is the attributing the destructive effects of the _teredo navalis_,
or ship-worm, to the innocent barnacle, whose only fault is the
resistance their multitudes offer to a ship’s progress through the
water. A log of wood which has been adrift at sea for a lengthened
period will generally be found to have its surface clustered with
pendulous barnacles. The removal of these disclose minute pin-holes on
the surface, which, in the interior, assume the diameter of a man’s
little finger, and permeate the log from end to end like a honeycomb.
Each little tunnel is smoothly enamelled with a deposit of lime by this
indefatigable borer, the _teredo_. Though boring parallel with his
neighbour, the thickness of paper only separating them, they never, by
any chance, encroach on each other’s bore. Their tracks are seen to
abruptly diverge when all but into that of their neighbour, so that
they are evidently cognisant of each other’s proximity, an interesting
fact also apparent in rats on board wooden vessels, who, though they
will gnaw their way through any woodwork, instinctively refrain from
suicidal attempts on the outer skin of the ship.
On the memorable 9th we had a bird’s-eye view of the Coronation
celebrations in Arbroath. With the aid of our telescope the crowds on
the Common were clearly visible, the ladies in white dresses being most
conspicuous. The flash of the guns firing the royal salute was seen
fifty-five seconds before the report reached us. In the afternoon the
sports in the Victoria Park occupied our attention, and the white-clad
competitors in the high jump could be seen taking their preliminary run
and rising over the obstacle. Parties straying on the beach had only
their heads visible, and as they neared the margin appeared to vanish
under water. The progress of the bonfire on the Common at night was
also watched, and the moving figures could be plainly seen silhouetted
in the glare. Probably but few noticed our attempt to celebrate the
occasion. Two strings of flags from the balcony to the rocks fluttered
gaily in the breeze, while the balcony railing was similarly decked.
Amongst those suspended from the rail was a flag of peculiar interest,
namely, one which had been sewn by Miss Stevenson, a sister of the
builder, Robert Stevenson, almost a hundred years ago. The central
subject depicted on the white ground is the Bell Rock Lighthouse;
on the right, the patron saint of Scotland with his cross; while a
ship under full sail occupies the left, the whole bordered with a
deep edging of red. The figures are extremely well executed, and the
colouring to the flesh tints remarkable. The flag was presented to the
Rock by Miss Stevenson to be used as a table draping during divine
service.
Several white butterflies and moths innumerable were seen passing here
this month. It seems these insects have their migratory periods as
well as birds, and at stations favourable for their observation they
appeared, to quote from a writer in a recent number of “Chambers’s,”
“as a dense snowstorm driven by a light breeze, and this not for one
day only, but for many in succession. Whereas birds come and go with
clockwork regularity, the immigration of butterflies is uncertain,
and of all those which survive the perils of the deep no single one
returns.”
_SEPTEMBER 1902._
A good deal of heavy weather has been experienced on the Rock this
month, and the stability of our new lantern subjected to a fair strain,
though probably nothing to what it will have to encounter during the
course of the winter. The lantern--composed of gun metal astragals,
narrowed to the utmost limit compatible with strength, in order to
intercept as little light as possible--may be looked upon as a huge
hollow cylinder of glass, which in itself seems but a feeble barrier to
the onslaughts of the storm. But the three tiers of triangular panes
are of heavy plate glass, and the apparently slim like astragals are
braced together in the most effective manner to ensure the greatest
degree of strength, and need cause no uneasiness to the stranger
viewing the outlook during the progress of a gale. It is awful to think
that out in that dark void, amid the warring elements, fellow beings
may be battling for their lives in close proximity to where we sit in
comfort and security, totally ignorant of their condition, and utterly
helpless to render them the slightest assistance. Probably a case in
point occurred during the gale of the 3rd. On the 9th, about noon, we
were somewhat surprised to see the gunboat _Seamew_ approaching the
Rock with a hoist of flags, indicating that they wished to communicate
with us. Bringing up close to the Rock, they signalled, “Have you seen
a vessel in distress?” to which we answered “No”; and then remembering
we had seen a torpedo boat pass the day previous, and fearing another
case of “buckling” had occurred, we asked “Was it a torpedo boat?” in
reply to which they communicated the intelligence, “No; it is a sailing
craft from Anstruther last Wednesday, and seven hands.” On our replying
“We have not seen her,” the signal “Thank you” was hoisted, and the
gunboat steamed out to the eastward on her sorrowful quest. Passing a
torpedo boat at gun practice, she was seen to signal her also, with the
difference that the flags then used had no existence in our code. Later
in the evening she was again seen making for Dundee.
We have had several takes of fish of late, though there seems to be
a scarcity of “fry” compared with last year, the absence of which
probably accounts for the terns failing to call upon us with their
young for a few weeks’ feasting prior to commencing their migratory
journey southwards. Gannets may be seen at present striking at fish
within a few feet of our doorway, while a flock of young gulls hover
expectantly, with feeble peeping cries anticipating the feast in store
for them when the dinner scraps make their appearance. Further off a
few eider ducks--who only arrived on the 25th, somewhat later than last
year--evidently eye the proceedings of these juvenile degenerates with
disdain, preferring to refrain from such pampered luxuries and dine
on the products of the chase alone. The eiders present are as yet all
adult males, the females presumably still occupied with family cares
teaching the young idea how to shoot, or rather fish, if plucking
mussels, catching crabs, etc., can be called so, for such is their
diet, and does not include fish. Strange that the foremost arrivals
among migratory birds are all males. Why this is so is not agreed upon
by observers, some supposing that the females are detained by maternal
duties; others, again, affirm that they migrate _en masse_, and that
the more vigorous males soon outstrip and ungallantly leave the gentler
sex to bring up the rear. On the 6th we had our first intimation of
the autumnal migratory flight in the arrival of a flock of wheatears,
accompanied by a solitary wren. On the 27th several greenfinches,
larks, and starlings were making insane efforts to follow the line
of _most_ resistance, resulting in our new lantern receiving its
first baptism of blood, as the glass next morning testified. Several
porpoises are to be seen puffing and blowing a mile off, and on the
28th a school of “finner” whales were seen heading north.
I see by the _Arbroath Guide_ that one of our old fog bells has been
presented by our Commissioners to the Arbroath Museum, a fit resting
place after its long sojourn on the Rock. Should the date upon it
happen by any chance to become erased, what possible controversies it
may yet become the subject of amongst posterity as to its connection
with that mythical personage “Ralph the Rover.” I myself can testify
to its having conformed in one respect at least with that of the poem,
for on lowering it from its position on the balcony for shipment the
tide had overflowed the Rock about a couple of feet, causing the bell
to settle with an audible gurgle, or as one of the seamen (Fraser)
appropriately quoted, “The bell sank down with a gurgling sound.”
_OCTOBER 1902._
We have had occasional visits of feathered migrants during the month,
but it is a matter of remark that each year sees a decrease in the
number of arrivals here. Probably the increased number of lights on our
coast accounts for this diminution, some proving more attractive than
ours. A few years ago it was quite on the cards at this season of the
year--thanks to the migratory instinct--to have an additional course
at dinner, to which fieldfares, blackbirds, and redwings were the
voluntary contributors, and even at times the gamey woodcock “graced
the groaning board”--for our “board,” being double-leaved and somewhat
senile, does occasionally groan, and this without reference to any
superincumbent strain. Amongst the more noteworthy of our captures
here, at various times, the following may be mentioned:--A peregrine
falcon, large horned owl, small brown owl, kestrels, sparrow hawks,
crows, cormorants, corn-crakes, and a turtle dove. Birds generally
arrive here in a fagged condition, and are easily captured. As an
instance, a kestrel landed on our balcony railing during fog, and,
despite the explosions of our fog-signal twenty feet overhead, tucked
his head under his wing and fell sound asleep. Another arrival of note
was a common blue pigeon, which, after a few hours’ stay, surprised
us by depositing an egg in our doorway. Disturbed on our appearance,
it reluctantly deserted its treasure, but not without many backward
glances before spreading its wings shorewards.
Podley-fishing has been fairly successful during the month, and
several codlings have been taken from the pools at low water. Whilst
photographing lately, another of our number was busy endeavouring to
extract a breakfast from Port Hamilton. Hooking a fair sized codling,
the camera was turned on the scene, and fish _à la photo_ figured in
our bill of fare next morning. A few years ago a photo was taken of a
paidle cock and hen, both of which were taken from their nests for this
purpose, and proved amenable sitters; the cock appearing in the photo
quite conscious of his importance, though the hen appeared somewhat
bored, having been snapped in the middle of a huge “gape,” which some
of my previous sitters might interpret as a yawn. Both were returned
to their nests none the worse of their unique experience, and possibly
yet relate their feelings before the camera to the admiring wonder of
fishy audiences, till puffed with the idea of their own importance they
now probably suffer from a disease (peculiar to some higher vertebrates
with as slender a reputation) resulting in what is colloquially known
as “swelled head.”
Wouldn’t the fishermen of Arbroath fancy their lines had fallen in
pleasant places should the fish they pursue at such hazard come sailing
voluntarily into the harbour, and even without the usual ceremony of
dropping them a line, appear on the surface, mutely asking to be lifted
out? Such, however, was our experience lately. Shortly before daybreak
one quiet morning our attention was attracted by the movements of a few
gulls, evidently interested in some object in the water at the edge of
the reef. As daylight advanced it was seen to be a large fish wobbling
erratically upon the surface. On extinguishing the light and descending
to the rocks, which the advancing tide had not yet covered, the fish
was seen to have entered the Johnny Gray boat track, and was propelling
itself, keel upwards, in our direction. A fish in this unusual position
indicates an abnormal distension of the swimming bladder, which, by
over-increasing its buoyancy, entirely upsets its centre of gravity,
and forces it topsy-turvy to the surface. A steam trawler, which had
been working close to the Rock for several days previous, was probably
responsible for our friend’s “blown” condition. Stepping gingerly over
beds of white whelks as we wade bare foot to welcome our visitor,
we mentally contrast our inferiority with more juvenile days--a time
when even road metal could be safely negotiated. The screaming gulls
resent our interference with their expected feast, no doubt slanging us
unmercifully as we land our capture, an arm-long lythe, safely on the
grating. Their clamouring, however, is soon stilled, as each retires
with as big a share of the offal as his strength and agility can
command.
The long-tailed ducks are now only wanting to complete the list of our
winter boarders, and their advent may be looked for early next month.
The eiders have now attained their numerical strength for the winter,
and are busily engaged picking up a living, not only for themselves,
but also for the parasitical gulls which hover in close attendance,
shepherding them with unwearied diligence. The peculiar cackling of
the eiders--not unlike that of wild geese--becomes somewhat disturbing
as their operations are occasionally carried on underneath our bedroom
window. Gannets are now rarely seen here, but at their breeding haunts
on the Bass Rock--which we had the opportunity of visiting while on
our way here last relief--they are still in evidence, though by the
end of the month they will have commenced their journey southwards.
A new light is being completed on the Bass Rock, and on the first of
December, yet another factor in our dwindling list of visitors will be
in operation--ostensibly a lighthouse--but to our feathered friends,
alas! a veritable slaughter-house.
_NOVEMBER 1902._
Exceedingly stormy weather, with a prevalence of sou’-easterly winds
and heavy seas, has been our portion here this month, restricting our
movements out of doors, till with circling round our promenade on the
balcony one almost doubts the possibility of ever again being able
to hold a straight course when opportunity offers. Workmen have been
engaged this month fitting up a service of copper piping from the
grating at the base of the tower to the cisterns in the oil store on
the third flat, whereby the operation of storing oil will in future
be rendered much easier. The oil will now be landed in forty-gallon
casks, instead of the small six-gallon ankers as formerly, emptied into
a sifting tank on the grating, and by means of a rotary pump forced
upwards to the oil cisterns--a vast improvement on the old system, when
each anker had to be hoisted indoors, and then shouldered upstairs to
the cisterns.
A pleasing incident of the month was the arrival of a handsome present
for each of the keepers, consisting of a silver mounted briar pipe,
a pound of golden bar tobacco, and a liberal supply of first class
reading matter. All keepers throughout the service--over 200--were
similarly supplied, so that the gift will be seen to be a pretty
extensive one, and the donor, James Coats, junr., Paisley, has without
doubt earned the gratitude of the service by this generous act of
kindness.
About the beginning of the month we had a few feathered visitors,
chiefly blackbirds, fieldfares, and starlings. On the morning of
the 5th several struck heavily on the lantern, but were swept away
by the strong sou’-east wind then blowing. The gannets have now all
disappeared, none having been seen since the 27th. The eiders continue
in close attendance and have had their numbers augmented by the
arrival of the longtails on the 9th, a week earlier than last year,
thus completing our list of regular boarders for the winter. At 6 p.m.
on the 13th we were privileged with the unusual spectacle of a lunar
rainbow. The bow--a faint white arc against the dark background--was
distinctly visible in the nor’-west, though, of course, void of the
vivid colouring inseparable from its solar namesake.
While taking a turn round the balcony on the evening of the 15th,
our attention was attracted to what appeared to be a peculiar shaped
mass of foam resting on the rocks immediately beneath us. On careful
observation, however, the object was seen to move slightly in the
faint moonlight, and by the aid of our telescope the outline of a seal
could be dimly seen. On the change of the watch at 6 p.m. an attacking
party, including the workmen then on the Rock, was organised, and a
plan of campaign drawn up. Descending the outside ladder, which was
fortunately in deep shadow, we were able to gain a footing on the Rock
unperceived. His suspicions had, however, evidently been aroused,
as he was seen to lift his head sniffing uneasily in our direction.
Bracing ourselves within the margin of the shadow cast by the tower, we
charged down upon him at the double, expecting to see him beat a hasty
retreat to the water; but, to our surprise, he made no effort whatever
in that direction, but seemed to consider himself quite a match for
us, and that there was no present necessity for retreating. Snarling
and snapping viciously as we surrounded him, he appeared at a great
disadvantage compared with his agile movements when in his element, his
hind flippers being now of practically little use to him, his lumbering
movements being effected by the aid of the fore flippers alone. His
furious efforts to sample portions of our anatomy were easily avoided,
and by laying hold of his hind flippers, as one would trundle a barrow,
he was immediately placed _hors-de-combat_. An unfortunate squid or
cuttlefish, which had been left stranded by the receding tide, when
pushed within his reach was seized and energetically shaken with all
the vim of an accomplished ratter. The wooden shaft of a boat-hook was
similarly treated, and still bears evidence of his utter ignorance of
the dental profession. A rope being procured, a clove hitch was slipped
over one of his hind-flippers, the other end made fast to an eye-bolt
on the Rock. Thus secured, he was left to his novel reflections for the
night.
[Illustration]
As the tide covered the Rock he could be seen in the clear moonlight
ploughing along the creamy surface, stretching his tether in every
direction in futile efforts to escape. At daylight next morning
he was found sheltering under a projecting ledge of rock. What a
clean, well-groomed fellow he looked, with his sleek, glossy coat
glistening in the sunshine, his squat, plump body adapting itself to
the inequalities of the surface on which it rested. His coat, by the
way, as much fur as that of a horse--grey above, mottled with dark
spots, while the under surface is of a creamy yellow. His beautiful
teeth gleaming white against the scarlet interior of his mouth, as he
snapped fruitlessly on either side, suggested the maximum of robust
animal health. As a memento of his visit the camera was brought on the
scene, and another addition made to our list of illustrious visitors.
Liberating him proved to be more difficult than his capture, for when
cut adrift he persisted in facing us instead of making for the water,
towards which we endeavoured to drive him. After some manœuvring,
however, he was driven to the edge of the gulley, but even with his
body half submerged he maintained a defensive attitude, not seeming to
realise that he was at liberty to depart. An incoming wave, however,
moved him to a sense of his position, and with a defiant snort he
slipped under water. Omitting, in his hurry, to take proper bearings,
he took the wrong direction, and, finding himself in a _cul-de-sac_,
made his appearance again on the surface, and with a hurried glance at
his position again sank, this time making a bee-line for the outlet,
being clearly seen, as he passed under water close to where we stood,
and was last seen buffeting his way through the foaming breakers,
evidently none the worse for his compulsory detention on the Rock.
_DECEMBER 1902._
The broken stones and other debris, consequent upon the late
alterations here, which had collected in various holes in the Rock and
maintained their position up till now, have nearly all been cleared out
by the severe gales of this month, and a couple of heavy iron poles,
erected lately to mark the boat tracks or entrances to the landings,
and which were sunk two feet in the solid rock and heavily cemented,
have been shaken loose in their sockets by the pounding seas which have
been besieging us of late. The rocks appear bleak and bare, and utterly
void of vegetation. The white whelks have collected their scattered
forces, and gone into winter quarters. Secure in sheltering nooks,
they lie huddled together in close packed squadrons. Numerous small
white banded whelks adhere to the base of the tower with a tenacity
that seems surprising considering the swirling seas they are subjected
to. This species, however, never seem to dream of hibernating. The
eiders and longtails, with an unswerving attention to business, pursue
their calling amid the hurly-burly of broken, tumbling seas--evidently
little concerned whether the weather be fair or foul--and in the glassy
hollows alternating between the breakers they can be distinctly seen
scurrying over the rock surface like so many fish. Gannets this month
are conspicuous by their absence, and only a few parasitic gulls divide
their attention between the kitchen refuse and the hard won earnings of
the eiders.
On several occasions during the month our fog signal was brought into
action through the occurrence of heavy snowfalls. A silent, feathery
fall on shore no doubt has charms peculiarly its own, but at sea
constitutes a very serious danger to the anxious mariner as he steams
at reduced speed through the fleecy curtain, shrieking his every two
minute warning, his vessel’s head scarcely visible from the bridge.
In snowstorms such as we have had of late our lantern soon becomes
plastered up with snow on the weather side, necessitating constant
removal to prevent it from completely blinding our light in that
direction. This is an operation often accomplished with difficulty,
especially when carried out in the teeth of a gale--an experience
somewhat akin to lying out on a yardarm under similar conditions, only
one doesn’t have the lift and ’scend of the vessel to contend with;
yet his grip must be equally as sure, or, as the old salts phrase
it, “Every finger a fish-hook,” on such occasions. Mounting by an
outside ladder to the grated gallery which encircles the base of the
lantern, one is exposed to the full force of the blast, and a firm
grip must be taken to avoid being blown away. Below, the seas in wild
tumult break against the building with a deafening roar, sending a
perceptible tremor through the entire structure with each impact. Only
by energetically hauling on the hand-rail can the slightest progress
be made in the desired direction, the wind’s eye being the objective
point, where possibly on arrival one may find himself pinned flat to
the lantern, like an entomological specimen, by the force of the wind.
The snow removed, the return journey is effected by simply allowing
oneself to be blown gradually back.
While relieving the Bass Rock on our way ashore last relief, a good
opportunity was afforded of witnessing the mode of effecting a landing
under adverse circumstances. On arrival there, it was considered
dangerous to attempt a landing at either of the two landing places,
owing to the heavy sea then running. The landings--a flight of concrete
steps from the water edge to the rocks above--are situated on either
side of a slight promontory immediately beneath the lighthouse; and as
deep water obtains to the rock face, it will be obvious that similar
conditions must frequently prevail at either landing. The boat being
loaded with the necessary stores, and the relieving keeper on board,
an approach was made to within suitable distance of the Rock. A kedge
anchor was then thrown overboard, and the boat slacked down till
within working distance. The keepers meanwhile had been busy erecting
an iron pole or derrick on the rocks above the position now occupied
by the boat, and which, being slightly inclined seawards, a tackle
from its extremity was drawn by means of a guy-line to the boat, and
the stores hoisted ashore by the keepers in charge of the tackle-fall
above. Seated in a loop of the rope, the relieving keeper was then
hoisted, and his shore-going neighbour similarly lowered. As an extra
precaution, a second boat was sent from the ship to stand by the
working boat in case of accident. Fortunately, however, their services
were not required.
Our final relief here for the year was effected with some difficulty
on the 29th. Owing to the doubtful aspect of the landing, only one
boat was sent ashore instead of two as usual. The fortnightly supply
of coal and water being omitted on this occasion does not, however,
inconvenience us, as a three months’ reserve stock of necessaries is
always maintained during the winter months.
_JANUARY-FEBRUARY 1903._