A Hermit's Wild Friends; or, Eighteen Years in the Woods

by Mason Augustus Walton

If any one has been fortunate enough to have heard a vocal sound uttered by a white-footed mouse, I shall greatly like to hear of the fact. A daily and nightly knowledge of these little mice for more than fifteen years has led me to believe that they are completely dumb. They talk with their toes just as deaf and dumb people talk with their fingers, only they are guided by the ear instead of the eye. Proof that they are talking together is found in the fact that they go on with the drumming when in full view of each other. When calling to attract attention, they drum a long roll which corresponds to the halloo of the telephone. The answer is the same; afterward the rolls are variously interrupted. Through the winter months the mice about my cabin look to me for food. By catering to their wants I have mastered their calls for food and water. I keep a loaf of bread on the floor, and it is no unusual thing to see a dozen mice eating and fighting around the food. Whenever I forget to supply the bread, the mice come out of their nests and drum the long roll, the call over their telephone, to attract my attention. If I am reading or writing and do not heed the call, they continue the long roll, drumming on books, tinware, papers, and on the wooden shelves. The moment I look up or speak, all hands drum the food-call, a long followed by a short roll.

The call for water is two short rolls. The danger-call is two long rolls drummed rapidly and vigorously. The young mice learn to drum when nearly full-grown, but understand and answer the drumming of the mother-mouse when quite young. I have had proof of this more times than I can remember.

An old mouse, a pet of long standing, on cool nights takes her family to the roof of the cabin. The roof is warm and makes an ideal playground for the little ones. Here they race and romp until daylight, when the mother-mouse puts them to bed for the day. Soon after I hear the mice on the roof, early in the evening, the old mouse comes down to see if food and water are on hand. If she finds things all right, she takes a drink and then calls her family down. As near as I can make it out, she drums three rolls, a long roll between two short rolls. Anyhow, the young mice understand, and scamper down and drink and eat, after a harum-scarum fashion. The old mouse drums to me if there is no water in the dish. The young mice must hear this drumming, but pay no attention to it, which proves that they understand the different calls. The old mouse drums on the tin wash-dish, and her claws make a sound that rings out loud and clear. She drums first the long roll to attract my attention, and then drums the water-call. If food is wanted, she drums the food-call after attracting attention.

"IT CARRIES ITS VICTIM BY THE MIDDLE."

The white-footed mouse has a deadly enemy in the weasel family, the stoat, or ermine, which pursues its defenceless victims every month in the year. I seldom see a small weasel, but the stoat is common in this vicinity.

While a stoat is rearing its young, the life of the white-footed mouse is made miserable. By day and by night its bloodthirsty foe is on the trail. It is no unusual thing to see a stoat running along the wall back of the cabin with a mouse in its mouth. It carries its victim by the middle, and always reminds me of the picture of a tiger carrying off a Hottentot. Some of the old mice are quick-witted and full of resource, and escape danger, otherwise the species would soon be exterminated. There is an auger-hole in one of the logs inside the cabin that affords a mouse a safe retreat. Several times I have seen a stoat thrust its paw into the hole, only to jerk it out in hot haste. A drop of blood on the log would show that the mouse had defended itself with its sharp teeth.

There are three mice about my cabin that for years have managed to escape the stoats. Time after time I have saved the lives of these mice. The three are pets, and intelligent enough to know that I will protect them from their fierce and relentless foe. In the night-time, if hard pressed, they dive into my bed, while by day they sound the danger-call, knowing full well that I will come to the rescue and drive away their enemy.

To a stranger these mice look as much alike as peas in a pod, but for me they possess individualities as marked and distinct as could be found in three human beings. One of the three, the mouse that uses the roof for a playground, always nests under a stone wall just back of the cabin. Number two nests in the cabin summer and winter. When the weather is warm she makes a nest on a high shelf, but in cold weather her nest is on the floor under a pile of newspapers. Number three nests where I nest. When I sleep in the cabin, the nest of this mouse is always there. When I sleep in the open air, under a roof to keep off the rain, the mouse follows me, nesting under newspapers or in a box which I supply. If she has a family when I move, it does not prevent her from following me. She makes ready a nest, and then takes her family to the new quarters.