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Round-about Rambles in Lands of Fact and Fancy, stories by Frank R Stockton |
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Bird Chat |
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[Illustration: BIRD CHAT.] In a far-off country, on a summer day, it chanced that two Cormorants stood on a great rock, lazily dozing. This rock was by the side of a little river that, only a few miles below, flowed into the sea; for the Cormorant is a marine bird, and haunts the sea-coast. It was a lovely place, although not very far from the habitations of men, and a number of cows had laid themselves down in the grassy field that surrounded an old ruined temple on the gentle slope of a hill above the river. The day had been still and hot, but now a soft breeze was stirring the long grasses, and bending the tassels of the reeds gracefully over the water, and the scent of flowers came floating down from the vines clambering over the old ruin, and the hum of insects filled the air. But I do not think the Cormorants noticed any of these things. Their long necks were folded so that their heads nearly rested on their backs, for, as I said before, they were dozing. The truth is, these birds had eaten so much they had made themselves perfectly stupid, which is a bad way the Cormorant has, as, no doubt, you know; for it has probably happened to you some time in your life to have indulged yourself so freely in eating something that you liked that you have been scornfully called "a little Cormorant!" But this state of insensibility was passing away, and they were now in a gentle doze, and sleeping, thinking of the company they were to entertain. For these Cormorants had come to this spot to meet their cousin the Pelican to consult with him on some family matters. Upon their first arrival at the place they had set to work to get together a good supply of fish, for this is the only food of both the Cormorant and the Pelican. In a short time they landed a great number, and bestowed them in a safe place, and then they set to work catching fish for themselves and eating them greedily. You might suppose such a lazy-looking bird would find it impossible to catch anything so active as fish. But you should see it when it is fully awake and hungry. The bird darts through the water with a speed greater than that of the fishes. Its wings can be closed so tightly that they do not hinder its progress, and the tail serves for a rudder, while the broadly-webbed feet act as paddles. Its long, snake-like neck gives it the power of darting its beak with great rapidity, and the hook at the end of the beak prevents the prey from escaping. The bird is also a diver, and can stay a long time under water. Our two Cormorants opened their eyes when they heard a slight splashing in the water. Something was about to invade their retreat. They had not long to wait. Slowly into the stream waded a Bittern. Seeing the Cormorants there he stopped; and, drawing himself up into as small a compass as possible, he sunk his head in his shoulders, and nothing could be seen of his long neck, while his bill was thrust up in the air as if he cared nothing for his neighbors or their affairs. The Cormorants heartily wished he would go away, and they kept their eyes open and watched him, for fear he would spy the fish they had carefully hidden in the wet grass, for the Bittern also lives on fish. So the Cormorants winked and blinked, and thought how different the Bittern looked when on the alert for his prey, or calling his mate. Many a time had they been roused out of their sleep by the terrible night-cry of the Bittern--a fearful sound, something between the neighing of a horse, the bellow of a bull, and a shriek of savage laughter, and so loud and deep it seemed to shake the marshy ground. Soon there appeared hovering over them a snowy cloud. As it floated nearer it proved to be a magnificent Pelican with its gigantic wings outspread. It alighted near the Cormorants, at the foot of a little grassy hill. It was an old male bird, very wise and very cunning. He greeted his cousin Cormorants cordially, but, ruffling up the crest of curled feathers on his head, and shaking his half-folded wings angrily, he looked askance at the Bittern. Now the Bittern is a very unsocial bird, and as he took not the least notice of the new comer, the Pelican could not pick a quarrel with him. Therefore he turned to his cousins, and said: "I have just come from my pleasant home on a rocky island. The waters make music there all day long, and the green moss gleams through the white foam, and gay-colored fish sparkle in the sunlight; so that when men behold it they exclaim: 'See! what a beautiful spot!' There are some birds that like dingy pools, where only coarse rushes grow, where there is nothing but blight and mildew, where even carrion crows will not fly, and at which men shudder." Now this exactly described the places the Bittern prefers to all others; but, as he really considered them very captivating, and hated the very sight of mankind, he did not feel abashed by the Pelican's stinging rebuke, and perhaps took it for a compliment; and there is no knowing how long he would have staid there, if a frisky little Hoopoe had not chanced to alight on a tree that had fallen across a foaming brook not very far from the group of birds. Not liking so much company, the Bittern stalked away. The Hoopoe nodded so often to the birds that its beautiful tall crest trembled as if a breeze stirred it, and having preened its prettily-barred feathers for awhile, it began to talk as fast as ever it could. "I have came from a long distance, and only stopped twice on my way to get a meal of insects, which I can dig out of decaying wood with my long curved beak, very fast, I can tell you. And what do you think I saw in that place I came from? You would never guess. Why, men had some pet Cormorants that they had trained to catch fish for them! Oh! it was fun! And I heard these men say that in the days of Charles I. of England (I hope you know who he is, for I'm sure I don't), Cormorants were kept by nobles and kings for the purpose of catching fish, and that there was attached to the Court an officer called the King's Master of the Cormorants. Did you ever hear the like of that?" Although this was strictly true, the Cormorants had never heard of it; but, before they could answer, a loud, deep voice cried; "Heigho! What is all that?" The startled birds turned towards the spot from whence the voice proceeded, and there, perched on a lonely rock, a good distance to the left of them, was a great bird with very large bright eyes and powerful curved beak. Neither the Hoopoe nor Pelican had ever before seen him, but the Cormorants knew him very well. He was the Peregrine Falcon. And they knew him because, like them, he chose rocky ledges, high and inaccessible, for his nest. And although his nests were usually on loftier crags than theirs, they were quite neighborly, especially as they did not chase the same prey, the Cormorants drawing theirs from the sea, and the Falcons finding theirs in the air. "Those people you speak of," said he sternly to the frightened Hoopoe, "_may_ have had Cormorants to catch their fish, but I never heard of it before. Whereas all history is full of the exploits of my ancestors, and monarchs and nobles spent immense fortunes in buying and keeping Falcons that hunted birds grandly." Now the Hoopoe knew very well that it was not this Falcon, but the great Gerfalcon, his cousin, that was formerly held in such high esteem; but he did not dare to say so, and, as he must be saying something, he turned to the Pelican. "I have long wanted to meet with you to ask you if is true that you tear open your breast with your hooked bill, and feed your young with your own blood?" "Not a word of truth in it!" replied the Pelican scornfully, "I am often obliged to gather food in places far from home. I do not dive into the water like the Cormorant, but catch, with a sidelong snatch of my bill, the fish that rise to the surface. This loose skin, that is now so folded up under my beak that you can scarcely see it, I can distend into an enormous pouch. This I fill with fish, and my wings being wide and powerful, I can easily carry a great weight of fish through the air. When I reach home I feed my young by pressing my beak against my breast, and thus forcing out the enclosed fish. And on the tip of my beak is a little curved hook as red as a drop of blood. And now you know the whole story." "Thank you," said the Hoopoe, "I must go and tell the storks all about it." And away he darted like a streak of colored light. The Falcon, too, lazily spread out his large wings, and soared majestically up into the air, leaving the Pelican and Cormorants to discuss their family affairs and their dinner in peace. |
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