Glimpses of Ocean Life; Or, Rock-Pools and the Lessons they Teach

by John Harper

With regard to A. mesembryanthemum, A. bellis, and A. dianthus, they get so accustomed to the presence of their crusty neighbours, as not to retract their expanded tentacula when a hermit crab, for instance, drags his lumbering mansion across, or a fiddler crab steps through the delicate rays, like a sky terrier prancing over a bed of tulips.

Thus much I have felt myself called upon to say in defence of certain species of Actiniæ; but with regard to A. crassicornis, I must candidly own the creature is greedy and voracious to an extreme degree.

Like many other writers, I have seen scores of this species of Actiniæ that contained the remains of crabs of large dimensions, but at one time considered that the latter were dead specimens, which had been drifted by the tide within reach of the Actiniæ, and afterwards consumed. That such, indeed, was the correct explanation in many instances I can scarcely doubt, from the disproportionate bigness of the crabs as compared with the anemones, but feel quite confident, that in other instances, the crustacea were alive when first caught by their voracious companions.

To test the power of the 'crass.,' I have frequently chosen a specimen well situated for observation, and dropped a crab upon its tentacula. Instantly the intruding animal was grasped (perhaps merely by a claw), but in spite of its struggles to escape, was slowly drawn into the mouth of its captor, and eventually consumed. In one case, after the crab had been lost to view for the space of three minutes only, I drew it out of the Actinia, but although not quite dead, it evidently did not seem likely to survive for any length of time.

In collecting Actiniæ great care should be taken in detaching them from their position. If possible, it is far the better plan not to disturb them, but to transport them to the aquarium on the piece of rock or other substance to which they may happen to be affixed. This can in general be done by a smart blow of the chisel and hammer.

Should the attempt fail, an endeavour should be made to insinuate the finger nails under the base, and so detach each specimen uninjured. This operation is a delicate one, requiring practice, much patience, and no little skill. We are told by some authors that a slight rent is of no consequence, since the anemone is represented as having the power of darning it up. It may be so, but for my part I am inclined in other instances to consider the statement more facetious than truthful. In making this remark, I allude solely to the disc of the animal, an injury to which I have never seen repaired. On the other hand, it is well known that certain other parts may be destroyed with impunity. If the tentacula, for instance, be cut away, so great are the reproductive powers of the Actiniæ, that in a comparatively short space of time the mutilated members will begin to bud anew.

'If cut transversely through the middle, the lower portion of the body will after a time produce more tentacula, pretty near as they were before the operation, while the upper portion swallows food as if nothing had happened, permitting it indeed at first to come out at the opposite end; just as if a man's head being cut off would let out at the neck the bit taken in at the mouth, but which it soon learns to retain and digest in a proper manner.'

The smooth anemone being viviparous, as already hinted, it is no uncommon circumstance for the naturalist to find himself unexpectedly in possession of a large brood of infant zoophytes, which have been ejected from the mouth of the parent.

There is often an unpleasant-looking film surrounding the body of the Actiniæ. This 'film' is the skin of the animal, and is cast off very frequently. It should be brushed away by aid of a camel-hair pencil. Should any rejected food be attached to the lips, it may be removed by the same means. When in its native haunts this process is performed daily and hourly by the action of the waves. Such attention to the wants of his little captives should not be grudgingly, but lovingly performed by the student. His labour frequently meets with ample reward, in the improved appearance which his specimens exhibit. Instead of looking sickly and weak, with mouth pouting, and tentacula withdrawn, each little pet elevates its body and gracefully spreads out its many rays, apparently for no other purpose than to please its master's eye.

A. mesembryanthemum (in colloquial parlance abbreviated to 'mess.'), is very common at the sea-shore. It is easily recognised by the row of blue torquoise-like beads, about the size of a large pin's head, that are situated around the base of the tentacula. This test is an unerring one, and can easily be put in practice by the assistance of a small piece of stick, with which to brush aside the overhanging rays.