Boy With the U. S. Fisheries

by William Henry Giles Kingston

  CHAPTER IV

  CATCHING THE SEA-SERPENT

  There was great excitement in the village the next day when the revenuecutter brought in the Japanese raiding schooner and her crew. The boatthat had successfully reached the ship had already begun to load herquota of sealskins, and the men had not thrown them overboard, believingthat they could get away. Consequently, with the evidence of the raidashore and with the seals in the boat belonging to the schooner fromwhich witnesses had seen the crew go on board, the case was complete.

  "What are you going to do with the prisoners?" asked Colin. "Are yougoing to put them on trial here?"

  "Not here," the agent replied. "The Federal Courts look after that."

  "But I thought you were a judge," the boy protested. "Who administersjustice on the islands?"

  "The chief agent," was the reply. "He is a magistrate. All the nativesare employees of the Fisheries Bureau. He has a lot of authority overthem. Obviously! But any really grave case is tried at Valdez, becausethat's the nearest Federal court from here. Sealing questions, too, areso confused with international issues that we don't undertake to decidethem."

  "And what will happen to the schooner?"

  "A prize crew will be put aboard. Take her to Unalaska. The revenuecutter will pick them up afterwards. Probably start for Valdez withoutdelay. Captain Murchison said this morning that he wanted to go along."

  "I wonder if I'll have to go?" said Colin. "I'm sure I don't want to, atleast, not yet. There's ever so much more that I want to find out aboutseals, and I've hardly started. If I'm ever lucky enough to get into theBureau of Fisheries, I hope I shall have a chance to get something to doon this fur seal service."

  "Fur seal's very important. But only a small part of the Bureau ofFisheries," the agent said, and outlined to Colin the general workingsof the Bureau, in which he showed the practical value of the work.

  "I know. I want to join the Bureau," the boy persisted, "not onlybecause I think there's more fun in it than in anything else, butbecause I like everything about it."

  "What do your folks say about the plan?" the Fisheries agent queried.

  "They know I want it," the lad replied, "but I never felt that I knewenough about the Bureau to say that I didn't care to do anything else.Father's always wanted me to take up lumbering or forestry or sawmillsor something to do with timber. He's quite a big lumberman, you know.But, some way, that never appealed to me."

  "Your father ought to know," the other said. "Obviously! And if he ownstimber lands, I think it's up to you to be a help. Lots of interestingangles to the lumber business. And if the timber lands are going todescend to you, you'll have to look after them, anyway."

  "But they won't," objected Colin; "that's just it. In about ten yearsthat timber will be all cut off. I'm pretty sure Father will let me jointhe Bureau," the boy continued, "because he's wild about fishinghimself. Why, just now, he's down at Santa Catalina, angling for biggame."

  "Some difference between the Fisheries Bureau and angling for sport,"the agent warned him. "I've been in the business all my life. But I'venever even learned to cast a fly! It's a serious business, and down inWashington you'll find that the value of the work to the people of theUnited States is the chief aim of the Bureau."

  "It may be serious, but I should think that there is always somethingnew. And, anyway," Colin said enthusiastically, "fishes are ever so muchmore interesting than animals. There are such heaps of different kinds,too!"

  "The interest in work depends on how you look at it," soberly respondedthe agent. "Obviously! But don't think the Bureau is experimenting withevery kind of fish in the ocean. There are only a few food fishes orforms with commercial value that are exploited at all."

  "But you were describing to me, only yesterday, the way they handlemillions of baby fishes annually. I've just got to get into the Bureau."

  "Go ahead, then. I don't doubt we'll be glad to have you. I've done mybest to show you what you'll have to face," the official declared, "andif you're still eager for it, why, go in and win. There's always a placesomewhere for the chap who is really anxious to work."

  At supper that day, the decision was announced that the revenue cutterwould start for Valdez next morning, and Colin had to scramble around ina hurry to take a last look at the seals, to get a small crate made forthe blue fox pup, which he was going to send home for his youngerbrother to look after, and to put into a small trunk he had got from oneof the villagers the few things he had saved from the wreck and had beenable to buy in the village.

  The trip down to the Aleutian Islands and through its straits was adelight to Colin, and he became quite excited when he learned that thesecond lieutenant had for years been attached to a revenue cutter whichhad a wharf at the Fisheries Bureau station at Woods Hole, Mass. Thisofficer, who had a brother in the Bureau, was only too glad to talk tothe boy about the service, and Colin monopolized his spare time on thejourney. And when, one day, his friend depicted the immensity of thegreat salmon drives of the Alaskan rivers, the lad grew so excited thatthe lieutenant laughingly told him he expected some fine morning to findthat he had jumped overboard and had started swimming for the UgashikRiver or some other of the famous salmon streams of Alaska.

  NATIVE SALMON TRAP ON AN ALASKAN RIVER.

  _Courtesy of the U. S. Bureau of Fisheries._]

  MODERN SALMON TRAP ON AN ALASKAN RIVER.

  _Courtesy of the U. S. Bureau of Fisheries._]

  Shortly before they arrived at Valdez, the lieutenant of the cuttercalled the boy aside.

  "Colin," he said, "didn't you tell me the other day that you were goingdown to Santa Catalina?"

  "Yes, sir," the boy answered. "Father's down there now, and I want toask him if he won't let me go and join the Bureau of Fisheries."

  "Well," the officer replied, "before you do that, I think you ought toget some idea about the sort of work there is to do. It happens that oneof my brother's friends is on the Columbia River just now, making somekind of experiment on salmon. He has a cottage not far from one of thestate hatcheries, and if you like, I'll give you a letter to him. If youare really determined to enter the Bureau, you might stop on your way toSanta Catalina and see the work from another point of view."

  "I'd like to ever so much," said Colin, "but I couldn't very well gouninvited."

  "He'll be only too pleased to see you," was the reply; "he's a Westernerlike myself, and will enjoy putting you up for a day or two."

  "It's right in my way, too," remarked Colin, yielding to his desire togo.

  "Quite a few of the steamers for 'Frisco stop at Astoria, at the mouthof the Columbia River," the lieutenant suggested, "and the professor'scottage is not more than half an hour from there, near the statefish-hatching station at Chinook, Wash."

  "Just across the river, then?"

  "Exactly. The way I look at it, you're not at all likely to haveanything to do with fur seal if you go into the Bureau, certainly notfor a good many years. So you can't judge the Fisheries' scope fromthat, and you ought to see the work that will probably fall to yourlot."

  "Very well, sir," said the boy, "I'll go gladly, and thank you ever somuch."

  "I'll drop a note to Professor Todd, then," the lieutenant said, noddingas he turned away, "and as we may be delayed a few days in Valdez, theletter will reach him before you will."

  On their arrival at the Alaskan town, Colin learned that some time wouldelapse before the trial of the Japanese prisoners, as the court wouldnot be in session until later in the summer, and he was told that whenhis deposition had been taken, there would be no need to keep him as awitness. Accordingly, after the boy had related the story of thediscovery and of his entire connection with the affair, he was told thathe might leave.

  As the revenue officer had expected, within a week a steamer left Valdezfor San Francisco, calling at Astoria on the way, and Colin took passageaboard. Aside from meeting on board an old shell collector, who taughthim a great deal about the principal valuable sea shells
of the world,the voyage was without incident, and he arrived in Astoria in time toproceed the same afternoon to the cottage of the professor, where he wasto stay that night, having found a letter of welcome awaiting him inAstoria.

  Reaching the house he presented his letter of introduction, and wascordially greeted. Finding that the boy was really interested, his hosttook him to a tiny laboratory of his own, where he was experimenting onthe various diseases of the salmon and the trout.

  This gave Colin an entirely new outlook on the Fisheries' activities.

  "I never thought of fishes being sick before!" he exclaimed. "Are therefish-doctors in the Bureau?"

  "There's a large division of the service given to that very work," theprofessor replied, "only there are so many millions of fish that we donot try to cure the individual, but only endeavor to prevent thedisease. You know what the work of a veterinary is?"

  "Of course," the boy responded.

  "And you know that the United States Government has an inspector atevery place where cattle and sheep and pigs are slaughtered to see thatno diseased animals are sold?"

  "Yes," the boy answered, "I have heard of that, too."

  "Since there is almost as much fish eaten in this country as there ismeat," the professor continued, "Uncle Sam sees to it that no diseasedfish are sold for food."

  "I don't quite see how," the boy responded; "there can't be an inspectorat every place where they catch fish."

  "Certainly not, but as long as there is no disease among fish, there canbe no diseased fish. We try to prevent the diseases. Now here, forexample," he continued, "are a lot of fish that have a kind of maligngrowth. It comes very frequently among the trout and salmon that areartificially raised, and sometimes we find it among fish that have beenreared in a state of nature, and I have been working for some time onthis and I hope this year--or at all events by next season--to be ableto show the cause of the disease. That is really my problem, Colin, butthe details of it are too complicated to explain easily. But you havecome at a particularly good time," he continued, "because I have beenwanting to do an experiment which I thought might interest you, and Iwaited until you came. If you like, we'll go out to-morrow."

  "I should, ever so much," Colin exclaimed. "What's the experiment?"

  "When the salmon come in from the sea," the professor began, "there is agreat deal of hesitation among them sometimes before they go up theriver to spawn, and we want to find out whether they go back to the seaagain, whether they swim directly up the stream, or whether they remainin the brackish water at the mouth of the river."

  "If you don't mind my saying so, what is the use of knowing?" askedColin. "I mean, what does it matter as long as the salmon spawns?"

  "The salmon is one of the most important food fishes of the country,"the professor said rebukingly, "and it is as important for us to knowall about its habits as it is to know about the way a grain of wheatgrows."

  "I hadn't thought of that," Colin said, a little shamefacedly. "Isuppose everything really is important, no matter how small."

  The professor smiled at him.

  "If you have much to do with studying fish," he said, "or, indeed, withany kind of science, you will find out it is always the little thingsthat tell the story. Take the grain of wheat again. If one kind of wheatripens two days earlier on an average than another kind, you might thinkthat so small a difference wouldn't be of great importance, but thosetwo days might--and often do--make the difference between a good cropand one which is frost-bitten and spoiled."

  "That's a lot easier to see," agreed the boy. "But, sir," he objected,"you can pick out one little bit of a field and work on that, and itwill 'stay put.' Fishes wander all over the place."

  "We want them to do so, my boy," was the reply.

  "How can you work on separate fish? One looks so like another!"

  "And for that very reason we're going to tag them."

  "Tag them?"

  "With a little aluminum button fastened to their tail, just as badyoungsters fasten a tin can to a dog's tail. Every tag has a number, andwe use aluminum because it corrodes rapidly in salt water."

  "Then I should think," said Colin, "that was the very reason why youshouldn't use it."

  "Why not?" asked the professor mildly. "We know that the salmon are notgoing to stay in the salt water, because they are going up the river tospawn. If, therefore, we catch a fish in the nets higher up stream, withthe tag bright and shining, we know that it hasn't been in salt water atall; if dull and just a little worn away, that the fish with that taghas been staying in the brackish water near the mouth of the river; butif it is deeply corroded, that the fish returned to sea for a time. Asyou see, a good deal of information is gathered that way. But in themorning you will have a chance to see how it is done, and then theresults--when they are published--will seem more interesting."

  "Have you been associated with the Bureau of Fisheries, Professor Podd?"Colin asked.

  "Not directly," the other replied. "I should have enjoyed it, and itseems to me a work of the first importance, but every man is apt tothink that about his own work, or work that is like his own. But I cantell you what decided me, nearly twenty years ago, to give all my sparetime to the fishery question."

  "What was that?" asked Colin.

  "It was a phrase in a lecture that Dr. Baird, the founder of fishculture in America, was giving about the need of the work. He pointedout that there was more actual life in a cubic foot of water than in acubic foot of land, and closed by saying, 'The work of conserving theFisheries of the United States will not be finished until every acre ofwater is farmed as carefully as every acre or land.'"

  "I never quite thought of it as farming," said the boy.

  "Nor had I, before that time," the professor said. "But ever since thenI have seen that we of the present time are the great pioneers, thediscoverers, the explorers of this new world. Instead of blazing ourtrail through a wilderness of trees we dredge our way through awilderness of waters; instead of a stockade around a blockhouse toprotect us against wild beasts and wilder Indian foes, we have but athin plank between us and destruction; instead of a few wolves andmountain-lions to prey upon the few head of stock we might raise, wehave thousands of millions of fierce, finny pirates with which to dobattle, and we work against odds the old pioneers could not even haveestimated!"

  "That's great!" cried Colin, his eyes shining.

  "The surface of the sea," the professor continued, warming to hissubject, "reveals no more of its mystery than the smoke cloud above thecity tells the story of the wild race of life in its thronging streets,or than the waving tips of a forest of mighty trees reveal the myriadforms below. Each current of the ocean is an empire of its own with itstribes endlessly at war; the serried hosts of voracious fish prey onthose about them, fishes of medium depth do perpetual war upon thesurface fish, and some of these are forced into the air to fly likebirds away from the Nemesis below."

  "And much is still unknown, isn't it?"

  "We are discovering a new world!" was the reply. "No one for a momentcan deny the greatness of the finding of America, and Columbus and theother early navigators are sure of immortal fame, but even so, what wasthe New World they found to the illimitable areas of unknown life, inthe bottom of the sea, that have been made known to man. Think of thewonder that has been revealed by the _Challenger_ and other ships thathave explored the ocean beds!"

  "There is still a great deal unknown, isn't there?"

  "Still an unknown universe! Lurking in the utter darkness of thescarce-fathomed deeps of the ocean, what Kraken may not lie, coil oncoil; what strange black, slimy, large-eyed forms do their stealthyhunting in perpetual night by the light of phosphorescent lamps theybear upon their bodies? Many of these there are, every year teaches ofnew species. The land--oh! the land is all well known, even the Arcticand Antarctic regions no longer hide their secrets, but the ocean isinscrutable. Smiling or in anger, she baffles us and her inmost shrinesare still inviolate."


  The professor checked himself suddenly, as though conscious of havingbeen carried away by enthusiasm.

  "We'll try and get at some of the secrets to-morrow," he said, "but itwill mean early rising, as the trap is to be hauled at slack water."

  Acting on the hint, Colin bade his host good-night, but his sleep wasfitful and restless. The sudden passionate speech of the grave scholarhad been a revelation to the boy, and whereas he had felt a desire forthe Fisheries Bureau before, he knew now that it had been largely withthe sense of novelty and adventure. But the professor's words had givenhim a new light, and he saw what an ideal might be. He felt like aknight of the olden time, who, watching his armor the vigil before theconferring of knighthood, had been granted a vision of all his servicemight mean. He knew that night that the question he was to ask hisfather could have but the one answer, that the great decision of hislife was made, his work was cut out to do.

  Shortly after daybreak the next morning, Colin was called and he dressedhurriedly. After a hearty breakfast in which steel-head trout figuredlargely, he went down to the pier on the water and was not sorry to havethe chance of showing his host that he was a good canoeist.

  "How large is the work of the Bureau now, Professor?" asked Colin, asthe light craft shot down the magnificent stretches of the ColumbiaRiver.

  "Over three and a half billion eggs and small fish were distributed lastyear, if I remember rightly," was the reply. "Of course, a largeproportion of these fish did not reach maturity, but perhaps half abillion did so, and half a billion fish is an immense contribution tothe food supply of the world."

  "But aren't there always lots of fish in the sea?" asked Colin. "Whenyou come to compare land with water it always looks as though there mustbe so many that the number we catch wouldn't make any sort of impressionon them."

  "Think a bit," said the professor. "You've just come down from thePribilof Islands. How did you find matters up there? Had the catching ofseals been harmful, or were there so many seals still in the sea that itdidn't matter what line of hunting went on?"

  "Of course, pelagic sealing had nearly killed off the entire species,"said Colin, "but, somehow, fish seem different. Oh, yes, I know why.Seals only have one pup at a time and fishes have thousands of eggs."

  "That's a very good reply," the professor agreed, "but why was it thatpelagic sealing was so bad? Was it done all the year round?"

  MILLIONS OF THESE HATCHED YEARLY.

  Brook Trout just hatching, showing fry with egg-sacs still attached.

  _Courtesy of the National Geographic Magazine._]

  "No," said Colin, "principally when the females were coming to thespawning ground."

  "And the Pribilof Islands are only a small place. Especially whencompared to the range of oceans the seal cover during the rest of theyear?"

  "Very small."

  "Then," said the other, "it is easy to see that the respective size ofland and water has very little to do with the general fishery question.But if a seal or a fish must come to the land or to narrow rivers tospawn, it follows that man possesses the power to determine whetherspawning shall continue or not, doesn't it?"

  "Yes," agreed Colin, "I suppose it does."

  "And if you protect the seals, the herd will increase."

  "It ought to."

  "Very good. That is just the work we are doing here. The salmon comeinto fresh water to spawn--just like shad and a number of other speciesof fish--and when you kill a salmon just about to ascend the river, youdestroy at the same time the thousands of eggs she bears."

  "But I thought salmon were always caught running up a stream?" saidColin in surprise.

  "They are," was the quick response; "by far the larger number are caughtthat way, and as long as a certain proportion go up the stream there'sno great harm done. But if every one of the salmon is caught, as happenswhen nets are put all the way across a stream, there will be none tospawn, and in a few years there will be no fish in that river."

  "Do the fish always return, when grown up, to the river in which theyspawned?"

  "That is disputed. But the large proportion of such fish do not travelvery far from the mouth of the river in which they were born and thenatural impulse for fresh water at spawning-time leads them naturally tothe nearest stream. So, it is imperative that some fish be allowed to goup-stream, or in other words, that salmon-catchers allow a certainproportion to escape their wheels and nets."

  "They ought to be willing enough to do that, I should think," saidColin; "it's for their own good in the long run."

  "A lot of them want quick profits now, without any regard for thefuture," his host said scornfully. "Of course, there are laws forfishery regulation in many of the States, but inspectors have theirhands full in preventing violations. In Alaska, which is a territorystill, that supervision is done by the government through the Bureau ofFisheries."

  "It must be a little aggravating to the salmon men, just the same," saidColin thoughtfully, "when they are trying to keep their canningfactories going full blast, to have to allow half the catch to go on upthe stream. But," he continued, "why don't they catch the salmon comingdown the stream again? I should think that would settle the wholequestion."

  "It would," said the professor, "if they came down! But they don't.Every single salmon, male and female, that goes up the river in thespawning season dies up there. None of them ever comes down alive."

  "I don't think they did that way in Newfoundland!" ejaculated Colin insurprise. "When I was staying with my uncle there I saw lots of salmon,and it seemed to me that they went down the river again."

  "They did," was the reply. "The Atlantic or true salmon does not dieafter spawning, but not a single fish of any one of the five differentkinds of Pacific salmon ever spawns twice. Every yard of the shores ofthe upper reaches of Pacific coast rivers is covered almost solidly withdead salmon from September to December!"

  "How awful!"

  "It makes some places uninhabitable," the professor replied. "Where amarket is near enough, the dead fish are collected and sold forfertilizer."

  "Is it the fresh water that kills them?"

  "No," was the reply; "that is one of the most curious features of thelife-history of the Pacific salmon. As soon as the fish are nearly readyfor spawning, all their digestive parts shrivel up, so that they can'teat. In the male salmon, too, the end of the upper lip turns into a sortof hook so that the fish can't even open his mouth wide enough to eatanything. Then in the fresh water their scales turn slimy and, as theyoften get injured trying to leap falls and rapids, all sorts of skindiseases attack them. A salmon in the upper reaches of the Columbiaheadwaters is a pitiful wreck of the magnificent fish that entered it tospawn."

  "Do they go far?"

  "As much as a thousand miles," was the reply. "The quinnat and blueback--or the spring and the sockeye, as they are generally known, takethe long journeys, but the silver or coho, and the humpback and dogsalmon keep to the small streams near the sea. The young fry cannot livein salt water and the instinct of the salmon is to swim up-stream as faras possible, no matter what obstacle is in the way. When they have goneto the very limit, the salmon make pits and holes in the gravel and sandat the bottom of the stream for nests, and drop the eggs in these. Themale salmon immediately afterwards floats over the nests and does hisshare in making sure that the eggs will hatch out."

  "How big are the salmon?" asked the boy.

  "You'll have a chance to see," the professor answered, as he swung thecanoe in to the wharf, at the state hatchery station, "because we'regoing to measure the ones we tag this morning."

  The foreman and one of the men of the station were waiting for them in agood-sized motor boat, towing behind which was a curious-looking affaircomposed of two small barrels fastened together by long slats.

  "Don't you know what that is?" queried the professor, noting Colin'spuzzled look.

  "No, sir."

  "That's a live car. The barrels at each end have enough water in them tosink them to
a certain depth. Then the slats, as you see, are nailedtwo-thirds of the way around the barrels, leaving just enough space forthe water to flow in and out freely. They put the fish in that to towthem home alive. The slats are better than netting because sometimes thefishes catch their scales in the meshes and get hurt."

  The run to the fish-trap was made in a few minutes, and the boat wentinside to the 'pound,' the net was partly hauled up, and the professortook out his punch and the buttons. Colin had put on a pair of rubberboots and oilskin trousers, as had all the rest of the party, and he wasready for anything that came along.

  "Do you want my slicker?" the professor asked him. "You're apt to getsplashed."

  "I don't mind a bit, thanks," answered the boy, rolling up his sleeves;"a little shower-bath will feel good on a hot day like this!"

  "All right, then," the leader of the party declared, "we'll give you achance to make yourself useful. Here you are!"

  Colin took the large flat-bottomed net and awaited further instructions.

  "Catch one of the salmon," he was told; "never mind the rest of thefish. And," he was warned, "don't bring the net clear out of the water."

  "Very well, sir," the boy replied, then his curiosity getting the betterof him, he asked, "Why not?"

  "Because if you do, the salmon will struggle against the meshes of thenet, bruise himself, and probably scrape off some scales. I told you howeasy it is for a fish to get diseased if he loses any of his scales. Ifyou keep the net about four inches below the water, the fish has theresistance of the water to fight against, and it will tire him outquickly without doing any harm."

  "All right," Colin answered, and commenced scooping for the fish. In aminute or two he had a large twenty-pounder in the net and he raised ituntil the bottom was a little below the water, as he had been told.

  "You're right about getting wet!" cried Colin, laughing, as the salmonbegan to whirl and plunge and dance in the net, sending a shower ofwater all over him and nearly blinding him by the force with which thedrops of water struck as they were splashed upwards by the powerfulstrokes of the fish's tail.

  The instant the salmon stopped struggling, the hatchery boatman seizedit by the tail with a strong grip, swung it clear out of the net andover his left arm, laying it immediately on the measuring platform. Thisconsisted merely of a wide board with an upright at one end, a rulegiving both metrical and standard measures being nailed to the side ofthe board. Instantly the measurer called out the length and theprofessor noted it down, the hatchery foreman--famous for his expertnessin judging the weight of a fish--calling out the weight to be recorded.Laying down his pencil, the professor then, with a small punch, made atiny hole in the tail-fin of the salmon, the fish having been thrownover the captor's left arm again, slipped an aluminum button through thehole, and riveted it securely. The entire process took less than aminute and a half, and by the time the salmon had been released andtossed into the water again, Colin was ready with another fish.

  "I don't see why the fish don't die as soon as they come out of thewater!" exclaimed Colin.

  "For nearly a minute, some fish breathe better out of the water than init," the professor answered, "but after that the gills stick togetherand the fish strangles. Two or even three minutes will not injuresalmon, and some fish will recover if they are out of water for hours.Indeed, there are some fish that live out of water most of the time."

  "Live out of water?" the boy said in surprise.

  "Certainly. Some kinds of fish, at least, can't stay in the water verylong, but remain perched up on the rocks."

  "Perching like birds?" Colin said incredulously.

  "I know that sounds a little improbable, but it's true, just the same,"the professor said, smiling. "This is a Fisheries story, not a 'fishstory.' There's a difference. They come from Samoa and belong to theskippy family. Most of them live on the rocks, and they jump from rockto rock instead of swimming. Some of them even are vegetarians--which israre among fish--and their gills are smaller and stouter. Plenty of themare only in the water for a little while at high tide, living in themoist seaweed until the tide rises again."

  Colin was silenced, and he went on vigorously dipping up salmon.

  "How many fish are you going to tag?" the boy asked, when a couple ofhours had passed by.

  "Sixty," the professor answered, "and we must be nearly through, for Ihave only a few buttons left."

  Secretly the boy was much relieved, for his back was tired from stoopingand netting heavy fish for two hours, but he would have worked to utterexhaustion rather than complain. However, within another quarter of anhour, the last fish was dropped over the side and the party was on itsreturn journey.

  "Why don't you stop and see the hatchery?" suggested the professor, inreturn to a host of questions put to him by the boy concerning salmonculture.

  "I'd like to, ever so much, if I might," was the answer, and Colinlooked up at the foreman.

  "Come right along," was the latter's immediate response. "It isn't muchof a place to look at, but you can see whatever there is to see."

  The hatchery itself was simple and bare, as the foreman had suggested,consisting merely of a row of boxes arranged in such a way that waterflowed through them constantly, bringing a steady supply of fresh waterwithout carrying away the light eggs and tiny fry. Colin was thoroughlyinterested, and followed the foreman from place to place, eagerlywatching the processes of hatching the fish and asking unendingquestions.

  HATCHERIES IN MAINE FOR LANDLOCKED SALMON.

  _Courtesy of the U. S. Bureau of Fisheries._]

  "Here," the man said, after he had answered a dozen or more queries."I'll show you just how it's done and you'll learn more from watchingthan I could tell you in a week of talk."

  He led the way to a large pond not far from the hatchery, which wasconnected with a small stream, the water of which was almost entirelyfresh.

  "It's a little early yet for the autumn run," the foreman said, "butmaybe there's some salmon ready for their eggs to be taken. We'll have alook, anyway."

  "Are there any chinook in there?" queried Colin, who was feeling alittle proud of the knowledge he had acquired that morning as to the wayof distinguishing the varieties of salmon.

  "Don't want chinook," was the reply; "they have got to go away up theriver to spawn and wouldn't be in shape if we tried to use them here. Weonly raise humpback and dog here, the hatcheries for chinook and silversalmon are away up the river."

  "Run by the State or the Government?" queried the boy.

  "Both," was the reply, "and quite a few are managed by commercial fishcompanies who are as anxious as any one to see that the annual salmonrun does not grow smaller. Their living depends upon it."

  At his request one of the men commenced scooping up some of the salmonin the pool to see if any of them were ripe, and meantime theforeman--who was still wearing his oilskins--picked up a tin pail,holding it between his knees. In a minute or two the man came in holdinga ripe female salmon.

  "Now watch," the foreman said to Colin, "and you can see the wholeperformance."

  He seized the salmon by the tail, and all the eggs ran down toward thehead. Then, holding the fish head upward, he pressed it slightly, andthe eggs ran out from the vent rapidly, striking the bottom of the panwith considerable force. The foreman had hardly got the eggs when hisassistant came in with a male salmon, and the same plan was repeated,the milt falling upon the eggs. Both male and female salmon then werereturned to the pool. The eggs and milt were shaken violently from sideto side until thoroughly mixed, a little water being added to help themixture. Then he took the pail to the faucet.

  "But you're washing the milt off again!" cried Colin, as the foremanfilled the pail with water.

  "It's had plenty of time to work," was the answer, and the eggs werepoured into a flat pan and washed several times.

  "Now we'll put just a little water in the pan," the foreman continued,"and leave it here to swell."

  "Why should it swell?" aske
d Colin.

  "The egg isn't really full when it comes from the mother fish," theforeman answered, "the yolk rattles around inside the shell, but afterit has been mixed with the milt, it begins to suck up water, and inabout half an hour it's full."

  "What happens next?" queried Colin.

  "That's about all. We put the eggs in frames so that the water has achance to circulate freely, and then we go over the frames once or twicea week to pick out any eggs that may happen to die or not to grow justright."

  "How long does it take before a fish comes out?" Colin askedinterestedly. "About a couple of weeks?"

  "Weeks!" was the surprised answer; "we look for hatching to begin inabout five months, and during all that time every tray of eggs is pickedover once or twice a week. That keeps dead eggs from infecting liveones."

  "You must keep them a long time, then?"

  "Nearly a year altogether. Those in that trough right behind you arejust hatching, they're from the first batch of spawn in the early springrun. Most of them are hatched out now, for you see only a few eggs inthe tray."

  Colin looked in and saw, as the foreman said, only half a dozen eggsleft in the tray, while in the shallow water of the trough below werehundreds of tiny fish, like transparent tadpoles still fastened to theyolk of the egg. Some, which were just hatched, were less thanthree-quarters of an inch long, and scarcely able to move about in thewater because of the great weight of the yolk about the center of theirbodies. A few had consumed a large part of the sac.

  "It'll take them about six weeks to get rid of the yolk," the foremansaid, anticipating the boy's question, "and if they were in a naturalstream they would be able to look after themselves. We feed them tinygrubs and worms and small pieces of liver. From that time on it ismerely a question of giving them the proper food and keeping the troughsclean. When they are five or six months old we set them free."

  "Do you do any work except salmon hatching here?" Colin asked, as, aftera morning spent in the station, they walked toward the pier.

  "No," the foreman answered, "we distribute a million and a half youngfish every year and that keeps us busy enough."

  "Well," said Colin, shaking hands, "I'm ever so much obliged, and Ireally feel now as if I knew something about a hatchery. And I've had ashare in one experiment, anyway!"

  On his return to the cottage he found the professor getting outfishing-tackle.

  "Going out again?" queried Colin.

  "I thought you might like to try a little sport-fishing," was theanswer; "you said you were going down to Santa Catalina, and you mightas well get your hand in. You can stay over another day, can't you?"

  "I suppose I could," Colin answered, "and I should like to catch areally big salmon with a rod and line, not only for the fun of it, butbecause I happen to know that Father's never caught one, and I'd like tobeat him out on something. It's pretty difficult, though, to get aheadof Dad!"

  The professor shook his head with mock gravity.

  "That's not a particularly good motive," he said, "and I don't know thatI ought to increase any boy's stock of conceit. It is usually quite bigenough. But maybe you won't catch anything, and I'll chance it."

  "Oh, but I will catch one," Colin declared confidently; "I'm going totry and get one of the hundred-pounders that I've read about."

  "You'll have a long sail, then," his host replied, "because fish of thatsize don't come far south of Alaskan waters. Twenty-five or thirtypounds is as big as you can look for, and even those will give you allthe sport you want."

  "Very well," Colin responded, a little abashed, "I'll be satisfied."

  "It's rather a pity," the professor said, when, after lunch, they hadstarted for the fishing-grounds in a small catboat, "that you haven'thad a chance to go up to The Dalles to see the salmon leaping up thefalls and the rapids. I think it's one of the most wonderful sights inthe world."

  "I've seen the Atlantic salmon jump small falls," Colin said, "but Idon't think I ever saw one larger than ten or twelve pounds."

  "I have seen hundreds of them fifty to eighty pounds in weight leapingat falls in the smaller Alaskan rivers. I remember seeing twenty orthirty in the air at a time while the water below the falls was boilingwith the thousands of fish threshing the water before their leap."

  "How high can they jump?" asked Colin.

  "About sixteen foot sheer stops even the best of them," the professorsaid, "but there are not many direct falls like that. Nearly all rapidsand falls are in jumps of five or six feet, and salmon can take thateasily. Still, there is a fall nearly twenty feet high that some salmonmust have leaped, for a few have been found above it, and they musteither have leaped up or walked round--there's no other way."

  "How do you suppose they did it?"

  "In a very high wind, probably," the professor answered; "a gale blowingup the canyon might just give the extra foot or two at the end of a highleap."

  As soon as they were about four miles out, the sail was taken in and,following the professor's example, Colin dropped his line over thestern. The shining copper and nickel spoon sank slowly, and the boy paidout about a hundred feet of line. Taking up the oars and with the rodready to hand, Colin rowed slowly, parallel with the shore. Two or threetimes the boy had a sensation that the boat was being followed by somemysterious denizen of the sea, but though in the distance there seemed astrange ripple on the water, nothing definite appeared, and he forgot itfor the moment as the professor got the first strike.

  With the characteristic scream, the reel shrilled out, and the fish tooknearly a hundred feet of line, but the angler held the brake so hardthat the strain rapidly exhausted the fish, and when it turned towardthe boat, the professor's deft fingers reeled at such a speed that theline wound in almost as rapidly as the rush of the fish. As soon as thesalmon saw the boat it tried to break away, but its captor had caught aglimpse of the fish, and seeing that it was not too large for speedyaction, reeled in without loss of time, and gaffed him promptly.

  THIRTY-POUND ATLANTIC SALMON LEAPING FALLS AND RAPIDS INA NEWFOUNDLAND RIVER.

  _By permission of H. K. Burrison._]

  EIGHTY-POUND PACIFIC SALMON LEAPING WATERFALL ON ANALASKA RIVER.

  _Courtesy of the U. S. Bureau of Fisheries._]

  "Small chinook," he said, as he tossed him into the boat.

  He had hardly finished speaking before Colin made a grab for his rod,and the catch was repeated in almost the same manner. This went on untilfive fish had been caught, the last one, which fell to the professor,putting up the most gamy fight of them all. But still it was too easyfor real sport.

  The ripple which Colin had been watching had come nearer, and in thecatching of the last fish, the boat had been brought quite close to it.

  Then, noiselessly, and like a strange vision, out from the undulatingripples rose slowly a creature more fantastic than the boy's wildestdreams. The head was green, with large unwinking, glittering eyes. Inslow contortions, the body, of a transparency that showed the lightthrough, writhed like a tremendous ribbon-snake, and a sharp row ofserrated fins surmounted all its length, from which, near the head,scarlet streamers floated like a mane. A moment thus it held its headerect, then sank below the surface. The boy sat with his eyes fixed uponthe spot where he had seen this weird appearance, unknown andghostly-seeming.

  "Colin," said the professor, and his tone was so imperative that the boyturned sharply, "what is the matter? What are you watching?"

  "I don't know, sir," said the boy; "I don't know much about fish, and Iwas waiting until it came nearer. I was going to say----"

  He stopped suddenly.

  "What?" asked the professor, a little impatiently.

  "You'd laugh at me," the boy answered.

  "You saw----"

  "I saw a big green head with large eyes and spines on its back put itshead out of the water," Colin said doggedly, "and it had a bright redmane. I couldn't think of anything but--but,"--he hesitated and thengulped out,--"a sea-serpent."

  He hal
f feared to look at his companion, feeling that a pitying smilewould greet his news, but after a few seconds' silence, he glanced upand saw that his fellow-fisherman was looking grave and thoughtful. Atthat instant the boy felt a quick snap at his line and he struck, thesalmon whirling away instantly. It was a good fight, and the fish wasfull of grit, sending a curious thrumming sensation up the line that setevery nerve aquiver. At last he got the fish stopped, and had juststarted to reel the big salmon in, when the apparition thrust its headout of the water not twenty feet from the boat. It distracted Colin'sattention, and a few seconds later his line snapped.

  "The salmon's got away," said Colin disgustedly.

  "What does that matter?" said the professor. "We've something else todo."

  "What?"

  "Catch your sea-serpent," was the reply, as the older man pointed to thegreen and scarlet gleam in the water.

  "It must be thirty feet long," Colin said, then realizing that his tonesuggested that he was afraid, he added boldly, "but I'm game. What isit, anyway?"

  "You're not so far off in calling it a sea-serpent," his companion said;"at least, it's more like the fabulous monster than any other fish thatwe know."

  "But how are you going to catch it?" the boy asked.

  "By hand," the professor replied, slipping off his outer clothes.

  "You mean you're going in after it?" queried the boy with amazement.

  "Certainly," the other answered; "it's harmless enough."

  "It doesn't look it," said Colin, but he was not to be outdone, andprepared to follow his host into the water.

  They ran the boat close to the creature, which swam but feebly despiteits immense length, and the professor plunged over the side, holding theloop of a rope. A few strokes took him to the long, ribbon-like form,which was not thicker than a man's body, and he threw his arms about it,back of the head. The fish struggled weakly, but the professor did notlet go, and in a few seconds Colin had brought up the boat. He then tookthe rope, which had been passed around the soft and flabby body. Then,jumping overboard also, the boy helped the professor lift the fish frombelow, for the flesh was so soft that a rope would cut right through it.With great exertion, for the creature was heavy, they got it on board,half swamping the boat in doing so. Despite its size, the strangevisitor from the deep seemed scarcely able to struggle and laymotionless in the boat.

  "What is it?" asked Colin, as he gazed on the snake-body and thestrange head which, with its brilliant crimson mane, was reminiscent ofsome fiery horse of ancient legend.

  "What can it be?" he repeated wonderingly.

  "An oarfish," the professor answered.

  "That isn't what I think it is," Colin replied. "I'm sure it's somethingquite different."

  "What?" asked the professor, smiling.

  "I believe something has killed the sea-serpent at the bottom of the seaand this is its ghost!"