o'clock, when I chanced to open the window for a breath of air, my eye
fell on these; on every bulb was an English Sparrow sound asleep with
the overarching reflector to turn the storm, and the electric bulb below
him to warm his toes. My hat is off. Our Department of Agriculture may
declare war on the Sparrow; but what is the use? Don't you think that a
creature who is not afraid of blizzard or darkness, and knows how to use
electric lights, is going to win its life-battle, and that he surely is
here to stay?
TALE 55
Tracks, and the Stories They Tell
[Illustration: Tracks, and the Stories They Tell]
Sometimes, in town, just after rain, when the gutters are wet, and the
pavement dry, look for the tracks of some Dog that walked with wet
feet on the pavement. You will find that they are like "a" in the
drawing. A Dog has five toes on his front feet, but only four touch the
pavement as he walks. The claws also touch, and make each a little mark.
Now look for the track of a Cat; it is somewhat like that of the Dog,
but it is smaller, softer, and the claws do not show (b). They are too
good to be wasted on a pavement; she keeps them pulled in, so they are
sharp when she has use for them.
Make a drawing of each of these, and make it life size.
When there is dust on the road, or snow, look for Sparrow tracks; they
are like "c."
Note how close together the front three toes are. The inner two are
really fast together, so they cannot be separated far and the hind toe
is very large. Last of all, note that the tracks go two and two, because
the Sparrow goes "hop hop, hop." These things mean that the Sparrow is
really a tree bird; and you will see that, though often on the ground he
gets up into a tree when he wishes to feel safe.
Look for some Chicken tracks in the dust; they are like "d" in the
drawing because the Chicken does not go "hop, hop, hop" like the
Sparrow, but "walk, walk, walk." The Chicken is a ground bird. Most of
the song birds hop like the Sparrow, and most of the game birds walk
like a Chicken. But the Robin (e) goes sometimes hopping and sometimes
running, because part of his life is in the trees, and part on the
ground.
TALE 56
A Rabbit's Story of His Life, Written by Himself
Yes, the Rabbit wrote it himself and about himself in the oldest writing
on earth, that is the tracks of his feet.
[Illustration: A WOODCRAFT TRAGEDY
As shown by the Tracks and Signs in the Snow]
In February of 1885, one morning after a light snowfall, I went tramping
through the woods north of Toronto, when I came on something that always
makes me stop and look--the fresh tracks of an animal. This was the
track of a Cottontail Rabbit and I followed its windings with thrills of
interest. There it began under a little brush pile (a); the bed of brown
leaves showing that he settled there, before the snow-fall began. Now
here (b) he leaped out after the snow ceased, for the tracks are sharp,
and sat looking around. See the two long marks of his hind feet and in
front the two smaller prints of his front feet; behind is the mark made
by his tail, showing that he was sitting on it.
Then he had taken alarm at something and dashed off at speed (c), for
now his hind feet are tracking ahead of the front feet, as in most
bounding forefoots, and the faster he goes, the farther ahead those hind
feet get.
See now how he dodged about here and there, this way and that, among the
trees, as though trying to escape some dreaded enemy (c, d, e, f).
But what enemy? There are no other tracks, and still the wild jumping
went on.
I began to think that the Rabbit was crazy, flying from an imaginary
foe; possibly that I was on the track of a March Hare. But at "g" I
found on the trail for the first time a few drops of blood. That told me
that the Rabbit was in real danger but gave no clue to its source.
At "h" I found more blood and at "j" I got a new thrill, for there,
plain enough on each side of the Rabbit track, were finger-like marks,
and the truth dawned on me that these were the prints of great wings.
The Rabbit was fleeing from an eagle, a hawk, or an owl. Some twenty
yards farther "k" I found in the snow the remains of the luckless Rabbit
partly devoured. Then I knew that the eagle had not done it, for he
would have taken the Rabbit's body away, not eaten him up there. So it
must have been a hawk or an owl. I looked for something to tell me
which, and I got it. Right by the Rabbit's remains was the large
twin-toed track (l) that told me that an owl had been there, and that
therefore he was the criminal. Had it been a hawk the mark would have
been as shown in the left lower corner, three toes forward and one back,
whereas the owl usually sets his foot with two toes forward and two
backward, as in the sketch. This, then, I felt sure was the work of an
owl. But which owl? There were two, maybe three kinds in that valley. I
wished to know exactly and, looking for further evidence, I found on a
sapling near by a big soft, downy, owlish feather (m) with three brown
bars across it; which told me plainly that a Barred Owl or Hoot Owl had
been there recently, and that he was almost certainly the killer of the
Cottontail.
This may sound like a story of Sherlock Holmes among the animals--a
flimsy tale of circumstantial evidence. But while I was making my notes,
what should come flying through the woods but the Owl himself, back to
make another meal, no doubt. He alighted on a branch just above my head,
barely ten feet up, and there gave me the best of proof, next to eye
witness of the deed, that all I had gathered from the tracks and signs
in the snow was quite true.
I had no camera in those days, but had my sketch book, and as he sat, I
made a drawing which hangs to-day among my pictures that are beyond
price.
Here, then, is a chapter of wild life which no man saw, which man could
not have seen, for the presence of a man would have prevented it. And
yet we know it was true, for it was written by the Rabbit himself.
If you have the seeing eye, you will be able to read many strange and
thrilling happenings written for you thus in the snow, the mud, and even
the sand and the dust.
TALE 57
The Singing Hawk
Listen, Guide and young folk, I want to add another bird to your list
to-day; another secret of the woods to your learning.
I want you to know the Singing Hawk. Our nature writers nearly always
make their hawks scream, but I want you to know a wonderful Hawk, right
in your own woods, that really and truly sings, and loves to do it.
It is a long time ago since I first met him. I was going past a little
ravine north of Toronto, on a bright warm mid-winter day, when a loud
call came ringing down the valley and the bird that made it, a large
hawk, appeared, sailing and singing, _kee-o, kee-o, kee-o, kee-o, kee-o,
kee-ye-o, ky-ye-o, ky-oodle, ky-oodle, kee-o, kee-o_ and on; over and
over again, in a wild-wood tone that thrilled me. He sailed with set
wings to a near-by tree, and ceased not his stirring call; there was no
answer from the woods, but there was a vibrant response in my heart. It
moved me through and through. How could it do so much, when it was so
simple? I did not know how to tell it in words, but I felt it in my
boyish soul. It expressed all the wild-wood life and spirit, the joy of
living, the happy brightness of the day, the thrill of the coming
spring, the glory of flight; all, all it seemed to voice in its simple
ringing, "_kee-o, kee-o, kee-o, kee-yi-o_"; never before had I seen a
bird so evidently rejoicing in his flight; then singing, it sailed away
from sight; but the song has lingered ever since in the blessed part of
my memory. I often heard it afterward, and many times caught the
Blue-jay in a feeble imitation of its trumpet note. I never forgot the
exact timbre of that woodland call; so when at length, long after, I
traced it to what is known in books as the "Red-shouldered Hawk," it was
a little triumph and a little disappointment. The books made it all so
commonplace. They say it has a loud call like "kee-o"; but they do not
say that it has a bugle note that can stir your very soul if you love
the wild things, and voices more than any other thing on wings the glory
of flight, the blessedness of being alive.
To-day, as I write, is December 2, 1917; and this morning as I walked in
my homeland, a sailing, splendid hawk came pouring out the old refrain,
"_kee-yi-o, kee-yi-o, kee-oh_." Oh, it was glorious! I felt little
prickles in the roots of my hair as he went over; and I rejoiced above
all things to realize that he sang just as well as, yes maybe a little
better than that first one did, that I heard in the winter woods some
forty years ago.
TALE 58
The Fingerboard Goldenrod
"Oh, Mother Carey! All-mother! Lover of us little plants as well as the
big trees! Listen to us little slender Goldenrods.
"We want to be famous, Mother Carey, but our stems are so little and our
gold is so small, that we cannot count in the great golden show of
autumn, for that is the glory of our tall cousins. They do not need us,
and they do not want us. Won't you give us a little job all our own, our
very own, for we long to be doing something?"
[Illustration: The Compass Goldenrod Pointing Toward the North]
Then Mother Carey smiled so softly and sweetly and said: "Little slender
Goldenrods, I am going to give you something to do that will win you
great honour among all who understand. In the thick woods the moss on
the trunk shows the north side; when the tree is alone and in the open,
the north side is known by its few branches; but on the open prairie,
there is no plant that stands up like a finger post to point the north
for travellers, while the sun is hid."
"This, then do, little slender Goldenrods; face the noon sun, and as you
stand, throw back your heads proudly, for you are in service now. Throw
back your heads till your golden plumes are pointing backward to the
north--so shall you have an honourable calling and travellers will be
glad that I have made you a fingerboard on the plains."
So the slender Goldenrod and his brothers rejoiced and they stood up
straight, facing the noon sun, and bent backward, throwing out their
chests till their golden caps and plumes were pointed to the north.
And many a traveller, on cloudy days and dark nights, has been cheered
by the sight of the Compass Goldenrod, pointing to the north and helping
him to get home.
This does not mean that every one of them points to the north all the
time. They do their best but there are always some a little wrong. Yet
you can tell the direction at night or on dark days if you look at a bed
of them that grew out in full sunlight.
"Yon is the north," they keep on singing, all summer long, and even when
winter comes to kill the plant, and end its bloom, the brave little
stalk stands up there, in snow to its waist, bravely pointing out the
north, to those who have learned its secret. And not only in winter
storms, but I have even found them still on guard after the battle, when
the snow melted in springtime. Once when I was a boy, I found a whole
bank of them by a fence, when the snow went off in April, and I wrote
in their honour this verse:
Some of them bowed are, and broken
And battered and lying low
But the few that are left stand like spearmen staunch
Each pointing his pike at the foe.
TALE 59
Woodchuck Day, February Second Sixth Secret of the Woods
[Illustration: WOODCHUCK DAY: COLD WEATHER
"To be, or not to be"]
It was Monapini that told Ruth Pilgrim, and Ruth Pilgrim told the little
Pilgrims, and the little Pilgrims told the little Dutchmen, and the
little Dutchmen told it to all the little Rumours, and the grandchild of
one of these little Rumours told it to me, so you see I have it straight
and on good authority, this Sixth Secret of the Woods.
The story runs that every year the wise Woodchuck retires to sleep in
his cozy home off the subway that he made, when the leaves begin to
fall, and he has heard the warning. Mother Carey has sung the death-song
of the red leaves; sung in a soft voice that yet reaches the farthest
hills:
"Gone are the summer birds.
Hide, hide, ye slow-foots.
Hide, for the blizzard comes."
And Mother Earth, who is Maka Ina, cries to her own: "Come, hide in my
bosom, my little ones." And the wise Woodchuck waits not till the
blizzard comes, but hides while he may make good housing, and sleeps for
three long moons.
But ever on the second sun of the Hunger-moon (and this is the Sixth
Secret) he rouses up and ventures forth. And if so be that the sun is
in the sky, and the snow on the bosom of his Mother Earth, so that his
shadow shall appear on it, he goeth back to sleep again for one and a
half moons more--for six long weeks. But if the sky be dark with clouds
and the earth all bared of snow so that no shadow shows, he says, "The
blizzard time is over, there is food when the ground is bare," and ends
his sleep.
This is the tale and this much I know is true: In the North, if he
venture forth on Woodchuck Day, he sees both sun and snow, so sleeps
again; in the South there is no snow that day, and he sleeps no more;
and in the land between, he sleeps in a cold winter, and in an open
winter rouses to live his life.
These things I have seen, and they fit with the story of Monapini, so
you see the little Rumour told me true.
THINGS TO KNOW
[Illustration: How the Pine Tree Tells Its Own Story]
Things to Know
TALE 60
How the Pine Tree Tells Its Own Story
Suppose you are in the woods, and your woods in Canada, or the Northern
States; you would see at once two kinds of trees: Pines and Hardwoods.
Pines, or Evergreens, have leaves like needles, and are green all the
year round; they bear cones and have soft wood.
The Hardwoods, or Broadleaves, sometimes called Shedders, have broad
leaves that are shed in the fall; they bear nuts or berries and have
hard wood.
Remember this, every tree that grows has flowers and seeds; and the tree
can always be told by its seeds, that is, its fruit. If you find a tree
with cones on it, you know it belongs to the Pine family. If you find
one with broad leaves and nuts or berries, it belongs to the
Hardwoods.[C]
Of these the Pines always seem to me more interesting.
* * * * *
In September, 1002, I had a good chance to study Pine trees in the
mountains of Idaho. There was a small one that had to be cut down, so I
made careful drawings of it. It was fourteen years old, and across the
stump it showed one ring of wood for each year of growth, and a circle
of branches on the trunk for each year. Notice that between the
branches, the trunk did _not_ taper; it was an even cylinder, but got
suddenly smaller at each knot by the same amount of wood as was needed
by those branches for their wood.
If we begin in the centre of the stump, and at the bottom of the trunk,
we find that the little tree tells us its own story of its life and
troubles. Its first year, judging by the bottom section of the trunk
(No. 1) and by the inmost ring, was just ordinary. Next year according
to section 2 and ring 2, it had a fine season and grew nearly twice as
much as the first year. The third year the baby Pine had a very hard
time, and nearly died. Maybe it was a dry summer, so the little tree
grew only 2-1/2 inches higher while the ring of wood it added was no
thicker than a sheet of paper. Next year, the fourth, it did better. And
the next was about its best year, for it grew 7-1/2 inches higher, and
put on a fine fat ring of wood, as you see.
In its eleventh year, it had some new troubles; either the season was
dry, or the trees about too shady, or maybe disease attacked it. For it
grew but a poor shoot on the top, and the ring of wood on the stump is
about the thinnest of all.
Of course, a saw-cut along the second joint showed but thirteen rings,
and the third but twelve while one through the top joint, the one which
grew this year, showed but a single ring.
Thus the Pine tree has in itself a record of its whole life; and this is
easy to read when the tree is small; but in later life the lower limbs
disappear, and the only complete record is in the rings of growth that
show on the stump. These never fail to tell the truth.
Of course, you are not to go around cutting down trees merely to count
their rings and read their history, but you should look at the rings
whenever a new stump gives you a good chance. Then Hardwoods as well as
Pines will spread before you the chapters of their life; one ring for
each year that they have lived.
TALE 61
Blazes
All hunters and Indians have signs to let their people know the way.
Some of these signs are on trees, and are called "Blazes." One of those
much used is a little piece of bark chipped off to show the white wood;
it means: "This is the way, or the place." Another sign is like an
arrow, and means: "Over there," or "Go in that direction." No matter
what language they speak, the blazes tell everyone alike. So a blaze is
a simple mark that tells us something without using words or letters,
and it depends on where it is placed for part of its meaning.
On the following page are some blazes used in our towns to-day. You will
find many more if you look, some in books; some on the adjoining page.
TALE 62
Totems[D]
[Illustration: BLAZES.]
A Totem is a simple form used as the emblem or symbol of a man, a group
of men, an animal, or an idea; it does not use or refer to words or
letters, so it is the same in all languages. Unlike the blaze it does
not depend on its position for part of its meaning.
[Illustration: Some well known TOTEMS]
Among peoples that cannot read or write, each leading man had a Totem
that he used, instead of writing his name. He put this mark on his
property, and at length put it on his shield and armour to distinguish
him in battle. Out of this grew heraldry.
[Illustration: Indian Symbols]
Modern trade-marks are Totems though often spoiled by words or letters
added. The Totem continues in use because it is so easy to see a long
way off, and can be understood by all, no matter what their language.
Most of the great railway companies have a Totem and the use of such
things is increasing to-day.
Here in the drawing are some Totems seen daily in our towns. Doubtless
you can add to the number.
TALE 63
Symbols
If you have thought much about it, O Guide! you will surely find that,
for decoration, it is better to use a beautiful symbol of anything,
rather than a good photograph of it. For the symbol lets the imagination
loose, and the other chains it to the ground; the one is the spirit, and
the other the corpse. These things you cannot tell to the little folks,
but you can prove them to yourself, and you will see why I wish to give
some symbols here for use.
There is another reason, one which you _can_ give to them. It is this:
Only the highly trained artist can make a good portrait drawing, while
the smallest child, if it sticks to symbols, is sure, in some degree, of
a pleasant success in its very first effort.
These that I give, are copied from Indian art, and whether in colour, in
raised modelling, or in black lines, can be used successfully to
decorate anything that you are likely to make.
[Illustration: Seventeen Gestures Currently Used in the Sign Language]
TALE 64
Sign Language
All men, especially wild men, and some animals have a language of signs.
That is, they talk to each other without making any sounds; using
instead, the movements of parts of the body. This is "eye talk," while
words are "ear talk."
Among the animals, horses bob their heads when they are hungry and paw
with a front foot when thirsty or eager to be off. Dogs wag their tails
when pleased, and cows shake their heads when angry.
Policemen, firemen, railway men, and others use signs because there is
too much noise to be heard. School children use signs because they are
not allowed to talk in school. Most children know the signs for "yes"
and "no," "come here," "go away," "hurry up," "you can't touch me,"
"hush!", "shame on you!", "up," "down," "word of honour," "swimming,"
etc.
The traffic policeman is using signs all day long. By a movement of the
hand he signals:--stop, go on, come here, hurry up, wait, turn around,
go by, stay back, over there, you look out, right here, and one or two
others.
How many signs can you add to these two lists?
TALE 65
The Language of Hens
Yes; Hens talk somewhat as we do; only they haven't so many words, and
don't depend on them as we have to.
There are only ten words in ordinary hen-talk.
The _cluck, cluck_ of the mother means "Come along, kiddies."
The low _kawk_ of warning, usually for a hawk.
The _chuck, chuck_ of invitation means, "Good food."
The _tuk-ut-e-ah-tuk_ means, "Bless my soul, what is that?"
The _cut, cut, get your hair cut_, of a Hen that has just laid and is
feeling greatly relieved; no doubt, saying, "Thank goodness, that's
done!" or maybe it is a notice to her mate or friend that "Business is
over, let's have some fun. Where are you?"
The soft, long-drawn _tawk--tawk--tawk_, that is uttered as the Hen
strolls about, corresponds to the whistling of the small boy; that is,
it is a mere pastime, expressing freedom from fear or annoyance.
The long, harsh, _crauk, crauk_ of fear when captured.
The quick _clack, clack, clatter_ when springing up in fear of capture.
The _put, put_ of hunger.
And, of course, the _peep, peep_ of chickens and the
_cock-a-doodle-doo_, which is the song of the Rooster.
Some Hens may have more; but these given here are hen-talk for
mother-love, warning, invitation, surprise, exultation, cheerfulness,
fear, astonishment, and hunger. Not a bad beginning in the way of
language.
TALE 66
Why the Squirrel Wears a Bushy Tail
"Oh, Mother, look at that Gray Squirrel!" shouted Billie. "What a
beautiful bushy tail he has!" Then, after a pause he added, "Mother,
what is its tail for? Why is it so big and fluffy? I know a 'Possum has
a tail to hang on a limb with, and a Fish can swim with his tail, but
why is a Gray Squirrel's tail so bushy and soft?"
Alas! Mother didn't know, and couldn't tell where to find out. It was
long after, that little Billie got the answer to his childish, but
really important question. The Alligator may use his tail as a club, the
Horse, his tail as a fly-flapper, the Porcupine his tail as a spiked
war-club, the 'Possum his as a hooked hanger, the Fox his as a muffler,
the Fish his as a paddle; but the Gray Squirrel's tail is a parachute, a
landeasy. I have seen a Gray Squirrel fall fifty feet to the ground, but
his tail was in good condition; he spread it to the utmost and it landed
him safely right side up.
I remember also a story of a Squirrel that lost his tail by an accident.
It didn't seem to matter much for a while. The stump healed up, and the
Squirrel was pert as ever; but one day he missed his hold in jumping,
and fell to the ground. Ordinarily, that would have been a small matter;
but without his tail he was jarred so severely that a dog, who saw him
fall, ran up and killed him before he could recover and climb a tree.
TALE 67
Why a Dog Wags His Tail
There is an old story that the Dog said to the Cat: "Cat, you are a
fool; you growl when you are pleased and wag your tail when you are
angry." Which happens to be true; and makes us ask: Why does a Dog wag
his tail to mean friendship?
The fact is, it is part of a wig-wag code, which is doubly interesting
now that all our boys are learning wig-wagging with a white flag. We
think that our army people invented this method; but Woodcraft men know
better.
First, notice that any Dog that has any white on his body has at least a
little white on the end of his tail. This is well known; and the reason
is that the wild ancestor had a white brush on the end of his tail; a
white flag, indeed; and this was the flag of his signal code.
Suppose, then, that a wild Dog, prowling through the woods, sights some
other animal. Instantly he crouches; for it is good woodcraft to avoid
being seen and then watch from your hiding-place. As the stranger comes
near, the crouching Dog sees that it is one of his own kind, and that it
is needless to hide any longer; indeed, that it is impossible to remain
hidden. So the moment the stranger stops and looks at the crouching Dog,
the latter stands straight up on all fours, raises his tail up high, and
wags the white tip from side to side in the sign which means, "Let's be
friends."
Every Dog knows the sign, every Dog in every town does it yet; every boy
has seen it a thousand times. We flatter ourselves that we invented the
wig-wag code with our little white flag. Maybe so; but the Dog had it
long before we did.
TALE 68
Why the Dog Turns Around Three Times Before Lying Down