Part 7

Saturday, 14th.--A beautiful warm sunny day, the sea like glass, dappled here and there with great greasy-like patches peculiar to still weather. Flocks of eiders, longtails, and gulls appear to be having a day off, and float listlessly hither and thither, seeming only intent on making themselves aggressively audible in the stillness, the longtails piping a shrill treble to the sonorous bass of the eiders, while the gulls contribute a fairly good imitation of a laughing chorus. Later, the gulls are seen to bestir themselves, as myriads of small circles break the glassy surface in their vicinity, betraying the presence of “fry,” their legitimate food. Pecking from side to side as they float silently through the shoal, they evidently enjoy the feast thus provided for them. The sight of the gulls thus engaged apparently reminds the ducks of their negligence in this respect, and paddling full speed ahead, they are soon busy diving in the shallower water of the reef. The longtails push their way right up to the base of the tower, round which they are seen circling, plucking at the green vegetation adhering to the stonework, and cackling loudly as they breathe for a few seconds on the surface, all unconscious of our presence on the balcony above them. A small piece of coal dropped while they are still under water causes them to shoot away like startled minnows, and only when they have put some distance between them and the source of alarm do they make their appearance on the surface, evidently much flustered by the mysterious noise. Though a couple of fathoms deep, their alarm was apparent at the same moment the coal struck the surface, proving that the sound and not the appearance of the falling body was the disturbing cause. The end of the month still sees them in close attendance, but any day now may witness their exodus. But few spring migrants have come our way this month, principally a few blackbirds, thrushes, and starlings.

Fishery Board cruisers.

APRIL 1903.

Warm, sunny weather in the earlier part of the month raised our hopes of a change of diet, and, coupled with the early appearance of the paidlefish spawn, our expectations of an early fishing ran high. On the 8th, the capture of three small cods in “Johnny Gray” track increased our hopes, and again on the 9th, eight were taken, but since then we’ve had no other. Cold, blowy weather, with heavy seas, has rendered all attempts in this direction futile; however, the attraction--as evidenced by the stomachs of those captured--still increases, and numbers of bloated paidle “hens,” with their lower jaws protruding like a prize bull-dog, are seen cruising sluggishly among the tangles in quest of a suitable nesting place. The nests this season are unusually small; sometimes they contain as much ova as would fill a quart pot. Each ovum is a sixteenth of an inch in diameter, and were all permitted to come to maturity--instead of becoming food for other fishes as most do--would soon fill the sea of themselves. “All nature is at one with rapine and war,” and necessarily so, otherwise we would soon be crowded out of existence.

Our winter residents, the eiders and longtails, have gradually disappeared. On the 4th, a representative pair of each alone remained, but these have now thought better of it and gone the way of their more sensible comrades. A few gulls, herring, and kittiwakes hover about, and guillemots and gannets are now common.

The gannets, I am informed by the keepers on the Bass Rock, commenced laying there on the 11th. The solitary egg these birds deposit is heavily coated with lime, which, when scrubbed off, exposes a pale blue surface. This coating is probably the origin of the fallacy that these birds ensure the safety of their eggs by cementing them to the bare rock. On the contrary, each nest is composed of quite a barrow-load of material of the most miscellaneous description. One of these nests noted on the Bass this season was seen to have the end of a soft-soap barrel for a foundation, armfuls of withered grass, dried tangles, bits of rope, string, cotton waste, and other flotsam and jetsam picked up about the Rock. Amongst the lining of the nest, pheasant and partridge feathers were seen, which were certainly not garnered on the Bass. The harvesting of the withered grass was accomplished between dark and daylight, and, therefore, unnoticed by the keepers, but the area of their operations, as seen next day, suggested the presence of a lawn mower. Thousands of these birds are slaughtered annually by the St Kildians as an article of diet, and the wonder is, considering the solitary egg deposited and that three years elapse before the adult stage is reached, that they continue so numerous.

Dr Wallace, in his “Natural Selection,” speaking of birds in general, tells us that, if permitted to live, in the ordinary course of production “in fifteen years each pair of birds would have increased to more than two thousand millions. Whereas we have no reason to believe that the number of the birds of any country increases at all in fifteen or in one hundred and fifty years. On the average, all above one become food for hawks and kites, wild cats or weasels, or perish of cold and hunger as winter comes on.”

Myriads of white whelks are now scattered over the Rock surface, and already patches of mussels and acorn barnacles have been cleared by their voracity. Their ova, which is to be met with in almost every nook and cranny, is left to take care of itself. A patch of this ova is situated in a position which a paidle-hen subsequently fancied for a nursery, and, scorning all rights of possession, plastered her ova indiscriminately over that of the whelks, with the result that they are now under the special care of the guardian “cock.”

A stranded cuttlefish was an object of much interest one evening this month. What a queer-looking object it appeared, with its eight long tentacles squirming in all directions, its body a slobbery mass of animated mucilage. Although only a foot in diameter it required some force to detach it from the rock, as each of the tentacles is furnished with rows of suckers on its under side. By extending the tentacles in front, the animal was able to move along the Rock surface, not in a jerky fashion, as might be expected, but with a continuous gliding motion, clearly showing that each sucker acted independently of its neighbour. If taken hold of, one or other of the tentacles is immediately twisted round the hand with a tenacity that seems surprising considering the size of the animal, and one can then realise to some extent the stories occasionally heard of its giant relatives of the tropics. Irritated, it appears to have the properties of the chameleon, flushing through all the gradations of colour in quick succession, and latterly discharging a jet of fluid of inky blackness. This resource, however, was utterly useless in the present circumstances, but, on placing the animal in a shallow pool of water, its use was at once apparent, for on being touched it immediately rendered itself invisible by the inky fluid discharged. Frequent irritation, however, exhausted its stock of ink, and latterly only clear water was expelled. This expulsion, when effected on the Rock, was accompanied by an audible murmur. The narrow slits of eyes closely resemble those of a dog-fish, and the head, with the anterior tentacle elevated in the air, grotesquely reminds one of an elephant in the act of trumpeting.

MAY 1903.

During the first few hours of this month our lantern was the centre of a twittering throng of feathered migrants. Wheatears, rockpipits, starlings, wrens, and robins fluttered erratically through the rays or clamoured in their innocence against the glass, apparently desiring a closer acquaintance with the source of light. Puffs of feathers floated away on the easterly breeze as some unfortunate, less discreet than his fellows, crashed against the invisible barrier. The coming dawn, however, reveals to the survivors the absurdity of their position, and ere the light is extinguished they have resumed their journey shorewards. Frequent fogs occurred in the earlier part of the month, and during the prevalence of a long spell a long-eared owl was captured on the balcony and held prisoner for a week, during which time various samples of our commissariat were offered for his acceptance without avail. A luckless sparrow, the only one by the way I have seen here, was then captured and placed at his disposal. This proved more in his line of business, for on the morning after the rump and tail feathers alone were left. Next day the indigestible portions, feathers, etc., were cast up in the form of a compact ball. Later a thrush was similarly offered, but after a couple of days in each other’s company remained untouched. It was amusing to see the spirited attitude assumed by the thrush when in the presence of his natural foe. Screaming aggressively at the slightest movement of the owl, he would lunge furiously in his direction, his bill all the while snapping audibly. The fog having cleared somewhat, both were then set at liberty.

Another very rare visitor seen here this month was a sheldrake, which passed close overhead flying south. This is the first I have seen here, but in Orkney these birds are very numerous and are there known as the burrow duck, or sly-goose. Sly they certainly are, as evidenced by a pair which nested regularly within a couple of hundred yards of the lighthouse at which I was then stationed. A covered drain was the site annually chosen, the nest being placed several yards from the mouth, which opened out on a spacious grassy hollow. The bright brown and white plumage, with vermilion bill and feet, render these birds most conspicuous objects in an ordinary landscape; but squatting on a shingly beach, where their colours harmonise better with their surroundings, their presence is less easily detected. Frequently I have watched their movements with a telescope from the lantern, and though no one was stirring within seeing distance of them, the greatest caution was always exercised in approaching the nest. Lighting a hundred yards from the nest, a pretence of feeding diligently was made, though their heads could be seen frequently lifting in the direction from which intrusion was to be expected. Gradually circling nearer the nest, passing and repassing it with apparent indifference, till within a few feet of it they would then suddenly vanish. The exact moment of their entrance I was never able to note, as they appeared to assume an invisibility during the remaining few feet of their journey that was really astonishing, but which is less a matter of surprise when one has witnessed the squatting in concealment of a hen pheasant on sparse grassy ground. Burrow duck is a name applied to these birds from their habit of nesting in disused rabbit burrows. I have counted as many as forty young ones following a single pair, while others may have only three or four juveniles in their train. It is said they do not scruple to steal the young ones from each other. If alarmed while feeding among the decaying seaware on the beach, some of the parents will fly to meet the intruder and endeavour to divert his attention in another direction, while the others fly seawards, followed by their callow broods flapping their little wings, while their feet tip-tip the surface--a veritable walking on the waters.

Just as the rocks were being overflowed the other day, we had a visit of another bird which is but rarely seen here, namely, the oyster-catcher. The plumage beautiful black and white, the feet and bill a brilliant red; the latter, which is flattened vertically, suggestive of a stick of sealing wax. Though fairly well acquainted with this species, I never had the good fortune till now to see them in the rôle of limpet pickers, by which name they are known in some localities. From the balcony, with the aid of the telescope, his movements were brought within a few feet of us. Wading an inch or so deep, where the limpets were probably opening to the influence of the incoming tide, he appeared to make a judicious selection; then, with a single sidelong blow of his chisel-like bill, he turned the no doubt astonished mollusc upside down. Seizing it in his bill, he carried it to a still dry portion of the Rock, and in a twinkling he had the limpet out of its shell, and journeying up his long bill to its doom. The tip of the upper mandible appeared to do the scooping out, while the lower merely acted as a resistance outside the shell, the operation being performed more quickly than even the adroit oyster-man turns out his wares on the half-shell. Though not web-footed nor in the habit of diving, I remember seeing one of these birds, which had been winged with a gun-shot, dive repeatedly in order to escape further injury.

On the afternoon of the 16th, two days earlier than last year, a loud chorus of discordant voices floating to our bedroom windows announced the presence of a large flock of terns--their first arrival here since wintering in the sunny south. Screaming and diving, they appear tireless in the pursuit of their prey, which, with the aid of the telescope, is seen to consist of inch-long “fry.” How trim and neat they appear as they cluster on the rocks as the tide recedes, pruning their feathers and chattering vociferously; the head enshrouded in a black, glossy skull-cap, the back and wings a bluish grey, the under parts of unsullied white; the long sharp-pointed scarlet bill tipped with black in harmony with the legs, and small webbed feet. This active little bird is also called the Sea Swallow, an alias assumed from its long narrow wings and forked tail.

The sea has been literally alive with large poddlies this month. Morning and evening they can be seen “breaking” on the surface in pursuit of “fry,” splashing loudly in their efforts. Though somewhat averse to our lure, we generally manage to secure a breakfast. On quiet, still days, good sized cod are seen prowling over the rocks; and, though lines were set at low water, they were seen at high water to pass the temptation with indifference. Fishermen aver that all fish have times when the most tempting delicacy fails to attract their attention; and possibly this is the case with those which have been lately under our observation. Hermit crabs at present are seen to be carrying spawn; and one which was removed from its shell was seen to have the spawn so far advanced that, when placed in a shallow pool, they released their attachment with the parent, and began life as free swimmers. A small fish of the blenny species, when taken from the crevice in which the tide had left it, was quite dark coloured, but when placed in a pool was seen to adapt itself to the colouring of the bottom on which it rested, assuming a mottled grey scarcely distinguishable from the pool bottom.

Painters have been busy for the latter half of this month repainting the outside of the building. Favoured with suitable weather, a fortnight sufficed for the operation of donning the triennial coat, which will explain the apparent proximity with which it has been lately viewed from Arbroath.

JUNE-JULY 1903.

A close inspection of the flowing tide as it swirls around our gratings reveals the presence of myriads of minute globular jellyfishes--the cydippe pileus--said to be the favourite food of the arctic whale, though one would scarcely expect these bulky cetaceans to thrive or even subsist on such watery diet. Ranging in size from a pin head to a walnut, what a gap each mouthful must make in their numbers. The poddlies themselves are not averse to this form of food, as they are occasionally seen to disgorge them when landed in our doorway. The common jellyfish progresses through the water with a pulsating movement of the entire disc, such movement being termed “pulmonigrade,” and somewhat resembles the action of an umbrella being partially opened and closed. The mode of progression in the case of the cydippe is, however, different, and is termed “ciliograde,” as the propulsion is effected by means of eight vertical bands of cilia or minute plates overlapping each other. Each plate having an independent action of its own, the animal can propel itself in any desired direction, or, by resting them against its spherical body, sink to the bottom. In sunshine these animals in their evolutions emit the most beautiful combinations of colour one could imagine, but “you seize the flower, its bloom is shed”--scooped up in the hollow of the hand their beauty vanishes, and only a small spat of inert transparent jelly remains. Here at present in the Rock pools one may witness a peculiar phase in the evolution of the jellyfish. Along with many beautiful varieties of marine vegetation, miniature forests of fir trees garnish the bottom of each shallow pool. These lilliputian firs, with their branches no thicker than a hair, are but plants in semblance, for here is the opening chapter in the life history of the medusae. Under the lens each fragile shoot is seen to consist of multitudes of small discs piled upon each other like so many saucers, each of which will, in due course, detach itself from its neighbour and enter on its new existence as fully equipped as the exaggerated specimens frequently seen stranded on our beaches. Lurking amongst the vegetation in the pools are numerous tiny spider-crabs, roaming about in search of food. Only by their movements can they be located, as each bears about with it quite a luxuriant growth of vegetation, with which I understand all crustaceans would become invested did they not--ludicrous as it may seem--regularly attend to their toilet. The “spider,” however, unable to procure a living by force of arms like his bigger brother, has recourse to the subterfuge of posing as an innocent patch of marine vegetation, and by such concealment is enabled to capture food which would be otherwise unattainable. The females at present are seen to be carrying spawn. When changing their position in the pool it is somewhat surprising to see a portion of the plants, which one has been admiring, suddenly become endowed with the powers of locomotion, detach itself from the mass, and, ambling leisurely round the pool, come to rest on the fringe of some other patch with which it completely harmonises.

During the whole of June, at daybreak and again in the evening, the sea around us appeared literally alive with large-sized poddlies. Their continual flip-flop on the surface in pursuit of “fry” could be distinctly heard from the balcony. Though frequently within reach of our attempts from the doorway, they failed to appreciate our invitation to any extent, and only with much perseverance did we occasionally manage to breakfast at their expense. A few cod have been taken from the pools at low water. The deepest of these pools is about a couple of fathoms at low water, and has the reputation of being a sort of convalescent home, as fish are occasionally taken there which are in anything but the pink of condition. Fishing there lately, I hooked a cod two feet long, and was somewhat surprised to see the feeble resistance it made. On landing it, however, it was seen to be a most phthisical-looking specimen and in the last stages of emaciation, the bones almost protruding through the skin. Needless to state, his life was spared, and the patient returned to his element. I have frequently seen emaciated specimens of the cod family, but as they were full grown, fishermen attributed this to old age, but this was certainly not the case with our catch, it being but half grown.

I often wonder if any one has noticed the following peculiarity. When fish show an unusual tenacity of life, that is, after being gutted and cleaned, exhibit strong muscular action for some time after, that this phenomenon invariably precedes a change of some kind in the weather, usually more wind or heavier sea. This at least is my experience from several years’ observations.

The remaining patches of white whelk ova now appear flaccid and empty. Brushing the hand over the apparently empty capsules, a granular deposit adheres to the skin, which on close examination is seen to be minute whelks. Even with the aid of the lens the sulci or furrow, through which boring operations are conducted, is not yet apparent, but which later is common to this species. The rocks at present are thickly sewn with these juveniles, and myriads of adults are busy clearing the rocks of barnacles and immature mussels. As late as 28th July a solitary paidle-cock was seen guarding its nest; this is unusually late, as they are generally finished nursing by the end of June.

The middle of July brought us our first young tern, and towards the close of the month several were in attendance. A large school of bottle-nose whales crossed the reef on the last Sunday of July, their puffing and blowing being quite audible as they headed north, probably after herring.

Pleasure steamers from Dundee have been frequently round the Rock during June and July, some of the trippers evidently enjoying the sail, others emphatically not. One of the passengers, as the steamer got to windward of us, favoured us with a cornet solo, which we gratefully acknowledged with a dip of our flag. On several evenings an hour’s fishing was given the passengers, but their catches could scarcely be expected to have any appreciable influence on the market. Broken weather, excessive rain, with occasional thunderstorms, describes the weather we have been having, the seasonable days of sunshine and warmth being few and far between.

AUGUST 1903.

A month of variable weather, much rain and heavy seas occasionally compelling the boats engaged in the herring fishing to run for it. Dearly bought indeed is their silvery freight as they thresh their way homewards followed by a stiff sou’-easter, their oilskins glistening with repeated drenchings, and twelve miles’ ploughing and a doubtful bar yet to be negotiated ere safety is reached. How different! no running for home with us; here we remain secure and comfortable amid the hurly-burly, and trust to the stability of the grand old building for our safety. Right well does it merit our confidence. After a century’s buffetings with the elements, not a single sign of weakening in the never ceasing conflict is evident. Surely a creditable testimony to the honesty of the labour employed in its erection.

That herring are occasionally in our vicinity is evidenced by the industrious diving of the gannets, accompanied by large flocks of gulls and terns, and also by the presence of whales snorting and puffing close to the Rock. At low water the reef is covered with gulls and terns resting from their labours of the tide. Scorning such relaxment, the gannets, wheeling and diving, maintain their ceaseless chase, establishing their kinship with that bird of the Ancient Mariner, the tireless albatross. A skua or robber-gull has billeted himself amongst the gulls and terns, and is frequently seen harrying them of their legitimate prey. It is surprising that the terns at least, with their needle-pointed bills and belligerent propensities, suffer themselves to be so despoiled, and make no attempt to combine and drive off this pirate on the fruits of their industry. On the contrary, after a fruitless twisting and doubling in mid-air, in which they are invariably worsted, they seem to accept these periodic attacks of the skua as a matter of course.

Amateur fishers have been but seldom in evidence here this summer; even the lobsters have enjoyed a season of comparative rest. Possibly the uncertain state of the weather prevented their usual visits. Towards the close of the month a trio of amateurs cast anchor--or rather what does duty as such--within hail of our kitchen window, a favourite spot of theirs. Lines were no sooner down than a brisk business began in cod, varied by an occasional poddley which has little or no market value, but which to us here is always acceptable, and forms the principal part of our catches. Several good catches of these have been taken here during the month. What appears to be whitings two inches in length is seen to be their food at present. The terns also are seen to be on similar diet, and though engaged in conveying a mouthful to their young ones, it in no way impedes their full flow of language, nor muffles in the slightest degree their strident throat notes.

During the unusually low tides occurring this month an opportunity was afforded of examining a most peculiar form of animal life of which I have nowhere seen any account. Attached to the rocks amongst groups of corallines this curious object has all the semblance of a bird’s claw. Imagine the leg of a bird amputated at the knee, firmly fastened to the rock by the cut end, and imbued with life, and you have a fair idea of this animal. About half an inch in length, the “leg” is seen to be composed of segments, and terminates in three toes, furnished with sharp, curved claws, which keep up a constant clutching--at what is not apparent; but the action strongly reminds one of a similar effect produced by juveniles who have become the proud possessor of a hen’s foot, and for a piece of slate pencil--the usual juvenile currency--demonstrate to admiring companions the utility of the extensor muscles.