"Locusts Playing Tag."
<!-- image -->A sharp clicking, as if several telegraph operators were holding a conversation, first attracted my attention. Now a series of taps would come from about my head, soon answered by others at my feet. Finally the tappers seemed to meet, and their clicks became so loud and confusing that I turned my eyes, and saw four or five locusts, standing with heads together, evidently holding a deep consultation. They were the great rusty-dusty fellows that always frequent the rocks and there openly defy the birds, relying for safety upon their resemblance in color to their surroundings.
For over a minute the clicking, or talking, was kept up; then the party was reenforced by several others, and in a few moments they evidently chose partners, and commenced a veritable game of tag. Very honorable, too, were they about it, separating a foot or more before the chase actually began; and then their movements showed them adepts in the art of strategy.
Every pebble, stone, or leaf was used to cover their advance, and every possible attempt made to deceive, until finally, when the follower was near enough, it darted at its playfellow with a rush, seemed to touch it quickly, and then, with a loud, victorious chatter, took to its wings and flew several rods away, only to return stealthily soon afterward.
Finally the game was changed. Two locusts placed themselves opposite each other; then one would leap over the other, and before it had landed, the second was also in the air, or passing over it; then both would jump simultaneously, and pass each other with a loud click, exactly as do the men in the circus.
Next they began running around in a circle, forming in regular rows and shapes, marching and countermarching. Finally, a very solemn old fellow clambered up on my shoe and began a violent clicking, upon which the evolutions ceased, I suppose, to listen to his harangue, when a friend innocently broke in upon the scene and put the playmates to flight. It may be doubted by some if these movements were games, as we understand them; but as the rocks were bare, and there was no food to search for, there is but one construction to put upon their actions—that they were undertaken for recreation, in which animals indulge, from man to the smallest creature.
Fishes have a decided sense of humor, judging from certain exhibitions that have been observed; the young, especially, have numerous games or methods of amusement; and their mischievous natures can best be appreciated when a large school is under observation. Through the flooring of a wharf, in tropical waters, I have often watched the varied throngs unsuspected and unseen. Such games and sports as they indulge in! Now twenty or more join in chase of a single fish, darting in and out among the gleaming mass; and when the fugitive is caught, he is playfully taken by fins and tail, and held or dragged about. Now a floating straw is discovered on the surface, and over it with a daring leap the leader goes, followed by the rest, until the leapers in a continuous glistening stream dart into the air.
While we watch, a mischievous fish seizes the straw, and, drawing it beneath the surface, rushes away, pursued by a score or more, who grasp it, and a veritable tug of war is at its height, when like a flash the argus-eyed throng has disappeared. A grim barracuda, with a single struggling victim in his fierce jaws, explains the sudden flight.
The game of leaping over various objects I have noticed in many fishes, especially in the young garfish; and in an aquarium built out into the water I have frequently seen them leaping over a hawkbill turtle that floated on the surface. This game at the expense of the turtle was kept up for some time, until a garfish in leaping landed fairly on the sleeper's back, when the astonished and indignant turtle took a long breath, and dashed away, scattering the assembled fishes far and wide.
Even the larger marine animals are known to join in games and pastimes. The breaching of large whales is done at times in sport, and the movements of a school of these monsters are often so curious that the assumption is that some singular whale game is being enacted. Seals have been seen sliding up and down cakes of ice, and rolling over one another, taking headers—in fact, having all the enjoyment of a party of boys engaged in a similar amusement.
In its variety of games the American otter is not surpassed by any animal. In former times the otter was common in the Eastern and Northeastern States; but the advance of civilization has gradually driven it to the North and West, where it now ranks in value with the beaver. Otters are extremely shy and cautious animals. They build their homes on the banks of streams, like the curious duckbill of New Zealand, with one opening leading into the water, and another small one on land for air and ventilation; but when alone or unsuspicious of danger, the otter often indulges in games and sports by the hour at a time. Of these curious gambols, their game of sliding is a fair illustration.
In the winter a snow bank is selected near a frozen stream, and gradually patted down and rendered slippery. On this hill the otters congregate, and slide or roll down, singly or in pairs. In summer the preparation of the slide involves greater labor. A hill leading into the water is again selected, the grass and reeds are torn up and carried to one side, and the declivity is gradually formed into a muddy slide.
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Then the sport begins. Old and young participate in it, and roll into the water with great splashes—some on their backs, with feet in the air, others in a more natural position, some sidewise, and all scrambling up to try again, in every way showing their hearty appreciation of the time-honored game of sliding downhill. Audubon was the first to discover them at their games, and while he was concealed in the bushes he observed the construction of twenty-two distinct slides.
One of the most interesting performances among animals was recently observed among humming birds by a naturalist in Peru. The bird was first seen about a beautiful red flower in the basin of the Utcubamba River. By concealing himself in the grass, the naturalist witnessed some of their games and sports. In appearance the bird is a veritable bit of sunlight. Its crest is of rich sapphire blue, changing in various lights to vivid violet, while the breast is golden green, and the lower portions white; and darting about, the little creature gleams and glistens like a rare gem. It is not its colors, however, that are the most striking, but the arrangement of its plumes and feathers.
Our watcher found that the young birds had certain places in the air as playgrounds, where they met and performed strange feats, during which they presented a most remarkable appearance. The long tail feathers were now stretched out on each side from the body, and as the birds stood vertically in the air, they appeared to be resting on a roost. The game was played by either two or eight, the party forming in sides facing each other, standing perfectly erect in the air by the rapid vibration of their wings, the outstretched tail plumes also vibrating, and producing a curious sound, accompanied by a sharp clicking of their bills.
The only change in this dance was rising and falling, and advancing to and fro, but never changing the vertical position. At another time the observer saw two of them hovering in the same way on each side of a limb, apparently suspended; but like a flash they would change places, then dart back again, presenting an astonishing sight, especially in the case of a number, appearing like animated crosses suspended in the air, rising and falling, and moving to and fro, as though on some gentle breeze.
From the constant recurrence of these performances in the same locality in the air, the observer thought there could be no doubt that the birds were engaged in some game or sport, and that this was their playground.
HOW THE WHALE LOOKED PLEASANT.
WHETHER a certain whale that breakfasted, dined, and supped every day in the Santa Catalina channel, California, went out one morning with the determination of being photographed, I really cannot say; but the picture was certainly taken, and a careful copy of it made.
Living in the neighborhood, the whale was probably familiar with the steamer that plowed daily through its dining room; and if it was at all an observing whale, it must have noticed, on the morning in question, an unusual commotion on the deck of the steamer, and this is what it saw. The passengers were crowding about the rail, and on the upper deck stood a man and a little girl, the former holding a square black box, into which he looked earnestly. And if the whale had come a little nearer, this is what it might have heard:
"Will he look pleasant?" asked the little girl of her companion.
"I hope so," he replied, glancing rapidly from the camera to the whale, that was then swimming a few hundred feet away.
The passengers had first observed it a mile or more distant, when the little girl said it was "dancing on its tail." It had, really, leaped out of the water, and for a few seconds exposed almost its entire form, a most astonishing spectacle, and then had fallen back into the sea with a thundering crash. Soon it came to the surface again, and, shooting a cloud of vapor into the air, slowly swam away, at intervals disappearing and reappearing, until finally it came alongside the steamer, swimming along within a short distance. It was then that the fortunate possessor of the camera secured a good position near the rail, and waited, as his little companion had said, for the whale to "look pleasant." Looking pleasant, in this instance, meant for the whale to show a large portion of its body above the water. It was now swimming just below the surface, its huge black form, sixty or seventy feet in length, distinctly visible, propelled by the undulating movement of the tail. Suddenly it rose, showing just the portion around the blowholes, and with a loud puff the hot breath burst into the air, was condensed, and in a little cloud drifted away.
"Didn't he look pleasant?" asked the little girl, earnestly.
"Not quite pleasant enough," said the photographer, as he peered into the tiny window of the camera, that reflected the sea in brilliant tints. "I could catch the spout, but I want to wait until he throws his entire head out of the water and looks really pleasant before I touch the button."
It was an exciting moment, as never, so far as known, had a living whale, in the open ocean, posed before a camera, or a photographer seen so huge an animal obligingly swim along, allowing its picture to be taken.
"It's a tame whale, isn't it?" said the little girl, as the whale gradually came nearer.
"He certainly does not seem very timid," replied her companion; and as he spoke, puff! came the spouting, like the escape of steam, the vapor actually drifting aboard the steamer into the faces of the passengers.
The whale was now so near that the barnacles upon its back could be seen, and one man was sure that he saw its eye. Suddenly it sank, and all that could be seen in the little window was the dancing waves and the white sails of myriads of velellas that covered the surface, scudding along before the fresh trade wind. Then, without warning, the creature as suddenly rose again, showing a large area of its back, sending at the same time a cloud of misty vapor into the air as its top, or dorsal, fin appeared.