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'^^P^i'WianpVHini^l

School of the Woods

f*>

//,^ ijRRARY %^

^:\

X.;-''

V; A«1^

=•««• See Page 157

,^/' /r

SCHOOL or

THE WOOD^

Some Life Shidies of Animal Instincts
and Animal Training ik ^ % By

WILUAMJ.LONG

A^jl^f BEASTS OFTHE HEID
^pi FOWLS OF THE AIR

WOOD FOLK SERIES

^^ "^P* "* " "^ ILLUSTRATED ny

^ a CMARL' s copela;^!,

^«m LmiTE, Toronto

lORONTO
03

r^^^

Entrhbd at Stationsks

( "<'I'N KlfiHT, f*>02

liv WILLIAM J l.OSC,

S ded/cafe ffiis Aook of I. ^^^

■^

'-?, '

>*»^

I fell

•^■^

-:i 'i

i-V

';?i

•%i

I'i'

-iPlf^^^"^ </ ^/^^ follmoing sketches were
^ »i made in the woods, with the sub-
jects themselves living just outside my tent
door. They are all life studies, and include
also some of the unusual life secrets of a
score of animals and birds, — shy, 7cild crea-
tures, mostly, that hide from the face of man
and make tlwir nests or their lairs deep in
the heart of the wilderness.

So far as the sketches have any unity, they
arc the result of an effort on the part of the
zoriter to get at tlie heart of things and find

if]

\%i

■ ''<.:

^ammp^m wahiu^ us»m

vni

(Ppeface^

the mcaiiiiio^ jf ccrtam pnzzliiii^ i^<ays of
birds ami beasts. . I sii ingestion, at /cast, of
that iiicaiiiiig and a/so an indication of tlic
scope and object of this boolc, loi// be found
in the first chapter, the Introduction to the
" Schoo/ of the IVoods."

As .n previous vo/nmes, the names liercin
used for birds and anima/s are t/iose given
b\< the Mi/ice te Indians. I use these names
part/y for their happy memories ; part/y for
tlic added touch of individua/ity icJiich they
give to every creature; but chief/y because
they have the trick of bringing the anima/
himse/f before you bv some sound or sugges-
tion. IVheii you ca/l the /itt/e creature that
/ives under your doorstep, that eats your
crumbs and that comes ivhen you ivhist/e
certain tunes, a common Toad, the zvord
means nothing. But when Simmo speaks of
K\/unk the Fat One, I knozo something of
what tlie interesting /itt/e creature says, and
just hozv he /oaks.

Tivo or three of these studies have a/ready
appeared in various magazines. A// the rest

•::,.ijr. '^--

come dinct from my old notebooks and wii-
derncss records to these newer pages, iv/iere ^
the skill/ill pencil of my friend Mr. Charles K}^^^^^^
Copelatid makes the animals live again and
peep at me shyly from behind old mossy logs,
or glide away into their leafy solitudes, halt-
ing, listening, looking back at me inquisitively
— just as they did in tlw '^derness.

n-Il.UAM J. LOAG.

Stamford, G
September.

■A ^ .m"\ :^

On the Way to School
What the Fawns must KNr)\v
A Cry in the Night .

ISMAQUES the TiSHHAWK

A School for Little Fishermen
The Partridges' Roll Call
When you meet a Pear
Quoskh the Keen Evkd
Unk W^unk the PORCUriNE .
A Lazy Fellow's Vvs .
Umquenawis the Mighty
At the Sound of the Trumpet
Ihe Gladsome Life
How THE Animals die .
Glossary of Indian Names

Nir

"Thkrkat a Turn in i iik I'aih, ndi Tfn Yards ahkap,

STOOO A nr<;E Hkar." .... Frontisficcc

Page

"The White Fi.ai; shuwing like a Heacon Licht as

SHE JIMI'EI) away"

"Her Eyes ai.i. ahi.aze with the Wonfier jf the

Light" 6i

" Presently they kecan to s' t iiekcely at .some

Animal" ... 89

"(iRirriNc; his Fish and ///'-/;///«(,' his Fxi'ltation" 107
"They wouldtupn their Heads and listen inten ily" it,'^
"A Dozen Times the Fisher jimied, killing the .\ir

WITH Feathers" 205

"Bothers and irritates the Porcupine iiy elii-i'ing

Earth at him " 227

"! ;.UNGING like A (IrEAT ENGINE THR(JUGH L'NDER-

BRUSH AND OYER WINDFALLS" .... 255

"A Mighty Spring itv hi.s Croiching Haunches fin-
ished THE Work" 301

"Trots to the Brook and jumps from Slone to

■'^T<)NE" y.i

'■A Little Woijd Warhi.er was siriiNc. on a Frond

of Evergreen "

xiii

349

^A. ^

years ago the write av,
for the second time, a - r

otter teach her unsuspectin. ttlt
ones to swim by carrying th
her back into the water, as if r a
there diving from under t i I
realized what she was about. As t
gled wildly in the unknown clemen
near them and began to help - e,
them on their erratic way back li-
When they reached it, at last, they scr
out, whimpered, shook themselves, looked at

rwg-

ibkd

9 SCHOOL OF

^ the river fearfully, then glided into their den.
On ^C Way ^'^^^"^ ^'^"-y ''^'•ipp^'ared cautiously; but no
^O^chool amount of gentle persuasion on the mother's
l^'^""^ ^""'fl induce them to try for themselves
another plunge into the water; nor, spite of
her coaxing and playful rolling about in the
dry leaves, would they climb again upon
her tack that day, as I had seen them and
^ other young otters ao, twenty times before,
^5^"^ without hesitation.

Now to me, as I went home
through the twilight woods

S:^^^^^-^'^-' through the twilight woods

'^^^^^^^|*.?W thinking it all over, the most

T •;f;S^^^ suggestive thing in the whole

t^T^^^-Jv-:^ ,^ . '. . curious incident was

this : that I had
been taught to
swim myself in
exactly the
same way by
more of

■ >_/•

%^.; ^ ^il/^. ^'§^^^'" b°y - ^'^ tJi l«s of help and i
i' '/WJ^' ^''^"*y <^" ^'s P'irt, and a great de;

great deal more

^P/S^' ^P''''^^^"^ ^"d sputtering on mine, than
' 1 /y '^%U%''^'^ *^^ Progre^^ of the young otters.

Onffiehby

THE WOODS W

That interesting little comedy by the (|uiet
river, one of the thousands that pass every
day unnoticed in the summer \vo(k1s, first ^oSr/iOo}
opened my eyes to the fact that all wild
creatures must learn most of what they
know as we do; and to learn they must be
taught. I have had that fact in mind in
gathering together from my old notebooks
and summer journals these sketches of animal
life, whic ' up themselves naturally about

one r- idea, namely, the large place which

early lucation holds in the life of every
creature.

That animal education is like our own,
and so depends chiefly upon teaching, may
possibly be a new suggestion in the field of
natural history. Most people think that the
life of a wild animal is governed wholly by
instinct. They are of *he same class who
hold that the character of a child is largely
predetermined by heredity.

Personally, after many years of watching
animals in their native haunts, I am con-
vinced that insiinct plays a much smaller

'^'> SCHOOL OF

OnmcWay '"•^'•^ -^I'^-^'-^s („■ failure in tho r-.n i

ii««^ ''"t upon ,IK. ld,Kl of tn,i„ini "hid:
•"""'••• ^--^-^ '-" its .rnxlu:-. And
""■■e ' sec of cl,ildren. ,h, nK„v .s. r .„

latcd .md developed instincts) plavs but ■,

. ^i^ior , tiiat J.o)oIa, with a profounH

-scion, n, „,,,,, ,„„,,^,^ J^ ^

Taldl ;,:t/:c'i;:"^'f'"''-^''^

Usance . Cue me a chi d till he is

-n years old. and it matters not nn,ch,:
has him afterwards. He is mn. f
and eternifv" q , ■ "^' ^^^^ ^"^^e

acrn.t). Substitute seven weeks for

--M--Sandyouhaveani„kli„,:,:
onscious thought which govern^ ev y
I'ttle mother in the wilderness ^

i o indicate the probable truth of this
PosUion, there are certain facts and tr.

casual observer in the woods and fields.

r^l¥' :'-~'''^^«w*'i?w?,;'i?'t" ' ijcsspw^«3"4,^^:»^''

i>;i:{ifefc:

THE WOODS ®

Those young birds and animals that are
left by sad accident, or sadder willfulness, ^
without their mothers' training profit little H^ ^j}*^^ ^
by their instincts. They are always first to ^ ^^^^^'
fall in the battle with the strong. Those
alone that follow their natural leaders till
they learn wisdom live to grow uj) in the big ^^
woods. Sometimes, in the course of a Ioul'
summer, birds and animals that see their first
offspring well trained produce a second brood V
or litter. The latter are generally abandoned, •'i;

at the approach of winter, before their ,,..'

simple education is half completed. r^'ilfr

Left with their instincts

and their imperfect j i ^l^sinkn.

training, they go to feed '^y

nature's hungry prowl-
ers; while the better

trained broods live and

thrive in the same woods, .

amid the same dangers. More-
over, domestic animals, which

have all their wild instincts

but none of the wild mother's

m^msim.'

1=-.

^ SCHOOL OF

.S training, far fron. profiting by their human
Ji^^eWay a-"ciat,on, are ahm.st helpless when, by

^^f£2?^ 1\'"'"' '^''y ''^'■^^ '^'^t «'■ "^"st take up tMc
^"^^^^ old free h'fe of the woods again. Instinct
profits them nothing; they can neither catch
the.r food nor hide fro.n their enemies as well
as the.r wilder kinsfolk, and they are the first
o go down under the swoop or spring of
hawK or wild-cat.

In a more specific way one may find the
•sar ,e u ea suggested every wl.ere in the woods
I watched fi^•e or six mother caribou, one
afternoon, teaching their little ones what
seemed to me to be plain social regulations
and rules of conduct. Up to that time the
young had lived each one with its mother in
lonely seclusion, as ah wild creatures do,- an
excellent plan, by the way. with a suggestion
>n -t, possibly, for human mothers. Now
tlK^y were brought together for the first tir.
•n preparation for their winter life on the
barrens, when all caribou run in herds

The niothers brought them to a natural
open„.g ,„ the woods, pushed them all out

-^.M^^'

■'■ -"■■■^m^'

•"f^^^ iMi^ft^m:-: ^aweai^

i.-

TWe* WOODS ®

into the center by themselves, and left them

to get acquainted -a slow, cautious process J

vmh much shyness and ucnder manifest on 9j^^f ^

the part of the little caribou. Meanwhile the ^""^^^^^^

mothers watched over them from the shadows
encouraged the timid ones, and pushed apart
or punished those that took to butting and
bossing. Then, under guise of a frolic, they

uere taught to run in groups and to juu.p
fallen trees, — a necessary but still a very ■'-
difficult lesson for woodland caribou.

<!.<.-

whose home is now in the biji —,.-.,, ^,.

woods, but xN-hose muscles are so ■■^^^:^
modified by previous centuries
on the open Arctic plains that
jumping is unnatural, and so
must be taught with much care
and patience.

Again, you find a little fawn hidden ^^

in the woods, as described in the next chapter
and are much surprised that, instead of run- .-.
nmg away, he comes to you feariessly, licks "i^
your hand and follows you, calling wistfully ^^
as you go away. You have yet to learn,'

Jw^ ■

..J>

^ SCHOOL OF

,o perhaps, tliat fear is n(,t instinctive- that
On/j^c Way 7'^"^ ^^''^1 creatures, if found early, before
-^fo^S^hooi t'^'-'y Jiave been tauc^ht, have no fear but
only bnght curiosity for one uho approaches
them gently.

A feu- weeks later, while prowling through
the woods, you hear a sudden alarm blast and
-see the same fawn bounding away as if for
'1.S life. Vou have not changed; yourgentle-
/^,ness Ks the same, your heart as kind to every
i^^ --"ature. What then has come over the son
K>sH. S.mplythis: that one dav, while
tlie faun was following his mother, a
^V'p ^cent that was not of the
^-;t^^ ^" ^^^^^^ ^''^o^t; in through the
i^K ""''^'■^•■"^li- At the first

^ head, thrust her nose into

-X^,

^V,,;,.x.,V^ . "^^ ^'^"^ '^^"^^' snorted, and bounded
^.^^V^.^k\ <•■ away with a sharp call for the fawn

to follow. Such a lesion rarelv
needs to be repeated. From that moment
acertam scent means danger to the fawn
. and when the friendly wind brings it to his

' <^-'^

^c^«i7:.«:^< .m^z^^jtissiSH^^

THE WOODS S

nostrils again he will bound away, as he was

taught to do. And of all deer that flee at ''

our approach in the wilderness, not one in ten ?^4^f ^

has ever seen a man or suffered anx harm; ^""^^^^^

they are smiply obeying one of their early

lessons.

There is a simpler way still, in which vou

may test the theory. Find a crow's nest in

the spnng (I choose the crow because he is

the wisest of birds, and his nest is not hard to

find) and go there secretly when the young

are almost ready to fly. One day yo'u will

see the mother bird standing near the nest

and stretching her wings oyer her little ones

Presently the Ncung stand up and stretch

their wings in imitation. That is the first
lesson. Next day, perhaps, you will see the
old bird lifting herself to tiptoe and holding
herself there by vigorous flapping. Again
the young imitate, and soon learn that their
wings are a power to sustain them. Next
day you may see both parent birds passing
from branch to branch about the nest, aided
by their wings in the long jumps. The little

t^a^-

jAi

Y^lSSl^^.

& SCHOOL OF

,^ ones join the play, and lo ! tlicy have learned
Onmc Way *" ^>' ^^itliout even knowing that they were
^fo^^hoo/ ^"-'i'lg taught.

All this, of course, refers only to the higher
forms of animal life, of which I am writing.
The lower orders have no early training, sint
ply because they need to know so little that
instinct alone suffices. Each higher order,

:£^h ,V *'■■ - 5i?4 i^ . 'lowever, must know not
^ ^S^^'^ ^ only itself but all about

' t^^^^l^^t^^^^ ■■ ^^^ ^^^^ ^'^'"^^'' °"

^,?-'^''''^*^Slu. <#!»& it depends

Tfc if "^ '' .; '{^fiMM^^'^-' for food, and some-

I-

1 1

. ■' ' "■ -"......1^, anu mere is no

^ instmct sufficient for these things. Only a
^^;. careful mother training can supply the lack,
.^ ^' and make the little wild things ready for
::, then- battle with the world.

So far as I have observed, young fish
receive no teaching whatever from their
elders. Some of them follow the line of

THE WOODS 8

least resistance and gc, down stream to the

sea. When the time for reproduction '^

arrives they find their way back from the ?^^f ^^

•sea to the same river -alu ays the same ^^^^^«^^'

river — ,n which they were hatched. This ^^

double migration lias been supposed to be -^

purely a matter of instinct. I am not so ''"^^"

sure. From studying trout and salmon jxar-

ticularly.and from recent records of deep-sea

trawling, I think that, instead of following

instinct, they follow the larger fishes from

the same river, which are f.aind in shoals at

greater or less distances offshore.

This is certainly true of the birds. With
them the instinct to migrate is a mere im-
pulse, hardly more intelligent than that of
rats and squirrels and frogs, all of which
have, at times, the same strong tendency
to migrate. Left to themselves, the young
birds would never find their northern or
southern homes; but with the impulse to
move IS another and stronger impulse, to go
with the crowd. So the young birds join
the migrating hosts, and from their wiser

^ SCHOOL OF

,^ ciders, not from instinct, learn the sure way,
On me Way ''"''" *'i^' '^'''^'^ -'^"^1 "ver the seas and through
"fo^ChooJ the unmapped wildernesses, to where food
•Nv ''^"flq"'<-'t resting places are awaiting them.
The plovers are the only jjossible excep-
tion to this rule that I know. \'„img plov-
ers start southward, over the immense reach
from Labrador to Patagonia, some ten or
twelve da\s earlier than their elders; but
I have sometimes noticed, in a great flock
of "pale-bellies" that a sudden southeaster
had driven to a landing on our shores, two
or three old "black-breasts"; and I have no
doubt that these older birds are the guides,
just as they seem to give the orders in the'
endless wing drills that plover practice as
regularly as a platoon of soldiers.

Among the higher orders one can tread
his ground more firmly. There, as with chil-
dren, the first and strongest instinct of every
creature is that of obedience. The essential
difference between the two, between the
human and the little wild animal, is this:
the animal's one idea, born in him and

.""^v

THE WOODS ®

strcngtliencd by every day's training, is that,
until he grows up and learns to take care of '^ ._
himself, his one business in the world is to be H^ slh^Af ^
u atchf ul for orders and to obey them i nstantly ; ^^^^^^
while the child, by endless pettings and indul-
gences, by having every little cry attended to
and fussed over as if it were a Cxsar's man- :
date, too often loses the saving instinct of^"-
obedience and grows up into the idea that his , .
business in the world is to give orders for
others to obey. So that at three or f^ve or
twenty years, when the mischief is done, we
must begin to teach the obedience which ^
should never have been lost, and without :^ ^
which life is a worse than use- ^ V-^'"'^^

less thing. ^^^^'

W hen one turns to the animals, >/^^>i

it is often with the wholesome, refresh-^ ^ ^^^^^K^
ing sense that here is a realm where the law ^ ^^

-\i ^

itsr

of life is known and obeyed. To tl^ wild
creature obedience is everything. It is the
deep, unconscious tribute' of ignorance to
wisdom, of weakness to power. All the wil-
derness mothers, from partridge to panther,

,^<

N-.

U f

if I

^ SCHOOL OF

,g seize upon this and through hmg summer

On/he Way ''^^^^ ''^"*^^ <^l""-'t •''^-'^''''t "ights train and train
^^O^Chooi 't' till the young, jirofiting by their instinct of
l-A^-afc^ obedience, grow wise and strong by careful
teaching. This, in a word, seems to me to
be h;.' whole secret of animal life. And one
who watches the process with sympathetic
eyes — this mother fishhawk, overcoming
the young birds' natural instinct for hunt-
ing the woods, and teaching them the
better mysteries of going a-fishing; this
mother otter, teaching her young their first
confidence in the water, which they natu-
rally distrust, and then how to swim deep
and silent — can only wonder and grow
thoughtful, and mend his crude theories of
instinct and heredity by what he sees,
with open eyes, going on in the world all
about him.

Therefore have I called this book the
"School of the Woods"; for the summer
wilderness is just one vast schoolhouse, of
many rooms, in which a multitude of wise,
patient mothers are teaching their little ones,'

'W^^&T':

THE WOODS «

and of which our kinclcrgartcris a.e crude
and second-rate imitations. Here are prac-
tical schools, technical schools. No supertl- ^^ ^^^A'
cial polish of French or literature will do ^^ ^^^^^^
here. Obedience is life; that is the Hrst
great lesson. Pity we men have not learned
it better! Hvery wild mother knows it.
lives by it. hammers it into her little ones.
And then come other, secondary lessons.—
uhen to hide and when to run; how to
swoop and how to strike; how to sift and
remember the many sights and sounds and
smells of the world, and to suit action always
and instantaneously to knowledge, — all of
which, I repeat, are not so much matters of

instinct as of careful training and imitation.
I ife itself is the issue at stake in this

forest education ; therefore is the discipline

stern as death. One who watches lf)ng over

any of the wood-folk broods must catch his

breath at times at the savage earnestness

underlying even the simplest lesson. Few

wild mothers will tolerate any trifling or will-
fulness in their little schools; and the more

^ SCHOOL OF

,j, intcllinrcnt. like the crows and wolves, mcrci-
OnffhnWay '^''''>' '^■'" t'^^i'" ^vcak and wayward pupils.
"f'O^S^hoo/ ^'et tenderness and patience 'are here too.
and the youn- are never driven beyond their
a powers. Once they haNe learned their les-
4; sons they are watched over for a few days by
their teachers, and are then sent out into the
world to put their education to the practical
test of gettin- a living and of keeping alive.

^MmMi'

One thing more: these interesting little
wild kindergartens are. emphatically, happy
gatherings. The n-ore I watch them, teach-
ers and pupils, the more I long for some
measure of their freedom, their strength of
play, their joyful ness. This is the great

^J^^t^^

THE WOODS 9

lesson whici. a man soon icarns. with ojx'n
eyes and heart, in the school of the woods.

There is a meadow lark out yonder— I ^^^^Jfby
watched him for half an hour yesterday -. ^ ^''^''''^ "^
lyin^ flat in the bn.wn -ra>s, liis color hid-
ing hnn from the great hawk that circles and
circles overhead. Long ago that lark's "
mother taught him the wisdom of lying still.
Now his one thought, so far as I can judge
It, IS how perfectly c(.l(;r and quietness hide
him fn,m those keen eves that he has
escaped so often. Ninetv-nine times out oi
a hundred they do hide him perfectiv, and he
goes his way rejoicing. If he had any con-
ception of Nature (which he has not), he
would give thanks for his wonderful color
and for the fact that Nature, when she gave
the hawk keen eyes, remembered her other
little children, and so made those eyes
incapable of seeing a thing unless it moves
or has conspicuous coloring. As it is, the
lark thinks he did it all himself 'and
rejoices in himself, as every other wild
creature does.

ti'^

r.¥. ^ ..

>■

^ SCHOOL OF

^Iktc can be no greater mistake, tliere-
-a, than tc, inia^rine an animal's life to be
f > 1 cf fr,glnful alanns and haunting terrors
li-e IS no tenv , ;, .,,,,., watchfulness;
^" ^'^^ ''^"""''^^ ■— ^i'v.j.h ,he use of his

u.M.sual powers, vt. the, oy and confidence
hat the use of unusual powers always brings

oammalsaswellasmen. The eagle watd.:
-^^ f-- J^rey far above his high mountain

t'.'P '-snot more, but rather less, joy in his
-sum than the doe has in hers, uho sees

'lis sudden slantiu'r fli-du -mrl l-., •

'f3 '"ft"t and. kiujwuitr its

">-nM,g, hides Ik.,- fawns ami Wds , hem lie
»t. 1 ; « h,le she runs away in plain sight,

oake. he n,bbe,-s attention away f,„„,7,e;
!■ tic ones, and j„n,ps for thick cover, a. last
where the eagles broad wings cannot follow
And she .s not terrified, bnt glad as a linnet
and cxnltant as a kingbird, when she comes
camenng back again, after the danger is over.
Neither ,s there any terror, nsually, but
rather an exultant sense of power and vic-
tory .n running away. VX'atch the deer
.<<"Kler, m his magnificent rush, light and

"^■'■•m^;^-

's.
s.
is
e

THE WOODS Sf

•'^wift as a hauk.

ft'ct than hij

f>^■<-'^ ground ulicre oth

nuist halt and

partridge ir, that cle

c'-eep; watch the

: "' "' ^'<^<in, sure, curvin^r nl„n,r,. ^^ ^ehby

■"<-• .He safety a.ul shcl.e,- o, „„ ..:,.!:!;;;:«^ foScffoo^^
i'wamjx Hoof and

at the danger behind, and .
•splendid power and trainin<

t' evergreen
"1^ ah'ke seem to lau-h

J'ejoice in their

IS sin

to one who k
world.

tion~to ass

l^lc fact, so glad in itself

-cps h

so ob

IS ev

\ious

'es

this school of

•s mentioned here by wa)- of
i"-e the reader that, 'if h

tlic woods, he will

f>pen in Nature'

invita-
e enter

truly of that which made' hi>
his own ',.n/-? >i-..^i,i ...

see Jl

tth

o^^n sad world

woes

effects of

wholesome, cheerful life

and send him back to h

>* lieart ache in
"o tragedies or footlight

and struggles, but rathe

r a

leeper wisdom and re

to make one glad
is own school with

<^^f late many letters h

newed cou

rage.

writer from ki

ave come to the

•0 troubled at the th

"flly. s)mpathetic people who

even of animal sufTi

ought of suffe

»'>u^^

have also seen their child
imagined sorrows and

ug- Some of them
ren's tears at the

woes of

animals.

ITS^WSffirXSA^

I I

I :

0/9Me Way

And thcsi all ask: Is it true? do animals

„„^ suffer, and sorrow in secret, and die tragically

'^fo^SchooI 'It the last ?

It is partly m isuer to these troubled
questions that two chapters, of more general
interest, are added to th.se studies of indi-
vidual animals, instead of awaiting their
l)lace m a later volume of nature essays and
addresses. They are The (Gladsome Life
and How the Animals Die. They sum up,
in a general way, what seems to me to
be the truth concerning animal life and
death, as it ajipcars to me now, after much
watching and following the wild things of
our woods and fields.

And now, if a too long introduction has
not wearied tl>j reader and kept his children
waiting for animal stories, here is the school,
and here are some of Nature's children that
work and jjlay therein.

P3f

^'.■W-V ClKTV^Uef 'JB

■•»■ !•'«> .'^

:^^-^^.. - — »^-,~— - . ..-^^ -a^. A*»-.l«,-,^r(

"TTT

"»- '^'-^x£

C^^yj^at me FacOns

\noar^

M^^

!^.'-

O this day it is hard to
understand ]iow an)- eyes
could have found them,
they \vere so perfectly hidden. I was follow-
ing a little brook, which led me bv its sin<nnf>-
to a deep dingle in the very heart of the big
woods. A great fallen tree lay across my
path and made a bridge over the stream.
Now bridges are fc. -rossing; that is plain
to even the least of the wood folk; so I
sat down on the mossy trunk to see who
my neighbors might be, and what little feet
were passing on the King's highwa\-.

Here, beside mc, are claw marks in the
moldy bark. Only a bear could leave that
deep, strong imprint. And see! there is
where the moss slipjx'd and broke beneath

Xllhat ihe Fawns
JTfnst Know

® SCHOOL OF

his wci-rht. A restless tramp is Moowcen,
who scatters his records over forty miles of
hillside on a summer day, when his lazy
mood hai)peiis to leave him for a season.
Here, on the other side, are the bronze-green
petals of a s]Druce ct)ne, chips from a squir-
rel's workshojj, scattered as if Meeko had
brushed them hastily from his yellow ajiron
when he rushed out to see Mooween as he
passed. There, beyond, is a mini: sign, plain
as daylight, where Cheokhes sat down a little
while cifter his breakfast of frogs. And here,
clinging to a stub, touching my elbow as I
sit with heels dangling idly over the lazy
brook, is a crinkly yellow hair, which tells
me that Eleemos the Sly One, as Simmo calls
him, hates to wet his feet, and so uses a fallen
tree, or a stone in the brook, for a
._ . bridge, like his brother fox of
the settltments.

Just in front of me was
another fallen tree, lying along-
side the stream in such a way
that no animal more dangerous

THE WOODS ®

than a rovinj; mink would ever think of
using it. Under its roots, away from the
brook, was a liidden and roomy little house,
with hemlock tips drooping over its doorwa)
for a curtain. " A pretty place for a den," I
thought; "for no one could ever find you
there." Then, as if to contradict me, a stray
sunbeam k)und the spot and sent curious
bright gh .tings of sheen and shadow dan-
cing and playing under the fallen roots and
trunk. " Beautiful ! " I cried, as the light
fell on the brown mold and flecked it with
white and yellow. The sunbeam went away
again, but seemed to leave its brightness
behind it; for there was still the gold-brown
mold under the roots, and the flecks of white
and yellow. I stooped down to see it
better; I reached in my hand — then the
brown mold changed suddenly to softest
fur; the glintings of \vhite and yellow were
the dappled sides of two little fawns, lying
there very still and frightened, just where
their mother had hidden them when she
went away.

- /

"What Me Hwns
Tiust J>^)
Knoof

XjJhaf ihe F& uns

;i?^

]*;

M SCHOOL OF

They were but a few clays old when I
found them. Each had on his little Joseph's
Coat, and each, I think, must have had also
a magic cloak somewhere about him; for he
had only to lie down anywhere to become
invii^ible. The curious markings, like the
play of light and shad;>w through the lea\es,
hid the little owners perfectly, so long as they
held themselves still and let the sunbeams
' , . dance over them. Their
■^ :-4.-^i'fJ??yv>*^>-'"4^^ beautiful heads were a study

tor an artist, — deli-

■^^;< ■ cate, graceful, exciui-

sitely colored. And

their great sf)ft eyes

had a c{uestioning

i n n oce n ce, as they

met yours, which

went straight to your

heart and made ou claim the beautiful

creatures for yoiu- own instantly. There

is nothing in all the woods that so takes

your heart by storm as the face of a little

fawn.

:,i^;,,y-

V i ^--'

^u^

^ -?:$'■

\ ' ' \

i>C;

THE WOODS ®

Thev were timid at first, KiiiL; close, with-

out motion of any kind. The instinct <»f ^ ., . j^ _,

... ., r . 1 . ... What me tawns

obedience — the first and stronj^fcst mstnitt —^ . ^ ,

of every creature born into this world — kept j, <0A

them loyal to the mother's command to stay "***

where they were and be still till she came

back. .So e\en after the hemlock curtain

was brushed aside, and my eyes saw and my

liand touched them, they kei)t their heads

flat to the jrround and j)retended that tliey

were only parts of the br' nvn forest floor, and

that the sjjots on their bright coats were but

flecks of summer sunshine.

I felt then that I was an intruder; that I
ought to go straight away and leave them ;
but the little things were too beautiful, lying
there in their wonderful old den, with fear and
wonder and questionings dancing in their soft
eyes as they turned them back at me like
a mischievous child inlaying peekaboo. It is
a tri'oute to our higher nature that one can-
not see a beautiful thing anywhere without
wanting to draw near, to see, to touch, to
possess it. And here was beauty such as one

.v^

What fhe Fawns
^xist Knout

^ SCHOOL OF

rarely finds, and, tliou<;li I was an intruder, I
c-()uld not i^o awav.

The hand that tou'hed the little wild
thin^rs brou^dit no ser,sc of danger with it.
It sean hed out the spots behind their vel-
vet ears, where they love to he rubbed; it
wandered down over their backs with a little
\va\y caress in its motion; it curled its jxdm
up softly under their moist muzzles and
brou-rht their tongues out instantly for the
faint suggestion of salt that was in it. Sud-
denly their heads came up. Play was over
now. They had forgotten their hiding, their
first lesson; they turned and looked at me
full with their great, innocent, questioning
eyes. It was wonderful; I was undone. One
must give his life, if need be, to defend the
little things after they had looked at him just
once like that.

When I rose at last, after petting them
to my heart's content, they staggered up to
their feet and came out of their house. Their
mother had told them to stay ; but here was
another big kind animal, evidently, whom

THE WOODS 9

they might safely trust. " Take the gifts the
gods i)rovide thee" -.vas tlie thought in their
little heads; and the taste in their tongues'
ends, when the; licked my hand, was the
nicest thing they had ever known. As 1
turned away they ran after me, with a plain-
tive little cry to bring me back. When I
stopped they came close, nestling against me,
one on either side, and lifted their heads to
be petted and rubbed again.

Standmg so, all eagerness and wonder,
they were a perfect study in first impressions
of the world. Their ears had already caught
the deer trek of twitching nervously and
making tr mpets at every sound. A
leaf rustled, a twig broke, the brook's
song swelled as a floating stick
iammed in the current, and instantly
the fawns were all alert. Eyes, ears, ''
noses questioned the phenomenon, f^^.^.
Then they would raise their eyes
slowly to mine. " This is a won-
derful world. This big wood is full of
music. We know not. Tell us all about

"What Me Hwns
Tiusf Jh ,
Knoiij ^\Kiiif

wsetA

^;a#,

Whal ffie thwns
, ^T^pst Knou

^ \

^ SCHOOL OF

'■t."~that is uhat the l)cauliful ryes u-rc
>ay.n^^ as they lifted up to niiiK^ h^V \i
■mmccncc and .khMht at the joy ,,, ]i.,n.r
I I'c-n the hands that rested fondlv, one on
uther soft .leek, niou d down fn.ni 'their ears
with a caressino Mveep and brought up under
thcnnH.,stnu.//.Ies. Instantly the wood and
■tsmusie vanishe<l: the c,, .stions ran auav
'-•"f their eyes. Their ea^.r tongues uer^
"^'t- ^>'^^> all the unknown sounds were foprot-
t-; -n the new sensation of lapping a nians
Pahn. with a wond ^^,,1 ta-e hidden so-m.-
ulK.-e under its friendly n.u-hnesses i
^vcre st.II lirkin;. my hands, nestli.i^r Hc,se
against nn., when a twig .napped faintiv far
Ix'huid us.

Now twig snapping is the great index to
all that passes in the wilderness. Curiously
enough, no tu,. animals an break even a
tw.g under their feet and give the same
^varnmg. The crack under a bear's foot
, --Pt when he is stalking his game, iJ
;.^J.cavyand heedless. The hoof of a moose

^£hM:''j.M..

THE WOODH B

before it can tdl its nK-ssa^efainv. When.

t^v.g speaks under a deer in hi .

♦K- I . "'^ '"'^ passaLa-

'""«'',""-■ -«l». 'he s„u„,l is .sharp

r;; """ • ^- '^'^■- ^"'^ -I- -n,Kl W.„i,
-.."v<..ul,l no, he mistaken. TIk- n,,,.!,.,-
<■! ".)■ Iml. ,nn,«x„,s was c,m,i„.r

Hiatal ,., fnVin.n la,-, and .".n.u^.l, |,,,
'";l-.r"y,hn>nc.uc„nfidcncc.; s„", hu
..back to the clcn. the little ones rnnntn,

s ;.',"?■"" '•--'"- '-""ay, a twi,:
■snapped sharjily again; there was a swift
n'»tle „, the nnderbrush, and a doe sn„n..
^ -' » "" bleat as .she saw .he hon,:
"g. A, .sijjht of n,e she stopped short

«ard ,, e two aceu.sin, fingers, an ' wful
fear ,n her soft eyes as she saw her litiic

one.s w„h her archenemy between then,, hi
-ands resttng on their inno.cnt necks. H

body swayed away, ev. ry n,„.scle tense for

.ejun,p; „t her fee. .s..,ned rooted to the
Nx>t. Slowly she swayed bark to her bal-
ance, her eves holdin-min,.- fl„.„

'tt'n'nc, tnen away;,irain

3,>

WhaHfie

•Ttusf

Tin

owns

^''

•> ■ ' V-*^ iffl= . ^^

ll^a/ Me Fauns
P^lisf Know

^ SCHOOL OF

as the danger scent poured into licr nose.
Hut still the feet stayed. She could not
move; could not believe. Then, as I waited
quietly and tried to make my eyes say all
sorts of friendly things, the harsh, throaty
K-a-a-a-/i! k-a-a-a-li! the danger cry of the
deer, burst like a trumpet blast through the
woods, and she leaped back to cover.
^ At the sound the little ones jumped as if
^M ^^""^'' '^"^' P'""^'ed into the brush in the
opposite direction. But the strange
place frightened them; the hoarse cry
that went crashing through the startled
woods filled them with nameless dread.
In a moment they were back again,
nestling close against me, growing
quiet as the hands stroked their sides
' iw '^vithout tremor or hurry.
•t'^ >l# Around us, out of sight, ran the fear-
VJ'' haunted mother, calling, calling; now show-
.' ing her head, with the terror deep in her
eyes; now dashing away, with her white flag
up, to show her little ones the way they must
take. But the fawns gave no heed after the

THE WOODS »

first alarm. They felt the change; their ears
were twitching nervously, and their eyes,
which had not yet grown quick enough to' ^^^^
measure distances and find their mother in ^"^^
her hiding, were full of strange terror as they
questioned mine. Still, under the alarm, they
felt the kindness which the poor mother,
dog-driven and waylaid by guns, had never
known. And they stayed, with a deep wis-
dom beyond all her cunning, where they
knew they were safe.

I led them slowly back to their hiding
place, gave them a last lick at mv hands,
and pushed them gently under the hemlock
curtain. When they tried to come out I
pushed them back again. "Stay there, and
mmd your mother; sta^ there, and follow
your mother," I kept whispering. And to
this day I have a half belief that they under-
stood, not the word but the feeling behind
it; for they grew quiet after a time and
looked out with wide-open, wondering eyes.
Then I dodged out of sight, jumped the
fallen log, to throw them off the scent should

"What Me Hwns
Tiusf

■^M

f - .l.nK,gh ,„, g,,,„ ,7; ^'"-dc showed

cli„,bocl, and looked 'kI h"" ^^ '■""'

ll'c underbrush -.n 1 1 , "'°™""-"'^* ''n

beyond d,ei:r!;. ":::,'';■''* «'*-■'

'%'■ .She bleated .so I ■ ,1'? "I^' '■''™-
tain „as thm.f , a ' ''enilcx:k cur-

came ou A ,-2 ; T' ""-' '''* °"<-'s
ward, a IreaT Z 'u'" '''"^ '^"P'<' f"'-

;". '"n. tiK,- were he,- or,i,M:' Z.
' -- -' handed, All .he wL^T

€

;

*^.. ^

*^"V^n7' ' -J^ji' • "* i i "*

^WT

r" < .I'

fawns nestled close to her, as they had done
a moment before to me, and lifted their heads
to touch her sides with their noses, and ask
in their own dumb way what it was all about
aiK' why she had run away.

Then, as the smell of the man came to her
from the tainted underbrush, the absolute
necessity of teaching them their neglected
second lesson, before another danger should
find them, swept over her in a flood. She
sprang aside with a great bound, and the
hoarse A'-<?-</-^-// / k-a-a-a-h ! crashed through
the woods again. Her tail was straight up,
the white flag showing like a beacon light as
she jumped away. Behind her the fawns
stood startled a moment, trembling with a
new wonder. Then their f^ags went up too,
and they wabbled away on slender legs
through the tangles and over the rough
places of the wo(k1, bravely following their
leader. And I, watching from my hiding,
with a vague regret that they could never
again be mine, not even for a moment, saw
only the crinkling lines of underbrush and

What Me Hmns
Tiusf
Knotty

W-lKXafM

ll%ai ihe Fawns
JTfnst Know

here and there the flash (if a little white flag.
So they went up the hill and out of sight.

First, lie still ; and second, follow the white
flag. When I saw them again it needed no
danger cry of the mother to remind them of
these two things that every fawn must know
who would live to grow up in the big woods.

b^^^

^i^^B^^^^^v^^^

,"•*-•(■■ ...■

M.C'C'^^P

m.;

■k^ . .'"/cQ'isiJt

i:^''''^mmmi^'^fit^mmm^msi^m^m

IIS is the rest of the story, just as I saw
it, of the little fawns that I found under the
mossy log by the brook. There were two of
them, you remember; and though they looked
alike at first glance. I soon found out that
there is just as much difference in fawns as
there is in f(,lks. Eyes, faces, dispositions,
characters, — in all things they were as unlike
as the virgins of the parable. One of them
was wise, and the other was very foolish.
The one was a follower, a learner; he never
forgot his second lesson, to follow the white
flag. The other followed from the first only
his own willful head and feet, and discovered

yj Cry in the
JMight

V SCHOOL OF

too late that obedience is life. I'ntil the
bear found him, I have no doul^t he was
thinking, in his own dumb, foolish way, that
obedience is only for the weak and ignorant,
and that government is only an unfair advan-
tage which all the wilderness mothers take
to keep little wild things from doing as they
please.

The wise old mother took them both away
when she knew I had found them, and hid
them in a deeiJer st)litude of the big woods,
nearer the lake, where she could the sooner
reach them from her feeding grounds. For
days after the wonderful discovery I used to
go in the early morning or the late afternoon,
while mother deer are awav feedin-jr alon<r the
watercourses, and search the dingle from one
end to the other, hoping to find the little
ones again and win their cf)nfidence. But
they were not there; and I took to watching
ip:-te;'cl a family of mink that lived in a (Kn
under a roc.t, and a big owl that alwaw. .>lcj)t
in the .same hemlock. Then, one dav when
a flock of partridges i-l me out of the wild

j'AiiS:

.ir.jT-f^^'"

''^^s^^^

■"i' .iJc'i^^T^ili^^

THE WOODS ®

berry bushes into a co. d of the

burned lands, I ran jjIu deer and

her fawns lying all togeth^ . uior a fallen tree-
top, dozing awav the heat of the dav.

They did not see me, but were only scared
into action as a branch, upon which I stood
looking for my partridges, gave way beneath
my feet and let me down with a great crash
under the fallen tree. There, looking out, I
could see them perfectly, while Kookooskoos
himself could hardly have seen me. At the
first crack they all jumped like Jack-in-a-box
when you touch his s])ring. The mother jnit
up her white flag— which is the snowy under-
side of her useful tail, and shows like a bea-
con by day or night — and bounded away
with a hoarse Ka-a-a-a-h ! of warning. One
of the little ones followed her on the instant,
jum.ping squarely in his mother's tracks, his
own little white flag flying to guide any that
might come after him. Hut the second fawn
ran oii at a tangent, and stoj^ped in a moment
to st;ire and whistle and stamp his tiny foot
in an odd mixture of curiosity and defiance.

J^ Crj^ in t/w

yi Cry in the

^ ^i/iOOL Of

he- ha;' to ( in ,. I)a k twice before

The !

he foP .c(l iti, .it
•> tie k ea ' iini

U'iggillV^ IKl i.-lN

when yo'i set u. ttii'

As she

w IS d. iwn and

tile SI re sign,

vou

h' anting

it.- ai ni
Hiu h.
\-as sir...,
her fo' 1 ,ii
langu.iL,^

le.

1(1

[ mi le
-he !)ei

up, li i li;

\vn, U in

♦ ^I'^n ,
ini

.livh i
>oi le s'X'nt (
11. oods a.. . a

nostrils.

Iiite flag

nig

ly I ace o

n a :ny

.V, he

cakih 's

. n i.,c ■ ^led
i d I di

when i h. 1 w >t(
w ini, .rtani is
iio ; »\\,-) afri;

■11, ! g ^'-Mci

o( c rock^
nnderlirush
^' ind. I \vi h

'tlier .0 ti

nu.

iitl till Ion- afterwacls,
he fawns many times,
s latter suggt'stion. One
ned deer and sees )r hears
f nt breakneck jxice ()\er
ii'o trees and tangled

.g s\ !t on one .-^ide of a
a ki .\\ing what lies on the
he is already falling; driv-
li an arrow o\er gmund where vou
toil. V HI ■ a snail, lest you v iench a

J^ Crj^ in ihe

THF WOODS W

foot or break an ankle. — fiiuls himself asking
with uiianswcrLcl wonder how any deer can
live halt a s. son in the wilderness without
hivakin-j all lis lc->. And when you run
ii|)<)n a (liHT at night and hear him go smash-
ing off in the darkness ... t'le .>ame reckless
speed, o\rr a blow-down, perhaps, through
uhiih \ou can barely force your way by day-
light, then you reali/.e suddenly that the most
wonderful \r.\xi of a deer's education shows
itself, 1 it in keen eyes or trumpet ears, or in
his finely trained nose, more sensitive a
hui .red tiuics than any barometer, but in
his for-otten feet, which seem to have eyes
and ner\< >and brains packed into their hard
shells, instead of the senseless matter you
see there.

Watch the doe yonder as she bounds away, ,'
wigwagging her heedless little one to follow, j ',
.She is thinking only of him; and now you li
see her feet free to take care of themselves. ,' _ ,
As she ri.ses over the big windfall, they C^^^rife
hang from the ankle joints, limp as a ,c A &-' w'
glove out of which the iiand has been

%i SCHOOL OF

48
^ Cry in ihe

drawn, waitinj^ and watching. One hoof
touches a twig; Hke Hghtning it sjjreads and
drops, after running for the smallest fraction
of a second along the obstacle to know whether
to relax or stiffen, or rise or fall to meet it.
Just before she strikes the ground on the down
plunge, see the wondei-ful hind hoofs sweep
themsL'Kes forward, surveying the ground by
touch, and bracing themselves, in a fraction
of time so small that the eye cannot follow,
for the shock of what lies beneath them,
whether rock or rotten wood or yielding
moss. The f> • ' feet have followed the quick
eyes above, and shoot s"aight and sure to
their landing; but the hind hoofs must find
the spot for themselves as they come down
and, almost ere they find it, brace themselves
again for the push of the mighty muscles
above.

Once only I found where a fawn, with
untrained feet, had broken its leg; and once
I heard of a wounded buck, driven to death
by clogs, that had fallen in the same way,
never to rise again. Those were rare cases.

THE WOODS B

The marvel is that it docs not liappcn to
every deer that fear drives through the
wilderness.

And that is another reason whv the fawns
must learn to obey a wiser head than their
own. Till their little feet are educated, the
mother must choose the way for them; and
a wise fawn will jump squarely in her tracks.
That explains also why deer, e\en after they
are full grown, will often walk in single file,
a half-dozen of them sometimes following a
wise leader, stepping in his tracks and leav-
ing but a single trail. It is partly, perhaps,
to fool their old enemy, the wolf, and their
new enemy, the man, by hiding the weakling's
trail in the stride and hoof mark of a big
buck; but it shows also the old habit, and
the training which begins when the fawns
first learn to follow the flag.

After that second discovery I used to go
in the afternoon sometimes to a point on
the lake nearest the fawns' hiding place, and
wait in my canoe for the mother to come out
and show me where she had left her little

J^ Cry in ihe

-M

V
4

'\ -l.d?

^^23^

^ SCHOOL OF

ones. As they grew, and the drain upon her

increased from their feetling, she seemed

always half starvvd. Waiting in my canoe I

would hear the crackle of brush, as she trotted

straight down to the lake almost heedlessly,

\ and see her plunge through tiie fringe of

bushes that bordered the water. With

scarcely a look or a sniff to be sure the

coast was clear, slie would jump for the lily

pads. Sometimes the canoe was in plain

sight; Init she gave no heed as she tore up

the juicy buds and stems, and swallowed

them with the appetite of a famished wolf.

Then I would paddle away and, taking my

direction from her trail as she came, hunt dili-

gertly for the fawns until I found them.

This last happened only two or three
times. The little ones were already wild;
they had forgotten all about our first meet-
ing, and when I showed myself, or cracked a
twig too near tlieni, they would promptly bolt
into the brush. One always ran straight away,
his white Hag (lying to show that he remem-
bered liis lesson ; the other went off zigzag.

THE WOODS 13

slopijingat every an;rle of his run to look hack
and question me with his eves and ears.

I here was only one way in which such
disobedience could end. I saw it })Iainly
enou^rh one afternoon, when, had I been one
of the fierte i)rowlers of the wilderness, the
little fellow's history would have stopped short
under the paw of Upweekis, the shadowy lyn v
of the burned lands. It was late atr^Tnc.on
when I can^.e over a rid-rc, followinjr a d -er
path on my way to the lake, and looked (\<.<^-n
into a lon-r narnjw valley filk-d with berry
bushes, and a few fire-blasted trees standing
here and there to jjoint ouL the perfect lone-
liness and desolation of the jilace.

Just below me a deer was feeding hungrily,
only her hind quarters showing out of the
underbrush. I watched her awhile, then
dropped on all fours and began to creej)
towards her. tt) see how near I could get and
what new trait I might discover. Hut at the
first motion (I had stood at Hrst like an ol !
stump on the ridge) a fawn that had evidently
been watching me, among the bushes where

-^ Crj-' in ihe

yi Cry in fhe

^ SCHOOL Of

I could not sec him, sj)ran<r into sijrht with
.1 sharp whistle of warnin- The doc threw
lip her head, lookin^r strai^rht at nie, as if she
had understood more from the sij^nal than I
had thou-rht possible. There \\as not an
instant's hesitation or searchin^r. \\^y ^^.^.^
went direct to me, as if the fawn's cry had
said: "Behind you, mother, in the path by
the second <rray rock!" Then she jumped
away, shootin<r uj) the oi)posite hill over roots
and rocks as if thrown by steel sjirin^rs, \^\o\\.
in^r hoarsely at e\ery jump, and followed in
.splendid style by her watchful littie one.

At the first snort of danger there was a
rush in the underbrush near where she had
stood, and a second fawn s])ran|^r into si<rht. I
knew him instantly — the heedless one — and
that he had nejrlected too long the matter of
following the flag. 1 le was confused, fright-
ened, chuckle-headed now; he came darting
UJ) the deer path in the wrong direction,
straight towards me, to within two jumps,'
before he noticed the man kneeling in the'
path before him and watching him quietly.

THE WOODS 13

At the startlin- discovery he stopped short
seeming to shrink smaller and smaller before'
my eyes. Then he edged sidewise to a great
stump, hid himself among the roots, and ^^^
stood stoek-still. - a beautiful picture of inno- /f ^^^
cence and curiosity, framed in the rough ^ ^ ^l . :-
brown roots of the spruce stump. It was his
first teaching, to hide and be still, fust as
he needed it most, he had forgotten abso-
lutely the second lesson.

We watched each other full five minutes
without mo;ing an eyelash. Then his first
lesson ebbed away. He sidled out into the
path again, came towards me two dainty, halt-
ing steps, and stamped prettilv with his left
fore foot. He was a young buck, and had
that trick of stamping without any instruc-
tion. It is an old. old ruse to make you
move, to startle you by the sound and threat-
ening motion into showing who you are and
what are your intentions.

Hut still the man did not move; the fawn
grew frightened at his own boldness and ran
away down the path. Far up the opposite

V SCHOOL OF

liill I heard the mother caNin- him.

Hut he
needed not; he uanted to find oiu thin-s

•<"• lMm.df. There he uas in the path a<.ah.
uatching mc. I took out my handkcrchic-f
and waved it <.ently; at which .r.at marvel
he trotted hack, toppin- anon to look and
stamp his h-ttlc foot, to show me that he was
not afraid.

" H'-ave htlle chap, f like von." I thou-ht
my heart -o,n- out to him as he stood th-Me
with h.s soft eyes and beautiful face, stamp-
■ng his little foot. "Hut what." mvthou.d/ts

went on, " had happened to you eri now, had
a bear or hicivee lifted his head over the
ndjre.> Next mcmth, alas! the law will be
off; then there will be hunters in these
woods, some of whom leave their hearts, uJth
their wives and children, behind them. You
can't trust them, believe me, little chap. Your
mother IS nVht; you can't tru>t them."

ilie ni-ht was coming swiftU. The
"^otlicr's call, growing ever more 'anxious
'^i^"e msistent, swept over the darkening hill-
s'de. " I'erhaps." I thought, with sudden

THE WOODS ^

^ _ _ ihe

56
yt Cry in Ihe

-^ t.ry in tfn

^ SCHOOL OF

she found him with her nose, thanks to the
wood wires and the wind's message, and led
him a way out of danm-r

One who h'ves for a few weeks in the
wilderness, with eyes and ears o|Kn. soon
finds that, instead of tiie lawlessness and
blind chance which seem to h.old sway there,
he lives in the midst of law and order — an
order of things much older than that to which
he is accustomed, with which it is not well to
intei-fere. I was uneasy, following the little
deer path through the twilight stillness; and
my uneasiness was not decreased when I
found on a log, within fifty yards of the spot
where the fawn first appeared, the signs of a
big lucivee, with plenty of fawn's hair and
fine-cracked bones to tell me what he had
eaten for his midnight dinner.

mx'^^^^^^^-

THE WOODS H

Down at the lower end of the same deer
path, where it stopped ..t the lake to let the
wild things drink, was a little brook. Out-
side the mouth of this hrook, among the rocks,
was a deep pool ; and in the pool lived somj
big trout. I was there one night, some two
weeks later, trying to catch some of the big
trout for my breakfast.

Those were u ise fish. It was of no use to
angle for them by day any more. They
knew all the flies in my book; could tell the
new Jenny Lind from the old liumble IJee
before it struck the water; and seemed to
know perfectly, both by instinct and experi-
cnce, that they were all frauds, which might
as well be called Jenny Bee and Humble
Lind for any sweet reasonableness that was
i n them. Besides all this, the water was warm ;
the trout were logy and would not rise.

By night, however, the case was different.
A few of the trout would leave the pool and
prowl along the shores in shallow water, to
see what tidbits the darkness might bring, in
the shape of night bugs and careless piping

•^ Crj' in ihe

■tSM

^ »*<«"&

- SCHOOL OF

,,S ['"^^^ and sleepy .ninnou.. Th,,,, ,7 ,,^^,

'-''^^'^;--thclK.aH, an.|.astauhitc-
um.ul ly acro^s th. ,,a.l. of the- firdight

^t ^vas fascinating sp„rt aluavs. uluthcr

fi^ u.thh,sc.a.s,anclhvpn..stofhisb.-ains

■n 1^^^ Kuul, ready ,0 .strike c,uic-k and hard

uHcnthernomentca: K.. after an hour of. ast-

"f /'; V'^^ ^■- >"—'<' not see vonr
fi^H at all, In.t only hear the savage plu„.,

•>shesuu-leddounuithyourtlv. At other
tinK-sas you struck sharply at' the phuva-
>-ur fly ,,,uld come hack to you. or tangle'
self up , n unseen snags; and far ou,, where
'^e verge of the Hrelight rippled away into
darkness, ycH>-.ou.dsee a sharp wave-ued.re
•shootn^g away;whirh told you that vour trout
^va.onlyanulsc,uash. Swimming c,'uietlv hv
ie had seen you and ^our fire, and slappc;!

'^- tad cWn hard on tlKMvater to make -ou
;':-i;- r-tisauayMus^uashhasin'the

n.gHt, so that he can make,, his mind what
queer th.ng you are and ul, : you are doing

.-.-i^

< Mf-^^*^ "*=•.=■

"■^ii^Ast

THF WOODS 9

All the whik as yen fish, the jra-at dark
wchhIs stand c\os. about y.u,, siknt, listcninjr.

I I'.c air .s full of srcnts and odors that stc-al
abroad only by ni-ht. while tlic air is deu-

la^lfM. •Sfran.^v (Tie., calls, sciucaks.rustlin.rs
nm alon^^ the hillside, or float in from the
^^ater, or dn.j, down from the air overhead
to make you ;,n,ess and wonder what wcod
f" k are abroad at such unseemly hours, and
^vbat they are about. So that it is good to

fishl)ym-<rht,aswellasbyday.andgohome
with heart and head full, even though your
creel be em|)ty.

I was stanciing xery .till by my fire, wait-
nig for a big trout that hul risen twice to
rogam his confide.ice, when I heard caution,
rustlings in the brush behind me. I turned
instantly, and there were two great glowing
spots, the eyes of a deer, flashing out of the
dark woods. A swift rustic, and tuo more
coa.s gl(,w loner down, flashing and scintil-
lating with strange colors; and then two
mere; and I know that the doe and her
fawns are there, stopjx'd and fascinated on

5*>

-^ Crjr in ihe

V%M

JVight

their u u- to drink by the KMcat wonder of
tlic li-ht and the dan< ii.^r sl.adows, that rush
lip at timid wild thin-s. a> if tofrijrhtcn them.
but only jump over them and back again, as
if inviting them to join the silent play.

I kiult down quietly beside my fire, sh"i>
ping on a great roll „f birch bark, which
bla/ed up brightly, filling the woods with
light. There, under a spruce, where a dark
shadj)w had been a moment a<j(me, stood the
mother, her eyes all abla/e with the won.'er
of tiie li'dU; now staring steadfastly into the
fii-e; n<.^^ starting nervously, with low ques-
tioning snorts, as a troop (,f sluuh.ws ran up
to play hop-scotch with the little ones, who
stood close behind h-- one on either >ide.

!" moment only it lasted Th( n one fawn
— I lew the heec'less one "-> the f.re-

]ight, by his face and by h !„; dappled
J< -^eph's coat — rame straig! -:v.ards me.
stopping to stare with flashing eyes when the
f^re jumped up. and then to stamp his little
foot at the shadows to show them that he
was not afraid.

Ig?f5

.5tJ

WnwrfJrf^ *'-'- ABLAZE WITH T-'E
WONDER OF THE LIGHT"

'VWrt.ST^m^'^m ■

The mother called him anxicnisly ; but still
he came on, stamping prettily. She grew
uneasy, trotting back and forth in a half cir-
cle, warning, calling, pleading. Then, as he
came between her and the fire, and his little
shadow stretched a'vay up the hill where she
was, showing how far away he was from her
and how near the light, she broke away from
i^s fascination with an immense effort: Ka-
a-a-li! ka-a-a-h! the hoarse cry rang through
the startled woods like a pistol shot ; and she
bounded away, her white flag shining like a
wave crest in the night to guide her little
ones.

The second fawn followed her instantly;
but the heedless one barely swung his head
to see where she was going, and then came
on towards the light, staring and stamping in
foolish wonder.

I watched him a little while, fascinated
myself by his beauty, his dainty motions, his
soft ears with a bright oval of light about
them, his wonderful eyes glowing like burn-
ing rainbows, kindled by the firelight. Far

-^ Crj^ in the

^ Cry in me

^ SCHOOL OF

Ix'hnul hin, the mothers cry ran back and
forth alon^. the hillside. Suddenlv it ehan^eci-
'? ^'''•;-7- '^"te leaped int., it; and a^ain l'
ix'ard the call to foli.nv and the crash of
brush as she leaped aua). I remendx-rcd
' *'''■ >"": '-^"^l ^'^^' -«1 little history written
'•"t'H' I'^ahove. As the cjui.kest wav of
savm^ the foolish youngster. I kicked 'my
^'v to p.eces and walked ont towards him'
"HH as the wonder vanished in darkness
and tin Mvnt of tlK. nun pomvd up to him

"n the lakes b:vath, the little fellow bounded
au ay -alas! strai^rht ..p the deer path, at
n;^lU angles to the course his mother had
taken a moment !)efore.

iMVeminuteslaterHuard the mother call-
'"K a stran^re note in the directior he had

taken, and went up the deer path ^cTv quietly
;"'^vesf^.ate. Atthetop.,ftherid^:c..uhere
the path droppc! away into a dark narrow
J wdley wuh cle,i>e underbrush on .ither side
' l^^ard the- faun answerin^r l,,,- below me'
7^^''"K the iMK trc... and knew instantly
tliat somethinnr haci happened. II.. called

THE WOODS ^

conti.UH.usly, a plaint^ ctn ..f distress, in the
black darknc-ss „f the spruces. The .nothc-r ^"l
ran an.unci hin, in a jrrcat circle. calMnir him ^ ^^C/fc
to a.me; while he lay helpless in the san.e ^^^^
spot. telhnK iKT he conkl not. and that she /W^
•m.st ccnie to him. So the cries went back ^ ''
.and f(,rth in the listenin^rni^ht. -//,,.;..,./.
"-'me here." /^/W-., ^/,.;-.^ - , ,,„t . ,,„,;
iH-re. ha-a-a-/i. ku-a-a-h ! " dan-er, fol|„u I "

-and then the (rash of brush a> she rushed
away, followed by the second fawn ; u ho,n sh.-
"Hist save, thou-h she abandoned the heed-
less ..ne to prowlers of the ni-ht.

It uas riear enough uliat had liappened
"h' cnes of the wilderness have all their

mcanin- if one but knous |,ou ,o interpret

f'^m. f<unninothr(n.-luhedarkwo.Kls his

"-trauKd feet had nns.,c| tin ir landing., and

he la) now under some rou^h windfall, with

a broken le- to remind him of the lesson he

liad ne^rjcvted so lon^^r.

I uas stealin^r alon^r f.warrls bim, f,.din^r

niy way amon^r ,1,.. trees „, ih,- darkness
>to,,p,ng ever\ uiouKnt to listen to bis < ry

^luAk^Ji

V SCHOOL OF

to guide inc. whc-n a heavy rustic came creep-
ing cl(,wu the hill and passed close More me.
Something, i)erhai)s, in the sound— a heavy
though ahnost noiseless onward ])ush, which
only one creature in the woods can possibly
make — something, perhaps, in a faint new
«'dor in the moi>t air told me instantly that
keener ears than mine had heard the- cry;
that M(K,ween the bear had left his blueberry
l)atch, and was stalking the heedless fawn,
whom he knew, by the hearing of his ears, to'
have become separated from his watchful
mother in the darkness.

I regained the path silently — though
Moowcen heeds nothing when his gamels
afoot — and ran back to th.e canoe for my
rifle. ( )rdinarily a bear is timid as a rab-
bit; but I had never met one so late at night
before, and knew not how he would act
•should I take his game iway. Hesides, there
is everything in the feeling with which one
approaches an animal. If one comes timidly,
doubtfully, the animal knows it; and if one'
comes swift, silent, resolute, with his power

\ 1

THE WOODS

gripped tight, and tlic lianiiiKr back, and a
forefinger resting lightly en the trigger guard,
the annual knows it too you niav depend.
Anyway, they always act as if they knew ; and
you may safely follow the rule that, whatever
your feeling is, whether fear or doubt or con-
fidence, the large and dangerous animals will
sense it instantly and adopt the opposite
feeling for their rule of action. That is the
way I have always found it in the wilderness.
I met a bear once on a narrow path — but I
must tell about that elsewhere.

The cries had ceased; the wo(k1s were all
dark and silent when I came back. I went
as swiftly as possible — without heed or cau-
tion; for whatever crackling I made the bear
would attribute to the desperate mother — to
the sp(;t where I had turned back. Thence
I went on cautiously, taking my bearings
from one great tree on the ridge 'that lifted
its bulk against the sky; slower and slower,
till, just this side a great windfall, a twig
cracked sharply under mv foot. It was
answered instantly by a grunt and a jump

^ Crj^ in the

iJ^

I r

6.S

^ Crj'/nihe

V SCHOOL OF

Ix'vond the uiiulfall— and then tb.c crash in-
rush of a bear up the hill. earrvin<r sonic-
thinjr that cau^rht and swished loudly on the
bushes as it passed, till the sounds vanished
in a faint rustle far away, and the woods were
still a;rain.

All ni^dit lon^r, from my tent over beyond
an arm of the bi- lake. 1 heard the mother
callin^r at intervals. She seemed to be run-
ning back and forth alonj; the ridoe, above
when- the tragedy had occurred. Her nose
t"!d lurof the bear and the man; but what
•lufui thin- flHv were doing with her little
one she knew not. I^ar and questioning
\\'>v in the (alls that tloated down the ridge
and at n.s. the water to my little tent.

At tlavliglu I ucit hack to the ypot. I
found uithout tn.uMe where the fawn had
fallen; ihe in..s> i,,|d ,mitel\ of his stru<r.de-
and a -'am or tu.. sl„,u,d wlurr Mooween
grabbed him. Th,- ,vsi u,,. a plain trail, of
crushed mos. and Ixnt grass and stained
leaves, and a tutt of s,,ft hair here and there
on the jag-cd ^x^^X^ oi kiiMts in the old

S-

rut: WOODS «

windfall.. S,, the trail Inirried up tlu- hil!
into a wild nni;r|, (,M,ntrv. uhciv it uas cf
no usf to follow.

-\> I clinilKd tlu- last lid^r,.. „n „^y ^^.^^.
back to the- lake. I hoard ru^tli^-s in thr
underbrush, and then the umnistakahle ( ra. k
of atui- under a deer'. f.H.t. XW mother
had winded n,e ; she ua. now follouin- and
circlin- down wind, to Inul out wheth.T he-
lost fawn uere with ine, ,\s Net she knew
not what had happenc-d. Tlu- hear h,id
fri-htened lur into extra (are < .f the . >ne fawn
of whom >he uas sure. 'IJu- other had
Miuply vanished into the silen, ^ and mys-
tery of the j^r-at wockIs.

Where the path turned downward, in si^riu
of the lake. I .av\ her lor a moment pl.nnle \ \,
M.mdin- half hi<l in th. unch-rhrush, lookin- ^%i
nitently at mv old ean.u-. Si,e siw me ;U \' 7
(he same instant and l)oun<led awav, (|uarter- j [^jt
>n^^ up the h.I! in my direction.' Near a
thicket of eu-rniven that I had just passed,
she .sounded her hoarse K-a-a-hJ^-a-a-fi ! and
threw up her liaK. Theie was a rush within

J^ Cry in the

l^:.

^-^':ih%_

5_i

■

■^^■^'i^L*.

^Q the thicket; a sharp k-a-a-li ! answered hers.
->/ CryinHte '"^'-''^ ^l^*-' second fawn burst out of the cover
JMiptt <\yr^ where she had hidden him. and darted along
' '^« the ridge after her. junijjing Hke a big red
lox from rock to nxk, ri>ing like a hawk
over the windfalls, hitting her tracks wherever
he could, and keeping his little nose hard
do • n t,. !>•;., one needful lesson of following
the white flag.

i%fc-

theTishhawk

\WW c/iicii'car

^ sliiill w

()

7i'<V

/^////, W///, zt;////,
vtr my head wnit the

que;

Look

'listlinjr, the hunting cry of I

snia-

UlL''

■see the broad wings

catch the bright gleam I,f \

up from my fishing. I c.nld
sweeping over me, and

looked d

'us eve a>

<'\vn into

niy canoe, or behind me

at the cold place among the rocks, to see if I

vre catching anything. Th

w
th

c pile of fish, — a blanket of sil

black rocks, where I

'«^'n, as he noted
ver on the

for bear bait, — he would droi) I

as stowing away chub

ment to see how I did it. VVh

P lower in amaze-

were not rising, and his keen glance
glearn of red and gold

en the trout

saw no

circle off with a ch

in my canoe, he would

luck call of a brother fish

eery ICwccc ! the go(xl-

emian. For there

MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART

(ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No 2l

1.0

I.I

1.25

2.8

i^ m

t 1^

1.4

2.5
2.2
2.0

1.8

1.6

_J APPLIED \hM G E Inc

^^ 1653 East Mjm Stfeet

grJS Rochester, New -'urk 14609 USA

'^aS (^16) 482 - 0500 - Phone

^SS (716) 288 - ')989 - Fa»

imm^

9 SCHOOL OF

^^ no envy nor malice nor any uncharitablcness
IsmaQUes "'' ^^""''i<^l"^'-^- He lives in harmony with the
ifte Fishhotak world, and seems glad when you land a big
/;' one, though he is hungry himself, and the
clamor from his nest, where his little ones
are crying, is too keen for his heart's content.
What is there in going a-fishing, ! wonder,
that seems to change even the leopard's spots,
and that puts a new heart into the man who
hies him away to the brook when buds are
swelling? There is Keeonekh the otter.
Before he turned fisherman he was fierce,
cruel, bloodthirsty, with a vile smell about
him, like all the other weasels. Now he lives
at peace with all the world and \z clean,
\^7 gende, playful as a kitten and faithful as a
dog when you make a pet of him. And
there is Ismaques the fishhawk. Before he
turned fisherman he was hated, like every
other hawk, for his fierceness and his bandit
ways. The shadow of his wings was the
signal for hiding to all the timid ones. Jay
and crow cried Thief! i/dcf! and kingbird
^•^^^ Wf "V^ sounded his war cry and rushed out to

THE WOODS «

battle. Now the little birds build their nests
among the sticks of his great house, and the
shadow of his wings is a sure protection. For
owl and hawk and wild-cat have learned long
since the wisdom of keeping well away from
Ismaques' dwelling.

Not only the birds, but men also, feel the
change m Ismaques' disposition. I hardly
know a hunter who will not go out of his
way for a shot at a hawk; but they send a
hearty good-luck after this winged fisherman
of the same fierce family, even though they
see him rising heavily out of the very pool
where the big trout live, and where they
expect to cast their flies at sundown. Along
the southern New England shores his com-
ing— regular as the calendar itself — is
hailed with delight by the fishermen. One
state, at least, where he is most abundant
protects him by law; and even our Puritan
forefathers, who seem to have neither made
nor obeyed any game laws, looked upon him
with a kindly eye, and made him an exception
to the general license for killing. To their

ishhauk

^ SCHOOL OF

credit, be it known, they once "publikly
^ i-ecijrimanded " one Master Eliphalet Bod-

1f»e Fishhauk "lan. ^ ^o" "^ J^^'''''^' evidently, for violently,

A\ith jjowder and shot, doing away with one
fishhawk, and wickedly destroying the nest
and eggs of another.

Whether this last were also done violently
with powder and shot, by blowing the nest
to pieces with an old gun, or in simple boy-
fashion by shinning up the tree, the quaint
old town record does nOt tell. But all this
goes to show that our ancestors of the coast
were kindly people at heart ; that they looked
upon this brave, simple fisherman, who built
his nest by their doors, much as the German
village people look upon the stork that builds
upon their chimneys, and regarded his com-
ing as an omen of good luck and plenty to
the fisher folk.

Far back in the wilderness, where Ismaques
builds his nest and goes a-fishing just as his
ancestors did a thousand years ago, one finds
the same honest bird, unspoiled alike by
plenty or poverty, that excited our boyish

."TJ^. ■•■?;

THE WOODS »

imagination and won the friendly regard of
our ancestors of the coast. Opposite my
camp on the lake, where I tarried long one
summer, charmed by the beauty of the place
and the good fishing, a pair of fish hawks
had built their nest in the top of a great
spruce on the mountain side. It was this
pair of birds that came daily to circle over
my canoe, or over the rocks where I fished
for chub, to see how I fared, and to send back
a cheery CJiwcc ! chip, cliivcccc ! "good luck
and good fishing," as they wheeled away. It
would take a good deal of argument now to
convince me that they did not at last r c-
ognize me as a fellow-fisherman, and were not
honestly interested in my methods and success.
At first I went to the nest, not so much
to study the fishhawks as to catch fleeting
glimpses of a shy, wild life of the woods, which ^J,
is hidden from most eyes. The fishing was ^^
good, and both birds were expert fishermen.
While the young were growing, there was
always an abundance in the big nest on the
spruce top. The overflow of this abundance.

Ismatiues the
Fishhanik

^mmm

9 SCHOOL OF

in the shape of heads, bones, and unwanted
IsmaQues ^^'""'"''^"ts, was cast over the sides of the nest
ifte Fishhouk ^'">d furnished savory pickings for a score of
hungry prowlers. Mink came over from frog
hunting in the brook, drawn by the good
smell in the air. Skunks lumbered Uuwn from
the hill, with a curious, hollow, bumping sound
to announce their coming. Weasels, and one
grizzly old pine marten, too slow or rheumatic
for successful tree hunting, g'' Jed out of the
underbrush and helped themselves without
asking leave. Wild-cats quarreled like fiends
over the pickings; more than once
I heard them tl "re screeching in
the night. And one late afternoon,
as I lingered in my hiding among
' the rocks while the shadows deepened,
a big lucivee stole out of the bushes, as if
ashamed of himself, and took to nosing
daintily among the fish bones.

It was his first appearance, evidently. He
did not know that the feast was free, but
thought all the while that he was stealing
somebody's catch. One could see it all in

THE WOODS 9

his attitudes, his starts and listenings, his low
growlings to himself. He was bigger than
anybody else there, and had no cause to be
afraid; but there is a tremendous respect
among all animals for the chase law and the
rights of others ; and the big cat felt it. He
was hungry for fish; but. big as he was, his
every movement showed that he was ready
to take to his heels before the first little crea-
ture that should rise up and screech in his
face : " This is mine ! " Later, when he grew
accustomed to things and the fishhawks'
generosity in providing a feast for all who
might come in from the wilderness byways
and hedges, he would come in boldly enough
and claim his own ; but now, moving stealthily
about, halting and listening timidly, he fur-
nished a study in animal rights that repaid in
itself all the long hours of watching.

But the hawks themselves \v-ere more inter-
esting than their unbidden guests. Ismaques,
honest fellow that he is, mates for life, and
comes back to the same nest year after
year. The only exception to this rule that I

/^aciues the
^ishhaiak

:l^^l

9 SCHOOL Of

know, is in the case of a fishhawk. whom I
IsmaQues ^'^^'^^' ^""'^^^ ^^ ^ l^"}'- -'^^d who lost his mate
ifte Fishhauk one summer by an accident. The accident
^ -i came from a gun in the hands of an unthink-
ing sportsman. The grief of Ismaques was
evident, even to the unthinking. One could
hear it in the lonely, questioning cry t' t he
sent out over the still summer woi and
see it in the sweep of his wings as ,,e went
far afield to other ponds — not to fish, for
Ismaques never fishes on his neighbor's pre-
serves, b t to search for his lost mate. For
weeks he lingered in the old haunts, calling
and searching everywhere ; but at last the lone-
liness and the memories were too much for him.
He left the place long before the time of migra-
tion had come ; and the next spring a strange
couple came to the spot, repaired the old nest,
and went fishing in the pond. Ordinarily, the'
birds respect each other's fishing grounds, and
especially the old nests; but this pair came
and took possession without hesitation, as if
they had some understanding with the former
owner, who never came back again.

c^-'^

THE WOODS 9

The old spruce on the mountain side had
beer occupied many years ly my fishing
friends. As is usually the case, it had given
up its hfe to its bird masters. The oil from
their frequent feastings had soaked into the
bark, following down and down, checking
the sap's rising, till at last it grew discour-
aged and ceased to climb. Then the tree
died and gave up its branches, one by one, to
repair the nest above. The jagged, broken
ends showed everywhere how they had been
broken off to supply the hawks' necessities.
There is a curious bit of building lore
suggested by these broken branches, that
one may learn for himself any springtime
by watching the birds at their nest build-
mg. Large sticks are required for a founda-
tion The ground is strewed with such ; but
Isx • lever comes down to the ground

if 11^ -i avoid it. Even when he drops an
unusually heavy fish, in his flight above the
trees, he looks after it regretfully, but never
follows. He may be hungry, but he will not
set his huge hooked talons on the earth.

t^QCiues the
"^ishhatuk

9 SCHOOL Op

^ 82 ^^ ^^r\x\o\. walk, and loses all his power

istnoQues ^^^^^' ^" '^^ ^'^es .if and fishes patiently,
^ ^^'^Mtouk liours long, to replace his lost catch.

When he needs sticks for his nest, he
searches out a tree and breaks off the dead
branches by his weight. If the stick be stub-
born, he rises far above it and drops like a
cannon ball, gripping it in his claws and
snapping it short off at the same instant by
the force of his blow. 'I wice I have been
guided to where Ismaques and his mate were
collecting material by reports like pistol
shots ringing through the wood, as the great
birds fell upon the dead branches and snapped
them off. Once, when he came down too
bard, I saw him fall almost to the ground,
,.,„^ flapping lustily, before he found his wings'

" )l^l|^"^ ^^'^^'^^ ^^^■''^y ^^^^'^ '■''•'' four-foot stick tri-
^^ ^-^ umphantly.

There is another curious bit of bird lore

that I discovered here in the autumn, when,

m much later than usual, I came back through

^<^J the lake. Ismaques, when he goes away for

the long winter at the South, does not leave

THE WOODS O

his house to the mercy c.f the winter storms
until he has first repaired it. Large fresh
sticks are wedged in firmly across the to]} of
the nest; doubtful ones are pulled out and
carefully replaced, and the uhole structure
made shipshape for stormy weather. This
careful rejxiir, together with the fact that the
nest is aluays well soaked in oil, which pre-
serves it from the rain, saves a deal of trouble
for Ismaques. He builds for life, and knows,
when he goes away in the fall, that, barring
untoward accidents, his house will be waiting
for hin with the quiet welcome of ..Id asso-
ciations when he comes back in the spring.
Whether this is a habit of all ospreys, or
only of the two on Big Squatuk Lake — who
were very wise birds in other ways — I am
unable to say.

What becomes of the young birds is also,
to me, a mystery. The home ties are very
strong, and the little ones stay with the
parents much longer than other birds do, as
a rule; but when the spring comes you will
see only the old birds at the home nest. The

«3

-r£*s<-s,ii^

9 SCHOOL OF

84 yoi^i'^g «>"it back to the same j^eneral neigh-
IsmaQueS '^O'''^*"'^. I think; but where the hike is small
ffte Fishhouk they never build nor trespass on the same
'^ waters. As with the kingfishers, each pair

of birds seem to have their own pond or por-
tion ; but by what old law of the waters thev
find and stake their claim is yet to be dis-
co\ered.

There were two little ones in the nest
when I first found it; and I used to watch
them in the intervals when nothing was stir-
ring in the underbrush near my hiding place.
They were happy, whistling little fellows,
well fed and contented with the world. At
times they would stand for hours on the edge
of the nest, looking down over the slanting
tree-tops to the lake, finding the great rust-
ling green world, and the passing birds, and
the glinting of light on the sparkling water,
and the hazy blue of the distant mountains
marvelously interesting, if one could ludge
from their attitude and their pipings. Then
a pair of broad wings would sweep into sight,
and they would stretch their wings wide

THE WOODS 9

and break into eager whistlings, — A^^, ^/)>,
c/i'zaec^ chip, cliwcecccc? "did you get him? /^

is he a big one, niother? " And they would
stand tiptoeing gingerly about the edge of
the great nest, stretching their necks eagerly
for a first glimpse of the catch.

At times only one of the old birds would
go a-fishing, while the other watched the nest.
Hut when luck was poor both birds would
seek the lake. At such times the mother
bird, larger and stronger than the male,
would fish along the shore, witliin sight and
hearing of her little ones. The male, mean-
while, would go sweeping down the lake to
the trout pools at the outlet, where the big
chub lived, in search of better fishing grounds.
If the wind were strong, you would see a
curious bit of sea lore as he came back with
his fish. He would never fly strai^-ht '^^ "^'^

against the wind, but tack back and
forth, as if he had learned the trie
from watching the sailor fishermen
of the coast beating back into har-_
bor. And, watching him through

'^ishhaiak

^ SCHOOL OF

86 y°"^ S'^'^ss, you would see that he always car-
IstnaQues "^'*^ '^'^ ^^^^ endwise and head first, so as to
fAe Fishhouk present the least possible resistance to the
breeze.

While the young Mere being fed, you were
certain to gain new respect for Isniaques by
seeing how well he brought up his little ones.
If the fish were large, it was torn into shreds
and given piecemeal to the young, each of
whom waited for his turn with exemplary
patience. There .,as no crowding or push-
ing for the first and biggest bite, such as you
see in a nest of robins. If the fish were
small, it was given entire to one of the young,
who worried it down as best he could, while
the mother bird swept back to the lake for
another. The second nestling stood on the
edge of the nest meanwhile, whistling good
luck and waiting his turn, without a thought,
apjjarently, of seizing a share from his mate
beside him.

Just under the hawks a pair of jays had
built their nest among the sticks of Ismaques'
dwelling, and raised their young on the

THE WOODS e

abundant crumbs which fell from the rich
man's table. It was curious and intensely
interesting to watch the change which seemed
to be going on in the jays' disposition by
reason of the unusual friendship. Deedee-
askh the jay has not a friend among the
wood folk. They all know he is a thief
and a meddler, and hunt him away without
mercy if they find him near their nests. But
the great fishhawks welcomed him, trusted
him ; and he responded nobly to the unusual
confidence. He never tried to steal from
the young, not even when the mother bird
was away, but contented himself with picking
up the stray bits that they had left. And he
more than repaid Ismaques by the sharp
watch which he kept over the nest, and
indeed over all the mountain side. Nothing
passes in the woods without the jay's knowl-
edge; and here he seemed, for all the world,
like a watchful terrier, knowing that he had
only to bark to bring a power of wing and
claw sufficient to repel any daiger. When
prowlers came down from the mountain to

l^mariues the
Yishhatak

feast on the heads and bones scattered about

Jstnaoues ^'^^ ^^°* °^ *'^^' ^^^^' Deedeeaskh dropped
ifte Fishhouk down among them and went dodging about,
whistling his insatiable curiosity. So long
as they took only what was their own, he
made no fuss about it ; but he was there to
watch, and he let them know sharply their
mistake, if they showed any desire to cast
evil eyes at the nest above.

Once, as my canoe was gliding along the
shore, I heard the jays' unmistakable cry of
danger. The fishhawks were wheeling in
great circles over the lake, watching for the
glint of fish near the surface, when the cry
came, and they darted away for the nest.
Pushing out into the lake, I saw them sweep-
ing above the tree-tops in swift circles, utter-
ing short, sharp cries of anger. Presently
they began to swoop fiercely at some animal
— a fisher, probably — that was climbing the
tree below. I stole up to see what it was;
but ere I reached the place they had driven
the intruder awa}'. I heard one of the jays
far off in the woods, following the robber and

;"4«v -w;-

*iE.*!«

■PRESENTLY THEY BEGAN TO SWOQP
FIERCELY AT SOME ANIMAL"

W "T,

'*%

:s:-i;^v:iijat\:

'ii

screaming to let the fishhawks know just
where he was. The other jay sat close by
her own little ones, cowering under the
shadow of the great dark wings above. And
presently Deedeeaskh came back, bubbling
over with the excitement, whistling to them
in his own way that he had followed the ras-
cal clear to his den, and would keep a sharp
watch over him in future.

When a big hawk came near, or when, on
dark afternoons, a young owl took to hiinting
in the neighbo'-hood, the jays sounded the
alarm, and the fishhawks swept up from the
lake on the instant. Whether Deedeeaskh
were more concerned for his own young than
for the young fishhawks I have no means of
knowing. The fishermen's actions at such
times showed a curious mixture of fear and
defiance. The mother would sit on the nest
while Ismaques circled over it, both birds
uttering a shrill, whistling challenge. But
they never attacked the feathered roobers,
as they had done with the fisher, and, so far
as I could see, there was no need. Kookoos-

^ishhatak

■ i\

iHI

fsmaQues
rne Fishhauk

*Hj,,-.

:.'j'

^ SCHOOL OF

koos the oul and Hawahak the hawk might
be very hungiy; but the sight of those great
wings circling over the nest and the shrill
cry of defiance in their ears sent them hur-
riedly away to other hunting grounds.

There was only one enemy that ever seri-
ously troubled the fishhawks; and he did it in
as decent a sort of way as was possible
under the circumstances. That was
Cheplahgan the eagle. When he was
hungry and had found nothing himself,
and his two eaglets, far away in their nest on
the mountain, needed a bite of fish to vary
their diet, he would set his wings to the
breeze and mount up till he could see both
ospreys at their fishing. There, sailing in
slow circles, he would watch for hours till
he saw Ismaques catch a big fish, when he
would drop like a bolt and hold him up at the
point of his talons, like any other highway-
man. It was of no use trying to escape.
Sometimes Ismaques would attempt it, but
the greal dark wings would whirl around
him and strike do^vn a sharp and

K-p«

THE WOODS B

unmistakable warning. It always ended the
same way. Ismaques, being wise, would drop
his fish, and the eagle would swoop down
after it. often F"izing it ere it reached the
water. But he never injured the fishhawks,
and he never disturbed the nest. So they
got along well enough together. Cheplahgan
had a bite of fish now and then in his own
way; and honest Ismaques, who never went
long hungry, made the best of a bad situation.
Which shows that fishing has also taught him
patience, and a wise philosophy of living.

The jays took no part in these struggles.
Occasionally they cried out a sharp warning as
Cheplahgan came plunging down out of the
blue, over the head of Ismaques; but they
seemed to know perfectly how the unequal
contest must end, and they always had a
deal of jabber among themselves over it, the
meaning of which I could never make out.

As for myself, I am sure that Deedeeaskh
could never make up his mind what to think
of me. At first, when I came, he would cry
out a danger note that brought the fishhawks

9 SCHOOL OF

circling over their nest, looking down into

IsmaQUes ^^^^ underbrush with wild yellow eyes to see
ff»e Fishhouk what danger threatened. Hut after I had
hidden myself away a few times, and made
no motion to disturb either the nest or the
hungry prowlers that came to feast on the fish-
hawks' bounty, Deedeeaskh set me down as
an idle, harmless creature who would, never-
theless, bear watching. He never got over
his curiosity to know what brought me there.
Sometimes, when I thought him far away, I
would find him suddenly on a branch just
over my head, looking down at me intendy.
When I went away he would follow me,
whistling, to my canoe ; but he never called
the fishhawks again, unless some unusual
action of mine aroused his suspicion; and
after one look they would circle away, as if
they knew they had nothing to fear. They
had seen me fishing so often that they
thought they understood me, undoubtedly.

There was one curious habit of these birds
that I had never noticed before. Occasion-
ally, when the weather threatened a change,

THE WOODS »

or when the birds and their little ones had
fed full, Ismaqucs would mount up to an enor-
mous altitude, where he would sail about in
slow circles, his broad vans steady to the
breeze, as if he were an ordinary hen hawk,
enjoying himself and contemplating the world
from an indifferent distance. Suddenly, with
one clear, sharp whistle to announce his inten-
tion, he would drop like a plummet for a
thousand feet, catch himself in mid-air, and
zigzag down to the nest in the spruce top,
whirling, diving, tumbling, and crying aloud
the while in wild, ecstatic exclamations, — just
as a woodcock comes whirling, plunging,
twittering down from a height to his brown
mate in the alders below. Then Ismaques
would mount up again and repeat his dizzy
plunge, while his larger mate stood quiet in
the spruce top, and the little fishhawks tip-
toed about the edge of the n^=A, pip-pipping
their wonder and delight at their own papa's
dazzling performance.

This is undoubtedly one of Lmaques'
springtime habits, by which he tries to win

yshhatak

an admiring look from the keen yellow eyes
_ of his mate; but I noticed him using it more

the Fishhoiak. ^'■^'<iuently as the little fishhawks' wings
spread to a wonderful length, and he was
trying, with his mate, by every gentle means
to induce them to leave the nest. And I
have wondered — without being able
at all to prove my theory — whether
he were not trying in this remark-
able way to make his little ones
want to fly by showing them how
wonderful a thing flying could be
made to be.

aS?"

...i^^iiaBs

•rssr

.'•J^'^'-'-'^lS^i^'Zi-

•^' •:4^.-

HERE came a day when, as I sat
fishing among the rocks, the cry of
the mother osprey changed as she
came sweeping up to my fishing
grounds, — Chip, ch "wee ! Chip, chip,
ch'weeeee? That was the fisherman's hail
plainly enough ; but there was another note
in it, a look-here cry of triumph and satisfac-
tion. Before I could turn my head — for a
fish was nibbling — there came other sounds
behind it, — Pip, pip. pip. ch 'weee ! ^np,
ch \vee ! pip ch 'weeee ! — a curious medley, a
hail of good-luck cries ; and I knew without
turning that two other fishermen had come
to join the brotherhood.

lOO

-/I School for
fishermen

The mother bird — one can tell her
instantly by her greater size and darker
breast markings — veered in as I turned to
greet the newcomers, and came directly over
my head, her two little ones flapping lustily
behind her. Tuo days before, when I went
down to another lake on an excursion after
bigger trout, the young fishhawks were still
standing on the nest, turning a deaf ear to
all the old birds' assurances that the time
had come to use their big wings. The last
glimpse I had of them through my glass
showed me the mother bird in one tree, the
father in another, each holding a fish, which
they were showing the young across a tan-
talizing short stretch of empty air, telling the
young, in fishhawk language, to come across
and get it; while the young birds, on their
part, stretched wings and necks hungrily and
tried to whistle the fish over to them, as
one would call a dog across the street. ' In
the short interval that I was absent, mother
wiles and mother patience had done their
good work. The young were already flying

'1 ai

i ii

-^'^^j.

THE WOODS «

well. Now they were out for their first

lesson in fishing, evidently; and I stopped
fishing myself, letting my bait sink into the
mud — where an eel presently tangled my
hooks into an old root — to see how it was
done. For fishing is not an instinct with
Ismaques, but a simple matter of training.
As with young otters, they know only from
daily experience that fish, and not grouse
and rabbits, are their legitimate food. Left
to themselves, especially if one should bring
them up on flesh and then turn them loose,
they would go straight back to the old hawk
habit of hunting the woods, which is much
easier. To catch fish, therefore, they must
be taught from the first day they leave the
nest. And it is a fascinating experience for
any man to watch the way they go about it.
The young ospreys flew heavily in short
irregular circles, scanning the water with
their inexperienced eyes for their first strike.
Over them wheeled the mother bird on broad,
even wings, whistling directions to the young cz:
neophytes, who would presently be initiated ^

lOI

^ ^hooi for
. jGfile
^shertnen

^ SCHOOL OF

I02

^ School for
I I ^^jFishermen

into the old sweet mysteries of going a-fishing.
Ush were plenty enough; but that means
nothing to a fishhawk, who must see his
game reasonably near the surface before mak-
ing his swoop. There was a good jump
on the lake, and the sun shone brightly into
it. Between the glare and the motion on
tlie surface the young fishermen were having
a ha.u time of it. Their eyes were not yet
quick enough to tell them when to swoop.
At every gleam of silver in the depths below
they would stop short and cry out: P//>/
" there he is! " P/p, pip! " here goes ! " like a
boy with his first nibble. But a short, clear
whistle from the mother stopped them ere
they had begun to fall ; and they would flap
up to her, protesting eagerly that they could
catch that fellow, sure, if she would only let
them try.

As they wheeled in over me on their way
down the lake, one of the youngsters caught
the gleam of rry pile -^f chub among the
rocks. Pip, ch\vccc! lie 'histled, and down
they came, both of them, like rockets. They

^fS^€^-^

0''^'^^m.-.MM^

THE WOODS W

were hungry; here were fish galore; and
they had not noticed me at all, sitting very ^
still among the rocks. Pip, pip, pip, hurrah !
they piped as they came down.

But the mother bird, who had noted me
and my pile of fish the first thing as she
rounded the point, swept in swiftly ^^^
with a curious, half-angry, half-
anxious chiding that I had never heard
from her before, — Chip chip, chip!
Chip! Chip! — growing sharper and
shriller at each repetition, till they heeded
it and swerved aside. As I looked up they
were just over my head, looking down at me
now with eager, wondering eyes. Then they
were led aside in a wide circle and talked
to with wise, quiet whistlings before they
were sent back to their fishing again.

And now as they sweep round and round
over the edge of a shoal, one of th- 'ittle
fellows sees a fish and drops lower to tollow
it. The mother sees it too ; notee? that the
fish is slanting up to the surface, and wisely
lets the young fishemian alone. He is too

103

chool for

^shermen

f L-.'C-wt'* 1

'-^^

w SCHOOL oe

104 "^^'" ^^"'^ ^^■''^*^'* "°^^' ; ^'■'^ g^-'irc and the dancing
^ School for ^y^^^'^ ^°^'^^'' ^''^: ^^c loses his gleam of
^ittie^^ silver in the flash of a whitecap. Mother
n^ermefi bird mounts higher, and whistles him up
^^■'lere he can see better. But there is the
fish again, and the youngster, hungry and
heedless, sets his wings for a swoop. C/iip,
chip! "wait, he's going down," cautions the
mother; but the little fellow, too hungry to
wait, shoots down like an arrow. He is a
yard above the su'face when a big whitecap
jumps up at him and frightens him. He
hesitates, swerves, flaps lustily to save himself.
Then under the whitecap is a gleam of silver
again. Down he goes on the instant, — tigh !
<5^(?/ — likeaboy taking his first dive. He is
out of sight for a full moment, while two
waves race over him, and I hold my breath
waiting for him to come up. Then he bursts
out, sputtering and shaking him-
^self, and of course without his
fish. As he rises heavily
the mother, who has been
circling over him whistling

'■^'

1 /itf» : w KAV.-ir )vj :

I05

^^hool for

THE WOODS H

advice and comfort, stops short, with a

single blow of her pinions against the air

She has seen the same f^sh, watched him ^Z^HofNe

shoot away under the plunge of her little S^ftshe rmen

one, and now sees him glancing up to the '^^ '-^•-—'^

edge of the shoal where the minnows are

playing. She knows that the young pupils

are growing discouraged, and that the time

has come to hearten them. C/iip, chip!

"watch, I'll show you," she whistles —

Cheeeep! with a sharp up-slide at the end,

which I soon grow to recognize as the signal

to strike. At the cry she sets her wings and
shoots downward with strong, even plunge,
strikes a wave squarely as it rises, passes
under it, and is out on the other side, grip-
ping a big chub. The little ones follow her,
whistling their delight, and telling her that
perhaps now they will go back to the nest
and take a look at the fish before they go on
with their fishing. Which means, of course,
that they will eat it and go to sleep perfectly
satisfied with the good fun of fishing; and
then lessons are over for the day.

'PlP'lftWf^!*?-*!

-^-•^— ' -"•

io6 The mother, however hn« r.fi
■^ScAoo/ for '" ''- wise head. She kl lu" "'""«'"^
Kp^^'f^^ ones arc not yet t^'d T u"' """ ''"''
^jps— that there is much to tearl, tl,„ i /

^usfarr^scd L:r.hr"'r"^'^"-'^

^hen,outto,car "totlkeath ,'™"'""
'"= comes up; and to W t a L t""' "'

*e front side, under ec;r"r"'^™
her fish tightly, she bends in h-s,o;:"flr';?

^•rugging" ;;t T ''' '' occasionally
it not" r . '"'''"■ '^''""•'''?>' "trv
L!r • ' "*"""• ^'>. /'// "here

■■" ''--mi^tiett r;:;^™:.^^^^^^^^^

»d example and pastl.perX' ' """■"

is ^sa'tifn™'""""^"''™^ but there

whLh" stX;';,^- "^er. .histlc

that she sees him, and that

■GRIPPING HIS F,SH AND FfF-I'IPPfSG

r:*i c.AuLTATJON "

^^^*^^^^^^^^^^^9^^

m&^^ss.-^;^jp,j

■miea6e9Ka^Ts:t:x^yL'ig*^^a^ £rsfis:xitfir£i 'i-mTS SimiM^M^

he is doing well. In a
again, with a great rush and

moment he

sputter, gripping

his fish and ///-//>//,/^his exultation. Away ^-f"'

he goes in low heavy flight to the nest.
The mother circles over him a moment to
be sure he is not overloaded; then she goes
back with the other neophyte and ranges
back and forth over the shoal's edge.

It is clear now to even my eyes that there
is a vast difference in the characters of young
fishhawks. The first was eager, headstrong,
mipatient; the second is calmer, stronger,
more obedient. He watches the mother; he'
heeds her signals. Five minutes later he
makes a clean, beautiful swoop and comes
up with his fish. The mother whistles her
praise as she drops beside him. My eyes fol-
low them as, gossiping like two old cronies,
they v.in^ u,cii siow way over the dancing
whitecaps and climb the slanting tree-tops to
the nest

The day's lessons are over now, and I go
back to my bait catching with a new
admiration for these winged members of the

109
^School for

fishermen

'JSKT ?i ■M,.lXK^mXKX'

' M*

I lO

^ School for

v^^

^Lf}'sAermen

II:

^ SCHOOL OF

brotherhood. Perhaps there is also a bit of
envy or regret in my meditation as I tie
on a new hook to replace the one that an
uneasy eel is trying to rid himself of, down
in the mud. If I had only had some one to
teach me like that, I should certainly now
be a better fisherman.

Next day, when the mother came up the
lake to the shoal with her two little ones,
there was a surprise awaiting them. For
half an hour I had been watching from the
point to anticipate their coming. There were
some things that puzzled me, and that puzzle
me still, in Ismaques' fishing. If he caught
his fish in his beaV after the methods of mii k
and otter, I could understand it better. But
to catch a fish — whose dart is like lightning
— under the water with his feet, when, after
his plunge, he can see neither his fish nor
his feet, must require some puzzling calcula-
tion. And I had set a trap in my head to
find out how it is done.

When the fishermen hove into sight, and
their eager pipings came faintly up the lake

TM^^im. '-t^wmTMmimtNa^s^^^^^^^v^B^jsF^wm-^

THE WOODS 9

ahead of them, I jjaddled hastily out and
turned loose a half-dozen chub in the shallow
water. I had kept them alive as long as
possible in a big pail, and they still had life
enough to fin about near the surface. Whea
*he fishermen arrived I was sitting among the
rocks as usual, and turned to acknowledge
the mother bird's Cliwcc? Hut my deep-
laid scheme to find out their method accom-
plished nothing; except, perhaps, to spoil the
day's lesson. They saw my bait on the in-
stant. One of the youngsters dove headlong
without poising, went under, missed
his fish, rose, plunged again. He got
him that time and went away sputter-
ing. The second tc ': his time,
came down on a long swift slant,
and got his fish without going ,
under. Almost before the '
lesson began it was over.
The mother circled about
for a few moments in a
puzzled sort of way,
watching the young

1 1 1

^ ^hool for
jQfNe

i^shermen

' (Ha

If :

I 12

^ School tor
ijkfisherinen

^ SCHOOL OF

rishcniKn fl.ii)i)in;r up the .slope to their nest.
Soinc-thin<r was wion^r. she had fished
enou^di to know that success means sr)Pie-
thin-r more than -rood hick; and this morning'
success had come too easily. Slie wheeled
slowl) over the shallows, notin^r the fish there,
where thi'\- plainly did not belong, and drop-
ping to examine with suspicion one big chub
that was floating, bc'ly up, on the water. Then
she went under with a rush, where I could
n(,t see, came out again with a fish for her-
self, and followed her little ones to the nest.
,^y-^ Next day I set the
*^ trap again in the same

way. Hut the mother, with her
lesson well laid out before her,
remembered yesterday's unearned success and
came over to investigate, leaving her yuiiiig
ones circling along the farther shore. There
were the fish again, in shallow water; ar.d
there — too easy altogether !— were two dead
ones floating among the whitecaps.
"^lie wheeled away in a sharp turn,
as if she had not seen anvthin<r

AJr-

<*>>*■

77ff WOODS W

whistled her pupils up to her, and went on

to other fishini( Ljroupfis. ^ ^ .

I, 1 r , ^ School fot

1 resently, above the next pouit, I heard /fj(jtile

their |Mpin<rsand the sharp.up-slidinjrC//ivr<// V fishermen

which, was the mother's si^Mial to swoo]).

Paddling up under the point in my canoe, I

found them all wheelint; and divinu; over a

shoal, where I knew the fiNh were smaller

and more nimble, and where there were lilv

pads for a haven of refuge, whither no hawk

could follow them. Twenty times I saw them

swoop only to miss, while the mother circled

above or beside them, whistling advice and

encouragement. And when at last they

struck their fish and bore av.ay towards the

mountain, there was an exultation in their

lusty wing beats, and in the whistling cry

they sent brn k to me. which wa.-; not there

the day before.

The mother followed them at a distance,
veering in when near mv shoal to take
another look ut the fish there. Three were
floating now instead of two; the others —
what were left of them — struggled feebly at

l^^f=ml''^<m<.4'^^^mMS^mi ■

114

^ School for
"fishermen

the surface. Chip, cJiwcee ! she whistled
disdainfully; "plenty fish here, but mighty
poor fishing." Then she swooped, passed
under, came out with a big chub and was
gone, leaving me only a blinding splash and
a widening circle of laughing, dancing, tanta-
lizing wavelets to tell me how she catches
them.

«»s

fM.

tCpa^tridges

-r RCLL CALL

I\\ AS fishing, one September afternoon,
in the pool at the foot of the lake, trying
in twenty ways, as the dark evergreen shadows
lengthened across the w ater, to beguile some
wary old trout into taking my flies. They
lived there, a score of them, in a dark well
among the lily pads, where a cold spring bub-
bled up from the bottom; and their moods
and humors were a perpetual source of worry
or amusement, according to the humor of the
fisherma;. himself.

For days at a time they would lie in the //
deep shade of the lily pads in stupid or sullen ( if^''^
indifference. Then nothing tempted them.
Flies, worms, crickets, redfins, bumblebees,
— all at the end of dainty hair leaders, were
drawn with crinkling wavelets over their
heads or dropped gently beside them; but

rv.'vl

ii8
The y^rlr/tf^es'

^ SCHOOL OF

they only swirled sullenly aside, grouty as
King Ahab when he turned his face to the
wall and would eat no bread.

At such times scores of little fish swarmed
out of the pads and ran riot in the pool.
Chub, shiners, "punkin-seeds," perch, boiled
up at your flies, or chased each other in sav-
age warfare through the forbidden water,
which seemed to intoxicate them by its cool
freshness. You had only to swing your
canoe up near the shadowy edge of the pool,
among the lily pads, and draw your cast
once across the open water to know whether
or not you would eat trout for breakfast.
If the small fish chased your flies, then you
might as well go home or study nature ; you
would certainly get no trout. But you could
never tell when the change would come.
With the smallest occasion sometimes — a
coolness in the air, the run of a cats-paw
breeze, a cloud shadow drifting over— a trans-
formation would sweep over the speckled
Ahabs lying deep under the lily pads. Some
blind, unknown warning would run throujih

THE WOODS W

the pool before ever a trout had changed

his position. Looking over the side of J.'^^ . .

your canoe you would see the little fish noI/Cal?^'

darting helter-skelter away among the pads,

seeking safety in shallow water, leaving the

pool to its tyrant masters. Now is the

time to begin casting; your trout are ready

to rise.

A playful mood would often follow the

testy humor. The plunge of a three-pound

fish, the slap-dash of a dozen smaller ones

would startle you into nervous casting. But

again you might as well spare your efforts,

which only served to acquaint the trout with

the best frauds in your fly book. They

would rush at Hackle or Coachman or Silver

Doctor, swirl under it, jump over it, but
never take it in. They played with floating
leaves; their wonderful eyes caught the
shadow of a passing mosquito across the
silver mirror of their roof, and their broad
tails flung them up to intercept it; but they
wanted nothing more than play or exercise,
and they would not touch your flies.

-TP^

^^^If^WSS?

•! 1

^ SCHOOL Of

1 20 ^^"^'"' ''^ ''^ ^^■''^y *^^^'''^' would come a day
TTteytarfrtdges' ^^'''"-''"' y^'"'' ^^^'^b' ''^'^^l patience found their
' yioNCall rich reward. The sHsh of a line, the flutter
of a fly dropping softly on the farther edge
of the pool — and then the sliriek of your
r"el, buzzing up the quiet hillside, was
ciHswered by a loud snort, as the deer that
li\ed there bounded away in alarm, calling
her two fawns to follow. But you scarcely
noticed; your head and hands were too full,
trying to keep the big trout away from the
illy pads, where you would certainly lose
him with your light tackle.

On the afternoon of which I write the
trout were neither playful nor sullen. No
more were they hungry. The first cast of
my midget flies across the pool brought no
answer. That was good ; the little fish had
been ordered out, evidently. Larger flics
followed; but the big trout neither played
with them nor let them alone. They fol-
lowed cautiously, a foot astern, to the near
edge of the lily pads, till they saw me and
swirled down again to their cool haunts.

THE WOODS n

They were suspicious clearly, and with the

lower orders, as with men, the best rule in '^'

such a case is to act naturally, with more nolTcan''^^'

quietness than usual, and give them time to *" *

get over their suspicion.

As I waited, my flies resting among the
pads near the canoe, curious sounds came
floating down the hillside — Pmt, prut,
pr-r-r-rt! Wliit-kwit? whit-kwit? Pr-r-rf,
pr-r-rt! Ooo-if, ooo-it? Pr-r-rcccc ! this'
last with a swift burr of wings. And the
curious sounds, half questioning, half muffled
in extreme caution, gave a fleeting impres-
sion of gliding in and out among the tan-
gled underbrush. " A flock of partridges," I
thought, and turned to listen more intently.

The shadows had grown long, with a sug-
gestion of coming night; and other ears than
mine had heard the sounds with interest. A
swifter shadow fell on the water, and I
looked up quickly to see a big owl sail
silently out from the opposite hill and perch
on a blasted stub overlooking the pool.
Kookooskoos had been sleeping in a big

wmm

^> «

I''

III

^ SCHOOL OF

J 22 spruce when the sounds waked him, and he
The^P^rMdges^ started oui instantly, not to hunt — it was
AjRo//Ca// still tfK) bright — bi.t to locate his game and
^^j^ follow silently to the roosting place, near

•*^ which he would hide and wait till the twi-

light fell darkly. I could see it all in his
attitude as he poised forward, swinging his
round head to and fro, like a dog on an air
trail, locating the flock accurately before he
should take another flight.

Up on the hillside the eager sounds had
stopped for a moment, as if some strange sixth
sense had warned the birds to be silent.
.,,. . . ^ The owl was puzzled ; but I dared not move,
Pr/' -^Z because he was looking straight over me.
'^'r& Some faint sound, too faint for my ears,
■{,/p made him turn his head, and on the instant
fjj I reached for the tiny rifle lying before me in
the canoe. Just as he spread his wings to
investigate the new sound, the little rifle
spoke, and he tumbled heavily to the nore.

"One robber the less," I was thinking,
when the canoe swung slightly on the water.
There was a heavy plunge, a vicious rush of

:-#.
?&■)

123

THE WOODS 9

my unheeded line, and I seized my rod to

find myself fast to a big trout, which had jj^ a, , wii^

been watching my flies from his hiding ^ollSall'f

among the lily pads till his suspicions were

quieted, and the first slight movement brought

him up with a rush.

Ten minutes later he lay in my canoe,

where I could sec him plainly to my heart's

content. I was waiting for the pool to grow

quiet again, when a new sound came from

the underbrush, a rapid //^/, lop, lop, lop, lop,
like the sound in a bottle as water is poured
in and the air rushes out.

There was a brook near the sounds, a lazy
little stream, that had lost itself among the
alders and forgotten all its music ; and my first
thought was that some animal was standing
in the water to drink, and waking the voice
of the brook as the current rippled past his
legs. The canoe glided over to find out
what he was, when, in the midst of the
sounds, came the unmistakable questioning
Whit-kwit? of partridges — and there they
were, just vanishing glimpses of alert forms

'■i^-f*»tji&^i*nmA

^ SCHOOL OF

,,^ and keen ryes glidin^r anionjr the tangled
7hey>arMdges^ '"''''"'•■ •"^^•'""- ^^''i^'" near the bi(,„k they had
^^^(^'i chan-ed the soft, gossipy chatter, by which a
fes^ Hock holds itself together in the wild tangle

of the bnrned lands, into a curious liquid
«ouncI, so like the gurgling of water by a
mossy stone that it would haxe deceiNed me
completely, had I not seen the birds. It was
as if they tried to remind the little alder
brook of the music it had lost far back amon.r
the hills. ^

_ Now I had been straitly charged, on leav-
ing camp, to bring back three partridges for
our Sunday dinner. My own little flock had
grown a bi^ ti,-,.,! ^f trout and canned foods-
and a t.-s of young broiled partridges,'
which I had recently given them, had left
them hungry for more. So I left the pool
and my fishing rod, just as the trout began
to rise, to glide into the alders with my
pocket rifle.

There were at least a dozen birds there
full-grown and strong of wing, that had not
yet decided to scatter to the four winds as

■11a •L^'fiSSffi

THE WOODS ®

had most of tli

If covcvs which

one mi^rli

'25

"K-ct on the burned lands. All sunnner ^
I<•"^^ while berrie. are olentN", the flocks hold ^'//%ff ^^*'
t.'^^ether, fuxlin^r t.n pairs cf c,uiet eves nuu h ''''"^''"■'
better protection ajrainst surprises than ..ne
fn-htened pair. I.:ach flock is then under
the absolute authority of the mother bird'
and one who follows them ^^.fs some curious
and intensely interesting -Hnipses of a par-
tridge's education. If the UK.ther bird is
killed by owl or hawk or weasel, the . „ck
still holds together, while berries last, under
the leadership of one of their ,.un number
more bold or cunning than the others. Hut
with the ripening autumn, when the birds
have learned or think thev have learned all
the sights and sounds and dangers of the
wilderness, the coxey scatters; partlv to
cover a wider range in feeding as food gmuvs
scarcer; partly in natural revolt at maternal
authority, which no bird or animal likes to
endure after he has once learned to
take care of himself.

■-^\%

r/^

)■'

J-iir-'v'.'

iff

126
AVfo/fCa/I

^ SCHOOL OF

I followed the flock rapidly, though cau-
tiously, through an interminable tangle of
alders that bordered V- little stream, and
learned some things about them; though
they gave me no chance whatever for a rifle
shot. The mother was gone; their leader
was a foxy bird, the smallest of the lot. who
kept them moving in dense cover, running
crouching, hiding, inquisitive about me and
watchmg me. yet keeping themselves beyond
reach of harm. All the while the leader
talked to them, a curious language of cheep-
ings and whistlings; and they answered back
with questions or sharp exclamations as my
head appeared in sight for a moment. Where
the cover was densest they waited till I was
almost upon them before they whisked out of
sight; and where there was a bit of openincr
they whirred up noisily on strong wings, o^
sailed swiftly away from a fallen log with the
noiseless flight that a partridge knows so well
how to use when the occasion comes.

Already the instinct to scatter was at work
among them. During the day they had

MBi

THE WOODS m

probably been fecdinjr separately al,

great hillside; but with I

-nLTth

enn

)ng the
hadous

127

ey came together again to face tl

ness night in the peace and .securitv of th
old companionship. And 1 had fortunateh
been quiet enough at my fishing to h
when the leader be

., , The 'Por/r/d^'
le nilder- AoZ/ra//

ear

gan to call ti.em together
and they had answered, here and there, fr
their feeding,

I gave up following fhem after a while —
they were too quick for me in the alder
tangle — and .me cut of the swamo to the
ndgc. There I ran along a dee , . i and
circled down ahead of them to a thicket of
cedar where

^^^^

I thought "^

they might pass the night

Presently I heard them coming— /F////-
I'wi^r pr-r-r, pr-r-> prut, pnit/ — :,nd saw
f^ve or six of them runnir.g rapidly. The
little leader saw me at the same instant and
dodgtd back out of sight. Most of his flock
followed him : but one bird, more inquisitive
than the rest, jumped to a fallen log, drew

128

The IPa/'/r/dPes*
' Roll Can

^ SCHOOL OF

'.imsclf up straight as a string, anr' eyed me
steadily. The little rifle spoke omptly;
and I stowed him away comfortaoly, a fine
l)lump bird, minus his head, in a big pocket
of my hunting shirt.

At the report another jxartridge, cpiestion-
ing the unknown sound, flew to a thick
spruce, pressed close against the trunk to
hide himself, and stood listening intently.
Whether he was waiting to hear the .sound
again, or was frightened and listening for
...^ ^ t'^^" call of the leader, I could not
'^^\* t*^""- I fii'L'd quickly, and saw him
sail down against the hillside, with
a loud thump and a flutter of feathers behind
him to tell me that he was hard hit.
I followed him up the hill, hearing an
occasional flutter of wings to guide my feet,
till the sounds vanished into a great tangle'
of underbrush and fallen trees. I searched
here ten minutes or more in vain, then lis-
tened in the vast silence for a longer period;
but the bird had hidden himself awav and
was watching me, no doubt, out of 'some

'W'W^'

129

TWC WOODS ®

covert, where an owl n.ight pass by with-
out finding him. Reluctantly I turned
away toward the swamp The T^arfr/d^es'

Close beside me was 'a fallen log; on ''"''^"'^-
n^y nght was another; and the two had
fallen .0 as to make the sides of a great
angle then- tops resting together against the
^■11. Between the two were several huge
rees growing among the rocks a.xl under-
brush. I climbed upon one of these fallen
trees and moved along it cautiouslv, some

e.ght or ten feet above the ground/looking
down searchingly for a stray brown feather
to guide me to mv lost partridge

Suddenly the log under my feet began
o rock gently. I .topped in astonishment,
looking for the cause of the strange teeter-
ing; but there was nothing on the log beside
myself. After a moment I went on again,
ooking agam for n.y partridge. Again the
log rocked, heavily- this time, almost throw-
>ng me off. Then I noticed that the tip of
tf^c other log, which lay balanced across a
great rock, was under the tip of mv log and

WJPTT

IP SCHOOL OF

130

The T^rlr/dges*
\ lRo//Ca//

was being pried up by something on the
other end. Some animal was there, and it
flashed upon me suddenly that he was heavy
enough to lift my weight with his stout
lever. I stole along so as to look behind a
great tree — and there on the other log, not
twenty feet away, a big bear was standing,
twisting himself uneasily, trying to decide
whether to go on or go back on his unstable
footing.

He discovered me at the instant that
my face appeared behind the tree. Such
surprise, such wonder I have seldom seen
in an animal's face. For a long moment
he met my eye? steadily with his. Then
he began to iwist again, while the logs
rocked up and down. Again he looked
at the strange animal on the other log ; but
the face behind the tree had not moved nor
changed; the eyes looked steadily into his.
With a startled movement he plunged off
into the underbrush, and but for a swift
grip on a branch the sudden lurch would

have sent me off backward among the

THE WOODS »

131

rocks. As he jumped I heard a swift

flutter of wings. I followed it timidly, jj^ ^^^/^des'

not knowing where the bear was, and in a HoIlS^all^

moment I had the second partridge stowed
away comfortably with his brother in my
hunting shirt.

The rest of the flock had scattered widely
by this time. I found one or two and fol-
lowed them ; but they dodged away into the
thick alders, where I could not find them
quick enough with my rifle sight. After a
vain, hasty shot or two I went back to my
fishing.

Woods and lake were soon quiet again.
The trout had stopped rising, in one of their
sudden moods. A vast silence brooded over
the place, unbroken by any buzz of my noisy
reel, and the twilight shadows were growing
deeper and longer, when the soft, gliding,
questioning chatter of partridges came float-
ing out of the alders. The leader was there,
in the thickest tangle — I had learned in an
hour to recognize hi.>. peculiar Prut, prut —
and from the hillside and the alder swamp

132

The T^rfrid^es'
\ lRo//Ca/I

and the big evergreens his flock were answer-
ing; here a ktoit, and there a prul, and
beyond a swift burr of wings, all drawing
closer and closer together.

I had still a third partridge to get for my
own hungry flock; so I stole swiftly back
into the alder swamp. There I found a
little game path and crept along it on hands
and knees, drawing cautiously near to the
leader's continued callinL^

In the midst of a thicket of low black
alders, surrounded by a perfect hedge of
bushes, I found him at last. He was on the
lower end of a fallen log, gliding rapidly up
and down, spreading wings and tail and bud-
ding ruff, as if he were drumming, and send-
ing out his peculiar call at every pause.
Above him, in a long line on the same log,
five other partridges were sitting perfectly
quiet, save now and then, when an answer
came to the leader's call, they would turn
their heads and listen intently till the under-
brush parted cautiously and another bird
flitted up beside them. Then another call.

'.!

■THEY WC'JLD TURN THEIR HEADS
AND LISTEN INTENTLY"

mmm

and from the distant hillside a faint k-vit-
kivit and a rush of win<rs in answer, and ^^^

( another partridge would shoot in on swift ^Zir^n'^^

pinions to pull himself up on the log beside
iiis fellows. The line would open hospitably
to let him in ; then the row grew quiet again,
as the leader called, turning their heads from
side to side for the faint answers.

There were nine on the log at last. The
calling g'-ew louder and louder; yet for
several minutes now no answer came back.
The flock grew uneasy; the leader ran from
his log into the brush and back again, calling
loudly, while a low chatter, the first bre V
in their strange silence, ran back and forth
through the family on the log. There were
others to come; but where were they, and
why did they tarry .^ It was growing late;
already an owl had hooted, and the roost-
ing place was still far away. Prut, pruf,
pr-r-r-r-ccc ! called the leader,'and the chatter
ceased as the whole flock listened.

I turned my head to the hillside to listen
also for the laggards; but there was no

136

\lRo//Ca/I

«? SCHOOL OF

answer. Save for the cry of a low'iying
loon and the snap of a twig — too sharp and
heavy for little feet to make — the woods
were all silent. As I turned to the log
again, something warm and heavy rested
against my side. Then I knew; and with
the knowledge came a swift thrill of regret
that made me feel guilty and out of place in
the silent woods. The leader was calling,
the silent flock were waiting for two of their
number who would never answer the call
again.

I lay scarcely ten yards from the log on
which the sad little drama went on in the
twilight shadows, while the great silence
grew deep and deeper, as if the wilderness
itself were in sym.pathy and ceased its cries
to listen. Once, at the first glimpse of the
group, I had raised my rifle and covered the
head of the largest bird; but curiosity to
know what they were doing held me back.
Now a deeper feeling had taken its place;
the rifle slid from my hand and lay unnoticed
among the fallen leaves.

THE WOODS W

Again the leader called. The flock drew
itself up, like a row of gray-brown statues, '^^
every eye bright, every ear listening, till ^o//^i/"^^^'
some vague sense of fear and danger dreu "" '

them together; and they huddled on the
ground in a close group, all but the leader,
who stood above them, counting theni over
and over, apparently, and anon sending his
cry out into the darkening woods.

I took one of the birds out of my pocket
and began to smooth the rumpled brown
feathers. How beautiful he was, how per-
fectly adapted in form and color for the wil-
derness in which he had lived I And I had
taken his life, the only thing he had. Its
beauty and something deeper, which is the
sad mystery of all life, were gone forever.
All summer long he had run about on glad
little feet, delighting in nature's abundance,
calling brightly to his fellows as they glided
in and out in eager search through the lights
and shadows. Fear on the one hand, abso-
lute obedience to his mother on the other
had been the two great factors of his life.

^ SCHOOL OF

y HctWL'L'ii tliuni he grew strong, keen, alert,
TTteT^rMd^es" ^"^^^^''^K P<-'i"ft'ctly when to run and when to
^yfo//Ca/i <ly nnd when to crouch motionless, as danger
^^d^ passed close with blinded eyes. Then when

•** his strength was ])erfect, and at last he glided

alone through the wilderness coverts in
watchful self-dejx'ndence — a moment's curi-
osity, a c|uick eager glance at the strange
animal standing so still under the cedar, a
flash, a noise; and all was over. The call of
the leader went searching, searching through
the woods ; but he gave no heed any more.

The hand had grown suddenly very tender
as it stroked his feathers. I had taken his
life; I must answer for him now. I raised
my head and gave the clear xvliit-kivit of
a running partridge. Instantly the leader
answered ; the flock sprang to the log again
and turned their heads in my direction to
listen. Another call, and now the flock
dropped to the ground and lay close, while
the leader drew himself up straight on the
log and became part of a dead stub beside
him.

THE WOODS n

Something was wrong in my call; the

139

birds were suspicious, knowing not ^"^^^^ 7j,cPar/r/€/^es'
danger had kept their fellows silent so UolI Cal/^ ^^

long, and now threatened them out of the
black alders. A moment's intent li.>tenin<r:
then the leader stepjied slowly down from
his log and came towards me cautiously,
halting, hiding, listening, glitling. swinging
far out to one side and back again in stealthy
advance, till he drew him>elf up abruptly at
sight of my face peering out of the under-
brush. F"or a long two minutes he never
stirred so much as an eyelid. Then he
glided swiftly back, with a faint, puzzled,
ciuestioning kxvit-kivit? to where his flock

were waiting.

A low signal that I could

barely hear, a swift movement — then the
flock thundered away in scattered flight into
the silent, friendly woods.

Ten minutes later I was crouched in some
tb'ck underbrush looking uj) into a great
sjirice, when I could just mak-. ut the
leader standing by an ui)right branch in
sharp silhouette against the glowing west.

140
A IRollCaU

I had foil. -^ (I lis swift flight, and now lay
listening .' 4.1111 'o his searching call as it
went out tlirou-n ihe twilight, calling his
little tlock to t'io roosting tree. From the
swamp and the hillsid • and far down by the
ciiiiet lake they :. w ed, tail tly .1'. first, then
with clearer cal' d '!.o whirr of swift wings
as they caiv.e i 1

But already • wA ..ei^ an' heard enough;
t(H) nu'.ch, indec 1, fi : u ]>e. _c of mind. 1
crept away thr -ugh the ^Udinp, the eager
calls following me » \en ti ;ny iiioe; first a
plaint, as if something wei' ^acking to the
placid lake and (|uiet W( > an> the oft
beauty of twilight; and tlien a taint jUe
tion. always heard in the kwit k{ a ])a!-
tridge, as if a\\\- I couJtl explain uh -wo
eager voices would never ni;. in answer to
roll call when the shadows lei\,,thene'V

:/^.(^ii[r

141

HERE are always two surprises when
you meet a bear. You have one, and he
has the other. On your tramps and camps
in the bi<T woods you may be on the look-
out for Moov\ een ; you may be eager and even
anxious to meet him; but when you double
the point or push into the blueberry patch
and, suddenly, there he is, blocking the path
ahead, looking intently into your eyes to
fathom at a glance your intentions, then, I
fancy, the exix-rience is like that of people
who have the inquisitive habit of looking
under their beds nightly for a burglar, and
at last find him there, stowed away snugly,
just where they always expected him to be.

)%1

144
iMenYou Meef

" ■■.V

iNT^t.

¥ SCHOOL Of

Moowccn, on his part, is always looking
for you, when once he has learned that you
have moved into his wockIs. But not from
any desire to see you I lie is like a lazy
man looking for work, and hoping devoutly
that he may not find it. A bear has very
little curiosity — less than any other of the
wood folk. He loves to be alone; and so,
when he goes hunting for you, to find out
just where you are, it is always with the
creditable desire to leave you in as large
a room as possible, while he himself goes
quietly away into deeper solitudes. As this
desire of his is much stronger than your
mere idle curiosity to see something new,
you rarely see Mooween even where he is
most at home. And that is but another bit
of the poetic justice which you stumble upon
everywhere in the big woods.

It is more and more evident, I think, that
Nature adapts her gifts, not simply to the
necessities, but more largely to the desires,
of her creatures. The force and influence of
that intense desire — more intense because

THE WOODS ©

•

usually each animal has but one— we have

not yet learned to measure. "Will the ^'^^

unicorn be willing to serve thee, or will he
abide by thy crib?" would seem to be the
secret of that free life " whose home is the
wilderness," if one were quoting Scripture
to prove an unprovable theory, as is some-
times our pleasant and unanswerable theo-
logical habit. The owl has a silent wing,
not simply because he needs it — for his'
need is no greater than that of the hawk,
who has no silent wing — but, more prob-
ably, because of his whole-hearted desire for
silence as he glides through the silent twi-
light. And so with the panther's foot; and
so with the deer's eye, and the wolf's nose,
vliose one idea of bliss is a good smell; and
so with every other strongly marked gift
which the wild things have won from
nature, chiefly by wanting it, in the long
years of their development.

This theory may possibly account for
some of Mooween's peculiarities. Nature,
who measures her gifts according to the

Tefien YouAfeef
sTSeor

9 SCHOOL OF

146 *^^^'^''*^-^ ^'f Ji<-'»" creatures, renieinbers his love
MenYou Meef "• 1''-'''^^'-' ''^"^^ solitude, and endows him
,Vj^«2S^'" accfM-d.ngly. He cares little to see you or
nnjjody else; therefore his eyes are weak
— his weakest point, in fact. He desires
ardently to avoid your society and all soci-
ety but his own ; therefore his nose and ears
are marvelously alert to discover your com-
ing. Often, when you think yourself quite
alone in the woods, Mooween is there. The
wind has told your story to his nose; the
clatter of your heedless feet long ago reached
his keen ears, and he vanishes at your
approach, leaving you to your noise and
inquisitiveness and the other things you
like. His gifts of concealment are so much
greater than your powers of detection that
he has absolutely no thought of ever see-
ing you. His surprise, therefore, when you
do meet unexpectedly is ct)rrespondingly
greater than yours.

What he will do under the unusual cir-
cumstances depends largely, not upon him-
self, but upon you. With one exception, his

THE WOODS 9

feelings are probably the reverse of your own.

If you are bold, he is timid as a rabbit; >., i, ,, ,
•f ' ^ .111 , c^g/> YouMeef

if you are panic-stricken, he knows exactly
what to do; if you are feai-ful, he has no
fear; if you are inquisitive, he is instantly
shy; and, like all other wild creatures, he
has an almost uncanny way of understand-
ing your thought. It is as if, in that intent,
penetrating gaze of his, he saw your soul
turned inside out for his inspection. The
only exception is when you meet him with-
out fear or curiosity, with the desire simply
to attend to your own affairs, as if he were
a stranger and an equal. That rare mental
attitude he understands perfectly — for is
it not his own ? — and he goes his way
quietly, as if he had not seen you.

For every chance meeting Mooween
seems to have a plan of action ready, which
he applies without a question or an instant's
hesitation. Make an unknown sound behind
him as he plods along the shore, and he
hurls himself headlong into the cover of the
Inishes, as if your voice had touched a button

eTBeoi

— --'S>;.i^i

i I

^ SCHOOL OF

^ „ that released a coiled spring beneath him.

XOhenVou Meef ^^^^'•"^^'^•'^^^^ 'i^' "^''^y come back to find out
.V'^/iS Bear ^^'-^t frightened him. Sit perfectly still, and
he rises on his hind legs for a look and a
long sniff to find out who you are. Jump
at him with a yell and a flourish the instant
he appears, and he will hurl chii)s and dirt
back at you as he digs his toes into the hill-
side for a better grip and scrambles away
whimiJering like a scared pupjn'.

Once in a way, as you steal through the

^.KJ^^M^J^Iv^ autumn woods or hurry over the trail, you

will hear sudden loud rustlings and shakings

on the hardwood ridge aboxe you, as if a

small cyclone were perched there for a while,

■^ -C> o ^""'"^''^g \\^T^^:^i among the leaves before

"^'^iJ^'^ blowing on. Tlien, if you steal up

^%^-i' toward the sound, you will find Moo-

^'F;^i ween standing on a big limb of a

beech tree, grasping the narrowing

trunk with his powerful forearms, tugging

^v:^;and pushing mightily to shake down the
,«-. ..- h ■. '■'P'-' beechnuts. The ratdc and dash of
■',^'^'-'l^^^^''i^'^',J)'[p^^i^r\ ^'^^ falling fruit is such music to

. ... '-S'';-^j/

tf'

THE WOODS »

Moowecn's cars that he will not hear the riistle
of your approach, nor the twig that snaps
under your careless foot. If you cry aloud
now, under the hilarious impression that you
have him sure at last, there i another surprise
awaiting you. And that suggests a bit of
advice, wh....i is most jXTtincnt : don't stand
under the bear when you cry out. If he is a
little fellow, he will shoot up tlic tree, faster
than ever a jumping jack went up his stick,
and hide in a cluster of leaves, as near the
top as he can get. But if he is a big bear,
he will tumble down on you before you know
what has happened. No slow climbing for
him; lie just lets go and comes down by
gravitation. As Uncle Remus says — who
has some keen knowledge of animal ways
under his story-telling humor — "Brer Bar,
he scramble 'bout half-way down de bee
tree, en den he turn eve'ything loose en hit
de groun' kerb iff ! Look like 't wuz nuff ter
jolt de lite out'n 'im."

Somehow it never does jolt the life out of
him, notwithstanding his great weight; nor

149
Tti^n YouMeef

^ A.rtf'-

«*) SCHOOL OF

does it interfere in any way with liis speed
XMenVou Meef "^ ^^^t'*'"- ^^'^'ch is like lightning, the instant
Vrifa Sear 'i'-' touches the ground. Like the coon, who
can fall from an incredible distance without
hurting himself, Mooween comes down per-
fectly limj). falling on himself like a great
cushion ; but the moment he strikes, all his
muscles seem to contract at once, and he
bounds off like a rubber ball into the densest
bit of cover at hand.

Twice have I seen him come down in this
way. The first time there were two cubs,
nearly full-grow n. in a tree. (Jne went up at
our shout ; the other came down with such
startling suddenness that the man who stood
ready with his rifle, to shoot the bear, jumped
for his life to get out of the way ; and before
he had blinked the astonishment out of his
eyes Mooween was gone, leaving only a vio-
lent nodding of the ground spruces to tell
what had become of him.

All these plans of ready action in Moo-
ween's head, for the rare occasions when he
meets you unexpectedly, are tlie result of

THE WOODS O

careful training by liis mother. If you
should ever have the good fortune to watch
a mother bear and her cubs when they have
no idea that you are near them, you will note
two characteristic things. First, when they
are traveling — and Mooween is the most
restless tramp in all the woods — you will see
that the cubs follow the mother closely and
imitate her every action with ludicrous exact-
ness, — sniflfuig where she sniffs, jumping
where she jumps, rising on their hind legs,
with forearms hanging loosely and pointed
noses thrust sharp up into the wind, on the
instant that she rises, and then drawing
silently away from the shore into the shelter
of the friendly alders when some subtle warn-
ing tells the mother's nose that the coast
ahead is not jx'rfectly clear. So they learn
to sift the sounds and smells of the wilder-
ness, and to govern their actions accordingly.
And second, when they are j)laying you will
see that the mother watches the cubs' every
action ps keenly as they watched hers an
liour ago. She will sit flat on her

151

Ttihen You Meet
eTBear

t.
ili;

W SCHOOL OF

haundies, lur fore paws planted between her
XOhenybu Meef out>tretchecl hind legs, her great head on one
X^'-'ifa Sear side, noting every detail of their bt)xing and
wre.tling and climbing, as if she had showed
them once how it ought to be done and were
watching now to see how well they remem-
bered their lessons. And now and then one
or the other of the cubs receives a sound
cuffing; for which I am unable to account,
excejit on the theory that he was doing some-
thing contrary to his plain instructions.

It is only when Mooween meets some new

object, or some circumstance entirely outside

of his training, that instinct and riative wit

are set to work; and then yon see for the

,, ip first time some trace of hesitation on the

- '^tV part of this self-confident prowler of the big

\ woods. Once I startled him on the shore,

^T' whither he had come to get the fore quarters

of a deer that had been left there. He

t^) jumped for cover at the first alarm without

even turning his head, just as he had seen

his mother do a score of times when

he was a cub. Then he stopped, and

f ..'K.

W..}^^^.

THE WOODS O

for three or four sei<»ncls coiisid«-'red the

'53

danijer, in plain si<jht — a thin;f I have never >.." ,, .. ,

seen any other bear imitate. I le wavered for
a moment more, doubtful whether my canoe
were swifter than he and more dangerous.
Then satisfied that, ai least, he had a good
chance, he jumped back, grabbed the deer,
and dragged it away into the w(K)ds.

Another timi 1 met !iim on a narrow path
where he could not jkiss me, and where he
did not want to turn ba(k, for something
ahead was calling him strongly. That short
meeting furnished me the best study in Itear
nature and bear instinct that I have ever been
allowed to make. And, at this tlistance, I
have small desire to repeat the experience.

It was on the Little Sou'west Mirimichi,
a very wild river, in the heart of the wilder-
ness. Just above my camp, not half a mile
away, was a salmon jiool that, so far as I
know, had never been fished. One bank of
the river was an almost s' cer cliff, against
which the current f; tted and hissed in a
strong deep rush to le rapids and a great

Jear

154

. ;^

¥ SCHOOL OF

silent |. 1 lar below. 'Iht-rc were salmon

v., ., ,^ , under 'lie cliff, plenty 01 them. balancin<'
When You Meet . , .' ,- , .

"^yx^a 'Bear tMemsel\es agai 1st llie airov. s run ot the

current: but, so tar a- n.v liies were eon-
cerned, they nii^ht as well have been in the
Vukdii. One rould not fish from the oppo-
site shore — there was no room for a back
cast, and the current was too deej) and swift
for wading — and on the shore where the
salmon were there was no place to stand.
If I had had a couple of gocKl Indians, I
mijrht h.ive flrojjped down to the head of the
swift water and fished, while they held the
canoe with poK ^ braced on the bottom; but
I had no two j^ood Indians, and the one I
did have was unw'Ming to take the risk. So
we went lutngry. ahnost within sight and
sound of the i)lunge of lieavy fish, fresh run
frtmi the sea.

One day, in following a porcupine to see

where he was going, I found a narrow path

rimning for a few hundred yards along the

side of the cliff, just over where the

*'"i^5*?»^ salmon loved to lie, and not more

■^■:*^^'^*^r •■

1 '»

A^iic*

^HWUPi^iSi*

THE WOODS If

than ;lurt\ feet above the sWiil iu>h of water.
I we lit there with my n A and, witlioul attempt-
ing to east, dropjX'cl my tly into the turn tit
and paid out from m\ reel. When the Une
straightened I raised the rod's tip and sft i.iv
fly dancing and skittering across the surfate
to an eddy behind a great ro( k. in a Hash
I had raised and truck a twenty-five pound
fish; and in another flash hi' had gone
straight downstream in the current, where
from my precarious seat I couUl not control
1 m. Down he went, Iea])ing wildly high
out oi water, in a glorious rush, till all my
line hu/.'.ed out of the reel, down to tlie vcy
knot at the bottom, and the leader snapped
.IS if it had been "'ide of spid< r's web.

I reeled \w sadly, del)." 'ng \' 1th nv.self the
ui. inswerable c| .estion < ■ ' shoulil e\er

haw reached down th; to gaf? my

salmon had T |)layed h,: ■• •.; a standstill.
Then, because human nature is weak, I put
on a stronger, double leader and dropped
another fly into the current. I might n. >
get my salmon; bu. t was wor 'he price cu

2^ You Meet

I -i

156

9 SCHOOL OF

the leader just to raise him from the deeps

XMenYou Meef \

and see his terrific rush downstream, iump-

"" 'i4o Seof '"K> jumping, as if the witch of Endor were

astride of his tail in lieu of her broomstick
A lively young grilse plunged headlong at
my fly and, thanks to my strong leader, I
played him out in the current and led him
listlessly, all tlie jump and fight gone out of
him, to the foot of the cliff. There was no
apparent way to get down ; so, taking my line
in hand, I began to lift him bodily up. He
came easily enough till his tail cleared the
water; ihen the wiggling, jerky strain was
too much. The fly pulled out, and he van-
ished with a final swirl and -lap of his broad
tail to tell me how big he was.

Just below me a bowlder lifted its head
and shcjulders out of the suhiing current.
With the canoe line I might easily let myself
down to that rock and make sure of my next
fish. Getting back would be harder; but
salmon are worth some trouble; so I left my
rod and started back to camp. It was late
afternoon, and I was hurrying along the path.

THE WOODS 9

giving chief hcccl to my feet in the ticklish
walking, with the cliff above and the river
below, when a loud Hoowuff ! brought me up
with a shock. There at a turn in the path,
not ten yards ahead, stood a huge bear, call-
ing unmistakable halt, and blocking me in as
completely as if the mountain had toppled
over before me.

There was no time to think; the shock
and scare were too great. I just gasped
Hoowujf ! instinctively, as the bear had shot
it out of his deep lungs a moment before,
and stood stock-still, as he was doing. He
was startled as well as I. That was the only
thing that I was sure about.

I suppose that in each of our heads at
first there was just one thought: " I 'm in a
fix; how shall I get out.^" And in his
training or mini there was absolutely noth-
ing to suggest an immediate answer. He
was anxious, evidently, to go on. Something,
a mate perhaps, must be calling liim uj) river;
else he would have whirled and vanished at
the hrst alarm. iJut how far might he presume

'57
Zcj^n YouMeef

■■■■

■liiIWi

[i S

IvS

ZMe/f ybi/ Meef

|j» SCHOOL OF

on the big animal's timidity, who stood
before him blocking the way, and whom he

'yi4a 'Beor ^^^'^ stopjjcd with his Hooxviiff ! before he

should get t(X) near? That was his ques-
tion, plainly enough. There was no snarl or
growl, no savageness in hir> expression ; (Mily
intense wonder and ciuestioning in the look
which fastened \v^w\ my face anr' seemed to
bore ^ way through, to find out just what I
was thinking.

I met his eyes sc|uarely with mine and
held them, which was perhaps the most sensi-
ble thing I could have done; though it was
all unconscious on my |)art. In the brief
moment that followed I did a lot of thinking.
There was no escape, up or down ; I must
go on or turn back. If I jumped forward
with a yell, as I had done before under differ-
ent circumstances, would he not rush at me
savagely, as all wild creatures do when cor-
nered? No, the time for that had passed
with the fir>t instant of our meeting. The
bluff would now be too apparent; it must be
done without hesitation, or not at all. If I

THE WOODS H

turned back, he would follow me to the end
of the led<re, growing bolder as he came
on; and beyond that it was dangerous
walking, where he had all the advantage
and all the knowledge of his grovuid.
besides, it was late, and I wanted a salmon
for my supper.

I have wondered since how much of this
hesitation he understood; and how he came
to the conclusion, which he certainly reached,
that I meant him no harm, but only wanted
to get on and was not disi)osed to give him
the path. All the while I looked at him
steadily, until his eyes began to lose their
intentness. My hand slipped back and
gripped the handle of my hu:.ting knife.
Some slight confidence came with the
motion; though I would certainly have gone
over the cliff and taken mv chances in the
current, rather than have closed with him,
with all his enormous strength, in that nar-
row place. Suddenly his eyes wavered from
mine; he swung his head to look
down and up; and I knew that I

'59

YouMeef
aTBear

9 SCHOOL OF

1 60

had won the first move — and the path also,
xjz \y *^ ^ if I could kcei) inv nerve.

\^^^0 'Beor ^ advanced a step or two very ''luietly, still
looking at him steadily. There vas a sug-
gestion of white teeth under his wrinkled
chops; but he turned his head to look hack
over the way he had come, and presently h('
disappeared. It was only for a moment;
then his nose and eyes were poked cau-
tiously by the corner of rock. He was peek-
ing to see if I were still there. When the
nose vanished again I stole forward to the
turn and found him just ahead, l(K)king down
the cliff to see if there were any other way
below.

He was uneasy now ; a low, whining growl
came floating up the path. Then I sat down
on a rock, squarely in the path, and for the
first time some faint suggestion of the humor
of the situation gave me a bit of consolation.
I l^egan to talk to him, not humorously, but as
if he were a Scotchman and open only to argu-
ment. " You 're in a fix, Moowecn, a terrible
fix," I kept saying to him softly; "but if you

THE WOODS B

had only stayed at home till twilight, as a bear

ought to do, wo should be happy now, both

of us. Vou have pur nie in a fix, tcx), you

see; and now you've just got to get me out

of it. I'm not going back. I don't know

the path as well as you do. Besides, it will

be dark soon, and I should probably break

my neck. It's a shame, Mooween, to put

any gentleman in such a fix as I am in this

minute, just by your blundering carelessness.

Why didn't you smell me, anvwav, as any

but a f(«)l bear would have done, and take

some other path o\er the mountain. =* Why

don't you climb that spruce now and get out

of the w a\- ? "

I have noticed that all wild animals grow
uneasy at the sound of the human voice,
speaking however quietly. There is in it
something deep, unknown, mysterious be-
y(md all their jjowe; of comprehension; and
they go away from it (piickly when they can.
I have a theory also that all animals, wild
and domestic, understand more of our men-
tal attitude than we give them credit for; and

i6i

Zi^n YouMeef

_ -i. i^.^-

9 SCHOOL OF

j^^ the theory gains rather tl-.an loses strength

XOhenYou Mcef ^^'^'-■'^'-■^^■'' ' ^'^''^I^ "^ Mooueen on that nar-
• rifa Beor '""^^ P-'^^- I t'^'i see him now, turning,
t\\isting unc-asily. and the half-limid look in
his eyes as they met mine furtively, as if
ashamed; and again the low, troubled whine
comes floating up the j)ath and mingles with
the rush and murmur of iJic salmon i>ool
below.

A bear hates to be outdiHU- (|uite a^ much
as a fox does. If you catch him in a trap,
he never growls nor tights nor loi^ts, as
lynx and otter and almost all oiIk r wild
creature> do. Ik- has outwitted vou and
shown hi'^ '^uix'rioritv so ofti'ii that he i>
utterly- overwhelmed and (rushed uhenyu
find him, at Lv-t. helpless and outdone, i le
seems to forget all his great strength, all
his frightful power of teeth and claws. He
just lays hi,> heafl down between hl^ paws,
turn> hi> eye> a>ide, and refuses to look at
yo' or to let you see how ashamed he is.
That is what \(.u are chiefly conscious of,
nine times out of ten, when you fmd a bear

..^"

^•^-v... , 7^^

THE WOODS

or a fox huld fast in your trap; and somo-

I o '^
thing of that was certainly in Moowccn's ^

look and actions now, as I sat there in h
j)ath enjoying his confusion.

Near him a spruce tree sprang out of the
rocks and reached uj)ward to a ledge far
above. Slowly he raised himself against this,
hut turned to look at me again sitting c|uietly
in his own path — that he could no longer con-
sider his — and smiling at his discomfiture as
I remember how ashamed he is to be outdone.
Then an electric shock seemed to hoist him
out of the trail. He shot up the tree in a
su(ce>si()n of nervous, jerky jumps, rising
with astonishing sjK'ed for so huge a creature,
snia^!iing the little branches, ripping the rough
bark with his great claws, sending down a
clattering slunver of chips and dust behind
him. till he reached the level of the ledge above
p'ld sprang out upon it ; wlicre he stopped and
looked down to set' what I would do next. And
there he stayed, his great head hanging over
the edge of tlu' rock, looking at me intently
till I rose and wer.: quietly down the trail.

"Bear

i64 ^^ '^'^"^ ni()rnin«r when I came back to the

XOhenVou Meef •'''^''"'*'' I""''- ^^''^I'l^^-' t'n' mossy forest floor,
\y-ifo3eor t'l*-' '"''ii<l r')ck bore no sij^ns to tell me —
what I was most curious to know — whether
he came doun the tree or found some other
way over the mountain. At the point where
I had stood when his deej) Hoimniff ! first
startled ivie I left a big salmon, for a taste
of which any bear will go far out of his
way. Next morning it was gone; and so
it may be that Mooween, on his next jour-
ney, found another and a pleasanter surprise
awaiting him at the turn of the trail.

-^W

.65

.OMK'riMKS. at ni^^ht. as you drift
alou^ the y^horc in your caiuK*. sifting
the night rounds and smells of the wilderness, '
when all harsher cries are hushed and the
silence grows tense and nuisiral, like a great
stretched chord over whi( h the w ind is thrum-
ming low suggestive melodies, a sudden rush
and fla|)i)ing in the grasses Ix side you breaks
noisily into the gamut of lialf-heard primary
tones and rising, vanishing harmonics. Then,
as you listen, and before the silence has again
stretched the chords of her Molian harp tight
enough for the wind's fingers, another sound,
a cry, comes floating down from the air —
Qnoskli? quoslch-quoskh? a wild, cpiestioning

call, as if the startled night were asking who

167

fel

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Ou€>sk/i
Keen Eyed \

^ SCHOOL OF

1 68 ^°" ^'^^' ^^ ^^ °"^y ''^ ^'"^' lieron, wakened
out of his sleep on the shore by your noisy
'^ approach, that you thought was still as the
night itself. He circles over your head for
a moment, seeing you perfectly, though you
catch never a shadow of his broad wings;
then he vanishes into the vast, dark silence,
crying Qtioskh? qiwskh? as he goes. And
the cry, with its strange, wild interrogation
vanishing away into the outer darkness, has
given him his most fascinating Indian name,
Quoskh the Night's Question.

To many, indeed, even to some Indians,
he has no other name and no definite pres-
ence. He rarely utters the cry by day

his voice then is a harsh croak — and you
never see him as he utters it out of the
solemn upper darkness ; so that there is often
a mystery about this voice of the night, which
one never thinks of associating with the
quiet, patient, long-legged fisherman that one
may sec any summer day along the borders
of lonely lake or stream. A score of times
I have been asked by old campers, "What

THE WOODS 9

is that?" as a sharp, questioning Quoskh-
quoskh? seemed to tumble clown into the
sleeping lake. Yet they knew the great blue
heron perfectly — or thought they did.

Quoskh has other names, however, which
describe his attributes and doings. Some-
times, when fishing alongshore with my
Indian at the paddle, the canoe would push
its nose silently around a point, and I would
see the heron's heavy slanting flight, already
halfway up to the tree-tops, long before our
coming had been suspected by the watchful
little mother sheldrake, or even by the deer
feeding close at hand among the lily pads.
Then Simmo, who could never surprise one
of the great birds, however silently he pad-
dled, would mutter something which sounded
like Quoskh K'sobeqh, Quoskh the Keen
Eyed. At other times, when we noticed him
spearing frogs with his long bill, Simmo,
who could not endure the sight of a frog's
leg on my fry pan, would speak of him dis-
dainfully in his own musical language as
Quoskh the Frog Eater, for m)

169

Quoskh ffie
"^ ^eenEy^ed

V i

170

9 SCHOOL OF

especial benefit. Again, if I stopped casting

n Irh'^/f. ^""^^^^'"'y ^'^ the deep trout pool opposite a

Keenfyidi^ ^^'^^''^^ ''''°'''-^' ^"^ ^"^'"'^ '^'t'' "^X eyes a tall,
gray-blue shadow on stilts moving dimly

alongshore in seven-league-boot strides for

the next bog, where frogs were plenty, Simmo

would point with his paddle and say: "See,

or Fader Longlcgs go catch-um more frogs

for his babies. Funny kin' babies dat, eat-um

bullfrog; don' chu tink so.? "

Of all his names — and there were many

more that I picked up irom watching him in

a summer's outing— "Old Father Longlegs"

seemed always the most appropriate. There

is a suggestion of hoary antiquity about this

solemn wader of our lakes and streams.

Indeed, of all birds he is the nearest to those

ancient, uncouth monsters which Nature

made to people our earth in its uncouth

infancy. Other herons and bitterns have

grown smaller and more graceful, with shorter

legs and necks, to suit our diminishing rivers

and our changed landscape. Quoskh is also,

undoubtedly, much smaller than he once

V w

- 3

Pi!}

1 i :'

THE WOODS «

was; but still his legs and neck are dispro-
portionately long, when one thinks of the
waters he wades and the nest he builds
and the tracks he leaves in the mud are
startlingly like those fossili/xxl footprints of
giant birds that one finds in the rocks of the
Pliocene era, deep under the earth's surface,
to tell what sf^rt of creatures lived in the
vast solitudes before man came to replenish
the earth and subdue it.

Closely associated with this suggestion of
antiquity in Quoskh's demeanor is the oppo-
site suggestion of perpetual youth which he
carries with him. Agui has no apparent effect
on him whatsoever. He is as old and young
as the earth itself is ; he is a March day, with
winter and spring in its sunset and sunrise.
Who ever saw a blue heron with his jewel
eye dimmed or his natural force abated? Who
ever caught one sleeping, or saw him totter- '
ing weakly on his long legs, as one so often
sees our common wild birds clinging feebly
to a branch with their last grip.? A Cape
Cod sailor once told me that, far out from

171
Qtioskh ffte

Quoskh
Keen Eyed

«i SCHOOL OF

land, his schooner had passed a blue heron
lying dead on the sea with outstretched wings.
That is the only heron that I have ever
heard of who was found without all his wits
about him. Possibly, if Quoskh ever dies,
it may suggest a solution to the qu^ .tion of
what becomes of him. With his last strength
he may fly boldly out to explore that great
ocean mystery, along the borders of which
his .ancestors for untold centr-ies lived and
moved, back and forth, back and forth, on
their endless, unnecessary migrations, rest-
less, unsatisfied, wandering, as if the voice of

the sea were calling them whither

-. they dared not follow.

Just behind my tent on the big lake, one
sunnncr, a faint, woodsy little trail wandered
away into the woods, with endless turnings
and twistings, and without the faintest

.rmm^

THE WOODS S

indication anywhere, till you reached the very
end, whither it intended going. This little
trail was always full of interesting surprises.
Red squirrels peeked down at you over the
edge of a limb, chattering volubly and get-
ting into endless mischief along its borders.
Moose birds flitted silently over it on their
mysterious errands. Now a jumping, smash-
ing, crackling rush through the underbrush
halts you suddenly, v.ith quick beating heart,
as you climb over one of the many windfalls
across your path. A white flag followed by
another little one, flashing, rising, sinking
and rising again over the fallen timber, tells
you that a doe and her fawn were lying
behind the windfall, all unconscious of your
quiet approach. Again, at a turn of the trail,
something dark, gray, massive looms before
you, blocking the faint path ; and as you stop
short and shrink behind the nearest tree, a
huge head and antlers swing toward you, with
widespread nostrils and keen, dilating eyes,
and ears like two trumpets pointing straight
at your head — a bull moose, s/i/

Qjuoskh ffie

it:mm-m:. ^

Quoskh
Keen Eyed

'-a-

•:ii.,'

.<-7(

For a long two minutes he stands ihere
motionless, watching the new creature that
he has never seen before ; and it will be well
for* you to keep perfectly quiet and let him
surrender the path when he is so disposed.
Motion on your part may bring him nearer
to investigate; and you can never know at
what slight jirovocation the red danger ht
will bla/x' into his eyes. At last he .ves
away, quietly at first, turning often to look
and to make trumpets of his ears at you.
Then he hys his great antlers back on his
shoulders, sticks his nose far up ahead of
him, and with long, smooth strides' lunges
av.-ay over the windfalls and is gone.

So every day the little trail had some
new surprise for you, — owl, or hare, or
prickly porcupine rattling his quills like a
quiver of arrows and proclaiming his Indian
name, Unk-wunk! ^//Z'-ww;/)^'/ as he loafed
along. When you had followed far, and
were sure that the loitering trail had cer-
tainly lost itself, it crept at last under a dark
hemlock; and there, through an oval frame

THE WOODS »

of rustling, whispering green, was the loneli-
est, loveliest little deer-haunted Ijeaver pond
in the world, where Quoskh li\cd with his
mate and his little ones.

The first time I came down the trail
and peeked through the oval frame of bushes,
I saw him ; and the very first glimpse made
me jump at the thought of what a v/onderful
discovery I had made, namely, that little
herons play with dolls, as children do. But
I was mistaken. Quoskh had been catching
frogs and hiding them, one by one, as I came
along. He heard me before I knew he was
there, and jumped for his last frog, a big fat
one, with which he slanted up her 'ily on broad
vans — with a hump on his back and a crook
in hip. neck and his long legs trailing below
and behind — towards his nest in the hem-
lock -^ the beaver pond. When I saw
him , he was just crossing the oval
frarrte inruugh which I looked. He had
gripped the frog across the middle in his
long beak, much as one would hold it with
a pair of blunt shears, swelling it out at either

175
Quoskh ffte

wmmim

wmmmm

Ouoskh
Keen Eyed ^

9 SCHOOL OF

side, like a string tied tight about a pillow,
riic head and slioit ai ms were forced up at
one side, the limp legs dangled down on the
other, looking for all the world like a stuffed
rag doll that Quoskh was carrying home for
his babies to play with.

Undoubtedly they liked the frog much
better; but my curious thought about them,
in that brief romantic instant, gave me an
interest in the little fellows which was not
satisfied till I climbed to the nest, long after-
wards, and saw them, and how they lived.
When I took to studying >^uoskh,
so as to know iiim more intimately, I
i found a fascinating subject; not simply
'' because of his queer ways, but also
because of his extreme wariness and the
diflficulties I met in catching him doing
things. Quoskh K'sobeqh was the name
that at first seemed most appropriate, till
I had learned his habits and how best to
get the weather of him — which happened
only two or three times in the course of
a whole summer.

THE WOODS «

One morning I went early to the beaver

pond and sat down against a gray stump ^ ^.. ^^
on the shore, with berry bushes growing to ^(l^een ^ed

my shoulders all about me. " Now I shall "^ '

keep still and see everything that comes," I
thought, " and nothing, not even a blue jay,
will see me."

That wa^ almost true. Little birds, that
had never ^een a man in the woods before,
came for the berries, and billed them off
within six feet of my face before they noticed
anything unusual. When they did see me
they would turn their heads so as to look at
me, first with one eye, then with the other,
a id shoot up at last, with a sharp burr! of
their tiny wings, to a branch over my head.
There they would watch me keenly, for a
wink or a minute, according to their curi-
osity, then swoop down and whirr their wings
loudly in my face, so as to make me move
and show what I was.

Across a little arm of the pond, a stone's
throw away, a fine buck came to the water,
put his muzzle into it, then began to fidget

Quoskh
Keen Eyed \

^ SCHOOL OF

uneasily. Some vague, subtle flavor of me
floated across and made him uneasy, though
he knew not what I was. He kept tonguing
his nostrils, as a cow does, so as to moisten
them and catch the scent of me better.
On my right, and nearer, a doe was feed-
ing unconcernedly among the lily pads. A
mink ran, hoj)ping and halting, along the
shore at my feet, dodging in and out among
roots and rocks. Cheokhcs always runs that -
way. He knows how glistening black his
coat is, how shining a mark he makes for
owl and hawk against the sandy shore ; and
so he never runs more than five feet without
dodging out of sight; and he always pre-
fers the roots and rocks that are blackest to
travel on.

A kingfisher dropped with his musical
k'plop! into the shoal of minnows that were
rippling the water in their play, just in front
of me. Farther out, a fishhawk can e down
heavily, sotise! and rose with a big chub.
And none of these sharp-eyed wood folk saw
me or knew that they were watched. Then

THE WOODS ^

a wide, wavy, blue line, like a •^xv-xt <" ipjd's
bow, came gliding swiftly along the opposite
bank of green, iiid Quoskh hove into sight
for his morning's fishing.

Opposite me, just where the buck had
stood, he folded his great wings; hi^ neck
crooked sharply; his long legs, which had
been trailed graccially, straight out behind
him in his swift flight, swung under him like
two pendulums as he landed lightly on the
muddy shore. He knew his ground perfectly ;
knew every stream and frog-haunted bay in
the pond, as one knows his own village;
yet no amount of familiarity with his sur-
roundings can ever sing lullaby to Quoskh's
watchfulness. The instant he landed he
drew himself up straight, standing almost as
tall as a man, and let his keen glance run
along ever)' shore just once. His head, w'ih
its bright yellow eye and long yellow beak
glistening in the morning light, . ered ai. i
swung over his long neck like a gilded •
weather-vane on a steeple. As the vane
swung up the shore toward me I held my

170

duoskh ihe
^^^een Eyed

Quoskh
Keen Eyed \

^ SCHOOL OF

breath, so as to be perfectly motionless,
thinking I was hidden so well that no eye
could find me at that distance. As it swung
past me slowly I chuckled, thinking that
Quoskh was deceived. I forgot altogether
that a bird never sees straight ahead. When
his bill had moved some thirty degrees off
my nose, just enough so as to bring his left
eye to bear, it stopped swinging instantly.
He had seen me at the first glance, and
knew that I did not belong there. For a
long moment, while his keen eye seemed to
look through and through me, he never
moved a muscle. One could easily have
passed over him, thinking him only one of
the gray, wave-washed roots on the shore.
Then he humped himself together, in that
indescribably awkward way that all herons
have at the beginning of their flight, slanted
heavily up to the highest tree on the shore,
and stopped for a longer period on a dead
branch to look back at me. I had not moved
so much as an eyelid ; nevertheless he saw me
too plainly to trust me. Again he humped

THE WOODS n

himself, rose high over the tree-tops, and bore
away in strong, even, graceful flight for a
loneHer lake, where there was no man to
watch or bother him.

Far from disappointing me, this keenness
of Quoskh only whetted my appetite to know
more about him, and especially to watch
him, close at hand, at his fishing. Near the
head of the little bay, where frogs were plenty,
I built a screen of boughs under the low
thick branches of a spruce tree, and went
away to watch other wood folk.

Next morning he did not come back ; nor
were there any fresh tracks of his on the
shore. This was my first intimation that
Quoskh knows well the rule of good fisher-
men, and does not harry a pool or a place \
too frequently, however good the fishing
The third morning he came back; and again I, ''''^
the sixth evening; and then the ninth morn-
ing, alternating with great regularity as long
as I kept tabs on him. At other times I
would stumble upon him, far afield, fish-
ing in other lakes and streams; or see him

i8i

Quoskh
Keen

/^e
Eyed

Quoskh
Keen£yed\

^ SCHOOL OF

winging homeward, high over the woods, from
waters far beyond my ken ; but these appear-
ances were too irregular to count in a theory.
I have no doubt, however, that he fished the
near-by waters with as great regularity as he
fished the l)eaver pond, and went wider afield
only when he wanted a bit of variety, or
bigger frogs, as all fishermen do; or when he
had poor luck in satisfying the clamorous
appetite of his growing brood.

It was on the sixth afternoon that I had
the best chance of studying his queer ways
of fishing. I was sitting in my little blind at
the beaver pond, waiting for a deer, when
Quoskh came striding along the shore. He
would swing his weather-vane head till he
saw a frog ahead, then stalk him slowly,
deliberately, with immense caution; as if he
knew as well as I how watchful the frogs are
at his approach, and how quickly they dive
headlong for cover at the first glint of his
stilt-like legs. Nearer and nearer he would
glide, standing motionless as a gray root
when he thought his game was watching

-•\i('

THE WOODS «

him ; then on again more cautiously, bending
far forward and drawing his neck back to
the angle of greatest speed and power for a
blow. A quick start, a thrust like lightning
— then you would see him shake his fmg
savagely, beat it upon the nearest stone or
root, glide to ii tuft of grass, hide his catch
cunningly, and go on unincumbered for the
next stalk, his weather-vane swinging, swing-
ing in the ceaseless search for frogs, or pos-
sible enemies.

If the swirl of a fish among the sedges
caught his keen eye, he would change his
tactics, letting his game come to him instead
of sialking it, as he did with the frogs.
Whatever his position was, both feet down
or one foot raised for a stride, when the fish
appeared, he never changed it, knowing well
that motion would only send his game hur-
riedly into deeper water. He would stand,
sometimes for a half hour, on one leg, letting
his head sink slowly down on his shoulders,
his neck curled back, his long sharp bill
pointing always straight at the quivering

183

Qiioskh Me
J(een Eyeef

neenfyed

^ SCHOOL OF

184 ^'"^ ^vhich marked the playing fish, his eyes
half closed till the right moment came. Then
you would see his long neck shoot down,
hear the splash and, later, the whack of his
catch against the nearest root, to kill it; and
watch with curious feelings of sympathy as
he hid it in the grass and covered it over,
lest Hawahak should see, or Cheokhes smell
it, and rob him while he fished.

If he were near his last catch, he would
stride back and hide the two together; if not,
he covered it over in ; c nearest good place
and went on. No danger of his ever forget-
ting, however numerous the catch ! Whether
he counts his frogs and fish, or simply remem-
bers the different hirV g places, I have no
means of knowing.

Sometimes, when I surprised him on a
muddy shore and he flew away without
taking even one of his tidbits, I would follow
his back track and uncover his hiding places
to see what he had caught. Frogs, fish,
pollywogs, mussels, a baby muskrat, — they
were all there, each hidden cunningly under

THE WOODS «

a bit of dried grass and mud. And cnce I
went away and hid on the opposite shore to
see if he would come back. After an hour
or more he appeared, looking first at mv
tracks, then at all the shore with greater
keenness than usual; then he went straight
to three different hiding places that I had
found, and two more thit I had not seen,
and flew away to his nest, a fringe of frogs
and fish hanging at either side of his long
bill as he went.

He had arrr.nged them on the ground like
the spokes of a wheel, as a fox does, heads
all out on either side, and one leg or the
tail of each crossed in a common pile in
the middle; so that he could bite down over
the crossed members and carry the greatest
number of little frogs and fish with the least
likelihood of dropping any in his flight.

The mussels which he found were invari-
ably, I think, eaten as his own particular tid-
bits; for I never saw him attempt lO carry
them away, though once I found two or three
where he had hidden them. Generally he

i«5

Q/joskh ffte
*" ^een Eyed

^ SCHOOL OF

Qu€>skh
Keen Eyed

could crack their shells easily by blows of
his powerful beak, or by whacking them
against a root ; and so he had no need (and
probably no knowledge) of the trick, which
evci-y gull knows, of mounting up to a height
with some obstinate hardshell and dropping
it on a rock to crack it.

If Quoskh were fishing for his own din-
ner, instead of for his hungry nestlings, he
adopted different tactics. For them he was a
hunter, sly, silent, crafty, stalking his game by
approved still-hunting methods; for himself
he was the true fisherman, quiet, observant,
endlessly patient. He seemed to know that
for himself he could afford to take his time
and be comfortable, knowing that all things,
especially fish, come to liim who waits long
enough ; while for them he must hurry, else
their croakings from too long fasting would
surely bring hungry, unwelcome prowlers to
the big i:est in the hemlock.

Once I saw him fishing in a peculiar way,
which reminded me instantly of the chum-
ming process with which every mackerel

THE WOODS »

fisherman on the coast is familiar. He
caught a pollywog for bait, with which he
waded to a deep, cool placo under a shady
bank. There he whacked his pollywog into
small bits and tossed them into the water,
where the chum speedily brought a shoal of
little fish to f(;ed. Quoskh meanwhile stood
■n the shadow, where he would not be noticed,
knee-deep in water, his head drawn down
into his shoulders, and a friendly leafy branch
bending over him to screen him from prying
eyes. As a fish swam up to his chum he
would spear it like lightning; throw his head
back and wriggle it head-first down his long
neck ; then settle down to watch for the next
one. And there he stayed, alternately watch-
ing and feasting, till he had enough ; when he
drew his head farther down into his shoulders,
shut his eyes, and went fast asleep in the
cool shadows, — a perfect picture of fishing
indolence and satisfaction.

When I went to the nest and hid myself 'if^'i
in the underbrush to watch day after day,
I learned more of Quoskh 's fishing

187

Quoskh ^e
Meen £yetf

W SCHOOL OF

Quoskh
HeenEyed

and hunting. The nest was in a great ever-
green, in a gloomy swamp, — a villainous place
of bogs and treacherous footing, with here
and there a little island of large trees. On
one of these islands a small colony of herons
were nesting. During the day they trailed
far afield, scattering widely, each pair to its
own particular fishing grounds; but when
the shadows grew long, and night prowlers
stirred abroad, the herons came trailing back
again, making curious, wavy, graceful lines
athwart the sunset glow, to croak and be
-^ sociable together, and help each
^^V other watch the long night out.
Quoskh the Watchful — I
'■■ could tell my great bird's mate
by sight or hearing from all
others, either by her greater size or a pecu-
liar double croak she had — had hidden her
nest in the top of ? great green hemlock.
Near by, in the high crotch of a dead tree, was
another nest, which she had built, evidently,
years before and added to each successive
spring, only to abandon it at last for the

THE WOODS 9

evergreen. Both birds used to go to the old
nest freely; and I have wondered since if it
were not a bit of great shrewdness on their
part to leave it there in plain sight, where
any prowler might see and climb to it; while
the young were securely hidden, meanwhile,
in the top of the near-by hemlock, where they
could see without being seen. Only at a
distance could you find the nest. When
under the hemlock, the mass of branches
screened it perfectly, and your attention was
wholly taken by the other nest, standing out
in bold relief in the dead tree-top.

Such wisdom, if wisdom it were and not
chance, is gained only by experience. It
took at least one brood of young herons,
sacrificed to the appetite of lucivee or
fisher, to teach Quoskh the advantage of
that decoy nest to tempt hungry prowlers
upon the bare tree bole, where she could
have a clear field to spear them with her
powerful bill and beat them dow^n with her
great wings before they should discover
their mistakv'^.

189

Quoskh Jfte
^^^een Eyed

S" SCHOOL OF

190

Quoskh
neenJSyed

Hy watching the birds through my glass
as they came to the young, I could generally
tell what kind of game was afoot for their
following. Once a long snake hung from
the mother bird's bill; once it was a bird
of some kind ; twice she brought small ani-
mals, whose species I could not make out in
the brief moment of alighting on the nest's
edge, — all these besides the regular fare of
fish and frogs, of which I took no account.
And then, one day while I lay in my hiding,
I saw the mother heron slide swiftly down
from the nest, make a sharp wheel over the
lake, and plunge into the fringe of berry
bushes on the shore after some animal that
her keen eyes had caught moving. There
was a swift rustling in the bushes, a blow of
her wing to head off a runaway, two or three
lightning ihrusts of her jave'' beak; then
she rose heavily, taking a leveret with her;
and I saw her pulling it to pieces awkwardly
on the nest to feed her hungry little ones.

^ was partly to see these little herons, the
thought of which had fascinated me ever

'."T;^'.

THE WOODS W

since I had seen Quoski, taking home what
I th(ni;rht, at first glance, was a rag doll for
them lo play with, and partly to find out
more of Qiuskh's hunting habits by seeing
what he brought home, that led me at last to
undertake the difficult task of climbing the
huge tree to the nest. One day, when the
mother had brought home some unknown
small animal — a mink, I thought — I came
suddenly out of my hiding and crossed over
to the nest. It had always fascinated me.
Under it, at twilight, I had heard the mother
heron croaking softly to her little ones — a

husky lullaby, but sweet enough to them

and then, as I paddled away, I would see the
nest dark against the sunset, with Mother
Quoskh standing over it, a tall, graceful
silhouette against the glory of twilight,
keeping sentinel watch over her little ones.
Now I would solve the mystery of the high
nest by looking into it.

The mother, alarmed by my sudden appear-
ance,— she had no idea that she had been
watched, — shot silently away, hoping I would

191

Que>skh
neenEyed\

W SCHOOL OF

not notice her home through the dense screen
of branches. I cHnibed up with difficuhy;
hut not till I was within ten feet could I
make out the mass of sticks above me. The
surroundings were getting filthy and evil-
smelling by this time; for Quoskh teaches
the young herons to keep their nest j^erfectly
clean by throwing all refuse over the sides
of the great home. A dozen times I had
watched the mother birds of the colony push
their little ones to the edge of the nest to
teach them this rule of cleanliness, so differ-
ent from most other birds.

As I hesitated about pushing through the
filth-laden branches, something bright on the
edge of the nest caught my attention. It
was a young heron's eye, looking down at
mc over a long bill, watching my approach
with a keenness that was but thinly dis-
guised by the half-drawn eyelids. I had to
go round the tree at this point for a standing
on a larger branch ; and when I looked up,
there was another eye watching down over
another long bill. So, however I turned.

W^P^WSBt^^

THE WOODS »

they watched me closely getting nearer and
nearer, till I reached up my hand to touch
the ne:st. Then there was a harsh croak.
Three long necks reached doun suddenly
over the edge of the nest on the side where I
was ; three long bills ooened wide just over my
^d ; and three young herons grew suddenly
seasick, as if they had swallowed ipecac.

I never saw the inside of that home. At the
moment I was in too much of a hurry to get
down and wash in the lake; and after that, so
large were the )oung birds, so keen and power-
ful the beaks, that no man or beast might
expect to look over the edge of the nest, with
hands or paws engaged in holding on, and
keep his eyes for a single instant. It is more
dangerous to climb for young herons than for
young eagles. A heron always strikes for the
eye, and his blow means blindness, or death,
unless you watch like a cat and ward it off. '
When I saw the young again they ' ^^'f'A
H-ere taking their ^^W
fi'^t lessons. A "'^i^^l'
dismal croaking

•^3

duoakh Jft^
^^Xeen Eyed

h-.-.

194

€lu€>skh
Keen Eyed \

in the tree-tops attracted me and I came
over cautiously to see what my herons were
doing. The young were standing up on the
iMg nest, stretching necks and wings, and
croaking hungrily; while the mother stood
on a tree-top some distance away, showing
them food and telling them plainly, in heron
language, to come and get it. They tried it
after much coaxing and croaking; but their
long, awkward toes missed their hold upon
the slender branch on which she was balan-
cing delicately — just as she expected it to
hajjpen. As they fell, flapping lustily, she
shot down ahead of them and led them in a
long, curving slant to an open spot on the
shore. There she fed them with the morsels
she held in her beak ; brought more food from
a tuft of grass where she had hidden it, near
at haiKl ; praised them with gurgling croaks
till they felt some confidence on their awkward
legs; then the whole family started up the
shore on their first frogging expedition.
^ It was i'^tensely interesting for a man who,
p, as a small boy, had often gone a-frogging

^'4

THE WOODS ®

himself — to catch big ones for a woodsy
corn roast, or little ones for pickerel bait —
to sit now on a bog and watch the little
herons try their luck. Mother Quoskh went
ahead cautiously, searching the lily pads; the
young trailed behind her awkwardly, lifting
their feet like a Shanghai roosccr and setting
them down with a sj^lash to scare every frog
within hearing, exactly where the mother's
foot had rested a moment before. So they
went on, the mother's head swinging like a
weather-vane to look far ahead, the little
ones stretching their necks so as to peek by
her on either side, full of wonder at the new
world, full of hunger for the things that grew
there, till a startled young frog said K'hing!
from behind a lily bud, where they did not
see him, and dove headlong into the mud,
leaving a long, crinkly, brown trail to tell
exactly how far he had gone.

A frog is like an ostrich. When he sees
nothing, because his head is hidden, he thinks
nothing can see him. At the sudden alarm
Mother Quoskh would stretch her neck,

195

Qjjosk/t ffte
J^een Eyetf

Quoskh
Keen Eyed \

^ SCHOOL OF

jgg watching the frog's flight; then turn her
head so that her long bill pointed directly
at the bump on the smooth muddy bottom,
which marked the hiding place of Chig-
wooltz, and croak softly once. At the sound
one of the young herons would hurry for-
ward eagerly; follow his mother's bill, which
remained motionless, pointing all the while;
twist hi;; head till he saw the frog's back in
the mud, and then lunge af it like lightning.
Generally he got his frog, and through your
glass you would see the unfortunate
creature wriggling and kicking
his way into Quoskh's yellow
. beak. If the lunge missed,
the nuither's keen eye followed
the frog's frantic rush
through the mud, with a longer
'V^- . trail this time behind him, till
he hid again; whereupon she
croaked the same youngster up for another
try, and then the whole family moved
jerkily along, like a row of boys on stilts,
to the next clump of lily pads.

THE WOODS ©

As the young grew older, and stronger on
their legs, I noticed the rudiments, at least,
of a curious habit of dancing, which seems
to belong to most of our long-legged wading
birds. Sometimes, sitting quietly in my canoe,
I would see the young birds sail down in
a long slant to the shore. Immediately on
alighting, before they gave any thought to
frogs or fish or carnal appetite, they would
hop rp and down, balancing, swaying, spread-
ing their wings, and hopping again round
aliout each other, as if bewitched. A few-
moments of this crazy performance, and then
they would stalk sedately along the shore, as
if ashamed of their ungainly levity ; but at
any moment the ecst.isy might seize them
and they would hop again, as if they simply
could not help it. This occurred generally
towards evening, when the birds had fc<;
full and were ready for play or for stretch-
ing their broad wings in preparation for
the long autumn flight.

Watching them one evening, I remembered
suddenly a curious scene that I had stumbled

197
^^Keen Eyed

Quosk/i
Keen Eyed,

^ SCHOOL OF

upon when a boy. I had seen a great blue
heron sail croaking, croaking, into an arm of
the big pond where I was catching bullpouts,
and crept down through dense woods to find
out what he was croaking about. Instead of
one, I found eight or ten of the great birds
on an open shore, hopping ecstatically through,
some kind of a crazy dance. A twig snapped
as I crept nearer, and they scattered in instant
flight. It was September, and the instinct
to flock and to migrate was at work among
them. When they came together for the
first time some dim old remembrance of
generations long gone by — the shreds of an
ancient instinct, whose meaning we can only
guess at — had set them to dancing wildly;
though I doubted at the time whether they
understood much what they were doing.

Perhaps I was wrong in this. Watching
the young birds at their ungainly hopping,
the impulse to dance seemed uncontrollable ;
yet they were immensely dignified about it
at times; and again they appeared to get
some fun out of it -as much, perhaps, as

THE WOODS

we do out of some of our peculiar dances, of
which a visiting Chinaman once asked inno-
cently : " Why don't you let your servants do
it for you ? "

I have seen little green herons do the same
thing in the woods, at mating time ; and once,
in the Zoological Gardens at Antwerp, I saw
a magnificent hopping performance by some
giant cranes from Africa. Our own sand-hill
and whooping cranes are notorious dancers;
and undoubtedly it is more or less instinctive
with all the tribes of the Hcrodioncs, from the
least to the greatest. But what the instinct
means — unless, like our own dancing, it is
a pure bit of pleasure-making, as crows play
games and loons swim races — nobody can
tell.

Before the )oung were fully grown, and
while yet they were following the mother to
learn the ways of frogging and fishing, a
startling thing occurred, which made me

199

Qtioskh ifte
^een Eyed

I 'f-

9 SCHOOL OF

200 ^^^'"^ afterwards look up to Quoskh with
~^ honest admiration. I w ^ still-fishing in the

K^fy^d^ "'^"^'^'"^ ^^ ^"^ ^''^' '''^^^'' o"^' '-'^te afternoon,
LSx ^^.|^^,,^ Quoskh and her little ones sailed over

the trees from the beaver jion-l and lit on a

grassy shore. A shallow little brook stole

into the lake there, and Mother Quoskh left

her young to frog for themselves, while she

went fishing up the brook under the alders.

I was watching the young herons through

my glass when I saw a sudden rush in the

tall grass near them. All three humped

themselves, heron fashion, on the instant.

Two got away safely; the other had barely

spread his wings when a black animal leaped

out of the grass for his neck and pulled him

down flapping and croaking desperately.

I pulled up my killick on the instant and

paddled over to see what was

/ going on, and what the creature

,/ was that had leaped out of the

>I ^ L# grass. Before my pad-

IfllP^ , die had swung a dozen

> ' ' [* strokes I saw the alders

■V_>'

THE WOODS «?

by the brook open swiftly, and Mother Quoskh
sailed out and drove like an arrow straight at
the struggling wing tips, which still flapped
spasmodically above the grass. Almost before
her feet had dropped to a solid landing she
struck two fierce, blinding, downward blows of
her great wings. Her neck curved back and
shot straight out, driving the keen six-inch
bill before it, quicker than ever a Roman arm
drove its javelin. Above the lap-lap of my
canoe I heard a savage cry of pain ; the same
black animal leaped up out of the tangled
grass, snapping for the neck ; and a desperate
battle began, with short gasping croaks and
snarls that made caution unnecessary as I
sped over to see who the robber was, and how
Quoskh was faring in the good fight.

The canoe shot up behind a point, where,
looking over the low bank, I had the arena
directly under my eye. The animal was a
fisher— black-cat the trappers call him— the
most savage and powerful fighter of his size
in the whole world, I think. In the instant
that I first saw him, quicker than thought

20I

Qfiosk/i /j^e
JCeen Ey^ed

/-^

! 1

'.k . ,

ill

il 5

Quoskh
HeenEyed

^ SCHOOL OF

he liad hurled himself twice, like a catapult,
at the towering bird's breast. Each time he
was met by a li^irhtnin^ blow in the face from
Ouoskh's stiffened winjr. His teeth ground
the big cjuills into i)ul]); his claws tore them
into shreds; but he got no grip in the
feathery mass, and he slipped, clawing and
snarling, into the grass, only to spring again
like a flash. Again the stiff wing blow; but

, I , this time his jump was higher;

one claw gripped the shoulder,

, tore its way through flying

feathers to the bone, while his

weight dragged the big bird down.

' Then Quoskh shortened her neck in
'Y ^ great curve. Like a snake it glided

over the edge of her own wing for two

short, sharp down-thrusts of the deadly
javelin — so cpiick that my eye caught only
the double yellow flash of it. With a sharp
screech the black-cat leaped away and whirled
towards me blindly. One eye was gone ; an
angrv red welt showed just over the other,
telling how narrowly the second thrust had

THE WOODS «3

missed its mark, — Quoskh's frame seemed
to swell, like a hero whose fight is won.

A shiver ran over me as I remembered
how nearly I had once come myself to the
black-cat's condition, and from the same keen
weapon, I was a small boy, following a big
good-natured hunter that I met in the woods,
from pure love of the wilds and for the glory
of carrying the game bag. He shot a great
blue heron, which fell with a broken wing
into soft mud and water grass. Carelessly
he sent me to fetch it, not caring to wet
his own feet. As I ran up, the heron lay
resting quietly, his neck drawn back, his long
keen bill pointing always straight at my face,
I had never seen so big a bird before, and
bent over him, wondering at his long bill,
admiring his intensely bright eye.

I did not l-.now then — what I have since
learned well — that you can always tell when
the rush or spring or blow of any beast or
bird — or of any man, for that matter — will
surely come, by watching the eye closely.
There is a fire that blazes in the eye before

203

Qt/osk/} Ae
^^Keen Eyed

u '^i

^ the blow comes, before ever a muscle has
^ — «^ stirred to do the brain's cjuick bidding. As

JK^nfyedt^ ' '""^"^ ^'^*^'' ^''^^'^'"''^ted by the keen, bright
look of the wounded bird, and reached down
my hand, there was a flash deep in the eye,
like the glint of sunshine from a mirror; and
I dodged instinctively. Well for me that I
did so. Something shot by my face like
lightning, opening up a long red gash across
my left temple from eyebrow to ear. As I
jumped I heard a careless laugh — "Look out,
Sonny, he may bite you — Gosh! what a
t close call ! " And with a white, scared face,

as he saw the scar, he dragged me away, as if
there had been a bear in the water grass.

The black-cat had not yet received jnniish-
ment enough. He is one of the largest of
the weasel family, and has a double measure
of the weasel's savageness and tenacity. He
darted about the heron in a (|uick, nervous,
jumping circle,looking for an ojiening behind ;
while Quoskh lifted her great torn wings as
a shield and turned slowly on the defensive,
so as always to face the danger. A dozen

'-A

A DOZEN TIMES THE FISHER JUmPFD
FILI 'NG THE AIR WITH FEATHERS"

^^^

times the fisher jumped, filling the air with
featheis; a dozen times the stiffened wings
struck down to intercept his spring, and
every blow was followed by a swift javelin
thrust. Then, as the fisher crouched snarl-
ing in the grass. I saw Mother Quoskh take
a sudden step forward, her first offensive
move — just as I had seen her twenty times
at the finish of a frog stalk— and her bill
shot down with the whole power of her long
neck behind it. There was a harsh screech
of pain; then the fisher wobbled away with
blind, uncertain jumps towards the shelter of
the woods.

By this time Quoskh had the fight well
in hand. A fierce, hot anger seemed to
flare within her, as her enemy staggered
away, burning out all the previous cool, cal-
culating defense. She started after the fisher,
first on the run, then with heavy wing beats,
till she headed him and with savage blows
of wing and beak drove him back, seeing
nothing, guided only by fear and instinct,
towards the water. For five minutes more

207
Quoskh ffke

U '■

■' ?.

I'i

Quoskh
Keenfyed

^ SCHOOL OF

slic clievied him hitlier and yon through the
trampled <rrass, driving him from water to
bush and back again, jabbing liim at every
turn; till a rustle of leaves invited him, and
he dashed blindly into thick underbrush,
where her broad wings could not follow.
Then with marvelous watchfulness she saw
me standing near in my canoe; and without
a thought, api)arently, for the young heron
lying so still in the grass close beside her,
she spread her torn wings and flapped away
heavily in the jjath of her more fortunate

younglings.

,\ I followed the fisher's trail into the woods
A and found him curled up in a hollow stump.
'^\ .... J^e made slight resistance as I pulled

him out. All his ferocity

was lulled to sleep in the

vague, dreamy numbness

which Nature always sends

to her stricken creatures.

He suffered nothing,

t h o u g li he

was fearfully

THE WOODS ®

wounded; he just wanted to be let alone.
Both eyes were gone. There was nothing
for m to do, except to

>■■ -^^v

)

fin

~ 1 iiiorcni;

'/ what little
-it undone.

209

':^:

When September came, and family
cares were over, the colony be)'ond
the beaver pond scattered widely,
returning each one to the shy, wild,
solitary life that Quoskh likes best.
Almost anywhere, in the loneliest
places, I might come ujDon a solitary
heron stalking frogs, or chumming
little fish, or treading the soft mud
expectantly, like a clam digger, to find
where the mussels were hidden by means
of his long toes; or just standing still to
enjoy the sleepy sunshine till the late after-
noon came, when he likes best to go abroad.

J^*

li 1 1

Quoskh
HeenEycd

They slept no more on the big nest, stand-
ing like sentinels against the twilight glow
'^ and the setting nioon ; but each one picked
out a good spot on the shore and slept as
best he could on one leg, waiting for the
early fishing. It was astonishing how care-
fully even the young birds picked out a safe
position. By day they would stand like
statues in the shade of a bank or among the
tall grasses, where they were almost invisible
by reason of their soft colors, and wait for hours
for fish and frogs to come to them. B^' night
each one picked out a spot on the clean open
shore, off a point, generally, where he
could see up and down, where there
was no grass to hide an enemy, and
where the bushes were far enough away
so that he could hear the slight rustle
of leaves before the creature that made it
was within springing distance. And there
he would sleep safe through the long night,
unless disturbed by my canoe or by some
other prowler. Herons see almost as well
by night as by day ; so I could never get near

II >

^amm.

THE WOODS n

enough to si prise them, however silently
I paddled, i would hear only a startled
rush of wings, and then a questioning call
as they sailed over me before winging away
to quieter beaches.

If I were jacking, with a light bla/.ing
brightly before me in my canoe, to see what
night folk I might surprise on the shore,
Quoskh was the only one for whom my jack
had no fascination. Deer and moose, foxes
and wild ducks, frogs and fish, — all seemed
equally charmed by the great wonder of a
light shining silently out of the vast darkness.
I saw them all, at different times, and glided
almost up to them before timidity drove them
away from the strange bright marvel. But
Quoskh was not to be watched in that way,
nor to be caught by any such trick. I would
see a vague form on the far edge of the light's
pathway; catch the bright flash of either eye
as he swung his weather-vane head; then the
vague form would slide into the upper dark-
ness. A moment's waiting; then, above me
and behind, where the light did not dazzle

21 I

Qf/oskA fhe
^^Keen Eyed

■i:^.'*;>>c-

'f-.v'il'V/ftij

M ^:?m.

Quoskh
Keen Eyed

^ SCHOOL OF

his eyes, I would hear his niglu ery — with
more of anger than of questioning in it —
and as I turned the jack upward I would
catch a single glimpse of his broad wings
sailing over the lake. Nor would he ever
come back, like the fox on the hnnk, for a
second look, to be quite sure what I was.

When the bright moonlit nights came,
there was uneasiness in Quoskh's wild breast.
The solitary life that he loxes best claimed
him by day; but at night the old gregarious
instinct drew him again to his fellows. Once,
when drifting over the beaver jjond through
the delicate witchery of the moonlight, I
h<.'ard five or six of Hie great birds croaking
excitedly at the heronry, which they had
deserted weeks before. The lake, and espe-
cially the lonely little pond at the end of the
trail, was lovelier than ever before ; but some-
thing in the south was calling him away. I
think that Quoskh was also moonstruck, as
so many wild creatures are; for, instead of
sleeping quietly on the shore, he spent his
time circling aimlessly over the lake and

ft w^ ^

T/f£ WOODS ®

woods, crying his name aloud, or calling
wildly to his fellows.

At midnight of the day before I broke
camp, I was out on the lake for a last paddle
in the moonlight. The night was perfect, —
clear, cool, intensely still. Not a ripple broke
the great burnished surface of the lake; a
silver pathway stretched away and away over
the bow of my gliding canoe, leading me on
to where the great forest stood, silent, awake,
expectant, and flooded through all its dim,
mysterious arches with marvelous light. The
wilderness never sleeps. If it grow silent, it
is to listen. To-night the woods were tense
as a waiting fox, watching to sec what
new thing would come out of the lake, or
what strange mystery would be born under
their own soft shadows.

Quoskh was abroad too, bewitched by the
moonlight. I heard him calling and paddled
down. He knew me long before he was any-
thing more to me than a voice of the night,
and swept up to meet me. For the first time
after darkness fell I saw him — just a vague,

213

Quoskh /he
^ J(een ^ed

Ki'nii

Quoskh
Keen Eyed \

214 ^^^^^ shadow witli edges touched softly with
silver light, which whirled once over my
'^ canoe and looked down into it. Then he
vanished; and from far over on the edge of
the waiting woods, where the mystery was
deepes, came a cry, a challenge, a riddle,
the night's wild question which no man has
ever yet answered — Quoskk? quoskh?

•t^*^'

!-M

. i/^-~

lot jp^**^

([ f^^AV 1 o 1905

^^ / ab^£;

a»S

U/ J

RUSTLING in the brakes just out
side my little tent roused me from a t V --/■-
light slumber. There it was again ! j '• ■ *
the push of some heavy animal trying to' j ,/
move noiselessly through the tangle close ^ ^
at hand ; while from the old lumber camp
in the midst of the clearing a low gnaw-
ing sound floated up through the still night.
I sat up quickly to listen; but at the slight
movement all wa juiet again. The night
prowlers had heard me and were on their
guard.

One need have no fear of things that come
round in the night. They are much shyer

than you are, and can see you better; so

217

i^i^.^:)

•l-..'::.£.'^-ffl!.li.

(/nk
Xdunk>

\t» SCHOOL OF

that, if you blunder towards them, they mis-
take your blindness for courage, and take to
their heels jjromjjtly. As I stepped out there
was a double rush in some bushes behind my
tent, and by the light of a halt-moon I caught
one glimpse of a bear and her cub jumping
away for the shelter of the woods.

The gnawing still went on behind the
old shanty by the river. "Another cub! " I
thought — for I was new to the bic: woods —
and stole down to peek by the corner of the
camp, in whose yard I had pitched my tent,
the first night out In the wilderness.

There was ar 1 molasses hogshead lying
just beyond, its mouth looking black as ink
in the moonlight, and the scratching-gnawing
sounds went on steadily within its shadow.
" He 's inside," I thought with elation, "scrap-
ing off the crusted sugar. Now to catch
nim ! "

I stole round the camp, so as to bring the

closed end of the hogshead between me and

the prize, crept up breathlessly, and with a

■> ., quick jerk hove the old tub up on end,

219

0'*'

THE WOODS «

trapping the creature inside. There was a
thump, a startled scratching and rustling, .. r.j t r,
a violent rocking of the hogshead, which I oVte^OfCUmne
tried to hold down ; then all was silent in
the trap. " I 've got him ! " I thought, for-
getting all about the old she-bear, and shouted
for Simmo to brin^ the ax.

\Vc drove a ring of stakes close about the
hogshead, weighted it down with heavy logs,
and turned in to sleep. In the morning,
with cooler judgment, we decided that a
bear cub was too troublesome a pet to keep
in a tent ; so I stood by with a rifle while
Simmo hove off the logs and cut the stakes,
keeping a wary eye on me, meanv.hile, to see
how far he might trust his life to my nerve.
A stake fell ; the hogshead toppled over by
a push from within ; Simmo sprang away
with a yell ; and out wobbled a big porcu-
pine, the biggest I ever saw, and tumbled
away straight towards ni}- tent. After him
went the Indian, making sweeping cuts at
the stupid thing with his ax, and grunting
his derision at my bear cub.

220

i/nk >
XjiJunk\\\

V SCHOOL OF

Halfway to the tent Unk W'unk stumbled
across a bit of pijrk riiul, aiu. stopped to nose
it daintily. I caiii;ht Sinimo's arm and
stayed the blow that would have made an
end of my catth. Then, between us, Unk
W'unk sat upon his haunches, took the j)ork
in his fore paws, and sucked the salt out of
it, as if he had never a concern and never an
enemy in the wide world. A half hour later
he loafed into my tent, where I sat rej^air-
ing a favorite salmon fly that some hungry
sea-trout had torn to tatters, and drove me
unceremoniously out of my own bailiwick
in his search for more salt.

Such a philosopher, whom no prison can
dispossess of his peace of mind, and whom
no danger can deprive of his simjile pleasures,
deserves more consideration than the natural-
ists have ever given him. I resolved on the
spot to study him more carefully. As if to
discourage all such attempts and make him-
self a target for my rifle, he nearly spoiled
my canoe the next night by gnawing a
hole through the bark and ribs for some

THE WOODS «

suggestion of salt that only his greedy nose
could })()ssibly have found.

Once I found him on the trail, some dis-
tance from camp, and, having nothing better
to do, I attempted to chive him home. My
intention was to .share hospitality; to give
liirn a bit of bacon, and then study him as I
ale my own dinner. He turned at the first
suir^restion of being driven, came straight at
my legs, and by a vicious slap of his tail left
some of his quiM ; in me before I could
escape. Then I drove him in the op- '."'
direction, whereupon he turned and bon .
past me ; and when I arrived at camp he
was busily engaged in gnawing the ,, ^
end from Simmo's ax handle.

221

l/nktJunk
^e Porcupine

vnu,.

However you take him, Unk
Wunk is one of the m steties.
He is a perpetual question scrawled
across the forest floor, which nobody
pretends to answer; a problem tliat grows
only more puzzling as you study to solve it.

Of all the wild creature > he is the only one
that has no fear of man, and that never learns,

%-y» i .

•I

2_2

l/nk
ZJunk

fei SCHOOL OF

either by instinct or experience, to a' i
man's presence. He is everywhere in the
wilderness, until he changes what he would
call his mind; and then he is nowhere, and
you cannot find him. He delights in soli-
tude, and cares not for his own kind; yet
now and then you will stumble ujjon a whole
convention of porcupines at the base of some
rocky hill, each one loafing around, rattling
his quills, grunting his name Uuk IVunk !
i'uk IVunk ! and doing nothing else all day
lt)ng.

You meet him to-day, and he is as timid
as a rabbit ; to-morrow he comes boldly into
your tent and drives you out, if you happen
to be caught without a club handy. He
never has anything definite to do, nor any
l)lace to go to; yet stop him at any moment
and he will risk his life to go just a foot
farther. Now try to drive or lead him
another foot in the san-'c direction, and he
will bolt back, as full of contrariness as two
pigs on a road, and let himself be killed
rather than go where he was heading a

■^^i:&-

THE WOODS ®

moment before. He is perfectly harmless
to every creature ; yet he lies still and kills
the savage fisher that attacks him, or even
the big Canada lynx, that no other creature
in the woods would dare to tackle.

Above all these puzzling contradictions is
the prime question of how Nature ever pro-
duced such a creature, and what she intended
doing with him ; for he seems to have no
place nor use in the natural economy of
things. Recently the Maine legislature has
passed a bill forbidding the shooting of por-
cupines, on the curious ground that he is the
only wild animal that can easily be caught
and killed without a gun; so that a man
lost in the woods need not starve to death.
This is the only suggestion ^;,^^
thus far, from a purely ^; f*^'-^,.
utilitarian standpoint, that '| ';^'''l
Unk Wunk is no mistake, ^'^^'jj^
but may have his uses.

Once, to test the law and to provide for
possible future contingencies, I added Unk
Wunk to my bill of fare — a vile, malodorous

223

(/nkZJunk
^e Porcupine

l/nk
TJunk

^Porcup,

^ SCHOOL OF

suffix that might delight a lover of strong
cheese. It is undoubtedly a good law;
but I cannot now imagine any one being
grateful for it, unless the stern alternative
were death or porcupine.

The prowlers of the woods would eat him
gladly enough, but that they are sternly for-
bidden. They cannot even touch him with-
out suffering the consequences. It would
seem as if Nature, when she made this block
of stupidity in a world of wits, provided for
him tenderly, as she would for a half-witted
or idiot child. He is the only wild creature
for whom starvation has no terrors. All the
forest is his storehouse. Huds and tenler
shoots delight him in their season ; and
when the cold becomes bitter in its intensity
and the snow packs deep, and all other crea-
tures grow gaunt and savage in their hunger,
link Wunk has only to climb the nearest
tree, chisel off the rough, outer shell with his
powerful teeth, and then feed full on the soft
inner layer of bark, which satisfies him per-
fectly and leaves him as fat as an alderman.

THE WOODS »

Of hungry beasts link Wunk has no fear

225
whatever. Generally they let him severely i/nie7 1 ie

alone, knowing that to touch him would be 3^e Porcupine

more foolish than to mouth a sunfish or to "^"^

bite a peter-grunter. If, driven by hunger

in the killing March days, they approach him

savagely, he simply rolls up and lies still,

protected by an armor that only a steel glove

might safely explore, and that has no joint

anywhere visible to the keenest eye.

Now and then some cunning lynx or

weasel, wise from experience but desperate

with hunger, throws himself flat on the

ground, close by Unk Wunk, and works his

nose cautiously under the terrible bur,

searciiing for the neck or the underside of

the body, where there are no quills. One

grip of the powerful jaws, one taste of blood

in the famished throat — and that is the end

of both animals. For Unk Wunk has a

weap- n that no prowler of the woods ever

cr' s ujion. His broad, heavy tail is

ai A'ith hundreds of barb^. smaller but

mo.o Mcadly than those on his back; and he

226

swings this weapon with the vicious sweep
of a rattlesnake.

Sometimes, when attacked, Unk Wunk
covers his face with this weapon. More
often he sticks his head under a root or into
a hollow log, leaving his tail out ready for
action. At the first touch of his enemy the
tail snaps right and left quicker than thought,
driving head and sides full of the deadly
{[uills, from which there is no escape; for
every effort, every rub and writhe of pain,
only drives them deeper and deeper, till they
rest in heart or brain and finish their work.

Mooween the bear is the only one of the
wood folk who has learned the trick of attack-
ing Unk Wunk without injury to himself.
If, when very hungry, he finds a porcupine,
he never attacks him directly, — he knows
too well the deadly sting of the barbs for
that, — but bothers and irritates the porcu-
pine bv flipping earth at him, until at last
he rolls all his (piills outward and lies still.
Then Mooween, with immense caution, slides
one paw under him. and with a quick flip

c^--- —

BOTHERS AND IRRITATES THE PORCUPINE
BY FLIPPING EARTH AT HIM

■4

im>* w^'j.

rssss-

Tr'sspsr

//pif'

hurls him against the nearest tree, again and
again, till all the life is knocked out of him.

If he find Unk Wunk in a tree, he will
sometimes climb after him and, standing as
near as the upper limbs allow, will push and
tug mightily to shake him off. That is
usually a vain attempt; for the creature that
sleeps sound and secure through a gale in
the tree-tops has no concern for the ponder-
ous shakings of a bear. In that case Moo-
ween, if he can get near enough without
risking a fall from too delicate branches, will
tear off the limb on which Unk Wunk is
sleeping and throw it to the ground. That
also is usually a vain proceeding; for before
he can scramble down after it, Unk Wunk is
already up another tree and sleeping, as if
nothing had happened, on another branch.

Other prowlers, with less strength and
cunning than Mooween, fare badly when
driven by famine to attack this useless crea-
ture of the woods, for whom Nature neverthe-
less cares so tenderly. Trappers have told
me that in the late winter, when hunger is

229

C/nkZJunk
d!he Porcupine

& SCHOOL Of

^,Q sharpest, they sometimes catch a wild-cat or
l/n/( '~>.1(tl^^ 1}'"^' f^'" fi^'her ill their trajxs with his mouth
fi/unk \[^B^ ^^^^ sides full of j)or,.uj)ine quills, showing to
(^^^. ^-^P. what straits he had been driven for food.
/ »' These rare trapped animals are but an indica-

tion of many a silent struggle that only the
trees and stars are witnesses of; and the
trapper's deadfall, with its quick, sure blow,
ds only a merciful ending to what else had
been a long, slow, painful trail, ending at
last under a hemlock tip with the snow for
a covering.

Last summer, in a little glade in the
wilderness, I found two skeletons, one of a
porcupine, the other of a large lynx, lying
side by side. In the latter three quills lay
where the throat had been ; the shaft of
another stood firmly out of an empty eye
orbit; a dozen more lay about in such away
that one could not tell by what path they
had entered. It needed no great help of
imagination to read the story here of a starv-
ing lynx, too famished to ri-member caution,
and of a dinner that cost a life.

isi^i^feto^^i

4.« P

THE WOODS »

•

Once also 1 >avv a curious bit of animal
education in connection with Unk Wunk.

231

I 1 u J 1 1 . J (/nkZJunk

1 wo young owls had begun hunting, under ^^ff^ofCl/pM6

direction of the mother bird, along the foot j(K'^.

of a ridge in the early twilight. I'Vom my

canoe I saw one of the young birds swoop

downward at something in the bushes on

the shore. An instant later the big mother

owl followed with a sharp, angry lioo-lioo-lioo-

lioo ! of warning. The youngster dropped

into the bushes ; but the mother fairly

knocked him away from his game in her

fierce rush, and led him away silently into

the woods. I went over on the instant, and

found a young porcupine in the bushes where

the owl had swooped, while two more were

eating lily stems farther along the shore.

Evidently Kookooskoos, who swoops by
instinct at everything that moves, must be
taught by wiser heads the wisdom of letting
certain things severely alone.

That he needs this lesson was clearly
shown by an owl that my friend once shot
at twilight. There was a porcupine quill

Ti/unk

\» SCHOOL OF

imbedded for nearly its entire IcnLjth in his
leg. Two more were slowly working their
way into his body; and the shaft of another
|)rojected from the corner of his mouth.
Whether he were a young owl and untaught,
or whether, driven by hunger, he had thrown
counsel to the winds and swooped at Unk
Wunk, will never be known. That he should
attack so large an animal as the porcupine
would seem to indicate that, like the lynx,
hunger had jjrobably driven him beyond all
consideration for his mother's teaching.

Unk Wunk, on his part, knows so very
little that it may fairly be doubted whether
he ever had the discipline of the school of
the woods. Whether he rolls himself into a
chestnut bur by instinct, as the possum
plays dead, or whether that is a matter of
slow learning is yet to be discovered.
Whether his dense stupidity, which disarms
his enemies and brings him safe out of a
hundred dangers where wits would fail, is,
like the possum's blank idiocy, only a mask
for the deepest wisdom ; or whether he is

THE WOODS W

quite as stupid as he acts and looks is also ^

a question. More and more I incline to l/nlejjjunk

the former jjossibility. He has learned 3^e SPorcupine

unconsciously the strength of lying still. '*"^'*'"

A thousand generations of fat and healthy
porcupines have taught him the folly of
trouble and rush and worry in a world that
.somebody el.se has planned, and for which
somebody else is plainly resj)onsible. So he
makes no effort and lives in profound peace. ^
But this also leaves you with a question. ''-Wt,
which may take vou overseas to explore _, .
Hindu philosophy. Indeed, if you have ^'{}'t^'^
one question when you "' '

meet L'nk Wunk for the
first time, you will have
twenty after you have
studied him for a season
or two. His paragraph
in the woods' jour-
nal beg i.^s and ends
with a question
mark, and a dash for
what is left unsaid.

> ■ V ' « ri6. I

J.r'

1 ' ."•

2 34

UunkU

. i

M SCHOOL OF

The only incK ati<r of fk-libcritc pl.m and
effort that I have cvci n( led in Unk Wunk
was in regard to tearhing two you!ig ones
the simple art of swimmin/. — which p( leu-
cines, by the way, n % 'v • c, and tor vhich
there seems to be no r. cesity. I wu^ drift-
ing along the shor in ov ear'>e when 1
noticed a mother p cuj.iT': and two little
ones, a prickly pa;i . al , on lo;^^ that
reached out into the ake. Sh*- ha<I brought
them there to make her tasi of euning
them more easy by giving tlieni ' taste of
lily buds. When they had g lercd and
eaten all the buds and stems thai they couk! p
reach, she deliberately pushed both little
ones into the wate-. When i uy nttcmpteci
to scramble back she pushed them *^f again,
and dropped in beside them and led lem to
a lo<r farther down the shore, w ' ere there
were more lily pads.

The numerous hollow cjuills ll -a' 1 tltem
high in the water, like so many coik-, and
they paddled off with less effort than :iy
other young animals that I ha e ever .>ec in

^BT

235

THt: \k0003 ^

tlic wat' Hilt \ hftiu r :liis crc a swim-
ming le- 1, . ,i . >i(K (iireetioi to siiift and Jclihink
brc) vsc T the !■- Ivc -^ U . qiu stion. 3^ie ^o^CUpine
With the cxcti iiift' -oUtav old genius,
who had ati asti- .^iuuL' va\ of amusin , him-
scU uirl s( .rin;; '' ♦' ' ih wood f' ., this
was oiil'' j)laii ' (1 h(
and >>' 't ison iH"> ki
f r foui .

a p.

:|!

ii6

M. iinu

1 ■
f

r I

mmm

mwmmm

<,'■. 11'/ ,' /■;

t*.

. ^^

^'i NEW sound, a purring rustle of leaves,
stopped me instantly as I climbed the
beech ridge, one late afternoon, to see
v.hat wood folk I might surprise feed-
ing on the rich mast. Pr-rr-r-ush, pr-r-r-r-
ush ' a curious combination of the rustling
of squirrels' feet and the soft, crackling purr
of an eagle's wings, growing nearer, clearer
every instant. I slipped quietly behind the
nearest tree to watch and listen.

Something was coming down the hill ; but
what.? It was not an animal running. No

2J9

^w^mmamsmm

I.. » i jim

V SCHOOL OF

anima^ that I knew, unless he had I'one
«^ » ^ MZtfi v^"^^''''-'''')' •-'"azy, would ever make such a
•^—-^rj^^ racket to tell everybody where he wis. It
was not squirrels playing, nor grouse scratch-
ing among th^ new-fallen leaves. Their
alternate rustlings and silences are unmis-
takable. It was not a bear shaking down the
ripe beechnuts — not heavy enough for that,
yet too heavy for the feet of any jjrowler
of the woods to make on his stealthy hunt-
ing. Pr-r-r-r-ush, sivish ! tlimnp ! Some-
thing struck the stem uf a bush heavily and
r-^ brought down a rustling shower of
J leaves; then out from under the low
_> branches rolled something that I had
never seen before, — a heavy grayish ball,
as big as a half-bushel basket, so covered
over with leaves that one could not tell what
was inside. It wa.s as if some one had covered
a big kettle with glue and sent it rolling down
the hill, picking up dead leaves as it went.
So the queer thing tumbled past my feet,
purring, crackling, growing bigger and more
ragged every moment as it gathered up

. I

241

THE WOODS H

more leaves, till it reached the bottom of a
sharp pitch and lay still.

I stole after it cautiously. Suddenly it Z^ L.QZy
moved, unrolled itself. Then out of the Fcilow^S Ftin

ragged mass came a big porcujjine. Me
shook himself, stretched, wobbled around a
moment, as if his long roll had made him
dizzy ; then he meandered aimlessly along
the foot of the ridge, his quills stuck full of
dead leaves, looking big and strange enough
to frighten anything that might meet him in
the woods.

Here was a new trick, a new problem con-
cerning one of the stupidest of all the wood
folk. When you meet a porcupine and
bother him, he usually tolls himself into a
huge pincushion with all its points outward,
covers his face with his thorny tail, and lies
still, knowing well that you cannot touch
him anywhere without getting the worst
of it. Now had he been bothered by some
animal and rolled himself up where it was so
steep that he lost his balance, and so tumbled
unwillingly down the long hill ; or, with his

\^\ r* ■ &■ ' ■ if^'v

jafi ' -'i ' i

242

t|}.

^ SCHOOL OF

stomach full of sweet beechnuts, had he

r<^ m B^rt ^^^^^^^ down lazily to avoid the trouble of

^^^^ Ik!? walking; or is Unk Wunk brighter than he

looks to discover the joy of roller coasting

and the fun of feeling diz/y afterwards?

There was nothing on the hill above, no
rustle or suggestion ot any hunting animal
to answer the question ; so I followed Unk
Wunk on his aimless wanderings alon^, the
foot of the ridge.

A slight movement far ahead caught my
eye, and I saw a hare gliding and dodging
among the brown ferns. He came slowly in
our direction, hopping and halting and wig-
gling his nose at every bush, till he heard
our approach and rose on his hind legs to
listen. He gave a great jump as Unk Wunk
hove into sight, covered all over with the
dead leaves that his barbed quills had picked
u|) on his way downhill, and lay quiet where
he thought the ferns wouiu hide him.

The procession drew nearer. Moktaques,
full of curiosity, lifted hi^ head cautiously
out of the ferns and sat up straight on his

rsfiTftj ^^

THt WOODS

243

haunches again, his paws crossed, his eyes
shining in fear and curiosity at the strange »

animal rustling along and taking the leaves Z^ Z^QZy t^
with him. I'or a moment wonder held him JrC/iOWS r'UH

as still as the stump beside him ; then he {: V
bolted into the bu 'i in a series of high,
scared jumps, and I heard him scurrying
crazily in a half circle around us.

Unk Wunk gave no heed to the interrup-
tion, but yew-yawed hither and yon after his
stupid nose. Like every other porcupine
that I have followed, he seemed to have
nothing whatever to do, and nowhere in the
wide world to go. He loafed along lazily, ,!,
too full to eat any of the beechnuts that he \J
nosed daintily out of the leaves. He r\
tried a bit of bark here and there, only to V/l
sjjit it out again. Once he
started up the hill ; but it was
too steep for a lazy fellow
with a full stomach. Again
he tried it; but it was not
steep enough to roll down
afterwards. Suddenlv he

'■m

-r, ;.».:

;i>

r'h'i^-;

'ft

244

71 Lazy I^IIowls

^ SCHOOL OF

turned and came back to see who it was
that followed him about.

I kept very quiet, and he brushed two or
three times past my legs, eyeing me sleepily.
Then he took to nosing a beechnut from
under my foot, as if I were no more interest-
ing than Alexander was to Diogenes.

I had never made friends with a porcupine,
— he is too briery a fellow for intimacies, —
but now with a small stick I began to search
him gently, wondering if, under all that armor
of spears and brambles, I might not find
a place where it would please him to be
scratched. At the first touch he rolled
himself together, all his spears sticking
straight out on every side, like a huge
~ • , chestnut bur. One could not touch him
anywhere without being pierced by a dozen
barbs. (Gradually, however, as the stick
touched him gently and searched out the
itching spots under his armor, he unrolled
himself and put his nose under my foot again.
He did not want the beechnut ; brt he did
want to nose it out. Unk Wunk is like a pig.

■K^

-z^M ^wmMiS F^'if^'-

THE WOODS 19

He has very few things to do besides eating;
but when he does start to go anywhere or do
anything he always does it. Then I bent ^7 Lazy ^

245

touch

That was a mistake. Me felt the differ-
ence in the touch instantly. Also he smclled
the salt in my hand, for a taste of which Unk
Wunk will put aside all his la/.iness and walk
a mile, if need be. He tried to grasp the
hand, first w ith his paws, then with his mouth ;
but I had to'> much fear of his great cutting
teeth to let him succeed. Instead I touched
him behind the ears, feeling my way gingerly
through the thick tangle of spines, testing
them cautiously to see how easily they would
pull out.

The quills were very loosely set in, and
every arrow-headed barb was as sharp as a
needl.'. Anything that pressed against them
roughly would surely be pierced ; the spines
would pull out of the skin, and work their
way rapidly into the unfortunate hand or
paw or nose that touched them. Pitch spine
was like a South Sea Islander'> sword, set

Fellow"^ liin

r^ij»3«T*.'i^

246

9 SCHOOL OF

for half its length with shark's teeth. Once

^37 / vrJ^//owk '" ^^^ ^*"'^^ '^ would work its own way,
/t/ JPf/fj unless pulled out with a firm hand spite of

No wonder

pain and terrible laceration.
Unk Wunk has no fear or anxiety when he
rolls himself into a bail, protected at every
point by such terrible weapons.

The hand moved very cautiously as it
went down his side, within reach of Unk
Wunk's one swift weapon. There were
thousands of the spines, rough as a saw's
edge, crossing each other in every direc-
tion, yet with every point outward. Unk
$W'''i'!0/-- Wunk was irritated, probably, because he
^V, >r>^^ could not have the salt he wanted. .As
the hand came within range, his tail
snapped back like lightning. I was
watching for the blow, but was not
half quick enough. At the rustling
snap, like the voice of a steel trap, I jerked
my hand away. Two of his tail spines came
with it ; and a dozen more were in my coat
sleeve. I jumped away as he turned, and so
escapcfl the quick double swing of his tail

: K /

THE WOODS W

at my legs. Then he rolled into a chestnut

247

bur again, and proclaimed mockingly at
every point; "Touch nu- if you dare!" y^' Zd^V _
I pulled the two quills with sharp jerks f^ciloWS Fiiri

out of my hand. i)ushed all the others through
my coat sleeve, and turned to Unk Wunk
again, sucking my wounded hand, which
pained me intensely. •■ All your own fault,"
I kept telling myself, to keep from whack-
ing him across the no>e, his one vulnerable
point, with my stick.

Unk Wunk, on his part, seemed to have
forgotten the incident. He unrolled himself
slowly, and loafed along the foot of the ridge,
his quills spreading and rustling as he went,
as if there were net such a thing as an enemy
or an inquisitive man in all the woods.

He had an idea in his head by this time,
and was looking for somethi ig. As I fol-
lowed close behind him, he would raise him-
self against a small tree, survey it olemnly
for a moment or two, and go n unsatisfied.
A breeze had come down froi the mountain
and was swaying all the tree-tops above him.

¥ SCHOOL OF
24S ''*"' ^vould look 11]) steadily at the tossing

^Zszv/iv^w* '^'^'^"^ '^^'^' '^"'' ''""'" '""^'^^ ^*" ^*' ^'•'■^''-'y the

>^27'</iOT '^'"''^ I'ttic tree Ik i..ct, witl ..as raised
against the .runk and dull e)es following
the motion overhcr.i!.

At last he found what he wanted, two tall
saplings growing close together and rubbing
each other as the wind swayed them. He
climbed one of these clumsily, hiirher and
higher, till the slender top bent with his
weight towards the other. Then he reached
out to grasp the second top with his fore
' y^ V'/.f paws, hooked his hind claws firmly into the
first, and lay there binding the tree-tops
together, while the wind rose and began to
rock him in his strange > adle.

Wider and wilder he swung, now stretched

out thin, like a rubber string, his quills lying

hard and flat against his sides as the tree-

^?r^',, tops separated in the wind; now

;lfc jammed up against himself as they

;^^ ■; / came together again, pressing him

\*Jf.\.-. "ifo a flat ring with spines stick-

>'^^'^ • vi.!,, ( ing straight out, like a

<'- -j^.^

aV'i-

'C '^'-'f / :

9m^im»m

» I

77f£ WOODS 9

chestnut bur that h.i^ be i. stt. ppccl upon.

240

/\ncl there he swayed for a full hour, till it

grew too dark to see him, stretchinej, con- "j^ Z^QZ\

tracting, stretching;, contracting. a;> if he were fc//OW*S Fim

an acrordioii ind the wind were j)layii\g him.
Mis only note, meanwhile, was an occasional
squealing grunt of satisfaction after some
particularly good stretch, or when the motion
changed and l)oth trees rocked together in
a wide, wild, exhilarating .swihg. Now and
then tin nc^e was answered, farther down
the ridge, by another porcupine going to
sleep in his lofty cradle. A storm was com-
ing ; and Unk Wunk, who is one of the
wood's best barometers ,as cryip"' it aloud
where . ' might heai.

So ni) question was aiiswv . \poct-

edly. Unk Wunk was o it • : i that
aften ton, and had 'oUed down :^ I.dl for
fhe joy of the swift motion and the dizzy
feeling afterwards as other wood folk do.
I have watched young foxes, whose de^^ was
on a steej) hillside, rolliiig . »wn one n . r the
other, and sometimes varying the programme

bv having one cub roll as fast as he could,
250 ' .
r^ - r»f/ ^^^^''^''*'' another capered alongside, snapping

'"~7'JC#/*j •^"^' worrying him in his brain-muddling

tumble.

That is all very well for foxes. One

expects to find such an idea in wise little

heads. Hut who taught Unk W'unk to roll

downhill and stick his spines full of dry leaves

to scare the wood folk "i ^\nd when did he

learn to use the tree-tops for his swing and

the wind for his motive power.!*

Perhaps — since most of what the wood

folk know is a matter of learning, not of

ir.stinct — his mother teaches him some

things that we have never yet ^een. If so,

Unk W'unk has more in h - sleepy, stupid

head than we have given him crcflit ^^r, and

there is a very interesting lesson awaiting

him who shall first find and enter the j)orcu-

pine school.

immtmTY

»5'

\^ '■*

MQUKNAVVIS the Mighty is ^ . /fs'^;-

lord of the wood lands. None '/

• ;■;/.

^df other amon<r the wood folk is ■r'!^'^'^
half so great as he ; none has senses so keen
to detect a danger, nor |)owers so te'nble
to defend himself against it. So he fears
nothing, moving through the big woods like
a master; and when you sec him for the
first time in the wilderness pushing his
stately, silent way among the giant trees, or
plunging like a great engine through under-
brush and over windfalls, his nose up to try
the wind, his broad aritlers far back on his

253

254 '"'^''*>' -^'^"^''^^''-^ wliilo the dead tree that
jJf^WJgJIffWrs «PP<>^es him cracks and crashes dov n before
^^^yf/^Afy h.s rush, and the alders beat a ratthng. snap-
Oh^.^ ping tattoo on his branching horns. — when

you see him thus, something within you rises
up. like a soldier at salute, and says: " Milord
the Moose ! " And though the rifle is in your
hand, Its deadly mu//.le never rises from
the trail.

That great head with its massive crown
IS too big for any h(,use. I lung stupidly on
a wall, m a room full of bric-a-brac, as you
usually see it. with its shriveled ears that
were once living trumpets, its bulging eyes
that were once so small and keen, and its
huge muzzle stretched out of all i)ro,x)rtion. it
IS but misplaced, misshapen ugliness. It has
IK. more, and scarcely any higher, signifi-
cance than a scalp on the pole of a savage s
wigwam. Only in the wilderness, with the
irresistible push of his twelve-hundred pound
force-packed ixKly behind it, the crackling
underbrush beneath, and the lofty spruce
aisles towering overhead, can it give the

"Otatfip

■ PLUNGING LIKE A GREAT ENGINE THROUGH
UNDERBRUSH AND OVER WINDFALLS '

257

tingling impression of magnificent power

which belongs to Umquenawis the Mighty

in his native wilds. There only is his V^ GjJ'

head at home ; and only as you see it there, l/imiU'enBW/S

whether looking out in quiet majesty from The/fiflhfy

a lonely ix)int over a silent lake, or leading

him in his terrific rush through the startled

forest, will your heart ever jump and your

nerves tingle in that swift thrill which stirs

the sluggish blood to your very finger tips,

and sends you quietly back to camp with

your soul at peace — well satisfied to leave

Umquenawis where he is, rather than pack

him home to your admiring friends in a

freight car.

Though Umquenawis be lord of the wil-
derness, there are two things, and two things
only, which he sometimes fears: the smell of
man, and the spiteful crack of a rifle. For
Milord uie Moose has been hunted and has
learned fear, which formerly he was stranger
to. But when you go deep into the wilder-
ness, where no hunter has ever gone, and
where the roar of a birch-bark tnmiix't has

gK,

V SCHOOL OF

2 5<^
l/wQuenaw/s

never broken the twilight stillness, there you
may find him still, as he was before fear
came; there he will come smashing down
the mountain side at your call, and never
circle to wind an enemy; and there, when
the mood is on him, he will send you scram-
bling up the nearest tree for your life, as
a squirrel goes when the fox is after him.
Once, in such a mcx)d, I saw him charge a
little wiry guide, who went up a spruce tree
with his snowshoes on — and never a Ix-ar
did the trick quicker — spite of the four-foot
webs in which his feet were tangled.

We were pushing upstream, late one

," afternoon, to the big lake at the head-

'/<; waters of a wilderness river. Above the

J ',', roar of rapids far behind, and the fret of

'*,' the current near at hand, the rhythmical

.5:1 • ■'

:-j', cluuk, dunk of the poles and the ia/>, lap

.: of my little canoe as she breasted the

vj('* ripples were the only sounds that broke

r/* .J the forest stillness. We were silent, as

■^ * men always are to whom the woods have

- .j^. spoken their deejx;st message,

•^

THE WOODS 9

and to whom the next turn of the river may
bring its thrill of unexpected things.

Suddenly, as the bow of our canoe shot
round a point, we ran plump \\\mw a big cow ^„„,^^^^„„,^
moose crossing the river. At Simmo's grunt TheJfi^hfy
of surprise she stopjied short and whirled
to face us. And there she stood, one huge
quef-tion mark from nose to tail, while the
canoe edged in to the lee of a great rock,
and hung there quivering with ix)les braced
firmly on the bottom.

We were already late for camping, and the
lake was hiill far ahead. I gave the word,
at b^'t, ai»i r a few minutes' silent watch-
ing, and till canoe shot upward. Hut the
big mo(i ..-, instead of making off into the
woods, as a well-behaved moose ought to
do opL-i.cd straight toward us. Simmo,
in the bow, gave w sweeping flourish of his
pole, and we all yelled in unison; but the
moose c^me on steadily, quietly, bound to
find out what the f{ueer thing was that had
just conie up river and broken the solemn
stillness.

26o

M SChlOL at

" Ik's' kci'p ^till , bi^ moose iiiaki'-um
trouble sonutii^ic," ;^nittcrcd Noci hchiiid

'enawis

^hfy "^<-'; '^"^ ^^«-' 'ln)|)|X'ci back silently into the

Ice of the friendly ro( k, to watrh ! while
lon^'er and let the big creature do as she
would.

l*"or ten minutes more we tried ivers kind
of threat and persuasion to '^}\ the i:ioose
out of the wa\, ending at last by sending
a bullet 'ippi'ii; into the water under her
body; l)ut Ix'yond an angry stamp of the
foot there was no response, and no disposi-
tion whatever to give us the stream. Then
I bethought me of a trick that I had dis-
covered long Ix'fore by accident. Dropping
down to the nearest bank, I ( rept up behind
the moose, hidden in the underbrush, and
began to break twigs, softly at first, then
more and more sharply, as if something were
coming through the woods fearlessly. At
the fn-t suspicious crack the moose whirled,
hesitated, started nervouslv across the stream,
twitching her nostrils and wigwagging her
big ears to find out what the crackle meant,

THE WOODS «

aiul luirryinjr more and more as the sounds

grated harshly upon hei sensitive nerves.

Next moment the river was cle;;- and our

cunoe was hreastin^r the rippHng shallows, Urifi^enaw/S

while the moose watched us curiously, half The/fJ^hfy

hidden in the alders.

That is a good trick, for occasions. The
animals all fear twig snapping. Only never
try it at night, with a bull, in ihe calling
season, as I did once unintentionally. Then
he is ai)t to mistake you for his tantalizing
mate, and come down on you like a tempest,
giving you a big scare and a monkey sci-am-
ble into the nearest tree before he is satisfied.

Within the next hour I counted seven
moose, old and young, from the canoe ; and
when we ran ashore at twilight to the camp-
ing ground on the big lake, the tracks of an
ent)rmous bull were drawn sharply across
our landing. The water was still trickling
into them, showing that he had just vacated
the spot at our approach.

How do I know it was a bull.!* At this
season the bulls travel constantlv, and the

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262

IJmqnenawfs

'!%

9 SCHOOL OF

points of the hoofs are worn to a clean, even
curve. The cows, which have been Hving
Jidhfy 1" deep retirement all summer, teachmg
their ungainly calves the sounds and smells
and lessons of the woods, travel much less;
and their hoofs, in consequence, are generally
long and pointed.

Two miles above our camp was a little
brook, with an alder swale on one side and
a dark, gloomy spruce tangle on the other —
an ideal spot for a moose to keep her little
school, I thought, when I discovered the
place a few days later. There were tracks
on the shore, plenty of them ; and I knew I
had only to watch long enough to see the
mother and her calf, and to catch a glimpse,
perhaps, of what no man has ever yet seen
clearly; that is, a moose teaching her little
one how to hide his bulk; how to move
noiselessly and undiscovered through under-
brush where, one would think, a fox must
make his presence known; how to take a
windfall on the run; how to breast down a
young birch or maple tree and keep it under

mm.

^mmmm

THE WOODS ^

his body while he feeds on the top, — and a ^^

score of other things that every moose must ,•..

know before he is fit to take care of himself ^^^^

in the big woods. UnfQUepaw/S

I went there one afternoon in my canoe, 7Ae/fighfy
grasped a few lily stems to hold the little
craft steady, and snuggled down till only my
head showed above the gunwales, so as to
make canoe and man look as much like an
old, wind-blown log as possible. It waf, get-
ting toward the hour when I knew the cow
would be hungry, but while it was yet too
light to bring her little one to the open shore.
After an hour's watching, the cow came cau-
tiously down the brook. She stopped short } ,
at sight of the big log; watched it steadily y1| f /JV,; -'' /
for two or three minutes, wigwagging her y^M^Sd '^^
ears ; then began to feed greedily on the lily ■|i|i
pads that fringed all the shore. When ^^^Jf."
she went back I followed, guided now fl^/^fMK^;'-.
by the crack of a twig, now by a sway- Mr ^^''^'''^'•'^-^^''^- ■
ing of brush tops, now by the flip en!

of a nervous ear or the push of a ™gff
huge dark body, keeping carefully to iXfli

■'Wm

I ' f 1 . f ' ' /

i^;.'^fP

■r

264

UnjQuenaw/s

^ SCHOOL OF

leeward all the time, and making the big
unconscious creature guide me to where
she had hidden her little one.

Just above me, and a hundred yards in
from the shore, a tree had fallen, its bushy
top bending down two small spruces and
making a low den, so dark that an owl could
scarcely have seen what was inside. " That 's
the spot," I told myself instantly; but the
mother passed well above it, without noting
apparentb' how good a place it was. Fifty
yards farther on she turned and circled back,
below the spot, trying the wind with ears and
nose as she came on straight towards me.

"Aha! the old moose trick," I thought,
remembering how a hunted moose never lies
down to rest without first circling back for a
long distance, parallel to his trail and to lee-
ward, to find out from a safe distance whether
anything is following him. When he lies
down, at last, it will be close beside his trail,
but hidden from it; so that he hears or
smells you as you go by. And when you
reach the place, far ahead, where he turned

THE WOODS O

back he will be miles away, plunging along
down wind at a pace that makes your snow-
shoe swing like a baby's toddle. So you
camp where he lay down, and pick up the
trail in the morning.

When the big cow turned and came strid-
ing back I knew that I should find her little
one in the spruce den. But would she not
find me, instead, and drive me out of her
bailiwick,? You can never be sure what a
moose will do if she finds you near her calf.
Generally they run — always, in fact — ^ -v_:,.j.
but sometimes they run your way. And
besides, I had been trying for years o see
a mother moose teaching in her little school
Now I dropped on all fours and crawled away
down wind, so as to get beyond ken of the
mother's inquisitive nose if possible.

She came on steadily, moving with aston-
ishing silence through the tangle, till she
stood where I had been a moment before,
when she started violently and threw her
head up into the wind. Some scent of me
was there, clinging faintly to the leaves and

Quenawia
7he/f/ghfy

^ SCHOOL OF

266
l/mQuenawIs

.J-

the moist earth. For a moment she stood
like a rock, sifting the air in her nose; then,
^itfy finding nothing in the wind, she turned
slowly in my direction to use her ears and
eyes. I was lying vcv still behind a mossy
log by this time, and she did not see me.
Suddenly she turned and called, a low bleat.
There was an instant stir in the spruce
den. an answering bleat, and a moose calf
scrambled out a.id ran straight to the mother.
There was an unvoiced command to silence
that no human sense could understand.
The mother put her great head down to
earth — " Sn 11 of that; mark that, and re-
member," she was saying in her own way;
and the calf put his little head down beside
^. hers, and I heard him sniff-sniffing the leaves.
'^ 'J Then the mother swung her head savagely,
V, '^' -■; bunted the little fellow out of his tracks,
^^^^ / and drove him hurriedly ahead of her
away from the place — "Get out, hurry,
1" was what she was saying new,
emphasizing her teaching with an
- ^-. . occasional bunt from behind

''CO

.^;^ii*»

r*?;

T't

-4

THE WOODS ®

that lifted the calf over the hard places.
So they went up the hill, the calf wonder-
ing and curious, yet ever reminded by the
hard head at his flank that obedience was
his business just now, the mother turning
occasionally to sniff and listen, till they van-
ished silently among the dari: spruces.

For a week or more I haunted the spot;
but though I saw the pair occasionally, in
the woods or on the shore, I learned no
more of Umquenawis' secrets. The moose
schools are kept in far-away, shady dingles,
beyond reach of inquisitive eyes. Then, one
morning at daylight as my canoe shot round
a grassy point, there were the mother and
her calf standing knee-deep among the lily
pads. With a yell I drove the canoe straight
at the little one.

Now it takes a young moose or caribou a
long time to learn that when sudden danger
threatens he is to follow, not his own fright-
ened head, but his mother's guiding tail.
To young fawns this is practically tne first
thing taught by the mothers; but caribou

267

l/mQuenawfa
JlteWghfy

Ohe

* SCHOOL OF

„ are naturally stupid, cr trustful, or burningly
l/mQUenaw/s '"4"^^^^'^'^'' according to their several dispc.-.i-
\ftfy tions; and moose, with their great st.engih,
are naturally fearless; so that this needful
lesson is slowly learned. If you surprise a
mother moose or caribou with her young at
close quarters, and rus' it them instandy,
with a whoop or two scatter their wits,
the chances are that the mother will bolt
into the brush, where safety lies, and the calf
into the lake or along the shore, where the
going is easiest.

Several times I have caught young moose

and caribou in this way, either swimming or

stogged in the mud, and after turning them

back to shore have watched the mother's

• cautious return and her treatment of the

lost one. Once I paddled up beside a young

bull moose, half grown, and

.'r«^i/^'! grasping the coarse hair on

y^y- his back had him tow me a

-, hundred yards, to the next

point, while I studied

his expression.

_-':^ -si!.-

THE WOODS «

As my canoe shot up to the two moose,
they did exactly \v!iat I had expected; the
mother bolted for the woods in mighty,
floundering jumps, niuu and water flying
merrily about her; while the calf darted
along the shore, got caught in the lily pads,
and with a despairing bleat settled down in
the mud of a soft place, up to his back, and
turned his head to see what I was,

I ran my canoe ashore and approached
the little fellow quietly, without hurry or ex-
citement. Nose, eyes, and ears questioned
me; and his fear gradually changed to curi-
osity as he saw how harmless a thing had
frightened him. he even tried to pull his
awkward little legs out of the mud in my
direction. Meanwhile the big mother moose
was thrashing around in the bushes in a ter-
rible swither, calling her calf to come.

I had almost reached the little fellow when
the wind brought him the strong scent that
he had learned in the woods a few days
before, and he bleated sharply. There was
an answering crash of brush, a pounding of

TQi/e/iawia
JAe/fighfy

270

i/mQuenaw/s

7/»e

S? SCHOOL OF

hoofs f! It told one unmistakably to look out
for his rear, and out of the bushes burst the
^My mother, her eyes red as a wild pig's, and
the long hair standing straight up along lur
back in a terrifying bristle. " Stand not upon
the order of your mogging, Init mog at once
— arunh ! unh ! " she grunted ; and I turned
otter instantly and took to the lake, diving
as soon as the depth allowed and swimming
under water to escape the old fury's atten-
tion. There was little need of fine tactics,
however, as I found out when my head
appear^^d again cautiously. An\thing in
the way of an unceremonious retreat
satisfied her as perfectly as if she had
been a Boer general. She went
straight to her calf, thrust her
great head under his belly, hiked
him roughly out of the mud,
and then butted him ahead of
her into the bushes.
Y,4g3 It was stern, rough discipline; but the
/il^ youngster needed it to teach him the wis-
dom of the woods. From a distance I

»* .: .-^

271

THE WOODS •

watched the quivering line of brush tops

that marked their course, and then followed *h. ^.^

softly. When I found them again, in the ^, W^

twilight of the j^reat spruces, the mother wa^ U/nQUenaw/S

licking the sides of her calf, lest he should JAe/f/ghfy

grow cold too suddenly aft*'r his unwonted

bath. All the fury and harshnes- were gone.

Her great head lowered tenderly over the

foolish, ungainly youngster, tonguing him,

caressing him, drying and warming his poor

sides, telling him in mother language that it

was all right now, and that next time 1 e

would do better.

There were other moose on the lake, all
of them as uncertain as the big cow and
her calf. Probably most of them had never
seen a man before our arrival, and it kept
one's expectations on tiptoe to know what
they would do when they saw the strange
two-legged creature for the fir t time. If a
moose smelled me before I saw him, he
would make off quietly into the woods, as
all wild creatures do, and watch from a
safe distance. But if I stumbled upon him

9 SCHOOL OF

uncxpcctcdK-, when tlic wind brought no
l/mQUenaw/s ^^''^'""'"K to '»i.s nostrils, lie was fearless,
SUhe^^^^ilfMy usually, and full of curiosity.

The worst of them all was the big bull
whose tracks were on the shore when we
arrived. He was a morose, ugly old brute,
living apart by himself, with his temper
always on edge ready to bully anything that
dared to cros^ his path or question his lord-
ship. Whether he was an outcast, grown
surly from living too murh alone, or whether
he bore some old bullet wound to account
for his hostility to man, I could never find
out. Far down the river a hunter had been
killed, ten years before, by a bull moose that
he had wounded; and this may have been,
as Noel declared, the same animal, cherishing
his resentment with a memory as merciless
as an Indian's.

Before we had found .his out I stumbled
upon the big bull one afternoon, and came
near paying the penalty of my ignorance.
I had been still-fishing for togue, and was
on my way back to camp when, doubling a

^7i

%uenawi3

THE WOODS s

point, I ran plump upon bull moose feed-
ing among the lily pads. My approach had
been perfectly silent, — that is the only way
to see things in the woods, — and he was
quite unconscious that anybody but himself jVte/fi^hf^^
was near.

lie would plunge his great head under
water till only his antler tips showed, and
nose around on the bottom till he found a
lily root. Wi h a heave and a jerk he would
drag it out, and stand chewing it endwise
with huge satisfaction, while the muddy
water trickled down over his face. When
it was all eaten he would grope under the
lily pads for another root in the same way.

Without thinking much of the possible ^^
risk, I began to creep towards him. While , '"
his head was under I would work '
canoe along silently, simply '- rolli. ^
the paddle " without lifting it m om the
water. At the first .ft of hi.- ..ntlcrs
I would stop and sit lovv in the canoe
till he finished his juicy mor-
sel and ducked for more.

^1^',

^ SCHOOL OF

274
UniQuenaw/s

Then one could slip along easily again with-
out being discovered.

Two or th''ee times this was repeated suc-
cessfully, and still the big, unconscious brute,
facing away ''roni me fortunately, had no idea
that he was being watched. His head went
under water again — not so deep this time;
but I was too absorbed in the pretty game to
notice that he had found the end of a root
abo\e the mud, and that his ears were out of
water. A ripple from the bow of my canoe,
or perhaps the faint brush of a lily leaf
againsi the side, reached him. His head
burst out of the pads unexpectedly; with a
snort and a mighty flounder he whirled upon
me ; and there he stood quivering, ears, eyes,
nose — everything about him reaching out
to me and sho(^ting questions at my head
with an insistence that demanded instant
answer.

I kept quiet, though I was altogether too
near the big brute for comfort, till an unfor-
tunate breeze brushed the bow of my canoe
still nearer to where he stood, threatening

i^i

mmmmmmm

■.T¥-

r'Js^ir^"

+--

THE WOODS »

now instead of questioning. The mane on
his back began to bristle, and I knew that I
had but a small second in which to act. To
get speed I swung the bow of the canoe out-
ward, instead of backing away. The move-
ment brought me a trifle nearer, yet gave me
a chance to shoot by him. At the first sud-
den motion he leaped; the red fire blazed
out in his eyes, and he plunged straight at
the canoe — one, two splashing jumps, and
the huge velvet antlers were shaking just
over me and the deadly fore foot was raised
for a blow.

I rolled over on the instant, startling the
brute with a yell as I did so, and upsetting
the canoe between us. There was a splinter-
ing crack behind me as I struck out for deep
water. When I turned, at a safe distance, the
bull had driven one sharp hoof through the
bottom of the upturned canoe, and was now
trying awkwardly to pull his leg out from the
clinging cedar ribs. He seemed frightened
at the queer, dumb thing that gripped his
foot, for he grunted and jumped back, and

UinQiienawi3
7AeWghfy

9t\

- 1

i' I

276

l/niQuenaw/s

^ SCHOOL OF

thrashed his big antlers in excitement; but
he was getting madder every minute.

To save the canoe from being pounded to
pieces was now the only pressing business
on hand. All other considerations took to
the winds in the thought that, if the bull's
fury increased and he leaped upon the canoe,
as he does when he means to kill, one jump
would put the frail thing beyond repair, and
we should have to face the dangerous river
below in a spruce bark of our own building.
I swam quickly to the shore and splashed
and shouted and then ran away to attract the
bull's attention. He came after me on the
instant — 7mh ! nnh ! chock, chockety-clwck !
till he was close enough for discomfort, when
I took to water again. The bull followed,
deeper and deeper, till his sides were awash.
The bottom was muddy, and he trod gin-
gerly; but there was no fear of his swim-
ming after me. He knows his limits, and
they stop him shoulder deep.

When he would follow no farther I swam
to the canoe and tugged it out into deep

1-^ ;i'

THE WOODS «

water. Umquenawis stood staring now in
astonishment at the sight of this queer man-
fish. The red Hght died out of his eyes for
the first time, and his ears wigwagged Hke
flags in the wind. He made no effort to
follow, but stood as he was, shoulder deep,
staring, wondering, till I landed on the point
above, whipped the canoe over, and spilled
the water out of it.

The paddle was still fast to its cord — as
it should always be in trying experiments —
and I tossed it into the canoe. The rattle
roused Umquenawis from his wonder, as if
he had heard the challenging clack of antlers
on the alder stems. He floundered out in
mighty jumps and came swinging along the
shore, chocking and grunting fiercely. He
had seen the man again, and knew it was no
fish — Unh! nnhf eceeeunh-unh ! he grunted,
with a twisting, jerky wriggle of his neck
and shoulders at the last squeal, as if he felt
me already beneath ,^h,.^ ^

his hoofs. But before ^i^l
he reached the point

TQuenawis
JAeW^hfy

t/-»<.

■hh

mmm

9 SCHOOL OF

I had stuffed my flannel shirt into the hole
^^^! in the canoe and was safely afloat once more.
i/^3!^»fj^% He followed along the shore till he heard

:/Ae

the sound of voices at camp, when he turned
instantly and vanished into the woods.

A few days later I saw the grumpy old
brute again in a curious way. I was sweep-
ing the lake with my field glasses when I saw
what I thought was a pair of black ducks
near a grassy shore. I pnddled over, watch-
ing t:--m keenly, till a root seemed to rifc
o\\i of the water between them. Before I
could get my glasses adjusted again they
had disappeared. I dropped the glasses and
paddie^ faster; they were diving, perhaps —
an unusual thing for black ducks — and I
might surprise them. There they were
again; and there again was the old root
bobbing up unexpectedly between them. I
whipped my glasses up — the mystery van-
ished. The two ducks were the tips of
Umquenawis' big antlers; the root that rose
between them was his head, as he came up
to breathe.

'ITIE WOODS

It was a close, sultry afternoon; the flies
and mosquitoes were out in myriads, and
Umquenawis had taken a philosophical way
of getting rid of them. He was lying in
deep water, over a bed of mud, ..is body
completely submerged. As the swarm of
flies that pestered him rose to his head he
sunk it slowly, Irowning them off. Through
my glass, as I drew near, I could see a cloud
of them hovering above the wavelets, or
covering the exposed antlers. After a few-
moments there would be a bubbling grumble
down in the mud, as Umquenawis . . •.- ,
blew the air from his great lungs.
His head would come up lazily, tw
breathe among the popping bubbles;
the flies would settle upon him like a
cloud, and he would disappear again,
blinking sleepily as he went down, j^""
with an air of immense satisfaction. ~~^

It seemed too bad to disturb such comfort,
but I wanted to know mo.e abo it the surly
old tyrant that had treated me w'ith such
scant courtesy; so I stole near him again.

279

TQue/iaw/s
JAe/Iighfy

urn

V SCHOOL OF

running up when his head disappeared, and
_■ " . Ivinji (luiet wlienever he came ui) to breathe.

J^Ae^^^yfi^hfy He saw me at last, and leajK'd up with a tei -
ril)le start. There was fear in Iiis eyes this
time. Here was the man-fish again, the
creature that lived on land or wat'.'r, and
that could approach him so silently that
the senses, in which he had always trusted,
gave him no warning. He stared hard for a
moment; then as the canoe glided rapidly
straight towards him without fear or hesita-
tion he waded out, stopping every insta.it to
turn, and look, and try the wind, till he reached
the fringe of woods beyond the grasses. There
he thrust his nose up ahead of him, laid his
big antlers back on his shoulders, and plowed
straight through the tangle like a great engine,
the alders snapping and crashing merrily about
him as he went.

In striking contrast was the next meeting.
I was out at midnight, jacking, and passed
close by a point where I had often seen the
big bull's tracks. He was not there, and I
closed the jack and went on along the shore.

281

listening for any wood folk that might be
abroad. When I came back a few minutes
later, there was a suspicious ri|}ple on the ^'^^,
poini. I opened the jack, and there was (/f^QuenawtS
Umquenawis, my big bull, standing out huge The/fl^hfy
and magnificent against the shadowy back-
ground, his eyes glowing and flashing in
fierce wonder at the sudden brightness. He
had passed along the shore within twenty ,

yards of me, through dense underbrush, —
as I found out from his tracks next morning,
— yet so silently did he push his great bulk
through the trees, halting, listening, trying the
ground at every step for telltale twigs ere he
put his weight down, that I had heard no
sound, though I was listening for him intently
in the deaa hush that was on the lake. ; ',,. ,.

It may have been curiosity, or vhe uncom-
fortable sense of being watched and followed
by the man-fish, v/ho neither harmed |
nor feared him, that brought Umque-
nawis at last to our camp to investigate.
One day Noel was washinj
some clothes of mine in

9 SCHOOL OF

o the lake when some subtle warninij made
28 2 . ° ,

,, . him turn his liead. There stood the big

<j^e^Wyf/^^fy '^"''' '^'^'' hidden by the dwarf spruces,
watchinjr him intently. On the instant
Noel left the duds where they were and
bolted along the shore under the bushes,
calling me loudly to come quick and bring
my rifle. When we went back Umquenawis
had trodden the clothes into the mud, and
vanished as silently as he came.

The Indians grew insistent at this, telling
me of the hunter that had been killed, claim-
ing now, beyond a doubt, that this was the
same bull, and urging me to kill the ugly
brute and rid the woods of a positive danger.
__ But Umquenawis was already learning the
fear of me, and I thought the lesson might
be driven home before the summer was
ended. So it was; but before that time
there was almost a tragedy.

One day a timber cruiser — a lonely, silent
man with the instincts of an animal for find-
ing his way in the woods, whose business it
to go over timber lands to select the

ifr.l

'■sr^

1 1

THE WOODS ®

best sites for future cutting — came up to the „

lake and, not knowing that we were there, ^

pitched by a spring a mile or two below us. V^

I saw the smoke of his camp fire from the l/nfouenaw/S

lake, where I was fishing, and wondered who jffte/fi^hfy

had come into the great solitude. That was

in the morning. Towards twilight I went

down to bid the stranger welcome, and to

invite him to share our camp, if he would.

I found him stiff and sore by his fire, eating

raw-pork sandwiches with the appetite of a

wolf. Almost at the same glance I saw the

ground about a tree torn up, and the hoof

marks of a big bull moose all about. —

"Hello! friend, what's up.?" I hailed
him.

" Got a rifle .? " he demanded, with a rich
Irish burr in his voice, paying no heed to
my question. When I nodded he bolted for
my canoe, grabbed my rifle, and ran away
into the woods.

"Queer Dick! unbalanced, perhaps, by
living too much alone in the woods," I
thought, and took to examining the torn

_; _- " - ti'-

284

(JwQuenawts

^ SCHOOL OF

ground and the bull's tracks lo find out for
niysflf what had happened.

But there was no cjueerness in the frank,
kindly face that met mine when the stranger
came out of the bush a half hour later. —

" Til' ould baste 1 he "s had me perrched
up in that three there, like a blackburrd, the
last tin hours; an' divil th' song in me throat
or a bite in me stomach. lie wint just as
you came — I thought I could returrn his
compliments wid a bullet," he said, apolo-
getically, as he passed me back the rifle.

Then, sitting by his fire, he told me his

story. He had just lit his fire that morning,

and was taking off his wet stockings to dry

them, when there was a fierce crashing and

grunting behind him, and a bull moose

-^ charged ou of the bushes like a fury.

Thj cruiser jumped and dodged; then,

as the bull whirled again, he swung

himself into a tree, and sat there astride

a limb, while the bull grunted and

pushed and hamniered the ground

below with his sharp hoofs. All

f/'.

M-.n-

THE WOODS W

clay long the moose had kept up the siege, ^^_

now drawing off cunningly to hide in the

b ishes, now charging out savagely as the

timber cruiser made effort to come down l//Mliie/iOW/3

from his uncomfortablr perch. JAe/f/g/ify

A few minutes before my approach a
curious thing happened; which seems to indi-
cate, as do many other things in the woods,
that certain animals — perhaj^s all animals,
including man — have at times an unknown
sixth sense, for which there is no name and
no explanation. I was still half a mile or
more away, hidden by a point and paddling
silently straight into the wind. No possible
sight or sound or smell of me could have
reached any known sense of any animal ; yet
the big brute began to grow uneasy. Me
left his stand under the tree and circled
nervously around it, looking, listening, wig-
wagging his big ears, trying the wind at
every step, and setting his hoofs down as
if he trod on dynamite. .Suddenly he turned
and vanished silently into the brush. McGar-
ven, the timber cruiser, who had no idea that

a. there was any man Init himself on the lake,

i/mouenawi's ^^■''^^^''^'-'^' *'^^ ^"^' ^^'^^'^ growing wonder and

C//»e^WyfigMy distrust, thinking him possessed of some evil

(^1^ demon. In his long life in the woods he

^^'» had met hundreds of moose, but had never

been molested before.

With the rifle at full cock and his heart
hot within him, h.e had followed the trail,
which stole away, cautiousl) at first, then in
a long swinging stride straight towards the
mountain. — "Oh, 'tis the quare baste he is
altogether ! " he said as he finished his story.

■M

28;

iu-'jL.

mmmm

mmm

|T was now near the calling . rj^:
season, and the nights
grew keen with excite- \

ment. Now and then
as I fished, or followed the brooks, or prowled
through the woods in the late afternoon, the
sudden bellow of a cow moose would break
upon the stillness, so strange and uncertain
in the thick coverts that I could rarely
describe, much less imitate, the sound, or
even tell the direction whence it had come.

Under the dusk of the lake shore I would

289

2C)0

^ SCHOOL OF

sometimes come upon a pair of the huge
Jlt^ ^ //fl/ ^""'T'^^''' the cow restless, wary, impatient,
MeO^rumpef the bull now silent as a shadow, now ripping
,^<^p^ and rasping the torn velvet from his great

A^^*^r antlers among the alders, and now threaten-

ing and browbeating every living thing that
crossed his trail, and even the unoffending
bushes, in his testy humor.

One night- I went to the landing just
below my tent with Simmo and tried for
the first time the long call of the cow moose.
He and Noel refused absolutely to give it,
unless I should agree to shoot the ugly old
bull ai sight. Several times of late they had
seen him near our camp, or had crossed his
deep trail on the nearer shores, and they
were grow ing superstitious as well as fearful.
There \\as no answer to our calling for

silence brooded like
itchful thing over

h'
\ 1 1 "'t^. '

•, f ^*,V ;'i^^S-;,l(./ the space ci" an hour; silen
' \ nWiskd^ ^i:mt^ sk;epmg lake

and forest, — a

THE WOODS a

silence that grew only deeper and deeper

2Q I

after the last echoes of the bark t'"umpet had -j ,

rolled back on us from the distant mountain. ^T'

Suddenly Simmo lowered the horn, just as ^f [fie Soun^of

he had raised it to his lips for a call. 3^e C/^nimpet

" Moose near ! " he whispered.

" How do you know ? " I breathed ; for I
had heard nothing.

" Don' know how; just know," he said sul-
lenly. An Indian hates to be questioned,
as a wild animal hates to be watched. As if
in confirmation of his opinion, there was a
startling crash and plunge across the little
bay o^'Ci' against us as a bull moose leaped
the bank into the lake, within fifty yards of
where we crouched on the shore.

" Shoot ! sh(x*t-um quick ! " cried Simmo ;
and the fear of the old bull was in his voice.
There was a grunt from ti ■ moose — a
ridiculously small, squeaking grunt, like the
voice of a penny trumpet — as the huge
creature swung rapidly along the shore in
our direction. "Uh! young bull, lil fool
moose," whispered Simmo, and breathed

292

Mffie Sound of
^eJ^rumpet

■V .

^ SCHOOL OF

a soft, questioning Whooowuh? through the
bark horn to bring him nearer.

He came close to where we were hidden,
then entered the woods and circled silently
about our camp to get our wind. In the
morning his tracks, within five feet of my
rear tent pole, showed how little he cared
for the dwelling of man. Hut though he
circled hick and forth for an hour, answer-
intr Simmo's low call with his ridiculous
little trrunt, he would not show himself again
on the open shore.

I stole up after a while to where I had
heard the last twig snap under his hoofs.
Simmo held me back, whispering of danger;
but there was a question in my head which
has never received a satisfactory answer:
Why does a bull come to a call anyway? It
is held generally — and with truth, I think —
that he comes because he thinks the sound
is made by a cow moose. But how his keen
ears could mistake such a palpable fraud is
the greatest mystery in the woods. I have
heard a score of hunters and Indians call, all

^S^O^d^^.

■■r?8. '

''TSST^WiP'^

293

THE WOODS e

differently, and have sometimes brought a
bull into the open at the wail of n-y own
bark trumpet; but I have never yet listened >^^.^-__ t-jk
to a call that has any resemblance to the ^fj^e Sound of
bellow of a cow moose as I have often heard 3ffke Orumpef
it in the woods. Nor have I ever heard, or
eviir met anybody who has heard, a cow-
moose give forth any sound like the "long
call " which is made by hunters, and which
is used successfully to bring the bull from a
distance.

Others claim, and with some reason, that
the bull, more fearless and careless at this
season than at other times, comes merely
to investigate the sound, as he and most
other wild creatures do with every queer or
unknown thing they hear. The Alaskan
Indians stretch a skin into a kind of tam-
bourine and beat it with a club to call a bull;
which sound, how'ever, might not be unlike
one of the many peculiar bellows that I have
heard from cow moose in the wilderness.
And I have twice known bulls to come to
the chuck of an ax on a block ; which sound,

^.y--^',. : \()N DEp^^^

wmmm

wmm

fiiK

,1'H

[«-.

i'i

2C)4

^ SCHOOL OF

at a distaiv ■, has some resemblance to the
>7/jW ^ //«/ peculiar cliock-chockitis; that the bulls use to
5fAel/rumpei' call their mates — just as a turkey cock gob-
"^ bles, and a partridge drums, and a bull cari-

bou pounds a stump or a hollow tree with
the same foolish-fond expectations.

From any point of view the thing has
contradictions enough to make one wary of
a too positive opinion. Here at hand was a
" HI fool moose," who knew no fear, and who
might, therefore, enlighten me on the obscure
subject. I told Simmo to keep on calling
softly, while I crept up into the woods
to watch the effect.

It was all as dark as a pocket beyond

the open shore. One had to

feel his way along, and imitate

the moose himself in i)utting

his feet down. Spite of my

precaution, a bush swished

sharply; a twig cracked.

Instantly there was a swift

answering rustle ahead as

the bull glided towards me.

^'S,

295

THE WOODS W

He had heard the motion and was coming

to see if it were not his tantalizing mate,

ready to whack her soundly, according to his

wont, for causing him so much worry, and to ^f- ffne Sountf of

beat her out ahead of him to the open, where ^^ C/mtnpef

he could watch her closely and prevent any

more of her hiding tricks.

I stood motionless behind a tree, grasp-
ing a branch above, ready to swing up out
of reach when the bull charged. A vague
black hulk thrust itself out of the dark
woods, close in front of me, and stood still.
Against the faint light, uhich showed from
the lake through the fringe of trcs, the
great head and antlers stood out like an
upturned root; but I had never known that
a living creature stood there were it not for
a soft, clucking rumble that the bull kept
going in his throat, — a ponderous kind of
love note, intended, no doubt, to let his
elusive mate know that he was near.

He took another step in my direction,
brushing the leaves softly, a low, whining
grunt telling of his impatience. Two more

!w) SCHOOL OF

steps and ho must have discovered me, when
^ c- ^Tx fortunately an appealinjr gur^de and a meas-

^^yfSm/ef '-d /'"A /'»/■ /^•■/-'"^- '-V' ;^ ""7

{alUnii in shallow water — sounded from the

shore below, where Simmo was concealed.
Instantly the bull turned and glided away, a
shadow among the shadows. A few minutes
later I heard him running off m the direction
whence he had first come.

After that the twilight always found him
near our camp. He was convinced that
^:^ there was a mate hiding somewhere near,
and he was bound to find her. We had
only to call a few times from our canoe,
or from the shore, and presently we
would hear him coming, blowing his
penny trumpet, and at last see him break
out upon the shore with a crashing

plunge to waken all
the echoes. Then,

■•i»t

WSiSf^s^'^ --^ '~"'

O ~ --

297

THE WOODS e

one night as we lay alongside a great
rock in deep shadow, watching the puzzled

young bull as he ranged along the shore in ^^

the moonlight, Simmo grunted softly to call Mffte Sound ^
him nearer. At the sound a large, bull, that S^eOTftimpef
we had not suspected, leaped out of the
bushes close beside us and splashed straight
at the canoe. Only the quickest kind of
work saved us. Simmo swung the bow off,
with a startled grunt of his own, and I pad-
dled away; while the bull, mistaking us in
the dim light for the exasperating cow that
had been calling and hiding herself for a
week, followed after us into deep water.

There was no doubt ^vhatever that this
moose, at least, had come to what he thought
was the call of a mate. Moonlight is decep-
tive beyond a few feet, and when the low
grunt sounded in the shadow of the great
rock he was sure he had found the coy crea-
ture at last, and broke out of his conceal-
ment resolved to keep her in sight and not
to let her get away again. That is why he
swam after us. Had he been investigating

}mm-~^^^^.

29H
^f^e Sound of

9 SCHOOL OF

some new sound or possible danger, he would
never have left the land, where alone his great
power and his wonderful senses have full
play. In the water he is harmless, as most
other wild creatures arc.

I paddled cautiously just ahead of him, so
near that, looking over my shoulder, I could
see the flash of his eye and the waves crink-
ling away before the push of his great nose.
After a short swim he grew suspicious of
the queer thing that kept just so far ahead,
whether he swam fast or slow, and turned in
towards the shore, whining his impatience.
I followed slowly, letting him get some dis-
tance ahead, and just as his feet struck bot-
tom whispered to Simmo for his most seduc-
tive gurgle. At the call the bull whirled and
plunged after us again recklessly, and I led
him across to where the younger bull was
still ranging up and down the shore, calling
imploringly to his phantom mate.

I expected a battle when the two rivals
should meet; but they paid little attention
to each other. The common misfortune, or

299

THE WOODS n

the common misery, seemed to kill the fierce
natural jealousy whose fury I had more than

once been witness of. They had lost all fear

by this time; they ranged up and down the //HheSoun^of
shore, or smashed recklessly through the ^^e OTrumpef
swamps, as the elusive smells and echoes
called them hither and yon in their frantic
search.

Far up on the mountain side the sharp,
challenging grunt of a ma3ter bull broke
out of the startled woods in one of the
lulls of our exciting play. Simmo heard,
and turned in the bow to whisper excit-
edly: " Nother bull 1 Fetch-um Ol' Dev'l
this time, sa*-''n." Raising his horn, he
gave the long, rolling bellow of a cow
moose. A fiercer trumpet call <^rom the
mountain side answered ; then the sound
was lost in the crash-crash of the first
two bulls, as they broke out upon
the shore on opposite sides of the
canoe.

We gave little heed now to
the nearer play ; '■ »ur whole -^^^^

•':iMi'ar ':'^*kb'tp»

^f me Sound of
3^e:/rumpei'

attention uas fixed <.n a hoarse. •'runtinK' roar
— lli^ult^nh! cnyuh! r-y-r-ruuhuvh ! —
with a ratthn-r. Miappin-- cia>h of iuulerbru>h
tor an accompaninKnt. Tlie younger l)ull
heard it ; Ustened for a moment, hke a j^reat
black >tatue under the moonii^dil; then he
-rhded away into the sha(lo\\> under the bank.
The lar^aT bull heard it and came swinging
along the siiore, hurling a savage challenge
back On the echoing woods at every stride.

There was an ominous silence up on the
rid^e where a moment Ix'fore all was fierce
commotion. Simmo was silent too; tlie
uproar had been appalling, with the sleeping
lake below us, and the vast forest, where
silence dwells at home, stretching u)) x\m\
away on every hand to the sky line. Uut
the spirit of mischief was tingling all over
me as I seized the horn and gave the low
appealing grunt that a cow would have
uttered under the same circumstances. Like
a shot the answer was hurled back, and
down came the great bull — smash, crack,
r-y-rnnh ! till he burst like a tempest out

■r

in-

'.\^„

■A MIGHTY SPRING OF HIS CROUCHING
HAUNCHES FINISHED THE WORK

mmm

^mM-'A^^:}-.

-.)■

on the open shore, where the second bull
with a ch? 'longing roar leaped to meet him.

Sin^ ; o v. a. o^r^.s^ing me to shoot, shoot, ___

telling .-: exci^e.'.y that " Ol' Dev'l," as he ^^^^'^f
called -r. v/oulu be more dangerous now ^^^ ^ r^
than ever, if I let him get away ; but I only
drove the canoe in closer to the splashing,
grunting uproar among the shadows under

the bank.

There was a terrific duel under way when
I swung the canoe alongside a moment later.
The bulls crashed together with a shock to
break their heads. Mud and water flew
over them; their great antlers clashed and
rang like metal blades as they pushed and
tugged, grunting like demons in the fierce
struggle. But the contest was too one-sided
to last long, or Dev'l had smashed down
from the mountain in a frightful rage, and

with a power that nothing could resist.

With a quick lunge he locked angers in the

grip he wanted ; a twist of his massive neck

and shoulders forced the opposing head

aside, and a mighty spring of his crouching

-.^^mmmmm^^ismmammfM ^

^fifie Sound of
^e<7rump€f

wi SCHOOL Of

haunches finished the work. The second
moose went over with a plunge like a bolt-
struck pine. As he rolled up to his feet
again the savage old bull jumped for him,
and drove the brow antlers into his flanks.
The next moment both bulls had crashed
away into the woods, one swinging off in
giant strides through the crackling under-
brush for his life, the other close behind,
charging like a battering-ram into his enemy's
rear, grunting like a huge wild boar in his
ratre and exultation. So the chase vanished
over the ridge into the valley beyond ; and
silence stole back, like a Chinese empress,
into her dist rbed dominionr

From behind a great windfall on the point
above, the first young bull stole out, and
came halting and listening along the shore to
the scene of the conflict. " To the discreet
belong the spoils" was written in every
timorous step and stealthy movement. A
low grunt from my horn reassured him ; he
grew confident; now he would find the
phantom mate that had occasioned so much

THE WOODS ®

trouble, and run away with her before the

conqueror should return from his chase.

He s\v mg along rapidly, rumbling the low ^-^-.^i^^j.^^^J^^^^^

call in his throat. Then up on the ridge MffteSound^

sounded agai: the crackle of brush and the ^Vie OTrumpet

loar of a challenge. Ol' Dev'l was coming

back for his reward. On the instant all ., ■;

confidence vanished from the young bull's

attitude. He slipped away into the woods. ^ ^■-;: ; ' '

There was no sound; scarcely a definite :..,.. /
motion. A shadow seemed to glide away f / , ■.■■ .
into the darker shadows. The underbrush ^ . , ■■■■■■ -p...^.. ■ ■■■-■■■

closed softly behind it, and he was gone. J ..;

Next morning at daybreak I found my ■ V
old bull on the shore, a mile below; and ■•. , " .....•;■".■■

with him was the great cow tiiat had v

hunted me away from her little one, which , ; • •

still followed her about obediently. I left
them there undisturbed, with a thought of
the mighty offspring that shall
some day come

smashing down
from the moun-
tain to delight

19!

r^::.:^^'--^--

• Tjraii^^cj^;

W^lWT'\

3o6

A/Me Sound of
S^e^rumpef

the heart of camper or luinter and set his
nerves a-tingle, when the lake shall again be
visited, and the roar of a bark trumpet roll
over the sleeping lake and the startled woods.
Let them kill who will. 1 have seen Umque-
nawis the Mighty as he was Ixfore fear eame,
and am satisfied.

}• i

y /A

.\,/-^%

Ol,

/v..

t^V^

VER my head soared an eagle one
day, his broad vans set firm to the
breeze that was doing his pleasure
splendidly, keeping him afloat in the blue,
just where he wanted to be. At my feet
sprawled a turtle, enjoying himself in his
own way. The two together taught me a
lesson, which I am glad now to remember.
The morning fishing was over. A couple
of grilse, beautiful four-pound fish, fresh
from the sea, lay snug together in my fish
basket — enough for the day and to spare.

309

-»Vi. -

310

erne

Gladsome

^ SCHOOL OF

So I rravc up — with an effort, I niubt con-
fuss — the bi<r sahiion that had plunged
twice at my Jock Scott, and sat down on a
stranded log to enjoy myself, as the wood
folk were doing all about me.

The river rippled past with strong, even
sweep. Below was the deej) ])ool, with
smiles and glintings of light on its dark
face, where the salmon, after their lone run
from the sea, rested awhile before taking up
their positions in the swift water, in which
they love to lie, balancing themselves against
the rush and tremor of the current. Above
were th- rififles, making white foam patches
of the water, as if they were having a soap-
l)ubble party all to themselves. The big
white bubbles would come dancing, swing-
ing down to the eddies behind the rocks,
where a playful young grilse vould shoot
,, up through them, scattering them
"; merrily, and adding a dozen more
' |<| bubbles and wimples to the running

v,' troop as he fell back into his

.:' eddy with a musical splash that

THE WOODS H

set all the warblers on the bank lo whistling.
Now and then a big white i)atch would escape
all this and enter sedately the swift run of

3 J'

water along the great le^dge on the farther ^z^****^^
shore. My big salmon lived there; and just ^"t^^J^
as the fo.iH: patch dipped sharply into the ^^^^
quiet water below, he would swirl under it
and knock it into smithereens with a blow
of his tail.

So the play went on, while I sat watching
it — watching the shadows, watching the
dabs and pencilings of light and the chan-
ging reflections, watching the foam bubbles
with special delight and anticipation, betting
with myself how far they would run, whether
to the second eddy or to the rim of the pool,
before the sahnon would smash them in their
play. Then a shadow fell on the water, and
I looked up to watch the great eagle breast-
ing, balancing, playing with the mighty air
currents above, as the fishes played in the
swift rush of water below.

He set his wings square to the wind at
first and slanted swiftly up, like a well hung

.■;i

^5e
O/aefsome

M SCHOOL OF

kite. Hut that was too fast for leisure hours.
Hf had only dropped down to the pool in
idle curiosity to see what was doing. Then,
watching his wing tij)s keenly through my
glass, I saw the quills turn ever so slightly,
so as to spill the wind from their underside,
as a skipper slacks sheets to deaden his
boat's headway, and the wonderful upward
spiral flight began.

Just how he does it only the eagle himself
knows ; and with him it is largely a matter
of slow learning. The young birds make a
sad bungle of it when they try it for the first
ti following the mother eagle, who swings
jusc above and in front of them to show
them how it is done.

Over me sweeps my eagle in slow, majestic
circles; ever returning upon his course, yet
ever higher than his last wheel, like a life
with a great purpose in it; sliding evenly
upward on the wind's endless stairway as it
slips from under him. Without hurry, with-
out exertion— just a twist of his wide-set
wing quills, so slight that my eye can no

THE WOODS ^

longer notice it — he swin-^s ii])\varcl ; while
the earth ..prends wider and wider below '''''^
him, and rivers flash in the sun, like silver
ribbons, across the tureen forest carpet that ^^fe^^^^"^
spreads away over mountain and valley to -^-l^^J^S*
the farthest horizon. ^S^>

Smaller and smaller i^row the circles now.

till the vast spiral reaches its apex, and he

han_t,'s there in the air, looking with quiet,

kindling eyes over Isaiah's roy 1 land of

"farnesses," like a tiny humming bird poised

over the earth's great flower cuj). So high

is he that one must think he glances over

the brim of things, and sees our earth as a

great bubble floating in the blue ether, with

nothing whatever below it and only himself

above. And there he stays, floating, balan-

cmg, swaying in the purring currents of

air that hold him fast in their soft arms

and brush his great wings tenderly with a

caress that never grows weary, like a great,

strong mother holding her little child.

He had fed ; he had drunk to the full from
a mountain spring. Now he rested over the

:.i.

3'4

Gladsome
U/fe

^) SCHOOL OF

world that r irishcd him and his little ones,
with his keen ryes ^rrowing sleepy, and never
a thou"-ht (if harm to himself or any crea-
ture within his breast. I'or that is a splen-
did thini; about all great creatures, even
the fiercest of them : they are never cruel.
They take only what they must to supply
their necessities. When their wants are
satisfied there is truce which they never
break. They live at peace with all things,
small and great, and, in their dumb uncon-
scious way, answer to the deep harmony of
the world which underlies all its superficial
discords, as the music of the sea is never
heard till one moves far away from the
uproar along the shore.

The little wild things all know this per-
fectly. When an eagle, or any other bird
or beast of prey, is not hunting — which is
nine tenths of the lime — the timidest and
most defenseless creature has no fear of
him whatever.

My eyes grow weary, at last, watching the
noble bird, so small a speck on the infinite

THE WOODS ^

blue background; and tu'y blur suddenly,
thinking of the joy of !u> grca^ free life, and
the sadness of our unnatural humanity.

3'5

As I seek the pool

agai

3Re Gladsome

n, and rest my Jj/cV

eyes on the soft, glininicring, color-washed ^-i^^^vL^
surface, there is a stir in the still water at ^^'"^
my feet. Life I'^ here too; and joy belongs,
not only to the heaven>s but to the earth as
well. A long twig from a fallen tree had
thrust itself deep into the stream ; its outer
end i'.'ayed, and rose ar. ' fell rhythmically
in the current. While .' • ^ watching the
eagle a little turtle found the twig and laid
himself across it, one rti])per clinched into
a knot to hold him steady, the others hang-
ing listlessly and swinging to keep the bal-
ance perfect as he teetered up and down, up
and down, with the great, purring river to
do his work for h'ln and join his silent play.
And the'c he lav for half the morninir —
as long as I stayed to watch him — swing-
ing, swaying, rising, falling, glad of his little
life, which was yet big enough to know a
pleasure, glad of light and motion, and. %^

3i6

GJbdsome

¥ SCHOOL OF

for aught I know, glad of . music in the
stream below, the faint echo of the rustling,
rippling, fluting music that filled the air and
the woods all around me.

Life is a glad thing for the wood folk ;
that is what the great eagle was saying, far
overhead ; that is what the little turtle said,
swaying up and down on his twig at my
feet; that is what every singing bird and
leaping salmon said, and every piping frog
along the shore, and every insect buzzing
about my ears in the warm sunshine. I
remembered suddenly a curious fact, which
till then had never come home to me with
its true significance: in all my years of
watching the wild things — watching, not
to record, or to make a story, but only to
see and understand for myself just what
they were doing, and what they thought and
felt — I had never yet met an unhappy bird
or animal. Nor have I ever met one, before
or since, in whom the dominant note was
not gladness of living. I have met all sorts
and conditions of beasts and birds at close

•TSSS

THE WOODS e

quarters; some whose whole nature seemed

bent into a question mark, like certain jays .^^

and turkeys and deer, and one moose that ^de_/2&^

I could not keep away fn^m my camp for ^/^V.

any length of time ; some fond, like a cer- ^s^i.^^-^^

tain big green frog that attached himself

to me with an affection that denied his cold

blood ; some foolish, like the fawn that

would never follow his leader ; some morose

and ugly, like the big bull moose that first

watched and then tried twice to kill me;

but never a one, great or small, among them

all, to whom life did not seem to offer a

brimming cup, and who did not, even in

times of danger and want, rejoice in his

powers and live gladly, with an utter absence

of that worry and anxiety which make wreck

of our human life.

I stood by a runway in the big woods one
morning, watching for a deer that dogs were
driving. From the lake I had listened to
the whole story, — the first eager, sniffing
yelps, the sharp, clear note that meant a
fresh track, and then the deep-lunged, savage

® SCHOOL OF

3'S

G/adsome

chorus sweeping up the ridge, which told
of a deer afoot and running for his Hfc.
I knew something of the deer's habits in
that region ; knew also that the hunters
were over the ridge, watching by a lake that
the deer had deserted week? ago ; and so I
headed for a favorite runway, to ^et the deer
slip by me and to club the dogs away as
they came on. For deer hounding and deer
coursing are detestable sports, whether the
law allow them or not, and whether the dogs
be mongrel curs that follow their noses
or imported greyhounds with a pedigree
ll/^t thai run by sight, followed by a field of
thoroughbreds.
^V'/^^ On the way to the runway a curious

^^py^k?^ thing happened. A big hawk swooped into
^'jlpf'^'iV some berry bushes ahead of me with strong,
even slant, and rose in a moment with the
unmistakable air of disappointment showing
all over him, from beak to tail tip. I stole
up to the bushes cautiously to find out what
he was after, and to match my eyes with
his. There I saw, first one, then five or six

THE WOODS 9

well-grown young partridges crouched in
their hiding places among the brown leaves,
rejoicing apparently in the wonderful color-
ing which Nature gave them, and in their
own power, learned from their mother, to lie
still and so be safe till danger passed. There
was no fear manifest whatever; no shadow
of anxiety for any foolish youngster who
might turn his head and so let the hawk see
him. In a moment they were all gliding
away with soft, inquisitive hoiZ-ha/Zs, turn-
ing their heads to eye me curiously, and
anon picking up the dried berries that lay
about plentifully. Among them all there
was no trace of a thought for the hawk that
had just swooped. And why should there
be.'' Had they not just fooled him perfectly,
and were not their eyes as keen to do it
again when the need should come ?

I was thinking about it, wondering at this
strange kind of fear that is merely watchful,
with no trace of our terror or anxiety for the
future in it, when twigs began to crackle and a
big buck came bounding down the runway.

319

^ SCHOOL OF

320

Gladsome

I' I

Near me he stopped and turned to listen,
shaking his antlers indignantly, and stamp-
ing his fore foot hard at such an uproar in his
quiet woods. He trotted past me, his great
muscles working like well oiled machinery
under his velvet roat ; then, instead of keep-
ing on to water, he leajx'd over a windfall —
a magnificent exhibition of power, taken as
gracefully as if he were but playing — and
dashed away through the swamp, to kill the
scent of his riving feet.

An hour or two later I saw him enter the
lake quietly from another runway and swim
across with deep, powerful strokes. On the
farther shore he stopped a moment to shake
Q^P'--/ himself and to listen to the far-away
,' cry of the hounds. He had run as
much as he wished, to stretch his big
. muscles, and was indisposed now to
-: run farther and tire himself, when he
^ could so easily get rid of the noisy
par k. But there was no
terror in the shake of his
antlers, nor in the angry

V-

wn^

THE WOODS

stamp of his fore foot, and no sense save that
of conscious power and ability to take care of
himself in the mighty bounds that lifted him
like a bird over the windfalls into the shelter
and silence of the big woods.

At times, I know, it happens differently,
when a deer is fairly run down and killed
by dogs or wolves ; but though I have seen
them dog-driven many times, and once when
the great gray timber wolves were running
their trail, I have never yet seen a deer lose
his perfect confidence in himself, and his
splendid sense of superiority over those that
follow him. Once, in deep snow, I saved a
deer's life just as the dogs were closing in
on him ; but up to the moment when he
gave his last bound and laid his head down
quietly on the crust to rest, I saw no evi-
dence whatever of the wild terrors and
frightful excitement that we have attributed
to driven creatures.

The same is true of foxes, and even of
rabbits. The weak and foolish die young,
under tiie talon or paw of stronger creatures.

321

322

G/adsome

The rest have escaped so often, piiv/o^l and
run so systematically till every ncvc iiirl
muscle is trained to its perfect work, that
they seem to have no thought whatever that
the last danger may have its triumph.

Watch the dogs yonder, driving a fox
through the winter woods. Their feet, cut
by briers and crust, leave red trails over the
snow; their tails have all bloody stumps,
where the ends have been whipped off m
frantic wagg'ng. You cannot call, you can
scarcely club them from the trail. They
seem half crazy, half hypnotized by the scent
in their noses. Their wild cry, especially if
you be near them, is almost painful in its inten-
sity as they run blindly through the woods.
And it makes no difference to them, appar-
ently, whether they get their fox or not. If
he is shot before them, they sniff the body,
wondering for a moment ; then they roll in
the snow and go off to find another trail. If
the fox runs all day, as usual, they follow till
footsore and weary ; then sleep awhile, and
come limping home in the morning.

HHi

TROTS TO THE BROOK AND JUMPS
FROM STONE TO STONE'

i^=mim =' ..• < I. -1 -=

Now cut ahead of the dogs to the runway ^^5
and watch for the fox. Here is the hunted ^^
creature. He comes loping along, light as ^/^(jffyffsome

a wind-blown feather, his brush floating out ^/c V^

like a great plume behind him. He stops '-^iQ^^^-^

to listen to his heavy-footed pursuers, capers

a bit in self-satisfaction, chases his tail if he

is a young fox, makes a crisscross of tracks,

trots to the brook and jumps from stone to

stone ; then he makes his way thoughtfully

over dry places, which hold no scent, to the

top of the ridge, where he can locate the

danger perfectly, and curls himself up on a

warm rock and takes a nap. When the cry

comes too near he slips down on the other

side of the ridge, where the breeze seems to

blow him away to the next hill.

There are exceptions here too ; exceptions
that only prove the great rule of gladness in
animal life, even when we would expect wild
terrors. Of scores of foxes that have passed
under my eyes, with a savage hunting cry
behind them, I have never seen but one that
did not give the impression of getting far

"^T!^ mm ~^r'rw':'&^^yi,'^-

326

Gtodsome

9 SCHOOL OF

more fun out of it than the dogs that were
driving him. And that is why he so rarely
takes to earth, where he could so easily and
simply escape it all if he chose. When the
weather is f^ne he keeps to his legs all day;
but when the going is heavy, or his tail gets
wet in mushy snow, he runs awhile to stretch
his muscles, then slips into a den and lies
down in peace. Let dogs bark ; the ground
is frozen, and they cannot scratch him out.
I have written these three things, of par-
tridge and deer and fox — while twenty others
come bubbling up to remembrance that one
need not write — simply to suggest the great
fact, so evident among all wild creatures,—
from the tiniest warbler, lifting his sweet song
to the sunrise amid a hundred enemies, to
the great eagle, resting safe in air a thousand
feet above the highest mountain peak ; and
from the little wood mouse, pushing his snow
tunnels bravely under the very feet of hungry
fox and wild-cat, to the great moose, breast-
ing down a birch tree to feed on its top when
maple and wicopy twigs are buried deep

THE WOODS «

under the northern snows, — that life is a
glad thing to Nature's children, so glad that
cold cannot chill, nor danger overwhelm, nor
even hunger deaden its gladness. I have
seen deer, gaunt as pictures from an ^ndian
famine district, so poor that all their ribs
showed like barrel hoops across their col-
lapsed sides; yet the yearlings played to-
gether as they wandered in their search for
food through the bare, hungry woods. And
I have stood on the edge of the desolate
northern barrens when the icy blasts roared
over them and all comfort seemed buried
so deep that only the advice of Job's wife
seemed pertinent : to " curse God and die."
And lo! in the midst of blasphemy, the
flutter of tiny wings, light and laughter of
little bright eyes, chatter of chickadees call-
ing each other cheerily as they hunted the
ice-bound twigs over and over for the morsel
that Nature had hidden there, somewhere,
in the fat autumn days; n J then one clear,
sweet love note, as if an angel had blown a
little flute, tinkling over the bleak desolation

327
^fieGJbdsome

32«

Gtodsome

«i SCHOOL OF

t., tell -e that spring was coming, and thnt
even here, meanwhile, life was well worth

the living.

The fict i , Nature takes care of her crea-
tures s . el. -gives then food without c .re.

soft cr!.u> t.. hide, and nimble legs o rui

away it'-, -that, ^o far as 1 have ever ob-
serve.i. t!.. • ^cldori have a thought ' ^ their
heads .ur /thing \^yv. the pUxiii .miort
and giadne>^ o'' iixi!;^.

It is onlywlvn u. looks at th anmal
from above, studies him psychology all. for
a moment, and . aemb rs what u .nderful
provision Nature nas made u .eephimf'om
all the evils of anxious forethought, that ore
can understand thi- gladness.

In the first plac . h- has ro .uch pams a^
Nve are accustomed tc tind i' ourselves and
sympathize with '^ our ne^^hbors. Thre-
fourths, at least, o' all our pain is mental ; .s

born of an overurc _ht nervo.is on/; .

_^ tion, or imagination. H our pain.
., f only those that actuall e.xis^ in ^ >ur

or bai

re
w:

s,?

THE H OOnS ®

couUl voriv . iont verv well to n ;ood ()1<

.ijTc, > s ilu' l)cars a icl sc|uirrel> do. l-'oi ilit'

.1 lim-^l ha- no u,rcat nu-ntalit\ certainly
ni lou

Y( ir Chi 4ian-Science 'riend would find

,1}; ,(.'1 subject, .ni)( 'h ., d 'fficult

'ie house to gci a grip

r-')
^

, SfksGiadsome

, I pk hi> pains th>'eby, ,Mid ^/tfVv^
imr. maiion \ hatevi • to Ix^ncr hnn. .«jrT__V_X^

-'®:'^

.on-

hill.

.St'

ipii

foes ' si'

eeds 1 fi.i

i: vs his -u.n

t .se "is

e ni iS

i( k he knows it, uid

. when he is w« ' he

hin 'f the fact. 'e

they are ■ ily

bac. ni\ even iicie

>s ,ani/ation i much oarser

^, and the pain less ^evere. V\ has

1, t excellent and wholesome di^posi-

) make as little, not as muc' hi^

as possible.

ve notice I a score of times

; w( dcd animals that, when ■ '

vo their contidence so that

h ve ? o icar of my hurting them willfully,

i.iey let me bind up their .vounds and twist

the broken bones into plai e, and even cut

a ^o
tion
pii

330

GJbdsome
Jt/fe

9 SCHOOL OF

away the flesh ; and they show almost no
evidence of suffering. That their pain is
very slight compared with ours is absolutely

certain.

I have sometimes found animals in the
woods, bruised, wounded, bleeding, from
some of the savage battles that they wage
among themselves in the mating season.
The f^rst thought, naturally, is how keenly
they must suffer as the ugly wounds grow
cold. Now comes Nature, the wise physician.
In ten minutes she has them well in hand.
They sink into a aozy, dreamy slum.ber. as
free from pain or care as an opium smoker.
And there they stay, for hours or days, under
the soft ana-sthetic until ready t- range the
woods for food again, or till death comes
gently and puts them to sleep.

I have watched animals stricken sore by
a bullet, feeding or resting quietly; have
noted little trout with half their jaws torn
away rising freely to the same fly that
injured them ; have watched a muskrat cut-
ti ig his own leg off with his teeth to free

THE WOODS S

himself from the trap that held him (all
unwillingly. Gentle Reader ; for I hate such

J.')

things, as you do), but I have never yet seen ^^Qfy^gQ/g^^
an animal that seemed to suffer a hundredth ^/c>v^
part of the paUi that an ordinary man would "^^^r^^^
suffer under the same circumstances.

Children suffer far less than their elders
with the same disease, and savage races
less than civilized ones ; all of which points
far down to the animal that, with none
of our mentality or imagination or tense-
strung nervous organization, escapes largely
our aches and pains. This is only one
mt r; of Nature's wise ways, in withhold-
ing pain mc-tly from those least able to
endure it.

Of purely mental sufferings the animal has
but one, the grief which comes from loss of
the young or ihe mate. In this we have
read only of the exceptional cases, — the
rarely exceptional, — tinctured also with the
inevitable human imagination, and so have
come to accept grossly exaggerated concep-
tions of animal grief.

1 n -^

GJfatisome

W SCHOOL OF

A mother bird's nest is destroyed. The
storm beats it down ; or the black snake lays
his coils around it; or the small boy robs
it thoughtlessly ; or the professional egg-col-
lector, whose name and whose business be
anathema, puts it into his box of abomina-
tions. The mother bird haunts the spot a
few hours, — rarely longer than that, — then
glides away into deeper solitudes. In a few
days she has another nest, and is brooding
eggs more wisely hidden. This is the great
rule, not the exception, of the gladsome bird
life. Happy for them and for us that it is
so; else, instead of the glorious morning
chorus, the woods would be filled always
with lamentations.

When the young birds or animals are
taken away, or killed by hungry prowlers,
the mother's grief endures a little longer.
But even here Nature is kind. The mother
love for helpless little ones, which makes the
summer wilderness such a wonderful place
to oi)en one's eyes in, is but a temporary
instinct. At best it endures but a few weeks,

THE WOODS ®

after which the little ones go away to tak
care of themselves, and the mother lets them
go gladly, thinking that now she can lay on
fat for herself against the cold winter.

If the time be yet seasonable when acci-
dent befalls, the mother wastes but few
hours in useless mourning. She makes a
new nest, or hollows out a better den, or
drops her young in deeper seclusion, and
forgets the loss, speedily and absolutely, in
rearing and teaching the new brood, — hurry-
ing the process and taking less care, because
the time is short. It is a noteworthy fact —
you can see it for yourself any late summer
in the woods — that these late-coming off-
spring arc less cared for than the earlier.
The mother must have a certain period of
leisure for herself to get ready for winter,
and she takes it, usually, whether the young
are fully prepared for life or not. It is from
these second broods largely that birds and
beasts of prey keep themselves .^^i^VViJ ^-p.^

i alive during times of >^^^V^^<\

333
^ReGiadsome

hunger and scarcity. ^

-WK«!c.i?\V:f V>A^»«^

3.34

GJbdstune

9 SCHOOL OF

They arc less carefully taught, and so are
caught more easily. This again is not the
exception, but the great rule of animal life.

And this is another of Mother Nature's
wise ways. She must care for the deer and
partridge; but she must also remember the
owl and the panther that cry out to her in
their hunger. And how could she accom-
plish that miracle of contradiction without
exciting our hate and utter abhorrence, if
she gave to her wild creatures the human
griefs and pains with which they are so often
endowed by our sensitive imagination.?

Of these small griefs and pains, such as
they are, the mothers alone are the inheritors.
The male birds and animals, almost without
exception so far as I have observed, have no
griefs, but rather welcome the loss of the
/} young. This is partly because it leaves them
// . free to shift and feed for themselves — your
< male animal is essentially a selfish and happy
'/-" creature — and partly because it otx-ns to
them anew the joys of winning their mates

over again.

-.^c.^-

?%Ji

THE WOODS «

The second great reason for the gladness
of animal Ufe is that the animal has no fears.
The widespread animal fear, which is indeed
the salvation of all the little wild things, is
so utterly different from our " faithless fears
and worldly anxieties" that another name —
watchfulness, perhaps, or timidity, or distrust
— should be given to it in strict truth.

This animal fear, be it remembered, is not
so much an instinctive thing a> a plain mat-
ter of teaching. Indeed, inquisitiveness is a
much stronger trait of all animals than fear.
The world is so full of things the animal
does not understand that he is always agog
to find out a little more.

1 was sitting on a stump one day in
the woods, plucking some partridges for my
dinner. A slight UKjtion in the underbrush
roused me from my absorption; and there
was a big bull moose, half hid in the dwarf
spruces, watching me and the fluttering
feathers, with wonder and intense curiosity
written all over his ugly black face. And I
have caught bear and deer and crows and

335
^/ieGJbdsonte

•hik;- ^- ^ii^»«iiJEsrs:r^'at^^iife»!^fi«if

Gladsome

V SCHOOL OF

squirrels and little wwd warblers at the same
inquisitive game, again and again. If you
sit down in the woods anywhere, and do any
ciueer or simple thing you will, the time will
not be long before you find shy bright eyes,
all roun(^ with wonder, watching you with
delicious little waverings between the timidity
which urges them away nnd the curiosity
which always brings them ixick again, if you
but know how to keep still and disguise your
interest.

If you find a young bird or animal, in nest
or den young enough so that the mother's
example has not yet produced its effect, you
will probably note only two instincts. The
first and greatest instinct, that of obedience,
is not for you to command ; though you may
get some strong hints of it, if you approach
silently and utter some low, cautious sound
in imitation of the mother creature. The
two which you may surely find are: the
instinct to eat. and the instinct to lie still
and let nature's coloring do its good work
of hiding. (There is another reason for

^^mM'

■MM

THE WOODS «

c|uietncss: a bird — and, to a less extent, an
animal — gives forth no scent when he is still
and his pores are closed. He lies quiet to
cscajje the nose as well as the eyes of his
enemy. That, however, is another matt'
Hut JU will find no fear there. The lit
thing will feed from your hand as readily
as from its nK)ther, if you catch him soon

enough.

Afterwards come the lessons of watchful-
ness and timidity, which we have called fear,

to sort the sounds and sights and smells

of the woods, and to act accordingly; now
to lie still, and now to bristle your
pinfeathers, so as to look big and
scare an intruder; now to hiss, or
growl, or scratch, or cry out for your ^-^ <"
mother; and now, at last, to dive f^Y'^^-
for cover or take to your legs in a straight-
away run, — all of which are learned, not
by instinct, but by teaching and example.

And these are not fears at all, in our sense
of the word, but rules of conduct ; as a car
horse stops when the bell jingles; as a man

337

'■'mm^:wm:.:mmmi^ss7'^'^rh

:.3S

Gladsome

9 SCHOOL OF

turns to the right, because he has learned to
do so, or bends forward in running, or jumps
forward when he hears an unknown noise
ck'SC behind liini.

To make a rough and of course inadequate
generalization, all our human fears arise from
three great sources : the thought of pain or
bodily harm, the thought of future calamity,
and the thought of death. Now Nature in
mercy has kept all these things from the wild
creatures, who have no way of making pro-
vision against them, nor any capacity for faith,
by which alone such fears are overcome.

First, in the matter of bodily harm or
pain : The animal has lived a natural life
and, as a rule, knows no pain whatever. He
likewise has never been harmed by any crea-
ture — except perhaps an occasional nip by
his mother, to teach him obedience. So he
runs or flies through the big woods without
any thought of the pains that he has never
felt and does not know.

Neither does ar/ thought of future
calamity bother his little head, for he knows

THE WOODS W

no calamity and no future. I am not speak- - -g
ing now of what we know, or think we know, -^^
concerning the animal's future; but only ^tgCfyffgnme
of what he knows, and what he knows he -^^Xx^— ,
knows. With the exception of the few wild "vSh>
creatures that lay up stores for winter — and
they are the happiest — he lives wholly in
the present. He feels well; his eyes are
keen and his muscles ready; he has enough,
or expects enough at the next turn of the
trail. And that is his wisdom of experience.
As for death, that is forever out of the
animal's thinking. Not one in a thousand
creatures ever sees death — except, of course,
the insects or other wild things that they
eat, and these are not death but good food,
as we regard a beefsteak. If they do see it,
they pass it by suspiciously, like a tent, or a
canoe, or any other thing which they do not
Mnderstand, and which they have not been
taught by their mothers how to meet.
Scores of times I have watched birds and
animals by their own dead mates or little
ones. Until the thing grows cold they treat

340

OAadsome

9 SCHOOL OF

it as if it were sleeping. Then they grow
suspicious, look at the body strangely, sniff
it at a distance, never touching it with their
noses. They glide away at last, wondering
why it is so cold, why it does not move
or come when it is called. Then, circling
through the underbrush, you will hear them
calling and searching elsewhere for the little
one that they have just left.

So far as I know, the ants, some tribes of
which bury tl.eir dead, and the bees, which
kill their drones at the proper season, are
the only possible exception to this general
rule of animal life. And these little creatures
arc too unknown, too mysterious, too contra-
dictory a mixture of dense stupidity and pro-
found wisdom to allow a positive theory as
to how clearly they think, how blindly they
are instinctive, or how far they are con-
scious of the meaning of what they do daily
3 all their lives.

Bodily harm, future calamity, death, —
these three things can never enter con-
sciously into the animal's head ; and there is

-ifk ' *

THE WOOLS W

nothing in his exjx'rieiice to clothe the last
great enemy, or friend, with any meaning.
Therefore are they glad, being mercifully
delivered from the bondage of our fean^,

I am still sitting on the old log by the
salmon pool, with the great river purring by
and the white foam patches floating down
from the riffles. A second little turtle has
joined the first on his teeter board ; they are
swinging up and down, up and down, in the
kindly current together. The river is full of
insect life below them ; they will eat when
they get ready. Meanwhile they swing and
enjoy their little life. Far over the moun-
tain soars the great eagle, resting on the
winds. The earth has food and drink below;
he will come down when he is hungry.
Meanwhile he looks down o\er the brim of
things and is satisfied. The birds have not
yet hushed their moniing song in the woods
behind me ; to^ happy to eat, they must sing
a little longc Where the pool dimples
and rolls lazily the salmon are leaping in

34'

SfieGiadsome

m^^mmm

"^nm

wmm

GJfadso/ne

their jtrent;tli; frogs pipe and blink on the
lily paHs riding at ' hor; and over their
cads in the nood of sunshine buzz the
myriads of little things that cannot be still
for gladnes- Nat ire above and beiow tin-
gles with the joy of mere living — a joy that
bubbles over, like a spring, so that all who
will, even of the race of men who have lost
or forgotten their birthright, may come back
and drink of its abundance and be satisfied.

BKHDa

34 J

. V .Jt^W:.^E

'Howltie,

Tuiimh

Die/z,

^mf^^'inm^

X ■- ■^\

Imnv me An imals D ie

HE scream of an eagle — a rare sound h
__ in the summer wilderness — brought Syyj^^
me hurrying out of my commoosie to know <|^|^^
what had caused Chcplahgan to break the
silence. He was poised over his mountain
top at an enormous altitude, wheeling in
small erratic circles, like an eaglet learning
to use the wind under his broad wings, and
anon sending his wild cry out over the
startled woods.

Clearly something was wrong with Chep-
lahgan. This was no eaglet calling aloud to
his unknown mate, or trying for the first time
the eagle's wonderful spiral flight ; neither
was it one of a pair of the royal birds that I
had been watching and following for weeks,

345

346

^ SCHOOL OF

whose nest and little ones I had found at
last on a distant crajr. Occasionally, as I
followed them, I had -limpses of another
7/oU iA^^ eagle, a huge, solitary old fellow without
Jlnimals Die^ .^ ^^^^ ^^■^^^^ ufe had been a puzzle and a
nnstery to me all summer. It was he who
was now crying aloud ov.r the high moun-
tain where 1 had often seen him looking out
with quiet eyes over the wide splendid domain
that '^e ruled no longer, but had given over
to younger eagles-his nestlings, perhaps-
(,nly claiming for himself the right to stay
and hunt where he and his vanished mate
l,ad so long held sway. For most birds and
beasts of prey have their own hunting grounds;
-. ,. vnd. until they give them up, none other goes
>t a-poaching there. It was this that had chiefly
' pu/xlcd me all summer. Now 1 ran to a point
and sat down cjuietly against a weatherworn
r(X)t that blended with the gray of my jacket,
and focused my glasses steadily on Cheplah-
gan to-see what be wovild do.

Soon the erratic circles narrowed to a cen-
ter, about which the great eagle turned a. on

I»

THE WOODS «

a pivot ; the wild cry was hushed, and he
spread his wings wide and stiff, as an eagle
does when resting on the air. For several
minutes I could see no motion; he seemed
just a tiny dark line drawn across the infinite
blue background. Then the line grew longer,
heavier; and I knew that he was coming
down straight towards me.

Lower and lower he came, slanting slowly
down in a long incline by imperceptible
degrees, without a quiver of his wide-s t
wings. Lower still and nearer, till I saw
with wonder that his head, instead of being
carried eagle fashion, in a perfect line with
body and tail, droojied forward as if it were
heavy. Straight over the point he sailed,
so near that I heard the faint crackle of his
j)inions, like the rustle ot heavy silk. The
head drooped lower still ; the fierce, wild eyes
were half closed as he passed. Only once
did he veer slightly, to escape a tall stub
that thrust its naked bulk above the woods
athwart his path. Then with rigid wings he
crossed the bay below the point, still slanting

TnimalsDie

p^aiiifii«''««r.'«M

gently down to earth, and vanished silently
S^^ into the drooping arms of the dark woods
.i;^^^ beyond.
7/tHa MiP*T^ Clearly something was wrong with Chep-

seen before. I marked the spot where he
disappeared, between twQ -giant trees, and
followed swiftly in my canoe. Just within
the fringe of forest I found him, resting
peacefully for the first time on mother eartli.
his head lying across the moss-cushioned
root of an old cedar, his wings outstretched
among the cool green ferns — dead.

Behind my tent in the wilderness, last
summer, was a little spring. 1 used to go
there often, not to drink, but just to sit beside
it awhile and grow quiet, watching its cool
waters bubble up out of the dark earth amid
dancing pebbles to steal away among the
ferns and mosses on its errand of unchan-
ging mercy. Now and then, as 1 watched,
the little wild things would hear the low
tinkle of invitation to all who were athirst.

A LITTLE WOOD WARBLER WAS SITTING
ON A FROND OF EVERGREEN

j>i:StMi'^

ami would come swiftly to drink. Sccin^^

mc they would draw back among the ferns to

watch and listen ; but the little rivulet t kled '\Xcy/ou ff^e

away unchanged, and they always canie back I jd^n/mals Dfe

at last, taking me shyly for their friend
because I sat beside their spring.

One day when I came a little wockI war-
bler was sitting on a frond of evergreen that
hung over the spring as if to protect it. l^or
several days I had noticed him there, resting
or flitting silently about the underbrush. I le
rarely drank, but seemed to be there. a> I
was, just because he loved the place. 1 le
was old and alone; the dark feathers of his
head were streaked with gray, and his feet
showed the wrinkled scales that age always
brings to the birds. As if he had learned
the gentleness of age, he seemed to have no
fear, barelv moving aside as I approached, and
at times coming close beside me as I looked
into his spring. To-day he was quieter than
usr.,i! ; w hen 1 stretched out my hand to take
him he mad' ;io resistance, but settled down

(.lUie

tlv on n)v finger and cU)sed his eye?

%•) SCHOOL OF

I'\)r a half hour or more he sat there con-

^^' te ntedly. blinking' >loepily now and then, and

^\ openiiig his eyes wide when I brought him a

7/ou /6eTt chop of water on the tip of my finger. As

yinimais Die^ twilight came on, and all the voices of the

w(»od were hushed, I put him back on the

i.\ergreen frond, where he nodded off to sleep

before I went away.

Next morning he was closer to the friendly
spring, on a lower branch of the big ever-
green. Again he nestled down in my hand
and drank gratefully the drop from my finger
tij). At twilight I found him hanging head
down from a spruce root, his feet clinched
in a hold that would never loosen, hi> bill
just touching the life-giving water. He had
fallen asleep there, in peace, by ihe spri: ^i
that he had known and loved all his life, and
whose waters welled up to his lips and held
his image in their heart to the last mom<nt.

How do the animals die ? — (juietly, peace-
fully, nine tenths nf them, as the eagle died
in his own free element, and the little wood

THE WOODS W

warbler by the spring he loved. For these
two are but tyiK's of the death that goes on
in the woods continually. The only excei>
tion is in this: that they were seen by too
inquisitive eyes. The vast majority steal
away into the solitudes they love and lay
them down unseen, where the leaves shall
presently cover them from the sight of friends
and enemies alike.

We rarely discover them at such times, for
the instinct of the animal is to go away as far
as possible intt) the deepest coverts. We see
only the exceptional cases, the quail in the
hawk's grip, the squirrel limp and quiet under
the paw of cat or weasel ; but the unnum-
bered multitudes that choose their own plrce
and close their eyes for the last time, as peace-
fully as ever they lay down to sleep, are hidden
i\om our sight.

There is a curious animal trait which may
account for this, and also explain why we
have such curious, foolish conceptions of
animal death as a tragic, violent thing. All
animals and birds have a strong distrust and

353

.S\iK«i.

354

9 SCHOOL OF

antipaih) for any quccrncss or irregularity

an^ 'iig t' ''ir own kind. I.xcxpi in ran- ' ises,
lo animals or birtls will tolerate any cripp

---" _:-,. or ckfornutl or sicklv nv nber among them.

^i I hey set ujjon \\\w\ fiercely and drive hnn
away. So when an aiumal, grown uUl and
feeble, feels the queerness «>t >onu' new thing
stealing upon him he sli|is av.ay, in obedi-
ence to a law of protection that he has noted
all his life, and. knowing no such thing as
death, thinks he is but escaping discomfort
when he lies down in hiding for the last
time.

A score of times, with both wild aiul
domestic animals, I have watched this and
wondered. Sometimes it is entirely uncon-
scious, as with an old bear that I found one
summer, who had laid him down for his
winter sleep under .i rot)t, as usual, but did
not waken when the snows were gone and
the spring sun called him c'- ily. Some-
times it is a triumphant sense of cunning, as
with c ertain ducks that, when wounded, dive
and grasp a root under water, and die there,

" m

:*:^-4l!

THE WOODS »

thinking how perfectly they escajx? their

355

enemies. Sometimes it is a faint, unknown . y,
instinct that cal's them they know not \jLCyjf^

whither, as with the caribou, many of whom IjU^j
^o far away to a sj)ot they have never seen Ij^UA
where generations of their ancestors have |
preceded them, and there He down with the
hirches swaying above them gently, wonder-
ing w hy they are so sleepy, and why they care
not for gocKl moss anil water. And sometimes
it is but a blind impulse to get away, as many
birds fly straight out to sea, till they can go
no farther, and fold their tired wings and slee|)
ere the ocean touches them.

One day you may see your canary flutter-
ing his unused wings ceaselessly against the
bars of his cage, where he lived so long con-
tent. Were you wise, you would open the
door ; for a call, stronger far than your arti-
ficial relations, is bidding him come, — the
call of his forgotten ancestors. Next day he
lies dead on the floor of hi> cage, and there
is left for him only a burial more artificial
than his poor life.

^ftHj ifke

MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART

(ANSI ond ISO TEST CHART No 2|

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ill 2.0

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^ /1PPLIED IM/^GE

'65i tost Mam Street

Rochester. New York 14609 USA

(716) «82 - 0300 - Phone

(716) 288 - 5989 - Fcx

9 SCHOOL OF

356

Tfota ffke 7r
^nimais Die

" But," some reader objects, " what about
the catastrophes, the tragedies ?" There may
be a few, possibly, if you see with your imagi-
nation rather than with your eyes ; but they
are rarer far than human catastrophes. And
as the vast majority of mankind die, not by
earthquake or famine, but peacefully on their
beds, so the vast majority of wild creatures
die quietly in beds of their own choosing.
Except where man steps in and interferes
with the natural order of things, or brutally
kills a brooding or nursing mother, Nature
knows no tragedies. A partridge falls under
the owl's swoop. That is bad for the par-
tridge, — who is, however, almost invariably
one of the weak or foolish ones who have not
learned to be obedient with his brethren, —
but there are two young owls up in the tree-
top yonder, who will rejoice and be glad at
the good dinner brought home to them by a
careful and loving mother.

As a rule Nature, as well as man, protects
her brooding mothers, on whom helpless lives
depend, with infinite care and cunning. Even

I (

THE WOODS ®

the fox cannot smell them at such times,
though he pass close by. But should the
mother fall — even here we have let our
human imagination run away with us — the
young do nc*: starve to death, as we imagine
pitifully. They cry out for their dinner; the
mother is not near to hush them, to tell them
that silence is the law of the woods for help-
less things. They cry again; the crow or
the weasel hears, and there is a speedy end
to the family without delay or suffering.
This is the way of the woods.

There are violent deaths, to be sure ; but
these are usually the most painless and mer-
ciful. A deer goes down under the spring
of a panther watching above the runways.
We imagine that to be a fearful death, and
painters have depicted it in the colors of
agony. As a matter of fact, there is prob-
ably no pain whatever. Livingstone, who
lay under the paw of a lion with his shoulder
crushed and his arm gashed with seams
whose scars he carried to his grave, felt no
pain and did not even know that he was

fT/oui the
TnimalsDie

Tfota ifie ,, ..
^^h//na/s Die

ft? SCHOOL OF

hurt. He was the first to call attention to
the fact that the rush and spring of a savage
animal brings a kind of merciful numbness
_ that kills pain perfectly, and seems also to
^^ take away all feeling and volition; so that
one is glad simply to lie still — his only
hope, by the way, if he is to escape. If this
is true of men, it is ten times more so of the
animals, which have none of our nervousness
or imagination.

There arc many other things which point
to the same comfortable conclusion. Soldiers
in the rush of a charge or the run of a retreat
are often mortally hurt without knowing it
till they faint and fall an hour later. Every
one has seen a mouse under, the cat's paw,
and a toad in the jaws of a snake, and knows'
that, so far as the stricken creatures are con-
cerned, there is no suggestion there of death
or suffering. And I have seen larger crea-
tures—rabbits and grouse and deer — lying
passive under the talon or claw that crushed
them, and could only wonder at Nature's
mercifulness. Death was not hard, but kind,

THE WOODS W

and covered over with a vague unreality that
hid all meaning from the animals' eyes and
made them wonder what was happening.

Sometimes the animals die of cold. I have
occasionally found, on bitter mornings, owls
and crows and little birds hanging each by
one claw to a branch, dead and frozen. That
is also a merciful anrl painless ending. I
have been lost in the woods in winter. I have
felt the delicious languor of the cold, the soft
infolding arms of the snow that l?eckoned |^
restfully as twilight fell, when the hush was ^ "
on the woods and human muscles could act
no longer. And that is a gentle way t. die
when the time comes.

Sometimes the animals die of hunger, when
an ice storm covers all their ifeeding grounds.
That also, as any one knows who has gone
days without food, is far more merciful than
any sickness. Long before pain comes, a
dozy lassitude blunts the edge of all feeling.
Sometimes it is fire or flood ; but in that case
the creature runs away, with the confidence
that he always feels in his legs or wings, till

TminalsDte

Ji,

^o,

7/ou f/ie

^^ SCHOOL OF

tiie end comes swift and sure. Those that
escape huddle together in the safe spots, for-
-j,.^ g^'tting natural enmities and all things else
Animals DJe ''^''''^ ^ ^''''^^^ wonder at what has come to
^^3 pass. In short, unless the aniinls are to live
always and become a nuisance or a danger
by their increase, Nature is kind, even in her
sterner moods, in taking care that death
comes to all her creatures without pain or
terror. And what is true jf the animals was
true of man till he sought out many inven-
tions to make sickness intolerable and death
an enemy.

All these latter case it is well to remem-
ber, are the striking variations, not the rule
of the woods. The vast majority of animals
go away quietly when their time comes; and
their death is not recorded because man has
eyes only for exceptions. He desires a mira-
cle, but overlooks the sunsets. Something
calls the creature away from his daily round;
age or natural disease touches him gently in
a way that he has not felt before. He steals
away, obeying the old warning instinct of his

TIE WOODS S

kind, and picks out a spot where they sliall
not find him till he is well a^^iin. The brook
sings on its way to the sea; the waters lajj
and tinkle on the pebbles as the breeze rocks

them; the wind is crooning in the pines,

the old, sweet lullaby that he heard when liis
ears first opened to the harmony of th.e world.
The shadows lengthen ; the twilight deepens ;
his eyes grow drowsy; he falls asleep. And
his last conscious thought, since he knows
no death, is that he will waken in the morn-
ing when the light calls him.

361

luminals me

\ A^

pwipi

Cheokhes, che-ok-lifs'. the mink.
Cheplahgan, ilu-p-lah^an, the hald tajrle.
Ch'geegee-lokh-sis, ciri^ce-.^a-'locksis, the chickadee.
Chigwooltz, c/ug-7L'oo!f:', the bullfrog.

Clote Scarpe, a k-endary hero, like Hiawatha, of the
Northern Indian.s. Pronounced variously, Clote Scarpe.
Oroscap, Gluscap, etc.
Commoosie, cow-»,oo-.w\ a little shdter, or hut, of boughs

and bark.
Deedeeaskh, der-ihr'ask, the blue ja\-.
Eleemos, cl-ee'inox, tiie fox.
Hawahak, lui-wA-liM:' , tiie hawk.

Hukweem, liuh-ivcn,,', the ^aeat northern diver, or loon.
Ismaques, iM-inii-ques\ the fishhawk.
T -x, kiyAx, the wea.sel.

ios, kA-ka-i^ds\ the raven,
a-nk, k'diink', the toad.
lieeokuskh, kee-o-kusk\ the niuskrat.
Kleeonekh, kee'o-nek, the otter.
Killooleet, kil'loo-leet\ the white-throated sparrow.
Kookooskoos, >t^r>-/tr;^-.vt,,,,.f', tlie great horned owl.
Koskomenos, kds'kdm-e-nds', the kingfisher.
Kupkawis, cup-ka';cis. the barred owl.

363

Kwaseekbo, k-Wi-tirJL-'/io, tlu- sheldrake.
3^M Lhoks, / . tlu- paiitlier.
Malsun, DUi/'siin, thu wolf.
Meeko, imckd, the red s(|uirrtl.
Megaleep, nti-i;',i-/,;/>, tlic . aril)ou.
Milicete, mi/'la-t,; the name of an Indian tribe; writtcr.

also Malicete.
Mitches, mit'ilu's, the birch partridge, or ruffed grouse.
MokUques, niok-taqucs, the hare.
Mooween, moo-icecn\ tiie black bear.
Musquash, mus'quAsh, the muskrat.
Nemox, //."///'ex, the fi.sher.
Pekquam, pek-u^ani', the fislier.
Quoskh, quoskli, the blue heron.
Seksagadagee, sck'siUj;a-t/,i't;,y^ the Canada grouse, oi

spruce partridge.
Skooktum, skook'tiim. the troui
Tookhees, /ok'/urs, the wood mouse.
Umquenawis, uin-quc-na'wis, the moose.
Unk Wunk, unk' -u<unk, th^ porcupine.
Upweekis, up-wcck'iss, the Canada lynx.

vnttcri

L', or