rocks, rails, chunks, and especially beneath those old decaying logs
which are half buried in the rich vegetable mould, the myriapods, or
"thousand-legs," deserve more than a passing notice. They are typical
examples of that great branch of the animal kingdom known as
_arthropods_, which comprises all insects and crustaceans. Each
arthropod has the body composed of rings placed end to end and bearing
jointed appendages, and in the myriapods each ring and its appendages
can be plainly seen; whereas in the higher forms of the branch many of
the rings are so combined as to be very difficult to distinguish.
Full forty kinds of myriapods occur in any area comprising one hundred
square miles in the eastern United States. About twenty-five of them
go by the general name of "thousand-legs" or millipedes, as each has
from forty to fifty-five cylindrical rings in the body, and two pairs
of legs to each ring. The other fifteen belong to the "centipede"
group, the body consisting of about sixteen flattened segments, or
rings, each bearing a single pair of legs. When disturbed, the
"thousand-legs" generally coils up and remains motionless, shamming
death, or "playing possum," as it is popularly put, as a means of
defence; while the centipede scampers hurriedly away and endeavors to
hide beneath leaf, chip, or other object.
[Illustration: CENTIPEDE.]
All those found in the Northern States are perfectly harmless, the
true centipede, whose bite is reputed much more venomous than it
really is, being found only in the South. True, some of the centipede
group can pinch rather sharply with their beetle-like jaws; and one,
our largest and most common species, a brownish red fellow about three
inches long and without eyes, can even draw blood if its jaws happen
to strike a tender place. When handled it always tries to bite,
perhaps out of revenge for the abominably long Latin name given it by
its describer. In fact the name is longer than the animal
itself--_Sco-lo-po-cryp-tops sex-spi-no-sus_ (Say)--being its cognomen
in full. With such a handle attached to it, who can blame it for
attempting to bite? Yet, to the scientist up on his Latin, each part
of the above name bears a definite and tangible meaning. All the
myriapods found in the woods and fields feed upon decaying vegetation,
such as leaves, stems of weeds, and rotten wood, and in winter three
or four species can usually be found within or beneath every decaying
log or stump. One species with very long legs, _Scutigera forceps_
(Raf.), is often found in damp houses or in cellars. It is sometimes
called the "wall-sweeper," on account of its rapid ungainly gait, and
is even reputed to prey upon cockroaches and other household pests.
Spiders, which do not undergo such changes as do most of the common,
six-footed insects, winter either as eggs or in the mature form. The
members of the "sedentary" or web-spinning group, as a rule, form
nests in late autumn, in each of which are deposited from fifty to
eighty eggs, which survive the winter and hatch in the spring, as soon
as the food supply of gnats, flies, and mosquitoes appear. The
different forms of spiders' nests are very interesting objects of
study. Some are those close-spun, flat, button-shaped objects, about
half an inch in diameter, which are so common in winter on the under
side of bark, chunks and flat rocks. Others are balloon-shaped and
attached to weeds. Within the latter the young spiders often hatch in
early winter, make their first meal off their empty egg cases, and
then begin a struggle for existence, the stronger preying upon the
weaker until the south winds blow again, when they emerge and scatter
far and wide in search of more nutritious sustenance.
The "wandering" spiders never spin webs, but run actively about and
pounce upon their prey with a tiger-like spring. Six or eight of the
larger species of this group winter in the mature form beneath logs
and chunks, being often frozen solid during cold weather, but thawing
out as healthy as ever when the temperature rises. Retiring beneath
the loose-fitting bark of hickory or maple trees, a number of the
smaller tube-weaving spiders construct about themselves a protecting
web of many layers of the finest silk. Within this snug retreat they
lie from November until April--a handsome, small, black fellow, with
green jaws and two orange spots on his abdomen, being the most common
species found motionless within this seeming shroud of silk on a day
in mid-winter.
In any Northern State as many as four hundred different kinds of the
six-footed or true insects, in the winged or adult stage, may be taken
in winter by any one who is so disposed, and knows where to search for
them. Among the _Orthoptera_, the "grouse grasshoppers" live during
the cold season beneath the loose bark of logs, or beneath the bottom
rails of the old Virginia worm fences. From these retreats every warm,
sunny day tempts them forth in numbers. On such occasions the earth
seems to swarm with them, as they leap before the intruder, their hard
bodies striking the dead leaves with a sound similar to that produced
by falling hail. The common field cricket belongs also to the
_Orthoptera_, and the young of various sizes winter under rails and
logs, bidding defiance to Jack Frost from within a little burrow or
pit beneath the protecting shelter.
[Illustration: CHINCH BUG.]
The true bugs, or _Hemiptera_, hibernate in similar places; squash
bugs, chinch bugs, "stink" bugs, and others being easily found in
numbers beneath loose bark or hidden between the root leaves of
mullein and other plants.
Nearly three hundred species of _Coleoptera_, or beetles, occupy
similar positions. Almost any rotten log or stump when broken open
discloses a half dozen or more "horn" or "bess beetles," _Passalus
cornutus_ L., great, shining, clumsy, black fellows with a curved horn
on the head. They are often utilized as horses by country children,
the horn furnishing an inviting projection to which may be fastened,
by a thread or cord, chips and pieces of bark to be dragged about by
the strong and never lagging beast of burden. When tired of "playing
horse" they can make of the insect an instrument of music; for, when
held by the body, it emits a creaking, hissing noise, produced by
rubbing the abdomen up and down against the inside of the hard, horny
wing covers. This beetle passes its entire life in cavities in the
rotten wood on which it feeds, and when it wishes a larger or more
commodious home it has only to eat the more.
[Illustration: THIRTEEN-SPOTTED LADY BEETLE.]
The handsome and beneficial lady beetles winter beneath fallen leaves
or between and beneath the root leaves of the mullein and the thistle.
Our most common species, the thirteen-spotted lady beetle, _Megilla
maculata_ De G., is gregarious, collecting together by thousands on
the approach of cold weather, and lying huddled up like sheep until a
breath of spring gives them the signal to disperse. Snout beetles
galore can be found beneath piles of weeds near streams and the
borders of ponds or beneath chunks and logs in sandy places. All are
injurious, and the farmer by burning their hibernating places in
winter can cause their destruction in numbers. Rove beetles, ground
beetles, and many others live deep down in the vegetable mould beneath
old logs, where they are, no doubt, as secure from the ice king as if
they followed the swallow to the tropics.
Of the _Diptera_, or flies, but few forms winter in the perfect state,
yet the myriads of house flies and their kin, which next summer will
distract the busy house-wife, are represented in winter by a few
isolated individuals which creep forth occasionally from crevice or
cranny and greet us with a friendly buzz.
In mid-winter one may also see in the air swarms of small, gnat-like
insects. They belong to this order and live beneath the bark of
freshly fallen beech and other logs. On warm, sunny days they go forth
in numbers for a sort of rhythmical courtship; their movements while
in the air being peculiar in that they usually rise and fall in the
same vertical line--performing a curious aerial dance which is long
continued.
Among the dozen or more butterflies and moths which winter in the
perfect state, the most common and the most handsome is the
"Camberwell beauty" or "mourning cloak," _Vanessa antiopa_ L., a large
butterfly whose wings are a rich purplish brown above, duller beneath,
and broadly margined with a yellowish band. It is often found in
winter beneath chunks which are raised a short distance above the
ground, or in the crevices of old snags and fence rails. It is then
apparently lifeless, with the antennae resting close along the back,
above which the wings are folded. But one or two warm days are
necessary to restore it to activity, and I have seen it on the wing as
early as the 2d of March, hovering over the open flowers of the little
snow trillium.
All the species of ants survive the winter as mature forms, either in
their nests in the ground or huddled groups in half rotten logs and
stumps; while here and there beneath logs a solitary queen bumble-bee,
bald hornet, or yellow jacket is found--the sole representatives of
their races.
Thus insects survive the winter in many ways and in many places, some
as eggs, others as larvae, still others as pupae, and a large number as
adults--all being able to withstand severe cold and yet retain
vitality sufficient to recover, live, grow, and replenish the earth
with their progeny when the halcyon days of spring appear once more.
In the scale of animal life the vertebrates or back-boned animals
succeed the insects. Beginning with the fishes, we find that in late
autumn they mostly seek some deep pool in pond or stream at the bottom
of which the water does not freeze. Here the herbivorous forms eke out
a precarious existence by feeding upon the innumerable diatoms and
other small plants which are always to be found in water, while the
carnivorous prey upon the herbivorous, and so maintain the struggle
for existence. The moving to these deeper channels and pools in autumn
and the scattering in the spring of the assembly which has gathered
there constitute the so-called "migration of fishes," which is far
from being so extensive and methodical as that practiced by the
migratory birds.
Many of the smaller species of fishes, upon leaving these winter
resorts, ascend small, clear brooks in large numbers for the purpose
of depositing their eggs; as, when hatched in such a place, the young
will be comparatively free from the attacks of the larger carnivorous
forms. Among the lowest vertebrate often found in numbers in early
spring in these meadow rills and brooks is the lamprey, _Ammocoetes
branchialis_ (L.), or "lamper eel," as it is sometimes called. It has
a slender eel-like body, of a uniform leaden or blackish color, and
with seven purse-shaped gill openings on each side. The mouth is
fitted for sucking rather than biting, and with it they attach
themselves to the bodies of fishes and feed on their flesh, which they
scrape off with their rasp-like teeth. Later in the season they
disappear from these smaller streams, probably returning in midsummer
to deeper water. Thoreau, who studied their habits closely, says of
them: "They are rarely seen on their way down stream, and it is
thought by fishermen that they never return, but waste away and die,
clinging to rocks and stumps of trees for an indefinite period; a
tragic feature to the scenery of the river bottoms worthy to be
remembered with Shakespeare's description of the sea floor."
[Illustration: A LAMPREY.]
A few of the fishes, as the mud minnow and smaller catfishes,
together with most frogs, turtles, and salamanders, on the approach of
winter, burrow into the mud at the bottom of the streams and ponds, or
beneath logs near their margins. There they live without moving about
and with all the vital processes in a partially dormant condition,
thus needing little if any food.
The box tortoise or "dry land terrapin," the common toad, and some
salamanders burrow into the dry earth, usually going deep enough to
escape frost; while snakes seek some crevice in the rocks or hole in
the ground where they coil themselves together, oftentimes in vast
numbers, and prepare for their winter's sleep. In an open winter this
hibernation is often interrupted, the animal emerging from its retreat
and seeking its usual summer haunts as though spring had come again.
Thus I have, on one occasion, seen a soft-shelled turtle moving
gracefully over the bottom of a stream on a day in late December, and
have in mid-January captured snakes and salamanders from beneath a
pile of drift-wood, where they had taken temporary refuge.
[Illustration: TURTLE.]
With frogs, especially, this hibernation is not a perfect one, and
there is a doubt if in a mild winter some species hibernate at all.
For example, the little cricket frog or "peeper" has been seen many
times in mid-winter alongside the banks of flowing streams, and during
the open winter of 1888-89 numerous specimens of leopard and green
frogs were seen on different occasions in December and January, while
on February 18th they, together with the "peepers," were in full
chorus.
Of our mammals, a few of the rodents or gnawers, as the ground-hogs,
gophers and chipmunks, hibernate in burrows deep enough to escape the
cold, and either feed on a stored supply of food, or, like the snakes
and crayfish, do not feed at all.
[Illustration: CHIPMUNK.]
Others, as the rabbits, field-mice, and squirrels, are more or less
active and forage freely on whatever they can find, eating many things
which in summer they would spurn with scorn. To this class belongs
that intelligent but injurious animal the musquash or muskrat. Those
which inhabit the rivers and larger streams live in burrows dug deep
beneath the banks, but those inhabiting sluggish streams and ponds
usually construct a conical winter house about three feet in diameter
and from two to three feet in height. These houses are made of coarse
grasses, rushes, branches of shrubs, and small pieces of driftwood,
closely cemented together with stiff, clayey mud. The top of the house
usually projects two feet or more above the water, and when sun-dried
is so strong as to easily sustain the weight of a man. The walls are
generally about six inches in thickness and are very difficult to pull
to pieces. Within is a single circular chamber with a shelf or floor
of mud, sticks, leaves and grass, ingeniously supported on coarse
sticks stuck endwise into the mud after the manner of piles. In the
centre of this floor is an opening, from which six or eight diverging
paths lead to the open water without, so that the little artisan has
many avenues of escape in case of danger. These houses are often
repaired and used for several winters in succession, but are vacated
on the approach of spring. During the summer the muskrat is, in the
main, a herbivorous animal, but in winter necessity develops its
carnivorous propensities and it feeds then mainly upon the mussels and
crayfish which it can dig from the bottom of the pond or stream in
which its house is built.
The bats pass the winter in caves, the attics of houses, and barns, or
in hollow trees, hanging downward by their hind claws. Motionless for
months they thus remain, and those in the more exposed situations are,
doubtless, frozen solid. Yet, in time, their blood flows freely once
again and they become as expert on the wing as though the year were
one continual jubilee of insect chasing, and frost and snow were to
them unknown.
All the carnivora, or flesh-eaters, as the mink, skunk, opossum, fox,
and wolf, are in winter active and voracious, needing much food to
supply the necessary animal heat of the body. Hence they are then much
more bold than in summer, and the hen yard or sheep pen of the farmer
is too frequently called upon to supply this extra demand.
[Illustration: A WOLF.]
But of all our animals it seems to me the birds have solved the winter
problem best. Possessing an enduring power of flight and a knowledge
of a southern sunny sky, beneath which food is plentiful, they alone
of all the living forms about us have little fear of the coming of the
frost. True, fifty or more species remain in each of the Northern
States during the cold season, but they are hardy birds which feed
mainly upon seeds, as the snow-bird and song sparrow; on flesh, as the
hawks and crows; or on burrowing insects, as the nut-hatches and
woodpeckers.
Such are some of the solutions to the problem of life in winter which
the plants and animals about us have worked out; such some of the
forms which they undergo; the places which they inhabit.
To the thinking mind a knowledge of these solutions but begets other
and greater problems, such as how can a living thing be frozen solid
for weeks and yet retain vitality enough to fully recover? How can a
warm-blooded animal sleep for months without partaking of food or
drink? And greater than either, what is that which we call life?
I hold in my hand two objects, similar in size, color, organs,
everything--twins from the same mother in all outward respects. One
pulsates and throbs with that which we call "life." It possesses heat,
bodily motion, animal power. The other is cold, motionless, pulseless,
throbless--a thing of clay. What is that "life" which the one
possesses and the other lacks? Ah, there's the rub! With the wisest of
men we can only answer, "_Quien sabe?_" (Who knows?)
[Illustration: WINTER HOUSE OF MUSKRAT.]
BIRDS' NESTS
(FROM WAKE ROBIN.)[3]
BY JOHN BURROUGHS.
[3] Copyright by Houghton, Mifflin & Co.
[Illustration]
How alert and vigilant the birds are, even when absorbed in building
their nests! In an open space in the woods, I see a pair of
cedar-birds collecting moss from the top of a dead tree. Following the
direction in which they fly, I soon discover the nest placed in the
fork of a small soft-maple, which stands amid a thick growth of
wild-cherry trees and young beeches. Carefully concealing myself
beneath it, without any fear that the workmen will hit me with a chip
or let fall a tool, I await the return of the busy pair. Presently I
hear the well-known note, and the female sweeps down and settles
unsuspectingly into the half-finished structure. Hardly have her wings
rested, before her eye has penetrated my screen, and with a hurried
movement of alarm, she darts away. In a moment, the male, with a tuft
of wool in his beak (for there is a sheep pasture near), joins her,
and the two reconnoitre the premises from the surrounding bushes. With
their beaks still loaded, they move around with a frightened look, and
refuse to approach the nest till I have moved off and lain down behind
a log. Then one of them ventures to alight upon the nest, but, still
suspecting all is not right, quickly darts away again. Then they both
together come, and after much peeping and spying about, and apparently
much anxious consultation, cautiously proceed to work. In less than
half an hour, it would seem that wool enough has been brought to
supply the whole family, real and prospective, with socks, if needles
and fingers could be found fine enough to knit it up. In less than a
week, the female has begun to deposit her eggs,--four of them in as
many days,--white tinged with purple, with black spots on the larger
end. After two weeks of incubation, the young are out.
Excepting the American goldfinch, this bird builds later in the spring
than any other, its nest, in our northern climate, seldom being
undertaken till July. As with the goldfinch, the reason is, probably,
that suitable food for the young cannot be had at an earlier period.
Like most of our common species, as the robin, sparrow, bluebird,
pewee, wren, etc., this bird sometimes seeks wild, remote localities
in which to rear its young; at others, takes up its abode near that of
man. I knew a pair of cedar-birds, one season, to build in an
apple-tree, the branches of which rubbed against the house. For a day
or two before the first straw was laid, I noticed the pair carefully
exploring every branch of the tree the female taking the lead, the
male following her with an anxious note and look. It was evident that
the wife was to have her choice this time; and, like one who
thoroughly knew her mind, she was proceeding to take it. Finally the
site was chosen upon a high branch extending over one low wing of the
house. Mutual congratulations and caresses followed, when both birds
flew away in quest of building material. That most freely used is a
sort of cotton-bearing plant, which grows in old, worn-out fields. The
nest is large for the size of the bird, and very soft. It is in every
respect a first-class domicile.
On another occasion, while walking, or rather sauntering, in the woods
(for I have discovered that one cannot run and read the book of
nature), my attention was arrested by a dull hammering, evidently but
a few rods off. I said to myself, "Some one is building a house." From
what I had previously seen, I suspected the builder to be a red-headed
woodpecker, in the top of a dead oak stub near by. Moving cautiously
in that direction, I perceived a round hole, about the size of that
made by an inch-and-a-half auger, near the top of the decayed trunk,
and the white chips of the workman strewing the ground beneath. When
but a few paces from the tree, my foot pressed upon a dry twig, which
gave forth a very slight snap. Instantly the hammering ceased, and a
scarlet head appeared at the door. Though I remained perfectly
motionless, forbearing even to wink till my eye smarted, the bird
refused to go on with his work, but flew quietly off to a neighboring
tree. What surprised me was, that amid his busy occupation down in
the heart of the old tree he should have been so alert and watchful as
to catch the slightest sound from without.
The woodpeckers all build in about the same manner, excavating the
trunk or branch of a decayed tree, and depositing the eggs on the fine
fragments of wood at the bottom of the cavity. Though the nest is not
especially an artistic work,--requiring strength rather than
skill,--yet the eggs and the young of few other birds are so
completely housed from the elements, or protected from their natural
enemies--the jays, crows, hawks, and owls. A tree with a natural
cavity is never selected, but one which has been dead just long enough
to have become soft and brittle throughout. The bird goes in
horizontally for a few inches, making a hole perfectly round and
smooth and adapted to his size; then turns downward, gradually
enlarging the hole, as he proceeds, to the depth of ten, fifteen,
twenty inches, according to the softness of the tree and the urgency
of the mother bird to deposit her eggs. While excavating, male and
female work alternately. After one has been engaged fifteen or twenty
minutes, drilling, and carrying out chips, it ascends to an upper
limb, utters a loud call or two, when its mate soon appears, and,
alighting near it on the branch, the pair chatter and caress a moment;
then the fresh one enters the cavity and the other flies away.
A few days since, I climbed up to the nest of the downy woodpecker, in
the decayed top of a sugar-maple. For better protection against
driving rains, the hole which was rather more than an inch in
diameter, was made immediately beneath a branch which stretched out
almost horizontally from the main stem. It appeared merely a deeper
shadow upon the dark and mottled surface of the bark with which the
branches were covered, and could not be detected by the eye until one
was within a few feet of it. The young chirped vociferously as I
approached the nest, thinking it was the old one with food; but the
clamor suddenly ceased as I put my hand on that part of the trunk in
which they were concealed, the unusual jarring and rustling alarming
them into silence. The cavity, which was about fifteen inches deep,
was gourd-shaped, and was wrought with great skill and regularity. The
walls were quite smooth and clean and new.
[Illustration: WOODPECKER'S NEST. (Dotted lines indicate inside of
nest and eggs).]