Then we have the still smaller and feebler Pincers of civilised life, such as the Sugar-tongs and the ordinary Coal-tongs of our firesides. Anatomists could have had no practical existence without the Pincers, of which their beautifully constructed and much-elaborated forceps are but variations.
Take, again, the dentist, with his series of shining instruments, which he so carefully keeps out of sight until he has got his patient safely in that awful chair, and which glide, as by a conjurer’s trick, empty into an open mouth, and return in a few seconds with a tooth between their polished jaws.
All these instruments have their parallels in Nature, and in many instances the natural pincers might supply useful hints to modern tool-makers.
In the left-hand upper corner of the illustration is shown the common fresh-water Mussel, which is so plentiful in almost all our rivers and many of our ponds. Its scientific name is Unio margaritiferus. The latter title, which signifies “pearl-bearing,” is given to it because it furnishes the British pearls which were at one time so highly valued.
Like other bivalve molluscs, this Unio has the two halves of the shell fitting quite tightly upon each other, and, when they are drawn together by the contraction of the internal muscles, they can give a very severe pinch. In many uncivilised parts of the world the natives take advantage of this property, and use them as tweezers, chiefly for the purpose of pulling out hairs which they are pleased to think are not needed.
I need not state that with all bivalves the power is increased in proportion to the size of the shell. Even an Oyster can pinch most severely, while the Giant Clam, the shell of which weighs some four hundred pounds, could nearly take off a man’s leg if it seized him.
Mr. J. Keast Lord, in his “Naturalist in British Columbia,” relates an amusing story that was told to him by an old settler respecting the power of the Clam’s grip:—
“You see, sir, as I was a-cruising down these flats about sun-up, the tide jist at the nip, as it is now, I see a whole pile of shoveller-ducks snabbling in the mud, and busy as dogfish in herring time. So I creeps down, and slap I let ’em have it. Six on ’em turned over, and off went the pack, gallows scared, and quacking like mad.”
“Down I runs to pick up the dead uns, when I see an old mallard a-playing up all kinds o’ antics, jumping, backing, flapping, but fast by the head, as if he had his nose in a steel trap; and when I comes up to him, blest if a large Clam hadn’t hold of him, hard and fast, by the beak.”
“The old mallard might ha’ tried his hardest, but may I never bait a martin-trap again if that Clam wouldn’t ha’ held him agin any odds till a tide run in, and then he’d ha’ been a gone shoveller sure as shooting. So I cracked up the Clam with the butt of my old gun, and bagged the mallard.”