flying-fish, and would probably be seen by the Coryphenes, rig up a very long bamboo rod, tie to its end a large bundle of leaves and fibres, and then fix it in the stern of the boat, the sham bird being hung some twenty feet above the sham fish. There is a refinement of deception here, for which we should scarcely give such savages their due credit.
In Art, then, we bait our hooks either with real or false food, and so attract the fish.
In Nature we have a most accomplished master of the art of baiting, who has the wonderful power of never needing a renewal of his bait. A glance at the left-hand figure of the next illustration will show that I allude to the Angler-fish, sometimes called the Fishing-frog (Lophius piscatorius). This remarkable creature has a most enormous mouth, and comparatively small body. On the top of its head are some curious bones, set just like a ring and staple, so as to move freely in every direction. A figure of this piece of mechanism will be given in a future page. At the end of these bones are little fleshy appendages, which must be very tempting to most fish, which are always looking out for something to eat. As they are being waved about, they look as if they were alive. The fish darts at the supposed morsel, and is at once engulfed in the huge jaws of the Angler-fish, which, but for this remarkable apparatus, would be scarcely able to support existence, as it is but a sluggish swimmer, and yet needs a large supply of food. The illustration, representing on the right hand a fish attracted to a bait, and on the left, the Angler-fish, with its bait-like appendage to the head, speaks for itself.
Passing to the art of Angling with a rod and line, we now arrive at another development.
Supposing a fish to have taken the bait, and to have been firmly hooked, how is it to be landed? The simplest plan is, of course, to have a very thick and strong line which will not break with the weight of any ordinary fish.
This is very well in sea-fishing, where a line made of whip-cord will answer the purpose in most cases. But, in river fishing, we have the fact that the fish are so shy that a linen thread would scare them, and so strong and active, that even whip-cord would not prevent them from breaking the line, or tearing the hook out of their mouths. So the modern angler sets himself to the task of combating both these conditions. In the first place, he makes the last yard or two of his line of “silkworm-gut”—a curious substance made from the silk-vessels of silkworms, and nearly invisible in the water. In the next place, he has a very elastic rod; and, in the third, he has forty or more yards of line, though perhaps only twenty feet are in actual use until the fish is hooked. The remainder of the line is wound upon a winch fixed to the handle of the rod. Thus, when a powerful fish is hooked and tries to escape, the line is gradually let loose, so as to yield to its efforts. When it becomes tired by the gradual strain, the line is again wound in, and in this way a fish which would at the first effort smash rod and line of a novice will, in the hands of an experienced fisherman, be landed as surely as if it were no bigger than a gudgeon.
Nature has in this case also anticipated Art, and surpassed all her powers.
There is a wonderful worm, common on our southern coasts, and bearing, as far as I know, no popular name. It is known to the scientific world as Nemertes Borlasii. It possesses the power of extension and contraction more than any known creature, and uses those powers for the purpose of capturing prey. The fishermen say that this worm can extend itself to a length of ninety feet, and as Mr. Davis found one to measure twenty-two feet, after being immersed in spirits of wine, it is likely that their account may be true, especially as the spirit greatly contracted the animal in point of length.
A most vivid description of this worm is given by C. Kingsley, in his “Glaucus,” and was written before he knew its name.
“Whether we were intruding or not, in turning this stone, we must pay a fine for having done so; for there lies an animal as foul and monstrous to the eye as ‘hydra, gorgon, or chimæra dire,’ and yet so wondrously fitted to its work that we must needs endure for our own instruction to handle and to look at it. Its name I know not (though it lurks here under every stone), and should be glad to know. It seems some very ‘low’ Ascarid or Planarian worm.
“You see it? That black, shiny, knotted lump among the gravel, small enough to be taken up in a dessert spoon. Look now, as it is raised and its coils drawn out. Three feet, six, nine at least; with a capability of seemingly endless expansion; a slimy tape of living caoutchouc, some eighth of an inch in diameter, a dark chocolate black, with paler longitudinal lines.
“Is it alive? It hangs helpless and motionless, a mere velvet string, across the hand. Ask the neighbouring Annelids and the fry of the rock-fishes, or put it into a vase at home, and see. It lies motionless, trailing itself among the gravel; you cannot tell where it begins or ends; it may be a dead strip of seaweed, Himanthalia lorea, perhaps, or Chorda filum, or even a tarred string.
“So thinks the little fish who plays over and over it, till he touches at last what is too surely a head. In an instant a bell-shaped sucker mouth has fastened to his side. In another instant, from one lip, a concave double proboscis, just like a tapir’s (another instance of the repetition of forms), has clasped him like a finger; and now begins the struggle: but in vain. He is being ‘played’ with such a fishing-line as the skill of a Wilson or a Stoddart never could invent; a living line, with elasticity beyond that of the most delicate fly-rod, which follows every lunge, shortening and lengthening, slipping and twining round every piece of gravel and stem of seaweed, with a tiring drag such as no Highland wrist or step could ever bring to bear on salmon or on trout.
“The victim is tired now; and slowly, and yet dexterously, his blind assailant is feeling and shifting along his side, till he reaches one end of him; and then the black lips expand, and slowly and surely the curved finger begins packing him end foremost down into the gullet, where he sinks, inch by inch, till the swelling which marks his place is lost among the coils, and he is probably macerated to a pulp long before he has reached the opposite extremity of his cave of doom.
“Once safe down, the black murderer slowly contracts again into a knotted heap, and lies, like a boa with a stag inside him, motionless and blest.”
The accuracy as well as the pictorial effect of this description cannot be surpassed. The “velvety” feel of the creature is most wonderful, as it slips and slides over and among the fingers, and makes the task of gathering it together appear quite hopeless.
This astonishing worm is drawn on the left hand of the illustration on page 93, so as to show the way in which the body is contracted or relaxed at will. On the other side of the illustration is an angler, armed with all the paraphernalia of his craft, and doing imperfectly that which the Nemertes does with absolute perfection.
A similar property belongs to the long, trailing tentacles of the Cydippe, which is described and figured on page 16. When they come in contact with suitable prey, all struggle is useless, the tentacles contracting or elongating to suit the circumstances, and at last lodging the prey within the body of the Cydippe.
The Spring-trap.
We are all familiar with the common Spring-trap, or Gin, as it is sometimes called.
It varies much in form and size, sometimes being square and sometimes round; sometimes small enough to be used as a rat-trap, and sometimes large enough to catch and hold human beings, in which case it was known by the name of man-trap. This latter form is now as illegal as the spring-gun, and though the advertisement “Man-traps