on the salmon rivers, it could easily be had; indeed,
ample testimony has, from time to time, been recorded in Parliament,
both against the stake-nets, and that “chamber of horrors” for the
salmon, the deadly bag. A stream like the Tay ought to have a stock
of breeding-fish sufficient to produce more than 100,000,000 of eggs,
because the destruction of the spawn and the young fish is so enormous
as to require provision for a large amount of waste; hence the value
of artificial cultivation. By the natural system of spawning it is
supposed that only one egg in each thousand comes to the fisherman’s
net as a twenty-five pound fish.

The river Spey is an excellent salmon-producing stream; in fact, size
considered, it is the richest in Scotland, the fishings at Speymouth
being worth £12,000 per annum. The Spey is about a hundred and twenty
miles on its course before it falls into the sea, and some parts of the
river are very picturesque.

“Dipple, Dundurcus, Dandaleith, and Dalvey
Are the bonniest haughs on the run of the Spey.”

The stream is very rapid, having in its course a fall of twelve hundred
feet; it rushes on in one continuous gallop from its mountain well to
the sea, giving rise to the local proverb of there being “no standing
water in Spey,” although there are pools thirty feet deep. Still, as
a rule, the river is shallow, having generally a depth of about three
feet; and there are places which, when the water is a little low, may
be crossed by a man on foot.

I have seen the rafts of wood coming down from the hills at the rate
of ten miles an hour; and the Spey is not only the most rapid, but
also the wildest of all our large Scottish rivers. “The cause of
this is easily explained. The river drains thirteen hundred miles of
mountains, many of whose bases are more than a thousand feet above the
level of the sea. The Dulnain, draining the southern part of the Monagh
Lea Mountains, runs more than forty miles before entering Spey; and
the Avon, with a course as long, brings down the waters of Glenavon,
which lies between the most majestic mountains in Britain. Besides
these great tributaries, the Spey has the Truim, the Tromie, the
Feshie, the Fiddoch, and other affluents, swelling her volume with the
rapidly-descending waters of a mountainous country.” The river Spey is
an example of a well-managed stream, and in the late Duke of Richmond’s
time produced a very handsome revenue. It was well managed, because
the duke fished it himself; and, of course, it was his interest to
have it well protected, and to keep a handsome stock of breeding fish.
For instance, in the years 1858 and 1859 the duke drew on the Spey for
upwards of 107,000 salmon and grilse, and the fish in that river are as
plentiful as ever. On the Spey, however, there is no confusion of upper
and lower proprietors to fight against and take umbrage at each other,
the river belonging mostly to one proprietor. Other Scottish rivers
also yield, or did at one time yield, large annual sums in the shape of
rental; and on the larger salmon rivers of Scotland the income derived
by many of the “lairds” from the salmon forms a very welcome addition
to their land revenues. Mr. Johnstone, the lessee of the Esk fisheries
at Montrose, stated at a public meeting held some time ago in Edinburgh
to protest against the removal of stake-nets, that he estimated the
Duke of Sutherland’s fisheries at £6000 a year, and quoted his own
rents as £4000 per annum, giving him the privilege to fish on two
different rivers, on one of which he had eight miles of water, on the
other six. The rents of the sea salmon-fisheries of Scotland (stake
and bag nets), which the recent bill of the Lord Advocate proposed to
abolish, range from £20 to £1000 per annum. Princely rentals have been
drawn from the salmon rivers of that division of the United Kingdom.

The Tweed alone at one period gave to its proprietors an annual income
of £20,000; but although the price of fish has greatly increased of
late years, the rental fell at one time to about a fifth part of that
sum, and the take of fish sank from 40,000 to 4000. Persons interested
in the salmon have been watching very keenly during late years the
effects of the legislation of 1857 and 1859 upon the Tweed fisheries,
the rent of that river being now little more than a third of what it
once was. The principal changes introduced by the two Tweed Acts of
1857 and 1859 may be shortly stated to be:—

1. The entire abolition of bag, stake, and other fixed nets of every
description in the river, and the restriction and regulation of
stake-nets on the sea-coast, and no net except the common sweep-net,
rowed out and immediately drawn in again, has been allowed on the
Tweed since 1857. 2. The entire prohibition of leistering. 3. A slight
increase of the weekly close-time, and an increase of the annual
close-time for nets by four weeks. 4. The permission of rod-fishing for
an extended period, so as to interest proprietors to a greater degree
in the protection of the river. And last, not least, the absolute
prohibition of killing unclean or unseasonable fish at any time of the
year, and an enactment that all such fish caught during the fishing
season should be returned to the water.

Much curiosity has existed as to the results achieved by the Tweed
Acts, the first really stringent code enforced on any British river;
and although statistics in such matters, unless taken over very
extended periods, are not to be too implicitly relied on, and much
allowance must be made for the variations caused by weather and
unfavourable seasons during so short a period as has elapsed, yet it
is well worth while to ascertain what can be learned concerning this
experiment. With this view I have consulted the very valuable and
interesting series of tables which have been compiled and printed for
private circulation by Alexander Robertson, Esq., one of the Tweed
Commissioners, and a director of the Berwick Shipping Company. A brief
reference to the figures in these tables shows at once whether or not
there has been an improvement in the fishing. The total capture of
salmon, grilse, and trout, in Tweed for the six years preceding 1857
was 50,209 salmon, 153,515 grilse, and 294,418 trout; making a yearly
average of 8368 salmon, 25,586 grilse, and 49,069 trout. In the six
years succeeding the Act—viz. 1858 to 1863—the total capture was 60,726
salmon, 124,182 grilse, and 175,538 trout; being an average of 10,121
salmon, 20,697 grilse, and 29,256 trout. These are improving figures,
taking into account that the fishing season had been curtailed by a
period of four weeks. The total rent of the river in 1857 was about
£5000; it is now above £7500, and is on the rise.

The English salmon-fisheries, generally speaking, have been allowed to
fall into so low a state that I fear it will be impossible to recruit
them in a moderate period of time without foreign aid. Some of the
rivers, indeed, are as nearly as possible salmonless. It is difficult
to select an English river that will in all respects compare with the
Tay, but the Severn produces the finest salmon of any of the English
salmon rivers; and it is a noble stream, containing many kinds of fish,
which afford great sport to the angler. If the river flowed in a direct
course from its source to the sea, it would be eighty miles in length;
as it is, by various windings, it flows for two hundred miles. It has
many fine affluents, and in its course passes through some beautiful
scenery. It rises in Wales, high up the eastern side of Plinlimmon,
at a place in the moors called Maes Hafren, which gave at one time
its title to the river, Hafren being its ancient name. After flowing
through several counties it falls into the sea at Bristol Channel.
Had the fisheries of the Severn been as free from obstacles and as
well preserved as those on the river Tay, they would still have been
of immense value, as it possesses some very fine breeding-grounds.
The Severn could be speedily restored to its primary condition as
one of our finest salmon streams; that is, if the various interests
could be consolidated, and artificial breeding be extensively carried
on for a few years. The Severn still possesses a tolerable stock of
breeding-fish, which might be turned to good account in a way similar
to those at Stormontfield on the Tay.

Mr. Tod Stoddart, who is an authority on the salmon question, and
particularly on matters relating to angling, says that a river like
the Tay or the Tweed requires 15,000 pairs of breeding-fish to keep it
in stock, the average weight of the breeders to be ten pounds each.
Proceeding on these data, and taking the period of growth of the fish
as previously stated, it may be interesting if we inquire how soon a
fine river like the Severn could be made a property. Allowing that
there is at present a considerable stock of breeding fish in that
river—say 10,000 pairs—and that for a period of two years these should
be allowed a jubilee, the river during that time to be carefully
watched; that plan alone would soon work a favourable change; but
if supplemented by an extensive resort to artificial nurture and
protection, in the course of three years the Severn would be, speaking
roundly, a mine of fish wealth. A series of ponds capable of breeding
1,000,000 fish might, I think, be constructed for a sum of £2000; there
ought of course to be two reception-ponds, so that a brood could be
hatched annually. [See plan in “Fish Culture.”] Thus, in a year’s time,
half a million of well-grown smolts would be thrown into the river from
the ponds alone, a moiety of which in the course of ten weeks would be
saleable grilse! Next year these would be doubled, and added to the
quantity naturally bred would soon stock even a larger river than the
Severn. There can be no doubt of the practicability of such a scheme.
What has been achieved in Ireland and at Stormontfield can surely be
accomplished in England. An ample return would be obtained for the
capital sunk, and in all probability a large profit besides.

A recent report of the Inspectors of the English Fisheries embraces a
summary of the condition of ninety rivers; and I can gather from it
that considerable progress has already been made in arresting the decay
of these valuable properties, and that there is every prospect of the
best rivers being speedily repeopled with salmon to an extent that
will secure them, under proper regulations, from again falling into
so low a condition. A careful perusal of this report shows that fixed
nets have been nearly abolished; that portions of rivers not hitherto
accessible to fish have been made so, passes and gaps having been
created by hundreds. Poachers have been caught and punished with great
success; and, according to a review of the report in the _Field_, a
journal which is well versed in fishery matters, “salmon have been seen
in large quantities in places where they have not been seen these forty
years.”

In reference to the Act for the regulation of the salmon-fisheries
of England and Wales of 1861, and its supplement of 1865, a good
deal can be said as to the increase of salmon, but it is perhaps
best that Mr. Ffennell, one of the Commissioners, should be allowed
to say it for himself. The increase in the productiveness of the
English rivers then—and this is stated in the fourth annual report of
the inspectors—“far exceeds the anticipations of those who were most
sanguine in regard to the good results which might have been expected
from the operation of the Act of 1861; and the zeal of many who from
the first took an active part in administering the law has been greatly
stimulated by the telling effects of their exertion; while others,
who may have hesitated in the commencement from doubts of success,
have been led on by the force of good example, as well as by the more
powerful incentive arising from the many proofs so soon forthcoming
that salmon can be abundantly produced in the rivers of England.”

As to the amendment or rider to the Act of 1861, which was passed in
the present session (1865), its chief objects are to provide funds
for the payment of the wages of water-bailiffs, and of other expenses
connected with the due protection of the English salmon-fisheries,
and for the appointment of a body of able and responsible persons
to whom the duties of raising and expending such fund are to be
entrusted. The first of these is attained by the annual licensing
of rods, nets, and other engines used in the capture of salmon, at
fixed sums, the proceeds of which licence-duties are to be expended
(after the formation of a river or rivers into a fishery district by
order of the Secretary of State) on the protection of the fisheries
within that district only where such licence-duties are raised, and
in that district only are the licences available for use; and the
second, where a fishery district lies wholly in one county, by the
magistrates of that county in quarter-sessions at once appointing a
board of conservators for the district; but where a fishery district
lies in several counties, such appointment will be made by committees
of the various courts of quarter-sessions interested, under prescribed
arrangements. In either case after the appointment, the board of
conservators will be a body corporate, and have the entire control of
the salmon-fisheries within their district. The Act also provides for
the issuing of a special commission to inquire into the titles and
rights of all “fixed engines” used in the capture of salmon throughout
England and Wales. These devices have since the late improvement
in our fisheries very much increased in number; but now such only
may hereafter be employed as are proved to the satisfaction of the
Commissioners to have been lawfully used in either of the years 1857,
1858, 1859, 1860, or 1861. There are also other useful and necessary
provisions in the Act, affording protection to trout in the months of
November, December, and January, when they spawn, fixing a minimum
penalty for a second offence; requiring all salmon intended to be
exported between the 3d September and 2d February to be entered with
the proper officer of customs; and in other minor but important
particulars amending the Act of 1861, with which the Act of 1865 is
to be understood as incorporated. The associations on the Severn,
the Usk, and the Yorkshire rivers have already taken up the Act, and
intend applying, through the court of quarter-sessions at their next
October sessions, for the formation of fishery districts, and the
appointment of boards of conservators. It is anticipated that in the
lower part of the Severn £600, on the Wye £400, and on the Usk £300,
will be then derived from licences, and from the first year’s revenue
of these respective boards; and it is to be hoped that all necessary
preliminaries will be adjusted in time to permit the various boards of
conservators to enter upon their duties with the commencement of the
next open season.

As a guide to the productiveness in salmon of the different divisions
of the three kingdoms, the following table may be taken. It was
furnished by Messrs. Wm. Forbes Stuart and Co. of 104 Lower Thames
Street, London, and shows the quantity of salmon (_i.e._ the number of
boxes weighing one hundred and twelve pounds each) sent to London from
1850 to the end of the open fisheries of 1865:—

┌─────┬───────┬──────┬───────┬──────────────┬───────┐
│ │Scotch.│Irish.│Dutch. │ Norwegian. │ Welsh.│
├─────┼───────┼──────┼───────┼──────────────┼───────┤
│1850 │ 13,940│ 2,135│ 105 │ 54 │ 72 │
│1851 │ 11,593│ 4,141│ 203 │ 214 │ 40 │
│1852 │ 13,044│ 3,602│ 176 │ 306 │ 20 │
│1853 │ 19,485│ 5,052│ 401 │ 1208 │ 20 │
│1854 │ 23,194│ 6,333│ 345 │ None. │ 128 │
│1855 │ 18,197│ 4,101│ 227 │ None. │ 59 │
│1856 │ 15,438│ 6,568│ 68 │ 5 │ 200 │
│1857 │ 18,654│ 4,904│ 622 │ None. │ 220 │
│1858 │ 21,564│ 6,429│ 973 │ 19 │ 499 │
│1859 │ 15,630│ 4,855│ 922 │ None. │ 260 │
│1860 │ 15,870│ 3,803│ 849 │ 40 │ 438 │
│1861 │ 12,337│ 4,582│ 849 │ 60 │ 442 │
│1862 │ 22,796│ 7,841│ 568 │ 87 │ 454 │
│1863 │ 24,297│ 8,183│ 1,227 │ 180 │ 663 │
│1864 │ 22,603│ 8,344│ 1,204 │ 837 │ 752 │
│1865 │ 19,009│ 6,858│ 1,479 │ 1069 │ 868 │
├─────┼───────┼──────┼───────┼──────────────┼───────┤
│ │287,651│87,731│10,218 │ 4079 │ 5135 │
└─────┴───────┴──────┴───────┴──────────────┴───────┘

One of the least understood, although one of the most hotly-contested
parts of the salmon question, is the relation between the upper and
lower proprietors. A great salmon river may pass through the estates or
mark the property boundaries of a large number of gentlemen; and some
portions of this river are sure to be much more valuable than others.
As has been already stated, some of the proprietors on the river Tay
derive a large revenue from their fisheries; while others only obtain a
little angling, although they very likely furnish the breeding-ground
for a few thousands of the fish which aid in producing the large
rentals lower down. This part of the salmon question has been so well
argued by my friend Mr. Donald Bain, that I here reproduce a portion of
one of his letters on the subject:—

“Considering that at present the only chance of having fish in the
rivers depends upon the excellence and care of the breeding-grounds
at the river-heads, while the river-head proprietors, by disturbing
the shingle (which should be protected) at the period of depositing
and hatching the roe, could destroy all chance, and yet be legally
unchallengeable, these river-head proprietors are hardly recognised as
proprietors at all, which therefore should be altered.... I propose
that the river, from its highest breeding-ground to its mouth, and so
far into the sea as private or public interests can extend, should be
made a common property and a common care; improved where improvable, at
the general expense of the whole proprietors along its banks; fished,
not savagely, and as if extermination were a laudable object, but
prudently, and with a view to permanent interests; the fish allowed to
go unmolested to the breeding-grounds, at least so far as to secure a
full brood, and protected against destruction in returning when unfit
for food; and the expense and the profit to be divided _pro rata_,
according to the mileage along the banks; unless, in the judgment of
intelligent and equitable men, a degree of preference should be given
in the case of grounds of acknowledged excellence for breeding or
feeding.

“It may be said it would be malicious in the proprietors of
breeding-grounds to consider it necessary to repair their gravel-walks
with shingle from the river at the very time when depositing or
hatching the roe was going on; but could it be prevented?—and would it
be more inequitable than anticipating every fish worth catching at the
mouth of the river or along their course, and allowing the proprietors
of the head-waters no share?”

In the meantime, it is satisfactory to see that all classes of the
community are thoroughly aroused to the danger which menaces our king
of fishes. There must of course be a limit to the productiveness of
even the most prolific salmon river; and if this be overpassed and
the capital stock be broken upon, it is clear that a decrease will at
once begin, and that the production must annually become weaker, till
the fish are in course of time completely exterminated. Considering the
constant enormous waste of fish life, there ought at least, I think, to
be twice as many fish left in a river as are taken out of it. A care as
to this would in time have a good effect.

An evident anxiety to improve the salmon-fisheries is now apparent, and
the problem to be solved is how to restore the _status quo_, and obtain
a supply of salmon equal to the demand. There are but two ways to a
solution of the question. The experience of the Tweed, though still
imperfect, shows that the decay of that river has been arrested, and
that large salmon of some age—the best and surest breeders—now abound
in its waters, and that this result is in the main to be attributed to
improved legislation. The first thing therefore to be done is to extend
our legislation for all our salmon rivers in the same direction that
has been so successful on the Tweed; in other words, to eradicate, as
soon as may be, those dams, engines, and fixed nets still really left
untouched. The other, and as it seems to me the principal field for
improvement, is the adoption of artificial culture wherever it can be
carried out. Why should we not cultivate our water as we cultivate
our land? Few measures could be more effectual than some check on the
annual destruction of grilse; but, especially on the rivers in the
hands of many proprietors, such as the Tweed, it is not easy to say how
this can be practically effected; but might not artificial breeding
supply the deficiency caused by this slaughter of the innocents? By
means of pisciculture the French people have recreated their fisheries;
why should not we try what they have done? Let us by all means clean
our rivers by removing impurities of all kinds. Let us do our best to
prevent poaching; and, above all, let us take care not to encourage
legal “overfishing;” and, as gentlemen occasionally give their grouse
a year of jubilee, let me prescribe an occasional similar indulgence
to the salmon. Every little helps; and as we have now a considerable
knowledge of the natural history of the fish, we should avail ourselves
of it not only in our legislation, but also in the practical management
of the fisheries. If in our greed we still continue to overfish, after
the numerous warnings we have had, we must take the consequences in the
probable extermination of the salmon and its numerous congeners.

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.

The common herring is one of our most beautiful and abundant fishes,
and is so well known as scarcely to require description; but it has
one or two peculiarities of structure that may be briefly alluded to.
Its belly, for instance, is keeled (as the Scotch fisher folk call
carinated), and is well protected by strong scales, giving us reason
to suppose that it is therefore a ground-feeder; and having a very
large pectoral fin, and an air-bag of more than usual dimensions, it
is thus endowed with a very rapid moving power. I gather from personal
observation of many herring stomachs—and the stomach of the herring is
unusually large—that this fish is a devouring feeder, that it preys
upon its own young or upon the roe of its congeners when other food is
scarce. Its lobes of roe or milt are larger in proportion to its body
than those of any other fish. The herring has a fine instinct for
selecting a nursery for its young, contriving, when not obstructed, to
deposit its ova on such bottoms as will ensure the adherence of its
eggs and the favourable nourishment of the young fish.

The herring is taken throughout the year in vast quantities, thus
affording a plentiful supply of cheap and wholesome food to the poorer
classes, whilst its capture and cure afford remunerative employment
to a large body of industrious people. It is greatly to be regretted,
therefore, that recent fluctuations in the quantity caught have given
occasion for well-grounded fears of an ultimate exhaustion of some of
our largest shoals, or at all events of so great a diminution of their
producing power as probably to render one or two of the best fisheries
unproductive. This is nothing new, however, in the history of the
herring-fishery: various places can be pointed out, which, although now
barren of herrings, were formerly frequented by large shoals, that,
from overfishing or other causes, have been dispersed.

This supposed overfishing of the herring has resulted chiefly from our
ignorance of the natural history of that fish—ignorance which has long
prevailed, and which we are only now beginning to overcome. Indeed,
much as the subject has been discussed during the last ten years, and
great as the light is that has been thrown on the natural and economic
history of our fish, considering the elemental difficulty which stands
in the way of perfect observation, there are yet persons who insist
upon believing all the old theories and romances pertaining to the
lives of sea animals. We occasionally hear of the great sea-serpent;
the impression of St. Peter’s thumb is still to be seen on the haddock;
“Moby Dick,” a Tom Sayers among fighting whales, still ranges through
the squid fields of the Pacific Ocean; and I know an old fisherman who
once borrowed a comb from a polite mermaid!

Not very long ago, for instance, the old theory of the migration
of the herring to and from the Arctic Regions was gravely revived
in an unexpected quarter, as if that romance of fish-life was still
believed by modern naturalists to be the chief episode in the natural
history of _Clupea harengus_; indeed in the present edition of the
_Encyclopædia Britannica_ this migratory theory is still sustained
(see article “Ichthyology”). The original migration story—which was
invented by Pennant, or rather was constructed by him from the theories
of fishermen—old as it is, is worthy of being briefly recapitulated,
as affording a good point of view for a consideration of the natural
and economic history of the herring as now ascertained: it was to the
effect that in the inaccessible seas of the high northern latitudes
herrings were found in overwhelming abundance, securing within the
icy Arctic Circle a bounteous feeding-ground, and at the same time
a quiet and safe retreat from their numerous enemies. At the proper
season, inspired by some commanding impulse, vast bodies of this fish
gathered themselves together into one great army, and in numbers far
exceeding the power of imagination to picture departed for the waters
of Europe and America. The particular division of this great _heer_,
which was destined annually to repopulate the British seas, and afford
a plenteous food-store for the people, was said to arrive at Iceland
about March, and to be of such amazing extent as to occupy a surface
more than equal to the dimensions of Great Britain and Ireland, but
subdivided, by a happy instinct, into battalions five or six miles in
length and three or four in breadth, each line or column being led,
according to the ideas of fishermen, by herrings (probably the _Allis_
and _Twaite shad_) of more than ordinary size and sagacity. These
heaven-directed strangers were next supposed to strike on the Shetland
Islands, where they divided of themselves, as we are told; one division
taking along the west side of Britain, whilst the other took the east
side, the result being an adequate and well-divided supply of this
fine fish in all our larger seas and rivers, as the herrings penetrated
into every bay, and filled all our inland lochs from Wick to Yarmouth.
Mr. Pennant was not contented with the development of this myth, but
evidently felt constrained to give _éclat_ to his invention by inditing
a few moral remarks just by way of a _tag_. “Were we,” he says,
“inclined to consider this migration of the herring in a moral light,
we might reflect with veneration and awe on the mighty power which
originally impressed on this useful body of His creatures the instinct
that directs and points out the course that blesses and enriches these
islands, which causes them at certain and invariable times to quit
the vast polar depths, and offer themselves to our expectant fleets.
This impression was given them that they might remove for the sake of
depositing their spawn in warmer seas, that would mature and vivify it
more assuredly than those of the frigid zone. It is not from defect of
food that they set themselves in motion, for they come to us full and
fat, and on their return are almost universally observed to be lean and
miserable.”

Happily, the naturalists of the present day know a vast deal more of
the natural history of the herring than Mr. Pennant ever knew, and, on
the authority of the most able inquirers, it may be taken for granted
that the herring is a local and not a migratory fish. It has been
repeatedly demonstrated that the herring is a native of our immediate
seas, and can be caught all the year round on the coasts of the three
kingdoms. The fishing begins at the island of Lewis, in the Hebrides,
in the month of May, and goes on as the year advances, till in July it
is being prosecuted off the coast of Caithness; while in autumn and
winter we find large supplies of herrings at Yarmouth; and there is a
winter fishery in the Firth of Forth: moreover, this fish is found in
the south long before it ought to be there, if we were to believe in
Pennant’s theory. It has been deduced, from a consideration of the
figures of the annual takes of many years, that the herring exists in
distinct races, which arrive at maturity month after month; and it is
well known that the herrings taken at Wick in July are quite different
from those caught at Dunbar in August or September: indeed I would go
further and say that even at Wick each month has its changing shoal,
and that as one race ripens for capture another disappears, having
fulfilled its mission of procreation. It is certain that the herrings
of these different seasons vary considerably in size and appearance;
and it is very well known that the herrings of different localities
are marked by distinctive features. Thus, the well-known Lochfyne
herring is essentially different in its flavour from that of the Firth
of Forth, and those taken in the Firth of Forth differ again in many
particulars from those caught off Yarmouth.

In fact, the herring never ventures far from the shore where it is
taken, and its condition, when it is caught, is just an index of the
feeding it has enjoyed in its particular locality. The superiority
in flavour of the herring taken in our great land-locked salt-water
lochs is undoubted. Whether or not it results from the depth and body
of water, from more plentiful marine vegetation, or from the greater
variety of land food likely to be washed into these inland seas, has
not yet been determined; but it is certain that the herrings of our
western sea-lochs are infinitely superior to those captured in the
more open sea. It is natural that the animals of one feeding locality
should differ from those of another: land animals, it is well known,
are easily affected by change of food and place; and fish, I have no
doubt, are governed by the same laws. But on this part of the herring
question I need scarcely waste any argument, as there is but one writer
who still persists in the old “theory” of migration. He is the same
gentleman who has doubts about a grilse becoming a salmon!

Moreover, it is now known, from the inquiries of the late Mr. Mitchell
and other authorities on the geographical distribution of the herring,
that that fish has never been noticed as being at all abundant
in the Arctic Regions; and the knowledge accumulated from recent
investigations has dispelled many of what may be termed the minor
illusions once so prevalent about the life of the herring and other
fish. People, however, have been very slow to believe that fish were
subject to the same natural laws as other animals. In short, seeing
that the natural history of all kinds of fish has been largely mixed
up with tradition or romance, it is no wonder that many have been slow
to discard Pennant’s pretty story about the migratory instinct of the
herring, and the wonderful power of sustained and rapid travelling by
which it reached and returned from our coasts. Even Yarrell, as will by
and by be shown, wrote in a weak uncertain tone about this fish; indeed
his account of it is not entitled to very much consideration, being a
mere compilation, or rather a series of extracts, from other writers.

It was not till the year 1854 that anything like an authentic
contradiction to Pennant’s theory was obtained. Before that time one
or two bold people asserted that they had doubts about the migration
story, and thought that the herring must be a local animal, from the
fact of its being found on the British coasts all the year round;
while one daring man said authoritatively, from personal knowledge,
that there were no herrings in the Arctic seas. During the year I have
mentioned, a paper, which was communicated to the Liverpool Meeting of
the British Association by Mr. Cleghorn of Wick, directed an amount
of public attention to the herring-fishery, which still continues,
and which, at the time, was thought sure ultimately to result in
an authentic inquiry into the natural and economic history of that
fish. Such an investigation has now been made by persons qualified to
undertake the task, and the result of their inquiries has been summed
up in a most interesting report, which, along with the evidence taken
by the commissioners, I shall have occasion to refer to in another
part of the present chapter; the labours of Cleghorn, Mitchell, and
others, claiming priority of notice, as the ideas promulgated by these
gentlemen, although often hotly opposed and combated, have gone a great
way to guide public opinion on the subject, and have evidently helped
to influence recent investigators.

In his paper communicated to the British Association at Liverpool,
Mr. Cleghorn stated that, living at Wick, the chief seat of the
fishery—“the Amsterdam of Scotland” in fact—his attention had been
directed to the herring-fishery by the fluctuations in the annual
take. That season (_i.e._ 1854) there were 920 boats engaged in the
fishing, and the produce was 95,680 barrels. On comparing the fishing
of 1854 with that of 1825, it was found to be 14,000 barrels short;
and as compared with 1830, 57,000 barrels less. It was found to be
the smallest fishing since 1840, and 61,000 barrels short of the
previous year. Various surmises were hazarded as to the cause of the
deficiency, but the generally-received opinion was, that the falling
off was attributable to the two rough nights on which the boats did
not put to sea, while great shoals of herrings were on the coast. That
this is an erroneous and very partial view of the matter Mr. Cleghorn
infers, because at all the stations between Noss Head and Cape Wrath
the fishing was a complete failure; and the same may be said of Orkney
and Shetland; while for the whole of Scotland the shortcoming, perhaps,
was one-third of the previous year.

Mr. Cleghorn—of whom it is proper to state that while in business in
Wick he suffered much local persecution for his views of the herring
question—says that he believes the fluctuations in the capture to be
caused by “overfishing,” as in the case of the salmon, the haddock,
and other fish. The points brought forward by Mr. Cleghorn in order
to prove his case were as follow:—1. That the herring is a native of
waters in which it is found, and never migrates. 2. That distinct
races of it exist at different places. 3. That twenty-seven years ago
the extent of netting employed in the capture of the fish was much
less than what is now used, while the quantity of herrings caught
was, generally speaking, much greater. 4. There were fishing stations
extant some years ago which are now exhausted; a steady increase having
taken place in their produce up to a certain point, then violent
fluctuations, and _then_ final extinction. 5. The races of herrings
nearest our large cities have disappeared first; and in districts where
the tides are rapid, as among islands and in lochs, where the fishing
grounds are circumscribed, the fishings are precarious and brief;
while on the other hand, extensive seabords having slack tides, with
little accommodation for boats, are surer and of longer continuance as
fishing stations. 6. From these premises it follows that the extinction
of districts, and the fluctuations in the fisheries generally, are
attributable to overfishing. In the commercial portion of this chapter
I shall again have occasion to refer to Mr. Cleghorn’s investigations
on the subject of the netting employed, but it occurred to me to state
Mr. Cleghorn’s theory at this place, as it has been the key-note to
much of the recent discussion on the subject of the natural history of
the herring.

Before the reading of Mr. Cleghorn’s statistics, the natural history
of the herring was not well understood even by naturalists; so
difficult is it to make observations in the laboratories of the sea.
Only a few persons, till recently, were intimate with the history of
this fish, and knew that, instead of being a migratory animal, as had
been asserted by Anderson and Pennant, the herring was as local to
particular coasts as the salmon to particular rivers.

The late Mr. J. M. Mitchell, the Belgian Consul at Leith (who published
a work on the _National Importance of the Herring_), in a paper which
he read before the British Association at Oxford, three years ago,
settled with much care and very effectually the geographical part of
the herring question. His idea also is that the herring is a native of
the coast on which it is found, and that immediately after spawning
the full-sized herrings make at once for the deep waters of their own
neighbourhood, where they feed till the spawning season again induces
them to seek the shallow water. Mr. Mitchell gives his reasons, and
states that the herrings resorting to the various localities have
marked differences in size, shape, or quality; those of each particular
coast having a distinct and specific character which cannot be
mistaken; and so well determined are those particulars that practical
men, on seeing the herrings, can at once pronounce the locality from
whence they come; as, indeed, is the case with salmon, turbot, and many
other fishes and crustaceans.

On the southern coast of Greenland the herring is a rare fish; and,
according to Crantz, only a small variety is found on the northern
shore, nor has it been observed in any number in the proper icy
seas—as it would undoubtedly have been had it resorted thither in
such innumerable quantities as was imagined by the naturalists of the
last century. Another proof that the herring is local to the coasts
of Britain lies in the fact of the different varieties brought to our
own markets. As expert fishers know the salmon of particular rivers,
so do some men know the different localities of our herring from
merely glancing at the fish. A Lochfyne fish differs in appearance
from a herring taken off the coast of Caithness, while the latter
again differs from those taken by the Dunbar boats off the Isle of
May. Experienced fishmongers know the different localities of the same
kinds of fish as easily as a farmer will separate a Cheviot sheep from
a Southdown. Thus they can at once distinguish a Severn salmon from
one caught in the Tweed or the Spey, and they can tell at a glance a
Lochfyne _matie_ from a Firth of Forth one.

Turning now to the report of the commissioners appointed to inquire
into the operation of the Acts relating to trawling for herring on
the west coast of Scotland, we obtain some interesting information as
to the spawning and growth of the herring. Upon these branches of the
subject the public have hitherto been very ill informed. As has been
already stated, Yarrell’s account of this particular fish is a mere
compilation from Dr. M’Culloch, W. H. Maxwell, Dr. Parnell, and others,
and is thus very disappointing. Again, the account in the _Naturalist’s
Library_ is compressed into five small pages, referring chiefly to
authorities on the subject, with quotations from Yarrell! It is only
by searching in Blue Books, by perusing much newspaper writing of a
controversial kind, and by arduous personal inquiry, that I have been
able to complete anything like an accurate _precis_ of the natural and
economic history of this very plentiful fish.

As to the periods at which herrings spawn, the commissioners appointed
to conduct the latest inquiry that has been made inform us that they
met with “singularly contradictory” statements, and after having
collected a large amount of valuable evidence, _they_ arrived at the
conclusion that herrings spawn at two seasons of the year—viz. in the
spring and autumn. They have no evidence of a spawning during the
solstitial months—viz. June and December; but in nearly all the other
months gravid herrings are found, and the commissioners assert that a
spring spawning certainly occurs in the latter part of January, as also
in the three following months, and the autumn spawning in the latter
end of July, and likewise in the following months up to November:
“Taking all parts of the British coast together, February and March
are the great months for the spring spawning, and August and September
for the autumn spawning.” The spawn, it may be stated in passing, is
deposited on the surface of the stones, shingle, and gravel, and on old
shells, at the various spawning places, and it adheres tenaciously
to whatever it happens to fall upon. This, as will be seen, brings us
exactly back to Mr. Cleghorn’s ideas of the herring existing in races
at different places and in separate bodies, and thereby rendering
the fluctuations of the great series of shoals at Wick more and more
intelligible, especially when we take into account the fact that winter
shoals have recently been found at that place, giving rise to what may
ultimately prove a considerable addition to the great autumn fishery
yet carried on there. Indeed I consider this point proved, and having
taken great pains in sifting the evidence (of different spawning
seasons) given on the question, both oral and written, I feel entitled
to say so much.

As to the question of how long herrings take to grow, from the period
of the deposition of the egg, there are various opinions, for no
naturalist or practical fisherman has been able definitely to fix the
time. There is reason to believe, we are told in the report, that the
eggs of herrings are hatched in, at most, from two to three weeks after
deposition. This is very rapid work when we consider that the eggs
of the salmon require to be left for a period of ninety or a hundred
days, even in favourable seasons, before they quicken into life, and
that the eggs of a considerable number of fish are known to take a much
longer period than three weeks to ripen. The rate of growth of the
herring, and the tie at which it begins to reproduce itself, are not
yet well understood; indeed, it seems particularly difficult to fix
the period at which it reaches the reproductive stage.[8] I have had
young herrings of all sizes in my possession, from those of an inch
long upwards. The following are the measurements of a few specimens
which were procured about the end of February 1861, and not one of
which had any appearance of either roe or milt, while some (the smaller
fish) were strongly serrated in the abdominal line, and others, as they
advanced in size, lost this distinguishing mark, and were only very
slightly serrated. The largest of these fish—and they must all have
been caught at one time—was eight inches long, nearly four inches in
circumference at the thickest part of the body, and weighed a little
over two ounces. The smallest of these herring-fry did not weigh a
quarter of an ounce, and was not quite three inches in length. One of
them, again, that was six inches long, only weighed three-quarters of
an ounce; whilst another of the same lot, four and a half inches long,
weighed a quarter of an ounce exactly. I do not propose at present to
enter at great length into the sprat controversy; but, if the sprat
be the young of some one of the different species of herring, as I
take leave to think it is, then the question of its growth and natural
economy will become highly important. Some people say that the herring
must have attained the age of seven years before it can yield milt or
roe, whilst a period of three years has been also named as the ultimate
time of this event; but there are persons who think that the herring
attains its reproductive power in eighteen months, while others affirm
that the fish grows to maturity in little more than half that time.
If the average size of a herring may be stated as eleven and a half
inches, individual fish of _Clupea harengus_ have been found measuring
seventeen inches, and full fish have been taken only ten inches in
length, when should the example, noted above as being eight inches
long, reach its full growth? and how old was it at the time of its
capture? And, again, were the fish—all taken out of the same boat, be
it observed, and caught in the same shoal—all of one particular year’s
hatching? Is this the story of the parr over again, or is it the case
that the fishermen had found a shoal of mixed herrings—some being of
one year’s spawning, some of another? I confess to being puzzled, and
may again remind the reader that my largest fish had never spawned, and
had not the faintest trace of milt or roe within it. Then, again, as to
the time when herrings spawn, I have over and over again asserted in
various quarters that they spawn in nearly every month of the year—an
assertion, as I have just shown, which has been proved by the recent
inquiry.

As to the place of spawning, development of the ova, and other
circumstances attendant on the increase of the herring, I promulgated
the following opinions some years ago, and I see no reason to alter
them:—The herring shoal keeps well together till the time of spawning,
whatever the fish may do after that event. Some naturalists think that
the shoal breaks up after it spawns, and that the herring then live
an individual life, till again instinctively moved together for the
grand purpose of procreating their kind. It is quite clear, I think,
that the herring moves into the shallow water because of its increased
temperature, and its being more fitted in consequence for the speedy
vivifying of the spawn. The same shoal will always gather over the same
spawning ground, and the fish will keep their position till they fulfil
the grand object of their life. The herrings will rise buoyantly to
the top water after they have spawned; before that they swim deep and
hug the ground. The herring, in my opinion, must have a rocky place
to spawn upon, with a vegetable growth of some kind to receive the
roe; shoals may of course accidentally spawn on soft ground. It is not
accurately known how long a period elapses till the spawn ripens into
life. I think, however, that herring spawn requires a period of about
six weeks to ripen. It is known that young herrings have appeared on a
spawning ground in myriads within fifty days after the departure of a
shoal, and fishermen say that no spawn can be found on the ground after
the lapse of a few weeks from the visit of the gravid shoal—that the
eggs in fact have come to life, and that the fish are swimming about;
and some fishermen assert that the little whitebait is the herring in
its first stage.

It is generally known that the sprat (_Clupea sprattus_) is a most
abundant fish, so plentiful as to have been used at times for manure.
The fact of its great abundance has induced a belief that it is not a
distinct species of fish, but is, in reality, the young of the herring.
It is true that many distinguishing marks are pointed out as belonging
only to the sprat—such as its serrated belly, the relative position of
the fins, etc. But there remains, on the other side, the very striking
fact of the sprat being rarely found with either milt or roe; indeed,
the only case I _know_ of this fish having been found in a condition to
perpetuate its species was detailed by the late Mr. Mitchell, Belgian
Consul at Leith, who exhibited before one of the learned societies of
Edinburgh a pair of sprats having the roe and milt fully developed.
Dr. Dod, an ancient anatomist, says: “It is evident that sprats are
young herrings. They appear immediately after the herrings are gone,
and seem to be the spawn just vivified, if I may use the expression.
A more undeniable proof of their being so is in their anatomy; since,
on the closest search, no difference but size can be found between
them.” After the nonsense which was at one time written about the parr,
and considering the anomalies of salmon growth, it would be unsafe to
dogmatise on the sprat question. As to the serrated belly, we might
look upon it as we do the tucks of a child’s frock—viz. as a provision
for growth. The fin-rays of this fish have also been cited in evidence
as not being the same in number as those of the herring, but as I can
testify, from actual counting, the fin-rays of the latter fish vary
considerably, therefore the number of fin-rays is not evidence in the
case. The slaughter of sprats which is annually carried on in our seas
is, I suspect, as decided a killing of the goose for the sake of the
golden eggs as the grilse-slaughter which is annually carried on in our
salmon rivers.

The herring is found under four different conditions:—1st, Fry or
sill; 2d, _Maties_ or fat herring; 3d, Full herring; 4th, Shotten or
spent herring. All herrings under five or six inches in length come
under the first denomination. The _matie_ is the finest condition in
which a herring can be used for food purposes; and if the fishery
could be so arranged, that is the time at which it should be caught
for consumption. At that period it is very fat, its feeding-power
being all developed on its body; the spawn is small, the growth of
the roe or milt not having yet demanded the whole of the nutriment
taken by the fish. A full herring is one in which the milt or roe is
fully developed. The _maties_ develop into spawning herring with great
rapidity—in the course of three months, it is said. The herrings at the
spawning season come together in vast numbers, and proceed to their
spawning places in the shallower and consequently warmer parts of the
sea. As Gilbert White says, “the two great motives which regulate the
brute creation are love and hunger; the one incites them to perpetuate
their kind, the latter induces them to preserve individuals.” In
obedience to these laws the herring congregate on our coast, for there
only they find an abundant supply of food to mature with the necessary
rapidity their milt and roe, as well as a sea-bottom fitted to receive
their spawn; and they are thus brought within the reach of man at what
many persons consider the wrong time of their life.

As to this division of the question, it has been said that it matters
not at what period you take a herring, whether it be old or young,
without or with spawn; that fish cannot again be caught, and will never
spawn again; and it is argued, therefore, that the taking of fish in
“the family way” no more prevents it from reproducing than if it had
been killed in the condition of a _matie_. The same argument was used
in the case of the young salmon; and it was asked: If you kill all your
grilse, where are you to find your salmon? but I shall have more to say
on this part of my topic by and by.

The herring breeds, then, and is caught in greater or lesser
quantities, during every month of the year. There is no general
close-time for the herring in Scotland. On one or two parts of the west
coast it has hitherto been illegal to capture this fish at certain
seasons, although the restrictions are not general. How is it that the
time selected by fishermen for the capture of this fish corresponds
with the period when it is a crime to take a salmon? If a gravid
salmon be unwholesome, is a gravid herring good for food? Do not the
same physical laws affect both of these fish? There cannot be a doubt
but that at the period of spawning, this fish, as well as all other
fish, is in its worst condition so far as its food-yielding qualities
are concerned, because at that time of its life its whole nutritive
power is exerted on behalf of its seed, and its flesh is consequently
lean and unpalatable. Yet it is a great fact that the time which the
herring selects in order to fulfil the grandest instinct of its nature
is the very time appointed by man for its capture! In fact, that is
the period when herrings are at a premium; they must be “full fish,”
or they cannot obtain the official brand; in other words, _shotten_
herrings—_i.e._ fish that have spawned—are not of much more than half
the value of the others. When it is taken into account that each pair
of full fish (male and female) are killed just as they are about to
give us the chance of obtaining an increase of the stock to the extent
say of thirty thousand, the ultimate effect must be to disturb and
cripple the producing powers of the shoal to such a degree that it will
break up and find a new breeding-ground, safe for a time perhaps from
the spoliation of the greedy fishermen. The Lochfyne commissioners give
as a reason for their non-recommendation of a close-time the fact, that
were there to be a cessation from labour, the enemies of the herring
would so increase, that the jubilee given would be nugatory. But surely
there is a great want of logic in this argument! How is it that a
close-time operates so favourably in the case of the salmon—not only a
seasonal close-time, but a weekly one as well? Would not the herring,
with its almost miraculous breeding-power, increase in the same ratio,
or even in a greater ratio than its enemies, especially if, as the
commissioners tell us and we believe, it is engaged in multiplying its
kind during ten months of the year? Are not the enemies of the herring
at work during the fishing season as well as at other periods? I could
understand the logic of denying a close-time on the ground that, as
the herring never ceases breeding, it is impossible to fix a correct
period. But, according to the deliverance made by the commissioners in
the natural history portion of their inquiry, a close-time is quite
possible. I have ever been of opinion, notwithstanding the practical
difficulties that would have to be encountered in carrying it out, that
the want of a close-time, especially for the larger kinds of sea-fish,
is one of the causes which are so obviously affecting the supplies. It
is certain also, from chemical and sanitary investigation, that all
fish are unwholesome at the period of spawning; the salmon at that
time of its life is looked upon as being little better than carrion.
But, without dwelling on this phase of the question, or considering
the effect of unwholesome fish on the public health, I must point out
most strongly that the want of a well-defined close-time is one of
the greatest and severest of our fish-destroying agencies. We give
our grouse a breathing space; nay, we sometimes afford to that bird a
whole jubilee year; we do not shoot our hares during certain months of
the year, nor do we select their breeding season as the proper time
to kill our oxen or our sheep; but we do not at dinner-time object to
an _entrée_ composed of cod-roe, and we evidently rather believe in
the propriety of killing only our seed-laden herrings! This lavish
destruction of fish-life has arisen in great part from the well-known
fecundity of all kinds of sea-fish, some of which yield their eggs by
the million, and this has given rise to the idea that it is impossible
to exhaust the shoals. But when it is considered that this wonderful
fecundity is met by an unparalleled destruction of the seed and also
of the young fish, we need not be astonished at the ever-recurring
complaint of scarcity. A recent, but no doubt exaggerated complaint,
sets forth that the beam-trawl is one of the most destructive engines
employed in the sea, five hundred tons of spawn being said to be
destroyed by the trawlers in twenty-four hours. It is well known also
that tons of broken fish and spawn are sold in the south as manure for
the land at threepence per bushel! There can be no doubt that there
is annually an enormous waste of fish-life, through the accidental
destruction of very large quantities of spawn, herring-spawn as well as
all other kinds.

As to the food of the herring, the report already alluded to tells
us that it “consists of crustacea, varying in size from microscopic
dimensions to those of a shrimp, and of small fish, particularly
sandeels. While in the _matie_ condition, they feed voraciously, and
not unfrequently their stomachs are found immensely distended with
crustacea and sandeels, in a more or less digested condition.” I have
personally examined the stomachs of many herrings, and have found
in them the remains of all kinds of food procurable in the place
frequented by the particular animal examined—including herring-roe,
young herrings, sprats, etc.; but the sandeel seems to be its favourite
food.

One of the wonders connected with the natural history of the herring is
the capricious nature of the fish. It is always changing its _habitat_,
and, according to vulgar belief, from the most curious circumstances. I
need not add to the necessary length of this chapter by giving a great
number of instances of the capricious nature of the herring; but I must
cite a few, in order to make my recapitulation of herring history as
complete as possible, and at the same time it is proper to mention that
superstition is brought to bear on this point. The fishermen of St.
Monance, in Fife, used to remove their church-bell during the fishing
season, as they affirmed that its ringing scared away the shoals of
herring from the bay! It has long been a favourite and popular idea
that they were driven away by the noise of gun-firing. The Swedes say
that the frequent firings of the British ships in the neighbourhood of
Gothenburg frightened the fish away from the place. In a similar manner
and with equal truth it was said that they had been driven away from
the Baltic by the firing of guns at the battle of Copenhagen! “Ordinary
philosophy is never satisfied,” says Dr. M’Culloch, “unless it can
find a solution for everything; and it is satisfied for this reason
with imaginary ones.” Thus in Long Island, one of the Hebrides, it was
asserted that the fish had been driven away by the kelp-manufacture,
some imaginary coincidence having been found between their
disappearance and the establishment of that business. But the kelp
fires did not drive them away from other shores, which they frequent
and abandon indifferently, without regard to that work. A member of the
House of Commons, in a debate on a Tithe Bill in 1835, stated that a
clergyman, having obtained a living on the coast of Ireland, signified
his intention of taking the tithe of fish, which was, however,
considered to be so utterly repugnant to their privileges and feelings,
that not a single herring had ever since visited that part of the shore!

[Illustration: MEMBERS OF THE HERRING FAMILY.
1. Herring.
2. Sprat.
3. Pilchard.
]

The most prominent members of the _Clupediæ_ are the common herring
(_Clupea harengus_); the sprat, or garvie (_Clupea sprattus_); and the
pilchard, or gipsy herring (_Clupea pilchardus_). The other members
of this family are the whitebait, the anchovy, and the Alice and
Twaite shad; but these, although affording material for speculation to
naturalists (see chapter on “Fish Growth”), are not of any commercial
importance.

The fisheries for the common herring, the pilchard, and the sprat,
are carried on, with a brief interval, all the year round; but the
great herring season is during the autumn—from August to October—when
the sea is covered with boats in pursuit of that fine fish, and in
some of its phases the herring-fishery assumes an aspect that is
decidedly picturesque. Every little bay all round the island has its
tiny fleet; the mountain closed lochs of the Western Highlands have
each a fishery; while at some of the more important fishing-stations
there are very large fleets assembled—as at Wick, Dunbar, Ardrishaig,
Stornoway, Peterhead, and Anstruther. The chief curers have places
of business in these towns, where they keep a large store of curing
materials and a competent staff of coopers and others to aid them in
their business. Such boats as do not carry on a local fishery proceed
from the smaller fishing-villages to one or other of the centres of
the herring trade. In fact, wherever an enterprising curer sets up
his stand, there the boats will gather round him; and beside him will
collect a mob of all kinds of miscellaneous people—dealers in salt,
sellers of barrel-staves, vendors of “cutch,” Prussian herring-buyers,
comely girls from the inland districts to gut, and men from the
Highlands anxious to officiate as “hired hands.” Itinerant ministers
and revivalists also come on the scene and preach occasional sermons
to the hundreds of devout Scotch people who are assembled; and thus
arises many a prosperous little town, or at least towns that might
be prosperous were the finny treasures of the sea always plentiful.
As the chief herring season comes on a kind of madness seizes on all
engaged, ever so remotely, in the trade; as for those more immediately
concerned, they seem to go completely “daft,” especially the younger
hands. The old men, too, come outside to view the annual preparations,
and talk, with revived enthusiasm, to their sons and grandsons about
what they did twenty years agone; the young men spread out the
shoulder-of-mutton sails of their boats to view and repair defects; and
the wives and sweethearts, by patching and darning, contrive to make
old nets “look amaist as weel as new;” boilers bubble with the brown
_catechu_, locally called “cutch,” which is used as a preservative for
the nets and sails; while all along the coasts old boats are being
cobbled up and new ones are being built and launched.

The scene along the seabord from Buckhaven on the Firth of Forth to
Buckie on the Firth of Moray is one of active preparation, and all
concerned are hoping for a “lucky” fishing; “winsome” young lassies
are praying for the success of their sweethearts’ boats, because if
the season turns out well they will be married women at its close.
Curers look sanguine, and the owners of free boats seem happy. The
little children too—those wonderful little children one always finds
in a fishing village, striving so manfully to fill up “daddy’s” old
clothes—participate in the excitement: they have their winter’s “shoon”
and “Sunday breeks” in perspective. At the quaint village of Gamrie,
at Macduff, or Buckie, the talk of old and young, on coach or rail,
from morning to night, is of herrings. There are comparisons and
calculations about “crans” and barrels, and “broke” and “splitbellies,”
and “full fish” and “lanks,” and reminiscences of great hauls of former
years, and much figurative talk about prices and freights, and the
cost of telegraphic messages. Then, if the present fishery be dull,
hopes are expressed that the next one may be better. “Ony fish this
mornin’?” is the first salutation of one neighbour to another: the very
infants talk about “herrin’;” schoolboys steal them from the boats for
the purpose of aiding their negotiations with the gooseberry woman:
while wandering paupers are rewarded with one or two broken fish by
good-natured sailors, when “the take” has been so satisfactory as to
warrant such largess. At Wick the native population, augmented by four
thousand strangers, wakens into renewed life; it is like Doncaster on
the approach of the St. Leger. The summer-time of Wick’s existence
begins with the fishery: the shops are painted on their outsides and
are replenished within; the milliner and the tailor exhibit their
newest fashions; the hardware merchant flourishes his most attractive
frying-pans; the grocer amplifies his stock; and so for a brief period
all is _couleur de rose_.

They are not all practical fishermen who go down to the sea for herring
during the great autumnal fishing season. By far the larger portion of
those engaged in the capture of this fish—particularly at the chief
stations—are what are called “hired hands,” a mixture of the farmer,
the mechanic, and the sailor; and this fact may account in some degree
for a portion of the accidents which are sure to occur in stormy
seasons. Many of these men are mere labourers at the herring-fishery,
and have little skill in handling a boat; they are many of them farmers
in the Lewis, or small crofters in the Isle of Skye. The real orthodox
fisherman is a different being, and he is the same everywhere. If you
travel from Banff to Bayonne you find that fishermen are unchangeable.

The men’s work is all performed at sea, and, so far as the capture
of the herring is concerned, there is no display of either skill or
cunning. The legal mode of capturing the herring is to take it by
means of what is called a drift-net. The herring-fishery, it must be
borne in mind, is regulated by Act of Parliament, by which the exact
means and mode of capture are explicitly laid down. A drift-net is an
instrument made of fine twine worked into a series of squares, each
of which is an inch, so as to allow plenty of room for the escape of
young herrings. Nets for herring are measured by the barrel-bulk, and
each barrel will hold two nets, each net being fifty yards long and
thirty-two feet deep. The larger fishing-boats carry something like
a mile of these nets; some, at any rate, carry a drift which will
extend two thousand yards in length. These drifts are composed of
many separate nets, fastened together by means of what is called a
back-rope, and each separate net of the series is marked off by a buoy
or bladder which is attached to it, the whole being sunk in the sea by
means of a leaden or other weight, and fastened to the boat by a longer
or shorter trail-rope, according to the depth in the water at which it
is expected to find the herrings. This formidable apparatus, which
forms a great perforated wall, being let into the sea immediately after
sunset, floats or drifts with the tide, so as to afford the herring
an opportunity of striking against it, and so becoming captured—in
fact they are drowned in the nets. The boats engaged in the drift-net
fishing are of various sizes, and are strongly and carefully built: the
largest, being upwards of thirty-five feet keel, with a large drift of
nets and good sail and mast, will cost something like a sum of £200.

[Illustration: VIEW OF LOCHFYNE.]

The other mode of fishing for herrings, which has existed for about a
quarter of a century, is illegal, although it is as nearly as possible
the same as is legally used to capture the pilchard on the coast of
Cornwall. In the west of Scotland, on Lochfyne in particular, where
it is still to some extent practised, it is called “trawling;” but
the instrument of capture is in reality a “seine” net; and, so far
as the size of the mesh is concerned, is all right. The mode of using
this net I shall presently describe; in the meantime I may state that
the practice of “seining” has given cause to much disputation and
many quarrels, some of them resulting in violence and bloodshed; the
whole dispute having given rise to the recent Commission of Inquiry.
It is worth while, I think, to abridge the commissioners’ account of
the cause of quarrel, and the arguments used on both sides of the
question. The drift-net men assert that immature herrings are caught
by the trawl, and that that mode of fishing breaks up the shoals, and
that these scatter and do not again unite, as also that the seine
destroys the spawn. A graver assertion is, that the trawled herrings
are not fit for curing in consequence of their being injured in the
capture; likewise that the seine-net fishers are given to brawling
and mischief. The assertion is also made that it is quite impossible
for the two kinds of fishing to be carried on together, especially in
confined places like Lochfyne. The real reason is, I think, brought in
last—viz. that the great quantities of fish taken on a sudden by the
trawlers affect the markets and derange the prices—all to the great
detriment of the drift-net men. The trawlers are quite able to answer
all these questions both individually and by a general denial. They
say that it is not their interest to contract the width of the mesh,
and that, in fact, the trawl-net mesh is quite as large as the other.
They assert that a seine-net is not so much calculated to disturb a
shoal of herrings as the drift-net, which is of great length and at
once obstructs the shoal. They deny that they have interfered with the
spawning-beds, and also state that they have no particular interest
in catching foul fish, as they sell their herrings chiefly in a fresh
state, and say that their fish are most adapted for the fresh market,
likewise that they can be cured as easily as herrings caught by the
drift-nets. They emphatically deny being brawlers, or that they
wilfully injure the drift-nets; and they assert that both kinds of
fishing can perfectly well be carried on simultaneously on the same
fishing-ground. In fact the trawlers, in my opinion, have thoroughly
made out their case; and the commissioners, I am very glad to record,
have decided in their favour.

The pilchard is generally captured by means of the seine-net, and we
never hear of its being injured thereby. It is also cured in large
quantities, the same as the herring, although the _modus operandi_ is
somewhat different.

The pilchard was at one time, like the herring, thought to be a
migratory fish, but it has been found, as in the case of the common
herring, to be a native of our own seas. In some years the pilchard has
been known to shed its spawn in May, but the usual time is October,
and Mr. Couch thinks that fish do not breed twice in the same year.
Their food, we are told by Mr. Couch, is small crustaceous animals, as
their stomachs are frequently crammed with a small kind of shrimp, and
the supply of this kind of food is thought to be enormous. When on the
coast, the assemblage of pilchards assumes an arrangement like that of
a great army, and the vast shoal is known to be made up by the coming
together of smaller bodies of that fish, and these frequently separate
and rejoin, and are constantly shifting their position. The pilchard
is not now so numerous as it was a few years ago, but very large hauls
are still occasionally obtained. According to a recent statement in
the _Times_, the present pilchard season (1865) seems to have been a
very bad one—“the worst that has been experienced for upwards of twenty
years. The great majority of the boats have not nearly cleared their
expenses.”

Great excitement prevails on the coast of Cornwall during the pilchard
season. Persons watch the water from the coast and signal to those
who are in search of the fish the moment they perceive indications
of a shoal. These watchers are locally called “huers,” and they are
provided with signals of white calico or branches of trees, with which
to direct the course of the boat, and to inform those in charge when
they are upon the fish—the shoal being best seen from the cliffs. The
pilchards are captured by the seine-net—that is, the shoal, or spot of
a shoal, that has risen, is completely surrounded by a wall of netting,
the principal boat and its satellites the volyer and the lurker, with
the “stop-nets,” having so worked as quite to overlap each other’s wall
of canvas. The place where the joining of the two nets is formed is
carefully watched, to see that none of the fish escape at that place,
and if it be too open, the fish are beaten back with the oars of some
of the persons attending—about eighteen in all. In due time the seine
is worked or hauled into shallow water for the convenience of getting
out the fish, and it may perhaps contain pilchards sufficient to fill
two thousand hogsheads. Generally speaking, four or five seines will be
at work together, giving employment to a great number of the people,
who may have been watching for the chance during many days. When the
tide falls the men commence to bring ashore the fish, a tuck-net worked
inside of the seine being used for safety; and the large shallow dipper
boats required for bringing the fish to the beach may be seen sunk to
the water’s edge with their burden, as successive bucketfuls are taken
out of the nets and emptied into these conveyance vessels. To give the
reader an idea of quantity, as connected with pilchard-fishing, I may
state that it takes nearly three thousand fish to fill a hogshead. I
have heard of a shoal being captured that took a fortnight to bring
ashore. Ten thousand hogsheads of pilchards have been known to be taken
in one port in a day’s time. The convenience of keeping the shoal in
the water is obvious, as the fish need not be withdrawn from it till
it is convenient to salt them. The fish are salted in curing-houses,
great quantities of them being piled up into huge stacks, alternate
layers of salt and fish. During the process of curing a large quantity
of useful oil exudes from the heaps. The salting process is called
“bulking,” and the fish are built up into stacks with great regularity,
where they are allowed to remain for four weeks, after which they are
washed and freed from the oil, then packed into hogsheads, and sent to
Spain and Italy, to be extensively consumed during Lent, as well as at
other fasting times. The hurry and bustle at any of the little Cornwall
ports during the manipulation of a few shoals of pilchards must be
seen, the excitement cannot be very well described.

The pilchard is, or rather it ought to be, the _Sardinia_ of commerce,
but its place is usurped by the sprat, or garvie as we call it in
Scotland, and thousands of tin boxes of that fish are annually made up
and sold as sardines. I have already alluded to the sprat, so far as
its natural history is concerned. It is a fish that is very abundant
in Scotland, especially in the Firth of Forth, where for many years
there has been a good sprat-fishery. We do not now require to go to
France for our sardines, as we can cure them at home in the French
style. The sprat-fishery for sardine-making is still, however, a
considerable maritime industry on the coast of France. In 1864 about
75,000 barrels of sprats were taken on the coast of Brittany, besides
those sold fresh and the quantities done up in oil as sardines. The
process of curing with oil is as follows:—The fish must be well washed
in sea-water, after which they are sprinkled with clean salt. The
next process is to cut off the heads of the fish, and take away the
intestines, etc., after which they are again rinsed in the sea-water,
and hung up or laid out to dry in order to beautify. After this they
are placed for a very brief period in a pan of boiling oil, which
completes the cure. Before being packed in the neat little tin boxes in
which we find them, the sardines are laid down on a grating, in order
to let the oil drain off—the finishing process being the exposure
of the box in a steam-chest for such a period as the curer deems
necessary. According to my informant, a thorough cure is effected when
the box appears convex on the two sides, only it is necessary that this
convexity should disappear as the box becomes cool. Ten millions of
boxes are annually sent away from the coast of Brittany, and these are
widely distributed, not only in Europe, but in Australia and America
as well. I have elsewhere mentioned the use of cod-roe in the French
sprat-fishery. The quantity used costs about £80,000 annually, and
is brought from Norway. Each boat engaged in the sprat-fishery will
use from twelve to twenty barrels! Will not the consumption of such a
quantity of roe tell by and by on the cod-fishery?

Sprats, whether they be young herrings or no, are very plentiful in
the winter months, and afford a supply of wholesome food of the fish
kind to many who are unable to procure more expensive kinds. When the
fishing for garvies (sprats) was stopped a few years ago by order of
the Board of White Fisheries, there was quite a sensation in Edinburgh;
and an agitation was got up that has resulted in a partial resumption
of the fishing, which is of considerable value—about £50,000 in the
Firth of Forth alone.

Commerce in herring is entirely different from commerce in any other
article, particularly in Scotland. In fact the fishery, as at present
conducted, is just another way of gambling. The home “curers” and
foreign buyers are the persons who at present keep the herring-fishery
from stagnating, and the goods (_i.e._ the fish) are generally all
bought and sold long before they are captured. The way of dealing in
herring is pretty much as follows:—Owners of boats are engaged to fish
by curers, the bargains being usually that the curer will take two
hundred crans of herring—and a cran, it may be stated, is forty-five
gallons of ungutted fish; for these two hundred crans a certain sum per
cran is paid according to arrangement, the bargain including as well a
definite sum of ready money by way of bounty, perhaps also an allowance
of spirits, and the use of ground for the drying of the nets. On the
other hand, the boat-owner provides a boat, nets, buoys, and all the
apparatus of the fishery, and engages a crew to fish; his crew may,
perhaps, be relatives and part-owners sharing the venture with him, but
usually the crew consists of hired men who get so much wages at the end
of the season, and have no risk or profit. This is the plan followed
by free and independent fishermen who are really owners of their own
boats and apparatus. It will thus be seen that the curer is bargaining
for two hundred crans of fish months before he knows that a single
herring will be captured; for the bargain of next season is always made
at the close of the present one, and he has to pay out at once a large
sum by way of bounty, and provide barrels, salt, and other necessaries
for the cure before he knows even if the catch of the season just
expiring will all be sold, or how the markets will pulsate next year.
On the other hand, the fisherman has received his pay for his season’s
fish, and very likely pocketed a sum of from ten to thirty pounds as
earnest-money for next year’s work. Then, again, a certain number of
curers who are men of capital will advance money to young fishermen
in order that they may purchase a boat and the necessary quantity of
netting to enable them to engage in the fishery—thus thirling the boat
to their service, very probably fixing an advantageous price per cran
for the herrings to be fished and supplied. Curers, again, who are
not capitalists, have to borrow from the buyers, because to compete
with their fellows they must be able to lend money for the purchase
of boats and nets, or to advance sums by way of bounty to the free
boats; and thus a rotten unwholesome system goes the round—fishermen,
boat-builders, curers, and merchants all hanging on each other, and
evidencing that there is as much gambling in herring-fishing as in
horse-racing. The whole system of commerce connected with this
trade is decidedly unhealthy, and ought at once to be checked and
reconstructed if there be any logical method of doing it. At a port of
three hundred boats a sum of £145 was paid by the curers for “arles,”
and spent in the public-houses! More than £4000 was paid in bounties,
and an advance of nearly £7000 made on the various contracts, and all
this money was paid eight months before the fishing began. When the
season is a favourable one and plenty of fish are taken, then all goes
well, and the evil day is postponed; but if, as in one or two recent
seasons, the take is poor, then there comes a crash. One falls, and,
like a row of bricks, the others all follow. At the large fishing
stations there are comparatively few of the boats that are thoroughly
free: they are tied up in some way between the buyers and curers, or
they are in pawn to some merchant who “backs” the nominal owner. The
principal, or at least the immediate sufferers by these arrangements
are the hired men.

This “bounty,” as it is called, is a most reprehensible feature of
herring commerce, and although still the prevalent mode of doing
business, has been loudly declaimed against by all who have the real
good of the fishermen at heart. Often enough men who have obtained
boats and nets on credit, and hired persons to assist them during the
fishery, are so unfortunate as not to catch enough of herrings to
pay their expenses. The curers for whom they engaged to fish having
retained most of the bounty money on account of boats and nets,
consequently the hired servants have frequently in such cases to go
home—sometimes to a great distance—penniless. It would be much better
if the old system of a share were re-introduced: in that case the hired
men would at least participate to the extent of the fishing, whether
it were good or bad. Boat-owners try of course to get as good terms as
possible, as well in the shape of price for herrings as in bounty and
perquisites. For an example of an engagement I may cite the case of
a Burghhead boat, which bargained for 15s. per cran, 20s. of engaging
money (arles), ten gallons of whisky, net-ground, net-driving—_i.e._
from the boat to the ground and back again—and £20 of cash in the
shape of a bounty.[9] At some places even larger sums are asked for
and obtained—as much as £54 in bounty and perquisites. My idea is that
there ought to be no “engagements,” no bounty, and no perquisites. As
each fishing comes round let the boats catch, and the curers buy day by
day as the fish arrive at the quay. This plan has already been adopted
at some fishing-towns, and is an obvious improvement on the prevailing
plan of gambling by means of “engagements” in advance.

In fact, this fishery is best described when it is called a lottery.
No person knows what the yield will be till the last moment: it may
be abundant, or it may be a total failure. Agriculturists are aware
long before the reaping season whether their crops are light or heavy,
and they arrange accordingly; but if we are to believe the fisherman,
his harvest is entirely a matter of “luck.” It is this belief in
“luck” which is, in a great degree, the cause of our fisher-folk not
keeping pace with the times: they are greatly behind in all matters
of progress; our fishing towns look as if they were, so to speak,
stereotyped. It is a woeful time for the fisher-folk when the herrings
fail them; for this great harvest of the sea, which needs no tillage
of the husbandman, the fruits of which are reaped without either
sowing seed or paying rent, is the chief industry that the bulk of
the coast population depend upon for a good sum of money. The fishing
is the bank, in which they have opened, and perhaps exhausted, a
cash-credit; for often enough the balance is on the wrong side of the
ledger, even after the fishing season has come and gone. In other
words, new boats have to be paid for out of the fishing; new clothes,
new houses, additional nets, and even weddings, are all dependent on
the herring-fishery. It is notable that after a favourable season the
weddings among the fishing populations are very numerous. The anxiety
for a good season may be noted all along the British coasts, from
Newhaven to Yarmouth, or from Crail to Wick.

The highest prices are paid for the early fish, contracts for these in
a cured state being sometimes fixed as high as forty-five shillings
per barrel. These are at once despatched to Germany, in the inland
towns of which a prime salt herring of the early cure is considered a
great luxury, fetching sometimes the handsome price of one shilling!
Great quantities of cured herrings are sent to Stettin or other German
ports, and so eager are some of the merchants for an early supply that
in the beginning of the season they purchase quantities unbranded,
through the agency of the telegraph. On those parts of the coast where
the communication with large towns is easy, considerable quantities
of herring are purchased fresh, for transmission to Birmingham,
Manchester, and other inland cities. Buyers attend for that purpose,
and send them off frequently in an open truck, with only a slight
covering to protect them from the sun. It is needless to say that a
fresh herring is looked upon as a luxury in such places, and a demand
exists that would exhaust any supply that could be sent. During one day
in last September what was thought to be a hopeless glut of herrings
arrived at Billingsgate; the consignment was so vast as quite to alarm
the salesmen of that market; but their fears were groundless, as before
noon every herring was sold. From ten to twelve thousand tons of fresh
herrings are sent from Dunbar alone, during the season, into inland
districts, being distributed by means of the railway, and also by
cadgers.

Many of the Scottish herring-curers are men of enterprise and
intelligence. The late Mr. Methuen of Leith may be cited as an example
of the class: he was of humble parentage, but had the good fortune,
by perseverance and industry, to become the greatest herring-curer
in the world. He raised his gigantic business on a small foundation,
which his father and he laid at Burntisland in Fife. His business grew
apace; his yards overflowed into the streets, and his piles of barrels
soon blocked up the passages. He gathered knowledge of his business
from all who could give it him; and in after years, when his trade had
grown to be the greatest of its kind, he found this knowledge of great
service to him. He was soon compelled, however, by the extension of
his connection, to seek larger head-quarters than he could obtain at
Burntisland. In 1833, therefore, he removed to Leith, the seaport of
Edinburgh, where he continued to carry on his business till the time of
his death. For thirty years he was at the head of the herring-trade in
Britain, and was so energetic and reputable in his dealings as really
to command success, in which, of course, he was materially aided by
his rapidly-increasing capital. He created curing-stations, and so
forced business. Wherever he saw an eligible spot, he marked it out as
a place to cure in. His business widened and widened, till thousands
of the Scottish fishing-boats were ready to obey his behests; and, not
contented with what he had achieved in his own country, he invaded
England, and commenced stations along the east coast and on the Isle
of Man, having some time before established business relations on the
coast of Norway. Mr. Methuen took a warm interest in all questions
connected with the herring-fishery, and may be said to have carried
on business during the period when these fisheries were in their
most prosperous condition; in fact, he may be said to have seen the
culmination of the trade. He was foremost in action when an attempt
was made to abolish the Fishery Board for Scotland. His accurate
acquaintance with the trade, and his knowledge of the natural history
of the fish, and the precise nature of his statements as to the value
of the Board, were the means of converting the Government of his time,
so that the Board was maintained in its integrity. Mr. Methuen’s powers
of observation were considerable; he once reasoned out by a reference
to some old letters the precise spot where a local shoal of herrings
was to be found. I have alluded to his plan of gathering knowledge
from all with whom he come in contact; he stored up such letters of
his agents as contained facts for future use, and often found them
of service. At one of his stations in the far North the fishing had
been unsuccessful for the greater part of the season, and there was no
prospect of improvement, when he gave it his consideration. Looking
over his agent’s letters at said place for some years back, he found,
by a comparison of dates, that at a certain spot herrings were to be
found. He accordingly instructed his agent to send his boats to that
spot. The fishermen simply laughed at the idea of an individual sitting
some hundreds of miles away and telling _them_ where to get fish. But
as his orders were positive, they had to obey, and the consequence was
that they returned the next morning loaded with herrings.

[Illustration: VIEW OF A CURING YARD.]

Having explained the relation of the curers to the trade, I must now
speak of the cure—the greater number of the herrings caught on the
coast of Scotland being pickled in salt; a result originally, no doubt,
of the want of speedy modes of transit to large seats of population,
where herrings would be largely consumed if they could arrive in a
sufficiently fresh state to be palatable. At stations about Wick the
quantity of herrings disposed of fresh is comparatively small, so
that by far the larger portion of the daily catch has to be salted.
This process during a good season employs a very large number of
persons, chiefly as coopers and gutters; and, as the barrels have to
be branded, by way of certificate of the quality of their contents, it
is necessary that the salting should be carefully done. As soon as the
boats reach the harbour—and as the fishing is appointed to be carried
on after sunset they arrive very early in the morning—the various
crews commence to carry their fish to the reception-troughs of the
curers by whom they have been engaged. A person in the interest of the
curer checks the number of crans brought in, and sprinkles the fish
from time to time with considerable quantities of salt. As soon as a
score or two of baskets have been emptied, the gutters set earnestly
to do their portion of the work, which is dirty and disagreeable in
the extreme. The gutters usually work in companies of about five—one
or two gutting, one or two carrying, and another packing. Basketfuls
of the fish, so soon as they are gutted, are carried to the back of
the yard, and plunged into a large tub, there to be roused and mixed
up with salt; then the adroit and active packer seizes a handful and
arranges them with the greatest precision in a barrel, a handful of
salt being thrown over each layer as it is put in, so that, in the
short space of a few minutes, the large barrel is crammed full with
many hundred fish, all gutted, roused, and packed in a period of not
more than ten minutes. As the fish settle down in the barrel, more are
added from day to day, till it is thoroughly full and ready for the
brand. On the proper performance of these parts of the business, the
quality of the cured fish very much depends. The late Sir Thomas Dick
Lauder, who was at one time secretary to the Fishing Board, published
plain instructions for taking and curing herrings; he gives minute
directions in all departments, and thus speaks of the important duties
of the coopers:—“During the period of the curing, the cooper’s first
employment in the morning should be to examine every barrel packed on
the previous day, in order to discover if any of them have lost the
pickle, so that he may have all such barrels immediately repacked,
salted, and pickled.... As already stated, the cooper in charge should
see that the gutters are furnished every morning with sharp knives. He
should be careful to strew salt among the herrings as they are turned
into the gutting-boxes; give a general but strict attention to the
gutters, in order to insure that they do their work properly; see that
the herrings are properly sorted, and that all the broken and injured
fish are removed; and take care that the fish are sufficiently and
effectually roused. Then he should see that every barrel is seasoned
with water, and the hoops properly driven, before they are given to the
packers. He should likewise keep his eyes over the packers, to see that
the tiers of herrings are regularly laid and salted, and that a cover
is placed on every barrel immediately after it has been completely
packed.”

I have a very few words to say about the _brand_: whether or not each
barrel of herrings should have stamped upon it a government mark
indicative of its quality has been one of the most fertile subjects of
controversy in connection with herring commerce. _Now_ the brand—which
was devised during the time the British government paid a bounty to the
curer as an encouragement to fish for herrings—is voluntary, and has to
be paid for, and in time, there can be no doubt, it will be altogether
discontinued; and it would have been better perhaps had it never
existed, although its continuance has been advocated by many excellent
persons on the ground of its service to the fisheries. Other kinds
of goods have been able to command a market without the interference
of government—such as cotton and other textile fabrics, cheese, etc.
Why then could not we sell our herrings on the faith of the curer?
Government is not asked to brand our broadcloths, or our blankets,
nor yet our steam-engines; and I hope soon to see a total abolition
of the brand on our herring-barrels; but although I am an advocate
for the total abolition of the brand I wish the present Fishery Board
continued: there is ample employment for all the officers of that
Board in acting as statisticians and police; we can never obtain
sufficient information about the capture and disposal of the fish, the
fluctuations of the fishery, etc. etc.

The following detailed description of the “herring-harvest,” as
gathered in the Moray Frith, may be of interest to the general reader.
It is reprinted, by permission, from a paper contributed by the author
to the _Cornhill Magazine_:—

The boats usually start for the fishing-ground an hour or two before
sunset, and are generally manned by four men and a boy, in addition
to the owner or skipper. The nets, which have been carried inland in
the morning, in order that they might be thoroughly dried, have been
brought to the boat in a cart or waggon. On board there is a keg of
water and a bag of bread or hard biscuit; and in addition to these
simple necessaries, our boat contains a bottle of whisky which we have
presented by way of paying our footing. The name of our skipper is
Francis Sinclair, and a very gallant-looking fellow he is; and as to
his dress—why, his boots alone would ensure the success of a Surrey
melodrama; and neither Truefit nor Ross could satisfactorily imitate
his beard and whiskers. Having got safely on board—a rather difficult
matter in a crowded harbour, where the boats are elbowing each other
for room—we contrive, with some labour, to work our way out of the
narrow-necked harbour into the bay, along with the nine hundred and
ninety-nine boats that are to accompany us in our night’s avocation.
The heights of Pulteneytown, which command the quays, are covered with
spectators admiring the pour-out of the herring fleet and wishing with
all their hearts “God speed” to the venturers: old salts who have long
retired from active seamanship are counting their “takes” over again;
and the curer is mentally reckoning up the morrow’s catch. Janet and
Jeanie are smiling a kindly good-bye to “faither,” and hoping for the
safe return of Donald or Murdoch; and crowds of people are scattered on
the heights, all taking various degrees of interest in the scene, which
is stirringly picturesque to the eye of the tourist, and suggestive to
the thoughtful observer.

Bounding gaily over the waves, which are crisping and curling their
crests under the influence of the land-breeze, our shoulder-of-mutton
sail filled with a good capful of wind, we hug the rocky coast,
passing the ruined tower known as “the Old Man of Wick,” which serves
as a capital landmark for the fleet. Soon the red sun begins to dip
into the golden west, burnishing the waves with lustrous crimson and
silver, and against the darkening eastern sky the thousand sails
of the herring-fleet blaze like sheets of flame. The shore becomes
more and more indistinct, and the beetling cliffs assume fantastic
and weird shapes, whilst the moaning waters rush into deep cavernous
recesses with a wild and monotonous sough, that falls on the ear with
a deeper and a deeper melancholy, broken only by the shrill wail of
the herring-gull. A dull hot haze settles on the scene, through which
the coppery rays of the sun penetrate, powerless to cast a shadow. The
scene grows more and more picturesque as the glowing sails of the fleet
fade into grey specks dimly seen. Anon the breeze freshens and our boat
cleaves the water with redoubled speed: we seem to sail farther and
farther into the gloom, until the boundary-line between sea and shore
becomes lost to the sight.

We ought to have shot our nets before it became so dark, but our
skipper, being anxious to hit upon the right place, so as to save a
second shooting, tacked up and down, uncertain where to take up his
station. We had studied the movements of certain “wise men” of the
fishery—men who are always lucky, and who find out the fish when
others fail; but our crew became impatient when they began to smell
the water, which had an oily gleam upon it indicative of herring, and
sent out from the bows of the boat bright phosphorescent sparkles of
light. The men several times thought they were right over the fish,
but the skipper knew better. At last, after a lengthened cruise, our
commander, who had been silent for half-an-hour, jumped up and called
to action. “Up, men, and at ’em,” was then the order of the night. The
preparations for shooting the nets at once began by our lowering sail.
Surrounding us on all sides was to be seen a moving world of boats;
many with their sails down, their nets floating in the water, and their
crews at rest, indulging in fitful snatches of sleep. Other boats
again were still flitting uneasily about; their skippers, like our
own, anxious to shoot in the best place, but as yet uncertain where
to cast: they wait till they see indications of fish in other nets. By
and by we are ourselves ready, the sinker goes splash into the water,
the “dog” (a large bladder, or inflated skin of some kind, to mark the
far end of the train) is heaved overboard, and the nets, breadth after
breadth, follow as fast as the men can pay them out (each division
being marked by a large painted bladder), till the immense train sinks
into the water, forming a perforated wall a mile long and many feet
in depth; the “dog” and the marking bladders floating and dipping in
a long zigzag line, reminding one of the imaginary coils of the great
sea-serpent.

Wrapped in the folds of a sail and rocked by the heaving waves we tried
in vain to snatch a brief nap, though those who are accustomed to such
beds can sleep well enough in a herring-boat. The skipper, too, slept
with one eye open; for the boat being his property, and the risk all
his, he required to look about him, as the nets are apt to become
entangled with those belonging to other fishermen, or to be torn away
by surrounding boats. After three hours’ quietude, beneath a beautiful
sky, the stars—

“Those eternal orbs that beautify the night”—

began to pale their fires, and the grey dawn appearing indicated
that it was time to take stock. On reckoning up we found that we had
floated gently with the tide till we were a long distance away from
the harbour. The skipper had a presentiment that there were fish in
his nets; indeed the bobbing down of a few of the bladders had made
it almost a certainty; at any rate we resolved to examine the drift,
and see if there were any fish. It was a moment of suspense, while, by
means of the swing-rope, the boat was hauled up to the nets. “Hurrah!”
at last exclaimed Murdoch of the Isle of Skye, “there’s a lot of fish,
skipper, and no mistake.” Murdoch’s news was true; our nets were
silvery with herrings—so laden, in fact, that it took a long time to
haul them in. It was a beautiful sight to see the shimmering fish as
they came up like a sheet of silver from the water, each uttering a
weak death-chirp as it was flung to the bottom of the boat. Formerly
the fish were left in the meshes of the nets till the boat arrived in
the harbour; but now, as the net is hauled on board, they are at once
shaken out. As our silvery treasure showers into the boat we roughly
guess our capture at fifty crans—a capital night’s work.

The herrings being all on board, our duty is now to “up sail” and
get home: the herrings cannot be too soon among the salt. As we make
for the harbour, we discern at once how rightly the term lottery has
been applied to the herring-fishery. Boats which fished quite near
our own were empty; while others again greatly exceeded our catch.
“It is entirely chance work,” said our skipper; “and although there
may sometimes be millions of fish in the bay, the whole fleet may not
divide a hundred crans between them.” On some occasions, however, the
shoal is hit so exactly that the fleet may bring into the harbour a
quantity of fish that in the gross would be an ample fortune. So heavy
are the “takes” occasionally, that we have known the nets of many boats
to be torn away and lost through the sheer weight of the fish which
were enmeshed in them.

The favouring breeze soon carried us to the quay, where the boats were
already arriving in hundreds, and where we were warmly welcomed by the
wife of our skipper, who bestowed on us, as the lucky cause of the
miraculous draught, a very pleasant smile. When we arrived the cure
was going on with startling rapidity. The night had been a golden one
for the fishers—calm and beautiful, the water being merely rippled
by the land-breeze. But it is not always so in the Bay of Wick: the
herring-fleet has been more than once overtaken by a fierce storm,
when valuable lives have been lost, and thousands of pounds’ worth of
netting and boats destroyed. On such occasions the gladdening sights of
the herring-fishery are changed to wailing and sorrow. It is no wonder
that the heavens are eagerly scanned as the boats marshal their way out
of the harbour, and the speck on the distant horizon keenly watched
as it grows into a mass of gloomy clouds. As the song says, “Caller
herrin’” represent the lives of men; and many a despairing wife and
mother can tell a sad tale of the havoc created by the summer gales on
our exposed northern coast.

From the heights of Pulteneytown, overlooking the quays and curers’
stations, one has before him, as it were, an extended plain, covered
with thousands and tens of thousands of barrels, interspersed at short
distances with the busy scene of delivery, of packing, and of salting,
and all the bustle and detail attendant on the cure. It is a scene
difficult to describe, and has ever struck those witnessing it for the
first time with wonder and surprise.

Having visited Wick in the very heat of the season, and for the express
purpose of gaining correct information about this important branch of
our national industry, I am enabled to offer a slight description of
the place and its appurtenances. Travellers by the steamboat usually
arrive at the very time the “herring-drave” is making for the harbour;
and a beautiful sight it is to see the magnificent fleet of boats
belonging to the district, radiant in the light of the rising sun,
all steadily steering to the one point, ready to add a large quota to
the wealth of industrial Scotland. As we wend our way from the little
jagged rock at which we are landed by the small boat attendant on the
steamer, we obtain a glimpse of the one distinguishing feature of the
town—the herring commerce. On all sides we are surrounded by herring.
On our left hand countless basketfuls are being poured into the immense
gutting-troughs, and on the right hand there are countless basketfuls
being carried from the three or four hundred boats which are ranged
on that particular side of the harbour; and behind the troughs more
basketfuls are being carried to the packers. The very infants are
seen studying the “gentle art;” and countless rows of the breechless
_gamins de Wick_ are busy hooking up the silly “poddlies.” All around
the atmosphere is humid; the sailors are dripping, the herring-gutters
and packers are dripping, and every thing and person appears wet
and comfortless; and as you pace along you are nearly ankle-deep in
brine. Meantime the herrings are being shovelled about in the large
shallow troughs with immense wooden spades, and with very little
ceremony. Brawny men pour them from the baskets on their shoulders
into the aforesaid troughs, and other brawny men dash them about with
more wooden spades, and then sprinkle salt over each new parcel as
it is poured in, till there is a sufficient quantity to warrant the
commencement of the important operation of gutting and packing. Men
are rushing wildly about with note-books, making mysterious-looking
entries. Carts are being filled with dripping nets ready to hurry them
off to the fields to dry. The screeching of saws among billet-wood, and
the plashing of the neighbouring water-wheel, add to the great babel of
sound that deafens you on every side. Flying about, blood-bespattered
and hideously picturesque, we observe the gutters; and on all hands
we may note thousands of herring-barrels, and piles of billet-wood
ready to convert into staves. At first sight every person looks
mad—some appear so from their costume, others from their manner—and the
confusion seems inextricable; but there is method in their madness,
and even out of the chaos of Wick harbour comes regularity, as I have
endeavoured to show.

So soon as a sufficient quantity of fish has been brought from the
boats and emptied into the gutting-troughs, another of the great scenes
commences—viz. the process of evisceration. This is performed by
females, hundreds of whom annually find well-paid occupation at the
gutting-troughs. It is a bloody business; and the gaily-dressed and
dashing females whom we had observed lounging about the curing-yards,
waiting for the arrival of the fish, are soon most wonderfully
transmogrified. They of course put on a suit of apparel adapted to the
business they have in hand—generally of oilskin, and often much worn.
Behold them, then, about ten or eleven o’clock in the forenoon, when
the gutting scene is at its height, and after they have been at work
for an hour or so: their hands, their necks, their busts, their

“Dreadful faces throng’d, and fiery arms”—

their every bit about them, fore and aft, are spotted and besprinkled
o’er with little scarlet clots of gills and guts; or as Southey says of
Don Roderick, after the last and fatal fight—

“Their flanks incarnadined,
Their poitral smear’d with blood”—

See yonder trough, surrounded by a score of fierce eviscerators,
two of them wearing the badge of widowhood! How deftly they ply the
knife! It is ever a bob down to seize a herring, and a bob up to throw
it into the basket, and the operation is over. It is performed with
lightning-like rapidity by a mere turn of the hand, and thirty or forty
fish are operated upon before you have time to note sixty ticks of your
watch. These ruthless widows seize upon the dead herrings with such a
fierceness as almost to denote revenge for their husbands’ deaths; for
they, alas! fell victims to the herring lottery, and the widows scatter
about the gills and guts as if they had no bowels of compassion.

In addition to herrings that are pickled and those sold in a fresh
state, great quantities are made into what are called “bloaters,” or
transformed into “reds.” At Yarmouth immense quantities of bloaters
and reds are annually prepared for the English markets. The bloaters
are very slightly cured and as slightly smoked, being prepared
for immediate sale; but the herrings brought into Yarmouth are
cured in various ways: the bloaters are for quick sale and speedy
consumption; then there is a special cure for fish sent to the
Mediterranean—“Straits-men” I think these are called; then there are
the black herrings, which have a really fine flavour. In fact the
Yarmouth herrings are so cured as to be suitable to particular markets.
It may interest the general reader to know that the name of “bloater”
is derived from the herring beginning to swell or bloat during the
process of curing. Small logs of oak are burned to produce the smoke,
and the fish are all put on “spits” which are run through the gills.
The “spitters” of Yarmouth are quite as dexterous as the gutters of
Wick, a woman being able to spit a last per day. Like the gutters and
packers of Wick, the spitters of Yarmouth work in gangs. The fish,
after being hung and smoked, are packed in barrels, each containing
seven hundred and fifty fish.

The Yarmouth boats do not return to harbour every morning, like the
Scotch boats; being decked vessels of some size, from fifty to eighty
tons, costing about £1000, and having stowage for about fifty lasts
of herrings, they are enabled to remain at sea for some days, usually
from three to six, and of course they are able to use their small
boats in the fishery, a man or two being left in charge of the large
vessel, while the majority of the hands are out in the boats fishing.
There has always been a busy herring-fishery at the port of Yarmouth.
A century ago upwards of two hundred vessels were fitted out for the
herring-fishery, and these afforded employment to a large number of
people—as many as six thousand being employed in one way or the other
in connection with the fishery. The Yarmouth boats or busses are
not unlike the boats once used in Scotland, which have been already
described. They carry from fifteen to twenty lasts of herrings (a last,
counted fisherwise, is more than 13,000 herrings, but nominally it is
10,000 fish), and are manned with some fourteen men or boys.

There has been a long-continued controversy in Scotland as to the best
kind of fishing-boats, certain parties arguing that none but decked
vessels ought to be used, which we think would be a great mistake
so long as the fishing is carried on as at present. In the first
place, there is no harbour accommodation for a fleet of large decked
vessels; the present herring-boats, when not in use, are drawn up on
the beach, where they can readily be examined and repaired, and can be
easily pushed into the water when again required. In the second place,
these herring-boats rarely go far from their fishing-port; a voyage
of from one to three hours carries them to the fishing-place which
they have selected—the chief fisheries being just off the coast; and
as they have only to spend a few hours on the fishing-ground before
returning to port, the present size of boat is in every way convenient
for the voyage. And, in the third place, the open boats have this
advantage—viz. that it is easier to fish from one of them than from a
larger vessel—the great length of the present drift of nets involving
very severe labour, both in the letting of the nets out from the boat
and in hauling them in when laden with fish. So long, therefore, as the
herring-fishery is a coast one, the present style of boat is the best
that can be employed. If it were necessary for the boats to go far out
to sea, involving a voyage of days, then it would be proper to have
larger vessels, because it is absolutely necessary that the herrings
should be cured within a few hours of their being captured.

The following figures as to the catch of 1862 and 1863, and as to the
number of boats and people employed, are from the official returns of
the fishing of these two years; in fact I have made a complete though
brief abridgment of the whole papers, which, at the time I write,
are the latest published. The revenue derived under the Act for the
branding of herrings, passed in 1859, amounted to £5801: 12: 4 in
1862, being an increase of £3157: 0: 4 over that of 1859; and in 1863
the brand fees produced the sum of £4618: 16s. The returns of the
herring-fishing of 1863, as compared with that of 1862, which was,
however, an extraordinarily good year, are as follow:—

Barrels. Barrels. Barrels.

1862. Cured, 830,904 Branded, 346,712 Ex., 494,910
1863. Do. 654,816½ Do. 276,880½ Do. 407,761½

The quantity of herrings branded out of the fishing of 1862 was,
as seen above, 346,712 barrels, a number greatly exceeding that of
any previous year; which shows not only that the fishing was very
productive, but also the great demand for branded herrings, the
reliance of the Continent upon the brand (the chief herring trade there
being in barrels that have been branded), and the steady improvement
in the cure of the fish. The fishing of 1863, when compared with those
of 1860 and 1861—fishings of which the total amounts are nearer to
that of 1863 than that of 1862—also show this in a remarkable degree;
for we find from the returns that out of a cure in 1863 less by 26,377
barrels than the cure of 1860, there were branded 44,967 barrels more
and exported 29,791 barrels more than in 1860; that out of a cure in
1863 less by 14,012 barrels than the cure of 1861, there were branded
11,533 barrels more and exported 17,448 barrels more than in 1861. A
comparison of the rate per cent which the quantity branded forms of the
total quantity cured shows this still more clearly. In 1860 the rate
was 55½ per cent; in 1861 it was 58⅓ per cent; in 1862, 59½;
and in 1863 it was 62¼ per cent.

The quantity cured in 1862 exceeds, by upwards of 50,000 barrels, that
of any previous year’s fishing. The districts in which an increase
of take was chiefly obtained were Buckie, Banff, Fraserburgh, and
Peterhead on the east coast, and Stornoway and Inverary on the west.
The total increase at these districts of the fishing of 1862 over
that of 1861 being 184,023 barrels, and the increase of the whole of
Scotland being 172,076 barrels, it would appear that, although there
was a decided increase in these districts, the other fishing-places
were scarcely up to the mark of the previous year. The fishing at
Fraserburgh was remarkable as having yielded the highest average of any
ever known in that district, being 226½ crans per boat. The season
of 1862 was also remarkable for the decrease in the shoals of dogfish.
This is shown from the entire and perfect condition of the herrings
caught. In 1861, with a cure of 31,631 barrels at Fraserburgh, the
broken fish were more than 4½ per cent; while in 1862, with a cure
of 77,124 barrels, the broken were only a little over 2 per cent.

In 1863 there was an increase over 1862 in the districts of Lybster,
Orkney, and Shetland, and the Isle of Man; but at Wick and some of the
Moray Firth stations the fishing was almost the same; while it was
greatly less at Eyemouth, Anstruther, Peterhead, Fraserburgh, Banff,
Stornoway, and Inverary.

In 1862, at Wick, a fishing for herring with nets in the winter was
tried for the first time, and was so far successful, herrings being
caught having milt and roe, with the appearance that they might
become full fish in three weeks or a month, and averaging 800 to the
cran. This result goes far to prove that the herring is a fish of
local habits, having no great range of emigration, and that it spawns
twice in the course of the year. The winter fishing was repeated and
extended in 1863. Trials were made for herring during the winter all
along the south shores of the Moray Firth, and along the east coast as
far as Montrose; and in some quarters this fishery was so extensively
prosecuted as to lead to the fish being selected and branded for the
Continental market.

The number of vessels fitted out in Scotland and the Isle of Man for
the British herring-fishery 1862 was 281, employing 1149 men. The
quantity of herrings cured in these vessels was 59,934 barrels, being
an average of 213 barrels each vessel, generally made in two or
three voyages. The number of boats in Scotland and the Isle of Man,
whether decked or undecked, irrespective of the places to which they
belong, employed in the herring-fishery of 1862, for one selected week
in each district, was 9067, manned by 43,468 fishermen and boys, and
employing 22,471 persons as coopers, gutters, packers, and labourers,
making a total of persons employed 65,939. Of the total number of
boats, 1122 fished at Wick, 960 at Loch Broom, 900 at Stornoway, 783
at Eyemouth, and 700 at Peterhead. The total number of boats employed
in the shore-curing herring, and cod and ling fisheries in 1862 was
12,545, with an aggregate tonnage of 88,871, and valued at £272,960.
The value of nets and lines belonging to these boats is estimated at
£474,834. The boats are manned by 41,008 fishermen and boys, the curers
and coopers employed amount to 2756, and the number of other persons
employed is estimated at 50,098. In 1863 there was an increase of 47
boats, but a decrease of 150 fishermen and boys, while there was an
increase of £34,369 in the estimated value of boats and nets.[10]

I have placed on the following page a complete journal of the daily
catch of herrings at Wick for the season of 1862, in order to show the
progress of the fishing.

┌───────┬─────┬──────┬──────┬─────┬───────┬─────────┬──────────────┐
│ │ │Ave- │Total │ Gen-│Total │ │ │
│ │Boats│rage. │daily │eral │catch │ │ │
│Date. │out. │crans.│catch.│ Ave-│ for │Quality. │ Weather. │
│ │ │ │ │rage.│season.│ │ │
├───────┼─────┼──────┼──────┼─────┼───────┼─────────┼──────────────┤
│July 3│ 20│ 2│ 40│ 0│ 40│Excellent│Mild. │
│ ” 4│ 30│ 1│ 30│ 0│ 70│ Do. │Wet. │
│ ” 5│ 60│ ½│ 30│ 0│ 100│ Do. │Damp and │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ mild. │
│ ” 8│ 50│ ½│ 25│ 0│ 125│ Do. │Mild. │
│ ” 9│ 70│ 0│ 10│ 0│ 135│Good │Gentle breeze.│
│ ” 10│ 70│ 1½│ 105│ 0│ 240│ Do. │Breezy. │
│ ” 11│ 120│ 2│ 60│ ¼│ 300│ Do. │Cold and │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ breezy. │
│ ” 12│ 150│ 7│ 1,050│ 1¼│ 1,350│ Do. │Fine. │
│ ” 15│ 180│ 1│ 180│ 1¼│ 1,530│Mixed │Mild. │
│ ” 16│ 170│ 1│ 170│ 1½│ 1,700│Good │Clear—strong │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ tides. │
│ ” 17│ 150│ 1│ 150│ 1¾│ 1,850│ Do. │Wet. │
│ ” 18│ 100│ 1│ 100│ 2│ 1,950│ Do. │Thick and │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ wet. │
│ ” 19│ 50│ 1│ 50│ 2│ 2,000│ Do. │Rough. │
│ ” 22│ 300│ 3│ 900│ 3│ 2,900│ Do. │Mild. │
│ ” 23│ 600│ 2│ 1,200│ 4│ 4,100│Excellent│ Do. │
│ ” 24│ 700│ 1│ 700│ 4½│ 4,800│ Do. │Changeable. │
│ ” 25│ 250│ ½│ 125│ 4½│ 4,925│ Do. │Very rough. │
│ ” 26│ 700│ 1│ 700│ 5│ 5,625│ Do. │Mild. │
│ ” 29│ 950│ 0│ 150│ 5│ 5,775│ Do. │Mild and │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ wet. │
│ ” 30│ 900│ ½│ 450│ 6│ 6,225│ Do. │ Do. │
│ ” 31│ 950│ 1│ 950│ 6½│ 7,175│ Do. │Rough. │
│Aug. 1│ 250│ 2│ 500│ 7│ 7,675│ Do. │Mild—heavy │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ sea. │
│ ” 2│ 1000│ 2│ 2,000│ 8½│ 9,675│Mixed │Mild and │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ wet. │
│ ” 5│ 150│ 1│ 150│ 9│ 9,825│Good │Rough. │
│ ” 6│ 70│ 3│ 210│ 9│ 10,035│Spent │ Do. │
│ ” 7│ 1100│ 6│ 6,600│ 15│ 16,635│⅓ spent │Mild. │
│ ” 8│ 1100│ 4│ 4,400│ 19│ 21,035│¼ spent │Thick and │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ │rough. │
│ ” 9│ 700│ 6│ 4,200│ 23│ 25,235│ Do. │ Do. │
│ ” 12│ 1120│ 3│ 3,360│ 26│ 28,595│Good │Breezy. │
│ ” 13│ 1120│ 8│ 8,960│ 34│ 37,555│Excellent│Thick, wet, │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ and mild. │
│ ” 14│ 1120│ 4│ 4,480│ 38│ 42,035│ Do. │ Do. │
│ ” 15│ 1100│ 11│12,210│ 48│ 54,245│ Do. │ Do. │
│ ” 16│ 1000│ 8│ 8,000│ 56│ 62,245│¼ spent│ │o. │
│ ” 19│ 1000│ 0│ 50│ 56│ 62,295│Excellent│Strong gale. │
│ ” 20│ 800│ ½│ 400│ 56½│ 62,695│ Do. │Gentle │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ breeze—cold.│
│ ” 21│ 800│ ¼│ 200│ 57│ 62,895│ Do. │ Do. │
│ ” 22│ 900│ ½│ 450│ 57│ 63,345│ Do. │Calm and │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ clear. │
│ ” 23│ 800│ ¼│ 200│ 57½│ 63,545│ Do. │Very wet │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ and calm. │
│ ” 26│ 1120│ 2│ 2,240│ 59│ 65,785│¼ spent │Mild. │
│ ” 27│ 1120│ 5│ 5,600│ 64│ 71,385│⅓ spent │Breezy. │
│ ” 28│ 1120│ 1│ 1,120│ 65│ 72,505│Good │Clear and │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ mild. │
│ ” 29│ 1100│ ¾│ 800│ 65½│ 73,305│ Do. │ Do. │
│ ” 30│ 1000│ ½│ 500│ 66│ 73,805│ Do. │ Do. │
│Sept. 2│ 1050│ ½│ 525│ 66½│ 74,330│Excellent│Breezy. │
│ ” 3│ 20│ ½│ 10│ 66½│ 74,340│ Do. │ Do. │
│ ” 4│ 20│ ½│ 10│ 66½│ 74,350│ Do. │ Do. │
│ ” 5│ 100│ 1│ 100│ 66½│ 74,450│ Do. │Mild. │
│ ” 6│ 600│ ¼│ 150│ 67│ 74,600│ Do. │ Do. │
│ ” 9│ 220│ 4│ 880│ 68│ 75,480│¼ spent │ Do. │
│ ” 10│ 300│ 10│ 3,000│ 71│ 78,480│Good │ Do. │
│ ” 11│ 400│ 20│ 8,000│ 77│ 86,480│⅓ spent │ Do. │
│ ” 12│ 400│ 10│ 4,000│ 81│ 90,480│¼ spent │Breezy. │
│ ” 13│ 3│ 4│ 12│ 81│ 90,492│Good │Wind and │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ rain. │
│ ” 16│ 200│ ¾│ 160│ 81│ 90,652│ Do. │Mild. │
└───────┴─────┴──────┴──────┴─────┴───────┴─────────┴──────────────┘

The quantity of netting now employed in the herring-fishery is
enormous, and is increasing from year to year. It has been strongly
represented by Mr. Cleghorn, and others who hold his views, that the
herring-fishery is on the decline; that if the fish were as plentiful
as in former years, the increased amount of netting would capture
an increased number of herrings. It is certain that, with a growing
population and an increasing facility of transport, we are able to use
a far larger quantity of sea produce now than we could do fifty years
ago, when we were in the pre-Stephenson age. If, with our present
facilities for the transport of fish to inland towns, Great Britain had
been a Catholic instead of a Protestant country, having the example of
the French fisheries before us, I have no hesitation in saying that
by this time our fisheries would have been completely exhausted—that
is, supposing no remedial steps had been taken to guard against such a
contingency. Were we compelled to observe Lent with Catholic rigidity,
and had there been numerous fasts or fish-days, as there used to
be in England before the Reformation, the demand, judging from our
present ratio, would have been greater than the sea could have borne.
Interested parties may sneer at these opinions; but, notwithstanding, I
maintain that the pitcher is going too often to the well, and that some
day soon it will come back empty.

I have always been slow to believe in the inexhaustibility of the
shoals, and can easily imagine the overfishing, which some people
pooh-pooh so glibly, to be quite possible, especially when supplemented
by the cod and other cannibals so constantly at work, and so well
described by the Lochfyne Commission; not that I believe it possible to
pick up or kill every fish of a shoal; but, as I have already hinted,
so many are taken, and the economy of the shoal so disturbed, that in
all probability it may change its ground or amalgamate with some other
herring colony. I shall be met here by the old argument, that “the
fecundity of fish is so enormous as to prevent their extinction,” etc.
etc. But the certainty of a fish yielding twenty thousand eggs is no
surety for these being hatched, or if hatched, of their escaping the
dangers of infancy, and reaching the market as table food. I watch the
great shoals at Wick with much interest, and could wish to have been
longer acquainted with them. How long time have the Wick shoals taken
to grow to their present size?—what size were the shoals when the fish
had leave to grow without molestation?—how large were the shoals when
first discovered?—and how long have they been fished? are questions
which I should like to have answered. As it is, I fear the great Wick
fishery must come some day to an end. In the course of twenty-seven
seasons as many as 1,275,027 barrels of herring have been caught off
Wick (each barrel containing 700 fish); and in all probability as many
more fish were killed by the nets, and never taken ashore. When the
Wick fishery first began the fisherman could carry in a creel on his
back the nets he required; now he requires a cart and a good strong
horse! Leaving out one of the twenty-seven seasons (the first), and
dividing the remaining twenty-six into two periods of thirteen each,
we find the aggregate of the boats, the average crans to each, and the
aggregate total for the

Boats. Average Crans. Total Crans.

1st thirteen years, 10,202 941 735,318
2d ” 13,522 519 539,719

During the first of these periods each boat carried about twenty-five
nets, spun and worked in the county in a homely way; during the second
period each had from thirty to thirty-five nets, machine-made, the
twine being very even and fine, and far larger and deeper, a great many
of them being of cotton, and far superior in their catching power to
those of the first period; and yet, with 3320 additional boats carrying
perhaps 200,000 more nets, larger, finer, and deeper than in the first
period, we took 195,609 barrels fewer fish in the second than in the
first thirteen years. During a late Wick fishing, a remarkable feature
was the great disparity in the catch by individual boats. Although the
average per boat over the whole fleet is set down as about eighty-three
crans, yet half the boats do not average forty crans. As a rule, the
boats that take the most fish are those with the longest, finest, and
deepest drifts. In fact, the whole argument just amounts to this—that
if the fish are as plentiful as ever, then double the quantity of
netting _ought_ to take double the quantity of herrings. During a late
Wick season (1863), the entire fleet was only at sea twelve nights, and
the average per night to each boat was only three crans. The _Northern
Ensign_, a local journal, has over and over again asserted that the
fish are as numerous as ever; but that, in consequence of the crowd
of boats, there is not room to capture them. In answer to this I may
note, that on six different evenings of the season, when the boats out
ranged from two to six hundred, the take did not average half a cran
per boat. It may be likewise stated that 604 boats, in the year 1820,
with a greatly less amount of netting, took as many fish as have been
taken this season (1863) although the boats fishing were 480 above the
season of 1820. The average capture per boat in 1820, with the limited
netting, was 148 crans, whilst the average for 1863 was only 85 crans!
How is it possible to reconcile such great differences?

I conclude this part of the herring question by one other illustration.
In 1862 the aggregate sailings—_i.e._ number of voyages—of the Wick
boats for the season was 28,755, and the total catch 92,004 barrels;
while this season (1863) the Wick boats have only taken 89,972 barrels
in 32,630 voyages; and all over the country, so far as I know—and I
have made extensive inquiries—the tale is the same, a failure in
the herring-fishery. Perhaps the best plan is at once to exhaust the
figures of the subject while we are discussing it. As to the Wick
July fishing, the following figures are illustrative of two different
periods of five years each:—

┌───────┬──────────┬┬───────┬──────────┐
│ Year. │ Barrels. ││ Year. │ Barrels. │
├───────┼──────────┼┼───────┼──────────┤
│ 1843 │ 14,000 ││ 1859 │ 2,500 │
│ 1844 │ 15,615 ││ 1860 │ 12,850 │
│ 1845 │ 22,578 ││ 1861 │ 5,821 │
│ 1846 │ 30,350 ││ 1862 │ 7,173 │
│ 1847 │ 15,442 ││ 1863 │ 8,517 │
├───────┼──────────┼┼───────┼──────────┤
│ │ 97,985 ││ │ 36,861 │
└───────┴──────────┴┴───────┴──────────┘

The figures of the greatest month of the fishery—viz. August—are as
follow:—

┌───────┬──────────┬┬───────┬──────────┐
│ Year. │ Barrels. ││ Year. │ Barrels. │
├───────┼──────────┼┼───────┼──────────┤
│ 1843 │ 69,640 ││ 1859 │ 80,853 │
│ 1844 │ 72,585 ││ 1860 │ 86,120 │
│ 1845 │ 66,702 ││ 1861 │ 73,580 │
│ 1846 │ 61,450 ││ 1862 │ 65,321 │
│ 1847 │ 59,528 ││ 1863 │ 46,000 │
├───────┼──────────┼┼───────┼──────────┤
│ │ 329,905 ││ │ 351,874 │
└───────┴──────────┴┴───────┴──────────┘

It will be seen from these figures that, even in the great herring
month of August, notwithstanding the large increase of boats and nets,
a decreased quantity has been taken during the last two years. To
understand this better, the boats in the first period were 4345, and in
the second period 5489, and in this last period the boats had vastly
increased their netting, as many as 55,775 more nets having been added.
Now, it stands to reason that if the herrings were as numerous as ever
in the second period, the take should have been, through the mere
increase of boats, not counting the addition to the amount of netting,
417,916 barrels.

The September fishing has only been prosecuted of late years, for the
very good reason that in former times all the herring required were
caught in July and August; during the last two years great efforts
have been made to institute a September fishery, and a great force was
brought to bear on the races of herring then coming to maturity, with
what result the following figures will show:—

┌───────┬──────────┬┬───────┬──────────┐
│ Year. │ Barrels. ││ Year. │ Barrels. │
├───────┼──────────┼┼───────┼──────────┤
│ 1843 │ 4,100 ││ 1859 │ 9,846 │
│ 1844 │ 2,000 ││ 1860 │ 504 │
│ 1845 │ 2,880 ││ 1861 │ 6,194 │
│ 1846 │ 900 ││ 1862 │ 20,000 │
│ 1847 │ 9,100 ││ 1863 │ 30,000 │
├───────┼──────────┼┼───────┼──────────┤
│ │ 18,980 ││ │ 66,544 │
└───────┴──────────┴┴───────┴──────────┘

The September fishery at Wick will have its day like the July and
August fisheries.

One more table will finish these statistics; it represents the averages
of the Wick fishery for two periods—one for seven years, ending in
1824; the other for the seven years ending with the season of 1863:—

┌────────┬────────┬────────────┬┬────────┬────────┬────────────┐
│ Years. │ Boats. │ Crans ││ Years. │ Boats. │ Crans │
│ │ │ per Boat. ││ │ │ per Boat. │
├────────┼────────┼────────────┼┼────────┼────────┼────────────┤
│ 1818 │ 482 │ 136 ││ 1857 │ 1100 │ 73 │
│ 1819 │ 609 │ 133 ││ 1858 │ 1061 │ 80 │
│ 1820 │ 604 │ 148 ││ 1859 │ 1094 │ 79 │
│ 1821 │ 595 │ 123 ││ 1860 │ 1080 │ 92 │
│ 1822 │ 595 │ 91 ││ 1861 │ 1180 │ 87 │
│ 1823 │ 555 │ 123 ││ 1862 │ 1122 │ 82 │
│ 1824 │ 625 │ 123½ ││ 1863 │ 1084 │ 79 │
├────────┼────────┼────────────┼┼────────┼────────┼────────────┤
│ │ 4065 │ 877½ ││ │ 7721 │ 572 │
└────────┴────────┴────────────┴┴────────┴────────┴────────────┘

I shall not expend further argument on these figures, they speak too
plainly to require illustration.

The state of the case as between the supply of fish and the extent of
netting has been focused into the annexed diagram, which shows at a
glance how the question stands.

[Illustration:
1818-1845. The drift of 1857-1863. The drift of
nets per boat contained nets per boat contained
4500 square yards. 16,800 square yards.

1818-1824. The During the 10 years 1857-1863. The average
average per boat 1841-50 the average per boat 82 crans.
125¼ crans. catch per boat was
112 crans.
]

Before concluding this chapter I wish to say a few words about a point
of herring economy, which has been already alluded to in connection
with the special commission appointed to inquire into the trawling
system—viz. as to the natural enemies of the herring, the most ruthless
of which are undoubtedly of the fish kind, and whose destructive power,
some people assert, dwarfs into insignificance all that man can do
against the fish:—“Consider,” say the commissioners, “the destruction
of large herring by cod and ling alone. It is a very common thing to
find a codfish with six or seven large herrings, of which not one has
remained long enough to be digested, in his stomach. If, in order to
be safe, we allow a codfish only two herrings _per diem_, and let him
feed on herrings for only seven months in the year, then we have 420
herring as his allowance during that time; and fifty codfish will equal
one fisherman in destructive power. But the quantity of cod and ling
taken in 1861, and registered by the Fishery Board, was over 80,000
cwts. On an average thirty codfish go to one cwt. of dried fish. Hence,
at least 2,400,000 will equal 48,000 fishermen. In other words, the cod
and ling caught on the Scotch coasts in 1861, if they had been left in
the water, would have caught as many herring as a number of fishermen
_equal to all those in Scotland, and six thousand more_, in the same
year; and as the cod and ling caught were certainly not one tithe part
of those left behind, we may fairly estimate the destruction of herring
by these voracious fish alone as at least ten times as great as that
effected by all the fishermen put together.” As to only one of the
numerous land enemies of the herring, the late Mr. Wilson, in his _Tour
round Scotland_, calculated that the gannets or solan geese frequenting
one island alone—St. Kilda—picked out of the water for their food 214
millions of herrings every summer! The shoals that can withstand these
destructive agencies must indeed be vast, especially when taken in
connection with the millions of herrings that are accidentally killed
by the nets, and never brought ashore for food purposes. The work
accomplished by these natural enemies of the herring, which has been
going on during all time, does not however affect my argument, that by
the concentration on one shoal of a thousand boats per annum, with an
annually-increasing net-power, we both so weaken and frighten the shoal
that it becomes in time unproductive. As the late Mr. Methuen said in
one of his addresses: “We have been told that we are to have dominion
over the fish of the sea, but dominion does not mean extermination.”

Although Scotland is the main seat of the herring-fishery, I should
like to see statistics, similar to those collected in Scotland, taken
at a few English ports for a period of years, in order that we might
obtain additional data from which to arrive at a right conclusion as
to the increase or decrease of the fishery for herring. It is possible
to collect statistics of the cereal and root crops of the country;
it was done for all Scotland during three seasons, and it was well
and quickly accomplished. What can be done for the land may also, I
think, be done for the sea. I believe the present Board for Scotland
to be most useful in aiding the regulation of the fishery, and in
collecting statistics of the catch; their functions, however, might be
considerably extended, and elevated to a higher order of usefulness,
especially as regards the various questions in connection with the
natural history of the fish. The operations of the Board might likewise
be extended for a few seasons to a dozen of the largest English
fishing-ports, in order that we might obtain confirmation of what is
so often rumoured, the falling off of our supplies of sea-food. There
are various obvious abuses also in connection with the economy of our
fisheries that ought to be remedied, and which an active Board could
remedy and keep right; and a body of naturalists and economists might
easily be kept up at a slight toll of say a guinea per boat.

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.

It is among the white fish, as they are called, that we find the chief
food-fishes of this kingdom—as the haddock, cod, whiting, ling, sole,
flounder, turbot, and skate,—all of which, and about a dozen others
(not including the mackerel), equally good for food, belong to two
well-known fish families—Gadidæ and Pleuronectidæ—and give employment
in their capture to the two best-known instruments of destruction, the
line and the trawl.

It is exceedingly difficult to procure reliable statistics of the
total quantity of fish taken in the British seas. These can only be
obtained in a crude way from the fishermen, there being no tally kept
by the salesman, except of a rough kind. I made some inquiries into
the London fish supply at Billingsgate, but they were unsatisfactory,
as there is no register kept there of the quantity sold. Each of the
wholesale men can give an idea of the total number or quantity of fish
consigned to him; but even if the whole body of salesmen were to give
such statistics, it would only, after all, represent a portion of
the London supply, because much of the fish required for the London
commissariat is sent direct by railway to private dealers. But London,
although it requires a very large total of fish, seldom obtains all
that its citizens could eat, nor does it by any means get all that are
captured, or that are imported. Manchester, Birmingham, Liverpool,
and other large towns in England; and Glasgow, Edinburgh, Dundee, and
Aberdeen, in Scotland, require likewise to be supplied. And besides
this home demand, we send considerable quantities of our white fish to
the Continent, especially in a dried or prepared state. The fishermen
of the Shetland Isles, for instance, cure largely for the Spanish and
other Continental markets. Finnan haddocks and pickled cod can be so
prepared as to bear shipment to a long distance, and kippered salmon
are found on sale everywhere, as are also pickled and smoked herrings.

The natural history of our white fish, as I have already said, is but
imperfectly known. As an instance of the very limited knowledge we
possess of the natural history of even our most favourite fishes, I
may state that at a meeting of the British Association a few years
ago, a member who read an interesting paper _On the Sea Fisheries
of Ireland_, introduced specimens of a substance which the Irish
fishermen considered to be spawn of the turbot; stating that wherever
this substance was found trawling was forbidden; the supposed spawn
being in reality a kind of sponge, with no other relation to fish
except as being indicative of beds of mollusca, the abundance of which
marks that fish are plentiful. It follows that the stoppage of the
trawl on the grounds where this kind of squid is found is the result
of sheer ignorance, and causes the loss in all likelihood of great
quantities of the best white fish. It is not easy to say when the
Gadidæ are in proper season. Some of the members of that family are
used for table purposes all the year round; and as different salmon
rivers have their different close-times, so undoubtedly will the white
fish of different seas or firths have different spawning seasons. In
reference, for instance, to so important a fish as the turbot, we are
very vaguely told by Yarrell that it spawns in the spring-time, but
have no indication of the particular month during which that important
operation takes place, or how long the young fish take to grow. Even a
naturalist so well informed as the late Mr. Wilson was of opinion that
the turbot was a travelling fish, which migrated from place to place.

The combined ignorance of naturalists and fishermen has much to do with
the scarcity of white fish which is now beginning to be experienced;
and unless some plan be hit upon to prevent overfishing, we may some
fine morning experience the same astonishment as a country gentleman’s
cook, who had given directions to the gamekeeper to supply the kitchen
regularly with a certain quantity of grouse. For a number of years she
found no lack, but in the end the purveyor threw down the prescribed
number, and told her she need look for no more from him, for on
that day the last grouse had been shot. “There they are,” said the
gamekeeper, “and it has taken six of us with a gun apiece to get them,
and after all we have only achieved the labour which was gone through
by one man some years ago.” The cook had unfortunately never considered
the relation between guns and grouse.

The Gadidæ family is numerous, and its members are valuable for
table purposes; three of the fishes of that genus are particularly
in request—viz. whiting, cod, and haddock. These are the three most
frequently eaten in a fresh state; there are others of the family
which are extensively captured for the purpose of being dried and
salted, among which are the ling, the tusk, etc. The haddock (_Morrhua
aylefinus_) has ever been a favourite fish, and the quantities of it
which are annually consumed are really wonderful. Vast numbers used to
be taken in the Firth of Forth, but from recent inquiries at Newhaven
I am led to believe that the supply has considerably decreased of late
years, and that the local fishermen have to proceed to considerable
distances in order to procure any quantity.

In reference to the question, “Where are the haddocks?” which is asked
on another page, it is right to say that this prime fish has more than
once become scarce. I have been reminded of a time, in 1790, when
three of these fish were sold for 7s. 6d. in the Edinburgh market; but
although there have been from time to time sudden disappearances of
the haddock from particular fishing-grounds, as indeed there have been
of all fish, that is a different, a totally different matter from what
the fisher folk and the public have now to complain of—viz. a yearly
decreasing supply. Mr. Grieve, of the Café Royal, Edinburgh, tells me
that this season (August 1865), he is paying ninepence each for these
fish, and is very glad to get them even at that price. I took part in
a newspaper controversy about the scarcity of the haddock, and I found
plenty of opponents ready to maintain that there was no scarcity, but
that any quantity could be captured. In some degree that is the truth,
but what is the hook-power required now to capture, “any quantity,”
and how long does it take to obtain a given number, as compared with
former times, when that fish was supposed to be more plentiful? Why do
we require, for instance, to send to Norway and other distant places
for haddocks and other white fish? the only answer I can imagine is
that we cannot get enough at home. As to the general scarcity of
white fish, the late Mr. Methuen, the fish-curer, wrote a year or two
ago:—“This morning I am told that an Edinburgh fishmonger has bought
all the cod brought into Newhaven at 5s. to 7s. each. I recollect
when I cured thousands of cod at 3d. and 4d. each; they were caught
between Burntisland and Kincardine, on which ground not a cod is now to
be got; and at the great cod emporium of Cellardyke, the cod-fishing,
instead of three score for a boat’s fishing, has dwindled down to about
half-a-dozen cod.”

[Illustration: THE GADIDÆ FAMILY.]

The old belief in the migratory habits of fish comes again into notice
in connection with the haddock. Pennant having taught us that the
haddock appeared periodically in great quantities about mid-winter,
that theory is still believed, although the appearance of this fish
in shoals may be easily explained, from the local habits of most of
the denizens of the great deep. It is said that “in stormy weather,
the haddock refuses every kind of bait, and seeks refuge among marine
plants in the deepest parts of the ocean, where it remains until the
violence of the elements is somewhat subsided.” This fish does not grow
to any great size; it usually averages about five pounds. I prefer it
as a table fish to the cod; the very best haddocks are taken on the
coast of Ireland. The scarcity of fresh haddocks may in some degree
be accounted for by the immense quantities which are converted into
“Finnan haddies”—a well-known breakfast luxury no longer confined to
Scotland. It is difficult to procure genuine Finnans, smoked in the
original way by means of peat-reek; like everything else for which
there is a great demand, Finnan haddocks are now “manufactured” in
quantity; and, to make the trade a profitable one, they are cured by
the hundred in smoking-houses built for the purpose, and are smoked by
burning wood or sawdust, which, however, does not give them the proper
_goût_. In fact the wood-smoked Finnans, except that they are fish,
have no more the right flavour than Scotch marmalade would have were it
manufactured from turnips instead of bitter oranges. Fifty years ago
it was different; then the haddocks were smoked in small quantities
in the fishing villages between Aberdeen and Stonehaven, and entirely
over a peat fire. The peat-reek imparted to them that peculiar flavour
which gained them a reputation. The fisher-wives along the north-east
coast used to pack small quantities of these delicately-cured fish
into a basket, and give them to the guard of the “Defiance” coach,
which ran between Aberdeen and Edinburgh, and the guard brought them
to town, confiding them for sale to a brother who dealt in provisions;
and it is known that out of the various transactions which thus arose,
individually small though they must have been, the two made, in the
course of time, a handsome profit. The fame of the smoked fish rapidly
spread, so that cargoes used to be brought by steamboat, and Finnans
are now carried by railway to all parts of the country with great
celerity, the demand being so great as to induce men to foist on the
public any kind of cure they can manage to accomplish; indeed smoked
codlings are extensively sold for Finnan haddocks. Good smoked haddocks
of the Moray Firth or Aberdeen cure can seldom now be had, even in
Edinburgh, under the price of sixpence per pound weight.

The common cod (_Morrhua vulgaris_) is, as the name implies, one of our
best-known fishes, and it was at one time very plentiful and cheap. It
is found in the deep waters of all our northern seas, but has never
been known in the Mediterranean. It has been largely captured on the
coasts of Scotland, and, as is elsewhere mentioned, it occurs in
profusion on the shores of Newfoundland, where its plentifulness led to
a great fishery being established. The cod is extremely voracious, and
eats up most greedily the smaller inhabitants of the seas; it grows to
a large size, and is very prolific in the perpetuation of its kind. A
cod-roe has more than once been found to be half the gross weight of
the fish, and specimens of the female have been caught with upwards
of eight millions of eggs; but of course it cannot be expected that
in the great waste of waters all the ova will be fertilised, or that
any but a small percentage of the fish will ever arrive at maturity.
This fish spawns in mid-winter, but there are no very reliable data
to show when it becomes reproductive. My own opinion has already been
expressed that the cod is an animal of slow growth, and I would venture
to say that it is at least three years old before it is endowed with
any breeding power. I may call attention here to one of the causes that
must tend to render the fish scarce. As if the natural enemies of the
young fish were not sufficient to aid in its extirpation, and the loss
of the ova from causes over which man has no control not enough in
the way of destruction, there is a commerce in cod-roe, and enormous
quantities of it, as I have mentioned in the preceding chapter, are
used in France as ground-bait for the sardine fishery! The roe of this
fish is also frequently made use of at table; a cod-roe of from two to
four pounds in weight can unfortunately be bought for a mere trifle,
but it ought to cost a good few pounds instead of a few pence. I have
elsewhere stated that the quantity of eggs yielded by a female cod is
more than three millions: supposing only a third of them to come to
life—that is one million—and that a tenth part of that number, viz. one
hundred thousand, becomes in some shape—that is, either as codling or
cod—fit for table uses, what should be the value of the cod-roe that
is carelessly consumed at table? If each fish be taken as of the value
of sixpence, the amount would be £2500. But supposing that only twenty
full-grown codfish resulted from the three millions of eggs; these, at
two and sixpence each, would represent the sum of fifty shillings as
the possible produce of one dish, which, in the shape of cod-roe, cost
only about as many farthings!

Cuvier tells us that “almost all the parts of the cod are adapted for
the nourishment of man and animals, or for some other purposes of
domestic economy. The tongue, for instance, whether fresh or salted,
is a great delicacy; the gills are carefully preserved, to be employed
as baits in fishing; the liver, which is large and good for eating,
also furnishes an enormous quantity of oil, which is an excellent
substitute for that of the whale, and applicable to all the same
purposes; the swimming-bladder furnishes an isinglass not inferior to
that yielded by the sturgeon; the head, in the places where the cod
is taken, supplies the fishermen and their families with food. The
Norwegians give it with marine plants to their cows, for the purpose
of producing a greater proportion of milk. The vertebræ, the ribs, and
the bones in general, are given to their cattle by the Icelanders,
and by the Kamtschatkadales to their dogs. These same parts, properly
dried, are also employed as fuel in the desolate steppes of the shores
of the Icy Sea. Even their intestines and their eggs contribute to the
luxury of the table.” I may just mention another most useful product
of the codfish. Cod-liver oil is now well known in _materia medica_
under the name of _oleum jecoris aselli_. The best is made without
boiling, by applying to the livers a slight degree of heat, straining
through thin flannel or similar texture. When carefully prepared, it
is quite pure, nearly inodorous, and of a crystalline transparency.
The specific gravity at temperature 64° is about ·920°. It seems to
have been first used medicinally by Dr. Percival in 1782 for the cure
of chronic rheumatism; afterwards by Dr. Bardsly in 1807. It has now
become a popular remedy in all the slow-wasting diseases, particularly
in scrofulous affections of the joints and bones, and in consumption
of the lungs. The result of an extended trial of this medicine in the
hospital at London for the treatment of consumptive patients shows that
about 70 per cent gain strength and weight, and improve in health,
while taking the cod-liver oil; and this good effect with a great many
is permanent. Skate-liver oil is also coming into use for medicinal
purposes, and I have no doubt that the oil obtained from some of our
other fishes will also be found useful in a medicinal point of view.

The codfish is best when eaten fresh, but vast quantities are sent to
market in a dried or cured state: the great seat of the cod-fishery for
curing purposes is at Newfoundland. But considerable numbers of cod and
ling are likewise cured on the coasts of Scotland. The mode of cure
is quite simple. The fish must be cured as soon as possible after it
has been caught. A few having been brought on shore, they are at once
split up from head to tail, and by copious washings thoroughly cleansed
from all particles of blood. A piece of the backbone being cut away,
they are then drained, and afterwards laid down in long vats, covered
with salt, heavy weights being placed upon them to keep them thoroughly
under the action of the pickle. By and by the fish are taken out of the
vat, and are once more drained, being at the same time carefully washed
and brushed to prevent the collection of any kind of impurity. Next
the fish are _pined_ by exposure to the sun and air; in other words,
they are bleached by being spread out individually on the sandy beach,
or upon such rocks or stones as may be convenient. After this process
has been gone through the fish are then collected into little heaps,
which are technically called _steeples_. When the _bloom_, or whitish
appearance which after a time they assume, comes out on the dried fish
the process is finished, and they are then quite ready for market. The
consumption of dried cod or ling is very large, and extends over the
whole globe; vast quantities are prepared for the religious communities
of Continental Europe, who make use of it on the fast-days instituted
by the Roman Catholic Church.

Besides the common cod, there are the dorse (_M. callarias_), and the
poor or power cod (_M. minuta_), also the bib or pout (_M. lusca_).

The whiting (_Merlangus vulgaris_) is another of our delicious
table-fishes, which is found in comparative plenty on the British
coasts. This fish is by some thought to be superior to all the other
Gadidæ. Very little is known of its natural history. It deposits its
spawn in March, and the eggs are not long in hatching—about forty days,
I think, varying, however, with the temperature of the season. Before
and after shedding its milt or roe the whiting is out of condition,
and should not be taken for a couple of months. The whiting prefers a
sandy bottom, and is usually found a few miles from the shore, its food
being much the same as that of other fishes of the family to which it
belongs. It is a smallish fish, usually about twelve inches long, and
on the average two pounds in weight.

I need scarcely refer to the other members of the Gadidæ: they are
numerous and useful, but, generally speaking, their characteristics are
common and have been sufficiently detailed.[11] I will now, therefore,
say a few words about the Pleuronectidæ. There are upwards of a dozen
kinds of flat fish that are popular for table purposes. One of these is
a very large fish known as the holibut (_Hippoglopus vulgaris_), which
has been found in the northern seas to attain occasionally a weight
of from three to four hundred pounds. One of this species of fish of
extraordinary size was brought to the Edinburgh market in April 1828;
it was seven feet and a half long, and upwards of three feet broad, and
it weighed three hundred and twenty pounds! The flavour of the holibut
is not very delicate, although it has been frequently mistaken for
turbot by those not conversant with fish history.

The true turbot (_Rhombus maximus_) is the especial delight of
aldermanic epicures, and fabulous sums are said to have been given
at different times by rich persons in order to secure a turbot for
their dinner-table. This fine fish is, or rather used to be, largely
taken on our own coasts; but now we have to rely upon more distant
fishing-grounds for a large portion of our supply. The old complaint
of our ignorance of fish habits must be again reiterated here, for it
is not long since it was supposed that the turbot was a migratory fish
that might be caught at one place to-day and at another to-morrow.
The late Mr. Wilson, who ought to have known better, said, in writing
about this fish:—“The English markets are largely supplied from the
various sandbanks which lie between our eastern coasts and Holland. The
Dutch turbot-fishery begins about the end of March, a few leagues to
the south of Scheveling. The fish _proceed_ northwards as the season
advances, and in April and May are found in great shoals upon the
banks called the Broad Forties. Early in June they surround the island
of Heligoland, where the fishery continues to the middle of August,
and then terminates for the year. At the beginning of the season the
trawl-net is chiefly used; but on the occurrence of warm weather the
fish retire to deeper water, and to banks of rougher ground, where the
long line is indispensable.”

[Illustration: THE PLEURONECTIDÆ FAMILY.
1. Flounder. 2. Turbot. 3. Plaice. 4. Sole. 5. Dab.]

The turbot was well known in ancient gastronomy: the luxurious Italians
used it extensively, and christened it the sea-pheasant from its fine
flavour. In the gastronomic days of ancient Rome the wealthy patricians
were very extravagant in the use of all kinds of fish; so much so that
it was said by a satirist that

“Great turbots and the soup-dish led
To shame at last and want of bread.”

The turbot is very common on the English and Scottish coasts, and
is known also on the shores of Greece and Italy. This fish is taken
chiefly by means of the trawl-net, but in some places it is fished
for by well-baited lines. We derive large quantities of our turbot
from Holland, so much as £100,000 having been paid to the Dutch in
one year for the quantity of these fish which were brought to London,
and on which, at one time, a duty of £6 per boat was exigible. This
fish spawns during the autumn, and is in fine condition for table use
during the spring and early summer. Yarrell says the turbot spawns in
the spring; but, with due respect, I think he is wrong; I would not,
however, be positive about this, for there will no doubt be individuals
of the turbot kind, as there are of all other kinds, that will spawn
all the year round. The turbot is a great flat fish. In Scotland, from
its shape, it is called “the bannock-fluke.” It is about twenty inches
long, and broad in proportion; and a prime fish of this species will
weigh from four to eight pounds.

The best-known fish of the Pleuronectidæ is the sole (_Solea
vulgaris_), which is largely distributed in all our seas, and used in
immense quantities in London and elsewhere. The sole is too well known
to require any description at my hands. It is caught by means of the
trawl-net, and is in good season for a great number of months. Soles
of a moderate weight are best for the table. I prefer such as weigh
from three to five pounds per pair. I have been told, by those who
ought to know best, that the deeper the water from which it is taken
the better the sole. It is quite a ground fish, and inhabits the sandy
places round the coast, feeding on the minor crustacea, and on the
spawn and young of various kinds of fish. Good supplies of this popular
fish are taken on the west coast of England, and they are said to be
very plentiful in the Irish seas; indeed all kinds of fish are said
to inhabit the waters that surround the Emerald Isle. There can be no
doubt of this, at any rate, that the fishing on the Irish coasts has
never been so vigorously prosecuted as on the coasts of Scotland and
England—so that there has been a greater chance for the best kinds of
white fish to thrive and multiply. Seaside visitors would do well to go
on board some of the trawlers and observe the mode of capture. There is
no more interesting way of passing a seaside holiday than to watch or
take a slight share in the industry of the neighbourhood where one may
be located.

The smaller varieties of the flat fish—such as Muller’s top-knot, the
flounder, whiff, dab, plaice, etc.—I need not particularly notice,
except to say that immense quantities of them are annually consumed in
London and other cities. Mr. Mayhew, in some of his investigations,
found out that upwards of 33,000,000 of plaice were annually required
to aid the London commissariat! But that is nothing. Three times that
quantity of soles are needed—one would fancy this to be a statistic
of shoe-leather—the exact figure given by Mr. Mayhew is 97,520,000!
This is not in the least exaggerated. I discussed these figures with a
Billingsgate salesman a few months ago, and he thinks them quite within
the mark.

I have already alluded to the natural history of the mackerel, and
shall now say a word or two about the fishery, which is keenly
prosecuted. The great point in mackerel-fishing is to get the fish
into the market in its freshest state; and to achieve this several
boats will join in the fishery, and one of their number will come into
harbour as speedily as possible with the united take. The mackerel
is caught in England chiefly by means of the seine-net, and much in
the same way as the pilchard. A great number of this fish are however
captured by means of well-baited lines, and in some places a drift-net
is used. Any kind of bait almost will do for the mackerel-hooks—a
bit of red cloth, a slice of one of its own kind, or any clear shiny
substance. Mackerel are not quite so plentiful as they used to be.

As to when the Gadidæ and other white fish are in their proper season
it is difficult to say. Their times of sickness are not so marked as
to prevent many of the varieties from being used all the year round.
Different countries must have different seasons. We know, for instance,
that it is proper to have the close-time of one salmon river at a
different date from that of some other stream that may be farther south
or farther north; and I may state here, that during a visit which I
made to the Tay in December last, beautiful clean salmon were then
running. There are also exceptional spawning seasons in the case of
individual fish, so that we are quite safe in affirming that the sole
and turbot are in season all the year round. The following tabular view
of the dates when our principal fishes are in season does not refer to
any particular locality, but has been compiled to show that fish are to
be obtained nearly all the year round from some part of the coast:—

FISH TABLE.

S denotes that the fish is in season; F in finest season; and O out of
season.

┌─────────────┬───┬───┬───┬───┬───┬───┬───┬───┬───┬───┬───┬───┐
│ │Ja.│Fe.│Me.│Ap.│Ma.│Ju.│Ju.│Au.│Se.│Oc.│No.│De.│
├─────────────┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┼───┤
│Brill │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │
│Carp │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │
│Cockles │ S │ S │ S │ S │ O │ O │ O │ O │ S │ S │ S │ S │
│Cod │ F │ S │ S │ O │ O │ O │ O │ O │ S │ S │ F │ F │
│Crabs │ O │ O │ O │ S │ F │ F │ F │ F │ F │ S │ S │ S │
│Dabs │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ O │ O │ O │ O │
│Dace │ F │ F │ O │ O │ O │ S │ S │ S │ F │ F │ F │ S │
│Eels │ S │ S │ S │ O │ O │ O │ O │ S │ F │ F │ F │ S │
│Flounders │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │
│Gurnets │ O │ O │ O │ O │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ O │ O │ O │
│Haddocks │ F │ S │ O │ O │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ F │ F │ F │
│Holibut │ S │ F │ F │ S │ S │ F │ F │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │
│Herrings │ S │ S │ O │ O │ S │ S │ F │ F │ S │ S │ S │ S │
│Ling │ S │ S │ F │ S │ O │ O │ O │ O │ O │ S │ S │ S │
│Lobsters │ O │ O │ O │ S │ F │ F │ F │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │
│Mackerel │ O │ O │ O │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ O │ O │
│Mullet │ O │ O │ O │ S │ S │ S │ S │ O │ O │ O │ O │ O │
│Mussels[12] │ S │ S │ S │ S │ O │ O │ O │ O │ S │ S │ S │ S │
│Oysters │ S │ S │ F │ F │ O │ O │ O │ O │ S │ S │ S │ S │
│Plaice │ S │ O │ O │ O │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │
│Prawns │ O │ O │ S │ F │ F │ F │ F │ S │ O │ O │ O │ O │
│Salmon │ O │ S │ S │ F │ F │ F │ S │ S │ O │ O │ O │ O │
│Shrimps │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │
│Skate │ F │ F │ F │ F │ F │ F │ S │ S │ O │ O │ S │ S │
│Smelts │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ O │ O │ O │ O │ O │ S │ S │
│Soles │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │
│Sprats │ S │ O │ O │ O │ O │ O │ O │ O │ O │ O │ S │ S │
│Thornback │ O │ O │ O │ O │ O │ O │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ O │
│Trout │ O │ S │ F │ F │ F │ F │ S │ S │ O │ O │ O │ O │
│Turbot │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │ S │
│Whitings │ F │ F │ O │ O │ O │ S │ S │ S │ S │ F │ F │ F │
└─────────────┴───┴───┴───┴───┴───┴───┴───┴───┴───┴───┴───┴───┘
There is no organisation in Scotland for carrying on the white
fisheries, as there is in the case of the oyster or herring fisheries.
So far as our most plentiful table fish are concerned, the supply seems
utterly dependent on chance or the will of individuals. A man (or
company) owning a boat goes to sea just when he pleases. In Scotland,
where a great quantity of the best white fish are caught, this is
particularly the case, and the consequence is that at the season of
the year when the principal white and flat fish are in their primest
condition, they are not to be procured; the general answer to all
inquiries as to the scarcity being, “The men are away at the herring.”
This is true; the best boats and the strongest and most intelligent
fishermen have removed for a time to distant fishing-towns to engage in
the capture of the herring, which forms, during the summer months, a
noted industrial feature on the coasts of Scotland, and allures to the
scene all the best fishermen, in the hope that they may gain a prize in
the great herring-lottery, prizes in which are not uncommon, as some
boats will take fish to the extent of two hundred barrels in the course
of a week or two. Only a few decrepit old men are left to try their
luck with the cod and haddock lines; the result being, as I have stated
above, a scarcity of white and flat fish, which is beginning to be felt
in greatly enhanced prices. An intelligent Newhaven fishwife recently
informed me that the price of white fish in Edinburgh—a city close to
the sea—has been more than quadrupled within the last thirty years. She
remembers when the primest haddocks were sold at about one penny per
pound weight, and in her time herrings have been so plentiful that no
person would purchase them. We shall not soon look again on such times.

The cod and haddock fishery is a laborious occupation. At Buckie,
a quaint fishing-town on the Moray Firth, which I will by and by
describe, it is one of the staple occupations of the people. At that,
little port there are generally about thirty or forty large boats
engaged in the fishery, as well as a number of smaller craft used to
fish inshore. These boats, which measure from thirty to forty feet,
are, with the necessary hooks and lines, of the value of about £100.
Each boat is generally the property of a joint-stock company, and has a
crew of eight or nine individuals, who all claim an equal share in the
fish captured. The Buckie men often go a long distance, forty or fifty
miles, to a populous fishing-place, and are absent from home for a
period of fifteen or twenty hours. At many of the fishing villages from
which herring or cod boats depart, there is no proper harbour, and at
such places the sight of the departing fleet is a most animated one, as
all hands, women included, have to lend their aid in order to expedite
the launching of the little fleet, as the men who are to fish must be
kept dry and comfortable. Even at places where there is a harbour, it
is often not used, many of the boats being drawn up for convenience on
what is called the boat-shore. At Cockenzie, near Edinburgh, several of
the boats are still drawn up in this rude way, and the women not only
assist in launching and drawing up the boats, but they sell the produce
taken by each crew by auction to the highest bidder—the purchasers
usually being buyers on speculation, who send off the fish by train to
Edinburgh, Manchester, or London.

From the little ports of the Moray Firth, the men, as I have said,
have to go long distances to fish for cod and ling. As they have none
but open boats, it will easily be understood that they live hard
upon such occasions. They are sometimes absent from home for about
a week at a stretch, and as the weather is often very inclement the
men suffer severely. The fish are not so easily procured as in former
years, so that the remuneration for the labour undergone is totally
inadequate. A large traffic in living codfish used to be carried on
from Scotland; quick vessels furnished with wells took the cod alive
as far as Gravesend, whence they were sent on to London as required.
Although the railways have put an end to a good deal of this style of
transport, some cargoes of cod have been carried alive all the way
from the Rockall fishery to Gravesend. But the percentage of waste is
necessarily enormous: however, it _pays_ to do this, and one result of
the Rockall discovery has been the starting of a joint-stock company to
work one of the large North Sea fisheries. The cod-bank at the Faroe
Islands is now about exhausted; but the gigantic cod-fishery which has
been carried on for two centuries on the banks of Newfoundland still
continues to be prosecuted with great enterprise, although, according
to reliable information, not with the success which characterised the
fishery some years ago. In a few years more it will be quite possible
to make a decided impression even on the cod-banks of Newfoundland. The
Great Dogger Bank fishery has now become affected by overfishing, and
the Rockall Bank fails to yield anything like the large “takes” with
which it rewarded those who first despoiled it of its finny treasures.
A gentleman who dabbles a little in fishing speculations writes
me—“In 1862, I sent a fine smack to Rockall, and fish were in great
plenty—some very large; but the weather is usually so bad, and the bank
so exposed to the heavy seas of the North Atlantic, that the best and
largest vessels fail to fish with profit in consequence of the wear and
tear and delay. This will account in some degree for the cessation of
enterprise as regards the Rockall fishery.” A writer in the _Quarterly
Review_, a few years ago, said of the Dogger Bank:—“No better proof
that its stores are failing could be given than the fact that, although
the ground, counting the Long Bank and the north-west flat in its
vicinity, covers 11,800 square miles, and that in fine weather it
is fished by the London companies with from fifteen to twenty dozen
of long lines, extending ten or twelve miles, and containing from
9000 to 12,000 hooks, it is not yet at all common to take even as
many as fourscore of fish of a night—a poverty which can be better
appreciated when we learn that 600 fish for 800 hooks is the catch for
deep-sea fishing about Kinsale.” I cannot say much about the white-fish
fisheries of Ireland from personal knowledge, but I have been informed
on good authority that the coast fisheries of that country are not half
worked, and consequently are not in such an exhausted state as those
of Scotland and England. The west coast of Ireland, from Galway Bay to
Erris Head north, and north-west to Donegal Bay, is said to contain
all the best kinds of table fish in great quantities—mackerel being
plentiful in their season, as are cod, hake, ling, and others of the
Gadidæ. As for turbot, they can be had everywhere, and have been so
plentiful as to be used for bait on the long lines set for haddock,
etc. Lobsters and other shell-fish can likewise be procured in any
quantity. If the accounts given of the abundance of white fish on the
Irish coasts are to be relied upon, there must be a rare field there
for the opening up of new fishing enterprises.

Prolific as our coast fisheries have been, and still are, comparatively
speaking, the North Sea is at present the grand reservoir from which we
obtain our white fish. Indeed, it has been the great fish-preserve of
the surrounding peoples since ever there was a demand for this kind of
food. All the best-known fishing banks are to be found in the German
Ocean—Faroe, Loffoden, Shetland, and others nearer home—and its waters,
filling up an area of 140,000 square miles, teem with the best kinds
of fish, and give employment to thousands of people, as well in their
capture and cure as in the building of the ships, and the development
of the commerce which is incidental to all large enterprises.

It will doubtless be interesting to my readers to know something about
the general machinery of fish-capture, so far as regards the British
sea-fisheries. The modern cod-smack, clipper-built for speed, with
large wells for carrying her live fish, costs £1500. She usually
carries from nine to eleven men and boys, including the captain. Her
average expense per week is £20 during the long-line season in the
North Sea; but it exceeds this much if unfortunate in losing lines.
Fishing has of late been a most uncertain venture. The line is chiefly
used for the purpose of taking cod and haddock. The number of lines
taken to sea in an open boat depends upon the number of men belonging
to the particular vessel. Each man has a line of 50 fathoms (300 feet)
in length; and attached to each of these lines are 100 “snoods,” with
hooks already baited with mussels, pieces of herring or whiting. Each
line is laid “clear” in a shallow basket or “scull”—that is, it is so
arranged as to run freely as the boat shoots ahead. The 50-fathom line,
with 100 hooks, is in Scotland termed a “taes.” If there are eight men
in a boat the length of line will be 400 fathoms (2400 feet), with 800
hooks (the lines being tied to each other before setting). On arriving
at the fishing-ground the fishermen heave overboard a cork buoy, with
a flagstaff fixed to it about six feet in height. The buoy is kept
stationary by a line, called the “pow-end,” reaching to the bottom of
the water, and having a stone or small anchor fastened to the lower
end. To the pow-end is also fastened the fishing-line, which is then
“paid” out as fast as the boat sails, which may be from four to five
knots an hour. Should the wind be unfavourable for the direction in
which the crew wish to set the line they use the oars. When the line or
taes is all out the end is dropped, and the boat returns to the buoy.
The pow-end is hauled up with the anchor and fishing-line attached to
it. The fishermen then haul in the line with whatever fish may be on
it. Eight hundred fish might be taken (and often have been) by eight
men in a few hours by this operation; but many fishermen now say that
they consider themselves very fortunate when they get a fish on every
five hooks on an eight-taes line. Many a time too the fish are all
eaten off the line by “dogs” and other enemies, so that only a few
fragments and a skeleton or two remain to show that fish have been
caught. The fishermen of deck-welled cod-bangers use both hand-lines
and long-lines such as have been described. The cod-bangers’ tackling
is of course stronger than that used in open boats. The long-lines
are called “grut-lines,” or great-lines. Every deck-welled cod-banger
carries a small boat on deck for working the great-lines in moderate
weather. This boat is also provided with a well, in which the fish are
kept alive till they arrive at the banger, when they are transferred
from the small boat’s well to that of the larger vessel.

Hungry codfish will seize any kind of bait, and great-lines are usually
baited with bits of whiting, herring, haddock, or almost any kind of
fish. For hand-lines the fishermen prefer mussels or white whelks.
White whelks are caught by a line on which is fastened a number of
pieces of carrion or cod-heads. This line is laid along the bottom
where whelks are known to abound. The whelks attach themselves to
the cod-heads, and are pulled up, put into net bags, something like
onion-nets, and placed in the well of the vessel, where they are
kept alive till required for use. Another kind of bait used by the
boat fishermen for hand-lines is that of the lugworm. The “lug” is a
sand-worm, from four to five inches long, and about the thickness of
a man’s finger. The head part of the worm is of a dark brown fleshy
substance, and is the part used as bait, the rest of the worm being
nothing but sand. The “lug” is dug from the sand with a small spade or
three-pronged fork.

The principal fishing-grounds in the North Sea where cod-bangers
are employed are the Dogger Bank, Well Bank, and Dutch Bank. The
fishing-ground of the open-boat fishermen is on the coasts of Fife,
Midlothian, and Berwickshire; for haddocks, cod, ling, etc., it is
around the island of May and the Bell Rock, Marrbank, Murray Bank, and
Montrose Pits, etc.

The Scottish fishing-boats, with a few exceptions, are all open; but
whilst the open boats are a subject of dispute, they are an undoubted
convenience to the men. The boats, as a general rule, seldom go far
from home except to the seat of some particular fishery, and being low
in the build the nets are easily paid out and hauled in when they are
so fortunate as to obtain a good haul of fish. The Scottish fishery is
mostly what may be called a local or shore fishery, as the boats go out
and come home, with a few exceptions, once in the twenty-four hours. A
few boats with a half deck have been introduced of late years, and in
these the fishermen can make a much longer voyage; but, as a rule, the
Scottish fishermen have not, like their English brethren, a comfortable
decked lugger in which to prosecute their labours. In the event of a
storm the open Scottish boats are poorly off, as some of their harbours
are at such times totally inaccessible, and the boats being unable,
from their frail construction, to run out to sea, are frequently driven
upon the rocky coasts and wrecked, the men being drowned or killed
among the rocks. It is gratifying to think that a good number of
harbours of refuge have lately been constructed, and that in particular
an extensive one is being at present erected at Wick, the seat of
the great herring fishery. I have more than once, while conducting
inquiries into the fishing industries of the United Kingdom, seen the
storm break upon the herring-fleet while it was engaged in the fishery.
Such scenes are terribly sublime, as boat after boat is engulphed by
the ravening waters, or is dashed against the rocky pillars of the
shore, and the men sucked into the deep by the powerful waves. The sea
is free to all, without tax and without rent, but the price paid in
human life is a terrible equivalent:—“It is only they who go down to
the sea in ships who see the works of the Lord and His wonders in the
deep.”

There has been a large amount of exaggeration as to the injury done to
the white-fish fishery by the trawls. Fishermen who have neither the
capital nor the enterprise to engage in trawling themselves are sure to
abuse those who do; but the trawl is so formidable as to have induced
various French writers to advocate its prohibition. They describe this
instrument of the fishery as terrible in its effects, leaving, when it
is used, deep furrows in the bottom of the sea, and crushing alike the
fry and the spawn; but there is a very evident exaggeration in this
charge, because as a general rule the beam-trawl cannot be worked with
safety except on a sandy or muddy bottom, and, so far as we know, fish
prefer to spawn on ground that is slightly rocky or weedy, so that the
spawn may have something to adhere to, which it evidently requires in
order to escape destruction; and when a quantity of spawn is discerned
on a bit of seaweed or rock, we always find that, from some viscid
property of which it is possessed, it adheres to its resting-place with
great tenacity. The trawl-net, however destructive its agency, cannot,
I fear, be dispensed with; and, used at proper seasons and at proper
places, is the best engine of capture we can have for the kinds of
fish which it is employed to secure. The trawl is very largely used by
English fishermen, but it is only of late years that the trawlers have
come so far north as Sunderland and Berwick, and it is the fishermen of
these places who have got up the cry about that net being so injurious
to the fisheries. In Scotland there are no resident trawlers, the
fisheries being chiefly of the nature of a coasting industry, where
the men, as a general rule, only go out to sea for a few hours and
then return with their capture. Having been frequently on board of the
trawling ships, I may perhaps be allowed to set down a few figures
indicative of the power of the great beam-net.

A trawler, then, is a vessel of about 35 tons burden, and usually
carries 7 persons—viz. 5 men and 2 apprentices—as a crew to work
her.[13] The trawl-rope is 120 fathoms in length and 6 inches in
circumference, and to this rope are attached the different parts
of the trawling apparatus—viz. the beam, the trawl-heads, bag-net,
ground-rope, and span or bridle.

The trawler is furnished with a capstan for hauling in this heavy
machine. The beam, a spar of heavy elm wood, is 38 feet in length, and
2 feet in circumference at the middle, and is made to taper to the
ends. Two trawl-heads (oval rings, 4 feet by 2½ feet) are fixed to
the beam, one at each end. The upper part of the bag-net, which is
about 100 feet long, is fastened to the beam, while the lower part is
attached to the ground-rope. The ends of the ground-rope are fastened
to the trawl-beds, and being quite slack, the mouth of the bag-net
forms a semicircle when dragged over the ground. The whole apparatus
is fastened to the trawl-rope by means of the span or bridle, which
is a rope double the length of the beam, and of a thickness equal to
the trawl-rope. Each end of the span is fastened to the beam, and
to the loop thus formed the trawl-rope is attached. The ground-rope
is usually an old rope, much weaker than the trawl-rope, so that,
in the event of the net coming in contact with any obstruction in
the water, the ground-rope may break and allow the rest of the gear
to be saved. Were the warp to break instead of the ground-rope, the
whole apparatus, which is of considerable value, would be left at
the bottom. The trawler, as I noted while the net was in the water,
usually sails at the rate of 2 or 2½ knots an hour. The best depth
of water for trawling is from 20 to 30 fathoms, with a bottom of mud
or sand. At times, however, the nets are sunk much deeper than this,
but that is about the depth of water over the great Silver Pits, 90
miles off the Humber, where a large number of the Hull trawlers go to
fish. When they are caught, the fish (chiefly soles and other flat
fish) are then packed in baskets called pads, and are preserved in
ice until brought to market. To take twelve or fourteen pads a day
is considered excellent fishing. Besides these ground-fish the trawl
often encloses haddocks, cod, and other round fish, when such happen
to be feeding on the bottom. It sometimes happens that the beam falls
to the ground, and, the ground-rope lying on the top of the bag-net,
no fish can get in. This accident, which, however, seldom occurs, is
called a back fall. Mr. Vivian of Hull, in a letter to the editor of
a Manchester newspaper, gave two years ago a very graphic account of
the trawl-fishing, and stated that 99 out of every 100 turbot and
brills, nine-tenths of all the haddocks, and a large proportion of all
the skate, which are daily sold in the wholesale fishmarkets of this
country are caught by the system of trawling. Trawling is without
doubt the most efficient mode of getting the white fish at the bottom
of the ocean; and were it made penal, London and the large towns would
at times be entirely without fish. As a matter of course, trawling must
exhaust the shoals at particular places. A fleet of upwards of 100
smacks, each with a beam nearly 40 feet long, trawling night and day,
disturbs, frightens, or captures whatever fish are to be found in that
locality, entrapping, besides, shell-fish, anchors, stores that have
been sunken with ships ages ago; even a wedge of gold has been brought
up by this insatiable instrument. The only remedy is to widen the field
of action.

It is best, however, in a case of dispute, as in this trawl question,
to allow those interested to speak for themselves. I have gone over an
immense mass of the evidence taken by a recent commission appointed by
Parliament to make inquiry on the subject, and will set some parts of
it before my readers, so that, if a little trouble be taken in weighing
the pros and cons of the matter, they may be able to form their own
judgment on this vexed question. A Cullercoats fisherman is very strong
against the beam-trawl. He is certain that thirty years ago we could
get double the quantity of fish, during the fishing season, that we
obtain now, and that the supply has fallen away little by little; and
he says that even ten years ago it was almost as good as it was thirty
years ago. Some years hence England will cry out for want of fish if
trawling be allowed to go on. The price of fish has doubled, he says,
of late years. “When I was a young man, there were nine in family of
us, and my wife could purchase haddock for twopence which would serve
for our dinners. Now she could not obtain the same quantity for less
than ninepence or tenpence. Of recent years the number of fishermen
and fishing-boats has greatly increased. I do not think the fishermen
of the present day are better off than those when I was a young
man.” The fishermen at Cullercoats, when they trawl, use the small
trawl, and fish in shallow water. Under these circumstances they do no
injury. The trawlers, with the large trawl, says a Mr. Nicholson who
was examined, not only sweep away the lines of the fishermen, but also
destroy the fish. At Cullercoats a man engaged in the line-fishing gets
all the fish on his own lines, and his wife goes to town and disposes
of them. The beam-trawling commenced about six years ago. The number
of boats and the fishing population still go on steadily increasing.
Beam-trawling does two kinds of harm: in the first place, it sweeps
away the fishermen’s lines; and next, it destroys the spawn. “There
may be a remedy for a fisherman losing his lines, but I never heard of
it. I am aware that they could recover damages, but the difficulty is
to get hold of the offending parties. The only remedy I can suggest
is to do away with the trawl-fishing altogether.” This witness stated
that ten years ago he used to take sixty or seventy codfish per day,
and that now he cannot get one. The trawlers, being able to fish in all
weathers, beat the local fishermen out of the field.

Templeman, a South Shields fisherman, says that when engaged in
trawling he has drawn up three and a half tons of fish-spawn! He also
says in his evidence that in trawling one-half of the fish are dead
and so hashed as to be unfit for market. Has seen a ton and a half of
herring-spawn offered for sale as manure. The take of fish upon the
Dogger Bank has decreased very much. The fishermen cannot catch one
quarter part there now that they used to do. The number of trawl-boats
on the Dogger Bank has increased about 10 per cent within the last
year, and yet they are getting about a quarter less fish. Some of them
can scarcely make a living now at all. They have impoverished all
other places, and now they have come here, and in a short time there
will not be a fish left. It is the same with the other fish-banks, and
that accounts for the trawlers now coming to this neighbourhood. They
have destroyed the Hartlepool and Sunderland ground, and now they have
come to a small patch off here, and they will sweep it clean too. A
trawl-boat will sometimes catch five tons a day; but on the average a
ton and a half; but as a great deal of that has to be thrown overboard,
they only bring about ten cwt. to market. The boats belonging to
Cullercoats, carrying the same number of hands as the trawlers, only
catch upon the average about five stones. The fish caught in the trawl
are not fit for the market, as the insides are broke and the galls
burst and running through them. “If I had my way, I would pass an Act
of Parliament to do away with trawling, and oblige every man to fish
with hooks and lines. I think that would increase the quantity of fish
for the country, because the young fish would not take the hooks. I am
not aware that if the small boats get five stones a day it would at
all diminish the supply of fish for the market; but if the trawling is
allowed to continue that very soon will.”

Thomas Bolam, on being examined, said: “I have followed the
herring-fishing for twenty-one years, and the white-fishing six years.
In the course of those six years I have found that the supply of white
fish has gradually diminished both in the number and size of the fish.
In twenty years’ experience in the herring-fishing I find a fearful
diminution in the total quantity caught. The shoals of herring are now
only about one-third the size they were when I first commenced the
fishing. At that time we used to get 14,000 or 15,000; now the length
of 4000 or 5000 is thought a good take. I attribute the falling-off to
the existence of the trawling system.”

Many other fishermen gave similar evidence. A fisherman named Bulmer,
residing at Hartlepool, said that the white fish were not only scarcer,
but that they were deteriorating in size as well. The falling off
in quantity has decidedly been accompanied by a smaller size, more
particularly in haddocks. Haddocks, twenty years ago, were caught from
five pounds to six pounds in weight; now they hardly average three
pounds. There is scarcely a single cod to be caught now, and formerly
our boats got them scores together, and had to trail them out in rows,
and could only sell them for about 10s. a score; now they realise at
Christmas 5s. and 6s. each. “Of turbot-fishing I am sorry to speak. It
pains me to think of the injuries we have sustained in this particular
fishing by trawlers. At present we dare not cast our nets, as they are
sure to be lost. I lost two ‘fleets’ of turbot-nets worth £25. About
twenty-six years ago I have caught two hundred turbot in one day: now
there are none to be got.” Another resident gave similar evidence, and
thought that if trawling was persisted in their noble bay would soon
be fallow ground. John Purvis of Whitburn also says that haddocks have
decreased in size as well as in quantity—thinks they are at least a
third smaller now as compared with former years. Considers that the
trawling system has caused the diminution of fish which has taken place
during the last four years. David Archibald of Croster had bought
trawled fish not for food, as they were only fit to be used as bait.

Having given a fair sample of the evidence against the trawling system,
it will be but just that we now hear the other side of the case. It is
unfortunate, of course, that we cannot obtain really impartial evidence
on this vexed question, as the party complaining is the party said to
have had their fishery prospects ruined by the use of the beam-trawl,
whilst the trawlers, of course, won’t hear a bad word said of the
engine by which they gain their living. A Torbay fisherman, accustomed
to trawling for the last twenty-six years, flatly contradicts much that
has been said against the trawl-net. He asserts that he never took or
saw any spawn taken, and that only about half a hundredweight in each
two tons of the fish taken is unfit for the market. He does not think
the fish are decreasing either in quantity or size.

John Clements, a trawl-net fisherman from Hull, was one of the men
examined at Sunderland; his evidence was as follows:—“I have followed
trawling for twenty-six years. I have fished down here for ten years.
There was no diminution of fish at Hull; but we land it easier here,
and in a better condition for the market. I never noticed any spawn in
the nets, but I have got a basket or two of small fish, which, when
not fit for food, we throw away. In the ten years which I have come
down here I have found an increase in the quantity and take. I think
trawling increases the fish, as the trawl-net turns up the food of
the fish, worms and slugs, and the fish follow the net like a swarm
of crows after a harrow. I do not think that we disturb the spawn in
that way. This morning there were two or three haddocks broken out of
sixteen or seventeen baskets, each basket containing seven or eight
stones. The trawl-net fish do not fetch such a good price as the line
fish, but it is from the quantity and not the quality. We have added to
the enjoyment of the people of this town by the good supply of fish we
have given them. Twenty years ago a month’s catch was about £50, and
now it is from £80 to £120; and this is not from the better price, but
the greater quantity which we are enabled to get by going farther out
to sea with the larger boats. In the winter time I fish on Dogger Bank,
and in summer inshore. I never came across any of the long-line nets.
I have found herring-spawn in haddocks; but I have never found any in
the net. We catch a good deal of sand here. It comes in as soon as we
stop; but it falls through before we get the net to the surface of the
water. The farther off we go the more haddocks we get; and the nearer
we come to the shore the more soles we get. I have caught a good deal
of cod. In one instance I caught one hundred and eight cods in a haul.
That was forty miles off Flambro’ Head. My nets have been examined
officially only once in twelve years. The shorter the haul the better
the fish; but I have had the fish in splendid condition with a large
haul. I have never had any fish damaged by having the gall-bladder
burst. A gall-bladder may be burst, but we would not see it unless we
opened the fish.”

A Hull trawler spoke to the following effect:—“I never saw any spawn in
the net. It is impossible for spawn to be caught in the net. There is
often unmarketable fish, but it is only when there is a strong breeze
and a difficulty in getting the gear on board. We generally get seven
or eight hampers in a haul, and one basket would perhaps be unfit for
the market. The hooked fish is a more saleable fish, as it has got
the scales and slime on it, and the trawl fish has not got the slime
on it, and the scales are sometimes rubbed off.” Some haddocks were
here produced which the witness said were a fair specimen. The scales
were on them, and on one being opened the inside was found to be in a
unbroken state.

The following is a summary of the evidence given by William Dawson, a
very intelligent fisherman of Newbiggin, who spoke from fifty years’
experience:—“He had fished cod, ling, turbot, and several kinds of
shell-fish, but not oysters. He was still engaged as a fisherman. He
fished with a line for soles. The number of fishermen and boats had
increased. In 1808 there were eight boats, and there are now about
thirty boats. Fifty years ago the boats were about one-third the size.
The boats carried just about the same lines as now. The boats now carry
about three times as much net as they did. The number of white fish
is falling off a great deal. In 1812 every boat brought in more white
fish than they could carry. We do not go much more frequently to sea
now. In the size of the fish now there is not much difference—a little
smaller. The haddock and herring fisheries had decreased. He had not
noticed much difference in the size, only in the quantity. There was a
greater number of boats engaged now in the herring-fishing—the number
of herring having decreased within the last ten or twelve years.
Little mackerel was caught there. Large quantities of mackerel were
off this coast at times, but they had no nets to take them. Although a
good many sprats were seen, they did not try to catch them. The cause
of the falling off in the quantity of fish he considered was their
being destroyed farther south. No trawling vessels came here till last
summer. They went about twelve miles from land, and trawled in the
fishing-ground. The lines of the fishing-boats were parallel, and about
a quarter of a mile apart. When there was a south-east storm they got
plenty of fish, but it was not so now. With a north-east storm they
had plenty of fish. In his recollection, fifty years back, there was
plenty of fish with a south-east storm. There had been no interference
with their nets, and no one had regulated the times of fishing. There
might be some advantage if the government made a law to prevent either
the English or French fishing from Saturday morning to Monday night.
That would give time for the fish to draw together. That alluded to
herring. They should not allow the trawl-boats to fish on the coasts.
The French boats often came within three miles of the land. Herring are
caught within three miles of the shore. The French boats shifted with
the herring along the coast, and have caught a great quantity. There
should be a rule that herring-nets should not be shot before sunset.
When the Queen’s cutters came the French boats made off to more than
three miles from the land. Lobsters had diminished, but not the crabs.
He believed they had caught too many lobsters. The boat’s crew is not
so well off now as thirty years ago. Lodgings were better. They do
not earn so much money now. In the course of a year (about 1825) he
made £126, and a few years back he made only £78. The average for the
last five years at the white fishing was about £50. Other £50 might be
made at the herring-fishing. The buoys of the lines were large enough
for the trawlers to see them, and they could see where the nets were.
They destroyed both the fish and the lines. A line boat with fittings
costs about £40, and a herring-boat with nets not less than £100. The
men bought the boats with money saved. Little fish was destroyed on
their lines, except what was eaten by the dogfish. There were herring
there in January and February, but were not caught. Their boats fished
between Tynemouth and Dunstanborough castles. He could remember when
there were no French boats on the coast; they first came about 1824.
The French boats fish on the Sundays. Their boats did not. A young man
ought to earn £100 a year. It would cost a full third to keep his boat
and tackling up. The boats lasted about fourteen years.”

I need not go on repeating similar evidence, but the witnesses were
nearly all agreed that the beam-trawl did not do the injury to the
fisheries that was charged against it, especially as regards injury
to spawn. I may perhaps, by way of conclusion to this contradictory
evidence, be allowed to quote from the _Times_ a portion of a letter
on trawling, written by a “Billingsgate Salesman:”—“Seven years’
experience in Billingsgate, and my lifetime previous spent among the
fishermen in a seaport-town, may enable me to offer a few remarks,
which through your able abilities may be sifted, and perhaps leave a
portion of matter which you may consider of some value and turn to
some account. My personal interest is not only in trawl-fishing, but
hook and line, seined-net, drift-net, and other kinds; for, being
a commission agent, it is all fish that comes to my net. I cannot
speak of the qualities of trawl-net fishing, either for or against,
not having been connected with that branch of the trade, but after a
remark or two on the information received by Mr. Fenwick, and which is
conveyed in your columns from certain gentlemen professing to have a
knowledge of the trade, I will give you my information as briefly as
possible. The fact is this—it never will be possible to catch what we
consider trawl-fish in sufficient quantities to meet the demand but by
the trawl, the principal kinds being turbot, brill, soles, and plaice.
A small quantity may be taken by other means, but more by accident
than otherwise. As for trawl-fish being mutilated and putrid before
landing, how does it happen that so many spotless and pure fish, out of
the above kinds, are not only sold in London but all over the country,
and exhibited on the tables both of rich and poor? Yourself and every
nobleman can speak on this point; and when informed that they are all
caught by the trawl (a fact undeniable), you will consider it wrong
on the part of any one to mislead the public on a matter of so much
importance. Advise him to fathom the secrets of the ocean, and discover
a better mode to obtain them.”

A great deal of obloquy has been thrown on the trawl, because it
_hashes_ the fish; but the destruction of young fish—that is, fish
unfit for human food because of their being young—is not peculiar to
the trawl. When the lines are thrown out for cod the fishermen cannot
command that only full-grown fish are to seize upon the bait: the
tender codling, the unfledged haddock, the greedy mackerel _will_
bite—the consequence being that thousands of sea-fish are annually
killed that are unfit for food, and that have never had an opportunity
of adding to their kind. But this mischance is incidental to all our
fisheries, no matter what the engine of capture may be, whether net
or line. Look how we slaughter our grilses, without giving them the
opportunity of breeding! The herring-fishing is a notable example of
this mode of doing business: the very time that these animals come
together to perpetuate their species is the time chosen by man to kill
them. Of course if they are to be used as food, they must be killed
at some time, and the proper time to capture them forms one of those
fishing mysteries which we have not as yet been able to solve. We
protect the salmon with many laws at the most interesting time of its
life, and why we should not be able to devise a close-time for the cod,
turbot, haddock, and sole of particular coasts—for each portion of the
coast has its particular season—is what I cannot understand, and can
only account for the anomaly on the ground of salmon being private
property.

The labour of the Scottish fishermen is greatly augmented by the want
of good harbours for their boats. Time and opportunity serving, the men
of the fisher class are really industrious, and this want of proper
harbourage is a hardship to them. It is curious to notice the little
quarry-holes that on some parts of the Moray Firth serve as a refuge
for the boats. There is the harbour of Whitehills, for instance: it
could not be of any possible use in the event of a stiff gale arising,
for in my opinion the boats would never get into it, but would be
dashed to pieces on the neighbouring rocks. I have witnessed one or
two storms on the north-east coast of Scotland, and shall never forget
the scenes of misery these tumults of the great deep occasioned. Even
lately (October 1864) there was a storm raging along these coasts that
left most impressive death-marks at nearly all the fishing places on
the Moray Firth. I was not an eye-witness of this last gale, but I have
gathered from various sources, oral and written, one or two passages
descriptive of its violence and the loss of life it occasioned.

At Portessie, one of the Moray Firth villages, a boat called the
Shamrock, containing a crew of nine men, was numbered among the
lost. It had sailed on a Wednesday morning in October 1864, for the
fishing-ground known as “the Bank,” about twenty miles off. John
Smith, the principal owner of the boat, an old man, was not at the
time able to go to sea; but he had seven sons, and five of these, with
four near relatives, sailed in the ill-fated Shamrock from Portessie
harbour on that fatal morning. The Shamrock was accompanied by some
other boats belonging to the same place, and the little fleet left as
early as three A.M., keeping together more or less until they reached
the fishing-ground. On arriving at the Bank the Shamrock, it appears,
had separated from the others, the crew preferring to go some distance
in order to cast their lines; and she had not been seen by the other
boats after parting from them. About seven o’clock on the following
morning, some of the people of Whitehills, on going round to the spot
known as Craigenroan, a quarter of a mile to the westward, were alarmed
at seeing a boat lying high and dry among the rocks, as if it had been
tossed up at high tide and left perched there on the receding of the
waters. The mast, some oars, and other articles, were seen lying here
and there beside her, strewn among the rocks, and there were holes seen
in her sides—evidence only too conclusive that the boat was a wreck.
A closer inspection discovered her mark and number—“B.F., 743,” and
then was also seen the name and unmistakable designation, “Shamrock,
Pt. Essie—J, Smith.” On examination it was conjectured, from the way
in which the mast had been wrenched off, that the boat had foundered,
either some distance at sea, or among inshore breakers, righting again
as she was beaten up on the rocks, where, as we have said, she was
found sitting high and dry on her keel. It was at once felt that all
the crew had perished, and the bodies of the men were eagerly sought
for by their friends and relatives. On Friday, the lifeless body of
John Smith, “Bodie,” was found washed up on the beach. On the same day
the corpse of his son, a young man who was to have been married in a
week—and whose house, like that of a friend and namesake, was being
furnished at home—was cast ashore at Whitehills, and one of the first
to recognise the body was the father of the betrothed. Another body was
got at the mouth of the little burn at the further end of the Boyndie
Links. This also was on Friday: it was found to be the remains of
one of the five brothers—namely John, aged twenty-five, the namesake
alluded to, who was to have been married on the morrow. The body of
another of the five brothers—namely William—was found floating in the
bay, off Banff Harbour, lashed to a buoy, to which the poor fellow had
attached himself, probably in the boat, for safety. At one time the
body was seen in this position at Whitehills, suspended from the buoy,
and so close to the shore that had a grappling-iron been at hand it
might have been secured. It would have been of no avail, however, as
the vital spark had long since fled; but the passage of the body, drawn
back with the tide and carried round to Banff, served to reconcile
certain apparently conflicting evidences as to the history of the
wreck, or rather as to the spot where it occurred.

On the occasion of this storm there was deep wailing at Buckie, for
in that town there was more than one woman who was widowed by the
tempest. Of necessity a fisherman’s wife is extremely masculine in
character. Her occupation makes her so, because she requires a strength
of body which no other female attains, and of which the majority of
men cannot boast. The long distances she has frequently to travel in
all weathers with her burden, weighing many stones, make it essential
for her to possess a sturdy frame, and be capable of great physical
endurance. Accordingly, most of the fishwives who carry on the sale
of their husbands’ fish possess a strength with which no prudent man
would venture to come into conflict. Then the nature of their calling
makes them bold in manners, and in speech rough and ready. Having to
encounter daily all sorts of people, and drive hard bargains, their
wits, though not refined, are sharpened to a keen edge, and they are
more than a match for any “chaff” directed towards them either by
purchaser or passer-by. So long, however, as they are civilly and
properly treated, they are civil and fair-spoken in return, and can,
when occasion serves, both flatter and please in a manner by no means
offensive. Altogether, the Scottish fishwife is an honest, out-spoken,
good-hearted creature, rough as the occupation she follows, but
generally good-natured and what the Scotch call “canty.” She does not
even want feeling, though, it may be, her avocation gives her little
opportunity to show it. But who is so often called upon to endure the
strongest emotions of fear, suspense, and sorrow, as the fisherman’s
wife? Every time the wind blows, and the sea rises, when the boats of
her husband or kinsfolk are “out,” she knows no peace till they are in
safety; and not seldom has she been doomed to stand on the shore and
look at the white foaming sea in which the little boat, containing all
she held dear, was battling with the billows, with the problem of its
destruction or salvation all unsolved.

To return to the history of the storm. No less than twenty-seven boats
belonging to Buckie had left for the fishing, some of them as early as
two o’clock in the morning. Some hours previous to the boats leaving,
there were indications of the coming storm. A heavy surf was rolling on
the coast, but almost unaccompanied by wind, only slight airs now and
again coming from the north, but the barometer had fallen considerably
during the night. With these indications of bad weather, the men on
duty at the Coast Guard station hailed the Portessie men when on their
way to join their boats at Buckie harbour, and warned them of the
likelihood of a storm overtaking them. Little heed, however, appears to
have been given to this warning, and the boats left the harbour with
more than usual difficulty, the sea at the entrance being so rough. The
boats pursued a north-east course, but from the absence of a breeze the
oars had to be resorted to, and nearly twelve hours elapsed before they
got to the fishing rendezvous. In ordinary circumstances, with a good
wind, the boats would have reached the fishing-ground in about three
hours, and would have returned by the next tide—about mid-day. About
six P.M. the storm broke upon the fishermen with great violence. The
majority of the boats kept close together, and as the first of the gale
was succeeded by comparative calm, the crews, imagining that they had
seen the worst of the storm, began to finish their fishing. This would
have occupied about an hour, but, before it was half accomplished,
the wind, veering rather more to the north, blew a perfect hurricane,
and the sea became so disturbed that it was hardly possible to manage
the boats. The sails, which had been hoisted when the wind first
sprang up, were reduced, some of them by as many as six reefs, but the
experience and energy of the hardy fishermen seemed scarce sufficient
to battle successfully for existence among the warring elements. Some
of the crews in this strait made for the Banff coast; others made up
their minds to endeavour to ride out the storm, and a good number ran
for Cromarty, or the ports on the opposite side of the Firth. The
attainment of either of these three alternatives was a work of peril,
for there is no harbour of refuge on either side of the Firth to which
boats may with safety run from a storm; and the broken water is about
as plentiful and dangerous in the centre of the Firth as it is along
the shore. While the brave fishermen were encountering the severest
perils attending their calling, the anxiety and suspense of their
relations were heartrending. The storm in its intensity, though its
coming had been foreshadowed, was not felt on shore till about nine
P.M. on Wednesday evening. From that hour, however, the wind, now from
the east, and again from the north, came in terrific gusts, and the
whole bay at Buckie boiled and moaned as it had been seldom known to do
before.

Long before the storm was at its height, the wives and sweethearts
of those at sea had become alarmed for their safety; they could well
remember the desolation that a similar tempest, which occurred on the
16th August 1848, caused in their households. They left their homes to
wander along the sea-beach, and peer through the storm for any sign
of the approach of the boats containing their relatives. A huge fire
was kindled on the top of the braes in the hope that its glare might
attract those at sea, and beacon them to a safe shore. During the
early part of the night the suspense and fear of the whole inhabitants
of Buckie were extreme, and while this anxiety was being endured the
boats that had first left the fishing-ground were nearing the land.
Some of the boats for a considerable time were allowed to run before
the wind, the crews not knowing whither they went, as they were not
within sight of lights. When at length they got within sight of the
lights very great caution had to be exercised, and a little confusion
was occasioned by the unusual number of fires exhibited. Shortly after
eleven o’clock a boat was seen approaching Buckie harbour, and getting
a favourable opportunity of crossing the bar, it entered the harbour in
safety. Two other boats followed, but these had much greater difficulty
in gaining the port. The tide was at its height about two o’clock
A.M., when a fourth boat approached. At the entrance to the harbour
she shipped a sea, and it was thought by all on the shore that she had
been upset. The same wave, however, carried the boat a considerable
distance into the harbour, and as she continued in an upright position
she was soon pulled to the beach, and her crew landed in safety. When
the tide was fully in, it stood about twenty feet above its ordinary
point, the waves breaking almost on the foundations of the Coast Guard
watch-house. On the pier the water fell so heavily that it was often
some feet deep, and the spray from the waves mounted to a height of
about forty feet above the lighthouse. The people kept watching on the
shore till daybreak, but no sign of any of the other boats was visible,
and as no known casualty had occurred to the boats that made for Buckie
and Portgordon, keen hopes were entertained that the remainder of the
boats had found shelter on the opposite side of the Firth, or would
be able to ride out the storm. The anxiety in Buckie continued during
Thursday, and was rather intensified towards the afternoon when the
wind, veering round to W.N.W., again heightened almost to the pitch
it had reached during the previous night. Several people from the
villages on both sides of Buckie came into that town in the afternoon
to ascertain whether the post should bring tidings from their missing
friends. With great consideration the captain of one of the boats that
got into Cromarty wrote by first post to say that no casualty had
occurred within his knowledge, and that a number of boats (some eight
or nine) had entered Cromarty in safety, and others were approaching
the harbour.

I was a witness to some of the effects of the previous great storms
that had raged in the Moray Firth about the close of the year 1857.
A number of fishing-boats and their crews were lost at that time,
Buckie again coming in for a large share of the desolation. I have
preserved a few scraps descriptive of the storm, cut, I think, from
the _Banffshire Journal_; and these, supplemented by what I gathered
personally from the descriptions of those engaged in the contest, will
give my readers a good idea of the scene at Buckie. Premising that
before the storm attained its culminating point one or two of the boats
had got safely into the harbour, I may state that as the sea increased
in anger and the waves lashed the shore in ever-augmenting fury, the
excitement of those on land became terrible. People seemed disposed
to run everywhere, and no one knew where to run. It was nearly an
hour—sixty minutes of terrible suspense—after the two first boats came
into the harbour ere any others came in sight. By and by, however,
they began to appear, most of them evidently making for the sands
opposite and east of the new town of Buckie, some for Craigenroan, a
place of shelter east of Portessie. The attention of the Buckie people
was chiefly centred in the arrivals at their own shore, as other boats
were scarcely seen; and while their own boats were every now and then,
from two to three o’clock, dropping in at home, there was the chance
that those running for Craigenroan belonged to other towns. At two
o’clock the storm had about culminated, and as the boats came each in
sight (they were only seen a short way off land) there was a shriek
from those assembled on the shore, while the utmost anxiety prevailed
till they were each ashore and the men landed, every one providing
themselves with ropes and whatever could be supposed likely to be
useful in putting forth efforts to save life. The crowd ran from one
point to another along the coast to whatever place it was likely the
boats would strike, and most enthusiastic were the exertions made by
one and all to get the imperilled men out of jeopardy, so soon as ever
they came within reach. The boats, as they arrived, were secured with
mooring-ropes, and a hand or two left to take care of each, while the
spare men spread themselves along the beach to assist in saving the
lives and property of their fellows in distress. Four boats got safely
in. Alas for the fifth! About half-past two o’clock this fifth boat,
like the others, without a stitch of canvas, came in sight pretty far
west, and was expected to land in “The Neuk,” opposite New Buckie.
Tossed mountain high at one moment, and the next down between the
gigantic waves, she came along in much the same circumstances as
the others. Hundreds soon gathered at the point she was expected to
reach. The boats had come so near the shore that the men on board were
perfectly well recognised by their friends, among whom there were wives
in the greatest anxiety to rescue their husbands from the angry deep,
fathers to rescue their sons, brother to welcome brother, etc. But how
sad was the scene beggars all description, for within a hundred yards
of the shore a tremendous sea struck the boat on her broadside, and
turned her right over, as quick as a man would turn his hand, the crew
of course being all cast into the water. The crowd on shore held up
their hands appalled, and cried and shrieked, many of them in perfect
distraction. The scene was heartrending in the extreme; but the first
manifestations of grief and alarm by and by toned down to mournful
wailings, although, as was to be expected, the excitement and confusion
were very great. Three of the men were never seen, having at once sunk
to rise no more. Two seemed to get on the bottom of the boat, but one
of them very shortly disappeared. The other one, however, stood up on
his feet, and put his hands to his waistcoat near the buttons, from
which act it was supposed he was preparing to strip and be in readiness
to swim. The situation was heightened by the interest of those on shore
in seeing him in this perilous position, and the grief of his friends
was intensely unspeakable when they saw the first heavy sea wash him
away from the footing he had gained, and, in its rolling fury, hide him
perhaps for ever from human eyes. The remaining three of the eight who
were on board (the crew numbered eleven, but three had not gone to sea
that day) also disappeared for a little, but in a short time they were
seen floating about on spars and pieces of the masts; and hope still
existed that rescue might be extended to them. They were driven from
one point to another with fearful velocity, and indeed were only now
and again visible. Anxiety was felt in every breast still more acutely
than ever, as these three were wafted nearer and nearer the shore; and
so sorely did they struggle, that, even against every probability, hope
whispered that their safety was possible. For full twenty minutes they
floated about in this situation, latterly coming within about twenty
yards of where the people were standing—so near that, had the sea been
ordinarily calm, hundreds were there who would have considered it no
difficult task to rush into the water and give them their hand. One man
cried to his brother to put his hair away from his eyes, when, by the
motion the latter made, it was evident he heard quite distinctly. Two
or three different times he obeyed, putting up his hand, and rubbing
his hair over his forehead. An anxious wife actually rushed into the
tide nearly to the neck, in an endeavour to rescue her husband, but her
heroic effort was completely unavailing. The tide was ebbing at the
time, but the waves, in terrible force, rushed far up on the beach,
and swept back again with fearful power. No one could keep his footing
in the water. Attempts were made to join hands and thus extend help to
the unfortunate men, but, besides the weight of the water itself, the
backwash of the waves hurled the gravel beach from below their feet, so
that to stand on it was impossible; and even while these vain efforts
were being made at rescue, the men, worn out in the raging surf, sank,
one after another, amid the cries and shrieks of their despairing
relatives.

The number of men drowned on the north-east coast—_i.e._ at Wick,
Helmsdale, and Peterhead—during the great storm of 1848, was one
hundred, and the value of the boats and the nets that were lost upon
that remarkable occasion was at least £7000. The gale broke upon the
coast on the 19th of August, just as the fishing was being busily
prosecuted. Most of the boats ran for shelter to the nearest haven,
and it is melancholy to know that many of them foundered at the very
entrance to their harbour. The whole of the mischief was done in the
brief period of three hours. In that period many a poor woman was made
miserable, and many a hearth rendered cheerless. It is gratifying to
think that since the date of the great storm considerable improvement
has been made in the Scottish fishery harbours, and that at Wick a
great harbour of refuge is now in progress. The weather prophecies
now published by the Board of Trade, and telegraphed to all important
seaports, are also of great use to the fisher-folk, as are the large
barometers which have been erected in nearly every fishing village.
These are the elements of science which will ultimately chase away
superstition from our sea-coast villages, if indeed we can honestly
call the poetic fancies of these fisher-folks superstitions. We cannot
wonder that, as the dark remembrance of some great bereavement escapes
from the chambers of their memory, they see forms in the flying clouds,
or hear voices in the air, that cannot be seen or heard by landsmen
unaccustomed to the treacherous waters of the great deep.

Large quantities of fish offal are used by the farmers as manure. The
intestines of the herring are regularly sold for the purpose of being
thrown upon the land, and I have heard of as many as three hundred
barrels of haddock offal being sold from one curing-yard. It is thought
by some economists that the commoner kinds of fish might be largely
captured and converted into fish guano. I have not studied that part
of the fishing question very deeply, but I am disposed to doubt the
propriety of employing fishing vessels to capture coarse fish for
manure, as I do not think it will pay to do so. In former years fish
were extensively used as manure, but that was during seasons when the
capture was so large as to produce a glut. I reprint, in the shape of
an appendix to this volume, an account of the fish-guano manufactory
at Concarneau in Finisterre, as well as some information about the
fish-manure of Norway.

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.

August is a month that has red-letter days for those who delight in the
luxuries of eating. Do we not in that month begin the carnival of “St.
Grouse?” and do we not hear in the bye-streets of London the pleasant
sounds of “Please to remember the Grotto?” It is the month that ushers
in the ever-welcome oyster. In nearly every small street and alley
early in August may be heard resounding the words “Only once a year!”
and groups of merry children building their grottoes remind us that the
long days are passing, that autumn is at hand, and that in a few brief
months the Christmas barrel of oysters will be travelling “inland”
on the rapid railway, passing in its course the friendly and welcome
exchange hamper of country produce, containing the choice pheasant and
the plump turkey. But September, and not August, is the right month for
the inauguration of the oyster season, although, by ancient custom,
perhaps originating in the impatience of our _gourmets_, the proper
date has been anticipated, and oyster-eating has become general even so
early as the 5th of August. It is wrong, however, to partake of oysters
thus early—as wrong as it was three centuries ago to eat them on St.
James’s day, although the superstition of the period gave weight to
the act; as in those days there existed a proverb that persons who ate
oysters on the 25th of July would have plenty of money all the rest of
the year.

In those remote times the knowledge of sea-produce was exceedingly
limited, as people could only guess the proper season for indulging
in what we call “shell-fish;” and although it is not easy, from the
difficulty of obtaining access to sea animals, to obtain accurate
information about their growth and habits, yet it is pleasing to think
that we know a great deal more of those interesting creatures than
our forefathers ever did. Our worthy ancestors, for instance, were
quite content to swallow their oysters without inquiring very minutely
about how they were bred; the oyster-shell was opened simply that
its contents might be devoured along with the necessary quantity of
bread and butter and brown stout. They did not think of the delicacy
as a subject of natural history—with them it was simply a delicious
condiment. But in the present day that style of eating has been
altogether reformed: people like to know what they eat; and from the
investigations of M. Coste and other naturalists we now know as much
about the oyster, and the mollusca in general, as we do about the
Crustacea.

Generally speaking, many curious opinions have been held about
shell-fish. At one time they were thought to be only masses of oily or
other matter scarcely alive and insensible to pain. Who could suppose,
it was asked, that a portion of blubber like the oyster, that could
only have been first eaten by some very courageous individual, could
have any feeling? But we know better now, and although the organisation
of the mollusca is not of a high order, it is perfect of its kind,
and has within it indications of organs that in beings of a higher
type serve a loftier purpose, and point out the beginnings of nature,
showing how she works her way from the simplest imaginings of animal
life to the complex human machine. The oyster has no doubt in its
degree its joys and sorrows, and throbs with life and pleasure, as
animals do that have a higher organic structure.

Zoologically the oyster is known as _Ostræa edulis_. Its outward
appearance is familiar to even very landward people, and no human
engineer could have invented so admirable a home for the pulpy and
headless mass of jelly that is contained within the rough-looking
shell. The oyster is a curiously-constructed animal; but I fear that,
comparatively speaking, very few of my readers have ever seen a perfect
one, as oysters are very much mutilated, being generally deprived of
their beards before they are sent to table, and otherwise hurt, both
accidentally in the opening and by use and wont, as in the case of the
beard. Its mouth—it has no jaws or teeth—is a kind of trunk or snout,
with four lips, and leafy coverings or gills are spread over the body
to act as lungs, and keep from the action of the water the air which
the animal requires for its existence. This covering is divided into
two lobes with ciliated edges. Four leaves or membranous plates act
as capillary funnels, open at the farthest extremities. Behind the
gills there is a large whitish fatty part enclosing the stomach and
intestines. The vessels of circulation play into muscular cavities,
which act the part of the heart. The stomach is situated near the
mouth. The oyster has no feet, but can move by opening and closing
its shell, and it secures food by means of its beard, which acts as a
kind of rake. In fact the internal structure of the oyster, while it
is excellently adapted to that animal’s mode of life, is exceedingly
simple.

It is not my purpose in the present work to enter into the minutiæ of
oyster life. Indeed, there have been so many controversies about the
natural history of this animal as to render it impossible to narrate
in the brief space I can devote to it a tenth part of what has been
written or spoken about the life and habits of the “breedy creature.”
Every stage of its growth has been made the stand-point for a wrangle
of some kind. As an example of the keenness with which each stage of
oyster life is now being discussed, I may mention that in the summer
of 1864 a most amusing squabble broke out in the pages of the _Field_
newspaper on an immaterial point of oyster life, which is worth noting
here as an example of what can be said on either side of a question.
The controversy hinged upon whether an oyster while on the bed lay
on the flat or convex side. Mr. Frank Buckland, who originated the
dispute, maintained that the right, proper, and natural position of
the oyster, when at the bottom of the sea, is with the flat shell
downwards. Mr. James Lowe, a gentleman who takes great interest in
pisciculture, and who has explored the oyster-beds of France, held the
opinion that the oyster is never in its proper position except when the
flat shell is uppermost. Of course, the natural position of the oyster
is of no practical importance whatever; and I know, from personal
observation of the beds at Newhaven and Cockenzie, that oysters lie
both ways,—indeed, with a dozen or two of dredges tearing over the beds
it is impossible but that they must lie quite higgledy-piggledy, so to
speak. A great deal that is incidentally interesting was brought up in
the discussion to which I have been referring. There have been several
other disputes about points in the natural history of the oysters—one
in particular as to whether that animal is provided with organs of
vision. Various opinions have been enunciated as to whether an oyster
has eyes, and one author asserts that it has so many as twenty-four,
which again is denied, and the assertion made that the so-called
eyes projecting from the border of the mantle have no optical power
whatever; but be that as it may, I have no doubt whatever that the
oyster has a power of knowing the light from the dark.

Without wishing to dogmatise on any point of oyster life, I think I can
bring before my readers in a brief way a few interesting facts in the
natural history of the edible oyster.

As is well known, there is a period every year during which the oyster
is not fished; and the reason why our English oyster-beds have not been
ruined or exhausted by overfishing arises, among other causes, from
this fact of there being a definite close-time assigned to the breeding
of the mollusc. It would be well if the larger varieties of sea produce
were equally protected; for it is sickening to observe the countless
numbers of unseasonable fish that are from time to time brought to
Billingsgate and other markets, and greedily purchased. The fact that
oysters are supplied only during certain months in the year, and that
the public have a general corresponding notion that they are totally
unfit for wholesome eating during May, June, July, and August (those
four wretched months which have not the letter “r” in their names), has
been greatly in their favour. Had there been no period of rest, it is
almost quite certain that oysters would long ago—I allude to the days
when there was no system of cultivation—have become extinct, so great
is the demand for this dainty mollusc.

Oysters begin to sicken about the end of April, so that it is well that
their grand rest commences in May. The shedding of the spawn continues
during the whole of the hot months—not but that during that period
there may be found supplies of healthy oysters, but, as a general rule,
it is better that there should be a total cessation of the trade during
the summer season, because were the beds disturbed by a search for the
healthy oysters the spawn would be scattered and destroyed.

Oysters do not leave their ova, like many other marine creatures, but
incubate them in the folds of their mantle, and among the laminæ of
their lungs. There the ova remain surrounded by mucous matter, which is
necessary to their development, and within which they pass through the
embryo state. The mass of ova, or “spat” as it is familiarly called,
undergoes various changes in its colour, meanwhile losing its fluidity.
This state indicates the near termination of the development and the
sending forth of the embryo to an independent existence, for by this
time the young oysters can live without the protection of the maternal
organs. An eminent French pisciculturist says that the animated matter
escaping from the adults on breeding-banks is like a thick mist being
dispersed by the winds—the _spat_ is so scattered by the waves that
only an imperceptible portion remains near the parent stock. All
the rest is dissipated over the sea space; and if these myriads of
animalculæ, tossed by the waves, do not meet with solid bodies to which
they can attach themselves, their destruction is certain, for if they
do not fall victims to the larger animals which prey upon them, they
are unfortunate in not fixing upon the proper place for their thorough
development.

Thus we see that the spawn of the oyster is well matured before it
leaves the protection of the parental shell; and by the aid of the
microscope the young animal can be seen with its shell perfect and
its holding-on apparatus, which is also a kind of swimming-pad, ready
to clutch the first “coigne of vantage” that the current may carry it
against. My theory is, that the parent oyster goes on _brewing_ its
spawn for some time—I have seen it oozing from the same animal for some
days—and it is supposed that the spawn swims about with the current
for a short period before it falls, being in the meantime devoured by
countless sea animals of all kinds. The operation of nursing, brewing,
and exuding the spat from the parental shell will occupy a considerable
period—say from two to four weeks. It is quite certain that the
close-time for oysters is necessary and advantageous, for we seldom
find this mollusc, as we do the herring and other fish, full of eggs,
so that most of the operations connected with its reproduction go on
in the months during which there is no dredging. As I have indicated,
immense quantities of the spawn of oysters are annually devoured by
other molluscs, and by fish and crustaceans of various sizes; it is
well, therefore, that it is so bountifully supplied. On occasions of
visiting the beds I have seen the dredge covered with this spawn; and
no pen could number the thousands of millions of oysters thus prevented
from ripening into life. Economists ought to note this fact with
respect to fish generally, for the enormous destruction of spawn of all
kinds must exercise a very serious influence on our fish supplies. I
may also note that the state of the weather has a serious influence on
the spawn and on the adult oyster-power of spawning. A cold season is
very unfavourable, and a decidedly cold day will kill the spat.

[Illustration]

Some people have asserted that the oyster can reproduce its kind in
twenty weeks, and that in ten months it is full-grown. Both of these
assertions are pure nonsense. At the age of three months an oyster is
not much bigger than a pea; and the age at which reproduction begins
has never been accurately ascertained, but it is thought to be three
years. I give here one or two illustrations of oyster-growth in order
to show the ratio of increase. The smallest, about the dimensions of a
pin’s head, may be called a fortnight old. The next size represents
the oyster as it appears when three months old. The other sizes are
drawn at the ages of five, eight, and twelve months respectively.
Oysters are usually four years old before they are sent to the London
market. At the age of five years the oyster is, I think, in its prime;
and some of our most intelligent fishermen think its average duration
of life to be ten years.

[Illustration]

In these days of oyster-farming the time at which the oyster becomes
reproductive may be easily fixed, and it will no doubt be found to vary
in different localities. At some places it becomes saleable—chiefly,
however, for fattening—in the course of two years; at other places it
is three or four years before it becomes a saleable commodity; but on
the average it will be quite safe to assume that at four years the
oyster is both ripe for sale and able for the reproduction of its kind.
Let us hope that the breeders will take care to have at least one
brood from each batch before they offer any for sale. Oyster-farmers
should keep before them the folly of the salmon-fishers, who kill
their grilse—_i.e._ the virgin fish—before they have an opportunity of
perpetuating their race.

Another point on which naturalists differ is as to the quantity
of spawn from each oyster. Some enumerate the young by thousands,
others by millions. It is certain enough that the number of young is
prodigious—so great, in fact, as to prevent their all being contained
in the parent shell at one time; but I do not believe that an oyster
yields its young “in millions”—perhaps half a million is on the average
the amount of spat which each oyster can “brew” in one season. I
have examined oyster-spawn (taken direct from the oyster) by means
of a powerful microscope, and find it to be a liquid of some little
consistency, in which the young oysters, like the points of a hair,
swim actively about, in great numbers, as many as a thousand having
been counted in a very minute globule of spat. The spawn, as found
floating on the water, is greenish in appearance, and each little
splash may be likened to an oyster nebula, which resolves itself, when
examined by a powerful glass, into a thousand distinct animals.

The oyster, it is now pretty well determined, is hermaphrodite, and
it is very prolific, as has been already observed, but the enormous
fecundity of the animal is largely detracted from by bad breeding
seasons; for, unless the spawning season be mild, soft, and warm,
there is usually a very partial fall of spat, and of course quite a
scarcity of brood; and even if one be the proprietor of a large bed of
oysters, there is no security for the spawn which is emitted from the
oysters on that bed falling upon it, or within the bounds of one’s own
property even; it is often enough the case that the spawn falls at a
considerable distance from the place where it has been emitted. Thus
the spawn from the Whitstable and Faversham Oyster Companies’ beds—and
these contain millions of oysters in various stages of progress—falls
usually on a large piece of ground between Whitstable and the Isle
of Thanet, formerly common property, but lately _given_ by Act of
Parliament to a company recently formed for the breeding of oysters.
The saving of the spawn cannot be effected unless it falls on proper
ground—_i.e._ ground with a shelly bottom is best, for the infant
animal is sure to perish if it fall among mud or upon sand; the infant
oyster must obtain a holding-on place as the first condition of its own
existence.

Oysters have not on the aggregate spawned extensively during late
years. The greatest fall of spawn ever known in England occurred in
1827, and it is thought by practical men, as well as naturalists, that
they do not spawn at all in cold seasons, and in Britain not always
in warm seasons; and Mr. Buckland, I believe, assumes that the more
favourable spawning on the French coast of the Bay of Biscay is caused
by the greater, because more direct, influence of the Gulf Stream on
the waters there than in the English Channel, but this idea is also
disputed. If the oyster does not spawn every year it would require
to emit an enormous quantity in those favourable years when it does
spawn, so as to keep up the supply. On being exuded from the parental
shell, the spawn of the oyster at once rises to the surface, where
its vitality is easily affected, and it is often killed in certain
places by snow-water or ice. A genial warmth of sunshine and water is
considered highly favourable to its proper development during the few
days it floats about on the surface. It is thought that not more than
one oyster out of each million arrives at maturity. It is curious to
note that some oysters have immense shells with very little “meat” in
them. I recently saw in a popular tavern (date Sept. 29, 1864), several
oysters much larger externally than crown-pieces with the “meat”
about the size of a sixpence: these were Firth of Forth oysters from
Cockenzie. It is not easy to determine from the external size of the
animal the amount of “meat” it will yield—apparently, “the bigger the
oyster the smaller the meat.” In the early part of the season we get
only the very small oysters in Edinburgh—the reason assigned being that
all the best dredgers are “away at the herring,” and that the persons
left behind at the oyster-beds are only able to skim them, so that,
for a period of about six weeks, we merely obtain the small fry that
are lying on the top. It is quite certain that as the season advances
the oysters obtained are larger and of more decided flavour. In the
“natives” obtained at Whitstable the shell and the meat are pretty much
in keeping as to size, and this is an advantage.

The Abbé Diquemarc, who has keenly observed the habits of the principal
mollusca, assures us that oysters, when free, are perfectly able to
transport themselves from one place to another, by simply causing the
sea-water to enter and emerge suddenly from between their valves; and
these they use with extreme rapidity and great force. By means of
the operation now described, the oyster is enabled to defend itself
from its enemies among the minor crustacea, particularly the small
crabs, which endeavour to enter the shell when it is half open. “Some
naturalists,” the Abbé says, “go the length of allowing the oyster
to have great foresight,” which he illustrates by an allusion to
the habits of those found at the seaside. “These oysters,” he says,
“exposed to the daily change of tides, appear to be aware that they are
likely to be exposed to dryness at certain recurring periods, and so
they preserve water in their shells to supply their wants when the tide
is at ebb. This peculiarity renders them more easy of transportation to
remote distances than those members of the family which are caught at a
considerable distance from the shore.”

But oysters have their social as well as their natural and economic
history. The name of the courageous individual who ate the first oyster
has not been recorded, but there is a legend concerning him to the
following effect:—Once upon a time—it must be a prodigiously long time
ago, however—a man of melancholy mood, who was walking by the shores
of a picturesque estuary, listening to the monotonous murmur of the
sad sea-waves, espied a very old and ugly oyster, all coated over with
parasites and sea-weeds. It was so unprepossessing that he kicked
it with his foot, and the animal, astonished at receiving such rude
treatment on its own domain, gaped wide with indignation. Seeing the
beautiful cream-coloured layers that shone within the shelly covering,
and fancying the interior of the shell itself to be beautiful, he
lifted up the aged “native” for further examination, inserting his
finger and thumb within the shells. The irate mollusc, thinking no
doubt that this was meant as a further insult, snapped his pearly
door close upon the finger of the intruder, causing him some little
pain. After releasing his wounded digit, the inquisitive gentleman very
naturally put it in his mouth. “Delightful!” exclaimed he, opening
wide his eyes. “What is this?” and again he sucked his thumb. Then the
great truth flashed upon him, that he had found out a new delight—had
in fact accidentally achieved the most important discovery ever made up
to that date! He proceeded at once to the verification of his thought.
Taking up a stone, he forced open the doors of the oyster, and gingerly
tried a piece of the mollusc itself. Delicious was the result; and so,
there and then, with no other condiment than the juice of the animal,
with no reaming brown stout or pale chablis to wash down the repast, no
nicely-cut, well-buttered brown bread, did that solitary anonymous man
inaugurate the oyster banquet. Another way of the story is that the man
who ate the first oyster was compelled to do so for a punishment:—

“The man had sure a palate covered o’er
With brass, or steel, that on the rocky shore
First broke the oozy oyster’s pearly coat,
And risk’d the living morsel down his throat.”

Ever since the apocryphal period of this legend, men have gone on
eating oysters. Poets, princes, pontiffs, orators, statesmen, and wits
have gluttonised over the oyster-bed. Oysters were at one time, it is
true, in danger of being forgotten. From the fourth century to about
the fifteenth they were not much in use; but from that date to the
present time the demand has never slackened. Going back to the times
which we now regard as classic, we are told—as I will by and by relate
in more detail when I come to describe the art of oyster-farming—that
we owe the original idea of pisciculture to a certain Sergius Orata,
who invented an oyster-pond in which to breed oysters, not for his
own table, but for profit. We have all read of the feasts and
fish-dinners of the classic Italians. These were on a scale, as has
been already indicated, far surpassing our modern banquets at Greenwich
and Blackwall, even though the charge for these be, as was recently
complained in the _Times_, two and three guineas for each person.
Talking of fish-dinners reminds me of a description I have read of a
dish produced in China containing juvenile crabs. On the cover being
removed the crablets jump out on the table and are greedily seized
and eaten by the guests who are assembled. The dish is filled with
vinegar, which imparts great liveliness to the young creatures. The
shell is soft and gelatinous, and the _morceau_ is highly palatable.
Lucullus had sea-water brought to his villa in canals from the coast
of Campania, in which he bred fish in such abundance for the use of
his guests that not less than £35,000 worth was sold at his death.
Vitellius ate oysters all day long, and some people insinuate that he
could eat as many as a thousand at one sitting—a happiness too great
for belief! Callisthenes, the philosopher of Olynthus, was also a
passionate oyster-eater, and so was Caligula, the Roman tyrant. The
wise Seneca dallied over his few hundreds every week, and the great
Cicero nourished his eloquence with the dainty. The Latin poets sang
the praises of the oyster, and the fast men of ancient Rome enjoyed
the poetry during their carouse, just as modern fellows, not at all
classic, enjoy a song over their oysters in the parlour of a London or
provincial tavern.

In all countries there are records of the excessive fondness of great
men for oysters. Cervantes was an oyster-lover, and he satirised
the oyster-dealers of Spain. Louis XI., careful lest scholarship
should become deficient in France, feasted the learned doctors of the
Sorbonne, once a year, on oysters; and another Louis invested his
cook with an order of nobility as a reward for his oyster-cookery.
Napoleon, also, was an oyster-lover; so was Rousseau; and Marshall
Turgot used to eat a hundred or two, just to whet his appetite for
breakfast. Invitations to a dish of oysters were common in the literary
and artistic circles of Paris at the latter end of last century. The
Encyclopedists were particularly fond of oysters. Helvetius, Diderot,
the Abbé Raynal, Voltaire, and others, were confirmed oyster-men.
Before the Revolution, the violent politicians were in the habit
of constantly frequenting the Parisian oyster-shops; and Danton,
Robespierre, and others, were fond of the oyster in their days of
innocence. The great Napoleon, on the eve of his battles, used to
partake of the bivalve; and Cambaceres was famous for his shell-fish
banquets. Even at this day the consumption of oysters in Paris is
enormous. According to recent statistics the quantity eaten there is
one million per day!

Among our British celebrities, Alexander Pope was an oyster-eater
of taste, and so was Dean Swift, who was fond of lobsters as well.
Thomson, of _The Seasons_, who knew all good things, knew how good a
thing an oyster was. The learned Dr. Richard Bentley could never pass
an oyster-shop without having a few; and there have been hundreds
of subsequent Englishmen who, without coming up to Bentley in other
respects, have resembled him in this. The Scottish philosophers, too,
of the last century—Hume, Dugald Stewart, Cullen, etc.—used frequently
to indulge in the “whiskered pandores” of their day and generation.
“Oyster-ploys,” as they were called, were frequently held in the
quaint and dingy taverns of the Old Town of Edinburgh. These Edinburgh
oyster-taverns of the olden time were usually situated underground, in
the cellar-floor; and, even in the course of the long winter evenings,
the carriages of the quality folks would be found rattling up, and
setting down fashionable ladies, to partake of oysters and porter,
plenteously but rudely served. What oysters have been to the intellect
of Edinburgh in later times, who needs to be told that has heard of
Christopher North and read the _Noctes Ambrosianæ_?

The Americans become still more social over their oysters than we do,
and their extensive seabord affords them a very large supply, although
I regret to learn that, in consequence of overfishing and of carrying
away the fish at improper seasons, the oyster-banks of that great
country are in danger of becoming exhausted. In City Island the whole
population participates in the oyster-trade, and there is an oyster-bed
in Long Island Sound which is 115 miles long.

The oyster can be cooked in many ways, but the pure animal is the best
of all, and gulping him up in his own juice is the best way to eat him.
The oyster, I maintain, may be eaten raw, day by day, every day of the
214 days that it is in season, and never do hurt. It never produces
indigestion—never does the flavour pall. The man who ends the day with
an oyster in his mouth rises with a clean tongue in the morning, and a
clear head as well.

The secret of there being only a holding-on place required for the
spat of the oyster to insure an immensely-increased supply having been
penetrated by the French people—and no doubt they are in some degree
indebted to our oyster-beds on the Colne and at Whitstable for their
idea—the plan of systematic oyster-culture was easy enough, as I will
immediately show. A few initiatory experiments, in fact, speedily
settled that oysters could be grown in any quantity. Strong pillars of
wood were driven into the mud and sand; arms were added; the whole was
interlaced with branches of trees, and various boughs besides were hung
over the beds on ropes and chains, whilst others were sunk in the water
and kept down by a weight. A few boat-loads of oysters being laid down,
the spat had no distance to travel in search of a home, but found a
resting-place almost at the moment of being exuded; and, as the fairy
legends say, “it grew and it grew,” till, in the fulness of time, it
became a marketable commodity.

But the history of this modern phase of oyster-farming, as practised
on the foreshores of France, is so interesting as to demand at my
hands a rather detailed notice, for it is one of the most noteworthy
circumstances connected with the revived art of fish-culture, that
it has resulted in placing upon the shores of France upwards of 7000
fish-farms for the cultivation of the oyster alone.

It is no exaggeration to say, that about fifteen years ago there was
scarcely an oyster of native growth in France; the beds—and I cite
the case of France as a warning to people at home, I mean as regards
our Scottish oyster-beds—had become so exhausted from overdredging as
to be unproductive, so far as their money value was concerned, and
to be totally unable to recover themselves so far as their power of
reproductiveness was at stake. And the people were consequently in
despair at the loss of this favourite adjunct of their banquets, and
had to resort to other countries for such small supplies as they could
obtain. As an illustration of the overdredging that had prevailed, it
may be stated that oyster-farms which formerly employed 1400 men, with
200 boats, and yielded an annual revenue of 400,000 francs, had become
so reduced as to require only 100 men and 20 boats. Places where at
one time there had been as many as fifteen oyster-banks, and great
prosperity among the fisher class, had become, at the period I allude
to, almost oysterless. St. Brieuc, Rochelle, Marennes, Rochefort, etc.,
had all suffered so much that those interested in the fisheries were
no longer able to stock the beds, thus proving that, notwithstanding
the great fecundity of these sea animals, it is quite possible to
overfish them, and thoroughly exhaust their reproductive power. It
was under these circumstances that M. Coste instituted that plan of
oyster-culture which has been so much noticed of late in the scientific
journals, and which appears to have been inspired by the plan of the
mussel-farms in the Bay of Aiguillon, and the oyster-parcs of Lake
Fusaro, so far at least as the principle of cultivation is concerned.
At the instigation of the French Government, he made a voyage of
exploration round the coasts of France and Italy, in order to inquire
into the condition of the sea-fisheries, which were, it was thought, in
a declining condition. It was his “mission,” and he fulfilled it very
well, to see how these marine fisheries could be artificially aided,
as the fresh-water fisheries had been aided through the rediscovery
by Joseph Remy of the long-forgotten plan of pisciculture, as already
detailed in a preceding portion of this work.

The breeding of oysters was a business pursued with great assiduity
during what I have called the gastronomic age of Italy, the period when
Lucullus kept a stock of fish valued at £50,000 sterling, and Sergius
Orata invented the art of oyster-culture. There is not a great deal
known about this ancient gentleman, except that he was an epicure of
most refined taste (the “master of luxury” he was called in his own
day), and some writers of the period thought him a very greedy person,
a kind of dealer in shell-fish. It was thought also that he was a
housebroker or person who bought or built houses, and having improved
them, sold them to considerable advantage. He received, however, an
excellent character, while standing his trial for using the public
waters of Lake Lucrinus for his own private use, from his advocate
Licinus Crassus, who said that the revenue officer who prevented Orata
was mistaken if he thought that gentleman would dispense with his
oysters, even if he was driven from the Lake of Lucrinus, for, rather
than not enjoy his molluscous luxury, he would grow them on the tops of
his houses.

Lake Fusaro, of which I give a kind of bird’s-eye view, is highly
interesting to all who take an interest in the prosperity of the
fisheries, as the first seat of oyster-culture. It is the Avernus
of Virgil, and is a black volcanic-looking pool of water, about a
league in circumference, which lies between the site of the Lucrine
Lake—the lake used by Orata—and the ruins of the town of Cumæ. It
is still extant, being even now, as I have said, devoted to the
highly profitable art of oyster-farming, yielding, as has often been
published, from this source an annual revenue of about £1200. This
classic sheet of water was at one time surrounded by the villas of
the wealthy Italians, who frequented the place for the joint benefit
of the sea-water baths and the shell-fish commissariat, which had
been established in the two lakes (Avernus and Lucrine). The place,
which, before then, was overshadowed by thick plantations, had been
consecrated by the superstitious to the use of the infernal gods.

[Illustration: LAKE FUSARO.

The accompanying engraving gives a general view of Lake Fusaro
(the Avernus of the ancients), showing here and there the stakes
surrounding the artificial banks, the single and double ranges of
stakes on which the faggots are suspended, and at one extremity the
labyrinths, in the face of which is a canal of from 2½ to 3 metres
broad and 1½ metres deep joining the lake to the sea. A small lake,
believed to be the ancient Cocytus, communicates with this canal.
The pavilion in the lake is the ordinary residence of the persons in
charge of the fishery.
]

[Illustration: OYSTER-PYRAMID.]

[Illustration: OYSTER-FASCINES.]

The mode of oyster-breeding at this place, then as now, was to erect
artificial pyramids of stones in the water, surrounded by stakes of
wood, in order to intercept the spawn, the oyster being laid down on
the stones. I have shown these modes in the accompanying engravings.
Faggots of branches were also used to collect the spawn, which, as I
have already said, requires, within forty-eight hours of its emission,
to secure a holding-on place or be lost for ever. The plan of the
Fusaro oyster-breeders struck M. Coste as being eminently practical
and suitable for imitation on the coasts of France: he had one of the
stakes pulled up, and was gratified to find it covered with oysters
of all ages and sizes. The Lake Fusaro system of cultivation was
therefore, at the instigation of Professor Coste, strongly recommended
for imitation by the French Government to the French people, as being
the most suitable to follow, and experiments were at once entered upon
with a view to prove whether it would be as practicable to cultivate
oysters as easily among the agitated waves of the open sea as in
the quiet waters of Fusaro. In order to settle this point, it was
determined to renew the old oyster-beds in the Bay of St. Brieuc, and
notwithstanding the fact that the water there is exceedingly deep and
the winds very violent, immediate and almost miraculous success was
the result. The fascines laid down soon became covered with seed, and
branches were speedily exhibited at Paris, and other places, containing
thousands of young oysters. The experiments in oyster-culture tried at
St. Brieuc were commenced early in the spring of 1859, on part of a
space of 3000 acres that was deemed suitable for the reception of spat.
A quantity of breeding oysters, approaching to three millions, was
laid down either on the old beds or on newly-constructed longitudinal
banks; these were sown thick on a bottom composed chiefly of immense
quantities of old shells—the “middens” of Cancale in fact, where the
shell accumulation had become a nuisance—so that there was a more than
ordinary good chance for the spat finding at once a proper holding-on
place. Then again, over some of the new banks, fascines made of boughs
tightly tied together were sunk and chained over the beds, so as to
intercept such portions of the spawn as were likely, upon rising, to
be carried away by the force of the tide. In less than six months the
success of the operation in the Bay of St. Brieuc was assured; for, at
the proper season, a great fall of spawn had occurred, and the bottom
shells were covered with the spat, while the fascines were so thickly
coated with young oysters that an estimate of 20,000 for each fascine
was not thought an exaggeration.

In a piscicultural report for 1860, we obtain, in connection with the
St. Brieuc experiments, an idea of the cost of oyster-breeding, which
I translate for the benefit of people at home:—“The total expenses
for forming a bank were 221 francs; and if the 300 fascines laid down
upon it be multiplied by 20,000 (the number of oysters they contain),
6,000,000 will be obtained, which, if sold at twenty francs a thousand,
will produce 120,000 francs. If, however, the number of oysters on a
fascine were to be reckoned at only 10,000, the sum of 60,000 francs
would be received, which, for an expenditure of only 221 francs, would
give a larger profit than any other branch of industry.”

Twelve months, however, before the date of the experiments I have
been describing at St. Brieuc, the artificial culture of oysters had
successfully commenced on another part of the coast—namely, the Ile de
Re off the shore of the lower Charente (near la Rochelle), in the Bay
of Biscay, which may now be designated the capital of French oysterdom,
having more _parcs_ and _claires_ than Marennes, Arcachon, Concarneau,
Cancale, and all the rest of the coast put together, and which, before
it became celebrated for its oyster-growing, was only known in common
with other places in France for its successful culture of the vine. It
is curious to note the rapid growth of the industry of oyster-culture
on the Ile de Re. It was begun so recently as 1858, and there are now
upwards of 4000 parks and claires upon its shores, and the people may
be seen as busy in their fish-parks as the market-gardeners of Kent in
their strawberry-beds. Oyster-farming on the Ile was inaugurated by a
stone-mason having the curious name of Beef.

This shrewd fellow, who was a keen observer of nature, and had seen
the oyster-spat grow to maturity, began thinking of oyster-culture
simultaneously with Professor Coste, and wondering if it could be
carried out on those portions of the public foreshore that were left
dry by the ebb of the waters. He determined to try the experiment on
a small scale, so as to obtain a practical solution of his “idea,”
and, with this view, he enclosed a small portion of the foreshore of
the island by building a rough dyke about eighteen inches in height.
In this park he laid down a few bushels of growing oysters, placing
amongst them a quantity of large stones, which he gathered out of the
surrounding mud. This initiatory experiment was so successful, that in
the course of a year he was able to sell £6 worth of oysters from his
stock. This result was of course very encouraging to the enterprising
mason, and the money was just in a sense found money, for the oysters
went on growing while he was at work at his own proper business as a
mason. Elated by the profit of his experiment, he proceeded to double
the proportions of his park, and by that means more than doubled his
oyster commerce, for, in 1861, he was able to dispose of upwards of
£20 worth, and this without impoverishing, in the least degree, his
breeding stock. He continued to increase the dimensions of his farm,
so that by 1862 his sales had increased to £40. As might have been
expected, Beefs neighbours had been carefully watching his experiments,
uttering occasional sneers no doubt at his enthusiasm, but, for all
that, quite ready to go and do likewise whenever the success of the
industrious mason’s experiments became sufficiently developed to
show that they were profitable as well as practical. After Beef had
demonstrated the practicability of oyster-farming, the extension
of the system over the foreshores of the island, between Point de
Rivedoux and Point de Lome, was rapid and effective; so much so that
two hundred beds were conceded by the Government previous to 1859,
while an additional five hundred beds were speedily laid down, and
in 1860 large quantities of brood were sold to the oyster-farmers at
Marennes, for the purpose of being manufactured into green oysters in
their claires on the banks of the river Seudre. The first sales after
cultivation had become general amounted to £126, and the next season
the sum reached in sales was upwards of £500, and these moneys, be it
observed, were for very young oysters; because, from an examination
of the dates, it will at once be seen that the brood had not had time
to grow to any great size. So rapid indeed has been the progress of
oyster-culture at the Ile de Re that what were formerly a series of
enormous and unproductive mud-banks, occupying a stretch of shore about
four leagues in length, are now so transformed, and the whole place so
changed, that it seems the work of a miracle. Various gentlemen who
have inspected these farms for the cultivation of oysters speak with
great hopefulness about the success of the experiment. Mr. Ashworth, so
well known for his success as a salmon fisher and breeder in Ireland,
tells me that oyster-farming on the shores of the French coast is
one of the greatest industrial facts of the present age, and thinks
that oyster-farming will in the end be even more profitable than
salmon-breeding. There is only one drawback connected with these and
all other sea-farms in France: the farmers, we regret to say, are only
“tenants at will,”[14] and liable at any moment to be ejected; but
notwithstanding this disadvantage the work of oyster-culture still goes
bravely forward, and it is calculated, in spite of the bad spatting of
the last three years, that there is a stock of oysters in the beds on
the Ile de Re—accumulated in only six years—of the value of upwards of
£100,000.

[Illustration: OYSTER-PARKS.]

Much hard work had no doubt to be endured before such a scene of
industry could be thoroughly organised. When the great success of
Beef’s experiments had been proclaimed in the neighbourhood, a little
army of about a thousand labourers came down from the interior of
the country and took possession, along with the native fishermen, of
the shores, portions of which were conceded to them by the French
Government at a nominal rent of about a franc a week, for the purpose
of being cultivated as oyster parks and claires. The most arduous duty
of these men consisted in clearing off the mud, which lay on the shore
in large quantities, and which is fatal to the oyster in its early
stages; but this had to be done before the shores could be turned to
the purpose for which they were wished. After this preliminary business
had been accomplished, the rocks had to be blasted in order to find
stones for the construction of the park-walls; then these had to be
built, and the ground had also to be paved in a rough and ready kind
of way; foot-roads had also to be arranged for the convenience of
the farmers, and carriage-ways had likewise to be made to admit of
the progress of vehicles through the different farms. Ditches had to
be contrived to carry off the mud; the parks had to be stocked with
breeding oysters, and to be kept carefully free from the various kinds
of sea animals that prey upon the oyster; and many other daily duties
had to be performed that demanded the minute attention of the owners.
But all obstacles were in time overcome, and some of the breeders have
been so very successful of late years as to be offered a sum of £100
for the brood attached to twelve of their rows of stones, the cost
of laying these down being about two hundred francs! To construct an
oyster-bed thirty yards square costs about £12 of English money, and
it has been calculated that the return from some of the beds has been
as high as 1000 per cent! The whole industry of the Ile is wonderful
when it is considered that it has been all organised in a period of
seven years. Except a few privately-kept oysters, there was no oyster
establishment on the island previous to 1858.

The following authentic statistics, collected by Mr. Thomas Ashworth,
of the oyster industry of the island of Re, when only in the fourth
year of culture, may prove interesting to my readers:—

Parks for collecting spawn and breeding 2,424
Fattening-ponds (claires) 839
Supposed number of oysters in parks 74,242,038
Aggregate number in the claires 1,026,282
Revenue of the parks 1,086,230 francs.
Revenue of the claires 40,015 ”
Hectares of ground in parks and claires 146
Proprietors of beds 1,700

[Illustration: OYSTER-CLAIRES.]

Some gentlemen from the island of Jersey who visited Re report that
an incredible quantity of oysters has been produced on that shore,
which a few years ago was of no value, so that this branch of industry
now realises an extraordinary revenue, and spreads comfort among a
large number of families who were previously in a state of comparative
indigence. But more interesting even than the material prosperity that
has attended the introduction of this industry into the island of Re is
the moral success that has accrued to the experiment. Excellent laws
have been enacted by the oyster-farmers themselves for the government
of the colony. A kind of parliament has been devised for carrying on
arguments as to oyster-culture, and to enable the four communities,
into which the population has been divided, to communicate to each
other such information as may be found useful for the general good
of all engaged in oyster-farming. Three delegates from each of the
communities are elected to conduct the general business, and to
communicate with the Department of Marine when necessary.

A small payment is made by every farmer as a contribution to the
general expense, while each division of the community employs a special
watchman to guard the crops, and see that all goes on with propriety
and good faith; and although each of the oyster-farmers of the Ile
de Re cultivates his own park or claire for his own sole profit and
advantage, they most willingly obey the general laws that have been
enacted for the good of the community. It is pleasant to note this.
We cannot help being gratified at the happy moral results of this
wonderful industry, and it will readily be supposed that with both
vine-culture (for the islanders have fine vineyards) and oyster-culture
to attend to, these farmers are kept very busy. Indeed, the growing
commerce—the export of the oysters, and the import of other commodities
for the benefit of so industrious a population—incidental to such an
immense growth of shell-fish as can be carried on in the 4000 parks
and claires which stud the foreground of Re must be arduous; but as
the labour is highly remunerative, the labourers have great cause for
thankfulness. It is right, however, to state that, with all the care
that can be exercised, there is still an enormous amount of waste
consequent on the artificial system of culture; the present calculation
is, that even with the best possible mode of culture the average of
reproduction is as yet only fourteenfold; but it is hoped by those
interested that a much larger ratio of increase will be speedily
attained. This is desirable, as prices have gone on steadily increasing
since the time that Beef first experimented. In 1859 the sales were
effected at about the rate of fifteen shillings per bushel, for the
lowest qualities—the highest being double that price; these were for
fattening in the claires, and when sold again they brought from two to
three pounds per bushel.

One of the most lucrative branches of foreign oyster-farming may be
now described—_i.e._ the manufacture of the celebrated green oysters.
The greening of oysters, many of which are brought from the Ile de Re
parks, is extensively carried on at Marennes, on the banks of the river
Seudre, and this particular branch of oyster industry, which extends
for leagues along the river, and is also sanctioned by free grants
from the state, has some features that are quite distinct from those
we have been considering, as the green oyster is of considerably more
value than the common white oyster. The peculiar colour and taste of
the green oyster are imparted to it by the vegetable substances which
grow in the beds where it is manipulated. This statement, however, is
scarcely an answer to the question of “why,” or rather “how,” do the
oysters become green? Some people maintain that the oyster green is
a disease of the liver-complaint kind, whilst there are others who
attribute the green colour to a parasite that overgrows the mollusc.
But the mode of culture adopted is in itself a sufficient answer to
the question. The industry carried on at Marennes consists chiefly of
the fattening in claires, and the oysters operated upon are at one
period of their lives as white as those which are grown at any other
place; indeed it is only after being steeped for a year or two in the
muddy ponds of the river Seudre that they attain their much-prized
green hue. The enclosed ponds for the manufacture of these oysters—and,
according to all epicurean authority, the green oyster becomes “_the_
oyster _par excellence_”—require to be watertight, for they are not
submerged by the sea, except during very high tides. Each claire is
about one hundred feet square. The walls for retaining the waters
require therefore to be very strong; they are composed of low but broad
banks of earth, five or six feet thick at the base and about three feet
in height. These walls are also useful as forming a promenade on which
the watchers or workers can walk to and fro and view the different
ponds. The flood-gates for the admission of the tide require also to
be thoroughly watertight and to fit with great precision, as the stock
of oysters must always be kept covered with water; but a too frequent
flow of the tide over the ponds is not desirable, hence the walls,
which serve the double purpose of both keeping in and keeping out the
water. A trench or ditch is cut in the inside of each pond for the
better collection of the green slime left at each flow of the tide, and
many tidal inundations are necessary before the claire is thoroughly
prepared for the reception of its stock. When all these matters of
construction and slime-collecting have been attended to, the oysters
are then scattered over the ground, and left to fatten. When placed in
these greening claires they are usually from twelve to sixteen months
old, and they must remain for a period of two years at least before
they can be properly greened, and if left a year longer they are all
the better; for I maintain that an oyster should be at least about
four years old before it is sent to table. In a privately-printed
pamphlet on the French oyster-fisheries, sent to me by Mr. Ashworth,
it is stated that oysters deposited in the claires for feeding possess
the same powers of reproduction as those kept in the breeding-ponds.
“Their progeny is deposited in the same profusion, but that progeny not
coming in contact with any solid body, it inevitably perishes, unless
it can attach itself to the vertical sides of some erection.” A very
great deal of attention must be devoted to the oysters while they are
in the greening-pond, and they must be occasionally shifted from one
pond to another to ensure perfect success. Many of the oyster-farmers
of Marennes have two or three claires suitable for their purpose. The
trade in these green oysters is very large, and they are found to be
both palatable and safe, the greening matter being furnished by the
sea. Some of the breeders or rather manufacturers of green oysters,
anxious to be soon rich, content themselves with placing adult oysters
only in these claires, and these become green in a very short time,
and thus enable the operator to have several crops in a year without
very much trouble. The claires of Marennes furnish about fifty millions
of green oysters per annum, and these are sold at very remunerative
prices, yielding an annual revenue of something like two and a half
millions of francs.

As to the kind of ground most suitable for oyster-growth, Dr. Kemmerer,
of St. Martin’s (Ile de Re), an enthusiast in oyster-culture, gives
us a great many useful hints. I have summarised a portion of his
information:—The artificial culture of the oyster may be considered to
have solved an important question—namely, that the oyster continues
fruitful after it is transplanted from its natural abode in the deep
sea to the shores. This removal retards but never hinders fecundation.
The sea oyster, however, is the most prolific, as the water at a
considerable depth is always tranquil, which is a favourable point in
oyster-growth; but the shore oyster-banks will also be very productive,
having two chances of replenishment—namely, from the parent oysters in
the _parcs_, and from those currents that may float seed from banks
in the sea. Muddy ground is excellent for the _growth_ of oysters;
they grow in such localities very quickly, and become saleable in a
comparatively short space of time. Dry rocky ground is not so suitable
for the young oyster, as it does not find a sufficiency of food upon
it, and consequently languishes and dies. Marl is the most esteemed,
and on it the oyster is said to become perfect in form and excellent in
flavour. In the marl the young oyster finds plenty of food, constant
heat, and perfect quiet. Wherever there is mud and sun there will be
found the little molluscs, crustacea, and swimming infusoria, which are
the food of the oyster. The culture of the oyster in the mud-ponds and
in the marl—a culture which ought some day to become general—changes
completely its qualities; the albumen becomes fatty, yellow or green,
oily, and of an exquisite flavour. The animal and phosphorus matter
increases, as does the osmozone. This oyster, when fed, becomes
exquisite food. In effecting the culture of the sea-shores and of the
marl-ponds, I am pursuing a practical principle of great importance, by
the conversion of millions of shore oysters, squandered without profit,
into food for public consumption. The green oyster, to this day, has
only been regarded as a luxury for the tables of the rich; but, as I
have indicated, there are an immense number of farms or ponds on the
Seudre, and I would like to see it used as food by everyone.

The French oyster-farmers are happy and prosperous. The wives assist
their husbands in all the lighter labours, such as separating and
arranging the oysters previous to their being placed on the claires. It
is also their duty to sell the oysters; and for this purpose they leave
their home about the end of August and proceed to a particular town,
there to await and dispose of such quantities of shell-fish as their
husbands may forward to them. In this they resemble the fisherwomen of
other countries. The Scotch fishwives do all the business connected
with the trade carried on by their husbands; it is the husbands’ duty
to capture the fish only, and the moment they come ashore their duties
cease, and those of their wives and daughters begin with the sale and
barter of the fish.

Before going farther, it may be stated that the best mode of receiving
the spawn of the oyster has not been determined. M. Coste, whose advice
is well worthy of being followed, recommended the adoption of fascines
of brushwood to be fixed over the natural oyster-beds in order to
intercept the young ones; others again, as we have just seen, have
adopted the parcs, and have successfully caught the spawn on dykes
constructed for that purpose; but Dr. Kemmerer has invented a tile,
which he covers with some kind of composition that can, when occasion
requires, be easily peeled off, so that the crop of oysters that may
be gathered upon it can be transferred from place to place with the
greatest possible ease, and this plan is useful for the transference
of the oyster from the collecting _parc_ to the fattening _claire_.
The annexed drawing will give an idea of the Doctor’s invention. The
composition and the adhering oyster may all be stripped off in one
piece, and the tile may be coated for future use. Tiles are exceedingly
useful in aiding the oyster-breeder to avoid the natural enemies of
the oyster, which are very numerous, especially at the periods when
it is young and tender. The oysters may be peeled off the tiles when
they are six or seven months old. Spat-collectors of wood have also
been tried with considerable success. Hitherto these tiles have been
very successful, although it is thought by experienced breeders that
no bottom for oysters is so good as the natural one of “cultch,” as
the old oyster-shells are called, but the tile is often of service in
catching the “floatsome,” as the dredgers call the spawn, and to secure
that should be one of the first objects of the oyster-farmer.

[Illustration: OYSTER-TILES.]

We glean from these proceedings of the French pisciculturists the
most valuable lessons for the improvement and conduct of our British
oyster-parks. If, as seems to be pretty certain, each matured oyster
yields about two millions of young per annum, and if the greater
proportion of these can be saved by being afforded a permanent
resting-place, it is clear that, by laying down a few thousand
breeders, we may, in the course of a year or two, have, at any place
we wish, a large and reproductive oyster-farm. With reference to
the question of growth, Coste tells us that stakes which had been
fixed for a period of thirty months in the lake of Fusaro were quite
loaded with oysters when they came to be removed. These were found to
embrace a growth of three seasons. Those of the first year’s spawning
were ready for the market; the second year’s brood were a good deal
smaller; whilst the remainder were not larger than a lentil. To attain
miraculous crops similar to those once achieved in the Bay of St.
Brieuc, or at the Ile de Re, little more is required than to lay down
the spawn in a nice rocky bay, or in a place paved for the purpose,
and having as little mud about it as possible. A place that had a good
stream of water flowing into it is the most desirable, so that the
flock might procure food of a varied and nutritious kind. A couple of
hundred stakes driven into the soft places of the shore, between high
and low water mark, and these well supplied with branches held together
by galvanised iron wire (common rope would soon become rotten), would,
in conjunction with the rocky ground, afford capital holding-on places,
so that any quantity of spawn might, in time, be developed into fine
“natives,” or “whiskered pandores.” There are hundreds of places on the
English and Irish coasts where such farms could be advantageously laid
down.

As showing the productiveness of some of the French oyster-beds, it
may be stated that 350,000 oysters were obtained in the space of an
hour from the Plessix bed, which is half a mile from the port of
Auray; and, within a month or two after the opening of those beds,
upwards of twenty millions were brought into port, giving employment
to 1200 fishermen. The gentlemen from Jersey who explored the French
oyster-beds saw in the bay of Arcachon, at Testé, many beds which were
highly productive. One man had laid down 500,000 oysters, and these he
estimated had increased in three years to seven millions! I may just
be allowed to give here one other illustration of oyster-growth; the
figures appertain to the Ile de Re: “The inspectors recently counted
600 full-grown oysters to the square metre, and seeing that 630,000
square metres are now under cultivation, it follows that the oysters
on this tract of desert mud are worth from six to eight millions of
francs, the total crop being (at the time spoken of) 378,000,000 of
oysters!”

A large oyster-farm requires a great deal of careful attention, and
several people are necessary to keep it in order. If the farm be
planted in a bay where the water is very shallow, there is great danger
of the stock suffering from frost; and again, if the brood be laid
down in very deep water, the oysters do not fatten or grow rapidly
enough for profit. In dredging, the whole of the oysters, as they are
hauled on board, should be carefully examined and picked; all below a
certain size ought to be returned to the water till their beards have
grown large enough. In winter, if the beds be in shallow water, the
tender brood must be placed in a pit for protection from the frost;
which of course takes up a great deal of time. Dead oysters ought
to be carefully removed from the beds. The proprietors of private
“layings” are generally careful on this point, and put themselves
to great trouble every spring to lift or overhaul all their stock
in order to remove the dead or diseased. Mussels must be carefully
rooted out from the beds; otherwise they would in a short time render
them valueless. The layings for example, of Mr. David Plunkett, in
Killery Bay, for which he had a licence from the Irish Board of
Fisheries, were overrun by mussels, and so rendered almost valueless.
The weeding and tending of an oyster-bed requires, therefore, much
labour, and involves either a partnership of several people—which is
usual enough, as at Whitstable—or at least the employment of several
dredgermen and labourers. But, for all that, an oyster-farm may be made
a most lucrative concern. As a guide to the working of a very large
oyster-farm—say a concern of £70,000 a year or thereabout—I shall give
immediately some data of the Whitstable Free Dredgers’ Company; but I
wish first to say that the organisation which is constantly at work
for supplying the great metropolis with oysters is more perfect than
can be said of any other branch of the fish trade. In oyster-culture
we approach in some degree to the French, although we do not, as they
do, except as regards the new company, begin at the beginning and plant
the seed. All that we have yet achieved is the art of nursing the young
“brood,” and of dividing and keeping separate the different kinds of
oysters. This is done in parks or farms on various portions of the
coasts of Kent and Essex, and the whole process, from beginning to end,
may be viewed at Whitstable, where there is a large oyster-ground and
a fine fleet of boats kept for the purpose of dredging and planting.
I have already stated that the Whitstable oyster-beds are held as by
a joint-stock company, into which, however, there is no other way of
entrance than by birth, as none but the free dredgermen of the town
can hold shares. When a man dies his interest in the company dies with
him, but his widow—if he was a married man—obtains a pension. The
sales from the public and private beds of Whitstable sometimes attain
a total of £200,000 per annum. The business of the company is managed
by twelve directors, who are known as “the Jury.” The stock of oysters
held in the private layings of the company is said to be of the value
of £200,000. The extent of the public and other oyster-ground at
Whitstable is about twenty-seven square miles.

The oyster-farm of Whitstable is a co-operation in the best sense of
the term, and has been in existence for a long period. The layings at
Whitstable occupy about a mile and a half square, and the oyster-beds
there have been so very prosperous as to have attained the name of
the “happy fishing-grounds.” At Whitstable, Faversham, and adjoining
grounds, not counting a large surface granted to a newly-formed
company, a space of twenty-seven square miles, as I have mentioned
above, is taken up in oyster-farms, and the industry carried on in
this space of ground involves the annual earning and expenditure of a
very large sum of money. Over 3000 people are employed in the various
industries connected with the fishery, who earn capital wages all the
year round—the sum paid for labour by the different companies being set
down at over £160,000 per annum; and in addition to this expenditure
for wages, there is likewise a large sum of money annually expended
for the repairing and purchasing of boats, sails, dredges, and other
implements used in oyster-fishing. At Whitstable the course of work
is as follows:—The business of the company is to feed oysters for the
London and other markets; for this purpose they buy brood or spat,
and lay it down in their beds to grow. When the company’s own oysters
produce a spat—that is, when the spawn, or “floatsome” as the dredgers
call it, emitted from their own beds falls upon their own ground—it is
of great benefit to them, as it saves purchases of brood to the extent
of what has fallen; but this falling of the spat is in a great degree
accidental, for no rule can be laid down as to whether the oysters will
spawn in any particular year, or where the spawn may be carried to.
No artificial contrivances of the kind known in France have yet been
used at Whitstable for the saving of the spawn. I will now explain,
before going further, the ratio of oyster-growth. While in the spat
state it is calculated that a bushel measure will contain 25,000
oysters. When the spawn is two years old it is called brood, and while
in this condition a bushel measure will hold 5500. In the next stage
of growth, oysters are called ware, and it takes about 2000 of them to
fill the bushel. In the final or oyster stage a bushel contains about
1500 individuals. Very large sums have been paid in some years by the
Whitstable company for brood with which to stock their grounds, great
quantities being collected from the Essex side, there being a number of
people who derive a comfortable income from collecting oyster-brood on
the public foreshores, and disposing of it to persons who have private
nurseries, or oyster-layings as these are locally called. The grounds
of Pont are particularly fruitful in spat, and yield large quantities
to all that require it. Pont is an open space of water, sixteen miles
long by three broad, free to all; about one hundred and fifty boats,
each with crews of three or four men, find constant employment upon
it, in obtaining young oysters, which they sell to the neighbouring
oyster-farmers, although it is certain that the brood thus freely
obtained must have floated out of beds belonging to the purchasers. The
price of brood is often as high as forty shillings per bushel, and it
is the sum obtained over this cost price that must be looked to for the
paying of wages and the realisation of profit. Oysters have risen in
price very much of late years, and brood has also, in consequence of
the scarcity of spat, been proportionally high.

Whitstable oyster-beds are “worked” with great industry, and it is
the process of “working” that gives employment to so many people, and
improves the Whitstable oysters so much beyond those found on the
natural beds, which are known as “Commons,” in contradistinction to
the bred oysters of Whitstable and other grounds, which are called
“Natives.” These latter are justly considered to be of superior
flavour, although no particular reason can be given for their being
so, and indeed in many instances they are not natives at all—that is
in the sense of being spatted on the ground—but are, on the contrary,
a grand mixture of all kinds of oysters, brood being brought from
Prestonpans and Newhaven in the Firth of Forth, and from many other
places, to augment the stock. The so-called “native” oysters—and the
name is usually applied to all that are bred in the estuary of the
Thames—are very large in flesh, succulent and delicate in flavour,
and fetch a much higher price than any other oyster. The beds of
natives are all situated on the London clay, or on similar formations.
There can, however, be no doubt that the difference in flavour and
quantity of flesh is obtained by the Thames system of transplanting
and working that is vigorously carried on over all the beds. Every
year the whole extent of the layings is gone over and examined by
means of the dredge; successive portions are dredged over day by day,
till it may be said that almost every individual oyster is examined.
On the occasion of these examinations, the brood is detached from the
cultch, double oysters are separated, and all kinds of enemies—and
these are very numerous—are seized upon and killed. It requires about
eight men per acre to work the beds effectually. During three days a
week, dredging for what is called the “planting” is carried on; that
is, the transference of the oysters from one place to another, as may
be thought suitable for their growth, and also the removing of dead
ones, the clearing away of mussels, and so on. On the other three days
of the week it becomes the duty of the men to dredge for the London
market, when only so many are lifted as are required. A bell is carried
round and rung every morning to rouse the dredgers whose turn it is
for duty, and who at a given signal start to do their portion of the
work. As to this working of the oyster-beds, an eminent authority has
said it is utterly useless to enclose a piece of ground and simply
plant it; it is utterly useless to throw a lot of oysters down amongst
every state of filth. You must keep constantly dredging, not only the
bed itself, but the public beds outside, so as to keep the bottom fit
for the reception and growth of the young oysters, and free of its
multitudinous natural enemies.

It may as well be explained here also, that what are called native
beds are all cultivated beds; the natural beds are uncultivated, and
are generally public and free to all comers. The Colne beds, however,
are an exception: they are natural beds, but are held by the city of
Colchester as property. Whenever a new bed is discovered anywhere
nowadays, the run upon it is so great that it is at once despoiled
of its shelly treasures; and the native beds would soon become
exhausted if they were not systematically conducted on sound commercial
principles, and regularly replenished with brood.

As regards the oyster-cultivation of the river Colne, some interesting
statistics have been recently made public at Colchester by Councillor
Hawkins. That gentleman tells us that oyster-brood increases fourfold
in three years. The quantity of oysters in a London bushel is as
follows:—First year, _spat_, number not ascertainable; second year,
_brood_, 6400; third year, _ware_, 2400; fourth year, _oysters_, 1600;
therefore, four wash of brood (_i.e._ four pecks), purchased at say
5s. per wash, increase by growth and corresponding value to 42s. per
bushel, or a sum of eight guineas. The Whitstable dredgers, it is said,
drew £60,000 for their oysters in 1860—viz. £10,000 for “commons,” and
£50,000 for “natives;” but out of this sum they had of course to pay
for “brood.” The gross amount received by the Colne Fishery Company for
oysters sold during the last ten years, ending at July 1862, appears
by the treasurer’s account to have been £83,000; the average annual
produce of the Colne Fishery Company having been 4374 bushels for
that period. However, the quantity obtained from the river Colne by
the company bears but a small proportion to the yield from private
layings, which are in general only a few acres in extent. “The private
layings,” however, we are told, “cannot fairly be made the measure of
productiveness for a large fishery; as they may be compared to a garden
in a high state of cultivation, while the fishery generally is better
represented by a large tract of land but partially reclaimed from a
state of nature.” The difference in cost of working a big fishery and
a little one seems to be great. One of the owners of a private laying
states that, when the expense of dredging or lifting the oysters
exceeded 4s. per bushel, he gave up working, while in the Colne Fishery
dredgermen are never paid less than 12s., and sometimes as high as 40s.
a bushel. The Colne Company is managed by a jury of twelve, appointed
by the water-bailiff, who is under the jurisdiction of the corporation
of Colchester. Whenever it is time to begin the season’s operations,
the jury meet and take stock of the oysters on hand, fix the price at
which sales are to be made, and regulate the charge for dredging, which
is paid by the wash. Under direction of the jury, the foreman of the
company sets the daily stint to the men; and so the work, which is very
light, goes pleasantly forward from season to season.

As showing in a tabular form the ratio of oyster-reproduction, I here
subjoin, from the Irish Oyster Blue Book, edited by Mr. Barry, a “Table
showing the estimated annual rate of development and increase of value,
calculated at fourfold, during a period of four years, of a breeding
oyster-bed of the extent of one acre, situated in the Thames estuary,
capable of producing a good quality of ‘natives,’ and stocked with 1000
bushels of oysters, of 1600 each:”—

FIRST YEAR.

256 bushels containing each 25,000 oysters, 1st year’s
spawn, in 1st year of growth, spat at 20s. per
bushel £ 256

SECOND YEAR.

1000 bushels, containing each 6400 oysters, 1st year’s
spawn, in 2d year of growth, brood at 25s. per
bushel £1,250

256 bushels, containing each 25,000 oysters, 2d year’s
spawn, in 1st year of growth, spat at 20s. per
bushel 256
—————- £1,506

THIRD YEAR.

2667 bushels, containing each 2400 oysters, 1st year’s
spawn, in 3d year of growth, ware at 30s. per
bushel £4,000

1000 bushels, containing each 6400 oysters, 2d year’s
spawn, in 2d year of growth, brood at 25s. per
bushel 1,250

256 bushels, containing each 25,000 oysters, 3d year’s
spawn, in 1st year of growth, spat at 20s. per
bushel 256
—————- 5,502

FOURTH YEAR.

4000 bushels containing each 1600 oysters, 1st year’s
spawn, in 4th year of growth, oysters at 35s. per
bushel £7,000

2667 bushels containing each 2400 oysters, 2d year’s
spawn, in 3d year of growth, ware at 30s. per
bushel 4,000

1000 bushels containing each 6400 oysters, 3d year’s
spawn, in 2d year of growth, brood at 25s. per
bushel 2,500

256 bushels containing each 25,000 oysters, 4th year’s
spawn, in 1st year of growth, spat at 20s. per
bushel 256
———-—— 13,756

At Faversham, Queenborough, and Rochester, there is a large commerce
carried on in this particular shell-fish. In others of the “parks” at
these places, “natives” are grown in perfection. The company of the
burghers of Queenborough grow the fine Milton oyster so well known to
the connoisseur, and the company’s beds are well attended to. I may
note the Faversham Company, said to be the oldest among the Thames
companies, having been in existence for a few centuries. All of these
companies grow the “natives,” and I may explain that the portion of the
beds set apart for the rearing of “natives” is as sacred as the waxen
cells devoted to the growth of queen bees, and the coarser denizens of
the mid-channel are not allowed to be mixed therewith. The management
of all the Kent and Essex oyster companies is pretty much the same, but
there are also gentlemen who trade solely upon their own account; there
is Mr. Allston, for instance, a London oyster-merchant, who keeps his
own fleet of vessels, and does a very large business in this particular
shell-fish.

The demand for native and other oysters by the Londoners alone is
something wonderful, and constitutes of itself a large branch of
commerce—as the numerous gaily-lit shell-fish shops of the Strand
and Haymarket will testify. These emporiums for the sale of oysters
and stout are mostly fed through Billingsgate, which is the chief
piscatorial bourse of the great metropolis. It is not easy to arrive
at correct statistics of what London requires in the way of oysters;
but, if we set the number down as being nearly 800,000,000 we shall
not be very far wrong. To provide these, the dredgermen or fisher
people at Colchester, and other places on the Essex and Kent coasts,
prowl about the sea-shore and pick up all the little oysters they can
find—these ranging from the size of a threepenny-piece to a shilling;
and persons and companies having layings purchase them to be nursed
and fattened for the table, as already described. At other places the
spawn itself is collected, by picking it from the pieces of stone, or
the old oyster-shells to which it may have adhered; and it is nourished
in pits, as at Burnham, for the purpose of being sold to the Whitstable
people, who carefully lay that brood in their grounds. A good idea of
the oyster-traffic may be obtained from the fact that, in some years,
the Whitstable men have paid £30,000 for brood, in order to keep up
the stock of their far-famed oysters. Mr. Hawkins says that he knows a
man who is proprietor of only three acres of oyster-layings, and yet
from that confined area he annually sells from 1500 to 2000 wash of the
best native oysters.

The chief centre in England for the distribution of oysters is
Billingsgate, and the countless thousands of bushels of this
molluscous dainty which find their way through “Oyster Street” to
this Fish Exchange mark the everlasting demand. Oysters are sold by
the bushel, and every measure is made to pay a toll of fourpence, and
another sum of a like amount for carriage to the shore. All oysters
sold at Billingsgate are liable to this eightpenny tax. The London
oysters—and I regret to say it, for there is nothing finer than a
genuine oyster—are sophisticated in the cellars of the buyers, by being
stuffed with oatmeal till the flavour is all but lost in the fat.
The flavour of oysters—like the flavour of all other animals—depends
on their feeding. The fine _goût_ of the highly-relished Prestonpans
oysters is said to be derived from the fact of their feeding on the
refuse liquor which flows from the saltpans of that neighbourhood. I
have eaten of fine oysters taken from a bank that was visited by a
rather questionable stream of water; they were very large, fat, and
of exquisite flavour, the shell being more than usually well filled
with “meat.” What the London oysters gain in fat by artificial feeding
they assuredly lose in flavour. The harbour of Kinsale (a receptacle
for much filth) used to be remarkable for the size and flavour of its
oysters. The beds occupied the whole harbour, and the oysters there
were at one time very plentiful, and far exceeded the Cork oysters in
fame (and they have long been famous); but they were so overfished as
to be long since used up, much to the loss of the Irish people, who are
particularly fond of oysters, and delight in their “Pooldoodies” and
“Red-banks” as much as the English and Scotch do in their “Natives”
and “Pandores.”

The far-famed Scottish oysters obtained near Edinburgh, and once so
cheap, are becoming scarce and dear, and the scalps or beds are being
so rapidly overfished that, in a short time, if the devastation be
not at once stopped, the pandore and Newhaven oysters will soon be
but names. Some of the greediest of the dredgermen actually capture
the brood, and, barrelling it up, send it away to Holland and other
places, to supply the artificial beds now being constructed off that
coast. English buyers also come and pick up all they can procure for
the Manchester and other markets. Thus there is an inducement, in the
shape of a good price, to the Newhaven men to spoliate the beds—another
illustration of “killing the goose for the golden egg.” The growth of
the railway system has also extended the Newhaven men’s market. Before
the railway period very few boats went out at the same time to dredge;
then oysters were very plentiful—so plentiful, in fact, that three
men in a boat could, with ease, procure 3000 oysters in a couple of
hours; but now, so great is the change in the productiveness of the
scalps, that three men consider it an excellent day’s work to procure
about the fifth part of that quantity. The Newhaven oyster-beds lie
between Inchkeith and Newhaven, and belong to the city of Edinburgh,
and were given in charge to the free fishermen of that village, on
certain conditions, which are at present systematically disregarded.
The rental paid by the Newhaven men to the city is £10 per annum, and
a sum of £25 per annum is paid by the same parties for the use of the
oyster-beds belonging to the Duke of Buccleuch, which are also situated
in the Firth of Forth, just off the port of Granton; and besides these
there are one or two beds in the Firth of Forth of considerable size
belonging to the crown, which have been also worked by the Newhaven
men. The beds are of great extent, and years ago used to yield for
the consumption of the city of Edinburgh from six to eight thousand
oysters a day, but I question very much if we shall obtain anything
like that quantity during this present season. The proprietor of the
most popular Edinburgh tavern experiences the greatest difficulty
in obtaining oysters; and I take this opportunity of informing the
Lord Provost of that city that, in the course of a year or two, “Auld
Reekie” will, most probably, unless the authorities actively bestir
themselves in the matter, have to obtain her oysters from Colchester or
Whitstable. Last season (1864-65), thousands of barrels full of young
oysters were disposed off to English and foreign fishermen at the rate
of about 20s. a barrel. This, surely, is a state of things dreadful
for Scotchmen to contemplate. In former and more energetic times, the
municipal authorities of the modern Athens used to venture on a voyage
of exploration to view their scalps, and afterwards hold a feast of
shells, as they do yet at _some_ oyster towns on the annual opening of
the fishery.[15]

[Illustration: OYSTER-DREDGING AT COCKENZIE.]

The “pandore” oysters are principally obtained at the village of
Prestonpans and the neighbouring one of Cockenzie. Dredging for oysters
is a principal part of the occupation of the Cockenzie fishermen.
There are few lovers of this dainty mollusc who have not heard of
the “whiskered pandores.” The pandore oyster is so called because
of being found in the neighbourhood of the saltpans. It is a large
fine-flavoured oyster, as good as any “native” that ever was brought
to table, the Pooldoodies of Burran not excepted. The men of Cockenzie
derive a good portion of their annual income from the oyster traffic.
The pursuit of the oyster, indeed, forms a phase of fisher life there
as distinct as at Whitstable. The times for going out to dredge are
at high tide and low tide. The boats used are the smaller-sized ones
employed in the white fishery. The dredge somewhat resembles in shape a
common clasp-purse; it is formed of network, attached to a strong iron
frame, which serves to keep the mouth of the instrument open, and acts
also as a sinker, giving it a proper pressure as it travels along the
oyster-beds. When the boat arrives over the oyster-scalps, the dredge
is let down by a rope attached to the upper ring, and is worked by one
man, except in cases where the boat has to be sailed swiftly, when
two are employed. Of course, in the absence of wind recourse is had
to the oars. The tension upon the rope is the signal for hauling the
dredge on board, when the entire contents are emptied into the boat,
and the dredge returned to the water. These contents, not including the
oysters, are of a most heterogeneous kind—stones, seaweed, star-fish,
young lobsters, crabs, actinæ—all of which are usually returned
to the water, some of them being considered as the most fattening
ground-bait for the codfish. The whelks, clams, mussels, and cockles,
and occasionally the crabs, are used by the fishermen as bait for their
white-fish lines. Once, in a conversation with a veteran dredger as
to what strange things _might_ come in the dredge, he replied, “Well,
master, I don’t know what sort o’ curiosities we sometimes get; but
I have seen gentlemen like yourself go out with us a-dredgin’, and
take away big baskets full o’ things as was neither good for eating or
looking at. The Lord knows what they did with them.” During the whole
time that this dredging is being carried on, the crew keep up a wild
monotonous song, or rather chant, in which they believe much virtue to
lie. They assert that it charms the oysters into the dredge.

“The herring loves the merry moonlight,
The mackerel loves the wind;
But the oyster loves the dredger’s song,
For he comes of a gentle kind.”

Talking is strictly forbidden, so that all the required conversation
is carried on after the manner of the _recitative_ of an opera or
oratorio. An enthusiastic London _litterateur_ and musician, being on
a visit to Scotland, determined to carry back with him, among other
natural curiosities, the words and music of the oyster-dredging song.
But, after being exposed to the piercing east wind for six hours, and
jotting down the words and music of the dredgers, he found it all to
end in nothing; the same words were never used, the words were ever
changing. The oyster-scalps are gone over by the men much in the way
that a field is ploughed by an agricultural labourer, the boat going
and returning until sufficient oysters are secured, or a shift is made
to another bed.

The geographical distribution of oysters is most lavish; wherever there
is a seabord there will they be found. The old stories of ancient
mariners, who sailed the seas before the days of cheap literature, will
be recalled, and their boasted knowledge of the wonders of the fish
world—of oysters that grew on trees, and oysters so large that they
required to be carved just like a round of beef or quarter of lamb. All
these tales were formerly considered so many romances. Who believed
Uncle Jack when he gravely told his wondering nephews about oysters
as large as a soup-plate being found on the coast of Coromandel? But,
nevertheless, Uncle Jack’s stories have been found to be true: there
_are_ large oysters which require carving, and oysters _have_ been
plucked off trees. There are wonderful tales about oysters that have
been taken on the coast of Africa—plucked too from the very trees that
our good, but ignorant, forefathers did not believe in. The ancient
Romans, who knew all the secrets of good living, had the oysters of
all countries brought to their fish-stews, in order that they might
experiment upon them and fatten them for table purposes. Although they
gave the palm to those from Britain, they had a great many varieties
from Africa, and had ingenious modes of transporting them to great
distances which have been lost to modern pisciculturists.

Many other parts of America besides the New York district are famous
for oysters; and in some parts of the American Continent they grow to
a very large size. So important, in fact, do the Americans consider
the oyster, that it has been the subject of innumerable “messages” by
Governors, Vice-Presidents, heads of departments, etc.—the last we
have seen being that of Governor Wise to the Legislature of Virginia.
According to that gentleman’s estimate, Virginia possesses an area of
about 1,680,000 acres of oyster-beds, containing about 784,000,000 of
bushels of that one mollusc. It is estimated by some naturalists that
the oyster spawns at least 3,000,000 annually; yet, notwithstanding
this enormous productive power, and the vast extent of oyster-beds
in this one state, there is danger, the governor tells us, of the
oyster being exterminated, unless measures are taken to prevent
their being dredged at improper seasons of the year. Governor Wise
proposes to confine the oyster-catching business to citizens of the
state exclusively, and to charge three cents a bushel for all the
oysters taken, which he estimates would yield an annual revenue of
480,000 dollars. The governor is of opinion that the oyster-banks so
regulated will pay a better bonus to the state than paper-money banks,
and regards them as a richer source of profit than either gold, iron,
or copper mines. Another of the American States may be mentioned for
its oyster wealth. The seabord of Georgia is famed for its immense
supplies of that mollusc, great breakwaters being formed by oysters,
which keep off the sea from the land; in fact all over America the
oyster is to be found in great abundance. In New York and other cities
evidences are to be seen on all sides of the love of the people for
this favourite mollusc. Oyster-saloons abound in all the principal
streets, and each one appears to do more business than its neighbour.
In these saloons—most of which, though handsomely fitted up, are
situated underground in the basement of some of the great mercantile
establishments for which the chief cities of the Union are famed—the
cooking of oysters is carried on at all hours, and in all modes. A
writer who has described the traffic says: “Oysters pickled, stewed,
baked, roasted, fried, and scolloped; oysters made into soups, patties,
and puddings; oysters with condiments and without condiments; oysters
for breakfast, dinner, and supper; oysters without stint or limit—fresh
as the pure air, and almost as abundant—are daily offered to the
palates of the Manhattanese, and appreciated with all the gratitude
which such a bounty of nature ought to inspire.” So much for America.

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.

Shell-fish is the popular name bestowed by unscientific persons on
the crustacea and mollusca, and no other designation could so well
cover the multitudinous variety of forms which are embraced in these
extensive divisions of the animal kingdom. Fanciful disquisitions on
shell-fish and on marine zoology have been intruded on the public of
late till they have become somewhat tiresome; but as our knowledge of
the natural history of all kinds of sea animals, and particularly of
oysters, lobsters, crabs, etc., is decidedly on the increase, there is
yet room for all that I have to say on the subject of these dainties;
and there are still unexplored wonders of animal life in the fathomless
sea that deserve the deepest study.

The economic and productive phases of our shell-fish fisheries have
never yet, in my opinion, been sufficiently discussed, and when I state
that the power of multiplication possessed by all kinds of crustacea
and mollusca is even greater, if that be possible, than that possessed
by finned fishes, it will be obvious that there is much in their
natural history that must prove interesting even to the most general
reader. Each oyster, as we have seen, gives birth to almost incredible
quantities of young. Lobsters also have an amazing fecundity, and
yield an immense number of eggs—each female producing from twelve to
twenty thousand in a season; and the crab is likewise most prolific. I
lately purchased a crab weighing within an ounce of two pounds, and it
contained a mass of minute eggs equal in size to a man’s hand; these
were so minute that a very small portion of them, picked off with the
point of a pin, when placed on a bit of glass, and counted by the aid
of a powerful microscope, numbered over sixty, each appearing of the
size of a red currant, and not at all unlike that fruit: so far as I
could guess the eggs were not nearly ripe. I also examined about the
same time a quantity of shrimp eggs; and it is curious that, while
there are the cock and hen lobster, I never saw any difference in the
sex of the shrimps: all that I handled, amounting to hundreds, were
females, and all of them were laden with spawn, the eggs being so
minute as to resemble grains of the finest sand.

Although the crustacean family counts its varieties by thousands, and
contains members of all sizes, from minute animalculæ to gigantic
American crabs and lobsters, and ranges from the simplest to the most
complex forms, yet the edible varieties are not at all numerous. The
largest of these are the lobster (_Astacus marinus_) and the crab
(_Cancer pagurus_); and river and sea cray-fish may also be seen in
considerable quantities in London shell-fish shops; and as for common
shrimps (_Crangon vulgaris_) and prawns (_Palæmon serratis_), they are
eaten in myriads. The violet or marching crab of the West Indies, and
the robber crab common to the islands of the Pacific, are also esteemed
as great delicacies of the table, but are unknown in this country
except by reputation.

Leaving old and grave people to study the animal economy of the
larger crustacea, the juveniles may with advantage take a peep at the
periwinkles, the whelks, or other mollusca. These are found in immense
profusion on the little stones between high and low water mark, and on
almost every rock on the British coast. Although to the common observer
the oyster seems but a repulsive mass of blubber, and the periwinkle a
creature of the lowest possible organisation, nothing can be further
from the reality. There is throughout this class of animals a wonderful
adaptibility of means to ends. The turbinated shell of the periwinkle,
with its finely-closed door, gives no token of the powers bestowed upon
the animal, both as provision for locomotion (this class of travellers
wherever they go carry their house along with them) and for reaping
the tender rock-grass upon which they feed. They have eyes in their
horns, and their sense of vision is quick. Their curiously-constructed
foot enables them to progress in any direction they please, and their
wonderful tongue either acts as a screw or a saw. In fact, simple as
the organisation of these animals appears to be, it is not less curious
in its own way than the structure of other beings which are thought to
be more complicated. In good truth, the common periwinkle (_Littorina
vulgaris_) is both worth studying and eating, vulgar as some people may
think it.

Immense quantities of all the edible molluscs are annually collected by
women and children in order to supply the large inland cities. Great
sacks full of periwinkles, whelks, etc., are sent on by railway to
Manchester, Glasgow, London, etc.; whilst on portions of the Scottish
sea-coast the larger kinds are assiduously collected by the fishermen’s
wives and prepared as bait for the long hand-lines which are used in
capturing the codfish or other Gadidæ. As an evidence of how abundant
the sea-harvest is, I may mention that from a spot so far north as
Orkney hundreds of bags of periwinkles are weekly sent to London by the
Aberdeen steamer.

From personal inquiry made by the writer a few months ago it was
estimated that for the commissariat of London alone there were required
two millions and a half of crabs and lobsters! May we not, therefore,
take for granted that the other populous towns of the British empire
will consume an equally large number? The people of Liverpool,
Manchester, Edinburgh, Glasgow, and Dublin are as fond of shell-fish
as the denizens of the great metropolis; at any rate, they eat all
they can get, and never get enough. The machinery for supplying this
ever-increasing demand for lobsters, crabs, and oysters is exceedingly
simple. On most parts of the British coast there are people who make
it their business to provide those luxuries of the table for all who
wish them. The capital required for this branch of the fisheries is
not large, and the fishermen and their families attend to the capture
of the crab and lobster in the intervals of other business. The Scotch
laird’s advice to his son to “be always stickin’ in the ither tree, it
will be growin’ when ye are sleepin’,” holds good in lobster-fishing.
The pots may be baited and left till such time as the victim enters,
whilst the men in the meantime take a short cruise in search of bait,
or try a cast of their haddock-lines a mile or two from the shore; or
the fishing can be watched over, and when the lobsters are numerous,
the pots be lifted every half hour or so. The taking of shell-fish
also affords occupation to the old men and youngsters of the fishing
villages, and these folks may be seen in the fine days assiduously
waiting on the lobster-traps and crab-cages, which are not unlike
overgrown rat-traps, and are constructed of netting fastened over a
wooden framework, baited with any kind of fish offal, or garbage, the
stench of which may be strong enough to attract the attention of those
minor monsters of the deep. A great number of these lobster-pots are
sunk at, perhaps, a depth of twelve or twenty fathoms at an appropriate
place, being held together by a strong line, and all marked with a
peculiarly-cut piece of cork, so that each fisherman may recognise
his own lot. The knowing youngsters of our fishing communities can
also secure their prey by using a long stick. Mr. Cancer Pagurus is
watched as he bustles out for his evening promenade, and, on being
deftly pitched upon his back by means of a pole, he indignantly seizes
upon it with all his might, and the stick being shaken a little has
the desirable effect of causing Mr. Crab to cling thereto with great
tenacity, which is, of course, the very thing desired by the grinning
“human” at the other end, as whenever he feels his prey secure he
dexterously hauls him on board, unhooks the crusty gentleman with a
jerk, and adds him to the accumulating heap at the bottom of the old
boat. The monkeys in the West Indies are, however, still more ingenious
than the “fisher loons” of Arran or Skye. Those wise animals, when
they take a notion of dining on a crab, proceed to the rocks, and
slyly insinuating their tail into one of the holes where the crustacea
take refuge, that appendage is at once seized upon by the crab, who
is thereby drawn from his hiding-place, and, being speedily dashed
to pieces on the hard stone, affords a fine feast to his captor. On
the granite-bound coast of Scotland the sport of crab-hunting may be
enjoyed to perfection and the wonders of the deep be studied at the
same time. A long pole with a small crook at the end will be found
useful to draw the crab from his nest, or great fun may be enjoyed
by tying during low-water a piece of bait to a string and attaching
a stone to the other end of the cord. The crab seizes upon this bait
whenever the tide flows, and drags it to its hole, so that when the
ebb of the tide recurs the stone at the end of the cord marks the
hiding-place of the animal, who thus falls an easy prey to his captor.
The natives are the best instructors in these arts, and seaside
visitors cannot do better than engage the services of some strong
fisher youth to act as guide in such perambulations as they may make on
the beach. There are few seaside places where the natives cannot guide
strangers to rock pools and picturesque nooks teeming with materials
for studying the wonders of the shore.

Lobsters are collected and sent to London from all parts of the
Scottish shore. I have seen on the Sutherland and other coasts the
perforated chests floating in the water filled with them. They were
kept till called for by the welled smacks, which generally made the
circuit of the coasts once a week, taking up all the lobsters or crabs
they could get, and carrying them alive to London. From the Durness
shores alone as many as from six to eight thousand lobsters have been
collected in the course of a single summer, and sold, big or little,
at threepence each to the buyers. The lobsters taken on the north-east
coast of Scotland and at Orkney are now packed in seaweed and sent in
boxes to London by railway. The lobsters have been more plentiful, it
is thought, in the Orkney Islands of late years; a larger trade has
been done in them since the railway was opened from Aberdeen—at all
events, more of the animals have been caught, and the prices are double
what they used to be in the time of the welled smacks alluded to above.
The fisher-folks of Orkney confess that the trade in lobsters pays them
well.

All kinds of crustaceans can be kept alive at the place of capture till
“wanted”—that is, till the welled vessel which carries them to London
or Liverpool arrives—by simply storing them in a large perforated
wooden box anchored in a convenient place. Nor must it be supposed
that the acute London dealers allow too many lobsters to be brought to
market at once; the supply is governed by the demand, and the stock
kept in large store-boxes at convenient places down the river, where
the sea-water is strong and the liquid filth of London harmless. But
these old-fashioned store-boxes will, no doubt, be speedily superseded
by the construction of artificial store-ponds on a large scale, similar
to that erected by Mr. Richard Scovell at Hamble, near Southampton.
That gentleman informs me that his pond has been of good service to
him. It is about fifty yards square, and is lined with brick, having
a bottom of concrete, and was excavated at a cost of about £1200.
It will store with great ease 50,000 lobsters, and the animals may
remain in the pond as long as six weeks, with little chance of being
damaged. Lobsters, however, do not breed in this state of confinement,
nor have they been seen to undergo a change of shell. There is, of
course, an apparatus of pipes and sluices for the purpose of supplying
the pond with water. The stock is recruited from the coasts of France
and Ireland; and to keep up the supply Mr. Scovell has in his service
two or three vessels of considerable size, which visit the various
fisheries and bring the lobsters to Hamble in their capacious wells,
each of which is large enough to contain from 5000 to 10,000 animals.

The west and north-west coasts of Ireland abound with fine lobsters,
and welled vessels bring thence supplies for the London market, and it
is said that a supply of 10,000 a week can easily be obtained. Immense
quantities are also procured on the west coast of Scotland. A year or
two ago I saw on board the _Islesman_ steamboat at Greenock a cargo
of 30,000 lobsters, obtained chiefly on the coasts of Lewis and Skye.
The value of these to the captors would be upwards of £1000, and in
the English fishmarkets the lot would bring at least four times that
sum. As showing how enormous the food wealth of the sea still is,
notwithstanding the quantity taken out of it, I may cite here a few
brief particulars of a little experiment of a charitable nature which
was tried by a gentleman who took a warm interest in the Highland
fishermen, and the results of which he himself lately made public.
Commiserating the wretchedness which he had witnessed among many, who,
although anxious to labour, were unable to procure work, and at the
same time feeling that the usual method of assisting them was based on
a mistaken principle, this gentleman undertook the establishment of a
fishery upon a small scale at his own expense. He therefore expended a
sum of £600, with which he procured eight boats, completely equipped,
and a small smack of sixteen tons. The crews, consisting of thirty
men, he furnished with all the necessary fishing materials, paying
the men weekly wages ranging from nine to thirteen shillings, part of
the sum being in meal. The result of this experiment was, that these
eight boats sent to the London market in a few months as many lobsters
as reimbursed the original cost of the fishing plant. The men and
their families were thus rescued from a state of semi-starvation, and
are now living in comfort, with plenty surrounding their dwellings;
and have, besides, the satisfaction of knowing that their present
independent condition has been achieved principally by means of their
own well-sustained industry.

A very large share of our lobsters is derived from Norway, as many as
30,000 sometimes arriving from the fjords in a single day. The Norway
lobsters are much esteemed, and we pay the Norwegians something like
£20,000 a year for this one article of commerce. They are brought over
in welled steam-vessels, and are kept in the wooden reservoirs already
alluded to, some of which may be seen at Hole Haven, on the Essex side
of the Thames. Once upon a time, some forty years ago, one of these
wooden lobster-stores was run into by a Russian frigate, whereby some
20,000 lobsters were set adrift to sprawl in the muddy waters of the
Thames. In order that the great mass of animals confined in these
places may be kept upon their best behaviour, a species of cruelty has
to be perpetrated to prevent their tearing each other to pieces: the
great claw is, therefore, rendered paralytic by means of a wooden peg
being driven into a lower joint.

I have no intention of describing the whole members of the crustacea;
they are much too numerous to admit of that, ranging as they do from
the comparatively giant-like crab and lobster down to the millions of
minute insects which at some places confer a phosphorescent appearance
on the waters of the sea. My limits will necessarily confine me to a
few of the principal members of the family—the edible crustacea, in
fact; and these I shall endeavour to speak about in such plain language
as I think my readers will understand, leaving out as much of the
fashionable “scientific slang” as I possibly can.

The more we study the varied crustacea of the British shores, the more
we are struck with their wonderful formation, and the peculiar habits
of their members. I once heard a clergyman at a lecture describe a
lobster in brief but fitting terms as a standing romance of the sea—an
animal whose clothing is a shell, which it casts away once a year in
order that it may put on a larger suit—an animal whose flesh is in its
tail and legs, and whose hair is in the inside of its breast, whose
stomach is in its head, and which is changed every year for a new one,
and which new one begins its life by devouring the old! an animal which
carries its eggs within its body till they become fruitful, and then
carries them outwardly under its tail; an animal which can throw off
its legs when they become troublesome, and can in a brief time replace
them with others; and lastly, an animal with very sharp eyes placed in
movable horns. The picture is not at all overdrawn. It is a wondrous
creature this lobster, and I may be allowed a brief space in which to
describe the curious provision of nature which allows for an increase
of growth, or provides for the renewal of a broken limb, and which
applies generally to the edible crustacea.

The habits of the principal crustacea are now pretty well understood,
and their mode of growth is so peculiar as to render a close
inspection of their habits a most interesting study. As has been
stated, a good-sized lobster will yield about 20,000 eggs, and these
are hatched, being so nearly ripe before they are abandoned by the
mother, with great rapidity—it is said in forty-eight hours—and grow
quickly, although the young lobster passes through many changes
before it is fit to be presented at table. During the early periods
of growth it casts its shell frequently. This wonderful provision for
an increase of size in the lobster has been minutely studied during
its period of moulting. Mr. Jonathan Couch says the additional size
which is gained at each period of exuviation is perfectly surprising,
and it is wonderful to see the complete covering of the animal cast
off like a suit of old clothes, while it hides, naked and soft, in a
convenient hole, awaiting the growth of its new crust. In fact, it is
difficult to believe that the great soft animal ever inhabited the
cast-off habitation which is lying beside it, because the lobster
looks, and really is, so much larger. The lobster, crab, etc., change
their shells about every six weeks during the first year of their age,
every two months during the second year, and then the changing of the
shell becomes less frequent, being reduced to four times a year. It
is supposed that this animal becomes reproductive at the age of five
years. In France the lobster-fishery is to some extent “regulated.” A
close-time exists, and size is the one element of capture that is most
studied. All the small lobsters are thrown back to the water. There is
no difficulty in observing the process of exuviation. A friend of mine
had a crab which moulted in a small crystal basin. I presume that at
some period in the life of the crab or lobster growth will cease, and
the annual moulting become unnecessary; at any rate, I have seen crabs
and other crustaceans taken from an island in the Firth of Forth which
were covered with parasites evidently two or three years old.

To describe minutely the exuviation of a lobster, crab, or shrimp
would in itself form an interesting chapter of this work, and it is
only of late years that many points of the process have been witnessed
and for the first time described. Not long ago, for instance, it was
doubtful whether or not the hermit-crabs (_Anomoura_) shed their skin;
and, that fact being settled, it became a question whether they shed
the skin of their tail! There was a considerable amount of controversy
on this delicate point, till the “strange and unexpected discovery”
was made by Mr. Harper. That gentleman was fortunate enough to catch
a hermit-crab in the very act, and was able to secure the caudal
appendage which had just been thrown off. Other matters of controversy
have been instituted in reference to the growth of various members
of the crustacea; indeed, the young of the crab in an early stage
have before now been described by naturalists as distinct species,
so great is the metamorphosis they undergo before they assume their
final shape—just as the sprat in good time changes in all probability
to the herring. Another point of controversy at one period existed in
reference to the power of crustaceans to replace their broken limbs, or
occasionally to dispense at their own good pleasure with a limb, when
it is out of order, with the absolute certainty of replacing it.

When the female crustacea retire in order to undergo their exuviation
they are watched, or rather guarded, by the males; and if one male be
taken away, in a short time another will be found to have taken his
place. I do not think there is any particular season for moulting; the
period differs in different places, according to the temperature of the
water and other circumstances, so that we might have shell-fish (and
white-fish too) all the year round were a little attention paid to the
different seasons of exuviation and egg-laying.

The mode in which a hen lobster lays her eggs is curious: she
lodges a quantity of them under her tail, and bears them about for
a considerable period; indeed, till they are so nearly hatched as
only to require a very brief time to mature them. When the eggs are
first exuded from the ovary they are very small, but before they are
committed to the sand or water they increase considerably in size and
become as large as good-sized shot. Lobsters may be found with eggs,
or “in berry” as it is called, all the year round; and when the hen is
in process of depositing her eggs she is not good for food, the flesh
being poor, watery, and destitute of flavour.

When the British crustacea are in their soft state they are not
considered as being good for food; but, curiously enough, the
land-crabs are most esteemed while in that condition. The epicure who
has not tasted “soft crabs” should hasten to make himself acquainted
with one of the most delicious luxuries of the table. The eccentric
land-crab, which lives far inland among the rocks, or in the clefts of
trees, or burrows in holes in the earth, makes in the spring-time an
annual pilgrimage to the sea in order to deposit its spawn, and the
young, guided by an unerring instinct, return to the land in order
to live in the rocks or burrow in the earth like their progenitors.
In the fish-world we have something nearly akin to this. We have
the salmon, that spends one half its life in the sea, and the other
half in the fresh water; it proceeds to the sea to attain size and
strength, and returns to the river in order to perpetuate its kind.
The eel, again, just does the reverse of all this: it goes down to the
sea to spawn, and then proceeds up the river to live; and at certain
seasons it may be seen in myriad quantities making its way up stream.
The march of the land-crabs is a singular and interesting sight: they
congregate into one great army, and travel in two or three divisions,
generally by night, to the sea; they proceed straight forward, and
seldom deviate from their path unless to avoid crossing a river. These
marching crabs eat up all the luxuriant vegetation on their route:
their path is marked by desolation. The moment they arrive at the water
the operation of spawning is commenced by allowing the waves to wash
gently over their bodies. A few days of this kind of bathing assists
the process of oviposition, and knots of spawn similar to lumps of
herring-roe are gradually washed into the water, which in a short time
finishes the operation. Countless thousands of these eggs are annually
devoured by various fishes and monsters of the deep that lie in wait
for them during the spawning season. After their brief seaside sojourn,
the old crabs undergo their moult, and at this period thousands of them
sicken and die, and large numbers of them are captured for table use,
soft crabs being highly esteemed by all lovers of good things. By the
time they have recovered from their moult the army of juveniles from
the seaside begins to make its appearance in order to join the old
stock in the mountains; and thus the legion of land-crabs is annually
recruited by a fresh batch, which in their turn perform the annual
migration to the sea much as their parents have done before them.

Before leaving the crabs and lobsters, it is worthy of remark that an
experienced dealer can tell at once the locality whence any particular
lobster is obtained—whether from the west of Ireland, the Orkney
Islands, or the coast of Brittany. The shelly inhabitants of different
localities are distinctly marked. Indeed fish are peculiarly local
in their habits, although the vulgar idea has hitherto been that all
kinds of sea animals herd indiscriminately together; that the crab and
the lobster crept about the bottom rocks, whilst the waving skate or
the swaggering lingfish dashed about in mid-water, the prowling “dogs”
busily preying on the shoals of herring supposed to be swimming near;
the brilliant shrimp flashing through the crowd like a meteor, the
elegant saithe keeping them company; the whole being overshadowed by a
few whales, and kept in awe by a dozen or so of sharks! Nothing can be
more different than the reality of the water-world, which is colonised
quite as systematically as the earth. Particular shoals of herring,
for instance, gather off particular counties; the Lochfyne herring,
as I have mentioned in the account of the herring-fishery, differs
from the herring of the Caithness coast or that of the Firth of Forth;
and any ’cute fishmonger can tell a Tweed salmon from a Tay one. The
herring at certain periods move in gigantic shoals, the chief members
of the Gadidæ congregate on vast sandbanks, and the whales occasionally
roam about in schools; while the Pleuronectidæ occupy sandy places
in the bottom of the sea. We have all heard of the great cod-banks
of Newfoundland, of the fish community at Rockall; then is there not
the Nymph Bank, near Dublin, celebrated for its haddocks? have we not
also the Faroe fishing-ground, the Dogger Bank, and other places with
a numerous fish population? There are wonderful diversities of life
in the bosom of the deep; and there is beautiful scenery of hill and
plain, vegetable and rock, and mountain and valley. There are shallows
and depths suited to different aspects of life, and there is life of
all kinds teeming in that mighty world of waters, and the fishes live

“A cold sweet silver life, wrapped in round waves,
Quickened with touches of transporting fear.”

The prawn and the shrimp are ploughed in innumerable quantities from
the shallow waters that lave the shore. The shrimper may be seen any
day at work, pushing his little net before him. To reach the more
distant sandbanks he requires a boat; but on these he captures his prey
with greater facility, and richer hauls reward his labour than when he
plies his putting-net close inshore. The shrimper, when he captures
a sufficient quantity, proceeds to boil them; and till they undergo
that process they are not edible. The shrimp is “the ‘Undine’ of the
waters,” and seems possessed by some aquatic devil, it darts about
with such intense velocity. Like the lobster and the crab, the prawn
periodically changes its skill; and its exertions to throw off its old
clothes are really as wonderful as those of its larger relatives of
the lobster and crab family. There are a great many species of shrimp
in addition to the common one; as, for instance, banded, spinous,
sculptured, three-spined, and two-spined. Young prawns, too, are often
taken in the “putting-nets” and sold for shrimps. Prawns are caught in
some places in pots resembling those used for the taking of lobsters.
The prawn exuviates very frequently; in fact it has no sooner recovered
from one illness than it has to undergo another. Although the prawn
and the shrimp are exceedingly common on the British coasts, when
we consider the millions of these “sea insects,” as they have been
called, which are annually consumed at the breakfast tables and in the
tea-gardens of London alone (not to speak of those which are greedily
devoured in our watering-places, or the few which are allowed to reach
the more inland towns of the country), we cannot but wonder where they
all come from, or who provides them; and the problem can only be solved
by taking into account the fact that we are surrounded by hundreds of
miles of a productive seabord, and that thousands of seafaring people,
and others as well, make it their business to supply such luxuries to
all who can pay for them. It is even found profitable to send these
delicacies to England all the way from the remote fisheries of Scotland.

The art of “shrimping” is well understood all round the English coasts.
The mode of capturing this particular member of the Crustacea is by
what is called a shrimp-net, formed of a frame of wood and twine
into a long bag, which is used as a kind of minature trawl-net; each
shrimping-boat being provided with one or two of these instruments,
which, scraping along the sand, compel the shrimp to enter. Each boat
is provided with a “well,” or store, to contain the proceeds of the
nets, and on arrival at home the shrimps are immediately boiled for
the London or other markets. The shrimpers are rather ill-used by the
trade. Of the many thousand gallons sent daily to London, they only
get an infinitesimal portion of the money produce. The retail price
in London is four shillings per gallon, out of which the producer is
understood to get only threepence! I have been told that the railways
charge at the extraordinary rate of £9 a ton for the carriage of this
delicacy to London. It is an interesting sight to watch the shrimpers
at their work, and such of my readers as can obtain a brief holiday
should run down to Leigh, or some nearer fishing place, where they can
see the art of shrimping carried on in all its picturesque beauty.

The fresh-water cray-fish, a very delicate kind of miniature lobster,
abundantly numerous in all our larger streams, and exceedingly
plentiful in France, may often be seen on the counters of our
fishmongers; as also the sea cray-fish, which is much larger in size,
having been known to attain the weight of ten or twelve pounds, but it
is coarser in the flavour than either the crab or lobster. The river
cray-fish, which lodges in holes in the banks of our streams, is caught
simply by means of a split stick with a bit of bait inserted at the
end. The fresh-water cray-fish has afforded a better opportunity for
studying the structure of the crustacea than any of the salt-water
species, as its habits can be more easily observed. The sea cray-fish
is not at all plentiful in the British Islands, although we have a
limited supply in some of our markets.

There has hitherto been a fixed period for the annual sacrifice to
crustacean gastronomy. As my readers are already aware, there is a
well-known time for the supplying of oysters, which is fixed by law,
and which begins in August and ends in April. During the _r_-less
months oysters are less wholesome than in the colder weather. The
season for lobsters begins about March, and is supposed to close with
September, so that in the round of the year we have always some kind
of shell-fish delicacy to feast upon. Were a little more attention
devoted to the economy of our fisheries, we might have lobsters and
crabs upon our tables all the year round. In my opinion lobsters are
as good for food in the winter time as during the months in which they
are most in demand. It may be hoped that we shall get to understand all
this much better by and by, for at present we are sadly ignorant of the
natural economy of these, and indeed all other denizens of the deep.

A new branch of shell-fishing has been lately revived in Scotland. I
allude to the pearl-fisheries which are now being carried on in our
large streams, and which, if prudently conducted, may become a source
of considerable wealth to the Scottish people.

The pearl is found in a species of shell-fish which is a variety of
the mussel, not an oyster, as is commonly supposed. The pearl has
been pronounced the most beautiful of all our gems, coming, as it
does, finished and perfect, direct from the laboratory of nature, and
consequently owing nothing to the cunning of man except its discovery—

“Ocean’s gem, the purest
Of Nature’s works! what days of weary journeyings,
What sleepless nights, what toils on land and sea,
Are borne by men to gain thee!”

In the Eastern seas professional divers are employed to go down into
the depths of the ocean in order to obtain them—a dangerous occupation,
at one time only followed by condemned criminals. The best-known
fishery for pearls is that at Ceylon, which was a very lucrative
concern, at one time, in the hands of the industrious Dutch.

[Illustration: THE SCOTTISH PEARL-MUSSEL.]

Pearls are of remote antiquity. In the time of Pliny they held the
highest rank among all gems, and the Romans esteemed and largely used
them—the ladies ornamenting, with lavish extravagance, all parts of
their dress with them; and so extravagant did they become in their
use of these gems by way of personal ornament, that Seneca, the wise
moralist, reproaches a patrician by saying that his lady wore all the
wealth of his house in her ears, it being at that time the fashion
for a lady to have three or four of these valuable gems hung in
each ear-drop. As to the value of these drops from the deep, we may
instance Cleopatra’s banquet to Mark Antony, when, according to vulgar
belief, she took a pearl from her ear, worth £80,000 of our money, and
dissolving it in vinegar, swallowed it! The pearl which Cæsar presented
to the mother of Marcus Brutus is said to have been of the value of
£48,000. Then we are told that Clodius, the son of the tragedian, once
swallowed a pearl worth £8000. Actors’ sons of the present day have
been known to do extravagant things; but few of them, I suspect, could
achieve a feat like this. In the East, too, in those early days, the
pearl was held in the highest esteem. We read of one gem, still to be
seen in Persia, I believe, that had a market price set upon it equal to
£100,000 of our money; and there is another pearl mentioned as obtained
in 1587 from the island of Margarita which weighed 250 carats, the
value of which was named as being $150,000; and there are many other
instances on record of the value of pearls to which I need not make
further reference.

When our government took up the Eastern pearl-fishery in 1797, the
annual produce was £144,000, which in the following year was increased
by £50,000, but immediately afterwards fell off, most probably from
overfishing. It revived again, and in the beginning of the present
century the pearl ground was leased to private adventurers at the
large rent of £120,000 per annum, with the wise understanding that the
bed or bank was to be divided into portions, only one of which was to
be worked at a time, so that a part of the mussels might have a good
rest. From various causes, however, the Ceylon fisheries have again
failed, and for a year or two have been totally unproductive. In a
privately-printed work on Ceylon, by James Steuart, Esq. of Colpetty,
which the author has kindly forwarded to me along with a quantity of
Oriental pearl-oyster shells, there is a very interesting description
of the Ceylon pearl-fishery, with notes on the natural history of the
oyster. In reference to the recent failure of the fishery for gems in
the Gulf of Manaar, Mr. Steuart has supplied me with the following
interesting note:—

“The Gulf of Manaar pearl-fisheries having again ceased to be
productive, the government of Ceylon appear to be impressed with a
belief that further information is needed respecting the habits of
the pearl-oyster, and that it may be desirable to obtain the services
of a naturalist to study and report on the best means of insuring a
continuous revenue from pearls.

“The natural history of the edible oyster is now so well understood
that its culture on artificial beds is in successful progress in many
places on the coasts of both England and France; but it is one thing to
breed and fatten edible oysters for the palate, and another to breed
the pearly mollusc of Ceylon to produce pearl.

“That which is commonly called the pearl-oyster of the Gulf of Manaar
is classed by naturalists with the mussel in consequence of its shells
being united by a broad hinge and its having a strong fibrous byssus
with which it attaches itself to the shells of others, to rocks,
and to other substances. It had long been believed that the fish in
question had not the power of locomotion, nor of detaching its byssus
from the substances to which it adhered; but in the year 1851 it
was satisfactorily ascertained that when it had become detached it
possessed the power of extending its body from within its shells and
of creeping up the inner side of a glass globe containing sea-water.
It was, however, left to the late Dr. Kelaart, when employed by
government as a naturalist to study the habits of the fish, to discover
that, although it could not detach its byssus from the rock to which
it adhered, it had the power of casting off from its body its entire
byssus and of proceeding to some other spot, and there, by forming a
new byssus, of attaching itself to any substance near to it. It is
therefore now believed that the Manaar pearl-fish has the power of
changing its position, and this may account for the disappearance of
large quantities from the sandy places on which the brood sometimes
settles; but it is by no means so clear that these fish are able to
drag their shells after them over the rugged surface of coral rocks.

“I have already stated that the produce of the pearl-fish of the Gulf
of Manaar varies in richness of colour, in the size of the pearl, and
the quantity of its yield, according to the nature of the ground on
which it rests, or of the food which that ground supplies. In some
cases the pearl produced barely repays the cost of fishing. It would
therefore appear to be desirable that the component parts of the
surface of the most productive banks should be subjected to chemical
analysis. And as the natural history of the mussel and the scollop does
not appear to be so well ascertained as that of the edible oyster, it
might be attended by some useful result if a prize were offered for the
best treatise on these European bivalves as being the nearest approach
to the pearly mollusc of Ceylon. With the information thus obtained, it
might not be necessary to incur the expense of sending a naturalist to
Ceylon.”

During the past two or three summers the early industry of
pearl-seeking has been very successfully revived in Scotland, chiefly
through the exertions of Mr. Moritz Unger, a dealer in gems residing in
Edinburgh. That gentleman having, in the way of his trade, occasionally
fallen in with pearls said to be obtained in Scottish rivers, was so
struck with their great beauty that he determined to set about their
collection in a more systematic way. At that time there was in Scotland
only one professed fisher for pearls, who lived at Killin, and whose
stock was principally bought up by the late Marquis of Breadalbane. Mr.
Unger, having in view the extension of the trade, travelled over the
whole country, and announced his intention of buying, at a fixed scale
of prices, all the pearls he could obtain—taking possession, in the
meantime, of such gems as he could get from the peasantry, and paying
them a liberal price. The consequence is, that now, instead of there
being but one professed pearl-seeker in Scotland, there are hundreds
who cling to pearl-fishing as their sole occupation, and, being sober
and industrious men, they make a good living by it.

The Scotch pearls were, in the middle ages, celebrated all over Europe
for their size and beauty. Just one hundred years ago—between the years
1761 and 1764—pearls to the value of £10,000 were sent to London from
the rivers Tay and Isla; but the trade carried on in the corresponding
years of this century is far more than double that amount. Mr. Unger
estimates the pearls found last summer (1864) to be of the value to
the finders of about £10,000; whereas, on his first tour, he bought
up, four years ago, all that were to be had for the sum of £40. Single
specimens have recently been found worth as much as £60.

From the middle of last century till about 1860 the Scottish
pearl-fisheries were quite neglected, and large pearls were found only
as it were by accident in occasional dry seasons, when the rivers were
scant of water, and the mussels were consequently accessible without
much trouble. It was left for Mr. Unger to discern the capabilities
of the Scottish pearl as an ornamental gem of great value; and it is
now a fact that the beautiful pink-hued pearls of our Scottish streams
are admired even beyond the Oriental pearls of Ceylon. The Empress
Eugenie, Queen Victoria, and other royal ladies, as well as many of
the nobility, have been making large purchases of these Scottish gems.
In some rural districts the peasantry are making little fortunes by
pearl-seeking for only a few hours a day. Many of the undemonstrative
weavers and cobblers, whose residence is near a pearl-producing stream,
contrive, in the early morning, or after the usual day’s work, to step
out and gather a few hundreds of the pearl-containing mussels, in which
they are almost sure to find a few gems of more or less value. The
pearl-fisher requires no capital to set him up in his trade; he needs
no costly instruments, but has only to wade into the stream, put forth
his hand, and gather what he finds.

An intelligent pearl-fisher, who resides near the river Doon, has
sent me the following graphic account of what he calls “the pearl
fever:”—“For many years back the boys were in the habit of amusing
themselves in the summer-time, when the water was shallow, by gathering
mussels and searching them for pearls, having heard somehow that money
could be obtained for them; but they often enough found that, however
difficult it might be to secure the pearl, it was still more difficult
to get it converted into cash—threepence, sixpence, or a shilling,
being the ordinary run of prices, buyers and sellers being alike
ignorant of the commodity in which they were dealing. It was not until
the middle of the summer of 1863 that the fever of pearl-seeking broke
out thoroughly on the banks of the classic Doon. The weather had been
uncommonly dry for some time, and the river had in many places become
extremely shallow; some of the women and children had been employing
their spare time in gathering mussels and opening them, and few of
those who had given it a trial failed to become the possessors of one
or more pearls. Just then Mr. Unger made his appearance, and bought up
all he could get at prices which perfectly startled the people; and,
as a consequence, young and old, male and female, rushed like ducks to
the water, and waded, dived, and swam, till the excitement became so
intense as to be called by many the ‘pearl fever.’ The banks of the
river for some time presented an extraordinary scene. Here a solitary
female, very lightly clad indeed, is seen wading up to the breast, and
as she stoops to pick up a mussel, her head is of necessity immersed in
the water. Having got hold of a shell she throws it on to the opposite
bank and stoops for another, and in this manner secures as many as
her apron will hold, and carries them home to find that, very likely,
she has more blanks than prizes among them. There, in a shallow part
of the stream, a swarm of boys are trying their fortune; there is a
great degree of impatience in their mode of fishing, for each shell is
opened and examined so soon as it is lifted. A little above them are
two scantily-clad females earnestly at work; one of them is actually
stone blind, but she gropes with her naked feet for a shell, then
picks it up with her hand, carefully opens it with a stout knife, and
with her thumb feels every part of its interior. She has been pretty
successful, and her tidy dress when she is resting from her labour
betokens the good use she makes of the proceeds of her fishing. The
spectator may next pass through the crowds of men, women, and boys
similarly employed, where the grassy banks are reddened by the constant
tread of many feet, and the smell of heaps upon heaps of putrid mussels
tells the magnitude of the slaughter. The eye is then attracted by the
sight of a man on crutches making for the river. He soon gets seated on
the right bank of the stream, where his better half, in water almost
beyond her depth, is gathering from the bottom of the muddy and all but
stagnant part of the river a quantity of shells for him to examine. Nor
were the labours of this couple unrewarded; by their united exertions
they earned in a few weeks somewhat above £8, and so little idea
had they of the value of the pearls, that on one occasion when they
expected about 15s. for a few they had despatched to the collector,
they were agreeably surprised at the receipt of three times the amount
by return of post. It was found that the fishing was most successful
where the river was deep and its motion sluggish. To get at the mussels
in such places, large iron rakes, with long teeth and handles about
twenty feet in length, were procured, and by means of these some of
the deepest parts of the river were dragged and some valuable pearls
secured; many of which were disposed of at £1 each, others at 25s., and
one at £2; while a great number ranged from 7s. 6d. to 15s. each. But
by far the greater portion were either entirely useless, or on account
of their smallness, bad shape, or colour, were parted with for a mere
trifle. Some idea of the extent of the pearl-fishery in 1863 of this
one river may be gathered from the fact that Mr. Unger paid to those
engaged in it a sum exceeding £150 for each month the fishing lasted;
and a goodly number of pearls were disposed of to private individuals
in the vicinity for their own special use, besides those that found
their way into the markets. During the continuance of the fishery
the general cry was that so much exposure of the body was likely to
introduce a variety of diseases such as had not hitherto been known in
the place; but no such effects made their appearance. And though there
were exceptional cases where the extra cash (for it was like found
money) obtained for the pearls was worse than wasted, there are many
who can point to a new suit of clothes or a good lever watch, when
asked what they had to show as the reward of the many cold drenchings
they got while dredging the Doon for pearls.”

In 1863 a controversy arose as to which rivers produced the best
pearls, and it was then argued that only in those streams issuing from
lochs was a continuous supply of the pearl-mussel to be found, and
although there are a few pearl streams which take their rise in some
little spring and gather volume as they flow, yet their number, as
far as is known, is only four—viz. the Ugie, Ythan, Don, and Isla—and
even these are now (1865) very nearly exhausted. Many of the finest
gems have been found in the Doon, Teith, Forth, Earn, Tay, Lyon, Spey,
Conan, etc. etc. Until this summer (1865) it has been supposed that
the lochs are the natural reservoirs of the pearl-mussel, and when
in 1860-1 a portion of Loch Venachar was laid dry for the purpose of
building a sluice for the Glasgow Waterworks, innumerable shells were
found, from which the labourers gathered a great many very fine pearls.
The above theory was thereby so much confirmed that Mr. Unger was
induced in 1864 to try further experiments on Lochs Venachar, Achray,
and Lubnaig, by means of dredging, which, considering the rough mode of
procedure, was so successful, especially on a place called Lynn Achore,
at the east end of Loch Venachar, that he at last considered himself
justified in incurring considerable expense. Accordingly he procured
this summer (1865) one of Siebes’ diving apparatus, and bringing down
one of the best divers from London, proceeded to search the bottoms
of several lochs on a systematic plan. Many obstacles were thrown in
Mr. Unger’s way by the proprietors, and although he was particularly
anxious to experiment on Loch Tay, the present Earl of Breadalbane
would not grant permission for him to do so. But with the consent of
the Earl of Moray the first regular trial was made on Loch Venachar,
and it was ascertained beyond a doubt that shells were to be found in
all the sandy shallow parts of the loch; not however in beds, as people
were led to suppose from dredging experiments, but only here and there
in clusters of a dozen or so, except at the mouth of the loch, where
they were more extensive and in larger quantities. The diver also went
down in various parts of the loch to the depth of a hundred feet,
where it was found to be quite impracticable to search for anything
so small as a pearl-mussel on account of the thick muddy bottom. Mr.
Unger, nothing daunted by this partial failure, went to Sir Robert
Menzies, who not only consented at once to his trying Loch Rannoch,
but generously placed all available boats and utensils, besides the
service of several men, at his disposal; after a week’s trial, however,
Mr. Unger was reluctantly compelled for the present to desist from any
further experiments.

Pearls are found in many of the Irish and Welsh rivers, and Mr.
Unger now receives constant accessions to his stock from the north
of Ireland. The Conway was noted for pearls in the days of Camden.
The pearl-mussels are called by the Welsh “Deluge shells,” and are
thought by the ignorant to have been left by the Flood. The river
Irt, in Cumberland, was also at one time a famous stream for pearls;
and during last century several pearls were found in the streams of
Ireland, particularly in the counties of Tyrone and Donegal. We read of
specimens that fetched sums varying from £4 to £80.

If my readers be curious to know how many shells will have to be
opened before this toil is rewarded with a find of pearls, let them be
told that, on the average, the searcher never opens a hundred mussels
without being made happy with a few of the gems. It is remarked that
they are more certain to have pearls when they are taken from the
stony places of the river. Thousands of mussels have been found in
the sand, but these have rarely if ever contained a single pearl;
whilst the shells again that are found in soft and muddy bottoms have
plenty of gems, but they are poor in quality and bad in colour. No
pearls are ever found in a young shell, and all such may at once be
rejected. A skilful operator opens the mussel with a shell, in order
to avoid scratching the pearl; the opened fish is thrown into the
water, and it is either the mussels or the insects gathering about
them that are greedily devoured by the salmon and other fish, so
that those proprietors of streams who were becoming uneasy as to the
effects of the pearl-fishery on the salmon may set their minds at rest.
Although at one time none of the London dealers in gems would look at
a Scotch pearl, it is an interesting fact that now the fame of the
Scottish fisheries has so extended as to bring buyers from France and
other Continental countries; and, as boats and dredges are now being
introduced, it is thought that any moderate demand may be supplied.
Great quantities of pearls have been sent to the collector through the
post-office.

An Ayrshire paper says of the Doon fishery:—“That owing to the
wholesale slaughter of the mussels last season, the pearl-fishing
this summer (1864) in the river Doon has been neither so exciting nor
remunerative. Few have paid much attention to it; but even amongst
those few rather more than £100 has been obtained for pearls since the
month of May, there being more than one individual who has earned at
least £13 during that period, having followed their avocation daily,
whilst the pearl-fishing was engaged in as a _profitable_ recreation.
As a whole the pearls of the river Doon are of an inferior quality,
£2 being about the highest price at which any of them have been sold;
these weighed from eight to twelve grains, but were far from being
very bright in colour. ‘It is all a matter of chance,’ say some of the
pearl-fishers; ‘you may fish a whole day and not make sixpence, and one
worth a pound may be, yea has been, found in the second shell.’” Such
things have frequently happened, but the earnest plodding fisher has
always been handsomely paid for his work. Though on an average a pearl
is found in every thirty shells, only one pearl in every ten is fit for
the market. It will thus be seen that one hundred and thirty shells
have to be gathered, opened, and examined, and one hundred and thirty
lives sacrificed, in order to secure one marketable pearl.[16]

It is not unlikely that the present mania for pearl-gathering may very
speedily exhaust the supply of mussels. The energy with which the
fishing is carried on undoubtedly points to a very speedy diminution
of a shell-fish which was never very plentiful, and it would be a
very good plan to try the system of culture on hurdles which has been
found so successful for the growth of the edible mussel of the Bay of
Aiguillon, to be now described.

Considering the importance attached by fishermen to the easy attainment
of a cheap supply of bait, it is surprising that no attempt has been
made in this country to economise and regulate the various mussel-beds
which abound on the Scottish and English coasts. The mussel is very
largely used for bait, and fishermen have to go far, and pay dear,
for what they require—their wives and families being also employed to
gather as many as they can possibly procure on the accessible places of
the coast, but usually the bait has to be purchased and carried from
long distances. I propose to show our fisher-people how these matters
are managed in France, and how they may obviate the labour and expense
connected with bait buying or gathering, by growing such a crop of
mussels as would not only suffice for an abundant supply of bait, but
produce a large quantity for sale as well.

[Illustration: MUSSEL-STAKES.]

Mussel-culture has been carried on with immense success on a certain
part of the coast of France for a period of no less than seven
centuries! So long ago as the year of grace 1135 an Irish barque was
wrecked in the Bay of Aiguillon. The cargo and one of the crew were
saved by the humanity of the fishermen inhabiting the coast. The name
of the one man who was thus saved from shipwreck was Walton, and he
gave to the people, in gratitude for saving his life, the germ of a
marvellous fish-breeding idea. He invented artificial mussel-culture.
An exile from Erin, Walton was ingenious enough to create a “hurdle,”
which, intercepting the spat of the mussels, served as a place for them
to grow. In a sense, the origin of this mussel-farm was accidental.
The bay where this industry is now flourishing was, at the time of
the shipwreck, and is at present, a vast expanse of mud, frequented
by sea-fowl, and it was while devising a kind of net or trap for the
capture of these that he obtained the germ of his future idea of
mussel-culture. The net or bag-trap which he employed in catching
the night birds which floated on the water was fixed in the mud by
means of tolerably strong supports, and he soon found out that the
parts of his net which were sunk in the water had intercepted large
quantities of mussel-spat, which in time grew into the finest possible
mussels, larger in size and finer in quality than those grown upon the
neighbouring mud. From less to more this simple discovery progressed
into a regular industry, which at present forms almost the sole
occupation of the inhabitants of the neighbouring shores. The system
pursued is that invented by Walton about the middle of the twelfth
century, and has been handed down from generation to generation in all
its original simplicity and ingenuity. The apparatus for the growth
of the mussel, with which the bay is now almost covered, is called
a _bouchot_, and is of very simple construction. A number of strong
piles or stakes, each 12 feet in length and 6 inches in diameter, are
driven into the mud to the depth of 6 feet, at a distance of about 2
feet from each other, and are ranged in two converging rows, so as to
form a V, the sharp point of which is always turned towards the sea,
that the stakes may offer the least possible resistance to the waves.
These two rows form the framework of the _bouchot_. Strong branches
of trees are then twisted and interwoven into the upper part of the
stakes, which are 6 feet in height, until the whole length of the row
is, by this species of basket-work on a large scale, formed into a
strong fence or palisade. A space of a few inches is left between the
bottom of the fence and the surface of the mud, to allow the water to
pass freely between the stakes when the tide ebbs and flows. The sides
of the _bouchot_ are from 200 to 250 metres long, and each _bouchot_,
therefore, forms a fence of about 450 metres, 6 feet high. There are
now some 500 of these _bouchots_ or breeding-grounds in the Bay of
Aiguillon, making a fence of 225,000 metres, extending over a space of
8 kilometres, or 5 miles, from the point of St. Clemens to the mouth of
the river of Marans.

[Illustration: A MUSSEL-FARM.]

The Bay of Aiguillon, as has already been observed, is a vast field
of mud, and, when left dry at low water, it is impassable on foot.
To enable him to traverse it at low water, the _boucholeur_ uses a
canoe. This canoe, formed of plain planks of wood, is about nine feet
in length and eighteen inches in breadth and depth, the fore-end being
something like the usual shape of the bow of a boat. The _boucholeur_
places himself at the stern of the canoe, rests his right knee on the
bottom of the boat, leans his body forward, and, seizing the two sides
of the canoe with his hands, throws out his left leg, which is encased
in a strong boot, backwards to serve as an oar. In this position he
pushes his left leg in and out of the mud, and thus propels his light
boat along the surface to whatever part of the field he wishes to
visit. Notwithstanding the windings and twistings of the confused
maze formed on the surface of the bay by the _bouchots_, long habit
enables the _boucholeur_, even in the darkest night, to distinguish
his neighbour’s establishment in the crowd. The _boucholeur_ uses his
canoe not only in transporting his mussels from the _bouchot_ to the
shore, and attending to the various operations of the mussel-field, but
also in conveying to the proper spot the stakes and hurdles necessary
for the construction and repair of the _bouchots_. The furrows left by
the canoe in the mud might, in the summer time, by hardening in the
sun, render the propulsion of his canoe across the field a very arduous
task to the _boucholeur_. Nature has, however, provided an admirable
remedy for this possible evil. A small crustacean, the _corophie_,
appears in great numbers in the mud-field about the end of the month
of April, and during the summer months levels and overturns many
leagues of these furrows, and mixes the mud with water, in searching
after the innumerable multitudes of worms (annelidæ) of all species
that infest the mud. The corophies, which are remarkably fond of these
marine worms, pursue them in every direction through the mud; and, by
their vigorous efforts to discover their prey, prevent the furrows
from forming an obstacle to the progress of the _boucholeur_. This
crustacean disappears suddenly, in a single night, towards the end of
October.

The cultivation of mussels is carried on by the inhabitants of the
communes of Esnandes, Chavron, and Marsilly. Many of the _boucholeurs_
possess several _bouchots_, while the poorest of them have only a share
of one _bouchot_, cultivating it, together with the other owners,
and dividing the profits among them, according to their shares. The
_bouchots_ are arranged in four divisions, according to their position
in the bay, and are distinguished as _bouchots du bas_ or _d’aval_,
_bouchots batard_, _bouchots milieu_, and _bouchots d’avant_. The
_bouchots du bas_, placed farthest from the shore, and only uncovered
during spring tides, are not formed of fences as the _bouchots_
proper, but consist simply of a row of stakes, planted about one boat
distant from each other, and in the most favourable position for the
preservation of the _naissain_, or young of the mussels. Upon these
isolated stakes the spat is allowed to collect, which is afterwards to
be transplanted for the purpose of peopling barren or poorly-furnished
palisades in those divisions which, planted nearer the shore, are more
frequently uncovered by the tide.

The various operations of mussel-cultivation are designated by
agricultural terms—such as sowing, planting, transplanting, etc.
Towards the end of April the seed (_semence_) fixed during February
and March to the stakes of the _bouchot du bas_ is about the size of
a grain of flax, and is then called _naissain_. By the month of July
it attains the size of a bean, and is called _renouvelain_, and is
then ready for transplantation to a less favourable state of existence
upon the _bouchot batard_, where the action of the tide would probably
have retarded its growth if transplanted earlier. In the month of
July, then, the _boucholeurs_ direct their canoes towards the isolated
stakes, bearing the _semence_, now developed into the _renouvelain_,
which they detach by means of a hook fixed to the end of a pole. Care
is taken to gather such a quantity as they are able to transplant
during low water—the only time when this operation can be carried on.
The _semence_, placed in baskets, is transported by means of the canoe
to the fences of the _bouchot batard_. The operation of fixing the
_renouvelain_ upon the palisades of the _bouchot batard_ is called _la
batrisse_. The _semence_, enclosed in bags of old net, is placed in
all the empty spaces along the palisades until the hurdles are quite
covered, sufficient space being left between the bags to admit of the
growth of the young mussels. The bags soon rot and fall to pieces,
leaving the young mussels adhering to the sides of the _bouchot_. The
mussels by and by attain a large size, and grow so close to each other
that the whole fence looks like a wall blackened by fire.

When the mussels grow so large that they touch and overlap each other,
the cultivator thins the too-crowded ranks of the _bouchots batard_, in
order to make way for a younger generation of mussels. The mussels thus
obtained are transplanted and placed on the empty or partially-covered
hurdles, and transplanted to the _bouchot milieu_, which is uncovered
during neap-tides. This operation is performed in the manner already
described, only the larger size of the mussels renders the use of a net
to enclose them unnecessary. The labour of transplanting is continued
so long as there remain upon the _bouchot du bas_ any _renouvelain_ fit
for being placed on the _bouchots_ nearer the shore. The work must be
carried on at all times of the day and night during low water, as that
is the only period that the _bouchots_ are uncovered. There is also the
labour of replacing and covering with mussels any of the palisades that
may have sunk or been broken.

After about a year’s sojourn on these artificial beds the mussels are
fit for the market. Before being ready for sale, they are transplanted
to the _buchots d’avant_, which are placed close to the shore to
admit of the mussels being easily gathered by the hand when ready for
the market. A very perceptible difference in quality is seen in the
mussels grown on different parts of the bay—those of the upper division
possessing the finest flavour, while those of the lower divisions are
much inferior, a circumstance caused no doubt by their suffering much
more from the influence of the wind.

The mussel has become, by its abundance and cheapness, the daily food
of the poorer classes, and sells well throughout the year. It is,
however, only in season from the month of July till the end of January,
and it is during that period that the most important operations of the
farmer are carried on, and that the great part of the harvest is sent
to the market. During the spawning season, which lasts from the end of
February to the end of April, they lose their good flavour and become
meagre and tough.

At the foot of the cliffs, along the shores, the _boucholeurs_ dig
large holes for the purpose of storing their implements of labour.
When a supply of mussels is required for a neighbouring market the
_boucholeurs_ bring them in their canoes to the landing-place, whence
they are conveyed by the wives to these stores, where they are cleared
and packed in hampers and baskets, which are placed upon the backs
of horses or in carts, and driven during the night to the place of
destination, which is reached in good time for the opening of the
market in the morning. About 140 horses and 90 carts are employed for
the purpose of thus supplying the neighbouring towns and villages.

A well-peopled _bouchot_ usually yields, according to the length of
its sides, from 400 to 500 loads of mussels—that is at the rate of a
load per metre. A load weighs 150 kilogrammes (about 3 cwts.), and
sells for 5 francs. A single _bouchot_, therefore, bears about 60,000
or 75,000 kilogrammes annually in weight, of the value of from 2000
to 2500 francs. The whole harvest of these _bouchots_ would therefore
weigh from 30 to 35 millions of kilogrammes, which would yield a
revenue of something like a million francs.

I hope this plan of mussel-culture will speedily be adopted on our own
coasts; it would be a saving of both time and money to the fishermen,
who cannot do without bait in large quantities, seeing that the number
of hooks required for the line-fishing has so largely increased during
late years. The procuring of the necessary quantity of mussels is
sometimes impossible; and when that is the case the men cannot proceed
to the fishing, but have to remain at home in forced idleness till the
bait can be obtained. This plan of growing the mussels might be easily
adopted by our fisher-folks, whom it is now my province to describe.

CHAPTER X.

THE FISHER-FOLK.

The Fisher-People the same everywhere—Growth of a Fishing
Village—Marrying and giving in Marriage—The Fisher-Folks’
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.

A book professing to describe the harvest of the sea must of necessity
have a chapter about the quaint people who gather in the harvest,
otherwise it would be like playing “Hamlet” without the hero.

I have a considerable acquaintance with the fisher-folk; and while
engaged in collecting information about the fisheries, and in
investigating the natural history of the herring and other food-fishes,
have visited most of the Scottish fishing villages and many of the
English ones, nor have I neglected Normandy, Brittany, and Picardy;
and wherever I went I found the fisher-folk to be the same, no matter
whether they talked a French _patois_ or a Scottish dialect, such as
one may hear at Buckie on the Moray Firth, or in the _Rue de Pollet_
of Dieppe. The manners, customs, mode of life, and even the dress and
superstitions, are nearly the same on the coast of France as they are
on the coast of Fife, and used-up gentlemen in search of seaside
sensations could scarcely do better than take a tour among the Scottish
fisher-folks, in order to view the wonders of the fishing season, its
curious industry, and the quaint people.

There are scenes on the coast worthy of any sketch-book; there are also
curious seaside resorts that have not yet been vulgarised by hordes of
summer visitors—infant fishing villages, set down by accident in the
most romantic spots, occupied by hardy men and rosy women, who have
children “paidling” in the water or building castles upon the sand.
Such seascapes—for they look more like pictures than realities—may be
witnessed from the deck of the steamboat on the way to Inverness or
Ultima Thule. Looking from the steamer—if one cannot see the coast
in any other way—at one of these embryo communities, one may readily
guess, from the fond attitude of the youthful pair who are leaning on
the old boat, that another cottage will speedily require to be added
to the two now existing. In a few years there will be another; in
course of time the four may be eight, the eight sixteen; and lo! in a
generation there is built a large village, with its adult population
gaining wealth by mining in the silvery quarries of the sea; and by
and by we will see with a pleased eye groups of youngsters splashing
in the water or gathering sea-ware on the shore, and old men pottering
about the rocks setting lobster-pots, doing business in the crustaceous
delicacies of the season. And on glorious afternoons, when the
atmosphere is pure, and the briny perfume delicious to inhale—when the
water glances merrily in the sunlight, and the sails of the dancing
boats are just filled by a capful of wind—the people will be out to
view the scene and note the growing industry of the place; and, as the
old song says—

“O weel may the boatie row,
And better may she speed;
And muckle luck attend the boat
That wins the bairnies’ bread.”

In good time the little community will have its annals of births,
marriages, and deaths; its chronicles of storms, its records of
disasters, and its glimpses of prosperity; and in two hundred years
its origin may be lost, and the inhabitants of the original village
represented by descendants in the sixth generation. At any rate, boats
will increase, curers of herrings and merchants who buy fish will visit
the village and circulate their money, and so the place will thrive. If
a pier should be built, and a railway branch out to it, who knows but
it may become a great port.

I first became acquainted with the fisher-folk by assisting at a
fisherman’s marriage. Marrying and giving in marriage involves an
occasional festival among the fisher-folks of Newhaven of drinking and
dancing—and all the fisher-folks are fond of the dance. In the more
populous fishing towns there are usually a dozen or two of marriages to
celebrate at the close of each herring season; and as these weddings
are what are called in Scotland penny weddings—_i.e._ weddings at
which each guest pays a small sum for his entertainment—there is
no difficulty in obtaining admission to the ceremony and customary
rejoicings. Young men often wait till the close of the annual fishing
before they venture into the matrimonial noose; and I have seen at
Newhaven as many as eight marriages in one evening. It has been
said that a “lucky” day, or rather night, is usually chosen for the
ceremony, for “luck” is the ruling deity of the fishermen; but as
regards the marriage customs of the fisher-class, it was explained
to me that marriages were always held on a Friday (usually thought
to be an unlucky day), from no superstitious feeling or notion, as
was sometimes considered by strangers, but simply that the fishermen
might have the last day of the week (Saturday) and the Sunday to
enjoy themselves with their friends and acquaintances, instead of,
if their weddings took place on Monday or Tuesday, breaking up the
whole week afterwards. I considered this a sort of feasible and
reasonable explanation of the matter. On such occasions as those of
marriage there is great bustle and animation. The guests are invited
two days beforehand by the happy couple _in propriis personis_, and
means are taken to remind their friends again of the ceremony on the
joyous day. At the proper time the parties meet—the lad in his best
blue suit, and the lass and all the other maidens dressed in white—and
walk to the manse or church, as the case may be, or the minister is
“trysted” to come to the bride’s father’s residence. There is a great
dinner provided for the happy occasion, usually served at a small inn
or public-house when there is a very large party. All the delicacies
which can be thought of are procured: fish, flesh, and fowl; porter,
ale, and whisky, are all to be had at these banquets, not forgetting
the universal dish of skate, which is produced at all fisher marriages.
After dinner comes the collection, when the best man, or some one of
the company, goes round and gets a shilling or a sixpence from each.
This is the mode of celebrating a penny wedding, and all are welcome
who like to attend, the bidding being general. The evening winds up,
so far as the young folks are concerned, with unlimited dancing.
In fact dancing at one time used to be the favourite recreation of
the fisher-folk. In a dull season they would dance for “luck,” in a
plentiful season for joy—anything served as an excuse for a dance.[17]
On the wedding night the old folks sit and enjoy themselves with
a bowl of punch and a smoke, talking of old times and old fishing
adventures, storms, miraculous hauls, etc.; in short, like old military
or naval veterans, they have a strong _penchant_ “to fight their
battles o’er again.” The fun grows fast and furious with all concerned,
till the tired body gives warning that it is time to desist, and by and
by all retire, and life in the fishing village resumes its old jog-trot.

It would take up too much space, and weary the reader besides, were I
to give in detail an account of all the fishing places I have visited
during the last ten years. My purpose will be amply served by a glance
at a few of the Scottish fishing villages, which, with the information
I can interpolate about the fisher-folks of the coast of France, and
the eel-breeders of Comacchio, not to mention those of Northumberland
and Yorkshire, will be quite sufficient to give the general reader a
tolerable idea of this interesting class of people; and to suit my own
convenience I will begin at the place where I witnessed the marriage,
for Newhaven, near Edinburgh—“Our Lady’s Port of Grace” as it was
originally named—is the most accessible of all fishing villages; and,
although it is not the primitive place now that it was some thirty
years ago, having been considerably spoiled in its picturesqueness by
the encroachments of the modern architect, and the intrusion of summer
pleasure-seekers, it is still unique as the abode of a peculiar people
who keep up the social distinctiveness of the place. How Newhaven and
similar fishing colonies originated there is no record; it is said,
however, that this particular community was founded by King James
III., who was extremely anxious to extend the industrial resources of
his kingdom by the prosecution of the fisheries, and that to aid him
in this design he brought over a colony of foreigners to practise
and teach the art. Some fishing villages are known to have originated
in the shipwreck of a foreign vessel, when the people saved from
destruction squatted on the nearest shore and grew in the fulness of
time into a community.

[Illustration: NEWHAVEN FISHWIVES.]

Newhaven is most celebrated for its “fishwives,” who were declared by
King George IV. to be the handsomest women he had ever seen, and were
looked upon by Queen Victoria with eyes of wonder and admiration. The
Newhaven fishwife must not be confounded by those who are unacquainted
in the locality with the squalid fish-hawkers of Dublin; nor, although
they can use strong language occasionally, are they to be taken as
examples of the _genus_ peculiar to Billingsgate. The Newhaven women
are more like the buxom _dames_ of the market of Paris, though their
glory of late years has been somewhat dulled. There is this, however,
to be said of them, that they are as much of the past as the present;
in dress and manners they are the same now as they were a hundred
years ago; they take a pride in conserving all their traditions and
characteristics, so that their customs appear unchangeable, and are
never, at any rate, influenced by the alterations which art, science,
and literature produce on the country at large. Before the railway
era, the Newhaven fishwife was a great fact, and could be met with
in Edinburgh in her picturesque costume of short but voluminous and
gaudy petticoats, shouting “Caller herrings!” or “Wha’ll buy my caller
cod?” with all the energy that a strong pair of lungs could supply.
Then, in the evening, there entered the city the oyster-wench, with
her prolonged musical aria of “Wha’ll o’ caller ou?” But the spread
of fishmongers’ shops and the increase of oyster-taverns is doing
away with this picturesque branch of the business. Thirty years ago
nearly the whole of the fishermen of the Firth of Forth, in view of the
Edinburgh market, made for Newhaven with their cargoes of white fish;
and these, at that time, were all bought up by the women, who carried
them on their backs to Edinburgh in creels, and then hawked them
through the city. The sight of a bevy of fishwives in the streets of
the Modern Athens, although comparatively rare, may still occasionally
be enjoyed; but the railways have lightened their labours, and we do
not find them climbing the _Whale Brae_ with a hundredweight, or two
hundredweight, perhaps, of fish, to be sold in driblets, for a few
pence, all through Edinburgh.

The industry of fishwives is proverbial, their chief maxim being, that
“the woman that canna work for a man is no worth ane;” and accordingly
they undertake the task of disposing of the merchandise, and acting as
Chancellor of the Exchequer.[18] Their husbands have only to catch
the fish, their labour being finished as soon as the boats touch the
quay. The Newhaven fishwife’s mode of doing business is well known. She
is always supposed to ask double or triple what she will take; and,
on occasions of bargaining, she is sure, in allusion to the hazardous
nature of the gudeman’s occupation, to tell her customers that “fish
are no fish the day, they’re just men’s lives.” The style of higgling
adopted when dealing with the fisher-folk, if attempted in other kinds
of commerce, gives rise to the well-known Scottish reproach of “D’ye
tak’ me for a fishwife?” The style of bargain-making carried on by the
fishwives may be illustrated by the following little scene:—

A servant girl having just beckoned to one of them is answered by the
usual interrogatory, “What’s yer wull the day, my bonnie lass?” and the
“mistress” being introduced, the following conversation takes place:—

“Come awa, mem, an’ see what bonnie fish I hae the day.”

“Have you any haddocks?”

“Ay hae I, mem, an’ as bonnie fish as ever ye clappit yer twa een on.”

“What’s the price of these four small ones?”

“What’s yer wull, mem?”

“I wish these small ones.”

“What d’ye say, mem? sma’ haddies! they’s no sma’ fish, an they’re the
bonniest I hae in a’ ma creel.”

“Well, never mind, what do you ask for them?”

“Weel, mem, it’s? been awfu’ wather o’ late, an’ the men canna get
fish; ye’ll no grudge me twentypence for thae four?”

“Twentypence!”

“Ay, mem, what for no?”

“They are too dear, I’ll give—”

“What d’ye say, mem? ower dear! I wish ye kent it: but what’ll ye gie
me for thae four?”

“I’ll give you a sixpence.”

“Ye’ll gie me a what?”

“A sixpence.”

“I daur say ye wull, ma bonny leddy, but ye’ll no get thae four fish
for twa sixpences this day.”

“I’ll not give more.”

“Weel, mem, gude day” (making preparations to go); “I’ll tak’
eighteenpence an’ be dune wi’t.”

“No; I’ll give you twopence each for them.”

And so the chaffering goes on, till ultimately the fishwife will
take tenpence for the lot, and this plan of asking double what will
be taken, which is common with them all and sometimes succeeds with
simple housewives, will be repeated from door to door, till the supply
be exhausted. The mode of doing business with a fishwife is admirably
illustrated in the _Antiquary_. When Monkbarns bargains for “the
bannock-fluke” and “the cock-padle,” Maggie Mucklebackit asks four and
sixpence, and ends, after a little negotiation and much finesse, in
accepting half-a-crown and a dram; the latter commodity being worth
siller just then, in consequence of the stoppage of the distilleries.

The fishwives while selling their fish will often say something quaint
to the customer with whom they are dealing. I will give one instance
of this, which, though somewhat ludicrous, is characteristic, and
have no doubt the words were spoken from the poor woman’s heart. “A
fishwife who was crying her “caller cod” in George Street, Edinburgh,
was stopped by a cook at the head of one of the area stairs. A cod was
wanted that day for the dinner of the family, but the cook and the
fishwife could not trade, disagreeing about the price. The night had
been stormy, and instead of the fishwife flying into a passion, as
is their general custom when bargaining for their fish if opposed in
getting their price, the poor woman shed tears, and said to the cook,
‘Tak’ it or want it; ye may think it dear, but it’s a’ that’s left to
me for a faither o’ four bairns.’”

Notwithstanding, however, their lying and cheating in the streets
during the week when selling their fish, there are no human beings in
Scotland more regular in their attendance at church. To go to their
church on a Sunday, and see the women all sitting with their smooth
glossy hair and snow-white caps, staring with open eyes and mouth at
the minister, as he exhorts them from the pulpit as to what they
should do, one would think them the most innocent and simple creatures
in existence. But offer one of them a penny less than she feels
inclined to take for a haddock, and he is a lucky fellow who escapes
without its tail coming across his whiskers. Of late our fishwives have
been considering themselves of some importance. When the Queen came
first to Edinburgh, she happened to take notice of them, and every
printshop window is now stuck full of pictures of Newhaven fishwives
in their quaint costume of short petticoats of flaming red and yellow
colours.[19]

The sketch of fisher-life in the _Antiquary_ applies as well to the
fisher-folk of to-day as to those of sixty years since. This is
demonstrable at Newhaven; which, though fortunate in having a pier as
a rendezvous for its boats, thus admitting of a vast saving of time
and labour, is yet far behind inland villages in point of sanitary
arrangements. There is in the “town” an everlasting scent of new tar,
and a permanent smell of decaying fish, for the dainty visitors who
go down to the village from Edinburgh to partake of the fish-dinners
for which it is so celebrated. Up the narrow closes, redolent of
“bark,” we see hanging on the outside stairs the paraphernalia of
the fisherman—his “properties,” as an actor would call them; nets,
bladders, lines, and oilskin unmentionables, with dozens of pairs of
those particularly blue stockings that seem to be the universal wear of
both mothers and maidens. On the stair itself sit, if it be seasonable
weather, the wife and daughters, repairing the nets and baiting the
lines—gossiping of course with opposite neighbours, who are engaged
in a precisely similar pursuit; and to-day, as half a century ago,
the fishermen sit beside their hauled-up boats, in their white canvas
trousers and their Guernsey shirts, smoking their short pipes, while
their wives and daughters are so employed, seeming to have no idea of
anything in the shape of labour being a duty of theirs when ashore. In
the flowing gutter which trickles down the centre of the old village we
have the young idea developing itself in plenty of noise, and adding
another layer to the incrustation of dirt which it seems to be the sole
business of these children to collect on their bodies. These juvenile
fisher-folk have already learned from the mudlarks of the Thames the
practice of sporting on the sands before the hotel windows in the
expectation of being rewarded with a few halfpence. “What’s the use of
asking for siller before they’ve gotten their denner?” we once heard
one of these precocious youths say to another, who was proposing to
solicit a bawbee from a party of strangers.

To see the people of Newhaven, both men and women, one would be apt
to think that their social condition was one of great hardship and
discomfort; but one has only to enter their dwellings in order to be
disabused of this notion, and to be convinced of the reverse of this,
for there are few houses among the working population of Scotland which
can compare with the well-decked and well-plenished dwellings of these
fishermen. Within doors all is neat and tidy. When at the marriage I
have mentioned, I thought the house I was invited to was the cleanest
and the cosiest-looking house I had ever seen. Never did I see before
so many plates and bowls in any private dwelling; and on all of them,
cups and saucers not excepted, fish, with their fins spread wide out,
were painted in glowing colours; and in their dwellings and domestic
arrangements the Newhaven fishwives are the cleanest women in Scotland,
and the comfort of their husbands when they return from their labours
on the wild and dangerous deep seems to be the fishwife’s chief
delight. I may also mention that none of the young women of Newhaven
will take a husband out of their own community, that they are as rigid
in this matrimonial observance as if they were all Jewesses.[20]

The following anecdotic illustration of the state of information in
Newhaven sixty years since is highly characteristic:—

A fisherman, named Adam L——, having been reproved pretty severely for
his want of Scripture knowledge, was resolved to baulk the minister
on his next catechetical visitation. The day appointed he kept out of
sight for some time; but at length, getting top-heavy with some of his
companions, he was compelled, after several falls, in one of which he
met with an accident that somewhat disfigured his countenance, to take
shelter in his own cottage. The minister arrived, and was informed by
Jenny, the wife, that her husband was absent at the fishing. The Doctor
then inquired if she had carefully perused the catechism he had left
on his last visit, and being answered in the affirmative, proceeded to
follow up his conversation with a question or two. “Weel, Jenny,” said
the minister, “can ye tell me the cause o’ Adam’s fall?” By no means
versed in the history of the great progenitor of the human race, and
her mind being exclusively occupied by her own Adam, Janet replied,
with some warmth, “’Deed, sir, it was naething else but drink!” at the
same time calling upon her husband, “Adam, ye may as weel rise, for the
Doctor kens brawly what’s the matter; some clashin’ deevils o’ neebours
hae telt him a’ aboot it!”

The remains of many old superstitions are still to be found about
Newhaven. I could easily fill a page or two of this volume with
illustrative anecdotes of sayings and doings that are abhorrent to the
fisher mind. The following are given as the merest sample of the number
that might be collected.

They have several times “gone the round” of the newspapers but are none
the worse for that:—

If an uninitiated greenhorn of a landsman chanced to be on board of
a Newhaven boat, and, in the ignorance and simplicity of his heart,
talked about “salmon,” the whole crew—at least a few years ago—would
start, grasp the nearest _iron thowell_, and exclaim, “Cauld iron!”
“cauld iron!” in order to avert the calamity which such a rash use of
the appellation was calculated to induce; and the said uninitiated
gentleman would very likely have been addressed in some such courteous
terms as “O ye igrant brute, cud ye no ca’d it redfish?” Woe to the
unfortunate wight—be he Episcopalian or Presbyterian, Churchman or
Dissenter—who being afloat talks about “the minister:” there is a kind
of undefined terror visible on every countenance if haply this unlucky
word is spoken; and I would advise my readers, should they hereafter
have occasion, when water-borne, to speak of a clergyman, to call him
“the man in the black coat;” the thing will be equally well understood,
and can give offence to none. I warn them, moreover, to be guarded and
circumspect should the idea of a cat or a pig flit across their minds;
and should necessity demand the utterance of their names, let the one
be called “Theebet” and the other “Sandy;” so shall they be landed on
_terra firma_ in safety, and neither their ears nor their feelings be
insulted by piscatory _wit_. In the same category must be placed every
four-footed beast, from the elephant moving amongst the jungles of
Hindostan to the mouse that burrows under the cottage hearth-stone.
Some quadrupeds, however, are more “unlucky” than others; dogs are
detestable, hogs horrible, and hares hideous! It would appear that
Friday, for certain operations, is the most unfortunate; for others the
most auspicious day in the week. On that day no sane fisherman would
commence a Greenland voyage, or proceed to the herring-ground, and on
no other day of the week would he be married.

In illustration of the peculiar dread and antipathy of fishermen to
swine, I give the following extract from a volume published by a
schoolmaster, entitled _An Historical Account of St. Monance_. The
town is divided into two divisions, the one called Nethertown and the
other Overtown—the former being inhabited entirely by fishermen, and
the latter by agriculturists and petty tradesmen:—“The inhabitants
of the Nethertown entertained a most deadly hatred towards swine, as
ominous of evil, insomuch that not one was kept amongst them; and if
their eyes haplessly lighted upon one in any quarter, they abandoned
their mission and fled from it as they would from a lion, and their
occupation was suspended till the ebbing and flowing of the tide had
effectually removed the spell. The same devils were kept, however, in
the Uppertown, frequently affording much annoyance to their neighbours
below, on account of their casual intrusions, producing much damage by
suspension of labour. At last, becoming quite exasperated, the decision
of their oracle was to go in a body and destroy not the animals (for
they dared not hurt them), but all who bred and fostered such demons,
looking on them with a jealous eye, on account of their traffic. Armed
with boat-hooks, they ascended the hill in formidable procession, and
dreadful had been the consequence had they not been discovered. But
the Uppertown, profiting by previous remonstrance, immediately let
loose their swine, whose grunt and squeak chilled the most heroic blood
of the enemy, who, on beholding them, turned and fled down the hill
with tenfold speed, more exasperated than ever, secreting themselves
till the flux and reflux of the tide had undone the enchantment....
According to the most authentic tradition, not an animal of the kind
existed in the whole territories of St. Monance for nearly a century;
and, even at the present day, though they are fed and eaten, the fisher
people are extremely averse to looking on them or speaking of them by
that name; but, when necessitated to mention the animal, it is called
‘the beast’ or ‘the brute’ and, in case the real name of the animal
should accidentally be mentioned, the spell is undone by a less tedious
process—the exclamation of ‘cauld iron’ by the person affected being
perfectly sufficient to counteract the evil influence. Cauld iron,
touched or expressed, is understood to be the first antidote against
enchantment.”

At Fisherrow, a few miles east from Newhaven, there is another fishing
community, who also do business in Edinburgh, and whose manners and
customs are quite as superstitious as those of the folks I have been
describing. “The Fisher-raw wives,” in the pre-railway times, had a
much longer walk with their fish than the Newhaven women; neither were
they held in such esteem, the latter looking upon themselves as the
salt of their profession. Dr. Carlyle of Inveresk, whose memoirs were
recently published, in writing of the Fisherrow women of his time,
says:—“When the boats come in late to the harbour in the forenoon, so
as to leave them no more than time to reach Edinburgh before dinner,
it is not unusual for them to perform their journey of five miles
by relays, three of them being employed in carrying one basket, and
shifting it from one to another every hundred yards, by which means
they have been known to arrive at the fishmarket in less than three
quarters of an hour. It is a well-known fact, that three of these women
went from Dunbar to Edinburgh, a distance of twenty-seven miles, with
each of them a load of herrings on her back of 200 pounds, in five
hours.” Fatiguing journeys with heavy loads of fish are now saved to
the wives of both villages, as dealers attend the arrival of the boats,
and buy up all the sea produce that is for sale. In former times there
used to be great battles between the men of Newhaven and the men of
Fisherrow, principally about their rights to certain oyster-scalps.
The Montagues and Capulets were not more deadly in their hatreds than
these rival fishermen. Now the oyster-grounds are so well defined that
battles upon that question are never fought.

Fisherrow has long been distinguished for its race of hardy and
industrious fishermen, of whom there are about two hundred in all.
They go to the herring-fishing at Caithness, at North Sunderland, at
Berwick, North Berwick, and Dunbar, and about sixty men go to Yarmouth,
on the east coast of England, a distance of about 300 miles. Ten boats,
with a complement of eight men each, go to the deep-sea white-fishing,
and two or three boats to the oyster-dredging.

The white-fishing of Fisherrow has long been a staple source of income.
At what time a colony of fishermen was established at that village is
unknown. They are most likely coeval with the place itself. When the
Reverend Dr. Carlyle, minister of the parish of Inveresk, wrote (about
1790) there were forty-nine fishermen and ninety fishwives, but since
that time the numbers of both have of course much increased.

The system of merchandise followed by the fishwives in the old days
of creel-hawking, and even yet to a considerable extent, was very
simple. Having procured a supply of fish, which having bestowed in a
basket of a form fitted to the back, they used to trudge off to market
under a load which most men would have had difficulty in carrying, and
which would have made even the strongest stagger. Many of them still
proceed to the market, and display their commodities; but the majority,
perhaps, perambulate the streets of the city, emitting cries which,
to some persons, are more loud than agreeable, and which a stranger
would never imagine to have the most distant connection with fish.
Occasionally, too, they may be seen pulling the door-bell of some house
where they are in the habit of disposing of their merchandise, with the
blunt inquiry, “Ony haddies the day?”[21]

While treating of the peculiarities of these people, I may record the
following characteristic anecdote:—“A clergyman, in whose parish a
pretty large fishing-village is situated, in his visitations among
the families of the fish-carriers found that the majority of them
had never partaken of the sacrament. Interrogating them regarding
the reason of this neglect, they candidly admitted to him that their
trade necessarily led them so much to cheat and tell lies, that they
felt themselves unqualified to join in that religious duty.” It is but
justice, however, to add that, when confidence is reposed in them,
nothing can be more fair and upright than the dealings of the fisher
class; and, as dealers in a commodity of very fluctuating value, they
cannot perhaps be justly blamed for endeavouring to sell it to the best
advantage.

At Prestonpans, and the neighbouring village of Cockenzie, the
modern system, as I may call it, for Scotland, of selling the fish
wholesale, may be seen in daily operation. When the boats arrive at the
boat-shore, the wives of those engaged in the fishing are in readiness
to obtain the fish, and carry them from the boats to the place of
sale. They are at once divided into lots, and put up to auction, the
skipper’s wife acting as the George Robins of the company, and the
price obtained being divided among the crew, who are also, generally
speaking, owners of the boat. Buyers, or their agents, from Edinburgh,
Glasgow, Liverpool, Manchester, etc., are always ready to purchase,
and in a few hours the scaly produce of the Firth of Forth is being
whisked along the railway at the rate of twenty miles an hour. This
system, which is certainly a great improvement on the old creel-hawking
plan, is a faint imitation of what is done in England, where the
owners of fishing-smacks consign their produce to a wholesale agent at
Billingsgate, who sells it by auction in lots to the retail dealers and
costermongers.

Farther along on the Scottish east coast is North Berwick, now a
bathing resort, and a fishing town as well; and farther east still is
Dunbar, the seat of an important herring-fishery—grown from a fishing
village into a country town, in which a mixture of agricultural and
fishing interests gives the place a somewhat heterogeneous aspect;
and between St. Abb’s Head and Berwick-on-Tweed is situated Eyemouth,
a fishing-village pure and simple, with all that wonderful filth
scattered about which is a sanitary peculiarity of such towns. The
population of Eyemouth is in keeping with the outward appearance of
the place. As a whole, they are a rough uncultivated people, and
more drunken in their habits than the fishermen of the neighbouring
villages. Coldingham shore, for instance, is only three miles distant,
and has a population of about one hundred fishermen, of a very
respectable class, sober, well dressed, and “well-to-do.” A year or two
ago an outburst of what is called “revivalism” took place at Eyemouth,
and seemed greatly to affect it. The change produced for a time was
unmistakable. These rude unlettered fishermen ceased to visit the
public-houses, refrained from the use of oaths, and instead sang psalms
and said prayers. But this wave of revivalism, which passed over other
villages besides Eyemouth, has rolled away back, and in some instances
left the people worse than it found them; and I may perhaps be allowed
to cite the fish-tithe riots as a proof of what I say. These riots,
for which the rioters were tried before the High Court of Justiciary
at Edinburgh, and some of them punished, arose out of a demand by the
minister for his tithe of fish.

Crossing the Firth of Forth, the cost of Fife, from Burntisland to
“the East Neuk,” will be found studded at intervals with quaint
fishing-villages; and the quaintest among the quaint is Buckhaven.
Buckhaven, or, as it is locally named, Buckhyne, as seen from the sea,
is a picturesque group of houses sown broadcast on a low cliff. Indeed,
most fishing villages seem thrown together without any kind of plan.
The local architects had never thought of building their villages in
rows or streets; as the fisher-folks themselves say, their houses
are “a’ heids and thraws,” that is, set down here and there without
regard to architectural arrangement. The origin of Buckhaven is rather
obscure: it is supposed to have been founded by the crew of a Brabant
vessel, wrecked on that portion of the Fife coast in the reign of
Philip II. The population are, like most of their class, a peculiar
people, living entirely among themselves; and any stranger settling
among them is viewed with such suspicion that years will often elapse
before he is adopted as one of the community. One of the old Scottish
chap-books is devoted to a satire of the Buckhaven people. These old
chap-books are now rare, and to obtain them involves a considerable
amount of trouble. Thirty years ago the chapmen were still carrying
them about in their packs; now it is pleasing to think they have been
superseded by the admirable cheap periodicals which are so numerous
and so easy to purchase. The title of the chap-book referred to above
is, _The History of Buckhaven in Fifeshire, containing the Witty and
Entertaining Exploits of Wise Willie and Witty Eppie, the Ale-wife,
with a description of their College, Coats of Arms, etc._ It would be
a strong breach of etiquette to mention the title of this book to any
of the Buckhaven people; it is difficult to understand how they should
feel so sore on the point, as the pamphlet in question is a collection
of very vulgar witticisms tinged with such a dash of obscenity as
prevents their being quoted here. The industrious fishermen of
Buckhaven are moral, sober, and comparatively wealthy. Indeed, many
of the Scottish fisher-folk are what are called “warm” people; and
there are not in our fishing villages such violent alternations of
poverty and prosperity as are to be found in places devoted entirely to
manufacturing industry. There is usually on the average of the year a
steady income, the people seldom suffering from “a hunger and a burst,”
like weavers or other handicraftsmen.

As denoting the prosperous state of the people of Buckhaven, it may be
stated that most of the families there have saved money; and, indeed,
some of them are comparatively wealthy, having a bank account, as well
as considerable capital in boats, nets, and lines. Fishermen, being
much away from home, at the herring-fishery or out at the deep-sea
fishing, have no temptation to spend their earnings or waste their
time in the tavern. Indeed, in some Scottish fishing villages there
is not even a single public-house. The Buckhaven men delight in their
boats, which are mostly “Firth-built,”—_i.e._ built at Leith, on the
Firth of Forth. Many of the boats used by the Scottish fishermen are
built at that port: they are all constructed with overlapping planks;
and the hull alone of a boat thirty-eight feet in length will cost
a sum of £60. Each boat, before it can be used for the herring or
deep-sea fishery must be equipped with a set of nets and lines; say,
a train of thirty-five nets, at a cost of £4 each, making a sum of
£140; which, with the price of the hull, makes the cost £200, leaving
the masts and sails, as well as inshore and deep-sea lines and many
other _etceteras_, to be provided for before the total cost can be
summed up. The hundred boats which belong to the men of Buckhaven
consequently represent a considerable amount of capital. Each boat with
its appurtenances has generally more than one owner; in other words,
it is held in shares. This is rather an advantage than otherwise, as
every vessel requires a crew of four men at any rate, so that each
boat is usually manned by two or three of its owners—a pledge that it
will be looked carefully after and not be exposed to needless danger.
With all the youngsters of a fishing village it is a point of ambition
to obtain a share of a boat as soon as ever they can; so that they
save hard from their allowances as extra hands, in order to attain as
early as possible to the dignity of proprietorship. We look in vain,
except at such wonderful places as Rochdale, to find manufacturing
operatives in a similar financial position to these Buckhaven men; in
fact, our fishermen have been practising the plan of co-operation for
years without knowing it, and without making it known. The co-operative
system seems to prevail among the English fisher-folk as well. At
Filey, on the Yorkshire coast, many of the large fishing yawls—these
vessels average about 40 tons each—are built by little companies and
worked on the sharing principle: so much to the men who find the bait,
and so much to each man who provides a net; and a few shillings per
pound of the weekly earnings of the ship go to the owners. In France
there are various ways of engaging the boats and conducting the
fisheries. There are some men who fish on their own account, who have
their own boat, sail, and nets, etc., and who find their own bait,
whether at the sardine-fishery or when prosecuting any other branch of
the sea fisheries. Of course these boat-owners hire what assistance
they require, and pay for it. There are other men again who hire a
boat and work it on the sharing plan, each man getting so much, the
remainder being left for the owner. A third class of persons are those
who work off their advances: these are a class of men so poor as to
be obliged to pawn their labour to the boat-owners long before it is
required. We can parallel this at home in the herring-fishery, where
the advance of money to the men has become something very like a curse
to all concerned.

The joint-stock fishing system has been prevalent in Scotland, with
various modifications, for a very long period. Ship-carpenters at one
time used to speculate in the fisheries, and build boats in order to
give fishermen a share in them, and persons who had nets would lend
them out on condition of getting a share in the speculation. The two
or three fishermen chiefly concerned would assume a few landsmen as
assistants. At the end of the season the proceeds of the fishing were
divided; the proprietors of the boat drew each one deal, every man
half a deal, and every net was awarded half a deal. The landsmen, being
counted as boys, only drew a quarter of a deal.

The retired Buckhaven fishermen can give interesting information
about the money value of the fisheries. One, who was a young fellow
five-and-twenty years ago, told me the herring-fishery was a kind
of lottery, but that, on an average of years, each boat would take
annually something like a hundred crans—the produce, in all cases
where the crew were part owners, after deducting a fifth part or so
to keep up the boat, being equally divided. “When I was a younker,
sir,” said this person, “there was lots o’ herrin’, an’ we had a fine
winter fishin’ as well, an’ sprats in plenty. As to white fish, they
were abundant five-an’-twenty year ago. Haddocks now are scarce to
be had; being an inshore fish, they’ve been a’ ta’en, in my opinion.
Line-fishin’ was very profitable from 1830 to 1840. I’ve seen as many
as a hunder thoosand fish o’ ae kind or anither ta’en by the Buckhyne
boats in a week—that is, countin’ baith inshore boats an’ them awa at
the Dogger Bank. The lot brocht four hunder pound; but a’ kinds of fish
are now sae scarce that it taks mair than dooble the labour to mak the
same money that was made then.”

In the pre-railway era, most of the fishermen along the east coast
of Fife (at Buckhaven, Cellardyke, St. Monance, and Pittenweem),
as also the fishermen along the south coast (North Bewick, Dunbar,
Eyemouth, and Burnmouth), used to carry their catchings of white fish
to villages up the Firth of Forth, and dispose of them to cadgers and
creel-hawkers, who had the retail trade of Edinburgh and Leith in their
own hands. These persons distributed themselves over the country in
order to dispose of their fish, and some of them would return with
farm-produce in its place. The profits realised from thus retailing
the produce of fishermen belonging to distant villages enabled those
who resided on firths bordering the large towns and cities quietly to
lie on their oars. Railways having given facilities to the east coast
of Fife fishers, as well as those on the opposite coast, to send their
produce to market from their own respective villages, and a new class
of traders having arisen—viz. fishmongers having retail shops—the
creel-hawking trade is now fast declining, and as a following result so
also must be the material wealth of the villages that were in a great
measure dependent upon it. In fact, railways have quite revolutionised
the fish trade. There are a few females, formerly creel-hawkers, who
continue still to act as retailers of fish. But many of them have taken
shops, and others stalls in retail markets, and attend the wholesale
market regularly to purchase their supplies. These retail dealers
in fish do remarkably well; but those who still continue to hawk
about a few haddocks or whitings when they can be procured find that
creel-hawking is but a precarious trade.

I will now carry the reader with me to a very quaint place indeed,
the scene of Sir Walter Scott’s novel of _The Antiquary_—Auchmithie;
and then on to Fittie, at Aberdeen—another fishing quarter of great
originality: we will go in the steamer.

Steamboat travelling has been in some degree superseded by the railway
carriage; but to tourists going to Inverness or Thurso the steamer
has its attractions. It is preferable to the railroad when the time
occupied in the journey is not an object. On board a fine steamboat
one has opportunities to study character, and there are always a few
characters on board a coasting steam-vessel. And going north from
Edinburgh the coast is interesting. The steamer may pass the Anster or
Dunbar herring-fleet.

“Up the waters steerin’,
The boats are thick and thrang;
Aboon the Bass they’re bearin’,
They’ll shoot their nets ere lang.

“The morn, like siller glancin’,
They’ll haul them han’ to han’;
Syne doon the water dancin’,
Come hame wi’ sixty cran.”

The passengers can see the Bell Rock lighthouse, and think of the old
legend of the pirate who took away the floating bell that had been
erected by a pious abbot on the Inchcape Rock as a warning to mariners,
and who was promptly punished for his sin by being shipwrecked on
the very rock from which he had carried off the bell. After leaving
Aberdeen, the Buffers of Buchan are among the wonders of the shore,
and the sea soughs at times with mournful cadence in the great caverns
carved out by the waves on the precipitous coast, or it foams and
lashes with majestic fury, seeking to add to its dominions. All the
way, till the Old Man of Wick is descried, guarding the entrance of
Pulteneytown harbour, there are ruined castles, and ancient spires, and
curious towers perched on high sea-cliffs; or there are frowning hills
and screaming sea-birds to add to the poetry of the scene. And along
these storm-washed coasts there are wonders of nature that show the
strong arm of the water, and mark out works that human ingenuity could
never have achieved. Loch Katrine and the Pass of Glencoe have been
the fashion ever since Sir Walter Scott _made_ Scotland; but there are
other places besides these that are worth visiting.

The supposed scene of Sir Walter Scott’s novel of _The Antiquary_,
on the coast of Forfarshire, presents a conjunction of scenic and
industrial features which commends it to notice. At Auchmithie, which
is distant a few miles from Arbroath, there is often some cause for
excitement; and a real storm or a real drowning is something vastly
different from the shipwreck in the drama of _The Tempest_, or the
death of the Colleen Bawn. The beetling cliffs barricading the sea
from the land may be traversed by the tourist to the music of the
everlasting waves, the dashing of which only makes the deep solitude
more solemn; the sea-gull sweeps around with its shrill cry, and
playful whales gambol in the placid waters.

The village of Auchmithie, which is wildly grand and romantic, stands
on the top of the cliffs, and as the road to it is steep a great amount
of labour devolves on the fishermen in carrying down their lines
and nets, and carrying up their produce, etc. One customary feature
observed by strangers on entering Auchmithie is, that when met by
female children they invariably stoop down, making a very low curtsey,
and for this piece of polite condescension they expect that a few
halfpence will be thrown to them. If you pass on without noticing them
they will not ask for anything, but once throw them a few halfpence
and a pocketful will be required to satisfy their importunities. There
are two roads leading to Auchmithie from Arbroath, one along the
sea-coast, the other through the country. The distance is about 3½
miles in a north-east direction, and the country road is the best; and
approaching the village in that direction it has a very fair aspect.
Two rows of low-built slate-roofed houses, and a school and chapel,
stand a few yards off by themselves. On the north side of the village
is a stately farm-house, surrounded by trees, and on the south side a
Coast-Guard station, clean, white-washed, and with a flagstaff, giving
the whole a regular and picturesque appearance. Entering the village
of Auchmithie from the west, and walking through to the extreme east
end, the imagination gets staggered to think how any class of men could
have selected such a wild and rugged part of the coast for pursuing the
fishing trade—a trade above all others that requires a safe harbour
where boats can be launched and put to sea at a moment’s warning if any
signals of distress be given. The bight of Auchmithie is an indentation
into rocky cliffs several hundred feet in perpendicular height. About
the middle of the bight there is a steep ravine or gully with a small
stream, and at the bottom of this ravine there is a small piece of
level ground where a fish-curing house is erected, and where also the
fishermen pull up their boats that they may be safe from easterly
gales. There are in all about seventeen boats’ crews at Auchmithie.
Winding roads with steps lead down the side of the steep brae to the
beach. There are a few half-tide rocks in the bight that may help to
break the fury of waves raised by easterly winds; but there is no
harbour or pier for the boats to land at or receive shelter from, and
this the fishermen complain of, as they have to pay £2 a year for the
privilege of each boat. The beach is steep, and strewed with large
pebbles, excellently adapted, they say, for drying fish upon.

The visitor, in addition to studying the quaint people, may explore one
of the vast caves which only a few years ago were the nightly refuge
of the smuggler. Brandy Cove and Gaylet Pot are worth inspection,
and inspire a mingled feeling of terror and grandeur. The visitor
may also take a look at the “Spindle”—a large detached piece of the
cliffs, shaped something like a corn-stack, or a boy’s top with the
apex uppermost. When the tide is full this rock is surrounded with
water, and appears like an island. Fisher-life may be witnessed here
in all its unvarnished simplicity. Indeed nothing could well be more
primitive than their habits and mode of life. I have seen the women of
Auchmithie “kilt their coats” and rush into the water in order to aid
in shoving off the boats, and on the return of the little fleet carry
the men ashore on their brawny shoulders with the greatest ease and all
the _nonchalance_ imaginable, no matter who might be looking at them.
Their peculiar way of smoking their haddocks may be taken as a very
good example of their other modes of industry. Instead of splitting
the fish after cleaning them, as the regular curers do, they smoke
them in their round shape. They use a barrel without top or bottom as
a substitute for a curing-house. The barrel being inserted a little
distance in the ground, an old kail-pot or kettle, filled with sawdust,
is placed at the bottom, and the inside is then filled with as many
fish as can conveniently be hung in it. The sawdust is then set fire
to, and a piece of canvas thrown over the top of the barrel: by this
means the females of Auchmithie smoke their haddocks in a round state,
and very excellent they are when the fish are caught in season. The
daily routine of fisher-life at Auchmithie is simple and unvarying;
year by year, and all the year round, it changes only from one branch
of the fishery to another. The season, of course, brings about its
joys and sorrows: sad deaths, which overshadow the village with gloom;
or marriages, when the people may venture to hold some simple _fête_,
but only to send them back with renewed vigour to their occupations.
Time, as it sweeps over them, only indicates a period when the deep-sea
hand-lines must be laid aside for the herring-drift, or when the
men must take a toilsome journey in search of bait for their lines.
Their scene of labour is on the sea, ever on the sea; and, trusting
themselves on the mighty waters, they pursue their simple craft with
persevering industry, never heeding that they are scorched by the suns
of summer or benumbed by the frosts of winter. There is, of course, an
appropriate season for the capture of each particular kind of fish.
There are days when the men fish inshore for haddocks; and there are
times when, with their frail vessels, the fishermen sail long distances
to procure larger fish in the deep seas, and when they must remain in
their open boats for a few days and nights. But the El-dorado of all
the coast tribe is “the herring.” This abounding and delightful fish,
which can be taken at one place or another from January to December,
yields a six weeks’ fishing in the autumn of the year, to which, as has
already been stated, all the fisher-folk look forward with hope, as
a period of money-making, and which, so far as the young people are
concerned, is generally expected to end, like the third volume of a
love-story, in matrimony.

Taking a jump from Auchmithie, it is desirable to pause a moment at the
small fishing village of Findon, in the parish of Banchory-Devenick, in
Kincardineshire, in order to say a few words about a branch of industry
in connection with the fisheries that is peculiar to Scotland. Yarmouth
is famed for its “bloaters,” a preparation of herrings slightly
smoked, well known over England; and in Scotland, as has already been
mentioned in a previous chapter, there is that unparagoned dainty,
the “Finnan haddock,” the best accompaniment that can be got to the
other substantial components of a Scottish breakfast. Indeed, the
Finnan haddock is celebrated as a breakfast luxury all over the world,
although it is so delicate in its flavour, and requires such nicety in
the cure, that it cannot be enjoyed in perfection at any great distance
from the sea-coast. George IV., who had certainly, whatever may have
been his other virtues, a kingly genius in the matter of relishes
for the palate (does not the world owe to him the discovery of the
exquisite propriety of the sequence of port wine after cheese?), used
to have genuine Finnan haddocks always on his breakfast-table, selected
at Aberdeen and sent express by coach every day for his Majesty’s
use. Great houses of brick have now been erected at various places
on the Moray Firth and elsewhere; and in these immense quantities of
haddocks and other fish are smoked for the market by means of burning
billets of green wood. Formerly the fisher-folk used to smoke a few
haddocks in their cottages over their peat-fires for family use. I
have already described how the fame of the Finnan haddock arose. The
trade soon grew so large that it required a collection to be made in
the fishing districts in order to get together the requisite quantity;
so that what was once a mere local effort has now become a prominent
branch of the fish trade. But it is seldom that the home-smoked
fish can be obtained, with its delicate flavour of peat-reek. The
manufactured Finnan or yellow haddock, smoked in a huge warehouse,
is more plentiful, of course, but it has lost the old relish. It
is pleasant to see the clean fireside and the clear peat-fire in
the comfortably-furnished cottage, with the children sitting round
the ingle on the long winter evenings, listening to the tales and
traditions of the coast, the fish hanging all over the reeking peats,
acquiring the while that delicate yellow tinge so refreshing to the
eyes of all lovers of a choice dish.

Footdee, or “Fittie” as it is locally called, is a quaint suburb of
Aberdeen, figuring not a little, and always with a kind of comic
quaintness, in the traditions of that northern city, and in the stories
which the inhabitants tell of each other. They tell there of one
Aberdeen man, who, being in London for the first time, and visiting
St. Paul’s, was surprised by his astonishment at its dimensions into
an unusual burst of candour. “My stars!” he said, “this maks a perfect
feel (fool) o’ the kirk o’ Fittie.” Part of the quaint interest thus
attached to this particular suburb by the Aberdonians themselves
arises from its containing a little colony or nest of fisher-folk, of
immemorial antiquity. There are about a hundred families living in
Fittie, or Footdee Square, close to the sea, where the Dee has its
mouth. This community, like all others made up of fishing-folk, is a
peculiar one, and differs of course from those of other working-people
in its neighbourhood. In many things the Footdee people are like the
gipsies. They rarely marry, except with their own class; and those born
in a community of fishers seldom leave it, and very seldom engage in
any other avocation than that of their fathers. The squares of houses
at Footdee are peculiarly constructed. There are neither doors nor
windows in the outside walls, although these look to all the points
of the compass; and none live within the square but the fishermen and
their families, so that they are as completely isolated and secluded
from public gaze as are a regiment of soldiers within the dead walls of
a barrack. The Rev. Mr. Spence, of Free St. Clement’s, lately completed
plans of the entire “toun,” giving the number and the names of the
tenants in every house; and from these exhaustive plans it appears
that the total population of the two squares was 584—giving about nine
inmates for each of these two-roomed houses. But the case is even worse
than this average indicates. “In the South Square only eight of the
houses are occupied by single families; and in the North Square only
three, the others being occupied by at least two families each—one
room apiece—and four _single_ rooms in the North Square contain _two_
families each! There are thirty-six married couples and nineteen widows
in the twenty-eight houses; and the number of distinct families in
them is fifty-four.” The Fittie men seem poorer than the generality of
their brethren. They purchase the crazy old boats of other fishermen,
and with these, except in very fine weather, they dare not venture
very far from “the seething harbour-bar;” and the moment they come
home with a quantity of fish the men consider their labours over, the
duty of turning the fish into cash devolving, as in all other fishing
communities, on the women. The young girls, or “queans,” as they are
called in Fittie, carry the fish to market, and the women sit there and
sell them; and it is thought that it is the officious desire of their
wives to be the treasurers of their earnings that keeps the fishermen
from being more enterprising. The women enslave the men to their
will, and keep them chained under petticoat government. Did the women
remain at home in their domestic sphere, looking after the children
and their husbands’ comforts, the men would then pluck up spirit and
exert themselves to make money in order to keep their families at home
comfortable and respectable. Just now there are many fishermen who
will not go to sea as long as they imagine their wives have got a
penny left from the last hawking excursion. There is no necessity for
the females labouring at out-door work. There are few trades in this
country where industrious men have a better chance to make money than
fishermen have, especially when they are equipped with proper machinery
for their calling. At Arbroath, Auchmithie, and Footdee (Fittie), the
fishing population are at the very bottom of the scale for enterprising
habits and social progress. When the wind is in any way from the
eastward, or in fact blowing hard from any direction, the fishermen at
these places are very chary about going to sea unless dire necessity
urges them.

The people of “Fittie” are progressing in morals and civilisation.
One of the local journalists who took the trouble to visit the place
lately, in order to describe truthfully what he saw, says:—“They have
the reputation of being a very peculiar people, and so in many respects
they are; but they have also the reputation of being a dirtily-inclined
and degraded people, and this we can certify from personal inspection
they are not. We have visited both squares, and found the interior of
the houses as clean, sweet, and wholesome as could well be desired.
Their white-washed walls and ceiling, their well-rubbed furniture,
clean bedding, and freshly-sanded floors, present a picture of tidiness
such as is seldom to be met with among classes of the population
reckoned higher in the social scale. And this external order is only
the index of a still more important change in the habits and character
of our fisher-toun, the population of which, all who know it agree in
testifying, has within the past few years undergone a remarkable change
for the better in a moral point of view. Especially is this noticed in
the care of their children, whose education might, in some cases, bring
a tinge of shame to the cheek of well-to-do town’s folks. Go down to
the fisher squares, and lay hold of some little fellow hardly able to
waddle about without assistance in his thick made-down moleskins, and
you will find he has the Shorter Catechism at his tongue-end. Ask any
employer of labour in the neighbourhood of the shore where he gets his
best apprentices, and he will tell you that for industry and integrity
he finds no lads who surpass those from the fisher squares. Inquire
about the families of the fishermen who have lost their lives while
following their perilous occupation, and you will find that they have
been divided among other families in the square, and treated by the
heads of these families as affectionately as if they had been their
own.”

As regards the constant intermarrying of the fisher class, and the
working habits of their women, I have read an Italian fable to the
following effect:—“A man of distinction, in rambling one day through
a fishing-village, accosted one of the fishermen with the remark
that he wondered greatly that men of his line of life should chiefly
confine themselves, in their matrimonial connections, to women of their
own caste, and not take them from other classes of society, where a
greater security would be obtained for their wives keeping a house
properly, and rearing a family more in accordance with the refinement
and courtesies of life. To this the fisherman replied, that to him,
and men of his laborious profession, such wives as they usually took
were as indispensable to their vocation as their boat and nets. Their
wives took their fish to market, obtained bait for their lines, mended
their nets, and performed a thousand different and necessary things,
which husbands could not do for themselves, and which women taken from
any other of the labouring classes of society would be unable to do.
‘The labour and drudgery of our wives,’ continued he, ‘is a necessary
part of our peculiar craft, and cannot by any means be dispensed with,
without entailing irreparable injury upon our social interests.’
MORAL.—This is one among many instances, where the solid and the useful
must take precedence of the showy and the elegant.”

As I have already mentioned, the fishers are intensely superstitious.
No matter where we view them, they are as much given to signs and omens
at Portel near Boulogne as at Portessie near Banff. For instance,
whilst standing or walking they don’t like to be numbered. Rude boys
will sometimes annoy them by shouting—

“Ane, twa, three;
What a lot o’ fisher mannies I see!”

It is also considered very offensive to ask fisher-people, whilst on
their way to their boats, where they are going to-day; and they do not
like to see, considering it unlucky, the impression of a very flat
foot upon the sand; neither, as I have already explained, can they go
to work if on leaving their homes in the morning a pig should cross
their path. This is considered a particularly unlucky omen, and at
once drives them home. Before a storm, it is usually thought, there is
some kind of warning vouchsafed to them; they see, in their mind’s eye
doubtless, a comrade wafted homeward in a sheet of flame, or the wraith
of some one beckons them with solemn gesture landward, as if saying,
“Go not upon the waters.” When an accident happens from an open boat,
and any person is drowned, that boat is never again used, but is laid
up high and dry, and allowed to rot away—rather a costly superstition.
Then, again, some fisher-people perform a kind of “rite” before going
to the herring-fishery, in drinking to a “white lug”—that is, that when
they “pree” or examine a corner or lug of their nets, they may find
it glitter with the silvery sheen of the fish, a sure sign of a heavy
draught.

But the fishermen of other coasts are quite as quaint, superstitious,
and peculiar as those of our own. The residents in the _Faubourg de
Pollet_ of Dieppe are just as much alive to the signs and tokens of the
hour as the dwellers in the square of Fittie, or those who inhabit the
fishing quarter of Boulogne. It is a pity that the guide-books say so
little about these and similar places. The fishing quarter of Boulogne
is not unlike Newhaven: there is the same “ancient and fish-like
smell,” the same kind of women with a very short petticoat, the only
difference being that our Scottish fishwives wear comfortable shoes and
stockings. We can see too the dripping nets hung up to dry from the
windows of the tumble-down-like houses, and the _gamins_ of Boulogne
lounge about the gutter’s side on the large side stones, or run up
and down the long series of steps just the same as the fisher-folks’
children do at home.

[Illustration: A FRENCH FISHWOMAN.]

It is only, however, by penetrating into the quaint villages situated
on the coasts of Normandy and Brittany, that we can gain a knowledge
of the manners and customs of those persons who are daily engaged in
prosecuting the fisheries. The clergymen of their districts, as may be
supposed, have great power over them, and all along the French coast
the fisher-people have churches of their own, and they are constantly
praying for “luck,” or leaving propitiatory gifts upon the altars, as
well as going pilgrimages in order that their wishes may be realised.
A dream is thought of such great consequence among these people, that
the women will hold a conference, early in the day, in order to its
interpretation. Each little village has its storied traditions, many
of them of great interest, and some of them very romantic. I can only
briefly allude, however, to one of these little stories. Some of my
readers may have heard of the Bay of the Departed on the coast of
Brittany, where, in the dead hour of night, the boatmen are summoned
by some unseen power to launch their boats and ferry over to a sacred
island the souls of men who had been drowned in the surging waters. The
fishermen tell that, on the occasion of those midnight freights, the
boat is so crowded with invisible passengers as to sink quite low in
the water, and the wails and cries of the shipwrecked are heard as the
melancholy voyage progresses. On their arrival at the Island of Sein,
invisible beings are said to number the invisible passengers, and the
wondering awe-struck crew then return to await the next supernatural
summons to boat over the ghosts to the storied isle, which was in long
back days the chief haunt of the Druidesses in Brittany. A similar
story may be heard at Guildo on the same coast. Small skiffs, phantom
ones it is currently believed, may be seen when the moon is bright
darting out from under the castle cliffs, manned by phantom figures,
ferrying over the treacherous sands the spirits whose bodies lie
engulphed in the neighbourhood. Not one of the native population, so
strong is the dread of the scene, will pass the spot after nightfall,
and strange stories are told of phantom lights and woeful demons that
lure the unsuspecting wayfarer to a treacherous death.

The Parisian fishwives are clean and buxom women, like their sisters
of Newhaven, and they are quite as celebrated if not so picturesque
in their costume. About a century and a half ago—and I need not go
further back—there were a great number of fishwives in Paris, there
being not less than 4000 oyster-women, who pursued their business
with much dexterity, and were able to cheat their customers as well,
if not better than any modern fishwife. One of their best tricks was
to swallow many of the finest oysters under the pretence of their
not being fresh. Among the Parisian fishwives of the last century we
are able to pick out Madame Picard, who was famed for her poetical
talent, and was personally known to many of the eminent Frenchmen of
the last century. Her poems were collected and published in a little
volume, and ultimately by marriage this fishwife became a lady, having
married a very wealthy silk merchant. The fishwives of Paris have
long been historical: they have figured prominently in all the great
events connected with the history of that city. A deputation from these
market-women, gorgeously dressed in silk and lace, and bedecked with
diamonds and other precious stones, frequently took part in public
affairs. Mirabeau was a great favourite of the Parisian fishwives; at
his death they attended his funeral and wore mourning for him. These
Poissardes took an active part in the revolution of 1789, and did deeds
of horror and charity that one has a difficulty in reconciling. It was
no uncommon sight, for instance, to see the fishwives carrying about on
poles the heads of obnoxious persons who had been murdered by the mob.

As I am on the subject of the foreign fisher-folk, I may as well say
a few words more about the quaint eel-breeders of Comacchio, to whom
I have already had occasion to allude. According to M. Coste, the
social life of the people at Comacchio, who are engaged in the work
of eel-culture, is very curious; but I think the industrial phase is
so much mixed up with the social as to render the two inseparable. The
community is in a sense—that is, so far as discipline is concerned—a
military one, and strict laws are laid down for the conduct of the
fishery. A large number of the men live in barracks, and observe the
monkish rule of passive obedience. Each of the islands of the lagoon
may be described as a small farm, having a chief cultivator, a few
servants, a plentiful supply of the necessary implements of labour,
its living-house, and its store for the harvest. It appears so natural
to the people to suppose these stations to be farms, that they have
from the very earliest times described the various basins as fields,
just as if they were composed of earth instead of water; and of these
places there are no less than four hundred, the most important of them
belonging to the state, the rest being private property. The government
of the whole lagoon is exclusively in the hands of the farmer-general
or his representative, who rents the fisheries from the Pope. There is
a large body of men employed by him, who are divided into brigades,
and whose business lies in the construction of the dykes, and in the
management of the flood-gates during the seeding of the lagoon, and
the organisation of the labyrinths during the fishing-season. This
cultivating brigade numbers about three hundred men; the police brigade
consists of one hundred and twenty persons; and besides these there is
an administrative brigade of one hundred individuals. A great deal of
work has to be done by the persons employed, whether at the various
farms, in the offices, or in the kitchen, for at Comacchio a large
portion of the fish is cooked for the market. Upon each farm there are
about twelve labourers, who live in a barrack under severe discipline,
having all things in common. There is a master who exercises
absolute power in his own domain; he is paid a salary of four scudi
seventy-five baiocchi per month, with two and a half pounds of fish
per day, and during summer-time, when the fish are scarce, he gets an
additional allowance of money. The rate of wages at this place appears
exceedingly small when contrasted with the payment of English labour.
The wages of the learners or apprentices are exceedingly modest; they
are remunerated with the “sair-won penny-fee” of 26s. per annum, in
addition to their food! But then the poor people of Comacchio—the
widow, the orphan, the aged and the infirm labourer—are all maintained
at the expense of the community.

But it is right to mention also that a greater than a mere salaried
interest in the labours incidental to the working of these fish-farms
is kept up by the greater portion of the _employes_ having a share of
or commission on the produce, which in good years amounts to as much as
twelve Roman ecus for each man. The captain is, of course, responsible
in every way for his farm, both that the labour be properly carried on,
and also for the moral conduct of the men under his charge, to whom
he is bound to set a good example, as well of neatness in dress as
activity in business.

Exiled in the valley which they cultivate, each family finds it
necessary to devote its attention to those domestic offices so
necessary for economy and comfort. The _vallanti_ take in turn, as
our soldiers do, the duty of cooking. They place the fish which they
receive as a part of their wages in a common stock, to which is added
such provision as the messenger may have brought from the town.
When the cook has prepared the repast, they all sit down to table
in one company, from the head man to the most humble servant; but
although they mix thus promiscuously together, military etiquette is
strictly observed—the foreman occupies the place of honour, having
the under-foreman and the secretary by his side, next come the
vallanti, and then the apprentices and cleaners. A benediction is then
pronounced, after which the foreman serves out to each man his proper
modicum of food, taking care to respect those rights of precedence
which have been indicated. Eels, cooked upon the gridiron, form the
staple of the repast, and the dinner is washed down with a little
bosco-eli-esco wine. After dinner is over, the labourers return to
their work. When evening arrives some remain awake all night, seated in
arm-chairs, and others lie down in hard beds similar to those of the
barracks. None of the _employes_ of the valley are allowed to be absent
from duty without a written permission, and heavy fines are exacted
on any occasion of this rule being infringed. The discipline of each
valley is the same, and one cannot conceive of a more monotonous life
than that led by these humble fishermen, which season after season is
ever the same, and goes on for years in one dull unvarying round. An
unexpected tourist excites quite a commotion among the simple people,
and they have great hopes that as the place becomes known to the outer
world their prison life will ultimately be ameliorated.

The fish season is opened with great solemnity of prayer, and many
of those other ceremonies of the church peculiar to Roman Catholic
communities—one of which is the consecration of the lagoon. The
labyrinths, which have been constructed from hurdles in each watery
field (see plan in “Fish Culture”) are crowded with fish, so that
there is comparatively little trouble in the capture, and the salter
waters of the sea being let in, the migratory instinct of the animal
is excited, so that it becomes an easy prey to the fishermen. Upon the
occasion of taking a great haul of fish in any particular valley, a gun
is fired to announce the glad tidings to the other islanders, and next
day a feast is held to celebrate the capture, which must, however, be
of a certain amount.

The town of Comacchio is chiefly a long street of one-storied houses,
situated on the principal island of the lagoon. There is a cathedral in
the town, but it is entirely destitute of any architectural character,
and there is a tower, from the top of which a good view of the lagoon
and its various islands may be obtained; but in an industrial point
of view the chief feature of the place is the great kitchen where
the cure of the fish is carried on, one of the peculiarities of
Comacchio being that a large portion of the eels are cooked before
being sent to market. The kitchen where the eels are cooked is a large
room containing a number of fireplaces ranged along one side. These
fireplaces are about five feet square, and in front of each of them
are hung six or seven spits on which the eels are impaled and roasted.
The fire is placed on a low grate, and immediately below the spits is
a trough or duct to catch the grease, that drops from the eels while
cooking. Before being roasted the fish undergo an operation. A workman
seated before a block of wood, with a small hatchet in his hand, seizes
the eels one by one and with great dexterity cuts off the head and
tail, which are given to the poor, divides the body of the eel into
several pieces of equal length according to its size, and throws them
into a basket at his side. Each piece at the same time is slightly
notched to facilitate the work of the next operator, who with equal
skill and quickness puts the bits on the spit. It is only the large
eels, however, that are decapitated and divided, the smaller ones are
simply notched and stuck on the spit. The spits thus filled are next
handed to the women in front of the fire. Two women are necessary for
each fireplace: one regulates the fire; the second looks after the
roasting of the eels, which is the most important part of the labour,
carefully shifting the spits from a higher to a lower position in front
of the fire until the fish are properly done, when the spits are taken
off by the woman, who places them aside for the next operation. This
woman also attends to the grease that collects in the trough below the
spits, and puts it in jars for future use. Besides these fireplaces,
there are a number of furnaces fitted with large circular frying-pans,
which are exclusively attended to by men. All the fish for which the
spit is unsuitable are fried in these pans with a mixture of the grease
dropped from the eels and olive-oil. They are exposed to the air for
some time, even during very warm weather, before being cooked. This
operation renders them fitter for preservation. The eels roasted on
spits, and the fish cooked in the frying-pans, are placed in baskets of
openwork to _dreep_ and cool. They are then packed in barrels of large
and small sizes. The packing is carefully and regularly done similar
to the method of packing herrings. A mixture of vinegar and salt is
poured into the barrel before it is closed up. The vinegar must be of
the strongest, and the salt employed is grey rock-salt instead of white
salt. Previous to exportation the barrels are branded with different
letters according to the nature of the fish contained in them.

Another method of preserving the fish is by salting. In the room
devoted to this operation is a raised quadrangular space inclined so as
to have a flow into a kind of ditch or trough, similar to that which
receives the grease from the eels in the kitchen. On this raised space
a layer of grey rock-salt is spread, and upon this salt the eels are
disposed, laid at full length and closely squeezed together. Another
layer of salt is spread upon the eels, and then another layer of eels
is disposed crosswise on the first row, and so on until the pile is
sufficiently high. A layer of salt is spread on the top, which is
crowned by a board heavy with weights to press the fish close together
and prevent the air from penetrating into the pile. The brine that
exudes from the heap of fish and salt flows into the trough already
mentioned. When the fish are considered to be well impregnated with the
salt, which requires a period of twelve or fifteen days according to
the size of the eels, the fish are taken down and packed in barrels,
the same as the cooked eels, but without any liquid. There is a third
mode of preparation, which consists in first immersing them for some
time in the brine obtained from the above process of salting and then
drying them. It is found necessary to put them into this liquid when
alive, as otherwise the entrails would not absorb enough of salt to
preserve them. In order to render the operation still more effective,
powdered salt is introduced into the intestines by a wooden rod. After
this they are washed in lukewarm water, and then hung up to dry below
the ceiling of the kitchen or in a room somewhat smoky. The eels dried
in this manner become of a bronze colour and are called smoked, a name
which is also applied to all the fish prepared by the drying process,
although smoke has nothing to do with the process. When the fish are
destined for speedy consumption they are only half-dried. A barrel of
pickled eels contains one hundred and fifty pounds weight, and costs a
little more than ninety-seven francs. The fish of Comacchio are sent to
all parts of Italy, and in Venice, Rome, and Naples they are greatly in
demand.

As I have already indicated, the income obtained at Comacchio from this
one fish is something wonderful; labour being so cheap, the profits are
of course proportionately large. The population of the lagoon is about
seven thousand individuals, and, as I have endeavoured to show, their
mode of life is exceedingly primitive, the one grand idea being the
fishery, of the ingenuity and productiveness of which the population
are very proud.

The short and simple annals of the fisher-folk are all tinged with
melancholy—there is a skeleton in every closet. There is no household
but has to mourn the loss of a father or a son. Annals of storms and
chronicles of deaths form the talk of the aged in all the fishing
villages. The following narrative is a sample of hundreds of other sad
tales that might be collected from the coast people of Scotland. It
was related to a friend by a woman at Musselburgh:—“Weel, ye see, sir,
I hae’na ony great story till tell. At the time I lost my guidman I
was livin’ doon by at the Pans (Prestonpans, a fishing village). The
herrin’ season was ower aboot a month, and my guidman had laid by a
guid pickle siller, and we had skytched oot a lot o’ plans for the
futur’. We had nae bairns o’ oor ain, although we had been married for
mony years; but we had been lang thinkin’ o’ takin’ in a wee orphint
till bring up as oor ain; and noo that the siller was geyan’ plenty, we
settled that Mairon M’Farlane should come hame till us by the beginnin’
o’ November. My guidman was thinkin’ aboot buyin’ a new boat, although
his auld ane was no sae muckle the waur for wear. I was thinkin’ aboot
askin’ the guidman for a new Sunday’s goon; in fac’, we were biggin’
castles in the air a’ on the foundation o’ the herrin’ siller; but
hech, sir, it’s ower true that man—ay, and woman tae—purposes, but the
Great Almighty disposes. The wee orphint wasna till find a new faither
and mither in my guidman and me; the auld boat wasna till mak’ room for
a new ane; and my braw Sunday goon, which, gin I had had my choice,
would hae been a bricht sky-blue ane, was changed intae black—black as
nicht, black as sorrow and as death could mak’ it. There was a fine
fishin’ o’ the haddies, and the siller in the bank was growing bigger
ilka week, for the wather was at its best, and the fish plentifu’.
Aweel, on the nicht o’ the seventeent o’ November, after I had put a’
the lines in order, and gien Archibald his supper, aff he gangs frae
the herbour wi’ his boat, and four as nice young chiels as ye ever
set an ee on for a crew. An’ there wasna muckle fear o’ dirty wather,
although the sun had gaen doon rayther redder than we could hae wished.
Some o’ the new married, and some o’ the lasses that were sune tae be
married, used tae gang doon tae the herbour, and see their guidmen and
their sweethearts awa’. I was lang by wi’ that sort o’ thing; no that
my love was less, but my confidence was mair, seein’ that it had been
tried and faund true through the lang period o’ fourteen years. As I
was tidyin’ up the hoose afore gangin’ till my bed, I heard the men in
the boats cryin’ till ane anither, as they were workin’ oot intae the
firth. Tae bed I gaed, and lookin’ at the low o’ the fire, as it keepit
flichterin’ up and deein’ awa’, sune set me soond asleep. What daftlike
things folks think, see, and dae in their sleep. I dreamt that nicht
that I was walkin’ alang the sands till meet my guidman, wha had landed
his boat at Morrison’s Haven. The sun was shinin’ beautifu’, and the
waves were comin’ tumlin’ up the sand, sparklin’ and lauchin’ in the
sunlicht, dancin’ as if they never did ony ill. I saw my guidman at the
distance, and I put my best fit forrit till meet him. I was as near him
as tae see his face distinckly, and was aboot tae cry oot, ‘Archibald,
what sort o’ fishin’ hae ye had?‘ when a’ on a suddint a great muckle
hand cam’ doon frae the sky, and puttin’ its finger and thoom roond
my guidman, lifted him clean oot o’ my sicht jist in a meenit. The
fricht o’ the dream waukened me, and I turned on my side and lookit at
whaur the fire ought tae be, but it was a’ blackness. The hoose was
shakin’ as if the great muckle hand had gruppit it by the gavel, and
was shakin’ it like a wunnelstraw. Hech, sir, ye leeve up in a toon o’
lands, and dinna ken what a storm is. Aiblins ye get up in the mornin’
and see a tree or twa lyin’ across the road, and a lum tummilt ower the
rufe, and a kittlin’ or twa smoort aneath an auld barrel; but bless ye,
sir, that’s no a storm sic as we folk on the seaside ken o’. Na, na!
The sky—sky! there’s nae sky, a’ is as black as black can be; ye may
put your hand oot and fill your nieve wi’ the darkness, exceppin’ the
times when the lichtnin’ flashes doon like a twisted threid o’ purple
gowd; and then ye can see the waves lookin’ ower ane anither’s heads,
and gnashin’ their teeth, as ye micht think, and cryin’ oot in their
anger for puir folk’s lives. Siccan a nicht it was when I waukened. My
guidman had been oot in mony a storm afore, sae I comforted mysel’ wi’
thinkin’ that he would gey and likely mak for North Berwick or Dunbar
when he saw the wather airtin’ for coorse. I wasna frightened, yet I
couldna sleep for the roarin’ o’ the wind. Mornin’ cam’. I gaed doon
till the shore, and a’ the wives and sweethearts o’ the Pans gaed wi’
me. There was a heavy fog on the sea, sae thick that neither Inchkeith
nor the Law were to be seen. Naething was there but the sea and the
muckle waves lowpin’ up and dashin’ themselves tae death on the rocks
and the sands. Eastwards and westwards we lookit, an’ better lookit,
but naething was till be seen but the fog and the angry roaring sea—no
a boat, no a sail was visible on a’ the wild waters. Weel, we had a
lang confab on the shore as tae what our guidmen and our sweethearts
micht aiblins hae dune. It was settled amang us without a doot that
they had gane intill North Berwick or Dunbar, and sae we expeckit that
in the afternoon they would maybe tak’ the road and come hame till
comfort us. After denner we—that is, the wives and sweethearts—took the
gait and went as far as Gosfort Sands till meet our guidmen and the
lads. The rain was pourin’ doon like mad; but what was that till us?
we were lookin’ for what was a’ the world till our bosoms, and through
wind and weet we went tae find it, and we nayther felt the cauld blast
nor the showers. Cauldly and greyly the short day fell upon the Berwick
Law. Darker and darker grew the gloamin’, but nae word o’ them we loo’d
afore a’ the world. The nicht closed in at lang and last, and no a
soond o’ the welcome voices. Eh, sir, aften and aften hae I said, and
sang ower till mysel’, the bonny words o’ poetry that says—

‘His very foot has music in’t,
As he comes up the stair.’

But Archibald’s feet were never mair till come pap, pappin, in at the
door. Twa sorrowfu’ and lang lang days passed awa’, and the big waves,
as if mockin’ our sorrow, flang the spars o’ the boats up amang the
rocks, and there was weepin’ and wailin’ when we saw them, or in the
grand words o’ the Book, there was ‘lamentation and sorrow and woe.’ We
kent then that we micht look across the sea, but ower the waters would
never blink the een that made sunshine around our hearths; ower the
waters would never come the voices that were mair delightfu’ than the
music o’ the simmer winds when the leaves gang dancing till their sang.
My story, sir, is dune. I hae nae mair tae tell. Sufficient and suffice
it till say, that there was great grief at the Pans—Rachel weepin’ for
her weans, and wouldna be comforted. The windows were darkened, and the
air was heavy wi’ sighin’ and sabbin’.”

Resuming our tour, I may hint to the reader that it is well worth
while, by way of variety, to see the fishing population of the various
towns on the Moray Firth. Taking the south side as the best point
of advantage, it may be safely said that from Gamrie to Portgordon
there may be found many studies of character, and bits of land-, or
rather sea-scape, that cannot be found anywhere else. Portsoy, Cullen,
Portessie, Buckie, Portgordon, are every one of them places where
all the specialities of fisher life may be studied. Buckie, from its
size, may be named as a kind of metropolis among these ports; and
it differs from some of them inasmuch as it contains, in addition
to its fisher-folk, a mercantile population as well. The town is
divided and subdivided by means of its natural situation. There is
Buckie-east-the-burn, New Buckie, Nether Buckie, Buckie-below-the-brae,
Buckie-aboon-the-brae, and, of course, Buckie-west-the-burn. A curious
system of “nicknames” prevails among the fisher-people, and most
notably among those on the Moray Firth, and in some of the Scottish
weaving villages as well. In all communications with the people
their “to” (_i.e._ additional), or, as the local pronunciation has
it, “tee” names, must be used. At a public dinner a few months ago
several of the Buckie fishermen were present; and it was noticeable
that the gentlemen of the press were careful, in their reports of the
proceedings, to couple with the real names of the men the appellations
by which they were best known—as “Mr. Peter Cowie, ‘langlegs,’ proposed
the health, etc.” So, upon all occasions of registering births,
marriages, or deaths, the “tee” name must be recorded. If a fisherman
be summoned to answer in a court of justice, he is called not only by
his proper name, but by his nickname as well. In many of the fishing
villages, where the population is only a few hundreds, there will not,
perhaps, be half a dozen surnames, and the whole of the inhabitants
therefore will be related “through-ither,” as such intermixture is
called in Scotland. The variety of nicknames, therefore, is wonderful,
but necessary in order to the identification of the different members
of the few families who inhabit the fishing villages. The different
divisions of Buckie, for instance, are inhabited by different clans;
on the west side of the river or burn there are none but Reids and
Stewarts, while on the east side we have only Cowies and Murrays. Cowie
is a very common name on the shores of the Moray Firth; at Whitehills,
and other villages, there are many bearing that surname, and to
distinguish one from the other, such nicknames as Shavie, Pinchie,
Howdie, Doddlies, etc., are employed. In some families the nickname
has come to be as hereditary as the surname; and when Shavie senior
crosses “that bourne,” etc., Shavie junior will still perpetuate the
family “tee” name. All kinds of circumstances are indicated by these
names—personal blemishes, peculiarities of manner, etc. There is,
in consequence, Gley’d Sandy Cowie, Gley’d Sandy Cowie, dumpie, and
Big Gley’d Sandy Cowie; there is Souples, Goup-the-Lift, Lang-nose,
Brandy, Stottie, Hawkie, etc. Every name in church or state is
represented—kings, barons, bishops, doctors, parsons, and deacons; and
others, in countless variety, that have neither rhyme nor reason to
account for them.

As an instance of the many awkward _contretemps_ which occur through
the multiplicity of similar names in the northern fishing villages, the
following may be recorded:—In a certain town lived two married men,
each of them yclept Adam Flucker, and their individuality was preserved
by those who knew them entitling them as Fleukie (Flounder) Flucker,
and Haddie (Haddock) Flucker. Fleukie was blessed with a large family,
with probable increase of the same, and cursed with a wife who ruled
him like a despot. Haddie had possessed for many years a treasure of a
wife, but prospect of a family there was none. Now these things were
unknown to the carrier, who had newly entered on his office. From the
store of an inland town he had received two packages, one for Haddie (a
fashionable petticoat of the gaudiest red), and the other for Fleukie
(a stout wooden cradle), to supply the place of a similar article worn
out by long service. The carrier, in simplicity of ignorance, reversed
the destination of the packages, which, of course, were returned to the
inland merchant with threats of vengeance and vows never to patronise
his store again.

Let the reader take, as an example of the quaint ways and absurd
superstitions of the Moray Firth fisher-folk, the following little
episode, which took place in the Small-Debt Court at Buckie, at the
instance of a man who had been hired to assist at the herring-fishery,
and who was pursuing his employer for his wages:—

On the case being called, the pursuer stated that he had been dismissed
by the defender from his employment without just cause, indeed without
any cause at all; and the defender, on being asked what he had to say,
at once admitted the dismissal, and to the great astonishment of the
Sheriff, confessed that he had nothing to assign as a reason for it,
except the fact that the pursuer’s name was “Ross.”

“Ye see, my Lord, I did engage him, though I was weel tauld by my
neibors that I sudna dee’t, and that I cudna expect te hae ony luck wi’
him, as it was weel kent that ‘Ross’ was an unlucky name. I thocht this
was nonsense, but I ken better noo. He gaed te sea wi’ us for a week,
and I canna say but that he did’s wark weel eneuch; but we never gat a
scale. Sae the next week, I began to think there beet te be something
in fat my neibors said; sae upo’ the Monday I wadna tak’ him oot, and
left him ashore, and that very night we had a gran’ _shot_; and ye ken
yersel’, my Lord, that it wad hae been ower superstishus to keep him
after that, and sae I wad hae naething mair te dae wi’ him, and pat him
aboot’s business.”

The Sheriff was much amused with this novel application of the
word “superstitious;” but, in spite of that application, he had no
difficulty in at once deciding against the defender, with expenses,
taking occasion while doing so to read him a severe lecture upon his
ignorance and folly. The lecture, however, has not been of much use,
for I have ascertained that the “freit” in question is still as rife as
ever, and that there is scarcely an individual among the communities
of white-fishers on the Banffshire coast who, if he can avoid it, will
have any transaction with any one bearing the obnoxious name of “Ross.”

I should now like to give my readers a specimen of the patois or
dialect spoken by the Moray Firth fisher-folk, although it is
somewhat difficult to do it effectively on paper; but I will try,
taking a little dialogue between the fishermen and the curer about a
herring-fishing engagement as the best mode of giving an idea of the
language and pronunciation of the Buckie bodies:—

SCENE—_A Curer’s Office_. PRESENT—_The_ CURER _and the three_ “SHAVIES.”

_Curer_—Well, Shavie, ye’ve had a pretty good fishing this year.

_Shavie senior_—Ou ay, it’s been geyan gweed.

_Shavie tertius_—Fat did ye say, man? gweed—it’s nae been better than
last.

_Curer_—Well, laddie, what was wrong with last year’s fishing?

_Bowed Shavie_—Weel awat, man, it was naething till brag o’, an’ fat’s
mair, I lost my beets at it; ye’ll be gaun till gie’s a new pair neist
fishin’.

_Shavie senior_—Ay, that was whan he _k_-nockit his _k_-nee again the
boat-shore and brak his cweet.

_Curer_—Well, but lads, what about next fishing?

_Shavie senior_—Ou, is’t neist fishin’ ye’re wantin’ till speak o’?

_Curer_—Yes; will you engage?

_Shavie junior_—Fat are ye gaun till offer?

_Curer_—Same as last.

_Bowed Shavie_—Fat d’ye say, man?

_Curer_—Fourteen shillings a cran and fifteen pound bounty.

_Shavie senior_—Na, na, Maister Cowie; that winna dee ava, man.

_Bowed Shavie_—We can get mair nor that at Fitehills.

_Shavie junior_—I’ll be fuppit, lathie, if I dinna hae mair siller an’
mair boonty tee.

_Curer_—Well, make me an offer.

_Shavie senior_—Ou ay, man; we’ll tak’ saxteen shillin’ the cran an’ a
boonty o’ twunty pound, an’ a pickle cutch, an’ a drappie whisky; an’
that’s ower little siller.

_Curer_—Well, I suppose I must give it.

_Bowed Shavie_—Gie’s oor five shillin’ then, an we’re fixed wi’ you an’
clear o’ a’ ither body.

And so, on the payment of these five shillings by way of arles, the
bargain is settled, and the men engaged for the next herring-season.

As will be inferred from these details, the fisher-folk, as a body,
are not literary or intellectual. They have few books, and many of
them never look at a newspaper. It is not surprising, therefore, that
only one author has arisen among the fisher-people—Thomas Mathers,
fisherman, St. Monance, Fifeshire. We have had many poets from the
mechanic class, and even the colliers from the deep caverns of the
earth have begun to sing. Mathers’ volume is entitled, _Musings in
Verse by Sea and Shore_. The following lines will at once explain the
author’s ambition and exhibit his style:—

“I crave not the harp o’ a Burns sae strong,
Nor the lyre o’ a sweet Tannahill;
For those are the poets unrivalled in song,
Can melt every heart, and inspire every tongue,
Frae the prince to the peasant, at will.

“To weep wi’ the wretched, the hapless to mourn,
To glow wi’ the guid and the brave;
To cheer the lone pilgrim, faint and forlorn,
Wi’ breathin’s that kindle and language that burn,
Is the wealth and the world I would crave.”

The British fisher-people as a class are very sober and industrious,
and they are becoming more intelligent, and, it is to be presumed,
less superstitious. The children in the fishing villages are being
educated; and in time, when they grow to man’s and woman’s estate,
they will no doubt influence the fisheries for the better. Many of the
seniors are now teetotal, and while at the herring-fishing prefer tea
to whisky. The homes of some of the fisher-folks, on the Berwickshire
and Northumberland coasts, are clean and tidy, and the proprietors seem
to be in possession of a great abundance of good cheer.

It is, no doubt, considered by some to be an easy way to wealth to
prosecute the herring or white fisheries, and secure a harvest grown
on a farm where there is no rent payable, the seed of which is sown
in bountiful plenty by nature, which requires no manure to force it
to maturity, and no wages for its cultivation. But it is not all gold
that glitters. There are risks of life and property connected with
the fishery which are unknown to the industries that are followed on
the land. There are times, as I have just been endeavouring to show,
when there is weeping and wailing along the shore. The days are not
always suffused in sunshine, nor is the sea always calm. The boats go
out in the peaceful afternoon, and the sun, gilding their brown sails,
may sink in golden beauty in its western home of rosy-hued clouds;
but anon the wind will freshen, and the storm rise apace. The black
speck on the distant horizon, unheeded at first, soon grows into a
series of fast-flying clouds; and the wind, which a little ago was
but a mere capful, soon begins to rage and roar, the waves are tossed
into a wilder and wilder velocity, and in a few hours a great storm is
agitating the bosom of the wondrous deep. The fishermen become alarmed;
hasty preparations are made to return, nets are hauled on board, sails
are set and dashed about by the pitiless winds, forcing the boats to
seek the nearest haven. Soon the hurricane bursts in relentless fury;
the fleet of fishing-boats toss wildly on the maddening waves; gloomy
clouds spread like a pall over the scene; while on the coast the waters
break with ravening fury, and many a strong-built boat is dashed to
atoms on the iron rocks in the sight of those who are powerless to aid,
and many a gallant soul spent in death, within a span of the firm-set
earth. Morning, so eagerly prayed for by the disconsolate ones who
have all the long and miserable night been watching from the land,
at length slowly dawns, and reveals a shore covered with fragments
of wood and clothes, which too surely indicate the disasters of the
night. The _débris_ of boats and nets lie scattered on the rocks and
boulders, dumb talebearers that bring sorrow and chill penury to many
a household. Anxious children and gaunt women—

“Wives and mithers maist despairin’”—

with questioning eyes, rush wildly about the shore, piercing with
their frightened looks the hidden secrets of the subsiding waters; and
here and there a manly form, grim and stark and cold, cold in the icy
embrace of death, his pale brow bound with wreaths of matted seaweed,
gives silent token of the majesty of the storm.

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.

The idea of a slowly but surely diminishing supply of fish is no
doubt alarming, for the public have hitherto believed so devoutly
in the frequently-quoted proverb of “more fish in the sea than ever
came out of it,” that it has never, except by a discerning few, been
thought possible to overfish; and, consequently, while endeavouring
to supply the constantly-increasing demand, it has never sufficiently
been brought home to the public mind that it is possible to reduce the
breeding stock of our best kinds of sea-fish to such an extent as may
render it difficult to repopulate those exhausted ocean colonies which
in years gone by yielded, as we have been often told, such miraculous
draughts. It is worthy of being noticed that most of our public writers
who venture to treat the subject of the fisheries proceed at once to
argue that the supply of fish is unlimited, and that the sea is a
gigantic fish-preserve into which man requires but to dip his net to
obtain at all times an enormous amount of wholesome and nutritious food.

This style of writing on the fisheries comes largely into use whenever
there is a project of a joint-stock fishing company placed before the
public. When that is the case obscure little villages are pointed to as
the future seats of enormous prosperity, just because they happen to be
thought of by some enterprising speculator as the nucleus of a fishing
town; and we are straightway told that Buckhorn or Kirksalt, or some
equally obscure place, could be made to rival those towns in Holland
whose wealth and prosperity originated in even smaller beginnings. We
are likewise informed, on the occasions of giving publicity to such
speculations, that “the sea is a liquid mine of boundless wealth, and
that thousands of pounds might be earned by simply stretching forth
our hands and pulling out the fish that have scarcely room to live in
the teeming waters of Great Britain,” etc. etc. I would be glad to
believe in these general statements regarding our food fisheries, were
I not convinced, from personal inquiry, that they are a mere coinage
of the brain. There are doubtless plenty of fish still in the sea, but
the trouble of capturing them increases daily, and the instruments of
capture have to be yearly augmented, indicating but too clearly to
all who have studied the subject that we are beginning to overfish.
We already know, in the case of the salmon, that the greed of man,
when thoroughly excited, can extirpate, for mere immediate gain, any
animal, however prolific it may be. Some of the British game birds
have so narrowly escaped destruction that their existence, in anything
like quantity, when set against the armies of sportsmen who seek their
annihilation, is wonderful.

The salmon has just had a very narrow escape from extermination. It
was at one time a comparatively plentiful fish, that could be obtained
for food purposes at an almost nominal expense, and a period dating
eighty years back is thought to have been a golden age so far as the
salmon-fisheries were concerned. But, in my opinion, it is more than
questionable if salmon, or indeed any of our sea or river animals, ever
were so magically abundant as has been represented. At the time, a
rather indefinite time, however—ranging from the beginning to the end
of last century, and frequently referred to by writers on the salmon
question—when farm-servants were compelled to eat of that fish more
frequently than seemed good for their stomachs, or when the country
laird, visiting London, ordered a steak for himself, with “a bit o’
saumon for the laddie,” and was thunderstruck at the price of the fish,
we must bear in mind, as a strong element of the question, that there
were few distant markets available; it was only on the Tweed, Tay,
Severn, and other salmon streams that the salmon was really plentiful.

No such regular commerce as that now prevailing was carried on in fresh
salmon at the period indicated. In fact, properly speaking, there was
no commerce beyond an occasional dispatch to London per smack, or the
sale of a few fish in country market-towns, and salmon has been known
to be sold in these places at so low a rate as a penny or twopence a
pound weight. Most of these fish, at the time I have indicated, were
boiled in pickle, or split up and cured as kippers. In those days
there were neither steamboats nor railways to hurry away the produce
of the sea or river to London or Liverpool; it is not surprising,
therefore, that in those good old times salmon could almost be had
for the capturing. Poaching—that is poaching as a trade—was unknown.
As I have already stated, when the people resident on a river were
allowed to capture as many fish as they pleased, or when they could
purchase all they required at a nominal price, there was no necessity
for them to capture the salmon while it was on the beds in order to
breed. Farm-servants on the Tay or Tweed had usually a few poached
fish, in the shape of a barrel of pickled salmon, for winter use. At
that time, as I have already said in treating of the salmon, men went
out on a winter night to “burn the water,” but then it was simply by
way of having a frolic. In those halcyon days country gentlemen killed
their salmon in the same sense as they killed their own mutton—viz. for
household eating; there was no other demand for the fish than that of
their own servants or retainers. Farmers kept their smoked or pickled
salmon for winter use, in the same way as they did pickled pork or
smoked bacon. The fish, comparatively speaking, were allowed to fulfil
the instincts of their nature and breed in peace: those owners, too, of
either upper or lower waters, who delighted in angling, had abundance
of attractive sport; and, so far as can be gleaned from personal
inquiry or reading, there was during the golden age of the salmon a
rude plenty of home-prepared food of the fish kind, which, even with
the best-regulated fisheries, we can never again, in these times of
increasing population, steam-power, and augmented demand, hope to see.

At present the very opposite of all this prevails. Farmers or cottars
cannot now make salmon a portion of their winter’s store: permission to
angle for that fish is a favour not very easily procured, because even
the worst upper waters can be let each season at a good figure; and
more than all that, the fish has become individually so valuable as to
tempt persons, by way of business, to engage extensively in its capture
at times when it is unlawful to take it, and the animal is totally
unfit for food. A prime salmon is, on the average, quite as valuable
as a Southdown sheep or an obese pig, both of which cost money to rear
and fatten; and at certain periods of the year salmon has been known to
bring as much as ten shillings per pound weight in a London fish-shop!
There have been many causes at work to bring about this falling-off
in our supplies; but ignorance of the natural history of the fish,
the want of accord between the upper and lower proprietors of salmon
rivers, the use of stake and bag nets, poaching during close-times,
and the consequent capture of thousands of gravid fish, as well as the
immense amount of overfishing by the lessees of fishing stations, are
doubtless among the chief reasons.

If these misfortunes occur with an important and individually valuable
fish like the salmon, which is so well hedged round by protective
laws, and which is so accessible that we can watch it day by day in
our rivers—and that such misfortunes have occurred is quite patent to
the world, indeed some of the best streams of England, at one time
noted for their salmon, are at this moment nearly destitute of fish—how
much more is it likely, then, that similar misfortunes may occur to
the unwatched and unprotected fishes of the sea, which spawn in a
greater world of water, with thousands of chances against their seed
being even so much as fructified, let alone any hope of its ever being
developed into fish fit for table purposes? In the sea the larger fish
are constantly preying on the smaller, and the waste of life, as I
have elsewhere explained, is enormous: the young fish, so soon as they
emerge from their fragile shell, are devoured in countless millions,
not one in a thousand perhaps escaping the dangers of its youth.
Shoals of haddocks, for instance, find their way to the deposits of
herring-spawn just as the eggs are bursting into life, or immediately
after they have vivified, so that hundreds of thousands of these
infantile fry and quickening ova are annually devoured. The hungry
codfish are eternally devouring the young of other kinds, and their own
young as well; and all throughout the depths of ocean the strong fishes
are found to be preying on the weak, and a perpetual war is being waged
for daily food. Reliable information, it is true, cannot easily be
obtained on these points, it being so difficult to observe the habits
of animals in the depths of the ocean; and none of our naturalists can
inform us how long it is before our white fish arrive at maturity, and
at what age a codfish or a turbot becomes reproductive; nor can our
economists do more than guess the percentage of eggs that ripen into
fish, or the number of these that are likely to reach our tables as
food.

As has been mentioned in a previous chapter of this volume, the supply
of haddocks and other Gadidæ was once so plentiful around the British
coasts, that a short line, with perhaps a score of hooks, frequently
replenished with bait, would be quite sufficient to capture a few
thousand fish. The number of hooks was gradually extended, till now
they are counted by the thousand, the fishermen having to multiply the
means of capture as the fish become less plentiful. About forty years
ago the percentage of fish to each line was very considerable. Eight
hundred hooks would take about 750 fish; but now, with a line studded
with 4000 hooks, the fishermen sometimes do not take 100 fish. It was
recently stated by a correspondent of the _John o’ Groat Journal_, a
newspaper published in the fishing town of Wick, that a fish-curer
there contracted some years ago with the boats for haddocks at 3s. 6d.
per hundred, and that at that low price the fishing yielded the men
from £20 to £40 each season; but that now, although he has offered the
fishermen 12s. a hundred, he cannot procure anything like an adequate
supply.

As the British sea-fisheries afford remunerative employment to a
large body of the population, and offer a favourable investment for
capital, it is surely time that we should know authoritatively whether
or not there be truth in the falling-off in our supplies of herring
and other white fish. At one of the Glasgow fish-merchants’ annual
soirees, held a year or two ago it was distinctly stated that all
kinds of fish were less abundant now than in former years, and that in
proportion to the means of capture the result was less. Mr. Methuen
reiterated such opinions again and again. “I reckon our fisheries,”
said this enterprising fish-merchant on one occasion, “if fostered
and properly fished, a national source of wealth of more importance
and value than the gold-mines of Australia, because the gold mines are
exhaustible; but the living, propagating, self-cultivating gift of God
is inexhaustible, if rightly fished by man, to whom they are given
for food. It is evident anything God gives is ripe and fit for food.
‘Have dominion,’ not destruction, was the command. Any farmer cutting
his ripe clover grass would not only be reckoned mad, but would, in
fact, be so, were he to tear up the roots along with the clover,
under the idea that he was thus obtaining more food for his cattle,
and then wondering why he had no second crop to cut. His cattle would
starve, himself and family be beggared, and turned out of their farm
as improvident and destructive, who not only beggared themselves, but
to the extent of their power impoverished the people by destroying the
resources of their country. The farmer who thus destroys the hopes of a
rising crop by injudicious farming is not only his own enemy, but the
enemy of his country as well.” Such evidence could be multiplied to
any extent if it were necessary, but I feel that quite enough has been
said to prove the point. It is a point I have no doubt upon whatever,
and persons who have studied the question are alarmed, and say it is
no use blinking the matter any longer—that the demand for fish as an
article of food is not only beginning to exceed the supply, but that
the supply obtained, combined with waste of spawn and other causes,
is beginning to exceed the breeding power of the fish. In the olden
time, when people only caught to supply individual wants, fish were
plentiful, in the sense that no scarcity was ever experienced, and the
shoals of sea-fish, it was thought at one time, would never diminish;
but since the traffic became a commercial speculation the question has
assumed a totally different aspect, and a sufficient quantity cannot
now be obtained. Who ever hears now of monster turbot being taken by
the trawlers? Where are the miraculous hauls of mackerel that used to
gladden the eyes of the fishermen? Where are now the waggon-loads of
herring to use as manure, as in the golden age of the fisheries? I do
not require to pause for the reply—echo would only mock my question
by repeating it. Exhausted shoals and inferior fish tell us but too
plainly that there _is_ reason for alarm, and that we have in all
probability broken at last upon our capital stock!

What then, if this be so, will be the future of the British fisheries?
I have already, and more than once, in preceding pages, hinted my
doubts of the existence of the enormous fish-supplies of former days;
in my opinion the supposed plentifulness of all kinds of fish must in
a large degree have been a myth, or at least but relative, founded in
all probability on the fluctuating demand and the irregular supply.
Were there not an active but unseen demolition of the fish-shoals, and
were these shoals as gigantic as people imagine them to be, the sea
would speedily become like stirabout, so that in time ships would not
be able to sail from port to port. Imagine a few billions of herrings,
each pair multiplying at the rate of thirty thousand per annum! picture
the codfish, with its million ratio of increase; and then add, by way
of enhancing the bargain, a million or two of the flat fish family
throwing in their annual quota to the total, and figures would be
arrived at far too vast for human comprehension. In fact, without
some compensating balance, the waters on the globe would not contain
a couple of years’ increase! If fish have that tendency to multiply
which is said, how comes it that in former years, when there was not
a tithe of the present demand, when the population was but scant, and
the means of inland carriage to the larger seats of population rude and
uncertain, the ocean did not overflow and leave its inhabitants on its
shores?

It seems perfectly clear that we have hitherto seriously exaggerated
the stock; it could never have been of the extent indicated, because
then no draughts could have had any great effect, no matter how
enormous they might have been. From various natural causes, some of
which I have indicated in a former chapter, the stock has been kept
in balance; and it seems now perfectly clear that by a course of
fishing so excessive as that carried on at present, coupled with the
destruction incidental to unprotected breeding, we must at all events
speedily narrow if not exhaust the capital stock. We have done so in
the case of the salmon; and the best remedy for that evil which has yet
been discovered is cultivation—pisciculture, in fact—which science, or
rather art, I have already treated of on its own merits. In ancient
days the land yielded sufficient roots and fruits for the wants of its
then population without cultivation; but as population increased and
larger supplies became necessary, cultivation was tried, and now in all
countries the culture of the land is one of the main employments of the
people. The sea, too, must be cultivated, and the river also, if we
desire to multiply or replenish our stock of fish.

As to the introduction of strange fishes, either sea or river, I for
one will be glad to see them, if they are suitable. It would of course
be a great misfortune to introduce any fish into our waters that
would only become fat by preying on those fishes which are at present
plentiful. Some naturalists think that the introduction of _Silurus_ is
a misfortune; I am not of that opinion, because in the kind of water
suitable for the growth of _Silurus glanis_ no other fish of any value
is to be found, so that no ill could be done. The introduction into our
British waters of another fish has been advocated—viz. the _Goorami_.
It is a Chinese fish and has been introduced with great success into
the Mauritius, and M. Coste is of opinion that it may be acclimatised
in France, indeed he is trying the experiment. The Goorami, it seems,
is a delicious fish, so far as its flavour is concerned, and grows to
a great size in a short time. I need not say any more on this part of
my subject. If the man is a benefactor to his country who makes two
blades of grass grow where only one grew before, what shall be said of
the man who introduces to us a new food-fish?

Were we better acquainted with the natural history of fish, it
would be easy to regulate the fisheries. The everlasting demand for
sea-produce has caused the sea-fishing, like the salmon-fishing, to be
prosecuted at improper seasons, and fish have been, indeed are daily,
to a large extent, sold in a state that renders them quite improper
for human food. Another cause of the constantly-lessening supplies
may be also mentioned. Up till a recent period it was thought _all_
fish were migratory, and the reason usually assigned for unsuccessful
fishing was that the fish had removed to some other place! Thus the
fact of a particular colony having been fished up was in some degree
hidden, chiefly from ignorance of the habits of the animal. This
migratory instinct, so far as our principal sea-fish are concerned,
is purely mythical. The rediscovery of the Rockall cod-bank must tend
to dissipate these old-fashioned suppositions of our naturalists. All
fish are local, from the salmon to the sprat, and each kind has its
own abiding-place. The salmon keeps unfailingly to its own stream, the
oyster to its own bank, the lobster to its particular rock, and the
herring to its own bay. Fishermen are beginning now to understand this,
and can tell the locality to which a particular fish belongs, from
the marks upon it. A Tay salmon differs from a Tweed one, and Norway
lobsters can be readily distinguished from those brought from Orcadia.
Then, again, the fine haddocks caught in the bay of Dublin differ much
from those taken in the Firth of Forth, whilst Lochfyne herrings and
Caithness herrings have each distinct peculiarities.

In regard to the enormous waste of spawn which I have chronicled,
what more can I say? I have in various pages of this work shown how
fish-roe is wasted, and at the risk of censure for again repeating
myself (I have already more than once done so purposely), I must once
more ask attention to the millions of cod ova criminally wasted in the
French sardine-fishery. I am presuming, in making this allusion, that
cod are expressly caught with full roes for the purpose of supplying
this bait. The English fishermen can hit on the sprat shoals without a
ground-bait; surely the French fishermen can do what we do.

The regulation of the herring-fisheries (and the proper protection
of the herring) is surrounded with innumerable difficulties, because
of our scant knowledge of the natural history of the animal. I have
already, and more than once, in the preceding pages of this work,
alluded to the striking incongruity of protecting one fish during its
spawning time, and yet making the same time in the life of another fish
the legal period for its capture. But a close-time for the herring,
from the fact of that fish breeding on some part of the coast all the
year round, although not impossible, will be difficult to arrange. If,
as is pretty certain, there be races of herring that breed in every
month of the year, would it be advisable to shut up the fisheries?
and if, as some writers on the natural history of the herring assert,
that fish only collects into shoals at the time it is called on to
obey its procreative instinct, at what other period of its existence
could it be captured, even admitting that at that time of its life
it is least fitted to become the food of mankind? True, we have only
gone on fishing for herrings in a routine way at particular seasons of
the year, and, were the experiment tried, we might hit on the shoals
at a more congenial time. The shoals of particular districts—if, as I
assume, the herring is very local—will have each their own spawning
time, and there might be a few weeks’ close season then—not so much
to save the taking of the gravid fish, as to allow them a quiet
interval, during which they might deposit their spawn. The period of
the herring’s reproduction might, I think, be easily determined by
constructing a sea-pond, where a few of these fish could breed, and the
growth of the young fish be carefully watched.

In the case of the salmon there is no difficulty about a close-time,
because we know the breeding seasons of each river; but it would
be difficult to divide the sea into compartments; and even if we
could, and a close-time were to be instituted, would not the strict
logic of the position dictate that the close-time should be for the
protection of the fish during their breeding season? But again, if it
be granted that the breeding season is the only time that we can take
the fish, would not such a close-time be practically putting an end
to the fishing? It is a curious fact, as well as a curious fishing
anomaly, that we have had a close-time for herrings on the west coast
of Scotland but not on the east coast! And I can trace no good that
the close-time has accomplished; it is not known that it increases
the supply of fish, but it is known that a close-time impedes the
prosecution of the other fisheries by depriving the poor men of a
supply of bait. The fishermen often use the herring as a bait for other
fishes.

Although Scotland is the main seat of the herring-fishery, I should
like to see statistics, similar to those collected in Scotland, taken
at a few English ports for a period of years, in order that we might
obtain additional data from which to arrive at a right conclusion as
to the increase or decrease of the fishery for herring. So far as the
capture and cure of herrings are concerned, we have in Scotland, what
ought to be in every country, an excellent fishery police. The Hon. Mr.
Bouverie Primrose, when giving evidence before a fishery commission,
described the official duties of the Board of Scottish White-fish
Fisheries as being:—“To give clearances to herring-fishery vessels
going out to sea, and to receive notices from curers on shore of their
intention to cure; to see to the measures for the delivery of fresh
herring, as between buyer and seller; to the size of the barrel for
British white cured herring, and to the quality of the cure, branding
the first quality, and collecting the fees for the same; attending
on the exportation; to inspect the exports in order to see that they
were in proper order; preventing the use of such nets as Parliament
had declared to be illegal; protecting the sprat fishermen in their
rights of boundary; maintaining order on the fishery grounds, and in
connection therewith carrying out the police regulations for naming and
numbering boats and their sails; receiving and restoring lost fishing
property; building fishery piers and harbours; protecting the spawn
of herring and the herring-fisheries generally, according to Act of
Parliament; maintaining herring close-time as fixed and appointed by
Parliament; furnishing returns and statistics of the herring-fisheries
of Scotland and the Isle of Man, and aiding in maintaining the fishery
convention with France. The functions of the Board extended over the
whole coast of Scotland, and in regard to statistics to the Isle of
Man, and in respect to the branding of herring over the northern
portion of the coast of Northumberland.”

Might not the functions of the Board be so extended as to embrace a
statistical inquiry into the capture of haddocks, cod, and ling (other
than those to be cured), turbot, etc., in Scotland? We all agree
heartily enough in Scotland with the Board’s functions of harbour
improvement and fishery police, and we do not grudge, therefore, in any
degree, the £15,000 which are expended for its maintenance. Scotland
gets so small a portion of the public money in proportion to what it
contributes to the revenue that no one would desire to see it deprived
of this small grant. The only question connected with it is its proper
expenditure. I object entirely to a portion of the duties of the
Board—_i.e._ certifying the quality of the cure. Government might as
well step in to certify the manufacture of Dunlop cheese or Glasgow
cotton. True, the brand has now to be paid for, and moreover is not
at all compulsory, so that curers may trade on their own name if they
please, and it is satisfactory to think that they are now doing so in
an annually increasing degree.

The salmon-fisheries may be left to their proprietors; the county
gentlemen, and others who own salmon-fisheries, seem now to be
thoroughly alive to the great danger of overfishing, which has hitherto
been the bane of this valuable animal. The chief requisites for a
great salmon river and a series of healthy and productive fisheries
are—first, a good spawning ground and a provision for the fish
attaining it with the least possible trouble; second, a long rest
during the spawning season; as also, third, a weekly close-time of
many hours. To insure protection to the eggs and to the young fish
during the tenderest period of their lives, I would have, as an aid
to the natural spawning-beds, artificial breeding-ponds and egg-boxes
on every large river; and it would be well if the proprietors of all
our larger salmon streams would agree to work their fisheries, as was
long ago proposed, on the plan of a joint-stock company, the shares
to be allocated on some equitable plan so that both lower and upper
proprietors would share in the produce of the river. It is needless to
point out to owners of salmon properties the advantages and saving that
would at once accrue from such a mode, and such a plan would especially
be the best way of settling the existing differences between the upper
and lower holders. It was well said by the Commissioners appointed to
inquire into the salmon-fisheries of England and Wales, that “it has
been found by experience in all the three countries that the surest
way to increase the stock is to give the upper proprietors an interest
in preserving them. The upper waters are, in fact, the nursery of the
fish; it is there that the breeding operations take place, it is there
that the wasteful destruction committed by poachers and depredators,
if suffered to have their way, is carried on. It lies with those to
whom the rights of fishing, and the lands adjacent to those parts of
the streams belong, either to permit the ruinous waste of the breeding
fish to go on, or to take measures for protecting them. They cannot
take either course without in the one case conferring a benefit, and
in the other permitting an injury, to all the parties lower down. But
it is almost needless to say that they _will_ not make exertions or
incur expense to preserve the fish, unless encouraged to do so by being
allowed to reap some share of the produce of the waters.”

The laws of Scotland as to her salmon rivers are confessedly
defective—confessed by the constant efforts to amend them, often ending
in only making them worse. This will be eternal if some attempt be not
made to act according to the reason of the thing; clearing the ground,
and starting on a new and rational principle, instead of tinkering or
trying to tinker what is past mending, and never ought to have been.
Rivers are subjects entirely different in their nature from lands. A
man, having secured a patch of land, may (as is generally understood)
do anything he pleases with what he calls “his own” but render it a
nuisance. This is wrong; for his obligation to the country, if not
to himself, is to use it to the best advantage for the public good.
As to rivers, this obligation is more distinct. They are more of the
nature of public property, both as regards the public generally and
those holding property on their banks and so having private interests
in them. No man at the mouth of a river has any moral or legal right
to stop the fish from ascending to their breeding-places. This, clear
as it may seem, is not generally recognised, and hence the loss to the
country, and misery to the useful and valuable animals bred in them, or
that might be bred in them, from the ignorant and reckless self-seeking
of some, and the negligence or pointed disregard of all interests
displayed by others.[22]

I have not in the course of this work intruded many of my own theories
as to fish and fishing upon the reader; but I have not been studying
the subject for twelve years without theorising a little, and when
the proper time comes I shall have a great deal more to say about the
natural history of our food-fishes than I have said in the present
volume. In the meantime I am anxious, as regards the whole of the
sea fisheries, to inculcate the duty of collecting more and better
statistics than we have ever yet obtained.

Our great farm, the sea, is free to all—too free; there is no seed
or manure to provide, and no rent to pay. Every adventurer who can
procure a boat may go out and spoliate the shoals; he has no care for
the growth or preservation of animals which he has been taught to think
inexhaustible. In one sense it is of no consequence to a fisherman that
he catches codlings instead of cod; whatever size his fish may be,
they yield him what he fishes for—money. What if all the herrings he
captures be crowded with spawn? what if they be virgin fish that have
never added a quota to the general stock? That is all as nothing to
the fisherman as long as they bring him money. It is the same in all
fisheries. Our free unregulated fisheries are, in my humble opinion, a
thorough mistake. If a fisherman, say with a capital of £500 in boats,
nets, etc., had invested the same amount of money in a breeding-farm,
how would he act? Would he not earn his living and increase his capital
by allowing his animals to breed? and he would certainly never cut
down oats or wheat in a green state. But the fish-farmers do all these
things, and the Fishery Board stamps them with approval. We must
look better into these matters; and I would crave the expenditure
by government of a few thousand pounds definitely to settle, by
well-devised experiments, all those points in the natural history of
the herring and other white fish which clog the prosecution of these
particular fisheries. Surely it would not be difficult, as I have
already suggested, to construct a sea-pond where we could observe
the spawn from the time of its deposit till the period at which it
quickened into life; and we could note the growth of the fish and so
fix beyond cavil the period at which our most important food fishes
become reproductive. Further, could not the fisherman be made to pay a
small sum of money annually by way of licence, he being bound at the
same time to give in a schedule to a registrar, or some other officer
to be appointed, of the number and gross weight of the different kinds
of fish caught, the number of lines and hooks used in the capture, and
the time taken to capture them? Many other changes might be made in
the machinery and time of capture; these, however, I will take another
opportunity to point out; my present purpose has simply been to bring
into a focus our various fishing industries and describe to the public
the HARVEST OF THE SEA.

APPENDIX.

I. OBSERVATIONS ON FISH-GUANO.

“The importance of this field of industry has been fully appreciated
in France, and a factory has been established at Concarneau, in the
department of Finisterre. A full report of a visit to the factory
having been made by the distinguished chemist M. Payen, and the
well-known agriculturist M. Pommier, to the French Agricultural
Society, we purpose presenting our readers with the chief points
contained in that report, in the hope that another year may not pass
over without some attempt of the like kind being made upon our coasts.

“The experiments which led to the establishment of the factory, of
which we are now to speak, were made by a M. de Molon, and have
extended over a period of four years. On several occasions he had
employed the offal obtained in the preparation of sardines, on the
coast of Brittany, to manure his land in Finisterre. The results which
he obtained led him to imagine that this offal, and a multitude of
marine fish of little commercial value, might furnish an important
resource to agriculture. This fact, observed since a long time,
especially in countries where deep-sea fishing is a permanent industry,
was not new; but such a manure was by its very nature restricted to the
agriculture of the coasts—fish or fish-offal not being capable of being
economically transported more than short distances. It is also evident
that these materials should be immediately employed—that they are not
susceptible of preservation, and that the manure not admitting of
being applied to the soil, except at certain seasons, it must at once
be evident that the employment of fish-offal, spite of its richness
in fecundating elements, could never be generalised, or offer large
resources to agriculture.

“M. de Molon, however, conceived that a far vaster and more
advantageous agricultural resource might be drawn from this
inexhaustible wealth of the ocean, by so treating the offal of the
coast fisheries, and the immense quantities of common fish which are of
no use to the fishermen, as to ensure their preservation, concentrate
their fecundatory properties, and render them as transportable as
Peruvian guano—to do, in fine, what we have shown to be practicable in
our former article.

“M. de Molon made a number of experiments from this point of view,
and finally settled upon this plan: To boil the fish; to extract as
much as possible of the water and oil which they contain; dry them and
reduce them to powder. After he had obtained this powder in a perfectly
dry state he had it analysed, first by M. Moride, at Nantes; then at
Rennes, by M. Malaguti; and finally, by M. Payen, in Paris.

“These analyses, several times repeated, yielded as a mean the
following percentage as results:—

Water 1·00
Nitrogenous organic matter 80·10
Soluble salts, consisting principally of chloride of sodium,
carbonate of ammonia, and traces of sulphate 4·50
Phosphate of lime and magnesia 14·10
Carbonate of lime 0·06
Silica 0·02
Magnesia and loss 0·22
—————-
100·00

“In other words, these repeated analyses indicate that dried
fish-powder would contain about—

12 per cent of nitrogen, and
14 ” of bone earth—

that is to say, it would be nearly as rich as the best Peruvian guano.
(According to the results of analyses made on herrings, an average
manure made from that fish, and containing 10 per cent of water,
would contain about 13½ per cent of nitrogen, and between 11 and
12 per cent of bone earth. The small fish containing but little bone
earth accounts for the difference in both cases.) To the scientific
analysis M. de Molon wished to add the sanction of practice; he
applied 400 kilogrammes (880·8 lbs.) per hectare (2 acres, 1 rood,
and 35 perches), or 3 cwts. 0 qr. 20 lbs. per statute acre, of the
fish-powder, half in autumn and half in spring, as a top-dressing to
wheat. The results which he obtained were so evident that his doubts
were dissipated, his conviction became full and entire, and he resolved
to make every effort to discover a means of rendering as economical as
possible the manufacture of a manure equally powerful, and which should
advantageously compete with Peruvian guano.

“Having made his calculations, his ideas were at once directed to
Newfoundland, where the produce of the cod-fishery in a fresh condition
amounts to more than 1,400,000 tons annually.

“The cod, previous to being salted and dried, is deprived of its head,
its intestines, and the backbone, which together make about one-half of
its total weight. This offal, which amounts to at least 700,000 tons,
is thrown into the sea, or is lost without utility.

“In 1850 M. de Molon fitted out a vessel, and confided his project to
one of his brothers, furnishing him with the utensils necessary to
experiment upon and manufacture the fish-powder. The results of this
voyage confirmed his anticipations, and M. de Molon junior brought back
to France a certain quantity of fish-manure, which was found to be
identical in composition with that manufactured in France.

“In 1851 M. de Molon junior again departed for Newfoundland, taking
with him all the means of manufacturing, the materials necessary to
construct a factory, and houses for one hundred and fifty workmen, whom
he also took with him; finally, all the means necessary to found a
permanent establishment. He fixed himself at Kerpon, at the extremity
of the island, near the Strait of Belle-isle, on a creek which was
visited every year by a great number of fishing vessels, and whose
shores abound in fish. At present this establishment is in regular
work, and has, we believe, sent within the last two or three months a
considerable quantity of fish-manure to France.

“Whilst his younger brother was thus establishing himself in
Newfoundland, M. de Molon wished to have in France an establishment of
the same kind placed immediately under his own eyes, which would serve
to perfect the process of manufacture, and offer to all the practical
confirmation of facts, the importance of which had long since been
indelibly fixed upon his own mind. It was at this epoch that M. de
Molon associated himself with a M. Thurnyssen, who understood the vast
field of enterprise which was thus opened up.

“This factory was erected by them at Concarneau, between Lorient and
Brest, in the department of Finisterre. This is a mere fishing village,
not far from the town of Quimper, containing scarcely two thousand
inhabitants, and built upon a rock in the middle of a bay formed by
the ocean. The catching and preparation of the sardine, which employs
about three hundred to four hundred boats annually, is almost the only
industry of the district, if we except a factory for the manufacture of
iodine.

“The factory of MM. de Molon and Thurnyssen is placed at the end of
the port, and the boats come and discharge their fish under its walls.
In its actual condition this factory is capable of manufacturing
daily about 4 to 5 tons of fish-manure, in a perfectly dry condition,
which represents 16 to 20 tons of fish or of fish-offal in its fresh
state. The proprietors receive all the offal of the curing-houses of
Concarneau and those of Lorient; and in addition all the coarse fish
which were previously thrown into the sea, or which were even abandoned
on the very quays of Concarneau, to the great detriment of public
health.

“The factory is entirely constructed of deal planks—that is to
say, with all the economy possible, and contains the following
articles of plant: A steam-engine of ten-horse power, and a boiler
of eighteen-horse power; two boiling-pans _à la bascule_, with
steam-jackets for boiling the fish at the temperature of a water bath;
twenty-four screw presses to press the material when boiled; a rasp
exactly similar to those employed in beet-sugar factories; a large
stove; a Chaussenot’s coccle-furnace, for heating the stove; a conical
iron mill, similar to a coffee-mill.

“The following is the mode of employing these various utensils: The
fish or the offal is introduced by the upper part of the boiling-pans
into the interior, one of which is capable of containing about 10
cwts., and the other from 16 cwts. to one ton. The vessel is then
hermetically closed, and steam of about 50 to 55 lbs. pressure
admitted into the steam-jacket, the steam-room of which is about two
inches wide, and into a tube nearly eight inches in diameter, placed
vertically in the interior of the pan. The boiling is completed in an
hour; then by a simple movement the pan may be made to swing upon its
bearings, the steam allowed to escape, and the cover being removed, the
boiled fish is allowed to fall into a receptacle. Workmen then convey
it in baskets to the presses placed alongside the boilers.

“The great difficulty was to find a means of submitting this fish-magma
to the action of the press without losing the fine portions. This
was accomplished in this way: Under each of the presses is placed a
cylinder of sheet iron open at both ends, about twenty inches high, and
twelve inches in diameter. This cylinder is strengthened by four small
iron rings or hoops, and is pierced with a number of very fine holes.
A loose bottom or wooden plate is fitted into this cylinder, which is
then nearly filled with the boiled fish, and upon this is laid another
plate of wood similar to the bottom. One or two blocks are then laid
upon this cover, and when all the cylinders are filled, a man turns
alternately the screw of each press. In proportion as the pressure
operates, the water and oil contained in the fish is seen to exude
from the perforations of the cylinder. These liquids flow into gutters
which conduct them to a common channel by which they flow into barrels
placed underneath, and so graduated that when the first is filled, the
overflow passes into the second, and so on in succession, without the
intervention of any workman. After reposing for some time, the oil
floats on the surface, and is collected and stored in barrels in the
cellar. The average quantity of fish-oil thus extracted represents very
nearly 2½ per cent of the fresh fish.

“When the boiled mass is sufficiently pressed, the presses are
loosened, and the cylinders removed and turned upside down, close
to the reservoir, to allow any liquid which may have mounted to
the surface to flow away; on then tapping the bottom wooden plate,
the pressed mass may be taken out of the cylinder in the form of
two compact cakes about four inches in thickness. These cakes are
immediately conveyed by a workman to the hopper of the rasp, placed
close at hand; this rasp, set in motion by the steam-engine, reduces
the cakes to a sort of pulp, which is carried by children as fast as
formed to the stove.

“The stove, situate on the first floor, is externally 20 metres long
(65 feet 7½ inches), and 5 metres (16 feet 5 inches, nearly) wide;
it is divided lengthwise into five chambers, 85 centimetres (2 feet
9½ inches, nearly) wide. Each of these chambers contains in its
length twenty frames or trays, 1 metre (3 feet 3⅓ inches) long, and
85 centimetres (2 feet 9½ inches, nearly) wide, having a bottom
of coarse linen. These trays rest upon two bars, which run the whole
length of the chamber. Five series of such trays are superimposed in
each chamber, which makes one hundred in each chamber, or five hundred
in the whole stove. At each end of these chambers is a number of
openings, which can be closed by a door; each opening corresponds with
a series of trays.

“When the rasped fish-cake is put upon a frame, it is introduced into
the stove through one of the openings just mentioned; a second is then
introduced, which causes the first to slide along the bars; then a
third, and so on until twenty have been placed. The second series of
trays is then introduced in the same way by the opening next above.
The operation is proceeded with in this way until the five series are
introduced into each of the five chambers. It takes about two hours
to two hours and a half to fill the stove with the five hundred trays
which it is capable of receiving.

“A current of air heated by the coccle-oven of Chaussenot to a
temperature of from 140° to 158° Fahr., circulates through the five
chambers, according as each is filled with the trays of fish, the draft
being maintained by a chimney.

“As soon as the last tray is introduced into the stove, the first is
fit to be withdrawn. This is effected in the simplest manner; a child
placed at one extremity of the stove introduces a tray freshly charged,
this pushes without any effort the whole series ranged upon the bars,
and causes the last in the series at the lower end of the stove to
slide out, where it is received by another child; a fresh tray is again
introduced, and another is pushed out, and so on for the whole stove.
In this way the action of the stove is constant, being filled as fast
as it is emptied, without the workpeople being exposed to the action
of the heat, and without suffering in the least from it, and being
nevertheless able to communicate to one another the details of the
work, the chambers acting as conductors for the voice.

“This stove constitutes one of the most important features in
the system of M. de Molon; it dries rapidly, regularly, and with
comparatively small expenditure of heat, since 100 kilogrammes (220
lbs.) of coal a day are sufficient for heating the coccle; and the
continuity of its action is perfect.

“According as the dried fish is withdrawn from the chambers it is
thrown into a heap, on a board close by, from which it is put with
a shovel into the mill-hopper by a child. The mill reduces it to a
sufficiently fine and perfectly dry powder, which is at once put in
sacks or casks, and sealed in order that there may be no means of
adulterating it.

“To any one acquainted with the processes and machinery employed
in the manufacture of beet-sugar, it will at once be evident that
the organisation of the process just described was the result of an
acquaintance with that manufacture. This is another instance of the
benefits conferred upon France by the beet-sugar industry, for to
that branch of manufacture it may be truly said to owe the rise of
its present manufacturing system. A branch of industry requiring a
combination of chemical and mechanical skill carried on in the midst of
a rural population, especially if connected with agriculture, has far
more influence upon the permanent prosperity of a people materially and
intellectually, than the greatest branch of industry entirely confined
to the civic population.

“To carry on all the operations just described, only six men are
employed at Concarneau, who receive about 1s. a day, and ten children,
who receive from sixpence to sevenpence. Under those conditions,
and without working at night, this factory is capable, as we have
already remarked, of producing from four to five tons of dry manure
a day, representing about eighteen to twenty tons of fish or offal;
that is, one hundred parts of fresh fish yield about twenty-two parts
of fish-powder. By working at night, which will be done during the
ensuing year, when the fishery shall have been better organised,
this establishment will be able to produce from eight to ten tons of
manure. M. de Molon estimates the number of days in the year during
which the fishermen could fish at from 200 to 250. In only counting
200 working days, the establishment at Concarneau could thus produce
from 1600 to 2000 tons of manure annually, which, at the rate of three
cwts. per statute acre, would suffice to manure from 10,000 to 13,000
acres of land, and would represent, at 22 per cent of dried manure,
a fishing of 9000 to 10,000 tons. The sardine-fishery and the offal
of the curing-houses, formerly lost, would furnish about one-half
of that quantity; but M. de Molon has pointed out a fact from which
would appear to result the incontestable facility of obtaining at
Concarneau far greater quantities of fish than those mentioned above,
by the fishery of the coal-fish, which is sometimes found in immense
quantities on the coast, but which the fishermen do not often take, as
they could find no sale for them.

“The factory of Concarneau, with the organised fishery which M. de
Molon intends to establish (sixty to seventy-eight well-equipped
boats), and by doubling its present plant, which is also intended, will
quadruple the quantity of dry manure which is now produced in working
only ten hours per day.

“In addition to the 180 kilogrammes of coal burned in heating the
stove, we may add that 130 more (286½ lbs.) are consumed by the
steam-engine, making a total of 230 kilogrammes, or little more than
four and a half cwts., or about one cwt. of coal to one ton of manure.

“The fish-manure fetches about 8s. per cwt. in the locality, and is
eagerly sought after by the farmers, who expect the most signal results
to agriculture from the extension of the manufacture; while the oil
which, as already remarked, constitutes about 2½ per cent of the raw
fish, would be worth from 3s. to 3s. 4d. per gallon. These figures show
at once that the manufacture must be profitable—a fact which is fully
guaranteed by Messrs. Payen and Pommier, who, as a commission sent from
the Agricultural Society in order to report upon the project, had the
privilege of examining the books of the concern, and of thus satisfying
themselves of its commercial success.

“The factory of Concarneau, as we have already noticed, was only
founded in order to serve as a model, not alone for those which may
be established on different points of the French coast, but also in
foreign countries. In addition to the factory established under the
superintendence of M. de Molon junior, in Newfoundland, and which in
its actual condition is capable of furnishing from 8000 to 10,000 tons
of manure annually, it is proposed to establish others on the same
coast, and also on the coasts of the North Sea, on such a scale as
will furnish sufficient manure to completely replace the guano now
imported from Peru.

“When we recollect what a large amount of offal has hitherto been
wasted upon our coasts, the vast quantity of coarse fish which have
been rejected and thrown again into the sea; but above all, when we
consider the enormous extent of ocean, teeming with animal life, which
has contributed so little to the sustenance of mankind, we cannot help
thinking that at Concarneau has been laid the foundation of a great
branch of industry, which is destined to renovate the worn-out soils of
the richly-populated countries of Europe.”

II. LIST OF AUTHORITIES.

Having been frequently asked by correspondents for a list of the chief
authorities on fish, I beg to subjoin the titles of a few of the works
I have had occasion to consult while preparing this volume:—

A Review of the Domestic Fisheries of Great Britain and Ireland, by
Robert Fraser, Esq. Edinburgh, 1818.

A Short Narrative of the Proceedings of the Society appointed to
manage the British White Herring Fishery, etc., by Thos. Cole. London,
1750.

A Treatise on Food and Diet, by Jonathan Pereira, M.D., etc., 1843.
London: Longman and Co.

A Treatise on the Management of Fresh-Water Fish, by Gottlieb Boccius,
1841. London: Van Voorst.

An Account of the Fish-Pool, etc., by Sir Richard Steell. London, 1718.

An Account of Three New Specimens of British Fishes, by Richard
Parnell, 1837. Royal Society, Edinburgh.

An Essay towards a Natural History of the Herring, by James Solas
Dodd, Surgeon. London, 1752.

Angler’s and Tourist’s Guide, by Andrew Young, Invershin, 1857. A. and
C. Black, Edinburgh.

British Fish and Fisheries. Religious Tract Society.

Ceylon, Notes on, by James Steuart, Esq. of Colpetty. Printed for
Private Circulation, 1862.

Couch’s Fishes of the British Islands, 1865. Groombridge.

Directions for Taking and Curing Herrings; and for Curing Cod, Ling,
Tusk, and Hake, by Sir Thomas Dick Lauder, Bart. Edinburgh 1846.

Elements de Pisciculture, par M. Isidore L’Amy. Paris, 1855.

Evidence of the Royal Commission on the operation of the Acts relating
to Trawling for Herring on the Coasts of Scotland. Presented to both
Houses of Parliament by command of Her Majesty. 1863.

Experimental Observations on the Development and Growth of Salmon Fry,
etc., by John Shaw, 1840. Edinburgh: A. and C. Black.

Fish and Fishing in the Lone Glens of Scotland, by Dr. Knox, 1854.
Routledge and Co.

Fish-Hatching, by Frank T. Buckland, 1863. Tinsley Brothers.

Fisheries, The, considered as a National Resource, etc., 1856.
Milliken, Dublin.

Forrester’s Fish and Fishing in the United States, 1864. Townsend, New
York.

Guide du Pisciculture, par J. Remy, 1854. Paris: Lacroix.

Guide Pratique du Pisciculture, par Pierre Carbonnier, 1864. Paris:
Lacroix.

Herring-Fishery, on the Existing State of the, 1854. Herald Office,
Aberdeen.

Howitt’s Angler’s Manual, 1808. Liverpool.

Ichthyonomy, 1857. Swinnerton and Brown, Macclesfield.

Illustrated London Almanac, 1864. London.

Irish Quarterly Review. W. B. Kelly, Dublin.

L’Alienation des Rivages, par M. Coste. Paris, 1863.

La Pêche en Eau Douce et en Eau Salée, par Alphonse Karr, 1860. Paris:
Michel Levy Freres.

Letter to a Member of Parliament recommending the Improvement of the
Irish Fishery. Dublin, 1729.

Multiplication Artificelle des Poissons, par J. P. J. Koltz. Paris:
Lacroix.

Natural History and Habits of the Salmon, etc., by Andrew Young, 1854.
Longman and Co.

Natural History of the Salmon, as ascertained at Stormontfield. By
William Brown, 1862. Glasgow: Thomas Murray.

Naturalist’s Library, by Sir William Jardine, 1843. Edinburgh.

Notice Historique sur L’Etablissement de Pisciculture de Huningue,
1862. Strasbourg: Berger Levrault.

Note sur les Huitrieres Artificelles de Terrains Emergents, par M.
Coste. Paris.

Observations on the Fisheries of the West Coast of Ireland, etc., by
Thomas Edward Symons, 1856. London: Chapman and Hall.

Oyster, The, where, how, and when to find, breed, cook, and eat it.
Trubner and Co.

Pisciculture, Pisciculteurs, et Poissons, par Eugene Voel, 1856.
Paris: F. Chamerot.

Pisciculture et la Production des Sangsues, par Auguste Jourdier,
1856. Paris: Hatchette and Co.

Pisciculture et Culture des Eaux, par P. Trigneaux. Paris: Libraire
Agricole de la Maison Rustique.

Pisciculture Pratique et sur l’Eleve et la Multiplication des
Sangsues, par Quenard, 1855. Paris: De Dusacq.

Propagation of Oysters, by M. Coste and Dr. Kemmerer. Brighton, 1864.
Pearce.

Proposals for Printing by Subscription a Complete Natural History of
Esculent Fish, etc., by James Solas Dodd.

Report by the Commissioners for the British Fisheries of their
Proceedings in the Year ended 31st December 1862, being the Fishing of
1862.

Ditto for the years 1863-64.

Reports of the Commissioners of Crown Lands of Canada, 1863-64-65.

Report of the Royal Commissioners on the operation of the Acts
relating to Trawling for Herring on the Coasts of Scotland. Presented
to both Houses of Parliament by command of Her Majesty. 1863.

Salmon and other Fish, Propagation of, by Edward and Thomas Ashworth,
1853. E. H. King, Stockport.

Sea-Side and Aquarium, by John Harper, 1858. Nimmo, Edinburgh.

Sea-Side Divinity, by the Rev. Robert W. Fraser, M.A., 1861. J. Hogg
and Sons.

Shetland, Description of the Island of, etc., 1753. James, London.

Sketches of the Natural History of Ceylon, by Sir J. Emerson Tennent,
1861. London: Longman and Co.

The Field, the Country Gentleman’s Newspaper.

The Herring, its Natural History and National Importance, by John
Mitchell, F.R.S., etc. Edinburgh, 1864.

The Interest of Scotland Considered, etc. Edinburgh, 1733.

The Structure and Physiology of Fishes Explained, etc., by Alexander
Monro, M.D. Edinburgh, 1785.

The Young Angler’s Guide, etc., 1839. J. Cheek, London.

Tweed Fisheries Acts, 1857-59. Eyre and Spottiswoode.

Vacation Tourists, 1862-3. London: Macmillan, 1864.

Voyage d’Exploration sur la Littoral de la France et de L’Italie, par
M. Coste. Paris, 1861, Imprimerie Impériale.

Yarrell’s British Fishes. London: Van Voorst.

⁂ Various numbers of _Macmillan’s Magazine_, the _Cornhill Magazine_,
etc., have also been consulted, and quoted from, by permission of the
publishers.

III. WICK HERRING HARVEST OF 1865.

┌───────┬──────┬───────┬───────┬────────┬────────┬─────────┬───────────┐
│Date. │ Boats│ Daily │ Daily │Season’s│Season’s│ Quality.│ Weather. │
│ │ out. │ Ave- │ catch.│average.│ catch. │ │ │
│ │ │ rage. │ Crans.│ Crans. │ Crans. │ │ │
│ │ │ Crans.│ │ │ │ │ │
├───────┼──────┼───────┼───────┼────────┼────────┼─────────┼───────────┤
│Jun 23│ 19 │ 5 │ 97 │ 0 │ 126 │ Good │Wet. │
│ ” 24│ 14 │ ½ │ 7 │ 0 │ 133 │ Do. │Cold and │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ blowy. │
│ ” 27│ 25 │ 2 │ 50 │ 0 │ 183 │ Do. │Changeable.│
│ ” 28│ 25 │ 2 │ 50 │ 0 │ 233 │ Do. │Thick. │
│ ” 30│ 30 │ 6 │ 180 │ 0 │ 413 │ Do. │ Do. │
│July 1│ 34 │ 3 │ 102 │ ½ │ 515 │ Do. │Mild and │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ clear. │
│ ” 4│ 75 │ 0 │ 10 │ ½ │ 525 │ Do. │ Do. │
│ ” 6│ 48 │ 0 │ 3 │ ½ │ 528 │ Do. │ Do.—rains.│
│ ” 11│ 120 │ 1¾ │ 188 │ ¾ │ 716 │Excellent│ Do. │
│ ” 12│ 200 │ ½ │ 100 │ ¾ │ 816 │ Do. │ Do. │
│ ” 13│ 50 │ 1 │ 50 │ ¾ │ 866 │ Do. │Wet. │
│ ” 14│ 20 │ 1 │ 20 │ ¾ │ 886 │ Do. │Wet. │
│ ” 15│ 100 │ 0 │ 10 │ ¾ │ 896 │ Do. │Fine. │
│ ” 18│ 20 │ ½ │ 10 │ ¾ │ 906 │ Do. │ Do. │
│ ” 19│ 30 │ 0 │ 0 │ ¾ │ 906 │ │ Do. │
│ ” 20│ 56 │ 0 │ 0 │ ¾ │ 906 │ │ Do. │
│ ” 21│ 120 │ ¼ │ 30 │ ¾ │ 936 │ Mixed │ Do. │
│ ” 22│ 200 │ 0 │ 20 │ ¾ │ 956 │ Do. │Mild. │
│ ” 25│ 500 │ 0 │ 40 │ 1 │ 996 │Excellent│Calm and │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ clear. │
│ ” 26│ 500 │ 0 │ 80 │ 1 │ 1,076 │ Large │ Do. │
│ ” 27│ 500 │ 0 │ 40 │ 1 │ 1,116 │ Mixed │ Do. │
│ ” 29│ 60 │ 2 │ 120 │ 1⅓ │ 1,236 │Excellent│Breezy. │
│Aug. 1│ 900 │ ¾ │ 750 │ 2 │ 1,986 │ Do. │Mild and │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ clear. │
│ ” 2│ 950 │ ½ │ 500 │ 2½ │ 2,486 │ Do. │Very wet. │
│ ” 3│ 970 │ ¾ │ 750 │ 3 │ 3,236 │ Do. │Heavy rain.│
│ ” 4│ 970 │ 1 │ 970 │ 4 │ 4,206 │ Do. │Calm. │
│ ” 5│ 970 │ 1 │ 970 │ 5½ │ 5,176 │ Do. │ Do. │
│ ” 8│ 976 │ 2½ │ 2,440 │ 8 │ 7,616 │ Do. │ Do. │
│ ” 9│ 970 │ 12 │11,640 │ 20 │ 19,256 │ Do. │ Do. │
│ ” 10│ 976 │ 7 │ 6,832 │ 27 │ 26,088 │ Do. │Very clear.│
│ ” 11│ 970 │ 6 │ 5,820 │ 32½ │ 31,908 │¼ spent │Wet and │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ rough. │
│ ” 15│ 50 │ 1 │ 50 │ 32½ │ 31,958 │ Good │Very │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ rough. │
│ ” 16│ 900 │ ¼ │ 225 │ 33 │ 32,183 │ Do. │ Do. │
│ ” 17│ 100 │ 1 │ 100 │ 33 │ 32,283 │ Spent │ Do. │
│ ” 18│ 930 │ 2 │ 1,860 │ 35 │ 34,143 │Excellent│Fine. │
│ ” 19│ 977 │ ½ │ 487 │ 35½ │ 34,630 │ Do. │ Do. │
│ ” 22│ 977 │ 6 │ 5,862 │ 41½ │ 40,492 │ Do. │ Do. │
│ ” 23│ 977 │ 6 │ 5,862 │ 47½ │ 46,354 │¼ spent │Breezy. │
│ ” 24│ 977 │ 12 │11,724 │ 59½ │ 58,978 │⅓ spent │Mild. │
│ ” 25│ 977 │ 10 │ 9,770 │ 69½ │ 67,848 │¼ spent │ Do.—frost.│
│ ” 26│ 975 │ 8 │ 7,800 │ 77½ │ 75,648 │½ spent │Breezy— │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ rain. │
│ ” 29│ 977 │ 0 │ 10 │ 77½ │ 75,658 │ Good │ Do. │
│ ” 30│ 30 │ 0 │ 0 │ 77½ │ 75,658 │ │Rough— │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ rain. │
│ ” 31│ 200 │ ¼ │ 50 │ 77½ │ 75,708 │ Do. │ Do. │
│Sept. 1│ 500 │ 0 │ 0 │ 77½ │ 75,708 │ │Very │
│ │ │ │ │ │ │ │ rough. │
│ ” 5│ 300 │ 0 │ 0 │ 77½ │ 75,708 │ │Changeable.│
│ ” 12│ 9 │ 1 │ 9 │ 77½ │ 75,717 │Excellent│Fine. │
│ ” 13│ 30 │ 1 │ 30 │ 77½ │ 75,747 │ Do. │Changeable.│
│ ” 14│ 50 │ 6 │ 300 │ 78 │ 76,047 │ Do. │Fine. │
│ ” 15│ 60 │ 0 │ 3 │ 78 │ 76,050 │ Do. │Changeable.│
└───────┴──────┴───────┴───────┴────────┴────────┴─────────┴───────────┘

_Northern Ensign._

IV. TOTAL CATCH OF HERRINGS AT ALL THE STATIONS ON THE NORTH-EAST
COAST DURING THE LAST FIVE YEARS.

┌─────────────┬────────┬────────┬────────┬────────┬———————-┐
│Stations. │ 1861. │ 1862. │ 1863. │ 1864. │ 1865. │
├─────────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼─────———┤
│Wick │ 89,728 │ 90,644 │ 90,099 │ 90,033 │ 76,055 │
│Lybster, etc.│ 16,828 │ 17,150 │ 24,982 │ 19,120 │ 18,946 │
│Dunbeath │ 6,720 │ 6,162 │ 6,800 │ 5,248 │ 5,100 │
│Helmsdale │ 26,670 │ 26,500 │ 24,982 │ 29,120 │ 13,020 │
│Brora │ 1,620 │ 1,809 │ 1,554 │ 2,460 │ 1,225 │
│Cromarty │ 18,060 │ 11,232 │ 13,600 │ 15,000 │ 10,200 │
│Burghhead │ 7,920 │ 9,090 │ 10,320 │ 11,770 │ 10,580 │
│Hopeman │ 11,614 │ 9,686 │ 10,150 │ 5,824 │ 8,418 │
│Findhorn │ 1,080 │ 294 │ │ │ 560 │
│Lossiemouth │ 10,175 │ 10,881 │ 12,020 │ 5,985 │ 14,742 │
│Portgordon │ 2,783 │ 4,664 │ 4,312 │ 1,160 │ 800 │
│Portsoy │ 1,974 │ 3,290 │ 2,112 │ 920 │ 1,290 │
│Cullen │ 2,380 │ 4,200 │ 3,424 │ 1,320 │ 406 │
│Portknockie │ 2,691 │ 3,542 │ 3,092 │ 1,872 │ 2,695 │
│Findochty │ 2,660 │ 4,480 │ 3,752 │ 2,040 │ 1,900 │
│Portessie │ 1,881 │ 2,180 │ 1,350 │ 1,380 │ 1,320 │
│Buckie │ 5,320 │ 8,600 │ 8,249 │ 3,850 │ 7,700 │
│Whitehills │ 2,792 │ 4,753 │ 2,211 │ 1,200 │ 1,624 │
│Macduff │ 4,200 │ 7,884 │ 4,898 │ 2,400 │ 3,962 │
│Gardenstown │ 6,642 │ 12,908 │ 6,386 │ 2,948 │ 7,952 │
│Pennan │ 819 │ 1,215 │ 368 │ 265 │ 520 │
│Rosehearty │ 4,620 │ 7,828 │ 6,898 │ 4,602 │ 6,100 │
│Pitullie │ 1,720 │ 3,768 │ 1,500 │ 720 │ 1,980 │
│Fraserburgh │ 16,581 │ 42,944 │ 24,970 │ 26,793 │ 28,112 │
│Peterhead │ 32,600 │ 52,461 │ 31,535 │ 32,680 │ 35,741 │
│Boddam │ 5,890 │ 5,445 │ 4,680 │ 3,640 │ 5,358 │
├─────────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼────────┼─────———┤
│ TOTAL │285,878 │353,610 │304,780 │272,350 │266,211 │
└─────────────┴────────┴────────┴────────┴────────┴─────———┘

ESTIMATED NUMBER OF HANDS EMPLOYED—1865.

┌───────────┬──────────┬───────┬───────┐
│ │Fishermen.│Others.│ Total.│
├───────────┼──────────┼───────┼───────┤
│Caithness │ 6,500 │ 3,100 │ 9,600 │
│Sutherland │ 2,100 │ 1,500 │ 3,600 │
│Cromarty │ 1,200 │ 1,000 │ 2,200 │
│Moray │ 1,800 │ 1,200 │ 3,000 │
│Banff │ 1,800 │ 1,200 │ 3,000 │
│Aberdeen │ 3,800 │ 2,400 │ 6,200 │
├───────────┼──────────┼───────┼───────┤
│ TOTAL │ 17,200 │10,400 │27,600 │
└───────────┴──────────┴───────┴───────┘

INDEX.

A fishing “toon” described, 446.

A fishwife’s proverb, 425.

A lobster-spill in the Thames, 389.

A Member of Parliament on the fish supply, 67.

A widow’s story, 463.

About “natives,” 369.

Absurd statement about herring spawn, 236.

Absurdity of eating cod-roe, 291.

Across the Channel, 56.

Acclimatisation of fish, 125, 482.

Account of a fisherman’s wedding-dance, 421.

Account of the latest spawning season at Stormontfield, 108.

Adaptability of means to end in shell-fish, 384.

Admiration of Scottish pearls, 403.

Advance of money in the herring trade, 255.

Advantages of a close-time for oysters, 338.

Advantages of the tile system in oyster-culture, 363.

Advice to fishermen as to bait, 417.

Age at which oysters are sent to be greened, 360.

Age at which oysters are sent to market, 339.

Age of herring before they spawn, 237.

Aggregate sailings of the Wick boats, 279.

Agriculture in France, 77.

All fish unwholesome at time of spawning, 242.

Allston the London oyster-merchant, 373.

Ambition of fisher lads, 440.

America, oysters in, 380.

American pike, 143.

American sociality over oysters, 346.

Amount of attention required by a large oyster-farm, 365.

Ancient fishing industries, 40.

Ancient ideas as to fish, 8.

Ancient knowledge of the oyster, 333.

Anecdote of a minister’s visit to a fisherman, 432.

Anecdote of a London _litterateur_, 379.

Anecdotes of a fishwife, 428.

Angler-fish, 156.

Anglers’ fishes, 129, 137.

Anglers and angling, 132.

Angling all the year round, 132.

Angling localities, 137.

Angling in the Thames, 150.

Angling on the Tay, 212.

Angling sport in Scotland, 130.

Annual revenue of the river Tay fisheries, 213.

Annual sacrifice to crustacean gastronomy, 397.

Anomalies in salmon growth, 105, 180.

Antidote to enchantment, the fisherman’s, 435.

Antiquity of pearls, 398.

Apparatus for catching lobsters, 161.

Apparatus for pisciculture, 115.

Appendix, 491.

Approach of the herring season, 246.

Arcachon, Bay of, 365.

Are herrings of the same shoal all of the same age?, 238.

Are the pisciculturists robbing Peter to pay Paul?, 88.

Are there more fish in the sea than ever came out of it?, 474.

Arran, the island of, 165.

Arrival of salmon ova in Australia, 120.

Arctic Seas, no herrings in the, 231.

Artificial oyster-breeding, 350.

Artificial oyster-breeding in Marennes, 75.

Artificial spawning, 86, 87.

Art of dredging oysters, 378.

Art of shrimping, 396.

Art of trawling, 311.

Ashworth’s experiments, 117.

Ashworth’s opinion of oyster-culture, 354.

Attention required by an oyster-farm, 365.

Auchmithie, 444.

Auctioneers of fish, 437.

August herring-fishery at Wick, 280.

Authentic contradiction to Pennant’s theory, 231.

Authorities, list of, quoted, 499.

Avarice of salmon-fishery lessees, 200.

Average age at which salmon are killed, 207.

Average capture of herrings per boat in 1820, 279.

Average number of crans of herring taken by each boat in 1862, 276.

Average of oyster-reproduction at Re, 358.

Averages of the catch of herrings in 1862, 276.

Aversion of fisher-people to be counted, 453.

Awkward _contretemps_, 468.

Bad effects of trawling, 315.

Bag-nets, their baneful influence on the salmon-fisheries, 208.

Bain, Mr. Donald, on the salmon question, 222, 489.

Bait for line-fishing, 306.

Bait for lobsters, 385.

Bait for sea-angling, 158.

Bait, importance of cheap, 410.

Balance of nature, 33.

Bale in Switzerland, 80.

Bannock-fluke, the, 297.

Bargain-making by fishwives, 426.

Bargains made by boat-owners, 257.

Barnet, Mr., of Kinross, 140.

Barking trawlers, 309.

Barrack-life in Comacchio, 458.

Barrels, great numbers of, on the quays at Wick, 268.

Basins for the young fish at Huningue, 85.

Bass, the, of Lake Wennern, 125.

Battle of the swine at St. Monance, 434.

Bay of Aiguillon, 412.

Bay of the Departed, 455.

Bay of St. Brieuc, 351.

Beef, the stone-mason of the island of Re, 352.

Bell Rock, 444.

Benefits derived from a good fishery, 44.

Best conditions of fish for spawning, 341.

Best kind of boats for herring-fishing, 272.

Best kinds of fish to rear on the artificial plan, 97.

Best spawning-ground for herring, 238.

Best way of marking young salmon, 196.

Billingsgate, 65.

Billingsgate salesman’s, a, letter on trawling, 319.

Bird’s-eye view of Fusaro, 349.

Bit of dialogue, 470.

Black-beetle, a wonderful, 17.

Bloaters and red-herrings, 270.

Board of White Fisheries, 486.

Boat speculation by ship-carpenters, 441.

Bolam, evidence on trawling by Thomas, 314.

_Bouchots_ for growing mussels, 411.

Boulogne, 454.

Bounty given in the herring-trade, 255.

Brand, the, 263.

Breeding-ponds for salmon at Stormontfield, 99.

Breeding-pyramid for oysters, 350.

Brewing of oyster-spat, 337.

Brilliancy of fish-colour, 2.

British oyster-eaters, 345.

Brown, Mr. Wm., of Perth, on the salmon, 194.

Buckhaven, 438, 439.

Buckie, 466.

Buckie fishermen, 302.

Buisse, suite of ponds at, 93.

Burning the water, 204.

Business, how it is conducted at Re, 358.

Buist’s notes on Stormontfield, 111.

Buist’s opinions about the parr, 183.

Calculations as to herring increase, 7.

“Caller Ou,” 425.

Cancale, 58.

Cancale, the shell-middens of, 351.

Canoe used by the _boucholeurs_ of Aiguillon, 413.

Capital of French oysterdom, 352.

Caprice of the herring, 244.

Capturing herrings with a seine-net, 250.

Carlisle of Inveresk, Dr., 435.

Carp, 144.

Carp-breeding, 147.

Carp-ponds, 147.

Carriage of fish in France, cost of, 61.

Catch of herrings in 1862-63, 272.

Catching shell-fish, 385.

Causes assigned for caprice of herring, 244.

Cause of attraction to the male fish while spawning, 9.

Cause of the parr anomaly, 105.

Census of Fittie, 450.

Census of persons employed in the herring-fishery, 275.

Ceremonies among the eel-breeders of Comacchio, 459.

Ceremony of marriage among fishermen, 421.

Ceylon pearl-fishery, 398.

Chance fishing, 301.

Changes in the Crustacea, 392.

Character of the fisher-folk, 471.

Character of the Scottish fishwife, 324.

Charming May, 138.

Charitable fishery experiment, 388.

Charr, 153.

Cheek on angling, 135.

Chief British salmon-streams, 209.

Chief fishing-grounds in the North Sea, 306.

Chinese pisciculture, 69, 70.

Claires for greening oysters, 360.

Claires for oysters, view of, 357.

Clannishness of the fisher-folk, 481.

Classification of fish, 1.

Cleanliness of the Newhaven fisherwomen, 431.

Cleghorn, Mr. John, of Wick, on the herring, 231, 232.

Clements, John, of Hull, his evidence, 316.

Close-times for herrings quite possible, 242.

Close-time for lobsters in France, 391.

Close-time for oysters, 336.

Clyde, the river, 163.

Coarse work of the herring-gutters, 270.

Coast fishing-boats, 272.

Cod and haddock fishing very laborious, 301.

Codfish, number of eggs in a, 5.

Codfish, description of the, 291.

Codfish, how it grows, 31.

Cod-liver oil, 292.

Cod-roe at dinner, 243.

Coldingham fishermen, good behaviour of, 438.

Colne oyster-beds, 370.

Cold seasons unfavourable to oyster-breeding, 338.

Colour of fish, 2.

Comacchio, 19, 457.

Comacchio, drawing of a division of, 48.

Comfort of a fisherman’s dwelling, 430.

Commencement of the great gale on the Moray Firth, 324.

Commerce in fish, 34.

Commerce in herrings, 254.

Commerce in salmon, 198.

Commerce in shell-fish, 384.

Commercial value of salmon, 199.

Commissioners’ report on the herring-fishery for 1864, 275.

Common carp, 146.

“Commons,” in oyster nomenclature, 368.

Community of fishers at Fittie, 449.

Comparative tables of the fishery at Wick, 281.

Concluding remarks on the Fisheries, 474.

Conclusion, 490.

Condition of trawl-fish, 320.

Conditions under which the herring is found, 240.

Conduct of the white-fisheries, 301.

Connecticut, fish-manufactory in, 136.

Consumption of fish, 67.

Consumption of oysters in London, 373.

Contents of a dredge, 378.

Continental demand on our fisheries, 286.

Controversies about oyster life, 335.

Controversies about the salmon, 178.

Controversy about the parr, 181.

Controversy about the pearl rivers, 406.

Controversy among fishermen at Lochfyne, 250.

Controversy in Scotland as to fixed engines of salmon-capture, 206.

Conversation with a Strasbourg _pêcheur_, 88.

Cooking of pike, 143.

Cooking of oysters, 346.

Co-operation among fishermen, 309, 441.

Co-operation better than competition, 223.

Cornwall in the pilchard season, 251.

Coromandel oysters, 379.

Corry in Arran, view of, 171.

Coste, Professor, 76.

Coste’s, Professor, plan of oyster-culture, 347.

Coste’s recommendation to the French Government, 350.

Couch, Mr. Jonathan, on the food of the pilchard, 251.

Couch on the mackerel, 21.

_Couleur de rose_ statements as to the fisheries, 475.

Councillor Hawkins on the Colchester oyster, 370.

Course of the fisheries, 55.

Course of the herring-fishery, 229.

Course of oyster-farming, 365.

Course of work on the oyster-beds at Whitstable, 365.

Crab-catching, 386.

Cray-fish, 397.

Creel-hawking, 436.

Crustacean commerce, 387.

Cullercoats fisherman, evidence of a, 312.

Cultivating the mussel-farm, 413.

Cultivation of “natives,” 369.

Cultivation of our lochs, 140.

Culture of mussels, 410.

Culture of oysters, 346.

Culture of oysters, progress in, 354.

Culture of turtle on the artificial plan, 96.

Curing of cod in Scotland, 293.

Cure of herrings in Scotland, 1862-63, 273.

Curing pilchards, 253.

Curing sprats to be sold as sardines, 253.

Curious forms of fish, 3.

Curiosities of superstition at Newhaven, 433.

Daily statement of the number of herring-boats at Wick in 1862, 276.

Danube salmon, 89, 98.

Dates marking chief incidents of salmon life, 195.

Dealing in herrings, 254.

Decline of creel-hawking in Scotland, 443.

Decline of the cod-fishery, 303.

Decrease of the Scottish haddock-fishery, 318.

Decreasing size of haddocks, 315.

Dee salmon-fisheries, 112, 113.

Delineation of flat fishes, 297.

Demand for fish in Catholic countries, 277.

Demand for oysters, 373.

Demand for white fish, 286.

Dempster’s discovery of packing salmon in ice, 36, 202.

Departure of the herring-fleet from the Texel, 45.

Description of Auchmithie, 445.

Description of a drift-net, 248.

Description of a lobster-trap, 385.

Description of a mussel-farm, 412.

Description of a periwinkle, 384.

Description of a trawler, 309.

Description of green oyster-claires, 359, 360.

Description of Newhaven, near Edinburgh, 430.

Description of the lobster, 390.

Description of the oyster, 334.

Description of the pilchard-fishery, 252.

Design for a complete suite of salmon-ponds, 103.

Desire for more herring statistics, 283.

Destruction of young fish, 478.

Destructive power of the trawl-net, 308.

Development of the herring, 240.

Dexterity of the herring-gutters, 270.

Diagram of herring-netting and fish, 282.

Dialect of the Moray Firth fisher-folk, 469.

Dialogue between a fishwife and her customer, 427.

Differences in size, shape, and flavour of the herrings of different
places, 230.

Different countries must have different fishing seasons, 299.

Different kinds of cured herrings, 271.

Different kinds of sea-fish, 155.

Difficulties in the way of collecting spat, 362.

Difficulties of obtaining accurate information about the herring, 235.

Difficulty of obtaining statistics of fisheries, 66, 285.

Dimensions of the great _heer_, 228.

Diminution of lobsters, 318.

Discipline of Comacchio, 457.

Disparity in size of young salmon, 106.

Distinct races of herrings, 230.

Dish of crablets, 344.

Distribution of cured eels, 462.

Distribution of fish, 37.

Diving for pearls in Scotland, 407.

Division of labour in Fittie, 450.

Do fish live a separate life?, 9.

Does an oyster yield its young in millions?, 339.

Dogfish, diminution of, in 1862, 274.

Dogger Bank fishery, 303.

Doon pearl-fishery, 408.

Doon pearls inferior, 409.

Do the herring live singly up till the period of spawning?, 238.

Double migration of the salmon, 193.

Doubts as to former abundance of fish, 479.

Dr. Dod on the herring and sprat, 239.

Drawbacks to oyster-farming in France, 354.

Drawing of a two-year-old smolt, 189.

Drawings of the pearl-mussel, 399.

Dredging for oysters at Cockenzie, 377.

Dredging for pearls, 407.

Dress of a Newhaven fishwife described, 429.

Drift _versus_ trawl nets, 250.

Dunbar herring-fleet, 443.

Duke of Athole’s marked fish, 190.

Dutch fishing industry, 41.

Duties of fishermen, 490.

Duty charged on French fish, 61.

Duty of the coopers at the herring curing, 262.

Early fish commerce, 35.

Earnings of trawlers, 319.

Economy of the herring shoals, 277.

Edible Crustacea described, 391.

Edible molluscs, 384.

Edinburgh oyster-ploys, 345.

Edinburgh oyster-taverns, 345.

Eel-breeders, the, of Comacchio, 45.

Eel-cooking at Comacchio, 460.

Eel-curing at Comacchio, 461.

Eel-fair, 19.

Eel, the, 17.

Effects of the concentration of a thousand boats on one shoal of
herrings, 283.

Effects of a storm on the Moray Firth, 472, 473.

Effects of royal notice on the fishwives, 429.

Effects of the discovery of Mr. Dempster, 205.

Egg-boxes at Huningue, 83.

Egg-boxes at Stormontfield, 104.

Egg-laying by the hen lobster, 392.

Eggs of the salmon kind just hatching, 13.

Emotions of the first oyster-eater, 343.

Enemies of the salmon, 199.

Engaging of boats for the herring-fishery, 255.

English lakes, the, 153.

English river scenery, 148.

English salmon-fisheries, 217.

English trawl fishermen, 308.

Enterprise of the Scottish herring-curers, 259.

Enthusiasm of those concerned in the herring-harvest, 246.

Episode of a cradle, 468.

Erroneous information as to pearls, 409.

Estimated quantity of oysters in various stages of growth, 368.

Evidence on the trawl question, 312.

Exaggeration as to supplies of fish, 481.

Example of a well-managed salmon stream, 215.

Examples of nicknames among fishermen, 467.

Excess of herrings cured in 1862, 273.

Excitement on shore during a storm, 326.

Excitement on the coast during the herring season, 247.

Expense of forming an oyster-bank, 352.

Expenses of fishing-vessels, 310.

Experience as to the Tweed fisheries, 224.

Experiment in fructifying fish-eggs, 8.

Experiments in oyster-breeding in the Bay of St. Brieuc, 351.

Experiments in pearl-fishing in the Scottish lochs, 406.

Experiments with salmon ova in ice, 119.

Exportation of salmon ova, 119.

Exquisite flavour of the green oyster, 362.

Extension of legislation on the salmon question, 204.

Extension of pisciculture, 117.

Extension of the Scotch pearl-fishery, 402.

Extension of the salmon trade, 205.

Extent of business done in oysters at Whitstable, 366.

Extent of French fisheries, 91.

Extent of oyster-beds in the Firth of Forth, 375.

Extent of the Gadidæ family, 287.

Extent of the mussel-farm in the Bay of Aiguillon, 412.

Extent of the river Tay, 209.

Extent of trawling, 311.

Extraordinary scene on the river Doon, 404.

Exuviation of the lobster, 391.

Eyemouth, 438.

Fable, Italian, 452.

Facts of the herring question, brought out before the British
Association, 232.

Failure of the Ceylon pearl-fisheries, 400.

Faithfulness of salmon to their old haunts, 193.

Falling-off in the herring supply attributed to the trawl, 314.

Falling-off of certain rivers, 205.

Falling-off of oyster supplies in France, 347.

Fancy picture of the growth of a fishing hamlet, 419.

Fascines for oyster-breeding, 351.

Farms for oysters in Kent and Sussex, 366.

Faroe cod-banks, exhaustion of, 303.

Faversham oyster-grounds, 367.

Fearful scene, 329.

Feats performed by Fisherrow women, 435.

Fecundity of crabs, 383.

Fecundity of fish, 5.

Fecundity of lobsters, 383.

Fecundity of shell-fish, 383.

Feeding and digestive power of fish, 4.

Feeding-ground, influence of the, on fish, 29.

Fife, the coast of, 438.

Figures appertaining to herring-fishery of 1862-63, 273.

Figures illustrating the August herring-fishery at Wick, 280.

Figures of the Dutch fishery, 44.

Figures of the Wick catch of herrings, 279.

Findon, 448.

Fine flavour of the green oyster, 362.

Finesse by a fishwife, 427.

Finnan haddocks, 290, 448.

Firth-built fishing-boats, 440.

Firth of Forth whitebait, 24.

Fish auctioneers, 437.

Fish cadgers and hawkers, 442.

Fish-breeding in Norway, 75.

Fish-capture by line, 305.

Fish-commerce, 34.

Fish-commerce in France, 60.

Fish-communities, 295.

Fish-culture, 69.

Fish-culture in Italy, 71.

Fish-dinners, 23.

Fisher-folk’s philosophy of marriage, 431.

Fisher-folk, the, 418.

Fisheries of Holland, 44.

Fishermen’s antipathy to swine, 434.

Fishermen, differences of opinion among, 30.

Fishermen of Eyemouth, condition of the, 438.

Fishermen’s belief in luck, 257.

Fishermen’s children, 445.

Fishermen should grow their own bait, 147.

Fishermen’s nicknames, 466.

Fishermen’s wives, 323.

Fisher-names, 467.

Fisher-people’s notions of religious duty, 437.

Fisher-people the same everywhere, 418.

Fisherrow, 435.

Fisher weddings, 420.

Fishery statistics by a Buckhaven man, 442.

Fishes of the salmon family, 198.

Fish-guano, observations on, 491.

Fishing boats, best kind of, 272.

Fish insensible to pain, 3.

Fish labyrinth at Comacchio, 46.

Fish life and growth, 1.

Fishmarket at Bale, 81.

Fish-offal as manure, 331.

Fish-poachers, 135.

Fish-ponds, 38.

Fish quite local, 482.

Fish-shoal, growth of, 32.

Fish-table, 300.

Fish-tithe riots at Eyemouth, 438.

Fishwives at church, 428.

Fishwives’ finesse in bargaining, 427.

Fishwives of Newhaven, 424.

Fishwives of Paris, 456.

Fittie, 449.

Fixed engines of capture, 205, 206.

Flat fish, 156.

Flat fish consumed in London, 298.

Flat fish family, the, 297.

Flavour of different herrings, 230.

Flavour of fish, 28.

Floating with the tide, 266.

Fluctuation in the take of herrings at Wick, 232.

Fondness for dancing of the fisher-people, 421.

Fondness of gannets for herring, 283.

Food of the herring, 243.

Food of the mussel, 414.

Food of the oyster, 361.

Food of the salmon, 192.

Footdee or Fittie, 449.

Forbes Stuart and Co.‘s tables of the London salmon supply, 221.

Foresight of the oyster, 342.

Former abundance of fish doubted, 479.

Former scarcity of the haddock, 288.

Forming an oyster-farm, 355.

Foul salmon at Billingsgate, 204.

Four years’ work at oyster-farming, 356.

France, fishing industry in, 58.

Francis Sinclair, a herring-fisherman of Wick, 265.

Free Dredgers’ Company at Whitstable, 366.

Free fisheries a mistake, 489.

Free oyster-grounds, 368.

French boats interfering with the fishery, 318.

French fishwoman, 454.

French foreshores, industry on, 57.

French legend, 455.

French North Sea fisheries, 59.

French oyster-eaters, 344.

Frequent examination of oysters at Whitstable, 369.

Fresh herrings, 258.

Fresh-water fish, commerce in, 35.

Fresh-water fish not of much food value, 129.

Friday an unlucky day, 433.

From the parr to the smolt, 187.

Full _versus_ shotten herrings, 241.

Functions of the Board of Fisheries, 486.

Fusaro, Lake, 348.

Future of the fisheries, 481.

Galbert’s trout establishment, 92.

Gadidæ, 285.

Gadidæ family, the, 289.

Galway fisheries, 117.

Gathering-in of the boats to the herring-fishery, 246.

Gathering the mussel-harvest in Aiguillon, 413.

General machinery of fish-capture, 304.

Geographical distribution of the herring, 234.

Geographical distribution of the oyster, 379.

Geologists’ paradise, 164.

George the Fourth’s fondness for Finnan haddocks, 448.

German pisciculture, 98.

Gipsy anglers, 135.

Glen Sannox, 175.

Glut of herrings at Billingsgate, 258.

Goatfell, 165.

Golden carp, 140, 145.

Gold-fish in factory ponds, 145.

Government by gyneocracy, 426.

Gravid salmon, treatment of, 114.

Great haul of salmon on the Thurso, 205.

Great storm on the Moray Firth, the, of 1857, 327.

Greed of Scottish dredgermen, 375.

Green oysters, 359.

Grieve, Mr., of the Café Royal, Edinburgh, 288.

Grilse growth, 191.

Grilse and smolt, 187.

Ground-plan of fish laboratory at Huningue, 82.

Ground suitable for breeding and fattening oysters, 361.

Group of Newhaven fishwives, 424.

Growth of a fishing village, 419.

Growth of a fish-shoal, 32.

Growth of fish, 1.

Growth of salmon ova, 12.

Growth of the mussel in the Bay of Aiguillon, 415.

Growth of the oyster-park system, 353.

Growth of the young salmon in Australia, 123.

Guano, fish, observations on, 491.

Gulf of Manaar pearl-fisheries, 400.

Gulf of St. Lawrence, 310.

Gunther’s opinion of the _Silurus glanis_, 126.

Gutters for hatching purposes at Huningue, 86.

Gutters of herring, 269.

Habits and character of the Fittie people, 451.

Habits of fish, 316.

Habits of the haddock, 289.

Habits of the pearl-oyster, 401.

Haddock, the, 287.

Haddocks, former scarcity of, 288.

Haddocks, where are they?, 30.

Half-decked boats, 307.

Happy fishing-grounds, 367.

Harbours, 302.

Harbour accommodation, want of, in Scotland, 272, 321.

Harvest of eels at Comacchio, 459.

Hashing of young fish not peculiar to the trawl, 320.

Has the oyster eyes?, 335.

Hatching of salmon, 11.

Hauling in the nets, 266.

Hawkers of fish, 442.

Hearing power of fish, 4.

Herring-buss, cost of, 51.

Herring-commerce, 254.

Herring-curing, 260.

Herring-fishing at Wick in August, 280.

Herring fishing at Wick in September, 281.

Herring, growth of the, 237.

Herring harvest, the, 263.

Herrings, calculations as to size of a shoal of, 6.

Herring spawn, 14.

Herring spawn offered for manure, 313.

Herring, the, described, 226.

Herring, the, its natural and economic history, 226.

Herring, the, shoals at Wick, 278.

Hints to the oyster-farmers, 364.

History of the herring-fishery, 49.

Hired hands at the herring-fishery, 248.

Hole Haven in Essex, lobster-stores at, 389.

Holibut, 295.

Homeward bound, 267.

Hooks, number of, on a fishing-line, 305.

How a fish breathes, 1.

How cod are cured, 293.

How does an oyster lie on its bed?, 335.

How long do herrings take to grow?, 236.

How the herrings are manipulated on arrival, 269.

How the herring-nets are worked, 249.

How the salmon-poachers proceed to work, 203.

How to buy and sell fish, 427.

How to catch cray-fish, 397.

How to angle in the sea, 159.

How to find out a false pearl, 410.

How to mark smolts, 196.

How to test a pearl, 410.

How to open the pearl-mussel, 408.

Hull trawlers, 309.

Huningue described, 82-85.

Huningue, difficulty of finding it, 80.

Ignorance of naturalists and fishermen, 287.

Ile de Re, 352.

Illustrations of oyster-growth, 338, 339.

Imitation by fishermen of marked salmon, 197.

Importance of cheap bait, 410.

Impossibility of catching spawn in the trawl-net, 317.

Impregnation of fish-eggs, 7.

Improvement in the manufacture of herring-nets, 278.

Improvement of Scottish fishing-boats, 307.

Improvement of the salmon-fisheries, 224.

Increase in the quantity of netting used at the
herring-fishery, 277, 278.

Increase of boats and fishermen, 313.

Increase of the enemies of the herring, 242.

Increase of the herring, 7.

Incubation-hall at Huningue, 84.

Incubation of oyster-ova, 337.

Industry of the women at Auchmithie, 447.

Industry at Fisherrow, 436.

Industry of Buckhaven men, 439.

Industry of fishwives, 425.

Inferiority of Doon pearls, 409.

Information about the fisher-folk, 422.

Information as to the colour and structure of pearls, 409.

Information for pearl-seekers, 408.

Information for the Lord Provost of Edinburgh, 376.

Instinct of the salmon for change, 188.

Interior of a fisherman’s house, 430.

Introduction into British waters of strange fishes, 482.

Invention of mussel-culture, 410.

Inventor of the first oyster-pond, 343.

Investigation by the Town Council of Edinburgh into the state of
their oyster-beds, 376.

Irish and Welsh pearls, 407.

Irish fish-carriage, 63.

Irish haddocks, 289.

Irish lobsters, 388.

Irish oyster blue-book, 371.

Irish white-fish fisheries, 304.

Italian fable, 452.

Italian pisciculture, 71.

Italian oyster-eaters, 344.

Jack in his element, drawing of, 141.

Jacobi’s experiments in artificial fish-breeding, 74.

Johnstone on the salmon-fisheries, 216.

Joint-stock fishing system, 441.

Joint-stock oyster company at Whitstable, 366.

Juries for regulating the oyster-fisheries, 371.

Justice to upper proprietors of salmon-fisheries, 487.

Juvenile fisher-folk, 430.

Keeping adult salmon till ripe for spawning, 107.

Kelaart’s account of the pearl, 401.

Kemmerer’s, Dr., tiles for oyster-culture, 361.

Killing of grilse hurtful to the fisheries, 207.

Kinsale oysters, 374.

Kitchen at Comacchio, 460.

Knox, Dr., opinion of the parr, 182.

Labours of Gehin and Remy in pisciculture, 76.

Lake Fusaro, 348.

Land-crabs, 393.

Land of a thousand lochs, 136.

Latest achievement in pisciculture, 126.

Laws devised for self-government at Ile de Re, 357.

Legal mode of capturing the herring, 248.

Legend of the first oyster-eater, 342.

Legend of the island of Sein, 455.

Leistering salmon, 204.

Length of white-fish fishing-lines, 305.

Lent, fish required during, 277.

Line-fishing, 306.

List of authorities, 499.

List of rivers in which the best pearls have been found, 406.

Living codfish, traffic in, 302.

Living crustacea, 387.

Lobster-bait, 162.

Lobsters “in berry,” 393.

Lobster-commerce, 337.

Lobster-farming, 385.

Lobsters good for food all the year round, 398.

Localities for sea-angling, 162.

Loch Awe trout, 138.

Lochfyne herring, 28.

Lochfyne, view of, 249.

Lochleven pike, 140.

Lochleven trout, 28, 139.

Lochmaben, 27.

Logan fish-pond, 39.

London demand for shell-fish, 385.

London fish-supply, inquiries into the, 285.

London oyster-saloons, 373.

Lord Advocate’s salmon bill of 1862, 205.

Loss of the “Shamrock,” 322.

Lottery nature of the herring-fishery, 267.

Love of oysters by the ancient Romans, 380.

Lowe’s, Mr. James, opinion about the position of the oyster, 335.

Low state of the English salmon-fisheries, 217.

Luck a creed of the fishermen, 257.

Lucullus, 344.

Machinery of fish-capture, 305.

Machinery of herring-capture, 248.

Mackerel-fishery, 299.

Mackerel-growth, 21.

Mackerel, the, 299.

Madame Picard, the French fishwife, 456.

Manufactured Finnans, 290, 449.

Manufacture of sardines, 253.

March of the land-crabs, 393.

Marennes, 359.

Marine Department of France, 56.

Marked fish of the salmon kind, 197.

Marriage dinners among the fisher-class, 421.

Marriage scenes at Newhaven, 420.

Marrying and giving in marriage among the fisher-folks, 420.

Marshall, Peter, of Stormontfield, on the salmon, 195.

Martin and Gillone’s breeding establishment, 112, 113.

Mascalogne, the, or pike of America, 143.

Masculine character of the fishwife, 323.

Mathers the fisher-poet, 471.

Mayhew’s figures, 67.

Measurement of nets, 248.

Members of the herring family, 245.

Memoir on fish by a Chinaman, 70.

Methuen on the white-fisheries, 288, 480.

Methuen, the late Mr., brief sketch of his career, 259.

Microscopic observation of oyster-spat, 339.

Migration of the eel, 19.

Migration of the herring a mistake, 228.

Milton oysters, 372.

Mitchell on the distribution of the herring, 234.

Mitchell on the herring, 231.

Mode of capturing turbot, 296.

Modes of cooking oysters in New York, 381.

Mode of curing Yarmouth bloaters, etc., 271.

Mode of doing business of the Fisherrow women, 436.

Mode of dredging for oysters, 378.

Mode of fishing by line, 305.

Mode of growing the mussels in the Bay of Aiguillon, 415.

Mode of life at Comacchio, 458.

Mode of packing ova in ice, 119.

Mode of salmon-fishing on the Tay, 213.

Mode of selling fish by Newhaven women, 425.

Mode of spawning by the land-crabs, 394.

Mode of taking pilchards in Cornwall, 251.

Modes of sea-fishing in France, 57.

Money paid by curers of herring in bounty and arles, 256.

Money value of fresh-water fish in France, 92.

Money value of the Colne oysters, 370.

Monkbarns and Maggie Mucklebackit, 428.

Monkeys catching crabs, 386.

Monotonous life of the eel-breeders of Comacchio, 459.

Moral success of oyster-farming, 357.

Moray Firth ports, 302.

More boats and less fish on the Dogger Bank, 313.

More ways of killing salmon than angling, 203.

Mortality of herring, 15.

Movements of the herring at spawning time, 238.

Mr. Ramsbottom’s salmon manipulations, 102.

Multiplying power of the herring, 33.

Mussel-culture, 410.

Mussel-stakes, 411.

Mysterious fish, 26.

Narrow escape from extermination of the salmon, 475.

Natives, 368.

Natural and economic history of the oyster, 332.

Natural and economic history of the salmon, 177.

Natural enemies of the herring, 282, 283.

Natural history of the codfish, 291.

Natural history of the crustacea, 391.

Natural history of the eel, 47.

Natural history of the pearl-oyster of Ceylon, 401.

Natural history of the pilchard, 251.

Natural history of the sole, 298.

Natural history of whitebait, 23.

Naturalisation of fish in British rivers, 125.

Naturalist’s Library account of the herring, 235.

Necessity for two ponds at Stormontfield, 105.

Necessity of describing the fisher-folk, 418.

Nets, quantity used by a boat, 248.

Newbiggin, evidence by a fisherman of that place, 317.

New branch of shell-fishing, 398.

Newfoundland cod-fishery, 53.

Newhaven, 423.

Newhaven fishwives, 424.

Newhaven oyster-beds, 375.

New York, oyster-eating in, 381.

Nicknames of fishermen, 466.

Non-success of the winter herring-fishery in 1864, 275.

_Northern Ensign_, the, on the herring-fishery, 279.

North Sea white-fish fisheries, 304.

Norway lobsters, 389.

Note from the novel of the _Antiquary_, 426.

Nothing but herring, 268.

Notice of a hermit crab, 392.

Notice of Newhaven fishwives by the Queen, 429.

Notice of valuable pearls, 400.

Nova Scotia and Canadian fisheries, 54.

Number of barrels of herring caught at Wick, 278.

Number of buckies, 466.

Number of eggs in a herring, 5.

Number of men drowned on the north-east coast, 330.

Number of oyster-farms in France, 347.

Number of oysters on a fascine, 352.

Number of shells that contain pearls, 409.

Number of vessels fitted out for herring-fishery, 274.

Number of white-fish falling off, 317.

Nursing oyster-brood at Whitstable, 367.

Nursing the salmon, 15.

Objects of the English Fishery Act of 1861, 220.

Observations on fish-guano, 491.

Obvious abuses in connection with the economy of the fisheries, 284.

Occurrence at St. Monance, 434.

Oddities of the pearl-fisheries, 405.

Officer’s, Dr., account of the ova received in Australia, 120.

Official documents on the fisheries referred to, 66.

Official instructions to the herring-curer, 262.

Off to the herring, 264.

Old believers in old fish theories, 227.

One million of oysters eaten daily in Paris, 345.

Open _versus_ decked boats, 272.

Operations of the Fishery Board, 284.

Opinion of Mr. Anderson on the salmon question, 207.

Opinion of Mr. Ffennell on the English Fishery Act of 1861, 220.

Opinions of a Billingsgate salesman, 320.

Opinions, different, about shell-fish, 333.

Orata, Sergius, 72, 343.

Organisation for supplying London with oysters, 366.

Origin of Buckhaven, 439.

Origin of Finnan haddocks, 290.

Origin of fisher colonies, 423.

Ossian, 174.

Our chief food fishes, 285.

Our Lady’s Port of Grace, 423.

Our skipper at Wick, 264.

Ova of the salmon, how it develops, 12.

Overfishing of the herring, 227.

Overfishing of the herring as pointed out by Mr. Cleghorn, 233.

Overfishing of the oyster, 347.

Overshooting, 169.

Owners of salmon fisheries on the Tay, 213.

Oyster-beds of Colne and Whitstable, 346.

Oyster-beds of Georgia, 380.

Oyster-breeding fascines, 351.

Oyster close-time, 336.

Oyster-eaters, 343.

Oyster-growth, 338.

Oyster, natural and economic history of, 332.

Oyster-parks described by Mr. Ashworth, 354.

Oyster-pyramid, 350.

Oyster-saloons of New York, 381.

Oyster-seekers, 373.

Oyster Street at Billingsgate, 374.

Oyster tiles, 363.

Oyster-women of Paris, 456.

Oysters able to move about, 342.

Oysters at one time nearly forgotten, 343.

Oysters hermaphrodite, 340.

Oysters, how they are made green, 359, 360.

Oysters in France, increase in price of, 64.

Oysters on trees, 379.

Oyster-ploys, 345.

Oysters, when in season, 336.

Packing herrings, 41.

Packing of trawled white fish, 311.

Pandore oysters, 377.

Paper on the herring read at British Association meeting, 1854, 231.

Paper on the sea fisheries of Ireland, 286.

Parr at a year old, 182.

Parr-growth, 180, 181.

Parr in salt water, 194, 195.

Parr-icide, 200.

Paris, revenue derived from fish by, 64.

Paucity of oyster-spawn during late years, 340.

Payment of fishermen on the St. Lawrence, 310.

Pearl-fisheries of Scotland, 398.

Pearl-seekers at work, 404.

Pearl-seekers, information for, 408.

Peat-smoked haddocks, 448.

Pennant’s opinion as to the haddock, 289.

Pennant’s story of the herring a myth, 228.

Percentage of salmon eggs hatched in Australia, 124.

Percentage of mussels that contain pearls, 408.

Percentage of oysters that arrive at maturity, 341.

Percentage of salmon ova that come to life, 200.

Perch, the, 151, 152.

Perforated chests for keeping lobsters alive, 387.

Perth as a centre for the angler, 213.

Periwinkle, a peep at the, 384.

Peter Marshall of Stormontfield as a pisciculturist, 111.

Petticoat government, 450.

Pickled herrings, discovery of, by the Flemings, 43.

Pictures of the Dutch fishery, 42.

Pig-feeding by means of parr, 200.

Pike, 140.

Pilchard, the, 251.

Pisciculture, 69.

Piscicultural establishment at Huningue, 76.

Pisciculture in China, 69.

Plan of a turtle-farm, 96.

Plan of cultivating oysters, 346.

Plan of fishing adopted at Yarmouth, 271.

Plan of smoking haddocks in Auchmithie, 446.

Plan of the salmon-ponds at Stormontfield, 100.

Planting and transplanting mussels, 414.

Playing a salmon, 131.

Plea for the total abolition of the brand, 263.

Plentifulness of salmon long ago, 476.

“Please to remember the grotto,” 332.

Plessix oyster-bed, 364.

Pleuronectidæ, 285, 295, 297.

Poaching as a trade, 202.

Points in the natural and economic history of the herring, 232, 233.

Ponds for fish, 38.

Pont oyster-grounds, 368.

Pooldoodies, 374.

Pope and Swift as oyster-eaters, 345.

Portessie, 321.

Powan, the, 29.

Practicability of artificial breeding on the Severn, 219.

Practical nature of French fish-culture, 95.

Prawn-catching, 396.

Prawns and shrimps, 395.

Preparation of the eels at Comacchio, 462.

Present price of haddocks, 288.

Prestonpans, 437.

Price of fish in France, 62.

Progress of Beef’s oyster-farm on the Ile de Re, 353.

Progress of herring growth, 237.

Progress of salmon growth, 179.

Progress of the parr, 105.

Progress of the ova in Australian waters, 122.

Progress of the people of Fittie, 451.

Proper stock of fish for the Severn, 218.

Proper time to shoot the nets, 265.

Proposal for a jubilee on the Severn, 218.

Proposal for a tax on the boats, 284.

Proportion of netting used and herring taken, 282.

Proportions of meat and shell in the oyster, 341.

Proposal to make each salmon river a joint-stock property, 223.

Proposal to note growth of sea-fish in a marine observatory, 17.

Proposal to sell the herring as they are caught, 257.

Prosperity of the fisher-folk, 440.

Price paid for pearls, 405.

Price of three haddocks in 1790, 288.

Primitive hatching apparatus, 115.

Primrose, Hon. Mr. Bouverie, 485.

Principal changes introduced by Tweed Acts, 216.

Private oyster-layings, 371.

Probable extinction of the Firth of Forth oyster-beds, 375.

Problem in salmon life by the Ettrick Shepherd, 185.

Process of curing the herring, 261.

Process of gutting the herring, 269.

Produce of the oyster greening claires, 361.

Productive power of shell-fish, 382.

Productiveness of artificial system, 90.

Profile of the ponds at Stormontfield, 101.

Profit of Beef’s oyster-farm, 353.

Profits of oyster-farming, 372.

Prosperity of the oyster-growers, 358.

Provisions of the salmon and trout Act of 1861, 221.

Public writers on the British fisheries, 474.

Pulteneytown heights, 264.

Pulteneytown quay, scene at, 267.

Purchasers of Scottish pearls, 403.

Quaint fishing villages of Normandy and Brittany, 454.

Qualifications of an angler, 135.

Quality of the herring captured in 1862, 276.

Quantity of herring branded in 1862, 273.

Quantity of netting employed in the herring-fishery, 277.

Quantity of pilchards sometimes obtained, 252.

Quantity of spawn from each oyster, 339.

Queensferry, whitebait ground near, 22.

Question of fish growth, 16.

Rapid growth of oyster-culture in Ile de Re, 352.

Rapid hatching of herring ova, 236.

Rapid transit, effect of, on the fisheries, 36.

Rapidity of salmon growth, 196.

Ravages of the herring shoals by codfish, 282.

Raw oysters the best for the stomach, 346.

Reasons of the fishermen for marrying on Friday, 420.

Recent fishing Acts for England, 219.

Recent reports of the Inspectors of English fisheries, 217.

Re-discovery of pisciculture, 73.

Red-letter days of August, 332.

Reel o’ Collieston, 422.

Regulation of British salmon-fisheries, 487.

Regulation of salmon-rivers, 488.

Regulation of the Scottish herring-fisheries, 484.

Relation between upper and lower proprietors of salmon rivers, 222.

Relation of the curer to the fishermen, 255.

Remedies for failing salmon supplies, 225.

Remy, the re-discoverer of pisciculture, 73.

Rental of French fisheries, 91.

Rental of Firth of Forth oyster-beds, 375.

Report of the Lochfyne commissioners on the herring, 235.

Reprehensible feature in herring commerce, 256.

Reproductive power of the oyster, 338.

Reproductive power of the oyster in green claires, 260.

Return from the beds on the Ile de Re, 356.

Revenue anticipated from licences on English rivers, 221.

Revenue from fish to the city of Paris, 64.

Revenue from oysters grown in Lake Fusaro, 349.

Revival of pearl-seeking in Scotland, 402.

Rev. Mr. Williamson on the double migration of salmon, 194.

Rhine salmon, 201.

Richmond’s, Duke of, salmon-fisheries, 215.

Rights of fishing in France, 91.

Rise in price of oysters at Ile de Re, 358.

Rise in the price of white fish, 301.

Rise of a herring-curer, 259.

River cray-fish, 397.

River Doon pearl-fever, 404.

Rivers of France, the, 73.

Roaming fish, 32.

Robertson’s Tweed salmon tables, 217.

Rockall fishery, 303.

Roe of the cod used in sardine-fishery, 254.

Round of labour at Auchmithie, 446.

Routine of oyster-work at Whitstable, 369.

Roxburghe, Duke of, as an angler, 130.

Salmo Ferox, 138.

Salmon a day or two old, 14.

Salmon and herring contrasted, 15.

Salmon-angling in the north of Scotland, 131.

Salmon-culture, 102.

Salmon-beds in the tributaries of the Tay, 209.

Salmon, commercial value of, 199.

Salmon, double migration of, 193.

Salmon egg, description of a, 10.

Salmon-growth _versus_ cod-growth, 20.

Salmon in Australia, 118.

Salmon, natural and economic history of the, 177.

Salmon ova, period required to hatch, 13.

Salmon, progress of, in coming to life, 12.

Salmon-poaching, 202.

Salmon rivers, regulation of, 488.

Salmon, what do they eat? 192.

Salmon-watcher’s tower on the Rhine, 201.

Salting eels at Comacchio, 461.

Sardine-fishery in Brittany, 59, 253.

Scarcity of white fish, 313.

Scattering of oyster-spat, 337.

Scene in a Scottish herring-curer’s office, 469.

Scene in the Buckie small-debt court, 468.

Scene of Sir Walter Scott’s _Antiquary_, 444.

Scene on the waters, 265.

Scenes on the coast, 444.

Scenery on the Tay, 211.

Scientific and commercial fish-culture, 75.

Scotch name for the turbot, 297.

Scotch pearls in the middle ages, 402.

Scotland for trout, 134.

Scottish chap-books, 439.

Scottish fishing boats all open, 307.

Scottish fishing villages, glance at, 422.

Scottish herring-fishery, 50.

Scottish oyster-eaters, 345.

Scottish pearl-fisheries, 398.

Scottish prejudice against eels, 19.

Scottish salmon-streams, 209.

Scovell’s lobster-pond, 388.

Sea-angling, 154.

Sea-fish, proposal to note growth of, 17.

Sea-perch, 153.

Season for lobsters, 397.

Secret of oyster-culture, 346.

September fishery at Wick, 281.

September the right month for inaugurating the oyster season, 333.

Sergius Orata, 72, 343.

Series of ponds for artificial breeding on the Severn, 219.

Set-line fishing, 160.

Severn, the, 218.

Severn, suggestion for a pond on the, 116.

Sex of the oyster, 340.

Sexual instinct of fish, 10.

Shaking the herring out of the nets, 267.

Shape of a dredge, 378.

Shape of fish, 3.

Shad, 25.

Shaw of Drumlanrig, 74.

Shaw’s parr experiments, 185, 186.

Shell-fish fisheries, 382.

Short and simple annals of the fisher-folk, 462.

Shooting the nets, 265, 266.

Should there be a close-time for herring? 241, 242.

Shrimp-eggs, 383.

Shrimps and prawns, 395.

Shrimpers at work, 395.

Sickening of oysters, 336.

Signs and tokens among the fisher-people, 453.

_Silurus glanis_, 126-128.

Silver eel, the, 18.

Sillock-fishing in Shetland, 294.

Size and weight of salmon diminishing, 206, 207.

Size of oysters, 341.

Size of the codfish, 291.

Skate-liver oil, 293.

Sketch of fisher-life in the _Antiquary_, 429.

Sketch of the river Tay, 210, 211.

Slaughter of small-sized fish, 320.

Smaller varieties of the flat-fish, 298.

Smelling power of fish, 3.

Smolt and grilse, 187.

Smolt exodus of 1861, 110.

Smolt growth, 180, 181.

Social condition of the Newhaven fisher-folk, 430.

Social history of the oyster, 342.

Société d’Ecorage in France, 60.

Society of Free Fishermen at Newhaven, 377.

Soft crabs, 393.

Soles of a moderate weight best for the table, 298.

Sole, the, 298.

Song sung by the dredgers, 379.

Sophisticated oysters, 374.

Source of the Tay, 210.

Sowing and planting mussels, 414.

Spat-collecting tiles, 363.

Spawn of herring just hatched, 14.

Spawning at Tongueland, 114.

Spawning of oysters, 337.

Spawning periods of the herring, 236.

Spear for killing flat fish, 161.

Spearing flat fish, 161.

Spey, the, as a salmon stream, 214.

Sprat-controversy, 237, 239.

Sprat-fishery, 253.

Stake and bag nets, 208.

Stake-nets on the river Solway, 208.

Stakes on which to grow oysters, 364.

State of knowledge in Newhaven sixty years ago, 431.

Statements of trawlers, 314.

Statistics of boats and herring ports, 275.

Statistics of Colne oyster-beds, 370.

Statistics of English oyster-grounds, 367.

Statistics of Newfoundland fishery, 54.

Statistics of oyster-culture in the Ile de Re, 356.

Statistics of oyster-growth in Ile de Re, 365.

Statistics of rent and produce of fisheries on Tay, 213.

Statistics of Tweed fisheries, 217.

Statistics of Wick Herring-Fishery, 1865, 502.

St. James’s Day for oysters, 333.

Steamboat travelling, 443.

Steuart of Colpetty on the pearl, 400.

Stock of breeding fish proper for Tay, 214.

Stock of fish kept by Lucullus, 71.

Stoddart’s calculations as to salmon growth, 111, 200.

Store-boxes for crabs and lobsters, 387.

Stories about the pike, 142.

Storm scenes on the Moray Firth, 328.

Storm of October 1864, 322.

Stormontfield, proceedings at, 13.

Striking example of the effect of bag-nets on the Tay, 206.

Summer time of Wick’s existence, 247.

Superstition as to the name of Ross, 468.

Superstition of the fisher-folk, 432.

Supposed migration of turbot, 296.

Supposed spawn of turbot, 286.

Sutherland lochs, 136.

Table of oyster reproduction, 371.

Tabular view of the August and September herring-fishery at
Wick, 280, 281.

Tabular view of the fish seasons, 300.

Tabular view of the herring-harvest of 1862, 276.

Tackle for sea-angling, 157.

Tay before and after stake-nets, 214.

Tay, the, as a salmon stream, 209.

Tay, the river, its fish and commerce, 79.

Tax on oysters at Billingsgate, 374.

“Tee”-names, 466.

Templeman’s evidence, 313.

Temperature of the river Plenty in Australia, 121.

Tempest on the Moray Firth, 325.

Thames and other anglers, 130, 151.

Thames, attempts to re-stock that river with fish, 24.

Thames, the, 148, 149.

The bounty system in the herring-fishery, 256.

The cause of the migratory habits of salmon, 194.

The cook and the grouse, 287.

The Dead Man’s Ferry, 455.

The dredging song, 379.

The eastern pearl-fishery, 400.

The first oyster-eater, 342.

The first oyster eaten as a punishment, 343.

The herring-fishery, preparations for, 246.

The food of fishes, 31.

The greening of oysters, 359, 360.

The herring a local fish, 229.

The herring-fishery a lottery, 257.

The latest English salmon Act, 221.

The laird and the laddie, an anecdote, 406.

“The man in the black coat,” 433.

The mussel as food, 416.

Theories about eels, 18.

Theory as to the growth of smolts, 196.

The pearl-fever on the Doon, 403.

The pearl-mussel, 398.

The pearl shell-fish, 398.

The present Fishery Board, 263.

The senses of fish, 3.

The women of Auchmithie, 446.

The world of fish depicted, 394.

Thinning the mussels, 415.

Tiber, fish of the, 72.

Tiles for receiving the spat of oysters, 363.

Time of fishing for herring, 245.

Time required for hatching herring-ova, 239.

Time when the lobster becomes reproductive, 391.

Torbay fisherman, evidence by a, 315.

Total catch of Herrings for 1865, 503.

Tour among the Scottish fisher-folk, 419.

Tourist talk about fish, 78.

Town of Comacchio, 459.

Trade in shrimps, 397.

Traffic in living codfish, 302.

Transformation of herring-gutters, 270.

Travelling in France, 78.

Trawled fish not fit for market, 314.

Trawler, a, 309.

Trawling at particular places exhausts the shoals, 312.

Trawling for herrings, 249.

Trawling increases the fish, 316.

Trawling on the French coast, 57.

Trawl question, the, 308.

Trout produced at five centimes each, 94.

Trout, the, 133.

Tummel, river, 210.

Turbot, 296.

Turbot fishing, 315.

Turbot, natural history of the, 287.

Turtle-culture, 96.

Tweed Acts of 1857-59, 216.

Tweed poachers, 203.

Tweed tables of weight and size, 207.

Twelve fish for a penny, 89.

Unchangeable nature of the fishing class, 425.

Unger’s revival of the Scottish pearl-fishery, 402.

Unparalleled destruction of the seed of fish, 243.

Upper proprietors of salmon-fisheries, 487.

Uses of the codfish, 292.

Uses of the sillock, 295.

Use of the trawl-net in turning up food for the fish, 316.

Value of a cod-roe, 292.

Value of boats and nets lost in the storm of 1848, 330.

Value of early-caught herring, 258.

Value of mussels at Aiguillon, 417.

Value of salmon at present, 477.

Value of Scottish pearls, 403.

Value of the close-time for salmon, 201.

Value of the oyster stock at Whitstable, 366.

Varied manipulation at Stormontfield, 105.

Varieties of cod, 294.

Varieties of crustacea, 383.

Varieties of fish suitable to breed in ponds, 39.

Various modes of catching crabs, 386.

Various ways of fishing for the pearl-mussel, 405.

Vendace, the, 26.

View of a herring-curing yard, 261.

View of a mussel-farm, 412.

View of Huningue, 83.

View of oyster-claires, 357.

View of oyster-parks, 355.

Village of Auchmithie, 445.

Virginia oyster-beds, 380.

Virtues of “cauld iron,” 433.

Visit of the smolts to the sea, 190.

Vivian, Mr., of Hull, on trawling, 311.

Viviparous fish, 16.

Voracity of pike, 142.

Wages at Comacchio, 458.

Waiting for the fish to strike, 266.

Walter Scott on the fishwives, 426.

Walton’s plan of hurdles for the culture of mussels, 411.

Want of a close-time a great fish-destroying agency, 243.

Want of harbour accommodation, 302.

Want of more knowledge about our shell-fish, 382.

Want of precise information as to fish-growth, 16.

Warnings, 453.

Waste places in England suitable for fish-culture, 116.

Weather during the fishing of 1862, 276.

Weather prophecies of the Board of Trade, 331.

Weight of trout, 133.

Welled boats, 306.

Welsh and Irish pearls, 407.

Whale-fishery, the, 55.

What has been accomplished at Stormontfield, 109.

What do salmon eat? 192.

What we desire to know of all fish, 21.

What will be the future of the British fisheries? 481.

When do oysters become reproductive? 339.

When do turbot spawn? 287.

When Gadidæ are in season, 286.

When herring are in best condition, 240.

When should herring be captured? 241.

When white fish are in season, 300.

Where are the haddocks? 30, 288.

Where the best turbot are got, 296.

Where the oyster spawn goes, 340.

“Whiskered pandores,” 377.

Whitebait, 22.

Whitebait found in many rivers, 22.

Whitebait poor eating, 23.

White-fish fisheries, the, 285.

White-fish fisheries of Ireland, 304.

White fish when in season, 299.

Whitehills harbour, 321.

Whiting, the, 294.

Whitstable, 366.

Who was Ossian? 174.

Wick during the herring season, 268.

Williamson, Rev. D., on the salmon, 193.

Winter fishing at Wick, 274.

“Wise Willy and Witty Eppie,” 439.

Wives of the oyster-farmers, 362.

Wolfsbrunnen trout-pond, 39.

Woodhaven salmon station, 212.

Working a mussel-farm, 416.

Working an oyster-bed, 368.

World of fish, the, 394.

Yarmouth, 271.

Yarmouth boats, their size and cost, 271.

Yarmouth, the great fishery at, 49.

Yarrell’s account of the herring, 231.

Yarrell’s and Buist’s opinion about the parr, 183.

Young’s experiments on the parr, 186.

Yield of a _bouchot_, 416.

_Printed by_ R. CLARK, _Edinburgh_.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] On this part of the piscicultural question I had the following
conversation with a _pêcheur_ who has a little place in the suburbs of
Strasbourg, on the road to the Bridge of Boats:—

“By your system you collect the eggs of fish in the rivers of
Switzerland and Germany, either from the spawning-beds, or direct from
the parents, which are then barbarously killed and sold, as we were
told at Huningue, and the eggs may be sent off to enrich some private
speculator in the north of France. Now, will not the rivers from whence
the spawn is taken be impoverished in their turn?”

“Oh, no; it is considered by the piscicultural system that we only
obtain that portion of the spawn that would otherwise be lost.”

“What do you think is the proportion of young salmon that arrives at
marketable size under the ordinary conditions of growth?”

“It is very small. An eighteen-pound fish will yield eighteen thousand
eggs. Well, one-third of these will in all probability escape the
fecundating principle of the milt, another third most likely will never
come to life—the eggs will either be destroyed from natural causes
or be eaten up by other fish; so that you see only six thousand, or
one-third of the whole eggs, will ever come to life.”

“Well, that is so far good; but you do not protect the infant fish at
all, you only insure the transmission of the eggs from Huningue.”

“Yes; but the eggs are more than half the battle. Out of eighteen
thousand salmon-ova you will, by giving protection, hatch at least
fifteen thousand fish; and then these won’t be sent into the water till
they are well able to take care of themselves, and fight the battle of
life.”

“Supposing it to be as you say, and that you can rear the fish in
remunerative quantities, will not an extension of the piscicultural
system ultimately injure the breed?”

“I don’t think it will. We have been carrying out the system in France
now on a lesser or greater scale for more than twenty years, and I can
hear of no damage being done to the fish.”

[2] As I assisted personally at the exodus of 1861, I subjoin a brief
report of what took place from the _Perth Courier_:—

“On Saturday last, Mr. Buist, accompanied by Mr. Bertram of Edinburgh
and other gentlemen, visited the ponds of Stormontfield, for the
purpose of ascertaining the state of the fish and giving instructions
as to the liberation of the smolts. For eight days past the keeper
had observed strong indications of a desire for freedom on the part
of a considerable proportion of his finny wards, and numbers had gone
into the runlet which leads to the reservoir by the side of the river
where the fish were formerly caught and marked. When the party arrived
they found a good many of the fish in the reservoir, being those which
had sought egress during the night. The smolts were large and in fine
condition; and one fish, which has been detained for three years for
the purpose of discovering whether the species will grow in fresh water
without being permitted to visit the sea, was found to be fully twice
the size of the largest smolt. A number of parrs, too, of the same
age as the smolts, and spawned of the same parents, were found about
the size of minnows, and bearing the parr-mark distinctly defined. On
seeing the state of matters, Mr. Buist gave instructions for removing
the sluices, and allowing those bent on migration to have their liberty
without being marked this season. A considerable number at once sought
the river, and no impediment will now be placed in the way of a free
migration. The ova of which the present fry is the produce were placed
in the boxes at various times during the period from 15th November to
13th December 1859; and the departure of the smolts commenced on the
18th instant. The whole fry—amounting, it is estimated, to somewhat
approaching 200,000 fish—is the produce of 19 male and 31 female
salmon. The anomaly of one-half of the fry reaching the condition of
smolts, and leaving the ponds when only a year old, and the other half
remaining, has been hitherto supposed to be accounted for upon the
supposition of the earlier fish being the produce of salmon, while
the later were that of grilse. The experiment of this year sets that
question at rest by negativing the supposition. Mr. Buist gave orders
in November 1859 that none but salmon should be taken for the purposes
of the ponds. The result is the same anomaly. Although all the fry
this year in the ponds are the produce of salmon, as is usual only a
moiety of them have yet attained to the condition of smolts, while the
remainder have all the appearance of continuing parrs as before. This
is perhaps the most important feature in the operations of the year. In
the early part of the year 1860, from the unfavourable nature of the
season for hatching, the whole brood seemed particularly stunted and
ill-grown, and it was hardly expected that any of them would become
smolts this year at all. About a month ago, however, early fears were
dispelled; a goodly portion of the fry began to approach the smolt
state, and since the beginning of May have been putting on their
silvery livery, and now are fully as far advanced as those in the open
river.”

[3] “In order that the public may understand what a vast number of
fish 770,000 would be, I would mention that it has been calculated
by ‘the chronicler,’ Mr. James Lowe, that the number of human beings
assembled to welcome the arrival of the Princess of Wales was 700,000:
imagine a salmon for each human being, and you will have an idea of
the number of fish Mr. Ashworth has hatched out as a stock for his
fisheries.”—Lecture by Mr. Buckland.

[4] Since the above was written intelligence has been received in
England of the loss, by escape into the river (which would be no loss),
or the death, or more truly “mysterious disappearance” of a large
number of the fry—only five hundred being left in the pond. These have
been allowed to make their escape into the river, and we may yet hope
to hear of their safety and welfare. I hope those interested will lose
no time, now that they know the way to success, in sending out another
batch of eggs, so as to ensure the sending into the river of a few
thousand young fish.

[5] In a very old number of the _Scots Magazine_ I find the
following:—“I was told by a gentleman who was present at a boat’s
fishing on Spey near Gordon Castle in the month of April, that in
hauling, the weight of the net brought out a great number of smolts
which the fishers were not willing to part with; but that a gentleman,
who knew the natural propensity of the salmon to return to their native
river, persuaded them to slip them back again into the water, assuring
them that in two months they would catch most of them full-grown
grilses, which would be of much greater value. He at the same time laid
a bet of five guineas with another gentleman present, who was somewhat
dubious, that he should not fail in his prediction. The fishers agreed.
He accordingly clipt off a part of the tail-fins from a number of them
before he dropped them into the river; and within the time limited the
fishers actually caught upwards of a hundred grilses thus marked, and
soon after many more.”

[6] The Rhine is an excellent salmon stream and yields a large number
of fish. The five fishing stations at Rotterdam are very productive,
each of them yielding about 40,000 salmon per annum; and it would not
be extravagant to estimate the produce of these fisheries as of the
value of £25,000 per annum.

[7] The French government took off the import-duty on salmon in 1856,
when foul salmon began to be exported to that country during the
British close-times at the rate of £7000 per annum. A late writer in
_Fraser’s Magazine_ was informed by a leading fish-salesman, on the
16th November, that on that day _ten tons_ of Tweed salmon, freshly
caught, were in Billingsgate, two months after close-time, and despite
of what was thought to be effective special legislation for that river!

[8] As an example of the numerous absurd statements that have
been circulated about fish, the reader may study the following
paragraph:—“Old fishermen about Dunbar say the way herring spawn
is—first, the female herrings deposit their roe at some convenient part
on sand or shingly bottom; second, the male fish then spread their milt
all over the roe to protect it from enemies, and the influence of the
tide and waves from moving it about. The fishermen also say that when
the young herrings are hatched they can see and swim; the milt covering
bursts open, and they are free to roam about. Some naturalists think
the roes and milts of herring are all mixed together promiscuously, and
left on the sands to bud and flourish. The fishermen’s idea seems to be
the most likely of the two opinions.”

[9] “We understand that about 100 boats have been engaged to fish at
Fraserburgh from Portsoy, Portknockie, Buckie, and Portgordon, and the
other fishing villages. The exact terms of engagement we subjoin as
follows, from an authoritative source. The terms are—15s. per cran,
with £15 bounty, £2 for lodgings, £l as earnest-money, with cartage of
nets, and net ground. The cartage of nets and net ground costs £3: 10s.
to £4, so that the terms are equal to 15s. per cran, and £21: 10s. to
£22 in full of bounty.”—_Banff Journal._

[10] Since the above was written, the report by the commissioners
for 1864 has been published, but the figures differ so slightly from
those of 1863 that it is unnecessary to give them in detail, the total
quantity of herrings cured being a decrease of 11,166¼ barrels,
while, as regards boats and men employed, there was an increase of 140
boats, 126 fishermen and boys, and of £29,931 in the estimated value
of boats and nets. The winter herring-fishery on the north-east coast
about Wick, Lybster, and Helmsdale, was, contrary to expectation,
quite unsuccessful. The probable cause was the very boisterous state
of the weather, which prevented the boats from getting to sea. This
year, therefore, affords no evidence either for or against the opinion
that herrings exist in sufficient quantities to render a winter
herring-fishery remunerative upon the coasts during the winter months.

[11] A correspondent has favoured me with the following brief account
of the _sillock-fishing_ as carried on in Shetland:—“Sillocks are the
young of the saith, and they make their appearance in the beginning of
August about the small isles, and are of the size of parrs in Tweed.
They continue about said isles for a few weeks, and in the months of
September and October, and sometimes longer, they hover about the small
isles, when the fishermen catch them for the sake of their liver, which
contains oil. One boat of twelve feet of keel will sometimes catch as
many as thirty bushels in a part of a day, and this year (1864), owing
to the high price of oil, each bushel was worth about 1s. 6d. The fish
itself is taken to the dung-hill when the take is not great, but when
there is a great take the liver is taken out and the fish thrown into
the sea. There are no Acts of Parliament against using the net; but
after some time the sillocks leave the isles and draw to the shore,
where there are any edge-places. It is allowed that the island of
Whalsey is about the best place in Shetland for the fish to draw to,
but whenever they come there, the proprietor, Mr. Bruce, will not allow
“pocking,” as a week would finish them all; but the people must all
fish with the rod, so that each man may get as many as keep him a day
or two. The “pocking” sets them all out, but the fish don’t mind the
rod; it is very picturesque to see perhaps fifty men sitting round the
basin with their rods, and the sillocks covering about a rood of the
sea, varying from three to six feet deep, and so close together that
you would think they could not get room to stir. They will continue
plentiful till the end of April, at which time they take to the deep
sea; and when they make their appearance the following year they are
about four times larger, and are then called piltocks. But these are
only taken by the rod. Mr. Bruce just says, If you pock, you cannot be
my tenant; so they must either give up the one or the other, and by
that way of doing every household has as many of these small fish as
they can make use of during the winter.”

[12] In the Firth of Forth mussels are collected all the year round,
but they invariably fall off in condition during a prevalence of
easterly winds.

[13] A Barking trawler usually carries 5 men and 3 boys, and costs
when in full work £12 per week. A Hull trawler costs much less,
and the owner has less risk; because the crew, from the captain
downwards, share in the catch. The Barking men refuse to enter into
this arrangement, which probably helps to account for the decay of
the Barking fishery, for that of Hull is comparatively prosperous.
The co-operative system prevails among a few of the fisher people of
England. In an account of a Yorkshire fishing-place recently published
in _Once a Week_, the following statistics of the cost of boats, etc.,
are given:—

“Each yawl, varying in tonnage from 28 to 45 tons, costs from £600
to £650, and is divided into shares; of its earnings 3s. 6d. in
the pound are paid to the owner or owners, 10s. are devoted to the
current expenses, and the remainder is divided among the men who find
the bait. When a new boat is required, several persons—gentlemen
speculators, harbour-masters, etc., and boatmen—take certain shares of
it, which vary in amount from a half-quarter to a half of the cost;
application is then made to a builder, sail-maker, anchor-maker, and
other tradesmen; and the vessel, in due time, is paid for, equipped,
and given over to the owners. Each lugger-yawl carries two masts,
and is provided with three sets of sails to suit various states of
weather. The foresail contains 200 or 250 yards, the mizen 100, and
the mizen-topsail 40 yards; the lesser sizes being severally of 100,
60, and 50 yards. The jib is very small. On the average the yawl is
of 40 tons, and measures 51 feet keel, or 55 feet over all, and is of
17 or 18 feet beam; drawing 6½ feet water aft, and 5 feet forward.
The amount of ballast varies from 20 to 30 tons. The yawl is provided
with 120 nets, each of which costs £30. Half of this number are left on
shore, and changed at the end of every 12 weeks. The crew is composed
of 7 men and 2 boys. For instance, the ‘Wear,’ commanded by Colling, a
first-rate seaman, carries two others, like himself part-owners, 4 men
receiving, besides their food, £1, and 1 boy at 18s., and another at
11s. a week; each fisherman, who is a net-owner, receives 24s. a week.
The expenses in wages and wear and tear are calculated at from £12
to £15 weekly. The herrings are valued at £2 per 1000 on an average.
Sometimes 23,000 fish are caught in a single haul, occasionally as many
as 60,000, but 40,000 are considered a good catch. To remunerate the
crew, £50 or £60 a week ought to be obtained. Each net is 10 fathoms
long, and is sunk 9 fathoms during the fishing, the upper part being
floated by a long series of barrels, which are fitted at intervals
of 15 fathoms. The warps used for laying out the nets in each vessel
measure 2200 yards. Two men take up the nets, two empty the fish out
of them, and one boy stows the nets while his fellow stows the warps,
which are raised by a windlass worked by the men. Each net weighs about
28 pounds. In order to preserve the nets and sails, it is necessary at
frequent intervals to cover them with tanning, which is prepared in
large coppers. These coppers cost £40.”

On the Gulf of St. Lawrence the engagements of fishermen are as
follows:—

“The fishermen are brought to the fishing-station at the expense of
the firm engaging them. They are furnished with a good fishing-boat,
thoroughly fitted, and are besides supplied with fresh bait as long
as it can be got, and they require it, but on payment of a sum of $6
to $8; and for each 100 codfish delivered on the stage they receive
the sum of 5s. 6d., one half in money and the other half in goods and
provisions. At these prices, and fish being abundant, fishermen earn
$5, $10, $15, and even $20 a day; and after an absence of from 6 to 9
weeks, bring home from $80 to $120, and sometimes more. But they have
to board themselves; and if the fish is not abundant, their account of
the provisions lent to their families before their departure, their own
board, the purchase of their lines, take up the greatest part of their
earnings, and they very often return to Magdelen Islands with empty
pockets.” Great quantities of all kinds of fish are found in the St.
Lawrence.

[14] Mr. Ashworth, in a communication to Mr. Barry, one of the
Commissioners of Irish Fisheries, says: “No charge is made for the
oyster-parks, but each plot is marked and defined on a map, and the
produce is considered to be the private property of the person who
establishes it. They vary in size twenty or thirty yards square, the
stone or tiles are placed in rows about five feet apart, with the ends
open so as to admit of the wash of the tide in and out.”

[15] Since the above observations were penned it is satisfactory to
know that the Town Council of Edinburgh have begun an investigation
into the state of their oyster-scalps. An official report has been
made to the following effect:—“The sub-committee of the Lord Provost’s
committee beg to report that, from the inquiries made by them, there
can be no doubt whatever that the city’s scalps, by the improper way
in which they have been dredged, are at present nearly worthless,
vast quantities of the seeding brood of oysters having been dredged
and sold for exportation to England and other places; that, in these
circumstances, the sub-committee are of opinion that, if possible, the
lease which the Free Fishermen have obtained should be reduced, so as
the town may have henceforth complete control, and with that view the
agents should be instructed to take the opinion of counsel; but if that
cannot be done, that immediate steps should be taken, by a conference
with the Duke of Buccleuch, Sir George Suttie, the Earl of Morton, and
the Commissioners of Woods and Forrests—to whom, along with the city,
all the scalps in the Forth belong—to have the whole oysters in the
Forth placed under one management for their joint behoof. At present
the rules made by any one of the proprietors become wholly inoperative
from the fact that when improper oysters are brought ashore, the
fishermen at once declare that they are taken from other scalps than
those of the party challenging; and, particularly, that they have
been taken from what they call neutral ground, which belongs to the
Government, and for that they pay no rent. It is proper to say that
the respectable portion of the Society of Free Fishermen profess their
readiness to aid in restoring the city scalps to a proper condition,
and in keeping them right hereafter; and they produce a letter from
their agents, Messrs. Gardiner, to that effect, along with a copy of a
minute of the society.”

[16] The following information as to the colour and structure of the
pearl may interest the general reader:—

Sir Robert Reading, in a letter to the Royal Society dated October
13, 1688, in speaking of Irish pearls, states that pearls, if once
dark, will never clear upon any alteration in the health or age of the
mussel. This Mr. Unger stoutly contradicts; he shows by many specimens
that some of the finest Scotch pearls are perfectly dark inside. The
theory put forth by Sir Everard Home, that the peculiar lustre so
much valued in the pearl arises from the centre, is thereby upset.
There is no doubt Sir David Brewster is correct in his statement on
that point in the _Edinburgh Encyclopædia_. Some writers assert that
irregular pearls may be rounded. This of course is erroneous: they
are, as everybody knows, formed in layers like an onion, and these
layers being cut across would be exposed in such a manner that even
the highest polish would not hide them. It is, however, quite possible
in many instances to improve a bad-coloured pearl by removing one
or more of the coats; and in this way many a pearl of comparatively
trifling value has been turned into a gem of rare beauty. The best way
to distinguish a real pearl from an imitation one is to take a sharp
knife and gently try to scrape it: if imitation the knife will glide
over the surface without making any impression, it being glass, and
a real pearl will not be injured by a gentle hand. Pieces of shells
are, however, extensively used and sold as pearls. They are cut into
shapes closely resembling half pearls, and mounted in various ways, so
that many professed judges have been deceived. These are easily to be
distinguished by their iridescent lustre from the true pearl, which has
but one distinct tint.

[17] I have culled the following account of a fisherman’s wedding-dance
from an excellent provincial journal. The solemnisation of a marriage
is a great event in the village, and when one occurs it is customary
to invite nearly all the adult population to attend. The ceremony is
mostly always performed in the church, and it not unfrequently happens
that at some of the marriages the whole lower part of the church is
well packed with the marriage-train. The Collieston weddings are
remarkable for the hilarity which ensues after the company return
from the ceremony. After a sumptuous dinner the company adjourn to
the links to a place which is smooth and level, and which lies at
no very great distance from the Coast-Guard station at the end of
the sands of Forvie, and there, to the inspiriting strains of the
violin, dance the ancient, picturesque, and intricate “Lang Reel o’
Collieston”—a reel danced by their forefathers and each succeeding
generation from time immemorial. To those who are fond of “tripping the
light fantastic toe,” and who never had the fortune to see it danced,
it would doubtless be interesting were we to give a description of
this “The Lang Reel o’ Collieston;” but, although fond of that sort
of exercise, we do not boast professional skill, and consequently are
unacquainted with the technical names of the various movements in this
particular department of the worship of Terpsichore. We may, however,
mention that, as indicated by its name, the _lang reel_ o’ Collieston
is a _lang reel_ in a double sense. It is of long duration and lengthy
in its dimensions, for all the wedding party join in dancing the “lang
reel.” It is commenced by the bride and her “best man,” and pair after
pair link into its links as the dance proceeds, until all have linked
themselves into it, and then pair after pair drop off, as in some
country-dances, until none are left dancing but the bride and “best
man” who commenced it. As may be supposed, this extended saltatory
effort is rather trying for the bride; and we heard one sonsy wife of
forty declare, in recapitulating the share she had on her wedding-day,
that “the back of her legs didna cour (recover) the lang reel for a
month afterwards.” The dance movement is very curious. The dancers
“reel, set, and cross, and cleek,” and change places in such a way as
to take them by degrees from the head of the dance to the foot, and
back to the head again, and so on, the whole being like the links of
a chain when reeling. When the couples are dancing, the lang reel o’
Collieston looks like a series of common Highland reels, and it is in
the reeling that the peculiarity and intricacy of indescribableness of
the dance exists. This reel is quite indispensable at marriages, and
after it has been danced other reels and dances are enjoyed and kept up
with very great spirit—natural and imbibed; and to see the lang reel o’
Collieston danced on the greensward under the blue canopy of heaven,
on a sweet afternoon in summer, is a treat worth going many miles to
enjoy. Not only would the eye enjoy a rare feast, but what with the
sweet music of the violin, the merry song of the lark in mid-heaven
right overhead, the ringing guffaws of the juvenile spectators, the
clapping of hands, and the loud _hoochs_ or whoops of the dancing
fishermen, all commingling and commingled with the murmur of billows
breaking among the rocks, the ear would have a banquet of no ordinary
kind nor of everyday occurrence.—_Banffshire Journal._

[18] In the fishing villages on the Firths of Forth and Tay, as well as
elsewhere in Scotland, the government is gynecocracy. In the course of
the late war, and during the alarm of invasion, a fleet of transports
entered the Firth of Forth, under the convoy of some ships of war which
would reply to no signals. A general alarm was excited, in consequence
of which all the fishers who were enrolled as sea-fencibles got on
board the gunboats, which they were to man as occasion should require,
and sailed to oppose the supposed enemy. The foreigners proved to be
Russians, with whom we were then at peace. The county gentlemen of
Mid-Lothian, pleased with the zeal displayed by the sea-fencibles at a
critical moment, passed a vote for presenting the community of fishers
with a silver punch-bowl, to be used on occasions of festivity. But
the fisherwomen, on hearing what was intended, put in their claim to
have some separate share in the intended honorary reward. The men, they
said, were their husbands; it was they who would have been sufferers
if their husbands had been killed, and it was by their permission and
injunctions that they embarked on board the gunboats for the public
service. They therefore claimed to share the reward in some manner
which should distinguish the female patriotism which they had shown on
the occasion. The gentlemen of the county willingly admitted the claim;
and, without diminishing the value of their compliment to the men, they
made the females a present of a valuable brooch, to fasten the plaid of
the queen of the fisherwomen for the time.

It may be further remarked, that these Nereids are punctillious among
themselves, and observe different ranks according to the commodities
they deal in. One experienced dame was heard to characterise a younger
damsel as “a puir silly thing, who had no ambition, and would never,”
she prophesied, “rise above the _mussel-line_ of business.”—_Note to
Antiquary._

[19] “The Scottish fishwomen, or “fishwives” of Newhaven and Fisherrow,
as they are usually designated, wear a dress of a peculiar and
appropriate fashion, consisting of a long blue duffle jacket, with wide
sleeves, a blue petticoat usually tucked up so as to form a pocket, and
in order to show off their ample under petticoats of bright-coloured
woollen stripe, reaching to the calf of the leg. It may be remarked
that the upper petticoats are of a striped sort of stuff technically
called, we believe, drugget, and are always of different colours. As
the women carry their load of fish on their backs in creels, supported
by a broad leather belt resting forwards on the forehead, a thick
napkin is their usual headdress, although often a muslin cap, or mutch,
with a very broad frill, edged with lace, and turned back on the head,
is seen peeping from under the napkin. A variety of kerchiefs or small
shawls similar to that on the head encircle the neck and bosom, which,
with thick worsted stockings, and a pair of stout shoes, complete the
costume.”

[20] “There fishermen and fishermen’s daughters marry and are given in
marriage to each other with a sacredness only second to the strictness
of intermarriage observed among the Jews. On making inquiry we find
that occasionally one of these buxom young damsels chooses a husband
for herself elsewhere than from among her own community; but we
understand that when this occurs the bride loses caste, and has to
follow the future fortunes of the bridegroom, whatever these may turn
out to be. Speaking of marriages, the present great scarcity both
of beef and mutton, and the consequent high price of these articles
of food, seems in no way to terrify the denizens of Newhaven, for
there the matrimonial knot is being briskly tied. While chatting with
some of the fishermen just the other day we heard that two of these
celebrations had taken place the night before, and that other four
weddings were expected to come off during this week; and we both heard
and saw the fag end of the musical and dancing jollification, which
was held in a public-house on these two recent occasions, and which
was kept up until far on in the next afternoon. We can see little to
tempt the young women of Newhaven to enter into the marriage state,
for it seems only to increase their bodily labour. This circumstance,
however, would appear to be no obstacle in the way, but rather to spur
them on; and we recollect of once actually hearing, when a girl rather
delicate for a Newhaven young woman was about to be married, another
girl, a strapping lass of about eighteen, thus express herself:—“Jenny
Flucker takin’ a man! she’s a gude cheek; hoo is she tae keep him? the
puir man’ll hae tae sell his fish as weel as catch them.” When upon
this subject of intermarriages among the Newhaven people it is proper
to mention that we heard contradictory accounts regarding the point;
some saying that no such custom existed, or at least that no such
rule was enforced by the community, while another account was that
only one marriage out of the community had, so far as had come to the
knowledge of our informant, taken place during the last eight or nine
years.”—_North Briton._

[21] Some of this information about Fisherrow is from _Chambers’
Journal_.

[22] From a private letter by Mr. Donald Bain.

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