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ALBERT R. MANN
LIBRARY

New York STATE COLLEGES
OF
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CORNELL UNIVERSITY

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Cornell University

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the United States on the use of the text.

http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924003019555

ANIMAL SNAPSHOTS

MMV] GATIVI-dzy aH,

ANIMAL SNAPSHOTS

AND HOW MADE

BY
SILAS A. LOTTRIDGE

Lllustrated with Photographs from Nature
by the Author

NEW YORK
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY

1905
2

Copyright, 190s, by HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY

Published October, 1905

To My Mother
This Book is A ffectionately —
Dedicated

PREFACE

WY ideal vacation is one that affords health-
ful pleasure not only for the time being
but for the remainder of the year—that

furnishes something to which I can turn for recrea-
tion and enjoyment after the working day is over.
An outing of this sort is a twofold luxury, and can
perhaps best be had in fields and woods that are
far from the distracting influences of the city. It
is here in the simple life of camping-vacations, where
the work of housekeeping is reduced to the essentials,
that I have learned the art of doing for myself what
I had previously supposed absolutely necessary to
have others do for me. A month of this sort of life
stimulates my muscles and gives me an appetite that
a boy might envy. And rest!—when Mother Nature
has her own way and presides over my sleep, then
indeed I rest until I feel like a new being.

For years I have spent my vacations in this ideal
way, photographing and studying our friends in fur

and feathers, in their native haunts. I enter into
vii

Vill Preface

their lives as much as possible, in order to know their
habits and wild ways—how they live, and how they
care for their young. This I have found to be an
endless and ever-increasing source of both knowledge
and enjoyment.

In the sketches to follow, I have attempted to make
the photographs as far as possible illustrate the facts.
The pictures were not made specially for each sketch,
but have been selected from those best suited for
the purpose. It should be borne in mind that it
has taken years to make some of the series, such,
for example, as the illustrations for the muskrat
and woodchuck.

The text is a simple narrative concerning the birds
and mammals that I have come to know a little about,
and there is no attempt at a display of technical
knowledge. The facts are all from my own observa-
tions and experiences, except in a few instances where
I have drawn upon trustworthy sources.

I hope that both sketches and pictures may help
to extend living interest in the animals about us; and
I would urge our young people, especially, to make
a closer study of them in the woods and fields, for
it will surely add greatly to their health, pleasure,
and knowledge. It will also spread the popular
interest in birds and animals awakened within the

Preface ix

last few years, which has accomplished considerable
in the way of protection, especially among the birds.
This has been brought about largely through the
influences of clubs and societies that have been formed
for the purpose of studying wild life.

I am under obligations to various landowners
for the privilege of tramping about their fields, and
in many instances for valuable assistance. To the
boys, also, who have helped me in so many ways
I extend sincere thanks; for without them some of
my best pictures would never have been possible. I
am under special obligations to Miss Caroline E.
Alden for literary criticism and reviewing, and to
Mr. Edward H. Dutcher for many valuable sug-
gestions as to text and arrangement.

Thanks are due the proprietors of St. Nicholas
and Field and Stream for permission to republish
articles which have appeared in those magazines.

East Orance, N. J.,
March, 1905.

CONTENTS

PART I

MAMMALS
PAGE
THE CAMERA AND ITS ACCESSORIES, ..........-0c0ececeuse I
WOODCHUCR) gi ictentisracs grail sug aS Masle-s Sectn dcauautly Gooadeente caro 15
SEUNE, is eceng dia Wecksmad sida ana eoanaton te ccwumivawese 31
RACCOON} Si2cwietin ds ie adiadee saicnondims Seinneatie dy eeuecnievees Ds 46
OPOSSUDE sesed wanaretniaine ensue ectaesn\cestagreslase soece amp ibiraiapice Secs cs 64
MUSE RAT op 5 cet agecleon tina # etme RHARS Once acaiaWaiaeactealbe 76
OX: socom ee eed. vane Aidhol gov. eaeduane. 8 beaeh atlas aod baislaauak 95
PHOTOGRAPHING A WILD FOX..........0. ccc eee e ee eee eens I1I
WHITE-FOOTED MOUSE, . ........ cece cece eeceecseeecseens 124
GRAY SQUIRREL 6 wie aieedenicen ve tan were e edewiddan eoewnane 133
RED SQUIRREL 9664 62a 8 esie sce ¥gudiacosivow ode ipmaite de e eeas 150
PLVING SQUIRBEDE sscxacneiiig Sauvek ea asec ema tardonded wo iglens 162

PART II

BIRDS

MIGRATION OF BIRDS... 0.0.1 ccc eee eee ete eeeeeens 177
BEUEBIRD jgiaisvie gages srcieuah acne arate vice aaislataer = d eeralaiaae tea 193
ROBING » ean prs eeaes cee ense yee ee ees co ae Red Yee eeaeTE ss 205
Way THE RosBIN’s BREAST IS RED.........------- eee e eee 213
CHIMNEY: SWIET, 5. ase escuela sae acing Vad nd eae ee eaeaned wis 215
BOBOUINKS: 2.:\npad sou add sone egat Medyro kane es outsides eet iishom 224
WOODCOEE.. 2a.0c2seusadeisecice ss se erwog aes beseees pe ede 236
CRO WSi ia sais eaters 2 arecctbinay a aed aaanbv wr naal oayaunbonaiats, arevacyadases haeeteotys 249
QED) WHITE WANG os side ieceecswesaetia Nae eeeavnnnns/ Gi weRee TG Ee 267
GREeat HORNED OWl. 2 was ticnanee beers sheers eaueien ne eeesy 288
SCREECH (OWL wn. Aided tbs coum aired we OG AORN AER eae 304
THe “HEN Hawk” anp How Ir was PHOTOGRAPHED...... 316
SPARROW HAWK: ¢ 42s 44sass omnaar dsenarire ns arenmga rs a 327

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGE
THE RED-TAILED HAWK. ...... .ee cece ee eeeee ..... Frontispiece
THE GRAPHIC, WITH RELEASE APPARATUS, ....... Hwee ccs 3
THe TILTING TRIPOD IN USE......... 00. cece cece eens er)
NatuRE’s BRIDGE FOR HER FOUR-FOOTED CHILDREN... .... 14
THE SUMMER HoME OF THE WOODCHUCK.............. eeee 16
ON: THE: LOOKOUT: o.0 222s dung Nees dope ERE ES Shaws a pee Wi 19
THe Morw#er LISTENING FOR UNUSUAL SOUNDS............ 23
THE MoTHER WOODCHUCK ON THE FENCE... .-..eeeeeeee8 27
THEY FEEL) ASUEEP 5. 00:4 sags vies leew vk. as abeee + eam 30
TLHE; SEUNE 6.0 cies aaau cs eevee dea sawn ean sine ees wae 98
THE REAR ONE OF THE LINE....... 0 cece ete c eee e eee eee 43
RACCOON CREEK. ...- 60+ cece ee cence 3d ha Wiaetsanaee SS 0G is 51
(PHE! RACCOON: 2.505 c.cda.t tae Gesesra peeele obs ws aeeEEh Pate ae 59
“PLAYING "POSSUM? s..45 54 sis0Ge os ROG eue es Cea R OEE Eee 63
A CHARACTERISTIC POSE, ... ce eeee eect eee e eee e een eeneees 67
A CHICKEN-HOUSE’ THIEF, 0.0. sees cece erence ceececeeeaces 69
FEASTING ON EGGS.....-...2.0ececeeeeees cede yaoaeee ace Ae 41
“O Lorp, UNCLE ROBERT, A ’POSSUMI”’........0+0e0++ iaae 93
“DE ’POSSUM AND DE COON”... cee ee eeeee eee ee eee teneees 14
AN IDEAL MUSKRAT COUNTRY, ..---+ 0 esse eee cence rene eees 79
THE WINTER LODGE, «cos cc cs ceee casas ceeine see eeebaeeeea 81
A Burrow EXPOSED SHOWING A FEW APPLES STORED FOR
WINTERS peice ec vine Ades senate manana sol dao avtionee eG aS 84
A Trap BAITED FOR MUSKRAT. .. ..--see reece cere reecenee 87
MUSKRAT RECLINING ON THE LOG... 12. - eee e reece eee naee go
SWIMMING, . 2.00. ee cece ee eet nee e nese eens eeees 92
A MuskRAT STREAM IN WINTER. ....0 ee eee eee eee ee ee enee 93
~A TYPICAL FOX COUNTRY. 0.0... ec ee cece eee e tet ete eeanee 95

xili

Xiv List of Illustrations

PAGE
AN INTERESTED FOX. ee cscs cee ccc c cece cnet nner enenes 97
Tue DREAM OF THE WILD FOX........00 0c eee eee eee 107
THE STONE WALL WHERE THE Doc Lost THE TRAIL....... 120
THE Fox WATCHING THE HOUND........--00 0 0c ee eee eee
WHITE-FOOTED MOUSE... 0.2.0: ccc ccc e ccc e eee n eee e ene nes
THE NEST OF THE WHITE-FOOTED MOUSE.................

THe Gray SQUIRREL FOREST IN WINTER....
IN ‘PHE ORCHARD? 0 ciscce bs ace srecsdierd ode @unesece ae wlan

FLYING SQUIRREL... ... 00sec cee eee Rie RRM O A teeSrotads snes
Tur Home oF THE FLYING SQUIRREL..........
NEsT AND EGGS OF THE SONG SPARROW. .....- 00sec eens
Ty WINTER: ix oer as ames deere eeaem ens ies eae ees 244 dae 177
SECTION REMOVED SHOWING INTERIOR WITH NEST AND EGGS. 193
THE “BLUEBIRD BOX”’.........--.+0005- 2 tihivala baave sete oinine 195
SECTION REMOVED SHOWING MICROPHONE. ............ .++ 197
THE BLUEBIRD TREES « savas cceea teen eo seaw cus au salou 201
ROBIN ON HER NEST: «os ¢ swe te e4 ee cine eee eck ome yy eesa an 208
Younc RoBins THIRTEEN DAYS OLD........... 000 eee 212
THE FEEDING-GROUND OF THE CHIMNEY SWIFT............ 215
NEST AND YOUNG OF THE CHIMNEY SWIFT... ....-----+045 220
THE NESTING-PLACE OF THE BOBOLINK...........- 2 heb SS ES 224
Nest AND EGGS OF THE BOBOLINK. .........00sceeeeeeeeee 220
THE LAND OF THE WOODCOCK..........00. cece cence enue 239
Tae Woopcock—FirsT, SECOND, AND THIRD PHOTOGRAPHS, 243
es os FOURTH AND FIFTH PHOTOGRAPHS, ......- 247
OUI ease vd ae eepedierreak Make ey ssy eeu ceaseaaeess toad 263
“Otp WaHirE Winc.” (MOUNTED)................004. ... 269
ENTRANCE TO THE LITTLE RAVINE, ..........000 esse eeeas 275
“Op WHITE WING” AND HIS BAND. (DRAWING).......... 281
DeatH oF “OLD WHITE WING.” (DRAWING),............ 285
THe GREAT HORNED OWL............. Wey seas RamE fea 4 290
AN UNusuAL NESTING-PLACE. ........-..00.00005 spate feds 293
Tue GREAT HornED OwL WATCHING THE DoG........... 301
YOUNG SCREECH OWLS... 0... eee cece eee eee aeiasic baa 306°
“BILLY AND BETTY”, o sce si<u «pages eg va gape ne eae RR SS 311
BILLy WONDERING WuHatT THE Fuss Was ABOUT........... 315

THE HOME AND FEEDING-GROUND OF THE RED-TAILED HawK.. 319
LOOKING THE SITUATION OVER. ... 1.6.62. 323

List of Illustrations xv

PAGE
ATTENTION: co's wea hes Vallteitie Sark wedi On ce cierouaialadiae wccaumnn ee 327
SPARROW FLA WE io. ca6.b.0 ib iieisere cece abies aioe Pn na and eo w, le ear ee 328
FEEDING-GROUND OF THE SPARROW HAWK...............-- 331
FLICKER STUBS AND SPARROW HAWK STUBS.............0.5 335

Younc SPARROW HAWKS. ....... 0s ce eeeseeeeee eee eeeneeee 337

THE CAMERA AND ITS
ACCESSORIES

WIITAT kind of a camera do you use in
making your animal pictures?” This

question I have. been asked more than
any other concerning my avocation in the fields and
woods. As the camera is only one of the essentials,
I will endeavor to describe not only the instrument,
but also its accessories. However, let me hasten to
add that this is not for the expert, but is intended
only for those who are just starting in pursuit of
healthful recreation, and familiarity with the organic
creation about them.

It is quite as difficult for the novice to know what
to buy as it is to photograph many of our wild animals;
for most supply houses know nothing about what is
necessary in actual work. I will cite one instance
illustrating this point: It was not long ago that I was
standing in one of our large reliable supply houses
waiting for an order to be filled, when a lady entered
and approached the counter. A callow youth came

2 The Camera and its Accessories

forward to wait upon her, and she explained that she
wished a photographic outfit suitable to make life-
size pictures of flowers, insects, and various natural-
history objects, all of which were small. The “sales-
man” advised a front-draw camera 5X7, with long
bellows and a wide-angle lens, to be used as a sort
of hand camera, without a tripod. The outfit
amounted to about forty dollars, but for the purpose
that it was intended to serve it was worthless; twenty-
five dollars rightly expended would have purchased a
good working outfit.

I will not weary the novice with an account of the
various cameras used by myself, but will describe
the one which I most frequently employ for all-
around work. This camera is known as the Graphic,
and is a 5X7. My reasons for using this make are
based upon my varied experiences in the field and
woods. In it the first requirement of the camera
is admirably fulfilled—it is put together to stay; even
a little rain and several tumbles from trees have not
as yet sent it to the repair-shop. Some of the other
essentials that I prize highly are the long bellows,
reversible back, falling front, swing-back, and clamps
that hold when set. The platforms are particularly
strong and steady, owing to hinges that extend their
whole width. This is of the greatest importance,

The Camera and its Accessories 3

since, as far as possible, all vibration must be over-
come.

Upon the advantages of the front and rear draw,
and of the swing-back, I wish to speak more in detail.
When an object is to be photographed life-size, the
lens should be clamped in a certain-position and the

Tue GRAPHIC, WITH RELEASE APPARATUS

focusing done at the rear. Otherwise you will find
yourself doing two things simultaneously, which in
this case is not practical; increasing your image in

size, and, at the same time, attempting to sharpen it.

4 The Camera and its Accessories

With only a front focus, it very often means chang-
ing the position of the tripod from one to three times,
which is of course disastrous to quick and accurate
manipulation. The swing-back should be used more
than it is usually, especially for near-by pictures, as
the objects themselves are often not “plumb” with
the plate. This condition occurs very frequently in
photographing birds’ nests or other objects on or
near the ground. I recommend the swing-back to
the beginner. Do not purchase a field camera with-
out it, and, having it, consider it not as an ornament,
but as a most’ useful accessory. In photographing
a nest on the ground, one quarter or one half its
natural size; the portion nearest the lens is so near,
while the opposite side is so far away, that a small
diaphragm must be used, and consequently a long
exposure to obtain a sharp image. This is not de-
sirable; for a harsh negative may be the result.
Moreover, if the object has life it probably will not
remain quiet for so long an exposure, and a worthless
blurred negative is the result. By the use of the
swing-back, the long exposure and the lack of detail
on one side of the negative may be largely overcome
with a medium stop; for it must be remembered
that moving the swing-back out of the vertical in-
creases the distance from the lens to one edge of

The Camera and its Accessories 5

the plate, while the distance to the other edge is de-
creased. This will have a tendency to sharpen the
whole plate equally, producing a more uniform nega-
tive in less time.

In purchasing a lens, there are several absolutely
essential things to be considered—perfect definition,
depth of focus, covering capacity, and speed. Begin-
ner, beware of making the mistake of attempting to
economize by using a small lens! If a 4X5 lens will
make a certain picture in one second, with the dia-
phragm at F 16, a 5X7 will do it better and in less
time, for it is using the centre of the lens. I use on
my F and S Graflex 4X5 a 7Xo lens.

A long-focus lens is desirable for animal photog-
raphy, because the greater the length of focus, the
larger will be the image, and the less the distortion.

For several years I have used a Goerz lens, series
III, and for all-around work I have found nothing
superior, although in some of the new ‘series there
are probably better lenses. My lens has an equiva-
lent focus of ten and three-quarter inches; but by
using the front lens alone, I have a focus of about
seventeen inches. This is of great importance to
the field photographer; for with the shorter focus at
the distance of sixty feet, an object twenty inches
high forms an image half an inch in height; while

6 The Camera and its Accessories

with the second focus at the same distance from the
object, the image is three-quarters of an inch in height.
Many times I find it of great assistance to use the
longer focus, especially when coaxing some timid
animal into position to be: photographed.

If it were simply an increase in the size of the image,
it could. be obtained with the telephoto attachment.
Within the last few years there has been a great deal
of literature upon this subject, and one might be
led to believe that with the purchase of a good tele-
photo the difficulties in photographing wild animals
-would suddenly vanish. A telephoto may be ad-
justed to almost any lens, the magnification usually
‘varying from two to six diameters; but its use in
animal photography in general is very limited, and
principally for this reason—that the length of the
exposure is increased. The telephoto can be used
where an absolutely solid foundation for the camera
to rest upon may be secured, for the least vibration
‘will ruin the picture. It will probably be some time
before the telephoto will be perfected so as to be-
come a practical apparatus for animal photographers.

In using a quick lens and for all snapshot work it
is absolutely necessary to make the exposures by
means of a shutter. Most shutters are in connection
with the lens barrel, but the focal plane is not, and

The Camera and its Accessories 7

of this I will speak later in connection with the Graflex
camera. I use the Iris Diaphragm Shutter for want
of a better one. There are others, such as the Sector
and Volute. These three are probably among the
best shutters; but even these are not by any means
‘perfect. The one with the greatest speed is so deli-
cate in its construction that it is not to be depended
upon. The so-called uniform and reliable action of
these shutters is not always trustworthy. One of
‘the principal difficulties with the Iris Diaphragm
Shutter is that the greatest efficiency of the light can-
‘not be utilized, on account of the mechanical construc-
tion of the shutter. This.is probably true of most
-shutters whose openings are controlled by “leaves.”
The smaller the opening in the diaphragm, the longer
-will be the exposure; but to compensate for this,
-there is an increase in depth of focus, and greater
covering capacity of the lens. Such numbers as
F 4, F 8, F 16, and F 32 mean, practically, that if
the right exposure with a certain light for F 8 is one
second, F 16 will require two seconds, and F 32 four
seconds. In general, the smaller. the opening in the
diaphragm, the sharper will be the negative;, but the
really artistic effects can. only. be produced by the
_larger openings which impart to the picture a softness

very pleasing to the eye.

8 The Camera and its Accessories

From the lens and the shutter let us turn our atten-
tion to the other end of the bellows, for here we meet
with no little difficulty in the form of the plate-holder.
The unsuspecting are inveigled into purchasing a
light holder, because the weight of the outfit is thus
somewhat decreased. All such plate-holders as the
“Fairy” and the “Feather-weight” should have no
room in the closet of the real nature photographer.
They are toys, and should be treated as such—mere
jokes at the expense of the purchaser. I have ex-
perienced the saddest realities with such plate-holders,
as well as with slides that in sunlight were not light-
tight for half a minute. Certain compositions of
rubber and celluloid are probably the best for slides,
but these need careful treatment. Great care must
be exercised in the selection of plate-holders, and
even then they need careful watching; for parts that
are supposed to be automatic do not always work.

A very essential part of the field camera is what it
rests upon—the tripod. ‘The tripod that I have used
for some time is known as the “F and S crown tripod
number three.” Various parts of this I have rein-
forced with screws and metal. To many this may
seem unnecessary, but having seen two serious
mishaps to valuable cameras from the use of poor
frail tripods, I speak feelingly upon the subject.

The Camera and its Accessories 9

The excellent points about the tripod in question are:
the head is wide, thus affording a broad foundation

THE TILTING TRIPOD IN USE
for the camera, and is made of three pieces of wood
securely fastened together, to prevent warping and

to The Camera and its Accessories

splitting; metal-tipped sockets’ prevent loose joints;
and the expansion: brackets make it impossible: for
the legs to be detached from the head by any ordinary
accident. The crown tripod has a head of sufficient
size and strength to hold firmly a tilting tripod top.
I have made use of this attachment so often, and it
hag. been so valuable to me, that I strongly recommend
it
are may be tilted at any angle from the horizontal

'to all nature photographers. By aid of it the

to ininety degrees. It screws directly to the tripod
head, and the camera is fastened to it by means of
a thumb-screw. In fact, the tilting top is similar to
a double tripod head hinged at one side and capable
of being tilted and held in position by means of two
adjustable levers. The portability, compactness, and
solidity will at once suggest its usefulness to the
thoughtful field-worker.

So much, then, for the tripod camera; it has solidity
and weight, but it will do the work. You will grow
weary in carrying it up hill and through tangled
thickets, but it is as true in photography as in all
else that whatever of value is accomplished, in one
way or another an equivalent must be expended.

In animal photography it is often necessary to use
a hand camera; and I have found none equal to
the Graflex. The Graflex is the outcome of the “double-

The Camera and its Accessories 11

decker,” Reflex, and other similar cameras. It is
strongly made, requires but one lens, has the best
plate-holders that I have ever used, and a long bellows.
The image is in view up to the instant the exposure is
made. The focal-plane shutter gives great speed,
but as it uses the maximum quantity of light, “the
negative, under normal conditions, is well timed.

In writing this brief sketch of the camera and its
accessories, I have tried to keep in mind at all times
the real perplexities of the beginner. I hope that I
have made it sufficiently clear, so that the initial
expenditure will be in the right direction, and that
the purchaser will not be burdened either by unneces-
sary outlay or by useless apparatus.

PART I
MAMMALS

NaturReE’s BRIDGE FOR HER FOUR-FOOTED CHILDREN

THE WOODCHUCK

farmer boys and girls throughout the
Middle and Eastern States, for he is as
much a part of the farm as is the brook or the sugar-
bush.

In form he is far from graceful, especially in the

latter part of the summer when his body becomes
very fat and pouchy. The color of his fur varies from
a reddish brown to a grizzled gray or, occasionally,
black; while his teeth, like those of the squirrel and
prairie-dog, are strong and well adapted for cutting.

The woodchuck is of the earth earfhy, and there is
a peculiar odor about the place where he dwells, for
he lives not in the lap, but in the bosom, of Mother
Earth,—however his summer home may be in a wall
or stone-heap. The woodchuck of the present day
is rather inclined to desert the old home in the woods,
where he fed upon tender bark and roots of various
kinds, and become a dweller in the field near the
clover-patch and garden. Here he is so destructive

15

16 The Woodchuck

that he has become a special object of persecution by
the farmers, and from early spring until fall a con-

THE SumMMER HomE oF THE WOODCHUCK

tinual warfare is waged against him; some are trapped,
many are shot, and not a few are destroyed by the

farm dogs.

The Woodchuck 17

The trap is set at the entrance of the burrow, being
made fast to a stake which is driven into the ground.
_Woodchucks are more easily trapped in May or
June than later in the season, for during the former
months they are much oftener out in the open. .The
old ones frequently become very shy, especially those
living in meadows remote from the house, and having
their burrows in the edge of the woods. Sometimes
one of these woodchucks will spring a trap day after
day without being caught, or even dig around the
trap, much to the disgust of the farmer boy, who is
usually paid a bounty of ten cents for each “chuck”
caught.

After the grass has been mown the woodchucks
become much wilder, and it is at this time that the
“village sportsmen” betake themselves into the
country on leisure afternoons to indulge in the pastime
of shooting them.

The farm dog occasionally develops. great ability
in the capture of woodchucks. A certain old. dog
by the name of “Shep,” which belonged to a New
York State farmer, was a famous woodchuck hunter.
Aiter locating a woodchuck, Shep would watch his
movements for a little time, then, while the woodchuck
was feeding, she would move directly toward him.
Keeping her body close to the ground she would

18 The Woodchuck

stop instantly and lie very still whenever the wood- -. -
chuck raised himself on his haunches to look about
for danger. When Shep believed herself to be near
enough to the entrance of the burrow she would
make a dash for it. If she reached it first, there
was sure to be one woodchuck less to nibble the
fragrant clover.

No animal exerts less energy in the course of a
year than does the woodchuck. He feeds upon the
best in the meadow and occasionally the garden,
being particularly fond of the juicy peas and beans
and tender lettuce. Then as winter comes on for-
getting all care and worry he crawls into his burrow
and, like the bear, falls asleep, not to awaken until
the warm spring sunshine has touched with caressing
fingers the slumbering world of nature.

Some years ago while returning from the mill-pond ~
where I had been fishing through the ice for pickerel,
I came upon a man in the open field digging for a
skunk, which he had tracked into what seemed to be
a woodchuck’s burrow. As the man was evidently
very near his game I waited to learn the result. The
burrow branched, and. following one of the branches
the man came upon a little ball of fur, not the skunk
he was after, but a woodchuck fast asleep. He was
given to me and I took him home. When warmed

u
p
°
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fe)
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ss
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fe)

The Woodchuck 21

he slowly awoke, but soon fell asleep again because
Nature called for a longer nap,

Let us select a representative woodchuck family
and follow in a general way its career, from the time
the young are born until they are safely settled in
homes of their own. The cubs usually number four
or five, and the date of their birth is not far from
the tenth of May. The snug little chamber in which
they are born is located two or three feet under the
ground and contains a small cozy bed of dry grass
gathered the previous fall.

By the old rail fence just back of the orchard on
my father’s farm lived a woodchuck family. The
mother introduced herself one bright warm morning
in the latter part of May, just as old Rover and I were
starting out for a day’s fishing. The shrill whistle
she gave was enough of a challenge for any boy and
dog. So off we started full tilt in the direction of
the sound. Of course Rover arrived first on the
scene of action, and when I got there he stood thrust-
ing his nose in at the entrance of the burrow, wagging
his tail vigorously and giving utterance to the short
quick yelps so characteristic of a shepherd dog. The
burrow gave evidence of constant use, and for a
moment my attention was divided between the in-
terests of hunting and fishing. However, as my game

22 Fhe Woodchuck

was in a convenient spot I decided to leave it for
some future day’s sport and make sure of, the fish.
It was not so.easy to bring Rover to my way of think-
ing, but I finally coaxed him away from the fascinating
spot.

Fascinating indeed it surely proved to be to me,
and more than one day’s sport I got out of that little
burrow. I took care, however, that Rover didn’t go
with me when I made my visits and, instead of digging
out the inmates boy-fashion, I waited for them to
come out of their own accord. Several times the old
woodchuck appeared, but feeling sure that there
were “more to follow,” I patiently watched and
waited. Finally my patience was rewarded; for one
fine morning five little cubs came tumbling after their
mother along the narrow passage to the entrance of the
burrow, where they looked with their great beautiful
brown eyes upon the strange outside world. What
a marvelous surprise it must have been to them to
view the green grass and the beautiful flowers! The-
breeze brought to their dilated nostrils sweet odors
from the meadows, while a great burst of music
saluted their ears, which were now really open for
the first time. The wrens were singing in the old
apple tree; the bobolinks were “running down”
their “brooks of laughter” through the air; the

The Woodchuck 23

meadow larks were whistling on all sides, while
myriads of insects added their murmuring music to
the general symphony.

The mother knew that all of these sounds were
only a part of her world and meant no harm, but
she listened very attentively for any unusual sound be-

Tse MorHer LISTENING FoR UNUSUAL SouUNDS

fore she ventured from the entrance. When satisfied
that there was no danger lurking in the fair clover
fields or in the blossoming apple trees above, she
led the way into the grass, followed by her little brood,
which tumbled frantically along in their haste to

24 The Woodchuck

keep close to her. They tried to imitate her in every-
thing, and when she nibbled a clover leaf they fol-
lowed her example, and soon the sharp little teeth
had learned to cut the juicy leaves.

The real object of their first outing, that of filling
their little stomachs, was soon accomplished, and
then they began playing about in the grass very
much like puppies; but the watchful mother was
careful not to let them wander far from the entrance
of their home. Suddenly her trained ear caught the
sound of something approaching and she lost no
time in hustling the little ones into the burrow, for
it might be old Rover racing across the meadow, and
possibly he would turn their way or wind them if
he came close. Sure enough! they were scarcely safe
when the dog appeared in full sight over a knoll,
making straight for them! The cubs could have
traveled only a part of the tunnel before they heard
the deep breathing of the dog at the mouth of the
burrow. The exertion and the excitement must have
made their tiny hearts beat fast, as for the first time
in their lives they learned what it is to be frightened.

This was only the beginning of their education, for
day after day they came out of their burrow and
when they scrambled back, something had been
added to their little stock of woodchuck knowledge.

The Woodchuck 25

A part of this wisdom came through copying their
mother, but by far the greater part came through
instinct and through experiences of their own. They
learned which grass was good for food, which for
medicine, and which was not to be touched at all.

Some attention was given to the art of climbing,
for from elevated positions they could command as
much more extended view of meadow and wood-
land—yes, woodchucks really climb fences and small
trees! and I found it extremely entertaining to
watch their clumsy first attempts. This lesson in
climbing, however, might sometimes be omitted,
but never a day passed that the little woodchucks
did not receive a lesson in danger signals. They soon
learned to distinguish, among the many sounds that
came to their ears, those that threatened harm and
danger from those that meant no harm at all. Al-
though Bob from the next farm nearly caught one
of the little fellows, they learned that a dog was not
a very dangerous foe, as his presence was usually
made known while he was some distance off; but
when a fox was in the vicinity—then was the time
to be wary indeed!

By the middle of August the little cubs were pretty
nearly grown-up woodchucks, and the time was fast
approaching when the frolicsome days of babyhood

26 The Woodchuck

would be over and they would have to settle down
to the serious business of life, either finding a de-
serted burrow or digging one for themselves. - It
would have been interesting could I have watched
the separation of this family and have known all the
circumstances leading up to it, but they “stole a
march” on me, and within a space of three days the
old burrow had but one occupant, the mother.
Usually each woodchuck has a burrow by itself, .
but occasionally a pair will live together through the
winter. Early in autumn I came upon such a pair

not far from the summer home which had so interested. __

me, and I pleased myself by imagining they were
two of my old friends. The spot they had selected
for their burrow was on a gentle sunny slope.in one
corner of the meadow. They had evidently been
working, little by little, on the new burrow before
they left the old one, but now they made a regular
business of it and worked with a will. And rapid
progress they made, for their feet are armed with
powerful claws and there is a partial web between
the. toes, a combination which makes a most excel-
lent pick and shovel. The fore feet are used princi-
pally for digging and the hind ones for throwing
backward the loosened earth and stones.

For some distance from the entrance the burrow

ONT] IHL NO HONHOGOOM, UAHLOY AB,

The Woodchuck 29

inclined downward quite sharply, then turned slightly
upward and continued along beneath the surface
for a distance of fifteen feet; this arrangement secured
good drainage, which is all-important in the home of
the woodchuck. ‘There was a small side tunnel four
feet long which ended in an exit, while the main
burrow terminated in a chamber of considerable size,
in which there was a quantity of fine grass for bedding.

When the woodchucks had completed their home
they were ready for housekeeping. The meadows
had been mown and a tempting new clover crop was
spread before them. There was nothing to do now
save to eat, bask in the golden autumn sunshine, and
eat again. With a few weeks of this sort of life there
came a wonderful change in their appearance; their
cheeks were distended, their fur glossy, and their
skins stretched with fatness.

When September was well advanced, they could
eat no more, and had only to wait and doze away the
time until about the first week in October, when
Mother Nature would put them sound asleep. The
blood began to flow more slowly through their veins,
a sleep crept gradually over them which they could
not resist, and finally, side by side in their snug retreat,
they curled themselves into balls of fur, and fell asleep.

Warm summer days followed with their mellow light;

30 The Woodchuck

Indian summer came and went, but the slumber of
the woodchucks was unbroken; and thus the cold
cheerless winter passed in one long dream of summer.

THEY FELL ASLEEP

THE SKUNK

T is in the rural districts throughout the
greater part of North America that the

| skunk is best known; but being a wanderer
of the night, he is not so familiar a sight as is the
squirrel or the woodchuck. In respect to his nocturnal
habits he holds the same relation to the mammals
that the hawks and owls do to the birds. .

He is.known in different localities by various
names, such as polecat, essence-pedlar, and wood-pussy.
“‘Wood-pussy” is pretty and probably derives its origin
from the fact that after twilight the skunk may be
easily mistaken by the uninitiated for a cat. The
skunk is about the size of the cat, with long fur and
a very bushy tail, the prevailing color being black and
white. The black fur is the more valuable, but the
coloring of fur is now so largely practised that it
matters little how much white there is, for the skins
all go through a dark dye to make them uniform in
color. After dyeing, cutting, and making, few sus-
pect that the fashionable “Alaska Sable” furs of the
31

42 The Skunk

city belle come from the little bicolored animals
called “wood-pussies” by the country folk.
Whether one comes upon the skunk by day or by
night he seems never to be in any haste to conceal
himself. Such implicit confidence has he in his
ability to defend himself that he treads the forest

THE SKUNK
as boldly as though he were lord of all he surveys,
showing a lofty indifference to the presence of man
and beast. He protects himself by spraying the
enemy with a musky secretion having a most powerful

The Skunk a8

and disagreeable odor. This secretion is stored in
two glands located under the tail, and may be ejected,
by muscular contraction, to the distance of about ten
feet. The contents of the glands are discharged,
probably one or both at a time, as the occasion de-
mands, in the form of a very fine spray. In addition
to its terrible odor, this liquid is so intensely acid
that it burns the skin like fire. In extreme cases such
a discharge has been known to produce blindness.

When the skunk is facing you there is no danger
that he will discharge his artillery; it is only when he
turns tail toward the enemy that there need be alarm.
Many believe that the skunk scatters the essence
with his tail, but this is entirely incorrect, for the
skunk is a very cleanly animal, and during the dis-
charge the tail is arched high above the back to keep
it undefiled. If he were to wet his tail with the essence
he would attract many enemies in the vicinity, and
without doubt it is a matter of both prudence and
comfort for him to remain free from the stench.

The Indians of the upper Columbia Valley have a
quaint legend concerning the origin of this peculiar
weapon of the skunk. According to the reports of the
War Department, in this particular part of the river
there are many rocks of fantastic forms. On the
top of one of these the following incident occurred:

34 The Skunk

“In the long ago, a skunk, a coyote, and a rattle-
snake each had a farm on the top of the Whitestone.
Those were the days before the skunk :was as odoros
as he is now, and he was esteemed a good fellow and
pleasant companion by the other animals. As in
other small communities, jealousies, dissensions, and
intrigues arose. The result was that the coyote and
the rattlesnake took a mean advantage of the skunk,
and one night, when he was asleep, threw him off the
rock, away down into the river. He was not drowned
however, but floated on and on, far away to the south
and west, until he came to the mouth of the river
where lived a great medicine-man and magician.
To him the skunk applied for means of revenge, and
was fitted out with an apparatus warranted to give
him immunity from, and conquest over, his enemies.
Back he journeyed along the river to his old home,
where he arrived safely, much to the surprise of the
coyote and the rattlesnake. So unpleasant did he
make it for them, with the pungent burning liquid,
the gift of the magician, that they soon left him in
undisturbed possession of his rocky home.”

The self-confidence of the skunk sometimes causes
him to become quite aggressive upon a slight pretext.
John Burroughs, the naturalist, told me of an incident

of this kind which happened to him a few years ago

The Skunk 35

while on his way to “‘Slabsides” one morning. Said Mr.
Burroughs: “TI was on my way up the hill when I saw a
skunk slowly coming toward me, and I thought, now
I will have some fun with that skunk. I collected a
few stones and as he approached hurled two or three
toward him, but he seemed not to heed them in the
least. By this time he was coming quite rapidly for
a skunk, and waving his tail from side to side as
much as to say, ‘Two can play at this game.’ He
was dangerously near. I had not only to give him
the right of way, but he actually followéd me for a
short distance.”

I once had a similar meeting with a skunk. It was
near sunset, as I was passing along the foot of Hall’s
Hill in the town of Columbus, New York State, when
I discovered the partially bleached skeleton of a cow
near some bushes. Evidently the carcass had been
left there late in the winter or early spring. This
attraction, together with the surroundings, offered an
ideal situation for skunks. About one hundred feet
from the carcass, and extending up the hill, was a
fence the greater part of which was heavily fringed
with bushes. I entered the bushes quietly and saw,
about thirty feet away, what appeared to be a wood-
chuck’s burrow. I was about to step forward, when
a full-grown skunk emerged from the burrow and began

36 The Skunk

smelling about on the ground, occasionally pawing
among the dried leaves. He gradually ascended the
hill, but remained under cover of the bushes. When
the skunk was about fifteen feet from his burrow I
rattled a dry bush, but otherwise remained quiet and
motionless, whereupon he turned and stamped the
ground with his fore feet. In a moment he con-
tinued on his way, and again I moved the bush and
stepped forward a pace. The skunk turned and
came directly toward me, and I thought he was going
to enter the burrow, but as he did not, I immediately
sought the meadow beyond. He followed me into the
clearing, twice uttering a little grunt, and as many
times threatening to spray me with his essence. He
soon gave up the chase, however, returning to the
bushes, where he was gradually lost to sight in the
coming darkness.

The den of the skunk is usually a deserted wood-
chuck burrow, but occasionally in the summer-time
he uses a hollow log or crevice in the rock. It is not to
be inferred, however, that he is lacking in ability to
dig a burrow; quite the reverse. He can dig rapidly
in the solid soil, and in newly ploughed fields will
worm himself through the loose earth like a mole.
At times the rapidity with which he conceals himself
in this way is most surprising, and probably by this

The Skunk 37

means he often succeeds in evading his worst enemies,
dog and man. One day I came upon a skunk in a
ploughed field. He at once began to burrow into the
soil, and in three minutes, was out of sight; later
he emerged some fifteen feet from the spot where he
had disappeared.

Contrary to what we should expect, the burrow of
the skunk is usually free from the odor of the essence,
particularly when the young are helpless. The
natural odor of the body, also, is far less noticeable
than that of either the woodchuck or the opossum.
The abode is frequently changed, but is usually
located near the edge of the woods. As cold weather
approaches these changes become less frequent, espe-
cially with the old skunks, and they settle upon a
permanent abode to which, in preparation for winter
hibernation, they carry for a bed quite a quantity of
dried grass and leaves.

This “holing up,” or hibernation, becomes more
marked as we go farther north, the degree of hiberna-
tion corresponding with the severity of the winter.
The period of inactivity is broken several times
during the season, when the weather becomes mild
for two or three days at a time. Such times are
known among the trappers as a “skunk-run,” and
are likely to occur during January thaws, and

38 The Skunk

for this reason the January moon is called the “skunk-
moon.”

Late in the fall and to some -extent through the
winter, it is the habit of the younger skunks to con-
gregate in one den, sometimes to the number of six,
The trappers take advantage of this and often very
easily secure several at a time. The manner of
capture is something like this: It is mid-January and
for two days the weather has been mild. The morning
of the third day is still warmer and a trapper remarks,
“Skunks must have run last night.” He now re-
members the bait left some time ago in a piece of
woods well designed to harbor skunks. He revisits
the place with traps and a small axe, and finds in the
soft snow numerous lines of tracks, leading, singly
in most cases, in every direction. One of these he
follows, and within a quarter of a mile it terminates
at the entrance of a burrow. But this is not the only
track which ends here ; there are at least three others
of the same kind. Four deadfalls are set near by
and baited with fresh meat, while in the entrance of
the burrow a trap is fixed. At three other burrows
deadfalls and traps are set in a similar manner. If
the weather continues warm, each trap must be visited -
early the next morning, for if caught, the skunk is
likely to make his escape by amputating its leg.

The Skunk 39

Skunks are more easily trapped than most animals
and the generation of to-day seems to be no wiser in
the matter of snares than they were in the days of
our forefathers.

The trail of the skunk is sharply defined and con-
sists of what appears to be two single trails close to
each other, something like this. 0000000000

0000000000
The reason for this apparent double trail is found in
the fact that the legs of the skunk are so short that
they cannot meet under the centre of the body. This
also accounts for the rolling sailor gait of the
animal. The skunk seems always to be on his “sea-
legs.”

The skunk lives upon animal food, and in his search
for it he brings upon his head the wrath of many
a farmer. When a wood-pussy takes up his abode
under the barn there is sure to be trouble among
the fowls, unless they roost high, the greatest loss
being liable: to occur among the chickens. The
mother hen may have a dozen little ones tucked away
at night under protecting wings, and before morning
a skilful paw may remove half the number, or more,
leaving only the slightest traces of their unhappy
end. The location of the roosting-place must then
be changed, for Mr. Skunk will continue his nightly

40 The Skunk

visits until the whole family is devoured. Other do-
mestic fowls suffer in much the same way from such
depredations. ‘The ground-nesting birds also pay a
heavy tribute, both in eggs and in young, to this
robber of the poultry yard.

It would appear at first that the skunk has no
redeeming qualities, so far as his bill of fare is con-
cerned, but this is not true. In the destruction of
field mice, grasshoppers, and various forms of vermin
he is a very valuable animal and one to be protected
by the farmer. The favorite food of the skunk,
whether wild or in captivity, seems to be the varieties
of harmless snakes. A pet skunk, belonging to one
of my neighbors, preferred snakes to every other
kind of food. When a snake was given him he would
rear on his hind legs and dance about, much like an
awkward monkey, attempting constantly to grasp the
snake by the tail, and when successful he would
shake it to death, and then make off with it to his
hollow log, there to enjoy his feast undisturbed.

Dr. Charles C. Abbott cites the following story:

“In June, 1863, I witnessed a terrific combat
between a large skunk and a black snake, which, I
judged, measured fully five feet in length. The
prowling skunk had evidently seized the snake by
the tail and endeavored to give it a violent shake,

The Skunk 41

as it would a garter-snake. This angered the snake,
and, turning like lightning, he wrapped himself about
the skunk, completely encircling both neck and body.
The head was so far free that the skunk could give
the snake nip after nip, though it could not get a
strong enough hold to disable it. Rolling over and
over, hissing and snapping, the snake nearly con-
cealed by the long hair of the skunk, the two creatures
presented a strange spectacle as they struggled, the
one to conquer, the other to escape. After watching
them for fully five minutes, I ventured to approach,
and dealt the two a hard blow with a club, and then
ran back a few paces, not knowing what might be
the result. Turning about I ventured to return
part of the way to see whether the struggle continued.
All was comparatively quiet; and coming still nearer
I found that the snake had relinquished its hold and
was slowly retiring in a disabled condition. The
skunk was lying quite motionless, and proved to be
dying, though not dead. Soon after I examined the
animal carefully and found that it had been strangled
or nearly so.”

The skunk is particularly valuable in the hop-
growing regions, where he hunts the large grubs so
destructive to the hop-roots. On a spring morning
as you pass through the hop-yard you may notice

42 The Skunk

numerous holes about the hills. These indicate
the industry of the nocturnal visitor.

Young skunks are very interesting, and those I
have seen had the habit of stamping the fore feet
either while playing among themselves or when ex-
cited by a person, continually threatening to spray
the subject of their irritation. By a simple surgical
operation the muscles which control the scent-bags
may be cut, thus removing all danger, although the
animal will assume the threatening attitude as
before.

If the young are captured while small and con-
stantly handled and petted, they will show a con-
siderable degree of affection and at times are very
playful. Dr. C. Hart Merriam tells the following
story about one of his pet skunks, ““Meph”’: “His
nest was in a box at the foot of the stairs, and before
he grew strong enough to climb out by himself, he
would, whenever he heard me coming, stand on his
hind legs with his paws resting on the edge of the
box and beg to be carried up-stairs. If I passed
by without appearing to notice him, he invariably
became much enraged and chippered away at a
great rate, stamping meanwhile most vigorously.
During the evening he occasionally assumed a cun-
ning mood, and would steal softly up to my chair,

The Skunk 43

and, standing erect, would claw at my pants once
or twice, and then scamper off as fast as his little
legs could carry him, evidently anxious to have me
give chase. If I refused to follow, he was soon
back, ready to try some new scheme to attract my
attention.” They have no way of expressing their
joy like the cat or dog, for the young and old alike
are nearly voiceless with the exception of an occa-
sional little squealing or grunting noise.

The young are easily captured in the following
manner: At twilight, like the bats, the skunks begin

= a ne Se

Tue REAR ONE OF THE LINE

to move about in search of food. The young when
about. a quarter grown follow the mother on these
nocturnal excursions, and, while moving from place

44 The Skunk

to place, they form a line from fifteen to thirty feet
long, with the mother in the lead. When a capture
is contemplated, the would-be captor takes his place
behind the line, and noiselessly approaching the
rear skunk, with a quick movement he lifts it from
the ground by the tail. This is a nervous moment
for the novice, but entirely safe, for when a skunk
is thus lifted from the ground, the power of spraying
the essence is apparently lost. After the youngster
is captured and put in a safe place, the operation is
repeated until all the young are taken, the mother
continuing on her way, apparently as unconcerned as
though she had not lost her family.

It takes a very steady nerve to approach an old
skunk and lift it by the tail, and, although I have
heard of several instances, I have but once actually
seen the feat. This occurred when I was a small
boy, in a village where I had gone to get a horse
shod. ‘The, blacksmith’s house and shop stood near
each other, and.the side door of the shop opened
opposite to the outside door of the old-fashioned
basement of the house. As it was nearing the noon
hour the good wife went to the basement for some
potatoes, but scarcely had she entered, when she
saw a black and white object in the middle of the
floor. The light being dim, its outline was at first

The Skunk 45

indistinct, but as she approached it moved slightly,
and she distinguished a wood-pussy. She screamed,
dropped her pan and ran into the shop exclaiming,
“A skunk! a skunk in the basement!”

The smith, a very self-possessed man, dropped the
foot of the horse he was shoeing, and looking at his
excited wife said, ‘Well, Hannah, what of it?”

The answer came promptly, “If you want any
potatoes for dinner, you’ll have to get them yourself!”

Apparently without concern for his personal safety,
or for the danger of defiling the sweet June air, he
walked into the basement, quietly lifted the skunk
by the tail and brought him forth, and as he threw
him over the fence in the rear of the garden remarked,
“T never was afraid of skunks, and they do an awful
lot of good.”

THE RACCOON

HE raccoon, although
not cunning like the

fox, is clever, and in
certain ways far superior to the
notorious Reynard; but while
it is almost impossible to snare
a fox, conceal the trap as you
may, it is an easy matter to
tempt a raccoon into either a

spring or a box trap, baited with
any of his favorite foods. The raccoon has no idea
of self-preservation; nothing appears dangerous to
him, and he blunders recklessly on to his own self-
destruction, in very much the same manner as does
the opossum. Leave this self same blundering ani-
mal alone in a room, however, for fifteen minutes, and
he will discover more things than a fox would find if’
he were left there all day.
In the use of the fore paws the raccoon resembles

quite closely the monkey, but on the ground his move-
46

The Raccoon 47

ments are like those of the bear, while in climbing
about in trees his shambling gait disappears, and he
becomes at once a graceful animal. He may well
be a good climber, for he uses a hollow in a tree for
a nest, and many are the trips he makes to and from
the ground. Here in this cavity the baby raccoons,
varying in number from three to six, are born about
the first of April, and they are said to remain with
the mother for nearly a year. This nest is their
resting-place during the day at all seasons of the
year, although they are occasionally found curled
up sound asleep in a hollow log or stump. The
young grow rapidly, and by the time the field corn
is in the milk they have for some time been following
the mother on her nightly excursions.

Although the raccoon is usually thought to be
nocturnal in habits, I am led to believe that when it
is cloudy he roams about quite freely in the daytime.
This habit of roving around at night seems to apply
more particularly to wild raccoons than to tame ones,
‘two tame ones that I have in mind being abroad
several hours of each day.

Observers have very generally stated that the
raccoon hibernates more or less, according to the
severity of the winter; nevertheless, I believe that
cold weather does not affect him so much as the

48 The Raccoon

deep snow, to avoid which is his real reason for stay-
ing at home. I will give one fact that leads me to
form this conclusion. It is this: If an icy crust is
formed, the raccoon is ready to scurry about, no
matter how deep the snow or how long the winter.
The degree of hibernation of the raccoon and that of
the woodchuck bear no resemblance to each other;
for the woodchuck if taken from his burrow during
his long sleep is awakened with the greatest difficulty,
while the raccoon becomes “spry”? with very little
urging. |

In the spring the raccoon is greatly reduced in
flesh, as John Burroughs says: “In March, that
brief summary of a bear, the raccoon comes out of
his den in the ledges and leaves his sharp digitigrade
track upon the snow,—travelling not unfrequently in
pairs,—a lean, hungry couple, bent on pillage and
plunder. They have an unenviable time of it,—feast-
ing in summer and fall, hibernating in winter, and
starving in spring. In April I have found the young
of the previous year creeping about the fields, so
reduced by starvation as to be quite helpless, and
offering no resistance to my taking them up by the
tail and carrying them home.” |

After hibernation the old raccoons are not, as a
rule, so much reduced in flesh as the younger ones,

The Raccoon 49

but they are ever ready for a “square meal,” their
hunger driving them sometimes to farm buildings in
search of food. One morning a friend of mine found
a raccoon in his woodshed feeding upon a chicken
that had been killed the night before.

Long and varied is the menu of the raccoon, con-
sisting in part of nuts, frogs, fish, mollusks, turtles,
poultry, and corn; but corn in the milk is the food
most sought after—the season of young corn is
the “‘watermelon” time for ’coons both old and
young.

These prowlers of the night are also exceedingly
fond of fish and they love to wade in the shallow
water along the brooks, rivers, and ponds, overturning
stones in search of them. I have often seen their
fresh trails in the mud, perhaps two or three going in
the same direction, as though they hunted in friendly
companies. Fish sometimes venture into shallow
water, and then must the raccoon make the most of
his opportunity; for he cannot, like the otter, pursue
the fish under water. His ability to catch fish de-
pends largely upon the dexterous use of his fore
paws. I have never seen a wild raccoon fishing, but
I believe that his method is the following: when a
fish ventures into shallow water, within reach of the
raccoon, the paw is used like a scoop and the haul is

50 The Raccoon

made. My belief is drawn from observation of a
few tame raccoons and of some others not so tame.
Water was put into a pan to the depth of about four
inches, then two or three small fish were dropped in.
When the pan was placed upon the floor, Jim, our
pet raccoon, was allowed to enter the room, and; as
usual, he at once began his tour of investigation,
Jim soon discovered the pan. He was a young rac-
coon, and to my knowledge had never seen a fish
before, and had never even been mussel hunting.
Walking about the pan he watched the fishes. very
carefully for a minute or more, but since no advan-
tage could be gained by this procedure, he sat down
and, putting one paw upon the edge of the pan, tried
to grab the fish with the other, but did not succeed.
This lack of success seemed only to spur him on
to greater enthusiasm; his next attempt being to
grasp a fish with both paws, but the fish slipped away;
then he used one paw as a scoop and triumphantly
landed a fish, which he at once devoured. Returning
for the second, he landed it in the same manner as
before. After this he always used this effective
method of angling.

A few years later I had an opportunity to experi-
ment in the fishing way with another pet raccoon.
One of our neighbors caught an old raccoon, and

The Raccoon 53

the veteran fished with his paws in the same man-
ner as did our pet Jim.

But though the raccoon may enjoy fishing, his
festival season is when the corn is in the milk. It is
this fondness for the corn that has brought down
upon his luckless head the vengeance of the farmer.
When a cornfield has been located by the raccoons
they visit it nightly, whether in bright moonlight or
in the drizzling rain, until the corn is well hardened.
Most expert are they in stripping the husks from the
ear, using their fore paws as we use our hands.

“In the green-corn season I have often heard what I
supposed to be the call of the raccoon, perhaps a
summons to meet at some common place of feasting.
This vibratory cry seemed to pierce the thick gloom
as it came from the forest, field, or near by orchard,
the rallying-call gradually lessening as the various
clans met; and when it entirely ceased we imagined
that they were busy stripping the husks from the
newly formed ears.

Raccoon-hunting by the light of the August moon
has furnished as much sport in the North as has
opossum-hunting in the South, although raccoon-
hunting is not restricted to the North, as many a
colored man can testify. The flesh of the young
raccoon, is toothsome and not by any means to be

54 The Raccoon

despised, but the muscles of the old ones are too
highly flavored and decidedly tough.

But life is not all freedom and feasting for the rac-
coon. Not even when the corn is in the milk; for
then the hunting season is at its height. Raccoon-
hunting is one of the American sports in which there
is little dignity. In fact I never attended such a hunt
where there was any pretence of anything other than
confusion; and from what I have heard the con-
ditions must be very similar to those of the opossum-
hunt inthe South. But in reality it is a scrious matter
to prepare for a raccoon-hunt; for your passage
through the wet corn, the race across the stubble-field,
through briers and thicket, contact with the barbed-
wire fence, which you did not see in time,—all these
factors work toward reducing your clothing to mere
threads. The light unto your feet while you were
running came from a lantern carried by a friend, and,
as fate would have it, his body was often between you
and the light just when you most needed illumination.
Among the numerous pitfalls are the hollows that are
so often filled with water. Both. man and dog are
liable to get a good ducking, which is of course only
one of the many incidents of raccoon-hunting.

The real old-fashioned raccoon-hunt is not a select
affair; it embraces the neighborhood, Nothing is

The Raccoon EG

definite except the date and place of meeting. These
being settled, the hunters begin to collect about nine
o’clock in the evening, the boys of course a little
earlier. With each is a dog, but as for guns, there
will be four or five old ones in the party, ordinarily
of the Springfield type, and warranted to kill a ’coon
from either end! You need not possess a wonderful
imagination to picture vividly the scene before start-
ing. The boys, always the forerunners of the gather-
ing pandemonium, have early in the evening located
the harvest apple trees, and by the time the men
assemble, bringing more dogs, things are in a state of
wild excitement. The men are quiet enough, smok-
ing their pipes, telling stories, and talking over the
possibilities of the hunt, but the dogs, away from
home once a year perhaps, are like so many boys
until they find out “who is who.” There are in
consequence several promiscuous contests. There
may be two or three dogs out of the number that can
follow a trail fairly well, and the rest will keep with
these. :

By midnight, the raccoons being at their feast, the
hunting party proceeds in none too quiet a manner
to the cornfield. Soon, joined by the other dogs, the
trailers are in hot pursuit, the enthusiasm of the
younger hunters breaking forth in shouts, as they follow

56 The Raccoon

the rapid pace set by the raccoon. He is passing
over swampy ground, and the pursuers have natu-
rally formed into a long line, according to speed.
Through the fatigue of the chase, the noise grows
less, and the raccoon, also becoming tired, takes to a
tree. This fact is loudly heralded by the foremost
dogs, and the others join in the noisy proclamation
as fast as they arrive; later the bedrabbled hunters
surround the tree in which the luckless raccoon has
taken refuge. If there is no hollow in the tree, the
raccoon is generally found resting upon a limb near
the top.

Various methods for bringing down the beast are
now discussed: the tree may be cut down; a large
fire may be kindled, lighting the tree top so that
the raccoon may be shot; one of the hunters may
remain on guard until daylight; or some youth may
climb the tree and shake him down! Already a
youth is clamoring for this questionable honor.
He ascends, and finding the limb upon which the
creature is quietly resting, he calls to his companions
to be ready to despatch the raccoon, for he is about
to shake him loose. He, however, has misjudged
the little animal seated upon the, other end of the
limb; for there is about as much use in trying to
shake a raccoon from the limb as there would be in

The Raccoon 57

trying to shake off the bark itself. Some of his older
companions, who in times past have tried it them-
selves, are calling to him that they are ready and
waiting to “despatch that ’coon.” After trying to
achieve the impossible, the boy descends amid the
good-humored jeers of his companions, and ever after,
any gymnastic effort that he attempts is greeted with
“He is the fellow who tried to shake down a raccoon!”

After the fun, the usual move is to fell the tree, and
if the raccoon is not stunned by the fall, which seldom
happens, there ensues a smart skirmish between it and
the dogs. The dogs rushing pellmell upon the pros-
trate animal; but they, too, have mistaken the ability
of the raccoon, and with many howls they rapidly
and ignominiously retreat. After the first onslaught
the dogs have more respect for the fighting ability of
the raccoon, which, by the way, is of a very high
order. A few years ago a Scotchman living at Exeter,
New York State, had a pet raccoon which he had
trained to fight dogs, and the raccoon had never lost
a battle.

After the raccoon is finally despatched the party
either turns to the cornfield for a new start or dis-
bands, according to the lateness of the hour.

There is another phase of hunting the raccoon
which is much more dignified and far more system-

58 The Raccoon

atic, yielding to the hunter good returns for the amount
of energy expended. When the fur of the animal
becomes prime, the hunter, equipping himself with
a good raccoon dog, a double-barrel shotgun, and
a sharp. axe, prepares for an all-day stay in the woods’
where raccoons are supposed to live. The dog strikes '
a trail and soon arrives at the tree in which the rac-
coon is, perchance, quietly sleeping. The man follows
and fells the tree. As it strikes the ground it some-
times breaks apart,—and instead of one raccoon there’
may be two or three, and occasionally five or six.
If the tree does not break apart, the game must be
chopped out. I have known one hunter in a single
day to capture eight raccoons by this method.

The young ones are often taken for pets, and I do
not know of any pet wild animal that furnishes more:
amusement than does the raccoon. I have had two
at different times, taken from the tree before they
were large enough to leave it. In cach case the
animal became very tame, and would come when
called. But they are something of a disappointment
too; for after a year or so when you have really be-°
come attached to your pet, he is apt to fall into bad:
habits, such as catching chickens or destroying hens’
eggs, making it necessary to chain him. If you
punish him sufficiently to correct his ways, and do

NOOOOVY FHL

The Raccoon 61

not chain him, he takes to the barn, hiding in the
haymow, where you seldom see him. Finally he
begins to make nightly excursions; and sooner or
later he hears and answers the call of his wild kin-
dred, leaving the haymow nest for the freedom of a
hollow in a tree and the companionship of his own
kind.

The raccoon shows considerable affection for his
master, and his skilful manner in using his paws,
and the intelligent expression of his face, endear him
to all who make his acquaintance. We sincerely hope
that the tracks of this little prowler will long be found
about the muddy banks of the old familiar brooks and
ponds, and that the quavering voice may still shiver
on the August night. Some say that it is the cry of
the screech owl and not that of the raccoon; but
whether the cry that vibrates through the gloom of
grove and orchard be that of owl or raccoon, long
may it be before either shall go the way of all wild
things!

eS

ih tinctive of the North American mammals,
inasmuch as it is a marsupial. It seems

rather strange that, among so many mammals, the
opossum has neither kith nor kin. There was a time
when the whole world was inhabited by marsupials,
so those living to-day are the separated remnants of
that once universal race.

The range of the Virginia opossum is from the lati-
tude of the southern part of New York State and
Michigan, southward to Central America. It is very
common in the South, and probably there is only one

B
wa
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i)
2
%,
a
4
wi
a

The Opossum 65

species, but certainly there is a great diversity among
the individuals.

The opossum is about the size of a large cat, its legs
are short and its tail is long, scaly, and prehensile;
its snout is long and somewhat pig-like, which accounts
fur the tremendous width it can open its jaws. The
fur is of a general yellowish color, but on the back
and sides a greater part of the hairs are tipped with
brown or black; intermingled is a liberal amount of
pure white hairs. The brain cavity is small, but the
senses of sight and smell are well developed.

The opossum, although upon the whole a stupid
animal, has one very clever habit, when attacked it
simulates death most successfully. At such times the
eyes are usually closed, the muscles are rigid, and
no amount of rough handling will provoke any signs
of life, until an opportunity for escape presents itself,
when it will make all the haste of which a slow moving
opossum is capable. The most effectual method of
reviving the seemingly lifeless animal is to drop it
into a pool of water. The shock of this unexpected
procedure is apparently too much for it, and it speedily
seeks the shore. The immersion usually ends the
“playing ’possum, ” for it will not readily try the
stratagem again. This art has probably saved many
opossums from destruction by other animals, but the

66 ’ The Opossum

“coon” is fully up to the trick, and few deceiving
opossums escape him. I have found the ruse of
“playing ’possum” to be specific rather than general
among the species. Those that are partly tamed seem
never to practice it.

The home of the opossum may be in a hollow tree,
a crevice in the rocks, or under a building. The
hollow tree, however, seems to be preferred. The
nest itself is composed of dried grass and leaves.

The opossum usually comes forth from his retreat
at the close of day, wandering about in search of
food; he is not strictly nocturnal, however, for cloudy
days will often find him abroad, and I have seen him
in the bright sunshine.

His menu is varied, but you may be sure it is a
full one when it can be obtained. It consists chiefly
of insects, small reptiles, young birds, and - birds’
eggs. Occasionally he dines from the poultry yard,
and here he shows a decided preference for young
chickens. Vegetable food enters but little into his
bill of fare, although he is very fond of ripe fruits
of various kinds. .

The young, varying in number from six to twelve,
are born in a very immature state—blind, hairless,
and exceedingly small, in fact weighing but a few
grains. The mother places the young in a pouch,

PosE

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3)
a4
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The. Opossum 69

where they are nourished and kept for about six weeks.
After this they venture out and climb about over the
body of the parent, clinging to her fur. Sometimes

A CHICKEN-HOUSE THIEF

the mother arches her tail over her back, very much
after the fashion of a squirrel, and the little ones
cling to it by their prehensile tails, heads down, and

70 The Opossum

feet just touching her back, presenting a curious sight
indeed. For a few weeks after they climb out of
the pouch the young do not venture upon the ground,
but return to the pouch for food and protection.

I have not been able to photograph any of these
young opossums, but a farmer, knowing that I was in-
terested in photographing animals, helped me to get
some pictures of the old ones. He sent me word that
there were a number of opossums about his place and
that when he discovered anything of special interest
he would let me know. One morning I received word
that an opossum was in the chicken house. Camera
in hand I soon reached the spot and found that the
opossum had just completed a full breakfast upon
fresh eggs. Leading from the chicken house into the
yard was a small door; I focused upon this and then
opened it. The opossum. slowly came forth, and
when he was in full view I pressed the bulb, and
the old robber was taken.

The next week I was summoned again by the farmer
and this time I photographed an opossum while he
was feasting upon a nest of hen’s eggs.

But it is in the South, on his native heath, that
the opossum reaches perfection and his greatest size.
For him the glowing October sun, and the silvery
frosts of November, have developed the delicious

The Opossum 71

flavor and fragrance of the persimmon. Through all
the painted autumnal woods the opossum finds spread
for him by the lavish hand of Nature this sumptuous

FEASTING ON EGcs

banquet of golden fruit. From twilight until the
approach of day, the greedy little creature feeds upon
the persimmons. ‘

O, heedless opossum! Could you but see into the
future you would not feed thus recklessly upon the

72, The Opossum

the fruit, which in a few weeks must render you so
temptingly fat! ‘’Simmon” time brings in ‘’possum”
time, and from many a cabin the melodious negro
voices, accompanied by banjo, accordion, or harmoni-
con, are heard singing:
“?Possum am a cunnin’ thing,
He rambles in de dark,

Nothin’ ’tall disturb his min’
But to hyah my bulldog bark,”

The hunting of the opossum in the South is usually
done at night, the one important feature of the hunt
being a good opossum dog. The opossum: will take
to a tree at the approach of the dog, and the dog
should remain barking until the arrival of the hunting
party. If the tree is not difficult to climb the opos-
sum is soon captured, otherwise the tree must be
felled or the game shot. The colored people enter
into the sport with the greatest zest, and these hunting
parties have merry times.

The hunting of the opossum in the North is more
frequently done in the daytime. The hunt is usually
confined to the edge of a forest or large timber along
streams and the more numerous the hollow trees the
better. I remember a hunt of this kind: I had been
tramping about with my camera, and as I was passing
through some large timber near a clearing on the

The Opossum rae

Orange Mountains, I came upon an old colored man

and a boy, who were carefully examining the trunk

of a tree. I asked them what they were hunting for.
“Possum,” was the short answer.

“O Lorp, UNCLE ROBERT, A ’PossuM!”

When the colored man, who, as I afterward learned,
was familiarly known as “Uncle Robert,” found that I -
was out after animal photographs, he granted me
the privilege of joining the party.

74 The Opossum

Uncle Robert’s method of hunting the opossum
was very simple; he knew of several hollow trees
and from time to time visited them, occasionally

“DE *’PossuM AND DE COON”

finding an opossum, He was not very talkative at
first, but gradually warmed up to the subject of opos-
sum hunting, and told me that when he was a boy
and lived in “Old Virginny, we all used to hunt de

The Opossum 76

"possum and de ’coon, for dey bofe is mighty good to
eat.”

While talking we were gradually making our way
through the timber, and when we came to the edge
of the clearing Uncle Robert called a halt. Immedi-
ately before us was an old hollow apple tree. The
boy nimbly climbed to the hollow.

One glance was enough and he exclaimed, “‘O
Lord, Uncle Robert, a ’possum!”’

The cavity was a shallow one, and I succeeded in
making a photograph before the opossum was re-
moved from his snug nest. When removed he proved
to be a large fat specimen, ‘‘’bout as good as down-
South ’possum,” Uncle Robert declared.

The old man thought as long as I was taking photo-
graphs it would be proper for me to photograph “de
"possum and de coon togedder.”” A good idea!

THE MUSKRAT

USQUASH is the Indian name for the

muskrat, which being translated means

‘the animal that sits on the ice in a
round form.’ We call it the muskrat, from the musky
odor, due to the secretion of a large gland in the
groin region, which is present in both sexes.

This little animal has a short neck and a round
head and is about the size of a cat, the body, how-
ever, being more cylindrical. The forward legs are
short and the feet are small, while the hind legs are
much longer and the feet stouter. The toes of the
hind feet are practically webbed, the general form
reminding one of the foot of a duck. The graceful
movements of the muskrat in swimming are due to the
peculiar attachment of the hind feet to the legs and
the sculling movement of the long, compressed tail.
76

The Muskrat 77

As with other aquatic mammals, the pelage of the
muskrat consists of an under coat of soft, dense fur,
while the outer is coarse and of longer hair. In many.
particulars the fur resembles that of the beaver, al-
though it has not so much compactness and lustre.
The prevailing color is a dark chestnut-brown on
the back, changing to reddish on the sides, while the
ventral parts, and particularly the chin and throat, are
of a grayish hue. The fur was formerly a valuable
article of commerce, and is still found in the market
in small quantities.

The muskrat is found about ponds, lakes, and slug-
gish streams throughout the greater portion of North
America. The character of the home, as I have ob-
served it, depends very largely upon the nature of the
country. Where there is an extensive swamp or
shallow stretch of water along the main stream, the
summer home is a burrow in the bank, while the
winter home may be a hut or lodge in the swamp; if
the stream be a narrow one, with little or no swamp, the
burrow in the bank is the more usual abode. The
entrance to the burrow or lodge is in water so deep
that the passageway will not freeze in winter.

While stupid enough in most matters, the muskrat
surprises us in manifesting a remarkable degree of
intelligence in selecting certain marshes for its home.

78 The Muskrat

The favorite marsh is one supplied by springs. Here
it is that we find the greatest number of winter lodges,
the muskrat apparently reasoning that such places
are not frozen'over solidly. The date of building
the lodges varies according to the weather conditions,
most of them, however, being constructed in November.
A lodge is the combined work of from three to six
muskrats; it is built at night, and the materials used
are coarse grass, sticks, leaves, twigs, and mud. While
this lodge is in-process of building it appears to be one
solid mass, and from this I am led to believe that
the nest is excavated after the lodge has reached: its
full proportions. When finished, the lodge extends
two or three feet above the water and is about the
size of an ordinary haycock. It is not symmetrical,
one side being less precipitous, and it is most likely —
that up this. incline the muskrats bring the material
used in building. It is a snug little home, and prob-
ably’ very comfortable in ordinary winter weather.
Here it is that the muskrats pass their time, except
when in search of food. Their foraging excursions are
usually made at night, and the journey may be some
little distance from the lodge.

The food during the winter consists largely of
aquatic plants. Somewhere on the feeding ground
extending above the water and ice, one or more

6£

AMINNOD Lvansoayy Ivadl Ny

The Muskrat Qi

clusters of rushes are still standing. At such places
there are usually air holes, the breathing places for
the muskrat. He takes advantage of these holes and
forces the refuse of his food through them, thus form-
ing a little mound six to twelve inches in height. This

THE WINTER LODGE

wet material, along with a little mud, forms a compact
mass, preventing the water from freezing below. Here
the muskrat brings his food to eat, and here he obtains
the necessary air, remaining the while in a sitting
position, with his forward parts in the hut and his
hind parts in the water. Sometimes if a lodge is

82 The Muskrat

disturbed the muskrats betake themselves to their
individual huts until their fright is over.

At all seasons the food of the muskrat is in the
main herbaceous, consisting chiefly of the roots of
marsh grasses and aquatic plants. He is very fond
of sweet apples and will venture quite a distance
from home that he may enjoy this tidbit. Vegetable
gardens situated along water courses are sometimes
seriously damaged by a colony of muskrats. I re-
member very distinctly an experience which I had
in my younger days. Near the lower end of the
garden, which was my care and pride, flowed a large
creek along whose course were numerous sequestered
pools and coves, set back well into the mainland and
shaded by willows. The muskrat families that dwell
about these ideal places were well supplied with the
necessary vegetation, but this did not satisfy their
appetites. In the latter part of August the vegetables
in the garden began to disappear, and early in Sep-
tember the turnips, carrots, and parsnips were nearly
destroyed. It did not dawn upon me that this was
the work of muskrats until one evening a heavy
shower left the soil of the garden very soft. In the
morning the story of the marauders was plainly written
on the telltale earth. The footprints were unmis-
takably those of the muskrat. Now knowing who

The Muskrat 83

the thieves were, it was easy enough to trace them
by the fragments of the leaves strewn along the way
from the garden to their burrows.

As I was curious to know what the muskrats had
done with the vegetables, I opened a few of the bur-
rows. Here I found the plunder snugly packed away,
as though for winter use. The destruction of the
garden was a neighborhood affair, for I traced the
vegetables to burrows at least thirty rods away. It
is worthy of note that, during the time the garden
was being plundered by the muskrats, the greatest
destruction occurred on cloudy nights, while on the
morning following a clear night nothing would be
missed.

I was unable to determine why the muskrats were
so destructive this particular autumn, and it seemed
strange that they had never troubled the garden
before. The number of muskrats trapped during the
fall did not show an increase over previous years.

The finding of the vegetables in the burrows natu-
rally leads to the question, Do muskrats store food
for winter use? I believe it is the exception when they
do. I wish to relate an incident, although it is a
seeming contradiction to the above statement. Not
far from the garden and within two hundred feet
of the creek stood a large apple tree. The apples

84 The Muskrat

ripened about September first. Judging from the nu-
merous and well defined paths leading to the old tree,
the muskrats must have visited it almost nightly from
the time of the earliest windfalls until the apples were

A Burrow ExposeD SHOWING A FEW APPLES STORED FOR WINTER

gathered. One of these paths was so well worn and
there were so many remains of apples along its course
that I decided to open the burrow from which it led.
There was half a bushel of apples in that burrow!

The Muskrat 85

Two years later another burrow in the same vicinity
yielded a like amount.

When he can obtain it, the principal animal food
of the muskrat is the fresh water mussel. I have
found large heaps of these empty shells near the
entrance of a muskrat home. The muskrat is also
said to feed to some extent upon fish, especially upon
those fish which half conceal themselves in the mud,
as the carp, sucker, and catfish. It is also probable
that during severe winters, when food is scarce, they
devour one another. I am certain that if a muskrat
is caught in a trap and remains there for some time,
its companions will often turn upon it and devour it.
This cannibalism is not peculiar to the muskrat family,
for it exists among the wolves.and other wild animals,
and to some extent among the domesticated ones.

In certain parts of the country large numbers of
muskrats are destroyed annually, not for their fur
alone; but to prevent their becoming so numerous
as to cause damage by making holes in the mill-
dams, embankments, or ditches that happen to be
inhabited by them.

The manner of hunting muskrats is about the same
throughout their range. In the Northern States the
trapping season begins about the middle of October,
and the fur continues good until the following April.

86 The Muskrat

The prime fur, however, is obtained during the winter
months. When I was a boy an old trapper told me
that, like the oyster, the fur is good in any month of
the year in which the letter r is found. This old
adage, like many others, is true within certain limits;
even in the Northern States the fur in September and
April is rather thin.

In snaring the muskrat, the trap is placed at the
entrance of the burrow, or in a path leading from
the water; but in either case the chain should be
secured within its length of deep water. The musk-
rat’s idea of freeing himself when caught in a trap
seems to be to get into deep water. The exer-
tion with the added weight of the trap will exhaust
the strength of the muskrat and he will.soon drown.
Otherwise, if the trap is so fastened that he cannot
get into deep water, after several hours he will usually
free himself by gnawing off his leg.

Muskrats are very stupid about being trapped. If
two or three traps are placed at short distances apart
in a runway, the first muskrat passing will prob-
ably be caught, while a second and even a third may
fall victims to the tempting bait, although usually
the squealing of the two is sufficient to frighten away
the third one for a time. Traps arranged in the
order just described are visited between ten and

J 1
The Muskrat 87

eleven o’clock at night and again in the early morning.
The muskrat is easily caught in a box trap, which
should be lined with tin, to prevent his gnawing his
way out.

A TRAP BAITED FOR Muskrat
When the streams are frozen the trapping of the
muskrat practically ceases and the hunter will meet
with better success if he visits the marshes, where
the lodges are to be found. For this purpose the
hunters go in parties of three or four. One member
of the party carries a spear, which has, usually, four

88 The Muskrat

prongs about eight inches long, while the others are
each armed with an axe.

The party, thus properly equipped, arrives at the
marsh and cautiously approaches a muskrat lodge on
the southern exposure. This side being naturally the
warmest, the muskrats are more apt to be found here,
resting snugly in their warm beds. The experienced
hunter can usually locate the exact spot above the
muskrats hy the delicate frostwork upon the outside
of the lodge, produced by the warmth of their bodies.
This spot having been located, the spearman drives the
sharp prongs through five or six inches of the lodge
wall, and usually pins one or more of the inmates;
another hunter instantly breaks the lodge open with
his axe, and assists in securing the muskrats already
speared by his companion; while the other hunters
watch for the escaping muskrats, as they plunge into
thé water at the first indication of outside disturbance.
Usually the water is not very deep and the muskrats
swim quite close to the ice. A sharp blow with the
head of the axe upon the ice directly above the musk-
rat will ordinarily stun it so effectually that when a
hole is cut in the ice, the game may be secured without
difficulty. If the lodge is not badly demolished and the
weather not too severe, the surviving muskrats will re-
turn the following night to repair their home. Thus

The Muskrat 89

the hunters may secure muskrats from the same lodge
at two or three different times during the winter.

The greatest destruction of muskrats occurs during
the spring freshets. Especially is this true where the
banks of the stream are low, for in high banks the
animals can burrow upward and so keep beyond
the reach of high water. During the times of flood
many are drowned in the burrows, and those that
escape are forced to swim from shore to shore, with-
out shelter and without food. The hunters armed
with guns then appear upon the scene in boats. If
a luckless muskrat escapes one hunter by diving and
swimming, his head scarcely shows above the water
when he is shot at by another.

There is now no rest for the unhappy muskrats;
every hand seems raised against them. Even the
foxes and the minks and the great horned owls take
advantage of their forlorn situation, and by the time
the waters subside their number has become greatly
reduced. I have known certain ponds, where many
muskrat families had made their homes, to be nearly
depopulated in one spring by reason of continued
high water, accompanied with sleet and rain, and
by the activity of two or three avaricious hunters.

I myself have hunted the muskrat, but it has been
with a harmless weapon—the camera. It is some-

go The Muskrat

what difficult to get a snapshot at the muskrat, for
it is largely a nocturnal animal. However, most of
us can remember having seen them in the daytime.

Muskrat RECLINING ON THE LoG

According to my observation, the latter part of August
and the first of September is the best time of the

The Muskrat g1

whole year to find muskrats abroad in daylight.
With this fact in mind I set out to obtain some photo-
graphs.

My first step was to make a thorough search of the
creeks and ponds for a thickly settled muskrat com-
munity. The place seeming to promise the best
results was the upper portion of a mill race having.
on one side pasture land, while the other side was a:
steep bank under which were several burrows.

Near the water’s edge, at about the same point on

the pasture side, I had observed muskrats several:
times during the afternoon. I began by putting sweet.
apples in certain places, thus rewarding the muskrats
which ventured abroad in daylight, but I took care
to remove all remaining apples before sundown. I
kept up this baiting process for about two weeks,
and at the end of that time several of the muskrats
made quite regular excursions for the apples late in
the afternoon. From the pasture side of the mill
race an old log extended from the bank over the water.
I noticed a very large muskrat several times, after
“his frolic on shore, taking a reclining position on the
log before he plunged into the water to swim to the
opposite shore, where his burrow was located. After
several attempts I succeeded in photographing the
old fellow in this rather odd reclining position.

92 The Muskrat

The younger muskrats are not so shy as the older
ones. The first photograph in this sketch shows
one nibbling a plantain leaf. .

These pictures were easily obtained in comparison
with the one showing the muskrat swimming. This

MUSKRAT SWIMMING

consumed all of my spare time, my plates, and my
patience.

From these results it is readily seen that any one,
with a real desire and a little inventive genius, can
photograph muskrats; it becomes difficult only when

The Muskrat 93

you so far forget yourself as to desire to get one in
a certain position.

The ancient forest has been swept away and old
water courses with their adjacent marshes have long
since become dry. With these changes have vanished
the beaver, the wolf, the moose, and the timid deer;
the muskrat, however, has remained, wisely .accommo-

A Muskrat STREAM IN WINTER

dating himself to the new surroundings until now
his mode of life is almost as artificial as that which
hems him in on all sides. We love to think of him
in the open marsh, where the “boom” of the bittern
mingles with the deep bass of the frogs. It is here in
early summer, at the close of day, that we may find

94. _ The Muskrat

the young muskrats. sporting among the lily-pads,
where the mother duck is softly calling to her little
ones, as she retreats among the tall weeds. May the
days of the muskrat continue for untold generations,
that mankind may never forget the world’s past

wildness!

A TypicaL Fox CouNTRY

THE FOX

cunning of our common wild animals.

From the time of earliest animal lore, to
“old Reynard,” have been ascribed attributes which
would lead us to believe him to be endowed with
something that many are unwilling to concede to the
lower animals,—something that seems more than mere
instinct, a something akin to reason.

The fox is wily and cunning and sagacious, to
such a degree that he taxes to the utmost the ability
of our best huntsmen. Even with the aid of trained
hounds and with a knowledge of the runway of the
fox, the sportsmen are often eluded and outwitted by
the artful Reynard. Traps, deadfalls, and all sorts

of devices are used for his capture, and his ability to
95

96 The Fox

escape them can but command a certain respect from
his human pursuers, a respect which cannot be felt
for an animal like the opossum.

In the shadowy depths of his mother’s burrow, tine
baby fox first opens his eyes upon a world in which
his part is to be a continual struggle; struggle not
only for daily sustenance, but a struggle to escape the
snares and pitfalls laid for him. by his arch enemy—
man. Among the fox kindred it is a survival of
the fittest, combined with a wonderful development
of hereditary habit, which has fostered, and in some
cases multiplied, their race.

When pursued by a hound, the fox may deceive it
in several ways, such as doubling on his trail, walking
on fences, or wading in shallow water. The last ruse
is by far the most effective. Nevertheless the hunting
of the fox is most successfully accomplished by means
of the hound. In the Northern States the hunting
season begins in November; but the real sport comes
a little later, when the ground is covered with a light
snow, for then the hound can follow the trail more
easily. A trail must be fresh if a dog is to follow it
over the frozen ground with any degree of speed,
and on a ploughed field it is almost hopeless.

Perhaps a few reminiscences of fox hunting will

serve, better than anything else, to give those unac-

The Fox 97

quainted with this clever animal clearer notions as to
the scope of fox sagacity:—To begin with, it should
be borne in mind that foxes, unless old and experienced
in guile, will not, when hounded, run far away on
a straight course, but will circle near the home where

An INTERESTED Fox

they were reared. It is also well to know that foxes
have certain runways through valleys and across
hills, through swamps and along water courses, and
that these are followed more or less regularly by the
fox, either when pursued or when quietly moving

98 The Fox

from place to place in search of food. This fact is
taken advantage of by hunters, and the runways must
be located before success in the hunt can be expected.

In the fall of 1880 foxes were very plentiful in the
State of New York on the hills between the Una-
dilla and Chenango rivers. There was scarcely any
snow until late in November, and when it did come
it was very dry, the wind blowing it from the fields
and hill tops, and drifting it along the fences. Not-
withstanding the bareness of the fields, thoughts of
the old time sport tempted the more adventurous
hunters. Two of these enthusiastic Nimrods set
forth with a well trained hound before the snow had
stopped sifting about even in the less exposed places.
The hound soon struck a trail, and as the track was
fresh he seemed to fly over the snow. The deep
toned baying sent the blood tingling through the
veins of both pursuer and pursued. The first hunt
of the season was really on! The men took positions
of vantage on the supposed runway, watching and
listening carefully for the expected game. Meanwhile
the hound had gone quite out of hearing to the north.
An hour passed and no fox appeared. Nothing was
heard save the baying of the hound far away to the
east. In half an hour the fox appeared in a valley,
over which the hunters commanded a distinct view.

The Fox 99

As the fox could not take to the water in the frozen
streams, he tried another trick which worked admira-
bly. It was this: Within the valley and in sight of
the hunters were two ploughed fields, each containing
a marked elevation. The wind had swept these higher
areas completely bare of snow and loosened bits of
earth had rolled away, until the surfaces were quite
smooth. The runway of the fox may have been
across these wind-swept places. Be that as it may,
the fox crossed each in tum. When the hound came
upon the first place he lost the trail for a time, but
finding it, proceeded to the second. The fox, instead
of continuing his course as would naturally be ex-
pected, returned to the first by a circuitous route and
then again to the second. He repeated this manceu-
vre three times, taking the same course each time,
finally quitting the game by turning sharply to the
left, and making off to the south, leaving behind him
a most weary and perplexed dog.

At another time a fox was seen to follow a rail
fence for about forty rods, nearly in the opposite
direction from that in which he had been traveling;
he then jumped from the fence upon the ice of a
small creek. By this ruse he succeeded in completely
eluding the hounds.

If the fox is an old one and has often been before the

100 The Fox

hounds, he tries in succession several blocks to the
trail, thus gaining time and tiring the dogs. I once
knew a fox to throw the hound from the trail by
taking to the highway for a distance, passing among
a large number of cows feeding about a stack, and
finally walking a fence; all this within half a mile.
Why did the fox go among the cows? Did he reason
that his passage would scarcely be noticed, whereas
the hound would create quite a disturbance among
the cattle,—enough disturbance to confuse him and
perhaps cause him to lose the trail? Since the fox
was far in advance of the hound and there was no
immediate need for such an unusual act, and knowing
as I do the cunning of Reynard, I am led to believe
that this move was not entirely accidental..

I knew one fox to enter a village while being
pursued; another ran into a large barn by one door
and out through another on the opposite side; and
still a third crossed the dooryard of a farmhouse
and went upon the porch where a man was stand-
ing, actually crouching nearly exhausted at his feet
as though begging protection from the relentless
hound.

When the snow is soft and deep the dog with his
longer legs has the advantage, and sometimes the
fox is overtaken and killed. At such times, I ob-

The Fox IOI

served, the majority of foxes seemed to realize their
great disadvantage, usually keeping so near to their
burrows that, when hard pressed by the hounds, they
could “hole up” as a last resort.

Let us look at some of the common methods em-
ployed by hunters in securing foxes that “hole up.”
The fox may be “dug out.”’ This is serious business
for a hunter when the ground is frozen to the depth
of two feet or more, but if he decides that this is the
thing to be done, he borrows a pick and shovel from
some near by farmhouse. _ If the ‘‘boys” are at home,
the wise old hunter incidentally mentions that he has
“holed” a fox, and at once he has assistants. at his
command. Before the digging begins a slender green
stick is cut, with which the direction of the burrow
is determined, and a pit is sunk some four or five
feet from the entrance. Then another bearing is
taken and a second pit is sunk, and by this means
much labor is saved. Sometimes a divide in the bur-
row is discovered, but the dog usually determines in
which one the fox is hiding; at other times the fox
may be heard digging, and his whereabouts is thus
disclosed. The scene now becomes one of great
excitement for the boys and dogs, each getting in
the way of the other, and delaying the capture. If
no large stone or root interferes, the fox is soon ex-

102 The Fox

posed, and is usually seized and despatched by one
of the dogs.

Another method of ferreting the fox, when rocks and
stones make digging impossible, is that of “smoking
him out.” Dry punk is set on fire and, when burning
well, is forced some three or four feet into the entrance
of the burrow. Through the lack of sufficient air,
quite a quantity of smoke and gases is formed, which
after a time becomes diffused through the remotest
parts of the burrow. This is a new enemy to the
bewildered fox, and one on which his usual cunning
has little effect. In his last desperate effort to escape,
he tries to gain the entrance of his burrow, but falls
exhausted near the smouldering heap that not only
blocks his way, but is pouring forth its deadly fumes.
After about two hours the remaining mass is raked
out and a slender, slightly forked stick inserted and
twisted about. In so doing the end usually becomes
entangled in the fur of the fox and he is then easily
drawn to the entrance of the burrow.

Still another method of capture is sometimes at-
tempted, that of “drowning out the fox,” but this
is seldom successful. It requires a large quantity of
water, and often the soil is so porous that before the
second supply can be added the first has been absorbed.

But we must not forget that these “holes” are

The Fox 103

interesting from another point of view, besides that
of the hunter—they are the homes of the foxes.
Here, during the springtime, on a soft bed of grass
and leaves the fox babies are born. They are lively
little fellows, varying in number from three to seven.
So rapidly do they grow that the amount of labor
expended in procuring food for them is great. The
parent foxes must hunt day and night. At such times
the female becomes daring, and has even been known
to invade farmyards and capture poultry in the day-
time.

I have become acquainted with several fox families,
and very much have I enjoyed their friendship. All
but one of these families were allowed to rear their
young; the exception being in the case of a pair so
destructive that they were dug out, and the young
kept as pets. I wish to speak in particular of this
family, not that they differed so much from others,
but because I knew them better.

It was in an open pasture, during the first week in
May, that I discovered their den. During the spring
four or five hens had mysteriously disappeared, and
one day I saw a fox not far from the barn. There
was nothing remarkable in this except that the fox
was the darkest in color I had ever seen, outside the
black species, The disappearance of the hens was

104 The Fox

now no mystery, a den of foxes being less than a
quarter of a mile away. Such being the case, I
began at once to cultivate the acquaintance of the
family. In the parents I expected to find the ordinary
red-fox variety, so common about the region; but
one of them was extremely dark in color.

The entrance to the den looked like a very large
woodchuck’s burrow, save that it bore evidence of
more constant use, and that scattered about were bits ~
of fur and feathers of various kinds.

The first time I visited the burrow I did not see
any foxes. After this, whenever I was near the bur-
row the darker colored of the old foxes was usually
to be seen on a knoll not far away, sitting dog-fashion
and occasionally uttering a sharp bark. I seldom
saw the red fox, which I supposed to be the male,
unless a dog accompanied me. In that case the
darker fox would retire and the red one would come.
closer, apparently inviting the dog to a chase. How-
ever, since the dog was not a fox hound, he would
soon return, only to be provoked again by the near
approach of the fox. I watched this most interesting
strategy several times, but not being entirely satisfied,
I chose a hound instead of a shepherd dog and, keep-
ing firm hold upon the chain, I approached the den,
resolved to study the ‘situation, until I could ascer-

The Fox 105

tain the meaning of the peculiar behavior of the
foxes.

The red fox behaved exactly as before—approach-
ing in plain sight and, when the dog was loosed,
leading him on a “straightaway.” In a short time
the distant baying of the hound could no longer be
heard. Not until the next morning did he return.
For my own satisfaction and for that of those who
are interested in fox lore, I repeated the experiment
three times within ten days, with the same results.

@n one occasion I took the hound to the knoll
which was .so often frequented by the female fox.
Away he went on a fresh trail to the south. At inter-
vals I could catch his baying, as he emerged into a
clearing or passed over an eminence. After twenty
minutes these sounds failed to reach my ear. During
this time I had remained seated on the knoll from
which the hound started. Imagine my surprise when,
on hearing a fox bark, I turned and saw the dark
colored fox standing not more than twenty rods
from me! What did this mean? I was now at very
nearly the spot from which the fox had started less
than half an hour before. The hound had taken the
trail at this point, and had gone to the south—and
here the fox was back again!

For two hours I remained near the den, but nothing

106 The Fox

was to be seen of the dog. Toward evening he
returned home. Knowing the cunning of foxes, and
believing that they can reason in a general way, I was
curious to learn more about them. Accordingly on
the third day succeeding the incident of the saga-
cious female fox, I led the hound near the den and
put him upon her trail. As far as I could judge,
they passed over the same course as before; the fox
appearing after about the same lapse of time, taking
up her station near the den, where she remained for
a short time and then disappeared. I went home in
about an hour, and the hound was not heard again that
day; but in the morning he was resting on the door-
mat, apparently as happy as though an old fox had
not fooled him.

This, with other data, furnished me material for
serious thought in regard to this foxy family. Having
satisfied myself sufficiently, as I believed, to warrant
conclusions, I once more repeated the experiment with
the hound and the female fox, with practically identi-
cal results. .

From these experiments it seems reasonable to
believe that, while the young are in the burrow and
unable to care for themselves, it is the business of
the male fox to keep dogs away from the den by
leading them on “straightaways.” I am led firmly

The Fox 107

to believe, also, that if the dog strikes the trail of the
female fox, the male in some way crosses off the female,
taking upon himself the burden of the chase. Cer-
tainly the cases I have cited point to this conclusion.

Tae Dream or THE Witp Fox

The duty of providing food for the young foxes does
not rest entirely with the female, although the real
responsibility seems to be hers. At all events, when
food becomes scarce, it is the mother fox that, even
in the light of day, and almost in the presence of man
and dog, will venture near enough to the barns to catch
a fowl for her starving little ones.

This condition of home affairs is true not only of

108 The Fox

this fox family, but of all others which I have ob-
served, and I have reason to believe that it is usual
among foxes. In other animal families similar re-
sults have been observed. As has been stated, foxes
raised in a certain locality usually remain near home,
probably bringing up their own young within a few
miles of the parent den. So, too, with pumas. A
single family lives within a given territory and the
male and female, as a rule, hunt separately, as do the
parent foxes. The female puma is a far better hunter
than the male, and when hard pressed for food for
her young she becomes very bold and daring. Yet
in proportion to her size and strength she does not
surpass the mother fox.

A division of labor between parents is not a fact
among the mammals solely; it is common among
birds—among some the division being quite equal,
while with others it is very unequal.

This division of care for the little ones of a family
must be excellent domestic economy. Certainly my
little fox friends were the fattest and glossiest little
fellows imaginable. There were six of them, four
red and two darker colored ones. It was most
interesting to watch these little fellows at play; they
would chase each other about, rolling and tumbling,
tugging over bits of sticks, or sometimes over their

The Fox 109

food, and jumping about their mother, especially
when she was lying upon the grass. Sometimes the
mother fox would play with them much after the
fashion of adog. Twice I saw the male fox at the den.

We are told that sometimes live mice and occasion-
ally other animals are brought to the den for the
little foxes to play with and later to feast upon. Only
once did I see anything of this kind, the victim in
this instance being a young woodchuck. It was
evident from the woodchuck’s movements that the
mother fox had not injured the prey. It was amus-
ing to see the antics of the young foxes. They were
very cautious at first in their approach. Sometimes
in their haste to retreat they fell over each other as
the woodchuck made a dash for them. The old fox
had to recapture the woodchuck several times and
on the last occasion killed it, whereupon the little ones
enjoyed a good feast.

I have yet to know a den of foxes that so regularly
and systematically drew for its supply of food upon
one poultry yard as did this one. The fowls being
allowed to run at large, the ducks and hens and par-
ticularly the turkeys often strayed some little distance
away. A greater part of the missing fowls were
taken during the day, for at night they were shut in
the poultry house, or, as in the case of the turkeys,

110 The Fox

were out of harm’s way, high in the trees near the
garden. Matters went from bad to worse. And when
my favorite Dorking cock was served to the young
foxes, it was too much! Straightway the foxes were
dug out and the young were given away as pets. The
old foxes were not killed, but after the day the young
were taken I do not know that I saw the parents
again. At dusk that evening I saw a shadowy form
near the little house-which had been prepared for one
of the young foxes. For several nights the barking
of foxes was heard not far away, and sometimes the
little captive made bold to answer. Through worry
and confinement, and perhaps improper food, the
little fox quickly lost his plumpness and the glossi-
ness of fur. One morning a dead partridge was
found beside his prison door, probably killed and
brought there by the mother fox. Purposely, on the
following evening the collar of the imprisoned fox
was gently loosened, and the door of his house left
ajar. In the morning the collar lay beside the door,
and I imagined that the little fellow was safe with his
mother among the hills.

I learned in the following autumn that two more
of the young foxes escaped. I hoped that they would
journey back to the valley in which they were born,
never again to be trammelled by collar and chain.

PHOTOGRAPHING A WILD Fox

HROUGHOUT
the wooded dis-
tricts of Otsego
County in New York State
west of the Glimmerglass,

there are to be found a con-
siderable number of foxes.
The natural conditions for
their protection and even

increase exist there to a
marked degree. Although the woodsman has worked
great havoc among the pines, hemlocks, and chestnuts
that once covered the high hills of the district, here
and there even now may be found a comparatively
large forest. The ground, not being found suitable
for agricultural purposes when cleared, has been al-
lowed to run wild, and a luxuriant growth of scrub
oak and pine, cherry, a few evergreens, and a tangle

of brier have taken the place of the larger timber.
III

112. Photographing a Wild Fox

The whole section, therefore, offers ideal homes for
the foxes.

The same conditions, too, which have naturally
protected the foxes have had a like influence on the
ruffed grouse and other small game which largely
furnish the food supply of Reynard; but they, like
himself, have learned cunning from long experience,
and he often finds the domestic fowl which has ven-
tured too far from the protection of the farm-boy
and his dog a more easy victim. This fact makes
the fox especially obnoxious to the farmer in the
thinly populated districts of this region. During the
hunting season many are shot, but their numbers are
nevertheless gradually increasing.

It was during the tapping of the sugar bush that
some boys noticed numerous fox tracks in the snow.
They also caught an occasional glimpse of a long, slim
body gliding as silently as a shadow into the dwarf
hemlocks by the swamp, and the watchers of the
sugar camp at night were often startled by shrill
barking just outside of the circle of light. This re-
minded the boys of the gradual disappearance of
their father’s fowls, and the oft repeated threats
against Reynard; and they determined, when the
hurry of sugar making was over, to turn their atten-
tion to the destruction of their troublesome neighbors.

Photographing a Wild Fox 113

Meantime the sun had slowly climbed higher and
higher in the heavens until the days were spring-like
indeed. This sort of weather aroused the wild nature
of the domestic turkeys and they longed for the open
fields and woods. With many misgivings the farmer
at last opened their prison door one morning and
set them free. All day long they roamed the meadows,
‘and at night returned safely to roost in their old
places in the apple trees near the house, but later in
the evening there was evidence of some disturbance
among them. Old Sport, the hunting dog, joined in
with his deep toned voice, the vigorous tugging at his
chain telling of his eagerness to be free. So great was
the disturbance, that the farmer thought it best to
liberate the dog. Away he sped through the garden,
past the apple trees where the turkeys were roosting,
and on toward the swamp. The frequent bayings of
the hound indicated close proximity to game, but
after half an hour he could no longer be heard. It
was evident that he was on the trail of a fox and
‘that the fox had led him on a “straightaway” far
ta the south. :

The next morning Old Sport returned, very weary

from’ his long chase, but wagging his tail. in silent
welcome to-the little family which had just. arrived
,.to. spend the spring and summer at the old farm.

114 Photographing a Wild Fox

The subject of the foxes and their depredations soon
became an all-absorbing topic, and the spirit of the
discussion was thoroughly entered into by those of
us who were called visitors. We had longed for the
wholesome country life and sports, and the foxes
promised to furnish just the right tonic for tired heads
and overworked nerves.

The second night after our arrival the foxes again
came close to the house, barking and causing signs of
alarm among the turkeys. The next morning was
clear and bright, the balmy air gave a sense of new
life, and the fields and woods, tinged with that deli-
cate green so characteristic of the latter part of May,
invited us thither. As soon as the dew was off the
grass we took Old Sport and started for the maple
grove. We had not gone far before the dog was off
on a fresh scent, which led him along a range of hills
on the west side of a valley, extending to the south
for about two and a half miles. It was not until the
middle of the afternoon that he returned.

The disappearance of the fowls and the frequent
hunts of Old Sport continued for about a week, but
during this time we had seen a fox only twice. How-
ever, we were satisfied with only a small beginning.
As our study continued, longer tramps were neces-
sary, with cold lunches or with none at all, and I soon

Photographing a Wild Fox 115

found that the others preferred different amusements
of a less fatiguing character. The motive of my in-
terest in the foxes being very different from that of
the farmer and his family, my enthusiasm was less
easily dispelled. I was bent, not on their destruction,
but on learning more of their habits and real life—
how they cared for their young, and how they pro-
tected themselves from the many dangers that beset
them, and upon obtaining, if possible, some photo-
graphs of wild foxes.

One day while in an old stump lot which sloped
south, I caught a glimpse of a large fox, as he dis-
appeared behind a knoll and then reappeared a
little farther on. He trotted leisurely across the open
pasture, never once turning his head or in any manner
indicating that he had seen me. He was not fifteen
rods away and would have been an easy shot, but I
would not have killed him for all the poultry in the
farmyard.

I immediately seated myself by an old stump and
focused my field glass upon the beautiful animal.
This was no sooner done than the fox, which prob-
ably had been watching me all the time, sat down,
dog-fashion, and turned his gaze full upon me. For
ten minutes there seemed to be an equal fascination
between man and fox, and then a sudden change

116 Photographing a Wild Fox

came over the fox. My perfect quietness seemed to
disturb him. His frequent change of position, the
occasional opening of his mouth, and other quick’
nervous movements told very plainly of the strain he:
was undergoing.

During this time I had lowered the glass and was:
gazing intently at him, and never for an instant did he
take his eyes from me. I was at a loss to know how
to proceed, for I very much desired a closer ac-'
quaintance with this wonderful old fox, who had
matched his wit against that of man and of the trained
hound. He evidently had a similar inclination, for
he slowly raised himself, stood at full height for a
moment and then advanced probably fifty feet.
Here he stopped an instant as if to reassure himself
that he had made no mistake, and then trotted toward
me; a little to one side of a direct line, and came to
rest on a knoll above me about six rods away.

Up to this time I had paid but little attention to his
specific characteristics, but now his position, as he
stood silhouetted against the sky, gave me an oppor-
tunity to study him in detail. There were the long
shapely legs, the bushy tail, the well-rounded body,’
the delicately poised head and pointed nose, and
above the beautiful eyes were the ears inclined forward
as if to catch my very thoughts. Thus he stood for

Photographing a Wild Fox 117

fully a minute, keeping his eyes fixed on mine, and
then turning suddenly he disappeared among the
brakes.

Before this I had known the fox only as a shy and
cunning animal, but this one had shown another side.
My attitude of friendliness towards him seemed to be
reciprocated, and I believe that with me he had lost
some of the fear that was so evident in his relation
to other men.

I was now certain that his den and family could
not be far away; so the next morning I led the dog to
the place where I had met the fox on the day previous.
Almost before I had time to remove the dog’s collar
the fox appeared, not a hundred feet away. In a
moment the dog had sighted him, and away they
went to the south over the old course.

I now devoted my time to a search for the den, and
within twenty minutes I stumbled upon it. It was
strange that I had not found it before, as I had been
within a few feet of it several times. The surroundings
were picturesque about the home of the foxes. On
the same level, the den could not be seen unless you
were very near, but if you knew where to look for
it, it could be seen from an elevation about fifty rods
away across a, little ravine.

I found exactly what I had expected to find, and

118 Photographing a Wild Fox

having found it, I was more worried than the foxes,
for I feared some one else might discover it too. If
so, the young would be dug out, the home destroyed,
and my fox-study ended.

It was nearly noon when I completed the study of
the den and its surroundings. To the south I could
hear the hound, but after waiting some time for him
to come back I returned to the house without him,
and he arrived about two hours later.

During the afternoon I laid plans for the further
study of the old fox. The following morning I led
the dog to tke former place of starting. The fox
immediately appeared just as he had done the previous
day, and away they ran over the course of the morning
before. With field glass in hand I followed until I
reached a point on the side of the ravine opposite
the den from which I commanded a full view of the
valley below, as well as of the den. Here I concealed
myself and awaited further developments.

The sound of the hound’s baying died away in the
distance, and for an hour the stillness was broken
only by the occasional song of the birds and the
chirp of insects. Then again I heard the hound, and
in a little while he appeared in sight in the valley
below. He had apparently lost the trail, and so it
proved; for in another half-hour he passed my place

Photographing a Wild Fox 119

of concealment on the way to the house. I watched
until the middle of the afternoon and saw nothing
more of the old fox.

The next day I repeated the experiment, and
watched particularly for the appearance of the dog
in the valley. I found that he lost the trail in about
the same place near the creek. Some time before
this I saw the fox coming up the creek near the den,
which he passed, never so much as turning his head,
and I soon lost sight of him among the ferns and low
bushes. The dog worked the trail for some time
longer, and finally gave it up and went to the house.

By this time I thoroughly understood the action
of the dog. Now I must watch for the fox. On
the third day, as the fox and the dog started as before,
I watched carefully the place where the dog had lost the
trail. Two hours later I saw the fox, on his return
trip, on the top of a stone wall at the place where the
hound lost the trail each time. The wall at this
point was so near the creek that the fox could jump
from the wall to the bed of the stream. The banks
were low for some distance, and I could see him in
the shallow water making his way towards the den.
As the banks became higher he was lost to view, and I
turned the glass upon the creek, which was fully ex-
posed near the den. In a little while he passed this

120 Photographing a Wild Fox

point, and farther up the creek came out upon the
high ground and, seating himself near a stump, care-
fully surveyed the valley below.

At first he seemed very calm, but became more
restless as the hound appeared in the valley. By the

THe STONE WALL WHERE THE Doc Lost THE TRAIL

time the dog had reached the place where the fox
had taken to the wall, the fox in his apparent delight
lost all control of himself. He jumped and frisked
about and seemed to enjoy the perplexities of the

Photographing a Wild Fox 121

dog with almost human intelligence. As the dog be-
came more and more bewildered, he gave vent to his
disappointment at intervals in long-drawn howls, until,
‘uttering one prolonged howl, he gave up the struggle,
returning to the house by the way of the west side of
the valley, passing near my place of concealment.

Thereupon the fox became quiet, resting in a posi-
tion half concealed by a stump, where he could watch
every movement of the dog. After the dog had
passed, the fox sat up on his haunches and watched
him until he was out of sight, when almost instantly
the fox turned and disappeared among the low bushes
which skirted the maple grove.

The performance was repeated almost to the letter
on the following - day. The situation was now per-
fectly clear to me. The fox was on guard. at the
head of the valley, ready to lead the dog away, and
after completely fooling him, returned by way of
the creek to his vantage-point at the upper end of
the valley in the stump lot.

It was now time to attempt to photograph the
fox; his acquaintance had been carefully cultivated,
his method of deceiving the old hound studied, and
his appetite satisfied with many a fat chicken. Know-
“ing something of his resting places at the head of the
ravine, where he watched the hound in the valley

122 Photographing a Wild Fox

below, and being supplied with a long focus lens and
a release to the shutter, that could be operated from
two to three hundred feet distant, I felt reasonably
sure of success. The camera was properly con-

Tuer Fox WATCHING THE HOUND

cealed, and after about two weeks of constant work
there were found, among the numerous failures, four
fairly good negatives.

Just after photographing the fox I was compelled
to be absent from the farm for a few days. Upon

Photographing a Wild Fox 123

my return I visited the haunts of the foxes, and a sad
spectacle awaited me; the pick and shovel, worked
by willing hands, had turned the den into heaps
and trenches of reddish colored soil. I afterwards
learned that a boy had discovered the den, and at
once the foxes were dug out, and the mother and
four little ones killed.

I saw nothing of the fox during the following week
which terminated my stay at the farm. At night I
sadly missed the barking that used to sound from
the grove or meadow, and sometimes even closer to
my window; but still more did I miss the graceful
form that I had so often seen in the stump lot at the
head of the valley. I left with the secret hope that
the tamest of wild foxes was still alive and might
long outwit those who sought his life.

THE WHITE-FOOTED MOUSE

HE white-footed mouse is by far the most
beautiful species of the genus to which

it belongs. Indeed it is almost a shame

to call this handsome creature a mouse at all! He
is almost a dandy in dress and neatness, and his
spotless robe of grayish fawn above is sharply’ con-
trasted with the pure white beneath. This, coupled
with the natural grace and agility of its movements,
distinguishes the white-footed ‘mouse as one of our
most attractive little mammals.

Combined with this grace and beatity there ‘is a
gentleness of disposition reminding one of the flying
squirrel—indeed it is said that these two little wood-
dwellers are sometimes found living in the same cavity.
An adult white-footed mouse when captured wild will
seldom bite if taken in the hand, and after two or
three days of confinement it is as gentle and confiding
as though it had been born in captivity.

The home of the white-footed mouse is occasionally

found in deep forests of evergreens or deciduous
124

The White-Footed Mouse 125

trees; but its usual abode is along hedgerows, in the
fields, or even in dwellings about well wooded séctions
of the country. The hunter’s camp is very sure to
be visited by them, and sometimes their friendliness
becomes a burden. While their usual food is nuts
and seeds of various kinds, they soon learn to eat
almost anything about the camp. These little fellows
show a most surprising capacity for food, and when once
a hungry hord of them takes possession of the camp,
well may the hunters and trappers look carefully after
their stock of provisions; for when the snow lies deep
through the forest and the nearest store is forty miles
away, then is every ouncc of flour and meal precious.

This little rodent has sharp teeth which sometimes
he uses in a careless and inconsiderate manner; cord,
fish line, hunting tackle of various kinds, and even
snares set for other animals are cut to pieces. The
trap is often sprung and the bait which might have
caught a mink or marten has been devoured by this
small midnight marauder.

Under favorable circumstances the white-footed
mouse stores up considerable quantities of beechnuts
for winter use. These seem to be his favorite nuts.
Occasionally, when nuts are not attainable, seeds and
grains of various kinds are stored. The nuts are
usually shucked when gathered, at least this has been

126 The White-Footed Mouse

my observation, and placed in a hollow of a tree or
log. Woodsmen often find these stores of nuts.
Several years ago I found a storehouse of some white-
footed mice in a cavity of a maple tree. There were
nearly three and a half quarts of as beautifully shucked
beechnuts as one would wish to see. Only last year
I found in a stump another storehouse, containing a
quart of beechnuts and an equal amount of buck-
wheat.

The white-footed mouse, like some of the squirrels,
constructs an outside nest, in thick tangles of bushes,
from four to ten feet above the ground. The favorite
location seems to be about some gently inclined vine,
such as the wild grape, which affords a natural and
easy highway from the ground to the home of the wee
architect. The nests are slightly globular in shape,
and composed of dried leaves, grasses, moss, and
fibrous barks of various kinds, the material being
closely compacted and the general appearance very
pleasing. The entrance is usually on the lower side.
Sometimes the foundation is an old bird’s nest, very
often that of the catbird. TI once found a nest that
was fifteen inches in length and about eight inches in
diameter, this being the most irregular in shape as
well as the largest one that I ever saw.

Occasionally several mice will occupy the same nest,

oat

WHITE-FOOTED Mouse

The White-Footéd’ Mouse 129

and if disturbed they hasten out, making their way
along the branches to the ground. If the disturbance
is slight, they come out upon the branches; gaze about
on all sides and gently sniff the air, not returning
until they are satisfied that all danger has passed.

Among the various species of mice there has been
found from time to time the “singing mouse,” and
even among the white-footed variety it is no exception,
according to a note that appeared in the American
Naturalist several years ago by Mr. Hiskey, who
wrote as follows:

“T was sitting a few evenings since, not far from a
half-open closet door, when I was startled by a sound
issuing from the closet, of such marvelous - beauty
that I at once asked my wife how Bobbie Burns (our
canary) had found his way into the closet, and what
could start him to singing such a queer and sweet song
in the dark. I procured a light, and found it to be a
mouse! He had filled an overshoe from a basket of
popcorn which had been popped and placed in the
closet in the morning. Whether this rare collection of
food inspired him with song I know not, but I had
not the heart to disturb his corn, hoping to hear from
him again. Last night his song was renewed. I ap-
proached with a subdued light and with great caution,
and kad the pleasure of seeing him sitting among his

130 The White-Footed Mouse

corn and singing his beautiful solo. I observed him
without interruption for ten minutes, not over four
feet from him. His song was not a chirp, but a con-
tinuous song of musical tone, a kind of to-wit-to-wee-
woo-woo-wee-woo, quite varied in pitch.”

This does not mean necessarily that the white-
footed mice as a species are musical or that they have
any considerable vocal power. I believe, on the con-
trary, that they are nearer mutes—attracting attention
by drumming with their toes, a habit similar to the
“thumping” of rabbits.

In spite of midnight revels and feasts upon beech-
nuts and grain, the existence of the white-footed
mouse is one of eternal and anxious vigilance; its
bright eyes must be ever on the watch for the shadow
of hawk and owl, whose descent means swift and
silent death; its sharp ears must be ever listening
for the slightest stirring among the leaves, which may
herald the coming of its dread enemy—the weasel.

I was once passing through a thicket, when an
unfamiliar sound caused me to stop to listen. Peer-
ing through the brush I discovered a screech owl
standing on the side of an old bird’s nest, only a
short distance ahead of me. It was after sundown,
but the light was sufficient to enable me to see objects
quite distinctly some distance away. The little owl

The White-Footed Mouse 131

was absorbed in tearing apart what at first sight I
supposed to be the bird’s nest. So intently was he
engaged in this task that I approached unobserved,
and when within thirty feet of the bird I discovered
that a white-footed mousé had placed his home on

Tue NEST OF THE WHITE-FOOTED MousEe

the top of the bird’s nest. The owl evidently knew
that it was the abode of a mouse, for he was opening
the nest by using both his beak and claws. Sud-
denly a white-footed mouse sprang clear of the nest,
which was not more than four and a half feet above
the ground, and struck upon the dried leaves below.
Instantly the screech owl dropped upon him and
bore him away in his talons to some evergreens near by.

[32 The White-Footed .Mouse

This was the only time that I ever caught the screech
owl in the act of hunting the white-footed mouse.

As a pet the white-footed mouse is very interesting.
In captivity it resembles in many ways the. flying
‘squirrel, especially in its fondness for climbing about
your person and hiding in your pockets.

THE GRAY SQUIRREL

TEADILY the forests have been felled,
and with them the gray squirrels have

gradually disappeared, until their num-

bers have so decreased that for a hundred and fifty
years there has not occurred one of those great
squirrel migrations so common in the United States
during the time of the early settlers. Guided by
an impulse still unfathomed by naturalists, the
squirrels congregated in vast armies and marched
across the country. The distance over which they
moved was largely governed by the obstacles which
they encountered—rivers, lakes, and mountains. The
climatic conditions and the food supply by the way,
according as they were favorable or unfavorable,
lengthened or shortened these migrations. As the
squirrels pushed blindly forward, thousands upon
thousands perished by the way, and the survivors
gradually spread over a great territory, until lost in
the vast wilderness.

Years might elapse before another great migration
133

134 The Gray Squirrel

would occur over the same route; but parts might
be crossed by other migrations starting from different
‘points. Then there were the lesser migrations, with
fewer numbers—caused by a failure of nuts in certain
sections—that extended over distances from sixty to
two hundred miles. Everywhere the squirrels left
desolation behind them in the path of these migra-
tions, the nut, fruit, and grain crops being sometimes
ruined. So destructive were they that we find on the
statute books in many States rewards offered for each
gray squirrel killed.

Every man’s hand was against them, and through-
out the whole year they were shot and trapped when-
ever possible. In addition to this, regular hunts were
organized, in which the whole male. population took
part, hundreds of squirrels being killed in a single day.

On a small scale these squirrel hunts were quite
common in Central New York as recently as 1840,
and even to this day they occur in parts of the
country. My great-uncle, Wesley H. Lottridge, de-
scribed to me one of these hunts, in which he partici-
pated.

The hunt took place in the town of Columbus, New
York, in the month of October, 1850. My uncle
was appointed captain on one side, and ‘“ Uncle”
John Richer, captain of the other. According to

The Gray Squirrel 135

the rules, by a certain date each captain posted in the
village inn a list of his men, consisting of nine besides
himself. On the day of the hunt the participants started
as early in the morning as they pleased, but ceased shoot-
ing at the disappearance of the last raysofthesun. The
hunters then collected at the inn, where the squirrels
were counted by judges, and the men sat down to
a banquet in the preparation of which quantity was
even more to be considered than quality; for the
men were literally as hungry as hunters, having worked
hard with only a cold lunch since breakfast. The
party having the smaller count paid the bill of all.

These hunts were similar to the wild pigeon hunts
of sixty years ago, and to the jack rabbit hunts of
the West.

The presence or absence of the gray squirrels, or
black, which is a color variation of the same species,
depends upon the nut crop. ‘They are the most
abundant, strange to say, when the nut crop is a
failure, which happens about every other year. This
. is accounted for by the fact that contiguous districts
the fall before were without nuts, and so the squirrels
went into the adjoining region where the nuts were
plentiful. ‘Here there would be enough for all until
the addition of the young in the spring, which would
increase the number of squirrels above the normal.

136 The Gray Squirrel

Toward autumn, the nut crop being a failure in
this district, the squirrels migrated into regions round
about where food might be found.

The home of the gray squirrel is usually to be
found in a hollow in a maple, birch, or beech, with
the entrance among the branches forty to sixty feet from
the ground. This is the real home, although often
in the spring a summer house is constructed. This
is generally located in the same tree with the other
home, so that if the squirrels become frightened, they
may run for shelter to the more secure dwelling in
the hole of the tree. This second home may be
for convenience during the time that the young are
being reared; perhaps it is built for sanitary reasons;
the temperature may be very much less during the
hot weather; or it may be a pleasure house to them, a
sort of tenting-out period that is so much enjoyed by
some of the higher animals. Who knows? The ma-
terial of the summer house varies considerably, but
it consists chiefly of sticks, bark, leaves, with a lining
of grasses or some other material. The entrance is
on the side, the nest from below resembling that of
a crow.

The gray squirrels do not lay up for winter use
quantities of nuts or other food, as do the chipmunks,
for they do not hibernate; but when the weather is not

The Gray Squirrel 137

severe they are abroad during the winter. However,
the gray squirrel, in common with most of our other
squirrels, has the habit of digging holes and hiding
a nut or two here and there. It has been argued that
this is an idle pastime, and that nuts so concealed in
many places could never again be located by the
squirrel, but it must be remembered that the sense of
smell in the squirrel is very acute, probably guiding
the animal far more than memory. It must be this .
wonderful sense of smell that directs the squirrel
where. to dig in the snow, securing from beneath the
leaves the nuts that were buried weeks before; or
that guides him to a-solitary nut tree or to the grain
in.a barn.

This stored food constitutes only a part of the
gray squirrel’s winter supply. The other part he must
scurry about to find. The beech trees and some
others do not. drop all of their nuts at the approach
of winter. .There still hang a few solitary nuts on
each tree, and through a large beech forest the number
so left is considerable. But the gray squirrel is not
the only claimant for the nuts: the red squirrels and
the red headed woodpeckers demanding for themselves
the lion’s share. The birds seem to think that these
nuts are exclusively their property, and vigorously do
they protest if a squirrel appears. One determined

138 The Gray Squirrel

red headed woodpecker will sometimes put a gray
squirrel scampering after a few moments, for the
blows from that long sharp bill of his are severe. The
squirrels, being the earlier risers, are often feasting
when the birds appear, but they beat a hasty retreat
before these tricolored warriors.

The gray squirrel has other enemies in feathers,
such as the goshawk and the red tailed hawk. A
single hawk, however, can scarcely catch a gray
squirrel, especially if the squirrel remains on the tree
trunk, which he probably will be wise enough to do,
thus being enabled, by dodging, to evade the hawk’s
claws. I never witnessed. an encounter of this kind
but once, and certainly the squirrel was “up to the
trick”; for he eluded the hawk in the most exasperat-
ing manner, chattering and barking the while in a
most impudent tone, “Qua-qua-qua-qua-qua-a-a.”
The hawk was angry, the feathers on its head and
neck being ruffled as was its spirit. At last it was
obliged to retire, leaving the squirrel at his nutting.
I have been informed, however, that the squirrel does
not always get off so nicely, for sometimes the red-
tails hunt in pairs, and.then the squirrel has no chance
for his life.

Gray squirrels are very fond of music, says Dr. C.
‘Hart Merriam. The doctor in speaking of this men-

Tar GRAY SQUIRREL FoREST IN WINTER

139

The Gray Squirrel 141

tions his experiments with some squirrels which fre-
quented a box of nuts that his father supplied for
them during the winter. As I have never myself
observed this, I wish to quote from this eminent
authority:

“They were extremely fond of music, and it affected
them in a peculiar manner. Some were not only
fascinated, but actually spellbound, by the music-box
or guitar. And one particularly weak minded indi-
vidual was so unrefined in his taste that if I advanced
slowly, whistling ‘Just before the Battle, Mother,’
in as pathetic a tone as I could muster for the occa-
sion, he would permit me even to stroke his back,
sometimes expressing his pleasure by making a low
purring sound. This was a Gray, and I several times
approached and stroked him as above described. I
once succeeded in getting near enough to a Black to
touch him, whereupon he instantly came to his senses
and fled. When listening to music, they all acted in
very much the same way. They all sat bolt upright,
inclining a little forward (and if eating a nut, were
sure to drop it), letting the fore paws hang listlessly
over the breast, and, turning the head to one side in
a bewildered sort of a way, assumed a most idiotic
expression.”

From August until November we may become

142 | The Gray Squirrel

acquainted with the gray squirrel family as a whole.
It is at this time that the old and the young may be
seen early in the morning coming from the hard wood
grove, along the old rail fence to the butternut trees
at the foot of the garden. If you are on the watch,
you may observe the silent troop galloping along
with their beautiful tails well arched, and mounting
the trees more like shadows than like wearers of
fur. The frost has not yet loosened the nuts, but the
squirrels are not daunted; speedily securing nuts, they
sit upon the limbs with their tails over their backs,
and, holding the nuts between their paws, quickly
gnaw through the velvety covering and shuck to the
juicy meat inside. Within an hour they go galloping
back as though they had already stayed too long,
silent as when they came; but if you do not see them,
the telltale shucks will disclose who your visitors
have been.

The old butternut trees must soon share with ‘the
cornfield their attraction for the squirrels. It was the ~
raccoons who first discovered that green corn was in
season, but the squirrels claim their part, and on
some fence rail or post you may find a daintily stripped
cob, left there as a reminder that the squirrels too are -
to share in the increase. Better still, perchance, you
may wander by and surprise the reveler at his feast.

IN THE ORCHARD

143

The Gray Squirrel 145

There is an old orchard that I have known for
years, where the gray squirrels have a regular play-
ground in the autumn. It is connected with a piece
of woods by a fence, and this fence is the grand high-
way of all the squirrel tribe. During their earlier
visits to the orchard they come and go silently as if
on wing. When most of the apples are gathered,
and the frost has touched the leaves, leaving them sere
and russet, there is in the atmosphere a crispness
which has awakened the rollicking spirit in the gray
squirrels. No longer do they follow the old fence,
but cut across lots, chasing each other in and out,
now on this side, now on that, on the way to the tree
tops in the orchard. Here, while searching for food
in the first light of the morning, they frolic, leaping
from branch to branch, and chattering and scolding
like a lot of magpies. If left undisturbed, they re-
main until the sun is more than an hour high, when
they begin to retreat to their forest homes in the
same jubilant manner in which they came. On
reaching the forest, for another half hour they race
through the tree tops before retiring.

If perchance, having found your way into the
forest before them to await their coming, you disturb
them in their frolic, they will instantly vanish from
sight behind the tree trunks or the shielding branches.

146 The Gray Squirrel

You walk around a tree on which you saw a squirrel
a moment before, and you set in motion squirrels about
you; they move as you move, keeping ever a tree
trunk or a limb between you and them. -If you are
accustomed to the ways of wood folk, you will sit down
and keep your eyes and ears open. In the stillness
you will detect, after a little time, a slight shaking of
the leaves, or catch a glimpse of a gray shadowy
coat now flecked by the sun, but almost invisible
against the moss and bark of the maples. These
shadows are the squirrels, furtively seeking their
retreats. You may be resting under a tree in which
there is a wary old gray squirrel, still some distance
from his home. Do not for a moment think that he
will leave the protection of the large limb on which
he is reclining, and expose. himself to view. There
he will lie for hours until, weary in well-watching, you
leave him that you may seek some less wise one.
During the remainder of the morning and until late
afternoon, the squirrels stay in their homes. Then
they are out again for their evening meal, but without
the same joyousness with which they greet the dawn.
An early morning hour with the gray squirrels is
as fascinating as it is to surprise them upon their
return from the old orchard. It requires a morning
with a heavy dew and absolutely without a breeze.

The Gray Squirrel 147

Before daybreak you must cross the threshold of
their forest home, and resting upon some log or
mossy knoll near their exit, await their coming. Your
ears will serve you better than your eyes. At the
first rosy dawn in the east, the squirrels from the
outlying districts mount into the tree tops and begin
their travel toward you. Their coming is first made
known by a slight noise on the ground, but if you
try to locate them by ear, you may be misled; for
where everything is so still, a slight sound may be
heard many rods away, through the large timbered
“forest. Before you have determined the cause of the
first sound, or before you have fairly located it, another
is heard in a different direction. ‘You are all attention!
A regular tattoo of these sounds is now heard on
the forest floor, caused by the tiny showers of. dew
shaken from the leaves, as the squirrels leap from
the end of one slender branch to the next. Soon
your eyes begin to take part in the scene, as the grace-

_ful forms scurry through the leafy arches overhead.
In a little while the gray troop have passed on their
way to the orchard.

If our homes are conveniently situated, the gray
squirrels will visit us during the winter and spring.
If we tempt them with a little food, they will come
both morning and afternoon, when the weather is not

148 The Gray Squirrel

too cold or stormy. ‘This step taken, it is easy to
become quite intimately acquainted with our little
friends in fur. Out of a company of five grays that
were accustomed to visit a certain tree, where food
was placed for them, there was one larger than any
of the others, and supporting a most magnificent
tail. He became very tame, and appeared to be so
vain over his fine appearance that I photographed
him one morning while he was having breakfast.
For the protection of these beautiful mammals we
have laws; but all the laws in Christendom, however
well enforced, cannot prevent animals that naturally
make their homes among the larger timber from
leaving when the forests are destroyed: It is a pity
that, with our boasted civilization, there seems to be
such a wanton destruction of our trees. It may be
the heredity of habit that drives us madly on to denude
the hills and mountains, thus leaving them bare, un-
sightly, and untenanted. The result is invariably
the same, to dry up our springs and streams and to
drive from us the gray squirrels and other animals.
If this continues for another twenty years, as it has
for the past twenty, the gray squirrels will be counted
among our rare animals. In Central New York
I have seen but one black squirrel in the last ten

The Gray Squirrel 149

years. West of the Great Lakes both grays and
blacks are quite plentiful, but it seems that they too are
now dwindling in number, and will finally be entirely
exterminated.

THE RED SQUIRREL

= HE red squirrel
is the most frol-
; \ icsome and ju-
ie bilant of the family to which
” he belongs. In the gloom of
the sombre coniferous for-
ests where his cousins could
not exist, he, with his in-
telligence, genuine industry,
and happy faculty of adapt-
ing himself to his surround-
ings, lives, thrives, and in-
creases.

If the annual nut crop,
which furnishes the princi-
» | pal source of supply for
») the winter store, should

fail, many of the squirrel
family would be forced to migrate; not so, however,
with the red, for he can keep the “wolf from the

door” by subsisting upon the buds, seeds, and
150

The Red Squirrel 151

roots of various shrubs and trees which he finds
among his haunts. Even mushrooms are eaten—
and just how a red squirrel knows the difference
between the poisonous and the non-poisonous va-
rieties has always been a mystery to me, but I
have never seen any but the edible ones collected
by the squirrels; nor have I discovered even a tooth-
mark upon the others. Mushrooms decay quickly if
not gathered at the proper time; and the red squirrels,
who know this as well as we do, harvest them accord-
ingly. Then there are the barberries, chokeberries,
greenbrier-berries, and partridge berries which they
can add to their store; but these are not exclusively
the red squirrel’s, for the bluejays, partridges, quail,
and mice come in for their share. The chickaree, as
the red squirrel is often called, also makes a point
of storing cones from the pine, spruce, and hemlock,
the seeds of these being agreeable to him when the
branches are coated with ice, and the snow is deep
through his forest home. He begins the harvest of
the cones quite early, when the other crops are not
pressing, cutting them from the trees and letting them
fall to the ground, where they dry within a few days.
The squirrel does not gather these cones without
this preliminary process of seasoning, for if not
properly cured the seeds would mold.

Lee The Red Squirrel

But the food question is not settled for the chick-
aree even after his stock is gathered—there are
unprincipled neighbors watching to take advantage
of his thrift. He has little trouble from his own kind
in this respect, for each red squirrel is supposed to
have a certain territory that belongs to him, and
trespassers upon another’s preserves are promptly
chased off; but there are other hungry wood folk not
so easily disposed of, such as the thieving bluejays,
which know neither bounds nor limits and which
are ever on the alert for a free lunch. Consequently
the squirrel needs to have various storehouses for his
food. Knowing that the jays do not care for mush-
rooms he places them conveniently on a limb of a neigh-
boring tree: but the careful little provider would
never think of leaving his corn and nuts in such an
exposed place; these he hides in a cavity of a tree or
in a hole in the ground, the latter being by far the
safer place.

Annoying as the bluejay often is, he sometimes
serves as a friend to the squirrels and to other wood
dwellers as well. The red squirrels, being a constant
target for the gunners, are very shy, and the jay often
sounds an alarm-note when the hunter is some dis-
tance away, thus warning the chickaree in time to
scamper away and hide himself until the danger is

The Red Squirrel 153

past. This bird has caused the hunters to lose many
a good shot, not only at small game, but more par-
ticularly at members of the deer family.

But to go back to the chickaree. He is an expert
on the subject of nuts, not only in selecting sound and
good ones, but also in the manner and certainty with
which he gets at the kernel. Concerning this accom-
plishment John Burroughs writes as follows: “There
is one thing that the red squirrel knows unerringly
that I do not (there are probably several things);
that is, on which side of the butternut the meat lies.
He always gnaws through the shell so as to strike the
kernel broadside, and thus easily extract it; while to
my eyes there is no external mark or indication, in
the form or appearance of the nut, as there is in the
hickory-nut, by which I can tell whether the edge or
the side of the meat is toward me. But examine any
number of nuts that the squirrels have rifled, and, as
a rule, you will find they always drill through the
shell at the one spot where the meat will be most ex-
posed. Occasionally one makes a mistake, but not
often. It stands them in hand to know, and they
do know. Doubtless, if butternuts were a main
source of my food, and I were compelled to gnaw into
them, I should learn, too, on which side my bread

was buttered.”

154 The Red Squirrel

Although the chickaree is so good a provider, food
sometimes becomes extremely scarce in the spring, and
his hunger drives him to drink. He does not slake
his thirst at the mountain stream, however; he taps
a maple tree and later on a birch. With his sharp
chisel-like teeth he makes an incision in the bark,
either upon the tree trunk or upon the limb. Ifa
little cavity is so situated that the sap collects in it,
it pleases him all the better, for the task is lighter,
and then he has more time to attend to the affairs of
his neighbors,—and a most inveterate gossip is the
red squirrel! I wonder if the sapsucker taught him
to tap the trees, or did he teach the sapsucker? The
Indians probably learned this from one or the other,
or from hoth.

As to homes—sometimes. the chickaree builds in
a tree top a summer house similar to that of the
gray; but unlike the gray he occasionally passes the
winter in his summer home, for he seems to be able
to endure severe cold weather. Twenty or thirty
degrees below zero does not appear to inconvenience
him in the least, and even at this low temperature
he will play and frisk gaily about in the light snow.
He makes the most of the few hours of daylight, being
abroad at nearly all times of the day, but retiring

early. In summer, however, especially in the busy

The Red Squirrel 155

nutting season, he keeps late hours; in this respect
resembling his smaller cousin, the flying squirrel.
The red squirrel combines qualities so dissimilar,
that he is clearly the enigma of the forest. His wonder-
ful inquisitiveness, his exasperating insolence, coupled
with all disregard for the ordinary civilities of the
wood dwellers, would stamp him “the black sheep”
of the flock. If you disturb him in your walk, and
your dog makes a dash for him, he mounts the nearest
tree, and from a limb just out of reach he literally
boils over with rage and indignation, jerking his tail
and stamping the limb furiously, calling “chickaree,
chickaree.” He barks and spits, and says things in
squirrel language that probably would sound very
dreadful in English; he makes little dashes first this
way, then that, as though he intended to come down
the tree and run that dog from the premises. He
has no more respect for a man than for a dog, and
if you sit down and remain motionless, he may either
pay no attention to you at all, or his insolence may
know no bounds, so fickle and changeable is his
disposition. If your presence is not agreeable to
him, he will approach nearer and nearer, calling
loudly, and if you quietly persist in remaining where
you are, he becomes a small fury of impudent rage.
Yet, with these objectionable traits, his intelligence,

156 The Red Squirrel

his wonderful perseverance, his industry, and the
cleverness displayed in his various actions cause him
to be tolerated, even though he is an acknowledged
nuisance.

Many claim that the chickaree is the bird’s most
deadly enemy, destroying both eggs and young:
others are equally positive that the red squirrel does
not meddle with nesting birds; that he visits. the
nests very often, but that this is out of pure curiosity
and nothing else; that the old birds tolerate him
and make no outcry when he is near their nests,
thus proving that he is not a destroyer of their young.
I do not precisely agree with either, for circumstances
have very much to do with it, and to say that the red
squirrels as a whole do or do not rob birds’ nests is a
very sweeping statement. There are probably both
innocent and guilty red squirrels, as far as robbing
birds’ nests is concerned. In other words, I believe
it to be a habit, formed like any other habit that an
animal may have, or that we may have. I do not
believe that red squirrels are nest-robbers, any more
than a hen naturally eats hens’ eggs. Occasionally a
hen develops the habit of eating her own eggs and
all others she may find, but it would be unfair to
accuse all hens of this unnatural practice. If I under-
stand the nature of the red squirrel, he will, if forced

The Red Squirrel 157

by hunger or some other cause, eat birds’ eggs or
even young birds. Further, one squirrel may imi-
tate another, and therefore in some particular local-
ities the red squirrels may trouble nesting birds,
while in another they do not. Hence arise the diffi-
culties for unsuspecting readers, one eminent authority
saying one thing, while another says exactly the
opposite. Each may be right for his particular
locality, but one should not judge that it is a universal
habit of the species unless he has more knowledge
on the subject than most men take the trouble to
possess. .

Those who have tented in woods far removed from
man’s influence must have observed the ungovern-
able curiosity of the red squirrel. Within ten minutes
after your camping outfit was landed, he was chatter-
ing at you from the tree tops. Before you had the
centre pole in place, he had descended to the lower
branches. If he considered you a ‘squatter’ upon his
territory, his language indicated it; but if he was
pleased, his every action showed his approbation.
You never made your camp fire so early, or replenished
it so late at night, that the chickaree was not before
and after you. Many a time I have been awakened
in the early morning by the repeated calls and chuckles
of this clown of the forest; nor was he always satisfied

158 The Red Squirrel

in remaining on the outside of my tent, for if I did not
appear at what he believed to be the proper time, he
might surprise me by coming inside.

His preparation for coming into the tent must have
been a severe strain upon his nervous system. He
was on every side of the tent except below it, calling
and chattering in the most hilarious manner, seem-
ing to say, “I'll come in; T’ll come in.” When he
had finally settled upon a place of entrance, instead
of entering it in a stealthy manner, he would rush
screaming at it, like a bull at a red flag, stop before
it for an instant, and then scamper away and up a
tree. Several such attempts were usually made be-
fore the chickaree permitted even his head to enter.
This accomplished, he would dart back and hold
a council of war with himself from a low branch
over the tent or ridge pole, apparently trying to
determine just how much of his body. should be
allowed to enter on the next assault. Sometimes a
half dozen attempts would be made before he really
got inside. But once in, this boldness would seem
to impress him with the fact that. it was something
unusual in him or in his family, and he would turn
tail about, rushing out and up a tree, as if a weasel
were in hot pursuit. A nut now dropped near the
entrance would seem to assure him that you were

The Red Squirrel 159

really his friend, and after another attempt he would
get inside again. “The ice once broken,” he would
visit you regularly during your stay, accepting food
of almost any kind. A few weeks of this, and you
become very much attached to the mischievous little
rascal, and after camp days are over, the recalling
of his escapades is a pleasant memory.

This same curiosity that endears him to the campers
makes him a terror in the region of the trappers.
In this connection Dr. C. Hart Merriam writes:

“From an overhanging limb he looks on with
unfeigned interest while the trapper arranges the
bait for the marten or fisher; but a moment later he
has sprung the trap, and is chippering with exulting
derision at the result. He is often caught, it is true,
but half a dozen others are always ready to take his
place, and it affords little satisfaction to the hunter,
on his lonely rounds through the snow-clad forest,
to find a worthless squirrel in his trap, instead of the
valuable fur for which it was set.”

The red squirrel has several enemies, but of these
the most deadly are the hawk, the owl, and the weasel.
The weasel is the most relentless of all, and by his
sense of smell pursues the squirrel through the tree
_ tops. The squirrel is by far the fleeter, but, for some
reason not known, he apparently goes crazy when he

160

The Red Squirrel

discovers the weasel
on his trail, and
rushes _pell-mell
among the trees,
up and down, cross-
ing and recrossing
his trail, and finally,
hiding among the
branches or taking
to a cavity, he awaits
the coming of the
weasel, which means
sure death.

The red squirrel’s
highways are not
confined to the
forests, for he uses
fences connecting
the forests with
the orchards. He
often comes to the
farm buildings, not
infrequently taking
up his _ residence
there for the winter;
the corn and grain

The Red Squirrel 161

houses must indeed be tight if they are to keep
him out. These various highways are his race-
courses, for he is very sportive with his kind. Often
you may see one chasing another over an old rail fence
or through tree tops. The chickaree being a very expert
climber and swift runner, the race is exciting indeed.
It is wonderful what long leaps these squirrels make, and
upon what slender branches they are able to travel.
The reds are probably the fleetest and surest-footed
of the squirrel family. Most of these races take place
between the males, from May until September. I
never saw such a race as I observed last year in August,
in the tops of four large apple trees. Three squirrels
took part in it, and it was plainly a game of tag through
the tree tops, resembling the old game of cross-tag.
One chased the others, the pursued keeping close
together; sometimes, however, they would become
separated, and the one not being chased would rest
a little until the other two came his. way, when he
would join in, and away they would speed. This
fast pace was kept up for perhaps ten minutes, then
a short pause, and then the game began again, this
time with a new pursuer. I watched them at least a
half hour, and then all of a sudden they left the tree
tops for the old rail fence, and raced back to the
forest.

THE FLYING SQUIRREL

@\F all the mammals that it has been my
pleasure to know a little about, there is

none other so confiding, so gentle, and
so graceful as the flying squirrel. There is nothing
striking about him in the way of color, although the
dense silky fur of a grayish brown above and white
beneath, rivalling in softness and beauty that of the
chinchilla, renders him one of the most beautiful of
our squirrels. The eyes are very prominent, large,
dark, and peculiarly expréssive.

The flying squirrel is a specialized type of his
family, possessing a peculiar hair covered membrane
of skin on each side of the body: between the fore and
hind legs, and attached to both as.far as the wrist
and the ankle. When in a sitting posture or in the
ordinary movements of the body, the flying mem-
branes are drawn, by their own elasticity, close to the
body, like little curtains, and do not detract from
the delicate proportions of the graceful animal. But

when the squirrel is about to fly it spreads its ‘‘ wings”’
162

The Flying Squirrel 163

and from the summit of a tree springs lightly into the
air, and then glides silently away, always in a slightly
descending direction, until a movement, probably of

FLYING SQUIRREL

both body and tail, inclines it upward, and it alights
gently upon the object for which it set out. The tail,
being thin and flat with closely set silken hairs, prob-
ably serves a double purpose on these short flights,—

164 The Flying Squirrel

that of rudder and parachute. I do not mean by this
that the tail can in any way turn the animal from a
straight line, except that probably by bending it down-
ward, and at the same time elevating the chin, it
brings the body to a convenient angle for alighting
upon an upright object. The distance to which the
flying squirrel can “fly” depends entirely upon the
elevation from which it starts. The angle of descent
is ordinarily from twenty to thirty degrees, although
the desire of the animal, together with the direction
and force of the wind, probably commands an extreme
range of from forty: degrees to a nearly perpendicular
drop. The usual mode of travel from place to place,
if trees are convenient, is sailing from the top of one
to the base of another, then running up this and again
sailing. It is surprising how quickly one of these
little fellows can travel a quarter of a mile.

Do not imagine, because you have never seen a
flying squirrel other than a mounted specimen, that
they are rare; in reality they are quite plentiful, but
being thoroughly nocturnal they are seldom seen.
Now if you really wish to know the flying squirrel at
home, go into a grove of large maples, beeches, or
chestnuts on a still moonlight evening in September,
find a comfortable seat and remain quiet for a little
while. Should it so happen that you do not see a flying

The Flying Squirrel 165

squirrel you will be amply repaid, for other night-
loving animals are abroad and they are as interesting
as those which work and play by day. If you have
not been accustomed to this rare treat, your eyes will
be busy with shadowy glimpses and your ears with
strange new sounds. There will be the patter of
light footsteps on the ground, the squeaking of un-
seen creatures, the frantic hurry of some being pur-
sued, the lonesome note of a distant bird, or the
monotonous call of the whip-poor-will; these and a
myriad of other sounds will fill the air, giving abun-
dant evidence of the animal life that is astir. You
listen! There is a sound like that of a nut dropping
from a tree. Again you listen, and a slight rustle of
“eaves is heard overhead, as a shadowy form glides
through the air and, alighting upon the bole of a
tree not ten feet away, scampers up the tree very squir-
rel-like. The sprite has scarcely started before an-
other alights at nearly the same place, and hastens
after the first. It is not unusual for three or four
flying squirrels to start from the same or neighboring
trees, and at times there will be various lines of flying
squirrels crossing and recrossing each other.
Consider yourself fortunate! You are among the
homes of the flying squirrels and you have seen them
at their evening play. Frolic and amusement occupy

166 The Flying Squirrel

‘the greater part of the waking hours of the flying
squirrels, and old and young enjoy it alike. Even
during the “business hours,” when the storehouses
must be filled with nuts for winter use, the same
rollicking spirit holds sway over this squirrel band.

The flying squirrels live in communities, but during

‘the winter months a half dozen or more occupy the
same cavity in a hollow tree. Even in the storing of
‘food for winter, several may unite in collecting a
‘general supply. The storehouse may be in the same
cavity as the living quarters, or in a separate one in
the same tree, while it is occasionally in a tree some
little distance away. The food stored consists of nuts
of various kinds; while in their season buds and
fruits are much enjoyed.

Wood choppers very often find the storehouses of the
flying squirrels. I saw a man take six quarts of beech-
nuts from a cavity in a large maple tree in the month
of January, and from the same tree we counted eight
escaping flying squirrels. In this instance the squirrels
and beechnuts were found in separate cavities.

We captured two of the squirrels, a male and a
female, and-the man took them home for pets. Ina
few days they were perfectly tame, and at night-
fall they would come from their cage, and play about
the house, apparently as contented as though they

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The Flying Squirrel 169

were in their forest home. It was found, however,
that care must be exercised, for the squirrels seemed
to enjoy trying their teeth on almost everything except
iron. In the spring comfortable quarters were made
for the squirrels in the woodshed attic, with just
enough of the wild about to remind them of their old
home. At the rear of the attic stood a large maple
tree, the boughs of which touched the house; the old
tree had but one cavity, but it was supplemented by
a woodpecker stub brought from the grove near by,
and fastened in an upright position about thirty feet
from the ground. It did not take the squirrels long
to find an opening at the end of the attic by the old
tree, and thus their playground was considerably
enlarged.

In the old stub the first litter was born, and as
soon as these young squirrels were large enough to
enjoy night frolics the attic became their playhouse.

The distance from the old tree to the edge of the
forest, where the beechnuts and chestnuts were plenti-
ful, was only twenty rods, and it was an easy twenty
rods, for the squirrels made use of a fence and an
orchard.

By the time the frost had touched the leaves in
the forest, leaving them russet, red, and gold, the old
instinct had conquered the few months of civilizing

170 The Flying Squirrel

influences, and the whole family of our flying squirrels
must have visited the forest nightly, judging by the
quantities of nuts that were stored in boxes in the
attic and in the stub of the old maple tree. The
family lived happily together that winter, but the
next spring most of the young ones sought homes of
their own, most likely in the forest near by. Other
young were reared in the attic and the old tree, but
the following August they all mysteriously disap-
peared, both old and young, probably obeying some
migratory instinct. It is worthy of note that the
autumn following their disappearance the nut crop
was a complete failure in that immediate vicinity.
Is there any connection between the two circum-
stances? If so, flying squirrels are as wise as they
are beautiful.

Besides nuts, buds, and various roots the flying
squirrels, both those born in captivity and the wild
ones, are particularly fond of meat. Without doubt
they catch sleeping birds and also destroy eggs and
fledgelings. By reason of this taste they have proved
themselves to be quite a source of annoyance to trap-
pers, destroying the bait intended for larger game,
springing the traps, and of course many times being
caught. Because of this interference trappers some-

times attempt to reduce the number of flying squirrels

The Flying Squirrel 171

on the route along which they intend to trap during
the fall and winter. This is done just before the
trapping season opens, two trappers usually hunting
together. One is armed with a heavy club, and the
other with a shot gun. They go over the course
searching for trees and old stubs that are likely to
contain flying squirrels. When a suspicious looking
cavity is observed the hunter with the gun stands
ready, while the one with the heavy club strikes
vigorously upon the butt of the tree. If the cavity
is the home of a flying squirrel, it is quickly
made known by his appearing at the entrance
of the cavity, and frisking out upon the trunk of
the tree, where he is easily shot by the hunter
in waiting. Sometimes as many as six have been
killed in as many minutes, all coming from one
cavity.

Although the flying squirrels cause the trappers
many a weary tramp, they all agree that these little
animals are among the most beautiful creatures of
the forest.

Pet squirrels are very common, but they are usually
of the red or gray varieties. I have had red, gray,
and flying squirrels, but to me the flying squirrel is
by far the most lovable. By nature he seems more
gentle and affectionate; even a wild one will seldom

172 The Flying Squirrel

nip your finger when taken in the hand, while a red
or gray will bite fiercely.

My red and gray squirrels were quite tame, but
they always lacked the complete confidence which
was so apparent in the flying squirrel. The latter
would nestle in my hand, crawl into my pocket or up
my sleeve, or even go to sleep in my vest-front, evi-
dently enjoying the warmth of my body. This
natural affection and love of warmth are probably
the reasons why several flying squirrels live together
during the winter.

My flying squirrels occupied a large cage with a
wheel attachment, the revolving of which seemed
to afford them much amusement. Sometimes both
squirrels would revolve the wheel together at a very
high rate of spéed, and then, clinging to the wires,
ride round and round until the wheel nearly came
to rest. Then both would put it in motion, often
repeating the performance for half an hour at a time.
Again they would vary the entertainment by one
doing the work and the other the riding. In fact
they were apparently upon the lookout for new
methods and combinations of revolving the wheel,
and thus we were treated to a continuous and varied
performance.

A single incident is sufficient to illustrate their

The Flying Squirrel 173

love for a new amusement. One evening I placed
in their cage two small apples. Upon awakening
the squirrels discovered the apples, and one of them
began to nibble at the fruit. The other squirrel ap-
proached the one eating the apple, who, to avoid
being disturbed, immediately carried the apple into
the wheel to complete his feast. In some manner
the wheel began to revolve, and the bounding of the
apple on the wire bars so amused the squirrel that
he forgot his hunger, and began a play entirely new
to him. Soon the other squirrel was attracted by the
lively noise produced by the apple striking on the
bars, and he joined his comrade in the wheel, and
a rollicking time they had of it, jumping and bounding
over the apple, while the wheel was rapidly revolving..
This was the beginning of what proved to be great
sport for the squirrels. After this it was not unusual
for them to have two or three large nuts in the wheel,
and when the wheel revolved somewhat of a medley
resulted.

In all their varied movements in the wheel they
were marvellously quick and graceful. Their motions
were at times too rapid for the eye to follow. Come
idea of their agility may be obtained by a description
of the passage from the cage into the wheel; to go
into the wheel the squirrels had to pass through

174 The Flying Squirrel

a hole in one end of the cage, then through another
hole in the end of the wheel, the holes being about
two inches in diameter. By means of a light weight
on one side, the holes were opposite only when the
wheel came to rest. During its rapid revolution by
one of the squirrels, the other would pass in and out
with perfect ease. This is most wonderful, as it could
have been but a fraction of a second when there was
sufficient space for the squirrel to pass. Yet I never
knew of either of them being caught. -

For two years the squirrels occupied the cage, and
then other quarters were made for them in a tree
near the house. There they remained during the
spring and summer, but as the nutting season came
the forest depths proved irresistible, and our little
friends vanished into its enticing shade.

PART II
BIRDS

NEST AND EGGS OF THE SONG SPARROW

“ -

A bird’s nest. Mark it well, within, without,
No tool had he that wrought, no knife to cut,
No nail to fix, no bodkin to insert,

No glue to join; his little beak was all.

And yet how neatly finish’d! What nice hand,
With every implement and means of art,

And twenty years’ apprenticeship to boot,

Could make me such another?”
Hurpis.

THE MIGRATION OF BIRDS

In WINTER

| {HERE is nothing
igs | ed

}
a

in the animal
creation which
has excited more wonder
and speculation in man-
kind than that mysterious
going and coming of birds,
called migration. For ages
past it has been going
on; Aristotle quoted, ‘‘ One
swallow does not make a
summer, ” and Homer com-
pared the noisy march of
the Trojons to the clamor-
ous flight of a flock of
cranes migrating south-
ward.

That young birds are sud-
denly seized with an uncon-
trollable impulse to start

for warmer regions, is some-
177

178 The Migration of Birds

thing for us to think about. This question concerning
the cause of migration is often answered to the satis-
faction of many by the statement that “The old birds
lead the way, and the young follow.” If this is a
logical answer, how are the believers of this theory
to account for the fact that sometimes the young of
certain species go first; also how would they account
for the restlessness during the migration season of
caged birds that were taken from the nest before they
could fly?

THE ORIGIN oF Micration. Why do birds
migrate? This is a fascinating subject and one much
indulged in by bird students, probably for reasons
known to themselves, but apparently because each has
a pet theory that the others cannot disprove. General
statements concerning migration may stand approved,
but when we consider the details of the subject, it
is easy to ask questions which it is impossible to
answer. Whatever theories may be advanced in ex-
planation of migration, it should be remembered that
birds are very conservative and habits once formed
may be maintained for ages, though they ceased. long
ago to be useful. Therefore in considering the origin
of migration we cannot expect to find it wholly in the
present condition, but we must at least go back to
a time before the Glacial period.

The Migration of Birds 179

Previous to the Glacial period, tropical conditions
prevailed in the north temperate zone; hence tem-:
perate climate must have extended nearly to the
north pole; but even here probably a sufficient dif-
ference existed between summer and winter to render
a certain degree of migration necessary. These con-
ditions must have continued for centuries, until the
coming of the Glacial period, which, brief as it was,
geologically speaking, wrought wonderful changes in
the zoological world. '

Let us stop for a moment to consider how significant
a factor the Glacial period in North America must
have been in bringing about this slow but sure change
in the habits of our birds. From some point in the
north which has not yet been determined the ice-
field began to stretch slowly southward, until Canada
was buried; and finally a portion of the United States,
including the region of the Great Lakes eastward to
the Atlantic Ocean, southward into New Jersey and
Pennsylvania, and westward to the Missouri, was
also completely covered by the ice sheet.. Similar ice
sheets prevailed in northern Europe and Asia. It
seems probable that the migration of birds was one
of the great results of the Glacial period. Had the
Glacial period never occurred, and had the temperate
conditions of the north frigid zone remained as they

180 The Migration of Birds

were, it seems more than likely that the long arctic
night, when for three months the sun does not rise
above the horizon, alone would have taught the birds
‘to migrate at least a few hundred miles north and
south. These theories have an interest, and as we
ponder over them we may get some light upon the
subject; but let us remember to state them as theories,
much as we should like to prove or disprove them.
Some theorists, without attempting to sec so far
back into the early conditions causing the great an-
nual pilgrimage of our birds, argue that the desire for
a genial climate, where food is plentiful, can alone
account for this great phenomenon. Another theory,
urged by many, is that the annual nesting season is
sufficient to cause migration. The believers of this
argue largely from the conditions existing to-day.
Birds, and in fact most animals, have an innate desire
for seclusion during the period of reproduction, and
will seek some retired locality in which to bring forth
their young. This pertains not only to those birds
which winter in South America and nest in Canada,
for tropical birds also will seek secluded places
within their own zone; and the seclusion habit con-
cerning the eggs and young is very noticeable in our
turkeys and Guinea fowl as well. Among the fish, the
salmon is most noted for its long journey from the

The Migration of Birds 181

ocean to the headwaters of some river, where the
eggs may be deposited in safety. The distance is
remarkable in the case of the quinnat salmon. It
ascends the Yukon to Caribou Crossing, two thou-
sand two hundred and fifty miles from the ocean! It
is well known that seals migrate regularly to certain
islands, known as breeding grounds, where the young
are born. These additional observations are helpful
in the study of migration of birds, and I believe they
strengthen the supposition that the existing conditions
are the results of changes that have been slowly pro-
gressing through past ages.

Whatever may be the true theory, there is ever an
increasing charm about the study of migration, as
we note from year to year the comparative regularity
with which the birds come and go. It is not, as some
believe, a general helter-skelter movement among the
birds, but quite the opposite; it seems to be a regular
part of bird life, and they go about it in a business-
like manner, as though they knew there was some-
thing definite to be done.

The extent of a bird’s migration must necessarily
depend upon its food; a so-called resident bird, like
the crow, generally changes its food with the season.
Some birds depend upon fruit, others upon insects.
The insect-eating birds must migrate the farther of

182 The Migration of Birds

the two. Many of our birds winter in the Gulf States;
the swallows, swifts, and bobolinks making more
extended migrations, varying from Central America
to Brazil; while some species of snipe and plovers
make the longest migrations, wintering in southern
South America and nesting within the arctic
circle.

Of the many ‘phases of migration, there is one
which completely baffles the most adroit students of
ornithology; that is, how young migrants find their
way when not accompanied by the old birds. The
only rational reason that we can assign is that the
birds have some instinct or faculty which directs
them. It may be the “homing instinct” reversed,
for certainly the only homes the young birds know
are the nesting places. Some believe that the same
faculty guides the young birds southward that the
dog or cat uses in finding its way home after being
transported a considerable distance. Probably the
young birds in migrating southward have no particular
spot in view, and a few hundred miles east or west
would make no difference, while on the northward
trip it has been proved that they return to the same
barn, chimney, or tree. Who can tell what guides
them? it may be the heredity of habit that directs
the migrants in the long perilous journey.

The Migration of Birds 133

It matters little whether we agree or disagree con-
cerning the various points of bird migration. It is
so largely speculative that most of us would rather
leave it to the theorist, and take to the fields at the
near approach of the robin and bluebird, to greet the
early comers as old friends.

In the latitude of East Orange, N. J., about March
first, we expect to see the robin, the bluebird, and
the purple grackle; by the twentieth we should add to
our list the red-winged blackbird, the cowbird, the
woodcock, the phcebe, the meadow-lark; and by the
end of the month there will probably be field and
swamp sparrows, Wilson’s snipe, and the purple finch.

From April first we must be astir early, if we expect
to keep up with the tide of migration. The sparrow
family is rapidly increasing, and a little later there
will be the ruby-crowned kinglet, hermit thrush, and
barn swallows. Toward the latter part of the month
the new arrivals will be the spotted sandpiper, whip-
poor-will, green heron, towhee, purple martin, swift,
green warbler, oven-bird, house wren, thrasher, cat-
bird, and wood thrush. Bird music is heard on all
sides, and the most casual observer will notice the
new order of things afield. The bird student is now
enthusiastic, and all spare time should be devoted to
field observations and to the making of careful notes.

184 The Migration of Birds

Every moment is precious, for the migration wave will
probably reach its height between May third and
fourteenth. The hedges and small groves are thronged
with migrants. Their plumage is spotless, and in
most species the males are easily recognized by
their bright colors. This is the time to add new
names to your bird list, for upon their return, al-
though upon the whole they move more leisurely,
there will be the young, and many of the old birds
will have changed color by moulting, thus making
identification more difficult.

By May fifth we should have the night hawk, king
bird, great crested flycatcher, wood pewee, orchard
and Baltimore orioles, indigo bunting, ruby-throated
humming bird, scarlet tanager, white-eyed vireo, long-
billed marsh wren, Wilson’s thrush, chat, and our
remaining warblers. By the end of the first week
in June we have the birds that intend to remain with
us during the nesting season.

One of the earliest nesting birds is the great horned
owl. This nest is sometimes found by the latter
part of February. The early migrants, that remain
with us, begin to nest in the latter part of March or
the first of April.

It seems as though we hardly get used to the birds
being with us before some of them are preparing to

The Migration of Birds 185

leave; by July twentieth the bobolinks are collecting
into small flocks, while a few days later the red-winged
blackbirds are gathering in considerable numbers
among the tall reeds along the larger water courses.
These are the first signs of the fall migration. Dur-
ing August, bird life, considered as a whole, is at
low ebb. Some species are slowly collecting, others
are roving about as families. There is very little
singing; although the indigo bunting and the red-eyed
vireo are still tuneful, and occasionally a sparrow is
heard by the roadside.

Early in September there is a marked change; the
warblers are passing in considerable numbers, and
about the twentieth we are overwhelmed by their
thousands. We must now begin to look for our
winter residents, such as the junco and the winter
wren. The summer residents are fast going, and
through October and November and into December
the various sparrows remain, but finally they, too,
retreat before the increasing cold and snow.

The manner of migration is a study in itself.
Whether we decide that birds find their way by in-
stinct or by heredity of habit, we marvel at it none
the less. It is wonderful that birds can travel such
great distances over mountain, forest, and plain—and
even for a considerable distance over the sea—and

186 The Migration of Birds

then, at the appointed time in the spring, return to
us across all this vast space.

Some of these birds fly by night, others by day,
and some by both day and night. This was first
established by Mr. William Brewster, who writes as
follows:

“Timid, sedentary, or feeble-winged birds migrate
by night, because they are either afraid to venture on
long, exposed journeys by daylight, or unable to
continue these journeys day after day without losing
much time in stopping to search for food. By taking
the night for travelling they can devote the days
entirely to feeding and resting in their favorite haunts.
Good examples are the Thrushes (except the Robin),
Wrens, Warblers, and Vireos.

“Bold, restless, strong-winged birds migrate chiefly,
or very freely, by day, because, being accustomed to
seek their food in open situations, they are indifferent
to concealment, and being further able to accomplish
long distances rapidly and with slight fatigue, they
can ordinarily spare sufficient time by the way for
brief stops in places where food is abundant and
easily obtained. Under certain conditions, however,
as when crossing large bodies of water or regions
scantily supplied with food, they are sometimes
obliged to travel partly, or perhaps exclusively, by

The Migration of Birds 187

night. Excellent examples are the Robin, Horned
Lark, and most Icteride (Bobolink, Blackbird, and
Orioles).

“Birds of easy, tireless wing, which habitually feed
in the air or over very extensive areas, migrate exclu-
sively by day, because, being able either to obtain
their usual supply of food as they fly, or to accom-
plish the longest journeys so rapidly that they do not
require to feed on the way, they are under no neces-
sity of changing their usual habits. The best examples
are Swallows, Swifts, and Hawks.”

Storms or foggy weather interfere seriously with
the flight of birds,—this being particularly true of
the night-flying varieties. There are natural high-
ways along which birds travel, such as the coast line,
mountain ranges, or river valleys, and on clear nights
these are probably discernible, while under unfavor-
able conditions progress is slow and doubtless many
lose their way. Unless one has carefully observed, it
does not seem possible that birds travel in such vast
numbers at night. Their flight through the darkness
during migration may be compared to the flight of
pigeons, so common in this section of the United
States fifty years ago. The telescope has greatly
aided in ascertaining this, as well as in revealing the
fact that birds fly at a very great height, some species

188 The Migration of Birds

probably a mile ‘or more. A telescope with a three-
inch objective will serve every purpose, and a still,
clear night with a full moon is necessary for good
results. Focus the instrument upon the moon, the
birds, as they pass, appearing quite distinctly against
the reflecting planet. With a larger telescope it is
possible to detect the species that have well marked
and not too rapid wing beats. With a six-inch glass,
under favorable conditions, as many as two hundred
and eighty birds have been seen within three hours.

I have observed the night flight of birds several
times from the tower of the East Orange High School.
Even an arc light with a good reflector is sufficient:
to attract the birds under favorable conditions,
but with a searchlight good results were obtained.
These night watchings have always proved most in-
teresting to me and to friends who have been with
me at various times, but one of the most interesting
evenings I ever spent in the tower was on September
23, 1890. The weather conditions were. perfect.
Shortly after eight o’clock the first bird was seen,
although others had been heard almost constantly.
In the next half-hour two more birds were seen, but
their call notes greatly increased as they hurried past
us. The night was only partially clear, and as it
advanced a threatening thunderstorm came up at

The Migration of Birds 189

about half-past ten. Almost as quickly, there was a
decided increase in the number of call notes, and
dozens of birds came within the range of the light,
and several hovered about it, reminding one of large
moths before a flower. When the rain finally ceased
and the stars came out, the birds quickly ascended
into the higher regions. Toward morning there
seemed to be but a few stragglers, and before the sun
rose the wave had passed.

Frequently lighthouses are so situated that they
afford excellent points for observation. Many times
birds fly against them and are injured or killed during
their night flights. It has been my experience to
find more frequently the yellow- or black-billed cuckoo
and vireos than other species killed by flying against
the tower. This would lead me to believe that they
do not fly so high as the others, or that they cannot
see so well to avoid objects. This observation has
extended over a period including twenty-four migra-
tions.

The speed at which birds migrate is a subject beset
by many difficulties. There are several things to
be taken into consideration; such as, whether it is
the spring or fall migration, the first or the last part
of it, the climatic conditions, and the accessibility of
food. The average speed per day can be gotten at

190 The Migration of Birds

very much more readily than the actual speed on
any particular day. For example, the barn swallow
arrives at Greencove, Florida, March fifteenth, and
forty days later arrives at New Betlin, N. Y., eight
hundred and seventy miles north. This is an average
flight of about twenty-one miles per day, but when
we take into consideration time for rest, storms, and
other hindrances, the actual distance covered on some
days must have been considerably greater. This,
however, does not test the flight of the swallow when
considered for a short time. Experiments have been
made in which swallows attained a speed of one hun-
dred and six miles per hour.

In our migrations the average speed of fifty or
sixty species per day is a little less than twenty-five
miles. The wild goose in migrating northward covers
a distance of from three hundred to six hundred miles
in a single flight, the American golden plover exceed-
ing even this by a thousand miles.

We have now considered the various phases of
bird migration in spring and fall, and noted that the
last to come were the first to go, and that the earlier
birds remained the longer. Must we drop our de-
lightful out-of-door bird study for the next three
months—December, January, February? By no
means. Of course for many of our lady bird-lovers.

The Migration of Birds 191

and some others, the undertaking seems too great
for the supposed meagre returns, but short skirts and
properly dressed feet go far toward making a tramp
through the fields and woods, even during the winter
months, wonderfully delightful. Speaking generally,
the most common bird will now have an unusual
amount of wncommon interest about it. It will be
almost as good as the study of a new species—in
some ways it is better. The delightful tramp through
the bracing air, and the fact that you have seen an
old friend under new conditions, will make you rejoice
more than will the sight of a dozen birds when birds
are plentiful.

During the winter months the birds are not so
scarce, only we must know where and how to look
for them. We have with us our permanent residents,
which include most of the hawks and owls, bluejay,
bob-white, song sparrow, crow, meadow lark, flicker,
American goldfinch, ruffed grouse, purple finch, and
a few others. These with our winter residents, the
brown creeper, junco, crossbill, white-throated spar-
row, snowflake, northern shrike, and redpoll, still
leave us a considerable variety for study. A thorough
acquaintance with these winter birds alone wil] take
us many a season.

These are but a few of the many facts concerning

192 The Migration of Birds

bird migration. As you study the subject from year
to year, and carefully.compare your notes, you will
find: the’ movement a very constant and regular one,
and, as time goes on, your interest in it will increase
rather than diminish, and you will find yourself
wondering. why-it is that each spring you greet the
bluebird.-and- the oriole wih a little deeper feeling.

THE BLUEBIRD

GENTLE
south wind

Geode) has been
blowing at intervals for
a week, the snow banks
are diminishing in size,
and here and there the
brown earth seems to be
pushing itself up from
beneath the drifts. The
sun has loosed the icc-
fetters, and again the
murmur of the brook is
heard; while over the
water the pussy willows
SECTION REmoveD SHowrnc In- are hanging their swollen

TE. .
STOR Waites Mest AND Hoes buds, and out in the grove
193

194 The Bluebird

the sap is beginning to drop from the maple trees.
These are indeed signs of spring! Now it is time to
listen for the note of the bluebird. A plaintive note
it is at first, but it will soon give place to a pleasing
song, never loud, but always sweet and altogether
suggestive of the warblers.

How welcome it is,—that bit of blue and brown,
flitting among the yet naked boughs of the old apple
trees! We look for the bluebird in spring with a
feeling different from that for any other bird during
the whole year. His note awakens within us the
assurance of the quick return of the spring beauty,
and wake robin, and a whole troop of songsters.

In a day or two Lady Bluebird will arrive, a very
modest little woman, with less brightly colored plu-
mage, and more retiring manners, than her lord’s.
Now, if you are patient, you will have an opportunity
to observe a most interesting courtship; for Mr. Blue-
bird is an attentive lover, exhibiting to his lady all
the charms of his beautiful plumage, singing to her
his sweetest songs, and feeding her with the choicest
bits of food to be found. In actual bird life it some-
times happens that a rival appears upon the scene,
and then many are the contests with voice and beak,
until one or the other is vanquished. After this
the courtship proceeds smoothly, and before long

The Bluebird 195

the birds begin to look about for a suitable place
for housekeeping.

The “bird-boxes” and small cavities in trees are
carefully inspected, until a spot is found to their

THE “BLUEBIRD Box”

liking. If the birds are not interfered with, the work
of nest building progresses rapidly. But when the
bluebirds are once settled they are very determined,
usually succeeding in maintaining their own against

196 The Bluebird

their-enemies, of which the house wrens, and especially
the English sparrows, are chief. However, owing to
the continuous warfare waged against them by these
pugnacious foes, the bluebirds are, year by year,
‘becoming less numerous about our dwellings.

In my bird note book I find a sketch of the blue-
bird families that have, for several years in succession,
occupied: my “bird-box.” This artificial home con-
sisted. of a hollow limb, about twenty inches long
and eight in diameter, closed at top and bottom, and
having an entrance for the birds-on one side, while
on another-side was a door, through which the nest
and its contents could be inspected. In the wall
opposite to the bird’s entrance a microphone was
atrariged, and a line joined it to a telephone re-
“ceiver in the house. This unique “bird-box” was

‘located about twelve feet above the ground and made
fast to the body of a tree that stood in the rear of the
‘house.

I did not expect to obtain results that could any
more be turned into words than could the music of
the veery or the murmuring of a mountain stream;
but I wanted to hear the notes of the old birds and
young, when undisturbed by man, and this was the
only method known to me of accomplishing the de-.
sired end,

The Bluebird 197

When the arrangements were completed, I waited
for the house to be occupied. By March twentieth it
had been inspected by many bluebirds, but none had
decided to remain. Through the apparatus I had

SECTION REMOVED SHOWING MicROPHONE

the pleasure of listening to bluebird conversations
such as I had never heard before. As the birds were
house hunting their notes were at times very spirited,
and their quick movements were plainly indicative of

excitement.

198 The Bluebird

The first week in April, after a very careful inspec-
tion of the house inside and out, a pair of bluebirds
decided to remain. They commenced the nest at
once, using fine grass as material, and the sounds of
their building could be heard very distinctly through
the telephone receiver. The third day a great com-
motion was heard over the line, and upon investigating
I found that some English sparrows were trying to
turn the bluebirds out. After two days of disturbance
the bluebirds were victorious, but the male bird kept
a very careful watch about the box for several days,
proving himself to be a veritable “blue streak” to
every English sparrow that came within a hundred
feet of his home.

In due season the nest was finished, and on April
twenty-third there were five eggs. By May seventh
all the eggs were hatched. The peeping of the little
birds and the quieting notes of the mother could be
plainly heard through the receiver. The notes varied
greatly in pitch and quality; the mother bird using
certain notes that the little ones appeared to answer,
just as chickens will respond to certain sounds and
movements of the hen. A certain note from the
mother hen will call the chickens, while another will
send them immediately to cover, if a hawk appears
in the sky.

The Bluebird 199

If one carefully approached the tree and scratched
on the bark, the mother would give one low note and
every noisy baby bluebird would immediately become
quiet. Each repetition of the experiment called forth
the same low note. This is characteristic of other
birds as well. The ruffed grouse does it, and there is
every reason to believe that all birds have some sort of
a language of their own.

The old birds of this family became very tame. On
the ninth day after the young were hatched the female
must have been killed, for she disappeared on that day
and was not seen again. This tragedy seemed to
discourage the male, and as the young were in danger
of starving, we took them into the house and brought
them up by hand. They became great pets, and after
they could fly about the yard they would come for their
food several times a day. They remained until August
fifteenth, and after that I was not sure that I saw them
again, for one bluebird looks very much like another.

In late summer the song of the bluebird is changed to
a plaintive note that is as suggestive of coming winter
as the song is of returning spring. At this season of
the year, and especially in autumn, it is usual to see
small flocks of them along the roadsides and about the
orchards. At the approach of winter the greater
number of these bluebirds migrate to the southern part

200 The Bluebird

_ of the United States, and some probably go.as far south
as the West Indies.

During mild winters a few remain in the Northern
States, and those who are fortunate enough to ramble
about the hedges and byways sometimes find them in
sheltered places. On pleasant days, too, the bluebirds
may sometimes be seen in the open fields among the —
brown weeds, eagerly searching for the few seeds that .
the wind shakes from the pods still standing above the
snow; or, perchance, they may be found about the hay ..
stacks near the barns, where the cattle are fed in
pleasant weather.

One January morning I saw a very unusual bird-
picture about one of these stacks. The ground was
covered with a thick blanket of snow, over which the
hay had been scattered. The loosened seeds were
tempting bits of food for the hungry wild birds, and as
the morning grew warmer a flock came from the thick
underbrush of the woods near by. The greater
number were snowflakes, but there were a few sparrows
and five bluebirds. On Nature’s white background
the blue of the bluebirds, the gray of the sparrows, and
the brown and white of the snowflakes made indeed
‘a variety of color and contrast.

The sweet disposition and gentle, lovable ways of the
bluebird are evident even in captivity. I once had

THE BLUEBIRD TREE

I

20

The Bluebird 203

the pleasure of carefully studying the habits in captiv-
ity of both old and young of this species. The old
birds were kept in a large room with several other
varieties of American birds, and here they were models
of good behaviour, not only among: their own kind, but
in their relations with the other birds.

The young birds were kept in cages, and with a
moderate amount of care and attention became very
tame. It was amusing to see them, about the usual
- feeding time, arrange themselves on a particular perch.
Each bird, in order of precedence, would take the food
from a stick, and if one was purposely omitted, there was
no fluttering of wings or selfish attempt to obtain the
morsel as it was offered to the next bird.

These unselfish table manners I have observed in
wild bluebirds as well. Several years ago a pair of
bluebirds selected, as a home, the deserted winter
quarters of a downy woodpecker. The cavity was
located in the dead branch of a cherry tree which stood
in the yard in the rear of the house. On the seventh
day after the young were hatched, a severe wind and
rain storm so broke and split the old stub that the
young were in danger of perishing. We soon converted
a small basket into a temporary and comfortable nest
for the unfortunate family, and from a second story
window of the house we watched the birds unobserved.

204 The Bluebird

The old birds accepted the situation, and continued to
feed and care for the young. As the food was brought
there was no strife on the part of the young birds, but
each waited his turn. This continued not only while
the young were in the nest, but until they flew away.
The bluebird makes a very playful and affectionate
little pet. Mr. A. Radclyffe Dugmore tells of a very
interesting one he possessed. ‘While I am writing,”
he says, “a pet one, but three months old, is sitting
on my paper, seeming to wonder what I am doing
and why I do not play with him. He nips my pencil,
but I pay no attention to him; then he tries to creep
up my sleeve, and still I pay no attention; so, dis-
gusted, he flies off in search for ants or other small
insects. After a time I raise my hand and call;
back he comes, like a flash, and, hovering more like
a large moth than a bird, he perches on my finger,
singing at the same time a soft little song that is his

method of speech.”

THE ROBIN

WINAT familiar and
much-beloved_ bird,
the robin, is found

in summer throughout the
greater part of North America.
He has a very strong and aggres-
sive personality, and a clear

voice, which always plays a
prominent part in our morning
bird chorus. His cheery friendliness renders him a
great favorite, and his song compares very favorably
with that of other members of his family. Although
his music does not equal that of the thrush—that sweet
warbler of the glen—there is scarcely another bird
which expresses so much in its tones as does our
robin.

A few robins remain during the winter in the North-
ern Sates, but most of them migrate at the approach of
cold weather. In the Southern States during the

winter months the robins may be found in enormous
205

206 The Robin

flocks feeding upon the holly, mistletoe, and Virginia
juniper. There is very little singing at this period,
but the call notes are frequently heard.

Robins migrate for the most part in flocks, arriy-
ing in considerable numbers in the latitude of New
York about the middle of March. At this time they
are in full song, although a few days later their music
is more spontaneous and joyous. We are accus-
tomed to date the real beginning of spring, not by
the day of the calendar, but by the arrival of the
robins. As we hear the old familiar song, we stop
to listen, and pronounce it a splendid performance.

You hear a great deal about the damage done by
the robins in the cherry trees and berry patches.
Why shouldn’t the robin come in for his share? He
has labored several months of the year in order
that the trees might produce, therefore a part belongs
to him. It has been said by Dr. Coues: “The robin
is a great eater of berries and soft fruits of every
description, and these furnish, during the colder
portion of the year, its chief sustenance. Some of
the cultivated fruits of the orchard and garden are
specially attractive, and no doubt the birds demand
their tithe; but the damage in this way is trifling at
most, and wholly inconsiderable in comparison with
the great benefit resulting from the destruction of

The Robin 207

noxious insects by this bird. The prejudice which
some persons entertain against the robin is unreason-
able; the wholesale slaughter of the birds which
annually takes place in many localities is as senseless
as it is cruel. Few persons have any adequate idea
of the enormous, the literally incalculable, number of
insects that robins eat every year. It has been found,
by careful and accurate observations, that a young
robin, in the nest, requires a daily supply of animal
food equivalent to considerably more than its own
weight. When we remember that some millions of.
pairs of robins raise four or six young ones once,.
twice, or even three times a year, it will be seen that
the resulting destruction in insects is, as I have said,
incalculable. I have no doubt that the services of
these birds, during the time they are engaged in
rearing their young alone, would entitle them to
protection were the parents themselves to feed exclu-
sively upon garden fruit for the whole period. But
at this time the diet of the old birds is very largely of
an animal nature; nor is this the only season during
which the destruction of insects goes on. Upon the
first arrival of the main body of birds, early in spring,
long before any fruits are ripe, they throw themselves
into the newly ploughed fields, and scatter over
meadows, lawns, and parks, in eager search for the

208 The Robin

worms and grubs that, later in the season, would .
prove invincible to the agriculturist, were not their
ravages thus stayed in advance by the friendly army
of robins.”

During the breeding season robins nest about the

garden and house, sometimes even on the vines grow-

pve

RoBIN ON HER NEST

ing over the veranda. Th favorite place of nesting
seems to be about old and neglected orchards, but
never have I found a nest in the deep woods. The
robin when not molested has little fear of man, and
the building of the nest and rearing of the young
can be very carefully observed by any one. For

The Robin 209

this reason this is one of the best of birds for the
young ornithologist to begin to observe.

A few years ago I interested one of my young boy
friends, who for two years past had been inclined to
rob birds’ nests, by making with him a careful and
systematic study of the robin.

On April twelfth a pair of these birds was dis-
covered building a nest in a. lilac bush close to the
house, and but a few feet from the dining room window.
The nest had scarcely been begun- when discovered,
and I determined, for the sake of my young friend,
to cultivate friendly relations between ourselves and
the robins. :

The female was a half albino, the wings being
partly white, and she had a few white feathers on her
breast. The male was so much like other robins
that, only as he grew tame, could we distinguish him.
As it has been found that most animals are
made more approachable by satisfying the appe-
tite for food—even man being no exception—we
decided to take advantage of this fact. Accordingly,
on April fourteenth we placed a small board in the
fork of two limbs of the lilac bush, on which we
intended to offer food to the robins. We made it
our business to be about the lilac bush and at the
window as often as convenient, at first without ap-

210 The Robin

parently noticing the birds. In the beginning they
were quite easily disturbed by our presence, and also
by the appearance of the board’so near their nest;
the fear soon passed away, however, and it was sur-
prising to notice how quickly it was dispelled after
we began feeding them. In two days the robins
would take food from the board while we were at
the window, only six feet away.

Meanwhile the building of the nest was progressing,
and as it was only ten feet from the widow, the process
of construction could easily be watched. Both birds
took part in the building, although the female seemed
to do the most of the work, particularly the shaping
of the nest, which was done largely by means of her
body. The nest was finished on April twenty-fifth,
and it was a typical robin’s nest; the bulky part
being composed of roots and grasses, while the inner
wall of mud was lined with very fine grass and a few
long horse hairs.

On April twenty-sixth the first egg was laid. On
the second day following, another, and so on, until the
nest contained four eggs. The eggs were deposited
in the morning between the hours of eight and twelve,
and were of a beautiful greenish blue color, charac-
teristic of the family to which the robin belongs. The
female was on the nest but little until April thirtieth,

The Robin 21!

but on May second the serious business of incubation
began. In this the female took the most active part,
being relieved about an hour and a half each day by
the male, and with one exception she covered the
eggs at night, although there was no apparent reason
why the male should have assumed the responsibility
on this particular night. Sometimes the male brought
food to the female while she was on the nest.

On the eleventh day after incubation began, the
first young robin appeared, and two days later the
other three eggs were hatched. The young birds
grew very rapidly, and in twelve days were ready to
leave the nest. During the time the young were in
the nest the old birds constantly took food from the
board, particularly worms. The young robins were
quite tame at first, but, as time went on, gradually
grew wilder, and finally disappeared altogether on
June fifteenth. We often saw the female about the
house, and the first week in July the old nest was used
again for a second brood, which was reared without
accident.

There being no distinguishing marks on the male,
he was lost sight of on August twentieth. The female
was last seen on September twenty-sixth. The dis-
appearance of the old birds ended the observations for
the year. The results had been successful beyond

212 The Robin

my expectations. I hoped to carry the study farther
the next season, and assist my young friend in answer-

ing the question which is so hard to answer, “Do

Younc Ropins THrrTEEN Days OLD

birds return to the same nesting place year after year,
and do they remember their human friends?”

The most direct benefit of the study, aside from
the knowledge gained, was the conversion of the

The Robin 213

boy egg-collector into a protector of birds; and strange
as it may seem, his first real interest came with the
keeping of notes.

During the following winter the old nest was blown
from the lilac bush. When March came, we kept a
careful watch for the robins, and by the fifteenth
several had been seen. On March twentieth one of
our old friends appeared. It was the female, unmis-
takable because of her peculiar markings. She seemed
as tame as when she left on her fall migration. For
a week she remained about the lawn and old orchard,
and then disappeared for a few days, but on April
sixth returned with her mate and began a nest in a
bush close by the house. Only one brood was reared
this season. The following spring she returned and
reared two broods. With her fall migration our
acquaintance ended. The next spring we waited and
watched, even placing food upon the board in the
lilac bush, but our old friends did not appear.

WHY THE ROBIN’S BREAST IS RED.

According to a certain legend, a bird played a part
in the crucifixion. It was a modest little bird with
gray plumage, which approached the cross timidly,
uttering cries of grief. With its wings it tried to wipe
away the blinding sweat and blood from the face of

214 The Robin

Jesus, while with its beak it tried to pluck away one ot
the thorns which was piercing his forehead. A single
drop of blood fell on the breast of the pitying gray
bird, and gave to the world the Robin Redbreast. |
Jesus said: ‘Blessed be thou, little bird, which sharest
my sorrows! May joy accompany thee everywhere!
Thine eggs shall be blue as the sky above; thou shalt
be the ‘bird of God,’ bearer of good tidings.”

THE FEEDING-GROUND OF THE CHIMNEY SWIFT

THE CHIMNEY SWIFT

p¥j|HIMNEY SWIETS are found in all parts
BY) of the globe except the colder portions.

There are about seventy-five known
species, but of these only four live in North America.

The swifts have slim bodies, rather short and com-
pact feathers, while, for such small birds, their wings
are unusually long and powerful, giving them unrivalled
powers of flight. The natural homes and retreats of
the swifts were formerly in hollow trees and caves, but
these have been gradually abandoned for the chimneys
used by civilized man. This adoption of a new home
is a marked illustration of the readiness with which
a bird may change its nesting place. Whether the

home of the swifts is natural or artificial, when nesting
215

216 The Chimney Swift

they are always associated in scattered companies, but
for a few weeks before the fall migration they are
decidedly gregarious, roosting in great numbers ir
favorable localities.

One species of the swift family, which breeds in
various parts of the Malay Archipelago, is famous for
making an edible nest. It was thought for a long time
that the substance, used by the birds in the manufacture
of these nests, was chiefly seaweed, partly digested and
mixed with mucus from the salivary glands, but from
recent chemical analysis it has been proved beyond
doubt that it is mucus alone. There are some famous
swift caves in the northern part of Borneo, and I quote
the following from Mr. H. Pryer, who visited these
caves some time ago:

“At the White Cave and others I saw the nest-
gatherers at work getting in their crop. A thin rattan
ladder was fixed to the end of a long pole and wedged
against the rocks. Two men were on the ladder; one
carried a long four-pronged spear, a lighted candle
being fixed to it a few inches below the prongs. By the
aid of this light a suitable nest is found, and transfixed
with the prongs; a slight twist detaches the nest un-
broken from the wall of the rock. The spear is then
passed within reach of the second man, who takes the
nest off the prongs and places it in a pouch carried at

The Chimney Swift 217

the waist. The nests of best quality are bound up into
packets with strips of rattan, the inferior being simply
threaded together; the best packets generally weigh
about one and a third pounds, averaging forty nests,
and are sold at nine dollars each. These caves have
been worked for seven generations without any diminu-
tion in the quantity; three crops are taken during the
year.”

Our chimney swift is a migratory bird, arriving
from Central America, or still farther south, about the
middle of April, and remaining until late in September.
This bird is usually called a “swallow,” or perhaps
more frequently a ‘‘chimney swallow,” but the likeness
exists only in its habits and mode of dress, and not in
its structure. Even in dress they may be easily dis-
tinguished, for the swifts have ten primaries, or long
wing-feathers, and an equal number of tail feathers, the
shafts of which are exposed at the end, thus aiding the
bird in clinging to an upright support; while the
swallows have nine primaries and twelve tail feathers.
As a matter of fact the swifts are more nearly related
structurally to the goatsuckers and humming birds
than they are to the swallows.

Not only is the chimney swift confused with the
swallow, but it shares some of the uncanniness ascribed
to our bats, snakes, and toads, This is probably due

218 The Chimney Swift

to the nocturnal habits of the swifts and also to popular
fables, written fifty years ago, concerning certain birds
whose habits were at that time little known. It was,
for a long time, believed that in the autumn swifts col-
lected by hundreds in hollow trees, together with bats,
snakes, and toads, and that at the appointed time all
fell into a deep sleep, lasting until spring was well
advanced. Others went still farther beyond the bounds
of reason in declaring that the swifts descended to the
bottom of rivers, ponds, and lakes, where, during cold
weather, they buried themselves in the mud with the
catfish, the eels, and the snapping turtles. It is sur-
prising how long such fairy tales cling to a species, for
less than a year ago an old lady told me, that when she
was a girl the “chimney swallows” from all the sur-
rounding country collected at her father’s mill pond,
and then at night, when no one knew it, “they dove to
the bottom of the pond and remained there until the
cowslips came up.”

Our chimney swift, in common with the other
species of the family, has remarkable powers of flight,
the estimated speed being from eighty to one hundred
and ten miles an hour. This wonderful speed is
attained by only a few of our birds. The swift is
more often seen flying in the morning or late after-
noon, and it apparently enjoys wet and gloomy

The Chimney Swift 219

weather more than the sunshine. The swift, like
the swallow, feeds on the wing and its movements are
swift and graceful, as it flies to and fro over its favor-
ite feeding grounds. At times the wings vibrate very
rapidly; then again the movement is but slight, pro-
ducing a series of glides through the air, beautiful to
see. During this splendid exhibition of flight there
occurs at short intervals the not altogether unmusical
sharp and rolling twitter.

The nest of our swift is one of the most remarkable
structures to be found among our common birds.
It is usually placed in a chimney and is composed of
twigs quite uniform in length and size, woven into
a semicircular basket. As they seldom frequent the
ground, there has been considerable speculation con-
cerning the methods by which the swifts obtain their
nesting material. It has, however, been found that
instead of selecting material already scattered about
by the wind they break twigs from dead limbs or
trees, while in full flight. These twigs are held in
place upon the side of the chimney and where they
cross each other, by a very adhesive saliva secreted
by the birds. When the nest is completed it is quite
shallow as compared with that of a robin, being
usually not more than a fourth as deep, and having
none of the soft lining usually found in the nests of

220 The Chimney Swift

other birds. On the contrary, the home of the swift
is rather rough within, while the entire surface, inside
and out, has a glistening appearance due to the
abundance of saliva which is used, not only at the

NEST AND YOUNG OF THE CHIMNEY SWIFT

intersection of the twigs, but also scattered some-
what promiscuously over them. The saliva when dry
is a hard glue-like substance, possessing considerable
strength, but when moistened by continued rains it

The Chimney Swift 221

gradually softens and then it not infrequently happens
that the nest, weighed down by the young birds, falls
to the bottom of the chimney. If the fall does not
kill the nestlings, they usually climb up the sides of
the chimney for a short distance, and here they
remain in a hanging position, being fed by the old
birds until they are ready to fly and shift for them-
selves.

The young swifts are very interesting, although
somewhat uncanny in their actions, resembling in
their constant movements a bunch of wriggling snakes.
At first I thought they were irritated by the vermin,
so common about birds’ nests, but as I failed to find
anything of the sort, I looked for another cause.
After careful observation I concluded that the move-
ments were due to an innate desire on the part of
the young birds to preen their feathers, although the
feathers had scarcely started.. One does not become
thoroughly aware of the constant motion of the young
birds until one attempts to “take their picture,”
when their restlessness becomes painfully apparent;
it being almost impossible to catch the whole brood _
motionless, even for the fraction of a second. For
this reason, in addition to the fact that their surround-
ings are-such that the light is poor at the best, they
are most difficult young birds to photograph.

222 The Chimney Swift

The swifts feed their young during the greater part
of the night, and the noise made by their wings while
passing in and out of the chimney often resembles
the low rumbling of distant thunder. This is more
pronounced by the time the second brood is reared,
but it becomes unbearable only when, as sometimes
happens for a week or two, a few hundred swifts
take up a temporary residence in an old fashioned
chimney, before starting on their southern journey.

I remember very distinctly flocks of this kind which
assembled at my father’s old farmhouse and took
up their abode in the “parlor” chimney. The flocks
varied from a hundred to two or three times that
number, and the usual time of assembling was early in
September. Many a time at dusk I have watched the
birds flying in a large circle above the house, and then
all at once, even while I gazed, the mass would change
form—those on the inner part gradually descending
and the circle narrowing until it resembled an in-
verted cone with rapidly moving sides, which swept
lower and lower, until the birds at the apex dropped
into the chimney, soon to be followed by the whole
flock. I saw something of the same thing a few sum-
mers ago in Princeton, New Jersey, although ona
much larger scale; chimney swifts varying.in number
from twelve to fifteen hundred gathered each night,

The Chimney Swift 22:3

apparently from the surrounding country, to roost in
an old fashioned chimney in an untenanted house on
Nassau Street. How one chimney can possibly hold

so many birds is a mystery which I have never yet
been able to solve!

THe NESTING PLACE OF THE BOBOLINK

THE BOBOLINK

HE bobolink has a widespread geographical
range, extending from the central por-
tion of South America northward to

the fifty-fifth parallel, and embracing all of the United
States except the extreme western portion. It breeds
from southern New Jersey northward to Nova Scotia
and westward to Utah. Many are the names to which
the bobolink answers: in the Southern States it is called
the rice-bird, in the Middle States it is the reed-bird,
while in the Northern States bobolink, May-bird,
meadow-bird, butter-bird, and skunk-bird.

From the extreme southern limit of their winter
home, south of the Amazon, the males, travelling in
flocks of several hundred, start on their northward
journey about April first, arriving in Florida toward

the latter part of the month and some days before
224

The Bobolink 225

the appearance of the females. Upon their arrival
in the United States the males are in full song, and
only one who has heard the wondrous melody of the
bobolink can form any idea of the effect produced by
several hundred singing in chorus. Beautifully as
they sing in the North, they favor the South with
still rarer treats. Audubon gives a description | of
one of these charming concerts in the following
words:

“During their sojourn in Louisiana, in spring,
their song, which is extremely interesting and emitted
with a volubility bordering on a burlesque, is heard
from a whole party at the same time; when, as each
individual is, of course, possessed of the same musical
powers as his neighbors, it becomes amusing to
listen to a hundred or more of them beginning one
after another, as if ordered to follow in quick suc-
cession, after the first notes are given by the leader,
and producing such a medley as it is impossible to
describe, although it is extremely pleasant to hear.
While you are listening the whole flock simultaneously

-ceases, which appears equally extraordinary. This
curious exhibition is repeated at intervals during
the day.”

About the first week in May the bobolink is with
us, and he who has not had the pleasure of seeing and

226 The Bobolink

hearing this superb bird has a great treat in store.
If the bobolink concert belongs to the South, we
have the solo work in the highest state of perfection,
for immediately upon arrival at the North each male
begins to pay particular attention to some plainly
dressed little bobolink maiden, and for the lady of
his choice he sings his most hilarious melody. I
know of nothing more delightful on a May morning
than to be near an old orchard, where the sweet
scented blossoms are still hanging, and to watch the
bobolink at his wooing. As you approach, the female
is not to be seen, but she is, without doubt, down in
the grass, while the male, in his beautiful coat of black
and creamy white, is sitting upon the tallest bush by
the fence; or, perchance, is swinging for a moment
from the slender branch of an elm, before rising grace-
fully into the air and pouring forth such ringing,
vibrating, tinkling, and rollicking notes as “tshe,
*tshe, ’tsh, ’tsh, ’tshe,”’? and then circling right-about
and setting sail for his former perch fairly shouting,
“bob-o-lee, bob-o-lee, bob-o-linke.”’

After the wooing the happy pair selects a meadow,
preferably near a running stream, and in a tussock
of grass surrounded by plenty of green verdure a
snug nest is constructed of bits of dried grass, col-
lected by both male and female. The eggs, number-

The Bobolink 227

ing from four to six, are of a grayish white with numer-
ous blotches of umber upon them.

The nest is very difficult to locate—hours upon hours
have I spent in trying to find one. In approaching
the nest the male bobolink uses the same tactics as
does the wild turkey; proceeding leisurely, by a most
roundabout way and pretending great anxiety over
some different locality if you approach too near his
nest and mate. The female is the more wary of the
two, guarding the approach to the nest with the utmost
care; she always runs through the grass a long distance
before taking to her wings, except when you stumble
upon her by chance as she is sitting upon the nest.

While I was spending a summer in Princeton, New
Jersey, studying the birds of that section, a friend of
mine suggested a new method of finding the bobolink’s
nest, which was successful as compared with the old
haphazard way of searching about in the grass wherever
bobolinks were plentiful. The method was this: Hav-
ing located a good bobolink meadow, it is necessary
for two persons to operate together. They begin at
one side of the field and walk across it abreast about
seventy feet apart, holding between them a cord
upon which are fastened sticks two feet in length and
about eight feet apart. These sticks striking the grass
frighten the sitting bird from the nest, and she flies

228 The Bobolink

directly up—instead of running through the grass
as usual for some distance before taking to her wings—
thus revealing her secret to the hunter.

As soon as the young are hatched the male begins
the task of helping the female provide for the hungry,
clamoring little family, and an arduous task it is,
for even after the young leave the nest the parents
provide food for them until they are able to find it
or themselves. During this period the gaudy coat of
the: male bobolink disappears—it is moulting time—
and the whole family is of the same sober color;
the song also is given up along with the coat, and the
only note heard is the call note, a metallic chink.

About the first of August most of the young bobo-
links are on the wing, practicing for their long journey;
the old and young become more clannish each day
as they move slowly southward along the river courses,
where the smaller flocks unite, making a vast army,
which moves slowly toward the rice fields. The
bobolinks now become fat and thousands of them
are shot and sold in the markets. Their flesh is said
to be very delicate.

It is toward the latter part of August they reach
the rice fields, and for about six weeks there-is no
rest for the rice growers. The birds swarm upon
the fields by millions—a scourge worse than a plague

MNIIO“NOG AHL AO SOOW UNV ISIN

The Bobolink 231

of locusts. The loss caused by the bobolinks in the
rice fields of the South must amount annually to over
two million dollars. A greater part of this loss is
incurred directly by the maintaining of “‘ bird-minders,”
who patrol the fields from early morning until after
sunset, firing guns and cracking the long lashes of
whips. It is generally supposed that the firing of
guns in the rice fields is for the purpose of killing
the bobolinks, but, as the shot would destroy the
rice, its object is simply to frighten the birds. Unless
one has actually seen it, one cannot appreciate the
amount of damage done by the bobolinks in the
rice fields. To protect a hundred acres of rice from
the bobolinks often costs from eighty to ninety
dollars.

Besides the “‘bird-minders,” other methods of pre-
venting the ravages of the bobolinks have been tried,
but thus far sooner or later all have failed. Among
the various schemes probably the oldest and most often
tried remedy is that of tarring the rice before it is sown.
The tar on the rice is very distasteful to the birds, so
that it has some effect in preventing the germinating
rice from being pulled; but as the fields, except on the
“uplands,” are flooded as soon as the rice is sown, the

long soaking renders the tar less efficient. The flying

of kites over the fields was at first looked upon as a

232 The Bobolink

very effective remedy, but as the bobolinks soon became
accustomed to them, they too proved ineffectual.

The turkey-buzzards are very plentiful in the South,
and an attempt has been made to use them in frighten-
ing the bobolinks. For this purpose, poles from ten
to twelve feet high were set up in various parts of the
tice fields, at the tops of which were small platforms,
and upon these meat was placed to attract the buzzards.
These large birds flying about were mistaken by the
bobolinks for hawks, and for a time this worked
admirably, but as soon as the birds discovered their
mistake the buzzards no longer alarmed them.

The bobolink question in the South is indeed a
serious one, and the circumstances connected with it,
though probably natural, are extremely interesting to a
student of bird life. The bobolinks make havoc in
the rice fields because man has selected for his own use
the resting and feeding places which the birds have had
since before the settlement of the country. If either
is an usurper it is man. From the early bird history it
is noted that the habits of the bobolink have remained
practically the same; namely, the course of migration,
the food habits, the love for the open meadow where it
nests, and the points of departure and return to the
United States are all unchanged.

When the forests of the Northern States gave place

The Bobolink 233

to meadow lands, the nesting territory of the’bobolinks
was greatly enlarged, and was no doubt a factor in
increasing their numbers.

During their spring migration northward from South
America, the larger portion of them entered the United
States by the way of Florida; the remainder, especially
those occupying the western portion of the country,
came in by the way of the Mississippi valley. In former
times the Atlantic coast furnished the bobolinks with
plenty of natural food, such as weed-seeds and wild
rice. This was the condition in the latter part of the
seventeenth century, when the bobolink was beloved
by the people of the North and South alike. Mean-
while two conditions were slowly being brought about:
meadow lands were increasing year by year in the North,
and the growing of rice in the South was fast becoming
a vast industry. The bobolinks now found beautiful
nesting fields in the North, and, directly in the line of
their old migration route, man was furnishing a bounti-
ful supply of food in the way of the young rice, just
beginning to appear above the ground. Another factor
which should not be overlooked is, that, after the
bobolinks’ long sea journey, they are naturally exhausted
upon reaching the Southern States, and so stop for a
little period before they begin the long northern
journey to their summer homes. This enforced rest

234 The Bobolink

brings thém into the region of the rice, where, at the
expense of the planter, they recuperate very rapidly.
If the arrival of the birds was but a few weeks earlier
or a few weeks later, the rice would escape uninjured.

During the southern migration opposite conditions
prevail, although with similar results to the rice grower;
the birds now take the land migration first, stopping
in the Southern States to recruit their exhausted
energies, caused by the rearing of the brood and by the
long flight. This stop-over period in the South comes
at the season of the rice harvest, furnishing the birds
with an easy food supply—far easier than it would be
to get it from the uncultivated fields—and this,
coupled with the fact that the rice fields are limited
in area, causes an individual loss to rice growers that
would not be felt to the same extent if the crop were
a general one, such as the oat or wheat crop.

That birds do not go much out of their old routes for
food is well illustrated in the case of Texas. It is fast
becoming a rice growing state, but as it is a little to
one side of the path of the bobolinks that migrate
through the Mississippi valley, the rice fields are not
very seriously damaged.

We can easily see that to the southern rice grower
the beauty of the bobolink, the sweet melody of its
song, Bryant’s poem—‘Robert of Lincoln’—or the

The Bobolink 235

verses of Wilson Flagg can appeal but little. Poetry
and sentiment do not often atone for individual loss,
and the passage of the bobolink is truly a scourge to
the South.

What are we at the North to think of our bobolink ?
To me the happy days of youth were made happier by
the bubbling, rollicking melody of the bobolink, and
I cherish the memory of it above all other bird music.

“Nuff sed June’s bridesman, poet o’ the year,
Gladness on wings, the bobolink, is here.”

THE WOODCOCK

ep HE woodcock is one of our finest game-
birds. When flushed, it rises in a hurried
manner to the tops of the bushes or
glides through the underbrush for a few rods, drops
instantly and, upon touching the ground, runs for a
short distance and hides. This bird is often con-
founded with Wilson’s snipe. The error is easily
avoided, however, by remembering that the wings and
the lower parts of the woodcock are of a reddish-
brown color, while the wings of the snipe are barred
with black and white, its throat and breast speckled,
and its abdomen white.

The woodcock arrives in the latitude of New York,

on its northern migration, about the second week in
236

The Woodcock 27

March, taking up its abode in boggy and swampy
places surrounded by bushes. Being a nocturnal
bird it remains in concealment during the day, coming
forth towards evening in search of food, which it
obtains by boring into the soft soil for larve and
worms, or by turning over the dead leaves in search
of insects. The sensibility in the extremity of the bill
is developed to a most remarkable degree; in fact,
in obtaining its food the eyes of the bird are used
scarcely at all.

During the season of courtship in April the male
indulges in a curious performance; this performance
takes place occasionally in the morning, but more
particularly in the evening, and consists of a spiral
flight very similar to that of the lark. While the
woodcock is ascending a feeble note is heard, but
when descending the volume of the tone increases,
and as he approaches the ground it assumes the
character of a song; when he reaches the ground
the song ceases, the bird giving utterance to a few
deep guttural notes, not at all in keeping with the
delightful aerial serenade. This performance is
repeated several times during the evening.

The nest is located on the ground near a swamp,
though occasionally I have found one in a dry wood-
land. Unlike most birds the woodcock spends very

238 The Woodcock

little time in making its nest, which consists simply
of a slight depression lined with leaves or grass.
Probably the wind had more to do with the collection
of the nesting material than did the mother bird,
and the shape of the nest is more largely due to the
pressure of the body than to any real arrangement
of the material. Here, in this carelessly constructed
home, the mother bird deposits four buff colored
eggs, spotted with brown or lavender; the situation
of the nest and the coloring of the bird and the eggs
form a most perfect example of protective colora-
tion.

The woodcock, ordinarily a very wild bird, can
be easily approached during the period of incubation,
or before the young can fly. This may be accounted
for in the woodcock, and in other animals as well,
by the mother love, so strong in nearly all of them.
Even before the eggs are hatched the mother wood-
cock, in luring you away from the nest and eggs,
makes use of the same stratagem that she later em-
ploys in protecting her chicks. The ruse is this:
When the bird is flushed from her nest, she flutters
about as though one wing were disabled. Your first
impulse is the natural one; that is, to catch the bird.
You step forward, and as you are about to pick her
up, she flops just out of reach; one more effort on

6fz

~O00d0O0OM ZHL 40 GNWT IBL

The Woodcock 241

your part and she must surely be yours, but some-
how she is always a little beyond your grasp. Finally,
with a quick movement, she is on the wing and away,
and you realize that you have been fooled by a mother
woodcock. Your admiration for the bird and the
animal creation in general has increased, and you
are the better for having seen this proof of unselfish
bird love. By this ruse the mother has led you some
distance from the nest and eggs, and the chances are
that you may not find them. If there are chicks and
they are large enough to run, they have hidden them-
selves long before your return.

The chicks are fluffy little fellows, so like in color
to the brown leaves on which they first open their
eyes upon the big, strange world, that it is almost
impossible to detect their small crouching forms. So
strong is the instinct of concealment that you may
find the little fellow prone upon a leaf, with eyes
sometimes closed, and you may touch him without
the slightest movement on his part. Even lift him
gently in your hand, and he still obeys that wonderful
something which we call instinct. I have been told
that if the nest has often been visited and the old
bird frequently disturbed, as soon as the eggs are
hatched she carries the chicks away, one at a time,

in her claws, to a place of safety.

242 ‘The Woodcock

By early autumn the woodcock families have spread
out into the country; and here the cornfield is their
favorite resort, because of the moist condition of
the soil which supplies abundant food for them.
Later in the autumn, during October and November,
the woodcocks that have escaped the gunners migrate
to the Southern States, probably more on account of
the failing food supply than because of the cold weather.

I wish to illustrate more fully the protective colora-
tion and the “apparent tameness” of the woodcock
by my experience in photographing one. I asked a
friend who lived in the country to notify me when he
‘found a woodcock nesting. About the twentieth of
April I received word that he had found one; so the
next day I joined him, and with a long-focus camera
and twelve plates we set out to photograph the wood-
cock.

The nest was in a hedgerow between two fields
near a swamp, and as we neared the spot my friend
stepped forward to point out the sitting bird.. But
although he had been there three times, it was several
minutes before he was able to find her, so closely
did her markings harmonize with her surroundings.
My friend has the experienced eye of a hunter, has
known the woodcock for forty years, and has seen
dozens of nests; so he was puzzled to know why it

THIRD PHOTOGRAPH

The Woodcock 245

took him so long to find this one. He finally decided
that it was owing to the position of the bird on the
nest: when he had seen her before she was facing
the north, now she was facing the south. We were
standing within twenty-five feet of the bird, but
I had not yet seen her, and even with the help of my
friend it took me fully a minute to locate her. After
she was once separated from her immediate sur-
roundings, however, it was easy to see her, for, the
nest being so shallow, the full body of the bird was
in view.

The next thing to be considered was the photograph-
ing of the bird, and that, too, with a tripod camera.
How near the camera could be placed without
frightening her away was problematic. My friend
suggested that I probably could not approach nearer
than eighteen or twenty feet. Accordingly the camera
was set up at about this distance and two exposures
made. I then walked nearer the bird and remained
for half an hour, chatting meanwhile with my friend,
who was about thirty feet away. As the bird did not
stir, I believed that I could photograph her at closer
range than before, so I set the camera in position and
made two exposures.

My friend could scarcely believe what he saw;
never before had he seen a woodcock so closely ap-

246. The. Woodcock

proached. I walked to within eight feet of the bird,
where I remained for. an hour before attempting to
take another photograph, that the bird might become
thoroughly accustomed to my presence.

By this time I was really wondering how near I
could approach the bird before she would leave the
nest. I went closer, and, following my former tactics,
that of consuming plenty of time before photographing,
I finally completed a series of five photographs, ap-
proaching the bird as closely as I wished. I even
broke and removed twigs and weeds that were within
six inches of the bird’s back, and later my friend put
his hand within an inch of her head before she moved.
Then she squatted a little lower, and as his hand was
brought nearer she flew on rapid, vibrant wings, wab-
bling as only a woodcock can wabble—as beautiful a
sight as any bird-lover could wish.

There were four eggs in the nest, which were quickly
photographed, and we’ retired that the mother bird
might return and complete the incubation, for which
she had so bravely endured, for half a day, the presence
of two men and a camera.

The second day after, there were three eggs and one
fluffy little woodcock. As I believed the other eggs
would be hatched, I intended to return the following
day and photograph the four; however, I was detained

FrrtH PHOTOGRAPH

The Woodcock 249

yet another day, and when I arrived, instead of four
little woodcocks, there were only the remains of the
once beautiful eggs. My friend strongly asserted that
the mother had carried the chicks away to a place of
safety. Be that as it may, a feeling of sadness came
over me as I looked upon the empty nest, never to be
tenanted again. I sincerely hoped, now that they were
gone, that the gentle-eyed mother and the four little
chicks were far beyond the reach of dog and man, in
the fastnesses of the great swamp close by. And in
my fancy as I wander through the swamp, when the
sumac is crimson and the maple is aflame with russet
and gold, I imagine that the fine holes bored in the mud
by long bills were made by our woodcock family.

re { a F HE range of the com-

6 ‘Wy; mon crow extends
from the southern
extremity of the United States
north to a latitude of about
sixty-four degrees. ‘Throughout this vast territory the
bird is most abundant in the East, while in the West
it is rare in many localities, especially in the desert
regions. Within this territory are, besides the common
crow, three other well defined varieties; in Florida the
Florida crow, along the Atlantic coast from Massa-
chusetts southward the fish crow, and on the Pacific
Coast from Washington northward the Northwest
crow. Crows are supposed to be permanent residents
throughout their range, but this is not the true condition
of affairs. It is probable that in the northern portion
of their range the crow population moves southward _
somewhat, thus leaving a few crows everywhere, except
in the extreme north.

Crows are very clannish, particularly during the
250

Crows 251

winter months, and even in the nesting season they are
separated only by short distances. This gregarious-
ness leads them to form during the winter what are
commonly called crow roosts, which are nothing more
nor less than the crows of a certain section of the country
roosting in one place. There is no uniformity as to
the location of the roost, for it may be in evergreen
or deciduous trees, and again among the reeds and
grasses. The evergreens would seem to form the best
protection from storms and high winds, the most
northern roost that I have seen being so located.

In the early morning the roost is vacated by the
crows, and they spread out over the surrounding
country in search of food, going usually in bands.
These bands quite uniformly take the same direction
in going to their feeding grounds and in returning to
the roost—preferably following a valley or a range of
hills for protection from the winds. Toward evening
the crows arrive in the neighborhood of the roost, and
just before dark they settle upon it in a body. The
various bands are, to some extent, under leaders. This
is very common among gregarious animals.

Some roosts contain as many as fifty acres, and
probably in a roost as large as this the crows number
as many as a hundred and fifty thousand, or even
more. The crow roost with which I have been most

252 Crows

familiar was located in Marble’s Woods in the town
of Columbus, New York State. It was but a short
distance from my early home, and many times I have
visited it. ‘The woods proper consisted of from twelve
to fifteen acres, somewhat less than half of which were
hemlocks. In these hemlocks the crows had their
roost, a small one, to be sure, but one which was in
every way characteristic. One band had a decided
leader whom I came to know very well. He was
easily distinguished from other crows because he had
white feathers in both wings. “Old White Wing,”
as he was known, came the nearest to being one of
Dr. Godman’s bad crows that I have ever known.

About November first the crows began to congre-
gate in the roost, and by December it had reached
its normal size. In March the crows began to
leave the roost, and by the first week in April they
had all departed, except those intending to nest there.
Their arrival and departure varied considerably with
the season, and a mild winter had its influence upon
the regular attendance.

During very severe winters the crows had little to
feed upon and the death rate at the roost was corre-
spondingly large. The foxes, hawks, and owls came
in for their share of crows, as these animals were all
very plentiful about the roost. The great horned

Crows aoe

xv

owls were very numerous, and I have reasons for
believing that they frequently visited the roost at
night. Hunters take advantage of the roosting habits
of crows and station themselves along the various
routes leading to the roost, killing and wounding
several in a single day; often, too, they make attacks
upon the crows after they have settled quietly for the
night. Usually several hunters combine for a night
attack, and the net results may be two or three hundred
crows killed, and perhaps as many more wounded.

Crow roosts are less frequent now than in the
days of Audubon, or even before. The destruction
of the forests has probably had considerable to do
with lessening the crow population, while within the
past twenty-five years the millinery trade has used
thousands of crows’ wings. However, just at present
the demand for crows’ wings is not so great as it was
a few years ago.

The question has often been asked, “Why do crows
form roosts at all?’’ There have been several answers
to this question, none of which I believe to be quite
satisfactory. By some it is supposed that the birds
collect for warmth, and for protection from their
enemies; by others, that the particular places
selected as roosts afford better perching facilities
for the long winter nights. On the contrary, I believe

254 Crows

that if some one can tell why crows are sociable birds,
the question as to why they form roosts will be answered.

The plumage of the crow is black, and his character
has been, and still is, painted of a hue equally dark.
The habits of the crows of a hundred years ago and
those of the crow of to-day are not the same, but most
writers seem to think it necessary to inflict upon the
present crow the bad reputation of past generations.
Birds considered in relation to man are of two general
classes, those that are helpful and those that are
harmful. According to the popular idea, the crow
belongs decidedly to the latter class. I believe the
wrongdoings of crows to have been exaggerated, and
that the real harm done is very much less than is
supposed. To judge the crow, or any other animal
in its economic relations to man, from a scientific
standpoint, we must know what it lives upon. This
will largely determine whether it is beneficial or
harmful. However, in one part of the animal’s
range this may put him in one class, while in another
part he will appear in the other.

The crow destroys a considerable number of field-
mice, and in particular the young of the short-tailed
variety, which builds its nest upon the surface of
the ground. Even tame crows are very fond of mice,
seeming to prefer them to almost any other kind of

Crows oo

food. Wild ones that have been caught show a
similar liking for mice. A friend of mine once
captured a young crow about two-thirds grown.
For some reason the crow refused to eat, and would
not take nourishment except when it was forced
down his throat. One day a boy caught an old field-
mouse and six little ones, and gave them to my friend
for his crow. As soon as the crow saw them, his
appetite seemed to return, and very quickly he dis-
posed of the whole family. This would seem to
indicate that the crow had had previous knowledge
of the flavor of mice. Now if this habit of feeding
upon mice is as common among crows as I believe
it to be, it must certainly be of considerable economic
value throughout the farming region of the United
States; for as it is, the different varieties of field-
mice cause millions of dollars of damage annually
throughout the region inhabited by the common
crow.

It is probable that young rabbits, the cottontail in
particular, are often killed by crows, and the same
may be said of the ground squirrels and gophers.
The crow also catches a few reptiles, fishes, and inverte-
brates of various kinds, besides annually destroying
a large number of insects, among the most harmful
being cutworms, weevils, ground spiders, click beetles,

256 Crows

May beetles, and grasshoppers. Seeds of various
kinds are also eaten by the crow, although upon the
whole this is probably rather beneficial than otherwise.
To be perfectly fair, however, I must mention
some of the most flagrant crimes of the crows. Prob-
ably the one most talked about among ornithologists
is that of the destruction of the eggs and young of wild
birds. This is one of the crow’s worst habits. But
his bad reputation has grown more out of the farmer’s
grievance against him—that he steals corn. It is
true that the crow does sometimes pull up the tender
blades for the kernel at the root, but even here he
is condemned upon appearances rather than upon
actual facts. In other words, the farmers accuse the
crows of pulling corn until it is four or five inches in
height, every time they alight upon a cornfield. Now
the fact of it is that the crows are after insects of
various kinds and other food, rather than the corn,
although. the corn may be pulled at the same time.
A farmer acquaintance of mine was greatly dis-
tressed over the crows that visited the field in which
he had planted corn. He talked so much about it
that I visited the field several times both before and
after the corn was up, and I saw but slight evidence
that the crows were disturbing it. I told him so, but
he seemed to have little confidence in my theory that

Crows 257

the crows were after insects, rather than corn. One
morning I happened along just after he had shot two
crows in the cornfield, and his remark to me was
something like this: ‘‘There are two of your innocent,
insect-eating birds, but they’ll never pull any more
corn for me.”

“Well,” I replied, “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe
that they pulled very much of your corn.”

The farmer quite warmly remarked: “I sat by the
fence and watched them, and what I see with my
own eyes is enough for me.”

I obtained from him permission to dissect the
crows, and in the stomach of one I found the unmis-
takable remains of a field mouse, several cutworms,
remains of various insects, a little vegetable food,
and one kernel of corn. The other stomach con-
tained several cutworms, remains of other insects,
traces of vegetable matter, but no corn. The farmer
had agreed to believe his eyes, but now he was almost
willing to doubt them.

On the ground throughout the field were plenty of
withered stalks of corn an inch and a half to three
inches in length; this the farmer believed to be the
work of crows, but it was the work of cutworms, as I
clearly proved to him upon visiting the field; and
in ten days the whole field of corn was nearly ruined

258 Crows

by these insects. Crows cannot always be as easily
proven to be innocent as in this illustration, for some-
times they do considerable damage to cornfields, and
occasionally slight damage to.oat and wheat fields.

The cornfields may easily be protected by scare-
crows, by twining it, or by tarring the corn. Either
of these methods is fairly effectual where crows are
quite plentiful.

After carefully considering the food of the crow
throughout its range, and comparing the evidence for
and against, the weight of the evidence seems to be
in favor of the crow. Many of the wrongdoings at-
tributed to crows years ago cling to them to-day, but
circumstances have changed, and the facts are true
only in part. Over seventy years ago Dr. Godman
wrote as follows:

“Where food is at any time scarce, or the oppor-
tunity for such marauding inviting, there is scarcely
a young animal about the farmyard safe from the
attacks of the crow. Young chickens, ducks, gos-
lings, and even little pigs, when quite young and
feeble, are carried off by them. They are not less
eager to discover the nests of domestic fowls, and
will sit very quietly in sight, at a convenient distance,
until the hen leaves the nest, and then fly down and
suck the eggs at leisure. But none of their tricks

Crows 259

excited in me a greater interest than the observation
of their attempts to rob a hen of her chicks. The
crow, alighting a little distance from the hen, would
advance in an apparently careless way toward the
brood, when the vigilant parent would bristle up her
feathers and rush at the black rogue to drive him
off. After several such approaches, the hen would
become very angry and would chase the crow to a
greater distance from the brood. This is the very
object the robber has in view, for as long as the parent
keeps near her young the crow has very slight chance
of success; but as soon as he can induce her to follow
him to a little distance from the brood, he takes ad-
vantage of his wings, and before she can regain her
place, has flown over her and seized one of her
chickens. When the crow tries to carry off a gosling
from the mother, it requires more daring and skill,
and is far less frequently successful than in the former
instance. If the gander be in company, which he
almost uniformly is, the crow has his labor in vain.
Notwithstanding the advantage of flight and superior
cunning, the honest vigilance and determined bravery
of the former are too much for him.”

This might have happened seventy years ago, but
the habits of crows have changed, although they have
not lost their cunning. There is scarcely a more

260 Crows

wary bird, or at the same time a more teachable one,
than the crow. The crow is perfectly foolish about
some things and very wise about others. My ex-
perience with crows at “the blind” very well illus-
trates the last statement.

In the month of March I was tramping through a
field near a piece of woods about a mile from Chat-
ham, New Jersey, when I heard a great commotion
among some crows: and occasionally the report of a
gun. I was interested to know what was going on,
but. an elevation of ground prevented me from seeing
the birds. Changing my direction a trifle, in two or
three minutes I was in full view of a flock of probably
from twenty to twenty-five crows, most of which were
‘circling about in the air, the remainder being perched
upon tall trees. The elevation upon which I was
standing gave me an unobstructed view over a small
‘meadow, and at the farther side, near a fence skirted
by bushes, I saw the reason for the cawing of the
crows. About six rods from the fence, in the open
meadow, was a post about five feet high, upon the
top of which was perched a large bird, probably a
hawk or an owl. I had not fully taken in the situa-
tion, when one of the circling crows made a dive for
the bird on the post, probably coming within a foot
or two of it. It was just starting on the incline up-

Crows 261

ward, when a shot startled me and the crow fell
dead. I was about sixty rods away, but the crows
did not heed me in the least. Something which an
old hunter told me some years ago about shooting
crows from “a blind” now passed through my mind,
and I looked for a blind by the fence, near the
bird on the post. All that I could make out,
from where I was standing, was'a heap of what
appeared to be cornstalks among the bushes. I
was thoroughly interested in the scene before me,
and seating myself upon a large stone, I took out my
field-glass and began a most careful study of the
situation. Just then two crows made a dive for the
owl, and one of them was shot. It was now all clear
to me, and I waited an hour for the “wing-hunter”
to come from his place of concealment. When he
did, I made his acquaintance, and soon he was telling
me “all” about crows and their wonderful intelli-
gence. The morning had netted him six crows, the
wings of which he disposed of to a New York firm
at fifty cents a pair, to be used later in the decoration
of hats for women.

The bird on the post proved to be a mounted great
horned owl, and the heap of cornstalks covered the
framework of a “blind.” With the consent of the

owner, I soon began my own study of crows from this

262 Crows

cornstalk blind. One morning before daylight I
placed the owl upon the post, and concealed myself
in the blind. Just at the break of day I heard the
distant cawing of crows, and a little later a crow
came flying over the meadow and espied the owl.
Circling high in air, he uttered three short, sharp,
and loud notes of ‘‘Caw, caw, caw!” This he re-
peated several times in the same manner. In five
minutes other crows had joined him, and soon there
were twenty, or more, circling, cawing, and diving
at the owl. This continued for about two hours,
until the band finally dispersed. During this time
twelve crows had been within easy gunshot.

A few days later, just at dark, the owl was placed
upon the post. In the morning, shortly after the
crows had collected, I arrived upon the scene and
went into the blind. The crows remained about for
some time, but not one came within gunshot. The
owl was again taken in, and several days later was
placed upon the post at dark. In the morning I
appeared with a friend, and we entered the blind
together. The crows kept out of gunshot for half
an hour, and then my friend left. Within a short
time the crows were back again in full force, diving

at the owl within easy gunshot. These manceuvres,
with various modifications, I repeated several times,

Crows 263

thus becoming quite familiar with some of the phases
of crow reasoning; but I failed to discover that they
can count, as has been so often stated by writers.
The crow is a very entertaining bird in captivity,
and I do not know of another bird that will become

“ Jm”

so tame and yet at the same time be so full of pranks.
If you have never had any experience with a tame
crow, you cannot appreciate the fulness of the word
“pranks,” therefore I wish to speak of a pet crow,
familiarly called Jim, that I knew very well.

It will be remembered in the story of “Old White

264 Crows

Wing” that during a severe storm his nest was so
badly shaken that one of the young crows fell to the
ground and was found next morning nearly dead.
A farmer lad carried the unfortunate bird home in
his hat. It was the work of but a few moments to
find a small box, into which the boy put the bird,
wrapping about its body soft cloth and then placing
the box near the fire, just as he had seen his mother
bring to life half-drowned chickens. In an hour the
crow seemed quite lively, and needed to be fed. After
several attempts to take some bread softened with
milk, the bird finally succeeded in swallowing a
little, and in a few days one would have thought that
he had always been accustomed to hand feeding, so
readily did he take to it.

The friendship between the boy and the crow grew
day by day, but the elder members of the family
looked upon the young bird with little favor, doubt-
less remembering the corn pulling habits of crows.
The box in the kitchen soon proved too small for
the growing bird, and the constant sight of the crow
provoked the old farmer, and so the boy constructed
for his pet a more comfortable box in the woodhouse,
With good care and plenty of food Jim grew rapidly,
and in a few weeks he would follow his young master
about the farm. The crow took an intense interest

2TOWS 265

in everything, and never lost an opportunity for
playing tricks upon the cat or the dog. The dog, which
was old and spent most of the time in lying about in
comfortable places fast asleep, had in his young days
the misfortune of losing about two-thirds of his tail,
leaving at the end a conspicuous bald spot. The
rogue. of a crow never missed the opportunity of
giving this spot a vigorous peck whenever he found
the old dog enjoying solid comfort.

Jim spent a great deal of his time in the hayfield,
and as he would eat grasshoppers until he could
scarcely fly, he began to gain favor with the family,
which was very gratifying to his young master. Dur-
ing August, however, he sometimes visited the fields
where the wild crows were feeding, and soon new
traits of character began to develop. One day he
came home with a small blue egg shell and put it
with’his curios in the woodhouse where he had passed
-his early days. These curios were rather a motley
collection—pieces of glass and broken dishes, a few
large buttons, and an old pair of eyeglasses.

As time went on Jim became a well developed
specimen of the crow family. One Sunday morning
after the farmer had done his usual tasks, shaved,
taken the weekly paper, and seated himself in an
easy chair, he reached for his spectacles, which always

266 Crows

lay in one particular spot upon a small table by the
window, but they were not there. He searched every-
where without finding them, neither could the good
wife find them, and there was nothing in the world
that so ruffled the good man as to have his spec-
tacles mislaid. Each member of the family was cross-
examined in regard to the missing spectacles, but no
one could give the desired information.

The farmer finally threw down his paper in dis-
gust, thinking that if he took a walk to the Spring
Lot, to see the young stock, he would perhaps feel
better. As he passed through the woodhouse he
caught sight of Jim flying in at the door with some-
thing in his beak. Contrary to his custom he stopped
to see what it was, and to his surprise he saw his
spectacles. Quickly he closed the door, and seizing
a broom, started for Jim. The bird flew-to the top
of his box, still holding the spectacles in his beak,
but had scarcely alighted, when, just escaping a well-
intended blow, he immediately took to his wings.
The only window was closed, but as the broom was
sweeping in all directions, Jim, in his effort to escape,
flew against one of the panes of glass with sufficient
force to break it, thus saving himself, but leaving the
spectacles hanging on the sash with one of the glasses
broken.

Crows 267

This last act was the climax of a long series of
escapades, and the result of it was that the boy was
forced to dispose of his pet. Jim was finally per-
suaded to stay at a neighboring farm, where, under
varied conditions, he showed his adaptability to new
circumstances, by developing other tricks.

OLD WHITE
WING

HE sun had crossed the line,
the snow was beginning to
melt, and now and then the
call of a robin was heard. It
was “sugar time”; the buck-
ets were hung, and the large
pans on the arch were send-
ing volumes of sweet vapor
into the air until the little
slab house was almost hidden

in wreaths of white smoke.
Early morning found the farmer folk astir with the

promise of a good “sap day.”

From the grove of
hemlocks back of the sugar bush came the familiar
“Caw, caw,” of the crows. They, too, had a promise
of something good, for across the meadow from the
barns came the glad news that food in plenty was
awaiting them. Soon a dark speck could be seen in

the sky in the direction of the hemlock grove, then
268

(MountTED)

“Oxtp WHITE WING.”

269

Old White Wing 271

another, and still another, until a dozen or fifteen
appeared, gradually taking the form of crows.
Some alighted on fence stakes, others on the lower
limbs of trees, but apart from these, one perched
alone on the top of a tall tree. There being no
stir about the barns, the crow on the tree top flew
in a half circle a little nearer, making a close in-
spection, and seeing no apparent danger, returned
to his former perch. This crow seemed to be the
leader of the flock; he was larger than any of the
others, and in each wing there were several white
feathers. This was the first time I had ever seen
this crow, but I learned later that he was not a stranger
to the farmer folk, for he was known throughout the
Hollow as “Old White Wing.” He had led many
a cornfield raid, had carried off not a few chick-
ens, and was a notorious destroyer of birds’ nests.
Short sighted man had counted only his crimes
and had not measured the good he had done in
disposing of mice, moles, grasshoppers, and May-
beetles.

Out from the flock of crows flew one, straight for
the monarch on the tree top, and alighted near him.
Evidently this was his mate, and she seemed his equal
in every way except in size. A quiet little dialogue
in the crow language was indulged in, and after a

Oy Old White Wing

few minutes the leader left the perch, and, flying low
until he neared a tall apple tree which, stood within
a few yards of the barnyard fence, sailed with curved
wing to the topmost branch. After this reconnoitring,
as all seemed quiet, it was not long before there
were three crows in the barnyard feeding on the dead
body of a calf. During all this time not a sound in
the crow language could be heard. Suddenly a barn
door creaked on its hinges, and almost simultaneously
came the warning cry of danger from the sentinel and
the report of a gun, followed by the death struggle of
one of the crows. Immediately the remainder of
the flock followed Old White Wing in a retreat to
the grove of hemlocks.

It was during the spring and early summer before
my acquaintance with Old White Wing that he had
become most notorious. Once he had caught a
chicken while the good housewife was feeding the
brood. Scarecrows seemed to have no effect upon
him; he could read the delusion at a glance, and from
the top of one would watch and direct his band
while foraging. Poisoned corn was scattered over a
field which he and his band had visited scores of
times, but he was not deceived. He had once nearly
lost his life by this means, and Old White Wing
never needed a lesson twice. Snares, traps of all

Old White Wing 273

kinds, and men with guns he had often warned the
different members of the band against, and so no won-
der they thrived and increased under the leadership
of this king among crows. The superstitious believed
that he bore a charmed life, and many were the sto-
ries told of his wonderful intelligence and his narrow
escapes.

Any one who has been fortunate enough to become
acquainted with our wild, feathered friends must
have noticed that there are natural leaders, especially
among the gregarious kinds. Old White Wing had
long been leader of this small but wary band of crows
which passed the winter months in the “hemlocks,
separated in pairs during the nesting season in sum-
mer, and reassembled again in autumn.

The nesting place of Old White Wing had long
been a mystery to the farmer boys, for, search as they
might, not one had been able to locate it. Every
lad in the Hollow knew the nesting habits of the
turkey, the bobolink, and the meadow lark—does a
crow know even more than these birds? The boys
were especially anxious, too, to find this nest, for
there was a bounty upon the head of Old White
Wing—the penalty which wild animals must suffer for
being able to care for themselves,—and it was be-
lieved that if his summer home could be discovered,

274 Old White Wing

family cares lessening his well-known vigilance, he
might be captured.

During the spring I made a close study of Old
White Wing and his band, and I soon became con-
vinced that he was no common crow. The third
week in March the band became. very noisy, and
soon there were signs of departing for their summer
homes. The noise was due to a general meeting
of the crows of the roost, and a kind of introduction
among the young crows, preliminary to mating. The
males were performing strange gymnastics in the air
and indulging in short contests of flight before their
admiring lady birds. Now was the season for me to
discover Old White Wing’s domestic secrets.

Early one morning, as I was returning from a
search for owls, and was about to emerge from a
deep ravine at the foot of Hall’s Hill, I saw a crow
flying up the valley toward the place where I was
standing. The sides of the ravine were covered with
deciduous and evergreen trees and a dense growth
of underbrush, and farther up the ravine the large
trees were mostly hemlocks, an ideal situation for a
crow’s nest. As I had not been seen by the bird, I
stepped behind a cluster of trees and waited. In a
few moments the crow passed, and I saw that it
was Old White Wing. I believed that now I had.a

Old White Wing 2°75

clue to his nesting-place. I did not follow, but quietly
left the ravine. About ten o’clock I saw him and his
mate near the sulphur spring in the meadow, and in
a few days the winter roost was abandoned.

ENTRANCE TO THE LITTLE RAVINE

I watched the ravine carefully, but for more than
a week I saw no signs of the famous old leader. From
the main ravine there was one narrow branch, with
steep sides that ended abruptly. Here the hemlocks

276 Old White Wing

were large, as were also a few basswoods which
skirted its borders. It was getting late for the nesting
of crows, and I had almost given up my search, when
one day as I was sitting, well hidden from view, on
the bank opposite this little ravine, watching a chip-
munk at his spring house cleaning, I heard a low
caw. I was all attention! A crow passed and entered
the little ravine, and as it turned I caught a glimpse
of white feathers. My energies were now renewed,
and I determined to find the nest of this wary bird.
I waited an hour, watching the entrance to the ravine,
and was rewarded by seeing Old White Wing pass
out.

I had no designs on the life of Old White Wing or
his family. Not a single feather on this noble bird
should come to harm, if I could protect him, and
the knowledge of his secret nesting place would be
as sacred to me as to him; but what I wanted to
learn was the location of his nest and how he cared
for his family. :

The first thing that I must know was whether he
had a definite route to and from the nest and when
he was most likely to be at home. The next morning
I prepared for an all-day’s stay in the woods. I
reached my hiding place without being discovered,
and soon afterward saw Old White Wing fly down

Old White Wing a07

the ravine. My observations for the day proved to
me that he had a definite route, and that he remained
away from home from an hour to an hour and a
half. During this time I could explore the ravine
and return to my hiding place without disturbing
him. After three days of the most careful searching,
I located a crow’s nest in a thick cluster of hemlocks
on the right bank far up the small ravine. It was
well protected, and through my field-glass I saw a
crow on the nest. I searched for a new hiding place
which would give me a good view of the nest and,
at the same time, not reveal my presence to the birds.

I found precisely what I wanted in an old basswood
tree. Large ones are often hollow, being mere shells,
the hollows sometimes extending up the tree for a
distance of from ten to forty feet. A tree of this
description stood on the bank of the ravine opposite
the nest, and about one hundred and fifty feet from it.
As the entrance to the hollow was on the side opposite
the nest, I could approach from that direction without
being seen by the birds. When I stood on the ground
the underbrush at the foot of the tree prevented me
from seeing into the nest, but, if I could erect a sup-
port ten feet high and bore a hole for inspection
through the shell of the trunk, the problem would be
solved, and I could watch what few people have had

278 Old White Wing

the privilege of seeing. After dark, with the help of
a friend my support was constructed and placed in
position, and a hole was cut through the trunk.

Nature never seemed more beautiful than on that
May morning, as I prepared for my first day’s study.
A house wren was singing his morning praises from
the old sweet apple tree, and as I passed through the
yard a mother hen was taking her brood for their
first little walk; in the lane which led to the woods
_ the bluebirds and robins were busy with their morn-
ing duties, and from over the meadows came the
thump-thum p-thump-rup-rup-rup-r-r-r-r-7 of the ruffed
grouse from Marble’s Grove.

I was soon in my place of concealment in the bass-
wood tree, and, with the aid of my glass, I could see
the nest and its surroundings as clearly as though they
were not more than twenty feet away. My position
was not one of ease, for I was standing on a slat nailed
across an upright. For five weary hours I watched
and waited, but not a sign of Old White Wing! On
the second day, when I was rewarded by seeing him
make a visit to the nest, the tree could scarcely
hold me! My legs ceased to ache, I forgot my weari-
ness, for now I believed that I had found the home
of Old White Wing.

The first real thing that I saw him do was to relieve

Old White Wing 279

his mate. As my tree stood on higher ground, I
could see into the nest, and there I counted five eggs.
After an absence of about an hour and a half the
female returned, preened and arranged her feathers,
and took her place on the eggs. Many a time after-
ward I saw Old White Wing bring her food and in
a score of ways show himself to be the most thoughtful
of husbands.

By and by the five eggs hatched into five baby
crows, and now began the serious business of the
elder members of the family. This was the long-
looked-for opportunity for the farmer, as at this time
the parents are less wary of danger. I trembled for
the fate of my crow family, lest Old White Wing, in
his zealous foraging to fill the five hungry mouths in
the tree top, might be killed, and his blood stained
body hung in some cornfield to frighten away other
crows.

As the young crows grew larger, the task of feeding
them grew more and more arduous. From morn till
eve both parents were kept busy, and the weary wing
on which they returned told of the infinite labor
necessary to feed a brood.

The young were soon large enough to begin their
early education. Noisy little creatures they were by
nature; so their first lesson must be—instant silence

280 Old White Wing

at the first hint of an approaching enemy. This they
were taught by a warning caw from either parent.
Before they were large enough to fly an accident
befell the family. On the morning following a heavy
wind and rain storm one of the young was found on
the ground nearly dead. It was taken home and
cared for, and soon we had a most famous pet, valued
all the more because it was the offspring of Old White
Wing.

When the young crows were large enough to stand
on the edge of the nest, Old White Wing, on a branch
not far away, would straighten up and gently flap
his wings, and soon the young were imitating him.
He would then hop to another branch, and then to
one a little farther on, always using his wings. In
two days the young could do the same, and in a week
they flew to the clearing. But their fat little bodies
were still covered with down. At night they roosted
by their old nest; this, however, was soon abandoned,
and they took to other trees like grown-up folks.
They were probably taught to choose the long slender
branches, and to keep a sharp lookout for hawks
and owls; and thus, by the constant example of their
parents, they were soon well educated in the habits
and ways of crow life.

The different crow families were now meeting on

1gz

(ONIMVUC) ‘“GNVG SIH GNV ONIM ALIHA\ ATO

Old White Wing 283

the newly mown meadows, and Old White Wing, as
leader, had to resign his domestic duties for more
public ones. Each day brought its varied experiences
for the young. Some were well behaved, others un-
ruly and headstrong, and the famous old leader had
all he could do to get the young recruits under good
command before cold weather. He succeeded ad-
mirably, however, for Old White Wing’s colony was
well organized and under discipline when he brought
them to their roost in the hemlocks for the winter.

It is a well known fact that crows leave the roost in
the morning, go to their feeding ground for the day,
and return toward evening. Each band has a leader,
and this season there had been greater care than
ever on the part of Old White Wing to organize small
bands with well trained captains. This seemed to
predict a severe winter. He must have noted the
thick corn husks, the wise muskrat, and the untiring
labor of the squirrels.

There seemed to be greater hatred for the crows
this year than ever before, and in the latter part of
November Old White Wing and his band suffered
from a midnight raid.

Winter came early and with deep snows. The
crows visited their old feeding grounds, but scanty
indeed was the fare they found. Some took to visiting

284 Old White Wing

the haystacks and barnyards, much against the pro-
test of Old White Wing. But what could he do
against. the gnawing pangs of hunger, when day by
day he ‘saw his loved ones starving? It would have
been better had he and his band migrated far south
to the Delaware.

But a yet. greater peril awaited them! A demand
for crows’ wings had been steadily increasing, and
all known schemes for the capture of these birds were
being used. Old White Wing was constantly on the
watch for danger, but his strength, too, was fast
failing, and unless the snow and cold soon broke, .
spring would come too late to relieve his distress, even
if he escaped snare and gun.

For three days a storm had been raging and the
crows were unable to leave their roost. The mor-
ing of the fourth day broke clear and crisp and cold,
and the birds started on weary wing in search of
food. Not far from the hemlocks in an open meadow
stood a small barn, directly in the line of one band
of crows as they left for their feeding ground—the
band in command of Old White Wing. As they
neared the barn, the hindmost ones were aware that
something unusual was taking place in the front
ranks. The cause was not far to seek; for near the
barn, on the snow, lay the carcass of a calf. Old

DeatH oF ‘‘OLp Waite Winc.”’ (DRAwinc)
285

Old White Wing 287

White Wing rose high in the air and gave a warning
caw. The others at first obeyed and. scattered, but
the temptation was too great, and in a short time a
dozen crows were feeding. Others followed, and soon
Old White Wing himself was among them, his sense
of danger being, for the moment, overpowered by
the pangs of hunger.

Two sharp reports and the air was full of shot! A
third and fourth followed for those birds which had
taken wing. Then all grew still.

The little side door of the barn opened and two
men appeared. There was a look of satisfaction on
their faces as they gloated over the fifteen birds killed
and wounded. Some of the latter had broken wings
and legs, and were going off over the snow in different
directions, even in this hour of peril obeying the teach-
ings of their great leader and making a last heroic
struggle for their lives. They were soon overtaken,
however, and a blow on the head from a stick ended
their efforts.

Among the wounded was Old White Wing. With
renewed energy he attempted to escape, but, alas!
the one who had saved so many lives was now power-
less to save his own. A well directed blow left with-
out a leader the flock he had guarded and cared for

so long.

288 Old White Wing

A crow was just a crow to these men, and when
the price of two pairs of wings was offered for the
one with the white feathers, they counted themselves
fortunate.

When spring came and the separation for the sum-
mer homes took place there was only a fragment of
the host which in the autumn had made the grove
vibrate with their cawing. Since the death of Old
White Wing no such leader has ever appeared, and
the old roost in the hemlocks has been largely for-
saken.

THE GREAT HORNED OWL

ORK had been going on all day in the
sugar bush; the sap had been gathered
and drawn to the boiling place, until

there remained to be visited only a few scattering
trees near the swamp. As it falls to the lot of the
boy on the farm to run errands and do odd jobs, so
the collecting of the sap from these few trees naturally
fell to him, and before he was out of hearing a voice
from the sugar camp called to him, “Don’t be gone
long, for it will soon be chore time.”

The shadows were growing long as the old horse
moved the sled slowly along the snowy road winding
in and out among the tall maples, and gloom was
settling in the thick hemlocks at the base of Hall’s
Hill. The boy was softly whistling to himself and
thinking as only boys can think, when a rabbit with
easy graceful bounds crossed the road but a few paces
ahead of him, stopping by the side of a birch bush
to nibble the tender buds. Just then a sound came

up from the swamp which startled the boy, not
289

290 The Great Horned Owl

because it was unfamiliar to his ears, but because,
when he was younger, he had been told if he was

THE GreAT HorneD OWL

not a good boy the great owl from the swamp would
carry him off some night.

Why did the rabbit pause in his dainty meal, squat-
ting in his tracks, until his form more nearly re-
sembled a footprint in the snow than a living mam-
mal? Did he too know this call from any experience
of his own? The chattering red squirrel dropped

The Great Horned Owl 291

into the crotch of a tree, ceasing to be curious about
those passing below, as the ominous and almost super-
natural ‘‘Whoo-hoo-hoo-wohoo-o,” sounded through
the dismal swamp and echoed through the maple
grove. This was the hunting call of the Great Horned
Owl.

The actions of the rabbit and squirrel fully con-
firmed the many stories concerning this bird in its
relation to the smaller mammals. The boy had
always heard that this owl was a veritable Nero
among the feathered race. He had seen the feathers
from the ruffed grouse on the snow among the low
hemlocks, with not even a track left behind to give
a clue to the little tragedy enacted in the silent forest;
he remembered, also, about the disappearance the fall
before of some chickens from a tree close by the
barn, and later one of the bodies being found on
a high fence post with the head eaten away. While
these thoughts were passing through his mind the
boy was nearing the swamp, when his reverie was
again broken by the dismal hoot of the owl. Already
he knew a great deal about the shy wood folk, whether
in fur or feathers, but as yet he had never discovered
the nest of the Great Horned Owl. It was now the
first week in March, and of late he had frequently
heard the weird call from the swamp, causing him

292 The Great Horned Owl

to believe the birds were nesting there, and he fully
determined to make a search at his earliest oppor-
tunity.

This opportunity came sooner than he expected,
for the next morning it had turned cold and a light
snow had fallen. As there would be no sap to gather,
the boy was given a holiday after his usual morning
duties were done, and he immediately set out for the
swamp, hoping before night to locate the nest. It
might seem an easy task to find such a large nest,
but the swamp contained several acres, and in many
places the evergreens were so thick as almost to ex-
clude the sunlight.

The day was spent in a fruitless search, which
perplexed the boy, who had often located the nest
of the bobolink and the meadow lark, nests that are
not by any means easily found. However, as the
search had been systematic and the whole ground
had not yet been covered, he still hoped to find it
before the eggs had hatched, for he wished to become
familiar with the nest and eggs, as well as with the
young and old birds.

The second day’s search ended about noon in
rather an interesting manner. The boy stopped for
lunch under a hemlock that he knew well, for the
spring before a pair of crows had had a nest in

AN UNUSUAL NESTING-PLACE OF THE GREAT HORNED OWL
(Location indicated by X)

293

The Great Horned Owl 295

the tree. The old nest was still there, and, just to
see in what condition it had been left after the storms
of winter, he climbed the tree. The nest was between
fifty and sixty feet from the ground. Just imagine the
boy’s surprise, when about thirty feet from the nest,
to see a Great Horned Owl silently glide off and
wing its way through the tree tops. It was a revela-
tion, upon reaching it, to find that a Great Horned
Owl had really used an old crow’s nest, which had
the appearance of being slightly remodelled and was
sparsely lined with evergreen leaves and feathers.
In the nest were three white eggs, nearly globular in
shape and about the size of a bantam’s. The boy
afterward learned that the usual number of eggs
deposited by the Great Horned Owl is two, and that
the bird sometimes constructs for itself a nest in a
hol'ow tree or an evergreen.

It was impossible to tell how long the bird had
been sitting, but as the period of incubation is about
four weeks, this fact could be approximately deter-
mined when the eggs hatched. On the first day of
April there were two little owls in the nest, anda day
later a third appeared. They were queer looking
little birds seeming to be nearly all head and eyes,
and their bodies were covered with the softest of

down.

296 The Great Horned Owl

The young birds grew very slowly, although the
remains of fish, mice, squirrels, rabbits, and birds
of various kinds furnished abundant evidence that
the old birds were lavish in supplymg them with food.
They remained in the nest for about eleven weeks—
a long time in comparison with most of our birds,
many young birds leaving the nest in from twelve
to fifteen days, and the woodcock, bob white, and
ruffed grouse in about as many hours.

During all this time the boy saw very little of the
parent birds, which was a great disappointment; but
from the few glimpses which he succeeded in getting
he learned several interesting things. He had always
been told that owls could not see in the daytime.
One day he approached the nesting tree very cau-
tiously, but the old bird on the nest evidently saw him,
for it immediately flew into a small cluster of hem-
locks some little distance away. Again the boy
tried to approach the bird, but with little better success;
finally, however, he succeeded in getting close enough
to see the owl walk back and forth on a limb, ruffling
its feathers very much after the fashion of a strutting
turkey cock. This was probably from anger rather
than anything else. The bird soon flew, and this
time it went so far into the thick hemlocks as to be
lost to view. ‘This and other similar circumstances

The Great Horned Owl 297

convinced the boy that the Great. Horned Owl is
not lacking in good eyesight in the daytime.
Everything progressed nicely with the owl family,
but the boy desired very much to know the hunting
methods of these powerful birds and how they located
their quarry. In an open part of the swamp, not far
from the nest, stood a solitary old stub, some eighty
feet in height, and holding aloft, from its barkless and
whitened trunk, a solitary branch. The position of
this former monarch of the forest commanded a good
view over the trout stream on the one side, and on
the other, over a small pond which contained numer-
ous forms of animal life. The boy was well ac-
quainted with the old stub, knowing its possibilities
both as a home and a watch tower for the feathered
tribe. Within its walls the flicker and the hairy
woodpecker had drilled, and nested; here also in
winter the screech owl found a shelter from the fierce
storms that swept over the swamp; from its branch
in summer the rattle of the belted kingfisher could be
heard; and perched on the summit of the broken shaft
the “hen hawk” would locate a mouse in the grass,
or, perchance, a sleepy old frog at the water’s edge.
The sun had already set at the close of a beau-
tiful spring day, when the boy found himself a
little distance above the old stub, on the trout

298 The Great Horned Owl

brook, stringing the last speckled beauty, prepara-
tory to going home. Suddenly the stillness was
broken by an ominous cry reverberating through
the forest, and echoing and re-echoing from the
neighboring hills. As it sounded across the pasture,
it seemed to vibrate the gathering gloom. The boy
stood motionless, listening intently, for he knew it to
be the hunting call of the Great Horned Owl. “He
will soon be at the old stub watch tower,” said the
boy to himself, ‘‘and I will catch him in the act.”
Cautiously he approached and surveyed the old
stub, as it stood silhouetted against the sky, above
the adjacent tree tops, but not a sign of an owl
was to be seen. Quietly he concealed himself, wait-
ing and watching, and listening for the different wood-
folk that might be astir. Near by he heard the twitter
of an’ uneasy bird, the squeak of a mouse, the scurry
of fast-flying feet on the dead leaves, and the splash
of the muskrats playing in a pool of the creek. These
sounds were ever sweet music in the ear of the country
lad, but his thoughts’ that night were of the Great
Horned Owl and his hunting. A red squirrel, dis-
covering him, came upon a branch overhead, chatter-
ing and scolding as usual, and for an instant the boy
turned his gaze upon him and then back again to
the stub. During that brief moment, as silent as

The Great Horned Owl 299

though borne on the wings of the night, a something
had added a foot or more to the height of the old
stub, slightly changing its outline, although it seemed
as stark and silent as before.

As the darkness deepened, the sounds from the
wood folk grew more numerous, but ears accus-
tomed to them gave little heed. ‘Whoo, hoo-hoo-
wh-o-0,” sounded again, so close this time as to
startle even the watcher of the old stub. To the boy
the swamp seemed suddenly to become as silent as
the grave,—save for the distant, hoarse guawk of the
night heron. But to the delicate ears of the listening
owl there was a hurried movement, a tell-tale sound,
and before the echoes of that terrible call had died
away, what appeared to be a part of the stub had
taken wing and silently swept into the ta!l grass by
a clump of bushes. The owl emerged a few moments
later with what appeared to be a rabbit in its talons
and winged its way towards its nest.

For an hour the boy watched and waited, but not
again that night did he see the owl or hear his call.
However, he was satisfied, for he had seen the Great
Horned Owl at his hunting.

After the young owls left the nest, the hunting call
was less frequently heard, but again in the autumn,
and occasionally through the winter, it sounded from

300 The Great Horned Owl

the swamp. For years the owls nested there, obtain-
ing their food from the wild life about them, but
sometimes feasting upon a chicken or young turkey
from the surrounding farms.

During these years, whenever an opportunity pre-
sented itself, the boy studied the animals about him.
He tramped and trapped as the seasons changed,
never seeming to grow weary of his chosen pastime;
and although he did not know it, he was changing,
the savage within him giving place to the humane.
He passed through the usual stages of trap and gun,
made various collections of nests, eggs, and mounted
specimens, but finally dropped all for the one harm-
less instrument—the. camera.

After years of work and dozens of negatives had
been made of wild birds and mammals in their native
haunts, he still had none of the Great Horned Owl.
This was due to the nocturnal habits of the bird and
to its natural shyness. You may tramp the woods
for many a day and not even see a Great Horned Owl,
much less produce a photograph of one. But patience
is usually rewarded, and that sometimes in a most
unexpected way.

The Great Horned Owl, when it once forms the
habit of visiting a certain farm building for the pur-
pose of carrying off poultry, becomes very bold and

The Great Horned Owl 303

daring. The same is true of some of our hawks
which have been known to fly within a few feet of a
man and pounce upon and carry off a chicken. Owls
usually make such visits by night, but occasionally
during the winter, when food is scarce, they get into
the habit of visiting the farmyard in the daytime.
Immediately upon the capture of the fowl, the owl
retreats to the woods, but, the load being heavy, the
bird sometimes stops to rest upon the broad rail of a
fence, or upon a log, or even upon the ground. At
such times the owl plainly shows its nature by holding
to the fowl, even when followed. When such stops
are made, with a little careful manceuvring, the owl
may be approached near enough to be photographed.
From early experience it was learned that a man on
horseback could ride under a tree where there was
a crow or a hawk without disturbing the bird; so,
too, the great horned owl has its weak point, it may
be fascinated by a dog,

The photographing of the Great Horned Owl under
the following conditions is not difficult: wait until
the owl seizes the fowl and stops to rest on the return
to the woods, then let a dog be led to within twenty
or thirty feet of the owl, and the bird will be all atten-
tion for the dog, taking apparently no notice of the
person leading it. The behavior of the owl at such

304 The Great Horned Owl

times is very amusing; it stands motionless, gazing
intently at the dog, but after a few minutes, if the dog
remains quiet, the bird seems to become nervous,
stepping first to one side and then to the other, hiss-
ing, snapping its beak, and ruffling its feathers.
After this the owl will usually try to make off with
its prey; but if another halt is made, it acts in much
the same way as at first, excepting that it is still more
nervous. While the owl’s attention is thus attracted
to the dog is the time to approach within “photo
distance”? to get the “snapshots.”

THE SCREECH OWL

=) HE screech owl is found throughout: the
H/| whole of the United States and the south-
erm part of Canada. It is one of the
smaller owls, being about eight inches in length,
with conspicuous ear tufts; its wings and tail are
barred and its legs feathered. The adult bird may
be gray or brownish red. This variation in color, or
dichromatism as it is called, is well marked, and for
a long time it was supposed to have something to do
with the sex or age of the bird, some scientists even
going so far as to class the two as different species.
In reality it has to do with none of these, although
just why it occurs has not been satisfactorily answered.
This dichromatism occurs very frequently among the
squirrels, and it is not uncommon in the insect world.
The screech owl is one of our most beneficial owls,
for it feeds principally upon mice, reptiles, and insects,
but sometimes—upon small birds. The greatest good
is done in the destruction of field-mice, which do
so much damage to the grass roots, to the grain both

when stacked and in the shock, and to young fruit-
395

306 The Screech Owl

trees. The greatest damage to trees occurs in that
part of the owl’s range where the snow is so deep
that it is impossible for the bird to reach the mice.

Younc ScREECH OWLs.

To the field student of natural history there are
no tracks in the snow more common than those of the
short-tailed field mouse. They are particularly plenti-
ful about hedgerows, brush heaps, stone piles, hay
and grain stacks, and farm buildings, while the
orchard is one complete network of them. Some-
times in the morning one may read on the soft
snow a chapter from Nature, written in her own

The Screech Owl 307

hand and better than anything ever found in
books. Let us study it together. The old orchard is
before us; many of the trees have long since passed
their commercial usefulness, but they should be spared,
for they are now the homes of our animal friends.
Time and the elements have dealt harshly with them,
and the boisterous wind has torn many a limb asunder;
here, for many years, the flickers have drilled their
homes, and the cavities in the old trees have grown
larger year by year. Toward one old tree, one-half
of which is tipped over until it touches the ground,
many mice tracks converge,—probably the seeds in
the apples beneath the snow are the attraction, or
perhaps some other dainty well liked by the mouse.
We notice that here a well defined track suddenly
ends, and we wonder where the mouse could have
gone; but if we look a little closer, we find, at the end
of the trail on either side, a slight mark in the snow.
These marks were probably made by the wing-tips.
of some night flying bird, in whose deadly grip the
little mouse met its end. We now examine some of
the cavities in the old trees, from one of which we
draw forth a plump, sleek screech owl. Could he
but talk, he would without doubt be able to explain
those marks in the snow, and to tell the reason why

the mouse would never again scamper about in the

308 The Screech Owl

moonlight, leaving behind him dainty footprints in
the snow.

Since the screech owl is of such great economic
value, its presence in the agricultural districts should
be encouraged. It is not, like many other birds,
beneficial in one part of its range and harmful in
another; but in doing so much good the screech owl
sometimes does a little harm, for it occasionally kills
small birds, and has been known to attack a ruffed
grouse or hen, though no serious harm came to either.
However, this bird catching propensity of the owl 's
very much in its favor at present, for it has developed
a liking for the English sparrow, and is frequently to
be seen about ivy covered buildings and other favorite
roosting places of the sparrows. This good report of
the screech owl seems to be common in other states
besides New Jersey and New York. From Mount
Perry, Ohio, Mr. R.S. Russell writes as follows:

“Last summer the English sparrows were so thick
around my house as almost to set me wild, when a
little screech owl got to visiting us every night and at
each visit he carried off a sparrow. My house is
thickly covered with vines, and the little owl would
make a dash into the vines and capture his sparrow
every time. By fall they were well thinned out.”

The screech owl breeds throughout its range, gen-

The Screech Owl 309

erally in hollow trees, but not in the deep woods.
Little nesting material, other than rotten wood and
a few feathers, is used. The eggs, varying in number
from four to six, are white and nearly round, and
in our latitudes are usually deposited from the fifth
to the twentieth of April.

The young, if taken a few days before they are
ready to leave the nest, may be tamed quite easily.

In the latter part of June, 1904, I was informed
that a coachman had caught two little owls while
they were lazily dozing the morning hours away
on the top of a woodpile. Icalled upon the man, and
was informed that he had two owls, which he called
“cat-owls.” They were in a box by the barn, and
he told me that three times a day they were fed bread
soaked in milk. The larger owl, he informed me,
was a male and the smaller one a female. I do not know
how he determined this, but he was very -positive in
his statements concerning owls, telling me a great
deal about these birds: that they were very scarce;
that if, when about to sct out on a jourmey an owl
“hooted,”? you were sure to have bad luck; also that if
for three nights in succession an owl was heard close
to a house and from the same tree, there would be
a death in the family within the next six months. To
all this astonishing information he added that he

310 The Screech Owl

could take these birds to a man in Orange who would
pay at least six or eight dollars for them.

I pitied the little birds—they were screech owls—
and offered the man what I considered to be a moder.
ate sum for them. He accepted the offer very
quickly, although it was considerably Jess than he
had said he could get for them in Orange.

I carried them home in a paper box, and arranged
temporary quarters for them, until I could construct
something better. I gave each of them an English
sparrow, which I fancied was more to their liking
than bread and milk; nor did they need to be urged
to eat, but eagerly began their feast at once.

We gave them appropriate names, corresponding to
sex as indicated by their former owner, calling the
larger one “Billy” and the smaller one “Betty.”
They were rather large to thoroughly tame, but I
handled them quite a little, and soon Betty appeared
to enjoy it and became very friendly, but Billy would
sometimes protest strongly with a hissing noise,
similar to the prolonged sound of the letter @ in
care, accompanied by a snapping of his beak: Betty
became so tame that my little daughter could scratch.
the owl’s head, and it would have been difficult to
tell from the appearance which one enjoyed it the

more.

.Allag ,, GNV ,,ATU,,

The Screech Owl 313

The little owls soon came to know my voice. When
I called his name, Billy in particular would give me
his peculiar cry of a, even before I was in sight.
If he failed to answer, I always tried to get him to
‘speak’ before I would give him his portion of food.
It was evident that this sound expressed with him
more than one thing, and it seemed to me to be dif-
ferently accented on different occasions. I did not
think at the time that this training would serve in
any particular way, except that it would probably
strengtnen certain points that have to do with animal
intelligence. Upon arriving home one day, how-
ever, I was told that Billy and Betty had escaped, and
that, although the basement had been thoroughly
searched, neither could be found. I myself searched
the basement again, but with no better success. Fi-
nally I called “Billy, Billy,” and listened. Billy
promptly responded by giving the sound of 4, and,
guided by the sense of hearing, I found him sitting
on the gas pipe close by a joist, with Betty beside him.

The next morning I put a basin of water into a box,
and in a short time Billy was taking a bath, and when
he had completed it, he was the wettest bird that I
ever saw; even the feathers on the top of his head
were wet. After this Billy took a bath very often,

but Betty less often.

314 The Screech Owl

I placed them in bushes several times, just to see
what they would do. Both of them could fly well, but
they did not seem to think of it when out-of-doors.
When all was quiet they would remain motion-
less; startle one, however, and it would open its eyes
wide, but if the light was bright the bird would
quickly bring the lids close together, forming a mere
slit, thus shutting out most of the light, and probably
by this means giving it a far clearer image of me.
Again being left alone for some time, it would arrange
its feathers and become as motionless as before,
keeping always the ear-tufts slightly raised. But if
I gradually approached, it would slowly rise to its
full height, at the same time elevating the ear tufts.
Standing in this position it resembled more nearly
an old stub on the limb than a bird.

At last the owl-house was completed and placed
in a cherry tree in the garden. Late in the after-
noon the owls were put in it—free at last and with a
home besides. The next morning both were there; but
whether they had been out during the night I could
not say. The second morning Billy was gone, and
although I looked about I failed to find his hiding-
place. In the afternoon I was working in the garden,
and an old robin, that had a nest in the next yard,
was making a great disturbance. I could see no

The Screech Owl 315

cat or other cause for this outcry, and the young
robins were not large enough to leave the nest. I
stood it until my curiosity got the better of me, and

Bitty WoNDERING WHAT THE Fuss was ABOUT

then set out to find the cause of all this alarm. By
this time the male robin had arrived, and he too was
greatly distresssed. A bluebird that chanced to be
near had joined in, and then it dawned upon me that

316 The Screech Owl

it might be the sight of Billy that was causing this
uneasiness among the birds. Sure enough, in a snug
retreat formed by some branches sat Billy, with his
eyelids slightly open, trying to discover what all this
fuss was about. I returned him to his home, and
for the next two weeks he was to be found there nearly
every day, Bétty, however, was the more regular of
the two. The owls never seemed to be hungry, but
this I accounted for by the fact that in the next yard
there were several evergreens, where English spar-
rows roosted and nested in considerable numbers.

Vacation time came and passed, and when I re-
turned, Billy was not in, but Betty was at home and
had grown both in stature and in beauty during my
absence. It seemed to me that the sparrows had
greatly diminished in number, much to my joy. In
a few days Billy returned, and he too had grown to
be a beauty.

During the autumn and early winter they were to
be found the greater part of the time in their snug
house in the cherry tree, but occasionally one or
both would be absent for two or three days at a time.
It is now the first of February 190s, and the little owls
are still “at home.” I hope that they are rightly
named, “Billy” and “Betty,” and that when spring
arrives they will decide to nest in their present abode.

THE “HEN HAWK” AND HOW
IT WAS PHOTOGRAPHED

co

is a very loose one and

’ includes several hawks,
[ ie i but more particularly it refers to

jae the red-tailed and the red-shoul-
ers: dered hawks. ‘The red-tailed hawk
is distinguished from the red-
shouldered by having the upper
surface of the tail a rusty red, or

rufous, with a black band near its
end and a white tip, while the tail
of the red-shouldered hawk is very
dark brown or black with five
white cross bars; also, the shoulder

of the latter is a rich rufous.

The red-tailed hawk is a very magnificent specimen
of its family. It is one of our most common hawks,
doing little harm usually, for it feeds principally upon

small mammals, reptiles, and insects. I cannot agree
317

318 The “Hen Hawk”

with those who pronounce it a “notorious visitor”
to farmyards; at least this has not been my obser-
vation. It is very frequently seen about pastures
and meadows, hunting for its favorite food, the
field mouse. During the late summer and autumn
it is often observed circling high in the air and
whistling “Kee-e-e, kee-e-e,” for hours at a time.
For this harmless amusement, and for being so fre-
quently observed, it is condemned by farmers and
poultrymen for the depredations of the less seen and
more sly hawks. Usually much of the blame should
fall at the door of Cooper’s hawk, ‘the sharp-shinned
hawk, or the American goshawk—these being the
real “hen hawks.”

For the one act alone of destroying field mice
the red-tailed hawk should be granted protection of
the strictest kind, and agriculturists should be the
first to insure it. There seems to be in the minds
of many an idea that to let a hawk or an owl escape
is doing a great injustice to mankind in general.

It is said that the red-tailed hawks are quite tame
in the West, and that a man can approach within a
short distance of one; but generally speaking, they
are very shy in the East, this wildness being probably
due to their being so much persecuted for their sup-
posed poultry stealing habits.

aaTivi-day GHL JO ANNOU9-ONIGETY GNV ANNO qHL

The “Hen Hawk” 321

The nest of this hawk is to be found in high trees in
the deep woods; it is a bulky affair, but quite shallow,
being composed of sticks and roots often a foot or
more in length, with a good mixture of coarse grass,
while the inside has a sparse lining of moss and a
few feathers.

One August day, as I was tramping through a
marshy place in a piece of woods, I accidentally
surprised a red-tailed hawk which was probably hunt-
ing for frogs or other food. Only a few days before,
I had seen a hawk of this species within a short
distance of where I surprised this one. On the
day that I saw the second hawk, in a clearing on the
edge of the swamp, I came upon a boy setting some
traps by a stump, and scattering about them the
waste parts of a fowl and also of a woodchuck. I
was interested to know what was his object in doing
this, and he told me that skunks from the neighbor-
ing woods were troubling his chickens.

I inquired of him if he had seen any hawks about,
and why he believed that it was skunks and not hawks
which had caught his chickens. He answered me
by saying that as they were taken only at night, it
could not be the work of hawks, although they were
plentiful in the swamp.

From what I had seen of the hawks in this vicinity,

pee The “ Hen Hawk”

and having good reasons for believing that some
young had been reared there in the spring, this bounti-
ful supply of bait suggested to me an idea. I had
seen, but a few days before, a whole family of red-
tails about a woodchuck that had been shot. and left
by its burrow. It is seldom that the old hawks feed
upon carrion, but many times they will come and sit
close by if there are convenient perches for them.
The young may be tempted to eat of it, for they are
not yet skilled in hunting and cannot catch their
prey so readily as can the-older and more experienced _
hawks. It. is the young that sometimes come to the
poultry yard, for they can catch a chicken more easily
than they can catch a mouse.

I inquired of the boy if he would be busy for the
next few days, and being answered in the negative, I
employed him to do a little bird watching for me.

Near the stump where he. was setting the traps
lay a small tree, one end of which we placed upon
the stump, while the other rested upon the ground.
Just in the rear was the swamp where the hawks
had been seen. The duty of the boy was to rise
early in the morning and, from a secluded spot,
watch the tree that we had placed upon the stump.
The first morning he saw nothing, but the second
he saw two of the birds perched upon the tree, with

YAAOC NOWVALIS FHL ONINOO'T

The “ Hen Hawk” 925

a third near by, none of them, however, venturing
nearer the bait.

It was now time for me to watch. With my camera
placed in a concealed position, I was on hand before
daybreak, the slide of the plate holder drawn, and
the release to the shutter ready to operate, if the
hawks appeared. As they did not come on this nor
on the next morning, it seemed necessary to try to
coax them to come.

The traps and bait intended for the skunks were
removed; then a fowl was killed and parts of it put
about the swamp upon stakes five or six, feet high.
These parts were taken by something in the morning
and late afternoon, probably by the hawks, although
the owls may have secured some pieces that were
not taken before dark. This feeding process was
kept up for four days, the food being renewed several
times in some cases, and then all remaining bait
was removed from the stakes. Again fresh bait was
placed by the stump, as the boy had had it in the
beginning.

The camera was placed in position as before, and
long before daylight I was in my place of conceal-
ment with the release apparatus adjusted ready to
photograph, if the opportunity presented itself. The
gray appeared in the east, then followed the beautiful

326 The “ Hen Hawk ”

coloring that sometimes appears just before sunrise, but
no visitors came. The morning slowly wore on until ten
o’clock, and if the hawks had not breakfasted, they
must have been hungry indeed, judging from my own
‘feelings. I had now been working ten days, and
had not made a single exposure. It was rather dis-
couraging; but recalling other photographs for which
I had waited years, and for which I had worked
steadily for days at a time, I was not warranted in
giving this one up. The following morning was
spent in useless waiting, as also was the next. Then
followed another brief baiting period from the stakes,
and an early morning watch. It was nearly eight
o’clock and I was ready to give up, to try another
morning, when, as if from the sky, ‘a beautiful red-
tailed hawk dropped gracefully upon the perch
arranged for him. He folded his wings, stood at his
full height with his neck outstretched, his head slightly
turned, and seemed to eye the bait suspiciously.
Quickly I opened and closed the shutter, the snap-.
shot was made, and a moment later he was sailing
over the tree tops, seemingly whistling back to me

“Kee-e-e.”

In due time the negative was developed,
and before it was dry it was named “Looking the
Situation Over.”

In the days that followed two other negatives were

The “ Hen Hawk” 327

made, and one, a particularly fine one, was called
“Attention.”

Those were pleasant days spent with the “hen
hawks,” and I learned many interesting and instruc-
tive things, but my ingenuity and patience were
taxed to the utmost to outwit those wary wild birds.

“ ATTENTION”®

THE SPARROW HAWK

“killy hawk,” from -the sound of its
note, ‘“killy-killy-killy,” repeated in rapid
succession. This beautiful and singularly col-
ored little bird is quite plentiful in the northern
part of the United States

in summer, but at the —

approach of winter many
migrate to the Southern
States.

This hawk usually
nests in large wood-
pecker holes, and con-
sequently rears its brood
quite close to the habita-
tion of man. The period Sparrow Hawk

of incubation is about fives weeks, and for several
days after hatching the young are covered with a very
soft down; in fact some of the down is not molted

by the time the young birds are ready to fly.
328

The Sparrow Hawk 329

It is a bird of the open country, rather than of the
deep woods, and often it may be seen perched upon
a dead limb of a tree by the meadow, watching for a
mouse or a grasshopper. When the hawk has located
its quarry, it hovers above it for a moment, then,
dropping quickly, seizes it with its sharp talons, and
bears it away to the perch, to be devoured at leisure.
I have often watched these birds feasting upon grass-
hoppers; and so intently were they engaged that I
could approach very near their watch towers without
seeming to disturb them in the least. One August
afternoon I very unexpectedly came upon a sparrow
hawk as he sat upon a stub, and as he paid no atten-
tion to me I watched him for some time. Within
half an hour he caught and brought to the stub twelve
large grasshoppers, which he devoured with apparent
relish. This hawk feeds upon other insects also,
seeming to have a special liking for crickets and
spiders.

When the insects upon which he feeds are scarce,
he gives more attention to the capture of mice; at
such times he may be found about haystacks and
even farm buildings, ready to capture any mouse
that dares venture from under cover. Probably when
food is scarce this hawk occasionally captures a bird,
but this is the exception, rather than the rule. The

330 The Sparrow Hawk

fact that it is a hawk and has been known even occa-
sionally to capture a bird or a chicken is, in the eyes
of many people, reason enough for exterminating it.
They do not stop to consider the great amount of
good it has done in destroying mice alone. From
the nature of its food, this bird should be protected
by law, instead of being a mark for every passing
gunner.

The sparrow hawk lives in harmony with most other
birds, even when nesting near them. Last summer
I discovered two old maple stubs standing about
twenty feet apart by the edge of a meadow; in one
of these were flickers nesting, in the other were three
hungry young sparrow hawks ‘always clamoring to
be fed. I watched these two families until the young
of each flew away, and not once did I observe the
sparrow hawks troubling the flickers. On the con-
trary, the sparrow hawks were a help, keeping all
larger hawks and crows at a distance.

The blue jay appears to have a great dislike for
the sparrow hawk, and on several occasions I have
seen three or more blue jays noisily pursuing one
hawk. I remember an incident of this kind that
happened in the autumn of 1900 in a large apple-
orchard, where I was photographing the nest of a
red squirrel. When I first entered the orchard I

t tai @

a etihs.
Puy

The Sparrow Hawk 333

noticed the hawk perched on the top of a tree, and
as he was not far from the squirrel’s nest, I frequently
looked his way. It seemed rather unusual to me
that this species of hawk should remain on one perch
for such a long time, so I drew near to the tree. As
I did so the bird gently raised his wings, vibrating them
two or three times, as if to make sure of them, and
flew to a near-by tree; but the flight indicated to me
that one of its wings had been slightly injured. I
did. not attempt to make the bird fly again, but after
watching it a few moments I returned to my task.

In an hour or so five blue jays came to the orchard
from a grove not far away, and, as is usual with these
birds at this season of the year, they were noisy and
ready for any sort of a frolic. Shortly after their
arrival they discovered the sparrow hawk; instantly
their crests were lowered, and for a moment their
harsh notes were silenced. Recovering from their
apparent surprise at finding a hawk so motionless,
they soon found their voices, and one would scarcely
believe that five birds could make such a noise.

At first the jays were content to remain some dis-
tance from the hawk and revile him in their language,
but as this had little visible effect on him, and espe-
cially as he did not move, they approached nearer and
uearer by degrees, finally alighting upon the tree

334 The Sparrow Hawk

with him; whereupon the hawk flew to another:
perch, only to be followed in a most tantalizing man-,
ner by the scolding jays. Several times this was
repeated, the jays following closer and closer each
time, till at last-the hawk became so enraged that
he made a dash at the nearest jay, striking him with
his talons in such a way as to pull out a few feathers.
At this unexpected onslaught of the hawk, the noisy
band of jays retreated to the forest, leaving cee be
in the orchard.

‘The sparrow hawk, if taken from the nest while
quite young, becomes one of the most charming of
bird pets. The beautiful coloring of. the feathers,

the unusual intelligence andthe graceful movements -

of the bird endear him to the few who have really
come to know him. A friend of mine who had a
tame one several years ago, told me that of all the
birds he had tamed and loved, he cared most. for his
sparrow hawk. This hawk seemed to show no affec-
tion for any one but its master; but of him it was very
fond,. often, when he was out in the open field, alighting
most unexpectedly upon his head or shoulder. It
spent the greater part of the time about the open
fields and orchard catching insects and mice; occa-
sionally it would go to the woods, being absent some-
times nearly all day. The hawk enjoyed nothing

fa
p
u
wn
M
Es
<
sr
E
fo)
P
<
Pa
wn

FLIcKER STUBS.

The Sparrow Hawk 437
better than hunting mice, if only his master would

overturn the flat stones and boards for him, and it

)

FI
i§
3
¥

Younc Sparrow Hawks.

was surprising how expert he was in capturing them.

He would catch them even when his appetite was

338 The Sparrow Hawk

satisfied, and,. after killing them, would leave them
on the fence. or the limb of a tree.

This pet hawk rendered another good service, by
guarding the chickens, although it was probably unin-
tentional on his part, putting to flight all crows or
hawks that came about the poultry yard. One day,
while endeavoring to drive away a large hawk, a
fierce fight ensued. The larger hawk retreated toward
the woods, but the combat was kept up until, as they
rose higher and higher, the watchers at the house lost
sight of them. When last seen each was trying to
gain the advantage that the more elevated position
afforded. The little sparrow hawk never came back;
whether he fell a victim to the larger hawk or
whether he was shot by some thoughtless gunner
will probably never be known.

EXTINCT ANIMALS
By E. RAY LANKESTER, F.R.S.
With numerous illustrations. $1.75 net, postage extra

An account of animals, many of which lived on the earth in ages
before written history. The author ‘bases the book on his popular
lectures, and although the story is told so simply that children cannot
fail to understand it, it is in no way lacking in scientific value, and
will be full of interest for older people as well, The story of these
animals is in some measure the story of the earth itself.

THE COUNTRY DAY BY DAY

By E. KAY ROBINSON

Illustrated. $1.75 net, postage extra

A diary of nature for a twelvemonth, descriptive of English country
scenes, but of interest to the American nature-lover by reason of its
marked literary quality and the wealth of detailed observation which it
contains. It is a note-book of birds, flowers, animals, and all the varied
life of the woods and fields, unfolding, in a way which will delight those
who know the country, the progress of nature day by day throughout the
year. There are numerous pictures from photographs taken in the field
by the author.

THE OPEN ROAD

Compiled by EDWARD V. LUCAS

Some 125 poems and twenty-five prose passages, representing over
sixty authors. $1.50

“ The selections tell of farewells to winter and the town, of spring and
the beauty of the earth, of lovers, of sun and cloud and the windy hills, of
birds, blossoms, and trees—in fact of everything that makes work well-
nigh impossible when the world of nature begins to awake from its long
sleep.” —Critic.

“A very charming book from cover to cover.” —Dzal.

Henry Holt and Company

Publishers (x, *o5) New York

A GUIDE TO
THE STUDY OF FISHES

By DAVID STARR JORDAN

2 volumes, 934 illustrations. 1223 pp. $12.00 net, postage extra.
32 pp. Prospectus free on application.

A comprehensive work, at once scientific and popular, by
the leading American ichthyologist. It discusses the structure,
habits, evolution, and economic value of fishes. It treats of the
characteristics of chief groups, emphasizing those which by
reason of divergence from typical forms are of especial interest.
Extinct fishes are discussed along with their living relations.
Nothing has been spared to make the work, in illustration and
mechanical execution, worthy of a magnum opus. There is an
abundance of pictures in half tone and other forms of black-and-
white illustration, and the frontispiece of each volume shows in
colors some of the remarkable fish brought by the author from
his Pacific explorations. There are also portraits of the world’s
leading ichthyologists. The work is issued in two sumptuous,
large octavos, and is intended to be a valuable handbook for
technical students and interesting to anglers and nature lovers,

AMERICAN’ INSECTS
By VERNON L. KELLOGG

With 812 figures and 11 colored plates. 647 pp. $5.00 net,
postage extra.

This sumptuous volume covers the entire American insect
world, including moths, butterflies, and beetles, to which separ-
ate volumes are often devoted. Written in a style to interest the
general reader, the arrangement is systematic and reasoned, and
it is probably the most valuable handbook of the subject for the
technical student or amateur collector. Habits, life, history,
relations to man, to other animals and to plants are given special
prominence. It is distinguished by much new matter, the results
of the author’s ingenious observations, and by many original
pictures illustrating species not before figured in general insect
books.

HENRY HOLT & CO. 29 West,234 Street

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