TWO CITIZEN CRABS OF NONSUCH 



before he lies down, or the matutinal, utterly inef- 

 fective wing-flapping of the domestic rooster before 

 crowing. At a certain season of the year, our purple 

 land crabs are troubled with an ancestral memory of 

 the necessity of leaving the sea and reascending to 

 the highest possible points of safety. And here on 

 Nonsuch there is a single annual impulse, irresisti- 

 ble on the part of females whose breeding season 

 has just passed, to climb trees, porches, buildings, 

 roofs, even chimneys. There they remain with just 

 about as much reason as human tree-roosting record 

 seekers, until they are blown down, or become tired, 

 or the ancestral instinct loses its grip. 



As a matter of fact one might remain for many 

 weeks on Nonsuch without seeing one of these land 

 crabs which are among the island's most numerous 

 inhabitants. Only the multitude of holes indicates 

 that there is a race of mysterious troglodytes in- 

 habiting every diggable square yard. A combina- 

 tion of rain and warmth seems to be the open 

 sesame, and one day in early spring word passes 

 around by some method more mysterious than wire- 

 less, and at the entrance of hundreds of holes can 

 be seen a glint of scarlet. For a few days the crabs 

 are shy and pop in and out of their tunnels as I 

 go by. 



Then simultaneously fear passes from all the 

 crabs and in the shade of the cedars, scores of the 

 jolly little chaps scramble about. Pigmentally they 

 are most artistic additions to the dark green of their 

 background, for their bodies are tinted with warm 



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