Various newspapers have lately informed us that the Marquis of Bute,
with tasteful munificence, has made a gallant and successful attempt
to acclimatise beavers on his estate in the island of Bute, a few
miles from Rothesay. None but a nobleman with extensive grounds
comprehending a wood with an adjacent stream and other accessories,
could enter hopefully on an adventure of this kind; nor can we omit the
consideration of means for guarding the animals against the acquisitive
intrusion of poachers, to say nothing of hosts of holiday visitors, who
are not usually very particular in satisfying their curiosity. So far,
as we understand, there has been little to complain of. The beavers
introduced have been allowed to conduct their engineering operations
unmolested, and to increase in numbers. The best account we have
seen of this somewhat remarkable undertaking is that given in a late
number of the _Daily Telegraph_, which we condense as follows for the
amusement of our readers.
‘In a solitary pine-wood, a space of ground has been so carefully
walled in by a ring-fence that beavers cannot possibly escape from
the circle. Through the little park thus formed runs a small mountain
stream, and the domain inclosed ought to constitute, when its natural
advantages are taken into account, a beaver’s paradise. Left to
themselves, the beavers have entirely altered the appearance of the
stream. They have built across it no fewer than three dams. The lowest
of these is the largest and most firmly constructed, as if the little
engineers had been aware that it would have to support the strongest
pressure of water. To make it, large boughs and whole trunks of trees
have been cut down, thrown across the stream, wattled with mud, and
otherwise secured. The dam thus erected preserves the water above it
at a regular height; and in the pool which they have fashioned in this
ingenious method the beavers have built their hut. The structure, which
is composed of boughs, driftwood, mud, and stones, resembles nothing so
much as a large thrush’s nest turned upside down; while inside it is
excavated with runs, holes, and quarries made for themselves by Lord
Bute’s little tenants for the purposes of safety and concealment. With
their sharp chisel-like teeth, the small animals have cut down not
a few of the trees in what we may call their beavery. Their mode of
procedure is simple. They first gnaw a wedge-shaped gap into one side
of the tree, and they then attack the other side and gnaw the remaining
half, by which alone the trunk is held upright. Their intelligence
is such that the tree usually falls in the exact direction in which
they wish it to go, and that is generally across the current. Should
it, however, prove too heavy, or should it fall too far from the
water, they will saw it into pieces with their teeth and roll it for
themselves to its proper destination. Left to their own devices, the
beavers have bred and multiplied. Originally they consisted of but two
pairs, which had for some time dwelt in the Zoological Gardens. They
have, however, added to their numbers, and according to the latest
reports, there are supposed to be something like a hundred of them.
‘The beaver is one of the few animals still remaining from which man
can learn a lesson of engineering. Of all natural artificers, the
beaver is confessedly the most ingenious. It is a large species of
water-rat, about the size of a tame rabbit; and its enemies, such
as the fox, the wolverine, and the various other small carnivorous
inhabitants of the river’s bank, must always have pressed it sorely.
Necessity is the mother of invention, and in the great natural struggle
for existence, the faculties of the beaver became sharpened. It gave up
burrowing in the bank, like its little congener the water-rat, and took
to dwelling upon islands. When a natural island was not ready to hand,
it would construct itself an artificial one; and such beavers as took
to artificial islands must, like those early specimens of the human
race who dwelt in houses founded upon piles driven into the lake’s bed,
have soon discovered the necessity of preserving round about them a
permanent water-level. This is of course the one object of the beaver’s
dam. Around the little fortress which the beaver makes for himself in
the middle of a stream, the water is kept at a uniform and regular
height by the action of the artificial barrier below. The entrance to
the house is beneath the surface, and from the bank the wolverine and
the fox watch with disgust their desired prey swimming comfortably
round about his habitation. In winter, when the river is frozen over,
the beaver’s house is no doubt open to the attacks of his enemies;
but it is then itself frozen into a solid mass of masonry, as hard as
the strongest Portland cement, and the little rodent inside is in a
position securely to defy even the strong claws of the wolverine. Lord
Bute’s beavers have built themselves, as yet, but one of these river
fortresses. In a full-sized North American beaver colony, however,
there will be a dozen, a couple of dozen, and sometimes even a hundred
or more beaver nests projecting from the surface of the stream, while
the dam will be as large and strong as an English mill-weir. Should
Lord Bute’s beavers multiply, they will require more ground, and there
is really no reason why they should not be re-acclimatised on the
island of Bute. The experiment would be interesting, although, since
the introduction of silk hats, the skin of the beaver has long ceased
to have much commercial value.’ Still, the fur of the beaver may be
made available as a trimming for ladies’ winter dresses and otherwise.
‘Originally the beaver was a British animal, and the isle of Bute was
as much its native home as the banks of the Mackenzie. It is still
to be found here and there along the unfrequented tributaries of the
Rhone, the Danube, and the Weser. The beaver [if unmolested] would
thrive admirably on our Scotch rivers. The kangaroo would make a
magnificent addition to our larger parks and open waste lands. Indeed
the Duke of Marlborough has at Blenheim a herd of kangaroos which
have flourished for some years past as vigorously, and prospered as
remarkably, as the beavers on the isle of Bute. There are not many
animals, it is true, which could be with advantage introduced, or
for which space could be afforded. But this fact is in itself an
additional reason for persevering in every attempt at all likely to end
in anything short of absolute failure. In the case of the beaver, the
chief objection to him is that he destroys valuable trees by cutting
them down for his engineering purposes. This is no doubt the case; but,
on the other hand, a beaver, if driven to extremities, will construct
both his dam and his dwelling of mud, stones, and stray débris.’ The
writer of the article adds: ‘It is a question whether beaver-farming
might not be carried on at a profit in the wilds of Scotland, as
ostrich-farming is at the Cape. From this particular point of view,
indeed, Lord Bute’s experiment is more interesting than attempts at
acclimatisation can usually claim to be considered.’
We trust that nothing will occur to mar the undertaking, or to
discourage others who have the means from cultivating the beaver in
suitable situations throughout the United Kingdom. In the meanwhile,
the Marquis of Bute deserves thanks for his enterprise.