Читать книгу: «Birds and Nature Vol. 9 No. 5 [May 1901]», страница 5

A FRIENDLY FIELD MOUSE

Many stories have been told in the past, tending to show that wild animals when in trouble will display surprising confidence in man, in fact will often seek his assistance when sore beset. The writer, when a boy upon a farm in Minnesota, had an experience with a field mouse which prettily illustrates this trait in wild creatures. It was stacking time and the men were all busy in the fields lifting the shocks of cured grain and stacking them in hive-shaped stacks in the barnyard. The writer, a barefoot boy at that time, had been following the wagons in the field all the morning in a vain endeavor to capture some field mice to take home as pets. He had seen a number of the drab little creatures with their short tails, but had failed to lay his hands upon any of them, owing to the thick stubble and the nimbleness of the mice. At last, as a particularly large shock was lifted, a broken nest was disclosed and the youthful mouser was put upon the qui vive by the slender squeaks of seven or eight hairless little beings that were so young as not to have opened their eyes as yet. The mother disappeared with a whisk, whereupon the young hunter sat down in a critical attitude beside the nest and began to examine his find. He had already put one of the young mice in his trousers pocket when the mother reappeared out of the stubble beside the nest. The boy held his breath and awaited developments. Much to his surprise, the mouse-mother, after carefully examining the ruined nest, entered his pocket, which, as he sat, opened very near to the nest. She seemed to come to the conclusion very quickly that her lost little one had found a very good home, and in about two minutes had transferred the remainder of her offspring from the nest to the pocket, carrying them one at a time in her mouth.

The writer has had many varied experiences with wild animals, but none of them impressed him so strongly as the episode of the mouse-mother in the wheat stubble.

J. Clyde Hayden.

THE OPENING OF WINTER BUDS

In our cold temperate zone spring means chiefly the changing of the trees from their naked winter condition to the beautiful green leafy appearance of early summer. When stripped of their foliage, trees present to the observant eye a great variety of form. The tall, slender poplar can easily be distinguished from the spreading elm as far as it is seen; as, also, can the rough-barked hickory, with its clinging strips of bark, from the smooth beech.

Usually, the opening of buds seems to take place almost in a single night, but they really open very gradually. Now, these buds are all formed the summer before, but they are so small that they are scarcely noticed in the midst of the many leaves. In the winter, however, they are readily seen; and, then, when the first warm rains fall in the spring they start to swell, and gradually grow larger until, suddenly, they burst through their snug winter coats, and show the tiny, green leaves that have been concealed in the thick, dark, outer covering.

The buckeye bud is one of the largest of the winter buds. It is covered with small, pointed, brown scales, which overlap each other, thus keeping the cold from the more delicate parts within. Underneath these hard outer scales are thinner, half-transparent ones. Their color is a delicate pink, and fine veins line them. Snugly wrapped inside these dainty coats are tiny woolly objects, and when the wool is removed they are found to be miniature leaves folded together so compactly that they occupy very little room. If the bud has grown on the end of the twig a very small flower bud will be enclosed within the leaves; but if it has grown on the side there will be no flower bud. Since these leaves and flowers have all been formed the summer before, it is easy to understand that a few warm days will cause them to grow so that they soon become too large for their winter covering, and suddenly burst it open.

The trees are forced into a period of inactivity by the cold, so, if a twig is broken off, and placed in moderately warm water, in a warm, light place, the buds on it will open just as they do in the spring and their development may be easily watched.

Often a tree will have a countless number of buds; and since growing buds need much light and nourishment only the stronger ones will grow, the weaker ones remaining in a resting state. These resting buds are called dormant buds, the word dormant coming from the Latin word “dormio,” which means “to sleep.” The buds often continue in this dormant state for several years, becoming weaker and weaker all the time, until finally they die. If, however, the stronger buds are killed at any time, as by a late frost, the dormant ones suddenly become active, and grow to take the place of the ones that were destroyed. This shows us how cleverly trees provide substitutes for cases of emergency. These dormant buds then might even be compared to the understudies of the stage.

The regular places for buds to grow are in the axes of the leaves or on the end of the twigs. Buds, however, can be made to grow on unusual places. If the tops of the tree are cut off, as we often see them in the maple, buds will grow on the trunks. Then, if trees are cut down or blown over, buds will grow on the stumps or from the roots.

Thus, we can see by watching the formation and development of buds, and the growth of branches, that trees follow certain fixed laws of nature, modifying these laws only on account of some peculiar external conditions as, for example, nourishment, light, heat or moisture.

Roberta Irvine Brotherson.

THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS

 
This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign,
Sails the unshadowed main,
The venturous bark that flings
On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings
In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings,
And coral reefs lie bare,
Where the cold sea maids rise to sun their streaming hair.
 
 
Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl!
Wrecked is the ship of pearl!
And every chambered cell,
Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell,
As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell,
Before thee lies revealed, —
Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed!
 
 
Year after year beheld the silent toil
That spread his lustrous coil;
Still, as the spiral grew,
He left the past year’s dwelling for the new,
Stole with soft step his shining archway through,
Built up its idle door,
Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more.
 
 
Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee,
Child of the wandering sea,
Cast from her lap, forlorn!
From thy dead lips a clearer note is born,
Than ever Triton blew from wreathéd horn!
While on mine ear it rings,
Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings:
 
 
Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,
As the swift seasons roll!
Leave thy low-vaulted past!
Let each new temple, nobler than the last,
Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast,
Till thou at length art free,
Leaving thine outgrown shell by life’s unresting sea!
 

– Oliver Wendell Holmes.

THE NAUTILUS AND OTHER CEPHALOPODS

The highest group of mollusks belongs to the class Cephalopoda, which signifies head-footed, the name being given to them because the head is surrounded by a circle of eight or ten arms, which act both as arms and feet. Let us take as an example of this class the common squid of the Atlantic coast (Ommastrephes illecebrosa), and see how it is formed. The body is long and cylindrical and ends at the tail in a point; the dorsal side of the tail end has a pair of triangular fins. The body is practically a hollow cylinder or sac which contains the vital organs of the animal. The neck is in many genera fastened to this cylinder or mantle by an apparatus which may be likened to a button and button-hole. The head is rounded, has on either side the large, round eyes, and at the end it is split up into ten arms, two of which are longer than the others and are called the tentacular arms. On the inner side, the arms are provided with two rows of suckers, which are little, rounded cups placed on pedicels or stems and which form a vacuum when they touch an object and so cling to it. The two long arms are expanded and club-shaped at the end, each club being armed with four rows of suckers. Directly in the center of the circle of arms the mouth is placed and is provided with two sharp beaks like those of a parrot, only inverted. In addition to these organs there is a large siphon or tube on the ventral side, which is really an organ of locomotion, for it expels water from the mantle cavity with great force, thus rapidly sending the animal backward, its usual direction of propulsion. The body has no shell for protection, but in its place there is a long rod called a pen, which acts as a backbone to support the body of the animal, although of course not in the same sense as the backbone of vertebrated animals. In some cephalopods this pen is hard and stiff but in Ommastrephes it is thin and soft. Such is the general form of a cephalopod, familiar names of which are the Octopus, Squid, Nautilus, Paper-nautilus and Devil-fish. In this class, also, the majority of the shelled species are extinct, only a few living at the present time. The Ammonite is an example of the extinct cephalopods.

The most familiar member of this class to the layman is the Pearly Nautilus, the shell of which may be found on the mantel shelf or what-not of very many dwellings. The shell of the Nautilus is formed in a spiral and is made up of many chambers, all connected by a tube called a siphuncle, the outer chamber containing the animal and hence called the living chamber. The shell is called the “Pearly Nautilus,” but the pearly tints cannot be seen until the outer layer – which is yellowish-white with brown markings – is taken off, when the exquisite, rainbow-like colors may be observed.

While the shell of Nautilus is well known the animal is very rare in our museums, although the natives of the Fiji Islands, New Hebrides and New Caledonia are able to obtain it in large quantities for food and it is highly esteemed by them. During the voyage of H. M. S. Challenger around the world, a living Nautilus was captured by dredging in some three hundred and twenty fathoms near Mateeka Island, one of the Fiji group. This was placed in a tub and it swam about in a lively manner by ejecting water from its funnel. The tentacles, of which there are a larger number than in the other cephalopods, were spread out radially, like those of the sea anemone. The Nautilus lives among the coral reefs, at depths varying from three to three hundred fathoms or more.

The Fijian’s method of capturing the Nautilus for food is thus described (Tryon, – Structural and Systematic Conchology): “When the water is smooth so that the bottom, at several fathoms’ depth, near the border of the reef, may be distinctly seen, the fisherman in his little, frail canoe scrutinizes the sands and the coral masses below, to discover the animal in its favorite haunts. The experienced eye of the native may probably encounter it in its usual position, clinging to some prominent ledge, with the shell turned downwards. The tackle consists first, of a large, round, wicker-work basket, shaped very much like a cage rat-trap, having an opening above, with a circlet of points directed inward, so as to permit of entry but to preclude escape; secondly, a rough piece of rope of sufficient length to reach the bottom; and lastly, a small piece of branched wood, with the branches sharpened to form a sort of grapnel, to which a perforated stone is attached, answering the purpose of a sinker. The basket is now weighted with stones, well baited with boiled cray-fish (the principal food of the Nautilus is crabs of different species), and then dropped gently down near the victim. The trap is now either closely watched or a mark is placed upon the spot, and the fisherman pursues his avocation upon other parts of the reef until a certain period has elapsed, when he returns and in all probability finds the Nautilus in his cage, feeding upon the bait. The grapnel is now carefully let down, and having entered the basket through the opening on top, a dextrous movement of the hand fixes one or more of the points or hooks and the prize is safely hoisted into the canoe.”

The animal is made into soup by some of the natives while others boil it in a pot. The shells are used by the natives to make beautifully carved figures, the contrast of the dark outer coating against the light, pearly, inner coating producing a striking effect. The shell is also used in England and on the Continent to produce elegant cameos.

The “Argonaut,” or “Paper Sailor,” is no less beautiful and interesting than the Pearly Nautilus. The thin and fragile shell cannot be compared with that of the Nautilus nor with the pen, or internal support, of the squid, for it is attached to the animal by no muscles, and is only kept in position by the broad webs on the upper arms of the female (which alone possesses a shell), its function being simply to protect the eggs. The male is very much smaller than the female and is exceedingly rare. The natural position of the female is with its arms spread out and hanging about the shell, four in front and four behind, the two broad arms supporting the shell being spread out and closely embracing the latter. The siphon is turned toward the ridged part of the shell and the animal progresses in a backward direction by forcibly ejecting water through this organ. It crawls with the shell on its back, like a snail.

The poets have given us many beautiful writings detailing the vices and virtues of the lower forms of life and among these the Pearly Nautilus and Paper Sailor have received a goodly share of the muse’s attention. But, alas! for the poet, who, not being a conchologist, has sadly misused and misjudged these helpless and harmless creatures. Thus we are told how the paper nautilus sails over the ocean with his “sails” (meaning the two expanded arms) spread out to catch the breeze, and how, when the storm approaches, it folds its sails and disappears beneath the waters of the ocean. Alas for the poet! he puts the most beautiful ideas together in verse, ideas and themes which we would fain believe; but along comes cold, calculating science, and at one fell stroke sweeps away all that the poet has done, for in the poem on the Argonaut all is wrong, the animal does not and could not sail, for were it to do so the shell would fall and become lost in the bottom of the ocean.

A mollusk whose shell is cast upon the shore by thousands, but the animal of which is very rare, is the Spirula. The shell is less than an inch in diameter, is made in the form of a loose spiral and is divided into little chambers connected by a siphuncle. The shell of this genus does not contain the animal, as in Nautilus, but it is enveloped in two flaps of the mantle, at the posterior part of the animal, the shell being concealed with the exception of a part of the edge on each side. The body of the animal is long and cylindrical and the arms are quite short, more nearly resembling those of the Nautilus than those of the Octopus or squid. The body ends in a disk which is supposed to be a kind of sucker, by which the animal can adhere to rocks, thus enabling it to freely use its arms in obtaining food. It has been supposed by some anatomists that the shells of the fossil Ammonites were attached to the animal in a similar manner, and if this should be true these small mollusks would assume a new meaning as being the last survivors of a large group of animals of which all except Spirula are extinct.

Probably the best known of the shell-less cephalopods is the octopus, with its rounded body, large eyes and long arms. Almost everybody has read Victor Hugo’s weird account of the octopus in his “Toilers of the Sea,” and the animal has thus been rendered more or less familiar, although it was made to do several things by the author that it would not do in nature, as, for example, “drinking” a man alive. The Octopus is found abundantly throughout temperate and tropical seas, generally on the coast among rocks, but frequently on the sandy bottom in water of moderate depth. Here it may occasionally be seen “walking” clumsily along on its eight long arms, its little round body being balanced above the arms. Its favorite position, however, is among the rocks. In such a locality it will squeeze its body into some crevice and spread out its arms until they form a sort of web, resembling in this position a huge spider waiting for its prey. And it may well be likened to a spider for from this web there is no escape if once a hapless fish has come in contact with the powerful suckers on the long arms. The poor fish is paralyzed when seized by the octopus and is drawn towards the mouth, where it is torn to pieces by the beak-like jaws, and swallowed.

Like many of the mollusks of which we have written the octopus is esteemed as a valuable article of food by several savage tribes as well as by some civilized people. The native of the Pacific coast catches the Octopus (Octopus punctatus) by a very ingenious method. Providing himself with a spear twelve or fourteen feet long which has four or five barbed pieces of hard wood some fourteen inches long attached to the end, he paddles his canoe to the feeding-ground of the mollusk. One is soon found in ten or twelve feet of water and the Indian carefully lets down his spear until within a few inches of the center of the animal, when he quickly plunges it into the soft mass. Instantly the water is in commotion, the eight long arms writhing about in an endeavor to reach the boat. The Indian knows that should this happen his chances for life would be slim indeed. But he is prepared, and carefully lifting up the octopus with his barbed spear until it is above the surface of the water, he plunges a long, sharp spear, with which he is provided, into each arm where it joins the body. At each plunge of the spear, an arm becomes helpless and in a short time the animal, which but a few moments before had the power of a score of men, lies in the canoe, a shapeless, helpless mass.