Chapter V: Part 5

These vales of Etchowog are deserted, and the thrift of the Revolutionary days has departed. Nature is returning to her pristine state, and seeks to subdue these traces of man by covering all with weeds, slow decay, and mould.

Once in the pine grove, I discovered that I was in the vicinity of a small cabin, which stood on the brow of the hill overlooking the pond. A door opened southward from the house, and pasted upon it in bold handwriting was the declaration that it was inhabited.

“Rented by Edward Green, Esquire.
Do not trespass on these premises.”

The water along the muddy edges of the pond displayed innumerable wriggling pollywogs and small fishes. About midway along the shore, I found the _Polygonum_ in blossom. I recognized the pink clusters nodding on the water at some distance from the bank. The wind, blowing in little whirling gusts, ruffled the waves. The distant Yellow Lily pads (_Nymphæa advena_) flapped strangely for an instant or two,—turning their great round leaves over on the water’s surface, and displaying their crimson linings.

This is a rare, shy orchid found in company with the Rose Pogonia and the Grass-Pink in the heart of sphagnous swamps.]

I now devoted myself to solving the great problem of snaring the Lady’s-Thumbs of this deep-water species of _Polygonum_. They were just beyond my reach, and I was obliged to drag up an old weather-worn, decaying pine, and float it out to walk upon. With a staff in one hand and a willowy snare in the other, I ventured out upon the bridge as far as I dared to go. I managed after many a slip to snare off the blossoms and float them in to shore. On June 26th I was able to secure some of the flowers of Polygonum growing in the centre of Thompson’s Pond, and found the two plants identical.

There are seventy-one species of this genus in North America, and about two hundred reported for the world. The above species, found in our lakes and ponds, is not rare, yet it is seldom observed in clear water. It was for me a new discovery for this region.

I was pretty well soaked after wading around these muddy shores, and not a little tired with the planning and building of bridges. I rested, therefore, on the hillside among the ferns, watching the daring devil’s-darning-needles—dragon-flies—come and go about my head. The name of darning-needle is still full of alarm to me, but the dragon-fly is harmless both in name and nature. Bees were busy humming at their duty, frogs were croaking the hours away, and the wind was still flapping the ancient pads of Nymphæa, while low, sweet tones through the forest crept. I could have fallen fast asleep here beneath these shades, yet I was far from home, and my boots were heavy and wet.

I made slow progress homeward to-day, with my heavy foot-gear and vasculum. I followed the dusty road to the Ball Farm gate. Here I turned into the old grassy way which had been in use before the present road was built near Thompson’s Brook. One can scarcely trace a track of the traffic of the past years in the present sod. The stone walls on either side of the lane are hidden with woodbine and red-raspberry bushes. Beside this path towers a great pine tree. I had promised myself a long rest beneath this shade, and gladly threw down my pack, and made a pillow of my tin can.

The fleecy clouds rolled across the infinite blue over my head, and a sense of relaxation and solitude stole over me. I must have fallen asleep, and I was suddenly aroused by the cawing of crows that were circling above me,—wondering perhaps whether Major and I were in a proper condition for their approach.

I was more tired after my rest than before, and I began to question, as many of my neighbors had done, the wisdom and profit of my bog-trotting. Well, my neighbors see no value in pitcher-plants and sundew. They say there is no money in them, and pity me for investing my time as I do. Neither do I understand why the farmer chooses to cultivate squash rather than follow some other occupation. It is his business to cultivate squash as it is my business to cultivate sundew. Some crops are failures in their monetary returns,—others in their yield of pleasure. As many wish money only to procure pleasure, if pleasure can be procured without it, why not take the easy way? The end is the same without the worry of the squash-bugs, and the weeding and hilling of the crop,—to say nothing of selling the fruit. The sundew plant would die were it to exchange its habitat for that of the squash.

Giving myself a shake, I arose and again started on my way. Once through the fence, I nailed fast the board I had loosened, and climbed up to the road through the blackberry briars.

I did not make another journey for a week or more. On June 10th, I ventured through the Glen of Comus to see the colony of the two hundred Moccasins. An albino—a pure white flower of _Cypripedium acaule_—was found recently by a lad in the district. He reports that he collected it amid a group of thirteen Pink Moccasin-Flowers, apparently the only pale one of the sisters.

Upon close examination of the structural parts of the albino, I observed that the left anther had not developed at all. It appeared blasted in embryo, and now looked like a brown smeared spot. The sepals and lateral petals were of a rich chrome yellow. The dainty labellum was pure white, of a pearl-like texture in the veining, and tinged with chrome on the crest of the moccasin. It was indeed a strange, beautiful flower.

I had always supposed that an albino of any species of orchid was pure white throughout its parts, and was therefore surprised to find the sepals and side petals yellow.

Albinos of this species have been collected in this district for four seasons. A colony, found near the schoolhouse, produced six white blossoms. The children, calling them faded Pink Moccasins, believed them to have lost their color after maturing. It appears from its persistence that the variety is permanent, and not the freak of a season. The abnormal anther may be present in all albinos. If so, it is evident that evolution is taking place in the Pink Moccasin-Flower through the suppression of one anther in genus _Cypripedium_, which possesses two, while all other genera of the family have but one anther.

The colony of the Showy Lady’s Slipper in Rattlesnake Swamp, producing forty-two blossoms in 1899, unfolded but fifteen flowers this season. For reasons unknown to me, it was not a good year for Cypripediums.

XII

Saucy Jays and Polypores

To arched walks of twilight groves,
And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves,
Of pine, or monumental oak,
Where the rude axe, with heaved stroke,
Was never heard the nymphs to daunt,
Or fright them from their hallowed haunt.

MILTON, _Il Penseroso_.

I followed down one of those sun-dried brook beds that melting snows from the hillsides had eroded during past ages. It proved a short journey to the Glen of Comus, descending northward toward Ball Brook in the vale below. I had not proceeded far when I discovered what at first sight seemed a robin’s nest, built high in the branches of the American Hornbeam,—or, as it is locally known, the Iron-Wood tree (_Carpinus Caroliniana_). It is the only American species of this genus in the Birch Family. Several saplings stood about fifteen feet high, two having so interlaced their branches as to form a strong crotch about eight feet from the ground. The nest was fashioned roughly, built of small sticks, and fastened in the crotch-like loft of these trees. Looking more closely, I perceived the nest was a third larger than the robin’s, and was not plastered with mud. I soon discovered that the bird upon the nest had blue tail feathers and a jaunty cadet top-knot, as she peeped over the edge of the nest at me. This was, then, the saucy jay’s nest, so seldom found about these woods. She became disturbed, and flew off down the ravine. I managed to climb up the trees high enough to determine that the eggs were still unhatched.

The glen was dark here, and Major and I sat in the dim light beneath the shadows of this dense underwood. The jays began in chorus to scream unmercifully. They were distressed by Major’s presence, and flew saucily above his head. He scarcely knew what to make of it all,—not being a bird-dog,—and sat demurely looking at me and wagging his tail. Finally, tired of their own screaming, the jays proceeded down through the intricate windings of the hollow, and we heard their mutterings at a distance,—a pleasant wild sound through these forests.

I looked carefully over the iron-wood trees. They are not uncommon hereabout. Their trunks are ridged and muscular in appearance. These trees are in fact very strong, possessing the endurance of the oak and beech. They never attain great height,—from fifteen to forty feet or so,—but the weight of their wood to the cubic foot is forty to fifty pounds.

Many decaying logs of yellow birch and pine stumps were scattered along the brook bed. They were covered with beautiful mosses and fungi. The shelf-like growth, known as _Polypores_, was abundant on these trees. There are several varieties of this group of fungi here. The larger kind often attains a diameter from six inches to three or four feet, in a semicircle, according to age. It is a hard, leathery or cork-like growth full of pores, the top of the shelf seeming like a slanting roof, grained and striated as it were, with colored slates of gray and brown. This fungus seeks no special species of decayed tree, as I find it clinging to several,—the yellow and white birch, and hemlock logs and stumps.

The underside of Polypores is of a soft ashes-of-roses hue when fresh, later becoming a dull gray-brown. If one looks sharply at the under surface, even with the naked eye, he will observe little pores no larger than pin-points. Under the magnifying-glass, these appear like giant honeycomb cells. Cutting through a section of the shelf, we find that these pores penetrate the heart of the shelf. In these little pore-like cells, the spores or seeds are borne, more hidden even than those of the Fern Family.

The name _Polypores_ originated from these minute pores. Puff-balls or toadstools spring up during a night in pastures or corners in rich wood. But the Polypores are slow in growth.

A beautiful species of the Polypores is worshipped by the natives in Guinea. I also have found and worshipped several specimens of great beauty. I discovered a very large shelf on a decaying hemlock stump in Rattlesnake Swamp, which I severed carefully with a woodsaw, removing enough of the stump to show its attachment to the tree.

As I passed through the glen to-day, I found many large and small specimens of this fungus, whose growth demands a humid atmosphere. The fact that decay does not take place rapidly save in a damp, warm wood, naturally proves that Polypores require such shades as these in which to develop.

Tall brakes rose luxuriantly four feet high or more. The atmosphere was heavy, and the sphagnum was steaming wherever the sunshine poured through the leaves upon it. A certain fragrance of the earth rose up from the swamp and met me everywhere,—a mingled perfume as of violets and Cypripediums. I explored about the pools to the left, finding many flowers in bloom.

Upon a miniature island in the centre of the pool grew the tall spikes of the Queen Moccasin-Flower, in bud. Turning to the south, under the hill among the rocks, is the fountain of the glen, which freshens the heart of the flowers beyond. Surely these are the haunts of thrushes, as well as the home of the queen of the orchids. The Golden Moccasin-Flowers peeped out from beneath the shades of ferns, and sprinkled the mellow glooms with jewels, like footsteps of sunshine left by the wood-nymphs of old.

The footprints of the woodman and the clips from his axe are yet unknown in this Glen of Comus. This is the sanctuary of the gods of old, and these the altars beneath the roofless temples, where man may worship still the deities of Nature. The wood-thrush’s song rings through these cathedral aisles:

“Untwisting all the chains that tie
The hidden soul of harmony.”[43]

I crept quietly through all these winding halls, which I had never before explored. Near the northern portal of the glen stood a white birch, branchless, and mellow in decay, yet beautifully robed with delicate Butterfly Polypores of a velvety-purplish hue. Turning at the junction of the streams, I frightened up the oven-bird, the golden-crowned thrush. She moaned and fluttered away, as though in distress, dropping her wings and hiding among the ferns. I searched about for her nest, and soon found it low upon the ground. Her cottage door was open to the south, revealing five pinkish eggs mottled with purple. The nest was hooded,—thatched, as it were, like an Indian’s wigwam, with leaves, twigs, ferns, and mosses,—so like the ground itself that I nearly walked upon it.

We have five true thrushes of genus _Turdus_ in the Atlantic Region—the Veery, Wood-Thrush, and Hermit-Thrush are found in this immediate region. They are our peerless woodland songsters, coming about May 1st, and often lingering until September 15th. The Veery winters in Central America, and flies as far north as Newfoundland to nest in summer. Like the Hermit-Thrush, it builds its nest on the ground. The Veery has a mysterious strain likened often to an Æolian harp; the Wood-Thrush rings like the chimes of vesper bells, and the Hermit-Thrush has the deepest note of all, rolling like “anthems clear” through the dim woods. Burroughs translates its song thus: “O spheral, spheral! O holy, holy!”

My delight was complete, since I had found two rare birds’ nests within an hour,—those of the melancholy songster and the screaming jay. Four days later I visited both of these nests to see the birdlings. The mother jay was not at home, so I did not distress her when I climbed up to peep at the homely babies. I passed on down to the deeper glen to the oven-bird’s wigwam. She too was absent. Five little bald heads and five wide-gaping mouths were revealed as I drew near the nest, bespeaking the necessity of a thrifty mother to search for food to satisfy their needs. I touched their little heads, then drew back and waited almost an hour for the return of the mother bird, hoping to see the feeding of the young. But she was either shy or belated, and did not appear.

THIRD SEASON

XIII

The Swamps and Hills of Mosholu and Lowerre, New York

Within the circuit of this plodding life,
There enter moments of an azure hue.

THOREAU, _Excursions_.

This season, on May 15th, I began my explorations in the hills and swamps of Mosholu and Lowerre. The most conspicuous flowers about these woods are trillium, spring beauties (_Claytonia Virginica_), bird’s-foot violets, yellow violets, jack-in-the-pulpits, and pink azaleas. The swamps and slopes east of the Mosholu station are bright with these blossoms, which peep from the sod and shrub in their turn. In several places, also columbine, Dutchman’s-breeches and dog’s-tooth lily are abundant. During May these flowers, with the trees of snowy dogwood blossoms, fill the rolling hills and quiet valleys with delicate perfume and unrivaled glory.

Along the higher ridges, the brilliant Rock Pinks (_Phlox subulata_) bloom abundantly. Their mossy-mats creep over the hills from Bronx Park to Yonkers. They belong especially to the extreme southern part of the State of New York, and southward to Virginia and westward to Michigan. In these woods of Mosholu and Lowerre they flower immediately after the Dutchman’s-breeches have faded. I had believed that these pinks must grow as far north as West Rock and the rocky heights of the Giant at Mount Carmel, as well as about the ridges bordering Lake Saltonstall, near New Haven, Connecticut. I was, however, disappointed to find that their territory extended no farther north than the wilder woods of New York City.

I discovered many beautiful plants of the Prickly Pear, or Indian Fig (_Opuntia Opuntia_) of the Cactus Family. It was named for a town in Greece where it grew. This strange relic of the primeval wood blooms in June, producing a sulphurous-yellow flower of great beauty. The large, spatulate-lobed, juicy leaves are sap-green in color, bearing many thorn-like spines. The new leaves, or lobes, appear as joints along the edges of the parent leaf. The fruit is edible. This species is often cultivated. It belongs natively to the rocky shores of Nantucket, Rhode Island, and to Manhattan Island. It is not abundant in Bronx Wood, however. Isolated colonies of the plant live in New York City, along the mutton-backed granite rocks in vacant lots, west of St. Nicholas Avenue, and along Washington Heights.

Wild Garlic, of the Lily Family, is ever present about the hills of Bronx Valley and Spuyten Duyvil Creek.

“_Like a drift of tardy snow,_
_Tangled where the trees are low,_
_Scented dogwood blossoms blow._
_Dainty petals spreading wide,_
_Heart-shaped, lying side by side,_
_Not a leaf the flowers to hide._”

MARY WILSON.]

The Bird’s-Foot Violet (_Viola pedata_) and the Round-Leaved Violet (_Viola rotundifolia_) seem to run riot on the Mosholu Hills, but it is not always easy to distinguish the species. A variety of Bird’s-Foot Violet that grows here appears like a small pansy, and is designated as _Viola bicolor_, producing two delicate, velvety hues of blue-purple. The plant derived its common name from the shape of the leaves, which are divided into five to eleven pointed lobes.

The early Greek name for Violets and Pansies was _Ion_. According to Emperor Constantine, it arose from _Io_, a nymph loved of Jupiter, Nicander wrote that the name _Ion_ was given to Violets because the Nymphs first presented Jupiter with these flowers in the fields of Ionia. They were known to Virgil as _Vaccinium_, and later in Latin as _Vittulæ_, _Violæ_, and to-day they are classified as _Viola_. Species of these plants were designated by the early Greek apothecaries as “_Herbes Bolbonac_.” In the sixteenth century plants of this family grew wild among the corn-field stubbles of England, according to Dodoens and Lyte. They were known as _Viola_, _Iacea_, _Herbe Clauellata_, _Pances_, Love-in-Idleness, and Heart’s-Ease.

The Downy Yellow Violet (_Viola pubescens_), although not so common as blue violets in Bronx Woods, is abundant in special corners among the damp hillsides. Here, too, the Sweet White Violet (_Viola blanda_) dwells near the borders of streams. It is delicately fragrant, although not so sweet-scented as the Canada Violet (_Viola Canadensis_) growing northward as well as southward along mountainside streams. The perfume of the Canada Violet is much like that of the Small Yellow Moccasin-Flower.

Jack-in-the-Pulpit preaches from many rocky hills and hollows in Mosholu and Lowerre, where grow the largest plants I ever saw. They spring from bulbous turnip or onion-like roots, and are sometimes called Indian Turnips. These plants were known by Pliny in Christ’s day as “Dragons,” on account of the stalks, which are speckled like an adder’s skin. The ancients believed that the leaves of Dragonworts, carried in the clothing, would prevent stings of vipers. Others believed that the leaves, wrapped around cheese, would keep it from mouldering.

Matthiolus thus described the Skunk-Cabbage of this group, to which was attributed mythical properties, since it grew sparingly in northern Asia: “Great large leaves, folded and lapped one within another, with an upright stalke, at the top a floure like to a spikie-eare.”

The Green Dragonwort and Jack-in-the-Pulpit were known, until recently, generically as _Arum_. _Arisæma_ antedates _Arum_, referring to the red-blotched stalks of some species. Jack-in-the-Pulpit to-day is known in the science as _Arisæma triphyllum_. The origin of the name Jack-in-the-Pulpit is recent, and, like Indian Turnip, is purely of American origin. Clara Smith of Medford, Massachusetts, so christened these Dragonworts, in a poem which was sent to Whittier for revision. He published it in _Child Life_, about 1884, after amending and adding several lines. The poem became popular, and the flower was thereafter known as “Jack-in-the-Pulpit.”

Columbine was especially plentiful along the hillsides; and the hollows and crevices of rocks were filled with blade-like leaves, resembling Sweet Flag (_Acorus Calamus_). They proved, however, to be the leaves of the Blackberry Lily (_Gemmingia Chinensis_). This lily creeps from southern New York to Georgia. The seeds resemble blackberries. The plant produces several large blossoms in a terminal bracted cluster, of an orange color mottled with purple. This species was formerly known as _Pardanthus_, meaning a Leopard-Flower. The roots are of a golden color.

Returning from the Point of Rocks above Deer Park, I passed along lanes bordered with cedars and junipers, while violets, rosy-pinks and tufts of maiden-hair spleenwort clung to the ledges. On leaving the swamp below, I found a drowsy diamond snake in a stupor, from having recently swallowed a bird or frog. The diamond-shaped checks upon his skin betrayed his species. He is considered venomous, therefore I remained a safe distance from him.

On May 18th I again visited the Point of Rocks and McLean’s Woods, searching for _Orchis spectabilis_ and for _Cypripedium parviflorum_. Leaving the car at Bedford Park, we struck westward, coming out near Poe Park, where still stands that quaint white cottage in which Poe wrote _The Raven_. We bore around the slopes, northward beyond the Racing Park, and entered a country lane, soon turning again to the left into the forest, where stood great pools of water. Along the sluggish stream grew many rare species of fern. Finally we entered Jerome Avenue, leading toward Yonkers.

We searched the borders of the roadside for that little two-leaved orchid, Twayblade (_Leptorchis liliifolia_), formerly known as Lily-leaved Liparis, which grows here in the moist woods. We were too early for it, however. We turned off into the deeper woods till we came to the tangled edges of McLean’s Swamp. Here, a little later, I collected pink azaleas and marsh marigolds, golden-ragwort,—known as the False Valerian (_Senecio aureus_),—white mustard, and water-cress,—also of the Mustard Family. Throughout these beautiful woods the Broad-Beech Fern (_Phegopteris hexagonoptera_) and the Oak Fern (_Phegopteris Dryopteris_) dwell. The Jack-in-the-Pulpit and Indian Cucumbers were here, towering above the False Lilies-of-the-Valley and Trillium; and among these vines the dainty golden-shoes of the Fragrant Cypripedium tripped forth like fairy’s foot-gear. The Indian Cucumber (_Medeola Virginiana_) is a strange plant belonging to the Lily-of-the-Valley Family. The root is tuberous, of a white, brittle substance, with a flavor like that of the garden cucumber. The leaves occur in two whorls along the slender stalk. About the middle of the stem there is a whorl of five to nine oblong-lanceolate leaves; above this another smaller whorl occurs, with three to five leaves; and still above this, all the small flowers nod toward the ground.

_Medeola_ is an adaptation of Medea, the name of the daughter of King Æetes of Colchis, who aided Jason by her witchcraft, and was afterward deserted by him. This plant is supposed to possess magic properties as a medicine, and is thus used by the Indians and other superstitious folk.

Colonies of Brake and Clayton’s Fern grew in the hollows on the hill, and about the stagnant pools northward. We wandered up and down the slopes with eyes bent upon the ground, carefully pacing between the vines, searching for the Golden Moccasin-Flowers. Most of the buds still were folded within the sepals, although we found a few that were showing their golden tips and carmine lacing-petals. In the swamps beyond, we gathered a dozen Nodding Wake-Robins (_Trillium cernuum_). This species is not so gaudy as the Painted Trillium, being of a delicate rose-pink, and often pure white.

Later in the week, while exploring to the east beyond the lane toward Mount Vernon, I ran upon a select group of _Cypripedium parviflorum_, many stems of which bore two blossoms. This colony grew beneath pines, cedars, thorns, and dogwood trees. The soil was rich and dry, and the leaves, for the most part, were blown off the bare black soil. I counted a hundred plants—evidently seedlings—besides the ones in bloom. Some were at least three or four years old; others were of only one or two seasons’ growth. The smallest plants were but a few months old. I had never found so many natural seedlings of Cypripedium before.

We journeyed homeward through Putnam Valley to Mosholu, passing Van Courtlandt Mansion. Near Cold Spring, along the borders of the Golf Links, we found the handsome leaves of Bloodroot (_Sanguinaria Canadensis_), of the Poppy Family, which is one of the early flowers, and is pure white. The roots contain a reddish orange juice which looks like blood, whence the name is derived.

At the crossing of the Putnam Railroad, we passed over the bridge near Deer Park, east of Mosholu. Leaving the road abruptly, we turned to the right, following along the west shore of the Putnam Swamp, which is filled with the rank growth of skunk’s-cabbage, Indian poke, tangled grape-vines, mints, mustards, golden ragwort, violets, dog’s-tooth lilies, and unknown measures of wild ginger root, stick-tights, or “pitchforks,” and cockle-burrs.

The Yellow Cypripedium also, at one time, grew along the edges of the swamp, amid the Indian poke, violets, and lilies. Slowly we climbed the hill toward the northwest, along winding paths among white birch saplings, pines, and junipers, until we reached the Point of Rock near Lowerre, this pile of granite being the highest along the Putnam Division, in this vale. On the east of the rocks, we found a dozen or more plants of the Showy Orchis, scattered among the stones and vines. Their flowers, however, were faded, and fell as soon as touched. Among the low bushes and plants I found a colony of the leafless parasitic Cancer-Root (_Thalesia uniflora_), of the Broom-Rape Family.

“_Humbly it wears its robe of snow,_
_When summer gives its bud release,_
_And Indians called it long ago_
_The Calumet or Pipe of Peace._”

W. M. L.]

Another plant lacking green leaves is the Indian Pipe or Corpse-Plant (_Monotropa uniflora_), frequently met among the Orange Mountains of New Jersey, and throughout the Hoosac Highlands. It grows among decayed brush-heaps in dark woods, during June and August. There are twelve species of _Monotropaceæ_. The flowers of a sister genus of _Monotropa_, found in the Sierra Nevada Mountains, are remarkable for their deep rose-carmine coloring. It is sometimes known as the Snow-Plant (_Sarcodes sanguinea_). The tall club-like, fleshy spikes are encircled with crimson pipe-shaped flowers, often sixty or even a hundred being found on one spike. A specimen plant, collected in Washoe Valley near Franktown, Nevada, was sent to me last season, on May 15th. The flowers grow there along the higher slopes of the mountains, at an elevation from six to nine thousand feet above sea level, amid brakes, pine, fir, cedar, golden-chestnut bushes, and the beautiful evergreen shrub, Manzanita (_Arctostaphylos pungens_).

Above the Point of Rocks, a rough canvas tent was pitched in a crevice of the ledge—probably the temporary abode of Italian green venders. Columbines, rock-pinks, violets, and Wood Betony (_Pedicularis Canadensis_) crept along our path. The plants of the Wood Betony produce yellowish-green as well as crimson-purple flowers. They are often called Lousewort. Children often mis-name them orchids, believing this term suitable to all odd-looking flowers.

The white Monumental Rock, east of Mosholu Swamp, is covered with glacial scratches. From its summit a dream of visual delight spreads toward the blue walls of the Palisades along the Hudson. The blossoming wood, waving with pink and white dogwood branches, the western slope of the rock itself, banked with rosy pinks, nodding lily-bells, and columbine, form a scene the impression of which never can fade from the mind.

Passing the station of Mosholu, we followed the path along the railroad southwardly near the marsh. Here, during July, three rare species of Habenaria will bloom. And in the meadows farther northward, the Ladies’ Tresses—genus _Gyrostachys_ of the Orchid Family—and the Blue Fringed Gentians (_Gentiana crinita_) will unfold in September and October. Soon we came to the end of the swampy path, and entered the broad meadows of Van Courtlandt Farm. In the distance the antique Colonial Mansion of Revolutionary fame stood out among the ancient trees. Over these fields the first bobolinks of the season were carolling. I found one of their eggs among the grasses. It is a risky nesting-ground for birds. The parades of the militia form upon these fields, the regiments’ camp being located east of the mansion. The trees along the lanes hereabout are English species, planted years ago by the owner of the mansion. Many are crumbling and decaying as the mills to the left. Another half century will do away with such as these. To the right flows Spuyten Duyvil Creek,—a small, elusive stream; and as it glides into the swamp beyond, it covers much marsh-land, where sedges and cat-tails flourish and no one dares to wade.

XIV

The Swamp of Oracles—Hoosac Valley

Science is welcome to the deepest recesses of the forest, for
there, too nature obeys the same old civil laws. The little red
bug on the stump of a pine,—for it the wind shifts and the sun
breaks through the clouds.—THOREAU, _Week on the Concord and
Merrimack Rivers_.

On June 6th I departed from New York for the Hoosac Valley, to obtain photographs of my orchids and their haunts. Rosy-faces, golden-slippers, witches’-bells, and milky-white stars all arose from the earth at once in gay array, and disputed their line of order in posing for their pictures. I had sent no forewarning of my coming to the swamps. I fancied I should find more flowers in bloom if I took them by surprise.

The morning of the seventh, I hurried off at sunrise through the dewy meadows. I felt sure I was too late for the Showy Orchis and the Ram’s-Head Cypripedium, the former having faded in Bronx Valley as early as May 18th. The hills were glorious; the robins, orioles, and bobolinks were carolling joyously. The meadows, still heavy with dew, caused me to choose my path along the edges of the Bone Lot near the old Pond Hole. This I found fringed with pink azaleas,—the swamp-apple blossoms loved of the children hereabout. I entered the chestnut wood beyond, and sought the colony of the Large Yellow Moccasin-Flowers, only to find that the shoes had been broken from their stems, and that there were none remaining. Still, there were other groups in the Swamp of Oracles, and I proceeded to scout the slopes leading to the hollow below, winding about the knolls—or Sugar-loaves, as they are called here. These glacial hills are worthless barren pastures at best, seldom ploughed for rye or corn, for all attempted crops of grain here have proven thin and dwarfed, and when it rains gutters burrow in the hillsides.

As I descended through Patterson’s Meadows, the air was musical with humming bees and birds. Moths and butterflies sailed lazily about the pools below, hovering about the first blossoms of Fleur-de-lis. Over the rolling fields near, the tender leaves of Indian-corn rustled musically in the breeze, and crows were still lingering on the fence, not in the least frightened by the snares and scarecrows about the field. I found the meadow ablaze with late Columbine (_Aquilegia Canadensis_); I had never before seen fields so luxuriant with the blossoms of this plant. They danced among the daisies, and outnumbered the grasses in their patches. The generic name _Aquilegia_, or _Aquileia_, is said in our manuals to be derived from _Aquila_, an eagle, since the curves of the hollow spurs of these flowers resemble an eagle’s talons. But in this case, the name should read _Pes Aquilegia_. Among the ancient herbals, however, there is no record of this derivation. Originally, as Dodoens wrote in 1578, this plant was known as _Aquileia_. Aquileia was also the name of a town in the vicinity of ancient Troy. The town was celebrated in history for its desperate resistance to Attila, King of the Huns. Assuming that the origin of the name is vague, and observing the customs of the ancients in the naming of plants, it might be inferred that these flowers were first observed in the town of Aquileia, or were named in honor of a king or herbalist of the region. This was the case with the _Pæonia_, which took its title from that good old man, Dr. Pæon of Pæonia, in Macedonia. The origin of the common name _Columbine_, also, has occasioned of late much discussion in the popular plant journals.[44] One author, claiming that the spurs of these flowers resembled a dove’s-foot, said that the name should read “_Pes Columbinus_”—_pes_ meaning foot, and _columbinus_ signifying dove. But “_Pes Columbinum_” was used by the ancients to designate an allied group of _Aquilegia_, a species of wild geranium, written of by Linnæus in 1753 as _Geranium Columbinum_. It is commonly known in English as Dove’s-foot Geranium, and in French as _Pied de pigeon_.

According to Gaza, species of _Aquilegia_ were supposed to have been named originally by Theophrastus—centuries before Christ—_Ponthos Theophrasti_. Theophrastus is accepted as our first real botanist leaving extant records of plants. The name _Columbine_ for these species appears to have originated in England, or in the Low Countries. Dodoens described them under that title as early as 1578; and as botany was not actually revived until 1530 and 1542, we may accept Dodoens as authoritative on the common names of that day. He writes of the Columbine: “The shape and proportion of the leaves of the floures do seem to represent the figure of a dove or culver,—these floures produce hollows with a long-crooked tayle like a Lark’s-claw (and bending somewhat toward the proportion of the necke of a Culver).”[45] The honeyed-spurs of Columbine, therefore, suggested the curve of a dove’s-neck rather than the dove’s-foot or the eagle’s-talons. Another author is reminded of a “dove’s-cote,” as he looks into the open flower, which seems to him a fitting home for doves.

Columbine-flowers are often called “Honeysuckles” by children. The name Honeysuckle, however, applies to the Woodbines which Dodoens describes as growing with flowers “in tufts like nosegaies, of a pleasant color, and long and hollow almost like the little bags of Columbine.” The Columbine became confused with the Honeysuckles of the Woodbine Family, since Columbines produce “little bags of honey”—which the children sucked and christened. Furthermore there is a resemblance in the long hollow spurs of the Woodbine flowers to those of Columbine blossoms.

The Columbines belong to the Crowfoot Family (_Ranunculaceæ_), and are closely allied with sister genera, including Clematis, Anemone, Hepatica, Meadow Rue, False Bugbane, Buttercup, Marsh Marigold, Goldthread, Larkspur, Aconite, and Monkshood. These species produce plants with cut leaves, as it were, resembling feet, claws, or talons of various birds, animals, and fishes.

Continuing my journey, I crossed the edges of Rabbit Plain, observing the low blue huckleberry bushes, laden with green fruit, and the flaming flowers of the deep pink azaleas. Through the bushes peered the white schoolhouse of District Fourteen. I wandered along the border of the wood just out of sight of the curious gaze of the children. A cow-path led windingly along the shades for a quarter of a mile. Near the bars above the Swamp of Oracles, I found a spike of the Small Round-Leaved Orchis (_Habenaria Hookeriana_) in bud. I blazed a tree above it, marking the spot for another day when the flowers should be in blossom. Crossing the East Pownal road, I turned into a hollow to the west, following along over decaying logs and pine brush-heaps. The ground sent up a rich pitch-like perfume as the sun poured down upon the mossy sod. Wild lilies were abundant here, producing the largest leaves I ever saw. Solomon’s Seal, arbutus, and wintergreen leaves (_Gaultheria_) were creeping everywhere near the edges of the deeper wood. Within the denser shades, growing among pine logs and heaps of leaves, I found the Great Round-Leaved Orchis, so seldom found in the lower vales. It proved to be a seedling, too young to bloom. The leaves were like large saucers, and of a beautiful silvery green underneath. The plant is always suggestive of the luxuriant tropics. I marked the corner, and shielded it from any chance vandal eye with a broken branch of black birch.

The slopes leading to Cold Spring, in the hollow below, were abrupt, and I was forced to slide most of the distance, clinging to the bushes. I came out at the foot of the hill in the midst of a colony of Sweet Canada Violets (_Viola Canadensis_) in full bloom. They grew along the borders of a little brook flowing through a dense thicket of soft maple and black birches. I had never before found this species in flower here. It seemed to have flown down from the heights of the Dome, to grace this swamp. Belated purple birthroot and its sister, the painted trillium, were still nodding here. There were also a few pale-faced priests-in-the-pulpit, unlike the larger coarse purple ones found in Bronx Valley. These Indian Turnips are not abundant here as in the swamps and hills of Mosholu. The wild leek of genus _Allium_ seeks the higher mountainsides.

I followed the Canadensis Brook to the edge of the Swamp of Oracles, crossing Ball Brook at the junction of these streams. I penetrated where the rarer orchids dwell, and where few children dare to travel. I was still too early for the Showy Queen Moccasin-Flower, but on time for the large and the small golden slippers, as well as the Pink Acaule—that humble two-leaved Cypripedium which, as a rule, only seeks the dryer edges of the swamps. The Large Yellow Moccasin-Flowers were beginning to fade and turn brown. The swamp was luxuriant in its growth of ferns and vines and foliage. Dogwood trees are very scarce here, but the azaleas, mountain laurel, or calico-bush, and the lambkill flowers make up for the missing snowy blossoms.

In the heart of the swamp I was attracted by an uprooted tree, about whose stump stagnant water had settled, now reflecting the shadows and sunshine as a miniature lake. Several baby deer-mice were in the pool. Many were dead, and the live ones were swimming about in desperation. I counted six or seven in all. I fished them out, and placed them on the sun-dried moss, which covered the roots of the turnover, forming little islands in the lake. But these white-faced, pink-eyed little creatures were no safer after my rescue than before; for soon, in their nervous fright, they crawled off the mossy islands, and were still swimming when—not wishing to witness the end—I went away. It was one of the many mid-forest tragedies which Nature seems to plan with so little philosophy, and which I knew I could not prevent. Had I removed them from the water again and placed them at a distance from the mud-hole over which they were born, certain starvation would have awaited them. In the topmost parts of the overturned stump, amid the roots and peat, a pile of forest leaves was rudely huddled, forming the deer-mouse mansion, hidden from the crawling turtles and creeping snakes, as well as from the hawks and owls in the trees above. There are many natural causes of destruction for such animals in the woods. Usually I have found the deer-mouse’s nest in low thorn-apple bushes, at least six feet above the ground, but always near the borders of streams. Such nests at first remind one of a last year’s bird-nest filled with drifted autumn leaves, until the little wildwood albinos are discovered.

With my vasculum packed full of perfect blossoms, I started homeward, following the Pownal Centre road westward, in order to have a look at the Ram’s-Head Cypripedium. On the edge of the marsh, as usual I found the two hundred unfolding buds of the Pink Moccasins (_Cypripedium acaule_).

Near the Amidon Meadows, I startled up two mother partridges and their broods—the Ruffled Grouse (_Bonasa umbellus_), so prolific in these woods. The old hens, fluttering and sputtering, limped away with their wings drooping, and continued to warn their chickens to hide. The little speckled fellows were soon lost sight of beneath the dead leaves at my feet. They ceased to peep, and being of the colors of the leaves, I hardly dared to advance for fear of stepping upon them. I sat down upon a stone by a tree, and waited for the return of the wild hens. Before long, I heard a rustling of leaves in the distance, and a clucking and calling as of a tame hen summoning her chickens to feed upon a worm. The little brown balls began—one, three, then a dozen, all at once to take their heads from under the leaves, and they ran like streaks of lightning. The mother partridge came so near, unawares, that I saw the color of her eyes. Finally, discovering me, she in terror signalled again, much as the tame hen does in real or fancied danger. The little grouse hid again, some of them putting their heads under leaves, while the body was wholly exposed.

On June 8th I visited Rattlesnake Swamp. Pink Moccasin-Flowers and late blossoms of Painted Trillium were abundant under the hemlocks along the slopes of the Domelet.

On June 10th I heard of a colony of albinos or white _Cypripedium acaule_ reported on the Rabbit Plain north of the Swamp of Oracles. In searching unsuccessfully for it, I frightened up an old mother whippoorwill. She feigned broken wings, attempting to distract my attention from her two unprotected yellow eggs upon the leaves at my feet. Both partridges and whippoorwills remain on their nests until almost stepped upon, as a rule, believing that they are concealed because of their dead-leaf ground-coloring. The old whippoorwill perched on some distant pine logs, and moaned piteously while I looked at her eggs. Her great round, sad eyes distressed me, while she gave forth a sighing sound. I broke down a small tree over the nest and near the path as I left, hung my linen collar on a tree, marking the line of entrance for another day.

Four days later I returned, and found two little round balls of yellow down, just out of their shells which were lying near. Creeping up softly within touch of the mother, I had a chance of observing her carefully. She had no shelter or protection but a leaf of the False Lily-of-the-Valley (_Unifolium Canadense_) which covered her eyes and part of her head. She never stirred a feather nor blinked either of her round brown eyes. Close to the earth like the leaves themselves, pressed down with winter snows, it was difficult to distinguish her feathers from them. I finally frightened her from the spot. The poor little birds heard their mother’s cry of alarm, and, babes as they were, instinctively understood it all, opening their dreamy sad eyes, and trying to hide away. Nest they had none, and rolled about over the leaves. I visited these birdlings so often, in my eagerness to make observations, that the mother finally left her young. One cold night, finding them almost freezing and starving, I took them home. They did not live more than a week, however, on account of my ignorance as to what food to give them. During this time they became very tame and dependent upon my care, rejoicing strangely when I came near.

The Southern Chuck-Will’s-Widow, a species closely allied to our Whippoorwill, builds no nest, but is said to move her eggs and young, in her large mouth, from place to place, wherever she may choose to abide. It would be well if Nature had thus taught our Northern Whippoorwills.

I continued to visit the Bogs of Etchowog, collecting azalea, iris, and the other flowers in their turn. In circling the Pownal Pond one day, I ran upon a Water Thrush (_Selurus noveboracensis_) and her brood of five little foolish, half-grown thrushlings. The awkward birds ran peeping across my path, not in the least afraid. I caught them all, and placed three in my hat, leaving two for consolation to the mother, while I hurried home to obtain a photograph of my prizes. But I was not able to reconcile them to their new conditions and food so easily as I had domesticated my whippoorwills. As soon as I had secured a negative, I returned them, nearly famished, to the mother, who was running along the shore of the pond, tipping-up her tail like the wagtail. These birds are swift in flight, skimming near the water, whistling as it were, while they catch insects. Their nest is very difficult to find, being as a rule among the roots of trees along the shores of ponds or streams in damp woods. I frequently observe these birds walking in the stony brook flowing down from Cold Spring in Chalk Pond region, as well as about the shores of Aurora’s Lake in North Adams.

The hillside clearings in this region are the haunts of woodchucks (_Arctomys monax_). Many holes show where they have burrowed. Usually these ground-pigs seek for their habitations clover and bean fields, which furnish them provender. Exploring the dooryard of the woodchuck, I found several plants of the Small Round-Leaved Orchis maturing their seed-capsules. Not every wild pig’s garden bears this evidence of æstheticism.

The fertilization of these strange Round-Leaved Habenarias is unique. The anther is eager to give up its pollinia. The adhesive masses shot from their cells when I touched them, and fastened to the head of my hat-pin. When placed near the viscid surface of the stigma, they were drawn forcefully from it, thus impregnating the ovules in the ovary. These masses of pollinia, once glued upon the thigh of an insect, would remain there until deposited on the attractive stigma of their proper species.

On my next excursion to the Bogs of Etchowog, I found nothing new, save six spikes of the Small Purple-Fringed Orchis in bud. I was too early for Pogonias and Limodorums, which are fast disappearing from this swamp. The colony of Fragrant Yellow Moccasin-Flowers, in the Glen of Comus, was photographed one morning while the sunshine struggled in through the leaves, lighting up the flowers in this labyrinth of tropical foliage. They were fragrant in the highest degree—a true form of _Cypripedium parviflorum_, with a slight variegated effect of carmine coloring on the tips of the slippers. This is the first instance of such spots of crimson on the exterior observed by me. Near this group stands also a larger colony of _Cypripedium hirsutum_ seedling plants. Several had bloomed this season. One slipper had been destroyed by what appeared to be a snail. Nothing of the flower remained but the column, with the adhering anthers and stigmatic lobes. The sepals and petals, including the labellum, were eaten away. The snail was still clinging to the column, and must have found some delicate food in the juices of such golden petals to cause him to tear the flower apart. He may, however, have fertilized the species in the act; yet the destruction of its parts would have weakened the possible chances of the seed-capsule maturing properly.

“_There’s a haunt I would lead you to,_
_Home of the gossamer and the dew._
_Where, from out of the murky loam,_
_Springs the sacred flower of the gnome._”

CLINTON SCOLLARD.]

In the bend of Ball Brook, amid the ferns, the Tall Northern Green Orchis (_Habenaria hyperborea_) blooms, its seeds having floated down here from the seed-capsules ripening on plants bordering the stream above.

Wild Ginger-Root (_Asarum Canadense_) grows abundantly along the sphagnous edges of the Swamp of Oracles. This plant produces bell-shaped blossoms, which invariably turn downward, hiding in the soft soil beneath the leaves. Its creeping roots are of a spicy, ginger-like flavor. The leaves—kidney-shaped—appear as small burdocks at a distance. The generic name is very obscure, although the plant was known to the early Greeks, and later known in Latin as _Asarum_, _Nardus rustica_, and _Perpensa_. Macer called it _Vulgago_, while it was known in England and Germany in 1578 as _Asarabacca_, _Folefoot_, and _Hazlewort_. It was used by the ancients as an antidote for venomous serpent bites, sciatica, difficult respiration, and various other diseases.

On June 15th I made my farewell journey to Etchowog. Turning into the thicket, east of the Barber Mill, I followed a path as far as possible, and then waded through sphagnum into a meadow-like clearing of three acres or more, concealed in the deepest of solitude. It was closed in on all sides by low alders, willows, and beautiful green spires of tamarack-trees. The sphagnum was many feet deep, spangled with flowers; and rising above the swamp grasses were iris blades and buckbean leaves. It was a little world whose limitations were the infinite blues above, the depths of moss below, and the circling green-fringed forest trees. The sunshine knew the field, and poured in upon it. I was obliged to wade slowly over the quaking sphagnum, assisted by pine-slabs, strewn about as stepping blocks.

The oblong green leaves of the rare Buckbeans (_Menyanthes trifoliata_)—found also in the Cranberry Bogs, north of Pownal Pond—were here thickly entangled over the greater area of the meadow. A few spikes still were in blossom, although the greater portion were adorned with the bullet-like glossy, smooth seed-pods. Later in the season they would slowly ripen, and throw thousands of seeds broadcast over the sphagnous field. It is evident that this plant—so infrequent in its general distribution—is most productive of its own seeds in its chosen haunts. This species is a sister genus of the Blue-Fringed Gentians, abundant along the edges of these bogs during October. Gentians derived their generic name from King Gentius of Illyria, who first used them in medicine.

The Floating-Heart (_Limnanthemum lacunosum_), closely allied to the Buckbeans, grows also in our marshy pools, the leaves being heart-shaped, instead of oblong as those of _Menyanthes_.

In the middle of this swamp an island arose, over which grew willow bushes and tamarack spires, interspersed by grape-vines. I crawled through the bushes without finding a flower worthy of description. Surrounding the edges of this island, tall spikes of the Fragrant Northern Orchis (_Habenaria dilatata_) rose above the water-soaked sphagnum. I was able to reach a few of them, then sought the _terra firma_ of the tangled swamp beyond. I ran great risk, since I was forced to wade the soaking bogs where the cat-tail flags were dense. I managed to jump from hummock to hummock, not waiting for the grass to grow beneath my feet. Beyond I struggled through the low tangled trees covered with the Wild Frost Grape-Vines or Possum-Grape (_Vitis cordifolia_), amid tamaracks, swamp-maples, poison-sumach and ivy-vines. I observed many enormous colonies of Pitcher Plants, still in bloom in the shades. Finally I reached the muddy bank of Ball Brook, ragged, dirty, and tired. I found the stream impassable because of the mud. Even old Major had sense enough not to go too near the stream. I was forced to make my way, as well as possible, back to the mill, among piles of old tinware that had been accumulating since the early Revolutionary days of 1777.

Once out of this place, it was a pleasure to enter the open Pitcher Plant Meadow, where I searched for Pogonias and Limodorums without success. I circled about the swamp and turned away from it at the north, climbing over the hill above the Washon Bridge, toward Cranberry Swamp. Blue jays were screaming loudly, and catbirds were mewing in the bushes near the pools. I found the path near the pond, which led through luxuriant ferns to the shades of pines beyond. Here the ground was carpeted with fragrant needles and cones. Bull-frogs croaked hoarsely in the swamp beneath the lily-pads, and over the hillside crept yards of the evergreens known as Ground-Pine (_Lycopodium obscurum_) and Club-Moss (_Lycopodium Selago_), known to the Greeks as Wolf’s-Claw. This moss takes hold of the earth with its small roots, like the claws of a wolf.

This corner of Etchowog was the home of the mosquito, and I was obliged to use a bough of sweet-fern to keep the pests from devouring me.

“Fair insect! that, with threadlike legs spread out,
And blood-extracting bill, and filmy wing,
Does murmur, as thou slowly sail’st about,
...
Thou’rt welcome to the town—but why come here?”[46]

XV

White Oaks and Gregor Rocks

I can recall to mind the stillest summer hours, in which the
grasshopper sings over the mulleins, and there is a valor in
that time the bare memory of which is armor that can laugh
at any blow of fortune.—THOREAU, _Week on the Concord and
Merrimack Rivers_.