act of swimming and whilst remaining stationary at the bottom. I was
much amused by the various arts to escape detection used by one
individual, which seemed fully aware that I was watching it. Remaining
for a time motionless, it would then stealthily advance an inch or
two, like a cat after a mouse; sometimes changing its color: it thus
proceeded, till having gained a deeper part, it darted away, leaving a
dusky train of ink to hide the hole into which it had crawled.
While looking for marine animals, with my head about two feet above
the rocky shore, I was more than once saluted by a jet of water,
accompanied by a slight grating noise. At first I could not think what
it was, but afterwards I found out that it was this cuttle-fish,
which, though concealed in a hole, thus often led me to its discovery.
That it possesses the power of ejecting water there is no doubt, and
it appeared to me that it could certainly take good aim by directing
the tube or siphon on the upper side of its body. From the difficulty
which these animals have in carrying their heads, they cannot crawl
with ease when placed on the ground. I observed that one which I kept
in the cabin was slightly phosphorescent in the dark.
[Illustration]
THE COW-FISH
(FROM TRAVELS ON THE AMAZON.)
BY SIR ALFRED RUSSELL WALLACE.
[Illustration: SKULL OF COW-FISH.]
It was a female, about six feet long, and nearly five in circumference
in the thickest part. The body is perfectly smooth, and without any
projections or inequalities, changing into a horizontal semicircular
flat tail, with no appearance whatever of hind limbs. There is no
distinct neck; the head is not very large, and is terminated by a
large mouth and fleshy lips, somewhat resembling those of a cow. There
are stiff bristles on the lips, and a few distantly scattered hairs
over the body. Behind the head are two powerful oval fins, and just
beneath them are the breasts, from which, on pressure being applied,
flows a stream of beautiful white milk. The ears are minute holes, and
the eyes very small. The color is a dusky lead, with some large
pinkish-white marbled blotches on the belly. The skin is about an inch
thick on the back, and a quarter of an inch on the belly. Beneath the
skin is a layer of fat of a greater or less thickness, generally about
an inch, which is boiled down to make an oil used for light and for
cooking. The intestines are very voluminous, the heart about the size
of a sheep's, and the lungs about two feet long, and six or seven
inches wide, very cellular and spongy, and can be blown out like a
bladder. The skull is large and solid, with no front teeth; the
vertebrae extend to the very tip of the tail, but show no rudiments of
posterior limbs; the fore limbs, on the contrary, are very highly
developed, the bones exactly corresponding to those of the human arm,
having even the five fingers, with every joint distinct, yet enclosed
in a stiff inflexible skin, where not a joint can have any motion.
The cow-fish feeds on grass at the borders of the rivers and lakes,
and swims quickly with the tail and paddles; and though the external
organs of sight and hearing are so imperfect, these senses are said by
the hunters to be remarkably acute, and to render necessary all their
caution and skill to capture the animals. They bring forth one, or
rarely two, young ones, which they clasp in their arms or paddles
while giving suck. They are harpooned or caught in a strong net, at
the narrow entrance of a lake or stream. Each yields from five to
twenty-five gallons of oil. The flesh is very good, being something
between beef and pork, and this one furnished us with several meals,
and was an agreeable change from our fish diet.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: THE COW FISH.]
OLD RATTLER AND THE KING SNAKE[8]
BY DAVID STARR JORDAN.
PRESIDENT OF LELAND STANFORD, JUNIOR, UNIVERSITY.
[8] From _The Popular Science Monthly_ by permission.
"I only know thee humble, bold,
Haughty, with miseries untold,
And the old curse that left thee cold,
And drove thee ever to the sun
On blistering rocks ...
Thou whose fame
Searchest the grass with tongue of flame,
Making all creatures seem thy game,
When the whole woods before thee run,
Asked but--when all is said and done--
To lie, untrodden, in the sun!"
--BRET HARTE.
[Illustration]
Old Rattler was a snake, of course, and he lives in the King's River
Canon, high up and down deep in the mountains of California.
He had a hole behind and below a large, flat granite rock, not far
from the river, and he called it his home; for in it he slept all
night and all winter, but when the sun came back in the spring and
took the frost out of the air and the rocks, then he crawled out to
lie until he got warm. The stream was clear and swift in the canon,
the waterfalls sang in the side gulch of Roaring River, the wind
rustled in the long needles of the yellow pines, and the birds called
to their mates in the branches. But Old Rattler did not care for such
things. He was just a snake, you know, and his neighbors did not think
him a good snake at that, for he was surly and silent, and his big,
three-cornered, "coffin-shaped" head, set on a slim, flat neck, was
very ugly to see. But when he opened his mouth he was uglier still,
for in his upper jaw he had two long fangs, and each one was filled
with deadly poison. His vicious old head was covered with gray and
wrinkled scales, and his black, beadlike eyes snapped when he opened
his mouth to find out whether his fangs were both in working order.
Old Rattler was pretty stiff when he first came from his hole on the
morning of this story. He had lain all night coiled up like a rope
among the rocks, and his tail felt very cold. But the glad sun warmed
the cockles of his heart, and in an hour or two he became limber, and
this made him happy in his snaky fashion. But, being warm, he began to
be hungry, for it had been a whole month since he had eaten anything.
When the first new moon of August came, his skin loosened everywhere
and slipped down over his eyes like a veil, so that he could see
nothing about him, and could not hunt for frogs by the river, nor for
chipmunks among the trees. But with the new moon of September all this
was over. The rusty brown old coat was changed for a new suit of gray
and black, and the diamond-shaped checkers all over it were clean and
shiny as a set of new clothes out to be.
There was a little striped chipmunk running up and down the sugar-pine
tree over his head, pursing his little mouth and throwing himself into
pretty attitudes, as though he were the centre of an admiring
audience, and Old Rattler kept a steady eye on him. But he was in no
hurry about it all. He must first get the kinks out of his neck, and
the cold cramps from his tail. There was an old curse on his family,
so the other beasts had heard, that kept him always cold, and his tail
was the coldest part of all. So he shook it a little, just to show
that it was growing limber, and the bone clappers on the end rustled
with a sharp, angry noise. Fifteen rattles he had in all--fifteen and
a button--and to have so many showed that he was no common member of
his hated family. Then he shook his tail again, and more sharply. This
was to show all the world that he, Old Rattler, was wide awake, and
whoever stepped on him would better look out. Then all the big beasts
and little beasts who heard the noise fled away just as fast as ever
they could; and to run away was the best thing they could do, for when
Old Rattler struck one of them with his fangs all was over with him.
So there were many in the canon, beasts and birds and snakes too, who
hated Old Rattler, but only a few dared face him. And one of these was
Glittershield, whom men call the King of Snakes, and in a minute I
shall tell you why.
And when Old Rattler was doing all that I have said, the King Snake
lay low on a bed of pine needles, behind a bunch of fern, and watched
him with keen, sharp eye. The angry buzz of Rattler's tail, which
scared the chipmunks and the bullfrogs and all the rest of the beast
folk, was music for Glittershield. He was a snake, too, and snakes
understand some things better than any of the rest of us.
Glittershield was slim and wiry in his body, as long as Old Rattler
himself, but not so large around. His coat was smooth and glossy, not
rough and wrinkly like Old Rattler's, and his upraised head was small
and pretty--for a snake. He was the best dressed of all his kind, and
he looked his finest as he faced Old Rattler. His head was shiny
black, his throat and neck as white as milk while all down his body to
the end of his tail he was painted with rings, first white, then
black, then crimson, and every ring was bright as if it had just been
freshly polished that very day.
So the King Snake passed the sheltering fern and came right up to Old
Rattler. Rattler opened his sleepy eyes, threw himself on guard with a
snap and a buzz, and shook his bony clappers savagely. But the King of
Snakes was not afraid. Every snake has a weak spot somewhere, and that
is the place to strike him. If he hadn't a weak spot no one else could
live about him, and then, perhaps he would starve to death at last. If
he had not some strong points, where no one could harm him, he
couldn't live himself.
As the black crest rose, Old Rattler's tail grew cold, his head
dropped, his mouth closed, he straightened out his coil, and staggered
helplessly toward his hole.
This was the chance for Glittershield. With a dash so swift that all
the rings on his body--red, white, and black--melted into one purple
flash, he seized Old Rattler by his throat. He carried no weapons, to
be sure. He had neither fangs nor venom. He won his victories by
force and dash, not by mean advantage. He was quick and strong, and
his little hooked teeth held like the claws of a hawk. Old Rattler
closed his mouth because he couldn't help it, and the fangs he could
not use were folded back against the roof of his jaw.
The King Snake leaped forward, wound his body in a "love-knot" around
Old Rattler's neck, took a "half-hitch" with his tail about the
stomach, while the rest of his body lay in a curve like the letter S
between the two knots. Then all he had to do was to stiffen up his
muscles, and Old Rattler's backbone was snapped off at the neck.
[Illustration: "HE SEIZED OLD RATTLER BY HIS THROAT."]
All that remained to Glittershield was to swallow his enemy. First he
rubbed his lips all over the body, from the head to the tail, till it
was slippery with slime. Then he opened his mouth very wide, with a
huge snaky yawn, and face to face he began on Old Rattler. The ugly
head was hard to manage, but, after much straining, he clasped his jaws
around it, and the venom trickled down his throat like some fiery
sauce. Slowly head and neck and body disappeared, and the tail
wriggled despairingly, for the tail of the snake folk can not die
till sundown, and when it went at last the fifteen rattles and the
button were keeping up an angry buzz. And all night long the King of
Snakes, twice as big as he ought to be, lay gorged and motionless upon
Old Rattler's rock.
And in the morning the little chipmunk ran out on a limb above him,
pursed up his lips, and made all kinds of faces, as much as to say, "I
did all this, and the whole world was watching while I did it."
[Illustration: KING SNAKE.]
THE STORY OF A STRANGE LAND
(FROM SCIENCE SKETCHES.)[9]
BY DAVID STARR JORDAN.
PRESIDENT OF LELAND STANFORD, JUNIOR, UNIVERSITY.
[9] Copyright, 1896, by A. C. Mclurg & Co.
"In one strange land,
And a long way from home,
I heard a mighty rumbling, and I couldn't tell where."
--NEGRO MELODY.
[Illustration]
It happened a long time ago, it may be fifty thousand years in round
numbers, or it may have been twice as many, that a strange thing
took place in the heart of the Great Mountains. It was in the middle
of the Pliocene epoch, a long, dull time that seemed as if it would
never come to an end. There was then on the east side of the Great
Divide a deep, rocky basin surrounded by high walls of granite gashed
to the base by the wash of many streams. In this basin, we know not
how--for the records all are burned or buried--the crust of the earth
was broken, and a great outflow of melted larva surged up from below.
This was no ordinary eruption, but a mighty outbreak of the earth's
imprisoned forces. The steady stream of lava filled the whole mountain
basin and ran out over its sides, covering the country all around so
deeply that it has never been seen since. More than four thousand
square miles of land lay buried under melted rock. No one can tell how
deep the lava is, for no one has ever seen the bottom. Within its bed
are deep clefts whose ragged walls descend to the depth of twelve
hundred feet, and yet give no glimpse of the granite below, while at
their side are mountains of lava whose crags tower a mile above the
bottom of the ravines.
[Illustration: "IT WOULD HISS AND BOIL HIGH IN THE AIR."]
At last, after many years or centuries--time does not count for much
in these Tertiary days--the flow of melted lava ceased. Its surface
cooled, leaving a high, uneven plain, black and desolate, a hard, cold
crust over a fiery and smoldering interior. About the crater lay great
ropes and rolls of the slowly hardening lava, looking like knots and
tangles of gigantic reptiles of some horrible extinct sort. There was
neither grass nor trees, nor life of any sort. Nothing could grow in
the coarse, black stone. The rivers and brooks had long since
vanished in steam, the fishes were all dead, and the birds had flown
away. The whole region wore the aspect of the desolation of death.
But to let land go to waste is no part of Mother Nature's plan. So
even this far-off corner of her domain was made ready for settlement.
In the winter she sifted snow on the cold black plain, and in the
summer the snow melted into a multitude of brooks and springs. The
brooks gradually wore paths and furrows down the large bed, and the
sands which they washed from one place they piled up in another. The
winds blew the seeds of grasses about, and willows and aspens crept up
the mountain-sides. Then came the squirrels, scattering the nuts of
the pine. Other seeds came too, in other ways, till at last the barren
hillside was no longer barren.
The brooks ran over the surface of the crust undisturbed by the fires
within, and were clear and cold as mountain brooks should be; but the
rain and melted snow will never all remain on the surface. Some of it
falls into cracks or joints or porous places in the rock, and from
this come underground streams or springs. But in this region a stream
could not run long underground without coming in contact with the old
still-burning fires. When a crust is formed over the lava, it cools
very slowly. When the crust is a rod or two deep, the lava within is
almost as well protected as if it were at the center of the earth.
Whenever the water came down into the fire, the hot rocks would be
furious with indignation, and tearing the water to atoms they would
throw it back to the surface as steam. Then the explosive force of the
steam would in turn tear up the rocks, making still larger the hole
through which the water came. When the rocks were very hot, a little
water upon them would make a terrible commotion like the shock of an
earthquake. When much water came down, it would hiss and boil high in
the air, as it tried to break the cushion of steam which came between
it and the lava.
[Illustration: MOUTH OF GEYSER.]
And all this went on in hundreds of places and maybe for thousands of
years. The hot rocks glowed and sweltered in the ground, and the cold
snow-water crept after them closer and closer, while more and more
vigorously the rocks resented the intrusion. Sometimes the water would
go down in a mass through a cleft, when it would be hurled bodily the
very way it came. At other times the water came down little by little,
insinuating itself into many places at once. Then the hot rocks threw
it back in many little honeycomb channels, and by the spreading of
these channels the rocks were at last crumbled to pieces. The hard
black lava on the glass-like obsidian were changed to white kaolin as
soft and powdery as chalk. And as the water fought its way, gaining a
little every year, steadily working between the joints in the enemy's
armor and as surely being thrown back with violence if it penetrated
too far, the animals and the plants followed in the wake of the
water, and took possession of the territory as fast as it was won.
At last the Pliocene times were over, for all times come to an end.
The one sure thing on the earth is the certainty of change. With the
change of time came on the earth's great winter. The snow-drifts on
the lava were piled up mountain-high. Snow is but ice gathered in
little fragments which will grow solid under pressure. As the snow
accumulated it began to move, forming great rivers of ice which ran
down the courses of the stream. And as these slowly moving, gigantic
ice-rivers tore away huge blocks of lava and pushed them down the
mountain-sides, where the rocks had been softened by the action of
steam, the ice wore out deep valleys, and everything that it touched
was smoothed and polished. The winter of the great Ice age lasted a
very long time, many thousands of years; but, long as it was and long
ago, it came at last to an end--not to a full stop, of course, for
even now, some of its snow still lingers on the highest peaks that
surround the lava-beds.
[Illustration: "CUTTING DEEP GORGES OR CANONS."]
Then the winters grew shorter and the summers longer. The south winds
blew and the ice melted away, first from the plain and then from the
mountains. The water ran down the sides of the lava-bed, cutting deep
gorges or canons, so deep that the sun can hardly see the bottom. And
into the joints and clefts of the rocks more and more water went, to
be hurled back with greater and greater violence, for all the waters
of all the snow cannot put out a mile deep of fire.
In the old depressions where the ice had chiselled away the softer
rocks, there were formed lakes of the standing water, and one of these
was more than thirty miles long, winding in and out among the
mountain-ridges. In the lake bottom the water soaked through down to
the hot lava below, from which it was thrown boiling back to the
surface again, fountains of scalding water in the icy lake.
The cold Ice age has killed all the plants in the region; and it had
driven off the animals that could be driven, and had then buried the
rest. But when the snow was gone the creatures all came back again.
Grass and meadow-flowers of a hundred kinds came up from the valleys
below. The willow and the aspen took their place again by the
brook-side, and the red fir and the mountain pine covered the hills
with their sombre green. The birds came back. The wild goose swam and
screamed, and the winter wren caroled his bright song--loudest when
there seemed least cause for rejoicing. The beaver cut his timber and
patiently worked at his dams. The thriftless porcupine destroyed a
tree for every morning meal. The gray jay, the "camp robber," followed
the Indians about in hope that some forgotten piece of meat or of
boiled root might fall to his share; while the buffalo, the bear, and
the elk each carried on his affairs in his own way, as did a host of
lesser animals, all of whom rejoiced when this snow-bound region was
at last opened for settlement. Time went on. The water and the fire
were every day in mortal struggle, and always when the water was
thrown back repulsed, it renewed the contest as vigorously as before.
The fire retreated, leaving great stretches of land to its enemy, that
it might concentrate its strength where its strength was greatest. And
the water steadily gained, for the great ocean ever lay behind it. So
for century after century they wrestled with each other, the water,
the fire, the snow, the animals and the plants. But the fishes who had
once lived in the mountain torrents were no longer there. They had
been boiled and frozen, and in one way or another destroyed or driven
away. Now they could not get back. Every stream had its canon, and in
each canon was a waterfall so high that no trout could leap up.
Although they used to try it every day, not one ever succeeded.
[Illustration: "AND IN EACH CANON WAS A WATERFALL."]
So it went on. A great many things happened in other parts of the
world. America had been discovered and the colonies were feeling their
way toward the Pacific Ocean. And in the vanguard was the famous
expedition of Lewis and Clarke, which went overland to the mouth of
the river Columbia. John Colter was a hunter in this expedition, and
by some chance he went across the mountains on the old trail of the
Nez Perces Indians which leads across the Divide from the Missouri
waters to those of the Columbia. When he came back from the Nez Perces
trail he told most wonderful tales of what he had seen at the head of
the Missouri. There were cataracts of scalding water which shot
straight up into the air; there were blue ponds hot enough to boil
fish; there were springs that came up snorting and steaming, and which
would turn trees into stone; the woods were full of holes from which
issued streams of sulphur; there were canons of untold depth with
walls of ashes full of holes which let off steam like a locomotive,
and there were springs which looked peaceful enough, but which at
times, would burst like a bomb.
In short, every one laughed at Colter and his yarns, and this place
where all lies were true was familiarly known as "Colter's Hell." But
for once John Colter told the truth, and the truth could not easily be
exaggerated. But no one believed him. When others who afterwards
followed him over the Nez Perces trail told the same stories, people
said they had been up to "Colter's Hell" and had learned to lie.
But, as time passed, other men told what they had seen, until, in
1870, a sort of official survey was made under the lead of Washburne
and Doane. This party got the general bearings of the region, named
many of the mountains, and found so much of interest that the next
year Dr. Hayden, the United States Geologist, sent out a party for
systematic exploration. The Hayden party came up from Colorado on
horseback, through dense and tangled forests, across mountain
torrents, and other craggy peaks. The story of this expedition has
been most charmingly told by its youngest member, another John
Coulter. Professor Coulter was the botanist of the survey, and he won
the first of his many laurels on this expedition. In 1872, acting on
Hayden's report, Congress took the matter in hand and set apart this
whole region as a "public park or pleasuring ground for the benefit
and enjoyment of the people," and such it remains to this day.