Evening star., 1923-08-12

lived along the middle Atlantic coast
had an inspiration. This story cannot
go into details concerning the birth
of that inspiration, for there aren't
any. But this Indian caught himself
a fish and, while the other braves
and squaws gathered about TO give
him the merry ha ha, he dropped
that fish into a hole. covered it over
with dirt, planted grain of corn.
shrugged his shoulders and walked
away. mumbling, He who laughs last
laughs best" or words TO that effect.
Along in the fall of that same year
the Indians were harvesting their
corn. the braves lying back under
the trees and criticizng the squaws,
who were doing all the work. Sud
denly a Squaw squawked. Now,
when a squaw squawked in those
days. history tells US, there was some
thing doing, and the first squawk OF
this squaw brought every Indian
brave TO his feet. They rushed to the
squawking squaw, who, bereft OF
speech. pointed to a stalk of corn.
1t was some stalk. 1t raised its
tasfels proudly above the puny stalks
surrounding il and shook gently. as
with laughter, in the breeze. 1t was
a stalk such as had never been seen
before in those parts. and the chiefs
were on the point of sending for
Hiavatha TO explain IL all when that
bame old brave who had planted the
fish walked into the circle and began
to make sounds strikingly resembling
what is known as the modern horse
laugh.
When his emotion subsided he re-
called to his astonished hearers the
fish incident. And thereafter no hill
OF Indian corn was complete without
its fish. The old Indian who first
planted the fish got job in the In
dian department of agriculture and
worked himself to death writing
monographs on the relation of fish to
the corn industry.
When the first pilgrims along tho
New England coast began raising
corn the Indians impaired The secret
of the fish, and from that day to this
the descendants of the first fish ever
buried In a hill OF corn have been
caught that they, too, may be buried
likewise. And now, after much wait
ing. we have come to our story.
Menhaden fsh, a member Of the
herring tribe. have been swimming up
and down the Atlantic coast In count
less numbers from time immemorial
There Is nothing to indicate how
many there used to be nor how many
there are today, so there is no way
of knowing whether their numbers
have decreased. They swim about
with their mouths wide open and
strain the water which enters those
gaping mouths through fne hairs,
which catch and hold the microscopic
diatoms floating about in the water.
There Is no record OF one Of these
fish ever shutting his mouth to swal-
low. but nature sees TO II that the
diatoms find their way somehow into
the fish's tummy and there undergo
the ordinary processes Of being trans
formed into the things that make up
q nice. fat. healthy fish. The men,
haden becomes fat and full of bones
at the same time-if these two char
acteristics may be reconciled-so he
is no good for human consumption.
This may have accounted for the
hunch which struck our Indian hero
a few hundred words above. He may
have reasoned that the fish was bound
to be good for something If he wasn't
good to eat, and he tried it on the
corn.
TODAY the menhaden which still
l. swarm up and down the Atlantic
he 1h
the hundreds of millions, and their
catching has developed a picturesque
industry which transforms the fish
in various ways into ham and eggs
for the breakfast table, soap for
fathers morning shave and fertilizer
for the farmers corn.
About $50 miles by water from
Washington, down on Chesapeake bay
near the mouth of the Great WI
comico, lies the village of Reedville.
1t is a town of 600 people and IL Is
tho center of the menhaden industry
In the United States. 1t 10 one OF the
richest towns for it's size in the coun-
try. and not long ago it's bank was
the richest bank, reckoning by way OF
per capita deposits, in the United
States. For this reason Reedville has
been chosen as the start and the end
ing OF a personally conducted visit to
the menhaden fishing grounds this
writer is going to attempt to give
anybody who wants to read along.
We are approaching Reedviile from
the bay. II the wind is blowing off
shore we know we are coming TO
Reedville long before we can make
out the factory smokestacks which
mark 1t along the shore. For Reed
vflie believes in advertising, and
every whispering zephyr which comes
from Reedvilie bears tidlngs that
there are Ash not far distant-de-
ceased hsh. And where ReedyiiIe is
there are hsh. We will not 70 into
tho town of Reedville Just yet. but
hold our noses and sprinkle lilac
water about while the boat seeks a
factory wharf and docks. For II is
getting late now and boats will soon
start for the a5hing grounds.
We get aboard a Reedvilie fishing
boat, a steamer. and meet the captain.
steamer Is no rough, unkempt sea-
faring person az pictured In the story
books. Rather. he IL a polished gem
tieman. wearing overalls for the time
being. Captains OF menhaden fishing
boats are men worthy OF their hire
and their hire ranges from $1,000 to
$4,000 a year. The success Of the
cruise. lasting anywhere from twenty
four hours to three or four days
usually depends upon the captain