Woodland Tales

by Ernest Thompson Seton

  If you look at the portraits of Cicada, the Hotweather-bug or Locust, and of the Katydid, you will not see their musical instruments very plainly, but believe me they have them; and you can hear them any late summer hot-weather time, in any part of the Eastern States and some parts of southern Canada.

  And now let me finish with a secret. Katy is not a lady at all, but a he-one disguised in green silk stockings, and a green satin dress.

  TALE 47

  The Digger Wasp that Killed the Cicada

  Strange things are done in the realm of Mother Carey; strange things and cruel. At least so they seem to us, for we do not know the plan that is behind them. We know only that sometimes love must be cruel. I am going to tell you of a strange happening, that you may see any hot day in August. And this is how it came about.

  At that meeting in the woods when the Cicada and the Katydid undertook to be musicians, while the birds were on strike, there was one strong insect who gave off an angry "Bizz, Bizz" that sounded like "Scab, Scab." That was the big yellow-and-black Digger Wasp, the biggest of the wasps, with a sting that is as bad as that of a baby rattlesnake. And that very day she declared war on the Cicada and his kind. The Katydids she could not touch, because the Wasp cannot see at night.

  But the Cicada was easy to find. As soon as the day got hot, and that awful buzzing began in the trees, the Big Digger got her sting ready, and went booming along in the direction of the sound.

  The Digger Wasp (life size)

  Now Mother Carey had given the Cicada bright eyes and strong wings, and it was his own business to take care of himself; but he was so pleased with his music that he never saw the fierce Digger Wasp, till she charged on him. And before he could spread his wings, she had stabbed him through.

  His song died away in a few shrieks, and then the Cicada lay still. But not dead, for the Digger had stuck her poison dagger into the nerve centre, so that he was paralyzed and helpless, but still living.

  Now the Digger set about a plan. She wanted to get that Cicada body into her den, to feed her young ones with it. But the Cicada was bigger and heavier than she was, so that she could not carry it. However, she was bent on doing it, she got all ready, took tight hold with her claws, then swooped from the tree, flying as strongly as she could, till the weight of the Cicada brought her to the ground within fifty feet, while the den was fully a hundred feet away. But the Wasp dragged the Cicada up the trunk of another tree, then took another long sloping flight as before. One more climb and skid down, brought her to her den—a hole in a bank that she had dug out; that is why she is called the Digger Wasp. The passage was a foot long and had a crook in the middle. At the end was a round room an inch and a half high. Here the Digger left her victim's body and right on its breast, to one side, laid an egg.

  This hatched in two or three days, and began to feed on the Cicada. In a week it had eaten the Cicada and grown to be a big fat grub. Then it spun a cocoon, and made itself into a bundle-baby, resting all autumn and all winter in that dark den.

  But when the spring came with its glorious wakening up, great changes came over the bundle-baby of the Digger. It threw off the cocoon and its outer skin, and came forth from the gloom into the sunshine, a big strong Digger Wasp with a sting of its own, and a deadly feud with all screaming Cicadas. Although it never saw its mother, or got any lessons from her, it goes after the buzzing hotweather-bugs, when August comes, and treats them exactly as she did.

  TALE 48

  How the Indian Summer Came

  Wahkonda, the Great Spirit, the Ruler of the World, had found pleasure the whole summer long in making mountains, lakes, and forests. Then when the autumn came, and the leaves fell from the trees, He lighted His pipe and sat down to look over the things He had made.

  As He did so, the north wind arose for Cold Time was coming, and blew the smoke and ashes of the pipe into His face. Then He said: "Cease your blowing, all ye winds, until I have finished smoking." So, of course, there was dead calm.

  Wahkonda smoked for ten days, and during all that time there were no clouds in the sky, for there was no wind to bring them; there was unbroken, calm sunny weather. But neither was there any wind to carry off the smoke, so it hung, as the teepee smoke hangs at sunrise, and it drifted over the valleys and forests in a blue haze.

  Then at last when the Great Spirit finished His smoke and His meditation, He emptied out His pipe. That was the signal, the north wind broke loose, and came howling down from the hills, driving the leaves before it, and warning all wild things to be ready, for soon there would be winter in the woods.

  And it hath been so ever since. When the leaves have fallen and before yet the Ice-king is here, there come, for a little while, the calm dreamy days, when the Great Spirit is smoking His pipe, and the smoke is on the land. The Red-men call them the Smoking Days, but we call it Indian Summer.

  THINGS TO SEE IN WINTERTIME

  The North Star or Home Star

  TALE 49

  The North Star, or the Home Star

  If you are going to be a Woodcrafter, you must begin by knowing the North Star, because that is the star which will show you the way home, if you get lost in the woods at night. That is why the Indians call it the "Home Star."

  But first, I must tell you how it came to be, and the story begins a long, long time ago.

  In those far-off days, we are told, there were two wonderful hunters, one named Orion, and the other named Boötes (Bo-o-tees). Orion hunted everything and I shall have to leave him for another story. Boötes was an ox-driver and only hunted bears to save his cattle. One day he went after a Mother Bear, that had one little cub.

  The Pappoose on the Squaw's Back

  He chased them up to the top of a mountain so high, that they leaped off into the sky, and just as they were going, Boötes shot his arrows after them. His very first arrow hit the Little Bear in the tail—they had long tails in those days—and pinned him to the sky. There he has hung ever since, swinging round and round, on the arrow in his tail, while his mother runs bawling around him, with Boötes and his dogs chasing her. He shot arrows into her tail, which was long and curved, into her body, and into her shoulder. Seven big arrows he shot, and there they are yet, in the form of a dipper pointing always to the cub who is called the "Little Bear." The shining head of the big arrow in the end of the Little Bear's tail is called the North Star or Pole Star. You can always tell which is the North Star, by the two Pointers; these are the two bright stars that make the outer side of the Dipper on the Big Bear's shoulder. A line drawn through them, points out the North Star.

  The Dipper, that is the Big Bear, goes round and round the Pole Star, once in about twenty-four hours; so that sometimes the Pointers are over, sometimes under, to left or to right; but always pointing out the Pole Star or North Star.

  This star shows nearly the true north; and, knowing that, a traveller can find his way in any strange country, so long as he can see this friendly Home Star.

  TALE 50

  The Pappoose on the Squaw's Back

  Now that you know how the Bears and the Big Dipper came, you should know the Indian story of the Old Squaw.

  Orion Fighting the Bull

  First find the bright star that is at the bend of the Dipper handle. This is called the "Old Squaw"; on her back is a tiny star that they call "The Pappoose."

  As soon as an Indian boy is old enough to understand, his mother takes him out into the night when it is calm and clear, and without any moon or any bright lights near, and says, "My child, yonder is the Old Squaw, the second of the seven stars; she is going over the top of the hill; on her back she carries her pappoose. Tell me, my child, can you see the pappoose?"

  Then the little redskin gazes, and from his mother's hand he takes two pebbles, a big one and a little one, and he sets them together on her palm, to show how the two stars seem to him. When the mother is sure that he did see them clearly, she rejoices. She goes to the fire and drops a pinch of tobacco into it, for ince
nse to carry her message, then looking toward the sky she says: "Great Spirit, I thank Thee that my child has the eyes of a hunter."

  These things are not new, O Woodcrafter. The wise men of our race call the Big Star "Mizar" one of the chariot horses, and the little star "Alcor" or the Rider. In all ages it has been considered proof of first-class eyes, to see this little star. Can you see it? Have you the eyes of a hunter?

  TALE 51

  Orion the Hunter, and His Fight With the Bull

  In the 49th Tale I told you there were two giants among the mighty hunters in the sky, Boötes, whose adventure with the Bears you have already heard, and Orion. (O-ry´-on).

  Orion was the most famous of all. In his day men had no guns; they had nothing but clubs, spears, and arrows to fight with, and the beasts were very big and fierce as well as plentiful, yet Orion went whenever he was needed, armed chiefly with his club, fought the wild beasts, all alone, killing them or driving them out, and saving the people, for the joy of doing it. Once he killed a lion with his club, and ever afterward wore the lion's skin on his arm. Bears were as nothing to him; he killed them as easily as most hunters would rabbits, but he found his match, when he went after a ferocious wild Bull as big as a young elephant.

  As soon as the Bull saw him, it came rushing at him. It happened to be on the other side of a stream, and as it plunged in, Orion drew his bow and fired seven quick shots at the Bull's heart. But the monster was coming head on, and the seven arrows all stuck in its shoulder, making it madder than ever. So Orion waved his lion skin in his left hand, and with his club in the right, ran to meet the Bull, as it was scrambling up the bank from the water.

  The first whack of the club tumbled the Bull back into the water, but it turned aside, went to another place, and charged again. And again Orion landed a fearful blow with the club on the monster's curly forehead.

  By this time, all the animals had gathered around to see the big fight, and the gods in heaven got so interested that they shouted out, "Hold on, that is good enough for us to see. Come up here."

  So they moved the mighty Hunter and the Bull, and the River and all the animals, up to heaven, and the fight has gone on there ever since.

  In the picture I have shown a lot of animals besides Orion and the Bull, but the only things I want you to look now in the sky, are Orion's belt with the three stars on it, and the Pleiades on the Bull's shoulder, the seven spots where the seven arrows struck.

  And remember these stars cannot be seen in summer, they pass over us in winter time. You can find Orion by drawing a straight line across the rim of the Dipper, beginning at the inner or handle side, passing through the outer or Pointers side, and continued for twice the length of the Dipper, handle and all, this will bring you to Betelgeuze, the big star in the Giant's right shoulder, below that are the three stars of his belt, sometimes called the "Three Kings."

  TALE 52

  The Pleiades, that Orion Fired at the Bull

  The Pleiades

  When late autumn comes the Pleiades (Ply'-a-dees) appear in the evening sky to the eastward. These are the seven shots in the Bull's shoulder, the seven arrows from Orion's bow. The Guide can locate them by continuing the line of Orion's belt, eight times the length of the belt to the right, as one faces the Hunter, so Orion must have been very close indeed. At first they look like a faint light with a few bright pin-points scattered through. Tennyson described them as:

  Glittering like a swarm of fireflies

  Tangled in a silver braid.

  The best time to see them is some clear night about Christmas, when there is no moon, and the Pleiades are nearly overhead, above the mist and smoke of the horizon, and there are no electric lights near by.

  Study them attentively. Make a tube of your two hands and look through. Look on the ground, then look back again; look not straight at them, but a little to one side; and at last, mark down on paper how many you can clearly see, putting a big spot for the big one, and little spots for the little ones. Poor eyes see nothing but a haze; fairly good eyes see four of the pin-points; good eyes see five; the best of eyes see seven. I can see seven on a clear winter night when there are no clouds and no moon. This is as high as you need expect to get, although it is said that some men in clear air on a mountain top have seen ten, while the telescope shows that there are 2,000.

  In taking these eyesight tests you may use your spectacles if you usually wear them.

  TALE 53

  The Twin Stars

  Two-Bright-Eyes went wandering out

  To chase the Whippoorwill;

  Two-Bright-Eyes got lost and left

  Our teepee—oh, so still!

  Two-Bright-Eyes was carried up

  To sparkle in the skies

  And look like stars—but we know well

  That that's our lost Bright-Eyes.

  She is looking for the camp,

  She would come back if she could;

  She still peeps thro' the tree-tops

  For the teepee in the wood.

  TALE 54

  Stoutheart and His Black Cravat

  Do you know the bird that wears a black cravat, which he changes once a year? It is the English Sparrow, the commonest of all our birds. His hair is gray, but he must have been red-headed once, for just back of his ears there is still a band of red; and his collar, maybe, was white once, but it is very dingy now. His shirt and vest are gray; his coat is brown with black streaks—a sort of sporting tweed. The new cravat comes when the new feathers grow in late summer; and, at first, it is barred with gray as if in half mourning for his sins. As the gray tips wear off, it becomes solid black; that is, in March or April. In summer, it gets rusty and worn out; so every year he puts on a new one in late August.

  The hen sparrow is quite different and wears no cravat. She has a black-and-brown cape of the sporting pattern, but her dress is everywhere of brownish Quaker gray.

  The song of the English Sparrow is loud and short; but he tries to make up, by singing it over and over again, for many minutes.

  He eats many bad bugs, and would be well liked, if he did not steal the nests and the food of Bluebirds, Woodpeckers, Swallows, and others that are prettier and more useful birds, as well as far better singers than he is.

  But there is much to admire in the Sparrow. I do not know of any bird that is braver, or more ready to find a way out of trouble; and if he cannot find a way, he cheerfully makes the best of it.

  Some years ago I was at Duluth during a bitterly cold spell of weather. The thermometer registered 20° or 30° below zero, and the blizzard wind was blowing. Oh my, it was cold. But out in the street were dozens of English Sparrows chirruping and feeding; thriving just as they do in warmer lands and in fine weather.

  When black night came down, colder yet, I wondered what the little stout-hearts would do. Crawl into some hole or bird-house, maybe? or dive into a snowdrift? as many native birds do.

  I found out; and the answer was most unexpected.

  In front of the hotel was a long row of electric lights. At nine o'clock, when I chanced to open the window for a breath of air, my eye fell on these; on every bulb was an English Sparrow sound asleep with the overarching reflector to turn the storm, and the electric bulb below him to warm his toes. My hat is off. Our Department of Agriculture may declare war on the Sparrow; but what is the use? Don't you think that a creature who is not afraid of blizzard or darkness, and knows how to use electric lights, is going to win its life-battle, and that he surely is here to stay?

  TALE 55

  Tracks, and the Stories They Tell

  Tracks, and the Stories They Tell

  Sometimes, in town, just after rain, when the gutters are wet, and the pavement dry, look for the tracks of some Dog that walked with wet feet on the pavement. You will find that they are like "a" in the drawing. A Dog has five toes on his front feet, but only four touch the pavement as he walks. The claws also touch, and make each a little mark.

  Now look for the tra
ck of a Cat; it is somewhat like that of the Dog, but it is smaller, softer, and the claws do not show (b). They are too good to be wasted on a pavement; she keeps them pulled in, so they are sharp when she has use for them.

  Make a drawing of each of these, and make it life size.

  When there is dust on the road, or snow, look for Sparrow tracks; they are like "c."

  Note how close together the front three toes are. The inner two are really fast together, so they cannot be separated far and the hind toe is very large. Last of all, note that the tracks go two and two, because the Sparrow goes "hop hop, hop." These things mean that the Sparrow is really a tree bird; and you will see that, though often on the ground he gets up into a tree when he wishes to feel safe.

  Look for some Chicken tracks in the dust; they are like "d" in the drawing because the Chicken does not go "hop, hop, hop" like the Sparrow, but "walk, walk, walk." The Chicken is a ground bird. Most of the song birds hop like the Sparrow, and most of the game birds walk like a Chicken. But the Robin (e) goes sometimes hopping and sometimes running, because part of his life is in the trees, and part on the ground.

  TALE 56

  A Rabbit's Story of His Life, Written by Himself

  Yes, the Rabbit wrote it himself and about himself in the oldest writing on earth, that is the tracks of his feet.