When unmolested, these creatures crawl slowly and deliberately about their business, sluggish in manner and shabbily dark in appearance, grubbing about on the bottom, now in, now out of the seaweed, but the instant that danger is threatened, they undergo a transformation. The claws, from sprawling about on the mud at every angle, are drawn in, and like a flash—or, far better, “like a blue streak”—the particular crab that you have selected for capture darts away at an angle that leaves you helpless with wonder at the suddenness of his departure and at the blueness of his appearance.
As soon as you have spotted your prey the excitement begins. Armed with the net, you crawl quietly to the bow of the boat and in whispers direct the rower, now this way, now that, following the route taken by the capricious crab. Sometimes the water is deep enough to permit the use of the oars, at others it is necessary to pole the boat in and out among the rocks covered by seaweed, your journey always attended by silence and stealth as if the slightest noise would precipitate in flight this wily crustacean.
At last when you are within striking distance, the net is plunged in among the grass and brought up, alas! empty, and the hunt continues as before.
When, after repeated trials, your patience is rewarded and a fine big fellow is caught, the greatest care must be taken to prevent him from crawling out of the net and escaping before he is landed in the boat, for his activities are ceaseless.
Indeed, even after he is flung deftly into the pail, his savage struggles may succeed in freeing him from captivity. And so it is only with infinite caution and patience—qualifications necessary in every game—that you are able to land your prize, and it is only then that you will find the explanation of the color quality of his passing. As the crab is taken from the water, its mud-colored shell appears a dark ultramarine blue, the claws of a lighter shade, the under part shading to white tinged with pink; its entire surface seems metallic in the intensity of its coloring as it leaves the water. From a slow, lazy animal of peaceful habits, the crab has become a veritable monster, savage and fiercely aggressive, and woe to the unfortunate within reach of his claws.
His capture is a real experience and a distinctly sporting event. So interesting and mysterious is the search, so active and adventurous the pursuit, and so exciting and satisfying the actual catch, that one is tempted to place crabbing among the big events of a summer at the seashore.
I know a college professor who annually devotes the better part of his vacation to this pastime, and several of my athletic friends, whose prowess on the football field was a matter of international comment in the papers, confess to the delights of a crab hunt; but it is a surprising fact, nevertheless, that the majority of those who visit the seacoast each year have never even heard of the extraordinary fascination of hunting the originator of the “blue streak.”
