A Hermit's Wild Friends; or, Eighteen Years in the Woods by Mason Augustus Walton - HTML preview

IV.
 BISMARCK, THE RED SQUIRREL

THE red squirrel, or chickaree, leads all the wild things in the woodlands of Cape Ann for intelligence and the ability to maintain an existence under adverse circumstances.

His life during the spring and summer months is a grand hurrah, but in the fall he sobers down and plods and toils in his harvest-fields like a thrifty farmer.

Right or wrong, it is a fact that the red squirrel bears a disreputable character. He is called a thief because he takes the farmers' corn, and a bloodthirsty wretch for robbing birds' nests. From my experience with the chickaree I am led to believe that he is not so black as painted. I used to think that he spared neither eggs nor young, but savagely  robbed every bird's nest which he chanced to find. I certainly got this idea from books, for I cannot recall an instance where a bird's nest was robbed by a red squirrel.

For years I thought a squirrel was seeking food when he chased the birds in my dooryard. Now my eyes are open, and I am heartily ashamed of myself. I awoke from my trance to find that the red squirrel was simply chasing the birds out of the dooryard and away from the food, which he claimed as his own.

Twice last summer I saw a red squirrel pounce on a young towhee-bunting, but both times he let the bird go without the loss of a feather. It was evident that he did not intend to injure the bird, but merely desired to frighten it away. The intention was so evident that I could not ignore it, and it led me to do a lot of thinking.

PIGEON HAWK.

I carefully examined my notes for proof of the squirrel's guilt, and found no record against him. The guilty ones were the hawk, the owl, the snake, the stoat, the crow, the cat, the irrepressible boy, and the white-footed mouse. For fifteen years birds have nested around my cabin unmolested by the red squirrel.

It was always a mystery to me why the birds were not afraid of the red squirrel. Let a hawk, an owl, a weasel, a cat, a snake, or any of the animals known to prey on birds, enter my dooryard while birds were rearing their young, and the wildest alarm would prevail so long as the intruder was in sight. The red squirrel can come and go without a protest, which proves that the birds do not regard him as an enemy.

Whenever I have detected a squirrel investigating a bird's nest it has turned out that curiosity was the motive.

A pair of chickadees nested in a box that I had placed in an oak-tree, and a squirrel that spent the most of his time in the dooryard made it a duty to investigate the nest several times a day. He did not harm the  young birds, and the old birds did not fear him.

While I was watching a red-eyed vireo's nest last season, I saw a red squirrel run out to the nest, stretch his full length on the limb (it was a very warm day), and look down on to the young birds that were squirming about in their confined quarters. I counted ninety-six before he left, and I did not begin at first. I think he was on the limb fully two minutes. These young vireos were not molested, for I saw them leave the nest when full fledged.

I have a record of an oven-bird that nested at the foot of a pine-tree which contained a red squirrel's nest. Four young squirrels were reared in a leafy nest in the top of the pine, and three young oven-birds in a domed nest on the ground.

My experience with the red squirrel has caused me to change my mind, and hereafter I shall hold him innocent until he is proved guilty.

The red squirrel in this locality is about  seven and a half inches in length, measuring from the nose to the base of the tail. The tail is about six and a half inches in length, and is carried in a number of ways to suit the convenience of its owner. As to color, it seems as if there are two species, but it is only the difference between the young and the very old. Young squirrels are bright red on the back and sides, with the under parts usually a pure white. Old squirrels are red along the back bone, gray on the sides, and a dirty white below. Some specimens are shot that are nearly all gray. Gunners claim that such squirrels are a cross between the red and the gray, but they are simply old red squirrels.

Dame Nature has been unusually kind to the red squirrel. She has provided him with powerful weapons of offence and defence. She has set in his muscular jaws long, cruel teeth, which are whet to a keen edge on the hard-shelled nuts. She has conferred upon him claws sharp as needles, and a muscular system which seemingly is controlled by an electric current. There is a wicked wild fire  in his bright eye that stamps him the bravest wild thing of the forest. He will fight to the death. He whips his great cousin, the gray squirrel, without effort, and is a match for the large stoat.

When pursued by a dog he makes a dash for the nearest tree, which he mounts, calling out "chickaree" as soon as he is out of danger. He does not, like the gray squirrel, seek a hiding-place in the top of the tree. No, he is far too bold to hide from a dog. He stops on a low limb, just out of reach, and fairly boils over with rage and fury. He barks, spits, and sputters; he makes furious rushes, as if he intended to come right down the tree, and "whip that dog." He violently jerks his tail, and pounds the limb with his hind feet, a picture of impudent, fiery energy.

Every movement of this little squirrel is accomplished without apparent muscular energy. He seems to float up a tree. If you are near enough you may hear the pricking of his claws on the bark, but you cannot detect a muscular effort. He flashes along the  limbs in some mysterious way, never stopping, like the gray squirrel, to measure distances before a leap. If he misses and falls, he usually catches by a claw to some twig, thus saving himself. If he falls to the ground, it does not harm or disconcert him. He is up the tree in a jiffy, spitefully saying things that sound to the listener very much like swearing.

From the middle of April to the first of September the male squirrel leads a jolly, rollicking life. He is as restless and noisy as a schoolboy, and as full of fun. He will hang head down, holding on by his hind claws, just for the fun of the thing. In the tree-tops he is king. He rules the blue jays and crows, and races them out of the pine-trees whenever he feels disposed. He hazes the gray squirrel, but does not unsex him as alleged. This silly tale is on a par with snakes' stingers and hoop snakes. Any one that has had the opportunity to observe squirrels the year round, knows that chipmunks, red squirrels, and gray squirrels show the same appearance  of being unsexed, except in the mating season.

The gray is no match for the red in a tree-top in a trial of speed. He usually keeps to the ground, where his long leaps give him the advantage over his fiery little foe. Many a sprinting match of this kind takes place in my dooryard. If a red surprises a gray squirrel stealing food, he sounds his war-cry, and in a mad rush is on to the gray before he can make off with the bit of food which he has appropriated. The gray, finding that he is hard pressed, runs around the cabin with the red hot at his heels. Round and round they go, the gray silent, the red yelling like a little demon. When the gray has had several narrow escapes, he drops the food and retreats unmolested. The red picks up the food and takes it to a favorite limb, where he devours it, talking to himself, meanwhile, about "that gray thief.”

"MANY A SPRINTING MATCH OF THIS KIND TAKES PLACE IN MY DOORYARD."

In all my years of observation, once only have I known a gray squirrel to fight a red. I think it was hunger and desperation that induced the gray to fight. The gray was an old male, certainly three times as large as the red. The latter was an old male, and had held the dooryard for several years against all comers. He was a sagacious, grizzled old warrior, and I named him Bismarck. The fight took place in my dooryard. It was a bloody battle for bread on a cold, drizzly day in midwinter. The gray was whipped inside of three minutes. The snow was crimsoned with his blood, and when he fled he left a bloody trail behind. At no time was there a ghost of a chance for him to win. The muscular energy of the red was astounding. His movements were too quick for the eye. While the fight lasted, all I could see was a bounding mass of red and gray. The red squirrel did not appear to be severely wounded, anyway he remained out in the cold and rain to lick his wounds. Perhaps it was squirrel surgery to prefer the cold to a warm nest.

From my observations I find that the reds seldom chase the grays, unless the latter enter  territory which the reds claim the right to hold and protect.

Four-footed wild animals, with a few exceptions, own farms, gardens, or house-lots. That is, they hold exclusive control over a limited area around their nesting sites. You seldom see two woodchuck holes near each other, or two rabbit burrows. The red squirrel runs a fruit farm. He owns and controls trees that bear nuts or cones, and other reds respect his rights, and do not invade his territory unless there is a famine. A red squirrel will fight savagely for his home and property, and usually drives all intruders from his domain.

Young squirrels remain with their parents through the first winter, but in April the female turns the family over to the male, and makes another nest of moss, leaves, and dry grass in the top of a tall pine or hemlock-tree. While she is engaged by new duties, the male looks after the young squirrels that are now full grown. He finishes their education, and locates the young males on territory which  they ever after hold. The young females, later on, are mated, and remove to the locality inhabited by their mates. Whether the parents have anything to do in selecting sons-in-law is beyond my knowledge. I have known an old male to fly into a passion when a smart young red tried to flirt with his daughter. The flirtation was cut short by the angry father, who run the young dandy off his territory. Kicked him out-of-doors, so to speak. Another young red that courted the daughter was tolerated, if not welcomed, by the father. He was the choice of the old fellow beyond doubt, but I do not know how the young lady decided the matter. Perhaps she eloped with the smart young red.

Bismarck, the grizzled old warrior, held my dooryard for several years. One winter, when there was a famine in the land because the nut crop had failed, a muscular young red thought he could drive Bismarck away. A fierce battle was the consequence, and Bismarck killed his antagonist, but was disfigured for life by the loss of the end of his tail.

While Bismarck reigned, the only squirrel that gained a foothold in the dooryard without his consent was his wife. He chased her away time after time, but like some human wives, she persisted, and won the day. Bismarck gave in when, instead of running away, his wife adopted the plan of running spirally up and down the tree-trunks. Mrs. Bismarck's favorite tree was a large hemlock, which was about eighteen inches in diameter. The trunk of the tree was very short, not over eight feet in length from the ground to the lower limbs. The squirrels made two turns in either going up or down the tree, and their speed was too swift for the human eye. A brown band seemed for a moment wound about the tree, shifting as the squirrels ascended or descended. It was two weeks before Bismarck would allow his mate to remain in the dooryard. When peace was declared the two would eat side by side, but with Bismarck always scolding and growling, while his wife discreetly remained silent.

Bismarck was my schoolmaster. He taught  me that squirrels think, plan, and reason just as human beings do. Every time I threw to him a nut or bit of bread, I would see him do the thinking act. He would take the food to a boulder, where he would stop, hold up one foot ready to start again, and think out a good hiding-place. When he had thought out a spot, he would run directly to it and conceal the food under leaves or pine-needles, and return to the dooryard for more. No two nuts or bits of bread were concealed in the same place. Several times I experimented to find out how many trips Bismarck would make. The greatest number was fifty-one. While the experiment was going on, I noted each hiding-place, as well as I could, and afterward saw the squirrel go to many. He certainly remembered each spot, and his keen scent did the rest.

Bismarck was a thrifty squirrel. He did not disturb his hidden store while the food held out in the dooryard. He would call around early in the morning, and if he found me eating breakfast under the trees, he would  run to a limb just over my head and look down in a cute way that meant "breakfast for two." If I did not respond he would probably say to himself, "The hermit don't mean to feed me to-day. I must fall back on the food that I hid away yesterday. Let me see, that first nut is under the edge of a boulder just back of the cabin." Off he goes straight to the spot. He noses out the nut, which he eats on the limb over my head, scattering the bits of shell on to the breakfast-table. He is very sociable while eating, for he stops now and then to say something to me. I do not understand his exact language, but I know by the tone that he means to be friendly.

Bismarck did not always hide bread beneath pine-needles or leaves. At a certain season of the year the trees about my cabin were made into storehouses. This season was governed by the blue jays. When they were nesting they did not come to the cabin and Bismarck could store food in the trees without fear of being robbed.

My attention was called early to the fact  that a gale of wind did not dislodge the pieces of bread which the squirrel had stored on the limbs of a hemlock-tree. I found that each piece was held in place by a small twig. Scores of times afterward I saw Bismarck lift up a twig with his hands and then push the piece of bread with his nose to the junction of twig and limb. Of course the natural spring of the twig held the bread in place.

Bismarck always stored mushrooms in the trees, for he knew that the blue jays did not eat such food. He would drop the stem of the mushroom between the prongs of a forked limb, if there was cap enough left to hold the same in place, otherwise he treated it just as he would a piece of bread.

How Bismarck acquired a knowledge of the edible mushrooms is a mystery beyond my powers. Doubtless, when he attended the Chickaree College, he studied natural history instead of the dead languages. He knew how to harvest mushrooms. He gathered them soon after they appeared above the ground. Gathered thus, they would keep several days,  while a few hours' growth would spoil them if left in the ground.

Bismarck knew how to eat mushrooms. He did not begin on the freshly gathered ones; he knew they would keep, and he selected those that would decay shortly. Human beings eat the specked apples from motives of economy, and the same impulse controls the squirrel.

In the woods about my cabin grow many varieties of the poisonous mushrooms. One deadly variety—the "Destroying Angel"—possesses a form most pleasing to the eye. Its symmetrical shape and pearly white color give it a look of innocence that has lured many a human being to an early grave. I have never seen a tooth-mark by a squirrel, mouse, or mole in one of these deadly mushrooms, which goes to prove that the wild things know more than some human beings.

A few years ago, while out on a walk with the Appalachian Mountain Club, I told a professor, who was an expert on mushrooms, that I used the mushrooms which were approved by the squirrels, and no others. He said that I  was risking my life, for he claimed that squirrels could eat poisonous varieties that might kill human beings. I thought that the professor knew more about mushrooms than he did about squirrels, so his warning was wasted on me. Up to date I have found the squirrels all right, and I feel no fear when eating what they eat.

For years I attended a squirrels' school, and Bismarck was the schoolmaster. He taught me many things relating to squirrel life. Much of the knowledge acquired was wholly unknown to me before.

When Bismarck first introduced himself to me I think he was an old bachelor or a widower. Three years later he excavated a storehouse in a bank, beneath a boulder, and made a sleeping-nest in a pine-tree, both in the dooryard. The storehouse was used but little after the first winter. The next spring he took to himself a mate, but did not introduce her to the dooryard. Some distance from the cabin, in a swamp, Bismarck's mate made a neat little nest in a hemlock-tree.  Here she reared two baby squirrels. Bismarck did not take much interest in his family through the summer. He spent most of the time in the dooryard, sleeping in his own nest by night. By day his time was occupied in fighting the crows, and in driving squirrels and birds from the dooryard.

There was always a good lot of food for Bismarck to choose from, and I thought he would give up hard work and lead a life of ease. But I did not know the thrifty ways of the red squirrel. When the harvest season for hazelnuts drew near, Bismarck buckled down to hard work. He began his new life by calling often on his family in the hemlock-tree. One day I found Bismarck and his wife digging beneath a pine-tree that grew on the high land just out of the swamp. They brought out a great quantity of pine rootlets during the next two days. There was not much soil, which indicated that the squirrels had discovered a natural cavity, partly filled with pine rootlets. The third day, about four o'clock in the afternoon, the work stopped.

"THE WINTER STOREHOUSE WAS COMPLETED."

Mrs. Bismarck ran to a pine-root, sat up straight, folded her hands, and said something. Mr. Bismarck ran to her side, folded his hands, and made a reply. Both squirrels looked toward the hole beneath the tree by turning half-way round. Then they looked at each other, and Mrs. Bismarck ran into the hole, and immediately appeared and said something that sounded very much like "It is well." Then both squirrels scampered away. The winter storehouse was completed.

When the hazelnuts were ripe Bismarck and his mate began to fill the storehouse. Bismarck gathered the hazelnuts about the cabin, while his mate gathered those around the home nest. Bismarck did a lot of running, for he carried but one nut at a time. He always worked under high pressure, running to and fro at the top of his speed.

I noticed that he left many nuts on the bushes, but when I investigated I found a worm in each nut—a good reason for rejecting them; but as the husks seemed perfect, how did Bismarck know the worms were there? I think his keen scent was the secret. By the sense of smell he could tell a wormy from a sound nut. So could I after the nut was smashed, but not before.

After the hazelnuts, beechnuts were gathered. But right here competition was too great for the squirrels. The blue jays haunted the beech groves, and could load up with from twelve to eighteen nuts, then could use their wings against the squirrels' legs, so the latter were usually short on beechnuts.

The acorn followed the beechnut crop, and as the woods of Cape Ann are made up mostly of oak-trees, there were usually nuts enough for Bismarck's family and to spare.

Besides being a hard worker, Bismarck proved to me, in many ways, that he was quick-witted and resourceful. A sweet acorn-tree near my cabin was loaded with nuts. Beneath the limbs on the south side was a carpet of pine-needles, while under the limbs on the north side grew a dense mass of brambles and catbriers. Bismarck did not drop a nut into the mass of briers, but carried  each nut—one at a time—to the clear side before dropping it. Could human intelligence do more?

When Bismarck and his mate had stowed away food enough for winter, they made a winter nest in the pine-tree that grew above the storehouse. In the new nest the whole family passed the winter after the manner of red squirrels.

The two baby squirrels for the most of the harvest-time remained in the nest or on the hemlock-tree in which the nest was located. Now and then they followed the mother to a nut-tree, but were so noisy that I imagine the fear of enemies caused the discreet mother to drive them home.

When the family storehouse was well filled, Bismarck stored a few nuts in the hole at the cabin. I think he would have stored more if it had not been for the alert wood-mice. He hid a great many nuts around boulders and trees. These nuts were used in the winter, and often lasted until late in the spring. In the spring, when the nuts started to grow,  Bismarck dug them up, bit off the sprouts, and buried them again.

When the nut crop is a failure, the squirrels are face to face with a famine. Long before the nut season approaches the squirrels know that they must depend on other food for the winter's supply. During one year of failure I carefully noted how Bismarck conducted himself, knowing that he would teach me how the red squirrel provides food when his main supply is cut off. When September warned the squirrels that the season for providing food for winter was on, Bismarck turned his attention to the corn in the dooryard. Years before he had stored corn, when he was obliged to compete with the blue jays and chipmunks. The latter could carry away from fourteen to nineteen grains, while Bismarck's load was but two grains. He soon evened things up by hiding corn in the dooryard, or near it. When the supply was exhausted, and the blue jays and chipmunks had disappeared, Bismarck would dig up his corn and carry it home. It was sharp practice,  but the squirrel was justified, when we consider the circumstances. For several years prior to the famine, Bismarck had dropped the habit of storing corn, and only gnawed out the germ, leaving the mutilated grain for the blue jays and chipmunks. Now Bismarck undertook to store corn, hiding it as of old, but I vetoed the act, by withholding the corn. The squirrel then turned his attention to a black cherry-tree, and with the aid of a chipmunk, soon stripped it of fruit. I think the chipmunk gathered the fruit for the stone. He gathered an enormous quantity, and surely could not make use of the soft part. The red squirrel may have gathered for immediate use and also for a winter supply.

Bismarck's next move was a great surprise. I caught him carrying bones to his storehouse.

One summer I saw Bismarck sitting on a stone wall, apparently eating a bone. After he got through he hid the bone in the wall. I found that the bone was old and partly decayed. I smashed up similar bones, and Bismarck seemed to relish a meal three or four  times a week, but I never knew him to store bones for winter use before. His next move was to attack the pine-cones. These were gathered while quite green. They were left on the ground three or four days and then carried, whole, to the family storehouse—a great quantity was stored under stumps, trees, and boulders. The hemlock-cones were gathered later, but were husked at the foot of the tree on which they grew.

During the following winter Bismarck looked to me for food. A loaf of bread was wired to a post near the cabin door, from which he could eat, while he could not carry it away. One cold, rainy day, he sat by the bread without eating, and whimpered like a little child. He was telling me in squirrel language that it was cold, rainy, and almost night, and that I ought to give him some bread to take home to his family. I understood his appeal, and passed him a biscuit. He scampered away chuckling over his good luck. After that, fair or foul, all through the winter days, he would beg for bread to  take home, and always chuckled when he got it. Perhaps he was laughing at me for being an easy mark, or it may have been squirrel for "I thank you a thousand times." However that may be, he was welcome, for I thought of the baby squirrels starving along on a cone-seed diet.

Bismarck would eat all kinds of meat—even fat pork—but he preferred cooked meat to raw. While the famine was on he turned his attention to many kinds of food found in the woods. I made a record of each variety, and religiously tasted of everything he used. Frozen barberries and chokeberries were preferred to all others. I found the barberries had lost much of their usual sourness; the chokeberries were sweet and palatable. While the former remained on the bushes through the winter, the latter were soon exhausted, for they were food for quail, grouse, blue jays, and mice. The berries of the greenbrier, staghorn sumach, and rosehips were used sparingly. The greenbrier berries had a sweetish taste; the staghorn sumachs were sour and  puckery, while the rosehips had a pleasant flavor at first, ending in a most disagreeable bitter. Many mushrooms were caught by an early frost, and remained frozen through the winter. These were food for Bismarck. He would gnaw out the under part, or gills, rejecting the rest. I tasted the food, but cannot say that I care for frozen mushroom.

In the spring pussy-willow buds formed a part of Bismarck's food. I found the buds nearly tasteless, but they crunched between the teeth like a crisp cucumber. As spring advanced, creeping wintergreen and partridge-berries appeared here and there where the sun had melted the snow, and Bismarck greedily devoured the bright red berries. Later berries formed the greater part of his food until the hazelnuts were ripe. Wild apple-trees abound on Cape Ann, and Bismarck attacked the fruit early in the fall. He destroyed great quantities for the seed, which was the only part stored for winter use. However, he seemed to relish an apple, if it was not too sour, and all through the  winter he would eat a Baldwin apple, even to the seeds, at one sitting.

The history of Bismarck through a year of famine is the history of other red squirrels on Cape Ann. It is evident that the red squirrel is famine proof. If the nut crop is a failure, chickaree turns his attention to other food sources, and by perseverance and hard work is able to keep the wolf from the door.

For years Bismarck and the blue jays have matched wits. After nesting, the blue jays would flock to the cabin and impudently appropriate all the food found in the trees. Bismarck seemed to know that it was useless to store food longer in this way, so he would bury it beneath the pine-needles. The jays were soon on to this trick. When I threw a piece of bread to the squirrel he would start at once to hide it, while the jays would follow him, keeping in the trees, just out of reach. The moment he left, the jays would fly down, dig out the bread and carry it away. It often happened that Bismarck would fool the robbers by pretending to bury the bread. He  would dig a hole, cover it over, pat down the pine-needles, but would run away with the bread in his mouth. While the jays were scratching the pine-needles right and left, in a useless search, Bismarck would hide the bit of bread, and return to the dooryard for more. He was not so particular if the food was wheat bread, but if it was his favorite food—doughnut—the jays were fooled every time.

Every spring Bismarck taps the trees around the cabin. He begins on the maples and ends later on the birches. If the tree is small, he taps the trunk; if large, he works on the limbs. He gnaws through the bark and into the wood, then clings to the limb or trunk, below the wound, while he laps the sweet sap. If there is a hollow in the bark into which the sap flows, Bismarck is sure to find it.

Did the red squirrel learn how to tap trees from the American Indian, or did the Indian learn from the squirrel?

The habits of the red squirrel are rapidly  changing in this locality on account of a foolish State law. The story is quickly told. Ward 8 (city of Gloucester), where my cabin is located, contains over eleven thousand square acres. Its area is greater than that of the other seven wards combined. The bulk of the territory of Ward 8 is made up of woodland and shrubland, the city proper being in the other seven wards. Ward 8 contains the delightful summer resort known as Magnolia. This resort derives its name from Magnolia Swamp, the only spot in New England where magnolia glauca is found in a wild state. The famous Coffin's Beach is also in this ward.

The General Court four years ago placed a close time of five years on small game in the territory east of Ward 8. This protects the seven wards of the city and the town of Rockport. Two years ago the town of Essex, which joins Ward 8 on the west, was protected, so that the gunners from a population of about forty thousand are turned loose in Ward 8. The extermination of nearly  all the game, and of great numbers of song-birds, has been the result of this peculiar legislation.

INDIGO-BIRD.

All the wild things are desperately wild. The red squirrel if he hears the report of a gun instantly rushes to a hiding-place. Well he knows the deadly meaning of the report. He has turned day into night, and now harvests his nut crop in the night-time. I sleep in the open air, and during the harvest season I listen for hours to the sound of dropping nuts which the industrious but wary squirrels  are cutting from the oak-trees around my cabin.

Bismarck is still in the land of the living, although ten years have passed since he first introduced himself, and requested me to book him for table board. He has cost me many dollars, while he has not paid a cent in the coin of the realm. However, I owe him for teaching and am ready to balance the books and exchange receipts.

OVEN-BIRD.

I know that my position in relation to the red squirrel's destruction of song-birds will be sharply criticized by those who believe in the squirrel's total depravity. But the truth is that I describe wild life just as I find it, not as some books say I ought to find it. If  the red squirrel was as destructive as reported, there would not be a young bird reared around my cabin. My notes show that last year the following named birds nested near my cabin, and probably every nest was known and visited by the red squirrel:

A ruffed grouse nest was looted by the crows when it contained but four eggs, after which the bird resorted to a swamp, and reared a brood.

Several of the nests named were destroyed, but none by the squirrel. In the light of my observations I cannot consistently denounce the red squirrel.

BLACK-THROATED GREEN WARBLER.