340 
Mr. Witmer Stone, of its bird protection com¬ 
mittee, but these reports could not be published 
at length in The Auk, the union’s quarterly maga¬ 
zine, so the state societies kept in touch only by 
the casual inter-communication of members. 
This was remedied and a powerful agent for 
good obtained by the founding, in 1900, of that 
admirable magazine of non-technical American 
ornithology, Bird-Lore. Its editor, Dr. Frank 
M. Chapman, who had been among the most ear¬ 
nest promoters of bird protection, placed a num¬ 
ber of pages in the new magazine at the disposal 
of the Audubon workers, under the editorial 
guidance of Mrs. Mabel Osgood Wright, another 
tried leader of the forces of this branch of 
righteousness. Thus the movement again had 
a mouth-piece and a means of communication. 
The next important stimulus to advanced and 
enlarged action, which thus far had been mainly 
educational, was the raising of a fund by Mr. 
Abbott Thayer and his friends, to be used for 
special protection to sea-birds during the breed¬ 
ing season by means of warders paid to watch 
their nesting resorts along the northeastern coast. 
This fund, which was placed at the disposal of 
the American ornithologists’ committee on bird 
protection, continued to enlist Mr. Thayer's sus¬ 
taining interest for several years, and did ex¬ 
cellent service; but its principal importance was 
as a practical demonstration of the need and use¬ 
fulness of policing the breeding resorts of those 
birds whose extinction was threatened by the 
plume-hunters, and which the arms of the law was 
unwilling or unable to protect. 
It had become evident that concerted action 
was desirable—necessary, indeed—to any real 
success. Uniformity of legislation in particular 
FOREST AND STREAM 
was needed, and a central bureau of information 
and combined effort. Here again the Massachu¬ 
setts society took the lead, sending an invitation 
to all the state societies, then twenty-two in 
number, to meet by delegates at a conference 
to be held coincident with the annual meeting of 
the American Ornithologists’ Union, in Cam¬ 
bridge, Massachusetts, in November, 1900. “The 
rapid increase in the number of Audubon socie¬ 
ties,” said the call, “and the many methods of 
bird protection in use by them, suggest that a 
comparison of these methods, and a mutual in¬ 
terchange of opinions on this subject, would be 
of benefit to all.” The outcome of this first con¬ 
ference was the appointment of a committee to 
report a plan for general confederation at a sec¬ 
ond conference a year after. This met in New 
York in November, 1901, and resolved that “one 
representative from each state society should be 
appointed to constitute a national committee of 
the Audubon Societies of America * * em¬ 
powered to represent the societies whenever con¬ 
certed action on the part of the societies be 
deemed by the committee expedient.” Of this 
committee Mr. William Dutcher, of New York, 
was elected chairman. 
This national committee, working in connec¬ 
tion with the committee on bird protection of the 
American Ornithologists’ Union, of which Mr. 
Dutcher was also a member, at once became ac¬ 
tive in State and National legislative matters. 
Dr. T. S. Palmer, of the United States Biological 
Survey, was also a member of both committees, 
and these two men, working in close partnership, 
accomplished many noteworthy results that year. 
Finally it was agreed to meet during the fol¬ 
lowing November in Washington, D. C., where 
the annual meetings of the American Ornitholo¬ 
gists’ Union and of the general conference of the 
Audubon societies would convene. 
The results of work done were to be credited 
to the efforts of individuals here and there rather 
than to the Audubon societies as organizations. 
It was with a burdening sense of this ineffective¬ 
ness that the meeting of November, 1902, assem¬ 
bled in Washington. 
The great need for the concentrated, system¬ 
atic crusade for which machinery was now pro¬ 
vided was money. Mr. Dutcher had already ex¬ 
pended from his own pocket several hundred dol¬ 
lars in expenses, and this outgo must steadily in¬ 
crease if progress were to be made; nor could he 
devote adequate time to the matter without cleri¬ 
cal assistance. The representatives of the vari¬ 
ous Audubon Societies pledged the combined 
sum of $600 to pay for his stenographic work for 
the coming year, and an aggressive campaign was 
planned for immediate execution. 
To the committee was added T. Gilbert Pear¬ 
son, a member of the American Ornithologists’ 
Union, and a young professor in the State Nor¬ 
mal College at Greensboro, North Carolina. The 
special duty assigned to him was to arouse in¬ 
terest in Audubon work in the South Atlantic 
and Gulf states. 
This meeting in Washington was a memora¬ 
ble one, for here it was that the modern Audu¬ 
bon movement took form and began that growth 
which has since developed to such remarkable 
proportions. 
(To be concluded.) 
Trapping the Beaver 
T HE beaver is the most difficult to trap of all 
our fur-bearing animals. Its extraordinary 
intelligence, natural shyness and wonderful 
sense of smell combine to protect it against the 
ingenuity of man, who, holding its fur in high es¬ 
teem, has followed it to its farthest and least ac¬ 
cessible retreats. 
Although in nearly all departments of wood¬ 
craft the trained white man excels the Indian, 
there may be said to be two accomplishments in 
which the Indian is his superior. These are find¬ 
ing his way through the woods, and trapping the 
beaver. At the end of the trapping season the 
white man may have three times the number of 
mink, martin or fisher, and even more otter skins 
to his credit than has his Indian rival, but the lat¬ 
ter will have many more beaver skins. This 
superiority has been held by some persons to be 
due to a certain method of trapping the beaver 
much followed by the Indian, called “breaking the 
dam.” But this is also practiced by the white 
trapper although not to such an extent as by the 
Indian. It depends for its success upon the very 
instincts which make the beaver so difficult to 
capture in any other way; that is to say, its deli¬ 
cate sense of hearing, its skill in perceiving any 
disturbance about its works and its detection of 
anything unusual about its haunts. 
These animals, sometimes including a large 
number of families form colonies where they live 
By Collin McDougall, M. D. 
communistically, working jointly in gathering and 
storing their winter's food, building their houses, 
and bringing up their young. As a protection 
against beasts of prey they build their houses in 
the water, having the entrance and exit thereto 
below the surface. The living apartment or nest 
is above, in the form of dome-shaped eminences 
raised above the water to a height of three or 
four feet, as may be seen by the favored few who 
find their way to such places. These huts are 
composed of branches, sticks, leaves and grasses, 
woven together and securely and smoothly plas¬ 
tered with mud. 
In order to get a suitable body of water for 
their purpose the beavers select a small stream, 
and with the most extraordinary engineering- 
skill choose a point where a dam can be con¬ 
structed with the least outlay of labor and mate¬ 
rial, and where at the same time the water, 
backed by the dam, will be confined laterally in 
such a way as to form a pond or small lake. The 
dam, like the houses, is composed of sticks, brush, 
grass and clay, and when finished its top is so 
even that the water flowing over it is of a uni¬ 
form depth, making a beautiful, thin crystal 
sheet. The houses are dotted over the pond not 
far above the dam and vary in number, according 
to the size of the community. All the construc¬ 
tion work of dam and houses, as also the cutting 
down of trees necessary to secure the bark which 
constitutes their food, is done altogether at night. 
For the Indian who has found a colony of 
beavers with dam intact, the rest is easy. Late 
in the afternoon, provided with a steel trap and 
a small hand axe, he enters the creek a hundred 
yards or so below the dam—taking care not to 
set food on land for fear of leaving a scent— 
wades up to the dam, and cuts a notch in it, over 
which the water will spout in increased volume 
and with an altered sound. Into this notch he 
places his trap, taking care that all parts of it as 
well as the chain with which it is fastened are 
entirely submerged. He then goes away as he 
came, having touched or trodden on nothing that 
has not been washed by the running water. He 
does not return until the following day. 
In the meantime night falls and with it come 
the sounds peculiar to night in the far North 
Woods—the howl of the wolf, the cry of the 
lynx, the hooting of the owl and the pouring of 
the water over the dam. But the keen ear of 
the beaver detects an alteration. Some kind of a 
break in the dam is suspected, and an engineer¬ 
ing force makes an inspection. The break is dis¬ 
covered. Sticks, 'eaves and mud are collected, 
but the moment that a paw is placed in the notch 
the pan of the trap is touched and its jaws are 
closed. When thus caught, the beaver’s first im¬ 
pulse is to dive into his pond and make for his 
house, and tins is his speedy undoing. For, 
