'As Samson at his marriage propounded a riddle to his companions to try their
wits thereon, so God offereth such enigmas in Nature, partly that men may make
use of their admiring as well as of their understanding; partly that philosophers
may be taught their distance betwixt themselves, who are but the lovers, and God,
who is the giver of wisdom.'—Introduction to Conchology, page 384.
VI.
The Armory of the Tower of London forms, it is generally admitted, one of the most interesting sights of the great metropolis. No one can look without wonder upon that goodly array of knights and noble warriors, nor help an involuntary sigh over the degeneracy of modern humanity. Though the figures before us are technically and irreverently termed 'dummies,' the hardened shell with which their body and limbs are cased we know has felt the throb of many a true English heart, maybe, glistened beneath the sun at Cressy and Agincourt, or perhaps on the bloody fields of Worcester and Marston Moor. It requires no great power of the imagination to transport ourselves to bygone centuries, and listen to the ring of hostile arms, the sepulchral voices of men whose heads are inurned in casques of steel, blended with the clash of battle-axes, the whizz of arrows, the neighing of steeds, the rattle of musketry, and at intervals the deep booming cannon's roar.
But, asks the gasping reader, what has this parade of mail-clad warriors and old battle-fields to do with so prosaic a theme as the exuviation of crabs? I must acknowledge that the question is a very natural one, for there appears at first sight no connection between the two subjects. The analogy will not, I believe, appear so forced when I mention my possession of a smaller, although hardly less singular armory, consisting of various coats of shelly mail, each of which, at one time or other, belonged to, and was worn by a living creature, and proved as effectual a protection in many fierce though bloodless combats as any casque or helmet worn by knight. Unlike the dummies of the Tower, my specimens are perfect, and give a complete representation, more truthful than any photograph, of the defunct originals, when armed by Nature cap-a-pie.
In plain words, I own a curious collection of the cast-off shells of various crabs, which have from time to time been under my protection. From the fact that no museum in the kingdom contains a single series of such objects, exhibiting the various stages of growth in any crustaceous animal, the reader will easily conceive the difficulty there must be in procuring them, and consequently the interest that attaches to the mysterious phenomenon of exuviation.
Strange to say, the subject of this chapter is one of the least known in the whole range of natural history. The facts connected with the process are few, and far from well authenticated. This state of things appears the more extraordinary, when we remember the great facility with which specimens of crustacea may be found.
For years past I have paid much attention to the elucidation of this subject, and during that period have had to submit to numberless mishaps and disappointments. For example, perhaps after watching a 'pet' day after day for months, anxiously expecting that exuviation would take place, in nine cases out of ten,—ay, in ninety-nine out of the hundred,—I would find that the process had been completed when I was asleep, or that the animal had died suddenly. In the latter case new specimens had to be procured, and the same watching process repeated, in most cases with the like unhappy results.