I had one little fellow in an aquarium, who had been gathered from a spot where the tide left him for a long period every day. He did not care to be under water all the time, so, by the aid of his foot and his wonderful home-made thread, he climbed up the glass to the surface of the water. There he attached some threads above water to the glass, leaving some below. When the little spinner felt like having a breath of fresh air, he ‘hauled in’ on his upper guys, and rose above the surface. When tired of that, he ‘slacked off,’ and took a turn underneath, thus making something like his accustomed tidal habit.
Watching these little animals in their daily movements, one grows to have a fellow-feeling for them. Some of their actions seem almost human, and they form a part of the household, just as the cat, the dog, or the canary. One day a conscienceless sea-pirate known as a dog-whelk settled on this little spinner, and began to bore through his shell with murderous intent. The whelk was taken off, and removed to another part of the aquarium. On the morrow, he had found his way back and settled down again on the innocent little victim, so he was sentenced to death as a murderer, and paid the penalty with his life.
This mussel has inherited the spinning business from a long line of ancestors; for when the coal-forests bloomed where the iron furnaces now roar, in the ‘Black Country’ of England, the forefathers of our little spinner were inhabitants of the fresh-water pools in the carboniferous forests. Ages have come and gone since then; the stony remainders of the ancient spinners are dug from out the deepest coal-mines, but the clever little fellows still spin their simple threads along our shores as of old. We sometimes weave their threads into gloves and hose, as a matter of curiosity; but few ever seem to have time to listen to the wonderful story that can be told to listening ears by this Ancient Spinner.
AN ESCORT ADVENTURE.
‘Sergeant, you have been detailed to proceed on escort with the prisoner Scales. I would advise you to keep a sharp eye upon him. He is a desperate character, and if he gets half a chance, will endeavour to give you the slip,’ remarked our adjutant to me.
‘Very good, sir,’ I replied.
‘Here is your paper,’ said the officer, as he handed me the warrant which bound me, under severe penalties for non-fulfilment of its provisions, to take private Jeremiah Scales ‘dead or alive’ to the district military prison.
I saluted the adjutant, and was turning to leave, when the colonel entered the orderly-room.
‘Good-morning, colonel,’ said the adjutant. ‘This sergeant is going on Scales’s escort, and I was just warning him to take great care of the rascal.’
‘Confound the fellow!’ grumbled the colonel. ‘After all, it seems the scoundrel is coming back to me. The court-martial that tried him—very properly, considering his antecedents—sentenced him to be discharged on the expiry of his term of imprisonment; and now the general, presumably acting on superior instructions, remits the only part of the punishment that is likely to benefit the service. During my twenty years’ experience, I have always found it the same in the army. Last spring, for instance, during the wholesale reduction that took place, we had, perforce, to send away a number of good men, infinitely better than this blackguard. Now, the Franco-Prussian business comes on the boards, and the authorities at the Horse Guards are moving creation to obtain recruits in order to get the regiments up to full strength. Every broken-down scarecrow in the kingdom is being enlisted, at least if I may judge from the precious specimens sent up to me. Besides, the recommendations of courts-martial with regard to the discharge with ignominy of the scum of the army are not being given effect to, and the rascals are allowed to remain in the service.—Yes, sergeant,’ resumed the commanding officer, addressing me, ‘you’ve got a cut-throat incorrigible blackguard to deal with; and if you don’t look out, he’ll give you some trouble.’