Chapter Nine.

Chapter Nine.The Musquash.Our next day’s march was unenlivened by any particular incident. We had left behind us the heavy timber, and again travelled through the “oak openings.” Not an animal was started during the whole day, and the only one seen was a muskrat that took to the water of a small creek and escaped. This occurred at the spot where we had halted for our night-camp, and after the tents were pitched, several of the party went “rat-hunting.” The burrow of a family of these curious little animals was discovered in the bank, and an attempt was made to dig them out, but without success. The family proved to be “not at home.”The incident, however, brought the muskrat on thetapis.The “muskrat” of the States is the musquash of the fur-traders (Fiber sibethicus). He is called muskrat, from his resemblance to the common rat, combined with the musky odour which he emits from glands situated near the anus. Musquash is said to be an Indian appellative—a strange coincidence, as the word, “musk” is of Arabic origin, and “musquash” would seem a compound of the Frenchmusque, as the early Canadian fur-traders were French, or of French descent, and fixed the nomenclature of most of the fur-bearing animals of that region. Naturalists have used the name of “Musk Beaver” on account of the many points of resemblance which this animal bears to the true beaver (Castor fiber). Indeed, they seem to be of the same genus, and so Linnaeus classed them; but later systematists have separated them, for the purpose, I should fancy, not of simplifying science, but of creating the impression that they themselves were very profound observers.The teeth—those great friends of the closet naturalist, which help him to whole pages of speculation—have enabled him to separate the beaver from the musquash, although the whole history and habits of these creatures prove them to be congeners, as much as a mastiff is the congener of a greyhound—indeed, far more. So like are they in a general sense, that the Indians call them “cousins.”In form the muskrat differs but little from the beaver. It is a thick, rounded, and flat-looking animal, with blunt nose, short ears almost buried in the fur, stiff whiskers like a cat, short legs and neck, small dark eyes, and sharply-clawed feet. The hinder ones are longest, and are half-webbed. Those of the beaver are full-webbed.There is a curious fact in connection with the tails of these two animals. Both are almost naked of hair, and covered with “scales,” and both are flat. The tail of the beaver, and the uses it makes of this appendage, are things known to every one. Every one has read of its trowel-shape and use, its great breadth, thickness, and weight, and its resemblance to a cricket-bat. The tail of the muskrat is also naked, covered with scales, and compressed or flattened; but instead of being horizontally so, as with the beaver, it is the reverse; and the thin edges are in a vertical plane. The tail of the former, moreover, is not of the trowel-shape, but tapers like that of the common rat. Indeed, its resemblance to the house-rat is so great as to render it a somewhat disagreeable object to look upon.Tail and all, the muskrat is about twenty inches in length; and its body is about half as big as that of a beaver. It possesses a strange power of contracting its body, so as to make it appear about half its natural size, and to enable it to pass through a chink that animals of much smaller dimensions could not enter.Its colour is reddish-brown above, and light-ash underneath. There are eccentricities, however, in this respect. Specimens have been found quite black, as also mixed and pure white. The fur is a soft, thick down, resembling that of the beaver, but not quite so fine. There are long rigid hairs, red-coloured, that overtop the fur; and these are also sparely scattered over the tail.The habits of the muskrat are singular—perhaps not less so than those of his “cousin” the beaver, when you strip the history of the latter of its many exaggerations. Indeed the former animal, in the domesticated state, exhibits much greater intelligence than the latter.Like the beaver, it is a water animal, and is only found where water exists; never among the dry hills. Its “range” extends over the whole continent of North America, wherever “grass grows and water runs.” It is most probable it is an inhabitant of the Southern Continent, but the natural history of that country is still but half told.Unlike the beaver, the race of the muskrat is not likely soon to become extinct. The beaver is now found in America, only in the remotest parts of the uninhabited wilderness. Although formerly an inhabitant of the Atlantic States, his presence there is now unknown; or, if occasionally met with, it is no longer in the beaver dam, with its cluster of social domes, but only as a solitary creature, a “terrier beaver,” ill-featured, shaggy in coat, and stunted in growth.The muskrat, on the contrary, still frequents the settlements. There is hardly a creek, pond, or watercourse, without one or more families having an abode upon its banks. Part of the year the muskrat is a social animal; at other seasons it is solitary. The male differs but little from the female, though he is somewhat larger, and better furred.In early spring commences the season of his loves. His musky odour is then strongest, and quite perceptible in the neighbourhood of his haunt. He takes a wife, to whom he is for ever after faithful; and it is believed the connection continues to exist during life. After the “honeymoon” a burrow is made in the bank of a stream or pond; usually in some solitary and secure spot by the roots of a tree, and always in such a situation that the rising of the water cannot reach the nest which is constructed within. The entrance to this burrow is frequently under water, so that it is difficult to discover it. The nest within is a bed of moss or soft grasses. In this the female brings forth five or six “cubs,” which she nourishes with great care, training them to her own habits. The male takes no part in their education; but during this period absents himself, and wanders about alone. In autumn the cubs are nearly full-grown, and able to “take care of themselves.” The “old father” now joins the family party, and all together proceed to the erection of winter quarters. They forsake the “home of their nativity,” and build a very different sort of a habitation. The favourite site for their new house, is a swamp not likely to freeze to the bottom, and if with a stream running through it, all the better. By the side of this stream, or often on a little islet in the midst, they construct a dome-shaped pile, hollow within, and very much like the house of the beaver. The materials used are grass and mud, the latter being obtained at the bottom of the swamp or stream. The entrance to this house is subterranean, and consists of one or more galleries debouching under the water. In situations where there is danger of inundation, the floor of the interior is raised higher, and frequently terraces are made to admit of a dry seat, in case the ground-floor should get flooded. Of course there is free egress and ingress at all times, to permit the animal to go after its food, which consists of plants that grow in the water close at hand.The house being completed, and the cold weather having set in, the whole family, parents and all, enter it, and remain there during the winter, going out only at intervals for necessary purposes. In spring they desert this habitation and never return to it.Of course they are warm enough during winter while thus housed, even in the very coldest weather. The heat of their own bodies would make them so, lying as they do, huddled together, and sometimes on top of one another, but the mud walls of their habitations are a foot or more in thickness, and neither frost nor rain can penetrate within.Now, a curious fact has been observed in connection with the houses of these creatures. It shows how nature has adapted them to the circumstances in which they may be placed. By philosophers it is termed “instinct”; but in our opinion it is the same sort of instinct which enables Mr Hobbs to pick a “Chubb” lock. It is this:—In southern climates—in Louisiana, for instance—the swamps and rivers do not freeze over in winter. There the muskrat does not construct such houses as that described, but is contented all the year with his burrow in the banks. He can go forth freely and seek his food at all seasons.In the north it is different. There for months the rivers are frozen over with thick ice. The muskrat could only come out under the ice, or above it. If the latter, the entrance of his burrow would betray him, and men with their traps, and dogs, or other enemies, would easily get at him. Even if he had also a water entrance, by which he might escape upon the invasion of his burrow, he would drown for want of air. Although an amphibious animal, like the beaver and otter, he cannot live altogether under water, and must rise at intervals to take breath. The running stream in winter does not perhaps furnish him with his favourite food—the roots and stems of water-plants. These the swamp affords to his satisfaction; besides, it gives him security from the attacks of men and preying animals, as the wolverine and fisher. Moreover, his house in the swamp cannot be easily approached by the hunter—man—except when the ice becomes very thick and strong. Then, indeed, is the season of peril for the muskrat, but even then he has loopholes of escape. How cunningly this creature adapts itself to its geographical situation! In the extreme north—in the hyperborean regions of the Hudson’s Bay Company—lakes, rivers, and even springs freeze up in winter. The shallow marshes become solid ice, congealed to their very bottoms. How is the muskrat to get under water there? Thus, then, he manages the matter:—Upon deep lakes, as soon as the ice becomes strong enough to bear his weight, he makes a hole in it, and over this he constructs his dome-shaped habitation, bringing the materials up through the hole, from the bottom of the lake. The house thus formed sits prominently upon the ice. Its entrance is in the floor—the hole which has already been made—and thus is kept open during the whole season of frost, by the care and watchfulness of the inmates, and by their passing constantly out and in to seek their food—the water-plants of the lake.This peculiar construction of the muskrat’s dwelling, with its water-passage, would afford all the means of escape from its ordinary enemies—the beasts of prey—and, perhaps, against these alone nature has instructed it to provide. But with all its cunning it is, of course, outwitted by the superior ingenuity of its enemy—man.The food of the muskrat is varied. It loves the roots of several species ofnymphae, but its favourite iscalamusroot (calamusoracorus aromaticus). It is known to eat shell-fish, and heaps of the shells of fresh-water muscles (unios) are often found near its retreat. Some assert that it eats fish, but the same assertion is made with regard to the beaver. This point is by no means clearly made out; and the closet naturalists deny it, founding their opposing theory, as usual, upon the teeth. For my part, I have but little faith in the “teeth,” since I have known horses, hogs, and cattle greedily devour both fish, flesh, and fowl.The muskrat is easily tamed, and becomes familiar and docile. It is very intelligent, and will fondly caress the hand of its master. Indians and Canadian settlers often have them in their houses as pets; but there is so much of the rat in their appearance, and they emit such a disagreeable odour in the spring, as to prevent them from becoming general favourites. They are difficult to cage up, and will eat their way out of a deal box in a single night. Their flesh, although somewhat musky, is eaten by the Indians and white hunters, but these gentry eat almost everything that “lives, breathes, and moves.” Many Canadians, however, are fond of the flesh.It is not for its flesh that the muskrat is so eagerly hunted. Its fur is the important consideration. This is almost equal to the fur of the beaver in the manufacture of hats, and sells for a price that pays the Indians and white trappers for the hardships they undergo in obtaining it. It is, moreover, used in the making of boas and muffs, as it somewhat resembles the fur of the pine marten or American sable (Mustela martes), and on account of its cheapness is sometimes passed off for the latter. It is one of the regular articles of the Hudson’s Bay Company’s commerce, and thousands of muskrat skins are annually obtained. Indeed, were it not that the animal is prolific and difficult to capture, its species would soon suffer extermination.The mode of taking it differs from that practised in trapping the beaver. It is often caught in traps set for the latter, but such a “catch” is regarded in the light of a misfortune, as until it is taken out the trap is rendered useless for its real object. As an amusement it is sometimes hunted by dogs, as the otter is, and dug out of its burrow; but the labour of laying open its deep cave is ill repaid by the sport. The amateur sportsman frequently gets a shot at the muskrat while passing along the bank near its haunts, and almost as frequently misses his aim. The creature is too quick for him, and dives almost without making a bubble. Of course once in the pool it is seen no more.Many tribes of Indians hunt the muskrat both for its flesh and skin. They have peculiar modes of capturing it, of one of which the hunter-naturalist gave an account. A winter which he had spent at a fort in the neighbourhood of a settlement of Ojibways gave him an opportunity of witnessing this sport in perfection.

Our next day’s march was unenlivened by any particular incident. We had left behind us the heavy timber, and again travelled through the “oak openings.” Not an animal was started during the whole day, and the only one seen was a muskrat that took to the water of a small creek and escaped. This occurred at the spot where we had halted for our night-camp, and after the tents were pitched, several of the party went “rat-hunting.” The burrow of a family of these curious little animals was discovered in the bank, and an attempt was made to dig them out, but without success. The family proved to be “not at home.”

The incident, however, brought the muskrat on thetapis.

The “muskrat” of the States is the musquash of the fur-traders (Fiber sibethicus). He is called muskrat, from his resemblance to the common rat, combined with the musky odour which he emits from glands situated near the anus. Musquash is said to be an Indian appellative—a strange coincidence, as the word, “musk” is of Arabic origin, and “musquash” would seem a compound of the Frenchmusque, as the early Canadian fur-traders were French, or of French descent, and fixed the nomenclature of most of the fur-bearing animals of that region. Naturalists have used the name of “Musk Beaver” on account of the many points of resemblance which this animal bears to the true beaver (Castor fiber). Indeed, they seem to be of the same genus, and so Linnaeus classed them; but later systematists have separated them, for the purpose, I should fancy, not of simplifying science, but of creating the impression that they themselves were very profound observers.

The teeth—those great friends of the closet naturalist, which help him to whole pages of speculation—have enabled him to separate the beaver from the musquash, although the whole history and habits of these creatures prove them to be congeners, as much as a mastiff is the congener of a greyhound—indeed, far more. So like are they in a general sense, that the Indians call them “cousins.”

In form the muskrat differs but little from the beaver. It is a thick, rounded, and flat-looking animal, with blunt nose, short ears almost buried in the fur, stiff whiskers like a cat, short legs and neck, small dark eyes, and sharply-clawed feet. The hinder ones are longest, and are half-webbed. Those of the beaver are full-webbed.

There is a curious fact in connection with the tails of these two animals. Both are almost naked of hair, and covered with “scales,” and both are flat. The tail of the beaver, and the uses it makes of this appendage, are things known to every one. Every one has read of its trowel-shape and use, its great breadth, thickness, and weight, and its resemblance to a cricket-bat. The tail of the muskrat is also naked, covered with scales, and compressed or flattened; but instead of being horizontally so, as with the beaver, it is the reverse; and the thin edges are in a vertical plane. The tail of the former, moreover, is not of the trowel-shape, but tapers like that of the common rat. Indeed, its resemblance to the house-rat is so great as to render it a somewhat disagreeable object to look upon.

Tail and all, the muskrat is about twenty inches in length; and its body is about half as big as that of a beaver. It possesses a strange power of contracting its body, so as to make it appear about half its natural size, and to enable it to pass through a chink that animals of much smaller dimensions could not enter.

Its colour is reddish-brown above, and light-ash underneath. There are eccentricities, however, in this respect. Specimens have been found quite black, as also mixed and pure white. The fur is a soft, thick down, resembling that of the beaver, but not quite so fine. There are long rigid hairs, red-coloured, that overtop the fur; and these are also sparely scattered over the tail.

The habits of the muskrat are singular—perhaps not less so than those of his “cousin” the beaver, when you strip the history of the latter of its many exaggerations. Indeed the former animal, in the domesticated state, exhibits much greater intelligence than the latter.

Like the beaver, it is a water animal, and is only found where water exists; never among the dry hills. Its “range” extends over the whole continent of North America, wherever “grass grows and water runs.” It is most probable it is an inhabitant of the Southern Continent, but the natural history of that country is still but half told.

Unlike the beaver, the race of the muskrat is not likely soon to become extinct. The beaver is now found in America, only in the remotest parts of the uninhabited wilderness. Although formerly an inhabitant of the Atlantic States, his presence there is now unknown; or, if occasionally met with, it is no longer in the beaver dam, with its cluster of social domes, but only as a solitary creature, a “terrier beaver,” ill-featured, shaggy in coat, and stunted in growth.

The muskrat, on the contrary, still frequents the settlements. There is hardly a creek, pond, or watercourse, without one or more families having an abode upon its banks. Part of the year the muskrat is a social animal; at other seasons it is solitary. The male differs but little from the female, though he is somewhat larger, and better furred.

In early spring commences the season of his loves. His musky odour is then strongest, and quite perceptible in the neighbourhood of his haunt. He takes a wife, to whom he is for ever after faithful; and it is believed the connection continues to exist during life. After the “honeymoon” a burrow is made in the bank of a stream or pond; usually in some solitary and secure spot by the roots of a tree, and always in such a situation that the rising of the water cannot reach the nest which is constructed within. The entrance to this burrow is frequently under water, so that it is difficult to discover it. The nest within is a bed of moss or soft grasses. In this the female brings forth five or six “cubs,” which she nourishes with great care, training them to her own habits. The male takes no part in their education; but during this period absents himself, and wanders about alone. In autumn the cubs are nearly full-grown, and able to “take care of themselves.” The “old father” now joins the family party, and all together proceed to the erection of winter quarters. They forsake the “home of their nativity,” and build a very different sort of a habitation. The favourite site for their new house, is a swamp not likely to freeze to the bottom, and if with a stream running through it, all the better. By the side of this stream, or often on a little islet in the midst, they construct a dome-shaped pile, hollow within, and very much like the house of the beaver. The materials used are grass and mud, the latter being obtained at the bottom of the swamp or stream. The entrance to this house is subterranean, and consists of one or more galleries debouching under the water. In situations where there is danger of inundation, the floor of the interior is raised higher, and frequently terraces are made to admit of a dry seat, in case the ground-floor should get flooded. Of course there is free egress and ingress at all times, to permit the animal to go after its food, which consists of plants that grow in the water close at hand.

The house being completed, and the cold weather having set in, the whole family, parents and all, enter it, and remain there during the winter, going out only at intervals for necessary purposes. In spring they desert this habitation and never return to it.

Of course they are warm enough during winter while thus housed, even in the very coldest weather. The heat of their own bodies would make them so, lying as they do, huddled together, and sometimes on top of one another, but the mud walls of their habitations are a foot or more in thickness, and neither frost nor rain can penetrate within.

Now, a curious fact has been observed in connection with the houses of these creatures. It shows how nature has adapted them to the circumstances in which they may be placed. By philosophers it is termed “instinct”; but in our opinion it is the same sort of instinct which enables Mr Hobbs to pick a “Chubb” lock. It is this:—

In southern climates—in Louisiana, for instance—the swamps and rivers do not freeze over in winter. There the muskrat does not construct such houses as that described, but is contented all the year with his burrow in the banks. He can go forth freely and seek his food at all seasons.

In the north it is different. There for months the rivers are frozen over with thick ice. The muskrat could only come out under the ice, or above it. If the latter, the entrance of his burrow would betray him, and men with their traps, and dogs, or other enemies, would easily get at him. Even if he had also a water entrance, by which he might escape upon the invasion of his burrow, he would drown for want of air. Although an amphibious animal, like the beaver and otter, he cannot live altogether under water, and must rise at intervals to take breath. The running stream in winter does not perhaps furnish him with his favourite food—the roots and stems of water-plants. These the swamp affords to his satisfaction; besides, it gives him security from the attacks of men and preying animals, as the wolverine and fisher. Moreover, his house in the swamp cannot be easily approached by the hunter—man—except when the ice becomes very thick and strong. Then, indeed, is the season of peril for the muskrat, but even then he has loopholes of escape. How cunningly this creature adapts itself to its geographical situation! In the extreme north—in the hyperborean regions of the Hudson’s Bay Company—lakes, rivers, and even springs freeze up in winter. The shallow marshes become solid ice, congealed to their very bottoms. How is the muskrat to get under water there? Thus, then, he manages the matter:—

Upon deep lakes, as soon as the ice becomes strong enough to bear his weight, he makes a hole in it, and over this he constructs his dome-shaped habitation, bringing the materials up through the hole, from the bottom of the lake. The house thus formed sits prominently upon the ice. Its entrance is in the floor—the hole which has already been made—and thus is kept open during the whole season of frost, by the care and watchfulness of the inmates, and by their passing constantly out and in to seek their food—the water-plants of the lake.

This peculiar construction of the muskrat’s dwelling, with its water-passage, would afford all the means of escape from its ordinary enemies—the beasts of prey—and, perhaps, against these alone nature has instructed it to provide. But with all its cunning it is, of course, outwitted by the superior ingenuity of its enemy—man.

The food of the muskrat is varied. It loves the roots of several species ofnymphae, but its favourite iscalamusroot (calamusoracorus aromaticus). It is known to eat shell-fish, and heaps of the shells of fresh-water muscles (unios) are often found near its retreat. Some assert that it eats fish, but the same assertion is made with regard to the beaver. This point is by no means clearly made out; and the closet naturalists deny it, founding their opposing theory, as usual, upon the teeth. For my part, I have but little faith in the “teeth,” since I have known horses, hogs, and cattle greedily devour both fish, flesh, and fowl.

The muskrat is easily tamed, and becomes familiar and docile. It is very intelligent, and will fondly caress the hand of its master. Indians and Canadian settlers often have them in their houses as pets; but there is so much of the rat in their appearance, and they emit such a disagreeable odour in the spring, as to prevent them from becoming general favourites. They are difficult to cage up, and will eat their way out of a deal box in a single night. Their flesh, although somewhat musky, is eaten by the Indians and white hunters, but these gentry eat almost everything that “lives, breathes, and moves.” Many Canadians, however, are fond of the flesh.

It is not for its flesh that the muskrat is so eagerly hunted. Its fur is the important consideration. This is almost equal to the fur of the beaver in the manufacture of hats, and sells for a price that pays the Indians and white trappers for the hardships they undergo in obtaining it. It is, moreover, used in the making of boas and muffs, as it somewhat resembles the fur of the pine marten or American sable (Mustela martes), and on account of its cheapness is sometimes passed off for the latter. It is one of the regular articles of the Hudson’s Bay Company’s commerce, and thousands of muskrat skins are annually obtained. Indeed, were it not that the animal is prolific and difficult to capture, its species would soon suffer extermination.

The mode of taking it differs from that practised in trapping the beaver. It is often caught in traps set for the latter, but such a “catch” is regarded in the light of a misfortune, as until it is taken out the trap is rendered useless for its real object. As an amusement it is sometimes hunted by dogs, as the otter is, and dug out of its burrow; but the labour of laying open its deep cave is ill repaid by the sport. The amateur sportsman frequently gets a shot at the muskrat while passing along the bank near its haunts, and almost as frequently misses his aim. The creature is too quick for him, and dives almost without making a bubble. Of course once in the pool it is seen no more.

Many tribes of Indians hunt the muskrat both for its flesh and skin. They have peculiar modes of capturing it, of one of which the hunter-naturalist gave an account. A winter which he had spent at a fort in the neighbourhood of a settlement of Ojibways gave him an opportunity of witnessing this sport in perfection.

Chapter Ten.A Rat-Hunt.“Chingawa,” began he, “a Chippeway or Ojibway Indian, better-known at the fort as ‘Old Foxey,’ was a noted hunter of his tribe. I had grown to be a favourite with him. My well-known passion for the chase was a sort of masonic link between us; and our friendship was farther augmented by the present of an old knife for which I had no farther use. The knife was not worth twopence of sterling money, but it made ‘Old Foxey’ my best friend; and all his ‘hunter-craft’—the gatherings of about sixty winters—became mine.“I had not yet been inducted into the mystery of ‘rat-catching,’ but the season for that ‘noble’ sport at length arrived, and the Indian hunter invited me to join him in a muskrat hunt.“Taking our ‘traps’ on our shoulders, we set out for the place where the game was to be found. This was a chain of small lakes or ponds that ran through a marshy valley, some ten or twelve miles distant from the fort.“The traps, or implements, consisted of an ice-chisel with a handle some five feet in length, a small pickaxe, an iron-pointed spear barbed only on one side, with a long straight shaft, and a light pole about a dozen feet in length, quite straight and supple.“We had provided ourselves with a small stock of eatables as well as materials for kindling a fire—but no Indian is ever without these. We had also carried our blankets along with us, as we designed to make a night of it by the lakes.“After trudging for several hours through the silent winter forests, and crossing both lakes and rivers upon the ice, we reached the great marsh. Of course, this, as well as the lakes, was frozen over with thick ice; we could have traversed it with a loaded waggon and horses without danger of breaking through.“We soon came to some dome-shaped heaps rising above the level of the ice. They were of mud, bound together with grass and flags, and were hardened by the frost. Within each of these rounded heaps, Old Foxey knew there was at least half a dozen muskrats—perhaps three times that number—lying snug and warm and huddled together.“Since there appeared no hole or entrance, the question was how to get at the animals inside. Simply by digging until the inside should be laid open, thought I. This of itself would be no slight labour. The roof and sides, as my companion informed me, were three feet in thickness; and the tough mud was frozen to the hardness and consistency of a fire-brick. But after getting through this shell, where should we find the inmates? Why, most likely, we should not find them at all after all this labour. So said my companion, telling me at the same time that there were subterranean, or rather subaqueous, passages, by which the muskrats would be certain to make off under the ice long before he had penetrated near them.“I was quite puzzled to know how we should proceed. Not so Old Foxey. He well knew what he was about, and pitching his traps down by one of the ‘houses,’ commenced operations.“The one he had selected stood out in the lake, some distance from its edge. It was built entirely upon the ice; and, as the hunter well knew, there was a hole in its floor by which the animals could get into the water at will. How then was he to prevent them from escaping by the hole, while we removed the covering or roof? This was what puzzled me, and I watched his movements with interest.“Instead of digging into the house, he commenced cutting a hole in the ice with his ice-chisel about two feet from the edge of the mud. That being accomplished, he cut another, and another, until four holes were pierced forming the corners of a square, and embracing the house of the muskrat within.“Leaving this house, he then proceeded to pierce a similar set of holes around another that also stood out on the open lake. After that he went to a third one, and this and then a fourth were prepared in a similar manner.“He now returned to the first, this time taking care to tread lightly upon the ice and make as little stir as possible. Having arrived there, he took out from his bag a square net made of twisted deer-thongs, and not much, bigger than a blanket. This in a most ingenious manner he passed under the ice, until its four corners appeared opposite the four holes; where, drawing them through, he made all last and ‘taut’ by a line stretching from one corner to the other.“His manner of passing the net under the ice I have pronounced ingenious. It was accomplished by reeving a line from hole to hole by means of the long slender pole already mentioned. The pole, inserted through one of the holes, conducted the line, and was itself conducted by means of two forked sticks that guided it, and pushed it along to the other holes. The line being attached to the comers of the net made it an easy matter to draw the latter into its position.“All the details of this curious operation were performed with a noiseless adroitness which showed ‘Old Foxey’ was no novice at ‘rat-catching.’“The net being now quite taut along the lower surface of the ice, must of course completely cover the hole in the ‘floor.’ It followed, therefore, that if the muskrats were ‘at home,’ they were now ‘in the trap.’“My companion assured me that they would be found inside. The reason why he had not used the net on first cutting the holes, was to give any member of the family that had been frightened out, a chance of returning; and this he knew they would certainly do, as these creatures cannot remain very long under the water.“He soon satisfied me of the truth of his statement. In a few minutes, by means of the ice-chisel and pickaxe, we had pierced the crust of the dome; and there, apparently half asleep,—because dazzled and blinded by the sudden influx of light—were no less than eight full-grown musquashes!“Almost before I could count them, Old Foxey had transfixed the whole party, one after the other, with his long spear.“We now proceeded to another of the houses, at which the holes had been cut. There my companion went through a similar series of operations; and was rewarded by a capture of six more ‘rats.’“In the third of the houses only three were found.“On opening a fourth, a singular scene met our eyes. There was but, one muskrat alive, and that one seemed to be nearly famished to death. Its body was wasted to mere ‘skin and bone;’ and the animal had evidently been a long time without food. Beside it lay the naked skeletons of several small animals that I at once saw were those of the muskrat. A glance at the bottom of the nest explained all. The hole, which in the other houses had passed through the ice, and which we found quite open, in this one was frozen up. The animals had neglected keeping it open, until the ice had got too thick for them to break through; and then, impelled by the cravings of hunger, they had preyed upon each other, until only one, the strongest, survived!“I found upon counting the skeletons that no less than eleven had tenanted this ice-bound prison.“The Indian assured me that in seasons of very severe frost such an occurrence is not rare. At such times the ice forms so rapidly, that the animals—perhaps not having occasion to go out for some hours—find themselves frozen in; and are compelled to perish of hunger, or devour one another!“It was now near night—for we had not reached the lake until late in the day—and my companion proposed that we should leave farther operations until the following morning. Of course I assented to the proposal, and we betook ourselves to some pine-trees that grew on a high bank near the shore, where we had determined to pass the night.“There we kindled a roaring fire of pine-knots; but we had grown very hungry, and I soon found that of the provisions I had brought, and upon which I had already dined, there remained but a scanty fragment for supper. This did not trouble my companion, who skinned several of the ‘rats,’ gave them a slight warming over the fire, and then ate them up with as muchgoûtas if they had been partridges. I was hungry, but not hungry enough for that; so I sat watching him with some astonishment, and not without a slight feeling of disgust.“It was a beautiful moonlight night, one of the clearest I ever remember. There was a little snow upon the ground, just enough to cover it; and up against the white sides of the hills could be traced the pyramidal outlines of the pines, with their regular gradations of dark needle-clothed branches. They rose on all sides around the lake, looking like ships with furled sails and yards square-set.“I was in a reverie of admiration, when I was suddenly aroused by a confused noise, that resembled the howling and baying of hounds. I turned an inquiring look upon my companion.“‘Wolves!’ he replied, unconcernedly, chawing away at his ‘roast rat.’“The howling sounded nearer and nearer; and then there was a rattling among dead trees, and the quickly-repeated ‘crunch, crunch,’ as of the hoofs of some animal breaking through frozen snow. The next moment a deer dashed past in full run, and took to the ice. It was a large buck, of the ‘Caribou’ or reindeer species (Cervus tarandus), and I could see that he was smoking with heat, and almost run down.“He had hardly passed the spot when the howl again broke out in a continued strain, and a string of forms appeared from out the bushes. They were about a dozen in all; and they were going at full speed like a pack of hounds on the view. Their long muzzles, erect ears, and huge gaunt bodies, were outlined plainly against the snowy ground. I saw that they were wolves. They were white wolves, and of the largest species.“I had suddenly sprung to my feet, not with the intention of saving the deer, but of assisting in its capture; and for this purpose I seized the spear, and ran out. I heard my companion, as I thought, shouting some caution after me; but I was too intent upon the chase to pay any attention to what he said. I had at the moment a distinct perception of hunger, and an indistinct idea of roast venison for supper.“As I got down to the shore, I saw that the wolves had overtaken the deer, and dragged it down upon the ice. The poor creature made but poor running on the slippery track, sprawling at every bound; while the sharp claws of its pursuers enabled them to gallop over the ice like cats. The deer had, no doubt, mistaken the ice for water, which these creatures very often do, and thus become an easy prey to wolves, dogs, and hunters.“I ran on, thinking that I would soon scatter the wolves, and rob them of their prey. In a few moments I was in their midst, brandishing my spear; but to my surprise, as well as terror, I saw that, instead of relinquishing the deer, several of them still held on it, while the rest surrounded me with open jaws, and eyes glancing like coals of fire.“I shouted and fought desperately, thrusting the spear first at one and then at another; but the wolves only became more bold and fierce, incensed by the wounds I was inflicting.“For several minutes I continued this unexpected conflict. I was growing quite exhausted; and a sense of terrible dread coming over me, had almost paralysed me, when the tall, dark form of the Indian, hurrying over the ice, gave me new courage; and I plied the spear with all my remaining strength, until several of my assailants lay pierced upon the ice. The others, now seeing the proximity of my companion with his huge ice-chisel, and frighted, moreover, by his wild Indian yells, turned tail and scampered off.“Three of them, however, had uttered their last howl, and the deer was found close by—already half devoured!“There was enough left, however, to make a good supper for both myself and my companion; who, although, he had already picked the bones of three muskrats, made a fresh attack upon the venison, eating of it as though he had not tasted food for a fortnight.”

“Chingawa,” began he, “a Chippeway or Ojibway Indian, better-known at the fort as ‘Old Foxey,’ was a noted hunter of his tribe. I had grown to be a favourite with him. My well-known passion for the chase was a sort of masonic link between us; and our friendship was farther augmented by the present of an old knife for which I had no farther use. The knife was not worth twopence of sterling money, but it made ‘Old Foxey’ my best friend; and all his ‘hunter-craft’—the gatherings of about sixty winters—became mine.

“I had not yet been inducted into the mystery of ‘rat-catching,’ but the season for that ‘noble’ sport at length arrived, and the Indian hunter invited me to join him in a muskrat hunt.

“Taking our ‘traps’ on our shoulders, we set out for the place where the game was to be found. This was a chain of small lakes or ponds that ran through a marshy valley, some ten or twelve miles distant from the fort.

“The traps, or implements, consisted of an ice-chisel with a handle some five feet in length, a small pickaxe, an iron-pointed spear barbed only on one side, with a long straight shaft, and a light pole about a dozen feet in length, quite straight and supple.

“We had provided ourselves with a small stock of eatables as well as materials for kindling a fire—but no Indian is ever without these. We had also carried our blankets along with us, as we designed to make a night of it by the lakes.

“After trudging for several hours through the silent winter forests, and crossing both lakes and rivers upon the ice, we reached the great marsh. Of course, this, as well as the lakes, was frozen over with thick ice; we could have traversed it with a loaded waggon and horses without danger of breaking through.

“We soon came to some dome-shaped heaps rising above the level of the ice. They were of mud, bound together with grass and flags, and were hardened by the frost. Within each of these rounded heaps, Old Foxey knew there was at least half a dozen muskrats—perhaps three times that number—lying snug and warm and huddled together.

“Since there appeared no hole or entrance, the question was how to get at the animals inside. Simply by digging until the inside should be laid open, thought I. This of itself would be no slight labour. The roof and sides, as my companion informed me, were three feet in thickness; and the tough mud was frozen to the hardness and consistency of a fire-brick. But after getting through this shell, where should we find the inmates? Why, most likely, we should not find them at all after all this labour. So said my companion, telling me at the same time that there were subterranean, or rather subaqueous, passages, by which the muskrats would be certain to make off under the ice long before he had penetrated near them.

“I was quite puzzled to know how we should proceed. Not so Old Foxey. He well knew what he was about, and pitching his traps down by one of the ‘houses,’ commenced operations.

“The one he had selected stood out in the lake, some distance from its edge. It was built entirely upon the ice; and, as the hunter well knew, there was a hole in its floor by which the animals could get into the water at will. How then was he to prevent them from escaping by the hole, while we removed the covering or roof? This was what puzzled me, and I watched his movements with interest.

“Instead of digging into the house, he commenced cutting a hole in the ice with his ice-chisel about two feet from the edge of the mud. That being accomplished, he cut another, and another, until four holes were pierced forming the corners of a square, and embracing the house of the muskrat within.

“Leaving this house, he then proceeded to pierce a similar set of holes around another that also stood out on the open lake. After that he went to a third one, and this and then a fourth were prepared in a similar manner.

“He now returned to the first, this time taking care to tread lightly upon the ice and make as little stir as possible. Having arrived there, he took out from his bag a square net made of twisted deer-thongs, and not much, bigger than a blanket. This in a most ingenious manner he passed under the ice, until its four corners appeared opposite the four holes; where, drawing them through, he made all last and ‘taut’ by a line stretching from one corner to the other.

“His manner of passing the net under the ice I have pronounced ingenious. It was accomplished by reeving a line from hole to hole by means of the long slender pole already mentioned. The pole, inserted through one of the holes, conducted the line, and was itself conducted by means of two forked sticks that guided it, and pushed it along to the other holes. The line being attached to the comers of the net made it an easy matter to draw the latter into its position.

“All the details of this curious operation were performed with a noiseless adroitness which showed ‘Old Foxey’ was no novice at ‘rat-catching.’

“The net being now quite taut along the lower surface of the ice, must of course completely cover the hole in the ‘floor.’ It followed, therefore, that if the muskrats were ‘at home,’ they were now ‘in the trap.’

“My companion assured me that they would be found inside. The reason why he had not used the net on first cutting the holes, was to give any member of the family that had been frightened out, a chance of returning; and this he knew they would certainly do, as these creatures cannot remain very long under the water.

“He soon satisfied me of the truth of his statement. In a few minutes, by means of the ice-chisel and pickaxe, we had pierced the crust of the dome; and there, apparently half asleep,—because dazzled and blinded by the sudden influx of light—were no less than eight full-grown musquashes!

“Almost before I could count them, Old Foxey had transfixed the whole party, one after the other, with his long spear.

“We now proceeded to another of the houses, at which the holes had been cut. There my companion went through a similar series of operations; and was rewarded by a capture of six more ‘rats.’

“In the third of the houses only three were found.

“On opening a fourth, a singular scene met our eyes. There was but, one muskrat alive, and that one seemed to be nearly famished to death. Its body was wasted to mere ‘skin and bone;’ and the animal had evidently been a long time without food. Beside it lay the naked skeletons of several small animals that I at once saw were those of the muskrat. A glance at the bottom of the nest explained all. The hole, which in the other houses had passed through the ice, and which we found quite open, in this one was frozen up. The animals had neglected keeping it open, until the ice had got too thick for them to break through; and then, impelled by the cravings of hunger, they had preyed upon each other, until only one, the strongest, survived!

“I found upon counting the skeletons that no less than eleven had tenanted this ice-bound prison.

“The Indian assured me that in seasons of very severe frost such an occurrence is not rare. At such times the ice forms so rapidly, that the animals—perhaps not having occasion to go out for some hours—find themselves frozen in; and are compelled to perish of hunger, or devour one another!

“It was now near night—for we had not reached the lake until late in the day—and my companion proposed that we should leave farther operations until the following morning. Of course I assented to the proposal, and we betook ourselves to some pine-trees that grew on a high bank near the shore, where we had determined to pass the night.

“There we kindled a roaring fire of pine-knots; but we had grown very hungry, and I soon found that of the provisions I had brought, and upon which I had already dined, there remained but a scanty fragment for supper. This did not trouble my companion, who skinned several of the ‘rats,’ gave them a slight warming over the fire, and then ate them up with as muchgoûtas if they had been partridges. I was hungry, but not hungry enough for that; so I sat watching him with some astonishment, and not without a slight feeling of disgust.

“It was a beautiful moonlight night, one of the clearest I ever remember. There was a little snow upon the ground, just enough to cover it; and up against the white sides of the hills could be traced the pyramidal outlines of the pines, with their regular gradations of dark needle-clothed branches. They rose on all sides around the lake, looking like ships with furled sails and yards square-set.

“I was in a reverie of admiration, when I was suddenly aroused by a confused noise, that resembled the howling and baying of hounds. I turned an inquiring look upon my companion.

“‘Wolves!’ he replied, unconcernedly, chawing away at his ‘roast rat.’

“The howling sounded nearer and nearer; and then there was a rattling among dead trees, and the quickly-repeated ‘crunch, crunch,’ as of the hoofs of some animal breaking through frozen snow. The next moment a deer dashed past in full run, and took to the ice. It was a large buck, of the ‘Caribou’ or reindeer species (Cervus tarandus), and I could see that he was smoking with heat, and almost run down.

“He had hardly passed the spot when the howl again broke out in a continued strain, and a string of forms appeared from out the bushes. They were about a dozen in all; and they were going at full speed like a pack of hounds on the view. Their long muzzles, erect ears, and huge gaunt bodies, were outlined plainly against the snowy ground. I saw that they were wolves. They were white wolves, and of the largest species.

“I had suddenly sprung to my feet, not with the intention of saving the deer, but of assisting in its capture; and for this purpose I seized the spear, and ran out. I heard my companion, as I thought, shouting some caution after me; but I was too intent upon the chase to pay any attention to what he said. I had at the moment a distinct perception of hunger, and an indistinct idea of roast venison for supper.

“As I got down to the shore, I saw that the wolves had overtaken the deer, and dragged it down upon the ice. The poor creature made but poor running on the slippery track, sprawling at every bound; while the sharp claws of its pursuers enabled them to gallop over the ice like cats. The deer had, no doubt, mistaken the ice for water, which these creatures very often do, and thus become an easy prey to wolves, dogs, and hunters.

“I ran on, thinking that I would soon scatter the wolves, and rob them of their prey. In a few moments I was in their midst, brandishing my spear; but to my surprise, as well as terror, I saw that, instead of relinquishing the deer, several of them still held on it, while the rest surrounded me with open jaws, and eyes glancing like coals of fire.

“I shouted and fought desperately, thrusting the spear first at one and then at another; but the wolves only became more bold and fierce, incensed by the wounds I was inflicting.

“For several minutes I continued this unexpected conflict. I was growing quite exhausted; and a sense of terrible dread coming over me, had almost paralysed me, when the tall, dark form of the Indian, hurrying over the ice, gave me new courage; and I plied the spear with all my remaining strength, until several of my assailants lay pierced upon the ice. The others, now seeing the proximity of my companion with his huge ice-chisel, and frighted, moreover, by his wild Indian yells, turned tail and scampered off.

“Three of them, however, had uttered their last howl, and the deer was found close by—already half devoured!

“There was enough left, however, to make a good supper for both myself and my companion; who, although, he had already picked the bones of three muskrats, made a fresh attack upon the venison, eating of it as though he had not tasted food for a fortnight.”

Chapter Eleven.Musquitoes and their Antidote.Our next day’s journey brought us again into heavy timber—another creek bottom. The soil was rich and loamy, and the road we travelled was moist, and in some places very heavy for our waggon. Several times the latter got stalled in the mud, and then the whole party were obliged to dismount, and put their shoulders to the wheel. Our progress was marked by some noise and confusion, and the constant din made by Jake talking to his team, his loud sonorous “woha!” as they were obliged to halt, and the lively “gee-up—gee-up” as they moved on again—frighted any game long before we could come up with it. Of course we were compelled to keep by the waggon until we had made the passage of the miry flat.We were dreadfully annoyed by the mosquitoes, particularly the doctor, of whose blood they seemed to be especially fond! This is a curious fact in relation to the mosquitoes—of two persons sleeping in the same apartment, one will sometimes be bitten or rather punctured, and half bled to death, while the other remains untouched! Is it the quality of the blood or the thickness of the skin that guides to this preference?This point was discussed amongst us—the doctor taking the view that it was always a sign of good blood when one was more than usually subject to the attack of mosquitoes. He was himself an apt illustration of the fact. This statement of course produced a general laugh, and some remarks at the doctor’s expense, on the part of the opponents of his theory. Strange to say, old Ike was fiercely assailed by the little blood-suckers. This seemed to be an argument against the doctor’s theory, for in the tough skinny carcass of the old trapper, the blood could neither have been very plenteous nor delicate.Most of us smoked as we rode along, hoping by that means to drive off the ferocious swarm, but although tobacco smoke is disagreeable to the mosquitoes, they cannot be wholly got rid of by a pipe or cigar. Could one keep a constantnimbusof the smoke around his face it might be effective, but not otherwise. A sufficient quantity of tobacco smoke will kill mosquitoes outright, as I have more than once proved by a thorough fumigation of my sleeping apartment.These insects are not peculiar, as sometimes supposed, to the inter-tropical regions of America. They are found in great numbers even to the shores of the Arctic Sea, and as fierce and bloodthirsty as anywhere else—of course only in the summer season, when, as before remarked, the thermometer in these Northern latitudes mounts to a high figure. Their haunts are the banks of rivers, and particularly those of a stagnant and muddy character.There is another singular fact in regard to them. Upon the banks of some of the South-American rivers, life is almost unendurable on account of this pest—the “plaga de mosquitos,” as the Spaniards term it—while upon other streams in the very same latitude musquitoes are unknown. These streams are what are termed “rios negros,” or black-water rivers—a peculiar class of rivers, to which many tributaries of the Amazon and Orinoco belong.Our English comrade, who had travelled all over South America, gave us this information as we rode along. He stated, that he had often considered it a great relief, a sort of escape from purgatory, while on his travels he parted from one of the yellow or white water streams, to enter one of the “rios negros.” Many Indian tribes settled upon the banks of the latter solely to get clear of the “plaga de mosquitos.” The Indians who reside in the mosquito districts habitually paint their bodies, and smear themselves with oil, as a protection against their bites; and it is a common thing among the natives, when speaking of any place, to inquire into the “character” of its mosquitoes!On some tributaries of the Amazon the mosquitoes are really a life torment, and the wretched creatures who inhabit such places frequently bury their bodies in the sand in order to get sleep! Even the pigments with which they anoint themselves are pierced by the poisoned bills of their tormentors.Besançon and the Kentuckian both denied that any species of ointment would serve as a protection against mosquitoes. The doctor joined them in their denial. They asserted that they had tried everything that could be thought of—camphor, ether, hartshorn, spirits of turpentine, etcetera.Some of us were of a different opinion, and Ike settled the point soon after in favour of the dissentients by a practical illustration. The old trapper, as before stated, was a victim to the fiercest attacks, as was manifested by the slapping which he repeatedly administered to his cheeks, and an almost constant muttering of bitter imprecations. He knew a remedy he said in a “sartint weed,” if he could only “lay his claws upon it.” We noticed that from time to time as he rode along his eyes swept the ground in every direction. At length a joyous exclamation told that he had discovered the “weed.”“Thur’s the darned thing at last,” muttered he, as he flung himself to the ground, and commenced gathering the stalks of a small herb that grew plentifully about. It was an annual, with leaves very much of the size and shape of young garden box-wood, but of a much brighter green. Of course we all knew well enough what it was, for there is not a village “common” in the Western United States that is not covered with it. It was the well-known “penny-royal” (Hedcoma pulegioides), not the English herb of that name, which is a species ofmentha.Redwood also leaped from his horse, and set to plucking the “weed.” He too, from experience, knew its virtues.We all drew bridle, watching the guides. Both operated in a similar manner. Having collected a handful of the tenderest tops, they rubbed them violently between their palms—rough and good for such service—and then passed the latter over the exposed skin of their necks and laces. Ike took two small bunches of the stalks, crushed them under his heel, and then stuck them beneath his cap, so that the ends hung down over his cheeks. This being done, he and his comrade mounted their horses and rode on.Some of us—the hunter-naturalist, the Englishman, and myself—dismounted and imitated Ike—of course under a volley of laughter and “pooh-poohs” from Besançon, the Kentuckian, and the doctor; but we had not ridden two hundred paces until the joke changed sides. From that moment not a mosquito approached us, while our three friends were bitten as badly as ever.In the end they were convinced, and the torment of the mosquitoes proving stronger than the fear of our ridicule, all three sprang out of their saddles, and made a rush at the next bed of penny-royal that came in sight.Whether it is the highly aromatic odour of the penny-royal that keeps off these insects, or whether the juice when touched by them burns the delicate nerves of their feet I am unable to say. Certain it is they will not alight upon the skin which has been plentifully anointed with it. I have tried the same experiment often since that time with a similar result, and in fact have never since travelled through a mosquito country without a provision of the “essence of penny-royal.” This is better than the herb itself, and can be obtained from any apothecary. A single drop or two spilled in the palm of the hand is sufficient to rub over all the parts exposed, and will often ensure sleep, where otherwise such a thing would be impossible. I have often lain with my face so smeared, and listened to the sharp hum of the mosquito as it approached, fancying that the next moment I should feel its tiny touch, as it settled down upon my cheek, or brow. As soon, however, as it came within the influence of the penny-royal I could hear it suddenly tack round and wing its way off again, until its disagreeable “music” was no longer heard.The only drawback in the use of the penny-royal lies in the burning sensation which the fluid produces upon the skin; and this in a climate where the thermometer is pointing to 90 degrees is no slight disqualification of the remedy. The use of it is sometimes little better than “Hobbson’s choice.”The application of it on the occasion mentioned restored the spirits of our party, which had been somewhat kept under by the continuous attacks of the mosquitoes, and a lively little incident that occurred soon after, viz. the hunt and capture of a raccoon, made us all quite merry.Cooney, though a night prowler, is sometimes abroad during the day, but especially in situations where the timber is high, and the woods dark and gloomy. On the march we had come so suddenly upon this one, that he had not time to strike out for his own tree, where he would soon have hidden from us in its deep cavity. He had been too busy with his own affairs—the nest of a wild turkey upon the ground, under some brush and leaves, the broken eggs in which told of the delicious meal he had made. Taken by surprise—for the guides had ridden nearly on top of him—he galloped up the nearest tree, which fortunately contained neither fork nor cavity in which he could shelter himself; and a well-directed shot from Redwood’s rifle brought him with a heavy “thump” back to the ground again.We were all stirred up a little by this incident; in fact, the unusual absence of game rendered ever so trifling an occurrence an “event” with us. No one, however, was so pleased as the black waggoner Jake, whose eyes fairly danced in his head at the sight of a “coon.” The “coon” to Jake was well-known game—natural and legitimate—and Jake preferred “roast coon” to fried bacon at any time. Jake knew that none of us would care to eat of his coonship. He was therefore sure of his supper; and the “varmint” was carefully deposited in the corner of the waggon.Jake did not have it all to himself. The trappers liked fresh meat too, even “coon-meat;” and of course claimed their share. None of the rest of the party had any relish for such a fox-like carcass.After supper, cooney was honoured with a description, and for many of the facts of his history we are indebted to Jake himself.

Our next day’s journey brought us again into heavy timber—another creek bottom. The soil was rich and loamy, and the road we travelled was moist, and in some places very heavy for our waggon. Several times the latter got stalled in the mud, and then the whole party were obliged to dismount, and put their shoulders to the wheel. Our progress was marked by some noise and confusion, and the constant din made by Jake talking to his team, his loud sonorous “woha!” as they were obliged to halt, and the lively “gee-up—gee-up” as they moved on again—frighted any game long before we could come up with it. Of course we were compelled to keep by the waggon until we had made the passage of the miry flat.

We were dreadfully annoyed by the mosquitoes, particularly the doctor, of whose blood they seemed to be especially fond! This is a curious fact in relation to the mosquitoes—of two persons sleeping in the same apartment, one will sometimes be bitten or rather punctured, and half bled to death, while the other remains untouched! Is it the quality of the blood or the thickness of the skin that guides to this preference?

This point was discussed amongst us—the doctor taking the view that it was always a sign of good blood when one was more than usually subject to the attack of mosquitoes. He was himself an apt illustration of the fact. This statement of course produced a general laugh, and some remarks at the doctor’s expense, on the part of the opponents of his theory. Strange to say, old Ike was fiercely assailed by the little blood-suckers. This seemed to be an argument against the doctor’s theory, for in the tough skinny carcass of the old trapper, the blood could neither have been very plenteous nor delicate.

Most of us smoked as we rode along, hoping by that means to drive off the ferocious swarm, but although tobacco smoke is disagreeable to the mosquitoes, they cannot be wholly got rid of by a pipe or cigar. Could one keep a constantnimbusof the smoke around his face it might be effective, but not otherwise. A sufficient quantity of tobacco smoke will kill mosquitoes outright, as I have more than once proved by a thorough fumigation of my sleeping apartment.

These insects are not peculiar, as sometimes supposed, to the inter-tropical regions of America. They are found in great numbers even to the shores of the Arctic Sea, and as fierce and bloodthirsty as anywhere else—of course only in the summer season, when, as before remarked, the thermometer in these Northern latitudes mounts to a high figure. Their haunts are the banks of rivers, and particularly those of a stagnant and muddy character.

There is another singular fact in regard to them. Upon the banks of some of the South-American rivers, life is almost unendurable on account of this pest—the “plaga de mosquitos,” as the Spaniards term it—while upon other streams in the very same latitude musquitoes are unknown. These streams are what are termed “rios negros,” or black-water rivers—a peculiar class of rivers, to which many tributaries of the Amazon and Orinoco belong.

Our English comrade, who had travelled all over South America, gave us this information as we rode along. He stated, that he had often considered it a great relief, a sort of escape from purgatory, while on his travels he parted from one of the yellow or white water streams, to enter one of the “rios negros.” Many Indian tribes settled upon the banks of the latter solely to get clear of the “plaga de mosquitos.” The Indians who reside in the mosquito districts habitually paint their bodies, and smear themselves with oil, as a protection against their bites; and it is a common thing among the natives, when speaking of any place, to inquire into the “character” of its mosquitoes!

On some tributaries of the Amazon the mosquitoes are really a life torment, and the wretched creatures who inhabit such places frequently bury their bodies in the sand in order to get sleep! Even the pigments with which they anoint themselves are pierced by the poisoned bills of their tormentors.

Besançon and the Kentuckian both denied that any species of ointment would serve as a protection against mosquitoes. The doctor joined them in their denial. They asserted that they had tried everything that could be thought of—camphor, ether, hartshorn, spirits of turpentine, etcetera.

Some of us were of a different opinion, and Ike settled the point soon after in favour of the dissentients by a practical illustration. The old trapper, as before stated, was a victim to the fiercest attacks, as was manifested by the slapping which he repeatedly administered to his cheeks, and an almost constant muttering of bitter imprecations. He knew a remedy he said in a “sartint weed,” if he could only “lay his claws upon it.” We noticed that from time to time as he rode along his eyes swept the ground in every direction. At length a joyous exclamation told that he had discovered the “weed.”

“Thur’s the darned thing at last,” muttered he, as he flung himself to the ground, and commenced gathering the stalks of a small herb that grew plentifully about. It was an annual, with leaves very much of the size and shape of young garden box-wood, but of a much brighter green. Of course we all knew well enough what it was, for there is not a village “common” in the Western United States that is not covered with it. It was the well-known “penny-royal” (Hedcoma pulegioides), not the English herb of that name, which is a species ofmentha.

Redwood also leaped from his horse, and set to plucking the “weed.” He too, from experience, knew its virtues.

We all drew bridle, watching the guides. Both operated in a similar manner. Having collected a handful of the tenderest tops, they rubbed them violently between their palms—rough and good for such service—and then passed the latter over the exposed skin of their necks and laces. Ike took two small bunches of the stalks, crushed them under his heel, and then stuck them beneath his cap, so that the ends hung down over his cheeks. This being done, he and his comrade mounted their horses and rode on.

Some of us—the hunter-naturalist, the Englishman, and myself—dismounted and imitated Ike—of course under a volley of laughter and “pooh-poohs” from Besançon, the Kentuckian, and the doctor; but we had not ridden two hundred paces until the joke changed sides. From that moment not a mosquito approached us, while our three friends were bitten as badly as ever.

In the end they were convinced, and the torment of the mosquitoes proving stronger than the fear of our ridicule, all three sprang out of their saddles, and made a rush at the next bed of penny-royal that came in sight.

Whether it is the highly aromatic odour of the penny-royal that keeps off these insects, or whether the juice when touched by them burns the delicate nerves of their feet I am unable to say. Certain it is they will not alight upon the skin which has been plentifully anointed with it. I have tried the same experiment often since that time with a similar result, and in fact have never since travelled through a mosquito country without a provision of the “essence of penny-royal.” This is better than the herb itself, and can be obtained from any apothecary. A single drop or two spilled in the palm of the hand is sufficient to rub over all the parts exposed, and will often ensure sleep, where otherwise such a thing would be impossible. I have often lain with my face so smeared, and listened to the sharp hum of the mosquito as it approached, fancying that the next moment I should feel its tiny touch, as it settled down upon my cheek, or brow. As soon, however, as it came within the influence of the penny-royal I could hear it suddenly tack round and wing its way off again, until its disagreeable “music” was no longer heard.

The only drawback in the use of the penny-royal lies in the burning sensation which the fluid produces upon the skin; and this in a climate where the thermometer is pointing to 90 degrees is no slight disqualification of the remedy. The use of it is sometimes little better than “Hobbson’s choice.”

The application of it on the occasion mentioned restored the spirits of our party, which had been somewhat kept under by the continuous attacks of the mosquitoes, and a lively little incident that occurred soon after, viz. the hunt and capture of a raccoon, made us all quite merry.

Cooney, though a night prowler, is sometimes abroad during the day, but especially in situations where the timber is high, and the woods dark and gloomy. On the march we had come so suddenly upon this one, that he had not time to strike out for his own tree, where he would soon have hidden from us in its deep cavity. He had been too busy with his own affairs—the nest of a wild turkey upon the ground, under some brush and leaves, the broken eggs in which told of the delicious meal he had made. Taken by surprise—for the guides had ridden nearly on top of him—he galloped up the nearest tree, which fortunately contained neither fork nor cavity in which he could shelter himself; and a well-directed shot from Redwood’s rifle brought him with a heavy “thump” back to the ground again.

We were all stirred up a little by this incident; in fact, the unusual absence of game rendered ever so trifling an occurrence an “event” with us. No one, however, was so pleased as the black waggoner Jake, whose eyes fairly danced in his head at the sight of a “coon.” The “coon” to Jake was well-known game—natural and legitimate—and Jake preferred “roast coon” to fried bacon at any time. Jake knew that none of us would care to eat of his coonship. He was therefore sure of his supper; and the “varmint” was carefully deposited in the corner of the waggon.

Jake did not have it all to himself. The trappers liked fresh meat too, even “coon-meat;” and of course claimed their share. None of the rest of the party had any relish for such a fox-like carcass.

After supper, cooney was honoured with a description, and for many of the facts of his history we are indebted to Jake himself.

Chapter Twelve.The ’Coon, and his Habits.Foremost of all the wild creatures of America in point of being generally known is the raccoon (Procyon lotor). None has a wider geographical distribution, as its “range” embraces the entire Continent, from the Polar Sea to Terra del Fuego. Some naturalists have denied that it is found in South America. This denial is founded on the fact, that neither Ulloa nor Molina have spoken of it. But how many other animals have these crude naturalists omitted to describe? We may safely assert that the raccoon exists in South America, as well in the tropical forests of Guyana as in the colder regions of the Table Land—everywhere that there exists tree-timber. In most parts where the Spanish language is spoken, it is known as the “zorro negro,” or black fox. Indeed, there are two species in South America, the common one (Procyon lotor), and the crab-eater (Procyon cancrivorus).In North America it is one of the most common of wild animals. In all parts you may meet with it. In the hot lowlands of Louisiana—in the tropical “chapparals” of Mexico—in the snowy regions of Canada—and in the vernal valleys of California. Unlike the deer, the wild cat, and the wolverine, it is never mistaken for any other animal, nor is any animal taken for it. It is as well-known in America as the red fox is in England, and with a somewhat similar reputation.Although there is a variety in colour and size, there is no ambiguity about species or genus. Wherever the English language is spoken, it has but one name, the “raccoon.” In America, every man, woman and child knows the “sly ole ’coon.”This animal has been placed by naturalists in the familyUrsidae, genusProcyon. Linnaeus made it abear, and classed it withUrsus. It has, in our opinion, but little in common with the bear, and far more resembles the fox. Hence the Spanish name of “zorro negro” (black fox).A writer quaintly describes it thus:—“The limbs of a bear, the body of a badger, the head of a fox, the nose of a dog, the tail of a cat, and sharp claws, by which it climbs trees like a monkey.” We cannot admit the similarity of its tail to that of a cat. The tail of the raccoon is full and bushy, which is not true of the cat’s tail. There is only a similarity in the annulated or banded appearance noticed in the tails of some cats, which in that of the raccoon is a marked characteristic.The raccoon, to speak in round terms, is about the size of an English fox, but somewhat thicker and “bunchier” in the body. Its legs are short in proportion, and as it isplantigradein the hind-feet, it stands and runs low, and cat-like. The muzzle is extremely pointed and slender, adapted to its habit of prying into every chink and corner, in search of spiders, beetles, and other creatures.The general colour of the raccoon is dark brown (nearly black) on the upper part of the body, mixed with iron-grey. Underneath it is of a lighter hue. There is, here and there, a little fawn colour intermixed. A broad black band runs across the eyes and unites under the throat. This band is surrounded and sharply defined with a margin of greyish-white, which gives a unique expression to the “countenance” of the “’coon.”One of the chief beauties of this animal is its tail, which is characteristic in its markings. It exhibits twelve annulations or ring-bands, six black and six greyish-white, in regular alternation. The tip is black, and the tail itself is very full or “bushy.” When the ’coon-skin is made into a cap—which it often is among hunters and frontiers-men—the tail is left to hang as a drooping plume; and such a head-dress is far from ungraceful. In some “settlements” the ’coon-skin cap is quite the fashion among the young “backwoodsmen.”The raccoon is an animal of an extremely amorous disposition; but there is a fact connected with the sex of this creature which is curious: the female is larger than the male. Not only larger, but in every respect a finer-looking animal. The hair, long on both, is more full and glossy upon the female, its tints deeper and more beautiful. This is contrary to the general order of nature. By those unacquainted with this fact, the female is mistaken for the male, andvice versa, as in the case of hawks and eagles.The fur of the raccoon has long been an article of commerce, as it is used in making beaver hats; but as these have given place in most countries to the silk article, the ’coon-skin now commands but a small price.The raccoon is a tree-climber of the first quality. It climbs with its sharp-curved claws, not by hugging, as is the case with the bear tribe. Its lair, or place of retreat, is in a tree—some hollow, with its entrance high up. Such trees are common in the great primeval forests of America. In this tree-cave it has its nest, where the female brings forth three, four, five, or six “cubs” at a birth. This takes place in early spring—usually the first week in April.The raccoon is a creature of the woods. On the prairies and in treeless regions it is not known. It prefers heavy “timber,” where there are huge logs and hollow trees in plenty. It requires the neighbourhood of water, and in connection with this may be mentioned a curious habit it has, that of plunging all its food into the water before devouring it. It will be remembered that the otter has a similar habit. It is from this peculiarity that the raccoon derives its specific name ofLotor(washer). It does not always moisten its morsel thus, but pretty generally. It is fond, moreover, of frequent ablutions, and no animal is more clean and tidy in its habits.The raccoon is almost omnivorous. It eats poultry or wild fowls. It devours frogs, lizards, lame, and insects without distinction. It is fond of sweets, and is very destructive to the sugar-cane and Indian corn of the planter. When the ear of the maize is young, or, as it is termed, “in the milk,” it is very sweet. Then the raccoon loves to prey upon it. Whole troops at night visit the corn-fields and commit extensive havoc. These mischievous habits make the creature many enemies, and in fact it has but few friends. It kills hares, rabbits, and squirrels when it can catch them, and will rob a bird’s nest in the most ruthless manner. It is particularly fond of shell-fish; and theunios, with which many of the fresh-water lakes and rivers of America abound, form part of its food. These it opens as adroitly with its claws as an oyster-man could with his knife. It is partial to the “soft-shell” crabs and small tortoises common in the American waters.Jake told us of a trick which the ’coon puts in practice for catching the small turtles of the creek. We were not inclined to give credence to the story, but Jake almost swore to it. It is certainly curious if true, but it smacks very much of Buffon. It may be remarked, however, that the knowledge which the plantation negroes have of the habits of the raccoon surpasses that of any mere naturalist. Jake boldly declares that the ’coon fishes for turtles! that it squats upon the bank of the stream, allowing its bushy tail to hang over into the water; that the turtles swimming about in search of food or amusement, spies the hairy appendage and lays hold of it; and that the ’coon, feeling the nibble, suddenly draws the testaceous swimmer upon dry land, and then “cleans out de shell” at his leisure!The ’coon is often domesticated in America. It is harmless as a dog or cat except when crossed by children, when it will snarl, snap, and bite like the most crabbed cur. It is troublesome, however, where poultry is kept, and this prevents its being much of a favourite. Indeed, it is not one, for it is hunted everywhere, and killed—wherever this can be done—on sight.There is a curious connection between the negro and the raccoon. It is not a tie of sympathy, but a kind of antagonism. The ’coon, as already observed, is the negro’s legitimate game. ’Coon-hunting is peculiarly a negro sport. The negro is the ’coon’s mortal enemy. He kills the ’coon when and wherever he can, and cats it too. He loves its “meat,” which is pork-tasted, and in young ’coons palatable enough, but in old ones rather rank. This, however, our “darkie” friend does not much mind, particularly if his master be a “stingy old boss,” and keeps him on rice instead of meat rations. The negro, moreover, makes an odd “bit” (twelve and a half cents) by the skin, which he disposes of to the neighbouring “storekeeper.”The ’coon-hunt is a “nocturnal” sport, and therefore does not interfere with the negro’s regular labour. By right the night belongs to him, and he may then dispose of his time as he pleases, which he often does in this very way.The negro is not, allowed to carry fire-arms, and for this reason the squirrel may perch upon a high limb, jerk its tail about and defy him; the hare may run swiftly away, and the wild turkey may tantalise him with its incessant “gobbling.” But the ’coon can be killed without fire-arms. The ’coon can be overtaken and “treed.” The negro is not denied the use of an axe, and no man knows better how to handle it than he. The ’coon, therefore, is his natural game, and much sport does he have in its pursuit. Nearly the same may be said of the opossum (Didelphis Virginiana); but the “’possum” is more rare, and it is not our intention now to describe that very curious creature. From both ’coon and ’possum does the poor negro derive infinite sport—many a sweet excitement that cheers his long winter nights, and chequers with brighter spots the dull and darksome monotony of his slave-life. I have often thought what a pity it would be if the ’coon and the opossum should be extirpated before slavery itself became extinct. I had often shared in this peculiar sport of the negro, and joined in a real ’coon-chase, but the most exciting of all was the first in which I had been engaged, and I proffered my comrades an account of it.

Foremost of all the wild creatures of America in point of being generally known is the raccoon (Procyon lotor). None has a wider geographical distribution, as its “range” embraces the entire Continent, from the Polar Sea to Terra del Fuego. Some naturalists have denied that it is found in South America. This denial is founded on the fact, that neither Ulloa nor Molina have spoken of it. But how many other animals have these crude naturalists omitted to describe? We may safely assert that the raccoon exists in South America, as well in the tropical forests of Guyana as in the colder regions of the Table Land—everywhere that there exists tree-timber. In most parts where the Spanish language is spoken, it is known as the “zorro negro,” or black fox. Indeed, there are two species in South America, the common one (Procyon lotor), and the crab-eater (Procyon cancrivorus).

In North America it is one of the most common of wild animals. In all parts you may meet with it. In the hot lowlands of Louisiana—in the tropical “chapparals” of Mexico—in the snowy regions of Canada—and in the vernal valleys of California. Unlike the deer, the wild cat, and the wolverine, it is never mistaken for any other animal, nor is any animal taken for it. It is as well-known in America as the red fox is in England, and with a somewhat similar reputation.

Although there is a variety in colour and size, there is no ambiguity about species or genus. Wherever the English language is spoken, it has but one name, the “raccoon.” In America, every man, woman and child knows the “sly ole ’coon.”

This animal has been placed by naturalists in the familyUrsidae, genusProcyon. Linnaeus made it abear, and classed it withUrsus. It has, in our opinion, but little in common with the bear, and far more resembles the fox. Hence the Spanish name of “zorro negro” (black fox).

A writer quaintly describes it thus:—“The limbs of a bear, the body of a badger, the head of a fox, the nose of a dog, the tail of a cat, and sharp claws, by which it climbs trees like a monkey.” We cannot admit the similarity of its tail to that of a cat. The tail of the raccoon is full and bushy, which is not true of the cat’s tail. There is only a similarity in the annulated or banded appearance noticed in the tails of some cats, which in that of the raccoon is a marked characteristic.

The raccoon, to speak in round terms, is about the size of an English fox, but somewhat thicker and “bunchier” in the body. Its legs are short in proportion, and as it isplantigradein the hind-feet, it stands and runs low, and cat-like. The muzzle is extremely pointed and slender, adapted to its habit of prying into every chink and corner, in search of spiders, beetles, and other creatures.

The general colour of the raccoon is dark brown (nearly black) on the upper part of the body, mixed with iron-grey. Underneath it is of a lighter hue. There is, here and there, a little fawn colour intermixed. A broad black band runs across the eyes and unites under the throat. This band is surrounded and sharply defined with a margin of greyish-white, which gives a unique expression to the “countenance” of the “’coon.”

One of the chief beauties of this animal is its tail, which is characteristic in its markings. It exhibits twelve annulations or ring-bands, six black and six greyish-white, in regular alternation. The tip is black, and the tail itself is very full or “bushy.” When the ’coon-skin is made into a cap—which it often is among hunters and frontiers-men—the tail is left to hang as a drooping plume; and such a head-dress is far from ungraceful. In some “settlements” the ’coon-skin cap is quite the fashion among the young “backwoodsmen.”

The raccoon is an animal of an extremely amorous disposition; but there is a fact connected with the sex of this creature which is curious: the female is larger than the male. Not only larger, but in every respect a finer-looking animal. The hair, long on both, is more full and glossy upon the female, its tints deeper and more beautiful. This is contrary to the general order of nature. By those unacquainted with this fact, the female is mistaken for the male, andvice versa, as in the case of hawks and eagles.

The fur of the raccoon has long been an article of commerce, as it is used in making beaver hats; but as these have given place in most countries to the silk article, the ’coon-skin now commands but a small price.

The raccoon is a tree-climber of the first quality. It climbs with its sharp-curved claws, not by hugging, as is the case with the bear tribe. Its lair, or place of retreat, is in a tree—some hollow, with its entrance high up. Such trees are common in the great primeval forests of America. In this tree-cave it has its nest, where the female brings forth three, four, five, or six “cubs” at a birth. This takes place in early spring—usually the first week in April.

The raccoon is a creature of the woods. On the prairies and in treeless regions it is not known. It prefers heavy “timber,” where there are huge logs and hollow trees in plenty. It requires the neighbourhood of water, and in connection with this may be mentioned a curious habit it has, that of plunging all its food into the water before devouring it. It will be remembered that the otter has a similar habit. It is from this peculiarity that the raccoon derives its specific name ofLotor(washer). It does not always moisten its morsel thus, but pretty generally. It is fond, moreover, of frequent ablutions, and no animal is more clean and tidy in its habits.

The raccoon is almost omnivorous. It eats poultry or wild fowls. It devours frogs, lizards, lame, and insects without distinction. It is fond of sweets, and is very destructive to the sugar-cane and Indian corn of the planter. When the ear of the maize is young, or, as it is termed, “in the milk,” it is very sweet. Then the raccoon loves to prey upon it. Whole troops at night visit the corn-fields and commit extensive havoc. These mischievous habits make the creature many enemies, and in fact it has but few friends. It kills hares, rabbits, and squirrels when it can catch them, and will rob a bird’s nest in the most ruthless manner. It is particularly fond of shell-fish; and theunios, with which many of the fresh-water lakes and rivers of America abound, form part of its food. These it opens as adroitly with its claws as an oyster-man could with his knife. It is partial to the “soft-shell” crabs and small tortoises common in the American waters.

Jake told us of a trick which the ’coon puts in practice for catching the small turtles of the creek. We were not inclined to give credence to the story, but Jake almost swore to it. It is certainly curious if true, but it smacks very much of Buffon. It may be remarked, however, that the knowledge which the plantation negroes have of the habits of the raccoon surpasses that of any mere naturalist. Jake boldly declares that the ’coon fishes for turtles! that it squats upon the bank of the stream, allowing its bushy tail to hang over into the water; that the turtles swimming about in search of food or amusement, spies the hairy appendage and lays hold of it; and that the ’coon, feeling the nibble, suddenly draws the testaceous swimmer upon dry land, and then “cleans out de shell” at his leisure!

The ’coon is often domesticated in America. It is harmless as a dog or cat except when crossed by children, when it will snarl, snap, and bite like the most crabbed cur. It is troublesome, however, where poultry is kept, and this prevents its being much of a favourite. Indeed, it is not one, for it is hunted everywhere, and killed—wherever this can be done—on sight.

There is a curious connection between the negro and the raccoon. It is not a tie of sympathy, but a kind of antagonism. The ’coon, as already observed, is the negro’s legitimate game. ’Coon-hunting is peculiarly a negro sport. The negro is the ’coon’s mortal enemy. He kills the ’coon when and wherever he can, and cats it too. He loves its “meat,” which is pork-tasted, and in young ’coons palatable enough, but in old ones rather rank. This, however, our “darkie” friend does not much mind, particularly if his master be a “stingy old boss,” and keeps him on rice instead of meat rations. The negro, moreover, makes an odd “bit” (twelve and a half cents) by the skin, which he disposes of to the neighbouring “storekeeper.”

The ’coon-hunt is a “nocturnal” sport, and therefore does not interfere with the negro’s regular labour. By right the night belongs to him, and he may then dispose of his time as he pleases, which he often does in this very way.

The negro is not, allowed to carry fire-arms, and for this reason the squirrel may perch upon a high limb, jerk its tail about and defy him; the hare may run swiftly away, and the wild turkey may tantalise him with its incessant “gobbling.” But the ’coon can be killed without fire-arms. The ’coon can be overtaken and “treed.” The negro is not denied the use of an axe, and no man knows better how to handle it than he. The ’coon, therefore, is his natural game, and much sport does he have in its pursuit. Nearly the same may be said of the opossum (Didelphis Virginiana); but the “’possum” is more rare, and it is not our intention now to describe that very curious creature. From both ’coon and ’possum does the poor negro derive infinite sport—many a sweet excitement that cheers his long winter nights, and chequers with brighter spots the dull and darksome monotony of his slave-life. I have often thought what a pity it would be if the ’coon and the opossum should be extirpated before slavery itself became extinct. I had often shared in this peculiar sport of the negro, and joined in a real ’coon-chase, but the most exciting of all was the first in which I had been engaged, and I proffered my comrades an account of it.

Chapter Thirteen.A ’Coon-Chase.“My ’coon-chase took place in Tennessee, where I was sojourning for some time upon a plantation. It was the first affair of the kind I had been present at, and I was somewhat curious as to the mode of carrying it on. My companion and inductor was a certain ‘Uncle Abe,’ a gentleman very much after the style and complexion of our own Jake here.“I need not tell you, gentlemen, that throughout the Western States every neighbourhood has its noted ’coon-hunter. He is usually a wary old ‘nigger,’ who knows all the tricks and dodges of the ’coon. He either owns a dog himself, or has trained one of his master’s, in that peculiar line. It is of little importance what breed the dog may be. I have known curs that were excellent ‘’coon-dogs.’ All that is wanted is, that he have a good nose, and that he be a good runner, and of sufficient bulk to be able to bully a ’coon when taken. This a very small dog cannot do, as the ’coon frequently makes a desperate fight before yielding. Mastiffs, terriers, and half-bred pointers make the best ‘’coon-dogs.’“Uncle Abe was the mighty hunter, the Nimrod of the neighbourhood in which I happened to be; and Uncle Abe’s dog—a stout terrier—was esteemed the ‘smartest ’coon-dog’ in a circle of twenty miles. In going out with Uncle Abe, therefore, I had full confidence that I should see sport.“On one side of the plantation was a heavily-timbered ‘bottom’, through which meandered a small stream, called, of course, a ‘creek.’ This bottom was a favouritehabitatof the ’coons, as there were large trees growing near the water, many of which were hollow either in their trunks or some of their huge limbs. Moreover, there were vast trellises of vines extending from tree to tree; some of them, as the fox and muscadine (Vitis Labrusca), yielding sweet grapes, of which the raccoons are very fond.“To this bottom, then, we directed our course, Abe acting as guide, and holding his dog, Pompo, in the leash Abe carried no other weapon than an axe, while I had armed myself with a double-barrel. Pompo knew as well as either of us the errand on which we were bent, as appeared from his flashing eyes and the impatient leaps which he now and then made to get free.“We had to cross a large corn-field, a full half-mile in breadth, before we reached the woods. Between this and the timber was a zigzag fence—the common ‘rail’ fence of the American farmer. For some distance beyond the fence the timber was small, but farther on was the creek ‘bottom,’ where the ’coons were more likely to make their dwelling-place.“We did not, however, proceed direct to the bottom. Abe knew better than that. The young corn was just then ‘in the milk,’ and the ’coon-hunter expected to find his game nearer the field. It was settled, therefore, that we should follow the line of the fence, in hopes that the dog would strike a fresh trail, leading either to or from the corn-field.“It was now night—two hours after sundown. The ’coon-chase, I have already said, is a nocturnal sport. The raccoon does range by day, but rarely, and only in dark and solitary woods. He often basks by day upon high limbs, or the broken tops, of trees. I have shot several of his tribe while asleep, or sunning themselves in such situations. Perhaps before they knew their great enemy man, they were less nocturnal in their activity. We had a fine moonlight; but so far as a view of the chase was concerned, that would benefit us but little. During the hunt there is not much to be seen of either dog or ’coon, as it is always a scramble through trees and underwood. The dog trusts altogether to his nose, and the hunter to his ears; for the latter has no other guide save the yelp or bark of his canine assistant. Nevertheless, moonlight, or a clear night, is indispensable; without one or the other, it would be impossible to follow through the woods. A view of a ’coon-chase is a luxury enjoyed only by the hats and owls.“Pompo was now let loose in the corn; while Abe and I walked quietly along the fence, keeping on different sides. Abe remained in the field for the purpose of handing over the dog, as the fence was high—a regular ‘ten rail, with stalks and riders.’ A ’coon could easily cross it, but not a dog, without help.“We had not gone more than a hundred yards, when a quick sharp yelp from Pompo announced that he had come suddenly upon something in the corn-field.“‘A varmint!’ cried Abe; and the next moment appeared the dog, running up full tilt among the maize plants and up to the fence. I could see some dark object before him, that passed over the rails with a sudden spring, and bounded into the timbers.“‘A varmint, massa!’ repeated Abe, as he lifted the dog over, and followed himself.“I knew that in Abe’s vocabulary—for that night at least—a ‘varmint’ meant a ’coon; and as we dashed through the brushwood, following the dog, I felt all the excitement of a ’coon-chase.“It was not a long one—I should think of about five minutes’ duration; at the end of which time the yelp of the dog which had hitherto guided us, changed into a regular and continuous harking. On hearing this, Abe quietly announced—“‘The varmint am treed.’“Our only thought now was to get to the tree as speedily as possible, but another thought entered our minds as we advanced; that was, what sort of a tree had the ’coon taken shelter in?“This was an important question, and its answer involved the success or failure of our hunt. If a very large tree, we might whistle for the ’coon. Abe knew this well, and as we passed on, expressed his doubts about the result.“The bark of Pompo sounded some hundred yards off, in the very heaviest of the bottom timber. It was not likely, therefore, that the ’coon had taken to a small tree, while there were large ones near at hand. Our only hope was that he had climbed one that was not ‘hollow.’ In that case we might still have a chance with the double-barrel and buck-shot. Abe had but little hope.“‘He hab reach him own tree, massa; an’ that am sartin to be a big un wi’ a hole near um top. Wagh! ’twar dat ar fence. But for de dratted fence ole Pomp nebber let um reach um own tree. Wagh!’“From this I learned that one point in the character of a good ’coon-dog was speed. The ’coon runs well for a few hundred yards. He rarely strays farther from his lair. If he can beat his pursuer for this distance he is safe, as his retreat is always in a hollow tree of great size. There is no way of getting at him there, except by felling the tree, and this the most zealous ’coon-hunter would not think of attempting. The labour of cutting down such a tree would be worth a dozen ’coons. A swift dog, therefore, will overtake the raccoon, and force him to the nearest tree—often a small one, where he is either shaken off or the tree cut down. Sometimes the hunter climbs after and forces him to leap out, so as to fall into the very jaws of the watchful dog below.“In Abe’s opinion Pompo would have ‘treed’ his ’coon before reaching, the bottom, had not the fence interfered, but now—“‘Told ye so, massa!’ muttered he, interrupting my thoughts. ‘Look dar! dar’s de tree—trunk thick as a haystack. Wagh!’“I looked in the direction indicated by my companion. I saw Pompo standing by the root of a very large tree, looking upward, shaking his tail, and barking at intervals. Before I had time to make any farther observations Abe’s voice again sounded in my ears.“‘Gollies! it am a buttonwood! Why, Pomp, ole fellur, you hab made a mistake—de varmint ain’t dar, ’Cooney nebber trees upon buttonwood—nebber—you oughter know better’n dat, ole fool!’“Abe’s speech drew my attention to the tree. I saw that it was the American sycamore (Platanus Occidentalis), familiarly known by the trivial name, ‘buttonwood,’ from the use to which its wood is sometimes put. But why should the ’coon not ‘tree’ upon it, as well as any other? I put the question to my companion.“‘’Cause, massa, its bark am slickery. De varmint nebber takes to ’im. He likes de oak, an’ de poplum, an’ de scaly-bark. Gosh! but he am dar!’ continued Abe, raising his voice, and looking outward—‘Look yonder, massa! He had climb by de great vine. Dat’s right, Pomp! you am right after all, and dis nigga’s a fool. Hee—up, ole dog! hee—up!’“Following the direction in which Abe pointed, my eyes rested on a huge parasite of the lliana kind, that, rising out of the ground at some distance, slanted upward and joined the sycamore near its top. This had no doubt been the ladder by which the ’coon had climbed.“This discovery, however, did not mend the matter as far as we were concerned. The ’coon had got into the buttonwood, fifty feet from the ground, where the tree had been broken off by the lightning or the wind, and where the mouth of a large cavity was distinctly visible by the light of the moon. The trunk was one of the largest, and it would have been sheer folly (so we concluded) to have attempted felling it.“We left the spot without farther ado, and took our way back to the corn-field.“The dog had now been silent for some time, and we were in hopes that another ‘varmint’ might have stolen into the corn.“Our hopes were not doomed to disappointment. Pompo had scarcely entered the field when a second ’coon was sprung, which, like the other, ran directly for the fence and the woods.“Pomp followed as fast as he could be flung over; and this ’coon was also ‘treed’ in a few minutes.“From the direction of the barking, we calculated that it must be near where the other had escaped us; but our astonishment equalled our chagrin, when upon arriving at the spot, we found that both the ‘varmints’ had taken to the same tree!“With some rather emphatic ejaculations we returned to the corn-field, and after a short while a third ’coon was raised, which, like the others, made of course for the timber.“Pomp ran upon his trail with an angry yelping, that soon changed into the well-known signal that he had treed the game.“We ran after through brush and brake, and soon came up with the dog. If our astonishment was great before, it was now beyond bounds. The identical buttonwood with its great parasite was before us, the dog barking at its foot! The third ’coon had taken shelter in its capacious cavity.“‘Wagh! massa!’ ejaculated Abe, in a voice of terror, ‘its de same varmint. It ain’t no ’coon, it’s de debil! For de lub o’ God, massa, let’s get away from here!’“Of course I followed his advice, as to get at the ’coons was out of the question.“We returned once more to the corn-field, but we found that we had at last cleared it of ’coons. It was still early, however, and I was determined not to give up the hunt until I had assisted in killing a ’coon. By Abe’s advice, therefore, we struck into the woods with the intention of making a circuit where the trees were small. Some ’coon might be prowling there in search of birds’ nests. So thought Abe.“He was right in his conjecture. A fourth was started, and off went Pompo after him. In a few minutes the quick constant bark echoed back. This time we were sure, from the direction, in a new tree.“It proved to be so, and such a small one that, on coming up, we saw the animal squatted upon the branches, not twenty feet from the ground.“We were now sure of him, as we thought; and I had raised my gun to fire; when all at once, as if guessing my intent, the ’coon sprang into another tree, and then ran down to the ground and off again, with Pompo veiling in his track.“Of course we expected that the dog would speedily tree him again, which after a few minutes he did, but this time in the heavy timber.“We hastened forward, guided by the barking. To the extreme of my astonishment, and I fancy to the very extreme of Abe’s terror, we again found ourselves at the foot of the buttonwood.“Abe’s wool stood on end. Superstition was the butt-end of his religion; and he not only protested, but I am satisfied that he believed, that all the four ’coons were one and the same individual, and that individual ‘de debil.’“Great ’coon-hunter as he was, he would now have gone home, if I had let him. But I had no thoughts of giving up the matter in that easy way. I was roused by the repeated disappointment. A new resolve had entered my mind. I was determined to get the ’coons out of the buttonwood, cost what it might. The tree must come down, if it should take us till morning to fell it.“With this determination I caught hold of Abe’s axe, and struck the first blow. To my surprise and delight the tree sounded hollow. I repeated the stroke. The sharp axe went crashing inwards. The tree was hollow to the ground; on the side where I had commenced chopping, it was but a shell.“A few more blows, and I had made a hole large enough to put a head through. Felling such a tree would be no great job after all, and I saw that it would hardly occupy an hour. The tree must come down.“Abe seeing me so resolute, had somewhat recovered his courage and his senses, and now laid hold of the axe. Abe was a ‘first hand’ at ‘chopping,’ and the hole soon gaped wider.“‘If de hole run clar up, massa,’ said he, resting for a moment, ‘we can smoke out de varmint—wid de punk and de grass here we can smoke out de debil himself. S’pose we try ’im, massa?’“‘Good!’ cried I, catching at Abe’s suggestion; and in a few minutes we had made a fire in the hole, and covered it with leaves, grass, and weeds.“The smoke soon did its work. We saw it ooze out above at the entrance of the ’coon hole—at first in a slight filmy stream, and then in thick volumes. We heard a scraping and rattling within the hollow trunk, and a moment after a dark object sprang out upon the lliana, and ran a short way downward. Another followed, and another, and another, until a string of no less than six raccoons squatted along the parasite threatening to run downward!“The scene that followed was indescribable. I had seized my gun, and both barrels were emptied in a ‘squirrel’s jump.’ Two of the ’coons came to the ground, badly wounded. Pompo tackled another, that had run down the lliana, and was attempting to get off; while Abe with his axe clove the skull of a fourth, that had tried to escape in a similar manner.“The other two ran back into the ‘funnel,’ but only to come out again just in time to receive a shot each from the reloaded gun, which brought both of them tumbling from the tree. We succeeded in bagging the whole family; and thus finished what Abe declared to be the greatest ‘’coon-chase on de record.’“As it was by this time far in the night, we gathered up our game, and took the ‘back track to hum.’”

“My ’coon-chase took place in Tennessee, where I was sojourning for some time upon a plantation. It was the first affair of the kind I had been present at, and I was somewhat curious as to the mode of carrying it on. My companion and inductor was a certain ‘Uncle Abe,’ a gentleman very much after the style and complexion of our own Jake here.

“I need not tell you, gentlemen, that throughout the Western States every neighbourhood has its noted ’coon-hunter. He is usually a wary old ‘nigger,’ who knows all the tricks and dodges of the ’coon. He either owns a dog himself, or has trained one of his master’s, in that peculiar line. It is of little importance what breed the dog may be. I have known curs that were excellent ‘’coon-dogs.’ All that is wanted is, that he have a good nose, and that he be a good runner, and of sufficient bulk to be able to bully a ’coon when taken. This a very small dog cannot do, as the ’coon frequently makes a desperate fight before yielding. Mastiffs, terriers, and half-bred pointers make the best ‘’coon-dogs.’

“Uncle Abe was the mighty hunter, the Nimrod of the neighbourhood in which I happened to be; and Uncle Abe’s dog—a stout terrier—was esteemed the ‘smartest ’coon-dog’ in a circle of twenty miles. In going out with Uncle Abe, therefore, I had full confidence that I should see sport.

“On one side of the plantation was a heavily-timbered ‘bottom’, through which meandered a small stream, called, of course, a ‘creek.’ This bottom was a favouritehabitatof the ’coons, as there were large trees growing near the water, many of which were hollow either in their trunks or some of their huge limbs. Moreover, there were vast trellises of vines extending from tree to tree; some of them, as the fox and muscadine (Vitis Labrusca), yielding sweet grapes, of which the raccoons are very fond.

“To this bottom, then, we directed our course, Abe acting as guide, and holding his dog, Pompo, in the leash Abe carried no other weapon than an axe, while I had armed myself with a double-barrel. Pompo knew as well as either of us the errand on which we were bent, as appeared from his flashing eyes and the impatient leaps which he now and then made to get free.

“We had to cross a large corn-field, a full half-mile in breadth, before we reached the woods. Between this and the timber was a zigzag fence—the common ‘rail’ fence of the American farmer. For some distance beyond the fence the timber was small, but farther on was the creek ‘bottom,’ where the ’coons were more likely to make their dwelling-place.

“We did not, however, proceed direct to the bottom. Abe knew better than that. The young corn was just then ‘in the milk,’ and the ’coon-hunter expected to find his game nearer the field. It was settled, therefore, that we should follow the line of the fence, in hopes that the dog would strike a fresh trail, leading either to or from the corn-field.

“It was now night—two hours after sundown. The ’coon-chase, I have already said, is a nocturnal sport. The raccoon does range by day, but rarely, and only in dark and solitary woods. He often basks by day upon high limbs, or the broken tops, of trees. I have shot several of his tribe while asleep, or sunning themselves in such situations. Perhaps before they knew their great enemy man, they were less nocturnal in their activity. We had a fine moonlight; but so far as a view of the chase was concerned, that would benefit us but little. During the hunt there is not much to be seen of either dog or ’coon, as it is always a scramble through trees and underwood. The dog trusts altogether to his nose, and the hunter to his ears; for the latter has no other guide save the yelp or bark of his canine assistant. Nevertheless, moonlight, or a clear night, is indispensable; without one or the other, it would be impossible to follow through the woods. A view of a ’coon-chase is a luxury enjoyed only by the hats and owls.

“Pompo was now let loose in the corn; while Abe and I walked quietly along the fence, keeping on different sides. Abe remained in the field for the purpose of handing over the dog, as the fence was high—a regular ‘ten rail, with stalks and riders.’ A ’coon could easily cross it, but not a dog, without help.

“We had not gone more than a hundred yards, when a quick sharp yelp from Pompo announced that he had come suddenly upon something in the corn-field.

“‘A varmint!’ cried Abe; and the next moment appeared the dog, running up full tilt among the maize plants and up to the fence. I could see some dark object before him, that passed over the rails with a sudden spring, and bounded into the timbers.

“‘A varmint, massa!’ repeated Abe, as he lifted the dog over, and followed himself.

“I knew that in Abe’s vocabulary—for that night at least—a ‘varmint’ meant a ’coon; and as we dashed through the brushwood, following the dog, I felt all the excitement of a ’coon-chase.

“It was not a long one—I should think of about five minutes’ duration; at the end of which time the yelp of the dog which had hitherto guided us, changed into a regular and continuous harking. On hearing this, Abe quietly announced—

“‘The varmint am treed.’

“Our only thought now was to get to the tree as speedily as possible, but another thought entered our minds as we advanced; that was, what sort of a tree had the ’coon taken shelter in?

“This was an important question, and its answer involved the success or failure of our hunt. If a very large tree, we might whistle for the ’coon. Abe knew this well, and as we passed on, expressed his doubts about the result.

“The bark of Pompo sounded some hundred yards off, in the very heaviest of the bottom timber. It was not likely, therefore, that the ’coon had taken to a small tree, while there were large ones near at hand. Our only hope was that he had climbed one that was not ‘hollow.’ In that case we might still have a chance with the double-barrel and buck-shot. Abe had but little hope.

“‘He hab reach him own tree, massa; an’ that am sartin to be a big un wi’ a hole near um top. Wagh! ’twar dat ar fence. But for de dratted fence ole Pomp nebber let um reach um own tree. Wagh!’

“From this I learned that one point in the character of a good ’coon-dog was speed. The ’coon runs well for a few hundred yards. He rarely strays farther from his lair. If he can beat his pursuer for this distance he is safe, as his retreat is always in a hollow tree of great size. There is no way of getting at him there, except by felling the tree, and this the most zealous ’coon-hunter would not think of attempting. The labour of cutting down such a tree would be worth a dozen ’coons. A swift dog, therefore, will overtake the raccoon, and force him to the nearest tree—often a small one, where he is either shaken off or the tree cut down. Sometimes the hunter climbs after and forces him to leap out, so as to fall into the very jaws of the watchful dog below.

“In Abe’s opinion Pompo would have ‘treed’ his ’coon before reaching, the bottom, had not the fence interfered, but now—

“‘Told ye so, massa!’ muttered he, interrupting my thoughts. ‘Look dar! dar’s de tree—trunk thick as a haystack. Wagh!’

“I looked in the direction indicated by my companion. I saw Pompo standing by the root of a very large tree, looking upward, shaking his tail, and barking at intervals. Before I had time to make any farther observations Abe’s voice again sounded in my ears.

“‘Gollies! it am a buttonwood! Why, Pomp, ole fellur, you hab made a mistake—de varmint ain’t dar, ’Cooney nebber trees upon buttonwood—nebber—you oughter know better’n dat, ole fool!’

“Abe’s speech drew my attention to the tree. I saw that it was the American sycamore (Platanus Occidentalis), familiarly known by the trivial name, ‘buttonwood,’ from the use to which its wood is sometimes put. But why should the ’coon not ‘tree’ upon it, as well as any other? I put the question to my companion.

“‘’Cause, massa, its bark am slickery. De varmint nebber takes to ’im. He likes de oak, an’ de poplum, an’ de scaly-bark. Gosh! but he am dar!’ continued Abe, raising his voice, and looking outward—‘Look yonder, massa! He had climb by de great vine. Dat’s right, Pomp! you am right after all, and dis nigga’s a fool. Hee—up, ole dog! hee—up!’

“Following the direction in which Abe pointed, my eyes rested on a huge parasite of the lliana kind, that, rising out of the ground at some distance, slanted upward and joined the sycamore near its top. This had no doubt been the ladder by which the ’coon had climbed.

“This discovery, however, did not mend the matter as far as we were concerned. The ’coon had got into the buttonwood, fifty feet from the ground, where the tree had been broken off by the lightning or the wind, and where the mouth of a large cavity was distinctly visible by the light of the moon. The trunk was one of the largest, and it would have been sheer folly (so we concluded) to have attempted felling it.

“We left the spot without farther ado, and took our way back to the corn-field.

“The dog had now been silent for some time, and we were in hopes that another ‘varmint’ might have stolen into the corn.

“Our hopes were not doomed to disappointment. Pompo had scarcely entered the field when a second ’coon was sprung, which, like the other, ran directly for the fence and the woods.

“Pomp followed as fast as he could be flung over; and this ’coon was also ‘treed’ in a few minutes.

“From the direction of the barking, we calculated that it must be near where the other had escaped us; but our astonishment equalled our chagrin, when upon arriving at the spot, we found that both the ‘varmints’ had taken to the same tree!

“With some rather emphatic ejaculations we returned to the corn-field, and after a short while a third ’coon was raised, which, like the others, made of course for the timber.

“Pomp ran upon his trail with an angry yelping, that soon changed into the well-known signal that he had treed the game.

“We ran after through brush and brake, and soon came up with the dog. If our astonishment was great before, it was now beyond bounds. The identical buttonwood with its great parasite was before us, the dog barking at its foot! The third ’coon had taken shelter in its capacious cavity.

“‘Wagh! massa!’ ejaculated Abe, in a voice of terror, ‘its de same varmint. It ain’t no ’coon, it’s de debil! For de lub o’ God, massa, let’s get away from here!’

“Of course I followed his advice, as to get at the ’coons was out of the question.

“We returned once more to the corn-field, but we found that we had at last cleared it of ’coons. It was still early, however, and I was determined not to give up the hunt until I had assisted in killing a ’coon. By Abe’s advice, therefore, we struck into the woods with the intention of making a circuit where the trees were small. Some ’coon might be prowling there in search of birds’ nests. So thought Abe.

“He was right in his conjecture. A fourth was started, and off went Pompo after him. In a few minutes the quick constant bark echoed back. This time we were sure, from the direction, in a new tree.

“It proved to be so, and such a small one that, on coming up, we saw the animal squatted upon the branches, not twenty feet from the ground.

“We were now sure of him, as we thought; and I had raised my gun to fire; when all at once, as if guessing my intent, the ’coon sprang into another tree, and then ran down to the ground and off again, with Pompo veiling in his track.

“Of course we expected that the dog would speedily tree him again, which after a few minutes he did, but this time in the heavy timber.

“We hastened forward, guided by the barking. To the extreme of my astonishment, and I fancy to the very extreme of Abe’s terror, we again found ourselves at the foot of the buttonwood.

“Abe’s wool stood on end. Superstition was the butt-end of his religion; and he not only protested, but I am satisfied that he believed, that all the four ’coons were one and the same individual, and that individual ‘de debil.’

“Great ’coon-hunter as he was, he would now have gone home, if I had let him. But I had no thoughts of giving up the matter in that easy way. I was roused by the repeated disappointment. A new resolve had entered my mind. I was determined to get the ’coons out of the buttonwood, cost what it might. The tree must come down, if it should take us till morning to fell it.

“With this determination I caught hold of Abe’s axe, and struck the first blow. To my surprise and delight the tree sounded hollow. I repeated the stroke. The sharp axe went crashing inwards. The tree was hollow to the ground; on the side where I had commenced chopping, it was but a shell.

“A few more blows, and I had made a hole large enough to put a head through. Felling such a tree would be no great job after all, and I saw that it would hardly occupy an hour. The tree must come down.

“Abe seeing me so resolute, had somewhat recovered his courage and his senses, and now laid hold of the axe. Abe was a ‘first hand’ at ‘chopping,’ and the hole soon gaped wider.

“‘If de hole run clar up, massa,’ said he, resting for a moment, ‘we can smoke out de varmint—wid de punk and de grass here we can smoke out de debil himself. S’pose we try ’im, massa?’

“‘Good!’ cried I, catching at Abe’s suggestion; and in a few minutes we had made a fire in the hole, and covered it with leaves, grass, and weeds.

“The smoke soon did its work. We saw it ooze out above at the entrance of the ’coon hole—at first in a slight filmy stream, and then in thick volumes. We heard a scraping and rattling within the hollow trunk, and a moment after a dark object sprang out upon the lliana, and ran a short way downward. Another followed, and another, and another, until a string of no less than six raccoons squatted along the parasite threatening to run downward!

“The scene that followed was indescribable. I had seized my gun, and both barrels were emptied in a ‘squirrel’s jump.’ Two of the ’coons came to the ground, badly wounded. Pompo tackled another, that had run down the lliana, and was attempting to get off; while Abe with his axe clove the skull of a fourth, that had tried to escape in a similar manner.

“The other two ran back into the ‘funnel,’ but only to come out again just in time to receive a shot each from the reloaded gun, which brought both of them tumbling from the tree. We succeeded in bagging the whole family; and thus finished what Abe declared to be the greatest ‘’coon-chase on de record.’

“As it was by this time far in the night, we gathered up our game, and took the ‘back track to hum.’”

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