We have no intention of attempting to give in this little book an account of British marine fishes. That is a task that needs several volumes for its accomplishment. But without going from the shore we may make acquaintance with a considerable number of fishes. Where trawlers come in we may, of course, see fish of all sorts, but as in most cases the trawlers put in with their catch to the nearest market-port, we shall take no account of this method of increasing our knowledge. From time to time the local fishermen get strange things in their trammels, such as enormous angler-fishes; one day one of our fishermen got a porpoise in this way, and brought it ashore for my special benefit. But these things also I shall treat as outside our bounds, which includes only the fish we can find in the rock-pools, or under stones at low-water, or can catch from the fringing rocks as they haunt the weedy jungles of such places.
To begin, let us take some fair-sized rock-pool, between tide-marks; one with irregular walls overgrown with green and purple weeds, and pinkish coralline—with miniature caverns and clefts in the walls, and a heavy stone or two at the bottom. In such a pool—and we know hundreds such—we shall not fail for several examples of fish, though we are not likely to find all the species here named in one and the same pool. Three or four species of fish at the most is what we may expect from one pool; but in several basins within a few yards of each other we may get a greater variety.
In all probability the first species we shall see in the pool is the Smooth Blenny or Shanny (Blennius pholis), which the boys in my neighbourhood (South Cornwall) call Janny, and in other districts it is the Mulligranoc. It is a true rock-fish, never venturing into very deep water, and preferring those pools between tide-marks where it can find convenient shelter in holes, or if so inclined can climb out and pass a few hours under the moist weeds which the ebbing tide has left uncovered. But it is never many inches from the water, and on the least sign of alarm it is in the pool and invisible.
SHANNY.
In many respects it is a clumsy, heavy fish, but its quick intelligence makes up for defects of form—and we may add, makes it an interesting fish to keep in a shallow pan with a few stones. You must have the stones if you would have the Shanny comfortable, for he is strongly averse to too much publicity. He likes to see and not be seen; and his favourite attitude, so far as I have observed a number of specimens in confinement, is on his side under a stone, with the head just peeping out. In this position he appears to have one eye on the floor of the tank, the other on the surface of the water. Look at him and he follows your every movement with one eye. In this position he reminds me strongly of a dog; indeed, in certain aspects of his profile his head much resembles that of a dog. He acts like a dog, too, when he has taken a limpet unawares, and has wrested it from the rock. This is not an easy thing for a fish to do, and you might almost as well speak of taking a limpet off-guard as of catching a weasel asleep. But for some reason—perhaps to thoroughly ventilate his shell, or for the submarine equivalent for ventilation—the limpet occasionally lifts his shell so that there is about an eighth of an inch clear space between the edges of his shell and the rock. He still retains his hold by means of his powerful sucker-foot, but the wily Shanny, creeping silently up seizes the shell in his strong lips, and before the limpet can exercise his muscular powers by pulling down the shell and pinching the shanny’s lower jaw, the fish, with a shake of his head, has wrested it off the rock. He carries it about for some time, biting at the flesh and gradually reducing it in quantity.
Each Shanny occupies his own private corner or crevice of the pool and shuns the company of his fellows. In this matter he appears to be a very morose fish, and further he resents anything in the way of a friendly call. Should the Shanny, who lives in the grotto about half way along the southern side of the pool, seek to call upon his neighbour who lives in that delightful retreat at the bottom of the west end, the latter will rush out at him like a mad bull and effectually put the visitor to the rout.
In every pool there are a number of juvenile Shannies of various ages and sizes, but of these the adults do not appear to take much notice. One of the most noteworthy things about the Shanny—shared I admit with many other fish, but still worthy of observation—is the rapidity with which he can make himself practically invisible. It is not easy to describe the Shanny’s coloration and markings, because it varies so much in different individuals, and even in the same individual at different times; but it may be said to be a mottling of greenish-grey or brown marks, of which the strongest elements are a series of dark broad stripes, running from the back to about half way down the sides. The whole of the upper surfaces are liberally sprinkled with small black or grey dots, and larger ones are scattered over the dorsal fin, which is continuous from above the gills right along almost to the tail, which is similarly spotted. There are very few spots on the long anal fin which is hidden when the fish is resting; but the expansive oval pectoral fins, which are often spread out widely, have the rays well-spotted.
You lift up a big stone from the bottom of a pool and out rushes a big Shanny, causing a great commotion in the water. He makes for a narrow cleft where there does not seem to be nearly sufficient room for so big a fish as he; but he has vanished. Knowing where he disappeared you rout him out again, and once more he frantically flies round and round the pool, perhaps leaping right out of the water into a tuft of overhanging Fucus serratus. But as likely as not, after dodging about for two or three turns and splashing the water about, he will quietly drop to the coralline-covered floor right under your eyes, and you cannot see him. So admirably does the indefinite marking of his upper surface harmonise with the coralline and other matters, that he has become as invisible as a nightjar on the moorland, or as certain moths on lichen-covered tree-trunks. It will do you no harm to carefully scrutinise every millimetre of the pool’s floor until you have detected the Shanny’s whereabouts, but probably you will be assisted in this by the Shanny himself, who, observing your quietness, will imagine all danger is past and make a move.
Juvenile Shannies, though as ready to rush into cover as their elders, are endowed with considerable curiosity; and if in early summer you come upon a dozen of them sporting about a rock-pool, and will lie down with your head and shoulders over the water, you will find that their inquisitiveness is greater than their fear. One after another will come from his retreat among the weeds and look up at you, rolling his little eyes knowingly. Then they will creep up the sides of the pool, using their ventral fins as feet, until their muzzles are out of water. Dip in the tip of a finger, and they all vanish for a moment; then out they come again, and slowly approach until they reach your finger; they attempt to bite it, but their mouths are as yet too small, and then rush off again. So you may keep them employed for some time, and it will not be many minutes before several prawns join in the fun. This may read like an ordinary “fish-story,” but it is a fact that may be verified by any visitor to a rocky shore.
Next to the Shanny we shall probably find the most reliable fish as a pool habitué is the Father Lasher, Horny Cobbler, or Sting-fish (Cottus scorpio). Put but the point of a stick in the pool where the Father Lasher has his retreat under a stone, or drop a winkle or a pebble in; in an instant he is out with open mouth ready to swallow anything not too large for his very capacious maw. His singular name appears to have been given to him on account of his pugnacity and the villainous expression of his countenance, which are supposed to belong to a creature who would not hesitate to give his own parent a thrashing. My own opinion, based upon considerable personal acquaintance with the Father Lasher is, that he is not nearly so villainous as he looks. His case is similar to that of the bull-dog, whose face is no index to the qualities of heart I am told he possesses. The artists have not been fortunate in depicting the Father Lasher, and I am not greatly surprised, for even the camera fails to give a correct and life-like impression of him, which depends not alone upon curves and lines, but upon colour also.
In some respects he resembles the Shanny in build, but is much broader across the head and shoulders. He has the same wealth of fins, though the dorsal fins are not continuous as in the Shanny, and the fin rays though stout are soft. There is an inclination towards the tadpole form, especially on the underside, and this tendency is exaggerated by the fish puffing out his gills and sticking out his pectoral fins when threatened or alarmed—or when he wishes to inspire with awe. Just behind each eye and at the top of each gill-cover he has a bony spine, with smaller ones all over his head, and the inflation of his jaws and gills is for the purpose of forcing these out. Whether he makes any use of them in actual warfare I am unable to state, but they certainly add to his ferocious aspect, and in that way may protect him from many assaults. The more barbarous of the coast-boys delight in fixing corks to these spines, and setting Father Lasher free, get amusement out of his vain efforts to seek his hole at the bottom of the pool.
The Father Lasher’s colouring is a confusion of bands and circles and spots; of browns and greens and greys; a serviceable coat that harmonises well with all its surroundings, and one that is capable of adaptation when the fish moves from a bare rock basin to one that has a coralline lining. It can change from dark to light, or vice versâ. I have had them almost white by keeping them in a white porcelain dish. The underside is delicate yellow, or pearly white, or iridescent green with darker mottlings.
In his native pool the Father Lasher likes to take up his quarters under a stone at the bottom, from which he can suddenly rush out at anything he sees move across his field of vision. He does not wait to see what it is; sufficient that it moves. Satisfied that movement is a sign of life, he secures it in his cavern-like mouth, and then finds out whether it is a palatable morsel or not; if not, it is summarily ejected and, as he thinks, no harm is done. An angler who simply desires sport can get it in a pool where lives a Father Lasher. Drop down a baited hook, and it will soon be seized by him, but, as he immediately retires to his den to chew it over, you may pull and pull before you get him out. Probably you will lose several hooks before you secure your fish. He is not at all a bad subject for an aquarium proportioned to his size, and he soon becomes quite affable, allowing himself to be taken out to exhibit the beautiful marbling of his underside to friends. For this purpose I have held him gently with my finger and thumb behind his pectoral fins, when he would obligingly open his enormous mouth to show how well the jaws and palate are furnished with teeth. When fully grown he attains a length of five or six inches.
Our illustration on page 251 contains a portrait of the long and slender Worm Pipe-fish (Syngnathus lumbriciformis), besides that of the Father Lasher. A more striking contrast could not be desired between fishes of the same length, for the Father Lasher is thick and spiny, whilst the Worm Pipe-fish almost comes within the definition of a line, “length without breadth,” and in addition he is as smooth as an eel, though of harder exterior. This little fellow might more easily pass muster as a worm than as a fish. It will more frequently be found under stones at low-water, but occasionally we shall find it in the pool twining S-shaped round some seaweed.
The peculiarity of the pipe-fishes, of which we have several native species, is to have these long tapering bodies, with the snout drawn out into the form of a beak, but which instead of separating into two mandibles, opens only at the extremity with a little mouth. Another distinguishing feature is found in the gills: instead of these being a series of crimson frills covered by a large plate, fixed only by a small portion of its edge, and freely opening to allow the passage of water to and from them, their blood-vessels are gathered into little tufts which are arranged in pairs. These are all covered in by a bony plate that is fixed all round, with the exception of a small opening near the top edge. Then instead of the body being covered with scales as in many, or most, fishes, these are encased in large plates of mail. In the male of our Greater Pipe-fish or Greater Sea Adder (S. acus), there is another remarkable item in the shape of a marsupial pouch of the same practical value as that of the Kangaroo, into which the female transfers her eggs, and where they not only remain until they are hatched, but the young fish also use it as a shelter for a time, coming home unfailingly to roost. This is a fish that may be taken freely among the weeds of bays and harbours, and as it reaches a length of from twelve to fifteen inches, it is a giant compared with the little Worm Pipe-fish.
The Worm Pipe-fish has no fins except that along the back (dorsal), and its tail-fin is almost non-existent; it can, however, be found by looking for it. It has no marsupial pouch, but the female contrives to transfer her eggs to the abdomen of the male, where each sinks into a little pit in which it is held until hatched. How this is accomplished I have not observed; but as I have found the strings of ova independently in my aquaria, I should suppose the male presses his body upon them until they adhere. These eggs are one millimetre in diameter, amber-coloured, and opalescent. They are firmly attached together in rows of twos or threes, and these rows in circular strings. They are firm to the touch and not at all adhesive, so the glutinous matter, necessary for their adhesion to the male, must be contributed by that parent. It is interesting to note that when these tiny creatures leave the egg the tail has a proper broad fin at its extremity and extending along both the back and underside. It has also pectoral fins; but all these except a part of that along the back become absorbed, or are otherwise got rid of as the fish grows and becomes more worm-like. So smooth and round is this species that it presents little evidence of being clothed in plates instead of scales, until one looks very closely, when the outlines of each plate will be found indicated.
If the Worm Pipe-fish be captured with care, and soon transferred to the aquarium, it will be found quite a hardy and interesting inhabitant. Of course, its comfort must be studied, and to this end you must provide a flat stone, so propped up that it is very close to the bottom of the tank, yet with sufficient space beneath for the Pipe-fish to wriggle about. I write these notes with such an arrangement before me, and as I look down through the shallow water I see five slender cylinders protruding like the barrels of tiny rifles from an ambuscade. Couch makes the extraordinary statement that, “observation seems to show that it is not able to raise itself above the ground, on which it creeps in its endeavours to escape being caught, with a serpentine motion much like that of a slow-worm.” Observation in my case serves to controvert Couch. It certainly prefers to remain under stones, and it is not constructed as a constant swimmer; but it does swim for short lengths in its pursuit of minute crustaceans, and can be very active when it pleases.
There are other blennies in the pool besides that one called the Smooth Blenny or Shanny, and among those that we fancy are young Shannies we may chance to find Montagu’s Blenny (Blennius galerita), a species easily distinguished by a crimson crest with fringed edges, which it erects on its head just above the eyes. Its tail and its pectoral fins, too, are tinged with crimson. Another Blenny, though by no means so likely to be found generally distributed along the coast is the striking Butterfly Blenny (Blennius ocellaris). It is much like the Shanny, but with larger and more rounded pectoral fins, and a much higher dorsal fin. This fin is the feature that at once enables us to identify the Butterfly among Blennies. It is often divided by one or two depressions, so that it appears to be two or three fins; but the important sign is a large deep blue spot surrounded by a light ring over the centre of the body. This eye-spot gives it the specific name ocellaris. It should also be noted that the first ray of this dorsal fin is considerably longer than the membranous portion of the fin. The colour of the fish is olive mottled with brown, but of course it varies considerably like the species we have already described. Ocellaris has two little crests upon its head similar to Montagu’s Blenny, and the Tompot as afterwards mentioned.
In the illustration of the Butterfly Blenny there is a portrait of a little rock-fish, one of the numerous tribe of Gobies. Several of them occur in the pools, among them the Rock Goby (Gobius niger), or Black Goby, as he is more often but inappropriately named, for he can scarcely be said to have any permanent colour when his hues constantly change as he changes his surroundings. Living among rocks he is more often brown than black, with lighter and darker mottlings according to circumstances.
The reader is advised to make himself acquainted with the names of the various fins, and to count the rays in each, for these vary with the species, and are often used in describing and identifying species. We have introduced the names of these already, but we think it would be an advantage to repeat them here, and then to use them throughout the remainder of this chapter.
The Dorsal fin is on the back; if more than one they are first dorsal and second dorsal.
The Pectoral fins are a pair having their origin just behind the gills.
The Ventral fins are a pair on the belly, behind and below the pectorals.
The Anal fin is single, in the middle line of the underside between the vent and the tail.
The Caudal fin is the termination of the tail, and the form of this is very important.
The Rock Goby has two dorsals, the first with six rays decreasing in length as they get further from the head; the second with fifteen rays of equal length. The pectorals are rounded behind; so are the ventrals, which are united by a membrane. The anal fin is just under the second dorsal, if we reckon from the tail forwards, but the second dorsal is longer than the anal. The space between the dorsal and anal fins is occupied by eleven or twelve lines of scales. Full-grown specimens vary from six to nine inches in length.
The species figured in our illustration (page 257) is the Little Goby (G. minutus), a fish from two to three inches in length, of a yellowish ground colour minutely stippled with brown, its sides alternately streaked with long and short dark stripes. Dorsal fins two, the first rounded, narrow from back to front; the second wide from back to front, and with slightly concave outline. It appears to be more at home on the sandy than the rocky shore.
In pools that are lavishly decorated with hanging weeds we may find a number of pretty fishes of a clear green or a rich brown colour. They are the young of the Corkwing Wrasse, or Rath, as Cornish fishermen term it (Crenilabrus melops), a species that grows only to a length of six or seven inches. The Wrasses proper (Labrus), of which we shall have something to say directly, are distinguished by the oblong form of body, by having the gill-covers laid over with scales, and by the long dorsal fin spread partly over spines and partly over soft rays. The spiny portion is the three-fifths nearest the head, the remainder being supported by soft rays. Other characters are thick, fleshy lips and protruding teeth. The Corkwing is included in the genus Crenilabrus, which is separated from Labrus on account of the margin of the first plate of the gill-covers being toothed.
CORKWING WRASSE.
In general the colouring of the Corkwing Wrasse is brown above, nicely merging into green on the sides; the gill-covers ornamented with stripes of red and green. But as we have already indicated, individuals vary much in colour. From immediately behind the head there runs parallel with the outline of the back a dark line (the lateral line), which terminates in a well-defined round black spot close to the tail. We must not look for large specimens, nor for the larger species of Wrasse, in the pools; but if we get on the edge of the rocks when the tide is coming in we are almost sure to see some of considerable size gliding in and out the waving fronds of the rock weeds. They are easily taken on a line cast from the rocks at this time, the hook being baited with pilchard or a piece of shore crab. Many are caught in this way for sport, and then handed over to the crabbers as bait for their pots. For this purpose they are much appreciated, and special pots are put down to capture “rath” for bait.
One of the commonest species is the Ballan Wrasse (Labrus maculatus), which is the Wrasse. The ground colour is usually some variation upon golden orange, and many of the scales have a large pale spot which earns for the species the name maculatus. The spines in the dorsal fin are twenty, and the soft rays ten or eleven. Certain forms are known as the Green Wrasse and the Comber Wrasse, under the impression they are distinct species, whereas they are really colour varieties of the Ballan Wrasse. The length varies in adults from fifteen inches to two feet, with a weight of eight or ten pounds.
The Cook or Cuckoo Wrasse (Labrus mixtus) is another common kind, not so large as the Ballan, but more striking in its vivid colouring. This varies from yellow to red as a ground tint, with two roughly parallel purple or bright blue thick lines running from above the eye nearly to the tail. The large eye is crimson with a purple ring round it, from which run off three short bands of blue or purple across the gill-covers. All the fins red, the fore part of the dorsal suffused with blue; a triangular patch of blue also on the upper and lower parts of the tail. The dorsal fin has eighteen spines and thirteen soft rays.
Should we desire to see the life of the rocks without troubling to obtain “specimens,” it is a good plan to repair at low tide to the edge of a drang, and, selecting a station where we shall have a high rock in front of us and a channel between ourselves and that, wait until the tide turns. At first there is nothing but the rough floor of the drang, with stones and rocks of all sorts and sizes scattered untidily over it. The great broad, leathery fronds of oarweed and the smaller fronds of bladder wrack and knotted wrack hang over the rocks in great shaggy masses, and here and there, as though in utter collapse, are the flaccid forms of the green and drab Opelet Anemone. But as we are taking stock of the surroundings, there comes a ripple of water along the deeper ruts and pools of the drang. Silently it streams along filling the holes, and then gradually spreading right across the stony floor, and creeping up and up the rocks until there is an inch or more of it. Then what a change ensues. The free ends of the weeds float in the stream, the smaller weeds on the bottom pick themselves up, and shapeless masses become forms of elegance and beautiful colour. What a few minutes ago looked like the “abomination of desolation,” is now full of life. The waters are teeming with forms that seem to rise out of the ground. Certainly they did not—many of them—come in with the tide. No, they were hidden in holes, under stones, under the limp weeds, and in crevices of the rock. Here they come. Prawns in shoals, little Wrasse and big ones, the long lithe forms of Gunnel and Rockling, the attenuated Fifteen-spined Stickleback, the Weever, and many another. Our attention is taken by a waving black form near at hand, and for a few minutes we are at a loss to make out what it can be. It appears to be a plant of strange nature, for it is evidently rooted at the bottom. And then a suspicion arises that the swaying and waving of the ribbon is not entirely caused by the influx of the tide, but we have not decided what it is, when up it comes with a green shore crab at the other end of it. It is a small Conger that has been struggling to bring into the light of day this crab, which it had tracked to his hole in the bottom. In such a position the crab had evidently something to cling to, but the Conger had fixed his teeth in the crab, and it was only a question of time when the crab should be unable longer to hold out. The Conger is rapidly off to his own special haunt, there to eat the crab in peace.
The Conger Eel (Conger vulgaris) is for its size among the most powerful of our fishes. The largest specimens, of course, are taken in deep water, but individuals of considerable size are taken from the rocks, where they have their retreats in little caverns beneath the broad fronds of Laminaria. Jonathan Couch remarked that he had a note of a Conger that had been taken weighing one hundred and four pounds, and of another measuring seven feet two inches which weighed ninety pounds. Even much smaller monsters than this have to be treated with caution when caught, the fishermen usually striking them a smart blow on the tail to disable them and so prevent much mischief. The upper jaw of the Conger projects over the lower one, which is the reverse of what obtains among the true eels (Anguilla); the dorsal fin, too, begins much nearer, and as in the eels combines with the ventral fin to form the tail.
When on the floor of the emptied drang turning stones and lifting weeds aside, we shall probably hear a great splashing in the shallow pool behind us, and turning quickly see the waters in commotion, but fail to detect the cause. But we know from former experience that it is either a Tompot, a Gunnel, or large Rockling. Fixing our eyes upon a large stone towards which the surface ripples are setting, we advance towards it and turn it over. “There he is! quick!” But no; he is as slippery as butter and glides rapidly through our hands, though not so quickly but that we could identify him as the Gunnel or Butterfish. We set out after him again, and rout him out of the corner into which he had retired in fancied safety. Next time he attempts to shelter under a stone where there is a cavity only large enough to accommodate his head and shoulders, but ostrich like, he thinks he is wholly concealed. Keeping our shrimp-net close up, we seize him just behind the head, but with a rapid turn his head is withdrawn from the hole and his body glides through our hand again, and he rushes headlong into the net. Safe this time, and soon he is transferred to the glass jam-jar where we can admire his lithe form.
GUNNEL.
The Gunnel (Centronotus gunnellus) looks as though by continually pushing his way through narrow crevices in the rocks, he had become laterally flattened. Were he a little rounded we might say his shape was eel-like, for he is very long, and his dorsal fin stretches from above the pectoral fin along to the root of the tail. On the lower side the anal fin similarly extends to the tail, but neither of them merge into the tail-fin as in the Conger. The colour is a yellowish-brown, darker on the upper side, which is slightly mottled. Pectoral fins yellowish. Close up to the dorsal fin on each side of the back is a series of from eight to twelve—usually nine—very dark round spots, each encircled with pale brown. The head tapers gently from the dorsal fin to the small, equal jaws. It is generally known as Butterfish, and anyone who has undertaken to capture one with his hands alone will appreciate the fitness of the name, for it is so slippery that it might have been freshly greased.
Other local names for it are Swordick, in allusion to its sword-shape; and Nine-eyes, suggested by the ocelli on its back. The name by which it is best known in books is the Gunnel, which originated in a singular manner, according to Couch. It appears that John Ray, the celebrated naturalist, made his acquaintance with this fish on the Cornish coast, where it is common, and applied to a native for its name. The native was probably a fisherman, one of a class that takes little account of the inhabitants of the deep unless they are marketable sorts. He knew no more about it than John Ray did, but casting around for some analogy in the shape of the fish, he answered, “It looks like a gunwale” (pronounced “gunnel”). He thought it resembled the gunwale of a boat; but Ray naturally took “gunnel” to be the local name for the fish, and so he inscribed it in his book, and Gunnel has been the English book-name ever since, and has also been Latinized into gunnellus to form a scientific name.
To those who are satisfied with a cursory glance at natural objects as they flash by in life, the Rocklings might pass for Gunnels, and the Gunnel for a Rockling. The Rocklings’ colour, though more ruddy and deeper, and their general form though much rounder, are sufficiently similar to warrant the superficial observer in classing them together. Their habitat, too, is much the same as the Gunnel’s; and if we go down at low-water to the edge of the tide, and turn over the large flat stones that are there, we shall be sure to find a few Rocklings of various sizes—some a foot or more in length.
Our turning over of the stone is the signal for an excited rush, and a splashing up of the water as the Rockling dashes from stone to stone, from hole to hole. After having let him slip through our fingers, or over our hands, several times, we corner him at last, and transfer him to a large bottle in spite of his slipperiness. He proves to be the Five-bearded Rockling (Motella mustela), as we see at once by the four barbs on the upper jaw and the solitary one beneath. These are really sufficient for identification purposes, for no other of our shore-haunting fishes is decorated in precisely the same manner. However, we will briefly indicate the appearance of the fish. The dorsal fin commences at about one-third of the Rockling’s length, reckoning from the front, and continues close up to the tail. The anal fin starts a little beyond the vent and continues near to the tail below. Pectorals rounded; ventral long and pointed. Just before the beginning of the dorsal fin there is a long, narrow, and delicate membrane that looks like another dorsal fin, but is not. Of the barbs from which the fish gets its distinctive name, two are directed forwards and upwards, two forwards and outwards, whilst the fifth goes forwards and downwards.
THREE-BEARDED ROCKLING.
The Three-bearded Rockling (Motella vulgaris) is very like the last-named species, but has only one pair of barbs on the upper jaw, and a single one on the lower. Mr. R. Quiller Couch discovered that one or other of the Rocklings, probably all three—for there is another species, the Four-bearded (Motella cimbria)—build a kind of nest by jamming fragments of coralline into a cranny, and depositing their eggs in the mass as the work proceeds.
From one nest-building fish to another is a very easy transition.
The Fifteen-spined Stickleback (Gasterosteus spinachia) has long been famed to be a capital builder of nests. It is at low tide we are most likely to find this fish, though it does occasionally occur in the rock-pools higher up. We may be inclined at first sight, previous to capturing it, to regard it as one of the Pipe-fishes, already described; but its short and broad dorsal and ventral fins and its deeply-cut jaws should be sufficient to at once identify it, especially if an eye is turned to the threatening array of fifteen short stout spines that arm the back in front of the dorsal fin. Its colour varies from green to brown; in fact, the one individual changes in hue at times. It is much larger than its familiar three-spined relative of fresh-water streams and ponds, and usually attains a length of six inches. The lower jaw is longer than the upper, and both are furnished with teeth. By means of a mucus thread they are able to produce, they weave and bind together some of the softer and more delicate seaweeds, giving solidity by working in a few branching corallines, until they have elaborated a large pear-shaped mass, as big as a man’s fist. In this the eggs are deposited, and thereafter are watched assiduously by the male parent, who will brook no interference, but will fiercely attack any would-be spoiler of his nursery.
Beneath the illustration of the Stickleback on page 267, there is represented the fore-portion of the Lesser Weever (Trachinus vipera). It is not strictly a shore fish, but it has the habit, shared by a larger relative, the Greater Weever (T. draco), of half-burying itself in sand and getting left dry by the ebbing tide. It may, therefore, be found by one of my readers in one of those spits of sand that occur between the rocks, and it is mentioned here, for the sake of warning. It must not be caught in the hands like a Shanny or Gunnel, for on the gill-covers of each side there is a long, hard, and sharp spine, which the fish knows how to use with such effect that whoever handles the Weever is likely to have a badly-injured hand. Terrible stories are told by fishermen of its effects, much of which are exaggerations; there is sufficient solid basis, however, to make Weevers undesirable acquisitions, unless we require them for museum specimens.
There is a glorious, or perhaps I should say a glorified, Blenny to be obtained sometimes at low spring-tides. It is vulgarly known as the Tompot, but it has also a literary name (by which I mean a term used only in books) borrowed from the Italian, namely, Gattorugine; and its scientific pseudonym is Blennius gattorugine. Its colouring is very similar to that of the Rocklings, except that it is more finely mottled and dotted. It has the general build and facial expression of the Shanny, with the crest of Montagu’s Blenny. Its cheeks are full, its lips thick, eyes large and prominent. The dorsal fin begins immediately behind the head and continues right along the back to the rounded tail. The anal fin is continuous from the vent to the tail; the pectorals rounded, with fleshy rays, and the ventral reduced each to two fleshy processes with which it feels its way, as do other species of Blennius. It is frequently caught in crab-pots, whither it has gone for the bait, but it is in turn skewered up as bait when the crabber hauls and resets his pots. It grows to about nine inches in length. Being scaleless, like most of the rock-fishes, it is exceedingly difficult to catch with the hands.
TWO-SPOTTED SUCKER.
The last of the rock-fishes to which we propose to call attention are the Suckers (Liparis), which must be looked for under stones at low-water. One of these is the pretty little fish represented in our illustration, and known as the Two-spotted Sucker (Lepadogaster bimaculatus), a species that rarely exceeds a couple of inches in length. Its head is broad and flat, the snout sharp, and the tail rounded. The lower jaw is shorter and narrower than the upper; and the dorsal and anal fins are both remarkably short, each consisting only of a few rays (five to seven) with the connecting membrane. They are placed very far back, though widely separated from the tail. On the underside at the broadest part of the body there is a sucking organ, consisting of a double disk united to the pectoral and ventral fins, and by means of which it quickly attaches itself to stones and other objects. The general colour is orange mottled with red; but specimens have been taken of a light brown, dotted with blue. There is a beautiful eye-like spot on each side, a little behind the pectoral fin; and it is to the pair of these that the species owes its name. It should, however, be added, that specimens taken on the shore are frequently deficient in this ornamental marking. It has a trick when at rest—and these Suckers appear to be always at rest—of throwing the hinder portion of the body round until the tail and the pectoral fin nearly touch.
A much larger species is the Cornish Sucker (Lepadogaster gouani), so called because it was first obtained from the Cornish coast. It is about four inches in length, of a purple or crimson tint, the under parts more inclined to pale red. Behind the eyes are two dark spots in paler rings, and with blue centres. Near the nostrils on each side are two branched thread-like processes, but of very brief length. The dorsal fin quite occupies the hinder third of the Sucker’s back, and with the shorter anal fin runs right up to the tail.
MONTAGU’S SUCKER.
Montagu’s Sucker (Liparis montagui) belongs to another genus. It is so soft and delicate that certain yellow specimens I find attached to stones just below my study windows, look as though modelled in butter, like young Canova’s butter lion. But Couch says its general colour is chestnut-brown, lighter beneath. The head is broad and flat, the cheeks chubby, the eyes small. The dorsal fin, which is marked with irregular dusky clouds, has its fore-end just above the pectorals; it is there very slight, but a quarter of an inch further back it gently rises to its full height and continues with equal depth to the tail. The anal fin is about one-third shorter than the dorsal, the curtailment being at the fore-end. The tail and some of the fin-rays are prettily dotted with black. Like the Two-spotted Sucker it reposes with its tail beside its head.
TOPKNOT.
And now for a short time we will leave these rocks, and step across to the sandy shore that spreads for a little distance round this segment of the bay. We shall not find much animal life there, except what has been washed in with the loose weeds and rubbish. You see from the absence of rocks there is no protection, and no firm basis in the ever-shifting sands for one to make a home. It is only burrowing molluscs, a crab or two, and two or three fishes that we may expect to find. Occasionally, where the water is very clear, we may see small flat-fish swimming in their strange but elegant fashion, and when wading we may chance to put a bare foot on one that is resting on the sand, where they are invisible. Among these may be the little Topknot (Rhombus punctatus) of our figure, and the Flounder (Pleuronectes flesus).
LESSER LAUNCE OR SAND-EEL.
It is a common error to refer to the coloured upper surface of all flat-fishes as the back; but they are not depressed, they are compressed, as the position of the fins and gills should teach us. When quite young their eyes were situated one on each side of the dorsal line, but from their habit of resting always on one side at the bottom of the sea, the eye that is below gradually comes to the other side, so that in the adult flat-fish the pair are close together. The Skates and Rays, on the other hand, have been flattened from above; the mouth is underneath, where also are the gill openings, whilst the eyes, at a proportionate distance from each other, are placed symmetrically on the upper side.
If we take a trowel or spade we may succeed in digging up some specimens of the Lesser Launce (Ammodytes tobianus), often incorrectly termed the Sand-eel. He who would catch this beautiful little fish must be very quick, for if, on being dug out, it is allowed again to touch the sand, it will disappear with such speed as makes it well nigh impossible to overtake it again. Couch says it rarely goes from the sandy shores far into deep water. It swims in small schools in the quiet waters of bays and harbours where it may be seen in summer to be chased by mackerel and other fishes. It will be observed in the accompanying figure that the lower jaw is longer than the upper, and when the mouth is closed, the fleshy pointed edge of the under jaw furnishes a valuable instrument for piercing the soft sand when the Launce is thus beset by enemies. The outline of the fish is so evenly, gently tapering that there are no elevations that can offer resistance to its rapid progress through the sand. It has a clean, keen look, as though the sand had been used for scouring and sharpening it. The pectoral fins are long and narrow, but there are no ventral fins. The dorsal fin extends almost from the pectorals to the tail at one height throughout, and the same description applies to the anal fin in its course from the vent to near the tail.