“Even the powdery chaff which I blew away in order to better reveal the larger morsels, proved to be the fine seed of various grasses and sedges; while among the more conspicuous which remained I noted the following considerable list, not to mention others which were then beyond my limited botanical knowledge. The seeds of the alder, birch, hemlock, ragweed, bur-marigold, and wild-carrot, were, perhaps, the most numerous and general. There was an exclusive colony of dried grapes assembled in one particular corner, doubtless laying their plans for a future arborescent monopoly of the rails in their vicinity. I found, also, numbers of larch seeds, both with and without their wings. Stag-horn-sumach, poison-ivy, ash, and hop-hornbeam representatives were frequent, and one chaffy handful, downy with goldenrod and aster seeds was lit up with a bright scarlet berry of black alder, like a tiny live coal in a bed of ashes. There was an occasional withered poke-berry to be met with, also fruits of sheep-berry, ampelopsis, juniper, and hawthorn. Another sample challenged my audacious familiarity with the fangs of a Cenchrus bur—the spiny fruit of the hedgehog grass, and still another was pretty well doctored with the poisonous seeds of stramonium, or jimson-weed, a line of which followed along the base of a drift like an open trail fuse of blasting powder leading up to a drill hole well calked with chaff. I recall also a few samaras of the tulip-tree, some hazel-nuts, oats, foxtail-grass seed, as well as several other queer diminutive forms which were unknown to me at the time, and which I cannot now identify from memory.”
If we were to name the quality most characteristic of his work as a naturalist, it would be his habit of close and accurate observation. He saw more of the objects and incidents of the natural world in a square rod, than most men, even fairly observant, would see in a square mile. His books are a mass of evidence of the minuteness and the accuracy of his observations; and his note-books tell with still greater force the story of his patience and industry in preparing himself to report what he had seen. They show that he looked and saw for himself, and that his stories of plant and insect life are genuine studies, at first hand. A fine instance of the personal observation and actual experience which lay behind his work is afforded in the case of the chapter upon the “Bombardier-Beetle” in “Sharp Eyes.” It is but a brief sketch, and reports only a curious performance on the part of a rather rare insect. But the observed facts on which it is based are set down in a record almost as long as the sketch itself, and in a manner to show the foundation of close attention and scrutiny to which he was continually subjecting the face of the earth. He writes under date of September 28th, at Williamstown, Massachusetts. The note begins with a memorandum to the effect that he carried his camera, with four plates, and that he observed tumble-bugs, ichneumon flies, and dung beetles. “In turning over a large stone, as is my habit in my walks, I discerned beneath it a little beetle which I at first supposed to be the common species, so closely resembling the Bombardier beetle of Europe. I had no special desire to capture it, and as it escaped beneath the grass and debris, my attention was arrested by a series of queer detonations, which made me suspect that some kind of a toad lay concealed near by. As I rummaged among the leaves I heard the queer report right at my fingers’ ends, and at the same time noticed a tiny cloud of smoke emerging from the same quarter. The fact then dawned upon me that perhaps I had discovered a genuine Bombardier. A moment’s search revealed the little fellow, and he discharged his battery six times or so. I captured him. I have not yet read of this species having been discovered in America. And certainly the allied species of this country possess no such detonating power. Before the detonation the body of the beetle would swell considerably. I kept the beetle and several of its allied species in a box some weeks afterward, and observed the explosion several times. Mrs. Gibson also heard it once and distinctly saw the small cloud of smoke of the volatile fluid. About two days after the capture of the Bombardier, I espied a beetle crawling on the floor of my room, and thinking that my pet had escaped I captured the insect. It proved to be another of the same species, but evidently of the other sex, and it was undoubtedly seeking for its imprisoned mate. There are numerous parallel instances in my own experience, but in this instance it is especially remarkable that I should find a second individual of a species so rare in America that I had never been able to find one before; and although I overturned at least a thousand stones during my stay in Williamstown, I was never able to discover another specimen.”
A few weeks earlier in the same summer, he recorded another incident which shows his alertness of eye and the success with which it was constantly rewarded. He was on a trip to South Amboy, to study orchids in a conservatory there. He wrote:
“In a ramble near the station I found (as usual) exactly what I had started out to hunt for, a large patch of milkweed. This luck is an every day experience with me and has long since ceased to be a surprise. Once let my vision be set on the qui-vive for any given object, and I am led to it as by some irresistible intuition. No matter whether the object sought be a four-leaved clover, a certain flower, a rare caterpillar, a gold-bug or a ‘walking-stick,’ I am soon rewarded. I was desirous of discovering a specimen of an insect laden with pollen of milkweed. In less than ten minutes I found a large tract of pollen, in full bloom. In an instant more I detected a beautiful Cetonia beetle, nestling in a tuft of blossoms. Soon there came a small yellow hornet, which I captured. Its legs were fringed with the pollen-masses. So were the toes of the beetle.”
Probably Gibson explains his own success in a sentence or two in one of his own chapters: “Anticipation is an equipment, the surest talisman to discovery, and anticipation may be quickened, either by pictorial hint or previous experience. The retina must be on the alert.” That certainly was true of his own eye, and the fact that he was such an enthusiastic seeker accounts in large measure for the fact that he was such a successful finder.
His notebooks show the broad scope of his observations and of his studies. They cover every corner of natural life. One day he would go out and bring back material for pages of memoranda concerning the chase of what he believed to be a hermit thrush. On another day he makes an entry of fourteen varieties of golden-rod analyzed, six kinds of aster, and, as he adds, “many others.” One page of his notes gives the results of careful experiments with three dozen dandelion blossoms, to determine how long the flower requires to pass from bud to the state when it floats away in silvery down. Another passage records in a minute description his first observation of the snapping of the witch-hazel seeds, to which he adds a list of a dozen subjects for illustration. He counts the number of different plants he finds in his city back-yard. He sets down the things seen in a walk through the Park with a lantern, from nine o’clock to eleven at night. He notes that on a certain June 29th, in the midst of a heavy thunder storm he heard the song of the Wilson thrush in the woods near his house. He makes liberal memoranda of the things most touching his attention after a fresh snow-fall. He sets down a list of more than a score of birds whose song he heard “in a continuous roundel,” while sitting on his porch on a quiet Sunday. Thoreau in his hermit haunts at Walden was not more minute and attentive in his observations than this eager three-fold worker, hurrying from city to country and back to city again, equally busy at sketching, and writing, and observing. There are pages upon pages of his notes which read like the “Natural History of Selborne” in their detailed and leisurely narrative of things seen and heard in the fields and beside the brooks. In these records of his intermittent life in the country one never hears the faintest echo of the bustling round of the dweller in cities. He drops all that when he locks the door of his town-house behind him. Once in the open air he is again the free and buoyant youth, preoccupied only by the purposes and the pursuits which belong to the open air, the meadow, and the wood. Indeed it seems as if his early training and experiences, those school-days at the “Gunnery,” the passions there born, the habits there fostered and confirmed, lay at the basis of all his life afield. He himself somewhere said: “To the average observer, if the eye is ever thus to be a means of grace, it must store up its harvest while hearts are light and life is new, when eyes are bright and undimmed. How many a prisoner caged in city walls is living on the harvest stored in free, unburdened youth, which has never been replenished.” Perhaps that was true of this observer so much above the “average,” and caught for half his time in the city’s durance.
But even there he proved again the truth of Lovelace’s lines:
“Stone walls do not a prison make
Nor iron bars a cage.”
He made the city rural, and told others his secret:
“How little do we appreciate our opportunities for natural observation! Even under the most apparently discouraging and commonplace environment, what a neglected harvest! A back-yard city grass-plot, forsooth, what an invitation! Yet there is one interrogation to which the local naturalist is continually called to respond. If perchance he dwells in Connecticut, how repeatedly is he asked, ‘Don’t you find your particular locality in Connecticut a specially rich field for natural observation?’ The botanist of New Jersey or the ornithologist of Esopus-on-Hudson is expected to give an affirmative reply to similar questions