Xantho hydrophilus is rather an odd, clumsy-looking creature, owing to the want of proportion between his trunk and the large pincer-claws. The carapace is peculiarly wrinkled, and the margin on the outside of the eye on each side (latero-anterior) is marked by four stout triangular teeth. The four pairs of smaller legs (2 to 5) have a row of fine hairs along the upper edge of each joint; and the fingers of the pincer-claws are brown, the moveable one being also grooved on the upper surface. Colour yellowish-brown with darker markings.

Xantho incisus is very like the last, and some specimens will prove difficult to determine with satisfaction. The description of the carapace and its toothed margin will apply equally to either species; but the distinctive characters of this as compared with the last are that (1) the fingers of the pincer-claws are black, (2) that they are not grooved, (3) the second to fifth pairs of legs instead of having the fringe of hairs all along their upper margin have only the third (or longest) joint of each leg so decorated. The second and third points are, I believe, reliable—the first is not. I have seen many specimens with the fingers of a paler brown even than the general hue of the big claws, and have such a specimen alive before me as I write.

In the course of our stone-turning we are likely to come upon a little purplish-brown crab, about an inch across the carapace, and bristling all over with hairs and spines. It is known to the naturalist as Pilumnus hirtellus, but none of the writers on crabs appears to have troubled about a popular name for it, so it is incumbent upon me to supply the deficiency. For the purpose of communication with my readers, I therefore dub Pilumnus hirtellus with the nickname or alias of Hairy-Crab. The front of the carapace is cut up into a number of teeth much sharper than those of Xantho; in fact, in comparison with those, these of the Hairy-crab are spines. One of these spines protects the orbit of the eye, and there are four others on each side between it and the base of the pincer-claws. The pincer-claws have a very robust appearance in comparison with the size of the trunk, being thick and rounded; one is usually larger than its fellow, but it may be either the right or the left. The smaller of the two is covered with tubercles on the upper parts, the larger is smooth. The smaller legs are very hairy indeed, and similar hairs are scattered over the carapace among the short down with which it is covered. It is common all along the Southern and Western coasts of England and around Ireland, under stones at low-water, though by no means so abundant as Xantho, and others we have to mention. Bell, in his “History of Stalk-eyed Crustacea,” almost seems to question Dr. Leach’s statement that it is found at low tide mark, for he adds, “those which I have obtained have been from deep water.” Dr. Leach, however, was quite correct in his statement, and Bell could easily have substantiated it, as we have done.

We shall not be long at our work before we meet with far too many examples of the Common Shore Crab, Green Crab or Harbour Crab (Carcinus mænas); young specimens of which will scuttle away sideways with marvellous alacrity, but bigger examples will at once put up their heavy hands and challenge us to fight. Everybody that has been to the sea-shore knows this crab, for even if entirely void of curiosity as to the wonders of the shore, Carcinus mænas will not be ignored. Whether the shore be sandy or rocky, or of that nondescript character that pertains to many harbours, a mixture of sand, stones, and domestic rubbish, this crab will be seen strolling along at a little distance from the water. All know its mottled greeny-yellowy-brown back, and the strength of its sharp nippers! There is only this one member of the genus, so that there is little danger of confusing it with its nearest relations. It most closely resembles certain of the swimming-crabs (Portunus), to be described hereafter, but may be readily separated from them by glancing at the terminal joint of the last pair of feet. In Portunus this is flattened out as though it had been beaten on an anvil until it was very broad and very thin, to serve as a swimming plate. In Carcinus, though the smaller legs are obviously compressed, this last joint of all is stout and runs off to a rounded point, more suited for obtaining a good hold of a sandy bottom than for swimming. We shall find it frequently under both weeds and stones. It is an omnivorous feeder, accepting fish, flesh, or fowl; stealing bait from the fisherman’s lines and from his crab-pots, disfiguring the fish which has been already caught on spillers, and, worse than all, causing great havoc among the young oysters that have been laid down in the beds, by eating them, shell and all. They are said to form an important article of food along the shores of the Adriatic, and they were at one time not unknown in the London markets. Leach says that in his time (early in the century), immense quantities were eaten by the London poor. Whether there is any considerable trade of this kind now I do not know; but I remember how more than thirty years ago I considered them very sweet and toothsome, and used to go as a boy to buy them, all alive, of an old woman in one of that intricate maze of courts and alleys that then existed where now the Royal Courts of Justice stand. I think they were sold at about eight or ten for a penny. Had they not been sold alive I should probably never have desired to have them.

When throwing aside the heavy bunches of Fucus that hang over the rocks, in order that we may see their surfaces, we shall catch sight of a more pugnacious crab even than Carcinus, leaping, rather than running sideways, with such rapidity that we need to be smart to catch it. Aye, and we need to have a little nerve, or the Velvet Fiddler will alarm us into letting him pass into the oblivion of the seaweed jungle, or one of those rock-crevices which always seem to be in the right place to afford sanctuary to a poor hunted crab. Most crabs are so flattened that these cracks seem specially provided for them, whereas the evolutionist will tell you it is the rock-haunting crabs that have become specially adapted to find salvation in these asylums. This is the crab we alluded to especially when speaking of the likeness between the swimming-crabs (Portunus) and the Shore Crab. The Velvet Fiddler (Portunus puber) is one of the swimming-crabs; this may easily be seen on reference to the hindmost pair of legs, as already indicated. The Velvet Fiddler gets the two words of his queer name from two distinct characters. He is clad in a dingy suit of velveteen, which appears to be much the worse for wear—rusty, and in places the nap is worn right off, probably by too much squeezing into tight places in the rocks. On his limbs the velveteen is marked in such definite patterns, that we feel inclined to abandon the hard-wear theory, and to fall back upon one of natural artistic adornment. He is really a very fine fellow; his legs being covered on the upper sides with this velvet pile, with the exception of certain longitudinal raised lines of polished blue-black. The square-looking back of the carapace has a similar smooth raised border, with two raised lines of the same character below it. Then all the smaller legs have the longest joint fringed along the upper edge, but the hindmost pair in addition have a close broad band of stiff feather-like fringe standing out all round the three last joints. The last two of these are flattened out to such an extremity of thinness that there seems to be no room for living flesh within. The pincer-claws are not so heavy or robust as those of the species we have already considered. They are more uniform in thickness, more elegant in their slim tapering, so that the members of this genus are often called Lady-crabs. The upper surface is velvety, picked out here and there with blue, and the hand, with its fixed nipper, is decorated below with white and blue tubercles. The moveable nipper is finely ridged, and both of them have a fine row of teeth. Then these pincer-claws are well-armed with long sharp spines; the antero-lateral margins of the carapace are finished off with five sharp curved spines on each side, and the space between the eye-orbits are similarly protected, but with thinner, straight spines. The large round eyes are a pair of gleaming rubies, and the tough skin that hinges the joints of the limbs together is of the same hue as the eyes. Such is the appearance of the living Velvet Fiddler; the museum specimens lack much of his brightness and beauty.

The name of Fiddler has been given to him, according to Mr. Gosse, “because the see-saw motion of the bent and flattened joints of the oar-feet is so much like that of a fiddler’s elbow.” You will, I am sure, agree that this is a satisfactory explanation when you see the Velvet Fiddler flinging these feet about in a perfectly unnecessary, and ineffectual manner, considering that he is out of water. When we disturb him during our exploration of the drang, he puts up his pincer-claws in similar fashion to the tactics adopted by the Shore Crab; but we are not to be alarmed in that manner. Pretending to hit him between the eyes with one hand, we slip the other behind him, and catch the longest part of his carapace between our finger and thumb, and his kicks and threats are thrown away.

There are seven other species of Swimming-crabs belonging to this genus, Portunus, found in British waters, but as they all inhabit deep water, and can be obtained only with the dredge, or by arrangement with the crabbers, who regretfully find them in their pots, they are not likely to thrust themselves on the notice of the shore-naturalist.

Gazing into the rock-pools, an observer who was acquainted with molluscan life, but not with the Crustacea, would be astonished at the marvellous rate at which winkles, dog-whelks, tops, and other shells move over the bottom; but if he lifted one of these he would discover that the builder of the house had given up possession, and a tenant had taken it for a term. This tenant is one or other of a dozen species of crabs known indiscriminately to the great British Public as the Hermit Crab or Soldier Crab. The fact that it shuts itself up in a solitary cell is sufficient to account for its name of Hermit-crab; and a strong tendency to wage war upon a fellow crab, who may live in a slightly larger shell, is probably the reason for its military name. The Hermit-crabs are among the curiosities of crab life—though for the matter of that, so are all crabs. If there were but one species, we could say it was singular in the fact that the carapace is reduced to the smallest proportions, and the greater part of the crab’s body without a shell of its own secretion. Nature has been unkind to it in this respect, so the first thought or prompting in the baby Hermit is to look around for a deserted gasteropod-shell. It must be an exceedingly small one to fit him, but he will find plenty such. It has been a matter for considerable debate whether the Hermit is content with an abandoned shell, of which the builder is dead, or whether he first murders and eats the original owner, and then takes possession of his victim’s real estate. It is remarkable that naturalists should raise such a question, for anyone who has had any acquaintance with mollusks must know that if a Hermit-crab were to kill, say a Purple, a Top, or a Winkle, he would not be able to get the dead body cleaned out of the shell until putrescence had loosened the muscular attachment. The Hermit could not wait for this process, and therefore I imagine this theory must stand aside until observers have actually seen the crabs in a state of nature forcibly ejecting the mollusk, and appropriating its shell. But it is pretty certain that the Hermits do rob each other of desirable shells, not always with good judgment. A Hermit in my possession lived in a large Top-shell, but coveted a smaller, though large Winkle-shell, which was inhabited by a brother Hermit. For about a week these two were dodging and chasing each other, but to no purpose, for each is powerless to make any impression when the other suddenly shuts himself in his shell with a snap, leaving only the tips of his claws blocking the entrance. However, by some means he got his brother ejected, and eaten by a Shanny; he quitting his own commodious Top-shell and putting on the Winkle-shell. He was evidently trying hard to persuade himself that it was a splendid fit and most becoming; but the whole business was absurd. The shell was so small that it did not protect his soft parts, and in case of danger he could not defend himself from an attack in the rear. To add to his troubles he cast his natural shell, and was, of course, much larger than before. For a day or two he still pretended that he lived in a sufficiently roomy house; then I suppose the pressure on his abdomen became awkward at dinner time, for he publicly owned up that he had committed an error of judgment, quitted the Winkle-shell, and resumed possession of his old top-coat, though this necessitated another murder. After he had vacated it a much smaller individual took possession, but as he fitted very loosely it was no very difficult matter for the previous owner to have him out “by the scruff of his neck,” and give him his quietus.

The most familiar of the Hermits is Eupagurus bernhardus, the Common Hermit-crab, but we are not likely to find full-grown individuals, which keep out in deep water. When full grown, they are about five inches long, and house themselves in large Whelk-shells. The characters by which this species may be distinguished are: the right pincer-claw (cheliped) is usually much larger than the left, and the plentiful granulations of its surface are almost large enough to be described as tubercles; the last joints of the second and third pairs of legs are edged on the upper side with spiny teeth, and they are a wee bit twisted.

Prideaux’s Hermit-crab (Eupagurus prideaux), is so-called because Dr. Leach, who first identified it as a species distinct from E. bernhardus, received it from his friend Prideaux, who had taken large numbers of it in Plymouth Sound. The granulations of the pincer-claws are much smaller than in bernhardus, and whereas the next joint to the pincers in the latter species has its inner margin decorated with a row of spines, those in prideaux are innocent tubercles. Then, again, the second and third pairs of legs are nearly smooth, and their last joints have no twist, but instead have a groove carved in each side; the eye-stalks are stouter and the inner antennæ longer than in the Common species. It does not attain such large proportions as bernhardus. An interesting point in the natural history of prideaux, is the friendly relations subsisting between it and a peculiar species of anemone—the so-called Cloaklet (Adamsia palliata)—which attaches itself to the shell serving as the Hermit’s cell, and spreads its base out in two lobes, that almost encircle the mouth of the shell. There is no doubt that this commensalism, as such alliances are called by naturalists, is of advantage to both parties to it: the anemone is thus brought into contact with food at the Hermit’s own table, so-to-speak, and the crab may be in turn protected from the cavernous jaws of fishes, whose gorge rises at the nauseous odour of all anemones. Several such alliances are known in connection with other species of Hermits.

To return to our overhauling of stones: this should be done with care, especially when we are dealing with large masses. I have, when serving my apprenticeship at this kind of work, years ago, had the misfortune, on more than one occasion, to so miscalculate the weight and shape of a large stone, that it has fallen with greater force and in a different direction from that expected—and my toes have been on the spot where it fell! But apart from such accidents, the stone must be turned sharply, or the queer creatures which Nature has specially contrived for living beneath it, will vanish into holes, under other stones, in the sand or mud, or in some other manner.

Among those that require a sharp eye to see them is the Hairy Porcelain Crab, Shaggy Flat-crab, or Broad-claw (Porcellana platycheles). Here is his portrait, but it is only fair to the reader I should explain that, like many other portraits, it was taken after the subject of it had been carefully washed and brushed up. Platycheles is a ragamuffin, a crustacean mud-lark. There is none other like him in the whole range of British crab life, though several are fond of dressing themselves up in a variety of living rubbish; but they do not get themselves so bedaubed with mud on a coast where mud has to be searched for if wanted. He has really made it one of the objects of his life to collect that mud, particle by particle, and entangle it in the luxuriant crop of hair with which he is covered. He is a little fellow—only measuring about half an inch from back to front edges of the carapace—and I suppose, were he built upon the same plan as other crabs, he would be smaller, if only the same quantity of material were to be allowed; for he is flattened out, and looks as though he had at one time formed part of a travelling show and the fat woman had sat upon him. His body is flat, but his pincer-claws are flatter, and the area of each of the latter is equal to that of his carapace; they are enormous. And yet, if he had the sense to keep still when the stone is overturned, you would probably fail to see him; he sits so tightly, and presses the cleaner side of him to the stone. But he has that fatal crabbiness, the desire to fight, and whilst he is sidling off somewhere, he thinks he may as well give you a nip, and he puts up one of his massive-looking pincers, and grips your finger with spirit. With your other hand you grip the offending pincer, and say, “Aha! my friend, you’ve caught a Tartar this time; let go!” He does, but instead of loosing his hold on your finger, he just touches a spring or some other mechanism, and separates his claw from his body without any compunction whatever, whilst his other claws and his body go sliddering off beneath the stone again.

If you catch your Broad-claw young, you will find that his upper surfaces are of a ruddy-brown tint, with hair to match, but when he has got this well filled up with filth, he might pass for a daub of mud. Hold him over on his back, if you can, and you will understand why he is called Porcelain crab. He is smooth and comparatively clean beneath, and his under surface is of a creamy-white colour.

Broad-claw has an equally odd-looking relative, the Minute Porcelain Crab (Porcellana longicornis), which really belongs to deeper waters than our researches at present extend to, but one or two can usually be found under, or among, the stones at extreme low tide. Its colour is red, and its carapace comes very near to being circular. It has not that depressed appearance that makes you pity platycheles for having to support such heavy stones upon his back; in truth, the circularity of the carapace, its convexity, and the fact that it has some depth as well as breadth, makes it appear almost rotund. Its larger pincer-claw is almost three times the length of the carapace; the other about one-third less, and not nearly so thick. They are both rugged in character, and convex, the larger being slightly keeled on top, and the lesser strongly keeled and grooved. The antennæ are very long, a circumstance to which the creature owes its second name. There is very little hair about this species, and consequently he is able to keep himself clean and neat.