[Illustration: THE SQUIRREL.
“They sat on the branches with their bushy tails curving over their
backs.” _Frontispiece. See page 104._]
Wilderness Babies
By
Julia Augusta Schwartz
_Illustrated from Drawings by John Huybers
and from Photographs_
School Edition
Boston
Little, Brown, and Company
_Copyright, 1905, 1906_,
BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
_All rights reserved_
Printers
S. J. PARKHILL & CO., BOSTON, U. S. A.
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION ix
I. THE ONE WITH A POCKET 1
II. THE ONE THAT EATS GRASS IN THE SEA 17
III. THE BIGGEST ONE 27
IV. ONE OF THE FLEETEST 43
V. THE BEST BUILDER 57
VI. THE TIMID ONE 77
VII. THE ONE WITH THE PRETTIEST TAIL 93
VIII. ONE THAT SLEEPS ALL WINTER 107
IX. THE WISEST ONE 121
X. THE FIERCEST ONE 135
XI. THE ONE THAT DIGS THE BEST 149
CONCLUSION 161
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
THE SQUIRREL
“They sat on the branches with their bushy tails curving
over their backs” _Frontispiece_
THE OPOSSUM PAGE
“In a few minutes another and another baby followed
the big brother and clung there on the mother’s
furry back” 5
THE MANATEE
“The old mother manatee held him close to her” 19
THE WHALE
“The old mother whale came tearing back to the rescue” 39
THE ELK
“Grazing over the upland meadows” 48
THE BEAVER
“Across the pond to feast in the woods” 65
THE RABBIT
“It was pleasant there in the underbrush of the woods” 84
THE FOX
“Now and then the fox stopped to listen” 131
THE WOLF
“It was the father wolf coming in” 137
THE MOLE
“The greedy young ones shoved and pushed and fought
as if they were starving” 152
INTRODUCTION
THIS book tells the stories of some of the baby mammals of the
wilderness,—how they grow and learn day by day to take care of
themselves. In hollow trees or down under water among the lily leaves,
in the cool sea or on the rugged mountains, on the grassy plains or
among the waving tree-tops, in the dark caves and burrows or hidden in
the tangles underfoot,—all the world is alive with young creatures.
Bright eyes glitter and small paws patter, little noses sniff the
air and sharp ears twitch. There is a rustling of leaves above and a
crackling of twigs below, a splashing in the swamp and a silent bending
of the grasses. In the sunshine or the rain, in the daytime or at
night, life is busy everywhere on this beautiful old earth.
All the mammals are alike in having hair on some part of their bodies,
in having teeth at some time in their lives, and in feeding the young
with milk. But there are many, many kinds of mammals, of different
shapes and sizes and colors. There are all sorts of babies, from the
tiny mouse that could sleep in an eggshell to the big baby whale, twice
as long as an ox. Some can swim like fishes; others can fly like birds.
Some dig homes under the ground; others make their nests in hollow
trees or caves. Some live in the mountains and some on the plains. Some
live in the woods and some in the sea. Some eat grass, and others eat
flesh; some eat nuts, some eat fruit, and some eat anything they can
find.
Many of the mammals are alike in some ways. Squirrels and mice have
strong teeth to gnaw with; the cow and elk eat grass and chew a cud,
and the bear, wolf, and fox eat flesh.
Those mammals that are most alike are said to belong to the same order.
For example, every animal with hoofs belongs to the Order of Hoofed
Mammals. Every animal with four gnawing teeth in the front of its mouth
belongs to the Order of Gnawing Mammals. Every animal that lives on
flesh belongs to the Order of Flesh-Eating Mammals.
There are eleven of these groups, but the animals of North America
belong to only eight of them. All the animals in the first group have
pouches or pockets, of their own skin, in which to carry the young.
The opossum belongs to this Order of Pouched Mammals. When he is a baby
he is carried around in his mother’s furry pocket. Later he learns to
hang by his feet and tail to a branch while he eats fruit. At night he
trots through the woods and roots for insects with his pointed nose.
The manatee belongs to the Order of Sea-Cows. Sea-Cows are fishlike
creatures that eat vegetable food in the sea or in rivers. The fat baby
manatee lies in his mother’s arms as she balances herself on the end of
her tail in the water. He learns to crawl about on the sandy bottom and
munch water-plants.
The whale belongs to the Order of Whales. Though he lives in the deep
ocean and looks like a monstrous fish, he is really a mammal. He has
warm blood and a few bristles for hair. The baby whale is fed on milk
at first. When he grows older he is taught to catch and eat water
animals.
The wapiti, called the American elk, belongs to the Order of Hoofed
Four-Foots. They eat grass and chew the cud. The story of an elk
roaming over the mountains is almost the same as the story of any of
the swift deer family.
The beaver and the squirrel and the rabbit belong to the Order of
Gnawers. The beaver cuts down trees with his strong teeth, and builds
dams and houses of sticks. The squirrel scampers along the branches,
and sits up to nibble nuts in the shadow of his own bushy tail. The
rabbit scuttles over the ground from one hiding-place to another, in
his daily search for green grass and tender twigs to eat. Rats and mice
are also Gnawers. Indeed, there are many more animals in this Order
than in any of the others.
The bear and the wolf and the fox belong to the Order of Flesh Eaters.
They are all mighty hunters. The swift wolf, the tricky fox, and the
strong-armed bear all have many long, cutting teeth to tear their prey
to pieces.
The mole belongs to the Order of Insect-Eaters. He lives underground,
and learns to dig with his shovel-like hands. When his pointed teeth
grow out he chases worms up and down and around, and gobbles them as
fast as he can.
The bats belong to the Order of Wing-Handed Mammals. The baby bat is
rocked to sleep in his mother’s wings. He learns to fly in the dark and
to hunt the swift insects that hover above the roads and ponds. When
winter is near he finds a gloomy cave. There he hangs, head downward,
by the hooks on his claws, and sleeps till spring brings the warm
weather again.
It is now countless years since the earth was new. It has changed from
a bare, hot gloomy ball, covered with black rocks and muddy water, to
a green, beautiful world. There are all kinds of living things in the
ocean. In the forests insects hum above the flowers; birds fly from
branch to branch; reptiles crawl beside the rivers. And everywhere—in
the air and beneath the ground, on the land and under the water—live
the mammals.
The opossum is the one with a pocket. The manatee is the only eater
of grass in the sea. The whale is the biggest of all animals. The elk
is the handsomest of the swift deer family. The beaver is the best
builder. The squirrel has the prettiest tail. The rabbit is the most
hunted by all its hungry enemies. The bear is the surliest one. The
wolf is the fiercest. The fox is the shrewdest. The mole can dig better
and faster than any of the others.
I
THE OPOSSUM
“THE ONE WITH A POCKET”
_Wilderness Babies_
THE ONE WITH A POCKET
FOR days and days the new baby opossums lay crowded close together in
their mother’s furry pocket. They slept and drank milk, and grew and
grew till their eyes began to open. It was dark all around them, but up
above their heads a faint gray line showed where light was stealing in
over the edge of the pocket.
The biggest baby opossum looked and looked with his little bright eyes.
He wanted to see more. So up he crawled, clambering over the soft, tiny
bodies of the eleven other babies. Some of them wriggled and squirmed
under his bare little feet. After slipping back once or twice he
reached the edge and poked his pointed white snout outside.
He could not see anything because he was under his mother, and her long
fur hung down over him. She was lying on a nest of grasses in a hollow
tree. That was where she stayed all day long when the sun was shining
without. Every night at dusk she climbed down the rough trunk and went
to hunt for something to eat.
When she felt the tiny claws of her baby clutching her fur she looked
down between her fore-paws at the little mouse-like fellow. Then with
her smooth pink hands she gently pushed him back into the pocket and
closed the opening. He was not big enough yet to come out of the warm,
dark nursery.
So for a week longer he cuddled down beside the others, while they all
slept and drank more milk and grew stronger every hour. The biggest
baby was so restless that he scrambled around and crowded the others.
Once he caught hold of another’s tail between the thumbs and fingers of
his hind-feet, and pulled till the little one squeaked. His fore-feet
were like tiny hands without any thumbs.
At last, one day, he saw the edge of the pocket open a crack. He was
so glad that he climbed up as fast as he could scramble, and pushed
outside. He held on to his mother’s fur with all four feet. When she
reached down to smell him the bristles on her lips tickled his nose.
Then he climbed around upon her back and twisted his tail about hers to
hold him steady.
[Illustration: THE OPOSSUM.
“In a few minutes another and another baby followed the big brother and
clung there on the mother’s furry back.” _Page 5._]
He looked like a mouse, with his long tail, his black ears erect, his
bright eyes twinkling in his little white face, and his pointed nose
sniffing at the strange odors in the hollow tree. It was much lighter
there than inside the pocket. Higher up over his head there was a
hole leading out of the hollow. Queer small shadows were dancing and
flickering across the opening. He did not know that they were only
green leaves.
In a few minutes another and another baby followed the big brother
and clung there on the mother’s furry back. It must have seemed a
noisy place to them, for while in the pocket they had noticed only the
softest muffled rustling and scratching of the old one’s feet in the
nest. Now they could hear a chirping and a squeaking and a rattling
of branches. They crowded close together in fright at the scream of a
blue jay, as it chased a chattering red squirrel through the tree-top.
Then a sudden loud thump-thump-thump of a woodpecker hammering on the
bark outside sent them scuttling back to the safe nursery in a tumbling
hurry.
After this the whole family climbed out every day to play about on the
mother’s back. The biggest baby liked to curl his small tail about her
large one, and then swing off head downward. Sometimes he pushed the
others down just for the fun of seeing them scramble up again, hand
over hand, clutching the long fur.
Of course he was the first one to poke his head out every day. Once
he woke from a nap in the pocket and started to climb outside. But
he stopped half-way, hanging to the edge with both fore-feet. It was
nearly evening, and the old mother opossum was clambering down the
trunk to go hunting for her supper.
The baby held on tightly, while she trotted away through the woods.
Now and then a leaf rustled or a stick cracked under her feet. Sleepy
birds were twittering in their nests. The mother pricked her ears and
listened, for she ate eggs and young birds whenever she could find them
within reach. She had not tasted an egg this spring, because she could
not climb very nimbly with her pocket full of babies.
Presently she came to a swamp, and splash, splash, splash! the mud went
flying. It spattered the baby’s white face and made him sputter and
cough. Then he heard the dreadful croaking of hundreds of frogs. In a
terrible fright he slid back into the nursery to hide beside the others.
The old one was trying to catch a frog to eat. Now she jumped this way,
and now she jumped that way. Such a jostling as the babies felt when
she finally gave a great spring for a big green fellow sitting on a
log. She caught him, too, but the jolt almost knocked the breath out of
the twelve soft little bodies in her pocket.
On another evening the babies awoke to find themselves swinging to and
fro in dizzying jerks. They rolled and tumbled from side to side. They
bumped their heads and noses against one another. When the biggest
baby tried to push his way out he found the edge of the pocket close
shut. Though he scratched and squeaked the mother did not open it. She
was afraid that they would all fall to the ground, for there she was
hanging upside-down by her tail to a branch of the tree.
Down below on the ground a big black bear was hugging the trunk and
shaking it as hard as he could. He was trying to shake the old opossum
off so that he might catch her and eat the whole family. But she held
on so long that finally he became tired of waiting. So away he walked
to find something else for supper. Then the mother swung down to the
nest in the hollow and rested there while her babies played around her.
Every day the babies stayed outside the nursery for a longer time,
though they were always ready to scurry back at the mother’s first
warning grunt. They kept growing bigger, till one night they found that
they could not all crowd into the pocket. Then they huddled together on
her back, with their tails twisted around hers.
In this way they rode through the woods when she went hunting. They
watched with their bright eyes while she turned over rotting logs with
her snout to catch the grubs underneath. Sometimes she rooted in the
ground for sprouting acorns, or nipped off mouthfuls of tender grass.
Once she caught a young rabbit. Then how excited the little opossums
were! And how they all squeaked and hissed together as they rode
trotting home!
By this time they had cut their teeth,—fifty sharp little teeth in
each hungry mouth. It was time for them to be weaned. When they tried
to drink milk the mother pushed them away. Then she picked some sweet
red berries, and taught the hungry babies how to eat them. They learned
to chew the juicy roots that she dug in the fields.
The babies were greedy little things. When the old one caught a mouse
or a mole or a toad, the young ones all rushed and snatched. Once the
biggest baby gobbled up a beetle before the others could get a taste.
They were so angry that they tried to bite his nose and ears. He
squeaked, and ran as fast as he could to hide under the mother.
She was a good and patient mother. Of course, as long as they were
small enough to stay in her pocket she carried them everywhere with
her. Even when they grew as large as rats they rode on her back
through the woods. These twelve fat babies were so heavy that
sometimes she staggered and stumbled under the load.
One night, when all the babies were trotting along on their own feet,
they saw two gleaming red eyes in the dark thicket before them.
Something round and furry snarled and sprang at them. They all ran
under their mother as quick as a wink. She ruffled her long grayish
hair above them. When the animal jumped at her she growled and hissed
and scratched and bit furiously, till he ran limping away into the
shadowy wilderness.
On another evening a big dog came galloping up before they could
scramble into a tree. His red tongue was hanging out of his mouth
between his white teeth. As soon as he caught sight of the opossums
he made a dash to catch them. Instantly they all fell down and rolled
over, just as if they were dead.
There they lay, with their eyes shut, their paws limber, their tails
limp. They seemed to stop breathing. The dog smelled them and pushed
them with his cold nose. But they kept perfectly still and did not move
even an eyelash. They were pretending to be dead. It was the one trick
that they all knew without being taught.
The minute the dog walked away up they all jumped and scampered into a
tree as fast as they could scurry. When the dog turned his head and saw
them he ran back and leaped up to reach them. But all the opossums were
safe enough now. While he was jumping and barking below they clung fast
in the tree with their hand-like feet. They wound their tails about the
branches above to hold more securely.
The little opossums learned to climb all sorts of trees, rough or
smooth. It was easier to climb the rough trees because they could dig
their nails farther into the bark. The biggest baby could walk along
the springiest limb, even if it kept teetering up and down in the wind.
When he felt like it he swung by his tail for the longest time without
getting dizzy.
All summer long the twelve little opossums stayed with their mother.
During the day they slept cuddled in the hollow tree. The old father
opossum never came home, for the mother had driven him away before the
babies were born. She wanted all the room in the nest for them. She
could take care of them better than he could, because she was bigger
and knew how to fight her enemies more fiercely. Every night, after
sunset, the mother and her twelve children set off on their hunting.
Down through the woods to the marsh they trotted. There some waded into
the mud to catch frogs, while others chased mud-turtles over the shore.
Some hunted for berries and others nosed for acorns under the oaks.
It was beautiful there in the woods at night. When the stars twinkled
overhead and the soft wind rustled in the tree-tops the little ones
frisked and frolicked. They hid under the shadowy bushes or jumped
hither and thither to snap at the fluttering moths. But on stormy
evenings they plodded on in the rain, their wet fur drooping. With
their noses close to the ground they hunted till they found a few
mouthfuls to eat. Then back to the cosy hollow for a longer nap, after
licking their pink hands clean and washing their white faces, just as
kittens do.
One night, in autumn, the old mother opossum felt the nip of frost in
the air. Then she knew that the persimmons were ready to be eaten.
Away through the woods she hurried, with the young ones trotting after
her. Past the marsh and over the blackberry hills she led the way
to a thicket of trees tangled with wild grapevines. There above on
the branches the round little persimmons were shining yellow in the
moonlight.
Up the trees eleven of the babies scrambled hungrily, and, hanging
by their tails, stuffed the fruit into their wide mouths. Ah! but
wasn’t it delicious! Better than anything they had ever tasted before
in all their short lives! Then the biggest baby, who had stopped to
gobble ripe grapes, heard them munching so greedily. One look sent him
clambering after the others. He was sorry enough that he had wasted any
time eating wild grapes.
Night after night, till the persimmons were gone, the opossums hurried
away to the thicket, and ate and ate till they could eat no longer.
They grew so fat that they puffed and panted when trotting home again
in the gray light of frosty dawn.
As the weather grew colder the opossums roamed farther through
the woods in search of food. Once in a while one of them found a
pawpaw-tree. Then from far and near opossums gathered under the low
wide-spreading branches to feast on the banana-shaped fruit. That was
the last good dinner that the little fellows had for many weeks.
Soon the ground was frozen hard over the juicy roots. All the fruit
left in the woods hung wrinkled and frost-bitten. The worms and toads
crawled into their holes for the winter. The beetles disappeared, and
the spiders curled up in their hiding-places to sleep through the cold
weather. Most of the birds flew away south.
One by one each little opossum wandered off by himself, and made a nest
in a cosy hole or a snug hollow stump. There he drowsed away the days,
and often slept through the nights without stirring out. Now and then
one of them caught a mouse or dug up a frozen root to nibble. Sometimes
they tore rotten logs apart to get at the torpid grubs within. The
biggest baby found a heap of nuts hidden away under a stone by a
thrifty chipmunk.
In the beginning of the winter the little opossums were so fat that
they could live three or four weeks without eating or drinking. When
the cold winds blew, and the snow fell silently, they cuddled down in
their warm nests and slept the time away. But many a night they woke up
hungry. And every day their round furry bodies were a little thinner,
till at last spring melted the snow and ice everywhere.
There was plenty to eat by that time, with all the green things
growing. The little creatures of the woods and ponds were waking to
new life. There were buds to nibble and beetles to catch. There was
many a nest of birds’ eggs, too, and broods of tender young field-mice
squeaking in the grass. There were frogs croaking in the marsh, and
berries were ripening in the fields.
The twelve little opossums were grown up now, and knew how to take care
of themselves. Their mother had another family of babies in her furry
pocket. Sometimes she met her other children roaming beside the marsh
to catch frogs. One evening they saw, just as plain as anything, a
little pointed nose and two twinkling bright eyes peeping over the edge
of her pocket.
II
THE MANATEE
“THE ONE THAT EATS GRASS IN THE SEA”
[Illustration: THE MANATEE.
“The old mother manatee held him close to her.” _Page 19._]
THE ONE THAT EATS GRASS IN THE SEA
DOWN among the lily-leaves, under the river, the baby manatee was being
rocked to sleep on his mother’s breast. He looked like a roly-poly
fish, with a puffy dog-face. He was covered all over from his broad
tail to his round head with thick and wrinkly gray skin. His tiny eyes
were shut, and his flippers were folded together as he slept.
The old mother manatee held him close to her, bending her short
flippers, which were really her arms. The fingers at the ends of her
hands were so hidden under the skin that they looked as if covered with
mittens. She was balancing herself on the end of her tail, and swaying
gently to and fro in the water.
The baby’s nap did not last very long. One of the annoying things about
being a manatee and living under water was the trouble in breathing.
Every two or three minutes the mother flapped her tail and rose to the
top of the river to breathe. That always woke the baby. He opened his
eyes, blinking in the bright sunlight.
All around him the water sparkled and dimpled in the sunshine. Here
and there dragon-flies glittered as they skimmed over the ripples.
Butterflies were fluttering over the golden centres of the floating
lilies. Graceful reeds bordered the shore. The juicy grass, that
manatees love to eat, grew green, trailing underneath. Far up above it
all the summer sky was blue.
The baby manatee did not seem to care for all these beautiful sights.
Very likely he could not see well above water, and he did not enjoy the
dry, warm feeling of the air. His sense of smell must have been too
dull to notice the fragrance of the lilies or the spicy scent from the
swamp. Creatures living under water do not use their noses much.
But the little manatee could hear the least soft plop of a leaf falling
in the river. The sudden splash of a frog’s jump made him squirm and
twist in terror. He wriggled out of his mother’s hold, and sank down,
down, down, with the bubbles eddying over his roly-poly body.
Of course he was not afraid, for he could swim as soon as he was born.
He paddled with his tail and flapped with his flippers as he went
swimming around over the clean white sand of the river-bottom. At first
he could not steer very well, and so he bumped into the stems of the
lily-plants and tangled his flippers among the roots of the reeds.
Through the pale green of the water all around him he caught sight
of his father and big brother. They were creeping about on their
flippers and tails, while they munched the weeds and grasses. When they
stretched out their heads, toward a bite of something, each one grasped
the food between two horny pads in the front of his jaw, tore it free,
and then chewed it with his few grinding teeth in the back. Their faces
looked like monstrous caterpillars sucking and chewing.
The baby champed his small jaws and sucked with his split upper lip as
he watched. The sight of them eating made him so hungry that he wanted
his mother to come and feed him with her milk. Manatees are mammals
that live in shallow water. Of all the animals in the sea and salt
rivers manatees are the only ones that eat only grass and weeds. All
other sea-mammals, and fishes, too, eat living creatures.
Sometimes the baby manatee had great fun in rolling over and over on
the sand and pebbles at the bottom of the river. The old ones liked to
scratch and clean their wrinkled skins by plunging and scraping over
the gravel. It was easy enough for them to roll, because they were so
round and had no legs to get in the way.
After the tumbling he followed the others as they went paddling to
the top of the river. There he twitched apart his lip-lobes and blew,
spouting up spray and water. Then, drawing in a long breath, he closed
the stoppers in his nostrils and floated down to the sandy bottom to
sleep or eat again.
All summer the manatees lived there in the pleasant river. On misty
mornings sometimes they swam up to a mud flat, and crawled out to
take a nap in the soft warm slime. Out in the air they could sleep
and breathe at the same time, without waking up every few minutes.
When the baby was tired of staying still he slid down the slippery
bank—splash!—into the water.
His splashing sent a snake wriggling away through the swamp. The crabs
on the sand below went scuttling wildly hither and thither to escape
the flapping of his tail. Fishes darted out-stream, and mussels closed
their shells to keep out the stirred-up gravel. The frogs sitting in
the mud turned their round eyes to look at the funny little fellow with
the wrinkled dark skin.
Away he paddled to the bottom and tried to munch the water-grasses.
His few teeth were cutting through his gums by this time, and he was
hungry for something besides milk. The green leaves tasted so salty and
stringy that he did not like them at first. It was easier to suck warm,
rich milk, without needing to chew and chew till his jaws really ached.
One night the manatees lay down on the clean sand, folded their
flippers under them, and closed their eyes. They fell fast asleep. Now
one and now another woke to swim to the top for a good long breath.
About mid-night the old mother suddenly felt a chill stealing through
the water. She shivered all over, and hurried to wake the others. She
knew that cold weather had come. If they did not take care they would
all catch cold and die.
So away they started, as fast as they could paddle, down the river
to the sea. Then south along the shore they travelled to find warmer
waters. They kept so near land that they could hear the waves breaking
on the beach. The ocean washed to and fro in swinging billows over
their heads. When the baby lifted his head above the surface, bits of
foam blew in his eyes from the curling crests of the waves.
Down below, where the old ones stopped to munch the seaweeds, he saw
wonderful things. There were starfish crawling along with their five
rays spread out. There were transparent jellyfishes, with long threads
streaming down from their quivering bodies. There were mussels in their
hinged shells lying on the bottom. There were sponges growing on the
rocks. There were trees of branching coral, each tiny coral animal
waving the fringe around its open mouth.
Of course there were fishes—hundreds and hundreds of them—flashing
everywhere. Once a fat porpoise came rolling and tumbling through the
shallow water. He was a mammal, and belonged to the same group as the
whales. When he was a baby he fed on milk, just in the same way as the
little manatee and all other mammals.
On and on travelled the manatees toward the warm south seas, now
swimming on swiftly, now stopping to munch the weeds. Sometimes they
stood on the tips of their tails and nodded their heads as if bowing.
Sometimes they folded their flippers under them to sleep, then woke to
breathe, and fall asleep again.
After days and days they reached the southern river, where they were
to spend the winter. There they found another family of manatees with
a little one just the size of the baby. While the old ones munched the
weeds, or dozed on the mud islands, the two youngest slid down the
slippery banks and splashed and dived together. They took naps side by
side. Sometimes they tried to balance themselves on their tails, as the
old ones did.
This southern river was different from that one at home. The plants
had broader leaves and larger flowers. The swamp was tangled and
shadowy even at noonday. Strange animals tramped through the
underbrush; monkeys swung on the branches, and brightly-colored birds
flew overhead. Hairy spiders crawled over the ground, and big snakes
wriggled into the water.
When spring came, away the manatees swam on their way back to the
pleasant river, where the baby first opened his little eyes in the cool
green nursery among the lily-leaves. Of course he never knew that some
sailors once saw his mother rocking him to sleep at the top of the
water. They thought that she was a mermaid with a baby in her arms.
III
THE WHALE
“THE BIGGEST ONE”
THE BIGGEST ONE
HE was the very biggest baby in all the world. He looked like a
monstrous fish as he lay beside his mother in the middle of the bay.
But he was not a fish. He breathed with lungs instead of gills. On his
thick skin he had a few bristly hairs instead of scales such as fishes
have. The blood rushing through the great veins in his body was warm
instead of cold. And finally he was drinking milk in mighty gulps that
sent gallons and gallons down his baby throat at every swallow. He was
a whale, and belonged to the class of mammals.
The big body of the mother whale looked like a dark rounded island as
she lay on her side almost out of water. She was the largest mother
animal that ever lived. When she opened her enormous jaws her mouth
seemed like a gloomy cave. Fastened along its floor was an immense
cushiony white tongue as big as a feather-bed.
The baby whale himself was twice as long as an ox. His smooth skin
glistened like shiny leather when he heaved his back above the waves
for an instant. Once in a while he flapped his forked tail or wriggled
his front fins. Though his eyes were bigger than a cow’s they looked
very small while he lay, half asleep, rocking lazily to and fro in the
swell of the sea.
The baby whale knew how to swim alone from the very first day. The
earliest thing he remembered was the water lapping over his eyes and
tickling in the tiny holes of his ears. On top of his head there were
two blow-holes, or nostrils, closed with valves, to keep the water from
trickling into his lungs.
When he rose to the top of the sea, to fill his lungs with air, away
he swam, up and up, easily and lightly, through the pale-green water,
toward the sunlight twinkling on the surface above. The mother whale
swam beside him, almost touching him with her flippers. Her flippers
were really her arms. When he was tired she helped him by holding him
up.
As soon as his head pushed above the waves he opened the valves in the
blow-holes and drew great breaths of sweet, fresh air deep down into
his lungs. How good it felt! Then arching his back, with a flourish of
his tail down he dived after his mother. They sank swiftly into the
cool depths, while the sea closed silently over their shining sides.
The baby whale did not go down very far. The air in his lungs buoyed
him up. His bones were light and full of oil. Under his dark skin a
layer of fat, called blubber, kept him floating, almost as if he were
wearing a life-preserver wrapped around him.
The new air in his lungs grew warm and damp. After a few minutes he
wanted to breathe again. So with a flap-flap-flap of his tail up he
paddled. Puff, piff! out through the blow-holes rushed the warm air
from his lungs. In the cold outside air it changed to spray, and went
spouting up like a fountain. Down it came showering, with silver drops
splashing and tinkling.
That must have been fun. The baby could not stay under water so long
as his mother could. Often he left her swimming around over the rocky
bottom of the bay while he paddled up to get a fresh breath. Sometimes
he was in such a hurry that he blew out before reaching the top. Then
the water above him went spouting up, and sprinkling back noisily about
his glistening head.
For days and days the baby whale lived there in the bay with his
mother. It was the whole world to him, for he had seen no other place.
Of course he did not know how it looked from above, with its blue,
sparkling water, and its tall cliffs casting long shadows over the
ripples at dawn.
To him the bay was a delightful playground. Its oozy floor was covered
with rocks under the cool green water. Long fringes of seaweed floated
deep down under there. In dark caves sponges and sea-lilies grew, and
crabs scuttled backward into slimy crannies. There were big fishes and
little fishes darting to and fro. At times they hung motionless, with
glistening scales, their round eyes unwinking, their tails quivering
now and then.
Every day, after the baby whale drank all the milk he wanted, he took
a nap, lying beside his mother on the surface of the bay. Every day he
grew a little bigger, and swam a little faster, and stayed below a
little longer without rising to breathe.
When he was old enough to stop drinking milk he learned to eat the food
which his mother liked. He often watched her swimming around the bay,
with her great mouth hanging open. There were millions of the tiniest
kind of creatures living in the water. They flowed into her mouth at
the same time with the water. When she felt them tickling and wiggling
over her tongue she closed her jaw almost shut. A sieve of long elastic
strips of bone fell like a curtain from the roof of her mouth. Then the
water drained out between the strips of bone, leaving the tiny animals
inside to be swallowed.
Instead of teeth the baby whale found such a fringe of whalebone strips
growing on the roof of his mouth. When it was long enough to use he
began to swim around with his jaw hanging down. Every day, in this way,
he caught and ate thousands of tiny shrimps and crabs and mussels. He
could not swallow any large fish because his throat was only a few
inches wide.
He did not know that there are different whales in a different part of
the sea. These other whales have teeth instead of whalebone sieves. In
the tops of their heads they have great holes filled with sperm oil.
Their throats are wide enough to swallow a man. They are called sperm
whales, but the whales with whalebone strips in their mouths are called
true whales.
When the baby stopped drinking milk the mother set out with him to
leave the bay, and find the father whale in the deep sea without. The
young whale could swim almost as fast as the old one now. He could stay
under water without breathing quite as long as she could. The warm
blanket of blubber under his skin had grown thicker. It kept him warm
and helped him to float.
Perhaps he was afraid to leave the safe bay for the wide ocean. He
kept close beside his mother as they went rushing on, with their tails
slapping up and down and around. The tail sent each one ahead, just
as the screw of a steamer drives it forward. With their flippers they
steadied their round bodies so that they would not roll over and over
like logs.
Out between the rocky cliffs, at the mouth of the inlet, they rushed
through the green water. After travelling some distance out to sea the
baby noticed that the water looked black below them, reaching down
and down and down. He could not see the oozy, shell-covered floor, as
in the bay. Above him the waves were larger, and swayed to and fro,
cresting in foam. The big fishes were darting hither and thither before
the great round, rushing bodies of the mother and the baby whale.
Very likely the old whale had been lonesome in the bay. She swam on in
a hurry to find her mate and the rest of the herd. The baby followed
as hard as he could paddle. This was a wonderful new world to him.
Probably he wanted to stop and look around, especially when he rose to
breathe. Once he gave a mighty jump and shot out far above the waves.
He could not see well, except directly behind him. But while above
there in the air he twisted in a curving leap. Everywhere water, water,
water, stretching on and on and on.
He could not see a single sign of any other whales being near. Yet
somehow or other the old mother knew that they were not far away. It
may be that she could hear through the water, as if telephone-wires
were spread under the waves. Sure enough! soon the baby heard the
splashing of heavy bodies turning over and over in slow rolling. When
he rose to breathe he caught sight of spouting fountains, where the
other whales were blowing in the sea.
When the strangers came swimming toward him he hung back behind his
mother. They glided about him, now and then touching him with their
fins, noses, or tails. They twisted around so as to see him with their
dull little eyes. Then they went on with their eating and lazy rolling
on the surface of the sea.
The baby and his mother belonged to the herd now. It was time for them
all to start north to colder waters, as summer was near. Food was
growing scarce in that part of the ocean. When the whales stayed too
long in one place barnacles and limpets fastened on the huge bodies,
and made them uncomfortable. One day the baby felt a tickling barnacle
on his throat. He scratched so hard against a jagged rock that he tore
a rent a foot long in the blubber. But it did not hurt much, and in a
few days it was healed.
There were a number of other young whales in the herd. The biggest old
father whale took the lead while the rest followed, on and on, moving
through the sea all day long. Sometimes they stopped to swim around and
around with their mouths hanging open. The tiny crabs and other animals
flowed in upon the great satiny white tongues. Sometimes they all took
pleasant naps while floating on the surface. Once a sea-bird flew down
and pecked at a barnacle on the baby’s head.
At night the herd lay still, sleeping beneath the stars. All around
them the ocean glimmered and twinkled. The ripples shone with fiery
light. Now and then one or another big whale blew out his warm breath
slowly and drowsily, his great sides heaving in a tremendous sigh.
Then, when the morning came, and the sky grew bright at the horizon,
they woke and plunged below for breakfast. They did not even look at
the beautiful colors in the sky.
Nearly every day the young ones had a race. Off and away! their bodies
bending like bows, their broad tails churning the water into foaming
waves behind them. Many a time the baby dived down, down, down, till
the water looked black around him. Then, when he was almost smothering
under the heavy weight of the sea, he turned in a hurry, and went
rushing up with a bound and a puff. He shot out into the sunshine with
a mighty leap. What a tremendous splashing he made as he fell back on
his side, while all the other baby whales slapped the water with their
tails under the shower of spray!
One morning he had a terrible fright. It happened that he lagged behind
the herd to catch one more mouthful of breakfast. When at last he was
ready to follow the rest he saw three strange animals hurrying after
him. They were almost as big as he was, and they had fierce little eyes
and sharp white teeth. He was so afraid that he swam as fast as he
could.
[Illustration: THE WHALE.
“The old mother whale came tearing back to the rescue.” _Page 39._]
They were really a kind of small whale that eats the tongues of large
whales. They were called killers. All three raced after the baby.
One caught hold of his lip and tried to drag his mouth open. The
other two pulled and bit at the other side of the poor frightened
fellow. Just as they had his mouth almost open, and were snapping like
wolves at sight of his tongue, they heard the old mother whale come
tearing back to the rescue.
Before they had time to dart away she dived head foremost. Raising her
great tail she swept it around and around, churning the water into
foam. One dreadful blow crushed a killer, and the others rushed away.
Seizing the trembling baby between her flippers and neck the mother
hurried on to catch up with the herd again.
This was excitement enough for one day. Indeed, it was the greatest
adventure of the year, except for the narrow escape from the ice-floe.
This last adventure happened when the herd was just leaving the north
to swim south again. The baby whale was quite a big fellow by this
time. By some accident he found himself shut into a bay by a floating
mass of ice.
The ice-floe covered the water and was driving closer and closer to
the shore. The young whale swam ahead of it till he was almost on the
beach. Still it kept pressing nearer and nearer. Again and again he
tried to swim under it, but he could not hold his breath long enough to
get through to the open sea. If he could not breathe he would drown,
just like any other mammal.
Finally, just as the ice was rubbing against the big black sides, he
raised himself high in the air and threw his heavy body with a crash
down on the floe. Luckily, he happened to strike a thin place. The
immense cake of ice cracked and split. The whale gave a plunge and
broke his way through to safety. He was glad enough to find the herd
again and swim on with them toward the southern waters.
So down along the shore the huge beasts went frolicking together. They
leaped out of the sea, turning summersaults and tumbling over and over.
They patted one another with such resounding smacks of their flippers
that the noise was like thunder. Now they darted ahead, leaving a wake
of dancing foam; now they dived, arching their backs, and flirting
their tails high in the air. And through the quiet nights they lay with
the waves lapping softly against them, with the starlight glistening
upon the great black bodies rolling in the swell.
IV
THE ELK (WAPITI)
“ONE OF THE FLEETEST”
ONE OF THE FLEETEST
IT was the most interesting thing! The big brother elk, who was just
a year old, peered in through the branches, his ears pointed forward.
His great soft eyes were shining, and his nostrils were quivering with
excitement. There, on a bed of leaves in the mountain-thicket, lay a
new little baby elk.
He looked like the big brother, except for the white spots on his
satiny brown coat. With his slender legs doubled under him he lay
perfectly still, not even twitching his ears, as old deer to catch the
slightest sound. He was looking up at his big brown mother standing
beside him.
The brother elk edged nearer and nearer, till a branch crackled under
his hoofs. Instantly the old mother raised her head and pricked her
ears in the direction of the sound. When she caught sight of the
brother she drew back her lips from her teeth and squealed angrily. Her
eyes gleamed. She began to walk toward him, squealing and shaking her
head to drive him away. He was so surprised that he snorted out loud.
Then backing off, first one foot and then the other, he hid among some
trees close by.
He must have felt very lonesome as he waited there by himself on the
mountain. He listened to every rustle of a leaf or crackle of a twig in
the thicket where the baby was lying. Before this his mother had always
been kind to him. He did not know why she drove him away,—when he was
not doing any harm. The reason was because every little noise made her
nervous. She was afraid wolves or panthers might come prowling around
there, where the baby lay helpless on the leaves.
After a few days the baby scrambled to his feet and went staggering
a bit unsteadily after his mother as she led the way out from the
thicket. The big brother came timidly up to them. He smelled the little
one very gently, nosing all over his soft dappled body. The mother did
not pay much attention, and the baby was not afraid. He stood quite
still, looking around with his shining eyes.
It was a beautiful world in May. All around him there were groves of
aspens twinkling their silvery leaves in the early sunlight. Farther up
the mountain-side dark evergreens grew thick among the rocks. Down the
valley a brook splashed and gurgled over stones on its way to a lake
lying in the cool shadow of the pines.
Very likely, although the baby elk could see well enough, he cared
more for the things which he could smell. There was such a delicious
fragrance everywhere of spicy evergreens and the damp sweet breath of
mosses and blossoming flowers. Of course he was too young to taste the
juicy grasses and tender twigs, but he surely enjoyed the tempting odor
of it all. The world smelled very good to eat.
Like all little mammals he drank milk till his teeth cut through his
gums later in the year. Like the buffaloes the older elk had horny
pads instead of teeth in the front of their upper jaws. They tore off
a mouthful of grass or leaves with a jerk of the head and swallowed it
half chewed. Then, during the heat of the day, when they were lying
down to rest in the shade, or standing in pools of water, they drew up
the fodder from their stomachs and chewed it again.
All summer long the little elk lived in the mountains with his mother
and brother. At night he slept nestled close to them in some safe
thicket. In the daytime he trotted beside them as they roamed grazing
over the upland meadows and along the brooks. Though they were fond of
feeding near the water they did not care so much as some other kinds of
deer to eat lily-leaves.
In the early part of the summer the mother and brother looked very
ragged. Their thick winter coat began to fall out. It was so matted
that it clung to the body like a torn blanket. Every time they rubbed
against a bush or thorny tree their old hair was torn in long strips
and tatters. When at last it had all been rubbed off their fresh short,
summer fur shone out bright and glistening in the sunshine.
Little by little the white spots on the baby’s coat were fading. By
the end of August he was all in plain brown like the older ones, with
only a patch of white around his tail. Probably he did not notice the
difference himself because he could not turn his head far enough to
see many of the spots on his sides and neck.
[Illustration: THE ELK.
“Grazing over the upland meadows.” _Page 48._]
Indeed he was astonished enough one day, while still in the spotted
coat, to see another little spotted elk come timidly out of a thicket
of aspens. At first both babies stood still, with their ears pricked
forward and their big soft eyes wide open. Then the first one bravely
walked up to the other and smelled him all over. After that they were
friends and played together. They could both say ba-a-a, and drink
milk, and gallop over the grass, with their little hoofs kicking out
behind.
The next day another mother elk with a baby and a big brother joined
the band. Then another family came, and another, till there were dozens
and dozens of them all together. Such scampering frolics as the little
ones enjoyed! While the old mothers were quietly grazing over the steep
slopes the babies raced from one rock to another. Each one tried to
push up first to the highest point, and then stand there, looking down
at the others. Once the roughest little fellow butted another off a
high rock and almost broke his leg.
When a baby butted with his round little head it did not hurt much. But
the big brothers all had sharp antlers sprouting from their foreheads.
In the spring the knobs above their eyes had begun to swell and grow
out into bony spikes covered with a velvety network of skin and veins.
These antlers were different from the horns worn by the buffaloes.
Every buffalo had a pair of horns that lasted all his life. The mother
buffaloes had horns, but the mother elk did not have antlers. The
antlers were solid bone instead of hollow like the horns. Each of the
father elks and the big brothers had a new pair every spring to replace
the old pair that dropped off during the winter.
By mid-summer the antlers stopped growing. Then the big brothers in the
band pounded and rubbed their antlers against bushes and young trees,
so as to strip off the velvety covering. When they had sham fights they
could butt hard enough to hurt. They bumped their heads together, and
pushed with all their might to see which was the strongest.
Autumn was not far off now, and the band of mother elk and young ones
began to move down from the mountains to the foot-hills. In winter the
snow lay so deep in the high valleys that they could not walk far or
find enough to eat. Farther and farther down they wandered every day.
The babies were learning to eat grass like the older ones.