The Beaver, Of Course, Attacks Those Trees
Which Are Nearest At Hand, And On The Banks Of The Stream Or
Pond.
He makes incisions round them, or in technical phrase,
belts them with his teeth, and when they fall, they naturally
take the direction in which their trunks or branches
preponderate.
"I have often," says Captain Bonneville, "seen trees measuring
eighteen inches in diameter, at the places where they had been
cut through by the beaver, but they lay in all directions, and
often very inconveniently for the after purposes of the animal.
In fact, so little ingenuity do they at times display in this
particular, that at one of our camps on Snake River, a beaver was
found with his head wedged into the cut which he had made, the
tree having fallen upon him and held him prisoner until he died."
Great choice, according to the captain, is certainly displayed by
the beaver in selecting the wood which is to furnish bark for
winter provision. The whole beaver household, old and young, set
out upon this business, and will often make long journeys before
they are suited. Sometimes they cut down trees of the largest
size and then cull the branches, the bark of which is most to
their taste. These they cut into lengths of about three feet,
convey them to the water, and float them to their lodges, where
they are stored away for winter. They are studious of cleanliness
and comfort in their lodges, and after their repasts, will carry
out the sticks from which they have eaten the bark, and throw
them into the current beyond the barrier. They are jealous, too,
of their territories, and extremely pugnacious, never permitting
a strange beaver to enter their premises, and often fighting with
such virulence as almost to tear each other to pieces. In the
spring, which is the breeding season, the male leaves the female
at home, and sets off on a tour of pleasure, rambling often to a
great distance, recreating himself in every clear and quiet
expanse of water on his way, and climbing the banks occasionally
to feast upon the tender sprouts of the young willows. As summer
advances, he gives up his bachelor rambles, and bethinking
himself of housekeeping duties, returns home to his mate and his
new progeny, and marshals them all for the foraging expedition in
quest of winter provisions.
After having shown the public spirit of this praiseworthy little
animal as a member of a community, and his amiable and exemplary
conduct as the father of a family, we grieve to record the perils
with which he is environed, and the snares set for him and his
painstaking household.
Practice, says Captain Bonneville, has given such a quickness of
eye to the experienced trapper in all that relates to his
pursuit, that he can detect the slightest sign of beaver, however
wild; and although the lodge may be concealed by close thickets
and overhanging willows, he can generally, at a single glance,
make an accurate guess at the number of its inmates. He now goes
to work to set his trap; planting it upon the shore, in some
chosen place, two or three inches below the surface of the water,
and secures it by a chain to a pole set deep in the mud. A small
twig is then stripped of its bark, and one end is dipped in the
"medicine," as the trappers term the peculiar bait which they
employ. This end of the stick rises about four inches above the
surface of the water, the other end is planted between the jaws
of the trap. The beaver, possessing an acute sense of smell, is
soon attracted by the odor of the bait. As he raises his nose
toward it, his foot is caught in the trap. In his fright he
throws a somerset into the deep water. The trap, being fastened
to the pole, resists all his efforts to drag it to the shore; the
chain by which it is fastened defies his teeth; he struggles for
a time, and at length sinks to the bottom and is drowned.
Upon rocky bottoms, where it is not possible to plant the pole,
it is thrown into the stream. The beaver, when entrapped, often
gets fastened by the chain to sunken logs or floating timber; if
he gets to shore, he is entangled in the thickets of brook
willows. In such cases, however, it costs the trapper diligent
search, and sometimes a bout at swimming, before he finds his
game.
Occasionally it happens that several members of a beaver family
are trapped in succession. The survivors then become extremely
shy, and can scarcely be "brought to medicine," to use the
trapper's phrase for "taking the bait." In such case, the trapper
gives up the use of the bait, and conceals his traps in the usual
paths and crossing places of the household. The beaver now being
completely "up to trap," approaches them cautiously, and springs
them ingeniously with a stick. At other times, he turns the traps
bottom upwards, by the same means, and occasionally even drags
them to the barrier and conceals them in the mud. The trapper now
gives up the contest of ingenuity, and shouldering his traps,
marches off, admitting that he is not yet "up to beaver."
On the day following Captain Bonneville's supervision of the
industrious and frolicsome community of beavers, of which he has
given so edifying an account, he succeeded in extricating himself
from the Wind River Mountains, and regaining the plain to the
eastward, made a great bend to the south, so as to go round the
bases of the mountains, and arrived without further incident of
importance, at the old place of rendezvous in Green River valley,
on the 17th of September.
He found the caches, in which he had deposited his superfluous
goods and equipments, all safe, and having opened and taken from
them the necessary supplies, he closed them again; taking care to
obliterate all traces that might betray them to the keen eyes of
Indian marauders.
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