Accidentally in Love, the Box Set:

Books 1-4 Sara Ney

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accidentally in love:
THE COMPLETE COLLECTION
Sara Ney
 contents

THE PLAYER HATER

Prologue
1. Juliet
2. Davis
3. Juliet
4. Davis
5. Juliet
6. Davis
7. Juliet
8. Davis
9. Davis
10. Juliet
Chapter 11
12. Davis
13. Juliet
14. Davis

The Mrs. Degree

1. Penelope
2. Jack
3. Penelope
4. Jack
5. Penelope
6. Jack
7. Penelope
8. Jack
9. Penelope
10. Jack
11. Penelope
12. Jack
13. Penelope
14. Jack
15. Penelope
16. Penelope
17. Jack
18. Penelope
19. Jack
20. Penelope
Epilogue

The Make Out Artist

1. Molly
2. Elias
3. Molly
4. Elias
5. Molly
6. Elias
 7. Molly
8. Eli
9. Molly
10. Eli
11. Molly
12. Eli
13. Molly
14. Eli
15. Molly
16. Eli
17. Molly
18. Eli
19. Molly
20. Eli
21. Molly
22. Eli
23. Molly
24. Eli
25. Molly
26. Eli
Epilogue

The Secret Roommate

1. Duke
2. Posey
3. Duke
4. Posey
5. Duke
6. Posey
7. Duke
8. Duke
9. Posey
10. Duke
11. Posey
12. Duke
13. Posey
14. Duke
15. Posey
16. Duke
17. Posey
18. Duke
19. Posey
20. Duke
21. Posey
Epilogue One
Epilogue Two

About Sara Ney

Also by Sara Ney
the player hater
 copyright
Copyright © 2022 by Sara Ney
Editing by Jennifer VanWyk

Proofreading by Julia Griffis

Proofreading by Shauna Casey
Cover Design by Okay Creations
Formatting by Casey Formatting
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I think I’d miss you if we never met.
-The Wedding Date
prologue
 Juliet

“I WANT you to get to know Thad better so you can know and love him the same way I do.”
My best friend is watching me earnestly from across the table at our favorite restaurant; we’re
here so Mia can bamboozle me into getting closer to her new boyfriend, a man she’s been dating for
around five months now whom she wants me to bond.
Bond with how, you say? A weekend trip with them to some place she saw online and has been
begging him to take her.
Why would I want to be the third wheel with just the two of them?
I stir the ice around my cocktail.
Mia thinks she can woo me with drinks at this posh bar we’re sitting in—a bar that serves their
concoctions in funky glasses and has the most incredible dessert—will win me over.
And under normal circumstances, she’d be right. If she were, say, asking to borrow a favorite
dress or a pair of my insanely expensive high heels—I would cave at the first sip of this delicious
nectar I’m drinking.
I take a sip from a glass shaped by the Gods—it’s shaped like a canary—filled with pink alcohol,
and warms my stomach in the most scrumptious way.
But alas, Mia is not asking to borrow clothes or expensive shoes.
She’s asking the impossible.
“I don’t want to love Thad the same way you love Thad.”
I’m never going to get giddy about him during a weekend getaway, no matter how hard she tries to
make me and her boyfriend buddies—I’d rather love him from afar.
First of all, his name is Thad.
Secondly, he looks like a douchebag—your stereotypical professional athlete who turns into a
charmer when he’s around women, at least from what I can see.
Megawatt smile.
Flexes when anyone looks at his arms.
Long, flowing hair he wears in a man bun.
Textbook player.
Mia—who is still looking hopeful on the other side of the table—is blissfully swirling her gold
drinking straw around a pretty glass containing a shiny liquid with edible gold glitter floating on the
surface.
Eventually she sighs. “Juliet. I love you, you know I do. And I also love Thad.” I cringe again at
the sound of his name while she continues. “You have got to start trying—he’s getting a complex and
beginning to think you don’t like him.”
I don’t like him.
 At all.
And why do I care that a grown man is getting a complex because he and I are not BFF’s? It’s not
my job to make him feel secure.
This is a him problem, not a Juliet problem.
“Why does he care if I like him or not?” Does he seriously expect all women to drop at his feet to
worship him because he’s good-looking, successful, and famous? Well, let me tell you something: I’m
not signing up to be the Vice-President of his Fan Club anytime soon, even though my best friend is
the President and currently recruiting new members.
No thank you, sir.
“He cares because you’re my best friend and he wants you to like him.” This time, she delivers
her sentence with an eye roll, laying on the sarcasm like syrup on waffles. “That’s why we’re going
on this quick trip. It’ll be the best way to bond instead of staying in the city with all the distractions.”
I’m being difficult and we both know it.
To be honest I didn’t actually think I was giving her boyfriend an ‘I don’t care for you’ vibe when
I was around him—I legitimately thought I was being pleasant, faking the good times and laughter for
the sake of my best friend while all along finding the dude suspect.
Guess I’m not as good an actress as I thought I was.
“Mia—you know I don’t want to third wheel it on a vacation with the two of you.” That would be
torture. “Plus, I don’t have the money to go galivant to some expensive resort for the weekend.” I
cross my arms to punctuate my sentence, daring her to argue about my financial situation.
I will not be peer pressured into a vacation with a man I don’t want to go with, although a piña
colada does sound rather tasty.
“You won’t be third wheeling it, and it would be his treat. All expenses paid.”
Free trip?
My ears twitch.
Dammit. I would kill for an all-expenses paid trip.
Mia knows I’m a sucker for a bargain and obviously plans to exploit the fact.
“So now he’s trying to bribe me?”
She laughs. “I wouldn’t use the word bribe; I would use the word coax. You’re like an animal at
the Humane Society that needs to be given treats so when an arm reaches into your cage, you don’t
gnaw it off.”
I turn my nose up at the comparison. “I object at being equated to an animal in a shelter, but also
—accurate.” I lean forward. “Tell me more about how I won’t be the third wheel. How is that
possible?”
“Thad’s best friend Halbrook will be there.”
Halbrook? Why have I never heard that name before or met this person?
“His name is Halbrook?” I can’t keep the aversion out of my voice. “What kind of name is that?”
Sounds aristocratic and stuffy.
Pompous.
“Halbrook is his last name and what everyone calls him. I think his first name is Davis?”
Good god. The man’s entire name is two last names.
It’s too much for me to handle.
I press my lips together so the laugh doesn’t burst out. “Sorry, but this is not convincing me. Why
would I want to be thrown at some dude I haven’t met yet, just so your boyfriend can show off for you
all weekend? No thanks.”
 “Juliet, I’m not asking you to do it for him; I’m asking you to do it for me.” Her hand crosses over
to my side of the table, reaching for mine. “Please come. It’s important to me.”
Mia gives my hand a beseeching squeeze, her big doe eyes seemingly helpless.
I know she’s not meaning to, but sonofabitch—she’s good at the guilt trip, that’s for sure.
Too good.
“This isn’t a big ask, Juliet, it’s a vacation. It’ll be fun.”
I hate when she’s right; this isn’t a big ask, plus it’s a free vacation. Granted, it’ll be a work in
patience but a vacation nonetheless.
“Juliet and Davis? On what planet would that combination work?”
“Juliet.” Her tone is so sharp I glance up from picking at the appetizer on the plate in front of me,
seconds away from dropping the calamari on my tongue. “I’m not asking you to date anyone—this
isn’t a setup. I’m merely pointing out the fact you will not be a third wheel. Someone else will be
there in the same boat and I’m not quite sure Davis likes me, either. These guys have trust issues.”
I’m not sure she’s being entirely honest—surely she would have mentioned these reservations
about her boyfriend’s best friend before?
I set the calamari onto the plate.
My shoulders slump in defeat. “Ugh, fine—I’ll agree to this weekend getaway. For you—not for
him—because I love you. But you have to promise; swear to God, hope to die, stick a needle in your
eyes that you won’t push me at this Halbrook Stone guy.”
“Davis Halbrook.”
“It sounds like a rock quarry.”
Mia laughs loudly. “You need to cut it out.”
I wave my hand in the air flippantly because his name does not matter. “Whatever. You have to
promise this isn’t a setup, and you’re also not going to throw your boyfriend at me and force us to be
best friends, and I don’t want to date his friend, either.”
I hold my hand out so she can commit to me in the only way two people can; with our pinkies
wrapped around one another. We hold them a few seconds before nodding our solemn vow, the
agreement more sacred than a signed contract.
“I don’t need the two of you to be best friends—I am already your best friend.”
“You know what I mean.”
Mia beams happily, pinky promise still looped through mine. “He’s a really great guy, you’ll see!
You’ll like him. It’ll be totally fun, you’ll see.”
She’s said ‘you’ll see!’ twice, but who’s keeping track?
I resume calamari consumption, dipping a piece first in the marinara then the ranch. “When is this
fantastic extravaganza happening, anyway?”
“The weekend after my birthday.”
In two weeks?
Of course her flashy boyfriend wants to whisk us away for her birthday, footing the entire bill to
some Instagram worthy resort where they’ll lie around with their perfect bodies, not gain a single
ounce from sipping froofy drinks and eating whatever they want because they both work out like
fiends.
I’ll just be along for the ride, gaining ten pounds simply by thinking about island food and fresh
waffles every morning.
Not that I’m bitter about it; I’m not, I swear.
What is wrong with you, Juliet? You should be happy for Mia, not acting like a bitter shrew.
 Jealous of all the time they spend together? Pfft, me? No!
Okay, maybe I am just a teensy, weensy bit jealous if I’m being honest, but I would never in a
million years say those words out loud.
No way.
I am happy for her; I just don’t want her heart to get broken!
A weekend away where you can keep an eye on the guy, around the clock, will be the perfect
opportunity to do that.
“Do you know where he wants to take you?” Us.
“Not yet—he wants it to be a surprise. He’s planning the entire trip himself.” She looks positively
tickled pink.
Planning the trip himself?
Oh boy.
“What should I pack, any ideas?”
Mia mulls this over as she stirs her drink. “That’s a good question—maybe a swimsuit just in
case, I can’t imagine we’d go anywhere that didn’t have a pool? I showed him two places I thought
looked amazing; one had a lake, the other has a pool.”
Lake or a pool.
I concede that it does indeed sound lovely.
I muster up some enthusiasm. “Sounds like it’s gonna be great!”
“So you’ll really come?”
“Of course I’ll come.” Ugh, who could say no to that sweet, happy face? “I love you—wouldn’t
miss it for the world.”
I down what’s left in my canary shaped glass, face scrunching up like I’ve swallowed a lemon.
one
 juliet

“WHEN YOU SAID all expenses paid getaway, I was hoping we’d end up at a tropical destination. Or
Cancun. Or, oh—I don’t know. Fiji.”
My best friend laughs at me as I step down from the black SUV and survey the same surroundings
I’ve been watching through the tinted window on our shuttle ride from the airport; acre after acre of
wooded trees coupled with the overwhelming scent of pine.
Washington nature at its finest.
A lake shimmers in the background through even more trees.
And more trees.
“Are you sure we didn’t take a wrong turn somewhere? Perhaps while the plane was zipping us
past California?”
We’d passed the cutest little town on our drive here about twenty-five minutes back. There wasn’t
much to it but a restaurant, a bank, a bar, and a gas station—but quaint, just the same. Anyway, it was
hard to see where we are in the fading sunlight.
“Where on earth are we?”
Mia glances down at the screen of her phone then holds it up into the air, squinting at it. “I have
horrible reception here but the guys are already here somewhere. At least Thad is.”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out—where here is.”
“Did you not see the big wooden sign at the entrance?” She holds her phone into the air as if a
better signal were going to beam down to her.
Um no—unless it was a sign for Disneyland, I completely missed it. Disney, by the way, happens
to be one of Mia’s favorite escapes we go to at least once a year, spending a day at Disneyland
California Adventure and a day at the hotel pool. Usually it’s the last place on earth I want to be but
I’d swap this woodsy murder trap for a park full of people in a heartbeat.
“I am so glad he decided on this place. At first I was thinking he’d choose Hawaii, but I’d seen a
sponsored ad for this place too and fell in love.” She spins, hiking boots crunching into the gravel as
she attempts a pirouette.
Hiking boots?
No one told me to pack hiking boots!
Shit.
“Why did I think we were coming to the tropics? Why! I had such high hopes I packed three
swimsuits just in case. It’s not too late to turn around and head to the Caribbean you know.” I hike the
laptop bag further up on my shoulder and scowl at her through the dark lenses of my sunnies.
“You’re so funny.” My best friend giggles. “You’ll still have a chance to put one of those suits on
if the lake isn’t freezing cold.”
 Great. “I’m not sure the lake is happening for me. Haven’t you ever heard of shrinkage?”
“Only guys have shrinkage.”
“And me—I have big dick energy, remember?”
Behind us, someone clears their throat. “Ladies, there’s a driver on his way to come grab you and
take you to the cabins. They should be here any second.” Our driver then busies himself by opening
the back of the shuttle and hauling our suitcases out the back, one heave at a time.
Mia has one.
One suitcase and a tote.
I have two suitcases and it appears that while I was packing, I was prepping for a month-long
excursion, filling it with day dresses, skirts for fancy dinners, cover-ups, cute matching pajamas—and
every lotion and potion that goes into my rigorous skincare routine.
Hey. Wrinkles don’t disappear themselves, they have to be babied, and I wanted to pack anything
and everything I might need for a fun, adventure filled weekend.
This is an adventure alright.
The engine of a vehicle echoes in the still dusk air, the sun making a slow descent in the sky as an
ATV materializes from a trail in the near distance.
It’s a four-seater, I notice as it gets closer. “It’s like an Uber in the north woods,” I joke.
Our shuttle driver begins stacking our bags into the back of the vehicle as the guy climbs out and
comes around to introduce himself.
“Missus Watley? Mia?” His hand isn’t sure which one to shake until Mia grabs hold and gives it a
firm squeeze. “Welcome. I’m Ben Sutter, the innkeeper and well, the concierge as well. Thad is
already waiting for you back at the cabins, making sure everything is perfect. If you both want to hop
on into the Gator, we’ll be at the site in a few short minutes.”
“The site?”
After thanking our shuttle driver and tipping him, we climb in, waving one last time before my
eyes fully digest our surroundings.
“…obviously I’ll be here to take you into town if you need anything, and of course, I can easily
make you reservations for any of the restaurants in town.” I can barely make out Ben’s words as we
crunch along the trail, motor and gravel and wind drowning out his welcome speech. “…also board
games and cards. Then again, you folks might enjoy the quiet time.”
Mia is nodding her head along enthusiastically.
I’ve always known she has wanted to take a trip and “rough it” for a weekend—she has a very
stressful advertising job; works crazy long hours and manages several high-profile accounts. My best
friend rarely has time off that when she does, Mia tends to spend it shopping, going to the spa, or
getting her hair and eyelashes done.
So this solitude we’re about to embark on? I’m sure it’s a welcome change.
It’s wonderful seeing her so happy but at the same time, I see nothing but blue skies and trees; not
a piña colada or hammock in sight.
I’m not spoiled, honestly.
I just wasn’t expecting this type of trip and have the fancy dresses to prove it; I totally had it in my
brain that we were going somewhere hot.
Reframe, Juliet.
Reframe.
This is a good thing—Mia needs to relax and unwind. And sure, she could have done that in a
pool with a swim up bar, but that’s neither here nor there. Or a resort with a spa, perhaps?
 Pfft.
Those come and go; the threat of poison ivy you never forget.
We approach what Ben referred to as “the site,” six shiny and modern airstream campers
converted into cabins and arranged in a half circle facing a massive lake. Each one has its own
private deck and striped awning, along with a sliding glass door facing the lake and a flickering
lantern next to its entrance.
The camper—or, let’s be real: glamper—in the center has a beautiful wildflower arch around its
small door at the front, dozens of candles glowing. On the picnic table, on the steps, in the sand going
down to the water.
“Flameless,” Ben says under his breath in case we got any ideas about burning actual candles at
the campsite.
Mia gasps as her boyfriend comes out the door holding a bouquet in one hand, crowning my bestie
with a small, hand-woven wreath in her hair, planting a kiss on her mouth.
“Happy birthday, baby.”
She flies into his arms.
“It was my birthday last week, you goof,” my friend sobs happily, melting into his embrace. “You
are too good to me.”
So tiny compared to his massive frame, Mia all but vanishes into Thad’s body, his arms like two
giant sausages, stuffed into a long-sleeve cotton tee, aka: meat casings. The dude is way too big to be
wearing tight clothes but I suppose it’s not easy finding things that fit.
I’ll give him a pass even though he’s yet to acknowledge my presence.
I shift on my heels as they stand there, continuing to hug, Thad cooing in my best friend’s hair—
she’d thrown it into a cute ponytail on the shuttle ride to the resort, always looking tidy. Jet-black
hair, petite, and sweet as apple pie, I understand his attraction to her but cannot seem to trust the guy.
Something about him throws me off and I’m glad to have the chance to observe him over the
weekend.
He kisses the top of her head, then practically pets it, hand running through her silken hair.
Break it up you two, some of us are embarrassed to be standing here while you paw at one
another, it’s on the tip of my tongue to say. I’m hungry and tired, and would love to climb into a
shower and into the one pair of warm pajamas I’m glad I brought.
Hallelujah!
The whole scene is vomit inducing, heart pounding romance and though I hadn’t wanted to be
here, I am glad I get to see Mia so happy.
I just hope it ends the way she wants it to.
Thad is talking into her hair. “I’m so glad you made it. I’m so sorry I wasn’t at the airport to come
get you but I had so many things to get done here and things to grab in town so you’d be comfortable.”
More sobbing from Mia.
More kissing.
Ben waits behind me for the right moment to mutter out an awkward, “Okay, well—I’ll just put
their bags inside their cabins for you Thad.”
I clear my throat.
Clear it again to get the lovey-dovey couple’s attention. “Uh, hello? Some of us would like to
freshen up?”
“Oh shit, you’re right. Of course you ladies want to freshen up. Sorry, I’m off in my own little
world.” He winks at me as if we’re co-conspirators. “Halbrook isn’t here yet so we’ll just do our
thing.”
I refrain from groaning out loud as he steps forward to hug me, too, though my hug isn’t nearly as
warm as the one he gave his girlfriend. Obviously.
Hmm. “Which camper is yours?”
“Oh, we’re not staying in one of these. Our place is over there.”
I follow his extended arm; he’s pointing into the woods, to a tent rising from the earth in a
different area completely. But not just any old tent. No, this one is one of those posh setups with a
chandelier, an actual bed, and a sitting area.
The kind you see on television on one of those swanky travel shows.
Ugh. Jealous!
“You’re sleeping in there?” I glance over at the campers. “Where am I sleeping?”
“You’re in the Happy Camper—the one with the flowers around the door.” Thad beams. “Babes
and I still need a kitchenette to use and stuff, and we can all use the porch at night for sitting around
and looking at the water. It’ll be so peaceful.” He has his hulky arm around Mia’s waist and he gives
it a squeeze.
All I hear is ‘Babes and I.’
I shake the words out of my skull and smile, hefting the carry-on bag on my shoulder; I feel so
ridiculous having brought all this crap now.
“Oh, sure. The Happy Camper sounds delightful.”
I can do this—I can totally do this. It’s not as if we’re roughing it in an actual tent; I can survive
living in the cute glamper a few short nights while my friend stays in the canvas tent outfitted for a
Kardashian.
I gaze at it longingly, with its own flameless trail of candles flickering in the night, bend vine
chairs, steamer trunk coffee table and hanging lanterns.
Sigh.
It is crazy romantic, the entire thing glowing softly in the dark.
My own little camper is cute, too, and I approach it with Ben as my best friend and her boyfriend
head toward their digs.
“Here you are. Cozy as a bedbug,” Ben jokes before seeing my face. “Kidding. Just kidding, there
are no bedbugs. We routinely check between each and every guest.”
I nod with a heavy swallow and a nervous laugh. “I’m not worried.”
Bedbugs are probably the least of my problems; surely there are creatures and critters larger than
that lurking in every crack and crevasse. Besides, I once spent the night in a motel infested with
roaches—I think I can handle a few creepy crawlies.
Maybe.
Ben carries my giant suitcases along the path to the door of the shiny, silver camper, vintage in its
aesthetic but modern in every other way. Running water, electricity. A flat television mounted above
the cabinets in the small “living room” slash kitchen.
Ben doesn’t follow me inside—it’s cramped, and he’s a stranger—but he does stand at the
entrance, waiting to see if there’s anything additional I require before retracing his steps and firing up
the off-roading vehicle he dropped us off with.
I listen as the engine noise fades into the distance, my eyes catching glimpses of the glowing tent
out the window to the back of my glamper.
The noise is deafeningly silent.
Nary a peep, not even from a cricket—
 Never mind, there goes one.
Hefting one of my suitcases atop the small kitchen table, I carefully unzip it so it doesn’t implode,
the mess inside making me cringe. Security must have gone through it, for clothes are unfolded and
tossed back inside haphazardly—not the way I’d painstakingly rolled and packed them the day before
so they would fit like a puzzle.
I remove my toiletries, grateful the bag has a hook perfect for the back of the bathroom door, with
its utter lack of counterspace. Put the travel size bottles of shampoo and conditioner in the miniscule
shower.
Slippers go on my feet. Robe goes in the bedroom.
Silk pillowcase goes on the pillow and I swear I’m not high-maintenance, I just like to be
comfortable! I thought I was going to a spa in the Caribbean for a long weekend, okay? Sheesh.
I thought perhaps everyone would gather at the bonfire that is simmering on the sandy beach near
the lake, but when I get a text from Mia saying ‘Get a good night’s rest, we have a busy day
tomorrow!’, I know we won’t be outside tonight singing kumbaya into the wee hours of the morning.
The television works, but doesn’t have Netflix. Instead of trying to harness technology while in
the middle of the woods, I take out the few magazines and crossword puzzles stored in my carry-on,
and make myself comfortable on the bed.

“…I S SHE DEAD ?”

“…No way—she’s definitely alive. Her chest is moving up and down.”
“…Maybe we should check just to be sure. We can hold a mirror under her nose. If it fogs up,
we’ll know.”
“…Mia, I could hear her snoring before we even walked inside.”
Snoring?
What? Who’s snoring?
I wipe at the corner of my mouth and feel moisture. Ew, is that drool?
“Oh yeah, she’s definitely alive.”
I feel a finger poking into my ribcage. “Up and at ’em, Sleeping Beauty, your new roommate has
arrived!”
Roommate? What is this nonsense?
“Eh?” Startled by the unfamiliar male voice, I blink open my eyes, staring blankly at the
unfamiliar ceiling. Where the hell am I? Why is it so bright in here?
“Juliet, wake up. You’ve slept half the day away.”
Oh shit, that’s right; I’m camping in the middle of God’s Green Earth, with naught but a bag full of
beach cover-ups and flirty athleisurewear.
I roll to the side, grumping at the sound of my best friend’s voice. “Slept the day away? Ha. I
never sleep past seven.”
Even half passed out I’m argumentative.
Mia huffs as she jostles me again. “Well it’s past ten. We’ve already had breakfast.”
Already had breakfast!
I frantically shoot up as if someone has taken a fire and lit it under my ass.
“Ten? Why didn’t anyone wake me up!” How could she eat without me! She knows I need food
first thing in the morning, as soon as I peel my eyes open!
She knows this! I’m a complete monster until I’ve had sustenance! I literally need a three-course
breakfast before I can start my day.
“I tried calling and texting. I was actually starting to get worried that you were dead.” Mia chews
on a fingernail behind the man who’s impolitely hovering over my bed as if I’m a spectacle.
Although, to his credit, he does look concerned.
Bah! He needs to go away!
Pulling the blankets up farther so they’re covering my chest, I narrow my eyes at him. “Stop
looking at me.”
Shit, was that rude? What if he works for the glampground and I just insulted him? I hate having
bad manners but it’s not like staring is polite.
I backpedal. Sort of. “What I meant to say was—can I help you with something?” I pause. “Sir.”
He grins at me.
I scowl at his audacity. “I can’t get out of bed with y’all crowding me—give a girl some room,
would you?”
“Did she just say y’all? I thought you were both originally from Illinois,” the behemoth interloper
drawls, most definitely from the south or thereabouts.
It’s too early for me to be sleuthing his origins.
I close my eyes again as they continue talking about me behind my back. Or, right in front of my
closed eyelids.
“She is from Illinois—I don’t know why she insists on saying y’a—”
“Um, hello!” I put my arm up and wave a hand in the air. “I’m literally lying right here. Could you
all get out of my room so I can get dressed?”
I hear a male voice chuckling.
Mia gives a small, apologetic gasp. Flutters her hands. “Juliet is right; everyone give her space.
We shouldn’t have come inside anyway.”
“I had to bring in my stuff.” The strange dude turns, presenting me with a view of his ass. “And
who said she could hog the entire bed?”
Hog the entire bed? There is only one bed and it’s mine.
Nevertheless, my gaze travels upward, foggy as it may be. Up the tight back end to broad
shoulders and a thick neck, the telltale sign of a fresh, new, haircut at its base.
He glances at me over his shoulder, eyebrows raising when he catches me staring.
“Come on, Halbrook—I want to run and reserve a boat for later, I hear they stock this lake with
bass.”
Davis.
Boat.
Bass.
Oh my god—that guy is Davis Halbrook?
That…that…lumbersexual with the plaid shirt and tight ass and lingering stare?
I crane my neck, waiting to climb out of the bed until I hear the screen door slam for the last time,
eyes homing in on the duffle bag in the kitchenette.
Scurrying up, I scramble to close the actual door, locking myself inside so I can rinse off and
change, brush my teeth and the whole bit, before making a late-morning appearance outside.
I can’t believe I slept this late—I never sleep this late!
Must be the fresh air.
 And the travel. And the anxiety.
Rooting through my bags, I unearth the only casual things I brought—jeans and a lightweight
crewneck sweatshirt—and throw that on with sneakers.
I wish I’d known we were coming to this place; I would have packed more appropriate attire.
These sundresses certainly aren’t going to cut it; I’ll look like a complete asshole gathered ’round the
bonfire wearing pastel pink florals.
I can’t live in these same jeans and sweatshirt for the next three days, but I may have to.
One night down, three to go…
Hair in a ponytail, I finally emerge from my hovel, not the least bit bright eyed and bushy tailed,
searching for my friend. Raising my nose in the air on my way down the little path to her tent, the
lingering smell of bacon hits my senses, along with the aroma of coffee.
My stomach grumbles.
“Juliet!” Mia spies me before I see her, appearing from inside her cute, canvas tent, side-stepping
the steamer trunk coffee table on its wooden deck so she can envelope me in a hug. “There you are!”
I kiss her cheek when I hug her back.
“Did you get a good night’s rest? I was so worried when you weren’t up bright and early.”
“Yes, I think I slept good? I must have been out like a light.”
“It’s the fresh air for sure.”
I nod, taking a sip from the coffee she hands me. “Thank you, ugh, I need this.”
“Don’t thank me, thank Ben. That man is an angel.”
I raise a tired brow and continue sipping as we walk into her tent.
“Maybe he’s single?” Mia muses out loud.
“Please stop trying to set me up with any man that has a pulse. I’m not moving to the wilds of
wherever this place is to be some dude’s sidekick in the great outdoors.” More sipping. “I’m what
you would call indoorsy.”
“I just want you to know I got your back,” she laughs, plopping down in a chair, gesturing toward
the food laid out on the coffee table. “Here, let’s sit down and eat. I made you a plate when you didn’t
show up for breakfast—the vultures were circling and I knew there wouldn’t be anything left.”
“Vultures?! What vultures?” My head spins around anxiously, waiting for the predatory birds to
come flocking down from the trees over our heads.
Mia rolls her eyes. “I’m talking about the other guests. They had a small spread between seven
and nine, and everyone swooped in—lucky you, you missed the mob.”
“Other guests?”
“Yes. You missed that rush too, a small caravan arrived early this morning. Everything was set out
as a warm welcome—it was really nice, but would be great if we were the only ones here, you
know? Quiet and private.” She steals a piece of bacon and chomps on it. “That’s why Thad and Davis
ran to sign us up for two boats—there isn’t going to be anything left.”
Two boats? Um. What’s that supposed to mean?
I assume Thad is renting some boat so we can do a sunset win cruise, or sunbathe tomorrow—
only one of which I’m well prepared for considering the swimsuits I have jammed into my suitcases.
I eat my bacon and listen to her chatter.
“…And you’ve already met Halbrook, so that’s out of the way.”
I refuse to call him by his last name. “Met Davis? When?”
“This morning when we came and woke you up?”
“That was Davis?” Oh Jesus. “I wasn’t still asleep and dreaming that all happened? You know I
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
Fig. 35.—19 specimens of Purpura lapillus L., Great
Britain, illustrating variation.
(1) Felixstowe, sheltered coast; (2), (3) Newquay,
on veined and coloured rock; (4) Herm, rather
exposed; (5) Solent, very sheltered; (6) Land’s End,
exposed rocks, small food supply; (7) Scilly, exposed
rocks, fair food supply; (8) St. Leonards, flat mussel
beds at extreme low water; (9) Robin Hood’s Bay,
 sheltered under boulders, good food supply; (10)
Rhoscolyn, on oyster bed, 4–7 fath. (Macandrew);
(11) Guernsey, rather exposed rocks; (12) Estuary of
Conway, very sheltered, abundant food supply; (13),
(14) Robin Hood’s Bay, very exposed rocks, poor food
supply; (14) slightly monstrous; (15), (16), (17)
Morthoe, rather exposed rocks, but abundant food
supply; (18) St. Bride’s Bay; (19) L. Swilly, sheltered,
but small food supply. All from the author’s collection,
except (10).
The common dog-whelk (Purpura lapillus) of our own coasts is an
exceedingly variable species, and in many cases the variations may
be shown to bear a direct relation to the manner of life (Fig. 35).
Forms occurring in very exposed situations, e.g. Land’s End, outer
rocks of the Scilly Is., coasts of N. Devon and Yorkshire, are stunted,
with a short spire and relatively large mouth, the latter being
developed in order to increase the power of adherence to the rock
and consequently of resistance to wave force. On the other hand,
shells occurring in sheltered situations, estuaries, narrow straits, or
even on open coasts where there is plenty of shelter from the waves,
are comparatively of great size, with a well-developed, sometimes
produced spire, and a mouth small in proportion to the area of shell
surface. In the accompanying figure, the specimens from the
Conway estuary and the Solent (12, 5) well illustrate this latter form
of shell, while that from exposed rocks is illustrated by the
specimens from Robin Hood’s Bay (13, 14). Had these specimens
occurred alone, or had they been brought from some distant and
unexplored region, they must inevitably have been described as two
distinct species.
 Fig. 36.—Valves of Cardium edule from the four upper
terraces of Shumish Kul, a dry salt lake adjacent to the
Aral Sea. (After Bateson.)

Mr. W. Bateson has made[195] some observations on the shells of

Cardium edule taken from a series of terraces on the border of
certain salt lakes which once formed a portion of the Sea of Aral. As
these lakes gradually became dry, the water they contained became
salter, and thus the successive layers of dead shells deposited on
their borders form an interesting record of the progressive variation
of this species under conditions which, in one respect at least, can
be clearly appreciated. At the same time the diminishing volume of
water, and the increasing average temperature, would not be without
their effect. It was found that the principal changes were as follows:
the thickness, and consequently the weight, of the shells became
diminished, the size of the beaks was reduced, the shell became
highly coloured, and diminished considerably in size, and the
breadth of the shells increased in proportion to their length (Fig. 36).
Shells of the same species of Cardium, occurring in Lake Mareotis,
were found to exhibit very similar variations as regards colour, size,
shape, and thickness.
Unio pictorum var. compressa occurs near Norwich at two similar
localities six or seven miles distant from one another, under
circumstances which tend to show that similar conditions have
produced similar results. The form occurs where the river, by
bending sharply in horse-shoe shape, causes the current to rush
across to the opposite side and form an eddy near the bank on the
outside of the bend. Just at the edge of the sharp current next the
eddy the shells are found, the peculiar form being probably due to
the current continually washing away the soft particles of mud and
compelling the shell to elongate itself in order to keep partly buried at
the bottom.[196]
The rivers Ouse and Foss, which unite just below York, are rivers
of strikingly different character, the Ouse being deep, rapid, with a
bare, stony bottom, and little vegetable growth, and receiving a good
deal of drainage, while the Foss is shallow, slow, muddy, full of
weeds and with very little drainage. In the Foss, fine specimens of
Anodonta anatina occur, lustrous, with beautifully rayed shells. A few
yards off, in the Ouse, the same species of Anodonta is dull brown in
colour, its interior clouded, the beaks and epidermis often deeply
eroded. Precisely the same contrast is shown in specimens of Unio
tumidus, taken from the same rivers, Ouse specimens being also
slightly curved in form. Just above Yearsley Lock in the Foss, Unio
tumidus occurs, but always dwarfed and malformed, a result
probably due to the effect of rapidly running water upon a species
accustomed to live in still water.[197] Simroth records the occurrence
of remarkably distorted varieties in two species of Aetheria which
lived in swift falls of the River Congo.[198]
A variety of Limnaea peregra with a short spire and rather strong,
stoutly built shell occurs in Lakes Windermere, Derwentwater, and
Llyn-y-van-fach. It lives adhering to stones in places where there are
very few weeds, its shape enabling it to withstand the surf of these
large lakes, to which the ordinary form would probably succumb.[199]
Scalariform specimens of Planorbis are said to occur most
commonly in waters which are choked by vegetation, and it has been
shown that this form of shell is able to make its way through masses
of dense weed much more readily than specimens of normal shape.
Continental authorities have long considered Limnaea peregra
and L. ovata as two distinct species. Hazay, however, has
succeeded in rearing specimens of so-called peregra from the ova of
ovata, and so-called ovata from the ova of peregra, simply by placing
one species in running water, and the other in still water.
According to Mr. J. S. Gibbons[200] certain species of Littorina, in
tropical and sub-tropical regions, are confined to water more or less
brackish, being incapable of living in pure salt water. “I have met,”
says Mr. Gibbons, “with three of these species, and in each case
they have been distinguished from the truly marine species by the
extreme (comparative) thinness of their shells, and by their colouring
being richer and more varied; they are also usually more elaborately
marked. They are to be met with under three different conditions—
(1) in harbours and bays where the water is salt with but a slight
admixture of fresh water; (2) in mangrove swamps where salt and
fresh water mix in pretty equal volume; (3) on dry land, but near a
marsh or the dry bed of one.
“L. intermedia Reeve, a widely diffused E. African shell, attaches
itself by a thin pellicle of dried mucus to grass growing by the margin
of slightly brackish marshes near the coast, resembling in its mode
of suspension the Old World Cyclostoma. I have found it in vast
numbers in situations where, during the greater part of the year, it is
exposed to the full glare of an almost vertical sun, its only source of
moisture being a slight dew at night-time. The W. Indian L. angulifera
Lam., and a beautifully coloured E. African species (? L. carinifera),
are found in mangrove swamps; they are, however, less independent
of salt water than the last.”
Mr. Gibbons goes on to note that brackish water species
(although not so solid as truly marine species) tend to become more
solid as the water they inhabit becomes less salt. This is a curious
fact, and the reverse of what one would expect. Specimens of L.
intermedia on stakes at the mouth of the Lorenço Marques River,
Delagoa Bay, are much smaller, darker, and more fragile, than those
living on grass a few hundred yards away. L. angulifera is unusually
solid and heavy at Puerto Plata (S. Domingo) among mangroves,
where the water is in a great measure fresh; at Havana and at
Colon, where it lives on stakes in water but slightly brackish, it is
thinner and smaller and also darker coloured.
(c) Changes in the Volume of Water.—It has long been known that
the largest specimens, e.g. of Limnaea stagnalis and Anodonta
anatina, only occurred in pieces of water of considerable size.
Recent observation, however, has shown conclusively that the
volume of water in which certain species live has a very close
relation to the actual size of their shells, besides producing other
effects. Lymnaea megasoma, when kept in an aquarium of limited
size, deposited eggs which hatched out; this process was continued
in the same aquarium for four generations in all, the form of the shell
of the last generation having become such that an experienced
conchologist gave it as his opinion that the first and last terms of the
series could have no possible specific relation to one another. The
size of the shell became greatly diminished, and in particular the
spire became very slender.[201]
The same species being again kept in an aquarium under similar
conditions, it was found that the third generation had a shell only
four-sevenths the length of their great grandparents. It was noticed
also that the sexual capacities of the animals changed as well. The
liver was greatly reduced, and the male organs were entirely lost.
[202]

K. Semper conducted some well-known experiments bearing on

this point. He separated[203] specimens of Limnaea stagnalis from
the same mass of eggs as soon as they were hatched, and placed
them simultaneously in bodies of water varying in volume from 100
to 2000 cubic centimetres. All the other conditions of life, and
especially the food supply, were kept at the known optimum. He
found, in the result, that the size of the shell varied directly in
proportion to the volume of the water in which it lived, and that this
was the case, whether an individual specimen was kept alone in a
given quantity of water, or shared it with several others. At the close
of 65 days the specimens raised in 100 cubic cm. of water were only
6 mm. long, those in 250 cubic cm. were 9 mm. long, those in 600
cubic cm. were 12 mm. long, while those kept in 2000 cubic cm.
attained a length of 18 mm. (Fig. 37).
An interesting effect of a sudden fall of temperature was noticed
by Semper in connection with the above experiments. Vessels of
unequal size, containing specimens of the Limnaea, happened to
stand before a window at a time when the temperature suddenly fell
to about 55° F. The sun, which shone through the window, warmed
the water in the smaller vessels, but had no effect upon the
temperature of the larger. The result was, that the Limnaea in 2000
cubic cm., which ought to have been 10 mm. long when 25 days old,
were scarcely longer, at the end of that period, than those which had
lived in the smaller vessels, but whose water had been sufficiently
warm.

Fig. 37.—Four equally old shells

of Limnaea stagnalis,
hatched from the same mass
of ova, but reared in different
volumes of water: A in 100, B
in 250, C in 600, and D in
2000 cubic centimetres.
(After K. Semper.)
 CHAPTER IV
USES OF SHELLS FOR MONEY, ORNAMENT, AND FOOD—CULTIVATION OF
THE OYSTER, MUSSEL, AND SNAIL—SNAILS AS MEDICINE—PRICES GIVEN
FOR SHELLS

The employment of shells as a medium of exchange was

exceedingly common amongst uncivilised tribes in all parts of the
world, and has by no means yet become obsolete. One of the
commonest species thus employed is the ‘money cowry’ (Cypraea
moneta, L.), which stands almost alone in being used entire, while
nearly all the other forms of shell money are made out of portions of
shells, thus requiring a certain amount of labour in the process of
formation.
One of the earliest mentions of the cowry as money occurs in an
ancient Hindoo treatise on mathematics, written in the seventh
century a.d. A question is propounded thus: ‘the ¼ of 1/16 of ⅕ of ¾
of ⅔ of ½ a dramma was given to a beggar by one from whom he
asked an alms; tell me how many cowry shells the miser gave.’ In
British India about 4000 are said to have passed for a shilling, but
the value appears to differ according to their condition, poor
specimens being comparatively worthless. According to Reeve[204] a
gentleman residing at Cuttack is said to have paid for the erection of
his bungalow entirely in cowries. The building cost him 4000 Rs.
sicca (about £400), and as 64 cowries = 1 pice, and 64 pice = 1
rupee sicca, he paid over 16,000,000 cowries in all.
Cowries are imported to England from India and other places for
the purposes of exportation to West Africa, to be exchanged for
native products. The trade, however, appears to be greatly on the
decrease. At the port of Lagos, in 1870, 50,000 cwts. of cowries
were imported.[205]
A banded form of Nerita polita was used as money in certain parts
of the South Pacific. The sandal-wood imported into the China
market is largely obtained from the New Hebrides, being purchased
of the natives in exchange for Ovulum angulosum, which they
especially esteem as an ornament. Sometimes, as in the Duke of
York group, the use of shell money is specially restricted to certain
kinds of purchase, being employed there only in the buying of swine.
Among the tribes of the North-West coasts of America the
common Dentalium indianorum used to form the standard of value,
until it was superseded, under the auspices of the Hudson’s Bay
Company, by blankets. A slave was valued at a fathom of from 25 to
40 of these shells, strung lengthwise. Inferior or broken specimens
were strung together in a similar way, but were less highly esteemed;
they corresponded more to our silver and copper coins, while the
strings of the best shells represented gold.
The wampum of the eastern coast of North America differed from
all these forms of shell money, in that it required a laborious process
for its manufacture. Wampum consisted of strings of cylindrical
beads, each about a quarter of an inch in length and half that
breadth. The beads were of two colours, white and purple, the latter
being the more valuable. Both were formed from the common clam,
Venus mercenaria, the valves of which are often stained with purple
at the lower margins, while the rest of the shell is white. Cut small,
ground down, and pierced, these shells were converted into money,
which appears to have been current along the whole sea-board of
North America from Maine to Florida, and on the Gulf Coast as far as
Central America, as well as among the inland tribes east of the
Mississippi. Another kind of wampum was made from the shells of
Busycon carica and B. perversum. By staining the wampum with
various colours, and disposing these colours in belts in various forms
of arrangement, the Indians were able to preserve records, send
messages, and keep account of any kind of event, treaty, or
transaction.
Another common form of money in California was Olivella
biplicata, strung together by rubbing down the apex. Button-shaped
disks cut from Saxidomus arata and Pachydesma crassatelloides, as
well as oblong pieces of Haliotis, were employed for the same
purpose, when strung together in lengths of several yards.
 “There is a curious old custom,” writes Mr. W. Anderson Smith,
[206] “that used formerly to be in use in this locality [the western coast
of Scotland], and no doubt was generally employed along the sea-
board, as the most simple and ready means of arrangement of
bargains by a non-writing population. That was, when a bargain was
made, each party to the transaction got one half of a bivalve shell—
such as mussel, cockle, or oyster—and when the bargain was
implemented, the half that fitted exactly was delivered up as a
receipt! Thus a man who had a box full of unfitted shells might be
either a creditor or a debtor; but the box filled with fitted shells
represented receipted accounts. Those who know the difficulty of
fitting the valves of some classes of bivalves will readily
acknowledge the value of this arrangement.”
Shells are employed for use and for ornament by savage—and
even by civilised—tribes in all parts of the world. The natives of Fiji
thread the large Turbo argyrostoma and crenulatus as weights at the
edge of their nets, and also employ them as sinkers. A Cypraea tigris
cut into two halves and placed round a stone, with two or three
showy Oliva at the sides, is used as a bait for cuttles. Avicula
margaritifera is cut into scrapers and knives by this and several other
tribes. Breast ornaments of Chama, grouped with Solarium
perspectivum and Terebra duplicata are common among the Fijians,
who also mount the Avicula on a backing of whales’ teeth sawn in
two, for the same purpose. The great Orange Cowry (Cypraea
aurantiaca) is used as a badge of high rank among the chieftains.
One of the most remarkable Fijian industries is the working of
whales’ teeth to represent this cowry, as well as the commoner C.
talpa, which is more easily imitated.
Among the Solomon islanders, cowries are used to ornament their
shields on great field days, and split cowries are worn as a necklace,
to represent human teeth. Small bunches of Terebellum subulatum
are worn as earrings, and a large valve of Avicula is employed as a
head ornament in the centre of a fillet. The same islanders ornament
the raised prows of their canoes, as well as the inside of the stern-
post, with a long row of single Natica.
 The native Papuans employ shells for an immense variety of
purposes. Circlets for the head are formed of rows of Nassa
gibbosula, rubbed down till little but the mouth remains. Necklaces
are worn which consist of strings of Oliva, young Avicula, Natica
melanostoma, opercula of Turbo, and valves of a rich brown species
of Cardium, pendent at the end of strings of the seeds known as
Job’s tears. Struthiolaria is rubbed down until nothing but the mouth
is left, and worn in strings round the neck. This is remarkable, since
Struthiolaria is not a native Papuan shell, and indeed occurs no
nearer than New Zealand. Sections of Melo are also worn as a
breast ornament, dependent from a necklace of cornelian stones.
Cypraea erosa is used to ornament drinking bowls, and Ovulum
ovum is attached to the native drums, at the base of a bunch of
cassowary feathers, as well as being fastened to the handle of a
sago-beater.
In the same island, the great Turbo and Conus millepunctatus are
ground down to form bracelets, which are worn on the biceps. The
crimson lip of Strombus luhuanus is cut into beads and perforated for
necklaces. Village elders are distinguished by a single Ovulum
verrucosum, worn in the centre of the forehead. The thick lip of
Cassis cornuta is ground down to form nose pieces, 4½ inches long.
Fragments of a shell called Kaïma (probably valves of a large
Spondylus) are worn suspended from the ears, with little wisps of
hair twisted up and thrust through a hole in the centre. For trumpets,
Cassis cornuta, Triton tritonis, and Ranella lampas are used, with a
hole drilled as a mouthpiece in one of the upper whorls. Valves of
Batissa, Unio, and Mytilus are used as knives for peeling yams.
Spoons for scooping the white from the cocoa-nut are made from
Avicula margaritifera. Melo diadema is used as a baler in the
canoes.[207]
In the Sandwich Islands Melampus luteus is worn as a necklace,
as well as in the Navigator Islands. A very striking necklace, in the
latter group, is formed of the apices of a Nautilus, rubbed down to
show the nacre. The New Zealanders use the green opercula of a
Turbo, a small species of Venus, and Cypraea asellus to form the
eyes of their idols. Fish-hooks are made throughout the Pacific of the
shells of Avicula and Haliotis, and are sometimes strengthened by a
backing made of the columella of Cypraea arabica. Small axe-heads
are made from Terebra crenulata ground down (Woodlark I.), and
larger forms are fashioned from the giant Tridacna (Fiji).
Shells are used to ornament the elaborate cloaks worn by the
women of rank in the Indian tribes of South America. Specimens of
Ampullaria, Orthalicus, Labyrinthus, and Bulimulus depend from the
bottom and back of these garments, while great Bulimi, 6 inches
long, are worn as a breast ornament, and at the end of a string of
beads and teeth.[208]
The chank-shell (Turbinella rapa) is of especial interest from its
connexion with the religion of the Hindoos. The god Vishnu is
represented as holding this shell in his hand, and the sinistral form of
it, which is excessively rare, is regarded with extraordinary
veneration. The chank appears as a symbol on the coins of some of
the ancient Indian Empires, and is still retained on the coinage of the
Rajah of Travancore.
The chief fishery of the chank-shell is at Tuticorin, on the Gulf of
Manaar, and is conducted during the N. E. monsoon, October-May.
In 1885–86 as many as 332,000 specimens were obtained, the net
amount realised being nearly Rs.24,000. In former days the trade
was much more lucrative, 4 or 5 millions of specimens being
frequently shipped. The government of Ceylon used to receive
£4000 a year for licenses to fish, but now the trade is free. The shells
are brought up by divers from 2 or 3 fathoms of water. In 1887 a
sinistral specimen was found at Jaffna, which sold for Rs.700.[209]
Nearly all the shells are sent to Dacca, where they are sliced into
bangles and anklets to be worn by the Hindoo women.
Perhaps the most important industry which deals only with the
shells of Mollusca is that connected with the ‘pearl-oyster.’ The
history of the trade forms a small literature in itself. It must be
sufficient here to note that the species in question is not an ‘oyster,’
properly so called, but an Avicula (margaritifera Lam.). The ‘mother-
of-pearl,’ which is extensively employed for the manufacture of
buttons, studs, knife-handles, fans, card-cases, brooches, boxes,
and every kind of inlaid work, is the internal nacreous laminae of the
shell of this species. The most important fisheries are those of the
Am Islands, the Soo-loo Archipelago, the Persian Gulf, the Red Sea,
Queensland, and the Pearl Islands in the Bay of Panama. The shell
also occurs in several of the groups of the South Pacific—the
Paumotu, Gambier and Navigator Islands, Tahiti being the centre of
the trade—and also on the coasts of Lower California.[210]
Pearls are the result of a disease in the animal of this species of
Avicula and probably in all other species within which they occur.
When the Avicula is large, well formed, and with ample space for
individual development, pearls scarcely occur at all, but when the
shells are crowded together, and become humped and distorted, as
well as affording cover for all kinds of marine worms and parasitic
creatures, then pearls are sure to be found. Pearls of inferior value
and size are also produced by Placuna placenta, many species of
Pinna, the great Tridacna, the common Ostrea edulis, and several
other marine bivalves. They are not uncommon in Unio and
Anodonta, and the common Margaritana margaritifera of our rapid
streams is still said to be collected, in some parts of Wales, for the
purpose of extracting its small ‘seed-pearls.’ Pink pearls are obtained
from the giant conch-shell of the West Indies (Strombus gigas), as
well as from certain Turbinella.
In Canton, many houses are illuminated almost entirely by
skylights and windows made of shells, probably the semitransparent
valves of Placuna placenta. In China lime is commonly made of
ground cockle-shells, and, when mixed with oil, forms an excellent
putty, used for cementing coffins, and in forming a surface for the
frescoes with which the gables of temples and private houses are
adorned. Those who suffer from cutaneous diseases, and
convalescents from small-pox, are washed in Canton with the water
in which cockles have been boiled.[211]
A recent issue of the Peking Gazette contains a report from the
outgoing Viceroy of Fukhien, stating that he had handed over the
insignia of office to his successor, including inter alia the conch-shell
bestowed by the Throne. A conch-shell with a whorl turning to the
right, i.e. a sinistral specimen, is supposed when blown to have the
effect of stilling the waves, and hence is bestowed by the Emperor
upon high officers whose duties oblige them to take voyages by sea.
The Viceroy of Fukhien probably possesses one of these shells in
virtue of his jurisdiction over Formosa, to which island periodical
visits are supposed to be made.[212]
Shells appear to be used occasionally by other species besides
man. Oyster-catchers at breeding time prepare a number of imitation
nests in the gravel on the spit of land where they build, putting bits of
white shell in them to represent eggs.[213] This looks like a trick in
order to conceal the position of the true nest. According to
Nordenskjöld, when the eider duck of Spitzbergen has only one or
two eggs in its nest, it places a shell of Buccinum glaciale beside
them. The appropriation of old shells by hermit-crabs is a familiar
sight all over the world. Perhaps it is most striking in the tropics,
where it is really startling, at first experience, to meet—as I have
done—a large Cassis or Turbo, walking about in a wood or on a hill
side at considerable distances from the sea. A Gephyrean
(Phascolion strombi) habitually establishes itself in the discarded
shells of marine Mollusca. Certain Hymenoptera make use of dead
shells of Helix hortensis in which they build their cells.[214] Magnus
believes that in times when heavy rains prevail, and the usual
insects do not venture out, certain flowers are fertilised by snails and
slugs crawling over them, e.g. Leucanthemum vulgare by Limax
laevis.[215]
Mollusca as Food for Man.—Probably there are few countries in
the world in which less use is made of the Mollusca as a form of food
than in our own. There are scarcely ten native species which can be
said to be at all commonly employed for this purpose. Neighbouring
countries show us an example in this respect. The French, Italians,
and Spanish eat Natica, Turbo, Triton, and Murex, and, among
bivalves, Donax, Venus, Lithodomus, Pholas, Tapes, and Cardita, as
well as the smaller Cephalopoda. Under the general designation of
clam the Americans eat Venus mercenaria, Mya arenaria, and
Mactra solidissima. In the Suez markets are exposed for sale
Strombus and Melongena, Avicula and Cytherea. At Panama Donax
and Solen are delicacies, while the natives also eat the great Murex
and Pyrula, and even the huge Arca grandis, which lives embedded
in the liquid river mud.
The common littoral bivalves seem to be eaten in nearly all
countries except our own, and it is therefore needless to enumerate
them. The Gasteropoda, whose habits are scarcely so cleanly, seem
to require a bolder spirit and less delicate palate to venture on their
consumption.
The Malays of the East Indian islands eat Telescopium fuscum
and Pyrazus palustris, which abound in the mangrove swamps. They
throw them on their wood fires, and when they are sufficiently
cooked, break off the top of the spire and suck the animal out
through the opening. Haliotis they take out of the shell, string
together, and dry in the sun. The lower classes in the Philippines eat
Arca inaequivalvis, boiling them as we do mussels.[216] In the
Corean islands a species of Monodonta and another of Mytilus are
quite peppery, and bite the tongue; our own Helix revelata, as I can
vouch from personal experience, has a similar flavour. Fusus
colosseus, Rapana bezoar, and Purpura luteostoma are eaten on
the southern coasts of China; Strombus luhuanus, Turbo
chrysostomus, Trochus niloticus, and Patella testudinaria, by the
natives of New Caledonia; Strombus gigas and Livona pica in the
West Indies; Turbo niger and Concholepas peruvianus on the Chilian
coasts; four species of Strombus and Nerita, one each of Purpura
and Turbo, besides two Tridacna and one Hippopus, by the natives
of British New Guinea. West Indian negroes eat the large Chitons
which are abundant on their rocky coasts, cutting off and swallowing
raw the fleshy foot, which they call ‘beef,’ and rejecting the viscera.
Dried cephalopods are a favourite Chinese dish, and are regularly
exported to San Francisco, where the Chinamen make them into
soup. The ‘Challenger’ obtained two species of Sepia and two of
Loligo from the market at Yokohama.
The insipidity of fresh-water Mollusca renders them much less
desirable as a form of food. Some species of Unionidae, however,
are said to be eaten in France. Anodonta edulis is specially
cultivated for food in certain districts of China, and the African
Aetheriae are eaten by negroes. Navicella and Neritina are eaten in
Mauritius, Ampullaria and Neritina in Guadeloupe, and Paludina in
Cambodia.
The vast heaps of empty shells known as ‘kitchen-middens,’ occur
in almost every part of the world. They are found in Scotland,
Denmark, the east and west coasts of North America, Brazil, Tierra
del Fuego, Australia and New Zealand, and are sometimes several
hundred yards in length. They are invariably composed of the edible
shells of the adjacent coast, mixed with bones of Mammals, birds,
and fish. From their great size, it is believed that many of them must
have taken centuries to form.
Pre-eminent among existing shell-fish industries stands the
cultivation of the oyster and the mussel, a more detailed account of
which may prove interesting.
The cultivation of the oyster[217] as a luxury of food dates at least
from the gastronomic age of Rome. Every one has heard of the
epicure whose taste was so educated that

“he could tell

At the first mouthful, if his oysters fed
On the Rutupian or the Lucrine bed
Or at Circeii.”[218]

The first artificial oyster-cultivator on a large scale appears to

have been a certain Roman named Sergius Orata, who lived about a
century b.c. His object, according to Pliny the elder,[219] was not to
please his own appetite so much as to make money by ministering to
the appetites of others. His vivaria were situated on the Lucrine
Lake, near Baiae, and the Lucrine oysters obtained under his
cultivation a notoriety which they never entirely lost, although British
oysters eventually came to be more highly esteemed. He must have
been a great enthusiast in his trade, for on one occasion when he
became involved in a law-suit with one of the riparian proprietors, his
counsel declared that Orata’s opponent made a great mistake if he
expected to damp his ardour by expelling him from the lake, for,
sooner than not grow oysters at all, he would grow them upon the
roof of his house.[220] Orata’s successors in the business seem to
have understood the secret of planting young oysters in new beds,
for we are told that specimens brought from Brundisium and even
from Britain were placed for a while in the Lucrine Lake, to fatten
after their long journey, and also to acquire the esteemed “Lucrine
flavour.”
Oysters are ‘in season’ whenever there is an ‘r’ in the month, in
other words, from September to April. ‘Mensibus erratis,’ as the poet
has it, ‘vos ostrea manducatis!’ It has been computed that the
quantity annually produced in Great Britain amounts to no less than
sixteen hundred million, while in America the number is estimated at
five thousand five hundred million, the value being over thirteen
million dollars, and the number of persons employed fifty thousand.
Arcachon, one of the principal French oyster-parks, has nearly
10,000 acres of oyster beds, the annual value being from eight to ten
million francs; in 1884–85, 178,359,000 oysters were exported from
this place alone. In the season 1889–90, 50,000 tons of oysters were
consumed in London.
Few will now be found to echo the poet Gay’s opinion:

“That man had sure a palate covered o’er

With brass or steel, that on the rocky shore
First broke the oozy oyster’s pearly coat,
And risq’d the living morsel down his throat.”

There were halcyon days in England once, when oysters were to

be procured at 8d. the bushel. Now it costs exactly that amount
before a bushel, brought up the Thames, can even be exposed for
sale at Billingsgate (4d. porterage, 4d. market toll), and prime
Whitstable natives average from 3½d. to 4d. each. The principal
causes of this rise in prices, apart from the increased demand, are
(1) over-dredging; (2) ignorant cultivation, and to these may be
added (3) the effect of bad seasons in destroying young oysters, or
preventing the spat from maturing. Our own principal beds are those
at Whitstable, Rochester, Colchester, Milton (famous for its ‘melting’
natives), Faversham, Queenborough, Burnham, Poole, and
Carlingford in Co. Down, and Newhaven, near Edinburgh.
The oyster-farms at Whitstable, public and private, extend over an
area of more than 27 square miles. The principal of these is a kind of
joint-stock company, with no other privilege of entrance except birth
as a free dredgeman of the town. When a holder dies, his interest
dies with him. Twelve directors, known as “the Jury,” manage the
affairs of the company, which finds employment for several thousand
people, and sometimes turns over as much as £200,000 a year. The
term ‘Natives,’ as applied to these Whitstable or to other English
oysters, requires a word of explanation. A ‘Native’ oyster is simply an
oyster which has been bred on or near the Thames estuary, but very
probably it may be developed from a brood which came from
Scotland or some other place at a distance. For some unexplained
reason, oysters bred on the London clay acquire a greater delicacy
of flavour than elsewhere. The company pay large sums for brood to
stock their own grounds, since there can be no certainty that the spat
from their own oysters will fall favourably, or even within their own
domains at all. Besides purchases from other beds, the parks are
largely stocked with small oysters picked up along the coast or
dredged from grounds public to all, sometimes as much as 50s. a
bushel being paid for the best brood. It is probably this system of
transplanting, combined with systematic working of the beds, which
has made the Whitstable oyster so excellent both as to quality and
quantity of flesh. The whole surface of the ‘layings’ is explored every
year by the dredge, successive portions of the ground being gone
over in regular rotation, and every provision being made for the well-
being of the crop, and the destruction of their enemies. For three
days of every week the men dredge for ‘planting,’ i.e. for the
transference of suitable specimens from one place to another, the
separation of adhering shells, the removal of odd valves and of every
kind of refuse, and the killing off of dangerous foes. On the other
three days they dredge for the market, taking care only to lift such a
number as will match the demand.
 The Colne beds are natural beds, as opposed to the majority of
the great working beds, which are artificial. They are the property of
the town of Colchester, which appoints a water-bailiff to manage the
concern. Under his direction is a jury of twelve, who regulate the
times of dredging, the price at which sales are to be made, and are
generally responsible for the practical working of the trade. Here,
and at Faversham, Queenborough, Rochester, and other places,
‘natives’ are grown which rival those of Whitstable.
There can be no question, however, that the cultivation of oysters
by the French is far more complete and efficient than our own, and
has reached a higher degree of scientific perfection combined with
economy and solid profits. And yet, between 40 and 50 years ago,
the French beds were utterly exhausted and unproductive, and
showed every sign of failure and decay. It was in 1858 that the
celebrated beds on the Ile de Ré, near Rochelle, were first started.
Their originator was a certain shrewd stone-mason, by name Boeuf.
He determined to try, entirely on his own account, whether oysters
could not be made to grow on the long muddy fore-shore which is
left by the ebb of the tide. Accordingly, he constructed with his own
hands a small basin enclosed by a low wall, and placed at the
bottom a number of stones picked out of the surrounding mud,
stocking his ‘parc’ with a few bushels of healthy young brood. The
experiment was entirely successful, in spite of the jeers of his
neighbours, and Boeuf’s profits, which soon began to mount up at an
astonishing rate, induced others to start similar or more extensive
farms for themselves. The movement spread rapidly, and in a few
years a stretch of miles of unproductive mud banks was converted
into the seat of a most prosperous industry. The general interests of
the trade appear to be regulated in a similar manner to that at
Whitstable; delegates are appointed by the various communities to
watch over the business as a whole, while questions affecting the
well-being of oyster-culture are discussed in a sort of representative
assembly.
At the same time as Boeuf was planting his first oysters on the
shores of the Ile de Ré, M. Coste had been reporting to the French
government in favour of such a system of ostreiculture as was then
practised by the Italians in the old classic Lakes Avernus and
Lucrinus. The principle there adopted was to prevent, as far as
possible, the escape of the spat from the ground at the time when it
is first emitted by the breeding oyster. Stakes and fascines of wood
were placed in such a position as to catch the spat and give it a
chance of obtaining a hold before it perished or was carried away
into the open sea. The old oyster beds in the Bay of St. Brieuc were
renewed on this principle, banks being constructed and overlaid with
bundles of wood to prevent the escape of the new spat. The attempt
was entirely successful, and led to the establishment or re-
establishment of those numerous parcs, with which the French coast
is studded from Brest to the Gironde. The principal centres of the
industry are Arcachon, Auray, Cancale, and la Teste.
It is at Marennes, in Normandy, that the production of the
celebrated ‘green oyster’ is carried out, that especial luxury of the
French epicure. Green oysters are a peculiarly French taste, and,
though they sometimes occur on the Essex marshes, there is no
market for them in England. The preference for them, on the
continent, may be traced back as early as 1713, when we find a
record of their having been served up at a supper given by an
ambassador at the Hague. Green oysters are not always green, it is
only after they are placed in the ‘claires,’ or fattening ponds, that they
acquire the hue; they never occur in the open sea. The green colour
does not extend over the whole animal, but is found only in the
branchiae and labial tentacles, which are of a deep blue-green.
Various theories have been started to explain the ‘greening’ of the
mollusc; the presence of copper in the tanks, the chlorophyll of
marine algae, an overgrowth of some parasite, a disease akin to liver
complaint, have all found their advocates. Prof. Lankester seems to
have established[221] the fact,—which indeed had been observed 70
years before by a M. Gaillon,—that the greening is due to the growth
of a certain diatom (Navicula ostrearia) in the water of the tanks. This
diatom, which is of a deep blue-green colour, appears from April to
June, and in September. The oyster swallows quantities of the
Navicula; the pigment enters the blood in a condition of chemical
modification, which makes it colourless in all the other parts of the