Most people have a peculiar fondness for crabs. A dainty succulent soft
shell crab, nicely cooked and well browned, tempts the eye of the
epicure and makes his mouth water. Even a hard shell is not to be
despised when no other is attainable. We eat them with great gusto,
thinking they are "so nice," without considering for a moment that they
have feelings and sentiments of their own, or are intended for any other
purpose than the gratification of our palate. But that is a mistake
which I will try to rectify in order that the _bon vivant_ may enjoy
hereafter the pleasures of a mental and bodily feast conjointly.
Most crabs are hatched from eggs, and begin life in a very small way.
They float round in the water, at first, without really knowing what
they are about. They have but little sense to start with, but after a
while improve and begin to strike out in a blind instinctive way, which,
after a few efforts, resolves itself into real genuine swimming. They
commence walking about the same time. Awkward straggling steps, to be
sure, but they get over the ground, and that is the most they care for.
When they are about a month old they begin to feel that life has its
realities, and that they must do something towards the end for which
they were made. The thought is faint at first, but by degrees grows
weightier, till at last they can stand it no longer, and, making a great
effort to throw off the incubus of babyhood that weighs so heavily upon
them, they burst open the back door of their shell and slowly creep out
backwards. It takes about five minutes for them to get entirely out,
head, legs and all, and then for a moment or two they gaze in
stupefaction at their old shell, amazed to find that they have, by their
own efforts, unaided and alone, accomplished such a wonderful change.
The thought is overwhelming. It fills them with pride; rejoicingly they
exult, and swell with gratification. This state of self-gratulation
lasts about twenty minutes, at the end of which time they have increased
their bulk to nearly double its former size, and they remain so.
They can't get back into the old shell now, for it won't fit them, and
as there is no other for them to go into, the only thing left for them
to do is to build another house.
It takes three or four days before they get fairly to work, and during
this time they are called soft-shell crabs. This stage is particularly
dangerous to the delicate creatures, for they, in their tender beauty,
are so attractive to hungry fishes that it is really a wonder any
escape. Tender, helpless, innocent and beautiful, they are almost sure
to be victimized and gormandized.
Some, however, escape the fate intended for them, and in a few days
begin to enjoy life in a crabbed sort of a way. Another month passes on.
They become restless and uneasy, and feel that it won't do to stay too
long in one place. They think they had better make another change, and
so this time, in a more self-confident manner, they pack up and move out
at the back door again. They are no more provident now, however, than
they were at first, for, after having given up the old house, they have
no new one to move into. They are not troubled as we are with
house-hunting; they are good builders, and can make one to suit
themselves. A wise provision of nature, for these interesting creatures
are really obliged monthly to go out doors to grow.
This state is to them doubly dangerous. Mankind they always have to
fear, but now they are tempting to their own race. A wicked old crab
goes out for a stroll. The walk gives him an appetite; he looks around
for something to eat and spies a younger brother just moving.
Treacherously be plants himself behind a stone or shell, and watches the
process, chuckling in his inmost stomach over the dainty meal in
prospect. The youthful one has just got clear of his old home and its
restraints, and is delighting in his freedom, when up walks the vampire,
strikes him a blow on his defenceless head, knocks the life out of him,
and then sits down to a dinner of soft-shell crab. He is an old
sportsman, and enjoys exceedingly the meal gained by his own prowess.
Dinner over, he wipes his claws on the muddy table-cloth and walks out
for his digestion. Off in the distance he spies a young gentleman crab
making love to a beautiful female. He looks at her with a discriminating
eye. Sees she is fair to look upon, and thinks he would like to be
acquainted. He makes several sideway moves in the direction, ungraceful,
but satisfactory to himself, and as he advances his admiration
increases, his courage improves; he feels almost heroic. The observant
lover with staring eyes perceives the advancing strides of another
gentleman crab, and instantly, seized with jealous fears, clasps his
_inamorata_ to his shelly breast with his numerous little legs, holds
her tightly so that she can't fall, and walks off on his hands.
The old cannibal observes the change of base, feels insulted at the
implied distrust, and resolves to have satisfaction. Increasing his
efforts, he soon overtakes the runaway lovers, challenges his rival by
giving him a dig with his claw, and tells him to "come out and show
himself a crab." Of course no crab of spirit is going to receive an
insult before his beloved and not resent it; with one painful quiver of
his little legs, he sets the lady crab down, and then the two amorous
lovers proceed to deadly combat. Love strengthens the young crab's
heart. Justice nerves his arm; and soon a lucky blow from the sharp claw
pierces in a vital part the hardened sinner, who, with a gulp, gives up
the contest and his life at once.
An exultant shout bubbles up in the water, and then the heroic defender
of crabbed maidenhood leads his beloved to view the remains of this
ravager of hard-shell rights.
They rejoice over the fallen adversary a while, and then, to make their
happiness more complete, and to prosper his wooing, the victor invites
his love to dine on the tender part of the victim.
The invitation is gladly accepted, and they enjoy a delicious meal,
rendered doubly tasteful from the fact that they are feasting on an
enemy.
The facts deduced from the above history prove that crabs have tastes
and feelings just as mankind have. They are gallant to their females;
never engage in combat with the weaker sex; fight and kill each other
when angry; love good eating, and are cannibalistic--which last habit
they may have learned from their ancestors of the Feejee Islands.
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BAITED BREATH.--That of the boy who had "wums fur bait" in his mouth.
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