MAHUG, THE CHAMPION DIVER
A strange, uncanny scream rang out over the sullen waters of Black
Lake one night in June, and, although there was no human being near
the desolate spot to hear the awful cry, it was quite scary enough to
startle certain of the wild inhabitants all alongshore. There were
others among them, however, who were unafraid; they had heard the
same cry before and recognised it. They knew that Mahug, the Great
King Loon, and his wild mate had arrived at the lake, where each year
they came from warmer climes, to build their hidden nest in some
secluded spot among the rushes.
This lonely spot had always suited the King Loon so well that, no
matter how far off he had wintered, he invariably made for Black Lake
during nesting time. Mahug, like all his tribe, was a mighty diver
and, for water-fowl, he had very fashionable habits, spending a
portion of each year near the salt sea, usually camping upon some
desolate island, fishing, swimming, and diving with thousands of
other water-fowl, yet never mingling at all familiarly with them, or
encouraging acquaintances in a sociable way, because the loon is a
very solitary bird. So, when nesting time came, Mahug always went
off as far away from the crowd as he possibly could go. Quite
frequently he and his mate would fly thousands of miles in order to
be exclusive and alone. The old loon was a large, imposing bird, his
wing and back feathers of a glossy, metallic black, while his
beautiful breast was dazzling, pearly white, the feathers very soft
and thick. When Mahug stood erect, at first sight, he appeared to be
wearing a dark coat thrown back from a pearl-white waistcoat. His
head was beautifully marked, the top of fine, iridescent feathers,
the neck ringed about with green and bronze. On the wing, you never
would have suspected how very awkward Mahug could be upon his feet.
On land he just waddled about in the most ungainly fashion, choosing
to fly, usually, rather than walk, because his clumsy webbed feet
were not intended for tramping. They were set so far back upon his
body that they were of small use to him excepting when he used them
for paddles in the water.
Mahug was in his element in water or upon the wing. And my, how the
old King could dive! In fact, the loon family are all noted divers,
for they not only dive deeper than other birds, but they can also
stay under water a long time. So quickly could old Mahug dive, that
several times in his life when a hunter had fired at him, even before
the bullet touched water, the old King Loon was already deep down in
the depths of the lake among the snake-like lily roots, safe.
This June when Mahug and his mate reached the shores of Black Lake,
he sent his great cry of triumph abroad, for he was glad to be there.
Then he and his mate nested low among the sedges and rested for the
night, but the very next morning, even before the fog lifted from the
lake, both set about their nest building. Right upon the ground they
built it, and not very carefully, I am afraid, their main idea being
to conceal it cleverly behind a thick curtain of reeds and matted
water-weeds, but not so very far from the water. In due time three
baby loons pipped their dark green shells, and queer looking little
specimens of birds they were--bare, homely and always hungry.
Although it appeared desolate and lonely enough, still, if one but
knew, back in the thick undergrowth about the lake, hidden by thick
jungles of blackberry vines and dark spruces, there were many secret
coverts and dens where the wild of the forest made their homes. The
lake itself was almost completely surrounded by treacherous, oozy
bogs and morasses, so that it was seldom visited by man. For this
very reason the wild things felt safe, and the old King Loon had
especially selected the spot, for the loon is the wildest of all wild
water-fowl.
Few of the other birds cared to meet the loon in battle, because of
the mighty strength of his great wings, which could soon beat out the
life of anything upon which they descended, while his heavy coat of
feathers protected their wearer well. So when the loon sent its
uncanny scream across the lake, more than one timid, wild thing
cowered close to the ground and shook with sudden fear.
[Illustration: DOWN LIKE AN AVALANCHE HE CAME, SNATCHING THE MINK IN
HIS BEAK.]
As soon as the young loons could tumble over the edge of their
comfortless nest among the sedges, they made for the near-by water,
and speedily began to imitate their elders, diving far down among the
matted water-weeds and chasing minnows and little chunky perch, which
they would gobble at one mouthful. At first Mahug and his mate
watched the young loons, taking pains to give them diving lessons,
and then encouraging them to take short flights, as soon as their
wing feathers sprouted. Gradually the old birds left them more to
themselves. So it happened one day that one of the young loons
waddled forth from the nest and began to follow in the wake of a
heron who was leisurely fishing alongshore. The loon mounted upon a
large round stone, as he supposed; he did not notice that the stone
moved a trifle. It did, and that which the young loon took for a
mud-caked stone, was nothing less than a very old, giant snapping
turtle, which lay there sunning himself. So old was this particular
turtle that his flippers were covered with large scales and his shell
looked to be fairly moss-covered. Over the top of the shell waddled
the young loon, while the old turtle, without moving its ugly,
snake-like head, watched with its hateful beady eyes every movement
of the loon. It climbed over the top of the shell and when it came
within reach of the turtle's long neck, like a flash it was snapped
up by the old fellow. The heron gave a loud "kreay, kreay" of alarm,
but no one heard him, so when the old loons got back to the nest one
of the baby loons was missing. They flew out over the water,
searching, screaming loudly, calling in and out among the sedges and
tussocks, but of course the young loon never answered their wild
calls.
Mahug strongly suspected someone of the muskrat family, so he began
watching a colony of them which had pitched their huts alongshore.
Even at night, especially if it was moonlight, the old King Loon
would skim low over the water, uttering scream after scream as he
followed the trails of the muskrats swimming about the lake. If
Mahug had caught one of them he would have made short work of it, so
furious was he. But somehow the muskrats always escaped, for they
kept sentinels upon duty, who always slapped their tails upon the
water, at which signal the muskrats always vanished.
Almost before Mahug had forgotten about the disappearance of the
first small loon, another one disappeared. This time Mahug was quite
certain that the old bald-headed eagle, which lived far above upon a
cliff the other side of the lake, had gone off with it. Now there
were several young eaglets up there on the cliff and the old birds
foraged for them all day long. They took anything they could find
upon the shore, especially if it were young, tender and unprotected.
Mahug and the old eagle crossed each other in the air and they had
one terrible battle together, but the eagle proved to be more than a
match for the loon. The King of the Air had sharp talons and a
razor-like beak which tore through the heavy feathers of the loon and
bit into his flesh sharply, so at length he had to settle down among
the sedges and own himself beaten for once.
The summer moon, round and yellow, came peeping over the tops of the
tallest spruces upon the summit of Mount Cushman and lighted a broad
path right across Black Lake. Out in the centre of the lake the
horn-pouts and pickerel were leaping, and over in the shadows on the
far shore Mahug, the old loon, screamed and suddenly dived for a fish
in the moonlight. All manner of wild things of fur and feathers were
stirring. The muskrats were playing, squeaking merrily and chasing
each other in and out of their huts and leaving long silvery trails
behind them as they swam about. Back in the thickets of rushes dozed
one lonely little loon, last of the brood of Mahug. Too young to
venture forth upon a moonlight fishing trip, it cuddled down flat,
its webbed feet beneath its scantily feathered body, uttering a
plaintive little sound whenever it heard the old loons screaming out
on the lake.
Because of these little lonely cries, the dark, fur-clad stranger who
had been feeling its way alongshore, in and out among the tall reeds,
paused, erecting its small ears, trying to locate the whereabouts of
the sound. Long and lithe of body was the stranger, a full-grown
mink. Its dark fur coat mingled well with the shadows, but when a
streak of moonlight touched its breast, its pure white breast-plate
of fur shone dazzlingly white. The mink's legs were short, so it
crouched low along the ground as it crept nearer and nearer the
lonely nest among the reeds.
The next instant it poked its hateful snout through an opening and
saw the loon. Already its fetid breath reached the little loon,
which gave a startled, whimpering call out into the night. The call
had been heard just in time. Like a great black shadow something
flew across the strip of moonlight, and with a wild whirl of giant
wings the old King Loon charged for the nest. Instantly his fierce
eyes sighted the sneaking mink, then down like a perfect avalanche he
came, snatching the surprised mink in his beak and soaring out over
the water. Somehow the mink managed to free its neck and its sharp
teeth met in the pearly breast feathers of the old loon. For a
second it seemed as though Mahug would loosen his hold upon the mink,
but, instead, uttering a terrific scream of rage and vengeance, which
fairly awoke the echoes alongshore, the great bird plunged straight
into the water and dived and dived; far down into the muddy depths he
sank, never loosing his terrible hold upon the mink. Now the mink is
quite as much at home in the water as a muskrat. But never had the
old King Loon stayed under water so long before. In vain his mate
screamed for him alongshore, but only the whip-poor-wills answered
her call. At last, when she had almost given him up, from out the
centre of the lake arose old Mahug, amid a perfect shower of whirling
spray, and he was _alone_. He had been able to stay under water
longer than the mink.
Mahug joined his mate, and then, as it was late and the moon was very
low, the two great birds gave up their fishing and went back to their
nest in the reeds. There in the darkness, with no light but the
little flitting fireflies twinkling in and out among the sedges,
while the whip-poor-wills sang a lullaby, they guarded their one
nestling through the night. And when the time came to leave Black
Lake, _three_ loons flew away together.