THE OCEAN AND ITS LIVING WONDERS (_continued_).
The Crustaceans, a Crusty Set—Young Crabs and their
Peculiarities—Shells and no Shells—Powers of Renewal—The Biter
Bit—Cocoa‐nut eating Crabs—Do Crabs like Boiling?—The Land Crab
and his Migrations—Nigger Excitement—The King Crab—The Hut Crab—A
True Yarn—The Hermit or Soldier Crab—Pugnaciousness—Crab War and
Human War—Prolific Crustaceans—Raising Lobster‐pots—Technical
Differences—How do Lobsters shed their Shells?—Fishermen’s
Ideas—Habits of the Lobster—Its Fecundity—The Supply for
Billingsgate—The Season‐“Lobster Frolics” in British North
America—Eel‐grass—Cray‐fish, Prawns, and Shrimps.
In the Crustacea we find the lowest form of articulate animals. They
possess feet, breathe through gills, and derive their name from their hard
crusty covering, which is mainly carbonate of lime with colouring matter.
They have nearly all of them claws, which most of them know well how to
employ offensively. “They have been compared,” says Figuier, “to the
heavily‐armed knights of the middle ages—at once audacious and cruel;
barbed in steel from head to foot, with visor and corselet, arm‐pieces and
thigh‐pieces—scarcely anything, in fact, is wanting to complete the
resemblance.” They possess the power of throwing off their calcareous
covering, when they become, for the nonce, as vulnerable as they had been
before formidable.(41)
“Among all the curious and quaint forms of animal life to be found in the
sea,” says Lord, “few for grotesque oddity can equal the baby crabs, or
_Zoëa_, as they are sometimes called. These interesting infants are not
the least like their papa or mamma, and no respectable or fully‐matured
male or female _crab_ would ever own them as his or her offspring. An
elfish little creature is the juvenile crab, with a head scarcely
deserving the name, and a pair of goggle bull’s‐eyes as of two policemen’s
lanterns rolled into one, a tail vastly too long for him, and an anti‐
garotte spear, quite as long as his absurd little body, attached to the
spot where his coat‐collar should be.... Master Crab’s internal economy is
just as curious as his external skeleton. One pair of jaws one would be
disposed to think sufficient for any living creature of reasonable
requirements, but he possesses eight, and instead of exposing his teeth to
the examination of the critical in matters of dentition, he carries them
safely stowed away in the interior of his stomach, where they would be
excessively hard to get at in cases of crustacean toothache. With such
appliances as these the food cannot well be otherwise than perfectly
masticated. A crab’s liver is an odd organ to contemplate, and constitutes
a considerable portion of the soft interior of the shell‐like box in which
the heart and other viscera are lodged. That well‐known delicacy known as
the ‘cream’ or ‘fat’ of the crab is liver, and nothing else. The lungs, or
gills, are formed by those fringe‐like appendages popularly known as the
‘dead men’s fingers.’ The shell‐shifting process before referred to is
common to all crustaceans; and our friend the crab, when he feels his
corselet getting rather tight for him, manages by some extraordinary
process not only to extricate himself from it, together with his shell‐
gauntlets, and the powerful nippers with which he is provided, but
performs other feats, compared with which those of the Davenport Brothers
sink into utter insignificance.”
Nearly all the crustaceans are hardy and destructive, and fight not merely
their enemies, but among each other. It matters little to them whether
they lose a claw or a tail, for after a few weeks of repose those members
grow again. Tandon records the fact that lobsters “which in an unfortunate
encounter lost a limb, sick and debilitated, reappear at the end of a few
months with a perfect limb, vigorous, and ready for service.” On the
Spanish coast a certain crab is caught for its claw alone, which is
considered excellent eating; this is pulled off, and the mutilated animal
thrown back into the sea, likely enough to be retaken, and the same
process repeated at some future time. Crustaceans are nearly all
carnivorous, and are by no means particular what they eat. Some of them,
however, show considerable appreciation for the oyster. Sometimes they eat
each other. Mr. Rymer Jones tells a story of one which attacked and
commenced to eat one slightly smaller than himself, and was then himself
attacked and eaten by a companion, realising the old adage concerning
fleas—
“And these have smaller still to bite ’em,
And so proceed, _ad infinitum_.”
Some crustaceans, however, adopt a vegetable diet. The Robber Crab of the
Polynesian Islands can not merely open a cocoa‐nut, but also enjoy its
contents. The crab begins by tearing off the fibre at the extremity where
the fruit is, always choosing the right hand. When this is removed, it
strikes it with its great claws until an opening is made; it then inserts
its slender claws, and by wriggling and turning itself about removes the
contents of the nut.
[Illustration: CRABS (_Cancer pagurus_).]
The proper mode of boiling crabs has long been a subject on which doctors
have disagreed. Who, then, shall decide? That there is cruelty associated
with the taking away of life it would be hard to deny, but the correctness
of choice between gradual stewing in slowly‐heated water and being plunged
at once into the seething, bubbling cauldron requires “the revelations of
a boiled crab” to clear up; and until a crustacean production under that
or a like title appears, we shall continue to plunge our armour‐clad
victims in water at 212 degrees of Fahrenheit’s thermometer, and leave the
question as to the propriety of our so doing to those who are disposed to
grapple with the subject for its own sake.
The West India Islands possess in the Land Crab (_Gecarcinus ruricola_) a
kind of crustacean highlander, who retreats into the uplands at certain
times in the year. “As the spawning season approaches a mighty gathering
of the clans takes place, and whole legions, unwarned by fiery cross or
blazing beacon, hasten forth to join the living tide flowing onward
towards the sea. Through the tangled jungle, down the rock‐strewed ravine,
over fallen tree‐trunks, and among the dense undergrowth of the forest, in
ceaseless, creeping, crawling, scuttling thousands, still they come
onward, and ever onward, as the bright stars shine out to light them on
their way. Banks, hedges, walls, and even houses, are passed straight over
in this crustacean steeplechase, no flags being needed to keep the mail‐
clad competitors to the true course. Instinct the guide, and the blue sea
for a goal, nothing stops the race.
“Cuffee and his companions, who have been gossiping and story‐telling
beneath their cocoa‐leaf roofs until half asleep, appear to become most
violent and incurable lunatics, on suddenly becoming aware of the
nocturnal exodus. They leap high in the air, shout, scream, and dance like
fiends, whilst the most ready‐witted of the crew dash off to ‘de massa’
with the startling news. ‘Hi, golly, sa! de crab! de crab! He come for
sure, this time, sure ’nuff. Plenty catch um bime by;’ and Cuffee keeps
his word to the letter, and captures the pilgrims by the basketful, in
spite of their claws. And black‐faced, woolly‐headed Aunt Lilly, the cook,
shows her teeth, like ivory dominoes in an ebony box, as visions of white‐
snow‐like rice, cocoa‐nut milk, capsicum‐pods, and stewpans, pass in
pleasing and appetising review before her; and ‘massa’ himself takes an
extra pull at the cold‐sangaree jug, sleeps pleasantly, and dreams of the
crab‐feast on the morrow.”
[Illustration: THE WEST INDIAN LAND CRAB (_Gecarcinus ruricola_).]
The King Crab of the eastern seas grows sometimes to an enormous size,
while the lance‐shaped spear with which he is furnished is used by the
Malays as a warlike instrument. Then, for a contrast, there’s the little
nut‐crab, with his queer little legs tucked up under his body, which
rambling jack‐tars sometimes gather for their friends at home, under the
idea that their shells, when cut and polished, will make handsome brooches
and shirt‐pins. Major Lord tells a good story of a dry old salt of a
quartermaster, on the Indian station, who “chanced one day, when on shore
for a cruise, to become possessed of a goodly number of these lucky
stones, as he called them, and by way of securing his treasures, placed
them in an old silk handkerchief, and stowed them away, with a few dollars
and sundry cakes of cavendish, in the corner of his chest. It so happened
that some piratical shipmate, not proof against the allurements of
honeydew and silver, but totally indifferent to natural history, seized
his opportunity and spirited off the tobacco and money, but left the
lucky‐stones behind. The next day, when our old friend came for his
accustomed supply of the weed, he, to his horror, astonishment, and
indignation, found the supposed pebbles in active motion, performing foot‐
races over his best jacket, the handkerchief spread open, and, alas!
empty. ‘Well!’ exclaimed he; ‘blow me if this aint too much of the monkey!
Why, look ye here, messmates! These here blessed stones have come to life,
every man Jack of ’em. They’ve chawed up all my bacca, and spent every mag
of my money! and now I’ll heave the beggars to Davy Jones’s locker.
Overboard is where I means to pitch ’em.’ And so he did, no doubt to the
intense gratification of the falsely‐accused crabs.”
[Illustration: THE HERMIT CRAB (_Pagurus Bernhardus_).]
The Hermit, or Soldier, Crab, with the exception of a kind of cuirass, or
head‐piece, has a soft, yielding skin. Knowing his own weakness, he
invariably entrenches himself in some safe place, not unfrequently
emptying the shell of some other marine animal. When he outgrows his
borrowed habitation he looks out for some larger dwelling. He is a very
timid creature, and retires at the least alarm. On the other hand, among
his kind he is strong, voracious, and cruel. Two hermit crabs cannot meet
without a fight brewing, but it rarely comes off. “Each extends his long
pincers, and seems to try to touch the other, much as a spider does, when
it seeks to seize a fly on its most vulnerable side; but each finding the
other armed in proof and perfectly protected, though eager to fight,
usually adopts the better part of valour, and prudently withdraws. They
often have true passages of arms, nevertheless, in which claws are spread
out and displayed in the most threatening manner, the two adversaries
tumbling head over heels, and rolling one upon the other, but they get
more frightened than hurt.” Mr. Gosse, however, describes a struggle which
had a tragic end. A hermit met a brother hermit pleasantly lodged in a
shell much more spacious than his own. He seized it by the head with his
powerful claws, tore it from its asylum with the speed of lightning, and
took its place not less promptly, leaving the dispossessed unfortunate
struggling on the sand in convulsions of agony. “Our battles,” says
Bonnet, “have rarely such important objects in view; _they_ fight each
other for a house.” A young poet of to‐day(42) sings of _our_ wars—
“Tell me, tell me, is this glory?
Is it honour, is it fame?
Has mankind, through ages hoary,
Given to war its fitting name?
Twist it, turn it, warp it, bind it,
Greet its triumphs with acclaim,
Yet at last the world will find it
Only murder, all the same!”
Both crabs and lobsters are amazingly prolific, and lay an enormous number
of eggs: it is computed that each female produces from 12,000 to 20,000 in
a season; and yet these shell‐fish are always dear in London! In France,
Figuier tells us, the size of the marketable lobster is regulated by law,
and fixed at a minimum of eight inches in length: all under that length
are contraband. The London market is supplied from every part of our
coasts, and very largely from Norway. At Kamble, near Southampton, one
owner has storing‐ponds, or tanks, for 50,000 at a time; and he has his
own smacks constantly running to the coasts of France, Scotland, and
Ireland.
The Lobster (_Homarus vulgaris_) is found in great abundance all round our
coasts. Who that has frequented our seaside watering‐places has not either
gone out to assist in hauling up the lobster‐pots, or, at all events, seen
the fishermen returning with their spoils? And what _can_ be finer than a
lobster boiled, say not more than half an hour after his capture from the
briny? He tastes very unlike the poor creature which has been conveyed by
boat or train to London, and knocked about in barrows, carts, markets, and
shops, until he wishes they would boil him, and have done with it at once.
Lobster‐pots are, practically, wicker‐basket traps. The hole at the bottom
allows free ingress, but makes it difficult for the victim to get out.
They are baited with garbage, and the position of each on the rocks or
sand below is marked by a buoy. Each fisherman has his own private mark on
them; and woe to the lobster‐thief, as to the crab‐thief! Sometimes nets
are used for catching lobsters.
Mr. Pennant says that large lobsters are in their best season from the
middle of October to the beginning of May. The smaller ones are good all
the summer. If they are four‐and‐a‐half inches long from the top of the
head to the end of the back shell they are called “sizable” lobsters; if
under four inches, “half‐size,” and two are reckoned as one of size. Under
four inches, they are called “pawks.”
There is little doubt that up to a certain age lobsters shed their shells
annually, but the mode of performance is not quite understood to‐day. “It
is supposed that the old shell is cast, and that the animal retires to
some lurking‐place till the new covering acquires consistence to contend
with his armour‐clad congeners.... The most probable conjecture is that
the shell sloughs off piecemeal, as it does in the cray‐fish. The greatest
mystery of all, perhaps, is the process by which the lobster withdraws the
fleshy part of its claws from their calcareous covering. Fishermen say the
lobster pines before casting its shell, and thus gets thin, so as to
permit of its withdrawing its members from it.” He sheds tears first, and
shell second.
The common English lobster, as seen in the fishmonger’s shop, is very
unlike his relatives beneath the waves. “The curled‐up form,” says Major
Lord, “in which he is seen when so exposed is not that usually assumed in
his own element, except in the act of exerting its immense powers of
retrograde motion. These are so great that one sudden downward sweep of
its curiously‐constructed oar‐like tail is sufficient to send it like an
arrow, three or four and twenty feet, with the most extraordinary
precision, thereby enabling our friend to retreat with the greatest
rapidity into nooks, corners, and crevices among the rocks, where pursuit
would be hopeless. His eyes being arranged on foot‐stalks, or stems, are
free from the inconvenient trammels of sockets, and possess a radius of
vision commanding both front and rear, and from their compound form (being
made up of a number of square lenses) are extremely penetrating and
powerful. The slightest shadow passing over the pool in which the lobster
may chance to be crawling or swimming will frequently cause one of these
backward shoots to be made, and the lobster vanishes into some cleft or
cavity with a rapidity of motion which no harlequin could ever, in his
wildest dreams, hope to achieve. Down among the deep channels, between the
crags at the sea’s bottom, alarms, except from the sea‐robbers themselves,
are not to be dreaded. Here the lobsters are at home, and in such spots
the wicker trap, or the trunk net, may be laid down for them: nets of this
kind are in general use. They are made by fastening a number of stout
wooden hoops to longitudinal bars, and covering them with network. Their
internal construction is much like that of the crab‐pot, only there are
two entrances instead of one, and twine is used instead of willows or
twigs to prevent the prisoners from escaping. Heavy stones are attached to
them as sinkers. Fish offal is used as bait, and corks at the end of lines
serve to point out their position and haul them up by. Lobsters are
prolific creatures, and it is well that they are so, considering the
enormous quantities consumed every day in England alone.
“It has been computed that each fully‐matured female will produce from
18,000 to 20,000 eggs, and there is little doubt but that with proper
management and the expenditure of a very small capital artificial
fecundation of the ova might be most successfully and profitably conducted
in this country. Much attention has of late been paid to this subject in
France, and many most interesting experiments in connection with it have
been tried. The number of lobsters brought every season to Billingsgate
Market will serve to give some idea of the importance of lobster fishing,
and the sums of money which must change hands in connection with it.
Calculations show that from the coasts of England, Ireland, Scotland, and
the Channel Islands 150,000 lobsters per season reach Billingsgate,
exclusive of the supply of Norway lobsters, which are even more abundantly
supplied, over 600,000 per season being imported. It not unfrequently
happens that one day’s supply for that great emporium of sea dainties
reaches as high as 25,000, and here at early morning, long before mighty
London is fairly up for the day, a scene of bustle and activity may be
witnessed which well repays the early riser. Steam in clouds floats above
the vast loads of newly‐boiled crustaceans and molluscs; and carts of
every size and pattern block the way.”
The regular lobster season lasts from the month of March to August. About
the middle or latter end of the last‐mentioned month the shifting of
shells takes place, and the fish is unfit for human food; but, like the
silkworms after a change of skin, they commence feeding in the most
voracious manner directly the new garment is durable enough to admit of
their taking their walks abroad, and their temporary seclusion and
compulsory abstinence are amply made up by a course of heavy feeding. The
lost plumpness and condition soon return. Unlike some crustaceans who are
coldly indifferent to the welfare of their offspring, the mamma lobster
keeps her little brood about her until the youthful lobsterkins are big
enough to start in life for themselves.
The coasts of British North America, as well as many portions of the
seaboard of the United States, abound in mail‐clad inhabitants of many
kinds. In some localities great amusement is at times afforded by their
capture—a sort of picnic, or lobster frolic, being organised. A boat, with
plenty of eatables and drinkables, and a capacious pot, are provided, and
long poles with their ends split prepared. On the boat being propelled
slowly through the shallow water, a sharp look‐out is kept on the regions
below, and on the lobster being discovered, the split end of the pole is
lowered quietly, and with the greatest caution, until just over the
unsuspecting victim’s back, when by a sudden downward thrust the forceps‐
like instrument securely nips him, and he is brought to the surface in
spite of his claws and the pinches he inflicts on the tough, unyielding
wood. Some overhanging rock or pleasant nook on the shore is usually
selected as a place in which to dine and cook the proceeds of the lobster
hunt.
[Illustration: LOBSTER (_Homarus vulgaris_) AND PRAWNS (_Palæmon
serratus_).]
The bays, shallows, and mouths of rivers on the coast of Prince Edward’s
Island abound in a species of seaweed known amongst the inhabitants as
“eel‐grass,” on which vast numbers of lobsters feed as in a rich sea‐
garden. To these favoured hunting grounds the lobster‐catchers betake
themselves, and by wading little more than half‐leg deep gather as many as
they require. A bushel basket has been filled in this way in less than an
hour.
Like the branching growths of submarine life which form the connecting
link between the vegetable and animal kingdoms, we find crustaceans
dwelling, so to speak, on the border‐lands of other races, and linking the
shrimp, crab, and lobster families together; partaking of the nature of
each, but being identical with neither; such are the so‐called _Squat
Lobsters_, or _Galathea_. Their singular alertness renders capture
somewhat difficult. Like the lobster, they possess extraordinary powers of
vision and retrograde movement. The horns are extremely long, and so
sensitive that the slightest touch seems to reveal at once the nature of
an approaching object, and enables the alarmed squat to seek a safe
sanctuary between the rock clefts, from which it is by no means easy to
withdraw him.
The _spined lobster_, _crawfish_, _cray_, or _crowder_, will, from its
thorn‐coated shell, long horns, powerful nippers, and generally formidable
appearance, be familiar to most of our readers. Like most other
crustaceans, the cray delights in a home among rugged sunken rocks, and is
taken in the traps laid for ordinary lobsters and crabs. Their flesh,
being of harder texture and sweeter flavour, is objected to by professed
lobster‐eaters; still, a well‐conditioned spined lobster is by no means to
be despised. Some portions of the Pacific Ocean, and the warm seas of the
East, contain them in vast numbers. Many spots on the coast of South
America, and the bays and inlets of the island of Juan Fernandez,
literally swarm with them. Some idea may be formed of the abundance of
animated creatures of this and other kinds to be taken in these seas by
the following account of the fishing to be obtained in them, given by the
Hon. F. Walpole:—“The fishing afforded the best return for labour, and a
boat might be filled in four hours with hook and line only. Fish swarmed
of every size and colour, and seemingly of every variety of appetite, for
they took any bait. The bottom was literally lined with crawfish of a
large size; some must have weighed five pounds at least. There needed no
hook—a piece of anything let down on a string to the bottom was enough;
they saw it, grasped it, and kept their hold till you had seized them by
their long feelers and borne them into the boat, where they crawled about
and extended their feelers as if in search of more bait.... We had
crawfish for breakfast, crawfish for dinner, crawfish for supper, and
crawfish for any incidental meal we could cram in between.” The coral
reefs fringing the island of Mauritius afford shelter to numbers of the
family of crawfish, which in both size and splendour of colouring far
excel those taken in our seas.
The prawn and shrimp are included in the same order as the lobster and the
crab, and species of these crustaceans are found in all seas. They are the
scavengers of the ocean, and pick and devour any dead matter in the sea;
hence they are particularly valuable in the aquarium. The art of shrimping
will no doubt be familiar to all our readers, from visits made to our
south‐coast watering‐places. In tropical climates the prawn attains the
size of a small lobster—up to nine or ten inches in length, three being
considered sufficient for a meal. Prawns are sold in Dublin six and seven
inches in length, and are considered splendid feeding.