A SCOTTISH MARINE STATION.
The ocean has been watched and studied for ages in innumerable aspects—it has been looked at from points of view wide asunder as the poles—it has been sung of by poets, and fished in by fishermen, and sailed over by sailors for thousands of years; but it is still a region of mystery and wonder. There are very many things about the sea which are quite unknown to this day; in fact, the science of marine phenomena is yet in its early youth, only emerging from its infancy. The study of the physical, chemical, and biological conditions of the sea has always been surrounded by a sort of halo of romance, a scientific glamour that almost led men to believe that such research was like fishing—valuable results might be looked for in return for little labour, if the proper opportunity could be found. But the opportunity only occurred at wide intervals, and then the happy few who were fortunate enough to form the scientific staff of such expeditions as that of the Challenger were regarded with unmixed envy by the many who were eager to do similar work if they could get the chance.
The wonders discovered by the chief scientific cruises of recent years have greatly increased the interest of the public in the science of the sea, and this public interest has quite lately assumed a tangible form in the foundation of the Scottish Marine Station for Scientific Research at Granton, near Edinburgh. To understand the importance and value of this Station, one must know something of the difficulties presented to any one who wishes to solve some special problem connected with the life which swarms in the waters around our coasts. He must rely on the help of fishermen for collecting specimens; and if he cannot go to the expense of hiring a boat and crew, he requires to content himself with any selection of their ‘rubbish’ which they may be pleased to make. Should he wish to examine any locality minutely, he must purchase a dredge and tow-nets, leads and lines, and bottles and boxes to contain the specimens which may be obtained. The difficulty is only half overcome when the work of collecting is over. It is impossible to convey the creatures alive to any distance; and after a few attempts to do so, the naturalist either hires a room in the fishing-village for his work, or gives up the study of marine life altogether; unless he steer a middle course, and content himself with a bare enumeration of species and a description of the external appearance of his specimens.
The individual who is desirous of making chemical or physical observations on the wide sea is in a still more evil case. His apparatus is more costly and more complicated than that of the biologist; it is less easy to manage in a boat not specially adapted for the purpose; and the immediate vicinity of a laboratory is of the first importance. The obstacles, in fact, are so numerous, that observations of this nature have been almost entirely neglected in Great Britain. Now and then, it is true, the fire of scientific enthusiasm burns strong enough in a man to enable him to overcome all difficulties, and to carry on a brilliant research with complete success to a satisfactory conclusion. The work of such men is monumental; but they do not appear many times in a century. The name of one marine chemist is associated with Edinburgh; it is that of Dr John Murray, who in the year 1816 made a series of researches on sea-water collected at Trinity. His work settled a most important point of theoretical chemistry, and it is referred to as of value to this day.
That the progress of marine research was hindered by the trouble and expense of carrying it out—and in honesty it must be said that the latter was always the more powerful deterrent—has long been apparent; and for many years attempts, more or less successful, have been made to remedy this state of affairs. In response to energetic appeals from various learned Societies, government has repeatedly lent gunboats for scientific purposes, and the Porcupine, Lightning, Triton, and other ships have done much good work. The culmination of government enterprise was reached in 1873, when the Challenger was fitted out for an entirely scientific cruise, and circumnavigated the world investigating the phenomena of the ocean everywhere. How much was accomplished by the three years’ voyage can only be realised by those who are familiar with the thirteen large volumes which have been already published describing the collections and observations; but the general reader may form an idea of the magnitude of the work done by reflecting that specialists have been engaged in examining and describing the collections since the return of the ship in 1876, and that this work is still in progress.
Since the return of the Challenger, a number of short scientific trips have been made in the vicinity of the British coast by gunboats and hired vessels; and the results of these have been such as to show the extreme advisability of something more permanent being set on foot. The success of the Marine Observatories at Naples and at Marseilles, and of the small movable laboratory kept up for two summers by the university of Aberdeen, proved that Marine Stations were practicable and desirable. It was the consideration of the difficulties in the way of young men who wished to devote themselves to the examination of marine phenomena, but who were unable of themselves to meet the great expense of such work, that led Mr John Murray, Director of the Challenger Expedition Commission, to start a Marine Station in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh. A submerged quarry on the shore at Granton, which quarry has been in communication with the sea for nearly thirty years, was selected as the site, and a floating laboratory was formally opened there during the festivities of the Edinburgh University Tercentenary celebration this spring.
The Marine Station has now been open for several months, and the working arrangements have attained a certain degree of completeness. The accommodation which exists at present includes a floating laboratory, ‘the Ark,’ where zoological, botanical, and chemical work is being carried on by the permanent staff and other investigators. There is also a steam-yacht, the Medusa, fitted out with all the arrangements for trawling, dredging, sounding, and taking the other necessary observations. She is manned by an efficient crew, and has the advantage of the services of an engineer who was on the Challenger during her scientific cruise. The Medusa is a capital seaboat, though, from her small size, when in rough weather, she sometimes tries the sea-going capabilities of the workers. The creatures brought up by the dredge or trawl are kept alive in boxes, the water in which must be changed at intervals, though, when there is a heavy sea and a head-wind, as often happens, this service is performed by the waves, which break over the bows in magnificent spray showers, very beautiful to watch from the dry security of the after-cabin. On arriving at the Ark, the animals are transferred to aquaria or glass dishes, in which a constant current of thoroughly aërated sea-water can be kept up, and in these they live very happily. The larger specimens are usually placed in wire cages moored to the Ark, where they enjoy all the advantages of life except freedom. For short excursions in the neighbourhood of Granton, there is a good sailing-boat, the Raven; and work in the haven in which the Ark lies can also be carried on by the little Dove, and the two Norwegian skiffs belonging to the Station, whose names, Appendicularia and Asymptote, are mystifying to the uninitiated. A row round the quarry at low water reveals the immense richness of the vegetable and animal life which inhabits its waters. There are growths of sponges of different colour, with gracefully interlacing branches like a coral grove, where bright-hued sea-anemones spread their tentacles, and crabs and other crustacea crawl and swim about at their pleasure. And not only are the commoner forms of marine life abundant; rarer species may be found frequently. The beautiful nudibranch mollusc Eolus lives in the quarry; and the great fifteen-spined-stickleback builds its nest there, and it has been seen keeping guard over its door while its mate and young remain comfortably within.
The work which is being carried on at the Marine Station at present is divided between four workers. Mr J. T. Cunningham, the naturalist in charge, is making a research into the development of the Teleostian fishes, the great group to which most of our food-fishes, such as the cod, herring, and haddock, belong. Mr J. R. Henderson has commenced to form a collection of all the animal life of the Firth of Forth; while Mr John Rattray is proceeding with a similar collection of the algæ or seaweeds, and is also making a detailed study of the diatoms of the district, a piece of work which has never previously been attempted. Mr Hugh Robert Mill has charge of the daily meteorological observations at the Station, and he is working at the chemical and physical study of estuary-water, examining the variations in saltness and in temperature which occur from the fresh water to the open sea, and comparing them at different seasons. The work at the Station is thus seen to be purely scientific; and the results which will ultimately be obtained must be of great practical importance. Any scientific man is welcomed to work at the Station on special problems, without charge, and several gentlemen have taken advantage of the privilege.
It may give a better idea of the working of the various departments if the actual methods employed be shortly described.
Zoological specimens are collected in various ways. The ‘trawl’ is a wide-meshed net tied up at one end. The net’s mouth is attached above to a stout wooden beam that unites two iron runners; the lower side is a strong cable, the ground-rope, which rubs along the sea-bottom. The fish, alarmed by the ground-rope, rise up and are caught in the net, which is carried along so rapidly that escape is impossible. In using the trawl the vessel must steam quickly, and the ground trawled over must be free from rocks. It is only employed for the capture of the larger kinds of fish, such as flounders, haddock, and cod. The ‘dredge’ is the true naturalist’s implement. It is a small-meshed net, closed at one end, and fixed to a rectangular iron frame at the other. When drawn along, it scrapes the bottom, and brings up everything that it encounters, mud and shells, and all living creatures that are not quick enough to get away. After a run over good ground, when the dredge is hauled up—an operation that is performed on the Medusa by a gun-metal wire-rope and a steam winch—and emptied on deck, the profusion of animal life that lies in a struggling heap before one is quite bewildering. There are pectens and oysters, alcyonarians (usually known as ‘dead-men’s-fingers’), sea-anemones of all sizes and colours, swimming-crabs and spider-crabs and soldier-crabs, whelks and mussels, zoophytes and algæ, ascidians (commonly called ‘sea-squirts’), sponges, sea-urchins, star-fishes of every kind from the magnificent sun-star, ‘rose-jacynth to the finger-tips,’ to the common brittle-star and ‘five-fingers;’ and there are other things more than can be numbered. The dredge and trawl explore the bottom, but are useless for collecting specimens from the surface or intermediate depths; and ‘tow-nets’—bags of muslin or canvas sewn on hoops and drawn after the vessel—are employed for this purpose. The creatures caught in the tow-net are usually small; when the contents of the net are placed in a bottle, the water seems full of bright spots darting about in all directions; but under the microscope the specks discover themselves to be beautifully formed crustaceans shining in glassy armour. But the tow-net often catches larger things. An exquisite transparent medusa or jelly-fish, its umbrella several inches in diameter, rayed with purple, and carrying a fringe of graceful pendent tentacles, is often brought on board its namesake; and hosts of smaller species of these beautiful creatures are always to be found. It is in the tow-net, too, that the floating ova of fishes, about which there has been so much discussion recently, are caught.
The chemical and physical work done at sea is chiefly the collection of samples of water and the observation of temperature. Water from any moderate depth is collected by lashing a bottle to the sounding-line and lowering it to the proper point; the stopper is then pulled out by a cord and the bottle allowed to fill. The water in the bottle is not changed in its ascent, as the mouth is narrow and it always hangs vertically. When the sea is rough or the depth is great, it is necessary to employ some other means. The ‘slip-water-bottle’ is convenient for most purposes. It consists of a brass disc covered with india-rubber, and supporting a central column to which the line is attached. This is lowered to the required depth, and then a hollow brass cylinder, open below, but closed above except for a hole that just allows the line to pass, is allowed to slip down the line. The base of the cylinder strikes on the rubber-covered disc, and securely incloses a sample of the water, which is run off by a stop-cock into a bottle after the whole has been hauled on board. The water must always be brought to the laboratory in stoppered bottles, which are entirely filled, and have had the stoppers tied down from the moment of collecting.
The temperature of surface-water is usually taken by drawing a bucketful and placing an ordinary bath-thermometer in it for a few minutes. The precautions of hanging the thermometer in the centre of the bucket and placing it in the shade must be observed. Temperature at greater depths may be observed in several ways. Three methods have been tried at the Marine Station. The first is by means of a ‘cistern-thermometer,’ used by the late Sir Robert Christison for ascertaining the temperature of the water in the deep Scottish lochs, which was presented to the Station by Sir Alexander Christison. It consists of a thermometer, the bulb of which is in the centre of a conical copper vessel capable of containing about five pints. When this is lowered into the sea, the water passes through the instrument; but on hauling up, the valves on the upper side are closed, and it is brought on board full of water from the greatest depth it had reached. Experiment shows that the water has not had time to change its temperature in the few minutes that elapse between collecting it and reading the thermometer. A more common instrument, though one not found so suitable for use in shallow water, is the Miller-Casella thermometer, the form chiefly employed on the Challenger. It is a self-registering thermometer with a maximum and minimum arm, which register the highest and lowest temperatures met with in each immersion. As the temperature of the sea almost invariably decreases with increase of depth, the lowest temperature is considered to be that of the lowest point reached.
The third form of thermometer has been found the most convenient, and, with some modification, the best for the purposes of the Station. It is Negretti and Zambra’s deep-sea thermometer, and its principle is that when the temperature of the water is attained by the thermometer the instrument is made to turn over; the mercury column always breaks at the same point, a contraction near the bulb; the part which had been beyond the bulb remaining in the inverted tube, which is graduated so as to show the temperature at the moment of inversion. Its great advantage is that no subsequent change of temperature affects the instrument until it is set again. Its great defect is that it is difficult to be sure when it has turned over. The simple and ingenious inverting mechanism of Magnaghi is hardly trustworthy; but an improvement has been effected, in consequence of the experience gained at the Scottish Station, which makes the turning of the thermometer, or of any number of thermometers on the same line, a matter of certainty.
The transparency of the water is measured roughly by noting the depth to which a large white disc continues visible when immersed. In the course of a trip from Grangemouth to the Isle of May, the colour of the water was observed to vary from dirty yellow to clear blue-green; and the disc, at first visible only three feet below the surface, was seen at a depth of six feet at Inchgarvie, at fifteen feet off Inchkeith, and at no less than sixty feet a little east of the May. Although the water of the upper reaches of the firth has been rendered muddy by the admixture of river-water, that at the May Island remains beautifully clear.
The routine-work of a biological and chemical laboratory is not of much interest to most people. For every day of collecting, with its fresh sea-air and new sea-sights, there must be several spent on the Ark in preserving the specimens, pressing plants, dissecting, mounting microscopic objects, observing densities, analysing water, calculating results, and such things; and all this work does not always tend to preserve an odourless atmosphere.
It is not intended that the Marine Station shall long continue of its present small dimensions. The experiment, so far as it has gone, has been so successful that it is now proposed to erect a large house on shore near the quarry, where there will be commodious laboratories, large aquaria, and rooms for the accommodation of the workers. In the meantime, Mr Irvine of Royston has generously given the use of an old manufactory which stands close to the sea beside the quarry. It was formerly used as a tannery, and so contains a number of large water-tight tanks built in the ground. There is a steam pumping-engine; and a very simple modification of the existing pipes will secure the supply of abundance of sea-water. The tanks will be used for experiments on fish-breeding; and the buildings in the works can be employed as laboratories without much alteration.
The Marine Station is intended to be a centre from which branches will extend to other parts of the country. It is in contemplation to erect a permanent marine observatory on the Clyde; and there will also be a portable station, probably a floating laboratory on the plan of the Ark, which can be taken to any part of the coast where it is desirable to make an extended series of observations.
The Granton Station is, with the exception of an annual grant of three hundred pounds from the Scottish Meteorological Society, entirely supported by voluntary subscription; and the heartiness with which the appeals to the public have been responded to by donations of money, apparatus, and material, shows how thoroughly the people of Scotland realise the importance of the work which is being done. The Government Grant Committee of the London Royal Society has made certain allowances to the members of the scientific staff for special researches; but this is not in any sense a government endowment of the Station, the Treasury having definitely refused to give any money for such a purpose. Although government support is an extremely desirable thing, the willing aid of an enlightened public is still better, and the Scottish Marine Station at Granton has this aid.[1]