“Isn’t it jolly!” cried that young gentleman, looking up at the Captain, who, leaning on his stick, stood near, watching his futile endeavours to restrain the vivacious, side-walking, unwieldy little animals that seemed gifted with such indomitable energy, and equal perseverance to that of Bruce’s spider. “Isn’t it jolly, sir?”
“Not very jolly for the crabs, though,” observed the old sailor smiling. “I don’t think they would say so if you asked them the question!”
“I’m not hurting them,” said Bob in excuse. “I only want to see them closely.”
“I suppose you think they are all alike and belong to the same species, eh?” asked the Captain. “Don’t you?”
“Well, I don’t see much difference in them,” replied Bob hesitatingly. “Do you, Captain Dresser?”
“Humph! yes. I can see in that little pond of yours, now under my eyes, no less than three distinct varieties of the crab family.”
“Never!” exclaimed Bob incredulously. “Why, they all look to me the same queer little green-backed things, with legs all over them that they do not know how to use properly.”
“While you think, no doubt, that you could teach them better, eh?” said the Captain chuckling; but, the next moment, raising his hat and a graver expression stealing over his face as he looked upward towards the blue vault overhead, he added earnestly—“Ah, my boy, remember they have a wiser teacher than you or I! However, you’re wrong about their being all similar. The majority of those you’ve caught are certainly of the ordinary species of green crab and uneatable, if even they had been of any tolerable size; but, that little fellow there is a young ‘velvet fiddler’ or ‘swimming crab.’ If you notice, his hind legs are flattened, so as to serve him for oars, with which he can propel himself at a very good rate through the water if you give him a chance. Look now!”
“I see,” cried Bob eagerly. “He’s quite different to this other chap here with the long legs.”
“Oh that is a ‘spider crab.’ He is of very similar proclivities to his cousin though he lives ashore. The cunning fellow uses his sprawling long limbs in lieu of a web, and will lie in wait in some hole between the rocks, artfully poking his claws out to catch unwary animals—often those of his own or kindred species—as they pass by his den.”