my cabin. Three springs running I found a cowbird's egg in my little
friend's nest. The first two eggs I threw out, but the third year I
thought to try an experiment, the same that was afterward tried on
the chewinks, and shot the mother cowbird. The cowbird was out of the
shell before the other eggs had hatched. There were three eggs in the
nest, and the young cowbird managed to break them. The chestnut-sided
warblers had begun to feed the alien, but when they found the broken
eggs, they deserted the nest and left the young cowbird to starve. They
made a new nest not over three rods from the old one. I was sorry that
I had shot the mother cowbird. It would have proved whether a cowbird
would leave her offspring to starve, if deserted by the foster-parents.
I have mentioned putting copper wire on the young cowbird's leg. This
artifice was used on other birds as well. I could easily identify my
birds when they returned in migration. I put two turns of wire around
a young robin's leg one spring. This robin was brought up by catbirds,
with my assistance. I had removed a catbird's egg to a robin's nest,
and a robin's egg to a catbird's nest. The crows destroyed the robin's
nest, but the catbirds reared their family. The young robin proved to
be a male. He associated with the catbirds, and went South with them.
He returned in the spring with the male catbirds. The females and
young returned together about a week later. The young robin remained
about the cabin and the little brook where the catbirds nested until
the last of June. He had a favorite tree, an oak, where he would perch
in the morning and attempt to sing. His song was made up from that of
the robin and catbird. A curious medley. The last of June I missed the
bird, and looked for him in his favorite oak. I found his body lodged
in a small hemlock beneath the oak. He had been shot while singing in
his favorite tree.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: Bee Hunting]
XIII.
BEE HUNTING
I have made my title Bee Hunting, while I remember well that down in
Maine we used the term "lining bees." I was enthusiastic over the sport
when farming in Maine, and when I had located on Cape Ann, I searched
the wild flowers for bees. I found bees enough, so made the attempt to
find a wild swarm. All my efforts were unsuccessful the first year. My
bees all lined to tame swarms in hives. The second and third years I
found swarms, but they did not have much honey. These wild bees were
in ledges, and the ants had found the honey and had appropriated the
lion's share. In Maine the bees resorted to hollow trees, mostly pine;
and in the old days many farmers lost swarms, which helped to stock
the woods. In any locality where there are large trees bees can be
found, because some of the trees are sure to be hollow. The amount of
honey made by a wild swarm will run from a few pounds to two hundred
pounds. The size of the hollow in the tree regulates the amount of
honey. If the hollow is large enough to hold the young bees, no swarm
will be sent out, so a large quantity of honey will be stored.
[Illustration]
Bee hunting is a sport that can be followed by any number of persons,
without regard to sex. For pure enjoyment it is far ahead of golf.
It can be followed without fatigue, and it allows plenty of time for
social chats. A party could go out at ten o'clock, provided with
a lunch, and could return in time for the six-o'clock dinner. The
discovery of new birds or flowers might add much to the pleasure, and
the uncertainty of the honey hunt would give zest to the sport.
I will briefly give the method adopted by the best bee hunters. First,
as to tools to work with. A compass and a hatchet will be necessary.
The hatchet is used in blazing trees. The most important thing is the
bee-box. This can be made from a wooden candy or lozenge box, with a
slide. Split the box half-way between top and bottom. Place the top
half on the bottom half with the slide down. Connect the two with
hinges. Now you have a double box, hinged in the middle, with the upper
part open. For a cover, set in a piece of glass just the right size, or
you can nail on a wooden cover with a piece of glass inserted over a
hole left for that purpose. It will be a good plan to make a new slide.
It should be long enough to project four or five inches when closed.
You will need two or three pieces of breeding comb, empty of course.
You should take along a bottle containing honey and water. One-third
water. About two ounces of the mixture is enough to mix at one time,
as it will sour in two days. If you use clear honey the bees will take
up much time cleaning their legs and wings; it is too thick and sticky
for good work. A light staff five feet in length, sharp at one end
and with a piece of thin board, say eight inches square, nailed to the
other end, comprises your working outfit, except a good glass.
[Illustration]
You are now ready for the field. A hilly pasture is an ideal place for
bee hunting, when it is surrounded by woodland. Waste lands, where fire
has killed the trees, and goldenrod grows abundantly, will be found
to be the best location of all. When you get to the spot selected,
set your staff into the ground ready for the bee-box. Old bee hunters
seldom use a staff, but depend on finding a stump or boulder for a
box-holder. The staff is handy, for you may not find a stump or boulder
near shade, or a spot where one can be seated in comfort. Your box
should be empty. Pull the slide out, and open the box. When you find a
bee on a goldenrod or other flower, quickly place the box over him, and
close it. The bee will seek the glass. Shove in the slide, and you have
your first prisoner. Now you must leave the slide closed while catching
your second bee.
[Illustration: BEE HUNTING.]
When you have him in the lower part of your box, pull out the slide,
and he will seek the glass with your first prisoner. Push in the slide,
and you are ready for the third bee. When you have caught five you
would better stop, for if you carry bees too long in the box they will
refuse to work. Take the box to the staff. Put a piece of comb in the
lower half. Turn on some of the mixture, then close the box. Pull out
the slide, and cover the glass with coat, hat, or hand. Look every
minute to see if the bees have gone down to the honey. When they are
down, open the box gently, and stand back. As soon as a bee is full he
will drop off the box and swing to and fro, until he thinks that he
has fastened the spot in his memory. Then he will begin to circle, to
find landmarks, to guide him to the hive. His circles will increase in
size and height, and he will soon be lost to the eye. It is not worth
while to try to follow the bee's flight at this stage. After he has
made two or three trips he will drop off the box, and go directly to
the hive. He has got his landmarks now. Other bees from the hive will
soon be hunting along the line, for the first bees tell their mates of
the find. If there is only a small amount of honey a few bees will seek
it. Enough bees will come to remove the honey in two days. If there is
a large amount Bee Hunting of honey about all the working bees in a
swarm will turn out. I have taken a basket of comb from strained honey
on to a bee-line, and have had two quarts or more of bees on the comb
at a time. I could walk slowly along the line, and the bees would come
and go as readily as if I was stationary. It is a good plan to hang up
a newspaper, or a flag of some kind, near the box. Some hunters claim
that the bees will find the box by scent, so use the anise bag.
[Illustration]
We will now return to the bee-box. There is a lot said about a
bee-line, which is supposed to be a straight line, but the fact is, the
bee flies in a wavy line. He drops off the box and starts for the hive,
swinging from side to side of an imaginary straight line. The swings
will cover about thirty feet, but it is an easy matter to strike a
centre. A bee can be seen for a long distance after he leaves the box.
Suppose you are on a hill, overlooking, to the westward, a valley
covered with trees, and your bees go into, or over, the woodland. Take
out the honeycomb and leave it on the staff. If the box is sticky with
honey, clean it with moss or leaves. Now catch five bees as before.
Take them north sixty rods or more on a right angle line if possible.
Place your box on a boulder or stump, and let the bees go as before.
Before leaving the staff, take a good look along the line the bees are
following. If you can locate a tall tree on the west side of the swamp
so you may know it again, you will find it useful. When the bees get
to work on the new line look for your tall tree. If the bees go to the
right of the tree, the hive is not in the valley. The only thing to do
now is to move to the other side of the valley if there is open land,
and proceed just as you did at first. If the hills beyond the valley
are wooded, you will have to follow your first line. If you can find
the tall tree, it would be a good plan to go to it and set the compass,
and begin to bush a path along the line. As you progress on the line,
hunt all the trees on each side. If you can find an open spot anywhere,
set up your staff and box. You might find that the bees were returning
on the line, then you would know that you had passed the hive. If bees
enter a piece of woods, and there is an open spot beyond, they can be
started from the open spot to decide if they turn back or go on. It is
unnecessary for me to go further into the details of lining. It is a
poor hunter that cannot overcome obstacles that spring up in his way.
When the tree is located, trouble begins. There are two ways of taking
up the honey. One way is to plug the hole where the bees enter the
tree, and then cut or bore a hole near the ground and insert the nose
of an old tea-kettle filled with burning brimstone. The next day the
bees will be dead, and the honey will be cool to handle. This is the
method pursued by market hunters. I never took kindly to the method.
Another method followed is to put on gloves, and for the head a straw
hat with wide brim. Cover the hat with mosquito-netting long enough to
be buttoned under the coat. This will prove a good protection against
stinging. Tie the trousers legs at the ankles, and you are ready to
begin. While cutting down the tree you will have no trouble if the tree
is large and the hole high up. After the tree is down, you will have to
cut into the honey and split off the outside wood. The moment a blow
is struck over the honey the bees will pile on to you. You will have
to brush them off, or you cannot see to chop. When the store is fully
exposed, the bees will give up, and will begin to load with honey. Then
they are harmless, and will not sting unless jammed. As soon as the
bees give up, you may remove your protection, roll your sleeves up, sit
on the tree and help yourself to the choice bits. You need not feel
nervous if bees are flying all about you. The fight is all out of them
as soon as the honey is exposed.
[Illustration]
I forgot to say that when the first blow of the ax falls, after the
tree is down, the fierce roar which the bees make would frighten a
nervous person out of his senses. I have seen strong men cringe, and I
can remember cases where fright led to flight.
Some persons are so nervous that they will not face the bees without
protection. A friend that lived near my farm in Maine, came to me
one morning with the story of a wild swarm of bees, which he had not
been able to find, although he had at one time a line to the hive. We
started out to find this swarm the twelfth day of September. The eighth
was noted for wind, and thousands of forest trees had been turned up by
the roots. We found some bees near a highway. They went due west into
or over a bad swamp. The swamp was nearly two miles wide, with a bog
on the west. The bog bordered Pickerel Pond on the south. We took some
bees around the swamp to the open bog. We found that the bees kept on
to the westward to a pine ridge. After hunting two hours, I found the
hive. The tree was a pine, two feet through near the ground. The gale
had broken it where the bees entered and so the part with the honey
in it was on the ground. About a peck of bees had clung to the top of
the stub. The ground around the tree was black with bees. The tree had
split open and honey was slowly running out and dropping on to the pine
needles. There were over two hundred pounds of honey in that tree when
standing. The bees that were carrying away honey were mostly from tame
swarms, but the woods were full of bees hunting for the store. I called
my friend, and while he was coming I chopped out the honey. I did
not disturb the comb, only to break off some to eat. The next day we
returned in a team which we left in a clearing to the north and about
one and a half miles from the honey. My friend was mortally afraid of
bees. He swore that they would follow him into the house and sting him.
I worked on the honey, filling buckets without protection. As it was a
warm day, I worked bare-armed. The bees were completely harmless. My
friend had on a close veil and two pairs of gloves, and all I could say
had no effect. He swore the bees would sting him to death if he should
remove his veil. He could not eat honey, and he was a great honey
fiend. I would eat the best I could find before him, and chaff him
all the time. At last he could stand it no longer. He took a sheet of
well-filled comb and started up the hill. It was his idea to get away
from the bees, where he could remove his gloves and veil and enjoy a
feast.
[Illustration]
Inside of five minutes I was startled by a succession of yells that
appeared to extend in a line from the top of the hill to the swamp.
Shortly a doleful voice called to me from the swamp. I went down and
found my friend up to his hips in water. He wanted me to go up the
hill and find his gloves and veil. I tried to have him come out, but
he claimed that the bees had stung him until he was nearly blind. He
told such a pitiable story that I believed him and hunted up his lost
property. When he came to the edge of the swamp, I could not see
anything that looked like stings on his face, and told him so. He had
got his gloves and veil, so he simply grinned. When he undertook to
eat his honey on the hill, bees that were hunting for honey had found
him, and buzzed about his ears until he was completely demoralized
with fear. They would not sting any one. My friend could have worked
unprotected, just as I did, but his nerves would not permit it.
There is another method of bee hunting which I must describe, or my
article would be incomplete. This method is pursued late in the season,
when bees cannot be found on flowers. Pressed comb is burned to attract
the bees. Take some of this comb to the woods, where there is likely to
be a swarm, and make a fire. Heat two or three flat rocks, and use one
at a time, sizzling the comb. Have honey handy so the bees will find it
when they follow the scent of the burning comb to the spot. This method
is successful early in the season some years.
[Illustration]
XIV.
TINY
In the series of nature studies, published in _Forest and Stream's_
natural history columns, Tiny was briefly introduced to the public.
Tiny is a red squirrel, the son of Bismarck. The latter was a grizzled
old warrior, the hero of many a fierce battle. Why he gave the cabin
dooryard to Tiny is one of the mysteries of squirrel life. He had held
it against all squirrels, red or gray, for ten years, and now gave it
over to Tiny to have and to hold, without reserve.
A return to Bismarck's life history may throw some light on this
peculiar transaction.
Bismarck's family, April, 1900, consisted of a wife and four children.
Mrs. Bismarck, at that time, left her children to the care of her
husband, while she made a new nest in which to rear another family. It
was Bismarck's duty to finish the education of the young squirrels and
to marry off the daughters to young males of another family, and to
locate his sons on territory which they would ever after own, and for
which they would fight to the death.
[Illustration: Bismark and Tiny]
Tiny was not half so big as his only brother. Perhaps that was the
reason why Bismarck favored him, and brought him to the dooryard. It
was an unusual act, for Bismarck insisted that his sons should remain
on the territory upon which he had located them.
When Tiny had acquired full possession, he proved to be a "chip of the
old block." His motto, "No trespass," was impartially enforced. He
raced his brother, sisters, father, mother, as well as strangers, out
of the dooryard, and fiercely attacked any squirrel that did not depart
after the first warning. It was laughable to see Bismarck, the grizzled
old warrior, run as if for life when caught trespassing by Tiny. When
Tiny approaches through the tree-tops and finds a Squirrel in the
dooryard, he stops and sounds his war-cry. This cry is long drawn out,
and is something like the buzzing of an old wooden clock when running
down and striking the hours. After this warning, he makes a rush for
the interloper, and if he catches him the fur flies.
[Illustration]
Tiny had a lively experience with a wharf-rat. The rat was a monster.
What caused him to take to the woods is a mystery. Probably he was a
rat Christopher Columbus, and had started out to discover a new world.
When he found my dooryard he seemed satisfied. From a rat's standpoint
it proved to be "a land flowing with milk and honey."
Wheat, corn, meat, bird-seeds, with no bloodthirsty human being to make
life miserable. After two days of feasting the big fellow disappeared,
to appear again three days later with a mate. Doubtless the sly old
rogue thought that he was able to support a family on the fortune he
had discovered in the woods.
I trapped the small rat, but found the big one too crafty to enter a
trap.
[Illustration]
At first the rat did his foraging in the night-time, so Tiny had no
chance to make his acquaintance. Later he became bold enough to feed
in the daytime, which, in the end, brought him in contact with Tiny. I
was talking to some visitors from one of the big summer hotels, telling
them the history of the rat, while he was eating from a loaf of bread
in the dooryard, when I heard Tiny's war-cry. I told my visitors to
look out for a hot time. Tiny ran out on a limb about six feet above
the rat, and told him in vigorous squirrel language that he was a thief
and a robber. The rat looked up, wondering what the angry little animal
could be, that was talking in an unknown tongue, and pounding the
pine-limb with his hind feet. It never entered his head to be afraid of
such an insignificant foe. Tiny ran down the tree-trunk, landing on the
ground not four feet from the rat. The latter stood on his hind feet
and squealed a warning.
[Illustration]
A lady visitor urged me to drive the rat away. "Rats are great
fighters," said she. "The poor little squirrel will be killed." I
offered to bet on the squirrel, but before she could answer, the fight
was on. Tiny caught the rat by the neck. For a few seconds all that
could be seen was something brown whirling in a cloud of pine-needles.
The rat soon found that his little foe was a cyclonic fighter, and he
made desperate efforts to escape. He dragged Tiny to a stone wall,
leaving a trail of blood behind. When he entered the wall, Tiny let go
and returned to the bread and coolly proceeded to eat his dinner, none
the worse for his fierce battle.
[Illustration]
The rat did not return. He either died from the effects of Tiny's
savage bites, or, if he survived, left in disgust.
[Illustration: "AGAIN THE PLUCKY LITTLE BUNTING SET ITS WINGS AND
LOWERED ITS HEAD."]
Tiny was not always full of fight. He formed a friendship for a young
towhee-bunting after a singular encounter. The bunting was eating
from a loaf of bread, which was staked down in the dooryard, when
Tiny appeared. The squirrel thought that the bird would run away, but
instead, the latter set its wings and lowered its head in preparation
for battle. Tiny was astonished. He sat up, folded his forepaws on his
breast, and looked on the gamy little bunting with wide-eyed wonder.
The bunting soon turned to the bread. Tiny brought his forepaws down
hard on the ground, evidently to frighten the bird. Again the plucky
little bunting set its wings and lowered its head. Again Tiny sat
up and looked the little fellow over. This time there was a comical
expression on the face of the squirrel that said as plain as words
could tell that he appreciated the situation. That he admired the
pluck of the bunting was evident by his action. He crept quietly to
the opposite side of the loaf of bread, and allowed the bunting to eat
unmolested. After this the two would eat together whenever they chanced
to be in the dooryard at the same time.
[Illustration]
Tiny did not allow other buntings near his food, and I thought he
would forget his bird friend when the buntings returned in the spring
migration, but not so. He knew his friend at once, and chuckled some
kind of a greeting, while the bunting said something in bird language
that seemed to my ears to express joy.
The red squirrel is quick-witted and full of resources. If new and
unusual conditions confront him he is equal to the occasion. I have had
proof of this hundreds of times.
I will relate one instance: I feed hemp-seed to the birds. The red
squirrels and chipmunks are fond of the seed, and unless I stand guard,
will manage to get the lion's share. The chipmunks stuff their pouched
cheeks, and would carry away a bushel every day if it was fed to them.
When Tiny is present, no squirrel or chipmunk dares to meddle with the
food. He does not molest the birds, and I really think that he knows
that the seeds belong to them.
Last fall I placed a wire netting over a shallow box, so the birds
could pick out seeds, while the squirrels could not get their noses
through the mesh. The chipmunks were puzzled, and one after another
gave up in disgust, to fall back on bread and corn. When Tiny found
the box he got mad all through. He crowded his nose against the wire
netting, biting savagely meanwhile. I laughed, and Tiny instantly
stopped his efforts and looked in my direction. All at once he got the
idea into his head that I had blocked his game, and had caused the
trouble. In three bounds he landed on the trunk of a pine-tree, and
running to a limb just over my head, he told me in wicked squirrel
language just what he thought of me. In his anger he pounded the
limb with his hind feet, stopping now and then to charge down the
tree-trunk, as if he were about to attack me.
[Illustration]
After ten minutes of this hot work he became quiet, except a sob, which
he uttered from time to time. Finding that I would not help him, he
returned to the box. He tried the wire a short time, then sat up and
folded his paws across his breast and fell into a brown study. Like
a flash he came out of his trance, grasped the box, and turned it
completely over, then he began to eat, saying something to me, while he
jerked his tail in a defiant manner. After this, whenever he found seed
in the box, he quickly turned them out. For a week or more I allowed
him to have his way. I wanted my visitors to see how cute the little
scamp could be on a pinch. Later I drove stakes across the box to hold
it down. I returned one day to find that Tiny had managed to dig a hole
beneath the box, and had gnawed through the bottom. I tried another
scheme for the purpose of testing the intelligence of the squirrel. I
stretched a cord between two trees, and half-way suspended a box open
at the top. Tiny saw the birds eating from the box, and he quickly
understood that it was another device of mine to outwit him. He ran up
one of the trees, and tried the limbs that hung over the box. He soon
found a slender limb that would bend under his weight and let him into
the box. After he had used this highway several days I cut the limb
away.
[Illustration: "MADE HIS WAY TO THE BOX, HAND OVER HAND."]
When Tiny found a fresh stub instead of a limb, he understood what
it meant. He knew that I was the guilty one, and he swore at me,
if a squirrel can swear, for twenty minutes. His next move was to
investigate the line where it was attached to the trees. He thought he
could reach the box over the line, and started out. When about a foot
from the tree, the line turned, and Tiny jumped to the ground. He tried
this three times, and met with failure. The fourth time, when the line
turned, he clung to it and made his way to the box, hand over hand. I
thought he deserved a reward for his continued effort and intelligence,
so since then I allow him to eat from the box whenever he feels like it.
[Illustration]