BENEATH TROPIC SEAS 



shrimps, and they are happy in their generic name 

 of Alpheus, — the river-god who was the son of 

 Oceanus. Only one of their claws is developed 

 into the great snapping affair, some being right, 

 others left handed. When taken out of their 

 spongy homes, they are shy, and not until I 

 watched them, late at night, in a dull red light, 

 did they assume it dark and safe enough to become 

 active and reveal their true characters. I placed 

 a half dozen, both males and females, in a small 

 dish, and found that I had started a battle royal. 

 The snapping, it seems, is only one use of the 

 great hands. I watched two male shrimps ap- 

 proach one another, warily, with now and then a 

 mutual retreat. The big claws were held straight 

 out in front, and first one, then the other, would 

 open fire with the trigger finger, spreading it wide 

 and suddenly snapping it shut upon the stony 

 thumb with the usual loud click. This kept up 

 for some time, the blank cartridges doing no harm, 

 recalling the old Chinese battle methods of beating 

 tin cans and making faces. 



At close quarters the dud clicks ceased, and 

 a sudden melee ensued, too quick for the eye 

 to follow. An instant later, the left-handed war- 

 rior turned swiftly, struck sideways with the sharp 

 edge of his huge hand, and actually severed the 

 claw arm of his opponent. The latter held his 

 ground, and continued for a few seconds violently 

 to wriggle the stump, seemingly unaware that his 

 weapon had been shorn away, then fled headlong. 



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