On the shores of a nameless lake I crouched and shivered
in the wet sage-brush. It was breaking day; the smell of the dawn was in
the air, and a clammy mist enveloped the land, through which, in spots,
individual trees showed as shadows, faintly, if near at hand. Further
than that nothing was visible.
Low, mysterious noises came to my ear, and as the light
waxed stronger these became louder, so as to be distinguishable ; the
leap of a fish; the quacking of a couple of ducks in a reed-bed; the
staccato, nervous tapping of a woodpecker; a distant hollow crash in the
depth of the forest; a slight rustle in the bushes behind me as a weasel
peered out with extended neck, to vanish suddenly, appearing
instantaneously ten feet away almost before his disappearance had been
registered by the eye.
The mist commenced to rise, and a current of air stirred
the poplar leaves to a light fluttering. The ducks became partly
visible, and seen through the vapour they seemed to float on air, and to
be of inordinate size.
I shivered some more.
Under the influence of the slight breeze the fog billowed
slowly back exposing the little sheet of water; the wavering line of the
hills on the far shore appeared and disappeared within its folds, and
the crest of the ridges seemed to float on its surface like long, low
islands. To the East was clear of fog and the streaks of clouds that
hung there, as I watched, turned slowly pink. Not ten feet away, on a
log, a muskrat rubbed himself dry with vigorous strokes, and as he
scrubbed mightily I could hear his little gusts of breath in the thin
air. A flock of whistlers volleyed overhead with bullet velocity,
circled the pond and lit on the water with a slithering splash; a
kingfisher dived like an emerald streak at the rise of a speckled trout,
and, missing his stroke, flew with a chattering laugh to a dry limb. And
at the discordant sound came the first notes of the plaintive song of
the Canada bird, a haunting melody that ceases in full flight, the
remainder of the song tantalisingly left unsung as though the singer had
become suddenly weary: a prelude in minor cadence. And from all around,
and across the pond, these broken melodies burst out in answering
lament, while the burden of song was taken up by one after another
trilling voice. There poured out the rippling lilt of the American
robin, suggestive of the clear purling of running water; the three deep
golden notes of some unknown songster, the first three chords of an
obbligato plucked from the strings of a bass viol. Others, now
indistinguishable for very volume, joined in as the slowly rising sun
rolled up the curtain of the mist on the grand overture conducted by the
Master Musician, that is the coming of day, in the unspoiled reaches of
the northern wilds.
I drew the blanket-case off my rifle and pumped a shell
into the .breech. I was there with a purpose: for the time was that of
the spring hunt, and this was a beaver-pond. Two deer appeared in the
reeds in a little bay, necks craned, nostrils working as they essayed
with delicate senses to detect the flaw in the perfectly balanced
structure of the surroundings which I constituted. I did not need them;
and moreover, did they take flight with hoarse whistles and noisy
leapings all living creatures within earshot would be immediately
absorbed by the landscape, and my hunt ended. But I am an old hand at
the game, and, having chosen a position with that end in view, was not
to be seen, heard, or smelled.
Yet the scene around me had its influence, and a guilty
feeling possessed me as I realized that of all present in that place of
peace and clean content, I was the only profane thing, an ogre lurking
to destroy. The half-grown ferns and evergreen sedge grasses through
which the early breeze whispered, would, if I had my way, soon be
smeared with the blood of some animal, who was viewing, perhaps with
feelings akin to my own, the dawning of another day; to be his last.
Strange thoughts, maybe, coming from a trapper, one whose trade it is to
kill; but be it known to you that he who lives much alone within the
portals of the temple of Nature learns to think, and deeply, of things
which seldom come within the scope of ordinary life. Much killing brings
in time, no longer triumph, but a revulsion of feeling.
I have seen old hunters, with their hair silvered by the
passage of many winters, who, on killing a deer would stroke the dead
muzzle with every appearance of regret. Indians frequently address an
animal they are about to kill in terms of apology for the act. However,
be that as it may, with the passing of the mist from the face of the
mountains, I saw a large beaver swimming a short distance away. This was
my game; gone were my scruples, and my humane ideas fled like leaves
before the wind. Giving the searching call of these animals, I cocked my
rifle and waited.
At the call he stopped, raising himself in the water to
sniff; and on the summons being repeated he swam directly towards me,
into the very jaws of destruction. At about fifteen feet I had a good
view of him as he slowed down, trying to catch some indication of a
possible companion, and the beautiful dark fur apprised me of a hide
that would well repay my early morning sortie. The beaver regarded me
steadily, again raising himself to catch an expected scent, and not
getting it he turned lazily to swim away. He was at my mercy, and I had
his head snugly set between the forks of my rear sight, when my heart
contracted at the thought of taking life on such a morning. The creature
was happy, glad to be in God’s good sunlight, free after a winter of
darkness to breathe the pure air of the dawn. He had the right to live
here, even as I had, yea, even a greater claim, for he was there before
me.'
I conquered my momentary weakness; for, after all, a
light pressure on the trigger, a crashing impact, would save him many
days of useless labour. Yet I hesitated, and as I finally laid my rifle
down, he sank without a ripple, out of sight. And I became suddenly
conscious of the paeans of praise and triumph of the feathered choir
about me, temporarily unheard in my lust to kill; and it seemed as
though all Nature sang in benediction of an act which had kept inviolate
a sanctuary, and saved a perfect hour from desecration.
I went home to my cabin and ate my breakfast .with
greater satisfaction than the most expertly accomplished kill had ever
given me; and, call it what you will, weakness, vacillation, or the
first glimmerings of conscience in a life hitherto devoted to the
shedding of blood, since the later experiences I have had with these
animals I look back on the incident with no regret.
At one time beaver were to the north what gold was to the
west. In the early mining camps gold was the only medium of exchange;
and from time immemorial at the northern trading posts a beaver hide was
the only currency which remained always at par, and by its unchanging
value, all other furs were judged. It took so many other hides to equal
a beaver skin; and its value was one dollar. Counters were threaded on a
string, each worth a dollar, and called “beaver,” and as the hunter sold
his fur its equivalent in “beaver” counters was pushed along the string.
No money changed hands. So many discs were replaced in settlement of the
hunting-debt, and as the trapper bought his provisions the remaining
“beaver” were run back down again, one by one, a dollar at a time, until
they were all back where they belonged, and the trade completed.
They usually went back down the string a good deal faster
than they came up, and the story is told of the hunter with two bales of
fur who thus paid his debt, spoke twice, and owed a hundred dollars.
Although pelts were cheap provisions were not. I have spoken with men,
not such very old men either, who traded marten, now selling as high as
forty dollars, at the rate of four to a beaver, or twenty-five cents
each.
A hunter must have had to bring in a stupendous amount of
fur to buy even the barest necessities, when we consider the prices that
even to-day obtain at many of the distant posts; a twenty-five pound bag
of flour, $5.00; salt pork, $1.00 a pound; tea, $3.00 a pound; candles,
25 c. each; sugar, 50 c. a pound; 5 lb. pail of lard, $4.5:0; a pair of
trousers, $25.00; and so on. The oft-told tale of piling beaver hides to
the height of the muzzle of a gun in order to purchase the weapon,
although frequently denied, is perfectly true. Many old Indians living
to-day possess guns they bought that way. It is not so generally known
that some unscrupulous traders increased the price by lengthening the
barrels, necessitating the cutting off of a length with a file before
the weapon could be used.
Although beaver do not exist to-day in sufficient
quantities to constitute a hunt, up till ten years ago they were the
chief means of subsistence of an army of white hunters, and thousands of
Indians. Since their practical extermination the Northern Ojibways are
in want, and many of the bands have had to be rationed by the Government
to prevent their actual starvation.
The first, and for over a hundred years, the only
business in which Canada was engaged was the fur trade, of which the
beaver was the mainstay; and its history affords one of the most
romantic phases in the development of the North American Continent.
The specimens of beaver pelts exhibited to Charles of
England influenced him to grant the famous Hudson Bay Company’s Charter,
apportioning to them probably the largest land grant ever awarded any
one concern. Attracted by the rich spoils of the trade, other companies
sprang up. Jealousies ensued, and pitched battles between the trappers
of rival factions were a common occurrence. Men fought, murdered,
starved and froze to death, took perilous trips into unknown
wildernesses, and braved the horrors of Indian warfare, lured on by the
rich returns of the beaver trade. Men_ foreswore one another, cheated,
murdered, robbed, and lied to gain possession of bales of these pelts,
which could not have been more ardently fought for had each hair on them
been composed of gold.
The Indians, meanwhile, incensed at the wholesale
slaughter of their sacred animal, inflamed by the sight of large bands
of men fighting for something that belonged to none of them, took pay
from either side, and swooped down on outgoing caravans, annihilating
them utterly, and burning peltries valued at hundreds of thousands of
dollars. Often, glad of a chance to strike a blow at the beaver man, the
common enemy, they showed a proper regard for symmetry by also
destroying the other party that had hired them, thus restoring the
balance of Nature. Ghastly torturing and other diabolical atrocities,
incident to the massacre of trappers in their winter camps, discouraged
hunting, and crippled the trade for a period; but with the entire
extinction of the buffalo the Indian himself was obliged to turn and
help destroy his ancient friends in order to live. Betrayed by their
protectors the beaver did not long survive, and soon they were no more
seen in the land wherein they had dwelt so long.
Profiting by this lesson, forty years later, most of the
Provinces on the Canadian side of the line declared a closed season on
beaver, of indefinite duration. Thus protected they gradually increased
until at the outbreak of the World War they were as numerous in the
Eastern Provinces as they ever had been in the West. I am not an old
man, but I have seen the day when the forest streams and lakes of
Northern Ontario and Quebec were peopled by millions of these animals.
Every creek and pond had its colony of the Beaver People. And then once
again, and for the last time, this harassed and devoted animal was
subjected to a persecution that it is hard to credit could be possible
in these enlightened days of preservation and conservation. The beaver
season was thrown open and the hunt was on.
Men, who could well have made their living in
other 146 ways, quit their regular occupations and took the trail. It
was the story of the buffalo over again. In this case instead of an
expensive outfit of horses and waggons, only a cheap licence, a few
traps, some provisions and a canoe were needed, opening up widely the
field to all and sundry.
The woods were full of trappers. Their snowshoe trails
formed a network of destruction over all the face of the wilderness,
into the farthest recesses of the north. Trails were broken out to
civilization, packed hard as a rock by long strings of toboggans and
sleighs drawn by wolf-dogs, and loaded with skins; trails over which
passed thousands and thousands of beaver hides on their way to the
market. Beaver houses were dynamited by those whose intelligence could
not grasp the niceties of beaver trapping, or who had not the hardihood
to stand the immersion of bare arms in ice-water during zero weather;
for the setting of beaver traps in mid-winter is no occupation for one
with tender hands or a taste for tea-fights. Dams were broken after the
freeze-up, and sometimes the entire defences, feed house, and dam were
destroyed, and those beaver not captured froze to death or starved in
their ruined works, whilst all around was death, and ruin, and
destruction.
Relentless spring hunters killed the mother beavers,
allowing the little ones to starve, which, apart from the brutality of
the act, destroyed all chances of replenishment. Unskilful methods
allowed undrowned beaver to twist out of traps, leaving in the jaws some
shattered bone and a length of sinew, condemning the maimed creatures to
do all their work with one or both front feet cut off; equivalent in its
effect to cutting off the hands of a man.
I once saw a beaver with both front feet and one hind
foot cut off in this way. He had been doing his pitiful best to collect
materials for his building. He was quite far from the water and unable
to escape me, and although it was late summer and the hide of no value,
I put him out of misery with a well-placed bullet.
Clean trapping became a thing of the past, and
unsportsmanlike methods were used such as removing the raft of feed so
that the beaver must take bait or starve; and the spring pole, a
contrivance which jerks the unfortunate animal into the air, to hang for
hours by one foot just clear of the water, to die in prolonged agony
from thirst. To inflict such torture on this almost human animal is a
revolting crime which few regular white hunters and no Indian will stoop
to.
I remember once, on stopping to make camp, hearing a
sound like the moaning of a child a few yards away, and I rushed to the
spot with all possible speed, knowing bear traps to be out in the
district. I found a beaver suspended in this manner, jammed into the
crotch of a limb, held there by the spring pole, and moaning feebly. I
took it down, and found it to be a female heavy with young, and in a
dying condition; my attempts at resuscitation were without avail, and
shortly after three lives passed into the discard.
The Government of Ontario imposed a limit on the number
to be killed, and attempted, futilely, to enforce it; but means were
found to evade this ruling, and men whose allowance called for ten hides
came out with a hundred. There is some sorcery in a beaver hide akin to
that which a nugget of gold is credited with possessing, and the
atmosphere of the trade in these skins is permeated with all the romance
and the evil, the rapacity and adventurous glamour, attendant on a
gold-rush. Other fur, more easily caught, more valuable perhaps, may
increase beyond all bounds, and attract no attention save that of the
professional trapper, but at the word “ beaver,” every man on the
frontier springs to attention, every ear is cocked. The lifting of the
embargo in Ontario precipitated a rush, which whilst not so
concentrated, was very little, if any, less than that of ’98 to the
Yukon. Fleets, flotillas, and brigades of canoes were strung out over
the surface of the lakes in a region of many thousand square miles,
dropping off individually here and there into chosen territories, and
emerging with spectacular hunts unknown in earlier days. The plots and
counter-plots, the intrigues and evasions connected with the tricks of
the trade, resembled the diplomatic ramifications of a nation at war.
History repeated itself. Fatal quarrels over hunting
grounds were not unknown, and men otherwise honest, bitten by the bug of
greed and the prospect of easy money, stooped to unheard-of acts of
depravity for the sake of a few hides.
Meanwhile the trappers reaped a harvest, but not for
long. Beaver in whole sections disappeared and eyes were turned on the
Indian countries. The red men, as before, looked on, but this time with
alarm. Unable any longer to fight for this animal, which, whilst no
longer sacred was their very means of existence, they were compelled to
join in the destruction, and ruin their own hunting grounds before
others got ahead of them and took everything. For ten years the
slaughter went on, and then beaver became scarce.
The part-time hunter, out for a quick fortune, left the
woods full of poison baits, and polluted with piles of carcases, and
returned to his regular occupation. The Indian hunting grounds and those
of the regular white trappers had been invaded and depleted of game. The
immense number of dog-teams in use necessitated the killing of large
numbers of moose for feed, and they also began to be scarce.
Professional hunters, both red and white, even if only to protect their
own interests, take only a certain proportion of the fur, and trapping
grounds are maintained in perpetuity. The invaders had taken everything.
To-day, in the greater part of the vast wilderness of
Northern Canada, beaver are almost extinct; they are fast going the way
of the buffalo. But their houses, their dams, and all their works will
long remain as a reproach and a heavy indictment against the shameful
waste perpetrated by man, in his exploitation of the wild lands and the
dwellers therein. Few people know, or perhaps care, how close we are to
losing most of the links with the pioneer days of old; the beaver is one
of the few remaining reminders of that past Canadian history of which we
are justly proud, and he is entitled to some small niche in the hall of
fame. He has earned the right to our protection whilst we yet have the
power to exercise it, and if we fail him it will not be long before he
is beyond our jurisdiction for all time.
The system that has depleted the fur resources of Canada
to a point almost of annihilation, is uncontrolled competitive hunting
and trapping by transient white trappers. .
The carefully-farmed hunting territories of the Indians
and the resident white trappers (the latter being greatly in the
minority, and having in most cases a proprietary interest in the
preservation of fur and game, playing the game much as the Indian played
it) were, from 1915 on, invaded by hordes of get-rich-quick vandals who,
caring for nothing much but the immediate profits, swept like the
scourge they were across the face of northern Canada.
These men were in no way professional hunters; their
places were in the ranks of other industries, where they should have
stayed. The Indian and the dyed-in-the-wool genuine woodsmen, unsuited
by a long life under wilderness conditions to another occupation, and
unable to make such a revolutionary change in their manner of living,
now find themselves without the means of subsistence.
Misinformed and apparently not greatly interested
provincial governments aided and abetted this destructive and
unwarranted encroachment on the rights of their native populations who
were dependent entirely on the proceeds of the chase, by gathering a
rich if temporary harvest in licences, royalties, etc. A few futile laws
were passed, of which the main incentive of enforcement often seemed to
be the collection of fines rather than prevention. Money alone can never
adequately pay the people of Canada for the loss of their wild life,
from either the commercial, or recreational, or the sentimental point of
view.
We read of the man who opened up the goose to get all the
golden eggs at once, and the resultant depression in the golden-egg
market that followed. The two cases are similar.
We blame the United States for their short-sighted policy
in permitting the slaughter of the buffalo as a means of solving the
Indian problem of that time, yet we have allowed, for a paltry
consideration in dollars and cents, and greatly owing to our criminal
negligence in acquainting ourselves with the self-evident facts of the
case, the almost entire destruction of our once numerous fur-bearing and
game animals. Nor did this policy settle any Indian problem, there being
none at the time, but it created one that is daily becoming more
serious. The white man’s burden will soon be no idle dream, and will
have to be assumed with what cheerful resignation you can muster.
We must not fail to remember that we are still our
brother’s keeper, and having carelessly allowed this same brother to be
robbed of his rights and very means of existence (solemnly agreed by
treaty to be inalienable and. perpetual, whereby he was a
self-supporting producer, a contributor to the wealth of the country and
an unofficial game warden and conservationist whose knowledge of wild
life would have been invaluable) we must now support him. And this will
complete his downfall by the degrading “dole” system.
At a meeting I attended lately, it was stated by a
competent authority that there were more trappers in the woods during
this last two years than ever before. The fact that they paid for their
licences does not in any way compensate either the natives or the
country at large for the loss in wild life consequent on this wholesale
slaughter.
The only remedy would seem to be the removal from the
woods of all white trappers except those who could prove that they had
no alternative occupation, had followed trapping for a livelihood
previous to 1914 (thus eliminating the draft evaders and others who hid
in the woods during the war) and returned men of the voluntary
enlistment class. It is not perhaps generally known that the draft
evaders in some sections constitute the majority of the more destructive
element in the woods to-day. Forced to earn a livelihood by some means
in their seclusion, and fur being high at the time, they learned to trap
in a kind of way. They constitute a grave menace to our fur and game
resources, as their unskilful methods make necessary wholesale
destruction on all sides in order to obtain a percentage of the fur,
leaving in their path a shambles of unfound bodies, many of them
poisoned, or crippled animals, which, unable to cope with the severe
conditions thus imposed on them, eventually die in misery and
starvation.
Regulations should be drawn up with due regard for
conditions governing the various districts, these to be ascertained from
genuine woodsmen and the more prominent and responsible men of native
communities. Suggestions from such sources would have obviated a good
deal of faulty legislation. Those entrusted with the making of our game
laws seem never to become acquainted with the true facts until it is
almost too late, following the progress of affairs about a lap behind.
Regulations, once made, should be rigorously enforced,
and penalties should include fines and imprisonment, as many illegal
trappers put by the amount of a possible fine as a part of their
ordinary expenses.
There is another point of view to be considered. If the
depletion of our game animals goes on much longer at the present rate,
specimens of wild life will soon be seen only in zoos and menageries.
How much more elevating and instructive is it to get a
glimpse—however fleeting—of an animal in its native haunts than the
lengthy contemplation of poor melancholy captives eking out a thwarted
existence under unnatural conditions? Fur farms may perpetuate the fur
industry eventually unless the ruinous policy of selling, for large and
immediate profits, breeding animals to foreign markets is continued. But
these semi-domesticated denatured specimens will never represent to the
true lover of Nature the wild beauty and freedom of the dwellers in the
Silent Places, nor will they ever repopulate the dreary empty wastes
that will be all that are left to us when the remaining Little Brethren
have been immolated on the altars of Greed and Ignorance, and the
priceless heritage of both the Indian and the white man destroyed for
all time.
In wanderings during the last five years, extending
between, and including, the Districts of Algoma in the Province of
Ontario and Misstassini in the Province of Quebec, and covering an
itinerary of perhaps two thousand miles, I have seen not over a dozen
signs of beaver. I was so struck by this evidence of the practical
extinction of our national animal, that my journey, originally
undertaken with the intention of finding a hunting ground, became more
of a crusade, conducted with the object of discovering a small colony of
beaver not claimed by some other hunter, the motive being no longer to
trap, but to preserve them.
I have been fortunate enough to discover two small
families. With them, and a few hand-raised specimens in my possession, I
am attempting the somewhat hopeless task of repopulating a district
otherwise denuded of game. It is a little saddening to see on every hand
the deserted works, the broken dams, and the empty houses, monuments to
the thwarted industry of an animal which played such an important part
in the history of the Dominion.
Did the public have by any chance the opportunity of
studying this little beast who seems almost able to think, possesses a
power of speech in which little but the articulation of words is
lacking, and a capacity for suffering possible only to a high grade of
intelligence, popular opinion would demand the declaration of a close
season of indefinite duration over the whole Dominion.
Did the Provinces collaborate on any such scheme, there
would be no sale for beaver skins, and the only source of supply being
thus closed, poaching would be profitless. Even from a materialistic
point of view this would be of great benefit, as after a long, it is to
be feared a very long, period a carefully regulated beaver hunt could be
arranged that would be a source of revenue of some account.
It is generally conceded that the beaver was by far the
most interesting and intelligent of all the creatures that at one time
abounded in the vast wilderness of forest, plain and mountain that was
Canada before the coming of the white man.
Although in the north they are now reduced to a few
individuals and small families scattered thinly in certain inaccessible
districts, there has been established for many years, a game reserve of
about three thousand square miles, where these and all other animals
indigenous to the region are as numerous as they were fifty years ago. I
refer to the Algonquin Provincial Park in Ontario. This game sanctuary
is guarded in the strictest manner by a very competent staff of Rangers,
and it is a saying in the region that it would be easier to get away
with murder than to escape the consequences of killing a beaver in their
patrol area.
This little worker of the wild has been much honoured. He
ranks with the maple leaf as representative of the Dominion, and has won
a place as one of Canada’s national emblems, by the example he gives of
industry, adaptability, and dogged perseverance; attributes well worthy
of emulation by those who undertake to wrest a living from the untamed
soil of a new country. He is the Imperialist . of the animal world. He
maintains a home and hearth, and from it he sends out every year a pair
of emigrants who search far and wide for new fields to conquer; who
explore, discover, occupy, and improve, to the benefit of all concerned.
The Indian, who lived by the killing of animals, held his
hand when it came to the beaver. Bloody wars were waged on his behalf by
his red-skinned protectors, until the improvements of civilization
raised economic difficulties only to be met by the sale of beaver skins,
with starvation as the alternative. _ _
The red men considered them as themselves and dignified
their Little Talking Brothers with the name of The Beaver People, and
even in these degenerate days of traders, whiskey, and lost tradition,
there are yet old men *54
The beaver arrives at the top of the house, with his
load, still erect. He places his armful of mud, packing it into the gap
with his hands, a?id forcing the stick into a crevice by the same means.
The tail is never used for this or any other purpose save as a support
in walking. This beaver house is 22 ft. long, 18 ft. wide and 8 ft.
high. Built by two beavers in less than two months. amongst the nations
who will not sit to a table where beaver meat is served, while those who
now eat him and sell his hide will allow no dog to eat his bones, and
the remains, feet, tail, bones and entrails, are carefully committed to
the element from which they came, the water.
It would seem that by evolution or some other process,
these creatures have developed a degree of mental ability superior to
that of any other living animal, with the possible exception of the
elephant.
Most animals blindly follow an instinct and a set of
habits, and react without mental effort to certain inhibitions and
desires. In the case of the beaver, these purely animal attributes are
supplemented by a sagacity which so resembles the workings of the human
mind that it is quite generally believed, by those who know most about
them, that they are endowed to a certain extent with reasoning powers.
The fact that they build dams and houses, and collect feed is sometimes
quoted as evidence of this; but muskrats also erect cabins and store
food in much the same manner. Yet where do you find any other creature
but man who can fall a tree in a desired direction, selecting only those
which can conveniently be brought to the ground? For rarely do we find
trees lodged or hung up by full-grown beaver; the smaller ones are
responsible for most of the lodged trees. Instinct causes them to build
their dams in the form of an arc, but by what means do they gain the
knowledge that causes them to arrange that curve in a concave or a
convex formation, according to the water-pressure?
Some tame beaver objected strongly to the window in my
winter camp, and were everlastingly endeavouring to push up to it
articles of all kinds, evidently thinking it was an opening, which it is
their nature to close up. That was to be expected. But they overstepped
the bounds of natural impulse, and entered the realm of calculation,
when they dragged firewood over, and piled it under the window until
they had reached its level, and on this improvised scaffold they
eventually accomplished their purpose, completely covering the window
with piled-up bedding. Whenever the door was open they tried every means
of barricading the opening, but found they could never get the aperture
filled. One day I returned with a pail of water in each hand to find the
door closed, having to set down my pails to open it. I went in, and my
curiosity aroused, watched the performance. As soon as I was clear, one
of the beaver started to push on some sacking he had collected at the
foot of the door, and slowly but surely closed it. And this he often did
from then on. Instinct? Maybe.
Their general system of working is similar in most cases,
and the methods used are the same. However, in the bush no two places
are alike, and it requires no little ingenuity on the part of a man to
adapt himself to the varying circumstances, yet the beaver can adjust
himself to a multiplicity of different conditions, and is able to
overcome all the difficulties arising, meeting his problems much in the
way a man would.
In the accompanying sketch will be seen a lake A,
representing a pond well-known to me on which there was a beaver family.
There was much feed at the place marked Z on the further bank of the
river B,but none on the lake, which had been very shallow, but was
dammed at X. Between the spot on the river marked Z and the lake was a
distance of two hundred yards. The problem was to get the feed across to
the pond. The river route was too far, and to draw it such a distance in
a country bristling with dangers was not to be considered, so the beaver
dug a canal towards the river. Now this stream had run swiftly two miles
or more before it reached the point Z, therefore, naturally at that
place would be much lower than the level of the lake. On the completion
of the canal C the lake would consequently be drained. This the beaver
were well aware of, and to avoid this contingency, the channel was dug
as far as D, discontinued for a few yards, and continued on to the
river, leaving a wall, which being further heightened, prevented the
escape of their precious water.
Thus they could float their timber in ease the full
dis-156 tance, with the exception of one short portage. A problem not
easily solved.
Their strength is phenomenal and they can draw a stick
which, in proportion, a man could not shift with his hands; and to move
it sideways they will go to each extremity alternately, poise the end
over their head and throw it an appreciable distance. I have seen two
small beaver struggling down a runway with a poplar log, heaviest of
soft woods, of such a size that only the top of their backs and heads
were visible above it.
Shooting them when they are so engaged, a common
practice, somehow seems to me in these latter days, like firing from
ambush on children at play, or shooting poor harmless labourers at work
in the fields.
The beaver is a home-loving beast and will travel far
overland, around the shores of lakes and up streams, searching for a
suitable place to build. Once settled where there is enough feed, and
good opportunities to construct a dam, a family is liable to stay in
that immediate district for many years. The young, at the age of two
years, leave home, and separating, pick each a mate from another family,
build themselves a house and dam, and settle down to housekeeping;
staying together for life, a period of perhaps fifteen years. At the end
of the third year they attain full growth, being then three feet and a
half long with the tail, and weighing about thirty-five pounds. In the
spring the mother has her young, the male making a separate house for
them and keeping the dam in repair. The last year’s kittens leave the
pond, going always downstream, and wander around all summer, returning
about August to assist in the work of getting ready for the winter. The
first part of these preparations is to build a dam, low to begin with,
and being made higher as needed. The main object of this structure is to
give a good depth of water, in which feed may be kept all winter without
freezing, and heavy green sticks are often piled on top of the raft of
supplies, which is generally attached to the house, in order to sink it
as much as possible. Also by this means the water is flooded back into
the timber they intend to fall, enabling them to work close to the water
and facilitating escape from danger.
Much has been said concerning the timber they are
supposed to spoil in this way, but the shores of a lake are hardly ever
low enough to allow any more than the first narrow fringe of trees close
to the water to be drowned, and that is generally of little value
commercially.
The immense amount of work that is put into a dam must be
seen to be realized. Some of these are eight feet high, a hundred yards
long, and six feet through at the base, tapering up to a scant foot at
the water level. Pits are dug near the ends from which are carried the
materials to prevent seepage, and a judicious admixture of large stones
adds the necessary stiffening at the water-lines. Canals are channelled
out, trees felled near them, neatly limbed, cut up, and all but the
heavier portions drawn to the water and floated away. The heightened
water facilitates this operation, and besides thus fulfilling his own
purpose, the beaver is performing a service for man that, too late, is
now being recognized. .
Many a useful short-cut on a circuitous canoe route,
effecting a saving of hours, and even days, a matter of the greatest
importance in the proper policing of the valuable forests against fire,
has become impracticable since the beaver were removed, as the dams fell
out of repair, and streams became too shallow for navigation by canoes.
The house alone is a monument of concentrated effort. The
entrance is under water, and on a foundation raised to the water level,
and heightened as the water rises, sticks of every kind are stacked
criss-cross in a dome shaped pile some eight feet high and from ten to
twenty-five feet in width at the base. These materials are placed
without regard to interior accommodation, the interstices filled with
soil, and the centre is cut out from the inside, all hands chewing away
at the interlaced sticks until there is room enough in the interior for
a space around the waterhole for a feeding place, and for a platform
near the walls for sleeping quarters. The beds are made of long
shavings, thin as paper, which they tear off sticks; each beaver has his
bed and keeps his place.
Pieces of feed are cut off the raft outside under the
ice, and peeled in the house, the discarded sticks being carried out
through a branch in the main entrance, as are the beds on becoming too
soggy. Should the water sink below the level of the feeding place the
loss is at once detected, and the dam inspected and repaired. Thus they
are easy to catch by making a small break in the dam and setting a trap
in the aperture. On discovering the break they will immediately set to
work to repair it without loss of time, and get into the trap. When it
closes on them they jump at once into deep water and, a large stone
having been attached to the trap, they stay there and drown, taking
about twenty minutes to die; a poor reward for a lifetime of useful
industry.
Late in the Fall the house is well plastered with mud,
and it is by observing the time of this operation that it is possible to
forecast the near approach of the freeze-up.
And it is the contemplation of this diligence and
perseverance, this courageous surmounting of all difficulties at no
matter what cost in labour, that has, with other considerations, earned
the beaver, as far as I am concerned, immunity for all time. I cannot
see that my vaunted superiority as a man entitles me to disregard the
lesson that he teaches, and profiting thereby, I do not feel that I have
any longer the right to destroy the worker or his works performed with
such devotion.
Many years have I builded, and hewed, and banked, and
laboriously carried in my supplies in readiness for the winter, and all
around me the Beaver People were doing the same thing by much the same
methods, little knowing that their work was all for nought, and that
they were doomed beforehand never to enjoy the comfort they well earned
with such slavish labour.
I recollect how once I sat eating a lunch at an open fire
on the shores of a beautiful little mountain lake, and beside me, in the
sunlight, lay the body of a fine big beaver I had just caught. I well
remember, too, the feeling of regret that possessed me for the first
time, as I watched the wind playing in the dead beaver’s hair, as it had
done when he had been happy, sunning himself on the shores of his pond,
so soon to become a dirty swamp, now that he was taken.
In spite of his clever devices for protection, the
beaver, by the very nature of his work signs his own death warrant. The
evidences of his wisdom and industry, for which he is so lauded, have
been after all, only sign-posts on the road to extinction. Everywhere
his bright new stumps show up. His graded trails, where they enter the
water, form ideal sets for traps and he can be laid in wait for and shot
in his canals. Even with six feet of snow blanketing the winter forest,
it can be easily discovered whether a beaver-house is occupied or not,
by digging some snow off the top of the house and exposing the large
hollow space 160
melted by the exhalations from within. The store of feed
so carefully put by, may prove his undoing, and he be caught near it by
a skilfully placed trap. Surely he merits a better fate than this, that
he should drown miserably three feet from his companions and his empty
bed, whilst his body lies there until claimed by the hunter, later to
pass, on the toboggan on its way to the hungry maw of the city, the home
he worked so hard to build, the quiet and peace of the little pond that
knew him and that he loved so well.
This then is the tale of the Beaver People, a tale that
is almost told. Soon all that will remain of this once numerous clan of
little brethren of the waste places will be their representative in his
place of honour on the flag of Canada. After all an empty mockery, for,
although held up to symbolize the Spirit of Industry of a people, that
same people has allowed him to be done to death on every hand, and by
every means. Once a priceless exhibit displayed for a king’s approval,
the object of the devotion of an entire race, and wielding the balance
of power over a large continent, he is now a fugitive. Unable to follow
his wonted occupation, lest his work show his presence, scarcely he
dares to eat except in secrecy, lest he bring retribution swift and
terrible for a careless move. Lurking in holes and corners, in muddy
ponds and deep unpenetrable swamps, he dodges the traps, snares, spring
poles, nets, and every imaginable device set to encompass his
destruction, to wipe him off the face of the earth.
Playful and good-natured, persevering and patient, the
scattered remnants of the beaver colonies carry on, futilely working out
their destiny until such time as they too will fall a victim to the
greed of man. And so they will pass from sight as if they had never
been, leaving a gap in the cycle of wilderness life that cannot be
filled. They will vanish into the past out of which they came, beyond
the long-forgotten days, from whence, if we let them go, they can never
be recalled. |