THE LOYALTY OF SILVER WING, THE GULL
Far out on the bosom of the wide ocean lay Lonely Island, a small,
rock-bound hummock of sand against which the breakers roared and
dashed furiously. So wild and barren was the spot that no one
visited it, for no human being could live there; nothing throve but
rank grasses and stunted beech plum shrubs. Over upon the south side
of the island were steep ledges, shelving down into deep water, and
this spot alone was never lonely or still, because it was inhabited
by thousands of screaming water-fowl.
Down between the cliffs in the lowliest tenements dwelt the snipe and
petrel families, the latter seldom at home except during their
nesting season. Along the shelf-like places of the rocks above dwelt
the gannets, the terns and all other tribes belonging to the gull
family. High up in their home crannies the sea birds could always
catch the pearly shimmer of the breaking of an approaching school of
herrings, even before they reached the line of tossing foam below.
Then, swift and sure, they would dart out to meet them. It was
wonderful to watch the herring gulls at their fishing, now skimming
low over giant, green waves, now sinking into the trough of the sea.
Then, with a sudden swift splash of feathery spray, behold the
sharp-eyed gull secures the fish and is back again in his own nest
upon the cliff. Strangely enough, although the cliff was swarmed
with other gull families, each cranny bearing its nest looking
precisely like another, never did a returning gull make a mistake or
intrude upon another family.
For many seasons the gulls and their kindred had nested upon Lonely
Island, but one year hunters discovered their retreat, and set up a
temporary camp upon the barren sands. They had come to hunt for
terns, killing and slaughtering them by hundreds, just for the sake
of their beautiful, delicate feathers for which they were to be paid
much money. Finally the hunters abandoned the island, leaving behind
them many wounded, besides scores of deserted young birds, not out of
the pin-feather age, who would finally pine and die alone upon the
lonely ledges, when the parent birds failed to come back to feed them.
For a season, fear and chaos reigned among the gull settlements. Day
after day the frightened sea fowl circled wildly about their cliffs,
their weird, lonely calls alone breaking the silence, ringing even
above the noise of the breakers below them. So many of the colonies
were broken up and disturbed that they flew off in detached numbers,
perhaps seeking some safer retreat inland.
High up, perched upon one of the topmost crags of Lonely Island, sat
all alone a solitary gull. Below, within sight, upon a shelf-like
rock, a smaller bird, his mate, sat disconsolately upon the very edge
of her dismantled nest, unwilling to tear herself away from two
featherless young gulls, her babies, who would never stretch out
their long necks to her for food again. They were limp and dead--the
hunters had wantonly thrown down loose rocks and broken up the nest.
Although Silver Wing, the old leader of the gull tribe, felt badly
enough over the loss of the little gulls, he was much older and wiser
than his mourning mate; he had lived through many seasons and similar
tragic events in his life. So even while his mate sat mourning, his
sharp eyes had been fixed upon a certain wave crest out beyond the
breaker line.
With a sudden swift rush of his wide wings he launched himself from
the cliff; a wild plunge and he rose from the great wave bearing
aloft a glistening herring. With a graceful sweeping detour, he
swerved in toward the cliff, and finally landed close beside his
mate, where he dropped the fish beside her with a little crooning,
plaintive cry, which meant, of course, "Take this nice herring which
I have brought you, and be comforted, little mate." With another
swirl of his wings he flew to fish for another herring before the
school could get away.
[Illustration: HE ROSE FROM THE GREAT WAVE, BEARING ALOFT A
GLISTENING HERRING.]
In spite of the efforts of Silver Wing, who tried for days to rouse
his mate and tempt her to fly off over the water upon fishing trips,
she continued to linger around the old nest until he became almost
discouraged. Finally he determined to leave Lonely Island, start off
and found a new home, as many of his kindred had already done after
the invasion of the cruel hunters. Accordingly, Silver Wing, in some
manner known to his tribe, induced his companion to accompany him
upon a long flight. One fine day, in company with others of the
colony who decided to follow their old leader, they started for the
far distant coast.
Occasionally they would halt upon some small, lonely island, but, as
it happened, none of them proved to be exactly suited to the gulls'
needs. The islands were often flat and sterile, mere strips of white
sand and beech grass, with no rocky ledges suitable for nest
building. So on and on flew the gulls, with heavy wings. Sometimes
they would sight what appeared to be a small island, from which would
trail long streamers of smoke. When the gulls came up close to these
islands they would be terrified by strange, uncanny hootings and
tootings. Besides, whenever they gained courage to hover over these
strange, floating islands, they always proved to be filled with
people, creatures like the hunters. One thing they discovered was
that by following in the wake of the floating islands they always
found plenty to eat, strange food of all kinds upon which they
eagerly fed.
For a sea bird the worst storms at sea have small terror. The
petrels, or "Mother Gary's Chickens," as the sailors call these
birds, love best, it is said, to ride upon the very crest of a giant
wave during a wild storm, and the gulls are equally at home upon the
bosom of the ocean. It is only when straying birds are adrift,
seeking a new country, and are driven ahead of a storm toward the
coast, that they are occasionally overcome by the elements. So it
happened that a great storm arose and struck the colony of fleeing
gulls, sweeping them inland. On their great wide wings they flew
ahead of the gale, on and ever on through the blackness of the inky
night, until at last the poor wind-driven things finally sighted an
object big and bright, beckoning, winking to them out of the
darkness; and toward this the gulls, and a host of other smaller
straying birds who were swept ahead of the storm, made their way.
Hopefully they neared the bright beacon. The next rough, whirling
gale caught them and dashed them pitilessly against the lantern of
the lighthouse, and down again upon the blackness of the cruel rocks
beneath them.
Fortunately. Silver Wing, the brave, giant gull, whose broad wings
were still strong and unwearied, had penetrated the inky darkness
with his sharp eyes. He had seen the danger ahead, and just at the
right instant had swerved aside, with powerful wing strokes, just
clearing the great lamp, which had almost blinded his eyes. So he
with his mate, who invariably followed his lead, were swept coastward
ahead of the mighty gale, but to safety.
When morning broke, Silver Wing and his mate found themselves upon
the bank of a great river. Here were plenty of other gulls, but of a
strange, new tribe. The river was bordered with mud flats, which at
low tide formed splendid feeding grounds. Crayfish, and shoals of
small, shining fish abounded. But, to tell the truth, neither the
old gull nor his mate were very happy or contented with the river
bank. They had known only the wild life of their lonely ocean island
and missed the booming breakers along the cliffs, the companionship
of the sea bird colonies, the terns, the gannets, and the little
roving petrels. Besides, this new, almost tame tribe of gulls was
vastly different in other respects. Silver Wing and his mate felt
they could never mix with these small, brownish plumaged birds who
fought and wrangled among themselves, who were content to brood for
hours in the black mud of the river flats. More than once during
their stay Silver Wing had really to thrash one of these bold,
foolhardy brown gulls for presuming to pay attention to his own mate,
and at last he came to hate the very spot, becoming wildly jealous of
every brown gull who crossed him in any way. He and his mate
determined to go off and seek a new home, for it was almost nesting
time again, and Silver Wing realised the importance of settling as
soon as possible. So, one day he gave the starting signal, and after
hovering triumphantly overhead above the gormandising brown tribe
upon the mud flats beneath them, screaming back a loud, lonely
challenge, off they flew.
For many days they flew along the shores of the sound, now skimming
low to dip their grey wings in the blue waves, flirting the spray
high in silvery showers, or feeding along the beaches for little
tender mussels or soft-shell clams, and playing tag with the funny
little sandpipers who ran across the sands, and scattering them just
for fun. At last they reached a desolate, rocky strip of coast, and
after much flying about they finally settled upon a convenient cliff
beneath which stretched a long line of sandy beach, while out beyond
tumbled their dear, familiar breakers. Down below the cliff were
jagged, brown rocks, over which trailed long, emerald green and brown
sea kelp, where the water came in and out with the tides, leaving in
the shallow places shoals of little fish, sea anemones, and starfish.
Through these the gulls would pick their way daintily, with their
pink, webbed feet, searching out the barnacles which clung to the
rocks, pecking at tiny, sheltering shells where lurked sweet morsels
to be had for the cracking.
The busy season came at last, however, and two young gulls had to be
fed, so all day long Silver Wing and his mate foraged and fished for
them. They brought young, tender herrings which the small gulls, as
they grew older, would swallow at one gulp. Occasionally they
carried shell-fish to the nest; these they would prepare for the
young gulls by dropping them upon the rocks beneath and cracking the
shells.
One day the mother gull chanced to be long away. Already had Silver
Wing travelled alone, so many times back and forth from the nest to
the water with food for the little gulls, that he began to think his
mate was trying to leave all the work for him, and he actually grew
indignant at the very thought of such an imposition. He resolved to
hunt up his lazy mate and make her do her share. With wide, swift
strokes of his grey wings he started off, scanning with his sharp
eyes every flashing wing to make sure it was not his mate. In vain
he flew far and wide, even across to the other beach, more than a
mile away; still no trace of her could he find.
Finally he began to fly low over the beach, searching in and out
among the little coves. At last he heard a shrill cry; plaintive and
beseeching, and it belonged to his mate. With great, wide sweeps he
soon reached her side. She was down upon the sandy beach and seemed
to be fluttering wildly. As Silver Wing drew near he saw her
trouble; she had been caught, and was being firmly held by one foot,
by nothing less than a giant clam.
Meantime, slowly but surely the tide was coming in; each wave that
broke upon shore swirled just a little closer to his trapped mate.
Soon she must be caught by the tide, and, entrapped as she was, held
as if in a vice by the giant shell-fish, she would surely drown.
At first Silver Wing rose in the air in bewilderment, calling wildly
for his mate to join him, beating up and down the beach, hovering
over her, then rising high in the air and screaming his commands.
Still she did not follow him. At last the great gull seemed to have
sized up the situation, and like a plummet he fell from the air and
began a savage attack upon the hard shell of the clam. With his
strong beak he hammered, while his mate continued to beat her wings
helplessly upon the sand, screaming wildly.
Smash, smash, rang the beak of the gull, while in swirled the
creeping tide, each time a little nearer the struggling gulls. It
broke now in little foamy ripples close beside them. If the
shell-fish failed to loosen its hold, the tide would soon cover them
all. Down like a chisel came the strong beak of Silver Wing, while
with his great webbed, sinewy feet he held the shell of the clam
firmly, delivering his blows now always upon the one spot.
Another blow, still another. Would the great shell-fish never loosen
its grip? Another ringing, cracking blow, and just as a larger wave
came creeping stealthily inshore and broke over them, the giant clam
loosened its awful hold upon the foot of the little mother gull, and
the two birds with long, plaintive cries mounted into the free air.
Dipping low just once over the incoming tide to snatch a herring from
the waves in their beaks, away they flew swiftly back to the little
gulls, who were impatiently awaiting their coming back upon the
lonely ledges, far above the breakers.