Homes Without Hands: Being a Description of the Habitations of Animals, Classed According to Their Principle of Construction - Page 116

IF the reader will refer to the large illustration, he will see a representation of that curious temporary habitation which is popularly termed an Elk-yard.

The ELK, or MOOSE (Alces malchis), inhabits the northern parts of America and Europe, and is consequently an animal which is formed to endure severe cold. Although a very large and powerful animal, measuring sometimes seven feet in height at the shoulders—a height which is very little less than that of an average elephant—it has many foes, and is much persecuted both by man and beast. During the summer time it is tolerably safe, but in the winter it is beset by many perils.

In its native country the snow falls so thickly that the inhabitants of a more temperate climate can hardly imagine the result of a heavy storm. The face of the earth is wholly changed—well-known pits and declivities have vanished—white hills stand where was formerly a level plain—tier upon tier of mimic fortifications rise above each other, the walls being scarped and cut by the wind in weird resemblance of human architecture.

During the sharp frosts the Elk runs but little risk, because it can traverse the hard, frozen surface of the snow with considerable speed, although with a strange, awkward gait. Its usual pace is a swinging trot; but so light is its action, and so long are its legs, that it quietly trots over obstacles which a horse could not easily leap, because the frozen surface of the snow, although competent to withstand the regular trotting force, could not endure the sudden impact of a horse when leaping. As an example of the curious trot of this animal, I may mention that on one occasion an Elk was seen to trot uninterruptedly over a number of fallen tree-trunks, some of which were nearly five feet in diameter.

It is a remarkable fact that the split hoofs of the Elk spread widely when the foot is placed on the ground, coming together again with a loud snap when it is raised. In consequence of this peculiarity the Elk’s progress is rather noisy, the crackling sounds of the hoofs following each other in quick succession.

Want of food is sometimes a danger to the Elk; but the animal is taught by instinct to clear away the snow, and to discover the lichens on which it chiefly lives. The carnivorous animals, however, are always fiercely hungry in the winter time, and gain from necessity a factitious courage which they do not possess at other times. As long, however, as the frost lasts, the Elk cares little for such foes, as it can distance them if they chase it ever so fiercely, or oppose them if by chance it should find itself in a place where there is no retreat. They do not like to attack an animal whose skin is so thick and tough that, when tanned, it will resist an ordinary pistol-bullet, and which has, besides, an awkward knack of striking with its fore feet like a skillful boxer, knocking its foes over, and then pounding them with its hoofs until they are dead.

But when the milder weather begins to set in, the Moose is in constant danger. The warm sun falling on the snow produces a rather curious effect. The frozen surface only partially melts, and the water, mixing with the snow beneath, causes it to sink away from the icy surface, leaving a considerable space between them. The “crust,” as the frozen surface is technically named, is quite strong enough to bear the weight of comparatively small animals, such as wolves, especially when they run swiftly over it; but it yields to the enormous weight of the Elk, which plunges to its belly at every step.

The wolves have now the Elk at an advantage. They can overtake it without the least difficulty; and if they can bring it to bay in the snow, its fate is sealed. They care little for the branching horns, but leap boldly at the throat of the hampered animal, whose terrible fore feet are now powerless, and, by dint of numbers, soon worry it to death. Man, too, takes advantage of this state of the snow, equips himself with snow-shoes, and skims over the slight and brittle crust with perfect security. An Elk, therefore, whenever abroad in the snow, is liable to many dangers, and, in order to avoid them, it makes the curious habitation which is called the Elk-yard.

THE ELK.

This winter home is very simple in construction, consisting of a large space of ground on which the snow is trampled down by continually treading it so as to form both a hard surface on which the animal can walk, and a kind of fortress in which it can dwell securely. The whole of the space is not trodden down to one uniform level, but consists of a network of roads or passages through which the animal can pass at ease. So confident is the Elk in the security of the “yard,” that it can scarcely ever be induced to leave its snowy fortification and pass into the open ground.

This habit renders it quite secure from the attacks of wolves, which prowl about the outside of the yard, but dare not venture within; but, unfortunately for the Elk, the very means which preserve it from one danger only lead it into another. If the hunter can come upon one of these Elk-yards, he is sure of his quarry; for the animal will seldom leave the precincts of the snowy inclosure, and the rifle-ball soon lays low the helpless victim.

The Elk is not the only animal that makes these curious fortifications, for a herd of Wapiti deer will frequently unite in making a common home.

One of these “yards” has been known to measure between four and five miles in diameter, and to be a perfect network of paths sunk in the snow. So deep, indeed, is the snow when untrodden, that when the deer traverse the paths, their backs can not be seen above the level of the white surface. Although of such giant size, the “yard” is not by any means a conspicuous object, and at a distance of a quarter of a mile or so, a novice may look directly at the spot without perceiving the numerous paths. This curious fact can easily be understood by those of my readers who have visited one of our modern fortifications, and have seen the slopes of turf apparently unbroken, although filled with deep trenches.

THERE are many other animals which form temporary habitations in which they can remain concealed, because they are taught by instinct how to make their domicile harmonize with the surrounding objects.

One very familiar instance may be found in the common HARE, whose “form” is large enough to shelter the owner, and yet is so inconspicuous that the animal often lies undiscovered, though a human being has passed within a couple of paces of its home. The Hare is never at a loss for a home, and will often hide itself very effectually in a tuft of grass that seems scarcely large enough to conceal a rat. But it is by no means insensible of the value of a denser cover, and seems to have a peculiar affection for a thick, though small clump of furze.

Within a mile or two of my house there is a heath which is partly studded with furze-bushes, and which is a very paradise for various field animals. The field-mice have covered it with their “runs,” which are often so slightly below the surface that if the finger be inserted in the entrance it can be pushed along the whole length of the burrow, the only cover being a slight layer of still living moss. As to the Hares, a “form” can be found every few yards; and if a little thick stubbly furze-bush should be seen standing alone, it is nearly certain to be the home of a Hare, which has made its warm soft couch within the mass of needle-like prickles.

The TIGER has a very similar habit, and takes advantage of a certain drooping shrub, called the Korinda, which is of low growth, making its lair underneath the boughs, which afford at once a shelter from the sun and a concealment from enemies.

WE now pass to the Birds, the first of which is that remarkable species called the EDIBLE or ESCULENT SWALLOW (Collocalia nidifica). The popular name is given to it, not because itself is edible, but because its nest is eaten in some countries.

We have all heard of birds’-nest soup, and some of us may possibly have imagined that the nests in question are made of the ordinary vegetable substances, such as moss, leaves, and twigs. In reality, the nests are formed of some gelatinous substance, though its true nature is still uncertain, no one precisely knowing whether it is of animal or vegetable origin. Some persons have thought that the material is fish-spawn, which the bird fetches from the sea; others have supposed it to be a kind of sea-weed, which is dissolved in the bird’s crop and then disgorged; while others believe that it is secreted by certain glands in the throat, and proceeds entirely from the body of the architect.

When first made, these nests are very white and delicate in their aspect, and in that condition are extremely valuable, being sold at an extravagant price to the Chinese. They soon darken by use and exposure, and are not fit for the purposes of the table until they have been cleaned and bleached.

These nests are found in Borneo, Java, etc., and are extremely local, being confined to certain spots. The birds always choose the sides of deep cavernous precipices, so that the task of obtaining the nests is extremely dangerous. They are attached to the perpendicular rocks much as the ordinary mud-built swallow-nests, and are generally arranged in horizontal layers. The caverns in which the nests are placed are extremely valuable, and are preserved with jealous care from any intruder.

Edible Swallow.

One of these nests in my own collection is shaped much like one of the halves of a bivalve shell, and is thick at the base where it was attached to the rock, diminishing toward the extremity. On the outside it has a very shelly appearance, being made in regular layers, whose edges are as distinct as those of the oyster-shell, but which have a double and not a single curve. In shape it is somewhat oval, but the base is necessarily flat, on account of its attachment to the rock.

The material is so translucent that, when placed on printed paper and held to the light, the capital letters can be plainly read through its substance. A glance at the interior shows at once the mode of its construction. It is made of innumerable glutinous threads, which have been drawn irregularly across each other, and have hardened by exposure to the air into a material which much resembles isinglass. The natives say that the construction of a single nest occupies a pair of birds for two full months, so that there is some probability that the material may really be secreted by the birds themselves.

The nests are only used for one purpose. They are steeped in hot water for a considerable time, when they soften into a gelatinous mass, which forms the basis of a fashionable soup, and is not unlike the green fat of the ordinary turtle. Indeed, those who have partaken of birds’-nest soup say that, if it were seasoned in a similar manner, it might easily be taken for turtle soup. The Chinese value this soup highly, thinking that it possesses great power of restoring lost strength. It is, however, far too costly to be obtained by any but the rich, the best quality fetching rather more than sixty shillings per pound.

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