Part 3

There is so much to say about the wonderful intelligence displayed by plants in their various activities, that a volume could not do the subject justice. We started with the question, Do plants have instinct? We end with the question, Have they?

Rowland Watts.

Still winter holds the frozen ground and fast the streams with ice are bound, There’s many a dreary week to come before the flowers bloom; Though everything were lost in snow yet Nature’s heart beats warm below And Spring will build her palace gay on hoary Winter’s tomb. —George Gee.

THE DOVEKIE. (_Alle alle._)

This little bird, often called the Sea Dove, belongs to the family of auks (Alcidæ). The range of the Dovekie is quite limited. While the marble murrelet, a related bird, is confined to the northern Pacific coast of North America, this little bird frequents only the “coast and islands of the north Atlantic and eastern Arctic Oceans; in North America south in winter to New Jersey.” It breeds only in the northern part of its range. It has been observed as far west as the state of Michigan, but its appearance there was, without doubt, accidental, for it prefers the wild sea coast, where the storm and waves bring to it an abundant supply of food.

It is said to be a rare visitor on the coasts of the British Islands and it has been reported as common as far to the northward as Spitzbergen. In Greenland, where it is commonly found a close companion of the black-billed auk, the native Greenlanders call the Dovekie the Ice Bird, as they consider it a harbinger of ice.

Though the wings of the Dovekie are small in proportion to the size of its body it flies well and rapidly. One writer states that it will move its wings almost as rapidly as will a humming-bird. It is an expert diver and while swimming or resting on the water it will frequently dip its bill into the water. On the land it is much more graceful and walks better than nearly all the other members of the family of auks.

It feeds chiefly on small fish, crustacea and mollusks and will become very fat during a prolonged stormy season when the waves wash up an abundant supply of crabs and fish.

The Dovekie builds a simple nest usually in the crevices of rocky cliffs bordering the sea coast. It lays one or two bluish white eggs which are about the size of the pigeon’s.

Mr. Saunders in speaking of the habits of the Dovekie says: “On the approach of a vessel this bird has a peculiar way of splashing along the surface of the water, as if unable to fly, and then diving through the crest of an advancing wave; it swims rather deep and very much by the stern.”

The Dovekie is sometimes called a little auk to distinguish it from the larger species of the family. The flightless great auk, which at one time was common along the north Atlantic coast, belongs to this family. No living representative of the great auk has been reported since the year 1842. Unable to protect itself by flight it was ruthlessly exterminated by the zeal of hunters and fishermen who sought it for food, for its feathers and for the oil that could be extracted from its flesh.

As flying ever westward Night’s shadows swiftly glide, The sunrise at the dawning illumes the countryside. The stars in quick succession in ether melt away, Until the brightest planet is lost in glowing day. —George Gee.

THE SONG SPARROW’S APPEAL.

Naturalists tell us that of all creatures below man, the largest animal brain in proportion to the size of the body is found in horses and song-birds. Whatever sense beyond instinct the little creature of whom we write may have had, something, at least, told it that it could obtain help at human hands.

A little sparrow the past season entered the kitchen of one of our country homes, and perched upon the window-sill in evident distress. Its feathers were ruffled, and its head ever and anon turned curiously around and up, as if looking at something out of the house and above the window.

In and out it continued to hop, without intermission, regardless of all offers of food, until the shutters were closed at twilight, and various were the surmises as to the cause of its strange conduct.

Through the course of the following day the same scene was enacted, without any clue appearing as to the cause of its distress.

At length, on the third morning, the mute petition for aid still continuing, one of the family, bethinking herself of the bird’s curious upturning of the head, caught a new idea from it. Perhaps she might have a nest in the ivy that encircled the window, and something might be amiss with its little household.

Going to the second story and looking down, the cause of the trouble was at once manifest. A thick limb of the ivy had become loosened by the wind, and fallen directly across the petitioner’s nest. It was too heavy for the bird to remove, and offered an insuperable difficulty in the way of her getting in to feed her young—now almost lifeless.

The branch was quickly removed, when the mother-bird, pausing only for a brief inspection of her brood, was on the wing in search of food. Her mate soon joined her, and both were busy as quick wings, worked by hearty good will, could make them.

Once only did the mother pause in her work—as if desirous to give expression to her gratitude, she reappeared upon the window-seat, and poured forth a sweet and touching song, as of thankfulness to her benefactors.

She returned three successive seasons, to be noticed and fed at the same spot where her acquaintance and familiarity with man first commenced.

We will add another similar incident, which is also absolutely true.

The correctness is vouched for by Mr. George Babbitt, late captain on Gen. Gresham’s staff, of which he himself was a witness.

During the fierce cannonading in one of the battles of the Civil War, a small bird came and perched upon the shoulder of an artilleryman—the man designated, we believe, as “No. 1,” whose duty it is to force down the charge after the ammunition is put in the gun. The piece was a “Napoleon,” which makes a very loud report, and the exact scene of this occurrence was at a place called “Nickajack.” The bird perched itself upon this man’s shoulder and could not be driven from its position by the violent motions of the gunner. When the piece was discharged, the poor little thing would run its beak and head up under the man’s hair at the back of the neck, and when the report died away would resume its place upon his shoulder. Captain Babbitt took the bird in his hand, but when released it immediately resumed its place on the shoulder of the smoke-begrimed gunner. The singular and touching scene was witnessed by a large number of officers and men. It may be a subject of curious inquiry, what instinct led this bird to thus place itself. Possibly, frightened at the violent commotion caused by the battle, and not knowing how to escape or where to go, some instinct led it to throw itself upon the gunner as a protector. But, whatever the cause, the incident was a most beautiful and pleasing one to all who witnessed it.

George Bancroft Griffith.

THE WITCH IN THE CREAM. A TRUE STORY.

The old stone farm-house in which my grandmother lived had beneath it what I thought a very interesting cellar. The floor was plastered and whitewashed like the walls, to ensure the place from rats and other intruders, as well as to keep it cool. From the walls, flat stones projected, serving as shelves on which the butter and milk were kept. For years the milk had had a shelf to itself near the window.

One summer morning, while Grandma and I were sitting on the porch waiting for breakfast, the little colored servant came to us with wide-open eyes, saying: “La, Missy, jes look at dis milk-pan!” We looked, and saw, to our disgust, that the inside of the pan was covered with sand and grime, while the milk, which usually was coated with rich, thick cream, was thin and poor. “Why, Janey,” said Grandma, “you didn’t put milk away in a pan like that, did you?” “La, no, Missy,” said Janey, “nobody wouldn’t nebber put milk away in a dirty pan.” “This is very strange,” said Grandma. “You will have to throw the milk away, Janey, and be especially careful to have the pan clean this evening.” “Yes’m,” said Janey, “I will.”

The following morning, however, the milk had to be thrown away again, as the pan was in a worse condition than on the preceding morning. “I don’t understand it,” said Grandma. “It can’t be rats, nor mice, for there is no way for them to come in.” “They couldn’t climb into a tin pan eight inches high, at any rate,” I said, “and if they jumped in they would drown.” Janey shook her head knowingly and said, “It’s witches, Missy, dat’s jes what it is.” A light board was placed over the milk that evening, but we found that the marauder pushed it off in the night. We felt that we must come to Janey’s conclusion about the witches, if the mystery were not solved soon.

In the afternoon of the third day of these experiences we were sitting on the back porch with our sewing, both of us half asleep, when chancing to look up I saw a rat go scudding across the yard. Straight to the cellar window he went, and, approaching one corner, thrust his nose under the sash. He gave a mighty tug, pushed one paw under, and soon, by pushing and pulling with nose and with paws, he crept through the window. From my position on the porch I could see all that was happening in the cellar. He jumped to the milk shelf, turned around, raised himself on his forepaws, and clasped the edge of the milk pan with his hind ones.

He then threw his tail into the pan, whisked it rapidly over the milk, coating it with cream, and licked it. This he repeated until he had a full meal, or at least until he had skimmed all the cream.

He started homeward then, and I was so much amazed that I didn’t attempt to stop him. On the following morning he was caught in the steel trap set just inside the window for him.

Elizabeth Roberts Burton.

THE BEAVER.

The genus of Beavers (Castor) is apparently represented by a single living species. By some authorities the American form is considered a distinct species and is given the technical name Castor canadensis, while the European form is called Castor fiber. In external characteristics the two resemble each other very closely, and it is in the study of the structure of the skeleton that the differences appear. However, though there is this diversity of opinion, it is sufficient for the reader to look upon the two forms as merely geographical races of the same species, and that the Beaver is a native of the greater part of the northern hemisphere. Though its home covered this extensive area, it has disappeared from the larger number of localities that it once frequented. Speaking of its range as a whole, it may now be considered rare except in certain isolated localities. This extermination is due to the advance of civilization upon its natural haunts, and the commercial zeal that has stimulated the hunter to greater efforts to effect its capture. Within recent years the Beaver was common in some of the Gulf States. In 1876 it was reported as abundant in Virginia. It is evident from an examination of the numerous writings regarding its distribution that the Beaver formerly existed in great numbers not only in the Atlantic States, but also to the westward as far as the Pacific coast.

The Beaver is a member of that large order of gnawing mammals called the Rodentia, from the Latin word meaning to gnaw. In this order are classed all those animals that have those peculiar long incisor teeth which are constantly renewed by growth from the roots and as constantly worn to a chisel edge, at the outer end, by gnawing. Such animals are squirrels, the gophers, the mice, the rats, the muskrats, the porcupines, the hares and the rabbits.

The habits of the Beaver are very interesting. Several years are required before its growth is fully attained, and it will increase in size after the teeth are fully mature. “Two-year-old Beavers generally weigh about thirty-five to forty pounds, while very old ones occasionally attain a weight of upwards of sixty. Morgan records the capture of one which weighed sixty-three pounds. The increase in the size of the skull seems to continue nearly through life; in old age the skull not only acquires larger dimensions, but the weight is relatively greater in consequence of the increased thickness and density of the bones. The ridges for the attachment of muscles also become more strongly developed in old age.”

The general color of the back of the Beaver is a reddish brown. The shade varies both with the seasons and with the geographical location. Those found farther to the northward are usually darker. Albinos, either pure white, nearly white or with white blotches, have been observed.

“The fur consists of an exceedingly thick, flaky, woolly coat of silky softness and a thin, long outer coat composed of strong, stiff, shining hair, short on the head and rear part of the back and over two inches long on the rest of the body.” The tail, which is rounded at the base, much flattened and very broad, bears horny, dark-colored scales.

The fore legs are short and the feet are unwebbed. The hind legs are much stronger, the feet are fully webbed and they, alone, are used, with the aid of the tail, to propel the Beaver through the water. In the water it is graceful in its motions, but on the land, like nearly all animals that are fitted for a partially aquatic life, it is clumsy and awkward and its motions are neither rapid nor uniform.

Usually it is only in those districts that are remote from the habitations of man that the Beaver lives in colonies, consisting of several families, and builds its “lodges.” Nearer civilization it lives in burrows or tunnels. In the building of their homes, as well as in the storing of a supply of food, the female is the most active and is the practical builder, while the male assists.

Brehm writes interestingly regarding the Beaver. He says: “After mature deliberation the animals select a stream or pool, the banks of which afford them ample provender and seem specially adapted for the construction of their ‘lodges.’ Those which live singly dwell in simple subterranean burrows, after the manner of otters; societies, which generally consist of families, as a rule construct houses and, if there should be a necessity for it, dams, in order to hold back the water and preserve it at a uniform height. Some of these dams are from four hundred and fifty to six hundred feet long, from six to nine feet high, from twelve to eighteen feet thick at the base and from three to six feet at the top. They consist of logs varying in size from the thickness of an arm to that of a thigh and from three to six feet long. One end of the log or stake is thrust in the ground, the other stands upright in the water; the logs are fastened together by means of thin twigs and made tight with reeds, mud and earth, in such a way that one side presents a nearly vertical, firm wall to the stream, while the other side is sloped. From the ponds rising above the dams, canals are constructed to facilitate the carrying or floating of the necessary construction materials and food. Beavers do not forsake a settlement they have founded unless the direst necessity compels them to do so. Beavers’ lodges, the origin of which dates very far back, are often found in lonely woods.”

The Beaver usually feeds upon the bark of the younger branches of trees and shrubs and upon their leaves. It will also strip the older branches, in a very skillful manner, and eat the inner tender portion of the bark. During the fall and early winter months they work constantly in preparing and storing, in the neighborhood of their lodges, the winter’s supply of food. “Each cabin has its own magazine, proportioned to the number of its inhabitants, who have all a common right to the store and never pillage their neighbors.”

The American Indians look upon the Beaver with great respect. They believe that it is possessed of a degree of intelligence second only to that of man. Some Indians even assert that it possesses an immortal soul. Its sagacity is certainly very strong and it will easily adapt itself to changed environments. Unlike the other rodents, it seems to reason before acting and will build its habitations in the form that the surrounding conditions demand for the construction of the most durable home.

The Beaver, especially when young, is quite easily domesticated. Various writers speak of finding tame Beavers in Indian villages, where they seemed to be perfectly at home and contented. They were allowed full liberty. “They seemed to feel quite comfortable in the society of the Indian women and children; they grew restless in their absence and showed much pleasure on their return.”

The young, which number from two to three, are born blind, but are covered with fur. They usually obtain their sight in from eight to ten days, and are then led to the water by the mother.

Early in the nineteenth century Dr. George Shaw wrote as follows regarding the habits of the Beaver: “They collect in September their provisions of bark and wood; after which they enjoy the fruits of their labors, and taste the sweets of domestic happiness. Knowing and loving one another from habit, from the pleasures and fatigues of a common labor, each couple join not by chance, nor by the pressing necessities of nature, but unite from choice and from taste. They pass together the autumn and the winter. Perfectly satisfied with each other, they never separate. At ease in their cabins, they go not out but upon agreeable or useful excursions, to bring in supplies of fresh bark, which they prefer to what is too dry or too much moistened with water.”

PAU-PUK-KEEWIS AND THE BEAVERS.

Over rock and over river, Through bush, and brake, and forest, Ran the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis; Like an antelope he bounded, Till he came unto a streamlet In the middle of the forest, To a streamlet still and tranquil, That had overflowed its margin, To a dam made by the beavers, To a pond of quiet water, Where knee-deep the trees were standing, Where the water-lilies floated, Where the rushes waved and whispered. On the dam stood Pau-Puk-Keewis, On the dam of trunks and branches, Through whose chinks the water spouted, O’er whose summit flowed the streamlet. From the bottom rose the beaver, Looked with two great eyes of wonder, Eyes that seemed to ask a question, At the stranger, Pau-Puk-Keewis. On the dam stood Pau-Puk-Keewis, O’er his ankles flowed the streamlet, Flowed the bright and silvery water, And he spake unto the beaver, With a smile he spake in this wise: “O my friend Ahmeek, the beaver, Cool and pleasant is the water; Let me dive into the water, Let me rest there in your lodges; Change me, too, into a beaver!” Cautiously replied the beaver, With reserve he thus made answer: “Let me first consult the others, Let me ask the other beavers.” Down he sank into the water, Heavily sank he, as a stone sinks, Down among the leaves and branches, Brown and matted at the bottom. On the dam stood Pau-Puk-Keewis, O’er his ankles flowed the streamlet, Spouted through the chinks below him Dashed upon the stones beneath him Spread serene and calm before him, And the sunshine and the shadows Fell in flecks and gleams upon him, Fell in little shining patches, Through the waving, rustling branches. From the bottom rose the beavers, Silently above the surface Rose one head and then another, Till the pond seemed full of beavers, Full of black and shining faces. To the beavers Pau-Puk-Keewis Spake entreating, said in this wise: ”Very pleasant is your dwelling, O my friends! and safe from danger; Can you not with all your cunning, All your wisdom and contrivance, Change me, too, into a beaver?” “Yes!” replied Ahmeek, the beaver, He the king of all the beavers, “Let yourself slide down among us, Down into the tranquil water.” Down into the pond among them Silently sank Pau-Puk-Keewis; Black became his shirt of deer-skin, Black his moccasins and leggins, In a broad black tail behind him Spread his fox-tails and his fringes; He was changed into a beaver. —Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, “The Song of Hiawatha.”

What rosy pearls, bright zoned or striped! What freckled surface, iris-dyed! Fluted and grooved, with iv’ry lips, Spotted like panthers, peacock-eyed!

Look closer, as the angels can, And you will see the fairy work— The ruby specks, the azure veins, That in the tiniest hollow lurk. —Walter Thornbury, “Shells.”

SNAILS OF THE OCEAN.

Many of my readers have doubtless spent some of the vacation months at the sea shore and have wandered over the beach at low tide picking up shells and other objects left by the receding ocean. They have also, I am sure, peered into the little pools of water left on the beach and have watched with interest the captives imprisoned therein, hermit crabs, fiddler crabs, sea anemones, sea worms and snail shells. It is with the latter that the present article will deal.

The stretch of beach which is uncovered twice a day by the receding of the water is called “between tides,” and is inhabited by a host of animate creatures, chief among which are the mollusks. The marine snails outnumber all of those which we discussed in the last article, and their shells are far more beautiful, those found in the tropics having the most gaudy colors imaginable. The animals are formed on the same plan as those of the fresh-water snails, although each family has some peculiarity not shared by its relatives. All live in the water and breathe air through that medium by means of gills, similar to the second class of fresh water snails mentioned in the last number. They are found in all parts of the world, those of the tropics, however, being the most brilliantly colored. While the majority of species live either between tides or near low water, there are not a few which live in the abysses of the ocean, and have been dredged from the bottom of the sea at a depth of two thousand, seven hundred and forty fathoms, or, to put it more plainly, over three miles. The average depth at which mollusks are found in any number is about one thousand fathoms. The variability of marine snails is so great that we shall be able to call attention to but a limited number of typical forms.

Among the best known of the marine snails are the Tritons, a family of mollusks living in tropical seas. Their shells are generally large and highly-colored and variously ornamented with short spines and knobs. One species, the Triton tritonis, is among the largest of mollusks, measuring eighteen inches in length. One of the smaller Tritons is pictured on the plate. Another shell familiar to those who have visited Florida is the Fasciolaria or banded snail, which attains a length of three inches and is very prettily banded and dashed with color. A near relative of this species is the giant banded shell (Fasciolaria gigantea), which is the largest of all marine snails, growing to a length of nearly two feet. This species is found plentifully on the southern Atlantic coast of the United States, being particularly abundant about the coral reefs of the Florida Keys.