The Squirrel Hunters of Ohio; or, Glimpses of Pioneer Life

by N. E. Jones

The Indian was not inclined to improve his “talents,” still he was exceedingly kind, through instinct or wisdom, in preserving in nature’s superlative beauty things necessary for the coming man.

Of the various wild animals in Ohio, no one species has ever shown greater numerical strength than the gray squirrel. In the early settlements, he often annoyed his new neighbors with his mischievous habits and petty larcenies; nevertheless, the pioneer was generally pleased to see him, as at all seasons he was good for a savory meal.

At times these little animals became so numerous and destructive to crops they were more to be feared than is the rabbit in California or grasshopper in Kansas. For many years, settlers were obliged to guard their fields when planted with corn, or droves of foraging bands would dig up the hills and eat the growing grains; when the crops matured, they were still more destructive, and boys when quite young were taught to handle the rifle, and when employed as guards became expert marksmen. Most every one old enough to use a gun could put a ball through the head of a squirrel three times in five or better on the topmost boughs of the lofty hardwood timber which covered the face of the country.

The amount of forest was so extensive and undisturbed that the squirrel at times increased to a degree which made him disastrous to crops in spite of guards, guns, traps, and “deadfalls,” and caused him to become a subject for legislation, encouraging his destruction by obligations and rewards. When becoming too numerous, and subsistence scarce, they migrate to other parts, and often in numbers so great it would require many days for the marching column of several miles in width to pass any given point. The Ohio river was a favorable place to capture and kill them, as they arrived on shore weak and wet. Many were drowned in the attempt to swim. The inhabitants along the river at such times made it a business to kill them by wagon loads to feed and fatten hogs.

The country through which an army of this kind marched left nothing out doors in the way of subsistence. The first migration of this kind causing serious alarm occurred in 1807 directly after corn-planting; and in all the southern counties of the state, it became impossible to guard the fields, and continued so long that the corn crop was a failure over a large extent of country, and farmers were obliged to buy grain for bread.

The legislature was appealed to, and a statute enacted the same year, making it imperative for every person within the state, subject to the payment of tax, to furnish a specified number of squirrel scalps, to be determined by the trustees of the township, whose duty it was to give the lister the number required from each individual. This was intended as a tax in addition to other taxes, making the penalty for refusal or neglect the same as that of a delinquent tax-payer. And a non-tax-payer, and tax-payers furnishing scalps in excess of the required number, were entitled to two cents per scalp, to be paid from the funds of the county. But, with all the boys and guns and other devices for destruction to keep the number down to a minimum, the usual amount seemed but little changed, and squirrel raids continued, occasionally, all the same.

A good story is told by an old lumberman, who, in the early days of steamboating on the Ohio river, contracted to deliver on board of steamboat one hundred thousand shingles at a “wood-landing” of one of the river counties in Ohio. The shingles were stacked on the bank of the river ready for shipment. A few days after, the lumberman heard most of his “stuff” had been stolen, and that it was probable it had gone to Pittsburg. On receiving this unwelcome news, he drove down to the river to look after the condition of things. Before he reached the place he found the woods alive with squirrels marching toward the river.

On his return the workmen asked what discoveries were made. The reply was, “The shingles never went to Pittsburg;” “they all went down the river, and it is useless to look in Pittsburg or any other place for them.”... “I got to the river just in time to know all about it. You see, the squirrels are marching and crossing the river at that point; and the commanding general is not much on a swim, and he carried one of my shingles down to the water and rode over on it, and every colonel, captain, lieutenant and commissioned and non-commissioned officer did what they saw their general do, and finally the rank and file made a raid, and I got there just as an old squirrel came down to the water dragging a shingle, which he shoved into the river, jumped upon it, raised his brush for a sail and went over high and dry; and when near enough the other shore leaped off and let his boat float down the stream. As soon as these observations were taken in, I went up on the high bank where the shingles had been stored, and found there was not a shingle left—they are down the river, gentlemen—down the river, sure.”

This story receives a shadow of support from the learned and cautious Buffon, who observes: “Although the navigations of the grey squirrels seem almost incredible, they are attested by so many witnesses that we can not deny the fact.” And in a note on the subject says: “The grey squirrels frequently remove their place of residence, and it not unoften happens that not one can be seen one winter where they were in multitudes the year before; they go in large bodies, and when they want to cross a lake or river they seize a piece of the bark of a birch or lime, and drawing it to the edge of the water, get upon it, and trust themselves to the hazard of the wind and waves, erecting their tails to serve the purpose of sails; they sometimes form a fleet of three or four thousand, and if the wind proves too strong, a general shipwreck ensues ... but if the winds are favorable they are certain to make their desired port.”[18]

The squirrel is an industrious and sagacious animal. He lays up stores of provisions for future use, and conceals them where others of his kind are unable to find them. And his memory is so perfect, and location of place so unerring, that in dead of winter, and short of a meal, he will quit his warm nest in the hollow limb of some tree, plunge into deep snow and go direct a long distance to the exact spot where months before he had buried a walnut or an acorn, and dig down and get the treasure and return with it to his home.