SECRETS OF THE WOODS(林中的秘密)
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SECRETS OF THE WOODS
1
SECRETS OF THE
WOODS
BY WILLIAM J. LONG
SECRETS OF THE WOODS
2
PREFACE
This little book is but another chapter in the shy 'wild life of the fields
and woods' of which "Ways of Wood Folk" and "Wilderness Ways " were
the beginning. It is given gladly in answer to the call for more from those
who have read the previous volumes, and whose letters are full of the
spirit of kindness and appreciation.
Many questions have come of late with these same letters; chief of
which is this: How shall one discover such things for himself? how shall
we, too, read the secrets of the Wood Folk? There is no space here to
answer, to describe the long training, even if one could explain perfectly
what is more or less unconscious. I would only suggest that perhaps the
real reason why we see so little in the woods is the way we go through
them--talking, laughing, rustling, smashing twigs, disturbing the peace of
the solitudes by what must seem strange and uncouth noises to the little
wild creatures. They, on the other hand, slip with noiseless feet through
their native coverts, shy, silent, listening, more concerned to hear than to
be heard, loving the silence, hating noise and fearing it, as they fear and
hate their natural enemies.
We would not feel comfortable if a big barbarian came into our quiet
home, broke the door down, whacked his war-club on the furniture, and
whooped his battle yell. We could hardly be natural under the
circumstances. Our true dispositions would hide themselves. We might
even vacate the house bodily. Just so Wood Folk. Only as you copy their
ways can you expect to share their life and their secrets. And it is
astonishing how little the shyest of them fears you, if you but keep silence
and avoid all excitement, even of feeling; for they understand your feeling
quite as much as your action.
A dog knows when you are afraid of him; when you are hostile; when
friendly. So does a bear. Lose your nerve, and the horse you are riding
goes to pieces instantly. Bubble over with suppressed excitement, and the
deer yonder, stepping daintily down the bank to your canoe in the water
grasses, will stamp and snort and bound away without ever knowing what
startled him. But be quiet, friendly, peace-possessed in the same place, and
SECRETS OF THE WOODS
3
the deer, even after discovering you, will draw near and show his curiosity
in twenty pretty ways ere he trots away, looking back over his shoulder for
your last message. Then be generous--show him the flash of a looking-
glass, the flutter of a bright handkerchief, a tin whistle, or any other little
kickshaw that the remembrance of a boy's pocket may suggest--and the
chances are that he will come back again, finding curiosity so richly
rewarded.
That is another point to remember: all the Wood Folk are more curious
about you than you are about them. Sit down quietly in the woods
anywhere, and your coming will occasion the same stir that a stranger
makes in a New England hill town. Control your curiosity, and soon their
curiosity gets beyond control; they must come to find out who you are and
what you are doing. Then you have the advantage; for, while their
curiosity is being satisfied, they forget fear and show you many curious
bits of their life that you will never discover otherwise.
As to the source of these sketches, it is the same as that of the others
years of quiet observation in the woods and fields, and some old
notebooks which hold the records of summer and winter camps in the
great wilderness.
My kind publishers announced, some time ago, a table of contents,
which included chapters on jay and fish-hawk, panther, and musquash, and
a certain savage old bull moose that once took up his abode too near my
camp for comfort. My only excuse for their non-appearance is that my
little book was full before their turn came. They will find their place, I
trust, in another volume presently.
STAMFORD, CONN., June, 1901. Wm. J. LONG.
SECRETS OF THE WOODS
4
TOOKHEES THE 'FRAID ONE
Little Tookhees the wood mouse, the 'Fraid One, as Simmo calls him,
always makes two appearances when you squeak to bring him out. First,
after much peeking, he runs out of his tunnel; sits up once on his hind legs;
rubs his eyes with his paws; looks up for the owl, and behind him for the
fox, and straight ahead at the tent where the man lives; then he dives back
headlong into his tunnel with a rustle of leaves and a frightened whistle, as
if Kupkawis the little owl had seen him. That is to reassure himself. In a
moment he comes back softly to see what kind of crumbs you have given
him.
No wonder Tookhees is so timid, for there is no place in earth or air or
water, outside his own little doorway under the mossy stone, where he is
safe. Above him the owls watch by night and the hawks by day; around
him not a prowler of the wilderness, from Mooween the bear down
through a score of gradations, to Kagax the bloodthirsty little weasel, but
will sniff under every old log in the hope of finding a wood mouse; and if
he takes a swim, as he is fond of doing, not a big trout in the river but
leaves his eddy to rush at the tiny ripple holding bravely across the current.
So, with all these enemies waiting to catch him the moment he ventures
out, Tookhees must needs make one or two false starts in order to find out
where the coast is clear.
That is why he always dodges back after his first appearance; why he
gives you two or three swift glimpses of himself, now here, now there,
before coming out into the light. He knows his enemies are so hungry, so
afraid he will get away or that somebody else will catch him, that they
jump for him the moment he shows a whisker. So eager are they for his
flesh, and so sure, after missing him, that the swoop of wings or the snap
of red jaws has scared him into permanent hiding, that they pass on to
other trails. And when a prowler, watching from behind a stump, sees
Tookhees flash out of sight and hears his startled squeak, he thinks
naturally that the keen little eyes have seen the tail, which he forgot to curl
close enough, and so sneaks away as if ashamed of himself. Not even the
fox, whose patience is without end, has learned the wisdom of waiting for
SECRETS OF THE WOODS
5
Tookhees' second appearance. And that is the salvation of the little 'Fraid
One.
From all these enemies Tookhees has one refuge, the little arched nest
beyond the pretty doorway under the mossy stone. Most of his enemies
can dig, to be sure, but his tunnel winds about in such a way that they
never can tell from the looks of his doorway where it leads to; and there
are no snakes in the wilderness to follow and find out. Occasionally I have
seen where Mooween the bear has turned the stone over and clawed the
earth beneath; but there is generally a tough root in the way, and Mooween
concludes that he is taking too much trouble for so small a mouthful, and
shuffles off to the log where the red ants live.
On his journeys through the woods Tookhees never forgets the
dangerous possibilities. His progress is a series of jerks, and whisks, and
jumps, and hidings. He leaves his doorway, after much watching, and
shoots like a minnow across the moss to an upturned root. There he sits up
and listens, rubbing his whiskers nervously. Then he glides along the root
for a couple of feet, drops to the ground and disappears. He is hiding there
under a dead leaf. A moment of stillness and he jumps like a jack-in-abox.
Now he is sitting on the leaf that covered him, rubbing his whiskers again,
looking back over his trail as if he heard footsteps behind him. Then
another nervous dash, a squeak which proclaims at once his escape. and
his arrival, and he vanishes under the old moss-grown log where his
fellows live, a whole colony of them.
All these things, and many more, I discovered the first season that I
began to study the wild things that lived within sight of my tent. I had
been making long excursions after bear and beaver, following on wild-
goose chases after Old Whitehead the eagle and Kakagos the wild woods
raven that always escaped me, only to find that within the warm circle of
my camp-fire little wild folk were hiding whose lives were more unknown
and quite as interesting as the greater creatures I had been following.
One day, as I returned quietly to camp, I saw Simmo quite lost in
watching something near my tent. He stood beside a great birch tree, one
hand resting against the bark that he would claim next winter for his new
canoe; the other hand still grasped his axe, which he had picked up a
SECRETS OF THE WOODS
6
moment before to quicken the tempo of the bean kettle's song. His dark
face peered behind the tree with a kind of childlike intensity written all
over it.
I stole nearer without his hearing me; but I could see nothing. The
woods were all still. Killooleet was dozing by his nest; the chickadees had
vanished, knowing that it was not meal time; and Meeko the red squirrel
had been made to jump from the fir top to the ground so often that now he
kept sullenly to his own hemlock across the island, nursing his sore feet
and scolding like a fury whenever I approached. Still Simmo watched, as
if a bear were approaching his bait, till I whispered, "Quiee, Simmo, what
is it?"
"Nodwar k'chee Toquis, I see little 'Fraid One'" he said,
unconsciously dropping into his own dialect, which is the softest speech in
the world, so soft that wild things are not disturbed when they hear it,
thinking it only a louder sough of the pines or a softer tunking of ripples
on the rocks.--"O bah cosh, see! He wash-um face in yo lil cup." And
when I tiptoed to his side, there was Tookhees sitting on the rim of my
drinking cup, in which I had left a new leader to soak for the evening's
fishing, scrubbing his face diligently, like a boy who is watched from
behind to see that he slights not his ears or his neck.
Remembering my own boyhood on cold mornings, I looked behind
him to see if he also were under compulsion, but there was no other mouse
in sight. He would scoop up a double handful of water in his paws, rub it
rapidly up over nose and eyes, and then behind his ears, on the spots that
wake you up quickest when you are sleepy. Then another scoop of water,
and another vigorous rub, ending behind his ears as before.
Simmo was full of wonder, for an Indian notices few things in the
woods beside those that pertain to his trapping and hunting; and to see a
mouse wash his face was as incomprehensible to him as to see me read a
book. But all wood mice are very cleanly; they have none of the strong
odors of our house mice. Afterwards, while getting acquainted, I saw him
wash many times in the plate of water that I kept filled near his den; but he
never washed more than his face and the sensitive spot behind his ears.
Sometimes, however, when I have seen him swimming in the lake or river,
SECRETS OF THE WOODS
7
I have wondered whether he were going on a journey, or just bathing for
the love of it, as he washed his face in my cup.
I left the cup where it was and spread a feast for the little guest,
cracker crumbs and a bit of candle end. In the morning they were gone, the
signs of several mice telling plainly who had been called in from the
wilderness byways. That was the introduction of man to beast. Soon they
came regularly. I had only to scatter crumbs and squeak a few times like a
mouse, when little streaks and flashes would appear on the moss or among
the faded gold tapestries of old birch leaves, and the little wild things
would come to my table, their eyes shining like jet, their tiny paws lifted
to rub their whiskers or to shield themselves from the fear under which
they lived continually.
They were not all alike--quite the contrary. One, the same who had
washed in my cup, was gray and old, and wise from much dodging of
enemies. His left ear was split from a fight, or an owl's claw, probably, that
just missed him as he dodged under a root. He was at once the shyest and
boldest of the lot. For a day or two he came with marvelous stealth,
making use of every dead leaf and root tangle to hide his approach, and
shooting across the open spaces so quickly that one knew not what had
happened- -just a dun streak which ended in nothing. And the brown leaf
gave no sign of what it sheltered. But once assured of his ground, he came
boldly. This great man-creature, with his face close to the table, perfectly
still but for his eyes, with a hand that moved gently if it moved at all, was
not to be feared--that Tookhees felt instinctively. And this strange fire with
hungry odors, and the white tent, and the comings and goings of men who
were masters of the woods kept fox and lynx and owl far away--that he
learned after a day or two. Only the mink, who crept in at night to steal the
man's fish, was to be feared. So Tookhees presently gave up his nocturnal
habits and came out boldly into the sunlight. Ordinarily the little creatures
come out in the dusk, when their quick movements are hidden among the
shadows that creep and quiver. But with fear gone, they are only too glad
to run about in the daylight, especially when good things to eat are calling
them.
Besides the veteran there was a little mother-mouse, whose tiny gray
SECRETS OF THE WOODS
8
jacket was still big enough to cover a wonderful mother love, as I
afterwards found out. She never ate at my table, but carried her fare away
into hiding, not to feed her little ones-they were, too small as yet--but
thinking in some dumb way, behind the bright little eyes, that they needed
her and that her life must be spared with greater precaution for their sakes.
She would steal timidly to my table, always appearing from under a gray
shred of bark on a fallen birch log, following the same path, first to a
mossy stone, then to a dark hole under a root, then to a low brake, and
along the underside of a billet of wood to the mouse table. There she
would stuff both cheeks hurriedly, till they bulged as if she had toothache,
and steal away by the same path, disappearing at last under the shred of
gray bark.
For a long time it puzzled me to find her nest, which I knew could not
be far away. It was not in the birch log where she disappeared--that was
hollow the whole length--nor was it anywhere beneath it. Some distance
away was a large stone, half covered by the green moss which reached up
from every side. The most careful search here had failed to discover any
trace of Tookhees' doorway; so one day when the wind blew half a gale
and I was going out on the lake alone, I picked up this stone to put in the
bow of my canoe. That was to steady the little craft by bringing her nose
down to grip the water. Then the secret was out, and there it was in a little
dome of dried grass among some spruce roots under the stone.
The mother was away foraging, but a faint sibilant squeaking within
the dome told me that the little ones were there, and hungry as usual. As I
watched there was a swift movement in a tunnel among the roots, and the
mother-mouse came rushing back. She paused a moment, lifting her
forepaws against a root to sniff what danger threatened. Then she saw my
face bending over the opening--Et tu Brute! and she darted into the nest. In
a moment she was out again and disappeared into her tunnel, running
swiftly with her little ones hanging to her sides by a grip that could not be
shaken,--all but one, a delicate pink creature that one could hide in a
thimble, and that snuggled down in the darkest corner of my hand
confidently.
It was ten minutes before the little mother came back, looking
SECRETS OF THE WOODS
9
anxiously for the lost baby. When she found him safe in his own nest, with
the man's face still watching, she was half reassured; but when she threw
herself down and the little one began to drink, she grew fearful again and
ran away into the tunnel, the little one clinging to her side, this time
securely.
I put the stone back and gathered the moss carefully about it. In a few
days Mother Mouse was again at my table. I stole away to the stone, put
my ear close to it, and heard with immense satisfaction tiny squeaks,
which told me that the house was again occupied. Then I watched to find
the path by which Mother Mouse came to her own. When her cheeks were
full, she disappeared under the shred of bark by her usual route. That led
into the hollow center of the birch log, which she followed to the end,
where she paused a moment, eyes, ears, and nostrils busy; then she
jumped to a tangle of roots and dead leaves, beneath which was a tunnel
that led, deep down under the moss, straight to her nest beneath the stone.
Besides these older mice, there were five or six smaller ones, all shy
save one, who from the first showed not the slightest fear but came
straight to my hand, ate his crumbs, and went up my sleeve, and proceeded
to make himself a warm nest there by nibbling wool from my flannel shirt.
In strong contrast to this little fellow was another who knew too well
what fear meant. He belonged to another tribe that had not yet grown
accustomed to man's ways. I learned too late how careful one must be in
handling the little creatures that live continually in the land where fear
reigns.
A little way behind my tent was a great fallen log, mouldy and moss-
grown, with twin-flowers shaking their bells along its length, under which
lived a whole colony of wood mice. They ate the crumbs that I placed by
the log; but they could never be tolled to my table, whether because they
had no split-eared old veteran to spy out the man's ways, or because my
own colony drove them away, I could never find out. One day I saw
Tookhees dive under the big log as I approached, and having nothing more
important to do, I placed one big crumb near his entrance, stretched out in
the moss, hid my hand in a dead brake near the tempting morsel, and
squeaked the call. In a moment Tookhees' nose and eyes appeared in his
SECRETS OF THE WOODS
10
doorway, his whiskers twitching nervously as he smelled the candle grease.
But he was suspicious of the big object, or perhaps he smelled the man too
and was afraid, for after much dodging in and out he disappeared
altogether.
I was wondering how long his hunger would battle with his caution,
when I saw the moss near my bait stir from beneath. A little waving of the
moss blossoms, and Tookhees' nose and eyes appeared out of the ground
for an instant, sniffing in all directions. His little scheme was evident
enough now; he was tunneling for the morsel that he dared not take openly.
I watched with breathless interest as a faint quiver nearer my bait showed
where he was pushing his works. Then the moss stirred cautiously close
beside his objective; a hole opened; the morsel tumbled in, and Tookhees
was gone with his prize.
I placed more crumbs from my pocket in the same place, and presently
three or four mice were nibbling them. One sat up close by the dead brake,
holding a bit of bread in his forepaws like a squirrel. The brake stirred
suddenly; before he could jump my hand closed over him, and slipping the
other hand beneath him I held him up to my face to watch him between
my fingers. He made no movement to escape, but only trembled violently.
His legs seemed too weak to support his weight now; he lay down; his
eyes closed. One convulsive twitch and he was dead--dead of fright in a
hand which had not harmed him.
It was at this colony, whose members were all strangers to me, that I
learned in a peculiar way of the visiting habits of wood mice, and at the
same time another lesson that I shall not soon forget. For several days I
had been trying every legitimate way in vain to catch a big trout, a
monster of his kind, that lived in an eddy behind a rock up at the inlet.
Trout were scarce in that lake, and in summer the big fish are always lazy
and hard to catch. I was trout hungry most of the time, for the fish that I
caught were small, and few and far between. Several times, however,
when casting from the shore at the inlet for small fish, I had seen swirls in
a great eddy near the farther shore, which told me plainly of big fish
beneath; and one day, when a huge trout rolled half his length out of water
behind my fly, small fry lost all their interest and I promised myself the
摘要：
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SECRETSOFTHEWOODS1SECRETSOFTHEWOODSBYWILLIAMJ.LONGSECRETSOFTHEWOODS2PREFACEThislittlebookisbutanotherchapterintheshy'wildlifeofthefieldsandwoods'ofwhich"WaysofWoodFolk"and"WildernessWays"werethebeginning.Itisgivengladlyinanswertothecallformorefromthosewhohavereadthepreviousvolumes,andwhoselettersare...
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