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PAGE INTRODUCTION xiii

THE OCTOPUS AND ITS RELATIVES 1

OCTOPODS I HAVE KNOWN 7

"THE TOILERS OF THE SEA" 12

THE DEVIL-FISH OF FICTION AND OF FACT 19

THE OCTOPUS OUT OF WATER 37

NEW LIMBS FOR OLD ONES 49

SPAWNING OF THE OCTOPUS 56

CUTTLES AND SQUIDS 67

ECONOMIC VALUE OF CUTTLE-FISHES 83

GIGANTIC CUTTLE-FISHES 99

INTRODUCTION.

More than 2200 years ago--nearly four centuries before the Evangelists wrote their imperishable histories of the events on which the faith of Christendom is based--Aristotle, the celebrated naturalist of Stageira, in Macedonia, recorded observations of the habits and reproduction of the Octopus which clearly show that he was more intimately acquainted with its mode of life than any writer of a later date between his day and ours.

For how many centuries before his time facts and fallacies concerning this curious animal were handed down from father to son in oral tradition, and from generation to generation in manuscript, ages before printing was invented, it is impossible to say: he occasionally quotes from the works of previous writers, and Strabo tells us that he had a good collection of books, and was the first philosopher who possessed a library of his own. But the faint glimmering of information to be derived from early bookish lore was insufficient to satisfy his desire and that of his sovereign for more complete and perfect knowledge. Alexander the Great, who, in his youth, was under his tuition for ten years, gave him, therefore, the means of extending his researches, by placing at his disposal a large sum of money and a staff of assistants. According to Pliny the latter were sent to various parts of Asia and Greece under orders to collect animals of all kinds, and by means of vivaria, fishponds, aviaries, &c., "to watch their habits so closely that nothing relating to them should remain unknown." Aristotle thus accumulated a multitude of notes and observations, many of which, though ridiculed and discredited by later zoologists, were marvellously accurate; and from them constructed a work elaborate in its details, grand in its conception and idea, and comprehensive as a general history of the Animal Kingdom.

Amongst the inhabitants of the sea therein described by him is, as I have said, the Octopus or Polypus, and many of his statements concerning it and its congeners have been remarkably confirmed by recent observations. This animal has, therefore, been long known to naturalists. The ancient Egyptians figured it amongst their hieroglyphics; the Greeks and Romans were well acquainted with it; and since the time of Homer many of the ancient poets and authors have mentioned it in their works.

There is little doubt that the idea of the Lernean Hydra, whose heads grew again when cut off by Hercules, originated from a knowledge of the Octopus. Diodorus relates of it that it had a hundred heads; Simonides says fifty; but the generally received statement is that of Apollodorus, Hyginus, &c., that it had only nine. Reduce the number by one, and we have an animal with eight out-growths from its trunk--the type of an Octopus, which is really capable of rapidly developing afresh, and replacing by new ones, one or all of its eight limbs in case of their being amputated or injured. According to the legend, Hercules dipped his arrow-heads in the gall of the hydra, and, from its poisonous nature, all the wounds he inflicted with them on his enemies proved fatal. It is worthy of notice that the ancients attributed to the Octopus the possession of a similarly venomous secretion. Thus Oppian writes:--

"The crawling preke a deadly juice contains, Injected poison fires the wounded veins."

THE OCTOPUS.

THE OCTOPUS AND ITS RELATIVES.

It is not my intention to formally portray the anatomy of the Octopus,--the nature and uses of its various organs will be sufficiently indicated in the course of my remarks,--but before giving an account of its life-history and habits, I will briefly describe its affinities, and the position it occupies in the scale of Nature.

All of these four "families" have two plume-like gills,--one on each side--and are therefore placed by Professor Owen in the "order," Dibranchiata. To this order belong also the extinct Belemnites, and the still living Spirula, only one entire specimen of which has ever been obtained, and that was in New Zealand, though its beautiful internal shells are sometimes thrown up on the shores of Devon and Cornwall.

The following diagram will help to explain the relationship of the Octopus to the rest of the cephalopoda.

It will be seen that it may be said to be first cousin to the Argonaut, or "Paper Nautilus," and second cousin to the cuttle and squid.

The Argonaut branch of the family is in possession of all the house property, which seems to have been entailed on the female line; for the paper-nautilus is, in fact, a female octopod provided with a shell in which to carry and protect her eggs. Instead of the whole of the eight arms tapering to a point, as in the octopus, two of the dorsal limbs are flattened out at their extremity, and from their membranes she secretes, and, if necessary, repairs the shell, and, by applying them closely to its outer surface on each side, holds herself within it; for it is not fastened to her body by any attaching muscles.

The male argonaut is very small,--not more than an inch in length,--and has no shell. Hence, even by eminent naturalists, as Dumeril and De Blainville, it was long regarded as doubtful whether the shell was really secreted by the female, or whether, like the hermit-crab, she borrowed for her protection the empty habitation of some other mollusc.

It is an old belief, sanctioned by Aristotle, that the broad membranous expansions of the two arms, are hoisted by the animal as sails; and that in calm weather it sits in its boat-like shell, and floats over the smooth surface of the sea, steering and paddling with its other arms; and that, when danger threatens, it lowers its masts, and sinks beneath the waves.

Oppian, in his "Halieutics," poetically expresses his opinion that it served as a model for the man who first conceived the idea of constructing a ship, and embarking on the waters:--

"If humble guess may probably divine, And trace th' improvement to the first design, Some wight of prying search, who wond'ring stood When softer gales had smoothed the dimpled flood, Observed these careless swimmers floating move, And how each blast the easy sailor drove; Hence took the hint, hence formed th' imperfect draught, And ship-like fish the future seaman taught. Then mortals tried the shelving hull to slope, To raise the mast, and twist the stronger rope, To fix the yards, let fly the crowded sails, Sweep through the curling waves, and court auspicious gales."

This pretty fable was exploded in 1837 by Captain Sander Rang, an officer of the French navy, and Port-captain at Algiers, who carefully followed up some experiments communicated to him by Mrs. Power, a French lady then residing at Messina; and the structure and purpose of the two flattened limbs is now clearly understood.

Instead of floating in its pleasure-boat over the sea, the argonaut ordinarily crawls along the bottom, carrying its shell above it, keel uppermost; and the broad extremities of the two arms are not hoisted as sails, nor allowed, when at rest, to dangle over the side of the "boat," but are used as a kind of hood by which the animal retains the shell in its proper position, as a man bearing a load on his shoulders holds it with his hands. When it comes to the surface, or progresses by swimming instead of walking, it does so in the same manner as the octopus; namely, by the forcible expulsion of water from its funnel-like tube.

Having briefly explained the generic history and relationship of the octopus, I propose to introduce to the reader some members of the family with whom I have been on friendly terms. A former casual acquaintance with some of their kinsfolk at the sea-side, ripened, afterwards, into a close and prolonged intimacy with them in their home; and I thus obtained an insight of their habits and peculiarities, many of which are very curious and interesting.

OCTOPODS I HAVE KNOWN.

It is interesting to look back to the beginning of things, to trace the progress of our knowledge of them, and to note the development of our ideas concerning them, and the change of sentiment with which they are regarded. I saw lately a dead octopus, which had acquired "a very ancient and fish-like smell," kicked about by boys in the carriage-way of a Brighton street without attracting attention; but, so strongly was public interest excited by "the dog-fish and octopus case," that the press teemed with paragraphs on the "tragic fate of an octopus," and even in the London daily papers appeared brilliantly written and kindly sympathetic leaders on the subject. The concluding paragraph of one was as follows:--"Thus was an end put to a most distinguished and useful life. Octopuses doubtless die every day, but seldom has there been an octopus who will be so much missed as the octopus at Brighton." This was prophetic. For nearly two months the loss was not repaired. Golden tench from Aldermaston, trout from Byron's Newstead, red mullet and other rarities, could not suffice to fill the void. At length, on the 1st of March, a fine specimen was received from Mevagissey, Cornwall. Then Brighton was herself again, and the officials of the Aquarium jubilant. As the spring advanced, facilities for procuring these animals increased. Specimens were sent from the French coast, and others--a dozen at a time--from the Channel Islands, until it appeared not impossible that the octopus would become so abundant, that the very dog-fishes would be satiated with them, like the apprentices with salmon, and parodying the school-boys' grace

"Mutton hot, mutton cold, Mutton new, mutton old, Mutton tender, mutton tough, Of mutton we have had enough--"

would refuse to eat one oftener than once a week.

Since then, the Brighton Aquarium has only once been without an octopus; and although the popular chief of curiosities in a marine vivarium has doubtless passed the zenith of his greatness, he still holds an honoured place amongst the "past masters" of the tanks.

After the publication in the "Times," "Land and Water" and other papers, of my notes of observations of the habits of the octopus in confinement, I was favoured with several private letters on the subject; some of them from strangers giving me interesting information concerning it, derived from their own experience, and others requesting me to decide between adverse opinions based respectively on the florid conceptions of the novelist, and the scarcely less romantic, though truthful, description of the naturalist.

"THE TOILERS OF THE SEA."

Gilliatt started on his return passage to Guernsey in joyful certainty that he had earned the fulfilment of his wishes. Deruchette would be his wife. He had saved the engine of her father's vessel, and, more than that, had recovered the old man's stolen fortune. True to his natural shrinking from observation, he timed his voyage so that he arrived in port after dark, moored his sloop with her cargo of machinery to the old ring in the harbour wall to which the "Durande's" cable used to be made fast, and then, without announcing his return to anyone, retired to a nook overhung with brambles and ivy, where he had often watched for hours--himself unseen, and his love unsuspected--the house where dwelt the mistress of his heart, and the garden in which she often walked. Near him, at the side of one of the paths, was a rustic seat. As he gazed fixedly on the windows of her chamber, and thought rapturously of his future happiness, Deruchette herself left the house and came towards him. She sat down on the bench, in his full view, and with pensive, meditative air, remained motionless, as if in a dream. The thought of speaking to her never entered his head. He saw her, was near her--that was enough for him for the moment. A sound of approaching footsteps roused her from her reverie, and him from his ecstasy. It was the young rector, the Rev. Ebenezer Caudray, who had sought her to make her an offer of marriage before leaving for England on the following morning. Unhappy Gilliatt was a witness of his pleadings, her yielding, their betrothal and embrace.

Meanwhile Lathierry had seen from his window the funnel of the "Durande" standing at the old moorings; and, scarcely believing his eyes, rushed to the harbour bell, and rang it long and violently. Amongst those who appeared was Gilliatt, who, accompanying him to his home, laid before him the bank-notes and Clubin's belt. The old man, wild with joy, confirmed his offer of his daughter's hand to the man who had so nobly won his gratitude. But Gilliatt, to his astonishment, refused her: he knew that her affections were pledged to another, and determined in his own mind that she should marry the man of her choice. The next morning he met the lovers, and, with feverish haste, insisted on the immediate performance of the marriage ceremony; dragged them to the church, where, by an artifice, he substituted his rival for himself as bridegroom, and then hurried them on board the packet-boat which was just setting sail. His work accomplished, the desperate man locked up his house, and strode along the shore to a point of land close to which the vessel bearing Ebenezer and Deruchette must pass. At its extremity was a kind of "lovers' seat," called the "Chaise Gild-Holm'-Ur," covered by the sea at every tide, and near to which he had once rescued the young cur? from drowning. There he sat, watching the craft, on the deck of which he could see the newly-wedded pair. It advanced nearer; the tide rose to his ankles:--it came opposite to him; the water reached his waist:--it passed: he watched and watched, and the tide rose and rose, until, as the vessel was lost to view, his head disappeared beneath the waves.

THE DEVIL-FISH OF FICTION AND OF FACT.

Bearing in mind that the famous story of "The Toilers of the Sea" should be regarded as a romance and not as a scientific treatise, I will now endeavour to compare the "devil-fish" of the author with the octopus of nature, and to indicate the points on which M. Hugo's representation of his "monster" is either substantially correct, partly true, or entirely unreal.

In his relation of the manner in which the octopus captures its prey, the novelist is therefore substantially in accord with nature. The points on which he chiefly errs, are--

The arms are described as "encircling Gilliatt's whole body, cutting into his ribs like cord; ... forming a ligature about his stomach; ... enfolding and constricting his diaphragm like straps; producing such compression that he could hardly breathe; ... his body almost disappearing under the folds of this horrible bandage; its knots garotting him, its contact paralysing him." The suckers are represented as being "like so many lips trying to drink your blood; ... they bury themselves to the depth of an inch in the flesh of their prisoner; ... on contact with them your muscles swell, the fibres are wrenched, and your blood gushes forth, and mixes horribly with the lymph of the mollusc."

The whole of this is fallacious. The arms of the octopus are not used as weapons of constriction, compression, or suffocation. They are eight radiating, supple, tapering thongs, in ordinary specimens from eighteen inches to two feet long, on each of which are mounted, in a double row, numerous sucking discs, which decrease in size towards the tips of the limbs, and act as so many dry cupping-glasses. There are normally about 240 of these suckers on each arm, making a total of about 1,920. I have counted more in some individuals. M. Hugo gives their number as "fifty on each arm, 400 in all;" so on this point he very much understates his case.

Desiring to have a better view than I had previously been able to obtain of that which follows the seizure of a crab by an octopus, I fastened one to a string, by which an attendant was to lower it in the water close to the glass, whilst I stood watching in front. The crab had hardly descended to the depth of two feet before an octopus for which it was not intended, and which I had not observed , shot out like a rocket from one side of the tank, opened his membranous umbrella, shut up the suspended crab within it, and darted back again to the ledge of rock on which he had been lying in ambush. There he held on, with the crab firmly pressed between his body and the stone work. As this was not what I wished, I directed my assistant to gently try to pull the bait away from him. As soon as he felt the strain, he took a firm grasp of the rock with all the suckers of seven of his arms, and, stretching the eighth aloft, coiled it round the tautened line, the suckers actually closing on the line also, as a caterpillar's foot gripes a thin twig, or a cobbler's leather pad folds round his thread when he is making a wax-end. It then became a game of "pull devil, pull baker," and the "devil-fish" won it. Noticing several jerks on the string, I thought at first they were given by the man overhead, and told him not to use too much force; but he called out, "It's not me, sir, it's the octopus: I can't move him; and he's pulling so hard that, if I don't let go, he'll break the line." "Hold on, then, and let him break it," I replied. Tug! tug! dragged the tough, strong arm of the octopus; and at the third tug the line broke, and the crab was all his own. The twine was that used for mending the seine net, and was therefore not particularly weak.

Although this experiment furnished a fresh illustration of the holding power of an octopus, it had not taught me exactly that which I wanted to know. I wished to be underneath that umbrella with the crab, or to be able to see what happened beneath it without getting wet. My plan, therefore, was to procure the seizure of the crab against the front glass, instead of against the rock-work. Our next endeavour was successful. A second crab was so fastened that the string could be withdrawn if desired, and was lowered near to a great male octopus, who generally dwelt in a nook in the west front corner of the tank. He was sleepy, and not very hungry, and required a great deal of tempting to rouse him to activity; but the sight of his favourite food overcame his laziness, and, after some demonstrative panting, puffing, and erection of his tubercles, he lunged out an arm to seize the precious morsel. It was withdrawn from his reach; and so, at last, he turned out of bed, rushed at it, and got it under him against the plate-glass, just as I desired. In a second the crab was completely pinioned. Not a movement, not a struggle was visible or possible: each leg, each claw, was grasped all over by suckers--enfolded in them--stretched out to its full extent by them. The back of the carapace was covered all over with the tenacious vacuum-discs, brought together by the adaptable contraction of the limb, and ranged in close order, shoulder to shoulder, touching each other; whilst, between those which dragged the abdominal plates towards the mouth, the black tip of the hard, horny beak was seen for a single instant protruding from the circular orifice in the centre of the radiation of the arms, and, the next, had crunched through the shell, and was buried deep in the flesh of the victim.

The action of an octopus when seizing its prey for its necessary food is very like that of a cat pouncing on a mouse, and holding it down beneath its paws. The movement is as sudden, the scuffle as brief, and the escape of the prisoner even less probable. The fate of the crab is not, really, more terrible than that of the mouse, or of a minnow swallowed by a perch; but there is a repulsiveness about the form, colour, and attitudes of its captor which invests it with a kind of tragic horror.

In the next chapter the author writes:--

The author accurately describes the action and movement of the octopus, and its utilisation of its eight arms when crawling at the bottom, or on ledges of rocks. The globose body is then turned upward, the mouth downward, and the arms sprawl along, and by grappling some fresh object drag the body after them. But he is mistaken concerning its mode of progression when swimming. After stating that in swimming, it, so to speak, sheaths and draws close together its arms, which is quite true, he continues:--

M. Hugo forcibly refers to the remarkable property of rapidly changing its colour possessed by this animal. He writes:--

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