THE KONGOO, ONE OF THE FISHING EAGLES
One day a kongoo, with white body and black wings, looking at his mate,
who was of a dark grayish color, said to her: “It is about time for us
to go to the Eliva Monon (the river of mullets), for the dry season has
begun there, and the river will be full of mullets and other fish. It is
a long journey, and we shall have to get our living on the way. We
cannot fish by the shore, for heavy white breakers roll on the beach all
the way. When we undertake this long journey, we shall have as usual to
tarry by the sides of the rivers and lagoons near the sea in order to
get our food.”
The two kongoos loved to go to the Eliva Monon every dry season, for
they had been born by its waters, had built their nests and had raised
their young ones there. The next day they prepared themselves for their
journey, for by following the shore the Eliva Monon was nearly three
thousand miles away. They took oil from the bag which nature had
provided for them, and with their greasy beaks combed their feathers,
which took them an hour or two. When their toilet was made, they went
fishing, so that they should not start with empty stomachs, and after
their meal they combed their feathers again; but it took them only a
short time, and they finished by passing their beaks over their thick
powerful talons. Then they rose in the air, and flew toward the Eliva
Monon, their big spreading wings carrying them very fast.
The two kongoos knew every part of the shore, the capes, the smallest
points, the bays, the coves, the rivers, the hills, the trees; nothing
escaped their eyes. This minute knowledge of the coast is given to all
the fishing eagles. No sea captain, no pilot, no matter how expert, can
recognize any spot or part of the coast so well or so quickly as the
fishing eagles.
As they flew and passed over creeks, lagoons, and rivers, they saw in
the water flocks of pelicans, and would say to each other, “See, the
pelicans are fishing; look at their pouches; they are filled with fish.”
Farther on they would see red long-legged flamingoes walking in the
water, or flying over it, looking like a mass of burning embers. They
saw also many long-legged cranes, nearly five feet high, ugly marabouts
with their beautiful light feathers, and herons, ducks, and other
aquatic birds. The kongoos saw also over the lagoon beautiful swallows
catching the flying insects.
One afternoon the kongoos rested on a tree and saw a great many bees
hovering over a prairie, feeding on the sweet flowers.
Their enemies, the bee-eater birds, had also come to make war upon them,
as they did every year, for these birds knew the month of the year when
the bees made their appearance in the prairie.
Looking at the beautiful plumage of these bee-eaters, one not knowing
them would have thought they were gentle and harmless, but they had to
live, and to do so they had to destroy life. Those who did not fear them
thought them beautiful. Those upon whom they fed thought they were
horrid and fierce, and hated them.
After a while the old kongoo remarked to his companion, “The bees have a
hard time; the bee-eaters are killing and eating them; look at them.”
Among the bee-eaters that had come in large flocks was one species that
had a splendid roseate breast; as they flew, they appeared like spots of
fire flying through the sky; the speed of their flight told of their
fierceness as they swooped down upon the poor bees and seized them with
their long curved beaks in the middle of their bodies, taking their
lives before they swallowed them, so that they could not sting.
An hour or two before sunset, the two kongoos tarried by a river where
they knew that fish were abundant, and slept on one of the trees. Their
lives were the same every day on the journey. They stopped here and
there on the shores of rivers or lagoons to fish when they were hungry,
and the last thing before sunset would once more stop to fish and then
go to sleep. Every day’s journey brought them nearer the Eliva Monon.
After a few days they arrived at the mouth of a large river, and
slackened their speed. Each said to the other, “Look, there is the Rembo
Commi” (rembo is a larger river), and they were glad, for one of its
affluents was the Eliva Monon. They went fishing, but had a scanty meal,
for the fish had ascended the stream. It was almost dark when they
reached the mouth of the Rembo Commi. So they slept on a big tree.
When they awoke in the morning, they felt very happy, for they knew that
their journey was almost at an end. They combed and oiled their
feathers, then flew over the Rembo Commi and never stopped until they
reached the Eliva Monon, a big expanse of water which was as smooth as
glass. They saw that the river was already full of mullets and other
fish that had come to spawn. The two kongoos met several of their old
friends, the compagnondos (another large fishing eagle), who, when they
saw them coming, uttered shrill cries of welcome, that were heard far
away. The compagnondos are of a gray color, the two mates looking very
much alike, and they are larger than kongoos.
A few kongoos had also arrived before them, so that the two new-comers
were not the first to reach the spot, as they had expected. All these
fishing eagles formed a colony that had built their nests on the shores
of the Eliva Monon, and they lived in peace with one another. Though
they would often hover over the same shoal of fish, yet there was no
dispute, each picking out his own prey.
Immediately after their arrival, the two new-comers went fishing, each
by himself, as is the custom among all the eagles, for they were
terribly hungry. Often they came near together as they hovered over a
big shoal of fish. Both had a splendid meal, which they needed much
after their long journey.
They perched upon the tree on which they had built their nest. The nest
was round and made of sticks, and set between forked branches with great
skill, so as to give the least possible exposure to the wind, and it was
several feet in diameter. They said, “Our nest wants much repairing.”
They kept looking fondly at their dear old nest, which they had built
when they were first mated, and that was quite a number of years before.
The kongoos, like many other eagles, live together all their lives.
These two loved each other very much.
For a few days they were very busy with the work of repairs, gathering
new sticks to take the place of the old ones and weaving them into the
structure. Then they had also to fish to satisfy their hunger. So they
had hardly any time to rest, and were very glad when evening came.
Though the Eliva Monon was full of fish, the kongoos and compagnondos
had to use considerable judgment and thought to catch their prey. As
they soared above the fish, they had to calculate the length of time to
reach it, how deep it was in the water, and if too deep, to watch until
it came near enough to the surface before they swooped down upon it.
They had to make allowance for the speed of the fish and for the time
that was required to reach it. They had also to contract their claws
instantly on seizing their prey. When they swooped they invariably
caught the fish in a line with their own beak and tail, so that in
flying away with it the fish’s body might offer no resistance to the
wind. In a word, their eyes had to act very quickly.
But, despite all their cunning and forethought, they often make
miscalculations and miss their fish. Sometimes it is deeper in the water
than they imagine, or the fish is swimming faster than they think. The
fish himself often swims by starts, quick at first, and then slackening
his speed. The fishing eagles have to calculate on all these
contingencies.
Sometimes they do not get a good hold on the fish, and as they fly in
the air with it the fish is successful in his struggles to free himself
and falls into the water; his enemy darts after him, but often too late,
for he has disappeared in deep water. Fishing eagles, too, have to work
hard for their living.
One day our two kongoos had had their fill of fish and were looking on
from their tree at a large number of pelicans who had just arrived and
alighted on the water. The kongoo said to his mate: “Look at the
pelicans. How strangely they behave! What are they doing?”
The pelicans, after they had alighted on the water, swam in different
directions to look for fish. Suddenly some of them discovered a large
shoal of fish in a shallow part of the river. By ways known only to the
pelican, they communicated the news of their discovery to the others,
and in a short time the whole flock knew that there was a shoal of fish
in sight and swam toward the spot, all feeling glad at the prospect of a
good meal.
A few of the pelicans that were farther off seeking fish, saw the
gathering of the flock, who appeared to be so excited that they knew
something was up and flew toward their companions.
The flock had a very cunning chief, an old fellow who had led them
successfully many times on their fishing campaigns. He saw by the
rippling of the water the exact place of the shoal, and at once made his
plan of attack, so that very few should escape. All the pouches of the
pelicans were empty, and they were terribly hungry. “Let us corral the
fish,” he said to the flock. Then taking the lead, he swam around the
shoal, the rest following equidistant from one another in a circle, the
fish being in the middle. Sometimes the pelicans had to swim fast to
keep their formation and follow their chief, who was watching the fish.
A few pelicans were ordered outside to fill up the gaps. When the signal
was given, they wheeled toward the shoal and attacked it; fish after
fish was caught between their powerful long bills. The slaughter of the
fish was very great; many of these fish had done in their way what the
pelicans were now doing to them: they had gobbled up many smaller fish a
little time before. When the pelicans could not eat any more, they
filled their pouches and swam leisurely over the Eliva Monon.
One afternoon, as the big kongoo was hovering over the Eliva Monon,
while his mate was on the nest, he suddenly espied a number of very big
fish that were swimming together. His appetite increased at once at the
sight. He thought, as he looked down over them: “What a big fish I am
going to catch! What a glorious meal I am soon to enjoy! If they only
come a little more to the surface of the water, my meal is secure.” He
watched them, but he feared they were too deep in the water for him to
pounce upon one of them at once. Gradually the fish came nearer the
surface. One was larger than the others. The kongoo selected him for his
prey and hovered over him. When he thought that the time had arrived, he
swooped straight down with great force, and went deep into the water so
that his powerful talons could grasp the fish well.
The fish was very heavy and strong. When he felt the claws of the eagle
in his body, he plunged deeper into the water, dragging the big kongoo
down with him. The kongoo raised his wings so that they almost met, that
he might beat the air more strongly by bringing them down. It would have
been all over with him if he had sunk entirely under water.
The power of rising from the water is only given among birds to ducks,
geese, swans, and their kindred that have webbed feet. The broad
spreading foot covers so much water that the bird finds a surface to
spring from, while to the feet of other birds the water offers no
resistance so that they cannot rise.
The kongoo, using all his strength with his wings, gave several flaps
and succeeded in rising above the water with his prey. But the fish was
very heavy. He could not let the fish go, for his talons were too deeply
imbedded, and he could not take his claws out on account of their curved
shape.
Two or three times the big eagle struggled up, and was drawn down again.
It was a fight for life. Finally the kongoo succeeded in landing with
his prey, feeling much exhausted. Then, with his powerful hook-like
beak, he tore the fish and disentangled his claws; then he made his meal
by holding the fish fast to the ground with his claws and picking his
body.
After this he flew to the perch by his nest. His mate was upon it, and
he said to her: “Dear, I have had an awful time since I left you. I
hooked a fish that was deeper in the water and stronger than I believed,
and he almost pulled me under. I thought it was all up with me and that
I was to be drowned and should never see you again. But thanks to my
powerful wings, I am safe.” Then he settled upon the nest to take the
place of his mate, while she flew away to get her meal of fish.
In due course of time three little kongoos came out of their shells, to
the delight of the two old ones. Now all their care and love were to be
for these three little ones. As they grew big and their appetites and
the amount of food to satisfy them had increased with their size, the
old kongoos had to work hard to feed them. All the fishing eagles on the
Eliva Monon had to work hard also, for every nest had a family, and the
fish had a hard time.
[Illustration: “_The kongoo, using all his strength with his wings, gave
several flaps_”]
The eagles, after catching a fish, would fly toward their nest, then
hover over it, saying, “Here I am, dear little ones. I have food for
you.”
The young kongoos, hearing their parents, would look up and cry or
shriek louder than they did before, with their mouths wide open to show
how hungry they were, and were not pacified until food was given to
them. The noise the little ones made during a great part of the day
throughout the whole neighborhood was great indeed.
Our three young ones grew very fast, feathers were taking the place of
their gray down, and in time the large feathers on their wings had grown
almost enough for them to try to fly. While the two kongoos were perched
by their nest one day, Mrs. Kongoo said to her mate, “I am going to
fish.” Then she flew away.
Strange to say, she was never seen any more after this. Her mate was
very much distressed. Toward sunset, as she did not appear, he uttered
piercing cries, calling for her. He flew in search of her; but at last
when it was almost dark, he came back to their tree, got upon the nest,
took her place, and spread his wings over their little ones to keep them
warm. That night he felt very unhappy, thinking all the time of his
mate. At daylight he uttered shrill cries of distress which in the
language of the kongoos meant: “Come to me, dear. Where are you? I am
waiting for you.” But no answer came to him. In the mean time the young
ones were clamoring for food. So the poor kongoo, with a sad heart,
soared over the Eliva Monon for fish, and after a while came back with
food for them. He had to work hard all day to feed them, for now he was
all alone. In his spare moments, he would rest upon a tree and think of
his dear missing mate and call for her, or he would fly up and down the
Eliva Monon searching for her.
The little ones began to try the strength of their wings and see how far
they could fly. But the old kongoo had to feed them, until at last they
were able to take care of themselves and began to fish. The dear old
kongoo mourned greatly after his mate. He would stand still for hours on
a tree, and in despairing tones cry for her to come.
At length the fish became scarce in the Eliva Monon; the shoals were
leaving fast for the sea. By this time the young kongoos and
compagnondos could fly, and the fishing eagles left gradually. The last
to leave was the sad old kongoo. He stood for days near his nest, hoping
that his mate would come back. Finally he gave up the hope of ever
seeing her again, and flew away, never to come back to the Eliva Monon.
The following year some other kongoos took possession of his abandoned
nest.
Not one of the fishing eagles could ever tell him what had become of his
mate. Had she suddenly dropped dead? Had she been carried away under the
water by a big fish, or as she was striving to rise from the water with
a big fish did a water-snake coil round her? The widowed kongoo the
following year got another companion, but he always remembered his first
mate and chose another river during the spawning season.