Part 11

VII.

THREE YEARS LATER

The next spring, after my attempt to thin out the white-footed mice, the stoats returned. I did not molest them, and they reduced the number of mice in short order. Mouse number two had a little family in a nest on a shelf. They were mice-babies, helpless and sprawling. They were dragged out of the nest by one of the stoats, and were killed one at a time. The stoat was obliged to make three trips to remove the pile of dead mice. The mother had escaped by way of the stone wall at the rear of the cabin. After the slaughter was over, she returned and did a lot of drumming. I think she was reproaching me because I did not drive the stoat away. It made me feel guilty, but I had hardened my heart, on account of a valuable manuscript which this mouse had purloined and reduced to scraps, with which to decorate her last nest.

The following morning I saw the mother come into the cabin with a baby mouse in her mouth. I thought it might be one of her own dropped by the stoat. But I was soon undeceived. The mouse left, and soon returned with another little one. This time I examined the young mice. They did not belong to my mouse family. They were strangers to me. The old mouse cared for these babies as if they were her own. I expect that the stoats had killed the mother, and my mouse had adopted the orphans.

The young mice increased in size rapidly, and soon took on the adult form and color. Then I recognized them. They were the gray Hesperomys, while my mice were the fulvous Hesperomys. The first is found in deep woods, the latter near farm-buildings and in the neighboring woodlands.

I don't know where their foster-parent found the little imps, but it was a sorry find for her. As they increased in strength, it was evident that they conspired to take possession of the cabin. They worked in concert and fought in concert. While they were yet small the two would attack a full-grown mouse. If it chanced to be an old male, the little imps were sure to get mauled, until they would flee to their mother for protection. When full grown, they proved to be a match, single-handed, for any mouse in the cabin. Together, they were invincible.

The cabin became a battle-field every night. After a few weeks the white-foots were completely vanquished, and left. The two warriors drove their foster-mother out-doors, then for three months held undisputed possession of the food supply.

The white-foots are destructive gnawers, but the new mice could do more damage in one night than all the others could in a week. I had made a poor exchange. The two scamps were on friendly terms with me, and did not allow me to eat a meal without their company. They would come at my call, and would have proved desirable pets, if it had not been for the gnawing habit.

I had made up my mind to kill them, for I knew it would be only a matter of time when they would destroy every book and paper in the cabin. I got rid of them, however, without resorting to violence. A young married couple from the city saw and admired the mice, and when I offered to give them away, gladly accepted the offer. I do not know what became of them, and do not care to meet any of their race.

In a short time the white-foots returned to the cabin, and are with me now. The foster-mother that was turned out-doors did not return. She was one of the missing, and so sacrificed her life, after all her care of two ungrateful imps.

VIII.

THE CROW

The intelligence of the crow is admitted by those who deny reason to the lower animals. This bird is so large and is so meddlesome in human affairs that he has forced mankind to acknowledge his intelligence.

While I admire his ability to look out for number one, I do not believe that he is in any way beneficial to the farmer. In my opinion, he is a great deal blacker than he is painted by our wise men at Washington. After a lifetime knowledge of the crow, with ten years' close observation of his habits, I have nothing to say in his favor.

While farming in Maine I was a sworn enemy of the crow. Not because he pulled up my corn, thinned out my barley, and carried off my chickens; these things I could provide against; I was his enemy because he robbed birds' nests by the wholesale. It did not take me long to find out that this black imp prevented the increase of song-birds in cultivated fields and the adjoining woodlands.

I brought with me my hatred of the crow when I dropped into the woods of Cape Ann, and for several years I made life miserable for his kind with trap and shotgun.

Ten years ago, influenced by the articles in Forest and Stream on game protection, I laid aside my gun and devoted more time to the study of the wild things. The crows got the benefit of this change. I should have continued my warfare if the crows had plundered the birds' nests in my vicinity. King-birds nested near my cabin, and during the nesting-season crows and hawks were very careful to give the locality a wide berth. At other times the king-birds did not go far from home to attack the crows, and the latter made themselves at home in my dooryard, after I had ceased to persecute them.

Crows possess a language which enables them to communicate to each other anything that relates to crow-life. They can hold long confabs, and then act intelligently from evident conclusions.

In the years when I lived happily with my shotgun, before a divorce was decreed, I planted a bushel of potatoes in the woods on the west side of Magnolia Swamp. Fire had cleared the side-hill, and the prospect of a crop was good.

The crows gathered in some dead trees, out of gunshot, to criticize my work, and seemed to be highly elated. Raw potatoes are not down on the crow bill of fare, so I thought there would be a great disappointment when they investigated my work. The second day after I had finished planting I visited the spot, and found that the crows had dug up every hill on the south half of the field. There were three pieces of potato beside each hill, so the crows did not dig them up for food. Why they did so much hard work for nothing was beyond my knowledge of crow-life. I nearly surrounded the other half of the field with white cotton string, and retired to the swamp to await the crows. Twenty minutes later a sentinel crow winged his way to a dead tree on the hill, and, after looking for enemies, called out, "Caw, caw, caw." Immediately eight crows appeared. They held a consultation, and it seems they decided that it was a good time to dig up the rest of my potatoes, for they started for the spot where they had left off. As this part of the field was under a high ledge, the crows could not see the string until they had passed the brow of the hill. The first crow over saw the string, and nearly turned a somersault in trying to stop his speed. He called out, "Cur-cur-cur. Cur-cur-cur," and instantly every crow returned to the tree. For ten minutes a great confab took place. The crow that had discovered the string was eagerly questioned by the others, and replied in a hasty and excited manner. After talking it over, a crow flew to the south end of the field, where he could look to the north and see the string. He turned and reported. Another crow flew to the north end of the field and stationed himself in a tall pine-tree. This crow soon discovered that the string did not surround the whole field; there was a wide gap in front of the pine-tree. He called "Caw-caw-caw-caw-caw," and the crows flew down to the tree. They were told about the gap, and one crow boldly flew through and acted as sentinel from a tree in the potato-field. The other crows soon followed, and began digging up the seed-potatoes. I think they tasted of every piece, with the idea that somewhere I had planted something good to eat. I shot two of the crows and hung them in the potato-field, but a week later I found the seeds dug up, with the exception of a few hills beneath the string.

The few hills left made quite a show two years later. They had produced a crop each year without being discovered by hunters. But when the weeds and shrubs made a rabbit-cover, "wild potatoes" were discovered on that side-hill, and I was soon informed of the fact that the potato was growing in a wild state "away back in the woods."

I believe that crows destroy fully one-half the quail and grouse on Cape Ann. A woods fire south of my cabin burned the nest of a ruffed grouse late in the season. The grouse made a new nest north of my cabin, and one day I found four eggs in it. The next morning I heard a strange cry in the direction of the nest, and started to investigate. I took to the path at the rear of my cabin, and when I had reached the top of the hill I saw the grouse running toward me. She held one wing close to her side, but with the other she was striking savagely at two crows that hazed her as they flew above and around her. Just as I came in sight of the trio, the grouse dropped an egg from under the closed wing, and one of the crows seized it and flew so near me that I could see the egg in his bill. The thing that impressed me most was the silence of the crows. Not a sound did they utter. The scamps knew that I was near by, and would be warned of crow mischief if I heard their cries. The cry made by the grouse was new to me. It was a wild cry in every sense of the word. The grouse, when she fled with her eggs, took the path to the cabin, and I think she did it for protection.

Last spring I saw something that added to my knowledge of crow intelligence.

Fuller Brook runs past my cabin, and after losing itself in a swamp, takes up its course again between high granite hills, until it falls into the sea at Fresh Water Cove. In the valley along the brook tall pine and hemlock trees make an ideal nesting-site for crows and hawks. Last spring I was much interested in a red-shouldered hawk's-nest which was in this valley. There were two crow's nests some twenty rods farther down the valley. One of my visits found the male hawk at home, and when he discovered me he flew in circles above the trees, uttering the loud scream that can be heard for a mile or more. Soon two crows came sneaking through the tree-tops to find out what was disturbing the hawk. The hawk flew to a tall pine, but continued his cries after he had alighted. The crows flew to the same pine, and, taking a position near the hawk, began to talk to him in a low tone. It was evident that they were telling him that his loud screams would bring all the hunters of Cape Ann to the spot. The hawk continued to scream, and one crow, in a loud tone, called out, "Caw-caw-caw-caw-caw." Immediately five other crows appeared, and all attacked the hawk, striking at him with their wings until he ceased to scream.

The crafty crows did not care about the hawk's nest, but they did not intend to have the hawk publish the fact. Well they knew that a search would expose the two nests down the valley.

The red-shouldered hawk seems to be too slow and clumsy to wage war on crows, and the birds nest near each other, without trouble, only as I have related.

The crows in my locality have named me in the crow language. Two caws is the way the sentinel announces my approach to his mates.

Several years ago I had occasion to pass every night a spot in the woods where dead horses are buried. The crows would gather there nightly, but always had a sentinel out. The sentinel took up a position in a tall oak on a hill where he could overlook all the approaches. When everything was quiet the sentinel called out, "Caw-caw-caw," which means "All is well." If a man approaches, the danger-signal is, "Cur-cur-cur," sometimes repeated, and it means "Look out there." It is uttered rapidly.