Glimpses of Ocean Life 25

Glimpses of Ocean Life 25

The same difficulty of calculation does not exist, at least to any such

extent, with the spawn of Eolis, which is laid in stringy coils. M.

Gosse mentions a specimen of _E. papillosa_ that laid nine strings of

spawn in his tank between the 20th of March and the 24th of May, all as

nearly as possible of the same length. Each string contained about a

hundred convolutions, each convolution about two hundred ova, and each

ova including, on an average, two embryos, making a total progeny of

forty thousand, produced from one parent in little more than two months.

 

I may mention that on no occasion have I ever found the spawn coils of

either Doridiæ or Eolididæ in my tanks, or at the sea-shore, except

during the months of January and February or March; neither have any

of my specimens spawned more than once during an entire season. From

noticing the same group of parent slugs congregated, and remaining,

as I can affirm, for weeks near their egg clusters, evidently in a

most enfeebled condition, it has occurred to me that on the Frith of

Forth, at least, vast numbers of these animals do not long survive the

hatching season.

 

Whether this be the case or not, it is a most singular fact that

in this locality, a Doris more than one or two inches in length is

scarcely ever to be met with.

 

There is at present in one of my tanks a specimen of the Doris of a

pearly-white colour, a second, tinted white and pink, and two others

which are quite _black_,--all being procured from the coast near

Edinburgh. The last-mentioned animals are, I think, somewhat uncommon.

When watching one of them in motion while the sun is shining down upon

it, the hue of the creature changes from a black to a very deep purple,

owing, no doubt, to its fleshy disc being many shades lighter than its

body, which, being extended, and exhibited under a full glow of light,

becomes semi-transparent. This peculiarity is not evident, of course,

when the Doris is lying in a passive state, with all its gill-plumes

closed up.

 

This sombre-coated gasteropod, although rare in some localities, is

very plentiful in foreign parts, if the following may be received as

an accurate narrative. 'On a reef of rocks near the island of Raiatea

is a huge unshapely black or brown slug, here called '_Biche_,' from

six to seven inches long, and five to six broad. Is is caught in vast

quantities, and not only regarded as a great delicacy by the natives,

but being cured, has become a valuable article of commerce in the China

market, whither it is carried from many insular coasts of the Pacific

by American ships. We have seen a number of lads fill three canoes in

two hours with these sea-snails.'

 

Thus uninviting as this slimy animal seems to our English taste, there

is evidently no doubt of its being used by the Chinese as an article of

food, and according to the evidence of certain authors, is esteemed by

the 'barbarians' a high-class luxury; but then we must remember that

the inhabitants of the land of gongs and chopsticks, have always been

famed for their singular gastronomic tastes. One poet writes:--

 

'That man had sure a palate covered o'er

With brass or steel, that, on the rocky shore,

First broke the oozy oyster's pearly coat,

And risked the living morsel down his throat.'

 

But, 'Mandarins and Pigtails,' what was such _risk_, I ask, compared

to that which _he_ endured, who swallowed the first mouthful of

birds'-nest soup? or horror of horrors, the first spoonful of sea-snail

stew? Yet we are told that both the 'mucilage' and the _Bêches de Mer_

dishes are savoury and highly grateful to the palate of an appreciating

gourmand.

 

A recent author, describing a Chinese dinner from personal observation,

tells us, that when the first dish, composed of birds'-nest soup,

was over, he waited the advent of the next course with very nervous

excitement. 'It was a stew of sea-slugs. They are slippery, and very

difficult to be handled by inexperienced chopsticks; but they are most

pleasant and succulent food, not at all unlike in flavour to the green

fat of the turtle. If a man cannot eat anything of a kind whereof he

has not seen his father and grandfather eat before him, we must leave

him to his oysters, and his periwinkles, and his craw-fish, and not

expect him to swallow the much more comely sea-slug. But surely a

Briton, who has eaten himself into a poisonous plethora upon mussels,

has no right to hold up his hands and eyes at a Chinaman enjoying his

honest, well-cooked stew of _Bêches de Mer_.

 

'During the discussion of this dish our Chinese master of the

ceremonies solemnly interposed. We were neglecting the rudiments of

politeness, no one had offered to intrude one of these sleek and

savoury delicacies, deeply rolled in sauce, into the mouth of his

neighbour. Efforts were made to retrieve the barbarian honour, but

with no great success, for the slugs were _evasive_, and the proffered

mouthful was not always welcome.'

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XV.

 

The Crab and the Dainty Beggar.

 

 

'In taking a review of most, if not all the actions of the animal

world, it must be obvious that, whether we allow them reason or not,

the actions themselves comprehend those elements of reason, so to

speak, which we commonly refer to rational beings, so that if the same

actions had been done by our fellow-creatures, we should have ascribed

them without hesitation to motives and feelings worthy of a rational

nature.'--SCHLEIDER.

 

'All things are bigge with jest; nothing that's plain

But may be wittie, if thou hast the vein.'

 

--GEORGE HERBERT.

 

 

 

 

XV.

 

 

I have been observing for several days the movements of a Common

Shore-Crab, which has been almost all his life under my protection.

Although his present dimensions would render such a feat impossible,

when first I shook the little fellow off a bunch of _C. officinalis_,

he could have crawled with the greatest of ease into the mouth of a

small popgun. We all know that members of this family are bold and

daring in their attacks upon their weaker neighbours; upon each and all

they wage a constant predatory warfare. The poor Pholades, however, are

the favourite objects of their attacks. On these innocent bivalves the

Crustacea successfully prey, unless they are protected by their usual

rock-bound citadel, which, of course, they cannot always be. In order

to watch the Pholas at work, it is necessary that the siphons should be

more or less protruding from his tubular dwelling. If supported, say,

to the full depth of his valves, the animal is secure; for I notice

that neither crab nor fish can tear away the gristly ends of the

siphonal appendages when withdrawn; and when disturbed, the poor Pholas

leaves only this part in view. I have frequently seen the Fiddler-Crab

embrace a Pholas in his claws, and struggle to pull him from his seat.

On one occasion this operation was performed successfully, much to my

annoyance, as I had been at some trouble to saw the rock away in order

to watch easily every movement of the animal within. At night when I

looked into the tank my pet was safe; next morning it was wedged under

some pebbles, and the crab was feasting leisurely upon his tender flesh.

 

It is most amusing to watch the Blennies, too, attack a Pholas, cast

into the tank, and to witness their mode of pecking at and shaking

their victim, and turning innumerable somersaults with it in their

mouths. The strength they exhibit in these manœuvres is perfectly

astounding.

 

About two hours after they had received one of their favourite

'muttons' to feast upon, I peeped into the aquarium, and found, as I

expected, the Blennies hard at their work of destruction. Behind them,

among some bushy tufts of _I. edulis_, the little crab, before alluded

to, was seated. In his arms he held an object unlike anything I had

seen on sea or land. It appeared like a slender stick of beautifully

iridescent opal. My amazement at this sight may readily be conceived,

for I had not the remotest idea as to how he had become possessed of

such a prize.

 

Next day I placed another devoted Pholas in the tank, and after a while

looked in to see how its finny enemies were conducting themselves,

when, what should meet my eye, but the crab, sneaking off with another

opal baton in his arms! I was more puzzled than ever. It was quite

certain that the object in question had been procured from the Pholas,

yet I had not heard of, or ever seen anything like it in that animal.

 

I was 'on thorns' until next day, so that I might by watching solve

the mystery. A third Pholas was flung into the den. The fishes, eager

as usual, instantly attacked and pulled the mollusc to pieces. After a

while the crab began to move about to and fro, evidently very restless,

and anxious for my departure. I did retire, but only to such distance

as would allow me a distinct view of his movements. In a few moments he

stepped out mincingly on the tips of his toes, and crossed the tank to

the spot where the poor Pholas lay, like some fine beau in Queen Anne's

reign tripping jauntily down the Mall, or across St. James' Park, to

feed the ducks in Rosamond's Pond.

 

The Blennies darted off at his approach. He then seated himself before

the mangled corpse, and scraped at it vigorously, manifestly searching

for some coveted treasure. Shortly after, perceiving him clutch at

something, I quickly approached and disturbed his movements--took up

the Pholas, and to my surprise found, on drawing out an object that

protruded from the foot of the animal, that I possessed the pearly and

gelatinous cylinder, such as the crab had twice before devoured with

such evident relish.[11]

 

[11] My first introduction to the Hyaline stylet as above narrated,

occurred in October 1858.

 

It was plain then that the little rascal had become so dainty, that

he 'turned up his nose,' or rather his 'pair of noses,' at what is

vulgarly termed the 'first cut,' and condescended only upon the

tit-bits, for his marine banquet. So his crabship, in order to save

himself trouble, actually waited until the fishes had cut up the

Pholas to a certain point, when he would rush forward and seize on his

favourite fare.

 

Some of my readers will doubtless remember the anecdote of the crossing

sweeper, whose idiosyncrasy led him to covet diurnally a mutton-chop

situated in the middle of the loin. My Lady Pepys, or Mr. Saccharine,

the great grocer, couldn't always procure the desired 'cut!'

_n'importe_ the knight of the besom met with no such disappointment.

 

This individual's place of business was luckily situated opposite to a

noted butcher's shop, which circumstance easily enabled him to watch

until, from the demands of sundry customers, the perspective of the

loin, which lay temptingly upon the chopping block, had become adapted

to his point of sight. He would then step in and meekly order a simple

pound avoirdupois. With this _bonne-bouche_ carefully packed in his

pocket, he would again mount guard, and remain until night. At dusk of

evening he shut up shop,--that is, he swept the dirt over the parallel

path that he had all day kept scrupulously clean, and then marched off

to enjoy his dinner at a fashionable hour, in private.

 

Are not these cases palpably alike? Passing by certain details, were

not the pawkiness and cunning of the epicurean beggar fully equalled by our diminutive friend, _C. mænas_?