THE APLODONTIA LEPORINA. (RICH.)
(_Sewellel or Show’tl of the Nesqually Indians._)
SYNONYMS.—_Aplodontia leporina_, Rich., F.B.A. i. 211, plate
xviii.; Aud. Bach. N.A. Qua. iii., 1853, 99, pl. cxxiii.; _Hoplodon
leporinus_, Wagler System, Amh., 1830; _Anisonyx rufa_, Rafinesque,
Am. Month. Mag. ii. 1817; _Arctomys rufa_, Harlan, F. Am, 1825,
308; _Sewellel_, Lewis and Clark’s Travels, ii. 1815, 176.
_General Dimensions._—Nose to ear, 2 in. 7 lines; nose to eyes, 1
in. 5 lines; tail to end of vertebræ, 9 lines; tail to end of hair,
1 in. 2 lines; ear, height, 5 lines; nose to root of tail, 14 in. 6
lines.
I first met with this rare and curious little rodent on the bank of
the Chilukweyuk river. My canvas house is pitched in a snug spot,
overshadowed by a clump of cottonwood trees, growing close to a stream,
that like liquid crystal ripples past in countless channels, finding
its way betwixt massive boulders of trap and green-stone, rounded and
polished until they look like giant marbles.
Towering up behind me are the Cascade Mountains, with snow-clad
summits dim in the haze of distance, their craggy slopes split into
chasms and ravines, so deep, dark, and lonesome, that no man’s footfall
has ever disturbed their solitudes, so densely wooded up to the very
snow-line with pine, that a bare rock has hardly a chance to peep out,
and break the sombre monotony of the dark-green foliage.
[Illustration: OU-KA-LA
(Aplodontia leporina).]
Before me, stretching away for about three miles, is an open grassy
prairie, one side of which is bounded by the Chilukweyuk river, the
other by the Fraser. At the junction of the two streams, at an angle
of the prairie, stands an Indian village: the rude-plank sheds and
rush-lodges; the white smoke, curling gracefully up through the still
atmosphere from many lodge-fires; the dusky forms of the savages, as
they loll or stroll in the fitful night, give life and character to a
scene indescribably lovely.
The Indian summer is drawing to a close; the maple, the cottonwood,
and the hawthorn, fringing the winding waterways, like silver cords
intersecting the prairie, have assumed their autumn tints, and, clad
in browns and yellows, stand out in brilliant contrast to the green of
the pine-forest. The prairie looks bright and lovely; the grass, as yet
untouched by the frost-fairy’s fingers, waves lazily; wild flowers, of
varied tints, peep out from their hiding-places, enjoying to the last
the lingering summer.
I had been for some time sitting on a log, admiring the sublime beauty
of the scene, spread out before me like a gorgeous picture; the sun was
fast receding behind the hilltops, the lengthening shadows were fading
and growing dimly indistinct, the birds had settled down to sleep, and
the busy hum of insect life was hushed. A deathlike quiet steals over
everything in the wilderness as night comes on—a stillness that is
painful from its intensity. The sound of your own breathing, the crack
of a branch, a stone suddenly rattling down the hillside, the howl of
the coyote, or the whoop of the night-owl, seem all intensified to an
unnatural loudness. I know of nothing more appalling to the lonely
wanderer camping by himself than this ‘jungle silence,’ that reigns
through the weary hours of night.
This silence was suddenly broken, as was my reverie, by a sharp ringing
whistle; it was so piercing and clear, that I could not believe it was
produced by an animal. Hardly had it died away, when another whistler
took it up, then a third, and so on, until at least a dozen had joined
in the chorus. I stole carefully in the direction from which the sound
came, but as I neared the spot the whistle ceased, and it was now
far too dark to descry any object on the ground. So, in doubt, and
sorely puzzled to account for such an unusual sound, and with a firm
determination to unravel the mystery in the morning, I returned to my
camp. Could it be Indians? No, impossible; there were far too many
whistlers, and the tone of each whistle was precisely alike. I was
equally sure it was not the cry of the rock-whistler (_Actomys_); that
sound I knew too well. What could it be?
As the grey light of morning came peering into my tent, I started
off to investigate the secret of the mysterious whistler; but all I
could discover, after a long and diligent search, was, that there were
numerous runs and burrows excavated in the sandy banks of the river,
but by what sort of animal I could not for the life of me guess.
Setting a steel-trap at the entrance to one of the holes, I strolled
down to the Indian village, thinking I should possibly be able to
find out from the redskins what it was that made such shrill sounds.
Partly by signs, and by using as much of their language as I knew, I
endeavoured to make the old chief comprehend my queries.
After attentively watching my absurd attempts to produce a ringing
whistle by placing my fingers in my mouth, and blowing through
them until my face was like an apoplectic coachman’s, a smile of
intelligence lit up his swarthy visage: then I violently dug imaginary
holes, and explained that the sounds came about twilight; he nodded his
head, dived into the tent, and disappeared in the smoke, to shortly
emerge again with a rug or robe, made from the skins of an animal that
was quite new to me.
It was beautifully soft, glossy, and brown. The skins were about the
size of a large rat’s, and about twenty in number. Here, then, was
the dawn of a discovery. He called the animal _Ou-ka-la_, and made me
understand that it lived on roots and vegetable matter, and burrowed
holes in the ground.
As the daylight faded out, I again took my seat; and, just as before,
when everything was silent, the woods echoed with the Ou-ka-la’s cry.
I longed for morning, and hardly waited for light, but hastened off to
my trap and, joy of joys, I had one sure enough, caught by the neck.
Poor Ou-ka-la! your friends had heard, and you had given, your ‘last
whistle.’ He was dead and cold—trapped, perhaps, whilst I listened
wonderingly, keeping my lonely vigil. A very brief examination
revealed the fact that I had caught a magnificent specimen of the
Aplodontia leporina, of which I had only read.
Captains Lewis and Clark obtained some vague information about this
animal, which is given in their journal of travel across the Rocky
Mountains, in 1804. All they say of its habits is, ‘that it climbs
trees, and digs like a squirrel.’ They obtained no specimen of the
animal, but saw, probably, robes made of the skins. It was subsequently
described by Rafinesque, and by him named _Anysonyx rufa_, and by
Harlan _Arctomys rufa_. In 1829 Sir John Richardson obtained a
specimen, and, after a careful anatomical examination, this eminent
naturalist determined it to be a new genus, and renamed it, generically
and specifically. The generic name (_Aplodontia_) is founded on its
having rootless molars, or grinding teeth—_aploos_, simple; _odons_, a
tooth. It belongs to the sub-family _Castorinæ_, dental formula
2 00 55
——————— 22.
2 00 44
_Sp. ch._—Size, that of a musk-rat; tail very short, barely visible;
colour, glossy blackish-brown. Male, length about 14 inches; female
resembling the male, but smaller. The fur is dense and woolly, with
long bristly hairs, thickly interspersed; the short fur is bluish-gray
at the base, the ends of the hairs being tipped with reddish-brown; the
bristles are black, and when smooth give a lustrous appearance to the
fur. The eyes are very small, and placed about midway between the nose
and the ear. The whiskers, stiff and bristly, are much longer than the
head, and dark grey. The ears are covered on both sides with fine soft
hair, rounded and very short, and not unlike the human ear.
_Skull._—The skull is much like that of the squirrel’s, with the
marked exception of having rootless molars, and the absence of
post-orbital processes; the occipital crest is well-developed, the
muzzle large, and nearly round. The bony orbits are largely developed;
the auditory bullæ are small, but open at once into wide auditive
tubes; the first molar is unusually small, oval, and situated against
the antero-internal angle of the second. All the molars are rootless:
the lower grinders are much like the upper, but somewhat longer and
narrower. The molars in both jaws are situated much farther back than
is usual, the centre of the skull being about opposite to the meeting
of the second and third. The lower jaw is very singularly shaped,
the inner edges of the molars on opposite sides being parallel; the
descending ramus is bent, so as to be exactly horizontal behind, the
postero-inferior edge being a straight line, nearly perpendicular
to the vertical plane of the skull’s axis. The conformation of the
incisor-teeth is admirably adapted to the purposes they have to
fulfil; no carpenter’s gouging chisels are more effective tools than
are these exquisitely-constructed teeth. It is essential that they
should always have a sharp-cutting edge, in order to nip through the
tough vegetable fibre on which the animal subsists; at the same time,
strength and durability are indispensable. The Aplodontia has no
whetstone or razor-grinder, to sharpen his tools when they grow blunt;
but an Allwise Providence has so fashioned these wondrous chisels in
all rodents, that the more they are used the sharper they keep; the
contrivance is simple as it is beautiful. The substance of the tooth
itself is composed of tough ivory, but plated on the outer surface
with enamel as hard as steel. The ivory, being the softer material, of
course wears away faster than the enamel; hence the latter, plating the
front of the tooth, is always left with a sharp-cutting edge.
The position this genus should occupy, in a systematic arrangement of
the rodents, has always been a stumbling-block and a matter of doubt,
in great measure attributable to the fact that but a single species of
the genus is known, and very few specimens have hitherto been obtained.
A fine male specimen has recently been set up in the British Museum
collection, that I caught near my camp on the prairie.
In many particulars the Aplodontia very nearly resembles the
Spermophiles, particularly the prairie-dog (_Cynomys Ludovicciana_),
but differs, as in the true squirrels, in the rootless molars and
absence of post-orbital processes. In this respect it is allied to the
beaver. It is quite impossible to assign it a well-defined and settled
position, until a greater number of specimens are procured, from which
more minute and careful examination of the bony and internal anatomy
can be made. At present, however, it would appear to connect the
beavers with the squirrels, through the Spermophiles.
The name Lewis and Clark gave this animal, Sewellel, is evidently a
corruption of an Indian word. The Chinook Indians, once a powerful
tribe, live near the mouth of the Columbia; and from them, in all
probability, Lewis and Clark obtained the name, and first heard of the
animal. But the Chinook name for the Aplodontia is _Og__ool-lal_,
Shu-wal-lal being the name of the robe made from the skins; and this
is unquestionably the word corrupted into Sewellel, and misused as the
name of the animal. In Puget’s Sound the Nesqually Indians call it
_Show′tl_; the Yakama Indians, _Squal-lah_; and the Sumass Indians,
_Swok-la_.
A single glance at the conformation of the feet would at once convince
the most careless observer that climbing trees was not a habit of the
Aplodontia. The feet and claws are digging implements, of the most
finished and efficient kind: the long scoop-shaped nails, resembling
garden trowels; wide strong foot, almost hand-like in its form; the
strong muscular arms, supported by powerful clavicles, proclaim him a
miner; his mission is to burrow, and most ably he fulfils his destiny.
His haunt is usually by the side of a stream, where the banks are
sandy, and the underbrush grows thickly; his favourite food being fine
fibrous roots, and the rind of such as are too hard for his teeth. He
spends his time in burrowing, not so much for shelter and concealment,
as to supply himself with roots. He digs with great ease and rapidity,
making a hole large enough for a man’s arm to be inserted.
In making the tunnels, he seldom burrows very far without coming to
the surface, and beginning a new one. Like a skilful workman, he knows
how to economise labour. Having to back the earth out of the mouth of
the hole he is digging, the farther he gets in the harder grows the
toil; and so he digs up through, and starts afresh. They seldom come
out in the daytime, and I have but rarely heard them whistle until
everything was still, and the twilight merged into night.
The female has from four to six young at a birth, and she has about
two litters in a year. The nest for the young is much like that of
the rabbit, made of grass and leaves, and placed at the end of a deep
burrow. In the winter they only partially hibernate, frequently digging
through the snow to eat the bark and lichen from the trees. Their gait
when on the ground is very awkward; their broad short feet are not
fitted for progression, and they shamble rather than run, and can be
easily overtaken. Where a colony of them have resided for any time,
the ground becomes literally riddled with holes, and the trees and
shrubs die for want of roots. I imagine, from having found abandoned
villages, that they wisely emigrate when their resources are exhausted.
The Indians esteem their flesh a great luxury, and trap them in a kind
of figure-offour trap, set at the mouth of the burrow. I daresay they
are as good as a rabbit; still, they have too ratlike an appearance
to possess any gastronomic attractions for me. _De gustibus non est
disputandum._
The Aplodontia has a terrible and untiring enemy in the badger
(_Taxidea Americana_). He is always on the hunt for the poor little
miner, digs him out from his hiding-place, and devours him with as
much gusto as the Indian. Its geographical range is not very extended,
being, as far as I know, confined to a small section of North-western
America. I have seen it on the eastern and western slopes of the
Cascades, but not on the Rocky Mountains, although it very probably
exists there. It is also found at Puget’s Sound, Fort Steilacum, and on
the banks of the Sumass and Chilukweyuk rivers, west of the Cascades;
on the Nachess Pass, at Astoria and the Dalles, on the Columbia, east
of the Cascades.
Feeding entirely on vegetable matter (I never discovered a trace of
insect or larvæ remains in the stomach), passing its life principally
in dark burrows, and limited, as far as we know at present, to a very
narrow section of a barren country, it is hard to imagine what purpose
it serves in the great chain of Nature, save it be that of supplying
food to the badger, and both food and clothing to the savage; and yet
we know that it was fashioned for some specific purpose, if we could
but read and rightly interpret the pages of Nature’s wondrous book. If
we ask ourselves, Why was this or that made? how seldom can we answer
the question! Why did He, who made the world, the sun, and the stars,
deck the butterfly’s wing with tiny scales, that by a simple change in
arrangement produce patterns beside which the most finished painting
is a bungling daub? Why exist those microscopic wonders, (diatoms and
infusoria,) formed with shells of purest flint, and of the quaintest
devices? Why were these atomies, that tenant every roadside pool, which
dance in the sunbeam, and float on the wings of the breeze? Why all
the prodigal variety of strange forms crowding the sea, forms more
wonderful than the poet’s wildest dreams ever pictured? Who can tell?
END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
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FOOTNOTES:
[1] For full narrative of Apostolos Valerianos, see Samuel Purchase
His Pilgrims.
[2] Buckland’s Manual, ‘Salmon Hatching,’ page 24.
[3] _Vide_ Illustration.
[4] _Vide_ Illustration.
[5] _Vide_ Illustration.
[6] _Vide_ Illustration.
[7] _Vide_ Illustration.
Transcriber’s Notes:
- Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
- Blank pages have been removed.
- Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected.