This little book is but another chapter in the shy 'wild life of the
fields and woods' of which "Ways of Wood Folk" and "Wilderness Ways"
were the beginning. It is given gladly in answer to the call for more
from those who have read the previous volumes, and whose letters are
full of the spirit of kindness and appreciation.
Many questions have come of late with these same letters; chief of which
is this: How shall one discover such things for himself? how shall
we, too, read the secrets of the Wood Folk? There is no space here
to answer, to describe the long training, even if one could explain
perfectly what is more or less unconscious. I would only suggest that
perhaps the real reason why we see so little in the woods is the way we
go through them--talking, laughing, rustling, smashing twigs, disturbing
the peace of the solitudes by what must seem strange and uncouth
noises to the little wild creatures. They, on the other hand, slip with
noiseless feet through their native coverts, shy, silent, listening,
more concerned to hear than to be heard, loving the silence, hating
noise and fearing it, as they fear and hate their natural enemies.
We would not feel comfortable if a big barbarian came into our quiet
home, broke the door down, whacked his war-club on the furniture,
and whooped his battle yell. We could hardly be natural under the
circumstances. Our true dispositions would hide themselves. We might
even vacate the house bodily. Just so Wood Folk. Only as you copy their
ways can you expect to share their life and their secrets. And it is
astonishing how little the shyest of them fears you, if you but keep
silence and avoid all excitement, even of feeling; for they understand
your feeling quite as much as your action.
A dog knows when you are afraid of him; when you are hostile; when
friendly. So does a bear. Lose your nerve, and the horse you are riding
goes to pieces instantly. Bubble over with suppressed excitement, and
the deer yonder, stepping daintily down the bank to your canoe in the
water grasses, will stamp and snort and bound away without ever knowing
what startled him. But be quiet, friendly, peace-possessed in the same
place, and the deer, even after discovering you, will draw near and show
his curiosity in twenty pretty ways ere he trots away, looking back over
his shoulder for your last message. Then be generous--show him the flash
of a looking-glass, the flutter of a bright handkerchief, a tin whistle,
or any other little kickshaw that the remembrance of a boy's pocket
may suggest--and the chances are that he will come back again, finding
curiosity so richly rewarded.
That is another point to remember: all the Wood Folk are more curious
about you than you are about them. Sit down quietly in the woods
anywhere, and your coming will occasion the same stir that a stranger
makes in a New England hill town. Control your curiosity, and soon their
curiosity gets beyond control; they must come to find out who you are
and what you are doing. Then you have the advantage; for, while their
curiosity is being satisfied, they forget fear and show you many curious
bits of their life that you will never discover otherwise.
As to the source of these sketches, it is the same as that of the
others years of quiet observation in the woods and fields, and some old
notebooks which hold the records of summer and winter camps in the great
wilderness.
My kind publishers announced, some time ago, a table of contents, which
included chapters on jay and fish-hawk, panther, and musquash, and a
certain savage old bull moose that once took up his abode too near my
camp for comfort. My only excuse for their non-appearance is that my
little book was full before their turn came. They will find their place,
I trust, in another volume presently.
STAMFORD, CONN., June, 1901. Wm. J. LONG.