An interesting description of the way in which turtles are
“farmed” in various parts of the world. The most up-to-date and
scientifically-conducted of these curious establishments is
that of Mr. Hattori, in Japan, where the snapping-turtle, the
most vicious of his species, is bred and reared.
That strange creature, the turtle, is now receiving the attention of
the farmer, and is being scientifically bred and reared in various
parts of the world. Indeed, turtle-farming on a large scale is now
carried on both in Japan and in America, while the great palisade
enclosures on the shores in the West Indies, where turtles are confined
until wanted for the London market, may well come under the same
designation.
Curiously enough, the species of turtle favoured respectively by the
Japanese, Americans, and by English people are totally different. For
instance, the Japanese farmer gives his attention to the propagation of
the snapping-turtle and American to the diamond-backed terrapin, while
the turtle soup so much prized by the wealthy and sought after by the
sick in this country is made from the green turtle of the West Indies.
[Illustration: A GROUP OF YOUNG TURTLES JUST HATCHED.
_From a Photograph._]
The terrapin is quite a small creature, rather flat-backed and rounded
in outline, its scales being marked by independent black patterns
composed of many geometric figures placed one within another. At one
time it was found in large quantities in the shallow bays and salt
marshes along the Atlantic coast from Massachusetts to Texas. The
discovery that its flesh made a delicious stew and an ideal soup,
however, resulted in the creature being hunted so vigorously that
to-day it is exceedingly scarce. Indeed, whereas a terrapin, seven
inches in length, could be picked up a few years ago for a few cents,
it would be difficult to secure one to-day for a five-pound note. It
was this scarcity of the terrapin, and the big demand for it among the
hotels and restaurants, that have led not a few enterprising men to
establish farms, where these much-sought-after creatures are bred and
reared for the market in large numbers.
The terrapin being small, perfectly harmless, and requiring but a
little pond of salt water to dwell in, there is nothing particularly
exciting in farming it. Indeed, a terrapin “farm” consists merely of
a number of small ponds or basins in which the creatures are confined
according to their age and size. Thus, in the smaller ponds, we
discover those just hatched from the eggs--curious little things not
much bigger than a billiard ball. As they breed well, and it is not
necessary to keep the creature long before it is ready for the _chef_,
terrapin farming may be described as a fairly remunerative business.
[Illustration: GENERAL VIEW OF MR. HATTORI’S TURTLE-FARM NEAR TOKIO,
JAPAN.
_From a Photograph._]
[Illustration: THE EMBANKMENT OF A “PARENTS’ POND”--EACH OF THE WIRE
CIRCLETS HERE SHOWN COVERS A DEPOSIT OF EGGS.
_From a Photo. by M. Ichikawa, Japan._]
Decidedly more up-to-date are the snapping-turtle farms of Mr. Hattori,
situated just outside Tokio, the capital of Japan. The Japanese people
will proudly tell you that they are the only turtle farms in the world,
but, as I have already shown, this is hardly correct. These farms
were established some few years ago now, and are, without question,
a great success. On an average, Mr. Hattori supplies to the hotels
and restaurants of Japan over sixteen thousand turtles a year, while
another five thousand are shipped to China. So far as the farm itself
is concerned, it consists of a number of rectangular ponds, large and
small, the larger ones having an area of fifteen to twenty thousand
square feet.
[Illustration: YOUNG SNAPPING-TURTLES A FEW DAYS OLD--THEY ARE KEPT IN
A SEPARATE ENCLOSURE IN ORDER THAT THEIR CANNIBALISTIC ELDERS MAY NOT
DEVOUR THEM.
_From a Photo. by M. Ichikawa, Japan._]
One or more of the ponds is always reserved for large breeding
individuals, or “parents,” as they are called, and one of the
assistants visits this pond twice a day to look out for new deposits
of eggs. Over these he places a wire basket, with the date marked upon
it. In one of our photographs a number of these wire baskets may be
seen, though unfortunately the eggs are not shown, being covered with
a slight layer of sand, this work being done by the turtle itself.
The covering serves a twofold purpose--the obvious one of marking the
place, and, in addition, that of keeping other females from digging in
the same spot. When hundreds, or even thousands, of these baskets are
seen along the bank of a “parents’ pond,” the sight is one to gladden
the heart of an embryologist, to say nothing of the proprietor.
The hatching of the eggs occupies, on an average, sixty days. The
time, however, may be considerably shortened or lengthened, according
to whether the summer is hot and the sun pours down its strong rays
day after day, or whether there is much rain and the heat not great.
As the turtles lay sixty eggs to the nest at two sittings, it will be
seen that in a single season many thousands are added to this unique
establishment, but at least five years must elapse before they are
large enough for the _chef_.
[Illustration: CHOPPING UP FOOD FOR THE BABY TURTLES.
_From a Photograph._]
One would imagine, remembering the quantities of eggs laid by turtles,
that they would be very plentiful, but there are few creatures that
have more enemies. All that the mother turtle does is to deposit her
eggs on the sand of some island and there leave them to be hatched
out by the sun. Before this process is accomplished they are often
destroyed by rats and birds, while very few of those that are hatched
survive very long. The moment the young turtle emerges from its shell
it seeks the water, and there crabs and various kinds of fish are ever
ready to devour it. The young just hatched at the farm under notice are
put in a pond or ponds by themselves and given finely-chopped meat of a
fish like the pilchard, while the bigger ones are fed largely on live
eels. This feeding continues to the end of September. In October the
snapping-turtle ceases to take food, and finally burrows in the muddy
bottom of the pond to hibernate, coming out only in April or May.
Snapping-turtle farming is much more exciting than raising the
American terrapin. The former is a vicious creature and will snap
at anything--hence its name. Indeed, in disposition it is the very
opposite of its American brother. It believes most thoroughly in the
survival of the fittest, and to it the fittest is number one. It is a
chronic fighter, and inasmuch as its jaws are very strong and, like a
bulldog, it never knows when to let go, it is a reptile to be either
mastered or avoided. Indeed, the men at Mr. Hattori’s farm can tell
many exciting little stories concerning the voracity of this strange
creature. One farm hand, for instance, is minus a finger, the result of
not using sufficient care when transferring one of the larger reptiles
to a new pond.
[Illustration: FEEDING THE EELS WHICH IN TURN PROVIDE FOOD FOR THE
LARGER TURTLES.
_From a Photo. by M. Ichikawa, Japan._]
Many naturalists have visited this unique farm and, after a close study
of the turtle and its habits, have confirmed all the bad qualities that
have been recorded concerning it. In securing its food it shows that
it possesses no mean intelligence. At one time it crawls slowly and
silently along with neck outstretched towards an unsuspecting fish,
springs upon it by a powerful thrust of its hind legs, and snaps it
up; at another time it drives the fish around the basin and terrifies
it until it falls an unresisting victim. Again, the reptile may be
observed buried in the sandy soil of its prison with only its bill and
eyes protruding. On the approach of a fish the head and long neck dart
forth from the sand with lightning speed and the prey is caught and
instantly killed by a savage bite.
In its wild state the snapping-turtle is distinctly a nocturnal animal,
and does its hunting after sunset, when it emerges from its muddy home
to look for food. In the presence of danger it becomes bold, defiant,
and even desperate. When driven to bay it retracts its neck, head, and
widely-gaping jaws into its shell, awaiting a favourable opportunity
to thrust them forth slyly and bite savagely. Anything which it has
seized in its jaws it holds with wonderful tenacity, at the same time
vigorously scratching the earth with its sharp claws. There is only one
way to catch the snapping-turtle, and that is to secure it by the tail.
Some of the men at Mr. Hattori’s farm are very dexterous in seizing
their victims in this fashion.
A little time ago a Russian officer visited the establishment and
listened, with some incredulity, to the stories of the voracity of
the reptiles in the ponds before him. He carried in his hand a stout
cane, and was told to place it near one of the bigger animals. He did
so, and was surprised to find that in a few minutes it was bitten
clean through. Before now the snapping-turtle has been known to bite
through the flat of an oar. Not only will this turtle catch all kinds
of fish and frogs and devour them greedily, but it is not averse to
hunting waterfowl. Mr. Hattori declares that, in addition to raising
turtles, he could rear ducks and geese as well, but dare not, as the
reptiles would only kill them. When a snapping-turtle detects a duck it
cunningly makes its way towards the creature, seizes it by its legs,
pulls it down under water, and then drags it to the bottom of the pond.
Here it tears the duck to pieces with the aid of the long claws of its
fore paws and devours it.
It is this snapping propensity which makes it desirable to keep the
reptiles in ponds according to their ages; it would not do to put
those just hatched in the same basin as the bigger ones, as they would
quickly be eaten. Until they reach their sixth year they are never
“mixed.” When they reach this age, however, they are capable of taking
care of themselves and are allowed access to the bigger ponds. By this
time the turtle has reached maturity and may begin to deposit eggs,
though it is not at its prime till two or three years later.
[Illustration: WEST INDIAN TURTLES ON BOARD A MAIL STEAMER BOUND FOR
LONDON--IN SPITE OF EVERY CARE, THE MORTALITY AMONG THEM IS VERY HEAVY.
[_From a Photograph._]]
What the Japanese epicure prefers are turtles not more than five years
of age, when the flesh is soft and in desirable condition for the
making of stews and soups. At this age the snapping-turtle weighs from
sixty to eighty pounds. Those that are destined for the table are kept
in a pond to themselves, and taken as required in nets or pulled out of
the water by their tails. They are then placed in tin boxes or cases
with air-holes, and sent by train to their destination.
The turtle that is consumed in this country is the green species, from
the West Indies. The creatures are imported by Mr. T. K. Bellis, who
will not hesitate to tell you that of edible turtles the green variety
is the best. Mr. Bellis imports some three thousand turtles a year.
They arrive in batches of one hundred or more every fortnight by the
Royal Mail steamers from Kingston, Jamaica, and are obtained from the
coral reefs lying to the north of the island of Jamaica. Twelve to
fifteen small schooners are employed in the trade, and upwards of a
hundred and twenty men.
[Illustration: A CONSIGNMENT OF TURTLES AT A LONDON TERMINUS. [_From a
Photograph._]]
These fishers of strange “fish” (the turtle’s technical name) stretch
nets of twine from rock to rock, and the moment the turtle feels itself
entangled it clings tenaciously to the meshes, and is then hauled to
the surface. The schooners in due time return to Kingston with from
eighty to a hundred and fifty of these remarkable creatures, which
are promptly deposited in palisaded enclosures, flooded at every tide
by the sea. Here they are fed upon a certain kind of herbage known as
“turtle grass,” and taken as required. The bringing of these creatures
overseas is a very delicate business, and frequently sixty out of a
hundred perish _en route_, in spite of the most elaborate precautions,
such as the constant spraying of salt water daily on board the mail
steamer, and the use of foot warmers for the turtles in the railway
vans from Southampton to Waterloo. Before now, Mr. Bellis has lost
eighty-eight turtles out of a shipment of a hundred.
This susceptibility to travel is one of the most remarkable things
about the turtle. If you are anxious to transport him alive it is a
hundred to one he perishes of cold, but if you do succeed in getting
him home the difficulty then is to kill him. The vitality of this
strange sea creature after decapitation is almost beyond belief. Mr.
Bellis once sent a large turtle to an hotel in Newcastle. The _chef_
cut the turtle’s head off and hung the body upside down to bleed.
Twenty-four hours after that turtle knocked down a man cook with one
blow of its fin! The green turtle is not a vicious creature to handle,
like its snapping Japanese brother, but its fins are very strong, and
one blow from them is quite sufficient to break a man’s arm.
Mr. Frank T. Bullen gives a remarkable instance of the tenacious hold
of the turtle upon life. “On one occasion,” he records, “our men cut
all the flesh and entrails of a turtle away, leaving only the head
and tail attached to the shell. Some time had elapsed since the meat
had been scooped out of the carapace, and no one imagined that any
life remained in the extremities. But a young Dane, noticing that the
down-hanging head had its mouth wide open, very foolishly inserted two
fingers between those horny mandibles. It closed, and our shipmate
was two fingers short, the edges of the turtle’s jaws had taken them
clean off, with only the muscular power remaining in the head. Then
another man tried to cut the horny tail off, but as soon as his keen
blade touched it on the underside it curled up and gripped his knife so
firmly that it was nearly an hour before the blade could be withdrawn.”
Signor Redi, the great zoologist, records how he once cut a turtle’s
head off and noted that it lived for twenty-three days without a head,
and another whose brains he removed lived for six months.
The green turtle, the species favoured in this country, is not a
carnivorous creature, like the snapping-turtle, its food being a
particular kind of sea grass found on the coral reefs in the West
Indies. Some time ago Mr. Bellis brought a large quantity of this grass
to London, with the idea of feeding the creatures in captivity, but
they refused to take it. In his cellars in the City one can see any
day a number of these turtles. Here they are kept until a telegram
arrives from a distant hotel, when away goes the turtle to be turned
into soup for the forthcoming banquet. Those hotels which do not care
about the trouble of killing the creature can procure the soup in tins
and bottles direct from the importer, and it is not surprising to learn
that large quantities are sold. It requires eight pounds of the best
turtle-flesh to make one quart of soup.
The green turtle grows to an immense size, but it has been found
that specimens weighing more than a hundred and fifty pounds are not
desirable, the flesh becoming coarse as the animal increases in weight.
The shell of this variety is practically valueless, but the hawksbill
turtle yields what is popularly known as “tortoiseshell,” and the
armour covering of a good specimen may be worth eight pounds. Its
flesh, however, is too coarse for consumption, though here it should
be added that it is doubtful whether those who occasionally partake
of green-turtle soup would relish that made from the flesh of the
snapping-turtle.
It is a notorious fact that turtles grow very slowly and attain a great
age. Curiously enough, neither Mr. Hattori nor Mr. Bellis can tell to
what age a snapping or green turtle will live. Mr. Hattori has quite a
number of turtles that are known to be from thirty to fifty years of
age, while some of the bigger specimens that arrive at Waterloo for the
Bellis cellars are, it is believed, twelve to fifteen years old.
[Illustration: TURTLES IN MR. BELLIS’S CELLARS IN THE CITY OF LONDON.
_From a Photo. by Conolly & Goatam._]
[Illustration: SHORT STORIES.]