The Zoologist/4th series, vol 6 (1902)/Issue 732/Editorial Gleanings

by editor W.L. Distant

 

EDITORIAL GLEANINGS.

 

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One of the most interesting exhibits at the Conversazione of the Royal Society on May 14th was that made by the Marine Biological Association with reference to the scales of fishes as an index of age. The scales of many fishes show a series of parallel eccentric lines, which indicate successive increments of growth. These lines of growth have been found to be more widely separated in that part of the scale formed during the warm season of the year than in the portion formed during the cold season. The alternation of the two series gives rise to the appearance of "annual rings," which indicate the age of the fish in years. The markings are subject to individual variation, and Mr. J. Stuart Thomson has been engaged on their investigation in fish of different species captured at all seasons of the year. His results show that it is possible to determine the age of individual fishes of many species with considerable precision—a conclusion which will greatly facilitate the study of other points in the natural history of fishes, and has important practical applications.

Lewenhoeck long since observed that from carefully examining the scales of fish through a high magnifier, you may easily ascertain its age, from the first scale to the last, which are never shed.

 

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Nature's reign of terror at Martinique has affected all animals alike—man and his more humble relatives. We read of a "panic of the dumb animals" in the daily press. Records of previous earthquakes and volcanic eruptions mention that most animals have a sort of premonition of what is going to happen, even when there are no perceptible tremblings, and hasten from the neighbourhood of danger. Such was the case at St. Pierre, it would seem from a 'New York Herald' telegram. The correspondent quoted by the 'Daily Telegraph' says:—"Even before Mont Pelée began to rumble late in April, live stock became uneasy, and at times were almost uncontrollable. Cattle lowed in the night, dogs howled and sought the company of their masters, and when driven forth they gave every evidence of fear. Wild animals disappeared from the vicinity of Mont Pelée. Even snakes, which at ordinary times are found in great numbers near the volcano, crawled away. Birds ceased singing, and left the trees that shaded the sides of the mountain. A great fear seemed to be upon the island, and though it was shared by human inhabitants, they alone neglected to protect themselves."

 

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We have received the Report of the "Breydon Wild Birds Protection Society" for the seasons 1898–1901. This Society is doing a work that should receive the support of all British ornithologists. It particularly concerns itself with the protection of Spoonbills, which again show a tendency to make a permanent residence at Yarmouth. That this protection is much needed the present writer can testify. Last Eastertime he was shown a specimen, purchased from a London purveyor, and said to have come from Caithness. This locality he at once denied, and further enquiries elicited the new locality "Suffolk." It was doubtless a Breydon bird! It need scarcely be said that the Society requires funds, and to those willing and able to assist, we may give the address where subscriptions will be heartily welcomed:—Henry P. Frederick, Hon. Sec, 3, South Quay, Great Yarmouth.

 

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We extract the following from the 'Veld,' an excellently illustrated monthly, published at Cape Town:—"Forty years ago whaling was a prosperous industry at the Cape of Good Hope, and several whaling stations, with their boats and crews, were situated all round the peninsula. At Sea Point the fishery was known as Grainger's, and when a certain flag was hoisted on the Lion's Rump it was known that a Whale was in the Bay, and that Grainger was after it. The only survivor of these stations is that at Muizenburg, and the Aurets are now the only regular whalers in these regions; although, should a 'fish' put in an appearance in any of our waters, our fishermen are prepared, at very short notice, to give him a hot time. Year by year the Aurets manage to harpoon an odd Right Whale which has wandered north from his Antarctic fastnesses, and last year, on Sept. 27th, they made a fine capture. After a hard chase and a hot fight in the Bay the leviathan was landed on the Muizenburg beach, about a mile from the station, and the next morning the process of cutting up began at an early hour. A great number of people came from Cape Town to see the sight, and the Muizenburg beach was quite lively with comers and goers. The Whale-beef—coarse loose flesh—was eagerly carried off by coloured people, who evidently esteem it a dainty. The blubber, which lies immediately under the skin to the depth of ten or twelve inches, was next taken off in long strips, and carried to huge tubs provided for the purpose. This, when 'tried' or boiled down, furnishes the oil. The most valuable part of the creature is, however, the strainer in its cheeks and throat. This is the whalebone, which nowadays fetches about thirty shillings a pound. At Kalk Bay the folk say that the Whale referred to was worth about £600. It is 45 ft. in length, and the flukes of the tail measured 15 ft. across.

 

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In the 'Wide World Magazine' for May, Mr. C.E. Borchgrevinck contributes an article on "Penguins and their Ways." In our previous volume (p. 192) we gave a notice, with some extracts, of Mr. Borchgrevinck's volume, 'First on the Antarctic Continent,' and the present article supplements the Penguin narrative.

"When we arrived at Victoria Land in the 'Southern Cross,' in February, 1899, only a few Penguins were left, most having gone northwards. We had met them in shoals in the open water, where they jumped about like so many Porpoises round our vessel. Only some stragglers were left on the triangular peninsula at Cape Adare. Not many days after we had landed the last Penguin dived into the sea, and left us to face the stern Antarctic winter alone. Until that memorable Antarctic spring day came, the 14th of October, 1899, no Penguins were to be seen. On that date one lonely old Penguin waddled slowly towards our camp just as the zoologist of the expedition^[1] was dying. That first poor Penguin was also destined to meet death on the date of its arrival, for, at the wish of the dying man in the hut, we killed it, as he wanted to examine it.

"Next day several more Penguins arrived, although there was no open water near the coast. They had evidently walked great distances. Soon a continual stream of Penguins walked towards us from over the immense white expanse; they looked for all the world like so many small people rolling from one side to another, with their flippers outstretched like short arms to maintain their equilibrium. They were not in the least frightened of us. Perchance they took us for a new kind of Penguin! Certain it is that they came up to us, walked round about us, and evidently discussed us—in short, examined us thoroughly—before they again started off on the march towards their breeding-places. It was curious to see how they stuck to their Indian-file method of progression, one always travelling in the step of the preceding one, until long tracks in the snow, winding in and out between the ice-blocks, were to be seen towards Cape Adare.

"The only deviation from these acknowledged tracks was made when one or more of us ten human beings appeared near their road. Then the Penguin who first discovered us, with a hoarse little croak, would break the line and start off towards us. On reaching us he would stop, and gradually all the Penguins would stop behind him, in the same way as railway carriages stop when the engine ahead is pulled up. The first Penguin, having inspected us from one point of view, would start to walk round us, the others gravely following. The first birds, having satisfied their curiosity, started off, joining the main track by a short cut. Looking at them from behind, the contours of their dark backs stood sharply cut out against the white snow. This, in addition to their slow gait, their frequent halts, their grave and unearthly silence while walking in their ordered lines, irresistibly conveyed to the human mind an impression of a Lilliputian funeral procession."

 

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The Essex Field Club has reached maturity, and its "coming of age" was the subject of an address by its president, Prof. Meldola, of which we have received a copy. As we read:—The actual work accomplished down to the present time will be found in the nineteen volumes of publications; five volumes of 'Transactions' and 'Proceedings,' and, commencing in 1887, eleven volumes of the 'Essex Naturalist,' together with the three volumes of 'Special Memoirs.' It is not only by the number of printed pages, however, that the work will be judged in the future. A study of the contents of these nineteen volumes will show that the Club has on the whole kept faithfully to the programme as set forth in its original rules:—"The investigation of the natural history, geology, and archaeology of the County of Essex (special attention being given to the fauna, flora, geology, and antiquities of Epping Forest); the publication of the results of such investigations, &c."

 

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We learn from the Report of the Hampstead Scientific Society for the year 1901, that it is hoped that the material for the publication of "The Fauna and Flora of Hampstead and its Neighbourhood" will be sufficiently advanced for the first part to appear in the autumn of 1902. The General Editors are Mr. Basil W. Martin and Dr. J.W. Williams, with the assistance of Messrs. Hugh Findon, Montagu F. Hopson, C.S. Nicholson, the Rev. F.A. Walker, and Mr. James E. Whiting.

 

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1. Nikolai Hanson.