FOR several years I had slept in a hammock without a roof to keep off the night air. I had found this method inconvenient on account of stormy nights, when I was obliged to seek the shelter of the cabin. I overcame the difficulty by putting a tent roof over my hammock. The sides and ends were open so that I was practically exposed to the night air. The tent roof protected me on stormy nights, and with this slight shelter I slept out-doors from April 1st until Christmas, unless there was a heavy, fall of snow, meantime.
I found it inconvenient to cook my breakfast, and then, after eating it, go to the city. Why I did so was on account of my coffee habit. I had tried to find a good cup of coffee in the city and had failed, so had depended on my own brewing.
One morning I dropped into the little store at the head of Pavilion Beach, and the proprietor asked me to have a cup of coffee. He piloted me into a back shop, where he told me that he served a light lunch with coffee, to the farmers. The coffee was just to my taste, and for twelve years I patronized the coffee trade in that little back shop. My note-book shows that during the twelve years I had missed only eighty mornings. I had paid six hundred and forty-five dollars, during that time, for my lunch and coffee, and had walked, on account of my breakfast, seventeen thousand two hundred miles. Whew! It makes me feel poor and tired to recall it. I do not remember that I remained at home to breakfast on account of a storm. The eighty mornings which I missed in the twelve years were accounted for by absence from the city.
I would leave my cabin, summer or winter, at half-past five o'clock, so I could sit down to breakfast in the back shop about six.
In the winter months it was dark at half-past five in the morning, but that did not disturb me. I did not use a lantern because I would not be bothered with it, and for another reason. It made one a bright and shining object for early ghouls or tramps.
For some years past I have discontinued my early morning tramps, but I love to recall the persistence with which I clung to habit. Those early walks afforded me much pleasure and some hardships. During the spring months the frogs and birds enlivened my morning walk with music. The bird-music along the route to the city was divided according to locality. Before leaving the cabin, from early daylight, there would be a variety of bird-songs. In numbers the veery led all the rest. Then followed the red-eyed vireo. After these, I could hear only one song each of the following species:
Catbird, towhee-bunting, chestnut-sided warbler, robin, black-throated green warbler, oven-bird, wood-thrush, and warbling-vireo. Indigo-birds and cedar-birds some years could be added to the list, but they are erratic birds, and cannot be depended upon.
CEDAR-BIRD.
THE NEW CABIN.
My route to the city was along the deserted old highway. When I had climbed the first hill (where my new cabin now stands), I could overlook a rugged territory where the fire and axe had exterminated the large trees, leaving a low, shrubby growth, just suited to the needs of the birds. The songs of the catbird, towhee-bunting, and robin were heard here, and, strange to tell, in a distant corner of the territory, could be heard the loud carol of the song-sparrow. A few pairs of these birds had changed their nesting site from pasture to shrub-land. I knew that these sparrows were descendants of my pet birds, Wabbles and his first wife. They were born in the woods, and so reared their children in the same surroundings.
The frog-pond was just beyond the hill, and when the toads and frogs did not drown their music, birds could be heard singing from morning till night during the nesting season.
There was a colony of Maryland yellowthroats near this spot, and the sprightly song could be heard from May 1st to the middle of July. I have heard the song in September.
MARYLAND YELLOWTHROAT.
A short distance from the frog-pond, on the left, there is another pond, or shoal bog, where frogs and red-winged blackbirds appear to own the earth or water. Still farther along the old highway, on the right, there is a walled-in territory, called the "Sheep Pasture." I think I could carry the grass in this so-called pasture in my hands. A mass of boulders and bed-rock, set off by barberry-bushes, comprises the view, but this rugged pasture (?) is the home of the field-sparrow (Spizella agrestis). This sparrow is not so common as the song-sparrow and bay-winged bunting.
RED-WINGED BLACKBIRDS.
I consider it a rare treat to listen to this sweet singer. I made it a practice, during the season of song, to stop by this old pasture, not only to hear the sparrow, but a brown thrush as well. The thrush occupied the other side of the old highway, and when he saw me coming, he would mount to the top of a small tree and sing so long as I remained to listen.
Farther along on the old road, a pair of redstarts could be found every spring. The male did his singing in a wild apple-tree. From this spot, down "Slaughter-house Hill," to Western Avenue, I found song-sparrows to be the prevailing bird. There were a few chestnut-sided warblers, robins, and catbirds.
The birds I have mentioned, that nest along the old road, look upon me with friendly eyes as I pass. When they return in the spring, they give a greeting which I understand, because the notes are in a higher key, and are never repeated through the summer. While passing daily over the road I have made it a practice to talk to the birds, so many of them, not all, greet me as before mentioned.
SWAMP SONG-SPARROW.
BROWN THRUSH
The brown thrush is usually more demonstrative than other birds. His greeting is almost like the shrill cry of a small boy. Two years ago, when rounding a turn in the old road, I saw four thrushes before me. I stopped to observe them, when I heard behind me the laugh of a boy. I glanced back, but saw no one. Again I heard the laugh, and this time I located the sound over the wall, and started to call, when a male thrush flew to the top of a small cherry-tree, and, after laughing as before, gave me a song. This thrush was my old friend just returned from the South, and when he saw me looking at his mates, he called out to let me know where to find him.
BALTIMORE ORIOLE.
Along Western Avenue the tall elms harbored many singers. The Baltimore orioles' loud notes could be heard above other bird-songs. Linnets, chipping-sparrows, bluebirds, and bay-winged-buntings were scattered along the route to the city. When I had reached the sea-wall, the gulls were the birds to attract my attention. Some were seen skimming the surface of the water, while others were anchored in large rafts. The gulls appeared to be fearless, and swung to and fro near the beach, but, just the same, the crafty birds did not approach near enough for a shot. They knew how far the modern gun could shoot, and gauged their flight accordingly. Whenever one desired to cross the highway to the marshes beyond, it would rise above gunshot before making the attempt. Besides the keen sense which the gulls possess, they carry themselves with true dignity.
From the first of April to the middle of November I looked every morning for my "lone fisherman." There was a stake near the drawbridge which a belted kingfisher had preempted. For six years this feathered fisherman held that stake, while he had to face almost all the travel in and out of the city. The nest was in a clay-bank that overhung the beach near Stage Fort.
It is needless for me to tell that I derived great pleasure from my daily association with the birds that nested along my route to the city.
BELTED KINGFISHER, WATCHING.
KINGFISHER, STRIKING.
The hardships which I have mentioned were encountered in the winter months, when storms prevailed. Cold starlight mornings were my delight. If there was snow on the ground it added a new pleasure. I always enjoyed the keen, cutting air. Sometimes there were storms in the morning with rain or snow. At times, the wind would blow such a furious gale on the Cut, that it would make it nearly impossible to reach my haven. When safely housed at last, I always felt satisfied with myself, because of my victory over the elements. One storm forced me to remain in the city overnight. The storm had died out, but had created a sea such as is seldom seen even on the Cape. I went over to Bass Rocks, to see the waves break, and did not get back to Western Avenue until near night. I found the street full of snow and sea-water. I waded nearly to the drawbridge and then mounted the sea-wall. I soon found that the large waves broke over the wall, and with force enough to wash me overboard, so I turned back. The street was closed to travel afterward, by the city officials.
KINGFISHER LIFTING HIS CATCH.
During the summer weather I saw many strange sights when taking my morning walk. One morning, a pasture-rabbit tore along the old road as if he were racing for life. He passed me without turning his head, and was out of sight around a turn in the path before I had recovered from my surprise. While I was looking, he came back, jumping high and long; after he had got by the turn, and nearly to my feet, he gave a great jump sideways, and landed in a clump of weeds. Just then a stoat came in sight on the rabbit's trail. His leaps were not expended in the air, but were swift, long, and near the ground. It was evident that the poor rabbit had no chance to escape from such a supple, bloodthirsty foe without help. When the stoat was out of sight, the rabbit again took to the road. He passed me, then turned into the woods. Whether he knew it or not, it was the best thing to do. It left the hermit to face his relentless foe. Perhaps the birds had told the rabbit that the hermit was a friend. The stoat came back, hunting both sides of the road. He understood just how he had been tricked. When he found the trail in the weeds, he circled around until satisfied that the rabbit had returned to the road. When we met, he seemed surprised, but he tried to pass, spitting spitefully to frighten me. I drove him back, and managed to keep him from the rabbit's trail until it was too cold to follow.
I expect that this rescue established my reputation with the rabbits, for from time to time they came into my dooryard when chased by a mink or stoat. Whenever it occurs on Sunday there are visitors present, who are invariably excited for the welfare of the rabbit.
The stoat is the large weasel. It turns white in the winter, and is then the ermine.
Of all the incidents that happened during my morning walks, there is one that I cannot explain without resorting to a belief in hypnotism. I was on the way to the city when a turn in the path brought into sight a large mink, apparently coal-black. His peculiar actions caught my attention first, but soon I saw a ruffed grouse about twelve feet beyond the mink. Every feather on the grouse stood up, causing the bird to look as large as a small turkey. The mink was making figure eights, moving from side to side of the grassy path, which was over five feet in width. His movements were so rapid the eye could see only a black streak. While I could not see the mink move toward the grouse, I saw that the distance between them grew less quite rapidly. Feeling sure that the grouse was doomed, for it seemed unable to do anything but follow the rapid motion of the mink, I stepped forward and gave a shout. The grouse flew away, and the mink turned on me and let out a yell that was fierce and loud enough for a tiger. He acted as if he meant to attack me, but thought better of it, and ran into a stone wall. From this safe retreat he yelled while I was in sight. This case puzzled me. It appeared almost impossible that such a wary, muscular bird as the grouse could be hypnotized. The mink was surely but slowly nearing the grouse when I interfered. I am sorry I did not remain quiet, and so find out if the grouse was able to fly away before the danger-point was reached. As it is, I remain in doubt.
"THE DISTANCE BETWEEN THEM GREW LESS QUITE RAPIDLY."
Returning from the city one morning in October, I turned off the old highway into the woods. I thought that some of the wood-folk would notice my visit and reward me with gossip for my note-book. I stopped to rest near a red squirrel's nest. The nest was in the top of a tall hemlock-tree and I was on the ground, but the proprietor knew I could climb, and so was eager to drive me away. He did not dare to attack me, for I suppose that sometime in his life he had worked the idea through his little head that man was too big and powerful to be whipped by a red squirrel, but he did the next thing. He flew into a passion and abused me in the expressive and vehement language common to this squirrel. He would run out on the limbs over my head and dance himself into a frenzy, and chatter and bark and shriek as if that would drive me away. He was wound up for a half-hour. After he had run down, he stretched out on a limb and silently watched me. Soon after, I heard a slight rustling of leaves, and a gray squirrel appeared from the underbrush with an acorn in his mouth. The red saw the gray, but remained silent. The gray squirrel selected a spot and proceeded to bury the nut. When he had finished and was patting the dirt down, the red set up a great laugh. The gray cast one look aloft, and instantly his little paws were making the dirt fly. In less time than it takes me to write it, he had dug up the nut and had disappeared. I don't think the red squirrel thought to appropriate the nut. I think he enjoyed the joke which was on the gray. I know that I did.
A thaw in the winter made trouble for me outside of the sloppy walking. It brought out the skunk family, and each individual skunk thought he owned the old highway, and he did, when I met him. Many and many times I have had to climb through snow, or over ledges, to give the right of way to some sleepy old fraud, that did not know enough about man to be afraid of him.
"'HERMIT, YOU ARE OUT.'"
One evening I went to the well for water, and left the cabin door open. When I returned, I saw a big skunk climbing over the door-sill. I shouted, in hopes to make him turn back, but he looked at me as much as to say, "Hermit, you are out," and so I was. It was a cold, drizzly evening, and I was in my shirt-sleeves. It was a good half-hour before the scamp had satisfied himself that my stores were locked up. I was glad that he did not try his teeth on my cupboard. In that case I should have had to stop out all night.
