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

by Mason Augustus Walton

The humming-birds drink from the drills while poised in the air, but often alight and cling to the bark while drinking, the wings closed and silent.

Flies and hornets were in evidence, crawling on the bark of the maples, or flying around the drills. A hornet stung the squirrel on the ear. When I left, the latter was shaking his head and telling the hornets what he thought of them.

When I returned to the cabin, I found a pair of catbirds in trouble. They nested in a dense mass of shrubbery about eighty feet from the dooryard. The male catbird met me some distance from the nest, and by his excited cries I knew that some bird enemy was near at hand. When I came in sight of the nest I discovered the trouble. A black snake was making his way through the bushes toward the nest, and the mother-bird was waging a fierce but fruitless battle.

I killed the snake, which was over five feet in length. The nest contained four eggs. For the time being they were safe.

In due time the nest contained four baby catbirds. One moonlight night, about ten o'clock, there was a great outcry from the old catbirds. I had gone to bed, in my hammock, in the open air, with but a roof over me to keep off the rain, so I could hear the birds and knew that they were fighting to save their little ones. Before I could go to the rescue, one of the catbirds flew to the bushes within three feet of my head, and frantically called to me for help. When I came in sight of the nest I saw a snake drop to the ground. One of the young catbirds was missing. A hurried search beneath the bushes in the dim light was unsuccessful. The snake had silently and swiftly disappeared with his victim.

The old catbirds were pets of mine of several years' standing, and the tragic fate of the baby-bird caused me to try to save the other three. I removed the nest and placed it in a covered box in the cabin. The catbirds followed me to the cabin door, but made no protest. The next morning before sunrise the birds awoke me by their cries. When I was dressing they spent the time flying to and fro, from cabin to hammock, calling to me to hurry up and bring out their babies. Both birds had insects in their bills. I did not take the nest to the old spot, but instead placed it in a clump of bushes near the cabin. When I had secured the nest, the old birds gave the three babies their breakfast. This programme was followed day after day, until the young birds were old enough to fly.

About two hundred visitors one Sunday inspected the nest, and the old birds did not make a protest or show fear. They knew that I would protect their little ones. A clear case of bird intelligence.

Returning from the city, while the catbirds were rearing their young, I heard a great outcry from a number of birds in the cabin dooryard. At first I thought some bird enemy had destroyed the young catbirds, but I found them all right. Just over the wall in the bushes was a nest of the veery. This nest was in ruins. That morning it had contained four newly hatched birds. While I was examining the nest, one of the catbirds flew to a bush near me, and raised an outcry to attract my attention. I spoke to the bird, and immediately it flew to the old wall on the opposite side of the road. I went over, and saw the tail of a black snake hanging from the Hunting wall. I firmly grasped the tail, but could not pull the snake from between the rocks. I thought of a plan to get the reptile out. I pushed the tail into the wall, and when the snake had loosened his hold, by a strong pull I could gain a few inches. Twenty minutes' hard work brought the snake out so I could grasp him by the neck. He coiled around my arm with such power as to stop the circulation. It reminded me of a wire rope tightened by machinery. I unwound the coils and took my captive to a large dry-goods box. I made a cage out of another box by putting wire netting over the top. I placed the box on its side on some stakes, and introduced the snake. He tried every inch of that box and netting for means of escape. Two hours later he settled down for a good long sleep, and when he awoke he appeared contented. I offered him food, but he would not eat. For a month he did not eat or drink. I noticed that his skin was loose in patches.