A Year at the Shore

by Philip Henry Gosse

The shell itself is doubtless familiar to most of my readers, for it is to be picked up on every sandy beach. It varies in size from that of a split pea to that of a large horsebean. It is elegantly marked all over with transverse ridges. These ridges are porcellaneous white, and the alternate furrows between are purplish, or flesh-coloured. The larger specimens commonly display three spots of dark brown, arranged lengthwise. But probably few are aware how very elegant a creature it is when tenanted by its living inhabitant, and crawling at ease in clear water. The foot, on which it glides with a slow but smooth motion over the surface of the rock on which it habitually dwells, or, if you please, on the bottom of the saucer of sea-water in which you are examining it, is a broad expansion spreading out to twice the superficies of the base of the shell. Above this is the fleshy mantle, which is so turned up as closely to invest the shell, conforming to its shape, and even fitting into the grooves between the ridges. This mantle can be protruded, at the will of the animal, so far that the two sides meet along the top of the shell, and completely cover it, or it can be completely retracted within the wrinkled lips beneath; and it is capable of all gradations of extension between these limits. From the front of the shell protrudes the head, armed with two straight and lengthened tentacles, answering in function and appearance to the upper pair of horns in a snail; except that the little black points which constitute the visual organs are not in this case placed at the tips, but on a little prominence on the outside of the base of each tentacle. Above and between these, which diverge at a considerable angle, projects the proboscis, a rather thick fleshy tube, formed by a flat lamina, with its edges bent round so as to meet along the under side. The interior of this proboscis is lined with delicate cilia, by whose constant vibrations a current of water is drawn into the tube and poured over the surface of the gills, for the purpose of respiration. This current may be readily perceived by any one who will take the trouble to watch, with a pocket-lens, a Cowry crawling along the side of a phial filled with sea-water. By placing the vessel between your eye and the light, and fixing your attention on the front of the proboscis, you will presently perceive the minute particles of floating matter (always held in suspension, even in clear water) drawn in various directions towards the tube, with a motion which increases in velocity as they approach, and at length rapidly sucked in, and disappearing one after another within. It is an interesting sight to see, and one that cannot be looked on without delight and admiration at this beautiful contrivance of Divine Wisdom, for the incessant breathing of the respiratory organs in water charged with vivifying oxygen.

Let us look at the vivid hues of all these organs. The foot, which expands to so great a length and breadth behind the shell, is of a buff or pale orange ground-colour, delicately striated with longitudinal undulating veins of yellowish white. The mantle which embraces the shell is of a pellucid olive, thickly mottled and spotted with black, and studded with glands protruded through its substance, of light yellow; and is often edged with a narrow border of red. The proboscis is vermilion-red, varying in brilliancy in different individuals. The tentacles are of a paler tint of the same colour, speckled with yellow.

Such, then, is the beauty of the animal which inhabits this familiar and plain little shell,—a beauty of which those who know it only in cabinets can hardly form an idea; while, as the observer gazes on it placidly gliding along, he cannot avoid an emotion of surprise that such an amplitude of organs can be folded within the narrow compass of the shell, and protruded through so contracted an aperture.

THE SCALLOP.

You would scarcely recognise in this shell, or in the Tiger Cowry, that one so often sees on chimney-pieces, the model of an ordinary convolute spiral shell, such as the snail or the whelk. But in infancy and youth the Cowry is a shell manifestly of such a character, scarcely to be distinguished from the Olives and Volutes; a shell with a distinct spire, a long wide aperture, and a thin-edged outer lip. But when the animal has arrived at mature age, a sudden deposition of shelly matter takes place on the lip, which is greatly thickened, and which expands above so as to conceal the spire, bending inward at the same time and approaching the inner lip, so as to reduce the aperture to a very narrow line. Finally, a thick coat of enamel, or glossy porcellaneous lime, is spread over the entire surface of the shell, from the narrow aperture to the back-line, which coat takes the form of those transverse folds which are so characteristic of the species and so elegant.

Here, clinging to the perpendicular wall of rock, sheltered snugly by an overshadowing stone, which I have just removed, is a lovely specimen of the Squin or Scallop.[9] In the ages of monkery, when men’s eyes were more directed to the land where the blessed Lord Jesus once sojourned than to the place where He now is, and pilgrimage to an earthly country was more valued than that to a heavenly, this shell affixed to the hat was the accepted sign that the wearer had visited Jerusalem; and received the homage of sanctity that such a pilgrim claimed.

“He quits his cell, the pilgrim staff he bore,

And fixed the scallop in his hat before.”[10]