Glimpses of Ocean Life 18

Glimpses of Ocean Life 18

CHAPTER XI.

 

The Common Mussel.

 

 

'Travelling is not good for us; we travel so seldom. How much more

dignified leisure _hath a Mussel glued to his impassable rocky limit

two inches square_! He hears the tide roll over him, backwards and

forwards, twice a day (as the Salisbury coach goes and returns in eight

and forty hours), but knows better than to take an outside place on

the top on't. _He is the owl of the sea, Minerva's fish_, the _fish of

wisdom_.'

 

C. LAMB to B. BARTON.

 

 

 

 

[Illustration:

 

1 COMMON MUSSEL (_Mytilus edulis_)

 

a The foot

b The byssus

c c Muscles which regulate the action of the foot

 

2 THE MUSSEL CLOSED

 

3 THE BERÖE (_Cydippe pileus_)

 

4 THE FAN AMPHITRITE (_A. ventilabrum_)]

 

 

 

 

XI.

 

 

In his celebrated journey to the western islands of Scotland, Dr.

Johnson tells us that when at Ulinish, hearing of a cavern by the

sea-side remarkable for powerful reverberations of sound, he determined

to pay a visit to the spot. After dinner, having procured the services

of some boatmen, the doctor, in company with Bozzy, started off on

his trip, which, on the whole, appears to have been a pleasant one.

There was, however, no _echo_ to be heard; but to make up for this

disappointment, Mr. Boswell went angling, and caught a wee 'cuddy,'

(a fish about the size of a gudgeon), while the doctor was gratified

by the sight of some sea-weed growing upon stones, and above all, at

witnessing for the first time _Mussels in their natural state_.

 

The impression made by this candid acknowledgment upon our minds

is one of wonder, that a man like Johnson could have reached his

advanced years without having seen so common a sight. But it is

possible that even in our day, with its unprecedented facilities

for cheap travelling for the most inland inhabitants, there may be

many persons to whom the sight of a Mussel fixed to a boulder by its

self-constructed cable, would be as great a novelty as it was to the

eloquent author of Rasselas.

 

It is, however, one of the commonest appearances which meet the eye of

those in the habit of visiting the sea-shore. At certain localities

myriads of Mussels may be noticed attached to the surface of the rocks.

So thickly are these sometimes covered over, that the blade of a knife

cannot be inserted at any part without touching one or more of the

esculent bivalves that are to form the subject of this chapter.

 

The Mussel anchors itself by means of the Byssus; or, as it is commonly

termed, the 'beard.' This appendage is composed of various slender

threads which are attached to any object within reach, whether such be

the shell of a neighbouring Mussel, a small stone, or huge boulder.

The members of each colony are thereby bound together, it may be

figuratively said, by the silken cords of friendship, and mayhap of

love. The _Mytili_ evidently believe that 'there's no place like home.'

Although gifted with a power of moving about at will, they never

attempt to exercise this when living together in a family circle,

but pass through life's stages upon the spot where they were born.

Certainly, if there be such a sight as a truly happy and contented

family in the marine animal kingdom, it is to be found exemplified in

these bearded molluscs.

 

As hinted, they live shoulder to shoulder, back to back, and otherwise

mutually support each other. They need not look about for a single

meal, but have merely to allow themselves to be fed by the waves, which

yield them a constant supply of fresh and wholesome food. Their sole

duty in this respect is limited to the selection of objects suitable

to their palate. Their 'at homes' being so frequent, the _Mytili_ can

boast of a large circle of acquaintances. The Periwinkle, and his

friend Silver Willie, often make a morning call, take pot luck, as it

is termed, and then politely retire. _Mr. Carcinus Mænas_ and his poor

and dirty relation, _Maia Squinado_, perchance look in of an evening.

_Solaster Papposa_, or occasionally the lanky-legged _Uraster Rubens_,

and other 'stars' of the marine world, crawl in at unseasonable hours

in their usual lazy style, and are generally rewarded by finding the

doors (valves) shut against them. This 'cut direct' does not appear to

be at all annoying; or if so, the Star-fishes are too cunning to show

it, for they quietly saunter away as if they never had the slightest

wish to put their feet within their neighbour's dwelling.

 

There is a 'black sheep,' as Sir Pertinax Mac Sycophant would say, who

intrudes himself into Mussel society, and plays sad havoc among its

members. This crawling rascal is the wolf of all Musseldom flocks.

Young and old alike experience the blighting effects of his villanous

propensities. The name of this obnoxious personage is _Purpura

Lapillus_ (Common Whelk). What, the reader will ask in surprise, a

univalve prey upon a bivalve? Is that possible? It is, unfortunately,

too true.

 

If we take a Mussel in our hand we shall find it perfectly impossible

to force its valves asunder, without the aid of a strong knife or other

instrument; yet the Common Whelk, fleshy and insignificant creature

though it be, will consume the animal within, and make the valves

fly open in a brief space of time, by means of its soft tongue. But

leaving such general remarks, let us suppose we are standing before a

boulder covered with these mussels. Numbers of gaping shells may be at

intervals perceived still attached to the rock, but with the interior

of each valve so empty and smooth, that we could scarce believe they

had ever embraced a living occupant. On taking up one of the valves and

closely examining it, do you observe nothing peculiar about it now?

'No.' Take up the other then, and submit it to a similar inspection.

Well, what do you see now? 'Nothing,' you still reply, 'unless it be a

peculiar little hole about the size of a pin's head, which surely is

of no importance.' That little hole was of _vital_ importance to the

poor mollusc, for through that aperture the life and substance of the

Mytilus was drawn by the voracious Purpura.

 

But the poor Mussel is exposed to the attacks of other enemies--aquatic

birds, as sea-gulls and ducks, eagles, vultures. Even water-rats and

monkeys may also be included in the list.

 

It is amusing to see a gull, by no means a foolish bird, standing

patiently before a Limpet, for example. The animal, unsuspicious of the

presence of an enemy, raises his canopy with the view of relaxing his

overstrained muscles, and is instantly toppled over by the intruding

beak of the bird. If unsuccessful in his first attempt, the gull is

well aware it would be useless to try a second time at that tide.

 

But if a Mussel be the object of attack, it is wrenched from its seat,

raised to a certain height, and then allowed to drop upon a stone with

the view of breaking the shell. In one locality called Mussel Bay, Mr.

Barrow says he disturbed some thousands of birds, and found so many

thousands of shell-fish scattered over the surface of a heap of shells,

that, for aught he knew, would have filled as many thousand waggons.

 

This habit of the feathered tribe was, by the way, well known to the

ancients, and I may be pardoned relieving my pages by a quotation on

the subject from the 'Shepherd's Calender' of Spenser, whose exquisite

descriptions of natural history are as marvellous as his allegorical

poem. The author of the 'Fairy Queen' thus humorously reads a lesson

to an ambitious man,--

 

"He is a shepherd in gree,

But hath been long ypent,

One day he sat upon a hill,

As now thou wouldst mee;

But I am taught by Algrinds ill,

To love the lowe degree.

For sitting so, with barred scalpe,

An eagle soared hye,

_That weening his white head was chalke,

A shell-fish down let flye!

She weened the shell-fish to have broke,

But therewith bruised his brayne_,

So now astoined with the stroke,

Hee lyes in lingering payne!"

 

It seems remarkable that the 'illustrious French naturalist,' Reaumur,

should have been the first, if not to discover, at least to publish,

any description of the manner in which the Mussel spins its silken

cable. Yet one hour's experience in a tea-cup or tumbler will exhibit

most of the features in this interesting process.

 

That Reaumur's narrative, although usually copied by most writers of

the present day, is not strictly correct, and, moreover, that the foot

of the mussel is _not_ 'useless as an instrument of progression' (as

generally asserted), may be easily proved to the satisfaction of the

student by adopting some such simple experiment as that which I am now

about to describe:--

 

Being at the sea-side on a fine summer afternoon, I procured three

specimens (I might have had as many hundreds if disposed) of the

Mytilus. On my return home I placed them in a common tumbler, and

waited patiently to see the result. My object was, if possible, to

witness the manner in which this animal grows its beard.

 

In less than five minutes an industrious little fellow, whom we will

call No. 1, gently opened his shell, and immediately protruded his

fleshy foot until it reached a length of nearly two inches. So far as I

could determine, the design of the Mussel was to discover, in the first

place, what kind of a lodging he occupied; whether or not he had any

companions; and also, to know if these or any other objects could be

found worthy of his _attachment_.

 

Sometimes the foot would be protruded under the shell, then in a

contrary direction. Or by an exertion of the strong muscular power

which that organ possesses, the entire shell would be lifted off the

ground and urged forward to a considerable distance. Of course he soon

come in contact with a neighbour Mussel, whom we may term No. 2, but as

the latter was not anchored by any byssus, he was speedily pushed on,

and on, until No. 3 was met, and the latter, in his turn, made to take up a new position.