Welcome Rain in May--Plague of Mice in Upper Teviotdale--Arvicola
Agrestis--Field-Mice in Ardgour--How exterminated--A Singing
Mouse--Farmers' Mistakes--Mackenzie the Bird-Catcher.
After rather more than six consecutive weeks of weather so hot and dry
and parching [May 1876], that we were all rapidly becoming hide-bound,
brown-skinned, and sapless as so many Egyptian mummies, the rain
came at last; came, too, not deluge-wise, and with a splash and a
roar as is generally the case after such long-continued droughts,
but calmly and softly as falls the dew of sleep on infant eyelids,
and without a breath of accompanying wind. The earth, long agape
with thirst, drank it in greedily, and vegetable and animal life
alike rejoiced in the grateful quiet as well as in the copiousness
of the blessed rainfall. You should have heard how, when the first
drop began to fall, our wild-birds welcomed it. All at once, in wood,
and copse, and hedgerow, they burst out into loud and gladsome song;
nor did they cease when the rainfall was heaviest, as they usually do,
but kept it up far into the night, the merle and song-thrush now and
again breaking out afresh as if they couldn't sufficiently express
their joy, even after we had retired to rest, and well pleased lay
listening to the music of the raindrops as they fell plashing and
pattering from the eaves. Even our least accomplished songsters took
their share in this concert, and if they did not, simply because
they could not, sing as well as their more gifted companions, they
made at least, as the Ancient Mariner has it, a pleasant "jargoning,"
therein, dear reader, teaching us all this lesson, that if our gifts
prevent us from playing any great or prominent part in the orchestra
of life, we are yet all the same to perform the parts assigned us as
best we may, and always cheerily and with a will. Next morning again
was calm and mild and beautiful as a summer morning could be, while
the country already looked so fresh and green and lovely that one
could hardly believe that such a marvellous change had taken place
in the course of a single night; so potent, in such circumstances,
is the kindly touch of the Rain King's-magic wand.
The plague of mice in Upper Teviotdale is a very serious matter indeed,
and the most energetic steps should at once be taken in order to
check and, if possible, stamp out the evil. These little rodents
multiply with incredible rapidity, and if they are to be fought
à l'outrance and conquered, the sooner the campaign is opened,
and the more vigorously it is conducted, the easier and speedier
will be the victory. The short-tailed field-mouse is fortunately a
rare animal in the Highlands, though we have occasionally met with
it in the districts of Lorne, Lochaber, and Badenoch. We have also
seen it on the lands of Drumfin, near Tobermory, in the island of
Mull. Once seen, it is easily recognised again. Its colour, instead
of being of the ordinary "mouse" shade of grey or brown, is red,
or reddish; its head is more bullet-like and rounder, and its snout
blunter than in any of its congeners; and its tail ends abruptly,
giving that appendage a docked and stumpy look, as if by accident or
design one-third of its proper length had been cut off in early life;
and hence its common designation of short-tailed field-mouse. Every one
who has tried to capture a common domestic mouse with the bare hand,
knows to his cost how quickly and sharply it can bite; but the little
field-mouse never once attempts to bite the hand that holds it. If
pounced upon while running about in the rough bent grass in which it
usually shelters, it no sooner feels itself fairly enclosed in your
hand than it seems to become paralysed through sheer excess of terror,
and you may handle it for a time and turn it about in all directions
as if it were a stuffed specimen, without its once offering to escape
or defend itself in any way. If, however, you let it slip from your
hand to the ground, it is at once off and away, and, search for it
as you may, you are never likely to see it again. For its size the
Arvicola agrestis is a very powerful little animal, particularly
strong in the neck, shoulder, and fore-arm, a provision whereby it
is enabled to dig and burrow its way underground when necessary, with
all the ease and rapidity almost of the mole itself. It is very fond
of water, which it drinks often and greedily, and hence it is that
it is never found at any great distance from a plentiful supply of
its favourite beverage. One that a lady friend of ours kept for some
months in a cage, drank, more or less, she assures us, during every
half-hour of the day, and if its supply at any time happened to fail
by any neglect or oversight of its mistress, the thirsty little toper
squeaked querulously and nibbled angrily at the bars and wood-work
of its cage until its water-dish was replenished. When it had drank
enough, it frequently stepped into the dish, and frisked about in such
a manner as to wet its breast and lower parts of its body thoroughly,
when it would retire to a corner of its cage in which was a little
raised platform, and, sitting up on its quarters, squirrel-wise,
rub and cleanse its head and face with both paws in a very comical
manner. It was fed on succulent grasses and lettuce leaves and endive
from the garden, of which latter it was very fond. It also ate bread
steeped in milk, and apples, both raw and boiled. It finally met the
fate of most cage pets; the cat got at it and killed it. We have only
heard of one instance in which the Arvicola became so numerous in the
West Highlands as to become a pest that was only got rid of with great
trouble and no little expense. This was on the estate of Ardgour, in
our own parish. About seventy years ago, the late Colonel Maclean,
grandfather of the present proprietor, planted the greater part of
the woods that now make the place so beautiful--at this moment one
of the loveliest spots in all the Highlands. Shortly after the young
trees were planted, the field-mouse made its appearance, and in a
few months so rapidly increased its numbers, that they were on all
hands declared a nuisance that must be got rid of at any cost. Their
favourite food in this instance seemed to be the tender rootlets
and bark of the smaller trees, thousands of which straightway
shrivelled up and died away owing to the little rodent's unkindly
attentions. Colonel Maclean, who was eminently a man of action,
vowed that such a state of things was beyond all bearing, and must
be put a stop to at all hazards. With a host of willing workers,
he straightway set about what for a time appeared a hopeless task,
employing every conceivable means that wit or ingenuity could devise
in order to check, and if possible stamp out the mouse plague. Having
heard of a plan adopted under similar circumstances in the Dean and
New Forests in England, holes and trenches were dug in all directions,
and pitfalls ingeniously constructed, in which very soon scores of
the marauders were caught and killed every morning. The cats in every
house in the hamlet, purposely kept for the time on short commons at
home, were locked out at night and allowed to cater for themselves;
and they fell upon the rodents tooth and nail, doing such execution
that they soon became sleek and fat as cats were never known in
Ardgour before or since. At convenient spots large fires were kindled,
on which cauldrons of water were boiled, kettles of which, as hot
as hot could be, were poured into such burrows as showed signs of
habitation, with a view to scalding the inmates to death. This was
generally done in the early morning, to make sure of finding the enemy
at home, for the field-mouse, like most of the rodents, is mainly a
nocturnal feeder. The keepers had orders for the time to cease annoying
vermin--so-called--of any kind, the result being that in a short time
stoats, weasels, ravens, grey crows, hawks, and owls abounded, and
these, you may believe, did yeoman service in the campaign; they were
the cavalry that swept off the scattered fugitives. By such active
measures the enemy was exterminated in a single season, and never
again, so far as we know, showed face on Loch-Linnhe-side. It was
Colonel Maclean's opinion that the mice were imported; that the first
pair, or more, perhaps, were brought from the south in the straw and
moss and matting in which the roots of the more valuable and delicate
plants and trees were packed. From the above our Teviotdale friends
may perhaps gather some wrinkles that may be of use to them in their
efforts to relieve themselves from their field-mouse invasion.
And writing of the field-mouse reminds us that amongst our own domestic
mice there is at present what is generally, if somewhat erroneously,
called a "singing mouse." About a fortnight ago it attracted the
attention of a young lady, who heard it at midnight, and thought at
the time it was the twittering of some bird at her bedroom window. It
was afterwards heard by others, and finally by ourselves, as we sat up
late one night writing. That it was not a bird we were certain, and
guessing the truth--for years ago we had become acquainted with the
notes--we watched and waited until the "jargoning" seemed to proceed
from a closed press immediately behind our chair, which we gently
opened, and had a glimpse of the performer, who vanished, of course,
but soon again began its voluntary, or involuntary rather, behind the
wainscoting in another corner of the room. It was, in short, a "singing
mouse;" an involuntary music, however, with which the poor mouse would
gladly dispense if it could. Birds, as we know, are sometimes incited
to song by sheer rivalry and rage; sometimes by poignant sorrow for
the loss of a mate, or the despoliation of a nest of its treasure of
eggs or callow young; but as a rule a bird sings from pure joyousness
of heart and exhilaration of spirits. When a mouse "sings" it is owing
to a laryngeal disease, a sort of fungoid growth in the throat, which
obstructs the breathing, causing the animal to emit the notes which
have been foolishly called "singing," and which, the clearer and more
bird-like they become, only in truth indicate the more advanced stages
of a malady which invariably ends in death. Our attention was first
directed to this matter by a distinguished comparative anatomist,
the late Professor John Reid of St. Andrews, whose curiosity as a
naturalist was unbounded, only equalled by the untiring patience
and care and caution with which, step by step, he wrought out his
conclusions. It is difficult to describe the "singing" of a mouse thus
affected to those who have not heard it for themselves. It may be said
to be in the main a half-whistle half-wheeze, now and again interrupted
by some rapid clicking notes of a somewhat metallic ring, as if a small
bit of stick was being smartly and rapidly, but very lightly, struck
on the very extremity of the treble string of a guitar or violin. Our
"singing mouse," in whom, poor thing, we were all much interested,
has not been heard for a night or two; it has probably gone the way
all mice, as well as men, must go when respiration becomes impossible.
An amusing paragraph is at present going the round of the papers
about a farmer who, having ordered a hogshead of nitrate of soda for
agricultural purposes, got hold somehow of a hogshead of sugar instead,
which latter, in ignorance of its quality, he sowed broadcast over his
land. Now, at length aware of the mistake, he is said to be waiting
and watching with much curiosity as to how the saccharine crystals
turn out as fertilisers. The story, which may be true enough, reminds
us of an amusing mistake of a somewhat similar nature into which one
of the crofters in our neighbourhood very innocently fell some years
ago. He had attended the Fort-William June market, and amongst other
things brought home with him, on his return in the evening, two small
parcels, one containing one pound of turnip seed, the other the same
quantity red clover seed. Next morning he was up bright and early,
and as an exercise that might perhaps help to drive away a headache,
not uncommon on such occasions, he resolved, the day being favourable,
to sow his turnip and clover seeds. He commenced, and, very unwittingly
you may believe, sowed the turnip seed broadcast among the barley
braird, and the red clover seed in the drills prepared for the
turnips! The blunder was only discovered several days afterwards,
when the seeds began to sprout after their kind, and matters were
rectified as the case best allowed; but poor Donald never heard the
last of the joke, which, when followed beyond certain limits, used
to make him exceedingly angry.
Mackenzie the bird-catcher, facile princeps the king and head of his
order, called upon us to-day, and made us a present of the bonniest
little redpole we ever set eyes upon. Its colouring is exquisitely
beautiful, differing from the usual plumage of the species in having
several little snow-white spots irregularly sprinkled over the coverts
of either wing, and its neck and breast of a mingled shade of pink
and crimson of exceeding richness, that makes it far and away the
handsomest bird of the order we ever saw. At first we took it for a
foreign bird, or a bird that had been artificially painted in order to
deceive us, and it was only on handling and thoroughly examining him
that we became convinced that the bird was a genuine, though curiously
coloured, specimen of its species, and that we had it before us just
as it was captured some days ago in Glentarbet, near Strontian. Of all
our cage-birds, the redpole (Fringalla linaria, Linn.) is perhaps the
soonest reconciled to loss of liberty and prolonged captivity. Our
little pet, whose cage hangs almost within arm's length of us as we
write, seems perfectly happy, and is already singing with all his
might, a goldfinch in another cage beside him busily scolding him all
the time for having the impudence to sing so well, or sing at all, in
interruption of his own louder and clearer notes. Cage-birds properly
treated are a great amusement, and, if you pay them due attention,
evince in a very short time a degree of intelligence so remarkable
that you only wonder, philosophising craniologically, how so much of
it can find lodging-room within their little heads.
Mackenzie is commissioned to go to Norway and Sweden this summer in
search of a lot of crossbills, grossbeaks, and other birds, for a
wealthy gentleman in the south, who is a great bird-fancier. Let him
only once get to their habitat, and Mackenzie is just the man to lay
salt on the tail of any bird that flies.