A TERRIBLE EXPERIENCE
Ever since Chico had become grown he had been in the habit of flying from
his nest in the early morning for a brief survey of the Piazza. First, he
would make his way to the famous well and, after a refreshing bath, would
walk about on the ground for a while in search of stray morsels of food,
perchance left by tourists the day before. Then, on the way back to his
ledge, he would stop for a moment here and there among the statuary for
a gossipy "coo" with one and another pigeon friend. But no matter how
interested he became in the sights and news of the Square, he was always on
his ledge in time to greet his dear human friends, upon whose appearance
there would ensue such an excited fluttering of wings and such a delighted
cooing that Maria would laugh aloud in glee, while Andrea emptied his
pockets of choicest tidbits.
One morning, a few weeks after the trip to Chioggia, as Chico was making
his customary early flight, his bright eyes caught sight of some enticing
crumbs on the pavement close to the steps leading to the new Campanile.
They seemed unusually good, and he lingered for some time pecking, first at
one and then another.
Suddenly he was grasped by a strong hand and hastily thrust into a padded
dark box.
Poor Chico! His heart fluttered so that he couldn't think. Not but what he
was used to being handled, and perhaps his prison was a new kind of basket,
but even so he rebelled. There were no friendly cracks through which he
could catch an occasional glint of light, but only a few airholes clustered
at the top. Then, too, his quarters were so cramped that even the slightest
flutter was well-nigh impossible; and, after a few struggles, utterly
discouraged, and fearing the worst, he gave up and crouched down, entirely
at a loss as to what had happened.
The Austrian, angered at having been thwarted in every attempt he had made
to purchase the pigeon, had been watching the bird's habits ever since he
had followed the old caretaker, and had deliberately planned to capture him
in this way. His prize now secured, he made his way straight for a gondola
and gave orders to be rowed with the greatest possible speed to his
lodgings, and, on arriving, carried to his room the innocent-appearing
black box which resembled nothing so much as a folding kodak.
How satisfied he felt with himself, and how he gloated over the way in
which he had outwitted the old man! For a moment he held the box to his
ear, as if anxious to assure himself that the bird was still there. Not a
sound came from the trembling inmate. Had anything happened? Cautiously
unfastening the catch, he reached in his hand and touched the soft head.
There was a slight quiver.
Catching hold of the trembling body, he lifted out the bird and feasted his
eyes upon him. What a beauty he was! Not so large, to be sure, as some that
flit about Venice, but so perfectly marked, and with so broad a breast, and
such sweep of wings! He would profit richly by his morning's work. If only
he could get his prize safely out of Venice. There was no time to lose. He
might be tracked by that old fool of a caretaker, and in that case he would
have had his pains for nothing. And if by chance the matter should be
brought to the attention of the authorities, he might be arrested and
jailed; the Venetians make such a fuss over their precious pigeons.
A knock at the door made him start guiltily and thrust the pigeon roughly
back into the box. After all, it was only a messenger with a telegram
recalling him immediately to Vienna, which, he reflected, fitted nicely
into his plans. He would start the next morning, he concluded, as he
carefully concealed the black box under the bed, and took more than usual
pains in locking the door when he went out for dinner and to complete his
arrangements in regard to leaving.
Chico heard the door close and knew he was alone. What did it all mean? He
had never before suffered such indignities! To be placed by loving friends
in his dear familiar basket, while he was being taken to some point from
which he might make a glorious flight--he had long since become
reconciled to that experience; but to be seized by a stranger's hands and
ignominiously shoved into a black prison and hidden in a strange room--that
was an insult his free spirit could not brook. For a while he felt too
utterly despondent to make a movement, but after a little, very cautiously,
he began again to feel carefully with his beak around the box in search of
some crack. There was not one to be found. Next he tried with all his power
to enlarge the tiny airholes. It was impossible, and he gave himself up to
blackest despair.
When his captor returned he opened the box, took out the bird, at the same
time placing some kernels of corn and a saucer of water before him. Chico
had no appetite for food, but parched with thirst drank feverishly.
"Eat! can't you?" The man spoke roughly. What on earth was the matter with
the pigeon to be so obstinate? "Hang it, if he won't eat," he exclaimed
aloud, "he'll starve to death before I can get him to the War Department."
With that he fairly forced the spiritless head into the pile of kernels on
the floor, but without avail; the bird, heart-broken, refused to open his
beak. His tail feathers drooped more mournfully than ever, and his captor,
thoroughly out of patience, angrily thrust him back into his prison. So the
rest of the day and night passed.
The Austrian rose early the next morning and hastily throwing his
belongings together was soon on his way to the station, suitcase in one
hand and the black box in the other.
At the depot there was more than the usual delay in procuring his ticket.
There was a crowd of men and women before him, and, impatiently enough, he
was obliged to wait his turn. Worse than anything, he found it necessary to
lay aside his possessions. He hesitated, then, after a quick survey of the
room, selected a corner near enough for him to keep an eye on his
precious box. It seemed an eternity before he could get anywhere near the
ticket-office window, and he completely lost what little temper he had when
a garrulous woman blocked his way and took fifteen minutes of additional
time in an interminable wrangle over change.
In the meantime an inquisitive youngster, left to his own devices by his
mother who was also in line before the ticket-office window, was creeping
about the floor in search of diversion. After being foiled in
various directions, his sharp eyes caught sight of the suit-case and
interesting-looking box. Without an instant's hesitation he scrambled
thither. As it happened, the Austrian having at last attained his object,
was at that very moment engaged in folding the long ticket, his attention,
therefore, was diverted from watching his property.
The child fumbled first with the suit-case. It was securely locked. Next he
seized the black box with his grimy fingers. It was fastened only with a
single strap. As this finally yielded, a look of rapture spread over his
Italian features, and with renewed zeal he proceeded to pry open the cover.
Suddenly he gave a shriek, at the same covering his face in terror as
something sharp brushed against his cheeks and flashed upwards.
It was Chico! He was free at last! For a moment, dazed by the sudden
release, the bird battered his splendid head against the ceiling, then,
before the roomful of travelers realized what had happened, he was out in
the open, spreading his glorious wings toward home.
When the Austrian, on turning to gather up his possessions, realized what
had occurred, he turned in rage toward the frightened child:
"You, you--" He choked in wrath, raising his arm as if to strike. But at
that moment the mother threw herself against him, screaming:
"You touch my child! You touch--"
The crowd by this time was closing in upon them, so that even the station
guard found it difficult to push his way through in his endeavor to find
out the cause of the disturbance.
Suddenly the cry of "All aboard!" was heard, and instantly the excited
gathering dispersed, the enraged woman grabbing her child and leading the
procession.
Just behind came the Austrian, bearing his suitcase and the empty black
box. Fortunate it was for him that the summons had come when it did, for
otherwise he might soon have found himself taken into custody on the charge
of disturbing the peace, and on the way to a cell in the Venetian prison.
As it was, he sank into his seat in the little train muttering all sorts of
imprecations upon the whole Italian people, and thanking his stars he would
soon be out of the country.
While all this had been going on, great had been the consternation in St.
Mark's Square over Chico's strange disappearance. When the children did
not find him waiting, as usual, for them, they were sure he must have been
shot, and Andrea mourned constantly, "E morte! E morte!" [Footnote: He is
dead.]
But Paolo had his theory, and the more he thought the matter over, the more
he felt convinced that the bird was alive and in the possession of the
Austrian. Dropping his work for the day, he spent the weary hours going up
and down the narrow streets in vain effort to discover some trace of him.
From time to time he called, "Chico! Chico!" But, alas, no Chico answered.
Then the night came. Still no news. The next morning Paolo resolved to go
to the authorities, and was about to set out when suddenly there was a cry
from Maria, who was sitting grieving on the lowest step of the church,
watching the pigeons flying about in the blue sky.
"There's Chico!" she exclaimed, greatly excited, and pointing to a small
speck, far above them. "It's he! I know it's he!"
"I'm afraid not," the old man answered, shaking his head; "we have been
deceived too many times."
But Andrea was leaning forward, his whole form tense with emotion, and, in
another moment with radiant face he flung his cap into the air, and leaped
to his feet, shouting, joyfully:
"Urra! Urra! It's he! It's he!" and so it proved. No other bird could fly
with such strong, sure strokes.
Soon he was in his nest drinking eagerly the water Andrea had placed for
him. It was the first thing he always wanted when he returned from a
flight, but now he drank more thirstily than usual Then, how he did eat! It
was plain he was half starved. There was no mistake about it, he was thin,
and his feathers were so bedraggled that it was evident he had not preened
them since he had been gone.
But he was home, nothing else mattered!