|
LIKE the forests of
Washington, already described, those of Oregon are in great part made up of
the Douglas spruce, or Oregon pine (Abies Douglasii). A large number of
mills are at work upon this species, especially along the Columbia, but
these as yet have made but little impression upon its dense masses, the
mills here being small as compared with those of the Puget Sound region. The
white cedar, or Port Orford cedar (Cupressus Lawsoniana, or Chamacyparis
Lawsoniana), is one of the most beautiful of the evergreens, and produces
excellent lumber, considerable quantities of which are shipped to the San
Francisco market. It is found mostly about Coos Bay, along the Coquille
River, and on the northern slopes of the Siskiyou Mountains, and extends
down the coast into California. The silver firs, the spruces, and the
colossal arbor-vite, or white cedar (Thuja gigantea), described in the
chapter on Washington, are also found here in great beauty and perfection,
the largest of these (Picea grandis, Loud.; Abies grandis, Lindi.) being
confined mostly to the coast region, where it attains a height of three
hundred feet, and a diameter of ten or twelve feet. Five or six species of
pines are found in the State, the most important of which, both as to lumber
and as to the part they play in the general wealth and beauty of the
forests, are the yellow and sugar pines (Pinus ponderosa and P. Lambertiana).
The yellow pine is most abundant on the eastern slopes of the Cascades,
forming there the main bulk of the forest in many places. It is also common
along the borders of the open spaces in Willamette Valley. In the southern
portion of the State the sugar pine, which is the king of all the pines and
the glory of the Sierra forests, occurs in considerable abundance in the
basins of the Umpqua and Rogue Rivers, and it was in the Umpqua Hills that
this noble tree was first discovered by the enthusiastic botanical explorer
David Douglas, in the year 1826.
This is the Douglas for whom
the noble Douglas spruce is named, and many a fair blooming plant also,
which will serve to keep his memory fresh and sweet as long as beautiful
trees and flowers are loved. The Indians of the lower Columbia River watched
him with lively curiosity as he wandered about in the woods day after day,
gazing intently on the ground or at the great trees, collecting specimens of
everything he saw, but, unlike all the eager fur-gathering strangers they
had hitherto seen, caring nothing about trade. And when at length they came
to know him better, and saw that from year to year the growing things of the
woods and prairies, meadows and plains, were his only object of pursuit,
they called him the "Man of Grass," a title of which he was proud.
He was a Scotchman and first
came to this coast in the spring of 1825 under the auspices of the London
Horticultural Society, landing at the mouth of the Columbia after a long,
dismal voyage of eight months and fourteen days. During this first season he
chose Fort Vancouver, belonging to the Hudson's Bay Company, as his
headquarters, and from there made excursions into the glorious wilderness in
every direction, discovering many new species among the trees as well as
among the rich underbrush and smaller herbaceous vegetation. It was while
making a trip to Mount Hood this year that he discovered the two largest and
most beautiful firs in the world (Picea amabilis and P. nobilis -now called
Abies), and from the seeds which he then collected and sent home tall trees
are now growing in Scotland.
In one of his trips that
summer, in the lower Willamette Valley, he saw in an Indian's tobacco-pouch
some of the seeds and scales of a new species of pine, which he learned were
gathered from a large tree that grew far to the southward. Most of the
following season was spent on the upper waters of the Columbia, and it was
not until September that he returned to Fort Vancouver, about the time of
the setting-in of the winter rains. Nevertheless, bearing in mind the great
pine he had heard of, and the seeds of which he had seen, he made haste to
set out on an excursion to the headwaters of the Willamette in search of it;
and how he fared on this excursion and what dangers and hardships he endured
is best told in his own journal, part of which I quote as follows: -
October 26th, 1826. Weather
dull. Cold and cloudy. When my friends in England are made acquainted with
my travels I fear they will think that I have told them nothing but my
miseries.
I quitted my camp early in
the morning to survey the neighboring country, leaving my guide to take
charge of the horses until my return in the evening. About an hour's walk
from the camp I met an Indian, who on perceiving me instantly strung his
bow, placed on his left arm a sleeve of raccoon skin and stood on the
defensive. Being quite sure that conduct was prompted by fear and not by
hostile intentions, the poor fellow having probably never seen such a being
as myself before, I laid my gun at my feet on the ground and waved my hand
for him to come to me, which he did slowly and with great caution. I then
made him place his bow and quiver of arrows beside my gun, and striking a
light gave him a smoke out of my own pipe and a present of a few beads. With
my pencil I made a rough sketch of the cone and pine tree which I wanted to
obtain and drew his attention to it, when he instantly pointed with his hand
to the hills fifteen or twenty miles distant towards the south; and when I
expressed my intention of going thither, cheerfully set about accompanying
me. At midday I reached my long-wished-for pines and lost no time in
examining them and endeavoring to collect specimens and seeds. New and
strange things seldom fail to make strong impressions and are therefore
frequently overrated; so that, lest I should never see my friends in England
to inform them verbally of this most beautiful and immensely grand tree, I
shall here state the dimensions of the largest I could find among several
that had been blown down by the wind. At three feet from the ground its
circumference is fifty-seven feet, nine inches; at one hundred and
thirty-four feet, seventeen feet five inches; the extreme length two hundred
and forty-five feet. . . . As it was impossible either to climb the tree or
hew it down, I endeavored to knock off the cones by firing at them with
ball, when the report of my gun brought eight Indians, all of them painted
with red earth, armed with bows, arrows, bone-tipped spears, and flint
knives. They appeared anything but friendly. I explained to them what I
wanted and they seemed satisfied and sat down to smoke; but presently I saw
one of them string his bow and another sharpen his flint knife with a pair
of wooden pincers and suspend it on the wrist of his right hand. Further
testimony of their intentions was unnecessary. To save myself by flight was
impossible, so without hesitation I stepped back about five paces, cocked my
gun, drew one of the pistols out of my belt, and holding it in my left hand,
the gun in my right, showed myself determined to fight for my life.' As much
as possible I endeavored to preserve my coolness, and thus we stood looking
at one another without making any movement or uttering a word for perhaps
ten minutes, when one at last, who seemed to be the leader, gave a sign that
they wished for some tobacco; this I signified they should have if they
fetched a quantity of cones. They went off immediately in search of them,
and no sooner were they all out of sight than I picked up my three cones and
some twigs of the trees and made the quickest possible retreat, hurrying
back to my camp, which I reached before dusk. The Indian who last undertook
to be my guide to the trees I sent off before gaining my encampment, lest he
should betray me. How irksome is the darkness of night to one under such
circumstances. I cannot speak a word to my guide, nor have I a book to
divert my thoughts, which are continually occupied with the dread lest the
hostile Indians should trace me hither and make an attack. I now write lying
on the grass with my gun cocked beside me, and penning these lines by the
light of my Columbian candle, namely, an ignited piece of rosin-wood.
Douglas named this
magnificent species Pin'u.s Lambertiana, in honor of his friend Dr. Lambert,
of London. This is the noblest pine thus far discovered in the forests of
the world, surpassing all others not only in size but in beauty and majesty.
Oregon may well be proud that its discovery was made within her borders, and
that, though it is far more abundant in California, she has the largest
known specimens. In the Sierra the finest sugar pine forests lie at an
elevation of about five thousand feet. In Oregon they occupy much lower
ground, some of the trees being found but little above tide-water.
No lover of trees will ever
forget his first meeting with the sugar pine. In most coniferous trees there
is a sameness of form and expression which at length becomes wearisome to
most people who travel far in the woods. But the sugar pines are as free
from conventional forms as any of the oaks. No two are so much alike as to
hide their individuality from any observer. Every tree is appreciated as a
study in itself and proclaims in no uncertain terms the surpassing grandeur
of the species. The branches, mostly near the summit, are sometimes nearly
forty feet long, feathered richly all around with short, leafy branchlets,
and tasselled with cones a foot and a half long. And when these superb arms
are outspread, radiating in every direction, an immense crown- like mass is
formed which, poised on the noble shaft and filled with sunshine, is one of
the grandest forest objects conceivable. But though so wild and
unconventional when full- grown, the sugar pine is a remarkably regular tree
in youth, a strict follower of coniferous fashions, slim, erect, tapering,
symmetrical, every branch in place. At the age of fifty or sixty years this
shy, fashionable form begins to give way. Special branches are thrust out
away from the general outlines of the trees and bent down with cones.
Henceforth it becomes more and more original and independent in style,
pushes boldly aloft into the winds and sunshine, growing ever more stately
and beautiful, a joy and inspiration to every beholder.
Unfortunately, the sugar pine
makes excellent lumber. It is too good to live, and is already passing
rapidly away before the woodman's axe. Surely out of all of the abounding
forest-wealth of Oregon a few specimens might be spared to the world, not as
dead lumber, but as living trees. A park of moderate extent might be set
apart and protected for public use forever, containing at least a few
hundreds of each of these noble pines, spruces, and firs. Happy will be the
men who, having the power and the love and benevolent forecast to do this,
will do it. They will not be forgotten. The trees and their lovers will sing
their praises, and generations yet unborn will rise up and call them
blessed.
Dotting the prairies and
fringing the edges of the great evergreen forests we find a considerable
number of hardwood trees, such as the oak, maple, ash, alder, laurel,
madrone, flowering dogwood, wild cherry, and wild apple. The white oak (Quercus
Garryana) is the most important of the Oregon oaks as a timber tree, but not
nearly so beautiful as Kellogg's oak (Q. Kelloggii). The former is found
mostly along the Columbia River, particularly about the Dalles, and a
considerable quantity of useful lumber is made from it and sold, sometimes
for eastern white oak, to wagon-makers. Kellogg's oak is a magnificent tree
and does much for the picturesque beauty of the Umpqua and Rogue River
Valleys where it abounds. It is also found in aR the Yosemite valleys of the
Sierra, and its acorns form an important part of the food of the Digger
Indians. In the Siskiyou Mountains there is a live oak (Q. chrysolepis),
widespreading and very picturesque in form, but not very common. It extends
southward along the western flank of the Sierra and is there more abundant
and much larger than in Oregon, oftentimes five to eight feet in diameter.
The maples are the same as
those in Washington, already described, but I have not seen any maple groves
here equal in extent or in the size of the trees to those on the Snoqualmie
River.
The Oregon ash is now rare
along the stream- banks of western Oregon, and it grows to a good size and
furnishes lumber that is for some purposes equal to the white ash of the
Western States.
Nuttall's flowering dogwood
makes a brave display with its wealth of showy involucres in the spring
along cool streams. Specimens of the flowers may be found measuring eight
inches in diameter.
The wild cherry (Prunus
emarginata, var. mollis) is a small, handsome tree seldom more than a foot
in diameter at the base. It makes valuable lumber and its black, astringent
fruit furnishes a rich resource as food for the birds. A smaller form is
common in the Sierra, the fruit of which is eagerly eaten by the Indians and
hunters in time of need.
The wild apple (Pyrus
rivularis) is a fine, hearty, handsome little tree that grows well in rich,
cool soil along streams and on the edges of beaver-meadows from California
through Oregon and Washington to southeastern Alaska. In Oregon it forms
dense, tangled thickets, some of them almost impenetrable. The largest
trunks are nearly a foot in diameter. When in bloom it makes a fine show
with its abundant clusters of flowers, which are white and fragrant. The
fruit is very small and savagely acid. It is wholesome, however, and is
eaten by birds, bears, Indians, and many other adventurers, great and small.
Passing from beneath the
shadows of the woods where the trees grow close and high, we step into
charming wild gardens full of lilies, orchids, heathworts, roses, etc., with
colors so gay and forming such sumptuous masses of bloom, they make the
gardens of civilization, however lovingly cared for, seem pathetic and
silly. Around the great fire- mountains, above the forests and beneath the
snow, there is a flowery zone of marvelous beauty planted with anemones,
erythroniums, daisies, bryanthus, kalmia, vaccinium, cassiope, saxifrages,
etc., forming one continuous garden fifty or sixty miles in circumference,
and so deep and luxuriant and closely woven it seems as if Nature, glad to
find an opening, were economizing space and trying to see how many of her
bright-eyed darlings she can get together in one mountain wreath.
Along the slopes of the
Cascades, where the woods are less dense, especially about the headwaters of
the Willamette, there are miles of rhododendron, making glorious outbursts
of purple bloom, and down on the prairies in rich, damp hollows the
blue-flowered camassia grows in such profusion that at a little distance its
dense masses appear as beautiful blue lakes imbedded in the green, flowery
plains; while all about the streams and the lakes and the beaver-meadows and
the margins of the deep woods there is a magnificent tangle of gaultheria
and huckleberry bushes with their myriads of pink bells, reinforced with
hazel, cornel, rubus of many species, wild plum, cherry, and crab apple;
besides thousands of charming bloomers to be found in all sorts of places
throughout the wilderness whose mere names are refreshing, such as linnea,
menziesia, pyrola, chimaphila, broditea, smilacina, fritillaria, calochortus,
trillium, clintonia, veratrum, cypripedium, goodyera, spiranthes, habenaria,
and the rare and lovely "Hider of the North," Calypso borealis, to find
which is alone a sufficient object for a journey into the wilderness. And
besides these there is a charming underworld of ferns and mosses flourishing
gloriously beneath all the woods.
Everybody loves wild woods
and flowers more or less. Seeds of all these Oregon evergreens and of many
of the flowering shrubs and plants have been sent to almost every country
under the sun, and they are now growing in carefully tended parks and
gardens. And now that the ways of approach are open one would expect to find
these woods and gardens full of admiring visitors reveling in their beauty
like bees in a clover-field. Yet few care to visit them. A portion of the
bark of one of the California trees, the mere dead skin, excited the
wondering attention of thousands when it was set up in the Crystal Palace in
London, as did also a few peeled spars, the shafts of mere saplings from
Oregon or Washington. Could one of these great silver firs or sugar pines
three hundred feet high have been transplanted entire to that exhibition,
how enthusiastic would have been the praises accorded to it!
Nevertheless, the countless
hosts waving at home beneath their own sky, beside their own noble rivers
and mountains, and standing on a flower-enameled carpet of mosses thousands
of square miles in extent, attract but little attention. Most travelers
content themselves with what they may chance to see from car windows, hotel
verandas, or the deck of a steamer on the lower Columbia - clinging to the
battered highways like drowning sailors to a life-raft. When an excursion
into the woods is proposed, all sorts of exaggerated or imaginary dangers
are conjured up, filling the kindly, soothing wilderness with colds, fevers,
Indians, bears, snakes, bugs, impassable rivers, and jungles of brush, to
which is always added quick and sure starvation.
As to starvation, the woods
are full of food, and a supply of bread may easily be carried for habit's
sake, and replenished now and then at outlying farms and camps. The Indians
are seldom found in the woods, being confined mainly to the banks of the
rivers, where the greater part of their food is obtained. Moreover, the most
of them have been either buried since the settlement of the country or
civilized into comparative innocence, industry, or harmless laziness. There
are bears in the woods, but not in such numbers nor of such unspeakable
ferocity as town-dwellers imagine, nor do bears spend their lives in going
about the country like the devil, seeking whom they may devour. Oregon
bears, like most others, have no liking for man either as meat or as
society; and while some may be curious at times to see what manner of
creature he is, most of them have learned to shun people as deadly enemies.
They have been poisoned, trapped, and shot at until they have become shy,
and it is no longer easy to make their acquaintance. Indeed, since the
settlement of the country, notwithstanding far the greater portion is yet
wild, it is difficult to find any of the larger animals that once were
numerous and comparatively familiar, such as the bear, wolf, panther, lynx,
deer, elk, and antelope.
As early as 1843, while the
settlers numbered only a few thousands, and before any sort of government
had been organized, they came together and held what they called "a wolf
meeting," at which a committee was appointed to devise means for the
destruction of wild animals destructive to tame ones, which committee in due
time begged to report as follows: -
It being admitted by all that
bears, wolves, panthers, etc., are destructive to the useful animals owned
by the settlers of this colony, your committee would submit the following
resolutions as the sense of this meeting, by which the community may be
governed in carrying on a defensive and destructive war on all such animals:
-
Resolved, 1st. - That we deem
it expedient for the community to take immediate measures for the
destruction of all wolves, panthers and bears, and such other animals as are
known to be destructive to cattle, horses, sheep and hogs.
2d. - That a bounty of fifty
cents be paid for the destruction of a small wolf, $3.00 for a large wolf,
$1.50 for a lynx, $2.00 for a bear and $5.00 for a panther.
This center of destruction
was in the Willamette Valley. But for many years prior to the beginning of
the operations of the "Wolf Organization" the Hudson's Bay Company had
established forts and trading-stations over all the country, wherever
fur-gathering Indians could be found, and vast numbers of these animals were
killed. Their destruction has since gone on at an accelerated rate from year
to year as the settlements have been extended, so that in some cases it is
difficult to obtain specimens enough for the use of naturalists. But even
before any of these settlements were made, and before the coming of the
Hudson's Bay Company, there was very little danger to be met in passing
through this wilderness as far as animals were concerned, and but little of
any kind as compared with the dangers encountered in crowded houses and
streets.
When Lewis and Clark made
their famous trip across the continent in 1804-05, when all the Rocky
Mountain region was wild, as well as the Pacific Slope, they did not lose a
single man by wild animals, nor, though frequently attacked, especially by
the grizzlies of the Rocky Mountains, were any of them wounded seriously.
Captain Clark was bitten on the hand by a wolf as he lay asleep; that was
one bite among more than a hundred men while traveling through eight to nine
thousand miles of savage wilderness. They could hardly have been so
fortunate had they stayed at home. They wintered on the edge of the Clatsop
plains, on the south side of the Columbia River near its mouth. In the woods
on that side they found game abundant, especially elk, and with the aid of
the friendly Indians who furnished salmon and "wapatoo" (the tubers of
Sagittaria variabilis), they were in no danger of starving.
But on the return trip in the
spring they reached the base of the Rocky Mountains when the range was yet
too heavily snow- laden to be crossed with horses. Therefore they had to
wait some weeks. This was at the head of one of the northern branches of
Snake River, and, their scanty stock of provisions being nearly exhausted,
the whole party was compelled to live mostly on bears and dogs; deer,
antelope, and elk, usually abundant, were now scarce because the region had
been closely hunted over by the Indians before their arrival.
Lewis and Clark had killed a
number of bears and saved the skins of the more interesting specimens, and
the variations they found in size, color of the hair, etc., made great
difficulty in classification. Wishing to get the opinion of the Chopumish
Indians, near one of whose villages they were encamped, concerning the
various species, the explorers unpacked their bundles and spread out for
examination all the skins they had taken. The Indian hunters immediately
classed the white, the deep and the pale grizzly red, the grizzly dark-brown
- in short, all those with the extremities of the hair of a white or frosty
color without regard to the color of the ground or foil-under the name of ho
h-ho st. The Indians assured them that these were all of the same species as
the white bear, that they associated together, had longer nails than the
others, and never climbed trees. On the other hand, the black skins, those
that were black with white hairs intermixed or with a white breast, the
uniform bay, the brown, and the light reddish-brown, were classed under the
name yack-ah, and were said to resemble each other in being smaller and
having shorter nails, in climbing trees, and being so little vicious that
they could be pursued with safety.
Lewis and Clark came to the
conclusion that all those with white-tipped hair found by them in the basin
of the Columbia belonged to the same species as the grizzlies of the upper
Missouri; and that the black and reddish- brown, etc., of the Rocky
Mountains belong to a second species equally distinct from the grizzly and
the black bear of the Pacific Coast and the East, which never vary in color.
As much as possible should be
made by the ordinary traveler of these descriptions, for he will be likely
to see very little of any species for himself; not that bears no longer
exist here, but because, being shy, they keep out of the way. In order to
see them and learn their habits one must go softly and alone, lingering long
in the fringing woods on the banks of the salmon streams, and in the small
openings in the midst of thickets where berries are most abundant.
As for rattlesnakes, the
other grand dread of town-dwellers when they leave beaten roads, there are
two, or perhaps three, species of them in Oregon. But they are nowhere to be
found in great numbers. In western Oregon they are hardly known at all. In
all my walks in the Oregon forest I have never met a single specimen, though
a few have been seen at long intervals.
When the country was first
settled by the whites, fifty years ago, the elk roamed through the woods and
over the plains to the east of the Cascades in immense numbers; now they are
rarely seen except by experienced hunters who know their haunts in the
deepest and most inaccessible solitudes to which they have been driven. So
majestic an animal forms a tempting mark for the sportsman's rifle.
Countless thousands have been killed for mere amusement and they already
seem to be nearing extinction as rapidly as the buffalo. The antelope also
is vanishing from the Columbia plains before the farmers and cattle-men.
Whether the moose still lingers in Oregon or Washington I am unable to say.
On the highest mountains of
the Cascade Range the wild goat roams in comparative security, few of his
enemies caring to go so far in pursuit and to hunt on ground so high and so
dangerous. He is a brave, sturdy, shaggy mountaineer of an animal, enjoying
the freedom and security of crumbling ridges and overhanging cliffs above
the glaciers, oftentimes beyond the reach of the most daring hunter. They
seem to be as much at home on the ice and snow-fields as on the crags,
making their way in flocks from ridge to ridge on the great volcanic
mountains by crossing the glaciers that lie between them, traveling in
single file guided by an old experienced leader, like a party of climbers on
the Alps. On these ice- journeys they pick their way through networks of
crevasses and over bridges of snow with admirable skill, and the mountaineer
may seldom do better in such places than to follow their trail, if he can.
In the rich alpine gardens and meadows they find abundance of food,
venturing sometimes well down in the prairie openings on the edge of the
timberline, but holding themselves ever alert and watchful, ready to flee to
their highland castles at the faintest alarm. When their summer pastures are
buried beneath the winter snows, they make haste to the lower ridges,
seeking the wind-beaten crags and slopes where the snow cannot lie at any
great depth, feeding at times on the leaves and twigs of bushes when grass
is beyond reach.
The wild sheep is another
admirable alpine rover, but comparatively rare in the Oregon mountains,
choosing rather the drier ridges to the southward on the Cascades and to the
eastward among the spurs of the Rocky Mountain chain.
Deer give beautiful animation
to the forests, harmonizing finely in their color and movements with the
gray and brown shafts of the trees and the swaying of the branches as they
stand in groups at rest, or move gracefully and noiselessly over the mossy
ground about the edges of beaver-meadows and flowery glades, daintily
culling the leaves and tips of the mints and aromatic bushes on which they
feed. There are three species, the black-tailed, white-tailed, and mule
deer; the last being restricted in its range to the open woods and plains to
the eastward of the Cascades. They are nowhere very numerous now, killing
for food, for hides, or for mere wanton sport, having well-nigh exterminated
them in the more accessible regions, while elsewhere they are too often at
the mercy of the wolves.
Gliding about in their shady
forest homes, keeping well out of sight, there is a multitude of sleek
fur-clad animals living and enjoying their clean, beautiful lives. How
beautiful and interesting they are is about as difficult for busy mortals to
find out as if their homes were beyond sight in the sky. Hence the stories
of every wild hunter and trapper are eagerly listened to as being possibly
true, or partly so, however thickly clothed in successive folds of
exaggeration and fancy. Unsatisfying as these accounts must be, a tourist's
frightened rush and scramble through the woods yields far less than the
hunter's wildest stories, while in writing we can do but little more than to
give a few names, as they come to mind, - beaver, squirrel, coon, fox,
marten, fisher, otter, ermine, wildcat, - only this instead of full
descriptions of the bright-eyed furry throng, their snug home nests, their
fears and fights and loves, how they get their food, rear their young,
escape their enemies, and keep themselves warm and well and exquisitely
clean through all the pitiless weather.
For many years before the
settlement of the country the fur of the beaver brought a high price, and
therefore it was pursued with weariless ardor. Not even in the quest for
gold has a more ruthless, desperate energy been developed. It was in those
early beaver-days that the striking class of adventurers called "free
trappers" made their appearance. Bold, enterprising men, eager to make
money, and inclined at the same time to relish the license of a savage life,
would set forth with a few traps and a gun and a hunting-knife, content at
first to venture only a short distance up the beaver-streams nearest to the
settlements, and where the Indians were not likely to molest them. There
they would set their traps, while the buffalo, antelope, deer, etc.,
furnished a royal supply of food. In a few months their pack-animals would
be laden with thousands of dollars' worth of fur.
Next season they would
venture farther, and again farther, meanwhile growing rapidly wilder,
getting acquainted with the Indian tribes, and usually marrying among them.
Thenceforward no danger could stay them in their exciting pursuit. Wherever
there were beaver they would go, however far or wild, - the wilder the
better, provided their scalps could be saved. Oftentimes they were compelled
to set their traps and visit them by night and lie hid during the day, when
operating in the neighborhood of hostile Indians. Not then venturing to make
a fire or shoot game, they lived on the raw flesh of the beaver, perhaps
seasoned with wild cresses or berries. Then, returning to the
trading-stations, they would spend their hard earnings in a few weeks of
dissipation and "good time," and go again to the bears and beavers, until at
length a bullet or arrow would end all. One after another would be missed by
some friend or trader at the autumn rendezvous, reported killed by the
Indians, and - forgotten. Some men of this class have, from superior skill
or fortune, escaped every danger, lived to a good old age, and earned fame,
and, by their knowledge of the topography of the vast West then unexplored,
have been able to render important service to the country; but most of them
laid their bones in the wilderness after a few short, keen seasons. So great
were the perils that beset them, the average length of the life of a "free
trapper" has been estimated at less than five years. From the Columbia
waters beaver and beaver men have almost wholly passed away, and the men
once so striking a part of the view have left scarcely the faintest sign of
their existence. On the other hand, a thousand meadows on the mountains tell
the story of the beavers, to remain fresh and green for many a century,
monuments of their happy, industrious lives.
But there is a little airy,
elfin animal in these woods, and in all the evergreen woods of the Pacific
Coast, that is more influential and interesting than even the beaver. This
is the Douglas squirrel (Sciurus Douglasi). Go where you will throughout all
these noble forests, you everywhere find this little squirrel the
master-existence. Though only a few inches long, so intense is his fiery
vigor and restlessness, he stirs every grove with wild life, and makes
himself more important than the great bears that shuffle through the berry
tangles beneath him. Every tree feels the sting of his sharp feet. Nature
has made him master-forester, and committed the greater part of the
coniferous crops to his management. Probably over half of all the ripe cones
of the spruces, firs, and pines are cut off and handled by this busy
harvester. Most of them are stored away for food through the winter and
spring, but a part are pushed into shallow pits and covered loosely, where
some of the seeds are no doubt left to germinate and grow up. All the tree
squirrels are more or less birdlike in voice and movements, but the Douglas
is preërninently so, possessing every squirrelish attribute, fully developed
and concentrated. He is the squirrel of' squirrels, flashing from branch to
branch of his favorite evergreens, crisp and glossy and sound as a sunbeam.
He stirs the leaves like a rustling breeze, darting across openings in
arrowy lines, launching in curves, glinting deftly from side to side in
sudden zigzags, and swirling in giddy loops and spirals around the trunks,
now on his haunches, now on his head, yet ever graceful and performing all
his feats of strength and skill without apparent effort. One never tires of
this bright spark of life, the brave little voice crying in the wilderness.
His varied, piney gossip is as savory to the air as balsam to the palate.
Some of his notes are almost flutelike in softness, while others prick and
tingle like thistles. He is the mockingbird of squirrels, barking like a
dog, screaming like a hawk, whistling like a blackbird or linnet, while in
bluff, audacious noisiness he is a jay. A small thing, but filling and
animating all the woods.
Nor is there any lack of
wings, notwithstanding few are to be seen on short, noisy rambles. The ousel
sweetens the shady glens and canons where waterfalls abound, and every grove
or forest, however silent it may seem when we chance to pay it a hasty
visit, has its singers, - thrushes, linnets, warblers, - while hummingbirds
glint and hover about the fringing masses of bloom around stream and meadow
openings. But few of these will show themselves or sing their songs to those
who are ever in haste and getting lost, going in gangs formidable in color
and accoutrements, laughing, hallooing, breaking limbs off the trees as they
pass, awkwardly struggling through briery thickets, entangled like
bluebottles in spider-webs, and stopping from time to time to fire off their
guns and pistols for the sake of the echoes, thus frightening all the life
about them for miles. It is this class of hunters and travelers who report
that there are "no birds in the woods or game animals of any kind larger
than mosquitoes."
Besides the singing-birds
mentioned above, the handsome Oregon grouse may be found in the thick woods,
also the dusky grouse and Franklin's grouse, and in some places the
beautiful mountain partridge, or quail. The white-tailed ptarmigan lives on
the lofty snow peaks above the timber, and the prairie- chicken and
sage-cock on the broad Columbia plains from the Cascade Range back to the
foothills of the Rocky Mountains. The bald eagle is very common along the
Columbia River, or wherever fish, especially salmon, are plentiful, while
swans, herons, cranes, pelicans, geese, ducks of many species, and
water-birds in general abound in the lake region, on the main streams, and
along the coast, stirring the waters and sky into fine, lively pictures,
greatly to the delight of wandering lovers of wildness. |
