A Book of Natural History Part 17

[Ill.u.s.tration]

It happened a long time ago, it may be fifty thousand years in round numbers, or it may have been twice as many, that a strange thing took place in the heart of the Great Mountains. It was in the middle of the Pliocene epoch, a long, dull time that seemed as if it would never come to an end. There was then on the east side of the Great Divide a deep, rocky basin surrounded by high walls of granite gashed to the base by the wash of many streams. In this basin, we know not how--for the records all are burned or buried--the crust of the earth was broken, and a great outflow of melted larva surged up from below.

This was no ordinary eruption, but a mighty outbreak of the earth's imprisoned forces. The steady stream of lava filled the whole mountain basin and ran out over its sides, covering the country all around so deeply that it has never been seen since. More than four thousand square miles of land lay buried under melted rock. No one can tell how deep the lava is, for no one has ever seen the bottom. Within its bed are deep clefts whose ragged walls descend to the depth of twelve hundred feet, and yet give no glimpse of the granite below, while at their side are mountains of lava whose crags tower a mile above the bottom of the ravines.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "IT WOULD HISS AND BOIL HIGH IN THE AIR."]

At last, after many years or centuries--time does not count for much in these Tertiary days--the flow of melted lava ceased. Its surface cooled, leaving a high, uneven plain, black and desolate, a hard, cold crust over a fiery and smoldering interior. About the crater lay great ropes and rolls of the slowly hardening lava, looking like knots and tangles of gigantic reptiles of some horrible extinct sort. There was neither gra.s.s nor trees, nor life of any sort. Nothing could grow in the coa.r.s.e, black stone. The rivers and brooks had long since vanished in steam, the fishes were all dead, and the birds had flown away. The whole region wore the aspect of the desolation of death.

But to let land go to waste is no part of Mother Nature's plan. So even this far-off corner of her domain was made ready for settlement.

In the winter she sifted snow on the cold black plain, and in the summer the snow melted into a mult.i.tude of brooks and springs. The brooks gradually wore paths and furrows down the large bed, and the sands which they washed from one place they piled up in another. The winds blew the seeds of gra.s.ses about, and willows and aspens crept up the mountain-sides. Then came the squirrels, scattering the nuts of the pine. Other seeds came too, in other ways, till at last the barren hillside was no longer barren.

The brooks ran over the surface of the crust undisturbed by the fires within, and were clear and cold as mountain brooks should be; but the rain and melted snow will never all remain on the surface. Some of it falls into cracks or joints or porous places in the rock, and from this come underground streams or springs. But in this region a stream could not run long underground without coming in contact with the old still-burning fires. When a crust is formed over the lava, it cools very slowly. When the crust is a rod or two deep, the lava within is almost as well protected as if it were at the center of the earth.

Whenever the water came down into the fire, the hot rocks would be furious with indignation, and tearing the water to atoms they would throw it back to the surface as steam. Then the explosive force of the steam would in turn tear up the rocks, making still larger the hole through which the water came. When the rocks were very hot, a little water upon them would make a terrible commotion like the shock of an earthquake. When much water came down, it would hiss and boil high in the air, as it tried to break the cus.h.i.+on of steam which came between it and the lava.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MOUTH OF GEYSER.]

And all this went on in hundreds of places and maybe for thousands of years. The hot rocks glowed and sweltered in the ground, and the cold snow-water crept after them closer and closer, while more and more vigorously the rocks resented the intrusion. Sometimes the water would go down in a ma.s.s through a cleft, when it would be hurled bodily the very way it came. At other times the water came down little by little, insinuating itself into many places at once. Then the hot rocks threw it back in many little honeycomb channels, and by the spreading of these channels the rocks were at last crumbled to pieces. The hard black lava on the gla.s.s-like obsidian were changed to white kaolin as soft and powdery as chalk. And as the water fought its way, gaining a little every year, steadily working between the joints in the enemy's armor and as surely being thrown back with violence if it penetrated too far, the animals and the plants followed in the wake of the water, and took possession of the territory as fast as it was won.

At last the Pliocene times were over, for all times come to an end.

The one sure thing on the earth is the certainty of change. With the change of time came on the earth's great winter. The snow-drifts on the lava were piled up mountain-high. Snow is but ice gathered in little fragments which will grow solid under pressure. As the snow acc.u.mulated it began to move, forming great rivers of ice which ran down the courses of the stream. And as these slowly moving, gigantic ice-rivers tore away huge blocks of lava and pushed them down the mountain-sides, where the rocks had been softened by the action of steam, the ice wore out deep valleys, and everything that it touched was smoothed and polished. The winter of the great Ice age lasted a very long time, many thousands of years; but, long as it was and long ago, it came at last to an end--not to a full stop, of course, for even now, some of its snow still lingers on the highest peaks that surround the lava-beds.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "CUTTING DEEP GORGES OR CAnONS."]

Then the winters grew shorter and the summers longer. The south winds blew and the ice melted away, first from the plain and then from the mountains. The water ran down the sides of the lava-bed, cutting deep gorges or canons, so deep that the sun can hardly see the bottom. And into the joints and clefts of the rocks more and more water went, to be hurled back with greater and greater violence, for all the waters of all the snow cannot put out a mile deep of fire.

In the old depressions where the ice had chiselled away the softer rocks, there were formed lakes of the standing water, and one of these was more than thirty miles long, winding in and out among the mountain-ridges. In the lake bottom the water soaked through down to the hot lava below, from which it was thrown boiling back to the surface again, fountains of scalding water in the icy lake.

The cold Ice age has killed all the plants in the region; and it had driven off the animals that could be driven, and had then buried the rest. But when the snow was gone the creatures all came back again.

Gra.s.s and meadow-flowers of a hundred kinds came up from the valleys below. The willow and the aspen took their place again by the brook-side, and the red fir and the mountain pine covered the hills with their sombre green. The birds came back. The wild goose swam and screamed, and the winter wren caroled his bright song--loudest when there seemed least cause for rejoicing. The beaver cut his timber and patiently worked at his dams. The thriftless porcupine destroyed a tree for every morning meal. The gray jay, the "camp robber," followed the Indians about in hope that some forgotten piece of meat or of boiled root might fall to his share; while the buffalo, the bear, and the elk each carried on his affairs in his own way, as did a host of lesser animals, all of whom rejoiced when this snow-bound region was at last opened for settlement. Time went on. The water and the fire were every day in mortal struggle, and always when the water was thrown back repulsed, it renewed the contest as vigorously as before.

The fire retreated, leaving great stretches of land to its enemy, that it might concentrate its strength where its strength was greatest. And the water steadily gained, for the great ocean ever lay behind it. So for century after century they wrestled with each other, the water, the fire, the snow, the animals and the plants. But the fishes who had once lived in the mountain torrents were no longer there. They had been boiled and frozen, and in one way or another destroyed or driven away. Now they could not get back. Every stream had its canon, and in each canon was a waterfall so high that no trout could leap up.

Although they used to try it every day, not one ever succeeded.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "AND IN EACH CAnON WAS A WATERFALL."]

So it went on. A great many things happened in other parts of the world. America had been discovered and the colonies were feeling their way toward the Pacific Ocean. And in the vanguard was the famous expedition of Lewis and Clarke, which went overland to the mouth of the river Columbia. John Colter was a hunter in this expedition, and by some chance he went across the mountains on the old trail of the Nez Perces Indians which leads across the Divide from the Missouri waters to those of the Columbia. When he came back from the Nez Perces trail he told most wonderful tales of what he had seen at the head of the Missouri. There were cataracts of scalding water which shot straight up into the air; there were blue ponds hot enough to boil fish; there were springs that came up snorting and steaming, and which would turn trees into stone; the woods were full of holes from which issued streams of sulphur; there were canons of untold depth with walls of ashes full of holes which let off steam like a locomotive, and there were springs which looked peaceful enough, but which at times, would burst like a bomb.

In short, every one laughed at Colter and his yarns, and this place where all lies were true was familiarly known as "Colter's h.e.l.l." But for once John Colter told the truth, and the truth could not easily be exaggerated. But no one believed him. When others who afterwards followed him over the Nez Perces trail told the same stories, people said they had been up to "Colter's h.e.l.l" and had learned to lie.

But, as time pa.s.sed, other men told what they had seen, until, in 1870, a sort of official survey was made under the lead of Washburne and Doane. This party got the general bearings of the region, named many of the mountains, and found so much of interest that the next year Dr. Hayden, the United States Geologist, sent out a party for systematic exploration. The Hayden party came up from Colorado on horseback, through dense and tangled forests, across mountain torrents, and other craggy peaks. The story of this expedition has been most charmingly told by its youngest member, another John Coulter. Professor Coulter was the botanist of the survey, and he won the first of his many laurels on this expedition. In 1872, acting on Hayden's report, Congress took the matter in hand and set apart this whole region as a "public park or pleasuring ground for the benefit and enjoyment of the people," and such it remains to this day.

But, while only of late this region has had a public history, the long-forgotten years between the Glacial period and the expedition of Lewis and Clarke were not without interest in the history of the trout. For all these years the fishes have been trying to mount the waterfalls in order to ascend to the plateau above. Year after year, as the sp.a.w.ning-time came on, they leaped against the falls of the Gardiner, the Gibbon, and the Firehole Rivers, but only to fall back impotent in the pools at their bases. But the mightiest cataract of all, the great falls of the Yellowstone, they finally conquered, and in this way it was done: not by the trout of the Yellowstone River, but by their brothers on the other side of the Divide. These followed up the Columbia to the head-waters of the Snake River, its great tributary, past the beautiful Heart Lake, and then on to the stream now called Pacific Creek, which rises on the very crest of the Divide. In the s.p.a.ce between this stream, which flows west to help form the Snake River, and a smaller stream now called Atlantic Creek, flowing down the east slope of the Divide, the great chain of the Rocky Mountains shrinks to a narrow plateau of damp meadow, not a fourth of a mile in width; and some years, when the snows are heavy and melt late in the spring, this whole region is covered with standing water. The trout had bided their time until they found it so, and now they were ready for action. Before the water was drained they had crossed the Divide and were descending on the Atlantic side toward the Yellowstone Lake. As the days went by, this colony of bold trout spirits grew and multiplied and filled the waters of the great clear lake, where their descendants remain to this day. And no other fishes--not the chub, nor the sucker, nor the white-fish, nor the minnow, nor the blob--had ever climbed Pacific Creek. None of them were able to follow where the trout had gone, and none of them have ever been seen in the Yellowstone Lake. What the trout had done in this lake--their victories and defeats, their struggles with the bears and pelicans, and with the terrible worm, joint enemy of trout and pelicans alike--must be left for another story.

[Ill.u.s.tration: TROUT.]

So the trout climbed the Yellowstone Falls by way of the back staircase. For all we know, they have gone down it on the other side.

And in a similar way, by stealing over from Blacktail Deer Creek, they overcame the Undine Falls in Lava Creek and pa.s.sed its steep obsidian walls, which not all the fishes in the world could climb.

In the Gibbon River the cataracts have proved to the trout an impa.s.sible barrier; but, strangely enough, its despised a.s.sociate, the sluggish, chunky blob, the little soft-bodied, smooth, black tadpole-like fellow, with twinkling eyes and a voracious appet.i.te--a fish who cannot leap at all--has crossed this barrier. Hundreds of blob live under the stones in the upper reaches of the stream, the only fish in the Gibbon waters. There he is, and it is a standing puzzle even to himself to know how he got there. We might imagine, perhaps, that some far-off ancestor, some ancient Queen of the Blobs, was seized by an osprey and carried away in the air. Perhaps an eagle was watching and forced the osprey to give up its prey. Perhaps in the struggle the blob escaped, falling into the river above the falls, to form the beginning of the future colony. At any rate, there is the great impa.s.sable waterfall, the blob above it and below. The osprey has its nest on a broken pine tree, above the cataract, and its tyrant master, the bald eagle, watches it from a still higher crag whenever it goes fis.h.i.+ng.

Two years ago the Hon. Marshall McDonald, whose duty as United States Fish Commissioner it is to look after the fishes wherever they may be, sent me to this country to see what could be done for his wards. It was a proud day when I set out from Mammoth Hot Springs astride a black cayuse, or Indian pony, which answered to the name of Jump, followed by a long train of sixteen other cayuses of every variety of color and character, the most notable of all being a white pony called Tinker. At some remote and unidentified period of her life she had bucked and killed a tradesman who bestrode her against her will, and thereby, as in the old Norse legends, she has inherited his strength, his wickedness, and his name. And when, after many adventures, I came back from this strange land and told the story of its fishes other men were sent out from Was.h.i.+ngton with nets and buckets. They gathered up the trout and carried them to the rivers above the falls, and now all the brooks and pools of the old lava-bed, the fairest streams in the world, are full of their natural inhabitants.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

THE COLORS OF ANIMALS

(FROM CHAPTERS IN POPULAR NATURAL HISTORY.)

BY SIR JOHN LUBBOCK, BART., M.P., F.B.S., ETC.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

The color of animals is by no means a matter of chance; it depends on many considerations, but in the majority of cases tends to protect the animal from danger by rendering it less conspicuous. Perhaps it may be said that if coloring is mainly protective, there ought to be but few brightly colored animals. There are, however, not a few cases in which vivid colors are themselves protective. The kingfisher itself, though so brightly colored, is by no means easy to see. The blue harmonizes with the water, and the bird as it darts along the stream looks almost like a flash of sunlight; besides which, protection is not the only consideration. Let us now consider the prevalent colors of animals and see how far they support the rule.

Desert animals are generally the color of the desert. Thus, for instance, the lion, the antelope, and the wild a.s.s are all sand-colored. "Indeed," says Canon Tristram, "in the desert, where neither trees, brushwood, nor even undulation of the surface afford the slightest protection to its foes, a modification of color which shall be a.s.similated to that of the surrounding country is absolutely necessary. Hence, without exception, the upper plumage of every bird, whether lark, chat, sylvain, or sand grouse, and also the fur of all the smaller mammals and the skin of all the snakes and lizards, is of one uniform sand color."

It is interesting to note that, while the lion is sand-colored like the desert, the long, upright, yellow stripes of the tiger make it very difficult to see the animal among the long dry gra.s.ses of the Indian jungles in which it lives. The leopard, again, and other tree cats are generally marked with spots which resemble gleams of light glancing through the leaves.

The colors of birds are in many cases perhaps connected with the position and mode of construction of their nests. Thus, we know that hen birds are generally less brightly colored than the c.o.c.ks, and this is partly, perhaps, because bright colors would be a danger to the hens while sitting on their eggs. When the nest is placed underground or in the hole of a tree, etc., we find it no longer to be such an invariable rule that the hen bird is dull-colored; but, on the contrary, she is then often as gaily colored as the male. Such, for instance, is the case with the hen kingfisher, which is one of the brightest of British birds and one of the very few which make their nests underground; the hen woodp.e.c.k.e.r, which is also gaily colored and builds in hollow trees, forms a second instance.

In the few cases where the hens are as conspicuously colored as the c.o.c.ks, and yet the nest is open to view, we generally find that the hens are strong, pugnacious birds, and well able to defend themselves.

There are even instances, though these are comparatively rare, in which the hens are more brilliantly colored than the c.o.c.ks; and it is an interesting fact that it is then the c.o.c.ks, and not the hens, which hatch the eggs.

It therefore seems to be a rule, with very few exceptions, that when both the c.o.c.ks and hens are of strikingly gay or conspicuous colors, the nest is such as to conceal the sitting bird; while, whenever there is a striking contrast of colors, the nest is open and the sitting bird exposed to view.

Again, most fishes are dark above and pale below. This points to the same fact, for when one looks down into the dark water, the dark color of their backs renders them the less easy to distinguish; while, to an enemy looking up from below, the pale belly would be less conspicuous against the light of the sky. Those fishes which live deep down in the depths of the ocean present no such contrast between the upper and under surface. Many of the smaller animals which live in the sea are as transparent as gla.s.s, and are consequently very difficult to distinguish.

It is sometimes said that if animals were really colored with reference to concealment, sheep would be green, like gra.s.s. This, however, is quite a mistake. If they were green they would really be more easy to see. In the gray of the morning and the evening twilight, just the time when wild animals generally feed, gray and stone colors are most difficult to distinguish. Sheep were originally mountain animals, and every one who has ever been on a mountain-side knows how difficult it is to distinguish a sheep, at some distance, from a ma.s.s of stone or rock.

It is, again, a great advantage to the rabbit and hare to be colored like earth; black or white rabbits are more easy to see, and consequently more likely to be killed. This, however, does not apply to those which are kept in captivity, and we know that tame rabbits are often black and white. Again, in the far north, where for months together the ground is covered with snow, the white color, which would be a danger here, becomes an advantage; and many Arctic animals, like the polar bear and polar hare, are white, while others, such as the mountain hare and ptarmigan, change their color, being brown in summer and white in winter. So are the Arctic fox and the ermine, to whom it is then an advantage to be white, not to avoid danger, but in order that they may be the more easily able to steal unperceived upon their prey.

Many of the cases in which certain insects escape danger by their similarity to plants are well known; the leaf insect and the walking-stick insect are familiar and most remarkable cases. The larvae of insects afford, also, many interesting examples, and in other respects teach us, indeed, many instructive lessons. It would be a great mistake to regard them as merely preparatory stages in the development of the perfect insect. They are much more than this, for external circ.u.mstances act on the larvae, as well as on the perfect insect: both, therefore, are liable to adaptation. In fact, the modifications which insect larvae undergo may be divided into two kinds--developmental, or those which tend to approximation to the mature form; and adaptational or adaptive, those which tend to suit them to their own mode of life.

It is a remarkable fact, that the forms of larvae do not depend on those of the mature insect. In many cases, for instance, very similar larvae produce extremely dissimilar insects. In other cases, similar, or comparatively similar, perfect insects have very dissimilar larvae.

Indeed, a cla.s.sification of insects founded on larva would be quite different from that founded on the perfect insects. The group to which the bees, wasps, and ants belong, for instance, and which, so far as the perfect insects are concerned, form a very natural division, would be divided into two; or rather one portion of them--namely, the saw-flies--would be united to the b.u.t.terflies and moths. Now, why do the larvae of saw-flies differ from those of their allies, and resemble those of b.u.t.terflies and moths? It is because their habits differ from those of ants and bees, and they feed on leaves like ordinary caterpillars.

In some cases the form changes considerably during the larval state.

From this point of view, the transformations of a small beetle, called _Sitaris_, which have been carefully observed by M. Fabre, are peculiarly interesting.

The genus Sitaris, which is allied to the blister-fly and to the oil-beetle, is parasitic on a kind of solitary bee which excavates subterranean galleries, each leading to a cell. The eggs of the beetle, which are deposited at the entrance of the galleries made by the bees, are hatched at the end of September or beginning of October, and we might not unnaturally expect that the young larvae, which are active little creatures with six serviceable legs, would at once eat their way into the cells of the bee. No such thing: till the month of April following they remain without leaving their birthplace, and consequently without food; nor do they in this long time change either in form or size. M. Fabre ascertained this, not only by examining the burrow of the bees, but also by direct observations of some young larvae kept in captivity. In April, however, his captives at last awoke from their long lethargy, and hurried anxiously about their prisons. Naturally inferring that they were in search of food, M.

Fabre supposed that this would consist either of the larvae or pupae of the bee, or of the honey with which it stores its cell. All three were tried without success. The first two were neglected; and the larvae, when placed on the latter, either hurried away or perished in the attempt, being evidently unable to deal with the sticky substance. M.

Fabre was in despair. The first ray of light came to him from our countryman Newport, who ascertained that a small parasite found on one of the wild bees was, in fact, the larva of the oil-beetle. The larvae of Sitaris much resembled this larva. Acting on this hint, M. Fabre examined many specimens of the bee, and found on them at last the larvae of his Sitaris. The males of the bee emerge from the pupae sooner than the females, and M. Fabre ascertained that, as they come out of their galleries, the little Sitaris larvae fasten upon them. Not, however, for long: instinct teaches them that they are not yet in the straight path of development; and, watching their opportunity, they pa.s.s from the male to the female bee. Guided by these indications, M.

Fabre examined several cells of the bee; in some, the egg of the bee floated by itself on the surface of the honey; in others, on the egg, as on a raft, sat the still more minute larva of the Sitaris. The mystery was solved. At the moment when the egg is laid, the Sitaris larva springs upon it. Even while the poor mother is carefully fastening up her cell, her mortal enemy is beginning to devour her offspring; for the egg of the bee serves not only as a raft, but as a repast. The honey, which is enough for either, would be too little for both; and the Sitaris, therefore, at its first meal, relieves itself from its only rival. After eight days the egg is consumed, and on the empty sh.e.l.l the Sitaris undergoes its first transformation, and makes its appearance in a very different form.

The honey, which was fatal before, is now necessary--the activity, which before was necessary, is now useless; consequently, with the change of skin, the active, slim larva changes into a white fleshy grub, so organized as to float on the surface of the honey, with the mouth beneath and the breathing-holes above the surface; for insects breathe, not as we do through the mouth, but through a row of holes arranged along the side. In this state it remains until the honey is consumed; then the animal contracts, and detaches itself from its skin, within which the further transformations take place. In the next stage the larva has a solid corneous envelope and an oval shape, and, in its color, consistency, and immobility, resembles the chrysalis of a fly. The time pa.s.sed in this condition varies much. When it has elapsed, the animal moults again, again changes its form; after this, it becomes a pupa, without any remarkable peculiarities. Finally, after these wonderful changes and adventures, in the month of August the perfect beetle makes its appearance.