_A WINTER-NIGHT’S
OUTING_
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Not long since I was asked—and not for the first time—if I could date
the beginning of my taste for natural history pursuits or give any
incident that appeared to mark a turning-point in my career.
It did not seem possible to do this, on first consideration; but a
recent living over of days gone by recalled an incident which happened
before I was eleven years old, and, as it was almost my first regular
outing that smacked of adventure, it is probable that it impressed me
more forcibly than any earlier or, indeed, later events.
Heavy and long-continued rains had resulted in a freshet, and then three
bitter cold days had converted a wide reach of meadows into a frozen
lake. Happier conditions could not have occurred in the small boy’s
estimation, and, with boundless anticipation, we went skating.
After smooth ice, the foremost requirement is abundant room, and this we
had. There was more than a square mile for each of us. The day had been
perfect and the approaching night was such as Lowell so aptly describes,
“all silence and all glisten.”
As the sun was setting we started a roaring fire in a sheltered nook,
and securely fastening our skates without getting at all chilled,
started off. Then the fun commenced. We often wandered more than a mile
away, and it was not until the fire was reduced to a bed of glowing
coals that we returned to our starting-point.
Here a great surprise awaited us. The heat had drawn from the wooded
hill-side near by many a meadow-mouse that, moved by the warmth or by
curiosity, ventured as near as it dared. These mice were equally
surprised at seeing us, and scampered off, but, it seemed to me, with
some show of reluctance, as if a chance to warm themselves so thoroughly
should not be missed.
We freshened the fire a little and fell back a few paces, but stood near
enough to see if the mice would return. This they did in a few minutes,
and, to our unbounded surprise and amusement, more than one sat up on
its haunches like a squirrel. They seemed to be so many diminutive human
beings about a camp-fire.
It was a sight to give rise to a pretty fairy tale, and possibly our
Indians built up theirs on just such incidents. These mice were, to all
appearances, there to enjoy the warmth. There was little running to and
fro, no squeaking, not a trace of unusual excitement, and, although it
was so cold, we agreed to wait as long as the mice saw fit to stay.
This resolution, however, could not hold. We were getting chilled, and
so had to draw near. As we did this, there was a faint squeaking which
all noticed, and we concluded that sentinels had been placed to warn the
congregated mice of our approach.
The spirit of adventure was now upon us, and our skates were but the
means to other ends than mere sport. What, we thought, of the gloomy
nooks and corners where thickets stood well above the ice? We had
shunned these heretofore, but without open admission that we had any
fear concerning them. Then, too, the gloomy gullies in the hill-side
came to mind. Should we skate into such darkness and startle the wild
life there?
The suggestion was made, and not one dared say he was afraid.
We thought of the fun in chasing a coon or skunk over the ice, and
bravely we ventured, feeling our way where we knew the ice was thin and
rough.
At a bend in the little brook, where a large cedar made the spot more
dark and forbidding, we paused a moment, not knowing just how to
proceed.
The next minute we had no time for thought. A loud scream held us almost
spellbound, and then, with one dash, we sought the open meadows.
Once there, we breathed a little freer. We could see the fast-fading
light of the fire, and at last could flee in a known direction if
pursued. Should we hurry home? We debated this for some time, but were
more fearful of being laughed at than of facing any real danger, and
therefore concluded, with proper caution, to return.
Keeping close together, we entered the ravine again, stopped near the
entrance and kindled a fire, and then, by its light, proceeded farther.
It was a familiar spot, but not without strange features as we now saw
it.
Again we were startled by the same wild cry, but for a moment only. A
barn owl, I think it was, sailed by, glaring at us, as we imagined, and
sought the open meadows.
We turned and followed, though why, it would be hard to say. The owl
flew slowly and we skated furiously, trying to keep it directly
overhead. Now we were brave even to foolhardiness, and sped away over
the ice, indifferent to the direction taken. To this day I have credited
that owl with a keen sense of humor.
On we went, over the meadows to where the swift but shallow creek flowed
by, and then, when too late, we knew where we were. The ice bent beneath
us, then cracked, and in an instant we were through it, our feet well in
the mud and the water about our necks. Just how we got out I never knew,
but we did, and the one dry match among us was a veritable treasure. It
did not go out at the critical moment, but started ablaze the few twigs
we hastily gathered, and so saved us from freezing. As we dried our
clothes and warmed our benumbed bodies, I, for one, vowed never again to
chase an owl on skates, but to go at it more soberly. From that eventful
night the country has been attractive by reason of its wild life. It was
there I became—if indeed I ever have become—a naturalist.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------------------------