A Memoir of Thomas Bewick / Written by himself

by Thomas Bewick

It will readily be perceived, that the fishers’ weirs are made chiefly with a view of preventing their neighbour fishers from coming in for their due share; but, were the fisheries let, as before named, the different fishing places would then be planned out by the stewards, as well as remedying other faults with an impartial hand. There are, besides weirs and dams, other causes which occasion the falling off of the breed of salmon, by greatly preventing them from entering and making their way up rivers for the purpose of spawning. They have a great aversion to passing through impure water, and even snow-water stops them; for they will lie still, and wait until it runs off. The filth of manufactories is also very injurious, as well as the refuse which is washed off the uncleaned streets of large towns by heavy rains. Were this filth in all cases led away and laid on the land, it would be of great value to the farmer, and persons should be appointed to do that duty, not in a slovenly or lazy manner, but with punctuality and despatch. In this the health and comfort of the inhabitants of towns ought to be considered as of great importance to them, as well as that of keeping the river as pure as possible on account of the fish.

Should the evils attendant upon weirs and dams, and other matters, be rectified, then the next necessary step to be taken should be the appointment of river conservators and vigilant guards to protect the kipper, or spawning fish, from being killed while they are in this sickly and imbecile state. They are then so easily caught, that, notwithstanding they are very unwholesome as food, very great numbers are taken in the night, which are eaten by poor people, who do not know how pernicious they are. But, should all these measures be found not fully to answer public expectation, the time now allowed for fishing might be shortened, and in some years, if ever found necessary, the fishing might be laid in for a season.

The next important question for consideration, is respecting what can be done to prevent the destruction of salmon on their first entering a river, and while they are in full perfection, by their most powerful and most conspicuously destructive enemy, the porpoise.

I have seen a shoal of porpoises, off Tynemouth, swimming abreast of each other, and thus occupying a space of apparently more than a hundred yards from the shore, seawards, and crossing the mouth of the river, so that no salmon could enter it. They went backward and forward for more than a mile, along shore, and with such surprising rapidity that, in their course, they caused a foam to arise, like the breakers of the sea in a storm. Might not a couple of steam packets, with strong nets, sweep on shore hundreds of these at a time? Perhaps by giving premiums for catching them they might be greatly thinned, and their tough skins be tanned, or otherwise prepared, so as to be applied to some use. Oil might be obtained partly to pay for the trouble of taking this kind of fish; and, lastly, they might be used as an article of food. They were eaten formerly even by the gentry: and why not make the attempt to apply them to that purpose again? Perhaps, by pickling or drying them, and by other aids of cookery, they might prove good and wholesome; for every animal in season is so, which, when out of season, is quite the reverse.

If the parent fishes of the salmo tribe were protected, the fry would soon be seen to swarm in incredible numbers, and perhaps a pair of them would spawn more than all the anglers from the source to the mouth of any river could fairly catch in one season. Having from a boy been an angler, it is with feelings painfully rankling in my mind that I live in dread (from hints already given) of this recreation being abridged or stopped. Angling has from time immemorial been followed, and ought to be indulged in unchecked by arbitrary laws, as the birthright of everyone, but particularly of the sedentary and the studious. It is cruel to think of debarring the fair angler, by any checks whatever; the salmon fishers may, indeed, begrudge to see such fill his creel with a few scores of the fry; because what is taken might in a short time return to them as full-grown salmon (for all fish, as well as birds, return to the same places where they were bred); but, for reasons before named, this selfishness should not be attended to for a moment, and the fisheries ought to be taken subject to this kind of toll or imaginary grievance.

I have always felt extremely disgusted at what is called preserved waters (except fish ponds); that is, where the fish in these waters are claimed exclusively as private property. The disposition which sets up claims of this kind is the same as would—if it could—sell the sea, and the use of the sun and the rain. Here the angler is debarred by the surly, selfish owner of the adjoining land, the pleasure of enjoying the most healthful and comparatively the most innocent of all diversions. It unbends the minds of the sedentary and the studious, whether it may be those employed at their desks, or “the pale artist plying his sickly trade,” and enables such to return to their avocations, or their studies, with renovated energy, to labour for their own or for the public good. But as any thing, however good in itself, may be abused, therefore some regulations should be laid down as a guide to the fair angler in this his legitimate right, and some check imposed upon the poacher, who might be inclined to stop at nothing, however unfair. I think Waltonian societies would be all-sufficient to manage these matters, if composed of men of good character and good sense. There ought to be one of these societies established in the principal town in each district, and to have its honorary members branched out into the more distant parts. Perhaps a fine imposed, or even the frowns of the society, might be sufficient to deter poachers. The object ought to be, to regulate the times for angling, and to discountenance, or send to Coventry, such as spend almost the whole of their time in “beating the streams.” They ought also to keep a watchful eye over such as care not how or in what manner they take fish, so as they may only get plenty of them. The “Honourable Society of Waltonians” ought to use every means in their power to protect the “glittering inhabitants of the waters” from being unfairly taken or destroyed. Pought nets ought to be prohibited, as well as all catching of the salmon fry in mill races, by putting thorn bushes into them, to stop their passing through, and then letting off the water. In this way, a cart load of these have often been known to be taken at once. Another method, still more destructive than this, is far too often put in practice; that is, what is called liming the burns. This ought to be utterly put a stop to by severe punishments. A clown, from ignorance,—but, perhaps, from something worse,—puts a few clots of unslaked, or quick, lime into a pool, or hole, in a burn, for the sake of killing a few trouts that he sees in it; and thus poisons the water running down to the rivulet, or the river, destroying every living creature to such a distance as may seem incredible. The attentive angler must sometimes have observed the almost invisible, incipient, living spawn in thousands, appearing only like floating mud, sunning themselves on a shallow sand-bank, which, as soon as the water thus poisoned reaches them, they drop down like mud indeed, and are no more seen.

How vividly do recollections of the enjoyment angling has afforded me return to the mind, now when those days have passed away, never more to return. Like the pleasing volume of the patriarch of anglers—Izaac Walton—volumes might yet be written to point out and to depicture the beautiful scenery of woods and water sides, in the midst of which the pleasures attendant upon this exhilarating and health-restoring, hungry, exercise is pursued. How many narratives of the exploits of the days thus spent might be raked up to dwell upon, when they are all over, like a pleasing dream!

Well do I remember mounting the stile which gave the first peep of the curling or rapid stream, over the intervening, dewy, daisy-covered holme—boundered by the early sloe, and the hawthorn-blossomed hedge—and hung in succession with festoons of the wild rose, the tangling woodbine, and the bramble, with their bewitching foliage—and the fairy ground—and the enchanting music of the lark, the blackbird, the throstle, and the blackcap, rendered soothing and plaintive by the cooings of the ringdove, which altogether charmed, but perhaps retarded, the march to the brink of the scene of action, with its willows, its alders, or its sallows—where early I commenced the days’ patient campaign. The pleasing excitements of the angler still follow him, whether he is engaged in his pursuits amidst scenery such as I have attempted to describe, or on the heathery moor, or by burns guttered out by mountain torrents, and boundered by rocks or grey moss-covered stones, which form the rapids and the pools in which is concealed his beautiful yellow and spotted prey. Here, when tired and alone, I used to open my wallet and dine on cold meat and coarse rye bread, with an appetite that made me smile at the trouble people put themselves to in preparing the sumptuous feast; the only music in attendance was perhaps the murmuring burn, the whistling cry of the curlew, the solitary water ouzel, or the whirring wing of the moor game. I would, however, recommend to anglers not to go alone; a trio of them is better, and mutual assistance is often necessary.

It is foreign to my purpose to give any history, in this place, of the various kinds of fishes which anglers pursue; of this there is no need, for, I think, more treatises on this subject than on any other have been printed, to direct the angler to perfection in his art. But I cannot help noticing, as matter of regret, that more pains have not been taken to multiply fish, and to increase the breed of eels, as every permanent pool might so easily be fully stocked with them; and the latter are, when properly cooked, the most delicious of all fish kind. Walton has been particular in describing his mode of cooking them; but, unless he killed them beforehand, his method is a very cruel one.

In thus dwelling on subjects which stimulate man eagerly to pursue the work of destruction, and to extend his power over those animals of which he considers himself as the lord and master, and that they are destined to contribute to his pleasures or to his support, yet he ought not totally to forget that what is sport to him is death to them, and that the less of cruelty the better.