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 '^^P^i'WianpVHini^l 
 
School of the Woods 
 
 f*> 
 
 //,^ ijRRARY %^ 
 
 I 
 
 ^:\ 
 
 X.;-'' 
 
 V; A«1^ 
 
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 
 
 
 
 J 
 
r^^^ 
 
 Entrhbd at Stationsks 
 
 ( "<'I'N KlfiHT, f*>02 
 
 liv WILLIAM J l.OSC, 
 
S ded/cafe ffiis Aook of I. ^^^ 
 
 ■^ 
 
 '-?, ' 
 
 >*»^ 
 
 I 
 
 I fell 
 
 
•^■^ 
 
 i 
 
 -:i 'i 
 
 
 
 i-V 
 
';?i 
 
 •%i 
 
 I'i' 
 
 'n 
 
 n 
 
 
 -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 
 
 vu 
 
 if] 
 
 j 
 
 \%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. '^-- 
 

 IX 
 
 
 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 
 
 3 
 
 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: 
 
'i 
 
 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 
 
 ik 
 
 m^msim.' 
 
n 
 
 u 
 
 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^ 
 
\; 
 
 V 
 
 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> 
 
M 
 
 ^ 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 
 
 1 
 
 ' <^-'^ 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^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^- 
 
 k 
 
 jAi 
 
 Y^lSSl^^. 
 
fl 
 
 & 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 
 
 it 
 
 . ■' ' "■ -"......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 
 
 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, 
 
 >a 
 
 .^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 ,^< 
 
 
 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': 
 
17 
 
 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 
 
n 
 
 I 
 
 ^ 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^^ 
 
19 
 
 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'^ 
 
 20 
 
 
 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^;^- 
 
e- 
 
 's. 
 s. 
 is 
 e 
 
 THE WOODS Sf 
 
 •'^wift as a hauk. 
 
 ft'ct than hij 
 
 f>^■<-'^ ground ulicre oth 
 
 nuist halt and 
 
 cr 
 
 partridge ir, that cle 
 
 c'-eep; watch the 
 
 21 
 
 : "' "' ^'<^<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 
 
 to 
 
 J'ejoice in their 
 
 Th 
 
 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 
 
 ai 
 
 •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 
 
 ■•»■ !•'«> .'^ 
 

 
 23 
 
 :^^-^^.. - — »^-,~— - . ..-^^ -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 
 
 25 
 
26 
 
 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 
 
2S 
 
 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= . ^^ 
 
n 
 
 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 
 
 35 
 
 "What Me Hwns 
 Tiusf 
 
 ■^M 
 
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 
 
Ma 
 
 
€ 
 
 i 
 
 i5 
 
 ; 
 
 *^.. ^ 
 
 *^"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 
 
 39 
 
 What Me Hmns 
 Tiusf 
 Knotty 
 
 W-lKXafM 
 
r' 
 
 40 
 
 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. 
 
 P 
 
 m^ 
 
 b^^^ 
 
 ^i^^B^^^^^v^^^ 
 
 ,"•*-•(■■ ...■ 
 
I 
 
 ^! 
 
 41 
 
M 
 
 M.C'C'^^P 
 
 m.; 
 
 ■k^ . .'"/cQ'isiJt 
 
 i:^''''^mmmi^'^fit^mmm^msi^m^m 
 
i 
 
 f 
 
 I 
 
 f 
 
 IT 
 
 J 
 
 
 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 
 
 43 
 
 
44 
 
 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. 
 
 45 
 
 J^ Crj^ in t/w 
 
(I 
 
 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 
 
 ll 
 
 if 
 
 ul 
 
 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 
 
47 
 
 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 
 
 49 
 
 J^ Cry in ihe 
 
 -M 
 
 
 V 
 4 
 
 '\ -l.d? 
 
50 
 
 ^^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 
 
 51 
 
 -^ Crj-' in ihe 
 
52 
 
 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. 
 
53 
 
 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 
 
 54 
 
 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 
 
 ^1 
 
 •^ 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 
 
 60 
 
 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 
 
 63 
 
 -^ 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 
 
 t 
 
 
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 
 
 66 
 
 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 
 
 67 
 
 ^ 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 
 
 ■ 
 
 'J 
 
 
■^^■^'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. 
 
 
7' 
 
i%fc- 
 
Y 
 
 theTishhawk 
 
 \WW c/iicii'car 
 
 ^ sliiill w 
 
 ch 
 
 () 
 
 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 
 
 w 
 
 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- 
 
 11 
 
 emian. For there 
 
 IS 
 

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 
 
 75 
 
 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 
 
 ,J 
 
 ."TJ^. ■•■?; 
 
THE WOODS » 
 
 .1 
 
 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. 
 
 n 
 
 Ismatiues the 
 Fishhanik 
 
^mmm 
 
 78 
 
 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 
 
 79 
 
 /^aciues the 
 ^ishhaiak 
 
 :l^^l 
 
8o 
 
 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. 
 
 8i 
 
 t^QCiues the 
 "^ishhatuk 
 
W" 
 
 I 
 
 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 
 
 87 
 
 l^mariues the 
 Yishhatak 
 
ss 
 
 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\: 
 
.i 
 
 '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- 
 
 91 
 
 ^ishhatak 
 
 ■ i\ 
 
 iHI 
 
92 
 
 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 
 
! 
 
 94 
 
 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 
 
 95 
 
 yshhatak 
 
11 
 
 96 
 
 i 
 
 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?" 
 
97 
 
 ...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. 
 
 99 
 
lOO 
 
 -/I School for 
 fishermen 
 
 © SCHOOL OF 
 
 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^^ 
 
li 
 
 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 
 
 y 
 
If : 
 
 I 
 
 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 
 
 ~^ 
 
f 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 \ 
 
 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. 
 
 Il 
 
J 
 
 I 
 
 «»s 
 
 I 
 
 !W 
 
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 
 
 H7 
 
 rv.'vl 
 
ii8 
 The y^rlr/tf^es' 
 
 w 
 
 ^ 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 
 
 If 
 
 h 
 
 II 
 
 ^ 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 
 
 :-#. 
 ?&■) 
 
 ^y 
 
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 
 
 4 
 
 '■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 
 
 ht 
 
 '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 
 
 th 
 
 -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 
 
 om 
 
 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 
 
 
 fs 
 
 \ 
 
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 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 'W'W^' 
 
i 
 
 I 
 
 t 
 
 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 
 
 
 7 
 
 / 
 
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 
 
\1 
 
 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. 
 
 I 
 
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 
 
 V 
 
 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 
 
 1^ 
 
:/^.(^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. 
 
 M3 
 
 )%1 
 
144 
 iMenYou Meef 
 
 / 
 
 \\ 
 
 
 " ■■.V 
 
 M 
 
 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 
 
 
 J 
 
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 
 
M 
 
 t 
 
 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 
 
 I 
 
 — --'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 
 
 3 
 
 . ... '-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 
 
'1 
 
 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 
 
r 
 
 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 '» 
 
 H 
 
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 -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 
 
 [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 
 
'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 
 
 A 
 
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 
 
k 
 

 .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 
 
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 S^ 1653 fast Mam Strrrt 
 
 r.S Rochesltr, Hfw York 14609 USA 
 
 ■^S (716) «82 - 0300 - Phone 
 
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FF 
 
 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 
 
1 
 
 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( 
 
 © SCHOOL OF 
 
 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 
 
 V 
 
 
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 
 
 i 
 
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. 
 
 u 
 
 im 
 
THE WOODS « 
 
 One morning I went early to the beaver 
 
 ^n 
 
 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 
 
I 
 
 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 
 
 Vf 
 
 
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 
 
r 
 
 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 
 
 m 
 
 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 \ 
 
 © SCHOOL OF 
 
 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' 
 
 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 
 
 i 
 
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" 
 
^^^ 
 
 I 
 
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 
 
I 
 
 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 
 
ll 
 
 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 
 
 © SCHOOL OF 
 
 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. 
 
MP 
 
 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 ^:?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 
 
 1 
 
 . i/^-~ 
 
 lot jp^**^ 
 
 ,y 
 
 ^^ 
 
 ([ f^^AV 1 o 1905 
 
 V. 
 
 ^^ / 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, 
 
 v\ 
 

 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. 
 
r 
 
 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 
 
 iH 
 
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 
 
 •I 
 
 .. 
 
 
2_2 
 
 l/nk 
 ZJunk 
 
 If 
 
 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 
 
i 
 
 i 
 
 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 
 
'I 
 
 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 
 
 [i 
 
c^--- — 
 
 BOTHERS AND IRRITATES THE PORCUPINE 
 BY FLIPPING EARTH AT HIM 
 
■4 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 t 
 
 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 » 
 
 • 
 
 I 
 
 
 
 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. 
 
 / 
 
Kj 
 
 IN 
 
 :|! 
 
 it 
 
 ii6 
 
 M. iinu 
 
h 
 
 n 
 
 » 
 
 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 
 
i; 
 
 I 
 
 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 
 
 k 
 
 \^\ r* ■ &■ ' ■ if^'v 
 
 
 jafi ' -'i ' 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 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
 f 
 
 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^-; 
 
 
 mm 
 
'ft 
 
 I 
 
 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. 
 
 I 
 
 ■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 
 
 
 mk 
 
 n 
 
 <'- -j^.^ 
 
 aV'i- 
 
 'C '^'-'f / : 
 
9m^im»m 
 
 s 
 
 » I 
 
 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 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
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 
 
 J 
 
 »5' 
 
 J 
 

 \^ '■* 
 
 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 ' 
 
i 
 
ft 
 
 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 
 
 JM 
 
 
 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 
 
 I; 
 
 '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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 (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No 2) 
 
 1.0 
 
 I.I 
 
 1.25 
 
 ■- IIIIIM 
 
 m 
 
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 140 
 
 1.4 
 
 2.5 
 2.2 
 
 2.0 
 1.8 
 
 1.6 
 
 ^ APPLIED IN/MGE Inc 
 
 l^r 165 5 East Mam Slreet 
 
 ^JZ Rochester, New >ofk 14609 US* 
 
 i^S (716) 482 - 0300 ~ Phone 
 
 ^B (716) 288 - 5989 - Fo« 
 
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 
 
 h 
 
 n 
 
 I ' f 1 . f ' ' / 
 
 
 i^;.'^fP 
 
 Tt 
 
 I 
 
EB 
 
 ■r 
 
 F 
 
 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 
 
 !s 
 
 is 
 
 a 
 
 n 
 
 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 
 
 i 
 
Ohe 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 * 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 
 
 »* .: .-^ 
 
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\ 
 
 m 
 
 - 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 « 
 
 I 
 
 
 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. 
 
i 
 
 1 
 
 I 
 
 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 
 
 t^ 
 
_; _- " - 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; 
 
 <m 
 
 Wk 
 
 iu-'jL. 
 
 Qm 
 
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 
 
 hi 
 
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 
 
 I 
 
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 
 
 
 [«-. 
 
 t. 
 
 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 
 
 1 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 in- 
 
 '.\^„ 
 
■A MIGHTY SPRING OF HIS CROUCHING 
 HAUNCHES FINISHED THE WORK 
 
 mmm 
 
 ^mM-'A^^:}-. 
 

 i 
 
 -.)■ 
 
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 
 
 c: 
 
 -»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 
 
 \V 
 
^^ 
 
 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 
 
 Ml 
 
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 
 
 't 
 
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- 
 
 'l 
 
 
 
 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 
 
w 
 
 TROTS TO THE BROOK AND JUMPS 
 FROM STONE TO STONE' 
 
 
 
 i^=mim =' ..• < I. -1 -= 
 
I 
 
 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 
 
 n< 
 
 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 
 
 11 
 
 1 
 
 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, 
 
 mm 
 
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 
 
 \ 
 
 \ 
 
 v. 
 
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 
 
 i 
 
 •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 
 
 yy 
 
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 
 
M. 
 
 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| 
 
 1^ 
 
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 111" 
 
 
 
 161 
 
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 Ui 
 
 tL. 
 
 li£ 
 
 ill 2.0 
 
 1.8 
 
 ^ /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 
 
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 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, 
 
 s. 
 
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, 
 
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 ^^ 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 
 
 I 
 
ii 
 
 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. 
 
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