In countries where there is a decided wet and dry season, fishes are often obliged to migrate or hibernate. In the latter case, when they find they are unable to reach the water they burrow into the soil, remaining in this condition for months, or until the rain comes. This habit has been made the occasion of some remarkable surprises. Thus, a party of hunters were camping upon the edge of a little depression that was absolutely barren. A rainstorm came up suddenly, and soon the depression became a lake. In an hour the croaking of frogs was deafening, and an examination of the surface showed that the place was well stocked with fish. The moment the moisture reached below the surface the fish had revived and made their way up through the mud.
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One of the curators of the British Museum some years ago received a dry and well-packed object that appeared to be a ball of mud. The instructions were to place this in a dish of slightly warm water, which was done. Slowly the ball dissolved, and as it finally fell apart a long eellike fish rolled out, gave several gasps, and began to splash about. The ball of mud had been the hibernating nest of the fish, and had been sent this long distance safely in a tightly packed box.
Travelers in South America are sometimes regaled with wonderful stories regarding the overland trips of certain fishes, and in many instances the accounts have been substantiated. These catfishes exist in vast numbers in the streams and pools, and like their East Indian allies, they migrate overland, presenting a most singular appearance.
Another catfish in South American waters is often seen on partly submerged logs, apparently having the habits of a frog. In England the familiar little fish known as the blenny has a curious habit of basking in the open air at times. This was first noticed by a naturalist named Ross, who kept several of the fishes in an aquarium. He had great difficulty in making them stay in the water. At certain times during the day they would make desperate and often successful attempts to get out. Finally, upon the advice of a friend, he placed a stone in the tank so that part of it was exposed, and out upon it climbed the blennies. They seemed to require air, and from choice spent part of the time out of the water. Singularly enough, this was during the ebb tide, the period when they would naturally be left high and dry in the pools along shore.
You may wonder how these finny wanderers can breathe out of water. All fishes breathe by taking in water, which is supplied with air, and expelling it at the gills, these blood-red organs taking up the oxygen during the contact; but when a fish is out of the water it would seem necessary to have some other means of breathing, and this is the case. They do not carry water or store it, as some have supposed, but the cavities which are found in the head of some are supposed to be for the reception of air; in others the air bladder, which is permeated with blood vessels, serves as a breathing organ or lung.
BIRDS OF THE OCEAN.
THE birds of the ocean, the tireless fliers, long of wing and light of body, the gulls, petrels, and their giant allies, the albatrosses, have always been associated with the romance and mystery that surround ocean life. The appearance of the albatross far out at sea, its silent flight, its somber garb, its complete indifference to the terrors of wind and wave, act strongly upon the imagination.
Albatross.
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So with the petrel, which also defies the storm and gayly trips a measure to the howling gale. It is sacred, and its destruction considered ominous of dire calamity.
The gulls constitute the feathered ornaments of our harbors and shores, their graceful flight, long, slender wings, and striking contrasts in black and white rendering them particularly attractive. On the various portions of the Atlantic and Pacific coasts their breeding places are found; but it is in the South, in isolated regions, that they are seen to the best advantage and in greatest numbers.
It is in the southern seas, on the borders of the Antarctic Ocean, that the most extraordinary phases of oceanic bird life are found. Here is the home of the penguin, the group representing one of the lowest forms of birds. When in the water they are to all intents and purposes fishes, using as fins their paddlelike wings, which appear to be covered with fine scales instead of feathers. In the water they lie prone, diving from wave to wave like seals, and might readily be taken for small cetaceans. When leaving the water they scramble or crawl up rocks on the shore in a clumsy manner, then assuming an upright position and an appearance more extraordinary than ever. In many cases they seem to affect strange attitudes, often standing in line or marching in columns of four or more, or in a single file to the beach, and in certain large forms creating the impression on distant observers that they are men going through some drill or exercise with the regularity which military discipline demands.
The rookeries of the penguins are of vast extent, especially those of the island of Tristan da Cunha, one of the so-called inaccessible islands lying between Cape Horn and the Cape of Good Hope, in the southern ocean. The island is a desolate place, containing about sixteen square miles, nearly circular, with peaks rising to an altitude of 8,300 feet, which are capped with snow nearly the entire year. The locality is cold and barren, yet is the kingdom of the penguins, their cities of millions of inhabitants having been established here for untold centuries.
The rookeries are formed near the water in tracts covered by stout reddish tussock grass, which grows so coarse and in such solid clumps that at the base it is almost as hard as wood. This grass, higher than a man's head, is pierced in every direction by the streets, lanes, and avenues of the penguins or rock hoppers. The bird is one of the most singular of its kind, standing about a foot and a half high, covered with a close-fitting set of feathers much resembling those of the grebe. The general color of the back is slate-blue, while the breast is snow-white. From the base of the bill extends backward a mustachelike plume of a rich sulphur-yellow, which is held erect when the bird is on land, and by its motions gives it a most whimsical appearance. Add to this a bright red bill, richly colored eyes, and wings like paddles, and we have the curious bird that occupies the greater part of this inhospitable region.
Penguins.
<!-- image -->Several years ago an attempt was made to examine thoroughly and map one of these penguin rookeries—a task not only disagreeable but absolutely dangerous in some instances, as shown by several accidents resulting from the combative and aggressive nature of the birds, which not only did not fear the visitors, but resisted their advances all along the line. The party landed on the rocky shore of what appeared to be a street leading up to the tussock rookery. It was about twenty feet wide, and as the boat approached large numbers of penguins were seen passing up the slippery walk or standing in groups in the entrance, where they were readily photographed. As the explorers passed up the street they found themselves in a perfect maze. The grass rose high above their heads, touching at the top and forming arches. The streets led off in every direction, often branching in a manner bewildering to the explorer. The avenues and lanes were packed with birds, the heat was intense, while the noise from ten thousand throats was like thunder.
The streets were the breeding grounds, and so closely placed were the nests and eggs that it was almost impossible to move without stepping upon them. On each nest sat a sharp-beaked bird, its head drawn back, uttering in ferocious guttural, "Caa, caa, urr, urr," the peculiar sulphur-colored mustache vibrating with excitement. It was impossible to avoid them, and the sharp beaks soon began to tell on the legs of the white intruders, so that the birds had to be unceremoniously tumbled aside with sticks and clubs. In one trip the investigators actually feared for their lives and were obliged to run, dashing over the myriads of birds which attacked them with the greatest fury. By making a series of such rushes, with heads down and stopping occasionally in clear places, progress was finally made through a portion of the rookery.
The nest is a simple depression in the soil, in which two greenish-white eggs are laid, and they are placed everywhere without discrimination. The danger of becoming lost or bewildered in this curious labyrinth can hardly be overestimated. Professor Mosely, the English naturalist, who had a remarkable experience in these rookeries, had a "desperate struggle" through the grass and penguins, and "at last had to come back beaten." With his men he literally fought his way over the rookery, and two dogs with the party had to be dragged through, being utterly unable to face the birds; and despite their efforts one dog was finally lost and probably killed by the ferocious throng that had taken possession of at least a quarter of the island, representing in estimated numbers at least four hundred thousand penguins.
At Marion Island the gentoo penguin is found—a tall, finely formed bird with a red, sharp-pointed beak, its back dark and breast white. They afford a good example of the use of the finlike wings as fore limbs, for when pursued they throw themselves upon all fours and dash along, using their wings as hands or feet, throwing the mud and sand so effectively that the follower is glad to give up the chase.
The rookery of Marion Island is distinct from the other portion, and contains all the young and breeding pairs. The sight presented by the young here is a grotesque one. The latter, even when as tall as the parents, are covered with down at least two inches deep, so that as they move about with beaks pointing almost directly upward they look as though they had been inflated. This absurd appearance is increased tenfold when the down begins to give place to the more mature plumage. In some, patches of brown appear on the back, with feathers projecting through; others have merely an exaggerated Elizabethan ruff or collar.
In a corner by themselves the breeding birds are found lying together in slightly stooping positions. When approached they do not move off so readily as the non-breeders, and hold their feet together. No egg is seen by the disturber of their peace, but it is there, and as the penguin moves away it skillfully carries the egg with it, bearing it in a perfect pouch between the legs, holding it in by tucking the feet up beneath. There is absolutely no nest, and in all probability the egg is held in the pouch for nearly the entire seven weeks of incubation, or until the young is hatched, the male doubtless feeding its mate. The birds are very jealous of their positions, and if one of the downy young, which are continually running about uttering a singular whistling cry, infringes on the ground of a breeder, it is immediately attacked in a savage manner.
In this rookery and about it lived numbers of sheathbills that were so tame that when a party of explorers approached they came running up in numbers, exhibiting the liveliest curiosity, uttering a "cluck, cluck," like chickens, only with a half-defiant note. They were pushed aside with sticks, and when a stone was thrown at them they immediately ran up to the thrower as if to see how it was done. The sheathbills were the scavengers of the rookery, and when an egg was broken they at once ran up and ate it. Overhead were flying the most powerful of the gulls, the skuas, also scavengers, and so bold that they swooped down and carried off dead birds almost under the feet of the men.