chorus of discordant voices floating to our bedroom windows announced
the presence of a large flock of terns--their first arrival here
since wintering in the sunny south. Screaming and diving, they appear
tireless in the pursuit of their prey, which, with the aid of the
telescope, is seen to consist of inch-long “fry.” How trim and neat
they appear as they cluster on the rocks as the tide recedes, pruning
their feathers and chattering vociferously; the head enshrouded in a
black, glossy skull-cap, the back and wings a bluish grey, the under
parts of unsullied white; the long sharp-pointed scarlet bill tipped
with black in harmony with the legs, and small webbed feet. This
active little bird is also called the Sea Swallow, an _alias_ assumed
from its long narrow wings and forked tail.
The sea has been literally alive with large poddlies this month.
Morning and evening they can be seen “breaking” on the surface in
pursuit of “fry,” splashing loudly in their efforts. Though somewhat
averse to our lure, we generally manage to secure a breakfast. On
quiet, still days, good sized cod are seen prowling over the rocks;
and, though lines were set at low water, they were seen at high water
to pass the temptation with indifference. Fishermen aver that all fish
have times when the most tempting delicacy fails to attract their
attention; and possibly this is the case with those which have been
lately under our observation. Hermit crabs at present are seen to be
carrying spawn; and one which was removed from its shell was seen to
have the spawn so far advanced that, when placed in a shallow pool,
they released their attachment with the parent, and began life as
free swimmers. A small fish of the blenny species, when taken from
the crevice in which the tide had left it, was quite dark coloured,
but when placed in a pool was seen to adapt itself to the colouring
of the bottom on which it rested, assuming a mottled grey scarcely
distinguishable from the pool bottom.
Painters have been busy for the latter half of this month repainting
the outside of the building. Favoured with suitable weather, a
fortnight sufficed for the operation of donning the triennial coat,
which will explain the apparent proximity with which it has been lately
viewed from Arbroath.
_JUNE-JULY 1903._
A close inspection of the flowing tide as it swirls around our gratings
reveals the presence of myriads of minute globular jellyfishes--the
_cydippe pileus_--said to be the favourite food of the arctic whale,
though one would scarcely expect these bulky cetaceans to thrive or
even subsist on such watery diet. Ranging in size from a pin head to
a walnut, what a gap each mouthful must make in their numbers. The
poddlies themselves are not averse to this form of food, as they are
occasionally seen to disgorge them when landed in our doorway. The
common jellyfish progresses through the water with a pulsating movement
of the entire disc, such movement being termed “pulmonigrade,” and
somewhat resembles the action of an umbrella being partially opened
and closed. The mode of progression in the case of the _cydippe_ is,
however, different, and is termed “ciliograde,” as the propulsion is
effected by means of eight vertical bands of cilia or minute plates
overlapping each other. Each plate having an independent action of
its own, the animal can propel itself in any desired direction, or,
by resting them against its spherical body, sink to the bottom. In
sunshine these animals in their evolutions emit the most beautiful
combinations of colour one could imagine, but “you seize the flower,
its bloom is shed”--scooped up in the hollow of the hand their beauty
vanishes, and only a small spat of inert transparent jelly remains.
Here at present in the Rock pools one may witness a peculiar phase in
the evolution of the jellyfish. Along with many beautiful varieties of
marine vegetation, miniature forests of fir trees garnish the bottom
of each shallow pool. These lilliputian firs, with their branches no
thicker than a hair, are but plants in semblance, for here is the
opening chapter in the life history of the medusae. Under the lens
each fragile shoot is seen to consist of multitudes of small discs
piled upon each other like so many saucers, each of which will, in
due course, detach itself from its neighbour and enter on its new
existence as fully equipped as the exaggerated specimens frequently
seen stranded on our beaches. Lurking amongst the vegetation in the
pools are numerous tiny spider-crabs, roaming about in search of food.
Only by their movements can they be located, as each bears about with
it quite a luxuriant growth of vegetation, with which I understand all
crustaceans would become invested did they not--ludicrous as it may
seem--regularly attend to their toilet. The “spider,” however, unable
to procure a living by force of arms like his bigger brother, has
recourse to the subterfuge of posing as an innocent patch of marine
vegetation, and by such concealment is enabled to capture food which
would be otherwise unattainable. The females at present are seen to be
carrying spawn. When changing their position in the pool it is somewhat
surprising to see a portion of the plants, which one has been admiring,
suddenly become endowed with the powers of locomotion, detach itself
from the mass, and, ambling leisurely round the pool, come to rest on
the fringe of some other patch with which it completely harmonises.
During the whole of June, at daybreak and again in the evening, the
sea around us appeared literally alive with large-sized poddlies.
Their continual flip-flop on the surface in pursuit of “fry” could be
distinctly heard from the balcony. Though frequently within reach of
our attempts from the doorway, they failed to appreciate our invitation
to any extent, and only with much perseverance did we occasionally
manage to breakfast at their expense. A few cod have been taken from
the pools at low water. The deepest of these pools is about a couple
of fathoms at low water, and has the reputation of being a sort of
convalescent home, as fish are occasionally taken there which are in
anything but the pink of condition. Fishing there lately, I hooked
a cod two feet long, and was somewhat surprised to see the feeble
resistance it made. On landing it, however, it was seen to be a most
phthisical-looking specimen and in the last stages of emaciation, the
bones almost protruding through the skin. Needless to state, his life
was spared, and the patient returned to his element. I have frequently
seen emaciated specimens of the cod family, but as they were full
grown, fishermen attributed this to old age, but this was certainly not
the case with our catch, it being but half grown.
I often wonder if any one has noticed the following peculiarity. When
fish show an unusual tenacity of life, that is, after being gutted and
cleaned, exhibit strong muscular action for some time after, that this
phenomenon invariably precedes a change of some kind in the weather,
usually more wind or heavier sea. This at least is my experience from
several years’ observations.
The remaining patches of white whelk ova now appear flaccid and empty.
Brushing the hand over the apparently empty capsules, a granular
deposit adheres to the skin, which on close examination is seen to
be minute whelks. Even with the aid of the lens the sulci or furrow,
through which boring operations are conducted, is not yet apparent, but
which later is common to this species. The rocks at present are thickly
sewn with these juveniles, and myriads of adults are busy clearing
the rocks of barnacles and immature mussels. As late as 28th July a
solitary paidle-cock was seen guarding its nest; this is unusually
late, as they are generally finished nursing by the end of June.
The middle of July brought us our first young tern, and towards the
close of the month several were in attendance. A large school of
bottle-nose whales crossed the reef on the last Sunday of July, their
puffing and blowing being quite audible as they headed north, probably
after herring.
Pleasure steamers from Dundee have been frequently round the Rock
during June and July, some of the trippers evidently enjoying the sail,
others emphatically not. One of the passengers, as the steamer got to
windward of us, favoured us with a cornet solo, which we gratefully
acknowledged with a dip of our flag. On several evenings an hour’s
fishing was given the passengers, but their catches could scarcely
be expected to have any appreciable influence on the market. Broken
weather, excessive rain, with occasional thunderstorms, describes the
weather we have been having, the seasonable days of sunshine and warmth
being few and far between.
_AUGUST 1903._
A month of variable weather, much rain and heavy seas occasionally
compelling the boats engaged in the herring fishing to run for it.
Dearly bought indeed is their silvery freight as they thresh their way
homewards followed by a stiff sou’-easter, their oilskins glistening
with repeated drenchings, and twelve miles’ ploughing and a doubtful
bar yet to be negotiated ere safety is reached. How different! no
running for home with us; here we remain secure and comfortable amid
the hurly-burly, and trust to the stability of the grand old building
for our safety. Right well does it merit our confidence. After a
century’s buffetings with the elements, not a single sign of weakening
in the never ceasing conflict is evident. Surely a creditable testimony
to the honesty of the labour employed in its erection.
That herring are occasionally in our vicinity is evidenced by the
industrious diving of the gannets, accompanied by large flocks of gulls
and terns, and also by the presence of whales snorting and puffing
close to the Rock. At low water the reef is covered with gulls and
terns resting from their labours of the tide. Scorning such relaxment,
the gannets, wheeling and diving, maintain their ceaseless chase,
establishing their kinship with that bird of the Ancient Mariner,
the tireless albatross. A skua or robber-gull has billeted himself
amongst the gulls and terns, and is frequently seen harrying them
of their legitimate prey. It is surprising that the terns at least,
with their needle-pointed bills and belligerent propensities, suffer
themselves to be so despoiled, and make no attempt to combine and drive
off this pirate on the fruits of their industry. On the contrary,
after a fruitless twisting and doubling in mid-air, in which they are
invariably worsted, they seem to accept these periodic attacks of the
skua as a matter of course.
Amateur fishers have been but seldom in evidence here this summer; even
the lobsters have enjoyed a season of comparative rest. Possibly the
uncertain state of the weather prevented their usual visits. Towards
the close of the month a trio of amateurs cast anchor--or rather what
does duty as such--within hail of our kitchen window, a favourite spot
of theirs. Lines were no sooner down than a brisk business began in
cod, varied by an occasional poddley which has little or no market
value, but which to us here is always acceptable, and forms the
principal part of our catches. Several good catches of these have been
taken here during the month. What appears to be whitings two inches in
length is seen to be their food at present. The terns also are seen
to be on similar diet, and though engaged in conveying a mouthful to
their young ones, it in no way impedes their full flow of language, nor
muffles in the slightest degree their strident throat notes.
During the unusually low tides occurring this month an opportunity was
afforded of examining a most peculiar form of animal life of which I
have nowhere seen any account. Attached to the rocks amongst groups of
corallines this curious object[2] has all the semblance of a bird’s
claw. Imagine the leg of a bird amputated at the knee, firmly fastened
to the rock by the cut end, and imbued with life, and you have a fair
idea of this animal. About half an inch in length, the “leg” is seen
to be composed of segments, and terminates in three toes, furnished
with sharp, curved claws, which keep up a constant clutching--at what
is not apparent; but the action strongly reminds one of a similar
effect produced by juveniles who have become the proud possessor of
a hen’s foot, and for a piece of slate pencil--the usual juvenile
currency--demonstrate to admiring companions the utility of the
extensor muscles.
Last month we had the unique experience of being serenaded by the
Dundee trippers with a cornet solo, but the last Saturday of this
month fairly eclipsed this performance. As we were about to sit down
to tea we were somewhat startled to hear the regular beat of a drum
and the unmistakeable music of the bagpipes. A hasty survey from the
kitchen window sent us flying to the balcony, there to witness the
novel sight of a ship, manned by boys--a training brig evidently, bound
for Dundee. Bearing down upon us from the eastward, she approached
close to the Tower, the tide being about full. Flag courtesies being
exchanged, crowds of juvenile faces were seen lining the rail, while
midships pipers discoursed some lively music, including the “Cock o’
the North.” The wind being light, the vessel made but little way, and
as she slowly crossed the reef the youngsters lustily cheered us, which
we returned as best we could. Breaking into song, the whole ship’s
company favoured us with “Poor Cock Robin,” the youthful voices having
a most pleasing effect in the stillness of a really beautiful summer’s
evening. Applauding our loudest, cheers were again exchanged as she
slowly drifted beyond our hearing, the whole scene strongly reminiscent
of “H.M.S. Pinafore.”
[2] Whale-louse.
_SEPTEMBER-OCTOBER 1903._
The man that pours the water out has certainly been paying attention
to his business, and in conjunction with the puffy bellower of storms
favoured us with weather anything but peaceful. Unlike the farmers,
we have little cause of complaint. No sodden fields or ruined crops
appal the eye, for even after a “regular snorter” things here remain
pretty much as they were. True, the aspect changes as the season
advances. The whitewashed appearance of the rock surface in summer,
due to the presence of the acorn barnacle, has now vanished--thanks to
the voracity of the white whelk--and the rocks appear in their natural
colour, a reddish-brown. The “sere and yellow” is well represented
in the once luxuriant crops of heavy tangles, but lately swaying on
the surface with a freshness and beauty peculiarly their own, now
storm-tossed, frayed and abraded, denuded of their palm-like fronds,
they appear but a vestige of their former selves. The turbulent state
of the weather interferes seriously with our fishing, keeping the
poddlies at a respectful distance from our door; indeed, any approach
in our direction at present would certainly denote suicidal mania on
their part. At a safe distance outside the breakers, they are to be
seen playing on the surface in the early morning and evening, so that
our expectations are still high should the weather but abate.
The eider ducks, which on the 20th September were represented by a
solitary individual--the first arrival--now number over a hundred. The
longtails are still awanting to complete our list, but their advent
may be looked for early next month. On suitable nights for the past
two months we have always had some feathered visitors “becking and
booing” to us through the lantern. On 4th October an extremely rare
visitor--here at least--made its appearance, namely, the ring-ousel,
the first I have seen. In size, shape, and general colouring, this
migrant might easily be mistaken for a hen blackbird, but for the
conspicuous white crescent across the throat, in this instance somewhat
faint, but well defined, owing possibly to the bird being in immature
plumage. On the morning of the 24th October over two dozen tiny
gold-crest wrens were circling round our lantern, jostling and tumbling
over each other in frantic efforts to keep in line with the white
flash, the red flash evidently having no attraction for them. A skylark
and robin were also of the company, as well as several redwings. The
robin always seems to have a truer sense of his position than any other
of our visitors. While the others clamour futilely against the glass he
maintains an aloofness and self-possession truly remarkable. His eyes
seem to be everywhere, and only with difficulty and the exercise of a
little strategy is his capture effected. Of course, our captures are
but temporary, and merely for the sake of a few minutes’ examination.
We had rather a disappointing experience with the Channel Fleet while
cruising in these waters last month (September). Passing north in the
dark, we were quite unaware of their presence, the _Sutlej_ alone being
seen later steaming north at 6 p.m. on the 21st, nearer to Arbroath
than to us. On returning south a string of brilliant lights passing
three miles outside of us at two o’clock in the morning was all we saw
of the procession.
On 29th October a flock of thirteen field-fares passed at 9 a.m.,
flying towards Arbroath. This is the first arrival here of these birds,
and earlier than usual.
On examining a lark which had been killed on the lantern the other
night, a small land shell was found adhering to the feathers on the
under part of the body. Arguing from this instance, the assumption
that they also are imbued with the migratory instinct and adopt this
mode of travelling would probably be considered far-fetched. That
there is much undreamt of in our philosophy is as pregnant as when
uttered, and possibly the connection between mollusc and bird was due
to circumstances other than purely accidental.
_NOVEMBER 1903._
Sunday, 1st.--A flat calm. A pleasant change, indeed, after our recent
experience, and one which has fortunately continued for the greater
part of the month. Fish, which had maintained a safe distance during
the turmoil of last month, now ventured within catching distance, and
several good takes were had. After the middle of the month heavy seas
again drove them out of reach into deep water. Those that were caught
were seen to be gorged with soil half an inch in length, resembling
a piece of white thread with a black dot on either side at one end
representing the eyes. Amongst the first that were taken the small
jellyfish--_cydippe pileus_--seemed to have been their principal diet,
but latterly the soil appeared to be preferred to the medusae. Outside
the breakers they are still occasionally seen playing on the surface
in the evenings. “Playing” is scarcely correct, as their play is, in
reality, strict attention to business, and their appearance on the
surface merely denotes their having overleaped themselves in pursuit
of their legitimate prey. Our flock of eider ducks, much larger than
it has been for several years back, now numbers 120. Amongst the
smothering breakers they seem to be in their glory, and are busily
engaged in clearing off the immature mussels that have escaped the
voracity of the white whelks. On the 2nd, the first two longtails were
seen, exactly a week earlier than last year, but their numbers are
being but tardily reinforced, as they only totalled six at the end of
the month. Though the main body of the solan geese or gannets left
their breeding haunts on the Bass Rock on the 5th of the month for the
fishing grounds--in the Mediterranean it is said--occasional stragglers
are still seen in our vicinity.
On the night of the 8th we had a few migrants on the lantern, ten
blackbirds--three only of which were males--and three fieldfares.
Several of them appeared much fatigued, and after a few preliminary
hops round the lantern, settled down on the lee side to have a nap.
A fresh breeze blowing at the time, those still on the move were
frequently hustled by the wind against the sleepers, who, thus
rudely awakened, vigorously resented what they no doubt considered a
deliberate attempt to assault, with the result that all hands were at
times engaged in a battle royal; the hen “blackies” only engaging with
those of their own sex, while the cocks and fieldfares tackled all
comers indiscriminately. It was rather amusing to witness the finish
between a pair thus engaged. Edging round the narrow pathway in their
struggle, they gradually came under the influence of the wind sweeping
round the lantern, when suddenly one of them would be wheeled off its
feet away into the darkness, its opponent peering after it in evident
astonishment, and probably congratulating itself on its prowess. The
haze, responsible for their appearance here, clearing after midnight,
before 3 a.m. they had all resumed their journey shoreward. On the
20th, a pair of grey crows passed, going east, and on the 22nd a heron
was seen travelling in the same direction. Again, on the night of
the 27th, three hen blackbirds and a starling had the lantern all to
themselves.
The white whelks have now gone into winter quarters, and only a few
are to be seen lingering among patches of immature mussels. The
black edible whelk, or periwinkle, whose vegetarian habits demand a
more inshore life, is here conspicuous by its absence. Occasionally,
during the summer months, a very close search reveals a few solitary
specimens. Two different varieties of slugs have been much in evidence
among the rocks here of late. One of them (_Doris coccinea_),
resembling in shape and colour a section of an orange, I have already
described; the other somewhat resembles the common snail. Furnished
with anterior horns and fleshy spines, ranged along the back, it curls
itself up when out of water like a hedgehog. Earlier in the season they
were mostly of a beautiful bluish colour, now they appear quite red.
Without any visible means of defence, one can fancy these shell-less
molluscs furnishing a delectable tit-bit for a hungry cod.
Turning over some loose stones in the shallow pools numbers of young
paidle-fish are seen adhering to the under sides by means of their
breast suckers, and when taken in the hand readily adhere to the
fingers. I lately saw an illustration in which the paidle “hen” was
depicted as leading a brood of about two dozen juveniles after the
manner of the domestic fowl. This is stretching the simile with a
vengeance, and not in accordance with facts. The “hen,” on depositing
the ova, takes no further interest in it, and the “cock” alone guards
the nest till the young are hatched out, when he also disappears,
neither of them being seen till the following season. Considering that
each nest probably contains millions of embryos, one can imagine the
maternal anxiety in “airing” such a brood.