 | CHAPTER XVIII. Forest life |  |
18. CHAPTER XVIII.
Of music-loving streams they ever keep,
And often in the lucid fountains peep.
H. Pickering.
The day had been sultry, and, spite of the
woods, our horses began to look fagged and weary
before we reached the place where we intended to
pass the night. The sun was in mighty power, as
if he had forgotten it was four hours after noon,
but certain attendant clouds had already begun to
“lay their golden cushions down” in preparation
for his coucher. The land now lay low and level,
much intersected by small streams, and covered with
the long grass of our rich savannas. On these
wide, grassy plains, great herds of cattle were feeding,
or lying stretched in luxurious idleness under
the scattered trees. We might have been surprised,
such was the solitariness of the region, to find such
numbers of these domestic animals; but we have
not lived so long in the wilds without having discovered
that a herd of cattle, with its tinkling bells,
is not to be considered as a sign of close vicinity to
the abodes of men. When cattle feed in wild and
unfenced pastures, they soon exhaust or spoil those
nearest home; and even without this excuse, they
will often wander at their “own sweet will,” till
small part of the day's business.
“Hunting cattle is a dreadful chore!” remarked
one of our neighbors, with piteous emphasis, after
threading the country for three weeks in search of
his best ox.
This is one of the characteristic troubles of new-country
life. In vain is the far-sounding bell
strapped round the neck of the master ox or cow,
(for we say master-cow by catachresis I suppose.)
A good bell may be heard by practised ears four
miles, if a valley or lake aid the transportation of
sound; and a horse that has been accustomed to
this species of coursing will prick up his ears and
turn his head toward the sound of a well-known
bell, thus serving as guide to the gudeman if he
chance to be slow of hearing. Yet the herd will
not always keep within bell sound. In vain too
do we employ every ingenious artifice of temptation
—supplying our “salting-place” with the great
delicacy of the grazing people, and devoting the
bran of each grist to the purpose of an extra feast,
in the hope that the propensity to good feeding may
overrule the national taste for unbounded liberty.
“Home-bred memories” seem to have no place in
the ruminations of the gregarious tribes. These
expedients, which are resorted to only by the more
provident, have indeed some efficacy, but they do
not remedy the evil. It is sometimes mitigated by
accidental causes.
When the flies become troublesome on the wide
marshes, the whole herd, as if by previous agreement,
will make for some well-known shade, near
or distant, as the case may be, and there pass the
sultry hours, only changing their position gradually,
as the sun throws the coveted shadow eastward.
And at the time of year when insects are most
tormenting, the farmers make huge smokes in convenient
spots near home, certain that to these all
the cattle in the neighborhood will flock instinctively,—smoke
being the best of all preventives
against flies and mosquitoes. So that, in the six
weeks of mosquito-time, cattle-hunting becomes a
less formidable “chore,” and thus good comes out
of evil. Evil! ay, the term is none too strong! I
appeal to those who have travelled in the timbered
land in July or August, I will not say to those who
live in those regions, for I would fain hope their
skin is hardened or armed in some way, as the fur
of the ermine thickens and turns white in preparation
for a Siberian winter.
One may observe, en passant, that ours is a rare
region for the study of entomology. Those virtuosi
who expend their amiable propensities in
transfixing butterflies and impaling gnats would
here find ample employment from May till November.
Indeed they might at times encounter more
specimens than they could manage comfortably and
without undue precipitation. First, in early April,
appear, few and far between, the huge blue-bottle
dignity of their position as ancestors. Next in
order, if I forget not, come the most minute of
midges, silent and stealthy, pretending insignificance
in order that they may sting the more securely.
These seem to be ephemera, and fortunately
the race soon runs out, at least they trouble us but
for a short time.
Flies proper—honest, sincere flies—come on so
gradually that we can hardly date their advent;
but it is when sultry weather first begins, when
the loaded clouds and the lambent lightning foretell
the warm shower, that twitchings are seen,—
and quick slaps are heard,—and these, with the
addition of something very like muttered anathemas,
announce the much-dreaded mosquito. Then
come evenings—fortunately not long ones,—
passed in the dark, lest the light should encourage
the intruders. Moonlight is praised; and even
this must be admired through closed sashes, unless
we can contrive by the aid of closely-fitted gauze
blinds to turn the house into a great safety-lamp,
—we burning within its sultry precincts. Then
are white walls spotted with human blood, like the
den of some horrible ogre. Then “smudges” are
in vogue,—heaps of damp combustibles placed on
the windward side of the house and partially ignited,
that their inky steams may smother the mosquitoes
while we take our chance. I have had a
“smudge” made in a chafing-dish at my bedside,
and being devoured at small mouthfuls, and I conscientiously
recommend choking, or running the
risk of it, at least.
If one wished to make a collection for a museum,
nothing more would be necessary than to light a
few candles on any hot, close evening in August,
especially when the weather is cloudy, and the
open windows would be filled at once with a current
of insect life, comprising all the varieties of
coleoptera and their many-named kinsfolk; from
the “shard-borne beetle with his drowsy wing,”
that goes knocking his back with unflinching pertinacity
against every inch of the ceiling, to the
“darning-needle,” said to be an implement of Pluto
himself, darting in all directions a body as long,
and to all appearance as useless, as the sittings of
our legislature.
We must not however claim preëminence for our
dear Michigan in this particular point. The gallinippers
of Florida are said to have aided the Seminoles
in appalling our armies, and we have of late
heard of a prodigious number of bites in all parts of
the Union. And do we not know from unquestionable
historic authority, namely, that of a British
tourist in America, that a presumptuous proboscis
once dared to penetrate even General Washington's
boots, as he rode through Newark marshes?
Our butterflies are nothing to boast of, and there
are few of them with which one would be willing
I have fancied that yellow predominates more than
usual among them, and I have been tempted to
believe they are bilious, like the rest of us. At any
rate, the true ethereal and brilliant Psyche is but
faintly represented by any specimen I have yet
seen.
Mosquito-time, as before hinted, lasts, in its fury,
but about six weeks, but flies are in season all
summer. In the months of August and September
particularly, black is the prevailing color of ceilings,
looking-glasses and pictures, not to mention edibles
of all classes. Much ingenuity is displayed in contriving
what, in the paraphrastic tone of the day,
we are bound to denominate destructive allurements
for these intrusive and inconsiderate insects,—we
used to call them fly-traps. These consist—in the
more refined situations—of paper globes and draperies,
delicately cut, so as to present externally an
endless variety of cells and hiding-places, and these
are well furnished within with poisoned sweets.
Less fanciful people, frugal housewives and hard-hearted
old bachelors,—place a large tumbler, partly
filled with molasses, and covered with a piece of
innocent-looking pasteboard having in the centre a
hole large enough for a blue-bottle to enter toute
déployée, but affording a poor chance for escape
after he has clogged his feet and wings in the too
eager pursuit of pleasure—a melancholy (and
quite new) warning illustration of the facilis descensus.
chance have attended a course of chemistry, show
our superior advantages by using a little water
impregnated with cobalt, which carries swift destruction
in every sip; and having at least the
recommendation of not being sticky, answers a
very good purpose, unless the children happen to
drink it.
Yet this ingenious variety of deaths makes no
perceptible diminution in the number of our tormentors,
and I have heard a good old lady exclaim
against such contrivances altogether, saying that if
you kill one fly, ten will be sure to come to his
funeral.
Yet we must not be persuaded to fancy ourselves
worse off than other people in this particular
either. I remember well—and perhaps you too,
reader—the appearance of an elegant array of confectionary
displayed in a verandah which hung over
a lovely moonlit lake in a region where flies and
midges had been for many years under the civilizing
influences of good society. A blaze of light
illumined the flower-wreathed pillars, and the gay
crowd were ushered from the ball-room to the delicately
furnished table, when lo! every article in
sight appeared as if covered with black pepper;
and the purest white and the most brilliant rainbow
tints of creams and ices presented but one sad
suit of iron gray. The very lights waxed dim in
of hapless gnats had found ruin in too warm a reception,
and were revenging themselves by extinguishing
their destroyers.
But return we to our herds feeding beside the
still waters.
| CHAPTER XVIII. Forest life | |