Part 8

Last month we had the unique experience of being serenaded by the Dundee trippers with a cornet solo, but the last Saturday of this month fairly eclipsed this performance. As we were about to sit down to tea we were somewhat startled to hear the regular beat of a drum and the unmistakeable music of the bagpipes. A hasty survey from the kitchen window sent us flying to the balcony, there to witness the novel sight of a ship, manned by boys--a training brig evidently, bound for Dundee. Bearing down upon us from the eastward, she approached close to the Tower, the tide being about full. Flag courtesies being exchanged, crowds of juvenile faces were seen lining the rail, while midships pipers discoursed some lively music, including the “Cock o’ the North.” The wind being light, the vessel made but little way, and as she slowly crossed the reef the youngsters lustily cheered us, which we returned as best we could. Breaking into song, the whole ship’s company favoured us with “Poor Cock Robin,” the youthful voices having a most pleasing effect in the stillness of a really beautiful summer’s evening. Applauding our loudest, cheers were again exchanged as she slowly drifted beyond our hearing, the whole scene strongly reminiscent of “H.M.S. Pinafore.”

Whale-louse.

SEPTEMBER-OCTOBER 1903.

The man that pours the water out has certainly been paying attention to his business, and in conjunction with the puffy bellower of storms favoured us with weather anything but peaceful. Unlike the farmers, we have little cause of complaint. No sodden fields or ruined crops appal the eye, for even after a “regular snorter” things here remain pretty much as they were. True, the aspect changes as the season advances. The whitewashed appearance of the rock surface in summer, due to the presence of the acorn barnacle, has now vanished--thanks to the voracity of the white whelk--and the rocks appear in their natural colour, a reddish-brown. The “sere and yellow” is well represented in the once luxuriant crops of heavy tangles, but lately swaying on the surface with a freshness and beauty peculiarly their own, now storm-tossed, frayed and abraded, denuded of their palm-like fronds, they appear but a vestige of their former selves. The turbulent state of the weather interferes seriously with our fishing, keeping the poddlies at a respectful distance from our door; indeed, any approach in our direction at present would certainly denote suicidal mania on their part. At a safe distance outside the breakers, they are to be seen playing on the surface in the early morning and evening, so that our expectations are still high should the weather but abate.

The eider ducks, which on the 20th September were represented by a solitary individual--the first arrival--now number over a hundred. The longtails are still awanting to complete our list, but their advent may be looked for early next month. On suitable nights for the past two months we have always had some feathered visitors “becking and booing” to us through the lantern. On 4th October an extremely rare visitor--here at least--made its appearance, namely, the ring-ousel, the first I have seen. In size, shape, and general colouring, this migrant might easily be mistaken for a hen blackbird, but for the conspicuous white crescent across the throat, in this instance somewhat faint, but well defined, owing possibly to the bird being in immature plumage. On the morning of the 24th October over two dozen tiny gold-crest wrens were circling round our lantern, jostling and tumbling over each other in frantic efforts to keep in line with the white flash, the red flash evidently having no attraction for them. A skylark and robin were also of the company, as well as several redwings. The robin always seems to have a truer sense of his position than any other of our visitors. While the others clamour futilely against the glass he maintains an aloofness and self-possession truly remarkable. His eyes seem to be everywhere, and only with difficulty and the exercise of a little strategy is his capture effected. Of course, our captures are but temporary, and merely for the sake of a few minutes’ examination.

We had rather a disappointing experience with the Channel Fleet while cruising in these waters last month (September). Passing north in the dark, we were quite unaware of their presence, the Sutlej alone being seen later steaming north at 6 p.m. on the 21st, nearer to Arbroath than to us. On returning south a string of brilliant lights passing three miles outside of us at two o’clock in the morning was all we saw of the procession.

On 29th October a flock of thirteen field-fares passed at 9 a.m., flying towards Arbroath. This is the first arrival here of these birds, and earlier than usual.

On examining a lark which had been killed on the lantern the other night, a small land shell was found adhering to the feathers on the under part of the body. Arguing from this instance, the assumption that they also are imbued with the migratory instinct and adopt this mode of travelling would probably be considered far-fetched. That there is much undreamt of in our philosophy is as pregnant as when uttered, and possibly the connection between mollusc and bird was due to circumstances other than purely accidental.

NOVEMBER 1903.

Sunday, 1st.--A flat calm. A pleasant change, indeed, after our recent experience, and one which has fortunately continued for the greater part of the month. Fish, which had maintained a safe distance during the turmoil of last month, now ventured within catching distance, and several good takes were had. After the middle of the month heavy seas again drove them out of reach into deep water. Those that were caught were seen to be gorged with soil half an inch in length, resembling a piece of white thread with a black dot on either side at one end representing the eyes. Amongst the first that were taken the small jellyfish--cydippe pileus--seemed to have been their principal diet, but latterly the soil appeared to be preferred to the medusae. Outside the breakers they are still occasionally seen playing on the surface in the evenings. “Playing” is scarcely correct, as their play is, in reality, strict attention to business, and their appearance on the surface merely denotes their having overleaped themselves in pursuit of their legitimate prey. Our flock of eider ducks, much larger than it has been for several years back, now numbers 120. Amongst the smothering breakers they seem to be in their glory, and are busily engaged in clearing off the immature mussels that have escaped the voracity of the white whelks. On the 2nd, the first two longtails were seen, exactly a week earlier than last year, but their numbers are being but tardily reinforced, as they only totalled six at the end of the month. Though the main body of the solan geese or gannets left their breeding haunts on the Bass Rock on the 5th of the month for the fishing grounds--in the Mediterranean it is said--occasional stragglers are still seen in our vicinity.

On the night of the 8th we had a few migrants on the lantern, ten blackbirds--three only of which were males--and three fieldfares. Several of them appeared much fatigued, and after a few preliminary hops round the lantern, settled down on the lee side to have a nap. A fresh breeze blowing at the time, those still on the move were frequently hustled by the wind against the sleepers, who, thus rudely awakened, vigorously resented what they no doubt considered a deliberate attempt to assault, with the result that all hands were at times engaged in a battle royal; the hen “blackies” only engaging with those of their own sex, while the cocks and fieldfares tackled all comers indiscriminately. It was rather amusing to witness the finish between a pair thus engaged. Edging round the narrow pathway in their struggle, they gradually came under the influence of the wind sweeping round the lantern, when suddenly one of them would be wheeled off its feet away into the darkness, its opponent peering after it in evident astonishment, and probably congratulating itself on its prowess. The haze, responsible for their appearance here, clearing after midnight, before 3 a.m. they had all resumed their journey shoreward. On the 20th, a pair of grey crows passed, going east, and on the 22nd a heron was seen travelling in the same direction. Again, on the night of the 27th, three hen blackbirds and a starling had the lantern all to themselves.

The white whelks have now gone into winter quarters, and only a few are to be seen lingering among patches of immature mussels. The black edible whelk, or periwinkle, whose vegetarian habits demand a more inshore life, is here conspicuous by its absence. Occasionally, during the summer months, a very close search reveals a few solitary specimens. Two different varieties of slugs have been much in evidence among the rocks here of late. One of them (Doris coccinea), resembling in shape and colour a section of an orange, I have already described; the other somewhat resembles the common snail. Furnished with anterior horns and fleshy spines, ranged along the back, it curls itself up when out of water like a hedgehog. Earlier in the season they were mostly of a beautiful bluish colour, now they appear quite red. Without any visible means of defence, one can fancy these shell-less molluscs furnishing a delectable tit-bit for a hungry cod.

Turning over some loose stones in the shallow pools numbers of young paidle-fish are seen adhering to the under sides by means of their breast suckers, and when taken in the hand readily adhere to the fingers. I lately saw an illustration in which the paidle “hen” was depicted as leading a brood of about two dozen juveniles after the manner of the domestic fowl. This is stretching the simile with a vengeance, and not in accordance with facts. The “hen,” on depositing the ova, takes no further interest in it, and the “cock” alone guards the nest till the young are hatched out, when he also disappears, neither of them being seen till the following season. Considering that each nest probably contains millions of embryos, one can imagine the maternal anxiety in “airing” such a brood.

Cooped indoors so long, one is glad to take advantage of the quiet weather and the absence of the tide to enjoy a spin along the gratings, even though at night and in darkness. At first the darkness seems to preclude all possibility of holding a straight course along the narrow path, but as the eyes get accustomed to it the twenty steps and a round turn can be accomplished with wonderful precision. Should the round turn be omitted, however, you will probably be reminded of it by coming a cropper on the Bell Rock, which, though historical, is not at all sympathetic. A similar omission at the other end meets with more sympathy, if such sentiment can be said to enter Neptune’s embrace. The flash from the lantern overhead sheds no light below, though some fugitive rays escaping between the flashes illuminate the outlying perches or boat-guides. Any attention to these wandering rays occasions a halting tendency in one’s steps and a disposition to lurch laterally, demanding our undivided attention. The night is clear and dark and the various lights along the coast, which on moonlight nights are partially eclipsed, now show to the best advantage. Fifteen miles to the sou’-west the powerful electric light of the Isle of May flings its quadruple flash with startling brilliancy, a faint bar of light travelling athwart the base of our tower with each flash similar to what would be produced by a lighted carriage passing at a few yards distance. This light is said to be of three million candle-power and is of the arc type, using carbons one and a-half inch in diameter. To a stranger entering the light-room while the light is in action a somewhat disagreeable sound is heard. This is occasioned by the tremendous current bridging the arc between the carbons, and for all the world resembles the sound made by a circular saw passing through exceedingly knotty timber. The Bass Rock emerges from the right shoulder of the “May,” and prevents us seeing the light lately erected on its south side. A little to the right of the “May,” the eye encounters the fixed white light of the North Carr Lightship, three miles off Fife Ness, and distant from us nine miles. This light consists of six small argand lamps, set in silvered reflectors and enclosed in a lantern encircling the mast half-way up. Colza oil was the illuminant used until recently in the North Carr Lightship, as it was formerly in all the Northern lighthouses, where it had ousted the more expensive sperm, but which in turn has been superseded by paraffin. The lamps are hung on gimbals to obviate as much as possible the pitching and rolling of the vessel. With due allowance for the exaggeration that a penny piece placed on the deck shows “heads” or “tails” at the vessel’s own sweet will, one can understand that the motion in bad weather must be considerable. Table guards, though retaining the dishes on the table, do not in the slightest restrain the liberty of their contents, which find lodgment as they list. On such occasions the men resort to the expedient of squatting on the deck of their quarters with their backs against the bulkhead and their outstretched feet firmly opposed to those of their opposite neighbour, and only thus, plate in hand, are they enabled to discuss their soup with any degree of certainty.

Further to the right, in line with the town of Crail--landlocked from us--a dull red glare in the sky marks the position of Edinburgh, distant forty miles as the crow flies. Following the loom of the Fife coast, the twinkling lights of St Andrews next meet the eye, while further up the Firth the two fixed lights of Tayport greet their doubles of Buddonness on the opposite side. Midway between the lights of Tayport and Buddon a single flash every half minute marks the position of the Abertay Lightship. Unlike the other lights here mentioned, the three last named are under the control of the Dundee Corporation. Journeying northwards till almost at right angles to our starting point, the next visible are the lights of Arbroath, twelve miles distant. Viewed through the telescope how dreary and desolate they appear, without the usual accompanying signs of life, a feeble cluster in the vicinity of the harbour dwindling away to the Victoria Park in a solitary line. Further north the occulting light of Montrose Ness catches the eye with its thirty seconds of light followed by thirty seconds’ darkness. Northwards still, twenty-five miles from us, the light of Tod Head, near Bervie, limits our view in that direction. Only in exceptionally clear weather is it visible from here, and then only from the elevation of our balcony. The characteristics of this light are six white flashes in quick succession during fifteen seconds, followed by fifteen seconds’ darkness. Returning to our starting point, the Isle of May, and journeying till thirty miles due south from here, our view is again limited by St Abb’s Head, showing a white flash every ten seconds. About midway between the latter light and the “May” the light of Barns Ness, near Dunbar, is, like St Abb’s and Tod Head, only occasionally seen, its characteristic being a triple white flash every thirty seconds. The presence of these lights makes our coasts as safely navigable by night as by day, and the demand is still for more--a fact which drew from a facetious old “salt” the remark that “sailors nowadays want a hand-rail along the coast.”

DECEMBER 1903.

A month of dull, dark, unsettled weather, with scarcely any sunshine to speak of, and admitting of but little heliographic communication with the “shore,” a condition of things, by the way, preventing the “shore station” proclaiming to anxious eyes the interesting advent of another addition to the census. Quite a depressing effect is experienced at such prolonged absence of the land, and the reappearance of the Grampians, though swathed in winter vestments, would be a welcome sight. Our fish supply ceased early in the month, and its renewal need not be expected before the month of May. Gulls are numerous at present, and evidently on short rations considering their vigilant attention to the kitchen slops. Our only feathered visitor for the month was a belated bullfinch, who reached us only to die. The eiders and longtails continue in evidence, and have now the company of four cormorants.

Star-fish are always plentiful here, though of course more numerous in summer. All are of the five-rayed variety, including the “brittle” star-fish, which, unlike its fellows, discards its rays on the slightest irritation, and possesses a body no larger than a shirt button, in ludicrous contrast with the squirming rays two inches in length. In startling contrast with the latter was a specimen found in a shallow pool early in the month, and which was quite new to us here. Six inches in diameter, the stranger appeared all body, with very short rays, of which there were twelve. Unlike the usual five-pointed star shape, it might be better described as a deeply serrated disc, the upper surface being richly coloured with concentric rings of crimson. Another object of note at present is seen scattered about the rocks, resembling small coils of ribbon, apparently the egg-cases of some fish. These are white in colour, and somewhat resemble the outline of the human ear. The enveloping membrane, of rubber-like consistency, is quite transparent, and is seen to contain a frothy fluid. The inner edge of each coil is furnished with an adhesive margin, by means of which it is firmly fixed to the rock surface.

It is interesting to note the different modes adopted by fish to ensure the propagation of their species. Some, apparently careless of results, consign the spawn to the mercy of the waves, while others conceal it from predatory neighbours in the soft, sandy bottom. The skate family, adopting a different procedure with their egg cases--those purse-like receptacles often seen cast up on our beaches--moor them securely to the vegetation on the sea bottom by the long elastic tendrils--prolongations of the four corners of the case. Parental interest is, perhaps, better evinced in the case of the “paidle-fish” standing guard over his nest with unwearied vigilance, exhibiting all the care of a brooding hen for his future offspring. Again, in the case of the dog-fish--the plague of fishermen--how different. Here the young are brought forth, after the fashion of mammals, fully developed. A common sight in fishing boats where these pests are brought on board, is to see the finger-long juveniles swimming briskly about in the bilge-water with the yolk-sac still attached. In some parts it is customary to split and dry these fish for winter consumption, though the flavour of roasted “dogs” would scarcely recommend itself to anyone unaccustomed to its use, nor its relationship to fish even be suspected. The liver at one time supplied the natives of the Hebrides with lamp oil, and was also considered a panacea for all bovine ailments, the method of administering the dose being to keep the head of the cow elevated while the mouth was forced open, and the entire liver, as removed from the fish, slipped gently down the throat; no “sugar-coated pills” about that!

Spring tides occurring at the “full” and “change” of the moon, and our gratings consequently being then uncovered for a much longer period each tide, the “reliefs” are so arranged as to fall on or about these dates. Consequently, during the winter months, when the reliefs are made after dark, there is always the chance of every alternate relief being favoured with full moonlight. On the night of the 18th our final relief for the year was effected in comparatively quiet weather. At relief times, providing the weather is quiet, the landing gratings begin to uncover when the ebb has run four hours. Whenever a footing is possible the keepers descend with the signal-lamps, and by their colour--red, green, or white--indicate to the relieving steamer the landing they consider it safest to attempt. Two boats are immediately dispatched from the steamer in charge of the first and second officers, and, guided by the steamer’s searchlight, cautiously approach the landing signalled. Given quiet weather, the narrow passages leading to the different landings are easily negotiated, though to a stranger, even in quiet weather, the attempt would be extremely hazardous. Should there be any surf on the Rock, the boats take up a position as near the entrance as is prudent with safety, and there wait the opportunity of a lull. This generally occurring at the termination of three bigger waves than usual, the officer gives the word, and the first boat shoots forward into the boiling track. Talk about “shooting the rapids,” why, it isn’t a circumstance to it. Swinging through “Johnny Gray” track on a dirty night in mid-winter is quite “rapid” enough to satisfy the most morbid desire for excitement. At times disaster lies beneath the very oars, but the necessary impetus has already been given to the boat, and she clears it with a rush, to be met the next moment with a drenching sea on the port bow, which threatens to slew her upon the opposite ledge, despite the strenuous resistance of the starboard oars, the tips of which grate on the shelving ledge as they urge her through the narrow channel into safety, the entire effort affording a splendid demonstration of the necessity for doing the right thing at the right moment. The seamen understand exactly what is expected of them, and respond with alacrity to the officers’ orders. Despite the danger attending such work, that no serious accident has ever been recorded reflects much credit on all concerned, from the captain, who, as a boy, began his career on board the vessel which he now commands, downwards. Particularly is the second officer--a veteran of forty years’ experience in this work--to be congratulated on the possession of a “clean sheet” after such protracted service in what is frequently an extremely hazardous calling.

JANUARY 1904.

The weather continues dull and dark, but comparatively quiet--a matter of much importance to us at relief times. We have no aversion to a rousing gale between reliefs; then one can afford to appreciate the grandeur of the warring elements; but as the appointed time draws near, and no sign of abatement is evident, all hands become a trifle uneasy, especially the man whose turn it is for shore duty. It is rather tantalising to see the relief steamer cruising doubtfully round the Rock, then finally take her departure, unable to effect a landing, all on account of “that nasty swell,” which possibly a week ago we were eulogising as “sublime!” It is a matter of remark here how quickly the boisterous nor’-east seas are subdued by the westerly wind. At times the morning presents a scene anything but peaceful, the whole reef enveloped by shouting, tumbling seas, which bang our domicile till the crockery rattles, and blind by their spray our kitchen windows, seventy feet from the Rock--yet, let the wind but freshen from the westward and the conflict immediately becomes visible. The seas, now driving in the teeth of the wind, have their curling crests whipped cleanly off and carried leeward like clouds of steam. Perceptibly their force diminishes as they “lift and ’scend” in the struggle for supremacy, till by evening tide a comparatively easy relief may be effected. Home news and the doings of the outer world are then at our disposal, as well as a welcome consignment of fresh provisions. Considering his almost seven weeks’ confinement on the Rock, the shore-going keeper may be pardoned a feeling of relief and elation as he steps on board the relieving steamer--a feeling, by the way, not at all to be confounded with that of the return journey. As an instance how dissimilar the same object may appear from different view-points, our lonely habitation never seems to assume such a pleasing aspect as when seen vanishing astern. Verily, it is we who appreciate the truth of the Irishman’s illogical remark that “the best thing about going away from home is getting back again.”

A round of the different fishing pools was made this month at low water, resulting in the capture of a most unhealthy-looking specimen of a poddley in the “Hospital” (Neill’s Pool). Long, lank, and lean, a post-mortem revealed the liver attenuated to a mere thread. It is most remarkable why these sickly fish should favour this pool alone. About twenty feet in diameter and twelve feet deep, with the bottom thickly strewn with rounded boulders, there is always a shallow wash into it at the lowest state of the tide. Possibly its greater depth offers a safer refuge for these convalescents than the other pools. Whatever the reason, the fact remains that in this pool alone these specimens are found; not only poddlies, but lythe and cod as well. With the flying fish of the tropics we are more or less familiar, and of tree-climbing fish and overland travellers we have the testimony of travellers that such perverse specimens do exist. The ceratodus of Queensland, for instance, which, with its peculiar respiratory arrangement and ambulatory fins is enabled to transport itself over swampy ground in migrating from pool to pool, a feat suggestive of the Yankee’s shallow-draught steamer, to which an ordinary meadow was easily navigable, providing there had been a heavy dewfall. The cause of these reflections was the discovery of a small fish, some four inches in length, on the cleaning path encircling our lantern, over a hundred feet from its usual habitat. Of the “cobbler” variety, the expanded pectoral fins might, with a little imagination, be imbued with the powers of flight, but more than likely our visitor owed its exalted position to some predatory gull, which, unable to bolt its victim or escape from covetous neighbours, had dropped it where found.

A solitary lapwing was our only feathered visitor for the mouth. Apropos of these days of “retaliation,” there is an old Scottish Act of Parliament of the time of Edward the First relating to this bird, in which all its eggs are ordered to be broken when found, “in order that Peesweeps may not go south, and become a delicious repast to our unnatural enemies the English!”

A quiet night on the 31st seemed to augur favourably for our relief, which was due the following evening; by that time, however, the prospect was completely changed by a strong sou’-east wind, and consequently heavy sea, which rendered landing extremely doubtful. The following morning the Pharos made her appearance, and attempted a landing at daybreak. The two boats despatched from the steamer for this purpose, on approaching the Rock, found the passage unsafe to attempt, and returned to the steamer. Weighing anchor, the Pharos proceeded to the relief of the North Carr Lightship, where, owing to the tempestuous state of the weather, she broke the hawser by which she moors to the lightship three times during the operation. Landing the relief men from the lightship and Bass Rock--which had been relieved the previous day--at North Berwick, and sheltering overnight at the Isle of May, she returned to us on Wednesday morning and succeeded in effecting the relief.

FEBRUARY 1904.

Cormorants have been more in evidence here this month than usual. At present a flock of thirteen is to be seen diving in the deep water surrounding the reef. Scorning the crustaceans, molluscs, and other ground game of the eiders and longtails, these birds subsist entirely upon fish, in pursuit of which they are extremely dexterous. The long sharp-pointed bill is excellently adapted for securing their prey, the extremity of the upper mandible curving over the lower in a sharp hook, the efficiency of which I once saw forcibly demonstrated. One of these birds, while flying high overhead, was winged by a gunshot, and on striking the ground disgorged a recently swallowed poddley, some ten inches long. A boy of the party, having the temerity to thrust his foot towards the bird, had the upper leather of his boot pierced and the foot slightly wounded by the sharp hook-like process of the upper mandible. During an exceedingly rigorous winter in Orkney--in ’94, if I remember aright--hundreds of these birds perished from hunger. In a roofless hut, a few yards from high-water mark, I counted fourteen dying and dead. Rats were busy devouring the dead, while the living stumbled weakly over the half-eaten bodies of their comrades. In the most unlikely places they were to be met with, coming right up to our doors as if begging for shelter. One of them surprised me by waddling into the workshop, passing over my boots as if unconscious of my presence, and settling underneath the bench to die. Any food we could offer them was always rejected. One evening my attention was drawn to our poultry, which, instead of being on their roost, stood huddled about the entrance. Thinking the entrance had been accidentally blocked from within, I entered by the doorway to investigate. Judge my astonishment at finding “Mister Phalacrocorax Carbo”--such is the cormorant’s scientific title--standing Horatius-like holding the diminutive passage against all comers. Wisps of feathers, with shreds of skin adhering to them, lay strewn in front of him, while his effective “hook” gleamed gory from the carnage. Needless to state, his ejectment was summarily effected. When in pursuit of prey their method of diving is conspicuously different from other birds of the diving fraternity, and they may be identified at a long distance by this peculiarity alone. Bracing themselves together, they spring forward as if surmounting some imaginary obstacle on the surface, the entire body assuming the form of an arc, reminding one of a fractious pony in the act of “bucking.” The ducks, on the other hand, with wings half open, merely topple over and under, turning on their own axis, so to speak. Having secured a fish, it is brought to the surface, where, after some preliminary adjustments to facilitate transit, it disappears head first, the long neck denoting its course by “swelling wisibly.” This is the bird which the Chinese train to fish for them. A ring is placed on the bird’s neck, which prevents it appropriating its earnings for its own use. Whenever a swollen neck appears the owner is hauled on board the “sampan,” and the “swelling” reduced by a rough and ready form of massage. Occasionally the constricting ring is removed, and the bird permitted to enjoy its catch as a stimulant to further exertions. History records the use of this bird for similar purposes in our own country in the olden times, a leather strap being used instead of the ring. Last year, fishermen in the south of England petitioned for power to destroy these birds at all seasons on the plea of the destruction caused by them amongst fish in the estuaries. The cormorant measures three feet in length, and belongs to the pelican family, of which we have but two other British representatives--the shag, a smaller edition of the cormorant by eight inches, and the gannet or solan goose.

On several occasions during the month a seal was observed sporting amongst the breakers. The other evening he was seen within a few yards of the tower, busy devouring a huge cod. Mastication was entirely dispensed with; tilting his snout in the air, each ragged mouthful disappeared at a single gulp. The fish was allowed to sink after every mouthful; and two or three minutes would be spent under water before bringing it to the surface for another attack. In a remarkably short time the head and backbone alone were left.