Part 2

Emphatically I declare it--a weasel never relinquishes its quarry till the life’s blood has been sucked and the brain extracted and eaten. Then wasteful as the little tyrant is, the rats may have the remainder, whilst it seeks for more prey. Its little finger-thick body and black, venom-leaden eyes seem the incarnation of destructiveness, whilst over the sharp incisive teeth rows might well be written

“Ch’entrate lasciate ogni speranza,”

the terrible epigraph Dante, in his wonderful “Divina Commedia,” saw inscribed over the portals of the infernal regions.

Perhaps there is one redeeming feature in all this pitiless ferocity, and that is the indomitable courage with which the weasel defends its young against all marauders. It breeds as fast as a rabbit--that is, two or three, or even more times in a year--and its nest of dried herbage and undergrowth is generally made in the hollow of some old tree or wall. Close by the nest may often be found the remains of putrid mice, rats, birds, etc., which circumstance has suggested to some naturalists the conclusion that the weasel prefers carrion to fresh food. This is erroneous. It is true that it hunts, like some dogs, entirely, or nearly so, by scent, and will even follow the sightless mole through the interminable windings of its burrow; but fresh flesh and blood are its delight, and if there be a plentitude of food it disdains all the grosser parts of its prey with a fastidiousness worthy of Apicius, the _gourmet_. The weasel generally produces five or six young ones at a birth.

I do not counsel sparing the weasel any more than the rat. The best place for the gins to be set is underneath a wall whereby the weasel is known to travel. The best trap unquestionably is the steel trap, or gin, and the best bait is the inside of a newly-killed rabbit. This is the concrete essence of my experience. You can scent the bait with musk, and this addition will often prove of exceeding service. At the ends of drains, in the hollows of old buildings, in the dry tracts of ditches, by old trees--all these are likely places and a careful watch will often discover their tracks. In setting the gin do not allow it to spring hard as if you expected an elephant of the Jumbo type to tread on the plate. On the contrary, let it spring very lightly, and if possible hang the bait up, so that the creature puts a foot on the plate and so gets caught. A very good sort of trap for open places is a fall-trap, which may be made at home and is useful for nearly all kinds of vermin, including even birds (See Fig. 11). Some little explanation is needed for the complete understanding of this trap. A is a board hollowed near the letter A to relieve _e_ when the trap falls. B is a slab of lead or iron cut to admit _a_ and _f_; _h_ is a hinge holding _c_, which, when adjusted at _g_, impinges on _a_, and so sustains the slab B. On the little hooks _d_ the bait is fixed, and the weasel confidently places his foot on _e_. Of course _f_ then springs from _g_ and down falls the slab, crushing the captive instantly. A stone slab is quite as useful, if not more so, than lead or iron, and it is evident that this fall-trap can be set with the greatest ease and delicacy.

The next useful trap is termed “The Fig. 4 Trap,” from its resemblance to that character, and is shown in the engraving (Fig. 12). This consists of a large slab of stone, metal, or wood, propped up by three pieces of wood (A, B and C). If the engraving be carefully examined it will be seen to consist of a perpendicular A, of a horizontal bar C, at one end of which is attached the bait D, and of a slanting stick B. The upright A is usually half an inch square, and cut to a sort of chisel-shape at top; a notch is also cut in the side of the stretcher C, as shown in the side diagram _x_, to prevent it slipping down; and a notch is also cut at the top of B to receive the upright, as well as in C, to fix it, B being at this latter point of a chisel shape. It will be obvious to the attentive reader that if this trap be set carefully, and with a sufficiency of delicacy, a very slight tug at D will be sufficient to bring down the slab, crushing the animal, or, if a hollow be made in the ground, imprisoning it. This trap, for nearly all vermin (of course, except moles), is very cheap and effective; and for cats--in their wrong places, of course--is remarkably useful, especially if D represent a sponge, on which tincture of valerian or oil of rhodium has been sprinkled. One advantage of this trap is that it is inexpensive, and not likely to be coveted by anybody else. The gin has, however, preference in my mind over other artificial traps for weasels, and I counsel all my readers to adopt it as the surest if their pockets will sustain the initial expense. There is, however, nothing lost in endeavoring to make your own traps, for such perseverance implies interest in the pursuit of trapping, and this necessarily is the central motive towards the acquirement of natural knowledge.

There is one method of capturing weasels which I have found very useful, though it entails the loss of an innocent live bird in many cases. Form a sort of oblong square with brushwood and close it all in except two narrow lanes leading to the center, at which point peg down a young chicken or bird. Set the traps, as closely concealed as possible at the ends of these lanes, so that neither by ingress nor egress can the weasel escape without the chance of being caught. Each trap should be set very lightly, and in some dry ditch near a covert, or by the side of a wall, or, in fact, in any likely spot recognized by the trained eye.

Here is another bad character in the polecat, or foumart, and as it is the largest of the two, it commonly does most damage, though in saying this I really am not sure I can place either or them first in this respect. The weasel and polecat are unmitigated robbers and assassins, and according to opportunity are given indifferently to bad habits of the worst character. The polecat is, however, nearly sixteen inches from that to eighteen inches in length, and its bite is terrific and sometimes poisonous. Beware, therefore, of it when releasing one caught in a trap; in fact, as I before impressed on you, “kill it first.” The body of the polecat has a woolly undercoat of pale yellow, while the longer hairs are of a deep glossy brown.

Its habits are very similar to those of the weasel, and it commonly kills chickens by biting the head off and then sucking the blood, leaving perhaps a dozen bodies as mementoes of its visitation. I have known it to catch fish, and I caught one in a trap, set as I supposed at the time, for an otter. The otter turned out to be a polecat, however, which measured, exclusive of the tail, fourteen inches. Eels seemed to be the prey for which it took water, as I had previously found the remains of several half-eaten on the shore.

This circumstance was a strange one to me, and altogether exceptional, until I looked up my natural history books, when I found that Bewick refers to a similar fact in his “Quadrupeds.” He says:--“During a severe storm one of these animals was traced in the snow from the side of a rivulet to its hole at some distance from it.... Its hole was examined, the foumart taken, and eleven fine eels were discovered as the fruits of its nocturnal exertions. The marks on the snow were found to have been made by the motions of the eels while in the creature’s mouth.” We have no reason for doubting Bewick, but it is certain that the polecat must have extracted the eels from either beneath stones or mud, where, during cold weather such as described, it is their infallible habit to retire in a semi-torpid condition.

In trapping it use a strong gin, and set very lightly. The baits are precisely similar to those for the weasel. Be, above all, careful to use the naked hands as little as possible.

III. RATS.

Rats may, I think, fairly lay claim to being the most mischievous of all vermin. They are fellows of irreclaimably bad habits, and never so happy as when devouring or destroying something. Artemus Ward has placed it on record that “Injins is pisen wherever you meet ’em,” and the same might be said of rats. In that exquisitely whimsical poem of Browning’s, “The Pied Piper of Hamelin,” we are told that the townspeople were plagued emphatically with

“Rats! They fought the dogs and killed the cats, And bit the babies in their cradles, And ate the cheeses out of the vats, And licked the soup from the cook’s own ladles. Split open the kegs of salted sprats, Made nests inside men’s Sunday hats, And even spoiled the women’s chats By drowning their speaking With shrieking and squeaking In fifty different sharps and flats.”

I have not the least doubt but that they did all this and other things worse; hence I would say with no uncertainty, “Slay all and spare none,” whenever you get a chance. I do not know of one redeeming feature in the character of _Mus decumanus_ unless it be good in a pie, as our friend the Rev. J. G. Wood hints that it is from experimental trial.

Hundreds on hundreds of tales relating to its cunning or intelligence might be cited until you were heartily tired of reading, much less I of writing. How rats will bite holes in leaden pipes, attack the face of a sleeping infant--an instance of which I might relate from actual knowledge--how they devour each other, leaving only the skin turned inside out as neatly as you could turn a stocking, and last, but far from least, how they have been trained to perform a drama in pantomime and various other tricks quite too numerous to refer to here. The rat is practically omnivorous, and so gets his living where more select appetites and digestions would starve. “Hit him ’ard, he ain’t a’ got no friends,” as was said of the pauper boy in “Oliver Twist.” Every creature’s hand seems turned against him, and we, agreeably to this bent of nature, will now proceed to compass his destruction by means of trapping.

Unquestionably the best trap is the common iron gin. Everybody knows what that is like, with its centre plate and formidable rows of teeth on either side the jaws. I shall therefore spare you a drawing and description of it, and content myself with simply advising that the teeth be of the shape shown at Fig. 8--that is, square points fitting when closed in half circles. Now this form of tooth does not cut through the limb of the captured animal so readily as the saw-shaped does, and is preferable on that account. Rats are very prone to gnaw through a fractured limb and free themselves--they will not do this nearly so readily, however, if the teeth be of the shape indicated. This is also the best shape for the capture of other vermin, as we shall see as these chapters proceed.

In all cases a chain about eighteen inches is attached by means of an S hook in the gin. A swivel should be placed about the middle, and a ring of about an inch and a quarter should terminate it. A good stout stake, about eighteen inches long, is also necessary, and ash is particularly recommendable if it can be procured. If it be trimmed when cut, like Fig. 9, so that a short piece of branch keeps the ring from slipping off, so much the better. Another tool which is ever useful when gins are being set (and that will be pretty frequent with the vermin I shall speak about) is a hammer shaped something like Fig. 10. You will see that it has a broad, hatchet-like form to it instead of the claws of an ordinary hammer, and this is for cutting into the earth, separating roots, etc. In twenty ways it comes in useful, so I advise my readers to get one made after this pattern.

Be careful in setting your trap to keep your fingers well away from the teeth, and to do this observe the following method. Place your right foot upon the spring firmly, and as the jaws fall back, quickly lift the catch over with your right hand; then, without relaxing pressure, raise the plate of the trap from underneath until it allows of the catch to meet the nick in the plate. Set them lightly or hard, according to the animal to be trapped. Experience will soon enable you to judge how this should be for a rat. A fine sieve is generally used by trappers to sift dirt over the trap when set, but you can dispense with this if you wear gloves. In rat-trapping, by the by, always wear thick gloves; rats can smell you infallibly.

You can easily detect a rat-run, and quite as easily tell if it be fresh or not, by noticing the appearance of the excrement. Having determined on a fresh run, endeavor so to set your trap that the catch shall be light, and the whole affair completely hidden from sight, the pan or plate being baited with whatever seems to have been the recent food, or food most likely to be got near by the run. For rats in runs where they come to feed, by walls, rick-sides, or places at which they appear most, the traps should be set. When the run appear stale or not much used, they should be shifted to other places. For rats a great variety of baits may be used, but the best is generally something like what they are in the habit of feeding upon on farm premises; grain, with sufficient chaff or cut hay to cover the bottom, meal mixed with sweet broth or small bits of meat. Rats may be enticed with oils of aniseed, thyme, and rhodium, and when traps are new and smell of the shop a few drops should be rubbed inside the bottom of the traps to take the other smell away. By using a drag of these oils, rubbed on a herring or a piece of clean rag, rats may be enticed a long way.

A capital bait for old poaching rats--such as would not hesitate to kill your spring chickens or young rabbits--is the drawing of game of any sort, or the young of pigeons or young birds. I have also found the following a capital dodge to enable one to overcome the cunning of an old buck rat. Get some sprats and pound them. Put them in glass bottles and cork and seal, and hang them up in the sun for three weeks or so, or put them on a dung-hill of moderate heat. This will entirely decompose and resolve them into an oily substance exceedingly bad smelling. Pour some of this on a rag and drag it about from a common center where the trap is, and indeed it is well to drag it after one as the traps are seen to successively. The trap bait should be roasted salt fish. A kippered herring does famously, and a few drops of oil of aniseed can be put on the bait. I have known this to be exceedingly successful.

A similar sort of treatment is necessary for the water-rat. There is, however, but little necessity to use baits if the trap be set under water at the spot where the creature emerges. The precise place can be easily seen, and its freshness or staleness as a “run” be determined in the same way as that of a brown rat. The water-rat is easily distinguished from its cousin the brown by the tail of the former being covered with hair and that of the latter with scales, of which there are 200 rows. It must not be supposed, however, because the water-rat derives its living from the water chiefly that it is not a destructive creature inland. A very interesting writer says: “We have seen water-rats cross a wide meadow, climb the stalks of the dwarf beans, and after detaching the pods with their teeth, shell the beans in a most woman-like manner.” They are also said to mount vines and feed on grapes, and I can verify that they are fond of plums from the following incident:

Between my study window and the margin of a stream at the foot of my garden stand two tall trees of the bullace plum, and this year they have been unusually full of fruit. I placed a ladder against one of the trees in order to pick the plums, but rain or some other interference prevented my doing so at the intended time; thus the ladder remained for some days. Now I have a large tabby cat, and besides a good rat-killer she is fond of birds, and strangely enough will climb trees and spring at a bird within reach, in nine cases out of ten falling to the ground with her captive in her mouth. As I sat writing one morning Tabby mounted her coign of vantage by means of the ladder, and scaled to the topmost height, enjoying the sunshine, and not, I fancy, on this occasion waiting for prey. However, good things come when least expected, and presently Tabby and I both beheld a large water-rat--unseen by the latter, of course--approach the ladder, and after peering slyly round, began to mount it, which he did with remarkable agility. On reaching the first large branch he stepped on it, and without the least hesitation made for a cluster of the plums and began his feast. I told you Tabby saw him as well as I, and I would have given much too if she had not. As Mr. Rat sat absorbed with his back to her, like a jungle leopard, creeping with silent certainty on its innocent, unsuspecting prey, Tabby slowly approached, and the steadfast glare in her greenish eyes was full of a deadly purpose, which gathered strength as she progressed. Presently, when within three feet of the still gourmandizing rat, her fell purpose culminated in a terrific but unerring spring, which tumbled rat and cat out of the tree to the ground. Habet! alas! he had it, and after a few terrific crunches of her jaws Tabby rose from the body proudly, with swinging tail and a victorious air, which as plainly as language conveyed infinite self-complacency at the death-dealing deed.

These rats are more clever in boring their tunnels than the brown species, resembling, in fact, the ingenuity of the mole rather than the rat. They are much more cleanly also. Should you get an apple or pear or melon which has been bitten by a brown rat you will instantly detect it by its peculiar musty odor and taste. The water-rat is, on the contrary, a much more cleanly animal, and its flesh is not uncommonly eaten by the French peasants on _maigre_ days. It breeds in the spring, and again in autumn if the spring litter be very early, bringing forth five or six at a time. The nest is usually by the side of a river or stream. In the roots of an old willow tree just opposite my house I found six nests this year. Not that these rats will not at times build away from the water. I know of several instances, as a neighbor was plowing in a dry, chalky field, far removed from any water, he turned out a water rat that was curiously laid up in an _hybernaculum_ artificially formed of grass and leaves. At one end lay about a gallon of potatoes, regularly stowed, on which it was to have supported itself for the winter.

When a rat is caught in a gin always be careful to keep your hand at a distance on releasing it. In fact, do not let it go at all, but kill it at once. I do not like the idea of letting a suffering animal be farther tormented by dogs, or even cats. There can be no true sport in it except, perhaps, to the savage instincts of the dog, and why a human being should find cruel sport for a dog I cannot tell you.

The other species, the black rat (_Mus rattus_), is perhaps a more ancient importation even than the brown. It is, however, scarcer than either of the others. Its colors are grayish black above and ash-colored, and beneath it is about seven and a half inches long when full grown.

Ferrets are often employed to aid in exterminating the brown rat. The ferret is of no use whatever for the water-rat, though it is certainly extremely useful when barns, wood-heaps, and such like erections are infested. The gun is the thing, in the hands of an experienced sportsman, to kill them as the ferrets force them to leave their homes, but a few sharp dogs and a half dozen sharp school-fellows with sticks will produce very certain destruction. Be careful not to mistake the head of a ferret coming out of a hole for that of a rat, as once happened to me in this wise. I was staying at a farm-house, and it was proposed one fine December morning to try an hour or two’s ferreting. My school chum, with whom I was staying, possessed some very tame and good working ferrets, one in particular, a fine brownish dog ferret, by which he set great store. The great wheat barn was to be laid siege to, and he being a good shot and older than I, took down his gun and loaded it preparatory to starting.

“Jack,” said he to me, “you can shoot, can’t you?” I was but fourteen then and a school boy, and I fear I answered rather too readily and without sufficient modesty, “Oh, yes; have you a gun to spare?” Yes, he had a single-barrel pretty little weapon, and, proud as a cock-robin, I sallied forth, on mighty shots intent. “Now,” said he, with emphasis, “stand here; watch that hole, and as soon as you see the _whole_ of a rat’s body fire away, but be careful not to kill a ferret, which you may easily do if you fire too hastily.” I recollect I rather scorned the idea of mistaking a ferret for a rat, and with steadfast attention prepared to kill the first of the rodents that appeared. It seemed an age, and then one swiftly popped his head out and bolted past me, my fire hitting the ground at least a yard behind him. How savage I was! not to speak of the half sneers of my companions. Next time I would be ready. Ah! there was a slight movement in the hole, a small nose poked itself out and then disappeared. I pointed the gun straight for the hole. Out it came again, and then a brown head swiftly appeared. Bang! Hurrah! I had killed him. Round came the boys. “Well done,” said my friend Ted, as he stooped to draw out the murdered wretch. “Why, you duffing idiot, you’ve killed my best dog ferret!” Moral, do not jump at conclusions.

IV. THE OTTER.

The otter is one of the most graceful of living creatures, but as a fisherman and fishculturist, I candidly confess that I look on him as a detestable nuisance on my river. What says the poet!

“Nor spears That bristle on his back defend the perch From his wide, greedy jaws; nor burnished mail The yellow carp; nor all his arts can save Th’ insinuating eel, that hides his head Beneath the slimy mud; nor yet escapes The crimson-spotted trout, the river’s pride And beauty of the stream.”

This is a faithful picture of the otter’s remorseless and predacious nature. I caught one the other day in an eel-grate, whither he had doubtless gone for the eels. The biter was, however, bit, for the rush of water was too powerful, and on opening the door in the morning I found him dead and stiff.

The otter usually kills many more fish than it actually wants for food, and as otters generally hunt in pairs, it is not uncommon to find in the morning as many as thirteen or fourteen prime trout--in an ordinarily plentiful river, of course--killed and only partly eaten. Like the lord mayor’s jester, however, the otter knows what is good, or, indeed, best, for it eats away the shoulders of the fish, leaving the rest to rot or be devoured by rats.