A heavy, pounding, nor’-east swell in the early part of this month has almost denuded the higher portions of the Rock of the young vegetation, the tangles being as cleanly cut as if by a reaper. The paidle-cocks’ nests also suffered, as not a vestige of them was left. Several cocks have been seen wandering aimlessly about, their occupation evidently gone.
On the afternoon of the 14th we had a heavy shower of hail, accompanied with loud peals of thunder; but on the whole the month has been fairly good. At high water on several days the Rock was literally black with poddlies feeding on young sand eels, half-a-dozen terns and several small gulls joining in the feast, while a number of gannets kept wheeling and diving in the vicinity, evidently picking up a decent living. The continual splashing of the fish in pursuit of their prey could be distinctly heard by us through our open window while lying in bed. Strange to say, our efforts to “take in” a few of them met with but little success; probably the sufficiency of eels was the cause of their ignoring our questionable lure. The few that we caught were choke full of eels, several of which were disgorged in our doorway still alive.
On the 4th of the month we had a visit from a carrier pigeon, which had evidently strayed in the haze. It carried no message, but was stamped on the wing, and had a numbered rubber ring on its leg. After feeding, it was liberated next morning, with a message attached. We occasionally have similar visitors. Last year one of them landed home in Warwickshire—the owner thanking us and enclosing a consideration for our kindness to the bird.
“There’s nothing new under the sun.” This much quoted aphorism was forcibly suggested to our minds the other day while collecting specimens for our aquarium. In the first instance, a spider-crab, which, when stranded high and dry, appeared but an unsightly mass of tangled seaweed, when placed in the aquarium assumed all the beauties of a verdant grove. From every available point on the upper surface of his mossy-covered shell beautiful variegated plants streamed and waved their delicately-feathered fronds. Conspicuous amongst this luxurious growth were specimens of the corallines or sea-firs, which a casual observer might easily suppose to be miniature fir trees, but which in reality are plants only in semblance. Each of these delicate looking plants is actually an animal; in fact, a colony of animals. Closely placed along each side of the stem and delicate branches of other growths are slight projections or nodules, each containing a separate animal, which it surprises one to learn is eventually destined to become a jelly fish. The benefits of this partnership between crab and coralline is probably mutual, but the advantage to the crab in being thus arrayed is easily seen, as he can remain completely concealed from his enemies, and be able to stalk his prey with greater certainty of success. Shakespeare, in his tragedy of “Macbeth,” caused an attacking force to advance under cover of a wood they had cut down for that purpose, but here in Nature’s own arena similar tactics are being pursued, and probably were ages before “Birnam Wood came to Dunsinane,” or any of the genus homo ever saw the light.
In the second instance, our attention was centred in a small jelly-fish swimming about in a quiet pool, its translucent body being scarcely distinguishable but for the beautiful flashes of iridescent light it was continually giving off in the bright sunshine. This beautiful object might, without exaggeration, be truly termed a living gem. Transferring it to a glass of sea water for a closer inspection, our curiosity was amply rewarded. In shape and size similar to a nutmeg, its body was divided by eight equidistant bands running, as it were, from its North to its South Pole. Two long filamentous tentacles streamed from the lower portion of the animal, and were constantly being shot forth and withdrawn into its body, probably concerned in some way in the animal’s nutrition. Along one side of each tentacle were ranged delicate filaments, scarcely perceptible to the naked eye, and were probably of service in entangling the minute food forms contained in the water. Each of the eight vertical bands was seen to be furnished with minute plates overlapping each other like the plume of a feather. These plates, being continually in motion, were the means by which the animal was propelled through the water; by reversing the action it moved backwards, and by moving those on one side only, a rotary motion was obtained, the action of the plates producing the most brilliant prismatic effects. Call these plates paddles, and their different movements a-head, a-stern, port and starboard, and man’s wonderful invention the paddle-wheel does not appear so very “new under the sun.” The various motions man obtains by means of ponderous machinery are here vested in this simple, almost structureless animal, which has aptly been likened to a drop of animated sea water, and the facility with which it rises to the surface or descends to any depth might furnish hints towards the solution of the submarine vessel, which is at present so engrossing the attention of naval authorities the world over. Dwellers by the sea at this season of the year should have little trouble in procuring specimens of this most beautiful and interesting animal, which would certainly prove to them “a thing of beauty and a joy for”—well, several days, if the water is renewed.
July 1901.
JULY 1901.
Excessive heat, coupled with an unusual continuance of fog, have been the principle features of this month. The continual booming of our explosive fog-signal every five minutes, night and day, would be rather apt to “get on” a stranger’s nerves were he compelled to sleep within a few feet of it; as a rule, it does not disturb us in the least, but with such protracted spells as we have had this month it does become a trifle irksome. The first shot generally sends the beads of some of the window cases rattling down the traps. This has a more disturbing effect on us when asleep than the actual shot itself, of which we are just dimly conscious.
The few boats which have been prosecuting the lobster fishing here for the last three months have now abandoned it. Although fairly successful at the commencement, they were latterly reduced to a mere pittance. A return of four lobsters for the hauling of fifty “sunks” is but a precarious living. Anchored close to the Rock, in order to avoid being run down by prowling trawlers, they often passed the night, sleeping underneath their sails. Their cooking range, consisting of an old metal pail with holes punched through the sides, set on a stone slab, while an empty meat tin did duty as kettle, fish-pan, or tea-pot, as occasion required. It is only within this year or two that the Rock has again attracted the attention of the lobster fisher, after a lapse of many years. Prior to that time, we could always rely on an occasional lobster being found in the holes on the Rock at low water; while crabs, which could be had in abundance, are now extremely scarce, and the lobster, as far as we are concerned, might well be as extinct as the Dodo. We had rather a surprising catch in a lobster-creel one time here. On hauling our creel, instead of the expectant lobster a huge conger-eel was found in possession, his girth just barely admitting him through the “funnel.” A further surprise, however, awaited us; for, on being cut open, a full-grown lobster was found in his stomach. How the biter in this case escaped being bitten is a mystery, as one would naturally suppose the lobster, with his powerful claws, would be more than his match. This recalls an incident which happened the other day. A pretty little fish, of a kind we had not yet seen, was, after some manœuvring, placed in a bucket of water along with some other fish, sea weeds, and shells. On examining our catch a little later, our pretty stranger was nowhere visible; suspicion falling on an ugly-looking little “poach” complacently resting at the bottom of the bucket, Jeddart justice was summarily meted out to the suspected cannibal; a post-mortem conclusively established his guilt. That these fish are cannibals there is not the slightest doubt. I picked up one about a foot long on a beach in Orkney, which had partly succeeded in swallowing, tail first, a brother half his size, but had been choked in the attempt; the horns on either side of his victim’s head becoming embedded in his gullet, he could neither entertain nor reject him. Amongst the numerous aliases by which the “Poach” is known are the following—Bullhead, Hardhead, Cobbler, Shoemaker, Gunflucker, Comper, and Johnny Mainland, the latter being his Orcadian name.
The terns have increased to over a hundred this month; from daylight to dark their creaking voices are dinning in our ears. Most active little birds, they are almost continually on the wing, wheeling and diving with wonderful celerity. Their prey being surface-swimmers—chiefly herring-fry at present—necessitate a dive of only a few inches. The young birds, of which there is a goodly sprinkling, though almost as big as the parents, have not yet acquired the forked tail nor the pronounced plumage of the older birds. Awanting also in dexterity, they are being frequently fed by their parents. It is amusing to witness the chagrin of a youngster when, as sometimes happens, an old one has mistaken it for its own offspring, and only discovers the error when about to drop the glistening prize into its gaping mouth. Woe to the gull who dares invade their sphere of operations when following a shoal of “fry”; he is soon put to rout at the point of the bayonet—for their bills are quite as sharp pointed. While stationed in Orkney I have, when in the vicinity of their nests, been “assaulted to the effusion of blood” as the police reports say, their bills easily penetrating my tweed cap. Horses and cattle are driven in mad flight before these bold little birds, they all the while pecking mercilessly till well clear of their nursery.