CHAPTER XII.

SHARP-TAILED GROUSE—BALD-HEADED EAGLE—MOSQUITOS—LAGOMYS MINIMUS (NOV. SP.)—HUMMINGBIRDS—UROTRICHUS.

The Sharp-tailed Grouse(Pediocætes Phasianellus, Baird;Tetrao Phasianellus, Linn.;Centrocercus Phasianellus, Jardine;Phasianus Columbianus, Ord.)—Specific characters: The tail consists of eighteen feathers—prevailing colours black, white, and umber-yellow; the back marked with transverse bars, the wings with round conspicuous white spots—under pure white; the breast and sides thickly marked with V-shaped blotches of dark-brown; length about 18·00; wing, 8·50; tail, 5·23 inches.

This beautiful bird is alike estimable, whether we consider him in reference to his field qualities (therein being all a grouse ought to be, rising with a loud rattling whirr, and going off straight as an arrow, lying well to dogs, and frequenting open grassy prairies), or viewed as a table dainty,when bowled over and grilled. Though his flesh is brown, yet for delicacy of flavour—game in every sense of the word—I’ll back him against any other bird in the Western wilds. This grouse appears to replace the Prairie-hen (Cupidonia cupido) on all the prairies west of the Rocky Mountains. By the fur-traders it is called the ‘spotted chicken’; for all grouse, by the traders and half-breeds, are called chickens! and designated specifically by either habit or colour—such as blue chickens, wood chickens, white chickens (ptarmigan), &c. &c.; theskis-kinof the Kootanie Indians.

THE SHARP-TAILED GROUSE(Pediocætes phasianellus).

The tail is cuneate and graduated, and about two-thirds the length of the wing; the central pair, considerably longer than the rest, terminate in a point—hence the namesharp-tailed.

The singular mixture of colours (white, black, and brownish-yellow), the dark blotches, transverse bars, and V-shaped marks of dark-brown, exactly resemble the ground on which the bird is destined to pass its life. The ochreish-yellow angular twigs and dead leaves of the Artemisia, or wild-sage; the sandy soil, dried and bleached to a dingy-white; the brown of the withered bunch-grass; the weather-beaten fragments of rock, clad in liveries of sombre-coloured lichens, admirablyharmonise with the colours in which Nature has wisely robed this feathered tenant of the wilderness.

Often, when the sharp crack of the gun, and thepingof the fatal leaden messengers, has rung the death-peal of one of these prairie-chiefs, I have watched the whirring wing drop powerless, and the arrowy flight stop in mid-career, and, with a heavy thud, the bird come crashing down. Rushing to pick him up, and keeping my eye steadily on the spot where he fell, I have felt a little mystified at not seeing my friend: here he fell, I am quite sure; so I trudge up and down, circle round and round, until a slight movement—an effort to run, or a dying struggle—attracts my attention, and then I find I have been the whole time close to the fallen bird. But so closely do the back and outspread wings resemble the dead foliage and sandy soil, that it is almost impossible for the most practised eye to detect these birds when crouching on the ground; and there can be no doubt that it as effectually conceals them from birds of prey.

This bird is abundantly distributed on the western slope of the Rocky Mountains, ranging right and left of the Boundary-line, the 49th parallel of north latitude. It is particularly abundanton the tobacco-plains near the Kootanie river, round the Osoyoos lakes, and in the valley of the Columbia.

I have never seen this grouse on the western side of the Cascade range. This bird is also found in the Red River settlements, in the north of Minnesota, as well as on the shores of Hudson’s Bay, and on the Mackenzie river. Mr. Ross notes it as far north as the Arctic Circle.

Of the different species of grouse I met with in my rambles (described in vol. ii.) not one has come so often under my observation as this, the sharp-tailed grouse. Its favourite haunt is on open grassy plains,—in the morning keeping itself concealed in the thick long grass, but coming in about midday to the streams to drink, and dust itself in the sandy banks; it seldom goes into the timber, and, if it does, always remains close to the prairie, never retiring into the depths of the forest.

They lay their eggs on the open prairie, in a tuft of grass, or by the foot of a small hillock; nesting early in the spring, and laying from twelve to fourteen eggs. The nest is a hole scratched out in the earth, a few grass-stalks and root-fibres laid carelessly and loosely over the bottom; the eggs are of a dark rusty-brown, with small splashesor speckles of darker brown thickly spattered over them.

After nesting-time, they first appear in coveys or broods about the middle of August; the young birds are then about three parts grown, strong on the wing, and afford admirable sport. At this time they live by the margins of small streams, where there is thin timber and underbrush, with plenty of sandy banks to dust in. About the middle of September and on into October they begin to pack; first two or three coveys get together, then flock joins flock, until they gradually accumulate into hundreds. On the first appearance of snow they begin to perch, settling on high dead pine-trees, thedeadbranches being a favourite locality; or, should there be any farms, they pitch round on the top of the snake-fences. At the Hudson’s Bay trading-post at Fort Colville there were large wheat-stubbles; in these, after the snow fell, they assembled in vast numbers. Wary and shy they are now, and most difficult to get at; the cause being, I apprehend, the snow rendering every moving thing so conspicuous, it is next to impossible for dogs to hunt them.

Their food in the summer consists principally of berries—the snowberry (Symphoricarposracemosus), and the bearberry (Arctostaphylos uva-ursi). The leaves of this latter plant are used to a great extent, both by Indians and traders, to mix with or use instead of tobacco, and calledkini-kinick; the leaves being dried over the fire, and rubbed up in the hand to powder, and smoked in a pipe. The wild roseberries (Rosa blandaandRosa mirantha), and many others, usually designated huckleberries, constitute the food generally consumed by these birds during summer and autumn; although I have often found quantities of wheat-grains and larvæ of insects, grass-seeds, and small wild flowers in their crops. Their thickly-feathered feet enable them to run upon the snow with ease and celerity, and they dig holes and burrow underneath it much after the fashion of the ptarmigan.

During the two winters we spent at Colville, flocks of these birds congregated about the corn-stacks and hayricks at our mule-camp, and at the Hudson’s Bay trading-post, Fort Colville. The temperature at that time was often down to 29° and 30° below zero, and the snow three feet deep; yet these birds did not at all appear to suffer from such intense cold, and were strong, wild, and fat during the entire winter, whichlasted from October until near April before the snow entirely cleared.

In this valley (the Colville valley) the Commissioner and myself had, I think, as brisk and nice a bit of shooting as I ever enjoyed. If I remember aright, it was towards the end of September, and the birds had packed. We rode down one clear bright morning, about six miles, to the Horse-Guards. Do not at once hastily imagine any analogy between Colville valley and Whitehall. The heavy man, with his heavy boots, heavy sword, heavy dress, heavy walk, and heaviest of all heavy horses—so conspicuous a feature in our London sights—is represented here by the genuine savage, thin and lissom as an eel; his equipment a whip, a lasso, a scalping-knife, and sometimes a trade-gun; a pad his saddle, and the bands of horses, some two hundred in number, his charge. A stream of cold clear water rambles quietly down the hillside; and as the hills are thickly dotted with bunch-grass, affording most glorious pasturage, the Hudson’s Bay fort horses are always pastured here, and guarded by Indians; hence comes the name—‘the Horse-Guards.’

The Colville valley is, roughly speaking, about thirty miles long, the hills on one side beingdensely studded with pine-trees, and on the other quite clear of timber, but thickly clothed up to their rounded summits with the bunch-grass. This is a peculiar kind of grass, that grows in tufts, and its fattening qualities are truly wonderful.

The little stream at the Horse-Guards has on either side of it a belt of thin brush, and in this, and in the long grass close to the stream, we found the sharp-tailed grouse. There were hundreds of them—up they went, and, right and left, down they came again! It might have been the novelty of the scene, causing an undue anxiety and excitement, or perhaps it was the liver, or powder, or something else—who knows what?—but this I do know, that neither of us shot our best, but we made a glorious bag nevertheless. They rise with a loud rattling noise, and utter a peculiar cry, like ‘chuck, chuck, chuck,’ rapidly and shrilly repeated. On first rising the wings are moved with great rapidity, but after getting some distance off they sail along, the wings being almost quiescent.

They pair very early in the spring, long before the snow has gone off the ground, and their love-meetings are celebrated in a somewhat curious fashion. By the half-breeds and fur-traders these festivities are called chicken or pheasant dances.I was lucky enough to be present at several of these balls whilst at Fort Colville. Their usual time of assembling is about sunrise, and late in the afternoon; they select a high round-topped mound; and often, ere the fair are wooed and won, and the happy couple start on their domestic cares, the mound is trampled and beaten bare as a road.

I had often longed to be present at one of these chicken-dances; and it so happened that, riding up into the hills early one spring morning, my most ardent wishes were fully realised. The peculiar ‘chuck-chuck’ came clear and shrill upon the crisp frosty air, and told me a dance was afoot. I tied up my horse and my dog, and crept quietly along towards the knoll from whence the sound appeared to come. Taking advantage of some rocks, I weazled myself along, and, without exciting observation, gained the shelter of an old pine-stump close to the summit of a hillock; and there, sure enough, the ball was at its height.

Reader, can you go back to the days of your first pantomime, your first Punch-and-Judy, or bring to your remembrance the fresh, bounding, joyous delight that you felt in the days of your youth, when you had before your eyes some longand deeply-wished-for novelty? If you can, you will be able to imagine my childish pleasure when looking for the first time on a chicken-dance. There were about eighteen or twenty birds present on this occasion, and it was almost impossible to distinguish the males from the females, the plumage being so nearly alike; but I imagined the females were the passive ones. The four birds nearest to me were head to head, like gamecocks in fighting attitude—the neck-feathers ruffed up, the little sharp tail elevated straight on end, the wings dropped close to the ground, but keeping up by a rapid vibration a continued throbbing or drumming sound.

They circled round and round each other in slow waltzing-time, always maintaining the same attitude, but never striking at or grappling with each other; then the pace increased, and one hotly pursued the other until he faced about, andtête-à-têtewent waltzing round again; then they did a sort of ‘Cure’ performance, jumping about two feet into the air until they were winded; and then they strutted about and ‘struck an attitude,’ like an acrobat after a successful tumble. There were others marching about, with their tails and heads as high as they could stick them up, evidently doing the ‘heavy swell;’ others, again, did notappear to have any well-defined ideas what they ought to do, and kept flying up and pitching down again, and were manifestly restless and excited—perhaps rejected suitors contemplating something desperate. The music to this eccentric dance was the loud ‘chuck-chuck’ continuously repeated, and the strange throbbing sound produced by the vibrating wings. I saw several balls after this, but in every one the same series of strange evolutions were carried out.

In reference to this bird’s adaptability to acclimatisation in our own country, it appears to me to be most admirably fitted for our hill and moorland districts. It is very hardy, capable of bearing a temperature of 30° to 33° below zero; feeds on seeds, berries, and vegetable matter—in every particular analogous to what it could find in our own hill-country; a good breeder, having usually from twelve to fourteen young at a brood; nests early, and would come to shoot about the same time as our own grouse. Snow does not hurt them in the slightest degree; they burrow into it, and feed on what they can find underneath it. The two specimens in the British Museum I shot in the Colville valley; they are male and female, in winter plumage; and anyone, who may feel an interest in getting these birdsbrought home, may there see for himself what fine handsome creatures they are.

But then comes the question—how are they to be obtained, and how brought to England? I do not imagine it would be a very difficult or expensive matter; the young birds in May could be easily obtained, at any point up the Columbia river, by employing the Indians to bring them to the riverside; and once on board steamer, they could be as easily fed as fowls. The great difficultyIhave always had is in bringing the young birds from the interior to a vessel; they always die when transported on the backs of animals, however carefully packed. The continued jerking motion given to birds packed on the back of a mule or horse as he walks along has, according to my experience, been the sole cause of their dying ere you could reach water-carriage; but the fact of their being so close to water as they are along the Columbia river, would render their being brought home a very easy task.

The Bald-headed Eagle(Haliactus leucocephalus) is seen but seldom, as during its breeding-time it retires into the hills, and usually chooses a lofty pine as its nesting-place. Two of them had a nest near the Chilukweyuk lake, which was quite inaccessible, of immense size,and built entirely of sticks—the same nest being invariably used year after year by the same pair of birds. Their food consists mainly of fish, and it is a curious sight to watch an eagle plunge into the water, seize a heavy salmon, and rise with it without any apparent difficulty. Both the osprey and bald-headed eagle fish with their claws, never, as far as I have observed them, striking at a fish with the beak; during winter they collect, young and old together, round the Sumass lake; and as the cold becomes intense, they sit three and four on the limb of a pine-tree, or in a semi-stupid state, all their craft and courage gone, blinking and drowsy as an owl in daytime.

I have often, when walking under the trees where these half-torpid monarchs of the air sit side by side, fired and knocked one out from betwixt its neighbours, without causing them the slightest apparent alarm; three I picked up one morning frozen stiff as marble, having fallen dead from off their perch.

Why birds so powerfully winged should prefer to remain where the winters are sufficiently intense to freeze them to death, rather than go southward, where food is equally abundant, is a mystery I am unable to explain. Towards thefall of the year, when the hunting and fishing-grounds of the Old-man (Sea-la-ca, as the Indians designate the eagle, on account of itswhite head) grow scant of game, hunger prompts them to be disagreeably bold. Constantly a fat mallard, that I had taken a vast amount of trouble to stalk, was pounced upon by a watchful eagle, and borne off, ere the report of my gun was lost in the hills, or the smoke had cleared away; indeed, I have sometimes given the robber the benefit of a second barrel, as punishment for his thievery. Numberless ducks have been lost to me in this way. This eagle is by far the most abundant of the falcon tribe in British Columbia, and always a conspicuous object in ascending a river; he is seated on the loftiest tree or rocky pinnacle, and soars off circling round, screaming like a tortured demon, as if in remonstrance at such an impudent intrusion into its solitudes. The adult plumage is not attained until the fourth year from the nest.

Mosquitos(Culex pinguis, nov. sp.)—Reader, if you have never been in British Columbia, then, I say, you do not know anything about insect persecution; neither can you form the faintest idea of the terrible suffering foes so seemingly insignificant as the bloodthirsty horsefly (Tabanus), the tiny burning fly (beulot or sand-fly of the trappers), and the well-known and deservedly-hatedmosquito, are capable of inflicting.

A wanderer from my boyhood, I have met with these pests in various parts of our globe—in the country of Czernomorzi, among the Black Sea Cossacks, on the plains of Troy, up on Mount Olympus, amid the gorgeous growths of a tropical forest, where beauty and malaria, twin brothers, walk hand-in-hand—away in the deep dismal solitudes of the swamps on the banks of the Mississippi, on the wide grassy tracts of the Western prairies, and on the snow-clad summits of the Rocky Mountains.

Widely remote and singularly opposite as to climate as are these varied localities, yet, as these pests are there in legions, I imagined that I had endured the maximum of misery they were capable of producing. I was mistaken; all my experience, all my vaunted knowledge of their numbers, all I had seen and suffered, was as nothing to what I subsequently endured. On the Sumass prairie, and along the banks of the Fraser river, the mosquitos are, as a Yankee would say, ‘a caution.’

In the summer our work, that of cutting theBoundary-line, was along the low and comparatively flat land intervening between the seaboard and the foot of the Cascade Mountains. Our camp was on the Sumass prairie, and was in reality only an open patch of grassy land, through which wind numerous streams from the mountains, emptying themselves into a large shallow lake, the exit of which is into the Fraser by a short stream, the Sumass river.

In May and June this prairie is completely covered with water. The Sumass river, from the rapid rise of the Fraser, reverses its course, and flows back into the lake instead of out of it. The lake fills, overflows, and completely floods the lower lands. On the subsidence of the waters, we pitched our tents on the edge of a lovely stream. Wildfowl were in abundance; the streams were alive with fish; the mules and horses revelling in grass kneedeep—we were in a second Eden!

We had enjoyed about a week at this delightful camp, when the mosquitos began to get rather troublesome. We knew these most unwelcome visitors were to be expected, from Indian information. I must confess I had a vague suspicion that the pests were to be more dreaded than we were willing to believe; for the crafty redskinshad stages erected, or rather fastened to stout poles driven like piles into the mud at the bottom of the lake. To these large platforms over the water they all retire, on the first appearance of the mosquitos.

In about four or five days the increase was something beyond all belief, and really terrible. I can convey no idea of the numbers, except by saying they were in dense clouds truly, and not figuratively, a thick fog of mosquitos. Night or day it was just the same; the hum of these bloodthirsty tyrants was incessant. We ate them, drank them, breathed them; nothing but the very thickest leathern clothing was of the slightest use as a protection against their lancets. The trousers had to be tied tightly round the ankle, and the coat-sleeve round the wrist, to prevent their getting in; but if one more crafty than the others found out a needle-hole, or a thin spot, it would have your blood in a second. We lighted huge fires, fumigated the tents, tried every expedient we could think of, but all in vain. They seemed to be quite happy in a smoke that would stifle anything mortal, and, what was worse, they grew thicker every day.

Human endurance has its limits. A man cannot stand being eaten alive. It was utterly impossible to work; one’s whole time was occupied in slapping viciously at face, head, and body, stamping, grumbling, and savagely slaughtering hecatombs of mosquitos. Faces rapidly assumed an irregularity of outline anything but consonant with the strict lines of beauty; each one looked as if he had gone in for a heavy fight, and lost. Hands increased in size withpainfulrapidity, and—without intending a slang joke—one was in ak-nobbystate from head to heel.

The wretched mules and horses were driven wild, racing about like mad animals, dashing into the water and out again, in among the trees; but, go where they would, their persecutors stuck to them in swarms. The poor dogs sat and howled piteously, and, prompted by a wise instinct to avoid their enemies, dug deep holes in the earth; and backing in lay with their heads at the entrance, whining, snapping, and shaking their ears, to prevent the mosquitos from getting in at them.

There was no help for it—our camp had to be abandoned; we were completely vanquished and driven away—the work of about a hundred men stopped by tiny flies. Our only chance of escape was to retire into the hills, and return to completeour work late in the autumn, when they disappear. Hard wind is the only thing that quells them; but it simply drives them into the grass, to return on its lulling, if possible, more savagely hungry. Quaint old Spenser knew this; he says, speaking of gnats:—

No man nor beast may rest or take repastFor their sharp sounds and noyous injuries,Till the fierce northern wind with blustering blastDoth blow them quite away, and in the ocean cast.

No man nor beast may rest or take repast

For their sharp sounds and noyous injuries,

Till the fierce northern wind with blustering blast

Doth blow them quite away, and in the ocean cast.

My notebook, as I open it now, is a mausoleum of scores of my enemies; there they lay, dry and flat; round some of them a stain of blood tells how richly they merited their untimely end.

One thing has always puzzled me in the history of these ravenous cannibals—what on earth can they get to feed on, when there are no men or animals? I brought home specimens, of course; and I am by no means sure I feel any great pleasure in finding my foe to be a new species, but it is, and namedCulex pinguis, because it was fatter and rounder than any of its known brethren.

The habits of this new mosquito are, in every detail, the same as all the known species. The female lays her eggs, which are long and oval in shape, in the water; then aided by her hind-legs,she twists about the eggs, and tightly glues them together, into a very beautiful little boat-shaped bundle, that floats and drifts about in the water. In sunny weather the eggs are speedily hatched, and the larvæ lead an aquatic life. They are very active, diving to the bottom with great rapidity, and as quickly ascending to the surface to breathe; the respiratory organs being situated near the tail, on the eighth segment of the abdomen, they hang, as it were, in the water, head downwards. After shifting the skin three or four times, they change into the pupa form, in which state they move about, even more actively than before, aided by the tail, and two organs like paddles, attached to it. In this stage of their existence they never feed (I only wish they would always remain in this harmless condition); and although they still suspend themselves in the water, the position is reversed, the breathing organs being now placed on the chest.

The final change to the perfect or winged state is most curious, and well worth careful attention. The pupa-case splits from end to end; and, looking moist and miserable, with crumpled wings, the little fly floats on its previous home, an exquisite canoe of Nature’s own contriving. A breeze of wind sufficient toripple the water is fatal to it now, as shipwreck is inevitable; but if all is calm and conducive to safety, the little fly dries, the wings expand, it inhales the air, and along with it strength and power to fly; then bidding goodbye to the frail barque, wings its way to the land, and begins a war of persecution.

Mosquitos never venture far over the water after once quitting their skin-canoe: this fact the wily savage has taken advantage of. During ‘the reign of terror’ the Indians never come on shore if they can help it; and if they do, they take good care to flog every intruder out of the canoes before reaching the stage.

These stages, each with a family of Indians living on them, have a most picturesque appearance. The little fleet of canoes are moored to the poles, and the platform reached by a ladder made of twisted cedar-bark. Often have I slept on these stages among the savages, to avoid being devoured. But I am not quite sure if one gains very much by the change: in the first place, if you are restless, and roll about in your sleep, you stand a very good chance of finding yourself soused in the lake. The perfumes—varied but abundant—that regale your nose are not such as are wafted from ‘tropic isles’ or‘Araby the blest.’ I shall not shock my fair readers with any comparison—you must imagine it is not agreeable. Dogs also live on these platforms; for the Indian dog is always with his master, sharing bed as well as board. These canine favourites are not exempt from persecutors; like the giant of old, they at once ‘smell the blood of an Englishman,’ and will have some; but, after all, the night steals away, you know not how, until the dawn, blushing over the eastern hilltops, rouses all the dreaming world—except mosquitos, that never sleep.

On the eastern side of the Cascades the scenery and general physical condition of the country materially changes, and theTabanusand burning-fly become the ruling persecutors.

Lagomys minimus(Lord, sp. nov.)—The Commissioner, myself, a few men, and a small train of pack-mules, set out to visit some of the stations on the Boundary-line, east of the Cascades. Our route lay along the valley of the Shimilkameen river, to strike Ashtnolow, a tributary that led up into the mountains, the course of which we were to follow as far as practicable. We had a delightful trip, through a district indescribably lovely.

There is a wild and massive grandeur aboutthe eastern side of the Cascades, unlike the scenery of the west or coast slope, which is densely wooded. Here it was like riding through a succession of parks, covered with grass and flowers of varied species.

We reached the junction of the two streams, and camped, just as the sun, disappearing behind the western hills, tinted with purple twilight the ragged peaks of the rocks that shut us in on every side. Scarce a sound of bird or beast disturbed the silence of the forest, and save the babble of the stream, as it rippled over the shingle, all nature was soon hushed in deathlike sleep. I could dimly make out in the fading light the grim hills we had to climb, towering up like mighty giants; the clear white snow, covering their summits, contrasted strangely with the sombre pine-trees, thickly covering the lower portion of the mountains.

We had a stiff climb before us, and my hopes were high in expectation of bowling over big-horn (Ovis montana) and ptarmigan. For some distance we scrambled up the sides of the brawling torrent, whose course, like true love, was none of the smoothest, being over and among vast fragments of rock, that everywhere covered the hillside. From amidst these relics of destruction grew the Douglas pine and ponderous cedar (Thuja gigantea). Here the ascent was easy enough, but on reaching a greater altitude, the climbing became anything but a joke.

We at last reached a level plateau near the summit, and lay down on the soft mossy grass, near a stream that came trickling down from the melting snow.

Close to my couch was a talus of broken granite, that Old Time and the Frost King between them had crumbled away from a mass of rocks above. As I contemplated this heap of rocks, a cry like a plaintive whistle suddenly attracted my attention; it evidently came from amongst the stones. I listened and kept quiet. Again and again came the whistle, but nowhere could I see the whistler. A slight movement at length betrayed him, and I could clearly make out a little animal sitting bolt upright, like a begging-dog, his seat a flat stone in the middle of the heap.

I had a load of small-shot in one barrel, intended for ptarmigan; raising my gun slowly and cautiously to my shoulder, I fired as I lay on the ground. The sharp ringing crack as I touched the trigger—the first, perhaps, that had ever awoke the echoes of the mountain—was the death-knell of the poor little musician.

I picked him up, and imagine my delight when for the first time I held a newLagomysin my hand. Having made out what he was, the next thing to be done was to watch for others—to find out what they did, and how they passed the time in their stony citadel. I had not long to wait; they soon came peeping slily out of their hiding-places, and, inferring safety from silence, sat upon the stones and cheerily chorused to each other. The least noise, and the whistle was sounded sharper and more shrill—the danger-signal, when one and all took headers among the stones.

I soon observed they were busy at work, carrying in dry grass, fir-fronds, roots, and moss, and constructing a nest in the clefts between the stones, clearly for winter-quarters. The nests were of large size, some of them consisting of as much material as would fill a good-sized basket. One nest was evidently the combined work of several little labourers, and destined for their joint habitation.

There were no provisions stored away, neither do I think they garner any for winter use, but simply hibernate in the warm nest; which, of course, is thickly covered with snow during theintense cold of these northern latitudes, thus more effectually preventing radiation and waste of animal heat. Their food consists entirely of grass, which they nibble much after the fashion of our common rabbit. They never burrow or dig holes in the ground, but pass their lives among the loose stones. Who can fail to trace the evidence of Divine care in colouring the fur of this defenceless creature in a garb exactly resembling the grey lichen-covered fragments amongst which he is destined to pass his life? So closely does the animal approximate in appearance to an angular piece of rock when sitting up, that unless he moves it takes sharp eyes to see him; and the cry or whistle is so deceptive that I imagined it far distant, when the animal was close to me.

The species described and figured by Sir John Richardson—F.B.A., plate 19,Lepus (Lagomys) princeps, the little Chief Hare—I first saw at Chilukweyuk lake, and next on the trail leading from Fort Hope, on the Fraser river, to Fort Colville. The little fellows were in a narrow gorge, as well as among loose stones. It was about the same date as in the preceding year that I had seenLagomys minimusmaking its nest; but herenot a trace of nest could I see, nor any evidence of an attempt to make one. I soon after returned again by the same trail. The snow having now fallen to the depth of about six inches, completely covering up the rocks and stones, all the animals had disappeared; and although I searched most carefully, there was not a hole or track in the snow, to show they had ever left their quarters to feed or wander about.

As it was quite impossible a nest could have been made in the interim, it is perfectly certain they hibernate in holes without a nest; whereasLagomys minimus, living at a much greater altitude, makes a nest to sleep through the winter.

Lagomys minimus(Lord, sp. nov.).—Sp. Char.: Differs fromLepus (Lagomys) princepsof Sir J. Richardson (F.B.A., vol. i. p. 227, pl. 19) in being much smaller. Predominant colour of back dark-grey, tinged faintly with umber-yellow,—more vivid about the shoulders, but gradually shading off on the sides and belly to dirty-white; feet white, washed over with yellowish-brown; ears large, black inside, the outer rounded margin edged with white; eye very small, and intensely black; whiskers long, and composed of about an equal number of white and black hairs.

Measurement: Head and body, 6½ inches; head,2 inches; nose to auditory opening, 1¼ inch; height of ear from behind, 1 inch.

The skull differs in being generally smaller; the cranial portion of the skull in its superior outline is much narrower and smoother. The nasal bones are shorter and broader, and rounded at their posterior articulation, instead of being deeply notched, as inL. princeps. Distance from anterior molar to incisors much less; auditory bullæ much smaller. Incisors shorter and straighter, and very deeply grooved on the anterior surface. Molars smaller, but otherwise similar in form. Length of skull, 1¼ inch.

General differences fromLagomys princeps:—First, in being smaller, 1½ inch shorter in total length; the ear, measured from behind, ¼ inch shorter; the colour generally darker, especially the lower third of the back. Secondly, in thestructuraldifferences of the skull; for although these differences are not prominent or well-defined, yet they are unquestionable specific variations. Thirdly, in the habit of constructing a nest of hay for the winter sleep, and in living at a much greater altitude.

There is a strange indescribable delight in discovery, and in finding animals for the first time in their native haunts, animals that before one hadvaguely heard or only read of; thus digging, as it were, from Nature’s exhaustless mine, fresh wonders of Divine handiwork on which eye had not before gazed.

Hummingbirds.—Hummingbirds, and the wild tangled loveliness of tropical vegetation, appear to be so closely linked together, that we are apt to think the one essential to the existence of the other.

We naturally (at least I did in my earlier days) associate these tiniest gems of the feathered creation with glowing sunshine, gorgeous flowers, grotesque orchids—palms, plaintains, bananas, and blacks. This is all true enough, and if we take that large slice of the American continent betwixt the Amazon, the Rio Grande, and the Gila (embracing Guiana, New Granada, Central America, Mexico, and the West Indian islands), as the home of hummingbirds, we shall pretty truthfully define, what is usually assumed to be, the geographical range of this group—a group entirely confined to America. Within the above limits, the great variety of species, the most singular in form and brilliant in plumage, are met with.

Gazing on these gems of the air, one would suppose that Nature had exhausted all her skill in lavishly distributing the richest profusion ofcolours, and in exquisitely mingling every imaginable tint and shade, to adorn these diminutive creatures, in a livery more lustrously brilliant than was ever fabricated by the loom, or metal-worker’s handicraft.

NORTH-WESTERN HUMMINGBIRDS.

But away from the tropics and its feathered wonders, to the wild solitudes of the Rocky Mountains,—it is there I want you in imagination to wander with me, and to picture to yourself, which you can easily do if you possess a naturalist’s love of discovery, the delight I experienced when, for the first time, I saw hummingbirds up in the very regions of the ‘Ice King.’

Early in the month of May, when the sun melts down the doors of snow and ice, and sets free imprisoned nature, I was sent ahead of the astronomical party employed in making the Boundary-line to cut out a trail, and bridge any streams too deep to ford. The first impediment met with was at the Little Spokan river,—little only as compared with the Great Spokan, into which it flows. The larger stream leads from the western slope of the Rocky Mountains, and flows on to join the Columbia.

It was far too deep to be crossed by any expedient short of bridging; so a bridge had to be built, an operation involving quite a week’sdelay. The place chosen, and the men set to work, my leisure time was devoted to collecting.

The snow still lingered in large patches about the hollows and sheltered spots. Save a modest violet or humble rock-blossom, no flower had ventured to open its petals, except the brilliant pinkRibes, or flowering currant, common in every English cottage-garden.

Approaching a large cluster of these gay-looking bushes, my ears were greeted with a sharp thrum—a sound I knew well—from the wings of a hummingbird, as it darted past me. The name by which these birds are commonly known has arisen from the noise produced by the wings (very like the sound of a driving-belt used in machinery, although of course not nearly so loud), whilst the little creature, poised over a flower, darts its slender beak deep amidst the corolla—not to sip nectar, in my humble opinion, but to capture drowsy insect revellers, that assemble in these attractive drinking-shops, and grow tipsy on the sweets gratuitously provided for them. Soon a second whizzed by me, and others followed in rapid succession; and, when near enough to see distinctly, the bushes seemed literally to gleam with the flashing colours of swarms (Iknow no better word) of hummingbirds surrounding the entire clump ofRibes.

‘From flower to flower, where wild bees flew and sung,As countless, small, and musical as theyShowers of bright hummingbirds came down, and pliedThe same ambrosial task with slender bill,Extracting honey hidden in those bellsWhose richest blossoms grew pale beneath their blaze,Of twinkling winglets hov’ring o’er their petals,Brilliant as rain-drops when the western sunSees his own miniature beams in each.’

‘From flower to flower, where wild bees flew and sung,

As countless, small, and musical as they

Showers of bright hummingbirds came down, and plied

The same ambrosial task with slender bill,

Extracting honey hidden in those bells

Whose richest blossoms grew pale beneath their blaze,

Of twinkling winglets hov’ring o’er their petals,

Brilliant as rain-drops when the western sun

Sees his own miniature beams in each.’

Seating myself on a log, I watched this busy assemblage for some time. They were all male birds, and two species were plainly discernible. Chasing each other in sheer sport, with a rapidity of flight and intricacy of evolution impossible for the eye to follow—through the bushes, and over the water, everywhere—they darted about like meteors. Often meeting in mid-air, a furious battle would ensue; their tiny crests and throat-plumes erect and blazing, they were altogether pictures of the most violent passions. Then one would perch himself on a dead spray, and leisurely smooth his ruffled feathers, to be suddenly rushed at and assaulted by some quarrelsome comrade. Feeding, fighting, and frolicking seemed to occupy their entire time.I daresay hard epithets will be heaped upon me,—cruel man, hard-hearted savage, miserable destroyer, and similar epithets,—when I confess to shooting numbers of these burnished beauties. Some of them are before me at this moment as I write; but what miserable things are these stuffed remains, as compared to the living bird! The brilliant crests are rigid and immoveable; the throat-feathers, that open and shut with a flash like coloured light, lose in the stillness of death all those charms so beautiful in life; the tail, clumsily spread, or bent similar to the abdomen of a wasp about to sting, no more resembles the same organ in the live bird, than a fan of peacock’s feathers is like to the expanded tail of that bird when strutting proudly in the sun.

It is useless pleading excuses; two long days were occupied in shooting and skinning. The two species obtained on this occasion were the Red-backed Hummingbird (Selasphorus rufus), often described as the Nootka Hummingbird, because it was first discovered in Nootka Sound, on the west side of Vancouver Island; the other, one of the smallest known species, called Calliope. This exquisite little bird is mainly conspicuous for its frill of minute pinnated feathers encircling the throat, of most delicate magentatint, which can be raised or depressed at will. Prior to my finding it in this remote region, it was described as being entirely confined to Mexico.

About a week had passed away; the bridge was completed, during which time the female birds had arrived; and, save a stray one now and then, not a single individual of that numerous host that had gathered round theRibeswas to be seen. They cared nothing for the gun, and would even dash at a dead companion as it lay on the grass; so I did not drive them away, but left them to scatter of their own free will.

My next camping-place was on the western slope of the Rocky Mountains, near a lake, by the margin of which grew some cottonwood trees (Salix scouleriana), together with the alder (Alnus oregona), and the sweet or black birch (Betula leuta). My attention was called to the latter tree by observing numbers of wasps, bees, and hornets swarming round its trunk. The secret was soon disclosed: a sweet gummy sap was exuding plentifully from splits in the bark, on which hosts of insects, large and small, were regaling themselves. As the sap ran down over the bark, it became very sticky, and numbers of small winged insects, pitching on it, were trapped in a natural ‘catch-’em-alive-O.’

Busily occupied in picking off these captives were several very sombre-looking hummingbirds. They poised themselves just as the others did over the flowers, and deftly nipped, as with delicate forceps, the helpless insects. I soon bagged one, and found I had a third species, the Black-throated Hummingbird (Trochilus Alexandri). Were any proof needed to establish the fact of Hummingbirds being insect-feeders, this should be sufficient. I saw the bird, not only on this occasion but dozens of times afterwards, pick the insect from off the tree, often killing it in the act; and found the stomach, on being opened, filled with various species of winged insects.

The habits of the three species differ widely. The Red-backed Hummingbird loves to flit over the open prairies, stopping at every tempting flower, to catch some idler lurking in its nectar-cells. Building its nest generally in a low shrub, and close to the rippling stream, it finds pleasant music in its ceaseless splash. Minute Calliope, on the other hand, prefers rocky hillsides at great altitudes, where only pine-trees, rock-plants, and an alpine flora ‘struggle for existence.’ I have frequently killed this bird above the line of perpetual snow. Its favourite resting-place is on the extreme point of a dead pine-tree, where, ifundisturbed, it will sit for hours. The site chosen for the nest is usually the branch of a young pine; artfully concealed amidst the fronds at the very end, it is rocked like a cradle by every passing breeze.

The Black-throated Hummingbird lingers around lakes, pools, and swamps where its favourite trapping-tree grows. I have occasionally, though very rarely, seen it hovering over flowers; this, I apprehend, is only when the storehouse is empty, and the sap too dry to capture the insects. They generally build in the birch or alder, selecting the fork of a branch high up.

All hummingbirds, as far as I know, lay only two eggs; the young are so tightly packed into the nest, and fit so exactly, that if once taken out it is impossible to replace them. Several springs succeeding my first discovery that these hummingbirds were regular migrants to boreal regions, I watched their arrival. We were quartered for the winter close to the western slopes of the Rocky Mountains. The winters here vary in length, as well as in depth of snow and intensity of cold, 33° below zero being no unfrequent register. But it did not matter whether we had a late or early spring, the hummingbirds did not come until theRibesopened; and in no single instance did two whole days elapse after the blossoms expanded, but Selasphorus and Calliope arrived to bid them welcome. The males usually preceded the females by four or five days.

The Black-throated Hummingbird arrives about a week or ten days after the other two. Marvellous is the instinct that guides and the power that sustains these birds (not larger than a good sized bumblebee) over such an immense tract of country; and even more wonderful still is their arrival, timed so accurately, that the only flower adapted to its wants thus early in the year opens its hoards, ready to supply the wanderer’s necessities after so tedious a migration!

It seems to me vastly like design, and Foreseeing Wisdom, that a shrub indigenous and widely distributed should be so fashioned as to produce its blossoms long before its leaves; and that this very plant alone blooms ere the snow has melted off the land, and that too at the exact period when hummingbirds arrive. It cannot be chance, but the work of the Almighty Architect—who shaped them both, whose handiwork we discover at every step, and of whose sublime conceptions we everywhere observe themanifestations in the admirably-balanced system of creation!

The specific characters of these three species, whose northern range I believe was first defined by myself, are briefly as follows:—

Selasphorus rufus(the Nootka or Red-backed Hummingbird).—Male: tail strong and wedge-shaped; upper parts, lower tail-coverts, and back, cinnamon; throat coppery red, with a well-developed ruff of the same, bordered with a white collar; tail-feathers cinnamon, striped with purplish-brown. Female: plain, cinnamon on the back, replaced with green; traces only of metallic feathers on the throat. Length of male, 3·50; wing, 1·56; tail, 1·31 inches. Habitat: West coast of North America to lat. 53° N., extending its range southward through California, to the Rio Grande.

Stellata Calliope.—Male: back bright-green; wings brownish; neck with a ruff of pinnated magenta-coloured feathers, the lower ones much elongated; abdomen whitish; length, about 2·75 inches. Female, much plainer than the male, with only a trace of the magenta-coloured ruff.

Trochilus Alexandri(Black-throated Hummingbird).—Male: tails lightly forked, the chin and upper part of the throat velvety blackwithout metallic reflections, which are confined to the posterior border of the black, and are violet, changing to steel-blue. Length, 3·30 inches. Female, without the metallic markings; tail-feathers tipped with white. Both have the same northern and southern range asSelasphorus rufus.

Urotrichus Gibsii, Baird (Western slope of Cascade Mountains);Urotrichus Talpoides, Temminck.—This singular little animal, that appears to be an intermediate link between the shrew and the mole, at present is only known as an inhabitant of two parts of the world, widely removed from each other—the one spot being the western slope of the Cascade Mountains, in North-west America, the other Japan. There are, as far as I know, but two specimens extant from the Cascade Mountains—one in the Smithsonian Museum at Washington, the other a very fine specimen that I have recently brought home, and now in the British Museum.[5]I have carefully compared the Japanese gentleman with his brother from the Western wilds, and can find no difference whatever, either generically or specifically. In size, colour, shape, and anatomical structure they are precisely alike.

The habits of the little fellow from Japan Iknow nothing about, but with my friend from the North-west I am much more familiar; and I shall endeavour to introduce him to you as lifelike as I can, from what I have jotted down in my notebook. First, then, the Urotrichus is an insectivorous mammal, its size that of a large shrew, about two-and-a-quarter inches in length, exclusive of tail, which is about an inch and a half. This tail is covered thickly with long hairs, which at the tip end in a tuft like a fine camel’s-hair pencil, and from this hairy tail it gets the name,Urotrichus.

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