The Devil-fishes. Octopi 



rocks against which it clings, and the coihng arms for the tor- 

 tuous stems of seaweed on the ocean floor. The watchful eyes 

 and the sensitive tentacles combine to bring good hunting every 

 day to the hungry ogre, the doorway of whose cave is strewn 

 with the bones of victims. 



When no longer hungry the octopus walks abroad, sliding 

 along the sandy bottom with all its arms flattened, the bulbous 

 body carried aloft. Warm, quiet waters favour the propagation 

 and general well-being of these creatures. A cold winter sends 

 them to deep water. The spawning time is the late winter 

 season, when the number greatly increases in the shallow water. 

 They come in shoals or schools during January, February and 

 March and the fishermen catch them by various means to pre- 

 vent as many as possible from spawning. Though a valuable 

 sea food in many localities, especially on the Mediterranean, in 

 others they are counted not fit to eat, and are very destructive 

 to the lobster and crab industry, also killing young fish so exten- 

 sively as to diminish the value of the fishing industries on some 

 coasts. 



Very little is known about the rate of growth and the age 

 of octopi. Specimens with arms three feet long are estimated 

 to be three or four years old. This fact is quoted from the report 

 of the Marine Biological Laboratory at Plymouth, England, 

 published in 1899. 



it is interesting to get a glimpse of the life of the octopus 

 by watching one in captivity. Many public aquaria maintain 

 octopus tanks. The inmate sits in a squat position, his eight arms 

 spread out on the bottom and singularly like the rocks in colour. 

 The body looks like a great swollen pear. The head is not unlike 

 an elephant's, though the cruel, malignant eyes are larger. 



The keeper comes to feed the octopus. A crab is dropped 

 into the water. It seems to shudder and to realise its fate, as 

 it settles. The octopus evidently sees and understands. The 

 moment the crab is dropped into the tank he spies it and rushes 

 out, his tentacles spread forward to form a hollow cone, into 

 the web at the base of the arms the crab is drawn. If its struggles 

 lend any difficulty the umbrella-like cover is thrown over it, and 

 that is the last to be seen of it. It is quick work, the tearing of 

 the victim limb from limb. The octopus has the good taste to 

 conceal the process from the public gaze. 



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