48 
FOREST_AND_ STREAM- 
[July 16, 1904. 
were allowed to escape the gaff, as they were only grilse 
of light weight. Still the endless procession continued at 
the head of the pool. The fish were becoming restless, 
and hardly a minute passed when one or more did not 
venture a leap out into the fall. Another of nine pounds 
was landed; an eight-pounder, aided by the current, 
fouoht for forty-three minutes before he finally suc- 
cumbed to the gaff, and still a third ran my line clear to 
the end and escaped with that faithful little Jock-bcott 
which had landed eleven salmon. It was impossible to 
follow a fish if he chose to run down stream, as my ledge, 
was narrow and only about five yards long. Leaning out 
as far over the brink as I dared, a good strong pressure 
on the rod usually turned a retreating salmon before he 
reached the end of my hundred yards of line, but not 
always, for, although the majority preferred to fight it 
out in the deep water of the pool, occasionally one would 
tear down stream toward the shallows, break my leader, 
and escape. , ., , \ r 
Again and again I cast a well-frayed silver-doctor far 
out from the rocky wall, but the salmon were evidently 
frightened, as they had vanished from the surface. 
Gradually increasing the length of my cast, a good 
seventy feet of line were soon flying well over toward the 
opposite shore ; when suddenly, with a mighty upward 
rush a great silvery bar vaulted into the air and crossed 
the stream with one succession of mad leaps. lms was 
no grilse or youngster, but the very master of the pool 
himself. Soon he became sulky, and resorted to that old 
trick known so well and used so frequently by salmon 
when hooked in swift water, and for full twenty minutes 
allowed the current to press his body agamst the surtace 
of a perpendicular rock. But a few well aimed stones 
aroused him from his reveries, and then, back and forth, 
up and down, for half an hour more. It was certainly the 
best fish of the season, and the gamiest salmon of the 
year But he was tiring slowly, very slowly, and already 
the broad tail flapped spasmodically and his high dorsal 
fin rose clear above the surface. William stood ready, 
gaff in hand; by a dexterous movement he drove it 
through the shining body, and with a broad grin and a 
joyous shout held it up for my inspection, calling at the 
same time, "Good fish, sir ; you have great pleasure to- 
day." But alas! it was too late. One glance was enough. 
It was the big salmon, my old companion of the black 
Pool The scar on his back stood out more vividly than 
ever, and his glassy eyes stared at me almost reproach- 
fully as he hung limp and motionless from the hook ot 
the o-aff To voluntarily come so far, to escape success- 
fully the dangers of the nets, to travel through so many 
perils, and that with a ghastly spear wound, and then to 
fight so bravely all in vain, seemed like a hard fate indeed 
for the noble fish. , 
The fishing was over and we had enough. 1 reeled up 
my line, recrossed the narrow bridge, and when dinner 
came had little appetite for my old friend of the early 
summer So we buried him untouched, far from his home 
in the sea, under a boulder by the side of the river, where 
rocky walls stand as mcnuments, and the music o± the 
waters is never silent. That was the last cast made at the 
falls, for leaves were turning, and the birds were starting 
southward, and caribou stags with full-grown antlers 
were waiting further back among the hills. 
We had followed the salmon all the way up from the 
ocean; had watched him in fair weather and m foul, 
through bad luck and good. We had seen him gradually 
change from a plump, fresh-run fish to a thin but power- 
ful fishier, and from a brilliant silver to a dark burnished 
gold- and now we leave him at the end of his journey, 
still strong and active— the king of American river fishes. 
s Wm. Arthur Babson. 
[to be continued.] 
English Skylarks at Rugby, L. 1 
Where the rush of a breeze sets the meadow grass 
a-quiver, where the daisies and brown-eyed Susans dodge 
and dance and hide their bright faces among the nodding 
heads of timothy and clover— there I find the skylarks. 
These charming songsters have established a colony m 
the vicinity of Flatbush, and surely this little Britisher s 
love of mother country has influenced his choice ot lo- 
cality, for the place is known as Rugby. 
Strolling knee-deep through a waving sea ot grass, l 
note the scattered blooms of familiar wild flowers— butter- 
and-eggs, wild carrot, buttercup, aster, and, skirting the 
borders of every field, now in long lush beds, now in ir- 
regular clumps, the sweet clover, so dear to colonial 
housewives, bows and bends under the caress of the sott 
airs that carry its fragrance far and near. , 
As I pause in my slow pacing to look about, and absorb 
the quiet beauty of my surroundings, there is a quick 
flutter of little wings, as, with a burst of song, a small, 
dun-colored bird flushes within a few yards of where 1 
stand For fifty feet or so he mounts almost perpendicu- 
larly, then, facing the breeze, up, up, up, he goes, in a 
succession of short flutterings, till at about 300 feet above 
me he hovers sparrow-hawk fashion, the while he pours 
• out his little soul in rapturous song. Not for an instant 
from his first spring into flight has his music ceased, and 
still, as he poises on trembling wings, the notes gush from 
his swelling throat in ecstacy, a medley of musical clip- 
pino-s that seem to crowd each other for utterance. Atter 
a minute or so of this musical delirium, there appears to 
ensue a calmer mood, and I notice the song pulsates with 
a richer, more flute-like quality; there is a mellowness 
now that was lacking at first. Presently the trembling 
wings are still and rigid, held at their full extent, the 
small tail, with its white feather at either side is spread 
like a miniature fan, and slowly the little fellow floats 
down among the waving grass, his music ceasing the in- 
stant he reaches its cover. 
I have observed altogether some thirty of these soaring 
larks and in no instance did I see the spiral ascent made. 
This 'may be owing to the fact that on every visit I made 
with them there was a fresh breeze blowing. Invariably 
the birds went almost straight into the air for the first 
fifty feet, then in a long swinging slant till the desired 
elevation was attained. In their descent they appeared an 
exact facsimile of the little Japanese bird kites, so popular 
with us a few years past. I presume the spiral ascent 
we read of in the English prints is made in calm weather, 
hence I failed to observe it. 
The above description is the usual procedure of the 
skylark when soaring in song, though now and again the 
descent is more rapid, till, within forty or fifty feet of the 
meadow, the bird will fold its wings close, and drop like 
a plummet, swiftly and silently from sight, in the grass. 
While on the ground in the thick cover of the fields, 
the skylark has a little song that begins exactly like that 
of our dainty white-throat sparrow. Tu ! tu ! tu ! it rings 
out over the meadows, and involuntarily you listen for 
the well known white-throat refrain after the first three 
nrtes that rise in the scale in precisely similar pitch and 
fashion, but no, a rapidly uttered weet ! weet ! weet ! weet ! 
succeeds. Where several of the larks are near-by, this 
little song, or rather call — for it seems to voice an inquiry — 
is frequently repeated, and should you have the good for- 
tune to see the lark as he stands upon a clod of earth, 
or in a semi-open space where the grass is thinned out, 
you will notice a pause after, the last weet, as though he 
awaited a reply. Occasionally he will repeat this call be- 
fore running off on his restless search for food among the 
grass stalks. Should you chance upon him perched atop 
of a fence post, or on some low bush, you may see him 
throw back his head, as though to fix his eyes on the 
heavens, and while the little throat swells to the music 
in his heart, you hear tu-tu-tu-trrrrr-tzveet, tweet, tweet, 
tit, tit, tit, we, we, wee-on! zuee-a! zve-eee\ I have heard 
this sung by several individuals, always as given above. 
Over and over again it is repeated for minutes at a time ; 
then a swift plunge to the grass and silence, till again the 
little call — tu, tu, tu, weet, weet, weet, weet. Of course 
the reader must realize the impossibility of properly ren- 
dering bird songs into words, but the above description 
will give a fair idea — a fair phonetic idea — of the sky- 
lark's varied music, apart from his soaring song, which 
is for me perfectly impossible to describe in words that 
will convey any just conception of its varied sweetness. 
The exquisite soaring song is continuous; seemingly the 
bird never pauses for breath till he returns to earth again. 
I timed one individual who was in the air for five and 
one-half minutes, and he sang continuously during the 
whole of his trip aloft. 
Since it consorts with our own beloved meadowlark, 
hobnobbing day by day with the ubiquitous teeter snipe 
that nest near-by, it is not at all surprising that one 
should recognize their familiar notes in the repertoire of 
this unique and inimitable though tiny songster. I use the 
word tiny advisedly, for though nearly similar in size with 
our song sparrow, still it is a tiny frame to carry such a 
flood of melody as the skylark pours forth. Such a sweet 
jumble of familiar bird songs as he utters would seem to 
indicate a retentive memory, and considerable power of 
mimicry. He seems to be telling all he knows up there 
in the blue sky, and surely the billowy white clouds that 
sail over him must catch the echo of his 'song. One thing 
is certain, he only tells pleasant things; his sweet notes 
are sufficient evidence of this. Wilmot Townsend. 
Rugby is a part of Brooklyn. Mr. Townsend sends 
these specific directions for going to hear the skylarks: 
Take Church avenue car to Rugby. Get off at East 92d 
street and walk east. I found the skylark in greater num- 
ber? between East 92d and East 95th streets and Avenues 
A and J. The avenues run north and south, and the 
streets east and west, and while the birds may be found 
scattered about in the immediate area, they seemed to 
show up about twice the number in the localities I give 
above. 
Fish that have Voices. 
In "At Last," the ever-entertaining story of his visit 
to the West Indies, Charles Kingsley writes of the un- 
usual fishes of the Island of Trinidad: 
Our night, as often happens in the tropics, was not 
altogether undisturbed; for shortly after I had become 
unconscious of the chorus of toads and cicadas, my ham- 
mock came down by the head. Then I was woke by a 
sudden bark close outside, exactly like that of a clicket- 
ting fox ; but as the dogs did not reply or give chase, I 
presumed it to be the cry of a bird, possibly a little owl. 
Next there rushed down the mountain a storm of wind 
and rain, which made the cocoa leaves flap and creak 
and rattle against the gable of the house, and set every 
door and window banging, till they were caught and 
brought to reason. And between the howls of the wind 
I became aware of a strange noise from seaward— a 
booming, or rather humming, most like that which a loco- 
motive sometimes makes when blowing off steam. It was 
faint and distant, but deep and strong enough to set one 
guessing its cause. The sea beating into caves seemed, at 
first, the simplest answer. But the water was so still on 
our side of the island that I could barely hear the lap of 
the ripple on the shingle twenty yards off, arid the nearest 
surf was a mile or two away, over a mountain a thousand 
feet high. So puzzling vainly, I fell asleep, to awake, in 
the gray dawn, to the prettiest idyllic picture, through 
the half-open door, of two kids dancing on a stone at the 
foot of a cocoanut tree, with a background of sea and 
dark rocks. 
As we went to bathe we heard again, in perfect calm, 
the same mysterious booming sound, and were assured 
by those who ought to have known, that it came from 
under the water, and was most probably made by none 
other than the famous musical or drum fish, of whom one 
had heard, and hardly believed, much in past years. 
Mr. Joseph, author of the "History of Trinidad," from 
which I have so often quoted, reports that the first time 
he heard this singular fish was on board a schooner at 
anchor off Chaguaramas. 
"Immediately under the vessel I heard a deep and not 
unpleasant sound, similar to those one might imagine to 
proceed from a thousand iEolian harps; this ceased, and 
deep twanging notes succeeded; these gradually swelled 
into an uninterrupted stream of singular sounds like the 
booming of a number of Chinese gongs under the water ; 
to these succeeded notes that had a faint resemblance to 
a wild chorus of a hundred human voices singing out of 
tune in deep bass." _ 
"In White's 'Voyage to Cochin China,'" adds Mr. 
Joseph, "there is as good a description of this, or a 
similar submarine concert, as mere words can convey; 
this the 'voyager heard in the Eastern seas. He was told 
the singers were a flat kind of fish; he, however, did not 
see them. 'Might not this fish,' he asks, 'or one resembling 
it in vocal qualities, have given rise to the fable of .the 
sirens ?' " 
It might, certainly, if the fact be true. Moreover, Mr. 
Joseph does not seem to be aware that the old Spanish 
Conquistadores had a myth that music, was to be heard 
in this very Gulf of Paria, and that at certain seasons the 
nymphs and tritons assembled therein, and with ravishing 
strains sang their watery loves. The story of the music 
has been usually treated as a mere sailor's fable, and the 
sirens and tritons supposed to be mere stupid manatis, or 
sea-cows, coming in as they do still now and then to 
browse -on mangrove shoots and turtle-grass ; but if the 
story of the music be true, the myth may have had a 
double root. 
Meanwhile, I see Hardwicke's "Science Gossip" for 
March gives an extract from a letter of M. O. de Thoron, 
communicated by him to the Academic des Sciences, De- 
cember, 1861, which confirms Mr. Joseph's story. He 
asserts that in the Bay of Pailon, in Esmeraldos, Ecuador, 
i. e., on the Pacific Coast, and also up more' than one of 
the rivers, he has heard a similar sound, attributed by the 
natives to. a fish which they call "the siren," or "musico." 
At first, he says, he thought it was produced by a fly or 
hornet of extraordinary size; but afterward, having ad- 
vanced a little further, he heard a multitude of different 
voices, which harmonized together, imitating a church 
organ to great perfection. The good people of Trinidad 
believe that the fish which makes this noise is the trumpet 
fish or fistularia — a beast strange enough in shape to be 
credited with strange actions; but ichthyologists say posi- 
tively no; that the noise (at least along the coast of the 
United States) is made by a pogonias, a fish somewhat 
like a great bearded perch, and cousin of the maigre of 
the Mediterranean, which is accused of making a similar 
purring or grunting noise, which can be heard from a 
depth of one hundred and twenty feet, and guides the 
fishermen to their whereabouts. 
How the noise is made is a question. Cuvier was of 
opinion that it was made by the air-bladder, though he 
could not explain how ; but the truth, if truth it be, seems 
stranger still. These fish, it seems, have strong . bony 
palates and throat teeth for crushing shells and crabs, and 
make this wonderful noise simply by grinding their teeth 
together. 
I vouch for nothing, save that I heard this strange 
humming more than once. As for the cause of it, I can 
only say, as was said of yore, that "I hold it for rashness 
to determine aught amid such fertility of nature's 
wonders." -• ' 
From the Literary Digest. 
Fishes are not generally credited with the power of 
vocal utterance, but there is plenty pf evidence to show 
that some of them can make noises, musical or otherwise, 
that presumbaly come from the . mouth, although the 
source and manner of production of the sounds appears, 
in most cases, never to have been investigated scientifically. 
In La Nature (Paris, May 14), M. Henri Coupin gives 
us some of this evidence, much of which comes from 
travelers of repute. He says : 
"The expression 'dumb as a fish', is not, perfectly exact. 
Although it is true that the great majority of fish do not 
seek to enter into competition with operatic tenors,, there 
are a few that can make sounds whose utility is not very 
well understood. 
"Prayer relates that one night when he was on the Pon- 
tiniac, the largest river on the west coast of Borneo, he 
heard very distinct music, sometimes low, sometimes high, 
sometimes distant, sometimes near. It came ..from the 
depths like the song of the sirens, sometimes resounding 
like a powerful organ, sometimes like a sweet and har- 
monious ^rEolian harp. A diver hears this music much 
more clearly and perceives that it comes from several dis- 
tinct voices. This music, so the natives declare, is pro- 
duced by fish. 
"The same fact had already been told by Humboldt. 
'Being,' he says, 'in the South Sea, about seven o'clock 
in the evening, the whole party was frightened by, an ex- 
traordinary noise that resembled the beating of drums in 
the open air. It was at first thought that this noise was 
produced by the wind, but soon it was. heard clearly 
alongside the ship, chiefly forward. It resembled the, noise 
of boiling water, when the bubbles burst. Then it was 
feared that the ship had sprung a leak, but the noise ex- 
tended successively to all parts of the vessel, and about 9 
P. M. it ceased entirely.' 
"Lieut. John White, of the United States Navy, reports 
that when in the mouth of the Cambodia, River he and his 
party heard extraordinary sounds around the ship. They 
were like a mixture of the bass notes of an organ, the 
ringing of bells, the guttural cries of a huge bullfrog, and 
noises that seemed to come from an enormous harp. They 
seemed to shake the very vessel. These noises increased, 
and finally formed a universal chorus on both sides of the 
ship and along its entire length. As the party ascended 
the river, the sounds weakened and then ceased entirely. 
The interpreter told them that, the cause was a shoal of 
fish of flat oval form which had the power of adhering 
strongly to various bodies by the mouth. 
"The PogOnias, or Drumfish, which inhabit the Atlantic 
Coast of the New World, also make noises that are often 
heard at great distances. * * * It is thought — but this 
is not certain — that the noise is produced by rubbing the 
pharyngian teeth together. 
"In the fresh water of the Rio Mataje and the Rio del 
Molino are found musical fish which, because of this 
peculiarity, are called by the natives by the name of 
'musicos.' 'During an exploration in the Bay of Pailon, 
in the northern part of the republic of Ecuador,' says M. 
Thoron, T skirted a shore at sunset. All at once a strange 
sound, extremely low and prolonged, was heard around 
me. I thought at first that it was an extraordinarily large 
insect or bee, but, seeing nothing, I asked of my oarsman 
whence the noise came. He answered that it was a fish 
that sang thus. Some call them sirens, and others 
musicos. Advancing a little further, I heard a multitude 
of different voices that imitated perfectly the lower and 
middle tones of a church organ, heard outside the build- 
ing, as in the church porch. The concert began about sun- 
set, and continued several hours, the executants not being 
