VOICES OF THE NIGHT WHICH ONE MAY HEAR AT LAKE MAXINKUCKEE.

By Benton Warren Evermann

I sit on the veranda and look out over the placid waters of the lake. The air in baling and delicious. No wind is blowing.

The moon rises from beyond the old church steeple in the quaint little village across the lake and soon begins to cast its mellow light over the waters, not uniformly but in long narrow, quivering Vines of liquid in the line of light. watch silver. Every little ripple makes a it as the moon rises higher and high and how quickly it really does come up!

Only a moment ago it burst suddenly over the shoulder of above the little church: now It has risen the spire and its light begins to strike the lake along the west shore, making shimmering patches light at intervals under the brow of Long Point.

Now the shimmering patches begin to grow into silvery zigzag lines which I watch as the lengthen toward the eastern shore. Quickly they grow in length, traveling toward the cast as if to meet the moon way half way; Now the line straight in front of me reaches the eastern shore; I can follow it entirely across the lake. How Interesting to watch it!

One can see it shallow or deep, just as he wishes it. Now I see it a thin, shimmering coat of silver on the water's surface. L can pick it up at my feet and follow it until I see it breaking with the wavelets on the rocks across the lake. I look again, peering deep down into the watery darkness, and I find that the light also penetrates downward. At first I see only a thick silvery line, but I look more intently and behold! The full moon is there! How deep the water must be! For the moon in it seems very, very far away, as far, I think, as the real moon above. How deep and dark and cold the water appears

Depths Too Great to Fathom

It seems that i am looking entirely through the world and see t he dark blue sky with its moon and stars and "Milky Way" at an infinite distance on the other side. It is like looking into the eyes of a friend or loved one who is sad; the depths are too great to fathom.

And thus I sit watching the lake, listening to nature's voices, and musing, until the night is well on and the moon is in the zenith, or. mayhap, far beyond. The spring and summer are glorious in their brilliancy and silvery whiteness; those of September, October and November have a charm understood only by those who have known the Indian summer in its manifold beauties; but the harvest moon: is big and full and round and golden to a degree not known at other times. Each moon has own peculiar charms, and unfortunate indeed is he who does not enjoy them all.

During the summer months there is more life on and about the lake.

All the cottages are occupied. Music. laughter and talk are heard on the shore. Out on the water small rowboats are gliding to and fro, some resting or merely drifting, each with two to four occupants, some quiet and scarcely to be heard, others with song or joyous laughter, but all enjoying the "moonlight on the lake". From far to the southward, off the gravel pit. comes the old but ever charming strain:

Away down upon the Suwanee river, Far, far away

while from across to the northward come the notes from the piano on the Aubeenaubee, as it slowly steams around the lake with a party, out for an evening on the water.

This is surely one of the most pleasant and healthful ways the summer visitors to the lake have of entheir evenings. A night trip round the lake on one of the little steamers, when the air is too warm for entire comfort on shore, is most restful in every sense. The air is never too warm out on the lake. It always balmy and satisfying even in midsummer. To lean over the rail, looking down into the dark water and to the reflected stars, or to watch the ever-changing shore as the boat creeps on its course, is a means of resting of which one never tires

. New charms are added as the summer wanes. The evenings and nights are charming. Up to the last days of August the east and north shores are made brilliant at night by the lights of a hundred cottages and the larger lights at the landing piers.

Scintillating Lights.

I sit in the pleasant evening air and watch these lights. moment ago there was none; then they began to appear one by one. Now there are scores of them, now hundreds. The whole sweep from the Lakeview hotel around and down to Norris Inlet is ablaze with scintillating lights. This is The House of Thousand Candles, but you must come to Maxinkuckee at the right season if you wish to see It. But early In September the cottagers begin to leave the lake. returning to their homes to take up again the serious affairs of life; and the lights go out one by one. Only last night that light directly across was burning bright and full: tonight it does not appear. That cottage is closed for the season.

One by one the lights fail until only three or four are left - one on Aubeenaubee bay, one at the Maxinkuckee road, one at the old farmhouse, and those at the academy. Now the lake is somber and still. One can just sit and think, or, it he likes, just sit, and there is none to annoy or say him nay.

For many reasons the moonlight nights of the tall months are more interesting to me. Most of the people have left the lake. The steamers have either ceased altogether or make only infrequent trips. The sounds one hears are nature's voices. One gets closer to nature and profits correspondingly. The katydid in the has old oak in the Arlington yard, which piped and sung its strident since plaint every calm and quiet night July, has not forsaken me. She seems not to know that I have long been convinced that Kate really did do that for which she should be heartily ashamed, and so she keeps repeating the charge every night She begins every evening, except when rain is falling or the wind blowing too severely, just after sundown, and how late the night she continues I have never been able to learn. When I go to my room and lie listening to the varied and restful sounds of the night, I am fanned to rest by gauzelike wing and lulled to sleep by the reiterated charge that "Katy did".

I was curious to know how late in the season this persistent prosecuting witness would continue to be heard, so I made notes on the matter each day. During August and September, and well into October, not an evening was missed, when the weather was all favorable. Early in October an occasional frosty night would come, and I would hear only a few half-hearted calls or nore at ail. Toward the end of October the frosty nights became more frequent. The thin blood in my poor but persistent Orthopter flowed slowly: her joints became stiff and rheumatic and ceased to do as they were bidden, Instead of the quick, sharp, strident notes, the joints moved slowly and the call was a mere rusty screech, repeated only at long intervals.

For several days at a time I listenened in vain for the familiar note. Then on October 30, when the air was balmy and the moonlight was streaming down through the few remaining leaves of the old oaks and hickories, and a soft breeze came up from the southland across the lake, I heard for the last time the note which for so many weeks had been a part of my restful life at the lake. It was late in the evening - 9 o'clock, my notebook says - weak, faint and only once repeated, but yet brave and heroic and determined to the last.

When I searched the old oak next morning I found my erstwhile serenader clinging to the underside of a limb near its base, stiff and lifeless but with her wing against the tibia, ready again 10 repeat the charge should she aver awake in a warmer clime.

But I hear other voices on the lake, sometimes at day but most often in the night. Early in August I began to hear a rather coarse, gutteral note entirely new and unfamiliar to me. Only when the air was balmy and the lake was very still, could it be heard, and then it might be heard at any hour of day or night. I have heard it on a bright afternoon when it seemed to come from a point on the lake only a short distance from me, but I could see no animal from which it could have come. I at first thought it must be some water-bird resting on the lake, but I could never see any in the direction from which the noise come. It was most often heard late in the evening or at night, perhaps partly because other noises were fewer then. It was most frequent at the south end of the lake, over toward Norris inlet.

I can describe the note only poorly. It was low and somewhat gutteral, somewhat aspirated, though slightly resonant in its beginning. It seemed to me to have a slight resemblance to the yawn of a large dog when he is asleep, only more gutteral We heard it plainly on the night of November 27. Mr. Clark thought it turtle; I believed it to be a bird. The next spring Mr. Clark heard a sound identical with this, as he believes. and found that it was produced by a loopard frog.

Even to this day I am not sure what makes this noise, but I am still inclined to think it is made by turtles. They habitually spend hours resting at the surface of the water, only the head in the air. A turtle so resting could utter such a note and at the same time remain invisible though not far away. This matter needs investigation. and the best time for making the observations is during August to November.

Coots and Ducks.

On the 16th of August the coots appeared on the lake, coming down from their breeding grounds farther north. A little later various species of ducks come in. Then when the lake is still, there is music on the waters.

The coots come in great numbers; there are hundreds, sometimes thousands of them. They go in companies and feed about the wild celery patches, and while feeding, they chatter and talk to each other incessantly. The ducks are more quiet, seldom talking during the day But at night from far across the lake hear the "quack, quack" of several mallards and the less loud scoldings of the bluebills. These I can hear on any still night from the end of August until November.

Not many loons visit the lake, usually only a few, and they do not tarry long. The loon is solitary bird. quiet and dignified and always interesting. To see one stand up in the water and shake himself, is worth watching and waiting for. And as to Ita manner of speech, was there ever any bird-note more strange or more mysterious? I you ever hear the laugh of a loon you will know it. There is nothing else like it. A wild, weird cry or laugh such as poor Ophella gives, only louder and wilder. You will hear It best on moonlit September nights. And unless you are fully awake and expecting it, you will be startled, it not terrified.

Later in the fall when the frosts have painted the maples and the sassafras I sometimes hear the "honk,honk" of the Canadian goose as a flock flies over the lake southward bound. Sometimes flock will stop and tarry a few days on the lake, feeding at night in the neighboring felds.

During the fall migrations hear above the lake or overhead the call of many other birds on pleasant nights. I have recognized the call of the bluebird, scarlet tanager, oriole, rose-breasted grosbeak, titlark. killdeer, greater yellowlegs, and several warblers.

Sings at Night.

Among birds at Maxinkuckee that really sing at night the most interesting of them all is the long-billed marsh wren. This attractive little bird arrives from the south late in May and remains until the end of October of even into November. Though never abundant, one or more pairs can usually be seen or heard in each piece of marshland about the lake; and they sing throughout the entire season, not only while nest-building and during incubation, but late into fall long after the young have left the nest. They sing most on those calm, still days in August and early September when the sky is overcast and not a breath of air is stirring; or else, later in September or in 0ctober when there is chill in the morning and evening air, but the midday calm, sunshiny and pleasant. In those days, just after the first frosts given a shade of brown to the marsh plants, and the wrens have completed their preparations, if any be necessary, for the fall migration to the southland, then they make the marsh joyous with their song. They seem to be simply waiting for just the right amount of cold, or whatever it may be that starts them southward, and. while waiting, pour forth their soul in song.

But 1t is the night song which surprizes and pleases most. That the marsh wren sings at night is a fact which seems to have escaped the observation of those who have written about this curious little bird, for I can find no reference to the habit in the books. However, it does so habitually. The song is the same as that sung in the day except that it contains a strain of sadness which renders it even more sweet. Perhaps this is a mere fancy due to the quiet and lonesomeness of the night. They sing at night chiefly when the air in still and the moon and the stars are bright. I think I heard the night song on every suitable night from June to early October. To have this pleasure it is only necessary to walk along the railroad between the lakes any quiet starlit or moonlit night in summer or early fall. How late at night it sings. I do not know. I have heard the song at all hours from sundown until midnight or a little later, and believe it may continue all night.

These are not all che Voices of the Night one may hear at Maxinkuckee. There are many others, perhaps no less attractive. The squawking and clatter of the Carolina rail may be heard in the marshes; about the cottages one may often hear the tremulous call of the little screech owl; now and then one may hear the swish and catch a glimpse of the ghost like flight of a flying squirrel an it passes from one tree to another, and from down In Walley's woods may come the deep whoo! whoo-whoo of the great horned OWL. -- Indianapolis News Aug 2, 1919