Things went on as usual until late in the Fall. Summer lingered long that year, and the woods were a golden glory almost until November, but the Birds had gone and the Squirrels were making ready to follow.
One morning there was a great chattering, and I was so sure that preparations for departure had begun that I gave up my work entirely and went out to investigate. A few moments of close, quiet observation proved my hasty surmise correct.
From every conceivable corner were brought large, flat chips. They were fully six inches square and much worn, as if they had been used often. A depression in the centre was the only variation from the flat surface.
Such a time as there was! The woods seemed to be one solid Squirrel in multitudinous attitudes. The scene would have been very perplexing to any but a perfectly sober man, and at intervals I even doubted the evidence of my own senses.
The older and larger Squirrels dragged all the chips to the brink of the river, which flowed from north to south, and then, at last, I began to understand. So poor are our weak wits in comparison with the denizens of wood and field, whom, in our pitiable self-conceit, we call “the lower animals.” A Squirrel is normally a much higher animal than any of us, excepting only the tree-dwellers on the Orinoco.
Some of the chips were fastened together with strands of wild-grape vine, and were heavily laden with nuts and corn. Others were passenger boats and sailed proudly alone. The young ones were put on the chips before they were launched, and screamed in terror as the little craft slid into the current.
The commissary fleet, in charge of an old grey Squirrel, who was perfectly calm, was launched first, then the chips bearing the small fry. The passenger boats were last to go, and the travellers swam out into the stream to catch them. One grey Squirrel missed his boat entirely and was drowned. It came ashore four miles farther down and I still have it among my most-prized possessions.
As long as I live, I shall never forget that sight. The day was glorious, with never a hint of frost in the air, and the woods, strangely silent, now that the Little People were gone, echoed and re-echoed when a nut dropped on the fallen leaves.
Down the stream sailed the Squirrel fleet—brave little mariners, these, with tails proudly spread to catch each favouring wind. Bismarck did a wonder of navigation, tacking repeatedly and coming up beside Kitchi-Kitchi under full sail. Meeko was stationed at her other side and his boat went at exactly the same speed as hers. Close together, as married lovers down the stream of life, the three sailed, with the family of young ones on a large chip just ahead, where the anxious mother could keep an eye upon them.
I stood watching for over an hour. The current was swift and bore them away all too soon, but with my powerful field-glass I kept them in sight until the tears blinded me and I had to wipe my eyes.