the last three months have now abandoned it. Although fairly successful
at the commencement, they were latterly reduced to a mere pittance.
A return of four lobsters for the hauling of fifty “sunks” is but a
precarious living. Anchored close to the Rock, in order to avoid being
run down by prowling trawlers, they often passed the night, sleeping
underneath their sails. Their cooking range, consisting of an old
metal pail with holes punched through the sides, set on a stone slab,
while an empty meat tin did duty as kettle, fish-pan, or tea-pot, as
occasion required. It is only within this year or two that the Rock has
again attracted the attention of the lobster fisher, after a lapse of
many years. Prior to that time, we could always rely on an occasional
lobster being found in the holes on the Rock at low water; while crabs,
which could be had in abundance, are now extremely scarce, and the
lobster, as far as we are concerned, might well be as extinct as the
Dodo. We had rather a surprising catch in a lobster-creel one time
here. On hauling our creel, instead of the expectant lobster a huge
conger-eel was found in possession, his girth just barely admitting
him through the “funnel.” A further surprise, however, awaited us;
for, on being cut open, a full-grown lobster was found in his stomach.
How the biter in this case escaped being bitten is a mystery, as one
would naturally suppose the lobster, with his powerful claws, would
be more than his match. This recalls an incident which happened the
other day. A pretty little fish, of a kind we had not yet seen, was,
after some manœuvring, placed in a bucket of water along with some
other fish, sea weeds, and shells. On examining our catch a little
later, our pretty stranger was nowhere visible; suspicion falling on
an ugly-looking little “poach” complacently resting at the bottom of
the bucket, Jeddart justice was summarily meted out to the suspected
cannibal; a post-mortem conclusively established his guilt. That these
fish are cannibals there is not the slightest doubt. I picked up one
about a foot long on a beach in Orkney, which had partly succeeded in
swallowing, tail first, a brother half his size, but had been choked
in the attempt; the horns on either side of his victim’s head becoming
embedded in his gullet, he could neither entertain nor reject him.
Amongst the numerous _aliases_ by which the “Poach” is known are the
following--Bullhead, Hardhead, Cobbler, Shoemaker, Gunflucker, Comper,
and Johnny Mainland, the latter being his Orcadian name.
The terns have increased to over a hundred this month; from daylight to
dark their creaking voices are dinning in our ears. Most active little
birds, they are almost continually on the wing, wheeling and diving
with wonderful celerity. Their prey being surface-swimmers--chiefly
herring-fry at present--necessitate a dive of only a few inches. The
young birds, of which there is a goodly sprinkling, though almost as
big as the parents, have not yet acquired the forked tail nor the
pronounced plumage of the older birds. Awanting also in dexterity, they
are being frequently fed by their parents. It is amusing to witness
the chagrin of a youngster when, as sometimes happens, an old one has
mistaken it for its own offspring, and only discovers the error when
about to drop the glistening prize into its gaping mouth. Woe to the
gull who dares invade their sphere of operations when following a shoal
of “fry”; he is soon put to rout at the point of the bayonet--for their
bills are quite as sharp pointed. While stationed in Orkney I have,
when in the vicinity of their nests, been “assaulted to the effusion
of blood” as the police reports say, their bills easily penetrating my
tweed cap. Horses and cattle are driven in mad flight before these bold
little birds, they all the while pecking mercilessly till well clear of
their nursery.
The pleasure steamers which formerly visited the Rock from Leith and
Dundee have this summer scarcely made an appearance, possibly the
attractions of the Glasgow Exhibition is the cause; as yet, only three
visits have been made, and these from Dundee. An hour’s fishing is
generally given the passengers by the Dundee steamer. The diversity
of tackle with which some of these amateur fishermen are equipped
is fearful, and clock-weights, half-bricks, and scrap-iron of every
conceivable shape take the place of the ordinary sinker. Closely ranged
along the vessel’s sides, one can imagine the result of lines so
differently weighted, and should a fish be hooked confusion follows.
If the sea happens to be a bit “choppy” many of them may be seen
earnestly engaged in compulsorily contributing to the support of their
erstwhile intended prey, each drawing his own line of demarcation down
the vessel’s side, as if suspicious of his neighbour encroaching on his
territory.
_AUGUST 1901._
The extreme heat prevalent in the earlier part of this month was
characterised by a number of unusual visitors but ill adapted for
any lengthened sojourn here. Butterflies, bees, wasps, and moths
innumerable were to be seen flitting about the rocks in the daytime
and clinging to the lantern at night, numbers of them being drowned
every time the rocks were submerged. Several daddy-longlegs and a
single specimen of the beautiful painted butterfly were seen among the
ill-fated host. Why they should have journeyed to such inhospitable
quarters is not very apparent, but possibly the steady westerly wind
then blowing was responsible for their presence here, and, finding
themselves unable to stem the current, like many other unfortunates,
they followed the line of least resistance--then, _Facilis descensus
Averni_, and there you are! We have frequent glimpses at present of an
exportation of which the statute-books take no cognisance. Quantities
of thistledown are to be seen careering before the off-shore wind,
probably with Norway for their future home. What a wonderful provision
of Nature that enables these mute messengers of the fleeting summer to
virtually wing their way to pastures new! suggestive in their silent
flight of the
... whisper down the field,
Where the year has shot her yield,
And the ricks stand grey to the sun.
The sea in our vicinity is just now actually alive with shoals of
immature fish, chiefly sand-eels, herring-fry, and what appears to us
to be finger-long whitings. Incessant war is being continually waged
upon them by the terns from above and the poddlies from below. Watch
this particular shoal of “fry” as it swims with the current past our
door; notice the orderliness which prevails amongst them, as of a
disciplined army. But from below the poddlies have sighted them, and
swift as light they are amongst them with a deadly rush. Completely
disorganised, the “fry” scatter in every direction. Some seek shelter
beneath the glassy domes of the passing jelly fishes; others, twisting
and doubling like hares coursed by hounds, spurt spasmodically
along the surface in their frantic endeavours to escape the enemies
destined by nature for their destruction. The successful raiders are
seen scurrying about, with their glistening prizes dangling from
their mouths, dodging the thieving attacks of their less successful
brethren in the foray. But suddenly a flash of bronze in the bright
sunshine betokens the leap of the lordly lythe, as he in turn seizes
his victim from amongst the attacking force and as quickly returns
to his lurking-place among the luxuriant tangles. And so the war is
waged, the strong preying upon the weak, right down the chain of life,
till the unaided eye can but discern the destroyer alone. One is apt
to experience a feeling of revulsion at the tactics pursued by the
lythe in thus lurking concealed, while above him his prey sport in
blissful ignorance of his presence. On the other hand, with what little
compunction do we ourselves, by every available means, harry their
numbers to supply our table, and a savoury dish they are at present;
cooked when freshly caught they are simply delicious.
On Saturday the 10th we had a heavy thunderstorm; the lightning was
extremely vivid, and appeared to zig-zag from the sea to the zenith,
while the thunder, at first resembling the rippling discharge of small
arms, gradually increased to the deep boom of heavy ordnance. The
hitherto unbroken sea was threshed into white foam by the heaviest rain
I have ever seen here. The poddlies, though busy amongst the “fry” at
the time, would not deign to look at our “fly,” and, though we tried
our best, we did not succeed in hooking a single one. A similar result
is experienced during the operation of our explosive fog-signal. As
an instance how fish of the same kind may differ, there is a circular
pool on the Rock at low water, a couple of fathoms deep and about four
fathoms in diameter, named Neill’s Pool, but which we have jocularly
nicknamed “the hospital,” as the poddlies taken from there are, as a
rule, extremely poor in flesh, often presenting queer abnormities.
Some are twisted and deformed; others have constrictions upon their
bodies, where at some period of their existence they had been almost
cut in two by the snap of some larger fish, probably a lythe; others,
again, have been taken with hooks embedded in their jaws and gills,
and, though in the last stages of emaciation, do not apparently profit
by their former experience. The full-grown lythe may be truly termed
the poor man’s salmon, not from a food point of view--though in itself
not to be despised--but as a source of sport. Equipped with a rod such
as fishermen use who fish for a living, and for a lure preferably
a fresh-water eel about six or seven inches long, skinned from the
“busking” downwards, a struggle with one of these lusty fish imparts
most of the pleasurable sensations of the salmon fisher. Possibly
at the first cast your lure is flipped clean out of the water by a
vanishing tail, denoting that his lordship has not quite made up his
mind about your invitation. However, your next cast is almost sure to
be followed by a swift rush, which carries him well out of the water,
and your lure is off to the bottom and possibly your tackle along with
it, for, despite your triple gut, unless great care is exercised in
the first few mad rushes, there will be a dissolution of partnership.
Easily fagged, once you succeed in getting his head above the surface,
a little judicious towing will land your two-feet bronzed beauty at
your feet.
_SEPTEMBER 1901._
The Rock has taken on quite a wintry appearance. The vegetation on the
more exposed portions has entirely disappeared under the influence
of the heavy seas experienced during the greater part of this month.
The acorn barnacles with which the higher parts were encrusted are
following suit owing to the ravages of the white whelk; the terns have
deserted us, and, to complete the prospect, on the morning of the 19th
we had the first visit of our winter boarders, the eider duck. A chip
of rock covered with acorn barnacles becomes an interesting object
when placed in the aquarium. Each conical shell is packed as close as
possible to its neighbour, apex upwards. The apex is open, and fitted
with a lid composed of four shells. Under water these lid-shells are
seen to separate, and a bunch of “fingers” set on a stalk are thrust
out, make a clutch, and are withdrawn. The “fingers” have extremely
fine hair-like processes fixed at right angles to them, the whole
forming a sort of net through which the water is filtered and the
minute food-forms retained. It is interesting to know that although now
fixed immovably to the rock these animals began life as free swimmers,
and, strange to say, closely resembled the young crab. Another object
we had under observation at the same time was one of the sea anemones,
named the dahlia wartlet. A fleshy-looking disc studded with pieces
of broken shell and sand, it appeared anything but attractive; but
seen in the aquarium, the connection with its floral namesake was at
once apparent. Unfolding itself from an orifice in the centre, as
one would “flype” a stocking, rows of beautiful coloured tentacles
were disclosed. These tentacles have the property of adhering to any
object they come in contact with, and contain within themselves some
wonderful mechanism. Placing a fly on the extremity of one of the
tentacles, it was immediately held fast. The whole of the tentacles
then curled inwards, carrying the fly with them, thus clearly showing
their function.
The heavy easterly surf has deprived us for the present of our fishing,
forcing the fish off the rock to deeper water. There are evidently
plenty about, as the gannets are to be seen busy diving in the
vicinity. It is extremely interesting to watch these birds pursuing
their prey. Flitting near the surface, they enter the water at an angle
of about twenty degrees; again, at a higher altitude, they drop like
a plummet, describing an arc of bubbling foam from their entrance to
where they emerge with a bounce a few feet further ahead, beating the
water with their wings for several yards before being again fairly
on the wing. The air cells pervading various parts of the body of a
bird, and which contribute to its buoyancy, are probably vested in a
greater degree in the gannet, an extremely large one being situated in
front of the forked bone, or clavicles. Several instances are recorded
where a bird which had its windpipe temporarily obstructed was able,
by means of these cells, to carry on the function of respiration
through the wing bone, the broken end of which protruded through the
skin. The voluntary compression of these cells, by expelling the air,
destroys the buoyancy of the bird, and explains the amazing rapidity
of its descent. An objectionable method is practised in some places
for the capture of these birds. A submerged piece of planking with a
herring fixed to its upper surface is set adrift, or towed from a boat,
in the vicinity of their fishing grounds. Swooping from an altitude,
say, of a hundred feet, they apparently see but the herring alone,
with the result that their necks are dislocated by impact with the
plank, the impetus of their descent being sometimes so great as to
bury their bills to the base in the wood. It is a common sight here,
during the breeding season, to see these birds trooping past in Indian
file to their home on the Bass Rock, in batches of a dozen or so,
each preserving a regular distance from his neighbour. Though I have
frequently watched them pursuing their vocation, I have never seen them
bring their prey to the surface, nor could I say whether their dive was
successful or not; but occasionally they emerge from their dive with
a satisfied “honk,” which may be translated “got ’im.” Gifted with an
insatiable appetite, they sometimes gorge themselves to such an extent
as to be incapable of rising from the water, when they may be easily
captured, as they make no attempt to dive. An instance of this was
witnessed by a large crowd one Sunday, a few summers ago, in Arbroath
Harbour. Some conception of the carrying capacity of these birds may be
had when it is known that a sitting mother bird has been seen to insert
her bill into the inviting mouth of her returned partner and deftly
extract, one by one, as many as six full-grown herring.
A “false alarm” was occasioned at the end of last month by
two cormorants or scarts appropriating the signal poles as a
roosting-place. One of these poles is fixed on either side of the
balcony, and projects horizontally. When a signal is made from the
Rock, two-feet discs are suspended from them in pre-arranged positions.
A wire stay from the balcony railing supports the extremity of each
pole, and on this stay the birds were seated, one at the outer end, the
other in the middle. Discs in this position, but pendant from the pole,
by our code reads “Send boat,” and this the keeper on shore duty in
Arbroath construed it to be and acted accordingly, with the result that
we were somewhat alarmed by the appearance of the harbour tug about
eleven the same evening. Our impression was that something serious had
happened on shore, and that one of our number was urgently wanted. On
the tug hailing us, and saying they had been sent out in response to
signals shown from the Rock that afternoon, our minds reverted to the
birds, and our fears set at rest. Considerable alarm prevailed amongst
our families, and not until the tug returned with the news that “All
was well on the Rock” were their fears allayed.
On the morning of the 27th the sea round the Rock was seen to be strewn
with apples, a few dozen of which we managed to secure. Their presence
here is a mystery, and we trust has no connection with the long spell
of fog we have had. On the 24th we completed a fusillade of forty
hours, a record run of fog.
_OCTOBER 1901._
The flock of eider ducks which keep us company through the winter
increases daily, and now numbers over thirty. Swimming and diving
amongst the breakers from daylight till dark, it is astonishing how
they escape being smashed on the bare rocks. The receding wave may
leave them almost stranded, and just as the incoming breaker is about
to engulf them, they pop through its base and come up on the other
side in a smother of foam. They are sometimes quite close to the
tower, and then we have an interesting view of their proceedings. The
diving of one is generally the signal for the remainder to follow,
and the whole flock may be clearly seen, a couple of fathoms down,
scurrying over the rocks in eager quest of the different dainties on
their menu, consisting chiefly of small crabs. The capture of one of
these crabs by no means ensures that it will ultimately contribute
to the duck’s sustenance--this is not intended as a reflection on
their digestive power, which appears equal to anything short of
nails, considering the quantity of hard-shelled crabs they assimilate
during a day’s fishing--for, on gaining the surface with his prize,
he may be immediately assailed by the marauding gulls and compelled
to dive with his prey. This may be repeated several times, until he
reluctantly surrenders the succulent tit-bit, or is compelled to
swallow it under water--a proceeding they are evidently averse to,
otherwise the gulls would fare but poorly in their nefarious calling.
The uncertainty of the crab’s final lodgment is again demonstrated
in the case of the successful “blackmailer.” Hastily swallowing his
booty to avoid being plundered in turn by his fellows, he is again on
watch for the reappearance of his unwilling providers. But retribution
occasionally overtakes the despoiler as it does his human prototype,
with the difference that in default of imprisonment, he is mulcted
in the contents of his stomach, the nemesis in this case being the
dusky-coated skua or robber gull, who with his hawk-like flight easily
heads him at every turn, and the chase terminates only when the
contents of the stomach are disgorged, or the excrement voided, either
of which is adroitly caught by this foul freebooter of the sea before
it reaches the water.
A hazy moonless night, with a sou’-easterly breeze and drizzling
rain--given these conditions, at this season of the year we have
numerous visits of various birds, members of the autumnal migratory
flight. Making straight for the light, they dash themselves against
the heavy plate-glass of the lantern; many of them are thus killed
and swept by the wind into the sea. Others, again, arrive with more
caution, and though taken in the hand and thrown clear of the tower
invariably return, and remain fluttering against the glass till
daylight reveals to them the futility of their exertions in that
direction. The most numerous of these visitors are the redwings and
fieldfares, but blackbirds, larks, starlings, wheatears, finches, tits,
etc., may be met with in the course of the season. It is somewhat
startling, when on watch in the lightroom, to hear the thud with
which they strike. The woodcock, owing to his rapid flight, strikes
hardest of all, and the other extreme is met with in the smallest
of our British birds, the tiny gold-crested wren, whose presence on
the lantern is announced by a feeble tinkling sound, which a robust
butterfly might easily imitate. The heavier birds do not always strike
with impunity; instances have occurred where ducks have gone clean
through the lantern to the derangement of the revolving gear of the
light, the splintered glass bringing the machinery to a dead stop.
An incident of this nature happened a few years ago at Turnberry
Lighthouse, on the Ayrshire coast, the intruder in this case being a
curlew or whaup. A storm-pane is considered a necessary adjunct to
every lightroom, and is always held in readiness to be shipped in
case of such emergency. At some shore stations it is customary on the
approach of a favourable night, during the migratory period, to keep
the cats indoors to prevent them mangling the expected catch. In one
particular instance the birds collected of a morning filled an ordinary
clothes-basket, and a few nights later included five wild geese, which
were secured out of a large flock that came to grief on the dome.
An hour before daybreak on the 22nd it appeared as if we were about to
suffer a bombardment, and that daylight was to witness the commencement
of hostilities. No less than seven torpedo-boat destroyers were
seen creeping close up to the Rock, their low black hulls scarcely
discernible in the feeble light, and not until daylight disclosed
the white ensign were we assured of their intentions. A little later
they were joined by three gunboats and, after some clever manœuvring,
formed into three lines, the gunboats occupying the centre. They then
steamed away in the direction of the Firth of Forth. Two hours later
other three gunboats passed us, going in the same direction, escorted
by four destroyers, and followed shortly after by a solitary gunboat.
Extremely interesting it was to witness the precision and dexterity of
their movements as they swung into their respective positions for the
advance, their semaphores all the while going like windmills. Again, on
the 24th, about 11 a.m., a fleet of about a dozen battleships, headed
by a dispatch boat, was seen moving in stately procession from the Tay,
evidently bound for the Forth.
We have had several heliographic communications from our shore station
in Arbroath during the month, and providing there is sunshine there is
now no difficulty in transmitting messages to the Rock by this means.
Four years ago the late Dr Russell, Arbroath, while on a professional
visit to the shore station, for which he was medical attendant,
witnessed our initial attempts in this direction, and, convinced of the
feasibility of the method, urged upon us, in his characteristically
vigorous style, the necessity for persevering in our attempts, at the
same time predicting that it would ultimately prove successful. Little
did we then dream it was soon to become the means of conveying the
sorrowful intelligence of this estimable gentleman’s death.
_NOVEMBER 1901._