Part 5

APRIL 1902.

The extremely low tides prevalent at the opening of the month enabled us to extend our hunting grounds somewhat further than usual, and also to reach and demolish several “travellers” which the heavy seas had hurled into the boat tracks, thus constituting a serious danger at relief times. Quite a forest of luxuriant tangles now cover the lower lying portion of the reef. Their dripping blades appear on the surface, scintillating in the brilliant sunshine like so many diamonds, till the receding tide permits the warm sun to rob them of their freshness, their beauty vanishing in a perceptible vapour, leaving them flaccid and inert till the returning tide restores their pristine beauty. The badderlock or henware is here also in great profusion, and usually selects a position the reverse of peaceful, being generally found where the wash of the seas is most constant. Of rapid growth, they attain a great length, some measuring fully sixteen feet; one we had under observation was seen to increase a foot in length in six weeks time. Owing to hazy weather we had a number of compulsory visitors to dinner yesterday. Seated outside our kitchen window was a party of fog-bound travellers, consisting of a pigeon, a starling, a wagtail, a robin, and a couple of wheatears. The starling was sitting bunched up by himself, preserving a stolid indifference at his enforced detention, and appeared to treat the animated expansion and flirting of the wheatears’ tails as undue levity, unbecoming their sorrowful predicament. The beautiful black-throated wagtail is all alertness, and the slightest movement on our part sends him circling round the Rock till, unable to sight the land, he is fain to regain his resting place. The pigeon has been here a week now, and evidently has no intention of leaving. Should the window be left open he makes bold enough to enter, although but the other day he gave us a somewhat dramatic illustration of the proverbial hen on the hot “griddle” by rehearsing a fandango on the top of our cooking range, a position from which he had to be forcibly removed. To-day, the 21st, he has been joined by a companion of his own species, a red-chequered homer; but instead of the mutual demonstrations of pleasure one would expect to witness at their meeting in such isolation, they remained quite indifferent to each other’s presence, the newcomer possibly from motives of disdain, as he appears to belong to the aristocracy, seeing he sports an aluminium bracelet, on which are the letters “U.B.” and the year 1901, besides a number composed of three figures, which, unfortunately, I took no note of. A strong southerly breeze on the 22nd deprived us of their company. Losing the shelter of the tower, they were unable to make headway against the wind, and, fortunately for themselves, were driven landwards.

On the 20th a small patch of paidle-fish spawn was seen cemented in a sheltered nook of the rocks. This is unusually early for nesting operations, as it is generally May before they are much in evidence here. The extremely small quantity may denote a change of mind on the part of the depositor; besides, the site is badly chosen, as the nest is a couple of feet above low water, and consequently without the cock’s guardianship for some time each tide. Possibly the heavy seas prevalent during the past fortnight may have warned the builder of being somewhat premature in her operations.

We had ocular demonstration the other day concerning a matter of which doubts have been expressed, namely, the skinning of their prey by seals. Not only do they skin their fish, but each shred of skin is greedily swallowed as soon as stripped. The skinning entails a good deal of trouble, as the fish is pushed away from the seal at every mouthful, and consequently sinks, so that a dive is necessary each time in order to resume operations. Why he should take all this trouble is not apparent, but presumably he understands his own business best. His operations at present are watched by us with longing eyes, for though he appears to have all he wants we are as yet fishless. However, the presence of the paidle spawn is a hopeful sign, and is the first attraction for the wandering cod, by whom it is greedily devoured, providing they can steal a march on the red-coated sentry--a difficult matter, one would think, considering how assiduous he is in the protection of his charge. The white whelks, presumably adopting the promising report of the reconnoitring party sent out last month, have turned out en masse, and are now waging a one-sided war of extermination upon the defenceless mussels.

The times change and we change with them. Our present light is doomed, and what the assaults of almost a century’s gales have failed to accomplish will succumb to the demands of modern innovation. Doubtless, the presiding genius of the reef will be congratulating himself, as he bares his head each tide to witness the process of demolition, on the return of the palmy days when as yet no meddling light interfered with the working of his own sweet will in dealing death and destruction to many a stout ship. Happily, this view is only apparent, for by early autumn a much more powerful light will be installed, and a new lease of life granted to the grand old building which has so effectively served the maritime world since 1811. Probably but few on shore noticed the first appearance of the temporary light on the evening of the 30th. Of weaker power, but presenting similar characteristics as the future light, namely, red and white flashes alternately, with an interval of thirty seconds between each flash, it will remain in use till ousted by its more powerful successor.

MAY 1902.

December in May fitly describes the prevailing state of the weather during this month. Chilling winds, accompanied by snow, hail, or sleet showers, engender doubts as to the veracity of the calendar, but the arrival of a number of terns on the 18th dispels all doubts upon the matter. Sojourning in Africa since their departure in September, they invariably make their appearance here in May. At present there are about thirty of these energetic little birds busy diving among the breakers, picking up small fry, among which is seen inch long sand eels. A flock of kittiwake gulls also hunt alongside of them, while several gannets are to be seen further off, plunging in pursuit of larger game. Clustered in sheltering nooks of the rock are numerous patches of ova, deposited by the white whelk. Closely resembling ears of wheat in size and shape, each is attached to the rock by a short footstalk, terminating in a flattened disc. On being pressed, a milky fluid, somewhat granular, is exuded from the free end. The whelks themselves are at present feasting on limpets, whose shells have been fractured by the debris consequent on the alterations in progress, though at other times they do not appear to attack the limpets, their thick shells possibly making the game not worth the candle.

Despite the inclemency of the weather, the work in connection with the alterations is being rapidly pushed forward. The removal of the old lantern and parapet wall turned out a more laborious undertaking than the erection of the new ones. Strength and stability were the outstanding features of the old erection, and were carried to such an extent as would probably be considered superfluous in these days. The stone parapet wall would in itself be an eye-opener to our modern jerrybuilders. Octagonal outside, circular within, the wall was composed of five courses of Craigleith freestone, each course feathered and grooved, while each stone dovetailed its entire depth into its neighbour. At each point of the octagon holes were drilled from top to bottom of the wall to receive the two inch iron bolts which secured the heavy cast iron lantern to the parapet. It was necessary to reduce the stones to fragments before hurling them into the sea, in order to prevent them obstructing the boat tracks or damaging the gratings. Between the outer and inner linings of the copper dome a scrap of newspaper was found wrapped round what appeared to be a file handle. The printed matter was quite legible, and bore reference to an unfortunate episode, happily long since relegated to the realms of oblivion, namely, the investigation into the conduct of the then Princess of Wales in 1806. In one of the ventilators which pierced the parapet wall on a level with the balcony, but long since disused, a perfectly desiccated specimen of a wren was found. Attracted probably by the light while on a migratory journey, it had evidently taken shelter in the ventilating tube just prior to its being plugged up with a wad of tow, a material which for many years has been superseded throughout the service by cotton waste.

The ping-pong craze has come our length, and in imitation of other manlier sports a trophy has been instituted for competition, the said trophy to become the property of the holder after being won thirteen consecutive times. The trophy takes the form of a handsome cup of silver, or, to be more explicit, of a metal usually found in conjunction with silver, and is quite Grecian in its simplicity of design. It is considered to be of foreign origin, and bears evidence of having at one time been profusely chased and engraved. A beautiful pastoral scene is depicted on the one side, while, on the other, two foreign words are barely decipherable, namely, “Lait Concentré.” The trophy generally graces our tea table for some time prior to the competition, and materially aids in stimulating the flagging energies of the competitors.

JUNE 1902.

Only towards the end of this month did we experience anything like summer weather. Belieing the wintry weather we had been experiencing, the fragrant odour of the hawthorn blossom borne on the off-shore wind imparts a pleasurable sensation, recalling scenes of earlier days when void of care we went “flourish” gathering, or later on disported ourselves amongst the “hips and haws.” Here, no sylvan scenery greets the tired eye nor gives respite to the senses from the everlasting waste of waters, with its ever-changing moods, from placid glassy calm to the wildest turbulence, when blustering Boreas drives his team amain, and the white-maned coursers charge down upon us like an avalanche. As the tide drops, and the long lush tangles trail their tattered tops on the surface, a dank heavy odour is perceptible, scarcely so pleasing to the senses as that of the “hawthorn bud that opes in the month of May.” Equipped with a stout stick bearing an iron hook, an hour’s crab-hunting among the rocks brings one into contact with many forms of life otherwise unnoticed. Groping underneath a projecting ledge, to ascertain if the inmate is at home, the eye is arrested by minute nodules of scarlet jelly pendant from the roof, and destined to become a close imitation of their terrestrial namesake the anemone, or, in similar situations, patches of white whelk ova appear like so many grains of wheat arranged as close as possible to each other.

Recently a solitary instance was noticed of a whelk carrying the ova attached to the exterior of its own shell. Many different species of whelks are thus met with, some scarcely distinguishable by the naked eye. The intrusion of the crab-stick soon betrays the presence of the crab. Gripping the “cleek” in his claws, he prepares for resistance by forcing his back against the roof of his domicile with all the power his crooked legs are capable of. Should he feel himself being drawn he immediately releases his grip, and, if possible, “seeks his benmost bore.” Should the cleek find a favourable hold, such as under the armpit, so to speak, he is soon dislodged, but if the hole be somewhat crooked it is extremely difficult to move him, and even then he may make his appearance in sections, as he parts company with the different members of his body on the slightest provocation, a proceeding about which he has but little compunction, as he knows well others will soon sprout in their places, a convenience which Nature might with advantage have extended to the genus homo. Poachers, it is stated, have made use of these crustaceans while “ferretting” rabbits, by sending them into the burrows with a stump of lighted candle stuck on their backs. One can fancy the surprise with which “bunny” would stand aghast at such a fearful apparition.

Scarcely a bird is to be seen in our vicinity at present, nesting operations calling them elsewhere. A few foraging gannets are seen daily passing and repassing, catering for their sitting mates on the Bass Rock. The terns and gulls will probably have their wants supplied from the shores in the neighbourhood of their nurseries. The nest of the tern is of the simplest description--a slight depression on a gravelly beach or grassy mound, or even the bare surface of a rock is considered sufficient for their purpose, nest-building, in their estimation, being evidently considered superfluous. It is surprising that the eggs remain in some of the positions in which they are deposited. I have frequently set them rolling along the rock surface by the action of my breath. On their exit from the egg the young are immediately led by the parents to a shingly beach, or other place of concealment, where it is extremely difficult to detect them from their surroundings. Here they are fed with sand-eels and other small fry till such time as they are able to wing their way to the fishing grounds themselves, though even then they are frequently the recipients of the parents’ generosity, their hunting powers being as yet inadequate to supply their needs.

The work in connection with the alterations here progresses rapidly, and by the end of next month it is expected but little will be left undone. To all external appearance the work is already finished, but the building of the huge lens and revolving machinery, along with the internal fittings, have yet to be completed.

JULY 1902.

Myriads of medusae or jellyfishes are constantly streaming past our door, apparently without any powers of volition of their own, but helplessly at the mercy of the tides. Of various sizes, shapes, and colours, they impart quite a gay appearance to the seascape, somewhat resembling a grassy sward carpeted with beautiful flowers--huge sunflowers predominating--the whole moving silently just beneath the green, glassy surface. Great tremulous discs, twelve inches in diameter, trail their streaming tentacles several feet behind them; others, again, no larger than a pea possess the power of radiating, from the ciliary bands with which they are furnished, all the colours of the rainbow. Stranded high and dry, what a contrast to their former glory, now an inert mass of slobbery mucilage. At one period of their existence they appear quite plant-like in their habits. Attached to the rocks, they closely resemble miniature fir trees, each plant ultimately producing whole colonies of juvenile medusae. Fish have been fairly plentiful this month, but owing to the work at present in progress we have but little time to avail ourselves of the opportunity. On the 6th a red chequered pigeon, stamped “J. B. Sollaway, Beeston,” on wing, was released after a night’s detention. On Saturday the 12th, other two pigeons were captured at 8.30 p.m. One a red chequered homer, with aluminium ring on leg marked N.U. 01, H.A. 587, also rubber racing ring on other leg, marked 132 outside and 263 Q inside; the other a blue chequered homer, with leg ring marked N.U. 99, C. 8953, and racing ring marked Q 513 inside and 174 outside; wing feathers stamped “Walter H. Walker, Bank House, Horsforth, Leeds.” Both pigeons, after being watered and fed, were released at 11 a.m. on 13th, each steering a sou’-westerly course from the Rock.

On the evening of Sunday the 27th our new light was exhibited for the first time, the coveted honour of “first light” falling in the ordinary routine of duty to the writer. The new apparatus--a bewildering arrangement of massive glass prisms--is in striking contrast with its predecessor, the old reflector system of lighting, a system, by the way, now almost obsolete. The following description of the new light is copied from an engraved plate affixed to the new apparatus:--“Combined hyper-radiant and 1st order apparatus, with equiangular dioptric elements and catadioptric back prisms; power of red flash and white flash equalised. White and red flashing light, showing white and red flashes alternately every half minute, the period being one minute. Designed by Messrs Stevenson, Civil Engineers, Edinburgh. Contractors, Messrs Steven & Struthers, Glasgow, and Messrs Société Des Etablissements Henry Lepaute, Paris. David A. Stevenson, Engineer to the Board. Apparatus makes one revolution in one minute--1901.”

Occasionally during the progress of the alterations our population, unlike that of Arbroath, increased to a somewhat alarming extent, mounting at times to a grand total of seven all told. Considering that the majority of the population were unaccustomed to life under such “cribbed, cabined, and confined” conditions, it was surprising to witness the cheerfulness and good humour with which they accepted their sixteen weeks’ solitary confinement. At times the resources of our commissariat were taxed to their utmost. Beef, which is stored in our safe on the balcony, and retains its freshness for a fortnight in cold weather, demands a liberal salting at present, otherwise it does become a trifle “gamey,” but, on the whole, it is preferable to its relative in tins--a relationship, by the way, extremely difficult to prove, and hopelessly so should the label be missing. What though at times a transverse section of our loaves disclosed a landscape in cerulean tints undreamt of by the most vivid impressionist, the transference to “hard tack” was accepted with better grace than when a similar move had to be made from the salted meat to the “embalmed commodity.”

AUGUST 1902.

The coating of acorn barnacles with which the higher surfaces of the Rock and also the base of the tower are whitened in summer is fast disappearing before the ravages of that ruthless destroyer the white whelk. Seen from the balcony, this encrustation resembles a lime-hauled wall, and presents a suitable background for the observation of moving objects under water. These barnacles are frequently mistaken by the casual observer for young limpets, whereas, unlike the limpet, which moves freely from place to place in quest of vegetable diet, the moment the young barnacle settles to erect his limey habitation, he possesses a fixity of tenure which terminates only with his existence. An outer wall, with razor edges, surrounds a hollow cone, his private apartment, and probably guards his four-leaved door from injury. This opening, through which all business with the outer world is transacted, is scarcely discernible when above water; but immediately the tide covers it, the hollow cone is seen to fall apart in four vertical sections, a bunch of fingers is thrust forth and rhythmic clutches made at invisible food. How little they resemble their relatives who swing by their pendulous stalks from ships’ bottoms or submerged wreckage, and see the world without any exertion of their own. The ancients firmly believed that from these animals certain birds were produced, probably from the resemblance of their shelly casement to the beak of a bird, and the bird known as the barnacle-goose owes his name to this belief. Even to-day there are persons who solemnly declare that the Northern Diver is so evolved.

Another fallacy common amongst fishing communities on the West Coast is the attributing the destructive effects of the teredo navalis, or ship-worm, to the innocent barnacle, whose only fault is the resistance their multitudes offer to a ship’s progress through the water. A log of wood which has been adrift at sea for a lengthened period will generally be found to have its surface clustered with pendulous barnacles. The removal of these disclose minute pin-holes on the surface, which, in the interior, assume the diameter of a man’s little finger, and permeate the log from end to end like a honeycomb. Each little tunnel is smoothly enamelled with a deposit of lime by this indefatigable borer, the teredo. Though boring parallel with his neighbour, the thickness of paper only separating them, they never, by any chance, encroach on each other’s bore. Their tracks are seen to abruptly diverge when all but into that of their neighbour, so that they are evidently cognisant of each other’s proximity, an interesting fact also apparent in rats on board wooden vessels, who, though they will gnaw their way through any woodwork, instinctively refrain from suicidal attempts on the outer skin of the ship.

On the memorable 9th we had a bird’s-eye view of the Coronation celebrations in Arbroath. With the aid of our telescope the crowds on the Common were clearly visible, the ladies in white dresses being most conspicuous. The flash of the guns firing the royal salute was seen fifty-five seconds before the report reached us. In the afternoon the sports in the Victoria Park occupied our attention, and the white-clad competitors in the high jump could be seen taking their preliminary run and rising over the obstacle. Parties straying on the beach had only their heads visible, and as they neared the margin appeared to vanish under water. The progress of the bonfire on the Common at night was also watched, and the moving figures could be plainly seen silhouetted in the glare. Probably but few noticed our attempt to celebrate the occasion. Two strings of flags from the balcony to the rocks fluttered gaily in the breeze, while the balcony railing was similarly decked. Amongst those suspended from the rail was a flag of peculiar interest, namely, one which had been sewn by Miss Stevenson, a sister of the builder, Robert Stevenson, almost a hundred years ago. The central subject depicted on the white ground is the Bell Rock Lighthouse; on the right, the patron saint of Scotland with his cross; while a ship under full sail occupies the left, the whole bordered with a deep edging of red. The figures are extremely well executed, and the colouring to the flesh tints remarkable. The flag was presented to the Rock by Miss Stevenson to be used as a table draping during divine service.

Several white butterflies and moths innumerable were seen passing here this month. It seems these insects have their migratory periods as well as birds, and at stations favourable for their observation they appeared, to quote from a writer in a recent number of “Chambers’s,” “as a dense snowstorm driven by a light breeze, and this not for one day only, but for many in succession. Whereas birds come and go with clockwork regularity, the immigration of butterflies is uncertain, and of all those which survive the perils of the deep no single one returns.”

SEPTEMBER 1902.

A good deal of heavy weather has been experienced on the Rock this month, and the stability of our new lantern subjected to a fair strain, though probably nothing to what it will have to encounter during the course of the winter. The lantern--composed of gun metal astragals, narrowed to the utmost limit compatible with strength, in order to intercept as little light as possible--may be looked upon as a huge hollow cylinder of glass, which in itself seems but a feeble barrier to the onslaughts of the storm. But the three tiers of triangular panes are of heavy plate glass, and the apparently slim like astragals are braced together in the most effective manner to ensure the greatest degree of strength, and need cause no uneasiness to the stranger viewing the outlook during the progress of a gale. It is awful to think that out in that dark void, amid the warring elements, fellow beings may be battling for their lives in close proximity to where we sit in comfort and security, totally ignorant of their condition, and utterly helpless to render them the slightest assistance. Probably a case in point occurred during the gale of the 3rd. On the 9th, about noon, we were somewhat surprised to see the gunboat Seamew approaching the Rock with a hoist of flags, indicating that they wished to communicate with us. Bringing up close to the Rock, they signalled, “Have you seen a vessel in distress?” to which we answered “No”; and then remembering we had seen a torpedo boat pass the day previous, and fearing another case of “buckling” had occurred, we asked “Was it a torpedo boat?” in reply to which they communicated the intelligence, “No; it is a sailing craft from Anstruther last Wednesday, and seven hands.” On our replying “We have not seen her,” the signal “Thank you” was hoisted, and the gunboat steamed out to the eastward on her sorrowful quest. Passing a torpedo boat at gun practice, she was seen to signal her also, with the difference that the flags then used had no existence in our code. Later in the evening she was again seen making for Dundee.

We have had several takes of fish of late, though there seems to be a scarcity of “fry” compared with last year, the absence of which probably accounts for the terns failing to call upon us with their young for a few weeks’ feasting prior to commencing their migratory journey southwards. Gannets may be seen at present striking at fish within a few feet of our doorway, while a flock of young gulls hover expectantly, with feeble peeping cries anticipating the feast in store for them when the dinner scraps make their appearance. Further off a few eider ducks--who only arrived on the 25th, somewhat later than last year--evidently eye the proceedings of these juvenile degenerates with disdain, preferring to refrain from such pampered luxuries and dine on the products of the chase alone. The eiders present are as yet all adult males, the females presumably still occupied with family cares teaching the young idea how to shoot, or rather fish, if plucking mussels, catching crabs, etc., can be called so, for such is their diet, and does not include fish. Strange that the foremost arrivals among migratory birds are all males. Why this is so is not agreed upon by observers, some supposing that the females are detained by maternal duties; others, again, affirm that they migrate en masse, and that the more vigorous males soon outstrip and ungallantly leave the gentler sex to bring up the rear. On the 6th we had our first intimation of the autumnal migratory flight in the arrival of a flock of wheatears, accompanied by a solitary wren. On the 27th several greenfinches, larks, and starlings were making insane efforts to follow the line of most resistance, resulting in our new lantern receiving its first baptism of blood, as the glass next morning testified. Several porpoises are to be seen puffing and blowing a mile off, and on the 28th a school of “finner” whales were seen heading north.

I see by the Arbroath Guide that one of our old fog bells has been presented by our Commissioners to the Arbroath Museum, a fit resting place after its long sojourn on the Rock. Should the date upon it happen by any chance to become erased, what possible controversies it may yet become the subject of amongst posterity as to its connection with that mythical personage “Ralph the Rover.” I myself can testify to its having conformed in one respect at least with that of the poem, for on lowering it from its position on the balcony for shipment the tide had overflowed the Rock about a couple of feet, causing the bell to settle with an audible gurgle, or as one of the seamen (Fraser) appropriately quoted, “The bell sank down with a gurgling sound.”

OCTOBER 1902.