John George Francis

THE CONTENTS OF A GOOD BEACH, AND HOW TO OBTAIN THEM.

I have always been fond of trying conclusions with Nature at first hand. When a boy at school, I learnt to swim by following some bigger boys, who could swim already, into water which was quite out of all our depths.

I had never till then tried, except in shallow places, which, whatever people may think, afford no criterion of how it will fare with you in a drowning current. On this occasion we swam about fifty yards, in ten-foot water, not without trepidation at first on my part, but towards the end I gained breath and confidence. After that, I never had any difficulty, whether in lakes or rivers, and I have ventured into scores of them at all seasons, and that without the slightest previous notice of their depth or temperature.

In like manner, I am convinced that to master anything, whether bodily or intellectual, the all-important point is to make a genuine effort of our own. Books may do something for us; teachers, if we can afford them, something more; but we must do the main part ourselves.

I am reminded of the above in proposing to describe a good beach. A lapidary once said to me, “Sir, you know this bit of the coast as well as I do myself.” It was a high compliment, but it was not unmerited. The truth is, I possess “memoranda,” jotted down from time to time, of divers beaches and their usual contents, and I find that, omitting all mention of bare reefs in shale and sandstone, or long reaches of sand, which are of continual occurrence, there remain some forty odd miles of shingle lying in three different parts of the English coast, with the character of which I am thoroughly well acquainted.

Some of these beaches are very superior to others, and I select such for description.

Amid countless boulders of flint, and heaps of hardened gravel, we have upon a good beach certain smooth, translucent pebbles, and we have fossil petrifactions enveloped in an opaque crust, and we have the variegated jaspers and moss-agates.

Our semi-pellucid stones were, with the exception of an occasional bit of “bloodstone,” the only pebbles of native growth known in Britain half a century ago. They consist of two or three varieties of agate, two of carnelian, and one of the crystal called an aquamarine. The presence of this latter on the coast is a mere accident, as it is for the most part a far-inland production, the growth of granitic rocks.

Agates and carnelians were once of frequent occurrence, but they have now become scarce. Their brilliancy insures their being instantly seen, when not buried under the loose shingle.

AGATE, with us, is always found smooth, and some of the best specimens are indented on the sides, as if they had been subjected to a pinch or pressure while in a soft state. As this substance is not met with under the spiked form of a crystal, we may suppose that it never was crystallized.

It is not laminar, like the diamond, nor coated, like a pearl, but one simple concretion. It contains some alumina, but more silica, and is probably one form of the onyx-stone. It is seldom very bright, being more or less debased with earthy particles, but it is a pretty thing to pick up, and it takes a high polish on the wheel of the lapidary. I believe it is harder than jasper, but perhaps scarcely so tough.

In England, we find the agates greenish white, lemon colour, or dark grey; and on the island of Iona, hard by the ruined monastery, they are picked up of a soft green hue, and as clear as a chrysolite. The best lump of agate I ever saw came from an unfrequented bay in the Isle of Wight; the colours were dullish, but in texture it approached an oriental onyx, and it weighed above a pound. I know of no equal specimen in the collection of the British Museum.

CARNELIAN, which is our purest form of chalcedony, is undoubtedly a more beautiful stone than the agate. This is either milk-white or of a deep red. The latter tint is becoming scarce in Britain, having been much sought out for the manufacture of seals and ring-stones, but now that “sards” are so much in vogue, the real carnelian may get a respite and appear in force again, as salmon have sometimes been known to do in their native streams after falling off for many years.

The “sard” may be considered as the carnelian of the desert, or the “carnelian” as the sard of the seashore. Sards are plentiful in the east. Travellers, whose path lies over the waste plains and sandy reaches of Egypt or Lybia, should pick up any darkly-tinted pebble they may descry on the surface of the ground: it is probably a sard, perchance a valuable specimen. One day, in homely Brighton, stepping into a lapidary’s, I found upon his counter half-a-dozen unusual-looking stones already cut in two, and some of them polished. “These are not English,” said I, “where did you get them?” He told me, in reply, that a gentleman just arrived from Egypt had taken these stones out of the mouth of his carpet-bag and left them with him to be dressed. I examined them closely. As I had expected, on learning the locality, one was a blood-red sard, and two others were jaspers; a fourth was curiously mottled and ribbed with chalcedony. They had been obtained without any expense, and at no trouble beyond that of stooping to pick them up, and all four were very saleable articles in the trade.

The finest red carnelians are brought from the East, but they occur also in Silesia, and splendid specimens of a dark hue have been obtained from the sands of the Rhine.

In Scotland, on the beach of St. Andrew’s, I found a pretty variety, “eyed,” but it is scarce. I have since seen similar stones, which had been picked up at Cromer or at Aldborough.

The AQUAMARINE is sometimes met with on the sea-shore at Aberystwith in North Wales, and more rarely on our eastern coast. Of course it is a crystal, which has come down from the inland rocks, and has afterwards been rolled smooth by the action of the waves among other pebbles.

The base of all our English crystals is Silica, with an admixture of lime. Rock-crystal is the purest form of Silica. Common spar is a carbonate of lime. The black or grey flints, which are shed in myriads from many a chalk-cliff, are “Silex” much debased; some dark, viscous matter, such as bitumen, having united, I think chemically, with the clearer substance. Quartz are the small crystals of silica; a mass of these will vary in its configuration.

Cairngorum stones are rock-crystals from the mountain of that name, deeply impregnated with iron and aluminium. The claret-coloured ones, found on Ben M’Dhui, are our nearest approach to an amethyst, and some deep-red specimens remind us of the garnet.

As I propose here to speak only of our sea-shore pebbles, I shall not dwell upon the Scotch crystals, which are, moreover, familiar to almost everybody in the ornaments of tartan dresses. Neither shall I touch upon the fluor spars of Derbyshire, or the magnificent crystals found in the mines of Cornwall and Cumberland.

All these belong to crystallography, and I am persuaded that, in our productions of the seaside, a crystallizing process has been the exception and not the rule. I will only add to what is said above, that, as far as I know, amidst the great range of tints comprised in the different crystals from Scotland and from Ireland, there is no instance of the peach-colour or delicate pink, such as are picked up on some of the “moraines” on the Alps of Savoy.

Secondly, such parts of our coast as are hemmed in by cretaceous or sandstone cliffs abound in fossil pebbles. The organisms which these inclose are, almost universally, those of zoophytes. Dendritic or vegetable markings are rare, occurring principally in the white chalcedony. A good pebble of this kind used to be called a mocha-stone; the difficulty always was how to be quite sure where it came from. Those from the Indies would generally be handsomer; while, on the other hand, an equally fine specimen from our own shores would be of treble value.

But the petrifactions described in Chapter II. may be readily obtained throughout the entire range of coast from Hastings to Selsea Bill, and further.

In gathering these pebbles, if you intend them for the cabinet, and not merely to amuse a passing hour, regard should be had to three points; the size, the pattern, and the colour. The last-mentioned, which is, nine times out of ten, the cause of average specimens being seen at all, will itself be determined by the material of which the pebble consists. Chalcedony has a bluish cast in the solid stone, especially when it is wet with brine; but where “moss” is present, this will cause a golden or red tint. Jasper, when semi-transparent, is greenish, otherwise, a blood-red.

As to size, choanites and the globular “sponges” will vary from that of a small pippin to that of a full-sized orange. Very rarely they exceed this. If the pebble be of the right sort, the larger the better: but, as a general rule, the finer ones run small.

The pattern is the most important feature; as you will soon recognize in making a collection. And this, moreover, if no injury has yet been done to the stone, decides the “contour” of the rolling beauty.

I shall not, however, say much about these patterns; not wishing to be charged with exaggeration, as I probably should be, by those who have never seen good ones, and who do not conceive of the endless varieties into which four or five colours can thus be wrought in the stony loom of Nature.

Amateurs must learn for themselves what these really are, and how to judge of them scientifically, when they pick up a fossil weighing, perhaps, a pound avoirdupois, and looking like a champion-potato. One or two hints may be ventured. If the creature was an “alcyonite,” its facsimile in stone should have the external rings or mouths clearly defined, and, if possible, equi-distant. Such a one, when cut, will exhibit its tubes evenly disposed—not unlike a section of fir-wood under the microscope. If it was an “actinia,” then the body of the zoophyte should be central in the pebble, and the tentacles will be not much melted away in a good slice.

“Sponges” must be chosen principally for their colour; in other words, for the texture of the stone. Those which exhibit the reticulations, white or straw-colour, upon a very dark ground, are the most effective generally: but the most perfect one I ever saw had a blood-red pattern upon white. For a single slice from this stone, half a guinea was offered by me, and refused.

“Choanites” are easily discerned.

The “ventriculite” must have been a creature lower down in that scale than the choanite. This fossil is repeatedly met with on our coast, but I do not admire it enough to have retained a single specimen. When alive, it would appear to have resembled, in stature and configuration, an ordinary toadstool.

VENTRICULITE. CHOANITE.

The choanite was, undoubtedly, a beautiful creature, and, as ten thousand of the family testify, abundant. Dr. Mantell said that its form, when complete, was that of a pear or fig, and I think he obtained such a fossil from the Lewes chalk, where it was growing upright on a stalk, in the way in which he afterwards depicted it. Looking over my collection, I see that I have a similar one, in black chalcedony-flint, which I picked up at Shanklin; only, in my specimen, which came from the beach, the delicate stem is, of course, gone.

The complete pyriform mound is rare, for obvious reasons. I never saw but three instances of it; the above, of my own finding, was one. Another was in pellucid white agate, spotted all over with the ends of the feelers. The third, which I also picked up, had been pounded on a rough beach, and crumbled in my hand.

Choanites and ventriculites, as animals, are supposed to be extinct. Perhaps they are so, though I do not see how any one can take upon him to pronounce as to what living organisms the great Southern Ocean may or may not contain.

The creature, however, which I admire most, as perpetuated in these marine fossils, is not a choanite, but an actinia of the “crass” kind. One of these, large and of a globular form, in which the tubular tentacles are distinctly shown, and the colour is yellow in the agate, I found, in a sequestered spot, where the deep sand must have received and sheltered it shortly after it had dropped from the cliff. The outer whitey-brown crust was unbroken: and as this crust is the cuticle of the pebble, and which always wears away first, I have no doubt of the specimen being a perfect one. It could never have undergone a rub, beyond that from soft sand or softer seaweed.

Lastly, striped jaspers and bloodstones are to be had for the seeking, on our Devonshire and Yorkshire coasts. The bloodstone is too well known to need any description; neither is there much variety or interest in a rush-green, spotted with red. But the jaspers embrace several other colours, and many lively patterns. South Devon has good ones, resembling agatized wood. Scarborough has good ones, some of them quite equal to the “weed-agate” of India. At Eastbourne, a dark-brown variety is occasionally found, which is highly prized, because it approaches the character of the Egyptian. Fine pebbles of this kind are also to be obtained in the neighbourhood of St. Alban’s, in Hertfordshire, but they are liable to be gritty.

Beside the above, which are true jaspers, scores of jasper-flints in bright red, yellow, or green, occur on almost any beach. These are simply burnt flints, containing a portion of oxide of iron. Their present condition is probably the result of extinct volcanic agency. These are not nearly so hard as the true jaspers, and their fracture is “conchoidal.”

For pleasing the eye, perhaps the choicest stone in Britain is a moss-agate, of which the pretty name yields an accurate description. The “moss” is some oxidized metal, whose ramifications form a striking contrast with the limpid chalcedony in which it seems to float like seaweed or sponge.

When a fine specimen of one of these stones has been cleverly cut, it is not unusual to obtain in its section the principal features of a mimic landscape—the clear sky, and the fuscous earth. Some, in addition, display a setting sun, &c. Such stones get the name of “landscape-pebbles.”

On the shores of Loch Tay, in Perthshire, remarkable ones are found—in which the imaginative Highlander fancies he can trace the features of his beloved mountain-scenery. Great store is set by these, on account of their pattern; but they are mostly in sepia, and white, being never suffused with warm colours, as are our marine specimens.

I may note here, finally, that to a true connoisseur, the prettiest moss-agates are not so welcome as those which exhibit a bold and haggard style. Some of the French pebbles, from the neighbourhood of Dieppe, would be very fine indeed, only that they are spoiled by an undue quantity of black “moss,” as black as mud.

Most of the above-named treasures may be obtained by any one who owns a fair amount of perseverance, provided he or she have an eye for pebbles. And nobody need be discouraged from the search, who likes them well enough to be willing to take a good deal of trouble to find them. One-half of what are counted difficulties in this life have their root and growth in our constitutional laziness, and may be overcome by a little energy. We have all of us an eye for ripe cherries and red roses, why not for pebbles?

Let me now state in a few brief paragraphs the merits of the case. People say there is luck in all things. It may be so, once or twice; I never knew it hold for a continuance. A course of practical experience in almost any department of life will bring a sure quietus to such crude fancies.

The searcher after pebbles must look to more sterling qualifications. He should have good legs, good eyes, good judgment, and—I may as well say it at once—a good temper. He should choose a likely part of an unfrequented beach: and should go down at the right hour, somewhere about half-tide, when the tide is running out.

It is as well for him to walk with the sun a little behind him, and on one side; and I would recommend him, if possible, to avoid entertaining a north-easter in his teeth.

Then he should be suitably rigged for the expedition. If he has ever fished salmon, he will need no wrinkles here: but in case not, I may specify the following. Strong ancle-boots, with double soles and on real hob-nails, and a stout woollen sock within; rough trowsers, which he will not grudge damping in the brine; and a coat of fustian or tweed, with ample pockets. When the season is wintry, add to these a warm wrapper for the neck; and, in one of his pockets, a Cording’s india-rubber cape with sleeves. A water-proof cap, with a curtain to it. No umbrella, no stick; but a light geologist’s hammer; and a canvas-bag, worked with open meshes, for the heavier specimens, which otherwise he would have to carry in his hand.

If he is going far, and it is as well to count upon eight or ten miles from home, let him carry a flask of any liquid he likes best to imbibe; together with a hunch of bread and cheese. [N.B. This will be found more sustaining than a meat-sandwich.] Lastly, a few mild cigars, not omitting the usual implements for striking a light sub dio. The fragrant weed is always a cheerful companion, and doubly welcome when your path lacks flowers: moreover, it has historical associations, which cabbages have not, and will bring to mind Sir Walter Raleigh, who was a great man.

The above rules concerning the toilet will hold good for the fair sex, mutatis mutandis. Only in addition, ladies should engage some stalwart arm to lean upon; and should on no account venture themselves among slippery rocks. As for those knights and esquires who accompany the gentle dames on such a quest, they must look to themselves. I cannot now stop to warn them of their peculiar peril; but they know what I mean. It was among the Ocean-isles that Briseis led captive the stern son of Peleus.

Above all, let the Pebble-searcher have nothing on his mind when he sets forth: no broken engagements, no crying debts. Otherwise, he may look in vain for moss-agates. Shakspeare, when he has to account for a valiant warrior and politic general, a crowned king to boot, losing the great battle of Bosworth-field, ascribes it all to the ghosts who sat heavy on his soul. Any neglected or injured creature may prove on such occasions a vengeful ghost.

Supposing your hours free, the best are those in which the daylight is most powerful: say, from ten in the morning until four in the afternoon; or, to take things in moderation, from eleven to three. A beaching expedition made thus with determinate purpose, once or twice in the course of six days, I hold to be reasonable diversion; and for matter of interest, I know of no out-door pursuit which excels it, not even Insect-catching, or Fly-fishing.

The above hints being attended to, one important point remains still to be considered. It is absolutely necessary to understand pebbles in the rough.

The more peculiar a beach is in its contents, the less will it exhibit to catch the eyes of one who has never learnt to appreciate them. Coloured seaweeds are enticingly bright; pearly shells are as evident as trinkets; but the external coat of a genuine pebble differs widely from its internal structure, and may yield to the uninitiated no indication whatever of the value of the latter. A crust of hardened lime or sandstone is a frequent envelope of the best specimens in one kind of zoophyte. The stone itself is very likely mis-shapen, and perhaps lies more than half buried in sand or shingle. Without knowing anything of the nature of these fossils, you may occasionally pick up such “darkies” at a venture; but you will never feel assured of them, you will never be able to glean them from the multitudinous gravel, as the determined Fly-fisher gets the best trout out of a pool, if you have not the pleasure of an intimate acquaintance with their species. The readiest way of acquiring this, and it is not born with anybody, is to spend a wakeful half-hour, once and again, at the board of any civil lapidary, and there thoroughly to inspect his casual store. A trifling purchase will abundantly content him in return, the more as he hopes to cut several pebbles for you.

Observe, then the peculiar way in which the outer crust of an old pebble is worn, as compared with that of one which has newly descended upon the beach. This crust or cuticle is highly suggestive, if you can once come to understand it; and as a hopeful indication of progress, you may safely assume that you do understand it, when you find that you can obtain pebbles such as nine persons out of ten somehow never “have the luck” to meet with. Sometimes a stone has parted with its original coating, and has donned another: and this operation may either be complete, or still in fieri. In the latter case, there will always be some token; either by the substance not lying evenly, or by a change in the colour of the second envelope, which becomes apparent on chipping off a fragment from its surface.

Lose no opportunity of perfecting your judgment upon any form or texture that comes in your way: for upon this will really depend what sort of collection you shall win from the bosom of the coy beach. Nothing is easier, on an average coast, than to pick up a score of showy-looking but inferior stones. Few things will be found more difficult than to bring home, as the fruit of your morning’s walk, two or three valuable specimens. And the cause of this lies not at all in luck, nor altogether in mere labour; for in all departments there are dunces who will still drudge hard. It lies in the presence or absence of sound information on the subject.

A good rule is, even early in your apprenticeship, to eschew trumpery. But beware of hasty conclusions. Some collectors will take nothing away with them from the beach which they do not feel quite sure about. This is shallow practice, for it assumes an amount of discernment which nobody possesses. I can see as far into a stone wall in this sense as most people; but I rather like to carry off occasionally an odd-looking stone which, like Bassanio’s happy casket, “rather threatens than doth promise aught.” Such a pebble may turn out a prize. The things which every one should reject without hesitation are those whose character is evident, and with it their little worth.

Mediocrity in pebbles is insufferable. Do not assume that the wet portion of a beach necessarily yields the best chances. Many pebble-hunters never get over this early delusion. On a coast which is rarely trodden, the upper range contains the richest store. And in every case, the tide runs twice in the twenty-four hours over banks which now look dry and dusty, as well as over that narrow strip which you see glistening with saline moisture. And while you cannot fail to remark a pellucid stone or fossil which is sprinkled by the wave, if your attention is caught by anything lying high and dry, the latter is probably worth stooping for.

Walk rapidly over a poor, unproductive beach; but take your time and make good use of your eyes when you find you are in the land of plenty.

If you carry a hammer with you, let it be of the right sort; a well-tempered metal, not too large to stow away in a hind-pocket, and not armed with a spike. When you have such a one, it is tolerably safe to strike even a heavy blow on a large pebble in your other hand; but if you do the same by a small one, you may chance to maim your left palm for life: because in this case there is little reaction, and the blow you deal will drive the stone. But even with large pebbles, the preferable method is to plant one foot firmly on the stone, leaving a portion exposed to your aim. If your boots are of a sensible thickness, nothing will come to grief.

Never dash pebbles down upon others in order to break them open. In the first place, you risk a wound in your face from the rebound of a fragment in what mathematicians term the “angle of reflexion,” an angle which you have probably not calculated; but besides this, you may by such imprudence destroy a valuable specimen. You can open plenty of fossil flints and waterworn jaspers in the manner I have recommended above; which knocks off a corner, and shows you the true nature of the formations you are walking upon. I have learned a good deal in this way.

Lastly, when you are landed upon a superior beach, with the promise of a few hours of open weather, use the golden opportunity and do your best.

Solomon was quite right when he said, “Whatever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.” It is evident that if you do not in foro conscientiÆ think such a hobby worth the while, you ought not to meddle with it. I quite agree that making shoes is more profitable, provided always that you have custom; although I have known more than one instance of working craftsmen who at intervals picked up some very good pebbles too.

The above rules may sound marvellously simple. I only wish that a few as simple were generally acted upon. We might then hope to see some noble collections of really instructive pebbles from our as yet little known sea-coast.