“I struck direct for my neighbour’s shanty, which I could see about three mile off, an’, in a hour or so, I wur at his door. Thur I didn’t stay long, but borrowin’ an extra gun which he happened to hev, an’ takin’ him along with his own rifle, I waded my mar back to the island. We found the game not exactly as I hed left it. The fall o’ the flood hed given the painter, the cat, an’ the wolves courage. The swamp rabbit an’ the ’possum wur clean gone – all but bits o’ thur wool – an’ one o’ the does wur better ’n half devoured.
“My neighbour tuk one side, an’ I the other, an’ ridin’ clost up, we surrounded the island.
“I plugged the painter at the fust shot, an’ he did the same for the bar. We next layed out the wolves, an’ arter that cooney, an’ then we tuk our time about the deer – these last and the bar bein’ the only valley’ble things on the island. The skunk we kilt last, as we didn’t want the thing to stink us off the place while we wur a-skinnin’ the deer.
“Arter killin’ the skunk, we mounted an’ left, of coorse loaded with our bar-meat an’ venison.
“I got my rifle arter all. When the flood went down, I found it near the middle of the parairy, half buried in the sludge.
“I saw I hed built my shanty in the wrong place; but I soon looked out a better location, an’ put up another. I hed all ready in the spring, when I went back to Massissippi, an’ brought out Mary and the two young uns.”
The singular adventure of old Ike illustrates a point in natural history that, as soon as the trapper had ended, became the subject of conversation. It was that singular trait in the character of predatory animals, as the cougar, when under circumstances of danger. On such occasions fear seems to influence them so much as to completely subdue their ferocity, and they will not molest other animals sharing the common danger, even when the latter are their natural and habitual prey. Nearly every one of us had observed this at some time or other; and the old naturalist, as well as the hunter-guides, related many incidents confirming the strange fact. Humboldt speaks of an instance observed by him on the Orinoco, where the fierce jaguar and some other creatures were seen quietly and peacefully floating together on the same log – all more or less frightened at their situation!
Ike’s story had very much interested the doctor, who rewarded him with a “nip” from the pewter flask; and, indeed, on this occasion the flask was passed round, as the day had been one of unusual interest. The killing of a cougar is a rare adventure, even in the wildest haunts of the backwoods’ country.
Chapter Nine.
The Musquash
Our next day’s march was unenlivened by any particular incident. We had left behind us the heavy timber, and again travelled through the “oak openings.” Not an animal was started during the whole day, and the only one seen was a muskrat that took to the water of a small creek and escaped. This occurred at the spot where we had halted for our night-camp, and after the tents were pitched, several of the party went “rat-hunting.” The burrow of a family of these curious little animals was discovered in the bank, and an attempt was made to dig them out, but without success. The family proved to be “not at home.”
The incident, however, brought the muskrat on the tapis.
The “muskrat” of the States is the musquash of the fur-traders (Fiber sibethicus). He is called muskrat, from his resemblance to the common rat, combined with the musky odour which he emits from glands situated near the anus. Musquash is said to be an Indian appellative – a strange coincidence, as the word, “musk” is of Arabic origin, and “musquash” would seem a compound of the French musque, as the early Canadian fur-traders were French, or of French descent, and fixed the nomenclature of most of the fur-bearing animals of that region. Naturalists have used the name of “Musk Beaver” on account of the many points of resemblance which this animal bears to the true beaver (Castor fiber). Indeed, they seem to be of the same genus, and so Linnaeus classed them; but later systematists have separated them, for the purpose, I should fancy, not of simplifying science, but of creating the impression that they themselves were very profound observers.
The teeth – those great friends of the closet naturalist, which help him to whole pages of speculation – have enabled him to separate the beaver from the musquash, although the whole history and habits of these creatures prove them to be congeners, as much as a mastiff is the congener of a greyhound – indeed, far more. So like are they in a general sense, that the Indians call them “cousins.”
In form the muskrat differs but little from the beaver. It is a thick, rounded, and flat-looking animal, with blunt nose, short ears almost buried in the fur, stiff whiskers like a cat, short legs and neck, small dark eyes, and sharply-clawed feet. The hinder ones are longest, and are half-webbed. Those of the beaver are full-webbed.
There is a curious fact in connection with the tails of these two animals. Both are almost naked of hair, and covered with “scales,” and both are flat. The tail of the beaver, and the uses it makes of this appendage, are things known to every one. Every one has read of its trowel-shape and use, its great breadth, thickness, and weight, and its resemblance to a cricket-bat. The tail of the muskrat is also naked, covered with scales, and compressed or flattened; but instead of being horizontally so, as with the beaver, it is the reverse; and the thin edges are in a vertical plane. The tail of the former, moreover, is not of the trowel-shape, but tapers like that of the common rat. Indeed, its resemblance to the house-rat is so great as to render it a somewhat disagreeable object to look upon.
Tail and all, the muskrat is about twenty inches in length; and its body is about half as big as that of a beaver. It possesses a strange power of contracting its body, so as to make it appear about half its natural size, and to enable it to pass through a chink that animals of much smaller dimensions could not enter.
Its colour is reddish-brown above, and light-ash underneath. There are eccentricities, however, in this respect. Specimens have been found quite black, as also mixed and pure white. The fur is a soft, thick down, resembling that of the beaver, but not quite so fine. There are long rigid hairs, red-coloured, that overtop the fur; and these are also sparely scattered over the tail.
The habits of the muskrat are singular – perhaps not less so than those of his “cousin” the beaver, when you strip the history of the latter of its many exaggerations. Indeed the former animal, in the domesticated state, exhibits much greater intelligence than the latter.
Like the beaver, it is a water animal, and is only found where water exists; never among the dry hills. Its “range” extends over the whole continent of North America, wherever “grass grows and water runs.” It is most probable it is an inhabitant of the Southern Continent, but the natural history of that country is still but half told.
Unlike the beaver, the race of the muskrat is not likely soon to become extinct. The beaver is now found in America, only in the remotest parts of the uninhabited wilderness. Although formerly an inhabitant of the Atlantic States, his presence there is now unknown; or, if occasionally met with, it is no longer in the beaver dam, with its cluster of social domes, but only as a solitary creature, a “terrier beaver,” ill-featured, shaggy in coat, and stunted in growth.
The muskrat, on the contrary, still frequents the settlements. There is hardly a creek, pond, or watercourse, without one or more families having an abode upon its banks. Part of the year the muskrat is a social animal; at other seasons it is solitary. The male differs but little from the female, though he is somewhat larger, and better furred.
In early spring commences the season of his loves. His musky odour is then strongest, and quite perceptible in the neighbourhood of his haunt. He takes a wife, to whom he is for ever after faithful; and it is believed the connection continues to exist during life. After the “honeymoon” a burrow is made in the bank of a stream or pond; usually in some solitary and secure spot by the roots of a tree, and always in such a situation that the rising of the water cannot reach the nest which is constructed within. The entrance to this burrow is frequently under water, so that it is difficult to discover it. The nest within is a bed of moss or soft grasses. In this the female brings forth