domestic utensils, of a broad shallow make, and hence we find the plural
form of the word applied to the Limpit family, whose shells are of such a
shape. Members of this family are found on all rocky coasts, except those
of the Arctic seas; on Tropical rocks they grow to a large size, and form
a valuable article of food. A very curious piece of mechanism is the
tongue of the Common Limpit, it is from two to three inches long, and has
a spoon-like extremity, so that it looks, when extended from the mouth,
like a small snake; if examined through a microscope, it is seen to be
armed throughout its whole extent with rows, four deep, of sharp hooked
teeth, and between each row are placed two others, which have three
points, and are set in a slanting position; the use of this arrangement
we cannot at present determine, but no doubt it has a perfect adaptation
to the wants of the animal.
There are shell-fish called Key-hole Limpits, which belong to the genus
_Fissurellidæ_, from _fissura_—a cleft or slip, from whence comes also
fissure. All the members of this genus are distinguished by the aperture
at the top of the shell, shaped like a key-hole, which is situated
exactly over the breathing organs, and serves as a channel for the water
necessary for respiration.
Frequently upon the fronds of the large olive sea-weeds may be found a
tiny shell shaped something like that of the Common Limpit; it is of an
olive green colour, with blue streaks, and is called, from its clearness,
the Pellucid Limpit, _P. pellucida_. There is also another much like
it in appearance, which naturalists call _P. lœvis_. To the labours of
these little mollusks, according to Dr. Harvey, may be partly attributed
the destruction of the gigantic Algæ, (sea-weed.) Eating into the lower
part of the stems, and destroying the branches of the roots, they so far
weaken the base, that it becomes unable to support the weight of the
frond; and thus the plant is detached and driven on shore by the waves.
“And so the forest tall that groweth,
Underneath the waters clear,
Does the little woodman mollusk,
Level every year;
From small causes, great results—
Teaching you to persevere.”
ROCK-BORERS.
The family _Pholadæ_ comprises a group of mollusks, the boring habits
of which have long been known; they penetrate wood, hard clay, chalk,
and rocks, and devastate the labours of man; they attack the hulls of
ships, the piles which form the foundations of piers and break-waters,
and they force themselves upon our attention by the loss of property, as
well as of life, which results from their hidden depredations. Of this
family, those belonging to the genus _Pholus_ may be more especially
likened to the Edomites of Scripture, because they take up their abode
in the rock, and hollow out for themselves dwellings therein. With a
shell as thin as paper, and brittle as glass, the wonder is how these
Rock-borers work their way into and through hard stones. Some naturalists
assert that they effect this by means of an acid which decomposes the
substance of the rock, and renders it soft; others, that the animal
keeps turning round and round like an instrument called an auger, and
so gradually rasps away the surface of the stone with the angles of its
shell, but we question whether the shell would not be worn out first in
such a process. The generic name of these “stone-piercers,” comes from
the Greek word _Pholeo_—to hide, and the rocky chambers which they hollow
out for themselves, are as snug hiding-places as can well be imagined;
yet, however deep they may go into these gloomy caverns, as we should be
apt to suppose them, they need not be in darkness, for it appears that
these Pholades emit a most remarkable light, whether phosphorescent or
not does not appear to be determined; so strong is it, that it is said
to illuminate the mouth of the person who eats the mollusk; and it is
remarked by Dr. Priestly, that “contrary to the nature of most fish,
which give light when they tend to putrescence, this is more luminous the
fresher it is, and when dried its light will revive on being moistened
with water.” So that in more respects than one these rock-borers are
mysteries. The most common of them, perhaps, is the Prickly Pidduck, or
Peckstone, (_P. dactylus_,) which is much used by the fishermen of our
coasts as bait; the specific name is the Latin for a fruit shaped like
a finger, which is something like the shape of this mollusk, as will be
seen by the annexed engraving.
[Illustration]
The genus _Pholus_ is very widely distributed, and all the species have
the same boring habits as those of our own coast, which we need not
enumerate. Like them too in this respect are the marine worms called
_Teredo_, which make their way into the bottoms of ships, and all
submerged timber, but these will be more fully spoken of in another
volume. The above figure exhibits the _Pholas dactylus_ as it appears in
a section of rock, split open for the purpose of seeing the shelly miner
at his work.
MULTIVALVES.
We have insensibly passed from the Bivalve shells to those composed of
several pieces, and therefore called Multivalves; properly, perhaps, the
Rock-borers, last described, come into this division, for although their
covering consists mainly of two principal portions or valves, yet there
are often additional parts; in some a calcarious tube envelopes the whole
mollusk, leaving only an opening behind; this is more especially the case
with those which most resemble worms, such as the genera _Teredina_ and
_Teredo_, included by Lamarck in the family which he calls _Tubulidæ_.
The first group of multivalves we shall have to notice, are
THE CHITONS,
forming the family _Chitonidæ_. The term has a Greek derivation, and
means a coat of mail. These mollusks are covered by a shell formed of
eight distinct portions, arranged along the back in a single row, and
attached to a mantle which resembles leather, being very tough and
wrinkled; the edges of this mantle extend beyond the borders of the
plates, which overlap each other, so as to constitute a kind of armour,
very different from the conical shell of the Limpit, or the turbinated,
that is twisted, case of some of the Borers. The coverings of the Chitons
are variously marked, so that each distinct species is known by its
peculiar pattern, as a knight of old by the quarterings of his shield.
All the mantles, however, have scaly, hairy, or spiny margins. In this
coat of mail, the animal can roll itself up like an armadillo, and so
be tolerably secure from its enemies; it has an oval foot, the sides
of which are covered with small leaflets, and by means of this it can
attach itself to rocks, like the Limpit, or travel about in search of
adventures. It has no distinct head, therefore it is _acephalous_; nor
any perceptible eyes. The mouth is furnished with a long tongue, curled
up spirally, like a watch-spring, and armed with horny teeth.
The members of the Chiton family are numerous, being found on most rocky
shores; they attain the largest size in the hottest climates, having
never been found very far north. The British species are small, and not
more than two or three in number; they may be found adhering to stones
near low-water mark. We give a figure of one of these called the Tufted
Chiton, (_C. fascicularis_;) this word is from the Latin _fasciculus_—a
little bundle of leaves or flowers, and it refers to the hairy tufts that
edge the mantle of this marine slug.
[Illustration]
BARNACLES,
Or, as they are sometimes called, Bernicles, belong to what naturalists
term the class _Cirrhopoda_, sometimes spelled _cirripeda_, which appears
to be derived from the Latin _cirrus_—a tuft or lock of hair curled,
and _pede_—a foot; hence the term may be translated hairy-footed. Such
of our readers as have seen the Common or Duck Barnacle, (_Pentalasmis
anatifera_,) will at once understand the applicability of this term. Many
a piece of drift wood comes to land literally covered with long fleshy
stalks, generally of a purplish red colour, twisting and curling in all
directions, and terminating in delicate porcelain-like shells, clear and
brittle, of a white colour, just tinged with blue, from between which
project the many-jointed _cirrhi_, or hair-like tentacles, which serve
the purpose of a casting net, to seize and drag to the mouth of the
animal, its prey, which consists of small mollusks and crustacea.
This is the Barnacle about which such strange stories are told by old
writers, who affirmed that the Barnacle or Brent Goose, that in winter
visits our shores, is produced from these fleshy foot-stalks and hairy
shells by a natural process of growth, or, as some philosophers of our
day would say, of development. Gerard, who, in 1597, wrote a “Historie
of Plants,” describes the process by which the fish is transformed into
the bird; telling his readers that as “the shells gape, the legs hang
out, that the bird growing bigger and bigger the shells open more and
more, till at length it is attached only by the bill, soon after which it
drops into the sea; there it acquires feathers, and grows to a fowle.”
There is an amusing illustration given in Gerard’s book, where the young
Geese are represented hanging on the branches of trees, just ready to
drop into the water, where a number of those that have previously fallen,
like ripe fruit, and attained their full plumage, are sailing about
very contentedly. It was part of this theory that the Barnacles were of
vegetable origin, they grew upon trees, or sprung out of the ground like
mushrooms; so we find in the works of an old poet named Du Bartas, these
lines:—
“So slow Bootes underneath him sees
In the icy islands goslings hatched of trees,
Whose fruitful leaves, falling into the water,
Are turned, as known, to living fowls soon after;
So rotten planks of broken ships do change
To Barnacles. O transformation strange!
’Twas first a green tree, then a broken hull,
Lately a mushroom, now a flying Gull.”
The investigations of modern science have quite exploded this foolish
notion; we now know exactly what transformations the Barnacle undergoes;
strange enough some of them are, but it does not change into a Goose,
although its specific name has reference to that bird, being derived from
_anas_, the Latin for Goose.
The shell of the Barnacle is composed of five pieces joined together by
membranes; four pieces are lateral, that is to say, they form the sides,
the word comes from the Latin _latus_—a side; the other is a single
narrow slip, which fills what would otherwise be an open space down the
back between the valves; these parts of the shell appear to be somewhat
loosely connected, so as to allow free action to the animal lodged
within, which is enclosed in a fine skin or mantle. The mouth is placed
at the lower part, near the opening, whence the _cirrhi_ issue forth;
this mouth is a curious piece of mechanism, being furnished with a horny
lip covered with minute _palpi_, or feelers; there are three pairs of
_mandibles_, that is jaws, the two outer ones being horny and _serrated_,
that is jagged or toothed like a saw; the inner one is soft and
membranous, that is, composed of little fibres, like strings, crossing
each other, as we see what are called the veins in a leaf.
Much more might be said about the internal structure of the Cirrhopods,
or _Balani_, as the Barnacle group is sometimes called, from the Latin
_Balanus_—a kind of acorn. By some naturalists, the term is not applied
to the stalked _Cirrhipoda_, like that we have been describing, but only
to the _sessile_ kinds, that is, those which set close or grow low; from
the same Latin root comes the English word _session_—a settling. The
coverings of these Dwarf Barnacles are sometimes called acorn shells;
they are commonly white, of an irregular cone shape, composed of several
ribbed pieces, closely fitted together with an opening at the top, closed
by an _operculum_, or stopper.
These shells cover in patches the surface of exposed rocks, drift wood,
and any other substance. Some of the mollusks affix themselves to the
bodies of Whales, others form a lodgment in the hollows of corals and
sponges. Once fixed they remain so during life, taking their chance of
such suitable food as may come within their limited sphere of action.
At an earlier stage of their existence, both their shape and habits are
very different, being lively little creatures, swimming about hither and
thither like water-fleas. They are about the tenth of an inch long, and
of most grotesque appearance, having six jointed legs set with hairs,
the whole being so arranged that they act in concert, and striking or
flapping the water, send the little body along in a series of bounds;
then the creature has two long arms, each furnished with hooks and a
sucker, and a tail tipped with bristles, which is usually folded up under
the body; its pair of large staring eyes are _pedunculated_, that is, set
upon foot-stalks; it has a house on its back, like a bivalve shell, into
which it can collect its scattered members when occasion requires. When
of sufficient age to settle itself in life, and become a staid member
of submarine society, it fixes itself to some convenient object, throws
away its eyes as no longer useful, gets rid of its preposterous limbs,
enlarges its house, and sits down to fishing in a small way for an honest
and respectable livelihood.
A piece of timber covered with Stalked Barnacles, wriggling and twisting
about like so many helmeted snakes, and waving their plume-like _cirrhi_,
is a very curious sight. They sometimes attach themselves to ship’s
bottoms in such numbers as to retard their progress through the water;
they do not, however, bore into and destroy the timber, like the
_Teredines_, or ship worms, to which we have alluded in our brief notice
of the _Pholadæ_. The growth of Barnacles must be very rapid, as a ship
perfectly free from them, will often return after a short voyage, with
her bottom below the water line completely covered.
We give a representation of a group of these stalked mollusks, as they
appear affixed to a piece of timber. This is the Common, or Duck Barnacle.
[Illustration]
CUTTLE FISH.
Strange and monstrous as are the forms of many of the creatures that
inhabit the deep, there are perhaps none more so than those belonging
to that division of the class _Cephalopoda_, called _Sepia_ or
Cuttle-fish. But before we go any further let us enquire what is meant by
a _Cephalopod_. Our readers have already learned that _Gasteropod_ means
stomach and foot, and that _acephalous_ means headless; now here we have
a word which takes a portion of each of the others, _cephal_—head, and
_peda_, or _poda_—a foot, consequently _ceph-a-lo-po-da_, is a class of
molluscous animals which have their feet, or organs of motion, arranged
around the head, something, you may suppose, like that celebrated hero of
nursery rhymes,
“Tom Toddy, all head and no body.”
Only our bag-shaped Mr. Sepia, with his great round staring eyes, and
numerous legs or arms, whichever you please to call them, all twisting
and twining about like so many serpents, is a much more formidable
looking individual. A strange fellow is this altogether; he has a shell,
but he does not use it for a covering, he carries it inside of him, and
it serves the purpose of a sort of back-bone; it is horny and calcarious,
light and porous, as our readers well know, having most likely often
used it to take out unsightly blots, or erase mistakes in their copy or
cyphering books.
When Mr. Sepia walks abroad, he sticks his little round body upright,
so that his eyes, and mouth, which is armed with a parrot-like beak,
are brought close to the surface over which he passes, while his long
twining legs go sprawling about in all directions; on the insides of
these legs are a great number of small circular suckers, by means of
which the animal can fix itself to any object so tightly that it is
almost impossible to detach it without tearing off part of the limb.
Woe be to the poor unfortunate fish that chances to come in its way;
the snaky arms are thrown around it, and made fast, and away goes the
cephalopod for a ride, eating on the road to lose no time, on the finny
steed that carries it. In some species each of the suckers has a hook in
the centre, which of course renders the hold yet firmer, and no doubt
adds to the disagreeable sensation which their tight compression must
cause; it is likely that these hooks are intended to retain the hold
of soft and slippery prey, which might otherwise be too agile for the
“ugly customer,” that would affectionately embrace it. But Mr. Sepia,
though well armed in front, is rather open to attacks in the rear of
his soft naked body; to provide for such an emergency, he is furnished
with a little bag of inky fluid, which he squirts out in the face of his
pursuer, and escapes under cover of the cloud; this is the substance used
by painters, and called sepia, whence the generic name of the mollusks
which produce it.
In the British seas none of these cephalopods attain so large a size as
to be formidable to man, as they do in warmer climates. It was asserted
by Dens, an old navigator, that in the African seas, while three of his
men were employed during a calm in scraping the sides of the vessel,
they were attacked by a monstrous Cuttle-fish, which seized them in its
arms, and drew two of them under water, the third man was with difficulty
rescued by cutting off one of the creature’s limbs, which was as thick
at the base as the fore-yard of the ship, and had suckers as large as
ladles; the rescued sailor was so horrified by the monster, that he died
delirious a few hours after. An account is also given of another crew who
were similarly attacked off the coast of Angola; the creature threw its
arms across the vessel, and had nearly succeeded in dragging it down, and
was only prevented doing so by the severing of its limbs with swords and
hatchets. A diligent observer of nature has asserted that in the Indian
seas Cuttle-fish are often seen two fathoms broad across the centre,
with arms nine fathoms long. Only think, what a monster! with a body
twelve feet across, and eight or ten legs like water-snakes, some six and
thirty feet long. Well may it be said, that the Indians when they go out
in boats are in dread of such, and never sail without an axe for their
protection.
There is a story told by a gentleman named Beale, who, while searching
for shells upon the rocks of the Bonin Islands, encountered a species
of Cuttle-fish called by the whalers “the Rock-squid,” and rashly
endeavoured to secure it. This cephalopod, whose body was not bigger
than a large clenched hand, had tentacles at least four feet across,
and having its retreat to the sea cut off by Mr. Beale, twined its
limbs around that gentleman’s arm, which was bared to the shoulder for
the purpose of thrusting into holes of the rocks after shells, and
endeavoured to get its horny beak in a position for biting. The narrator
describes the sickening sensation of horror which chilled his very blood,
as he felt the creature’s cold slimy grasp, and saw its large staring
eyes fixed on him, and the beak opening and closing. He called loudly
for help, and was soon joined by his companion, who relieved him by
destroying the Cuttle-fish with a knife, and detaching the limbs piece by
piece.
There are several species of these cephalopods; the most generally
distributed appears to be the _Octopus vulgaris_, or Common Cuttle-fish,
which is sometimes found on our own shores, where also may be obtained
the Common Sepiola, _S. vulgaris_, usually about three inches long, and
the Officinal Cuttle-fish, _S. Officinalis_, which is about a foot in
length; we give below small figures of each of these three species, to
show the difference in the shape: the two last, it will be observed,
have, in addition to the eight tentacles, which give the generic name
_Octopus_, signifying eight, two long side arms, the use of which does
not appear to be very clearly determined.
[Illustration: O. VULGARIS. S. VULGARIS. S. OFFICINALIS.]
NAUTILUS AND AMMONITE.
The Nautili are called testaceous cephalopods, our readers know, or ought
to know, the meaning of both these terms. Like the Cuttle-fish they are
sometimes called _Polypi_, because they have many arms or tentacles, the
word _poly_, with which a great number of English words commence, being
the Greek for many. An ancient writer named Aristotle, after describing
the naked cephalopods, says, “There are also two polypi in shells; one
is called by some, _nautilus_, and by others, _nauticus_. It is like the
polypus, but its shell resembles a hollow comb or pecten, and is not
attached. This polypus ordinarily feeds near the sea-shore; sometimes
it is thrown by the waves on the dry land, and the shell falling from
it, is caught, and there dies. The other is in a shell like a snail, and
this does not go out of its shell, but remains in it like a snail, and
sometimes stretches forth its _cirrhi_.” The first of these animals,
there can be no doubt, is the Argonaut, or Paper Nautilus, and the latter
that which is called the True Nautilus, of both of which species let us
say a few words, which we will introduce by quoting some beautiful lines
from a poem called “the Pelican Island,” by James Montgomery.
“Light as a flake of foam upon the wind,
Keel upwards from the deep, emerged a shell,
Shaped like the moon ere half her orb is filled:
Fraught with young life it righted as it rose,
And moved at will along the yielding water.
The native pilot of this little bark
Put out a tier of oars on either side;
Spread to the wafted breeze a two-fold sail,
And mounted up and glided down the billow,
In happy freedom, pleased to feel the air,
And wander in the luxury of light.”
The tiny mariner here alluded to, is the Paper Nautilus, common in the
Mediterranean and some tropical seas; its scientific name is _Argonauta
argo_. In the mythology, we read that _Argo_ was the name of a ship
that carried a certain Grecian named Jason, and a crew of _argives_ in
search of adventures; some say that the term is derived from a Greek word
signifying swift: this party of mariners, said to be the first that ever
sailed upon the sea, was called _Argonauts_, or, as it might be freely
translated, seamen of the ship Argo. _Nauticus_, in Latin, signifies
anything relating to ships or navigation, and here you have the whole
origin of the name of this little Argonaut, about which we must sing you
a song written by Mary Howitt, before we proceed further:—
“Who was the first sailor; tell me who can;
Old father Neptune?—no, you’re wrong,
There was another ere Neptune began;
Who was he? tell me. Tightly and strong,
Over the waters he went—he went,
Over the waters he went!
Who was the first sailor? tell me who can;
Old father Noah!—no, you’re wrong,
There was another ere Noah began,
Who was he? tell me. Tightly and strong,
Over the waters he went—he went,
Over the waters he went.
Who was the first sailor? tell me who can;
Old father Jason?—no, you’re wrong,
There was another ere Jason began,
Don’t be a blockhead, boy! Tightly and strong,
Over the waters he went—he went,
Over the waters he went.
Ha! ’tis nought but the poor little Nautilus—
Sailing away in his pearly shell;
He has no need of a compass like us,
Foul or fair weather he manages well!
Over the water he goes—he goes,
Over the water he goes.”
Many more poems of the like nature we might quote, for this little
shelled cephalopod has been a favourite with the poets time out of mind,
and in some instances they and the less imaginative naturalists have
disagreed in their accounts of its form and operations, for instance,
Pope says—
“Learn of the little Nautilus to sail,
Spread the thin oar and catch the driving gale.”