1912 AND FISHERIES COMMISSION. 141 



to allow of the seeds taking root right over them and which form always 

 a natural basin where the rain drops may fall and accumulate, to per- 

 colate subsequently into the crevices of the rocks, from which again they 

 will appear in the form of a gushing spring. Just as on the even out- 

 pouring of the spring will depend the flow of the brook, the stream 

 and the river, so does the spring itself depend on the existence of its 

 damp and mossy forest reservoir for its waters. The forest fire is cap- 

 able of destroying all; animals, birds, insects, vegetation and soil. The 

 voice of the forest is hushed, and the death of the trees is not only 

 accompanied by the annihilation of one of nature's great water storages, 

 so vital to the prosperity of some, perhaps far-distant, agricultural com- 

 munity, but by the disappearance of an important factor in the regula- 

 tion of both climate and rainfall over a considerable region. 



The picture of a forest destroyed by fire almost baffles description 

 in its appalling horror. Unrelieved by the accustomed sounds, the 

 cheerful note of songbirds, the chirruping of squirrels or chipmunks, 

 the calls of animals or the humming Of iuKects, deathly silence reigns 

 oppressive and supreme. Great trees and small trees alike, black, bare 

 and gaunt, stand shivering as the breeze soughs a mournful dirge 

 through their ranks, ghastly skeletons of nature's once beautiful handi- 

 work, or else lie prostrate on the ground, charred, burnt and shrivelled, 

 grim spectres of a useful past, proclaiming the passage of ruthless death, 

 the advent of desolation and decay. No butterfly or moth flutters over 

 the withered and blackened leaves; no little creature or insect crawls 

 from among them, startled by the approaching footfalls. Far down 

 into the accumulation of twigs and decaying vegetation which has 

 formed the forest bed, into the mossy and spongy soil which in the past 

 has held water to furnish life to the trees growing on it, the relentless 

 fire has eaten its way and left in its train a mass of useless cinder from 

 which all nutriment has been utterly scorched. The human visitor to 

 this tragic scene will have himself alone for company; will hear his 

 own breathing; will be conscious of his own heartbeats; will be almost 

 terrified at the sounds of his own footsteps ; for life has been extinguished, 

 the silence of the grave will surround him, and it will seem almost 

 sacrilege to break the all-pervading quiet of the dead. In due course 

 the action of the winds will blow away the cinders, and the bare rocks, 

 over which once grew the forest, will be exposed to view in all their 

 unbeautiful and grim nakedness, and the region will remain barren 

 and in all prol)ability useless to man's welfare until, perhaps, after the 

 la])se of centuries nature once again shall have succeeded with indomi- 

 table patience in recovering the rocks with a fresh soil. 



The extent of the havoc wrought by a forest fire depends in great 

 measure, of course, on the conditions prevailing at the time of its 

 occurrence, but generally speaking the greatest harm is effected during 

 periods of prolonged drought, for then, not only are the trees and shrubs 

 parched and tlieir foliage likely to be withered and dry, but the debris 



