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Title: Notes on the natural history of the Bell Rock
Author: J. M. Campbell
Contributor: James Murdoch
Release date: March 22, 2024 [eBook #73228]
Language: English
Original publication: Edinburgh: David Douglas, 1904
Credits: Carol Brown, deaurider and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NOTES ON THE NATURAL HISTORY OF THE BELL ROCK ***
NOTES ON THE
NATURAL HISTORY OF THE BELL ROCK
_Edinburgh: Printed by George Waterston & Sons_
FOR
DAVID DOUGLAS
LONDON, SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, HAMILTON, KENT, AND CO., LIMITED
CAMBRIDGE, MACMILLAN AND BOWES
GLASGOW, JAMES MACLEHOSE AND SONS
NOTES ON THE
NATURAL HISTORY OF THE BELL ROCK
BY J. M. CAMPBELL
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY JAMES MURDOCH
LATE SECRETARY TO THE BOARD OF NORTHERN LIGHTHOUSES
[Illustration]
EDINBURGH: DAVID DOUGLAS, CASTLE STREET
1904
PREFACE.
These desultory notes were originally undertaken at the instigation of
an invalid friend, desirous of a closer acquaintance with our lonely
environments.
At the termination of a nine years’ residence on the Rock, I have been
advised to publish them in book form, and being fortunate in securing
the services of a generous publisher, they are now collected from the
columns of the local press and issued in this form in the hope that
they may interest the general reader.
I have to thank the Editors of _The Arbroath Guide_ and _Chambers’s
Journal_ for their courtesy.
J. M. CAMPBELL,
_Assistant Lightkeeper_.
BELL ROCK LIGHTHOUSE,
_May 1904_.
INTRODUCTION.
In consequence probably of my connection of more than fifty years
with the Northern Lighthouse Board, and of the almost equally long
service of my father, I have been requested, and with much diffidence
have complied with the request, to write, by way of Introduction to
these very interesting and instructive “Notes from the Bell Rock,” a
few words regarding Lighthouses, and a short account of the Northern
Lighthouse Service and its Lightkeepers. My love for that service,
and the esteem I have for those responsible and patient watchmen of
the night, whose duty it is to keep their lights burning to guard
the mariner from some of the dangers to which he is exposed, and to
guide him on his way over the vasty deep, may possibly enable me to
say something to interest readers of the Notes in a service whose
appropriate motto is “IN SALUTEM OMNIUM.”
The origin, as well as the early history, of lighthouses is involved in
much obscurity, although we learn from ancient writers that lights of
some sort, or beacon fires, were used for guiding vessels or warning
them of danger at least three hundred years before the Christian era.
The Colossus of Rhodes and the Pharos of Alexandria are those that
we first read of, but very little authentic information is to be got
regarding them. At a much later date we know that sea lights for such
purposes were produced by the burning of wood and coal in chauffers on
coasts where they could be well seen. One such beacon fire was shown
from a tower on the Isle of May, at the entrance to the Firth of Forth,
from the year 1635 till 1816, when the present lighthouse was built,
and is supposed to have been the first sea light on the coast of
Scotland. It is not unlikely, however, that long before that date some
of the most dangerous parts of the Mediterranean were lighted in a like
primitive manner.
The first lighthouse of any note of which we have authentic record
is the Tour de Corduan, near the mouth of the river Garonne, in the
south-west of France, which was founded in 1584, but not completed
and lighted till 1610. On account of the style and grandeur of its
architecture, it was long regarded as one of the wonders of the world,
the Pharos of Alexandria having been regarded as another. Its lightroom
was originally constructed for the combustion of wood in a kind of
chauffer raised six feet above the floor of the lantern; but it has
undergone many alterations and improvements since then, to bring it
into keeping with the progressing and modern system of lighthouse
illumination, which has made great strides during the last half-century.
Winstanley’s wooden structure to mark the Eddystone Rock off Plymouth
was probably the next work of importance in lighthouse building. It was
lighted in 1698, but washed away in a storm about five years afterwards
when Winstanley, who had gone there with some workmen to execute
certain repairs, and the lightkeepers all perished. A subsequent
lighthouse, also of wood, on the Eddystone, was accidentally burned
down about fifty years later, after which Smeaton’s structure of stone
was placed on it. This building stood until a few years ago, when it
was seen the sea was making such serious inroads on the rock on which
it was founded, that it was deemed advisable to take it down and have
another built on a different part of the reef. The success of Smeaton’s
lighthouse having been assured, attention was directed at the beginning
of last century to the Bell Rock, which was a source of great danger
to vessels navigating the East Coast of Scotland, and particularly to
those sailing to or from the Firths of Forth and Tay, many of them
being lost on it.
The Commissioners of Northern Lighthouses accordingly resolved to erect
a lighthouse there, somewhat after the model of Smeaton’s Eddystone,
but the work proved to be a much more difficult and arduous undertaking
owing to the Rock being always covered by the sea, except for a short
time at low water, whereas the Eddystone was never altogether covered,
even at high water. The Bell Rock is a low flat lying reef, the surface
of which becomes uncovered to any extent only at low water of spring
tides, but on which at high water there is a depth of from twelve to
sixteen feet. Its extent is about 1400 or 1500 feet in length, with a
breadth of about 300 feet. In olden times it was known as the Inchcape
Rock. Tradition has it that at one time an Abbot of Aberbrothock being
impressed with its danger, and anxious to avert to some extent, if
possible, the loss of life which often occurred on it by shipwrecks,
moored thereon a buoy or log of wood, having a bell attached to it,
which the action of the sea tolled continuously, thus giving warning
of danger. It afterwards became known as the Bell Rock. Tradition also
says that a pirate known as Ralph the Rover, who frequented these seas,
finding that the bell interfered with his nefarious occupation, removed
it. Retribution, however, was not long of overtaking him, for it is
said that his vessel shortly afterwards struck on the reef and was lost
with all on board. Southey’s graphic ballad, descriptive of the legend,
entitled “Sir Ralph the Rover,” is so well known that it is quite
unnecessary to do more than refer to it here.
The sanction of Government having to be procured before the erection of
the lighthouse could be proceeded with, considerable time was occupied
with the necessary negotiations, but in 1807, Mr Robert Stevenson,
the Engineer to the Northern Lighthouse Board, was allowed to
commence operations, and after encountering and overcoming innumerable
difficulties by his indomitable skill, energy, and perseverance, he at
last completed the work, and had a light shown from it on 1st February
1811. It is very satisfactory to be able to state as testifying to the
excellency of the materials used in its construction, as well as to
the careful and well devised scheme and execution of the workmanship,
that the tower as yet shows no symptoms of decay, and stands as strong
to-day as when newly erected.
In a highly interesting lecture which the writer of the Notes delivered
at Arbroath, about a year ago, he thus described the lightroom and
lighting apparatus, which had just been renewed, not on account of tear
and wear, but to bring it up to present day standard:--
“In the centre of the floor stands the revolving machinery enclosed
in a heavy metal case, upon which the huge lens, with its supporting
carriage, revolves. The lens itself--a marvel of the glassmaker’s
art--is the production of a French firm. Imagine a huge saucer, twelve
feet in diameter, composed of twenty concentric prisms of purest glass,
each with a diameter almost as much as a man may enclose with both
hands, terminating centrally in a sixteen inch plano-convex lens or
bull’s-eye. Suppose the rim of this saucer to the extent of four prisms
be turned sharply inwards, the whole set vertically on edge--convexity
outwards--and a vertical section--in which the bull’s-eye and three
adjoining prisms are alone intact--projected a foot further forward,
one may gain some idea of that particular portion of the lens allotted
to the red flash, the colour of which is attained by means of sheets of
red glass attached inside the central section and on the outside of the
adjoining wings. On the opposite side of the lens, and in a line with
the central red section, is a similar section--minus the adjoining
wings and the red media--through which the white flash is transmitted.
Both flashes are intended to equal each other in intensity, which
accounts for the much smaller portion of the lens allotted to the
white. A belt of horizontal prisms, three feet wide, connects the
wings of the red section with the white on either side, and reflects
the rays of light equally to both sections. Stooping underneath this
belt, access is obtained to a fixed circular platform in the interior
of the lens. In the centre of this platform, upon an iron pedestal, is
placed the source of illumination, a large six-wick lamp. Between this
platform and the top of the machine case, the circular carriage upon
which the superstructure of the lens is erected revolves upon twelve
five-inch steel rollers travelling upon a circular metal pathway.
Attached to the under side of this carriage is a heavy gun-metal
ring, six feet in diameter, toothed on its inner circumference, which
engages with a horizontal pinion wheel rising from the corner of the
machine case, and through which the driving power is transmitted. The
machine--an exaggerated form of clockwork--is driven by a weight of
400 lbs. travelling in the centre of the spiral stair on the first
flat. The speed of the machine is regulated by adjustable fans; and a
speed indicator, furnished with an alarm bell, intimates the periods of
winding--an operation necessitating two minutes’ stiff winding every
half-hour. The entire lens, with its supporting carriage, is estimated
to weigh about six tons. The lamp, as I have already stated, is placed
upon an iron pedestal in the centre of the platform, or service table,
as it is called, in the interior of the lens. It is fitted with what
is known as the stepped Doty burner, and carries six concentric wicks,
each slightly elevated above the other towards the centre. The burner
is six inches in diameter, and consumes paraffin oil at the rate of
eighteen gills per hour. To maintain this supply, a forty gallon tank
of polished brass is placed on the lightroom floor; and a small force
pump, with triple plungers, working in conjunction with the revolving
machine, maintains a constant supply of oil, which is kept cool by
circulating within an inch of the burning edge of the wicks, the
surplus oil returning to the pump-tank. The flash, on being transmitted
through the lens, is reckoned to be equal to 60,000 candles; and the
characteristic of the light--a red and white flash alternately every
half-minute--visible twenty miles distant.”
A description of the work of renewal of the lighting apparatus and the
erection of a new and enlarged lantern to hold it on the top of the
tower, is also given in the Notes; and no further reference to it is
needed than to say that the light, which has the same characteristic as
before, is now, by means of the new apparatus, made much stronger and
more brilliant.
Such an erection as this lighthouse--standing, as it were, a pillar in
the ocean, with a stormy sea raging round it--may surely be described
as one of the noblest and most wonderful works of man. As no ship has
been wrecked on the Rock since the light was first exhibited, it is
incalculable how many valuable lives may have been saved by it. Sir
Walter Scott, on the occasion of his visiting the Bell Rock as the
guest of the Commissioners on their annual tour of inspection in 1814,
gave beautiful expression to his feelings in the following appropriate
lines, which he wrote in the Lighthouse Album:--
PHAROS LOQUITUR.
Far in the bosom of the deep,
O’er these wild shelves my watch I keep,
A ruddy gem of changeful light
Bound on the dusky brow of night;
The seaman bids my lustre hail
And scorns to strike his timorous sail.
The Eddystone and the Bell Rock Lighthouses having been, as it were,
the forerunners of the class of lighthouse that required to be built
on rocks exposed to the full fetch of heavy seas, many more of the
same sort have since been erected off the coasts of Great Britain and
Ireland. That of Skerryvore, which is situated in the Atlantic, west of
the Island of Tiree in Argyllshire, is regarded as probably the finest
specimen of lighthouse architecture in the world. This lighthouse was
the creation of Alan Stevenson, who succeeded his father, Robert, as
Engineer to the Northern Lighthouse Board, and it is interesting to
know that the designing and engineering of the Northern Lighthouses has
now been in the hands of the Stevenson family for more than a hundred
years, Mr David Alan Stevenson, one of the grandsons of Robert, now
holding the position of Engineer to the Board. But the family is not
altogether indebted to lighthouse engineering for its fame, as the late
talented and lamented writer and novelist, Robert Louis Stevenson, who
made a world-wide name for himself, was another grandson of the Bell
Rock Engineer.
It is not necessary to say more about lighthouses, but I considered
it desirable to give a short description of one or two of the most
notable, including that of the Bell Rock, in which these Notes were
written, to show from what limited sources a man of intelligence and
keen observation can procure subjects of surpassing interest to engage
his attention, as well as to instruct and amuse others.
The Lighthouse Authorities of the United Kingdom are the Trinity
House for England, the Commissioners of Northern Lighthouses for
Scotland, and the Commissioners of Irish Lights for Ireland. The
Trinity House exerts a certain control over the Scottish and Irish
Boards, particularly as to the site and character of lights proposed
by them, and the Board of Trade holds the financial control of all
three. The Boards are not all similarly constituted, the members of
the Trinity House being mostly men of nautical knowledge, while those
composing the Irish Board are mostly connected with the Corporation
of Dublin. The Commissioners of Northern Lighthouses are the Lord
Advocate and the Solicitor-General for Scotland, the Lord Provosts of
Edinburgh, Glasgow, Aberdeen, and Dundee; the Provosts of Greenock,
Inverness, Campbeltown, and Leith; the eldest Bailies of Edinburgh and
Glasgow--and the Sheriffs of the maritime counties of Scotland. The
origin of the Board dates from 1786, and it was incorporated by an Act
of Parliament passed in 1798. The primary and general object of the
three Boards is the erection and maintenance of lighthouses and other
sea marks, such as beacons and buoys, for the security of navigation
and the saving of life and property. The funds for these objects are
got by levying tolls on shipping.
In 1815 the Northern Lighthouse Commissioners acquired the right to
erect lighthouses on the Isle of Man, which since then has been under
their jurisdiction.
In olden times, many lighthouses in England and Ireland were the
property of private individuals, who had the power of charging dues
for their erection and maintenance; but the Isle of May light was
the only one of that kind in Scotland, and it became the property of
the Commissioners of Northern Lighthouses by purchase in 1814. The
tolls or dues have long been collected for the different Boards by
the Collectors of Customs at the various ports, and are now paid into
what is called the “General Lighthouse Fund,” which is held by the
Board of Trade, and on which the Lighthouse Boards draw according to
their requirements. Sixty years ago this tax, as it may be called,
on shipping varied as regarded different lighthouses from a farthing
to one-penny-halfpenny per ton for each light passed, the rates on
over-sea voyages being generally double those for coasting voyages;
but since then they have frequently been reduced, both in amount and
in incidence. Ships of the Navy and all lighthouse vessels are, of
course, exempt from such dues. On 1st April 1899, an alteration was
made by which vessels were no longer charged a rate per ton for each
light passed, but a rate per ton per voyage, and in some cases a rate
per vessel; and a deduction was made when a number of similar voyages
took place during the year. Very recently, a further reduction has been
granted by an abatement of twelve-and-a-half per cent. on the total.
This, of course, is all paid by the shipowners, who have long been,
and still are, discontented at being charged for light dues at all,
their contention being that all the expenditure necessary for erecting
and maintaining lighthouses and other sea marks should be paid out
of the Imperial taxation of the country. They also now desire to be
represented on the three Boards, and have a share in the management.
I, who have seen half-a-century’s administration by the Commissioners
of Northern Lighthouses, may be allowed to express an opinion that it
would be very difficult to construct a Board to do its work better than
the Northern Lighthouse Board. The Commissioners require no eulogy from
me; but I cannot imagine any other body of men, be they scientific or
unscientific, nautical or commercial, paid or unpaid--and be it noted
that the Commissioners are all unpaid--taking more interest in their
work, or devoting more time and attention to it. The introduction of
shipowners, who may have conflicting interests to serve in the lighting
of different parts of the coast, might introduce an element of discord
from which the present Board, so far as I am aware, has always been
exempt.
The staff of the Board consists of an Engineer and a Secretary, who
also acts as General Manager, with an accountant, examiner of accounts,
and five clerks. Then there is a superintending staff, consisting of a
superintendent, with an assistant, and three district superintendents.
Four small steamers, the property of the Board, deliver stores and oil,
and fill with gas the lighted beacons and buoys, as well as relieve
the keepers at some of the rock lighthouses. A number of boats also
attend certain island and remote stations. There are more than 200
lightkeepers attached to about 80 lights, most of these lights being
attended by two keepers, one acting as principal and the other as
assistant. At rock and fog signal stations, however, there are three
or four keepers, according to requirement; such lighthouses as the
Bell Rock, Skerryvore, and several others of that class having four.
At the Isle of May, which is an electric light station, there is an
engineer in charge, with six assistants. Besides these, there are also
a number of small beacon and subsidiary lights which do not require
the personal attendance of lightkeepers. In the early part of last
century lightkeepers were mostly chosen from the seafaring class, or
from men who resided in the district in which a lighthouse was placed,
and age was considered no detriment so long as they were able-bodied
and of good character. The Scottish Board never employed women as
lightkeepers, but not very long ago it was customary in certain
cases for lightkeepers’ wives to act in this capacity in Ireland. As
lighthouses increased in number, applications to fill the post of
lightkeepers also became more numerous, and now it is almost essential
that an applicant, in order to get his name placed on the expectant
list, should be either a mechanic or a seaman. Before receiving an
appointment he has also to undergo a period of probation at one or two
lighthouses, where he gets instruction in his duties. There is now so
much delicate and expensive machinery in lightrooms that those placed
in charge should not only have skill to keep it in good working order,
but be able to execute slight repairs should accidents occur. It is
also found that seamen are most suitable for rock or island stations,
where there is much boating or landing of stores and provisions, their
early training and familiarity with the sea giving expertness to
their movements and a confidence which few landsmen can ever acquire.
There is now an age limit for entrance to the service, consequently
all are young when first appointed, and before getting an appointment
require to pass an examination in reading, writing, and arithmetic, and
give evidence of general intelligence. They must also pass a medical
examination to prove that they are free from physical defects and have
a sound constitution, and freedom from colour blindness. At sixty years
of age they may retire, and at sixty-five they must do so, pensions
being awarded them according to their period of service. The day
duties are light, except during spells of fog, when at those stations
where there are fog signals, and the sirens require to be continually
sounded, close attention must be given to the engines and machinery
connected with them. The night duties are divided into watches similar
to those adopted on board ships. Lightkeepers are not allowed to
read, write, or work while on watch in the lightroom, as duty there
requires all the attention they can give to keep the lights burning
brightly, and at revolving lights to watch and wind up the machinery
periodically. Then during certain states of the atmosphere the glass of
the lantern requires cleaning, more especially when snow is falling on
it and obscuring the light. A graphic description of this operation at
the Bell Rock is given in the Notes.
The lives of all lightkeepers are insured, and much is done to make
their position and that of their families a comfortable one. They have
a liberal allowance of holidays; and, if sickness overtakes them or
any member of their families, medical attendance and medicines are
furnished by the Board practically free. Comfortable dwelling-houses,
with a certain amount of furniture, are supplied to all of them,
with uniform clothing, bedding, cooking utensils, coal, and oil for
lighting purposes. When men are doing duty on rock lighthouses, their
food and all their wants are, as a matter of course, supplied. At
stations remote from schools, a boarding allowance is given to enable
lightkeepers to get their children boarded and educated elsewhere. Nor
must I omit to mention that all are liberally supplied with illustrated
and other newspapers, monthly periodicals, and books of useful and
general literature. Lightkeepers and their families at most island
stations have also means afforded them for occasional attendance on
Divine ordinances. They have time to indulge in hobbies, such as
handicraft of various kinds, from the making and mending of shoes to
the construction of beautiful models of lighthouses and ships, or, like
that of the writer of the Notes, the studying of the natural history of
the objects around them. I knew one who, on the eve of his retirement,
built for himself a small boat of plate iron, in which he afterwards
used to go fishing.
The lights shown from lighthouses have all special characteristics--such
as fixed, flashing, or a variation in colour--to distinguish them
from each other, and to enable the mariner when he sights them to
know exactly off what part of the coast he is. Unfortunately, this
does not always prevent shipwrecks occurring; for, although he should
not do so, sometimes the mariner mistakes his light, and runs into
danger instead of out of it; or fog may render a light invisible;
or a storm may drive a vessel on a lee shore in spite of any light.
It might be said that wrecks should never occur from the first of
these causes, viz., a mariner mistaking his light; but sailors are
sometimes careless, like other people, and only learn their lesson
when too late. It is different, however, when a master or officer has
been storm tossed, probably for many days and nights, without seeing
the sun or stars to give him an idea of his whereabouts. Suddenly the
fog lifts a little and he sees a gleam of light which, in the anxious
state of his mind, he supposes to be one which he thinks he ought to
be approaching, and then taking, as he supposes, his correct course,
runs on the rocks. Such a case occurred about five years ago, when the
s.s. _Labrador_, bound from Halifax, Nova Scotia, to Liverpool, was
lost on the Skerryvore reef. The captain had not been able for many
days to take an observation owing to fog, and the tide had evidently
carried him further to the north than he reckoned on, when suddenly
the light of Skerryvore appeared, and mistaking it for a light on the
north coast of Ireland, he unfortunately altered his course, with the
result that the ship ran on a portion of the Skerryvore reef and became
a total wreck. Fortunately, all on board were saved. Two boat-loads
of crew and passengers were picked up by a steamer and landed on the
Island of Mull; while another boat, containing the remainder, eighteen
in all, reached the rock where the lighthouse stood, and, assisted by
the lightkeepers, landed and found shelter there, and had all their
wants attended to till the lighthouse steamer _Hesperus_ went to their
assistance and took them to Oban. Many acts of heroism since that
of Grace Darling have been performed by lightkeepers in saving life
from shipwreck, and have been suitably acknowledged by the Lifeboat
Institution or Humane Society. A short time ago, two daughters of the
principal lightkeeper at Kyleakin, observed a sailing boat struck by a
squall off the lighthouse, and its occupants (two men) thrown into the
water. The tide was running fast, and as there was no time to lose,
they rushed down to the shore, and, getting into a boat, rowed out
to where they saw one man struggling in the water, and, after taking
him on board, rowed after the upturned boat, which had the other man
clinging to it, and saved him also.
In closing my short Introduction I cannot do better than refer to
a visit paid to the Bell Rock Lighthouse by some fifty members of
the British Association in 1850, and give a few quotations from a
speech made by Dr Robinson, of Armagh, at a general meeting of that
Association held in Edinburgh shortly afterwards, when he moved a
vote of thanks to the Commissioners of Northern Lighthouses for their
courtesy in conveying the party and showing them over the Lighthouse.
He said he had been led to an object which, almost from the days of his
childhood, engrossed his attention, and which he had ever regarded as
one of the wonders of the world.
“When I visited that marvellous, beautiful structure, rising up in
its strength and loneliness out of the deep, I found that though the
sea was calm and the wind was still, yet there was quite enough of
danger in the enterprise of approaching it. Under these circumstances
it enabled the mind to call up for itself the terrors which must in
former years have beset those who were unhappily entangled in that
wilderness of rocks, which that noble structure now crowns as a
beacon.... It was impossible not to feel admiration for the beneficent
courage and the mechanical skill of the late distinguished engineer,
Robert Stevenson.... When I thought of the extraordinary resources,
both of wealth and talent, that must have been accumulated to overcome
such a tremendous difficulty, I naturally looked to the nature of
the power by which such marvels had been achieved, and I found not a
mere unenlightened body of what are called practical men, of persons
who followed the road of experience, going always into the same old
track, and incapable of availing themselves of the progress of the
age to perfect their feeble endeavours. I found I was among men who
were able to teach me in many important facts regarding which I had
in vain sought for information for years, and which I learned in
that excursion.... When I was led to ask the question, Who are the
controllers of this admirable system? I learned with surprise that
the Commissioners of Northern Lighthouses are not a set of salaried
functionaries, whose professional habits might have led them to
interest themselves in these pursuits, but a body of lawyers and
municipal magistrates.”
Dr Robinson’s appreciation of the Commissioners in the important
services they render to the shipping interests is, I am sure, shared
and endorsed by all who know or have known the Commissioners of any
period.
J. M.
EDINBURGH, _August 1904_.
NOTES
ON
THE NATURAL HISTORY
OF
THE BELL ROCK.
_APRIL 1901._
I wonder how many people have had the pleasure of a trip to the Bell
Rock Lighthouse. I don’t mean the customary trip per summer steamer,
which keeps at a very respectable distance, and gives one but a faint
idea of what the building is really like; but those who have made a
landing on the Rock, and spent an hour or two in admiring the ingenuity
and skill displayed in the erection of this noble structure, which has
so bravely stood the test of almost a century’s storms. It is not my
intention to enter into a detailed description of the Lighthouse, but
merely to jot down in haphazard fashion any little items which may
serve to interest or amuse the general reader. The usual signs which
to the landsman’s eye chronicle the passing seasons are here unknown;
but to us, the fish, shell fish, marine plants, migratory birds, etc.,
constitute an endless calendar. Early this month the flocks of eider
and long-tailed ducks, which have been in close attendance since
September, have gone housekeeping, and one belated pair of eiders alone
remain, evidently as undecided as some of their human contemporaries
about taking the important step. The gulls, which have been levying
blackmail from the ducks all winter, have almost all disappeared,
and we miss their raucous voices at our door, contending for the
after-dinner scraps. One would scarcely credit the swallowing capacity
of these omnivorous birds. A piece of ham skin, nine inches long and
three inches broad, and about the consistency of sole leather, was
greedily bolted by a blackback without apparent effort. These birds,
though not classed as divers, I have frequently seen go completely
under water to recover a sinking tit-bit. I had an interesting view
from the balcony the other morning of a seal which was breakfasting off
a full-sized cod which he had just captured. Seizing the fish by the
shoulders in his teeth, and pushing it from him with his fore flippers
he tore off a great strip clear to the tail. Elevating his head in the
air, he gulped it over. Diving after the disappearing fish, he quickly
had it on the surface again, and the pushing and tearing repeated till
there was nothing left but the head and backbone. A couple of gulls
kept circling and screaming over him, picking up any strayed pieces
which came their way, but he took good care their share was small,
and kept a wary eye on their movements, evidently suspecting they had
designs on the fish itself. They, in turn, I noticed, always kept their
wings elevated when resting for a moment on the water awaiting his
reappearance with the fish, prepared to shoot into the air should he
attempt to rush at them.
The white whelk, whose numbers here are legion, are now making their
appearance from their winter quarters, where, in sheltered nooks and
crannies, they have successfully resisted the winter’s gales. Unlike
some of their species, which subsist solely on marine plants, they
are not vegetarians, but, spreading themselves over the Rock like a
devastating army, they devour all animal matter they come across.
Armed with a strong muscular proboscis, containing within itself
the necessary boring apparatus, and which consists of a cylindrical
implement, the extremity of which forms the mouth of the animal, and
is surrounded by two strong muscular lips, enclosing a tongue, armed
with spines, they are able, by the joint action of tongue and lips, to
perforate the hardest shells. Fixing itself on the defenceless mussel,
the boring operation is carried on through the furrow on the one side
of the rim of the whelk, and a neat cylindrical orifice, no bigger
than a pinhole, is eventually made in the mussel shell, through which
the tongue is thrust and the contents gradually extracted. Two years
ago the Rock was literally covered with patches of immature mussels,
but is now completely denuded by these rapacious hordes. Some seasons
the mussel spawn is pretty much in evidence here, but they never
come to maturity; the white whelk takes care of that; but apart from
that cause, it is doubtful if they could manage to subsist in such a
boisterous situation. The workmen, while employed here in the building
of the Lighthouse, in order to regale themselves with a fresh diet
occasionally, made the experiment of transplanting mussels from the
shore, but without success. The white whelk was evidently considered
the chief offender, as barrels of them were collected and destroyed
without any appreciable diminution of their numbers. The attempt was
ultimately abandoned in disgust.
“All is not gold that glitters,” neither does every whelk shell enclose
its legitimate owner. Pick up that one which moves with such unusual
speed through this shallow pool, and you will find a pair of lobster
like claws dangling from its mouth. Gently crack the shell--for you
will find it next to impossible to extract him alive otherwise--and
you will see, what one may be pardoned for supposing, a miniature
lobster, but which in reality belongs to another distinct species,
namely, the hermit crab. Whether he has obtained occupancy by force
of arms or merely through decease of the original tenant is a moot
point, but the first supposition is highly probable, as he is a most
belligerent little customer. An amusing sight may be witnessed by
placing several of them, deprived of the shells, in an ordinary soup
plate, with a little sea water and some empty shells--fewer shells than
crabs. The fighting and struggling to secure houses is ludicrous in the
extreme. One may be seen almost successful in mooring himself within
a shell--which, by the way, is effected by means of the shelly plates
at the extremity of his soft, twisted tail--when another seizes him by
the nape of the neck, as it were, and he is dragged reluctantly forth.
The evictor still holds him struggling at claw’s length, and not until
he himself is safely ensconced does he relinquish his grasp. Others,
again, may be seen prospecting the interior of a shell. Extended at
full length on the top of the shell, with their claws groping within,
one is forcibly reminded of a person “guddling” for trout. Should there
be any portion of the original whelk remaining in the shell, this,
after repeated tuggings, is cleared out. The tail is then inserted, and
the whole body withdrawn into the shell, providing it is large enough;
if not, he stands a bad chance of being evicted by the next pugnacious
house-hunter.
_MAY 1901._
Flowery May! Well, not exactly. To us here this month generally spells
fish, and is looked forward to as a pleasant change from the usual
regime. It may probably surprise many to learn that though planted
here, right in the centre of the fishing grounds, our table for the
greater part of the year is “fishless”; for, unlike Mahomet and the
mountain, the fish must come to us, even to our very door--for from
our doorway the most of our fish are caught, save an occasional one
taken with rod and line from the deep pools left on the Rock by the
receding tide. The catching of fish from one’s doorstep will be easily
understood when it is known that a stumble from our door at full
tide means a sheer fall of fifteen feet into two or three fathoms of
water. A stay fixed in the doorway, with its outer end attached to the
landing-slip fifty feet from the tower, carries a weighted pulley, to
which is attached the fishing line, while pending from the pulley is
the snid and hook. The pulley is carried to the extremity of the stay
by its own momentum, and is hauled back by means of the fishing line.
The most of our fly-fishing is carried on with this apparatus, our
largest catches being generally in the fall and consisting principally
of poddlies, with an occasional lithe or cod. Strangers often ask why
we do not keep a boat here; it might almost as reasonably be asked
why we don’t keep a cow. Simply because we have not the necessary
accommodation--that is, unless one could be devised with the properties
of a limpet, and be none the worse for several hours’ immersion every
tide. Besides, our Commissioners have decreed that it would not be
advisable, as the temptation to wander might end in our being cast
away, and the possible result of the Rock being left even for one
night without its customary warning light might be too horrible to
contemplate.
_Cyclopterus lumpus_ is again with us. This is not a new form of
the plague, but merely the technical term for the fish called the
lump-sucker, better known on the East Coast as the paidle-cock and
paidle-hen. Early this month they annually visit the Rock to deposit
their ova. This the hen does in some convenient angle of the Rock,
often so ill-judged as to expose the nest at low water. The ova is
cemented into a compact mass, and adheres to the Rock by means of a
gelatinous envelope surrounding each egg. This operation performed, the
hen evidently considers her share of the contract as finished, as she
immediately clears out to deep water, leaving the cock to mount guard
over the nest. This duty he faithfully performs, as he is always to be
seen with his nose close up to the ova, and never seems to leave it for
a moment. I have frequently taken them away from the nest and placed
them in a different part of the pool, but they invariably returned to
their post. A stick or other substance intruded in the vicinity of
the nursery is viciously snapped at. The ova seems to be considered a
desirable dainty by other fishes, as the stomachs of the cod caught by
us bear indisputable evidence of the cock’s inefficiency as guardian of
his embryonic progeny. The hen is about eighteen inches long, and of a
somewhat repulsive appearance. The cock is about half this size, and
more attractive, being brilliantly coloured, combining various shades
of blue, purple, and rich orange. A broad sucking disc between the
pectoral fins enables the fish to moor itself to the rock and maintain
an upright position. The dorsal ridge somewhat resembles a cock’s comb,
and is probably the origin of the name paidle-cock.
“Treasure-trove--Discovery of Specie on the Bell Rock.” There is a
heading for a sensational article, recalling visions of that fictitious
personage Ralph the Rover and his ill-gotten wealth. Well, many a yarn
is built on a less slender foundation. Here are the facts:--The specie
did not consist of Spanish dollars stacked in massive oaken coffers,
but of a similar metal enclosed in a far more ingenious receptacle,
simply a shilling in a live mussel. The shilling appeared as crisp as
if newly struck, and bore the date 1839. It had turned a dark brown
colour and had some filaments of the byssus or “beard” of the mussel
adhering to it. The mussel was one of a quantity taken from underneath
Granton Pier, and was being opened here for bait purposes when the
“discovery” was made.
On the evening of the 20th inst. we had a grand view of a flotilla of
torpedo destroyers steaming south. Although the sea was comparatively
calm, they appeared to be making heavy weather of it; they literally
“shovelled” the sea over themselves, and the steersmen, being placed
further forward than in ordinary vessels, were being continually
drenched. The terrific speed and the flames spurting from their short,
stumpy funnels suggested the idea of their being on an errand of life
and death rather than on a peaceful tour.
We have just completed a small aquarium, by means of which we hope to
become better acquainted with the more minute organisms with which
the Rock at this season of the year teems. Apart from the study
of man himself, what can be more interesting than to be an actual
eye-witness of the gradual evolution of the different forms in the
great life-scheme of the Creator, from the simple nucleated speck of
protoplasm (_amœba_), which multiplies by simple division, to the more
complex structure of the members of the vertebrate kingdom?
_JUNE 1901._
A heavy, pounding, nor’-east swell in the early part of this month has
almost denuded the higher portions of the Rock of the young vegetation,
the tangles being as cleanly cut as if by a reaper. The paidle-cocks’
nests also suffered, as not a vestige of them was left. Several cocks
have been seen wandering aimlessly about, their occupation evidently
gone.
On the afternoon of the 14th we had a heavy shower of hail, accompanied
with loud peals of thunder; but on the whole the month has been fairly
good. At high water on several days the Rock was literally black with
poddlies feeding on young sand eels, half-a-dozen terns and several
small gulls joining in the feast, while a number of gannets kept
wheeling and diving in the vicinity, evidently picking up a decent
living. The continual splashing of the fish in pursuit of their prey
could be distinctly heard by us through our open window while lying in
bed. Strange to say, our efforts to “take in” a few of them met with
but little success; probably the sufficiency of eels was the cause of
their ignoring our questionable lure. The few that we caught were choke
full of eels, several of which were disgorged in our doorway still
alive.
On the 4th of the month we had a visit from a carrier pigeon, which
had evidently strayed in the haze. It carried no message, but was
stamped on the wing, and had a numbered rubber ring on its leg. After
feeding, it was liberated next morning, with a message attached. We
occasionally have similar visitors. Last year one of them landed home
in Warwickshire--the owner thanking us and enclosing a consideration
for our kindness to the bird.
“There’s nothing new under the sun.” This much quoted aphorism was
forcibly suggested to our minds the other day while collecting
specimens for our aquarium. In the first instance, a spider-crab,
which, when stranded high and dry, appeared but an unsightly mass of
tangled seaweed, when placed in the aquarium assumed all the beauties
of a verdant grove. From every available point on the upper surface of
his mossy-covered shell beautiful variegated plants streamed and waved
their delicately-feathered fronds. Conspicuous amongst this luxurious
growth were specimens of the corallines or sea-firs, which a casual
observer might easily suppose to be miniature fir trees, but which in
reality are plants only in semblance. Each of these delicate looking
plants is actually an animal; in fact, a colony of animals. Closely
placed along each side of the stem and delicate branches of other
growths are slight projections or nodules, each containing a separate
animal, which it surprises one to learn is eventually destined to
become a jelly fish. The benefits of this partnership between crab and
coralline is probably mutual, but the advantage to the crab in being
thus arrayed is easily seen, as he can remain completely concealed from
his enemies, and be able to stalk his prey with greater certainty of
success. Shakespeare, in his tragedy of “Macbeth,” caused an attacking
force to advance under cover of a wood they had cut down for that
purpose, but here in Nature’s own arena similar tactics are being
pursued, and probably were ages before “Birnam Wood came to Dunsinane,”
or any of the _genus homo_ ever saw the light.
In the second instance, our attention was centred in a small jelly-fish
swimming about in a quiet pool, its translucent body being scarcely
distinguishable but for the beautiful flashes of iridescent light it
was continually giving off in the bright sunshine. This beautiful
object might, without exaggeration, be truly termed a living gem.
Transferring it to a glass of sea water for a closer inspection, our
curiosity was amply rewarded. In shape and size similar to a nutmeg,
its body was divided by eight equidistant bands running, as it were,
from its North to its South Pole. Two long filamentous tentacles
streamed from the lower portion of the animal, and were constantly
being shot forth and withdrawn into its body, probably concerned in
some way in the animal’s nutrition. Along one side of each tentacle
were ranged delicate filaments, scarcely perceptible to the naked
eye, and were probably of service in entangling the minute food forms
contained in the water. Each of the eight vertical bands was seen to be
furnished with minute plates overlapping each other like the plume of
a feather. These plates, being continually in motion, were the means
by which the animal was propelled through the water; by reversing the
action it moved backwards, and by moving those on one side only, a
rotary motion was obtained, the action of the plates producing the
most brilliant prismatic effects. Call these plates paddles, and their
different movements a-head, a-stern, port and starboard, and man’s
wonderful invention the paddle-wheel does not appear so very “new
under the sun.” The various motions man obtains by means of ponderous
machinery are here vested in this simple, almost structureless animal,
which has aptly been likened to a drop of animated sea water, and the
facility with which it rises to the surface or descends to any depth
might furnish hints towards the solution of the submarine vessel,
which is at present so engrossing the attention of naval authorities
the world over. Dwellers by the sea at this season of the year should
have little trouble in procuring specimens of this most beautiful and
interesting animal, which would certainly prove to them “a thing of
beauty and a joy for”--well, several days, if the water is renewed.
_JULY 1901._
Excessive heat, coupled with an unusual continuance of fog, have been
the principle features of this month. The continual booming of our
explosive fog-signal every five minutes, night and day, would be rather
apt to “get on” a stranger’s nerves were he compelled to sleep within
a few feet of it; as a rule, it does not disturb us in the least, but
with such protracted spells as we have had this month it does become a
trifle irksome. The first shot generally sends the beads of some of the
window cases rattling down the traps. This has a more disturbing effect
on us when asleep than the actual shot itself, of which we are just
dimly conscious.
The few boats which have been prosecuting the lobster fishing here for
the last three months have now abandoned it. Although fairly successful
at the commencement, they were latterly reduced to a mere pittance.
A return of four lobsters for the hauling of fifty “sunks” is but a
precarious living. Anchored close to the Rock, in order to avoid being
run down by prowling trawlers, they often passed the night, sleeping
underneath their sails. Their cooking range, consisting of an old
metal pail with holes punched through the sides, set on a stone slab,
while an empty meat tin did duty as kettle, fish-pan, or tea-pot, as
occasion required. It is only within this year or two that the Rock has
again attracted the attention of the lobster fisher, after a lapse of
many years. Prior to that time, we could always rely on an occasional
lobster being found in the holes on the Rock at low water; while crabs,
which could be had in abundance, are now extremely scarce, and the
lobster, as far as we are concerned, might well be as extinct as the
Dodo. We had rather a surprising catch in a lobster-creel one time
here. On hauling our creel, instead of the expectant lobster a huge
conger-eel was found in possession, his girth just barely admitting
him through the “funnel.” A further surprise, however, awaited us;
for, on being cut open, a full-grown lobster was found in his stomach.
How the biter in this case escaped being bitten is a mystery, as one
would naturally suppose the lobster, with his powerful claws, would
be more than his match. This recalls an incident which happened the
other day. A pretty little fish, of a kind we had not yet seen, was,
after some manœuvring, placed in a bucket of water along with some
other fish, sea weeds, and shells. On examining our catch a little
later, our pretty stranger was nowhere visible; suspicion falling on
an ugly-looking little “poach” complacently resting at the bottom of
the bucket, Jeddart justice was summarily meted out to the suspected
cannibal; a post-mortem conclusively established his guilt. That these
fish are cannibals there is not the slightest doubt. I picked up one
about a foot long on a beach in Orkney, which had partly succeeded in
swallowing, tail first, a brother half his size, but had been choked
in the attempt; the horns on either side of his victim’s head becoming
embedded in his gullet, he could neither entertain nor reject him.
Amongst the numerous _aliases_ by which the “Poach” is known are the
following--Bullhead, Hardhead, Cobbler, Shoemaker, Gunflucker, Comper,
and Johnny Mainland, the latter being his Orcadian name.
The terns have increased to over a hundred this month; from daylight to
dark their creaking voices are dinning in our ears. Most active little
birds, they are almost continually on the wing, wheeling and diving
with wonderful celerity. Their prey being surface-swimmers--chiefly
herring-fry at present--necessitate a dive of only a few inches. The
young birds, of which there is a goodly sprinkling, though almost as
big as the parents, have not yet acquired the forked tail nor the
pronounced plumage of the older birds. Awanting also in dexterity, they
are being frequently fed by their parents. It is amusing to witness
the chagrin of a youngster when, as sometimes happens, an old one has
mistaken it for its own offspring, and only discovers the error when
about to drop the glistening prize into its gaping mouth. Woe to the
gull who dares invade their sphere of operations when following a shoal
of “fry”; he is soon put to rout at the point of the bayonet--for their
bills are quite as sharp pointed. While stationed in Orkney I have,
when in the vicinity of their nests, been “assaulted to the effusion
of blood” as the police reports say, their bills easily penetrating my
tweed cap. Horses and cattle are driven in mad flight before these bold
little birds, they all the while pecking mercilessly till well clear of
their nursery.
The pleasure steamers which formerly visited the Rock from Leith and
Dundee have this summer scarcely made an appearance, possibly the
attractions of the Glasgow Exhibition is the cause; as yet, only three
visits have been made, and these from Dundee. An hour’s fishing is
generally given the passengers by the Dundee steamer. The diversity
of tackle with which some of these amateur fishermen are equipped
is fearful, and clock-weights, half-bricks, and scrap-iron of every
conceivable shape take the place of the ordinary sinker. Closely ranged
along the vessel’s sides, one can imagine the result of lines so
differently weighted, and should a fish be hooked confusion follows.
If the sea happens to be a bit “choppy” many of them may be seen
earnestly engaged in compulsorily contributing to the support of their
erstwhile intended prey, each drawing his own line of demarcation down
the vessel’s side, as if suspicious of his neighbour encroaching on his
territory.
_AUGUST 1901._
The extreme heat prevalent in the earlier part of this month was
characterised by a number of unusual visitors but ill adapted for
any lengthened sojourn here. Butterflies, bees, wasps, and moths
innumerable were to be seen flitting about the rocks in the daytime
and clinging to the lantern at night, numbers of them being drowned
every time the rocks were submerged. Several daddy-longlegs and a
single specimen of the beautiful painted butterfly were seen among the
ill-fated host. Why they should have journeyed to such inhospitable
quarters is not very apparent, but possibly the steady westerly wind
then blowing was responsible for their presence here, and, finding
themselves unable to stem the current, like many other unfortunates,
they followed the line of least resistance--then, _Facilis descensus
Averni_, and there you are! We have frequent glimpses at present of an
exportation of which the statute-books take no cognisance. Quantities
of thistledown are to be seen careering before the off-shore wind,
probably with Norway for their future home. What a wonderful provision
of Nature that enables these mute messengers of the fleeting summer to
virtually wing their way to pastures new! suggestive in their silent
flight of the
... whisper down the field,
Where the year has shot her yield,
And the ricks stand grey to the sun.
The sea in our vicinity is just now actually alive with shoals of
immature fish, chiefly sand-eels, herring-fry, and what appears to us
to be finger-long whitings. Incessant war is being continually waged
upon them by the terns from above and the poddlies from below. Watch
this particular shoal of “fry” as it swims with the current past our
door; notice the orderliness which prevails amongst them, as of a
disciplined army. But from below the poddlies have sighted them, and
swift as light they are amongst them with a deadly rush. Completely
disorganised, the “fry” scatter in every direction. Some seek shelter
beneath the glassy domes of the passing jelly fishes; others, twisting
and doubling like hares coursed by hounds, spurt spasmodically
along the surface in their frantic endeavours to escape the enemies
destined by nature for their destruction. The successful raiders are
seen scurrying about, with their glistening prizes dangling from
their mouths, dodging the thieving attacks of their less successful
brethren in the foray. But suddenly a flash of bronze in the bright
sunshine betokens the leap of the lordly lythe, as he in turn seizes
his victim from amongst the attacking force and as quickly returns
to his lurking-place among the luxuriant tangles. And so the war is
waged, the strong preying upon the weak, right down the chain of life,
till the unaided eye can but discern the destroyer alone. One is apt
to experience a feeling of revulsion at the tactics pursued by the
lythe in thus lurking concealed, while above him his prey sport in
blissful ignorance of his presence. On the other hand, with what little
compunction do we ourselves, by every available means, harry their
numbers to supply our table, and a savoury dish they are at present;
cooked when freshly caught they are simply delicious.
On Saturday the 10th we had a heavy thunderstorm; the lightning was
extremely vivid, and appeared to zig-zag from the sea to the zenith,
while the thunder, at first resembling the rippling discharge of small
arms, gradually increased to the deep boom of heavy ordnance. The
hitherto unbroken sea was threshed into white foam by the heaviest rain
I have ever seen here. The poddlies, though busy amongst the “fry” at
the time, would not deign to look at our “fly,” and, though we tried
our best, we did not succeed in hooking a single one. A similar result
is experienced during the operation of our explosive fog-signal. As
an instance how fish of the same kind may differ, there is a circular
pool on the Rock at low water, a couple of fathoms deep and about four
fathoms in diameter, named Neill’s Pool, but which we have jocularly
nicknamed “the hospital,” as the poddlies taken from there are, as a
rule, extremely poor in flesh, often presenting queer abnormities.
Some are twisted and deformed; others have constrictions upon their
bodies, where at some period of their existence they had been almost
cut in two by the snap of some larger fish, probably a lythe; others,
again, have been taken with hooks embedded in their jaws and gills,
and, though in the last stages of emaciation, do not apparently profit
by their former experience. The full-grown lythe may be truly termed
the poor man’s salmon, not from a food point of view--though in itself
not to be despised--but as a source of sport. Equipped with a rod such
as fishermen use who fish for a living, and for a lure preferably
a fresh-water eel about six or seven inches long, skinned from the
“busking” downwards, a struggle with one of these lusty fish imparts
most of the pleasurable sensations of the salmon fisher. Possibly
at the first cast your lure is flipped clean out of the water by a
vanishing tail, denoting that his lordship has not quite made up his
mind about your invitation. However, your next cast is almost sure to
be followed by a swift rush, which carries him well out of the water,
and your lure is off to the bottom and possibly your tackle along with
it, for, despite your triple gut, unless great care is exercised in
the first few mad rushes, there will be a dissolution of partnership.
Easily fagged, once you succeed in getting his head above the surface,
a little judicious towing will land your two-feet bronzed beauty at
your feet.
_SEPTEMBER 1901._
The Rock has taken on quite a wintry appearance. The vegetation on the
more exposed portions has entirely disappeared under the influence
of the heavy seas experienced during the greater part of this month.
The acorn barnacles with which the higher parts were encrusted are
following suit owing to the ravages of the white whelk; the terns have
deserted us, and, to complete the prospect, on the morning of the 19th
we had the first visit of our winter boarders, the eider duck. A chip
of rock covered with acorn barnacles becomes an interesting object
when placed in the aquarium. Each conical shell is packed as close as
possible to its neighbour, apex upwards. The apex is open, and fitted
with a lid composed of four shells. Under water these lid-shells are
seen to separate, and a bunch of “fingers” set on a stalk are thrust
out, make a clutch, and are withdrawn. The “fingers” have extremely
fine hair-like processes fixed at right angles to them, the whole
forming a sort of net through which the water is filtered and the
minute food-forms retained. It is interesting to know that although now
fixed immovably to the rock these animals began life as free swimmers,
and, strange to say, closely resembled the young crab. Another object
we had under observation at the same time was one of the sea anemones,
named the dahlia wartlet. A fleshy-looking disc studded with pieces
of broken shell and sand, it appeared anything but attractive; but
seen in the aquarium, the connection with its floral namesake was at
once apparent. Unfolding itself from an orifice in the centre, as
one would “flype” a stocking, rows of beautiful coloured tentacles
were disclosed. These tentacles have the property of adhering to any
object they come in contact with, and contain within themselves some
wonderful mechanism. Placing a fly on the extremity of one of the
tentacles, it was immediately held fast. The whole of the tentacles
then curled inwards, carrying the fly with them, thus clearly showing
their function.
The heavy easterly surf has deprived us for the present of our fishing,
forcing the fish off the rock to deeper water. There are evidently
plenty about, as the gannets are to be seen busy diving in the
vicinity. It is extremely interesting to watch these birds pursuing
their prey. Flitting near the surface, they enter the water at an angle
of about twenty degrees; again, at a higher altitude, they drop like
a plummet, describing an arc of bubbling foam from their entrance to
where they emerge with a bounce a few feet further ahead, beating the
water with their wings for several yards before being again fairly
on the wing. The air cells pervading various parts of the body of a
bird, and which contribute to its buoyancy, are probably vested in a
greater degree in the gannet, an extremely large one being situated in
front of the forked bone, or clavicles. Several instances are recorded
where a bird which had its windpipe temporarily obstructed was able,
by means of these cells, to carry on the function of respiration
through the wing bone, the broken end of which protruded through the
skin. The voluntary compression of these cells, by expelling the air,
destroys the buoyancy of the bird, and explains the amazing rapidity
of its descent. An objectionable method is practised in some places
for the capture of these birds. A submerged piece of planking with a
herring fixed to its upper surface is set adrift, or towed from a boat,
in the vicinity of their fishing grounds. Swooping from an altitude,
say, of a hundred feet, they apparently see but the herring alone,
with the result that their necks are dislocated by impact with the
plank, the impetus of their descent being sometimes so great as to
bury their bills to the base in the wood. It is a common sight here,
during the breeding season, to see these birds trooping past in Indian
file to their home on the Bass Rock, in batches of a dozen or so,
each preserving a regular distance from his neighbour. Though I have
frequently watched them pursuing their vocation, I have never seen them
bring their prey to the surface, nor could I say whether their dive was
successful or not; but occasionally they emerge from their dive with
a satisfied “honk,” which may be translated “got ’im.” Gifted with an
insatiable appetite, they sometimes gorge themselves to such an extent
as to be incapable of rising from the water, when they may be easily
captured, as they make no attempt to dive. An instance of this was
witnessed by a large crowd one Sunday, a few summers ago, in Arbroath
Harbour. Some conception of the carrying capacity of these birds may be
had when it is known that a sitting mother bird has been seen to insert
her bill into the inviting mouth of her returned partner and deftly
extract, one by one, as many as six full-grown herring.
A “false alarm” was occasioned at the end of last month by
two cormorants or scarts appropriating the signal poles as a
roosting-place. One of these poles is fixed on either side of the
balcony, and projects horizontally. When a signal is made from the
Rock, two-feet discs are suspended from them in pre-arranged positions.
A wire stay from the balcony railing supports the extremity of each
pole, and on this stay the birds were seated, one at the outer end, the
other in the middle. Discs in this position, but pendant from the pole,
by our code reads “Send boat,” and this the keeper on shore duty in
Arbroath construed it to be and acted accordingly, with the result that
we were somewhat alarmed by the appearance of the harbour tug about
eleven the same evening. Our impression was that something serious had
happened on shore, and that one of our number was urgently wanted. On
the tug hailing us, and saying they had been sent out in response to
signals shown from the Rock that afternoon, our minds reverted to the
birds, and our fears set at rest. Considerable alarm prevailed amongst
our families, and not until the tug returned with the news that “All
was well on the Rock” were their fears allayed.
On the morning of the 27th the sea round the Rock was seen to be strewn
with apples, a few dozen of which we managed to secure. Their presence
here is a mystery, and we trust has no connection with the long spell
of fog we have had. On the 24th we completed a fusillade of forty
hours, a record run of fog.
_OCTOBER 1901._
The flock of eider ducks which keep us company through the winter
increases daily, and now numbers over thirty. Swimming and diving
amongst the breakers from daylight till dark, it is astonishing how
they escape being smashed on the bare rocks. The receding wave may
leave them almost stranded, and just as the incoming breaker is about
to engulf them, they pop through its base and come up on the other
side in a smother of foam. They are sometimes quite close to the
tower, and then we have an interesting view of their proceedings. The
diving of one is generally the signal for the remainder to follow,
and the whole flock may be clearly seen, a couple of fathoms down,
scurrying over the rocks in eager quest of the different dainties on
their menu, consisting chiefly of small crabs. The capture of one of
these crabs by no means ensures that it will ultimately contribute
to the duck’s sustenance--this is not intended as a reflection on
their digestive power, which appears equal to anything short of
nails, considering the quantity of hard-shelled crabs they assimilate
during a day’s fishing--for, on gaining the surface with his prize,
he may be immediately assailed by the marauding gulls and compelled
to dive with his prey. This may be repeated several times, until he
reluctantly surrenders the succulent tit-bit, or is compelled to
swallow it under water--a proceeding they are evidently averse to,
otherwise the gulls would fare but poorly in their nefarious calling.
The uncertainty of the crab’s final lodgment is again demonstrated
in the case of the successful “blackmailer.” Hastily swallowing his
booty to avoid being plundered in turn by his fellows, he is again on
watch for the reappearance of his unwilling providers. But retribution
occasionally overtakes the despoiler as it does his human prototype,
with the difference that in default of imprisonment, he is mulcted
in the contents of his stomach, the nemesis in this case being the
dusky-coated skua or robber gull, who with his hawk-like flight easily
heads him at every turn, and the chase terminates only when the
contents of the stomach are disgorged, or the excrement voided, either
of which is adroitly caught by this foul freebooter of the sea before
it reaches the water.
A hazy moonless night, with a sou’-easterly breeze and drizzling
rain--given these conditions, at this season of the year we have
numerous visits of various birds, members of the autumnal migratory
flight. Making straight for the light, they dash themselves against
the heavy plate-glass of the lantern; many of them are thus killed
and swept by the wind into the sea. Others, again, arrive with more
caution, and though taken in the hand and thrown clear of the tower
invariably return, and remain fluttering against the glass till
daylight reveals to them the futility of their exertions in that
direction. The most numerous of these visitors are the redwings and
fieldfares, but blackbirds, larks, starlings, wheatears, finches, tits,
etc., may be met with in the course of the season. It is somewhat
startling, when on watch in the lightroom, to hear the thud with
which they strike. The woodcock, owing to his rapid flight, strikes
hardest of all, and the other extreme is met with in the smallest
of our British birds, the tiny gold-crested wren, whose presence on
the lantern is announced by a feeble tinkling sound, which a robust
butterfly might easily imitate. The heavier birds do not always strike
with impunity; instances have occurred where ducks have gone clean
through the lantern to the derangement of the revolving gear of the
light, the splintered glass bringing the machinery to a dead stop.
An incident of this nature happened a few years ago at Turnberry
Lighthouse, on the Ayrshire coast, the intruder in this case being a
curlew or whaup. A storm-pane is considered a necessary adjunct to
every lightroom, and is always held in readiness to be shipped in
case of such emergency. At some shore stations it is customary on the
approach of a favourable night, during the migratory period, to keep
the cats indoors to prevent them mangling the expected catch. In one
particular instance the birds collected of a morning filled an ordinary
clothes-basket, and a few nights later included five wild geese, which
were secured out of a large flock that came to grief on the dome.
An hour before daybreak on the 22nd it appeared as if we were about to
suffer a bombardment, and that daylight was to witness the commencement
of hostilities. No less than seven torpedo-boat destroyers were
seen creeping close up to the Rock, their low black hulls scarcely
discernible in the feeble light, and not until daylight disclosed
the white ensign were we assured of their intentions. A little later
they were joined by three gunboats and, after some clever manœuvring,
formed into three lines, the gunboats occupying the centre. They then
steamed away in the direction of the Firth of Forth. Two hours later
other three gunboats passed us, going in the same direction, escorted
by four destroyers, and followed shortly after by a solitary gunboat.
Extremely interesting it was to witness the precision and dexterity of
their movements as they swung into their respective positions for the
advance, their semaphores all the while going like windmills. Again, on
the 24th, about 11 a.m., a fleet of about a dozen battleships, headed
by a dispatch boat, was seen moving in stately procession from the Tay,
evidently bound for the Forth.
We have had several heliographic communications from our shore station
in Arbroath during the month, and providing there is sunshine there is
now no difficulty in transmitting messages to the Rock by this means.
Four years ago the late Dr Russell, Arbroath, while on a professional
visit to the shore station, for which he was medical attendant,
witnessed our initial attempts in this direction, and, convinced of the
feasibility of the method, urged upon us, in his characteristically
vigorous style, the necessity for persevering in our attempts, at the
same time predicting that it would ultimately prove successful. Little
did we then dream it was soon to become the means of conveying the
sorrowful intelligence of this estimable gentleman’s death.
_NOVEMBER 1901._
Boisterous weather prevailing for the greater part of this month,
we have been closely confined to the house. Our connection with the
amphibia being so extremely remote completely disqualifies us from
enjoying our usual “constitutional,” the grating, even at low water,
being occasionally swept by the heavy seas. Our winter boarders, the
eider ducks, have been reinforced, on the morning of the 14th--somewhat
later than usual--by the arrival of a flock of long-tailed ducks.
These, with the eiders, will keep us company till April again calls
their attention to domestic affairs. Our relief, which was due on the
night of the 11th, was effected just in time; had it been delayed
another day a “missed relief” would probably have been recorded. The
morning after brought a severe north-easterly gale, which precluded all
possibility of making a landing during the three succeeding days. That
is usually the time allotted by the steamer in the attempt. Should she
fail to make a landing on the third day, we are abandoned for another
fortnight, minus the time engaged in the attempt. As our stock of
fresh provisions is generally consumed by the time the relief is due,
a missed relief means a fortnight’s _regime_ of “hard tack” and “beef
embalmed,” of which during the winter months we have a three months’
reserve stock on hand in case of such emergencies. Fortunately, this is
not of common occurrence; during the past six years but three reliefs
have been missed, and only one in the preceding ten. This speaks much
for the ability and skill of those concerned in the handling of the
boats, for during the winter months the landings were until recently
effected in darkness, and an exciting scene it was to see the two boats
buffeting their way through the foaming channels, with jutting rocks
so close on either side that an oar’s length deviation would entail
serious disaster. A powerful searchlight has of recent years been added
to the equipment of the relieving steamer, and is of much advantage in
the guidance of the boats, though it has the peculiarity of grossly
exaggerating the tempestuous appearance of the sea. The sea, which on
the evening of the relief was comparatively calm, was the next day
rolling down on us like a solid wall, and viewed from the balcony in
all its magnificent grandeur what a puny, frail, unstable structure
our habitation seemed in comparison. Each succeeding wave seemed
imbued with the sole motive of accomplishing our destruction, and as
they struck and sliced away on either side in two mighty crescents
of hissing foam, blinded our kitchen windows seventy feet above the
rock. Clashing together again to leeward with a roar, as if incensed
at our stubborn resistance, they drive their way furiously along the
remaining portion of the reef in foam-capped ridges, and where the
cross seas meet them the spray is flung high in the air from their
points of intersection. The appearance of the reef at this stage, as
seen from our elevation, is of a number of rectangular enclosures, each
about the size of an ordinary bowling-green, with well-defined walls,
the whole under a heavy coating of snow, with each corner marked by
a snow-laden tree. At high water--the sea having flowed about twelve
or fifteen feet on the building by that time--the waves, generally
unbroken, slip past harmlessly; an hour before or after high water is
when we experience the heaviest shocks, for then the depth of water is
such that the waves are arrested by the rock when close to the tower,
and their whole volume flung violently against the building. The effect
of such weather on the tower must be felt to be understood. The nearest
description I can give of the seas striking is as if a log of wood were
hurled by each sea, striking end on, and a short, sharp, tremulous
motion--sufficient to rattle the crockery in the kitchen cupboard--is
imparted to the tower by each impact. This tremor is more particularly
felt when the gale subsides and the heavy swell sets in, for when the
gale is at its height, the seas are so broken and tossed about that
their assaults are but feeble in comparison with those of the long
curly-headed combers of the after-swell. The bell-shaped formation
of the base of the tower is admirably adapted for withstanding the
assaults of the sea, and is built solid to a height of thirty feet,
above which the seas never strike, though I have seen the spray
carried right over our balcony, a hundred feet from the rock. That the
building remains to all appearance as intact as when completed, almost
a century ago, speaks volumes for the skill and ingenuity displayed in
its erection. In weather such as I have described we are as completely
cut off from outside assistance as though we were at the North Pole;
indeed, it is doubtful if there is another situation--save similar
ones, of course--where men could live so comfortable and unconcerned
and yet remain for the time being so completely “ungetatable.”
_DECEMBER 1901._
As a consequence of the stormy weather which has been prevailing here
of late, we have been visited by numerous “Travellers.” This may seem
strange considering the inclemency of the season, but stranger still
when it is known that our reception of them is fiercely hostile,
and our duty only considered accomplished when we have completely
annihilated them. Huge boulders of hard red sandstone, sometimes
weighing over three tons; these are our “Travellers,” and their
appearance on the Rock is at once resented and their speedy removal
effected by blasting and hammering whenever the tide and weather
permits. This is absolutely necessary, for if allowed to remain
lying in the boat tracks they constitute a serious danger at relief
times, besides the possibility of their carrying away portions of our
cast-iron grating, which occasionally does happen in spite of all
precautions. Where they come from is a mystery; ever since the tower
was built they have been in evidence. Although composed of the same
material, the Rock itself does not suffer any apparent diminution, nor
can their original abode be located even at the lowest tides. Many of
them carry a crop of seaweed and tangles, and have their angularities
rubbed down and water-worn; none of them, however, bear any trace of
recent detachment, but probably from their similarity of structure they
at some remote period formed a part of the reef. They generally effect
their entrance from the south side of the reef during the prevalence of
a heavy ground swell. This side of the reef forms a steep declivity,
sloping to 35 fathoms at a distance of ¾ mile, while at a similar
distance on the north side the depth, though not exceeding 11 fathoms,
presents a more precipitous barrier to these wanderers of the deep. A
dull, rumbling noise, distinctly audible in the light room, announces
their presence at the base of the tower, and at low water a dotted
line of chips and abrasions marks their passage across the Rock to
where they are again hurled to the depths. Others, again, may bring up
in some sheltered corner, where, if not considered dangerous, they may
remain a fixture for years.
An instance occurred recently where one was wheeled against our grating
after occupying a safe position for many years. Those that take up
positions in the boat tracks are of course assailed at the earliest
opportunity, an operation which generally entails a bit of submarine
mining on our part. The reef consists of hard, red sandstone, arranged
in irregular layers, with a dip of 15 degrees towards the south-east
and extends in a north-easterly and south-westerly direction, having
an area of about 500 yards by 100 yards considered dangerous to
shipping. The north-east end, on which the Lighthouse is built, is
slightly higher, and has an area of about 140 yards by 70 yards, the
highest portions of which do not exceed 10 feet above the lowest tides.
The geological formation of the Bell Rock is similar to that of the
Redhead, in Forfarshire, and can be traced northward through Rossshire,
while in the opposite direction the shores of Berwick present the same
features, and continues as far as Cumberland. Soundings prove the
existence of a ridge or shallower part of the sea bottom extending
a considerable way in these directions, and as the adjacent coasts
present ample evidence of the sea having at some remote period in the
world’s history occupied a much higher level, the theory that the Bell
Rock did not always occupy the isolated position it now does, but
stretched continuously from the Red Head to Berwick, damming the waters
of the Forth and Tay, appears highly tenable. Possibly our present day
“Travellers” are, through some great seismic disturbance, wandering
evidences supporting this theory.
An item of interest to Arbroath Freemasons is the laying of the
foundation stone of the Bell Rock Lighthouse, on the 10th July 1808,
with Masonic honours, by the builder, Robert Stevenson, who, in
his own words, applied the square, the level, and the mallet, and
pronounced the following benediction:--“May the Great Architect of
the Universe complete and bless this building,” on which three hearty
cheers were given and success to the future operations was drunk with
the greatest enthusiasm. Another interesting feature of that period
was the existence of the “Pressgang,” which, owing to our war with the
Northern Powers, was considered necessary. Centres were established at
Dundee, Aberdeen, and Arbroath, and were the means of rendering the
Lighthouse operations popular with seamen, as they stood protected
from impressment while in that employment. Prior to this there was a
tendency among seamen to shun the works on account of the hazardous
nature of the undertaking. As the impress officers were exceedingly
active in their duty, it was found necessary to furnish each seaman
engaged in the operations at the Rock with a “ticket,” descriptive of
his person, to which was attached a silver medal, emblematical of the
Lighthouse Service. On one side of the medal was a figure of the Bell
Rock Lighthouse, and on the other the word “Medal,” referring to the
Admiralty protection, and a description of the person by the engineer.
One of these medals is at present in possession of an Arbroath
gentleman, and is said to be the only one in existence. The following
is a copy of one of the “tickets,” taken from “Stevenson’s Bell Rock
Lighthouse”:--
BELL ROCK WORKYARD,
Arbroath, 31st March 1808.
“John Pratt, seaman, in the service of the Honourable the
Commissioners of the Northern Lighthouses, aged 35 years,
5 feet 8 inches high, black complexion, and slightly marked
with the smallpox.”
(Signed) ROBERT STEVENSON,
Engineer for Northern Lighthouses.
_Obverse._
“The Bearer, John Pratt, is serving on board of the ‘Sir
Joseph Banks’ tender and craft, employed at the erection of
the Bell Rock Lighthouse.”
The signature of the Master of the tender.
(Signed) DAVID TAYLOR.
The signature of the bearer (Signed) JOHN PRATT.
Notwithstanding these precautions, so rigorous were the impress
officers that they actually pressed a Bell Rock seaman named George
Dall, while on a visit to some friends near Dundee, in July 1810, and
this despite the fact of his having the protection medal and ticket
in his possession. These proofs the officer chose to ignore, holding
that a seaman only stood protected on board the ship to which the
Admiralty protection had been granted, or in a boat belonging to the
ship. This was absurd, as it was impossible for each man to carry the
ship’s protection with him. However, Dall was kept a prisoner, and only
on the representations of the Lighthouse Commissioners did the Dundee
Magistrates order his release.
_JANUARY 1902._
A ramble round the rocks at low water just now discloses a scene of
bareness quite in keeping with the season of the year. The upper
surface of the higher lying rocks is as bare as a street pavement, and
only an occasional patch of acorn barnacles remains of the encrustation
with which they were invested during the summer. The white whelk,
so much in evidence here, have all gone into winter quarters, and
underneath projecting ledges and in sheltered nooks they may be seen in
myriads, their position being so judiciously chosen as to be completely
protected from the heavy north-east seas. So closely are they wedged
together that were a given space to be cleared it would be found almost
impossible to replace them in the same area. Detaching one from its
anchorage, it seems quite dormant and inert, and appears to have lost
the alacrity with which, in summer, they withdraw themselves into their
shells, and only with apparent difficulty is the operculum or door
of their domicile closed against intruders. To witness the continual
thumping and pounding to which the Rock is subjected during the winter,
one is surprised to find that life in any form should continue to
exist under such conditions. A close search reveals exceedingly minute
forms of life. Here in this stony basin, originally but a shallow
depression in which a stone had lodged, and by the swirling action of
the seas converted to its present shape, with its sediment of broken
shells, is a small crab, so small indeed that a split pea might easily
conceal him. He is not a youngster either, but fully adult, in proof of
which we have frequently found them, in the proper season, with their
spawn attached. Deep in his little pit he seems quite immune from the
furious seas that tumble overhead as the tide makes. Numbers of small
white-banded whelks, which one may easily crush between the fingers,
maintain their position on the base of the tower, despite the constant
swirl of waters, though they may be detached with a flick of the finger.
Vegetation now exists only at low-water mark; above that, broken tangle
roots, or, to be more correct, the claspers are seen still adhering
to the rocks, the tangles themselves having been shorn clean from
their moorings. Away towards the south-west, in the deeper water, a
boat may float among whole groves of storm-torn tangles as they flaunt
their tattered banners in the frosty sunlight, suggestive of leafless
trees in a winter landscape. Over the recently emptied contents of the
cook’s slop-pail a flock of gulls are circling and screaming, actually
hustling each other in their attempts to capture anything edible.
A solitary “black-back” is seen amongst the noisy crowd, and as he
swoops at some tempting morsel, his black, beady eye watches our every
movement with suspicion. What a handsome bird he is as he swings past
within a few feet of us, the back and wings presenting a dead black
appearance in startling contrast with the immaculate whiteness of the
fan-shaped tail and the remainder of the body. Despite his handsome
appearance, he is a veritable vulture, and nothing comes amiss to
him in the way of food, be it fish, flesh or fowl. Frequently I have
seen them make a meal of a wounded duck, and once witnessed in Orkney
a tug-of-war between two of them for the possession of a dead lamb,
resulting, thanks to its decomposed state, in an equal division.
More gruesome meals are credited to them by those who have witnessed
their proceedings on a wreck strewn shore where loss of life had been
involved. A terror also on the grouse moors, they devour both eggs and
young, and even the sitting grouse herself is not safe from him. One
can scarcely credit such a sweeping indictment against this handsome
bird, but the proofs are all too plain. Consequently we find him
outside the pale of the Wild Birds Protection Act, an Ishmael among
his kind, whom any man may slay when and wherever found. Except when
harrying the eider ducks of their legitimate spoil, he may be seen
riding gracefully, head to wind, in front of our kitchen window, with
his weather eye always lifting in our direction. A hand thrust from the
window is sufficient invitation, he is up at once, and the smallest
morsel tossing among the foaming breakers does not escape his keen
eye. How gracefully he floats back to his former position, lighting on
the surface like a fleck of foam. What a contrast to the eiders, who,
when changing their fishing ground, wing their way with such rapid
wing beats as to give one the impression that they are barely able
to support themselves, and finally strike the water with an awkward
splash, reminding one of the somewhat inelegant term with which boys
designate a bad dive--a “gutser.” Should a flock of eiders be fishing
to leeward of the tower, an amusing sight may be witnessed if advantage
be taken, while they are under water, of pouring a little paraffin
oil from the balcony, so that it will drift in their direction. No
sooner does the head of the first emerge in the greasy track of the
oil than he is conscious of something unusual having taken place.
Flippering hither and thither with outstretched neck, he becomes quite
excited, and each as he bounces to the surface joins in the commotion,
frequently colliding with each other. Finally, with loud cacklings, the
whole flock takes wing, evidently in high dudgeon at the insult offered
to their olfactory organs.
Sea pheasant is the name by which the long tailed duck is known in
some localities, and as we watch a flock of them crossing the reef in
full flight the synonym is at once apparent. In style of flight and
shape, to the long tail feathers, they are similar to the pheasant,
but only half the size, with beautiful plumage of black and white.
Here they are known as “candlewicks,” their call notes needing but
little stretch of the imagination to be rendered “Here’s a candlewick,”
repeated several times in shrill falsetto, which on a quiet day becomes
somewhat annoying as it clamorously floats through our bedroom window.
Some queer visitors we have here at times in the way of birds. Once
we captured a large owl dosing sleepily in one of our windows. During
the week of his captivity he would not deign to partake of any food
we offered him. Coming off watch one night I took one of a flock of
larks which were making suicidal attempts to pierce the plate glass
of the lantern. Placing it in the room where the owl was roosting, it
fluttered to the window, when, like a flash of lightning and equally as
noiseless, from the other side of the room the owl came crash against
the glass, a few feathers later on testifying his appreciation of this
form of dietary.
_FEBRUARY 1902._
Piercing cold weather here of late, with a good deal of frost and
occasional snow showers. No matter how heavy the snowfall may be here
we only see it falling, as it does not lie long round _our_ doors, and
only when our gaze is directed Arbroathwards--which, you may be sure,
is not seldom--are we reminded of its occurrence. The close of last
month saw our barometer taxed to its utmost intelligence, and though
a tenth higher would have seen its limit, nothing of a phenomenal
nature was noted. The solan geese or gannets, which are pretty much in
evidence here during the breeding season, foraging for their families
on the Bass Rock, gradually disappeared, till during the month of
November not one was to be seen. A solitary one was seen in the first
week of December, and since then the number sighted has gradually
increased, till in the middle of the present month, as many as eight
in one string were counted winging their way southward. The Bass Rock,
Ailsa Craig, and the outlying stacks of lonely St Kilda, are said to be
the only breeding places of these birds in Scotland. At the beginning
of the past century they were considered a dainty article of food by
the Edinburgh gentry, and the Bass Rock was rented for the purpose of
supplying the market, the birds selling at the rate of half-a-crown
a-piece. I have seen it stated that the _modus operandi_ of these
birds when engaged in fishing is to flit along the surface till fish
are sighted, when they rise to a high altitude, close their wings, and
drop hawk-like on their prey. This, I venture to think, is scarcely
correct. My experience is that when flitting near the surface if fish
are sighted they are invariably struck at without rising to a higher
elevation. It is a well known fact that objects under water are more
easily distinguished from a height than from near the surface, so that
it may be taken for granted that the higher these birds are flying when
in pursuit of prey the deeper the fish are swimming. Again, when diving
from a high altitude, the wings are kept rigidly outspread, and as the
tail is never seen spread rudder-like, as in the case of the hawk, any
deviation from their line of descent is controlled by the long narrow
wings, and only when nearing the “plunge” are they partially closed.
For the past fortnight we have had the company of a solitary seal. His
fishing does not seem to be very successful, either in quantity or
quality, as the only catch we have seen him negotiating was a saithe
the length of a man’s forearm. Playing with it as a cat would a mouse,
he would allow it to swim feebly for some distance, then diving he
would bring it to the surface, till latterly, with a toss of his head
and a thrust with his fore flipper, he quite disembowelled it, an act
of charity which the screaming gulls were not slow to appreciate.
Although so long here he has not been seen to rest on the rocks;
indeed, I only once saw one ashore here, and as we had a somewhat
amusing experience with him it will perhaps bear relating. For several
days it was seen, as the tide fell, to rest in one particular place a
few yards from the base of the tower. Our outer door opens outwards,
and is always closed at night, not that we are afraid of burglars, but
merely to prevent the entrance of the seas, and for our own general
comfort. The opening of this door always alarmed the seal, and sent him
into the water _instanter_. Dropping a line from the balcony at low
water, we made the end of it fast within a few feet of his accustomed
resting place. Next day, as the tide fell and the rocks began to
appear, he was seen to take up his former position, yawning lazily as
he rolled from side to side in the sunshine. Fixing a four ounce charge
of tonite to our electric cable, we quietly lowered it down the line
we had already made fast till within about six feet from where he lay,
apparently in blissful ignorance of what was happening overhead. When
yawning at his widest, we, by means of our magneto-exploder, fired the
charge, and, well--he stopped yawning and went away! and his going was
about the smartest thing I ever witnessed. The force of the explosion,
being unconfined, merely tilted him on his side, but quickly recovering
himself he flopped into the water and shot seaward through the gully
like a flash, a black line under water denoting his course. Rounding
the outer end of the gully, he doubled back on the outside of the reef,
and when opposite his original position, made his appearance on the
surface, a very much startled seal. His aspect was quite comical as he
stood, so to speak, on his tip-toes evidently investigating the cause
of his hurried departure.
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.
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._
We have had occasional visits of feathered migrants during the month,
but it is a matter of remark that each year sees a decrease in the
number of arrivals here. Probably the increased number of lights on our
coast accounts for this diminution, some proving more attractive than
ours. A few years ago it was quite on the cards at this season of the
year--thanks to the migratory instinct--to have an additional course
at dinner, to which fieldfares, blackbirds, and redwings were the
voluntary contributors, and even at times the gamey woodcock “graced
the groaning board”--for our “board,” being double-leaved and somewhat
senile, does occasionally groan, and this without reference to any
superincumbent strain. Amongst the more noteworthy of our captures
here, at various times, the following may be mentioned:--A peregrine
falcon, large horned owl, small brown owl, kestrels, sparrow hawks,
crows, cormorants, corn-crakes, and a turtle dove. Birds generally
arrive here in a fagged condition, and are easily captured. As an
instance, a kestrel landed on our balcony railing during fog, and,
despite the explosions of our fog-signal twenty feet overhead, tucked
his head under his wing and fell sound asleep. Another arrival of note
was a common blue pigeon, which, after a few hours’ stay, surprised
us by depositing an egg in our doorway. Disturbed on our appearance,
it reluctantly deserted its treasure, but not without many backward
glances before spreading its wings shorewards.
Podley-fishing has been fairly successful during the month, and
several codlings have been taken from the pools at low water. Whilst
photographing lately, another of our number was busy endeavouring to
extract a breakfast from Port Hamilton. Hooking a fair sized codling,
the camera was turned on the scene, and fish _à la photo_ figured in
our bill of fare next morning. A few years ago a photo was taken of a
paidle cock and hen, both of which were taken from their nests for this
purpose, and proved amenable sitters; the cock appearing in the photo
quite conscious of his importance, though the hen appeared somewhat
bored, having been snapped in the middle of a huge “gape,” which some
of my previous sitters might interpret as a yawn. Both were returned
to their nests none the worse of their unique experience, and possibly
yet relate their feelings before the camera to the admiring wonder of
fishy audiences, till puffed with the idea of their own importance they
now probably suffer from a disease (peculiar to some higher vertebrates
with as slender a reputation) resulting in what is colloquially known
as “swelled head.”
Wouldn’t the fishermen of Arbroath fancy their lines had fallen in
pleasant places should the fish they pursue at such hazard come sailing
voluntarily into the harbour, and even without the usual ceremony of
dropping them a line, appear on the surface, mutely asking to be lifted
out? Such, however, was our experience lately. Shortly before daybreak
one quiet morning our attention was attracted by the movements of a few
gulls, evidently interested in some object in the water at the edge of
the reef. As daylight advanced it was seen to be a large fish wobbling
erratically upon the surface. On extinguishing the light and descending
to the rocks, which the advancing tide had not yet covered, the fish
was seen to have entered the Johnny Gray boat track, and was propelling
itself, keel upwards, in our direction. A fish in this unusual position
indicates an abnormal distension of the swimming bladder, which, by
over-increasing its buoyancy, entirely upsets its centre of gravity,
and forces it topsy-turvy to the surface. A steam trawler, which had
been working close to the Rock for several days previous, was probably
responsible for our friend’s “blown” condition. Stepping gingerly over
beds of white whelks as we wade bare foot to welcome our visitor,
we mentally contrast our inferiority with more juvenile days--a time
when even road metal could be safely negotiated. The screaming gulls
resent our interference with their expected feast, no doubt slanging us
unmercifully as we land our capture, an arm-long lythe, safely on the
grating. Their clamouring, however, is soon stilled, as each retires
with as big a share of the offal as his strength and agility can
command.
The long-tailed ducks are now only wanting to complete the list of our
winter boarders, and their advent may be looked for early next month.
The eiders have now attained their numerical strength for the winter,
and are busily engaged picking up a living, not only for themselves,
but also for the parasitical gulls which hover in close attendance,
shepherding them with unwearied diligence. The peculiar cackling of
the eiders--not unlike that of wild geese--becomes somewhat disturbing
as their operations are occasionally carried on underneath our bedroom
window. Gannets are now rarely seen here, but at their breeding haunts
on the Bass Rock--which we had the opportunity of visiting while on
our way here last relief--they are still in evidence, though by the
end of the month they will have commenced their journey southwards.
A new light is being completed on the Bass Rock, and on the first of
December, yet another factor in our dwindling list of visitors will be
in operation--ostensibly a lighthouse--but to our feathered friends,
alas! a veritable slaughter-house.
_NOVEMBER 1902._
Exceedingly stormy weather, with a prevalence of sou’-easterly winds
and heavy seas, has been our portion here this month, restricting our
movements out of doors, till with circling round our promenade on the
balcony one almost doubts the possibility of ever again being able
to hold a straight course when opportunity offers. Workmen have been
engaged this month fitting up a service of copper piping from the
grating at the base of the tower to the cisterns in the oil store on
the third flat, whereby the operation of storing oil will in future
be rendered much easier. The oil will now be landed in forty-gallon
casks, instead of the small six-gallon ankers as formerly, emptied into
a sifting tank on the grating, and by means of a rotary pump forced
upwards to the oil cisterns--a vast improvement on the old system, when
each anker had to be hoisted indoors, and then shouldered upstairs to
the cisterns.
A pleasing incident of the month was the arrival of a handsome present
for each of the keepers, consisting of a silver mounted briar pipe,
a pound of golden bar tobacco, and a liberal supply of first class
reading matter. All keepers throughout the service--over 200--were
similarly supplied, so that the gift will be seen to be a pretty
extensive one, and the donor, James Coats, junr., Paisley, has without
doubt earned the gratitude of the service by this generous act of
kindness.
About the beginning of the month we had a few feathered visitors,
chiefly blackbirds, fieldfares, and starlings. On the morning of
the 5th several struck heavily on the lantern, but were swept away
by the strong sou’-east wind then blowing. The gannets have now all
disappeared, none having been seen since the 27th. The eiders continue
in close attendance and have had their numbers augmented by the
arrival of the longtails on the 9th, a week earlier than last year,
thus completing our list of regular boarders for the winter. At 6 p.m.
on the 13th we were privileged with the unusual spectacle of a lunar
rainbow. The bow--a faint white arc against the dark background--was
distinctly visible in the nor’-west, though, of course, void of the
vivid colouring inseparable from its solar namesake.
While taking a turn round the balcony on the evening of the 15th,
our attention was attracted to what appeared to be a peculiar shaped
mass of foam resting on the rocks immediately beneath us. On careful
observation, however, the object was seen to move slightly in the
faint moonlight, and by the aid of our telescope the outline of a seal
could be dimly seen. On the change of the watch at 6 p.m. an attacking
party, including the workmen then on the Rock, was organised, and a
plan of campaign drawn up. Descending the outside ladder, which was
fortunately in deep shadow, we were able to gain a footing on the Rock
unperceived. His suspicions had, however, evidently been aroused,
as he was seen to lift his head sniffing uneasily in our direction.
Bracing ourselves within the margin of the shadow cast by the tower, we
charged down upon him at the double, expecting to see him beat a hasty
retreat to the water; but, to our surprise, he made no effort whatever
in that direction, but seemed to consider himself quite a match for
us, and that there was no present necessity for retreating. Snarling
and snapping viciously as we surrounded him, he appeared at a great
disadvantage compared with his agile movements when in his element, his
hind flippers being now of practically little use to him, his lumbering
movements being effected by the aid of the fore flippers alone. His
furious efforts to sample portions of our anatomy were easily avoided,
and by laying hold of his hind flippers, as one would trundle a barrow,
he was immediately placed _hors-de-combat_. An unfortunate squid or
cuttlefish, which had been left stranded by the receding tide, when
pushed within his reach was seized and energetically shaken with all
the vim of an accomplished ratter. The wooden shaft of a boat-hook was
similarly treated, and still bears evidence of his utter ignorance of
the dental profession. A rope being procured, a clove hitch was slipped
over one of his hind-flippers, the other end made fast to an eye-bolt
on the Rock. Thus secured, he was left to his novel reflections for the
night.
[Illustration]
As the tide covered the Rock he could be seen in the clear moonlight
ploughing along the creamy surface, stretching his tether in every
direction in futile efforts to escape. At daylight next morning
he was found sheltering under a projecting ledge of rock. What a
clean, well-groomed fellow he looked, with his sleek, glossy coat
glistening in the sunshine, his squat, plump body adapting itself to
the inequalities of the surface on which it rested. His coat, by the
way, as much fur as that of a horse--grey above, mottled with dark
spots, while the under surface is of a creamy yellow. His beautiful
teeth gleaming white against the scarlet interior of his mouth, as he
snapped fruitlessly on either side, suggested the maximum of robust
animal health. As a memento of his visit the camera was brought on the
scene, and another addition made to our list of illustrious visitors.
Liberating him proved to be more difficult than his capture, for when
cut adrift he persisted in facing us instead of making for the water,
towards which we endeavoured to drive him. After some manœuvring,
however, he was driven to the edge of the gulley, but even with his
body half submerged he maintained a defensive attitude, not seeming to
realise that he was at liberty to depart. An incoming wave, however,
moved him to a sense of his position, and with a defiant snort he
slipped under water. Omitting, in his hurry, to take proper bearings,
he took the wrong direction, and, finding himself in a _cul-de-sac_,
made his appearance again on the surface, and with a hurried glance at
his position again sank, this time making a bee-line for the outlet,
being clearly seen, as he passed under water close to where we stood,
and was last seen buffeting his way through the foaming breakers,
evidently none the worse for his compulsory detention on the Rock.
_DECEMBER 1902._
The broken stones and other debris, consequent upon the late
alterations here, which had collected in various holes in the Rock and
maintained their position up till now, have nearly all been cleared out
by the severe gales of this month, and a couple of heavy iron poles,
erected lately to mark the boat tracks or entrances to the landings,
and which were sunk two feet in the solid rock and heavily cemented,
have been shaken loose in their sockets by the pounding seas which have
been besieging us of late. The rocks appear bleak and bare, and utterly
void of vegetation. The white whelks have collected their scattered
forces, and gone into winter quarters. Secure in sheltering nooks,
they lie huddled together in close packed squadrons. Numerous small
white banded whelks adhere to the base of the tower with a tenacity
that seems surprising considering the swirling seas they are subjected
to. This species, however, never seem to dream of hibernating. The
eiders and longtails, with an unswerving attention to business, pursue
their calling amid the hurly-burly of broken, tumbling seas--evidently
little concerned whether the weather be fair or foul--and in the glassy
hollows alternating between the breakers they can be distinctly seen
scurrying over the rock surface like so many fish. Gannets this month
are conspicuous by their absence, and only a few parasitic gulls divide
their attention between the kitchen refuse and the hard won earnings of
the eiders.
On several occasions during the month our fog signal was brought into
action through the occurrence of heavy snowfalls. A silent, feathery
fall on shore no doubt has charms peculiarly its own, but at sea
constitutes a very serious danger to the anxious mariner as he steams
at reduced speed through the fleecy curtain, shrieking his every two
minute warning, his vessel’s head scarcely visible from the bridge.
In snowstorms such as we have had of late our lantern soon becomes
plastered up with snow on the weather side, necessitating constant
removal to prevent it from completely blinding our light in that
direction. This is an operation often accomplished with difficulty,
especially when carried out in the teeth of a gale--an experience
somewhat akin to lying out on a yardarm under similar conditions, only
one doesn’t have the lift and ’scend of the vessel to contend with;
yet his grip must be equally as sure, or, as the old salts phrase
it, “Every finger a fish-hook,” on such occasions. Mounting by an
outside ladder to the grated gallery which encircles the base of the
lantern, one is exposed to the full force of the blast, and a firm
grip must be taken to avoid being blown away. Below, the seas in wild
tumult break against the building with a deafening roar, sending a
perceptible tremor through the entire structure with each impact. Only
by energetically hauling on the hand-rail can the slightest progress
be made in the desired direction, the wind’s eye being the objective
point, where possibly on arrival one may find himself pinned flat to
the lantern, like an entomological specimen, by the force of the wind.
The snow removed, the return journey is effected by simply allowing
oneself to be blown gradually back.
While relieving the Bass Rock on our way ashore last relief, a good
opportunity was afforded of witnessing the mode of effecting a landing
under adverse circumstances. On arrival there, it was considered
dangerous to attempt a landing at either of the two landing places,
owing to the heavy sea then running. The landings--a flight of concrete
steps from the water edge to the rocks above--are situated on either
side of a slight promontory immediately beneath the lighthouse; and as
deep water obtains to the rock face, it will be obvious that similar
conditions must frequently prevail at either landing. The boat being
loaded with the necessary stores, and the relieving keeper on board,
an approach was made to within suitable distance of the Rock. A kedge
anchor was then thrown overboard, and the boat slacked down till
within working distance. The keepers meanwhile had been busy erecting
an iron pole or derrick on the rocks above the position now occupied
by the boat, and which, being slightly inclined seawards, a tackle
from its extremity was drawn by means of a guy-line to the boat, and
the stores hoisted ashore by the keepers in charge of the tackle-fall
above. Seated in a loop of the rope, the relieving keeper was then
hoisted, and his shore-going neighbour similarly lowered. As an extra
precaution, a second boat was sent from the ship to stand by the
working boat in case of accident. Fortunately, however, their services
were not required.
Our final relief here for the year was effected with some difficulty
on the 29th. Owing to the doubtful aspect of the landing, only one
boat was sent ashore instead of two as usual. The fortnightly supply
of coal and water being omitted on this occasion does not, however,
inconvenience us, as a three months’ reserve stock of necessaries is
always maintained during the winter months.
_JANUARY-FEBRUARY 1903._
Bright, sunny weather characterised the opening day of the year, the
sea assuming a suspicious placidity quite summer-like in appearance
but for the keen nip in the air perceptible out of doors. This state
of affairs, however, proved but ephemeral, and for the remainder of
the month we have experienced most boisterous weather. Strong westerly
winds occasionally attained the force of a gale, accompanied with
driving seas, which roared and sang a lullaby scarcely compatible
with the shore-dwellers’ sense of security, but which, strange to
say, has a more somnolent effect upon us than a breathless stillness,
though an occasional thumper of a sea, more forceful than its fellows,
demonstrates the stability of our domicile by imparting a gentle
tremor to the entire structure, awakening in the sleeper a glimmer of
consciousness and a hazy impression of a traction-engine lumbering
somewhere in the vicinity.
Our entrance doorway--thirty feet from the Rock--faces south-west, and
is guarded by a heavy double leaved door, which opens outwards, and
held open against the building by means of heavy brass thumb-snecks.
An inner or vestibule door of solid brass is placed six feet further
inwards--the walls here, by the way, being seven feet thick, tapering
to one foot immediately beneath the balcony, sixty feet higher up.
This door is also double-leaved, with the upper panels of heavy plate
glass, frequently obscured by the strong westerly wind whipping the
tops of the seas as they rise in front, and carrying them souse into
the doorway. Standing here during the prevalence of a gale, the outlook
is being constantly darkened by a curtain of hissing foam drawn across
the doorway, as each sea breaks against the base of the tower, flinging
the spray high overhead. Fifteen miles in front of us lies the Isle of
May, with its castle-like lighthouse crowning its summit, while on a
lower level stands a whitewashed relic--remnant of a time, not so long
ago, when the Island boasted a double light, and electricity had not
as yet usurped sole sway. Emerging from the right of the May appears
the bluff outline of the Bass Rock, while away in the far distance
North Berwick Law cleaves the sky-line. Away to St Abb’s Head, on the
left, the Haddington coast stretches hazy and indistinct, while the
green, grassy slopes of Fife, with the spires of St Andrews faintly
visible, fill in the right of the picture. Laying hold of the man-ropes
suspended in the doorway, and turning to the right, the Forfarshire
coast is seen extending from the Tay in a long unbroken line, with the
snow-clad Grampians towering majestically in the background. Right
in front of us are the smoking stalks of Arbroath. Two conspicuous
white dots in the foreground mark the pierheads, in front of which
an impatient “flaxer” cruises in glorious uncertainty of ever being
permitted to fulfil her charter and deposit her Riga-run freight on the
right side of the bar. This is the panorama from the viewpoint of our
doorway on a clear day, but, as seen of late through sheets of flying
foam, it reminds one of a cinematograph display, in which the films are
far from perfect.
On the first Sunday of the year hundreds of gulls were seen resting
on the surface of the sea, half a mile nor’-west from here, evidently
by their movements enjoying a feast of “fry,” and in all probability
proclaiming the presence of herring shoals. During the gale of 10th
January over a dozen gannets were seen swooping and diving, presumably
at herring. Only with difficulty could we maintain our position on
the balcony, owing to the force of the wind, yet these birds circled
and dived amid the turmoil of wind and water with a graceful ease and
precision that seemed truly wonderful considering the force of wind
they occasionally beat up against, or, as they turned broadside on,
were wafted without the least exertion in the opposite direction.
The first week of February saw hundreds of these birds back to their
breeding haunts on the Bass Rock. From the deck of the “Relief” steamer
lying within a few hundred yards their movements are clearly seen. Each
projecting ledge of the precipitous cliffs is tenanted by some members
of the cackling crowd, their heads see-sawing from side to side. The
birds are evidently engaged in brisk conversation, a monopoly of which
is certainly not tolerated amongst them, judging by the vigorous
efforts of each to be heard above his neighbour. Probably the new
lighthouse is being discussed in the light of an innovation on their
ancestral rights of possession, and later, as its beams fall athwart
their nursery, tradition may recall man’s former intrusion on their
solitary keep many hundred years ago. No doubt their ups and downs
since last meeting on _terra firma_ are fully discussed, for it is a
curious fact that these birds are rarely, if ever, known to rest on
shore except when engaged in domestic duties. Occasionally a depraved
specimen may be seen floating helplessly on the water, a victim of his
own gluttony, having dined not wisely but too well.
February has been a repetition of its predecessor, cold and blowy,
with excessive rainfalls. In a shallow depression on the higher rock
surface our attention has been attracted to a solitary plant, a
specimen, I understand, of “_Himanthalia lorea_.” A cylindrical stem
(an inch in length) supports a thick, fleshy disc, about an inch in
diameter. From the centre of this disc three separate branches rise
with their terminals, blunted at first, but which were gradually seen
to bifurcate. This is _our_ “flower in the crannied wall,” and is in
its own way equally as suggestive.
The eiders are occasionally seen varying their diet with a vegetable
course. Seizing the tip of a tangle blade two or three inches from the
surface, they spin round it like a top, till the portion held in their
bill is twisted off and greedily swallowed. No need for them to evade
the gulls while engaged in this repast. It is most amusing to witness
the discomfiture of the gulls as they hurry from a distance expecting
to share in something edible, only to find the duck negotiating six
inches of seaweed. That the white whelk itself is not immune from
enemies was recently brought before our notice, one being picked up
with a long black worm dangling from its mouth. On withdrawing the
worm--somewhat resembling a boot lace--portions of the deceased tenant
followed. Doubtless every organism has its own particular parasite.
“Big fleas have little fleas upon their backs to bite ’em,
And these again have lesser fleas and so _ad infinitum_.”
_MARCH 1903._
Traditionally correct, the advent of this month was decidedly leonine,
and its exit as certainly lamb-like; but between these periods, though
a few really beautiful days could be credited to the latter symbol
of peacefulness, the lion was largely in the ascendant. Borne on the
off-shore wind comes the odour of heather--not the fragrant perfume
one usually associates with this sweet-smelling plant, but the smoky
incense consequent on moor-burning--and at night the higher levels of
the coast line exhibit lights which are certainly not recognised in the
Mariners’ Sailing Directions.
Over a score of steam trawlers have been busy in our neighbourhood
all the month. Sunday or Saturday is all the same to them; they are
at it night and day, and the weather must be bad indeed to detain
them in port. Often they are seen passing here burying themselves to
the foremast in the seas on their way to the fishing grounds, perhaps
twenty miles outside of us. The Rock seems to be a recognised stage
in their journey; for, whenever abreast of it, over goes their log,
and a compass course is laid for the distant banks. Here, far outside
the three-mile limit, the presence of the _Brenda_ or the _Minna_[1]
causes no alarm; and, providing their numbers are correctly exposed,
receive no interference from these coasting policemen. A few summers
ago, one of these same trawlers, while on her way out from Dundee one
Sunday, surprised us by driving right up on the reef in broad daylight,
a hundred yards from the tower. Fortunately, the sea was like glass at
the time, otherwise the consequences must have been disastrous. The
tide being on the ebb, their attempts to back off were unsuccessful;
and there they remained hard and fast from one o’clock till six in the
evening, when a passing trawler succeeded in towing them off, evidently
none the worse of their brief acquaintance with the Bell Rock. During
their detention, the crew paid us a visit in their boat, recalling
to our mind a story in which a clumsily handled brig, in coming to
an anchorage in a crowded harbour, ran aboard of a vessel already
anchored. Visiting this vessel a few days later, to apologise for the
occurrence, the offender was thus announced by the steward: “Captain
S----has come on board, Sir.” “Oh, indeed,” sarcastically remarked the
aggrieved mariner. “Has he brought his brig with him?”
The rocks are this year more plentifully strewn with mussel-spawn and
acorn barnacles than usual; and already the whelks have sallied from
their winter’s sleep, bent on their destruction. Hundreds of hermit
crabs have also made their appearance, notably first in the deeper
pools, but gradually taking up their quarters in the shallows. Towards
the end of the month, a few small spats of paidlefish spawn were seen
deposited in convenient crevices of the rocks. This is unusually early
for “nesting” operations, and engenders hopes of an early fishing, as
the ova is generally the first inducement for the wandering cod to
come within reach of our rods. Numerous clusters of the wheat-like ova
of the white whelk are also seen; but, unlike that of the paidlefish
(lumpsucker)--which may be detached from its gelatinous fastenings in
a solid mass--each egg adheres separately by its own footstalk. Though
the adult “paidles” are only to be seen here during the period of
incubation--the term seems quite applicable, seeing that the guardian
“cock” is always in close attendance, with his nose thrust into the
centre of the mass of ova, at which point there is always a depression,
and frequently a hole right through it--juveniles are occasionally met
with at all seasons; and, on the first anniversary of their birthday,
are seen to have attained the length of two inches.
Numbers of peculiar looking slugs are met with at present, somewhat
resembling a section of a small orange with the skin attached. On their
upper surface, near to one end, a minute orifice is seen, through which
a small rosette like arrangement is protruded when at rest, but which
is instantly withdrawn when the animal is disturbed. This is the only
visible sign of life in this otherwise inert object, and is probably
its means of obtaining a living. Its under or ambulatory surface is
similar to that of a limpet, without its tenacity, but with a somewhat
similar rate of progression. Another small slug noticed this month--no
larger than one’s finger nail and recalling the general appearance of
the “fretful porcupine,” with “quills” arranged along its back, and
displaying beautiful shades of brilliant blue and crimson.
_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.
[1] 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[2] 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.
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.”
[2] 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.
Our feathered visitors for the month were represented by a couple of
skylarks, three song thrushes, a pair of carrion crows, and a solitary
starling. Eiders and longtails still continue in attendance, and
gannets are now plentiful. The latter arrived at their breeding haunt
on the Bass Rock from their southern sojourn on the 9th of last month.
The month has been wet, cold, and stormy, exceptionally heavy seas
prevailing in the earlier half. The closing day of the month was
beautifully clear and sunny, but cold and frosty, our heliograph
intimating on that date a similar state of weather on shore.
_MARCH 1904._
Of the mighty steeds of illustrious riders, from the Bucephalus of
Alexander down to the famous chargers of our present-day Generals, much
has been written and even sung. Favourites of fortune, their lives
were mostly cast in pleasant places; and after a brilliant career,
more or less useful, permitted to end their days in secluded luxury--a
privilege, by the way, not always extended to their riders. The subject
of these remarks is in no way connected with the glorious achievement
of arms, nor is it recorded that he ever scented the battle even from
afar; yet, though compelled to wear, so to speak, the hodden grey of
equine society, his claim to distinction may none the less be justified.
In July 1810, a somewhat queer procession might have been seen
wending its way through Edinburgh towards the Port of Leith. Upon a
cart, drawn by a powerful horse, decorated with bows and streamers
of various colours, and driven by James Craw, the famous Bell Rock
carter, similarly bedecked, lay the last principal stone of the Bell
Rock Lighthouse. From the centre of the stone rose a flagstaff,
carrying the national flag, while seamen and stonecutters--a strange
combination--gaily bedecked with variegated ribbons--the latter donning
brand new aprons for the occasion--marched in joyful procession. When
abreast of the Trinity House of Leith, they were joined by the Officer
of that Corporation, resplendent in full uniform, and bearing his staff
of office; and on arriving at the harbour, where the _Smeaton_--engaged
in transporting material to the Bell Rock--lay, the entire shipping
hoisted their colours in salute, thus indicating the amount of public
interest evinced in the progress of the Lighthouse.
An item of interest, at this time, was a visit by Mrs Dickson, a
daughter of Smeaton of Eddystone fame--whose principles were largely
taken advantage of in the construction of the Bell Rock Lighthouse--to
inspect the vessel, named in honour of her distinguished father. “In
stepping on board,” writes Mr Stevenson in his ‘Bell Rock Lighthouse,’
“Mrs Dickson seemed quite overcome by so many concurrent circumstances
tending in a peculiar manner to revive and enliven the memory of
her departed father; and, on leaving the vessel, she would not be
restrained from presenting the crew with a piece of money.”
Though the site of the workyard in connection with the building
was situated in Arbroath, from its contiguity to the Rock, it was
found necessary, owing to the liability of the stones procured from
Mylnefield Quarry, near Dundee, to injury from frost--from which cause
many valuable stones had already been lost--to procure stones for
the cornice of the building and parapet wall of the lightroom which
would admit of being wrought with safety during the winter months. The
desired qualities of durability and immunity from injury by frost were
ultimately found in the famous Liver-rock of the Craigleith Quarry. At
Greenside, Edinburgh, a vacant piece of ground was procured; and here
the cornice and parapet wall were hewn and built in position for the
fitting of the huge cast-iron lantern.
The horse in question had, with his driver, been employed in the
workyard at Arbroath, and was computed to have drawn the materials
of the lighthouse, extending to upwards of two thousand tons in its
finished state, three or four times--in removing the blocks of stone
from the ship to the workyard, again to the platform upon which each
course was temporarily built, from the workyard to where they were
shipped for the Rock, besides occasional movements to and from the
hands of the stonecutters. Deciding that “Bassey” and his driver
should have the honour of participating in the closing scene of the
undertaking, they were accordingly transported by sea to Leith.
In the course of their passage in the _Smeaton_, the vessel narrowly
escaped shipwreck. Under orders to call at the Rock for lumber, they
had apparently lost their bearings through fog; for, suddenly startled
by the sound of the smith’s hammer and anvil, they had just time to put
the ship about and escape running full tilt on the north-west portion
of the Rock, which, from this incident, still bears the name of “James
Craw’s Horse.”
On the completion of operations at the Rock, the horse “Bassey,”
failing somewhat from age, was pensioned off by the Commissioners,
and allowed to roam at liberty on the island of Inchkeith till
his death in 1813. “The fame of this animal’s labours,” writes Mr
Stevenson, “together with his strength and excellent proportions as a
draught-horse, having attracted the attention of Dr John Barclay, that
eminent anatomist procured the bones and set them up in his museum.
This valuable collection, it is understood, is to be bequeathed to the
College of Surgeons of Edinburgh; so that the bones of the Bell Rock
horse” (to use the doctor’s own language) “will be seen and admired
as a useful skeleton and a source of instruction when those of his
employers lie mingled with the dust.”
* * * * *
With the exception of a few days, the weather this month has been
extremely favourable; indeed, for the greater part, summer-like--a
pleasant change from what we have experienced of late. The peculiar
white rubber-like folds of ribbon which have been adhering to the Rock
surface for the past two months, and which we erroneously supposed to
be the ova of some fish, turn out to be the spawn of the slugs I have
already described, and with which the Rock has been freely invested of
late--proof of which several have been seen in the act of extrusion.
These shell-less molluscs have been much in evidence this season; and
representatives of three distinct families are to be met with, namely,
the Onchidoridæ, Tritoniidæ, and Eolididæ. Cannibals, they attack
their own species without compunction, and devour each other’s spawn.
Darwin computed that some “ribbons” contained as many as six hundred
thousand eggs. The acorn barnacles which have escaped the voracity of
the white whelks have in some places attained a height of two inches.
On examination, each shelly casement is seen charged with spawn, which,
later on, will be liberated as free swimmers, totally unlike the parent
form, to enjoy a brief period of unrestricted freedom before settling
down on the Rock surface, or, for that matter, any immersed object that
comes handy, and ultimately assuming the adult form. The young swimmer,
feeling itself gradually becoming invested with a shelly covering,
casts about for a suitable site to pass the remainder of its existence.
Selecting the Rock surface, it attaches itself by its head, the antennæ
become cemented to the surface, the eyes remain in a rudimentary
form, the shelly plates which latterly form the door of its domicile
appear, a few more pairs of legs are developed, and by a series of
frequent moultings (like other crustaceans) arrives at the perfect
state. The bunches of “fingers” which we see this animal protrude and
withdraw when under water are in reality its feet, of which there are
twelve pairs, the rhythmic expansion and contraction of which induce
a current in the water attracting to its mouth the minute objects
upon which it feeds, thus giving rise to the saying that this animal
stands on its head and literally kicks its food into its mouth. In all
other crustacea the sexes are distinct, the barnacles alone having the
peculiarity of being bi-sexual, or having both sexes united in the same
individual. The general tendency throughout nature--the evolution from
a lower to a higher order, from the simple to the complex--appears in
the case of the barnacle to be reversed. Gifted in the initial stage
of its existence with all the functions of a free-swimming animal, and
possessing organs which ultimately become rudimentary, the final phase
in which all power of volition is lost, certainly does not appear one
of progression.
Hermit crabs are at present abundant, and also demonstrate their
wonderful fecundity. Starfishes--principally the five-rayed
variety--are now numerous, and garnish each shallow pool. Sea-urchins,
though never plentiful here, are occasionally met with, some having
been found recently no larger than a pea. On the 20th the advent of
the paidle-fish was announced by a small patch of ova underneath a
projecting ledge of rock, and, on the same date, by a reconnoitring
“cock.” The young of last summer are met with adhering to stones in
the shallow pools; and, contrary to our expectations, though only two
inches long, were found to contain spawn. The spring migratory movement
has sent but few birds our way this year. A few thrushes, blackbirds,
larks, starlings, and a couple of pied wagtails composed our list. By
the middle of the month, the longtailed ducks had gone north to nest,
and but four pairs of eiders now remain.
_APRIL 1904._
A perusal of Stevenson’s “Bell Rock Lighthouse” reveals many
interesting episodes of that period in connection with the undertaking.
The following facts are from this source, and may be of sufficient
general interest to warrant repeating. The facts mentioned have
reference to another providential escape from serious disaster recorded
during the earlier stages of the operations. The workmen at this period
had their quarters on board the lightship, anchored a mile from the
Rock, as the beacon-house, on which they were latterly housed on the
Rock, had not yet been erected. As was customary, whenever the tide
admitted of a footing on the Rock, all hands were landed, and the
boats retained in one of the creeks till the rising tide suspended
operations. On this particular occasion, besides the usual two boats
from the lightship, they were reinforced by an additional boat from the
_Smeaton_, which had arrived from Arbroath with a fresh consignment of
workmen. The wind freshening in the course of the work, the seamen of
the _Smeaton_, fearing for their vessel’s moorings, left the Rock in
their own boat with the intention of taking some extra precautions,
and returning. Scarcely had they boarded her, however, when, to Mr
Stevenson’s consternation, she was seen to break adrift and drive
helplessly away before the wind. The danger of the situation at once
flashed through his mind. Thirty-two men--three boat-loads--on a rock
which would shortly be fathoms under water, with only two boats at
their disposal! What was to be done? The workmen, engrossed in their
labours, had failed to notice the departure of the boat, and were as
yet ignorant of their dangerous position. The _Smeaton_, now far to
leeward, was seen to have made sail, and making every effort to beat
up to the Rock, but with the wind still freshening and the flood tide
dead against her, it was utterly hopeless to expect any assistance
in that direction. Save the deserted lightship no other sail was in
sight. Taking the landing-master cautiously aside, to avoid alarming
the men, he explained their dangerous situation. After consultation, it
was decided that everything of weight should be abandoned, the men to
strip their upper clothing, the two boats to be manned to their utmost
capacity, and the remainder of the men to support themselves in the
water by clinging to the gunwales. By this means they hoped to drift
down on the _Smeaton_, a perilous journey under such circumstances,
even in quiet weather, but in the now disturbed state of the sea, a
forlorn hope. The workings being now awash with the flowing tide--the
usual signal for ceasing work--the workmen were in the act of retiring
to the boats to don their shoes and stockings when they noticed the
absence of the boat, and realised their danger. On attempting to
address them with his proposal, Mr Stevenson found his mouth so parched
that he was totally unable to articulate a single word. Stooping to
moisten his lips with sea water, he was suddenly startled by the
gladsome shout of “A boat! A boat!” and looking around, there, sure
enough, a large boat was seen through the haze making straight for the
Rock. This opportune arrival proved to be James Spink, the Bell Rock
pilot, employed in carrying letters between Arbroath and the Rock. For
his services on this occasion it is gratifying to learn that in after
years Spink was in receipt of a pension from the Board, and permitted
to wear the uniform and badge of the Lighthouse Service.
Paidle-fish are now fairly numerous, their nests, with attendant
cocks, being met with on every hand. While observing one of these
nests the other day, at low water, I had an interesting experience of
the necessity for the surveillance exercised by the cock. Stretched
along the rock, my face close to the surface of the pool, I had
an excellent view of the nest and its guardian, two feet below.
Speculating as to the reason for so close attendance on the ova--his
nose being thrust into an orifice in the mass, his mouth opening and
shutting energetically, evidently forcing a stream of water through
the opening--I carelessly dropped a few whelks on his back. This mild
form of bombardment did not in the slightest disconcert him; for,
though they struck and rolled off on either side, he appeared to
take no notice of them. Suddenly, a white whelk (not one of those I
had dropped) made its appearance on the outer margin of the ova, and
settled down with the apparent intention of dining. This impertinence,
however, was not to be tolerated; for, with a swirling rush that
plainly betokened anger, the red-coated sentry seized the offender
in his teeth--and here follows the surprising part of it. Instead of
dropping the whelk to the bottom there and then, as I expected, he
mounted rapidly through the intervening two feet of water, and when
near the surface, to my astonishment, spat the whelk almost into my
face! That his intention was retaliatory I do not presume to say, but
the action certainly appeared an intelligent attempt to “return fire.”
Since then, I have repeatedly seen them remove predatory starfishes and
whelks in a somewhat similar manner.
The wheat-like ova of the white whelks is also largely in evidence this
month, though somewhat later than last year. Exposed at every fall of
the tide, it appears to require no attention, each capsule, pendant or
upright, firmly adhering to the Rock surface by means of its flattened
foot-stalk. The whelks themselves appear in every conceivable corner
where food is to be found.
A shallow pit cut into the Rock, measuring two feet by one, and
one foot deep--originally the socket of the central support of the
beacon-house in which the workmen were lodged during the construction
of the lighthouse--serves as a receptacle for anything of interest we
may pick up during our rambles round the rocks. Fitted with a grated
iron cover, it was at one time used for the purpose of soaking salt
junk; but, as every marine organism appeared to consider this a
special provision for their needs, it was ultimately abandoned. At
present a repulsive-looking “poach” or “cobbler,” some ten inches long,
shares this prison with a couple of large star-fishes, an unusually
large hermit crab, and a derelict mass of “paidle” spawn. The spawn
daily decreases in inverse ratio to the “poach’s” liveliness. Apart
from this, however, the spawn shows signs of deterioration, a proof
that the attention of the cock is necessary for its well-being.
On the 17th, the remaining four pairs of eiders took their departure,
and only a few gulls now remain.
Owing to my transference to another station, it now becomes necessary
for me to conclude these random jottings. To the patient reader who has
cared to follow me through these notes I bid farewell. Written without
any pretensions to literary skill or scientific accuracy, they have
nevertheless, in my case, served to enliven many a weary hour in an
isolated calling, and have--may I hope?--proved not altogether void of
interest to the reader.
THE END.
_Edinburgh: George Waterston & Sons, Printers._
Transcriber’s Note:
Words may have multiple spelling variations or inconsistent hyphenation
in the text. These have been left unchanged. Obsolete and alternative
spellings were left unchanged. Misspelled words were corrected.
Words and phrases in italics are surrounded by underscores, _like
this_. Footnotes were renumbered sequentially and were moved to the
end of the chapter. Final stops missing at the end of sentences and
abbreviations were added.
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NOTES ON THE NATURAL HISTORY OF THE BELL ROCK ***
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