There was enough to fill his breast with honest pride. His home had been
a famous landmark for generations before he himself had fallen heir to
it. It was the oldest one in the neighborhood. It had stood there
seventy-five years before, when a white man had built a cabin within
sight of it, for company. That cabin had been neglected and had fallen
to bits years ago; but Uncle Sam's ancestors had taken care of their
place, and had mended the weak spots each season, and had kept it in
such repair that it was still as good as ever. It would last, indeed,
with such treatment, as long as the post and the beams that supported it
held. The post was the trunk of a tall old tree, and the beams were the
branches, so near the top that it would be a very brave or a very
foolish man who would try to climb so far; for there were no stairs.
No stairs, and such a distance up! But Uncle Sam could find the path
that led to it; for was he not a lord of the air, and could he not sail
the roughest wind with those strong wings of his?
[Illustration: _Above all other creatures of this great land he had been
honored._]
Perhaps it was the sure strength of his wings that gave him a stately
poise of pride even as he rested. It could not have been the honor men
had bestowed upon him; for, although that was very great, he knew
nothing about it.
Soldiers had gone into battle for freedom and right, bearing the picture
of Uncle Sam on their banners. Veterans had walked in Memorial Day
parades, while over their gray heads floated the symbol of Uncle Sam and
the Stars and Stripes. Yes, the people of a great and noble land,
reaching from a sea on the east to a sea on the west, had honored Uncle
Sam by choosing him for the emblem of their country. His picture was
stamped on their paper money, and ornamented one side of the coins that
came from the mint, with the words, "In God We Trust," on the other
side. Above all other creatures of this great land he had been honored;
and could he have understood, he might well have been justly proud of
this tribute.
But as it was, perhaps his emotions were centred only on his family; for
his home was shared by his mate and two young sons. He bent his white
head to look down at his twins. They were such hungry rascals and needed
such a deal of care! They had needed care, indeed, ever since the day
their little bodies had begun to form in the two bluish white eggs their
mother had laid in the nest. They had stayed inside those shells for a
month; and they never could have lived and grown there if they had not
been brooded and kept warm. Their mother had snuggled her feathers over
them and kept them cosy; and, when she had needed a change and a rest,
Uncle Sam had cuddled them close under his body; for a month is a long
time to keep eggs from getting cold, and it was only fair that he should
take his turn.
He was no shirk in his family life. He had chosen his mate until death
should part them; and whenever there were eggs in the nest, he was as
patient about brooding them as she was; for did they not belong to both
of them, and did they not contain two fine young eagles in the making?
And never had they had finer children than the two who that moment were
opening hungry mouths and begging for food. In answer to their teasing,
Uncle Sam spread his great wings and took stately flight to the lake.
For he was a fisherman. When a fish came to the surface, he would try to
catch it in his strong claws, so that he might have food to take back to
his waiting family. This was easy for him when the fish was wounded or
weak and had come to the surface to die; but the quick fishes often
escaped, because he was not so skillful at this sort of fishing as the
osprey.
Yes, the osprey was a wonderful fisherman, who could snatch a fish from
the water in his sure claws. But for all that, he was not so wonderful
as Uncle Sam, who could catch a fish in the air.
[Illustration: _The Yankee-Doodle Twins._]
Now, fishing in the air was a thrilling game that Uncle Sam loved. All
the wild delight of a chase was in the sport. He used, sometimes, to sit
high up on a cliff and watch the osprey swoop down to the water. Then,
when the hawk mounted with the prize, Uncle Sam flew far above him and
swept downward, commanding him to drop the fish. The smaller bird
obeyed, and let the fish fall from his claws. But it never fell far.
Uncle Sam closed his mighty wings and dropped with such speed that he
caught the fish in mid-air; and the tree-tops swayed with the sudden
wind his passing caused. Surely there was never a more exciting way of
going fishing than this!
And did the fish belong to the osprey or to Uncle Sam?
What would you call a man who, by power of greater strength, took away
the food another man had earned?
Are we, then, to call Uncle Sam a thief and a bully?
Ah, no; because it is not with an eagle as it is with a man.
For the wild things of the world there is only one law, and that is the
Law of Nature. They must live as they are made to live, and that is all
that concerns them. There is nothing for bird or beast or blossom to
learn about "right" or "wrong," as we learn about those things. All they
need to do--any of them--is to live naturally.
When we think about it that way, it is very easy to tell whether the
fish belonged to the osprey or to Uncle Sam. Of course, to begin with,
the fish belonged to itself as long as it could dive quickly enough or
swim fast enough to keep itself free and safe. But the minute the osprey
caught it, it belonged to the osprey, just as much as it would belong to
you if you caught it with a net or a hook. Yes, the fish belonged to the
osprey _more_ than it would belong to you; for ospreys hunted food for
themselves and for their young in that lake centuries and centuries
before a white man even saw it, and before nets and hooks were invented;
and besides, in most places, the children of men can live and grow if
they never eat a fish, while the children of the osprey would die
without such food. So we admire Fisherman Osprey for his strength and
swiftness and skill, and are glad for him when he flies off with the
prize, which is his very own as long as he can keep it.
But when he drops it, it is his no longer, but the eagle's, who fishes
wonderfully in the air--a game depending on the keenness of his sight,
his strength, his quickness, and his skill; and the fish that belonged
first to itself, and then to the osprey, belonged in the end to the
eagle; and all this is according to the Law of Nature.
Uncle Sam was not selfish about that fish. He gave it to his twins, and
they did enjoy their dinner very, very much, indeed. A fresh brook
trout, browned just right, never tasted better to you. For they had been
hungry, and the food was good for them.
Uncle Sam and his mate, whom the children who lived within sight of
their nest named Aunt Samantha, had many a hunting and fishing trip to
take while the twins were growing; for the bigger the young eagles
became, the bigger their appetites were, too. But at last the
youngsters were old enough and strong enough and brave enough to take
their first flight. Think of them, then, standing there on the outer
porch of their great home in the air, and daring to leave it, when it
was so very high and they would have so very far to fall if their wings
did not work right!
Nonsense, an eagle fall! Had they not been stretching and exercising
their muscles for days? And surely the twins would succeed, with Uncle
Sam and Aunt Samantha to encourage and urge them forth.
The day Uncle Sam cheered his young sons in their baby flight was a
great day for all the country round. For not only were the sons of
eagles flying, but the sons of men were flying, too. Yes, it was
practice day near the lake, and across the water airships rose from the
camp and sailed through the air, like mighty birds meant for mighty
deeds. For Uncle Sam's country was at war, and many brave and noble lads
thrilled with pride because they were going to help win a battle for
Right.
The bravest and noblest and most fearless of all the camp caught sight
of Uncle Sam and smiled. "Emblem of my country!" the young man said.
"King of the air in your strong flight! Great deeds are to be done, O
Eagle with the snow-white head, and your banner will be foremost in the
fight."
Uncle Sam made no reply. He was too far away to hear, and he could not
have understood if he had been near. He saw the distant airships, so big
and strong, and led his family away to quieter places, without knowing
at all what the big birds were, or what they meant to do. There was so
much happening in the country that honored him, that Uncle Sam could not
understand!
He did not even know that, far to the northwest, there was a part of the
country called Alaska, where eagles had lived in safety and had brought
up their young in peace long after their haunts in most parts of the
land had been disturbed. He did not know that the government of Alaska
was at that moment paying people fifty cents for every eagle they would
kill, and that in two years about five thousand of these noble birds
were to die in that manner. He did not know that, if such deeds kept on,
before many years there would be no eagles flying proudly through the
air: there would be only pictures of eagles on our money and banners. If
he could have been told what was happening, and that there was danger
that the country would be without a living emblem, and that there might
be only stuffed emblems in museums, would he not have thought, "Surely
the strong, wise men who go forth to fight for right and liberty will
see that the bird of freedom has a home in their land!"
No; Uncle Sam knew nothing about such matters, and so he busied his mind
with the things he did know, and was not sad.
He knew where the swamp was, and in the swamp the ducks were thick. They
were good-tasting ducks, and there were so many of them that hunters
with guns and dogs gathered there from all the country round. And the
hunters wounded some birds that the dogs did not get, and these could
not fly off at migrating time.
Now, Uncle Sam and his family found the wounded ducks easy to catch, and
they were nearly as well pleased with them for food as with fish. Of
course their feathers had to be picked off first. No eagle would eat a
duck with his feathers on, any more than you would. And Uncle Sam knew
how to strip off the feathers as well as anyone.
So it was interesting in the swamp, and Uncle Sam and Aunt Samantha and
the twins were satisfied with hunting there when they were not fishing
in the lake.
One day, when Uncle Sam went hunting, he flew near a field where there
was a little lamb; and being a strong and powerful eagle, he was able to
carry it away. Perhaps he felt very proud as he flew off with so much
food at one time. Such strength is something to be pleased with when it
is put to the right use, and getting food is as important for an eagle's
life as it is for a man's.
He lifted his burden high in the air, holding it in his strong talons;
and he did not falter once in his steady flight, although the load
weighed nearly as much as he did, and he carried it two miles without
resting once.
Yes, I think Uncle Sam was proud of that day's hunting and happy with
what he had caught; and the tender meat tasted good to him and his
family.
But the man who had owned the lamb before Uncle Sam caught it was not
pleased. He happened to be coming out of the woods just in time to see
the capture; and an hour later the boy and the girl who lived within
sight of Uncle Sam's nest met the man and saw that he carried a gun.
"I'm after a white-headed sheep thief," he said; "do you know which way
he flew, after he reached the cliff?"
The boy's face turned white in a second, and he held his fists together
very still and very tight. The girl looked at her younger brother and
then at the man.
"Yes, we know," she said, "and we will not tell."
"Why?" asked the man. "He took the lamb I was going to roast when it was
big enough."
The girl chuckled a little merrily. "And Uncle Sam got ahead of you,"
she said. "Never mind, I'll get the money to pay for his dinner. The
eagles here usually eat fish from the lake, and sometimes game from the
swamp; but once in a very, very long while they take a lamb. When that
happens, the Junior Audubon Society at our school pays for their treat.
I have the money, because I am treasurer."
After the girl turned back to the house for the money, the boy looked
hard at the gun. Then he swallowed to get rid of the lump that hurt his
throat and said, "If you had shot Uncle Sam or Aunt Samantha or their
young, the children for miles and miles NEVER would have liked you.
Eagles have nested in that tree for more than seventy years, and nobody
except a newcomer would think of shooting one."
So they talked together for some time about eagles; and when the girl
came back, the man did not charge so much for Uncle Sam's treat as we
sometimes have to pay for our own lamb chops.
And way off among the cliffs Uncle Sam ate in content, not knowing that
his life had been in danger, and that he had been saved by a boy and a
girl who were growing up "under the shadow of an eagle's wings," as they
said to each other as they watched him sail the air in his journeys to
and fro.
That afternoon, when they heard him call, "Cac, cac, cac," they said,
"Uncle Sam is laughing." And when his mate answered in her harsh voice,
they said, "Aunt Samantha would be happy if she knew we saved their
lives."
Busy with the life Nature taught them to live, the twins grew up as
Uncle Sam had grown before them.
As they were hunters, there was nothing more interesting to them than
seeking their food in wild, free places. They had no guns and dogs, but
they caught game in the swamp. They had no cooks to prepare their ducks,
so they picked off the feathers themselves. They had no fish-line and
tackle, but they caught fish in the lake. And in time they caught fish
in the air, too; which was even more thrilling, and a game they came to
enjoy when they overtook the ospreys. Many times, too, they sought the
fish that had been washed up on the lake shore, and so helped keep
things sweet and clean. In this way they were scavengers; and it is
always well to remember that a scavenger, whether he be a bird or beast
or beetle, does great service in the world for all who need pure air to
breathe.
The first year they became bigger than their father, and bigger than
they themselves would be when they were old. At first, too, their eyes
were brown, and not yellow like their father's and mother's. And for two
years their heads and tails were dark, so that they looked much more
like "golden eagles" than they did like the old ones of their own kind.
The soldiers at the training-camp caught sight of them now and then, and
named them the "Yankee-Doodle Twins." When the twins were three years
old, their molting season brought a remarkable change to them. The dark
feathers of their heads and necks and tails dropped out, and in their
places white feathers grew, so that by this time they looked like their
own father and mother, who are what is called "bald eagles," though
their heads are not bald at all, but well covered with feathers.
These two birds that were hatched in the home that was more than seventy
years old lived to see the end of the war the young soldiers were
training for when they took their first flights together near the shore
of the same lake. And perhaps they will live to a time when the people
of their country learn to deal more and more justly with each other and
with the great bird of freedom chosen by their forefathers to be the
emblem of their proud land.
Why, indeed, if the boys and girls of the neighborhood keep up a guard
for the protection of Uncle Sam and Aunt Samantha, should they not nest
again, and yet again, in that tree-top home that has been so well taken
care of for more than threescore years and ten; and bring up
Yankee-Doodle Twins for their country in days of peace as they did in
days of war?
VII
CORBIE
Corbie's great-great-grandfather ruled a large flock from his look-out
throne on a tall pine stump, where he could see far and wide, and judge
for his people where they should feed and when they should fly.
His great-grandfather was famous for his collections of old china and
other rare treasures, having lived in the woods near the town dump,
where he picked up many a bright trinket, chief among which was an old
gold-plated watch-chain, which he kept hidden in a doll's red tea-cup
when he was not using it.
His grandfather was a handsome fellow, so glistening that he looked
rather purple when he walked in the sunshine; and he had a voice so
sweet and mellow that any minstrel might have been proud of it, though
he seldom sang, and it is possible that no one but Corbie's grandmother
heard it at its best. He was, moreover, a merry soul, fond of a joke,
and always ready to dance a jig, with a chuckle, when anything very
funny happened in crowdom.
As for the wisdom and beauty of his grandmothers all the way back, there
is so much to be said that, if I once began to tell about them, there
would be no space left for the story of Corbie himself.
[Illustration: _In this Mother Crow had laid her eggs._]
Of course, coming from a family like that, Corbie was sure to be
remarkable; for there is no doubt at all that we inherit many traits of
our ancestors.
Corbie knew very little about his own father and mother, for he was
adopted into a human family when he was ten days old, and a baby at that
age does not remember much.
Although he was too young to realize it, those first ten days after he
had come out of his shell, and those before that, while he was growing
inside his shell, were in some ways the most important of his life, for
it was then that he needed the most tender and skillful care. Well, he
had it; for the gentleness and skill of Father and Mother Crow left
nothing to be desired. They had built the best possible nest for their
needs by placing strong sticks criss-cross high up in an old pine tree.
For a lining they had stripped soft stringy bark from a wild grapevine,
and had finished off with a bit of still softer dried grass.
In this Mother Crow had laid her five bluish-green eggs marked with
brown; and she and Father Crow had shared, turn and turn about, the long
task of keeping their babies inside those beautiful shells warm enough
so that they could grow.
And grow they did, into five as homely little objects as ever broke
their way out of good-looking eggshells. There was not down on their
bodies to make them fluffy and pretty, like Peter Piper's children. They
were just sprawling little bits of crow-life, so helpless that it would
have been quite pitiful if they had not had a good patient mother and a
father who seemed never to get tired of hunting for food.
Now, it takes a very great deal of food for five young crows, because
each one on some days will eat more than half his own weight and beg for
more. Dear, dear! how they did beg! Every time either Father or Mother
Crow came back to the nest, those five beaks would open so wide that the
babies seemed to be yawning way down to the end of their red throats.
Oh, the food that got stuffed into them! Good and nourishing, every bit
of it; for a proper diet is as important to a bird baby as to a human
one. Juicy caterpillars--a lot of them: enough to eat up a whole
berry-patch if the crows hadn't found them; nutty-flavored
grasshoppers--a lot of them, too; so many, in fact, that it looked very
much as if crows were the reason the grasshoppers were so nearly wiped
out that year that they didn't have a chance to trouble the farmers'
crops; and now and then a dainty egg was served them in the most
tempting crow-fashion, that is, right from the beak of the parent.
For, as you no doubt have heard, a crow thinks no more of helping
himself to an egg of a wild bird than we do of visiting the nests of
tame birds, such as hens and geese and turkeys, and taking the eggs they
lay. Of course, it would not occur to a crow that he didn't have a
perfect right to take such food for himself and his young as he could
find in his day's hunting. Indeed, it is not unlikely that, if a crow
did any real thinking about the matter, he might decide that robins and
meadowlarks were his chickens anyway. So what the other birds would
better do about it is to hide their nests as well as ever they can, and
be quiet when they come and go.
That is the way Father and Mother Crow did, themselves, when they built
their home where the pine boughs hid it from climbers below and from
fliers above. And, though you might hardly believe it of a crow, they
were still as mice whenever they came near it, alighting first on trees
close by, and slipping up carefully between the branches, to be sure no
enemy was following their movements. Then they would greet their babies
with a comforting low "Caw," which seemed to mean, "Never fear, little
ones, we've brought you a very good treat." Yes, they were shy, those
old crows, when they were near their home, and very quiet they kept
their affairs until their young got into the habit of yelling, "Kah,
kah, kah," at the top of their voices whenever they were hungry, and of
mumbling loudly, "Gubble-gubble-gubble," whenever they were eating.
After that time comes, there is very little quiet within the home of a
crow; and all the world about may guess, without being a bit clever,
where the nest is. A good thing it is for the noisy youngsters that by
that time they are so large that it does not matter quite so much.
But it was before the "kah-and-gubble" habit had much more than begun
that Corbie was adopted; and the nestlings were really as still as could
be when the father of the Brown-eyed Boy and the Blue-eyed Girl climbed
way, way, way up that big tree and looked into the round little room up
there. There was no furniture--none at all. Just one bare nursery, in
which five babies were staying day and night. Yet it was a tidy room,
fresh and sweet enough for anybody to live in; for a crow, young or old,
is a clean sort of person.
The father of the Brown-eyed Boy and the Blue-eyed Girl looked over the
five homely, floundering little birds, and, choosing Corbie, put him
into his hat and climbed down with him. He was a nimble sort of father,
or he never could have done it, so tall a tree it was, with no branches
near the ground.
Corbie, even at ten days old, was not like the spry children of Peter
Piper, who could run about at one day old, all ready for picnics and
teetering along the shore. No, indeed! He was almost as helpless and
quite as floppy as a human baby, and he needed as good care, too. He
needed warmth enough and food enough and a clean nest to live in; and he
needed to be kept safe from such prowling animals as will eat young
birds, and from other enemies. All these things his father and mother
had looked out for.
Now the little Corbie was kidnaped--taken away from his home and the
loving and patient care of his parents.
But you need not be sorry for Corbie--not very. For the Brown-eyed Boy
and the Blue-eyed Girl adopted the little chap, and gave him food enough
and warmth enough and a chance to keep his new nest clean; and they did
it all with love and patience, too.
Corbie kept them busy, for they were quick to learn that, when he opened
his beak and said, "Kah," it was meal-time, even if he had had luncheon
only ten minutes before. His throat was very red and very hollow, and
seemed ready to swallow no end of fresh raw egg and bits of raw beef and
earthworms and bread soaked in milk. Not that he had to have much at a
time, but he needed so very many meals a day. It was fun to feed the
little fellow, because he grew so fast and because he was so comical
when he called, "Kah."
It was not long before his body looked as if he had a crop of
paint-brushes growing all over it; for a feather, when it first comes,
is protected by a little case, and the end of the feather, which sticks
out of the tip of the case, does look very much like the soft hairs at
the end of a paint-brush, the kind that has a hollow quill stem, you
know. After they were once started, dear me, how those feathers grew! It
seemed no time at all before they covered up the ear-holes in the side
of his head, and no time at all before a little bristle fringe grew down
over the nose-holes in his long horny beak.
He was nearly twenty days old before he could stand up on his toes like
a grown-up crow. Before that, when he stood up in his nest and "kahed"
for food, he stood on his whole foot way back to the heel, which looks
like a knee, only it bends the wrong way. When he was about three weeks
old, however, he began standing way up on his toes, and stretching his
leg till his heels came up straight. Then he would flap his wings and
exercise them, too.