An incident described by Mr. Thomas Beale, surgeon of a South Sea whaling ship, in his “History of the Sperm Whale,” has been quoted over and over again, not merely as proving that the octopus can quit the water, but as an illustration of its ferocity. It should rather be cited as an instance of unintentional exaggeration by a generally fair observer. Mr. Beale says:—“While upon the Bonin Islands, searching for shells, which had just been left by the receding tide, I was much astonished at seeing at my feet a most extraordinary animal crawling towards the surf, which had only just left it. I had never seen one like it under such circumstances before; it therefore appeared the more remarkable. It was creeping on its eight legs, which, from their soft and flexible nature, bent considerably under the weight of its body, so that it was lifted by the efforts of its tentacula only a small distance from the rocks. It appeared much alarmed at seeing me, and made every effort to escape, while I was not much in the humour to endeavour to capture so ugly a customer, whose appearance excited a feeling of disgust, not unmixed with fear. I, however, endeavoured to prevent its career, by pressing on one of its legs with my foot, but although I made use of considerable force for that purpose, its strength was so great that it several times quickly liberated its member, in spite of all the efforts I could employ in this way on wet, slippery rocks. I now laid hold of one of the tentacles with my hand, and held it firmly, so that the limb appeared as if it would be torn asunder by our united strength. I soon gave it a powerful jerk, wishing to disengage it from the rocks to which it clung, so forcibly by its suckers, which it effectually resisted; but the moment after, the apparently enraged animal lifted its head with its large eyes projecting from the middle of its body, and letting go its hold on the rocks, sprang upon my arm, which I had previously bared to the shoulder, and clung with its suckers to it with great power, endeavouring to get its beak, which I could now see between the roots of its arms, in a position to bite. A sensation of horror pervaded my whole frame when I found this monstrous animal had affixed itself so firmly upon my arm. Its cold, slimy grasp was extremely sickening, and I immediately called aloud to the captain who was also searching for shells at some distance, to come and release me from my disgusting assailant. He quickly arrived, and taking me down to the boat, during which I was employed in keeping the beak away from my hand, quickly released me by destroying my tormentor with the boat-knife, when I disengaged it by portions at a time. This animal must have measured across its expanded arms about four feet, while its body was not larger than a large clenched hand. It was that kind of sepia called by whalers ‘rock-squid.’”
It was neither a “sepia” nor a “squid,” but an octopus of very moderate size. The enraged animal lifting its head and springing on Mr. Beale’s arm is very sensational, but very inaccurate; and it is simply impossible that he could have seen the beak whilst the animal was endeavouring to get it into position to bite him. The tragic killing of his “tormentor” with the boat-knife, and disengagement of its arms, bit by bit, was quite unnecessary. If he had grasped it firmly round the neck it would have instantly let go its hold. Aristotle was well aware of this, and it may be well for bathers to remember it.
I have frequently allowed an octopus to fix itself upon, and crawl over, my bare arm. It can always be detached in this manner. None have ever attempted to bite me. But although it is “nothing when you are used to it,” it is not pleasant to have a stranger, of whose proclivities you know nothing, fasten himself upon you with such demonstration of attachment. To have the long, cold, damp arms of an octopus writhing and twining about one’s wrist and hand, and fastening its hundreds of sucking cups all over them, gives a singularly uncomfortable sensation—the kind of feeling most persons would experience on grasping a handful of lively snakes—so Mr. Beale may be excused for allowing his terror to excite his imagination and overcome his judgment.
The fishermen of the Mediterranean have a summary method of killing the octopus or cuttle. They turn back the arms over the head, and seizing the latter with their teeth compress it in the region of the brain. Death is instantaneous.
M. Moquin Tandon, in his “World of the Sea,” alluding to the peril to swimmers of contact with the octopus, gives a singular recipe for rendering the creature harmless. He says: “Dr. Franklin found that a few drops of vinegar on its back at once persuaded it to release its hold.” So, too, would a red-hot poker, no doubt; and it would be almost as easy to apply the one as the other under water: for, supposing that swimmers were in the habit of carrying cruet bottles slung round their necks, considerable ingenuity would be required to enable one to pour a few drops of vinegar on the back of an octopus which was holding him by the ancle at some distance below the surface. To put vinegar on an octopus, as to put salt on a bird’s tail, you must first catch it. I have somewhere read of a Dutch pedlar who sold a man a liquid for the extermination of fleas. “And how do you use it?” inquired his customer. “Ketch te flea, and drop von little drop into his mout,” answered the pedlar. “Why!” exclaimed the purchaser, “I could kill it in half the time, by crushing it.” “Vell,” said the Dutchman, thoughtfully, “dat is a goot vay, too.”
In August, 1873, I received from Dr. R. Brisco Owen, of Haulfre, Beaumaris, a fellow of the Linnean Society since 1824, the following communication respecting octopods quitting the water, and their capability of rapid progress on land:—
“I forward you a description of a curious species of octopod which I once met with in Torres Straits; but at the Brighton Aquarium, last month, I was examining the octopus there, and they struck me as being quite a different species to mine, their eyes especially different; the eyes of mine were full and open, as beautiful as the eye of the owl, which they resembled. It was in the month of September, 1843, that I landed in Blackwood’s Bay, on my passage through Torres Straits from Sydney to Madras. The ship on board of which I was a passenger was the Stratheden, Captain Howlett. On casting anchor in the bay, having cleared this most dangerous strait, which separates the northernmost point of Australia from New Guinea, a small party, including the captain, took boat and were rowed ashore, a distance of a good mile. Our passage in the boat was over a splendid field of coral, the water not being above a yard deep, and as clear as crystal. Landing on the shore of Blackwood’s Bay, our party separated for the purpose of exploration; the captain pointing out to us the necessity of our being punctual as to time, not wandering too far, and observing the position of our boat for our return. The shore was an extensive flat, hard and clean to walk on, with much seaweed growing on it. Having proceeded a considerable distance, and lost sight of my companions, great was my surprise to see an object start up suddenly, close to my feet, moving very rapidly, and evidently wishing to avoid me, and to get to the sea. After chasing it a short time, I was satisfied that the creature was an octopus, which I was desirous of capturing alive, and without injury. Its eyes, which were round, large, and wide open, descriptive of the greatest terror, struck me forcibly. Its speedy flight and wonderful powers of locomotion, I cannot account for: it appeared to me surprising that a creature with such a flexible structure as its tentacles, could outrun me. Our chase lasted so long that both pursuer and pursued were frequently obliged to halt from sheer exhaustion. At length, finding that I could not capture the animal, I flung my stick at it with force, and knocked it over, killing it with one blow, and, to my sorrow, ruining it as a specimen. On picking up the octopus, it was quite collapsed. The tentacles were about two feet long only. I am not surprised to have found this creature left by the receding tide; as it had plenty of seaweed, with little pools of water, to protect and shelter it, and abundance of the sea-slug (Holothuria edulis), which no doubt it feeds on—fine specimens of which I met with, that would have suited the dainty palate of an alderman! I trust that credit may be given me for the veracity of this account. I have no object in deception. I have here stated what occurred to me; and being able to refer to my journal, my memory is freshened, though the circumstances made such an impression that I have often thought the matter over, and sought in books for confirmation of what I witnessed, but without success.”
A similar instance was related in a letter to one of the morning papers (I think, the Daily Telegraph), about eight months previously; and the statement then appeared to me to be an attempt to hoax the public; for it seems impossible that an octopus can travel over the ground at the pace described. But it is not to be supposed that a gentleman of Dr. Owen’s age and profession would volunteer information intentionally erroneous. Among the details given by him is one which is difficult to understand. The genus Octopus is especially characterised by the smallness of the eye. This is larger in Philoxenis and Argonauta; but in all of the family the iris is oblong, and not round. In the calamaries it is larger, and always circular; but the octopods alone of the cephalopoda, are able, by the disposition of their arms, to walk, or progress, on dry land, or to return to the water if cast upon the shore.
Marvellous as the above narrative may appear to the reader (and I confess I so regard it), it has been collaterally confirmed by an officer of high rank in the Royal Engineers, whose veracity is unquestionable, and who, without previous knowledge of Dr. Brisco Owen’s communication, related to me, first verbally, and afterwards, at my request, in writing, a similar adventure which happened to himself.