Salmonia; Or, Days of Fly Fishing / In a series of conversations. With some account of the habits of fishes belonging to the genus Salmo

by Sir Humphry Davy

Phys.—Why did you not crimp your trout?

Hal.—We will have him fried. Our poacher prevented me from attending to the preparation; but for frying he is better not crimped, as he is not large enough to give good transverse slices.

Poiet.—This salmon is a good fish, and fresh as you said from the sea. You see the salt-water louse adheres to his sides, and he is bright and silvery, and a thick fish; I dare say his weight is not less than 14lbs., and I know of no better fish for the table than one of that size.

Phys.—It appears to me that so powerful a fish ought to have struggled much longer: yet, without great exertions on your part, in ten minutes he appeared quite exhausted, and lay on his side as if dying: this induces me to suppose, that there must be some truth in the vulgar opinion of anglers, that fish are, as it were, drowned by the play of the rod and reel.

Hal.—The vulgar opinion of anglers on this subject I believe to be perfectly correct: though, to apply the word drowning to an animal that lives in the water is not quite a fit use of language. Fish, as you ought to know, respire by passing water, which always holds common air in solution, through their gills or bronchial membrane, by the use of a system of muscles surrounding the fauces, which occasion constant contractions and expansions, or openings and closings of this membrane, and the life of the fish is dependant on the process in the same manner as that of a quadruped is on inspiring and expiring air. When a fish is hooked in the upper part of the mouth by the strength of the rod applied as a lever to the line, it is scarcely possible for him to open the gills as long as this force is exerted, particularly when he is moving in a rapid stream; and when he is hooked in the lower jaw, his mouth is kept closed by the same application of the strength of the rod, so that no aerated water can be inspired. Under these circumstances he is quickly deprived of his vital forces, particularly when he exhausts his strength by moving in a rapid stream. A fish, hooked in a part of the mouth where the force of the rod will render his efforts to respire unavailing, is much in the same state as that of a deer caught round the neck by the lasso of a South American peon, who gallops forwards, dragging his victim after him, which is killed by strangulation in a very short time. When fishes are hooked foul, that is, on the outside of the body, as in the fins or tail, they will often fight for many hours, and in such cases very large salmon are seldom caught, as they retain their powers of breathing unimpaired; and if they do not exhaust themselves by violent muscular efforts, they may bid defiance to the temper and the skill of the fisherman. A large salmon, hooked in the upper part of the mouth in the cartilage or bone, will sometimes likewise fight for a long while, particularly if he keep in the deep and still parts of the river: for he is able to prevent the force of the hook, applied by the rod, from interfering with his respiration, and by a powerful effort, can maintain his place, and continue to breathe in spite of the exertions of the angler. A fish, in such case, is said to be sulky, and his instinct, or his sagacity, generally enables him to conquer his enemy. It is, however, rarely that fishes hooked in the mouth are capable of using freely the muscles subservient to respiration; and their powers are generally, sooner or later, destroyed by suffocation.

Poiet.—The explanation that you have just been giving us of the effects of playing fish, I confess alarms me, and makes me more afraid than I was before, that we are pursuing a very cruel amusement; for death by strangling, I conceive, must be very laborious, slow, and painful.

Phys.—I think as I did before I was an angler, as to the merciless character of field-sports; but I doubt if this part of the process of the fly-fisher ought so strongly to alarm your feelings. As far as analogies from warm-blooded animals can apply to the case, the death that follows obstructed respiration is quick, and preceded by insensibility. There are many instances of persons who have recovered from the apparent death produced by drowning, and had no recollection of any violent or intense agony; indeed, the alarm or passion of fear generally absorbs all the sensibility, and the physical suffering is lost in the mental agitation. I can answer from my own experience, that there is no pain which precedes the insensibility occasioned by breathing gasses unfitted for supporting life, but oftener a pleasurable feeling, as in the case of the respiration of nitrous oxide. And in the suffocation produced by the gradual abstraction of air in a close room where charcoal is burning, we have the record of the son of a celebrated chymist, that the sensation which precedes the deep sleep that ends in death is agreeable. There is far more pain in recovering from the insensibility produced by the abstraction of air than in undergoing it, as I can answer from my own feelings; and it is, I believe, quite true, what has been asserted, that the pain of being born, which is acquiring the power of respiration, is greater than that of dying, which is losing the power.

Orn.—I have heard, that persons, who have been recovered from the insensibility produced by hanging, have never any recollection of the sufferings which preceded it; and as the blood is immediately determined to the head in this operation, probably apoplectic insensibility is almost instantaneous.

There is on record a very remarkable trial respecting the death of an Italian, who was for many years in the habit of being hanged for the purpose of producing the temporary excitement of organs that had lost their power, and who ultimately fell a victim to this depraved and dangerous practice; but I will not dwell upon this case, which is well authenticated, and which is equally revolting to good feelings and delicacy.

Hal.—The laws of nature are all directed by Divine Wisdom for the purpose of preserving life and increasing happiness. Pain seems in all cases to precede the mutilation or destruction of those organs which are essential to vitality, and for the end of preserving them; but the mere process of dying seems to be the falling into a deep slumber; and in animals, who have no fear of death dependent upon imagination, it can hardly be accompanied by very intense suffering. In the human being, moral and intellectual motives constantly operate in enhancing the fear of death, which, without these motives in a reasoning being, would probably become null, and the love of life be lost upon every slight occasion of pain or disgust; but imagination is creative with respect to both these passions, which, if they exist in animals, exist independent of reason, or as instincts. Pain seems intended by an all-wise Providence to prevent the dissolution of organs, and cannot follow their destruction. I know several instances in which the process of death has been observed, even to its termination, by good philosophers; and the instances are worth repeating: Dr. Cullen, when dying, is said to have faintly articulated to one of his intimates, “I wish I had the power of writing or speaking, for then I would describe to you how pleasant a thing it is to die.” Dr. Black, worn out by age and a disposition to pulmonary hemorrhage, which obliged him to live very low, whilst eating his customary meal of bread and milk, fell asleep, and died in so tranquil a manner, that he had not even spilt the contents of the spoon which he held in his hand. And the late Sir Charles Blagden, whilst at a social meal with his friends, Mons. and Mad. Berthollet and Gay-Lussac, died in his chair so quietly, that not a drop of the coffee in the cup which he held in his hand was spilt.