Brute Neighbors

Sometimes I had a companion in my fishing, who came through the village to my house from the other side of the town, and the catching of the dinner was as much a social exercise as the eating of it.

Hermit. I wonder what the world is doing now. I have not heard so much as a locust over the sweet-fern these three hours. The pigeons are all asleep upon their roosts -- no flutter from them. Was that a farmer's noon horn which sounded from beyond the woods just now? The hands are coming in to boiled salt beef and cider and Indian bread. Why will men worry themselves so? He that does not eat need not work. I wonder how much they have reaped. Who would live there where a body can never think for the barking of Bose? And oh, the housekeeping! to keep bright the devil's door-knobs, and scour his tubs this bright day! Better not keep a house. Say, some hollow tree; and then for morning calls and dinner-parties! Only a woodpecker tapping. Oh, they swarm; the sun is too warm there; they are born too far into life for me. I have water from the spring, and a loaf of brown bread on the shelf. -- Hark! I hear a rustling of the leaves. Is it some ill-fed village hound yielding to the instinct of the chase? or the lost pig which is said to be in these woods, whose tracks I saw after the rain? It comes on apace; my sumachs and sweetbriers tremble. -- Eh, Mr. Poet, is it you? How do you like the world to-day?

Poet. See those clouds; how they hang! That's the greatest thing I have seen to-day. There's nothing like it in old paintings, nothing like it in foreign lands -- unless when we were off the coast of Spain. That's a true Mediterranean sky. I thought, as I have my living to get, and have not eaten to-day, that I might go a-fishing. That's the true industry for poets. It is the only trade I have learned. Come, let's along.

Hermit. I cannot resist. My brown bread will soon be gone. I will go with you gladly soon, but I am just concluding a serious meditation. I think that I am near the end of it. Leave me alone, then, for a while. But that we may not be delayed, you shall be digging the bait meanwhile. Angleworms are rarely to be met with in these parts, where the soil was never fattened with manure; the race is nearly extinct. The sport of digging the bait is nearly equal to that of catching the fish, when one's appetite is not too keen; and this you may have all to yourself today. I would advise you to set in the spade down yonder among the ground-nuts, where you see the johnswort waving. I think that I may warrant you one worm to every three sods you turn up, if you look well in among the roots of the grass, as if you were weeding. Or, if you choose to go farther, it will not be unwise, for I have found the increase of fair bait to be very nearly as the squares of the distances.

Hermit alone. Let me see; where was I? Methinks I was nearly in this frame of mind; the world lay about at this angle. Shall I go to heaven or a-fishing? If I should soon bring this meditation to an end, would another so sweet occasion be likely to offer? I was as near being resolved into the essence of things as ever I was in my life. I fear my thoughts will not come back to me. If it would do any good, I would whistle for them. When they make us an offer, is it wise to say, We will think of it? My thoughts have left no track, and I cannot find the path again. What was it that I was thinking of? It was a very hazy day. I will just try these three sentences of Confutsee; they may fetch that state about again. I know not whether it was the dumps or a budding ecstasy. Mem. There never is but one opportunity of a kind.

Poet. How now, Hermit, is it too soon? I have got just thirteen whole ones, beside several which are imperfect or undersized; but they will do for the smaller fry; they do not cover up the hook so much. Those village worms are quite too large; a shiner may make a meal off one without finding the skewer.

Hermit. Well, then, let's be off. Shall we to the Concord? There's good sport there if the water be not too high.

Why do precisely these objects which we behold make a world? Why has man just these species of animals for his neighbors; as if nothing but a mouse could have filled this crevice? I suspect that Pilpay & Co. have put animals to their best use, for they are all beasts of burden, in a sense, made to carry some portion of our thoughts.

The mice which haunted my house were not the common ones, which are said to have been introduced into the country, but a wild native kind not found in the village. I sent one to a distinguished naturalist, and it interested him much. When I was building, one of these had its nest underneath the house, and before I had laid the second floor, and swept out the shavings, would come out regularly at lunch time and pick up the crumbs at my feet. It probably had never seen a man before; and it soon became quite familiar, and would run over my shoes and up my clothes. It could readily ascend the sides of the room by short impulses, like a squirrel, which it resembled in its motions. At length, as I leaned with my elbow on the bench one day, it ran up my clothes, and along my sleeve, and round and round the paper which held my dinner, while I kept the latter close, and dodged and played at bopeep with it; and when at last I held still a piece of cheese between my thumb and finger, it came and nibbled it, sitting in my hand, and afterward cleaned its face and paws, like a fly, and walked away.

A phoebe soon built in my shed, and a robin for protection in a pine which grew against the house. In June the partridge (Tetrao umbellus), which is so shy a bird, led her brood past my windows, from the woods in the rear to the front of my house, clucking and calling to them like a hen, and in all her behavior proving herself the hen of the woods. The young suddenly disperse on your approach, at a signal from the mother, as if a whirlwind had swept them away, and they so exactly resemble the dried leaves and twigs that many a traveler has placed his foot in the midst of a brood, and heard the whir of the old bird as she flew off, and her anxious calls and mewing, or seen her trail her wings to attract his attention, without suspecting their neighborhood. The parent will sometimes roll and spin round before you in such a dishabille, that you cannot, for a few moments, detect what kind of creature it is. The young squat still and flat, often running their heads under a leaf, and mind only their mother's directions given from a distance, nor will your approach make them run again and betray themselves. You may even tread on them, or have your eyes on them for a minute, without discovering them. I have held them in my open hand at such a time, and still their only care, obedient to their mother and their instinct, was to squat there without fear or trembling. So perfect is this instinct, that once, when I had laid them on the leaves again, and one accidentally fell on its side, it was found with the rest in exactly the same position ten minutes afterward. They are not callow like the young of most birds, but more perfectly developed and precocious even than chickens. The remarkably adult yet innocent expression of their open and serene eyes is very memorable. All intelligence seems reflected in them. They suggest not merely the purity of infancy, but a wisdom clarified by experience. Such an eye was not born when the bird was, but is coeval with the sky it reflects. The woods do not yield another such a gem. The traveller does not often look into such a limpid well. The ignorant or reckless sportsman often shoots the parent at such a time, and leaves these innocents to fall a prey to some prowling beast or bird, or gradually mingle with the decaying leaves which they so much resemble. It is said that when hatched by a hen they will directly disperse on some alarm, and so are lost, for they never hear the mother's call which gathers them again. These were my hens and chickens.

It is remarkable how many creatures live wild and free though secret in the woods, and still sustain themselves in the neighborhood of towns, suspected by hunters only. How retired the otter manages to live here! He grows to be four feet long, as big as a small boy, perhaps without any human being getting a glimpse of him. I formerly saw the raccoon in the woods behind where my house is built, and probably still heard their whinnering at night. Commonly I rested an hour or two in the shade at noon, after planting, and ate my lunch, and read a little by a spring which was the source of a swamp and of a brook, oozing from under Brister's Hill, half a mile from my field. The approach to this was through a succession of descending grassy hollows, full of young pitch pines, into a larger wood about the swamp. There, in a very secluded and shaded spot, under a spreading white pine, there was yet a clean, firm sward to sit on. I had dug out the spring and made a well of clear gray water, where I could dip up a pailful without roiling it, and thither I went for this purpose almost every day in midsummer, when the pond was warmest. Thither, too, the woodcock led her brood, to probe the mud for worms, flying but a foot above them down the bank, while they ran in a troop beneath; but at last, spying me, she would leave her young and circle round and round me, nearer and nearer till within four or five feet, pretending broken wings and legs, to attract my attention, and get off her young, who would already have taken up their march, with faint, wiry peep, single file through the swamp, as she directed. Or I heard the peep of the young when I could not see the parent bird. There too the turtle doves sat over the spring, or fluttered from bough to bough of the soft white pines over my head; or the red squirrel, coursing down the nearest bough, was particularly familiar and inquisitive. You only need sit still long enough in some attractive spot in the woods that all its inhabitants may exhibit themselves to you by turns.

I was witness to events of a less peaceful character. One day when I went out to my wood-pile, or rather my pile of stumps, I observed two large ants, the one red, the other much larger, nearly half an inch long, and black, fiercely contending with one another. Having once got hold they never let go, but struggled and wrestled and rolled on the chips incessantly. Looking farther, I was surprised to find that the chips were covered with such combatants, that it was not a duellum, but a bellum, a war between two races of ants, the red always pitted against the black, and frequently two red ones to one black. The legions of these Myrmidons covered all the hills and vales in my wood-yard, and the ground was already strewn with the dead and dying, both red and black. It was the only battle which I have ever witnessed, the only battle-field I ever trod while the battle was raging; internecine war; the red republicans on the one hand, and the black imperialists on the other. On every side they were engaged in deadly combat, yet without any noise that I could hear, and human soldiers never fought so resolutely. I watched a couple that were fast locked in each other's embraces, in a little sunny valley amid the chips, now at noonday prepared to fight till the sun went down, or life went out. The smaller red champion had fastened himself like a vice to his adversary's front, and through all the tumblings on that field never for an instant ceased to gnaw at one of his feelers near the root, having already caused the other to go by the board; while the stronger black one dashed him from side to side, and, as I saw on looking nearer, had already divested him of several of his members. They fought with more pertinacity than bulldogs. Neither manifested the least disposition to retreat. It was evident that their battle-cry was "Conquer or die." In the meanwhile there came along a single red ant on the hillside of this valley, evidently full of excitement, who either had despatched his foe, or had not yet taken part in the battle; probably the latter, for he had lost none of his limbs; whose mother had charged him to return with his shield or upon it. Or perchance he was some Achilles, who had nourished his wrath apart, and had now come to avenge or rescue his Patroclus. He saw this unequal combat from afar -- for the blacks were nearly twice the size of the red -- he drew near with rapid pace till be stood on his guard within half an inch of the combatants; then, watching his opportunity, he sprang upon the black warrior, and commenced his operations near the root of his right fore leg, leaving the foe to select among his own members; and so there were three united for life, as if a new kind of attraction had been invented which put all other locks and cements to shame. I should not have wondered by this time to find that they had their respective musical bands stationed on some eminent chip, and playing their national airs the while, to excite the slow and cheer the dying combatants. I was myself excited somewhat even as if they had been men. The more you think of it, the less the difference. And certainly there is not the fight recorded in Concord history, at least, if in the history of America, that will bear a moment's comparison with this, whether for the numbers engaged in it, or for the patriotism and heroism displayed. For numbers and for carnage it was an Austerlitz or Dresden. Concord Fight! Two killed on the patriots' side, and Luther Blanchard wounded! Why here every ant was a Buttrick -- "Fire! for God's sake fire!" -- and thousands shared the fate of Davis and Hosmer. There was not one hireling there. I have no doubt that it was a principle they fought for, as much as our ancestors, and not to avoid a three-penny tax on their tea; and the results of this battle will be as important and memorable to those whom it concerns as those of the battle of Bunker Hill, at least.

I took up the chip on which the three I have particularly described were struggling, carried it into my house, and placed it under a tumbler on my window-sill, in order to see the issue. Holding a microscope to the first-mentioned red ant, I saw that, though he was assiduously gnawing at the near fore leg of his enemy, having severed his remaining feeler, his own breast was all torn away, exposing what vitals he had there to the jaws of the black warrior, whose breastplate was apparently too thick for him to pierce; and the dark carbuncles of the sufferer's eyes shone with ferocity such as war only could excite. They struggled half an hour longer under the tumbler, and when I looked again the black soldier had severed the heads of his foes from their bodies, and the still living heads were hanging on either side of him like ghastly trophies at his saddle-bow, still apparently as firmly fastened as ever, and he was endeavoring with feeble struggles, being without feelers and with only the remnant of a leg, and I know not how many other wounds, to divest himself of them; which at length, after half an hour more, he accomplished. I raised the glass, and he went off over the window-sill in that crippled state. Whether he finally survived that combat, and spent the remainder of his days in some Hotel des Invalides, I do not know; but I thought that his industry would not be worth much thereafter. I never learned which party was victorious, nor the cause of the war; but I felt for the rest of that day as if I had had my feelings excited and harrowed by witnessing the struggle, the ferocity and carnage, of a human battle before my door.

Kirby and Spence tell us that the battles of ants have long been celebrated and the date of them recorded, though they say that Huber is the only modern author who appears to have witnessed them. "AEneas Sylvius," say they, "after giving a very circumstantial account of one contested with great obstinacy by a great and small species on the trunk of a pear tree," adds that "this action was fought in the pontificate of Eugenius the Fourth, in the presence of Nicholas Pistoriensis, an eminent lawyer, who related the whole, history of the battle with the greatest fidelity." A similar engagement between great and small ants is recorded by Olaus Magnus, in which the small ones, being victorious, are said to have buried the bodies of their own soldiers, but left those of their giant enemies a prey to the birds. This event happened previous to the expulsion of the tyrant Christiern the Second from Sweden." The battle which I witnessed took place in the Presidency of Polk, five years before the passage of Webster's Fugitive-Slave Bill.

Many a village Bose, fit only to course a mud-turtle in a victualling cellar, sported his heavy quarters in the woods, without the knowledge of his master, and ineffectually smelled at old fox burrows and woodchucks' holes; led perchance by some slight cur which nimbly threaded the wood, and might still inspire a natural terror in its denizens; -- now far behind his guide, barking like a canine bull toward some small squirrel which had treed itself for scrutiny, then, cantering off, bending the bushes with his weight, imagining that he is on the track of some stray member of the jerbilla family. Once I was surprised to see a cat walking along the stony shore of the pond, for they rarely wander so far from home. The surprise was mutual. Nevertheless the most domestic cat, which has lain on a rug all her days, appears quite at home in the woods, and, by her sly and stealthy behavior, proves herself more native there than the regular inhabitants. Once, when berrying, I met with a cat with young kittens in the woods, quite wild, and they all, like their mother, had their backs up and were fiercely spitting at me. A few years before I lived in the woods there was what was called a "winged cat" in one of the farm-houses in Lincoln nearest the pond, Mr. Gilian Baker's. When I called to see her in June, 1842, she was gone a-hunting in the woods, as was her wont (I am not sure whether it was a male or female, and so use the more common pronoun), but her mistress told me that she came into the neighborhood a little more than a year before, in April, and was finally taken into their house; that she was of a dark brownish-gray color, with a white spot on her throat, and white feet, and had a large bushy tail like a fox; that in the winter the fur grew thick and flatted out along her sides, forming stripes ten or twelve inches long by two and a half wide, and under her chin like a muff, the upper side loose, the under matted like felt, and in the spring these appendages dropped off. They gave me a pair of her "wings," which I keep still. There is no appearance of a membrane about them. Some thought it was part flying squirrel or some other wild animal, which is not impossible, for, according to naturalists, prolific hybrids have been produced by the union of the marten and domestic cat. This would have been the right kind of cat for me to keep, if I had kept any; for why should not a poet's cat be winged as well as his horse?

In the fall the loon (Colymbus glacialis) came, as usual, to moult and bathe in the pond, making the woods ring with his wild laughter before I had risen. At rumor of his arrival all the Mill-dam sportsmen are on the alert, in gigs and on foot, two by two and three by three, with patent rifles and conical balls and spy-glasses. They come rustling through the woods like autumn leaves, at least ten men to one loon. Some station themselves on this side of the pond, some on that, for the poor bird cannot be omnipresent; if he dive here he must come up there. But now the kind October wind rises, rustling the leaves and rippling the surface of the water, so that no loon can be heard or seen, though his foes sweep the pond with spy-glasses, and make the woods resound with their discharges. The waves generously rise and dash angrily, taking sides with all water-fowl, and our sportsmen must beat a retreat to town and shop and unfinished jobs. But they were too often successful. When I went to get a pail of water early in the morning I frequently saw this stately bird sailing out of my cove within a few rods. If I endeavored to overtake him in a boat, in order to see how he would manoeuvre, he would dive and be completely lost, so that I did not discover him again, sometimes, till the latter part of the day. But I was more than a match for him on the surface. He commonly went off in a rain.

As I was paddling along the north shore one very calm October afternoon, for such days especially they settle on to the lakes, like the milkweed down, having looked in vain over the pond for a loon, suddenly one, sailing out from the shore toward the middle a few rods in front of me, set up his wild laugh and betrayed himself. I pursued with a paddle and he dived, but when he came up I was nearer than before. He dived again, but I miscalculated the direction he would take, and we were fifty rods apart when he came to the surface this time, for I had helped to widen the interval; and again he laughed long and loud, and with more reason than before. He manoeuvred so cunningly that I could not get within half a dozen rods of him. Each time, when he came to the surface, turning his head this way and that, he cooly surveyed the water and the land, and apparently chose his course so that he might come up where there was the widest expanse of water and at the greatest distance from the boat. It was surprising how quickly he made up his mind and put his resolve into execution. He led me at once to the widest part of the pond, and could not be driven from it. While he was thinking one thing in his brain, I was endeavoring to divine his thought in mine. It was a pretty game, played on the smooth surface of the pond, a man against a loon. Suddenly your adversary's checker disappears beneath the board, and the problem is to place yours nearest to where his will appear again. Sometimes he would come up unexpectedly on the opposite side of me, having apparently passed directly under the boat. So long-winded was he and so unweariable, that when he had swum farthest he would immediately plunge again, nevertheless; and then no wit could divine where in the deep pond, beneath the smooth surface, he might be speeding his way like a fish, for he had time and ability to visit the bottom of the pond in its deepest part. It is said that loons have been caught in the New York lakes eighty feet beneath the surface, with hooks set for trout -- though Walden is deeper than that. How surprised must the fishes be to see this ungainly visitor from another sphere speeding his way amid their schools! Yet he appeared to know his course as surely under water as on the surface, and swam much faster there. Once or twice I saw a ripple where he approached the surface, just put his head out to reconnoitre, and instantly dived again. I found that it was as well for me to rest on my oars and wait his reappearing as to endeavor to calculate where he would rise; for again and again, when I was straining my eyes over the surface one way, I would suddenly be startled by his unearthly laugh behind me. But why, after displaying so much cunning, did he invariably betray himself the moment he came up by that loud laugh? Did not his white breast enough betray him? He was indeed a silly loon, I thought. I could commonly hear the splash of the water when he came up, and so also detected him. But after an hour he seemed as fresh as ever, dived as willingly, and swam yet farther than at first. It was surprising to see how serenely he sailed off with unruffled breast when he came to the surface, doing all the work with his webbed feet beneath. His usual note was this demoniac laughter, yet somewhat like that of a water-fowl; but occasionally, when he had balked me most successfully and come up a long way off, he uttered a long-drawn unearthly howl, probably more like that of a wolf than any bird; as when a beast puts his muzzle to the ground and deliberately howls. This was his looning -- perhaps the wildest sound that is ever heard here, making the woods ring far and wide. I concluded that he laughed in derision of my efforts, confident of his own resources. Though the sky was by this time overcast, the pond was so smooth that I could see where he broke the surface when I did not hear him. His white breast, the stillness of the air, and the smoothness of the water were all against him. At length having come up fifty rods off, he uttered one of those prolonged howls, as if calling on the god of loons to aid him, and immediately there came a wind from the east and rippled the surface, and filled the whole air with misty rain, and I was impressed as if it were the prayer of the loon answered, and his god was angry with me; and so I left him disappearing far away on the tumultuous surface.

For hours, in fall days, I watched the ducks cunningly tack and veer and hold the middle of the pond, far from the sportsman; tricks which they will have less need to practise in Louisiana bayous. When compelled to rise they would sometimes circle round and round and over the pond at a considerable height, from which they could easily see to other ponds and the river, like black motes in the sky; and, when I thought they had gone off thither long since, they would settle down by a slanting flight of a quarter of a mile on to a distant part which was left free; but what beside safety they got by sailing in the middle of Walden I do not know, unless they love its water for the same reason that I do.

 

有时我有一个钓鱼的伴侣，他从城那一头，穿过了村子到我的屋里来。我们一同捕鱼，好比请客吃饭，同样是一种社交活动。

隐士，我不知道这世界现在怎么啦。三个小时来，我甚至没听到一声羊齿植物上的蝉鸣。鸽子都睡在鸽房里，——它们的翅膀都不扑动。此刻，是否哪个农夫的正午的号角声在林子外面吹响了？雇工们要回来吃那煮好的腌牛肉和玉米粉面包，喝苹果酒了。人们为什么要这样自寻烦恼？人若不吃不喝，可就用不到工作了。我不知道他们收获了多少。谁愿意住在那种地方，狗吠得使一个人不能够思想？啊，还有家务！还得活见鬼，把铜把手擦亮，这样好的天气里还要擦亮他的浴盆！还是没有家的好。还不如住在空心的树洞里；也就不会再有早上的拜访和夜间的宴会！只有啄木鸟的啄木声。啊，那里人们蜂拥着；那里太阳太热；对我来说，他们这些人世故太深了。我从泉水中汲水，架上有一块棕色的面包。听！我听到树叶的沙沙声。是村

中饿慌了的狗在追猎？还是一只据说迷了路的小猪跑到这森林里来了？下雨后，我还看见过它的脚印呢。脚步声越来越近了；我的黄栌树和多花蔷薇在战抖了。——呃，诗人先生，是你吗？你觉得今天这个世界怎么样？

诗人。看这些云，如何地悬挂在天上！这就是我今天所看见的最伟大的东西了。在古画中看不到这样的云，在外国也都没有这样的云，——除非我们是在西班牙海岸之夕）。这是一个真正的地中海的天空。我想到，既然我总得活着，而今天却没有吃东西，那我就该去钓鱼了。这是诗人的最好的工作。这也是我唯一懂得的营生。来吧，我们一起去。

隐士。我不能拒绝你。我的棕色的面包快要吃完了。我很愿意马上跟你一起去，可是我正在结束一次严肃的沉思。我想很快就完了。那就请你让我再孤独一会儿。可是，为了免得大家都耽误，你可以先掘出一些钓饵来。这一带能作钓饵的蚯蚓很少，因为土里从没有施过肥料；这一个物种几乎绝种了。挖掘鱼饵的游戏，跟钓鱼实在是同等有味的，尤其肚皮不饿的话，这一个游戏今天你一个人去做吧。我要劝你带上铲子，到那边的落花生丛中去挖掘；你看见那边狗尾草在摇摆吗？我想我可以保证，如果你在草根里仔细地找，就跟你是在除败草一样，那每翻起三块草皮，你准可以捉到一条蚯蚓。或者，如果你愿意走远一些，那也不是不聪明的，因为我发现钓饵的多少，恰好跟距离的平方成正比。

隐士独白。让我看，我想到什么地方去了？我以为我是在这样的思维的框框中，我对周围世界的看法是从这样的角度看的。我是应该上天堂去呢，还是应该去钓鱼？如果我立刻可以把我的沉思结束，难道还会有这样一个美妙的机会吗？我刚才几乎已经和万物的本体化为一体，这一生中我还从没有过这样的经验。我恐怕我的思想是不会再回来的了。如果吹口哨能召唤它们回来，那我就要吹口哨。当初思想向我们涌来的时候，说一句：我们要想一想，是聪明的吗？现在我的思想一点痕迹也没有留下来，我找不到我的思路了。我在想的是什么呢？这是一个非常朦胧的日子。我还是来想一想孔夫子的三句话，也许还能恢复刚才的思路。我不知道那是一团糟呢，还是一种处于抽芽发枝状态的狂喜。备忘录。机会是只有一次的。诗人。怎么啦，隐士；是不是太快了？我已经捉到了十三条整的，还有几条不全的，或者是大小的；用它们捉小鱼也可以；它们不会在钓钩上显得太大。这村子的蚯蚓真大极了，银鱼可以饱餐一顿而还没碰到这个串肉的钩呢。

隐士。好的，让我们去吧。我们要不要到康科德去？如果水位不大高，就可以玩个痛快了。

为什么恰恰是我们看到的这些事物构成了这个世界？为什么人只有这样一些禽兽做他的邻居；好像天地之间，只有老鼠能够填充这个窟窿？我想皮尔贝公司的利用动物，是利用得好极了，因为那里的动物都负有重载，可以说，是负载着我们的一些思想的。

常来我家的老鼠并不是平常的那种，平常的那种据说是从外地带到这野地里来的，而常来我家的却是在村子里看不到的土生的野鼠。我寄了一只给一个著名的博物学家，他对它发生了很大的兴趣。还在我造房子那时，就有一只这种老鼠在我的屋子下面做窝了，而在我还没有铺好楼板，刨花也还没有扫出去之前，每到午饭时分，它就到我的脚边来吃商包屑了。也许它从来没有看见过人；我们很快就亲热起来，它驰奔过我的皮鞋，而且从我的衣服上爬上来。它很容易就爬上屋侧，三下两窜就上去了，像松鼠，连动作都是相似的。到后来有一天我这样坐着，用肘子支在凳上，它爬上我的衣服，沿着我的袖子，绕着我盛放食物的纸不断地打转，而我把纸拉向我，躲开它，然后突然把纸推到它面前，跟它玩躲猫儿，最后，我用拇指与食指拿起一片干酪来，它过来了，坐在我的手掌中，一口一口地吃了它之后，很像苍蝇似的擦擦它的脸和前掌，然后扬长而去。

很快就有一只美洲鹟来我屋中做窠；一只知更鸟在我屋侧的一棵松树上巢居着，受我保护。六月里，鹧鸪（Tetraoumbellus）这样怕羞的飞鸟，带了它的幼雏经过我的窗子，从我屋后的林中飞到我的屋前，像一只老母鸡一样咯咯咯地唤她的孩子们，她的这些行为证明了她是森林中的老母鸡。你一走近它们，母亲就发出一个信号，它们就一哄而散，像一阵旋风吹散了它们一样；鹧鸪的颜色又真像枯枝和败叶，经常有些个旅行家，一脚踏在这些幼雏的中间了，只听得老鸟拍翅飞走，发出那焦虑的呼号，只见它的扑扑拍动的翅膀，为了吸引那些旅人，不去注意他们的前后左右。母鸟在你们面前打滚，打旋子，弄得羽毛蓬松，使你一时之间不知道它是怎么一种禽鸟了。幼雏们宁静而扁平的蹲着，常常把它们的头缩入一张叶子底下，什么也不听，只听着它们母亲从远处发来的信号，你就是走近它们，它们也不会再奔走，因此它们是不会被发觉的。甚至你的脚已经踏上了它们，眼睛还望了它们一会儿，可是还不能发觉你踩的是什么。有一次我偶然把它们放在我摊开的手掌中，因为它们从来只服从它们的母亲与自己的本能，一点也不觉得恐惧，也不打抖，它们只是照旧蹲着。这种本能是如此之完美，有一次我又把它们放回到村叶上，其中有一只由于不小心而跌倒在地了，可是我发现它，十分钟之后还是和别的雏鸟一起，还是原来的姿势。鹧鸪的幼雏不像其余的幼雏那样不长羽毛，比起小鸡来，它们羽毛更快地丰满起来，而且更加早熟。它们睁大了宁静的眼睛，很显著地成熟了，却又很天真的样子，使人一见难忘。这种眼睛似乎反映了全部智慧。不仅仅提示了婴孩期的纯洁，还提示了由经验洗炼过的智慧。鸟儿的这样的眼睛不是与生俱来的，而是和它所反映的天空同样久远。山林之中还没有产生过像它们的眼睛那样的宝石。一般的旅行家也都不大望到过这样清澈的一口井。无知而鲁莽的猎者在这种时候常常枪杀了它们的父母，使这一群无告的幼雏成了四处觅食的猛兽或恶鸟的牺牲品，或逐渐地混入了那些和它们如此相似的枯叶而同归于尽。据说，这些幼雏要是由老母鸡孵出来，那稍被惊扰，便到处乱走，很难幸兔，因为它们再听不到母鸟召唤它们的声音。这些便是我的母鸡和幼雏。

惊人的是，在森林之中，有多少动物是自由而奔放地，并且是秘密地生活着的，它们在乡镇的周遭觅食，只有猎者才猜到它们在那儿。水獭在这里过着何等僻隐的生活啊！他长到四英尺长，像一个小孩子那样大了，也许还没有被人看到过。以前我还看到过浣熊，就在我的屋子后面的森林中，现在我在晚上似乎依然能听到它们的嘤嘤之声。通常我上午耕作，中午在树荫之下休息一两个小时，吃过午饭，还在一道泉水旁边读读书，那泉水是离我的田地半英里远的勃立斯特山上流下来的，附近一个沼泽地和一道小溪都从那儿发源。到这泉水边去，得穿过一连串草木蓊蔚的洼地，那里长满了苍松的幼树，最后到达沼泽附近的一座较大的森林。在那里的一个僻隐而荫翳的地方，一棵巨大的白松下面有片清洁而坚实的草地，可以坐坐。我挖出泉水，挖成了一口井，流出清洌的银灰色水流，可以提出一桶水，而井水不致混浊。仲夏时分，我几乎每天都在那边取水，湖水太热了。山鹬把幼雏也带到这里，在泥土中找蚯蚓，又在幼雏之上大约一英尺的地方飞，飞在泉水之侧，而幼雏们成群结队在下面奔跑，可是后来它看到我，便离了它的幼雏，绕着我盘旋，越来越近，只有四五英尺的距离了，装出翅膀或脚折断了的样子，吸引我的注意，使我放过他的孩子们，那时它们已经发出微弱、尖细的叫声，照了她的指示，排成单行经过了沼泽。或者，我看不见那只母鸟，但是却听到了它们的细声。斑鸠也在这里的泉水上坐着，或从我头顶上面的那棵柔和的白松的一根丫枝上飞到另一丫枝；而红色的松鼠，从最近的树枝上盘旋下来，也特别和我亲热，特别对我好奇。不须在山林中的一些风景点坐上多久，便可以看见它的全体成员轮流出来展览它们自己。

我还是目睹比较不平和的一些事件的见证人。有一天，当我走出去，到我那一堆木料，或者说，到那一堆树根去的时候，我观察到两只大蚂蚁，一只是红的，另一只大得多，几乎有半英寸长，是黑色的，正在恶斗。一交手，它们就谁也不肯放松，挣扎着，角斗着，在木片上不停止地打滚。再往远处看，我更惊奇地发现，木片上到处有这样的斗士，看来这不是决斗，而是一场战争，这两个蚁民族之间的战争，红蚂蚁总跟黑蚂蚁战斗，时常还是两个红的对付一个黑的。在我放置木料的庭院中，满坑满谷都是这些迈密登。大地上已经满布了黑的和红的死者和将死者。这是我亲眼目击的唯一的一场战争，我曾经亲临前线的唯一的激战犹酣的战场；自相残杀的战争啊，红色的共和派在一边，黑色的帝国派在另一边。两方面都奋身作殊死之战，虽然我听不到一些声音，人类的战争还从没有打得这样坚决过。我看到在和丽阳光下，木片间的小山谷中，一双战士死死抱住不放开，现在是正午，它们准备酣战到日落，或生命消逝为止。那小个儿的红色英豪，像老虎钳一样地咬住它的仇敌的脑门不放。一面在战场上翻滚，一面丝毫不放松地咬住了它的一根触须的根，已经把另一根触须咬掉了；那更强壮的黑蚂蚁呢，却把红蚂蚁从一边到另一边地甩来甩去，我走近一看，它已经把红蚂蚁的好些部分都啃去了，它们打得比恶狗还凶狠。双方都一点也不愿撤退。显然它们的战争的口号是“不战胜，毋宁死”。同时，从这山谷的顶上出现了一只孤独的红蚂蚁，它显然是非常地激动，要不是已经打死了一个敌人，便是还没有参加战斗；大约是后面的理由，因为它还没有损失一条腿；它的母亲要它拿着盾牌回去，或者躺在盾牌上回去。也许它是阿基勒斯式的英雄，独自在一旁光火着，现在来救它的普特洛克勒斯，或者替它复仇来了。它从远处看见了这不平等的战斗，——因为黑蚂蚁大于红蚂蚁将近一倍，——它急忙奔上来，直到它离开那一对战斗者只半英寸的距离，于是，它觑定了下手的机会，便扑向那黑色斗士，从它的前腿根上开始了它的军事行动，根本不顾敌人反噬它自己身上的哪一部分；于是三个为了生命纠缠在一起了，好像发明了一种新的胶合力，使任何铁锁和水泥都比不上它们。这时，如果看到它们有各自的军乐队，排列在比较突出的木片上，吹奏着各自的国歌，以激励那些落在后面的战士，并鼓舞那些垂死的战士，我也会毫不惊奇了。我自己也相当地激动，好像它们是人一样。你越研究，越觉得它们和人类并没有不同。至少在康科德的历史中，暂且不说美国的历史了，自然是没有一场大战可以跟这一场战争相比的，无论从战斗人员的数量来说，还是从它们所表现的爱国主义与英雄主义来说。论人数与残杀的程度，这是一场奥斯特利茨之战，或一场德累斯顿之战。康科德之战算什么！爱国者死了两个，而路德·布朗夏尔受了重伤！啊，这里的每一个蚂蚁，都是一个波特利克，高呼着——“射击，为了上帝的缘故，射击！”——而成千生命都像台维斯和霍斯曼尔的命运一样。这里没有一个雇佣兵。我不怀疑，它们是为了原则而战争的，正如我的祖先一样，不是为了免去三便士的茶叶税，至于这一场大战的胜负，对于参战的双方，都是如此之重要，永远不能忘记，至少像我们的邦克山之战一样。

我特别描写的三个战士在同一张木片上搏斗，我把这张木片拿进我的家里，放在我的窗槛上。罩在一个大杯子下面，以便考察结局。用了这显微镜，先来看那最初提起的红蚂蚁，我看到，虽然它猛咬敌人前腿的附近，又咬断了它剩下的触须，它自己的胸部却完全给那个黑色战士撕掉了，露出了内脏，而黑色战士的胸铠却太厚，它没法刺穿；这受难者的黑色眼珠发出了只有战争才能激发出来的凶狠光芒。它们在杯子下面又挣扎了半小时，等我再去看时，那黑色战士已经使它的敌人的头颅同它们的身体分了家，但是那两个依然活着的头颅，就挂在它的两边，好像挂在马鞍边上的两个可怕的战利品，依然咬住它不放。它正企图作微弱的挣扎，因为它没有了触须，而且只存一条腿的残余部分，还不知受了多少其他的伤，它挣扎着要甩掉它们；这一件事，又过了半个小时之后，总算成功了。我拿掉了玻璃杯，它就在这残废的状态下，爬过了窗槛。经过了这场战斗之后，它是否还能活着，是否把它的余生消磨在荣誉军人院中，我却不知道了；可是我想它以后是干不了什么了不起的活儿的了。我不知道后来究竟是哪方面战胜的，也不知道这场大战的原因；可是后来这一整天里我的感情就仿佛因为目击了这一场战争而激动和痛苦，仿佛就在我的门口发生过一场人类的血淋淋的恶战一样。

柯尔比和斯班司告诉我们，蚂蚁的战争很久以来就备受称道，大战役的日期也曾经在史册上有过记载，虽然据他们说，近代作家中大约只有胡勃似乎是目击了蚂蚁大战的，他们说，“依尼斯·薛尔维乌斯曾经描写了，在一枝梨树树干上进行的一场大蚂蚁对小蚂蚁的异常坚韧的战斗以后”，接下来添注道——“‘这一场战斗发生于教皇攸琴尼斯第四治下，观察家是著名律师尼古拉斯·毕斯托利安西斯，他很忠实地把这场战争的全部经过转述了出来。’还有一场类似的大蚂蚁和小蚂蚁的战斗是俄拉乌斯·玛格纳斯记录的，结果小蚂蚁战胜了，据说战后它们埋葬了小蚂蚁士兵的尸首，可是对它们的战死的大敌人则暴尸不埋，听任飞鸟去享受。这一件战史发生于克利斯蒂恩第二被逐出瑞典之前。”至于我这次目击的战争，发生于波尔克总统任期之内，时候在韦勃司特制订的逃亡奴隶法案通过之前五年。

许多村中的牛，行动迟缓，只配在储藏食物的地窖里追逐乌龟的，却以它那种笨重的躯体来到森林中跑跑跳跳了，它的主人是不知道的，它嗅嗅老狐狸的窟穴和土拨鼠的洞，毫无结果；也许是些瘦小的恶狗给带路进来的，它们在森林中灵活地穿来穿去，林中鸟兽对这种恶狗自然有一种恐惧；现在老牛远落在它那导游者的后面了，向树上一些小松鼠狂叫，那些松鼠就是躲在上面仔细观察它的，然后它缓缓跑开，那笨重的躯体把树枝都压弯了，它自以为在追踪一些迷了路的老鼠。有一次，我很奇怪地发现了一只猫，散步在湖边的石子岸上，它们很少会离家走这么远的，我和猫都感到惊奇了。然而，就是整天都躺在地毡上的最驯服的猫，一到森林里却也好像回了老家，从她的偷偷摸摸的狡猾的步伐上可以看出，她是比土生的森林禽兽更土生的。有一次，在森林拣浆果时我遇到了一只猫，带领了她的一群小猫，那些小猫全是野性未驯的，像它们的母亲一样地弓起了背脊，向我凶恶地喷吐口水。在我迁入森林之前不多几年，在林肯那儿离湖最近的吉利安·倍克田庄内，有一只所谓“有翅膀的猫”。一八四二年六月，我专程去访问她（我不能确定这头猫是雌的还是雄的，所以我采用了这一般称呼猫的女性的代名词），她已经像她往常那样，去森林猎食去了，据她的女主人告诉我，她是一年多以前的四月里来到这附近的，后来就由她收容到家里；猫身深棕灰色，喉部有个白点，脚也是白的，尾巴很大，毛茸茸的像狐狸。到了冬天，她的毛越长越密，向两旁披挂，形成了两条十至十二英寸长，两英寸半阔的带子，在她的下巴那儿也好像有了一个暖手筒，上面的毛比较松，下面却像毡一样缠结着，一到春天，这些附着物就落掉了。他们给了我一对她的“翅膀”，我至今还保存着。翅膀的外面似乎并没有一层膜。有人以为这猫的血统一部分是飞松鼠，或别的什么野兽，因为这并不是不可能的，据博物学家说，貂和家猫支配，可以产生许多这样的杂种。如果我要养猫的话，这倒正好是我愿意养的猫，因为一个诗人的马既然能插翅飞跑，他的猫为什么不能飞呢？秋天里，潜水鸟（Colymbus glaclalis）像往常一样来了，在湖里脱毛并且洗澡，我还没有起身，森林里已响起了它的狂放的笑声。一听到它已经来到，磨坊水闸上的全部猎人都出动了，有的坐马车，有的步行，两两三三，带着猎枪和子弹，还有望远镜。他们行来，像秋天的树叶飒飒然穿过林中，一只潜水鸟至少有十个猎者。有的放哨在这一边湖岸，有的站岗在那一边湖岸，因为这可怜的鸟不能够四处同时出现；如果它从这里潜水下去，它一定会从那边上来的。可是，那阳春十月的风吹起来了，吹得树叶沙沙作响，湖面起了皱纹，再听不到也看不到潜水鸟了，虽然它的敌人用望远镜搜索水面，尽管枪声在林中震荡，鸟儿的踪迹都没有了。水波大量地涌起，愤怒地冲到岸上，它们和水禽是同一阵线的，我们的爱好打猎的人们只得空手回到镇上店里，还去干他们的未完的事务。不过，他们的事务常常是很成功的。黎明，我到湖上汲水的时候，我常常看到这种王者风度的潜水鸟驶出我的小湾，相距不过数杆。如果我想坐船追上它，看它如何活动，它就潜下水去，全身消失，从此不再看见，有时候要到当天的下午才出来。可是，在水面上，我还是有法子对付它的。它常常在一阵雨中飞去。有一个静谧的十月下午，我划船在北岸，因为正是这种日子，潜水鸟会像乳草的柔毛似的出现在湖上。我正四顾都找不到潜水鸟，突然间却有一头，从湖岸上出来，向湖心游去，在我面前只几杆之远，狂笑一阵，引起了我的注意。我划桨追去，它便潜入水中，但是等它冒出来，我却愈加接近了。它又潜入水中，这次我把方向估计错误了，它再次冒出来时，距离我已经五十杆。这样的距离却是我自己造成的；它又大声哗笑了半天，这次当然笑得更有理由了。它这样灵活地行动，矫若游龙，我无法进入距离它五六杆的地方。每一次，它冒到水面上，头这边那边地旋转，冷静地考察了湖水和大地，显然在挑选它的路线，以便浮起来时，恰在湖面最开阔、距离船舶又最远的地点。惊人的是它运筹决策十分迅速，而一经决定就立即执行。它立刻把我诱入最浩淼的水域，我却不能把它驱入湖水之一角了，当它脑中正想着什么的时候，我也努力在脑中测度它的思想。这真是一个美丽的棋局，在一个波平如镜的水上，一人一鸟正在对弈。突然对方把它的棋子下在棋盘下面了，问题便是把你的棋子下在它下次出现时最接近它的地方。有时它出乎意料地在我对面升上水面，显然从我的船底穿过了。它的一口气真长，它又不知疲倦，然而，等它游到最远处时，立刻又潜到水下；任何智慧都无法测度，在这样平滑的水面下，它能在这样深的湖水里的什么地方急泅如鱼，因为它有能力以及时间去到最深处的湖底作访问。据说在纽约湖中，深八十英尺的地方，潜水鸟曾被捕鳅鱼的钩子钩住。然而瓦尔登是深得多了。我想水中群鱼一定惊奇不置了，从另一世界来的这个不速之客能在它们的中间潜来潜去！然而它似乎深识水性，水下认路和水上一样，并且在水下泅泳得还格外迅疾。有一两次，我看到它接近水面时激起的水花，刚把它的脑袋探出来观察了一下，立刻又潜没了。我觉得我既可以估计它下次出现的地点，也不妨停下桨来等它自行出水，因为一次又一次，当我向着一个方向望穿了秋水时，我却突然听到它在我背后发出一声怪笑，叫我大吃一惊，可是为什么这样狡猾地作弄了我之后，每次钻出水面，一定放声大笑，使得它自己形迹败露呢？它的自色的胸脯还不够使它被人发现吗？我想，它真是一只愚蠢的潜水鸟。我一般都能听到它出水时的拍水之声，所以也能侦察到它的所在。可是，这样玩了一个小时，它富有生气、兴致勃勃，不减当初，游得比一开始时还要远。它钻出水面又庄严地游走了，胸羽一丝不乱，它是在水底下就用自己的脚蹼抚平了它胸上的羽毛的。它通常的声音是这恶魔般的笑声，有点像水鸟的叫声，但是有时，它成功地躲开了我，潜水到了老远的地方再钻出水面，它就发出一声长长的怪叫，不似鸟叫，更似狼嗥；正像一只野兽的嘴，咻咻地啃着地面而发出呼号。这是潜水鸟之音，这样狂野的音响在这一带似乎还从没听见过，整个森林都被震动了。我想它是用笑声来嘲笑我白费力气，并且相信它自己是足智多谋的。此时天色虽然阴沉，湖面却很平静，我只看到它冒出水来，还未听到它的声音。他的胸毛雪白，空气肃穆，湖水平静，这一切本来都是不利于它的。最后，在离我五十杆的地方，它又发出了这样的一声长啸，仿佛它在召唤潜水鸟之神出来援助它，立刻从东方吹来一阵凤，吹皱了湖水，而天地间都是蒙蒙细雨，还夹带着雨点，我的印象是，好像潜水鸟的召唤得到了响应，它的神生了我的气，于是我离开它，听凭它在汹涌的波浪上任意远扬了。

秋天里，我常常一连几个小时观望野鸭如何狡猾地游来游去，始终在湖中央，远离开那些猎人；这种阵势，它们是不必在路易斯安那的长沼练习的。在必须起飞时，它们飞到相当的高度，盘旋不已，像天空中的黑点。它们从这样的高度，想必可以看到别的湖沼和河流了；可是当我以为它们早已经飞到了那里，它们却突然之间，斜飞而下，飞了约有四分之一英里的光景，又降落到了远处一个比较不受惊扰的区域；可是它们飞到瓦尔登湖中心来，除了安全起见，还有没有别的理由呢？我不知道，也许它们爱这一片湖水，理由跟我的是一样的吧。