This little crustacean is very abundant in many of the rivers of England, although it is by no means as general as might be anticipated from its habits and mode of life. Rivulets and rivers in which clear streams flow, are its favourite resort, and the holes amongst the roots of trees, stones, or banks beneath the water, form snug retreats for it. It is somewhat strange that in the western portion of England, where running streams abound, the fresh water Cray is (except by name) unknown. Its food consists of animal substances, the spawn of fish, vegetable matter, the larvæ of water insects, &c. The rich scarlet colour assumed after boiling makes the Cray a great favourite for garnishing purposes; pic-nic parties are often formed for the sport afforded in taking them. Long sticks or rods with cord lines, to which pieces of bait are tied, are made use of to allure the Cray within the reach of a small hand-net, when he is scooped out; some enterprising anglers endeavour to throw them over their heads without using the net, others in their anxiety to inveigle the coquettish crustacean, slip on some slippery tree-trunk or moss-grown stone, and pay an unwilling visit to the home of the Crays at the bottom. Pinched fingers and other small catastrophes serve but to add to the general fun and hilarity of the river-side revellers. In some of the West India Islands torchlight expeditions of a like character are made to the streams flowing from the hills, and the Crays lifted out, after having been previously treated to pieces of manioc-root abundantly cast in the water for them. This substance has the property of stupefying such shell-fish as are silly enough to eat it, and the Cray pays the penalty of his too unsuspicious disposition. The rivers of France are abundantly supplied with Ecrevisses, as they are called in that country; enormous numbers are eaten every day in Paris, and the other large cities and towns of the continent. They are prepared in various ways for the table, and the celebrated potage à la bisque is made from them.

A number of methods are had recourse to for their capture, amongst which may be mentioned the sinking by stones, in localities known to abound with them, rough bundles of thorn-sticks, with offal of some description fastened up in them. The Crays, in their attempts to obtain the dainty tit-bits, force their way through the entangled twigs, and are unable to retreat with sufficient speed to escape being drawn out when the Cray-catcher hooks out his treacherous fascine. Small pieces of frog are highly esteemed baits. These are laid down in considerable numbers along the course of the stream, and are after some time visited, and the feasting Crays brought to bag. Some persons are sufficiently indifferent to the nips they receive as to insert the hand and arm beneath the roots and hollow banks, and so drag forth their prey. There are other methods for Cray capture, but most of them depend on the use of bait placed in traps, much like those used for prawns, or some contrivance where entrance is easy and exit difficult, and it is remarkable that in every country in the known world the same principle is taken advantage of, in the construction of traps for fish, birds, and animals. Whether we visit the almost unknown chains of ponds among the gum-tree woods of Australia, the fern-clad river-banks of New Zealand, the great streams flowing through North-west America, or the tangled forests bordering the jeels, nullahs, and rivers of Central India, basket traps of various sizes and forms, but all alike in their mode of operation, will be found. Some we stumbled on while hunting among the Bheels of Candeish were of elegant design,—trumpet mouthed, and beautifully woven from the split-up fibres of single bamboo-joints, the knot at the small end being left to form a sort of plug-hole, through which the bait was introduced.

A. fluviatilis shifts his shell, much in the same manner as his salt-water cousins, and, like them, is painfully nervous and retiring in his habits during the hardening of the new case with which nature in due time protects him. Like the sea lobster, the Cray is wonderfully prolific, producing as many as 100,000 eggs in the breeding season, which are carried securely about for some time by the parent fish tucked up under the abdomen, and defended by the lateral rows of legs and claws. A notion prevails in some localities that the goodness of water may be surely tested by boiling a Cray in it, when, if the quality is all that could be wished, the colour of the Cray should be clear and bright red; whereas, if impure, the fish is said to remain dull and lustreless. This, although a very old opinion, appears much on a par with the idea, equally old, that a frog in a tea-kettle would prevent the water therein contained from ever boiling. We greatly fear, however, that a good brisk fire would not only go far towards dissipating the superstition, but at the same time make it peculiarly unpleasant for the frog. It has been stated, on good authority, that A. fluviatilis lives to a good old age under favourable circumstances. Desmarest says that it has been known to live for more than twenty years, and that it increases in size as age advances. We are disposed to think, however, that there must be a limit to development far within twenty years, or we should at times encounter some “grandfather Cray” who would be far more pleasant to follow than to meet, at any rate in his own element.

The ancient Greeks appear, from the writings of early historians, to have held the Cray in high esteem; and Alexandria had the reputation for producing it of the best quality. The Romans, too, were not behind-hand in their appreciation of the luxury, and some quaint ingredients are mentioned by the old writers as being requisite to complete the operations connected with its preparation. After being boiled, we are told that the Cray was eaten flavoured with cummin and seasoned with pepper, alisander, parsley, dried mint, and more cummin ground and mixed with honey, vinegar, and garum, with some liquid perfume. Bosc informs us that “Crayfishes can be preserved several days, not too warm, in baskets with some fresh grass, such as the nettle, or in a bucket with three-eighths of an inch of water. If there were enough water in it to cover them they would die in a few moments, because their great consumption of air does not allow them to live in water unless it is continually renewed.” The strange, mysterious waters flowing through the mammoth caves of Kentucky contain, amongst other wonders, considerable numbers of these interesting creatures; and we have recently been favoured with a sight of two specimens of remarkable size and beauty of form brought from the interior of Venezuela.

Although neither crab, shrimp, or lobster, the bold and adventurous diver as a “submarine armour-clad,” holds a conspicuous position, as with helmet of proof, and ponderous, metal-soled boots, he plunges fearlessly beneath the wave, and prosecutes his researches “full fathoms five,” amongst the strange, weird fastnesses and cavernous depths of the deep sea. Huge and terrible as he with his eyes of glass, and India-rubber skin, must appear to the lesser inhabitants of the ocean’s realms, there are “Tritons amongst the minnows,” who fear him not, and would think little of making a meal of him, in spite of his crystalline eyes and indigestible equipment. The records of the voyage of H.M.S. Fawn serve to show that the human “armour-clad,” when submarine in his occupations, is by no means “Monarch of all he surveys.” “The gunner of the Fawn, being a very expert diver, was employed to recover the treasure from the Peninsular and Oriental Company’s ship Ava, wrecked a few years ago on the coast of Ceylon. Having, in a gutta-percha dress, made his way into the saloon, he was busily searching for the bullion, when, to his horror, he saw a huge ground shark come sailing in at the door. With great presence of mind he lay motionless on the locker, and watched it silently and quietly cruising about. One can well imagine his feelings when he saw its cold green eyes fixed upon him, and felt it pushing against the leaden soles of his boots, and rubbing against his dress, the slightest puncture in which would have been certain destruction. About ten minutes of suspense were thus passed, which must have seemed an age, during which the monster came back twice or thrice to have another look at him. Mr. Pound’s courage and coolness were at length rewarded by seeing him steering his way back as he came. Afterwards, Mr. Pound always armed himself with a dagger when he went down to the wreck, from which he recovered altogether 22,000l., having spent some 850 hours under water. He had also some narrow escapes at times from the opening and shutting of the iron plates of the ship as they worked with the roll of the sea. The air-pipe was twice severed from his helmet, but fortunately, slackening it warned the people above to lose no time in rescuing him from his perilous position.”

One is almost tempted to envy the cunning, miserly old crabs, who have it all their own way down amongst the branching coralines and vase-shaped sponges, and crawl to their very hearts’ content over the piles of sunken treasures scattered there. Treasures are there, too, not of man’s garnering, growing like rich sea-flowers beneath the waves. The sea feathers, or plume corals, are examples of these, and are found sprouting, like ocean fern-leaves, from the rock cave’s ledges, far down in the deep still water between the reefs; and we shall see how a love for the beauty of Nature’s handiwork not only led to the crabs being deprived of their hoard, but, favoured by good fortune, proved a guide to wealth, station, and ultimately, nobility. Thus goes the story, which, unlike many of a somewhat similar kind, has the priceless advantage of being literally true. In the year 1650, one Phipps, a blacksmith, of Pemaquid, in New England, was blessed with a son, who was christened William, and who in very early life manifested much ingenuity and a passion for ship-building. Very shortly after the term of his apprenticeship to a shipwright had expired, he built a vessel for himself, which he navigated in person; and hearing it reported that a Spanish ship, freighted with bullion, had sunk in the neighbourhood of the Bahamas, he at once betook himself to the scene of the disaster, and made the most determined but fruitless efforts to recover the lost gold. Treasure-seeking now appears to have become a fixed occupation with Captain Phipps. In the year 1683 we find him employed by the English Government to discover another lost ship (also Spanish), of immense value. This he failed in accomplishing, but became convinced that perseverance in the search would be ultimately crowned with success. For five years he was unsuccessful in his urgent applications for funds to renew his investigations, when the Duke of Albemarle, the then Governor of Jamaica, not only fully credited the assurances of Captain Phipps, but, better still, furnished him with ample means and fitting apparatus for his new expedition. How he reached the scene of his labours—how every lagune and gulf between the reefs was searched in vain, until hope well-nigh vanished—we need not dwell on here. No wreck could be discovered, and he had almost determined to abandon the undertaking in despair, when, after a day of more than ordinary fatigue and anxious exploration amongst the coral rocks, his boat’s crew were rowing him slowly and dejectedly back to his ship, one of the sailors directed his attention to a beautiful sea feather, growing from the ledges of a sunken rock. “Alas!” said poor Phipps, “there is a sea treasure indeed. I wish I could get it.”

One of the good-humoured black divers who accompanied him, anxious to oblige his commander, shot rapidly down to the coveted specimen, and just as rapidly returned with it, exclaiming—“Feather safe, fine feather, but plenty big cannon down where feather live.” This report, as may be readily imagined, made the sinking heart of the poor captain leap again. Blackey was despatched to the regions below to take another look at matters, and after a short absence came back with the glorious news that there were “plenty big boxes too, and lots of this,”—exhibiting his dusky paws filled with silver. Now the captain was in his true element at last; and there lay the work he loved so well, ready cut out for him; and he proved quite equal to the occasion, for from that deep gulf, far down among the corals and the Crabs, in whose custody it had quietly remained for more than half a century, he brought to light thirty-two tons of silver bullion, besides large quantities of gold, pearls, and other valuables. We find that Phipps was knighted by James II. He was appointed Sheriff of New England, and took command of a large expeditionary force against the French. We afterwards find him in command of a fleet fitted out to oppose the same enemy in Canada, and subsequently taking part in the Border warfare of the period, as a leader of some celebrity; and at this point of his career we bid adieu to Sir James Phipps and the happy-chance discovery which led him on to greatness.

There is yet another little crustacean, rather a delver than a diver, well known to every sea-side visitor. This is the Sea Flea, or Sand Hopper, as it is popularly called, and because of its saltitary powers, young ladies in dainty boots keep at a most respectful distance from the scene of its performances, and rival the hopper himself in the agility with which they bound off on unwittingly invading the haunts of that nimble little gentleman. Lift but a tuft of half-dried weed, fragment of stranded wreck, stone, or tenantless shell, and up leap a whole army of Hoppers, like as many peas on a drum-head. They appear more vegetarian in their tastes than most other of their crustacean family connexions, subsisting mainly on the various weeds found scattered among the rocks. Fish and many other marine creatures feed voraciously on them, and the Cornish chough, in his black satin coat and scarlet stockings, picks them with marvellous dexterity with his coral-coloured, forceps-like beak, from amongst the tangled web of sea-cords and ocean-ribbons in which they delight to harbour. The poor, frost-beset starling, too, when the white snow lies thick on the pastures, and the pitiless north-east wind whistles down the vale, finds amongst the oar-weed heaps cast up at high-tide level, Sand Hoppers enough to prolong his wee-bird life till milder winds and better times smile, on the land and him. So even the most pigmy atoms of creation perform their allotted parts in the great plan which an all-wise Providence has so wisely laid down for created beings, and we become lost in wonder, at the marvellous and inscrutable laws brought to bear in its furtherance. The saltness of the sea, the metal iodine residing in its countless myriads of weeds, the migrations of the mighty hosts of fish, the ebbing and flowing of the tide, the labours of the coral insect, the strange sponge-growths, trade winds, and warm currents setting in from one region to another, all evince the operation of laws, far too vast for man, with all his boasted power, to penetrate or understand. As there are “sermons in stones, voices in running brooks, and good in everything,” so is there beauty and evidence of Divine foresight to be found under every fragment of drift-wood, cast between the rocks; each upturned stone discloses some wonder of creation, and as the mighty billows thunder on the strand and carry in their backward rush the beds of ever-wearing shingle, fretting and grinding with them, frail humanity can but look from nature, up to nature’s God, and feel its own utter insignificance.

The ocean’s broad expanse, when lulled in calm tranquillity, is no less a subject for pleasant and profound meditation, and he who seeks a field for peaceful reflection may find it by drifting away on the unruffled bosom of the deep; and as the bark bears him slowly onward, Montgomery’s lines will not fail to strike his memory:—

We could willingly thus gossip on, and prolong the journey on which our companion the reader has so far accompanied us, but all rambles amongst the rocks, or elsewhere, must have an end; our journey in search of crustacean lore can be no exception to this stern law, and we bid our fellow-pilgrim a cordial adieu until we meet again to ramble forth, staff in hand, cockle-shell in hat, and wallet on shoulder, to gather fresh stores of some other lore, so lavishly scattered along the pleasant paths where Nature, in all her goodness and beauty, beckons us to follow.