The Hunters' Feast: Conversations Around the Camp Fire. Reid Mayne
in their education; but during this period absents himself, and wanders about alone. In autumn the cubs are nearly full-grown, and able to “take care of themselves.” The “old father” now joins the family party, and all together proceed to the erection of winter quarters. They forsake the “home of their nativity,” and build a very different sort of a habitation. The favourite site for their new house, is a swamp not likely to freeze to the bottom, and if with a stream running through it, all the better. By the side of this stream, or often on a little islet in the midst, they construct a dome-shaped pile, hollow within, and very much like the house of the beaver. The materials used are grass and mud, the latter being obtained at the bottom of the swamp or stream. The entrance to this house is subterranean, and consists of one or more galleries debouching under the water. In situations where there is danger of inundation, the floor of the interior is raised higher, and frequently terraces are made to admit of a dry seat, in case the ground-floor should get flooded. Of course there is free egress and ingress at all times, to permit the animal to go after its food, which consists of plants that grow in the water close at hand.
The house being completed, and the cold weather having set in, the whole family, parents and all, enter it, and remain there during the winter, going out only at intervals for necessary purposes. In spring they desert this habitation and never return to it.
Of course they are warm enough during winter while thus housed, even in the very coldest weather. The heat of their own bodies would make them so, lying as they do, huddled together, and sometimes on top of one another, but the mud walls of their habitations are a foot or more in thickness, and neither frost nor rain can penetrate within.
Now, a curious fact has been observed in connection with the houses of these creatures. It shows how nature has adapted them to the circumstances in which they may be placed. By philosophers it is termed “instinct”; but in our opinion it is the same sort of instinct which enables Mr Hobbs to pick a “Chubb” lock. It is this: —
In southern climates – in Louisiana, for instance – the swamps and rivers do not freeze over in winter. There the muskrat does not construct such houses as that described, but is contented all the year with his burrow in the banks. He can go forth freely and seek his food at all seasons.
In the north it is different. There for months the rivers are frozen over with thick ice. The muskrat could only come out under the ice, or above it. If the latter, the entrance of his burrow would betray him, and men with their traps, and dogs, or other enemies, would easily get at him. Even if he had also a water entrance, by which he might escape upon the invasion of his burrow, he would drown for want of air. Although an amphibious animal, like the beaver and otter, he cannot live altogether under water, and must rise at intervals to take breath. The running stream in winter does not perhaps furnish him with his favourite food – the roots and stems of water-plants. These the swamp affords to his satisfaction; besides, it gives him security from the attacks of men and preying animals, as the wolverine and fisher. Moreover, his house in the swamp cannot be easily approached by the hunter – man – except when the ice becomes very thick and strong. Then, indeed, is the season of peril for the muskrat, but even then he has loopholes of escape. How cunningly this creature adapts itself to its geographical situation! In the extreme north – in the hyperborean regions of the Hudson’s Bay Company – lakes, rivers, and even springs freeze up in winter. The shallow marshes become solid ice, congealed to their very bottoms. How is the muskrat to get under water there? Thus, then, he manages the matter: —
Upon deep lakes, as soon as the ice becomes strong enough to bear his weight, he makes a hole in it, and over this he constructs his dome-shaped habitation, bringing the materials up through the hole, from the bottom of the lake. The house thus formed sits prominently upon the ice. Its entrance is in the floor – the hole which has already been made – and thus is kept open during the whole season of frost, by the care and watchfulness of the inmates, and by their passing constantly out and in to seek their food – the water-plants of the lake.
This peculiar construction of the muskrat’s dwelling, with its water-passage, would afford all the means of escape from its ordinary enemies – the beasts of prey – and, perhaps, against these alone nature has instructed it to provide. But with all its cunning it is, of course, outwitted by the superior ingenuity of its enemy – man.
The food of the muskrat is varied. It loves the roots of several species of nymphae, but its favourite is calamus root (calamus or acorus aromaticus). It is known to eat shell-fish, and heaps of the shells of fresh-water muscles (unios) are often found near its retreat. Some assert that it eats fish, but the same assertion is made with regard to the beaver. This point is by no means clearly made out; and the closet naturalists deny it, founding their opposing theory, as usual, upon the teeth. For my part, I have but little faith in the “teeth,” since I have known horses, hogs, and cattle greedily devour both fish, flesh, and fowl.
The muskrat is easily tamed, and becomes familiar and docile. It is very intelligent, and will fondly caress the hand of its master. Indians and Canadian settlers often have them in their houses as pets; but there is so much of the rat in their appearance, and they emit such a disagreeable odour in the spring, as to prevent them from becoming general favourites. They are difficult to cage up, and will eat their way out of a deal box in a single night. Their flesh, although somewhat musky, is eaten by the Indians and white hunters, but these gentry eat almost everything that “lives, breathes, and moves.” Many Canadians, however, are fond of the flesh.
It is not for its flesh that the muskrat is so eagerly hunted. Its fur is the important consideration. This is almost equal to the fur of the beaver in the manufacture of hats, and sells for a price that pays the Indians and white trappers for the hardships they undergo in obtaining it. It is, moreover, used in the making of boas and muffs, as it somewhat resembles the fur of the pine marten or American sable (Mustela martes), and on account of its cheapness is sometimes passed off for the latter. It is one of the regular articles of the Hudson’s Bay Company’s commerce, and thousands of muskrat skins are annually obtained. Indeed, were it not that the animal is prolific and difficult to capture, its species would soon suffer extermination.
The mode of taking it differs from that practised in trapping the beaver. It is often caught in traps set for the latter, but such a “catch” is regarded in the light of a misfortune, as until it is taken out the trap is rendered useless for its real object. As an amusement it is sometimes hunted by dogs, as the otter is, and dug out of its burrow; but the labour of laying open its deep cave is ill repaid by the sport. The amateur sportsman frequently gets a shot at the muskrat while passing along the bank near its haunts, and almost as frequently misses his aim. The creature is too quick for him, and dives almost without making a bubble. Of course once in the pool it is seen no more.
Many tribes of Indians hunt the muskrat both for its flesh and skin. They have peculiar modes of capturing it, of one of which the hunter-naturalist gave an account. A winter which he had spent at a fort in the neighbourhood of a settlement of Ojibways gave him an opportunity of witnessing this sport in perfection.
Chapter Ten.
A Rat-Hunt
“Chingawa,” began he, “a Chippeway or Ojibway Indian, better-known at the fort as ‘Old Foxey,’ was a noted hunter of his tribe. I had grown to be a favourite with him. My well-known passion for the chase was a sort of masonic link between us; and our friendship was farther augmented by the present of an old knife for which I had no farther use. The knife was not worth twopence of sterling money, but it made ‘Old Foxey’ my best friend; and all his ‘hunter-craft’ – the gatherings of about sixty winters – became mine.
“I had not yet been inducted into the mystery of ‘rat-catching,’ but the season for that ‘noble’ sport at length arrived, and the Indian hunter invited me to join him in a muskrat hunt.
“Taking our ‘traps’ on our shoulders, we set out for the place where the game was to be found. This was a chain of small lakes or ponds that ran through a marshy valley, some ten or twelve miles distant from the fort.
“The traps, or implements, consisted of an ice-chisel with a handle some five feet in length, a small pickaxe, an iron-pointed spear barbed only on one side, with a long