St Katherine’s. Hook Heath. MORE ABOUT THE SQUIRRELS. As I am often asked about the little beasts whose adventures were set forth in “How I Tamed the Wild Squirrels,” perhaps a further account of my furry friends will not come amiss. I no longer keep any of them confined. After the death of three in the winter of 1914, I resolved that, dear and fascinating as they were as little companions in my room, I would never have them caged and in artificial conditions again. There are two pairs of Germans loose in our little wood—Mr. and Mrs. Fritz and Mr. and Mrs. Laurence; while the wild Surrey ones, the little natives, come to the garden from the firs on the railway cutting. There is no doubt that Fritz, the German, with his superior strength and masterfulness, drove away that first little colony which I had tamed so wonderfully. Toto had met a tragic death, killed by a marauding cat. Tito and Tara and the dainty little thing I used to call Miss Fritz after a time took up their quarters elsewhere. I have since come to the conclusion that Miss Fritz was not Miss Fritz—more probably Miss Tito. As she grew to maturity she proved herself entirely a Surrey squirrel. There was no tint of orange or gray about her, and she remained when full-grown as small and dainty as the rest, showing not a sign of the German larger, coarser breed. Besides, had Fritz been her father, she He became very lonely. It was poor fun to be cock of the walk when there was none to dispute his sway. Consequently, during the autumn, he took to visiting Wych Hill, Hurstgate, and Allen House, where the owners, also admirers of squirrels, were in the habit of hanging out cocoanuts and other dainties to attract them. It has always been a mystery to me how he contrived to get to these plantations across the heath without being seen. To reach them he had to cross two wide public roads bristling with motor cars, bicycles, errand boys, and dogs. Besides crossing these dangerous zones, Occasionally he stayed away from us altogether for a week or ten days. Sometimes the food which was placed for him would not be touched, at others it disappeared at midday, showing that he had slept away and come over for it somewhere between eleven I remember one morning in particular, a soft, sunny, spring-like day in winter, I came into my room to find him, after an absence of Meantime Peter and Rufina lived in the big cage on the wall outside my other window. They never became friends. As I have said in my former book, by the time the latter had been a fortnight in the cage she was completely mistress of the situation. She appropriated Peter’s sleeping-box, she stole all his best nuts, and should he dare to approach I must explain that Peter was a little English squirrel, whom I had reared from babyhood. He was now about nine months old. Rufina was a lady, German, bought from Devon and Co. at Bethnal Green. At this time I had had her barely three months. Squirrels hate a high wind. The noise in the trees makes it difficult, I suppose, to hear enemies about. Also perhaps they fear to lose their hold of the tossing branches. Be it as it may, I was always certain that in a gale not a glimpse of a squirrel would be obtained all day. Torrents of rain, too, will deter them from scampering about; their tails get bedraggled and heavy and upset their balance. Young squirrels are very playful, and I think they amuse themselves with toys. I shall never forget my astonishment at one of Rufina’s achievements. There had been an empty mouse-trap in my room for some weeks. It was five or six inches long and two or three inches deep, made of wood, with a wire top. It was not baited, and I had carefully unset it in case Peter or Rufina playing about the room should put their noses inside and get nipped by the spring. The father of a mouse family had once been caught in it, and I had had some very miserable moments; but that is another I watched her. She gave me a backward glance, as much as to say, “Don’t you interfere,” and recommenced her haulings and tuggings. She dragged the thing some four feet up, and then along a wooden bar till she got below the little platform outside the sleeping-box. Then she made a spring, but lost her hold of the trap, and down it came clattering to the floor. What could she want it for? It was no good as a receptacle for storing nuts, as the spring door was closed, and the wires were too closely set for it to be possible to push anything through them. I came to the conclusion that she meant to place it somewhere as a barrier to circumvent Peter. The whole of the morning was occupied by the persistent little creature in efforts to get her plaything up to where she wanted it. It fell to the floor quite a dozen times, but she tackled it again, every time with unabated energy. I questioned the housemaid as to By the evening, however, it had disappeared, and I descried it at last in the very topmost corner of her home. It was above the sleeping-box, wedged into an old bicycle basket, which was nailed under the eaves. This had some hay in it, and was used for hiding nuts. Did Rufina place it there as a shield against Peter’s thefts? After a day or two the trap fell down again, and I took it away, afraid lest a little paw might be caught and wedged between the wires. When Miss Appleton kindly undertook to The lady artists who owned the studio were delighted at the idea of having this little pet, and, in Miss Appleton’s absence, proceeded at once most incautiously to open the box. They prised one end open, and were going to bring it to the door of the cage they had prepared, when hey! presto! there was a flash, a scurry of fur upon hands and arms, and away went the squirrel helter-skelter over pictures, statuary, easels, chairs, and shelves. Crash! crash! bang went glass, smashing to Inarticulate with laughter, the ladies sprang after it. Faster and faster it flew, taking wild leaps from the top of one easel to another; pattering swiftly over angels’ wings and Mercury’s helmet, over Clytie’s bust and the horns of Mephistopheles; diving down to the floor, scrambling up the walls, till dismay arose as the bewildered creature jumped upon the stove and ran along the hot-water pipes. More than an hour was spent in this breathless chase, till some one bethought her of a tiny room across the vestibule. Setting the door open, the frightened little beast was at length chased into this, and the door shut. A model’s cloak was flung over the runaway The ladies of the studio were great admirers of Mr. Laurence Housman, so the new arrival was named after him by common consent. Laurence spent the following four and a half months (from the beginning of November till the middle of March) in a cage about three feet by two, which was fastened against a chimney-pot on the roof. I have often wondered what his nights were like, with London cats all round. He was furnished with a sleeping-box, with a hinged lid. I once saw him asleep, as my friend opened the top. Anything neater and warmer could not well be imagined. Wood-wool was tightly wedged round the inside of the box first, then came a thick layer of cotton-wool, all of which he had arranged himself. In the middle, a curled red centre, lay the squirrel fast asleep, his face completely hidden. When I went away for the Christmas week of 1913, I could not leave Peter and Rufina the run of my bedroom. The house being shut up and empty, with no one to see after them, they would have made hay of all my possessions. So I hung the sleeping-bag on a nail on the wall inside the cage, and shut and bolted the window, giving Smithers, the gardener, instructions to feed them and replenish the water-jar from outside; this he was accustomed to do by means of a ladder. He told me that Rufina sometimes jumped out of the bag when he put his hand in to scatter nuts; so poor Peter must have been forced to give up even this pet hiding-place. When I returned from Devonshire on 1st January, both squirrels were invisible. As the weather was bitterly cold, I was a little anxious when night came on lest their jar of water should be frozen; so I opened the window, and, finding a solid block of ice, I took the vessel in and replenished it. I mention this, as I fancy my action was the cause of the tragedy which followed. The casement opened backwards upon the inner wall of the cage, against which, upon a nail, hung the blue cloth bag I have spoken of. The casement would just touch this bag and shake it, though it was protected a little by a branch of the shrub which grew up through the cage. I did not guess that Rufina was asleep in the bag; the night was pitch dark. I saw nothing, and closing the window again, went to bed. The snow was falling so thickly I could scarcely see him. See page 24. Next morning, hearing a tiny pattering about eight o’clock, I got up to peep and I think and hope that in her struggles she This nesting-box and platform had been in the same relative positions for a year and a half. No other squirrel had jammed its head in between them; nor would Rufina have made the mistake had she not been in the dark, and blind and stupid with sleep. These conclusions came to me afterwards. For the moment I extricated the little body with difficulty from the death-trap, and tried for nearly an hour to bring back life. So amazed When all hope was abandoned, I laid her gently on the floor of the cage to see what Peter would do, and whether he would show any sign of grief. At sight of me at the window he fled, wildly jibbering, stamping his feet, and screaming. Here was fresh lead on my heart. It was bad enough to lose Rufina, but that Peter should look upon me as her murderer was the sharpest cut of all! He was angry and horror-struck, but by To most of us when a tragedy like this happens, the feeling is “to have no more pets.” But Rufina had never been what Bunty was. She had never sat on my hand, or played with me, or come at my call, or nipped my fingers to make me quicker. She had not won her way into my heart as that first little Surrey squirrel had done. She had, it is true, just begun to come into my room and eat fearlessly, and I had had great hopes of winning her confidence as spring came on. But this hope was now shattered. It was dismal to have nothing to play with. Peter continued so angry that he would not let me see him. Moreover, my plan of a mate of his own nationality for Fritz was frustrated. I had resolved to let Rufina loose with him in the wood when March arrived, A week or so afterwards, therefore, found me inquiring of Messrs. Devon and Co. if haply they could find me another German female squirrel, warranted young and healthy. In a few days Ruby arrived. We had missed meeting her at the station, and the little package came by the midday delivery van. I expected Peter to be much annoyed by the advent of this new trespasser in his domain. He had never for two minutes been on friendly terms with Rufina. In fact, to judge from squirrel signs and tokens, he hated her; but the same day that Ruby arrived, we found the two amicably cracking nuts together. The newcomer was very red, as Rufina had been when she first came in October. I was a little surprised at this, for it was now winter—January 1914—and Rufina’s coat had long Ruby was a dear little kittenish creature, very fond of play. She was dreadfully afraid of me at first, and much too suspicious to venture inside my room. The sight of me at the window sent her flying into the safe shelter of the sleeping-box, and once there she would, like all the others of her sex, swear at Peter, and dig her little claws into his nose if he tried to get in too. After a week or so, however, he was allowed to get in at the back entrance, and though there were always some expostulations, he was not turned out. She would come into the room when I was not there, and eat her fill of nuts on the inverted lid of the clothes-basket. The weather was quite mild just then, and she seemed to like her quarters better than any of the former new arrivals had done. She had a dear little face, a lovely red coat, and a beautiful plumy tail. She kept herself exquisitely clean, and spent a good deal of time over her toilet. Naturally, it being the depth of winter, she spent a great many hours asleep. It is evident that caged squirrels sleep a great deal more, especially in winter, than when they are at large in the woods. Fritz I often came upon Fritz having forty winks, on a comfortable branch sheltered from the wind, in the daytime. Squirrels’ claws are so strong and flexible, and cling so firmly, It was very interesting and amusing to watch Ruby as she became more and more used to seeing me about. I would open the casement into the squirrel cage, and go back to bed and watch. This cage was built on to the wall outside my window; it was five or six feet high, and about three feet broad, with a good wooden floor, and what made it delightfully home-like for squirrels was that an evergreen shrub grew inside against the wall right up to the eaves. Ruby would clamber down the central pole, which, with perches nailed upon it, made a capital substitute for a tree trunk, and would come peeping round the casement, to look for nuts which would be on a chair, or on the tall clothes-basket near by. Her little pointed ears, with their pretty tufts, would be sharply cocked, her whiskers quivering nervously, and her tail And then would come another nervous and anxious little face; this was Peter, hoping that there would be something left for him. But Ruby would scold and grumble; and he, silently withdrawing, would wait till her ladyship had finished. |