Another fallacy common amongst fishing communities on the West Coast is the attributing the destructive effects of the teredo navalis, or ship-worm, to the innocent barnacle, whose only fault is the resistance their multitudes offer to a ship’s progress through the water. A log of wood which has been adrift at sea for a lengthened period will generally be found to have its surface clustered with pendulous barnacles. The removal of these disclose minute pin-holes on the surface, which, in the interior, assume the diameter of a man’s little finger, and permeate the log from end to end like a honeycomb. Each little tunnel is smoothly enamelled with a deposit of lime by this indefatigable borer, the teredo. Though boring parallel with his neighbour, the thickness of paper only separating them, they never, by any chance, encroach on each other’s bore. Their tracks are seen to abruptly diverge when all but into that of their neighbour, so that they are evidently cognisant of each other’s proximity, an interesting fact also apparent in rats on board wooden vessels, who, though they will gnaw their way through any woodwork, instinctively refrain from suicidal attempts on the outer skin of the ship.
On the memorable 9th we had a bird’s-eye view of the Coronation celebrations in Arbroath. With the aid of our telescope the crowds on the Common were clearly visible, the ladies in white dresses being most conspicuous. The flash of the guns firing the royal salute was seen fifty-five seconds before the report reached us. In the afternoon the sports in the Victoria Park occupied our attention, and the white-clad competitors in the high jump could be seen taking their preliminary run and rising over the obstacle. Parties straying on the beach had only their heads visible, and as they neared the margin appeared to vanish under water. The progress of the bonfire on the Common at night was also watched, and the moving figures could be plainly seen silhouetted in the glare. Probably but few noticed our attempt to celebrate the occasion. Two strings of flags from the balcony to the rocks fluttered gaily in the breeze, while the balcony railing was similarly decked. Amongst those suspended from the rail was a flag of peculiar interest, namely, one which had been sewn by Miss Stevenson, a sister of the builder, Robert Stevenson, almost a hundred years ago. The central subject depicted on the white ground is the Bell Rock Lighthouse; on the right, the patron saint of Scotland with his cross; while a ship under full sail occupies the left, the whole bordered with a deep edging of red. The figures are extremely well executed, and the colouring to the flesh tints remarkable. The flag was presented to the Rock by Miss Stevenson to be used as a table draping during divine service.
Several white butterflies and moths innumerable were seen passing here this month. It seems these insects have their migratory periods as well as birds, and at stations favourable for their observation they appeared, to quote from a writer in a recent number of “Chambers’s,” “as a dense snowstorm driven by a light breeze, and this not for one day only, but for many in succession. Whereas birds come and go with clockwork regularity, the immigration of butterflies is uncertain, and of all those which survive the perils of the deep no single one returns.”
September 1902
SEPTEMBER 1902.
A good deal of heavy weather has been experienced on the Rock this month, and the stability of our new lantern subjected to a fair strain, though probably nothing to what it will have to encounter during the course of the winter. The lantern—composed of gun metal astragals, narrowed to the utmost limit compatible with strength, in order to intercept as little light as possible—may be looked upon as a huge hollow cylinder of glass, which in itself seems but a feeble barrier to the onslaughts of the storm. But the three tiers of triangular panes are of heavy plate glass, and the apparently slim like astragals are braced together in the most effective manner to ensure the greatest degree of strength, and need cause no uneasiness to the stranger viewing the outlook during the progress of a gale. It is awful to think that out in that dark void, amid the warring elements, fellow beings may be battling for their lives in close proximity to where we sit in comfort and security, totally ignorant of their condition, and utterly helpless to render them the slightest assistance. Probably a case in point occurred during the gale of the 3rd. On the 9th, about noon, we were somewhat surprised to see the gunboat Seamew approaching the Rock with a hoist of flags, indicating that they wished to communicate with us. Bringing up close to the Rock, they signalled, “Have you seen a vessel in distress?” to which we answered “No”; and then remembering we had seen a torpedo boat pass the day previous, and fearing another case of “buckling” had occurred, we asked “Was it a torpedo boat?” in reply to which they communicated the intelligence, “No; it is a sailing craft from Anstruther last Wednesday, and seven hands.” On our replying “We have not seen her,” the signal “Thank you” was hoisted, and the gunboat steamed out to the eastward on her sorrowful quest. Passing a torpedo boat at gun practice, she was seen to signal her also, with the difference that the flags then used had no existence in our code. Later in the evening she was again seen making for Dundee.
We have had several takes of fish of late, though there seems to be a scarcity of “fry” compared with last year, the absence of which probably accounts for the terns failing to call upon us with their young for a few weeks’ feasting prior to commencing their migratory journey southwards. Gannets may be seen at present striking at fish within a few feet of our doorway, while a flock of young gulls hover expectantly, with feeble peeping cries anticipating the feast in store for them when the dinner scraps make their appearance. Further off a few eider ducks—who only arrived on the 25th, somewhat later than last year—evidently eye the proceedings of these juvenile degenerates with disdain, preferring to refrain from such pampered luxuries and dine on the products of the chase alone. The eiders present are as yet all adult males, the females presumably still occupied with family cares teaching the young idea how to shoot, or rather fish, if plucking mussels, catching crabs, etc., can be called so, for such is their diet, and does not include fish. Strange that the foremost arrivals among migratory birds are all males. Why this is so is not agreed upon by observers, some supposing that the females are detained by maternal duties; others, again, affirm that they migrate en masse, and that the more vigorous males soon outstrip and ungallantly leave the gentler sex to bring up the rear. On the 6th we had our first intimation of the autumnal migratory flight in the arrival of a flock of wheatears, accompanied by a solitary wren. On the 27th several greenfinches, larks, and starlings were making insane efforts to follow the line of most resistance, resulting in our new lantern receiving its first baptism of blood, as the glass next morning testified. Several porpoises are to be seen puffing and blowing a mile off, and on the 28th a school of “finner” whales were seen heading north.
I see by the Arbroath Guide that one of our old fog bells has been presented by our Commissioners to the Arbroath Museum, a fit resting place after its long sojourn on the Rock. Should the date upon it happen by any chance to become erased, what possible controversies it may yet become the subject of amongst posterity as to its connection with that mythical personage “Ralph the Rover.” I myself can testify to its having conformed in one respect at least with that of the poem, for on lowering it from its position on the balcony for shipment the tide had overflowed the Rock about a couple of feet, causing the bell to settle with an audible gurgle, or as one of the seamen (Fraser) appropriately quoted, “The bell sank down with a gurgling sound.”
October 1902
OCTOBER 1902.