Several species of these interesting little creatures are known, some living in Florida, where I have seen them among the palmetto leaves.
Many of the insects can be termed mound builders, forming heaps of clay and earth, and in various branches of the animal kingdom we find these curious resemblances to the work of the human mound builders.
THE HOME OF A FISH.
ONCE, while leading his regiment on a long march through the Indian country, General Custer, who was at the head of the column, made a slight detour of a few feet, the long line of horses and men of course following suit.
A movement that was apparently without reason attracted the attention of the soldiers, who, when they came to the spot indicated by the change in the line, looked around in search of the cause. It was only the nest of a meadow lark, containing several little half-feathered birds, and, if I am not mistaken, every man, as he marched by and glanced down at the nest, received an impressive and enduring lesson in humanity. We are, as a rule, too lawless in our dealings with the lower animals, and it is a good plan to assume that they know very much more than we give them credit for, and suffer proportionately.
Very little is known about the home life of fishes. Some are migratory, wanderers in the bed of the ocean, as the mackerel, dogfish, and the allies of the former, constituting the Arabs of the sea, or resembling the people who go South in the winter, returning to their homes in summer. In tropical waters fishes live in certain areas to a great extent, and I have seen the same ones about a certain wreck for years. They are very much influenced by the weather. When it is rough and the surface is ruffled by the wind they lie low near the bottom; but when the wind dies away and the water is as clear as glass, they rise to the surface to bask in the sunshine, often leaping from the water, showing delight in a bright, beautiful day as we do.
Fishes make their homes in various localities. Thus I have known some to live between two piles of an old wharf, where they could always be seen except during pilgrimages for food. Others lived in a bunch of coral, another family in a coral head, some under a certain clump of seaweed, and from these points they rarely strayed to any great distance.
Some of the fishes not only have restricted areas in which to live, but form nests quite as complicated as those of some birds. Perhaps the most familiar example is the stickleback—the curious spiny little guardian of many of our shores. There are a number of kinds of sticklebacks, and nearly all of them are nest builders.
A familiar one is the four-spined variety of this country. Strange to relate, the mother fish takes very little interest in the home, the male being the builder. The nest is placed in various positions; sometimes it is on the bottom, again it hangs pendent from some twig—a marine hammock—or is fastened in the crotch of a submerged branch. The nest is formed of the refuse of the bottom; shreds of weed, bits of material of all kinds that are soft and pliable and can be easily molded into the required shape. If the home is to be suspended, the first timbers, if so we may term them, are hung across a limb and then wound in and out as deftly as a bird would do, until finally we see a collection of material oval in shape and half as large as a tennis ball, but very often much smaller.
But how is it held together? If we had watched the little builder carefully we should have seen that, during the building process, the fish apparently rubbed itself against the sides of the nest every minute or two, often passing entirely around it; and if we were able at this time to examine it, we should see, stretching from point to point, a delicate thread, apparently of silk. These cords bind the nest together, and are taken from a little pore on the under surface of the fish, which explains the movements of the little builder in pressing against the nest. When all is complete we have what a ball of yarn might resemble after it had been in the water for months. Now comes the final work. The home has been built and the inside left until the last. The fish, which is shaped like a wedge, dives at the nest, butting and striking with its bodkinlike little body, finally by mere force of strength pushing its way through the nest, converting it from a bunch of refuse into an object which might be compared to a napkin ring, having a door or opening entirely through it. Finally the female deposits the eggs, which are held in place by the weed, and in due time the young sticklebacks appear. The mother deserts the nest as soon as the eggs are deposited, and the entire duty devolves upon the father, who now mounts guard with a ferocious air, and makes onslaughts upon all who venture near. His favorite position is in the nest, his head projecting from one side and his tail from the other. Here he poises, and with his fins keeps a current of water flowing over the eggs, thus preventing the growth of fungus upon them. As the little fishes appear, the efforts of the parent are redoubled, and I have observed one draw several little wanderers into his mouth and shoot them violently back into the nest. But like other little ones, they are prone to stray from home, and some defy the vigilance of the guardian, and the nest is soon deserted.
Some fishes have a floating home, one of the most interesting being the paradise fish of Asiatic streams. In appearance the fish is a most fantastic creature with long top and bottom fins, resembling plumes more than fins, and calling to mind the so-called angel fishes of the tropical waters.
I once observed a paradise fish in the act of making its nest. My attention was first attracted by its movements. It was evidently laboring under some extraordinary excitement, swimming rapidly to and fro, and when passing its companion in the tank opening its gill covers so widely that the red gills were visible. Finally the little creature rose to the surface, and with an audible sound inhaled air, then sank again, and allowed the air to escape in bubbles that rose upward and retained their place.
Nest of the Paradise Fish.
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The act of inhaling air was repeated until the bubbles accumulated to such an extent that in half an hour they formed a raft, somewhat resembling that of the beautiful marine snail, ianthina, and almost as large as a silver half-dollar. This was the nest of the paradise fish, in many instances made thicker and larger, each bubble being a buoy enveloped in a mucous envelope taken from the fish's mouth.
Amid the bubbles of this gleaming raft the eggs are deposited and held until the young are hatched, the soft portions of their home forming their first food. Such a nest adrift upon the waters can hardly be called a home in our acceptation of the term, yet it is the home of hundreds of little paradise fishes.
Another floating nest which it has been my good fortune to see is that of the little fish antennarius, a long name given to a very short and peculiar fish that lives in the Sargasso Sea, in the Gulf Stream, and almost invariably floats with the sargassum or weed at the surface.
The nest of the antennarius is sargassum, collected and bound up into a ball, sometimes as large as a Dutch cheese. The fronds and leaves are held together just as in the case of the stickleback's nest, the fish taking a secretion from its body, which appears to harden on contact with the water, and constitutes strong bands. The eggs are not placed in the nest, but are fastened to the various parts, resembling little white shot all over the surface. When the young appear they find protection in the ball, and their first food is found on the delicate plants and animals that grow there. I have found these little wanderers in the Gulf Stream off Cuba in great numbers, every large patch of floating weed repaying a visit, and producing not only the fish, but a large variety of animal forms, all protected by their wonderful resemblance to the weed.
That a fish could build a nest sufficiently large to stop a boat would seem incredible; yet when rowing along in a little bay among the Thousand Islands, my boat grounded upon such a nest, that had been built up from the bottom to within less than a foot of the surface.
The nest belonged to the chub, and was made of small stones and pebbles brought one by one from the surrounding bottom and heaped up. Thousands of pieces were used in some of these nests, which were five or six feet across, three or four feet in height, and must have weighed over half a ton. The nest is a stone castle, to some extent conical in form, and on its surface the eggs of not one, but several of the fish, are dropped, finding protection in the crevices from the catfish and other kidnapers and egg eaters of the river. Here the young are hatched, finding security until they are large enough to stray away.
The large size of these nests shows that they are the work of years, and are continually used season after season. I searched the bottom for many feet around some of them, but no pebbles were to be found, showing that the little builders had brought their material from some distance, and probably added to it year after year.
DIPODOMYS.
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THE home of Dipodomys was on the slope of the Sierra Madre Mountains, where they reach up from the San Gabriel Valley, and a more beautiful place could hardly be imagined.
It was in the month of February, and not a mile away, on the mountains, great banks of snow gleamed brightly in the sunlight, and the tops of huge firs could be seen bowed with snow; yet about the home of Dipodomys, which was a burrow in the ground, there spread away a wealth of flowers of such intense golden hue that it was said in former days the sailors who saw it from far away on the ocean called the spot the "land of fire." The color came from the wild poppy, which fairly covered the fields, winding away in great rivers of gold—a strange contrast to the snowbanks so near at hand.
The home of Dipodomys was just beneath a cluster or clump of these brilliant poppies, and as he lay, perhaps half asleep, the bees and butterflies fluttered and buzzed about his door, and richly colored beetles climbed into the poppies late in the afternoon to be shut up for the night.
The story of these days was in the main lost to Dipodomys, as he rarely ventured forth between sunrise and sunset. It was when the great shadows came creeping out of the canyons, and the mountains were lost in the purple haze, that his fierce, bewhiskered face would appear at the mouth of his burrow, and with a leap he would bound into the field of flowers.
It was at such a time that Dipodomys and his future owner met. Something jumped into the air, again and again, and by rare good fortune fell upon a patch of sand, where it was caught without difficulty, and, proving to be Dipodomys, was carried into the house and examined by many curious eyes.