THE ROMANCE OF THE ANIMAL WORLD
[Illustration: AN UNEXPECTED MEAL.
The peccary stood on the alligator’s tail, mistaking it for a tree trunk.
In a moment the alligator stretched its tail round like a bow almost to
its side: suddenly it let go, and whilst the peccary thus shot up was
still in mid-air, it swung its terrible tail again, and knocked its now
insensible prey almost into its own jaws.
_Frontispiece_—see p. 216.]
THE ROMANCE OF
THE ANIMAL WORLD
INTERESTING DESCRIPTIONS OF
THE STRANGE & CURIOUS IN
NATURAL HISTORY
BY
EDMUND SELOUS
AUTHOR OF
“BIRD WATCHING,” ETC. ETC.
WITH SIXTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS BY
LANCELOT SPEED & S. T. DADD
PHILADELPHIA
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
LONDON: SEELEY & CO. LTD.
1905
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
A MICROSCOPIC COMBAT—A SNAIL’S FRIENDSHIP—HERMIT-CRAB AND
SEA-ANEMONE IN PARTNERSHIP—A CRAB IN AMBUSH—CRABS THAT EAT
COCOANUTS _Page_ 1
CHAPTER II
NATURE’S PARASITES—PUSS-MOTH CATERPILLAR AND
ICHNEUMON-FLY—CATERPILLAR DEFENCES—WASPS AND THEIR VICTIMS—A
SPIDER CAUGHT—ANTS THAT ARE OGRES—OSPREY AND EAGLE—GULLS AND
SKUAS—PEEWIT AND BLACK-HEADED GULL 26
CHAPTER III
PENGUINS AND THEIR WAYS—UNCROWNED KINGS AND EMPERORS—INNOCENT
ARMIES—SURF MISSED IN A BASIN—DARWIN AND THE PENGUIN—HARANGUING
THE PENGUINNERY 39
CHAPTER IV
WONDERFUL BIRDS’-NESTS—A CITY OF GRASS—BIRD WEAVERS AND
TAILORS—BIRDS THAT MAKE POTTERY—EVOLUTION IN BIRD-ARCHITECTURE 49
CHAPTER V
BOWER-BIRDS AND GARDENER-BIRDS—HOW BIRDS SHOW OFF—A MALAY
TRAP—CRIMSON COMPETITION—LOVE IN A TREE-TOP 59
CHAPTER VI
BIZCACHAS AND BIZCACHERAS—INTERESTED NEIGHBOURS—A PROVIDENT
MOTHER—PRAIRIE-DOGS AND RATTLESNAKES—OWLS THAT LIVE IN BURROWS 73
CHAPTER VII
THE PUMA AND THE JAGUAR—TWO FIERCE ENEMIES—A STRANGE
ATTACHMENT—A NIGHT ON THE PAMPAS—THE STORY OF MALDONADA 81
CHAPTER VIII
BEES AND ANTS—A ROBBER MOTH—ANTS THAT KEEP COWS AND SLAVES—ANTS
THAT ARE HONEY-POTS—ANTS THAT SOW AND REAP 90
CHAPTER IX
ANT ARMIES—A SNAKE’S PRECAUTION—WONDERFUL BRIDGES AND
TUNNELS—MUSHROOM-GROWING ANTS 103
CHAPTER X
WHITE ANTS AND THEIR ARCHITECTURE—VERY WONDERFUL NESTS—“A
PRISON AND A PALACE”—THE AARD VARK AND THE ANT-EATER—HOW ANTS
ARE TRAPPED 118
CHAPTER XI
AQUATIC ARCHERY—THE ANGLER-FISH AND THE CUTTLEFISH—INSECT
ARTILLERY—EELS THAT GIVE ELECTRIC SHOCKS 130
CHAPTER XII
PROTECTIVE RESEMBLANCE IN NATURE—SPIDERS THAT LOOK LIKE ANTS—A
TRAP TO CATCH A BUTTERFLY—FALSE DEVOTEES—LEAF, STICK, AND
GRASS-RESEMBLING INSECTS—“CUCULLUS NON FACIT MONACHUM” 141
CHAPTER XIII
SPIDERS AND THEIR WEBS—TRAP-DOOR SPIDERS—SPIDERS THAT EAT
BIRDS—AQUATIC SPIDERS—BORN IN A DIVING-BELL 158
CHAPTER XIV
BEAVERS AND THEIR WORK—THE DAM AND THE POND—PRACTICE WITHOUT
PRINCIPLES—A USEFUL TAIL—HOW BEAVERS CUT DOWN TREES 174
CHAPTER XV
BEAVER “LODGES”—PRIMITIVE BEAVERS—INDIAN BEAVER-STORIES—AN
ARABIAN NATURALIST 182
CHAPTER XVI
BEAVER-CANALS AND BEAVER-MEADOWS—ANTIQUITY OF
BEAVER-WORKS—BEAVERS AND RAILWAY COMPANIES—WHITE BEAVERS 192
CHAPTER XVII
SEALS AND THEIR WAYS—BREEDING HABITS OF THE
SEA-BEAR—SEA-ELEPHANTS—THE WALRUS AND THE POLAR BEAR—MATERNAL
AFFECTION UTILISED—A WINTER SLEEP IN A SNOW-HOUSE—A DANGEROUS
INTRUSION—BREAKFAST WITH AN ALLIGATOR—THE CROCODILE AND THE
TROCHILUS 201
CHAPTER XVIII
CROCODILES AND ALLIGATORS—DECEPTIVE APPEARANCES—AN UNFORTUNATE
PECCARY—AN AMBUSH BY THE RIVER—LIFE AND DEATH STRUGGLES 215
CHAPTER XIX
JAGUARS AND PECCARIES—A FOREST DRAMA—STRENGTH IN
NUMBERS—RETALIATION 223
CHAPTER XX
THE GREAT CACHALOT OR SPERM-WHALE—HOW THE BULLS FIGHT—A BATTLE
OF MONSTERS—GIANTS THAT EAT GIANTS—ENORMOUS CUTTLEFISH—THE
KRAKEN A REALITY—DISAPPOINTED PROFESSORS 231
CHAPTER XXI
WHALES AND THEIR ENEMIES—THE THRESHER AND THE SWORD-FISH—SPORT
AMONGST ANIMALS—THE SWORD-FISH AND ITS WAYS—CANNIBALISM IN
NATURE—THE SHARK AND THE PILOT-FISH 243
CHAPTER XXII
THE SHARK’S ATTACHÉ—QUEER WAYS OF FISHING—HINTS FOR NAVAL
WARFARE—FISH THAT DO FLY 256
CHAPTER XXIII
THE SEA-SERPENT—MANY OCCASIONS ON WHICH IT HAS BEEN
SEEN—CONSCIENTIOUS SCEPTICISM OF SCIENTIFIC MEN—A FIGHT
BETWEEN MONSTERS—THE LARGEST LAND-SERPENT—SNAKES AND
SNAKE-STONES—MEDICAL EVIDENCE—A COLONIAL REMEDY 267
CHAPTER XXIV
HUNTING RUSES AMONGST THE HIGHER ANIMALS—WOLVES, FOXES, AND
JACKALS—UNTEMPERED JUSTICE—GESTURE-LANGUAGE IN MEN AND DOGS—THE
CAPE HUNTING-DOG AND HIS PREY 279
CHAPTER XXV
MAN AND BEAST IN THE FAR NORTH—TRAPS THAT ARE SEEN THROUGH—A
NEW DISCOVERY—CUNNING OF ARCTIC FOXES—THE TRAPPER AND THE
WOLVERINE 294
CHAPTER XXVI
MAN-EATING ANIMALS—THE TIGER’S SLAVE—A SAVAGE
LION-HUNT—WOLF-REARED CHILDREN—MEN AND APES—A SHAM
GORILLA—UNPROHIBITED MURDER—A MONKEY’S MALISON 308
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
1. ALLIGATOR AND PECCARY _Frontispiece_
PAGE
2. EAGLE ATTACKING AN OSPREY 34
3. BEAR BESET BY WILD SWINE 82
4. MALDONADA AND THE PUMA 88
5. SPIDERS AS PETS 168
6. OTTER AND SALMON 174
7. BEAVERS TREE-FELLING 194
8. A BRAVE WALRUS 210
9. JAGUAR ATTACKED BY PECCARIES 224
10. COMBAT OF WHALE AND SWORD-FISH 260
11. WOLF PLEADING FOR LIFE 282
12. SABLE ANTELOPE AND WILD DOGS 292
13. WOLVERINE STEALING A GRIDIRON 304
14. A LION HUNT 310
15. MIDNIGHT ASSASSINS 316
16. GORILLAS FIGHTING 326
THE ROMANCE OF THE ANIMAL WORLD
CHAPTER I
A MICROSCOPIC COMBAT—A SNAIL’S FRIENDSHIP—HERMIT-CRAB AND
SEA-ANEMONE IN PARTNERSHIP—A CRAB IN AMBUSH—CRABS THAT EAT
COCOANUTS.
Before there can be any romance—as I understand the word—in animal
life, there must be some degree of intelligence in the romance-making
animals. The question, therefore, is, at what stage in the ascending
scale any conscious exertion of brain-power—any evidence of what we
call a mind—begins to show itself. I say this because I have to begin
somewhere, and in my selection of subject-matter to illustrate the title
of this book, I had intended to pursue a plan similar in principle
to that resolved on by Koko, in Mr. Gilbert’s _Mikado_, who, with a
view to becoming perfect as an executioner, was going “to begin with a
guinea-pig and work his way through the animal kingdom, till he came
to a second trombone.” Of course _I_ must begin much lower down than a
guinea-pig, and the nearest approach I can hope to make to a second
trombone will be a gorilla—but the principle is the same. However, on
further consideration, I think that this scheme, if rigidly followed,
may prove too exacting, and also give an appearance of scientific
pretension to this humble little work, which it is entirely guiltless of.
I have decided, therefore, to soften and modify it by the employment,
when occasion offers, of another and somewhat opposed principle, that,
namely, of letting one thing link itself to another as it does in
ordinary conversation, either through suggestion or association, quite
irrespective of whether there is any or no natural—that is to say,
systematic—connection between the two. For instance, should alligators
be the theme, and should they, after lying like logs on the water, and
so forth, proceed, in the dramatic development of their character, to
seize and devour some unsuspecting mammal, I shall use the incident
as a convenient opportunity for treating of that mammal—should there
be anything to say about it—without waiting for its proper turn to be
treated of to arrive, as upon the first-stated principle I should have
to do. But where opportunities of this sort do not present themselves—if
birds have only to do with birds, insects with insects, and so forth—then
I shall be systematic, and so go on, letting the one method balance the
other. A third principle—that, namely, of paying no attention to either
of the other two—will also occasionally be acted upon, and if, as a
result of the three, no principle at all should be discernible by the
reader, I would ask him to look upon that as a merit, since “Summa ars
est celare artem.” And now, having explained my system, which I think is
an easy and flexible one, I will proceed to put it into practice in the
best way I can.
The lowest of all animals are the _protozoa_, yet even here, as it
appears to me, we begin to see the dawnings of that intelligence, without
which that kind of interest which the life and acts of any creature
should possess, in order to make it the subject for a work like this, can
hardly be said to exist. The _infusoria_ stand at the very bottom even
of the protozoa. Most of them are so small as to be invisible, except
through the microscope, and they are not supposed ever to think. Yet a
creature belonging to this humble group, having a cup-shaped body, with
a grasping arm or tail to it, has been seen to attach itself, with this,
to the cup of another individual of the same species, considerably larger
than itself, and cling there with a pertinacity very suggestive of a firm
intent. Upon this the larger one became, to all appearance, very excited,
and, moving about in the water—for these creatures are aquatic—till it
came to some weed, fastened with its one limb on a piece of this, and
proceeded to jerk itself backwards and forwards, with great suddenness
and vigour, and with the evident design, as it seemed, of ridding itself
of the intruder. The latter, however, held on like grim death, and this
hard-pitched battle, which had all the appearance of being intelligently
directed, went on between these two microscopic and simply formed
creatures, for quite a long time. At length the smaller of the two was
jerked off, upon which it made a second attempt to establish itself as
before, but was defeated by the efforts of its more powerful adversary.
The witness of this interesting scene tells us it was very difficult to
believe that the two lowly organisms engaged in it, though consisting but
of a single cell, without a head and with no trace of a nervous system,
properly so called, were not sentient beings, conscious of what they were
doing, and of why they were doing it.
Coming to the earthworms, which stand higher than the protozoa, though
still very lowly, there seems little doubt that they are capable of
forming and carrying out an intelligent purpose, since, when they pull
leaves into their holes, they always catch hold of them by the proper
part, so that they go down easily, and this they do even with the leaves
of foreign trees, of which they can have had no previous experience. And
if worms have experience, snails have both that and something better,
or, at any rate, still more interesting to discover in a creature of
this kind. “They appear,” says Darwin, “susceptible of some degree of
permanent attachment. An accurate observer—Mr. Lonsdale—informs me that
he placed a pair of land-snails, one of which was weakly, in a small and
ill-provided garden. After a short time the strong and healthy individual
disappeared, and was traced, by its track of slime, over a wall and into
an adjoining well-stocked garden. Mr. Lonsdale concluded that it had
deserted its sickly mate; but after an absence of twenty-four hours it
returned, and, apparently, communicated the result of its successful
exploration, for both then started along the same track, and disappeared
over the wall.”
Both snails and worms, however, stand higher in the scale than do the
sea-anemones, amongst which latter creatures—those flowers of ocean,
rivalling with their pillared stalks and many-coloured living petals
the proudest ones on earth—we yet find an instance of what is called
commensalism—the living together, that is to say, in friendly community
of two separate and often widely sundered species, each thereby obtaining
some benefit for itself. The other party to the arrangement is in this
instance a crab—the hermit-crab—that curious anchorite which by living
and moving about in the disused shell of another creature escapes the
many dangers which would otherwise threaten its soft and palatable body.
Indeed, the association may almost be said to be between three, rather
than two, different species, each of them belonging to a separate and
well-marked division of the animal kingdom—viz. to the mollusca, the
crustacea, and the cœlentera respectively. As, however, the mollusc
is represented by its house only, and not by itself—though, indeed,
its house is structurally a part of it—it will be safest to consider
the alliance as a dual rather than as a triple one. That the anemone
establishes itself on the shell, not by mere chance, as might sometimes
happen, did the crab allow of it, may be demonstrated in a very
delightful way; for if, when it is attached to a stone, a hermit-crab
should be placed in its vicinity, it will, after a time, abandon its
post, and gliding, like a snail, to the hospitable portals of its
friend’s domain, proceed to attach itself there, much to the satisfaction
of the latter. For that the crab’s participation is of an active kind,
that he does not merely not mind the anemone, and that the latter has
more than his sanction, is, likewise, a thing that can be proved. This
discovery was first made in 1859 by Mr. Gosse, the naturalist, for up to
that time it had always been imagined that the crab, at any rate, was
indifferent. Mr. Gosse, however, by the simple expedient of detaching
the anemone from the shell, demonstrated that this was not the case,
for on each occasion that he did so the hermit-crab picked it up again
in its two claws, and pressing it against its shell, held it there for
about ten minutes, at the end of which time it was sticking fast, as
before. The crab, therefore, must derive some advantage from the presence
of the anemone in return for the protection which he perhaps affords
the latter against certain enemies. Or possibly the constant change of
locality, with its increased chances of procuring food, is the real or
the principal benefit conferred. But how does the crab benefit? This, at
first sight, is not quite so easy to see. The explanation usually given
is that it is “masked” or concealed by the sea-anemone, which is by no
means small in comparison with the size of the shell, but often almost
and completely covers it, forming a sort of cloak round it at its base,
and towering like a pillar above it, so that of the two it is by far
the more conspicuous object, especially when the crab is withdrawn, or
partly withdrawn, into its shell. Nor is it always one anemone only that
is affixed to the shell; there may be as many as two or three, or even
more, and in some cases not only the shell, but the crab’s own claws may
be thus utilised. Certainly, therefore, if concealment is a gain to
the crab, it obtains this advantage by the arrangement. If, too, it has
any special enemies of its own—as it is very probable that it has—the
stinging cells of its allies would be likely either to incapacitate them
or keep them at a distance. Of one thing, at least, we may be certain,
that some advantage is obtained—and, no doubt, it is a substantial
one—by each of the individuals in this strange copartnership—for
throughout nature, in associations of the kind, the principle expressed
by the homely Scotch saying of “giff, gaff”—Anglicè, “nothing for
nothing”—obtains. Apparent instances may indeed be found of one species
doing something for the benefit of another, since the very nature of
these arrangements is such as often to give them this appearance. But
such instances are apparent only. Whatever it looks like, and whatever
either or any of the parties concerned may do, they always do it for
their own, and not for one another’s benefit.
Supposing that concealment is the principal advantage accruing to the
hermit-crab from its relations with the sea-anemone, it seems likely
that this is more for the sake of securing prey than of avoiding
enemies—though, indeed, both objects seem fairly attained by the shell.
Another crab—the Hyas of Otaheite—arrives at similar results by means
which are somewhat similar, but which, in this case, constitute a ruse
which is all the creature’s own. It deliberately loads on to its back a
cargo of seaweed mingled with the sand and débris of the coral, amongst
which it lives, and having done so, remains motionless, awaiting the
advent of anything that may serve as a meal. The tips of the ready
claws lie just within the weedy thatch, whilst the eyes at the ends
of their stalks are raised above it, so as to obtain a full view. They
are, however, indiscernible, except in a fatally close proximity. Time
passes, the sun shines brightly down through waters clear as the clearest
crystal and bluer than the bluest sky. Fishes, rainbow-hued and flashing,
sometimes, with the iridescent sparkles of the humming-bird—the jewels
of the tropic seas—pass and repass often quite near to the unseen peril,
but except by the motion of their own bodies, or the throb of the waves,
the weeds which conceal it remain unstirred. Nothing happens: yet the
eyes observe, the claws may, perhaps, itch; but their owner moves not.
Such beings are not for him. They are beyond his sphere, too bright, too
beautiful, above all, too quick. Medusæ, too, of substance translucent as
the waters they move in, and washed with the colours of the sea itself,
go by, sometimes in flocks, alternately expanding and contracting their
smooth, bell-like bodies, whilst threads and filaments of varied form,
and delicacy more exquisite than that of the finest lace, stream in
beauty behind them. Sea-horses swim vertically like little mermaids,
twining their tails together, or around the long fronds of many-tinted
seaweeds, whilst strange and varied forms of mollusc and crustacean move
upon the shell-strewn sand, or amidst the bright mazes of the coral—but
still our crab makes no sign. At length a small creature of the shrimp
or prawn kind—a crustacean like itself, and more active it would seem,
for it swims, though backwards and in a curious jerky way—approaches the
little heap; the crab’s eyes glisten—they would, at least, were they
capable of doing so. Alternately shooting up and sinking down again, the
unsuspecting creature continues to play about in the close neighbourhood
of that deadly ambuscade, and at length, in one of the latter movements,
comes well within reach. It is almost on the bottom, its tail stirs the
weeds and is about to bend again, when with a rush the lurking enemy is
upon it, seizes it between its fatal claws, and retiring backwards amidst
the shelter which the violence of its sudden movement has partially
removed, proceeds to devour it at its leisure. Such is the stratagem, and
such the sure, if somewhat slow, result. All sorts of creatures are thus
secured by the crab, including, perhaps, on special occasions, a small
and less wary fish or so.
What makes the thing still more curious and interesting—from the
standpoint of the evolutionary naturalist—is that the back of the clever
strategist is covered all over with a crop of stiff, wiry bristles,
which, curving inwards, maintain a firm hold of the weeds that lie upon
them, and prevent their slipping off. No doubt these bristles have become
more and more developed as the crab has become more and more in love
with the ruse, to the success of which they now largely contribute: but
which came first, the ruse or the bristles, that no one can say. On the
one hand, the bristles, whilst yet small and but slightly curved, might
sometimes, catching amongst and holding fragments of seaweed, etc., have
suggested to the crab the use to which these might be put; but, on the
other, as many creatures hide themselves in order to dart out on their
prey, and as a good way of doing so in the case of a flat-backed creature
would be by placing things on its back, the crab may possibly have
thought of this without any structural facility to suggest the idea.
Both these crabs that we have been considering exhibit their intelligence
and live their lives in the sea, and it is with salt water and the rocky
pools of the sea-shore that crabs, generally, are inseparably associated
in our minds. Nevertheless there are land crabs, and even crabs that
eat cocoanuts. Whether these latter are also in the habit of climbing
the lofty palms on which the cocoanuts grow, throwing them down and
then ascending again with them, in order to break them by repeating the
process, having previously freed them from their huge husky envelope,
does not seem to be quite certain, but such is the account explicitly
given by the natives of the Samoan Islands. “I inquired of them,” says
Mr. T. H. Hood, in his _Notes of a Cruise in H.M.S. “Fawn” in the Western
Pacific_, “about the habits of the Ou-ou, or great cocoanut-eating crab,
common here, and found the reports previously received from the natives
corroborated. It ascends the cocoa trees, and, having thrown the nuts
down, husks them on the ground; this operation performed, it again
ascends with the nuts, which it throws down, generally breaking them at
the first attempt, but, if not successful, repeating it till the object
is attained.” This account, Mr. Hood goes on to say, was confirmed by
every native subsequently spoken to on the subject. It is difficult
to see how the natives should have been mistaken in regard to such a
noticeable and very remarkable habit, and on the other hand, if they were
inventing, why should they have all invented in one and the same way?
In the new edition of Wood’s _Homes without Hands_ this account of Mr.
Hood is still quoted without any qualifying statement in the form of a
footnote. On the other hand, Darwin, when he visited the Keeling Islands,
was told by Mr. Liesk, an English resident on one of them, that the crabs
fed upon such nuts only as happened to fall from the trees. The Keeling
and Samoan Islands are, however, some 5,000 miles apart, and it is at
least possible that the crabs of each, though of the same species, may
have learnt a different way of getting at the inside of the cocoanut,
especially as elsewhere they seem to practise yet a third method.
To begin with Darwin’s account. Mr. Liesk, speaking as an eye-witness,
told him that the crab first shredded off the husk, fibre by fibre,
beginning always at that part under which the three eyeholes of the nut
lay. It then, he said, hammered with its claws, which are heavy and
powerful, on one of the eyeholes and, having made an opening, turned
round and inserted its thin posterior legs, which are also armed with
small pincers, into it, and thus extracted the kernel. This is a plain
statement, and in it we see the philosophy of the small and weak pair of
claws which are as useful in the last and most satisfactory part of the
process as are the larger ones in the pioneer work preceding it. Just as
plain, however, is the following statement, which was made by two South
Sea missionaries (Mr. Tyerman and Mr. Bennett) at about the same time.
They say: “These animals live under the cocoanut trees, and subsist upon
the fruit which they find on the ground. With their powerful front claws
they tear off the fibrous husk; afterwards inserting one of the sharp
points of the same into a hole at the end of the nut, they beat it with
violence against a stone until it cracks; the shell is then easily pulled
to pieces, and the precious food within devoured at leisure.” Here, then,
is quite a different way of getting at the contents of the cocoanut, but
the same informants go on to say that “sometimes by widening the hole
with one of their round gimlet claws, or enlarging the breach with their
forceps, they effect sufficient entrance to enable them to scoop out the
kernel without the trouble of breaking the unwieldy nut.” This, perhaps,
may mean the same as what Mr. Liesk tells us, but nothing is said about
the crab’s turning round. It is not very clear from the account of the
two missionaries whether they speak as eye-witnesses or not. Mr. Liesk
does, but I should not myself think that his observations had been very
exhaustive, and as the _Voyage of the Beagle_, in which they are referred
to, was published nearly sixty years ago, it seems to me a pity if the
habits of the cocoanut-eating crab have not been more carefully studied
since then. I think myself that a crab which lives on cocoanuts, and may
possibly climb the trees on which they grow, is worth taking some trouble
about. This, however, is not all that the _Birgus latro_—for that is his
scientific name—does. Not only does he live upon land, but he makes a
deep burrow in the ground to dwell in, and with the shredded fibres of
the cocoanut husk, which he has torn up, he makes a thick soft bed at the
bottom of it to lie on. One would think with all this that he had said
good-bye to the sea for good and all, and would never want to go back
to it. But this is not the case. Like other crabs, these strange ones
breathe through branchiæ or gills, as a fish does, and in order for them
to do so these must be kept moist. The peculiarity of all land-crabs is
that their gills remain moist for a long time, but at the end of this
time, when they are beginning to get dry, they have to moisten them
again. Every night, therefore, the cocoanut crab pays a visit to the
sea, and has a cool, refreshing bathe in it. For a little while he is a
marine creature again, as his ancestors were before him, but when he has
moistened his gills, he goes back to his palm-trees and cocoanuts.
This great strange crab grows to two feet in length, is stout in
proportion, and has a fantastic appearance, which it is difficult to
describe. It walks very high on two long stout pairs of legs, whilst
a pair or two of little ones behind them are too short to touch the
ground, and so dangle in the air. Its claws are enormous, its thorax very
peculiar, its antennæ are like those of a lobster, and its body behind
more like a hornet’s than a crab’s—at least in a picture. What it really
resembles is a hermit-crab, to which it is closely related; only to see
the resemblance one must take the hermit-crab out of its borrowed shell.