Part 5

Several schools of porpoises have been seen this month, presumably in pursuit of herring. To anyone who has seen these animals gambolling in front of a ship’s bows when travelling at her best, the ease with which they maintain their distance is a matter of surprise--always on the point of being run down, but ever ahead, snorting playfully as if in derision at the possibility of their being overtaken by their lumbering follower. Off the island of Anticosta, in the Gulf of St Lawrence--where these animals attain a size several times larger than those of our home waters, and are of a cream colour--I had an interesting view of their manner of suckling their young. I have seen it stated that the mother by muscular compression expels the nutritive fluid, which is absorbed by the young one as it floats to the surface. The operation appeared to me to be one of actual contact. The young one--which, by the way, is of a slatey-blue colour--snuggling as close as possible to the mother as she lay somewhat on her side on the surface, all the while exhibiting the tenderest solicitude for her offspring. Truly the one touch of nature which makes the whole world kin. It is surprising to learn the evolution these animals have undergone in order to accommodate themselves to their altered circumstances. Land-dwellers at one stage of the world’s history, but acquiring a taste for fish, they gradually became aquatic in their habits, dispensing with such portions of their anatomy as were no longer necessary, while developing others more appropriate to their new sphere of existence, till, like their big brother the whale, from being a four-footed animal they became quite fish like in appearance, even to the cultivation of a dorsal fin, though still possessing rudimentary traces of their former construction. Change is apparent on every hand in the plan of nature; ages were necessary for the evolution of our present day horse from his five toed ancestors; and after all it does not seem so very startling when the transformation is enacted before our very eyes in a few short stages, as in the case of the common frog, from the gill breathing tadpole to the lung breathing adult. More startling it is to learn that man himself was at one time a gill breather, and, as biologists affirm, still exhibits traces of gill clefts at one stage of his embryonic development.

_MARCH 1902._

Signs of uneasiness and unrest are now apparent amongst our winter boarders, the eiders and long-tailed ducks. Taking wing on the slightest provocation, they wheel aimlessly round the Rock, and instead of their usual steady persistence in diving for a living, they seem quite discontented with their lot, and plainly making up their minds to desert us for the summer. Advances by the males are as yet met with scornful rebuffs by their less showy plumaged partners, but soon a mutual understanding will be arrived at, and before the month closes they will have gone house-hunting, eiders possibly to the Isle of May, while the long-tails, being migratory, seek their homes in the frozen North. It seems a strange anomaly that the less robust looking longtail should choose such rigorous latitudes for the rearing of its brood, while the sturdy “dunter,” swathed in his arctic coat, should elect to stay at home. On the other hand, we have been visited on hazy nights by numbers of larks and thrushes returning to our shores, after wintering in “Norroway ower the faem.” These members of the spring migratory movement often come to grief on our lantern, and when one considers the number of lighthouses round our coasts, it will be understood that the death-roll from this cause alone must be extremely high. Designed to save life, we unwittingly lure our feathered friends to their destruction.

A couple of seals have been sporting round our door of late, and they also exhibit signs of exuberance in keeping with the season. At high water they come quite close to the tower, and their antics are seen to advantage from our balcony. Rolling over each other, they make for the bottom, gliding along the rocks like hounds hunting in couples; then with a rush they are on the surface, floating bolt upright, with their muzzles almost touching, staring with their large, expressive eyes into each other’s face. An almost human touch was given to their play by one taking the head of the other between his fore-flippers, as if about to salute him, or more likely her, in the orthodox fashion. One was seen the other morning in possession of a large fish, while a number of gulls sat at a safe distance round him, waiting for the fragments when the feast should begin. By the way he glared at them, he was evidently annoyed at their presence. Sinking for a few seconds, he appeared on the surface minus the fish. This was evidently intended as a ruse, and meant to imply that he had lost it; but the gulls seemed to know better, and kept their position. Diving, he made his appearance some distance off, this time with the fish in his mouth, only to find himself, to his annoyance, again the centre of wistful expectations. Presuming these gulls to be up-to-date birds, their exulting cacklings might be literally rendered--“You better begin, Mister Phoca; it’s no use trying, you know; you can’t possibly dewett us!” At least, the seal seemed to think so, for he there and then opened the banquet with a rip of his teeth that distributed the offal amongst the hungry cordon.

The rocks become at this season of the year invested with a slippery coating of algæ, which renders it extremely difficult to maintain one’s footing, and also necessitates repeated applications of hot lime to our gratings in order to render them passable. Myriads of minute whelks, no larger than turnip seed, strew the rocks and crunch under foot as we walk, while great patches of mussel spawn delight the heart of the more venturesome of the white whelks--a prospecting party who will doubtless communicate the promising state of the commissariat to their fellows still in winter quarters.

Fishing in the Rock pools has been tried for the first time this season, and resulted in the capture of a solitary “cobbler.” It may be a month hence before we meet with any success.

This month has been extremely mild, though the hills behind Arbroath are still seen to carry portions of their winter coat, while the higher ranges inland are completely snow-capped. On a clear day our view is limited by Tod Head, about twenty-five miles to the north, and St Abb’s Head thirty miles south of us. The coast-line presents a uniform flatness, which becomes monotonous in comparison with the more picturesque raggedness of the West Coast. A most conspicuous feature in the landscape in the vicinity of Arbroath is the clump of trees on the summit of the Law Hill--a landmark well known to navigators, and easily discernible, as it stands sharply defined against the sky-line. Arbroath, when not enveloped in smoke, is clearly seen, and with the aid of our telescope the after-church promenaders can be distinguished on the Protection Wall, or wending their way towards the Victoria Park.

_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.