diff options
Diffstat (limited to '40919-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 40919-0.txt | 6335 |
1 files changed, 6335 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/40919-0.txt b/40919-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5399855 --- /dev/null +++ b/40919-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6335 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40919 *** + + EVERYDAY ADVENTURES + + [Illustration: TWO ADVENTURERS--GRAY FOX AND SCREECH OWL] + + + + + EVERYDAY ADVENTURES + + By SAMUEL SCOVILLE, JR. + + + _With Illustrations from Photographs_ + + + _The_ ATLANTIC MONTHLY PRESS BOSTON + + + _Copyright 1920, by_ + _Samuel Scoville, Jr._ + + + Of the chapters of this book, three have appeared as separate + articles in _The Atlantic Monthly_, three in _The Yale Review_, + two in _The Youth's Companion_, and the others, in whole or in + part, in _St. Nicholas_, _Good Housekeeping_, and _The Christian + Endeavor World_. + + + _This book is dedicated to that brave and loyal adventurer, who + has shared so many everyday adventures with me--my wife._ + + + The illustrations for this book have been made from photographs + taken by Mr. Howard T. Middleton, Mr. J. Fletcher Street, Mr. + William L. Baily, and Mr. A. D. McGrew. The author wishes to + express his appreciation here of the skill, knowledge, and + patience which have made such photographs possible. In some of + those taken by Mr. Middleton, tamed, caged, or mounted specimens + have been used as models. In others he has persuaded wild + animals to photograph themselves by various ingenious devices. + + + + + CONTENTS + + + EVERYDAY ADVENTURES 1 + ZERO BIRDS 18 + SNOW STORIES 38 + A RUNAWAY DAY 59 + THE RAVEN'S NEST 73 + HIDDEN TREASURE 86 + BIRD'S-NESTING 100 + THE TREASURE HUNT 120 + ORCHID HUNTING 139 + THE MARSH DWELLERS 161 + THE SEVEN SLEEPERS 176 + DRAGON'S BLOOD 216 + + + + + LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + + + _Two Adventurers--Gray Fox and Screech Owl_ Frontispiece + _Br'er Fox and Br'er Possum_ 4 + _The Singer of the Night--The Screech Owl_ 16 + _A Crow Chorus_ 25 + _Just Out of the Nest--Young Red Squirrels_ 28 + _The Dear Deer Mice_ 35 + _Death-in-the-Dark--The Great Horned Owl_ 44 + _Flyer, the Squirrel_ 52 + _The Long-tailed Weasel_ 64 + "_The Young Ravens shall neither lack nor suffer Hunger_" 82 + _The Jewel-Box of the Wood Pewee_ 96 + _The Red-Shouldered Hawk_ 104 + _Mrs. Killdeer at Her Nest_ 108 + _Mr. Flicker at Home_ 126 + _The Mourning Dove in Her Nest_ 128 + _Pink and White Lady Slippers_ 146 + _The King of the Forest--The Banded Rattlesnake_ 154 + _The Great Blue Heron at Breakfast_ 160 + _The Marsh Hawk's Nest_ 164 + _Lotor, the Coon_ 184 + _The Seventh Sleeper--The Skunk_ 192 + _The Whistlepig_ 196 + _The Junco on His Watch Tower_ 219 + _No Admittance--per order, Mr. Screech Owl_ 222 + + +EVERYDAY ADVENTURES + + _For the sick and the sorry and the weary at heart stands a + refuge at their very doors. There needs but sight to the + unseeing eyes and the unstopping of deafened ears, and the way + to the World where the sweet Wild-Folk dwell lies open. Therein + is happiness that time cannot tarnish, the stilling of sorrow + and rest from toil. Let him who hears the call heed it as he + values his soul's welfare._ + + + + +EVERYDAY ADVENTURES + + + + +I + +EVERYDAY ADVENTURES + + +All that May day long I had been trying to break my record of birds +seen and heard between dawn and dark. Toward the end of the gray +afternoon an accommodating Canadian warbler, wearing a black necklace +across his yellow breast, carried me past my last year's mark, and I +started for home in great contentment. My path wound in and out among +the bare white boles of a beech wood all feathery with new +green-sanguine-colored leaves. Always as I enter that wood I have a +sense of a sudden silence, and I walk softly, that I may catch perhaps +a last word or so of what They are saying. + +That day, as I moved without a sound among the trees, suddenly, not +fifty feet away, loping wearily down the opposite slope, came a gaunt +red fox and a cub. With her head down, she looked like the picture of +the wolf in Red Riding-Hood. The little cub was all woolly, like a +lamb. His back was reddish-brown, and he had long stripes of gray +across his breast and around his small belly, and his little sly face +was so comical that I laughed at the very first sight of it. What wind +there was blew from them to me, and my khaki clothes blended with the +coloring around me. + +As I watched them, another larger cub trotted down the hill. The first +cub suddenly yapped at him, with a snarling little bark quite +different from that of a dog; but the other paid no attention, but +stalked sullenly into a burrow which for the first time I noticed +among the roots of a white-oak tree. Back of the burrow lay a large +chestnut log which evidently served as a watch-tower for the fox +family. To this the mother fox went, and climbing up on top of it, lay +down, with her head on her paws and her magnificent brush dangling +down beside the log, and went to sleep. + +The little cub that was left trotted to the entrance of the burrow and +for a while played by himself, like a puppy or a kitten. First he +snapped at some blades of grass and chewed them up fiercely. Then, +seeing a leaf that had stuck in the wool on his back, he whirled +around and around, snapping at it with his little jaws. Failing to +catch it, he rolled over and over in the dirt until he had brushed it +off. Then he proceeded to stalk the battered carcass of an old black +crow that lay in front of the burrow. Crouching and creeping up on it +inch by inch, he suddenly sprang and caught that unsuspecting corpse +and worried it ferociously, with fierce little snarls. All the time +his wrinkled-up, funny little face was so comical that I nearly +laughed aloud every time he moved. At last he curled up in a round +ball, with his chin on his forepaws like his mother. + +There before me, at the end of the quiet spring afternoon, two of the +wildest and shyest of all of our native animals lay asleep. Never +before had I seen a fox in all that country, nor even suspected that +one had a home within a scant mile of mine. As I watched them +sleeping, I felt somehow that the wildwood had taken me into her +confidence and was trusting her children to my care; and I would no +more have harmed them, than I would my own. + +As I watched the cub curled up in a woolly ball, I wanted to creep up +and stroke his soft fur. Leaving the hard path, I started to cover as +silently as possible the fifty feet that lay between us. Before I had +gone far, a leaf rustled underfoot, and in a second the cub was on his +feet, wide awake, and staring down at me. With one foot in the air, I +waited and waited until he settled down to sleep again. A minute later +the same thing happened once more, only to be repeated at every step +or so. It took me something like half an hour to reach a point within +twenty feet of where he lay, and I looked straight into his eyes each +time that he stood up. + +No wild animal can tell a man from a tree by sight alone if only he +stands still. Suddenly, as the cub sprang up, perhaps for the tenth +time, there about six feet to one side of him stood the old mother +fox. I had not heard a sound or seen a movement, but there she was. I +was so close that I dared not move my head to look at the cub, but +turned only my eyes. When I looked back the mother fox was gone. With +no sudden movement that I could detect, there almost before my eyes +she had melted into the landscape. + +I stood like a stone until the cub had lain down once more. This time +evidently he was watching me out of his wrinkled-up little eyes, for +at my very first forward movement he got up, and with no appearance of +haste turned around and disappeared down in the burrow. The +watch-tower log was vacant, although I have no doubt that the mother +fox was watching me from some unseen spot. + +When I came to examine the den, I found that there were three burrows +in a line, perhaps fifteen feet in length, with a hard-worn path +leading from one to the other. The watch-log behind them was rubbed +smooth and shiny, with reddish fox-hairs caught in every crevice. Near +the three burrows was a tiny one, which I think was probably dug as an +air-hole; while in front I found the feathers of a flicker, a purple +grackle, and a chicken, besides the remains of the crow aforesaid. How +any fox outside of the fable could beguile a crow is a puzzle to me. +All of these burrows were in plain sight, and I hunted a long time to +find the concealed one which is a part of the home of every +well-regulated fox family. For a while I could find no trace of it. +Finally I saw on the side of a stump one reddish hair that gave me a +clue. Examining the stump carefully, I found that it was hollow and +formed the entrance to the secret exit from the three main burrows. + +A week later I went again to look at the home of that fox family; but +it was deserted by them and was now tenanted by a fat woodchuck, +who would never have ventured near the den if the owners had not left +it. Mrs. Fox had evidently feared the worst from my visit, and in the +night had moved her whole family to some better-hidden home. This was +three years ago, and, although I visit the place every winter, no +tell-tale tracks ever show that she has moved back. + +[Illustration: BR'ER FOX AND BR'ER POSSUM] + +It is not necessary to go to the forest for adventures: they lie in +wait for us at our very doors. My home is in a built-up suburb of a +large city, apparently hopelessly civilized. The other morning I was +out early for some before-breakfast chopping, the best of all +setting-up exercises. As I turned the corner of the garage, I suddenly +came face to face with a black-and-white animal with a pointed nose, a +bushy tail, and an air of justified confidence. I realized that I was +on the brink of a meeting which demanded courage but not rashness. "Be +brave, be brave, but not _too_ brave," should always be the motto of +the man who meets the skunk. From my past experience, however, I knew +that the skunk is a good sportsman. Unless rushed, he always gives +three warnings before he proceeds to extremities. + +As I came near, he stopped and shook his head sadly, as if saying to +himself, "I'm afraid there's going to be trouble, but it isn't my +fault." As I still came on, he gave me danger signal number one by +suddenly stamping his forepaws rapidly on the hard ground. Upon my +further approach followed signal number two, to wit, the hoisting +aloft of his aforesaid long, bushy tail. As I came on more and more +slowly, I received the third and last warning--the end of the erect +tail moved quietly back and forth a few times. + +It was enough. I stood stony still, for I knew that if, after that, I +moved forward but by the fraction of an inch, I would meet an unerring +barrage which would send a suit of clothes to an untimely grave. For +perhaps half a minute we eyed each other. Like the man in the story, I +made up my mind that one of us would have to run--and that I was that +one. Without any false pride I backed slowly and cautiously out of +range. Thereupon the threatening tail descended, and Mr. Skunk trotted +away through a gap in the fence into the long grass of an unoccupied +lot--probably seeking a breakfast of field-mice. + +I felt a definite sense of relief, for it is usually more dangerous to +meet a skunk than a bear. In fact, all the bears that I have ever come +upon were disappearing with great rapidity across the landscape. + +But there are times when a meeting with either Mr. or Mrs. Bruin is +apt to be an unhappy one. Several years ago I was camping out in Maine +one March, in a lumberman's shack. A few days before I came, two boys +in a village near by decided to go into the woods hunting, with a +muzzle-loading shot-gun and a long stick between them. One boy was ten +years old, while the other was a patriarch of twelve. On a hillside +under a great bush they noticed a small hole which seemed to have +melted through the snow, and which had a gamy savor that made them +suspect a coon. The boy with the stick poked it in as far as possible +until he felt something soft. + +"I think there's something here," he remarked, poking with all his +might. + +He was quite right. The next moment the whole bank of frozen snow +suddenly caved out, and there stood a cross and hungry bear, prodded +out of his winter sleep by that stick. The boys were up against a bad +proposition. The snow was too deep for running, and when it came to +climbing--that was Mr. Bear's pet specialty. So they did the only +thing left for them to do: they waited. The little one with the stick +got behind the big one with the gun, which weapon wavered unsteadily. + +"Now, don't you miss," he said, "'cause this stick ain't very sharp." + +Sometimes an attacking bear will run at a man like a biting dog. More +often it rises on its haunches and depends on the smashing blows of +its mighty arms and steel-shod paws. So it happened in this case. Just +before the bear reached the boys, he lifted his head and started to +rise. The first boy, not six feet away, aimed at the white spot which +most black bears have under their chin, and pulled the trigger. At +that close range the heavy charge of number six shot crashed through +the animal's throat, making a single round hole like a big bullet, +cutting the jugular vein, and piercing the neck vertebræ beyond. The +great beast fell forward with hardly a struggle, so close to the boys +that its blood splashed on their rubber boots. They got ten dollars +for the skin and ten dollars for the bounty, and about one million +dollars' worth of glory. + + * * * * * + +Hasting homeward for more peaceful adventures, I find, near the road +which leads to the railway station over which scores and hundreds of +my friends and neighbors, including myself, pass every day, a little +patch of marshland. In the fall it is covered with a thick growth of +goldenrod, purple asters, joe-pye-weed, wild sunflowers, white +boneset, tear-thumb, black bindweed, dodder, and a score or more of +other common fall flowers. + +One night, at nine o'clock, I noticed that an ice-blue star shone from +almost the very zenith of the heavens. Below her were two faint stars +making a tiny triangle, the left-hand one showing as a beautiful +double under an opera-glass. Below was a row of other dim points of +light in the black sky. It was Vega of the Lyre, the great Harp Star. +Then I knew that the time had come. We humans think, arrogantly, that +we are the only ones for whom the stars shine, and forget that flowers +and birds, and all the wild folk are born each under its own special +star. + +The next morning I was up with the sun and visited that bit of +unpromising marshland past which all of us had plodded year in and +year out. In one corner, through the dim grass, I found flaming like +deep-blue coals one of the most beautiful flowers in the world, the +fringed gentian. The stalk and flower-stems looked like green +candelabra, while the unopened blossoms showed sharp edges like +beech-nuts. Above them glowed square fringed flowers of the richest, +deepest blue that nature holds. It is bluer than the bluebird's back, +and fades the violet, the aster, the great lobelia, and all the other +blue flowers that grow. The four petals were fringed, and the flower +seemed like a blue eye looking out of long lashes to the paler sky +above. The calyx inside was of a veined purple or a silver-white, +while four gold-tipped, light purple stamens clustered around a +canary-yellow pistil. That morning I wore on the train one of the two +flowers which I allowed myself to pick. Every friend I met spoke of it +admiringly. Some had heard of it, others had seen it for themselves in +places far distant. None of them knew that every day until frost they +would pass unheedingly within ten feet of nearly thirty of these +flowers. + +Sometimes the adventure, unlike good children, is to be heard, not +seen. It was the end of a hot August day. I had been down for a late +dip in the lake, and was coming back through the woods to the old +farmhouse where I have spent so many of my summers. The path wound +through a grove of slim birches, and the lights in the afterglow were +all green and gold and white. From the nearby road a field sparrow, +with a pink beak, sang his silver flute song; and I stopped to listen, +and thought to myself, if he were only as rare as the nightingale, how +people would crowd to hear him. + +Suddenly from the depths of the twilight woods a thrush song began. At +first I thought the singer was the wood thrush, which, besides the +veery or Wilson thrush, was the only one that I had supposed could be +found in that Connecticut township. The song, however, had a more +ethereal quality, and I listened in vain for the drop to the harsh +bass notes which always blemish the strain of the wood thrush. +Instead, after three arpeggio notes, the singer's voice went up and +up, with a sweep that no human voice or instrument could compass, and +I suddenly realized that I was in the presence of one of the great +singers of the world. For years I had read of the song of the hermit +thrush, but in all my wanderings I had never chanced to hear it +before. + +Lafcadio Hearn writes of a Japanese bird whose song has the power to +change a man's whole life. So it was with me that midsummer evening. +Some thing had been added to the joy of living that could never be +taken from me. Since that twilight I have heard the hermit thrush sing +many times. Through the rain in the dawn-dusk on the top of Mount +Pocono, he sang for me once, while all around a choir of veerys +accompanied him with their strange minor harp-chords. One Sunday +morning, at the edge of a little Canadian river, I heard five singing +together on the farther side. "Ah-h-h, holy, holy, holy," their voices +chimed across the still water. In the woods, in migration, I have +heard their whisper-song, which the hermit sings only when traveling; +and once on a May morning, in my back yard, near Philadelphia, one +sang for me from the low limb of a bush as loudly as if he were in his +mountain home. + +No thrush song, however, will ever equal that first one which I heard +among the birch trees. Creeping softly along the path that evening, I +finally saw the little singer on a branch against the darkening sky. +Again and again he sang, until at last I noticed that, when the +highest notes were reached and the song ceased to my ears, the singer +sang on still. Quivering in an ecstasy, with open beak and +half-fluttering wings, the thrush sang a strain that went beyond my +range. Like the love-song of the bat, perhaps the best part of the +song of the hermit thrush can never be heard by any human ear. + + * * * * * + +It was the morning of June twentieth. I stood at the gate of the +farm-house where three roads met, and the air was full of bird-songs. +For a long time I stood there, and tried to note how many different +songs I could hear. Nearby were the alto joy-notes of the Baltimore +oriole. Up from the meadow where the trout brook flowed, came the +bubbling, gurgling notes of the bobolink. Robins, wood thrushes, song +sparrows, chipping sparrows, blue-birds, vireos, goldfinches, chebecs, +indigo birds, flickers, phoebes, scarlet tanagers, red-winged +blackbirds, catbirds, house wrens--altogether, without moving from my +place, I counted twenty-three different bird-songs and bird-notes. + +Nearby I saw a robin's nest, curiously enough built directly on the +ground on the side of the bank of one of the roads, and lined with +white wool, evidently picked up in the neighboring sheep-pasture. +This started me on another of the games of solitaire which I like to +play out-of-doors, and I tried to see how many nests I could discover +from the same vantage-point without moving. This is really a good way +to find birds' nests, and the one who stands still and watches the +birds will often find more than he who beats about. For a long time +the robin's nest was the only one on my list. At last the flashing +orange and black of a Baltimore oriole betrayed its gray swinging +pouch of a nest in a nearby spruce tree--the only time that I have +ever seen an oriole's nest in an evergreen tree. In a lilac bush I saw +the deep nest of the catbird, with its four vivid blue eggs and the +inevitable grapevine-bark lining around its edge. + +In a high fork in a great maple tree at the corner of the road, the +chebec, or least flycatcher, showed me her home. Sooner or later, if +you watch any of the flycatchers long enough, they will generally show +you their nests. This one was high up in a fork, and made of string +and wool and down. Over in the adjoining orchard I saw a kingbird +light on her nest in the very top of an apple tree; and I have no +doubt that, if I had climbed up to it, I would have seen three +beautiful cream-white eggs blotched with chocolate-brown. + +The last nest of all was my treasure nest of the summer. I was about +to give up the game and start off for a walk, when suddenly, right +ahead of me, hanging on the limb of a sugar-maple, not five feet above +the stone wall, I saw the swinging basket-nest of a vireo, with the +woven white strips of birch-bark on the outside which all vireos use +in that part of the country. It was as if a veil had suddenly dropped +from my eyes, for I had been looking in that direction constantly, +without seeing the nest directly in front of me. Probably, at last, I +must have slightly turned my head and finally caught the light in a +different direction. I supposed that the nest was that of the red-eyed +vireo, the only one of the five vireos which would be likely to build +in such a location. Climbing upon the wall to look at it, I saw that +the mother bird was on the nest. Even when I took hold of the limb, +she did not fly. Then I slowly pulled the limb down, and still the +brave little bird stayed on her nest, although several times she +started to her feet and, ruffling her feathers, made as if to fly. As +the nest came nearer and nearer, I could see that she was quivering +all over with fear, and that her heart was beating so rapidly as to +shake her tiny body. Finally, as she came almost within reach of my +outstretched hand, she gave me one long look and then suddenly cuddled +down over her dearly loved eggs and hid her head inside of the nest. +Reaching my hand out very carefully, I stroked her quivering little +back. She raised her head and gave me another long look, as if to make +sure whether I meant her any harm. Evidently I seemed friendly, for as +I stroked her head she turned and gave my finger a little peck, then +snuggled her head up against it in the most confiding, engaging way. +As she did so, I noticed that a white line ran from the beak to the +eye, and that she had a white eye-ring and a bluish-gray head. As I +looked at her, suddenly from a nearby branch the father bird sang, +and I recognized the song of the solitary or blue-headed vireo, who +belongs in the deep woods and whose rare nest is usually found in +their depths. As the male came nearer, I could see his pure white +throat which, with the white line from eye to bill and the +greenish-yellow markings on either flank, make good field-marks. The +four eggs, which I saw afterwards when the mother bird was off the +nest, were white with reddish markings all over instead of being +blotched at one end as are those of the red-eyed vireo. Every day for +the rest of that week I visited my little friend; and before I left +she grew to know me so well that she would not even ruffle up her +feathers when I pulled the limb down. + + * * * * * + +Children are of great help in the life adventurous. They have an +inexhaustible fund of admiration for even the feeblest efforts of +their parents in adventuring. Many a dull dog, who once heard nothing +in all the world but the clank of business, has been changed into a +confirmed adventurer by sheer appreciation. Moreover, children possess +an energy and imagination which we grown-ups often lack. Only the +other afternoon I started off for a walk with my four, to find myself +suddenly dining in the New Forest with Robin Hood, Little John, Will +Scarlet, and Allan a' Dale. Owing probably to a certain comfortable +habit of person, I was elected to be Friar Tuck. + +The forest itself is a wonderful wood of great trees hidden in a +little valley between two round green hills. In its centre is a +bubbling spring of clear water that never freezes in winter or dries +up in summer. That afternoon we had explored the Haunted House at the +edge of the wood, with its date-stone of 1809, ten-foot fireplace, and +vast stone chimney, and had fearfully approached that door under which +a dark stream of blood flowed a half-century ago, on the day when all +humans stopped dwelling in that house forever. + +Little John climbed puffingly up through two sets of floor-beams, to +where a few warped hemlock boards still make a patch of flooring in +the attic. Under a rafter he found a cunningly concealed hidey-hole, +drilled like a flicker's nest into one of the soft mica-schist stones +of the chimney. Inside were a battered home-made top, whittled out of +a solid block, and two flint Indian arrow-heads, ghosts of some +long-dead boyhood which still lingered in the little attic chamber. + +In the spring twilight we stole out by a side door, so that we might +not cross that stained threshold. A lilac bush, which in a century of +growth had become a thicket of purple, scented bloom, surrounded the +whole side of the house; while beside a squat buttonwood tree of +monstrous girth was the dome of a Dutch oven. We followed a dim path +fringed with white-thorn and sprays of sweet viburnum blossoms. + +From the distance, beyond the farther hill, came the crooning of the +toads on their annual pilgrimage back to the marsh where they were +born. In time we reached a bank all blue and white with enameled +innocents. In front of this the camp-fire was always kindled. The Band +scattered for fire-wood--but not far, for there were too many lurking +shadows among those tree-trunks. At last the fire was laid and +lighted. Five minutes later all the powers of darkness fled for their +lives before the steady roaring column of smokeless flame that surged +up in front of the Band. Followed wassail and feasting galore. +Haunches of venison, tasting much like mutton-chops, broiled hissingly +at the end of green beechwood spits. Flagons of Adam's ale were +quaffed, and the loving-cup--it was of the folding variety--passed +from hand to hand. + +All at once the substantial Tuck heaved himself up to his feet beside +the dying fire. There was not a sound in the sleeping forest. +Night-folk, wood-folk, water-folk, all were still. Then from the +pursed lips of the Friar sounded a long, wavering, mournful call. +Again and again it shuddered away across the hills. Suddenly, so far +away that at first it seemed an echo, it was answered. Once and twice +more the call sounded, and each time the answer was nearer and louder. +Something was coming. As the Band listened aghast, around the circle +made by the firelight glided a dark shape with fiery eyes. It realized +their worst fears, and with one accord they threw themselves on the +Friar, who rocked under the impact. + +"Send it back, Fathie, send it back!" they shouted in chorus. + +[Illustration: THE SINGER OF THE NIGHT--THE SCREECH OWL] + +The good Friar unpuckered his lips. + +"I am surprised, comrades," he said severely. "You aren't afraid of an +old screech-owl, are you?" + +"N-n-n-ooo," quavered little Will Scarlet, "if you're _sure_ it's a +nowl." + +"Certain sure," asserted the Friar reassuringly, and gave the call +again. + +On muffled, silent wings the dark form drifted around and around the +light, but never across it, and then alighted on a nearby tree and +gave an indescribable little crooning note which the Friar could only +approximate. At last, disgusted with the clumsy attempts to continue a +conversation so well begun, the owl melted away into the darkness and +was gone. + +After that, the Band decided that home was the one place for them. +Water was poured on the blaze, and earth heaped over the hissing +embers. Under the sullen flare of Arcturus and the glow of Algieba, +Spica, and all the stars of spring, they started back by dim wood +roads and flower-scented lanes. Will Scarlet, Little John, and Allan +a' Dale frankly shared the hands of the Friar, and in the darkest +places even the redoubtable Robin himself casually took possession of +an unoccupied thumb. + + + + +II + +ZERO BIRDS + + +It had been a strenuous night. All day the mercury had been flirting +with the zero mark, and soon after sunset burrowed down into the bulb +below all readings. My bed that night felt like a well-iced tomb. +Probably daylight would have found me frozen to death if it had not +been for a saving idea. Hurrying into the children's room, I selected +two of the warmest and chubbiest. Banking them on either side of me in +my bed, I just survived the night. Of course it was hard on them; but +then, any round, warm child of proper sentiments should welcome an +opportunity to save the life of an aged parent. + +In spite of my patent heating-plant I woke up toward morning +shivering, and remembered with a terrible depression that I had +boasted to Mrs. Naturalist and to various and sundry scoffing friends +that I would cut down and cut up and haul in one forty-foot hickory +tree before the glad New Year. For a while I decided that there was +nothing on earth worth exchanging for that warm bed. Finally, however, +my better nature conquered, and the dusk before the dawn found me in +the woods in front of a dead hickory tree some forty feet high and a +couple of rods through--at least that was how its flinty girth +impressed me after I had chopped a while. The air was like iced wine. +Every axe-stroke drove it tingling through my blood. + +Before attacking the hickory, however, I began to cut down the brush +surrounding the doomed tree, so as to gain clear space for the +axe-swing. Almost immediately a vindictive spice-bush in falling +knocked off my glasses, and they fell into the snow somewhere ahead of +me. Without them I am in the same condition as a mole or a shrew, my +sense of sight being only rudimentary. Down I plumped on my knees in +the snow and fumbled in the half light with numbed fingers through the +cold whiteness ahead. + +As I groped and grumbled in this lowly position, suddenly I heard the +prelude to one of the most beautiful of winter dawn-songs. It was a +liquid loud note full of rolling _r's_. Perhaps it can be best +represented in print somewhat as follows: "Chip'r'r'r'r." I forgot my +lost glasses and my cold hands and my wet knees waiting for the song +that I knew was coming. Another preliminary, rolling note or so, and +there sounded from a low stump a wild, ringing song that could be +heard for half a mile. "Wheedle-wheedle-wheedle," it began full of +liquid bell-like overtones. Then the singer added another syllable to +his strain and sang, "Whee-udel, whee-udel, whee-udel." Three times, +with a short rest between, he sang the full double strain through, +although it was so dark that only the ghostly, black tree-trunks could +be seen against the white snow. I needed no sight of him, however, to +recognize the singer. The song took me back to a bitter winter day in +Philadelphia some seventeen years ago, when I was laboriously +learning the birds. I was walking through a bit of waste-land +encircled by trolley-tracks when I heard this same song. It was like +nothing which I had ever heard in New England, where I had learned +what little I knew about birds, and I searched everywhere for the +singer, expecting to see a bird about the size of a robin. + +Finally, in the underbrush just ahead of me, I saw an unmistakable +wren singing so ecstatically that he shook and trembled all over with +the outpouring of his song. It was my first sight and hearing of this +southern bird, the Carolina wren, the largest of our five wrens, whose +field-mark is a long white line over the eye. He is reddish-brown, +while the house wren, which is half an inch shorter, is +cinnamon-brown. The long-billed marsh wren also has a white line over +the eye and is about the same size, but is never found away from the +tall grass bordering on water, and has no such song as the Carolina. +The winter wren and the short-billed marsh wren could neither of them +be mistaken for the Carolina, as both are about an inch and a half +shorter and lack the white line. The house wren and the long-billed +marsh wren bubble when they sing, the Carolina wren and the winter +wren ring, and the short-billed marsh wren, the rarest of all, clicks. +Of them all only the Carolina wren sings in the winter. + +That day the wren-song brought me good luck. It was no more than +finished when I heard someone passing along a nearby wood-road, who +turned out to be an early-rising workman from whom I borrowed some +matches with which I finally discovered my missing eyes half buried in +the snow. I attacked the pignut hickory with great energy to make up +for lost time. Little by little the axe bit through the tough wood, +until the kerf was well past the heart of the tree. As I chopped I +could hear the quick strokes of a far better wood-cutter than I shall +ever be. Suddenly he gave a loud, rattling call, and I recognized the +hairy woodpecker. He is much larger than the downy, being nearly the +size of a robin, while his call is wilder and louder and lacks the +downward run of the downy's note. We chopped on together, he at his +tree and I at mine. Suddenly from my tree sounded a warning crack, and +the trunk wavered for a moment. I stepped well off to one side, for it +is dangerous to stand behind a falling tree. If it strikes anything as +it falls the trunk may shoot backward. A venerable ancestor of mine, +so the story runs, tried to celebrate his ninetieth birthday by +chopping down a tree, and standing behind it, was killed by the +back-lash of the falling trunk. + +The tree swayed forward toward the crimson rim of the rising sun. One +more stroke at its heart, and there was a loud series of cracks, +followed by a roar like thunder as it crashed down. Almost +immediately, as if awakened by the noise, I began to hear bird-notes. +From over to my left sounded a series of sharp, irritating +alarm-notes, and in the waxing light I caught a glimpse of a crested +blood-red bird at the edge of a green-brier thicket. In that same +place I had found his nest the spring before, made of twigs and strips +of bark and lined with grass and roots and holding three speckled +eggs. It was the cardinal grosbeak, another bird unknown to me in New +England. No matter how often I meet this crimson-crested grosbeak, he +will never become a common bird to me. Each time I see him I feel +again something of the thrill which came over me when I first met this +singer from the southland in a thicket on the edge of Philadelphia. +With the Carolina wren and the tufted titmouse, the cardinal grosbeak +completes a trio of birds that can never be commonplace to one born +north of Central Park, New York, which is about the limit of their +northern range. + +To-day, as I watched my flaming cardinal, he suddenly dived stiffly +into the heart of the thicket. A moment later from its midst sounded a +clear, loud whistle, "Whit, whit, whit." I answered him, for this is +one of the few bird-calls I can imitate. Before long his dove-colored +mate also appeared. Her wings and tail were of a duller red, while the +upper-parts of her sleek body were of a brownish-ash tint. The throat +and a patch by the base of the bill were black in both. As I watched, +the singer in the thicket added to his whistle the word "Teu, teu, +teu, teu" and then finally ran them together--"Whee-teu, whee-teu, +whee-teu," so rapidly whistled that it sounded almost like a single +note. + +On the way back to breakfast, as the sun came up and warmed a slope of +the woods, a flock of slate-colored juncos burst out altogether in a +chorus of soft little trills, with now and then sharp alarm-notes +like the clicking of pebbles together, interspersed with tiny +half-whispered notes best expressed by the same letters as those used +in writing the grosbeak music--"Teu, teu, teu, teu." Suddenly, from a +farther corner of the sun-warmed slope, I heard a few tinkling notes +followed by a tantalizing snatch of rich, sweet song shot through with +canary-like trills and runs. I hurried over the snow and caught a +glimpse of a little flock of birds with crowns of reddish-brown, and +each wearing small black spots in the exact centre of their +drab-colored waistcoats. They were tree-sparrows down from the far +North, and I was fortunate to have heard the peculiarly gentle cadence +of one of their rare winter songs. + +Farther on, the caw of a passing crow drifted down from the cold sky, +and before I left the woods I heard the pip of a downy woodpecker and +the grunt of the white-breasted nuthatch, that tree-climber with the +white cheeks which, unlike woodpeckers, can go both up and down trees +head-foremost. In the early spring and sometimes on warm winter days, +one may hear his spring song, which is "Quee-quee-quee." It is not +much of a song, but Mr. Nuthatch is very proud of it and usually +pauses admiringly between each two strains. In my early bird-days I +used to mistake this spring song for the note of an early flicker, and +would scandalize better-educated ornithologists by reporting flickers +several weeks before their time. The last bird I heard before I left +the woods remarked solemnly, "Too-wheedle, too-wheedle, too-wheedle, +too-wheedle," like a creaking wheelbarrow, and then suddenly broke out +into the flat, harsh "Djay, djay, djay" which has given the +silver-and-blue jay its name. + +By the time I had reached home, I decided that it was too cold a day +to practise law safely. The state legislature in their wisdom had +already made the day a half-holiday. Not to be outdone in generosity, +I decided to donate my half and make the holiday a whole one. Anent +this matter of holidays, the trouble with most of us is that we are +obsessed with the importance of our daily work. There are many +pleasant byways which we plan to come back and explore when we have +reached the end of the straight, steep, and intensely narrow road that +leads to achievement. The trouble is that there is no returning. Men +die rich, famous, or successful, who have never taken the time to +companion their children or to find their way into the world of the +wild-folk which lies at their very doors. It was not always so. Read +in Evelyn's Diary how for sixty years a great man played a great part +under three kings and the grim Protector, and yet never lost an +opportunity to refresh his life with bird-songs, hilltops, +flower-fields, and sky-air. We reach our goal to-day in a few +desperate years, stripped to the buff like a Marathon runner. One can +arrive later and not miss a thousand little happinesses along the way. + +With similar arguments I convinced myself on that day, that it was my +duty as an amateur naturalist to discover how many birds I could meet +between dawn and dark with the thermometer below zero. Certain +gentlemen-adventurers of my acquaintance aided and abetted me in this +plan. They all held high office in a military organization known for +short as the Band. There was First Lieutenant Trottie, Second +Lieutenant Honey, Sergeant Henny-Penny, and Corporal Alice-Palace, +while I had been honored with a captain's commission in this regiment. +To be sure, there was something of a dearth of privates; but with such +a gallant array of officers their absence was not felt. At any hour of +day or night, to the last man, every member of the Band was ready for +the most desperate adventures by field and flood. + +[Illustration: A CROW CHORUS] + +As we left the house the thermometer stood at four below, while the +sky was of a frozen blue, without a cloud, and had a hard glitter as +if streaked with frost. In a low tree by the roadside, we heard the +metallic note of a downy woodpecker scurrying up the trunk and backing +stiffly down. Farther on sounded a loud cawing, and we saw four +ruffianly crows assaulting a respectable female broad-winged hawk. One +after the other they would flap over her as closely as possible, +aiming vicious pecks as they passed. The broad-winged beat the air +frantically with her short, wide, fringed wings, and seemed to make no +effort to defend herself against her black, jeering pursuers. Once she +alighted on an exposed limb. Instantly the crows settled near her and +used language which no respectable female hawk could listen to for a +moment. She spread her wings and soared away, and as she passed out +of sight they were still cawing on her trail. + +If the hawk had been one of the swift Accipiters, such as the gray +goshawk or the Cooper's hawk, or any of the falcons, no crow would +have ventured to take any liberties. One of my friends, who collects +bird's eggs instead of bird-notes, was once attempting feloniously to +break and enter the home of a duck-hawk which was highly regarded in +the community--about two hundred feet highly in fact. As my friend was +swinging back and forth on a rope in front of the perpendicular cliff, +said duck-hawk dashed at him at the rate of some ninety miles per +hour. Being scared off by a blank cartridge, the enraged falcon +towered. A passing crow flapping through the air made a peck at the +hawk as it shot past. That was one of the last and most unfortunate +acts in that crow's whole life. The duck-hawk was fairly aching with +the desire to attack someone or something which was not protected by +thunder and lightning. With one flash of its wings it shot under that +misguided crow, and, turning on its back in mid-air, slashed it with +six talons like sharpened steel. The crow dropped, a dead mass of +black and blood, to the brow of the cliff below. + +Finally we reached the tall, stone chimney--all that is left of some +long-forgotten house, which marks the entrance to old Darby Road, +which was opened in 1701. At that point Wild-Folk Land begins. The +hurrying feet of more than two centuries have sunk the road some ten +feet below its banks, and the wild-folk use its hidden bed like one +of their own trails. Foxes pad along its rain-washed course, and +rabbits and squirrels hop and scurry across its narrow width, while in +spring and summer wild ginger, ebony spleenwort, the blue-and-white +porcelain petals of the hepatica, and a host of other flowers bloom on +its banks. The birds too nest there, from the belted gray-blue and +white kingfisher, which has bored a deep hole into the clay under an +overhanging wild-cherry tree, down to the field sparrow, with its pink +beak and flute-song, which watches four speckled eggs close-hidden in +a tiny cup of woven grass. + +To-day we followed the windings of the road, until we came to the vast +black oak tree which marks the place where Darby Road, after running +for nearly ten miles, stops to rest. Beyond stretched the unbroken +expanse of Blacksnake Swamp, bounded by the windings of Darby Creek. +The Band seated themselves on one of their favorite resting-places, a +great log which lay under the trees. Above us a white-breasted +nuthatch, with its white cheeks and black head, was rat-tat-tatting up +and around a half-dead limb, picking out every insect egg in sight +from the bark. As the bird came near the broken top of the bough, out +of a hole popped a very angry red squirrel exactly like a +jack-in-the-box. The red squirrel is the fastest of all the tree-folk +among the animals, but a nuthatch on a limb is not afraid of anything +that flies or crawls or climbs. He can run up and down around a +branch, forward and backward, unlike the woodpeckers, which must +always back down, or the brown creepers, which can go up a tree in +long spirals but have to fly down. + +A red streak flashed down the limb on which the nuthatch was working. +That was the squirrel. A fraction of a second ahead of the squirrel +there was a wink of gray and white. That was the nuthatch. Before the +squirrel could even recover his balance, there was a cheerful +rat-tat-tat just behind him on the other side of the limb. As the +squirrel turned, the rapping sounded on the other side of the branch. +His bushy tail quivered, and using some strong squirrel-language, he +dived back into his hole. He was hardly out of sight when the nuthatch +was tapping again at his door. Once more the squirrel rushed out +chattering and sputtering. Once more the nuthatch was not there. Then +he tried chasing the bird around the limb, but there was nothing in +that. The nuthatch could turn in half the time and space, and moreover +did not have to be afraid of falling, for a drop of fifty feet to +frozen ground is no joke even for a red squirrel. The aggravating +thing about the nuthatch was that, no matter how hard the squirrel +chased him, he never stopped for a second, tapping away at the branch, +feeding even as he ran. Finally Mr. Squirrel went back to his house +and stayed there, while the nuthatch tapped in triumph all around his +hole, although muffled chatterings from within expressed the +squirrel's unvarnished opinion of that nuthatch. + +When the nuthatch finally flew to another tree, we got up and followed +a path that twisted through a barren field full of grassy tussocks +and clumps of mockernut hickories and black-walnut trees, until it at +last lost itself in the depths of Blacksnake Swamp. This swamp had +taken its name from the day that we caught a black snake skimming +along over the tops of the bushes like a bird. In summer it is full of +impassable quagmires, and to-day we hoped to explore the hidden places +which we had never yet seen. We had scarcely passed through the outer +fringe of tall grasses and cat-tails, when we heard everywhere through +the cold air little tinkling notes, and caught glimpses of dark +sparrow-like birds with forked tails, striped breasts, and streaked +rich brown backs, each one showing a fine zigzag whitish line at the +bend of the wing. Another field-mark was a light patch over each eye, +and we identified the first and largest flock of pine siskin of the +year. These siskin are strange birds. One never knows when and where +they will appear. The last flock that I had seen was in my back-yard +in May. Usually too they are in trees, and this was the first time +that I had ever met with them on the ground. The birds gave little +canary-like notes, like goldfinches, which are often found with them, +but can always be recognized by their unstreaked breasts and double +wing-bars. + +[Illustration: JUST OUT OF THE NEST--YOUNG RED SQUIRRELS] + +For a long time we studied the flock through our field-glasses, until +every last one of the Band had learned this new bird. As we watched +them, a white-throated sparrow lisped from a nearby bush, and a little +later we met a flock of tree sparrows, a bird which is never by any +chance found in a tree. In the distance a woodpecker flew through the +air in a labored up-and-down flight, and, as he disappeared, he gave +the wild cry of the hairy woodpecker, a bird nearly twice the size of +his smaller brother, the downy. Close by the side of the creek, we +heard a tiny note like "pheep, pheep, pheep," and, even as we looked +for the bird, it flew past and lit on a tree on the other side of the +path, not two feet away. We all stood stony still, and in a minute a +brown creeper circled the tree, climbing it in tiny hops in a wide +spiral. He was so close that we could see his stiff, spiny tail with a +little row of spots at its base, and the brown and gray speckles on +his back, and his long curiously curved bill. + +We pressed on into the very heart of the great, treacherous marsh, +to-day frozen hard and safe, and explored all of its secret places. In +a tangle of wild-grape vine, we found the round nest, rimmed with +grape-vine bark, of the cardinal grosbeak; while over in a thicket of +elderberry bushes, all rusty-gold with the clinging stems of that +parasite, the dodder, showed the close sheath of the fine branches of +a swamp maple. In a fork at the end of one of the branches, all +silver-gray, was the empty nest of a goldfinch, the last of all the +birds to nest. It was made of twisted strands of the silk of the +milkweed pods hackled by the bird's beak. In the snow, we came across +a strange track almost like the trail of a snake. It was a wide +trough, with little close-set, zigzag paw-marks running all through +it. The Captain told the Band that this was the trail of the fierce +blarina shrew, one of the killers. Without eyes or ears, this strange +little blind death eats its weight in flesh every twenty-four hours, +and slays under ground, above ground, and even under the water. The +Band regarded the strange tracks with enormous interest. + +"How big do they grow?" anxiously inquired Henny-Penny, the littlest +but one of the Band. + +"Just a little longer than my middle finger," the Captain reassured +him. + +Suddenly, in the very midst of this zoölogical bric-a-brac, a great +thought came to each and every of the Band simultaneously. + +"Lunch-time!" they shouted with one accord. + +Then occurred the tragedy of the trip. In a pocket of his +shooting-jacket the Captain had a package of sandwiches containing +just one apiece, no more, no less. The rest of the lunch, thick +scones, raisins, chocolate, saveloy sausage, bacon, and other +necessaries and luxuries, had been wrapped up in another package and +intrusted to Honey as head of the commissary department for the +day--and Honey had left the package on the hall table! It was a grief +almost too great to be borne. The Band regarded their guilty comrade +reproachfully. Two large tears ran down Honey's cheeks. Alice-Palace, +the littlest of them all, gave way to unrestrained emotions which bade +fair to frighten away the most blood-thirsty of blarinas within the +radius of a mile. + +Then it was that the Captain rose to the emergency. "Comrades," said +he, placing one hand over Alice-Palace's widely-opened mouth, "all is +not lost. Old woodsmen like ourselves can find food anywhere. Follow +me. Hist!" + +Like Hawk-Eye and Chingachgook and other well-known scouts, the +Captain was apt to employ that mysterious word when beginning a +desperate adventure. The Band followed him with entire confidence, +albeit with certain snifflings on the part of Corporal Alice-Palace. +They crossed a tiny brook, and found themselves in a little grove of +swamp maples which had grown up around the fallen trunk of the parent +tree. The Captain scanned the trees carefully. Everywhere were trails +in the snow which he told them were the tracks of gray squirrels. +Suddenly he reached up and picked out from between a little twig +and the smooth trunk of a swamp-maple sapling, a big, dry, +beautifully-seasoned black walnut. That started the Band to looking, +and they found that the little trees were filled with walnuts, each +one wedged in between twigs or branches so that it would not blow +down. Up and down and about the low trees climbed and scrambled the +Band. Some of the nuts were hidden and some were in plain sight, but +altogether there was nearly half a peck of them, each one containing a +dry, crisp, golden kernel which tasted as rich and delicious as it +looked. They had come upon the winter storehouse of a gray-squirrel +family. + +Piling the nuts in the lee of a big oak tree where the camp-fire was +to be made, they followed the Captain to a broken-down rail fence, +where grew a thicket of tiny trees with smooth trunks, whose gray +twigs were laden down with bunches of what looked like tiny purple +plums. Each one had a layer of pulp over a flat stone, and this pulp, +what there was of it, had a curious attractive spicy sugary taste. The +Captain told the Band that these were nanny-plums, sometimes known as +sweet viburnum. Further on, they found clusters of little purple +fox-grapes, fiercely sour in the fall, but now sweetened enough, under +the bite of the frost, to be swallowed. + +Still the Captain was not ready to stop. Up the hillside he led them, +by a winding path through tangled thickets, until in a level place he +brought them to a group of curious trees. The bark of these was deeply +grooved and in places nearly three inches thick, while the branches +were covered with scores and scores of golden-red globes. Some were +wrinkled and frost-bitten until they had turned brown, but others +still hung plump and bright in the winter air. It was a grove of +persimmon trees. Before he could be stopped, Henny-Penny had picked +one of the best-looking of the lot and took a deep bite out of the +soft pulp. Immediately thereafter he spat out his first taste of +persimmon with great emphasis, his mouth so puckered that it was with +difficulty that he could express his unfavorable opinion of the new +fruit. + +"Handsome is as handsome does," warned the Captain. "Try some of the +frost-bitten ones." + +The Band accordingly did so, and found that the worst-looking and most +wrinkled specimens were sweet as honey and without a trace of pucker. +On their way back, they passed through a thicket of tangled bushes, +whose branches were all matted together in bunches which looked like +birds' nests. The twigs were laden down with round, purple berries +about the size of a wild cherry, and the Captain told the Band that +these were hackberries, otherwise known as sugar-berries. They picked +handfuls of them, and found that the berry had a sweet spicy pulp over +a fragile stone that could be crushed like the stones of a raisin, +while the fruit when eaten resembled a raisin in taste. + +Hurrying back to the camp-fire tree, the Captain dug a round circle a +couple of feet in diameter in the snow, and spread down a layer of dry +leaves. Over these he built a little tepee of tiny, dry, black-oak +twigs. Underneath this he placed a fragment of birch-bark which he had +peeled off one of the aspen birches which grew on the fringe of the +swamp. This burned like paper, and in a minute the little ball of dry +twigs was crackling away with a steady flame. Over this he piled dry +sassafras and hickory boughs, and in a few moments the Band was seated +around a column of flame which roared up fully four feet high. With +their backs against the great oak tree, they cracked and cracked and +cracked black walnuts and crunched sugar-berries and nibbled +nanny-plums and tasted frost-grapes--saving the single sandwich until +next to the last; while for desert they had handfuls and handfuls of +honey-sweet, wrinkled persimmons. + +[Illustration: THE DEAR DEER MICE] + +Near the fire Lieutenant Trottie found an old box-cover bedded in the +snow. As he lifted it up, there was a rush and a scurry, and from a +round, warm nest underneath the cover, made of thistle-down, fur, +feathers, and tiny bits of woodfibre all matted together into a sort +of felt, dashed six reddish-brown, pink-pawed mice. They burrowed in +the snow, crept under the leaves, and in a minute were out of sight, +all except one, which tried to climb the box-cover and which Trottie +caught before he could scurry over the top of it. His fur was like +plush, with the hair a warm reddish-brown at the ends and gray at the +roots. Underneath he was snowy-white, although there, too, the fur +showed mouse-gray under the surface. He had little brown claws and six +tiny pink disks on each paw, which enabled him to run up and down +perpendicular surfaces. His eyes were big and brown and lustrous, and +he had flappy, pinky-gray, velvet ears, each one of which was half the +size of his funny little face and thin as gossamer. His paws were pink +and his long tail was covered with the finest of hairs. When he found +he was fairly caught, he snuggled down into Trottie's hand, making a +queer little whimpering noise, while his nose wrinkled and quivered. +When Trottie brought him to the fire, Henny-Penny offered him a +half-kernel of one of his walnuts. Instantly the little nose stopped +quivering, and Mousy sat up like a squirrel on the back of Trottie's +hand and nibbled away until the piece was all gone. Each one of the +Band took turns in feeding him until he could eat no more. Then +Trottie put him back in the deserted nest and replaced the box-cover. + +The last adventure of all was on the way home. We were walking along +an abandoned railroad track, when suddenly a flock of light grayish +birds flew up all together out of the dry grass and lighted in a small +elm tree nearby. As we watched them, they turned and all flew down +together. Instantly it was as if a mass of peach-blossoms had been +spilled on the withered grass and white snow. Fully a third of the +flock had crimson crowns and rose-colored breasts, while at the base +of the streaked gray-and-brown backs showed a tinge of pink. It was +our first flock of the lesser redpolls all the way down from the +Arctic Circle. They were restless but not shy, and sometimes we were +able to get within six feet of them. They would continually fly back +and forth from the tree to the ground, keeping up a soft chattering +interspersed with little tinkling notes, somewhat resembling the +goldfinch or the siskin which we had left behind us in the swamp. +Always, when they flew, they gave a little piping call, and their +field-mark was a black patch under the throat which could be seen even +farther than their red polls or their rosy breasts. Their beaks were +light and very pointed, and they had forked tails like the siskin. + +It was nearly twilight when we left them and at last started home. As +we followed a fox-trail in and out through the thickets of Fern +Valley, we caught a glimpse of a large brown bird on the ground. At +first I thought that it was some belated fox sparrow; but when it +hopped to a low twig and then raised its tail stiffly as I watched, I +recognized the hermit thrush, which always betrays itself by this +curious mannerism. The last one I had seen was singing like Israfel, +in the twilight of a Canadian forest. To-day the little singer was +silent, and I wondered what had kept him back from the southland, and +hoped that he would be able to win through the bitter days still ahead +of him. I have no doubt that he did, for the hermit thrush is a +brave-hearted, hardy, self-reliant bird. + +The sun had gone down before we finally reached the road. Above the +after-glow showed a patch of apple-green sky against which was etched +the faintest, finest, and newest of crescent moons. It almost seemed +as if a puff of wind would blow her like a cobweb out of the sky. +Above gleamed Venus, the evening star, all silver-gold; while over +toward the other side of the sky, great golden Jupiter echoed back her +rays. Below the green, the sky was a mass of dusky gold which deepened +into amber and then slowly faded. As we walked home through the +twilight, we heard the last, sweetest, and saddest singer of that +winter day. Through the air shuddered a soft tremolo call, like the +whistling of swift, unseen wings or the wail of a little lost child. +It was the eerie call of the little screech-owl--and never was a bird +worse named. Answering, I brought him so close to us that we could see +his ear-tufts showing in the half-light. All the way home he followed +us, calling and calling for some one who will never come. + + + + +III + +SNOW STORIES + + +The sun went down in a spindrift of pale gold and gray, which faded +into a bank of lead-colored cloud. The next morning the woods and +fields were dumb with snow. No blue jays squalled, nor white-skirted +juncos clicked; neither were there any nuthatches running gruntingly +up and down the tree-trunks. There was not even the caw of a passing +crow from the cold sky. As I followed an unbroken wood-road, it seemed +as if all the wild-folk were gone. + +The snow told another story. On its smooth surface were records of the +lives that had throbbed and passed and ebbed beneath the silent trees. +Just ahead of me the road crossed a circle where, a half-century ago, +the charcoal-burners had set the round stamp of one of their pits. On +the level snow there was a curious trail of zigzag tracks. They were +deep and close-set, and made by some animal that walked flat-footed. I +recognized the trail of the unhasting skunk. Other animals may jump +and run and skurry through life, but the motto of the skunk is, "Don't +hurry, others will." The tracks of the fore-paw, when examined +closely, showed long claw-marks which were absent from the print of +the hind feet. Occasionally the trail changed into a series of groups +of four tracks arranged in a diagonal straight line, which marked +where the skunk had broken into the clumsy gallop which is its fastest +gait. Most of the time this particular skunk had walked in a slow and +dignified manner. By the edge of the woods he had stopped and dug +deeply into a rotten log, evidently looking for winter-bound crickets +and grubs. + +At this point another character was added to the plot of this snow +story. Approaching at right angles to the trail of the skunk were the +tracks of a red fox. I knew he was red, because that is the only kind +of fox found in that part of New England. I knew them to be the tracks +of a fox, because they ran straight instead of spraddling like a dog, +and never showed any mark of a dragging foot. The trail told what had +happened. The first tracks were the far-apart ones of a hunting fox. +When he reached the skunk's trail, the foot-prints became close +together and ran parallel to the trail and some distance away from it. +The fox was evidently following the tracks in a thoughtful mood. He +was a young fox, or he would not have followed them at all. At the +edge of the clearing he had sighted the skunk and stopped, for the +prints were melted deep into the snow. Sometimes an old and hungry fox +will kill a skunk. In order to do this safely, the spine of the skunk +must be broken instantly by a single pounce, thus paralyzing the +muscles on which the skunk depends for his defense; for the skunk +invented the gas-attack a million years before the Boche. No living +animal can stay within range of the choking fumes of the liquid musk +which the skunk can throw for a distance of several feet. The snow +told me what happened next. It was a sad story. The fox had sprung and +landed beside the skunk, intending to snap it up like a rabbit. The +skunk snapped first. Around the log was a tangle of fox-tracks, with +flurries and ridges and holes in the snow where the fox had rolled and +burrowed. Out of the farther side a series of tremendous bounds showed +where a wiser and a smellier fox had departed from that skunk with an +initial velocity of close to one mile per minute. Finally, out of the +confused circle came the neat, methodical trail of the unruffled skunk +as he moved sedately away. Probably to the end of his life the device +of a black-and-white tail rampant will always be associated in that +fox's mind with the useful maxim, "Mind your own business." + +Beyond the instructive fable of the fox and the skunk showed lace-work +patterns and traceries in the snow where scores and hundreds of the +mice-folk had come up from their tunnels beneath the whiteness, and +had frolicked and feasted the long night through. Some of these tracks +were in little clumps of fours. Each group had a five-fingered pair of +large prints in front and a pair of four-fingered tracks just behind. +Down the middle ran a tail-mark. They were the tracks of the +white-footed or deer-mice. These were the same little robbers which +swarmed into my winter camp and gnawed everything in sight. Even a +flitch of bacon hung on a cord was riddled with their tiny +teeth-marks. Only things hung on wires were safe, for their clinging +little feet cannot find a footing on the naked iron. One night they +gnawed a ring of round holes through the crown of a cherished felt hat +belonging to a friend of mine. The language he used when he looked at +that hat the next morning was unfit for the ears of any young +deer-mouse. Another time the deer-mice carried off about a peck of +expensive stuffing from a white horse-hair mattress, which I had +imported for the personal repose of my aged frame. Although I +ransacked that cabin from turret to foundation-stone I could never +find a trace of that horse-hair. In spite of their evil ways one +cannot help liking the little rascals. They have such bright, black +eyes, and wear such snowy, silky waistcoats and stockings. + +The other evening I sat reading alone in my cabin in the heart of the +pine-barrens before a roaring fire. Suddenly I felt something tickle +my knee. When I moved there was a sudden jump and a deer-mouse sprang +out from my trouser-leg to the floor. Then I put a piece of bread on +the edge of the wood-box. Although I saw the bread disappear, I could +catch no glimpse of what took it. Finally I put a piece on my shoe, +and after running back and forth from the wood-box several times, Mr. +Mouse at last became brave enough to take it. When he found that I did +not move, he sat up on my shoe like a little squirrel and nibbled away +at his crumb, watching me all the time out of a corner of his black +eyes. I forgave him my friend's hat, and was almost ready to overlook +the horse-hair episode. When I moved, like a flash he dashed up the +wall by the fireplace, and hid behind a row of books that stood on +the red-oak plank which I had put in as a mantel-piece. Unfortunately +he had forgotten to hide his long silky tail. It hung down through the +crack between the plank and the rough stone of the chimney. I tiptoed +over and gave it a pinch to remind him to meddle no more with other +people's mattresses. + +Returning to the wood-road--on that morning, among the trails of the +deer-mice were the more numerous tracks of the meadow- or field-mouse. +They show no tail-mark, and the smaller footprints were not side by +side as with the deer-mice, but almost always one behind the other. +These smaller paw-marks among all jumping-animals, such as rabbits, +squirrels, and mice, are always the marks of the fore-paws. The larger +far-apart tracks mark where the hind feet of the jumper come down in +front and outside of the fore-paws as he jumps. + +On that day, among the mouse-tracks on the snow there showed another +faint trail, which looked like a string of tiny exclamation marks with +a tail-mark between them. It was the track of the masked shrew, the +smallest mammal of the Eastern states. This tiny fierce fragment of +flesh and blood is only about the length of a man's little finger. So +swift are the functions of its wee body that, deprived of food for six +hours, the shrew starves and dies. Many of them are found starved to +death on the melting snow, having crept up from their underground +burrows through the shafts made by grass and weed-stems. Wandering +over the white waste, they lose their way and, failing to find food, +starve before the sun is half way down the sky. As the shrew does not +hibernate, his whole life is a swift hunt for food; for every day this +apparently eyeless, earless animal must eat its own weight in flesh. +The weasels kill from blood-lust, but the shrews kill for their very +life's sake. It is a fearsome sight to see a shrew attack a mouse. The +mouse bites. The shrew eats. Boring in, the shrew secures a grip with +its long, crooked, crocodile jaws filled with fierce teeth, and +devours its way like fire through skin and flesh and bone, worrying +out and swallowing mouthfuls of blood and flesh until the mouse falls +over dead. This tiny beastling, the masked shrew, must be weighed by +troy weight, and tips a jeweler's scale at less than forty-five +grains. + +To-day the snow said the shrew had been an unbidden and unwelcome +guest at the mice-dinner. At first the mice-trails were massed +together in a maze of tracks. Where the trail of the shrew touched the +circle, there shot out separate lines of mice-tracks, like the spokes +of a wheel, with the paw-marks far apart, showing that the guests had +all sprung up from the laden table of the snow and dashed off in +different directions. The shrew-track circled faintly here and there, +ran for some distance in a long straight trail, and--stopped. The +Sword of Damocles, which hangs forever over the head of all the little +wild-folk, had fallen. The shrew was gone. A tiny fleck of blood and a +single track like a great X on the snow told the tale of his passing. +All his fierceness and courage availed nothing when the great talons +of the flying death clamped through his soft fur. X is the signature +of the owl-folk just as K is of the hawk-kind. The size of the mark in +this case showed that the killer was one of the larger owls. Later in +the winter it might have been the grim white Arctic owl, which +sometimes comes down from the frozen North in very cold weather. So +early in the season, however, it would be either the barred or the +great horned owl. + +I had hunted and camped and fished and tramped all through this +hill-country, and although I had often heard at night the "Whoo, +hoo-hoo, hoo, hoo" of the great horned owl, which keeps always the +same pitch, I had never heard the call of the barred owl, which ends +in a falling cadence with a peculiar deep, hollow note. So I decided +that the maker of the track was that fierce king of the deep woods, +whose head, with its ear-tufts or horns, may be seen peering from his +nest of sticks on the mountainside in a high tree-top as early as +February. On wings so muffled by soft downy feathers as to be +absolutely noiseless, he had swooped down in the darkness, and the +tiny bubble of the shrew's life had broken into the void. + +Beyond this point the road wound upward toward the slope of the +Cobble, a steep, sharp-pointed little hill which suddenly thrust +itself up from a circle of broad meadows and flat woodlands. Time was +when all the Cobble was owned and ploughed clear to its peak by +Great-great-uncle Samuel, who had a hasty disposition and a tremendous +voice, and ploughed with two yoke of oxen which required a +considerable amount of conversation. Tradition has it that, when +discoursing to them, he could be heard in four different towns. That +was more than one hundred years ago, and the Cobble has been untouched +by plough or harrow since, and to-day is wooded to the very top. + +[Illustration: DEATH-IN-THE-DARK--THE GREAT HORNED OWL] + +Just ahead of me on the wood-road showed a deep track which only in +recent years has been seen in Connecticut. In my boyhood a deer-track +was as unknown as that of a wolf, and the wolves have been gone for at +least a century. Within the last ten years the deer have come back. +Last summer I met two on the roads with the cows, and later saw seven +make an unappreciated visit to my neighbor's garden, where they seemed +to approve highly of her lettuce. Straight up the hillside ran the +line of deeply stamped little hoof-marks. The trail looks like a +sheep's; but the front of each track ends in two beautifully curved +sharp points, while the track of a sheep is straighter and blunter. +Nor could any sheep negotiate that magnificent bound over the +five-foot rail fence. From take-off to where the four small hoofs +landed together on the other side was a good twenty feet. + +On the other side of the fence the snow had drifted over a patch of +sweet fern by the edge of the wood-road in a low hummock. As I plodded +along, I happened to strike this with my foot. There was a tremendous +whirring noise, the snow exploded all over me, and out burst a +magnificent cock partridge, as we call the ruffed grouse in New +England, and whizzed away among the laurels like a lyddite shell. +When the snowstorm began, he had selected a cozy spot in the lee of +the sweet-fern patch, and had let himself be snowed over. The warmth +of his body had made a round, warm room, and with plenty of rich +fern-seeds within easy reach, he was prepared to stay in winter +quarters a week, if necessary. + +The stories of the snow, although often difficult to read, are always +interesting. After the winter fairly sets in, we read nothing about +the Seven Sleepers who have put themselves in cold storage until +spring. The bear, the raccoon, the woodchuck, the skunk, the chipmunk, +and the jumping-mouse are all fast asleep underground. The last +sleeper never touches the ground when awake, and sleeps swinging +up-side-down by the long, recurved nails on his hind feet. He is the +bat, who lives and hunts in the air, and can out-fly any bird of his +own size. + +Perhaps the most unexpected of the snow stories was one which I read +one winter day when out for a walk with the Botanist. Although the +snow was on the ground, the sky was as blue as in June, as the +Botanist and I swung into an old road that the forgotten feet of more +than two centuries had worn deep below its banks. It was opened in +1691, when William and Mary were king and queen, and Boston Tea +Parties and Liberty Bells and Declarations of Independence were not +yet even dreamed of in the land. + +We always keep a bird-record of every walk, and note down the names of +the sky-folk whom we meet and any interesting bit of news that they +may have for us. In the migration season there is great rivalry as to +who shall meet the greatest number from the crowd of travelers going +north. Last year my best day's record was eighty-four different kinds +of birds, which beat the Botanist by two. A black duck and a late +bay-breasted warbler were the cause of his undoing. To a birdist every +walk is full of possibilities. Any day, anywhere, some bird may flash +into sight for the first time. + +The Botanist has pointed out to me not fewer than twenty times the +sacred field where, one bitter winter day, he saw his first (and last) +flock of horned larks. For my part, I never fail to show him the +pignut hickory where my first golden-winged warbler spoke to me one +May morning. + +To-day, however, our walk was almost a birdless one. We heard the caw +of the crow, the only bird-note that can be certainly counted on for +every day of the year. We saw the flutter of the white skirts of the +juncos. From a blighted chestnut tree we saw a bird flash down into +the dry grass from his perch on a dead limb. As we came nearer, he +glided off like a little aeroplane, and we recognized the flight and +the spotted buff waistcoat of the sparrow-hawk hunting meadow-mice. + +Later in the morning we heard the "Pip, pip," of the song sparrow, and +marked the black spot on his breast. Far ahead, across a snow-covered +meadow, a bird flew dippingly up and down. He had laid aside his +canary-yellow and black suit, but his flight bewrayed the goldfinch. + +Passing through a beechwood, we heard a sharp call, and saw a +black-and-white bird back down a tree. This cautious procedure stamped +him as the downy woodpecker. Of all the tree-climbers only the +woodpeckers back down. + +Strangely enough, a short distance farther on we heard another cry +like that of the downy woodpecker, only harsher and wilder, and caught +a glimpse of the hairy woodpecker, the big brother of the downy, a +rarer, larger bird of the deep woods. That ended our bird list--a +paltry seven when we should have had a score. + +We passed the swamp meadow close to the road, where the blue, blind +gentian grows not twenty-five yards from the unseeing eyes of the +travelers, who pass there every October day and never suspect what a +miracle of color lies hidden in the tangle of marsh-grass beside their +path. The Botanist with many misgivings had shown me the secret. For +three years we had tramped together before he held me to be worthy to +share it. + +Farther on we crossed a plateau where a series of stumps showed where +a grove of chestnut trees had grown in the days before the Blight. +Suddenly from under our very feet dashed a brown rabbit, his white +powder-puff gleaming at every jump. The lithe, lean, springing body +seemed the very embodiment of speed. There are few animals that can +pass a rabbit in a hundred yards, even our cottontail, the slowest of +his family. He is, however, only a sprinter. In a long-distance event +the fox, the dog, and even the dogged, devilish little weasel can run +him down. + +We looked at the form where he had been lying. It was a wet little +hollow made in the dank grass, with only a few dripping leaves for a +mattress--a forlorn bed. Yet Runny-Bunny, as some children I know have +named him, seems to rest well in his open-air sleeping porch, and even +lies abed there. + +One far-away snowy day in February two of us stole a few moments from +the bedside of a sick child--how long, long ago it all seems now!--and +walked out among the wild-folk to forget. In a bleak meadow, right at +our feet, we saw a rabbit crouched, nearly covered by the snow. He had +been snowed under days before, but had slept out the storm until half +of his fleecy coverlet had melted away. + +He lay so still that at first we thought he was dead; but on looking +closely, we could see the quick throbbing of his frightened little +heart. There was not a quiver from his taut body, or a blink from his +wide-open eyes. He lay motionless until my hand stroked gently his wet +fur. Then, indeed, he exploded like a brown bomb-shell from the snow, +and we laughed and laughed, the first and last time for many a weary +week. + +Years later, I was coasting down the meadow-hill with one of my boys; +and, as the sled came to a stop, a rabbit burst out of the snow, +almost between the runners. The astonished boy rolled into a drift as +if blown clear off his sled by the force of the explosion. + +To-day, as the Brownie sped over the soft snow, we could see how its +tracks in series of fours were made. At every jump the long hind-legs +thrust themselves far in front. They made the two far-apart tracks in +the snow, while the close-set fore-paws made the nearby tracks. +Accordingly a rabbit is always traveling in the direction of the +far-apart tracks, quite contrary to what most of us would suppose. + +It is the same way with celestial rabbits. Look any clear winter night +down below the belt of Orion, and you will see a great rabbit-track in +the sky--the constellation of Lepus, the Hare, whose track leads away +from the Great Dog with baleful Sirius gleaming green in his fell jaw. + +From the rabbit-meadow we followed devious paths down through Fern +Valley, which in summertime is a green mass of cinnamon fern, +interrupted fern, Christmas fern, brake, regal fern, and half a score +of others. In the midst of the marsh were rows of the fruit-stems of +the sensitive fern, which is the first to blacken before the frost. +These were heavy with rich wine-brown seed-pods, filled with seeds +like fine dust. They had an oily, nutty taste; and it would seem as if +some hungry mouse or bird would find them good eating during famine +times. Yet so far as I have observed they are never fed upon. + +Along the side of the path were thickets of spice-bush, whose crushed +leaves in summer have an incense sweeter than burns in any censer of +man's making. To-day I broke one of the brittle branches, to nibble +the perfumed bark, and found at the end of a twig, pretending to be a +withered leaf, a cocoon of the prometheus moth. The leaf had been +folded together, lined with spun silk, and lashed so strongly that the +twig would break before the silken cable. + +We passed through a clump of staghorn sumac with branches like +antlers, bearing at their ends heavy masses of fruit-clusters made up +of hundreds of dark, velvety crimson berries, each containing a brown +seed. The pulp of these berries is intensely sour, its flavor giving +the sumac its other name of "vinegar plant." These red clusters +crushed in sweetened water make a very good imitation of the red +circus-lemonade of our childhood. The staghorn is not to be confounded +with its treacherous sister, the poison sumac, with her corpse-colored +berries. She is a vitriol-thrower, and with her death-pale bark and +arsenic-green leaves, always makes me think of one of those haggard, +horrible women of the Terror. + +It was in Fern Valley that the Botanist made his discovery for the +day. It was only a tree, and moreover a tree that he must have passed +many times before. Only to-day, however, did it catch his eye. The +bark was that of an oak, but the leaves, which clung thick and brown +to the limb, were long, with a straight edge something like the leaves +of the willow-oak, only broader and larger. It was no other than the +laurel-oak, a tree which by all rights belonged hundreds of miles to +the south of us. + +He walked gloatingly around his discovery, and it was some time before +I could drag him on. Thereafter he gave me a masterly discourse, some +forty minutes in duration, on the life-history of the oaks, and +propounded several ingenious theories to account for the presence of +this strange species. This discourse continued until we reached the +historic white oak near the end of the valley, where the Botanist once +found a flock of bay-breasted warblers in the middle of a rainstorm; +and again I heard the story of that day. + +Through the valley flowed a little stream, and the snow along its +banks told of the goings and comings of the wild-folk. Gray squirrels, +red squirrels, muskrats, rabbits, mice, foxes, weasels, all had passed +and repassed along these banks. + +To me the most interesting trail was that of a blarina shrew. His +track in the snow is a strange one. It is a round, tunnel-like trail, +like that of some large caterpillar, with the trough made by the +wallowing little body filled with tiny alternate tracks--one of the +strangest of all the winter trails. + +I could obtain very little enthusiasm from the Botanist over blarinas. +He still babbled of laurel-leafed oaks and similar frivolities. Even +the crowning event of the walk left him cold. It came on the +home-stretch. We were passing through the last pasture before reaching +the humdrum turnpike which led to the tame-folk. Suddenly in the snow +I saw a strange trail. It was evidently made by a jumper, but not one +whose track I knew. I followed it, until among the leaves in a bank +something moved. Before my astonished eyes hopped falteringly, but +bravely, a speckled toad. + +The winter sun shone palely on his brown back still crusted with +the earth of his chill home. Down under the leaves and the frozen +ground he had heard the call, and struggled to the surface, expecting +to find spring awaiting him. Two jumps, however, had landed him in a +snowbank. It was a disillusion, and Mr. Toad winked his mild brown +eyes piteously. He struggled bravely to get out, but every jump +plunged him deeper into the snow. His movements became feebler as the +little warmth his cold blood contained oozed out. + +[Illustration: FLYER, THE SQUIRREL] + +Just as he was settling despairingly back into the crystallized cold, +I rescued him. He was too far gone even to move, for cold spells quick +death to the reptile folk. Only his blinking beautiful eyes, like +lignite flecked with gold, and the slow throbbing of his mottled +breast, showed that life was still in him. He nestled close in my +hand, willing to occupy it until warm weather. + +I back-tracked him from his faltering efforts, and where his first +lusty jump showed on the thawing ground I found his hibernaculum. It +was only a little hollow, scarcely three inches deep, under sodden +leaves and wet earth, and cheerless enough, according to mammalian +ideas. It was evidently home for Mr. Toad, and when I set him therein, +he scrambled relievedly under some of the loose wet leaves which had +fallen back into his nest. I piled a generous measure of dripping +leaves and moist earth over his warted back. It may have been +imagination, but I fancied that the last look I had from his bright +eyes was one of gratitude. The Botanist scoffed at the idea, for +toads, like pine-snakes, convey absolutely no appeal to his narrow, +flower-bound nature. + +I have erected a monument in the shape of a chestnut stake beside Mr. +Toad's winter residence, and I strongly suspect that he will be the +last of his family to get up when the spring rising-bell finally +rings. + +"There's positively nothing to this early-rising business," I can hear +him telling his friends at the Puddle Club in April. "Look at what +happened to me. If it hadn't been for a well-meaning giant, I would +have caught my death of cold from getting out of bed too soon. Never +again!" + +Our calendar-makers use red letters to mark special days. Personally, +I prefer orchids and birds and sunrises and nests and snakes and +similar markers. I have in my diary "The Day of the Prothonotary +Warbler," "The Day of the Henslow's Sparrow's Nest" (that was a day!), +"The Day of the Fringed Gentian," and many, many others. But always +and forever that snowy 21st of December is marked in my memory as "The +Day of the Early Toad." + +Once more I was climbing the Cobble. The wood-road on which I started +had narrowed to a path. Overhead masses of rock showed through the +snow, and above them were the dark depths of the Bear-Hole where +Great-great-uncle Jake had once shot with his flintlock musket the +largest bear ever killed in that part of the state. It was here at the +cliff side that Shahrazad snow told me another story. + +Along the edge of the slope ran a track made up of four holes in the +snow. The front ones were far apart and the back ones near apart. +Occasionally, instead of four holes, five would show in the snow, and +the position of the marks was reversed. A little farther on, and the +trail changed. The two near-apart tracks were now in a perpendicular +line instead of side by side. To Chingachgook, or Deerslayer, or +Daniel Boone, or any other well-known tracker, the trail would have, +of course, been an open book. But it had taken an amateur trailer like +myself some years to be able to read that snow record aright. The +trail was that of a cottontail rabbit. At first he had been hopping +contentedly along, with an eye open for anything eatable in the line +of winter vegetables. The far-apart tracks were the paw-marks of the +big hind-legs, which came in front of the marks made by the fore-paws +as they touched the ground at every hop. The five marks were where he +had sat down to look around. The fifth mark was the mark of his stubby +tail, and when he stopped, the little fore-paws made the near-apart +marks in front of the far-apart marks of his hind-feet, instead of +behind them as when he hopped. + +Suddenly the rabbit detected something alarming coming from behind, +for the sedate hops changed into startled bounds. A little farther on +the trail said that the rabbit had caught sight of its pursuer as it +ran; for a rabbit by the position of its eyes sees backward and +forward equally well. The tracks showed a frantic burst of speed. In +an effort to get every possible bit of leverage, the fore-legs were +twisted so that they struck the ground one behind the other, which +accounted for the last set of marks perpendicular to those in front. A +line of tracks which came from a pile of stones, and paralleled the +rabbit's trail, told the whole story. The paw-marks were small and +dainty, but beyond each pad-print were the marks of fierce claws. No +wonder the rabbit ran wild when it first scented its enemy, and then +saw its long slim body bounding along behind, white as snow except for +the black tip of its tail. + +It was the weasel, whose long body moves like the uncoiling of a steel +spring. A weasel running looks like a gigantic inch-worm that bounds +instead of crawls. Speed, however, is not what the little white killer +depends on for its prey. It can follow a trail by scent better than +any hound, climb trees nearly as well as a squirrel; and if the animal +it is chasing goes into a burrow, it has gone to certain death. The +rabbit's only chance would have been a straight-away run at full speed +for miles and hours. In this way it could probably have tired out the +weasel, which is a killer, not a runner, by profession. A rabbit, +however, like the fox, never runs straight. Round and round in great +circles it runs about its feeding-ground, of which it knows all the +paths and runways and burrows. Against a dog or fox these are safer +tactics than exploring new territory. Against a weasel they are +usually fatal. + +It was easy to see on the snow what had happened. At first, when the +rabbit saw the weasel looping along its trail like a hunting snake, it +had started off with a sprint that in a minute carried it out of +sight. Then a strange thing happened. Although a rabbit can run for +an hour at nearly top speed, and in this case had every reason to run, +after a half-mile of rapid circling and doubling, the trail changed +and showed that the rabbit was plodding along as if paralyzed. + +One of the weird and unexplained facts in nature is the strange power +that a weasel appears to have over all the smaller animals. Many of +them simply give up and wait for death when they find that a weasel is +on their trail. A red squirrel, which could easily escape through the +tree-tops, sometimes becomes almost hysterical with fright, and has +been known to fall out of a tree-top in a perfect ecstasy of terror. +Even the rat, which is a cynical, practical animal, with no nerves, +and a bitter, brave fighter when fight it must, loses its head when up +against a weasel. A friend of mine once saw a grim, gray old fellow +run squealing aloud across a road from a woodpile and plunge into a +stone wall. A moment later a weasel in its reddish summer coat came +sniffing along the rat's trail and passed within a yard of him. + +This night the rabbit, with every chance for escape, began to run +slowly and heavily, as if in a nightmare, watching the while its back +trail. And when the weasel came in sight again, the trail stopped as +the rabbit crouched in the snow waiting for the end. It came +mercifully quick. When the weasel saw the rabbit had stopped, its red +eyes flamed, and with a flashing spring its teeth and claws were at +poor bunny's throat. There was a plaintive whinnying cry, and the +reddened snow told the rest. + +So the last story of the snow ended in tragedy, as do nearly all true +stories of the wild-folk. Yet they need not our pity. Better a +thousand times the quick passing at the end of a swift run or of a +brave fight, than the long, long weariness of pain and sickness by +which we humans so often claim our immortality. + + + + +IV + +A RUNAWAY DAY + + +It is a wise man who knows when to run away. To quote rightly the +words of a great poet, whose name has escaped me:-- + + He who works and runs away + May live to work another day. + +So it was that, like Christian of old, I suddenly decided to escape +for my life from my city. + +There were many reasons. It was a holiday. Then the sun rose on one of +the most perfect days that ever dawned since the calendar was +invented. Furthermore, there was the thought of a little cabin hidden +in the heart of the pine barrens. So I ran away through snow-covered +meadows and silent woods and past farmhouses that were old when this +republic was first born, until my law offices and the city and the +noise and the dust and the smoke were all behind the horizon. + +An hour later I was following a little path that zigzagged back and +forth through thickets of scrub oak and stiff rows of pitch pines. +Above the trees was the rush of wings. The upper air was filled with +the victorious sound of going that heartened David from the tops of +the mulberry trees in that dread valley of Rephaim. Perhaps it was the +wind; but why did not the tree-tops sway instead of standing in +frozen rows? The sky above was the color of the eggs of the wood +thrush, a tender blue faintly washed with white. As the sun rose +higher and higher, the color deepened to that bluest of blues which +burns in May under the breast of the brooding catbird. Filtered +through frost, the sunlight shone, intensely bright but without heat. +The air was full of the spicery of a million pine trees. With every +breath it went tingling through my blood, carrying with it the joy of +the open and the freedom of the barrens. + +At last I came to the cabin. It is set on the very edge of the +brownest, crookedest, sweetest stream in the world--the cedar-stained +Rancocas. The wide porch overhangs the water, and over the doorway is +a tiny horseshoe, which was dug out of the bog at Upper Mill, +undoubtedly cast by some fairy steed. One whole side of the cabin is +taken up by an arched fireplace built of brown and yellow and red +sandstone, the only stone that can be found in the Barrens. Squat and +curly, two massive andirons, hammered out of bog iron, stand among the +ashes. They have a story all their own. + +Five miles through the woods is Upper Mill, which is not a mill at +all, but marks the place where, a century ago, one stood. The only +occupied house there is a log cabin built of imperishable white-cedar +logs in 1720, the date still showing on one of the logs. Charlie +Rogers lives there alone. It used to be an old tavern on the +cattle-road from Perth Amboy. Every now and then Charlie finds old +coins, King George III pennies and farthings, and the rare New Jersey +pennies which were coined only during two years, and which bear a +plough and the old name of New Jersey--Nova Cæsarea. One day, when I +was gossiping with Charlie, I told him that, if he took up the old +dirt floor and sifted it through an ash-sifter during the long winter +evenings, he might find a further store of rare coins. He took my +advice, and the first treasure he uncovered was these andirons buried +where once had been a hearth. Charlie gave them to me, and they hold +up logs now as well as they did two hundred years ago. + +As I slipped into a well-worn suit of khaki, all the worry of the +month fell off my shoulders and rolled down the bank and was drowned +in the golden water. Tucking a pair of field-glasses into one pocket +and a package of lunch into the other, I started off on an exploring +trip. In the barrens everywhere are paths that wind for miles in and +out among the trees and along the edges of brooks and bogs. Who made +them? Who keeps them open? No one knows. I have been able to follow a +few of them out to the end. One leads to Ong's Hat, a little clearing +in the heart of the woods, where grows an enormous white-oak tree. A +century and a half ago Ong, the Indian, lived there. One day he +disappeared. Nothing was ever found except his blood-stained hat. Then +there is the path that leads to Sheep-Pen Hill, where seven empty +houses and a well stand deserted and alone. Others lead to Gum Sprung, +which, being translated, means Gum-Tree Cove, and to Double Trouble +and Mount Misery, where the rattlesnake den is, and Apple-Pie Hill, +and Friendship, and a host of other places that I have not explored. + +To-day I walked for miles and miles through stretches of low, gleaming +pines and past pools set in golden sphagnum moss. The wind had died +down, and the silence seeped in and carried with it the comfort of the +wilderness. The first friend I met was a little bird that dived like a +mouse into a pile of brush. I saw a brook, and hurried to it, knowing +that if the bird were a winter wren it could not possibly keep from +running along the edges of that brook. Sure enough, in a minute I saw +it darting in and out of holes and with cocked tail curtsying on the +stones. It is the next to the smallest of our five wrens--only the +rare short-billed marsh wren is tinier. + +To-day all through the tree-tops I heard the high-pitched tiny notes +of that tiny bird, the golden-crowned kinglet. Its forked tail, +striped head, and wing-bars are the field-marks by which it can be +told in spite of its quick movements. It is the third smallest of all +our birds: only the hummingbird and the short-billed marsh wren are +smaller. Beyond the kinglet I heard the clicking alarm-notes and saw a +flutter of the white skirts of a junco as it flew up ahead of me, +showing its white tail-feathers, while in the woods a silver-and-blue +bird sprang out of the bushes, for a wonder without a sound. It was +the blue jay, which scolds and squalls all day long. Overhead, in +spite of the bitter cold, the grim black buzzards, with their fringed +wings and black-and-gray undersides, wheeled in the air, while the +smaller crow flapped laboriously beneath them. + +Near a stream I came upon a patch of the rare climbing fern, an +evergreen fern which climbs like a vine and has flat, veined leaves +that look like little green hands with four and five fingers. The stem +is like drawn copper wire. Beyond the fern I met the pale-gray poison +sumac, with its corpse-colored berries growing out from the sides of +the twigs instead of from the end, as do the berries of the harmless +varieties. + +I followed Pond-Lily Path through the white sand that in the +springtime is all golden with barrens-heather. It winds in and out +through the scattered clumps of low pitch pine and thickets of scrub +oak, and finally leads to a still brook all afloat in midsummer with +pond lilies. When the path reached the bogs, which to-day were frozen +solid, I turned in, crossing them on the snow-covered ice. Everywhere +were lines of four-toed crow tracks, and here and there were rabbit +trails, a series of four round holes in the snow. + +The next morning, when I followed my own tracks, I found that for more +than a mile I had been trailed by some animal making a series of +little paw-prints like those of a small cat, except that they were +close together and sometimes doubled, showing where the animal had +given sudden bounds. It was none other than the trail of a weasel, +probably the long-tailed variety, although that is rare in the +barrens. Like others of his family, this animal oftens follows a +man's tracks for a long distance, perhaps out of curiosity, perhaps in +the hope of finding food. As I looked at the trail of this little +killer, I was glad that he was not larger. If weasels, or those other +killers, the shrews, were as large as a dog, no man's life would be +safe out of doors. + +I explored so far that the sun had set before I turned back for the +cabin. Suddenly, from far over where the tree-trunks were inked black +against the golden afterglow, I heard a hoot, deep rather than loud. +"_Hoo, hoo-hoo, hoo, hoo!_" it went, and sometimes, "_Hoo-hoo-hoo!_" +Usually, though, the second note was doubled. It meant that the great +horned owl with its speckled gray back and white collar was hunting +rabbits through the silent woods. If it had been the barred owl, the +third note would have been doubled and the last note would have had a +drop in its cadence. + +In the frosty twilight I hurried along the winding path, back to the +cabin and a long, dreamy evening before the roaring fire. First came a +wonderful exhibition of free-hand cooking. Then I piled the great +fireplace well up the chimney with masses of pitch-pine knots and +stumps that I had dug up in the dry bogs. All of the sapwood had +decayed, leaving nothing except the resinous bones of the fallen +trees. They burned at the touch of a match, with a red smoky flame. +Above them I banked dry lengths of swamp maple and post oak. Then, +drawing up a vast rocker well within the circle of the heat, I settled +down to read and dream in front of the red coals. + +[Illustration: THE LONG-TAILED WEASEL] + +There is nothing in life sweeter than a little loneliness. Nowadays we +live and die in crowds, like ants and bees, so that solitude is likely +to become one of the lost arts. No book ever tastes so well as before +a great fire in the heart of a wilderness, even if the wilderness be +only a few miles away. In my cabin I keep a special shelf of the books +which I have always wanted to read, and for which in some way I never +find time in the hurry of everyday life. That evening I sat for long +over the Saga of Burnt Njal, and read again of the bill of Gunnar and +the grim axe, the "ogress of war," of Skarphedinn and the sword of the +dauntless Kari. In the flickering firelight I pictured the death-fight +of Gunnar of Lithend, one of the four great fights of one man against +a multitude in history, and heard again Hallgarda, the fair and the +false, forsake him to his death. + +"Give me two locks of thy hair," said Gunnar to Hallgarda, when that +his bow-string was cut in twain; "and ye two, my mother and thou, +twist them together into a bow-string for me." + +"Does aught lie on it?" she says. + +"My life lies on it," he said. + +"I will not do it," said Hallgarda; "for know ye now that I never +cared a whit for thee." + +At last it was time to go to bed. I went out to get a drink of the +most wonderful water in the world. Near the cabin a little bog was +frozen over a foot deep with white bubbled ice. In one place a round, +black hole had betrayed the secret spring that flooded the whole +swale. In the coldest weather this spring-hole remains unfrozen. I +dipped up a pitcherful of the soft, spicy cedar-water pulsing from the +very heart of the marsh. The Pinies have a saying that he who drinks +cedar-water will always come back to the barrens, no matter how far +afield he may wander. + +As I came to the porch-steps, in the dark stream just below me I saw a +strange thing. Underneath the water a ball of fire flashed down the +stream and disappeared around the bend. For a long time I tried to +puzzle out what it could be. There was no form of aquatic +phosphorescent life that would swim through a northern stream in the +depths of winter. It was only when I started to tell the time by the +sky clock that the mystery was solved. I was looking at the star Caph +in Cassiopeia, which is the hour-hand of the clock, when suddenly a +meteor flashed down the sky, and I realized that my submarine of a few +moments before had been only the reflection of another shooting star. + +As I stopped on the porch with my pitcher, the open door made a long +lane of light. Just across the creek, not fifty feet away, sounded a +crash in the brush, and there in the spotlight, held by the glare, +stood a big buck. For a moment I looked right into his beautiful, +liquid, gleaming eyes. Then, with a snort, he plunged into the woods +and was gone. For years I had tramped through the barrens and had +found the tracks of the deer that still live not thirty miles from the +third largest city in America, but until that night I had never seen +one. + +It grew colder and colder, and the little cabin snapped and cracked +with the frost. Banking up the fireplace with logs, I pulled my bed up +into the circle of heat, and fell asleep to the flickering of the fire +and the croon of the wind among the pine trees outside. Through the +window I could see the winter sky ablaze with stars, while the late +moon shone like a bowl of frozen gold through the black tree-trunks. + +The next morning I had to leave on the nine-o'clock train; and so I +rose early and after breakfast took a last walk down to Lower Mill and +back, to see if I could add any more winter birds to my list. It was a +cold, clear, snapping winter morning, and as the sun came up through +the pine trees I met first one and then another of the bird-folk +abroad after their breakfasts. First I heard the "Pip, pip!" of the +downy woodpecker, all black and white, with a bloodstain at the back +of his head. He is a tree-climber who can go up a tree head-foremost, +but must always back down. The nuthatches, with their white cheeks and +grunting notes, can go up and down a tree either head-first or +tail-first and the last of the tree-climbers, the brown creeper, +climbs up in a spiral, but has to fly down. + +Farther on, I heard the call of the big hairy woodpecker, which looks +almost like the downy except that he is nearly twice as large. He was +drilling a hole in the under side of a branch and sucking out +hibernating ants with his long, sticky trident tongue. Next came a +tree sparrow, with his white wing-bar and brown-red patch on the crown +of his head. He was busily scratching on the ground; he is called a +tree sparrow because never by any chance is he found in a tree. On the +side of a white-oak tree a bit of bark seemed to move upward in a +spiral, and I recognized the brown creeper, the last of the climbers. +He went up the tree in a series of tiny hops and then, true to his +training, flew down and started up again. + +As I turned the curve by Lower Mill, I saw in a thicket near the dam a +number of white-throated sparrows, with their striped white heads and +white throat-patches. Near them suddenly hopped a bird that ought to +have been far south. It was reddish brown with a long tail, and I +recognized the female chewink. She hopped around and scratched among +the leaves like a little hen, in true chewink style, as if the month +were April instead of January. + +I hurried around a bend in the road and heard over my head a series of +loud _pips_, much like the note of an English sparrow. I looked +up--and there was my great adventure. A little locust tree was filled +with a flock of plump, large birds. At first I thought that they were +cedar birds, but in a moment I caught sight of their coloring. Six of +the males out of the flock of seventy-four were in full plumage. Their +forked tails were velvet black. Their wings were the golden white of +old ivory, with a broad black edge, their heads grayish black, and +their breasts and backs a deep, rich gold; and, strangest of all, +their thick beaks were of a greenish-white color. + +It was a great moment. For the first time in my life I had met the +evening grosbeaks, and had found what afterwards proved to be the +largest flock ever reported of this rare bird of the far north so far +south. For a delightful hour I followed them. They were restless, but +not shy. Sometimes they alighted on the ground and then flew up all +together, like a flock of starlings. They looked like overgrown +goldfinches, just as the pine grosbeak looks like an overgrown purple +finch, and the blue grosbeak of the south for all the world like a +monstrous indigo bunting. As I followed them, suddenly I heard a sharp +_chip_, and to my delight there flashed into sight the crested +cardinal grosbeak, blood-red against the snow. For a moment the lithe, +nervous, flaming bird of the south met its squat, strong, stolid +cousin of the far north. + +I could come quite near without alarming them, and then suddenly they +would all fly away together to some other tree without any apparent +reason. Besides the sparrow-like note that I first heard, they had a +sort of trilling chirp. Once they all started like a flock of +goldfinches or grackles in a chirping chorus. When they flew, they +sometimes gave a single, clear flight-note, but never made a sound +when feeding on the ground. The birds had short, slightly forked +tails, and the yellow ring around the eye gave them, when seen in +profile, a curious spectacled appearance; while the huge beak and +short tail made them seem clumsy as compared with the other grosbeaks. +The plumage of the females showed mottled black-and-white wings and +greenish-yellow backs and breasts. The iris of the eye in both sexes +was red, the legs of a bluish-gray pink, and the feet of a +grayish-pink color. + +Later I found that the birds fed on the berries of the poison ivy, red +cedar, climbing bittersweet, and the buds and embryo needles of the +pitch pine, together with the seeds of the box elder. The favorite +food of the flock that I watched seemed always to be the pits of the +wild black cherry (_Prunus serotina_). They would take the pits well +out of sight back into their beaks, keeping their bills half open in a +comical manner, as if they had a bone in the throat. A second later +there would be a cracking noise and out would drop two nicely split +segments of the cherry pits, the meat having been swallowed. Sometimes +in the trees they would sidle along the limbs exactly as a parrot does +along its perch. + +The authorities state that the evening grosbeak has no immature +plumage, but passes after its first moulting immediately into full +plumage. I saw one, however, that I am sure was in immature plumage. +The back was yellowish instead of being gray, like the females', and +the wings were of a dirty white color instead of being mottled black +and white, like the plumage of the females, or half black and half +white, like the plumage of the males. Both sexes seemed to have the +same call and gave it equally often. + +The history of the evening grosbeak illustrates the far-reaching and +never-ending consequences of a falsehood. This bit of moralizing is +called forth because of the name of this sorely misdescribed bird. In +three languages, English, Greek and Latin, the myth is perpetuated +that the evening grosbeak, or _Hesperiphona vespertina_, +sings only at twilight. It all began in 1823, when one Major +Delafield, a boundary agent of the United States government, was +camping northwest of Lake Superior. There he met a flock of evening +grosbeaks in the twilight, and instantly jumped to the conclusion that +the birds were accustomed to spend the day in the dark recesses of +impassable swamps and come out and sing only at evening. + +As a matter of fact, the evening grosbeak goes to bed at dark, like +all other respectable, reputable birds. Its song is a wandering, jerky +warble that the singer himself recognizes as a miserable failure, for +he often stops and looks discontented and then remains silent for a +minute before trying again. It sounds like the early part of a +robin's song, but is always suddenly checked as if the performer +were out of breath. The guess of the imaginative major was later +elaborated by Prince Lucien Bonaparte, Nuttall, and even by later +ornithologists,--Coues among them,--not one of whom had ever seen or +heard the bird. Coues's description in his "Key to North American +Birds" is worth quoting as a specimen of the rhetoric in which a past +generation of ornithologists dared to indulge. + +"A bird of distinguished appearance, whose very name suggests the +far-away land of the dipping sun and the tuneful romance which the +wild bird throws around the close of day. Clothed in striking color +contrast of black, white and gold, he seems to represent the allegory +of diurnal transmutation, for his sable pinions close around the +brightness of his vesture, as night encompasses golden hues of sunset, +while the clear white space enfolded in these tints foretells the dawn +of the morrow." + +That morning I knew nothing of the history or the habits of this +unknown and misrepresented bird. All I knew was that for me the +twenty-ninth day of January, 1917, would be marked in my calendar +forever by a bird from the north, all dusky gold and velvet black and +ivory white--the Day of the Evening Grosbeak. + +At last the time came to leave them. As I started back for home, the +sun showed through the trees like a vast red coal, with a smoke of +clouds drifting across its face, and I traveled back to town in the +full glory of a clear winter morning, filled with the measureless +content of a great discovery. It was good to be alive and to look +forward to more work and to more glorious, adventure-filled runaway +days. + + + + +V + +THE RAVEN'S NEST + + +After all, the Rosicrucians were an ignorant lot. They spent their +days over alembics, cucurbits, and crucibles--yet they grew old. In +our days many men--and a few women--have discovered the Elixir of +Youth--but never indoors. The prescription is a simple one. Mix a +hobby with plenty of sky-air, shake well, and take twice a week. I +know a railroad official who retired when he was seventy. "He'll die +soon," observed his friends kindly. Instead, he began to collect +native orchids from all points of the compass. Now he is too busy +tramping over mountains and through woods and marshes even to think of +dying. Anyway, he would not have time until he has found the +ram's-head and the crane's-bill orchids and finished his monograph on +the _Habenaria_. He will never grow old. + +Neither will that other friend of mine who collects fresh-water +pearls, nor the one who makes me visit black-snake and rattlesnake +dens with him every spring, nor those others who spend their time in +collecting butterflies, beetles, wasps, and similar bric-a-brac. As +for those four abandoned oölogists who have hunted with me for years, +they will be young at a hundred. They rank high in their respective +callings. Yet from February, when the great horned owl begins its +nest, until the goldfinch lays her white eggs in July, the four spend +every holiday and vacation hunting birds' nests. + +Personally I collect only notes, out-of-door secrets, and little +everyday adventures. Bird-songs, flower-fields, and friendships with +the wild-folk mean far more to me than cabinets of pierced eggs, dried +flowers, stuffed birds, and tanned skins. Nor am I much of a hunter. +When it comes to slaughtering defenseless animals with high-powered +guns, I prefer a position in an abattoir. One can kill more animals in +a day, and with less exertion. Yet my collecting and sporting friends +make allowances for my vagaries and take me with them on their +journeyings. Wherefore it happened that in early March I received a +telegram. "Raven's nest located. Come if you are man enough." + +Now a middle-aged lawyer and the father of a family has no business +ravening along the icy and inaccessible cliffs which that gifted fowl +prefers for nursery purposes. I have, however, a maxim of Thoreau +which I furbish up for just such occasions. "A man sits as many risks +as he runs," wrote that wanderer in the woods. Accordingly the next +morning found me two hundred miles to the north, plodding through a +driving snow-storm toward Seven Mountains, with the first man in +recent years to find the nest of a northern raven in Pennsylvania. + +For fifteen freezing miles we clambered over and around three of the +seven. By the middle of the afternoon we reached a cliff hidden behind +thickets of rhododendron. In the meantime the snow had changed to a +lashing rain, probably the coldest that has ever fallen on the North +American continent. Ploughing through slush, the black rhododendron +stems twisted around us like wet rubber, and the hollow green leaves +funneled ice-water down our backs and into our ears. Breaking through +the last of the thickets, we at length reached a little brook which +ran along the foot of the cliff. A hundred feet above, out from the +middle of the cliff stretched a long tongue of rock. Over this the +cliff arched like a roof, with a space between which widened toward +the tip of the tongue. In a niche above this cleft a dark mass showed +dimly through the rain. + +"The nest!" muttered the Collector hoarsely, pouring a pint or so of +rain-water down my neck from his hat-brim as he bent toward me. I +stared with all my eyes, at last one of the chosen few to see the nest +of a Pennsylvania raven. It was made of large sticks. The fresh broken +ends and the droppings on the cliff-side showed that it was a recent +one. There were no signs of either of the birds. We solemnly removed +our coats and sweaters and prepared for the worst. To me the cliff +looked much like the Matterhorn, only slipperier. The Collector, +however, was most reassuring. He told me that the going looked worse +than it really was, and that, anyway, if I did fall, death would be so +nearly instantaneous as to involve little if any suffering. + +Thus encouraged, I followed him gruntingly up a path which had +evidently been made by a chamois or an ibex. At last I found myself +perched on a shelf of stone about the width of my hand. The Collector, +who was above me on an even smaller foothold, took this opportunity to +tell me that the rare Allegheny cave-rat was found on this cliff, and +nearly fell off his perch trying to point out to me a crevice where he +had once seen the mass of sticks, stones, leaves, feathers, and bones +with which these versatile animals barricade their passage-ways. I +refused to turn my head. That day I was risking my life for ravens, +not rats. Above us was the long, rough tongue of rock. Below us, a far +hundred feet, the brook wound its way through snow-covered boulders. + +Again the Collector led the way. Hooking both arms over the tongue of +rock above him, he drew himself up until his chest rested on the edge, +and then, sliding toward the precipice, managed to wriggle up in some +miraculous way without slipping off. From the top of the tongue he +clambered up to the niche where the nest was, calling down to me to +follow. Accordingly I left my shelf and hung sprawlingly on the +tongue; but there was no room to push my way up between it and the +rock-roof above. + +"Throw your legs straight out," counseled the Collector from above, +"and let yourself slide." + +I tried conscientiously, but it was impossible. My sedentary, +unadventurous legs simply would not whirl out into space. At last, +under the jeers of my friend, I shut my eyes and, kicking out +mightily, found myself sliding toward eternity. Just before I reached +it, under the Collector's bellowed instructions, I thrust my left arm +up as far as I could, and found a hand-hold on the slippery rock. +After getting my breath, I managed to wriggle up through the crevice +and lay safe on the top of the tongue. The niche above was not large +enough for us both, so the Collector came down while I took his place. +I was lashed by a freezing rain, my numb hands were cut and bleeding, +and there were ten weary miles still ahead. Yet that moment was worth +all that it cost. There is an indescribable fascination and triumph in +sharing a secret with the wild-folk, which can be understood only by +the initiate. The living naturalists who had looked into the home of +the Northern raven in Pennsylvania could be counted on the thumb and +first three fingers of one hand. At last the little finger belonged to +me. + +The deep cup of the nest was about one foot in diameter and over a +yard across on the outside. It was firmly anchored on the shelf of +rock, the structure being built into the crevices and made entirely of +dead oak branches, some of them fully three quarters of an inch in +diameter. It looked from a distance like an enormous crow's nest. The +cup itself was some six inches deep, and lined with red and white +deer-hair and some long black hairs which were probably those of a +skunk. Inside, it had a little damp green moss; while the rim was made +of green birch twigs bruised and hackled by the beaks of the builders. +On this day, March 9, 1918, there were no eggs, although in a previous +year the Collector had found two as early as February 25, when the +cliffs were covered with snow; and on March 5, of another year he +collected a full set of five fresh eggs, which I afterwards examined +in his collection. The birds had built a nest the year before, without +laying. This fact, with the absence of eggs this year, convinced the +Collector that the birds were sterile from age. During the last years +of their long life, which is supposed to approach a century, a pair of +ravens will sometimes build, with pathetic pains, nest after nest +which are never occupied by eggs. The Collector promised to show me a +set, however, the next day in another nest. + +At last it was time to start down. The Collector, who was waiting on +his shelf, warned me that the descent was more difficult than the +climb which I had just lived through, as it was necessary to slide +some six feet backwards to the shelf from which we started. As I +looked down the cliff-side I decided to remain with the ravens. It was +not until the Collector promised most solemnly to catch me, that I at +last let go and found myself back on the shelf with him. Then came +another wonderful moment. "Crrruck, crrruck, crrruck," sounded +hoarsely from the valley below--a note like that of a deep-voiced crow +with a bad cold. + +"Hurry!" urged the Collector; "it's one of the old birds coming back." + +I claim to have hurried as much as any man of my age could be expected +to do, but by the time I had reached the path the wary raven had +disappeared. I clambered down the cliff while the Collector +reproached me for my senile slowness. We stopped to rest at the foot, +and I was just telling him that the Cornishmen hate the raven because +to their ears he always cries "Corpse, corpse!" when suddenly the bird +itself came back again. It flew across the valley and alighted on a +tree-top by the opposite cliff, looking like a monster crow, being +about one-third longer. One might mistake a crow for a raven, but +never a raven for a crow. If there be any doubt about the bird, it is +always safe to set it down as a crow. + +The flight of the raven, which consisted of two flaps and a soar, and +its long tail resembling that of an enormous grackle, were its most +evident field-marks. + +For long we sat and watched the wary birds, until, chilled through by +the driving rain, we started to cover the ten miles that lay between +us and the house of Squire McMahon, a mountain friend of the +Collector, where we planned to pass the night. On the way the +Collector told me that he saw his first raven while wandering through +the mountains in the spring of 1909, and how he trailed and hunted and +watched until, in 1910, he found the first nest. Since then he had +found twelve. His system was a simple one. Selecting from a gazetteer +a list of mountain villages with wild names, such as Bear Creek, +Paddy's Mountain, and Panther Run, he would write to the postmasters +for the names of noted hunters and woodsmen. From them he would secure +more or less accurate information about the haunts of ravens, which +usually frequent only the loneliest and most inaccessible parts of the +mountains. + +The trail led through deep forests and up and across mountains, and +was so covered with ice and snow as to be difficult going. At one +point the Collector showed me a place where he had been walking years +ago, when he suddenly became conscious that he was being followed by +something or somebody. At a point where the trail doubled on itself, +he ran back swiftly and silently, just in time to see a +bay-lynx--which had been trailing him, as those big cats sometimes +will--dive into a nearby thicket. Anon he cheered the way with snake +stories, for Seven Mountains in summer swarm with rattlesnakes and +copperheads. + +By the time he had finished it was dark, and I thought with a great +longing of food and fire--especially fire. It did not seem possible to +be so cold and still live. In the very nick of time, for me at least, +we caught sight of the lamplight streaming from the windows of the +Squire's house. Dripping, chilled, tired, and starving, we burst into +Mrs. McMahon's immaculate kitchen and were treated by the old couple +like a pair of long-lost sons. In less than two minutes our +waterlogged shoes were off, our wet coats and sogged sweaters spread +out to dry, and we sat huddled over a glowing stove while Mrs. McMahon +fried fish, made griddle-cakes, and brewed hot tea simultaneously and +with a swiftness that just saved two lives. We ate and ate and ate and +ate, and then, in a huge feather-bed, we slept and slept and slept +and slept. Long after I have forgotten the difference between a tort +and a contract, and whether A. Edward Newton or Marie Corelli wrote +the "Amenities," that dinner and that sleep will stand out in my +memory. + +The next morning we started off again in a driving snowstorm, to look +at another nest some ten miles farther on. The first bird we met was a +prairie horned lark flying over the valley, with its curious tossing, +mounting flight, like a bunch of thistle-down. It differs from the +more common horned, or shore, lark by having a white instead of a +yellow throat and eye-line; and it nests in the mountain meadows in +upper Pennsylvania, while its larger brother breeds in the far north. + +Noon found us at a deer camp. Through the uncurtained windows we could +see the mounted body of a golden eagle, which, after stalking and +destroying one by one a whole flock of wild turkeys, had come to an +ignoble end while gorged on the carcass of a dead deer. The man who +captured it by throwing his coat over its head thought at first that +it was a turkey buzzard, which southern bird, curiously enough, finds +its way through the valleys up into these northern mountains. In fact, +the Collector once found a buzzard's nest just across a ravine from +the nest of a raven. Beyond the camp, on the other side of a rushing +torrent, we found another raven's nest swaying in the gale, in the +very top of a slender forty-foot white pine, the only raven's nest the +Collector had ever found in a tree. It was deserted, and we reached +home late that night with frost-bitten faces and ears, and without a +sight of the eggs of the northern raven. + +The next day we took a train, and traveled forty miles down the river +to where, on a cliff overhanging the water, a pair of ravens had +nested for the last fifty years. There we found numerous old nests, +but never a trace of any that were fresh. There too we found a +magnificent wild turkey hanging dead in a little apple tree; it had +come to a miserable end by catching the toes of one foot in between +two twigs in such a way that it could not release itself. The bright +red color of its legs distinguished it from a tame turkey. The +Collector confided to me that the ambition of his life was to find the +nest of a wild turkey, which is the rarest of all Pennsylvania nests. +Next to it from a collecting standpoint come the nests of the Northern +raven, pileated woodpecker, and Blackburnian warbler, in the order +named. + + * * * * * + +March 12, 1919, found me again on a raven hunt with the Collector. +Before sunrise I was dropped from a sleeper at a little mountain +station set in a hill country full of broad fields, swift streams, and +leafless trees, flanked by dark belts of pines and hemlocks. Beyond +the hills was raven-land, lonely, wind-swept, full of lavender and +misty-purple mountains, with now and then a gap showing in their +ramparts. It was in these gaps that the ravens nested, always on the +north side, farthest from the sun. + +Nearby was Treaster's Valley, which old Dan Treaster won from a pack +of black wolves before the Revolution. When he lay a-dying, three +quarters of a century later, the wailing howl of a wolf-pack sounded +outside his cabin, although wolves had been gone from the Valley for +fifty years. Old Dan sat up with the death-sweat on his forehead and +grinned. "They've come to see me off," he whispered and fell back +dead. + +[Illustration: "THE YOUNG RAVENS SHALL NEITHER LACK NOR SUFFER +HUNGER"] + +They bred hunters in that Valley. Peter Penz, the Indian fighter, who +celebrated his ninetieth birthday by killing a red bear, came from +there. So did Jacob Quiggle, who killed a maned panther one winter +night, under the light of a wind-swept moon, with his famous gun, +Black Sam. Over on Panther's Run not ten miles away, lived Solomon +Miller, who shot the last wood-bison, and died at the age of +eighty-eight, clapping his hands and shouting the chorus of a +hunting-song. + +As the light began to show in the eastern sky, came the first +bird-notes of the day. The caw of a crow, a snatch of song-sparrow +melody, the chirp of a robin, the fluted alto note of a blue-bird, and +the squeal of a red-tailed hawk sounded before the sun came up. + +A change of trains, and I met the Collector, as enthusiastic as ever. +Already that year he had found six ravens' nests with eggs in them, +but the one he had promised to show me was the best of the lot. It was +located in Poe's Gap, where local tradition hath it that the poet +wooed, not unsuccessfully, a mountain girl, and wrote "The Raven" in +her cabin. On the way to the Gap we heard and saw nineteen different +kinds of birds, including siskin, fox sparrows, and killdeer, and saw +a buzzard sail on black-fringed wings over the peaks. On a farmer's +barn we saw a goshawk nailed, its blue-gray back and finely penciled +breast unmistakable, even after the winter storms. + +As we entered the Gap, patches of snow showed here and there, and a +mad mountain brook of foaming gray water came frothing and raging to +meet us. When we were full two hundred and fifty yards away from the +nest, the female raven flapped and soared away. The nest itself was +only thirty feet from the ground, on a shelf protected by a protruding +ledge, some ten feet down from the top of the cliffs. Rigging a rope +to a tree, I managed to swarm up and look at last on the eggs of a +Northern raven. They were three in number, a full clutch. The number +ranges from three to five, very rarely six, with one instance of +seven. The eggs themselves were half as large again as those of a +crow, and all different in coloration. One was light-blue-flecked and +speckled with brown and lavender; another heavily marked with lavender +and greenish-brown; while the last was of a solid greenish-brown +color. + +The nest itself faced the Gap, and from it one could look clear across +the forest to the settled country beyond, while behind the cliff +stretched a range of low, unexplored mountains. The nest itself was +made of smaller sticks than the one I had seen over at Seven +Mountains, and had a double lining of brown and white deer-hair, a +fresh lining having been laid over that of the year before. As we +climbed to the nest, the ravens soared near, giving only the hoarse +"Crrruck." They have also a soft love-note, which cannot be heard +fifty yards away and sounds something like the syllables +"Ga-gl-gl-gli." As they soared near us, their plumage shone like black +glass, and we could see the long tapered feathers of the neck swell +whenever either of them croaked. They had a peculiar trick of gliding +side by side and suddenly touching wings, overlapping each other for +an instant. While we watched them, a red-shouldered hawk unwarily +approached the Gap. In an instant, the male raven was upon him, and +there was a sharp fight. The Buteo was not to be driven away easily, +and made brave play with beak and talons; but he never had a chance. +The raven glided round and round him with wonderful speed and +smoothness, driving in blow after blow with his heavy, punishing beak, +until the hawk was glad to escape. + +For long and long I watched the dark, wise mysterious birds circle +through the blue sky. As I sat in their eyrie, I could look far, far +across the forests and the ranges of hills, to where the ploughed +fields began. Perhaps that poet whose heart-strings were a lute had +looked from that same raven-cliff before he went back to die among the +tame folk, and wished that he could stay in wild-folk land where he +belonged. + + + + +VI + +HIDDEN TREASURE + + +It cost me an appendix to become a treasure-hunter, but it was worth +the price. I really had very little use for that appendix anyway, +while my membership in the Order of Treasure-Hunters has brought me in +several million dollars' worth of health and happiness. + +It all began when I was sent from a city hospital to an old farmhouse +in the northwestern corner of Connecticut, with instructions to avoid +all but the most ladylike kind of exercise. Accordingly one morning I +found myself tottering feebly along a wood-road that led over Pond +Hill, highly resolved to walk to Hen's Pine and back. This was the +lone tree which stood on the crest of the wooded hill which, half a +century ago, old Hen, a freed slave, had begged from the +charcoal-burners when they coaled that region. Hen's old horse, Bill, +is buried at its foot, and Hen had hoped to lie there himself with his +axe, his fiddle, and his whip. Instead, he sleeps in a little +graveyard on a bare hill beside his old master. + +My path had just crossed a round green circle in the woods where an +old charcoal-pit had set its seal forever. Suddenly a brown bird flew +up from beside the road a few yards ahead of me. If she had kept +quiet, I never would have learned her secret. When, however, she came +back, flying from branch to branch with fluttering wings and jerking +tail, keeping up at the same time a rattle of alarm-notes like a tiny +machine-gun, even a novice like myself would suspect a nest. + +Fortunately a broken hazel bush marked the exact spot from which she +had flown. On going there, and looking carefully near its base, I +found what has always seemed to me one of the most beautifully hidden +nests of all the hundreds which I have seen since--perhaps because it +was my first rare nest. It was roofed in by the split hazel-branch, +and made of woven dry grass and leaves, with a scanty lining of +horse-hair and a flooring of leaf-fragments. Inside were five eggs. +Four of them were bluish-white, with aureoles of reddish-brown +blotches around the blunt ends; but the fifth was larger, and was +specked and splashed with blotches of rufous and brown-purple. Long +afterwards I learned that this last egg was the fatal gift of that +vampire the cow-bird, and that by leaving it there I had doomed the +four legitimate future birds of that nest to certain death. Sooner or +later the deadly changeling would hatch from that egg and roll its +foster-brothers out of the nest to starve. + +That day, however, I was ignorant even of the name of the bird whose +nest I had found. For long I stood and gloated like a miser over the +little jewel-casket which the mother-bird had shown me, and for the +first time realized that anywhere in the woods and fields I might +come upon other treasure-hordes of the same kind. Then and there I +became a treasure-hunter. Ever since then I leave my treasures where I +find them, so that my recollections of them may not be marred by any +memories of fluttering, mourning mother birds. Aside from any +sentimental reasons, it has always seemed to me that he who takes the +eggs which he has discovered is guilty of the economic error of +spending his principal. If left undisturbed, the nest will pay +dividends in the way of information and observations which are worth +more than the mere possession of the pierced and empty eggs. + +All the time that I was studying this nest both the parent birds were +moving around me in anxious circles. At times the mother bird would +drop her wings and scurry along just in front of me, pretending that +she was wounded nigh unto death and that, if I would but follow her +away from the nest, she could easily be caught. Both the birds had +brown backs and buff breasts and sides spotted with black, and +constantly tilted their tails and walked instead of hopping. As soon +as I came back to the farmhouse, I rummaged through colored charts and +bird-books until I had decided that the nest was that of a fox +sparrow, which also has a brown back and a spotted breast. It was not +until another year that I learned that the fox sparrow nests in the +far North and that the bird whose home I had discovered was none other +than the oven-bird--or golden-crowned accentor, to give him his more +sonorous title. This is the bird which comes in late April or early +May and sings all through the woods the best example of a crescendo +song in all bird-music. His nest on the ground usually has a domed +overhanging roof which makes it resemble an old-fashioned Dutch oven. + +In spite of my ignorance there followed the happiest week of my life. +I forgot that I was an invalid, as well as all the injunctions of my +doctor. From morning until night I hunted birds' nests. As usual +fortune favored the novice, and I found nests that first week which I +have found but few times since. + +The very next morning, on the other side of Pond Hill I turned a +sudden corner of the path through the dim green silence, and stepped +right into a breakfast-party. Mrs. Ruffed Grouse, known in that part +of the country as partridge, was breakfasting in the open path with at +least a dozen little grouse--or is it greese. Although taken by +surprise, neither she nor her children hesitated for the fraction of a +second. Falling upon the ground, she rolled and flapped as if in the +last agonies of death, whining like a puppy and dragging herself +almost to my feet. I looked away from the covey for a minute, to watch +the bird struggling and whining at my very feet. As I stretched my +hand out toward her, she feebly flopped away, still apparently well +within reach. I took a step or so after her, to see if she would +really permit herself to be caught. Suddenly realizing that she was +only decoying me away from her brood, I turned back. Although I had +gone less than six feet, and the little birds had been huddled +together close to me on the bare path, they had absolutely +disappeared. It seemed impossible that in a few seconds they could +have gained the shelter of the woods or could have found cover in the +scanty grass and scattered leaves close at hand. Not one could I find +although I searched and searched. When I turned back the mother grouse +was gone also, although I could hear her whining through the bushes. + +Years later, again at the edge of the woods, one day early in June, I +came upon another mother grouse leading a covey of little chicks, +evidently just hatched, in single file out from the woods into the +open, probably to catch grasshoppers. She went through the same +performance as the first one, but this time I selected the two nearest +chicks, which stood directly in front of me, and resolved that nothing +would make me take my eyes away from them. Even as I watched, they +melted away into the grass. One I found lying motionless on its side +under a big brown leaf, looking exactly like its covering. The other I +never did find. At first the leaf-hidden partridge refused to move +even when I touched it, until I picked it up. Then it gave a shrill +peep almost like a little chicken. Instantly the poor mother bird +rushed up to my very feet and dashed her wings frantically against my +legs, jumping up from the ground and whining so piteously that, after +I had stroked her fuzzy, soft little chick, I put it back on the +ground without any further examination. At once it disappeared, and +the mother bird, still whining, also sidled away into the woods. + +I hid behind an apple tree and waited nearly half an hour. At last +from the woods sounded a low "Cluck, cluck, cluck," and instantly nine +little partridge chicks, one by one, started up from the most +impossible hiding-places. It was like watching a resurrection. Some +came from under leaves, others out of clumps of grass, and two or +three rose from the almost bare ground, where they had lain in perfect +concealment. Falling into single file, they hurried like little ghosts +into the thicket, and the last I heard of that little family was a few +soft and very satisfied clucks from the hidden mother bird. + +During that golden week of treasure-hunting I found a number of common +nests which, although everyday affairs to an experienced +ornithologist, were then, as they are now, a source of never-ending +interest. There was the robin's nest partly made of wool, which I +found in a thorn-bush in the sheep-pasture, with its four long, +sky-blue eggs. Over in the woods, just back of the deserted house +where Nat Bunker, the Indian, used to weave wonderful baskets out of +maiden-hair stems, I found the nest of a wood thrush in a witch-hazel +about seven feet from the ground, by the simple process of running my +head against the bush while going through the thick undergrowth. This +accident bunted the mother thrush off the nest; and pulling the bush +down, I peered in and saw three light-blue eggs. + +If I had taken these eggs, as some bird's-nesters do, I never should +have had the experience of actually seeing a little wood thrush come +into the world. It was the last morning of my stay, and I had been +making my round of nests, examining each one and beginning the +bird-notes which I have kept up ever since. As I pulled the nest down +and looked at the three eggs, I suddenly saw a tiny black speck appear +out of the side of one. Then the shell cracked and split, and I +realized that what I had seen was the beak of the little bird within. +In a moment the crack spread, and finally, with a tremendous effort, +one half of the blue shell slid off and there in front of me, snugly +resting in the other half of the shell, was the naked baby-thrush, its +long neck curled down beside its round stomach. Raising its blind +head, it pressed against the confining shell, while its whole bare +body shook with the heart-throbs of a new life. I realized that before +my eyes this bare, blind bird was passing from one world into another; +and when the birth was finally accomplished and, free from the +prisoning shell, the little thrush lay panting on the bottom of the +soft nest, I turned away with a certain sense of uplift that I had +watched a fellow creature win a battle for a higher life. + +It was another wood thrush's nest that same week, in the deep of a +thicket, that gave me still another experience. The nest was in a tiny +bush much lower than I have ever found a wood thrush's nest since. +When the mother thrush left the nest, she wasted no time in idle +alarm-notes, but, circling around the bush, flew straight for my face. +I ducked, and she went over me, only to turn and come back; and if I +had not guarded myself by striking at her with my hands, I have no +manner of doubt that she would have struck me with her beak. + +In only one other instance in many years of bird's-nesting have I ever +been actually attacked by a nesting bird. Once in the twilight I had +found my first and last nest of a Kentucky warbler on the edge of a +wood. Taking a short cut through the trees, I was instantly assailed +by a pair of screech-owls, which flew directly at my face, snapping +their beaks and making little wailing notes. The light was so dim and +their flight so swift, that I actually ran out into the open, fearing +lest they might land with beak or claw on my eyes. + +It was on the third day that I found in a white-thorn bush the little +horse-hair nest of the chipping sparrow. This last summer, in the +depths of Northern Canada, while hunting for such rare nests as the +bay-breasted, the yellow-palm and the Tennessee warblers, I found the +same little horse-hair home of the chipping sparrow. I thought with +this my last, as I did with my first, that there are no eggs of +American birds more beautiful than those little blue, brown-flecked +eggs of the dear gentle little chippy. + +That same day, on the edge of the thick woods near the schoolhouse, I +found swinging from maple saplings, four and five feet from the +ground, the beautiful little woven baskets, thatched on the outside +with white birch-bark and lined within with pine-needles, of the +red-eyed vireo, with the black line through and the white line above +her red eye. In the vast, bare hardhack pasture on the slope of Pond +Hill, I watched a field sparrow fly down under a hardhack bush with a +bug in its beak. Hurrying there, I found on the ground, concealed by +the bush, her little nest of woven grass, with four little field +sparrows inside, whose gaping beaks kept both father and mother field +sparrow busy all day to fill them. As the parent birds flitted around +me, I could see plainly the pink beak which distinguishes the field +sparrow from all others of its family. Beside the brook, among the +cat-tails on the ground, I found the rough nest of the red-winged +blackbird, with its four eggs scrawled with strange black +hieroglyphics. + +The fourth day was another treasure-trove day. Just at dawn, in a +dew-drenched thicket of spirea, I found three nests not six feet +apart. In one, root-lined and thatched with strips of grape-vine bark, +glowed the four deep blue eggs of the cat bird. The next nest, +singularly deep and made of dried grass, was owned by a black-blue +indigo bunting who, in spite of his intense coloring, seemed content +with three washed-out white eggs and a light-brown wife. On the last +nest the bird was brooding, and showed the golden-crowned head and the +chestnut band along the side which has given its name to the +chestnut-sided warbler. The nest, a humble affair of grass and hair, +sheltered four wonderful eggs, pink-white, spotted at the largest end +with flecks of chocolate and lilac and umber. Back of the thickets +tottered an old, old house. For fifty years it had been leased to the +wild-folk. As I looked at it, one of them flitted out of the +cellar-way, a gray bird whose name-note was phoebe. Just within the +doorway, on an oak beam, I found her new-finished nest of fresh, +bright, green moss. + +All that morning I followed orchid-haunted paths through dim aisles of +high pine trees without finding a nest. When I gave up hunting for +them, they appeared. Toward noon I had put together a pocket rod and +was wading down the bed of a little brook, to catch a few trout for +lunch. In a little pool at the foot of a laurel bush, I landed a plump +jeweled fish. I cast again, and my hook caught a low hanging branch. I +gave the bough a shake, and from the foot of the bush a pale brown +bird stole out. A moment later I was looking at my first veery's nest. +It seemed strange to meet face to face this dweller in the dark woods. +Usually I had heard his weird harp-notes from the cool green depths of +the thicket, but with never a glimpse of the singer. To-day he sat on +a low branch within six feet, and I could plainly see the faintly +marked breast and the white spot under the beak which are the +field-marks of the veery, or Wilson's thrush. Both birds flittered +around me like ghosts, saying faintly, "Wheer! wheer! wheer!" The nest +was built just off the ground and lined with brown leaves, and held +four of the most vivid blue eggs owned by any of the bird-folk. The +eggs of the cat-bird are of a deeper blue, but the strange vivid +brightness of the veery's eggs makes all other blue eggs look faded by +contrast. + +All too soon my glorious week of treasure-hunting drew to a close. For +the last day were reserved the best two of my bird-adventures. During +the morning I had followed a wood-road which led through dark woods +into a marsh, and then up a wooded slope. I sat down to rest, and +suddenly saw a gray bird fly up into a tree, alight on a limb, and +before my eyes suddenly disappear. Bringing my field-glasses to bear, +I discovered saddled on that limb a lichen-covered nest, which looked +so exactly like the limb itself that, if the bird had not shown me her +home, I would never by any chance have discovered it. It was a far +climb for an invalid, but I felt that life was not worth living unless +I could have a closer look at this strange nest which had flashed into +sight right before my eyes. Gruntingly I clambered up the trunk, and +for the first time looked into the beautiful nest of the wood pewee. +It was lined with down and held four perfect eggs, pearly-white and +flecked with heavy brown and black spots. + +For a long time I sat perched aloft, rejoicing over every perfect +detail of that nest and the eggs, and studying the gentle, silent, +anxious parent birds, of a dark-brownish-gray with two white wing-bars +and whitish under-parts. I went back to lunch feeling that my last day +had been well spent. However, the best was yet to be. I realize from +later experiences in bird's nesting that all this has an impossible +sound, but I can only say that I am setting down the happenings of +this week of treasure-hunting exactly as they came, and as they appear +in the battered canvas-bound note-book in which I scrawled my +field-notes that summer. The Wild Folk had evidently decided to +celebrate my discovery of their world by granting me seven days of +nest-finding rarely vouchsafed even to veteran ornithologists. + +[Illustration: THE JEWEL-BOX OF THE WOOD PEWEE] + +It was at twilight, and I stood on the edge of an old orchard where +grew a white-oak tree. As I looked away across the valley, I heard a +humming noise, and through the dimming light saw a tiny bird buzzing +through the air just overhead. As I watched, she alighted on a long +limb about ten feet from the ground, and even an ignoramus like myself +could recognize the long curved beak of the hummingbird. This one had +a white instead of a crimson throat, which, I was to learn, marked the +female. For an instant the little bird perched on the limb just over +my head, and then suddenly sidled toward what seemed a tiny knot, but +was not. Lest I be betrayed into further puns unworthy the fair fame +of a bird-student, I hasten to add that I had found the nest of a +ruby-throated hummingbird. + +It was too dark that evening to examine it more closely, but by +sunrise the next morning I was on the spot with a step-ladder, and +with more delight than I have ever had in a nest since, looked down +into the tiny lichen-covered, cobweb-stitched, thistle-down-lined nest +of this smallest of all our birds. Within were two tiny white eggs. +The opening of the nest was just about the size of a quarter of a +dollar, and it did not seem possible that two little birds could later +be brooded and fed and reared in such a tiny cradle. The nest itself +was saddled on the limb, which was perhaps four inches in diameter. +It was so placed that the bottom of the nest did not rest directly on +the limb, but hung a little to one side, so that the future little +birds would rest in the swing of a hammock rather than on the hard +foundation of the branch itself. The nest was lashed to the limb with +strand after strand of cobwebs carried and wound around and around, +until the whole structure was firmly anchored by myriads of almost +invisible but tough little ropes. Inside, it was lined with the soft +yellowish-white fluffy fleece found inside milkweed pods. Next came a +layer of reddish-brown seed-husks, all bound and lashed together with +a network of cobwebs. On the outside was a layer of dull ashy-green +lichen-scales. Each minute separate fragment was fitted into a mosaic +which covered the whole nest. Outside of everything was another almost +invisible network of cobwebs, like the net of a balloon which holds +the round globe within. There must have been hundreds of gossamer +strands making up this network, all so fine that only by the closest +examination could they be seen. + +Every bird's nest is a miracle, but I don't know any that is such a +marvel of industry and ingenuity and beauty as that of the +ruby-throated bird. Later on, when Mrs. Hummingbird was through with +her home, I collected it, and had an opportunity of seeing just what +the building of that nest meant to her--for, sad to say, Mr. H. B. +never moves a claw to help in home-building. The labor of collecting +the spider-webs alone, to say nothing of the hundreds of lichen-flecks +and seed-husks, would seem to be almost impossible. On the outside of +the nest I counted over a hundred separate bits of lichen, and then +undoubtedly overlooked many; while in the next layer of seed-husks +there were probably at least three times as many. Bit by bit, flake by +flake, the little worker had gathered her material, and from it had +spun, and woven and built a nest which was not only soft and secure +for her little ones, but, when finished, was absolutely disguised. No +prowler on the ground or pirate of the air could tell that nest from a +lichen-covered knot, unless, as had been my fortune, the little mother +herself showed it to them. + +So endeth the tale of my first treasure-hunting. If you are not one of +us, don't let another summer go by without joining our Order. You will +find a wealth of happiness which no thief can steal nor misfortune +lose, and which, as the years go by, pays ever-increasing dividends of +joyous memories. + + + + +VII + +BIRD'S-NESTING + + +It is the best of all out-of-door sports bar none. The thrill of +hidden treasure, the lure of adventure, the joy of escape from in-door +days--all these are part of it. Try it of a May day, or before sunrise +some June morning. I have a friend who leads a double life. During +business hours he is the president of a bank. Outside of them he is +the most abandoned bird's-nester of my acquaintance. If his depositors +could see their president going up the side of a perpendicular +oak-tree with climbing-irons, to look at the dizzy home of a red-tail +hawk, or picking his way across bottomless bogs in search of the +bittern's nest, there would probably be a run on his bank. + +I know a woman seventy-two years young, who took up bird's-nesting in +order to help forget a great sorrow. While her contemporaries are +dozing their lives away in caps and easy-chairs, she is afield in all +sorts of weather, and sees more birds and finds more nests in a year +than the average woman meets in a lifetime. Incidentally she gets more +health and happiness out of life than any woman of her age whom I have +ever met. + +Another woman, in a little town in New Jersey, by the sudden death of +her husband was left alone with but little money and no friends. +Moreover, her doctor advised her that she had only a year at most to +live. One day she found the nest of a prairie warbler, that little +jewel-casket lined with fern-wool. It held four eggs like pink-flecked +pearls. The very next day she bought a bird-book, and forgot all about +herself, and spent the happiest months of her life hunting nests. At +the end of a year in the open, she notified her indignant physician +that she had become too much interested in her hobby to confirm his +diagnosis. To-day she supports herself happily by writing about what +she sees and hears among the wild-folk. + +The moral of all this is, go bird's-nesting. This past summer, +practising what I preach, I spent all my spare holidays in May, June, +and July hunting rare nests. Let me say in preface that I collect only +with a note-book and a camera. Personally, I prefer to have memories +and notes and pictures of my bird's-nests rather than cabinets full of +pierced and empty eggs; for I believe that a human who visits his +brethren of the air as their friend will find out more about them than +he who follows them about like a weasel, only to rob their nests. + +The first of my bird-holidays was on May 20th. Four of us were to meet +at Mount Pocono, the highest mountain in Pennsylvania, on a hunt for +the rare nest of that tiny bird, the golden-crowned kinglet. Late that +evening we reached the camp near the top of the mountain, where we +were to make our headquarters. Up there the weather had harked back +to March, and the water froze on the porch that night. We pooled our +blankets and curled up together for warmth. + +At one A.M. a whip-poor-will began his loud night-song. He always +sings as if he were wound up, and in a great hurry to finish his song +before the mechanism runs down. Later, in the darkness, we heard the +drumming like distant thunder of the ruffed grouse. One of our party +claims that on this mountain the grouse always drum at four-thirty in +the morning; and his stock as an accurate ornithologist went above par +when we examined our watches and found that it was just half-past +four. As the darkness turned to the dusk of dawn, the first day-song +was the beautiful minor strain of the white-throated sparrow. "O +Canada, Canada, Canada," he fluted. Then came a snatch of the wheezing +strain of the song sparrow. Finally, sweetest of all, sounded two or +three tantalizing notes of the hermit thrush, pure, single, prolonged +notes of wonderful sweetness, followed by two arpeggio chords. + +We were up and out before sunrise; for he who would find rare nests +must look for them while the birds are laying or brooding. Four hours +distant, back in Philadelphia, summer had come. Here the trees showed +the green tracery of early spring, and the apple trees were still in +blossom, while everywhere the woods were white with the long pure +snow-petals of the shadblow. Some day we four are going to follow +Spring north, bird's-nesting all the way, until within the Arctic +Circle we find her in mid-July. + +To-day the first nest discovered was that of the junco, or +slate-colored snowbird, whose jingling little song and the flutter of +whose white skirts were everywhere throughout the woods. This one was +close to the camp, hollowed out of the side of a bank of pine-needles, +and held four white eggs sparsely spotted with reddish-brown. The +little mother-bird chipped frantically, with a clicking note which the +Architect said always made him think that she carried pebbles in her +throat. + +There were trillions of trilliums, as the Artist remarked +epigrammatically. Some were the common trilliums, of a dark +garnet-red. Besides these we found many of the rarer painted +trilliums--a pure white triangle with a stained crimson reversed +triangle in the centre. All of the trilliums are studies in triangles. +The painted trillium has the crimson triangle in the centre, set on +the white triangle made up of three petals which, in their turn, are +fixed in a reversed triangle of green sepals, and the whole blossom is +set in a still larger triangle made up of three green leaves. +Everywhere the woods were full of purple-pink rhodora, the earliest of +the azaleas. Its blossoms were silver flecked with deeper-colored +spots. + +The next nest found was to me the most eventful one of the day, +although not an especially rare one on that mountain. The Architect +was walking beside one of the strange hummocks which are thought to +have been formed by buried tree-trunks in the path of some old-time +cyclone. Suddenly his eye was caught by the gleam of four sky-blue +eggs shining like turquoises from a nest directly on the ground, +lined neatly with red-brown pine-needles and with dry dark green moss +on the outside, the hall-mark of the nest of the hermit thrush. In +front of it was a cushion of partridge-berry vines, with their green +leaves and red berries, while blueberry fronds, covered with tender +green leaves, arched over the nest, and sprays of ground-pine +sheltered its sides. It was a fitting home for the beautiful twilight +singer. The eggs of a hermit thrush actually seem to gleam from the +ground, unlike the mottled and speckled and clouded eggs of most +ground-nesters. + +As the sun came up, the whole mountain-side rang with bird-songs. +There was the abrupt strain of the magnolia warbler, who to my ears +says, "Wheedle, wheedle, whee-chee." The black-and-white warbler sang +like a tiny, creaking wheel, as he ran up and down tree-trunks. Down +in the meadows beyond the lake, the long-tailed brown thrasher said, +"Hello, hello! Come over here, come over here. There he goes, there he +goes. Whoa, whoa, ha-ha, ha-ha." If you do not believe my reading of +his song, listen the next time one sings to you, and see if these are +not his exact words. Overhead we often heard the squeal of the +red-shouldered hawk, sounding almost like the cry of the blue jay. +Then there was the loud yet gentle warble of the purple finch; and +once we saw a beautiful rose-red male and his gray-brown wife feeding +each other on a limb like a pair of lovebirds. Another song which was +interesting to me, because almost new, was that of the solitary or +blue-headed vireo, who sang, "See, see me-e. See me, you! you!" His +whole song is in couplets. The Artist said that my rendering was too +imaginative, and that what the bird really said was "Che-wee--che-woo, +che-wee--chu, chu," which perhaps is more accurate. + +[Illustration: THE RED-SHOULDERED HAWK] + +Through appalling swamps and tangled thickets of rhododendron we were +led by the Banker, who had highly resolved not to return without a +sight of the golden-crowned kinglet's nest. Once we came to a large +spruce in which had been cut, in the living wood, great square holes +like those in bar-posts. On one side we counted five, on another +three, while on the opposite side were no less than ten, with a new +one on the top cut right into the solid heart-wood. It was a +feeding-tree of the great pileated woodpecker of the North, a +magnificent black and white bird with a scarlet crest, nearly the size +of a crow. All that morning we searched in vain for the kinglet's +nest. Only as we came back to the cabin at noon for lunch, were our +hopes raised. + +As we walked down the trail, not a hundred yards from the +cabin-entrance, in a spruce tree, the Banker spied a great hanging +nest made of wool and lined with feathers, from the top of which flew +the only golden-crowned kinglet which we saw that day, with the orange +patch on the top of his tiny head edged with black and yellow. The +nest was empty, but the Banker felt that he had made the great +discovery of his life and discoursed learnedly on the industry of this +tiny bird, which could find and carry such a mass of wool and build a +nest at least a hundred times larger than itself. It was not until a +month later that he was reluctantly convinced that what he had found +was the nest of a deer-mouse. + +That afternoon we skirted the little lake and saw, not forty feet +above us, a bald eagle flying down toward us with its snowy neck and +pure white tail. He flew with four or five quick flaps, and then would +soar. In the distance we saw another eagle pursued by a scurrilous +cawing crow. The eagle flew over to the shore, and alighted and drank, +and then, standing on the edge of the water, seemed to be fishing. His +pursuer also alighted just behind him, and walked close up. Every time +the eagle would turn, the crow would scuttle off, like some little +blackguard boy following and reviling one of his elders. Several times +the crow flew over the head of the eagle and tried to gain courage +enough to make a dab at him. Through it all the king of birds paid +absolutely no attention to his tormentor. The comparison of the crow +with the eagle gave some idea of the size of the latter. He seemed +over three times as large as the crow. + +It was the Banker again, on the other side of the lake, who made the +next discovery. We were hunting a little apart through the woods, when +he announced from where he stood that he had just caught a glimpse of +a Brewster's warbler. For the benefit of other bird-students who are +in my class, let me write what I learned that day in regard to said +bird. A Brewster's warbler is the rare hybrid between the +golden-winged warbler and the blue-winged warbler, more closely +resembling the golden-winged. When it takes after the blue-winged, it +is called the Lawrence warbler. This specimen we studied feather by +feather for over half an hour at short range, and the experts of the +party pronounced it beyond peradventure a Brewster's warbler,--a bird +not seen often in a lifetime. It was solid blue on the back, pearly +white underneath, and showed white tail-feathers, together with a +greenish-yellow patch on the very crown of its head. It had two broad +yellow wing-bars, one large and the other small, and its white throat, +innocent of any black mark, was the field-mark by which it could be +told from either of its parents or from its half-brother the Lawrence. + +It was the Artist who made the last discovery of the day. Near the +crest of the mountain, he gave a piercing cry and announced that he +had discovered an Indian cobra. We all hastened to his rescue, and saw +a fearsome sight. Coiled in front of him, hissed and struck a bloated, +swollen snake, with flattened head and up-turned snout. It was none +other than the American puff-adder, which ought to be called the bluff +adder since, in spite of its threats, it is never known to bite, and +is really a harmless and gentle snake. + +The last thing the writer can remember of that trip was hearing, as he +fell asleep, the Architect tell the Banker of the time he found two +loon's eggs, which a man had discovered on the top of a muskrat's +house and put under one of his hens to hatch. + +The next day we were back in Philadelphia and summer again, with a +list of seventy-six different kinds of birds identified on the trip +and a total of ten nests found. + +A few days later I went bird's-nesting with another friend in the very +heart of the city of Camden. Through the manufacturing district a +sluggish creek winds its way past factory after factory. There, under +a clump of golden-rod leaves, he showed me the nest of a spotted +sandpiper, made of reeds lined with grass, containing four +eggs--dark-brown eggs, spotted at the larger end with chocolate marks, +and coming to a sharp point at the other end. Later on, I found +another nest in the middle of a mass of horse-tail. Then, in the very +centre of a base-ball diamond, not far from second base, on the naked +ground, he showed me a killdeer's nest--a hollow scraped in the +gravel, with four eggs which so matched the stones that they had +escaped the notice of the players all around them. On the bank of the +creek we found song sparrows' nests, and out in a patch of marsh, on +the very last tussock, the dried-grass nest of a swamp sparrow, which +was much thicker than the song sparrow's, while the four eggs were of +a marbled warm brown and white. + +Then we pushed on, still in the city limits, until we came to an old +quarry-bed half-filled with water, which had turned into a noisome bit +of marshland. Pushing a rickety raft out through the muck and +water-reeds of the stagnant water, my friend showed me, on a clump of +pickerel weed on a sunken stick, a nest of twigs on which was +sitting a strange bird. Its long sharp beak pointed straight skyward. +Its back was a combination of shades of soft reddish-browns, while its +breast was reddish-brown streaked with white. The most curious things +about it were its eyes. They were almost all pupil, with a bright +golden ring around the extreme edge, and stared at us unwinkingly like +a great snake. Although we came close up, the bird absolutely refused +to leave her nest, and stabbed viciously at a stick which I poked out +toward her. Finally, not daring to trust my hand within reach of that +stabbing yellow beak, I lifted her up bodily with the long stick, +enough to show five whitish-blue eggs rounded at each end. It was the +rare nest and eggs of the least bittern, a bird a little over a foot +long, which has a strange habit of clutching with its claws the stalks +of reeds and walking up them like a monkey. As we left, amid the +clicking notes of the cricket-frogs and the boom of the bull-frogs we +heard a very low "Cluck, cluck, cluck." It was the least bittern +singing the only song she knew, in celebration of the fact that she +still had her eggs safe. + +[Illustration: MRS. KILDEER AT HER NEST] + +The Architect and myself decided to travel once again, later in the +season, to the mountain, in the hope that we might make a better +nesting record. We reached the cabin on June 17th, and again found +ourselves back in spring. The peepers were still calling, and there +were wild lilies-of-the-valley in the woods, and pink rose-hearted +twin-flowers, with their scent of heliotrope. Everywhere grew the +dwarf cornel, or bunch-berry, with its four white petals--the smallest +of the dogwoods, which grows only a few inches high. + +The first nest was found by me. It was built on a foundation of tiny +twigs in a bush, and had a two-story effect, the upper story being +made of fine grass. As I came near the bush, a magnificent +chestnut-sided warbler, with the bay patches on his sides and his +yellow crown, made such an outcry that I suspected the nest and +finally found it. There were three eggs in it and one tiny young bird, +smaller than a bumblebee. Everywhere grew the beautiful northern +azalea, of a clear pink with a perfume like sandal-wood. The Canadian +warbler, with its black necklace on its yellow breast, sang everywhere +a song which sounded like, "Ea-sy, ea-sy, you, you"; and we heard also +the orange-throated Blackburnian warbler's wiry, thin notes. + +Near the top of the mountain are two sphagnum bogs, difficult to find, +but the home of many a rare bird. We finally located the larger of +these bogs, and there the Artist made the great discovery of the day. +Right out from underneath his foot, as he splashed through the wet +moss, flew a yellow-bellied flycatcher, which gives a note like the +wood-pewee and whose nest had been found only once before in the state +of Pennsylvania. Right in front of him, hidden in the deep moss, was +this long-sought nest. It was set deep in club-moss and lined with +white pine-needles, and contained four pinkish-white eggs with an +aureole around the larger end, with light rufous markings. It was so +overshadowed with wintergreen leaves and aronia and bunch-berries +that, even after the Artist had pointed out the place to me, it was +with very great difficulty that I found it. + +As we crossed the marsh, I heard the song of the olive-backed thrush, +which sounds to me like a cross between the notes of the wood thrush +and the strange harp-chords of the veery or Wilson thrush. In another +part of the bog sang the rare Nashville warbler, whose nest we have +yet to find. Its song starts like the creak of the black-and-white +warbler and ends like a chipping sparrow. In a marsh beyond the +sphagnum bog, I found the nest of a Maryland yellowthroat, set in a +yellow viburnum shrub some six inches from the ground. This nest is +usually on the ground. It was set just as a gem is set in a ring, the +setting consisting of leaves which come up into five or six points. +Held by the points is a little cup of grass. The eggs were the most +beautiful we saw that day--of a pinkish-white with a wreath of +chestnut blotches around the larger end. On the farther side of the +marsh, a white-throated sparrow flew out from in front of me; and +after a long search I found its nest--a little moss-rimmed cup of +gray-green, yellow grass, containing four eggs of a faint blue clouded +with chestnut, which was massed in large blotches at the larger end. +With the four eggs was a dumpy young cow-bird, that fatal changeling +which is the death of so many little birds. In this case we saved four +prospective white-throated sparrows from being starved to death by +their ugly foster-brother. The white-throat is a dear, gentle, little +bird. Even its alarm-notes are soft, instead of being harsh and +disagreeable like those of most other sparrows. + +The next day I found a song sparrow's nest and a catbird's nest, and +then in the midst of dark, cool woods, where an icy brown trout-brook +ran through a mass of rhododendron, a thrush suddenly slipped away +ahead of me out of a clump of rhododendron bushes. The light color of +the bird and the lighter spotted breast marked it as a veery or Wilson +thrush. On looking at the bush, I saw the nest, a rough one made of +hemlock twigs matted together, and lined with pine-needles with a +basis of leaves. Inside were four small eggs of a heavenly blue. They +are among the smallest of all of our pure-blue eggs. + +That same day the Artist found a beautiful nest of a +black-throated-blue warbler, also set in a rhododendron bush. The nest +was made of the light inner bark of the rhododendron, which was of a +bright yellow. Inside, it was lined with black and tan rootlets so +fine that they look almost like horse-hair. These are the same +rootlets which the magnolia warbler uses to line its nest, and up to +the present time no ornithologist whom I have met has been able to +identify them. + + * * * * * + +"Can you go to Maryland to-day on a bird-trip?" telephoned the +Banker. + +"No," said I, "lawyers have to work for a living." + +"There'll be blue-gray gnatcatchers and mocking-birds and Acadian +flycatchers," he tried again. + +"No," said I. + +"I've found out where the prothonotary warbler lives," he said once +more. + +"No," said I. + +"We may find its nest," he continued. "No one up here has seen one for +years." + +"No," said I firmly. "What time does the train start?" + +Sunset found me Somewhere in Maryland. I was squeezed into a buggy +built for one, along with the Miller, at whose house we were intending +to stop, and the Banker, who is constructed on flowing, generous +lines. We drove creakingly through miles and miles of blossoming peach +orchards. At the Miller's house we ate the worst supper that money +could buy. The Miller's wife had evidently been born a bad cook, and +by careful practice had become worse. It was over at last, and the +Banker and I retired to a room under the rafters which contained one +window and a mountainous bed. The rest of the space was taken up by +mosquitoes. I undressed, jumped into the bed, and sank out of sight. +The Banker located me by my muffled cries for help, and pulled me to +the surface just in time to save my life. Thereafter we molded a +conical crater in that feather-bed and carefully fitted ourselves in, +leaving a large air-hole at the top. + +It was a hot night. The mosquitoes bit steadily, and the feather-bed +was like a furnace seven times heated. All night long a whip-poor-will +called his name under our window over three million times. The Banker +said he counted the notes. Finally, after hours and hours of agony, I +fell into a troubled sleep and was instantly awakened by the Banker, +who said it was time to get up. We breakfasted on what remained of the +corpse of the supper of the night before, which we found on the table. +A few moments later I was morosely moving an alleged boat through the +mists of the morass. + +Without further alliteration, let me chronicle what paid for all the +toil, hardships and privations of the trip. It was the sight of a bird +of burnished gold flashing through the curling mists. "Tweet, tweet, +tweet," he called ringingly as he flew. The note reminded me somewhat +of the loud song of the Kentucky warbler, and the Banker, of the note +of the solitary sandpiper. Every now and then we caught tantalizing +glimpses of this warbler, which never by any chance stands still, but +flits here and there among the trees over the water. From the trees I +constantly heard squeaking notes, apparently of young birds. They +sounded everywhere, and I decided that the whole marsh must be full of +nests. The Banker laughed at my ignorance and told me that this was +the note of the blue-gray gnatcatchers--"like a mouse with a +toothache," as Chapman describes it. With great difficulty I caught a +glimpse of the tiny bird here and there among the tree-tops, and saw +the two long feathers of its tail, and had a glimpse of the gray and +white of its plumage. Some weeks before, the Banker had found down +there one of its rare and beautiful nests, like a large hummingbird's +nest, lined with down and thatched on the outside with lichens, and +fastened to a high bough. + +That day I found the first nest of the prothonotary warbler. This bird +uses deserted woodpeckers' nests in dead trees set in marshes, so it +was necessary to paddle around to every dead tree which showed a hole. +I finally saw a little red-birch stub sticking up in the corner of the +marsh, and rowing over to it, noticed a small hole in its side. +Picking away the bark, I made it larger and a piece of the fresh green +moss, from which the nest of the prothonotary warbler is always built, +showed itself. Imbedded in the moss was a vivid orange-yellow feather, +which could belong to no other bird. The nest was just built and +contained no eggs. + +The Banker found the second nest, in a willow-stub ten feet from the +ground, in an old downy woodpecker's nest. He found it by seeing the +male bird fly into the hole. Climbing up to the nest, he found that in +it were four young birds. Perching on a limb, he sat about four feet +from the nest while I was in the boat perhaps ten feet away. The +cock-bird flew up with a May-fly, making a soft alarm-note something +like that made by a field sparrow, only gentler. He flew up close to +where my friend sat and hesitated for a long while. Finally, the +hungry little birds inside gave a prolonged squeak, which probably +meant, "May-flies immediately!" This was too much for Mr. +Prothonotary. With a farewell look at the Banker, he turned his back +and dived into the nest, placing himself entirely at the mercy of this +giant who was keeping guard over his home. Seven times he did this +while we watched, bringing in two beetles, a small wasp, a fly, and +three May-flies. The hen-bird would come up time and time again with a +fly in her beak, but never could quite muster up courage enough to go +into the nest, but absent-mindedly swallowing the fly herself, would +go off. + +We had a wonderful chance to study the coloring of this rare bird. The +cock-bird had a bright black eye which showed vividly against his +yellow cheek, as did his long black bill. His colors were gray, +yellow, and olive. The underside of his tail was pure white, and he +had a white edge to his wings, while the top of the wings was +greenish-yellow. The whole head, throat, and breast were of an intense +golden, almost orange yellow, and the wings were bluish-gray. The bird +itself was just about the size of the common black-and-white warbler. +The female was of the same coloring, only much paler. + +After that came the tragedy of the day for me. An overhanging bough +knocked off my glasses, and they sank in the black waters of the marsh +and continued sunk, in spite of my frantic groping and diving for +them. The rest of the day I realized how the blinded galley-slaves +felt who were chained to the oar in mediæval times. The Banker kindly +described to me all the sixty-five different kinds of birds he saw in +that marsh. As my vision was limited to a range of about two feet, I +did not see many more birds personally. In spite of my blinded +condition, I did discover, however, another prothonotary's nest. I had +taken hold of a rotten willow-stub while pushing the boat through a +thicket. It broke in my hand, and there, in an exposed downy +woodpecker's hole, was a newly made nest of green moss, with a few +twigs and bark-strips on top, but no eggs. The fourth and last nest +was found by the Banker, again in a downy's hole. He saw something +move and thought it was a mouse or chickadee. Finally a long bill came +out of the hole and then a head. It was a hen prothonotary building +her nest. She had the hole already filled with moss, and was bringing +in grass, and would whirl around and around inside, modeling the nest +carefully. Within, she had lined it with grass, just as a chipping +sparrow's nest is lined with hair. + +This was the last nest of the day. The Banker suggested that we stay +over another night, but I felt that home was the best place for a +blind man. My last memory of the golden prothonotary was hearing him +call, "Tweet, tweet, tweet" from the willows, as we started back to +the mill. + +The last of my nesting-trips was on July 7th. The Artist in some +mysterious way had learned the secret of Tern Island, one of the few +places on the New Jersey coast where the Wilson tern still nests. In a +rickety old power-boat--probably it was the first one ever built--we +traveled haltingly through the most intricate channels imaginable, +and finally reached an island hidden by shoals and salt-marshes, but +whose farther beach faced the ocean. There, in a space about four +hundred by one hundred feet, we found seventy nests of tern, +containing a hundred and sixty-five eggs. Most of the nests contained +two eggs, some three, and one, four. The nests were merely hollows in +the sand, lined with bits of pure-white shell. The usual color of the +eggs was a blue-green background, heavily blotched with chocolate +blotches, although I found one egg of a light green, speckled all over +with light-red specks. In only one nest was there a young bird. The +little chick lay flat in the burning sun, while overhead hung the +mother tern, pearl-white with black-tipped wings, making a grinding, +scolding note. The young tern was downy like a duckling, and had tiny +red feet and a pink beak tipped with black. We put up a stake to mark +the nest, and later in the day, when we came back to photograph it, we +found that the little tern had crawled out, followed the shadow which +the stick had made, and lay with its head in the scanty shade far away +from the nest. + +We met other rare water-fowl that blazing day. We saw the rare piping +plover, whose nest I was afterwards to find in Upper Canada, black +skimmers, with their strange slant-cut beaks, black tern, least tern, +loons, black-bellied plover, and everywhere throughout the +salt-meadows enormous great-blue herons. + +This was the last trip of our quartette for the summer, and we are +looking forward to many more springs and summers among the bird-folk. +Let me end as I began--go bird's-nesting. Escape into the open from +these narrow in-door days, and learn the way to where the wild-folk +dwell. Seek their paterans and share their secrets. In their land you +will find the help of the hills, and hope wide as the world, and +strength and youth and health and happiness in full measure. Try it. + + + + +VIII + +THE TREASURE-HUNT + + +I have always been of a very treasurous disposition. Such terms as +ingots, doubloons, and pieces-of-eight all my life long have been to +me words of power. In spite of these tendencies, I cannot say that up +to date I have unearthed much treasure. To be sure, there was that day +when I found a shiny quarter in the mud on my way to school. Instead +of being the out-cropping of a lode of currency, it turned out, +however, to be only a sporadic, solitary, companionless coin. Even so, +it was no mean find. I remember that it brought into my young life a +full pound of peppermint lozenges tastefully decorated in red ink, +with mottos of simple diction and exquisite sentiment. "Remember me," +and "I love but dare not tell," were two of them, while another was a +manly query unanswered across the years which read, "How about a +kiss?" Although this treasure-trove gained me a fleeting popularity, +yet, like all treasure, it was soon gone. A prosaic teacher +confiscated the bulk of the hoard, and all I gained from it was the +privilege of learning by heart a poem of the late Mr. Longfellow. To +this day those beautiful lines,-- + + Be still, sad heart, and cease repining, + Behind the clouds is the sun still shining,-- + +cause in me a slight sensation of nausea. + +It is probably due to these lawless traits that in my meridian years I +now hold the position which I do. Five and a half days in the week I +practise law. On Saturday and Sunday afternoons and all holidays, +legal and illegal, I am the Captain of a Robber Band, with all the +perquisites and perils which go with that high office. Without +vaunting myself unduly, I may claim to have fairly deserved my +position. Starting as a mere friar in the band of one Robin Hood, my +abilities as an outlaw brought me rapidly to the front. Thereafter, +when that band was reorganized, I was unanimously offered the position +once held by that implacable character who knew the Sesame Secret and +pursued a Mr. Baba so unsuccessfully, yet so unflinchingly. Flattered +by this recognition of qualities of leadership unsuspected by an +unthinking world, I accepted the responsibilities of the captaincy. +They were shared by First-Lieutenant Trottie, Second-Lieutenant Honey, +Sergeant Henny-Penny, and Corporal Alice-Palace. There were no +privates. + +It was on a spring evening soon after the aforesaid election that the +Band met. The Captain spoke with the stern brevity which characterizes +all great leaders. + +"Comrades," he announced, shutting the door and looking carefully +under the sofa to make sure that there were no spies about, "I have +just heard that there is a treasure not many miles from here. All +those in favor of a treasure-hunt to-morrow will kindly make a loud +noise." + +The vote was probably the finest collection of assorted sounds ever +heard outside of a ship-yard. Right in the middle of it, the door +burst open, and in rushed Minnie, the cook, with a dipper of water, +under the impression that her favorite fear of fire had at last come +to pass. Close behind her was the Quartermaster-General, sometimes +known as Mother, while almost at the same instant old John, the +gardener, ran up on the porch with an axe, shouting hopefully, "Hould +him! I'm comin'!" under the impression that there was a fight of sorts +well under way. + +The voting stopped suddenly, and the Captain looked quite ashamed as +he explained. Mother pretended to be very indignant. + +"Some day," she said, "you'll all be in terrible danger and you'll +shout and yell and scream and bellow for help but not one of us will +come, will we, John?" + +"Divil a step," called back John, as he clumped disappointedly down +the steps, his unused axe over his shoulder. + +The Quartermaster-General agreed to withdraw her threat only after the +Captain had pledged the honor of the Band that there should be no +further disgustful noises within the house. Thereafter there were +hurryings and skurryings and dashings to and fro, in preparation for +the great adventure. Honey put fresh rubbers on his trusty sling-shot, +with which he could frequently hit a barn-door at five paces. Trottie +oiled up the air-rifle, which he was only allowed to use in windowless +wildernesses. Henny-Penny kept up such a fusillade with his new +pop-gun, that the Captain threatened to send him forth unarmed on the +morrow if he heard but one more pop. Alice-Palace's practice, however, +was the most spectacular. She had a water-pistol which, when properly +charged, would propel a stream of water an unbelievable distance. From +the bathroom door she took a snap-shot at Henny-Penny, who was +approaching her confidingly. The charge took effect in the very centre +of a large pink ear, and it was a long time before Henny-Penny could +be convinced that he was not mortally wounded. + +At last the Captain ordered bed and perfect silence within fifteen +minutes, under penalty of being shot at sunrise. + +"Nobody couldn't shoot me at sunrise," boasted Corporal Alice-Palace, +as she started up the stairs, "cause I wouldn't get up." + +The next morning at dawn, from the Captain's room sounded the clear +whistle of the cardinal grosbeak--the adventure-call of the Band. +Followed thumps, splashings, and the sounds of rapid dressing from the +third story where the Band bivouacked. + +"If there be any here," announced the Captain after breakfast, "who +for the sake of their wives and families wish to draw back, now is the +time. Once on the way, it will be too late." + +"I haven't got any wife," piped up Henny-Penny, "nor any family 'cept +this one, but I want to come." + +Similar sentiments were expressed by the rest of the Band. The Captain +said that it made the blood run faster in his shriveled old veins to +have such gallant comrades. + +Purple grackles creaked and clattered in the trees, and the bushes +were full of song-sparrow notes, as the Band hurried away from the +house-line toward the Land of the Wild-Folk, where Romance still +dwells and adventures lurk behind every bush. A tottering stone +chimney marked its boundaries. There old Roberts Road began. On and +beyond Roberts Road anything might happen. + +Each one of the Band, in addition to the lethal weapons already set +forth, carried a note-book and a pencil with which to keep a list of +all birds seen and heard, with notes on the same. Even Corporal +Alice-Palace, who was only six, carried a blank-book about the size of +a geography. To date it contained this single entry: "Robbins eat +wormes. I saw him do it." + +The Quartermaster-General, despite the difficulty of the evening +before, had seen to it that the Band carried with them the very finest +lunch that any treasure-hunters ever had since Pizarro dined with the +Inca of Peru. + +As they moved deep and deeper into Wild-Folk Land the air was full of +bird-songs. The Captain made them stop and listen to the singing +sparrows. First there was the song sparrow, who begins with three +notes and wheezes a little as he sings. It took them longer to learn +the quieter song of the vesper sparrow, with the flash of white in his +tail-feathers. His song always starts with two dreamy, contralto +notes and dies away in a spray of soprano twitterings. Then there were +the silver flute-notes of the little pink-beaked field sparrow, which +they were to hear later across darkling meadows, and the strange minor +strains of the white-throated sparrow. + +Before long, a sudden thirst came upon Sergeant Henny-Penny. +Fortunately they were near the bubbling spring that marked the +beginning of Fox Valley, and the whole Band halted and drank in the +most advanced military manner, to wit, by bending the rims of their +felt hats into a cup. This method the Captain assured them was far +superior to the more usual system of lying flat on their tummies, and +had the approval of all great military leaders from Gideon down. + +Right in the very midst of their drinking, there sounded from the +thicket a hurried warble of a mellow timbre, the wood-wind of the +sparrow orchestra, and they caught a fleeting glimpse of the gray and +tawny which is worn only by the fox sparrow, the largest of the +sparrows and the sweetest and rarest singer of them all. A moment +later a song sparrow sang. When he stopped, the strain was taken up by +the fox sparrow in another key. Three times through he sang the +twelve-note melody of the song sparrow, and his golden voice made the +notes of the other sound pitifully thin and reedy. Then the fox +sparrow threw in for good measure a few extemporaneous whistled +strains of his own, and seemed to wait expectantly--but the song +sparrow sang no more. + +Through the long narrow valley, hidden between two green hills, +marched the Band, following the hidden safe path that generations of +foxes had made through the very middle of a treacherous marsh. As the +road bent in toward Darby Creek, there sounded the watchman's rattle +of the first kingfisher they had heard that year; and as they came to +the creek itself, a vast blue-gray bird with a long neck and bill +flapped up ahead of them. It was so enormous that Alice-Palace was +positive that it was a roc; but it turned out to be the great blue +heron, the largest bird in Eastern America. + +From the marshy fields swept great flocks of red-winged blackbirds, +each one showing a yellow-bordered, crimson epaulet, proof positive +that Mrs. Blackbird was still in the South. Mrs. Robin had come back +the week before, which accounted for the joy-songs which sounded from +every tree-top. Until she comes, the robin's song is faint and thin +and infrequent. Beyond the creek they heard the "Quick, quick, quick," +of the flicker calling to spring, and before long they came to the +tree where he had hollowed his hole. A most intelligent flicker he +was, too, for his shaft was sunk directly under a sign which read "No +Shooting Here." + +From behind them as they marched, tolled the low sweet bell-notes of +the mourning dove--"Ah--coo, coo, coo." The Captain tried to imitate +the sound, and the harassed bird stood it as long as he could, but +finally flew away with whistling wings. Then the Captain told the Band +of a brave mother-dove whose nest he once found on the last day of +March. It was only a flat platform of dry sticks in a spruce tree, and +held two pearly-white eggs. The day after he found it, there came a +sudden snowstorm, and when he saw the nest again, it was covered with +snow--but there was the mother-bird still brooding her dear-loved +eggs, with her head just showing above the drifted whiteness. + +[Illustration: MR. FLICKER AT HOME] + +Beside the ruins of a spring-house, a gray bird with a tilting tail +said, "Phoe, bee-bee, bee." It was the little phoebe, so glad to +be back that he stuttered when he called his name. Thereafter the +Captain was moved to relate another anecdote. It seemed a friend of +his had stopped a pair of robins from nesting over a hammock hung +under an apple tree, by nailing a stuffed cat right beside their +bough. Whereupon the two robins, when they came the next morning, fled +with loud chirps of dismay. When two phoebes started to build on his +porch, he tried the same plan. He was called out of town the next day, +and when he came back a week later he found that the phoebes had +deserted their old nest. They had however built a new one--on top of +the cat's head. + +As the Band swung back into the far end of Roberts Road, the Captain's +eye caught the gleam of a half-healed notch which he had cut in a +pin-oak sapling the year before, at the top of a high bank, to mark +the winter-quarters of a colony of blacksnakes. He halted the Band, +and one by one they clambered up the slope, stopping puffingly at the +first ledge, and searching the withered grass and gray rocks above +for any black, sinister shapes. Suddenly Honey did a remarkable +performance in the standing-back-broad-jump, finishing by rolling +clear to the foot of the bank. Right where he had stood lay a hale and +hearty specimen of a blacksnake nearly five feet long. Evidently it +had only just awakened from its winter-sleep, for there were +clay-smears on the smooth, satiny scales, and even a patch of clay +between the golden, unwinking eyes. Only the flickering of a long, +black, forked tongue showed that his snakeship was alive. Then it was +that the Captain lived up to the requirements of his position by +picking up that blacksnake with what he fondly believed to be an air +of unconcern. He showed the awe-stricken Band that the pupil of the +snake's eye was a circle, instead of the oval which is the hallmark of +that fatal family of pit-vipers to which the rattlesnake, copperhead, +and moccasin belong. + +"If you have any doubt about a snake," lectured the Captain, "pick it +up and look it firmly in the eye. If the pupil is oval--drop it. +Perhaps, however," he went on reflectively, "it would be better to get +someone else to do the picking-up part." + +When the Band learned from the Captain that it was the creditable +custom of the Zoölogical Gardens to give free entry to such as bore +with them as a gift a snake of size, their views toward the captive +changed considerably. Said snake was now legal tender, to be cherished +accordingly. It was the resourceful First Lieutenant Trottie who +solved all difficulties in regard to transportation. He hurriedly +removed a stocking, and the snake was inserted therein, giving the +stocking that knobbed, lumpy appearance usually seen in such articles +only at Christmas time. + +[Illustration: THE MOURNING DOVE ON HER NEST] + +From the Den the Band marched to a bowl-shaped meadow not far from old +Tory Bridge, under which a Revolutionary soldier hid with his horse +while his pursuers thundered overhead, well-nigh a century and a half +ago. On three sides of the field the green turf sloped down to a long +level stretch, covered by a thin growth of different trees, centring +on a thicket through which trickled a little stream. Near the fence on +a white-oak tree some ill-tempered owner had fastened a fierce sign +which read: "Keep out. Trespassers will be shot without notice." The +cross owner had been gone many a long year, but the sign still stood, +and it always gave the Band a delightful thrill to read it. + +At the edge of the grove the Captain halted them all. + +"Comrades," he said in a whisper, "I have heard rumors that there is a +clue to the treasure hidden in the sign-tree." + +It was enough. With one accord the Band sprang upon that defenceless +tree. Some searched among its gnarled roots. Others examined the lower +branches. It was Henny-Penny, however, who boosted by Alice-Palace, +fumbled back of the threatening old sign and drew out a crumpled slip +of grimy paper. On it had been laboriously inscribed in some red +fluid, presumably blood, a skull and cross-bones. Underneath, in a +very bad hand, was written: "By the roots of the nearest black-walnut +tree. Captain Kidd." + +There was a moment's check. It was Honey who recognized the tree by +its crooked clutching twigs, and found at its roots a crumpled piece +of paper which said: "Go to the nearest tulip tree. Blackbeard the +Pirate." It was Trottie who remembered that a tulip tree has square +leaves, and it was he who found the message which read: "I am buried +under a stone which stands between a spice-bush and a white-ash tree." +They all knew the spice-bush, with its brittle twigs and pungent bark +which was made to be nibbled, and under the stone they found a note +which said: "Look in the crotch of a dogwood tree. If you will listen +you will hear its bark"; which made the Band laugh like anything. + +The last message of all read: "I am swinging in a vireo's nest on the +branch of a sour-gum tree." That was a puzzle which held the Band +hunting like beagles in check for a long time. Corporal Alice-Palace +at last spied the bleached little basket-nest at the end of a low +limb. Inside was a bit of paper which, when unfolded, seemed to be +entirely blank. So were the face of the Band as they looked. It was +the Captain again who saved the day. + +"I have heard," he whispered, "that sometimes pirates write in +lemon-juice, which makes an invisible ink that needs heat to bring it +out. Like the Gold-Bug, you know." + +It was enough. In less than sixty seconds, sun time, the Band had +built a tiny fire after the most approved Indian method, and as soon +as it began to crackle, the paper was held as close to the blaze as +possible. The Captain had the right idea. As the paper bent under the +heat, on its white surface brown tracings appeared, which slowly +formed letters and then words, until they could all read: "I am in the +hidey-hole of the chimney of the Haunted House. The Treasure." + +For a moment the Band stared at each other in silence. They had made a +special study of pirates, black, white, yellow, and mixed. Haunted +houses, however, were beyond their bailiwick. It spoke well for the +iron discipline and high hearts of the company that not one of them +faltered. Led by dauntless Sergeant Henny-Penny, they crossed the +creek in single file on a tippy tree-trunk. Half hidden in the bushes +above, a gaunt stone house stared down at them out of empty +window-sockets like a skull. Through the thicket and straight up the +slope the Band charged, with such speed that the Captain was hard put +to keep up with his gallant officers. They never halted until they +stood at the threshold of the House itself. Under the bowed lintel the +Band marched, and never halted until they reached the vast fireplace +which took in a whole side of the room. The floorings of the House had +gone, and nothing but the naked beams remained, save for a patch of +warped boards far up against the stone chimney where the attic used to +be. It was plainly there that they must look for the hidey-hole. + +The Captain showed his followers how in one of the window-ledges the +broken ends of the joists made a rude ladder. Up this the Band +clambered to the first tier of joists, without any mishap save that +the Captain's hat fell off and landed in front of the fireplace. + +As they all roosted like chickens on the beams, there sounded a +footstep just outside. The Band stood stony still and held their +breath. Through the dim doorway came the furtive figure of a man. In +one hand he carried a basket, while the other was clinched on a +butcher-knife well fitted for dark and desperate deeds. Although the +basket seemed to be filled with dandelion greens, no one could tell +what dreadful, dripping secret might be concealed underneath. For a +minute the stranger looked uneasily around the shadowy room, and when +his eye caught sight of the Captain's hat, he started back and peered +into every corner, while the Band stood taut and tense just over his +unsuspecting head. At last, however, evidently convinced that the hat +was ownerless and abandoned, he picked it up and, taking off his own +battered, shapeless head-covering, started to try on the Captain's +cherished felt. Then it was that the latter acted. Bending noiselessly +down until his head was hardly a foot above the unwary wanderer's ear, +he shouted in a deep, fierce, growly voice which the Band had never +suspected him of having:-- + +"Drop that hat! Run for your life!" + +The stranger obeyed both of these commands to the letter. Throwing +away the hat as if it were redhot, he dashed out of the doorway and +sprinted down the slope, scattering dandelion greens at every jump, +and disappeared in the thicket beyond. Although the Captain laughed +and laughed until he nearly fell off his beam, the rest of the Band +feared the worst. + +"He looked exactly like Black Dog," murmured Honey in a low voice. + +"Yes," chimed in Trottie, "kind of slinky and tallowy." + +Whereupon, in spite of the Captain's reassuring words, they made haste +to find the Treasure, fearing lest at any moment they might hear the +shrill and dreadful whistle which sounded on the night when Billy +Bones died. Sidling along the beams in the wake of the Captain, they +came to what remained of a crumbling staircase. One by one they passed +up this until they reached the bit of attic flooring which they had +seen from below. Sure enough, in one of the soft mica-schist rocks of +the chimney, someone had chiseled a deep and delightful hidey-hole. + +It was Lieutenant Trottie who, by virtue of his rank, first explored +the unknown depths and drew therefrom a heavy, grimy canvas bag. When +he undid the draw-string, a rolling mass of gold and silver nuggets +rattled down on the dry boards, while the Band gasped at the sight of +so much sudden wealth. A moment later a series of crunching noises +showed that the treasure-hunters had discovered that said gold and +silver were only thin surface foils, each concealing a luscious heart +of sweet chocolate. The Captain met their inquiring glances unmoved. + +"It only shows," he explained, "what thoughtful chaps pirates have +become. They knew you couldn't use a bag of doubloons nowadays, but +that sweet chocolate always comes in handy." + +Hidden treasure is not a thing to be investigated scientifically, nor +can anything restore a glamour once gone. Perhaps so unconsciously +reasoned the Band as they followed the Captain down the steep stairs +and the steeper ladder. Through the lilac bushes he led them around to +the far side of the House. There the stairway had disappeared, and +most of the sagging floor-beams were broken. A limb of a nearby apple +tree had thrust its way above the lilac thicket, until it nearly +touched the ledge of a window half hidden by the boughs. + +Up the apple tree the Captain clambered, followed by the Band, and +walking out on the limb, led the way across the window-ledge into a +tiny room. For some unknown reason, amid the general wreckage and ruin +of the House, this room still stood untouched and with its flooring +unbroken. Even the walls, plastered a deep blue, showed scarcely a +crack on their surface. Best of all, fronting the open dormer of the +window, was a long, deep settee, with curly, carved legs and a bent, +comfortable back. Its seat was so wide that the Corporal's legs stuck +out straight in front of her when she sat down with the rest of the +Band at the end of the line. + +Framed in the broken sheathing and bleached stone of the +window-opening, there stretched out before them a vista of little +valleys and round wooded hills, all feathery green with the new +leaves of early spring. The Band felt that they occupied a strong and +strategic position. A drop of some twenty feet sheer from the broken +flooring behind them to the ground protected them against any rear +attack, and the only entrance to their refuge was so shadowed and +hidden by rose-red and snow-white apple-blossoms that it would be a +cunning and desperate foe indeed who could find or would storm their +fastness. + +With safety once secured, it was the unanimous feeling of the whole +company that luncheon was the next and most pressing engagement for +their consideration. An investigation of the commissary showed that +the Quartermaster-General had merited promotion and decoration and +citation and various other military honors, by reason of the +unsurpassable quality of the rations for which she was responsible. +When these were topped off by the Treasure for dessert, it was felt by +the whole Band that this was a Day which thereafter would rank in +their memories with Fourth of July and Thanksgiving, and press hard +upon the heels even of Christmas Day itself. + +After a rapturous half-hour undisturbed by any desultory and +unnecessary conversation, followed a chapter in the Adventures of +Great-great Uncle Jake. Said relative had been a distant collateral +connection of the Captain, and had fought through the Revolution, and, +in the opinion of the Band, next to General Washington, had probably +been most nearly responsible for the final success of the patriot +arms. It was Uncle Jake who made General Putnam get off his horse into +the mud and give the countersign. It was Uncle Jake who shot the +Hessian who used to stand on an earthwork and make insulting gestures +every morning toward the Continental camp. It was Uncle Jake again +who, when he was captured, broke his way out of the Hulks, and swam +ashore one stormy night. To-day the Captain had bethought himself of a +rather unusual experience which Uncle Jake once had while hunting +bears. + +"It was during a February thaw," he began. "Uncle Jake was coming down +Pond Hill, when he stepped into a mushy place back of a patch of +bushes, and sank in up to his waist. He felt something soft under his +feet and stamped down hard. A second later," continued the Captain +impressively, "he wished he hadn't. Something rose right up underneath +him, and the next thing poor old Uncle Jake knew, he was astride a big +black bear, going down hill like mad--riding bear-back as it were. You +see," went on the Captain hurriedly, "Uncle Jake had stepped into a +bear-hole and waked up a bear by stamping on his back. He was in a bad +fix. He didn't want to stay on and he didn't dare to get off. So what +do you suppose he did?" + +"Rode him up a tree," hazarded Henny-Penny. + +"No," said the Captain. "He stuck on until they got to level ground. +Then Uncle Jake drew his hunting-knife and stabbed the old bear dead +right through his neck, and afterwards made an overcoat out of its +skin." + +The Band felt that they could bear nothing further in the story line +after this anecdote, and the Treasure having gone the way of all +treasures, the march back was begun. It was the Captain who, on this +homeward trip, discovered another treasure. They were passing a marshy +swale of land, where a little stream trickled through a tangle of +trees. From out of the thicket came an unknown bird-call. "Pip, pip, +pip," it sounded. As they peered among the bushes, on a low branch the +Captain saw six strange birds, all gold and white and black, with +thick, white bills. Never had the Band seen him so excited before. He +told them that the strangers were none other than a company of the +rare evening grosbeaks, which had come down from the far Northwest, +which had never before been reported in that county, and which few +bird-students ever meet in a whole lifetime, although he had found a +flock in New Jersey a few months before. For long the Band stood and +watched them. They flew down on the ground and began feeding on +cherry-pits, cracking the stones in their great bills. At times they +would fly up into a tree and sidle along the limbs like little +parrots. The females had mottled black-and-white wings and gray backs +and breasts, while the males had golden breasts and backs, with wings +half velvet-black and half ivory-white. + +For a long time they all watched the birds and made notes, until the +dimming light warned them that it was time to be on their way. In the +twilight the hylas called across the marshes, and from upland meadows +scores of meadow-larks cried, "Swee-eet, swee-eet." Westering down the +sky sank the crescent new moon, with blazing Jupiter in her train. As +the Band climbed Violet Hill and swung into the long lane which ended +in home, they heard the last and loveliest bird-song of that whole +dear day. Through the gathering darkness came a sweet and dreamy +croon, the love-song of the little owl. Even as they listened, the +distant door of the house opened and, framed in the lamp-light, +waiting for them, was Mother, the best treasure of all. + + + + +IX + +ORCHID-HUNTING + + +My path led down the side of the lonely Barrack, as the coffin-shaped +hill had been named. There I had been exploring a little mountain +stream, which I had fondly and mistakenly hoped might prove to be a +trout-brook. The winding wood-road passed through dim aisles of +whispering pine trees. At a steep place, a bent green stem stretched +half across the path, and from it swayed a rose-red flower like a +hollow sea-shell carved out of jacinth. For the first time I looked +down on the moccasin flower or pink lady-slipper (_Cypripedium +acaule_), the largest of our native orchids. + +For a long time I hung over the flower. Its discovery was a great +moment, one of those that stand out among the thirty-six-odd million +of minutes that go to make up a long life. For the first time my eyes +were opened to see what a lovely thing a flower could be. In the +half-light I knelt on the soft pine-needles and studied long the +hollow purple-pink shell, veined with crimson, set between two other +tapering petals of greenish-purple, while a sepal of the same color +curved overhead. The whole flower swayed between two large curved, +grooved leaves. + +Leaving the path, I began to hunt for others under the great trees, +and at last came upon a whole congregation nodding and swaying in +long rows around the vast trunks of white pines which were old trees +when this country was born. + +From that day I became a hunter of orchids and a haunter of far-away +forests and lonely marshlands and unvisited hill-tops and +mountain-sides. Wherever the lovely hid-folk dwell, there go I. They +are strange flowers, these orchids. When first they were made out of +sunshine, mist, and dew, every color was granted them save one. They +may wear snow-white, rose-red, pearl and gold, green and white, purple +and gold, ivory and rose, yellow, gold and brown, every shade of +crimson and pink. Only the blues are denied them. + +Since that first great day I have found the moccasin flower in many +places--on the top of bare hills and in the black-lands of northern +Canada, where, four feet under the peat, the ice never melts even in +midsummer. Once I saw it by a sphagnum bog where I was hunting for the +almost unknown nest of the Tennessee warbler, amid clouds of black +flies and mosquitoes that stung like fire. Again, on the tip-top of +Mount Pocono in Pennsylvania, I had just found the long-sought nest of +a chestnut-sided warbler. Even as I admired the male bird, with his +white cheeks and golden head and chestnut-streaked sides, and the four +eggs like flecked pink pearls, my eye caught a sight which brought me +to my knees regardless for a moment of nest, eggs, birds, and all. +Among rose-hearted twin-flowers and wild lilies of the valley and +snowy dwarf cornels swung three moccasin flowers in a line. The outer +ones, like the guard-stars of great Altair, were light in color. +Between them gleamed, like the Eagle Star itself, a flower of deepest +rose, an unearthly crystalline color, like a rain-drenched jacinth. + +Another time, at the crest of a rattlesnake den, I found two of these +pink pearls of the woods swinging above the velvet-black coils of a +black timber rattlesnake. I picked my way down the mountain-side, with +Beauty in one hand and Death in the other, as I romantically remarked +to the unimpressed snake-collector who was waiting for me with an open +gunny-sack. + +Then there was the day in the depths of the pine-barrens, where +stunted, three-leaved pitch pines took the place of the towering, +five-leaved white pine of the North. The woods looked like a +shimmering pool of changing greens lapping over a white sand-land that +had been thrust up from the South into the very heart of the North. I +followed a winding wood-path along the high bank of a stream stained +brown and steeped sweet with a million cedar-roots. A mountain laurel +showed like a beautiful ghost against the dark water--a glory of +white, pink-flecked flowers. + +Through dripping branches of withewood and star-leaved sweet-gum +saplings the path twisted. Suddenly, at the very edge of the bank, out +of a mass of hollow, crimson-streaked leaves filled with clear water, +swung two glorious blossoms. Wine-red, aquamarine, pearl-white, and +pale gold they gleamed and nodded from slender stems. It was the +pitcher-plant, which I had never seen in blossom before. + +From the stream the hidden path wound through thicket after thicket, +sweet as spring, with the fragrance of the wild magnolia and the +spicery of the gray-green bayberry. Its course was marked with white +sand, part of the bed of some sea forgotten a hundred thousand years +ago. By the side of the path showed the vivid crimson-lake leaves of +the wild ipecac, with its strange green flowers; while everywhere, as +if set in snow, gleamed the green-and-gold of the Hudsonia, the +barrens-heather. The plants looked like tiny cedar trees laden down +with thickly set blossoms of pure gold, which the wind spilled in +little yellow drifts on the white sand. In the distance, through the +trees, were glimpses of meadows, hazy-purple with the blue toad-flax. +Beside the path showed here and there the pale gold of the +narrow-leaved sundrops, with deep-orange stamens. Beyond were masses +of lambskill, with its fatal leaves and crimson blossoms. + +On and on the path led, past jade-green pools in which gleamed buds of +the yellow pond-lily, like lumps of floating gold. Among them were +blossoms of the paler golden-club, which looked like the tongue of a +calla lily. At last the path stretched straight toward the flat-topped +mound that showed dim and fair through the low trees. The woods became +still. Even the Maryland yellow-throat stopped singing, the prairie +warbler no longer drawled his lazy notes, and the chewink, black and +white and red all over, like the newspaper in the old conundrum, +stopped calling his name from the thickets and singing, "Drink your +tea!" + +I knew that at last I had come upon a fairy hill, such an one wherein +the shepherd heard a host of tiny voices singing a melody so haunting +sweet that he always after remembered it, and which has since come +down to us of to-day as the tune of Robin Adair. Listen as I would, +however, there was no sound from the depths of this hill. Perhaps the +sun was too high, for the fairy-folk sing best in late twilight or +early dawn. + +The mound, like all fairy hills, was guarded. The path ran into a +tangle of sand-myrtle, with vivid little oval green leaves and +feathery white, pink-centred blossoms. Just beyond stood a bush of +poison-sumac. Pushing aside the fierce branches, I went unscathed up +the mound. At its very edge was another sentry. From under my feet +sounded a deep, fierce hiss, and there across the path stretched the +great body of a pine snake fully six feet long, all cream-white and +umber-brown. Raising its strange pointed head, with its gold and black +eyes, it hissed fearsomely. I had learned, however, that a pine +snake's hiss is worse than its bite and, when I poked its rough, +mottled body with my foot, it gave up pretending to be a dangerous +snake and lazily moved off to some spot where it would not be +disturbed by intruding humans. + +The pyxies had carpeted the side of the mound thick with their +wine-red and green moss, starred with hundreds of flat, five-petaled +white blossoms. This celebrated pyxie moss is not a moss at all, but a +tiny shrub. Near the summit of the mound the path was lost in a foam +of the blue, lilac, and white butterfly blossoms of the lupine. Little +clouds of fragrance drifted through the air, as the wind swayed rows +and rows of the transparent bells of the leucothoe. Beyond the lupine +stood a rank of dazzling white turkey-beards, the xerophyllum of the +botanists. The inmost circle of the mound was carpeted with dry gray +reindeer moss, and before me, in the centre of the circle, drooped on +slender stems seven rose-red moccasin flowers. + + They have sought him high, they have sought him low, + They have sought him over down and lea; + They have found him by the milk-white thorn + That guards the gates o' Faerie. + + 'Twas bent beneath and blue above, + Their eyes were held that they might not see + The kine that grazed beneath the knowes; + Oh, they were the Queens o' Faerie. + +If only that day my eyes had been loosed like those of True Thomas, I +too might have seen the fairy queens in all their regal beauty. + +Wherever it be found, the moccasin flower will always hold me by its +sheer beauty. Yet to my memory none of them can approach the +loveliness of that cloistered colony which I first found in the pine +wood so many years ago. Year after year I would visit them. Then came +a time when for five years I was not able to travel to their home. +When, at last, I made my pilgrimage to where they grew, there was no +cathedral of mighty green arches roofed by a shimmering June sky; +there were no aisles of softly singing trees; and there were no rows +of sweet faces looking up at me and waiting for my coming; only heaps +of sawdust and hideous masses of lopped branches showed where a steam +sawmill had cut its deadly way. Underneath the fallen dying boughs +which had once waved above the world, companioned only by sky and sun +and the winds of heaven, I found one last starveling blossom left of +all her lovely company. Protected no longer by the sheltering boughs, +she was bleached nearly white by the sun, and her stem crept crookedly +along the ground underneath the mass of brush and litter which had +once been a carpet of gold. Never since that day have I visited the +place where my friends wait for me no more. + +It was another orchid which, for eleven years, on the last day of +every June, made me travel two hundred miles due north. From an old +farmhouse on the edge of the Berkshires I would start out in the +dawn-dusk on the first day of every July. The night-hawks would still +be twanging above me as I followed, before sunrise, a dim silent road +over the hills all sweet with the scent of wild-grape and the drugged +perfume of chestnut tassels. At last I would reach a barway sunken in +masses of sweet-fern and shaded by thickets of alder and witch-hazel. +There a long-forgotten wood-road led to my Land of Heart's Desire. +Parting the branches, I would step into the hush of the sleeping wood, +pushing my way through masses of glossy, dark-green Christmas ferns +and clumps of feathery, tossing maidenhair. Black-throated blue +warblers sang above, and that ventriloquist, the oven bird, would call +from apparently a long way off, "Teacher, teacher, teacher," ending +with a tremendous "TEACH!" right under my feet. + +At last there would loom up through the green tangle a squat broken +white pine. That was my landmark. I would push my way through a tangle +of sanicle, and beyond the trunk of a slim elm catch a gleam of white +in the dusk. There, all rose-red and snow-white, with parted lips, +waited for me the queen flower of the woods, the _Cypripedium reginæ_, +the loveliest of all our orchids. Two narrow, white, beautiful curved +petals stretched out at right angles, while above them towered a white +sepal, the three together making a snowy cross. Below this cross hung +the lip of the flower, a milk-white hollow shell fully an inch across +and an inch deep, veined with crystalline pink which deepened into +purple, growing more intense in color until the veins massed in a +network of vivid violet just under the curved lips kissed by many a +wandering wood-bee. Inside the shell were spots of intense purple, +showing through the transparent walls. The other two white sepals were +joined together and hung as a single one behind the lip. + +[Illustration: PINK AND WHITE LADY SLIPPERS (_Cypripedium reginæ_)] + +I had first found this orchid while hunting for a veery's nest in the +marsh. At that time nothing was showing except the leaves, which grow +on tall, round, downy stems. They were beautifully curved at the +margin, and were of a brilliant green, a little lighter on the under +side than on the upper, and, at first sight, much like the leaves of +the well-known marsh hellebore. That day was the beginning of a +ten-year tryst which I kept every summer with this wood-queen. Then, +alas, I lost her! + +It came about thus. The marsh in which she hid was part of a thousand +acres owned by a friend of mine, who was an enthusiastic and rival +flower-hunter. Each year, when I visited my colony of these queen +orchids, I sent him one with my compliments and the assurance that the +flower belonged to him because it was found on his land. I accompanied +these gifts with various misleading messages as to where they grew. He +would hunt and hunt, but find nothing but exasperation. Finally, he +bribed me, with an apple-wood corner cupboard I had long coveted, to +show him the place. It was not fifty yards from the road, and when I +took him to it he was overcome with emotion. + +"I'll bet that I have tramped a hundred miles," he said plaintively, +"through every spot on this farm except this one, looking for this +flower. Nobody who knew anything about botany would ever think of +looking here." + +The next year my wood-lady did not meet me, nor the next, and I +strongly suspect that she has been transplanted to some secret spot +known to my unscrupulous botanical friend alone. Moreover, he has +never yet paid me that corner cupboard. + +I never saw the flower again until last summer I visited a marsh in +northern New Jersey, where I had been told by another orchid-hunter +that it grew. This marsh I was warned was a dangerous one. Cattle and +men, too, in times past have perished in its depths. For eight +unexplored miles it stretched away in front of me. After many +wanderings I at length found my way to Big Spring, a murky, malevolent +pool set in dark woods, with the marsh stretching away beyond. + +Not far away, in a limestone cliff, I came upon a deep burrow, in +front of which was a sinister pile of picked bones of all sizes and +shapes. The sight suggested delightful possibilities. Panthers, +wolves, ogres--anything might belong to such a pile of bones as that. +I knew, however, that the last New Jersey wolf was killed a century or +so ago. The burrow was undoubtedly too small for a panther, or even an +undersized ogre. Accordingly I was compelled reluctantly to assign the +den to the more commonplace bay-lynx, better known as the wild-cat. + +On these limestone rocks I found the curious walking-fern, which loves +limestone and no other. Both of the cliff brakes were there, too--the +slender, with its dark, fragile, appealing beauty, and its hardier +sister, the winter-brake, whose leathery fronds are of a strange +blue-green, a color not found in any other plant. Then there was the +rattlesnake fern, a lover of deep and dank woods, with its +golden-yellow seed-cluster, or 'rattle,' growing from the centre of +its fringed leaves. The oddest of all the ferns was the maidenhair +spleen-wort, whose tiny leaves are of the shape of those of the +well-known maidenhair fern. When they are exposed to bright sunlight, +all the fertile leaves which have seeds on their surface suddenly +begin to move, and for three or four minutes vibrate back and forth as +rapidly as the second-hand of a watch. + +Farther and farther I pushed on into the treacherous marsh, picking my +way from tussock to tussock. Now and then my foot would slip into +black, quivering mire, thinly veiled by marsh-grasses. When this +happened, the whole swamp would shake and chuckle and lap at the +skull-shaped tussocks and the bleached skeletons of drowned trees +which showed here and there. At last, when I had almost given up hope, +I came upon a clump of the regal flowers growing, not in the swamp +itself, but on a shaded bank sloping down from the encircling woods. +Three of the plants had two flowers each, the rest only one. Among +these was a single blossom, pure white without a trace of pink or +purple. Although it was only the thirtieth of June, several of the +flowers were already slightly withered and past their prime, showing +that this orchid is at its best in New Jersey in the middle of June, +rather than the end of the month, as in Connecticut. The perfect +flowers were beautiful orchids, and had a rich fragrance which I had +never noticed in my Connecticut specimens. Yet, in some way, to me +they lacked the charm and loveliness of my lost flowers of the North. + + * * * * * + +It was a cold May day. The Ornithologist and myself were climbing Kent +Mountain, along with Jim Pan, the last of the Pequots. Whenever Jim +drank too much hard cider, which was as often as he could get it, he +would give terrible war-whoops and tell how many palefaces his +ancestors had scalped. He would usually end by threatening to do some +free-hand scalping on his own account--but he never did. He had a son +named Tin Pan, who never talked unless he had something to say, which +was not more than once or twice during the year. + +The two lived all alone, in a little cabin on the slope of Kent +Mountain. On the outside of Jim's door some wag once painted a skull +and crossbones, one night when Jim was away on a hunt for some of the +aforesaid hard cider. When the Last of the Pequots came back and saw +what had been done, he swore mightily that he would leave said +insignia there until he could wash them out with the heart's blood of +the gifted artist. They still show faintly on the door, although Jim +has slept for many a year in the little Indian cemetery on the +mountain, beside his great-aunt Eunice who lived to be one hundred and +four years old. Lest it may appear that Jim was an unduly fearsome +Indian, let me hasten to add that there was never a kinder, happier, +or more untruthful Pequot from the beginning to the end of that +long-lost tribe. + +On that day the Ornithologist and myself were on our way to a +rattlesnake den, the secret of which had been in the Pan family for +some generations. In past years Jim's forbears had done a thriving +business in selling skins and rattlesnake oil, in the days when the +rattlesnake shared with the skunk the honor of providing an unwilling +cure for rheumatism. Our path led up through masses of color. There +was the pale pure pink of the crane's-bill or wild geranium, the +yellow adder's tongue, and the faint blue-and-white porcelain petals +of the hepatica, with cluster after cluster of the snowy, +golden-hearted bloodroot whose frail blossoms last but for a day. + +That very morning a long-delayed warbler-wave was breaking over the +mountain, and the Ornithologist could hardly contain himself as he +watched the different varieties pass by. I recall that we scored over +twenty different kinds of warblers between dawn and dark, and I saw +for the first time the Wilson's black-cap, with its bright yellow +breast and tiny black crown, and the rare Cape May warbler, with its +black-streaked yellow underparts and orange-red cheeks. The richly +dressed and sombre black-throated blue and bay-breasted were among the +crowd, while black-throated greens, myrtles, magnolias, +chestnut-sided, blackpolls, Canadians, redstarts, with their +fan-shaped tails, and Blackburnians, with their flaming throats and +breasts glowing like live coals, went by in a never-ending procession. + +All the way Jim kept up a steady flow of anecdote. I can remember +only one, a blood-curdling story about a man from Bridgeport, name not +given, who caught a rattlesnake while on a hunt with Jim, but who let +go while attempting to put it into the bag, whereupon the rattlesnake +bit him as it dropped. + +"Did he die?" queried the writer and the Ornithologist in chorus. + +"No," said Jim proudly; "Tin and I saved his life." + +"Whiskey?" ventured the writer. + +"Not for snake-bites," responded Jim simply. + +"Well, how was it?" persisted the Ornithologist, hoping to learn of +some mysterious Indian remedy. + +"Well," said Jim, stretching out his tremendous arms like a great +bear, "I held him tight and Tin here burned the place out. It took two +matches and he yelled somethin' terrible. I told him we were savin' +his life, but the fool said he would rather die of snake-bite than be +burned to death. You wouldn't suppose a grown man would make such a +fuss over two little matches." + +Finally, we reached the Den, a ledge of rocks near the top of the +mountain, where for some unknown reason all the rattlesnakes for miles +around were accustomed to hibernate during the winter and to remain +for some weeks in the late spring before scattering through the +valley. The Ornithologist and I fell unobtrusively to the rear, while +the dauntless Pan led the van with a crotched stick. Suddenly Jim +thrust one foot up into the air like a toe-dancer, and pirouetted with +amazing rapidity on the other. He had been in the very act of stepping +over a small huckleberry-bush, when he noted under its lee a +rattlesnake in coil, about the size of a peck measure--as pretty a +death-trap as was ever set in the woods. By the time I got there, Jim +had pinned the hissing heart-shaped head down with his forked stick, +while the bloated, five-foot body was thrashing through the air in +circles, the rattles whirring incessantly. + +"Grab him just back of the stick," panted Jim, bearing down with all +his weight, "and put him in the bag." + +I paused. + +"You're not scared, are you?" he inquired; while Tin, who had hurried +up with a gunny-sack, regarded me reproachfully. + +"Certainly not," I assured him indignantly, "but I don't want to be +selfish. Let Tin do it." + +"No," said Jim firmly, "you're company. Tin can pick up rattlesnakes +any day." + +"Well, how about my friend?" I rejoined weakly. + +The Ornithologist, who had been watching the scene from the far +background, spoke up for himself. + +"I wouldn't touch that damn snake," he said earnestly, "for eleven +million dollars." + +At this profanity the rattlesnake started another paroxysm of +struggling, while his rattle sounded like an alarm-clock. When he +stopped to rest, the Ornithologist raised his price to an even +billion--in gold. It was evident that I was the white man's hope. It +would never do to let two members of a conquered race see a pale-face +falter. Remembering Deerslayer at the stake, Daniel Boone, and sundry +other brave white men without a cross, I set my teeth, gripped the +rough, cold, scaly body just back of the crotched stick, and lifted. +The great snake's black, fixed, devilish eyes looked into mine. If, in +this world, there are peep-holes into hell, they are found in the eyes +of an enraged rattlesnake. As he came clear of the ground, he coiled +round my arm to the elbow, so that the rattles sounded not a foot from +my ear. Although the rattlesnake is not a constrictor, and there was +no real danger, yet under the touch of his body my arm quivered like a +tuning-fork. + +"What makes your arm shake so?" queried Jim, watching me critically. + +"It's probably rheumatism," I assured him. + +Suddenly, under my grip, the snake's mouth opened, showing on either +side of the upper jaw ridges of white gum. From these suddenly flashed +the movable fangs which are always folded back until ready for use. +They were hollow and of a glistening white. Halfway down on the side +of each was a tiny hole, from which the yellow venom slowly oozed. I +began tremulously to unwind my unwelcome armlet, while Tin waited with +the open bag. + +"Be sure you take your hand away quick after you drop him in," advised +Jim. + +"Don't you worry about that," I replied; "no man will ever get his +hand away quicker than I'm going to." + +[Illustration: THE KING OF THE FOREST--THE BANDED RATTLESNAKE] + +Whereupon I unwound the rattling coils from my arm, and then broke all +speed records in removing my hand from the neighborhood of that snake. +This was my first introduction to the King of the Dark Places, the +grim timber rattlesnake, the handsomest of all the thirteen varieties +found within the United States. + +On my way back from the den it was Jim Pan who pointed out to me on +the lower slope of the mountain the beautiful showy orchid (_Orchis +spectabilis_). Between two oblong shining green leaves grew a loose +spike of purple-pink and white butterfly blossoms. This is the first +of the orchids to appear, and no more exquisite or beautiful flower +could head the procession which stretches from May until September. I +find this flower but seldom, usually because I am not in the +hill-country early enough, although once I found a perfect flower in +bloom as late as Decoration Day, a left-over from the first spring +flowers. + +It was Jim, too, that day, who quite appropriately showed me the +rattlesnake plantain (_Goodyera pubescens_), with its rosette of green +leaves heavily veined with white, from the centre of which in late +summer grows a spike of crowded, greenish-white flowers. Under the +doctrine of signatures, these leaves are still thought by many to be a +sure cure for the bite of a rattlesnake. Personally, I would rather +rely on a sharp knife and permanganate of potash. In the same group as +the rattlesnake plantain are several varieties of lady's tresses, +which grow in every damp meadow in midsummer and early fall. Little +spikes of greenish-white flowers they are, growing out of what looks +like a twisted or braided stem. Of them all the most interesting to me +is the grass-leaved lady's tresses (_Gyrostachys præcox_), where the +flowers grow round and round the stem in a perfect spiral. + +As I went on with my hunting, I learned that not all the members of +the orchis family are beautiful. There is the coral root, with tiny +dull brownish-purple flowers, which one finds growing in dry woods, +often near colonies of the Indian pipe. The green and the +ragged-fringed orchids are other disappointing members. Yet, to a +confirmed collector, even these poor relations of the family are full +of interest. In fact, the second rarest orchid of our American +list--the celebrated crane-fly orchid (_Tipularia unifolia_)--has a +series of insignificant greenish-purple blossoms which look as much +like mosquitoes or flies as anything else, and can be detected only +with the greatest difficulty. Yet I am planning to take a journey of +several hundred miles this very summer on the off-chance of seeing one +of these flowers. Nearly as rare is the strange ram's-head +lady's-slipper (_Cypripedium arietinum_), the rarest of all the +cypripedia and belonging to the same family as the glorious moccasin +flower and queen flower. The lip of the ram's-head consists of a +strange greenish pouch with purple streaks, shaped like the head of a +ram. + +There are scores of other odd, often lovely, and usually rare, members +of the great orchis family, which can be met with from May to +September. There is the beautiful golden whip-poor-will's shoe, in two +sizes (_Cypripedium hirsutum_, and _Cypripedium parviflorum_), and +those lovely nymphs, rose-purple Arethusa (_Arethusa bulbosa_), and +Calypso (_Calypso borealis_), with her purple blossom varied with pink +and shading to yellow. + +One of the fascinations of orchid-hunting is the fact that you may +suddenly light upon a strange orchid growing in a place which you have +passed for years. Such a happening came to me the day when I first +found the rose pogonia (_Pogonia ophioglossoides_). I was following a +cow-path through the hard hack pastures which I had traveled perhaps a +hundred times before. Suddenly, as I came to the slope of the upper +pasture, growing in the wet bank of the deep-cut trail, my eye caught +sight of a little flower of the purest rose-pink, the color of the +peach-blossom, with a deeply fringed drooping lip, the whole flower +springing from a slender stem with oval, grass-like leaves. To me it +had a fragrance like almonds, although others have found in it the +scent of sweet violets or of fresh raspberries. It is the pogonia +family which includes the rarest of all of our orchids, the almost +unknown smaller whorled pogonia (_Pogonia affinis_). Few indeed have +been the botanists who have seen even a pressed specimen of this +strange flower. + +Two weeks after I found the rose pogonia, I came again to visit her. +To my astonishment and delight, by her side was growing another +orchid, like some purple-pink butterfly which had alighted on a long +swaying stem. It was no other than the beautiful grass-pink +(_Limodorum tuberosum_), which blooms in July, while the pogonia comes +out in late June. The grass-pink has from two to six blossoms on each +stem, and the yellow lip is above instead of below the flower, as in +the case of most orchids. Years later I was to find this orchid +growing by scores in the pine-barrens. + +Last, but by no means least, is the great genus _Habenaria_--the +exquisite fringed orchids. Purple, white, gold, green--they wear all +these colors. He who has never seen either the large or the small +purple fringed orchid growing in the June or July meadows, or the +flaming yellow fringed orchid all orange and gold in the August +meadows, has still much for which to live. + +It was with an orchid of this genus that I had my most recent +adventure. I had traveled with the Botanist into the heart of the +pine-barrens. There may be places where more flowers and rarer flowers +and sweeter flowers grow than in these barrens, but if so, the +Botanist and I have never found the spot. From the early spring, when +the water freezes in the hollow leaves of the pitcher-plant, to the +last gleam of the orange polygala in the late fall, we are always +finding something rare and new. On that August day we followed a dim +path that led through thickets of scrub-oak and sweet pepper-bush. By +its side grew clumps of deer-grass, with its purple-pink petals and +masses of orange-colored stamens. Sometimes the path would disappear +from sight in masses of hudsonia and sand-myrtle. Everywhere above the +blueberry bushes flamed the regal Turk's-cap lily, with its curved +fire-red petals. On high the stalks towered above a tangle of lesser +plants bearing great candelabra of glorious blossoms. + +Finally, we came to a little ditch which some forgotten +cranberry-grower had dug through the barrens to a long-deserted bog. +On its side grew the rare thread-leafed sundew, with its long +thread-like leaf covered with tiny red hairs and speckled thick with +glittering drops of dew; while here and there little insects, which +had alighted on the sweet, fatal drops, were enmeshed in the +entangling hairs. Well above the line of strangled insects on which it +fed, a pink blossom smiled unconcernedly. Like the attractive lady +mentioned in Proverbs, her house goes down into the chambers of death. + +As we followed the dike, the air was sweet with the perfume of white +alder. The long stream of brown cedar-water was starred white with +gleaming, fragrant water-lilies. In a marsh by the ditch grew clumps +of cotton-grass or pussytoes, each stem of which bore a tuft of soft +brown wool, like the down which a mother rabbit pulls from her breast +when she lines her nest for her babies. + +At last we came to the abandoned cranberry bog. Suddenly the Botanist +jumped into the ditch, splashed his way across, and disappeared in the +bog, waving his arms over his head. I found him on his knees in the +wet sphagnum moss, chanting ecstatically the mystic word +"Blephariglottis." In front of him, on a green stem, was clustered a +mass of little flowers of incomparable whiteness, with fringed lips +and long spikes. One petal bent like a canopy over the brown stamens, +while the other two flared out on either side, like the wings of tiny +white butterflies. It was the white-fringed orchid (_Habenaria +blephariglottis_). Beside her whiteness even the snowy petals of the +water-lily and the white alder showed yellow tones. Like El Nath among +the stars, the white fringed orchid is the standard of whiteness for +the flowers. + +Three great blue herons flew over our heads, folded their wings, and +alighted not thirty yards away--an unheard-of proceeding for this wary +bird. A Henslow sparrow sang his abrupt and, to us, almost unknown +song. The Botanist neither saw nor heard. All the way home he was in a +blissful daze, and when I said good-bye to him at the station, he only +murmured happily "Blephariglottis." + +[Illustration: THE GREAT BLUE HERON AT BREAKFAST] + + + + +X + +THE MARSH DWELLERS + + +The sweet, hot, wild scent of the marsh came up to us. It was +compounded of sun and wind and the clean dry smell of miles and miles +of bleaching sedges, all mingled with the seethe and steam of a green +blaze of growth that had leaped from the ooze to meet the summer. +Through it all drifted tiny elusive puffs of fragrance from flowers +hidden under thickets of willow and elderberry. The smooth petals of +wild roses showed among the rushes, like coral set in jade. On the +sides of burnt tussocks, where the new grass grew sparse as hair on a +scarred skull, rue anemones trembled above their trefoil leaves. When +the world was young they sprang from the tears which Aphrodite shed +over the body of slain Adonis. Still the pale wind-driven flowers sway +as if shaken by her sobs, and have the cold whiteness of him dead. + +The leaves of the meadow rue, like some rare fern, showed here and +there, but the clustered white flowers had not yet bloomed, nor the +flat yellow blossoms of the shrubby cinquefoil. There were thickets of +aronia or chokeberry, whose flat white blossoms and reddish bark +showed its kinship to the apple tree. Among the pools gleamed marsh +marigolds fresh from the mint of May, while deep down in the grass at +the foot of the tussocks were white violets, short-stemmed and with +the finest of umber-brown traceries at the centre of their petals. The +blues and purples may or may not be sweet, but one can always count on +the faint fragrance of the white. + +We lay on the turf covering a ledge of smoky quartz thrust like a +wedge into the marsh. Across a country of round green hills and +fertile farms its squat bulk stretched unafraid, an untamed monster of +another age. Beyond the long levels we could see Wolf Island, where a +hunted wolf-pack, protected by quagmires and trembling bogs, made its +last stand two centuries ago. Where a fringe of trees showed the +beginning of solid ground, a pair of hawks with long black-barred +tails wheeled and screamed through the sky. "Geck, geck, geck, geck," +they called, almost like a flicker, except that the tone was flatter. +As they circled, both of them showed a snowy patch over the rump, the +field-mark of the marsh hawk. The male was a magnificent blue-gray +bird, whose white under-wings were tipped with black like those of a +herring gull. We watched them delightedly, for the rare nest of the +marsh hawk, the only one of our hawks which nests on the ground, was +one of the possibilities of the marsh. + +Suddenly we heard from behind us a sound that sent us crawling +carefully up to the crest of the ridge. It was like the pouring of +water out of some gigantic bottle or the gurgling suck of an +old-fashioned pump: "Bloop--bloop, bloop, bloop, bloop"--it came to us +with a strange subterranean timbre. The last time I had heard that +note was in the pine-barrens three years before. Then it sounded like +the thudding of a mallet on a stake, for its quality always depends on +the nature of the country across which it travels. From the top of our +knoll we saw a rare sight. In the open pasture by the edge of the +marsh stood a bird between two and three feet high, of a streaked +brown color, with a black stripe down each side of its neck. Even as +we watched, the bird began a series of extraordinary actions. Hunching +its long neck far down between its shoulders, it suddenly thrust it +up. As each section straightened, there came to us across the pasture +the thudding, bubbling, watery note which we had first heard. It +seemed impossible that a bird could make such a volume of sound. At +times, after each "bloop," would come the sharp click of the bill as +it rapidly opened and shut. Finally the singer convulsively +straightened the last kink out of its neck and with a last retching +note thrust its long yellow beak straight skyward. We had seen an +American bittern boom--a rarer sight even than the drumming of a +ruffed grouse or the strange flight-song of the woodcock at twilight. +Suddenly the bittern stopped and, hunching its neck, stepped +stealthily, like a little old bent man, into the sedges. With its long +beak pointing directly upward, it stood motionless and seemed to melt +into the color of the withered rushes. One look away, and it was +almost impossible for the eye to pick the bird out from its cover. + +I turned to look at the marsh hawks just in time to see the female +alight on the ground by a stunted willow bush far across the marsh. I +waited, one, two, three minutes, but no bird rose. Evidently she was +on the nest. Keeping my eye fixed on that special bush, which looked +like a score of others, I plunged into the marsh, intending to bound +like a chamois from crag to crag. On the second bound I slipped off a +tussock and went up to my knees in mud and water. The rest of the way +I ploughed along, making a noise at each step like the bittern's note. +Half-way to the bush, the mother hawk rose and circled around us, +screaming monotonously. For half an hour we searched back and forth +without finding any nest. At last we hid in a willow thicket, thinking +that perhaps the hawk might go back to her nest. Instead, both birds +disappeared in some distant woods. The sun was getting low and we were +miles from our inn; yet as this was the nearest either of us had ever +been to finding a marsh hawk's nest, we decided to hunt on until dark. + +[Illustration: THE MARSH HAWK'S NEST] + +I laid out a route from my bush to another about thirty yards away, +and between those two as bounds planned to quarter back and forth over +every square foot of ground, moving toward the woods where the hawks +had gone. It seemed an almost hopeless hunt, for the marsh at this +point was dry, with patches of bushes, masses of sedge, and piled +heaps here and there of dry rushes. As I reached my farther boundary +and was about to return, I straightened my aching back and looked +beyond the bush. There, directly ahead, in a space fringed by spirea +bushes but in plain sight, lay a round nest on the ground--about +eight inches across and three inches deep, made of coarse grasses +ringed around with rushes. Beneath the nest was a well-packed platform +several inches thick. I think that this was a natural pile of rushes +pressed down by the bird. There, under the open sky, were five large +eggs of a dirty bluish-white, nearly ready to hatch. They were the +size of a small hen's egg. The very second I caught sight of the nest +the mother hawk came dashing through the air, from some unseen perch +where she had been watching me with her telescopic eyes. Fifty feet +away, she folded her wings and dived at my head, falling through the +air like a stone. With her fierce unflinching eyes, half-open beak, +and outspread claws, she looked dangerous. Ten feet away, however, she +swooped up and circled off in ever-widening rings, screaming +mournfully. Beside the nest was one barred tail-feather. + + I crossed a moor, with a name of its own + And a certain use in the world no doubt, + Yet a hand's-breadth of it shines alone + 'Mid the blank miles round about: + + For there I picked up on the heather + And there I put inside my breast + A moulted feather, an eagle-feather! + Well, I forget the rest. + +Something of this we felt as we lingered over this long-sought nest, +making notes and photographs--our way of collecting. + +Just at sunset we waded back and stopped at the little arm of the +swamp where we had first heard the bittern. Suddenly from the sedges +came a scolding little song that sounded like "Chop, chip-chop, +chp'p'p'p'," and we caught the merest glimpse of a tiny bird with a +tip-tilted tail and brown back whose undersides seemed yellowish. It +was none other than the rare short-billed marsh wren, next to the +smallest of our Eastern birds, only the hummingbird being tinier. +Neither of us had ever seen this marsh wren before, and we tramped +back three long miles to town with a new bird, a new nest, and a new +note to our credit in our out-of-doors account. + +That night over a good dinner we were joined by the other two of our +Four who for many happy years have hunted together. Just at dawn the +next day, we all stole out of the sleeping inn and along the silent +village streets, sweet with the scent of lilacs. Right in front of the +town hall we found the first nest of the day. Cunningly hidden in the +crotch of a sugar maple, just over the heads of hundreds of unseeing +passers-by, a robin had brooded day by day over four eggs whose +heavenly blue made a jewel-casket of her mud nest. I hope that the +brave silent bird raised her babies and sent them out to add to the +world's store of music and beauty. + +Beyond the village we dragged a meadow. A long cord was tied to the +ankles of two of us, and each walked away from the other until it was +taut and then marched slowly through the fields. The moving line just +swished the top of the long grass and flushed any ground birds that +might be nesting within the area covered by the fifty-foot cord. Our +first haul was a vesper sparrow's nest with one egg--the bird breaking +cover near my end. Later in the day another of our party found a +better nest of the same bird in the middle of a field, made and lined +with grass and set in a little hollow in the ground. It held three +eggs of a bluish white, blotched and clouded with umber and lavender +at the larger ends. Two of the eggs were marked with black +hieroglyphics like those seen in the eggs of an oriole or red-winged +blackbird. The vesper is that gray sparrow which shows two white +tail-feathers when it flies, and sings an alto song whose first two +notes are always in a different key from the rest of the strain. + +In another field we flushed a bobolink. Unfortunately the Artist, +whose duty it was to watch the rope, was at the moment gazing skywards +at cloud-effects, and though we burrowed and peered for a full hour in +the fragrant dripping grass, we never found that nest. The home of a +bobolink is one of the best hidden of all of our common +ground-builders. I remember one Decoration Day when I highly resolved +to find a bobolink's nest in a field where several pairs were nesting. +Early in my hunt I decided that the gay black-and-white males, which +seemed to be flying and singing aimlessly, were really signaling my +approach to the females on the nests. At any rate, the mother birds +would rise far ahead as I came near, evidently after having run for +long distances through the grass, and gave me no clue as to the +whereabouts of their nests. I decided, however, that my only chance +was to watch these females, knowing that an incubating bird will not +leave her eggs for any great length of time. Accordingly, when the +next streaked brown bird flew up far ahead of me, I settled down in +the long grass with a field-glass and carefully watched her flight. +She crossed the meadow and alighted some three hundred yards away. In +about fifteen minutes she came back and settled in the grass on a +slope some distance from where she had flown out. Almost immediately +she flew out again, probably warned by the male on guard. Once more +she crossed the meadow, and this time stayed away so long that I +nearly fell asleep in the drowsy, scented grass. In the meantime, one +by one, the songs of the males, like the tinkling, gurgling notes of a +trout-brook, ceased, and my part of the meadow seemed deserted. +Finally through my half-shut eyes I saw Mrs. Bobolink come flying low +over the tops of the waving grass. As I lay perfectly still, she made +a half-circle around the slope and suddenly disappeared in the ripple +of a green wave that rose to meet the wind. I marked the place by a +tall weed stalk, and waited a minute to see whether this was another +feint. As she did not appear, I ran up as rapidly and silently as +possible before the father bird could spy me from the other side of +the pasture and cry the alarm. Perhaps he had become careless while +rollicking with his friends. At any rate, when I reached the place +there was no sign of any bobolink near me. + +When I was a couple of yards away from the weed-stalk, up sprang the +female bobolink, apparently from almost the very spot I had noted. +This was encouraging; it showed that she had not run through the grass +any distance this time, either when flushed or when alighting. Almost +immediately the truant father bird appeared and sang gayly near me, +occasionally diving mysteriously and impressively into the grass in +different places, as if visiting a nest. I was not to be distracted by +any such tactics, but threw my hat to the exact spot from which, as I +judged, the female had started. With this as a centre I pushed back +the long grass and began to search the area of a five-foot circle, +first looking hurriedly under the hat to make sure that it had not +covered the nest. My search was all in vain, although it seemed to me +that I examined every square inch of that circle. At last I decided +that the sly birds had again deceived me. Taking up my hat, I was +about to begin another watch, when, in the very spot where the hat had +lain, I noticed that the long leaves of a narrow-leafed plantain at +one place had been parted, showing a hole underneath. I carefully +separated the leaves, and before me lay the long-desired nest. It was +only a shallow hollow under the leaves, lined with fine dry grass and +containing four dark eggs heavily blotched and marbled with red-brown. + +It is probable that ordinarily, when the mother bird left the nest, +she would arrange the leaves so as entirely to cover the hole beneath. +If this were done, it would seem impossible that they concealed +anything, for they would be apparently flat on the surface of the +ground. My unexpected approach had flushed her before she had time to +put back the leaves. + +The pleasure of finding such a skilfully concealed nest is +indescribable. The hunt is a contest between intelligence and +instinct, where victory by no means always inclines to the human. As I +looked down at the nest, I knew just how the talented recluse in "The +Gold Bug" felt when, after solving the cryptogram and disposing of +every difficulty, he at last gazed into the open treasure-chest. + +To-day there was to be no such glorious experience, and we finally +gave up the hunt and started back across the meadow. As we moved +through the swishing grass, suddenly we heard a curious clicking +bird-note. "See-lick, see-lick, see-lick," it sounded, and we +recognized the unfamiliar notes of that rare little black-striped +sparrow, the Henslow. The last time we four had heard that note +together was on a trip into the heart of the pine-barrens, when we not +only identified this bird for the first time, but also found its nest, +a treasure-trove indeed. To-day we did not even get a glimpse of the +bird. + +Beyond the meadows we came face to face with the marsh itself, and +plunged in to show the Banker and the Architect our marsh hawk's nest. +On the way back the Artist made a discovery. Waist-deep among the +sedges, with the tiny marsh wrens chipping and bubbling all around +him, he suddenly espied a round ball made of green grass fastened to +the rushes with a little hole in one side. + +"The nest of the short-billed marsh wren!" he declared loudly. We +hurried to him. The nest was empty, but, as it was early for the wrens +to be laying, this fact had no effect on his triumph. We admired the +nest, the bird, and the discoverer freely--all except the Architect, +who lingered behind the rest of us, regarding the nest with much +suspicion. Suddenly he noted a movement in the grass, and as he +watched, a tawny little meadow mouse climbed up the grass-stems and +popped into the hole in the side, to find out what this inquisitive +race of giants had been doing to his house. It was pitiful to see the +Artist. At first he denied the mouse. Then, when it dashed out in +front of us, he claimed that its presence had nothing to do with the +question of the ownership of the nest. + +"Isn't it possible," he demanded bitterly, "that a well-behaved meadow +mouse may make a neighborly call on a marsh wren?" + +"No," replied the Architect decisively; and we started away from the +discredited nest. + +Later on, the Artist had his revenge. We were hunting everywhere for +the bittern's nest. Suddenly, as the Artist stepped on a tussock, a +large squawking bird flew out from under his foot. No wonder she +squawked. He had stepped so nearly on top of her that, as she escaped, +she left behind a handful of long, beautifully mottled tail-feathers, +unmistakably those of an English pheasant. The nest was at the side +of the tussock, entirely covered over with the arched reeds, and +contained fifteen eggs, three of which the clumsy foot of the Artist +had broken. They were of a chocolate color and, curiously enough, +almost identical in color and size with those of the American bittern, +except that the inside of the shell of the broken eggs was a light +blue. The nest itself was nearly eight inches across and about three +inches deep, made entirely of grass. Hurriedly clearing away the +broken eggs, we called the Architect from the far side of the marsh. +He hastened up, took one look at the nest, and then told us solemnly +that this was one of the most unusual occurrences known in +ornithology. Three pairs of bitterns had joined housekeeping and laid +eggs in the same nest. It was hard on the Architect that we should +have flushed probably the only bird in the world whose eggs are almost +identical in color and size with those of the American bittern, and it +was not until the Artist produced the pheasant's tail-feathers that +our friend would admit that there was anything wrong with his theory. + +As we started to leave the place, I saw on the other side of the +tussock the largest wood-turtle I have ever met. Its legs and tail +were of a bright brick-red, while the shell was beautifully carved in +deep intaglios of dingy black and yellow. This turtle ranks next to +the terrapin in taste, a fact which I proved the next day. As Mr. +Wood-Turtle is fond of bird's eggs, I strongly suspect that my capture +of him was all that saved the lives of a round dozen of prospective +pheasants. We had a leisurely lunch near one of the coldest bubbling +springs in the world, seated on a high, dry ridge under the shade of a +vast black-walnut tree. After lunch we crossed quaking, treacherous +bogs, that lapped at our feet as we passed, and reached Wolf Island. +It was made up of a series of rocky ridges, shaded with trees and +masked by a dense undergrowth. Beneath the great boulders and at the +base of tiny cliffs, we could trace dark holes and burrows where two +centuries ago the celebrated pack made their home. + +Beyond the Island a tawny bird slipped out of a tussock ahead of me, +like a shadow. Hurrying to the place, I found the perfectly rounded +nest of a veery thrush, lined with leaves and entirely arched over by +the long marsh-grass. From the brown leaf-bed the four vivid blue eggs +gleamed out of the green grass like turquoises set in malachite. The +eggs of a catbird are of a deeper blue, and those of a hermit thrush +of a purer tone, but of all the blue eggs, of robin, wood thrush, +hermit thrush, bluebird, cuckoo, or catbird, there is none so vivid in +its coloring as that of the veery. That nest with its beautiful +setting stands out in my mind as a notable addition to my collection +of out-of-door memories. + +More searchings followed without results, until the sun was westering +well down the sky. Five miles lay between us and clean clothes and a +bath. Reluctantly we left the marsh, with our bittern's nest still +unfound. As we approached the village, we saw showing over the meadows +the edge of a continuation of the marsh, and decided that we had time +for just one more exploring trip. Here we found the worst going of the +day. In front of us were innumerable dry cat-tail stalks and hollow +reed-stems, while the mud was deeper and the mosquitoes were fiercer +than in the main swamp. + +At last the Banker and the Architect sat down exhausted under a tree, +while the Artist and myself planned to cross to a fringe of woods on +the farther side before giving up. In the middle of the marsh we +separated, and before long I found myself on the trail of another +marsh hawk's nest. It was evidently close at hand, for both the birds +swooped down and circled around my head, calling frantically all the +time. Look as I would, however, I could find no trace of the nest. We +reached the woods without finding anything and came back together. +When we were within two hundred yards of where the other two were +luxuriously waiting for us in the shade, from under my very feet +flapped a monstrous bird nearly three feet high. It was the bittern. I +was so close that I could see the yellow bill, and the glossy black on +the sides of the neck and tips of the wings, and the different shades +of brown on back, head, and wings. As it sprang up, it gave a hoarse +cry and flapped off with labored strokes of its broad wings. Right +before me was a flat platform of reeds about a foot in diameter, well +packed down and raised about five inches from the water. On this +platform were a shred or so of down and four eggs of a dull coffee +color. In a moment the Banker and the Architect were splashing and +crackling through the mud and reeds, and we spent the last +quarter-hour of our trip in admiring and photographing the +much-desired nest. + +So ended our visit to Wolf Island Marsh with a list of fifty-one birds +seen and heard, and seven nests found, photographed, and enjoyed. + + + + +XI + +THE SEVEN SLEEPERS + + +A thousand and a thousand years ago, seven saints hid from heathen +persecutors among the cold mountains which circle Ephesus. The +multitude who cried, "Great is Diana of the Ephesians!" are drifting +dust, and the vast city itself but a mass of half-buried ruins. Yet +somewhere in a lonely cave sleep those seven holy men, unvexed by +sorrow, untouched by time, until Christ comes again. So runs the +legend. + +It is a far cry to Ephesus, and whether the Seven still sleep there, +who may say? Yet here and now seven other Sleepers live with us, who +slumber through our winters, with hunger and cold and danger but a +dream. Their names I once rhymed for some children of my acquaintance. +As I am credibly advised that the progress of a camel through the eye +of a needle is an easy process compared to having a poem printed by +the Atlantic Press, I hasten to include in this chapter the following +exquisite bit of free verse (I call it free because I don't get +anything extra for it). + + The Bat and the Bear, they never care + What winter winds may blow; + The Jumping-Mouse in his cozy house + Is safe from ice and snow. + + The Chipmunk and the Woodchuck, + The Skunk, who's slow but sure, + The ringed Raccoon, who hates the moon, + Have found for cold the cure. + +Something of the lives of these our brethren of the wild I have tried +to set forth here--because I care for them all. + + * * * * * + +First comes the slyest, the shyest, and the stillest of the Seven--the +blackbear, who yet dwells among men when his old-time companions, the +timber-wolf and the panther, have been long gone. Silent as a shadow, +he is with us far oftener than we know. Only a few years ago bears +were found in New Jersey, in dense cedar-swamps, unsuspected by a +generation of near-by farmers. In Pennsylvania and New York they are +increasing, and I have no doubt that they can still be found in parts +of New England, from which they are supposed to have disappeared a +half-century ago. In fact, it is always unsafe to say that any of the +wild-folk have gone forever. I have lived to see a herd of seven +Virginia deer feeding in my neighbor's cabbage-patch in Connecticut, +although neither my father nor my grandfather ever saw a wild deer in +that state. In that same township I once had a fleeting glimpse of an +otter, and only last winter, within thirty miles of Philadelphia, I +located a colony of beaver. + +The blackbear is nearly as black as a blacksnake, whose color is as +perfect a standard of absolute black on earth as El Nath is of white +among the stars. He has a brownish muzzle and a white diamond-shaped +patch on his breast. Sometimes he is brown, or red, or yellow, or even +white. Not so wise as the wolf, or so fierce as the panther, yet the +blackbear has outlived them both. "When in doubt, _run_!" is his +motto; and like Descartes, the wise blackbear founds his life on the +doctrine of doubt. As for the unwise--they are dead. To be sure, even +this saving rule of conduct would not keep him alive in these days of +repeating rifles, were it not for his natural abilities. A bear can +hear a hunter a quarter of a mile away, and scent one for over a mile +if the wind be right. He may weigh three hundred pounds and be over +two feet wide, yet he will slip like a shadow through tangled +underbrush without a sound. + +Bear-cubs are born in January, after the mother bear has gone into +winter quarters, blind and bare and pink, and so small that two of +them can be held at once on a man's hand. Bears mate every other year, +and the half-grown cubs hibernate with the mother during their second +winter. + +The blackbear is a good swimmer, and may sometimes be seen crossing +lonely lakes in the northern woods. At such times he is an ugly +customer to tackle without a gun, as he will swim straight at a canoe +and tip it over if possible. A friend of mine, while fishing in upper +Canada, on a sluggish river between two lakes, saw a bear swimming +well ahead of the canoe. He began to paddle with all his might to +overtake him, but to his surprise seemed to be moving backwards. +Looking around, he saw his guide, who was more experienced in +bear-ways, backing water desperately. Just then the swimming animal +turned his head and saw the canoe. Instantly the hair on his back +bristled and stood up in a long stiff ridge, and he stopped +swimming--whereupon my friend found himself instantaneously, +automatically, and enthusiastically assisting the guide. + +Even where the blackbear is common, one may spend a long lifetime +without sight or sound of him. There may be half a dozen bear feeding +in a berry-patch. You may find signs that they are close at hand and +all about. Yet no matter how you may hide and skulk and hunt, never a +glimpse of one of them will you get. In bear country you will more +often smell the hot, strong, unmistakable scent of a bear who is +watching you close at hand, than see the bear himself. In fact the +sight of a wild blackbear is an adventure worth remembering. + +Personally, I am ashamed to say that, although I have tramped and +camped and fished and hunted on both sides of the continent, I have +never really seen a bear. Twice I have had glimpses of one. The first +time was in what was then the Territory of Washington. I was walking +with a friend through a bit of virgin forest. The narrow path was +walled in on both sides by impenetrable wind-breaks and underbrush. As +we suddenly and silently came around a sharp bend, there was a crash +through a mass of fallen trees, and I almost saw what caused it. At +least I saw the bushes move. Right ahead of us, in the mould of a torn +and rotted stump, was a foot-print like that of a broad, short, bare +human foot. It was none other than the paw-mark of Mr. Bear, who is a +plantigrade and walks flat-footed. Although I was sorry to miss seeing +him, yet I was glad that it was the bear and not the man who had to +dive through that underbrush. + +Another time I was camping in Maine. Not far from our tent, which we +had cunningly concealed on a little knoll near the edge of a lonely +lake, I found a tiny brook which trickled down a hillside. Although it +ran through dense underbrush, it was possible to fish it, and every +afternoon I would bring back half a dozen jeweled trout to broil for +supper. One day I had gone farther in than usual, and was standing +silently, up to my waist in water and brush, trying to cast over an +exasperating bush into a little pool beyond. Suddenly I smelt bear. +Not far from me there sounded a very faint crackling in the bushes on +a little ridge, about as loud as a squirrel would make. As I leaned +forward to look, my knee came squarely against a nest of enthusiastic +and able-bodied yellow-jackets. Instantly a cloud of them burst over +me like shrapnel, stinging my unprotected face unendurably. As I +struck at them with my hand, I caught just one glimpse of a patch of +black fur through the brush on the ridge above me. The next second my +hand struck my eye-glasses, and they went spinning into the brush, +lost forever, and I was stricken blind. Thereafter I dived and hopped +like a frog through the brush and water, until I came out beyond that +yellow-jacket barrage. I never saw that bear again. Probably he +laughed himself to death. + +The blackbear is undoubtedly leather-lined, for he will dig up and eat +the bulbs of the jack-in-the-pulpit, which affect a human tongue--I +speak from knowledge--like a mixture of nitric acid and powdered +glass. Moreover, he is the only animal which can swallow the +tight-rolled green cigars of the skunk-cabbage in the early spring. An +entry in my nature-notes reads as follows:-- + +"Only a fool or a bear would taste skunk-cabbage." + +My lips were blistered and my tongue swollen when I wrote it. The fact +that the blackbear and the blackcat or fisher are the only two mammals +which can eat Old Man Quill-Pig, alias porcupine, and swallow his +quills, confirms my belief as to the bear's lining. The dog, the lynx, +the wild cat, and the wolf have all tried--and died. + +Last spring, in northern Pennsylvania I found myself on the top of a +mountain, by the side of one of those trembling bogs locally known as +bear-sloughs. There I had highly resolved to find the nest of a nearby +Nashville warbler, which kept singing its song, which begins like a +black-and-white warbler and ends like a chipping sparrow. I did not +suppose that there was a bear within fifty miles of me. Suddenly I +came upon a large, quaking-aspen tree set back in the woods by the +side of the bog. Its smooth bark was furrowed by a score of deep +scratches and ridges about five feet from the ground, while above them +the tree had apparently been repeatedly chewed. I recognized it as a +bear-tree. In the spring and well through the summer certain trees are +selected by all the he-bears of a territory as a signpost whereon they +carve messages for friend and foe. No male bear of any real bearhood +would think of passing such a tree without cutting his initials wide, +deep, and high, for all the world to see. + +The first flurries of snow mean bed-time for Bruin. He is not afraid +of the cold, for he wears a coat of fur four inches thick over a +waistcoat of fat of the same thickness. He has found, however, that +rent is cheaper than board. Unless there comes some great acorn year, +when the oak trees are covered with nuts, he goes to bed when the snow +flies. One of the rarest adventures in wood-craft is the finding of a +bear-hole where Bruin sleeps rolled up in a big, black ball until +spring. It is always selected and concealed with the utmost care, for +the blackbear takes no chances of being attacked in his sleep. The +last bear-hole of which I have heard was not far from home. Two +friends of mine were shooting in the Pocono Mountains with a dog, +about the middle of November, 1914. Suddenly the dog started up a +blackbear on a wooded slope. After running a short distance, the bear +turned and popped into a hole under an overhanging bank. Almost +immediately he started to come out again, growling savagely. I am +sorry to say that my friends shot him. Then they explored the hole +which he was preparing for his winter-quarters. It was beautifully +constructed. The entrance was under an overhanging bank, shielded by +bushes, and it seemed unbelievable that so large an animal could have +forced his shoulders through so small a hole. The burrow was +jug-shaped, spreading out inside and sloping up, while a dry shelf had +been dug out in the bank. This was covered with layers of dry leaves +and a big blanket of withered grass. In the top of the bank a tiny +hole had been dug, which opened out in some thick bushes and was +probably an air-hole. Just outside the entrance, a bear had piled an +armful of dry sticks, evidently intending, when he had finally entered +the hole, to pull them over the entrance and entirely hide it. The +bear itself turned out to be a young one. A veteran would have died +fighting before giving up the secret of his winter castle. + + * * * * * + +The opal water was all glimmering green and gold and crimson, as it +whirled under overhanging boughs aflame with the fires of fall. The +air tasted of frost, and had the color of pale gold. Around sudden +curves, through twisted channels, and down gleaming vistas, our canoe +followed the crooked stream as it ran through the pine-barrens. The +woods on either side were glories of color. There was the scarlet of +the mountain sumac, with its winged leaves, and the deep purple of the +star-leaved sweet-gum. Sassafras trees were lemon-yellow or wine-red. +The persimmon was the color of gold, while the poison sumac, with its +death-pale bark, and venomous leaves up-curled as if ready to sting, +flaunted the regal red-and-yellow of Spain. + +At last, we beached our canoe in a little grove and landed for lunch. +By the edge of the smoky, golden cedar-water, in the pure white sand, +was a deep footprint, like that made by a baby's bare foot with a +pointed heel. I recognized the hand and seal of Lotor, the Washer, who +believes firmly in that old proverb about cleanliness. That is about +as near, however, as Lotor ever gets to godliness. He is the +grizzled-gray raccoon, who wears a black mask on his funny, foxy face, +and has a ringed tail shaped like a bâton, and sets his hind feet +flat, like his second-cousin the bear, while his menu-card covers +almost as wide a range. Whatever he eats--frogs, crawfish, chicken, +and even fresh eggs and snakes--he always washes. Two, three, and even +four times, he rinses and rubs his food if he can find water. + +That footprint in the sand carried me back more years than I like to +count. It was on the same kind of fall day that I first entered the +fastnesses of Rolfe's Woods. First there came Little Woods, close at +home, where one could play after school, and where the spotted leaves +of the adder's-tongue grew everywhere. Then came Big Woods, which +required a full Saturday afternoon to do it justice. It was there that +I accumulated by degrees the twenty-two spotted turtles, the five +young gray squirrels, and the three garter-snakes, which gladdened my +home. + +Far beyond Big Woods was a wilderness of swamps and thickets known to +us as Rolfe's Woods. This was only to be visited in company with some +of the big boys and on a full holiday. That day, Boots Lockwood and +Buck Thompson, patriarchs who must have been all of fourteen years +old, were planning to visit these woods. Four of us little chaps +tagged along until it was too late to send us back. We found that the +perils of the place had not been overstated. In a dark thicket Boots +showed us wolf-tracks. At least he said they were, and he ought +to have known, for he had read "Frank in the Woods," "The +Gorilla-Hunters," and other standard authorities on such subjects. +Farther on we heard a squalling note, which Buck at once recognized as +the scream of a panther. Boots confirmed his diagnosis, and showed the +reckless bravery of his nature by laughing so heartily at our scared +faces that he had to lean against a tree for some time before he could +go on. In later years I have heard the same note made by a blue jay, a +curious coincidence which should have the attention of some of our +prominent naturalists. + +[Illustration: LOTOR, THE COON] + +Finally, we came to a little clearing with a vast oak-tree in the +centre. As we neared it, suddenly Buck gave a yell and pointed +overhead. There on a hollow dead limb crouched a strange beast. It was +gray in color, with a black-masked face, and was ten times larger than +any gray squirrel, the wildest animal which we had met personally. +There was a hasty and whispered consultation between the two leaders, +after which Buck announced that the stranger was none other than a +Canada lynx, according to him an animal of almost supernatural +ferocity and cunning. Furthermore, he stated that he, assisted by +Boots, intended to climb the tree and attack said lynx with a club. +Our part was to encircle the tree and help Boots if the lynx elected +to fight on land instead of aloft. If so be that he sprang on any one +of us, the rest were to attack him instantly, before he had time to +lap the blood of his victim--a distressing habit which Buck advised us +was characteristic of all Canada lynxes. + +This masterly plan was somewhat marred by the actions of Robbie Crane. +Robbie was of a gentle nature, and one whose manners and ideals were +far superior to the rough boys with whom he occasionally consorted. +Mrs. Crane said so herself. After reflecting a moment on the lynx's +unrestrained and sanguinary traits, he suddenly disappeared down the +back-track with loud sobbings, and never stopped running until he +reached home an hour later. Thereafter our names were stricken from +Robbie's calling-list by Mrs. Crane. + +As Buck, boosted by Boots, started up the tree, the perfidious lynx +disappeared in an unsuspected hole beneath a branch, from which he +refused to come out in spite of all that Buck and Boots could do. One +member, at least, of that hunting-party was immensely relieved by his +unexpected retreat. It was many years later before I learned that even +such masters of woodcraft as Buck and Boots could be mistaken, and +that the Canada lynx was really a Connecticut coon. + +It was not until recently that I ever met Lotor by daylight. Three +years ago I was walking down a hillside after a sudden November +snowstorm. My way led past two gray-squirrel nests, well thatched and +chinked with the leaves by which they can always be told from crows' +nests. From one of them I saw peering down at me the funny face of a +coon. When I pounded on the other tree, another coon stared sleepily +down at me. Probably the unexpected snowstorm had sent them both to +bed in the first lodgings which they could find; or it may be that +they had decided to try the open-air sleeping-rooms of the squirrels +rather than the hollow-tree houses in which the coon family usually +spend their winters. + +Sometimes at night you may hear near the edge of the woods a +plaintive, tremulous call floating from out of the dark +trees--"Whoo-oo-oo-oo, whoo-oo-oo-oo." It is one of the night-notes of +the coon. It sounds almost like the wail of the little screech-owl, +save that there is a certain animal quality to the note. Moreover, the +screech-owl will always answer, when one imitates the call, and will +generally come floating over on noiseless wings to investigate. The +coon, however, instantly detects the imitation and calls no more that +night. + +Unlike the bears, Mr. and Mrs. Coon and all the little coons, +averaging from three to six, hibernate together soon after the first +snowstorm of the year. One of the few legends of the long-lost +Connecticut Indians which I can remember is that of an old Indian +hunter, who would appear on my great-grandfather's farm in the depths +of winter and, after obtaining permission, would go unerringly to one +or more coon-trees, which he would locate by signs unknown to any +white hunter. In each tree he would find from four to six fat coons, +whose fur and flesh he would exchange for gunpowder, tobacco, hard +cider, and other necessities of life. + +Mr. and Mrs. Coon are good parents. They keep their children with them +until the arrival of a new family, which occurs with commendable +regularity every spring. A friend of mine once saw a young coon fall +into the water from its tree in the depths of a swamp. At the splash, +the mother coon came out of the den, forty feet up the trunk, and +climbed down to help. Master Coon, wet, shaken, and miserable, managed +to get back to the tree-trunk and clung there whimpering. Mother Coon +gripped him by the scruff of his neck and marched him up the tree to +the den, giving him a gentle nip whenever he stopped to cry. + +In spite of his funny face and playful ways, Mr. Coon is a cheerful, +desperate, scientific fighter. In a fair fight, or an unfair one for +that matter, he will best a dog double his size, and he fears no +living animal of his own weight, save only that versatile weasel, the +blackcat. I became convinced of this one dark November morning many +years ago, when I foolishly used to kill animals instead of making +friends of them. All night long, with a pack of alleged coon dogs, we +had hunted invisible and elusive coons through thick woods. I had +scratched myself all over with greenbrier, and, while running through +the dark, had plunged head first into the coldest known brook on the +continent. Four separate times I had been persuaded by false and +flattering words to climb slippery trees after imaginary coons, with a +lantern fastened round my neck. + +This time my friends assured me there could be no mistake. Both Grip +and Gyp, the experts of the pack, had their fore-paws against an +enormous tulip tree which stood apart from all others. In order that +there might be no possible mistake, black Uncle Zeke, the leader of +the hunt, who knew most of the coons in those woods by their first +names, agreed to "shine" this particular coon. Lighting a lantern, he +held it behind his head, staring fixedly up into the tree as he did +so. Sure enough, in a minute, far up along the branches gleamed two +green spots. Those were the eyes of the coon, staring down at the +light. It was impossible to climb this tree, so we built a fire and +waited for daylight. + +Dawn found us regarding a monster coon crouched in the branches some +forty or fifty feet up. Uncle Zeke produced a cherished shot-gun. The +barrel had once burst, by reason of the muzzle being accidentally +plugged with mud, and had been thereafter cut down, so that it was +less than a foot in length. In spite of its misfortune, Uncle Zeke +assured us that it was still a wonderful shooter. We scattered and +gave him a free field. In a properly conducted coonhunt, a coon, like +a fox, must be killed by dogs or not at all. Uncle Zeke told us that +this one, as soon as he heard the shot, although uninjured, would come +down, like Davy Crockett's coon. + +Sure enough, when the shot cut through the branches well above the +animal, he started slowly down the trunk, head-foremost, like a +squirrel, and never stopped until he reached a branch some twenty feet +above the yelping pack. Then, with hardly a pause, he launched himself +right into their midst. As he came through the air, we could see him +slashing with his claws, evidently limbering up. He struck the ground, +only to disappear in a wave of dogs. In a minute he fought himself +clear, and managed to get his back against the tree. Then followed a +great exhibition of scientific fighting. The coon was perfectly +balanced on all four feet, and did wonderful execution with his +flexible fore-paws, armed with sharp, curved claws. He went through +that mongrel pack like a light-weight champion in a street fight. +Ducking, side-stepping, slashing and biting fiercely in the clinches, +he broke entirely through the circle, and started off at a brisk trot +toward the thick woods. The pack followed after him, baying +ferociously, but doing nothing more. Not one of them would venture +again into close quarters. Though we came back empty-handed, not even +Uncle Zeke grudged that coon his life. + + * * * * * + +The motto of the next sleeper is, "Don't hurry, others will." If you +meet in your wanderings a black-and-white animal wearing a pointed +nose, a bushy tail, and an air of justified confidence, avoid any +altercation with him. The skunk discovered the secret of the +gas-attack a million years before the Boche. He is one of the best +friends of the farmer--and the worst treated. Given a fair chance, +every week he will eat several times his weight in mice and insects. +Moreover, with the muskrat he contributes divers furs to the market, +whose high-sounding names disguise their lowly origin. During the +coldest part of the winter he retires to his burrow and sleeps +fitfully. He is the last to go to bed and the first to get up; and on +any warm day in late winter you may see his close-set, alternate, +stitch-like tracks in the snow. The black-and-white banner of +skunk-kind is a huge bushy resplendent tail, sometimes as wide as it +is long. At the very tip is set a tuft like the white plume of Henry +of Navarre. When it stands straight up, the battle is on, and wise +wild-folk remove themselves elsewhere with exceeding swiftness. As for +the simple--they wish they had. + +The armament of this Seventh Sleeper is simple but effective. It +consists of two scent glands located near the base of the tail, which +empty into a movable duct or pipe which can be protruded some +distance. Through this duct, by means of large contractile muscles, a +stream of liquid musk can be propelled with incredible accuracy, and +with a range of from six to ten feet. Moreover the skunk's accurate +breech-loading and repeating weapon has one device not yet found in +any man-made artillery. Each gland, besides the hole for long-range +purposes, is pierced with a circle of smaller holes through which the +deadly gas can be sprayed in a cloud for work at close quarters. The +skunk's battery can be operated over the bow or from port or +starboard, but rarely astern. + +The liquid musk itself is a clear, golden-yellow fluid full of little +bubbles of the devastating gas, and curiously enough is almost +identical in appearance with the venom of the rattlesnake. As to its +odor, it has been described feelingly as a mixture of perfume-musk, +essence of garlic, burning sulphur, and sewer-gas, raised to the +thousandth power. Its effect is very much like that produced by the +fumes of ammonia, another animal product, or the mustard-gas of modern +warfare. It may cause blindness, convulsions, and such constriction +and congestion of the breathing passages as even to bring about death. +Some individuals and animals, however, seem to be more or less immune +to the effects of this secretion. I remember once attending by +invitation a possum hunt conducted by a number of noted possumists of +color. We were accompanied by a bevy of miscellaneous dogs. The +possums were generally found wandering here and there among the +thickets, or located in low persimmon trees. Every now and then one of +the dogs would bring to bay a strolling skunk. As the skins had a +considerable market value, these skunks were regarded as the special +prizes of the chase. The hunters dispatched them by a quick blow +across the back which broke the spine. Such a blow paralyzed the +muscles and effectually prevented any further artillery practice on +the part of the skunk which received it. Before it could be delivered, +both the hunter and the dog were usually exposed to an unerring +barrage, which however seemed to cause them no especial inconvenience. +Before long every hunter, except myself, had one or more skunks tucked +away in his pockets. + +It was a long, strong night. Before it was over I was in some doubt as +to whether I had been attending a possum hunt or had taken part in a +skunk chase. My family had no doubt whatever on the subject when I +reached home the next morning. I was earnestly invited to tarry in the +wilderness until such time as I could obtain a complete change of +raiment. Thereafter I tried to give my hunting clothes away to the +worthy poor. Said poor, however, would have none of them, and they +repose in a lonely grave in a Philadelphia back-yard even unto this +day. + + * * * * * + +I saw him last fall sitting up like a little post in the Half-Moon Lot +where the blind blue gentian grows. Every once in a while he would +drop down and begin to nibble again, only to stop and sit up stiff and +straight on sentry duty. For the gray, grizzled woodchuck is as wary +as he is fat. Watchfulness is the price of his life. + +Once I spied him far out in a clover-patch, nibbling away at the pink +sweet blossoms as I passed along the road. At the bar-way a chipmunk +leaped into the wall with a sharp squeak. Without even stopping to +raise his head, Mr. Woodchuck scuttled through the clover, and dived +into his burrow. It was a bit of animal team-work such as takes place +when a fox or a deer uses a far-away crow or a jay as a picket, and +dashes away at its warning of the coming of an enemy. + +Soon afterwards I was on my way to a spring down in the pasture. As I +passed near a stone wall half hidden in a tangle of chokecherries and +bittersweet, there was a piercing whistle, followed by a scrambling +and a scuffling as the woodchuck dived down among the stones, and I +understood why, below Mason and Dixon's Line, he is always called the +"whistlepig." It is a good name, for he whistles, and he is certainly +like a little pig in that he eats and eats and eats until he seems +mostly quivering paunch. According to the farmers of Connecticut, he +eats to get strength enough to dig, and then digs to get an appetite +to eat, and so passes his life in a vicious circle of eating and +digging and digging and eating. In spite of his unwieldy weight, the +woodchuck is a bitter, brave fighter when fight he must. + +I once watched a bull-terrier named Paddy tackle a big chuck near a +shallow brook. Round and round the dog circled, trying for the fatal +throat-hold. Round and round whirled the brave old chuck, chattering +with his great chisel-like teeth, which could bite through dog-hide +and dog-flesh and bone just as easily as they gnawed through stolen +apples. Every once in a while Paddy would clinch, but the woodchuck +saved himself every time by hunching his neck down between his round +shoulders and punishing the dog so terribly with his sharp teeth that +the latter would at last retreat, yelping with pain. They would whirl +in circles, and roll over and over in the clinches; but always the old +chuck would be found with his squat figure on its legs at the end of +each round. His thick grizzled coat was more of a protection, too, +than the thin skin of the short-haired terrier. + +At last both of them were tired out. As if by agreement, both drew +back and lay down, panting and watching each other's every movement +like two boxers. Finally, the woodchuck, who was nearer the brook, +began to drag himself along until he reached the edge of the water. +Then he lowered his head, still watching his opponent, and sucked in +deep, cool, satisfying drinks. + +It was too much for Paddy. He started for the brook also. The old +chuck stopped drinking, and pulled himself together; but Paddy wanted +water, not blood. In a moment he had his nose in the brook. There the +two lay, not a couple of yards apart, and drank until they could drink +no more. + +The whistlepig was the first out. Slowly and watchfully he waddled +away from the brook and toward the stone wall, that refuge of all +hunted little animals. Paddy gave a fierce growl, but the water tasted +too good, and he stayed for another long drink. Then he darted out +after the woodchuck, barking ferociously all the time, as if he could +hardly wait to begin the battle again. The woodchuck watched him +steadily, ready to stop and fight at any moment. + +Somehow, although Paddy barked and growled and rushed at his +retreating opponent with exceeding fierceness, there were always a few +yards between them, until Mr. Chuck disappeared at last down between +two great stones in the wall. Then indeed Paddy dashed in, and +growled, and tore up the turf, and stuck his nose deep down between +the stones, and told the world all the terrible things he would do to +that woodchuck if he could only catch him. From the bowels of the old +wall, between barks, sounded now and then the muffled but defiant +whistle of the unconquered whistlepig. + +Finally, Paddy, with an air of having done all that could be expected, +gave some fierce farewell barks and trotted off toward the farmhouse. + +Some people claim to have dug woodchucks out of their holes. +Personally I believe that it is about as easy to dig a woodchuck out +of its hole as it is to catch a squirrel in its tree. They have a +network of holes, and have a habit of starting digging on their own +account when molested, and sealing up the new hole after them, so that +they leave no trace. + +Once, in company with another amateur naturalist, we tried to dig an +old chuck out of its burrow. After first stopping up all the spare +holes we could find, the naturalist dug and dug and dug and dug. Then +we enlisted two other men, and they dug and dug and dug. After a while +we came to a mass of great boulders. Then we pressed into service a +yoke of oxen, and they tugged and tugged and tugged. Said digging and +tugging and tugging and digging lasted the half of a long summer day. +All together, it was an exceeding great digging--but we never got +that woodchuck. + +[Illustration: THE WHISTLEPIG] + +In September and October the woodchuck devotes all of his time to +eating. The consequence is that, by the time the first frost comes, he +is a big gray bag of fat. Mr. Woodchuck does not believe in storing up +food in his burrow, like the chipmunk. He prefers to be the +storehouse. Soon after the first frost he disappears in his hole, and +far down underground, at the end of a network of intersecting +passages, rolls himself up in a round, warm ball, and sleeps until +spring. + +According to the legend, on Candlemas, or Ground-Hog Day,--which comes +on February second,--he peeps out, and, if he can see his shadow, goes +in again for six more weeks of cold weather. So far this day has not +yet been made a legal holiday. It probably will be some time, along +with Columbus Day, Labor Day, and other equally important days. I will +not vouch for the fact that the weather depends on the shadow; but +there is no doubt that the woodchuck does come out of his burrow in a +February thaw and looks around, as his tracks prove; but he is not +interested in his shadow. No indeed! What he comes out for is to look +for the future Mrs. Woodchuck, and when he finds her he goes in again. + +Sometimes you read in nature-books that the woodchuck is good to eat. +Don't believe it. I ought to know. I ate one once. Anyone is welcome +to my share of the world's supply of woodchucks. When I camped out as +a boy, we had to eat everything that we shot: and one summer I ate a +part of a woodchuck, a crow, a green heron, and a blue jay. The chuck +was about in the crow's class. + + * * * * * + +We humans have different feelings toward the different Sleepers. One +may respect the bear, and have a certain tempered regard for the coon, +or even the skunk. Everyone, however, loves that confiding, gentle +little Sleeper, the striped chipmunk--"Chippy Nipmunk," as certain +children of my acquaintance have named him. He is that little squirrel +who lives in the ground and has two big pockets in his cheeks. +Sometimes in the fall you may think that he has the mumps. Really it +is only acorns. He can carry four of them in each cheek. Once I met a +greedy chipmunk who had his pockets so full of nuts that he could not +enter his own burrow. Although he tried with his head sideways, and +even upside-down, he could not get in. When he saw me coming, he +rapidly removed two hickory nuts from which he had nibbled the sharp +points at each end, and popped into his hole, leaving the nuts high, +but not dry, outside. When I carried them off, he stuck his head out +of the hole, and shouted, "Thief! Thief!" after me in chipmunk +language, so loudly that, in order not to be arrested, I carried them +back again. + +Almost the first wild animal of my acquaintance was the chipmunk. +During one of my very early summers, probably the fourth or fifth, a +wave of chipmunks swept over the old farm where I happened to be. They +swarmed everywhere, and every stone wall seemed to be alive with +them. It was probably one of the rare chipmunk migrations, which, +although denied by some naturalists, actually do occur. + +Chippy usually goes to bed in late October, and sleeps until late +March. He takes with him a light lunch of nuts and seeds, in case he +may wake up and be hungry during the long night. Moreover, these come +in very handy along about breakfast-time, for when he gets up there is +little to eat. Then, too, he is very busy during those early spring +weeks. In the first place, he has to sing his spring song for hours. +It is a loud, rolling "Chuck-a-chuck-a-chuck," almost like a +bird-song, and Chippy is very proud of it. Then, too, he has to find a +suitable Miss Chipmunk and persuade her to become Mrs. Chipmunk, all +of which takes a great deal of time. So the nuts which he stores up +are probably intended rather for an early breakfast than a late +supper. + +An Indian writer tells how the boys of his tribe used to take +advantage of the chipmunk's spring serenade. The first warm day in +March they would all start out armed with bows and arrows, and at the +nearest chipmunk-hole one would imitate the loud chirrup of the +chipmunk. Instantly every chipmunk within hearing would pop out of his +hole and join the chorus, until sometimes as many as fifty would be +singing at the same time, too busily to dodge the blunt arrows of the +boy-hunters. + +Besides his song the chipmunk has another high-pitched note, and an +alarm-squeal which he gives as he dives into his burrow. There are two +phases of Eastern chipmunks, the Northern and the Southern, besides +the Oregon, the painted, and the magnificent golden chipmunk of the +West. All of them have the same dear, gentle ways. + +When I was a boy, a chipmunk was a favorite pet. Flying squirrels were +too sleepy, red squirrels too restless, and gray squirrels too bitey +for petting purposes. Chippy is easily tamed, and moreover does not +have to be kept in a cage, which is no place for any wild animal. I +knew one once who used to go to school in a boy's pocket every day; +and he behaved quite as well as the boy, which is not saying much. +Sometimes he would come out and sit on the desk beside the boy's book, +so as to help him over the particularly hard places. + +The chipmunk, like most of the Sleepers, has a varied diet. He eats +all kinds of nuts and weed-seeds, and also has a pretty taste in +mushrooms. It was a chipmunk who once taught me the difference between +a good and a bad mushroom. I saw him sitting on a stump, nibbling what +seemed to be a red russula, which tastes like red pepper and acts like +an emetic if one is foolish enough to swallow much of it. When I came +near, he ran away, leaving his lunch behind. On tasting the mushroom I +found that, although it was a red russula, it was not the _emetica_, +and I learned to recognize the delicious _alutacea_. + +Sometimes, sad to say, Chippy eats forbidden food. A friend of mine +found him once on a low limb, nibbling a tiny, green grass-snake. The +chipmunk had eaten about half of the snake, when he suddenly stopped +and let the remainder drop, and then sat and reflected for a full +minute. At the end of that time he became actively ill, and after +losing all of that fresh snake-lunch, scampered away, an emptier, if +not a wiser, chipmunk. + +In spite of his gentle ways Chippy lives in a world of enemies. Hawks, +snakes, cats, boys, and dogs, all are his foes. More than all the rest +put together, however, he fears the devilish red weasel, which runs +him down relentlessly above and below the ground alike. Only in the +water has the chipmunk a chance to escape. Although the weasel can +hold him for a few yards, yet in a long swim the chipmunk will draw +away so far from his pursuer that he will generally escape. +Underground, if given a few seconds' time, he also escapes by a method +known to a number of the underground folk. Dashing through a series of +the main burrows, he runs into a side gallery, and instantly walls +himself in so neatly that his pursuer rushes past without suspecting +his presence. + +For many years one of the out-of-door problems to which I was unable +to find the answer was how a chipmunk could dig a burrow and leave no +trace of any fresh earth. I examined scores of new chipmunk-holes, but +never found the least trace of fresh earth near the entrance. His +secret is to start at the other end. This sounds like a joke, but it +is exactly what he does. He will run a shaft for many feet, coming up +in some convenient thicket or beneath the slope of an overhanging +bank. All the earth will be taken out through the first hole, which is +then plugged up. This accounts for the heaps of fresh earth which I +have frequently seen near chipmunk colonies, but with no burrow +anywhere in sight. + +The Band was on the march. The evening before, at story-time, Sergeant +Henny-Penny and Corporal Alice-Palace had listened spellbound while +the Captain told them of the adventures of trustful Chippy-Nipmunk +when he tried to get change for a horse-chestnut from Mr. G. Squirrel, +who it seems was of a grasping and over-reaching disposition, and how +Chippy wrote home about the transaction signing himself "Butternutly +yours." The story had made such a sensation that the flattered Captain +had promised, on the next day, which was a half-holiday, to take the +whole Band up to Chipmunk Hill, where old Mr. Prindle had named and +tamed a chipmunk colony. + +Late afternoon found them plodding up the grass-grown road which led +to the lonely little house on top of the hill, where Mr. Prindle had +lived since days before which the memory of the Band ran not. They +found the old man seated on the porch in a great Boston rocker, and +glad enough to see them all. The Captain introduced them in due form, +from First Lieutenant Trottie down to Corporal Alice-Palace. + +"'T ain't everybody," said Mr. Prindle, pulling Second Lieutenant +Honey's ear reflectively, "that would climb five miles up-hill to see +an old man. How would a few fried cakes and some cider go?" + +There was an instantaneous vote in favor of this resolution, in which +Alice-Palace's good-time noise easily soared like a siren-whistle +above all the other expressions of assent. + +"Be careful and don't swallow the holes," Mr. Prindle warned them a +few moments later, as he brought out a big panful of brownish-red, +spicy fried cakes cooked in twisted rings. + +The Band promised to use every precaution, and there was an +adjournment of all other business until the pan and the pitcher were +alike empty. + +"Are your chipmunks still alive?" queried the Captain, as they all sat +down on the vast, squatty-legged settee next to Mr. Prindle's rocker. + +"Yes, indeed," replied the latter, "they've been with me nigh on to +four years now." + +Alice-Palace's eyes became very big. + +"Not Chippy-Nipmunk?" she whispered to the Captain. + +"Exactly," replied that official, "and then some." + +Thereafter, at Mr. Prindle's suggestion, they all sat stony-still and +mousy-quiet while he made a funny little hissing, whistling noise. +From under the porch there came a scurrying rush, and the two bright +eyes of a big striped chipmunk popped up over the edge of the +porch-step. A minute later, from two holes in a near-by bank, two +other chipmunks dashed out. They all had ashy-gray backs, with five +stripes of such dark brown as to look almost like black. Their tails +had a black, white-tipped fringe, while the gray color of the back +changed into clear orange-brown on their flanks and legs. + +"This one is James," announced Mr. Prindle, as the first chipmunk +hurried across the porch toward his chair. "His full name is James +William Francis," he explained, "after a second-cousin of mine who +looked a good deal like him. I generally call him James for short. The +other two are Nip and Tuck," he went on. "Old Bill will be along in a +minute. You see," he continued, "he's an old bachelor and lives all by +himself quite a ways off." + +"What about James?" inquired Honey. + +"He's been a widower," said Mr. Prindle, sadly, "ever since his wife +stayed out one day to get a good look at a hawk." + +As he spoke, another chipmunk came around the end of the porch and +hastened to join the other three. + +"Here's Bill now," announced Mr. Prindle. + +Then the old man reached into his pocket and took out a handful of +butternuts and gave two to each of the Band. + +"Hold one in your closed hand and the other between your thumb and +finger where they can see it," he advised them. + +A moment later there was a chorus of delighted squeals. Each chipmunk +had run up and taken the nut which was in sight, and was burrowing and +scrabbling with soft little paws and sniffling little noses into four +sets of clenched fingers, in an attempt to secure the other hidden +nuts. When the last of them had disappeared, looking as if he had an +attack of mumps, the Band thanked Mr. Prindle and started for home. + +"Butternutly yours," quoted Alice-Palace as they hurried down the long +hill. + + * * * * * + +Have you ever dreamed of writing a wonderful poem, and then waked up +and found that you had forgotten it; or, worse still, that it wasn't +wonderful at all? That is what happened to me the other night. All +that was left of the lost masterpiece was the following alleged +verse:-- + + After dark everybody's house + Belongs to the little brown Flittermouse. + +I admit that the mystery and pathos and beauty which that verse seemed +to have in dreamland have some way evaporated in daylight. So as I +can't give to the world any poetry in praise of my friend the +Flittermouse, I must do what I can for him in prose. In the first +place, his everyday name is Bat. Our forebears knew him as the flying +or "flitter" mouse. Probably, too, he is the original of the Brownie, +that ugly brown elf that used to flit about in the twilight. + +He is perhaps the best equipped of all of our mammals, for he flies +better than any bird, is a strong though unwilling swimmer, and is +also fairly active on the ground. In addition, he has such an +exquisite sense of feeling, that he is able to fly at full speed in +the dark, steering his course and instantly avoiding any obstacle by +the mere feel of the air-currents. In fact, the bat's whole body, +including the ribs and edges of its wings, may be said to be full of +eyes. These are highly developed nerve-endings, which are so +sensitive that they are instantly aware of the presence of any body +met in flight, by the difference in the air-pressure. + +As early as 1793 an Italian naturalist found that a blinded bat could +fly as well as one with sight. They were able to avoid all parts of a +room, and even to fly through silken threads stretched in such a +manner as to leave just space enough for them to pass with their wings +expanded. When the threads were placed closer together, the blind bats +would contract their wings in order to pass between them without +touching. + +An English naturalist put wax over a bat's closed eyes and then let it +loose in a room. It flew under chairs, of which there were twelve in +the room, without touching anything, even with the tips of its wings. +When he attempted to catch it, the bat dodged; nor could it be taken +even when resting, as it seemed to feel with its wings the approach of +the hand stretched out to seize it. + +When it comes to flying, the bat is the swallow of the night. +Sometimes it may be confused with a chimney-swift at twilight, but it +can always be told by its dodging, lonely flight, while the swifts fly +in companies and without zigzagging through the air. It is doubtful +whether even the swallow or the swiftest of the hawks, such as the +sharp-shinned or the duck hawk, perhaps the fastest bird that flies, +can equal the speed of the great hoary bat. Moreover, the flight of +the bat is absolutely silent. He may dart and turn a foot away from +you, but you will hear absolutely nothing. A hoary bat, the largest +of all the family, has been seen to overtake and fly past a flock of +migrating swallows, while a red bat has been watched carrying four +young clinging to her, which together weighed more than she did, and +yet she flew and hunted and captured insects in mid-air as usual. +There is no bird which can give such an exhibition of strong flying. +The hoary bat has even been found on the Bermuda Islands in autumn and +early winter. As these islands are five hundred and forty storm-swept +miles from the nearest land, this is evidence of an extraordinarily +high grade of wing-power. + +When it comes to personal habits, bats of all kinds are perhaps the +most useful mammals that we have. No American bat eats anything but +insects, and insects of the most disagreeable kind, such as +cockroaches, mosquitoes, and June-bugs. A house-bat has been seen to +eat twenty-one June-bugs in a single night; while another young bat +would eat from thirty-four to thirty-seven cockroaches in the same +time, beginning this commendable work before it was two months old. +Moreover, bats do not bring into houses any noxious insects, like +bedbugs or lice, despite their bad reputation. They are unfortunately +afflicted with numerous parasites, but none of them are of a kind to +attack man. All bats are great drinkers, and twice a day skim over the +nearest water, drinking copiously on the wing. Sometimes, where trout +are large enough, bats fall victims to their drinking habits, being +seized on the wing like huge moths by leaping trout, as they approach +the water to drink. + +Bats also feed twice a day at regular periods, once at sundown and +once at sunrise, always capturing and eating their insect food on the +wing. Some of them have a curious habit of using a pouch, which is +made of the membrane stretched between their hind legs, as a kind of +net to hold the captured insect until it can be firmly gripped and +eaten. In this same pouch the young are carried as soon as they are +born, and until they are strong enough to nurse. After that, like +young jumping mice, they cling to the teats of the mother bat, and are +carried everywhere in this way. When they get too large to be so +conveyed in comfort, the mother bat hangs them up in some secret place +until her return. + +Moreover a mother bat is just as devoted to her babies as any other +mammal. She takes entire charge of them, with never any help from the +father bat. Young bats are blind at birth, but their eyes open on the +fifth day, and on the thirteenth day the baby bat no longer clings to +its mother, but roosts beside her. The bat has from two to four young, +depending on the species. Most young bats can fly and forage for +themselves when they are about three months old, although the silvery +bat begins to fly when it is three weeks old. No bat makes a nest. + +Titian Peale, of Philadelphia, in an early natural history, tells a +story of a boy who, in 1823, caught a young red bat and took it home. +Three hours later, in the evening, he started to take it to the +museum, carrying it in his hand. As he passed near the place where it +was caught, the mother bat appeared and followed the boy for two +squares, flying around him and finally lighting on his breast, until +the boy allowed her to take charge of her little one. + +The bat has but few enemies. They are occasionally caught by owls, +probably taken unawares or when hanging in some dark tree. In fact, +virtually the only enemies a bat has are fur-lice, which breed upon +them in enormous quantities. It is this misfortune, and the fact that +a bat has a strong rank smell like that of a skunk, which keep it from +being popular as a pet. + +A friend of mine once, however, kept a little brown bat, which had +been drowned out from a tree by a thunder-storm, for a long time under +a sieve as a pet. The bat became tame and would accept food, and it +was most interesting to see the deft, speedy way in which he husked +millers and other minute insects, rejecting their wings, skinning +their bodies, and devouring the flesh only after it had been prepared +entirely to its liking. He would wash himself with his tongue and his +paw, like a cat, using the little thumb-nail at the bend of his wing, +and stretching the rubbery membrane into all kinds of shapes, until it +seemed as if he would tear it in his zeal for cleanliness. + +A bat always alights first by catching the little hooks on its wings. +As soon as it has a firm grip with these, it at once turns over, head +downward, and hangs by the long, recurved nails of the hind feet, and +in this position sleeps through the daylight. It sleeps through the +winter in the top of some warm steeple or, far more often than we +suspect, in dark corners of our houses, and sometimes in hollow trees +and deserted buildings and caves. Only when caught by the cold does +the bat hibernate. Often it migrates like the birds. + +One of the strangest things about the flittermouse is its voice. It is +a penetrating, shrill squeak, so high that many people cannot hear it +at all. The chirp of a sparrow is about five octaves above the middle +E of the piano, while the cry of the bat is a full octave above that. +In England there is a saying that no person more than forty years old +can hear the cry of a bat. This is founded probably on the fact that +the ears of many of us, especially as we approach middle age, are +unable to distinguish sounds more than four octaves above middle E. +Some naturalists believe that the shrill squeak which most of us do +hear is only one of many notes of the bat, and that the various +species have different calls, like those of birds, and probably even +have a love-song during the mating season, in late August or early +September, which can never be heard by human ears. + +Most bats found in the Eastern States are either large brown +house-bats, one of two kinds of little brown bats, black bats, red or +tree bats, pigmy bats, or, last, largest and most beautiful of all, +hoary bats. The big brown bat, or house-bat, is the commonest. This is +the last of the bats to come out in the evening, for each has a +certain fixed hour when it begins to hunt, which varies only with the +light. When the big brown bat starts, the twilight has almost turned +to dark. + +The two kinds of little brown bat, Leconte's and Say's, cannot be told +apart in flight. Both of them are much smaller than the big brown bat, +and the ear of a Leconte's bat barely reaches the end of the nose, +while that of a Say's bat is considerably longer. All bats have large +ears, each of which contains a curious inner ear known as the +"antitragus." Both of these little bats are country bats and prefer +caves and hollow trees to houses and outbuildings. + +The black bat can be told from all other American bats by its deep +black-brown color touched with silvery white. This bat likes to hunt +and hawk over water, skimming across ponds like swallows. Some of the +black-bat colonies, or "batteries," are very large, one by actual +count including 9,640 bats. + +Next comes the Georgia pigmy bat, so called to distinguish it from the +very rare New York pigmy bat. This little bat can be told by its small +size, for it is the smallest of all of our eastern bats, by its +yellowish pale color, and especially by its flight, which is weak and +fluttering, like that of a large butterfly. + +The red bat is a tree bat, spending the daytime in the foliage of +trees, and rarely, if ever, being found in caves or houses. It can be +told at a glance by its red color. It is the greatest of all the bats +except the last, the hoary bat, the largest of them all, with a +wing-spread of from fifteen to seventeen inches. This great bat soars +high, well above the tree-tops, where it can prey upon the high-flying +great moths. It is one of the most beautiful, as well as the rarest, +of our bats, being found in the East only in the spring or fall +migration. It wears a magnificent furry coat as beautiful as that of +the silver fox, but, like all of its race, it is cursed with the +homeliest face ever worn by an animal. It is this hobgoblin face +which, in spite of a blameless life and useful habits, makes the +flittermouse, whatever its species, universally hated. + +However, handsome is as handsome does, and the boy who kills a bat has +killed one of our most useful animals and deserves to be bitten by all +the mosquitoes, and bumped by all the June bugs, and crawled over by +all the cockroaches, and to have his clothes corrupted by all the +moths, that the dead bat would have eaten if it had been allowed to +live. + +After I had supposedly finished this chapter I was reading it aloud at +the dinner-table to the defenceless Band, one Sunday afternoon about +two o'clock, on a freezing day in December. Just as I was in the midst +of the masterpiece, one of my audience suddenly woke up and said, +"There's a bat!" Sure enough, outside, in the glass-enclosed porch, +was flying a large brown house-bat. Back and forth it went through the +freezing air, as swiftly as if it were summer. I was much touched by +this beautiful tribute to my authorship, and went out and managed to +catch my visitor when he alighted. The bat however was ungrateful +enough to bite the hand that had praised him, and I will end this +account by writing of knowledge that a bat's tiny teeth are as sharp +as needles and that he is always willing to use them. + + * * * * * + +Not dangerous like the skunk, or brave like the raccoon, or big like +the bear, the least of the Sleepers is the best-looking of them all. +Shy and solitary, the gentle little jumping mouse is as dainty as he +looks. His fur is lead, overlaid with gold deepening to a dark brown +on the back, and like the deer-mouse he wears a snowy silk waistcoat +and stockings. His strength is in his powerful crooked hind-legs, and +his length in his silky tail, which occupies five of his eight inches. +Given one jump ahead of any foe that runs, springs, flies, or crawls, +and Mr. Jumping Mouse is safe. He patters through the grass by the +edge of thickets and weed-patches, like any other mouse, until +alarmed. Then with a bound he shoots high into the air, in a leap that +will cover from two to twelve feet. It is in this that his long tail +plays its part. In a graceful curve, with tip upturned, it balances +and guides him through the air in a jump which will cover over forty +times his own length, equivalent to a performance of two hundred and +forty feet by a human jumper. The instant he strikes, the jumper soars +away again like a bird, at right angles to his first jump, and zigzags +here and there through the air, so fast and so far as to baffle even +the swift hawk and the dogged weasel. + +Every day Mr. Jumping Mouse washes and polishes his immaculate self, +and draws his long silky tail through his mouth until every hair +shines. Mrs. Jumping Mouse is a good mother, and never deserts her +babies. If alarmed while feeding them, she will spring through the air +with from three to five of them clinging to her for dear life, and +carry them safely through all her series of lofty leaps. + +The first frost rings the bed-time bell for the jumping mouse. Three +feet underground he builds a round nest of dried grass, and lines it +with feathers, hair, and down. Then he rolls himself into a round +bundle, which he ties up with two wraps of his long tail, and goes to +sleep until spring. Of all the Sleepers he is the soundest. Dig him up +and he shows no sign of life; but if brought in to a fire, he wakes up +and becomes his own lively self once more. Put him out in the cold, +and he rolls up and falls asleep again. + +One of the Band who holds high office is by way of being a naturalist +instead of an explorer or an aviator, as he originally intended. Last +summer, in a bit of dried-up marshland near the roadside, he heard +strange rustlings. On investigating, he found a family of young +jumping mice moving through the grass and feeding on the buds of +alder-bushes. They were quite tame, and as they ran out on the ends of +the branches, he had a good view of them and finally managed to catch +one by the end of his long tail. The mouse bit the boy, but did not +even draw blood. Afterwards he seemed to become tamer, although +shaking continually. Given a bit of bread, he sat up and nibbled it +like a little squirrel; but even as he ate he suddenly had a spasm of +fright and died. This death from fright occurs among a number of the +more highly strung of the mice-folk, even when they seem to have +become perfectly tame. This same young naturalist observed another +jumping mouse which, contrary to all the books, took to the water when +pursued, and swam nearly as expertly as a muskrat. + +So endeth the Chronicle of the Seven Sleepers. + + + + +XII + +DRAGON'S BLOOD + +Then Sigurd went his way and roasted the heart of Fafnir on a rod. And +when he tasted the blood, straightway he wot the speech of every bird +of the air. + + +It takes longer nowadays. Yet the years are well spent. There is a +strange indescribable happiness that comes with the knowledge of the +bird-notes. As for the songs--they are not only among the joys of +life, but they bring with them many other happinesses. Even as I +write, the memory of many of them comes back to me: wind-swept +hilltops; white sand-dunes against a blue, blue sea; singing rows of +pine trees marching miles and miles through the barrens; jade-green +pools; crooked streams of smoky-brown water; lonely islands; +orchid-haunted marsh-lands; far journeyings and good fellowship with +others who have learned the Way--these are but a few of them. Let me +entreat you to leave the narrow in-door days and wander far afield +before it be too late. + + Come sit beside the weary way + And hear the angels sing. + +Ride with Aucassin into the greenwood. There perchance, as happed to +him, you will see the green grass grow and listen to the sweet birds +sing and hear some good word. + +To him who will but listen there are adventures in bird-songs +anywhere, any time, and any season. It was but last winter that I +found myself again in the dawn-dusk facing a defiant hickory, armed +only with an axe. Let me recommend to every man who is worried about +his body, his soul, or his estate during the winter months, that he +buy or borrow a well-balanced axe and cut down and cut up a few trees +for fire-wood. As he forces the tingling iced oxygen into every cell +of his lungs, he will find that he is taking a new view of life and +love and debt and death, and other perplexing and perennial topics. + +Quite recently I read a journal that a young minister kept, back in +the fifties. One entry especially appealed to me. + +"Decided this morning that I was not the right man for this church. +Chopped wood for two hours in Colonel Hewitt's wood-lot. Decided that +this was the church for me and that I was the man for this church." + +On this particular morning, I heard once more the wild dawn-song of +the Carolina wren, full of liquid bell-like overtones. As I listened, +my mind went back to another wren-song. I had been hunting for the +nest of a yellow palm warbler in a little gully in the depths of a +northern forest. The blood ran down my face from the fierce bites of +the black-flies, and the mosquitoes stung like fire. Suddenly, from +the side of the tiny ravine, began a song full of ringing, glassy +notes such as one makes by running a wet finger rapidly on the inside +of a thin glass finger-bowl. Listening, I forgot that I was wet and +tired and hungry and bitten and stung. For the first time I listened +to the song of the winter wren. For years I had met this little bird +along the sides of brooks in the winter and running in and out of +holes and under stones like a mouse; but to-day to me it was no longer +a tiny bird. It was the voice of the untamed, unknown northern woods. +It is hard to make any notation of the song. It flowed like some +ethereal stream filled with little bubbles of music which broke in +glassy tinkling sprays of sound over the under-current of the high +vibrating melody itself. The song seemed to have two parts. The first +ended in a contralto phrase, while the second soared like a fountain +into a spray of tinkling trills. Through it all ran a strange +unearthly dancing lilt, such as the fairy songs must have had, heard +by wandering shepherds at the edge of the green fairy hills. At its +very height the melody suddenly ceased, and once again I dropped back +into a workaday, mosquito-ridden world, with ten miles between me and +my camp. + +On that day I found two of the almost unknown, feather-lined nests of +the yellow palm warbler, and climbed up to the jewel-casket of a +bay-breasted warbler, and was shown the cherished secret of a +Nashville warbler's nest deep hidden in the sphagnum moss of a little +tussock in the middle of a pathless morass. Yet my great adventure was +the song of the winter wren. + +It was under quite different circumstances that I last heard the best +winter singer of all. Never was there a more discouraging day for a +collector of bird-songs. The year was dying of rheumy age. On the +trees still hung a few dank, blotched leaves, while the sodden ground +plashed under foot and a leaden mist of rain covered everything. Yet +at the edge of the very first field that I started to cross, a strange +call cut through the fog, and I glimpsed a large black-and-white bird +crossing the meadow with the dipping up-and-down flight of a +woodpecker. It was the hairy woodpecker, the big brother of the more +common downy, and a bird that usually loves the depths of the woods. +Hardly had it alighted on a wild-cherry tree, when an English sparrow +flew up from a nearby ash-dump and attacked the new comer. The +harassed woodpecker flew to the next tree and the next, but was driven +on and away each time by the sparrow, until finally, with another +rattling call, it flew back to the woods from whence it had come. A +moment later a starling alighted on the same tree, unmolested by its +compatriot. + +[Illustration: THE JUNCO ON HIS WATCH TOWER] + +I followed the fields to a nearby patch of woods. It is small and +bounded on all sides by crowded roads, but at all times of the year I +find birds there. As I reached the edge of the trees white-skirted +juncos flew up in front of me. Mingled with their sharp notes, like +the clicking of pebbles, came the gentle whisper of the white-throated +sparrow, and from a nearby thicket one of them gave its strange minor +song. For its length I know of no minor strain in bird-music that is +sweeter. Like the little silver flute-trill of the pink-beaked field +sparrow, and the lovely contralto notes of the bluebird who from +mid-sky calls down, "Faraway, faraway, faraway," the song of the +white-throated sparrow is tantalizingly brief and simple in its +phrasing. Up in Canada the guides call the bird the "widow-woman." +Usually its song, except in the spring, is incomplete and apt to +flatten a little on some of the notes; but today it rang through the +rain as true and compelling as when it wakes me, from the syringa and +lilac bushes outside my sleeping-porch, some May morning. + +Through the dripping boughs I pressed far into the very centre of the +wood. In a tangle of greenbrier sounded a series of sharp irritating +chips, and a cardinal, blood-red against the leaden sky, perched +himself on a bough of a hornbeam sapling. As I watched him sitting +there in the cold rain, he seemed like some bird of the tropics which +had flamed his way north and would soon go back to the blaze of sun +and riot of color where he belonged. Yet the cardinal grosbeak stays +with us all winter, and I have seen four of the vivid males at a time, +all crimson against the white snow. To-day he looked down upon me, and +without any warning suddenly began to sing his full song in a whisper. +"Wheepl, wheepl, wheepl," he whistled with a mellow and wood-wind +note; and again, a full tone lower, "Wheepl, wheepl, wheepl." Then he +sang a lilting double-note song, "Chu-wee, chu-wee, chu-wee," ending +with a ringing whistle, "Whit, whit, whit, teu, teu, teu," and then +ran them together, "Whit-teu, whit-teu, whit-teu." As his lovely +dove-colored mate flitted jealously through the thicket, he tactfully +and smackingly cried, "Kiss, kiss, kiss," and dived into the bushes to +join her. Again and again he ran through his little repertoire, so low +that thirty feet away he could hardly be heard. Leaden clouds and dank +mists might cover the earth, but life would always be worth the living +so long as one could find snatches of jeweled songs like that sung to +me by the cardinal. As I started homeward under the dripping sky, +crimson against the dark green of a cedar tree, my friend called his +good-bye to me in one last long ringing note. + +Late that afternoon the rain stopped, the clouds rolled back, and in +the west the sky was a mass of flame, with pools of sapphire-blue and +rose-red cloud. Above, in a stretch of pure cool apple-green, floated +the newest of new moons. As the after-glow ebbed, one by one all the +wondrous tints merged into a great band of amber that barred the dark +for long. Just before it faded in the last moments of the twilight, +there shuddered across the evening air the sweetest, saddest note that +can be heard in all winter music. It was a tremolo, wailing little cry +that always makes me think of the children the pyxies stole, who can +be heard now and again in the twilight, or before dawn, calling, +calling vainly for one long gone. In the dim light in a nearby tree, I +could see the ear-tufts of the little red-brown screech-owl. Like the +beat of unseen wings, his voice trembled again and again through the +air, and answering him, I called him up to within six feet of me. +Around and around my head he flew like a great moth, his soft muffled +wings making not the faintest breath of sound, until at last he +drifted away into the dark. + +That night the temperature rose, until the very breath of spring +seemed to be in the air; and early the next morning, before even the +faint glimmer of the dawn-dusk had shown, I was awakened by hearing a +croon so soft and sweet that it ran for long through my dreams without +waking me. Again and again it sounded, like the singing ripple of a +trout brook or the happy little cradle-song that a mother ruffed +grouse makes when she broods her leaf-brown chicks. I recognized the +love-song of the little owl, months before its time--a song which +belongs to the nights when the air is full of spring scents and +hyla-calls. + +Perhaps the singer was the same bird who visited Sergeant Henny-Penny +one Christmas night. During the day the Band had taken a most +successful bird-walk. We had seen and heard some twenty different +kinds of birds; heard the white-breasted nuthatch sing his +spring-song, "Quee-quee-quee," as a Christmas carol for us; met a red +fox trotting sedately through the snow, and altogether had a most +adventurous day. That evening I was reading in front of the fire when +from Sergeant Henny-Penny's room came an S.O.S. "Fathie, come quick, +there's a nangel flyin' around my room," he called. + +I hurried, for angels flying or sitting are rarely scored on my +bird-lists. When I reached the room, Henny-Penny had burrowed so far +under the bedclothes that it seemed doubtful if he would ever reach +the surface again. When I switched on the light, at first I could see +nothing, and I began to be afraid that the "nangel" had escaped +through the open window. Finally on the picture-moulding I spied the +celestial visitor. It was a screech owl of the red phase,--they may be +either red or gray,--and when I came near it snapped its beak +fiercely, to the terror of the Sergeant under the clothes. With a +quick jump I managed to catch it. At first it puffed up its feathers +and pretended to be very fierce, but at last it snuggled into my hand +and was with difficulty persuaded to fly out again into the cold +night. + +[Illustration: NO ADMITTANCE PER ORDER, MR. SCREECH OWL] + +Another singer of the night is of course the whip-poor-will. When I +lived farther out in the country than I do now, for two successive +years I was awakened at two o'clock in the morning by a whip-poor-will +passing north and singing in the nearby woods. The third year he broke +all records by alighting on my lawn at sunset in late April. There, +under a pink dogwood tree which stood like a statue of spring, he sang +for ten minutes. Only once before have I ever heard a whip-poor-will +sing in the daylight. Once at high noon in the pine-barrens, one burst +out so loud and ringingly that the pine warbler stopped his trilling +and the prairie warbler his seven wire-thin notes which run up the +scale. It was as uncanny as when the Lone Wolf gave tongue to the +midnight hunting chorus for Mowgli, at the edge of the jungle by day. + +Now, when I live nearer civilization, and alas! farther from the +birds, I have to travel far to hear whip-poor-wills. One hour and +eleven minutes from my office in time, thirty-seven miles in space, +but a whole life away in peace and happiness and rest, I have a little +cabin in the heart of the barrens. There in spring I sleep swinging in +a hammock above a great bush of mountain-laurel, ghost-white against +the smoky water of the stream. + +Below me in the marsh, where the pitcher-plants bloom among the sweet +pepper and blueberry bushes, is a pitch-pine sapling bent almost into +a circle. Sometimes my friends cut exploration paths through the bush +or, in the winter, search for firewood, but no one is ever allowed to +touch that bent tree. There some spring night, as a little breeze, +heavy with the scent of white azalea and creamy magnolia blossoms, +sways me back and forth, from the bent tree showing dimly in the +moonlight through the tree-trunks, the whip-poor-will perches himself, +lengthwise always, and sings and sings. Through the dark rings his +hurried stressed song, with the accent heavy on the first syllable. +The singer is always afraid that some one may stop him before he +finishes, and he hurries and hurries with a little click between the +triads. At exactly eight o'clock, and again at just two in the +morning, he sings there. Up in the mountains, where we once found the +whip-poor-will's two lustrous eggs lying like great spotted pearls on +a naked bed of leaves, he sings at eight, at ten, and at three. Some +people dislike the song. To me the wild lonely voice of the unseen +singer pealing out in the dark has a strange fascination. + +There are certain bird-notes that strike strange chords whose +vibrations are lost in a mist of dreams. I remember a little runaway +boy, who stood in a clover field in a gray twilight and heard the +clanging calls of wild geese shouting down from mid-sky. Frightened, +he ran home a vast distance--at least the width of two fields. As he +ran, there seemed to come back to him the memory of a forgotten dream, +if it were a dream, in which he lay in another land, on a chill +hillside. Overhead in the darkness passed a burst of triumphant music, +and the strong singing of voices not of this earth. From that day the +trumpet-notes of the wild geese bring back through the fog of the +drifting years that same dream to him who heard them first in that +far-away, long-ago clover field. A few years ago there was a night of +April storm. Until midnight the house creaked and rattled and +clattered under a screaming gale. Then the wind died down, and a dense +fog covered the streets of the little town. Suddenly overhead sounded +the clang and clamor of a lost flock of geese that circled and +quartered over the house back and forth through the mist. That night +the dream came back so vividly that, even after the dreamer awoke, he +seemed to feel the cold dew of that hillside and hear an echo of the +singing voices. + +It was only a few months ago that this same dreamer found himself on +the shore of Delaware Bay, with the three friends who had gone +adventuring with him for so many happy years. In the middle of a maze +of woods and swamps shrouded in clouds of low-lying mist, they found +at last the nest of the bald eagle for which they were searching. It +was in the top of a towering sour-gum tree, and the great birds +circled around, giving futile little cries that sounded like the +squeaking of a slate pencil. As it was too misty to photograph the +nest and the birds, the party started off exploring until the light +became better. + +Following the song of a fox sparrow, the dreamer became separated from +the others in the mist, and after plashing through half-frozen +morasses, found himself on the barren shore of the bay itself. As he +stood there, with the white mist curling around him like smoke, from +the sea came a clamor of voices. Nearer and nearer it swept, until a +wild trumpeting sounded not thirty feet above his head. Around and +around the clanging chorus swept, while, stare as he would, he could +not spy even a feather of the flock so close above him. At the sound +the years rolled back. Once again he was in the clover field in the +gray twilight. Once again, on a far-away hillside, he heard that other +chorus of his dreams. For a moment, in the lonely mist by the sea, he +had a strange illusion that the life of which that cold hillside was a +memory was the reality, and the present the dream. + + * * * * * + +It takes five years to understand Eskimo. It takes a long lifetime to +learn bird-language. At any time, in any place, the collector of +bird-notes may hear an unknown bird or a strange song from a known +bird. Wherefore let no ornithologist vaunt himself. He may be able to +distinguish between the song of the purple finch and the warbling +vireo, or the chestnut-sided warbler, the redstart, and the yellow +warbler, and then hear some common bird, like the Maryland +yellow-throat, sing a song which he has never heard before and may +never hear again; or an oven bird, or even a phoebe, rise to the +ecstasy of a flight-song which no more resembles their everyday +measure than water resembles wine. + +Early in my experience as a bird-student, I learned to walk humbly. It +happened on this wise. I had been invited to spend my summer at a +Sanitarium for Deserted Husbands. Said retreat was maintained by a +noble-hearted benefactor in a vast, rambling cool house, bordered on +three sides by dense woods. The day of my arrival I was approached by +one of the older inmates, who, with false and flattering tongue, +praised my scanty knowledge of bird-ways, and made me promise to teach +him the different bird-songs as he heard them from the house. + +Early the next morning, as I lay in bed, there sounded a strange song. +It seemed to come from a tree at the other end of the house and +possessed a peculiar rippling, gurgling timbre. A minute or so later +my new acquaintance rushed in and seemed much pained that I did not +know the singer. Thereafter my life was burdened by that song. +Occasionally it sounded in the early morning, when I wanted to sleep +but was awakened by my enthusiastic disciple. Another time I would +hear it in the evening. One day it would come from the house, and +again from the edge of the woods. Yet, skulk and peer and listen as I +would, I could never locate the singer or identify the song. + +The revelation came one Sunday morning, as two of us were breakfasting +on the terrace close to the house. Suddenly that vile song began. It +seemed to come from near the top of a tree by the farther end of the +house. I rushed to the place, my napkin flapping as I ran. By the time +I reached the tree, the song came from the opposite side of the house. +Back I hastened, only to find that the bird had once more flitted to +the other side. I hurried there, but again that bird was gone, and a +moment later sang from the farthest end of the house. Three separate +times I circled the place, with the singer and the song always just +ahead of me. It was only when I noticed that my companion at breakfast +had fallen forward on the table overcome by emotion, that I began to +suspect the worse. I hid behind a tree and waited. A moment later I +saw the alleged bird-enthusiast, clothed in preposterous pink pajamas, +and blowing false and fluting notes on a tin bird-whistle, the silly +kind that children fill with water and blow through. I have not yet +been able to live down that bird-song. + + * * * * * + +When I was a boy, there were four of us who always hunted and fished +and tramped and explored together. We never supposed that anything +could separate us. Yet the years have blown us apart, and we go +adventuring together no more. Alone of that quartette I am left to +follow the trail that seemed in those days to have no ending. The same +years, however, have made me some amends. Once again there are four of +us who spend all our holidays in the open. We collect orchids and +bird-songs, and find new birds and nests, and quest far among the +wild-folk in our search for secrets and adventures. Sometimes we go +south, and become acquainted with blue-gray gnatcatchers and +prothonotary warblers and summer tanagers and mocking-birds and blue +grosbeaks, and other birds which we never see here. Sometimes we +explore lonely islands hidden in a maze of sand-bars, and discover +where the terns and the laughing gulls nest; or we find wonderful +things waiting for us on mountain-tops or hidden among morasses and +quaking bogs. + +Two years ago we decided to follow Spring north. First we welcomed as +usual the spring migrants and the spring flowers in April and May. +When the sky-pilgrims had passed on, and the lush growth of summer +began to show, we traveled northwards to the top of Mount Pocono, the +highest mountain of our state, and found Spring waiting for us there. +The apple blossoms were just coming out and the woods were sweet with +trailing arbutus. There we found the nests of the yellow-bellied and +alder fly-catchers, solitary vireos, and black-throated blue and +Canada and Blackburnian warblers. As once more Summer followed hard on +our heels, we took passage and traveled to a lonely camp in northern +Canada. The second day of our trip we overtook Spring again, and were +traveling through amethyst masses of rhodora and woods white with the +shad-blow. At last the apple orchards were not yet in flower, and for +the third time that year we found ourselves among the cherry blossoms. + +We never stopped until we reached a lonely bay far to the north. The +sun was westering well down the sky when at last we crowded into a +creaking buckboard for a ten-mile drive. The air was full of strange +bird-songs. From the fields came a little song that began like a +feeble song sparrow and ended in a buzz. It was the Savannah sparrow, +which I had seen every year in migration, but had never before heard +sing. At the first bend in the road we came to a bit of marshland so +full of unknown bird-notes that we stopped to explore. From the edge +of the sphagnum bog came a loud explosive song--"Chip, chip, chippy, +chippy, chippy, chippy!" The singer was a greenish-colored bird, light +underneath, with a white line through the eye, and looked much like a +red-eyed vireo except that it had a warbler beak, the which it opened +to a surprising width as it sang. It was none other than the Tennessee +warbler, so rare a bird in my part of the world that even to see one +in migration was then an event. Here it was one of the commonest birds +of that whole region. + +Then I stalked a strange vireo-song, something like the monotonous +notes of the red-eyed vireo, but softer and with a different cadence. +I finally found the singer in a little thicket, and studied it for +some ten minutes not six feet away. For the first time in my life I +had seen and heard the smallest and rarest of all the six vireos, the +Philadelphia, so named because it is never by any chance found in +Philadelphia. Its tininess and the pale yellow upper breast shading +into white were noticeable field-marks. To me it seemed a tame, dear, +beautiful little bird. + +Just at starlight we reached the camp, and I fell asleep to the weird +notes of unknown water-birds passing down the river through the +darkness. Followed a week of unalloyed happiness. Each day, from +before dawn until long after dark, we met strange birds and found new +nests and listened to unknown bird-songs. One morning we heard a loud +yap from a dead maple-stub. On its side grew what seemed to be an +orange-colored fungus. As we came nearer, it proved to be the head of +a male Arctic three-toed woodpecker, who wears an orange patch on his +forehead and shares with his undecorated spouse the pains and +pleasures of incubation. As we came nearer, he flew out of the nest, +showing his jet-black back and white throat, and fed unconcernedly up +and down the tree, even when we climbed to where we could look down at +the five ivory-white eggs he had been brooding. + +Later on we were to learn how favored above all other ornithologists +we had been, in that within one short week we had found such almost +unknown nests as those of the Arctic three-toed woodpecker, the yellow +palm, the bay-breasted, and the Tennessee warbler. We learned the +jingling little song of the yellow palm warbler, who has a +maroon-colored head, a yellow breast, and twitches his tail like a +water thrush. Another new song was the "Swee, swee, swee" of the +bay-breasted warbler, who wears a rich sombre suit of black and +bay. Over on the shore we heard the plaintive piping of the +brownish-gray-and-white piping plover, who ran ahead of us and was +hard to see against the sand. Right beside my foot I found one of the +nests, a little hollow in the warm sand, lined with broken shells, +containing four eggs, the color of wet sand all spotted with black and +gray. + +All through the woods we heard a strange wild, ringing song much like +that of the Carolina wren. "Chick-a-ree, chick-a-ree, chick-a-ree, +chick" it sounded. Then between the songs the bird sang another like a +rippling laugh, and then for variety had a note which went "Chu, chu, +chu" like a fish-hawk. It was some time before we found that these +three songs all came from the same bird, and it was much longer before +we learned the singer's name. For days and days we searched the woods +without a glimpse of him. We found at last that he was none other than +the ruby-crowned kinglet, that tiny bird with a concealed patch of +flame-colored feathers on the top of his head, who sings so +brilliantly as he passes through the Eastern states in the spring. Not +once during that week did we hear the intricate warble which is the +kinglet's spring song. Evidently this talented performer has a +different repertoire for his home engagement from that which he uses +while on the road. + +One of the most beautiful songs of that week I heard in the middle of +a marsh, up to my knees in muck, water, and sphagnum moss. Around me +grew wild callas, with their single curved dead-white petals and +pussy-toes, grasses topped with what looked like little dabs of warm +brown fur. I was painstakingly searching through the wet moss and +tangled reeds for the little hidden jewel-caskets of the +yellow-bellied flycatcher, Lincoln finch, Wilson, Tennessee, and +yellow palm warblers. I had just found my fourth yellow palm warbler's +nest, all lined with feathers, and with its four eggs like flecked +pink pearls, the nest itself so cunningly concealed in a mass of moss +and marsh-grass that the discovery of each one seemed a miracle that +would never happen again. + +Suddenly, out of a corner of my eye, I caught sight of a tiny movement +under the drooping boughs of a little spruce half hidden in a tangle +of moss. There crouched a little brown rabbit, not even half-grown, +but yet old enough to have learned that maxim of the rabbit-folk--when +in danger sit still! Not a muscle of his taut little body quivered +even when I touched him, save only his soft brown nose. That was +covered with mosquitoes, and even to save his life Bunny could not +keep from wrinkling it. It was this tiny movement that had betrayed +him. I brushed away the mosquitoes and was watching him hop away +gratefully to another cover, when down from mid-sky came a rippling +whinnying note as if from some far-away aeolian harp. As I looked, a +speck showed against the blue, which grew larger and larger, and into +sight volplaned a Wilson snipe, the driven air whining and beating +against its wings in little waves of music, and we had added to our +collection of bird-music the famous wing-song of the Wilson snipe, +even rarer than the strange flight-song of the woodcock. + +A little later one of my friends found our first olive-backed thrush's +nest, lined with porcupine-hair and black rootlets, and containing +blue eggs blotched with brown. Just beyond the nest I heard what I +thought was a gold-finch singing "Per-chickery, per-chickery." The +song was so loud that I stopped to investigate, and to my delight +found that the singer was a pine grosbeak, all rose-red against a dark +green spruce. All around us magnificent olive-sided flycatchers +shouted from their tree-tops, "Hip! three cheers! Hip! three cheers!" +and we heard the listless song of the beautiful Cape May warbler, with +its yellow and black under-parts and orange-brown eye-patch and black +crown. "Zee, zee, zee, zip," it sang, something like the song of the +blackpoll warbler, but lacking the high, glassy, crystalline notes of +that white-cheeked bird. + +I was responsible for the last bird-song which appears on the lists of +my three friends--but not on mine. We were to start back for +civilization the next morning, and I was walking along the river-bank +in the late twilight, while my more industrious and scientific +companions were writing up their notes and compiling lists of +everything seen and heard on our trip. Through the windows of the +gun-room I could see their learned backs as they bent over their +compilations. Suddenly the eerie little wail of a screech owl floated +up from the river-bank. Curiously enough, it came from the very tree +behind which I was crouching. Instantly I saw three backs straighten +and three heads peer excitedly out into the darkness. When I at last +strolled in half an hour later, they told me excitedly that they had +scored the first screech owl ever heard in that particular part of +Canada. I never told them. It is not safe to trifle with the feelings +of a scientific ornithologist. Undoubtedly my reticence in regard to +that particular bird-song is all that has saved me from occupying a +lonely grave in upper Canada. + + * * * * * + +Sweetest of all the singers, the thrush-folk--what shall I say of +them? of the veery, with its magic notes; of the hermit thrush whose +song opens the portals of another world; of the dear wood thrush who +sings at our door. While these three voices are left in the world, +there are recurrent joys that nothing can take from us. + +It was the veery song that I learned first. More years ago than I like +to remember, I walked at sunrise by a thicket, listening to bird-songs +and wondering whether there was any way by which I might come to learn +the names of the singers. One song rippled out of that thicket that +thrilled me with its strange unearthly harp-chords. "Ta-wheela, +ta-wheela, ta-wheela," it ran weirdly down the scale, and strangely +enough, was at its best at a distance and in the dusk or the early +moonlight. I was to learn later that the singer was the veery or +Wilson thrush. That was many years ago, but I have loved the bird from +that day. Once I found its nest set in the midst of a dark +rhododendron swamp; and as the mother bird slipped like a tawny shadow +from the wondrous blue eggs gleaming in the dusk, from nearby vibrated +the whirling ringing notes of its mate. Again, on a tussock in Wolf +Island Marsh I found another; and as both birds fluttered around me +with the alarm note, "Pheu, pheu," the father bird whispered a strain +of his song, and it was as if the wind had rippled the music from the +waving marsh-grasses. + +In the dawn-dusk on the top of Mount Pocono I have listened to them +singing in the rain, and their song was as dreamy sweet as the +tinkling of the spring shower. The veery song is at its best by +moonlight. I remember one late May twilight coming down to the round +green circle of an old charcoal-pit, by the side of a little lake set +deep in the hills and fringed with the tender green of the opening +leaves. That day I had climbed Kent Mountain, and seen my first eagle, +and visited a rattlesnake den, and found a dozen or so nests, and +walked many dusty miles. It was nearly dark as I slipped off my +clothes and swam through the motionless water. The still air was sweet +with little elusive waves of perfume from the blossoms of the wild +grape. Over the edge of Pond Hill the golden rim of a full moon made +the faint green tracery of the opening leaves all show in a mist of +soft moonlight. As I reached the centre of the lake, from both shores +a veery chorus began. The hermit thrush will not sing after eight, but +the veery sings well into the dark, if only the moon will shine. That +night, as from the hidden springs of the lake the heart-blood of the +hills pulsed against my tired body, the veery songs drifted across the +water, all woven with moonshine and fragrance, until it seemed as if +the moonlight and the perfume, the coolness and the song were all one. + +Some April evening between cherry-blow and apple-blossom the wood +thrush comes back. I first hear his organ-notes from the beech tree at +the foot of Violet Hill. Down from my house beside the white oak I +make haste to meet him. In 1918, he came to me on May 3; in 1917 on +April 27; and in 1916 on April 30. He seems always glad to see me, yet +with certain reserves and withdrawings quite different from the +robins, who chirp unrestrainedly at one's very feet. His well-fitting +coat of wood-brown and soft white, dusked and dotted with black, +accord with the natural dignity of the bird. It is quite impossible to +be reserved in a red waistcoat. Some of my earliest and happiest +bird-memories are of this sweet singer. + +The wood thrush has a habit of marking his nest with some patch or +shred of white, perhaps so that when he comes back from his twilight +song he may find it the more readily. Usually the mark is a bit of +paper, or a scrap of cloth, on which the nest is set. Last winter I +was walking across a frozen marsh where in late summer the blue blind +gentian hides. The long tow-colored grass of the tussocks streamed out +before a stinging wind which howled at me like a wolf. I crept through +thickets to the centre of a little wood, until I was safe from its +fierce fingers among the close-set tree-trunks. There I found the +last-year's nest of a wood thrush built on a bit of bleached +newspaper. Pulling out the paper, I read on it in weather-faded +letters, "Votes for Women!" There was no doubt in my mind that the +head of that house was a thrushigist. That is probably the reason too +why Father Thrush takes his turn on the eggs. + +Once in the depths of a swamp in the Pocono Mountains I was hunting +for the nests of the northern water thrush, which is a wood-warbler +and not a thrush at all. That temperamental bird always chooses +peculiarly disagreeable morasses for his home. In the roots of an +overturned tree by the side of the deepest and most stagnant pool that +he can conveniently find, his nest is built, unlike his twin-brother, +the Louisiana water thrush, who chooses the bank of some lonely +stream. On that day, while ploughing through mud and water and +mosquitoes, I came upon a wood thrush's nest beautifully lined with +dry green moss, with a scrap of snowy birch-bark for its marker. + +The song of the wood thrush is a strain of woodwind notes, few in +number, but inexpressibly true, mellow, and assuaging. "Cool bars of +melody--the liquid coolness of a deep spring," is how they sounded to +Thoreau. "Air--o--e, air-o-u," with a rising inflection on the "e" and +a falling cadence on the "u," is perhaps an accurate phrasing of the +notes. Many of our singers give a more elaborate performance. The +brown thrasher, that grand-opera singer who loves a tree-top and an +audience, has a more brilliant song. Yet there are few listeners who +will prefer his florid, conscious style to the simple, appealing notes +of the wood thrush. Although his is perhaps the most beautiful strain +in our everyday chorus, to me the wood thrush does not rank with +either the veery or the hermit. His song lacks the veery's magic and +the ethereal quality of the hermit, and is marred by occasional +grating bass-notes. + +My own favorite I have saved until the very last. There is an +unmatchable melody in the song of the hermit thrush found in that of +no other bird. The olive-backed thrush has a hurried unrestful song, a +combination of the notes of the wood thrush and the veery. I have +never heard that mountain-top singer, the Bicknell thrush, or him of +the far North, the gray-cheeked, or the varied thrush of the West, but +from the description of their songs I doubt if any of them possess the +qualities of the hermit. + +As I write, across the ice-bound months comes the memory of that +spring twilight when I last heard the hermit thrush sing. I was +leaning against the gnarled trunk of a great beech, between two +buttressed roots. Overhead was a green mist of unfolding leaves, and +the silver and gray light slowly faded between the bare white boles +of the wood. A few creaking grackles rowed through the sky, and in the +distance crows cawed on their way to some secret roost. Down through +the air fell the alto sky-call of the bluebirds, and robins flocking +for the night whispered greetings to each other. Below me the brook +was full of voices. It tinkled and gurgled, and around the bend at +intervals sounded a murmur so human that at first I thought some other +wanderer had discovered my refuge. It was only, however, the +mysterious babble that always sounds at intervals when a brook sings +to a human. It was as if the water were trying to speak the listener's +language, and had learned the tones but not the words. Now and again +the wind sounded in the valley below; then passed overhead with a vast +hollow roar, so high that the spice-bush thicket which hid me hardly +swayed. + +I leaned back against the vast thews and ridged muscles of the beech, +one of the generations upon generations of men who pass like dreams +under its vast branches. One of my play-time fancies in the woods is +to hark back a hundred, two hundred, three hundred years, and try to +picture what trees and animals and men I might have met there then. +Another is to choose the tree on which my life-years are to depend. +Give up the human probabilities of life, and live as long or as short +as the tree of my choice. Of course it would be a lottery. The tree +might die, or be cut down, the year after I had made my bargain; and I +used to plan how I would secure and guard the bit of woodland where my +life-tree lived. Of all those that I met, this particular beech with +the centuries behind it and the centuries yet to come, was my special +choice, for the beech is the slowest growing of all our trees. This +one towered high overhead, while its roots plunged down deep into the +living waters and its vast girth seemed as if nothing could shake it. + +That evening, as I lay against it and bargained for a share of its +years, I thought that I felt the vast trunk move as if its life +reached out to mine. Life is given to the tree and to the mammal. Why +may they not meet on some common plane? Some one, some day, will learn +the secret of that meeting-place. + +So I dreamed, when suddenly in the twilight beyond my thicket a song +began. It started with a series of cool, clear, round notes, like +those of the wood thrush but with a wilder timbre. In the world where +that singer dwells, there is no fret and fever of life and strife of +tongues. On and on the song flowed, cool and clear. Then the strain +changed. Up and up with glorious sweeps the golden voice soared. It +was as if the wood itself were speaking. There was in it youth and +hope and spring and glories of dawns and sunsets and moonlight and the +sound of the wind from far away. Again the world was young and +unfallen, nor had the gates of Heaven closed. All the long-lost dreams +of youth came true--while the hermit thrush sang. + + + MCGRATH-SHERRILL PRESS + GRAPHIC ARTS BLDG. + BOSTON + + + + +Transcriber's note: + + +Archaic and inconsistent spelling and punctuation retained. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Everyday Adventures, by Samuel Scoville + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40919 *** |