sea assuming a suspicious placidity quite summer-like in appearance
but for the keen nip in the air perceptible out of doors. This state
of affairs, however, proved but ephemeral, and for the remainder of
the month we have experienced most boisterous weather. Strong westerly
winds occasionally attained the force of a gale, accompanied with
driving seas, which roared and sang a lullaby scarcely compatible
with the shore-dwellers’ sense of security, but which, strange to
say, has a more somnolent effect upon us than a breathless stillness,
though an occasional thumper of a sea, more forceful than its fellows,
demonstrates the stability of our domicile by imparting a gentle
tremor to the entire structure, awakening in the sleeper a glimmer of
consciousness and a hazy impression of a traction-engine lumbering
somewhere in the vicinity.
Our entrance doorway--thirty feet from the Rock--faces south-west, and
is guarded by a heavy double leaved door, which opens outwards, and
held open against the building by means of heavy brass thumb-snecks.
An inner or vestibule door of solid brass is placed six feet further
inwards--the walls here, by the way, being seven feet thick, tapering
to one foot immediately beneath the balcony, sixty feet higher up.
This door is also double-leaved, with the upper panels of heavy plate
glass, frequently obscured by the strong westerly wind whipping the
tops of the seas as they rise in front, and carrying them souse into
the doorway. Standing here during the prevalence of a gale, the outlook
is being constantly darkened by a curtain of hissing foam drawn across
the doorway, as each sea breaks against the base of the tower, flinging
the spray high overhead. Fifteen miles in front of us lies the Isle of
May, with its castle-like lighthouse crowning its summit, while on a
lower level stands a whitewashed relic--remnant of a time, not so long
ago, when the Island boasted a double light, and electricity had not
as yet usurped sole sway. Emerging from the right of the May appears
the bluff outline of the Bass Rock, while away in the far distance
North Berwick Law cleaves the sky-line. Away to St Abb’s Head, on the
left, the Haddington coast stretches hazy and indistinct, while the
green, grassy slopes of Fife, with the spires of St Andrews faintly
visible, fill in the right of the picture. Laying hold of the man-ropes
suspended in the doorway, and turning to the right, the Forfarshire
coast is seen extending from the Tay in a long unbroken line, with the
snow-clad Grampians towering majestically in the background. Right
in front of us are the smoking stalks of Arbroath. Two conspicuous
white dots in the foreground mark the pierheads, in front of which
an impatient “flaxer” cruises in glorious uncertainty of ever being
permitted to fulfil her charter and deposit her Riga-run freight on the
right side of the bar. This is the panorama from the viewpoint of our
doorway on a clear day, but, as seen of late through sheets of flying
foam, it reminds one of a cinematograph display, in which the films are
far from perfect.
On the first Sunday of the year hundreds of gulls were seen resting
on the surface of the sea, half a mile nor’-west from here, evidently
by their movements enjoying a feast of “fry,” and in all probability
proclaiming the presence of herring shoals. During the gale of 10th
January over a dozen gannets were seen swooping and diving, presumably
at herring. Only with difficulty could we maintain our position on
the balcony, owing to the force of the wind, yet these birds circled
and dived amid the turmoil of wind and water with a graceful ease and
precision that seemed truly wonderful considering the force of wind
they occasionally beat up against, or, as they turned broadside on,
were wafted without the least exertion in the opposite direction.
The first week of February saw hundreds of these birds back to their
breeding haunts on the Bass Rock. From the deck of the “Relief” steamer
lying within a few hundred yards their movements are clearly seen. Each
projecting ledge of the precipitous cliffs is tenanted by some members
of the cackling crowd, their heads see-sawing from side to side. The
birds are evidently engaged in brisk conversation, a monopoly of which
is certainly not tolerated amongst them, judging by the vigorous
efforts of each to be heard above his neighbour. Probably the new
lighthouse is being discussed in the light of an innovation on their
ancestral rights of possession, and later, as its beams fall athwart
their nursery, tradition may recall man’s former intrusion on their
solitary keep many hundred years ago. No doubt their ups and downs
since last meeting on _terra firma_ are fully discussed, for it is a
curious fact that these birds are rarely, if ever, known to rest on
shore except when engaged in domestic duties. Occasionally a depraved
specimen may be seen floating helplessly on the water, a victim of his
own gluttony, having dined not wisely but too well.
February has been a repetition of its predecessor, cold and blowy,
with excessive rainfalls. In a shallow depression on the higher rock
surface our attention has been attracted to a solitary plant, a
specimen, I understand, of “_Himanthalia lorea_.” A cylindrical stem
(an inch in length) supports a thick, fleshy disc, about an inch in
diameter. From the centre of this disc three separate branches rise
with their terminals, blunted at first, but which were gradually seen
to bifurcate. This is _our_ “flower in the crannied wall,” and is in
its own way equally as suggestive.
The eiders are occasionally seen varying their diet with a vegetable
course. Seizing the tip of a tangle blade two or three inches from the
surface, they spin round it like a top, till the portion held in their
bill is twisted off and greedily swallowed. No need for them to evade
the gulls while engaged in this repast. It is most amusing to witness
the discomfiture of the gulls as they hurry from a distance expecting
to share in something edible, only to find the duck negotiating six
inches of seaweed. That the white whelk itself is not immune from
enemies was recently brought before our notice, one being picked up
with a long black worm dangling from its mouth. On withdrawing the
worm--somewhat resembling a boot lace--portions of the deceased tenant
followed. Doubtless every organism has its own particular parasite.
“Big fleas have little fleas upon their backs to bite ’em,
And these again have lesser fleas and so _ad infinitum_.”
_MARCH 1903._
Traditionally correct, the advent of this month was decidedly leonine,
and its exit as certainly lamb-like; but between these periods, though
a few really beautiful days could be credited to the latter symbol
of peacefulness, the lion was largely in the ascendant. Borne on the
off-shore wind comes the odour of heather--not the fragrant perfume
one usually associates with this sweet-smelling plant, but the smoky
incense consequent on moor-burning--and at night the higher levels of
the coast line exhibit lights which are certainly not recognised in the
Mariners’ Sailing Directions.
Over a score of steam trawlers have been busy in our neighbourhood
all the month. Sunday or Saturday is all the same to them; they are
at it night and day, and the weather must be bad indeed to detain
them in port. Often they are seen passing here burying themselves to
the foremast in the seas on their way to the fishing grounds, perhaps
twenty miles outside of us. The Rock seems to be a recognised stage
in their journey; for, whenever abreast of it, over goes their log,
and a compass course is laid for the distant banks. Here, far outside
the three-mile limit, the presence of the _Brenda_ or the _Minna_[1]
causes no alarm; and, providing their numbers are correctly exposed,
receive no interference from these coasting policemen. A few summers
ago, one of these same trawlers, while on her way out from Dundee one
Sunday, surprised us by driving right up on the reef in broad daylight,
a hundred yards from the tower. Fortunately, the sea was like glass at
the time, otherwise the consequences must have been disastrous. The
tide being on the ebb, their attempts to back off were unsuccessful;
and there they remained hard and fast from one o’clock till six in the
evening, when a passing trawler succeeded in towing them off, evidently
none the worse of their brief acquaintance with the Bell Rock. During
their detention, the crew paid us a visit in their boat, recalling
to our mind a story in which a clumsily handled brig, in coming to
an anchorage in a crowded harbour, ran aboard of a vessel already
anchored. Visiting this vessel a few days later, to apologise for the
occurrence, the offender was thus announced by the steward: “Captain
S----has come on board, Sir.” “Oh, indeed,” sarcastically remarked the
aggrieved mariner. “Has he brought his brig with him?”
The rocks are this year more plentifully strewn with mussel-spawn and
acorn barnacles than usual; and already the whelks have sallied from
their winter’s sleep, bent on their destruction. Hundreds of hermit
crabs have also made their appearance, notably first in the deeper
pools, but gradually taking up their quarters in the shallows. Towards
the end of the month, a few small spats of paidlefish spawn were seen
deposited in convenient crevices of the rocks. This is unusually early
for “nesting” operations, and engenders hopes of an early fishing, as
the ova is generally the first inducement for the wandering cod to
come within reach of our rods. Numerous clusters of the wheat-like ova
of the white whelk are also seen; but, unlike that of the paidlefish
(lumpsucker)--which may be detached from its gelatinous fastenings in
a solid mass--each egg adheres separately by its own footstalk. Though
the adult “paidles” are only to be seen here during the period of
incubation--the term seems quite applicable, seeing that the guardian
“cock” is always in close attendance, with his nose thrust into the
centre of the mass of ova, at which point there is always a depression,
and frequently a hole right through it--juveniles are occasionally met
with at all seasons; and, on the first anniversary of their birthday,
are seen to have attained the length of two inches.
Numbers of peculiar looking slugs are met with at present, somewhat
resembling a section of a small orange with the skin attached. On their
upper surface, near to one end, a minute orifice is seen, through which
a small rosette like arrangement is protruded when at rest, but which
is instantly withdrawn when the animal is disturbed. This is the only
visible sign of life in this otherwise inert object, and is probably
its means of obtaining a living. Its under or ambulatory surface is
similar to that of a limpet, without its tenacity, but with a somewhat
similar rate of progression. Another small slug noticed this month--no
larger than one’s finger nail and recalling the general appearance of
the “fretful porcupine,” with “quills” arranged along its back, and
displaying beautiful shades of brilliant blue and crimson.
_Saturday, 14th._--A beautiful warm sunny day, the sea like glass,
dappled here and there with great greasy-like patches peculiar to
still weather. Flocks of eiders, longtails, and gulls appear to be
having a day off, and float listlessly hither and thither, seeming only
intent on making themselves aggressively audible in the stillness, the
longtails piping a shrill treble to the sonorous bass of the eiders,
while the gulls contribute a fairly good imitation of a laughing
chorus. Later, the gulls are seen to bestir themselves, as myriads of
small circles break the glassy surface in their vicinity, betraying
the presence of “fry,” their legitimate food. Pecking from side to
side as they float silently through the shoal, they evidently enjoy
the feast thus provided for them. The sight of the gulls thus engaged
apparently reminds the ducks of their negligence in this respect, and
paddling full speed ahead, they are soon busy diving in the shallower
water of the reef. The longtails push their way right up to the base
of the tower, round which they are seen circling, plucking at the
green vegetation adhering to the stonework, and cackling loudly as
they breathe for a few seconds on the surface, all unconscious of our
presence on the balcony above them. A small piece of coal dropped while
they are still under water causes them to shoot away like startled
minnows, and only when they have put some distance between them and the
source of alarm do they make their appearance on the surface, evidently
much flustered by the mysterious noise. Though a couple of fathoms
deep, their alarm was apparent at the same moment the coal struck the
surface, proving that the sound and not the appearance of the falling
body was the disturbing cause. The end of the month still sees them
in close attendance, but any day now may witness their exodus. But
few spring migrants have come our way this month, principally a few
blackbirds, thrushes, and starlings.
[1] Fishery Board cruisers.
_APRIL 1903._
Warm, sunny weather in the earlier part of the month raised our hopes
of a change of diet, and, coupled with the early appearance of the
paidlefish spawn, our expectations of an early fishing ran high. On the
8th, the capture of three small cods in “Johnny Gray” track increased
our hopes, and again on the 9th, eight were taken, but since then
we’ve had no other. Cold, blowy weather, with heavy seas, has rendered
all attempts in this direction futile; however, the attraction--as
evidenced by the stomachs of those captured--still increases, and
numbers of bloated paidle “hens,” with their lower jaws protruding like
a prize bull-dog, are seen cruising sluggishly among the tangles in
quest of a suitable nesting place. The nests this season are unusually
small; sometimes they contain as much ova as would fill a quart pot.
Each ovum is a sixteenth of an inch in diameter, and were all permitted
to come to maturity--instead of becoming food for other fishes as most
do--would soon fill the sea of themselves. “All nature is at one with
rapine and war,” and necessarily so, otherwise we would soon be crowded
out of existence.
Our winter residents, the eiders and longtails, have gradually
disappeared. On the 4th, a representative pair of each alone remained,
but these have now thought better of it and gone the way of their more
sensible comrades. A few gulls, herring, and kittiwakes hover about,
and guillemots and gannets are now common.
The gannets, I am informed by the keepers on the Bass Rock, commenced
laying there on the 11th. The solitary egg these birds deposit is
heavily coated with lime, which, when scrubbed off, exposes a pale blue
surface. This coating is probably the origin of the fallacy that these
birds ensure the safety of their eggs by cementing them to the bare
rock. On the contrary, each nest is composed of quite a barrow-load
of material of the most miscellaneous description. One of these nests
noted on the Bass this season was seen to have the end of a soft-soap
barrel for a foundation, armfuls of withered grass, dried tangles, bits
of rope, string, cotton waste, and other flotsam and jetsam picked up
about the Rock. Amongst the lining of the nest, pheasant and partridge
feathers were seen, which were certainly not garnered on the Bass.
The harvesting of the withered grass was accomplished between dark
and daylight, and, therefore, unnoticed by the keepers, but the area
of their operations, as seen next day, suggested the presence of a
lawn mower. Thousands of these birds are slaughtered annually by the
St Kildians as an article of diet, and the wonder is, considering the
solitary egg deposited and that three years elapse before the adult
stage is reached, that they continue so numerous.
Dr Wallace, in his “Natural Selection,” speaking of birds in general,
tells us that, if permitted to live, in the ordinary course of
production “in fifteen years each pair of birds would have increased to
more than two thousand millions. Whereas we have no reason to believe
that the number of the birds of any country increases at all in fifteen
or in one hundred and fifty years. On the average, all above one become
food for hawks and kites, wild cats or weasels, or perish of cold and
hunger as winter comes on.”
Myriads of white whelks are now scattered over the Rock surface, and
already patches of mussels and acorn barnacles have been cleared by
their voracity. Their ova, which is to be met with in almost every
nook and cranny, is left to take care of itself. A patch of this ova
is situated in a position which a paidle-hen subsequently fancied for
a nursery, and, scorning all rights of possession, plastered her ova
indiscriminately over that of the whelks, with the result that they are
now under the special care of the guardian “cock.”
A stranded cuttlefish was an object of much interest one evening
this month. What a queer-looking object it appeared, with its eight
long tentacles squirming in all directions, its body a slobbery mass
of animated mucilage. Although only a foot in diameter it required
some force to detach it from the rock, as each of the tentacles
is furnished with rows of suckers on its under side. By extending
the tentacles in front, the animal was able to move along the Rock
surface, not in a jerky fashion, as might be expected, but with a
continuous gliding motion, clearly showing that each sucker acted
independently of its neighbour. If taken hold of, one or other of the
tentacles is immediately twisted round the hand with a tenacity that
seems surprising considering the size of the animal, and one can then
realise to some extent the stories occasionally heard of its giant
relatives of the tropics. Irritated, it appears to have the properties
of the chameleon, flushing through all the gradations of colour in
quick succession, and latterly discharging a jet of fluid of inky
blackness. This resource, however, was utterly useless in the present
circumstances, but, on placing the animal in a shallow pool of water,
its use was at once apparent, for on being touched it immediately
rendered itself invisible by the inky fluid discharged. Frequent
irritation, however, exhausted its stock of ink, and latterly only
clear water was expelled. This expulsion, when effected on the Rock,
was accompanied by an audible murmur. The narrow slits of eyes closely
resemble those of a dog-fish, and the head, with the anterior tentacle
elevated in the air, grotesquely reminds one of an elephant in the act
of trumpeting.
_MAY 1903._
During the first few hours of this month our lantern was the centre
of a twittering throng of feathered migrants. Wheatears, rockpipits,
starlings, wrens, and robins fluttered erratically through the rays or
clamoured in their innocence against the glass, apparently desiring a
closer acquaintance with the source of light. Puffs of feathers floated
away on the easterly breeze as some unfortunate, less discreet than
his fellows, crashed against the invisible barrier. The coming dawn,
however, reveals to the survivors the absurdity of their position,
and ere the light is extinguished they have resumed their journey
shorewards. Frequent fogs occurred in the earlier part of the month,
and during the prevalence of a long spell a long-eared owl was captured
on the balcony and held prisoner for a week, during which time various
samples of our commissariat were offered for his acceptance without
avail. A luckless sparrow, the only one by the way I have seen here,
was then captured and placed at his disposal. This proved more in
his line of business, for on the morning after the rump and tail
feathers alone were left. Next day the indigestible portions, feathers,
etc., were cast up in the form of a compact ball. Later a thrush was
similarly offered, but after a couple of days in each other’s company
remained untouched. It was amusing to see the spirited attitude assumed
by the thrush when in the presence of his natural foe. Screaming
aggressively at the slightest movement of the owl, he would lunge
furiously in his direction, his bill all the while snapping audibly.
The fog having cleared somewhat, both were then set at liberty.
Another very rare visitor seen here this month was a sheldrake, which
passed close overhead flying south. This is the first I have seen
here, but in Orkney these birds are very numerous and are there known
as the burrow duck, or sly-goose. Sly they certainly are, as evidenced
by a pair which nested regularly within a couple of hundred yards of
the lighthouse at which I was then stationed. A covered drain was
the site annually chosen, the nest being placed several yards from
the mouth, which opened out on a spacious grassy hollow. The bright
brown and white plumage, with vermilion bill and feet, render these
birds most conspicuous objects in an ordinary landscape; but squatting
on a shingly beach, where their colours harmonise better with their
surroundings, their presence is less easily detected. Frequently I
have watched their movements with a telescope from the lantern, and
though no one was stirring within seeing distance of them, the greatest
caution was always exercised in approaching the nest. Lighting a
hundred yards from the nest, a pretence of feeding diligently was made,
though their heads could be seen frequently lifting in the direction
from which intrusion was to be expected. Gradually circling nearer the
nest, passing and repassing it with apparent indifference, till within
a few feet of it they would then suddenly vanish. The exact moment of
their entrance I was never able to note, as they appeared to assume
an invisibility during the remaining few feet of their journey that
was really astonishing, but which is less a matter of surprise when
one has witnessed the squatting in concealment of a hen pheasant on
sparse grassy ground. Burrow duck is a name applied to these birds
from their habit of nesting in disused rabbit burrows. I have counted
as many as forty young ones following a single pair, while others may
have only three or four juveniles in their train. It is said they do
not scruple to steal the young ones from each other. If alarmed while
feeding among the decaying seaware on the beach, some of the parents
will fly to meet the intruder and endeavour to divert his attention in
another direction, while the others fly seawards, followed by their
callow broods flapping their little wings, while their feet tip-tip the
surface--a veritable walking on the waters.
Just as the rocks were being overflowed the other day, we had a
visit of another bird which is but rarely seen here, namely, the
oyster-catcher. The plumage beautiful black and white, the feet and
bill a brilliant red; the latter, which is flattened vertically,
suggestive of a stick of sealing wax. Though fairly well acquainted
with this species, I never had the good fortune till now to see them
in the _rôle_ of limpet pickers, by which name they are known in some
localities. From the balcony, with the aid of the telescope, his
movements were brought within a few feet of us. Wading an inch or so
deep, where the limpets were probably opening to the influence of the
incoming tide, he appeared to make a judicious selection; then, with a
single sidelong blow of his chisel-like bill, he turned the no doubt
astonished mollusc upside down. Seizing it in his bill, he carried
it to a still dry portion of the Rock, and in a twinkling he had the
limpet out of its shell, and journeying up his long bill to its doom.
The tip of the upper mandible appeared to do the scooping out, while
the lower merely acted as a resistance outside the shell, the operation
being performed more quickly than even the adroit oyster-man turns out
his wares on the half-shell. Though not web-footed nor in the habit of
diving, I remember seeing one of these birds, which had been winged
with a gun-shot, dive repeatedly in order to escape further injury.