Another point on which naturalists differ is as to the quantity of spawn from each oyster. Some enumerate the young by thousands, others by millions. It is certain enough that the number of young is prodigious—so great, in fact, as to prevent their all being contained in the parent shell at one time; but I do not believe that an oyster yields its young “in millions”—perhaps half a million is on the average the amount of spat which each oyster can “brew” in one season. I have examined oyster-spawn (taken direct from the oyster) by means of a powerful microscope, and find it to be a liquid of some little consistency, in which the young oysters, like the points of a hair, swim actively about, in great numbers, as many as a thousand having been counted in a very minute globule of spat. The spawn, as found floating on the water, is greenish in appearance, and each little splash may be likened to an oyster nebula, which resolves itself, when examined by a powerful glass, into a thousand distinct animals.
The oyster, it is now pretty well determined, is hermaphrodite, and it is very prolific, as has been already observed, but the enormous fecundity of the animal is largely detracted from by bad breeding seasons; for, unless the spawning season be mild, soft, and warm, there is usually a very partial fall of spat, and of course quite a scarcity of brood; and even if one be the proprietor of a large bed of oysters, there is no security for the spawn which is emitted from the oysters on that bed falling upon it, or within the bounds of one’s own property even; it is often enough the case that the spawn falls at a considerable distance from the place where it has been emitted. Thus the spawn from the Whitstable and Faversham Oyster Companies’ beds—and these contain millions of oysters in various stages of progress—falls usually on a large piece of ground between Whitstable and the Isle of Thanet, formerly common property, but lately given by Act of Parliament to a company recently formed for the breeding of oysters. The saving of the spawn cannot be effected unless it falls on proper ground—i.e. ground with a shelly bottom is best, for the infant animal is sure to perish if it fall among mud or upon sand; the infant oyster must obtain a holding-on place as the first condition of its own existence.
Oysters have not on the aggregate spawned extensively during late years. The greatest fall of spawn ever known in England occurred in 1827, and it is thought by practical men, as well as naturalists, that they do not spawn at all in cold seasons, and in Britain not always in warm seasons; and Mr. Buckland, I believe, assumes that the more favourable spawning on the French coast of the Bay of Biscay is caused by the greater, because more direct, influence of the Gulf Stream on the waters there than in the English Channel, but this idea is also disputed. If the oyster does not spawn every year it would require to emit an enormous quantity in those favourable years when it does spawn, so as to keep up the supply. On being exuded from the parental shell, the spawn of the oyster at once rises to the surface, where its vitality is easily affected, and it is often killed in certain places by snow-water or ice. A genial warmth of sunshine and water is considered highly favourable to its proper development during the few days it floats about on the surface. It is thought that not more than one oyster out of each million arrives at maturity. It is curious to note that some oysters have immense shells with very little “meat” in them. I recently saw in a popular tavern (date Sept. 29, 1864), several oysters much larger externally than crown-pieces with the “meat” about the size of a sixpence: these were Firth of Forth oysters from Cockenzie. It is not easy to determine from the external size of the animal the amount of “meat” it will yield—apparently, “the bigger the oyster the smaller the meat.” In the early part of the season we get only the very small oysters in Edinburgh—the reason assigned being that all the best dredgers are “away at the herring,” and that the persons left behind at the oyster-beds are only able to skim them, so that, for a period of about six weeks, we merely obtain the small fry that are lying on the top. It is quite certain that as the season advances the oysters obtained are larger and of more decided flavour. In the “natives” obtained at Whitstable the shell and the meat are pretty much in keeping as to size, and this is an advantage.
The Abbé Diquemarc, who has keenly observed the habits of the principal mollusca, assures us that oysters, when free, are perfectly able to transport themselves from one place to another, by simply causing the sea-water to enter and emerge suddenly from between their valves; and these they use with extreme rapidity and great force. By means of the operation now described, the oyster is enabled to defend itself from its enemies among the minor crustacea, particularly the small crabs, which endeavour to enter the shell when it is half open. “Some naturalists,” the Abbé says, “go the length of allowing the oyster to have great foresight,” which he illustrates by an allusion to the habits of those found at the seaside. “These oysters,” he says, “exposed to the daily change of tides, appear to be aware that they are likely to be exposed to dryness at certain recurring periods, and so they preserve water in their shells to supply their wants when the tide is at ebb. This peculiarity renders them more easy of transportation to remote distances than those members of the family which are caught at a considerable distance from the shore.”
But oysters have their social as well as their natural and economic history. The name of the courageous individual who ate the first oyster has not been recorded, but there is a legend concerning him to the following effect:—Once upon a time—it must be a prodigiously long time ago, however—a man of melancholy mood, who was walking by the shores of a picturesque estuary, listening to the monotonous murmur of the sad sea-waves, espied a very old and ugly oyster, all coated over with parasites and sea-weeds. It was so unprepossessing that he kicked it with his foot, and the animal, astonished at receiving such rude treatment on its own domain, gaped wide with indignation. Seeing the beautiful cream-coloured layers that shone within the shelly covering, and fancying the interior of the shell itself to be beautiful, he lifted up the aged “native” for further examination, inserting his finger and thumb within the shells. The irate mollusc, thinking no doubt that this was meant as a further insult, snapped his pearly door close upon the finger of the intruder, causing him some little pain. After releasing his wounded digit, the inquisitive gentleman very naturally put it in his mouth. “Delightful!” exclaimed he, opening wide his eyes. “What is this?” and again he sucked his thumb. Then the great truth flashed upon him, that he had found out a new delight—had in fact accidentally achieved the most important discovery ever made up to that date! He proceeded at once to the verification of his thought. Taking up a stone, he forced open the doors of the oyster, and gingerly tried a piece of the mollusc itself. Delicious was the result; and so, there and then, with no other condiment than the juice of the animal, with no reaming brown stout or pale chablis to wash down the repast, no nicely-cut, well-buttered brown bread, did that solitary anonymous man inaugurate the oyster banquet. Another way of the story is that the man who ate the first oyster was compelled to do so for a punishment:—
“The man had sure a palate covered o’er
With brass, or steel, that on the rocky shore
First broke the oozy oyster’s pearly coat,
And risk’d the living morsel down his throat.”
Ever since the apocryphal period of this legend, men have gone on eating oysters. Poets, princes, pontiffs, orators, statesmen, and wits have gluttonised over the oyster-bed. Oysters were at one time, it is true, in danger of being forgotten. From the fourth century to about the fifteenth they were not much in use; but from that date to the present time the demand has never slackened. Going back to the times which we now regard as classic, we are told—as I will by and by relate in more detail when I come to describe the art of oyster-farming—that we owe the original idea of pisciculture to a certain Sergius Orata, who invented an oyster-pond in which to breed oysters, not for his own table, but for profit. We have all read of the feasts and fish-dinners of the classic Italians. These were on a scale, as has been already indicated, far surpassing our modern banquets at Greenwich and Blackwall, even though the charge for these be, as was recently complained in the Times, two and three guineas for each person. Talking of fish-dinners reminds me of a description I have read of a dish produced in China containing juvenile crabs. On the cover being removed the crablets jump out on the table and are greedily seized and eaten by the guests who are assembled. The dish is filled with vinegar, which imparts great liveliness to the young creatures. The shell is soft and gelatinous, and the morceau is highly palatable. Lucullus had sea-water brought to his villa in canals from the coast of Campania, in which he bred fish in such abundance for the use of his guests that not less than £35,000 worth was sold at his death. Vitellius ate oysters all day long, and some people insinuate that he could eat as many as a thousand at one sitting—a happiness too great for belief! Callisthenes, the philosopher of Olynthus, was also a passionate oyster-eater, and so was Caligula, the Roman tyrant. The wise Seneca dallied over his few hundreds every week, and the great Cicero nourished his eloquence with the dainty. The Latin poets sang the praises of the oyster, and the fast men of ancient Rome enjoyed the poetry during their carouse, just as modern fellows, not at all classic, enjoy a song over their oysters in the parlour of a London or provincial tavern.